Episode 10: The Plan
Well, that was weird. Now what?
The Great Weaver’s Hall
Moments After Creation
The five goddesses stood in the aftermath of creation, the newly formed egg sac hanging like a luminous dewdrop in the cosmic Web above them. It pulsed gently with its own consciousness. It was alive, aware, and waiting.
The Great Weaver stepped back from the inverted pool, her pregnant form still glowing with residual creative power. She placed both hands on her eternal belly and felt something she hadn’t felt in millennia: hope.
The egg sac’s creation had sent a resonance through the entire Web, a harmonic that sang of rightness, of paths converging, of patterns aligning. The whispers she’d been hearing, the ones that had told her guardians would be needed, had built into something like certainty.
“It worked,” she breathed, wonder in her voice. “The Web is pleased. We’re on the right path.”
“Of course it worked,” Ereshkigal said from her black stone throne, examining her nails with studied nonchalance. “We’re five death goddesses working in concert. What were the odds of failure? Other than catastrophic, I mean.”
“You were worried,” Inanna accused with a knowing smile.
“I was interested. There’s a difference. Watching things potentially explode is always entertaining.”
Nephthys moved to stand beside the Weaver, her gentle presence a balm. “What did the Web whisper to you? What comes next?”
The Weaver’s eight eyes focused on the egg sac above them. It was empty now but patiently waiting. “Guardians. Souls who will choose eternal service. I don’t know when. I don’t know who. But they’re coming. The Web has been singing about them for centuries, and now” she gestured at the glowing egg sac, “we have a place to keep them. To train them. To prepare them.”
“For what?” Hel asked, her half-living face showing genuine curiosity.
“I don’t know exactly. Something vast. Something that will require souls who understand everything. I’m interpreting that to mean every type of life, every kind of death, every shade of experience between.” The Weaver turned to face her sisters fully. “They’ll need comprehensive education. Teachers from every tradition, every culture, every approach to mortality.”
“Teachers,” Ereshkigal repeated slowly, a wicked grin spreading across her features. “Oh, I have suggestions.”
“Of course you do,” Inanna muttered.
“A few super harsh lessons first,” Ereshkigal continued, warming to her theme. “Real character-building experiences. Starving to death. Watching loved ones die violently. Being betrayed by everyone they trust. Plague. War. Famine. The full catastrophe package.”
“That’s very on-brand for you,” Nephthys said without heat.
“And balance it with some truly bawdy ones,” Ereshkigal’s grin turned absolutely filthy. “Prostitutes. Hedonistic nobles who learn nothing but indulgence. Sacred temple workers engaged in very sacred work, if you know what I mean. Let them experience the full spectrum, the absolute worst and the absolutely most fun.”
“You want to educate eternal guardians through extremes of suffering and sex?” Hel’s half-corpse side seemed amused while her living side looked skeptical.
“Why not? Those are the two things that teach humans the most about themselves. Pain and pleasure. Loss and ecstasy. Everything else is just middle ground, and middle ground is boring.”
Inanna stood, all her aspects flickering with strategic energy. “Sister, while I appreciate your commitment to entertainment value…”
“Thank you.” Ereshkigal interjected, graciously bowing her head.
“…That wasn’t a compliment. We need to approach this strategically.” She began pacing her mind clearly working through possibilities. “These guardians, whoever they are, will need knowledge from all walks of life. But they’ll also need teachers. Guides who can show them not just how to live these experiences, but how to extract wisdom from them.”
She turned to face the group. “We five are powerful. We understand death and life intimately. But we’re only five perspectives. Five cultural frameworks. Five approaches to mortality.”
“You’re suggesting we recruit more goddesses,” the Weaver said, understanding immediately.
“I’m suggesting,” Inanna corrected with a sharp smile, “that we build a proper network. We’re already connected through your Web, that’s what allowed us to create the egg sac together. But we need more voices. More wisdom. Different deities from different traditions who understand different aspects of death, life, and transformation.”
“Ooh, I like where this is going,” Ereshkigal leaned forward with interest. “Who are we poaching, and what is our team name? Divas of Darkness? Soul Searchers? The Weavers Wicked Women?”
“We are not poaching, just inviting to join us,” Nephthys corrected gently. “Offering partnership. But I do like the Idea of a team name. It heightens the appeal.”
The Weaver felt the Web pulse with approval at the suggestion. Yes. This felt right. More goddesses. More perspectives. A true network of death workers coordinating across cultures and realms.
