Fate was not hard to find. The problem was she was, in fact, everywhere. She wove her plan into all things and all beings. Thus one could see her no matter where one looked. Yet, it was like talking to a spider’s web when all you saw was a single strand. The issue was one had to see enough of the strands at once to understand the whole web.
Erebus never liked the thought that Death was arbitrary. He liked to focus on the individual. Death was personal. Death came to each in turn. Be he an old friend or a hated enemy, everyone faced Death. Most were not comforted by this, but the thought eased the burden of his work.
Adjusting his perceptions to the grandeur of Fate took time. Worse, it distorted his perception of time. To ask how long it would take was like asking how heavy the shadow of a tree was. The shadow had no weight, not in a conventional sense. One could describe how hard the shadow was to move, how difficult the tree would be to uproot, or how difficult it would be to get Lord Sun to move in the sky. Erebus himself was capable of simply pulling the concept of the tree’s shadow, but that wasn’t quite the same. The shadow was outside weight as Fate was outside time.
Fate, likewise, did not have a residence. She existed in the twinkling of the children of Sun and Moon, in the interplay between all things. To Erebus, it was as if she was the stars and he was the darkness between them.
The darkness danced with the twinkling light. “Sister Fate, a matter of importance has occurred.”
In the bloom and death of a single flower, the stars responded, “Brother Darkness, it is good you have chosen to visit. I know you dislike this form.”
Erebus silently cursed how slow the response was. Rhizome might be in trouble; the longer he was distracted, the greater chance something bad would happen. “There is a question of your plan. Please, can we speak somewhere with regular time?”
“You wish to know of my story?” Fate answered. “Very well. Choose a form.”
Erebus pulled open a wooden covering that was attached to the entrance of a rabbit burrow by its side. He walked in, not on rabbit legs, but more as a bear might use; a peculiar two-legged version with hands. Perhaps the rabbit features weren’t needed, but it related to the conversation.
Fate wore a form that combined a rabbit with the eight legs of a spider. Absently, she drew on the walls with three of her arms, dipping them into a set of clay containers that held mud mixed with pigments.
Just her head turned to greet him. “Interesting choice, brother. Thank you for leaving a medium to continue my work. Join me and observe; what part of the story did you wish to ask about?”
“It is a difficult topic, perhaps the infinite darkness would have been easier to explain as. Yet, what I found is not eternal, and I do not wish to lose the chance.” His form, a black-furred bipedal rabbit, pulled slightly into itself. His dexterous grasping paws interlocked fingers. “My question is existential. Can the ones in your plan take actions you had not intended?”
“That is the ultimate goal of most creators; that what is made is greater than what was put into the creation. I have not attempted to do that.” She fixed dozens of spider-like clustered eyes on Erebus. “Why do you ask?”
“There is a rabbit from the Brambledeep warren, Rhizome. What is his role in your plan?”
Fate thought for a moment or an eon. “Shamed by his cowardice with the weasel, Rhizome searches for examples of real courage and heroes. Finding the tales false, he finds his voice and makes them himself. I believe I sent him to the warren of Starbasin. Our parents have an interest there, and I thought he could entertain them as well.”
“That fits what he is doing. Although, perhaps I am misinterpreting.” Erebus frowned. “Although, what of Eitan? The weasel you mentioned.”
“I don’t see why it’s important. His interaction with Rhizome set the rabbit on his true path. His death saved him from his own anger, and prevented him from becoming the monster he wanted to be. A shame, really. His legacy lives in Rhizome. The rabbit will keep Eitan’s actions with him for his whole life. I expect him to immortalize the weasel in a tale of his own.”
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Temperature was not a factor in this abstract place, yet what one would consider Erebus’ blood ran cold at Fate’s words. There was no use hiding this from her. “What if Eitan wasn’t dead?”
