I shake myself as I spin her thread. I can’t kiss a human. Fates and humans don’t interact. Ever. Fates live in the heavens, and humans live on Earth. That is that. Without watching the humans we create, we wouldn’t know how to equip them for their lives, but we never interact. It shakes me to feel this desire for a human, particularly since I’ve never felt this way about anyone ever. Attraction is a foreign concept for most heavenly souls. It’s a very human emotion, and it’s just not something that tends to happen to us. Feeling it now throws me off in a big way.
I fight the urge to sit back and analyze what it means. If I don’t finish, her life will be incomplete, and I can’t let that happen. Not to her. Taking a deep breath, I double down to complete her thread, knowing I’ve given her the best life I’ve ever bestowed upon any human. She will not know the dark side of fame. She won’t struggle with addiction, won’t be cheated on, or get a divorce. Her children won’t die before her. Her life will truly be charmed.
As I hand her thread to Horatia, I know she won’t cut it short. It’s too lovely a thread. And, indeed, she does the life justice, leaving it one of the longest threads I’ve ever seen.
Once she’s done, she hands it to Galenia, who gives it an almost wistful look. “My job seems pointless, doesn’t it? Her life is so beautiful. It doesn’t matter how it ends, because she will have lived.”
My throat closes as tears well in my eyes. I’m caught off-guard by the sudden onslaught of emotion. I cough to try and clear my head, then stand up a little straighter to watch Galenia work. The woman will die softly, passing into the night in her sleep. A perfect ending to a perfect life.
A collective sigh escapes us when Galenia is done, leaving the tip of the thread perfectly rounded, not scorched or frayed at all like some.
“Magnificent.” We’re all starting so intently at the string that I don’t even register which one of us said it.
Carefully, Galenia carries it to Webber, and the three of us watch him weave the new life into the tapestry. He’s a skillful Weaver, but no matter what he does, she stands out against all the other threads, shining more brightly than the rest. But Webber doesn’t seem to mind.
“Some people just don’t fit in,” he says as he stands back. “And look what a sparkling beauty she is. Well done, guys.”
I shake Webber’s hand at the genuine compliment. He may be gunning for my position, but he’s not above appreciating a job well done. I can respect that.
“Now, when I start spinning, these little sparklers won’t be such a rarity, I think,” Webber says, shattering the moment.
My hand halts mid-shake. “But I thought you preferred the black souls.” My voice is dark and low as I struggle to hold back the malice I feel toward Webber.
“I can appreciate all the threads on some level.” The smug grin stays plastered on his face, making me bristle even more.
Horatia sighs. “Come on, Penn. There’s more work to be done.” She pulls at my shoulder, and I reluctantly break my stare-off with Webber to follow her back to our workroom.
“Why do you antagonize him like that?” Galenia, who’s stayed behind, whispers to Webber. It’s obvious she’s trying to keep their conversation private, but I can hear every word.
“I’m only telling him the truth,” Webber answers.
Galenia loudly sighs. “The very fact you believe that tells me, and everyone else, who is actually right for the job.”
He doesn’t say anything, so I look over my shoulder to gauge his reaction. Webber is standing up a little straighter as she walks away, and I can tell he has totally missed her meaning.
As we return to our stations, I can tell I’m not the only one having trouble moving past the pink thread. “I don’t think I will ever top that,” I say as I stare into the cauldron, watching the darkness swirl in a pot I never stir.
“No, probably not. But is that really what this is about? One life being better than another?” Galenia asks. I only realize she’s behind me when she puts a soothing hand on my shoulder.
Horatia smiles broadly at me, indicating she agrees with our sister.
“No, I suppose it isn’t,” I say as I stare at the order lying on a table next to my spinning wheel. I have to spike it. But once I do, she’s gone. It’s a surprisingly difficult task for me, and I’m not sure I fully understand why.
With the other two watching me, I try not to look too stilted as I walk over to the spike on the wall by the hearth. I read her order one last time, savoring the words, remembering who she is. After, I stab it through, pushing it all the way down to the bottom of the spike.
The next order appears in its place on my table, and as I grab it, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve peaked. I’ve reached the top of the mountain, and it will all be downhill from here.
Downhill means easier, right? I think, trying to comfort myself as I read the next order.
Logical and even tempered, but also kind and compassionate.
—G
“This one’s a short order. And it’s another kind one. We’re due for a doozy of a black thread soon. But until then, let’s have some fun,” I say as I set the order aside and peer into the darkness. I try to think of when we prepared our last truly black thread. We’ve had plenty of greys lately—souls capable of choosing either good or evil. The last truly black one was a while ago. In fact, enough time has passed that the man must be well into old age by now, if he’s even still alive. He’s probably incarcerated for his crimes, murdered by someone else, or in hiding. I don’t remember how long his thread was. I try not to dwell on the black ones.
As I set the order down next to the wheel, I decide who this man will be. He will be for her. He will match her every step, her every need, and her every whim. He will balance her. Smiling, I put my hand into the cauldron and pull a blue lump of life out of the pot. It’s not as special as the last one, but it will do.
