The Buried Ones
Stone scraped across stone. The long, low screech of it rattling through the trees and up the spines of those tasked with moving the monument. Bentrix had ordered it brought down and so it would be. The magistrate was not one to be trifled with, especially on matters of the other world. So the laborers bent low and dragged what they could from the site.
Their destination was not far, but it was trying all the same. The stones, each roughly the size of a man and requiring four to move, were to be buried in a grove so that the trees may reclaim them. Bentrix hadn’t given an order as to what should be done with the stones once they were disassembled, but some of the eld had whispered in the ears of those tasked with the monument’s destruction. And hear the stones lay now.
Johnathan stood, stick in hand, at the edge of the pit. His job to guide the stones to their new home so the others could return for more. Each new piece required deliberation. It could not be simply thrown into the ground. That would not do. And the eld would let him know. Instead he set about using boards and what little force he could muster to slip the stones into the hole as if that had been their original intention.
The rock had not be quarried and cut for this, so each item had to be examined before Johnathan could maneuver it into place. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but with each new stone the image in his head resolved further into clarity. Soon he would know what it was.
Today’s art is courtesy of Mig Migouze from Loos-en-Gohelle, France.