The Ardoon King Page 34
Chapter 32: The Fates
February 12
The Red Guard’s journey from Steepleguard was cold and tiring and uneventful. At the end of the second day, the squadron took refuge in a large house that Peth patrols had appropriated as a rest and resupply point. It was a large residence and had once belonged to a relatively wealthy Ardoon. Pictures of the woman and her family still haunted the building’s interior walls. The stacks of yellowing medical bills in the kitchen suggested she and her family had succumbed to Cage’s Disease.
The master bedroom was reserved for Fiela and Thal because it had the remarkable luxury of a functional fireplace. One Peth brought in dry wood and got the fire started while others arrived with fresh linen, chamber pots, bottled water, and candles.
Captain Bavenmore, the Red Guard’s commander, appeared in the doorway, his helmet under his arm. “Annasa, Lady, is there anything else you require?”
“No,” said Thal. “Everything has been taken care of, thank you.”
Bavenmore bowed. “Peth are stationed below your window and in the hallway. Please let them know if you need anything.” With that he left the room, closing the door behind him and locking it.
The two women prepared for bed. Fiela put on a tattered football jersey that dropped to her knees. Thal put on a flannel gown and then wrapped herself in a thick terry cloth robe.
Fiela sat on a pillow at the head of the bed, her back against the wall. “We shall not have any lessons tonight, surely?”
Thal sat down on the edge, one leg curled beneath her and the other dangling over the side. “No, Fiela. I was thinking instead to share another parable with you.”
The assassin-turned-queen liked parables. They didn’t come with quizzes. “What’s it called?”
“The Madness of the Fates.”
“What’s it about?”
“You recall our recent studies of the Greek pantheon?”
“Yes,” said her student, pulling her knees up to her chest and holding them there with her arms. She absently stroked the small feather still dangling from her ankle.
“Did we discuss the Moirai?”
“The Fates? Yes. They were three women - some say sisters - who directed the destinies of all people.”
Thal nodded. “Names?”
“Atropos, Clotho, and Lachesis. Clotho spun the thread of life, Lachesis measured it, and Atropos cut it. In this way they were they responsible for ‘birth, life, and death,’ or the ‘middle, the beginning, and the end.’”
“Just so,” said Thal. “That is the accepted Ardoon account, anyway. But there are many ancient tales that have been lost to them. The scribes of the Nisirtu, who for thousands of years plotted the path of civilization, knew many legends that the slaves had forgotten. In another version of the myth, Zeus has grown displeased with humanity-”
“The gods are always mad at us,” groused Fiela.
“It is a frequent occurrence,” agreed Thal.
“What did we do this time?”
“We began to praise the achievements of our human heroes in songs and stories.”
“Haven’t we always done that?”
“No, not in this story. This legend states that the first few generations of humans only praised the gods. Every song, poem, and story was about some achievement of the gods, or a war in the heavens, or some punishment sent down from Olympus. And the gods loved it. Most gods, then or now, openly admit to being jealous, and mock all things human while demanding praise of all things godly.
“But only a few generations after they were created, humans began to accomplish amazing things; things not even the gods had achieved. They developed philosophy and math and art and took war and sensuality and poetry to new heights. The gods became jealous of the achievements of their creation and wondered how it was possible that man could ascend to such heights. Men and women began to ignore the gods, or hold them in contempt, because the deities seemed to have everything given to them, whereas humans entered into this existence with only a single thing: Destiny.”
Fiela squinted. “Destiny? That is the same even today, surely. I was bred to be Peth. That is my destiny. Persipia is sereti. That was her destiny. Of course, the Ardoon just bumble about screwing one another and hoping for the best. The Nisirtu are wiser.”
Thal shook her head. “You confuse intent with destiny, Fiela. You were intended to be Peth. You were destined to be a queen. Do you see the difference?”
“Maybe,” mumbled Fiela.
“We are no longer born knowing our destiny,” said her mentor. “According to the myth, this was not always the case. The myth states that in that first age of humanity, living and procreation were secondary instincts. ‘Destiny’ was the primary instinct. You see, man had been created for several reasons, but first and foremost, he was born to serve the gods. The gods wished for statues of themselves to be erected, and for songs to be written about them, and sacrifices to be made to them. They wished to watch humans war against one another so that they could intervene and draw even more praise.
“For this reason, every man and woman was assigned a destiny by the gods even before creation. That destiny necessitated greatness in a specific field, whether it be war, or art, or domestic duties, or farming, or any other vocation a human might today participate in. A list was drawn up of what type of men and women were needed to populate the playground of the gods, and Hermes was tasked with taking this list to the Fates. The Fates, in turn, were responsible for spinning into existence the course of every human life, as best suited the gods’ agenda.
