Onyx Ridge's Arc

Chapter 9 of 11

Juno held the hound by the ruff. Her arms shook. The pale marks along its ribs pulsed brighter, hot enough that Onyx felt them from six paces back. She turned her head just enough to speak. "It came for the statue," she said. "Not you. Let it try the statue." Onyx did not understand at first. Then he did. The hound was sent to break the work. If the stone held, the errand failed. If it broke, nothing he did next would matter. He stepped aside. He set his chisel on the grass where he could see it. His bandaged hand ached. The foxling watched from the studio door, low to the ground, tails flat. "Now," Juno said, and let go. The hound crossed the yard in two bounds. It hit the statue shoulder-first. The sound was not stone cracking. It was the sound Onyx remembered from the ridge — the black slab ringing like a struck bell. The note went out over the trees. Birds lifted from the far pines. The statue rocked on its base and settled. The hound staggered back. A pale mark on its flank had gone dark. It came again. Teeth this time. It bit the crooked finger, the one Onyx had spent three days on. Its jaw closed. The stone rang. The hound's tooth snapped and fell in the grass, white against green. The hound backed off and stood panting. It looked at Juno. It looked at the statue. It lowered its head, not to charge, but the way a dog lowers its head when a task is finished. Then it turned and walked down the low road the way it had come. It did not hurry. The grass it had dried stayed dry. Onyx did not move until the sound of its tread was gone. He walked to the statue. He ran his good hand over the shoulder where it had struck. Smooth. He checked the finger. The crook was still there. He found the tooth in the grass and put it in his pocket. Juno sat down hard on the flagstones. Her hooves had cut deep marks in the dirt. She looked older than he had ever seen her. "It held," Onyx said. "It held this one," she said. "They will send worse. They always do. A hound is what they send when they think a man will fold." He looked at her. "And when he doesn't?" She did not answer. She pushed herself up and went to her horse. She rested her forehead against its neck a long moment before she mounted. "Move it inside tonight," she said. "Whatever comes next won't come alone." She rode out. The foxling stayed. Onyx stood in the yard with the statue and the tooth in his pocket, and knew the trial he had just passed was only the first.