Steven Montano - Black Scars

He walked to the frozen city gates, a frosted archway lined with runes. Even with as cold as the air was, the gates were colder. Cross wondered who could have constructed something as wondrous as this city, and why. It was born of another world, clearly, but was every structure in that world like this, icy and beautiful, fragile and yet capable of withstanding the test of time? Or had it been something different once, and had it only been given this icy form after The Black? Was it like so many other things that Cross had seen: had it been re-invented after the cataclysm, made into something that bore only a passing resemblance to what it had once been?

Everything is wounded, he thought. Every place that I go, every person or creature that I meet. We're all injuries that have been stitched back together, and now we’re nothing like what we'd once been.

The Black made everything a scar: healed, but imperfect. And as we heal, we change…and not always for the better.

They walked through the city of ice. Ash filled the air like charred snowflakes. The streets were uneven and covered with frost, and everything lay in utter silence. Frozen shadows and icy wind pressed against the seven of them as they crept along. The structures were crudely detailed, caricature renditions of normal buildings. At a glance, Karamanganji could have been an artist's rendition of Thornn, or Ath. The frost glittered like a diamond glaze in the failing arctic light. It would be night soon; the temperature was already dropping.

Cross pulled his armored coat tight against his body, and his spirit folded around him and warmed him with her burning proximity. He knew that she had been cowed and maybe even hurt by Lucan's primordial power. Cross held her close. He was ready to be done with this mission.

They walked on streets of glacial white, and they crossed avenues that had frozen like glittering waves. They walked through shadows made solid with cold.

The two soldiers, Tasker and Daye, were quiet lads who did as they were asked. Cross thought they looked far too young to be soldiers, but he also recalled seeing them there on the ground when the undead horde had made the charge. They’d had their baptism of fire, and they’d stared into the flame. There was no un-seeing what had been seen. Even soldiers who survived something like that died in other ways: even survivors were casualties.

Black, Cole, Kane and Ekko kept their eyes alert and keen. Cross watched behind them, expecting the Sleeper's massive shadow to appear at any moment.

The Bone Towers loomed in the distance. They were pale slivers, stark even in that environ. Thin arrow-slits and frosted windows dotted the strangely angled structures. Dark portals rested at their bases.

The Tower that they needed lay straight ahead. Its doorway looked like a cut in the side of the structure, and it seemed to stretch open wider as they approached.

Cross motioned for Tasker and Daye to wait outside. Kane took the point, and he led the way with the sawed-off Remington held ready. Danica illuminated the icy dark interior of the tower with a ball of heatless white flame. Flickering light reflected off of white walls and floor. Discarded digging implements — drills, chisels, hammers, picks — lay strewn like casualties. Electric lamps had been plugged into a portable generator, and they sat in a perimeter around both the tools and several chunks of ice that had been scattered in front of a sealed circular door. That door was also wrought of ice, but this ice was of a lighter shade than the rest, and it was thin and semi-translucent.

Footsteps in the frost led straight up to the ice door, and vanished into it.

“ Okaaaay,” Kane said.

“ I don't get it,” Cole said as she walked past the tools.

“ It looks like they broke through,” Black said. “But then…why is there still a sealed door here?” She stepped up to the ice and placed a hand on it, and immediately she pulled away as if she'd been burned. “It's twice as cold as anything else in here,” she said. Her words turned to icy steam.

Cross watched the frozen barrier as if would provide him with the answer.

After a moment, it did.

Cross' spirit hovered at the door. She probed, and then slipped her vaporous form into the tiny cracks in its face. She felt its thickness and its weight, tested its strength, tasted its age, felt magic in the thousands of crystal constituents that made up the whole.

“ They did break through,” Cross said. “And they entered the tunnel. And then this…” he indicated the ice door, “formed up behind them, and sealed them in.”

Kane looked at Cross, then back at the door, and then back at Cross again.

“ Okaaaay,” he said.

Can you feel that? Ekko thought to him. She's here.

Cross did feel it: power. It was pure, primal and ancient, difficult to even acknowledge without being crushed by the sheer force of its presence. That power had gender, unlike Lucan's spirit, which had seemed androgynous to Cross, a mass of lost souls in a sort of spectral mass, a mongrel construct of ghostly matter. This power that emanated up at them now, however, was unquestionably female. Cross could almost taste her sex in the arcane currents, the geometric emanations, earth and ice.

Black felt it, too. She didn't have to say anything — it was clear by the strange mix of fear and awe in her eyes.

“ So what do we do?” Cole asked.

“ You head back,” Cross said to her. “You too, Kane.”

“ Um…no.”

Ekko put a hand on his arm, and nodded. Black and Cole exchanged looks.

Cross pulled his spirit tight around his body. He fueled her anger by thinking about Dillon, about Snow, and about Graves. His mind raced, and filled with pain. He thought about the children who’d been rounded up and butchered at Crucifix Point, and about Gage and Cala, about Zender the gentle Doj who'd been captured and tortured to death by Gorgoloth raiders, about the dead soldiers in Karamanganji who would never speak to their friends again, who would never look a lover in the eyes. He thought of every victim of the vampires, every ruined life, and every unanswered slaughter. Cross thought of every injustice and wrong he had ever witnessed over the course of his young life, and he poured them into his spirit. He twisted her, and focused all of the rage until she was as sharp as a raw blade.

“ Like hell I'm going…” Cole argued with Black.

“ I'm not leaving Ekko,” Kane said.

Cross rose his head. He was infused with the raw destructive power of a spirit who, in the space of a few moments, had experienced a lifetime of Cross' most vivid and painful memories. Volatile magic radiated out of his eyes. He was like a sick and explosive star.

“ The three of us have been touched by the power in this place,” he said. “You two haven't. If you go down there, you'll die, just like the Black Circle who went down there died.” He moved and stood directly in front of the ice door. The power of his raging spirit swelled inside of him, ready to burst. “The two of you need to leave. Now.”

Kane and Cole clearly didn't want to go, but Cross hoped they saw the truth in his words. He hoped they understood.

After a moment's hesitation, they each hugged their respective lovers, and took their leave.

“ We'll be right outside,” Cole called.

“ Cross,” Kane called out. The warlock turned. He held the rage of his spirit much more efficiently than he ever had before. Lucan's energy was the cause of that. It coursed through all three of the mages. It filled them with power. It knew that its moment was near.

“ Thank you,” Cross said.

“ Good luck,” Kane said with a nod.

The two left.

Black and Ekko stepped up to either side of Cross. The three of them joined hands and stood in a line. Black's spirit was as angry as Cross’. Had it not been for Lucan's influence, they would have destroyed one another through their sheer proximity. Instead, their energies flowed through the space between them, and it electrified the air. Ekko focused the energies stored inside of her, as well, and added them to the fold, vampiric hunger and a desperate will to survive.