TODAY IS NOT THE DAY AFTER YESTERDAY

by MC Jude

mcjude@sbcglobal.net

Highlander/Xena crossover.

General story based on the episode WHEN FATES COLLIDE.

Rated PG-13.

I would love to have feedback.


TODAY IS NOT THE DAY AFTER YESTERDAY
by MCJude

The bright light streaming in my window makes it astonishingly clear that it was almost midday. I have just awakened. My first thought is that I had had one hell of a night-before. I wasn't in my bed or even in a bed. I am sitting at a table covered with scrolls with my head resting on my arms. I feel vaguely disconcerted and unsure of my surroundings. When I rise to go to the window, I have no trust in my feet. Usually wine does not affect me this way, and I wonder if I had broken my own rules and participated in some stronger drug. Lot of good it did me, if I ended up back in my room. Confusion is not a state with which I am comfortable.

I glance out on the street and up toward the square. The activity there corroborates the sunlight in letting me know that I have overslept. The citizens of Rome are going about their day-to-day activities without concern for a visiting lecturer who had a bad night before. I am thankful that I had no meetings scheduled. Everything else seems as it should be, until I notice a banner hanging from one of the buildings. I am just a little puzzled as I read it. The banner wears the mark of a Roman emperor, who has died almost thirty years ago, Caesar, Julius Caesar.

I remember that a drama festival is being held in the city; in fact I have tickets for tonight's performance, and feel a little better. Some producer probably wanted to set the mood for a play about Caesar and decided to hang a few banners to promote his work. He certainly spared no expense, or else he had actually found an original of one of Caesar's banners, because it looks completely authentic. I don't have time to contemplate his craftsmanship or showmanship as my empty stomach is crying for sustenance. I slip on my sandals and head for the main square.

* * * *

It wasn't a play, at least in the normal sense of theatrical presentation. It was an artifice. The world as it existed had changed. Time had been turned in on itself and what had happened in the past had been undone. The Fates had been confined and their Loom of Life had been rewoven. Today is not the day after yesterday; it is almost thirty years earlier.

Emperor Julius Caesar considered this his greatest coup. It was much greater than conquering the known world and raising himself to the highest governing position. It was even greater than usurping the gods of Greece and manipulating them in his own image for the citizens of Rome to worship. While Romans were educated enough not to worship him as Emperor, they had been tricked into worshiping his gods. But he had gone one step further; when the gods had all crumbled, he persevered. He waited for his chance and had outsmarted even The Fates. He'd gotten everything he wanted and a little more.

It had been extremely simple, even for someone who had been dead for thirty years. After the fall of the Greek gods, the underworld was in shambles. He could have risen to be its leader, but he had other ideas. Gods had tools that gave them power. He was able to locate the chains of Hephaestus and used them to confine the Fates. Then he personally selected the thread on their loom belonging to Xena and rewove it into the Loom of Life. Everything from that the time he had crucified her on the beach until yesterday had changed. Today when the sun rose, they were both here in Rome; he was the emperor and she was his wife.

Those living in this new world he had created, the way it should have been if he hadn't made the mistake in his young manhood, did not seem to realize that it wasn't as it was yesterday and that today had been created out of Caesar's dreams. Everyone, it seemed, went about their business with the reassurance that, with Julius Caesar at the helm, things would run very smoothly. There was only one problem and he felt confident that it could be quickly remedied. In this version of Rome there existed a High Priestess, named Alti, who seemed as hungry for power as Caesar himself. Still, if he could deal with and beat the gods, a priestess, or perhaps a witch, should be no problem.

He was totally unaware of the existence of a visiting academic who was sitting at a table in the square drinking wine even though he was not completely awake.

