Nightfall Gardens by Allen Houston Page B

fires of the earth that could contain the wickedness of the world. He trapped that evil inside the box and locked it so at last there was paradise. Without their enemies, humans multiplied and there came a time when people forgot how it had been. The old stories faded from memory and became nothing more than fairytales told over campfires, until they were so distorted that there was little truth left in them.”
    The moon was gone now. Thunderstorms rushed across the sky. Lightening flashed green deep within a cloud. Deiva pressed her face against the glass as the rain started pouring. “Do you think he’ll be safe out there?” she said. “He and his men should be home anytime now.”
    “Mother,” Jonquil said gently.
    “No, you’re right. He’ll be safe and I must continue the tale.”
    “You said that the old gods died,” Silas said.
    “Well, yes and no. Some died and some were locked in Prometheus’s box. They were none too happy about that either. Be that as it may, one afternoon many years ago, a young woman named Pandora discovered a man raging with fever by her family’s well.”
    Deiva opened the book and began reading from the ancient pages:
    He must have been handsome when he was younger, Pandora thought. The man’s hair ran to his shoulders and his eyes blazed golden. He was dressed in beggar’s garb and carried a rucksack that had seen ten thousand miles.
    “Are you sick?” she asked.
    “Of all but life and a taste of water for my lips,” he said.
    Pandora filled a dipper and he drank heartily. When he was finished, the man lay back and closed his eyes. It was then that she noticed how ill he really was. She put a hand against his forehead and felt the fire burning within.
    “We must get you back to the house,” she said.
    “Nay,” the man said. “Let me die here in the sun.”
    “You mustn’t talk that way. There’s a healing woman in the village. I can run and fetch her.”
    The man smiled wearily. “I would be gone by the time you came back and besides, there’s nothing to fear in death.”
    Pandora was young, though, and death terrified her.
    “Don’t worry, child,” the man said. “I have lived longer than most. What’s your name?”
    “Pandora,” she said.
    “Mine is Prometheus,” he said. “I ask only one favor of you.”
    “Name it and it shall be done.”
    “There is a box within my travelling satchel. When I am gone, I want you to drop it deep in the well and never say a word about it.”
    Pandora nodded.
    “You must promise me that you’ll never open it, for what’s inside spells ruin for all,” he said.
    “I promise,” Pandora said.
    “Good child,” he said.
    Prometheus began raving about the old gods Zeus and Hera and the creatures of the night such as demons, succubi and ghouls. He talked until his throat was raw about those evils waiting for their chance to destroy humankind.
    Night came. Prometheus grew quiet. His heaving chest gave the only sign that he was still alive. Pandora opened his rucksack and found the box. It was made of a heavy dark wood and scorched with the imprint of fire. She turned the box in her hands and thought she heard gold coins jingle. ‘What if there’s treasure inside?’ she thought. Did she really know who Prometheus was? He might be one of those mad misers that lived like a pauper with chest full of rubies hoarded in their yard. The box was beautiful, after all. Why would he want her to throw it away and not give it to her? The longer she held the box, the more jealousy tore at her heart. Finally, she could contain herself no longer. ‘It’s mine,’ Pandora thought. She searched frantically through the bag until she found a silver key.
    Prometheus slept quietly now. His face was waxen and only a little pulse beat in his brow.
    ‘He was delirious. He would want me to have it,’ Pandora thought. The madness overtook her and she turned the key in the lock. The lid exploded open and a black cloud poured forth from the