by C. M. Sipes
“Rena is my eldest, she is twelve. Soon to be a woman,” Marcella sighed sadly. “They grow so quickly.”
“Do you and Antonius wish to have more?” Samia asked.
“If the gods would see fit to bless us with such a gift. However, I would be content if they did not,” Marcella replied with a bright smile.
Samia chuckled. “Will you be coming to the temple soon? I do not believe I have ever seen you there before.”
“I have not been for some time. I need to go soon though, and give offerings to Isis for all that she has provided,” Marcella explained. “Are you a priestess at the temple?”
“In some ways, I suppose,” Samia replied slyly.
A ray of sunshine poked from behind the clouds that covered it, and Samia winced, seemingly surprised by the sudden light.
“Are you alright?” Marcella asked when she noticed the action.
The other woman offered a small smile. “I am fine. The brightness just caught me off guard.” Samia chuckled lightly. “I should be heading back to the temple, though. I shall see you soon, Marcella.” Samia smiled once more before she turned and began to move through the crowd.
“Perhaps I will come to the temple tomorrow,” Marcella called after the Egyptian.
All she received in reply was a laugh.
“What made you want to go to the temple?” Antonius asked as he and his wife were escorted down the street. They were not going the following day as Marcella had said, but rather three days later due to a few business dealings.
“I wish to give thanks to Isis, Antonius,” Marcella replied slyly.
“And pay a visit to the Egyptian,” Antonius added. His expression was jovial as he looked at his distracted wife.
“She is quite intriguing,” she defended.
“I agree. Although I presume by ‘intriguing,’ you mean beautiful.”
“Oh, you believe so as well then?” Marcella asked innocently, a grin creeping up her face.
Her husband merely chuckled as they approached the temple. Two large obelisks stood erect in the front, one on the left and one on the right, contrasting with the surrounding Roman architecture of the Iseum Campense. It stretched a distance before meeting a Roman arch and joining with it. Through the center of the plaza, on each side of the walkway, sat statues of sphinxes leading up to the magnificent arch. Behind the archway there resided two Egyptian architectural structures, littered with large hieroglyphics, which were lavishly painted to stand out and draw the eye to their magnificence.
“Besides, it has been some time since we paid tribute to the goddess,” Marcella commented after a moment. “We have been very blessed in our lives, and should thank her for such gifts.”
“I agree. Soon we will have to bring Davena and Rena,” Antonius added as they approached the archway.
“Of course,” Marcella said quietly, her eyes fixated on the décor of the buildings. She had always been in awe of the temple’s architectural structure. It was so large that it invoked the feeling of truly being in the presence of the gods.
“Come,” Antonius urged softly. He led his wife through the archway and to the nearby entrance. They stepped through, blinking a few times to adjust their eyes to the slight darkness of the temple.
Priests and priestesses of Isis walked around the room, their shaven heads and kohl-darkened eyes standing out among, the dimly lit area. Soft chanting echoed through the chamber, and incense permeated the air as they moved toward the altar.
“Have you brought offerings?” the priest asked softly, his eyes shut and head tilted back.
“Yes,” answered Marcella, equally as soft.
“Place them on the altar and speak what you wish,” the priest instructed in the same tone.
Marcella did as told and removed their offerings from the basket she had been carrying. She carefully placed the grapes, cheese, and wine on the altar and knelt before it. Antonius followed her lead, lowering himself to his knees as he and his wife bowed their heads.
“Mother of Horus, wife of Osiris, Goddess of health, wisdom, and marriage, I thank you for the blessings you have bestowed on my husband, myself, and our two daughters. You have provided a wondrous life for us, and we hope that you will accept these offerings with the utmost gratitude and thanks. Continue to provide for us, Isis. We are your humble servants,” Marcella whispered under her breath. She could faintly hear Antonius’ prayer, giving equal thanks.
