The youth grimaced, coughing in the dust, and peered toward the front of the wagon train. There, his father, the Mahkra, guided the band toward the edges of the next town where once again the Cycle would begin. Gallaedrial glowered. It wasn't fair that his mother was relegated such a menial position in the band's hierarchy. She was the wife of the Mahkra. She should ride with him in the front and not be forced to eat almost a third of the wagon train's dust. But that was not their Way. The wife of the Mahkra was not granted the title of Mahkraini. Positions were bartered and traded for among the Folk. And Gallaedrial's mother had not enough resources to even consider that esteemed position.
Hours passed walking in the glaring sun. And then a horn sounded from somewhere behind Jahnsaa's wagon. Someone had busted a wheel and with that single sharp blast was signaling the Mahkra. Almost immediately the Mahkra's clear note rang for the train to stop. Not one of their number would ever be left behind. It was their Way. Gallaedrial watched as his father rode by on the back of a high-stepping black mare. He was an older man, but not yet past his prime. A long white beard flowed down his green robes slightly wisping behind him as him passed. He did not acknowledge his son. Gallaedrial snorted. He shouldn't have expected more.
The wait was not long and once again the band was on the move. His mother's little pony grunted and hauled their wagon, which held their life, forward to follow the red cart in front of them. They were on their way again. The Cycle continued.
In this manner the days were filled until they came close to the small town of Jacra. The Folk set up camp several miles from the town, for they had learned long ago not to pitch camp closer. People feared their kind. Thieves, robbers, and abductors of children all of these terms were used to describe the Traveling Folk. All of them false. Yet, even with these stigmas, the townsfolk found their skills as carpenters, pot menders, and weavers, useful. Therefor their presence was tolerated. Until a bucket of milk left in the hot sun curdled. The Traveling Folk were considered witches too.
Gallaedrial unhitched the pony from the wagon and began to brushed him down. Someone in the band began to sing and soon the others picked it up. It was there Way to sing as they worked, and so the band did.
". . .Oh, the Traveling Folk are We,
The Traveling Folk are We.
We'll Sing to the rocks we'll sing to the trees,
We'll sing till our work is done,
and in the end we'll shudder and sigh....
When we look upon the Golem's Eyes. . ."
Gallaedrial shuddered at the thought of the Golems Eye, the harbinger of death. He had not long to think on it though for the Mahkraini's shrill voice could be heard screeching above the cacophony made by the band. She annoyed the fear right out of him. Leall was such a shrew. Unfortunately, at the Passing of the Mahkraini Leall was the only woman with enough gold to buy the position. She thought much more of herself for it. Everyone knew she was not fit for leadership. Yet no one else could out bid her. It was their Way.
Gallaedrial looked up from his chore as Jahnsaa hobbled around the wagon. The remnants of youth hanging about her face. Her black hair, now a dirty grey, hung lax across her head. She was worn down from a hard life on the road, made no less so by losing six sons in their youth and watching her husband take another wife to make up for her failures. Gallaedrial was her last and only surviving child. Fate had seen to having him conceived on the last night the Mahkra had spent with Jahnsaa, seven months before the Mahkra's heir was born to another woman.
"Here now. Let me get that, " He said as his mother began unloading the heavy cooking supplies from the back of their home. She looked at him with a flat stare and shook her finger.
"I've been doing this for thirty-six years before you came around. There will be plenty of time for you to carry my weight when I die, boy, " she croaked through the dust in her throat. "Now away with you. We need some meat for tonight pot. Into the forest. Your mamma wants some rabbits." Her son smiled. She was a stubborn old bitch wolf, and he loved her for it. Then, grabbing his bow, he set off into the surrounding forest.
* * *
Gallaedrial was a tall, lithe youth who's soft footfalls disturbed not a single leaf on the forest floor as he carefully wound his way among the tall oaks. He held his bow at ready, sighting down the shaft as he glided amongst the trees. Suddenly, a rabbit burst from the underbrush, with a sharp twang the youth loosed the arrow from his bow, cursing when it failed to meet its mark. Then, pausing only long enough to retrieve the shaft from it embedment in the ground, he sprinted after the leaping rabbit.
