Painted Red

Last light. It's like first light for the sailors of old, except it is the final hour of sunlight before the darkness of night swallows the sun for the second half of the day. Usually, Tholan would be busy at this time with the cruxes, setting up new boundaries. This night, however, was different. It was his turn to patrol with Lindia, and both would be checking upon the older cruxes near the trees about five miles out from their community.

This night, there was going to be a full moon. This meant one thing: the Hunters would be coming. Tholan couldn't help but remember the lesson from a few days ago, a lesson repeated once a month, yet required out of reasons of security:

"The Hunters like to push into the forests," stated Garrold the Gray, the community's leader. "They also have a knack of coming towards, and even force-entering, homes that are in the woods that they mistook as abandoned. Hence, the cruxes."

Here, he indicated to the large pieces of wood, fixed together into x-shapes with twine. "These are set up in certain areas as a means to ward off the Hunters, especially if they are of a dark-red color. For some reason, the Hunters turn away from such a colored designed creation, almost as if afraid of going beyond in areas where these things lie. Perhaps it's something from their history, or maybe it is like the colors of poisonous animals that warn any to not attack them. Either way or not, we must be sure that our community remains hidden even with the use of these cruxes, to be placed as far from our community as possible, while keeping any useful resources within the boundaries. Children are not to go beyond these, I cannot stress that enough!"

"Now, are there any questions?"

It just happened to be, that day, that a bunch of children actually showed their hands. Garrold chose one of those hands. "Yes...uh, Cassie, right?"

Cassie, just eight years of age, smiled and stepped forward. "So, sir-Mister Garrold, sir, uh...is it true that Hunters can kill with a sound?"

Garrold shook his head. "No, child. That is a fabrication that children spread to each other. No, Hunters don't kill with a sound, the sound is just accompanied by their ability to kill from a distance. Next!"

Another child was picked at the time, this one named Harlon. He asked, "Garrold, sir, are the cruxes magical?"

Garrold, again, smiled. "In a way, yes. There's a special and spiritual ritual that we do, upon and around the cruxes, but you need not worry about how it is done. You're too young; when you become a young man, we'll teach you everything you will need to know in making, placing, and blessing the cruxes."

Tholan remembered that he was the last person picked with a question on his mind. "Why do the Hunters hunt us?"

When that question was asked, Garrold went silent for a minute, pointing his nose to the ground as if the scent of the Earth would give him an answer if he inhaled deep enough. The smile was gone; in its place, a growing grimace formed on the face of the community's leader. "Heh, why indeed?"

He then looked directly into Tholan's eyes, his grimace now acting out a fake smile for the sake of sincerity, to help relax the audience as they became more invested in the words of Garrold. "The list goes on and varies, from mistakes of the past to myths that continue to haunt dreams and make paranoia the daily drug ingested by the Hunters. Many of them blame our people for unprovoked attacks on their people, including their children. Some view our community as diseased, which actually works in our favor to live out here and carve out our own existence. There are even a few that believe that, in killing us and even eating us, they'll gain great strength and become far greater Hunters than before. Regardless," he paused, and waved his hand to the crowd, "the greatest influence of the Hunters is fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of change. Fear of the idea of a perceived threat near their territories, maybe even replacing them."

Garrold waved his hand in Tholan's direction. "Don't worry about it, kid. You don't bother them, they won't bother you."

Tholan nodded, the memory of that day dissipating in the background of his focus. He was near a river, one that the community utilized for fresh ingesting as well as bathing. This was a new spot, so he had to set up his last crux here. Later, he figured that he would go hunt deer, maybe bring a buck back. He wondered about bringing Lindia with him when a strange feeling suddenly trickled upon his spine like a cold sweat running up to his skull. He looked around, wondering if anyone was watching him.

No one. No animals, even. Tholan shrugged, and set up the crosspiece of wood. Right now, it was just the plain light-brown wood, two large pieces held together by a carefully tied knot of rope, wrapped tight enough that neither pieces could slide out even if made wet. As if being reminded, Tholan checked his pack from which the cruxes were strapped; water, brush, rubbing alcohol, lantern, matches, dry cloth, bandages, and a Bowie knife (an heirloom of his grandparents). He pulled out all the items except the lantern, and then he got to work.

He picked a spot near the river, one that was devoid of a lot of plants and was mostly flat. Using the knife, Tholan dug makeshift post holes and set the crux inside, setting it up as a standing X. The knife was then used to create a circle around the crux, carving the shape into the ground. From four points of the circle, he created straight lines directly to the post holes. He then looked to the sky; the full moon was coming. He quickly took off his clothes and crouched in front of the crux, waiting. He looked around, just to make sure of his solitude, and then bent his head forward with his teeth set upon his raised palms.

