I smiled gently and closed the girl’s eyelids in mute respect.
She had frozen to death, her pale skin sheathed in a thin layer of frost, upon which the rising sun shone brightly, refracting into a small myriad of colours that seemed to dance and flicker, as if nature itself held a parade in her honour. Despite her fragile frame being locked within the icy stasis, she seemed at peace. Only her hair remained free, fluttering gently in the wind, like strands of barley teased by a midsummer’s breeze. Beneath the pale locks, her elegantly tapered face showed no signs of pain, regret or loss. Yet she was young, not ready to part from this world. Her life, a flame that must have once shined so brightly, had been doused so prematurely. I’d seen many tragedies in my time, but none such as this. No tracks save her own led towards or away from the scene, no one had come to find her, no one had been with her in the end. No one had held her hand and said everything will be alright. She had died alone. I swallowed, wincing at the lump abruptly caught in my throat; I shed eighteen tears one for every winter she had been fortunate enough to see.
“Fourteen tears for fourteen years. So may my essence guide you, to wherever you may rest. So in death you may find that which you missed in life. Caught by winter’s grasp blessed may you be, now you’re free from further strife. Go... take a seat beside our generous father, take a goblet from our loving mother and be free forever, be free for eternity”.
Smileg gently I rose and inhaled deeply, letting the crisp clean air of the Karthek Range cleanse my heavy heart. Looking up, I met the sun’s glare as I squinted far out to the east, jaded eyes flicking from peak to peak, looking for some sign of life. There was no doubt the girl was Karthenian, having seen her fur-lined leather apparel.
I wasn’t unfamiliar with the people, I gritted my teeth. They were tribal; they lived for the hunt, facing blizzards, frozen lakes and the treacherous heights - of this most ancient part of Destra - together. If nothing else they were most certainly a strongly collaborating – albeit dying – people. The harsh lifestyle seemed to be taking its toll, refusal to leave the range and their ancient traditions, to embrace the new world of technology and science... had inevitably caused their numbers to dwindle.
Perhaps she had run away? I considered. No.
Her peaceful expression and calm demeanour said otherwise.
Sighing softly I strode toward her, booted feet breaking the silence with a crunching beat as they compressed the freshly fallen flakes beneath. I ran my bare hands through a matt of jet black hair, feeling the cold, sinewy strands and exhaled heavily. I was getting weak. I had tasks to fulfill, masters to please. Why should I care what happened to some poor Karthenian girl?
“What’s happening to me?” I trembled, raising my hands. “I’m shaking?” I laughed half-heartedly, as if it might dispel these new-found feelings. Yet my gaze was still drawn involuntarily towards the deceased child. With a pang, I realized there was no denying it, I felt something for her, but what?
Snorting, I tore my eyes away. Golems never had feelings, Golems didn’t need feelings!
Urak, what are you doing? Are you just going to leave her there?
A sharp drop in temperature accompanied the windborne voice.
“Who are you?” I snarled, startled as I whirled around to face the newcomer.
“What-?” I gaped, seeing only the girl’s stiff corpse framed in the ever drifting light.
She needs your help.
I frowned, narrowing my eyes as I surveyed the scene, emerald eyes sweeping the partial landscape laid out before me.
“Show yourself” I growled, lacing my tongue with venom.
Urak, time is short. Help the girl... quickly now!
“She’s dead!” I retorted, voice beginning to carry irritation.
If Golems can take life, why can’t they grant it?
I froze, jaw dropping. Realisation dawning.
The voice, it was my own. My mind, I was rationalising, thinking for myself.
What is this? How can I...? Am I free, No longer a slave to the will of the god’s?
Leaving the questions unanswered I stole across the cleft, edging towards the child.
If Golems can take life... surely they can grant it?
As I raised a rugged palm, for the first time in my life, a tear rolled down my cheek, a glistening ball of all that was good in me, finally breaking free .
I’m such a fool. I placed my palm upon the coat of ice, above the girl’s... still beating heart.
They come. I see them. They come to claim her. Why? I sense... anger. Hate. They mean to harm her.