* * * *

I work my way though a half-loaf of bread, five dried figs and several glasses of wine, only to realize that my discomfort is not due to hunger and that the wine has amplified it. I know that eventually the alcohol's numbing properties will take hold, but am unsure if that is the solace I seek this sunny morning. Despite my professed desire to hide, I know I that it is my nature to inquire as to what has happened, and that I will not feel completely comfortable again until I have discovered not only what but why. Such investigation is the source of my livelihood. A group of Romans, concerned about the provincial nature of their sons' education, has sought me out from the far corner of the realm to teach their spawn about the ways of my world. I concluded that, since they did not really know what I should teach, I have the opportunity to consolidate and teach the best of the many cultures with which I am familiar. Manipulate the world to my own desires, or at least the world to be seen by future generations of Romans. I also use this as an opportunity to record the ways of the Romans, which is why I want to get it right, and why today seems so
extraordinarily our of synch.

I realize that the answers probably lie in the scrolls in the library of the school where I teach. I need to remain sober to wade through the translations and bad penmanship. Still that will make for a long afternoon, so I stretch out my legs, look around, and slowly eat one more fig.

A horse ridden by a hooded rider dressed in leather races through the square without regard for the population. Still, I am impressed both with the rider's command of the fine steed and the fact that the rider is a woman. She pulls it to a screeching halt in front of a group of men in front of the palace. I do not recognize them, despite my daily lunching in the area; but they have an official look to them. I look up and again see the Julius Caesar banner hanging on the palace. It is one thing for a promoter to have posted such a banner in an out-of-the-way alley, but how did he get permission to hang it on the palace itself. Emperor Tiberius would not have agreed. Unless . . .

The rider removes the hood and her thick black hair tumbles around her shoulders. She is strikingly beautiful. With catlike grace she walks to the side of one of the men and they embrace and lock in a kiss usually reserved for the bedroom. Perhaps it was the wine, but it is only then that I realize that the man is wearing the robes of emperor; but he is not Tiberius and the woman is certainly not Julia Caesaris. Either the drama festival had gotten completely out of hand, or something else had happened. I am about to again blame the wine when I recognize from impressions on old coins that the man is Caesar, Julius Caesar. But the woman is certainly not his wife, who while I had never seen in pictures, was said to be above reproach.

* * * * *

Xena was as he had expected her, as wild in her daily activities as she was in his bed that morning. The reworking of the loom had done an excellent job of eliminating his mistakes and returning Xena to him. Caesar was delighted with his craftsmanship. While one part of him would have preferred to spend the day in bed with the woman who was now his wife, there was also a part of him that was anxious to return to ruling Rome. Xena had no trouble finding activities suited to her proclivity for danger and adventure.

Visiting dignitaries, even if from as far away as the land of Chin, had to be a common event in the lives of the people of Rome. Most returned to their work or their lunches after Xena had rode through the square and would be unaware of what transpired in the palace. Except for the occasional visit by a predatory wild animal or adolescent equestrian practices, Rome was a pretty peaceful place to live. Last year, last month, yesterday, the people didn't remember a difference. No one realized it was because there had only been today.

That part of it bothered Caesar a little. He would have liked to have relived those "good days." He had often wondered what his life would have been like leading, fighting, winning with Xena at his side. They had talked about conquering the world, but he had chosen to do it alone fighting not only without her but also sometimes against her. He had been winning – until he died. Now despite his reshaping the world, he had to be content to live only with the consequences of Xena being on his side without the memories. Still it was much better than the alternative.

He had not had time to consult his astrologers or a calendar and thus did not realize that the day to which his world had been returned was exactly one day before the dated when he had previously died. Tomorrow was the dreaded Ides of March. Still the feeling of triumph in overcoming The Fates did not allow him to even contemplate that possibility. Thus he was content to live life in the moment.

The moment, however, was quickly interrupted when the two visitors from Chin were brutally strangled by the High Priestess who informed him that they were assassins. He did not know whether to be grateful or appalled, and found it difficult to deal with the sexual excitement manifesting itself under his toga. Usually such thoughts of hate/sex had been reserved for Xena. The woman exhibited a power that either had to be cultivated to work for him or dealt with quickly.

