The Roth siblings reluctantly broke their hug knowing that their time together was growing shorter.
Alex stepped away from his sister, placing his hands on her shoulders. His eyes held hers. “You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever known, Selina, and I want you to never forget that. Remember that when you think about me, and remember how much I love you. I’ll miss you, and I’ll come back home. I promise.”
Selina sniffled, looking up at him with her large, green eyes.
Alex took a moment, taking in her face, really looking at her, committing her to memory.
She’d grown a lot over their two years in Generasi. She was taller and leaner. Her face was changing, shifting from round, pudgy and childlike, to the angular face of the young woman she would be. There was still more ‘child’ there than adult, but that would change with time.
He knew that if he was gone long enough, she might barely be recognisable when he got back.
That thought stung. Deeply.
“You’re the bravest person I know, Alex, and I’m glad you’re my brother,” Selina told him. “I love you, and that’s why you have to come back. Soon!”
“I will, Selina, I will,” he promised again, stepping back.
Sniffling, she walked to Claygon, cuddling against the iron golem. A surge of emotion flooded their link as the golem placed a hand on her shoulder.
Alex turned to Brutus who was sitting beside his master.
“Goodbye, boy,” he said to the cerberus, wondering if the hound truly understood. He hugged the cerberus’ thick middle neck, then almost laughed; two years ago, Brutus would have lunged at him if he’d tried to touch him, never mind hug him. Theresa had been right, as she often was; a little respect had mended the bridge between them long ago.
Brutus licked Alex’s face, those big, brown eyes staring into the young wizard’s until Alex’s gaze drifted away.
He looked up at Claygon.
The golem was watching him intently.
Anger seethed through their link, along with a deep well of sadness.
“I…am here…to protect you…father…” he said, his voice like that of a scared young child. “You and Selina…made me for that…”
Alex placed a hand on the golem’s arm. “That’s true, but you’re so much more than that, buddy. You’re a singer, you’re my friend, you’re a warrior, you’re part of my family. Any father would be lucky to have you for a son. You’re so much more than a golem that’s only there to protect me. You’re not my slave, you’re not just my golem: you’re Claygon. You can choose to do what you want, beyond what you were made for.”
Smiling sadly, Alex tapped his Marked shoulder. “Look at me, I was supposed to be a clown, a servant and counsellor for other people, for the Heroes and all of Thameland. But here I am, doing things my way. You have to do things your way, buddy; you have to be more than my protector while I'm gone.”
“You’re…wrong.”
“Wait, what now? What do you mean?”
“You’re…wrong…father,” Claygon said. Waves of sorrow poured through their link, tinged with anger. Anger that was directed at Alex. “I know…all of that…already. I know…what I am. I know…what you made me for…and I know that I can do…as I want.”
Claygon looked directly into Alex’s eyes and—though his were forged of iron—the young wizard could have sworn the golem’s eyes were alive. Truly alive. “I don’t…know…if I can…resist you…if you forced me to do…something. We are…linked…and I have always…followed what you’ve…told me to do…and I don’t know…what would happen…if I refused.”
“Huh,” Alex said. “I don’t know either. We’re still connected, but you have your own mind and your heart is made from a dungeon core’s essence. You’ve already evolved twice; honestly, Claygon, I don’t know whatyou’re capable of. That’s one of the many, many reasons I say you’re more than my protect—”
“You’re…wrong…father!” Claygon suddenly shouted.
Selina startled, recoiling from the golem, stumbling and falling. “Ooof!”
Below, chair legs scraped across wood.
Theresa startled.
Brutus jumped to his feet, barking.
Alex was stunned into silence.
Burning anger poured through the link.
“I am your…protector…not because…you made me that way!” the golem shouted. “You…made me…but I am my own…person! And I…want to protect you father! I choose you…I choose to protect Selina…Theresa…Brutus…my family. I choose to protect…Khalik…Isolde…Thundar…the Heroes…my friends. It’s what I choose to do. I am not…some…slave that you have to ‘set free’...father. I am…Claygon. I am…your buddy…your…child. I choose to protect you…and that’s why…this hurts so much. Because…”
The golem shook, his head tilting down.
