Red at Last

Hold the entrance.

Hold the entrance.

Hold the entrance.

The singular thought goes through my mind over and over again as the sun approaches the horizon. It had already been seven hours since Garos had entered the gate with his cadre of oncherca killers in one last ditch effort to disconnect the oncherca hive from our world. For seven hours I have been fighting with the thirty-seven that were left behind to hold the beasts back while their queen hopefully perishes. In those seven hours we have been reduced to only nineteen, with eight dead and ten too wounded to fight. Though the remaining nineteen still stand, most are battling through injuries of their own.

One of the horrors slams into my shield and I bark in pain as my shoulder, leaking dark grey blood down my arm, takes the brunt of the load. Luckily, the oncherca I face is small, only rising about five feet high on its four spindly legs.

The oncherca, like all oncherca, has a smooth, wormlike trunk for a body and is entirely black. Its trunk sticks out behind its legs, almost like a tail, with two arms attached near the other end. The arms and legs have no joints or digits, being flexible limbs that end in wicked spikes, perfect for skewering humans.

The oncherca hisses and peers around the left side of my shield, showing the end of its trunk. Where a neck might be, it instead has a round mouth full of razor-like teeth that is surrounded by a dozen black bumps that act as some form of eyes. Where larger oncherca can be nearly nine feet tall and have trunks like the birch trees that surround us, this smaller one is only about as thick as my thigh. 

I grit my teeth until I taste iron and push the creature back before cutting it in half just above where its trunk bends upward. It begins to melt away into a viscous goop, mixing into the mud as another approaches to take its place. I cut this one down, too. And the next one. And the one after that. Just as I have been doing for the past seven hours.

The strength of the oncherca soldiers has always been their numbers. Their queen might hold the powers by which they anchored themselves to the land nearly one hundred and fifty years ago, leaching life from the soil, water from the oceans, and color from the world, but it was the sheer quantity of their hoards that drove men from their homes, toppled smaller kingdoms and forced humanity to band together in bastions for protection. 

Another throws itself at my shield, and I feel like perhaps every oncherca that has walked the world must be bearing down on us despite knowing that the majority of the hordes, which includes the largest of them, are occupied by an army on the other side of the mountain to the east. An army, basically bait, sent to distract the worst and the hungriest of the oncherca while we hold the entrance.

In between opponents I steal a glance at the men and women who are nearly shoulder-to-shoulder beside me. Brot and Hanris to my right are panting as they block with their heavy metal shields and slash with sword and axe. Brot has a wound in his side like mine where an oncherca reached around his shield to stab his arm. I glance to my left and see Elira fighting alongside her brother Elexan. They are exhausted as well, and I feel sick to the stomach as I see blood pouring down Elira's face, dark grey liquid reaching her eye.

Two oncherca charge me and I cannot help her, cannot fill in for her so she can recover her sight.

I damn Garos for dragging me into this. For dragging Elira and her brother into this. For leaving us here to die while he faces the queen. Each stroke of the sword brings condemnation to him, and I continue to damn him as I cut down the two approaching me, a pitifully small one and a medium-sized one, before glancing back to Elira.

I look just in time to see her reach across her shield and slash off the right arm of a large oncherca. In the same move, she exposes her blind right side to the monster.

I watch it plunge its left arm into her, just below her armpit, where her leather armor does not cover.

I scream, rushing over and cutting the creature in half. I catch Elira as she collapses when the Change happens.

My comrades gasp in shock, and the oncherca recoil in pain. Suddenly, my eyes are assailed with what they have never seen before. Colors. My head pounds as the Change takes hold, and I nearly panic when I can’t turn it off.

My eyes focus as I look around, seeing the world in a way I never have before. Gone are the dull black and whites as I look to see where colors were placed in the world long ago. The grass on the ground and the leaves on the trees match each other, and I am surprised to see that the trunks of the birches are still black and white. The color of the sky is unlike any other color around me, and the vastness of this new experience nearly overwhelms me. I look up at Elexan and am surprised that his pants, armor, and hair all match each other and the color of the mud under his feet. Though his skin is much lighter, it shares some of the same pigment.

I help Elira to the ground, holding her on my lap as I finally remember the approaching oncherca. I find them on the ground, writhing and losing form, as if the colors are a great heat melting them away. I am shocked to see that they are beautiful. Though still all black, each one seems to have a faint pool of color along the surface of their skin anytime the light from the setting sun catches them just right. The colors shift and change as they move, mesmerising me. 

‘Blue for the daytime sky that reaches far beyond and for the oceans vast.’

The words of the song come to my head as I witness what nobody has seen in one hundred and forty-eight years.

‘Black for the nighttime sky, the canvas that bears up our moon and stars. Green for the trees, the grass, the plants, and the flower stems that wrap our earth in their care. White for the clouds and moon that chase the vastness of the sky and for the sheep that stay content in the grass of the earth’

These words, which used to hold no meaning for me beyond preserving the names of colors I never expected to know, now offer a guide as I observe the blue of the sky, the green of grass, and the white of clouds for the first time.

‘Brown for the soil that brings life to all, yellow for the sun that envelops us every day. All colors for the flowers that seek to share their colors with all.’

I look down at Elira in my arms. I see her hair first, which seems to be alive with an incredible color, something deep and beautiful. It doesn’t match the brown of her clothes and the mud, nor the blue of the sky, nor the green of the leaves, nor the yellow of the sun. I remember the last part of the song.

‘Red at last for the blood of those who shed it for the future of all.’

Her hair matches the blood seeping from her brow and from the hole in her side, its shade rich and stark compared to the rest of her. Her breath comes raspy and wet as she looks into my eyes. Her eyes are the color of the sky, and tears well up inside them, sliding down her face.

“Colors. So many colors,” she rasps. She tries to laugh but ends up coughing, spattering my face with the color of her hair.

“Don’t speak,” I say as I press a hand into her side to staunch the flow. Colors blend as tears come to my eyes and fall onto her.

Around me, oncherca continue to writhe and melt away. The brave and wonderful men and women around me are beginning to adjust to the colors they could never before imagine. Elexan rushes over and tears off a part of his shirt, offering it as a rag.

I look back at Elira and say, “I’m with you. I won’t leave you.” 

I know she will die, so I don’t promise that she won’t. Even with my hand pressing the rag into her side, she is losing too much blood. All I can do at this point is stay with her and silently weep as the sun sinks below the horizon. Elira looks away from me, resting her head on my abdomen as she faces the setting sun.

As the sun lowers, the sky begins to change colors. I watch the yellow sun and the blue sky shift to various shades of the color of her hair and blood, various shades of red. The sun becomes vibrant and angry while the sky seems so gentle and warm, its color spreading slowly across the sky. As the gradient of color meets my eyes, I am in awe. For the first time, I realize that it was Garos who did it, that Garos freed us from the oncherca.

As the sky continues to shift colors, I look down to Elira. Her eyes are closed and her chest no longer rises and falls. A faint smile is on her face from having seen so many colors displayed across the sky in her final moments. More tears fall from my face and I let out a sob and hold her body close to my heart.