Hath No Fury

by Melanie R. Meadors

  Clouds darkened the sky so abruptly the princess stopped short. A terrible roaring noise filled her ears, and fire rained from the sky, as arrows, trailing flames like comet tails, found their targets. The rigging of the ships caught, and sailors and merchants ran screaming, only to be caught by the fiery bolts themselves.

  Burning ships and carts hedged in the princess, preventing her from escaping into the sea. At the far end of the quay, the magnificent lighthouse exploded when its entire fuel supply ignited. Ahead of her…

  Ahead of her, the Library blazed, its thousand scrolls feeding the inferno that consumed the building from the inside out. The princess cried out, running toward it.

  Illustration by KERI HAYES

  The ferocious heat stole the breath from her lungs, driving her to her knees, and finally, the princess felt her linen robes burning, her flesh searing then bursting…

  Cleopatra Auletes, Philopater, Queen of Two Lands, the New Isis, woke, gasping, from a nightmare of fire and loss. Her ships were gone, the Library, her Egypt—

  She clutched at her heart, trying to still its pounding through her ribs. It was only the sound of the hard rain outside, and the biting cold of the salt air that roused her from one misery to another. As far as she knew, Alexandria still stood. The more immediate wretchedness was the weather of Germania, a hell the likes of which she never imagined.

  A slave hesitated by the doorway, shifting from foot to foot in anxiety. The slave smelled like sheep and resembled one, with her bland, pale features and lumpy, wool-cloaked figure. Still, she didn’t seem to feel the cold as keenly as Cleopatra, so perhaps there was truth in the notion that every country’s inhabitants were bred to survive its particular hardships.

  “It is the day, Queen. Our spies have reported that Caesar’s legions in Gaul prepare to invade. It is the day we win or die.”

  “Never call him Caesar,” the queen said. “I took one Caesar as consort and another as ally. Marcus Junius Brutus is an upstart puppy with an unbalanced mind poisoned against me.”

  The slave prostrated herself. “Forgive me, Queen!”

  “Get up, and fetch me hot water. It is not your fault, but not every Roman who leads an army this way is called Caesar.”

  The slave nodded obediently, rose, and scurried away.

  Cleopatra shivered against the bite of the cold, but her warrior’s heart sang. Trusting one Roman was not the same as trusting them all, and she’d always known this day might come. The slave was correct: Today meant only victory or death.

  JUST THREE YEARS BEFORE, WHEN the old woman appeared so suddenly in the desert, the refugee queen had wondered if the crone was some trick of the brutal sun. Cleopatra knew her own death was likely near, either from starvation, or by military defeat followed by execution, so a hallucination was not out of the question. The utter barrenness of the desert eradicated even the memory of Alexandria’s beautiful streets and brilliant society, so there was no place from which the old woman could have appeared so suddenly. Her garments were of a material and color no longer identifiable; perhaps they had once been blue. Her face was as weather-worn as the markings on the ancient monuments, blurred and unreadable after many years of exposure.

  “Hail, Cleopatra, Holy Vessel, Imperatrix, Empress of the lands from Britannia to Parthia. Why do you tarry here?” The cryptic use of nonsense titles and the heavily accented Greek—with a hint of the Medic dialect?—by the old woman confirmed it: A delirium consumed Cleopatra.

  And yet…sometimes gods appeared in visions or dreams. In any case, it would be impolite not to answer.

  “No queen, I,” Cleopatra said. “If you haven’t heard, I’m an exile. My little brother-husband, the co-king Ptolemy, and his scheming priests hunt me like an animal. My sister Arsinoe has fled, waiting to see which of us will win, so she may side with the victorious one. To call me queen of anything at the moment is cruel mockery.”

  The crone laughed. “No mockery; we must discuss how you will tear the world apart and restitch it anew. Your realms will far exceed those of your ancestor, Alexander.”

