Mortal for Now

The Great Plague had ravaged the nation for hundreds of years. Kings were quick to point toward other countries as the cause and even quicker to wall up the sick in their homes. Morai’s servants ventured from sick house to sick house in vulture-like masks. Tendrils of sage smoke curled around their beaks as they collected the souls of the dead.

Morai searched relentlessly for something specific. When she’d been chosen as the Inevitable, it had been under a twisted knife. Her patience was what had attracted Yvaine’s attention. She’d been grateful for a second chance at life and was able to outlive everyone of the curs that had offered her life up to the gods.

Alexandria and Celene didn’t understand the importance of being chosen in that way. They already had a fraction of power before taking on their roles. It made it harder for them to sympathize with the weak.

Morai donned her porcelain mask before stepping out into the salty London air. Gazing upon the face of something divine tended to drive mortals mad. While the North Star bobbing in the surf had been quarantined for forty days, there were still living souls inside. Sweat and vomit-saturated vapors rushed out of the hull of the ship as at long last the cabin doors had opened.

Morai braced herself at the fiendish howl of a Wraith's increasing volume. From the bottom of the steps, a creature that was all nails and teeth hesitated at the sight of the goddess of death looming in the doorway. Then, in an insane mad dash up the stairs, ran mouth first into her gleaming golden shears.

“Sweep the area for any more spiritual cannibals,” Morai instructed. With just the tip of her nails, she peeled the reddened angry soul off her scissors into a jar to be disposed of. Tragedy brought out the worst impulses of the living, but it made for a convenient test. “Anyone under the age of ten who’s still intact, bring them to me.”

Young children lacked the experience needed to fear her, which made it easier to talk to them. One girl and three boys were pulled up from the ship. They ranged from brash to meek, interrupting her questions with their own, touching her mask, and running around the port with peals of laughter. All except one who sat with his back to the sea. He laid out cards with strange creatures on them in rows of varying lengths.

“Hello, dear. What’s your name?” Her shadow fell across his cards. With a pinched frown, he moved the cards one by one back into the sunlight. “What are these?” she asked instead, and pointed to the card in his hand.

“Heroes.” He eyed her like a rabbit caught by a wolf.

“I see. Do they have names then?”

He cautiously pointed to his creation and rattled off names with growing confidence. When he had at last finished, there was a sparkle in his eye.

“And what’s your name?” she asked.

“Mortis.” He had dark hair, sallow skin, and eyes the color of coffin wood. Given the chance to grow, he would make an imposing figure.

“Do you like sorting games?”

He nodded.

Once at full height, she offered out her hand. “I know someone who loves sorting things; it’s all he ever does. He’s been looking for someone like you, if you’d like to meet him.”

“We’re not going to the asylum?” It was the first time emotion colored his voice.

She shook her head. With a single hand, he gathered up his things then linked a pinkie around one of her fingers. Anything was better than living shoulder to shoulder with age-mates it seemed. At least he showed a knack for the job.

One of the undead soldiers shuffled up, pointed at the remaining children, and wheezed out an exhausted breath. Wheezing and groaning was the only way the dead could speak. This one roughly translated to ‘What are we to do with the others? They’ve already seen us.’ They couldn’t drag healthy souls with long golden threads of fate back to the underworld, but they couldn’t just leave them in the port either.

It’d been a few generations since she last visited, but perhaps her husband’s childhood village had been rebuilt. Surely someone would want a free child or three. At the very least, it would give them a place to age into her service.

“Send for another cart," she told the masked figure. “We’ll find someplace they’ll be of use.”

She would later regret this decision. The walls have ears, and when word got out that the children of the North Star had been passed over by death, the rumors spiraled. By summer’s end, she’d have a number of orphans left with stars inked into their skin in the hopes she’d take them to a place other than the underworld. While she ignored these requests, she would blame the god of order until her dying days for putting her in a position where she had been perceived by mortals yet again.

***

Witchery was a noble profession, especially for girls adverse to marriage. This year, the number of applicants for Frog Creek Academy had doubled in size. Among the hopeful faces in the crowd was Klava, a wiry thing with dark circles under her eyes. Separated from her sister for the first time, she had the mannerisms of a small dog. In a crowd of excited, chattering age-mates, it was easy to feel invisible.

