Bloodline: The Cult of Anubis (Pt. II)

The next day, Qatil awoke early in the morning. A faraway trumpet announced the opening of the town market. Chickens clucked in the courtyard of the temple. A few priests were already repeating their morning chants as they crouched in the dust.
Beside him lay the temple prostitute he had been given after last night’s ceremony. After this night, he was to have no more contact with women.

The time they had shared had been awkward. He was inexperienced – and she had been bored. Lying with men had long-since ceased to be a pleasure for her and had instead become a chore. No doubt her family had sold her into prostitution in order to pay off some debt to the state. He wished her no ill – though he did wish he had been able to avoid the entire embarrassing episode altogether. The sunlight lit upon her face. She couldn’t have been any older than sixteen.
Unaware, he had put out his hand to stroke her hair. The girl awoke, startled.

“I apologize, sacred consort. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She half-smiled and stretched. “I don’t mind. I am sorry that you’ll be joining the priesthood.”

Surprised, he started. “Why?”

“You're gentle and sweet.”

He blushed, not sure what to say. It was a simple religious rite… yet it felt like it should have been deeper. A communion unshared with others. But this girl would never get a chance to become someone’s one and only woman. More likely, when she got older, she would end up a sacrifice or a slave.

“Thank you. You are… also... a very nice woman.”

She laughed, a tinkle of glass. “I am a whore.”

He winced. “You’re still a person… a… a…”

“I’m just a whore. But you’re very sweet.”

She kissed him. “I almost wish we’d met under different circumstances,” she stated bluntly. Then she stood, wrapped her gown around her slender form, and walked away into the already-warming air.

He sat there for a while, wishing he could do something for her. But then, with a sick thud, he remembered his initiation. It was today! He girded his loins and stepped out of his goatskin Initiate’s tent. He repeated the words of his oath again, making sure he had them all memorized.

He stood before the entrance of the temple. For good luck, he drew a charm in the dust with his foot. Then he knocked on the huge brass door. The words boomed back from inside.

“Who seeks to crawl in the dust before Anubis?”

Trying to sound brave, he yelled back. “I, Qatil the Initiate.”

“And why should we let you inside his sacred home?”

“I am the one who makes 40, the sacred number. I am the one who sacrifices my will for his. I am the one who was chosen by his priest. And I am the one who seeks to mingle blood!”

The door swung open. There, he was embraced by High Priest Kalut and kissed on the forehead. The other priests bowed before him. He was dressed in the sacred robe and brought into the room that last night had been a place of death. Anubis stared forwards over his head, impassive.

Qatil prostrated himself before the image. The High Priest recited the rules of the order and the great myth of Anubis, the jackal-headed god. Then came the culmination. The well was uncapped right in front of Qatil, releasing a stench of rotting corpuscles. The sacred bowl was lowered in a woven net, down into the blackness. Then it returned, filled with filthy liquid.
Repeating the oath, Qatil brought it to his lips and drank. The priests lifted their voices in exaltation, welcoming a new servant of the god.

Later that night, he was visited by Anubis himself.