Page 56 of In Death’s Hands (The Threads of Fate #1)

Everything feels heavy. I don’t know where I am, but I can barely move. I don’t feel the cold anymore. Not even the damp shirt on my skin. All I feel, all I see, is black . The deepest black I’ve ever seen.

I squint when light interrupts the unending darkness. It gets closer, brighter. So much so that I have to close my eyes. But even behind my eyelids, I can see the light coming closer to me. I force my eyes open and jump back when it pauses right in front of me, exuding warmth.

Expecting.

Expecting what? I don’t know. But as my eyes adjust, I see this radiant globe of light.

I take a step forward and the light pulses once, as if beckoning me closer. Another step, another pulse. My limbs feel lighter with every step forward, the earlier heaviness fading quickly. I swallow, knowing I should feel my heartbeat skyrocketing in panic, but all I feel is calm. Purpose.

I am exactly where I’m supposed to be.

It’s a first for me, and I let this knowing spread in my body. It seems the light was waiting for me to accept this, as it pulses once, twice, thrice before swallowing me whole.

Hello, Liv , says a voice made of many. It is neither young nor old, neither female nor male, neither high nor deep. It is nothing and everything at once.

I don’t know where I am. Light surrounds me, so bright I can’t even see my own body.

I feel it though, like a distant thought.

Or even just a belief that it’s there. The light isn’t entirely white.

In it are pockets of colours and swirling pits of darkness with tiny beads of white shining like stars in their midst.

I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out.

You can only speak with your mind in here. With your heart. Think the words, and if they are truth, they become.

What the fuck? I think, but the thought echoes outside my head.

And the strange voice chuckles, the sound warm yet piercing cold.

Shit , I think, trying to speak once more but finding that my voice has well and truly been silenced.

You’re getting it faster than most. It is reassuring.

I open my mouth, pure habit, before closing it and thinking my next words intensely. Who are you?

Wrong question, dear one.

What is the right one then?

That is for you to find out.

I purse my lips. The idea of frustration is there, but I can’t feel a lick of it. Not truly. I look around again and focus on the colourful swaths of light. Strange.

What is strange? the voice asks.

I hadn’t meant to say that out loud—or rather think it out loud—but I explain anyway. They’re not lights, are they?

The light around me pulses, as if to congratulate me for a job well done. No, they are not.

I move around, the feeling incredibly strange as I will my body to walk and sense myself move as I want to but cannot feel my legs nor hear my steps. I peek closer at one messy-looking swirl of colours and black. They’re threads.

The light pulses once more. In the distance, I feel something akin to shock, but it goes numb too quickly for me to truly read the emotion.

I turn around on myself, exploring the many entangled threads.

What are you? I ask.

Better question. We are all and nothing. We are you and them and us. We simply are.

The Order , I think.

That’s what some call us.

And others?

We have many names, some closer to the truth than others. But does a name define something, or is the name defined by what it is?

How do we know what it is without a name?

Ah, but how do you know what the name means in the first place?

I pause. This is too much. And yet I have never felt this much at home. Like I belong.

Yes. Ask your next question.

Can I get my threads back?

Why would you want threads?

Because… My thoughts die, and they stay just that, thoughts.

You can only speak truth here , the voice reminds me.

I was about to say I want threads to belong, but I already belong, don’t I?

I belong here. And as stupid as that is, I feel like I belong with Nathan and Turan and Atys.

Their friendship these past weeks has meant the world to me.

And although I do not forget my previous life, although I mourn its loss a little bit, I do not want things to go back to the way they were. So what do I want?

I want to find the Fates. I want to find out why I’ve had so many near-death experiences. I want to help my friends get their memories back.

That’s a lot of wants. Anything else?

No, I think, but the word stays silent. Wait.

Is there anything else I want? With Nathan’s presence at my side feeling a world away, I have nothing but time to look inward.

Why is it so hard a question to answer? What I want is the same as always.

I want to not have to fight for my life every single day.

