The Three Sisters

By Connor Frost

Death needs a mortal's help to bring her rebellious daughters back, but not just any mortal will do. Only someone who has experienced the three realms of the sisters can hope to meet their challenges and send them back through the gates of death. 

 

Jake Rodden is a war veteran who has been suicidal since the loss of his wife and young daughter, but he finds hope in an unusual place—the journals of a WWI field nurse named Sybil Etienne. Some say Sybil earned an eternal reward from Death, after Sybil found a way to return Death's daughters to her.

 

The ancient Assyrian myth of the 'Three Sisters' tells of how the daughters of Death each have a realm on the border between life and death, where they collect their power as mortals face death. The first sister consumes grief; the second despair, and the third sister wants bravery. If the sisters grow too powerful, they will threaten the balance between life and death.

 

Jake will have to learn from Sybil's journals how to track down the three sisters in dreams of the past, where everything that is most precious to him lies.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Connor Frost
• Release date: Dec 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9781772556988

Book preview

ONE

The children recoiled at the sight of me, lying broken there. I tried to wave them away, but their parents insisted, coaxing their children forward to repeat the words of thanks they had rehearsed. A brave one stepped forward first, dressed in a pink coat and lime green pajama bottoms, her thin little legs potted in purple rubber boots covered with daisies. Her curly black hair was disheveled, likely from sleeping on her mother’s lap. She looked up at me with bright brown eyes and said Thank-you... for saving me from the water.

You’re welcome, I told her, my voice catching. I’m glad you’re safe now.

A small boy stepped forward at his mother’s urging, but he hesitated and grew upset. It was so cold, he sobbed. 

Oh baby, I know. His mother comforted him and starting crying.

A father broke down in tears as he knelt down beside the bed and grabbed my hand. I don’t know what I would have done…

A woman collapsed on my shoulder, wailing, her chest heaving as she repeated a prayer in a language I did not understand. These parents had been scared and shaken to their core; they had confronted the terror of their child’s mortality. I envied them their release, the profound gratitude for what they still had. With a little prodding from their parents, each child politely thanked me in turn. The children looked so young, so small. They explained that they were in kindergarten. They had been on their way to school when their bus slid off the icy road and fell into the river. 

The nurse soon managed to shuffle the exhausted group out of the room, to my relief and no doubt theirs. I pulled my hands from my eyes and wiped my tears away. The nurse smiled down at me, sympathy showing in her liquid blue eyes. She was young and bright, with straight black hair and rosy cherub cheeks, with orange sneakers peeking out from her pale green scrubs. 

I relaxed back against the thin hospital pillow and turned to the window. Silvery rain drops plumped into the glass and scurried down the window pane. A soot black smoke stack stood out against the grey and foggy footed clouds. Loud flower bouquets were crammed atop the tables and along the beige window sill, and a glossy yellow balloon that read THANK-YOU! swayed in the institutional air. Only then did I notice the small old lady lingering in the corner beside the door. Had she been with the children? The nurse looked confused as well, and shot me a questioning look. I shrugged.

I’m sorry, visiting time is over, the nurse directed firmly.

The woman asked to stay. Calmly, with a sense of assurance, with a strength that belied her fragile form. The center of her eyes were like luminous black pearls. Please, one moment only. I have a gift, she said with a hint of an accent I could not place.

No, I must insist, the nurse told her.

It’s alright. I said. Thank-you, but it’s fine. I’m sure a minute or two more won’t kill me.

The nurse left, and the old woman smiled as she approached the bed. You saved my grandchild, and I want to give you a gift to show my deep gratitude. The gift is a story.

I tried to contain my moan of impatience upon hearing the word ‘story.’ Did she not hear me say a minute or two?

The story is eternal, she explained, and so is the gift. It is a story of death.

It sounded so strange that I started to cough, and again my stomach muscles burned with an electric charge that pulled me over. 

Ma'am, honestly, a story of death? I’m exhausted, and I’m lying in a hospital bed.

And life. Every story of death is about life.

Maybe some other time...

She ignored me and began her tale: Death is the eternal recurrence of the end. The point where the river of life flows into death, where mortals stare into the end. That is where her daughters lie, collecting their power in channels of dark waters full of departing souls. Each daughter of death has a different spirit, a different purpose revealed by the presence of death—grief, despair, bravery. They have been called by some peoples, some cultures, the Three Sisters. You have witnessed all three of the sisters’ realms, Jake, and survived.

I’ve known grief, I admitted quietly. And despair.

Modesty too, the woman added with a smile. Come, Jake, be truthful, you’ve known bravery as well. You’ve had to face your own death. Death was all around you in the war. Did you submit to fear? No, you carried that burden with you and saved others. I can see in your eyes that you would never let death paralyze you or cause you to forsake your beliefs.