The pale moon shown down from the cover of clouds, waiting for the sun's departure over the horizon. Tholan waited, ignoring any sights and sounds, keeping his eyes closed and his palms set to his teeth. He counted the minutes, enduring the night's cold air amongst other things. Finally, it was time. He bit into his palms; the blood trickled into his hands and upon the wet dirt. He rubbed the blood upon the crux, the light-brown now showing as dark-red in the moonlight. Finally, he carefully grabbed the rubbing alcohol, pouring it in the circle carved upon the ground. The liquid ran around the carving, making its way to the four points that fell towards the post holes.

Now came the hard part; the sealing, followed by the blessing. Tediously, he picked up a match and, after a couple scratches on the sandpaper edge of the matchbox, took the now lit matchstick and touched it to the circle. Immediately, the alcohol caught fire, with the post holes catching. The bloody wooden construct also went up, slowly from the bottom and moving to the top. Tholan grabbed the dry cloth and suffocated the crux, putting out the fire and leaving the red design within the dying light of the circle. Before the moon was hidden again, he knelt down and held his cut hands to the crux, uttering a prayer to his community's patron deity. Once it was done, he erased the circle and lines, pushing more dirt into the post holes to hold the sign.

He had to relieve himself and did so a few feet away from his work. This would drive away wolves in the area, while the crux would (hopefully), drive off the Hunters.

The moon was covered, but he was still naked. He stuffed his clothes in the pack with all the other supplies. Time for some food, he thought. He walked to the direction of his home...

The uneasy feeling came back, this time accompanied by his hair standing up. He froze for a moment, then took his pack and pulled out the lantern. He wouldn't have difficulty with the matches this time, and the lantern shown brightly. In an instant, the light reflected off of two reflective surfaces in the dark. Tholan turned instantly, but the surfaces were gone. Back and forth, the lantern showed the flora, but no fauna.

No other animals. Not even insects. Tholan knew something wasn't right, and it was close.

He ran.

Into the woods, staying within sight of the river, he moved quickly through the brush and past the trees, giving an occasional check over his shoulders. Sure enough, shadowy figures were caught in his glimpses, moving from spot to spot, keeping pace with him. Their eyes seemed to glow in the dark, following him as fast as he was running.

Finally, he reached a clearing. He slowed and stopped; any more in his current direction, and he would be endangering his home. This must be where he stands, even if it was his last.

Besides, the moon returned.

Quickly, he blew out the lantern before dropping it. The shadowy figures slowed down and started approaching him with caution, four in total and all masked. Two held bows, one approached with a woodcutter's axe, and one stayed behind the others, with a rifle in hand. They paused as Tholan composed himself, towering over them and baring his teeth and nails. He was facing the Hunters, and they were going to kill him.

The bows fired their shots. Tholan dodged one, while another nicked his shoulder. Steel, he thought. It was a prelude of what would come. Damned Hunters, with their hubris in mocking him and his people! As the bows were being reloaded, he charged, only to be met by the Hunter with the axe. He definitely saw the silver-lined edges, and moved out of the way of the swing. In turn, he swiped the first bowman, hitting him in the throat. A gurgle was made in place of a scream, and the bowman fell with a hand on his neck. The second bowman aimed his bow, and Tholan dodged yet another arrow (this one smelling strongly of silver). The axe-man turned and swung his axe again, nearly hitting Tholan's nose. Tholan, in turn, shifted from the aim of the rifleman, trying to move one assailant between him and the other.

A shot rang out, with the round clipping his left ear. It stung, but he would manage against the wound. The axeman suddenly charged and shoved the shaft into his chest, almost pushing him down. He pressed his feet down, digging deep into the earth. For a moment, the momentum was against him as the axe-man shoved with all his might. Tholan dug deeper, and halted the assailant. Then, he pushed back, bringing the attacker back. He stared deep into the reflective surfaces behind the mask, eyes of fear and determination, and he growled. The axe-man growled back, and tried to yank his weapon back. Tholan allowed him, clearing an opening to the chest. His nails punched deep into the heart of the axe-man, who howled almost as good as Tholan could. The axe swung back, catching Tholan's left shoulder.

The rifleman was now rushing Tholan, his rifle rising to his shoulder. Tholan saw him coming, but was limited in his movements. What could he do?

The rifleman roared, his finger moved to the trigger...

A blur of brown knocked him over, his next bullet missing by a mile. A thrashing came from the feminine form on top of the rifleman, slashing to and fro. Near death, he grabbed a knife from his side and slashed at her chest. Yelping, she stabbed her nails into his eye socket, killing him instantly.

Tholan pulled his own nails out of the axe-man's chest, and made his way to the brown-furred individual. She stood up as well, and growled until he was close enough. She looked upon him, and her facade changed. Rushing over, she hugged him, sniffing and licking him all over. He, in turn, licked her ears.

Lindia was wounded, but alive. They both were. But they had to leave. Tholan pointed, and Lindia nodded. They quickly moved into the darkness; the forest would claim this fresh red sacrifice.