Creatures of Light and Darkness

ANGEL OF THE HOUSE OF FIRE

Upward stares Anubis, seeing death.

Death is a black horse shadow without a horse to cast it

Anubis stares, gripping his staff with both hands.

“Hail, Anubis, Angel of the House of the Dead,” comes a voice rich and resonant that sings through the great Hall.

“Hail,” says Anubis, softly, “Master of the House of Fire-which is no more.”

“This place is changed somewhat.”

“It has been a long time,” says Anubis.

“Quite.”

“May I inquire as to the state of your health these days?”

“I find it to be quite stable, as always.”

“May I inquire as to what brings you here?”

“Yes. You may.”

There is a pause.

“I had thought you dead,” says Anubis.

“I know.”

“I am pleased that you survived, somehow, that deadly onslaught.”

“Likewise. It has taken me many centuries to return from the place unto which I was cast subsequent to that foolish use of the Hammer. I had retreated beyond space as you know it a moment before Osiris struck with the blow which smashes suns. It drove me further than I intended to go, into the places that are not places.”

“And what have you been doing all this time?”

"Coming back."

“You alone, Typhon, of all the gods, could have survived that fiery falling.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Set the Destroyer, your father, died in that battle.”

“Aieee!”

Anubis covers his ears and closes his eyes, letting his staff fall to the floor. The cry that rings through the Hall is a soulsearing thing, half human, half animal, and it hurts to hear even that portion of it which he does.

After a time, there is a mighty silence, and Anubis opens his eyes and lowers his hands. The shadow is smaller now, and nearer.

“I take it that the Nameless was also destroyed at that time?”

“I do not know.”

“Then what of your master, Thoth?”

“He abdicated as Lord of Life and Death, and retreated beyond the Middle Worlds.”

“I find that difficult to believe.”

Anubis shrugs.

“It is a fact of life, and of death.”

“Why should he do such a thing?”

“I do not know.”

“I wish to go to him. Where may he be found?”

“I do not know.”

“You are not very helpful, Angel. Tell me, now, who is running things in the absence of my brother, your master?”

“I do not understand what you mean.”

“Come now, dog-face, you have lived long enough to appreciate a simple question. Who controls the tides of the Power?”

“The House of Life and the House of the Dead, of course.”

“Of course, indeed! And who is the House of Life these days?”

“Osiris, naturally.”

“I see…”

The shadow rears again, grows larger.

“Dog-face,” says Typhon, the shadow of a horse rampant, “I suspect conspiracy-but I never slay on the basis of suspicion alone. I feel, though, that all is not right. I’ve a dead father who may need avenging-and if my brother has been wronged, then blood shall burn for this, also. You had need to answer me quickly and without much forethought. You may have said more than you intended. Now hear me: Of all things, I know that you fear me most. You have always been afraid of the shadow of a horse, and for good reason. If this shadow falls upon you, Angel, you shall cease to exist. Utterly. And it will fall upon you, if you had aught to do with those things of which I disapprove. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, mighty Typhon. Thou art the only god whom I worship.”

Then springs Anubis, with a howl, a glowing bridle suddenly in his right hand.

The shadow of a hoof passes near him and he falls to the floor. The shadow falls upon the sparkling, silver bridle and it vanishes.

“Anubis, you are a fool! Why did you seek to bind me?”

“Because thou hast made me to fear for my life, Lord!”

“Do not arise! Do not move a muscle, else you shall pass into nothingness! The only reason you could fear me is if you bear a burden of guilt.”

“This is not so! I fear that thou mayst misinterpret and choose to strike on that basis. I do not wish to pass into nothingness. I sought to bind thee in self-defense, that I might hold thee until thou hast all the facts. For I confess that my position makes me to look guilty upon the face of things.”

The shadow moves and falls upon Anubis’ outstretched right arm. The arm withers and goes limp.

“You will never replace that arm which was raised against me, Jackal! Craft on a new one and it, too, will wither. Put there an arm out of metal and it will refuse to function. I leave you only a left hand for your mischief. I shall find the facts-all the facts-myself, if you bear the guilt I now think you to bear, I will be judge jury and executioner. No bridle of silver nor reins of gold can stay Typhon, know that. And know that if my entire shadow pass over you, not even dust will remain. I will return to the House of the Dead one day soon, and, if aught be askew, a new cur shall rule here.”

Fire begins at the edges of the black silhouette. It rears as if to strike once more, the flames flash bright, and Anubis is alone on the floor of the great Hall.

He stands slowly and retrieves his staff with his left hand. His tongue darts forth redly, and he staggers to his throne. A great window appears in the middle of the air, and he regards the Lord of Life through it.

“Osiris!” he says. “The Devil lives!”

“What mean you?” comes the reply.

“Tonight, there was the shadow of a horse come upon me.”

“This is not good. Especially when you have sent forth a new emissary.”

“How do you know this?”

“I have my ways. But I, too, have done this thing-for the first time-and it is my son, Horus. Hope that I can recall him in time.”

“Yes. I’ve always had a liking for Horus.”

“And what of your emissary?”

“I shall not recall him. I should like very much to see Typhon attempt his destruction.”

“Your Wakim-who is he, really? Who was he?”

“That is my affair.”

“If-somehow-he is the one I think he may be-and you know who I mean-call him off, dog, or there shall never be peace between us, if both of us survive.”

Anubis chuckles.

“Was there ever?”

“No,” says Osiris, “since we’re being candid.”

“But the Prince has actually threatened us, for the first time, threatened to end our reign.”

“Yes, this twelve-year past-and we must act. We’ve centuries, he’s indicated, ere he’ll move. But move he will, for he always keeps his word. Who knows, though, what he has in mind?”

“Not I.”

“What has happened to your right arm?”

“The shadow fell upon it.”

“And we shall both of us go in this manner, beneath the shadow, if you do not recall your emissary. Typhon has changed the picture completely. We must contact the Prince-seek to bargain with him, to placate him.”

“He is too clever to be deceived by false promises, and you underestimate Wakim.”

“Perhaps we should bargain in good faith-not to restore him, of course…”

“No! We shall triumph!”

“Prove it by replacing your arm with one that will work!”

“I shall.”

“Good-bye, Anubis, and remember-not even the fugue works against the Angel of the House of Fire.”

“I know. Good-bye, Angel of the House of Life.”

“Why do you use my ancient title?”

“Because of your unbecoming fear that the old days are upon us once more, Osiris.”

“Then call off Wakim.”

“No.”

“Then good-bye, foolish Angel, most fallen.”

“Adieu.”

And the window is full of stars and power until it is closed, with a left-handed movement between the flames.

There is silence in the House of the Dead.