The Chronicles of Onyx: Book 1

Chapter Seven

Sweat beaded off Onyx's brow as she pushed the saw back and forth, growing tired and feeling her muscles ache. Despite the fatigue, she continued to saw the beams without hesitation. Glancing over at Rok, she watched as he threw a finished beam onto the pile. He quickly made his way towards her, ready to take her finished beam and add it to the pile. Avoiding eye contact with any of the prisoners, he swiftly hefted the beams onto his shoulders and carried them to the pile with lightning speed. As fast as she could saw the beams, he was already shouldering them.

"Onyx," she heard her name being whispered by Rok.

"Yes?" she replied in a low yet mocking voice.

"Onyx, look—" He gently grabbed her chin, and lifting her head, showing her a group of angry prisoners, all with their arms crossed, glaring at Rok in particular.

"What do they want?" She asked Rok, a gleam of curiosity in her eyes.

"I put them all here, and if you care to know, they want me dead," his expression filled with worry and dread, his eyes reflecting defeat. His grip on the saw tightened, his fingers turning a deep red from the pressure.

"Then—" She put her hand on his shoulder, "it was nice knowing you, Rok."

His face displayed pure disbelief as he looked at Onyx and the mischievous glimmer in her eyes. "You... you can't be serious," he sputtered. "That's it? You're just going to abandon me like that?" Hurt was evident in his gentle eyes.

"No, I am not serious," Rok flashed a small, genuine smile at the news, "I mean, how could I leave a poor, innocent crybaby who is so helpless? So helpless, in fact, that he needs a girl to fight his battles." Rok's smile instantly vanished at Onyx's teasing remark. However, Onyx couldn't stop herself as she let out a small giggle.

"What is so funny?" a gruff, unknown voice demanded to know.

"This doesn't concern you. You're not part of this," Onyx retorted, grabbing a large stick within seconds.

"If you're with Rok the coward, then it is all my concern," the Orcish stranger replied, the other prisoners nodding in agreement.

Onyx stood ready, holding the stick like a club, prepared to strike. However, Rok, quicker than a snake, grabbed her arm to restrain her. "Onyx, don't. That is Sith, a fierce warrior."

"I've fought fiercer," Onyx rebutted, ripping her arm away from his grip. "How can you remain so calm when he tarnishes your name?"

"He—" Rok glanced down at his worn-out boots, "he has good reason to do so." Shame filled his brown eyes as he hung his head low.

-ooooo-

Rok looked up to meet Onyx's gaze, which held a suspicious glare. What are you hiding? Her eyes seemed to ask him, the same question he had been asking himself about her. He turned away, only to notice Sith and the others eagerly awaiting a fight, seeking revenge.

"For what? It wasn't like I tried to kill you", Rok thought angrily as he found Sith's black gaze. "After all we would have been better off without her"

With saw in hand, Rok began to walk toward Sith, however he didn't get far before he heard small footsteps beside him. With a small glance casted at his side, he saw Onyx. Loyalty emanated from her like a halo as she marched by his side, holding her 'club' close. Her gold eyes set forward, her stride unbreakable, with her black hair waving behind her—In that moment Onyx became hell-bent, like a wolf on the hunt.

Ahead, stood Sith, tall, shirtless, revealing all his scars, including a large ugly one across his chest and a crescent-shaped scar on his cheek. His eyes had a dark hue, almost appearing an emotionless black, with skin the hue of Rok's, a dark tan. His long, straight, dark hair was braided back like a Viking's. However, his most unique feature, was his single golden tusk, the other having been broken in battle, he decided to gold-plate the remaining one. Making him appear more like a pirate rather than an Orcish warrior.

"Sith, it's good to see you, even under these circumstances," Rok said quietly, as memories flashing from that fateful night when his life changed, for better or worse, he couldn't quite tell.

"I would much rather see you dead," Sith said with venom dripping in his voice, his coal eyes staring menacingly at Rok. "You deserve to die without honor for your disloyalty to our Queen." He spat a wad of spit onto Rok's face.

"You should know better than anyone—" Rok began to explain as he wiped the spit from his eyes, "she uses us so that her hands may appear clean. And the promises she makes–does she ever fulfill them?" Sith opened his mouth to respond, but Rok continued, "No, her promises are empty, just like her heart." Rok's tone remained cold, his eyes locked with Sith's.

The crowd behind Sith remained silent, as though seemingly aware that every word Rok spoke was true, yet fearing the consequences of agreeing with him.

"Rok is a liar!" Sith cried out in vain. "He is a half-blooded fool who has proven himself disloyal to our Queen! I say we should kill him." He smiled at Rok, his eyes looking even more bloodthirsty than before. "All in favor of killing him and his little pet, yell 'Aye'!"