Six
“This is the tale of those beings known as Deathless, and how, through one act of blasphemous desperation, they set into motion
the events that would ruin the world.”
The queen’s voice echoed around us, coming from everywhere and nowhere.
“Some ancient scholars of history claim that the Deathless were never born into the world at all,” she continued. “That we,
like the Weaver herself, were always here. Gods among men.” She took a deep breath, as if the next words were difficult to
say. “That is not true.
“No one save the Deathless can remember this far back, but in the earliest days, before civilization spread across the lands, the Deathless were mortal.
Men and women, like everyone else. Our souls were bound in the Weave, our threads woven with all others in the Tapestry of the World.
Maederyss, the goddess of Fate, was much closer to mortals back then.
She was not some unseen, unreachable deity far removed from daily struggles of mere mortals—back then, Maederyss was beloved.
Her temples were full of devout worshippers and Priestesses of the Path, those dedicated to guiding the souls down whatever road Fate dictated for them.
It was said that the priestesses had the ear of the goddess, and if you were particularly dedicated, they could convince Maederyss to ‘nudge’ your thread in a different direction.
“But there were those among Maederyss’s children who were not content with their place in the Weave. Among these were a handful
of souls who had mastered the ancient magic of the world. They were powerful and feared, sorcerers who could manipulate the
elements around them. But still they wanted more. They wished to be free of the threads of Fate, to tear their souls from
the bindings of the Tapestry. They rejected their place in the story of the world and sought to become the narrators of their
own tales. If they could rip their souls free of the Tapestry, their threads would no longer be present within the Weave,
and so Maederyss could not cut them and end their story. They would be free not only of Fate, but from Death itself.”
It didn’t feel as if we were being told a story; it felt like we were watching the events unfold before us, even though I
could still see the throne room around us and the faces of my friends. The queen’s voice was like a river, flowing through
me and filling my head with images, glimpses of an era before.
“So, these thirteen souls began their blasphemous quest to sever themselves from the Weave,” the Deathless queen went on.
“Among their number was a Priestess of the Path, one of Maederyss’s most beloved servants.
This priestess had been to Maederyss’s inner sanctum atop the highest mountain peak, to the temple where the goddess wove the threads in the Tapestry of the World.
Using an ancient, forbidden ritual, the priestess led the souls into the peaceful temple, and they saw Maederyss hunched over her enormous loom.
The Tapestry of the World flowed from the loom, millions of threads, millions of souls, bound together in the Weave.
And the goddess herself, her eyes focused on her eternal task, did not look upon them.
“The thirteen struck without warning. They could not harm Maederyss herself, but they struck at the loom, intent upon ripping
their threads from the Tapestry. In their savagery, they broke off a piece of the loom itself and cast it to earth.”
I shivered as the story faltered. The queen paused, her eyes tightening a bit. “To this day, I am uncertain if the goddess
predicted this outcome,” she mused, “for Maederyss cannot stop weaving the threads in the story. But whether or not it was
foretold, the thirteen had achieved what they’d set out to do. By breaking the loom, they had torn their threads free of the
Weave. They were no longer bound by Fate, and their threads could no longer be woven back into the Tapestry.”
“But . . .” I was struggling to understand all of this, feeling like my head was far too full. “The threads represent everyone’s
souls. When we die, our threads are cut until Maederyss can weave them back into the Tapestry and we resume our next life.
But if the Deathless have no threads . . .”
“Yes,” said the queen. “If a Deathless dies—truly dies—their soul is lost. There is no reincarnation, no coming back in another life. But what the thirteen discovered was an even greater blasphemy and would change the world forever. Now that they were separated from the Weave, they found they could see the threads of everyone around them. They could manipulate each strand, taking the life of whoever was attached to it, to fuel their own power. And not just from mortals. Their magic . . . my magic . . . siphons life from everything around it. This is not something we can control. The reason the Deathless are immortal, little Sparrow, is that we are constantly drawing in life. If you wound us, we will unconsciously siphon the energy out of whatever is close, killing it but keeping ourselves alive. Only when there is no life remaining anywhere will a Deathless finally become mortal.”
