Anubis turned to Morrigan. “Are you ready?” he asked. She had trouble reading his expression, trapped somewhere between dismay and apprehension.
“Yes,” she told him. He motioned for her to follow him outside. She licked her lips as she did so, the taste of cloves still lingering in her mouth.
THE MIDDLEWORLD
The moon dominated the sky as it ascended, burning rusted gold against cobalt. The air was thick and hot, filled with choruses of insects, seemingly locked in battle to see who could screech the loudest. Anubis led her down a sandy path that gradually turned to jungle, wide palms fanning out above them as brush overtook the dirt. When it appeared as if they could go no further, he paused to lift a curtain of vines, revealing a mudbrick wall covered in hand-painted designs. The scent of strange herbs and animal blood assaulted Morrigan before they even entered, whispers trickling through the air.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“This is where the spirits live,” he explained. “The temple was built long before I was born and has been rebuilt several times, but always protected. Only the High Priests and Priestesses of each generation know its whereabouts. It’s even hidden from the kings.”
He moved forward to push open the door, but before they could enter, she heard rustling in the woods. Out of the brush, Libraean appeared.
“I left David…something does not seem right with him,” he said. “I also want to see Jacob.”
A sad, knowing smile accompanied Anubis’s nod as he gestured them both inside.
Libraean surprised Morrigan by grabbing her hand, his skin callused and warm. He looked up at her over the rim of his glasses. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that, dragging you back into the middle. You and Lucius have done so well at keeping tension at bay, and I stirred it all back up again. When David told me about Gabriel, I lost my head.”
She squeezed his hand reassuringly, touched by his effort. “We will sort it out.”
“Since you’re here, would you mind illuminating the room?” Anubis asked him.
In an instant, hundreds of candles, old and new, threw their glow against the statues and fetishes formally hidden by shadows, distorting their features. Morrigan could now see what her senses had picked up—crimson stained the floor and painted the animal skulls that lined the walls. She recognized antelope and tiger skulls, their jaws cracked open in an eternal scream. There were raised platforms for each deity, gifts specific for each one draped over their statues or gathered at their feet. She recognized Legba, this statue more phallic than the other she’d seen, a half-drank bottle of rum beside him on a bed of dried tobacco leaves.
“You practice vodun,” Libraean murmured as his eyes swept the room.
Anubis nodded as he rolled up his sleeves. For the first time, Morrigan noticed tiny scars interrupting the smooth plane of his dark umber skin. “I was a priest far before I was made immortal and remembered my true past,” he explained. “The spirits speak to me now just the same as they did before. It makes no difference to them.” He grabbed Legba’s rum and headed to a table where several tools had been laid out. When he’d retrieved a clean, glinting knife, he turned back around to face them. Again, he reminded her of Lucius, the same dance present in his widened pupils.
“I have to talk to Legba first,” he explained. “Souls that have moved on can visit us, but to visit them, we must ask his permission. Though you could probably manage on your own,” he said, winking at Morrigan, “I like to respect the old ways.”
Morrigan nodded, stepping back to give him space. She sat on the floor behind him, assisting Libraean so he could follow suit. They both waited in silent reverence as Anubis knelt at the crux of his altars. The candlelight dimmed as he began to chant, the chamber reverberating with the low baritone of his voice as the heavy presence she’d felt earlier returned. The whispers floated about until they were directly in her ear, causing the hair on her arms to rise as if the world had been plunged into an early winter. Anubis’s chanting grew louder as he sliced his palm, letting his blackened blood splatter Legba’s edifice. He added a sprinkling of rum, the droplets agitating the candle fire with a hiss.
Libraean gripped her hand once more as the spirits of the dead filled the room, though she knew he could not see them. Dozens of faces studied her curiously, coming so close she could see inside their hollowed eyes. She realized they were trapped in the spaces between the realms, unhappy with their existence, recognizing she was the one who once helped such souls. Soon their moans and wails drowned out Anubis’s voice and Morrigan felt pressed on all sides, their presence suffocating her.