Gallaedrial ran. His long legs eating up the ground beneath him, but still the rabbit did not tire. It too ran as if it possessed the wings of the quail that flurried up from the gnarled roots of the ancient trees. Gallaedrial was sure that rabbit had a den somewhere and would disappear at any moment. But the rabbit did not disappear. It continued running, somehow never gaining or losing ground to its pursuer.
The forest ended abruptly and the hare sprang into a small clearing. Gallaedrial scuffed the plush grass beneath his cloth boots as he came to a hurried stop, watching the rabbit jump across a babbling brook and leap into its den beside the steps of a small thatch roofed cottage. The youth sighed. That rabbit was gone. He would just have to find another.
As he slowly backed from the clearing, the cottage's green door opened. Gallaedrial watched, expecting an old crone to emerge. His expectations were not fulfilled. It was a lady that walked from that door and Gallaedrial stood transfixed by her beauty. Her milky skin flowed across her body, across her high brow, and her delicate ears. Her dress was a simple home spun garment of cotton, dyed a light blue but she wore it like a queen. Her reddish blonde hair, which curled about her shoulders, would have been the envy of every bee who prided itself on the color of it honey. But it was her eyes that set of her beauty, like twin sapphires they were, but with flecks of gold within them appearing to move about on their own accord.
The lady stood on the steps of the cottage with a small leaf of lettuce in her hands. "You come out now," she scolded. At first Gallaedrial thought she was speaking to him and he took a step forward. But it was not he to whom she was talking, but the hare he had chased beneath her house. Obediently the rabbit crawled from it hole and commenced eating the leaf from her hand. "What has you so upset, Atreides?" she asked the rabbit, stroking the fur on its head. As if to answer, the rabbit stared across the clearing wiggling its nose at Gallaedrial. Following his stare the lady spied the youth.
She scowled at the bow in his hand and then said, "Put that away, boy. You're scaring Atreides." He did as he was told looping the bow across his shoulder and replacing the arrow into its quiver. "Well don't stand there all night come in and explain to me why you were trying to kill my rabbit." She turned on her heels and entered the cottage leaving the door open for Gallaedrial to follow.
He shrugged and then skipped across the brook and up to the emerald door. Before he could shut it, however, Atreides nearly knocked him over as he ran into the house to hide behind his mistress' skirt, raising up on his back legs he clicked his teeth at the intruder. "Hush, Atreides," she said softly, "He is a guest now. Be nice." The rabbit lowered to all fours but laid his ears back, clearly unhappy about the entire situation.
The house's interior was composed of a large living area which served as kitchen, dining room, and sitting room. A door in the back led to a single small bedroom. The stone walls were covered in various home made tapestries, which pictured animals from the surrounding forest. One could not be mistaken for anything but a picture of Atreides with a golden crown cocked around one ear. No doubt that was how the hare pictured himself, Gallaedrial smirked, king of the forest. "Have a seat," the lady motioned to the table and as the youth sat she continued by saying, "I was not expecting a guest for supper but there should be enough for two." She stirred her meal on the hearth and a healthy aroma rose into the air.
"That's fine, m'lady." Gallaedrial replied. "My mamma will be expecting back soon as it is."
"I am no noble lady, boy. So you can drop the m'ladys."
"Well. If you are not noble, you could easily pass as such."
The woman raised her eyebrows and shook her ladle at him. "Your honeyed tongue will not get me to forget you tried to kill my Atreides."
"I didn't know it he was your rabbit, good woman. I was just trying to bag something for my mamma's pot. I would never have thought to try at him if I would have known."
"No doubt you wouldn't," she sighed, "and forget the good woman too. You can call me Xarra, boy."
"Fine Xarra but you can call me Gallaedrial, of the Traveling Folk. I haven't been a boy in years."
"You are more of a boy than you know Gallaedrial of the Traveling Folk," she sniffed, "Traveling Folk," she uttered in disdain.
