《What Moves the Earth》


 It Started with a Bang

    Aven had succeeded on the eighth try. Not the usual fifth, the uncommon sixth or the rare and universally derided seventh, but he had done it. He, and the few Master Creators who had bothered to oversee what was likely to be another failure, watched as the automaton of mud and stone began to twitch. First the right leg, then the left and the torso as lines of blue arcane symbols spiraling up its form before burning themselves into the construct. The energy was growing so impatient as it rushed towards the upper body that both arms and the head activated in unison, the initial flash of energy lowering to an intermittent hum.


    Now fully contained within the shell of earthly materials, the magic sought release, spreading out to pop each digit and wrench every joint in search of an exit. The golem was modeled after a human, with a glass gem embedded in its forehead in place of other discernible features, and its violent twitching enchanted Aven. While he had witnessed others create their tribe¡¯s birth-right before, as was standard for any Nepol old enough to walk by themselves, the excitement was much more tangible. Real.


    Aven did not register his steps toward the golem until the forceful grip of his mentor brought him back to the present. ¡°Leave it be, boy,¡± Creator Fernon said with a shake of his head. ¡°While it is not a perfect activation, what lies before you is still a golem. Let the magic take its course.¡±


    His master¡¯s voice lacked its usual flint, and his perpetual scowl had morphed into an appraising thin line as he studied Aven¡¯s creation. The body had yet to stabilize, the blue glow of magic still at odds with its new cage. Creator Fernon had often lectured him on the nature of the golemancy, and the differences between magic and magical constructs. Magic was wild and ever present, the cornerstone of every mountain and the breath that gave rise to the wind. Golems were subservient and limited, forced into the service of their masters until the latter died or the former broke. Two competing forces chasing each other in an endless struggle resonated with Aven, something in his chest compelling him to speak.


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    ¡°Is it always like this, Creator Fernon?¡±


    His mentor¡¯s eyes remained locked on the golem as he replied. ¡°In what way do you speak?¡±


    ¡°The first activation. Is it always so¡­¡± Aven began, wrinkling his nose before rewording his question. ¡°Wild?¡±


    ¡°No, it is not. Most would have succeeded by this point, and even then yours is a special case. Obedience of a bound golem should be immediate, with little to no rampaging mana. Either the runes inscribed upon this construct lack the commanding edge to reign in the wild magic, or your own spirit remains too weak to order the golem to rise.¡±


    Aven knew which his Creator Fernon himself believed, as he was not the type of teacher to allow inadequacy in his pupils'' education. But even with the frankness of his mentor¡¯s words, he could not stop himself from appreciating the fact he said them at all. Many other Creator¡¯s would not have entertained their proteges'' attempts after the first five failures, and did not, as a glance around the tent showed three other Creator¡¯s instead of the usual ten. It was more than could be said of his parents as well, and maybe that is why he spoke those next words.


    ¡°It is almost like it is alive.¡±

 Walk Home

    Aven exited the chieftain¡¯s hut, the cold night wind whipping away the Creator¡¯s voices as he started on the path home. The golem test began in the evening, the color of the sky just beginning to turn a burnt orange, and now the black and blue sky was dotted with stars and dancing fire-bugs. While Aven often stared at them and wondered how it felt to be so surrounded in a sky so full, he had to stop his musings and step out of the path of a wandering golem as it made its way down the street.


    Even at night, when their creators were resting, golems continued to fulfill their orders. The path he walked was lined by tents on either side, and one had a section that was leaning down. A motionless golem held the tentpole aloft, sparing not a glance as Aven passed by, continuing its silent duty. More yet hauled bags of grain, mounds of stone and wood from one location to the next, and a one-armed golem stood at attention next to a stone-brick well, ready and willing to draw the next pale of water.


    ¡°How can Creator Fernon say they are not alive, when witnessing this?¡± Aven huffed. ¡°Though the stars may be shining instead of the sun, and they require no rest like our flesh-covered selves, they still take one step after the other. They complete one task before heading on to the next, and moving forward like every being must.¡± Aven held his hand aloft, admiring it in the moonlight. ¡°Why should it matter if magic flows through their veins than blood? If the world runs on magic, then are not we the unnatural creature?¡±


    The golems continued their work, giving him no answer, and so he made it back to his home. His parents were asleep, always early to bed as they needed to be up early crafting arrow fletchings and re-strapping bows. They constantly complained that golems were unfit to do their task, but wanted Aven to study them anyway to see if they could make one that did. After his first failure, they stopped coming at all.


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    Most Nepol tents were a one-room affair, the central pole supporting the multi-colored canvas above their head limiting their options. So, curtains of green were traditionally hung to separate the living quarters of each resident, extending from the central pole and splitting the inside up into triangle-shaped compartments that could be expanded or closed off based on preference and time of day. Aven pushed the one to the left of the entrance aside which led to his space. Within the triangular space, to his left lay his bed roll. It was nothing more than a fabric sack filled with wool to soften the hard ground, complete with a light blanket that was more than warm enough for every season except winter. To the right, towards the center of the family tent, stood Aven¡¯s trunk that was currently closed. It doubled as both storage space and a desk, where he either studied his golemancy books or worked on his chores with some semblance of peace.


