Dark Thread

by Crymsyn Hart

  Squelching her magic, Darria crossed her arms over her chest. “Really? What gifts can you give me? My assistant is dead. My harvester is ... is ... gone by my own hand. Gabbie was turned to stone, and....”

  Legba put up his hand to silence her. “I know the tragedies you suffered, but I’ve come to make up for leaving you so egregiously. You have done so much for us, for me. I’m the last god of the seven. I’m indebted to you in more ways than one.”

  “Is this you paying me back for the debt you owe me?” What could the god do to make up for what she had lost?

  “Sadly, no. These small boons were deemed payment by higher forces than myself. My promise to you still stand.”

  Someone was forcing him to pay her homage. But who? “Great, so who demanded that you pay these boons?”

  “It doesn’t matter now. For right now, why don’t you see who is waiting for you upstairs?”

  She threw up her hands. “Up. Down. What the hell?”

  “I promise it’ll be worth it. Oh, before I forget, catch.” Legba threw something at her.

  Darria caught it. By the time she examined it, Papa Legba had gone, a cold breeze wafting through the room. It was a coin. The silver side showed the head of a grim reaper holding a scythe with the blade curling around the edge of the coin. The back had a coffin on it. It was a different one than what she had before. It should have given her some hope, but it only made her realize that she was still an undertaker. This was probably her introduction to another harvester. She kept the coin in her palm because she didn’t want it to be a part of her. The key had been destroyed because it was a part of Chaos. The flowers had rearranged once more, but she hadn’t stared at her tattoo sleeve. The spell and the angel feather remained on her left hand. She sighed; frustration stirred her anger until she felt the energy crackle around both her hands. She let it pour out of her and threw it at the wall. A ball of it hit the Wunderkammer. It sparked dark purple and shook.

  “Sorry,” she muttered to it.

  Darria went back upstairs into the kitchen. Someone knocked on the screen door. She went to the door and opened it. “Rory?”

  The teenager stood outside in one of his superhero T-shirts. “Can I come in?”

  “Are you a ghost?”

  He tapped his chest and patted his cheeks. “Nope. I think I was, but then, I was here. I don’t know. It’s a little hazy. I remember them slicing my throat and getting cold, and then, I was....” He shrugged. “I’m not sure. Can I come in? The barrier around this place is stronger than I realized. You did a good job of reinforcing it.”

  “Thanks,” Darria whispered, not sure she was actually seeing what she was seeing. She opened the door. “Come on in.”

  Rory entered the house. His eyes centered on her chest for a moment until they rose to her face. His cheeks burned red when he realized that she had caught him looking at her breasts. She poked him in the chest. Darria threw her arms around him in a tight hug. “Eyes forward, mister. I didn’t choose to wind up in this nightgown. I’d hoped to keep it for someone else.”

  “It suits you really well,” Rory said. “Am I still your assistant?”

  “You’re starting to sound like Omar. I guess you’re my assistant considering we’re the only two left. All the other undertakers are dead. The two I rescued were really the Dark Fates, who had woven themselves into the lives of Lina and Sonia. How it goes from here, I have no idea. One day at a time. It’s good to have you back, though. Take the apartment over the garage.”

  “Thanks. I’ll get settled in. Oh, I wanted to tell you that I ran into Omar. He said he’ll come back whenever you reach out and touch him.”

  “Pervert until the very end.” Darria ran her hand over the coin as Rory left the kitchen and wandered out toward the garage. It was good to know she had at least one thing back in her life. She took a deep breath and felt something watching her in the kitchen. She turned around and focused on the environment. Nothing was in the room with her. However, she knew someone was there.

  “If you’re going to come out and introduce yourself, please do it now because we’re going to be working together,” Darria said to the empty room.

  “We’re not sure you’re ready to meet us, but it seems you already know we are here,” a chorus of three female voices said from the empty room.

  A tickle of energy moved over her shoulder. A black spider descended from the ceiling. It grew larger and split into three different women. She stepped back from the beings. They separated and stepped off the webbed line they had come from. They ranged in age from early twenties to mid-forties to a woman near seventy. With a mere thought, she gathered energy into her hand and formed it into a ball. It crackled into her palm. She lifted her hand and was about to throw it when a thread of web caught it and slammed the energy ball into the wall.

  “That won’t be necessary,” the middle one said. “Darria, we’re not here to bring you any more grief. We are not our darker sisters, the Keres. I am Lachesis. I measure the thread of life for each person. Clotho,” she gestured to her younger sister, “spins the thread. Atropos cuts the thread. We are the Fates.”

  “I kinda gathered that. What do you want?” Darria asked. She didn’t want to have to deal with the other weavers who lorded over the undertakers.

  “You have done much and suffered for it. You have done a boon to more than just Legba but to the whole universe. We were also tied to the objects that were used to bring back Chaos. Hekate brought them to us, hoping we could tie them to the undertakers in the hopes that once they were tied to flesh, they would never be used to be formed back into his natural state again,” Clotho said to her.

  “Hekate told me that,” Darria said to them.

  “Peace, sister. There is no reason to get angry. Let us tell you our story,” Atropos said to her.