"If I offend you so much, I will leave, good lady." He said, rising.
"Sit. You do not offend me. Good people can be found everywhere, Gallaedrial. Even among the Traveling Folk."
Gallaedrial frowned, "Yes," he said sitting again, "I've heard that you can occasionally find good people living in cottages in the middle of forests as well."
Xarra smiled. " I deserved that, " she replied her eyes crinkling in mirth. "I have a garden out back, Gallaedrial," she said, her voice softening, "there are more vegetables there than I could ever eat. Take as many as you need."
"I wouldn't feel right just taking them, Xarra. But I have nothing to offer you in service."
Xarra pursed her lips thinking. "I have some wood beside the house that needs splitting. Will performing that labor put your mind at ease?"
The youth nodded. "It will be done and only then will I take the vegetables."
It took Gallaedrial nearly an hour to split and stack the wood that he had promised. Only then did he retire to the garden behind the cottage. He was amazed by the amount of vegetables that Xarra had planted. Her small garden was nearly a half acre. As she had said there was more here than she could ever use. He picked corn and okra, squash and beans, and wrapped them in his shirt so he could carry them back to his mother. When he was finally through, he noticed Xarra watching him from the side of the field. "You have planted quite a garden."
"Yes. I don't have much else to keep me occupied. So I feed the animals of the forest. They keep me company."
"Have you ever considered moving?" he asked as he walked up to join her.
"This is my home, Gallaedrial. It has been for many years. I have no wish to leave it." She glanced toward the setting sun, large and glowing, slowly sinking into the trees. "You should get back to the wagons. Your mamma will be expecting you."
"Yes, she most likely is already wondering where I have been. Thank you for your hospitality. And I am truly sorry about trying to bag your rabbit."
"You have my forgiveness. Atreides', however, will be harder won. Come back when you have more time to talk, Gallaedrial. A woman gets lonely out here."
"I will," he said, turning his head over his shoulder as he walked away. "I promise."
It was a longer trek back to camp than Gallaedrial remembered. He couldn't believe he had chased Atreides that far. But soon he did arrive back at his mother's wagon. Jahnsaa threw her arms around him on his return.
"I was beginning to wonder about you, boy," she croaked, "don't scare an old woman like that. I hope that is rabbit you have wrapped up in that shirt."
"Better, mamma, " he said, unrolling his bundle and letting the vegetables scatter across the ground.
"Where did you get these?"
"Be at ease I didn't steal them. There is a lady who lives in the forest. I split her firewood in exchange for these vegetables."
"You did well. You did well," she rasped excitedly.
* * *
The days among the Traveling Folk passed. Pots were mended and rugs were woven. It was a prosperous time for the Folk. The people of Jacra were less suspicious of the band then normal and they had camped in the same place for almost a month. In that time not two days would pass before Gallaedrial would visit that cottage by the babbling brook and speak with Xarra. At first they were timid and talked about the weather. They way the heat seemed less this summer and the breeze fresher. Soon their conversations grew more in depth.
". . .so when the Mahkra dies you will be the Mahkra?" she asked him one day after he had explained his relationship with his father to her.
"No," he replied. "I am not the heir, I'm sure Mikkael will take the title." "You mean there is a chance your brother will not be the Mahkra?"
"A very small chance. I don't think anyone among the Folk have enough gold to buy the Mahkraship. Mikk will inherit all of our father's worldly possessions, with those he is assured to make the highest bid."
"And you will get nothing from your father?" her voice was cold.
"Nothing. Father will not gamble on his heir having enough resources to make a bid. I will never see anything of my father's. I don't even have his name. That too is reserved for his heir."
Xarra's eyes were dark. "That hardly seems fair."
"It is our way," he replied taking her hands in his. "It is our way."
"Well, it isn't the way of my people," she said hotly.
"Who are your people, Xarra? You never told me from where you came. How did you get stuck out her in the middle of the forest all alone? You know everything about me. I scarcely know your name."
