So she did have some power—if only she could ascertain what it was. Power enough to make Satan notice! What could it be? And why should the Incarnations refuse to tell her of it? She knew they were not in league with the Prince of Evil! It seemed to make no sense.

  And Cedric—why had he not simply saved her from death? Surely he had not been required to go in her stead! He could have told her of the plot against her, and they could have gone far away until the danger was past. Cedric had had free will and had loved life; it just didn't make sense for him to seek death.

  But it had to make sense! Cedric had been an extraordinarily intelligent young man, with a clear notion of his destiny. He had talked with the Prof and, instead of telling her, he had sworn the Prof to secrecy.

  The Prof! He had to know why! But she knew he would not tell her. Why?

  For days she mulled it over, debating with herself. She knew she was not nearly as smart as Cedric had been, but she was sure she could solve this riddle if she kept at it. It was like a code puzzle, with the letters of a sentence changed to other letters so that it seemed to be gibberish. But the underlying pattern remained, and bit by bit the letters could be corrected until the original sentence was restored. She had a number of hints, if only she could understand their application.

  Bit by bit, she pieced it together. Satan feared her—so she must be more than mortal. The Incarnations knew of her, and Chronos knew her personally; he had called her Clotho. She had almost forgotten that, but now in her deliberations it came back. Chronos had also seemed to have a personal interest in her welfare; Lachesis had remarked on it, and certainly he had gone out of his way to help her. He had jumped her ahead half an hour so that he could explain things to Mars, who had then agreed. Yes, Chronos had known her—but the others had not. How could that be? Didn't the Incarnations work together? Well, presumably each focused mostly on his-her speciality; Chronos might know people the others didn't. Yet Lachesis had acted as if it were more than that. She had shimmered and changed into a young, lovely form, then back, and Chronos had nodded. He had confirmed— what?

  Also, Lachesis had called Chronos "my backward friend." That had obviously not been an insult. What did it mean? Chronos was not backward, either physically or magically; his power had been as great as any. In fact, Gaea had called him a nefarious time-traveler.

  But backward also meant to travel in reverse, as in a person walking backward. Yet Chronos was not fixed on the past; he seemed rather to know something of the future.

  And then it came to her: Chronos, the Incarnation of Time, could travel backward in time! He could know the future, having been there and back. In fact he could have come originally from the future!

  He could have seen Niobe there first—then recognized her here in the present. He had known her as Clotho. But who was Clotho? The name did have a certain familiarity.

  She concentrated, focusing on it—and placed it. The Incarnation of Fate had three aspects: Clotho, who spun the threads of life; Lachesis, who measured them; and Atropos, who cut them.

  Chronos had remembered her as an Aspect of Fate! She sat perfectly still, shocked at the implication. Herself—Niobe—as Fate? How was it possible? Yet it explained so much: the diffidence of the Incarnations and Satan's effort to eliminate her. As Fate she could indeed interfere with Satan! She wasn't sure how, but was sure she could. Those Incarnations had their special abilities!

  Yet if that were so—if it could be so—why hadn't they told her? The question brought the answer: they hadn't known, except for Chronos—and they didn't want Satan to know. It might be that if they had told her, that would have changed it so that it wouldn't come true. A paradox.

  But Satan had known! Or had he? Could Satan see the future? He was the Incarnation of Evil, not of Time; his foresight had to be relatively limited. More likely he had some crude divination, some indication that she was going to cause trouble for him, or at least had the potential. So he had struck at her. And the Prof, reading the same divination, or interpreting her visions—which suddenly fell into place in this connection!—had told Cedric, and Cedric had done what he had done.

  But, again—why hadn't Cedric simply told her. so she could avoid it? Why had he died, then come to her as a ghost with his gesture of encouragement?

