“To each man shall his own free actions bring both his suffering and his good fortune. Jupiter is inevitably king over all alike. The Fates will find the way.”

  - Virgil, The Aeneid

  Like he had never stopped, Taliesin could breathe once more. He could see, although the light was bright to his eyes. A strange villa floated in the middle of the Void, in the hellenic style common around the Aegean Sea. Taliesin was floated into it, only to find it larger inside than it appeared from without, and a view of real cosmos through its unshuttered windows.

  Unfortunately, the pain from his injuries returned with all the normal sensations of life. How long was I trapped in the Void? Taliesin had no way of knowing. He coughed blood and collapsed to the floor.

  “That won’t do,” chided a gentle voice. Taliesin looked up to see an attractive young woman standing over him with one hand on her hip and the other holding a spinning distaff. Her hair was unbound, her clothes chaste. She tutted at him, then she lifted him easily. They moved without moving, then Taliesin collapsed into a cot. His bleeding stopped and the pain subsided. Did she heal me?

  “What’ve you found, Clotho?” came the voice of a middle-aged woman. She walked in with a measuring tape and a motherly expression on her face.

  “I went to collect some Chaos so that I could spin new threads. I found this one swimming in the Void, playing with the Akashic Records.”

  “He’s not supposed to do that. Wait, he’s not one of ours,” said the woman. “Nor does he smell of either desert magics or Kemetic gods.”

  “A northman, perhaps? He has the coloration for it,” said Clotho.

  “But he’d smell of the Aesir if that were so. He lives outside of prophecy.”

  “Strange, as he is gifted with its telling,” came an old voice.

  An old crone of a woman appeared then, a pair of terrible sewing shears in one hand. She glared at Taliesin with a look that penetrated his whole life. She had seen his past, in all its glories and failures. There was no judgment, but there was finality. Taliesin shivered under her eternal gaze.

  “His thread is uncut, despite living past its measure. He outlived his family, his people, and his realm. Cutting his thread would be a mercy.” Despite her severe look, her words were dispassionate without being cruel.

  Taliesin found his voice and managed to sit up. Whatever Clotho had done to soothe his injuries had granted him some strength. He had stood up against Balidar the Destroyer at the height of his power. Taliesin damned sure wouldn’t die laying in bed because an old woman threatened him with scissors.

  “I think you’ll find I don’t die so easily,” Taliesin said as he gained his feet. He drew on his power and prepared to weave a spellform.

  “Oh, look, Lachesis! He’s a magoi!” Clotho clapped prettily, her face split in a wide smile. She looked entirely unthreatened despite having seen him draw aether into a spell.

  “A bold one,” said Atropos, the crone. “What do you hope to accomplish here, boy?”

  “I… I really don’t know. I don’t know where I am, or what this place is.” Taliesin faltered, letting the spellform lapse. “What is this place? What happened to my people?”

  “This isn’t a place for mortals, little soul,” said Clotho with an innocent, sympathetic look. “You were in the Void between realms when I pulled you out. You are not of our realm, are you?”

  “Are you some kind of goddesses? Who are you to determine my future?”

  “We are Fate, boy,” said the old Crone. “One to spin the thread, one to grant it full measure, the last to cut it in the end. We are the Norns to the northmen and the Shai to the Aegyptians. We are beyond mortals and gods. I’ll grant you the small mercy to know that your people defied their fates as well, and have found new life in that realm you found. Balidar was unable to eat your world’s spirit because of it, and thus grew weaker for all his efforts. Now. You have had your measure of life. You may not be one of ours, nor in our Book, but your time is past.”

  Taliesin was relieved with the knowledge that his duty had been successfully discharged. At the same time, he was unwilling to let go of life so easily. He’d expected to die - even welcomed it - as a fair price to pay to protect his people. Even so, Taliesin refused to die without a fight when Balidar stood before him. He would do no different now.

  He could see a spindle of aether pull into reality before Atropos. It took only seconds to recognize it as somehow being intrinsically related to Taliesin’s own existence. The Akashic Records still surrounded this place and confirmed his theory. The geometric spellforms that were interwoven through this thread of being had a complexity so far beyond what he had been studying that it was as if he’d learned nothing at all. It made sense that a life, a soul, would be so much… more. Then she turned her terrible shears towards that thread, and he jerked from his reverie.

  “No, you old crone, you have no power over me,” Taliesin said with all the strength his voice could muster. He couldn’t do anything with the thread of his fate, but he didn’t want to either. He needed to protect it, not tamper with it. The shears, on the other hand, were a different proposition. Taliesin could see magic activating along it, drawn from a well of divine power that he could no more affect than he could extinguish the sun. Instead, Taliesin reached out with a thread of his own spellforms. His weave interacted with the scissors, disrupting them and turning the power back upon their owner.

  A split second later, the shears exploded in a spectacular display of arcane chaos. It sent the old crone stumbling back in astonishment. She was startled but otherwise utterly unharmed despite the raw power he’d unwoven. The thread of his fate faded away.

