by Zachary Howe
“Sorry,” he said, hanging his head.
“Until recently we held the power over all. We decided the fate of all, even the gods. But, as I say, that power has been challenged.” A flicker of understanding lanced through Gordie’s mind, but he remained silent.
“The King of the Gods attempted to destroy us,” she affirmed Gordie’s suspicions. “It was foretold that his reign was nearing its end. He did not take this news lightly. He sought us out in our place of solitude. He destroyed my body as well as that of my sister. With his bare hands he shattered our spines and left us dying on the ground.”
Gordie looked up at Clotho, trying to understand why she remained intact, and he was shocked to see silent tears streaming down her face. He was filled with a powerful sense of pity and a yearning to comfort her, but also, an incontrovertible sense of awe. The fluid escaping her tear ducts was not saline, but a viscous gold secretion: Ichor—the blood of the immortal beings of Olympus. Gordie’s concern deepened as he realized she was weeping her own life-source.
“Then he came to Clotho in his fury, bound her to the stool in which she now sits, and commanded her to weave him a new fate—one where he is not forgotten, one where he regains his rule of the world. He transformed into an eagle and flew back to Mount Olympus, leaving Clotho alone at her loom, flanked by the dying bodies of her sisters.
“But Clotho did not weave the tapestry of fate,” Lachesis continued. “Using Atropos’s shears she cut our heads and arms from our dying bodies and sewed us into her own. And now we live on—three become one, not unlike what lies ahead for you.” She fixed him with a calculating stare.
“What do you mean, ‘what lies ahead for me?’ What’s gonna happen?”
“That is difficult to say. Our powers of foresight have been greatly weakened with the destruction of our bodies, but it is clear that you are one of three entities, destined to become one.” Gordie could not comprehend the meaning of this. Was he going to end up with two heads sewn onto his chest?
“I don’t understand,” he said in frustration.
“Neither do we. As I have said, our powers are diminished. But in time, understanding will come to all.”
Gordie didn’t see this going anywhere productive, so he pressed on for other answers.
“Why didn’t Zeus come back to kill you? I mean, you didn’t change his fate, right?” he asked, suddenly frightened.
“We did not. We could not. The fates we weave now are incomplete. There could be countless manifestations of what the threads of destiny show us. We survive for the same reason as you. The messenger took pity upon us and told Zeus that we had woven his new fate—that his future is everlasting and he will become the ruler of this world.” Gordie thought there was something she was not telling him, but he could feel it building.
“All he must do to attain this power,” all three heads eyed him as she paused mid-sentence, “is destroy you.”
Comprehension spread across Gordie’s face, betraying the supernova of anger that had just erupted in his brain, as he glowered at this creature—at least in part—responsible for his father’s death.
“Kill me?” he screamed. “You told him to kill me?! Do you know what happened when he tried to kill me? He killed my DAD!” Without realizing it, Gordie had collapsed onto all fours again, pounding the rock beneath him, angry tears streaming down his face.
“We know, dear,” Clotho said in her soft voice. “We are very sorry for what happened to your father. You must understand, our powers had been compromised—we did not see what would happen to him. Hermes assured us he would keep you safe, and we thought with your strength, you could defeat Zeus.” There was a mournful, apologetic tone in her voice.
“But it doesn’t matter.” Atropos’s harsh growl cut through the sweetness. “You are alive and you will decide Zeus’s fate. Your father is dead and no one can change that. You must make Zeus pay for what he did to us!”
“US?! You did this! You’re just as responsible!”
“Our judgment will come.” Lachesis’s matter-of-fact statement hung in the dark. “Already we are fading from this world. But Zeus will not. Not unless you do what you were destined to do.”
“Screw destiny!” Gordie was back on his feet, raining spittle down upon this shriveled monster, jabbing his accusing finger at their collective chest, right at the heart of all three beings. “Why should I do anything you say?!”