    Aven ignored the bag of arrowheads and shafts his parents had left him, haphazardly spilling out on top of the trunk, and crumpled down on top of his bed. The elation of having finally created a golem never left his mind, but it was pushed to the back with thoughts of that he would not be able to keep it, of what it even meant for a golem to come to life, and why people never thought they were the weird ones instead of the constructs they created.


    He only realized he had fallen asleep when the quiet of the tent was disturbed by his parent''s arguing.

 Morning Chores

    Aven wanted to go see the Creators, ask Master Fernon if his golem was ready enough to take back home, but he knew that his parents would chew him out if he left his chores unattended. So, Aven began his day the way he always did - with a trip to the village well.


    In the light of day, the Nepol tribe was a sea of white spires in the rolling green grasslands. They kept their possessions light, moving from place to place when the mines ran dry or the water refused to soak into the wells, but with their golems they were never without manpower. He passed by an opening between tents that housed stacks of lumber, where Carpenters whittled away the logs that golems brought in an endless stream. They created the tent poles that needed to be sturdy in the face of strong winds, as well as the storage crates and buckets that helped both man and construct haul goods. Aven even saw a younger woman sanding down what appeared to be a bow, likely one that would be given to his parents to be strung up.


    With the thought of his parents fresh in his mind, Aven squeezed past man and machine to make it to the golem-powered well, providing the one-armed automaton with his family¡¯s bucket as the socket where it¡¯s other arm was supposed wound the pulley embedded in it to draw the water up. While he had been around golems his entire life, for the first time he really examined the being of mana before him. How did it know when to start drawing the water? Could it tell the difference between a bucket and similarly shaped basket? And how did it wind the crank, if the crank was itself.


    ¡°Can you-¡± The hustle and bustle of the tribe around him reminded Aven that he wasn¡¯t alone, so he checked to make sure that no-one was paying attention to the random child drawing water. While a pair of older women with golems carrying laundry gave him a glance, no-one else was paying any attention to the well. Calmer now, Aven began again. ¡°Can you hear me.¡±


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    The golem gave no response. If the sound of a filled bucket knocking against stonework as the construct filled his bucket was some sort of message, Aven couldn¡¯t puzzle it out.


    ¡°My name is Aven. I am the son of Argan and Venita, both Fletchers. Do- Do you have a name?¡±


    By the time he had finished introducing himself, the golem had returned to it¡¯s default state. It neither blinked nor twitched as he waited for it to speak, the former ready to wait until it was needed again. Aven quickly realized he was talking to an animated pile of bricks, and quickly returned home in embarrassment.


    The rest of his chores passed in a blur - sharpening arrowheads, mashing ingredients for the adhesive, cutting feathers to be made into fletchings - such that he missed his parents leaving as he agonized over his folly.


    But with his chores done, the growling of his stomach could be held back no longer and forced him to focus on breakfast. With an assortment of bread, cheese and dried lamb in his stomach, the earlier embarrassment became nothing but a passing memory. What did stick out, however, was the status of his golem.


    ¡°Even if Master Fernon isn¡¯t done with it, he should be able to tell me more about it. I hope that I can catch him before his lesson.¡±

 Master 1

    It turned out that Master Fernon was not only available, he was also looking to talk to Aven as well. Aven had started at the village center, hoping to catch Master Fernon before his class, and was instead treated to another Master giving a lesson. The village center was one of several amphitheaters, circular depressions in the ground with layers of steps that ran the circumference. Where the earth lacked stone, the layered slabs of white, quarried stone. Contrasting with the slate gray of natural gray, it gave the gathering place an air of intrigue, which warranted the lesson that was currently going on.


    Another mentor paced the bottommost layer, explaining to an audience of twenty or more children about the history of the Nepol tribe. She must not have been far in her lecture as she was still discussing their life before the Feudal wars. Like so many others, they had been a sedentary people - happy to live off the produce they could farm while donating a portion to their Lords who in turn kept them safe. They felt no need to search the grasslands for fresh water deposits, the woods for game or the mountains for safe caverns. Safety was in stasis, remaining in one place that they could bolster and defend, rather than migration.


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    Few of the kids seem interested, and even those few had difficulty staying awake with the mentor¡¯s long, droning voice. Aven couldn¡¯t relate, as while Master Fernon was a stickler for details, he managed to keep his lessons straight and to the point. It made it easier to listen to, as the boring bits would never linger too long and the good ones would never devolve into tangents about the current state of the tribe or the world at large.


