Onyx Ridge's Arc

Chapter 7 of 11

Onyx worked past sundown and started again before the light was good. Juno's warning sat in his ear like a stone. Whatever they send, they'll send it before you're done. He cut the crooked finger clean and moved to the tendons on the back of the hand. His shoulder burned. He did not stop. By midmorning the path was busy. A baker's boy left a loaf on the step and ran off before Onyx could thank him. An old woman set down a jug of water and a cloth of salt fish. A man with a broken nose stacked kindling by the door and said, "Keep cutting, carver." Two girls left wildflowers at the statue's hooved feet and stared up at the antlers a long time before they went. Nobody stayed. Nobody asked to see the face. They had all heard about the priest. Onyx ate standing up, one hand on the chisel. Dust caked his lips. He drank from the jug and got back to the hand. By afternoon his knuckles had split again. Blood tracked down the mallet handle. He kept swinging. He was cutting the second knuckle when a small black shape trotted into the yard, four tails held high. The foxling sat in the grass and watched him. A moment later a scrawny girl came up the path behind it, copper hair sticking out in every direction, a russet mirecat riding her shoulder. He knew her by rumor. Wren Emberly. The demigod the gods kept sending places people did not come back from. She was thinner than he expected. "You're bleeding on the stone," she said. She set a pouch down and opened it. "Sit." "I don't have time." "You have less time if your hand quits." The mirecat hopped down and sniffed the dust. Wren took his wrist without asking. Her grip was stronger than a girl her size should own. She smeared green paste into the splits and wound a strip of cloth tight. "Flex." He flexed. The pain dulled. She stood back and looked at the statue. The antlers. The open hands. The crooked finger he had just finished. Her face did not move for a long moment. "That's Juno," she said. "Yes." "You got the shoulder right." She kept looking. "Nobody carves us. They carve the gods." "I owe her." "I know what you owe." She picked up the pouch. "Something's coming up the low road. I passed it an hour back. Moving slow but moving." The mirecat climbed her leg and bit her ear. She did not flinch. She counted under her breath. "Work faster." She walked back down the path. The foxling stayed, curled in the grass by the statue's foot. Onyx flexed the bandaged hand. He picked up the chisel. He set it on the second knuckle and cut.