Crafters of Bone

Crafters of Bone - Chapter Two Draft #2

Chapter Two

It was the touch of ice piercing her shoulder that startled her from her heated dream, the image of an enormous bee chasing her through winding dirt halls with no end in sight was shaken from her mind but the buzzing hummed through her groggy thoughts. Turning over slowly, she was met with the intense gaze of the guard from earlier that day knelt beside her, his chilled metal fingers gripped into her shoulder. His weather expression spoke of his exhaustion and worry as he gazed down upon her before looking up to glance behind him and muttered in a low, strained voice. "Come on."

Hesitating for only a moment as she watched the guard rise and walk slowly to the doorway, his hulking form illuminated only by the dim glow of the moon hung high in the blackened sky. The air around them was filled with the usual sounds of the clattering of chains, sounds of choking, wet sobs, and the strained, strangling whimpers of her fellow slaves mixed with the occasional loud snore of some blessed soul enjoying a peaceful slumber. After quickly glancing around the courtyard, his gaze whipped back to her in a piercing glare as she remained on her mat and she quickly scrambled to her feet. She pressed her lips together as she met his eyes and he nodded before wordlessly walking down the stone-carved catwalk. She followed him without a word or protest, his tense posture, and quick steps serving as the only bits of evidence she needed to know what was happening. Someone was here for her after having bribed or blackmailed the guard for her release.

This should have been a realization to celebrate, she was being given her freedom in whatever sense it might mean. And yet shivers coarsed mercilessly through her as she was painfully aware of the one and only individual that would desire her release. But she still allowed herself to have hope.

"Who is it," she finally brought herself to ask, her voice passing her dry, cracked lips in a croaking strain with her persistent dehydration.

There was a long moment of silence as they wandered before the guard glance back without his gaze actually falling upon her. "My Lord Calvin has requested your presence," he uttered in a gruff mutter.

A chill ran through her as her brow shot up in surprise, her body going rigid and cold in a sensation she could only recognize as genuine fear as she began to panic that her assumption was misplaced. Is this it, she wondered meekly to herself. Are they finally finishing my off since the prison had failed? Deep within her, a soft part of herself seemed to burst into sobs of relief sending a choking tightness to Auden's chest while her head flooded with a mist of aching.

The cold mistress known as Death had been a mysterious and persistent bitch the entirety of Auden's existence; her own personal stalker hiding around corners on the backs of self-obsessed men with their knives. She tugged the strings of the motions for every assailant the young fighter had been forced to fend off, thriving off the games she had played with her exhausted victim. She was all too certain that the illustrious god of life and death itself, Akaeton was getting frustrated with sending his mistress after her time and time again. Though the presence of her stalker had interjected itself into her daily life bringing an eerie familiarity of the hidden mistress as she quickly became accustomed to expecting her form to be lurking around every corner. A constant reminder that at any moment her stalker could descend upon her and snatch her away. Always watching, waiting, and taunting. But did this mean Auden was ready to surrender to her clutches?

The immediate response to her own rhetorical question was a meek, Of course not.

Despite everything, the trembling exhaustion that threatened to drown her, the raging anger that burned deep within her, the grotesque secrets chained within her own mind and the chilling lies she kept hidden within her realm of shadows. The aging blood staining her hands and the fiery desire for revenge suffocating her. Despite the desperate fear that laced itself tightly within her throat in a less than affectionate manner; despite it all, every irrational part of her screamed for her to straighten up and fight.