by K.N. Lee
And then she called the golems.
Statues that did not move outside the gates. Lumps of clay with no purpose.
“Emet. Achiezeer,” she called their sacred names. “We must save my family. There are still vidaya inside these walls.” Looking up at the tremendous collection of rocks, it was still hard to believe that something heard her words. They were utterly wondrous and impossible things.
Determined to fight for the freedom of her blood, Mathilde asked the golems,“Will you protect me?
“Can you help me save us all?”
Stone ground on stone with a horrible screeching sound as the vast piles of mountain dirt animated. They looked down at Mathilde from their tremendous height.
Picking her up with an open palm, one of them lifted her to its mouth. Golems couldn’t speak. They were earth creatures left unfinished in their very creation. They had no heart. They had no tongues. But they did have vidartan magic coursing through their forms. Magic that showed by the glow in their stone-cold eyes.
Each of the golems raised her to their mouths. One at a time, as gentle as a rough-hewn rock could manage, they kissed her cheek. Exactly the same way she had sealed her loyalty to them in the depths of the deception.
They mirrored her devotion. They gave their solemn agreement.
With a surge of earth, the two golems stepped back into the camp of the vicious Hollyoaken dogs. Back into the prison of hatred and death.
Mathilde stood on the palm of one creature.
Quickly, she scrambled up the shoulder and sat closer to the creature’s rock-hewn face. She rode a golem into battle. Alone. I will finally do this alone. This time, I have to be enough. She vowed, missing Fritz’s steadying faith more with each footstep away from him that the golem took.
Alone on the backs of giants, Mathilde wondered at the miracles that formed her life.
Next to her there was a furious hissing on the top of the nearest building they passed. A small black dot sprang from the highest point and landed on the second golem’s arm.
The rock creature didn’t bother to swat the annoyance off. What harm could one cat do?
Digging in his claws, Captain crawled up the side of the gigantic, living rock. Braver than she had ever thought possible, he refused to fail. He had a goal. The cat kept going until he reached the top, slipping quite a few times.
“Oh no,” Mathilde cried out. “Oh Captain, don’t be so reckless!” Mathilde felt concern in her bones. He was thoroughly loud, rude, and horrid, but Captain was also hers. My… cat?
A fall from that high would kill him instantly. No magic she had read about could bring back the dead. As Mathilde returned to the camp, she didn’t get a great deal of information about his whereabouts. But every once in awhile, as the golems stepped forward, Mathilde saw the black cat perched on the living dirt monster, his ears pointed forward, his tail held very still. Hunting.
Captain scoured the ruined camp.
For what? She couldn’t help but wonder.
He is surrounded by his loyal dogs here. He is safe. If he wanted to live his life as a cat, it would be comfortable if somewhat dull. But all the same… why follow me into battle?
Is he courageous or full of spite? Is he stupid? Or just as stubborn as I am?
She couldn’t decide.
They were inside the demolished camp walls now. What happened on the ground and in the surrounding buildings mattered. Mathilde had to concentrate on that.
No spell could mask the approach of giant earthen creatures. The dogs knew she was coming. The ground shook with each step. They knew.
Any sign of the remaining soldiers vanished.
As she passed each street, Mathilde saw nothing in the rubble except the dead. There were no living men under the footprints of giants. No warriors came baying to greet her arrival, ready to kill her without a second thought. Mathilde saw nothing of their uniforms, no trace of their weapons, or their famous loyalty.
She searched the magic, following the Pneuma spell like a bee to honey. The golems saw that, too. The glow of vidartan magic that formed their target.
One turn and they were there. Back to the perfect house with the manicured lawns. Mathilde recognized it all right away.
Her stomach dropped. Of course. “She’s kept them here. I should have realized. We will have to break them free. Who am I to stand against her?”
Truth was, the old woman scared her.
Distorted magic frightened Mathilde, more than it should have perhaps. Women don’t hold vidartan magic. Women can’t wield such power.
