Chapter #10The Golem by: Seuzz   "You don't look happy, son," the old man says quietly. There is just the barest trace of disappointment in his tone, and it leaves your gut twisting.
"Sir," you gasp. "I don't know what to say."
Will Prescott looks between you and Charles Brennan. "He doesn't think this is a good idea, sir," he says quietly. "He doesn't think I'm a good idea."
You glare at Prescott, but you can't look him in the eye. Partly it's because he's speaking the truth, and it kills you that he's able to speak where you cannot. Mostly, you can't look at him because he is you.
They've made another double of you.
"I'd rather hear it from you, son," the old man says gently. "But I understand if you'd like another to speak for you."
You raise your eyes to his, and in their warmth you gain the strength you need.
"I understand, sir. Joe told me, even before you asked me to put my imago in that mask." You glance over at Joe, who turns a little red.
"Of course," Charles says. "I expected him to. This is not something to spring on anyone."
"And he explained why. It's so generous of you, sir. More generous than I deserve. But it's wrong, isn't it? To use the Libra, even for this kind of gift?"
"Anything can be misused, Will," he replies. "But there are very few things that can only be misused."
"Are you saying it has to do with the intention, sir, that because you intend this thing to--?"
The old man doesn't say anything. You look between him and Father Ed. The priest is swinging back and forth in that great rocker and glowering fiercely at you and the golem both. You hated the lessons with him, but he banged a couple of them into you real good.
"Even if the intent is good, sir," you say. "If I steal bread from one hungry man to feed another, I have still wronged the first man."
"That is very true," says the old man. "But who have we wronged by making this thing?"
"Yourself, sir?" Your own words surprise you. "I don't like using the Libra. I think it spoils those who touch it."
"You have touched it, and it has touched you, Will. Very deeply."
"I know, sir." Your voice aches.
"Are you spoiled? Do you spoil what you touch?"
"I hope not, sir."
"I hope not as well. But we will never make such assumptions of you. On the contrary. Enormous proofs would have to be offered first, and even then--"
"Sir." It's all you can say.
"We will destroy this thing, then," Charles Brennan says, and the golem lowers its eyes.
"Sir, I feel pity even for them," you exclaim.
"It is kind of you to pity this thing of clay. What then do you feel for your parents?"
"But there is already another ... one of these things with them."
"Frank?" The old man turns to his other adopted son.
"It was reckless driving last time," Frank says quietly, and folds his arms. "It's going to hurt someone very badly--physically--very soon. There's already a lot of emotional hurt."
"Aubrey Blackwell left a terrible mark upon you, Will," the old man says, turning to you. "And you only escaped by obliterating it with an even stronger mark."
"The Libra," you say quietly.
"And the gypsy curse he crafted remains upon the imposter you left behind. No one, not even a thing such as these, can live tolerably under that mark. It is doing as you--as anyone--would have done. It has taken evil friends, and is doing harmful things, to itself and to those that love Will Prescott. It should be removed, and a substitute for the substitute made. This one--" He nods at the golem. "Would not carry the mark. It would live with the consequences of the other's actions, but would return to your original character. Perhaps even a better one, from the time you've spent with us."
"But its face," you object. "It's reversed. Even if I accepted this gift in spirit, I couldn't accept it for that reason. It wouldn't work."
"Would you accept it in spirit? For the sake of your family?"
"You pin me between two families," you cry. "Those in Saratoga Falls, and those here in Olympia! I don't want to see you polluted by using the Libra, even for the sake of my family there!"
"Is there no way to reconcile them?" he softly asks.
Your heart rises and plunges, for now you see what he is driving at, what he has been driving at all along.
"I could craft a golem myself," you say quietly. You raise your hands. "The golem, the mask, all of it. I could craft it with the powers I carry in myself. I'd take the responsibility upon myself."
"Could you bear it?" Father Ed asks, and frowns.
"I would, for my father and mother's sake."