  She wrestled that about and finally concluded that probably Satan's minion had been told to go out and kill and, if balked, would continue to try, again and again, until at last successful. Who could avoid a demon-spirit forever? Distance would not have balked it; it would have flown wherever they could have gone, taken over the body of someone there, and stalked them. That would have been a sustained horror, with only one ending. But once it completed its mission by making the kill, it was done and would be no more threat. Satan's minions did not survive beyond their missions. So Cedric had saved her by interposing himself, by abating the demon's imperative— with his life. Cedric had not told her, so that neither Satan nor the demon would know of the ruse. And so she would not scream and carry on and cry, forcing him to desist from his sacrifice. Now it was done, and it seemed that Satan was unable to attack her again. That one demon must have been all that the Prince of Evil could spare. Or perhaps he simply hadn't checked and didn't realize that she hadn't died.

  It did seem to fit together. It did account for Cedric's action—and that was a perverse but considerable comfort to her. Cedric had acted to abate once and for all the threat to her so that she could fulfill her destiny—which was, apparently, to become an Aspect of Fate.

  But how was she to do that? Again, she knew what the answer had to be. She would do it; Fate would do it— when the time was right. When, perhaps, she needed the skill of a mistress of weaving. Fate—the ultimate worker of thread! The ultimate weaver of tapestries.

  All Niobe had to do was wait. She was probably safe as long as she did nothing to attract Satan's attention to her. Of course the Incarnations weren't talking; the fewer who knew a secret, the better it was kept.

  But now she had some hope. She could not bring Cedric back, but she could tackle Satan. When she became Fate.

  But what about Junior? Surely she couldn't take him to Purgatory! She would have to give him up.

  If Cedric had lived, she realized, none of this would have been possible. Had he known that, too?

  Perhaps he had tried to tell her at the wake: that he wanted her to do this, to assume the office, that this was part of his motive. O Cedric!

  She could not turn it down, now.

  She continued about her routine, her grief slowly easing. She took Junior daily to play with the hamadryad, for he really looked forward to it and seemed to be learning something, though she was uncertain what. She worked hard to complete her current tapestry, lest it be forever unfinished if she were called suddenly away. She took Junior to visit Cousin Pace, because now she knew that one day he would have to go there to stay. She did not want to part with him, but knew this would be necessary—and that it had better be done sooner rather than later, to make his emotional transition easier. She quietly put her finances in order, arranging for a trust fund that would pay a stipend to his guardian, so that he would be no financial burden on others.

  Weeks went by. Almost, she began to doubt. Then a fat letter arrived. It was addressed to her—but inside was a ticket to a city on another continent, with another woman's name on it. One Daphne Morgan.

  Niobe looked again at the envelope. It was definitely addressed to her. She looked for the return address and found none. The postmark was indecipherable. Evidently the wrong ticket had been inserted, but there was no way she could send this letter back.

  Wrong ticket? Why should she receive a ticket at all?

  Who was Daphne Morgan? Had she received something intended for Niobe? From whom? Why? This seemed like total confusion.

  Yet someone had prepared the envelope, and mailed it. It could not be a complete mistake.

  She thought about it. She nodded. "Of course!"

  She bid farewell to the hamadryad, explaining that she would be going away for a while and would not be able to bring Junior to the tree. The dryad didn't answer, but looked so sad that Niobe felt terrible. But this was a thing she had to do. "Maybe the family who will be keeping him—maybe they will bring him here," she said. "I'll ask them to."

  The dryad smiled, and Niobe felt better. She turned Junior over to Cedric's cousin's family. She had taken a null-grief spell, but still it hurt. "Once before," she told them, "I boarded my baby with you, uncertain whether I would return. I am uncertain again. I have arranged for regular money to cover his expenses—" She could not continue.

  "He is kin," Pacian's father said gravely as his wife took Junior. That said it all for these good folk. The Kaftans would do anything for kin and do it generously, without asking any return. Niobe could tell by Junior's reaction to them that he had had loving care here. Wise indeed had Niobe's parents been when they had her marry into such a family.