  “Oh, such a lovely show! Well done!” Clotho cheered Taliesin on. “I like you!”

  “That was a nice try, boy,” said Atropos. Whole once again, her shears were back in hand. “The most powerful of gods cannot deny us. What makes you think you can?”

  Taliesin ignored her. He had already learned from her first attack, and better understood the shears now. They were an artifact of the End, but they could not be only the stuff of unmaking, or she’d be unable to wield them. Taliesin felt that he had their measure now. He reached out with a new spell. The scissors of Atropos began to disintegrate in her hands.

  Lachesis sighed and waved a hand. His spellform fell apart. It didn’t matter. He had witnessed the divine bit of magic that Lachesis had performed. Taliesin knew he would need to see it again to be able to replicate it, and he would also need a well of power far beyond his own. Nevertheless, he had gained a few useful insights.

  “He keeps learning! Oh, I do love an underdog!” said Clotho. In anyone else, Taliesin would think her heartless in her desire for entertainment. Her natural innocence belied that assessment. She was genuinely happy that Taliesin was doing well, and had the thrill of first experiences in everything she witnessed. Taliesin thought it was most disconcerting from someone such as she. I would say she is ageless, but timeless may be a more apt description.

  “Atropos, that’s enough. Let’s discuss this, before we’re forced to bring our full might to bear.”

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  “I don't care what you have to say,” Taliesin interjected. “I’ll not go peacefully. I stood against Balidar the Destroyer alone, I’ll stand against you as well.”

  The crone grumbled. “It doesn’t matter, your thread must be cut.”

  “That’s very true!” said Clotho happily. “Everyone’s thread is cut eventually!”

  “While you are correct, it need not be cut right now,” said Lachesis reasonably. “He’s not even in our Book of Fate. We have some leeway.”

  “What are you proposing?” asked Atropos suspiciously. Of all the tripartite deities, Taliesin realized she must face the most opposition to their work, if she was in charge of cutting short the lives of her worshippers.

  “Oh! He stands outside of prophecy!” said Clotho with sudden realization. In an admiring voice she said, “Lachesis, you’re so clever.”

  “Indeed.”

  Lachesis held out a hand, and the thread of my destiny appeared in her hands. “Should the magoi agree, I can give him a full measure and we can drop him in the world.”

  “Wait, agree to what?” Taliesin asked, a new spell already forming at his fingertips. A wild hope flared, but he quashed it. There was still danger here, if only of a different sort.

  “We have no way of knowing what will happen to the Tapestry should he interfere,” said Atropos.

  “If we do nothing, what happens when all the threads are cut?” asked Lachesis. “You know this is what will happen. The pantheons are marching to war. Already myrmidons and valkyries have skirmished. I’ve no doubt that Amun-Ra is ready to pounce. When the gods clash directly, their rage towards each other will scour the Earth.”

  “Hmm, doing this could add chaos to the Tapestry. Perhaps enough?” said Atropos. Suddenly, she laughed - a cackling laugh that transformed her countenance into a grandmotherly presence. “Oh, I can just see the faces of those shortsighted, stick-in-the-mud gods if their petty games get ruined.”

  Lachesis turned to Taliesin. “So?”

  “Wait, what do you want from me?” asked Taliesin, his suspicion growing now that the old crone seemed amused and decidedly not hostile.

  Atropos looked at the thread, which had already begun to glow a golden hue. “It seems the decision is made.”

  Taliesin hadn’t agreed to anything, but Atropos’ shears vanished. Lachesis gave a proud smile as if her favorite child had performed well at their lessons. She patted his head before wandering away, vanishing into the Chaos of this strange place.

  “What? I didn’t agree to anything!” Taliesin said, defiant to the end. Atropos gave him one last appraising look before vanishing, a fresh laugh hanging in the air behind her.

  Clotho looked at him appraisingly. “Hmm… You’d fare poorly under the strictures of Zeus and his ilk. The north will face cold, while the Kemetic Gods will use drought and famine. So, hot or cold?”

  Taliesin shuddered at the memories of a world in flames. “Not heat. Wait, what is happening?”

  Clotho changed before his eyes, shifting in appearance to that of a different young woman. She had a nordic look to her, with intricately braided blonde hair and a different style of dress. Taliesin understood without words that she was now Skuld, the Maiden. They had shifted pantheons, although the significance of it was lost to him. It was reality shifting underneath his feet, and Taliesin could only accept this different aspect of the deity of Fate.

  “We’re sending you to our realm,” said Skuld, formerly Clotho. “You refused to fall under Balidar’s blade, and fought Atropos’ attempt to end your fate. Your very survival meant agreement.”

  “So what did I agree to?” Taliesin strongly disliked the tricky manner in which the Fates thought and acted. This smelled of deception, but he was hardly in a position to argue. It seemed they were about to release him into a new realm.

