by AJ Brooks
“Cassius?” One of the Fates urges from behind me. “We’d like a moment with the girl.”
I expect Cy to protest. To promise to stay close to keep me safe, but he’s swallowed up by shifting walls and moving doors.
And now I’m alone with three powerful women and their shared eye—all of whom think I’m Helena.
“I’m having one of those moments where I realize that everyone in the room knows a lot more than I do.” I try to laugh but it comes out all breathy and weird. I clasp my hands and sit back down in the chair. I glance over my shoulder to the door again but Cy is gone.
“You gained and lost everything at the hand of young Cassius,” Morta says.
I want to protest, but as I glance again toward the door Cassius walked through, everything in me knows they’re right. Even though I don’t understand what they mean.
“Show me.”
The eye continues to stare, but the sisters crowd around each other speaking in hushed voices before stepping back and training the eye on me again.
“You are getting closer. Stronger. We sense it...” Nona smirks. “But she’s in danger. Out of Fate’s hands. We will show you. The Unfated pose risk to us all.”
“I’m sorry, but what exactly are the Unfated after? Please. I need to know.”
“They seek your eternal soul, of course,” Nona says as if it should be obvious.
I open my mouth to tell them how crazy they are, but… But my paintings suddenly make sense. The familiar feel of the hallway into this room makes sense…
“So like reincarnation? I’ve lived and died before.”
“Many times my dear. Your bodies die but your soul lives on. Until you reach status, your thread shall be spun again and again, unless you should fail...” Decima’s mouth pulls into a thin line that’s neither sympathetic or mean.
“Status?”
“Your invitation to join our world.”
Very slowly in through the nose and slowly out the mouth. Only my breath shakes both ways. I have this hilarious flash of calling Sue and attempting to explain where I am and that I need her help.
“So...” My brain’s spinning too fast again. “So... I’m going to be like you? Is that status?”
They snicker together for a moment. “Oh. No. Dearest. We’re the Moirai. No one will ever be like us.”
“Mortal minds are such fragile things.” Nona sighs. “I sometimes forget.”
Because I’m the poor, pathetic mortal who doesn’t get her own life.
“According to what you told me, I’m not mortal. I want to know why you know so much about me.”
“It matters not, my dear. We know everything about everything and that’s all you need to know.” Decima seems like she’s trying to be understanding, but it’s coming off as though she thinks I’m a child.
“Why am I here then? What is so special about me that I can attain whatever this status is?” I’m getting frustrated with their code-speak.
“Cassius found you in your first life, but to be with you, he’d have to give up being a god.” Morta says and then looks to her sisters.
Their lips press together, and no one says anything, but the silence screams the truth.
Cassius wasn’t willing to give up his status for me. Or a past me. The guilty apology makes a lot more sense now.
“Oh...” Realization hits a new level. “The painting. The couple. They loved each other, but chose something else.” I’m going to be sick. It wasn’t just him, it was her...or, well, me. Not just the painting. His story. His lost love. The love he chose to lose. That was real. That was us.
“But you were never Fated to that horrible man.” Decima steps forward, her dark dress brushing the ground as she walks. “Even though that’s what you thought you were doing with his arrow. That moment you touched his arm didn’t matter. Your fate was sealed in the loft of that barn. With Cassius.”
“The Duke.” My stomach heaves once at the mention of him. I’d left Cassius above in the hayloft. I blink as I try to remember, but that life comes to me in short bursts of pictures, brief memories, smells, thoughts… The barn. The pinch of my corset. The improper way my hair fell over my shoulders.
“Yes. Once there was interest, your father gave the Duke every penny he had to wed you. A handsome dowry for a farmer. There was no fate involved in that, but the Duke did care for your family.” Nona smiles. “You’re starting to remember already. The veil lifts a bit in our world, and even more in our home should Fate allow it.”
I shake my head as flashes of hands on me and lips on me and tied hands hits me... Once and then again, and again, and again... “Close my mind back up. I don’t want to remember.” The Duke was not good to me. His heart poisoned by drink.
“I’m afraid it’s too late.” Morta leans forward, her long, thin fingers giving my shoulder a slight squeeze. “Once Fate decides to show herself, you are powerless to stop her...”
I fall to my knees as I remember Cassius then. Helena. I was Helena first. Chestnut hair, every bit as thick as the hair I have now, but light eyes. Pale blue. Same girl as I just saw in my own reflection.
Helena was revered for her eyes. She was chosen for her eyes, and her marriage to the Duke saved her family. Something Cassius couldn’t have done if he’d been turned mortal.
I clutch my stomach as Helena’s memory pushes in, and the look of shock crosses Cassius’ face when I grabbed his arrow.
“You’re seeing it now. His finger touched yours when that arrow pierced you. He marked you, unknowingly. Rules are rules. His soul vouched for yours. Part of him is in you, which is why your soul will not die. It’s why he always finds you. Why he is always compelled to help you.”
There was satisfaction in using his weapon to tear us apart. The thing he wouldn’t give up for me. I loved him desperately, but I was angry.