How do you know about the war? About me?

I have not finished, she admonished, as to a child. Death needs a mortal’s help to get her daughters back. If one of Death’s daughters grows too powerful, the balance at the edge of life and death will be unsettled, and Death will weaken and risk losing her seat on her dark throne. Death must get her daughters back to her side, to restore the eternal balance between life and death. You have the rarest chance, Jake. You have been close to death in the realm of each the sisters. I can show you the way. I know the path. If you can believe, you may succeed, and Death will grant you the greatest of rewards.

What could death grant a mortal? I asked, though I immediately regretted encouraging the old nut.

Why, nothing more than life.

To the living, death will give life? No wonder I’ve never heard this story before.

Death will give life back, back from the realm of death. For the daughters returned, a mortal life can be returned from death.

I felt uneasy.

You have lost much, no? she suggested.

How do you know what I’ve lost?

It is a fortunate time to be a hero, Jake. A hero who has suffered such loss, who has wanted to die.

This is ridiculous. I’m sorry, lady, but you need go now.

She can come back, she whispered, her black eyes shining like the moonlit sea.

She turned and walked to the door.

Wait, how can I find you? If I’m interested? I asked, doubting my mind as I heard myself utter the words.

You can’t, she said as she disappeared down the hall. 

But do not worry, Jake, I will find you, I heard her say. In my mind, if not my ears.

TWO

I made my way out of a side exit of the hospital and into the rain drizzled dusk. The street was a corridor of old stodgy office buildings, closed for the weekend. The quiet of the street was interrupted by a black sedan that sped around the corner and splashed through the water puddled on the sides of the street.

Mr. Rodden? a man in a dark suit asked as the driver’s window slid down.

Uh, yes, I answered cautiously.

Who would send a car for me, I wondered. Only Clare, but she couldn’t know…

A woman in a black designer suit exited the rear of the car and approached me. She was tall, likely in her early thirties, with thick and wavy golden-brown hair. She had broad cheeks and rose petal lips beneath her strong statuesque nose. She had the assured gait of an athlete, and I was confident that she knew how to take me down.

Mr. Rodden, may we have a word? We work for Robert Chambers. I might have an interesting business opportunity for you. Can we offer you a ride home?

No, no thank-you, I don’t need a ride. And what would Robert Chambers want with me?

You’re familiar with him?

The eco-trade guy? Yes, I’ve heard of him. I think I saw a clip from his Ted-talk once. Couldn’t bear to get through it.

Well, this isn’t about Eco-trade. This involves one of Mr. Chamber’s personal projects. He very much admires heroes such as yourself.

Ah, he’s interested in heroes? Don’t most billionaires just collect supercars and tropical islands? What exactly does he want with me?

It’s simple. If someone reaches out to you, with any strange sounding offers, just let us know.

Strange offers? Strange in what way? I asked.

Oh, maybe in a religious way. Or the occult. Anything paranormal, with ghosts or demons. Silly stories of life and death. Anything like that. 

She handed me a business card. Sophia Garten, PhD., Consultant.

I balanced the card in my fingertips, reluctantly, like a dirty tissue found on the floor.

Okay, Dr. Garten, thank-you for the tip, I said and looked down the street for the nearest trash can. I’ll be on my way now. But I’ll be sure to let you know if anyone breaks out a Ouija board on my walk home. 

You’ve not heard our part of the bargain yet. If you call us after getting a credible offer from someone involving life and death, you’ll be given ten thousand dollars.

Ten thousand dollars? For a phone call?

Yes, ten thousand for simply a call. And much more can come later. But first you need to make that call. Let us know if anyone approaches you. Mr. Chambers would like the chance to match, and greatly surpass, any offer you receive. But first you need that offer. Let me know. Good evening, Mr. Rodden.

My apartment was dark when I returned, and the foul smell of garbage wafted over from the kitchen. Open takeout containers still sat on the counter, beneath a limp string of Christmas lights. The bottle of scotch was clear and empty, and an ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts. The scene of my nightly routine made me nauseous. What would a stranger think? What if someone had to collect my things and empty this place after I was gone? They would think the truth, that’s what. I cleaned up, slowly. I still felt so weak. But I didn’t go to bed. I felt uncomfortable closing my eyes. I dreaded the dark. It was getting worse, again.

I awoke the next afternoon on the couch. The lights were still on, with the television on mute. Coward.

