August 31 - Golem

Kirsten shivered. The purple robe she wore was thick and hot, but the stones of the corridor were cold to her bare feet. It was more than just the cold that made her tremble, however, for she was being led to the most difficult and important trial that she had ever faced, one she had been preparing for ever since her eighth birthday. Today her golem would go to war.

 She had been a child the first time she saw the great machines. The ones she had seen were half again as tall as a man, and twice as wide. Constructed out of shining steel and supple leather, with gold inlays upon their armoured shoulders. Upon their backs were the black swords of her fair nation’s flag. As she watched them march away, each glittering in the sun and perfectly timed with all the rest, she knew that she had found her life’s work.

 She studied smithing and smelting, learning the secrets of hammer and crucible. She took copper and iron as lovers and learned their every whim and desire. She learned how to mould them, direct them, and, if need be, how to break them. Her arms grew strong and her mind stronger, as she studied stresses, substances, and mathematics. And because her golem would not be an engine of peace, she also devoted herself to combat, armed and otherwise, and the history and tactics of war. Her very first creation, made at the age of seventeen, was in the image of a hound. When she infused it with life it rose. Wobbling and leaky, but it rose all the same. It was then that she began preparations for her life’s greatest effort.

 Kirsten spent five years designing it. She had designs for every component, from the heavy armoured vambrace to one of the thousands of fluid valves in its right leg. Her sketches fills books, and they in turn filled shelf upon shelf of her workshop, as each part she meticulously built, tested, and refined. She drove herself relentlessly, for her golem must not merely be functional, but efficient. Not merely strong, but a fortress. Not merely fast, but graceful as well. She would accept nothing less than perfection.

Then it was time to begin construction. She had many parts already made, but would not accept them, for at some point, whether it in the smelting or mining, they had been touched by others’ hands and thus could not be guaranteed to be perfect. She joined the miners in their dark pits, swinging the heavy pickaxe with the same facility she had shown with hammer and sword. She refined her ores in a crucible of her own making, with materials she herself had gathered. When she shaped them, it was with tools of her own creation, in a workshop built by her hands alone. Slowly, ever so slowly, her golem took shape beneath her hands. Its legs were long, but solid, and ended in a broad foot. The chest was pointed, like the prow of a ship, large plates cascaded down each shoulder. The left forearm was shaped into a wide vambrace, big enough to be a shield. Obsidian eyes glittered impassively in the huge head, behind a smooth faceplate. She set the core low in the torso, almost in the belly, not high up or in the head like she had seen others do. At last, it was finished. Beautiful in its simplicity, and through the perfection of its utility. It was time.

 So she walked, shivering, in a scratchy robe, towards her golem, and its final activation. She stepped into her workshop, once cluttered beyond reason with tools and books and other paraphernalia, now stripped bare of all except the necessities, her pride and joy, and her. She stepped forward and opened the great chestplate and the layers beneath, alternating and interlocking for maximum protection, to reveal the crystal that lay at its core. With that, she took up a fine charcoal stick and began the ritual, inscribing the runes on the inner surface of her golem’s chest. Gul’yane, Haelvenoch, Hahaweh, Piretsu, Shekik, Folgadur… The list went on, the lines of each character meshing with those that came before, growing ever larger and ever more complex, forming a perfect geometry. Sweat coursed down her face, but her hand held steady, for each line must be placed with the utmost precision. At last, after hours of work, the design was done. Black lines covered every plane and curve of her beloved creation, sharp against the sheen of the metal. Kirsten drew a shaking breath, and began the final part. She took a long spike of crystal, exact in colour to the one that lay at the heart of her creation, upon which she rapped it sharply. Both cried out in unison, and in perfect harmony. With trembling hands she took the vibrating crystal and raised it behind her head. With a sudden, explosive, exhalation, she stabbed it through the base of her skull and buried it deep in her brain.

She collapsed on the floor, hot blood pouring down her neck. The crystal vibrated still, and it seemed as if it would split her head in two. The pain was excruciation, her throat was soon scraped raw from her screams. Her fingertips became cold, and then numb, and an icy fire raced over her body. When it reached her head, her vision went dark, and she knew no more.

 Silver hands twitched. They clenched, and wood squeaked in complaint as the huge steel body sat up on the workshop bench. Flat obsidian eyes looked around, taking in the shelves, the tools, the lifeless corpse on the floor. Delicately, the golem closed the layers of armour around its core, then took up a rag and wiped the charcoal from its body. It took some care with the body on the floor, arranging it neatly and then mopping up the blood on the floor. It didn’t wobble as it walked, and it didn’t leak. It stepped lightly, and with hardly a sound, and each movement was smooth. The golem opened the workshop door and strode outside.

Clad in shining steel, and with a crystal as her heart, Kirsten marched to war.