Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jackson
T he Keres aren't gentle creatures—they're the scavengers of war, vultures who feast on the flesh of those dying by violence, and right now, they're starving.
Death banished them here a century ago when they went out of their way, not just to feed off those already dying but to end the lives of those with a chance to live, ignoring Death's Plan to sate their own insatiable hunger. I loathe them—they stink of death and decay, but more than that, the sharp, pungent scent of terror, of festering wounds, of emptied bowels. Their rotting wings, like moth-chewed curtains, the rags that cover their skeletal forms, waxy pale skin and black hair that hangs dead and lank around their shoulders. The only thing that looks alive is their eyes, burning amber orbs that radiate with greed.
They lead us, talons digging uncomfortably into our flesh as we walk through a grand hallway. Along the wall is a great tapestry, golden and intricate, more beautiful than anyone can imagine. Each stitch tells a story, each thread a life and a death.
I know where we're going.
I turn to Millie, her body stiff and rigid. I can tell she's biting her lip to control her fear, but she won't give them what they want. They want her weak. They want her crying and whimpering, but she walks straight and proud. Pride bursts like fireworks inside me.
The hallway opens into a grand room—creamy stone pillars intricately carved with stories of old, and on the floor, more carvings, more stories. There's no ceiling. The pillars lead upwards, leading to nothing but a clear and crystal sky. Surrounding the space, vines and plants grow, winding around the pillars, blooming ruby flowers filling the air with an overpowering sweet fragrance.
I look ahead. On a raised platform, they sit, watching as we approach. More Keres appear on either side of us as they lead us closer. They growl and cackle, their eyes flashing as tar-like blood drips from their needle-sharp teeth. One gnashes her teeth in Millie's direction, making her jump. Millie recovers, narrowing her eyes at the beast, baring her own white teeth. My chest swells—my fearless, beautiful girl.
“We knew you'd come,” a sweet voice calls from the platform before breaking out into a youthful giggle. The Keres stop pushing us forward and stand behind us instead, their claws digging into our backs.
The Moirai eye us curiously. Millie turns to look at me, her eyes full of questions.
“Millie, meet the Moirai. Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos, meet Millie.”
“What a charming introduction,” Lachesis says dryly before stepping forward, looking at us in fascination. She uses her measuring rod as a cane, her face somehow young and beautiful but also ancient and terrifying. Her robes drag across the ground, faded and scorched from the sun.
“You broke the rules, little reaper,” Clotho sings from beside her spindle, her bloodied fingers hanging restlessly by her side, the tips just polished bone.
“He thought he could deceive us, that we would be easily tricked, but he was the one who was fooled.” Atropos steps forward, her silver eyes wide like coins as she stares at us with amusement. Her pale blonde hair, the colour of milk, flows like liquid down her back. Like her sisters, she would be beautiful if she wasn't so petrifying. She drags her shears along the ground, and the metal shrieks against the stone.
“Tut-tut, little reaper, tut-tut.” Clotho coos. “Look at our sister's shears.”
Atropos lifts them, and they fall apart in her hands, clanging as they hit the ground.
“You broke the world, little reaper. All for a little mortal …”
They stare hard at me.
“I know what I did. That's why I came to the island: to find Death's device to control time and put things right.”
They all turn to look at each other before breaking out into laughter, the Keres following suit, cackling like hyenas. Millie glances my way, her eyes afraid.
“Gone. All gone. Taken,” sings Clotho, her robes swaying as she moves.
“Someone took it? Who?”
Atropos walks forward, her face solemn. “Someone from Scythe, that's all we know. They took all of our brother's creations. All his toys. Nothing is left.”
“And it wasn't intended? You didn't know it was going to happen?”
She smiles, turning back to her sisters, who smirk.
“Someone is playing a game with you, reaper. Someone wants what you have, and they will burn the world to get it.”
“Who?” Millie calls out, her eyes narrowing.
“Amelia Eva Nightingale.” Atropos bares her teeth into a grim smile.
“I spin your thread.”
“I measure your thread.”
“I cut your thread.”
They sing in unison, a choir of horror. Millie moves closer to me, her fingers entwining with mine.
“We hold the fate of all mortals in our hands, in our tools.” Atropos lifts her hand, now twisted and claw-like from thousands of years of cutting the thread of life. “And the tale is always the same. All the power of creation, of existence, brought to its knees by a tiny, insignificant mortal. What power you creatures hold over us.”
Atropos looks at me and laughs.
“We don't have time for this!” I yell. They fall silent, but their eyes remain amused. “Help me undo this. Is there a way to fix it?”
“You broke the rules.”
“You ignored the plan.”
“You ended our brother.”
They hiss before laughing manically once again. The noise is piercing, somehow worse than the cackles of the vile Keres.
