sandrine
She saw the buzzards circling above, but was not afraid like the others. She heard a few weeping nearby, moaning for their mothers, but she knew better than to indulge in such things. She had to save her strength. There was no one coming to rescue them—they had to save themselves or die.
She thought about the day her mother and father handed her over to the future queen, recalling the burns on her skin left from struggling against the men who dragged her from her home. She turned cold the moment they threw her in the cage with the other girls, refusing to show any weakness while they cried. Eventually, the girls talked amongst each other, but she kept to herself. She knew the true reason they were there. Queen Hangbe worshiped the old gods, and her cult hunted for a girl strong enough to bear the spirit of the Great Egyptian Goddess. Most would not survive the process, and those who did would either inherit the goddess’s power or be deemed strong enough to become one of the queen’s personal guards. Her mother had warned her the moment she woke up to her first blood. She knew that Sandrine—Ekhorose, as she was known then—was exactly the sort of girl Hangbe was looking for.
“I don’t need borrowed power. I am strong enough on my own,” young Sandrine informed the queen when she visited her cell after the process. She didn’t care that her body now shook with power; she was still incensed by the way they tied her to the floor, holding her down as the soul of Isis entered her body and found a resting place beside her own soul. Although she could hear the small whisper of the ancient goddess, learning she was far from overbearing or cruel, Sandrine knew she didn’t belong there.
Queen Hangbe was undeterred, beaming down at her as she dabbed her sweaty skin with a moistened cloth. “You will be my first in command and preside over my army. You will have power over the others, whether you approve or not. I think you will decide to use the Goddess’s Gifts. She chose to give them to you.” Then the queen stood, offering Sandrine one last smile before she withdrew, her bright robes sweeping the dusty floor behind her.
I will prove otherwise, Sandrine thought as she drifted off to sleep. Throughout the training that immediately followed, Sandrine never once needed her extra power, and this current time was no different. She would pass this trial like the others before it.
She allowed herself a few more moments to rest under the poor shade of the dust storm, trying to gather enough saliva in her mouth to swallow. The act split her parched lips, but the sharp pain was nothing compared to the ache of her dehydrated muscles, which screamed as she climbed to her feet. She paused to adjust before moving forward, keeping her movements slight and her breathing steady, lest she faint like the girls behind her.
It was not the physical suffering that bothered her—she’d long learned life was nothing but suffering—it was the sounds the others made, and the haunting knowledge that she was physically unable to help them, lest she fall victim to the sun’s hellacious rays herself. She ignored their weeping and focused on her feet, ripped and raw from the harsh desert floor. One step at a time. Step, step, step. Step into the dust, lift your foot, watch the wind take it away. Step, step, step, the steps won’t let you faint.
She couldn’t recall how many steps she took, her vision nothing more than black fluttering patches. But miraculously, she reached the bushes that bordered the village and promptly collapsed. When she awoke, she was inside the compound, aloe vera salve applied to her peeling, sunburnt skin and her blistered feet wrapped in gauze. She shivered with pain, unable to clearly see the woman who squeezed drops of water into her mouth. It was after several days of convalescence that she realized it was once again the queen.
Hangbe was dressed in billowing robes of white, her head wrapped in a matching scarf, pulling at her temples. “Some may think my methods are cruel,” she offered. “But I know what lies outside our village. I not only want to see who can withstand suffering, but how quickly you can heal. I am surprised you have not once used the powers gifted to you.”
Sandrine panicked, wondering if she’d failed.
The queen seemed to read her mind. “You and three other girls have withstood the trials. The rest have died. You will finish your healing and join the other warriors. Though you have not used your gifted powers, I still want you as commander. You are undoubtedly strong without them.”
Sandrine let the memory fade. She sighed, her eyes sweeping the empty shell that was once their training center. Roofless, with only three dilapidated walls remaining upright in the dirt, it was merely a ghost, but she could still hear the grunts and groans of women fighting. She could even smell the sweat and spilled blood, and taste the fresh stew slopped into their bowls. The queen always served the leanest cuts of meat, insisting it was better to grow the muscles and strengthen the bones. It was a great pleasure for many of the women, but Sandrine’s great pleasure had always been the fight.