“I…cannot…come with you…you are right. If I come with you…then Selina…might get hurt or…die.” Terror poured through the link at those words. “...if the church…comes here… You go…and I cannot follow. It doesn’t hurt because…I am some unthinking thing…that has to go with you…it hurts…because…because…”
His four hands balled into fists.
“Because I want…to go…with you! I desperately…want…to go! But…I choose…to stay…because I have to. And…father…it hurts so much…to think of you…by yourself…with those ‘people’ hunting you…”
Suddenly, a bitter laugh erupted from Claygon’s voice box.
Alex recoiled.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
The sound wasn’t human, nor even mortal. It wasn’t like any noise a living being could make. If iron could laugh, that would be its sound; cold, metal scraping together, creating a noise that was all edges and blood.
A dreadful sound that chilled the heart.
“They…are living things…born things!” Claygon raised his hands above his head. “They…are born from mothers…from fathers! They are mortals!”
“W-who?” Selina asked.
“The church…!” Claygon’s voice was still that terrible, grating, iron sound. “They are people…not constructs of…clay…metal…or stone! They are flesh! They eat…they sleep! They do not wonder…if they have a soul! They do not…wonder…what will become of them…if they are destroyed! They know!”
Heat and light flared in the fire-gem in his forehead.
“My body…is a tool to destroy…and to build…if I wish. But…it is not flesh…what I can do…is limited. I will live…maybe…forever. But…I do not have the choices…people do. There are things…they cannot do…that I can…but things…they can do…that I never…could. More…that they can do…by my reckoning. They can choose so…many things.”
That metallic growl grew deeper. Darker.
“But…they do not choose!” he screamed, a tearing sound like iron armour crumpling. “They…do not…choose anything! They…serve! Only…serve! No matter…what that means…not questioning…not thinking…only hurting!”
He suddenly pointed through the window, to Shale’s workshop. “Shale…treats her golems…like she treats her tools…because they are…tools to her. They have…no minds. They cannot choose…they can only do…or…if she does not give them an order…just…stand in silence. They are…only tools to her…but how are these ‘people’ of that hidden church…any different?”
There was a terrible clang as he smashed one fist against the other. “The…priests…I know…they were our enemies…because…they were hunting my father…but they think! That one…that served the king…Tobias Jay…he thought! He lives a life of service…to his king…and dead god…but he thought! He chose how…and he chose what…he thought was right! The king serves his god…and people…but he chose to let father go…Merzhin…chooses differently…after Carey…died. The priests…I saw them…do good…in the Heroes’ camp…earlier. They choose…and they help. I think…Baelin is wrong.”
“What? What do you mean?” Theresa asked.
“I am…not sure…no…I am sure. Not all…deities are…parasites…some are bad…some are good…some are…regular. I’ve seen…what Uldar did…it is evil…Uldar also did good…maybe for faith. I have read of deities…that do good…or that…do as nature does. They do not seem evil…and Hannah isn’t evil…and neither is Carey. Carey serves her…but she thinks for herself too…but no…that’s not right either…”
He paused, his emotions a whirling storm through their link.
“I…have met people that think deeply…I have met people that only…think with their stomachs or instincts. Some people…think…others do. But people do different things…as they need to…they do not…just keep doing the same thing…like unthinking tools…except for those hate filled…followers…of the hidden church! They do not think! They do nothing…but only what…their dead god…once…told them…and don’t adjust…even if that means…doing terrible things…that they are not supposed to do…! They are no better than…Shale’s golems…or her tools! They are no…better!”
Claygon screamed. “They were not made…from steel, clay…or stone! They were born from flesh…they were born with minds…but they act…like they have no minds at all! They act…mindlessly! I hate them…for that! Look at me…I am choosing to do…what I don’t want to do…because it is the right thing! I am choosing against…the purpose I have chosen for myself…because it is the right thing! And it hurts…so much But I am doing…it! Merzhin did…it! Why won’t they? There would be so much less pain…if they did…why won’t they? If they did…then father…wouldn’t have to go…to the north…to the dark…into danger…by himself! So why. Won’t. They!”
His scream ripped through the air, breathless and filled with an unending fury.
Through the link, Alex could feel an emotion that he’d never truly felt from Claygon before…
…hate.
True and utter hatred.
It was like acid, burning, corroding.
The young wizard swallowed; this was the hate of metal. Unending.
Or…not?