I want a family; I want to belong somewhere.

To someone. I want to be able to claim people as my own too.

I look back at the time I almost had a family to call mine.

How I ruined it before it could ever feel real.

How I wished for so long that Death hadn’t saved me.

Despite the wall between my body and my mind, I feel my heart thunder.

I guess I’m getting close. Is this something to do with Death?

I think back on the hooded figure I once met.

At first glance, he was terrifying. Long dark cloak with a hood hiding his features so well it looked like the universe itself was peering through.

The scythe massive and deadly. But he was moving across the field, going from soul to soul, never once using the weapon.

All I saw was his heavy steps, his slanted shoulders and downcast hood.

When he finally reached me, I wasn’t scared anymore. He looked how I felt, alone and scared.

The rest happened so fast my younger self hadn’t been able to understand.

He looked sad, so I hugged him. That’s what I had always wanted from a family, so I gave it to him.

I remember how I couldn’t even wrap my arms fully around him, how he started to shake.

And then he vowed I’d be okay. When all I was trying to do was make him feel better.

The next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital, a nurse telling me that I was lucky when all I felt was guilt and a sadness so deep I thought it would swallow me whole.

This grief never truly left me. I can still feel it in my heart, rubbing against whatever I’m feeling at any given time.

It’s that guilt that kept me isolated from other kids, I know.

But how could it not eat at me when I’m the reason all those people died?

If I hadn’t been talking so much, hadn’t wanted so much attention from the first people who had chosen me, wanted me , they wouldn’t have collided with an oncoming car and started a deadly chain of events.

I wouldn’t have been left all alone again.

The light around me pulses, and decades’ worth of pain erupts from my throat. This sound goes past my lips. As if the truth of it is too strong to be contained by my thoughts and the scream is all there is to voice it.

The light pulses stronger and stronger, as if encouraging me. I stumble to my knees, still not feeling them, and sob. I can barely breathe around the pain exploding from my heart.

What is it you want, dear one?

“I don’t know,” I try to scream, but I don’t make a sound. I keep sobbing, the pain pouring out of my heart. All those people, dead, all because of me. And Death saved me . How could he?

Why?

Why what?

Why did he save me? Why am I alive?

Threads are not the only language we know. Some things are written in flesh.

I hear what the Order says. Its voices sound gentler somehow, and yet all my mind can focus on is the crash of the cars.

The wail of the souls Death collected. I was so excited.

On the road, I kept asking questions. About my new room.

My new school. It was all about me. They tried telling me to rest and that they’d be happy to answer it all when we arrived, but I kept pulling their focus, demanding their attention.

If they hadn’t been so focused on me, everyone would still be alive. I killed all those people.

I pause, waiting for an answer. When it doesn’t come, I think back on what I said. But I realise that the last sentence never took life. I try again. “If they hadn’t been so focused on me, everyone would still be alive. I killed all those people.” Those words don’t make it past my thoughts.

Tears stop, my mind stops, my world stops .

This isn’t true. The light pulses.

A tangled mass of threads moves closer to me.

It expands and expands until I can distinguish each thread.

I stand and look. There are millions of them, either red, gold or purple.

Some are intertwined. Others stand alone.

I cannot distinguish the pattern, but I recognise the red threads.

The mass around me keeps moving until I see a specific knot right before my eyes.

Instinctively, I know what I’m seeing. Many threads are cut off, some with tidy knots, others that look to have been torn. Those feel wrong, messy, with smaller threads moving in an invisible wind. Two of them call to me, and I know. Those are my adoptive parents’ threads.

What happened? I ask, because this doesn’t feel normal. Although I wonder how I know what normal should be here.

Threads are delicate things. When handled inappropriately, this happens.

Did the Fates…

No. The Fates tied knots. When the time is right, and for specific reasons. What happened was not your fault. It was the consequence of actions taken long before you took your first breath in this body.

The words resonate and linger within me.

Whose fault was it? I ask, feeling numb.

You will find out soon enough.