They cannot, they wouldn’t! Her own kin? What must this girl have done to deserve their malice? It matters not. For I, Urak have done worse by a thousand fold. Urak the Tyrant, the Betrayer, the Deceiver. I am the one who should be hunted not her, not some... girl. The feeling is alien, but it’s... right. I will protect you; I will guard you until I no longer draw breath and for once trust me. My word... is my own. I am free.
---------------------
Faint veins of blue lined the heavens, gentle tones of warmth and brightness that had been long since concealed. A trace of pink became more prominent amid the frothing clouds as the drifting sun announced the coming of dusk, painting the mountains in a poignant, greying light. Winter now oppressed the Karthek Mountains, shrubs and wild flowers that once studded the summer slopes lay dormant in seeds, blanketed by a fresh drape of frost. A white shroud silenced the rugged landscape; every stream, tree and rock seemed bound to a phantom death, a false life of servitude under its ever-present standard. Fine crystals of snow shivered atop glazed ice, each eagerly awaiting the pristine torrents of air which would inevitably carry them away. Rock and earth towered upwards in a thousand fractured facets, extending to the horizon in every direction; a string of successive sentinels.
Deep within the bowels of these imposing, guardians, a small cluster of dwarf pines was growing timidly from a rocky shelf; each thin tree huddled beneath snow and pressed tightly against a formation of stone. The medley of minute evergreen needles piercing through their glittering garments. The group was one in a handful that remained standing in the high reaches, after the ravages of the month's most recent blizzard. In the valleys below, larger cowards of trees grew in abundance, giddy with the white caps that concealed their rich greenery.
Somewhere near, a raspy voice unfolded over the glacial air, chasing wisps of the speaker's pale breath. “The signs are clear - she is not far now.” His words were uttered in Nithean – the Karthenian tongue - they were brisk and clipped. A sheaf of snow split from its cold moorings and plunged into the clear air, disintegrating into a white mist as it fell.
A gradual terrace of rubble and time-moulded stone lay against the mountainside. Gradually, with barely a sound their feet merely skimming across the uneven surface, eight or nine men climbed upwards. White, frost-painted fur clothed their bodies, bulking them to nearly twice normal size and concealing them in the milieu. Elk-hide wrappings and gloves barely outlined their figures. They were heading towards the lonesome, diminutive grove of pines. Each man crept cautiously and softly, like wind-blown plumes. A staggered trail of faded footprints lay in their wake, winding down the rugged mountainside, disappearing in the distant contours. The man at the procession's head was taller than the rest, and dark bands encircled each of his wrists. He was quickening the pace - hands and feet moving in graceful patterns of precision as he navigated on. He dexterously clambered up a sheltered slab, surmounting the step. With a bear's strength, he helped his comrades to ascend - and one by one they knelt along the stretch of rock. Then, their leader left them to catch their breath as he trudged to the pines. With a strong arm he thrust a snowy clump of branches aside. His gloved finger pointed into the shadows. White flakes drifted lazily down.
“Wounds tell tales.”
Some of the men stood. A browned, flaky smear stretched across the grey rock. Scattered flecks of the dried blood trailed away, into promiscuity. The climbers approached and carefully scrutinized the sign. A man's voice, unaccustomed to speech, uttered a hoarse whisper. “Three nights?”
“It is all but certain”
As the leader drew away, the branches snapped back with a flurry of frost. His fur hood masked a rare smile. At last, their hunt was close to an end. Their quarry would be no more than a stiff corpse, a broken trophy to return to the tribe. They would find her in some sheltered cave, or lying crumpled at the bottom of an icy crevice. She would be mangled, maimed by nature's wild ravings and the wounds they had inflicted upon her. It was three days ago - seemingly longer - when the blizzard came to spirit the girl away, halting their search. Once the winds had abated, the inept scouts stalled for two days, vainly searching for her elusive trail. The task demanded their leader's adroitness and knowledge. Already he vowed that when her body was secured, when the scouts were no longer needed, they would feel the lash.
He straightened his back, feeling a sore, bodily groan. The persistent throb of hunger had not faded since the great hunt, many a day past. He surveyed the slope that lay ahead - his vision was limited naught but a thin slit, he raised a hand to wipe away the accumulation of snow on his matted brow and with trained eyes, he found a likely pathway.
