Burning Stones

Prometheus crouched behind his brother, Epimetheus, fingers clasped over his shoulders, eyes wide, and a smile on the brink of breaking over his lips.

“Yes, that’s it. Mind the rock. Mind the rock! Yes, good. Slow now, I don’t want to dig another mold in this boulder.”

Epimetheus directed the heated, swirling brown earth into the mold that Prometheus had spent days carving out. The brown sludge — made of dirt, thistle, heated water, and a secret ingredient Prometheus did not disclose — flowed down the carved-out log and filled the stone mold to the brim.

Epimetheus looked back.

“Are you sure this will work, brother?”

“Ah,” Prometheus stood up quickly and paced around the dirt. “Have faith, young brother. We will do it again if we must. But this,” he paused and pointed to the god-like mold filled with bubbling sludge, “feels different. Don’t you now feel it too? In fact, I think it is you who feel it, and the certainty that fills me comes from you. Yes. Something different. You sense it too, do you not, brother?”

Epimetheus looked down and nodded his head.

“Yes, brother, I do. It's just …” his voice trailed off. He stood up suddenly and drew close to his Prometheus, “Could it really be? Years we have labored here, to create a creature worthy to contest against the gods. Could our time really be now?”

They paused in silence. Epimetheus saw his brother’s eyes focus solely on him. But his brother’s expression soon changed. A shiver ran through Epimetheus’s spine as his brother’s face turned white and his mouth gaped open.

“Look for yourself,” Prometheus held his hand up and pointed to the molded rock sitting behind his brother.

Epimetheus turned around and fell back into his brother’s arms.

“Steady, Epimetheus. Steady.”

A yet unformed head sat up from the mold, looking around through pebbled eyes and a swollen forehead. It held its arms up, pointed its hands inward, and examined them slowly. The mud hardened around the creature’s hand and turned a lighter brown as it grew hot in the sun. The mud transformed into flesh, his pebbled eyes came forth from his deep forehead and widened.

The creature squinted his eyes and puffed his chest. His lips formed and mud spilled from his newly created mouth. Breath filled his lungs. He looked up at Prometheus and Epimetheus, tensing his mouth, but did not find the strength to speak.

Prometheus walked forward and stuck his fingers down the creature’s throat. The creature seized back and fought off Prometheus’ arms. But Prometheus was quick and extracted the blockage in the creature’s throat. He clenched it in his fist and walked back to his brother.

The creature looked up and, with great strength coming from his stomach, let out a long, “Ahhhh!”

“They shall be called man,” Prometheus whispered, handing a muddy piece of stone to his brother.

Epimetheus examined it. Letters were etched on it. In the tongue of the gods, it said “Living gift.”

Prometheus and his brother retreated to their cave to rest, letting the newly born creature alone to explore his new world. Epimetheus laid on a bushel of leaves and closed his eyes. Prometheus walked to the creek running through the cave and washed his hands and splashed the cool water on his face.

“Do you think they will love us, brother?” Prometheus said, looking to the top of the cave where the water reflected on the rock ceiling.

“How could they not? We have given them life. They will only have affection for us!”

“Hmm,” Prometheus said, nodding. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes! How could it be any different?”

* * *

Dozens of creatures walked around the landscape. They sniffed the trees and pulled fresh fruit from the twigs. They napped in the grass. They huddled together for warmth in the night. Their blank eyes looked dumbly at the stars, without comprehension, and with a barren heart.

Epimetheus thought of the word “empty” when he saw them, but he would not tell his dear brother, who waited by the river every day for one of them to come and speak to him.

Prometheus and his brother created new creatures every day. In the mornings Prometheus would get up before sunrise, take a cold bath in the creek, and go out and sit by the river where the creature’s slept close by.

One morning a piece of fruit rolled down to Prometheus’ feet. One of the creatures, tall and broad-shouldered like the rest, came running down clumsily and stopped before Prometheus. It froze and waited. Prometheus bent down and picked up the ripe fruit and stuck his hand out toward the creature. The creature turned its head slowly, eyeing the god and the fruit in his hand.

