#mink writes

There’s a firm look in her eye as she casts her gaze between Verosha sitting on the left and Maeho sitting on the right.

“Very true, Mother Koril,” Aniseya nods, “one cannot be without the other. The mortals need the dark to appreciate the light, they need death to appreciate their life.”

“What about here?” Osha asks, marvelling as a new skein is added to the pile, a cord of white and gold that shimmers warmly in the basket waiting to be added, “is there balance in our world too? Even though we don’t die like they do?”

“Some gods have died, sweet girl, but you’re right - it is not like the mortals. You mustn’t worry, we have our own balance,” Aniseya replies, pulling a hand from her shuttle to stroke her daughters hair, “like here - we have the balance of our work, there is the one who measures and the one who weaves, and - when you’re older - we shall have the one who cuts too.”

Osha has heard that story too, the destiny promised to her mothers’ child long before their birth. Mother Koril measures the life thread to its natural conclusion, Mother Aniseya spins it so, but it is imperfect still. Unbalanced. Some threads break, others unravel, the one who cuts is the God-Queen’s answer - decreed from high upon her mountain throne.

The one who cuts will snip threads loose before their time, she will be a gentle chaos that prevents a crueler fate.

“The two who cut you mean,” Mae corrects from the otherside of her lap, toying with a long string of purple thread that has yet to be chosen for the tapestry, “there’s two of us after all mama.”

“There are two of you,” their mother nods, “but I do not yet know if you are both to serve this way. Only the destiny of mortals may pass through our hands, our own is not so easy to weave.”

Osha shivers despite the warmth of the fire in the hearth, her hands clenching around the edges of her shawl as she stares at the threads her mother weaves.

She doesn’t want to cut them, not like Mae does - her eyes lighting up every time she points out a thread about to snap or a snarl about to form. Osha doesn’t see the tapestry the same, the threads, the lives, she doesn’t want to cut. She wants to… grow.

“It will be both of us,” Mae nods, undettered, bright and sharp as her scissors will inevitably be, “just wait and see.”

—

The man in their halls is nothing like anyone she’s seen before, her mother’s have priestesses of course, dryads and nymphs and devotees, but they are all female. Weaving fate is a woman’s art, and her mothers have never countenced men in their private domain. Or visitors.

Now there is both.

He stands at the open archway to the courtyard, an equally strange woman at his side, both are old like her mothers - quite grown and out of place as Osha peeks around the edge of the doorway to the inner sanctum. They are dressed in bright fabrics, glowing with an inner light that seems out of place in this quiet, dark place she has grown up in. Their temple sits half-way up the Gods mountain, overshadowed by the hanging rocks above and protected by the great forests below. The sun here is a weak thing, filtered through the clouds that cling to their lands, their part of the balance has always been shadows and secrecy.

“Oshie,” Mae hisses beside her, a familiar hand tugging at her sleeve, “we’re not supposed to be here.”

The order was given as soon as the strangers were sighted beyond their borders edge, the twins sent to their rooms and told not to come out until called for.

“Shh Mae,” Osha shushes her quietly, squeezing her hand when she pouts, “we’re just looking.”

She knows the stories about the dangers of curiosity but it doesn’t stop her from moving forward, tugging her sister behind her as she presses her face to the gap in the door.

“A rumour reached the mountain top,” the woman says, nut-brown hair braided over her shoulder and a white robe like milk and moonlight covering her, “that you have two children instead of one.”

“Who says?” Mother Koril snarls, and Osha doesn’t know why she’s so angry, “what proof do you have?”

“They were seen,” the woman replies, calm in the face of her anger, “by the great tree at your borders.”

Osha bites her tongue, guilt catching in her chest at the admission. It is her fault, her mothers tell her not to go past the garden gate but she cannot help herself. There is so much beyond their courtyard she hasn’t seen, so much she wants to see. To find peace in the leaves and flowers of their world, alone, although Mae always follows.

“What business is it of yours besides?” Koril hisses, her rage hanging thick in the air.

“Hello there,” the man is speaking to her, her heart tipping over itself as she looks up into dark eyes fixed solely on her, “what is your name little one?”

Her mouth opens, hanging their silently for a second as she takes him in again. Dark hair, dark eyes, dressed in robes of gold like fresh wheat and a circlet bearing the symbol of the sun.