I washed up and went out to get some groceries. I felt weak and my hands were shaky. I would give myself a fresh start by cooking for myself, I told myself without conviction. Lots of greens. One task at a time. Keep it simple. Walk up the steps. Put away the groceries. Don’t think. Don’t feel anything beyond these fingertips.

A car door shut behind me.

Hello, Jake. 

I closed my eyes and swore to myself, before slowly turning round to face her. I wasn’t ready to see her.

Hello, Clare.

She wore a light green dress, and her expensive looking purse matched the suitcase she pulled behind her toned calves. Her red hair was done up and her pale skin was pink from the sun. She looked out of place in the rain, on this grimy street lined with dumpsters and rusted out cars.

You didn’t think of calling? she demanded, hurt and anger blending in her voice.

I didn’t want to bother you.

I had to hear from the nanny that you were in the hospital. Do you think that’s normal?

Is that what we’re supposed to be? Normal?

We’re supposed to be family. Aren’t we?

She stood there watching my eyes, waiting for an answer I didn’t have. Her green eyes always reminded me of her sister. I wished she were anywhere else but in front of me. I looked down at her suitcase and felt trapped.

I tried calling the hospital. Constantly, I tried.

I was unconscious.

How are you now?

Weak, and tired. But I’ll be fine, they said.

She considered me for a moment.

Well, Jake, are we just going to stand out here in the rain?

Um. Did you get a hotel?

Jake! How can you be so cold? You’re not even to going to invite me into your home? What’s happened to you?

She seemed genuinely upset, and I felt guilty.

No, sorry. That’s not what I meant. Really, I’m sorry. Would you please come inside?

She looked at me for a moment before relenting, then let me take her suitcase as I led the way up to my tiny apartment. 

Thank God I had time to clean up a bit, I thought as I lugged her suitcase up the flights of stairs.

It’s not much, I cautioned unnecessarily at the threshold. The street view of the tenement building was sufficient warning of the seedy apartment that awaited inside. 

Well, this is it. Tour starts, tour concludes, I said as I waved my arm at the single room flat, with the bed and shabby couch jammed up beside one another.

Where are you working Jake? she asked, rather transparently after scanning the field of my poverty.

Well, I would say that I’m a bit underemployed at present.

Weren’t you working as a carpenter or something?

That was a few jobs ago. My latest job was working for a moving company.

And how did you lose this latest job?

Much like the first one, I guess. Does it matter?

You have a university degree and served in the special forces. Now you can’t keep a job as a mover. Yes, I would say it matters.

To you. How does it matter to you, Clare, exactly?

We’re family. Do you really think I would turn my back on you? That any of us would?

I don’t really need this right now.

She considered me for a moment, then relented. You’re right. I don’t want to fight either. I have to say, I’m starving. And you look like you’ve missed a few too many meals. Let’s go get something to eat.

I thought of the fourteen dollars left in my pocket, and my three months’ rent past due, and tried to smile at the prospect of going to a restaurant.

Good idea, I’d be happy to take you for dinner, I lied. I was pathetic. How had I let things get so bad. This is how I ended up on the bridge.

No, no. My treat. I insist. We’ll go someplace nice downtown.

It’s okay. I can take you for dinner. I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.

No, Jake, I insist. Please, just let me take my brother-in-law out to dinner.

Alright, fine. One dinner. Thank-you.

That evening we went out. We walked downtown in search of the restaurant Clare had looked up. The street lights looked gauzy in the rain that was close enough to snow, and Christmas music could heard in the shops, as people hurried around under the pleasant distraction of the holidays. We found the place and were seated. After we ordered, Clare’s thoughts returned to a charity case. Namely me.

Why haven’t you asked father for help?

Because he’s not my father, and I don’t need his help.

Then I can help. I’ve spoken to David about it. He agrees. He’d be thrilled if we could help you out.

Right, her husband who hated my guts would be ‘thrilled’ to help me out, I thought to myself as I imagined the massive fight they must have had over her even coming to see me.

Let’s not do this again, I suggested quietly and pretended to duck my full attention into the menu.

Clare wrinkled up her nose. Well, if not money, then why don’t you come stay with us? Just until you’re back on your feet. What’s keeping you here, anyway?

You want me to live in your house? Like some overgrown teenager?

There is our place out back. You could have it all to yourself.

Gee, could I? Could I really live in your pool house? So that I can leer down like some creep while you and your family live your perfect life, while I’m reminded constantly of all that I’ve lost. Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.

She looked away from me, looking hurt, and again I felt guilty.

I’m sorry, Clare. I know you only mean to help. You’re so generous, but there’s nothing you can do. They’re gone. I can’t bear life without them. There is nothing more to say. There is nothing you can do for me. Or I for you. You lost her too, I know. My grief does not blind me to your pain. I hope your path becomes smoother, in time.