“It’s okay,” he said, “It’s yours.”

The creature shot his hand out and snatched the fruit. He ran back, naked, with fruit juice spilling over the earth as he stuffed the fruit into his mouth.

* * *

It was dusk and the orange glow set over the earth as Prometheus and his brother sat by the edge of the cave, watching their creation picking nuts from the trees and drinking from the stream.

“What’s bothering you, brother? Your heart, I can tell, is not full.” Epimetheus said.

“You speak the truth, brother, for my passion is gone. These creatures have stripped it from me. They will never know or care what we did for them. They are an empty sack full of blood, mud, air, and a beating heart. They are no better than the other dumb creatures that roam the earth, mindless of their existence, and ignorant of the gift they have been given.”

“You wish they had more?”

“SO MUCH MORE!” Prometheus stood up, shattering his wood cup against the cave rock. “I must set my mind to a new creature, one that can love their creator! Here, fetch me that smooth rock by your foot. Yes, thank you. I must be quiet now for some time, brother, and bring a new creature forth — one who can love the one who gave them a sack of blood, mud, air, and a beating heart.”

* * *

Prometheus did not close his eyes to rest for three full days. He found another cave across the river and sat, scratching figures and letters in the wall, drawing the architecture for his new creation.

Late at night, in the pitch of darkness, with only the sound of fluttering leaves and the soft breathing of man filling the air, Epimetheus was awoken by a sharp scream coming from across the river. He rose and ran out of the cave. Tripping on a rock, he fell to the earth. He picked himself up and ran again before he tripped on a log and stumbled again to the ground.

“Prometheus?! Are you there? Are you alright?!” He called from his side of the river, his mouth full of dirt.

“Yes! Come quickly!”

Epimetheus waited for the clouds to pass from the moon so he could discern the water. He waded across slowly and called out for his brother’s voice to guide him.

In the moonlight, a figure sat motionless behind Prometheus. The creature was curved at the hips and back, and two plumps that resembled fresh fruit budded from its chest.

Prometheus held its hand over the creature’s face and cheek.

“Look Epimetheus, look!”

The creature tried to speak, but it could not. Prometheus pulled the stone out of its throat. It let out the same, “Ahhhh!” as the man-creatures did.

Prometheus put his hands on the creature’s shoulder and looked deep into its eyes. Hair flowed down past its shoulders, its face was cut sharply with cheekbones and thick lips shining in the moonlight. But its eyes too were dark and empty pebbles of blackness that yielded no expression.

“Do you,” Prometheus looked into the creature’s eyes, “Do you love me?” he asked.

The creature looked at him and turned its head. Its eyes drifted off to something behind Prometheus. It removed Prometheus’ hands from its shoulders and walked toward a tree. It stopped beneath a tree and reached up for a ripe piece of fruit. It laid down in the grass and ate its meal before drifting off into sleep.

Prometheus fell to the ground and wept. The stone slipped from his hand and fell into the dirt.

“We are Prometheus and Epimetheus, the unlovable!” Prometheus groaned.

“It is not right, Prometheus, for they know not how to love. They are creatures of the belly — gentle, but empty. They are tame, but no love can come from what is tame.”

Epimetheus sat down in the dirt and placed his arm around his brother. The clouds emptied from the sky and the moon shown as a spotlight over the two brothers.

“Epimetheus, my brother, why is your face full of dirt?”

“When you screamed and I came to find you, I could not see, for it was dark out. I tripped on a rock and a log and fell into the dirt, for there was no light.”

“Was the moon not sufficient?”

“It was covered by clouds. Only the fire from the sun permits sight, brother. Some even say the moon has a secret fire that sits behind it, giving off the little light that it does.”

“Hmm,” Prometheus pondered, gazing up to the moon. “Let us sleep now, brother, and wait for the fire of the morning to show us its light.”

Prometheus retreated to his cave. Epimetheus picked up the small rock that had slipped from his brother’s hand. It said “Lovely creature.”

