The Children of Wisdom Trilogy

by Stephanie Erickson

  “There’s your mistake. You are never done. Think of Fia. You still remember her and use the techniques she taught you, do you not?”

  I nod again.

  “Then is she not serving her larger role, even though she no longer works among us?”

  “Yes, I suppose she is. But, Keeper, we are immortal. Where did she go? And what is she doing now?”

  The Keeper smiles as he tents his hands in front of his face. “She has moved on. Some might say to a better place.”

  When I hear his words, I immediately jump to conclusions. “But the very definition of immortal means to live forever. She died? How? When?” I become frantic; he seems to be confirming my worst fears.

  “Death is something humans experience. Their bodies age, and eventually stop functioning, but their souls live on, as you well know. I suppose the concept is similar for us. Her soul has moved on from this place. Fia is at peace now. Knowing that, you should be too.”

  I take an unconscious step away from the Keeper. Part of me knows I will never experience peace again, not after seeing that girl. Not after discovering that Fia is no more.

  Nonetheless, he has helped me. I hold a hand out to him. “Thank you, Keeper. I know your time is very valuable.”

  “Perhaps not as valuable as yours, Fate.” The foreboding tone of his voice makes me pause. His eyes seem to slice into me.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, still lightly grasping the old man’s hand.

  “I mean that your time may be shorter than mine. Be diligent, or you will soon meet your fate, and you may not like it.”

  The old man disappears right before my eyes, leaving me with my outstretched hand hanging in midair.

  A chill runs down my back, but I do my best to soothe myself of the uneasy feeling. I already know things are spiraling out of control; I don’t need an old man to tell me that. Diligence. How in the heavens am I supposed to be diligent, when I’m so consumed by Kismet?

  The Keeper seems to think there will be some pretty dire consequences if I don’t get myself under control. But how? And what if I don’t want to control these feelings that are building up inside me? They’re exhilarating and consuming. What would I give up to stay on this path with her?

  As I wander back to my quarters, I have a feeling I will soon find out.

  Before I make it back, I run into Michaela.

  “Hello there, Penn. How nice to see you on this side of the heavens.” I welcome her warm smile, which helps restore what remains of my shredded nerves.

  She must notice the grim look on my face because her expression fades to concern. “Care to walk with me a bit?”

  I fall into step beside her, giving her my answer without any words. For a few moments, we don’t speak at all. My mind whirls like the contents of my cauldron as I try to decide how to begin… or if I even want to share my troubles with her. It feels a little like opening Pandora’s Box. Once I admit everything out loud, there will be no going back.

  Trying to think of something to lighten the mood, I decide to start a game with her. Given her love for the human world, I pick a song lyric. All she has to do is finish it. “Wise men say,” I venture.

  “Only fools rush in.” Michaela ponders for a moment as we walk. We have made our way to the observatory, where many of the immortals like to sit and watch the heavens. It’s a beautiful place filled with stars, planets, and life.

  Michaela turns her back to it all to face me. “You’ve fallen in love with her.”

  I don’t respond right away. How can I deny it? Of course I have. How could I not? How could every single being—human or heavenly—who either saw her or met her not fall in love with her?

  “How did you know?”

  “Your sparkler is a real beauty. I’ve even stopped by the Weaving Room to see her.” I can hear the smile in her voice as I watch the heavens. “How’s Horatia?”

  “Oh good. You heard about that too,” I say, embarrassed.

  “I did.”

  “She’ll be ready to work again tomorrow.”

  She nods as we go, and then asks, “Why did you fate her for someone else?”

  My mouth hangs open, and I know she isn’t talking about Horatia. “Did I have a choice?”

  Her smile is soft and a little sad. “There is always a choice. To live your life or waste it. Heaven or hell. To move forward or stand still.”

  Shaking my head, I try to understand what she’s saying. I assume moving forward means forgetting Kismet, but if I do that, I’ll be doing what I’ve always done, for as long as I can remember. I will be standing still.

