Anubis sighed, remembering the three days of death he had endured, alone in a tent in the bush without food or water. He remembered the terror he felt as the sun fell and the screeching of hyenas began to echo in the distance. He had closed his eyes, centering his mind until he saw himself in a great hollow chamber, its ceilings too high to see, its walls in shades of gray. The only thing of note were the three doorways directly in front of him with doors made out of flat rock. He folded himself into a cross-legged position and waited.
After a while, he saw a thin snake appear in the dirt, only to disappear with a tiny flicker of its tongue. He wondered where it had run off to but was in no hurry to find it. For some reason he felt protected in the cool, damp chamber, out of the sun. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting in it, only that he felt no hunger or thirst and time seemed to pass quickly.
Finally, one of the rocks from the strange doors crumbled, and a young man with black eyes and strange silver hair came out, holding the snake he’d seen earlier. He dropped it to the ground where it writhed before rising up into the shape of a man who was so beautiful, he appeared female. A warm smile lit up his face as he took young Anubis by the hands. “Mawu and Lisa welcome you.”
“Too young,” the other man muttered from behind him, but tossed him a coin.
As soon as Anubis caught it, the tent he’d been sitting in opened, several priestesses hurrying to carry him out and bring him back to life with water and fruit. He remembered choking, bewildered to discover what happened.
“Don’t go too far into your memories,” Mama’s voice warned him. “You will always feel their pull, for you are of the spirit world. But your place is here in this world, helping your people. That is why you came to us, the ancient Anubis incarnate.”
Anubis scoffed. “I came to stand quietly and allow these white men to help themselves to the sons and daughters of this land?”
“You are fulfilling your destiny by aligning yourself with King Agaja of Dahomey. You must be patient—he will strike soon.”
“Yes, but how many will die before then?” he pointed out. “And how many lives will be lost as he wages his war?”
Mama smiled sadly. “To save the humans, you must play their games. Agaja will stop trading lives with the white men. We will deliver our people from their fear. Trust in the spirits, young one.” She jabbed his chest with a narrow finger to make her point. “Now let us go. You have to join the court before they get here. Help your mama to her hut.”
Anubis sighed, knowing there was no point in trying to argue with Mama. He took her arm and wrapped it around his, guiding her back up the beach towards their village. The sun was high and bright with no sign of rain, most of the villagers shirtless as they shopped at the open market. They nodded respectfully towards them as they passed. While Mama naturally commanded respect, most of them were aware of the rumors that swirled around Anubis, that he was an Ancient Egyptian god come to deliver them out of the dark days. Some doubted him, but most believed, patiently watching and waiting for the moment he’d reveal his true nature.
He guided Mama to her hut, planting a kiss on her dewy cheek as she shuffled into the cool shade of her abode.
The palace was not much farther up the road, but Anubis took a moment to wipe his brow with a rag before continuing onward. The palace guards barely glanced his way as they stepped aside so he could enter, opening the giant door set into the high walls so Anubis could enter the courtyard. The palace loomed ahead, set high above the ground, but the king had ordered his outer courtyard prepared. He rarely met visitors in his actual home, preferring to meet them outdoors, forcing the pale Europeans, not used to the harsh African sun, to stand in it while he sat in the shade, fanned by his servants. The King's arrival was not in the immediate future, but his servants were already frantic with preparation, worried things would not live up to his high standards, terrified they would be the ones sailing back with the Frenchmen.
Anubis found shade under a cluster of palm trees, giving himself a moment to think.
“You are early,” a man commented from beside him. He looked up to see the appointed Captain Blanc, or Captain of the Whites, the sorry man responsible for all interactions between them. He looked apprehensive, sweat dripping from his forehead to his nose in fat droplets before he licked them nervously away from his lips. Anubis couldn't blame him; out of them all, his job was the hardest. If negotiations went sour, it was he who would take the fall, the last officer forced into self-sacrifice. He took a swig anxiously from his water bottle, offering it to Anubis, who gratefully accepted.
“I saw the ships rolling up onto shore,” Anubis explained after he’d taken a long sip. “So, I decided to come early.”
“Ah,” the captain nodded. “What do you think of the king’s idea to set up their compound so close?” he asked casually, leaning against the tree.
Anubis knew better than to reply honestly, for the king was as paranoid as he was greedy and one never knew when they were being set up. “It is a great idea,” Anubis lied easily. “The better our relations with the French, the better for trade. We have already set up a fort for the Portuguese, it can only benefit us to expand.”
The captain nodded, satisfied with his answer.
Suddenly, they heard the horn announcing the king’s approach. Anubis was surprised, then immediately grateful he’d decided to come early. The servants all hurried into position, Anubis heading towards the makeshift throne to take his place.
He watched the king lumber over, dressed in his favorite shade of red, shielded by dozens of parasols held by his wives to protect him from the sun. Anubis fumed when he recognized a young girl from his congregation, one he had just seen playing freely in the dirt with her siblings the week before. He bit his lip to keep his face neutral, trying to temper his disgust and rage. If memory served, she was only twelve years old.
