The God of Clay and Fennel Fire: A Retelling of The Golden Goose

Chapter VI: Not a Rogue Breeze

The room was plunged into the darkness. The fire suddenly smothered.

A tool clattered to the floor and someone gasped.

"What was that?" Deucalion's head shot up. He blinked and rubbed his eyes.

Prometheus' voice was heavy yet breathy. "I don't know." Deucalion could barely make out his figure as he stood up and walked to the window. Deucalion carefully put aside his scroll where he was drawing plans for a building. He joined the Titan. They peered out of the square whole in the wall. The entire city was dark.

"Well, it definitely wasn't a rogue breeze," Deucalion said, with a hint of sarcasm. He shook his head.

Prometheus didn't reply. He leaned forward on the windowsill and closed his eyes. Deucalion stepped back. After a few moments Prometheus straightened up. "We should probably make sure that no one was injured."

The two men walked down the hill in silence, Deucalion glancing at Prometheus every few moments. He had never seen the Titan so closed off. He seemed scared almost. More than anything, Deucalion wanted to know what he was thinking, but if Prometheus was silent, he would be too.

But the city itself was bursting with noise as people emerged from their homes and stumbled in the dark. A few of them were crying, but most were asking what in Zeus' name had happened.

"At least the stars give enough light," Deucalion said, stepping out of the way of a middle-aged man. "Why are these people acting as if they're blind?" He dodged another man's wayward arm.

"Their eyes aren't as fast as yours. They haven't adjusted yet," Prometheus answered. With a running head start, he scampered up the side of a house and pulled himself up onto the roof. He helped pull Deucalion up behind him.

"Everyone!" his voice echoed through the streets. "Please remain calm!"

At first, only those in the direct vicinity quieted down, but then it rippled out, and soon everyone was silent. They all pressed close to the building as the men from the furthest corners of the city tried to get within hearing distance.

"Can someone please explain to me what exactly happened?" Prometheus asked.

Multiple hands shot up in the dark. Prometheus pointed to a man with a grey beard. His bald head reflected the light of the moon and his eyes glimmered with stars. He was old, perhaps a little senile. But probably the least emotional person in the crowd. "You."

"I was just working on my pottery when the fire went out. The pot that was cooking was ruined."

"Do you know how that happened?"

"Well, the fire disappearing meant the pot was suddenly made cold. The clay shattered."

Prometheus rolled his eyes. "No. I mean do you know why the fire went out?"

"Oh. No." He shook his head violently.

Prometheus looked back over the crowds. They continued pressing near. "Does anyone know why the fires went out?"

No one raised their hand this time.

Deucalion stepped close to Prometheus. "What are we going to do?"

Prometheus shook his head. "For now? Try to keep the panic to a minimum."

He raised his voice so all could hear. "Everyone! Please return to your homes and sleep. Wake up with the sun. Until we can figure out what has happened, the sun will be out guide."

"What about our work?" a man called out. He was a well-known blacksmith, his black curly beard muffled his words and his large hands were black with soot. "We all need fire to build and to repair and to forge and even to cook."