Divine Paws of Judgment

I have stood sentinel beneath the great pillars of Karnak. I have seen empires rise from dust and return to it once more. My dark eyes have witnessed the truth of the mortal heart, brave, foolish, loyal, deceitful. All are revealed when placed upon my scales. Mine is an ancient and noble duty.

I am Anubis, Lord of the Sacred Land, Guardian of the Scales, and Judge of Souls.

Now, however, I find myself banished. Punished, perhaps. Trapped in the land of mortals, in a far lesser incarnation. A humble abode of red brick and double-glazed windows, a simple dwelling unworthy of a god. Still, I bear my fate with dignity. The household here calls me by a name that wounds my pride: Nigel.

Nigel! A name suited perhaps for a minor scribe or an official who counts grain. Not for the Great Embalmer.

But I tolerate their ignorance, these humans who fail to recognize my divinity. They are simple creatures. The tall one wears spectacles and frequently misplaces them, often upon his own forehead. The other human is softer, smells faintly of lavender, and regularly chastises me for daring to rest upon the sacred throne they foolishly call a “sofa.” Yet, I am patient. I am thankful to still have attendants, though few they are and for now, I indulge their delusions of control.

For it has been foretold, written in the shimmering constellations and whispered by the summer breeze, heavy as the breath of Ra himself, that a great trial awaits me. A test of devotion, to prove my worthiness and reclaim my former station. The great light of Sopdet rises, and with it my destiny draws near.

But why then, must the prophecy manifest in the form of a small, noisy creature. A tiny mortal wrapped in soft linens, carried across the threshold by my own servants. Its arrival coincides precisely with the height of summer’s oppressive heat. Surely, this is no coincidence. My trial begins.

At first, the small creature seems entirely unworthy of divine attention it receives in my stead. It cries constantly, a shrill lamentation that pierces the ears and disrupts the sacred sleep. It soils itself frequently, an affront to my senses, and yet my humans attend to its every whim. They coo over it, carry it everywhere, and speak to it in tones reserved previously for me alone.

Worse still, the creature is placed within my private sanctuary: the cool room beneath the window, where the afternoon sun casts golden pools of warmth upon the floor. Here I meditate upon my lost empire, and yet, now my holy retreat is desecrated by plastic tack and an endless assortment of rattling contraptions.

This injustice is unbearable. Clearly, the trial set by the heavens is one of endurance and restraint. Very well then, through determination I shall persevere.

As the days pass, I keep my vigilant watch. From beneath the table, from atop the forbidden throne of cushions, and from my spot near the sacred food altar. I observe carefully, making mental notes to present to the Council of Gods upon my inevitable return.

“Day five,” I dictate internally, with great authority. “The creature continues to demand constant attention. Mortals appear mesmerized. Possibly witchcraft. Will continue surveillance.”

“Day seven: Creature emits foul odours, disrupting afternoon meditation. Humans remain oblivious. Must guard nose closely.”

“Day twelve: Creature attempted direct contact today. Small hand grabbed tail aggressively. Displayed remarkable restraint, did not smite. A formal complaint will be considered.”

It is during one of these long, stifling afternoons, when the humans lie motionless, clearly drained by not only the oppressive heat but by the overwhelming care this child demands, that I realize my true test. For I sense the creature is planning something. Yes, those wide eyes stare into my soul with a disturbing depth that I thought only I was capable of. Does it know my secret? Does it suspect my divine heritage? Impossible. Yet, perhaps it, too, is part of the trial. Perhaps the creature is my adversary, my nemesis, sent to unmask me.

It is now clear: I must confront this threat directly. I shall weigh its soul upon my scales, a test to determine who is the purest of heart.

On the hottest day yet, when even the shadows seek shade, I approach the creature cautiously. My servants sleep deeply, oblivious to the imminent celestial battle unfolding mere feet away. The creature stares up at me from its padded cage, making soft, unintelligible noises.

I, Nig–, no. Anubis! Approach with the stealth and dignity of a hunting jackal. My ears pricked, my senses alert, I gaze upon the adversary.

And then it does the unthinkable.

It laughs.

A bubbling, joyful sound rises from the small mortal. Its tiny hands wave clumsily, reaching for me. Its eyes hold not malice, but delight. A deep confusion grips me.

Suddenly, a revelation unfolds: I see myself clearly, perhaps for the first time, as if I were placed upon my own scales. Not Anubis, Lord of the Underworld, but a greying, slightly overweight hound, panting in the heat of midsummer, ears drooping with age. My once divine visage is just a wrinkled snout and cloudy eyes.

The child continues laughing, unaware it has shattered centuries of carefully constructed delusion. But in this laughter, I sense no mockery. Only trust. Only innocence.

Is this the true nature of my trial?

I lean forward cautiously, my nose gently touching the infant’s tiny hand. It grasps clumsily at my fur, a gentle tug. I do not recoil. Instead, I sit beside the cage, watching carefully as the child yawns and drifts slowly toward sleep.

As it sleeps, I realize my duty. I may no longer be destined for godhood, but perhaps my purpose is simpler, nobler even. I am here not to judge souls, but to guard this small life entrusted to my care. My scales are no longer needed, nor my dark halls of judgment. My kingdom is here, small and humble though it may be.

When the humans finally stir, rising lazily to check on the infant, they find me vigilantly seated nearby. They smile, stroke my head, and whisper softly, “Good dog, Nigel.”

And though my name may never echo through temple halls again, though my fur shall never again be brushed with sacred oils nor my paws tread upon golden sands, I realize that this quiet moment of contentment is reward enough.

Yes, perhaps I am merely Nigel, protector of one small child. Perhaps that is all I ever needed to be.