    ¡°Young Aven, I have been looking for you.¡±


    ¡°Ah!¡± Aven gasped, whipping around to find Master Fernon staring down at him. ¡°I-I have likewise been searching for you. I wanted to ask¡­ about my golem.¡±


    Like the other mentors, Master Fernon was dressed in robes of dark blue, the right side folded over the left and fastened with golden buttons. Around his neck hung a blue scarf a shade lighter than his robes, which trailed down his front to just past his stomach before ending in black tassels. The darker colors highlighted his graying beard, average for an adult tribesman as it extended no more than two fingers-widths from his chin and wrapped around his face.

 Master 2

    ¡°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.

 Getting Some Distance

    ¡°There is nothing much to do during the hot season, unless cloud watching is your passion,¡± Aven explained, trudging his way up a hill just outside the village. While they lived in a mostly even plain with trees dotted here and there, a few hills disrupted the horizon here and there. He found the few to the south and southeast too popular with biting bugs due to a nearby lake, and the largest one to the west had been turned into a stone mine for the village, so Aven usually kept to himself in the North.


    However, as he looked back at the slope he had just climbed, he was not alone as his construct was silently ascending behind him. Even if his golem did not talk back, could not talk back, it was easier than talking to nothing. ¡°So, that¡¯s why I come up here and watch the villagers instead.¡±


    The hill, while not the tallest landmark, gave a view of the village in its entirety. From this position, the Chieftain¡¯s hut was no bigger than his hand and the people moving around it were barely a knuckle in height. Hundreds of light brown people made their way from one structure to the next, weaving between the big spots of gray and blue that were the golems. Being this far away, Aven could even see a few of the herds that his tribe kept. The cattle slowly trickled from one side of the village to the other, shepherded by black blurs that could only be village hounds. The sheep, on the other hand, mainly stayed in place, a white cloud pulled from the sky above and affixed to the ground until the dogs got fed up enough and scared them away.


    ¡°When I¡¯m inside, among all the tents and people,¡± Aven began, sitting down at the top of the cliff as his golem stood tall beside him, ¡°it feels like I don¡¯t matter. Everyone is rushing to finish their chores, talk with this person or that seller to exchange goods, and all I am is a distraction. An obstacle to be moved around.¡±


    He let out a sigh, turning his attention from the village to grass between his legs. He plucked them between his thumb and the side of his pointer finger without any thought, gathering a stack before letting them disperse with the next gust of wind.


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    ¡°But when I¡¯m here, when I can see the entire village at once, I feel closer somehow. Everyone is in a rush, being blocked by a train of golems there,¡± Aven pointed towards a line of golems hauling something that could have been a dead cow, ¡°or having fun like the kids playing ball over there. There is no one person in the way; it¡¯s everyone¡¯s lives coming together to form¡­ something bigger than all of them.¡±


    If his golem had any response to the statement, it didn¡¯t show it. It was directly facing the village, locked in place as if rooted to the ground, and after a minute Aven looked away again.


    ¡°It may not make sense to you, but it does to me. Our tribe makes up the village, and the needs of the village impact the tribe. If the cold season is on our doorstep, then the hunters begin searching the forest for food. The butchers and crafters get more materials, which means more meat for the families to preserve and warmer clothes to get us through the long night.¡±


    ¡°And if it is the end of the cold season, when the flowers and trees begin to bloom, then the shepherd¡¯s shear their sheep and the weavers make more fabric. It should all be connected, but what about your kin? The golems?¡± Aven stood up, dusting off his pants and beginning to pace. ¡°The tribe creates you for specific purposes, like mining stone, and so the need for stone leads to more golems being made. Then, as stone and wood is used in making golems, more axes are created for the woodcutters to bring in more materials. Golems are connected to the needs of the village, with our people, but they treat you like tools. Nothing more than an axe, a bow or a needle, made to be used and then cast away once useless.¡±


    Aven stopped next to his golem, staring straight at the village for the first time since they arrived. ¡°Then why from here do they look the same? What is so different between the two of us? Why do I have to be the Master, and you the servant? Can I not have a¡­ can we not be¡­ friends?¡±


    As expected, the golem made no sound. It did not agree or disagree, nor could it, but without Aven giving an order the golem turned to face him. Aven bit his lip, waiting for it to make another move, but as the sun began to set he headed back the village. The golem followed.

 A Hard Lesson

    ¡°So you actually finished it,¡± Aven¡¯s mother commented as he walked into his home. With it being the warm season, most of the game that the tribe¡¯s hunters would normally be searching for were resting in their caves and dens on account of the heat. As hunters didn¡¯t use up arrows they didn¡¯t fire, his parents only worked on their craft every other day and spent their days off at home. There were of course chores and responsibilities that kept them busy, but apparently not at the moment as his mother demonstrated by enjoying a meal at their shared table.