Was it that long ago that she had transformed her body into a perfect warrior, standing at the head of a ruthless army with the hope of a new world booming in her chest? Her gaze moved across the plain to the capital. Abomey dozed to the sound of buzzing insects and the distant chattering of hyenas, a false sense of security behind the tall mud wall and five foot ditches filled with prickly Acacia branches. It was how the kings maintained their rule—terrifying their subjects into blind obedience, preying on their desire to be protected from the outside terrors. But no one was safe from sacrifice; the kings cared nothing of human life beyond their own.
I have killed too many kings, Anubis had written to her. They tell me he is different, that the kingdom will transform from one drenched in blood money to one that survives off her natural bounty. He created farms to harvest the oil, but he has filled them with slaves. He signed the treaties, but he makes secret pacts with other kings. He promises to stop the sacrifices, but has a harem of ahosi that includes your warriors, and his throne is made of human skulls.
He knows I lurk in the shadows, protected by things he cannot see. He fears me so much that his militia exceeds far beyond any other king before me. No military has ever worried me. I kill the kings just the same. Yet he keeps his ahosi on the front line, sending them into all of his battles. Many of the women do not want to join his army, but they are forced—girls as young as thirteen. They all must disavow men, for in his eyes, they are married to him. When the white men come, he has the ahosi put on theatrical fights to entertain them, scaling giant walls barbed with Acacia, miming hand to hand combat while the crowd cheers them and judges their performances. It is unclear if the winners or the losers are sent to the bedrooms of the guests, but if one of these unions happen to be fruitful, they are swiftly sentenced to death.
It is for this reason that I think his death should be yours.
Most of his letters she’d burned, but this one she’d kept, folded neatly into a small pocket in her boot. It had long since disintegrated, but it became a symbol of her mission. She never questioned how the letters found her, no matter where she ended up, instead relying on the last surviving piece of her human life, given to her by the poor young man she once forced into becoming a creature like her.
She remembered his eyes, bulging out of a narrow face as he searched hers frantically, struggling to scoop air into laboring lungs. His ebony skin had been riddled by pustulous sores, his organs struggling to function, his teeth chattering although he was hot to the touch. “Are you my real mother?” he whispered, delirious, trying to reach out to touch her face.
“Not exactly,” she told him, cradling his head in her lap. “But you are dying, Anubis. You have been kept half-alive by the blood of an immortal creature who wants to steal your power. But I can turn you into a being like me to take away your fever.”
The young man moaned. “My wife…”
Sandrine recalled the emaciated Frenchwoman she’d found, barely alive in his arms. “It is too late for her.”
“Thomas...he is a god,” he gasped.
She had assumed then that he’d reached the point of delirium. “You can save him yourself if you let me save you now. I have to get you off this ship before he returns.”
He had closed his eyes then, his hand resting on her arm. “Please.”
She’d sunken her teeth into his neck, but it was unlike any human she’d ever fed from. His blood was fresh but ancient, like an aged wine, bursting with secrets that threatened to overwhelm her own mind. She saw his life in Egypt, the mother who looked like the soul who lived inside her, the spirits, the dark realms. She heard the angry echoes of the vodun gods she knew from childhood, drawing in to stop her. She let him go, forcing him to pull blood from her neck as she carried him out of the ship and into a nearby cave. She had no time to watch him turn, worried that he’d have no guidance, but an old woman spirit with rich eyes put a hand on her shoulder. “Kill the one who caused this. I will take care of my son,” she promised.
After that moment, it seemed Anubis and Sandrine were tied together forever, two gods who had reincarnated into a larger purpose—to walk the fine line between the wars waged in the spiritual realms and the atrocities created by humanity.
Over time, she observed many reincarnated gods abandoning their human lives completely, remembering their godly ones the strongest, but even decades after Angelique turned her, Sandrine felt tied to her humanity. She wondered if it was because her life as Medusa was fleeting, or that her soul was tied to an older one she had no memory of. Or perhaps, it was what she told Cahira years ago—she came back exactly how and when she needed to, so she could help the humans who depended on her.
In any case, she found the blood of treacherous men to taste the sweetest, and she had been on Lucius’s ship without indulgence for much too long.
She scaled the wall with little effort, slipping around the guards that patrolled the gates. A few torches burned along its borders, but the village was dark, the royal palace not far ahead. Soldiers moved listlessly between the fields and huts, armed with their long knives, some men, some women, all dressed in the colors of the king. She avoided them all as she reached the thick mud bricks of his palace walls, and heard the low rumbling laughter of night guards as they waited for their shift to end. A single woman soldier stood staring out into the distance as if she could sense something.
