Chapter Nine
Fates
When the light faded Syrena blinked hard, trying to return her vision to normal as little spheres danced before her burning, watery eyes. She couldn’t see or hear much; all she could tell was that this place smelled wonderful, like grass after a rain, and cool moisture hung in the air. What felt like whole minutes passed before her sight finally cleared, and she glanced around.
She appeared to be outside, with dewy turf beneath her sandaled feet and tall walls of vines and white-petaled flowers on her every side. However, there was no sky above her, only dark ridges like those of a cave ceiling. “Your pegasi will be waiting for you outside of the cave,” Hecate had said. “But before retrieving them, you will speak with the Fates.”
So that’s where we are, she thought. Hecate transported us to the lair of the Fates.
As Syrena observed the chamber further, she noticed that in the center, dimly lit candles were spread around a wooden spinning wheel. And strangest of all, blue strings, what appeared to be an infinite number of them, wove and tangled through the walls and over the grass. Beside Syrena, Diana gasped as she gazed upon the strings. “Those are life threads. The ones the Fates spin so that mortals can be born.”
“You’re right,” Syrena replied, her stomach turning as she recalled that when it was time for someone to die, the Fates cut that person’s thread. Where was her own string, and how much longer did she have until it would be cut, considering she’d chosen the path leading to her death?
Tendrils of smoke began curling up from the turf before them. They grew and grew, taller and wider, until finally they formed into three old women draped in long robes, deep groves of wrinkles etched into their skin. Their eyes were void of pupils, glowing the same shade as the life threads all around the room.
“Hello,” one said, reaching out a liver-spotted hand in welcome. “We are—”
“The Fates, we know,” Diana interrupted. “Lachesis, Clotho, and Atropos.” She pointed at each of them as she recited their names. “We’re here to discuss the Prophecy, the one about the mortals from the Before Time leading a war on the gods. We want to know what we have to do to help fulfill it, and how the mortals are ever going to be able to fight gods in the first place.”
The Fate who’d spoken before, Lachesis, simply stared at Diana in stunned silence. The other two burst into chortles. Afraid Diana might have offended the first immortal, Syrena stepped forward, resting a gentle hand on the demigod’s shoulder. “Is there any way you can help us? Please?”
“But of course,” Clotho said with a chuckle.
Atropos pulled a pair of scissors from her robes, knelt, and began cutting some of the strings at her feet. “We’ve been expecting you for quite some time now.”
To be continued in the first installment of the War on the Gods trilogy . . .
The Helm of Darkness
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A. P. Mobley is a YA fantasy author with an undying love for Greek mythology and epic, magical tales. She grew up in Wyoming and currently lives there, working as the owner of various online shops and studying to earn her degree in English. She considers herself a huge nerd, loves chocolate a little too much, and can be found snuggling with one of her pets into late hours of the night.
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