Onyx Ridge's Arc

Chapter 2 of 11

Onyx lay on his side beside the black slab. The pry bar had rolled out of reach. His mouth tasted like copper and his hands would not close. The sun dropped behind the ridge and the pink caps around him began to sweat a cold, sour dew. He tried to stand once more. His knees folded under him. If no one came, the fungi would finish what they started, and the stone he had bled for would sit here until the moss took it. Something moved at the edge of his sight. A small black shape padded through the fungi, four fluffy tails held clear of the caps. It stopped an arm's length from his face. Blue eyes. Fox ears. It sniffed his cheek, sneezed at the vinegar cloth, and sat down. Onyx tried to speak and only coughed. The creature turned in a tight circle, watched him a moment longer, and bolted back the way it had come. He passed out. When he opened his eyes the sky was black and someone was kneeling over him. She was huge. Antlers rose from her hair, wrapped in moss. Hooves stood where her feet should have been. The little fox sat by her knee, all four tails wagging once. "Drink," she said. She tipped a clay cup to his mouth. The liquid burned going down, then spread warm through his chest. "You went past the arch for rock. You people never learn." Her name was Juno Brass. He knew her from town, where she tended the herb beds no one else would touch. Children stared at her hooves. Grown men crossed the road. He had never spoken to her. He had assumed she preferred it that way. "The slab," he said. His voice came out cracked. "I can't leave it." Juno looked at the black stone. She looked back at him. "You almost died for a rock." "Yes." She snorted. She pressed one broad palm flat to his sternum. Heat sank through his shirt into his ribs, deeper than any fire. He felt the sickness loosen its grip on his lungs. She held her hand there until he could breathe without wheezing, then stood and walked to the slab. She squatted, wedged her arms under it, and lifted. The stone came up against her chest like a sack of grain. She grunted once. "Get up," she said. "I carry the rock. You carry yourself." He got up. His legs shook. The foxling trotted ahead through the fungi, tails high, marking the path back. Juno walked behind it with his slab. Onyx followed, one hand on her elbow when the ground tilted. At the split arch she set the stone down and looked at him hard. "I'll carry it to your yard. After that, sculptor, you owe me. And whatever you're carving had better be worth what it cost you tonight." He nodded. He meant it.