Sandrine slipped up behind her, silencing her with her hand before she could scream. “I am looking for Iziegbe,” she whispered in her ear. “My name is Ekhorose, and I once served Queen Hangbe.” She ignored the shiver down her back that saying her original name caused.
The woman nodded, and Sandrine gradually released her grip.
The soldier motioned to follow her, taking Sandrine down a long corridor into a room illuminated by dozens of candles. A group of women wrapped in silk lounged amongst pillows, apprehending them with frightened eyes. Being in close proximity with so many humans brought saliva to Sandrine’s mouth, but she pushed aside her hunger.
A petite woman sat in the middle, noticeably older than the rest. Her face was locked in awe as she rose, her skirts a vivid pink, and her hair cropped tightly around lined but soft features. “Are you her?” she whispered.
Sandrine nodded.
Iziegbe took her immediately by the hand, guiding her into another room with hundreds of brightly colored fabrics hanging on the walls. It reeked of scented oils, lavish pieces of jewelry spread out on display.
Sandrine scowled with recognition. “No,” she said. “I will meet him as I am.”
“They will kill you unless they think you are one of his wives,” Iziegbe insisted.
Sandrine grabbed her by the back of her neck, letting the candlelight hit her face so she could clearly see her radiant eyes and glinting, pointed teeth. “Child, I am not afraid of men.”
Iziegbe nodded quickly, her frantic eyes wide. “Follow the smaller hall through the doorway,” she stammered. “He is sleeping, but the warriors surround him.”
Sandrine released her, and she ran back to the others.
Sandrine pulled out the thin knife she kept in her boot near Anubis’s letter. There were only two male guards who lunged for her as she pried open the door, but she snapped both of their necks easily. Their bodies crumpled to the ground as the women guards rose to their feet. They did not lunge, however, backing away from the king’s bed instead.
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.”
Anubis’s soft blue eyes met hers. “Ah, you’ve been talking to Xevioso. He must have gotten back already. He does not like me very much, nor does he approve of my loyalty to the other gods, despite me saving his life.” He took a seat on top of his desk, folding his arms across his chest.
“As a human, I never questioned the concept of the vodun, but after I learned about my past and the other gods, I was surprised to discover how many of them resided in the Middleworld, acting as spirits. They are quite content to stay out of the affairs of others, an entirely autonomous existence centered around the humans that need them. It was strange to me at first, for I have worked peaceably along other gods for eons without question. But eventually, I came to the conclusion that they have lived that way for thousands of years—and who am I to change them? I might have blood ties to them and the people I now serve, but I am Anubis, the guardian of the Underworld, and that is who I will be, regardless of what body I inhabit. If there is no Underworld to tend to, then I will help where I can on Earth until I die. I think you saw that in me, long ago, when you turned me into a blood drinker.”
Sandrine nodded. “An old woman whispered in my ear who you were. When I saw you, I knew she was right.”
A look of sadness flashed over his eyes, though his lips turned up into a smile. “The woman who raised me, Mama Mawu. She died right before the plague came to us.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, his eyes drifting out the window like Morrigan often did. “Perhaps we can make a new class of gods,” he suggested, “ones that both intervene in the lives of humans and in the affairs of the gods.”
Sandrine smiled. “Perhaps you are on to something there.”
“Oh, hello, Sandrine,” Thomas’s soft, melodious voice interrupted. “Has our latest problem been resolved?”
“The human one,” she replied.
“Oh, wonderful,” Thomas said before turning to Anubis. “We cannot go to the temple. Helena says it is filled with guards. Apparently, there was a massive fire at the old plague burial site and people are panicked. Fortunately, this means you are not being hunted.”
“But for how long?” Anubis’s brows furrowed as he put his hands on his hips, contemplating their next move.
“We should wait here,” Cahira said as she strode into the room. Relief washed over Sandrine, glad to see she was still alive.
The liminal crept up sadly behind her, Anubis appearing just as relieved to see him. He went up to give him a gentle hug before holding his shoulders as he stared at him. “Where did you go?”
Libraean sighed. Sandrine was struck by his appearance next to Anubis, his weathered skin still accumulating wrinkles, his white hair growing thinner with time. How strange it must be to have immortal blood flowing through your veins, but to feel yourself age regardless. Although his one eye stayed clouded and unmoving, the one that matched Anubis’s held the knowledge of a thousand worlds. “First, is David here?” he asked.
