Moirai
Chapter 1

May as well start at thebeginning...

The day my life changed was justanother ordinary Friday, so if someone told me that before the clock had evenchimed two my life would change forever, and even attempted to explain whatwould happen, I’d have called the nearest mental hospital. I could neverpossibly have foreseen what a simple trip to a bookstore could lead to. If Ihad known, I probably wouldn’t have stepped into the shop at all.

Which is why it’s best that I didn’t know.

My alarm blaring in my ears,screaming Get up, Alnya!, I tumbledout of bed. An alarm ignored meant having Mum at my door yelling at me instead,so I chose the quieter and more peaceful option. I had cereal for breakfast,got dressed and caught the bus to school. So focussed on the day ahead I was,that I didn’t notice mum’s hands shake as she hugged me goodbye, or the looksshe would shoot in my direction every few minutes.

She knew.

It was the last day of school, soa group of friends and I had plans to ditch school after lunch. Nothingimportant was ever taught in the last period on the last day anyway, so we weregoing to spend the afternoon shopping in preparation for the fast approachingprom. We weren’t usually ones for skiving, but it had become a ritual of oursto do so on the last day of term. We saved up for weeks so we could splurge andtreat ourselves.

Each tick of the clock, Irealised as I looked back days later, wasn’t chiming out the time before weescaped the stuffy classroom and chattering teens. It was counting down howmuch longer my life could be called ‘normal’.

Of course, I didn’t know that atthe moment. All I could think of was when the teacher would cease herrepetition of the same lesson we had covered ten times that term and I had longsince memorised, made notes on, and memorised again.

My best friend’s name was Loniand we had practically grown up together. I couldn’t remember ever not knowingher. She was quiet, and unusual in both appearance and mannerisms. Her hair wasa glowing shade of gold that artificial hair dyes could never replicate, hereyes the murky green-brown of a forest floor. She had a peculiar way of talkingthat reminded me of Shakespeare, though without the ‘thee’s’ and ‘thou’s’;every sentence sounded graceful and somewhat powerful in a way that meant Ifound it extremely hard to refuse her anything. Not that she asked for much.

Loni was an orphan, one of thosesad souls who had absolutely no idea who her parents were and had never knownanything other than the orphanage she grew up in. The strange thing was thatshe avoided almost any question as to the orphanage. It’s name, exact location,other orphans, and the like. I knew it was somewhere on the outskirts of SouthLondon, but that was the extent of it. She would often come to my house, fordinners and sleepovers. We frequently joked that she should just move in, andseveral times I asked mum to adopt her, but there was always some reason whynot to. I believed her, because my mum was the sort of person who would help ifshe could, so I knew that her reasons were always valid.

Loni had even saved my life,once, by pulling me out of the way of an oncoming car that was speeding througha red light. How she saw it coming and acted quickly enough to save me wassomething that I could never comprehend, and it had been at great personal riskas well, but I was forever in her debt for it.

I was snapped out of memory laneas the clock chimed the end of the period.

“Class dismissed.” The teachercalled out in his crisp, commanding voice, only to replace that we were alreadysurging out the door because all eyes had been fixed on the clock, except formine. My friends and I clung together like a pack of wolves, fighting our waythrough the throng of students, out the doors, through the gate and onto thestreet.

“Freedom!” Stacy cried, jumpingin elation as she swung her bag back and forth. Her ginger curls swayed andbounced like fire as she skipped happily ahead, her eyes, I could guarantee,fixed on the boutique a few doors down.

I grinned, understanding herexcitement. We all needed this break, as this year had been the most stressfulone yet, with the teachers’ promise that next year would be worse.

“Year 11 is exactly that, Year 11.” Ms Baker had chirped, as thoughtalking to children. “It is next year that shows whether your hard work paysoff or not. Now, any ideas as to which universities you will apply?”

There was always a collectivesigh that whispered around the class at the endlessly repeated universityquestion. Most kids didn’t know what they wanted to do, let alone which universitythey wanted to do it at. I, on the other hand, was lucky. I had a passion forteaching and a passion for working with little kids, so I was going to try andget into a Primary Education course. I could sympathise with less-organisedstudents because of the pressure that was constantly on them from both parentsand teachers.

Like Loni, for example.

We spent the next hour browsingall sorts of shops, each searching for either the perfect dress or the perfectshoes or the perfect hairdressers and, since there were four of us, it took awhile. Even though I wasn’t quite as much of a shopping addict as Stacy, I wasstill a girl.