“My name is Sol,” he adds when she gets caught on her words, his smile like summer as he crouches down to her level, “and this is my friend Indara.”

“M-my names Osha,” she squeaks, “Verosha, that is.”

“It is lovely to meet you, Osha,” he says, cocking his head to the side, “would your sister like to join us too?”

Startling, Osha realises belatedly Mae hasn’t followed her in, instead she’s standing in the shadows on the otherside of the doorway glaring at her furiously and shaking her head.

“Verosha,” Mother Koril scolds, “you should be in bed - come along.”

“Wait-” the man named Sol says, holding up his hand, “please, it would be an honour to meet your children.”

“Only if you allow it,” the woman named Indara adds quickly, uneasy as she fixes a hand on Sol’s shoulder and squeezes tightly, “we will of course respect your domain.”

“They may join us,” Mother Aniseya says from out of Osha’s line of sight, “if they choose to, Koril - please.”

“You do not have to do this,” Mother Koril whispers to them, grasping for Osha with one hand and Mae with the other.

“I want to, mother,” Osha hears herself reply, something in her chest lifting, a thread of curiosity she can’t help but pull at as she steps around the raspberry-red skirts of her mother and into the kitchen proper.

“Hello, you must be Osha’s sister,”

Mae doesn’t answer, mouth squeezing shut as she shunts her chin away from him, but Osha cannot help herself.

“This is Maeho” she says, “we’re twins.”

“So I can see,” he smiles again, “and what are your destinies, little ones, what will you be when you are grown?”

“We are to be the one who cuts,” Mae says proudly, her chin jutting out even as Osha shrinks back at the words, “it was foretold.”

“Both of you?” He asks, eyes crinkling as he purses his lips, “I did not think it was role for two.”

“We do not yet know their gifts,” Mother Aniseya steps in, “they are still so young, there is time.”

Indara nods but Sol shakes his head, even as he grows flowers from light in the palm of his hand, Osha’s eyes wide as she watches magic unlike anything performed in the halls of her childhood.

“I have a gift I could bestow,” he offers easily, “it was entrusted to me a long time ago but I have never found its rightful ascendant, until now I think. Here, Lady Verosha, Lady Maeho -”

He offers them the flowers, the blooms still glowing and warm to the touch as Osha plucks one carefully from his hand. Marvelling at its beauty even as Mae turns away, tugging fruitlessly at Osha’s sleeve as she ignores the offering.

“You are kind, Lord Sol, but it is unneccessary,” Mother Aniseya says suddenly beside them, Mae darts eagerly behind her skirts but Osha does not move. She is held in a gravity of wonder, the warmth of true summer sun licking through her finger tips as she touches the silk-soft petals of the bloom. She has never seen a flower like it before.

“What gift is it?” She asks him, curiosity unchecked and mouth unfiltered, “could I make things like this?”

Beautiful things, not cutting down lives but growing and blooming and living. She wants it so much her chest feels like it’s going to burst from the want of it.

“And much more besides,” he tells her in a conspiratorial whisper, “this gift… it is to become the one who grows, who blossoms in all circumstances. Would you like it, Verosha?”

“Sol,” the Lady Indara warns from a world away as the image Sol paints makes Osha’s head spin, “you shouldn’t offer it so easily, you know the consequences if she were to accept. Lady Aniseya, I am sorry for-”

He waves off the concern like he’s swatting a fly, his attention only on her as he asks gently, “the flowers in the courtyard, you grew them didn’t you?”

“Moon blossoms,” she nods, “and the grey herbs by the path. I like… I like to grow things.”

The sun itself couldn’t touch the bright burn of his smile as he beams at her, so bright she feels blinded. Warm in the glow of his approval, of the possibilities he opens to her.

“Osha,” her Mama’s voice catches her, her hand clasping her shoulder and breaking the spell, “this is no simple thing, if you were to accept you would have to leave here. You could no longer be a daughter of the Thread, you would be giving up your life, your family, even your sister…”

The thought of it is alien, they have always been two, always, but it still burns in her.

“We will leave you to discuss it,” Indara says, pulling her companion away at last, “if we may trouble your hospitality, there is a bier out by your gate that would do us well for the night. We will call again tomorrow for your answer.”

“As you say,” Aniseya nods, “you are welcome to stay for the night.”

The invitation is genuine but the subtext is clear, they are welcome for the night - and only the night.