  The exhausted queen, though well trained in politics and composure, could not restrain a hopeless laugh. “Another time, I would be delighted to help you, sage. But my kingdom hangs by a thread and my people suffer from this uncivil war my brother wages against me.” Though restoring peace to her people was paramount, this last saddened her. Her young brother had always been a favorite of hers, until they ascended the throne, and he fell prey to the poisonous whisperings of his priests. “I have more pressing matters at hand.”

  “Give me a drink of water, and I will explain how that can be changed.”

  The waft of onions and incense filled the queen’s nose and she could hear the wind flapping the woman’s loose garments around her bony frame: The old one was real. Cleopatra shrugged. As beggars went, it wasn’t a bad line; it would be less trouble to hear her than to summon the guards to give the wretch a beating.

  She handed the crone a cup and poured the last from of her jug of water. The old woman nodded her thanks, took a sip, then gazed into the cup. “You will be banished to the edge of the world, triumphant, having had all power in your hands. You will return from that death to reign again. Your realm will exceed that of Alexander himself.”

  “As you’ve said.” The queen’s fatigue threatened to over-topple her. “Enough.”

  “You have powers. Let me show you. If I disappoint, you may take my head.”

  She spoke like a queen herself, to suggest that the younger woman wouldn’t take her life anyway. Cleopatra inclined her head. “You have the space of fifty heartbeats.”

  The hairs on the back of the queen’s neck went up, as if lightning had struck nearby. She watched as the crone’s face became unrecognizable, bones shifting and features blurring and skin thickening.

  The old woman turned into a massive serpent.

  Cleopatra stifled a scream. No fever dream, but a miracle.

  The giant serpent curled up, enjoying the warmth, and then darted, with inhuman speed, at a lizard. The lizard squirmed violently, its tail caught in the great serpent’s mouth. The serpent then returned the lizard to the ground so it could scuttle away.

  A shimmer in the air, then the crone returned to her human form, struggling into her robe. The young queen helped her. “Thank you. I can teach you to do the same. In exchange, you must do three things.”

  “Oh yes?”

  “Make an ally of Rome. Preserve the great Library. Refuse the rituals of the priests.”

  Cleopatra laughed harshly. “If it were so easy to do those first two things, I should have done them already. And why the last?”

  “I have seen that a united kingdom around the Middle Sea is closer to your hand than anyone’s in several centuries. Do one task and the rest will follow. And if we are very lucky?”

  “Yes?”

  “We will see a return of the gods.”

  Cleopatra was not certain seeing any god was a good thing, and the idea of seeing all of them returning was downright terrifying. But yes, she was intrigued. “Very well.”

  “Give me your hand.”

  Without a second thought, Cleopatra extended her hand. The old woman grasped it, and suddenly, the queen’s mind filled with images. She saw

  A race of powerful half-human creatures, some with the features of a snake or a wolf, who walked on two legs. She saw them as actors in a series of quick dramas, working to protect ordinary mortals and slay evil-doers.

  The first, the walking snakes, had bright eyes and sharp fangs, but they healed with their venom, bringing the dead back to life, like Asclepius. They had killing venom, too, like boiling water, that ate the skin.

  The second, the walking wolves, using their long snouts and keen ears to seek out and destroy villainy.

  And there was a third, who took on no animal aspect, but possessed myriad powers. Not drugged girls in caves, but true oracles—those who could communicate with thought—and those with
tremendous luck. These guided the others in their fight against evil.

  She saw the rise of Alexander; he could transform into a hunting wolf. She saw his mother Olympias in the aspect of a snake. Then, too young, Alexander struck down before the world could be united, by some Persian magic, in retaliation for the destruction of Persepolis. A great plague followed, destroying many of the Fanged and the Talented.

  The priests, who saw the Talented as an affront to the gods, kept those who survived ignorant of their powers by drugging them. Behind their obsequiousness, the priests smirked, knowing that their rituals and potions controlled beings of great power.

  The crone suddenly collapsed.

  Cleopatra, reeling from all she saw, eased the older woman and wet her lips from the dregs in the cup.

