Nubukha has asked me for my shroud for the third time in as many days. She says it must be washed. She begs me to eat, to sleep, to bathe. What need do I have for such things? She’s been nagging me for weeks, ever since I arrived. She swears that I will die if I continue like this. What else can death take from me? Osiris is gone, his wicked brother has taken the throne, my kingdom and all its prosperity dwindles more and more each day. I ran for days, looking for anyone who knew anything about where my husband's traitors took his remains. Now I find myself concealed like a timid cat in a laundress' hut. What is something so simple and permanent as death to me?
Anubis, my husband's son and my protector, sits quietly in the corner of the room, watching me with his keen canine eyes. Nubukha's son Adom toddles up to him, shaking a yarn doll. Anubis is still and silent, always so still and silent. He frightens Nubukha, but not the baby. Perhaps because for Adom, death was not so permanent. Two weeks ago, he was killed by one of the scorpions Ra allows to protect me, and empathy forced me to pause in my search for Osiris’ body and restore him. His mother had wailed in a way that was far too familiar, because such strangled sobs had all-too-often escaped my own mouth. Every night, when I dream of my husband's murder, screams such as these wake me and I am frightened...until I remember that I am the unfortunate soul tortured enough to create such sounds. When Nubukha begged me to resurrect her son, with my own tragic loss still so fresh, how could I refuse?
That was the last time that magic flowed through me, like the floodwaters of the Nile, and it restored the boy’s life. Nubukha praised Ra and renamed the babe Adom—meaning "he who receives help from gods.” Anubis seemed impassive about the boy's passing and resurrection, but I know that when he must take the babies, so innocent and small, it weighs on him. His ears had stood at attention as I spoke the magic words, and he seemed relieved to be rid of the boy's soul. Anubis, though he is loath to admit it, is just as fond of the baby as the baby is of him. I know that when Adom truly does die, Anubis, as god of the dead, will welcome him back.
At the mention of my own death, however, Anubis’s attention snaps to me, but his calm demeanor challenges me to consider Nubukha’s words. I avoid his gaze, but with his obsidian glare he demands that I meet his eyes. I do, and Adom laughs, and Anubis' eye line lowers to my midsection. He knows about the baby--my baby.
I knew that I was with child even before I fled the kingdom. Naively, I thought that I could pretend that I wasn't pregnant, that Osiris wasn't truly gone...that I wouldn't have to raise my husband's child without him. Anubis is nothing like his father, Osiris--pretending that he sleeps in Adom's room because he has a better vantage point, and not because he feels connected to the child who slipped his grasp. But Osiris always wanted a child, an heir, and now that he is gone I just want to disappear as well. I can feel my magic getting weaker with disuse, just as I can feel myself wasting from a lack of food and sleep. This is the first time that I've taken notice of how my grief has affected me. I'm withering like grain in the sun, and I'm frightened by my first reaction: apathy. How will they speak of me if this is how I die? Once a queen, now a fugitive in my own kingdom, hiding in a washerwoman's hut, pregnant and widowed?
Osiris never believed that I was one to fade away. When we were young, we'd sneak away from the feasts Ra hosted during his reign as King of Egypt. We'd giggle, and stay in the shadows until we were far enough away, and I'd entertain him with my magic. No matter how old he got, he always looked at me with all the wonder of a child, never a hint of fear. Only once did I ask if I was frightening to him, and he just laughed. By all the gods, I miss that laugh. I remember that he took me in his arms, his endless eyes looked deep into my own and he told me that I was tricky, clever, charming. He said that a woman like me would always get her way, and he'd much rather be with me than against me. "If you can persuade the sun to give you the secret of its brilliance, I am content to bask in your light, my love," he said long ago, on the night of our engagement. He never tried to dim my light, nor did he want me to hide it. Why am I dishonoring his wishes now that he is gone?
I am an enchantress, the wife of the good king Osiris, the Winged Goddess, the Queen of Egypt, and Keeper of the Secret Name of Ra. My love knew that I was an unstoppable force, insatiable to a fault, crushing obstacles until I get whatever I want.
And I want my husband.
I stand, waving off my scorpions and sending them outside to guard Nubukha's hut. I take off my shroud and hand it to her to wash, naked before her and standing taller than I have stood in weeks. She takes note of my condition and goes to draw me a bath. Anubis, having seen that I am no longer anchored by despair but instead by determination, gently puts baby Adom onto his cot and stands as well. He gives me a nod, then walks through a shadow in the corner of the room--back to Duat, the Underworld.
The Underworld is where Anubis belongs, devouring unworthy souls and carrying those of the innocent to eternal paradise. It's his work, the thing that drives him, enforcing justice after life has reached its end.
But as for me, my work in the realm of men remains unfinished. I will find Osiris. His legacy will continue through our child, his heir, and through me--this, I have decided. Just because my husband is lost does not mean I must be as well. He believed I had an imperishable light within, and I intend to shine it on every corner of this wretched world until I find him.