IGMS Issue 8 (5 page)

She could not let it happen. But who could resist the power of this wizard?

Would to God, she thought, we had an Elijah's fire, a Gideon's horn, an Abraham's ram.

The thought rebounded back at her. It possessed her. An Abraham's ram. They needed an Abraham's ram. She looked up at the golem. Was it possible?

Outside, one of the soldiers said, "This ram ought to make a fine dinner."

The ram bleated.

The golem's ram that had appeared in the moonlight to be whole, without blemish or spot.

She pitched her voice low. "Anja," she said.

Anja glanced at the soldier and stepped closer. The golem stood like a statue.

Braslava whispered, "Take the mint gathered at the river. Take the ram. Get them to Mislav. Tell him we must have blood for the lintel and posts of this golem."

Anja shook her head. "Mislav is not a Jew. He is not even a proper Christian."

"He is a holy man," said Braslava. "Confused or heretic, he is all we have."

Anja nodded. She stood taller, set her jaw, adjusted her tunic. The old general was back. She turned and walked out the door. Outside, a soldier commanded her to halt.

"If we are going to sacrifice," she said in a loud voice. "We are going to do it right. You tell your master I shall bring the sacrifice within the hour."

Braslava heard the door of the pen where the ram was kept open. She heard it shut. A man commanded two soldiers to go with her and Braslava feared -- would Anja be able to make the sacrifice?

Shortly thereafter the
volhov
returned. "Golem," he said. "You may untie her."

The golem moved behind Braslava. It undid the ropes that bound her.

The
volhov
said, "You are wise to cooperate." He held a cooper's hammer in his hand. He pried off the lid. The shutters were still closed and the hut fairly dark, otherwise she didn't know if she would have seen that the contents of the barrel shone with a sickly green light.

Braslava held her damaged hand to her chest. She rose from the chair, glanced up into the golem's face, and stepped over to look inside the barrel.

The
volhov
ignored her, unrolling a leather bundle of odd iron tools on the table.

Four eels, each as long as one of her legs, swam in the water, twisting their thick mud-colored bodies about each other. They had tiny, pig eyes. Their mouths hung open, showing their needle teeth. She could not tell if it was the pale belly of the eels or the water itself that glowed. The water stank of old brine. One of the eels rolled to the surface and gulped in air.

Something red lay at the bottom of the barrel. Was it a rock? She peered closer.

"It's his eye," said the
volhov
. "An eye so that I may see. A shem in his stomach to break his bindings and govern his will."

"What are these eels?"

The
volhov
did not answer. She wondered. Did they carry his life? Were they his familiars or talisman? Were they his masters?

He pushed the table to the side to make space on the floor. He ordered his soldiers to bring the wooden bath. He turned to the golem and commanded it to fetch the barrels from the wagon.

The golem turned and exited the hut.

"Very soon, I will take his heart to keep his life safe in my hands."

A few minutes later two soldiers brought in an empty wooden box the size and shape of a coffin into the room. The inside was the light color of maple. Outside, it had been shellacked in red. There was no lid.

Braslava knew this was not a box to be put in the earth.

They placed the box in the center of the floor.

The golem returned, carrying a barrel a normal man would be forced to roll.

The
volhov
walked over to the golem and removed the bung. He pointed to the box. "Dump it inside."

The golem did. It brought in three more barrels, all filled with what smelled like seawater brine, and emptied their contents into the box as well.

Braslava wondered where Anja was. She'd had more than enough time to reach Mislav's. More than enough time to slaughter the ram.

The
volhov
motioned one of his men over to help him. Together they lifted the barrel of eels and dumped them into the box.

"Come, golem," said the
volhov
. "Stand in the waters."

The golem turned its gaze to look at Braslava with its one eye.

"Golem," commanded the
volhov
.

The golem held her gaze a few moments more then stepped into the box.

One of the eels gently wrapped itself about his leg.

Where was Anja?

"Lie down," said the
volhov
. "Lie down and cover yourself in brine."

Braslava did not know the magic of this wizard. But she knew this bath of stinking water was a grave, a death from which her golem would not return.

"No," she whispered.

The golem sat, like a man in a bath. The glistening back of an eel broke the surface of the water and moved past the golem's waist. Then the golem laid itself back and, with barely a disturbance, slipped beneath the brine.

She looked down upon it under the water. The eels swam over the golem, caressing its body with their fat lengths, nuzzling its crevices with their broad and bearded heads.

A commotion rose outside. "Where is the
volhov
?" It was Mislav.

The
volhov
looked up, a smile of triumph on his face. He crossed the hut to the door and exited. Braslava followed him.

Mislav stood in the yard, his baby, wailing and red-faced, in his arms. Nina was held back by two soldiers.

Anja lagged behind, but there was no bottle, no jug, not even a covered bowl of sacrifical blood.

Braslava's heart fell.

"We are honored," said Mislav.

Something suddenly locked in place in her mind. It was Mislav who had alerted the Ban. Mislav who had called this wizard.

She would not believe Mislav was involved with this great evil. And yet, there he was, one knee to the ground.

Anja walked through the yard, skirting Mislav and the
volhov
. She walked up to the door, panting.

"What happened?" asked Braslava.

"Inside," she said.

When they stood in the house, Anja turned to the soldier there. "Your captain says he has your payment. If you don't get it quick, he'll give it to another."

The soldier turned and walked out the door.

Braslava turned to Anja. "What --"

Anja cut her off. "Quickly," she said. She withdrew a small pot from her tunic and a small bundle of fresh mint. She put them on the chair.

