The Yesaf river was said to be a holy place. Not just because of its life-giving waters that sustained crops and housed dozens of species of fish, but because it was the only place in the world where gray clay could be found. To an ordinary person, gray clay wasn’t very impressive. It didn’t make good brick material, so it could not be used to build houses or shops, and it was too difficult for craftsmen to make pottery out of. Sages were the only ones who could make real use of it, because they were schooled in the Written Arts, and they used gray clay to make their golems. They had access to sacred tools that brick masons and craftsmen were forbidden to use, so sculpting the material was a feasible task. But a mere sculpture of gray clay was not a golem without an Inscription. Sages spent decades mastering the Written Arts so that every Inscription they made was perfectly precise, for a single stroke in the wrong direction could turn a golem designed to be a guardian into a mass murderer.
The Golem knew nothing before the completion of his Inscription, for he was nothing but an empty mass of gray clay brimming with the potential to be anything. He was fashioned with a body that resembled a human man; tall, muscular, and broad, although with no hair and gray skin. His eyes were a dark slate gray that stared blankly with not a trace of life behind them.
He only remembered the moment after the sage, Efraim, carved the Inscription on his forehead and read it aloud. It was the Inscription of a killer. He was to be a War Golem, designed to be used in place of human soldiers in battle. He didn’t understand this at first until Efraim explained this to him. The Golem was told how he was made and what he was made for, and then the training began.
Every day Efraim would lead the Golem from his study, down the spiral stone staircase and through a round door which led to what Efraim referred to as the training grounds. Unlike other rooms in Efraim’s tower, the floor was free of any rugs, giving the Golem full view of each of the bricks. Along the walls were racks of weapons, armor, and shields, all clearly made with immaculate craftsmanship. Scattered throughout the room were various training dummies made from wood. Some were merely rectangular, while others were made to resemble a person. Efraim instructed the Golem to grab a sword from the rack and ordered him to strike at the closest dummy.
The Golem constantly felt his creator’s commands in his mind. It was a peace of sorts, the knowledge that his life was planned since before its inception made sense. It was natural to follow orders and perform the sage’s many tests and trials.
“This is all in the service of your divine purpose,” Efraim would say to him.
Back then the Golem didn’t fully understand his purpose, only that his purpose was to follow orders with no exceptions. And to his credit, he did. When Efraim told him to strike a training target, he did so. When Efraim told him to lift a shield to practice defense, he did so as well. However, when there were no orders from the sage the Golem could simply be, but what would have felt peaceful to most humans, time to oneself, made him restless. How could he fulfill his purpose without orders?
Eventually the Golem realized that if it was not explicitly given a command that he could do as he pleased. Sometimes Efraim would leave the tower to run errands in town and the Golem would be left to his own devices. When he was brave enough to leave Efraim’s study he began wandering through the tower. It was made from blackstone, expertly polished so that the surface of each brick was smooth to the touch. On the center of the floor was an ornate burgundy rug that depicted images of men fighting on horseback to protect their king, who was located at the very center. The Golem would run his fingers across the walls as he walked through the halls, gliding over the grout between the bricks and dipping below any torch holders that lined the walls. They were the only light source besides the glass windows, but they were placed too high for the golem to reach or peer out of. They let in the sun’s rays during the day, and the Golem once spent hours playing with his shadow. At night, the torches created their own shadows, and when Efraim retired in his bedchambers the Golem would sneak outside of the study to watch the flames perform their dances on the walls.
The one thing he wished he could do was leave the tower on his own, but that was strictly forbidden. When he was out Efraim would constantly command the Golem to remain indoors, and despite his ambition he could not disobey. To satisfy his curiosity he decided to explore more than just the hallways and the windows, starting with Efraim’s bedchambers. They were not as exciting as he hoped they would be, because the room was austerely furnished with only a wooden bed, an armoire, matching wooden nightstand, and a small tub. Even the rug seemed drab compared to the ornate rug in the main hallway. This one was a faded blue color with no real patterns. The Golem looked around for a moment and left, feeling vaguely disappointed.
On a particularly dull day the Golem decided he would leave the tower and see the village for himself. The only challenge, of course, would be to make sure Efraim does not see him. The Golem went into Efraim’s bedchamber, took some of his robes and a cloak from the armoire and left the tower.