She looked at him then, like a frightened deer gazing at a hunter in its last moments of life. Gallaedrial saw doubt and flow across her eyes. Then, unsure she began, "I . . . was the servant of a woman who once owned this cottage. When she died I...took the place as my own. I don't think she had any family."
Gallaedrial knew she wasn't telling him all the story. It was too simple it didn't explain her reticence "That isn't all, Xarra. What are you not telling me?"he asked gently.
She swallowed hard then and a tear rolled down her cheek. "I wasn't really a servant... not willingly. I was the woman's slave, Gallaedrial. The old woman was evil. Surhana was a witch. She has me bound to this place. I cannot leave it. And whenever I complained about me confinement she would beat me and tell me to be thankful for what I had. I was glad when she died. I buried her out there." Xarra pointed through the single window in the room whose shutters were thrown back letting in the summer breeze. A mound rose from the forest's edge .The grave was unmarked and unkept. But who could have blamed her, Gallaedrial thought as he held her in his arms. "You don't have to be alone here anymore, Xarra."
That night Gallaedrial sat by the fire with his mother eating candied yams roasted in the fire and glazed with honey from Xarra's hive. "What's eating you, boy?" Jahnsaa asked her son. "I can see it in your eyes. Something's wrong."
Gallaedrial smiled. "It's Xarra, mamma. I think I love her. I want to be with her all the time and when I am away from her I feel like a part of me is missing."
His mother laughed in delight. "Oh, I remember when I first felt that way with your father. I am so happy for you. But you need to bring her to meet me. It isn't proper that you haven't introduced her to your mamma yet. The others would have a field day with that. My son speaking the Vows to a woman who hasn't had the Talk of Teas."
"That's the problem, mamma. She can't leave her cottage."
"What?" Jahnsaa glared at her son out of her good eye suspiciously. "Can't leave her place long enough to meet with me?"
"She is bound to the cottage, mamma. She was enchanted by a witch that once lived in this forest."
His mother leapt to her feet. Her tea cup shattered on the hard stony ground. "A witch! Did she tell you the witch's name? Quick, boy. Out with it!" Gallaedrial was bewildered by his mother's response. "Give me a second I have to think. She mentioned it only once...It's something like Serna...Surna. . ."
"Surhana?!"
"That was the name! That's what she said."
"By the Seven Gods and all their children!" Jahnsaa sank back to the ground. "I never thought that name would haunt me again."
"What is it, mamma?" Gallaedrial was concerned by his mother's pale visage.
"It isn't good to speak of the dead, boy. Leave it be." She could tell her words were wasted by the look on her son's face. She knew that look, and when it came not even the Gods could change his mind.
"You don't mean physically dead do you, mamma? You mean dead to the Traveling Folk." The Traveling Folk were a strict order. They would take any who wished to come into their ranks. But if one left, or was expelled, they were dead to the Folk. They mourned them, wearing black sack clothe, and grieved for them seven days, one day for each of the Seven Gods. When the seven days had passed, the dead person's name was not spoken of again. "You knew this witch didn't you?" Jahnsaa nodded.
"I knew her," she replied curtly. "She was my sister once. She was your aunt. But she is dead now. She is doubly dead. But I have no tears left to cry for her. I grieved for her the day her black arts sentenced her to her first death."
Gallaedrial was taken aback. He had no words to say. But his mother continued. "If this girl was a servant of hers there is no doubt she was enchanted. Surhana never believed in free choice. And there is no doubt she hasn't been tainted either. I beg of you don't go back to that cottage. Don't see that girl again!"
"I can't do that mamma. I love her."
"Gallaedrial," she pleaded, "Your aunt would never have died of natural causes. A witch as black as she is surely immortal."
"What are you saying?" then it dawned on him what his mother was thinking. His nostrils flared in anger. "She didn't kill her mother! Xarra is NOT a killer!"
Jahnsaa said nothing just sat looking into her son's eyes as he towered over her, his fists clenched tightly. Then very softly, "You were never an angry boy before you met that girl, my Gallaedrial." Her son shook his head but did not reply, he just left, stalking quietly away.
