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.''
''I,'' intones the dark god. ''Precisely. I, and only I. The rest of you will be long gone while I continue to preside over the eternal dead. And thus I will endure, until the stars wink out and the very last trace of heat ebbs from the cosmos and there is nothing but eternal icy nothingness. Here, in my realm of souls, I will outlast you all. You may burn brightly now, great Ra, but you cannot burn forever, whereas I in all my coldness and restraint have countless eons ahead of me.''
''So you do not care, is that what you're telling me?'' says Ra. ''You do not care about family or happiness or peace in the world?''
''Why? Why should I? Eventually, in time, I will have no family left. Happiness is a fleeting emotion and, in my judgement, overrated. As for peace in the world, it is a figment, an illusion, a desert mirage. Unattainable. Humans fight. It is what they do. What they do best, moreover. Even if by some miracle you were able to stop the Pantheon's quarrelling, humans would simply find other justifications to hate and kill one another. There would still be wars, waged for reasons of money, philosophy, skin colour, territorial gain, any or all of these.''
''Perhaps the wars would not be so intense, or so continuous. Perhaps there would be periods of relative calm. Lulls in the bloodshed.''
''I doubt it.''
Ra tries a fresh tack. ''So you will not intercede between Osiris and Set, and you do not see the point in peace,'' he says. ''At the very least, would you consider looking a little more kindly on your fellow gods? I know you hate all of us-''
''Not all, Ra. You, for example, I am merely indifferent to.''
From Anubis, this is tantamount to a declaration of love.
''I'm honoured,'' says Ra. ''Still, what I'm asking is-''
''Could I try not to resent my relatives quite so much?''
''I'd be happy if you could manage it with even just one of them.''
''Which one, though? Not Osiris, the hypocrite. Not Isis or Nephthys, those deceitful shrews. Horus? Huh. There's nothing to Horus. He's hollow, a thing of bluff and bluster. And as for those wretched children of his…'' Anubis mimes a shudder.
''That leaves one person. Set.''
''Him?'' The god of the dead sneers, and his teeth are many and they are sharp. '''Daddy'? Him I would find it hardest of all not to dislike.''
''You're similar in many ways.''
''That would be why, then. Ever heard of magnets? Aligned alike, we repel each other.''
Ra heaves a sigh. His third attempt to bring about a change of mood within the Pantheon, his third failure. It's useless. It really does seem that his quest is futile. Perhaps he should simply give up. Doubtless that's what Thoth would counsel. Maat too. Wisdom is knowing when you're defeated.
Then Anubis says, ''Try not to be so downcast.''
''Is it that obvious?''
''Your light has dimmed. I can almost bear to look directly at you. You're aware, aren't you, that unusual events are occurring on earth?''
''I've been somewhat preoccupied. What events are these? Tell me.''
''In the place they call Freegypt. Look there. What do you see?''
Ra is the sun, the ever-open eye. Ra gazes down in rays and beams, and the world lies spread out below him, laid bare, and he sees into every corner of it. He focuses his attention on Freegypt, where no member of the Pantheon holds sway, the land where their worship arose and where by mutual agreement they leave no tread. A birthplace for all, a home to none. The empty nest. The tiny speck of territory that reminds them of their origins and of how far they have come.
Freegypt's entire history, its recent past, what has happened there during the last few days — in an instant Ra perceives it all. He takes it all in. He observes and comprehends.
''Ha,'' he says. ''Ho. Interesting.''
''Is it not?'' says Anubis. ''A small but significant shift in the status quo. I only noticed it myself when a handful of Freegyptian souls appeared in Iaru. Unbelievers always make their presence felt when they come here. They just aren't expecting it. I sense their startlement — like an itch in my extremities — though it soon subsides as they adjust and fall to work alongside their fellow dead. These ones, however, were killed by Nephthysians. They bore the mark of Nephthys's ba on them, which naturally made me curious. Investigating, I learned the whys and wherefores of their dying, and that led me to discover the desecration of temples belonging to Wepwawet, Sobek and others, and thence to the existence of this man calling himself the Lightbringer.''