The Fates (Book I) - 2014 Watty Award Winner!

2.4 - The Faults of Men

Dear Readers: Back to B.C. we go, to see another Fate come down to earth!

FYI - I did come up with the names in this scene, BUT the named characters are based on men who actually existed at the site (for real! their skeletons are still around!)

The historical research enriches my writing experience, and I hope it enhances your reading :)

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Scene 4: The Faults of Men

2020 B.C. 

She had reached the other world.

So far away, so far below. From which there was no way back home. Mother had promised her that she would find a way, but there was no way to be found. For she was lost.

Lachesis cowered from the burning sun, buried her newly human face in the dark earth on which she'd landed. Everything hurt—the high noon heat against her back, the dirt that crawled beneath her nails as all her fingers dug instinctively into the grimy grass.

This was the mortal earth, and this was death.

And these were human footfalls, a horrible chorus of human voices that assailed her ears. She was not alone. She hid her face, in hopes that she could disappear as they drew near.

But she could not hide from her understanding of their words. How could this be? They spoke in a completely foreign tongue, and yet she comprehended perfectly, as if she had been fluent all her life.

"Who the hell is she?"

"Where'd she come from?"

"How'd she get here?"

"I swear—one moment there was nothing by the altar stone, I was alone..." the softest voice avowed, "...and then I blinked, and there she was."

"By some dark magic?"

"Nay, not dark... just look at her."

"She does look pretty, from behind."

"Let's turn her over. See the rest of her."

Coarse hands upon her shoulders, forcing her to face the sun, to face the faces staring down at her. Too many men. She did not like these men, the sights and scents and sounds of them surrounding her.

Several of them released loud hoots and whistles.

"Well, shit!" one exclaimed, wiping the dirt off of her face with a cold, calloused palm. "These stones are truly holy, aren't they..."

Stones? Lachesis blinked into the lurid light of day, and saw that she was in the middle of a ring of mounted stones. A monument of massive slabs, standing tall in concentric circles, some manmade structure casting shadows that seemed strangely systematic. As if these megaliths had been arranged in service to the sun.

"Mayhap this is what they mean, those who speak of the healing powers of this place," surmised a man with large warts creeping down his neck. "Mayhap she's got a magic cunt, the cure to save us all. One fuck and every sickness will be healed."

She noticed, then, that each of these men was stricken with some unsightly affliction: misshapen features, crooked bones, complexions crawling with blistered boils, crusted with spotty scabs. This made them all the more horrific to Lachesis. Her sensitive stomach started to heave and retch.

And then their horrid hands were clawing at her flesh, probing even more sensitive parts of her, to the hoarse tune of their laughter, howls shriller than the wind against the stones. She shut her eyes against the pain, but could not shut her ears. Nor shut her helpless form against their harsh assault.