Onyx Ridge's Arc

Chapter 4 of 11

Onyx woke at first light with chalk still on his hands. The black slab sat in the yard where Juno had set it down the night before. He drank water until it ran clear, ate a heel of bread, and carried his chisels out to the stone. He started with the outline. He blocked the height, then the shoulders, then the place where the antlers would rise. His hammer found a steady rhythm. The stone rang under each strike like a struck bell. For an hour the work moved. Then he tried to rough in her face. He set the chisel at the brow line and stopped. He saw her brown eyes catching the last light on the path. He saw her wide palm on his back, loosening the ache in his ribs. He lowered the hammer without striking. He stood there a long time, staring at blank stone, feeling something warm and stupid climb up his throat. He swore and put the tools down. He walked around the slab. The debt she had set was a likeness, not a love letter. If he carved her the way he was thinking of her now, he would ruin it. Soft mouth. Kind eyes. A woman turned into a wish. She would see it the moment she looked. So would the stone. The midnight foxling came out of the trees while he paced. Four black tails, blue eyes. It sat at the edge of the yard and watched him. "She sent you to check on me," Onyx said. The creature did not answer. It only watched. He went back to the slab. He put his cracked knuckles on the cold surface and made himself remember the exact things. Not the warmth. The facts. The hooves planted in the dirt. The tattered dress. The moss on her antlers. The flat way she had said get up. The way she had refused his coin, his tools, his labor, and named a harder price instead. She had not been gentle with him. She had been honest with him. That was the woman in the stone. He picked up the hammer. He set the chisel at the brow again. This time he cut. He worked through the morning and past noon. He cut the line of the jaw hard and straight. He cut the mouth closed, not smiling. He cut the eyes level, looking at whoever stood in front of the stone. He did not soften anything. When the light shifted he stepped back. The face was rough, but it was hers. Not his idea of her. Hers. The foxling stood, shook out its tails, and trotted back toward the trees. Onyx sat down in the dirt beside the slab. His arms shook. He looked at the antlers still waiting inside the stone, and at the open hands he had not yet begun. The debt was not paid. But he could see the rest of it now, and his hands were steady enough to cut it.