Clare’s eyes yielded angry tears. Stop it. Just stop. Stop talking like you’re saying goodbye. You can’t do that anymore. I can’t stand it.

I touched her wrist and told her I was sorry.

After a few minutes stuck in our quiet hole, within the bustle and din of the restaurant with the overlay of the same Christmas music standards that had filled every store since Thanksgiving, I asked about her kids. Clare was kind enough to play along, and for the rest of the meal she recounted her kids’ busy lives and the competitiveness of parenting amongst those who are rich in money and guilt.

Later, back at my place, Clare called her family and took in all the details of their day, while I put fresh sheets on the bed for her. I laid on the couch and fidgeted. I couldn’t remember the last time I went to bed this early—at a normal human time. Clare got ready for bed, and then appeared, silhouetted against the bathroom light, tying back her hair. I rolled over and stuck my nose against the rough upholstery of the worn out couch and prepared for a long wait for sleep.

I lay awake for what seemed like endless hours. I was exhausted but I must have been overtired, because my mind refused to stop, and spun around uselessly liked the wheel on a tipped over bicycle. Only after I stopped trying to sleep, or thinking of the time, or listening for Clare’s breath, did my own breathing finally slow, and my eyelids grew heavy as I felt myself relax into sleep.

The sun was setting over the ocean, flaring the sky in orange and pink as it descended. The waves rippled over my feet as I walked along the crescent shore. Holly’s small hand was in my mine and she laughed with joy as the waves washed over her chubby baby feet. I smiled at Vanessa as we swung and danced our daughter’s toes down the surf lined beach. 

You can get them back, a woman’s voice intruded on my remembered vision.

The sun vanished and I was back in the hospital. The old woman with the glimmering black eyes standing there, smiling oddly at me as I lay in the hospital bed once more.

You can get them back, she repeated. But you’ll need my help. You must proceed exactly so, or else you will be caught there, forever caught in the deep black pool where life flows into death.

I pushed aside the hospital room. My dream flickered as I felt the couch, felt myself lift part of the way out of sleep. But I was calm and I settled back into the black.

Back on the bridge again. The winter air was cold, and then shrieks of the children could be heard. Urgent cries rang out from the onlookers. There was panic on the bridge as people watched the firefighter’s line break, as their rescue boat floated away, futilely down the river.

The bus sank further into the icy rapids. This is when I jumped in. But there was a change to the scene that I was watching. The water turned blood red and the sky darkened. But no-one else on the bridge seemed to notice. 

You should not have come back here, Jake, a woman’s voice threatened behind my ear. I’ll not let you go this time.

I was in the freezing water, struggling to get into the school bus. I smashed the window and swam in through the rear exit door. But it was different this time. The river rapids were gone, and so was the sunlight.

The bus was now on the bottom of the river, in deep green waters. I grabbed hold of a seat back, and then another and another, as I pulled myself up the aisle of the bus. I turned and saw the children. Their green bloated corpses swayed in the dark water. The freezing water consumed my screams and burst down my throat to fill my lungs. The children’s lifeless, accusing eyes looked on as I was pulled down into the dark.

I awoke with screams choking in my raw throat. Clare raced from the bed and knelt by my side.

Oh my God Jake, what’s wrong?

I was feverish and shaking. Clare held me until the pale dawn appeared behind the curtains. Only then did I fall back into a blank and empty sleep.

THREE

The next morning, while Clare was in the shower, I called Sophia Garten.

It’s Jake Rodden. I’m calling about your offer.

Alright, Mr. Rodden, what can you tell me?

An old woman visited me in the hospital and told me about a deal with death.

Yes, go on.

Something about death having three daughters. That death would reward someone who could send her daughters back. Back through the gates of death, or something. I know it sounds crazy, but I’m just telling you what she told me.

I heard a rustle of paper and fingers snapped. Yes, that is what we were looking for. You’re entitled to the reward, Mr. Rodden. 

She asked me for my email and then waited on the line. After a few moments of waiting my phone buzzed with a message, indicating that an electronic transfer of $10,000 was available for me. I clicked through and saw the funds in my account. The offer was real. I never quite believed it. I recalled my nightmare from last night and a chill traced my spine. 

What the hell is this all about? I asked her.

I should leave it to Mr. Chambers to explain. He would like to meet with you as soon as possible. Can I arrange to have you picked up?

I listened and heard the shower stop.

Yes. Right away, I said quietly. I’ll be down in a few minutes.

Clare entered the room in a robe with a towel twirled round the top of her head.

How do you feel? she asked with concern in her eyes.

Fine, fine. No problem. Why do you ask?