It began to fade, calming to a dull anger. A resentment. A sadness.
“Don’t worry…father…I will do…what needs to be done…I will…let you go…even if it hurts…but answer me…” He looked at Alex. “Why…don’t they choose better?”
The Thameish wizard’s mouth opened and closed.
An old memory rose from the deepest mists of his mind.
He was in the kitchen with his father early one morning, with the sunlight streaming through a foggy window. His father had been cutting carrots, and Alex clearly remembered the sound of the knife running along the cutting board.
He’d looked up from the potatoes he’d been peeling and asked his father. “Why do people die?”
The knife had stopped moving. His father was still for a moment, and Alex hadn’t understood why.
Then, with a small smile, he’d turned to him and said.
“It's because we're mortal, son, and sometimes that's the only reason for anything.”
“But why do mortals die, father?”
“Here son, you're doing a good job with those potatoes. How about a cookie?”
“Oh, thanks Dad!”
Alex had devoured his cookie happily, quickly forgetting his questions about life and death; it was only now that he realised what his father had done.
‘He distracted me, Dad never had a real answer,’ he thought. ‘How could anyone? When he froze like that, he was probably panicking…just like I am now. Huh.’
In that moment, Alex felt like he understood his father better than he ever had before.
“Claygon…” He paused, searching his thoughts. “I don't know why people do what they do. I don't think even the deities and archwizards of the world know why some people choose hurt and some don’t. If they did… maybe this would be a better world.”
He sighed. “Or maybe not. I don’t know. I wish I could tell you why they kill for a dead god. Or even a living one; I mean, they do a lot of awful things…” He shook his head. “I wish I could tell you why Uldar built the Ravener…not to help Thameland, but to kill his people over and over again—people who trust him, who believe in his goodness—but I’ll never understand. I'm not sure if I even want to.”
“I see… maybe it's…more comfortable for them…they don't have to think. They don't have to decide…they don't have to feel the pain of deciding…like I do now…” Claygon said, his voice returning to that of a small child.
Alex swallowed. “Maybe you're right, buddy, maybe you're right. This decision hurts me too. It hurts me a lot.”
He took a step forward, his arms spreading to hug Claygon.
Somebody cleared their throat.
“Um, is this a bad time?” Bjorgrund filled the doorway, eyes wide. “I heard shouting and some kind of loud bang, and I thought…well…that you were in trouble?” His eyes fell on Selina. “Um, do you need a hand, small child?”
The young girl gaped at the giant, then slowly turned to her brother. “Alex, who is this?”
“Um, um, I’m Bjorgrund,” the young giant muttered. “Uh, sorry for disturbing you all.”
“I told you not to interfere!” Birger’s voice called from somewhere below. He sounded like he was standing at the bottom of the stairs.
Selina's eyebrows rose.
“Well, Selina,” Alex cleared his throat. “This is Bjorgrund and… Birger…his father…is downstairs. They’re, um…new friends we met in the Empire.”
“Okay…new friends…we keep making those…okay,” the young girl said, though she looked a little wild around the eyes. She turned to the young giant at the door. “I’m Selina…welcome to our home.”
Gingerly, she reached for the giant’s hand.
With a single swift yank, he helped her to her feet. Selina yelped. “Yikes!”
“Oh, sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you!” He recoiled. “It’s just, uh, I've never really met anyone so small before…and…you know what? I’m just going to go now.”
“That's okay, I—”
“Goodbye!” The young giant quickly turned and fled, thundering down the steps, drawing a cry of alarm from his father.
“By my ancestors, watch where you're going, son!” Birger’s crutch thumped across the wood. “You're liable to crush me!”
“Sorry, father!”
“Don't apologise, just shut the door! You left it open! Blast it, son, give these people their privacy!”
“Yes, father!”
Bjorgrund scrambled back up stairs, bowed his head in apology, then with a heavy bang, the door slammed.
Silence descended on the room, draining some of the tension away.
“Ah, he seems nice,” the young girl gave a strained, confused smile, looking like she wished she was in bed.
She suddenly frowned.
“Um, we have a problem… If there's people who could come here to hurt me, then I can't stay in our home. Not anymore.”
“That’s why you’ll be going to our old apartment in the insula,” Alex said.
Selina’s eyes hardened like emeralds. “I can’t go there either. Not ever.”