*Authors note: Hey everybody! I've really enjoyed reading your comments so far! Please consider liking and reviewing if you like this one! I had to split this into two parts for Tapas. This is Part 2! If you haven't read Part 1, go back and do that!

This is Chapter 3! I might be able to get another chapter our earlier next week. Stay tuned!!

Without further ado:

Great, skeletal hands grasp me from under my armpits and lift me from the graveyard. The roots tear and the blanket of moss that had begun blanketing my torso rips like cloth, and they set me gently onto the overgrowth outside the fence. I stare up at orbital sockets in a tilted skull. It stares back.

The ground cracks as the roots slither back into the earth, the ground repairing the pitfall from view. My head is swimming with adrenaline, and I think I want to throw up. I sit on the ground and take deep, ragged breaths into my chest, trying to calm my thundering heart. Once my body realizes the danger has passed, I squint, confused. I look up at the construct again. “You saved me.”

It nods, a slow, awkward tilt; as if it hasn’t nodded in years. As if it hasn’t spoken in centuries. I suppress a shiver. How old is this construct?

“Why?”

It stares down at me, making no movement to indicate that it has heard me at all. Then, it looks around, rearing up to its full height, and I realize how large it really is. The windows on the second storey home that I had grown up in with my coven would have met its eyes. Its great swaths of clay back and arms have overgrown with bits of moss and broken tree branches. He was green and gray and red. The only bits of bones I see in the colossal body are its skull, its hands, and its legs: big, bowing things that don’t look like they were human in life.

Giant? Was this construct built from the bones of a giant?

“Where did you come from?” I try asking, but it has already turned away from me, scampering behind the trees, crashing away. It appears I’ve exhausted its social capacity for one week.

When the crashing stops, I can see its orbits glowing at me from the deep shade of the trees. It’s watching me, still. My personal–albeit shy–protector.

What on earth?

I cough and look back over at the spell trap, then back at the eyes that stare at me. “Thank you,” I say gently. And even though my voice doesn’t carry very far to my ears, I know it can hear me. I feel the thrum of its pleasure in a little spike of copper colored magic that curls its way back to me. It suits the construct.

I bend down and scrape away at the edges of the graveyard and find what I’m looking for: buried under years and years of growth is a corner stone carved with ancient runes. Druids. I roll my eyes. Druids and necromancers were at odds centuries ago in their own great war. In their own great, stupid war where lots of people died, but then decided they got along after all–at least, mostly. Some fanatics absconded to Cainern, and stewed over whether Led belonged to the necromancers or the druids. It was part of the reason for the war, after all. Antonio de Cardenas was a druidic fanatic, like his father before him. Not that I knew much about politics before or even during the war. I just knew my home. I knew my tradition. I knew that the druids and necromancers of Led had long since set aside their differences: this was just a mine that had been untripped for centuries.

I’m lucky that the construct was following me, and it had the wherewithal to help me.

I glance over my shoulder and find the little skull several trees down, peering at me around the edge of a tree as though the trunk could hide its massive bulk. I smile. It’s cute: all twelve feet of it. I turn back to the stone and dig it out, pushing my magic into the center of the graveyard and pushing mushrooms through the top. The trap triggers again, and the druidic magic pours into the poor mushroom. Great vines and roots erupt from the ground and close over it, dragging it deep into its belly. I hesitantly press a fingertip into the loam beyond the boundary–no zap this time, and settle back onto my heels, sighing in relief. “Good. It’s safe now.” I look back up at the construct who is watching me with interest.

“Thank you,” I tell it again, rising to my feet and brushing off my skirts. This doesn’t answer my many, building questions, though. There is no trace of another necromancer here. There aren’t any bones nearby besides those within the trap and the construct who has made itself my protector. If a necromancer was in this area, they would have dispelled this trap ages ago.

I sigh and rub my face. “Where did you come from?” I wonder aloud, knowing it won’t answer me.

It does, however, amble a little closer, head tilting with curiosity. I pause, frown. It’s trying to tell me something. “Are you coming with me?” I ask it.

Its head tilts. A question.

I press my magic into the earth again, gently touching its body. “Do you want to come with me?” I ask, both magically and aloud. It’s a habit I got into a long time ago. Some of my siblings never spoke aloud to anyone besides the living, but for me… I think I preferred to let them hear my voice, even without the organs to hear.

It cocks its head another direction, as though considering. Then it nods once.

“Is there anyone who can claim you?” I ask, suddenly nervous. “Are you all alone out here?”

It shakes its head, then it nods. I realize it’s answering each question individually.

Well. That’s quite something. I rub my arms in the mid-afternoon chill. “How long has it been?”

It doesn’t answer me, or make any indication of having heard me at all.

I nod to myself. “Okay. For safety, would you be alright if I bonded my magic with yours?”

It clearly hesitates, then crawls, ever so slowly, forward. It still looks skittish: its large body is humming with nerves as it approaches me. “This won’t hurt.” I promise it–because it won’t.

It presses the large expanse of its skull against my extended palm, a heart-melting demonstration of trust. The bone is warm to the touch. Dry… I close my eyes and lean into it. Copper magic floods around us, mingling with my purple and green. It shoots up and wraps around our bodies, warm and tingling.

Bonding with a construct is one of the most pleasant sensations I’ve experienced in my life. Most of the constructs I’ve bonded with that were not my own gave me a similar sense of sweet comfort. Some constructs were prickly in their bonding, and proved difficult to work with in the time I spent with them before passing them back to a sibling.

But this one… this one felt right, like a puzzle piece finding its home in my chest. Our individual magic weaved together in perfect synchronicity and settled over our shoulders like a mantle. The perfection of the connection gives me emotions I don’t know that I can name, and tears well in my eyes. I look up as the mana settles about us and find myself staring into its deep, empty orbital sockets. “Well,” I say, pulling my hand back and clearing my throat. “I suppose you’ll need a name. Do you have a name?”

The great head shakes its negative.

“May I give you a name?” It gives me a shy nod. I don’t have to give it too much consideration before the name comes to me. “How does Henry sound?” The construct gives me a firm, enthusiastic nod.

I swallow. That was almost too easy. Had the magic spoken for him through me? I nod and extend my hand. “Okay, Henry.” Its phalanges dwarf mine but are gentle–as though it’s afraid to crush my hand. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

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