2024 Story Collection

The Marked

He shoots up from the cot in a cold sweat. His eyes look around frantically, searching. His heart pounds and he tries to catch his breath. His hands grip the sheets, knuckles white from the force.

He gulps, closing his eyes in an effort to calm himself. But all he sees is the nightmares burned into the backs of his eyelids. He opens his eyes again, taking a deep breath, trying to calm his heart. He lays back in the cot.

It wasn't always like this. The fear hadn't always ruled him as it does now, but at this point, he remembers little of those times. Now all he knows is the panic and fear of the life he lives.

He blinks a few times and wipes a stray tear from his cheek. The routine begins.

He stands and takes a deep breath.

He makes his bed, then takes a deep breath.

Takes a shower, then takes a deep breath.

No matter what he does, he ends it with a full deep breath, because if he doesn't he'll lose himself again in the fear, the memories, the nightmares he lived through-lives through. Another deep breath.

Today he would get another mark.

After every battle, warriors are marked. It's a process where the elder of the clan uses a mix of scaring and tattooing to mark the number of kills the warrior had from that battle. He would get 5.

It was only a few stragglers along the border of their territory, so he had made quick work of them.

For most, the marks are a sign of strength and power, but for Cedar, they are just another reminder of the monsters that took everything away from him.

He braids his long hair as he watches the old red sun rise. He is quick with his moments, used to the repetitive motions. Usually, the youngest female of the family braids the men's hair as a sign of love and thanks. But he is the only one in his family, so he does it himself.

It took him a while to learn how to do it. He still flinches sometimes at the memories from when he would get reprimanded by his teachers. He had large hands that struggled with weaving the long hair into the flawless braids his teachers expected. His teachers had no sympathy for him, they treated him the same as all the other children and didn't take any excuses. It had made him into a man that did not complain. If he didn't like something, he would change it. If he couldn't change it, he didn't complain because it was useless.

He was grateful to the teachers for that.

Another deep breath as he ties off his hair with leather. Usually the mother makes them for her children. Michael made his own.

Most fathers would make the weapons and armor for their children. Cedar strapped to his body the new armor he made a few months ago along with the axe he'd made himself at the age of 10, and the other he'd made at 16.

His journey to the main village is repetitive. He rides with the other warriors to the main village. He sits on a log polishing his weapons as she waits to be called.

The clan elder reaches her old wrinkled hand out the door and calls him in with it. She doesn't speak, but she doesn't have to. He follows her, a shiver running through him.

He sits. The old woman stares at him. She turns and from a wall of symbols she grabs the one meaning 5.

She attaches the metal design to the end of a metal rod and sets it in the fire. She kept that hut so hot he felt as if he was a piece of burning ash himself.

He removes his shirt and lays down on his stomach. Waiting for the old woman to add a new mark.

The marks begin at the base of his hairline on the back of his neck and run down the back in two even rows. His marks end at the base of his shoulder blades. He is the most marked hunter in his clan. He wishes he could be proud of it.

The old woman pulls the long, jagged knife out. Deep breath. He feels the blade cut into his skin as she carves the symbol into his back. He feels the blood run down his side, but doesn't react. Not any more, not after all the battles he's been through. The things he's seen, felt, done. He takes a deep breath.

The old woman turns to her molcajete to ground some charcoal into a fine powder. She rubs the black powder into the cut she just made. She rinses her hands in a bowl of water before turning to grab the metal rod from the fire. He lays there watching in silence as she pulls the glowing metal with bare hands. She presses it into the bleeding cut. He can hear the singe. He flinches at that.

You can never get used to that. It's not the pain that bothers him so much as the smell of his own burning flesh. Just like that day...

Deep breath.

After the skin cools, she applies an old salve and sends him off. He won't be able to cover this mark or shower for the next few days. So, as he walks out, everyone stairs at him, mostly at his back.

He's used to it. Most didn't live long enough to gather the amount of marks he had. So for someone as young as 28 to hold so many, he couldn't blame them for staring.

He rode back to the small settlement on the western edge of their territory, where his small hut sat. It was the smallest in the settlement, but he didn't mind, it was only he who lived there. He was a large man, but he didn't need much space.

He was only inside his hut for a few minutes when he heard the horn sound in three quick bursts. He grabbed his axes and ran out. Surrounding the settlement were the monsters that haunted his nightmares.

They were masses of black, mangled body parts from all different animals put together in horrible ways. They were ten feet tall and seemingly immortal. The only way to kill them was by cutting out their heart and burning it.

Like him, the men ran out and began fighting the beasts, trying to push them back, away from the settlement. The women all ran out and piled anything flammable up in a large stack in the center and lit it on fire.

Cedar had cut down 7 beasts and had his hands full. There weren't many more, so he ran the glowing hearts to the fire, dumping them inside. As the hearts hit the flames, they screamed and the beasts' bodies turned to ash.

He ran back out to see that more were coming in and surrounding the settlement. The other men were injured, and some were dead. He had to make the call.

"Grab your woman and children and head back to the main village." He told the men. "I will fight till the end."

The men did not argue. They simply rode out with their families as fast as they could. At least I could same them.

To be continued...

January 10, 2024