“But you will fight Zeus.” Lachesis’s voice was composed. “He killed your father. It does not matter if you believe in your fate or not. You will make it so for your own vengeance.” And Gordie realized that she was right. He had no intention of turning back now, regardless of whether or not his father’s death was preordained. He felt used. Like a puppet. He was angry at them for making him angry at the oppressor that they had forced into his fate.
“You must understand,” Clotho said, now pleading with him. “It does not matter now. Zeus believes you to be dead and he will try to reclaim this world. He believes it to be his fate. He would have all humans die for forgetting him. This world has moved on, but he will not allow it. It is not about you and your father anymore. It is about mankind, and you must be its savior.”
Gordie could feel the weight of this heavy burden crash down upon him. Suddenly, he was not an angry man on a mission to kill the guy who murdered his father—he was a helpless child smothered in a cosmological collision, overwhelmed by an impossible task beyond any power. The endless expanse before him began to feel claustrophobic.
“How? I-I can’t. I’m not a . . . a hero. I can’t do this.” Gordie stared into the preeminent eyes of Lachesis, silently pleading for her to change his fate.
“You possess a great power . . . you know this,” she said. “You must harness that power. It is beyond our sight now to determine what will happen to you. We no longer control the fate of the world, but you very well may.”
“But I have no idea what to do!” he said. “Besides, I only have power once every twelve days! That doesn’t even make sense! How am I supposed to beat Zeus when I’m just a weak little kid the other eleven days?”
“You’re right. You’re a stringy little boy,” Atropos said.
“For now. I told you that you must harness that power,” Lachesis said. “Zeus did not attack us until after your fate was foretold—at least the beginning. Show him, Clotho.”
The seamstress swiveled in her stool and turned back to her loom. She began weaving a new tapestry. The strands of the thread looked like liquid silver as they flowed over and through her profound knuckles. In a matter of seconds the tapestry transformed into moving pictures. It was like Gordie was watching a movie as she was weaving it. And he was the star.
Gordie was walking through a dark field of flowers. The scene skipped forward as he was approaching some kind of enormous portal, a great black gate, leading out of an underground tunnel, with dazzling sunlight pouring in. Now he was in a cave with a horse, but he realized with a start that it was not a horse at all. It was a centaur. From the waist down the man had the body of a magnificent Thoroughbred, whose hair was so black that it reminded Gordie of the nothingness surrounding this place in which he stood. From the waist up, the man was as shredded as any body builder the world had ever seen. His full black beard was as absolute as his hide, and the features of his face told a tale older than time: patience, knowledge, strength, power.
Now the two of them were in a field and Gordie was dancing around the centaur’s spear attacks, knocking his weapon aside with his trusty bat. It didn’t appear to be a real fight, but some kind of training exercise.
“Is that Chiron?” Gordie asked with wonderment. In Greek mythology, Chiron was a centaur who trained all the greatest heroes, including none other than Hercules. He had been accidentally killed by Hercules, who shot him with an arrow dipped in the poisonous blood of the Hydra, while both were fending off an attacking centaur horde.
“Indeed,” Lachesis said. “You must bring him bac
k to this world. He will guide you as he did your forefather.”
As Clotho continued to weave, the scenes became shorter and more disjointed. There was a brief image of Gordie swinging his club at a swarm of monstrous bats; an image of a heavily muscled, and gloriously bearded man climbing a mountain, wearing some type of shawl. He realized with a start that he was that man, and that shawl was the brilliant golden Nemean Lion Skin.
“Damn! I look good!” The images had an uplifting effect on Gordie’s spirits. Although these events had not actually taken place, a piece of him knew that they would. It appeared that he would at least live long enough to become an adult.
The images started to become blurred and almost completely unrecognizable. The last discernible visual was the laughing face of an old, venerable deity, who Gordie recognized from his dream.