  The old woman pushed the water away. “Show me you can do as I did. Show me that you can change your form.”

  The queen had always been a quick and clever student, capable of learning languages, mathematics, military tactics, as well as many kinds of physical activities—sailing, hunting, dancing. The idea that she might now have the power to truly protect Egypt and regain her rightful place inflamed her, so she did not hesitate. Recalling the images she saw and the sensations she experienced watching the other woman change, she found that making the metamorphosis was as easy and agreeable as slipping into her favorite shift. She assumed the walking serpent aspect, then the full serpent form, readily.

  Cleopatra Changed back to her human form. When she looked down, giddy from her success, the crone was dead.

  BY THE TIME SHE RETURNED to camp, Cleopatra had formed a plan. She summoned her generals: A small force would escort her to within a day’s march of Alexandria, and then a smaller group would smuggle her into the city, for General Julius Caesar had seized the palace. She hated the notion of having to sneak into her own palace, but she could not enter with the pomp she deserved and expect to live. She had to see Caesar—while avoiding her siblings, their generals and priests—and convince the Roman to take her part.

  In disguise, she listened to the merchants outside the Alexandrine walls to see which of them had an audience with Caesar the next day. Picking the most likely one, she found the tent with his wares, found a place to hide, curled up, and fell asleep.

  The next morning, a gargantuan snake surprised General Gaius Julius Caesar as he inspected the pottery merchant’s wares. As the creature—all glittering black and gold and blue scales—uncoiled from inside the pot in which she had spent the night, he was struck temporarily speechless. Although she knew that he had an abhorrence of snakes that he strove to conceal, Cleopatra hoped the general would believe the appearance of such a creature could only be an omen. With an explosion of dazzling light, the large snake turned into a small naked woman. She glanced up at the general regally, and began to speak in perfect, courtly Greek.

  When he did not answer, she repeated the speech in Egyptian. And then in Syrian, in Hebrew, then the Medic language.

  “You may speak,” she said finally, in decent, if accented, Latin. Truth be told, Cleopatra rather enjoyed the look of amazement the general could not conceal. His strong features and aquiline nose built authority into his face. She suspected it didn’t happen often that confusion shone in his black eyes.

  “Ahem—ah, thank you, er, Queen Cleopatra, for that lovely welcome, and for your condolences on the death of my friend Pompey. I would certainly entertain a discussion of alliance with you—”

  Of course he would consider it. When a god shows up in the form of a serpent and a queen, you pay strict attention.

  And when that imperious queen-god tells you she has a plan to create an empire for you to share, one that will exceed that of Alexander, you do exactly what she says.

  First, however, once the courtesies had been extended, there were details to attend.

  “Your brother? Husband? He’s just a boy,” Caesar said.

  “If ten is old enough to overthrow a co-ruler, it is old enough to die,” Cleopatra replied.

  Caesar nodded. “And your sister?”

  “We shall see,” came the cool answer. She could see him evaluating her as a realist and a strategist. Patient. Cleopatra realized that, since she’d stopped taking the priests’ potions, her insights had grown more acute than ever. She asked, “What is your intent for Egypt?”

  “Nothing but peace and prosperity, a continuation of our long and happy friendship.”

  She held him in a commanding stare.

  “With you as its rightful queen,” he finished.

  It was still not enough. “If we are to be allies, you must fully understand what Egypt is. It is not only grain to feed hungry Roman bellies,” she said, filling her words with all the conviction she could muster, willing him to take her words to heart. “It is not merely a port or a piece of land for you and your enemies to squabble over. It is a kingdom with a pedigree going back to the sun-god, recently rediscovering its ancient powers, as you’ve just seen.”

  Her stare deepened; she could see Caesar was fascinated, unable and unwilling to break it. She knew it was ridiculous for her to lecture him or demand anything of a general at the head of an invading army, and yet…

  “If we ally, you must swear that Egypt shall be mine, and descend to my heirs forever. A friend, as you said, not just a vassal state feeding you tribute. You must swear to protect Egypt and her people. I will no longer have them be pawns in political squabbles. In return, we shall gladly share our bounty of grain and power with you.”