* * *
Jahnsaa found the next morning dawning with Gallaedrial crouched beside the cook fire with a hot cup of tea in his hands. He poured her a cup and said, "I'm sorry I yelled at you, mother. But I still do not think Xarra would do a thing like that."
Jahnsaa frowned. "I only wish I could believe the same." Her skin was paler than normal this morning and thin beads of sweat lay on her brow. Her boney liver-spotted hands shook as she held her cup.
"You're sick." Gallaedrial placed his hand across her forehead. "And burning with fever. Back to bed, mamma. I will get Clegan. He will know what to do." His mother nodded and he helped her back up into the wagon and into her bed. It was not a good sign that she went there willingly. Once she was comfortable, Gallaedrial went in search of the bands Master Healer. It was not long before he had dragged Clegan into his mother's wagon. "Wait outside," the healer's was use to being obeyed and Gallaedrial saw no reason to argue and so he waited by the door to the wagon.
After sometime the Master Healer emerged. His face was grim and Gallaedrial sensed that the news would not be good. "I'm sorry, son. There's nothing I can do. She has the red fever."
"What does she need? " Gallaedrial pleaded. "What herb or medic do I need to find!"
The healer shook his head, "There is no herb, boy. The red fever has no cure. It would be best if you said your goodbyes. Go now, boy. Your mamma was calling for you."
Gallaedrial crawled into the wagon and sat by his dying mother. He held her hand near his heart and wept. "Don't weep for me yet, boy," her voice was weak. "I still have some time." Her body was racked then with a thick cough. "The red fever takes no one quickly."
"Clegan should not have told you."
"I already knew what was wrong. There is no cure. No cure," she breathed.
"Oh, mamma. I should have been with you instead of with Xarra."
"Don't blame yourself, boy. Your mamma's old. Old and tired. Promise me you won't go back to that wicked house. Promise me, Gallaedrial."
Her son thought deeply about it. He thought about lying to his dying mother to give her peace. But he knew he could never lie to her. "I can't do that. Xarra is a fine woman. She's beautiful, witty, and intelligent. I don't think there's a thing she doesn't know." He threw back his head and laughed. "Of course, mother. Xarra. She would know of a cure. She knows everything. I have to go to here I have to get you a cure." He leaped up and hit his head on the wagon's roof. But it didn't matter. His mother would surely live.
* * *
"Gallaedrial," Jahnsaa croaked from her small bed and he stopped by the door. "Remember the Golem's Eyes."
As he walked through the forest, Gallaedrial did remember the Golem's Eyes. He snorted. The Traveling Folk were fond of changing children's stories into prophecies, which they had done with the Golem's Eyes. It was said that a golem would destroy the Traveling Folk. Destroy the very Way itself and that it would never be rekindled. "You can tell a golem by its eyes," the story said. Just how Gallaedrial didn't know. Then he cursed as his boot splashed into the stream.
Xarra smiled and flung open the door at his approach. She swung her arms around him and only then noticed something was wrong. "What is it, Gallaedrial? What's wrong?"
"It's my mamma. She is being consumed by the red fever. Please help her, " he pleaded.
Xarra turned her head, biting her lip she said, "I...I...cannot."
But Gallaedrial saw her lie. "Why do you wish my mother to die? You can save her. Do it damn you!" He slammed his fist down on the table and dishes shattered onto the floor.
Through her tears Xarra screamed, "I can't! I can't! I can't! I can only save her here. And she will surely know me for what I am. I'm not human, Gallaedrial. Look at me. Look into my eyes!" She jerked his head to hers and stared into his soul and he, in turn, stared into the Golem's Eyes. "I was created by the witch. Formed from clay and straw. I am not human. I am a golem. Now do you understand. To bring her here is to kill your people."
Gallaedrial cupped her face in his hand. "I don't care what you are, Xarra. I love you and I will never leave you. I refuse to let my life be dictated by childish superstition. I find your Golem Eyes to be the most wonderful sight to mine own. I will bring my mother here. Can you save her?"