Anubis shook his head. “He was irate even before I arrived.”
“That is because he was Discordia in disguise,” Libraean sighed. “We have all been made the fool.”
Sandrine’s eyes widened, taken by surprise. It was quickly replaced by anger. “Angelique was here the entire time?”
“Yes,” Libraean told her as Anubis helped him to a chair that hadn’t been ruined by the flood. “I lost you all when we contacted the spirits, but I found Gabriel. He revealed it all to me—that he forced Lucius to drink from him because he wanted to die, that Jesus needed him, and that he held Lucius’s lost memories over his head so he would do it. He told me that the creatures who have overthrown Heaven, the Holy Watchers, are the ones who contracted Discordia to destroy us all. They tried to enlist David to assist, but when he refused, they cast him into hell, allowing Discordia to take over his body.”
“Then that is where Morrigan must be—hunting Discordia,” Anubis realized. “We need to find her immediately. Where is Lucius?”
“He has gone into Hell to retrieve David and Dan,” Cahira told him in an uncharacteristically soft voice.
Anubis looked taken aback. “He has?”
Libraean confirmed his question with a nod. “I think we should wait here until they all return.”
“I don’t feel particularly at ease with my mother out there alone,” Anubis looked out to the tumultuous sea. His eyes traveled back towards Libraean. “Our mother.”
“I can go out and look for her,” Cahira offered, addressing Anubis. “After all, she is my mother too. But before I do, there is something Thomas and I need to tell you about your father.”
anubis
The tempestuous wind had made violence of the sea, but Anubis walked down the shore unaffected, his bare feet sinking into the sand. The squalls that whipped around him roared in his ears, but it was no match for the thoughts crowding his mind. He tried not to think, for he knew all was handled, but the emotion trapped in his throat begged for release.
Before he realized where he was going, his legs instinctively carried him to a grotto, one he hadn’t entered for many years. The steady drip of water was a welcome reprieve from the billowing wind, but the scent of cool, dank earth and stale sea water brought him back to the time when he was human.
He could almost see her silhouette against the candlelight, almost feel her heated breath on his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for yet another intrusive memory that refused to stay buried. Soon the revolting stench of burning flesh bit his nose, tortured screams filling his ears. Too tired to resist, he slipped to the ground, succumbing to the obstinate pull of memory.
It was the moment he turned.
He hadn’t realized he’d died, for it wasn’t unusual for him to visit the spirit world unintentionally. But when his eyes opened to see the three doors and gray walls, he felt disoriented and confused, as if it had been a mistake. The feeling was compounded by the presence of Mama Mawu, who wore a youthful facade of fresh, unlined skin and supple lips as she looked down at him with love in her eyes.
“Why are you here?” Anubis was groggy, unable to lift his head off the stone floor she knelt upon.
“Be still, we only have moments,” Mama told him. “Your body is dying, but your soul will remain.”
Her words confused him until he remembered the plague, the raging fever that had gripped him, burning out his consciousness as he lay helplessly in the French compound among the sick and dying. “Helena,” he remembered, bolting upright.
“It is too late for her,” Mama told him sadly. “You must listen to me, child. When you wake up, you will no longer be human. You will be like the adze, a creature who needs blood to survive.”
His jackal crept forward from the shadows, a welcome familiarity as it settled down next to Mama, its eyes aglow.
“I don’t understand…” Anubis murmured. “Are you dead?”
“Shokpana’s sickness took me long before the woman blood drinker killed you and gave you her blood,” she replied. “Now hear me. When you rise, you will feel a hunger grip you unlike any other. Find an animal to eat so you can control yourself. Return to the village and save as many of our people as you can. There is madness there. King Agaja’s army has swept through, thinking the kingdom weak with death. But the sickness created monsters, which drew the attention of wicked spirits. The humans are being forced to fight them all. You must save them.”
“Wicked spirits?”
“Trust in me, child,” Mama said. “You will see when you rise. Now it is time for you to know who you truly are and what you have left behind.”
The jackal crept closer with no Legba to stop him.
“You will have your answers.” She rose to her feet, stepping backwards with a sad smile. “Until we meet again.”