* * *

“Do you know what will happen?! You are a fool, Prometheus. A FOOL! I will not have my brother be the subject of Zeus’s cruel wrath. I will hear no more about this ‘quest’ of yours. We need it not!”

“But we do! It is the only way. These dumb creatures … these lifeless, heartless creatures …” he drifted off. “I will not abide. I will be back in the morn, dear brother. Zeus’s wrath will be quick, but we must be quicker! Prepare many pots of clay, and teach the dumb creatures how to stir the pots and keep them warm. Do it, and I will be back before the sun rises, for I will have my own light!”

* * *

Epimetheus rose early the next morning and sat atop the cave, looking to the sunrise. The dark blue of the night had turned into the light blue of the sea. He waited.

In the distance, a small light glowed. Upon the wings of a glorious pegasus, whose white wings glowed in the darkness, Prometheus was flown through the air. From his hand, a beacon of luminous fire was thrust into the sky.

“Are the pots ready?”

“The creatures have been stirring them all night.”

“By now Zeus will know what we have taken, dear Epimetheus. I have not much time. But I will bestow this gift to these creatures, and they will avenge me, whatever my punishment may be. Quick, to the clay!”

Epimetheus poured the brown sludge down the carved-out oak. He took the stone for the man-creature and laid it on the boulder. He placed the torch above the stone and pressed the fire into the lettering. Soon the etchings flared red like lava. Prometheus nodded at Epimetheus, who took a stalk and brushed the flaming rock into the mold filled with hot clay.

A man formed from the clay. The mud hardened fast and turned to warm flesh. He stood up slowly and looked at the sun. Patches of red flushed over his body as he basked in the sun. The man-creature looked around, his eyes blank and empty. He looked first at Epimetheus and then at Prometheus. He walked up slowly to Prometheus and stared into his eyes.

Prometheus returned the stare. The man-creature’s eyes were still black pebbles. But they soon came forward and his eyes widened. Prometheus put his hands out and held them to the creature’s shoulders, squeezing.

The man looked around and examined his hand in the sun. He looked back at Prometheus and stared once again. Prometheus waited and waited. His fingers soon lost their strength and he dropped his hands to his side.

Prometheus’ eyes filled with tears and he sat down on the carved-out log from which the man-creature was poured.

“I have violated heaven’s rules, dear brother, and my punishment will now be for nothing! Have mercy on me, graces of nature, that my punishment should be a quick and sudden end that I may not endure tortures in the shadow of my failed task.”

Epimetheus sat down next to his brother and held him close.

“Oh brother, my fool of an older brother, you carry more courage in that chest of yours than the whole house of Olympus. The grace of nature will surely meet you for your courage.”

Prometheus held his brother’s comforting arm and wept.

When he looked up, the man-creature was still staring at him. Prometheus looked away over the river and then stopped, replaying the image he had just seen. He turned gaze slowly back to the man-creature, whose face was tilted and eyes wide.

“Epimetheus, do you see that?”

Epimetheus drew his gaze up and soon squeezed his brother’s shoulder. Prometheus stood up. He drew the man-creature close and looked into his eyes again. Deep inside the dark emptiness lay a spark. A steady, vibrating spark of fire deep within his eyes.

“Man-creature,” Epimetheus spoke, “Do you have nothing to say?”

The man-creature looked down, assessing his mouth, touching it with his fingers. He gagged and squeezed his chest. His cheeks moved but he could not open his mouth. Prometheus laid a gentle touch on his cheek.

The man-creature calmed and Prometheus stuck two of his fingers down into his throat and removed the smoking stone. The red letters turned ashen gray and all the lava had burned out of the stone. The man-creature took Prometheus’ shoulder and looked into his eyes.

“Maker,” he spoke, a smile spreading over his mouth.

Prometheus’ eyes filled with tears and he smiled back.

“Yes. Yes!”

Prometheus dug into his pocket and removed the stone for the other creature. “Lovely creature,” it read.

“Thank you for bringing this to my bedside while I slept,” he told Epimetheus, holding up the stone. He lit the stone afire and held it under a stalk in his hand. He gave the torch to Epimetheus. “Make more of these man-creatures with their stone — the living gift. I must go to my side of the river, and fashion a passionate, lovely creature.”