When Marcella lifted her head, her eyes made contact with those of the priest. His eyes seemed to be staring into the distance, yet looking straight at her—intensely. A shiver ran through her body at the force of the gaze, but she patiently waited for him to break his silence and utter something.
In a deep, unfamiliar, hoarse voice, he said, “A great tragedy is to befall Rome and shatter the house of Camelius. The young will lie in red; the old will succumb to orange. Blood will run freely through the streets, returning life to the scorched flesh of the earth, which has been wronged. An offer will be given—accept, and live. Refuse, and perish.” The priest released a breath, his eyes rolling to the back of his head before a strange language flowed off his tongue in whispers.
Marcella was frozen, her eyes wide with terror as she watched the display in front of her, listening to the strange language that she could not understand. She faintly felt Antonius’ hand on her arm, lightly holding it for support. She did not need to look at him to know that he was equally frightened.
The priest’s eyes returned to the normal place in his skull, blinking a few times before looking to Marcella and Antonius with slight confusion.
“You have given a prophecy, Nuru,” Samia said, appearing behind Antonius and Marcella.
Nuru turned his head to look at husband and wife. “You should heed this prophecy. There are not many people who receive such a gift from the goddess.”
“The prophecy is dark,” said Marcella, agitation rising in her voice. “Why should this be considered a gift when Isis seems to have forsaken us?”
Samia offered a sympathetic smile. “She is not forsaking you, Marcella. She is merely seeking to elevate you,” she said softly.
“Elevate?” Marcella asked angrily. “The prophecy spoke of tragedy befalling Rome and dismantling our house. Tell me how she seeks to elevate us?”
“Perhaps she can see that you are resilient. Perhaps she believes you to be like a phoenix, being born from the ashes.”
“High Priestess,” Nuru began, “perhaps you should speak in private.”
Samia looked around the room, noting the contemplative looks they were receiving from the other priests and priestesses. She took note that other patrons to the temple were curiously looking at their group, and nodded to Nuru.
“Would you join me?” Samia asked them before turning and walking toward a door.
Marcella and Antonius carefully followed the High Priestess, weaving through the corridors until they came to rest outside by a glorious blue pool surrounded by reeds and flowers. Various exotic birds rested in the water and the surrounding grass, enjoying the sunshine and warm breeze.
Samia walked toward the canopy-covered seating area that resided by the pool, and took a seat on her couch. The design was beautiful and clearly expensive. The frame was made from gold and gave way to two intricate dog heads that rested atop the legs of the couch. The cushion was white, and Marcella assumed it was likely made from Egyptian cotton and ostrich feathers.
Samia gestured to the other couch that sat across from her own, a low sitting table separating the two. The Egyptian High Priestess clapped her hands, and two slaves appeared a moment later with three goblets, a vase of wine, and a bowl of grapes.
“Please, eat and drink,” Samia said as her own goblet was filled with red wine.
“So, you are a High Priestess?” Marcella asked as her goblet was filled. “You seemed very secretive about it when I asked if you were a priestess.”
Samia twirled her goblet for a moment. “I do not care to
broadcast. I do not do as much as the other priests and priestesses, I merely handle important ceremonies and religious festivities. The others handle the day-to-day proceedings. However, I was present for your prayer and offering.”
Marcella looked at her husband before looking back to Samia. “Did the goddess not like our offering? Is that why she bestowed such a prophecy on us?”
Samia eyed Marcella, her kohl-lined eyes searching Marcella’s hazel. “I believe that the goddess did find your offering acceptable, and that was why she bestowed such a prophecy to you. We cannot change our fate. The fact that Isis has seen fit to give you a prophecy is out of the goodness in her heart. You now know something that others do not.”
“I do not want this prophecy though! Tragedy to befall Rome? Our house torn asunder? Blood running through the streets, scorched earth, and an offer being extended? What sort of person would want such a prophecy?” Marcella demanded. She felt Antonius’ hand on her arm, urging her to calm herself before growing angrier.
