by Jeff Wheeler
Braslava turned to give it privacy, but she still caught it out of the corner of her eye, and what she saw was the golem putting the glowing, smoking coal into its mouth to chew and swallow.
“Brasi,” said Anja. “Yet another theft.” She stood at the hut’s open door, looking out into the yard.
Braslava regarded the golem for a moment. So it was holy then. She should not have doubted. She crossed the room to join Anja on the cold stone of the porch. Tied to the post of the pigpen was a young ram.
The golem had never before tied its animal thefts like this. It had always carried them in its arms. Braslava walked out into the wind and cold, crunching across the thin skiff of snow frozen in places to the ground. The ram turned its head to eye her.
Its back was flat and level with the shoulders, its stance strong. Both testicles hung free of the body. The curved horns did not come too close to the head. She looked over its ears in the moonlight. There was no marking of ownership.
The ram was still not sure of her and tried to step away. In the morning, she’d have to check to see if its eyes were clear, check the nose, listen for the quality of its breath. She would have to check it for foot rot. If all was good, then this would be the golem’s best theft yet.
Braslava untied the ram and put it in another pen. All this time, Anja stood watching at the door. When Braslava came back in, Anja asked, “What are we going to do?”
“We are not going to give the golem to that wizard. That’s one thing.”
“I think the golem can take care of itself,” said Anja.
“Maybe,” said Braslava. “Maybe not.”
They both went inside Braslava’s hut and shut the door. The golem still squatted before the fire.
“Maybe it is time to risk both bears and Turks,” said Braslava, “and fetch the rabbi of Zagreb.”
Anja nodded. “I will go. I was the one who kept you from going earlier.”
“We’ll go together.”
“We will be eaten or flayed,” said Anja.
“We won’t be flayed.”
“Ask Mislav. You do not know the Turks.”
Braslava walked over to the hearth and reached past the golem for the hanging kettle. She poured herself another cup of tea, straining the mixture at the spout with a scrap of cheesecloth.
“I will ask Mislav. I will ask him for his horse.” She opened a small crock of honey on the table and added some to her cup. “We can ride doubled up.”
Anja nodded. “Nina’s a good one. She will take care of the animals.”
They decided to be practical and go to sleep, but neither could. Instead, they began packing for the trip. Depending on the roads, it might take most of a day to get to Zagreb. They would certainly have to stay overnight.
“The volhov will come,” said Braslava.
“Then we will leave even sooner,” said Anja. “And the golem will follow.”
“And stir up the hornets in Zagreb. I don’t know if this idea will work.”
In all this time the golem had not moved from the fire. But now it jerked its head as if it had just heard something. It stood.
Anja and Braslava stopped their packing.
The golem ran for the door, threw it open, and rushed outside.
Braslava and Anja looked at each other.
“Does it always do that?” asked Anja.
Braslava shrugged. She’d never seen it do that before. She crossed to the doorway, careful lest the creature should return in haste and knock her over. She looked out. The moon had set. The night was dark. The golem could neither be heard nor seen.
She began to close the door and stopped. There were lights coming up the trail to her hut. From the way they swayed, she guessed they were lanterns held by men on horse.
Braslava turned. “The volhov. Get the packs.” Both women already wore shoes fit for travel. Braslava picked up her sheepskin cloak, her mittens, and her hat.
They would have to use the trail that led to the springs and then down to Mislav’s. Anja was ready. Braslava threw water on the fire so the light would not give them away when they opened the door. The smoke billowed up the chimney and into the room. They rushed to the door. Opened it.
Braslava ran around the corner of the hut, away from the lanterns coming up the trail, and ran straight into the arms of a man wearing a leather breastplate. He caught her hard by the arm, grasped her tight around the waist.
Anja turned to escape, but the man simply lifted Braslava and yanked Anja back by the cloak.
“Two witches in the night,” said the man. His breath stank. His clothes smelled of wet dogs.
Braslava tried to struggle free, but the man pushed both her and Anja up against the hut’s stone wall and held their faces to the rock with his vicious hands on their necks.
