Page 2 of Enslaved by Anubis

I was taken back to the palace to continue on with my day-to-day duties, but I knew it was only a matter of time before I was once again summoned into Ansapata’s quarters. Every day that passed, I was jumping at every sound as I went about the palace. I knew that leaving in the night was not possible; every entrance was guarded, and the temperature in the desert plummeted at night, and I did not have the supplies to make the journey to the next city, Avaris. I would most definitely die within hours of leaving, even if I did make it out.

I knew that my only chance was to get Ansapata to declare me a free woman. The likelihood of this happening on its own was about zero, but if I could coerce him into signing the papers, I could make it out of the palace during the day, and if I was stopped by anyone, I would have the papers to prove that I had every right to be walking around alone.

I was able to smuggle a small blade from the kitchen, and I strapped it to my upper thigh with some palm leaf string. I was biding my time, waiting to be summoned. I knew that it would be a long shot—Ansapata rarely moved around alone—but I thought that maybe, for me, his new pet project, he would make an exception. Then I could hold the blade to his throat and force him to sign me over. Then I would either knock him out or just kill him. It would depend on my mood of the moment. I had certainly had fantasies of murdering the fucker already, but I would have to be smart about it. Killing him would make me a fugitive; it wouldn’t just be Ansapata’s men looking for me, but the pharaoh’s men as well. You can’t have slaves killing their masters and getting away with it.

Unfortunately, my plan was foiled within a day. The palm string securing the knife in place snapped at the worst possible moment. I was carrying water back from the river, buckets in both hands. Guards always escorted palace servants when they left the grounds. Fetching water was one of the only times I was constantly watched and, of course, right then, the string snapped. The blade fell to the ground right in front of the guards. There was no hiding it. My heart fell into my stomach as they looked at the blade and then at me.

I tried to run then and there, but they took me by the arms before the buckets had even hit the ground. They dragged me to Ansapata and told him what had happened. They shackled my wrists and tied me to a post in the courtyard. They ripped the dress from my back as one of the larger guards stepped out of the palace holding a long bullwhip. I took a deep breath as my heart raced uncontrollably.

This wasn’t the first time I had been whipped, not even the tenth, but you never get used to it.

* * *

My shackles are opened,and I am dragged inside. Two slave girls see to my bloody back and wash it off, the red mixing with the water on the white tiles. I am allowed to lie down for no more than half an hour before the guards bring me a new outfit and force me back to work.

I am put on toilet duty, which is just as disgusting as it sounds. Usually, this job would be handed to a field slave, but Ansapata is clearly making a point. The job consists of going around the dozen outhouses of the palace and shoveling the shit out of them. I load the disgusting waste into a wooden box, open on one side, with ropes tied to it. Once it is full, I carry the box on my back to the fields and spread the shit into the dirt to be used as fertilizer.

Every step I take, my back aches in pain. I feel like I am going to faint a couple of times but force myself to continue. The scorching heat makes me sweat profusely as I dig into my twenty-fifth load of the day. The sun is finally beginning to set, and I am looking forward to crashing down on my wooden bed of hay.

As I pick up the box of putrid excrement, a guard signals me to return to the palace. I have never been more relieved. I drop the box on the ground and walk over to the guard, my legs nearly buckling from the exertion of the day. I can feel the blood trickling down from the stinging wounds on my back, sweat dripping into the cuts to add to my suffering.

“Master demands your presence in his quarters,” the guard says with an expression of pure steel.

Oh fuck, not today.I don’t have the fight in me to deal with him right now. My body is broken both from work and torture, and all I can think about is sleep. If I had the chance, I would collapse into a corner outside and sleep until morning. I don’t have the energy to resist Ansapata, but I know that I cannot refuse. Refusal would mean more punishment.

On our walk toward his chambers, I already begin to accept that I may need to concede a little. I won’t let him have me completely, but maybe I need to allow him to see me naked. I know that he won’t take me forcibly; he is the type of man that wants his women to submit to him willingly. Ripping my clothes off and raping me won’t get him off. He will want me to follow his orders as if I can’t resist him or his power. Maybe if I give him a nibble, he will let me rest tonight and I can formulate a new plan for the next time I am summoned.

I am led around the front of the palace, through the main gates. There seems to be some sort of commotion here, though. A dozen cloaked figures stand at the door. Ansapata is talking to them, and he looks worried. The five guards standing behind Ansapata have their spears at the ready, but I can see that they are nervous as well. I am too far away to hear what they are saying, though.

My escort takes me roughly by the arm and leads me to a side entrance. I get a glimpse of some of the figures inside the dark blue robes and see that their skin is completely covered in black and white markings. It looks like every inch of their bodies has been somehow stained with images and patterns. I catch the eye of one of the figures and he looks at me with infernal, obsidian eyes and a fierce grin that reveals his sharpened teeth. He does not even look human; he looks like some kind of... demon.

Once inside the palace, I am led to the slave quarters. He uses a key to open the lock on the door and I see every slave that works in the palace. It seems we have all been collected into one place.What the hell is going on?The guard slams the door shut and locks it behind him.

I’ve basically been a pariah since I got here. I was looked down upon for being procured from a field slave position, and when I refused to do what every other slave girl in the palace has done, I didn’t do myself any favors. They don’t talk to me, but I don’t give a shit. I lie down in my bed and only out of curiosity for what is happening do not fall directly to sleep.