She knew. Despite the circumstances, she held the vidartan magic unlawfully. Something of the hatred that swirled around the old woman stirred in Mathilde’s own heart.
WIth two huge steps, the golems arrived, standing right in front of the hearth of real darkness. The last vidartan is right there. Johan, can you hear me? She thought. Mama. Mama will be here, too.
Mathilde waited for the ground shaking to cease. Please, she asked the golem, Save him. “Yasha.” Stone against rock and rubble, the earth giant turned its gaze to the beating light of the Rodak spell. Inside the perfectly-built house.
So clean. So neat. So evil.
The golem’s fist drew back. Mathilde did not stop the creature, other than to pray, Be careful. Careful.
A giant hand of mud and rock smashed into the upstairs window of the old woman’s house, right through the roof, taking out the corner of the wall. Parts of the roof collapsed. Concrete and siding fell to the ground, splintering into jagged pieces.
Reaching into the pale-pink bedroom, the golem fished around trying to catch the moving gob of ancient magic.
Gently, if he could, but by any means necessary, the earth fulfilled its promises to Mathilde. With the patience of centuries, the golem persisted.
Finally, the vidartan was cornered.
Without crushing the fragile human, the golem lifted out the struggling and confused man. She was just relieved he wasn’t hurt. Grateful, that the rescue had gone so smoothly, Mathilde’s heart sang with joy.
The golem withdrew its mighty fist, pulling back the captive, freeing the heir who held the power of ancient priests. Mathilde knew it was Johan. “I found you!” she cried, even though he could not hear her words.
Her heart beat faster, as if she had run up hill.
Excitement poured through her nerves. Tingles ran up and down her spine. So close. So near to rescue. There were so many things she wanted to say to Johan. Finally, that moment had come.
Where was the old woman? Was it really this easy?? Worry clogged her thoughts. She shoved that concern to the back of her mind.
As the golem’s fist opened, Mathilde cried, “Johan! We saved y-” Her words fell off. It wasn’t him. Not Johan.
“Y-you are not m-my brother.”
Curled up in a ball as if he was a baby and not a grown adult, the rescued man looked shocked to see her. Not more surprised than she was, though.
“Mathilde? He spoke, his speech slurred with fear and confusion.
“Tomas.” Tomas? Mathilde couldn’t help but feel a heavy sorrow. “But I-i thought… I thought you were Johan. My brother.”
He shook his head. Obviously he was not her little brother. Mathilde desperately clung to hope. Where is Johan? Is he lost?
She tried to explain the confusion, “A little boy of ten years old. Have you seen him? Or my mother? They should have been here. The magic said they were.”
“Pneuma,” she whispered again, shaking off the failure.
The old woman still hadn’t appeared. That was a relief. Maybe this rescue would go simply? Maybe no one else had to die to save her family?
Wary, Mathilde looked around with the heightened sense that the magic gave her. She scanned again the call of the wild ancient force, looking all around the camp. There was nothing to be found within the gates in any direction. But Tomas lit up like a fallen star, bright with sheer power, stronger than Fritz and almost as filled wit
h potential as Mathilde felt.
When the magic went right, if he was taught... he could be my equal. He is vidartan. Not me. Not really.
That’s when the front door porch opened. With a slight creak of the hinges. Enough that she heard it.
The storm cloud of twisted magic gathered around the old woman. Pin-pointed in its source, the despair boiled over from the pitch of a shriveled heart.
“It appears the ancients were wrong,” the old woman spoke as if they were friends and both in on a funny joke. “Look at how I misjudged you, Mathilde Shawsman.” She spoke as if they were friends.
“You are the one we have been looking for. And,” the old woman gestured towards the menacing golems and the road of destruction they had wrought, “..you did open the Geisprom, didn’t you? You didn’t learn this magic from your father, Enrich. When I met him, he didn’t know any such spell. He could barely light a candle.”
