The Obsidian Pillar

Chapter One

I yanked the axe from the wood and wiped my forehead against the sleeve of my dress. Spring had only just begun to slink through winter's unyielding grasp to warm the icy breeze and thaw the frozen mud around the farm. I hurled the axe down into the wood again, breathing through the burning of my muscles and focussing on splitting the logs neatly. When I had first been set to the task by my uncle, I had returned to the farmhouse cold, hungry and aching, with arms as heavy as lead. I was only ten years old.

I didn't think of Avorr as a cruel man; he was just and fair, but he had never particularly liked me. I'd go as far as to say that he would rather I wasn't around at all. I lifted the axe again, raising it above my head before slamming it down, splitting the log into two perfect halves. He didn't care how the firewood looked when it was brought to him, but I did. I enjoyed the way that his displeasure wriggled his moustache whenever I surprised him. I liked to remind him that I wasn't useless, or weak, or just an extra mouth to feed.

As I lifted the axe again, a shadow loomed behind me. I didn't turn or acknowledge him with a polite greeting, but instead swung the axe with as much force as I could manage, channelling my irritation into that one thrust downwards. The axe got stuck, wedged at an awkward angle.

'Need a hand?' he mocked. I watched out of the corner of my eye as the black shape moved his hands to his hips.

I ignored him, placing one scuffed boot on the log to pin it down while I attempted to pull the axe out. It didn't budge. I cursed it for its lack of cooperation as the shadow moved closer, the swagger evident in its lazy pace. I panicked and pulled. The axe came free, sending me hurtling backwards and into his arms.

'Easy there, sweetheart,' he sneered.

I pushed away from him and his hands slid reluctantly from under my arms. I dumped the last of the logs into the basket and, thinking twice about leaving the axe behind, I placed it on top of the wood and started to carry the basket back to the farmhouse. It was heavy, but I didn't fancy trekking alone with Brindt and without a weapon to hand.

'You shouldn't be working today,' he attempted to sound compassionate, but I could only hear the condescending tone in his low voice. 'Why don't you join me for a walk instead?'

I kept my gaze ahead, staring at the farmhouse as though it was pulling me onwards. I ignored the burn in my arms as they protested at the weight of the basket and snarled when Brindt reached over to take it from me. I snatched it away from him, and the axe slid treacherously from the top of the wood pile and landed in the hard mud.

'Sweetheart.' He placed his hands over mine tightly; the snagged wood splints of the basket dug into my fingers. I winced. He noticed. 'Forget how much you loathe me and let me carry the basket. I don't know why you have to show off all the time.'

He wrenched the basket from my arms as though it were weightless and continued on, striding towards the farmhouse. The axe glinted from the ground, drawing my attention to it. I bent down slowly and wrapped my cold fingers around the wooden handle. I raised it above my shoulder, keeping my focus on the back of Brindt's head. The weight of the blade pulled down towards the ground behind me as I readied myself to throw it. It was small enough that it might have made the distance.