But Samia did not seem phased. The High Priestess merely looked at Marcella, her eyes scanning her face intensely and watching her with the curiosity of a cat watching a bird fly above the ground.
“You may not want this prophecy, Marcella, but it has been given to you regardless. Isis seems to believe that you can handle what this prophecy entails and I believe that she is correct in her judgment. Whatever this tragedy is that will befall Rome—for Isis to give warning, the tragedy must be great,” Samia said before seemingly becoming lost in thought.
“I agree. Whatever the tragedy is, it must be immense for such a prophecy,” Antonius said, finally breaking his silence. “I need to go speak with the others, perhaps even seek an audience with Emperor Nero. If such a tragedy is to befall Rome, I must warn them so we may be prepared.” Antonius looked at Samia. “Thank you for your help, High Priestess.”
Samia gave a courteous nod as she watched him kiss his wife farewell and then depart from sight.
“How are your daughters?” Samia asked after a moment.
Marcella drained her goblet dry and held her arm out in a request for more. As the slave filled her goblet, she replied, “They are well. Spirited as usual.”
“I believe you should keep your daughters close in the coming weeks. I do not know when this prophecy is to take fruition, but by the way it sounds, I believe it will be soon. Keep your family close, Marcella.”
Marcella looked at the High Priestess, attempting to analyze the stone-like expression on her face. “Is it all right if I visit you frequently? To seek guidance?”
Samia nodded. “Of course. If you wish to speak to a friend, I will not be opposed to that either.”
* * *
The following two weeks were filled with anxiety for Marcella. She kept her daughters close, and Antonius stayed vigilant in attempting to persuade his fellow kinsmen, other politicians, and military generals that they needed to make sure that the city had enough water and food supplies in case of drought or famine. Marcella paid regular visits to the temple, speaking with Samia and seeking advice, as well as confiding in her as a close friend. Despite whatever was to befall Rome and her family, she was thankful that Samia would be there to turn to if needed.
Marcella also continued to regularly pray and give offerings to Isis, hoping that the goddess would speak through Nuru once more, but to no avail. He remained silent; looking at her with pity at her desperation for more information about what tragedy was to befall their beloved city and her family.
She continued to pray regardless.
In her frequent visits to the temple, Marcella noticed that Samia seemed to become lost in thought often. Her light brown eyes would be holding her hazel attentively as she spoke, and then would seemingly drift away to her own thoughts before coming to rest back on hers. Marcella felt like the High Priestess wanted to ask her something, but appeared to be conflicted.
Finally, after suffering through the same agonizing looks, Marcella’s curiosity got the better of her and she broke her silence. They were sitting in the private area outside once more, drinking wine and nibbling on grapes.
“Whatever it is that you are so conflicted about to ask me, I wish you would just ask,” Marcella said with a raised eyebrow.
Samia smirked and took a sip of her goblet, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “How did you know I wished to ask you something?”
“For the last week that I have been coming here you have been drifting in and out of thought. You also work your jaw when you are conflicted, and your posture tells me that you are aching to ask something. So, do me a favor and ask me before I continue to go insane with curiosity.”
Samia chuckled before sighing and tapping her jaw thoughtfully. She looked at her servants, dismissing them with a wave before beginning, “To ask you this question, I would have to tell you something terribly secret, and I worry that you might die of shock.”
“Oh?” Marcella’s eyebrows rose. “Now I am intrigued.”
Samia laughed lightly. “Marcella, do you believe in supernatural beings? Such as witches, the lamia, mormo, empusa—even the tales of Romulus, Remus, and King Lycaon?”
“Of course. Although, sometimes I believe the tale of King Lycaon is a bit of a stretch,” Marcella replied easily.
“But you believe that they exist?” Samia asked, her eyes intently searching Marcella’s.
“Yes, of course. I do not doubt that they lurk in the night, nor do I doubt the existence of witches or the idea of metamorphosis from human to wolf. The gods have created such things for a reason.”