“You. I should have guessed. I mean, here I am, holding onto the twin-side of the magic. And I am every inch a woman. But I got caught up in the search, I listened to the vidartan warning… even I was fooled.
“I thought the real promise lay with Ethan and Edgar here,” she gestured to shadowy figures who had exited the front porch. They walked slowly to her side, free men. With no fear, they stood stand silently by the woman they clearly believed wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Mathilde was so very afraid for them.
What would this evil woman do to steal the secrets that Mathilde unlocked? All the disguises, all the masks were off. Deftly, the two adversaries considered each other.
“Edgar,” the old woman spoke slow and low, calm and friendly, “What does it say in your sacred scriptures about a woman who dares to try the magic of the ancient ones? What does it say must be done, in such cases?”
It took only a moment for her older brother to answer.
Mathilde’s heart fell farther with each word.
“No woman shall hold the power of the vidartan magic and live,” he recited the words from memory. Each one hurt. “Any who try must be burned. Any woman who attempts to steal what is not hers, the same is our enemy and must be cleansed by fire.”
Mathilde felt her jaw drop. She knew the words. She knew the law. “But, I had to. To save you, to save Fritz. I had to open the Geisprom. It was the only way.”
Edgar shook his head, rejecting her excuses.
Ethan spoke up, shoulder to shoulder with Edgar, standing next to the old woman. Disgust clear in his words while his face remained perfectly calm.
“Theft is not power or authority,” he proclaimed. “You have no right to this magic. You are only our sister. You stole it from us. It is our birthright. And you are a thief.”
“Rodak,” she whispered, the air in her lungs almost all gone.
“Pneuma,” she asked the magic: find my family.
And with the magic she was not allowed to use, with the ancient force of long-dead priests she called to the light and truth they promised all believers. Scared, she searched the ground where Edgar and Ethan stood, next to the woman with the soul of a viper pit.
The magic searched for vidartans.
And found nothing. The force of their ancestors, of our ancestors, did not see her older brothers. It swelled from that spot and lit up around Tomas again. And spread behind her, lighting the heart of her little brother Fritz, far away from Mathilde, where he stood waiting.
Back beyond the walls. Safe.
“He will never know.” She swore to Edgar and Ethan. “He can never see this. What you have become.” Trying to right a sinking ship, Mathilde struggled to understand. “How could you? You are my older brothers. You should understand. I did this for you. For us.”
Was there anyway she could reach them? Any emotion that would break through their accusations? “Do you not see what she is? Do you not know the evil that this woman holds? And yet, you follow her. You help her.”
Edgar spoke as if the old woman had eaten his heart and soul. Maybe captivity did that? Maybe. Maybe it was jealousy, petty and small. But he spoke directly to Mathilde, who arrived on the shoulder of fearsome golems, holding a confused Tomas in one gigantic earthen hand, a black cat in the other.
Mathilde stood there, holding it all together. I have a right to hold vidartan magic. I hold it now. “But I rescued you. The magic helped as I directed. But I would never presume that it is mine. It is my brothers, my father’s, I only hold it because you, my family, needed me to.”
He rebuked her completely, “You are wrong, Mathilde. You are the evil here. You bring this twisting magic to Gelschiesen. This poor woman, she is teaching us far more than Papa ever did. And we will make you tell us how you broke into the Geisprom.” His gaze was cold, the love they shared as children melted away. He sneered, “We will discover what tricks you used to read the stories that were meant only for us.”
“She,” he pointed again at the dear, sweet, kind, old lady who held innocence fixed on her face with a polished mask. “This woman is doing all she can to shield our people. To help us, to help the vidayans. She sees the darkness. The twisted, tortured thing you have done to the holy power.
“We are only alive because of her.
“She is doing her best to contain the evil you have brought among us. You,” Edgar pointed at his sister, who sat with clenched fists and a mouth fallen open from shock, “...you are the reason Hollyoaks had to do this. Your corruption. All of the problems began the day you were born.”
