02/02/14 some terms and names originally written before this date were changed to be correct translations. Sorry for any confusion.

Special thanks to Miss Leah "Fire Redhead" Wood for the use of one of her characters.


"We are hunters," she said as I watched her prepare. My mother, the beautiful huntress, I remember her clearly, but I had never known her name; she had only ever been 'mother' to me, "we have hunted them for a long time, every hundred years, and now the time has again come."

She lowered her hand, her claws pinched small metal circles between them, lifted them from the mat that she knelt on, and attached them to her tresses. Three each; one at the base of her skull, one in the middle, and one on the end of each strand. They chimed softly as one ornament would touch another with the movements my mother made. Her reverent preparations for the hunt were slow and methodical, just as she made her speech.

"Your ancestor was the first to hunt them," she lifted a knife from the grass mat, passing it slowly over her skin, colored orange by the light that flickered between us, dancing off of the many scars all over her body. I could hear where the blade glided against her skin, a soft raspy hiss; a hungry weapon, "he is the reason that we continue to hunt them, to earn honor from them."

She spoke quietly as she worked. I listened quietly, my knees drawn against my chest, skin glistening with the heat of the night. Every word she spoke was truth, every word was gospel, and every word was honor. I clung to every word, eager, though I did not show it.

She recanted the tale of my ancestor, Kamabagunda, the first of us to witness the fall of the Danda Kerekuru, the Hunting Star. He was a hunter, a great warrior of the clan, one of the best, one that all looked up to and strove to be. He had left the village the morning after, to see the star, see where it had landed; his instincts had told him something was coming.

Through the jungle of our home he ran. Such skill he had that he was unimpeded by the trees and roots that tried to pull him back, to drag him back home, as if the very jungle wished to send him back to where it was safe. He made it to where the star had fallen by the next sun rise. To say that was when he saw the Paya would be incorrect, for he had been concealed from his eyes, not yet worthy. A shimmer against the trees, that was all, and then it drew first blood. The hunt lasted only a day, and at the end, the Paya revealed itself to Kamabagunda, found him worthy, before my ancestor made the final blow.

The Danda Kerekuru returned to the sky with the death of its master, and the body of the Paya lay on the ground. My ancestor was unsure of what had happened, but he did know that he was far away from home, he was hungry, and meat was meat. He consumed the flesh and blood of the Paya and it had granted my ancestor long life. He succeeded as chief of the tribe after all the others had perished from age, and he was a good leader.

When the Danda Kerekuru fell again, he brought others on the Kure Tua, and though some fell, they were victorious, and others feasted and were granted long life. Every Kure Tua after we learned from them the ways of honor, and of the path. We made ourselves in their image. They were the Payas, our gods from the stars, who had chosen us as worthy prey, and the only thing we could do to return the honor, was to make the hunt worthwhile. If we were victorious, we were rewarded; the blood and flesh of the Payas would grant us the life of a hundred years again and again. If we failed, then time would return to us with a vengeance, and make our bodies old and weak. We were seldom victorious, and there would not be enough flesh to pass among all the tribe, so only the most worthy, the hunters and their families would be allowed to taste the Payas' blessing, dooming the other clansmen to short lives, and they would become resentful.

Eventually, we separated from the tribe who could not accept us, who were jealous of our longevity, but we grew great as a clan all our own.

We were not really so different from the other tribes. We worked the land, the men hunted, and the women raised the children with no knowledge at all of the rituals of the hunt. It wasn't until a Paya had broken the code of honor and attacked the village, killing many of the women, children and elders, before it could be brought down, that a change had occurred; a change that was not shared by our neighbors. The men, after the vengeful Paya had decimated our numbers, saw fit to teach the women the ways of the hunt, the ways to bring down the Payas, their weaknesses, and the tricks that they fell for, just in case such an attack occurred again. But while the women would learn the ways of the hunt, they were not allowed to attend when the Danda Kerekuru fell. Even though it was knowledge to the clan that the Payas would let their women hunt, it was something that the tribe could never accept.

It proved to be a wise choice though, giving the knowledge to the women. Only a few centuries ago, the Danda Kerekuru had come, and the men left to perform and bring honor and the precious life blood to the clan. It was a long time they were gone, and then, after several days, the earth shook, and the trees groaned far away in the jungle. The women witnessed the Danda Kerekuru return to the sky, so they knew that the Kure Tua was over, but the men did not return for days. Eventually, they went in search, and found that, where the hunt had ended, the earth had been destroyed; a large crater, that would have taken several minutes to run from one side to the other, was all that was left.

The women had the knowledge to pass down to the children so that the Kure Tua could continue, and they themselves performed on the next hunt out of necessity, even though time had returned to their bodies and they were old.

It marked the decline of our tribe, and the world around us would not show us mercy for our loss.

