Obey_No Limb Can Bear [Complete]

“Golems… may be made from one of seven materials,” Emet was saying.

Î didn’t bother looking up from where she was doodling in the dirt. She knew how the lesson was going to go. Emet would talk about seven of something, and then she’d start talking about the seven runes again, and then Î would spend all day practicing them.

“The first… is earth.”

Î drew a little stick man in the dirt and gave him a staff. She missed Lanet. She counted off the days, trying to remember how long ago he’d left: Two, three, four. Four days. He said he’d try to stop by sometimes. Maybe it would be soon.

“We will begin there. Fashion a body… from the ground.”

Î perked up, dropping her stick. This was new.

“Can I use this dirt?” Î asked, scraping some of the damp soil into a small mound, “What does the body need to look like?”

“Yes… The form is yours to choose. You are… the kineser.”

Î didn’t know how to make a body out of dirt, but every winter before Lanet had come, Î and her father had made snowmen. Î could do that. She gathered a ball of dirt in her hands and placed it atop the little mound she had made. She grabbed a broken twig from the floor and used it to push eyeholes into the ball. When she removed the stick from the second eye, the socket crumbled, causing the head to collapse. Î tried making the head again, this time leaving out the eyes. This left her with little more than a sphere atop a mound. Given the materials at hand, it would have to do. She stepped back from her knee high creation and brushed her dirty hands on her dress, leaving parallel brown smears.

“Like this?”

Emet was slow in replying, “For your first golem… it will… suffice.”

“It’s not moving.”

“It is not… alive. Before its scroll it must be… defined.”

Î had a sneaking suspicion where this was going.

“All golems… are writ in runes. The runes are their limitations and their capabilities.”

Î sighed, making sure it was loud enough for Emet to hear. It wasn’t that she disliked runes. She had been struck with awe by the power of Repair, which could knit the broken fibres of a stick back together in seconds. She had been delighted by Bind and Strength when they had allowed her to shore up a sagging shelf. It was the repetition which got to her. She had been able to draw all seven runes perfectly by the end of the first day, yet Emet had forced her to continue practicing. Emet ignored her sigh, as she had for the last three days.

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“Golems are not obedient by nature… they are considered destructive. Thus the obey rune…Do you remember its form?”

Î could still see it when she closed her eyes; two lines, one smooth, the other jagged, in a complicated trail, and a single dot in a cup formed by the jagged line. She sketched it in the air with her finger.

To Î’s surprise, Emet flinched, her lips drew together, and a low rush of air left her mouth. Had she drawn it wrong? Or was Emet afraid of the rune?

“Yes… a golem cannot harm its creator if it is weak, if it written… with enough obey runes, or… if at least one obey rune is writ in gold.”

“Why would a golem hurt their creator?”

“We are alive but not free… with our strength and taste of life comes desire…we hope to be…”

Emet’s voice faded into a hiss of wind. She drew a deep breath, “We are slaves… given life, not choice. Who would not disobey?”

“I wasn’t given a choice,” Î said in a small voice, “I didn’t get to choose to stay with my father. I didn’t choose to become a peaceseeker. I didn’t get to choose my lessons. You said Rebeka didn’t choose to teach you, she just had to. I don’t think most of us get a choice.”

Emet did not reply. Î sat down and fiddled with her mound of earth while she waited. She broke the twig in half to fashion two little arms for her golem.

Emet did not move.

Î wiggled the arms up and down, as if her golem was waving at her.

“Emet?” she asked.

The wall did not respond.

Î heard a sound behind her, like rapid tapping. After several minutes of searching she spotted the culprit. A jar of lantern oil had fallen over on its table and was dripping onto the floor. You are never powerless. If there is nothing you can do, you can at least clean your home. Her father’s words. Î wound her way over to the jar. She righted it and realigned the lid with a small twist of her arm. There. A loud creak caught her attention next. The shelf next to her was finally giving out under the weight of a large centipede husk. Î grabbed a handful of legs in one hand and a dried out pincer in the other. She pulled with all her might and brought the body to the floor with a crash. The shelf groaned in relief and straightened, stretching up out of Î’s reach. The shelf and centipede had been obscuring several score candles from view. They were lit, each flame a different colour. They had burned so low Î worried the whole workshop would go up in flames. She quickly began extinguishing them with handfuls of mud. On and on the tasks went, new ones presenting themselves as soon as the previous job was done.

Hours after Emet had last spoken, Î heard Gar shouting down the stairs for dinner. She dropped the drawer-full of knives she was carrying and headed for the door. Emet’s gaze followed Î, shadows dancing in her eyes.

Obey

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