The Shadow Behind the Stars (28 page)

I hadn't the single-minded devotion of that oracle, not
anymore. But I was still Chloe, the quickest, the loveliest, and when my pack fell open, there our glory shone.

My sisters pulled over our stump and chair and stool, and I let Xinot's music wrap me round. I added my voice, a quick, sharp counterpoint. I took up my spindle, and Xinot drew out her scissors. I reached down into my wool and pulled out the first strand, listening to what it wanted to be. There was pain and sadness; there was death in this wool. But I took nothing out and I added nothing in. I passed the thread to Serena, and she measured it, long and shining, and Xinot's shears were shears again. Somewhere on this world, a mortal was born, and it would not live forever.

We stopped; the knowledge that it would not live forever sliced us like a jagged rock, like a sharp blade. But as we stopped, as that mortal was born, we felt something waking beneath our tune. It was dark, and it was beautiful. We turned our faces to the newly coiled thread, and we saw it dancing there, our shadow.

Light and dark, day and night: The shine of that thread and our magic spun and shimmied, intertwined. Oh, it hurt to watch, like too much knowledge hurts, like never being able to sleep.

But that dance was sliding underneath our skin, as a haunting tune had, long ago, as the eyes of a girl had, as the scrunchy face of her son—and it did not matter if the darkness and the mortals were at odds. They were both inside of us, hard and fiery, both tearing at the place where we would keep a soul. And even though it hurt, so that we could hardly breathe, we didn't falter, and we didn't shudder—we spun,
and we measured, and we
sliced
with one will, and the world whirled beautifully.

When night fell, we left our work to go out to the stars and the sea. We stood there together, conversing with our magic, listening to the prayers of the day. Xinot listened to the muttering of crones, Serena to mothers' pleas.

I watched the clouds billow and my half-moon gleam. I breathed in deep, and I closed my eyes to hear the praying of my girls. I felt our darkness churning along the wind, weaving with their words.

There had been another night, when Serena hadn't noticed that our darkness was swirling in a strangely deliberate way. Aglaia had been sleeping in the house at our backs, and I had been so sure that I could take her out and drown her the next day, and nothing would stop me.

And there had been many nights when I hadn't been able to hear our darkness at all, for the sound of Aglaia's song, catching in my mind. My sisters hadn't ever known of that; I hadn't told them, because I had still been sure—oh, so sure—that the girl held no danger for me. That I could keep us safe.

I had been wrong. Even now, I could hardly believe how wrong I turned out to be.

The world did not end, not unalterably.

But it could have. If Hesper hadn't threatened to kill the boy; if she'd let it all fall then, without that one tearing thread to bring it back . . . Or if we were different from what we are, and we hadn't loved your world enough to return . . .

I don't know what might have happened. It is a dangerous
riddle, and one that must never be answered.

Oh, you mortals, with your desperate prayers, with your terrible fates. You all want something from us—you all think there must be an easier way, a shortcut through the harder parts of life.

There is no shortcut. There never is anything we can give you. You must live the life you have; it's all that any of us can do.

I know it is hard to accept this, though, and I know that sooner or later one of you will turn up on our island, demanding our help. And you mustn't, not anymore. We couldn't bear it now; we aren't the same as we once were. Oh, I am still young, and Xinot is still old, and Serena is still middle-aged. We cannot measure our lives in years, not as you do.

We can measure our hearts by how many times they have broken, though. We can measure our love by how much we have lost.

The sun is about to rise; before he opens his eyes, these winds will take the words I have been whispering all this night across your mortal world. They will find you. They will bring my story to your ears, and my prayer, which is this:

Do not seek us out. Do not come looking for adventure or knowledge. Do not come asking for a new spinning of your thread. Stay away. It is better this way.

I know the true danger now.

It is not that you make us forget our work; it is not that
we betray ourselves for you. It is that you are everything we already love. You are our glory: bright, breathtaking. You are the wool and the measure and the
snap
. The death you are weighted with makes your days precious; the pain of living makes you brave. Your questions are beautiful, your dreams are impossible because of the mystery of your fate.

Do not seek us out, mortal. Do not appear one afternoon on our doorstep, with your sea-colored eyes, with your sun-colored hair. You must understand: It is too late for me now. I could not help it if you came, no matter how hard I might try. I could not help it, and the world might fall, this time unalterably.

You must stay away. It is the only thing left to do.

It is too late for me to keep from loving you.

To my family, thanks a thousand times for support, for listening, for believing.

To my friends, thanks for enthusiasm and perspective and strength. Special thanks to Sara for pivotal encouragement and to Rob for a necessary world's ending.

And to Reka Simonsen, thanks always for watching for beauty, pointing to cracks, and fighting.

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Text copyright © 2015 by Rebecca Hahn

Jacket photographs: foreground girl photograph copyright © 2015 by Paige Nelson/Trevillion Images; background girl photograph copyright © 2015 by Rebecca Parker/ Trevillion Images; boat photograph copyright © 2015 by Kathy Van Torne/Getty; abstract background copyright © 2015 by Tursunbaev Ruslan/Shutterstock

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The text for this book is set in Weiss Std.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Hahn, Rebecca.

The shadow behind the stars / Rebecca Hahn. — First edition.

pages cm

Summary: Chloe, Serena, and Xinot, the Fates, live on a secluded island spinning, measuring, and cutting the threads of human life but when Aglaia, a mortal, finds them Chloe must try to keep her sisters from getting attached to the girl and involved in her dark fate that could unravel the world.

ISBN 978-1-4814-3571-0 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-4814-3573-4 (eBook)

[1. Fate and fatalism—Fiction. 2. Goddesses, Greek—Fiction. 3. Mythology, Greek—Fiction. 4. Prophecies—Fiction. 5. Oracles—Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.H12563Sh 2015

[Fic]—dc23 2014026428