“What if I told you that I am lamia? Or empusa? Or mormo?” Samia asked curiously.
Marcella’s eyebrow rose before a chuckle escaped her lips. “You? Samia, those creatures are dark, blood-sucking demons who snatch away other people’s children and devour them because they were cursed by the gods.” She laughed once more. “I can assure you that you are no such thing.”
“And if I told you that you were wrong, that the stories and legends were wrong? That they were created by those who could not understand what they were seeing?” Samia asked softly.
Marcella’s jovial mood faded slowly, her forehead creasing in confusion. “You are serious?”
“Indeed,” Samia replied simply as her eyes slowly changed from brown to red.
Marcella’s eyes widened in shock, her mouth opening and closing with unvoiced questions as she looked to the High Priestess. Marcella watched as Samia opened her mouth slightly, showing her the two prominent fangs that resided in her upper row of white teeth.
“How?” Marcella asked softly. “You are a High Priestess. How could the gods have forsaken you so?”
“I have not been forsaken, Marcella. This…” she gestured to herself, “was a gift of the highest order. I have lived for one thousand one hundred and four years as this being.”
Marcella’s eyes widened. “How?” she asked again.
“You wish to hear the short version of my story?” Samia asked as her eyes slowly changed back to brown.
“Of course,” she replied softly.
“I was turned by a Minoan. A noblewoman from Crete who had travelled to Egypt.”
“That…that is impossible. How would she have travelled so far so long ago?” Marcella asked.
“One of my gifts is the gift of flight. However, I am the only one of my kind alive that can do such a thing. There is no word that accurately describes what my kind and I are. But whether you wish to call us lamia, empusa, or mormo, know that within my species I am a Queen.”
“A Queen?” Marcella asked.
“There are many of us. More than you could even conceive spread across this Empire and beyond. We have our own hierarchy of power.”
“And you rule within your species?”
Samia nodded. “There must always be a Queen. She is chosen by the Queen before her, turned, trained, and whenever the maker perishes or vanishes, there is another in line ready to rule. But what makes the
Queens so special, Marcella, is that our blood is passed Queen to Queen only. Our red eyes, the ability to fly, our extraordinary strength, speed, hearing, and smell, mark us as nobility. We are above all others, mortal and immortal.”
“Like the gods,” Marcella whispered in awe.
Samia smiled softly. “I would not say that we are gods, Marcella. We are not above them nor equal to them. But on this land, where mortal men roam, we are superior.”
“What happened to your maker?” Marcella asked curiously.
“She was murdered by a wolf,” Samia said with a sigh. “Her name was Ilithyia. She was only two hundred when she was killed. She and her maker Hili were the weakest Queens in our history to date. Ilithyia was too soft—too whimsical. She loved to travel, which is how she came to meet me when she travelled to Egypt. I was a priestess of Isis. She came in secret to visit the temple because our gods and ceremonies amazed her, but she was aware that she did not look like us, or us like her. So, she stayed hidden. I happened upon her one night in the temple. I could not sleep and decided to go and tend to the altar and offerings to the goddess.” Samia paused. “She could have easily killed me to keep her presence a secret. But, instead, she talked with me. I had no idea at the time how she knew our language, but we became friends and she soon after offered me this gift.”
“Which you readily accepted,” Marcella stated.
“Of course.” Samia smiled softly. “I was given immortality. I could see the lands and its people, live a whole other life.”
“Yet you serve as High Priestess now.”
Samia looked at Marcella, a smile gracing her face. “There is much about my history and those before me, as well as the others of my kind and the other species that exist in this world. For that though, you would have to be one of us.”
Marcella looked at Samia with confusion. “Are you offering—”
“I am offering you immortality and royalty. I understand that you have your husband and children, and while you would never be able to turn them yourself—because your blood must be passed to the next Queen—we could arrange for one of my counselors to turn your husband, and your daughters when they have grown.”