Ra arrives with trepidation. It is never easy to predict what sort of mood his thrice-great-nephew will be in, but the safe bet is it won't be a good one. Added to that, Ra has a perennial dread of the realm of the dead. He spends half his time voyaging through its bleakest, blackest regions, and its lightlessness distresses and repels him. It is everything that he is not. He shines; it overshadows. He is filled with life; it is oppressive. He gives; it takes.
Anubis, on his throne, looks up and sombrely assesses his visitor. He squints somewhat, Ra's inherent radiance irksome to his gloom-adapted eyes.
''Great Ra,'' he says, and something in his tone of voice tells Ra that — miracle of miracles — Anubis is actually not displeased to see him. His mien is a few notches below its usual level of grimness. He is, by his own glum standards, almost jovial.
''He Who Belongs To The Cere-cloths,'' says Ra, ''I'm here to-''
''I know why you are here,'' says Anubis. ''I know of your self-appointed peace mission. We all do. Talk amongst the Pantheon has been about little else of late.''
''Then that spares me the effort of a lengthy explanation.''
''I confess I am slightly surprised you did not come to see me sooner.''
''Really?''
''I occupy a unique position,'' says Anubis. ''To all intents and purpose I am the son of Set and Nephthys. However, it's common knowledge that my real father is Osiris. My mother visited him in the night, he mistook her for Isis, and I am the bastard product of that adulterous union.''
''It has never been proven…''
''It has never been admitted, which is not the same thing. Osiris refuses to accept that he could have been so careless. My mother adamantly denies that she would seduce another woman's husband. Their efforts to cover up the whole sordid business are as strenuous as they are ludicrous. But dignity must be preserved at all costs, mustn't it?'' Anubis barks a laugh. ''Really, though, it's pathetic. How can Osiris not have known that he was lying with a woman other than his wife? Mind you, he has to say that. Otherwise Isis would doubtless see to it that he was going around with a pair of wooden balls to go with that wooden cock of his.''
''You blame him solely for the indiscretion? Surely Nephthys must bear some responsibility too.''
''Oh no, I blame her equally. She was no less guilty.''
''But my impression,'' says Ra, ''is that you don't hate your mother as much as you do Osiris.''
''Your impression would be erroneous. I hate her. I hate Osiris. I hate my adoptive father, dear old Set, who feigns not to be aware that I am not his blood son and yet still holds me at a distance. I hate all of them for their lies and their hypocrisy. I decry everything they stand for. And now you have come here to ask me to heal the rift between them, to act as the glue to reunite my true father and my adoptive father. Because, nominally, I belong to both Osiris and Set, I ought to be well placed to prick their consciences and bring them to the negotiating table. Am I not wrong? That's what you're after? That is the task you wish to enlist me to carry out?''
''You are not wrong,'' says Ra.
''So why did you not approach me earlier? You have spoken to Osiris and Isis and to the First Family. Why me now? Why was I not top of the list?''
''I…'' Ra hesitates. ''I would have solicited your aid sooner, had I not believed that I could discharge this mission on my own. I did not wish to burden anyone else.''
''But you have failed so far, and this is the next step, talking to me. An act of desperation, one might perhaps call it.''
''No.''
''How am I not supposed to feel second-rate, though? An afterthought?''
Anubis, thinks Ra, is sensitive when it comes to feeling wanted. Like many a child of dubious parentage he is insecure at heart, forever afraid of rejection. His brooding demeanour masks fragility. I must tread carefully.
''One avenue of approach has proved unsuccessful,'' he says. ''This fresh direction, which I was initially loath to take for fear of troubling you, may yet be the one that bears fruit.''
''For fear of troubling me?'' Anubis's grin looks very much like a baring of fangs. ''Or for fear of me?''
''O Chief Of The Necropolis, Lord Of The Hallowed Lands, He Who Stands Guard At The Head Of The Bier…''
This litany of epithets is begun by Ra on a note of protest. Then he realises he is not being honest, and did not Anubis just now state his abhorrence of dishonesty in all its forms?
So, with humble straightforwardness, he says, ''Yes, I do fear you. I cannot deny it. I wish it were otherwise, but it isn't. I am the sun, light, life, and you — you are not.''
Anubis nods, approving of Ra's plain speaking. ''We cannot all be alike, or sympathetic to one another. It would be boring and absurd if we were. But alas, Great Ra, for all your most welcome frankness, I'm afraid I must decline your invitation to help. And before you remonstrate, let me explain my reasons why. Come.''
They go to a balcony high in the palace, from which vantage point nearly all of the realm of the dead lies visible before them. Iaru, the Field of Reeds, stretches as far as the eye can see, an endless glittering green expanse beneath a low, thunder-purple sky. The souls of the dead are hard at work down there, ankle-deep in the marshy water, million upon million of them. Bent-backed, they plant and sow. They wield hoe and scythe. They reap and gather. Some of them sing toil-songs in thin, high voices. The sound drifts up to Ra's ears like the warbling of birds in a far-off forest, and it speaks of contentment and certainty. For all eternity the dead will labour here among these reed-beds. For all eternity they will watch seeds grow to shoots and the shoots become crops to be harvested, and they will never tire of the endless repetition of the process. For the dead, the cycle of life will never lose its fascination.
''What do you see?'' Anubis asks.
''You know what I see. Your realm. Your subjects. The ever-growing ranks of mortal souls.''
''Ever-growing,'' says Anubis, seizing on the word. ''Indeed. With each new arrival my kingdom expands and is augmented. Moment by moment, Iaru gets larger. Its bounds increase and so does my power and influence. I am the lord of all this. Do you not understand what that means?''
Ra looks blank, deliberately.
''You don't, do you? Neither did my real father. Osiris had the chance to be ruler of the dead. If Isis had not resurrected him and breathed life back into him, he would be here now, at my side if not in my stead. He still insists he is god of the netherworld or some such, but it's an honorary title at best. He claims some form of authority here, but in truth he has none. For him, the soft comforts of wife and hearth and bed are far preferable. Osiris is a sensualist. The solitude and austerity of this existence, which I find congenial, he would find unbearable. Little does he realise what he has passed up.''
Anubis gazes out over Iaru, a tiny spark appearing in each of his black, black eyes.
''When it comes down to it,'' he says, ''there is only death. Death is all that is and all that ever will be. In their lives, mortals struggle and compete, but when it's over they all of them wind up here, the same, united in co-operation, subject to me. I am here for them, after their bodies have crumbled and failed. And like their bodies, the world they live in is frail and finite. It will not continue to support them forever. They ruin it and ravage it, and a day will come when it will no longer be habitable. Centuries from now, perhaps millennia, the human race will dwindle and sputter out like a spent candle. So then which of us gods will still be around, as the dregs of mankind breathe their last and expire? Which of us will still have any power? Who among the Pantheon will remain, once mortals become extinct?''
Rhetorical questions, but Ra supplies the answer nonetheless. ''You, O Anubis.''