Why not tell me now?

You are part of a pattern not yet concluded. Telling you would alter key knots woven for a purpose you do not yet see.

I want to rage at that, but my emotions are back behind that thick wall. Acknowledged yet unfelt.

I came here for something else.

In more ways than you know.

I ignore this new, cryptic bit and focus on what I want to know. What happened to the Origins? Who stole their memories?

That question is not meant to be answered now.

That’s stupid.

Stupid it may appear, but you’ll agree soon enough.

What can you tell me, then?

Your fear is wasted on the ones you want to escape from.

Anger rumbles behind the wall. Give me a straight answer. Are the Novensiles the reason why I’ve been having so many accidents?

No.

Who is after me, then? It cannot be pure bad luck.

It isn’t.

Who, then?

We will not say.

Is it the same person who took the Origins’ memories?

Silence greets me.

Is it? I insist.

Yes.

The wall seems to crumble slightly. Cracks appear and my shock peers through.

What can you tell me to stop that person from harming me? Is there a way to get their memories back?

Nothing. Yes.

Anger bursts through the wall and explodes within me in all its glory.

Damned Order and its strange voices. Damned stupid, ambiguous answers!

I reach for a tangled mass of red threads and pull on one.

The voices screech and pain blinds me. I try to cover my ears but still cannot feel any part of myself.

The threads I disrupted unravel and expand.

They seem to dance on an invisible wind and pull me in.

I see glimpses I do not understand. A frail hand fisted in anger.

A piece of gold melting under fire. A finger wrapped in red.

Wait.

I focus my mind on that finger and the shifting scenes slow down in my mind.

I follow that thread like I did before and can feel its desperation as it crawls in front a familiar body curled up on the floor.

Again, the person opens their eerie white eyes and looks directly at me, except this time I recognise the soul staring through them.

You were not supposed to do that , the voices warn. It was not written that way.

What are you talking about? Is that the missing Fate?

Silence greets me.

Please , I beg.

You seem to be carving a new path, one that was not foreseen. We have not planned for that.

Welcome to my life , I retort bitterly. If it was not written, then there is no path for you to follow. Tell me! Exasperation has me tightening my hands. Hands that tingle with the renewed sensation there.

Yes.

Yes to what?

They are the combination of all. They are one. They are the link.

I roar my frustration and feel the strain on my vocal cords.

I must be waking up. Urgency claws at me, tightening my throat.

Was that a Fate? The light pulses once in answer.

I’ve found a Fate. Celestina is keeping that Fate.

How does no one else know? Fear erupts deep inside me, and I know I am seconds away from waking.

I still have so many questions, and yet the one I’m not sure I want the answer to escapes my sealed lips. Was I supposed to die that night?

It depends on who you ask.

Please—please don’t be cryptic. Not for this. I need to know. Why did Death save me if I was supposed to die? I don’t know what “written in flesh” means!

Your death was woven in the threads.

The wall falls to dust at my feet, and all the anger, fear and despair comes at me like a tidal wave.

The Novensiles are wrong. The voices grow fainter and pressure encases my hand. Interpretation… Thetlum asked for… not the abomination.

I hear my name from far away but focus on the Order.

What does that mean? My name comes at me like a weapon.

So loud I finally recognise Nathan’s voice.

But I’m not ready. I need to know more. What does it all mean?

The light around me fades to black. I think I hear something about trusting someone but can’t fully hold on to the words.

I’m back in the empty space I was in before, feeling more lost than ever.

I go over the words that were said over and over again, hoping for an understanding that does not come.

Nathan calls me again, his voice so urgent it stirs something deep inside me.

Cold wraps me in its embrace once more. I’m shivering so hard I fall to my knees in the endless dark.

My eyes are opening. And I remember something.

There was one thing I tried to say, but I realise now it was never voiced.

One thought I could swear was pure truth, and yet it didn’t get to be.

I don’t know what “written in flesh” means.

I really don’t, but if I couldn’t say it… do I?