My name was carved on a rock outside our home the night I was born. That’s what my parents tell me. It was etched in jagged letters with the cryptic inscription Name of Your Child preceding it.
***
The rock had always been a source of intrigue, and mystery for me. Ever since the first time my parents told me the story – when I was six years old, staring up at my parents, spellbound – I have been captivated by my naming grace – a rock, believe it or not.
They told me it was Fate. The Fates themselves had come to bless me on my day of birth. With their strings of life, a new strand was created – just for me, and was imbibed in the roots of the most ancient tree, or so the legend went. By their transformative magic, the Fates breathed my name onto the root and a rock emerged, bearing my name.
“But what happened to the rock?” I asked them when I grew up.
“Well, it disappeared the day after we named you.”
“And the tree?” I inquired. “What happened to the most ancient tree, thrice blessed by the Fates?”
“It still grows in our yard, serving as a remembrance of the spirit living on in you.”
All of this felt too cryptic, too convenient, and definitely, more than a little conspicuous. Thus, one fine, boiling, summer afternoon, usual for the month of July, I reached the so called ‘ancient tree’, hidden among the dozens of others in our yard, though a more apt word would be forest or even the woodland behind our house.
The tree looked nothing special, certainly not special enough to worthy of the Three Fates themselves. I peered carefully ‘round it’s slightly yellowing bark, reddish-green leaves and glanced at the small, almost completely invisible inscription under the third branch on the left. My Initials.
I had discovered them ages ago, and as far as I knew, no one but me could see them. I showed them to my parents, friends, the neighbourhood mailman and even my family dog – Daisy. Their only reaction had been a nonchalant glance, a bored shrug, a concerned shoulder pat and a quizzical bark. (The last one clearly being Daisy’s reaction – before she ran around the trees, looking for a stick for me to throw.)
I brushed my fingers against the mark; it was cold as ice. I frowned. That was strange, in this boiling heat, it should have been warm, at the very least, if not sizzling. I traced the elaborate curves of the letter, and suddenly, a freezing wind suddenly broke through the humid July weather.
The chilly breeze had me clinging to the tree’s trunk as it was dizzyingly frigid. It seemed to pull at my very soul and turned my veins to ice. I heard a thousand sorrows in my mind, and a plaguing scream struck through my mind. The water droplets clung to my skin and reminded me of my worst nightmares – it was all too much for me. I was starting to fade away…
And soon, somehow, as mysteriously as it first arrived, it dissipated, and the temperature around me cooled, as the leaves of the ancient tree stopped swaying. But I noticed that every other tree was still being pulled into the freezing wind, shaking desperately with each howl of the wind.
As soon as I stepped out of the protective radius of the tree, the sinking, freezing feeling returned and I clawed my way back desperately to the tree, which was somehow protecting me from the gales.
I once again brushed my palm against the Initials and they seemed to work as a trigger, and the hellish wind once again ceased, but this time – seemingly for good.
I was shellshocked, and I leaned with my back against the tree to suck in a breath of sweet mercy and life. Sweet, precious life, which I would never gamble with again.
A terrible thought rooted in my mind, and I could not stop it from flourishing. With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I knew where I had heard of that cold, hellish feeling before.
It was from the birthplace of the Fates – the residence of the unWanted’s of the Mourning Fields and the destroyer of souls. The plaguing noises were a Calling from the Underworld themselves. Hades’ minions were Calling to me and the terrible sounds were the screams of the Damned in Tartarus. The water which now still clung to my skin was from the Acheron, born of the Styx and the Cocytus, hatred and misery, uniting to form pain.
My knees gave out and I sunk to the ground, one arm still wrapped around the tree trunk for support that could no longer help me, carry me and I realised, protect me. The tree had protected me for years, and now, by foolishly invoking Hades’ daimons, I had revoked that protection and turned my back on the Fates.
My head leaned back against the tree, and I heard a piercing voice in my head, that somehow seemed to echo all around me. The cruel laughing voice was instantly recognizable. Hades.
“Desire is a dangerous thing, little Mortal,” he tutted, still laughing. “You shall pay for the sins of your past life. Your misdemeanours in Elysium’s fields. Your curious misadventures in the Mourning Fields. Wandering in Asphodel can make you mortals insane; did you forget that?” he taunted.
And, delivering the death blow, he said: “You had been warned, Mortal. And now you have been cursed. You have been judged and have been found Wanting.”
And his cruel laugh echoed, like a poisoned rose’s thorn, a lost heir’s birth right, and the broken crown’s shine, all the way down to the Underworld.
Fin.
ANVI TUTEJA
Will This Be The Ending?
Thoughts Caught 