It's coming, he thought. It wants to destroy us, and the Woman in the Ice. It knows what we can do to it.
Kane and Ekko were just outside of the main camp. They sat in a small and private tent carefully watched by a pair of soldiers who politely kept their weapons stowed.
There had been no way to conceal the fact that Ekko was Turning once the battle had finished, and Crylos had been understandably less-than-thrilled to discover that a near-vampire was now in his camp. The fact that she’d helped defeat the Ebon Cities undead helped her case, but Crylos’ biggest reservation was, perhaps unsurprisingly, the same that Cross had himself: what happened when she did Turn?
As far as Cross could guess, all three of them — he, Ekko and Black — were tied to Lucan's power and the Woman in the Ice. What would have happened if one of them had died during the battle? What if Ekko became a vampire before their task was finished? Cross didn't think that her transformation was likely, at least not yet…he still felt that the primordial energies they'd inherited from Lucan somehow prevented her Turning completely, at least for the moment.
But what happens when all of this is done? What happens when Lucan's power is no longer needed? Will it fade away? Will she Turn then?
Cross walked into their small tent. Kane and Ekko sat quietly. He meditated in lotus position — his flexibility was impressive for a large man — with his eyes closed and his palms out. Ekko sat in the same pose, utterly still, her blank eyes like black pools. The air was cold from her presence. Her blonde hair looked stiff, as if from frost, and her lips had gone dark blue, a sharp contrast to the excess of her pale skin.
I'm scared, Cross. She spoke to him with telepathy so seldom it was easy for Cross to forget that she was even capable of doing so.
I know, he answered with his own thoughts. Me, too.
Will you do something for me?
She didn't have to say what — he already knew. She didn’t want to Turn, and if it came down to it, she wanted to make sure that someone would do what was needed. He wasn't sure that he could, but he knew he’d do his best if she made him promise.
She did.
Kane's eyes opened.
“ Is it time?” he asked.
Cross wanted to take him aside, to talk to him about Ekko.
What the hell would you say? he asked himself.
“ Yeah. It's time.”
On his way back to the bivouac, Cross saw Black and Cole. They stood just behind the M2, which needed some repairs. The two women stayed largely out of sight. He couldn't hear anything they said, but it was clear they were having a disagreement, since Cole held up her hands in frustration and shook her head, but Black kept talking, perhaps imploring her lover to listen.
Cross wanted to step away before he was noticed, but Black looked up and saw him. He pointed at the city, nodded, and in the blink of an eye she regained her composure and nodded back.
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.