drabblewriter

allbingo

The day before Odysseus leads his fleet to Troy, the sky turns dark in the middle of the day. Blackness slides over the sun little by little, dimming the world to the shades of early evening or the prickling calm before a massive storm. The men, loading the last of the supplies onto the ship, murmur and grow restless, pausing in their work to look up with trepidation.

"This is an ill omen," Eurylochus murmurs were he stands with the other officers.

Odysseus frowns up at the sky. The veiling of the sun could mean many things, all of them messages from the gods. A threat. A warning. A curse. A display of power.

"Have hope, friends," Polites chimes in. "This demonstration from the gods could be a good thing. They show us their power. If they fight on our side, that power supports us. The sun will return."

Eurylochus mutters something unenthusiastic and nervously fingers the amulet of Poseidon he wears. Odysseus only grunts. He doesn't know what this means. Doesn't know which of them is right. It makes him uneasy, but there's nothing he can do about it either way.

The sun fades entirely, and there's a collective gasp from the Ithacan sailors. Some men pray fervently. Some simply stare. Some look away. The world seems to hold its breath.

And then it's over. The sun emerges, a single piercing beam, then more, just as slowly and steadily as it had been eaten away. Men whistle and cheer. Someone is crying.

"Brothers, return to your work," Odysseus calls. "We cannot know the machinations of the gods or the meanings of their signs, but we must remain steady in our course."

The chorus of "Yes, sir" is reassuring to all of them.