“Iamafraid, my lord, but no one should have to be what they are not for another’s sake. Not even a god.”
Anubis tilted his head, the human lips curving into a smile. “You have never changed yourself for another?”
“Striven to better myself, perhaps from something that was pointed out by another, certainly. But changed the heart or truth of me? Never. And I would never ask that of someone else either.”
“A good answer.” He stepped the last bit closer to me, and as I took in his slender but well-muscled human body, I saw that he was nearly as bare as I was and well-proportioned for it.
Everything he wore was gold and white to contrast his black body. The flaps of his headdress hung in front of his shoulders like Pharaoh’s, slightly covering a gold collar. Gold accented the ties of his white loincloth as well, with accents of lapis lazuli in all of his adornments. The blue stood out where it shimmered, though not nearly as much as the helmet’s eyes.
Real eyes again, I realized, not the stones of a helmet, for once my scanning of his body was complete and I looked at his face again, I found the jackal head from before.
It startled me, for this was a beast with the body of a man, yet he was still so strangely handsome. Around his eyes was something that mimicked how we added kohl and other colors toours, yet his appeared to be actual gold leaf attached somehow, making his gaze even more striking. The shimmer of gold I had seen on his forehead, however, was a gold coronet connecting his headdress around his long ears.
“Drink,” he said again, and I found myself relaxing even before he brought the cup to my lips. It was the richest, most flavorful, and instantly soothing chamomile I had ever tasted, sweetened with honey.
I sank more comfortably upon the table, bound though I remained, taking in the frankincense that wafted from him. It was his signature scent, just as calming as the drink, and like the oils used to make the bodies of the dead more pleasantly fragrant to meet their gods.
I was meeting my gods. I was literally staring up at one, and yet I felt a wonderful sense of peace.
“Is this how you greet all those who come to you?” I asked.
“In part.” It was strange now, watching his snout move when he talked, so different from the parting of lips. “Death is always frightening at first, but with it comes your reward for a life well-lived.”
“Not for everyone.”
“No. But those unworthy of me never reach me.”
A chill traveled through my body, but unlike my panic, the remaining warmth from the chamomile soothed it away. I was here, and at some point, he would test me, tempt me, and I would have to prove worthy in how I resisted.
The torches seemed brighter in the room now, as if my willingness to accept Anubis in his true form meant the shadows were no longer necessary. He gave me a bit more to drink and then moved back to the pedestal near my left foot to replace the cup. Then, starting at my ankles, he began to unwrap the linen bindings.
“What are you going to do now?” I asked.
“Prepare you for the journey ahead.”
“In a funerary chamber? But I am not dead.”
“No, but you are traversing death, and the living deserve care too.”
He said it so kindly, so earnestly, all I could do was lie back and allow my unveiling. I thought his claws might nick my skin, but even their faint scratches as he unwrapped me were exceptionally gentle. I shouldn’t be surprised. This was the protector of the dead, guardian and guider of souls. Fearsome though he appeared as this beast who stood in judgment of mortals, the stories always indicated that he wanted us to reach the Field of Reeds and did all he could to lead us there. We alone were responsible if our hearts were weighed heavy.
Unsure what to say or do while Anubis removed the linen strip by strip, I settled in wait of my true trial, allowing the chamomile to do as it should. The careful caresses of Anubis’s skin—fur?—helped ease me as well. If it was fur, it was so soft, he may as well have been covered in the finest linen, more like a cat’s coat than a jackal’s. The occasional drag of his claws was pleasant too. Even with the temperature in the chamber balanced, the more Anubis touched me, the more my skin prickled in answer like on a cold desert night or at the height of pleasure.
Had something else been in that chamomile? No, he said there would be no trickery. But the intimacy in the act of him unwrapping me left my mind and body abuzz. I had been bare before so many others besides Meryt. Pharaoh and his elite. Other dancers. Other slaves. To have a god’s eyes on me as the last of the linen was drawn aside, made me feel naked in a whole new way, as if my soul was what was bared.
I supposed it was.
“I will bathe you now,” Anubis said, “as final preparation for what is to come.”
I understood the significance of undergoing the same cleansing that Meryt’s body had, but the anticipation of such an act by Anubis’s own hands made my skin prickle further, and my cock gave a telling twitch. The only other person who had ever bathed me as an adult was Meryt, and it usually ended with us needing a second wash.
“I will roll you first to wash the back of you.”
The chamomile could only do so much, and I tensed as Anubis did so, manipulating me like a priest would an empty vessel, but by that I do not mean roughly. He moved me expertly, with hardly any jostling or discomfort. Since the head of the table was slanted, to bring me flat, he slid me lower down the table, so my legs bent at the knees over the edge. At least like this I might quell the traitorous heat building in my belly.
Anubis ran the claws of one hand through my tangled hair. I had bathed earlier—not that I would resist this cleansing—and last I’d checked, my hair was still damp. It felt dry now as he dragged his claws through it.
“First, I will comb this for you.”
