Part 65

"Lad, you must never tell a soul of this task. As Zeus, master of the universe, I make no mistakes. But, at an earlier time, I took an action that I have since regretted. Prometheus, the giver of fire, as you earthlings know him. I punished him severely. Even to this day he suffers."

Zeus seemed to be downcast. "Anyway, the fire he gave to man has burned out, flickered out, been blown out - whatever. Yet, after careful thought, I have decided that man should have fire. Prometheus must be freed to once again pass a lighted brand to mankind. I can't free him, as that would cast doubt on my infallibility. So, you do it. Off with you, now!"

There is a mountain, far removed from human haunts. There, time after time, a tragedy repeats itself. Prometheus, the giant benefactor to mankind, waits. Chains bind him to the mountain. He waits and watches, watches the sky.

High in the sky, barely visible, a black dot can be seen. Suddenly it falls, faster and faster, and as suddenly slows, wings widespread. An eagle. A giant bird, with fierce talons, merciless curved beak, strikes at the helpless captor.

Its talons rip, its beak slashes, and Prometheus gasps in pain. The eagle tears at skin and muscle, at bone, and finally tears from living flesh an organ. It flies away, the liver of its victim in its beak.

Day ends, night passes, an lo the body of Prometheus has healed. And now he waits again the coming of the eagle.

Demo began his hike to the Edge of the World, that region where juts the great mountain upward to the sky.

He carried with him dried venison. No bread had he. Mankind's fires were no more. Raw fruit and vegetables. Sun dried meat and fish.

At home his Mother sat before the stove, her frustration plain on her red face. Without fire she could not cook. Without fire the night became ever dark, and days were too short.

Prometheus must be freed!

"These boltcutters will handle any chains you'll run into, young man. Well tempered metal, endorsed by Vulcan when he started this franchise. His personal guarantee on every one sold. Money back, no questions asked, if you aren't satisfied. Now, what more could you ask?" The salesman was solicitous and persistent.

Finally Demo nodded, paid the asking price, and added the boltcutter to his pouch of goodies.

He had chanced on the Vulcan Franchised Technology hardware store while passing through the village. Fortunately it carried the type of equipment he required.

"And keep in mind, with the extinguished fires, there'll be no more of these produced. It'll become a collector's item, worth much more than the original cost. You are getting a bargain!"

The sight of the giant, some scars still open and bleeding, brought tears to Demo's eyes. Quickly he climbed upward, reached the cliff to which Prometheus was pinned.

Demo looked at the chains, at his boltcutter.

It was too small!

He examined the pitons that maintained the chains in place. Hammered deep in the rock, they seemed mounted to last forever. Demo shook his head. What could be done?

At that moment he heard a strange sound, growing ever louder. Looking upward he saw an object. It fell from the sky, swifter and swifter still.

And then, wings spread, in eagle form it lashed at its assigned prey!

The mountains trembled at the thunderous scream of the tortured giant. He quivered, threw himself against the bonds that held him!

Agony on his face, he screamed once more!

Demo put hands over ears to escape the misery and pain that voice held. It did not suffice!

He looked, grief-stricken, at the bleeding, gaping wound. He gazed in wonder at the pain-filled face, the reddened eyes!

Prometheus eyes closed. Sweat poured from his brow. Slowly he slipped down, unconscious from the pain. Only the chains supported him.

"Zeus, that you could impose such horror! I cannot understand! But he shall be freed! I must act quickly!" Demo talked to himself as he worked.

Though his boltcutter was useless Demo was not ready to give up. He took hammer and metal chisels from his pack, began to work on the most worn of the links of chain.

Even as he worked he noted the change in Prometheus. The wound healed! By nightfall no sign remained, except the fearful scars, to show that the vicious attack had ever occurred!