FATED INT2024 - writer

FATED


Where have all the good men gone
and where are all the gods?

~Bonnie Tyler ~Holding Out For a Hero

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Clotho looked at the scissors in her hand. They were larger than normal shears. She had never used them before, but she had strong hands, and she wielded the tool deftly. These were said to be the sharpest shears ever forged.

We will soon find out if it is true.

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Atropos, stepped outside of the quaint little cottage, and took a deep breath. She was tired. The tragedy of war brought immeasurable sorrows, and countless lives were lost.

People said that she was emotionless, but that was untrue. The weight of the burden she bore was often more than she could endure. In times of extreme stress, like on this night, she took a well earned break. Death would have to wait.

Atropos moved away from the cottage that she shared with her two sisters, and looked towards Mount Olympus. The glow at the peak of the mountain shined in it's eternal glory. Her stern face softened a little.

Beauty and light in a dark world, she thought.

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Lachesis sat by an oil lamp, examining a dark green thread. A metal clank made her look up, and she saw the front door opening as her sister, Atropos, stepped outside. Her other sister, Clotho, never looked up from where she sat, distaff in hand, weaving at her small wheel.

Lachesis waved her hand, and the dark green thread floated in the air. It flew across the room, and stuck itself to the wall of thread behind her. The wall behind her was precisely that: a wall of thread, and it rippled slightly as the floating green thread made contact and eased its way into place. The wall remained still after that.

"The war is taking a toll on our sister." Lachesis commented, still facing the door.

Clotho looked up from her wheel and to the door, "I have no envy of our sister's work."

"There are none that do." Lachesis added, and looked over at the remaining sister.

Clotho was the prettiest of the three sisters. She appeared to be the youngest, but she was really the oldest. Atropos was the youngest, but she appeared to be the oldest. For Lachesis, it was simple. Atropos bore the task of severing the threads of life, and it carried a heavy price. Even though Atropos often laughed and joked, her face wore the visage of one who has dutifully shouldered a grave responsibility.

Clotho, by contrast, shined with life. She passed that life into the threads as she spun them. Both Lachesis and Atropos admired the joy she displayed; softly smiling as she wove each life into the thread that cradled it. It was Clotho who inspired Lachesis to discover a similar happiness. Lachesis now saw joy, not sorrow, when she examined the lives woven into the threads; as she alone decided how long the tale of each life should be.

"I will go talk with her." Lachesis rose, and made her way to the door. "I could use a rest. Joining?"

"I will join... as soon as I finish this one." Clotho smiled up at the middle sister.

"You always find a way to make Atropos feel better, Cloth." Lachesis stepped through the door. "Hurry, now."

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As soon as her sister walked out of the cottage, Clotho stood and placed her distaff on the small chair. She walked quickly over to the table where Atropos cut the threads, thereby ending the lives entwined within them. The table was clean, but there were clusters of severed threads scattered across the floor around it; like bodies strewn about a battlefield after a vicious assault. Above the fray, a shiny pair of enlarged scissors sat in the middle of the wooden table. Clotho grabbed the shears. They felt good in her hands.

She crossed to the wall of threads and stretched out her left hand. The strands squirmed and wriggled. They began to move in unison, shifting and arranging. Soon, they began to part, and a slight glow slowly moved toward the surface of the undulating wall.

Endless threads in an endless wall, but I am looking for those threads that are endless.

As Clotho thought this, a mass of glowing strings breached the face of the wall. Unlike the other threads, these extended beyond the visible perimeters of the physical wall. The glowing threads pushed through the mass of living strings in a tubular formation. They appeared as a large, horizontal, glowing, and endless pipe. A pipe that was bent in the middle, bowed towards Clotho's outstretched hand. She wrapped her left arm around the barrel of threads; in her right hand, she held the shears.

I am truly sorry.

Clotho quickly and deftly cut into the pillar of threads. They fell away when severed, each losing their glow as they were hewn. The remaining strands, like worms, began to move under her arm. She held tight, and sliced into them with the urgency born of a life-and-death struggle.

Swiftly! He is soon to see me!

