Tool

It was the next morning.

“I name you Tool, for I cannot call you my friend.” Emet and Î had worked out the words together. Î didn’t like the sentence, but Emet had insisted. She said the easiest thing to remember was the truth. Î didn’t think it was the truth. Tool was cute. He had two large eyes and a chubby little body. Î had learned from her mistakes last time: instead of forcing the scroll through one of Tool’s sockets she had formed his head around it. She didn’t give him voice either, for she still felt the absence of Take’s. Because he had no voice to alert her of his presence, Î hadn’t made any part of his body invisible.

“Command him. Empty… the kiln.”

“Um… could you empty that kiln, please?” Î asked, pointing.

Tool’s base rumbled across the floor like an avalanche. Small creatures ran from his path. One deathwatch beetle failed to escape and was consumed by the churning mass, its husk was spat out a moment later. Tool surged through the low entrance of the kiln and emerged an instant later, his stick-arms filled with broken pottery and bits of glass. He dumped them on the ground and reentered the kiln. In short order he had gathered a small mountain of debris.

Emet rumbled with either approval or wistfulness, “Well done. Your will… impresses me. Next you shall fashion a golem of clay… The golem… will have a hole in its head. You will… place a scroll inside. Then you may insert the golem’s eye.”

“Golem’s eye?” Î asked, “Why only one?”

“A golem’s eye is not… the eye it sees with. It guards its scroll. It hides it.”

“Why does its scroll need to be hidden?”

“If a golem’s scroll… is destroyed… so too is the golem. Weakness… is best kept… hidden.”

Î felt as though that comment had been directed at her. She wasn’t weak. She resolved not to cry in front of Emet ever again, even if Tool died.

“When do we start?”

“Immediately. Do you… know how to make clay?” Emet asked.

Î didn’t know you had to make clay. She thought it came out of the ground. She shook her head.

Damp air hissed from the wall’s colossal lips, “We do not have time for you to learn. I will teach your golems… You must take from Rebeka’s stores. Go… to the wall opposite, carved in lead. The edge may be… pulled open.”

Î didn’t fancy a journey all the way to the end of the room. However, the way Tool had pushed through everything in his path gave her an idea.

“Tool, can you go to that wall over there?”

Tool plowed through a mound of black sand, tossed aside a stack of wax boxes filled with wooden candles, and squashed a rat’s tail before it managed to escape.

Î followed in Tool’s wake, arriving at the opposite wall in seconds. She let out a whoop and clapped excitedly. That was the most incredible thing she’d ever done! Emet chuckled behind her. Î felt like a proper kineser for the first time.

“The catch is on… the left… side.”

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Î worked her fingers along the edge of the wall. Sure enough, there was a slight lip. She managed to fit her fourth finger behind it. She tugged, and half the wall swung open like a well-oiled door. Behind it was a small room stacked high with clay, more than Î thought she could ever use. She entered the room to gather some bricks. The wall promptly swung shut behind her. Î experienced a moment of panic. Was she trapped here? How would she leave? She scrabbled at the door, which swung open as easy as before. Î lost her balance and fell to the floor. She stood, feeling silly.

“Lead… remembers its form. The wall always wishes… to be a wall.”

Î wished Emet didn’t have to comment on everything. It was embarrassing enough falling on her face, she didn’t need to be reminded people were watching. Î gathered as many bricks as she could carry and brought them back to Emet.

“Many will be needed. Return to the store.”

Six more trips later, Emet was finally satisfied. Î stretched her aching back.

“Now… shape the clay. Give it form to hold… the breath of life.”

Despite Tool and Emet’s company, Î felt lonely in the cave. Emet was a wall, sworn to teach, and Tool was a blob with twigs sticking out of him, sworn to serve. She wanted someone more familiar. A golem who could be her friend. Î arranged the bricks into the rough shape of torso and limbs. Then, as best she could, she shaped them into the form of a maiden child her own age. Under Emet’s instruction she also removed a cylinder of clay from the girl’s forehead and formed it into a sphere. This was to be the golem’s eye.

“Have you shaped clay before?” Emet breathed.

Î shook her head. The only other time she’d tried to make a sculpture of any sort was when Lanet had tried to teach her whittling, and that had failed miserably.

“You are a natural… Next—”

“Now I cover her in runes, right?” Î interrupted excitedly.

“The runes need not be carved… at a specific time…but once clay is fired only steel will be hard enough… to scratch its surface. Carve now in bronze… noble tool.”

“What does that mean?”

“Like that which is carved in copper… will learn, that which is carved in bronze will be honourable… and kind.”

“Were your runes carved in bronze?” Î asked, reaching out to trace the faded runes upon Emet’s body.

“No…” Emet whispered, slow and sad, “Another time… You must bind the eye to its forehead. Then… you may carve what symbols you would.”

Î got the feeling Emet was trying to change the subject, but she didn’t push. She’d need all her concentration for this next task. She ringed the golem’s eye with binding runes, and then mirrored them about the edge of the hole in its forehead. She debated about giving the golem a voice, but finally decided it would be difficult to be her friend without one, so she placed a voice rune on her throat. She put strength runes on her arms and legs so she could support her own weight. Then, as she had done with Tool and Take, she placed binding runes at each joint in case one of the golem’s arms fell off. At Emet’s insistence she painstakingly blanketed the body with the repair runes.

“The slightest mistake… will destroy your golem. Apply the runes with care.”

Î wished Emet had told her that before she started. She didn’t dare breath every time she carved a repair rune. Her painstaking care cost her the better part of the day, but she managed not to undo all her hard work. Finally, more because she liked the look of it, rather than for any real purpose, Î placed image runes on the golem’s hands, down its arms, on its eye, across its legs, and over its torso. She stepped back, exhausted, a feeling of pride growing in her chest.

“Now… Flip the golem over, and carve runes on… the other side.”

Î nearly collapsed right there, but she remembered her resolution to not cry in front of Emet, or look weak. She paced back and forth a few times to revive herself, and then got back to work.

Many hours later she finished her last rune, Speed, written on the golem’s calf. She stood, wobbling as all the blood in her body rushed to her feet.

“Are we done yet?” Î asked drunkenly.

“Place the golem… in the kiln.”

“How?” The golem was equal to her in size and much heavier.

“I... do not know. Rebeka… had golems to carry them for her.”

Î was struck by an idea so brilliant it woke her from her daze. She ran to the base of the stairs.

“Gar!”