“Stop!” Millie growls, and they freeze, staring at her curiously like they've never seen a mortal before. And maybe they haven't. Atropos tilts her head in fascination, her lips parting hungrily. “Now I have had one hell of a day. I just found out there are gods, hellhounds, talking vultures …” She shoots the Keres a filthy look before continuing, “…the Four Horsemen are real, that there are reapers and that my boyfriend is one … oh, and that the world might be ending. So shut the hell up and help us, or let us go.”
Millie has knocked the Moirai silent with ferocity, and I'm so turned on that I want to press her against one of those marble pillars right now. Ethereals and demons be damned. When Millie glances my way, she reads my expression, and though she rolls her eyes, I see the flush creeping up to her cheeks.
“Well?” Millie presses, and the sisters glance at each other curiously. I take a step forward towards the Moirai, pulling Millie with me. The Keres behind me growl, but Atropos puts up her bloodied hand, silencing them.
“You brought me here,” I yell, my voice echoing across the marble. “You brought us here for a reason, so you must know something. You're the Fates? No one knows more than you, not even Death.”
“We spin the thread.”
“We measure the thread.”
“We cut the thread.”
Atropos steps forward, ambling down the steps, her movements unsteady. She walks towards me, smiling darkly.
“The machine you seek, the Chronica? Our brother’s creation. It was taken to Scythe.”
“It's a trap, isn't it?” Millie mutters next to me, squeezing my hand. She looks up at Atropos, unflinching. “Whoever took it. They want Jackson to find it. They need him to.”
Atropos smiles, moving close enough to run her hand along my face. I feel the wetness of her blood smeared across my cheek. The faint scent of moulding fabric, of rot and lingering death, her metal eyes glowing brightly. She moves from me to Millie, eying her hungrily. She touches her hair delicately, almost with reverence.
“Such hopes, such wishes … and such anger. She burns with it; she burns glorious with it.” Atropos turns to me and smiles, her small teeth sharp and childlike. “Mortals wield such beauty, such freedom.”
“You control us. You decide if we live, if we die, what freedom do we have? We're your slaves,” Millie spits out angrily.
“Little girl …” Atropos is on Millie swiftly, taking her chin roughly in her hands. Millie rises on the ball of her feet to meet her eyes fearlessly. “We are the enslaved, me and my brothers and sisters. Since our rise, we have existed all for you, and you don't even know it.”
“Let her go,” I bark, moving towards them, but a Ker leaps in my way, her yellow eyes burning.
Millie hisses when Atropos lets her go, rubbing her jaw. The Ker backs away, rejoining her sisters.
“Let us go. I can get to Scythe; I can fix everything. Isn't that what you want?”
“And bring back our brother?” calls Clotho from the platform, her mercury eyes dull.
I move forward. Atropos follows, walking past me and back up the platform to stand by her sister, touching her arm gently.
“Bring back Thanatos?” Clotho whispers.
“Will you help me?” I look up at her, my eyes pleading. “Can you bring him back?”
“No,” she responds, shaking her head. “Our brother is not dead. He no longer exists. I cannot spin a thread that does not exist. You did not reap him; you erased him. It's time, time that needs changing. It is the only way.”
I'm exhausted. The weight of all this, of what I've done, presses heavily down on me. Millie squeezes my hand in comfort. Clothos stares at me, her eyes not unkind.
“Help me? Please? There must be a way.”
The three sisters look to each other, after thousands of years together, their fates as entwined with each other as much as ours. They don't need words. I look back at Millie, who smiles hopefully at me, though her eyes are suspicious. All three walk forward, all struggling, their feet as unsteady as a child's.
“Without our brother, death cannot exist,” starts Clothos. “And without death.”
“There can be no fate,” continues Lachesis. “And with no fate.”
“We have no purpose.” They all say in unison.
“We will help you,” Atropos says, taking another step forward. “Our brother's device is hidden in plain sight, but it's heavily guarded. The betrayer has taken control of Scythe. You will need to defeat them. Use the machine, turn back time.”
“Hidden where?”
“Where he watches, where he watches still …” Clothos sings absently, and Millie sighs next to me, shrugging. I grin at her, the words clicking into place like a key inside a lock.
“Thank you.” I nod and move further away from the Keres, tugging Millie with me. She follows, glaring at them as if daring them to try something. I pull the ring Jeanette gave me from my pocket and place it on my finger.
“You hide behind your silence, reaper,” I turn as Lachesis speaks, her head tilted curiously. “Because you already know the answers. When the time comes, you are fated to confront your truth.”
I turn and look at Millie. She's confused, but tiredness is creeping into her face, blunting her reaction.
“We need to go,” she says.
The Moirai watch us, their faces stoic, solemn. I twist the ring, concentrating hard, and focus on Scythe. As I feel the pull behind my belly, feel Millie at my side, we fade out of the world, off the island. And as we go, I hear the Moirai laughing, the Keres echoing their ear-splitting sound.