* * * * *

By the time I had finished in the library, I felt like I knew Julius Caesar very well. The history of his conquests of the world and governing of Rome are very well recorded. Less is written about the woman, whose name was Xena. She was Greek, a former warrior who turned into a champion of what she called "a better world". Her life was fraught with myths and legends until she is finally tied with the so-called twilight of the Greek gods. Because so many writers seem to have melded fact and fiction, I find these scrolls entertaining but not particularly helpful.

I conclude that what I saw on the square was definitely not a publicity stunt. For both Caesar and Xena to be here, someone must have done some serious tampering with time itself. I have heard stories of this being possible through the use of several, but what I have always thought to be mythological, devices; but have never believed it. Despite the fact that I have lived thousands of years, I contemplate what the loss of the last thirty years might do to mankind and history. What if an event, which could have been a pivotal point in history, was lost in the foreshortening?

When the lack of light makes reading difficult, I decide to attend the drama festival and resume my reading tomorrow. As I had spent the afternoon in the library, I am not aware of what had happened in the palace after I had left. I hear a faint murmur troops massing to march as I made my way to the theatre.

On the street, I pass my friend Joxer and exchange pleasantries. I had met him one night in a tavern when I was telling too many tales written by too much wine. He is employed as a guard at the prison. He had told me that he had a son with a talent for the spoken word and wondered if I could help young Virgil learn to read. I was more than willing to help. Helping one child who wants to learn is far more rewarding than addressing a hall full of those forced to come by their fathers. Joxer and I have become friends. I find him, unlike most prison guards, to be fair and devoid of any sadistic urges. As Joxer shows not concern for the alteration of time, I wonder if I have over intellectualized, but then conclude that his life is too
banal to exhibit noticeable differences. The manipulation seems to have affected the big things not the small.

The featured play is a new work by a Greek writer, a woman. I have read poems by the Greek woman Sappho, who had lived in Greece centuries ago, and found her writing fascinatingly erotic. I secretly hope that his woman's work would have the same effect. It has been a while since I had allowed myself the pleasure of being with anyone; perhaps this would be the night. Politics has been over-seeded by passion.

It has been a long time since I have been in Greece. Since before the time of Alexander the Great, if I remember correctly. There is something that keeps me away. I have always rationalized that my skills and talents were not needed in Greece, that the scribes and philosophers were doing what I did even better than I knew I could do; but that is not the real reason. I feared its gods. Most of the countries on the Mediterranean rim had anthropomorphized their gods centuries ago. It is only on the fringes of the empire where people still worshiped monkeys and cows. Still the Greeks have gone one step further; they have humanized their gods. It is said that Gods walked among them, seducing mortals and fathering children -- toying with mortals for their own sport. I have heard or read all the stories and as I thought them through, I decided that the best course for someone like me would be to avoid Greece entirely. When I heard of the Twilight of their Gods, I breathed a sigh of relief.

I realize that I had been thinking much deeper thoughts than the rest of the audience. The play appears to be a light romantic comedy, the sort one would have expected from a woman playwright. I chastise myself for that sexist comment and commit to watch the play more carefully, just as it seems to get deeper and more complex. It is about more than romance and sex; it was about love. It is a story of someone who looks so deeply into the soul of another that they find something worth dying for. The playwright, a Gabrielle of Athens, seems to have struck a chord of understanding with the audience.

The play is over and flowers are tossed to the stage. The playwright comes to the stage and takes her bows. She is a petite blonde woman with a pleasant smile. I cannot help but notice how the Emperor's wife looks at her; it is as if they were soul mates in another life. Perhaps they were. A look at Caesar's face makes me realize that I am not the only one asking that question.

* * * *

By the crow of the roosters the next morning, Caesar was positive that things were not going as he had envisioned. He had difficulty deciding whether to place the blame on Xena's sudden sexual indifference, on the playwright, with whom Xena had shared a long and intimate appearing conversation, or on the witch Alti, who was now resting in his prison cell. The events of the night had been complex and quickly moving toward out of control.