She was tapped on the shoulder by a girl with richly dark hair. Though her clothes were of a dull persuasion, she carried herself with an air of nobility. Quite a feat, given nobles and witchcraft were rarely in harmony.

"Are you a candidate for queen?" she asked. "They say the Allotter has hair like moonbeams and eyes deep as the night is dark. As far as lookalikes go, you're a shoo-in."

Klava had noticed a rather high number of girls with pale plated hair. For the first time her appearance was common. They all looked like a matched set of dolls in their uniforms. She had always been considered sickly back home. If the Allotter was already looking for a replacement, perhaps she was the same.

"No," Klava said. "I mean, we all are technically, but that's not why I came here."

"Me neither," she extended a hand to her, "Ariadne. I plan to impress Queen Alexandria. The things one could make with that power could be endless." In that handshake was an unspoken question: among the sea of candidates, was Klava going to stand in her way?

"Klava." She took Ariadne's hand and gave it a firm shake. "I want to learn as much about magic as I can." It had to come from somewhere. There were legends passed down from the old days of enchanted swords and monstrous beasts, but it all was mixed up in metaphors and old tongues. There had to be an explanation for what made people and things innately magical, rather than having magic stuck to them. "It seems lately, some people have greater powers than others. I'd like to know why. People can get better at it with practice, but then others need no practice at all. It makes no sense." Having been caught rambling, she retracted her hand and withdrew into herself.

"As far as I can tell, it's always been this way," Ariadne said. "Perhaps you are the one who changed, and have only taken notice now?"

"Then someone else should have the answers," Klava said. "Even things that are have to have a reason to be."

"Ladies, your attention please." The headmistress, Madam Gorgon, greeted them all with practiced ease. Her thick, grey locs were tied up with a purple ribbon. Behind her were three thrones.

In the first was Alexandria, her aging body weighed down by old ornaments to the point her spine had permanently bent into a vulture-like posture. Each wrinkle bore the pure gold of fate and tinted her translucent skin. In the second chair was Celene, who held the stoicism and rigidity of a marble statue. Even with failing health, she was a symbol of strength. In the last throne was Morai, masked in a perfume of sage and tobacco. They were the rising sun, the ever-present moon, and the unyielding stars: past, present, and future. For all of them to be in attendance, a grand change was eminent. "One by one, you will kneel before the Spinner and be reunited with your old name. The magic you've been able to wield thus far is an echo of your original self welcomed back into the universe." It was a long, romanticized speech in which Klava quickly lost interest. Half-truths were just an excuse to avoid answering uncomfortable questions.

In an orderly fashion, the young witches knelt before the thrones and channeled their power into summoning their familiar. Alexandria would read the magic like tea leaves, spin a spindle over their heads and pronounce their 'real' names for the whole room to hear. There were a variety of animals: lots of cats, bats, and rodents. All of them could only summon one and it made Klava nervous.

"Wish me luck," Ariadne whispered. Overhead she summoned a mighty golden bull with razor sharp horns. The spindle cleared the illusion, but before Alexandria could speak, Ariadne raised her head. "My name is Ariadne."

The headmistress glared at her and demanded she hold her tongue.

"Indeed it is," Alexandria said. It inspired a row of raised whispers the headmistress had to stamp out. "You may join the others." Ariadne sauntered off stage with pride, knowing the golden queen would surely want to know how she knew and for how long. The old bat had years to spare, but she was in it for the long haul.

Next, Klava's turn. The stage lights burned her eyes and the ground beneath her knees pinched at her bones. With shaking hands, she concentrated. Just as she feared, a single white bird circled overhead instead of two.

"It's a love bird," she felt the need to clarify. "They don't like to be separated." Try as she might, she couldn't summon another, comforted by the lonely bird’s tittering. Alexandria held out her hand, and it perched on her decorated finger, somber and songless.

Alexandria could feel the magic, familiar in its texture and traced what had drawn it to this girl. A powerful written word, undying loyalty, and a clever mind; but no name to call her own. It was new magic. Unlike the familiars that had been passed down from soul to soul, Klava's was in its infancy.

"Rise, Klava," Alexandria said. Klava obeyed and followed in the path of the other girls. As she left the stage, she felt three sets of eyes follow her from behind emotionless masks. The naming ceremony continued for over an hour. With each critical reaction the Fates had toward the other girls, Klava was more certain it was some sort of test.