  Niobe felt her tears starting again. She kissed her baby farewell and kissed the good man and good woman, too, and Cousin Pace, who seemed stunned. At age twelve, he had never been kissed by a truly beautiful woman before. "There is a tree, a water oak near our cabin," she said. "If—well. Junior has befriended the hamadryad there, and—"

  "We will take him there," Pacian said eagerly, and the others nodded.

  Then Niobe turned quickly away and returned to her carriage.

  She rode directly to the train station, bought a ticket, waited for the train's arrival, boarded, and settled into her seat. She was on her way. She sobbed silently into her hanky.

  In due course she was at the port city of Dublin. She presented the ticket she had been sent, the one made out to Daphne Morgan, and it was honored without question. She was provided a first-class cabin, and her meals were covered. As Miss Morgan, she traveled in style. But what would happen when she arrived at Miss Morgan's destination?

  The ship got up steam and set sail. As it got out on the larger swells of the open sea, the captain invoked the proper spells and the wind manifested and filled the sails. Some of the passengers turned greenish as the continual sway got to them and lost their appetite, but Niobe had sensibly brought along a spell against motion sickness and had no trouble.

  There were men aboard, of several generations, who seemed to view her as approachable; she declined politely. "I am a recent widow," she explained—and then had to retreat to her cabin as the tears welled up again. O Cedric!

  Thus it was that, five days into the voyage, she had not made any genuine acquaintances. She spent much of her time alone, reading. She missed her loom and her baby and she tried not to think about Cedric, without success.

  She looked up from her book to discover a spider descending by its thread. It reached the floor, then shimmered and became a human woman. "Lachesis!" Niobe cried.

  "Niobe, do you understand what we ask of you?" Lachesis asked.

  "To become—part of you," she replied. "To be an Aspect of Fate. I am ready."

  "But we must be sure you understand completely, for this is no simple thing. We are three, but we have only one body. If you join us, you will never be alone."

  "I have lived too long alone!" Niobe exclaimed.

  "Because we are three in one, there is no privacy or separate identity," Lachesis continued. "No individual rights. Each must do what is needful for the whole, without exception. If, for instance, it is needful to dally with a man—"

  "Oh. You mean—my body might have to—"

  "To indulge with my man," Lachesis finished. "The most youthful Aspect generally bears the onus of such endeavors, because of the nature of men, just as the middle Aspect bears the onus of household chores, and the oldest performs grandmotherly functions."

  This set Niobe back. She had never imagined having physical relations with any man other than Cedric and hesitated even to commence such imagination. "But what of the spinning of the threads of life?"

  "That, too," Lachesis said. "But you will have no trouble there. A woman is not a single-purpose creature, and most purposes you are already prepared for. Our use of the distaff is merely more sophisticated than what you have known before." And in her hand appeared a glowing distaff, the short staff on which thread or yarn was wrapped, "We have only to keep the skein orderly; it is the social aspect that can be difficult."

  Difficult indeed. The idea of being with another man— another woman's man—appalled her. Yet she could see that it did have to be a consequence of joining with other women, when there were not enough bodies to go around.

  "Suppose—I decline?"

  "My dear, we do not force anyone to join us! It may be different with a couple of the male Incarnations— though of course there is no law about that, only custom— but we women are more accommodating. If you elect to remain mortal, you will return to your prior life, and we will select another woman for the exchange. But I confess that we do like you, and not merely for your beauty; seldom does a mortal person have the courage to approach Thanatos as you did."

  "I have no courage!" Niobe protested. "I had to do it!"

  "Oh? Why?"

  "To save my husband, the man I love!"

  "And for love you went literally into the fire. If that is not courage, it remains a quality we deeply respect."

  "And it was all for nothing!"

  "Yes, it is an irony. We could not give you what you desired, then, and we offer you some of what you do not desire now. Yet there are compensations."

  Niobe knew she would burst into tears again if they remained longer on the subject of what she had desired; she had to focus on new things. "Compensations?"

  "Immortality—as long as you choose. Power—as much as you can manage. Purpose—for you will spin the ultimate threads of man's existence. We are Fate."