“That is enough,” Lachesis told Clotho, who stopped weaving. The vision of Zeus’s mocking face disappeared from the loom, but it remained burned on his retinas, floating on the black air, causing anger to swell once more within Gordie. He had seen a part of what his future held; a portion of the skill and strength that he would possess, and hope sparked inside him. A belief in himself was growing before he had even set out on his quest. He stared down at his open hands, looking for some visible sign of the latent power within him.
“What will you do, Gordon?” Lachesis nudged him from his contemplation. “Will you avenge your father? Will you stop Zeus from destroying your world?”
“Plus, you want me to save you, right?” Gordie asked. “After all you’ve done. Why should I?” he growled, still furious at these string-pullers.
“Not at all. It is time for our race to pass.” Gordie was taken aback by her cavalier attitude towards death. “We have left our mark on this world, but have been fading into insignificance for centuries. That is true of all the Olympians, though you may find some are less willing to accept that than others,” she said, which he found disconcerting.
“As you can see, Clotho has grown fond of the humans.” And again, Gordie was softened by the sweet caress of the spinner’s gentle eyes. “She would ask you to save your people for their sake. To me it makes no difference. If you should save the humans, then perhaps they deserve it. If you fail, then it was not meant to be. With no purpose left in this world I am ready to fade. Do what you will Gordon Leonhart, but remember that this world depends on you now. That is your fate.”
Atropos lifted a thread in her gnarled hands, and before Gordie had time to process what she was doing, she cut it.
6
Layover in Hades
“No!” Gordie shouted, exploding into consciousness and lunging forward in his seat. A few passengers looked around worriedly, producing a mixture of snickers and grumbles. Her hand was patting Gordie’s arm as he realized, with a start, that Bridget was attempting to calm him.
“It’s okay,” she giggled. “You were just having a bad dream.”
“Uh, yeah,” he said as he looked around for the old woman whose seat was now occupied by her antithesis. There was no sign of her anywhere, but he wasn’t surprised. Gordie did not realize until just then that he hadn’t fully accepted the reality of his predicament, but now his certainty was absolute.
“What are you looking for?” Bridget asked. As he looked up into her green eyes his woes began to melt away. He was intensely aware that her hand was still on his arm, and the familiar feeling of butterflies migrating to his stomach returned.
“Nothing, I’m just glad you’re here,” he said, trying to sound smooth, but feeling like a total cheeseball.
“Me too.” She smiled, thankfully not repulsed by his corniness. “So, what were you dreaming about?”
“Oh, I don’t really remember.”
“Too bad, I kinda hoped it was about me,” she whispered in his ear with a tender brush of his hair. Gordie shared this sentiment with interest. He was too aware that his mom was just two rows ahead of him, not to mention the countless other individuals in plain sight. But he could smell the intoxicating aroma coming off of Bridget. She smelled like vanilla, citrus, cinnamon, deliciousness. But then another thought came to mind: he still didn’t understand how their little romance had blossomed so fast.
“Bridget?”
“Yeah?” she asked, running her fingers through his hair in a delicate figure eight circuit just above his ear. It was very distracting. He looked down at his fidgety hands to try to gather his thoughts.
“How did this happen?” Gordie looked back at her and motioned between the two of them to reinforce his meaning. “I mean, we didn’t exactly get along. I kinda thought you hated me.” The hair stroking stopped. Bridget rubbed her hands together uncomfortably, and leaned away from him. NO! his head was screaming at him. Just shut up! Shut the hell up, now!
“I didn’t hate you I just . . . I don’t know. It’s just, when Christy started liking you, ya know, I kinda . . . started noticing you.”
That stung.
“I got ya,” Gordie said, looking back down at his hands. The tone of this conversation had taken a nose-dive and he didn’t know how to pull up.
“I don’t mean it like that,” she said. “I just didn’t really know much about you. You didn’t like me either.” And now there was a definite note of coldness in her voice that sent Gordie spiraling into despair.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I was just wondering, like, what was going on here. What are we? What will happen if I come back?”
“If you come back? What does that mean?”
“I meant when,” he said. “Never mind, just forget it. Let’s just go back to what we were doing.” He tried to sound playful as he reached for her hand, but she pulled away.
