The Gifts of Fate
Page 1
David T Myers
The Gifts of Fate
First published by Writeside Entertainment 2019
Copyright © 2019 by David T Myers
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
First edition
This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy
Find out more at reedsy.com
Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Thanks for reading
Acknowledgements
About the author
Dedication
For Ruth - for all the big and little things you do for me, thank you.
Prologue
The world was silent but for the faint sounds of rocks cracking and shifting in the giant ceiling above the city. The limestone roof stretched from one horizon to the next. Stalactites the size of mountains descended towards the Earth. Each threatened to crush everything below it, but in the history of this realm, none ever had.
From the ground, human-made buildings and skyscrapers, some as high as fifty storeys, rose to meet them. The city was empty of people but filled with their stuff—cars and trams, shops, cafes, and bars.
But there was something else here that wasn’t human-made. A strange green mist that glowed and floated six feet off the ground. This mist wasn’t composed of water vapour, but rather, threads and strings filled with life itself. Each strand was a different size, and twisted around others. At one end was the moment of birth. At the other end, the moment of death. And between birth and death were events—some good, others not. Within the mist were the fates and destinies of every man, woman, and child who’d ever lived and died.
Its caretakers, the goddesses of fate, the Moirai, called the mist their tapestry, and today they knew something was wrong with it.
The youngest of the three Moirai, Clotho, created a new thread from her spindle. She passed this thread to her elder sister, Lachesis, who appeared as a woman in her late forties. Lachesis threaded it into her needle and wove it up and into the mist. Each subtle movement determined the life events the person would experience before Atropos, the eldest of the three sisters, severed the thread and ended this person’s life and fate.
Even as Atropos used her scissors to end one, Clotho was already creating the next. And for the first time in several thousand years, she found Lachesis not ready when she handed her the new thread.
“Sister?” Clotho said, unsure of herself, but Lachesis’s eyes were fixed on the tapestry above them. Confused, Clotho offered the strand a second time. This time Lachesis took it and threaded it through her needle, and then Clotho noticed the imbalance in the tapestry herself.
It should have been filled with a soft glow from the threads brushing against each other. Instead, it was dark, and light flashed angrily within, like a storm cloud.
The goddesses peered deeper into their substance and spotted something that shouldn’t have been there. “The Star of Fate,” the Moirai said in unison.
The three goddesses felt a thrill of excitement. For millennia they had woven the fates of men and women into the tapestry. Guided and shaped their mortal lives. Facilitated the force of destiny for others to enjoy.
The Star was part of their destiny. Change was coming.
“They come!” Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos said together. “The three for whom we have waited have come. Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice, for they are near.”
They smiled at each other. After thousands of years, change was coming, and they were ready for it. At least they thought they were—until they noticed the girl.
The sixteen-year-old stood at the other end of the street. Beautiful and shy, she had long dark hair that spilled over a white robe covering her caramel-coloured skin. Her brown eyes, haunted and wary, moved from one goddess to the next.
“One watches,” Lachesis said, pointing to her. When the girl realised she’d been noticed, she took a step back in fear.
Who was she? they wondered. How had she entered their realm?
Lachesis frowned. The thread within her needle, the same fate that she was weaving right now, it belonged to her—Shilpy Chopra. The girl’s name was Shilpy Chopra.
Atropos reached across with her scissors. “I have her.”
“No, please no,” Shilpy whimpered.
“Wait!” Lachesis cried. She made a grab for her sister’s long and merciless scissors but wasn’t quick enough. The word echoed through the empty streets around them. It bounced off buildings, through alleyways, and from the rock canopy above their heads.
The girl disappeared and the silver thread, not yet fully woven into the tapestry, dangled limply in the air from Lachesis’s needle. The goddess’s bony fist tightened around the newly severed thread. The crow’s feet about her eyes deepened as she stared at her older sister.
“All must die.” Atropos’s ancient, unforgiving voice said. She extended a wrinkled hand. “I have fulfilled my purpose. Hand me the next.”
“Sisters,” Lachesis said, showing them the half-woven fate, “this one is our herald.”
Atropos, stony-faced, scowled. It didn’t matter to her. The task had been completed. She had fulfilled her purpose, no matter the cost. But a moment later, her face changed. The scowl slipped away to be replaced with a frown of worry.
Both Lachesis and Clotho turned and spotted a dark shape forming in the tapestry. Something was moving inside the mist. An inky-black shadow. It spread from one thread to the next, corrupting each one. The shadow grew larger. An entire patch of the tapestry was black.
“What is that?” Clotho asked.
Atropos reached out her hand and closed her eyes, trying to sense the true nature of the thing. “It is not death. It is something else. A sickness of some kind.”
