Page 48 of Heart Shaped Wreckage
“What is this place? It’s so cold.” He looked up at me and frowned. “I don’t like it.”
“It’s unnatural for the living to ever see this place. It’s everywhere and nowhere. This is the world between worlds where creation sprang forth.”
“Is it in space? How can we breathe?”
“It is and it isn’t. It’s best not to think too much about it, honestly. We’re here, and this is the end of our journey.”
“Is it the… uh… end of us?” He looked away, and it broke my heart.
“I don’t know. I hope not. But if you get your memory back… I don’t know what life you left. You might want to go back.”
“I don’t think I’d want to leave you.”
“I don’t want you to,” I answered huskily.
“Then can we just turn around and leave?”
I spread out my wings as we walked. “Look at me, Kevin. I can no longer live in the world of men like this.”
“So, you have to leave?”
“No. I don’t think so. We will see.”
He teared up and scrunched up his cute face.
“I don’t think I want this to end. I know that’s crazy, but… With the stones, I can portal us wherever we need to go to keep you hidden.”
“I hid long enough, don’t you think. One day, I will tell you all about my past and how lonely I’ve always been. Until you came along, that is. You showed me a world I had never thought I could be a part of.”
“So, we have to go?”
“Sadly, yes. The quest isn’t over until the prophecy is fulfilled.”
“Who is that bony, robed guy?”
“Henry,” I lied. “He’s the butler for the Fates. Just don’t look him in his eye sockets.”
We continued on the path for what felt like hours, but what does time mean in a place like this? The river Duat curled under our structure and disappeared into the darkness. Kevin gripped my hand hard enough for me to feel his quiet strength.
“It looks like Henry is stopping,” Kevin gasped.
Death pointed his finger towards a door marked with ancient runes, and it opened as we stepped up to it. The stone grinded loudly as it moved.
Sitting on three thrones were the Fates themselves, covered in robes and hidden to the eyes of anyone who sought them. Greek mythology had always gotten this wrong. They were born from creation itself and had no names. The Fates were exactly what they were – a link to every living thing, from the beginning of life to the harbingers of death. They knew all, and it was their duty to always watch.
“I smell man,” one of them croaked. “How long has it been since we had a man in here?”
“A member of Jehovah’s army of pigeons.” The second pointed her thin, bony finger at me. “Never have one of you been allowed to come see us.”
“But we know what they want and why they are here. Poor things. Poor things.” The third wheezed.
“Yes… The quest. That’s what this is. We’ve been watching.”
“Have we? I don’t remember a quest.”
“The prophecy of Magdala, remember?”
“Oh, yes. I remember. The soul quest, isn’t that what we were calling it?”