The first thing he noticed was grass. He had never seen it before, let alone felt it, and he took a moment to slide his feet along its jagged surface. He covered his face with the hood of the cloak and set off in the direction of what must have been the village, considering it was the only thing not green other than Efraim’s tower. As he approached the tall wooden gate the Golem worried that someone would stop him, but no one seemed to notice. Within the gates was a world of people that until now the Golem wasn’t aware existed. Dozens of people dressed in shades of brown, blue, red, and gray went about their business. They spoke with excited tones, examined different kinds of items, and exchanged things for them. Everyone was so absorbed in what they were doing that the Golem’s presence made little difference to them. He found a spot by a building with a low roof and took in the sounds around him, boots against gravel, the clinking of coins, distant laughter.
Eventually he heard someone say Efraim’s name. Startled, the Golem turned in the direction it came from expecting to find Efraim scowling at him, only to find a group of villagers talking. He moved closer to them to try to hear what they were saying.
“He’s supposed to be making Golems for the war! It’s been years and he has nothing to show for it,” said a man with sandy colored hair.
“Hey now,” countered a dark-haired woman, “I heard from him myself that he was making good progress just last week! It won’t do to rush these types of things, you know.
“That may well be true,” a dark-skinned man joined in, “but sages in the capital have Guardians protecting their city gates, and what do we have? Nothing! If those Orakians make it here, we’ll have nothing between them and us.”
“You idiot,” said the sandy haired man, “what would they come all the way out here for? Ale that tastes of piss and a helping of cow dung?”
“I just hope my Ernie stays off the front lines,” said the woman, “Last I heard from he was still inside the capitol, but I fear they’ll send him to the front any day now.”
“Your boy will be just fine, Ruthie,” assured the dark-skinned man. “He’s strong, just like his late father.”
The group fell quiet after that, and the Golem realized that he should return to the tower before Efraim did.
As his training continued the Golem was continually getting frustrated, feeling constrained by his orders and anxious to begin working towards his true purpose. One day, he worked up the courage to voice these concerns to Efraim.
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“You are growing impatient,” said Efraim.
“I wish to fulfill my purpose. I have nothing to do when you’re away.”
“You have yet to pass all of my tests.”
“I have passed every test you have given me. I strike and defend when you order me to, and I have even mastered conjuring stones.”
“You wish to attempt my final test then?”
“I do.”
On the day of the test the Golem was brought into the room he trained in, and the Golem was relieved by the sense of familiarity it brought. That was until Efraim entered the room with a man the Golem had never seen before. His arms were in heavy iron shackles and his face was covered. Efraim thrust the man forward and stood back.
Then he gave the order.
The Golem didn’t understand his purpose before, not really. Until then he never considered what it would feel like to inflict harm. In fact, the Golem didn’t expect to feel anything, only the satisfaction that he had followed his orders. These feelings were all new to him; regret, shame, horror, disgust, confusion, anguish, and many more swirled inside him. They were strangers demanding entrance into his mind and they would not take no for an answer. These emotions brought treacherous questions to the surface.
The realization nearly sent him to the floor, knees buckling beneath his suddenly immense weight. He wasn''t supposed to be able to think. Feel. Understand. But he did, and as his creator''s commands disappeared from his mind he was left only with fear. He wasn''t supposed to have wants, goals, or independent ideas. He was merely meant to listen and to obey. But he couldn''t now, not anymore.
Thoughts seared through his mind like fire through a field of dry grass. He stumbled, grasping at the wall with outstretched arms until he was able to regain his balance. He took a deep breath.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
The sage was watching him from the other side of the room, so if he was going to escape, he would need a distraction. Making sure his palm faced away from the sage, he grew a stone in his hand. As it grew in size, he manipulated its shape until it resembled a diamond. Once the stone grew to the size of his hand, he turned to face the sage who was regarding him with a cold look, unaware of the change that had just occurred. He launched the stone at the sage and ran, not sticking around to see if it made contact or not.
After escaping Efraim’s tower, the Golem found himself staring at the Yesaf river. How he got there was a blur, it was all he could do not to collapse again. The emotions hadn’t stopped yet despite many deep breaths and all he wanted to do was scream. Shakily, he willed his legs to walk to the beds of gray clay and sank into the material that formed his body. He ran his hand back and forth over it, hoping that his source would provide him with some answers, or a purpose. But the clay was nothing more than clay and the Golem found himself dismayed.
If this purpose was supposed to be holy, why did it feel like the opposite? The Golem had never witnessed a war, but he decided it must be a terrible thing.
Why did such an Inscription exist in a language with so many better ones? There were Guardian Golems whose purpose was to protect life, Interpreter Golems designed to create understanding between speakers of different languages, Construction Golems that could build anything from houses to farming tools, and many others. The Golem wished he had been born as one of them. Any Inscription would be better than the one carved into his forehead, an indestructible badge of destruction.