  “What—” I start to ask, but she puts a hand on my shoulder and smiles at me.

  “I have to go. But before I do, consider this—the humans are beautiful and frightening. They are full of emotions that most of us don’t understand or ever experience. Who wouldn’t be curious about that? Perhaps the first step to moving forward is forgiving yourself.”

  Am I really so transparent? With that, she squeezes my shoulder and leaves me alone in the observatory. No doubt she’s received an assignment.

  I am a Fate, a heavenly being. I shouldn’t be feeling this way about a human. But I have absolutely no desire to change, which makes me feel even worse. My focus has deviated from my purpose in a big way, making me feel lost—something I’ve never felt in the entirety of my long existence.

  As I stare out at the heavens, not really seeing anything, I wonder if I can do what Michaela suggests. I wonder if I can forgive myself.

  The following day, I am the last to arrive at our workroom. Thankfully, I’m so late that Webber is already in the weaving room, and I don’t have to deal with him—not yet, anyway. I clear my throat as I walk in through the arch-shaped stone doorway. “Horatia, I’m truly sorry for my carelessness yesterday. It won’t happen again.”

  “Penn, it’s all right. I’m fine,” she says as she assesses me. “It’s you we’re worried about.”

  “I’m just as fine as you are. Now, let’s get to work,” I say, trying to end the discussion.

  I don’t miss the look Horatia and Galenia share, but I let it go. It’s Michaela’s words that won’t leave me in peace. Am I moving forward or standing still? I want to move forward, but I just don’t know how. Sighing, I grab the next order and set to work.

  But I’m agitated. I’ve never felt this kind of pressure before. When I first started, I had nothing to lose, so I had no point of reference when it came to stress. Anyway, stress is typically a human emotion. But as I stare down into the blackness of the cauldron, it feels as if I’m split in two. I know I have to keep working, that I have to move past her, but I don’t see how I can. I don’t want to. Moving past her means giving her up, right?

  One thing is certain—I can’t go on this way. My production over the last six months has been terrible. I went from being the best Fate in history to the worst overnight. It has to stop. Whether I choose to move forward or stand still, I need to choose something. It’s hurting everyone. Horatia and Galenia have become anxious as rumors about our poor production have spread throughout the heavens—helped, no doubt, by Webber. On Earth, a new generation of career-minded women is being blamed for the current low birth rate, but I know that won’t last forever. Things will start crumbling if I don’t pick up the pace.

  I will move forward, I think, although I’m not yet sure if that means letting go of Kismet and focusing on work, or focusing on Kismet and letting go of work.

  Trying to silence the questions in my mind, I hastily reach into the pot and pull out a muddled, brown mass. Someone’s breath hitches as the light hits the raw material, but I don’t know which of the girls made the sound. I don’t look up to find out. I’ll show them I can still do the job—without giving up Kismet.

  I slap the mass onto the wheel and start working, but it isn’t right. No matter what I do, I can’t spin much of anything from the muddled mess. The more I struggle with it, the more frustrated I get. As the day ticks away,
the new pressure I feel weighs heavier and heavier on me.

  Finally, after struggling for hours with the mass, I have a thread. But I can’t see the life inside it at all. Trying to ignore the obvious, I pull it off the wheel and hand it to Horatia.

  She takes it from me gingerly, but then she immediately recoils. “Penn, this thread…” She trails off, and I look nervously from her to the thread, knowing that somehow I managed to tie my own fate to that thread.

  She picks up her shears and cuts it terribly short. It’s not even an inch long. No wonder I can’t see the human inside the thread. There isn’t much to see. I created a stillborn by mistake. My breathing comes in short gasps as Horatia hands the thread to Galenia. I reach for it instinctually, but Galenia gets to it first.

  “Penn, it’s over. It’s done. There’s nothing for him now,” she says, referring to the baby. A him. A life cut short because of me. Galenia carries the thread toward the door.