“And this is the key point,” said Thal, pointing at the ceiling. “The gods were impatient beings. Having cursed humanity with mortality, they did not wish for their creations to spend half of their short lives bumbling about. So one of the threads that Clotho spun into the destiny of all humans was knowledge. Almost from birth, every human knew his or her destiny. The gods being purposeful, the requisite skills and interests were woven into the fabric of their destinies, also.
“Thus, a warrior was not only born with strength and agility and courage, he was also born knowing, with no uncertainty, that he was destined to be a warrior.”
Fiela nodded. “You mean, knowing that he was born with strength and courage, and so forth, he knew that the gods wished him to be a warrior.”
Thal shook her head. “No. He knew, even before he saw his first sword, or first tested his strength, that he was destined to be a warrior. It was part of his very fabric. It was self-awareness of a kind you and I cannot fathom. And because every man and woman knew from childhood what they were destined to be, they were collectively able to achieve things today we would think almost impossible.”
Fiela considered this. “You’re saying that, for example, a woman destined to be a great harpist would know, even before seeing a harp, that playing the instrument would be her greatest love and her life’s calling.”
“Exactly. Her skills would prove her right, for the Fates would have ensured it. In this way, all men and all women were destined for greatness. All were heroic in their fields.”
“So what happened?”
“The gods grew exceedingly jealous of the achievements of man and were irate that humans were beginning to praise other humans instead of the gods. The immortals petitioned Zeus to limit the greatness of their pets. Being of a similar mind, he agreed, and the Fates were driven insane.”
“Just like that?”
“Well, they were gods, Fiela. Though in truth, there is another tale that goes into the gruesome details of how, specifically, the Fates were driven insane. In that version Zeus unleashed a secret god into their presence - an unnamed being from the center of the universe that even Zeus feared, and who had an affinity for flutes. That tale is not germane to our discussion.
“In any event, the consequence of this madness was that the three sisters began to weave the threads of human destinies together in a random and nonsensical manner. The threads that had once been caref
ully selected and woven together – skills, interest, geography, family, life expectancy, passions, and millions of others – were now woven together without rhyme or reason.
“Worse yet, at least for humankind, the thread of Knowledge had to be omitted entirely. The Fates, being unable to make sense of the lives they were weaving, were no longer able to grant humans any insight as to their destinies. Indeed, given that the threads were random, there were no destinies.”
“But,” Fiela objected, “might not pure luck result in threads being woven together that would result in greatness?”
“It didn’t matter. The Fates no longer truly understood what the threads were or how they worked. They had fallen under the spell of the unnamed one. How, then, could they advise a person who by chance had heroic potential?”
“Wasn’t this counterproductive, though?” objected Fiela. “You said the gods used humans as pawns to garner worship and for amusement. The gods gave them destinies to offset their mortality.”
“Correct. Yet the gods were now quite content to watch their again-subjugated pets wander the earth, confused and fearful. It would take years - perhaps an entire life - for a man or woman to determine what threads they were composed of, which is to say, what their strongest talents were, or passions, or potential. Such humans became wanderers, damned to spend their lives seeking destinies they would probably never find. Seeing this, most humans opted to simply fake their destinies.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means they wasted their lives in vocations for which they had passions but no aptitudes, or for which they had aptitudes but no passions. Some would embrace vocations supported by a single thread, known as ‘circumstance.’ In all such cases, these people spent their lives dangling from a single thread, and daring to call their choice destiny.
“It has been the same ever since. That is why humanity’s most gifted violinist probably never touched a violin. Perhaps he or she became an accountant due to a passable talent in math, or a physician because a parent was a physician and the money was available for the requisite schooling. The greatest of all poets probably never put a word to paper. Our greatest warriors waited on tables. Our greatest philosophers spent their lives as carpenters, and our greatest carpenters were school teachers, and our greatest teachers were fishermen.”
“That’s a downer,” remarked Fiela. “Is there a moral to the story?”
“A great many. There are entire books-”
“One I can actually use?”
Thal nodded. “I see. Yes. You are a superb killer, Fiela. Even before the apocalypse you were the greatest assassin in the world. That does not mean that killing others is your destiny. You may have even greater talents within you, dormant and waiting to be tapped. You are just over twenty years of age and will probably spend another century on this earth. Do not limit your greatness by assuming you have found your destiny. Don’t fake it. You could be denying the world someone even more heroic. This dead world is in desperate need of heroes.”
The girl thought about that. “It is a good moral,” she announced. “But I think your true motive in telling me this fable is to convince me to be queen.”
“You are a queen.”
“The only queen.”
“Perhaps you will be even greater than that,” said Thal, staring into the girl’s violet eyes.
“Greater than a queen of the Nisirtu? How is that possible?”
Thal shrugged. “Who can say? I am as blind as the Fates. Our lesson is complete. Unless you should like me to quiz you?”
Fiela shook her head and pulled a blanket over her feet. “Nope, we’re good.”