“The
Gift: Prologue”
by
Marilynn
Byerly
The
Fates’ Grove on
The
dawning of the Christian Age
Magic flared in Clotho’s cupped hands in a blaze of golden light, then
faded to a hard sliver of gold. She stared down at what she had made. Would it
be all she wished? Would it be the proper gift?
“Is it done?” With unseemly speed for a matron, her elder sister
Lachesis ran across the moonlit Sacred Grove toward her.
Clotho sagged wearily down to her knees beside the moon pool and bowed
her head. Her gift burned white hot with magic against her cradling palm.
“Is it done, spinner?” Her eldest sister Atropos hobbled to her and
nudged her thigh with a bone cane. Her voice cracked with age, “Is it done?”
“It is done.” Clotho held out her hands.
“A needle, paaah.” Atropos spat.
Lachesis kne
“A needle for mortal maids to make pretty things with.” Atropos
sneered. “A worthy gift, indeed, from our flighty baby sister.”
“A needle can mend wounds so the body becomes whole,” Lachesis
countered.
Before Atropos could make another scathing remark, Clotho said, “I
wished for much more than a needle. I wished for many things.”
“What did you wish, little sister?” Lachesis asked.
“I wanted something that held a bit of each of us to go beyond when we
are no more.”
“When we cease because no mortal believes in us,” Lachesis agreed.
“The sharp point is my contribution to that needle.” Atropos cackled
with amusement.
“No, eldest sister. From Lachesis, I chose wisdom. She has the wisdom
to see within each mortal.”
Atropos grunted in agreement.
“From you, I chose your great compassion.” Clotho smiled up into
Atropos’ stunned face.
“I cut the thread of each mortal’s life and bring death, and you call
me compassionate?”
“You sharpen your scissors and pray for a swift and painless end. Death
is not cruel, it is part of the tapestry of life.”
Atropos shook her gray head. “Why is it, then, that you cry for the
pitifully short thread of the sickly babe, or the maiden dead before reaching
womanhood?”
“I cry for them, but I also cry for myself, and for you, my sisters. I
cry for a life given but never savored. For Lachesis, I cry for her motherly
heart and love, and her eternally empty womb. I cry for you, Atropos, for your
aged infirmities, when you have never known youth or comfortable middle age. For
myself, I cry because this young girl’s body, just beginning to ripen, will
never know a lover’s touch, or his kiss. Will never know the love of one heart
for another for all time. That is why I cry.”
Swiping a tear from her own cheek, Atropos lowered herself gingerly to
her knees so that the three women faced each other in a circle. “You become
eloquent, child.”
Lachesis took her sisters’ hands. “We are one.”
They chanted together the ritual words, “We are one together, we are
one with the tapestry of life.”
“My yearning for love is what I offered of myself.” Clotho gazed at
the magical gift. “I chose a needle because of the threads we weave to create
the tapestry of all life. Each thread is one person’s part of that tapestry,
and a needle will help each to choose the right direction for her own portion of
that great picture.”
“It is a good gift.” Lachesis hugged Clotho. “A very good gift.”
“But what does your magical needle do?” Atropos asked.
Blushing, Clotho admitted, “I’m not certain.”
“Then we must ask the moon pool.” Lachesis motioned toward the water
in front of them.
“Yes.” Clotho leaned toward the silver waters of the scrying pool.
“I ask for visions of the future, Sister Selene, Goddess Moon. I ask for
visions of the future that my needle touches, visions that will tell me the true
nature of this gift I offer mortals. I ask most humbly, Goddess Moon.”
The three Fates leaned closer.
The silvered waters rippled and forms began to take shape within....