“It is no traditional plague. Something otherworldly,” Lachesis said, reaching out as well.
“Can the herald stop it?” Clotho asked.
“No, but the avatars might. If the herald can warn them, they might do what is needed.”
Lachesis deftly wove what remained of the silver thread in among the others. With each twist and turn a new event unfolded.
“The fate is not long enough,” Lachesis said with finality. Clotho and Atropos frowned.
“Is there another?” Atropos asked.
“There is not. Only she possesses the gifts necessary to hear our instructions.”
“How did she enter our realm?” Atropos asked, severing the next thread.
Lachesis pinched the thread, and the world around them vanished. The three goddesses stood above Shilpy Chopra, who was naked and kneeling on a tatami mat in some sort of sweat tent. An older woman with eager eyes and a cruel, turned-down mouth kneeled across from her. Shilpy was weeping, and the older woman reached over to comfort her.
“They call
it the Ritual of Seers,” Lachesis said. She ran her hand over a brazier filled with strange vegetation. The coals within still glowed red. “It has awakened the girl’s sight. Allowed her to see us.”
The two women began arguing. Their words were not of interest to the goddesses, who were far more interested in the big picture. All three could sense what was to come. A single event would drive the fate of these two women in different directions, and scar each for life, but in different ways.
“She does not die here, then.” Clotho circled the two women.
Lachesis ran her fingers over Shilpy’s thread. “There is time. We may make use of this one yet.”
“What will become of us if she does not complete her mission?” Clotho asked.
Lachesis waved her hand. The tent vanished and they stood once more in their own realm. Except now, instead of standing in the centre of a road surrounded by a city and cars, they stood among rubble and destruction.
Buildings had fallen, leaving behind ruins of stone, steel, and glass. Trees and vehicles were buried under layer upon layer of rock. The cave ceiling was no longer visible above the mist floating above, now pitch black.
Clotho backed away from the vision, shaking her head from side to side. Even though she had summoned the image, Lachesis winced. Only Atropos witnessed the destruction without emotion.
“All things die. Even us,” she said. “It is the way of things.”
Clotho shook her head again. “Our death needn’t come so soon. The herald must meet with the avatars before her death. She must complete her mission.”
“You would change her fate?” Atropos glared at her sister. “We are goddesses of order. If we disrupt the tapestry there will be consequences.”
“We have no choice,” Clotho replied. “Otherwise, her life will end before she meets them.”
“Her fate is mapped out, but it must change. We cannot allow her to die until she finishes her task,” Lachesis said.
Atropos closed her eyes and sighed. “Very well. But soon after that.”
Clotho nodded, and then turned to Lachesis. “What must we do?”
Lachesis looked from her younger sister to her elder. She took a deep breath, and her fingers tightened around the final part of the silver thread.
Chapter 1
Five years later.
In the past month, Shilpy had visited nearly a dozen fortune tellers. Madame Jessica’s inner sanctum was the first to make her nervous.
On the surface, the small shop appeared safe enough. The shades were drawn, and the only light came from several candles placed around the room. Air a few degrees too warm blasted from a small heater in the corner and wrapped itself around her like an unwelcome blanket. Lengths of blue and black velvet and cotton decorated the space. They lay strategically over the walls, windows, and a chest of drawers. The room reminded Shilpy of some fairy-tale underwater lair.
The old woman greeting her wore a long-sleeved purple tunic, and on her ample chest rested several beads and necklaces with avant-garde symbols from Asia. She brushed a stray lock of brown hair from her powdered and wrinkled face. The movement drew Shilpy’s eyes to a ring around the woman’s long, crooked finger. Attached to the ring was a chain to a Kundan style Indian bracelet. Possibly a cheap knock-off uncovered in a Sydney market.
It looked as though each item of clothing and jewellery had been selected to affect an exotic and mysterious air. Being Indian-Australian, Shilpy wasn’t impressed by the references to her native country. She wore a Led Zeppelin T-shirt and a pair of jeans. She’d never worn a sari.
The room and the woman’s clothing were consistent with every other mystic shop Shilpy had visited in recent weeks, although this one was slightly more on the tacky side. Why then did she feel so on edge? Could it be the curse?
The older woman raised her eyebrows and gazed arrogantly at Shilpy. “I am Madame Jessica,” she said, by way of lofty introduction.
“Pleased to meet you. My name is Lakshmi Arturi,” Shilpy lied.
Madame Jessica led her customer to a round table in the centre of the room. It was shrouded with a royal-blue cloth, the same shade as the silks against the wall, but this material was embroidered with golden thread in the images of moons and stars. Decorating the table were an assortment of charms, a small candle burned down to the nub, and a deck of tarot cards.