  “Okay.” Darria leaned against the counter.

  “We were also Chronos’s daughters, granddaughters of Chaos. We wove our magic around these objects. They were also filled with a little bit of Chaos’s power and of death. That is why they changed and split into two separate things. They were part of the death gods, and they also became part of the undertaker lineage. The paths we carved for them were touched with the human aspect. Over time, they obtained a little bit of their own free will. They choose who they want next.”

  “Yes, but now all of them are destroyed because Chaos was reawakened, and nothing else remains,” Darria chimed in.

  Clotho took a small bag from her waist and lifted it. “The parts which were bound to bring Chaos back were destroyed. This is very true. However, the other parts of them returned to us.” She fished into her bag and pulled out the key. She walked over and handed it to Darria. “This belongs to you.” The cool metal felt at home in her palm. It was the same skeleton key it had been before. She set it on the counter next to the coin.

  “Thanks. I’ll set it somewhere, so I don’t lose it.”

  Clotho’s brow scrunched up. “You have no interest in it?”

  “Not really. I have no interest in even being an undertaker anymore. Everything I did fulfilled my oath and lost everything I loved.”

  “What if you were given a second chance? Something to brighten your day?”

  “Why do I want to continue doing this when I know it’s going to bring me more pain? No, thanks.” Darria began to walk past them when Atropos placed a hand on Darria’s arm.

  “I know how you feel, but hear us out. Please.”

  “Fine.”

  “Thank you,” Clotho said. “The artifacts are only tied to us and to the destinies of the undertakers. Times are different now. When Hekate came to us, she asked that the undertakers be given certain gifts, longevity, strength, and the ability to use magic. Sometimes, their initiation into undertaking changes the very makeup of the undertaker. That is what happened to you. Because Chaos ate up a portion of your soul and because of what you did as an undertaker, we rewove another strand to replace what was taken.”

>   “What did you do?” Darria asked. She wondered if that was the reason she felt so different. “Legba and others have said that I was different in some way. Can you tell me what I was before you wove something else into my soul? Chaos also said that he saw something in me that he didn’t think could be born within humanity.”

  Atropos glanced at the other two. “As you took more and more power raising the dead, you were evolving into something beyond what you were originally. You could have eventually become a death god yourself.”

  “Me? A god? Yeah, I don’t think so.”

  “No. It’s not something that’ll happen now. That part of you was ripped out when Chaos ate it. It gave you a higher vibration that people were drawn to.”

  “What did you replace it with?” Darria asked. She could have been a god. Yeah, that didn’t sound like her.

  “We replaced the missing strand with one of our own.”

  Did she hear that right? Fate wove a strand of themselves into her soul. The ideas of how that was possible flashed through her mind, but it was too much for her to process. “What kind of a freak am I going to become now?”

  “Not a freak,” Clotho said.

  “We made Legba revive Rory to say thank you and because it was his path to become your assistant and maybe an undertaker in the future. You were born with the ability to raise the dead. You’re still a powerful necromancer. The reason why you could never integrate yourself into one whole being was because that small slice of you was the seed that could birth a god. The necromancer part of you is alive and well. The key chose you. Now that we’ve replaced the strand that went missing, it is weaving into your being. It was one reason you were in the magical coma. It will give you other abilities as well.”

  “Have I become one of you?” Darria asked.

  “Not exactly, but we heard your wishes and discussions with Hekate about the undertaking profession needing changes. You have gotten your wish. You’re going to be the first one to sit on the new council. You’ll write the bylaws and create the new orders on what will happen with the undertakers. We’re giving you control over your own thread. You create your own destiny. If you learn more about the thread, you might find that other things come with it. We can’t tell you what those are because what we’ve done has not been done before. Only those who you and the objects find worthy will be appointed.”

  Darria wasn’t sure if she believed what she was hearing. It was true she said that she needed to call for reform for the whole system, but was she the one to do it? Was she the one to dictate what went into making new undertakers? She understood why she had been chosen and why the others had been chosen: they were all alone, and no one would miss them.

  “Does the same magic apply to whoever I choose as it does to me? The memories, working with a harvester, longevity, never getting sick, working with magic, and psychic abilities protecting the objects?”

  Clotho nodded. “Yes. All of that stands because it goes with the office. Some things can’t be changed because they’ve been woven into the fabric of the universe for so long.”

  She nodded. “Okay. I understand you’re giving me a great honor, but tell me, did you see all of this coming, or was there a big knot?”

  Lachesis chuckled. “Your thread was set to be cut after your tussle with the banshees. I had it between the shears, but it repaired itself. It took off until the very fabric of the whole pattern turned into one big Gordian’s knot. Yours glowed the strongest. It branched out after the knot into two separate paths, one that was stable and one that was chaotic. It is not our business to interfere, but we guessed what happened when we felt our sisters die. You were the last one standing, and there was only the slimmest chance that you’d survive. Your thread was so frayed. I thought it might snap, but you persevered. This is our thank you for all that you’ve done.” Atropos hugged her awkwardly.

  Darria returned the hug. When they separated, she pulled the shears from her arm. “You should have these, then.” She held them out to the Fates.