Then came the bookstore.

I had really been desiringsomething new to read. I was a proud bookworm and thus had devoured all mycurrently owned novels several times over. It was decided that we’d split up;Stacy and Georgia would go next door to the handbag shop, while Loni wouldaccompany me into the treasure trove of books.

As soon as we entered, shedisappeared up the back to speak with the woman at the counter. I presumed shehad a specific book she wanted and, unlike me, couldn’t be bothered taking thetime to replace it. I, meanwhile, headed over to the fiction section and used mysixth sense to spot a good read. It had never failed me before.

Several minutes and cover blurbslater, I got a feeling that I would leave empty-handed. Nothing caught my eyeand I didn’t want to keep Stacy and Georgia waiting. Then suddenly Loni tappedme on the shoulder, holding out a volume herself.

“’Moirai’.” I read the book’stitle, inked in silvery letters. It was one of those old books without anycover illustrations, bound in fake leather. “What does it mean? What is it?”

“It means ‘fate’ in Ancient Greek.The personification of fate, actually. It’s for you.” She said, quiteseriously. I raised an eyebrow at her and took it, going to open the firstpage, hoping to replace a summary. “No, don’t!” she cried, snatching the book backfrom my hands. “Don’t open it here, wait till you get back home.”

“Why? Wait, don’t tell me. It’sgot some secret power, right?” I joked, knowing that Loni often pretended suchthings. It was a carry-over of the make believe games we used to play aschildren.

But, to my surprise, she didn’ttake it as such a light-hearted comment, avoiding the question altogether. “Youdon’t have to pay me back. Just…take it home and promise you’ll read it.”

Her voice was hushed. She had thestrangest expression on her face. She almost looked…guilty.

“At least tell me what it’sabout.” I pressed, although obediently placed the book into my backpack; it wasone of those moments when I couldn’t say ‘no’ to her.

She made a face. “I can’t. It’scomplicated. And I’m sorry.”

I presumed she was apologisingfor being cryptic, so I said, “It’s fine. But if I replace out it’s some sort ofsilly joke, I’ll give it back.”

She nodded, again more seriouslythan necessary. “It isn’t, promise.”

I stared at her as she walked outto wait for me. Shaking my head at her curious attitude, I followed. To myrelief, she pretty much went back to normal after we met up with Stacy andGeorgia again, the latter of which had purchased a sugar pink clutch. I soonforgot about it and figured she was being mysterious because it was a reallygood book and she didn’t want to give anything away.

It wasn’t until I got home andunpacked my backpack that I realised the strangest thing about the book; it hadno author.

It must be an old copy that wasnever sold, I thought, and the author’s name has faded. I flicked open thefirst page, glad that I had no homework; a good book usually meant that I wouldbe occupied for hours at a time.

All that was written there weretwo words: Be prepared. I flickedthrough the next couple of pages, none of which included a publisher,publishing date, ISBN, ‘this book is dedicated to’, nothing. Only one sentenceon each page. The next one was: Are youready? I felt a grin come onto my face; Loni had picked a good one. “Yes.”I whispered aloud, turning the page.

Your Moirai awaits you.

My fate. This is going to be good.

The next page had absolutelynothing on it. I went to turn to the one after that, but found it and the restof the pages glued together.

Disappointment filled me as Irealised that it was a joke, after all, I glared at the empty page in front ofme, slightly yellowed with age. I frowned and vowed to get Loni back somehow.

Then, before I could concoct theright method of revenge, my face began to inch closer and closer to the bookuntil my nose touched the dry paper. It was as though the book had become amagnet to my face. I couldn’t pull away...I didn’t even want to...

Suddenly, I felt like I wasfalling.

Looking down, I realised withutter terror that I actually was. Like a skydiver without a parachute, I wasplummeting towards a ground that was spinning far too fast for me to identifyanything. Just when I thought that either someone had spiked the coffee I hadat that café, or I was about to die very quickly with a horrible splat…timefroze just as I was feet off the ground.

For a split second, the onlything in the world was my breathing; harsh and fast with the shock and terrorand confusion. Then time started up again and I was harmlessly dropped thefinal distance onto what I could now identify as a European-style cobbled street.