The king didn’t even acknowledge his presence, falling sloppily into his seat. The sun had reached a blistering intensity and the king’s servants began to fan him with giant palms salvaged from the outlying jungle. Its rays flickered on the gold and silver jewelry that lay across his globular stomach, glittering at hands he kept in plain sight. He wore the same bored expression he seemed to always have, staring ahead without uttering a word to anyone standing around him, his mouth set into a frown that left a deep crease between his eyebrows. Soon the guards opened the high doors, letting the parade of white men filter through.
Like usual, they were overdressed beyond the point of comfort in the blazing heat, sweat slick across each of their foreheads. Up close, their pale skin seemed as parched as their lips, deficient of pigment like their bland, starchy attire. They were lost amongst the bright greens, pinks, and teals that surrounded them, anemic outcasts in a land rich with color.
The man at the forefront offered a toothy smile as he removed his hat, exposing straight, straw colored hair. Although he attempted to appear pleasant, he looked tired, much like the rest of his group who were worn after the long months at sea. A younger man of mixed descent came up beside him, dressed in similar garb with a pair of wire glasses set on his long nose. He bowed towards the king, looking back up with kind, warm eyes. “It is an honor, Your Highness,” he said in their language. “Monsieur Dupont is delighted to finally make your acquaintance.”
The king gave a curt nod in reply, the captain stepping forward to take over.
“We welcome you all to the Kingdom of Hueda,” he said in broken French before resuming his native tongue. “We have prepared your land for you as per our agreement, which you are welcome to explore before we make our final dealings.”
“That would be wonderful, thank you,” the light-skinned interpreter said after murmuring in his employer’s ear.
“King Haffon invites you all to dine with him in his palace after you are settled. I am certain you are weary from your travels.”
The French commander thanked him in his language before turning back to his officers.
Suddenly, Anubis noticed the flare of a woman's skirt from behind the men, shielded by a parasol of white lace. It shifted to the side as they all retreated, revealing the woman underneath. His breath caught in his throat. She had long hair the color of the sun, her skin clear until it reached her left side, where a crimson birthmark began at her hairline and seemed to end at her collarbones. However, she also wore a single glove on her left arm rolled all the way up to her sleeve, leading him to believe that her birthmark was larger than what could be seen. Though she looked wilted and her hair was damp with sweat, she was absolutely beautiful. Her eyes drifted upwards towards him and he realized the color matched his, a radiant, oceanic blue. Startled, he quickly looked away.
The captain positioned himself in front of him, blocking his view of her as she disappeared. “The king wants you in attendance before you retreat back to the convent,” he told him. “He wants to know if these men are planning to deceive us. You must ask the spirits for him.”
Anubis sighed, not looking forward to a night of forced pleasantries and pretending there wasn’t an entire shack of humans sitting miserably in shackles, waiting to be shipped off to a hellish world that was not their own. He closed his eyes, picturing Mama’s face. He played her words again in his mind; he had to continue to play the part to slowly win the war.
The dinner took longer than he had hoped, but he’d enjoyed the yam stew the chefs prepared, reminding him of the solitary benefit in working for the king. The table they sat behind was long enough to keep them comfortably separated from the French soldiers, but he saw her out of the corner of his eye, dining quietly next to the Commander, who he surmised was either her husband or her father. She picked at her stew, and when he caught another flash of her blue eyes he realized she was just as thrilled to be there as he was.
It was late in the evening when he returned to the convent, most of the recruits already in bed. His belly was full and his body was tired; he didn’t even take the time to undress from his priestly robes and beads before he fell onto his cot. It hadn’t been more than an hour before he was awakened by a noise at his open window. He bolted out of bed, grabbing the knife he kept by his bedside while hurrying to light his lamp. The warm light flooded the room just as a woman slid down from his window, landing on the ground with a gentle thud.
It was the French woman from before, but this time a playful smile replaced her pursed lips. “I was hoping I would not wake you,” she said in his language.
“Why are you here?” he demanded in French, his heart racing in his throat. “You do not belong here.”
She looked relieved that he spoke her tongue. “I didn’t know how else to contact you without attracting unnecessary attention to us,” she explained as she smoothed out her skirts, adjusting her long sweep of light-yellow hair. She was wearing a thinner dress than earlier, leaving her birthmarks completely exposed and confirming his theory that they went down the entire length of her body, dividing her neatly in half. “I am Helena Dupont. My detestable father brought me here as a last resort, his only unwed daughter who he has been trying to get rid of since I grew breasts. He thinks that if he leaves me here with the rest of the French settlers, one of them might eventually grow desperate enough to marry me.”
Anubis blinked, surprised by the blatant admission. “This is a convent, a spiritual place. I do not live here alone,” he dropped his voice to a whisper.
“We will just have to be quiet then,” she shrugged with a smile. She looked around the room. “Do you have anything to drink?”
Anubis blinked again, still unable to reconcile having a strange white woman in his bedroom. “You really shouldn’t be here.”