“Ramas, Horo!” he rounded, peering sternly into the meek group. “Hasten ahead. Climb to the plateau.” He flicked his wrist impatiently. “Tell us what you see. We will follow.”
Two men emerged from the pack, grunting in response - they were the smallest, yet their frames bulged with lean muscle, making them ideal scouts and climbers. Abandoning caution, they did as they were ordered, scrambling deftly towards the distant plateau. The loose rock, snow and ice of the perilous slope barely quaked as their nimble feet passed them by. After a savoury draw from the chilled air, the leader set off, his cadre aligned behind him. When they reached the slope, a sheet of sheer ice leered at them, eagerly awaiting a misjudged movement. With sharp eyes, the leader and his men analysed every grainy rock and thin recess. Hardened boot edges found unseemly grips. It was rare for the Range to betray their children, having nurtured them in the bitter elements since their mothers gave them life - yet, the group would go slowly, for one man's folly could bring death to all.
“Tarka!” A gruff voice called from below. The leader paused, wedging a toe in the nearest crevice.
“Speak.”
“Another sign.”
The man fingered a loose chunk of rock; a vein of dried blood ran over it. This assuaged the doubts any still had. The leader - known as Tarka - nodded in recognition. He could not comprehend why the girl had fled to these heights - the blizzard's terror must have dissolved her judgment, and it’s winds must have been at her back, driving her onward. The motion of limbs overhead softened; Ramas and Horo had reached the steepest incline of the slope. They halted for the moment as the wind pulled at them menacingly - then, with well-placed hands and feet, they pressed on. Just as Tarka immersed himself in some obscure reflection, the wind's vigour grew, blowing fiercely over the men’s’ now exposed backs - the keen stalkers gritted their teeth, focusing on the rewards they would soon reap. Shortly later, within the time-span of a dozen breaths, the two scouts drew near the lip of the plateau. They began to slow to a crawl, as if harbouring some fear of what they might find.
Tarka called out to them: “Don't steady - keep going!” His words were muffled by the mounting whine of the gale. Obediently, the scouts hauled themselves higher, labouring to circumvent thick, rounded loaves of ice. With their garments fluttering they rose up over the edge of the plateau, and dropped out of sight. The onlookers did not linger, climbing with great haste, eager to see for them if their long-sought quarry had finally fallen under their grasp. A tribal, ancestral power ran through their veins - stronger in some than others -just then awakening within, the frenzied energy rising to a nearly irrepressible level. A clump of snow and ice was kicked free from the cliff and caught by the wind. The seven stalkers were closing upon the prize.
Suddenly, a strained cry came from the plateau. “She is here, Tarka! But-” Horo's voice wavered, “- she’s not alone...”
The sun had passed beyond dense cloud, leaving the sky a bleak grey akin to worn steel. The climbers froze, bracing tensely against the gusts which now struck without warning. Waves of angst blended with Tarka's pulsing blood. What body heat he had not lost to the wintery day deserted him. Confusion blurred his thoughts and his thin frame shook violently.
“Explain, Horo!”
The reply did not come. In the distance, arching geysers of snow careened from the mountain peaks, born from the wind. Anticipating a fearsome gust, Tarka adjusted his weight, pressing close to the rock and gave rapid hand gesture signalling his men to follow suit. The howl came, the wind clawing fearsomely at anything loose and supple. One of the men lost his footing, crashing against hard rock. He was steadied by a firm hand, prior to the torment subsiding.
---------------------
“Ramas, Horo?!”
The question was veiled by the air currents. I closed my mind to the prying voice and filled my ears with the messages of the wind. The two scouts were standing still. My gaze shifted from one to the next. No doubt a lurid fear had suffused their hearts. I was standing between them and the rigid body of the poor girl. They glanced furtively, first to her, then to one another, and then back to her. They sought her. I willed myself calm as a snarl came unbidden. I had thought I would never know the truth. It was almost soothing to see her kinsmen - her torturers - draw back with fright. The wind was speaking to me. Whispers were passing among the Karthenians on the slope. They sensed something was amiss - misgiving had been woven in their sinew since tender ages. Rock shifted as they resumed the climb. The fears playing through their thoughts would be devoid of a Golem… until death doused their squalid lives.
