Wolfwood:

Sermon Three: Upon the Cross

By

C M Forde









He crested the hill to look down upon the valley where he had been laid to rest, as it were. No one had seen the body, because there wasn't one to see. Vash had given him that at least, the right to disappear if he wanted to, the right to leave. But things weren't the way he had expected them, he had wanted to start over, to be an anonymous person in an anonymous town as the man in red had once done. But the farther away from his time with them he got, the more he realized the truth behind his actions. He was running away, away from people he couldn't bring himself to face again, the people he had loved and hated at the same time. His friends. His only friends. As the sun rose in the morning hours its light reflected off of metal in the sand, he was surprised it was still there, though it would have to be a determined thief to steal that gravestone. Upright in the sands stood a monument to who he had been, a stainless cross that bore the weight of a hundred lives on its weighted arms. The priest turned his back, and moved on.





It was heavy, much heavier than he had expected, but the weight made it all the easier to carry. The staccato beat of the gunfire matched that of his heart, steel and blood in one movement, life and death. Shell casing littered the ground around his feet, blood filled his veins, and screams could be heard over the roar of the gun, first many, then few. Wolfwood lowered the cross and looked at what was left of the town square, piles of rubble that had once been walls or statues, and bodies, more than he could count. Women and men lay where they had fallen, looks of fear forever etched upon their faces, the ones that still had faces. The priest lowered the cross as it slammed closed again, hiding its murderous identity from the outside world. This had been a job well done.

From an alley to his right, Vanessa came forward wiping her hands, "Don't you think you kinda over did it Nick?" She looked past him at the death in the square and shook her head, "There was only one target."

Wolfwood turned to her with a smile, "They were obviously trying to protect him. It's not my fault if they got in the way."

She shook her head, "All martyrs for the lord right?"

Wolfwood shrugged and hefted the cross over his shoulder casually, "Those who give their lives for the greater good will always join our lord in heaven." As he started to walk away he heard a faint sound from the square, and quiet whine that stopped him in mid step. He knew that sound, that forlorn sadness of loss and pain, the final sounds at the end of innocence. Wolfwood turned his head and saw the child crouched over the body of his mother, weeping the last tears of his childhood upon her unmoving brow. Wolfwood couldn't move, he could barely breathe as he watched the child mourn the death of his mother. Vanessa put her hand on his shoulder to try and comfort him, but he didn't notice, his entire being was locked upon the sight of this child.

The boy looked up at him, eyes streaming a thousand tears, "I hate you! Why did you kill her? Why?" The priest had no answer. The child turned to one of the men, perhaps it had been the sheriff, though his badge would be hidden under the constant flow of blood from all around him, and the child withdrew a pistol from the man's belt. Still, the priest had no answer. "You! I'll kill you! Do you hear me? I'll kill you!" The pistol was raised, and Wolfwood couldn't move, he just stared down the barrel of the gun and saw his fate, realized his judgement.

"Nick!" The shot was fired, but he didn't feel the pain, just a heavy pressure from his side before he hit the ground. The dirt on his cheek brought his attenion back to reality, and he saw the child still holding the gun, barrel smoking like one of the cigarettes that the priest was so often lighting. He could see himself in the child for that moment, could see the future ahead of this boy, and it pained him deeper than any gunshot could. He would have gladly died for that boy, if he could have saved his soul, if he could have kept him from the path before him, but something in the next moment changed that. Vanessa's voice, "Dammit Nick..." The priest turned to see the blonde laying next to him, a puddle of blood seeping from under her as she tried to regain her feet, clutching at a wound in her side. She had taken the bullet for him, she who had been innocent of this crime, had been willing to sacrifice her life for a murderer. The cross came open again, and the boy joined his mother.