She nodded. "Yes. But she will be tied to this land just as I."
"If that is true than everything I love will be here."
* * *
Gallaedrial ran back to the wagons to his mother's home where he found the Master Healer hovering over her. "Where have you been, boy!" he demanded. "She's been calling for you for near an hour. Talking nonsense about golems and witchcraft. Hey what are you doing!?" the healer cried as Gallaedrial lifted his mother into his arms.
"Saving her life." Clegan tried to stop the youth but he could not stand against the adrenaline coursing through Gallaedrial's veins and he found himself sprawled across the wagon's floor all alone.
Gallaedrial plowed through the forest with his mother's body draped in his arms. The fever was a living flame beneath her flesh and her son dared not slow, for he knew her life was held in the balance. He was relieved when his foot found the stream for the second time that night. He bundled his mother up the steps and into the cottage where he laid her out on the table.
Xarra stood beside him wringing her hands nervously. "Work your magic, my love," Gallaedrial whispered. She took a deep breath, steading herself, and began. A golden light surrounded the woman's body glittering and twirling about her. It coalesced around her palms and as she laid them upon Jahnsaa's body the light spread to cover the old woman from head to toe and then slowly soaked into her flesh. Xarra sagged, Gallaedrial barely caught her before she fell to the floor. "Are you alright?" he asked.
She nodded, "Let me rest a moment." He laid Xarra out on the rug in front of the hearth and moved to his mother's side. He touched her body and it was cool. The fever had broken. When he turned again to check on Xarra she was standing beside him. "She will be well now. As well as can be. She has a little golem in her now, Gallaedrial. A little of me. She is now bound to this cottage a prisoner as much as I. If I leave this clearing the magic that animates me will vanish and I will be no more than a bundle of straw and clay. If your mother leaves, the fever will return."
Gallaedrial smiled. "That isn't a bad thing, my love. We have no need to leave here. Everything that I am is now tied to this land." Xarra smiled sadly then and nodded.
"So it is," she said. "Come let us wait." She took his hand in hers and led him to sit before the fireplace, resting in his arms.
"Yes," he replied. "We will wait here for my mamma to awake." Xarra looked at him sadly, her eyes betraying knowledge that contradicted his serenity, but she said nothing of this instead she began, "I haven't told you everything, my love.".
"Don't," he placed his finger across her lips to silence her. "I know you killed the witch, and I don't care. I don't want to know anything else." As they sat there before the flames, Atreides crawled into Gallaedrial's lap.
"It looks like you won his forgiveness, my love." Xarra smiled weakly.
"So it appears. Just what is his story? Was he enchanted by my evil aunt as well?"
Xarra nodded. "Yes. He was once a Prince. Long, long ago. The witch's hate and bitterness had transformed her into a very ugly crone. No man would care to share her bed. So Atreides bartered his services for his brother's life. When his year was up, the witch had fallen in love with him. But not he with her. She was going to kill him but Atreides was clever. He had a life sustaining clause in their contract. The contract was in blood, not even the witch dared to break it. The Prince was not as clever as he thought though, she changed him into a hare. The last of the goodness vanished from Surhana on that day. Atreides has stayed here with me ever since. I think he feels a little guilty for me. It was he that stole the clay and straw that was used to fashion my body." Then she began to silently weep.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories." She shook her head then tucking her hair behind her ear.
"That is not why I weep."
"Why then? I will make it better." he said softly, gently wiping the tears from her cheeks.
"I weep because they come."
"Who? Who is coming?" His brow furrowed in concern.
"Your people. They come. They come to their doom. They are gathering now to be destroyed."
Gallaedrial saw it then. Torch light streaming through the night to flicker on the cottage wall. He looked out the window and saw his people gathered round the small home holding there torches high with weapons in hand.
"Come out, Gallaedrial," the Mahkra yelled. "Come out, boy."
He moved towards the door but Xarra placed a light restraining hand on his elbow. "I must," he said softly. She nodded and he continued out of the cottage.