  They all backed away. “Those belong to you now. Since you now control the fates of the undertakers, you can clip them from their path.”

  “If I do that, will it kill them?”

  “No. It will only sever their relationship with being an undertaker,” Clotho revealed.

  Some of her life was coming back together again. “I’m okay with all that, but I have one thing to ask about the future undertakers that is a deal breaker.”

  “Name it. We can grant the boon,” Lachesis said.

  “I understand how they are chosen, lost souls with a vibe for being psychic or talented in some way, but I don’t want to be traveling the world looking for them. If I’m the only undertaker out there, I need them to come here.”

  The fates whispered among themselves. “We can manage this, but sometimes, even with destiny laid before us, surprises happen.”

  “I understand that completely. If anything happens and I need to contact you for whatever reason, how does that work?”

  The three women joined together into one being with six legs and six arms all moving at different times. They shrunk until they became the spider once more. As they went up the web, the bag Clotho had on her waist fell to the kitchen floor.

  “Our last gift to you.”

  She stared up at the ceiling, but they had already gone. Darria shook her head and muttered, “Thanks. A bag of magic pieces and inexperienced people coming to claim them.” She gathered them up and placed them on the counter next to the shears, the coin, and the key. They turned her stomach because this was the accumulation of everything she had done. This is what all of her hard work had gotten her. They might have rectified some things in her life, but so many other things were lost.

  Another knock sounded at the door. Darria hung her head. Frustration enveloped her, and she held back a swear. It had to be a hunter coming to drop off a body. She could feel it in her bones. All she needed now was to start processing bodies. It was her duty, but right now, she didn’t want to do it. Darria opened the door and saw Azrael standing outside.

  “What are you doing here? You have permission to come in,” Darria said to him.

  “Trying to be polite since you’re now the most important undertaker in the whole of this realm.”

  “Yeah,” she scoffed. “Because it worked out so well for all the others. Come in, Azrael. The spell around this place shouldn’t be keeping you out.”

  “True, but I have someone with me who needed to be invited into the house. I hope you don’t mind that I brought guests.”

  “I assumed you or someone else would be coming since Oliver....” The emotion choked her up. The image of her plunging the shears into Oliver’s body once again overwhelmed her. She stepped back from the door and let Azrael enter. “Whoever is with you, come on in, too.”

  Azrael entered, and the harvester behind him followed. He was dressed in the robe of death with a hood over his face, carrying a scythe. The door slammed shut. Darria jumped at the sudden noise. Azrael trailed his fingers over the objects the Fates had left for her. “You did well by destroying Chaos.”

  “You left me there,” she answered him.

  “I have my reasons for my actions, Darria. You may not understand them, but know that I was there for you in other ways. It hurt my heart to lose one of my harvesters. Oliver was one of the first to accept the position to work with the undertakers. I’ll be sure to have others come to you, so we can all work together in helping them understand the certain needs an undertaker has. Besides, you needed representation. Legba and the others have a way of twisting things. The graveyard might be neutral ground, a purgatory that no one is supposed to breach the sanctity of. However, that has not been followed of late.”

  The other harvester remained silent, observing them. Darria glanced at him but turned her attention back to Azrael. “That isn’t my problem. Speaking of problems, how is Kerstin?”

  Azrael sighed. “She wouldn’t know you right now. It�
�s hard to explain. You don’t need to worry about her. She’s strong and will pull through the adversities she has dealt with. I’ll leave you and your new harvester to get acquainted. It was nice to see you again, Darria. Once you’re ready, I’ll send those harvesters who are interested in working with the undertakers. Until then. Enjoy.” Azrael’s wings folded around him. The large scythe behind him split the fabric of the universe, and he disappeared into it. Once they were alone, Darria turned back around to the cloaked harvester.

  “You can take your hood off unless you want to play the part of being the mysterious grim reaper.”

  He didn’t move.

  “Fine. Don’t talk to me, but Azrael brought you here to work with me, so the least you can do is give me your name.”

  “To give you my name would reveal my nature. It is the same as revealing my true face to you, undertaker.”

  “Cryptic much?” Darria leaned back against the counter and ran her fingers over the velvet pouch. It reminded her of the soft touch of Oliver and how his hand had touched the back of hers. Nothing was ever going to replace that.

  “You see it as cryptic. I see it as observing the new charge I am to work with. Do you always wear such provocative things when you’re working?”

  “This wasn’t a choice. I’ve been in a magical coma for the past week. Do you have a problem with it? From what I understand, most harvesters in your position don’t have a soul. What do you care how I look?”

  “I’m not most harvesters, and I think you look stunning,” the harvester said, his voice shifting.

  A small draft moved over her flesh and touched her back. Darria didn’t turn around because she knew she was hallucinating. That had to be it. She held her breath and felt a light touch on her shoulder, moving down around her arm. “You shouldn’t do that.”

  “Why? You’ve wanted me to do it for a long time. It was stupid for me to wait so long to touch you. To want to m—”

  Her whole body shook. Tears slipped from her eyes. “Azrael wouldn’t play such a cruel joke on me. Who are you really? What do you want? If Legba put you up to this….”