Free Hand of Isis by Jo Graham Page B

Cleopatra will take the best care of it.”
    She stopped in the shadow of the statue, one hand tracing the smooth carving of the knee, dwarfed by its height and weight. “Is that true, Cleopatra?”
    My sister raised her chin. “I don’t know that I would be able to do everything, but I would try. I don’t think the others will. Great Lady, I promise You that I will try!” She leaned forward, and I saw all of the passion and intensity in her face, all of the will that I knew she possessed.
    Isis turned, only Her hand still in the stream of moonlight, pacing as Cleopatra did when she worried. “Three hundred years ago, Ptolemy Soter came to this land. In that day, the Black Land was without a king, the line broken and the heirs slain, with no Horus to come forward and lead the people. He came with Alexander, who swept through like a cleansing wind, scouring the shadows that had gathered. But it was not Alexander who was truly Pharaoh. To be Pharaoh, you must Come Forth by Day.” She stopped, turning, and we heard Her voice out of the darkness. “The gods of Egypt offered a bargain to Ptolemy. He should keep Our enemies from Our door, and We would aid him. We would grant to him all of the powers that should go to Horus by right, and he would be Pharaoh in truth, Horus returned. But with the powers came the responsibility. If he would be Pharaoh, if he would be Horus, then he must guard the Black Land with his very soul, and he must seek no other treasure.” Her eyes lit on me, glittering. “And what do you think he did?”
    I swallowed, but the answer was in my throat. I had known it forever.
    Cleopatra said it before me. “I think he made that bargain gladly, Great Lady. And I think he fulfilled it all his life.”
    She nodded, and Her smile was like balm. “He did. And since that day, the House of Ptolemy has ruled as the rightful pharaohs of Egypt. Eleven times Horus has descended to the Gates of Amenti as Osiris, and reigned in the world beyond. Eleven times the heir has ascended into daylight, Pharaoh of Egypt.” She raised a hand to forestall Iras’ argument. “Not that the succession has always been smooth, or that the heirs of Ptolemy have loved one another with true affection. But the line has not broken, and neither has the sacred trust. Until now.”
    “With my father,” Cleopatra said.
    She nodded. “Pharaoh is in Rome, the puppet of rich men, while his children slay one another. He bargains with his throne, hardly knowing what he does. If he sells Egypt to the Romans, there will be no more Pharaohs, and no more of this sacred trust. It will be as it was before Alexander, when the Persians ruled, and all that has been achieved, all that might be, will wither away.” She stepped forward again, and the moonlight lit Her, the lines of Her face graceful and young. Like us She had the long straight Ptolemy nose. “You are the children of Alexandria, born of Ptolemy’s stolen fire, and you do not know how rare the peace and freedoms you enjoy! In most of the world, men are killed for believing something different from their neighbor, or for having skin or eyes of a different shade, or for wanting something different in life. You do not know, in your innocence, how rare it is, how precious, this city where all of the peoples of the world mingle, and where anyone can believe what they will without fear. You know her beauty, her wealth, but you do not yet know her true treasures.”
    “I do,” Iras said, and I started. Her voice was clear and strong. “I do. Alexandria’s treasures are her ideas.”
    “Her freedom,” I said.
    Isis looked at Cleopatra.
    She answered, her voice low: “Her people.”
    Isis nodded. “And that is the core of it. To rule the Black Land, you must love her. From Alexandria Queen of the Seas to the cataracts of the Nile, from the scholars and poets to the farmers in the fields, you must love her. Can you do that, daughter of Ptolemy?”
    “Yes,” she said, and it seemed