He sat, head in hands, and watched Xena sleep alone in their bed. He had planned for their life together to be wonderful. The combination of powers, which had long fought each other, would now work together for the glory of Rome. It was just that this Alti, whose life thread seemed to have slipped through connected to Xena's, had some power over his wife that he could not explain. Her evil could change everything.

He had also learned, just before attending the theater, that today would be the Ides of March. The day that soothsayers had warned him about in his past life was today in this life. He had enough confidence in himself, knowing how it would play out, that the he could avoid the situation where he had been killed. He had dealt with fate once; this time he could master it. Still he had not confined the fates and reworked the loom of life just to avoid his assassination or to kill Brutus.

Even with Brutus dead, he would have to deal both with the both the playwright and the High Priestess. Alti's attack on Xena had incited his wife to volunteer to fight and kill her in a public forum. It seemed like a simple enough solution. Perhaps Xena's blood lust would spur other forms of lust. Unfortunately such activities took days of preparation and he would have to deal with sleeping alone until then.

When a messenger, who hid his shock at not finding the Emperor in bed with his wife rather professionally, came to tell him that Alti had implicated the playwright in her plot, he was not sure if this was the source or solution of all his problems. Still he ordered the blonde woman arrested and taken to jail.

* * * *

I receive a message from Joxer to come to the jail. When I arrive he tells me about the High Priestess Alti, who Caesar has imprisoned. Even during her short stay, Joxer has noticed that Alti has a power to read the past lives of others, usually by showing them visions of a past they did not remember. He claims that he arranged with Caesar for me to interview her. Even though I do not believe Caesar would have approved such a visit, I am fascinated by anyone who would exhibit such powers.

I am shocked to learn that the playwright Gabrielle has also been imprisoned as for conspiring with Alti. They seem an unlikely twosome. I also learn from Joxer that Empress Xena has visited both prisoners. He tells me a story about Xena sending a healer to help his daughter when she was ill. I am concerned knowing that it probably didn't happen and the alteration of time is beginning to affect others.

I wonder what would happen to Alti's powers to read a person's past if she encounters the span of the visions of my life. I am not to find out, however, because upon approaching her cell I feel a buzz in my head that marks her as another immortal like myself. I cannot explain this to Joxer; but without a sword, I do not want to encounter this Alti person. I suggest that perhaps I should first talk with the playwright.

My conversation with Gabrielle is as pleasant as a jail cell discussion could be, but not particularly memorable. She wants to talk more about her writing and her feelings about love than about the events that led to her imprisonment. I am convinced she was totally innocent and did not know Alti. She is, however, totally in love, in that way of the Greeks with the Emperor's wife. Nothing good can come of that. I told her that I could make sure that the guard kept her comfortable and that I will do what I can with the Senators to get her released.

On my way out, I pass a new corps of guards who went to Alti's cell and watch as she was led out, uncuffed, as of she were to be released.

* * *

Julius Caesar had lost complete control of the day. Every step he took toward his desired end seemed to result in his being two steps further from it. He had been unprepared for Xena's release of Alti, at almost the same time as he had decided to crucify Gabrielle. The witch had not gone peacefully but came to his room to taunt him further. He knew about the visions she had given Xena, but was unprepared to deal with those she had given Gabrielle. As the two women had been shown the scope of their involvement in the other life, he realized that everything he had done was for naught. Alti's taunts had made him realize that the only solution was to have her kill the playwright. He had no choice, but even that had not gone well. Alti's powers seemed even greater than those of the Fates. Of course, The Fates. . . He once again damned the three women who had chosen to start his new life so near to the Ides of March. So he had to deal with that, too. Killing Brutus was easy. Brutus would have sided with Xena and taken the army with them. They would have been formidable foes. Now, with Xena's execution being conducted in the square and Alti at his side, he was prepared to march on Chin.