My stomach turned. I’d thought the queen was going to share the secret of how to defeat the Deathless King. But she made it
sound hopeless. “I don’t see how I’m going to survive, then,” I told her, Halek frowning beside me. “I don’t see how any of
us are going to survive.”
The queen smiled. “Normally, Fateless, I would agree. The lives of regular mortals are nothing to a Deathless. Even on his
own, the king would be an unstoppable force. When you take into account his army of ma’jhet, servants, and abominations, no
mortal kingdom will be able to stand against him. But that is not the worst of it. The prophecy says a Deathless will slay
the goddess of Fate and take her place as the new god. And nothing under the suns will be free. They will weave the story
of the world as they choose, and all souls will be forced to bow to their will.
“However,” she went on, as my stomach curled itself into a tight little ball of despair, “you are Fateless. You are not bound
by prophecy. You can change the fates of everyone around you, just by existing. If there is one thing that even the Deathless
fear, it is something that cannot be controlled.”
“I am still just one person,” I whispered. “I can’t stop an army on my own.”
“No,” the queen agreed. “But you can stop the king. It is possible, Fateless,” she insisted, probably in response to my look of terror.
“There is a way to neutralize the magic of the Deathless, but it is something only the Fateless can do. Before I give you this secret, I must know—will you stand and defy the king? Will you try to end his reign before it even begins? It is a terrible burden, and it is unfair, but know that the fate of the kingdoms—of the known world—rests on your answer.”
I closed my eyes, my whole body shaking like a leaf in the wind. For seventeen years, I had been a nobody. And now, suddenly,
not only was I Fateless, I was expected to save the world? The goddess herself?
Beside me, Halek let out a soft snort. “The prophecy can go to the Void,” he muttered, and turned to me. His blue eyes were
suddenly intense. “Don’t feel you have to say yes, Sparrow,” he said. “There is always another way. There will be others to
fight the Deathless King. Whole armies of them, I reckon. Once he starts his march, I don’t think the other kingdoms are going
to hand him everything without a fight.”
“True,” added Kysa. “There are those of us who would die before we let the Deathless King subjugate our people. We might all
perish, but we will fight. It is not your responsibility to save the other kingdoms, Sparrow.”
The Deathless queen didn’t say anything to that; she simply watched me, Void-dark eyes giving nothing away. My gaze slid to
Raithe, still standing quietly to the side.
Those pale blue eyes met mine, and I shivered. Raithe had believed I was Fateless from the moment we fled Kovass together. Even when I hadn’t believed it myself, even when I’d wanted nothing to do with the idea, he’d never wavered in his conviction.
And . . . what if I was the only one who could stop the Deathless King? If I refused, if I ran away again, I would be dooming the kingdoms to destruction.
Just like Kovass. Maybe Raithe and his people would survive with another Deathless watching over them, but Halek had no such
protection. Kysa’s clan had no protection. They would fight the Deathless King, and they would die. Unless I could stop it.
I set my jaw. No more running, Sparrow, I told myself. No more hiding. This isn’t just about you anymore. It’s time to start seeing what the Fateless is really capable of.
My insides squirmed like a nest of snakes. I could probably have emptied the contents of my stomach on the pristine marble
with no effort at all. But I met the impassive eyes of the Deathless queen and nodded.
“Yes,” I whispered. “I understand. If the Fateless is the only one who can stop the Deathless King, then that’s what I’m going
to do. I’ve spent my life running and hiding, but this isn’t something I can walk away from.”
There was a shadow of movement from Raithe’s corner. I dared a peek at him and saw the iylvahn watching me, the expression
on his face unreadable.
The queen beamed her beautiful smile once more, and for a moment, the decision I’d just made seemed worth it. “You honor us
with your choice, Fateless,” she said. “I believe you are worthy to carry this secret. The single weakness of the Deathless
King, and what he will never see coming.