    When Aven didn¡¯t speak up, not moving in the doorway, his mother rose from her seat and pushed past him to get a better view of his golem. ¡°10 tries, was it, for your first time? There must be imperfections somewhere, but as long as it moves that¡¯s enough to help out.¡±


    He simply waited as she performed her inspection, first of his construct and then him, undoubtedly finding fault based on the frown that grew on her face. ¡°Then why is he not hauling lumber for the family, you stupid son! Your father could have had a day off as well, but now he is dealing with a shortage of feathers because you decided it was of greater importance to play around in the fields than do any actual work.¡±


    Aven could not help but feel that a tiny part of him agreed, realizing it was a mistake to not inform his parents of his success sooner. Something they would have known, had they ever attended his attempts after his first failure, another party chimed in. He had always wanted to stop being a nuisance to his family, to see the pride in their eyes when he finally made something of himself. And, up until now, he had thought it would be in golemancy, by creating a golem dexterous enough to help his parents with the crafting of arrows and stringing of bows.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    But now, as his mother continued her usual chastisement, the aspect of himself that agreed with his mother took root in his mind and drowned everything else out. If this had truly been for the sake of his family, why had he not informed them last night? How would thinking for himself solve the problem, when his parents were right there to tell him what to do? Who did he think he was? Did a little bit of knowledge on mana, constructing golems and the tribe¡¯s history make him anything other than a failure of a son who could only rely on the two people who had raised him?


    ¡°...you should just do as you are told! Is that concept too difficult to understand? Maybe we would have been better to have a golem than a son; at least the former would follow instructions!¡±


    Like a gong went off in Aven¡¯s head, the pain in his chest and tenseness of his closed fists was replaced with the view of the village from afar, his conversation with Creator Fernon and his every childhood imagination of golem¡¯s coming to life. His mother¡¯s face was inches from his, her breath bouncing off his skin, and yet her normally sunken brown eyes and bulging cheeks were distorted. Aven blinked away the tears he had not noticed forming, but that only served to deepen the lines in her forehead until they cut across her entire face. His mother¡¯s normally light brown skin turned darker, grayer, until the only recognizable aspect were her eyes that began to merge. A crystal formed in their place, and with a flash of blue that surged through the runes inscribed upon her head, the human that was his mother had transformed into a golem.


    ¡°M-mother!¡± Aven squeaked out, slowly backing away from the construct that had taken the place of one of his parents. Even though golem¡¯s lacked facial expressions, the lowered head and squared shoulders of the construct before him radiated anger. With no warning, its hand whipped out and slammed into Aven¡¯s cheek, knocking him to the ground before lifting him up by the collar of his shirt.


    Although Aven did not remember much from the beating that followed, once he could focus his right eye again, it was the livid face of his mother that he saw.


    He wished it was a faceless golem.

 A Lesson in Carpentry

    The next day was better in a lot of ways, and worse in others. While his father was still out working the family craft, his mother went to join him to avoid their extended family that came every morning. They were still a few hours out, so Aven took a small tear of bread for breakfast before heading to the back of their tent, golem in tow.


    As a fletching family, they always had spare wood, arrowheads and feathers in stock. As Aven pushed aside the tent flap, he stepped out into a small yard separated from those around him with various lengths of wooden board and crafting tables. He first went to a pile of long and thin boards to his left, about his height and thick as his palm, dragging the topmost piece towards until it clattered to the ground. Aven tried once to lift it up, but after raising it barely to his knee he realized he would need some help.


    ¡°Oh.¡± Aven stopped what he was doing and dropped the plank, turning around to the perfectly capable golem behind him. ¡°I forgot that I have you. Carry this to the nearest table?¡±


    Aven¡¯s golem simply looked on, unfazed by his master¡¯s questions. And while Aven wasn¡¯t surprised at the lack of reaction, it did dispirit him. Unlike the creation of a golem, which was relayed to a Nepol child since birth, actual instruction of the creation was left unsaid. They created beings whose sole purpose was to follow commands, and so any study of that field was left until an apprentice could create their own golem.


    Slumping his shoulders, Aven knew the reason he had yet to learn it was his inability to create a golem. While his peers had finished sculpting their third or fourth golems for specialized purposes, and had moved on to study the way constructs interpreted commands, he was still struggling with getting his first golem to move a simple plank of wood.


    ¡°Even if I am a failure,¡± he repeated, the words of his mother ringing in the back of his head as he clenched his fists and faced his golem, ¡°I have nowhere else to go back to. I at least have one golem, so the least I can do is get it to listen. From the little Creator Fernon instructed us on the subject, for immediately after activation, I know that the orders must be concise and specific. Let us try this again.¡±


    ¡°Golem. Pick up the plank of wood to my left and carry it to the table on your right.¡±


    The construct remained still. A summer breeze blew threw the village with the golem remaining motionless, and Aven bit his lip in frustration.