He had concluded that as much as he loved Xena, he loved Rome and the power it gave him, more. He would still have almost everything. He was still Caesar, Julius Caesar.

That was his last thought, before Alti, writhing over him in an act of sexual enjoyment, as his Xena was nailed to the cross in the rain, pierced his stomach over and over and over with her knife. As he died, he wondered where he had gone so completely wrong. Alti's cackling was between a laugh and a scream.

* * * *

I return to the library and decide to concentrate on the method Caesar must have used to change the line of time. Time travel has always been a popular topic in literature and often an ability attributed to the gods. I fear that I do not have time to separate fact from fiction. As small things that have happened the last two days create radiate out in enlarging circles on the realm of history, the preservation of the true past becomes more and more problematic.

I opt for the "quick stab" method. Caesar was dead, in the underworld, and if we were to believe the stories, the Greek gods had been killed. The easiest source of manipulating time, for a dead mortal, would be The Fates' Loom of Life. The Romans have a similar trio of goddesses The Morae who lived in a temple near Rome. Perhaps if their "loom of life" could be destroyed, time would return to its correct position as set by the rotation of the earth, its revolution around the sun, and the movements of the stars. I am grateful that the Greeks and Romans do not know as much about the measurement of time as some earlier primitive civilizations I have studied.

I had watched Xena and Gabrielle together and decide that the playwright could help me with this task. I catch up with her as Joxer has taken her outside the city gates and convince her to travel to the temple of the Morae and to destroy the loom. If that isn't the solution, we are in big trouble, but at least in the meantime I can take care of Alti.

The research I did on Alti say that she thrives on chaos. She is a shaman from the northern plains of Asia and has exercised her powers over numerous tribes of amazons. She has powers to show the past and future the laying her hands on people. She is said to be able to practice transmutation from one life form to another and the ability to be in two places at the same time. I doubt those abilities. She is also impossible to kill. I could have told you that. I hope I have the solution for that.

The fact that I encounter, Alti traveling toward the Marae's cave is a very good sign. She must have extracted this information from Caesar before he died. My guess is that she too is planning to rework the loom or perhaps destroy it. This time I have my sword. As much as I hate to fight and kill, it does not mean that I do not. Alti is armed, not only with her lightning quick speed and her dagger soaked in Caesar's blood, but with Caesar's sword. Still I don't think she was expecting a challenge by another immortal.

Drunk with her own power, she had probably taken his sword as a souvenir and not a weapon. She did not realize that it is a symbolic and not a fighting sword. That is a mistake.

She hisses, more like a cobra than a cat, when I appear from behind a rock on the roadway. She knows what I am, but sees me as a gaunt academic dressed in a Roman Toga. I identify myself with the name she does recognize. It is not the name of the guest lecturer, but that of a killer -- Methos. I am, also, the stuff of myth and legend. I see a look of terror even on her face. The fight goes on longer than I had hoped, not only because she is good, but because I am out of practice.

My sword severs her head at the same time that the loom, in which Gabrielle has thrown a lighted torch, bursts into flames. Alti's great powers caused the resulting quickening to be felt for miles. I am most relieved that Gabrielle must think that the fireworks were caused by the destruction of the loom. I would not want to see a quickening coming up in one of her plays.

I realize that the world has returned to the time of Emperor Tiberius and decide that I do not need to know why. Further research might disclose a method that could be used by others turning all of time into chaos. I am content to know that it is fixed.

I watch quietly as they ride away, thinking the world – hell the universe – has been destroyed. They talk of love and fate and things that do not change. I like that. I hope that the Gabrielle writes as many plays as her male Greek predecessors. The world needs more literature.

I laugh when I heard the line about lack of fight scenes. There had been one, a good one; they just missed it.

Today has returned and the next day will be tomorrow.



McJude
January 5, 2004.