Father Ed murmurs something. Joe lets out a soft whistle.
But the old man remains grave. "Can you bear the responsibility of how the substitution would be made?"
Now you frown.
"A traffic accident," Frank says. "The new golem would drive into a wall. His face would meet the windshield. There would have to be reconstructive surgery. The inconsistencies would be obliterated. Or would seem explicable."
You and the golem both gasp.
"You would craft a new mask," says the old man. "If you would be willing to put yourself into that accident--for the sake of your family--then your substitute would as well. It would volunteer, because you would."
You wilt. "I'll have to think about it," you say.
"Good," says the old man with a warm smile. "I wouldn't have accepted if you'd immediately said yes."
They remove the mask from the golem, and you go into the back, into the bedroom with Joe and Frank.
"Pretty intense," Joe says. "But you did good. You did amazing. Did you hear what Father Ed said?"
"He asked if I could bear it."
"After, I mean. He said 'Good lad'."
* * * * *
You think long and hard. You meditate for very long. You dream of yourself in the accident they have proposed. You wake in a terrible sweat. But it gives you the answer, for in the dream you felt yourself choosing.
And so they gather good, sweet earth, and you cut some of your own flesh into it and lay your hands on it as Joe sets it aflame with his own gift. For five days and four nights it burns. And when it is done you craft a new mask in your own hands, and within it bind and seal a band, and--in your only concession to it--use the Libra to copy your imago into the mask. The Will Prescott who rises is very grave in aspect. You go off and talk very long with him, treating him not as a dumb thing, but as a brother. "You're going to have all the fun," he says with a weak smile. "I'll visit and tell you all about it," you reply.
Joe and Frank take him back to Saratoga Falls the next morning.
* * * * *
A week later you are in the back yard, staring at the clouds and imagining the faces they contain. The family dog lays by your hip, and you scratch its ears. "Will," a voice calls from the back door, and you and the dog bound off toward the old man.
He is drawn--an expression you've not seen on his face before--and your first thought is that something terrible must have happened to Frank and Joe, but he shakes his head. He asks you to sit with him, and he fumbles a hand into yours. "I must beg your forgiveness," he says.
"You have it," you instantly and sincerely reply. "But for what?"
"For my misjudgment," he say. "In the matter of your substitute."
"What is it?"
"I just heard from the boys. They staged the accident last night. It appeared to have gone off correctly. But then they heard this morning. The golem--insofar as such a thing is possible--died during surgery. At least, that is the appearance of it."
You don't withdraw your hand from his, but it numbs. You see instantly what it means: Perhaps you were not meant to have accomplished this substitution, and an intervention was staged from elsewhere to forestall the consequences of what the Stellae should not have attempted. Such things, you have already learned, sometimes happen.
But there will still be a price to pay. You've now caused your family even more grief than if you had left the bad golem in your place.
"It is my fault, sir. I made the decision," you say.
"Father Ed is on his way over," the old man says. "You will speak with him. And then I will. Until then--" You hold hands and say nothing more.
* * * * *
The session with Father Ed is far more gentle than you could have hoped. He sits with you, and you bend heads, and he prays with you. But not for you: for your parents and brother, for grace and peace for them. You join him, adding your own words rather than echoing his. He gives you an odd look when you pray for peace for the golem as well, but says nothing.
Joe remains in Saratoga Falls, for he still has business there, but Frank returns briefly to Olympia. He looks utterly miserable. But you clap him on the elbow and tell him he did everything he was supposed to do. "It was almost like losing you, though," he says in a hollow voice. "We were with it for a week, you know. At the end, we were almost thinking it was you." He gives you a frightened look. "That is you, isn't it, Will?" he asks in a horrified voice. "You didn't ... leave that fake here, and go off to do something stupid, did you?"
You smile wanly, and open your palm to show the glowing disk of Sulva.
"It still really sucks, though," is all he can say in reply.
To wake from this reverie: "The Boy from Before Everything, Part 2"   | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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