Page 75 of Lost and Stolen Gods
I took a deep breath and stepped into the door.
Chapter 26
THERE’S MORE TO THIS THAN MEETS THE EYE
The room I found myself in was cluttered with stuff—vials, bottles, bowls of dried flowers, beads, gems, bunches of herbs hanging from the rafters, and shelves of books in all shapes and colors, and sitting in the middle of it all were three women of different ages.
A young woman with a rosebud mouth and long dark hair sat at an old-fashioned spinning wheel, foot pumping the pedal to spin the wheel; another slightly older woman with gray at her temples and laugh lines bracketing her mouth monitored the spindle where the thread gathered in a spool. She adjusted the thread and spool every so often so that it ran toward a much older woman, hunched over a pair of knitting needles, weathered face scrunched up in concentration as she knitted…what was she knitting? The space betweenthe needles was empty, the thread vanishing as if by magic.
Magic…
Thewhirrandclickof the machine andclack, clackof the needles made a strange methodical symphony. A memory teased my mind.
I’d seen this scene somewhere before. Where, though? Dammit, why couldn’t I remember?
“Fret not, child.” Three voices spoke in unison. “You see us in the only way that your mind can comprehend.”
What did that mean?
“Come closer. Touch the spindle.”
Wait a second, this part I did remember. “I’ve heardthisstory.”
Gentle laughter was superimposed by a cackle. “Humor is a powerful tool, but it can also be a shield. Touch the spindle, child, so we may see you.”
This wasn’t creepy at all. I mean, their mouths didn’t move with their speech, and they hadn’t looked up once, continuing with their task as if I wasn’t in the room. Well, I was here, and if they needed me to prick myself, then so be it.
I stepped forward and reached for the spindle. “I swear, if this puts me to sleep for a hundred years, I will not be pleased.”
Another echoing chuckle.
I pressed my finger to the spindle, wincing as it pierced my skin.
The wheel spun faster, and the thread on the spool turned red. “Leela. Leela. Leela, of ancient blood born, from ancient blood spawned. Leela, Leela, the turn of the tide, the shift in the wind, the anchor of death.” The wheel spun faster, the red thread turning gold.
Clack, clack, clack.
“The wielder. You are the wielder. It won’t cut. It will only fray. Time. You need time. Push, pull, tug, and snap. Push, pull, tug, and snap.” The old woman’s needles moved so fast they were a blur. “A broken heart will heal a fractured soul, and darkness will fall. It will fall.”
Something gleamed on the young woman’s wrist, a gold band, but when I blinked, it vanished.
“It should not be done, but we cannot undo it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will, child. You must.”
The wheel hummed, and my head felt light and floaty. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the needles, from the soft blue glow that was forming in the old woman’s lap. Black beady eyes. Twitchy whiskers and a long pink tail.
The wheel slowed, the needles clacked less frequently, and a blue rat stared up at me curiously.
Shit…was that my anchor? “Hello?”
It leapt off the old woman’s lap, pushed up onto its hind legs, and put its hands on its hips. “Blue at ya service.”
“It is done,” the trio said.
Bright light ate my vision.