The shear's blades easily cleaved through the threads. Clotho was limited only by how many she could manage in one chop. Like a band of snakes, the more she cut, the more the the surviving threads pulled against her. She held firm, and fiercely chopped until all the smaller threads were severed. The remaining strands were as large as her fingers or bigger, and she could only cut one at a time. She struggled to hold on as she sliced the last few.

After the eternity of a few seconds, Clotho had managed to cut all the threads but one. She stood with the last strand locked in the crook of her arm. It's light was hard to look at, and it was as thick as her wrist!

It has to be a single cut. He won't give me a second chance. The shears are sharp enough; I need only find enough strength.

STOP THIS NOW!

The giant voice thundered across the land, and the ground beneath Clotho's feet, shook.

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Zeus sat upon his throne like a statue.

The human war had ended, and it was time for the grievances. As with all such conflicts, some of the gods were pleased, and some were unhappy. They presented their cases before the assembly of immortals, hoping for revenge, reward, reparation, or redemption. Their stories would be told, and the council of gods would pass judgment on those who were brought before them.

To Zeus' right, sat Apollo and Artemis. Hera and Ares sat to his left. The other gods were assembled in a large semicircle, with Zeus in the middle; all of them facing the circular floor at the center of the royal chamber to hear the claims offered.

Zeus generally found the affairs of men quite dull, even when the gods were involved. He often implemented creative punishments for the guilty, hoping to bring some excitement to the ordeal. The current case, however, sparked Zeus' interest. Orestes, a human with the blood of gods in him, had just confessed to killing his mother after learning she had killed his father. 

Zeus silenced the chamber as he rose to speak.

"Orestes, I will cast my lot for you."

Orestes fell over.

"Are my words so..."

Many of the assembled gods suddenly crumpled to the ground, lifeless, stopping Zeus mid-sentence. More fell, and others began running, trying to escape an invisible foe. Amid the chaos, Zeus reached out with his mind, searching for the cause. There!

Clotho! The spinner?!

"What is this?" Hera demanded. She turned to Zeus, opened her mouth to speak, and silently collapsed.

Zeus' anger raged, and the lightning inside him rose.

STOP THIS NOW!

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Continued

Continued

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Lachesis exited the cottage and strode to where her younger sister, Atropos, stood; gazing up at Mount Olympus. Lachesis put her arm around the younger woman's shoulders, and the two embraced in a sideways hug.

"Clotho will be coming out soon." Lachesis said, as she too lifted her eyes toward Mount Olympus.

"That's good." Atropos nodded.

They stood in silence, arms around each other, looking towards the peak of the mountain. Each sister supporting, and gaining support, from the other.

The eternal light of Olympus flickered for a brief moment.

"Did the light dim?" Lachesis asked in disbelief.

The light flickered again, and again; getting noticeably dimmer after each flicker. Suddenly, the ground began to rumble and a voice broke through the heavens with a deafening roar.

STOP THIS NOW!

The sisters looked at each other, and both turned to run, heading for the still-open front door of the cottage. Before they could take a step, however, a blinding light filled the sky, and a great bolt of lightning descended upon the small cottage. The two sisters were knocked back as a thunderous clap assaulted their ears.

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Clotho held the last glowing thread in her hand.

STOP THIS NOW!

The giant voice thundered across the land, and the ground beneath Clotho's feet, shook. Clotho instantly moved the scissors forward to cleave the thread in two, bracing for what she knew was to come.

The lightning bolt hit her with the force of a falling tree. Every muscle inside her tensed, and her body tightened into an inhuman knot. 

Even so, before the thunderbolt struck, Clotho had managed to shove the massive thread as tightly as possible into the mouth of the shears, forcing it against the blades. There was instant electrical stimulation of her muscles, greatly augmenting the grip-strength of her hand and causing her to involuntarily shut the shears.

Clotho sliced through the large thread in one clean chop. 

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As Zeus collapsed, he realized his mistake.

Hubris, was his final thought.

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In the cottage, the brightest of the illuminated threads faded. Clotho's muscles relaxed, and she dropped the dark, severed cord that had once held the life of Zeus. It fell to the floor and disappeared into the wall. The scissors also fell from Clotho's grip. They hit the stone floor with a loud clang; a final bell to the slaughter she had just caused. 

"What have you done?" The calm voice came from from behind Clotho; it was Atropos.

