"The littlest one is coming," breathed Clotho.

"Just as we predicted." Lachesis held her sisters' hands and descended into the cellar. Atropos stayed silent as she lit the lamp.

From the darkness, the littlest one appeared. Atropos smiled, trying to greet him with what she understood to be a welcoming gesture. The littlest one stopped in his tracks and stood ramrod straight, clutching himself.

"You've come so far, little one," Clotho said.

"I've got nothing to give to you," said the little boy. "I brought a few of my marbles and some string, but the dog took them away from me before I could get here."

Lachesis laughed. "That would be our sentry. He is loyal to us beyond measure."

Atropos whispered, "Will you be as loyal to us?"

The littlest one said nothing. He then remembered what it was that drove him here. What he needed to know. He was told back home that only women such as these could give it to him, and he was afraid. He'd come so far, and it had taken so long.

Recognition flared in the eyes of the women, like small fires in the dark.

Clotho came forth and touched him. The boy's eyes closed and he felt an unbelievable fever set into his brain.

You want to remember, don't you? You want to bring flesh to the bones of this place. Clotho's voice rang behind the boy's sinus cavity. He fell to the floor, clutching at himself.

You want us to teach you how to do it. Lachesis moved her hand. The book fluttered open and a page tore neatly from it of its own volition, falling to the floor next to him. The boy clutched it in his sweaty fists, balling it up, rocking back and forth.

Be sure you bring back what you came for, warned Atropos from a lump in his throat as he thrashed himself awake.

leslie powell

1 september 2005

minneapolis, mn