I summoned my breath, hushed words slipping from my mouth in their native tongue. “You shall not touch her.” I was observing two souls about to die. The freezing air grated their thin nerves. I sensed rocks shift as the climbers below drew near. “Your deaths shall be swift.”
These men had trained as hunters… and killers - I saw the blood of past lives sadistically marring their sight. But they were no warriors; they could barely wield the blades sheathed at their sides. They stood dumbly, as if in disbelief. The wooden staff moved with blurring speed, flying bird-like over my raw skin. The spiralling currents of air swept across my face. The scouts were precariously close to the edge as I advanced. Cold air wafted through my lungs in tandem to the rhythm of the staff. The knotted tip carried the momentum.
They scattered with impulsive fear as I unleashed the blow. The heft of wood struck, tearing fur and breaking flesh, but not where I had intended. The man's uninjured arm groped for his sword while the second scout scrambled to his knees, leaning over the rock ledge to signal his comrades. My staff struck a white-knuckled fist, disarming the first scout. With a free hand I seized his own blade's hilt and swung the glinting steel across his neck. Doused by adrenaline I ignored the mindless splutter of pain and terror. The disembowelled sight was a blur in the crook of my vision. Before the corpse struck the ice, I threw the blade – it spun wildly through the air – embodying itself with a sharp thud and accompanying scream. Both lay lifeless when my next breath came. A pool of bright, glistening blood saturated the white snow, causing it to steam with heat.
From below, unintelligible voices rang through the crisp air. I tore a bloodied strip of fur from one of the scouts and flung it over the edge for every fearful eye to see. Nervous, mystified hearts were easily overcome.
The coldness of the air had become unkind, and impressed upon the climbers. Whenever they made a free gesture its soporific effect slowed their movements. After a night to face the elements, they would be as lifeless as the girl. The leader was the first to see the bloodied scrap descending ominously over their heads. Worrisome cries and dark curses sprang from his men. He looked them over with a rending gaze.
“Kulo, go!” I heard him bark. “Make haste. See what has happened. The rest of you, keep on – carefully now.”
I needed no sight to see the scene, for the mountain told me all. A solitary white figure began to climb, passing the leader with a curt grunt. His stubby limbs pulled and pushed off the rock, all but without effort. His haste was impressive to say the least. Upon his cresting of the plateau, the leader drew in a sharp breath. The low evening sun shot brilliant beams through a gap in the clouds, and through the piercing luminescent light I watched the man ascend the rim.
As the blinding light faded, I dipped the end of my staff in the blood, lacquering the gnarled wood with liquid. The sour smell of death wafted through the calm air of the plateau. The men I had killed were fodder for the blood-lust singing its demanding song within me. I would defend the girl to the very last dregs of strength, though why I felt so inclined, I knew not. I stepped forward, noting the third Karthenian was both oblivious to my presence and preoccupied with catching his breath.
My fists tightened around the knotted staff. His pain would end as soon as it began. A droplet of frost-blackened blood slipped from the grooves of the staff and splashed upon the ice.
Alas, the fool raised his head, his line of sight revealing the bloodied corpses, and he seemed puzzled, stunned. He must have been no more than a boy - unaccustomed to wars and death. The imminent deed, which I'd seen many a man shy from in fear, soothed my soul and sent flames of passion through my vision. I unleashed the fury that coursed through my veins, swinging the staff at his proffered skull. It was then that his own shock took him, and he wrenched to the ground in a convulsion. My misjudged blow struck the side of his head uncleanly, ripping off the fur hood, leaving a red-smeared entanglement where his ear should have been. The boy staggered forward on hands and knees, dazed. Vomit spewing from his lips, excavating a rancorous trough in the snow.
The pulsating gusts of wind whipping around the mountain formed a protective halo, nearly visible against the dim evening landscape. I paced slowly forward, footfalls compressing the ice with the sound of a nightmarish presence – only fitting for a Golem. The Karthenian filth crawling on the ground spun around as he battled with dismay. I was perversely pleased that he looked me in the eyes. Those brown disks that must have witnessed the unimpeded torment of at least a handful by his own doing suddenly contracted in animalistic desperation, the mind within realizing it was on the receiving end now. If it had any acumen it knew its life was over, since the moment it scaled the ledge. Wielding the staff like an axe in both hands, my second blow struck the ice, slamming a disappointing finger's breadth from his flesh and bone, scorching a burning path down his cheek.
