Take

Î circled one arm of her golem with a bind rune. Then she mirrored it around the arm’s socket. She pulled on the arm to test it. Î smiled in wonder. It was stuck fast to the mound of earth. Î carved the opposite arm in a similar manner, then ringed the base of the golem’s body with runes of speed. So small were the looping runes, it took a full two dozen to surround the golem, yet not one was done incorrectly. Emet let out a low sigh.

“The orb chose well.”

Î was so focused on keeping her hand steady that she didn’t consciously register Emet’s words. She heard them, but they were in the background, like the crackle of the torches or the dripping from the ceiling. Î placed four image runes around the golem’s body, equal distances apart. Then she struck a line across each rune. She had hoped for her golem to become invisible, but nothing changed.

“What happened?” Î said, “I thought a struck rune becomes its opposite.”

“It has…Your talent is masterful… greater than even… Rebeka’s. I am a golem… of truth… I cannot… lie. I cannot even… see a lie… Outside my presence… as your dress becomes clean and… its hole returns… so too will the runes do as you imagine.”

“How do I make it move?”

“Take a quill, parchment, and red ink. It is one… of the seven times seven inks which may be used to write a scroll. A golem must contain a scroll, written… with the instructions… of life.

“There are seven words… Help…Stay…Create…Grow… Travel… Destroy…” Emet’s voice faded to a whisper, “Die…”

The choice was obvious, especially after she got the ink and quill. She wished someone else could fetch her stuff, and take care of the cleaning. She bent down to the page and wrote in large blocky letters, ‘Help’.

“Good… You may write more than one word… as long as you only write one per line… but… the last… is always Die. There are seven deaths… we will talk of them later. For now… write Die… followed by Voice on the same line. Once your golem is born, speak seven words… The seventh… if heard again, will destroy your golem.”

Î did not write, Emet’s words bothered her, “Why? Why do I have to write Die?”

“Rules... must be followed… Creation ends. Death… is universal.”

“Why?”

Air hissed from Emet’s mouth, but no words came, none, at least, which Î could understand. Emet spoke a second time, “Write the word…without death you cannot live.”

A tear rolled down Î’s cheek, “This is not how it should be.”

“Golems die… as will—” the rushing winds stilled, “Write so others may live.”

Î didn’t understand, but Emet was supposed to teach her. And Emet could not lie. Hot, salty water dripped onto the page as she wrote the words. Die. Voice. Î retrieved a handful of sand from under a stack of strings bound with paper, and scattered it on the parchment. She blew on the page, then shook the sand free and rolled the scroll tight. From the outside, the stains her tears had made could not be seen.

“Place the scroll in the golem’s head.”

Î considered pushing the scroll straight through the golem’s head, but knew from past experience that it would collapse. Instead, she gently fed the scroll through one of the golem’s eyes and then brushed dirt over the opening. Î stared at the funny looking golem. Even with the scroll in its head, it failed to stare back.

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“It’s still not moving.”

“A golem lives… is born, upon hearing its name. Names carry emotion, emotion defines life… Seven names a golem may have, but one… is all they may call their own. Name the golem after one of the emotions.”

“What are the emotions?”

“I remember not…save three: Sadness… Emptiness… Wonder…”

“Wonder sounds nice.”

“A golem with wonder is as a human…useless.”

Î frowned, “So I need a name which sounds empty?”

“Or sad…”

Î thought about it. People said her own name meant “Nothing” but she didn’t think so. She thought the emptiest feeling in the world was when someone left, or when something was taken from you. “What about Take?”

“Name it…”

“You are Take.”

The ball of dirt did not move, in fact nothing changed, but Î felt the golem come to life. It was like the difference between a tree and a rolling stone. One was alive though it didn’t move, and the other moved despite having never lived.

“Speak seven words.”

“Which words should I use? I was thinking—”

The cavern rumbled. Emet was laughing again, “You have said your seven… speak not the seventh… should the golem hear… it will be destroyed.”

Î tried to recall what she had said. She counted off the words on her fingers.

“Which…words…should…I…use…I…w—.” She looked at Emet, “But I wanted to choose a word I don’t say all the time!”

“You… will learn. Now… practice with Take. Command it.”

“Take, can you put this inkwell on that shelf over there?”

“I will try.” The voice caught Î off guard. Take didn’t sigh like Emet, nor did his lips move, for Î had not made him a mouth. Instead, a pleasant monotone voice of a young man emanated from the golem.

Take’s arms began waving about the inkwell, testing the possible ways two thin pieces of wood may grasp a glass jar. He decided on placing an arm under either side of the lip of the inkwell. This allowed him to lift it slightly off the ground.

In the same moment Take secured the inkwell, he began to move. He sped underneath the tables, heedless of the obstacles he passed over. Insects and straw flattened underneath his body without slowing him. Half way across the room his body left Emet’s presence and vanished. Î laughed. His head had remained, making him look like a floating ball of dirt. Take deposited the inkwell and returned to her. The whole process had taken less than half a minute.

Putrefied air whistled from Emet’s mouth, “That… was well done…Now go… We will continue… in the morning…”

Pride warmed Î from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She turned to Take. “Can you carry me up the stairs?”

He did not move. One of his arms had fallen out, and his head sagged.

Emet sighed, low and mournful, “It is dead. Remove… the scroll.”

Î retrieved Take’s scroll, causing half his head to fall away. The parchment was black as though burned, and no words were visible.

“I… apologize. The body… may be salvaged. To restore runes you need… only touch them, for you are a kineser, and then runes… are yours… You will write… a new scroll… tomorrow.”

Î nodded bitterly and left, leaving her tools where she had dropped them. Gar was standing on the other side of the door.

“Didn’t seem right to leave you alone,” he said apologetically, “After I walked down with you the one time I decided it wasn’t so bad. I figured, if my job is to protect you, I could do better from the bottom of the stairs than the top.

Î pushed past Gar, head down. He followed her.

“I saw that creature you made wiz past! It was like when I was a kid! Like Rebeka! You’ve got real talent miss.”

Î said nothing, and began crawling up the first step.

“I… What’s wrong?”

Î was afraid she word burst into tears if she tried to talk, so she just shrugged.

“Listen… Tell you what. I’ll carry you up those stairs and get you to bed. Things always seem better in the morning. How’s that sound, eh?”

Î blinked, then nodded. She reached out her arms towards Gar. He took them, and lifted her into his own. The journey up the stairs was longer than normal, but Î didn’t mind. She was safe, and no harm would come to her. Gar spoke to her softly, but she didn’t listen. The rocking of his steps and warmth of his chest lulled her into a much needed sleep. Î let out a happy sigh, and knew no more.