Edgar looked at her and saw nothing.
With a voice as clear as a bell, he proclaimed his judgement as first-born son, “I name you: witch. I call you what you are: liar, thief, kidnapper, murderer.”
Mathilde felt each accusation punch her in the heart. The pain of their rejection seared her emotions, broke her fragile spirit.
“You are the filth that must be cleansed. We are ashamed to even call you sister. Once you are gone, our name will be cleansed. And amongst all vidaya, no one will ever speak your name again. We name you: cursed.”
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t cry. She couldn’t argue with the two men. They had a birthright.
She did not.
“I only borrowed the magic, to save--”
Ethan cut her off. “Your excuses are never enough, witch.”
Edgar spoke with such derision, such condescension, hatred, jealousy, and bitter anger. There was no word, no sentence she could speak that would open his ears.
All he heard were lies. And he believed every one. He was as lost as the guards who obeyed the old woman’s every wish.
The front door opened again.
This time, this time, Mathilde cried out in pain. Her mother walked out onto the porch.
“Mama,” she whispered. “Mama… you are here. You are here. I came to free you, you must believe me…” That was all she could say.
Mama didn’t look at Mathilde. Not once. Not even one time. There was no love in her gaze. No joy at reunion.
“Your sister,” her mother spoke as if Mathilde was dead. “Your sister alerted the soldiers who caught us. She killed your father for his holy book. She stole the glasses from Johan and kept Fritz to make him her pawn. I am dishonored by her actions. I beg forgiveness from the vidartans that she was ever born.”
Taking off her slippers, Mama finally looked at the golem, her eyes searching all the way up to its shoulder where Mathilde sat crying. “I renounce you. I renounce you. I renounce you.” Her mother said, knocking the dust off her slippers. And then she turned her back.
To her only daughter.
She refused Mathilde.
Mama disowned her.
There was no more Matilde. There was no more Mathilde Shawsman. There was only a crying girl, sitting on the back of a living earth giant, rejected by all she loved.
Outcast.
18
Purify
“Come down from there, this instant,” her brother Edgar demanded Mathilde obey.
“You
have no right to these things of earth and magic, witch. You stole them. They are ours. Give them back. Or we will take them for ourselves.”
She had no idea what he would do as soon as he finished the last of his demand.
High above Edgar’s reach, his sister heard his condemnation like arrows piercing her heart and courage. Mathilde was so lost, she had a hard time holding onto the rough clay that formed the golem’s huge shoulder.
“You are not mine,” she whispered, touching its poorly made material. “I am no one. Not vidartan. Not even Mathilde. Not anymore. I am a fraud. An imposter with no right to speak the holy words. I c-can’t use magic anymore.”
The weight of her own brothers accusations and jealousy hurt.
But not as much as Mama’s—her mother’s cruel words. By shaking the dust of her slippers off, she had cut their bond forever.
Mathilde couldn’t believe that her mother would ever do such a thing. Certainly not to her children. That was a rejection so complete, there was no way back.
In that moment, Mama died. At least, Mathilde’s Mama did, with that one action. They were no longer even related.
No longer family.
The old woman walked closer. Her bright red flowery dress made her look like a moving handkerchief of blood splatter. The sorceress was curious about her. That was all the kept Mathilde alive.
That and her ability to unlock the ancient spellbook.
No mistake about it, the old woman was a magic wielder. An evil sorceress out of legends, the old woman held real darkness, controlling it.
Mathilde could see that now. Magic that had been warped by greed.
Twisted truth knew no limits. Twisted words confused hearts and filled minds with bits and fragments of truth, broken beyond repair. A powerful, heartless witch held all the power in Hollyoaks. She controlled it all.
And no one suspected her involvement.
Because, no one but a vidartan could see the magic she distorted for power and personal gain.
Sitting on a boulder that formed the shoulder of the second golem, Captain gathered his haunches, digging in his claws. His black tail beat in a steady drumming as the cat watched the old woman approach.