“What do you mean, brother?” She turned to the tapestry on the wall and looked closer. “His line ends… It’s right around…” One of her limbs traced a line on the wall. “What is this? A prophecy repeated by the wrong seer.” She narrowed her eyes. “One who foretold his false death?! Brother, did you do this? Did you refuse to take what you must?”
He shook his head. “No. I nudged a single vision of Mune about a potential death. I didn’t specify details, I left that to his abilities. I figured, since he wasn’t fated to die, it wouldn’t contain his actual death. I didn’t refuse to take anyone. When I went to Brambledeep, Rhizome was dying instead of the weasel. Since it was not his time, he recovered. Eitan lived without my action or inaction. Rhizome stamped instead of hiding.”
“You have wished to allow the lesser creations to choose their own deaths for some time.” Fate frowned and checked the ripples of the changes to the tapestry. “Aether wished it as well, from the perspective of choosing their own lives. Perhaps this is his doing. Why wasn’t I told? Mune repeated Stargazer’s vision because Rhizome wasn’t supposed to encounter another seer for another week, maybe two.” She sighed. “If I cannot predict what seers will do, I will have to write so many more visions. I wasn’t prepared for this to happen so soon.”
“Souls real enough to choose,” Erebus said. “It is an interesting idea.”
“It will require different and difficult work. I am not sure I wish this just yet.”
Erebus tensed. They were twins, in a way, both born of the darkness of the Moon. If Fate decided to kill his friends, could he stop her? He hesitated. Were they actually friends?
“I suppose it doesn’t matter if I am ready for this change.” Fate observed the tapestry again. “To answer your unasked question, I will test this anomaly. Is it a glitch? A way the wording of his fate interacts with the weave itself. Or is he someone truly able to forge destiny? You may observe, of course.”
“Thank you, sister.”
“As another observation, the seed of friendship is the other answer you seek.” She shrugged two pairs of her arms. “Be warned, interfere directly and there will be consequences.”
“I understand, sister. Thank you for allowing them a chance.” He bowed ever so slightly. “Should I explain why Mune spoke a prophecy that wasn’t his?”
“You may, if you wish.” She once again traced the lines on the wall with a number of limbs. “If they are allowed the freedom to choose, perhaps I can simply change how visions work. But first, I will need to decide how to tell if it is necessary. Thank you brother. I am glad we found this early enough that I could observe.”
Erebus swallowed. There were other matters. Three other matters so far. “The kit, Whitepaw, still lives as well. What of those who have missed their foretold deaths?”
“If there is no free will, I can concede to simply reweave them into the tapestry. If there is, then they are simply the first consequences. Now, I must get back to my work. May it not be so long before we speak again.”
“Until our actions bring us together.” Erebus hesitated and added, “Sister Nyx, you have my word that I did not do this. I would have asked you first. Asked if you were ready, or if I could have helped prepare things.”
“I know, Erebus.” She smiled, mostly with her eyes, or hands, or the stars. She made a few small changes to the tapestry, then added a new line. “You have my word that while the trial will not be fair, it will be winnable. I do want to know if it is time for this change, and I believe I will embrace it if so.”
Erebus bowed and withdrew from the burrow. The abstract door closed and the conversation faded into the stars again. He returned the focus of his perceptions to the world. For once, Death was full of hope. He had no delusions that free will would be the end of death, but if they could choose, perhaps they would surprise even the gods. What shape would this new world take?
Something was wrong. As he drew closer, he could feel it. An impending death. Rhizome was unable to breathe.
Fate’s words returned. “There will be consequences.”
He watched, helpless, as Rhizome was held under water. The others would not reach him in time. The hope of free will was fragile. The trial had already begun, and it was indeed not fair.
Yet, that moment wasn’t about Fate or free will or if that rabbit could change the world. In that moment, there was a friend in need of help. The closest thing to a friend Erebus had ever had. Rhizome was brave; he would face whatever Fate threw at him without thought of what lay beyond. Why did it take a rabbit to remind Death he was strong?
Consequences be damned.