Chapter 16: The Fates

We were into the Crosspath before I actually managed to understand what Mom had just said. And gulped out of nervousness at the idea of coming face to face with the three sisters of Fate. Mom paused when we entered the hub, face expectant as if she waited for something to happen. I stared at her, a deer in headlights certain of my doom while she smiled at me.

"Eve." She looked around. "Do you feel... anything?"

Like what? I shook my head, mute, but not in denial, in confusion. What was she expecting from me? It was only after her smile took on a hard edge and she started moving again I realized she was waiting for the door to appear. The mist door. Did she know about it, past the fact she'd asked me for details earlier? Instead of pursing that line of query though, seeing the door she marched toward looming, I squeaked out another question.

"Why them?" The Fates of all people. All my whininess seemed to be coming out now, in front of her, instead of staying where it was supposed to, deep inside my own head.

Mom didn't seem to care about my attitude, not slowing even a little as she hustled me deeper into the Greek Pantheon arm of the Crosspath. I'd only been down here once, when I was twelve, on a trip with Dad to see Zeus. He'd thought the journey would be good for me but I just spent the entire time with my head down and in the presence of the Greek god's lackeys. While the fauns had been nice for the most part, the strident shouting from his wife, Hera, gave me a headache, her harsh jealousy at his frequent infidelity painfully apparent, even to a child.

There was nothing I could do aside from outright rebellion at this point to prevent our journey, so I did my best to keep up and try not to worry too much about meeting the Fates. I'd heard rumors from my siblings about how horrible they were, and even Tulip and her centaur parents didn't like to talk about the three female entities that filled the roles. Their doorway appeared far too soon, unmistakable as the chattering, whispering entry looked like a constantly weaving loom.

It opened for Mom, though I heard a soft hiccup from the threads as I passed through and wondered if that boded ill. I have no idea what I was expecting from the Loom realm, but the amazing tapestry of reality woven from visible threads wasn't it. This time I did resist, not out of concern but shock and awe and delight.

Every single thing, from the soft grass to the sky and clouds, to the tweeting birds and trees and water, all of it was woven from multihued string, connected together by thin filaments that seemed to wind and turn and twist together, the whole of the realm one long, powerful thread. My eyes struggled to focus past the woven appearance of a soft, white rabbit that bounded past, dragging a string behind him, the way the sky appeared so close I could touch it, almost like a linen canvas, but impossible to reach. I turned on my heel, following Mom who didn't look around or appear to even notice how incredible this place was. Likely because she'd been here before.

As fearful as people were of the Fates, their realm was amazing.

The entry to the Loom realm followed a wooded path, shaded from the sun created from sparkling threads. Even the shadows under my feet, cast by the trees and my own passage, had that tidy hatching of stitches that baffled my vision with its impossibility. I was so intent on observing my surroundings, taking in the incredible nature of the Loom, I didn't have time to be afraid or allow my anxiety to reappear, not before Mom pulled me to a halt in a shadowed grove and spoke.

"Moirai," she said, "sisters Fate. I come for audience." She sounded like saying those words pained her, and from the faint crumpling around her lips, the way her eyes tightened, Mom had a serious issue with asking anyone for anything, let alone for an appointment. I winced and wondered if this was a good idea.

The glade had been hemmed in by trees so thick, their boughs so deep not a trace of light entered from above. Only the flickering fire, dancing with the weaving and unweaving of threads to make the flames, cast any illumination. A giant loom, its wooden structure carved with creatures and people and nature scenes so detailed I found myself lost in its story towered over us. The constant click, click, click of the flying shuttle moving of its own accord across the warp and weft of the tapestry unfolding. I looked closer, peering into the cloth and saw, in an instant, the entirety of Creation being born before my eyes.

I almost missed them because of my attention, drifting closer to the edge of the massive structure. The flicker of their appearance was ample distraction I paused and looked away long enough to realize we were no longer alone.

They stared at my mother with furious eyes, hunched and bitter, elderly women in wrinkled robes of linen. In the presence of their anger I found myself hurrying further to the side of the glade, preferring to stare into the constantly moving cloth of the Loom rather than giving them any focus. It was so much easier to pretend the Creation being woven was our reason for being here, not the conversation I was forced to overhear as the Fates spoke.