The woman’s eyes haunt me as I spin her true love’s thread. That’s probably for the best. Because she is so vividly in my mind as I create her match, their souls will connect on a deeper level.
When we’re done with him, Webber skillfully finds his place, complementing our sparkler nicely.
As the day wears on, she continues to haunt me, and I find myself struggling to focus. We close out the day with an all-time low of threads produced.
We all know why, but no one says a word about it. In fact, we each go our separate ways when we’re done, instead of adjourning to the common area for a game or some general relaxation like we normally do. Walking in silence to our quarters, we separate. We don’t even say goodnight to each other.
As I shut my door behind me, I wonder how we will move on from her, how I will move on. The girls don’t seem as affected by her as I am. They’re obviously moved, but they did their jobs with little hesitation for the rest of our shift. But me… I find myself wondering what the point is now that someone so perfect has been created.
My room is pretty simplistic. I have everything I need, plus one or two things I don’t. Immortals have no need for sleep, so I don’t have a bed like the humans on Earth do. Instead, I have a very comfortable couch, which sits opposite a grand bookshelf filled with both heavenly and earthy writings, and my bathroom is next to that. The room is decorated in a stark white, causing the darkness of the night sky to stand out even more.
I settle down on the couch and stare up at the heavens. A meteor streaks across the ceiling, hurrying off to who knows where. As I watch it disappear into the darkness, I wonder if I just need some closure.
Getting up, I leave my room and pad across the hall, heading back toward our workroom. Only a few souls are still milling around, mostly Healers making their way to the common area, I assume.
Instead of going straight into the workroom, I head to the Weaver’s room. My eyes automatically find her in the tapestry.
As I stand there, I watch her placed in her mother’s arms for the very first time. Her parents know she is special.
Kismet, they name her. It suits her. I watch the first few days of her life before returning to my room.
Time passes differently in the heavens than it does on Earth. It takes a year on Earth for a week to pass in the heavens. I find myself drawn to the weaving room each night to watch her grow. I know I’m not supposed to fixate on a single human this way. We’re supposed to watch a variety of people, get a feel for their environment and the challenges they face. But I can’t keep my eyes off her.
Galenia catches me in there a few times, but she says nothing judgmental. She even asks me how our little sparkler is doing, and I can tell she’s genuinely curious.
The more I watch Kismet, the more my production suffers. I just can’t seem to achieve the same volume of threads I once could. What’s worse, I’m having trouble seeing the point. My heart is with Kismet.
I watch her for nearly six months, twenty-four years on Earth. She excels at almost everything, though that’s not to say it’s all easy for her. Where most would give up, she continues to struggle, refusing to entertain a single shred of doubt that she will achieve what she wants.
I remain glued to her life, watching as she moves to New York despite her parents’ wishes. But their worries are unfounded. She blossoms, booking acting jobs while attending school on a nearly full scholarship. Somehow, through it all, she remains humble. Although she works hard, she will never experience real hardships or financial struggle. I did that on purpose, because I didn’t want such a perfect creature to experience those things. I wanted her to shine, and shine she will.
Webber finds me standing there one morning, fixated on Kismet’s thread.
“You’re in here pretty early, Penn,” he says.
“What time is it?” I ask, struggling to get my bearings. I let myself get carried away the night before.
“Time to start work, man. Get it together.” He looks from me to the tapestry, then back again, and a wicked smile spreads across his face. “You were here for her again, weren’t you?”
My eyes find her on their own accord. I stare at her, although I don’t see her life anymore; all I see is her sparkling thread.
Webber laughs. “Oh, this is too perfect. I don’t need to do anything. Just sit back and watch you destroy yourself over some human,” he says.
My breath comes in short bursts as I recognize the truth of his words. Backing away from the tapestry, I head out into the hallway. Turning, I run into our workspace, crashing right into Horatia.
She falls back, knocking her shears off the table as she goes down. Her hands automatically go out to catch her fall, and she lands right on the shears. The super-sharp blades pierce her hand. Although we’re all immortal, that doesn’t mean we don’t bleed when we run scissors through our hands. I rush over to kneel by her side just as Galenia walks into the room. Though she must be shocked by the sight of us—nothing like this has ever happened before in our workroom—her immediate reaction is to gather some cloth and bring it over. Time seems to move in slow motion as we wrap our sister’s hand and take her to the Healers.
We wait outside in the stark white hallway while they work on Horatia. “I guess we won’t spend the day making up for our losses yesterday, huh?” I ask, trying to make a joke, but the concern in my voice kills all hints of humor.
“No, I don’t suppose we will.” She stares thoughtfully down the long corridor of healing rooms. The heavens aren’t particularly hazardous, so a lot of the rooms are actually used for human souls that are anchored somewhere between the heavens and Earth. People on Earth would say they’re in comas. When they’re in the healing rooms, they can rest while the Healers on both sides do their work. Some humans wake up from their comas, some don’t—whether because they don’t want to go back, they’re too far gone, or they don’t understand how to get back.
But it’s rare for a heavenly body to need a Healer’s services.
“What happened, Penn?” Galenia finally asks.
“I bumped into her, and she fell on the shears.”
