Steven Montano: Black Scars

Pike sat back down, and lit another cigarillo.

“ I don’t get it, Cross. What’s so important about these two? I know you’ve been through a lot together, but…”

“ More than can ever be told,” Cross said. “Sir, I…” Cross paused. It was going to be difficult to explain. He wasn’t sure if anyone would really understand. “A lot of soldiers died up there.”

“ Are you going to feed me some shit about how that’s your fault?” Pike said. “Come on, Cross…every single one of them knew what they signed up for.”

“ That doesn’t matter,” Cross said. He shifted in his chair. “Not to me.” He leaned forward over the table. “Sir…me, and Black, and Kane…we might pick up some other mercs, people we know we can trust…but we work well together. I didn’t think we would, but we do. I’d trust my life to either one of them. And they…none of us have any family, any ties, or any friends apart from one another.” He stood up. “If we die, no one will care.” Pike gave him an irritated and dubious look. “Look, we can do some good. We can clear out vampire barracks or track down missing criminals. We can explore lost temples or back up Hunter Squads. Pay us by assignment. We’ll report to you or to whoever you tell us to report to.” Cross shrugged. “I guess…that’s my pitch.”

Pike sat there, quiet. After a minute or so spent appraising Cross, Pike nodded, approving.

“ You know you don’t have to leave the service,” he said.

“ I think I do. I think I’ll do more good like this.” Cross made to leave.

He’d just reached the door when Pike spoke again.

“ Good job out there, Cross. You saved a hell of a lot of people. Maybe all of us.” He took a drag. “Again. You’re a real hero, even if you’re the only one who doesn’t see it.”

Cross put his head against the door.

“ I don’t know what I am,” he said quietly. His spirit, who’d kept to the background and had remained a tangential presence throughout the conversation, decided to come close then. She pressed against Cross, and flushed his cold skin with her heat. His gauntlet crackled at her proximity as gauges set into motion, ready to channel her. But she couldn’t stop him from shaking.

Not all that long ago, I was almost at peace. But I was just deluding myself. Look at me. Something died inside of me a long time ago. I have to find it. I think Black and Kane might be able to help me. If not…I guess at least I’ll die in decent company.

He opened the door.

“ Cross?”

“ Yes, Sir?”

“ Assuming I agree to this…what should I call your team?”

Cross looked out of the window. The skies had turned dark red, the color of a wound. A white spider crawled across the window, so quick Cross might have imagined it.

“ I don’t know,” Cross said. “Don’t call us anything.”

Dear Jeraline,

My name is Eric Cross. I knew your brother.

I’m sorry that I won’t be able to make the trip to see you in person. As it happens, while I thought I was going to have a bit of freedom to travel, the fighting between Thornn and the Bonespire across the plains recently started again, and my team is going to be needed.

I spent a few months in Dillon’s company. I can’t say that I got to know him terribly well — he was not the most loquacious man, and neither, as it happens, am I — but at the same time I very much considered him a friend.

I’ve been told that word of his death has reached you. I wrote to tell you that he died well. I know that doesn’t mean much — my own sister died as part of a mission just over a year ago, and the fact that she died serving the Southern Claw and fighting for our survival does little to quell my guilt and pain at knowing that she is gone.

Regardless, I wanted you to know that your brother was a good man. One of the best men I have ever known, in fact. It was my honor and my pleasure to serve with him. In the end, his death ultimately saved the lives of thousands of people…maybe the lives of everyone in the Alliance.

I hope to meet you in person someday, but I don’t know if we’ll ever really have the chance. If that is the case, I hope this letter finds you well. I miss your brother dearly. I know that he loved you and your son very much.

Take care.

Eric Cross

“ What’s that?” Jonas asked.

Cross folded up the letter. The Black Hag was particularly loud that evening. Thick smoke and dank lighting made it all but impossible to see anything that was more than a few feet away.

Cross was still working on his first drink. In spite of Jonas’ prodding, that was all he planned on having.

“ Something I need to send off.”

“ Love letter?” Jonas asked. The warrior priest had long hair, and a deep scar ran down one side of his face. For a priest, he could put away liquor like no one else that Cross had ever seen. Even Graves hadn’t been able to keep pace with him.

Jonas and Graves had been good friends for a long time. Jonas had taken news of Sam’s death particularly hard, and he’d smashed up the Black Hag and spent a few nights in jail because of it.

“ An apology,” Cross said. He had to all but shout to be heard through the din of the Hag's tinny industrial drums set to Middle-Eastern chants, the roar of gamblers, the laughter and song of drinkers and dancers. Muted lights cast the smoke-filled tavern in shadow.

“ You apologize too much,” Jonas laughed. “Drink!”

“ Maybe later,” Cross said, and he patted the priest's shoulder and pushed his way past dancers and waitresses.

Black and Kane sat at their table, quietly sharing a drink in an unquiet place. Both wore dark shirts and armored coats. In Thornn, it was unwise to ever go unarmored, or unarmed.

“ How are we doing?” Cross asked them. The corner they'd tucked themselves away in was a bit quieter than the rest of the Hag; you could actually hold a conversation, provided you got close enough.

Cross set down his black guava. He felt a bit dizzy, and he knew he'd need to eat soon.

“ You know,” Kane said. “I may actually need to have another drink.”

“ You've had four,” Black laughed. “I have no qualms about leaving your drunken ass here…just so we're clear on that.”

“ I can't feel a thing,” Kane shrugged.

“ That’s evidence that you've had too many!” Black laughed. She'd had a few too many, herself.

Cross watched them, and smiled. In reality, he still only barely knew them, and he wasn't sure how well he'd ever really know them…or how well he really needed to.

I know you both need this, he thought. Kane needs to kill vampires, and find Jennar. Black needs a cause, something to do that doesn't involve taking bribes and mistreating prisoners…something good.

They both needed something good.

How about you? Cross asked himself, and he was surprised at the question. Everything seemed to fade, the sound in the bar, the smoke, the choking tobacco air. Even the table fell away, along with Black and Kane and his slithering and anxious spirit. It was as if Cross sat alone.

What do you need?

I don't know. I don't know what I need. But I hope that I find it soon.

He came back, and took a drink.

Black told Kane about how all of his various escape plans from Black Scar would have failed. Kane, in turn, explained to her how he'd have easily beaten her had they been matched up in Krul. Both of them laughed, and drank, and smiled. Cross had never imagined seeing either of them like this: so present, and so full of life.

I need to feel like that. I need this, and I need them.

“ Was that a spider?” Black said as she leapt up from her stool.

“ You're afraid of spiders?” Kane laughed.