And then Cy is gone and memories of the Duke hit me again and again. He liked to experiment and his wife was his property. As my eyes stay closed I look down on a body filled with scars, because I’m seeing Helena’s body. I shudder as I remember a baby, born too still to be alive and how that knowledge tore at the pathetic existence I had chosen for myself.
Now a different life. Another family who starved me nearly to death before I was rescued by a couple who were only slightly better. I died young in that life. A farmer. Twenty-two.
“Why...?” I swallow hard as I internalize what I’m seeing. What I’ve lived. “Did I have any good lives?”
“It is not a matter of good or bad, it’s a matter of what you see and what you find in each of those lives. Those are the things that are used to measure worthiness to pass on to the next life.”
I close my eyes again and remember the young girl who took care of my cuts and bruises. The Duke had a penchant for tying me up to have his way with me, and the girl used to hum as she cleaned the chafing. I loved her like a daughter. The love from her saved my heart after my baby was lost.
Paris. Victorian Era. A man rescued me during that life. I was abused by his son, nearly wed. He saved me. Though I’d been violated and broken, he took me anyway. “I had children in one life.” And died giving birth to the second, but I did have a few happy years with the much older man. Still the memories are as raw and sharp as if I were living them all again. Our house with the orchard and family cemetery. The pale blue house with the beautiful roof. My body spasms as I once again remember the rough hands of the son.
The Fates murmur together for a few moments, “...learned so much...still moving forward...recovering remarkably well in her current life...wonder about the next...her actions cannot be seen...the Unfated make it too murky.”
Flashes of people and aches and pains and heartaches, and all the while that horrible pull behind my heart that never let me give up. The pull that made me try and be sober, when everything else said I needed escape. The pull that has to come from the small piece of Cassius I carry with me.
Another life slams into my thoughts. A boat.
The stench. Dirty hands and rotten breath. More hands clawing at a body that didn’t want to be had. A skinny cook with a soft smile and a knack for healing small wounds. “At what point does my soul get too tired and give up?” I ask as I blink through my tears.
Nona smiles widely. “And that’s the precise thread.”
I swipe at my face, press my palms to my chest that feels as if it were on fire. “I’m sorry?”
“Everyone who went from mortal to god had a trial, Helena. This is yours. If your soul gives up. If you cease to find good around you, you will eventually fail.”
“Zarah!” I yell pressing my hands to my head. “I’m not Helena.”
Nona leans down and strokes a long finger along my cheek. “You are all of them, dearest. You are each one of these lives as they make up a whole. You are also none of them. Zarah is who you are now, since you insist on using mortal terms for time. Helena is where you started. Life after life teaches you. Adds to you. Allows you to grow but you must pay attention.”
“Life after life? But I don’t remember!” I’m back to standing now. How could I be measured by my reactions if I don’t remember? “How am I supposed to learn and know that I need to endure my lives?”
“Because you do remember. The soul always remembers. You have to listen to your soul.” The eye turns to my painting on the wall.
My painting. Their wall. In every life since Helena I’ve painted, drawn, sketched. Always. And now I know I’ve painted and sketched things I remember. From lives before that one. Cassius more than anything. But also the women in front of me, friends, lovers, tormentors…
“Cy was in Max’s body when he bought that.” I step closer to the painting. “No wonder he was so freaked out.”
“Young Cassius tends to overreact.”
Wait a moment. “How old is Cassius?”
“A mere two thousand years...” one says. “Adolescent... Child...” They talk over each other.
Two thousand years old.
“My grip on reality...” I touch the canvas, wanting some confirmation that I’m not in a dream somewhere, but at the same time there’s something inside me that recognizes this reality.
“Is perfect.” The dark one quips. “It’s that your reality is different from the rest of most mortals. That silver thread is your fate. You painted your own fate.”
“Do I make it? Can Fate tell me that?”
“I think you know the answer to that question, my dear.”
No. Fate can’t tell me that. “Why am I trying so hard? Why do I care?”
“You need to find love in each of your lives to make it to status. Your course was set by the god of love, your trials revolve around love in perilous circumstances.”
I turn away from the painting to face them again. “What does status really mean?”
“Goddess, child. We said that already.” Morta’s mouth pulls into a thin line, like she’s irritated that I can’t keep up. No one should be able to keep up with this.
“I’m living lifetimes of hell, in hopes that I’ll be with Cassius again. As his equal this time. That’s why he feels like home.” My heart stumbles before finding its rhythm again. “Even though he discarded me, I’m living again and again because we are tied. And I need to see the good through the bad. Find hope when I’m trapped in a closet.”
“That’s the feeling you need to search for in your next lives.”
“So, what do we do in this life?” I ask. “We’re in danger, all the time. He can’t Fate me to someone else. We’ve seen that doesn’t work. What do we do?”
“When one god meddles in a person’s affairs, other gods tend to take notice. You must find a way to escape the eye of the Unfated but this will never happen if you remain by Cassius’ side.”
So Cassius needs to leave me alone. We need to be apart to be together. The ridiculousness of it seems appropriate given everything else I’ve learned recently.
“Forever?” I ask knowing that they understand what I mean.