  “Agreed,” was all he could say, and he meant it with all his soul.

  She nodded once, and kissed him on the mouth, an agreement between princes. Inside she trembled: She had now succeeded in two of the crone’s three commands.

  She was also trembling because Caesar was. Their formal kiss had evolved into something much more passionate.

  AFTER THE MATTER OF HER siblings’ defeat and deaths had been settled, the queen received her brother’s priests in the great hall of her palace, with all the courtiers, as well as Caesar and his advisors.

  The priests bowed deeply. “Majesty, it has been far too long since you’ve undergone the purification ritual—”

  “No,” she said in a carrying voice. “I have been given special insight directly from the gods themselves, and new powers, too. I will no longer be following your ‘purification’ rituals. No more potions. No more prayers. I am quite pure enough.”

  “I must warn you, my queen, that—”

  Without warning, the queen hissed as if with the voice of a thousand serpents. Cleopatra began to shake, and she assumed the aspect of a snake-headed creature, covered in the sleek scales of a reptile. And yet she was still garbed in the white linen, golden collar, and the double crown she’d donned that morning, having first made certain the two rearing cobras in the pschent had been polished until their gold shone.

  She had practiced speaking clearly around her fangs. “Do not dare to disobey me.”

  “But my queen—!”

  Hissing again, she struck the priest with a mighty blow. Claw marks appeared in lines of blood down his torso. Two more slashes, and the priest’s body collapsed in two ragged pieces. She gestured to the priest’s remains.

  “You, priests—Achillas and Manetho! Take those with you as proof that I no longer require any priest’s rituals,” she ordered. “Either obey me in this, or pay the ultimate price for disobeying the gods. Any of you who feel I did wrong may leave. No harm will come to—”

  As one, the crowd of attendant nobles and slaves prostrated themselves.

  “Well, that’s that,” the queen murmured. She took Julius Caesar’s arm, and slowly returning to her fully-human form, left the audience chamber.

  IT TOOK QUITE SOME TIME before the retainers dared to raise their heads. They all left without speaking, each deep in their own thoughts. That is what happens when one is in the presence of the miraculous.

  The two priests carried the remains of their collea
gue out of the palace, and dumped the body as quickly as they could. “I’m taking her part,” Achillas said. “Blasphemy or no.”

  The other, Manetho, was still quivering from anger and fear; the blasphemy of his colleague’s murder was so terrible, it was hard to imagine the consequences. “Maybe…I will go back with you.”

  But before they had gone halfway back, Manetho vanished into the crowds.

  Revolution of a kind had begun. He swore to undo it.

  EVEN BEFORE LEARNING OF THE existence of those born to the Talents, Cleopatra had collected gods the way other monarchs collected jewels. It wasn’t piety, or no more than that of the average Egyptian, but a thirst for knowledge. As a descendant of the gods, it behooved her to understand them. But now, with her new knowledge, she had her private scholars fill a secret annex of the Library with references to her Talented kin. Knowing the source of her powers would help protect her people, Talented and mortal alike. Histories of other cultures mentioned shape-shifters. Her scholars studied each of these descriptions and copied them into a set of scrolls known as the Book of Talents.

  But as diligent and clever as the scholars were, they were no closer to determining where the Talented came from. “Gods are unknowable, queen,” they’d say, with as close to a shrug as one dared in the presence of a royal personage.

  Even Julius Caesar, with all his erudition and knowledge of the classics, could provide little help. She took him to the Library, where he was stunned by the extent of the shelves of scrolls, room after room, the greatest repository of knowledge in the world. They expanded their search, sending couriers with instructions to search other libraries and private collections for anything that would tell them about the Talented Ones. They agreed that harnessing the abilities of the Talented, like understanding the rhythms of the Nile, was the clearest path to peace and power.