Steven Montano: Blood Skies

Cross stood and looked down at those markers. It was a cold, dry day, much like the last had been. The Reach lay flat and frozen to the east, an eye-numbing white waste that faded beneath a horizon of dark clouds.

The sounds of war machinery thundered from the Bonespire to the west. There were rumors that the vampires were mobilizing for an attack on Thornn, the first such attack in many months. With Red gone, they had turned their attention back to traditional means of wiping out the humans.

“ What am I supposed to do?” he whispered to the freezing wind. His ears and hands were cold thanks to the gnawing chill. It was nearly spring, but there was little way to tell.

Cross’ spirit hung in the air, circling, her power lapping against him like waves of cold water. She made him tired all over.

What am I supposed to do?

The wind picked up, causing the Tin Man to rattle in the wind. Cross glanced at it, and then at the other tree, the one he and Snow had looked at when they’d been there last, when her whole life was still ahead of them. Before she’d followed him into war to die.

Cross’ eyes caught on something. He walked over to it.

The white apple was still there. It had been weeks since he’d last seen it, but it was identical. It was as if the scene when he and Snow had first happened upon the fruit had been frozen in time.

Before his eyes, a tiny, ice-white spider the same color as the eastern snows crawled across its face.

Cross smiled, and nodded.

“ All right,” he whispered. “All right.”

Cross watched the spider until it scurried out of sight, and then he walked back to the city.