Page 55 of Prometheus' Priestess

The hum continued as they quietly got to work. The white thread was quickly interlaced with the purple and gold threads, as the Fates had expected. But then something strange happened. Instead of the white thread engulfing the entire tapestry, Clotho picked up a caramel thread that was laced with filaments of gold. As the sisters watched and worked, an unmistakable profile began to take shape. As they worked, the face became an arm that carried the white fire of knowledge across the tapestry.

Lachesis cackled. “Oh, clever.”

“What is it?” Atroposdemanded.

“Do you remember why we set the priestess as a lost soul in Artemis’ fields?”

“So that she was at one with nature,” Atroposreplied.

“And why we gave her the thirst to pursue lessons of love with Aphrodite and courage with Athena?” Lachesis asked.

“So that she would learn how to alchemise as a woman might. What does that have to do with the … oh.”

“Oh what?!” Clotho interrupted her sisters, also desperate toknow.

“Don’t you see, sister?” Lachesis said.

“Amara’s alchemy is a skill but not her purpose. She was lost, so that she may recognise loss in others,” Atropos added.

They began to trace her story in the tapestry. “She has learnt what she must in that time to help bring lost souls home to the truth of their nature, the love they deserve, the courage it takes to get them there. She has become a priestess for the souls who have lost their way − the humans. She was always supposed to be Prometheus’ priestess.”

Understanding began to dawn between all three of them. For if Amara was always to be Prometheus’ priestess, then the white fire was simply another tool for her to complete her destiny. The priestess herself had never been the saviour for humanity. She had been the catalyst, the conduit. The reason Prometheus moved the white fire. Now the fire had been lit and it would spread, eradicating the fear, scorching the Earth to nourish the minds of those that Gaia made home for. The question was, would the humans survive it?

The crones continued weaving well into the night, the tapestry now lit by wall-mounted lights that offered a warm, yellow glow. They did not stop, desperate to see how it unfolded. They watched the priestess’ actions become clearer in the tapestry. While Zeus’ eagle escorted Prometheus back to Olympus, Amara had taken a candle to the white fire in the hearth and scurried away, hiding it in what appeared to be a cupboard.

Clotho picked up the next thread.

CHAPTER XXIX

Prometheus was escorted to Zeus and Hera’s palace by an eagle so large he could pick up Prometheus himself and carry him back to Olympus if he had to. Instead, the bloody bird decided to keep a discerning eye on him, squawking in warning whenever it looked like Prometheus was not going to follow the clear flight path of Zeus’ pet. Eventually they arrived, Prometheus dirty, parched, and exhausted from the journey with no break. Exactly how Zeus intended him to be.

Like the last time he was here, he was escorted to the courtyard, for the weather was still warm enough to eat outside. Unlike last time, there was a hustle and bustle about. The long stone table, which could seat all twelve Olympians, was set in colours of deep ruby red laced with gold, gilded utensils, goblets, and other finery. The nymphs fanned about like mother hens, clucking as they laid the table. Raised by Hera, they were matronly in their demeanour and dress, with long gowns made of chiffon that covered all their attributes and hair coiled back under maiden caps. Most of them had learnt to avoid Zeus’ gaze so as not to infuriate their mistress, and so they too ignored Prometheus, who appeared to be the only one present.

The table was laid for onlythree.

Taking one of the side seats at a nymph’s request, for the head of the table was surely Zeus’, Prometheus waited. The time walking here had given him a chance to clear his head after his summons from Zeus had been ... unmalleable. The time at the table gave him clarity to prepare for the calamity he knew was about to hit. Ever since Amara had looked him in the eyes, the words unspoken between them, his foresight had returned with a roaring vengeance. Now it prowled behind his eyes, cagey, pacing, desperate to get out.

Instead, his eyes tracked as Zeus made his way into the courtyard, followed shortly by … Dionysus. Prometheus stood. Zeus didn’t even acknowledge the formality with so much as a nod.

“Prometheus.”

“My Lord.” Despite the fact Zeus was not his Lord, it was the proper term foroccasionssuch as this. And Prometheus made no mistake − this would be an occasion, for he couldn’t understand why Dionysus was here unless he was to serve as a witness.

Both the men sat, Zeus at the head of the table and Dionysus opposite him.

The God of Wine produced a bottle and began to pour Zeus’ cup first. In his eager haste, the wine sloshed over the rims of the goblets and onto the table.

“It is a new blend, gentlemen,” heannounced.

“What have you decided to call it?” Zeus asked, taking a sip before scowling at his goblet in displeasure. By the pinched look of his mouth, the grapes were far too tart for his liking.

“I don’t name them; the humans do! I simply drink them and observe that their effects take hold as they should.” A coy grin from the god. Many a baby had been sired thanks to Dionysus’ input.

“And right you are, Dionysus,” Zeus raised his own goblet again in a mock toast.

Prometheus sensed the trap and said nothing.

“Speaking of ... who is that delightfully enchanting human I’ve seen you hanging around with Prometheus?” Dionysus asked, taking a large gulp of wine before leaning back in his chair, balancing precariously on two legs.

---