Page 12

Chapter

Eleven

P ersephone

“Your daughters,” three voices, always together, speak as one. They are not separate, the Fates. Though they possess separate bodies, they are one consciousness.

It is a consciousness that, I realize with a chill, is tapped into something far higher than we have dared to tap.

Even as they speak in my mind, there is a projection to their voice that tells me Hades hears them just as clearly.

He stiffens around me, his hands curling into fists at my belly. The black granite of his flesh tightens and the magma that runs in his veins flows faster. A low and ominous sound begins as a rattle in his chest. I sink deeper into him.

The Moirai speak again, all now looking at us even as those threads of gold twist gently through Clotho’s lithe fingers. Even as Clotho does not technically see through the turbulent clouds that tumble in her eyes. “The goal is shared consciousness.”

What? I thought we were speaking of our daughters.

“The highest power comes not from guarding secrets and assets, but from a collective joining of souls which stems from one consciousness. This is the true path to power.”

“Then why are we so divided?”

“This must begin with the bonding of soul mates.”

I scoff. “This sounds like a conversation you should be having with Zeus.”

“Reformation is not possible for all. Sometimes, the cord simply must be cut.”

“So cut his cord!” I gesture wildly to Atropos. “Cut it and be done with it. What do my daughters—our daughters—have to do with this?”

“When you cut off one head, another will grow in its place. There are grave consequences to cutting the cord of an eternal life. The power must live on, but where?”

Frustration sparks inside me. They’re talking in riddles.

“This is the way. We have seen it.” I can’t get over the eerie invasion of their voices. “The power of soul mates is the way, and it began, long ago, with you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Without love, the power of the Gods is unchecked and selfish. This world was nearly lost. We were close to giving up, to returning home. Close to allowing the realms of this universe to feast upon themselves until there was nothing left to feast upon. And then—” Their hands lift to the ceiling where I can’t miss the collage of images that play out my life in the crystal. “We saw you.”

“Me?”

“Soul mates are not simply about binding souls. It is far more complex, even as it is simple.”

Again, with the riddles. I bite my tongue.

Hades grinds out, “Zeus split all the souls of the humans he created. He rarely creates new humans today. He is too lazy. Now, they cycle through the Underworld and the living realm, entering new life contracts with the Elysian Tree when they wish to be reborn. When they wish for another chance at life. Rarely does a human soul find its other half. Even if they find it, they are too blind to see it.”

The Moirai turn their eyes on him. “But what happens when those rare souls do find one another?”

“They are complete.”

“Yes, complete. A circle. Conscious of that which binds them.”

“Gods and Goddesses are complete. We are formed complete.”

“You are whole but for the threads you sacrifice to the cauldron. To the essence of life. To consciousness. We had hoped, after the devastating rule of the early Titans, that such a sacrifice would humanize your eternal souls enough that you might lead your people, your realms, with unity and love. We were wrong. Instead of joining the universal connection in which feeds all souls, the divine power of Chaos, the Gods adopted the ways of their sires, entertaining war and hatred and greed and suffering. You spread these toxins through the souls the universe entrusted you to guard and cherish. To teach and love.”

“Why not smite us all then?” Hades spits.

“We nearly did. And then we saw her. A future not yet come to pass. A speck of hope amidst an ocean of desolation, a desert of disgrace.” The Moirai take a moment of pause .

“The universe spoke, and as is our way, we listened. The cauldron formed Persephone’s soul.

Clotho spun the thread of Persephone’s life.

Lachesis oversaw destiny in the binding of your eternal souls in the cauldron, and Atropos cut the cord of her life—but not entirely—for we could not risk the consequence of truly cutting the cord of an eternal life.

Threads remained so that consciousness would never truly be lost, and today it will be restored, and you will understand, Persephone, what must be done. ”

I watch in shock as the bright white souls, bound by threads of gold and woven with the faintest glow of pink rise from the pool of souls, the pool of consciousness, in the cauldron.

They hang, suspended in the air. A full-body chill threatens to turn my flesh to ice as I watch our souls quiver above the cauldron, and then the crackling gold and onyx beneath the palms of the Moirai spears one half of the bound souls. My half. My soul.

There is no preparation for what happens next.

My past life—all of it—merges with my present in a collision inside my mind that is wrought with such an agony, I am helpless to contain my scream.

The sound echoes off the cave wall to dagger back toward me, the splitting shrill of it stabbing deep into my consciousness.

Agony spills hot inside me. I am no longer cold as I am assaulted with every memory of my past life as the Giftless Goddess.

Each memory plays out in hues of gold, a living, ancient recollection. I see it all. Every moment. Every betrayal. Every sin and hope and dream and finally, the end.

But it is not done.

I’m on my knees now, Hades’ body cocooning mine as he whispers tender words of assurance in my ear.

I can’t focus on him. The gold memories are gone, but in their place are memories coated in the soot of death. The black spear surges in my exposed soul, syphoning hundreds of years in the caves of the Underworld with Hydra.

I see all the visions the Fates fed me in that time. All the pain and suffering of the living realm, both past, present and future. I watch the bond between my soul and Hydra’s solidify with time and shared wounds and healing. And I know what is yet to come. What must be done…

The games I must play.

The Gods I must fool.

And the Gods I must win.

“Please,” I beg. I think I hear Hades shout a curse of vengeance the Moirai, thankfully, ignore.

“The path forward is yours to choose. Will you choose to sacrifice the youth of your only daughters in the name of eternal love or will you choose the way of the Gods before you? Will you choose to dull the prick of your own pain at the expense of every other life, Persephone, Goddess of Spring and Fertility and New Life?”

I sob a gut-wrenching sob. It all hurts so much. The gold and onyx blades of my past life and death through my exposed soul. The dangerous games I must play, and the sacrifice I must make to ensure an end in which we all survive.

The choice is mine, even as it isn’t a choice at all.

“I choose life,” I cry. “I choose love.”

All three turn back to the cauldron as Hades gathers me against his chest. My skin is dewy with sweat, and a fierce exhaustion weighs heavy inside my body. Still, I can’t allow myself to look away from the three sisters of Fate as they raise their hands high.

The blades of black and gold release my soul, spilling it gracefully back into the cauldron.

In its place, I watch as the translucent souls of our daughters rise.

“Behold the freedom of a mother’s choice.

” The three spears of black plunge into one soul as the three spears of gold plunge into the other.

The translucent souls begin to burn a bright white, one marbled with veins of gold and the other with veins of onyx.

“A daughter bound to darkness and a daughter bound to light. A love promised to the Darkest Depths and the other intended for the City of Gold.”

Two more souls rise from the deep of the cauldron, burning bright white. Gods’ souls. Immortal souls.

Clotho’s nimble fingers begin to dance an ancient dance as the golden threads begin to weave our daughters’ souls to the souls of Gods I can not name. The stitching is tight, knotted in such a way I know there is no undoing this tether. No severing this bind.

Lachesis swirls her hands over the cauldron, and from the deep of it rises two drops of red. One falls onto each soul, spreading pink ribbons as though to caress the eternal souls of our daughters in the warmth of humanity.

“A touch of humanity,” the three speak again. “And it is done.”

I watch, gasping for breath, as the souls of my daughters—bound eternally to their Gods—are gently returned to the cauldron. Fated to a life in which they will know great love and great pain, for I have seen it.

It will come to pass.

It is written.