"He wasn't supposed to choose war. It had to be his choice, though, I couldn't change that. Now, he is dead."

Turning away from the wall, Clotho faced her sisters. The pair stood just inside the open front door, gaping at her.

"He was supposed to return home. He was supposed to become the invincible warrior who chose peace! He was supposed to change the world." She pointed towards Olympus, "But they interfered! They told him he would be hated and forgotten. They lied! They forced his choices, and he chose war and death! They changed his fate. So, I changed theirs."

"Do you realize what you have done!?" Lachesis wailed at her sister, "Do you!?"

Clotho just stared at her.

"Who is it, then? Who did you slay the gods for!?"

"Achilles, son of Thetis, the Nereid, and Peleus, king of Pythia." Clotho spoke as if introducing him to a great hall.

Atropos could no longer remain calm. "By the gods, Clotho, you two have never even met!"

"Never met?" Clotho spit out a laugh. "I wove Achilles into being! I put my heart and soul into the thread that bore his life. He was a child of my heart! Achilles was to be my greatest joy on earth, and his light was going to bring hope into the world. The Olympians took that away from me; they took that away from the world!"

Clotho stopped. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and was suddenly calm. She opened her eyes.

"The days of the gods meddling in human affairs are over. Humans are now free from undo fear or favor. For it was I who wove the threads of the gods, and it was I who decided to sever those threads this night!"

Atropos and Lachesis could only stare silently at their sister.

"I speak true. You think I weave only the lives of humans and heroes? You thought I was created by Zeus!? I am the spinner!"

Clotho's skin began to emit an unearthly glow. "I wove the gods. I wove everything you see."

Clotho stretched out her arms. Behind her, the wall of threads began to shift and move.

"It was I who wove the earth and the stars!"

The walls of the cottage bent away from her, the roof stretched, and the floor appeared to dip below her, as if a giant, invisible bubble were expanding around her. Clotho's glow intensified, and for the briefest of moments, it appeared to the sisters that the fabric of the very earth had come unspun. 

As she lowered her arms, the walls and floor straightened, and became their rigid selves again. Likewise, Clotho's glow faded. She eyed the two ladies standing before her. She saw the fear, confusion, and anger on their faces.

This cannot be easy for them. Clotho smiled warmly, knowing it would calm and reassure them.

"We are not your true sisters." Lachesis stated soberly, giving no hint of the turmoil inside her.

"You are my true sisters! I wove my purest self into the both of you. We are more alike than any womb-born could ever be. I love you both, and I could not bear the idea of a world without my sisters by my side."

Clotho stood tall, and took a step towards the two of them. She thrust out her right hand.

"Sisters!"

It was a gesture the three of them used whenever they settled a disagreement. When three hands are threaded together as one, let all differences be discarded and done.

Clotho stood with her hand out and hoped that her sisters would take it, confirming the bond of sisterhood and love. The bond of family. Please, sisters, take my hand!

The room was silent. The three fates were frozen, and time seemed to stand still.

It was Atropos who broke the silence.

"I should make you stand in that foolish pose for the next three years! You deserve as much!" She strode over to Clotho.

"In truth, though, you are the only two sisters I've ever known, and I am proud to call you family." She grasped Clotho's hand.

"Sisters!"

Lachesis stood there, feet sewn to the ground. So many questions! There is so much that I still do not understand! She spoke.

"I have one condition of Clotho."

"I will gladly pay that toll." Clotho stated.

"You must tell us everything!" Lachesis blurted out.

Clotho let out a short laugh. "Yes. I will tell you everything! I promise you this."

"Settled!" Lachesis' feet freed themselves. She rushed over to the waiting pair and joined her hand with theirs.

"Sisters!"

They stood there, hands locked, silent in their shared bond.

Atropos took a moment to study the young woman standing before her. Her sister looked no different than she had the day before. She was the same Clotho that Atropos knew and loved. Nevertheless.

"Is Clotho your true name?"

"As true as any name given to me. I am happy to wear it."

Clotho reflected for a moment.

"I have not recalled it for ages, but Neith was the first name given to me by humans."

A smile born from a distant memory spread across her face.

"Neith, The World Weaver."

The End

Good read, very much enjoyed that.

Cheers

a reply to: BrucellaOrchitis

Thank you.