Ice: The Immortality Trinket

XV: Melting

Oh, how much I love chit-chat with people taking orders from someone that despises me.

With positively fuck all to do, I sit down and go back to starin' again. The green of the moss, the bluish-white of the water and the grey of the stones sitting in the middle is a classic colour palette. Huh, that's amusing. It looks almost as if the stones are arranged in some way to help someone cross it.

D'you know what? That rings a bell. Wait, dinnae Yvette mention something about stones? A riddle or some shite. Stones... stepping-stones, wasn't it?

I stand back up to get a closer look. Hopefully it goes without sayin', but I'm not one to believe some random sayings a person 5 generations ago wrote about. But hey, why not? For the moment at least, considerin' the circumstances. I still hear our two archaeologists mouthin' off, sounding like a conclusion won't be met anytime soon.

The width of the water spans about 40 feet, but it's not deep at all. Even with the water not being clear, I could see the bed quite well. I crouch down and peek at the stone's shape as well as the texture. It's round and smooth, so it's already absolute rubbish in terms of functionality. There must be another purpose then.

My reflection pokes its face out from within the water as I'm focusing on my task. No lookin' bad. Hair could use a bit more work and the skin's not model-level or anythin'. But as I said, no bad at all. There's also a bit of a scar on the bridge of my nose, somethin' that I haven't noticed in a while. Eh, you don't become friends with Yvette without your fair share of battle damage. I'm lucky to only have that and not anythin' worse.

With the stepping-stones not being usable to cross the stream, I reckon it's artificial. Man-made, if you will. I put my palm on the stone closest to me. Hm, doesn't feel like-

"MacMillan?"

For fuck's sake, it's him again.

"The hell d'you want?"

"Mind telling me what you're doing there?" He gestures to my hand.

"Yes, I fuckin' do." I'm craving to do mine, and his head in if he keeps gettin' all up in my face. He replies with something that I tune out, as I instead give the stone a knock.

Tink tink.

What the-it's hollow? I give it another knock to which it replies with the same sound.

"Oi, eejit. C'mere." Gillespie slowly crouches next to me. "Go to your wee boss and Yvette and tell them I found something. It's about these here stepping-stones."

"Alright," he answers. He eyes me for a moment. "It's nothing personal, man."

"Huh? What you talkin' about?"

"Y'know, keeping you in check and shit. Wanna let you know it's nothing personal, just following orders."

...

"Aye, I know," I groan out.

"Then why are you acting like a prick towards me and Nienke?" I look at him back in the eye and he inches back just the slightest. "Um, no offense and all that."

"You lot are mercenaries, aren't yous? You don't strike me as the touchy-feely type of people to be perfectly honest. I didnae care."

He nods to the direction behind me. "Lacroix's a mercenary now too, you know? Just like us."

My hands get hot, achin' to swing at something. They form into a ball, gettin' ready to do so. I grimace. "Tell me what that's supposed to mean. Now."

"It means that just like some of us, she never wanted to do this."

>>

MacMillan appears to cool off and uncurls her fingers at my reply.

"What, what do you... mean?"

I let myself hit the grass and cross my legs. "Come on, we're not here because we think Neto's a nice guy. Nor because we like terrorizing random civilians doing their own business. Neto's not short on money, and us gunmen know when to take an opportunity."

She gazes at me but stays wordless. A moment passes and her guilty eyes deviate from me. I didn't want her to feel that way, but at least it shows that she gets what I'm tryna say here. I follow where it goes, and it leads me straight to the stream in front of her. She breaks the short yet long silence between us two.

"Your life really that bumpy?"

"Hm?"

"I mean, resortin' to something as potentially violent as this. You've no got other ways of keepin' yourself afloat?"

I recall my teenage years. An equal amount of things to smile and frown about.

"I wasn't what you'd call gifted. I mean that as in my family's financial situation, and also–" I tap my head–"up here." I don't think she appreciated my attempt at easing the tension, as her facial expression is unchanging.

"Anyway, I wasn't a smart kid. My dad was a humble factory worker and my mom helped around the farm. So did me and my four brothers. It was kinda fun, y'know? Messin' around with the hay bales and making friends with the animals. Not a single care in the world other than getting scolded for not doing enough work.

"When my birthday came along in February, I was finally 17. In the US, that meant that you could join the military." I put my head down and look at all my gear. If only I could tell young Alex what he'd end up doing.

"The youngest you can join is 17, huh?" remarks MacMillan. "So you joined as soon as you were old enough?"

"Well you could, if you wanted to. In my case though, and with a lot of other likeminded boys across the country, we kinda needed to. The military offered a stable wage to the soldiers and I couldn't pass on that. I was strong from all those late evenings of hammering nails into wood, so it was right up my alley.

"So I went on all my tours, did my part in protecting the country, had to go to Afghanistan and do less than desirable things. My family back in Kentucky was happy that I was able to provide for them, although everyone was worried sick. They told me that they were scared every time they were opening the mailbox or answering the landline. Afraid it'd be saying that I was dead or dying."

Out of the corner of my eye, MacMillan picks up a small stone and successfully skips it about half a dozen times on the water. She gathers another one in her hand and tosses it up and down.

"That scar on your nose..." she continues, "it's just like mine, don't ye think?"

"Oh really?" She turns her face to the side a little and points to her nose. A 3-inch mark directly across, leaving some sort of blemish on her otherwise completely freckled skin. Mine was a bit shorter and angled though.

"Aye. How'd you get yours?"

A small flashback plays in my vision like a projector. I don't figure I'll be forgetting that anytime soon.

"A bullet grazed me. My Bloodhound squad encountered resistance from some armed guerillas. I had to push Nienke out the way of a shot and took one myself."

MacMillan continues fiddling with the stone, looking conflicted. I have to admit, I kinda like this conversation. It doesn't hurt to unwind and share every once in a while. Doesn't look like it's doing her any harm too.

"I got mine kind of like that too."

"For real?"

"In the pushed-friend-to-save-her, aspect aye." She clears her throat and slaps her knee. "I don't fancy sharin' about it right now, hope you don't mind."

"Nah, don't think about it."

"Cheers. And um, better get going on tellin' those two about these stepping-stones here. I'm not a fan of this climate and I think you're not too."

Oh yeah, almost forgot about that.

"I'll get on it," I assure as I stand up in the same breath. I lift up the silver cross on my necklace and wave it to hers. "And I have faith that you'll behave from now on?"

A rare smile emerges from her cold façade.

"No promises."