Page 6 of Humans Don't Have Horns
I follow the Butcher silently, still reeling from the sight of the hanging bodies. The stench of decomposition blends with the reek of the swamps. I can no longer fight the urge to vomit. “We have no time for this,” he hisses at me.
I wipe my mouth and say with all the scorn I can muster, “I beg your pardon for being an inconvenience to you.” I don’t know what possesses me to speak to him this way. He most likely hung those corpses we just passed, and the sound of the soldier’s skull being crushed during my abduction is still loud in my ears.
He mumbles angrily about my spoiled character in his language and resumes walking.
I’m again surprised to understand him, having no memory of learning the Cursed Ones’ language. Over the past few days, my memories and dreams have been so tangled that I’m not sure what is real and what is false. All I know is that since I woke up in a tent in the Cursed Ones’ swamp, I’ve been thinking of things I hadn’t thought of since I was thirteen. Since I moved to the palace.
I hurry and stumble after him. The thicket of grass is taller than me here and gets denser as we walk. The Butcher cuts us a path with his ax. The silence of the swamps is unsettling, and I can only hear the grass he cuts down and my own footsteps. In the darkness, I look around for predators, unseeing. A quick movement in the shadows and a low growl have me jump in alarm. “There is something there,” I tell him.
“It’s a swamp lion. Keep moving,” he grunts impatiently, not missing a step. I’m not sure exactly what a swamp lion is, but anything with the wordlionin it sounds lethal.
“What if it’s a troll?” I ask him, feeling like a complete idiot as soon as the words come out of my mouth.
“In the name of the Goddess, how fucking stupid are you heathens? There is no such thing as trolls. Now come on already. There are real, existing Mongans after you,” he says impatiently.
He has a point. I don’t dare ask why he is taking me away from these real, existing Mongans. I’m too scared he’ll change his mind.
***
It’s been hours since we left the camp in the dead of night. The sun has risen, and the swamps are awakening. The insects are humming, and the frogs croak loudly in my ears. I grow tired of attempting to catch up to his long strides.It’s ridiculous to go after him blindly like this. He senses when I stop walking and turns back to me.
“Why did you stop?”
“Where are we going?” I demand.
“Away from the Mongans,” he answers slowly, as if I were an idiot.
“I got that,” I snarl.
He exhales heavily as if gathering patience. “The Mongans have a new warlord, and he is to impregnate you. I can take you out of the swamps, and you can make your way back to Aldon.”
“I’m not going back to Aldon,” I scoff. “After what you did, I’m good as dead in Aldon.”
“Fine,” he snaps. “Go wherever you want.”
“Take me to Renya,” I demand. “My mother was a Renyan princess. They will welcome me.” Renya is the only chance I have to stay alive.
He curls his upper lip. “No. After the swamps, you are on your own, princess,” he says, spitting out the last word with forceful disdain.
“Then I’m not going with you.” I dig my heels into the ground.
“You are like a child,” he retorts, sounding bewildered. He turns and resumes walking.
His words cut me deep. According to the True Religion, I am still considered a child. Only when married does an Aldonian female become an adult. My father wanted me to wed the Kozari king years ago, but he was already married. My father waited patiently until the wife died of illness. I had just turned twenty-two, quite a bit older than the usual marrying age for Aldonians females, at fifteen. It’s not as if any Aldonian nobleman would have married me anyway, not with my colors.
“There cannot be a her without a him.”I hear the priest’s words in my head. In Renya, it is different. Renyan females are free to lead their own lives. If I can just find my way there, I would have a chance. Not only to stay alive but to finally live a life worth living. I feel hope bloom inside me for the first time in recent memory.
In Renya, I would never have to see the Kozari king again. Never have to feel him again.
I hurry and follow my kidnapper, ignoring his words. Let him call me a child, a baby, just as long as he gets me away from the new warlord.
The tall grass thins as we continue to walk. Dead white trees replace the grass, producing eerie surroundings. Their ominouspresence makes me even more uneasy. As if there was once life in the swamps before death took over. We’re still walking with no stop by the end of the day. The swamps look endless, and the heat and humidity make it almost impossible to breathe. My clothes cling to me, and so do the strands of my long hair. But the Butcher looks unaffected by it all.
I’m pretty sure I just saw an alligator’s nose peek above the water’s surface nearby. There is a waterskin in the satchel he gave me, and I drink while walking. There is no food. The stink of everything makes it easy to push hunger away.
I hear a noise and stop. This time, he stops too. “Hide in there,” he whispers, pointing to a hollow, dead white tree. I move quickly inside the hollow trunk. It’s a big tree, and I can stand up straight inside it. From my hideout, I can see him clearly as he remains standing on the dirt road, turning his face to the behemas approaching. He stands taller than ever, his shoulders drawn back in defiance.
Five behemas mounted by Cursed Ones stop in front of him. The five Cursed Ones – three males and two females – are wearing the same leather armor as the Butcher, and axes at their waists.