"Isis." The first Fate's voice rang with her unhappiness, rich and deep but with the promise of youth and spirit. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Clotho," Mom said, matching the Fate's vibrancy with her own. "Thread spinner."

The second snarled her frustration, her voice deeper yet, more aged and filled with wisdom. "You intrude where you are not welcome," she said, her wizened hands waving at Mom as if to shoo her off. None of them seemed to have noticed me yet, much to my relief.

"Dear Lachesis," Mom said without an ounce of her own welcoming perfection lifted from her tone. "Thread measurer."

The final one sighed in frustration, turning her back. When she spoke, hers was the graveled voice of an ancient woman long past patience. "Leave," she said. "Life is not welcome in the Loom."

"And yet, beloved Atropos," Mom said without a hint of irritation, "thread cutter, without Life, the Loom would cease to weave."

The third Fate grunted. "What do you want, then, Isis? What trouble do you bring to the door of Fate?"

I had a feeling things were about to get messy and, quite likely, would involve me. After all, why else would Mom bring me here? I eased closer to the tall, thick stand of the Loom, tucking into its shadow, almost touching the tapestry emerging and doing my best to keep my focus there and my fingers to myself. Even I knew better than to mess with the Loom. I might have been a disaster, but who knew what interfering with the clattering shuttle would do to Creation? I shuddered and held very still, now afraid to breathe. Still, maybe I could hide here long enough for Mom to get what she wanted and escape without catching the attention of the Fates.

"I'm here about Eve." Mom didn't move, gesture for me, nothing. But from the way the Fates reacted she might as well have dropped a bomb in the middle of the Loom and walked away.

"Do not speak her name to us." Lachesis hissed at Mom, flapping her old hands in my mother's direction. "You know better than to bring mention of that abomination here."

Abomin... I swallowed the hurt down and stared harder at Creation's threads weaving, weaving. I'd been called worse by my siblings, hadn't I? But never by total strangers. Any anger I might feel, however, was crushed by their overwhelming disgust and horror.

"Eve is sixteen," Mom said.

"She should have been drowned the moment she emerged," Atropos growled. "Or, better yet, never conceived." Did she not care I was standing right here? My jaw tightened no matter my own empathetic reaction to their violent revulsion. For the first time I registered my own feelings bubble up in retaliation. I inched closer to the Loom, cheeks on fire, hands in fists at my sides and stared deep into the worlds and lives unfolding there so I wouldn't do or say something I'd regret.

"You warned me," Mom said. They had? "I chose not to listen, to birth the child of Life and Death's union despite the old laws against it. I need to know her Fate."

Laws against... me?

Clotho spit on the ground at her feet, stringers of thread forming the mucus stain. "Fate," she said in a voice that warbled, beautiful and hateful at the same time. "You know better, Isis."

Mom's voice held a smile when she spoke and I turned at last, startled at her tone. "She has no Fate."

The three snarled suddenly, like cornered cats full of fury at being trapped.

"Nothing good can come of her existence," Atropos said. "Nothing."

"Death and destruction follow in her path, surely," Clotho said.

"Creation's foul seed long ago meant to be crushed from existence," Lachesis finished.

"So you say," Mom said, sly and clever. "But do you know for sure?"

They wailed then, agony in their feelings, so powerful it staggered me, drove away my anger reaction to them. I stumbled back from them, tripping over the high heels I wore, hand reaching out to save me from falling.

And touched the edge of the Loom.

Tulip's hands release the scroll she clutches, a giant wave of mist rising overhead as Blossom screams in silent protest and Oak cries out, his power hitting the wall of shimmering black and white. The centaurs run, the massive darkness around them flooding with mist, giant doors of stone booming shut behind them-

I staggered from the vision, terror for my centaur friends hitting me like a fist in my chest. Only then did the Fates seem to realize I was there, the scream of pain cutting off as the three women spun in my direction. Not that I noticed. The Loom's power rippled up my fingertips and into my soul, waking something inside me, a heat I'd never felt before, an utter joy as the mist I'd been seeing my entire life burst a bubble deep within and roared its wakefulness.