The Azande, our neighboring tribe to the north, who had come from the same long-lost people we had risen from, was formed soon after our loss and grew in strength as we grew weaker. They swept through the land and conquered, eventually moving into our land and we crossed spears. While we had the gifts of the Payas to help in defending our lands, our already small numbers continued to fall in battle; few as we were, losing even just three people was a hard blow. The numbers on their side were very heavy, however, and eventually a treaty was made between our tribes. They would leave us alone, and we would leave them alone.

The world around us was changing. People were coming from the north, invaders. They went through the tribes like a plague, and took something from them that should never be stolen; culture. They preached about a one true God, and would poison the ears of all who would listen. We saw the tribes around us fall to their words, or fall to their guns. But we would not listen. We knew our gods, we were chosen by them, honored, hunted. We shunned these invaders from the north, and when we would not listen, they waged war against us. More of us were lost, but they soon learned the same lesson as the Azande and left us alone.

That is not to say we learned nothing from them in turn. When they were not bringing their God down to preach, they brought knowledge. The world was vast, larger than we had ever imagined. There were people everywhere in the world, all different. We would trade for books, and we learned to read. But nothing could shake us from our faith. The final trial was in the forming of the land into a country. The men who put themselves in charge, men of the northern invaders, sought to hold dominance over all people, even us few remaining. These men were lead not by any men truly, but by monsters. The age of suffering had begun. We saw that the world around us was corrupted. The earth greedily drank up the blood of the massacred and seeded more greed in the people who were born of it. We had seen what simple weapons like those of the invaders could bring out in the hearts of even our neighbors. If things such as the gifts of the Payas ever fell into their hands, the world would be destroyed.

So, our wise leader, Biraragowe, my father, had searched the books, talked to the invaders and our neighbors, and sent us on a hunt of another kind. I was not yet born, and the country was still not yet formed. It was easy to find what he sought, a hole in the ground, with shiny stones. Diamonds they were called in the invaders' tongue, and we harvested many. With them, we secured our land from those who would eventually be in control.

It had been a risk, learning that these stones were on our land could have spurned these greedy men into trying to slaughter us all to claim the hole and all the stones for themselves. But these men had servants, men of tribes, who told them stories. They knew of us, and how dangerous we were. They were appeased with the offering, and granted our lands to be ours, a treaty that lasted through many different rulers, especially when the country fell back into the hands of those who it belonged to. With this stone currency, we had purchased only one other thing: a place to hide the gifts of the Payas, away from all who would use them for evil. It was, unfortunately, our chain to this world and these people. It needed to be maintained, replaced if it was broken, improved. We did this begrudgingly for it was necessary. The final trial was far from over, the trial would never be over, but we were finally left alone.

Every time the world tried to interfere, to break us and bring us to our knees, we persevered. We refused to be shaken; our lands were ours, our people ruled by no men, and our faith secured. No matter what, through all of the trials, we would always answer the falling of the Danda Kerekuru and hunt.

"Tonight, the Danda Kerekuru has fallen," she put down the knife, not a single drop of blood had been drawn from the blade, the whole of her skin now bare save for her brow and tresses, "tomorrow, when the sun rises, the Kure Tua will begin. You will join me, but only to watch and to learn," finally she cups her hand in a bowl of water, and washes her skin clean, washing away this world to purify herself for the hunt.

"Your father fell to them one-hundred years ago, dying with honor with his brothers. Now we are the last, my child," her eyes turned to me, the light reflecting off of them as they looked into mine, eyes full of pride, not just her own but for me as well, "the last of the Kure Iradandaanya."

She called me over, and for the rest of the short hours of darkness, prepared me for the hunt. She braided my hair into tresses like hers. No ornaments, I had not yet earned them. She shaved my skin as skillfully as she had her own, and then washed my limbs. She recited the steps in mantra, to forever be burned in my memory until they were not ritual, but instinct. Observe the Danda Kerekuru, clean the body, honor the dead, prepare your weapon, eat your fill, begin the hunt, honor the fallen, consume the flesh, conceal the gifts, return to mortality.

I knew these things, had been raised on these teachings since birth, but always they were repeated so that they would not be forgotten. So close were they to being lost forever; the final two drops of blood in the clan. But we were not afraid. She was not afraid. The time just before the rising sun was spent in silent feasting. Then, when golden light bore down on the earth, my mother rose to greet it, spear in hand. Never was there anyone I saw with as much strength for another hundred years.

With the rising of the sun, she lifted her spear and stepped out into that light. She looked back, making sure I was following behind. I remember so clearly, the thrum of insects, the call of birds, movement in the trees as the animals began to rise from their slumber. But we were silent. The sun warmed our skins like it would unmoving stones on the earth.

The Kure Tua had begun, and together we headed off into the jungle.