Amulet of Anubis

Disclaimer: I do not own Sphinx and the Cursed Mummy or Mummies Alive! (But I wish I did…)

Chapter 1: Storm clouds

On an area of rocky waterfront in a wild, untouched part of northern Labrador, Canada, were two canine-anthropoid figures. One of the beings was pacing back and forth, muttering angrily, his hands clasped behind his back. The other was seated on a jutting outcrop of uneven, rain-pitted, lichen-encrusted stone, looking out at the wave broken surface of the North Atlantic Ocean. He was an ectomorphic individual, tall, slim and angular, his fine boned frame covered with lean, wiry muscle. A coat of midnight black hairs covered his sinewy form, so short and sleek it could easily be mistaken for his skin. His long, fine ears were tilled backwards against the whispering, hissing wind. He licked his thin canine lips and tasted salt. A fine mist, made by the waves braking on the shoreline ahead of him, sparkled on his fur, each droplet like a tiny star winking and twinkling against the midnight backdrop of his velvety fur.

A storm was coming; he could feel the difference in the air pressure around him, feel the cold damp in the atmosphere that slowly soaked into his fur, his skin, his bones, he could smell the moisture in the wind. The air felt thick, the sky was grey and overcast, the eastern horizon was dark and thunder rumbled ominously, too distant the be heard by human ears…yet.

The oncoming storm was curtsey of the jackal-headed anthropoid's companion, the pacing, hunch backed, thickset figure below the outcropping. The storm brewer was much bigger than the young man who sat away from him, a foot shorter but heavier with bulky muscles and thick bones. His brownish orange pelt was thick and coarse. He was bowlegged and his arms were slightly too long. He had a major under bite, the pointed teeth on his lower jaw coming up over the upper lip of his almost bulldoggish snout. His eyes were small and dark, and there was an air of un-pleasantry around him.

As it was, the jackal-man was glad his companion was venting his anger out with a storm on the open ocean, rather than taking his frustration out on him.

"I'm getting bored!" snarled the heftier man abruptly. The tall jackal's ears perked up as the dog-spirit momentarily caught his younger comrade's attention. "It's all those stupid mummies faults!" Thunder boomed louder as the storm loomed suddenly nearer.

Putting on a low, thick, dull voice that was nothing like his own, the jackal said with acted stupidity and slowness, "Than why are we staying here? I want to go home."

"We're staying here because I want revenge on the Prince and his Guardians!"

Years of acting made it easy for the jackal to hide his thoughts on the matter, but mentally he sighed, annoyed. Eternity could not change Set.

Oh, Set wasn't exactly 'evil.' He had all of the qualities that defined evil, but he himself was not exactly, precisely, completely, down-to-the-letter 'EVIL.' Set was just destructive, power-hungry, wicked, grudging, jealous, malevolent, spiteful, cruel and all that, but not exactly 'evil' (or so he had been told). Such attributes could be useful and even constructive when given a proper task to do; Set guarded the bow of Ra's ship and had never failed the Sun god. It had been jealousy that had driven him to kill his older brother, Osiris, not evil. It had been greed that had driven him to battle Horus, not evil. It had been resentment that had driven Set to place a curse upon his sister's unborn son… the jackal, Anubis.

Set wasn't wholly evil, but Anubis hated him all the same. When Isis had offered him the chance to wreak havoc on Set's plans, Anubis had gladly accepted. However, he'd spent the last decade trying everything short of slapping Set across the face (-though that wasn't a bad idea-) to convince the god to return to the other side of the Western Gate and stay there.

"Come on," ordered Set, "I'll going to destroy Rapses this time!"

"Of course, uncle," muttered Anubis.

The storm hit.

Set, the storm's master, stayed perfectly dry despite the driving rain pouring down around him. Anubis was soon soaked.

--

"Anubis? Anubis? Wake up."

The twelve year old yawned and sat up, blinking sleepily at Isis, smiling above him. "Hello, aunty," he murmured, rubbing his eyes. He glanced out the window by his bed. It was still dark. "Is it really morning?"

Isis laughed at the boy's slightly stunned disbelief, and sat down beside him. Wrapping her arms around her adopted son's narrow shoulders, she stroked his wild copper coloured hair. He leant his head against her chest, seeking the comfort that only a mother can bring…comfort that Anubis rarely accepted, because Isis was Horus' mother, not his.