My hand slipped free of the wood, body shaking with reaction, the mist's appearance dying off as I did. My heart palpitated, skipping errant beats while I gasped for breath and struggled with the wash of emotion that overwhelmed and devoured me.

Fury, passion, joy, rage, power, seduction, ecstasy. Waves crashed into me over and over, drenching me in the heat and cold, the roar and whisper of every single feeling so quickly, in such rapid succession I was certain I would explode outward from the pressure.

And then silence, the numb quiet of emptiness. I bent in half, hands on my knees, ears pounding, drowning out exterior sound for a long moment while I existed in a single heartbeat, between one da-dum and the next.

The mist sighed, retreated, promised to return. I clung to it, tried to bring it back. But it was gone and someone was screaming.

Three someones, surrounding me. The Fates, their wrinkled faces full of terror, circled me and shrieked their horror.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Was it Atropos who spoke or Clotho or Lachesis? Impossible to tell. Their voices sounded the same, strident and broken, as Mom shouldered them aside and grasped my hand. The same hand that touched the Loom.

"Come, Eve," Mom said with a smile, as if the three Fates weren't still shouting their fury and fear into the woven air. "It's time to go."

I stumbled after her, the Fates following us to the edge of the glade, but allowing us to leave.

"Mark us, Isis!" That was Lachesis. I glanced back over my shoulder at her, saw Clotho embracing the weeping Atropos. "You have woken something even you can't control! Life has given birth to that which should never have returned to Creation!"

I wanted to stop Mom, to ask her what the Fate was talking about, but we were moving too fast and Mom seemed eager to get out of there. And, since I was too, I figured there would be time later to ask her the questions that now burned in my mind.

Who was I? Had Mom known all along? And what did touching the Loom mean?

What did I awaken?

I hadn't meant any harm, had only stumbled. But the understanding I could, in touching the actual Loom of Creation, have made the biggest mess of my entire life wasn't lost on me. Dread filled me, though Mom's delight didn't waver. Instead of helping, it only made things worse.

She didn't notice the three figures standing near the exit. Or if she did Mom didn't react to them. I couldn't help staring in dumb horror, though, mind racing as the three watched me go. Not the Fates, nor people I knew. The little girl, the Goth teenager and the woman in the full, black robes waved at me as I passed out of the Loom realm and into the Crosspath.

The moment we entered the hub I jerked my hand free of Mom's, shocked at my own audacity, at my ability to resist her. I'd never been able to do that before and I stood there a long moment, staring down at my hand like it belonged to someone else.

Mom finally showed something other than excitement, a small flare of irritated need touching her aura. "Come, Eve," she said.

"What am I?" My hands trembled, tears stinging my eyes. I had to know. Beyond being an abomination the Fates thought should die, should never have been born. "What were they talking about?" Tulip. Her parents. The mist. I had to get to the Repository. But I couldn't move, frozen in helplessness, held in place by what had just happened.

Mom tsked and shook her head. "They are fools," she said. "Eve, darling. You are a great power, greater than I first thought. I was remiss in my teaching. But now that I understand..." she shuddered, as if with pleasure, and an instant later I felt it. Excitement and passion and a thrill of victory. "Trust me, please. We have much work to do before you can claim your birthright."

It felt wrong, all of it. I knew it, intimately, as I'd never known anything in my life before. Mom was wrong, didn't have my best interest at heart. No one did. There was something fundamentally damaged about me. The mist, the raging emotions that tried now to escape. Whatever the Loom did, whatever touching it shifted, all I could process was the horror of becoming something I didn't recognize.

I backed away from her, my own terror growing. The mist called, rising to greet me but now I feared it. I needed to flee from its call and the wild disaster of emotion trying to take over my being.

I spun and ran, the door to the Repository in my mind, the long passage of the Greek Pantheon flashing past, doorways flickering in my peripheral vision. Panic gripped my chest, making it hard to breathe, though the mist retreated from me.

Mom let me go, didn't even call after me as I kicked off my shoes at the hub of the Crosspath and dove for the Repository door.

***