The girls are talking about the Cult of the Dead. I’ve never even heard of such a thing, but apparently, they have been scouring the countryside recruiting men and buying slaves. Their leader is a self-proclaimed god, who has taken over the rule of Avaris, the northern-most city of the Kingdom of Ebkherun. A lot of the girls are worrying that they are going to be sold to the cult because they have heard rumors of the heinous acts they get up to. None of them will say exactly what, but they imply that human sacrifice may even be a part of the cult’s activities.

I find all of the speculation about the cult more interesting than scary. I am already in hell, so if this gives me the chance to get out of here, maybe I will take it. I can’t say that I wasn’t massively freaked out by the appearance of the cult members, but maybe it would be easier to escape a cult with hundreds of slaves than a palace whose ruler has made you his personal mission.

I get tired of listening to the same things repeated over and over and, despite struggling to find a position that does not hurt, drift off to sleep.

* * *

I amawoken by the clanging of the lock and the door opening. I don’t know how long I have been asleep, but I don’t feel well-rested. I am still in a sleepy haze when all of us slaves are ushered out of our dingy quarters back into the palace. Three of the slave girls are separated from the group, and one of the guards takes me by the arm and, to my horror, leads me in the direction of Ansapata’s chambers. I am led past the main entrance and see the two ceiling-high doors wide open. Outside, the Cult of the Dead stands in the setting sun, perfectly still, staring directly into the palace. Their dark eyes are hidden by the oncoming darkness, but I can almost feel their impalpable gazes. I get the sense that something big is happening.

I’m led into the doctor’s quarters. He is pacing around the room, clearly in some sort of panic. He turns abruptly to face me and says, “Strip now, slave.” The abruptness of the order surprises me. I wasn’t aware that I could be surprised by anything anymore. Even the guard seems a little taken aback by his master’s twitchy demeanor.

“Leave us,” he snaps at the guard, and he does so at once, closing the door behind him. “Strip now,” he says. I know that he is on the ropes. I don’t know why he would take this moment to humiliate me when there are clearly more important things on his mind. I do nothing, just stand and look directly at him as he continues to pace.

He finally stops and steps closer to me and in a harsh, throaty voice says, “Strip now, or I will have you executed.”

My eyes widen and I realize that I have to obey him. I have to throw him this little bone. He is too heated; I feel he could actually follow through with this threat in his current state. I bite my lip and avert my gaze from his revoltingly eager face. I shudder as I slip the first strap of my garment from my shoulder. All I am thinking about is how I am going to get my revenge later. I try to remove myself from the moment completely. I imagine myself slitting his throat, seeing the terror in his eyes as he feels life slipping away from him at my hand. I slip the other strap off, revealing my breasts to him. Before the dress even has a chance to fall down, he attacks my breasts with his paws and sticks his lips onto mine. I groan in disgust as his fingers defile my nipples and his tongue slides forcefully into my mouth. I can’t take it anymore and I bite down on his probing tongue. Hot, thick blood fills my mouth as I see his eyes widen in horrified agony. I bite down harder still and feel the slimy muscle come loose in my mouth. I kick him in the groin again and spit the piece of his tongue out of my mouth. He falls to the floor whining in pain, dark blood and thick saliva oozing from his wounded mouth.

I know I have to act fast. I only have one option. It might also be suicide, but if I stay here, I will definitely die. I bolt out of the room, past the unexpecting guard. I sprint toward the main entrance and throw myself down the stairs on to all fours in front of the Cult of the Dead. I take their leader by the hem of his robe, and his inked, patterned face looks down at me with that demonic countenance that would seem terrifying if the alternative wasn’t certain death. I beg him to let me become a servant of Anubis, the lord of the dead. I frantically pledge my allegiance to the cult and the god of the underworld. The man smiles a wry smile, revealing his sharpened teeth, and pats me on the head three times, slowly and methodically. I stay on my knees and keep hold of the man’s leg like it is the only thing keeping me from drowning.

Five guards run out, followed by Ansapata, whose face has turned a greenish pale. The blood stains cover his entire sapphire-blue garment, turning it a dark purple. The blood still flows from his mouth as he slurs the words, “Return the girl!” He speaks with such a lisp that it is almost impossible to understand him, but his accusing finger pointed at me adds the necessary context. I am happy to see that I must have gotten about a quarter of his tongue, but I wish I had gotten more. I want to spit the iron taste out of my mouth, but I am afraid of offending the cult.

The leader of the cult looks up at Ansapata very slowly and says, “The girl stays with us.” He speaks in an accent unlike any I have ever heard before.

“I already gave you three!” Ansapata protests.

Without warning, all twelve members of the cult, in a swift and unified motion, pull out scimitars to their right side—a move that seems to have been rehearsed a thousand times, since it is performed with perfect, symmetrical timing.

I look back at Ansapata and see the fear in his eyes. I start to feel that I am safe. I have been taken under the wing of the Cult of the Dead. Ansapata’s power over me has ended. I cannot help a small smile forming on my lips as I glare into his eyes from my position at the feet of the cult leader.

The five guards surrounding Ansapata look to him for orders because they know that they are outnumbered. Ansapata gives me a look of pure poison, and they retreat into the house without another word, slamming the front doors shut. I now see the other three slave girls who have been handed over to the cult. Their expressions are that of abject fear rather than the relieved joy my face exudes.

The cult leader then lifts me up by the hair and pushes me toward the other girls. We are shackled to one another, both legs and hands, and led off into the night. The adrenaline starts to subside, and my new reality starts to dawn on me. I may be safe from Ansapata, but I am now a slave to the Cult of the Dead. A slave to Anubis.