At the top of my lungs I roared belligerently, not withholding strands of spittle. “You will suffer far worse than she!” My prey's face contorted in heightened, vivid trepidation. Time seemed to slow while I once again envisioned her final day: stumbling, grievously pain stricken, beaten and berated by the foul Karthenians who shared the same mountains. This scout was one of them. “Die!”
The end of the staff struck his shoulder and I drove it deeper with unrelenting pressure until it seemed to sink through the wretched flesh and crush bone. The body's arms and legs flailed, the man twisting and writhing as he tried to be free. But there was no escaping the just retribution for his acts. I smiled cruelly, unable to deny the elation I felt at his life draining away.
“Tarka! Tarka!” He was yelling at a frenzied pitch. My right boot cut him short, driving down over his chin. Silently, I chastised myself for letting him live so long. The other two died far the quicker. I felt the sensitive, squirming face underfoot buckle and bend. The joints of the jaw slipped with a subtle pop. The man's eyes rolled uncontrollably, tilting into whiteness, gazing into the back of his head. He turned pale and I heard his hysterical breathing tainted by a trickle of blood that flowed down his throat. His hands and feet jostled, moving spasmodically. Any moment and the others would ascend the ledge. I twirled the staff from hand to hand, waiting. Wondering.
Why am I doing this? Why am I risking life and limb for her? What does she mean to me!
“WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?” I cried, leaping at the next Karthenian, breaking his nose with the staff’s tip and a sickening crack, sending him spiralling to his death before he even crested the rise.
It was with a ruthless conduct and bloodthirsty conscience that I dispatched the rest of the party, strewing their corpses upon the cleft and allowing their blood to stain the snow a dirty crimson.
I stood for a while, inhaling deeply, admiring my handy work.
I felt no remorse for the men; it was just like any other kill, any other duty.
They had deserved to die, so died they had. Was it really that simple? Did I truly have the power, the right to decide their fate? Or did the gods control me still? Like a wolf held by a chain, teased with slack only for the yoke to be tightened once more. My blood boiled, my head span. Was it so much to ask to be free? To live a life of my own? To go where I please, do what I do.
Seething, I turned to the reasoning behind all this, the girl... What part did she play in it all?
Shaking my head I dropped the staff unceremoniously upon blood stained blanket of snow and joined her in a state of stasis, silent, still. Waiting, wondering.
***
My mind was bled dry, my memories drained like water from a sponge. The pain caused by the pressure had been excruciating, my mind had been squeezed of every last recollection. Nothing remained. I lay there, cold and broken, wounds to deep to heal. I was dead inside.
A sickness crawled beneath my skin, slowly moving towards my core – trying to take the rest of me away. I could feel myself suffocate, falling into nothing – I felt hopeless, I felt dead inside.
With time, I felt different. Something had changed, a shadow had been unveiled, a life restored?
My heart burned pleasantly, a deep, warm, whole feeling. I felt the sickness leave me.
I felt as if I could breathe once more, the warmth washing it away. I felt alive, rejuvenated... and awake.
The light was bright, dazzling. A ray of white that cut through my vision like a sharp blade through flesh, purging all the doubt, all the shadow, leaving me free to think, to see and to feel.
I tried to move but met resistance, a cold tingle, a minute restraint. Blinking madly I tried to focus, tried to make sense of my surroundings. Where was I? What held me? I blinked serenely and sat upright, composing myself. I saw nothing but shades of black and white, burry, half complete silhouettes of my surroundings. I glanced around cautiously, instinctively expectant. Something had happened, or was about to...
I whirled my upper body about, legs and arms still locked, squinting and desperately trying to make something out... anything. I inhaled deeply, calming myself. I felt the bitter chill, snatch at my hair with futility, gently tugging at the pallid wisps. It caressed my face, fondling me gently, almost like a mother would tend to a lost child. The breeze seemed to be rejoicing, welcoming, comforting.
I smiled gently as I raised a slender arm – all of a sudden –free from the phantom bonds. Mother Nature knows her own, she welcomes me home.