It seemed as though the fall haddrained all strength out of me. The best I could do was raise my head weakly,and even that action made it spin nauseatingly. I saw someone pad towards me, asky-blue, floor-length dress waving around their heels, some cloth shoescovering their feet, then the darkness gathered at the edges of my vision andobscured it completely, claiming me for its own.

*~*~*

“It’s her, mother, I know it is.Kasanda confirmed it years ago.”

A familiar voice roused me fromunconsciousness; Loni’s. A wave of relief fell over me as I recognised it, andrealised that what had just happened had been nothing more than a bad dream. Imust have fallen asleep on my bed, as I quickly gathered that I was on a bed.Loni had arrived for dinner, come to replace me, and was now waking me up.

Then it hit me; Loni had calledsomeone ‘mother’. It wasn’t a trick of hearing either. And she didn’t call my mum ‘mother’, not even by accident.

“We’ll let Kasanda decide. Butshe’s so young!” a warm, female voice replied to Loni. I had never heard thevoice before in my life.

“I’m the same age as her, and youagreed to letting me be the Inventrixthree years ago.” Loni retorted hotly.

“That’s quite a contrast to whatwe’re talking about here – “ the woman’s argument was cut short as Loni hissedher quiet.

“She’s awake.”

I decided that it should be thenthat I opened my eyes. My mind was reeling, but I was still woozy from thestrange fall so coherent thought was difficult. Loni’s pale brown eyes metmine; they were anxious, expectant and apologetic.

“What’s going on? Where am I?” Iasked groggily, realising quickly that the bed was not mine. My head swamslightly. Everything felt so real. Was it really a dream?

“You’re…” Loni began, but thenshe stopped and turned to the other person in the room. I directed my gaze atthem as well and saw that the source of the female voice was a woman whoappeared to be in her early forties, her brown hair pulled stiffly back into abun and her eyes the precise same shade as Loni’s. They were boring into theyounger girl’s with a steady gaze that spoke volumes I couldn’t understand. Herclothing was even stranger and consisted of an old-fashioned cream-coloureddress with a white apron, like those seen in movies set in the dark ages.

“Please leave. It’s going to behard enough for me to explain it to her without you being here.” Loni’s voicewas pleading but held a hint of respect that I had never heard her use withanyone other than a teacher.

The woman nodded stiffly, beforesweeping from the room.

“Who’s she? Where am I?” I askedagain, more forcefully this time as I sat up. My head still spun, but not asmuch as before.

Loni looked nervous as she facedme again; a look I was familiar with as one that preceded bad news. Like, ‘MrStahl says you’ve got detention’.

Only I had a feeling that thisnews was going to be far worse than detention.

“You’re…well…you’re kind of in the book.” She said hesitantly, asthough the words were from a foreign language.

I stared, eyebrows raised. “Whatdo you mean, ‘in the book’. You mean I’m dreaming about whatever was in thatbook? I thought it was blank.”

“You’re not dreaming.” She corrected,shaking her head and sounding firmer. “It’s difficult to explain, but that bookI gave you isn’t an ordinary book. The reason why there’s nothing written in ityet is because it’s your story, it’swhat is going to happen but has not happened yet.”

My mind instantly rebelledagainst the truth of her words, and for a moment I considered getting her tofetch me a needle so I could stab myself and wake up. But then I rememberedthat Loni had never lied to me before. So, I resigned myself to at least hearher out.

Over the next hour, I wasexplained the impossible; that the strange blank book was real, that I wassomeone who had been expected for years in some sort of prophecy, that thereason why I had never been told of the book before was because it wasn’t theright time. When I asked what she meant, Loni only responded vaguely by sayingthat she didn’t know the details, only what she was told to become an Inventrix.

“The Inventrix was destined to replace the Moirai, the Fated One.”Loni continued. “I volunteered for the job five years ago, because it had to besomeone young, and found you rather quickly, but I was told that I could neverlet you know what the truth was until you were ready. And only Kasanda couldtell you the full story.”

Something seemed wrong with whatshe said, other than the obvious strangeness of it all, but in my currentmental state I couldn’t pinpoint it. “Who’s Kasanda?” I asked rather faintly,my mind reeling with all this new and impossible information.

“A Dryad seer. Well, no-one knewshe was a seer until eighteen years ago, when she had a vision foretelling yourarrival. No-one but her knows what she saw exactly, only that you will somehowsave us all.”

“From what?” I gasped.

She spoke the word like a curse, and in truth the roomseemed to get a little bit colder: “Indina.”