“Yeah, let’s go back to what we were doing. Maybe this was a huge mistake. Have fun in Greece.” She rose from her seat and desperation started clawing in Gordie’s chest. “Maybe I’ll see you in school next semester . . . if you come back,” she said, and turned to walk away.
“No. Wait! I’m sorry! Let’s just forget it. Bridget!” But she was halfway up the aisle with clearly no intention of returning. Gordie was on his feet in the aisle looking like a battered puppy. A couple people were staring at him with poorly concealed curiosity, excited about the live reality show to staunch the monotony of the seven-hour-flight. Atalo leaned out into the aisle, looking in Bridget’s direction before he turned his attention back to Gordie to give him an ‘oh crap, sorry dude’ type of look. Gordie just shook his head in response before he sat back down in his lonely section.
The butterflies in his stomach had transformed into Mothras. “You freakin’ moron!” he said to himself. “What were you thinking? You never question it! Idiot!” He smacked his forehead, disgusted with himself.
After that, Gordie wallowed in self-pity for over an hour, replaying the confrontation in his head over and over again. Then he started reminiscing about the two kisses he got out of her in the airport, hating himself for blowing it after such a pitifully short run. The current in-flight movie was The Notebook.
Time ticked away as he watched the beautiful people on the screen go through silent ups and downs. Gordie had no headphones to listen. Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams were yelling at each other in a downpour. He grabbed her and kissed her. Man, I wish it was that easy, Gordie thought to himself.
He remained in a time-devouring, yet time-slowing state of self-loathing for a few more hours. The animated superhero movie The Incredibles came and went, and was replaced by some indiscernible romantic comedy starring Jennifer Lopez. Gordie cringed at the prospect of watching another love story ending happily-ever-after when he was sure he would never find love again. Sure enough, things seemed to work out for Jenny-from-the-block and Mr. McConaughey. Gordie rolled his eyes and scoffed.
Some semblance of mercy arrived in the form of Transformers—he thought indiscriminant explosions should at least take his mind off his woes for a while. However, a few minutes into the movie, he noticed
his mom rise from her seat ahead of him, and knew where she was destined.
As she occupied the empty seat next to Gordie, Ellie asked, “What are you watching?”
“Transformers.”
“Cool.” She bobbed her head awkwardly, clearly trying to find a way to broach the subject of his shattered feelings. “So, how ya doin’?”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“Okay,” she started, but he knew she wasn’t done. “Listen sweetie, I know it’s difficult growing up and—”
“Oh my God, Mom! I said I’m fine! Just drop it!”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry! I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.”
“All right, I’ll leave you alone. We’re gonna be landing soon. Just make sure you’re ready to go.” She rose again and walked back to her seat. He saw his grandpa turn towards her, and she shook her head.
Gordie rolled his eyes and scoffed again. “Old people,” he muttered. His attention reverted to the giant alien robots—unsure of whether the mechanized changelings or Megan Fox had a tighter grip on him—but his focus was held throughout the remainder of the film regardless.
As Megatron fell amidst a hail of gunfire, the pilot came over the loud speaker. “Attention passengers, it’s about 12:15 am local time, we are right on schedule.” He paused to let them appreciate his timeliness. “We’re approximately thirty miles outside of London and will be landing in ten minutes. Please prepare for landing.” As the tinny echo dissipated, the flight attendants began collecting garbage and headed to their stations. Fortunately, the descent was uneventful, and the ensuing taxi to the gate was as mind-numbing and destructive to one’s patience as ever.
When the seatbelt light finally turned off, everyone shot to their feet in unison, and the rifling through the overhead compartments began. Ellie kept looking back at Gordie, turning to check up on him every thirty seconds. He gave her a ‘just-freakin’-relax’ look. Of course, she was not comfortable until they had funneled through the jet-way and were reunited in the concourse after twenty minutes of uncomfortable jostling in the hot metal tube.