“Cassius is unable to control himself when it comes to you. I’m afraid this is your battle to figure out.” I’m not even paying attention to who’s talking anymore.
“Did he know who I am?” I’m thinking back to the alley. To the first time I saw him outside my closet and the way he looked at me. “When we met. Did he know?”
“Part of him did, but he didn’t want to face it. You. Helena.”
“But she’s not me.” I shake my head.
“We’ve been through this. I swear the girl listens as well as Cassius.” Morta pinches her nose and turns away from me, busying herself with soft paper on a table.
“I’m not Helena.” I stand feeling defiant again. “I’m Zarah.”
“And Arial, and Collette, and Rose, and—”
“That’s enough.” With their names come flashes of their lives, and it’s too much.
More murmurs of approval and things I can’t hear and probably wouldn’t understand if I could.
“Does he know the rest of it? About my lives? My future?” If he feels for me the way I think he felt for Helena, then this will kill him. If not... I could be a god on my own without him. But with all the heartache and the lives, not being with Cassius at the end would be a waste.
“You’re free to tell him anything you feel he deserves to know.” A corner of Nona’s mouth twitches, but I can’t tell if she’s trying to prevent a smile or a frown.
“We’re certainly not ready to let you go yet, dearest, but we need to talk with young Cassius about his assignment...” They’re talking over each other again. “And how best to keep that boy safe in this mess... Never should have involved him… Won’t you excuse us...”
“Right. Of course. But…I...What?” Only my brain is trying to keep up with too much and it sputters to a halt. Exhaustion fills the pause in my thoughts and pushes out everything else.
“Come here, darling. First.” Nona steps toward me and pulls me into a half hug, followed by Decima. Morta reaches out and pats my shoulder. I’m overwhelmed with feeling for these strange women. I think Cassius would see them as uncaring, but I think that they probably cared too much, and now do what they need to, in order to protect themselves.
“Go through that doorway.” Morta points with her eye stick as they move back. “I’m sorry, but I imagine your memories will overlap while you’re here. It might feel a little overwhelming. Lying down might help. We’ll try to keep Cassius as short a time as possible.”
My mind is spinning across sharp memories and feelings I wish I could block away. I’m either going to become a goddess or an eternal zombie. No middle ground.
I blink and I’m in another room. I barely stumble because I can’t possibly get more disoriented than I already am. The room is smaller with a massive fireplace, intricate carvings on the gold trim that frames the room and an enormous couch rests near the fire. My head hurts from my conversation, from the drastic shift my reality has taken, from the memories that are pushing through like they happened yesterday. From the fact that I’m almost afraid to blink again.
Exhaustion pulls me to the couch where I sit in the corner, resting my head and staring at the fire. Golden with flecks of red, blue, purple... Enough color to know it’s not from my world.
I close my eyes and smile as I see Cassius in my first life. See him smiling at me. Following me. Stealing glances across a square filled with merchants. A kiss near a barn with the smell of horses. We made love in that barn. He told me what he was in that barn and I believed him, but not until he allowed my gaze to turn him to stone.
Then wave after wave of angry faces and fists and men hit me. Jealous women. Lies. Deceit. An older man who pitied me and pulled me from being an abused house-servant to being his wife. Gentle hands. It was too late for most of my years. That was another short life. Cassius’s eyes and arms in the small family graveyard… He found me there too...
I sit on the floor as eight lifetimes of memories shove their way into my head and my h
eart, suffocating me. I curl up, but I’ll never be small enough to escape.
Why do I try, life after life? Why doesn’t my soul give up and give in? When I remember I have more lifetimes to go, I choke on my first sob. I don’t want to do this again. Can’t imagine it. I press my palms into my eyes and see Cy. I’ve seen him before. I saw him in my mind with the Duke, and later, in Paris as I cried myself to sleep. In every life, I remembered parts of him. Drew parts of him. Sketched, or painted, or used my fingers in the dirt. Something of him has always been with me, even though I never knew who he was.
“Cassius,” I whimper as I grab my legs and clutch them tightly to my aching chest. “Please take me home.”
XXII
Cassius
My leg bounces nervously, and I glance at the door a hundred times, desperate to know what’s happening, but also wanting to step back in time and never bring her here.
Helena.
I blink hard but all I can see is her. When I open my eyes again, the Fates stand before me and I’m back in their weaving room. I jump, already on edge. My nerves spin and sputter out of control, and while I’m used to the Moirai manipulating time and space around me, I am not in the mindset for it.
“Where’s Zarah?” I spin in a quick circle before looking back at the Moirai.
“We’ve sent her away. We wanted to speak with you without the girl. Who is the most adorable...” Nona trails off and waves her hand.
“Isn’t she? I always forget they aren’t simply thread.” Decima shakes her head like she forgot to pick up butter at the store.
“Adorable?” My voice goes up. “You turned her life upside down and you want to talk about how cute she is?”
“Well, boy, she didn’t seem as upset about it as you are.” Morta shoves the eye in my face and I see her. Helena. Zarah. And others. So many others. She’s not just Helena and Zarah...
She is every woman I found and helped for the last 200 years.