“There’s a complication,” she said slowly. “I can travel the Web freely. I’ve always been able to move between realms, between cultures, between times. But you four...” She gestured at them. “You’re tied to your own pantheons. Your own cultural frameworks. You exist in your time periods, your belief systems.”
“So we can’t recruit,” Hel concluded.
“You can recruit from your own pantheons,” the Weaver corrected. “Norse goddesses for you, Hel. Mesopotamian deities for you sisters,” she nodded at Inanna and Ereshkigal. “Egyptian for Nephthys. But reaching across cultures, across time...” She paused, feeling the Web’s structure. “That’s harder for you.”
“But not for you,” Inanna said shrewdly.
“Not for me. I’m older than belief systems. I exist... outside them, in a way. The Web lets me move freely through time, through cultures, through the spaces between pantheons. I can create paths.”
“Then you recruit the weird ones,” Ereshkigal said immediately. “The goddesses from other cultures, other times. We’ll work on our own pantheons and convince the stubborn ones who already know us to join up. OH, the Weird Women?” Inanna gave the others a look and rolled her eyes. “Why are you all glossing over this suggestion, it’s brilliant.” Ereshkigal scowled at Inanna.
“What ‘weird ones’ are you thinking about?” Nephthys asked cautiously.
The Weaver closed her eight eyes, feeling along the threads of the Web, sensing which goddesses might be open to such an invitation, which death workers might understand the vision.
“There’s a Greek goddess,” she said slowly. “Young, she’s only recently become Queen of the Underworld. Persephone. She chose death over Olympus, chose to rule below rather than shine above. She understands cyclical return. Hope in darkness.”
“A Greek death goddess?” Inanna’s interest was piqued. “We could use that perspective and the whole seasonal return thing. Life and death as partners rather than enemies.”
“There’s a Slavic weaver goddess,” the Weaver continued, following the threads. “Mokosh. She works with moisture and earth, with fate and fertility all woven together. She’d understand the work.”
“A fellow weaver!” The Weaver’s form brightened. “Yes, she’d be perfect.”
“And further ahead in time, much further, there’s a syncretic tradition forming. Vodou. Death goddesses who dance. Who bring joy to the darkest work.” The Weaver smiled. “Maman Brigitte, she’d teach the guardians how to survive eternal service without losing their joy.”
“There are others,” the Weaver continued, eyes still closed, feeling along future threads. “A crossroads goddess who holds torches in darkness. A spider-woman from indigenous traditions who weaves different patterns than mine. A skeletal saint who protects the marginalized. Lilith, who is Mesopotamian but also serving in a future religion’s underworld somehow. So many death workers across so many cultures, all doing this sacred work in their own ways.”
She opened her eyes. “But here’s what you need to understand about time and the Web.”
The four goddesses leaned in, listening intently.
“The Web exists outside linear time,” the Weaver explained. “It connects all moments simultaneously. The past, present, and future are all woven together. When I travel it, I’m not moving forward or backward. I’m moving... across. To different points in the pattern.”
“So you could recruit goddesses who don’t exist yet?” Inanna asked, her strategic mind already racing with implications.
“They exist. They’ve always existed. Belief doesn’t create gods, it reveals them. It gives them form in specific cultural contexts, but the archetypes, the powers, the essential natures... those are eternal.” The Weaver gestured at the Web around them. “Persephone exists now, in her relative ‘present.’ But I could also travel forward to meet Maman Brigitte in what you’d call ‘future,’ or backward to meet ancient animal spirits before history. To me, they’re all equally real, equally present, because I exist in the Web itself.”
“That’s deeply confusing,” Hel said.
“It’s confusing if you think about time as a river that flows in one direction. But it’s not a river, it’s a web. Every point connects to every other point. I can move along those connections.”
“Can we learn to do that?” Nephthys asked.
“Eventually, perhaps. Once you’re fully woven into the network and once you’ve accepted the connection and strengthened your threads. You’ll find it easier to move between realms, between times. Not as freely as I do, but... more than you can now.” The Weaver smiled. “And the guardians, when they finally come, when they’re trained and ready... they’ll be even better at it. They’ll create paths that others can follow more easily.”
“We’re building infrastructure,” Inanna realized. “Not just for the guardians, but for all of us. A network that makes coordination easier, travel easier, collaboration easier.”
“Exactly.”
Ereshkigal stood, stretching with an undignified grace. “So, here’s the plan: We recruit from our own pantheons. You,” she pointed at the Weaver, “travel the weird Web to recruit the cross-cultural, cross-temporal goddesses. Invite them to our knitting circle. We build a proper network of death workers who can coordinate during crises, share wisdom, and eventually teach these mysterious guardians when they finally show up.”
