“Yes, we have finished inspecting it. You may ask as we walk.” And with that, Master Fernon turned to head towards the Chieftain’s hut with Aven rushing to catch up. They had only been walking for a few moments before the two were forced to wait as a train of golems carrying cloth and fabrics passed by, and Aven used this time to think of his question. He looked over at Master Fernon, who was content to wait for his student to speak.

“With the inspection over, will I be allowed to take my golem home? Or will it have to be… destroyed?”

“No, you will not have to make a trip to the Graveyard this day,” Master Fernon stated, which took a pressure off of Aven’s chest that he had not known was there. “As you witnessed during your golem’s activation, the mana that should have been constrained within the body ran rampant. This was in part due to your lack of control, as I first suspected.”

“And the other part?” Aven pushed when his master grew quiet.

“It was just after your departure that the mana calmed down, but even when the golem rose and began moving as normal, it refused to listen to several of the Creator’s orders.”

The line of golems had moved on and allowed them past, and as the pair continued their trek Master Fernon fixed Aven with a gaze.

“Golems follow orders. That is an absolute truth. Just as the sun rises, the grass grows and men wage war, magical constructs obey the commands of their Masters. While it did respond to simple movement instructions, it refused every physical task assigned to it. My fellow Creator’s attributed the inaction to a mistake in one of your runes, but I am not so sure.”

Aven found the feeling in his chest returning, a newfound weight added to his shoulders at the news of his first successful golem’s… errors? Mild rebellion? The question of why it was unable to fulfill certain tasks got him to think of his earlier reactions to it’s wild activation.

“What if the golem came to life? It might explain th-”

“Constructs cannot be given life.” Master Fernon never cut his students off, so his quick reply caused Aven to clam up. “Mana may be the lifeblood of all things, the mysterious force that gives the heart a pulse or clears the eyes of conscious beings like ourselves, but it cannot give life that is not already there. There has been no incident of a golem attaining life in the entire history of our clan, and there never will be.”

Aven pulled back, the conversation dying as they continued their walk. He knew the history of the clan and the belief about golem’s and life. Ever since a Nepol young was old enough to walk by themselves, or had their parents to carry them on their backs, they were brought to the Chieftain’s tent to learn about their birthright. Whether it was mythical tales by storytellers or actual golem activations that he witnessed, Aven could never imagine that these wood and stone creations were anything but alive.

Golem’s forms changed and twisted to suit the needs of their Masters or the materials they were created with, but they all put one foot before the other as they walked. The gems implanted in their foreheads served more as hearts that regulated the mana contained within than eyes; but whenever one turned to locate their next task, the reflection of its facets reminded him of the gleam in a baby’s eye. And even though his golem’s activation had been atypical, the first jolt of a golem starting from the chest conjured the image of breath leaving the Master and being inhaled by the construct.

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He had been surrounded by golems for so much of his life that the idea of them being nothing more than animated sticks and pebbles felt maddening. He had no words to describe his feelings in a way that his mentor would listen to, or that even he could understand, and so the pair reached their destination without another word spoken.

“Aven,” Master Fernon called, bringing him out of his thoughts as the man held the curtain aside and waved him in. The inside was the same as he had left it last night, a circle of chalk and materials on the far side and seating for onlookers beside them. As soon as he stepped through the threshold, he was passed by his mentor who headed to the left of the circle, within which stood his golem.

“Your golem stands here, ready and waiting for a master. It will take your name, just as you will take it, and together you will work for the good of the village. As I mentioned before, it has failed to follow various instructions, so it will be up to you to properly utilize it. Train it, alter it, or dispose of it as you see fit, but remember that the actions of a golem are the commands of a master,” Master Fernon said, his voice growing forceful towards the end. “Do not think that an error in creation will suffice as justification for your orders.”

The feeling of elation at having his own golem had finally crumbled beneath the weight of his master’s words and his own inability to speak up. Aven gave a quick word of thanks to Master Fernon before exiting the tent with his golem in tow. He refused to call it by his own name, and simply ordered it to follow him, which it did without complaint.

As Aven made his way back to the village center on his way home, he found the history lesson winding down. Many of the kids that were asleep earlier now stared in rapt attention as the Master finished with an explanation of golems. She claimed that they were marvels of magic that allowed their tribe to reach the massive size that it was today, waving her arms at the sea of the tents they sat between. However, like all tools, they would one day need to be replaced. Either their mana had been spent, their body had broken or their usefulness was fulfilled, and their Master gave them release by escorting their creations to the Graveyard.

“While some of you may be too young to remember,” the master continued, “our tribe moves across these great lands. We do not plant roots as our ancestors once did, remaining fixed to the soil beneath us. A lack of change is not a bad thing - we often reside in one spot for years before searching for new lands - but refusing to move as the world does invites nothing but despair. Lands where rivers are calmer than lakes, and the leaves on the trees do not change color. We call these lands ‘Dead Zones,’’ she paused, “because the mana that thrums within every fiber of the world is weak there.”

“That is why, when our golems are on the brink of destruction, we lead them to these lands. It is a way of repaying the world. The mana we took to fuel these creations, the residual left within the rocks and sticks forming their body, we return to the areas that need the energy of life the most. And within a world of stillness, where even the wind fails to whisper its melody, a malfunctioning golem can cause no harm for there is no master to order it.”

Aven could listen no longer, his head slumping down as he continued his walk home. He had never seen a dead zone before, but just the description sent shivers down his back. How could he ever consign a golem to such a fate if he himself could not face it?

He also realized that the heavy set of footfalls behind him had fallen away, and Aven found that his golem had not moved from the village center. He called twice before the construct heeded his order, and even then it almost seemed reluctant to leave.