—The Sibylline Oracles, circa 30 B.C.E.

Translated from the Greek

Milton S. Terry, 1899

1

Sekhmet, daughter of the sun, Lady of Slaughter, crouched high above Rome, looking out at her new terrain. Her body quivered with anticipation. It had been so long since she’d had a true form, so long since her strength had been more than a shadow.

She remembered the day the Nile had turned crimson, when human blood had first filled her hands, her mouth. She remembered the beauty of her task. Kill the betrayers, her father had told her, and she had done his bidding, until Ra forgave them and betrayed his daughter.

He flung Sekhmet into nothingness, gathered his human children into his arms, and soothed their fear, kissing them and singing to them, while his daughter suffered.

The goddess had barely survived, fading with the passage of time, the sacrifices made by her few remaining priestesses growing smaller and smaller until she was fortunate if a rabbit was killed in her name. Ra forgot her, grew ancient and frail, and fled the bloody, joyful, rageful earth for the sky.

Egypt forgot her.

Everyone forgot her, except Cleopatra.

It had been three thousand years, more, since Sekhmet had felt so strong. A queen as her worshipper. A queen laying waste to the world on her behalf. A queen set on fire. The heat of the flame had brought Sekhmet back entirely. It was as though she dwelt in Ra’s eye again.

But Cleopatra was invisible to her now, gone somehow beneath the earth to Hades, the dwelling place of the Roman dead. Sekhmet was banned from the Underworld, and in any case, there was no blood there. The goddess could wait for her servant to emerge, but still, she needed sacrifices.

Her father had promised her things, but he had never given them to her. Now Sekhmet had only the tears she’d shed after her father’s abandonment. Those tears had created seven companions for her loneliness. Seven shining children.

She’d given them names, one by one as they were created, each stronger and more beautiful than the next. Plague and Famine, Earthquake and Flood, Drought, Madness, and Violence.

The goddess looked down over Rome. There were so many bodies there, and all of them would be her prey. She’d destroy their temples, destroy the places their gods received sacrifices, and take their worship from them, whether they believed in her or not. They would ask her forgiveness, but she had no forgiveness for humans.

Gods were meant to destroy.

Sekhmet stretched her arms and pulled the quiver from her back, glorying in her newfound strength. It had been thousands of years since she’d seen her children. They’d weakened along with her, but now, fed by Cleopatra’s sacrifices, fed by the fire in the arena, they strained for release. She could feel them humming. She had strength enough only for one thus far, but there would be time. She would see the others again.

She removed the first of her Seven Arrows, feeling it shudder in her hands as it woke. It opened its glittering eyes, and the goddess looked into them, welcoming it back from its sleep.