Braslava's heart soared. She should have never doubted Anja. They had to get the golem out of the water. "You take the feet," said Braslava. "I'll take the shoulders."

"The golem's too heavy," said Anja. "We'll both take the shoulders."

Braslava considered the eels for only a moment and then she bent over and plunged her hands in. The brine burned her damaged finger. But she ignored the pain and looped her arm under the golem's armpit to pull it out. Anja knelt on the other side.

One of the eels thrashed, turned sharply, and bit into Braslava's arm.

Braslava yanked her arm back and grasped.

"Quickly," hissed Anja.

Braslava clenched her teeth and reached in. She bent low trying to get a good hook on the golem.

The water roiled with the eels' thick bodies. Another bite. Another. There was venom in those fangs. Braslava could feel the burn creeping up her arm.

Anja growled. "Lift," she said.

Braslava heaved with all her might. The two women dragged the golem part way out of the box.

An eel clung to the back of Anja's arm, hanging out of the coffin. They heaved again, and the golem slipped wetly onto the floor. The eel dropped from Anja's arm and writhed next to the golem, gulping air.

Anja retrieved the pot and unstopped it. She dabbed the mint leaves in.

"But we're women," said Braslava. "Shouldn't Mislav --"

"Sometimes," said Anja, "the Lord uses a Deborah and Jael." She withdrew the cluster of mint leaves, red with blood, and wiped them across the golem's forehead. "Sometimes he uses a harlot." The smell of the blood and mint mixed with the brine. She dipped the leaves again, and wiped the golem's arm.

"You," the solider Anja had sent out pointed at them. "Stop!" He charged.

Anja dipped again, but the soldier had crossed the space between them and delivered a kick to her head that sent her reeling. The crock of blood and mint leaves flew from her hands. Anja tried to roll to her knees, but the soldier shoved her aside.

Braslava picked up the stone the
volhov
had smashed her fingers with.

The soldier bent to recover the crock.

Braslava struck him in the head. She struck again. He stumbled back, a look of surprise on his face. With all her might she smashed him one last time in the temple.

The soldier fell sideways to the floor.

Braslava dropped to her knees and grabbed for the pot and mint. Her arm was swelling from the venom. Most of the blood had spilled on the floor. She sopped up the blood, turned, anointed the golem's other arm. She anointed its right leg. Sopped up more blood. The smell of mint and blood filled her. Her arm felt like fire.

The doorway darkened.

Braslava did not look up.

"No!" snarled the
volhov
.

She anointed its other leg. Smeared blood on its chest.

A soldier yanked her back by her hair. She fought to get her legs underneath her, but he dragged her along the floor.

"No," repeated the
volhov
. "No!" He grabbed one of the empty barrels, scooped up water from the box, and splashed it over the golem.

The blood did not wash off.

"A cloth!" he yelled. He dropped to his knees. Scrubbed at the blood with his tunic. "Come off!" he commanded, but the blood had soaked into the clay.

The golem sat up. It raised one hand and took the
volhov
by the throat. It convulsed, then rolled over to its hands and knees, dragging the
volhov
with it.

It convulsed again, violently, and spat a black and slimy lump onto the floor. The shem.

The golem stood and walked over to the small barrel. It reached in and fetched its eye, the
volhov
still struggling in its grip.

The soldier released Braslava's hair and backed up.

The golem stuffed its eye back in its head. Then it turned its attention to the
volhov
. Its face was terrible.

Fear flashed through her. What bindings had the
volhov
broken?

Steam rose from the blood stains on the golem's red clay. But it wasn't steam. It wasn't anything she'd ever seen: wisps of light that hovered and flowed like heavy smoke.

Glory.

It was glory. It was God's divine burnings.

Glory smoked from the golem's eyes. It flowed from in its mouth.

The
volhov
fumbled in his coat.

The golem's hand and forearm burst into flame.

The
volhov
screamed.

The golem lifted the
volhov
off the ground by his neck.

The fire spread, curling the
volhov
's beard, smoking the linen surcoat. Then in a whoosh, he caught flame like a piece of dry grass, blazed into a pillar of fire. Smoke flooded the room, billowed along the ceiling.

Braslava coughed, dropped to her knees. The brightness of that fire hurt. She shielded her eyes.

Anja moaned.

Outside, soldiers shouted. On the roof, the slate shingles clattered and clinked. Dirt blew into the room, followed by a blast of wind that slammed the door and shutters against the wall. Debris flew into Braslava's face. Something struck her in the back. And then the wind turned into a gale.

The room was a furnace. Her hair crackled and curled in the heat. Braslava thought of the burning bush, the smoking mount -- they would all be immolated by God's glory.

She heard a huge crack. Felt herself being pulled up by the wind.

It gusted again and she swore in the rush of wind she heard music or singing. Then the whistling moved outside, the wind retreated. She gulped in a breath of air. It stank of burning flesh, but it was not full of smoke.

Something large thumped to the floor.

She took a breath. And another. She was alive. That in itself was a miracle. She brushed sand from her face and eye lashes. When she opened her eyes, the golem was lying on the floor. The
volhov
was gone.

Braslava rushed to the golem. The red clay shone in places like porcelain. In others it was black.

"Golem?" she said. She touched its shoulder, its arm.

"It's dead," said Anja.

Braslava looked up. Anja was holding her jaw in obvious pain. Her hair was almost all burned away. Anja motioned at the golem's legs. "It's nothing more than baked clay now."

Braslava looked back down. The leg was cracked open down the middle like a loaf of bread. The stomach, chest, arms -- the whole body was spidered with fissures like poorly fired pottery. She touched its handsome cheek and the head rolled to its side, free of the body.

"Golem," she said.