King Ghezo sputtered obscenities as he watched them quietly leave the room.
He turned his venom towards Sandrine. “You are not him!” he spat. He looked like a sad old man wearing nothing but his undergarments, wiry gray hair twisting around his birdcage chest. It was a far cry from the image his statues and paintings boasted, where he stood regal, draped in expensive fabrics and jewels with a gaudy crown positioned atop his head.
“No, I am not him.” Sandrine smiled.
“I tried to end the trade, but it has been a ruling principle of my people—a source of glory and wealth! I cannot end it just because white men tell me so. The songs of my people celebrate our victories, the mother lulls the child to sleep with notes of triumph over an enemy reduced to slavery—“
“I am not a white man,” Sandrine said dryly. “I am a goddess and an original Hangbe Warrior. I have come to kill you as a service to the women and children enslaved and massacred, I care nothing about your politics.”
“If you kill me, my son will only follow in my footsteps!”
“Then Anubis will kill him. We will continue to hunt corrupt kings for the rest of days. We are immortal, but kings are not.” Then in one swift movement, she slid her knife right into the soft part of his eye, up into his brain. He fell to his knees, stunned, as snakes crawled out from her curls. As soon as he saw them, he petrified, the stone capturing his look of stupefied horror. She wiggled her knife out of his socket, satisfied that even if someone managed to melt her curse, he was left with a brain too useless to live. Her knife was still wet with his blood and brain matter, and she slid her tongue across it, savoring the taste. Yes, she thought with a smile. The more corrupt the man, the sweeter the taste.
One of the women guards crept back in, looking down at the floor where he cowered. “I will tell Glele it is done,” she said with a nod.
Sandrine grabbed her arm, staring straight into her dark eyes. “If the next king does not live up to what he promises, tell Anubis to find me again.”
The warrior nodded, shifting her arm so that her hand wrapped around Sandrine’s, a gesture of camaraderie. “Thank you for your help.”
Sandrine dipped her head in solemn reply before bolting out the way she came, letting the palace slowly awaken to chaos. She leapt back over the wall, landing far from the trench, and paused to delicately tuck her blade back into her boot. Then she took a deep breath, and headed back to Anubis’s home.
Her path was swiftly blocked by a man she hadn’t sensed approaching, causing her to jump back and brace for attack.
“My name is Xevioso,” he said in a deep, graveling voice. “I am a blood drinker, the reincarnation of the god of thunder. You killed one of ours for their war. You are brave to come back here.”
“Shokpana deserved to die,” Sandrine said calmly. “Besides, it was Anubis who summoned me here.”
Xervioso scoffed, rattling his beaded necklaces. “He is an imposter here as well. His soul is Egyptian.”
“He has spent his entire life, human and immortal, here,” she argued.
“It does not matter. You might be born with African blood, but you are one of them—your soul is Egyptian and Greek. You sailed here with Europeans. We are not the same.”
“Does that mean you are against us in our spiritual war? Even though Anubis and I directly offer our aid and guidance to the Dahomian people?”
“The white man’s God does not intervene, he allows. The Ancient Ones do not intervene beyond death. But the African gods are one with the humans and their spirits—we guide, protect, and help them. We do not interfere in the affairs of other gods. Why should we? We exist because our people call it to be so. They take us to different lands, hide us under different names. They keep us alive, therefore we keep them alive. They come first above all else. You must decide which sort of god you wish to be. Anubis has made his choice.”
“So you do not care what happens to them in death?” Sandrine asked. “Because that is what we are attempting to resolve. If there are no godly realms, there is no place for souls to rest.”
“We concern ourselves with life.”
“But death is a part of life,” Sandrine argued. “You would have them be trapped in the Middleworlds, never able to find peace?”
“I don’t expect you to understand our ways,” he said, crossing his arms. “Even as a human, you were more concerned with the physical world than the spirit world.”
“Well, I’m not going anywhere until my task is completed. You’re welcome for killing your diabolical king.”
Xevioso shook his head. “It doesn’t matter how many human kings you kill, they will continue to replace them.”
“Yes, but one day, it will end. And you will have Anubis and I to thank for it.” She turned away, swiftly ending their conversation.
He didn’t follow, retreating into the night as she continued on towards Anubis’s home.
She sensed something wasn’t right the moment she saw the cluster of palm trees that kept the house hidden from view. The magic surrounding it had been dismantled, and the sea was furious, although there was no wind. She broke into a sprint towards the house, throwing the door open to see the interior had been upended by volatile air and water, the floor still slick and water dripping from the ceiling.
Anubis stood at the window, staring at the violent ocean as each wave brought it closer to where the house began.
“What happened?” she asked. “Where’s Cahira?”
Anubis turned to look at her, studying her face. Although worry tensed his jaw, she was reminded how handsome his features were, youthful even with the ancient blood coursing through his veins. It was remarkable how much he looked like Morrigan, though they wore totally different bodies, separated by miles of ocean. “Did you kill him?” he asked.
“Of course, I did,” Sandrine replied, coolly. “Although it doesn’t seem to matter to the African gods.”
Anubis snorted, but seemed pleased by her response. “Good,” he said as he headed into the room closest to the decimated room they stood in.
“What are you doing?” she asked as she followed him. It was an office, Spartan compared to the rest of the house, only a mahogany desk and a cabinet inside four bare walls.
“I have to relocate again,” he sighed as he opened one of the drawers. He gathered a few papers, folding them before tucking them into his pockets. “The safest place for me now is the temple. Glele knows where I live. If he decides he doesn’t want to risk me staying here, he will send his soldiers.”
“What about the others?”
Anubis sighed. “There was an altercation and everyone scattered. My mother left with no explanation, and Cahira and Libraean are out searching for the others. They both have enough power to find us. The temple is comfortable enough that we can wait until we receive word,” Anubis explained. “If Glele does not attack my home, then we can return.”
Sandrine nodded. “What would you like me to do?”
Anubis gave her a half-smile. “You can do whatever you want, Hangbe General. You can enjoy your victory however you’d like—I do think you’ve earned it.”
“I will celebrate when Angelique is dead,” Sandrine told him. “Though apparently, I must decide what sort of goddess I should be.”