Galenia eyes me, and I know she knows there’s more to it than that, but she doesn’t press me. Instead, she nods and says, “When you’re ready, I’ll hear the rest of it.”
I suck in a breath, and we sit in silence until a Healer comes out and breaks the tension. She’s wiping her hands on a white cloth. It drapes down her front, not fully covering the bloodstain on her shirt. I cringe, knowing I was at fault for my sister’s injury. I have no idea what will happen to me if I can’t get it together, but I have a feeling I don’t want to find out.
“She’ll be fine. Should be totally patched up and ready to work tomorrow. All signs of the injury will be gone by then.” Between the heavens’ phenomenal Healers and an immortal’s divine ability to recover, our sister should be back to normal in a day. On Earth, they’d call it a miracle. In the heavens, we call it necessary. Our work is never over.
Galenia smiles. “Thank goodness for that. Can we see her?”
“Of course.” The Healer smiles comfortingly, as is their way, and ushers us in to see our sister.
Horatia is sitting up on a plush white bed, and her hand is out to the side, wrapped in silvery linens. All traces of blood have been wiped away.
Galenia lets out a sigh, as if she’s been holding her breath since she last saw our fallen sister, and rushes forward to grab Horatia’s good hand and hold it close.
“Jeez, Gale, I’m immortal. It’s not like I was in any real danger,” Horatia says.
“No, I know, but I think we were both worried about your ability to keep working.”
Horatia turns a critical eye on me. “What happened?”
My eyes dart back and forth between the two women—my most-trusted companions, my sisters. “I don’t know,” I finally say.
Horatia and Galenia exchange a long look. “I think that’s the truth of it,” Galenia says, “but whether he’s too blind or scared to see it is up for debate.”
Horatia rolls her eyes. “Penn, we all know how much that girl has gotten to you. She got to all of us back when you created her. But you have to move on. They’re human. They lead their own lives. You know that.”
I can’t help but stare at her injured hand.
“Penn, maybe you should take a vacation,” Galenia suggests. “Explore some of the galaxies, shadow a Reaper, do something else to take your mind off her.”
“I’m sure Webber would be more than happy to fill in,” I say, frowning at the prospect. “All he needs is an opportunity, and I won’t be the one to give it to him.”
“At what cost?” Galenia asks.
“Everything,” I answer as I leave the girls alone in the healing room.
3.
I lock myself inside my room, but I can’t focus. I try reading a book, but it’s as if her face is blocking the page. All I see is her. Her eyes, her face, her lips, her beautiful hair… I shake my head in an effort to clear it.
I need to walk. The halls are buzzing with the day’s activity, but I can’t register what’s going on around me. Instead, I watch my feet as they move me along. I’m not surprised when I find myself in front of the Keepers’ work floor.
I stand there for a moment, considering what to do. Kismet has so consumed me, I nearly forgot about my predecessors’ fate. The Keepers might be able to give me some peace. Perhaps it will give me some closure about where my life is going. But will it be enough to help me get back on track? Resolved, I put my hand on the door. I have to try.
The room opens to shelf upon shelf upon shelf of books. Millions of volumes of information—the whole history of the heavens and the Earth is held within those walls. A half-empty shelf to my left is quickly being filled with new volumes flowing in from Earth—creative works, scientific ones, and chronicles of history. There are apprentices bustling around everywhere, shelving volumes and taking them down. There’s some system of order, but I have no idea what it is. I make my way further into the room, staring up at the staggering height of the shelves as I p
ass them. I squint, trying to see the top, but it’s too distant, even for eyes as sharp as mine.
Finally, I find myself in front of one of the Keepers. With a long, grey beard, wrinkled skin, gnarled hands, and a hunched back, he’s an old man in appearance, which isn’t unusual for Keepers. They feel like the aged hold more wisdom, and it does take centuries upon centuries to achieve Keeper status. Not all apprentices advance to that point. The elderly appearance, though completely voluntary, is a badge of honor of sorts.
He sits in an oversized leather chair situated between the towering cases. I’m not surprised to see there’s a book in his hands.
“Well, to what do I owe this pleasure, dear Fate?” the Keeper asks in a voice that quavers under the weight of years gone by. He sets the enormous volume on a small table next to his chair, which I’m not entirely convinced can handle the weight of the book.
“I was hoping you could tell me what happened to the Fates who came before me.” I shift my weight, suddenly nervous about what the Keeper may or may not say.
The Keeper narrows his gray eyes at me. “Why do you ask?”
“I was thinking of Fia the other day, the Spinner I replaced. She was a good friend, and the more centuries that pass, the more I wonder what happened to her.”
“And what will happen to you,” the old man fills in.
I nod. It’s undeniable.
The Keeper sits back, causing his chair to creak in complaint. “My dear boy, you wish for something you don’t even grant to the humans you create.”
I search the man’s face, trying to understand his words.
“You do not allow them to know their fate,” he continues. “What makes you think you can handle yours?”
“Does a Fate even have a fate?”
The old man chuckles, his laughter flooding his whole face with joy, and I can’t help but smile. “We all play a role in God’s plan for this life, even the Fates.”
“But what will become of me when I’m finished playing my role?”
The Children of Wisdom Trilogy Page 2