    ¡°Fine, I will shorten it. Golem, pick up the plank of wood to my left.¡±


    At this the golem finally moved, reaching down with one gray stone arm and easily lifting the more than forty pound board. Once it was in hand, the golem turned to face Aven and whacked him in the face with the plank.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Ouch!¡± Aven held a hand up to his now red cheek, but couldn¡¯t stop the small smile that formed. ¡°Again, ouch, but that is at least progress. Now,¡± he began, moving a fair distance away to ensure he was not hit again, ¡°walk to the table on your right.¡±


    Through a series of short and specific orders, Aven managed to teach his golem how to move wooden beams. While magical constructs followed orders, they weren¡¯t entirely without thought. If a Creator ran their golem through enough tasks, the magical servant would eventually learn to recognize the entirety of orders. That is how golems could operate without continual oversight, like the train of luggage totting constructs from before, but every Creator worth their salt would check in on their creations¡¯ progress to ensure that they were acting accordingly.


    Now with a positive supply of wood at his beck and call, Aven got to work cutting the pieces down to size. A board as wide as both of his hands needed to be split vertically into more than ten smaller, square shafts. Taking a stick of charcoal and running his palm against the side of the board as a brace, Aven drew several straight lines down the entire length. Once he had a number of mostly parallel lines, he unscrewed the table clamp on the side of the work bench before slotting the board in horizontally. The clamp was threaded, a groove running down the spiral shaft connecting the table to the wooden block, and it held the board in place through tension after Aven screwed it shut. Testing the board to ensure wobble was minimal, he grabbed a saw hanging from a rack and went to cutting the board.


    A half hour of sweaty, tiring work passed when Aven pushed and pulled the metal blades through the wood, but he now had a pile of thin, square shafts. Leaning all but one to the side of the workstation, Aven once again clamped the piece of wood before retrieving a plane and setting to work smoothing out the shaft. A plane was a two-handed tool with a blade of metal angled downward on the bottom that a woodworker pushed across wood to shave the topmost layer. Aven was attempting to smooth out the corners of the shaft, changing its profile from a square to circle, while also whittling it down to the appropriate size for an arrow. A little over another half hour later, Aven was left with a pile of wood shavings at his feet and thirteen useable arrow shafts.


    ¡°Well, that could have gone better,¡± he admitted as he picked up three arrow shafts. He had either cut too deep with the plane or hit an imperfection in the wood, and now they were only good for firewood. ¡°Father is not a fan of wasted wood, but mother was complaining about kindling the other day.¡± Aven saw that his golem, as usual, had remained motionless. But this time, he was thankful for the lack of a reaction. ¡°I won¡¯t tell if you don¡¯t,¡± Aven said with a smile.


    By the time the sun had reached its peak, Aven had finished with four boards worth of arrow shafts and had contributed to his mother¡¯s kindling greatly. He did admit that his golem had made the work go quicker, as he no longer had to walk to and from the workbench once he was completed with a task. However, with his work done for the day, he hurriedly grabbed a lunch of dried fruit and yesterdays bread. He wanted to make sure he was gone before his parents returned, but remembered that he would be scolded if he took his golem with him. Leaving it at home, he spent the rest of the day listening to Creator stories and an evening course with Creator Fernon. It was so late in the day when he returned that he did not spare a glance at his golem and went straight to bed. If he had, he may have seen its repeating its actions from earlier in the day, as well as a few that it only could have learned from him.

 Conditional Praise

    The next day had not gone to plan, but for an entirely different reason. Awoken by the sounds of his parents calling his name, he assumed the worst and took his time preparing himself before heading to meet them. ¡°I¡¯m sure that I finished enough shafts yesterday, and there was still some water left from the day before. Maybe Mother decided to make stew, and now there isn¡¯t enough?¡±


    After a minute of struggling to think of what he had done wrong and failing, and realizing that he was just delaying the inevitable, Aven pushed aside his curtain to find that his parents were not in the living section. Moving through the tent in a clockwise fashion, and hearing another round of yells go up for him, he finally arrived at the rear exit to find his parents hurriedly¡­ making arrows with his golem?


    ¡°Mother? Father?¡± He kept his response simple, in case the oddity before him was unrelated to their earlier calls and a harsh lesson was in store. Instead, they turned on him with faces of glee as his father raised his hands to the air and his mother enveloped him in a hug. Their laughing drowned out his first few questions, and so he had to endure the skinship as he was passed from one suddenly loving parent to the next.


    His mother rained kisses on his forehead before Aven¡¯s father slapped a hand on his shoulder. His father met his eyes and said four words - ¡°You¡¯ve done us proud, boy!¡± This led to a round of agreement by his mother, which was continued by his father, with Aven the only one left out of the loop.


    Finally, he managed to find his voice. ¡°What is it that I have done?¡± He immediately regretted the squeak in his voice.