He yelled to the other men. It wasn’t long before the soldiers came with their horses and lanterns. The volhov slipped off his mount.
“Where is it?” he asked.
Braslava didn’t answer.
“We know it’s here,” he said.
“It fled,” she said.
The volhov nodded. He motioned for his man to release her and Anja. The freezing rock had bitten into her face. Braslava reached up to cover the skin, but the volhov threw off her hat, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and yanked her head back. He marched her outside the circle of men and faced the dark woods and hillside. “I’ve got her!” He yelled at the trees. “She’s a witch and deserves a witch’s death. But you can save her. Do you hear me! You can save her!”
The volhov turned Braslava and marched her into the hut. He ordered his men to start a fire. Then he ordered them to stand watch. Anja was shoved into a corner. Two soldiers brought in a medium-sized barrel and stood it on its end.
“I should have seen it sooner,” said the volhov. “I should have known it would come for a Jewess. And it will come. What I need now is a scream.” He crossed over to Braslava. He ordered the soldier guarding her to remove her cloak. “Tie her to the chair and bring me two stones. Make one of them flat.” He turned to Braslava. “I’m going to crush your finger. Then I’m going to pull its nail.”
Whatever this man said, Braslava knew she would not deliver the golem to him. She would remain silent.
“If you do not give me what I want with the first, then I will continue with another finger, and then another. Sooner or later you will call him in.”
The soldier shoved her into a chair and tied her fast. He went outside and returned moments later with two stones. He tied her left hand open on the flat stone and then held her fast. The volhov picked up the jagged piece of granite. He looked at it. Looked at her hand. Juggled his grip to get the right surface pointing down. Then he slammed it down on her pointing finger with a sharp crack.
Braslava saw white. Pain shot through her hand. She wanted to groan, but bit it back, took a short breath. Panted. The finger was already swelling. He’d broken the knuckle, she was sure. Her eyes began to well with tears.
The volhov held a pair of pincers in his hand. Where he’d gotten them she did not know. He grabbed her finger. She could not help but squirm when he touched the broken finger. He fitted the teeth of the pincers over her fingernail and clamped them down. He wiggled them to make sure he had a good grip. “If we had time, I would take this more slowly. But I have already wasted weeks. Now we will see how a witch screams.”
“Dear Lord!” said Anja. “No!”
He yanked the pincers.
The pain consumed Braslava’s hand.
But the nail wasn’t completely out. He yanked again.
She could not help herself. She cried out, moaned. She whimpered. She tried to stop. Tried to breathe.
The volhov held the bloody fingernail up in the pincers and examined it. Then he set it on the table and waited, watching Braslava. The pain burned horribly. Blood rose from her torn fingertip and ran onto the flat stone.
“You’re stupid,” he said. “But nobody is strong enough to r
esist. We will wait for the pain to double back. Just a few moments more.” He put the pincers down and picked up his stone.
There was a shout outside. The door flew open and slammed into the wall.
The volhov turned.
The golem rushed in, and before the volhov could do anything, the golem swatted the hand holding the rock. The rock flew from his hand and crashed into a closed shutter.
The volhov stepped back. The golem swung his red arm in a backward arc and slammed it into the volhov’s chest. The blow lifted the volhov off his feet and threw him across the floor and into the wall.
The golem followed. The volhov tried to stand, but the golem bent to him and began with two hands to crush his throat.
The soldier in the room charged the golem with a large hammer, but the golem reached up and caught the hammer haft in one hand before the man could land the blow. It wrenched the hammer out of the soldier’s hand and threw it in the man’s face.
The volhov was spluttering. His face flushing red. He fumbled in a black purse that hung around his neck.
The golem turned back to the volhov with both hands, but the volhov retrieved something from the purse and shoved it into the golem’s open mouth.
The golem shook its head. Its grip on the volhov loosened. It shook its head again more violently. It stepped back, clutched at its throat, its features contorted in a painful rictus. The golem took another step back only to stumble and crash into the table and onto the floor. It tried to stand, but could only get to one knee.
