CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VI

It was ... rare that the three Fates allowed another god to bear witness to them in person. It happened maybe once a millennium, which was why Athena was not stupid enough to turn it down. They must have something crucial to her success − to the fate of humanity − if they had called her to visit them. Usually they communicated through the cloth, the fabric of the Universe. For Athena, she heard their whispers in the wind. That was how they had laid out the plans to her about the priestess. It had been as clear as listening to a melody.

Long ago, when she had walked amongst the humans, they had told her they never felt the Fates pull around them. They hadn’t felt them in their heads or their hearts but in the core of their being. They’d always point to the same place where Prometheus had sealed their beings − the navel. She wondered if Amara now felt the same way.

“I thank you for the audience, Moirai.”

Of course, the three Fates seated round the fireplace that warmed Athena’s back were not of their own appearance. Instead they had disguised themselves as ancient crones, each with swamps of cloth in black, white, and green to hide their bodies, and hoods that covered most of their features. All Athena could see were gnarled old hands with long talon-like claws peeking out from sleeves, and wrinkles on faces that were so plentiful they caused the skin to sag. Nothing like what they were rumoured to look like ... but then, no one − god or human − could say for certain who had seen the Fates’ true faces.

She was grateful for the fire. The room to which they’d summoned her, after she had sent word to them, was bare and draughty. There was only a rug underneath her feet, of ruby reds and diamond blues in a pattern Athena recognised as eighteenth century. The rest of the furniture, the pieces the Moirai weren’t sitting on, was covered in white sheets. It was not that the draught concerned Athena but the presence of the Moirai. It was as if they seeped the life, the warmth, the depth, out of everything around them to use it for the purpose of weaving the story of life itself. Athena shuddered, a wave of pins and needles travelling up her spine.

“You need help with the priestess,” the middle one astutely calculated, her voice so crystal clear it hurt Athena’s ears to hear it and she winced ever so slightly. The Moirai’s eyes watched her, calculating.

“Yes. There was an unseen complication,” Athena carefully replied.

“Ah but that has always been your downfall has it not, Athena? Your inability to be foolproof.” Lachesiscontinued.

The Moirai cackled as Athena clenched her jaw. It was the cruellest paradox they had burdened upon her, and now they openly mocked her for it. For all her wisdom, all her experience, knowledge, and sound judgement, the actions on the battlefield could not always be predicted. It was in those moments, where new precedents were set, where the unexpected happened, that Athena’s wisdom was useless. And who would trust the Goddess of Wisdom and War if she revealed that she could not know which consequences would arise from her actions? It mattered little that, when it came to war, there was no such thing as a foolproof strategy, that each move was calculated based on how the defence responded. In Olympus, reputation counted foreverything.

She got the distinct impression she was being toyed with, as a cat might play with a mouse, but she allowed her anger to froth, like a wave breaking against the surface of her skin, and then simmer inside of her. To waste such an opportunity for the Moirai’s help would do no good now.

“It would appear the priestess we were planning on using to execute my plan has lost her memories.”

“We know, foolish girl,” the middle one waved her hand and Athena heard bones crackle, though she was standing a metre away. Never had she been called a girl in her life, much less a foolish one. The smart stung as if she’d been slapped on the cheek.

“You asked that she be left alone when we placed her on Earth …”

“We know what we asked,” the first of the three and closest to Athena said. Her black cloak looked mauve when she angled her head slightly and the light coming through the window behind them hit it. “The fear of abandonment will serve her.”

Athena waited patiently for the Moirai to elaborate but received nothing further. Her teeth clenched together impossibly tighter.

“Without her memories, we have little chance of her using her alchemy skills in the human realm.” Athena ground out, surprising herself with how calm she sounded when the frustration was already beginning to build in her again like a crescendo. She would not ask for an audience with the Moirai again for at least a millenium she told herself.

“You ask for a boon,” the third sister said, shifting her weight in the chair. Her elbows balanced on the arms of it precariously as she leant forward in anticipation. The shape of the cloth she wore, they all wore, fell into lines and shadows that told Athena their bones were thin, old if the cracking was anything to go by, but she doubted they would ever break. No one could break the Moirai to their will, only barter and hope the fickle sisters were in a whimsical enough mood to hear theirplea.

“We need her to be introduced to fear. You are the ones who ultimately determine who is exposed to what, so I come to you.”

When they didn’t respond, Athena muttered darkly, “Yes, I ask for aboon.”

Two of the sisters turned their hooded heads to the figure on the left of Athena, the one closest to her, who in turn lifted her chin enough that Athena could see the whites of her eyes beneath her hood.

“It will come at great cost,” the first sister whispered silkily, “for there is no other way. To pull from a thread that is unwilling, you must take fromanother.”

Athena waited patiently for further explanation again. This time, to her surprise, she received it.

“The fear will claw at her more savagely than if it had passed through her life naturally. You will watch her contort in horror, in pain, in revulsion as it takes root. Until her eyes go blank and she retreats into the shell of her mind for safe harbour. She will wrap shame, embroidered with fear, around her skin as a blanket. All this you shall bear witness to. Are you sure this is a boon you are willing to askfor?”

Three heads cocked as they watched her. Three mouths smiled cruelly at her in her predicament. Six hands curled over chair arms as they anticipated her response.

Athena closed her eyes and took a deepbreath.

“Will it save them? The humans?” she asked quietly. For she did not want to see thousands of years of work wasted. She too had come to view the humans as precious, as something of note for the gods, even if those in Olympus couldn’t see what good having the humans did for them beyond stroke their egos. If that meant she had to put her priestess through hardship, so be it. Others she had watched over in her time − Hercules, Jason − had survived. Amara couldtoo.

“Certainly,” the first of the Fates replied without pause.

“And there is no other boon you are willing to offer?” She had to try, for every fibre of her being was screaming that the Moirai were being deliberately obtuse, that she would regret the cost of this decision, that it would haunt her for eternity. Paradoxically, she knew she would still do it because she knew the answer before it came out of their crooked mouths.

“It is the onlyway.”

A pause, the weight of Athena’s words heavy on her armoured chest as she spoke them.

“Then yes, it is the boon I askfor.”