Anubis tried to move forward to kiss her cheek, but the eyes of the jackal grabbed his attention, shining hematite stones penetrating his own. He gasped as he saw the pyramids of Egypt, heard the shriek of a kite, smelled the rushing black rivers of the Underworld. Every memory he’d ever lost came rushing back to him, assaulting his mind as he staggered, trying to make sense of it all. The jackal’s howl echoed in his mind, finally succeeding in bringing him to his knees. And then the hunger hit, jolting him back to consciousness.
The craving burned every part of his body, demanding submission. His mind wanted to piece together all that had transpired but the thirst was stronger, lifting him out of the sand and catapulting him forward to the plains. He was shocked at how fast he moved, arriving at his destination in a matter of minutes with little exertion. Although it was night, everything around him seemed vivid, as if it had been infused with moonlight though the sky above held only distant stars. He found the herd of antelopes before they had a chance to sense him and he lunged clumsily, hearing Mama’s words as he sunk his teeth into one of the poor beasts, sucking it dry and chucking it aside before chasing after another. The thirst did not quench until the last animal fell to the dirt, Anubis heaving for breath as the leftover blood dripped down his chin.
Then he remembered Helena.
He raced back towards the village, away from his carnage, realizing he’d become like David, like Lucius, like his mother once was. He was one of them—a blood drinking immortal, his past restored and at war with his human present. He was Anubis, the god of the Underworld, but he was also Helena’s husband, and he was just as frantic now to find her as when he stumbled his way to her chambers, dying in his fevered human shell. He heard screaming and the laughter of hyenas before he saw billowing smoke, the entire village ablaze.
He saw glimpses of Agaja’s warriors fighting what looked like beasts obscured by the thick smoke, but he rushed past them all into the French compound. Fire had yet to climb over its walls, but he had to fight through swarms of flies to reach her chambers, the smell of waste and decaying flesh souring the air. Even with heightened senses, he struggled to distinguish between which bodies carelessly thrown across the floor were dead and which were still alive. Skin both light and dark, French and African, all thrown together, dying in a heap of misery. The lack of human dignity made him sick but he pushed on, finding the door to her room still bolted shut. He used his weight to push it open, revealing her laying still on her bed, a slip of arm hanging out of the blanket, her hand already stiff. A dark liquid had dripped through the mattress and pooled on the floor. He rushed to her side regardless, and gathered her lifeless body into his arms.
The groan that escaped his lips sounded otherworldly, laced with a heart-shattering pain that transcended his immortality. He held her to his chest as his body shook, unable to reconcile his sorrow. Mama was right—he was too late. He tried not to picture her on the day they married, how the candlelit grotto brought warmth to her ghostly visage in lacey stays, since she’d refused to wear anything that looked like a formal gown. She’d let her light hair fall loose around her shoulders, twisting around layers of his beaded necklaces.
“We are not following my traditions or yours,” had been her first stipulation when he asked her to be his wife. “No witnesses, no spirits, no recitations. Just you and I.”
He had agreed, letting her plan it all, delighted to see the grotto she found and filled with flowers and candles. It brought a smile to his face that did not leave as they spoke promises to each other, nor when they made love afterwards on the damp, wax speckled floor.
He didn’t want to let go of her now, but he heard a groan behind him and remembered Mama’s instruction. He laid down the disease-ravaged body that had once held his wife’s soul, draping her blanket back over her and kissing where it lay over her eyes.
He went to the heap of blankets across the room to find Thomas, emaciated with painful sores riddling his skin, remembering him now as his dear friend, Thoth. Anubis bit his neck immediately, before his mind started to wonder how he felt hunger where he once felt disgust, letting him fall back before cutting his own wrists as he’d seen others do, dripping blackened blood into his friend’s open mouth.
Anubis fell back to gather his bearings. He wondered how long it would take, but the crackling sound of an approaching fire let him know they couldn’t chance a lengthy wait. He lifted the still unconscious Thomas onto his shoulders, refusing to look back at Helena’s corpse, and hurdled himself out the window of the compound.
The fire raged around the palace, slowly melting the mudbrick and going wild when it reached the straw rooftops. Anubis broke into a run, searching for a place where they could find refuge. He saw the convent still intact and hurried inside. The interior was dark and lifeless, untouched by the outside calamity. He laid Thomas gently down on the ground, and rose to begin searching to see if any priests survived.
“Leave this place,” a haggard voice tried to sound intimidating, but failed.