"You're growing," whispered Isis, her hand resting between his long ears.

"Hmmm…" He throat vibrated against her breast.

She smiled, "I will have to make you a new kilt to day. That one is too small now… or rather, your legs are too long now…" Her voice cracked, "Oh, Nephthys would be so proud if only she could see you now!"

The boy remained silent.

--

The first rays of sun light peeked over the plateau beside which the little three-room house was nestled. In the main room of the building, Anubis was preparing the dough that would become bread for their breakfast, as he half-brother, Horus, concentrated on getting a fire started in the cooking pit.

Isis watched her son and nephew, smiling, as her hands rested lightly on her loom and Horus' nearly finish cloak. She made it too big, so that he would still be able to wear it in up coming years. She would start Anubis' kilt as soon as the cloak was complete. Both boys were growing so fast; this was the second kilt Isis had made for her nephew this year, and already Horus a hand taller than he'd been at the feast of Sobek.

The boys' laughter made her smile deepen, as her hawk-headed son did a very good impression of Heket the frog. Heket was a good woman, but she was not necessarily a nice woman; she was cranky, half deaf, with poor eyesight and a lot of lungpower. One of her favourite pass times was yelling, at anyone or anything.

Anubis rolled to his feet, and taking a small urn from were it stood by the door, went to fetch their morning milk.

"Horus," Isis called, turning away from her weaving, "Come here."

The twelve year old got to his feet and sat on the weaving bench beside her. "Is there something on your mind?" she murmured.

His golden eyes were troubled and his reply was slow in coming. "It's just… why isn't Nephthys here to look after Anubis?"

"Are you tired of having to share me?"

"No," he amended quickly, "I love you and my brother both very much, but Nephthys is his mother. Doesn't she love him?"

"Yes, she loves him, as any mother loves a son, but she is also afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

Isis sighed and stopped her weaving, "Horus, you are old enough to know that the world isn't always happy or just. Men may murder for the sake of greed. Women may commit adultery if their marriage is an unhappy one that can't be escaped. People steal. Lives are ended.

Osiris and I fell in love from the womb. Nephthys, too, fell in love with Osiris, but I was the older so he and I were married, while she was trapped in her loveless marriage to Set. So she came to Osiris when he was drunk and conceived Anubis. Osiris was not pleased when he'd heard what happened, but he accepted Nephthys' unborn child was his. But Set, outraged that Nephthys would love Osiris over him (a stupid thing to expect seeing as he offered her no love in return), killed your father, Osiris, and cursed her baby. By some miracle, Anubis survived. Nephthys gave him to me, because I was already hiding you from Set. I could hide Anubis as well and our brother would go on believing him dead, like his father. Nephthys is afraid that is Set knew Anubis was still alive, he would kill him. Do you understand?"

Horus nodded sadly, "Yes."

--

Anubis leant against the mud brick house's wall, listening sadly as his past unfolded, narrated by Isis' dusky voice. It was a story he knew all too well, one he'd heard many, many times. He tilted his head back and watched a lonely eagle soar across the azure sky high above.

He wondered what it would be like to fly like that eagle, looking down on the dull earth far below. He could imagine being that high up. He could imagine the cooling air rushing over his face and body. He could imagine the earth far below him… But he could not imagine the sense of spirit lifting freedom. Without that, the idea of flight suddenly lost its appeal.

'Oh, Ra,' he thought, sadly, 'I'm not the lucky one.'

--

PAIN!

Anubis gasped, ripped brutally from the sad memory, as agony shot through his shoulders. Something was wrong with--

PAIN!

The jackal-head god shuttered as more waves of pain broke over him.

Pain!

"Anubis?" Demanded Set, over the howling winds, "What wrong with you now?"

Pain.

The pain in his back faded to a dull, throbbing ache. Anubis straitened slowly. "Nothing," he replied in a tight voice, "I'm fine." The rain cooled his sore shoulders, but the memory was all too vivid.

He had to get rid of Set soon. Something was wrong with the Wall. He looked at the other and asked stupidly, "Aren't we going to go get Rapses?"

If he could get Set through the Western Gate, than he'd be free to repair the Wall and destroy whatever had damaged it.

TBC…