“Karthek” I rasped, voice soft, airy and laced with awe.
“It's very beautiful" a foreign voice agreed.
The abrupt speech startled me, it carried a rough edge yet retained a strangely soothing aspect that I couldn't quite place my finger on.
I turned to what I presumed was the source, one among many black blurs upon the frizzled white canvas laid out before me.
"I didn't go through alI that just to hurt you myself" it chuckled, seemingly finding my puzzled expression mildly amusing.
I forced a smile to my pallid face, suppressing an involuntary frown, but as I drew back he spoke again.
"You have beautiful eyes, a much richer blue than I have ever seen... and I've seen many" it was a statement rather than a compliment, the man - which I now presumed 'it' was - seemed content to speak in monotone.
I hesitated, unsure whether I should flee... whether I could flee, with my vision hampered so. I struggled to recall how I got here, even why I was here. Would he know? Could she trust him? Surely if he meant me harm he would've done so by now?
"Go through all what?" I asked timidly, recalling his previous comment whilst allowing curiosity to get the better of me.
The blob shifted, repositioning itself before waving a stubby little outcrop across my line of sight, indicating something.
"Hunters, six, maybe seven. They pursued you, I..." the man paused, obviously choosing his next words carefully.
"...dealt with them" he said stonily, betraying nothing.
I couldn't help but furrow my brow, deep in concentration, trying to remember...
"The name Tharka, was mentioned" the man offered, trying to shed some light upon the situation.
'Tharka' I gasped, understanding having dawned.
“It’s ok your safe now, he hunts you no longer”
Words were meant to sooth, made my eyes dilate and widen.
His voice, I recognised it, didn’t I?
“Is something wrong?” he asked gruffly.
I felt my jaw drop. It was him, it had to be. Surely.
My hands began to shake, my body to tremble.
This could not be, yet it could be no one else.
I reached out for him, flailing clumsily with my impeded vision.
I imagined he would fade away, blink out of existence or disappear into nothing, but he didn’t.
“It is you” I breathed, tears beginning to fall, pleasantly warm against my icy skin.
“You came back” I cried, letting the dam burst, allowing bead after bead to filter through my glazed eyes. Warmth flooded me, it enveloped me like a hot sea it drowned out everything else. The whole within me was gone, filled, sealed. I was whole once more.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about” the man replied coldly, edginess to his voice.
I ignored him, too overjoyed with the prospect of his return. All those years alone, all those years of wandering the world in a sick solitude, were they finally over?
“I do not know you” he growled, shaking me to my senses.
“What? Urak, that’s not funny, don’t play games with me please. All those years, you’ve no idea… Oh I’m just so glad your back”.
I reached to embrace him but to my horror, he backed away causing me to fall into the warm snow.
Warm… Sticky… I lifted my face and miraculously my vision began to focus, I could see clearly.
Blood. A lake of it covered the cleft, seeping from a mound of bodies stacked high in its centre.
My people lay there, piled high, without respect, without dignity. They lay mutilated, limbs missing, torn or crushed. Heads surrounded the mounds base, eyes grim and lifeless. I wanted to scream. To cry out. Who could do such a thing? I noticed Tarka, his body separate from the rest, strung up on one of the fur trees, at least I thought it was him. The body had been flayed, skinned, alive by the looks of it. I gasped and raised a hand to my mouth. I screamed, seeing it to stained with blood, the crimson fluid was everywhere, it stained the mountain, framed the cleft. I shook uncontrollably.
“Urak what have you done?” I screamed, turning to face the Golem, the son of gods.
“I did what I had to… To protect you” he shrugged, smiling, almost as if admiring his handy work.
I balked.
“They got to you didn’t they?” I sobbed, tears winning out once more.
“They took you away all those years ago, you swore to me; you swore you’d never forget!” I wailed.
“My masters are unaware of this arrangement” he muttered, defensively “but you… I do not recall”.
“You shouldn’t have come back Urak, you shouldn’t have returned. They’ll kill you now, it’s all they can do, and you cannot be allowed to live”.
“Who?” he growled in disbelief.
“Your children… Our children, you made them promise, if you ever came back… your life was forfeit”