    ¡°What did you do?¡± His mother parroted back before awkwardly pulling him to the craftstation and golem that had gone unnoticed. Without the focus on his parents and their sudden praise, he could see that his golem was not simply shifting wood from one pile to the next. He was doing that as well, but what caught Aven¡¯s attention and rooted him to the spot was the blade of metal in the golems hand. Magical constructs were bound to follow orders, this law set in stone like the very runes carved into the golem¡¯s forms, but for a second Aven could not help but imagine his stone figure turning the weapon towards him.


    Noticing his son¡¯s face, his father roughly pulled him to the side to gain a better view of the workbench. Aven tried to resist, but his new perspective informed that what his construct was holding was not a weapon, but a saw. The golem was sawing through one board after another, much faster than Aven the day before. Like a knife through goat¡¯s butter, it cut one square shaft after the other of the longer section of wood and showed no signs of stopping.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Mouth agape, Aven looked to his parents who simply nodded and continued staring. For the next five minutes the trio looked on as it continued its work. While the cuts were less than straight and many of the shafts were splintered from excessive force, later to be used as kindling, the golem¡¯s speed more than made up for it.


    ¡°You will need to work on its accuracy,¡± his mother mentioned, holding up one of the lopsided square shafts and running a finger along its edge, ¡°but that will come with time. A little practice is all that is required, compared to learning such a dexterous art in the first place.¡±


    His father shared in his mother¡¯s sentiment, nodded along and breaking into one of his rare smiles. ¡°And imagine what it will be like with two or three! The warm months will not be the only rest period once we have a team of crafting golems.¡±


    His father began to stroke his beard, his eyebrows knitting in thought as he turned to look at Aven. ¡°Tell me - how did you manage to teach it? What must we do to create more golems like these?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ am not sure,¡± he replied, having come upon much the same question. ¡°Ever since I retrieved it from Creator Fernon, I have simply had it follow me. We have traveled through the village, explored the hills and counted the livestock, and only yesterday did I have it help with the crafting of arrows. But I only ordered it to move the lumber, not work it.¡±


    That gave his father pause, which his mother took to retrieve his smoking pipe. He nodded in recognition and lit the end, taking a puff before continuing. ¡°It seems it matters not the how, in the end, as much as the who. Though you do not know, some action of yours has led the construct to develop a new skill. Mayhaps it is imitation, or possibly an order perceived in a new light, but the truth remains that you were the Creator to do it.¡± He punctuated the point with a stab of his pipe, a grin peeking out from behind. ¡°As such, I give you leave from your chores.¡±


    Aven was surprised, still consumed by the question of how he was to teach his golem when the method of instruction was unknown to him, but his mother beat him to it. ¡°Do you not think that is rash, husband? His chores had little effect on the golem¡¯s teaching, and look what it is continuing to do. Would it not be wiser to refine the method before giving all the work to the beast?¡±


    ¡°I agree dear, and that is why I give him leave from his chores. Take your construct, and do what you will with it. Explore, play games, it matters not. However,¡± he said with weight, ¡°that is with the assumption that your golem will continue to learn. And to learn is to practice. In your stead, whenever you see fit, be it morning or night, you are to have your golem continue your chores to show that this is not the work of a blue moon. Do you understand?¡±


    Aven agreed, wondering if there was a golem to make more blue moons or if he would have to create it himself.

 One Step Forward

    The next several days sped by in a blur, with Aven having trouble catching up. He¡¯d start his day leading the golem around town, asking it to do various tasks. One day it was chopping logs and stripping bark, while the next was corralling sheep and goats. His construct acted much the same as any other of the tribe¡¯s creations when asked to do a complex and dexterous task - poorly. However, while it struggled with every new task, it profited from the experience on subsequent days. Especially if Aven or another tribesmen designated as it¡¯s Creator demonstrated for it.


    This progress in learning was not matched in their exploration of the village¡¯s vicinity. Every new lookout was met with the same, stony stare, so Aven mainly spent that time observing the village. While it had not changed, the tents the same tanned beige and the people milling about in an ever chaotic flow, it felt a bit off-putting. Instead of a well-worn toy that could only be appreciated fully with an analysis of its wear, now it felt like the forgotten plaything of a child that was no more. What did the old women, mounted upon her wooden golem, tell of the village¡¯s history? Or the lumberers that cast aside their tools to relax within the shade as beasts of stone broke the foundation of their backs hauling the felled logs?


    ¡°If even one other golem can learn like you,¡± Aven began, sat huddled with his head between his knees, ¡°what does this treatment tell them? What conclusion do they come to when they see the heads of their predecessors swept aside by the arms of their successor?¡±


    His golem had faced his brilliant blue gem towards his Creator as the latter spoke, only facing the village in the distance once he finished. The magical construct gave no answer, other than a dip of its head as a bird alighted on it.