"Why do you threaten me with torches and weapons father?" he asked as he stood before the door. "Why do you bring such things to against me?"
"We are not here to hurt you. We're here to save you."
"I don't need the kind of salvation you bring. I have found my own."
"Fine, that's up to you, boy. But you will not take your mother from her people. Hand her over. It is only for her that we come," his father growled.
"My mother will die if she leaves this place."
"Your mother will die amongst the Folk were she belongs. Not in some cottage in. . ." the Mahkra trailed off, drawing in his breath. Gallaedrial felt Xarra's hands slide around his waist.
"I have staved off the fever, as long as she stays here she shall live. Else, she shall die." Xarra told his father.
"May the Seven Gods have mercy upon us!" the Mahkra exclaimed as he made the ward against evil. "She has the Golem's Eyes, " he hissed. "Stand aside, boy. She must be destroyed before she destroys us all!"
"No!" Gallaedrial screamed. "You will never hurt, Xarra. Not while I live."
"Then by the Seven Gods I'll kill you too. The golem must be destroyed."
"Will you destroy me as well?" Gallaedrial turned to see his mother descend the steps of the cottage. The sagging aged flesh was no more. Her face was firm and smooth as silk. Her hair was no longer dirty and grey, but silver like the morning sky. Her steps no longer faltered weighted down with the cares of the world. She was a new woman. "Will you?" she asked again, her eyes glowing with flecks of gold.
The Mahkra fell to his knees. "Oh, Gods help me. She too has the Golem's Eyes," he wailed. "What should I do? What should I do?" That decision was made when a bow twanged from the assembly.
Gallaedrial saw the shaft spinning toward him but was powerless to move from its path. He heard it thud as it contacted flesh. But it was not his blood that flowed. Xarra lay on the ground before him where she had thrown herself in front of the arrow that was intended for his heart. He knelt to hold her in the swelling and chaotic sea of moving bodies around them. The Folk fought against themselves as he held the one he loved in his arms. Some sided with the Mahkra. But most stood with the one who shot the arrow and wanted the golems destroyed.
Xarra coughed, blood and spittle flew from her mouth. "Blood," she rasped. "Golem's don't bleed." She laughed then. A watery laugh as her lungs began to fill with fluids. "The witch said I would never be real until I tasted Feora's Fire. Now I have tasted it." Gallaedrial caught the significant of the witch's words. Feora was a heroic woman. It was said that in order to save the man she loved she walked through an eternally burning flame which horribly scarred and dismembered her to the point that her love did no recognize her and leapt to his death in fear of the aberration before him. A golem would not have died from an arrow wound. But in her act of sacrifice for the one she loved Xarra had turned into a real woman. She motioned him closer to her and as life ran from her vein he heard her whisper, "I love you," and then she died.
* * *
How long Gallaedrial sat rocking Xarra's corpse he did not know. But when looked up he was surrounded by the dead. His father's body was cradling Jahnsaa in his arms. Her throat had been slit. The bit of golem she held in her blood was not enough to save her life and her glassy eyes stared toward the rising sun. With the cottage smoldering behind him, Gallaedrial wrenched the arrow from his love's side and plunged it into his heart. His blood mixed with hers as the first rays of a new dawn touched their huddled forms.
Story and rumor spread like wildfire across the land. They told of a honey haired lady whose blood would not cease to flow from the deadly wound in her side, of the body of a lithe young man who held that woman in his arms. They told of an old man who realized his love too late. But mostly they told of a silvery haired golem who sat staring toward the eastern sky, and of how even in death she wept for the world. The kingdoms rose against the Traveling Folk utterly destroying the entire race, from old and crippled, ancient men down to the babes in their mothers' arms. They were destroyed. And when the deed was done it was heard to have been said that they died for the tears in the Golem's Eyes.
C.S. Lynch is a Junior at Southeastern Oklahoma State University where he is studying the computer sciences. Golem's Eyes is Lynch's first attempt at publishing, of which he hopes to do more.
E-mail: dragon20@oio.net
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