Lord Ivan and Lady Larissa
passed through the large, decaying archway as his ancestors had done before
him, the reasons the same for every one of them: they sought to discover their
child’s destiny. A child’s destiny was a precarious thing. While some believed
a person was free to choose their own path, those of the old families knew the
truth: the future had already been written, and there were only three beings
who could decipher it.
The
Fates.
Lady
Larissa clutched her daughter closer to her chest, the chill seeping into the
marrow of her bones. Lord Ivan placed an arm protectively around her shoulders.
Tattered grey drapes sewn into the very stone, the frigid floor seeming to have
been taken from a mountain, the ceiling that towered like a cathedral to a
point too high to be seen. Markings etched into the walls spoke of a time long
passed, where great kings and perhaps even gods dwelled in this shrine of a
room. Battle scenes and paintings bleak with age, scripts that had once spoken
of great names and quests now lost to time.
They
stood almost in the middle of the room now, in front of a round marble platform
with three steps, waiting for them to
appear. The baby, awaking from her sleep, gave a shrill whine and the sound
reverberated off the walls like an animal call.
“Shh,”
Lady Larissa cooed. “It’s all right, my love, my dearest. My sweet Giovanna.”
Giovanna
wailed and Lord Ivan and Lady Larissa shrank away from the sound.
“Keep
her silent!” Lord Ivan hissed. Another cry and Lord Ivan yanked the blanket
away from the baby’s face. “Hush, now! Hush! You’ll wake the dead!”
“Good
evening, Lord Ivan,” came three voices from above. Lord Ivan and Lady Larissa
looked up to see three hooded figures standing on the platform. The one in the
middle was tallest by a head. The hood of her cloak concealed her features, but
she was lean and Lord Ivan imagined she would have an angular nose and sallow
cheeks. To her right, the other figure was short and rounded, her height barely
reaching the waist of her sisters. The third one, to the left of the middle,
had an unremarkable frame, and had it not been for her hood, she probably would
have looked like a scullery maid.
The
three figures stood in exactly the same manner –backs straight, hoods drawn,
hands hidden within the opposite’s sleeve.
“We
anticipated your return,” said the Fate in the middle. Lord Ivan remembered
from his and Lady Larissa’s first visit that this was the eldest sister, the
First Fate. Her voice was harsh and raspy, as if someone had stretched her
throat.
“We wish
–” began Lady Larissa.
“To know
the destiny of your child,” finished the shortest Fate, the Second. Her voice
was cold and grimy and frog-like, as if she were speaking around a cough. “We
know.”
“Will
you accept her?” asked Lord Ivan. Though the Fates were rumored to be
all-knowing, they were not required to share their knowledge with anyone, not
even the gods.
The
Fates were silent for a long time, seeming to contemplate the request. Finally
the third and final Fate answered in a voice like sunshine, “Bring her to the
altar.”
With a
wave of her hand, a podium appeared from a twirl of white smoke, the same white
as the platform. On it was a basin. Lady Larissa ascended the platform and
placed Giovanna in the basin, withdrawing her hand slowly as the baby held on with
a firm grip. Giovanna screamed and Lady Larissa, joining Lord Ivan, clutched
her husband’s arm for strength. He rubbed her arm comfortingly, never taking
his eyes off his daughter.
The
Fates surrounded the altar, gazing at the screaming child as if looking into a
pool of stars. At precisely the same moment, the Fates each grasped each
other’s hands until they made an unbroken circle around the altar. Lord Ivan
heard chanting, though he could see no mouths moving, for the faces were still
cast in shadow. But he perceived a change in the air, a crack of heat as if
lightning had shot through the room. The chanting grew louder. Lord Ivan held
Lady Larissa as they watched, uselessly, from beyond the platform as the three
mysterious Fates dug into the churning froth of the world’s existence and
located Giovanna’s destiny, like a thread in a tapestry. The basin glowed a
vibrant, angry red and suddenly Lord Ivan saw the First Fate holding a knife
above Giovanna, the tip impossibly sharp. All in a moment the chanting ceased
and the Fate brought the knife viciously down. Lady Larissa screamed. The metal
sang against the stone, filling the room like a single chime of a church bell.
Lord
Ivan jerked to retrieve his daughter, but something stopped him, some
subconscious knowledge that assured him his daughter was alive.
The
Third Fate picked up Giovanna and placed her gently, so gently into Lady
Larissa’s eager arms. Lord Ivan’s eyes searched hungrily over his daughter for
the knife wound, but all her saw was the tiniest scratch on her arm, barely
more than a hairsbreadth. Lord Ivan looked up at the Fates, but they were all
concentrating on something inside the basin. A warm orange glow emanated from
the basin, and Lord Ivan could almost perceive one of the Fate’s facial
features.
“She has
fire in her blood,” said the Second Fate. “Fire that will breathe and consume
her very core until she possesses the strength and essence of a dragon.”
“And she
will be brave,” continued the Third Fate. “As your general, she will lead your
army into many battles and triumph over enemies both foreign and domestic. Not
a single foe will cross her path that she will not conquer.”
Lord
Ivan gazed at Giovanna, who wriggled in her mother’s arms like a worm. Her
eyes, the color of rich mahogany, seemed to gaze at her surroundings in wonder,
as if she understood the significance of this sacred place.
A
general, Lord Ivan thought. A woman… my daughter… a general. He tried to
imagine her grown up, those sharp, clever eyes looking into the face of an
enemy and taking a life. He could not imagine something so innocent becoming
something as cold and battle-hardened as, well, him.
“But
innocent, she will not be,” said the First Fate, as if she had heard his thoughts.
“The child shall grow amongst those she would call her own, but just as the
fire which courses through her blood and her fingers will one day lay waste to
entire lands, her heart shall be as dead as the worst of these. She will fall
into the hands of Hades and intertwine her fate with his, but it will be by her
doing that your legacy shall continue.”
The
orange glow receded and the Fates dropped their hands. Silence like a storm
overturned the room, heavy and foreboding. The Fates turned in synchronization
toward Lord Ivan and Lady Larissa, their hands once again hidden within their
sleeves.
“Is this
it then?” Lord Ivan demanded. “Is this to be my daughter’s fate?”
“Ivan,”
Lady Larissa said, but he brushed her off.
“Born to
raise my family up but doomed to die with her life intertwined with Hades’?”
Lord Ivan took a step to advance upon the platform, but an invisible force held
him back. He glowered at the faceless fortunetellers. “So long as I live, I
will not allow a single member of my family to die the way you have said. You
have foretold falsely today. The life of my daughter shall not be like that of
a sheep led to slaughter.” Without another word, Lord Ivan turned on his heel,
and he and Lady Larissa left the Fates, his sacrilegious words ringing behind
him like a thousand thousand ghosts.
