Page 89 of In Death's Hands
Threads are not the only language we know. Some things are written in flesh.
I hear what the Order says. Its voices sound gentler somehow, and yet all my mind can focus on is the crash of the cars. The wail of the souls Death collected.I was so excited. On the road, I kept asking questions. About my new room. My new school. It was all about me. They tried telling me to rest and that they’d be happy to answer it all when we arrived, but I kept pulling their focus, demanding their attention. If they hadn’t been so focused on me, everyone would still be alive.Ikilled all those people.
I pause, waiting for an answer. When it doesn’t come, I think back on what I said. But I realise that the last sentence never took life. I try again.“If they hadn’t been so focused on me, everyone would still be alive. I killed all those people.”Those words don’t make it past my thoughts.
Tears stop, my mind stops, my worldstops.
This isn’t true. The light pulses.
A tangled mass of threads moves closer to me. It expands and expands until I can distinguish each thread. I stand and look. There are millions of them, either red, gold or purple. Some are intertwined. Others stand alone. I cannot distinguish the pattern, but I recognise the red threads. The mass around me keeps moving until I see a specific knot right before my eyes.
Instinctively, I know what I’m seeing. Many threads are cut off, some with tidy knots, others that look to have been torn. Those feel wrong, messy, with smaller threads moving in an invisible wind. Two of them call to me, and I know. Those are my adoptive parents’ threads.
What happened?I ask, because this doesn’t feel normal. Although I wonder how I know what normal should be here.
Threads are delicate things. When handled inappropriately, this happens.
Did the Fates…
No. The Fates tied knots. When the time is right, and for specific reasons. What happened was not your fault. It was the consequence of actions taken long before you took your first breath in this body.
The words resonate and linger within me.
Whose fault was it?I ask, feeling numb.
You will find out soon enough.
Why not tell me now?
You are part of a pattern not yet concluded. Telling you would alter key knots woven for a purpose you do not yet see.
I want to rage at that, but my emotions are back behind that thick wall. Acknowledged yet unfelt.
I came here for something else.
In more ways than you know.
I ignore this new, cryptic bit and focus on what I want to know.What happened to the Origins? Who stole their memories?
That question is not meant to be answered now.
That’s stupid.
Stupid it may appear, but you’ll agree soon enough.
What can you tell me, then?
Your fear is wasted on the ones you want to escape from.
Anger rumbles behind the wall.Give me a straight answer. Are the Novensiles the reason why I’ve been having so many accidents?
No.
Who is after me, then? It cannot be pure bad luck.
It isn’t.
Who, then?