“Prometheus, wait!”

He looked at Epimetheus.

“What is that sound?”

Prometheus looked up, the sky filled with black dots in the distance, growing bigger every second.

“He is here! I must be quick. Do your work, Epimetheus! You shall not be punished, I will see to that. Zeus will take the fire. You must create as many man-creatures as you can. Haste!”

Prometheus dove into the river and swam across. The dumb creature was stirring the pot of clay, keeping it from drying. Prometheus poured the clay into the mold for the lovely creature and stuck the fiery stone in the middle of the brown sludge

She came forth from the mold. She stood up, skin drying in the heat, and eyes facing the sun. The pounding of drums filled the air as the heavenly chariots filled the atmosphere.

Prometheus took his lovely creature’s hand and stared into her eyes. Sooner than the man-creature's did they fill with fire. She looked at him and smiled. She reached into her mouth and removed the steaming rock, placing it in Prometheus’ shaking hand.

“Father,” she said.

“Yes, yes!” He said, “My lovely creature.”

“You are afraid.”

“Yes, yes,” Prometheus said, his whole body shaking, tears filling his eyes. “They are coming.”

Epimetheus waded across the river, torch in hand. He stopped before the woman.

“What is this lovely creature whose eyes are filled with fire, and smile so lovely to melt my stoney heart?”

She smiled at Epimetheus. Prometheus took the stone and relit it. He ordered the dumb creature to fill the mold with mud. He threw the flaming stone into the mud.

“She will come about on her own. They are almost here, we must hurry.” He handed the fire back to Epimetheus and took the lovely creature by the hand. They waded across the water together.

“When I am gone, Epimetheus, Zeus will return and offer you gifts. You must take none, for his gifts now will only be to bring you ruin. But I, I have left you a gift,” Prometheus motioned across the river. “The second lovely creature is forming now in the stone mold. When she wakes, she will be yours, and she will burn only for you.”

The drums grew louder and louder.

“Bring him to me!” Prometheus yelled. “The first man of fire.”

Zeus' chariot smashed into the earth a few hundred feet away, with a hundred smaller chariots behind him. He ordered the chariots to be still. His face was curled into a snarl and his hands burned with a white fire that jumped and twirled around his fingers. His boot shook the earth as it hit the ground.

Epimetheus brought the man to Prometheus. Prometheus took his hand in his. In one hand he held the lovely creature of fire, and in the other, the fire gift.

“Pyradam, fashioned of earth and fire, that shall be your name,” he looked into the man’s eyes with fatherly affection.

“Yes, maker,” Pyradam bowed.

“And you, my lovely creature,” Prometheus turned to the woman, “Shall be called Pyreve — the living fire.”

“PROMETHEUS!” A deep rumbling, a terror, and a roaring voice burst the trees. “You have taken something from me, thief!” Zeus' steps grew louder and louder.

Prometheus paid no attention. His face was calm and his eyes soft as he looked at his creatures. He squeezed their hands in his own and, stepping back, joined them together.

“The fire will seal you together, and your offspring will be children of the flame, and they will rule this earth. Be at peace, my children. Be at peace, dear brother,” Prometheus spoke, Epimetheus sobbed as he felt the earth shake behind him, “All will be well.” Prometheus clenched something in his fist and ran his hand into his shirt, releasing what he held.

“I don’t understand, brother, why would you—”

“There is no time, dear Epimetheus. All will be seen in time.”

The snap of a branch stole their gaze. The great giant — the size of three men — with a white beard and olive skin, with hands that could each crush two men’s skulls in the minor exertion of his fist, was upon them.

Zeus shoved his electrified hand into Epimtheus’ chest, who was shot back into the dirt. Pyradam and Pyreve soon joined him. Zeus walked up slowly to Prometheus.

“Kneel, traitor,” Zeus whispered with a sinister wisp.

Prometheus was silent. He did not kneel, but he bent his head down.

“My lord,” he said softly.