  I step in front of her before she can leave our room. “Please. Not Webber,” I say in an undertone. “This is just the opportunity he’s looking for.”

  With tears in her eyes, she moves around me and says, “Then you shouldn’t have given it to him.”

  Horatia stays back with me as Galenia walks alone toward Webber.

  “It’s about time,” I hear Webber say. “What is this? A stillborn? There weren’t any orders for one today.”

  Galenia’s silence is all the confirmation he needs. “It’s a mistake. The great Penn has made a mistake! Finally.” He pushes past Galenia and runs down the hall, not even bothering to gloat in front of me. He’s going straight to our boss with my mistake. And I know that’s where it will end.

  4.

  We gather in the workroom, not sure what to do. Huddling close together, we don’t speak, our arms encircling one another’s shoulders, our heads bowed together in the center of our circle. The girls’ hair dangles down into the middle, occasionally tickling my knees, but I ignore it. This is my family. I can’t imagine being parted from them. This is what I should’ve thought about instead of Kismet. But as soon as the thought is in my head, I regret it. Why should I have to choose one or the other? It’s not fair.

  Michaela bursts into the room, interrupting our huddle. The outright fear in her eyes makes my heart race. “Guys, I think we have a problem,” she says.

  But before I get to hear what she has to say, the archangels come for me. “Penn, come with us,” they say when they arrive at the door. They are blond and blue eyed like Michaela, but much, much bigger, and swathed in white robes.

  Michaela looks back and forth between the angels and me, confusion on her face. “What’s going on?”

  But I can’t explain. They’re waiting. I nod to the angels, knowing there’s no use fighting them. Anyone who tries will lose, and lose quickly.

  The girls follow closely behind, well, as closely as you can follow a couple of archangels. Their massive, stark-white wings are so enormous that they force those around them to give them a fair amount of space on either side and behind. They are foreboding by design. I wonder if it’s a lonely existence, but before I have much time to think about it, we arrive at our destination.

  Michaela stands a few paces behind my sisters, her face drained of all its remaining color. What she said nags at my mind. She didn’t know about my mistake. So why’s she so worried? What could have happened? But the archangels are breathing down my neck, so I don’t get a spare moment to ask.

  Webber is leaning against the wall next to the door, smiling widely. We lock eyes, and a gamut of emotions washes over me—anger, defeat, and denial are the most prominent. But I can tell Webber feels only glee. It makes my frown furrow even deeper. I can only hope Webber won’t be as bad in my position as I fear he will be. But the scenarios start playing in my head on their own accord. I picture Webber making the tapestry’s threads darker and darker, ruining the fragile balance of Earth. And I worry that my sisters will be miserably unhappy with someone as arrogant as Webber at their helm.

  I glance back at them once more before I’m ushered into the office of God. The looks on their faces mirror the way I feel—dark, concerned, and depressed.

  Inside, everything is white. There appears to be no definition between air and floor; it’s just a sea of white all around me. My shoes make a sound as I walk, so I know I’m connecting with some kind of ground.

  Soon, though, shapes start to take form in front of me. First, a chair materializes, then a great podium facing it, buffeted by several smaller podiums on either side. God sits in a chair before the tallest podium, and some of His disciples have assumed similar positions at the smaller ones around him. I’ve never met God before. I’ve never had a call to. I immediately regret meeting Him under these circumstances.

  “Fate, please, have a seat,” He booms.

  I obey automatically, and the angels stand on either side of me. “You know I’m not going anywhere, right? It’s not like you have to stop me from running away or something,” I whisper to them. But they don’t respond. They stare stoically ahead. And why wouldn’t they? Their heads aren’t on the chopping block.

  I venture a good, long look at our creator. He isn’t an old man with long, flowing gray hair. And He isn’t a young, bearded Middle Eastern man either. He’s relatively young looking, perhaps middle-aged by Earth’s standards. He has short, dark hair, and wears steel-rimmed glasses and a button-up blue checked shirt with no tie. He must like the current fashion trends on Earth, because I can’t imagine he needs the glasses. He’s God.