There is nowhere for me to take you, she tried to tell them, but she couldn’t speak, searching for Libraean’s hand amidst the pressure. Instead, she grabbed another one, realizing it belonged to Legba, who pulled her up out of the swirling mire of spirits.
“Come, Mama Snake, you are needed elsewhere,” he told her as he whisked her into the darkness. She shut her eyes instinctively against the wind as he sped her forward, opening them only when she felt his hand let her go.
She blinked, abruptly accosted by searing pain. She looked down to see she was sitting in a large copper bathtub. Her lower half throbbed, swirls of blood and afterbirth on the surface of the water. Incense drifted sleepily through the air as the sun streamed in through the window, drawing streaks across her face. Although she was in pain, she was wrapped in warm serenity. She looked down to see two babies asleep on her chest, peaceful and still, their little heads sweet and warm as she took turns kissing them.
“Do you want me to help you to your bed?” her sister asked as she crouched down at the side of the pool, sweeping her long dark hair behind her.
“Not quite yet,” Morrigan whispered, perfectly content to lay there with her babies for as long as she could.
Isis smiled, emptying a jug into the bath and releasing the scent of lilies and honey into the air. “Have you decided what you will call them?”
“Anubis,” Morrigan said as she kissed the baby with a tuft of dark wispy hair, “and Horus.” She kissed the one who looked hairless, white fuzz on his head.
“They are beautiful boys,” Isis murmured, running her fingers over their little arms.
“I know you probably want to hold them, as they will soon be yours. I just cannot bear to let them go just yet.”
“Take as much time as you need,” Isis assured her. “I have surrounded this entire building with magic—not a mortal nor god will find us here.”
Morrigan closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation of her little ones’ skin on hers. Her heart screamed that they should remain there, for that is where they belonged, two souls created out of her own body, brought into the world through her pain. But her mind told her differently, pulling up tears from the depth of her soul and threatening to shatter her to pieces.
Isis came up behind her to put her cheek against hers. “Do not cry, sweet sister. You will see them again.”
“You might have to bind me when you take them,” she whispered sadly, though it felt good to have her own twin so close. “I do not think I can give them to you without a fight.”
Isis turned her face and looked her in the eye. “Nephthys, this decision is still yours. You do not have to give them to me. We can find another way. Perhaps we can hide all of you from Set.”
Morrigan shook her head miserably. “If I keep them, they will always be in danger, even when they are grown. He has to believe they are yours—it is what we decided. I cannot be selfish. I must do this for them.”
“Then sit in this moment and enjoy this time with your sons,” Isis said firmly. “Do not feel as though you are being rushed.”
Morrigan gratefully obeyed, closing her eyes to listen to the sounds of their tiny breaths as she leaned back into the bath. A distant crow pierced the morning sky with its guttural croon. Confused, she opened her eyes, wondering how a crow had found its way into Egypt’s skies. She looked down at her babies, holding them tighter as she sat upright, staring at Isis. “Who are you?” she demanded.
Isis smiled. “Do not worry, Morrigan. I am not Discordia. You are in the Middleworld, a place where she cannot reach. You created this memory as you arrived here; I only slipped in to play the part.”
Morrigan continued to search her emerald eyes until she arrived at a realization. “You are David’s lover.”
“Well, technically so are you,” she said pleasantly as she shifted back into her common visage, the curvaceous youth with freckled skin and blonde hair dusted with rose. “But yes, David knows me as Gaia, holder of one of the three pieces that make up your sister’s soul.”
“I came here to help Anubis and Libraean speak to Jacob’s spirit,” Morrigan suddenly remembered. “Why am I here?”
“It is more important that I speak to you,” Gaia explained. “For I must tell you that David has been cast into Hell—Tartarus, if you will. I do not doubt his strength, but it has been weeks since he’s resurfaced. I fear he may be trapped and need your help getting out.”
