Anachronism

Word count: 603
Status: Complete

    "You cannot bleed this much! No one should suffer this much," Dezba Long-throw said, sinking arm deep into the hoarse, bloated man as she tried to hold his gaping wounds closed.
    "Get away! He is lost to us," said Inteus Weapon-bearer.
    The mutilated medicine man quivered as the last bit of his strength faded. Dezba withdrew her gory hands from his skinless body. She watched azure-tinged blood ooze down her arms, waiting for it to begin to dry before meeting Inteus' fearful gaze. It was an emotion she saw often on his blunt face now. The young woman looked back to the matter crammed beneath her nails.
    "Dezba. There's nothing to be done for him. Don't know what opened his guts. Don't care to know. Let's flee." Inteus made a move to touch her, but it died. He was always like that now, her betrothed.
    A lazy wind pulled at the loose strands of Dezba's braids and stirred the top layer of sand for miles around. Dezba glowered at the lithe man. "I know his spirit is gone, but it is back," she said, not bothering to acknowledge his last command. She pointed north. The fluorescent desert earth casted a ghastly silver light onto the belly of the black sky as well as on the fast approaching mass of horns and muscle.
    Inteus scrambled at the various harnesses belted across his tattooed chest. He settled on a seventeen pound rifle fashioned from steel. Green light gathered around the hanging metal tip in the mouth of the barrel. The man steadied his aim. The hulking monster slid down a silver dune and overbalanced. It scrabbled in the sand, creating demented figures.
    "Inteus Weapon-bearer. My rope and spear. Quickly while the Skin-taker is down." Dezba stood to her full five-foot-seven height. The red-blue glove on her hand flaked off as she waggled it at him.
    Inteus struggled to unhitch the unwieldy weapon while trying not to waste a shot. Her fingers left purplish residue on Inteus' palm before he could snatch it back. His face drew tight with suppressed disgust, but he looked back to the Skin-Taker. The wind ruffled the line of upright feathers braided into his hair.
    "Don't let me die." Dezba applied a smile to her face for him.
    "You Who Goes to War."
    Her mouth split into a mirthless grin at the whispered meaning of her new name. "I thank you, You Who Has No Shame."
    Inteus should have been the one to cleanse the lands of the Skin-Taker. Any of the men could have taken up the medicine man's task, but they feared the fading of life. For that, they were given new names according to their excuse. Inteus had not the grace to lie about his terror, thus he was forced into tracking down the man-beast and finding the medicine man with her. She had been the only volunteer.
    The bright sands caused shadows to stretch from her wide cheekbones up into her eyes. Dezba chanted under her breath and wrapped the dyed rope around the shaft of the spear. Spear spinning overhead, Dezba sprinted forth. Her chant morphed into a battle cry.
    As the Skin-Taker righted itself, the many stolen skins of its hide creaked. It bellowed, its maw lined with irregularly shaped teeth. The Skin-Taker lowered its horned head, and charged. The sands threw their warring shadows against the gathering clouds. A few flashes of green streaked past.
    The night was then quiet.
    With every great gush of blue blood, a new stream carved its way through the malleable silver desert in the shape of many horns.