  He looks down at something on His podium, and I can only assume it’s the thread I created. My mistake.

  “You’ve made a mistake,” God proclaims.

  I don’t respond. I have no rebuttal for that. It’s the truth, plain and simple.

  The creator takes off his glasses and rests them on the podium in front of Him. “Have you truly nothing to say for yourself?” He asks, looking straight at me.

  The more I think about it, the less I can answer him. I have no excuses. I can neither explain nor defend my behavior. I myself don’t understand it. I feel human emotions, so many of them, and yet I’m not a human. How can I put that into words? I can’t. So, I sit and await his judgment.

  God frowns at me, making me long for an excuse that would help me escape His disapproval. “Penn, you are the best Fate our world has ever seen, but you have just made one of the worst mistakes a Fate can possibly make. Due to your inept creation, a life has needlessly been cut short. You have offered no excuse or explanation for your error.” God pauses, waiting for me to disagree, but I can’t.

  The only thing I can do is apologize. “I’m sorry. I truly don’t understand what’s come over me.”

  The creator sighs. “Be that as it may, I cannot allow the unnecessary loss of life to go unpunished. It is with the deepest regret that I sentence you, Fate, to banishment. You are to live out the remainder of your existence on Earth, never to see or interact with the heavens again. You will however, remain immortal. You will not be allowed to escape your banishment by dying. You will wander the Earth forever.”

  My mouth hangs open as I try to process my harsh sentence. Banished? How many others have been banished? Of course, there are those the humans refer to as fallen angels. But that was eons ago, during the formation of the Earth. Are there even any left?

  I clear my throat. “I didn’t know you still practiced banishment.”

  “In this case, I think it’s a suitable solution. You have a long history as a Fate, and you’re the best we’ve had so far. Such an achievement does not go ignored. However, you seem suddenly unfit for the work. I don’t mind telling you that you will be missed.” There’s a strange emotion in His eyes when they meet mine—something like hope. “Take heart. You may find yourself very useful on Earth. I’m not through with you yet, Penn.”

  My breath catches in my throat. Does he really have a larger plan for me? Or will I be making my own fate from her
e on out?

  Either way, I know instinctively that this will be the last time I ever hear the voice of God.

  5.

  The archangels lift me firmly, but not roughly, from my seat and usher me out.

  A line of my friends, coworkers, and acquaintances has assembled on either side of the hallway. Word of my expulsion has apparently traveled fast. I spot Webber first, and he starts to clap as I walk past him. No one else joins his attempted chorus, so his clapping echoes solemnly, almost chasing me as I go.

  I see Horatia and Galenia next. Both have tears in their eyes. I try to go to them, wanting to at least tell them goodbye, but the archangels hold up their hands in a clear signal. My sisters and I share a long look, knowing it will be the last time we’ll see each other.

  I wonder what will become of them, and how they’ll function with Webber in my place. Horatia doesn’t much care for the guy, but Galenia always tries to find some good in those around her. And who will replace Webber as the Weaver? Down and down the dominos fall as my one mistake ripples through the heavens and Earth.

  Michaela catches my eye last. Unsaid words hang on her lips. She knows better than to come to me, but the desperation on her face makes me think she’ll try. She doesn’t though, and I lose sight of her before I have the chance to hear her out, which makes my departure unsettling to say the least.

  Once we leave God’s office, I am not allowed to return to my quarters or our workroom. I don’t need any of my heavenly belongings where I’m going. We don’t even walk back through the areas I know best. I don’t get to see the common area or the observatory. Once the crowd thins and fades away, we’re left in the mists, and I know we’re nearing the edge of the heavens.

  Soon, the mist becomes so dense that I can’t see in front of me anymore. Waving a hand in front of my face to try to clear the air, I stop walking.

  “Keep moving,” one of the archangels behind me says. They are working together as a single unit, so I have no idea who made the command.