Page 38 of Humans Don't Have Horns
“She spat out our food,” Emek protests because in our culture, to spit out your host’s food is enough of a reason for him to kill you.
“Our food tastes like shit.” I cringe at how defensive I sound. Butit’s true. It took me years to stop vomiting from the roram and the bree.
“Because we live in the swamps where nothing grows. Because of her people. Because of her father.” Emek glowers.
“She’s not responsible for her father’s actions. She’s been subject to his bullshit as much as we have. The man wants to burn her to death, for fuck’s sake.”
She eyes me, then with one of those looks I see far too much, she says, “You have feelings for her.” And I swear it’s commiseration in her eyes.
“It doesn’t matter. She hates me, and rightly so.” Then I change the subject before she can answer me. “You need to tell her of your vision.”
“She’s a heretic,” Emek protests.
“No,” I say. “She’s a Shavir. There is a difference.” And if I can see the difference for the first time in a hundred years, then maybe she really is a savior.
Chapter Nineteen
Lian
In the morning, Shana ties a belt to my waist and adjusts the makeshift Mongan dress in a way that makes me very aware of how my body looks. She tries to convince me to let her do my makeup, but I can’t shake the Aldonian ways to that extent. The dress alone would be considered outrageous. It reveals so much of my legs. In Aldon, I never even revealed my ankles in front of others.
Emek comes into the tent and, without a word, starts to comb my hair. I’m beginning to realize that boundaries are perceived extremely differently here. Shana gazes from one of us to the other in evident shock, and she leaves. While Shana is the most outgoing and joyful person I’ve met in my life, Emek is definitely not. No, Emek mostly looks at me as if she hasn’t quite decided if she wants to kill or simply maim me.
I stand still, barely breathing, waiting for an explanation for her strange actions. There are no servants among the Mongans, and I’m not sure it’s only because they’re poor. They are so different than the Puresouls that I struggle to wrap my head around it. Because then they are also the same as all humans are.
I’ve already managed to figure out that Shana helping me getdressed has more to do with her being obsessed with clothing and makeup than anything else.
So Emek combing my hair makes me tense and wary. It feels intimate, motherly, even. I swallow a lump in my throat as the idea hits me.
“I thought you should know of a vision I had many years ago,” she says as she begins braiding my hair. “The Goddess, at least at the time I assumed it was the Goddess, showed me a baby with white hair and white eyes, and the baby was destined to grow and save us from a great darkness.”
I freeze at the meaning of her words and at their resemblance to what Amada told me.
“I looked for that baby for years. But then Daton brought you to our camp at Minera’s command. I was blind. It is always surprising to me how the desires of the heart can make you ignore the clearest things. I desired A Mongan savior. But here we are.” She grimaces and drops her hands from my hair. My hair is beautifully braided into a crown. I turn to her and realize it wasn’t intimacy she was after. It was intimacy she was trying to evade by avoiding my eyes. Hers are like an abyss of pain at that moment. “You know of my sister,” she tells me.
I nod to her.
“She was my twin. And I thought nothing would ever hurt me more. But then I had children, and the Shavirs made me hurt more. Because for our children, there is a special kind of pain in our heart,” she says.
I gnaw on my lip in dismay. I want to say I’m sorry. But I remember Daton’s reaction to those words, so I only nod at her and keep my tears at bay. She nods back as if that was the correct response, and then she leads me to the main tent without another word.
On our walk, my mind drifts to what she told me of her vision. I wonder if only the Mongans know of the role Amada set for me, or if any Puresouls are aware as well? And how much was revealed to them? Is she aware that I’ve been punished and have no special abilitiesnow?
Was Daton’s following me and saving me due to her vision? Just wondering that makes the wound in my heart bleed again. I’m beginning to doubt everything that happened between us. Seeing him last night made me think maybe I imagined it all. I’m sure there was a physical attraction. That was clear enough. There’s nothing else I can be sure of. Not after he just left me there at the waterfall.
If he had an agenda, then he wouldn’t have left, would he? These thoughts make my head hurt, and stab at my heart, so I just push them all aways. What he truly wanted doesn’t matter. Not anymore. I need to just focus on that major issue of the world coming to an end instead of fretting over a man.
As we enter the tent, Daton is sitting on the ground listening to a Mongan woman who talks to him in a low yet earnest voice. They stop, and turn to look at me. They’re both armed with axes and a chain of knives strapped to their chests. Daton’s face is reticent, and that blankness hurts me in a way it shouldn’t. The face of the woman sitting beside him, by contrast, is full of hostility.
She looks about my age. After Kala’s explanation of Mongans’ horns, I can see she is not yet a hundred years old. But I’m struggling with the exact age. She could be twenty or eighty, as far as I can tell. She’s strikingly beautiful. Even though she is sitting, I can tell she’s tall, and her body looks fit and strong. Her hair, unlike the black hair of the rest of the Mongans, is ruby red. It’s braided in double braids, which on anyone else, might give an innocent appearance. Her almond-shaped eyes almost glow with their ruby shade, and the black makeup around them makes them vivid and sensual. Her lips are lush, even as she snarls with distaste at me. She’s not a fan.
Daton introduces her to me, as if completely unaware of her contempt, as Niska, his second-in-command. He’s never mentioned her, but he’s also never mentioned any of his warriors or friends, come to think of it.
Then Bahar, who I met last night, enters the tent. He is Emek’s mate. He is armed like Daton and Niska, and I’ve been told he is Daton’s third-in-command. He’s a stocky guy, shorter than Emek, andbrawny. He nods to all of us and sits down on one of the cushions near Emek. He is followed by two women dressed like Emek, in brown garments embroidered with colorful patterns of stars. One of them looks to be in her thirties and the other at least two hundred. They introduce themselves as women of the Goddess. The older woman’s name is Anavel, and the younger is Hama. They are far more friendly than Niska. Then again, the corpses at the entrance to the camp look friendlier than her at the moment.
Niska is now seated between Bahar and Daton and makes a face as if she smells something rotten every time her eyes set on me, which I find pretty ironic, since she lives in the swamps. Not for long. I wonder how they’ll react to this request of mine, to move out of the swamps.
Emek calls me, and it takes her two attempts before I notice. I’m too busy being annoyed with the way Daton is seated, all laid back and comfortable, one leg bent and the other stretched on the rugs. His hand is on the back of the cushion Niska is leaning on, his head tilted toward her as she talks to him. I feel like smacking him and her both.