    What he could not get used to was his parent¡¯s kindness. Each day, when he and his golem would return to their homes, both his mother and his father asked him how his day went. What new things he learned in service of Creator Fernon, or skills that his golem had picked up. Meals were now a family affair. Instead of the forgotten leftovers his mother carelessly left out for him, now his mother bartered with the shepherds for choicer cuts of meat that she then prepared with sweet-smelling sauces and vegetables. His father made sure to never leave Aven out of the conversation, circling back to his opinion where once it was understood that the grown-ups were talking and children should listen quietly. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Afterwards, they were quick to give him and his golem space in the outdoor workshop, which really meant watching from the opening of the hut. At the very least, Aven did not have to worry about disappointing his parents as his golem proved more and more handy as the days progressed. Where once it had difficulty sawing through the boards, leaving jagged cuts and splinters along the path of its blade, now it was shaping the wood with ease. What was previously a plank of wood became dozens of long, square shafts, before it took a file and plane to round out the edges into proper arrow shafts.


    It had reached the point where his construct was rivaling his own ability, so he asked his parents to demonstrate creating and applying fletchings and arrow tips. The flint and stone triangular tips were sharpened to a wicked degree, and it took careful movements to not cut oneself. Or, as it turned out with excessive force by the golem, blunt and chip the head¡¯s edge. Aven¡¯s parents just brushed it off, not caring about the small mistake in the face of all that his construct could and would accomplish going forward, while a small part of Aven was relieved.


    It was decided that the golem would focus on shaping the arrow shafts, while the adults and Aven would handle the arrowheads. The day finished with another family meal, and he went to bed wondering how long it would last. His parents love had shown to be transactional, and now that he was producing results the well was overflowing. But he couldn¡¯t help but fear the day it dried up, and the two biggest sources in his life decided their time was better spent with the machines than him. He turned over in his cot, watching the silent form of his golem. The humanoid construct remained still, but the blue lines that ran the length of its body ebbed and flowed in strength. Aven recalled his masters words, and as he fell to sleep, he dreamed of a pit in the ground. The only thing that stood out in that void were veins of blue, circling the edge all the way down.

 Two Steps Back

    ¡°The winds have finally changed,¡± Creator Fernon remarked, resting on the stool provided by his personal golem. ¡°The Northern cold has begun its slow journey South, and we will not see another fortnight before it rears its ugly head. Has your family begun to prepare, Aven?¡±


    He had only just encountered Creator Fernon on a trip back from the well when his mentor requested a moment to talk. Aven bid his golem to wait with the bucket of water as he took a seat on a second stool provided by his Master¡¯s golem. ¡°Yes, they have been stockpiling wood since spring and got ahead on arrows this last season. The latter should sell once the tribe¡¯s hunters begin again in earnest.¡±


    ¡°A warm hearth and full coffers are a start, but what of winter clothing and food?¡±


    Aven thought for a moment, trying to remember what his mother had prepared. ¡°Two slabs of boiled meat, maybe less, and some yoghurts and cheese. My father mentioned trading for some dough once the season grew colder, and my mother always freezes a goat with one to spare. Why do you ask?¡±


    In all the time that Aven had known Creator Fernon, his master had always limited talk of private matters to the bare minimum. Discussing plans for the coming winter was as foreign as a chicken learning to talk.


    ¡°What your parents are attempting, and truly, what all the tribespeople are similarly doing,¡± he said with a wave towards the throng of villagers going about their business before them, ¡°is preparing. Either from experiences that one has lived through, or the conventional wisdom passed among the populace, human beings attempt to lessen future suffering. This can be done in a number of ways, for an even greater list of reasons, but the single truth amongst it all is that if one can act now to save themselves hardship later, what is the benefit in staying their hand?¡±


    Aven nodded along, agreeing with the sentiment. Before his parent¡¯s recent change of heart, he would always take care of his washing before being yelled at to do so. More often than not, this led to his mother finding other grounds for a lesson. But without an easy example to point to like soiled clothing, it was just as likely that she would forget to scold him in the first place.


    ¡°So the tribe is preparing for the cold season, a time when food is harder to attain, by stockpiling beforehand.¡±


    ¡°Correct,¡± Creator Fernon said, retrieving his pipe from the folds of his robe and bringing it to his lips. There was no fire nearby, at least the Aven could see, which made him question how his mentor was going to light his tobacco. As if answering his thoughts, the Master Creator simply mimed the action of smoking, inhaling and exhaling nothing before stowing the pipe away. Having finally noticed his student¡¯s attention, Creator Fernon sighed through his nose as he turned his head. ¡°And something I may need to keep in mind for the future when I look to take a puff.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°But enough of that,¡± he continued, a stern glare trained towards Aven as the latter quieted a chuckle. ¡°What I am trying to explain, and which is the main reason why I stopped you today, is that you must take precautions as well. I have heard from others that your construct has been made useful by contributing to your home¡¯s craft. That is a wonderful boon for your family, I am sure, but you must not forget my earlier warning.¡±