“And I get to suggest truly horrible life experiences for them to learn from,” she added hopefully.
“You get to suggest some difficult life experiences,” the Weaver corrected. “Balanced with wisdom, love, joy, and everything between.”
“Fine. But I’m definitely including plague, betrayal, and at least one really traumatic war death.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
Nephthys raised her hand tentatively. “Should we start now? Begin recruiting?”
The Weaver looked at the egg sac hanging above them, glowing with patient awareness. It was waiting. Ready. But empty.
“Soon,” she said. “First, let me travel to meet some of these goddesses. See who’s willing to join such a strange enterprise. See who understands the vision.” She smiled. “Then we’ll gather everyone together and begin planning the actual education. The curriculum. The structure.”
“A gathering,” Inanna said with delight.
“A gathering,” the Weaver agreed. “With goddesses from across time and culture, all planning how to educate souls for work we can’t fully articulate yet.”
“That sounds like chaos,” Hel observed.
“It sounds like fun,” Ereshkigal corrected. “And I’m definitely attending. Someone needs to make sure we include enough suffering in the lesson plans… How about ‘the Suffering sisters’?”
“Someone needs to make sure you don’t traumatize the guardians before they even begin,” Nephthys countered, “and can we please choose a name, or she will not stop.”
The five goddesses looked at each other and laughed.
This was the beginning of something vast. Something necessary. Something that would ripple through reality for millennia to come.
“Alright,” the Weaver said, straightening with decision. “We are not just darkness with mine and Inanna’s light. How about the Sisterhood of Shadows? Light helps to cast a shadow.”
“Okay. I’m liking it… It’s growing on me… Divas of Darkness is better, but we are here to collaborate, so I agree.” Ereshkigal muttered to herself, but loud enough for them all to hear her complaining.
The Great Weaver chuckled. “Then, I’ll begin my travels. Ereshkigal, you and Inanna work on Mesopotamian deities. You know who might be interested.”
“I’ll approach Isis and Nephthys can handle the rest of the Duat,” Ereshkigal said, surprisingly gently. Offering an act of kindness for a friend.
“I’ll handle Isis,” Nephthys corrected firmly. “She’s my sister. You can terrify other Mesopotamian gods.”
“Fair.”
“Hel, speak to the Norse pantheon. See who might join.”
Hel nodded, her dual nature flickering. “I’ll speak with my father Loki, actually. He can’t join as a member since we are a sisterhood… Actually, he would definitely be on board to pretend to be a goddess if we let him, but if not, he might teach. And I’ll ask around Helheim for goddesses who understand death work.”
“Perfect.” The Weaver felt the Web humming with approval. “When I’ve gathered some of the cross-cultural goddesses, we’ll reconvene. All of us together. Plan the education. Create the structure.” She paused. “And wait for the whispers to tell us when the first guardian is ready to choose.”
“How will we know?” Inanna asked.
The Weaver placed her hands on her eternal belly and smiled. “The Web will sing. Like it did when the egg sac was created, that resonance of rightness, of paths converging. When the first soul chooses service, we will be ready. it feels like it will happen soon.”
“Very soon,” the Weaver agreed. “Which means we need to work quickly. Build the network. Find the teachers. Prepare the curriculum. While I am gone, you will not be able to reach me, However, you are welcome in my hall to meet and plan… Or to watch mortals lives and entertain yourself.” She looked directly at Ereshkigal.
Ereshkigal grinned. “Then let’s get to work. We’ve got goddesses to recruit, lessons to plan, and a whole system of eternal guardian education to build from scratch, mortals to judge and gossip about. What could possibly go wrong?”
“Everything,” Hel said dryly.
“Exactly!” Ereshkigal’s grin widened. “This is going to be fascinating.”
Epilogue - The Weaver’s First Journey
The Great Weaver stood alone in her throne room the other goddesses having returned to their realms. She looked at the egg sac one more time. It was full of potential.
“Soon,” she whispered to it. “Soon you’ll have guardians to hold. To teach. To transform.”
Then she turned to face the Web itself, not the metaphorical pattern, but the actual visible threads that stretched through reality, connecting all moments, all beliefs, all death realms across time and culture.
She reached out with one hand (or was it a leg? The forms overlapped here, spider and woman both), and touched a thread that glowed with spring colors and underground darkness.
Greek Underworld. A young queen who chose death over Olympus.
“Let’s see if Persephone wants to join a network of death goddesses,” the Weaver said with a smile.
And stepped onto the thread, traveling across time itself, to recruit her next sister.