“AHHH!” Zeus growled and slammed his hands on Prometheus’ shoulders, two snaps filled the air as his collar bones were shattered into a dozen pieces, sending his knees into the dirt. “What you have taken from me, traitor,” Zeus picked up the torch that had been knocked to the ground, "I now take from you."

Zeus leaned down, his white beard flowing to his chest, and he thrust the torch into Prometheus’ sternum. Prometheus screamed as the fire seared his skin into molten flesh. After holding the flame in his chest, Zeus’ smile burning with fury, he relinquished the torch. He looked around and walked over to Epimetheus.

“You,” he said, pointing the flame to Epimetheus’ throat. “You must pay too.”

“NO!” Prometheus growled, dragging himself through the dirt and sitting up between Zeus and Epimetheus. “He knew nothing of my plans, great god! Whatever end you had for him, spare him, and increase tenfold those pains upon my own body!”

“Hmm,” Zeus considered. “He does look the fool, Prometheus. Your brother, his eyes look no different from those dumb creatures fetching fruit over there. Yes … I will spare him. But you all,” he swung the torch from Epimetheus to Pyreve and Pyradam, “Must remember what it is to steal from a god.”

The smell of burning flesh filled the air as the chests of Epimetheus and the two creatures were set aflame.

“Never again, will a being be so foolish as to steal from me.” Zeus clasped his hand over the flame, stifling it until not even smoke rose from it. He dropped the torch to the ground. “It will never be relit again, you fools. Your theft,” he stood over Prometheus, “What has it been for? Now come,” he picked Prometheus up with one hand, “let us feed you to the underworld. Ah, better yet, let the gods decide the most ruinous fate for your miserable betrayal.”

He took Prometheus by the neck and dragged him on like a dog. As his body was drug through the dirt, Prometheus reached into his searing skin and pulled out two stones, their letters aflame with fire and covered in his blood.

He turned and drew the gaze of his brother, his son, and daughter, and let out a small chuckle as he slipped the stones to the earth. He nodded at his brother and turned back, Zeus’ captive.

As the legion of chariots filled the air, Epimetheus kneeled in the dirt, watching as his brother ascended to the heavens, soon to find his hell. The creatures kneeled by Epimtheus’ side, catching his tears as they fell from his cheek.

When the sky was clear, Epimetheus took up the burning stones covered with his brother’s blood. He placed them atop the torch. The torch sparked and roared into a great fire, the eternal fire never again to be extinguished.

Epimetheus heard a small noise behind him. The second fiery, lovely creature was wading across the water, looking at him with sad, innocent eyes.

“My love,” she spoke. “You weep in sorrow for the loss of one you love,” and kissed him.

After the sun had set, black clouds concealed the moonlight in the darkness. Epimetheus stood over the empty mold in the rock, holding the eternal torch in one hand, and twirling the two stones in the other.

He placed the stones on the rock and felt the seared, bubbled skin on his chest. He turned behind him and saw Pyradam and Pyreve approaching. The raw scars on their chest shimmered in the firelight.

They drew close and stood behind Epimetheus.

“What would you have us do, young maker?”

Epimetheus sat down on the rock facing them and placed his head in his hand.

"What can we do, young creatures? Your creator is gone, bound to some eternal torture, no doubt. All for this,” he held up the torch, then dropped it to the dirt and placed his head into his chest. “All for nothing.”

Pyradam kneeled down and picked up a small pebble from the ground. With a jagged rock, he etched letters onto the stone.

“Do you not see the young maker?”

Pyreve brought the torch and lit the smooth rock.

“Would Zeus not fear the fire unless it was a threat?” Pyreve said.

Pyradam kneeled before Epimetheus.

“Trust me, young maker.” He put out his fingers and split Epimetheus’ lips. He slipped the burning rock into his mouth and held his lips shut.

Epimetheus, shaking with pain, made no sound. Pyradam released and Epimetheus spit out the steaming rock. An orange flutter sparked in Epimetheus’ eyes. Pyradam held the rock up to him.

“God killer,” it said.