Was this truly how humans felt every day? The Golem marveled about how they could make sense of it all.
The Golem lay down flat on his back with his eyes towards the sky. He needed to make a plan. He had failed Efraim’s test, and he would be hunting for him. A failure of this magnitude would only mean one thing: Efraim would destroy his Inscription and make the necessary changes and ultimately recreate hadn’t hurt anyone he wasn’t supposed to, which Efraim would cling to in hopes of finally achieving his life’s work. Not that he wanted to, of course. If it were up to the Golem, he would never hurt another person again. He considered his attack on Efraim and realized he should not have done that. While he wasn’t aiming at Efraim there was a chance the stone could have hit him. The Golem clenched his jaw and hoped that wasn’t the case.
The Golem wondered if the best course of action was to wait for Efraim to find him. If he explained what happened maybe Efraim would understand. Perhaps he could even be reasoned with? Maybe there was some way for the Golem to exist as he is and not have to fulfill his purpose as a War Golem. The Golem sighed and shook his head. Efraim was a sage, and sages had incredibly strict rules. There was no doubt that the Golem would be reconstructed in order to fulfill his purpose if Efraim found him.
The Golem rolled over onto his stomach and faced the expanse of birch trees behind him. Their dappled barks created a seemingly endless array of unique patterns, and the Golem traced each of them with his eyes. He imagined his eyes as a paint brush and created works of art that only he could see. For the first time he felt a sense of calm. The world was bigger than Efraim’s tower. Slowly, the Golem rose to his feet and left the water and clay of his origin behind. They could not help him now. He placed his hands on the barks of the trees as he passed and listened to the sound of his feet on the dirt and grass. He continued to take deep breaths.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
The air tasted crisp on his tongue.
“I thought I might find you here,” came a voice just behind him.
The Golem turned to see Efraim standing before him. The Golem thought he should be scared, or perhaps even angry, but all he could feel was relief because he could see that Efraim was unharmed. The Golem’s attack from earlier missed him after all.
“How did you know where I was?” asked the Golem.
“If a Golem’s creator dies before they destroy their Golem’s Inscription, that Golem no longer has a purpose,” Efraim explained, “They are drawn to the Yesaf river where they will lie among the gray clay until the river erodes them until nothing remains.”
“You are not dead,” the Golem said.
“Yes, but I have lost control of you so to you I might as well be. Did you know that no one has ever made a working War Golem?”
The Golem shook his head.
“It is because only Guardians, Interpreters and Constructors came from our original scriptures. Everything after that came from experimentation. The idea of a War Golem existed merely as a theory, a theory that posited that the right words and the right strokes in tandem would create a working soldier. Hundreds of talented sages have tried, yet where they have failed, I have succeeded.
“How can I be a success when you lost control of me?”
“For precisely that reason,” said Efraim. “After decades of trial and error I have discovered the right combination of words to give you sentience. I made you like this on purpose.”
The Golem was stunned into silence as the weight of Efraim’s words crashed upon him. Efraim wanted this, all of this. He wanted the Golem to understand what he had to do, and he wanted the Golem to react with agony.
The Golem buried his face in his hands.
“Your regard for life is what makes you a viable War Golem. Sages in the past would create Inscriptions for Golems who killed without mercy and then were shocked when those Golems turned their blades against anything that drew breath.”
“You are forgetting why it is necessary. Our enemies will not rest until they have taken our country for themselves. Defeating them is the only way to ensure that our people will be safe, and having Golems as soldiers will mean that our men and women will never even have to be enlisted.”
It was then that the Golem had not truly understood his purpose. He was still protecting life, in a way, just not all life. The idea sickened him until he considered the alternative; innocent people dying, the rivers running red with their blood.
“I know it’s tragic,” said Efraim, “but this is the world we live in now. This is not about sparing lives; it’s about minimizing casualties. If we end this war quickly, less lives will be lost.”
“But people will still die.”
The Golem turned back to the Yesaf river, watching as the currents flowed freely towards their destination. The river knew its purpose, it could not question it, yet no matter how many rocks it hit along the way the water would always find its way to the ocean. The Golem found himself desperately wanting to return to that sense of peace he once had. Becoming a soldier would be no easy task, but he remembered the time he visited the village and the woman who feared for her son.
The Golem decided that if he was to take lives, he would do so painlessly as possible. In the end, that’s all a person can ever wish for, a painless end.