Anubis saw Xevi’s scrawny frame, barely able to stand. His hollowed face was covered in sores, sweat coursing down his skin. He held a knife loosely in his hand.
“Xevi, it’s Anubis,” he told him gently. “I’ve come back to save those I can.”
“I do not need you to save me,” Xevi insisted, though he swayed where he stood. Sickly yellow surrounded his dark eyes.
Anubis rushed to help him to the ground. “Reveal to me the wicked souls who fight us,” he said.
“Can you not hear their laughter?” Xevi said through chattering lips, though his skin burned to the touch. “They are hyenas, possessed by magic to attack both the living and the dead.”
Anubis frowned. “The dead?”
“The dead have risen to attack the living,” Xevi said, closing his eyes. “The hyenas came to make sure no one is left alive, so the dead can rise again as mindless creatures, able to be controlled by dark magic. Someone has cursed this land.” He erupted, spewing blood and froth onto the dirt.
The sight of it stirred Anubis, the hunger pangs from earlier creeping back into the forefront of his mind. Did it ever cease? he wondered as his eyes drifted towards Xevi’s exposed neck, hearing the sweet song of blood in his veins.
“I will stop them,” Anubis promised, although he’d begun to salivate, his eyes fixed on the throbbing vein in his neck. “But first, I must save you.”
Before Xevi could protest, Anubis clamped down on his neck, releasing his fevered blood into his mouth. Xevi barely stirred. He drank deep before he returned the favor, splattering his immortal blood into the open mouth of his fellow priest.
No sooner had he pulled back than he was interrupted by the largest hyena he had ever seen hurtling into the room. Anubis immediately ducked out of the way, his newly developed speed causing the beast to slam against the wall. It shook off the blow, allowing him time to observe its manic black eyes and gore-splattered fur as it licked blood off jagged teeth. It lunged again but Anubis was quicker, pouncing to land on top of its back. He grabbed its grotesque, cackling head and pulled until he heard a sick, juicy pop. Anubis jumped off, throwing the freshly severed head aside as its body crumpled to the floor. He paused to catch his breath, watching the bleeding lump shrink back to its normal size. Someone enchanted the animals, he realized.
He startled as another beast came stampeding through the door, but this time, he saw Thomas, fully revived, with his teeth in the beast’s neck. It fell, skidding across the floor as it tried to thrash him off. Finally, it stilled, letting Thomas take his fill before he broke away with a satisfied slurp. He stood, wiping hyena blood from his lips. “Hello,” he panted.
“Forgive me, it was the only way I could save you,” Anubis explained hurriedly. “I will tell you everything, but first we must save what is left of the village. Someone has unleashed a curse upon us.”
“Where is Helena?”
Anubis found he couldn’t say the words. Fortunately, the crestfallen look upon Thomas’s face let him know he didn’t need to.
“You villain!” Xevi interrupted, taking them by surprise as he threw Anubis to the floor.
“Please forgive me,” Anubis said, shielding himself from Xevi’s blows. “It was the only way to save you.”
“I wanted to die!” Xevi growled. “I wanted to take my place with the other gods in the spirit world. You have made me a demon!”
Thomas grabbed his wrist midswing. “This is not the time,” he said firmly. “Our village is in ruins. We must stop the walking corpses and beasts before they spread to the rest of the continent.”
Xevi still shook with rage, but he nodded. The three withdrew from the convent and were immediately met with sparring bodies. Xevi did not stay near them for long, disappearing into the mass of fighting limbs. Anubis squinted into the smoke, observing the reanimated corpses in a languid shuffle. One of the creatures paused to tear a limb from a dying warrior, chewing the flesh from his bones as the dying man screamed. The possessed beasts finished off the rest.
“You can control them,” Thomas’s voice came from beside him. “Your power is magnified now. Guide them into the blazing palace!”
Anubis didn’t have to question if he was right. He shut his eyes, picturing his life before humanity. He saw the jackal in his mind—his jackal—its amber eyes glowing and rows of pointed teeth turned up into a snarl. He heard the whispers and groans of the dead filling the air with sludge, slowing down the world with their presence. He watched as a shadow of dread crawled over every face around him—human, immortal, creature—for nothing in this world was absolved of death. It was forever constant, and it was his. He pulled the reanimated corpses towards him, attracting them with the aubergine light that now surrounded him, fulfilling their desire to be guided home.
