Ani and Me

In another life, I was a historian. Some days, when rain weeps from turbulent clouds and a chill stirs the palm trees, I picture myself sipping tea before a roaring fire. I'm usually wearing a powder-blue cardigan and velvety leggings. The tea is sweet jasmine steeped with rich honey—and a generous splash of coconut rum.

As I sit before my fire, I chat with people long since passed. Book lovers might recognize this genre as Bangsian fantasy. Pharaohs are my favorite when the old gods are busy, but Ani is welcome anytime.

I always see him as a bit prissy. His real human-hair wig gleams as he tilts his head, a frown marring his features. “You’ve got it all wrong, Fefe. The soul is made of multiple parts.”

“Like a horcrux?” I ask, hiding a smile behind my teacup.

His lips purse. “I don’t know what that is, so… no. The soul is made of five core parts.”

He raises five long, graceful fingers, and I lean back in my chair. I love discussing the soul, no matter the religion, but ancient Egyptian has a special place in my heart.

“The first is your Ib, your heart.” He covers his chest with his jewel-clad hand. “It holds your emotions and intellect. Anubis weighs it against the Feather of Ma'at at judgment. Of course, if you’ve not done your deeds, you get eaten.”  

I choke on my tea, the rum shooting down the wrong pipe. “Eaten? That’s a bit extreme.”

His eyes narrow. “So is being a dick in life.”

“Touché. Please, continue.”

He straightens his beaded collar, clearing his throat. “Second is the Ka. Your life force. Your essence.”

“Your vibe.”

“Yes.” He smiles, his teeth worn by years of eating stone-ground bread. “The energy that flows through you. Next is the Ba, which you have plenty of.”

“Um… thank you?”

“You're welcome. It's your unique personality, free to move between the tomb and the living world.”

Euphoria fills me at the thought of soaring through the clouds, watching the world shift below. Time no longer a burden. “I know the next one.”

He rolls a graceful hand toward me, crossing one leg over the other. “I would hope so. You wrote a book about it.” 

An anchor weighs down my grin. “I did. It’s your shut. Your shadow.”

Darkness flickers along the edge of my vision. A face with rotten teeth and a pure heart dancing out of sight. Her rich laughter sends chills racing across my skin.

Ani honors our silence, waiting for her to slip back into the liminal space where she waits for me.

“Your shadow,” he repeats, the fire dimming. “And what is our last component, my dear friend?”

Moisture gathers along my lash line. Memories of loved ones I've lost mingle with the burdens that compelled me to write this heartbreaking novel.

The phantom wail of my daughter echoes through the room.

A sound I’ll never hear in this lifetime.

“The Ren,” I whisper, and Ani bows his head. “Our names.”

“And what happens if your name is lost?”

Thunder shakes the walls of my library, and the fire dwindles to glowing embers.

Ani fades from sight, and my sanctuary dissolves. His black eyes are the last to vanish.

I hold his gaze, whispering the answer that fueled the novel I love so dearly.

“So is your soul.”

F.N. Reinhardt