Page 29 of Humans Don't Have Horns
Lian
Bile rises to my mouth at the sight of Ashar and his men. I hurry to arrange my shirt, to cover myself, but the wet white fabric leaves me utterly exposed. This is the first time I see Daton frightened. No,frightenedisn’t the right word. His gait is rigid, his face twisted with terror. Ashar and his men have Kozari lassos. Of course they would have them. After all, this is the King of Kozari himself.
Everything becomes blurred as panic floods my veins and my soul. The men dismount from their horses. I can hear them talking, but the waterfall muffles their words, making it impossible to understand what they’re saying. One of the men releases our mares from the tree to which they’re tied and whips them so they run off. Three other men take their boots off and enter the water, lassos in hand.
Daton says nothing as he moves to shield me with his body. But it’s futile. A pointless act of a desperate man. I’ve seen him kill so easily, but this is different. In this, he is even more powerless than I am. He is at the mercy of these men. We are both at the mercy of these men. I only met Ashar once. It was enough to know no mercy lies within his heart. No humanity lies there either.
His greatest pleasure is others’ suffering.
The three men have the sense to not get too close to Daton. Theyapproach just enough to throw the lassos at him. There is no way out of this, no escape. Behind us and to our sides are red cliffs. In front of us are the Kozaries.
I say nothing as they approach. I do nothing. I watch in horror as my nightmares come to life. Daton doesn’t say anything either. The men manage to trap Daton in their lassos, and he falls into the water, twitching in pain. He can drown like this, not having any control of his body. Only pain and despair control him as fragments of tortured Mongan souls wrap around his big body.
The fourth man, who released the mares, now throws his lasso at me, and a circle of fire drags me out of the water. The sand rubs my skin like glass as he hauls me toward the shore, where Ashar crouches near my limp, bleeding body. His long wheat-yellow hair glows in the sun. His face is lovely. It’s chilling. He’s my father’s age but looks younger. Late thirties, maybe. I suddenly wonder if he has been consuming Mongan horns and for how long.
When he came to my tent in the middle of the night, it was dark. The full moon’s light was the only illumination. I didn’t see his features in the dark, within the horror. I couldn’t see the handsomeness of his baby face—the aura of golden hair. No, I could only see the monster at night. Now, as he lays his smooth hand on me, I try to keep down the bile as every cell in my body shivers with revulsion.
My hands are bound to the sides of my body by the lasso. Ashar gently moves the strands of my wet hair off my face, and the gentleness of the gesture from this sadist is sickening. I already feel befouled.
I know what is coming: humiliation, pain. This is how he was when he raped me the night before our wedding. Foul words of how I wanted him as he pierced painfully into my body.
His words had so much power over me because I never fought him. And while I now realize why I didn’t, at the time, he managed to make me question myself and think that maybe there was a sick part of me that wanted it. There wasn’t.
I know now that what he did to me that night was unstoppable. I was only a pawn in Ashar and Rod’s power games. But I also knowthat being a pawn for others was a choice. One I will not make again. I will fight for myself, and I will fight for Daton because he is worth fighting for.
I will most likely lose, but it is better to fight and lose to others than to lose to yourself and not fight. I do not need my father’s love now, and I don’t require Ashar’s approval. I am alone in Amada. And I am free to fight my battles.
“Now, now, I knew you were a whore, but I’d never have guessed you were that kind of whore,” Ashar chuckles, and his men laugh at his words. “Even the broken whores who are reduced to work on the streets wouldn’t let a Cursed One touch them.” His hand still softly strokes my hair. There is such callousness to his voice, to his touch.“Since you have no standards at all, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind spreading your legs to my men before they take you back to your father.”
It was never about lust, what he did to me the night before our wedding. It was about power. About feeling powerful by inflicting pain. Being king is not enough. Nothing will ever be for him. I don’t know what made him this way. I don’t care. And here, now, in daylight, his snake-like yellow eyes are full of delight and excitement at the pain he is to inflict on us.
Daton lies onshore near me. His body violently twitches in pain, and he looks like a fish thrown out of the water, trying to outrun his fate. His eyes are a reflection of mine, full of terror and panic.
“And look what you helped us catch,” Ashar says, giving a long, low whistle. His men jeer at that. “The Butcher. So much gold he is worth. I bet he would like to watch.” He will not kill him. He is too cruel for that.
For Daton, this is Baghiva all over again. The similarity is too much to bear. The gods are malevolent. Sun and the Goddess both. What other explanation can there be? It makes me rage like I’ve never raged before. Maybe sometimes it is easier to rage for others.
I will raze the world for this. The gods can burn for all I care. Something dark erupts inside me. A loud scream pierces the air, and the mountains echo it. I realize the scream is mine.
I scream it all out. My rage, my regrets, my shame, my pain. I sound like a wounded animal then. No words can form from these screams. The men look at me, baffled, and then laugh. Ashar loses his patience with me. Annoyed by this act of defiance or madness, maybe. He stands and kicks me in the face. My mouth fills with blood as his boot finds my face again. For a few seconds, there is only pain. But then I start to choke on my own blood. I manage to tilt my body to the side, to spit the blood out, and two of my teeth come out with it. The blood fills my mouth again, running in a gush, and I can’t scream or make a sound anymore. I barely manage not to choke.
But he waited too long to kick me. There is the deafening sound of loud squeals and the flicks of wings. The skies become dark at that moment. The Kozaries’ horses neigh and run away.
I crawl to Daton, still tied. He is only a few feet away, but with the lasso, every movement burns me, and I can barely breathe. But I have to reach him, to shelter him. Hundreds of huge black vultures fill the sky. The flicks of their wings create an unnatural wind, causing the sand to rise into the air. I can barely see now between that and the darkness the vultures create by obscuring the sun. I crawl blindly now.
I reach Daton as the vultures swoop down at the men. They wound them with their huge talons, biting off parts with their strong beaks. The men scream in pain and horror, trying to fight the creatures. But there are too many of them. Soon, the men are unnoticeable, covered with vultures, and silent. The only sounds are those of flesh tearing, and bones cracking.
I struggle to untie my lasso but only earn more burning. Daton is lying still and curled up near me, no longer struggling with the lassos. The vultures are still feasting on our attackers. I manage to stand up and find our scattered belongings. I grab my knife, and after several minutes of effort, manage to cut the lasso. Gradually the vultures start to leave.
The bodies are barely recognizable now. I look at Ashar’s body, his royal outfit full of blood. The vultures ate his yellow eyes, and twoholes gape where they once were. His white skull is visible in some areas, his yellow hair still attached to his scalp.
I’m glad.
I’m glad he is dead, and I understand Daton’s voracious craving for revenge for the first time. It is dark, it brings only sick joy, but it is powerful and consuming.
I untie Daton slowly while the touch of the lassos burns my hands. Yet there are no burns or blisters once the contact ends. I think he is in a state of shock because he doesn’t respond. I splash some pond water on his face but he still doesn’t move. With great effort, I pull him to a sitting position, and his eyes focus again, but it is a small consolation because he looks broken.
Utterly broken.
