Read Online Origin of the Sphinx by Raye Wagner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Raye Wagner
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radiated concern, her warm brown eyes looked quickly around the room. She held a rod of about a meter that she gripped in her left hand. The stick was clearly marked with symbols at precise distances. She seemed to be measuring each individual as she spoke.
Priska looked at Damon, but his red-rimmed eyes remained fixed on the floor.
“I will.” Priska’s voice was determined, and she felt joy at the prospect.
“It is as you said, Lachesis.” The voice was sharp, which matched the angular features on this young lady. Her eyes were dark, cold, exacting.
Priska felt goose bumps rise on her flesh.
It was Atropos who spoke, identified by the shears she had at her belt.
“But it must be fair. There is so much that has played out that has been unjust.” The young lady that spoke, hardly looked up from her needles. She was slender, with hair the color of honey. The click of rapid knitting had been uninterrupted since the Fates had arrived. “I will not allow the gods to cut this life short.” Clotho’s blue eyes looked at Atropos reprovingly, and Atropos’s eyes dropped.
“I had not seen it coming, Clo.” Atropos’s voice was biting.
“Even so, I would like to see us unite. I hate wasting thread I’ve made.” She looked up, and stopped knitting. Her eyes met those of each of her sisters, and when they nodded in assent, she took a book from under her cloak. Its cover was dark red leather with gold lettering.
“Here is the history of the girl’s mother, and the curse that was placed. This record is written by our hands, so it will be unbiased from human or god. It can be read only by the Sphinx, or those whose intent toward the cursed creature is pure.
We will also allow the creature ample thread, such that she will have her choice of when to pass to the underworld. Until she conceives, she will remain immortal. There is much she can do with this time. This is what we will do.”
Priska found her voice. “Can she break the curse?”
“The curse was placed by a god. The words are binding. Even Apollo cannot retract it. The terms must be fulfilled.” Lachesis explained this in measured words, knowing the weight of what she said.
“But it is unfair.” Priska sounded angry, but the anger was really her frustration at being helpless.
“Child, you have seen much in your days, but you have much left to see. The gods are often rash, selfish, and thoughtless. They are also omnipotent. Their words are irrevocable and immutable. Until Phoibe, or now her offspring, loves Apollo, the curse will stand as pronounced,” Clotho explained.
Priska nodded.
“Our time draws to an end here. If you have further questions ask them now.” Atropos demanded.
“Why?” It was the rasping voice of Damon. His face was haggard, and it bore the grief of his loss. He looked at each of the young women as though they might provide understanding to his broken heart.
The silence in the room was deafening.
“There is no reason.” Clotho walked up to the mortal, and met his gaze. “It is not right, but we cannot change it.”
“Then who? Who can change it?”
“I do not know who has that power.” Clotho shook her head. “I’m so sorry.” She stepped back two paces, bent her head, and her needles started clicking.
Atropos and Lachesis stepped up to join their sister. “Hail and farewell.” They addressed the room, and in a flash they were gone.
“Damon?” Priska walked over to the man, still standing where Clotho had left him. “Damon?”
He turned and looked at her, shock on his face. “Priska?” His voice sounded on the edge of hysteria. Priska led him to a chair, had him take slow, deep breaths, and instructed him to close his eyes. She hoped he would sleep, but when he looked up at her only minutes later, his eyes still wild, she knew it had been too much.
“Damon. Are you awake then?” She bustled around the room, picking up as though it needed tidying.
“Asleep? What do you mean?”
“You must
Priska looked at Damon, but his red-rimmed eyes remained fixed on the floor.
“I will.” Priska’s voice was determined, and she felt joy at the prospect.
“It is as you said, Lachesis.” The voice was sharp, which matched the angular features on this young lady. Her eyes were dark, cold, exacting.
Priska felt goose bumps rise on her flesh.
It was Atropos who spoke, identified by the shears she had at her belt.
“But it must be fair. There is so much that has played out that has been unjust.” The young lady that spoke, hardly looked up from her needles. She was slender, with hair the color of honey. The click of rapid knitting had been uninterrupted since the Fates had arrived. “I will not allow the gods to cut this life short.” Clotho’s blue eyes looked at Atropos reprovingly, and Atropos’s eyes dropped.
“I had not seen it coming, Clo.” Atropos’s voice was biting.
“Even so, I would like to see us unite. I hate wasting thread I’ve made.” She looked up, and stopped knitting. Her eyes met those of each of her sisters, and when they nodded in assent, she took a book from under her cloak. Its cover was dark red leather with gold lettering.
“Here is the history of the girl’s mother, and the curse that was placed. This record is written by our hands, so it will be unbiased from human or god. It can be read only by the Sphinx, or those whose intent toward the cursed creature is pure.
We will also allow the creature ample thread, such that she will have her choice of when to pass to the underworld. Until she conceives, she will remain immortal. There is much she can do with this time. This is what we will do.”
Priska found her voice. “Can she break the curse?”
“The curse was placed by a god. The words are binding. Even Apollo cannot retract it. The terms must be fulfilled.” Lachesis explained this in measured words, knowing the weight of what she said.
“But it is unfair.” Priska sounded angry, but the anger was really her frustration at being helpless.
“Child, you have seen much in your days, but you have much left to see. The gods are often rash, selfish, and thoughtless. They are also omnipotent. Their words are irrevocable and immutable. Until Phoibe, or now her offspring, loves Apollo, the curse will stand as pronounced,” Clotho explained.
Priska nodded.
“Our time draws to an end here. If you have further questions ask them now.” Atropos demanded.
“Why?” It was the rasping voice of Damon. His face was haggard, and it bore the grief of his loss. He looked at each of the young women as though they might provide understanding to his broken heart.
The silence in the room was deafening.
“There is no reason.” Clotho walked up to the mortal, and met his gaze. “It is not right, but we cannot change it.”
“Then who? Who can change it?”
“I do not know who has that power.” Clotho shook her head. “I’m so sorry.” She stepped back two paces, bent her head, and her needles started clicking.
Atropos and Lachesis stepped up to join their sister. “Hail and farewell.” They addressed the room, and in a flash they were gone.
“Damon?” Priska walked over to the man, still standing where Clotho had left him. “Damon?”
He turned and looked at her, shock on his face. “Priska?” His voice sounded on the edge of hysteria. Priska led him to a chair, had him take slow, deep breaths, and instructed him to close his eyes. She hoped he would sleep, but when he looked up at her only minutes later, his eyes still wild, she knew it had been too much.
“Damon. Are you awake then?” She bustled around the room, picking up as though it needed tidying.
“Asleep? What do you mean?”
“You must