  Niobe thought about returning to her former life—without Cedric. Then she thought of immortality, power, and purpose—and the opportunity to seek to settle her score with Satan. She would rather have had Cedric, but she really had no choice—as Chronos had known. She was destined to accept this role. "How do I join?"

  "Take my hand," Lachesis said, extending it. Niobe took her hand. There was an odd sensation of flux. She felt simultaneous loss and gain. Then she saw that Lachesis had changed to the form of the young, pretty woman who had appeared momentarily in her Purgatory Abode.

  Their hands separated. "Farewell, Daphne," Lachesis said. "And welcome, Niobe."

  What? Niobe looked down at herself—and discovered she looked like Lachesis.

  Yes—you are with us now, Lachesis said silently to her. Your body has gone to Daphne—the former Clotho. Be silent; your day is coming, while hers is done.

  Niobe was silent. She watched and listened and felt, while Daphne turned about, verifying her new separateness, then faced them. "Farewell, old friends," Daphne said, and her own eyes were bright with tears. "And thank you, Niobe. You have given me back my life." She opened her arms, and Lachesis embraced her; this time there was no transfer of personality.

  Tell her she is welcome, Niobe thought, feeling an almost overwhelming surge of nostalgia. Her body changed to that other form—gone forever!

  You tell her, Lachesis replied. Something shifted—and Niobe was back in her own form. Except that two other minds were with her.

  She glanced in the cabin's mirror—and there she was, as lovely as ever, standing beside Daphne. Fate had assumed her likeness!

  "You are welcome. Daphne," Niobe said.

  Then, suddenly, she was crying uncontrollably. Daphne opened her arms to her, and they hugged each other, the tears streaming down both their faces.

  At last they pulled apart, looked at each other, two comely young women, smiled—and burst into tears again. For pity's sake! the third mind in her body grumbled. That was, Niobe realized, Atropos, the oldest Aspect.

  Eventually Niobe and Daphne ran dry. "I can see you resemble me," Niobe said tearfully. "I hope you have the very best of lives ahead of you."

  "I surely do," Daphne replied. "Fate pulled a thread."

  They had to laugh at that. Then Niobe turned the body back to Lachesis, who turned it into the spider, and they climbed nimbly up the thread to the cabin ceiling, on through the ceiling, and up out of the steamship and into the sky, suddenly cruising with great velocity along a cable extending across the world. In a moment they slid into their web-home in Purgatory and resumed human form.

  "You will not need to learn the way things are by yourself," Lachesis said. "We will guide you when you need it—and routine homelife is mostly my department anyway. But you will need to spin the threads."

  First Lachesis introduced her to Atropos. The body assumed the form, and the old woman went to stand before the mirror so that Niobe could see her clearly through their eyes. Atropos was in her sixties physically, with iron-gray hair, deep wrinkles, and an overlarge nose; she looked like anybody's grandmother. "I lived a routine life on a goat farm," she said. "I helped my husband milk the goats and I cooked and washed and bore four children—one of them died of smallpox when he was eight— but my two girls and remaining son grew up and married and moved away. I felt put out when they made it on their own; I had, I confess, enjoyed running their lives. So I concentrated on my husband and made him sell the farm—the market for goat's milk was declining as the big cow-dairies got established, though of course their milk could not compare in quality to what we produced—and invest the proceeds in a furniture factory. But we had been deceived about its prospects; it went bankrupt, and we lost our life savings. My husband took sick, got consumption, got pneumonia, and died broken-hearted, and I knew it was my fault; I should have left well enough alone. But meddling in other people's lives was always my predilection, and when Fate came to me and asked whether I wanted a real chance to meddle—well, here I am! I've been at it fifteen years, and I'm satisfied. And, I trust, I am not ending people's lives frivolously."

  But doesn't Death—Thanatos—end people's lives? Niobe asked in thought. She couldn't talk aloud when she didn't have the body.