Upon seeing the cards, Shilpy lost interest in everything else in the room. The image of an impossibly beautiful porcelain-skinned woman adorned the back of each card. Her arms and legs were spread wide, and it looked as if she were floating on top of a black pond or through space. She wore a black-and-blue dress, which was also decorated with moons and stars. The dress merged seamlessly with the image of the night sky behind her.
Shilpy tried not to gape at the image. Her legs went weak, and it took all her willpower to settle into the offered chair instead of fleeing.
Everything about the woman on the cards was intimately familiar. During her teenage years, Shilpy had stared up at those features each night and prostrated herself in prayer the following morning. The woman was Nyx, goddess of night.
Madame Jessica’s attention remained on the cards. Each danced back and forth through the deck beneath deft hands. Shilpy looked again at the older woman. Her face wasn’t familiar, so there was a chance that the image on the backs of the cards was a coincidence. If it wasn’t, then Madame Jessica was a sister of Keres Ter Nyx, the cult that Shilpy had been hiding from for the last five years.
Either way, she had to get out of here.
Madame Jessica eyed her customer up and down. “What is it you seek, Ms Arturi?”
Shilpy pushed the panic down into her stomach. “My boyfriend,” she said, trying to keep her voice light while rushing to think on her feet. “I wish to know if he is the one.” Lame, but the best she could come up with at such short notice.
“Tell me of this man you love,” Madame Jessica said, smiling.
Shilpy looked away. “We’ve been together nearly a year. We just moved into the same flat. He treats me well—”
“But?”
“He’s a mystery. There’s so much he won’t tell me.”
The statement was true, but she felt uncomfortable giving it voice. It felt like a betrayal to speak about such a petty concern.
“You suspect this man has secrets. Do you keep secrets from him?”
Secrets? Yes, there were many secrets she kept from Dusk and the world. Things she believed had been left behind: the curse, the cult that raised her, and the sister she hadn’t seen in five years.
The dreams restarted a month ago. They haunted her sleep every night. Like clockwork she woke screaming at 3:13 in the morning. It had become unbearable, and she’d started looking for help from the only people who might understand her condition. She’d never imagined it would lead her back to Keres Ter Nyx.
She swallowed the fear and placed both hands on her lap. I’m normal. No reason to be afraid, she thought.
Madame Jessica was still shuffling. It seemed she was taking a lot longer than she needed. The psychic was chatty and nosy in a passive-aggressive kind of way. Strange. Most of the psychics Shilpy had met over the past few weeks were quick to show off their skills. They didn’t waste time on idle chit-chat. Was the older woman stalling?
Shilpy shrugged in answer to Madame Jessica’s question, her gaze flicking back and forth around the room, eying the exits.
“I can see many things, young Lakshmi. I can see what will happen to you and this man you love, I can see if he stands the test of time, I can see if he will marry you, or father your children, I can see if he will stand over your grave or if you will stand over his, but I can also see that the question you asked isn’t why you came here.”
Shilpy swallowed but continued to play dumb. “I don’t know that I believe in soulmates. I’m not perfect. No one is. But I see the way other women stare at him. I’m hoping you can use your sight and give me some assurance it will last.”
Every muscle in Shilpy’s shoulders tensed. She knows. Of course she knows.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking—”
“I’ve heard that a young Indian woman has been calling on many of my colleagues. Some she visited even possess legitimate power. This girl claims she has talents that allow her to see things, although she regards these abilities as more of a curse than a gift. She asked each person she visited the same questions.”
“Hmm,” Shilpy said, her voice strained. The smile on Madame Jessica’s face was unnerving.
“She wanted to know if there was a cure? Can the visions be controlled? Can she stop herself from going mad?”
Shilpy’s hands balled into tight fists beneath the table.
“I’m yet to meet this young woman,” Madame Jessica continued airily, “but I have sisters who can answer her questions and offer her what she seeks. My sisters and I need her.”
“I hope you meet her one day,” Shilpy said tersely. “I assure you, I’m only interested in my boyfriend.”
“Shilpy, I knew who you were the moment you walked through the door.”
Shilpy sighed at the mention of her real name, and Madame Jessica’s smile grew a little wider. There was no need to reply. The two women locked eyes, and the silence built between them.
Madame Jessica seized and threw the crystal ball just as Shilpy flipped the table towards her. The orb flew over Shilpy’s head while the table crashed to the ground. Its former contents scattered around the room. Madame Jessica was surprisingly spry for someone of her age. She leaped away from the table before it hit the ground and then took an additional step back, balancing on the balls of her feet.
She could fight. Not good.
“I knew it,” Madame Jessica said.
“I assume you’ve called for backup.” All pretence gone, Shilpy lowered her centre of balance, waiting for the older woman to make a move.