  “I’ll be leaving you in a place where you have the opportunity to help. A grand Pantheonic War will soon overtake the world. Perhaps you can bring enough people together to shelter against the storm,” said Skuld serenely.

  She was describing another global genocide. Taliesin had just fought against one and lost. Am I doomed to repeat the pattern, time and again? He could always build a new Gate, but he couldn’t guarantee he would luck into finding a suitable realm in time. Then came the demands of convincing people to abandon their lives and homes to flee to an untamed world. Taliesin had the benefit of Duke Arthur’s natural charisma and immense political power to do the hard work of politicking before. People rarely did the logical thing when faced with the emotional trauma of losing their homes and way of life. Even with Duke Arthur’s ardent support, they lost many precious months after the Gate was ready before people were willing to accept the end was nigh and begin migrating en masse.

  “So you expect me to be what, some sort of chosen one?” Taliesin asked. He was reluctant to dance to the tunes of these strange gods. “I won’t knuckle under your command.”

  That elicited another peal of laughter from the ever-youthful deity. “I know! It’s delightful! Don’t worry, you’re no Chosen One. Those are creatures of prophecy, doomed to follow a specific path from birth to death. You stand outside of prophecy, unseen and thus unpredicted.”

  The world around him began to change. The strange, mist-like building Taliesin had met the three deities vanished behind him. Soon they were flying through a vast emptiness. It was unlike the void, for he could see and feel without issue. They were surrounded by trillions of stars, and moving far too swiftly to match any physical laws of reality. It seemed to him that they were heading to a specific destination, turning so that a new sight dominated their line of travel. A vast ball of flame was in the distance, with tiny orbs flowing around it. Was that… was that a sun as seen from a much closer distance? It was much larger than I’d imagined, thought Taliesin. He could see immense amounts of aether flowing from within.

  “I never gave much thought to the stars,” Taliesin said with a new sense of wonder. Once more he wished for a journal to log his observations. “It seems Aristarchus must have been right! The world does revolve around the sun!”

  “It depends on the realm,” said Skuld. “Some have no planets at all, just vast disks in a tiny bubble of reality, with day and night happening as part of their reality rather than relying on physics and natural phenomena. This world is not one of them. The sun generates vast power, converting gasses into other matter and energy, and turning some of that energy into aether.”

  “That must be a thousand thousand miles from the world!” Taliesin marveled.

  Skuld gave a youthful laugh that was somehow fiercer than the laugh of the innocent Clotho aspect. “Try ninety three thousand thousands!”

  “That is a most impressive distance,” he said, making a mental note of it.

  Taliesin could see raw aether diffused through space, flowing away from the sun. Yet what intrigued him was the nigh endless energy. He would need to ponder that. For now, they approached an orb of blue and brown. It was the world he would soon call home and it was round. Just as the natural philosophers said!

  Seconds later, they were hovering over the ground. Taliesin looked down to see that he was fully restored in body and aether. He was unclothed, but modesty was overcome swiftly by shock. My youth is restored to me! He was young and muscled like he’d never been before, even in the prime of life. His face was clean-shaven and his hair was a blond color so light that it was almost white. It was definitely not the dark brown of his youth. He looked up in amazement.

  “Verdandi gave you a full measure of life,” said Skuld matter of factly, referring to the Mother aspect he’d seen as Lachesis. “Spend it wisely.”

  A tendril of magic reached out to him from the goddess. Taliesin examined it as it approached. It offered him power, in return for a piece of his… not his soul. Perhaps my aether? No, my ability to recover my power. He refused. He would not sacrifice a piece of his self for anyone. The connection attempt became more insistent.

  “You are Unforged in the Book of Fate. Accept the connection, Taliesin, and reap the rewards of your First Forging. You will not be disappointed.”

  “I’ll not let your strange magic control me, either. I saw the end results of bargains for power, and I’ll not be a puppet to anyone.”

  “Don’t confuse us for that weak god eater from your home realm. Deny this power at your own peril.” Skuld’s voice sounded simultaneously of Maiden, Mother and Crone as one. Taliesin could feel the full weight of destiny bearing down on his shoulders in that instant. It was a burden ill suited for a mortal, but he was afforded a minute glimpse into the endless eternities that was the domain of the tripartite goddesses.

  Taliesin felt anger rise up, but he smothered it. Rage would do him no favors. “I’ve relied on my own wit and power my entire life. I’ll not change it now.”

  “That weak realm with neutered deities you were born into is no comparison to what you will face,” said Skuld, her voice once more her own. “Accept this boon.”

  Once more the connection tried to reach him. Taliesin cut it off again.

  “You have thrice defied your fate,” intoned Skuld, the innocent voice of the Maiden layered over with that of the Mother and of the Crone, heavy with power. “You avoided death in your own realm, denied the Crone her due, and refused entry into the Book of Fate. So be it. We will watch you with great interest, as we watch all threads. We shall not speak again.”

  Then the goddess was gone, and Taliesin fell from the sky.

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