3.3 In Achaea

In which the Fates leave the grove.

The Fates sat in the dark, huddled on the rocks, and thought.

‘Anyone can die now, when they kill each other, or when their bodies fail. If Zeus has the shears, or if we work for him, he will use the shears to withhold death as punishment. As torture.’

‘It’s like Prometheus,’ Klotho said, ‘Zeus loved what he could do to him.’

‘He took turns with the eagle to tear his liver out, do you remember? Day after day.’

‘This will be worse. So much worse.’

The sisters sat in silence.

Then Lakhesis stood up, a massive black shape against the trees behind her.

‘We will not allow this to happen,’ she said. ‘This is the last measure.’

Quickly, and with controlled strength, Lakhesis tore deliberately down its length, across the warp. The threads broke with a sound like flame through stubble.

Then she gasped. She was making small sounds as if someone was running a blade into her heart, and she clutched her breast with both hands. Then the noises stopped, and she straightened up. She tore the strips into smaller pieces, tugging straight from her shoulders, pulling the fabric apart in her muscular hands.

‘Klotho: you must do it too. It doesn’t hurt for long. Break the spindle. Do it now.’ Her voice was sobbing, but she continued to rip the woven strips into smaller and smaller pieces.