The volhov stood, gingerly holding his own throat, and stepped over to look down upon the golem. He smiled.
“At last,” he said. “Perfect.”
* * *
The golem lay on the floor like a dead man. Braslava sat tied in her chair. The volhov had let her finger bleed until the blood coagulated into a gobbed mess on its own. Anja, under the watch of a new soldier, bent to serve the volhov a cup of tea. The wounded solider had been dragged out of the house.
“Who in the vale has recently had a baby?” asked the volhov.
Anja looked him square in the face, righteous anger burning in her eyes.
“You need to think about next month, next year. I am only doing what must be done.”
“What could you possibly need from a woman who has just given birth?” asked Anja.
“I do not want the mother,” said the volhov. “I want the child.”
Anja’s grip on the tea kettle changed and Braslava thought she was going to throw it in the volhov’s face.
“Would you rather sacrifice one child to me or a dozen to the Turks, who will hold their feet and dash their brains out against a rock? They will rape you and your Jewess here. And if they do not kill you, they will sell you as slaves.”
Braslava knew this already. The Turks were excellent at burning fields and killing villages. They were excellent at cutting off the heads of men to collect their sultan’s bounty.
Anja did not answer.
“I will beat them back,” said the volhov.
Braslava laughed. Giddiness washed over her like an unexpected wind. She should not have felt such mirth, should not have laughed.
The volhov turned.
She nodded at the golem with her chin, suppressed a lunatic giggle. “You’ll beat back the Turks with that?” He was a fool.
“No,” he said. He narrowed his dead fish eyes. “No. I will first make this golem into a molech. I will make it into a god. And then, when they are lined up in their beds at night, when they are clustered around their fires, I will send it in to steal their lives. I shall send it in to take the breath breathed into Adam’s nostrils.”
A molech. What was this wizard that he could even consider such a thing?
“I knew all along,” said Anja. Her hand was in a pocket of her tunic. She yanked her hand out and shoved a string of garlic at his face. “Vampir!”
The volhov did not flinch. He reached up and loosened a clove from one of the heads, slipped the meat from its skin, and popped it into his mouth. He began to chew and said, “I am not a vampir. I am a man who wishes to protect his family, his king. Nothing more. Can’t you see that this golem is a gift from God?”
“You shall have no other gods before me,” quoted Braslava.
The volhov heaved a sigh. “This is what I get from talking to women. I am not going to serve this god. It is going to serve me.”
He paused.
“I need a child to feed to the golem,” he said. “Just one.”
But Braslava knew that wasn’t true. A molech had an appetite. It would require many children. A multitude of roasted babies.
Anja set her jaw in stubborn defiance and stepped back.
The golem stirred.
“Ah,” said the volhov. “I was wondering how long it would take the shem to fully digest. Rise, golem. Stand before me.”
The golem stood. Something about the lines of its face had changed. This was not the pleasant and calm golem from before. This was something else—ferocious, wise, angry? She could not tell.
The volhov pointed at the golem’s loins. “This holy thing was created to multiply and replenish the earth. Of course, it could not mate before, but my shem has now removed all such bindings. I shall have not only a molech, but I shall also have its progeny. A dozen children could rout an army. Do you see? You will help me one way or the other.”
Anger flooded her. Men! Eve may have been duped to make a mistake, to take a little bite, but men, men could swallow great quantities of evil.
The volhov stood. “I am going outside to fetch some water. You think.”
Braslava’s face went slack with horror.
Who could have predicted this? Who could have guessed that the golem, which she had fancied like a stupid girl, would turn into an abomination?
Even if she did not tell them who had recently given birth, the volhov would find them. He would go door to door like Pharaoh’s men and demand his sacrifice. And the very first door he would thrust open would be Mislav’s. That lovely baby boy would be his first sacrifice.
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 the 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 went to the barrel the soldiers had brought in and pried off the lid. The shutters were sti
ll 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 onto the table.
Four eels, each as long as one of her legs, swam in the water, twisting their thick mud-colored bodies around 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 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 varnished 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.