Anubis focused on the building inferno and pushed them towards its open mouth. They lumbered over willingly, trailed by the hexed hyenas, who didn’t even scream as their fur caught fire. Anubis relaxed only after the last one was swallowed by flame.
“They cannot truly die that way,” a voice said, breaking through his thoughts. Legba had heard his call, standing next to him in his young man visage, his hair still coiled silver around his ears.
“Where were you?” Anubis demanded.
“We were blocked,” he replied. “Shokpana turned his back on us all, bringing plague back to our homeland as revenge. The sickness takes their souls, but their bodies never rot. Won’t catch fire neither. They will be trapped under the earth ‘til you call them again. Shokpana is a blood drinker now. He works for a group that wants to absorb all gods’ powers. He tried to create a death army and intended to use your power to guide them. But Medusa killed him, right after she saved you.”
“Why did she leave?”
“She killed one of ours,” another voice explained. Anubis turned to see the spirit form of Okanu, the god of dreams, dressed in shimmering white robes. His pristine dress was terribly out of place amongst the devastated village. “She is no longer welcome here.”
“After all Shokpana did, you punish her?” Anubis sputtered.
“You should not question our ways,” Xevi spoke up from beside him.
Anubis blinked. “You see the spirits now, too?”
“Of course,” Xevi huffed. “You are not the only one with powers—I have always spoken to them. They just chose you over me.”
“Tell him the rest.”
Anubis’s heart seized. He turned to see an apparition, none other than Helena. Although she had never been much for affection, he rushed towards her, pulling her into his arms. “Forgive me for not saving you.”
She gently drew away. “We will talk, but first Legba must tell you the truth.”
Legba scowled. “It does not involve us.”
“It involves him,” she shot back.
“I want no part,” Legba asserted and with a pop, he disappeared. Okanu followed suit, leaving Xevi the last one standing.
“I want no part of your struggle, either,” he said with a sneer. “I will be helping make sure the living stay that way.” Then he too disappeared.
Thomas approached from the shadows, up to where Helena stood. “Oh, my dear friend,” he said sadly.
“You both are immortal,” Helena observed.
“I could not get to you in time,” Anubis told her, “or you would be, too.”
“I can do more for us in the Middleworld,” she assured him. “I can travel through what is left of the realms and eavesdrop when I need to.” She turned towards Anubis. “There are other blood drinkers besides the one who turned you and the Ancient Ones you left behind.”
“David.” Anubis nodded. “And my brother, Libraean.”
“There are others who have cropped up as a force against you, who are destroying the realms, and who seek to destroy your Egyptian family. You need to find David and warn him.”
Anubis heard crashing and turned to see the last of the structures crumble in the flames. The entire village was lost. “We need somewhere to go until the humans can rebuild. There we can figure out how to contact him.”
“I know a place,” she said.
The memory faded, leaving him in darkness. Anubis rose to his feet, startled to see Helena standing where he once married her, so long ago. They no longer needed candles, two dead things walking around the land of the living.
“You really have been trapped in memory,” she commented softly. “You were lost in a trance for hours.”
“Since they arrived, I seem to be pulled back towards my former life,” he admitted. He fell back down onto the rock he’d been sitting on. The thin stream that once wound through the grotto had split in two, its soothing trickle amplified within the dome of rocks.
She followed suit, sitting between his legs so he could rest his chin on the top of her head as he hugged her. “Did you know Lucius was my father?”
“I actually did not,” she replied. “Apparently there are some secrets even I cannot uncover.”
“What do you remember most? Your life as the goddess Hel or your brief life as a human?”
“So you are not only nostalgic, you are speculative,” she remarked.
“I think I am finished with my human life,” he told her.
“Honey, you have been finished with this life since you got here,” she laughed.
“I am serious.”
She turned to face him, squinting as she studied his eyes. “When this is over, we will find a place to store your body. Then I will take your soul.”
Anubis was surprised. “Is it that easy?”
“I’ve always known how to bring you to the Middleworld,” she said. “I simply waited for you to be ready. You put your people first, and I respect that about you. But I did make a deal with Legba long ago that your soul will belong to me.”
Anubis struggled to find words, touched by the gesture. He’d long accepted her sarcasm and aloofness, they were qualities he liked about her. But this felt like something quite different. He cleared his throat. “Where will we store my body, then?”
She stood and smiled. “When this is done, I will show you.”