    Aven felt his abdomen grow colder, like ingesting ice water. ¡°Do you think something may happen when it¡¯s working?¡± Aven glanced at his golem out of the corner of his eye before turning to his master, searching his face for clues. ¡°Should¡­ should I keep it from our tools?¡±


    Creator Fernon shook his head. ¡°Nothing like that, but as I mentioned we do not know when it will begin to fail. It appears to function today, but the same may not be true tomorrow or a cycle of seasons from now. We also have to take into account its initial refusal to follow orders. How has it been as of late?¡±


    A breath escaped Aven that he didn¡¯t know he was holding in, the worry of a saw-wielding golem pushed to the back of his mind for the time being. Aven looked at his golem again, this time taking it in from the tip of its gem to the bricks that formed its feet. ¡°At the beginning, simple phrases were all that it would understand. However, after completing a request a number of times, it has an easier time noticing requests. Now, I can command it to ¡®walk in a circle three times,¡¯¡± Aven explained as his construct completed the request, a slight bit of water splashing out of the bucket it carried in the process, ¡°even in the midst of a different discussion.¡±


    ¡°Good. That will bode well in the coming weeks,¡± Fernon stated, drawing a confused look from Aven. ¡°The Chieftain, among other Master Creators, will be convening within this season to determine the fate of your golem and it is up to you to plead your case.¡±


    Aven was shocked, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion as he began to voice a protest. His Mentor silenced him with a hand. ¡°Your construct has done nothing to warrant this scepticism while under your care. I understand that, and I also realize that I was the one to tell you that the golem was your responsibility. You must understand that this conference can be solely attributed to the unusual nature of its creation, and that this conference is just that - a meeting for discussion. It is your chance to display your control over the construct, its control over itself, and with any amount of good fortune, your decision of when you must take a trip to the Graveyard.¡±


    A storm of questions and objections raced through his head, but Aven managed to forget them all when a hand was placed on his shoulder. Creator Fernon rose to his feet and, with a tightening of his grip, gave Aven one last piece of advice before shuffling off.


    ¡°Ensure that your golem remains in good standing, at whatever cost.¡±

 Nighttime Decisions

    With the topic of Aven¡¯s golem and the increasing need for arrows, his family was kept at the workyard until late in the evening. His mother left a few hours prior to start dinner while he and his father continued to field questions about his creation as they continued to knab and sharpen stones. At one point, his golem ran out of limbs to work into arrow shafts and so Aven ordered it to try working on arrowheads again.


    The other workers were initially intrigued, taking a break to observe the new and more adaptable golem, but were quickly disappointed as the golem shattered one rock after the other. Aven tried to explain that his construct took time to learn, but few were interested or free enough to stick around. His father remained silent throughout the whole affair, simply looking away when the golem failed to produce results and busying himself with sharpening a particularly deadly flint arrowhead. Aven knew he wouldn¡¯t respond, and so didn¡¯t even try as he ordered the golem to practice with the discarded pieces from their own work and finished his share.


    The trio headed home, his father at least calling out to him beforehand and not leaving by himself, and were treated to a warm and filling dinner by his mother. There was little conversation around the dinner table, though that was nothing Aven was not used to, and as soon as he was free he headed to his room.


    Underneath a winter blanket, Aven couldn¡¯t help but think back to the way his father reacted to his golem¡¯s failure. ¡°No reaction is better than disappointment,¡± he muttered as she turned to lay on his side, but even he knew that wasn¡¯t true. He wasn¡¯t sure what he expected when his mother and father had changed from constantly being disappointed in him to showering him with praise, but today had cemented one fact in his mind.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    ¡°It¡¯s not going to last forever.¡± Aven whisper wasn¡¯t directed to anyone in particular, but it did conjure that image of his golem which naturally led to his dream. Sooner or later, he was going to be forced to dispose of his creation; and with it, not only would he lose the closest thing he had to a friend, but also the last of the goodwill his parents had towards him.


    With that thought, he took in his golem. It usually took up guard in a corner of his room, silently watching over him until it was ordered otherwise. Tonight was no different, as even without the light of a lantern, the gleam of its gem peered at him through the darkness. What once had been a pure blue light, characteristic of raw mana, there were now flecks of purple and streaks of red occasionally moving throughout.


    Aven could tell little of his golem on most days, but as he continued his ill-fated staring contest with the magical construct, he thought he could see¡­ something. A gesture in the random pattern, where a loop of red formed an iris and a splash of dots made an eyebrow that looked like it was sad. Eager for a solution to its eventual destruction, or simply a want for something more.


    But just as soon as it came, it left. The kaleidoscope of reds and purples melted back into the characteristic blue of a functioning golem, and Aven was left wondering if he was somehow sleep-deprived. As he fell back into bed with more confused than when had started, it at least affirmed one decision he would be making. Master Fernon had urged him towards avoidance, to make sure his golem maintained the mostly normal reputation it had. But if he would have to lose a friend one way or the other, then he would rather try whatever he could than regret letting the chance slip.