Page 64 of Humans Don't Have Horns
I’ve seen how they treated Niska, even after I gave her my name, after she killed more Shavirs than anyone but me. The men adore her, but she hasn’t received even one proposal for marriage. They are too terrified of the idea that their children will bear her colors.
But that isn’t even the worst of it. I am doomed to witness Liangetting old so much faster than me, a woman who can die from the smallest of injuries. The mere thought is terrifying. But these are foolish thoughts. I don’t even know if I will live to see tomorrow.
Lian’s eyes find mine, and I hold her stare. I can see some of the stress leave her body, although her expression is grim. She nods slightly as if accepting what her eyes just witnessed as something she can’t understand, yet she is humble enough not to judge it.
Emek finishes enchanting the first goblet and hands it to me. I hold it with both my hands and drink the sacred blood of my people. I feel their power and magic filling my veins, and the cry of the battle leaves my lips as I finish the drink. My warriors cry out as an echo, and the line advances quickly so they can take their turns drinking.
As the ritual comes to a close, the warriors gather and look at me expectantly. I can see Niska’s division to my right and Bahar’s to my left. Each division has three platoons. Nine platoons for nine pipes. In each division, there are a thousand warriors. Never have so many Mongans fought at once. I spared no one. These are all the warriors we could have gathered. The ones who ceased fighting a few years ago due to age were called, and so were the ones who have yet to make their first kill. We win this, or we all die. There is no holding back. Not when the children can’t be protected from the demichads in any other way.
I hate giving speeches, but it’s part of the job. I step in front of the warriors so they can see me. “In front of the greatest foe, in front of the greatest abomination, we need not fear. We do not walk alone to meet our enemy. Look to your side and see your fellow warriors. Look above you, and see the spirits of your ancestors guide you. Look within you and feel the blood of your people. With such aid, we go to war. With such aid, we look death in the eyes, and she staggers in fear!”
The warriors cry out in response. To an outsider, it might sound like a cacophony, but to us, it’s music.
“Today, as every day, we shall fight for our family.”
“For family!” Bahar shouts and raises his ax.
And all three thousand warriors shout back, “For family!”
“We shall fight for freedom.”
“For freedom!” Niska shouts, and they all cry out, “For freedom!”
“And we shall come out of the canyon victorious.”
“Victorious!” they all shout, their axes in the air.”
“Victorious!” Their voices are loud in the air.
“Victorious!” The wind carries the shouts of the blood contributors to us. They will wait for us to return. May they not wait in vain.
The sun and the moon meet in divine timing, just as Lian promised. Strange darkness covers the land. Not the darkness of night or any other darkness I’ve witnessed. It is dark because the moon blocks the sun. As if the sun fights the moon and still manages to shed weak light on us. It will not help us in combat, but Lian thinks the eclipse is part of what will lure the demichads out of their habitats, which are located under the canyon.
The warriors murmur words of awe. This is proof of Lian’s divine guidance. I needed no proof. The eclipse will not help us see the demichads better, but it will help morale. When the moon shifts for you, you feel your war is just.
I start jogging toward my position in the canyon, my warriors falling in behind me. The Aldonian commanders bark orders from the safety of the rear while their soldiers take the heat. Typical. But that's not our way. Being a Mongan warlord means leading from the front. Always has, always will. My wariors don't fight for my glory or fortune. They fight for the people. The people that gave them their blood and their magic.
The memory of our last drill flashes through my mind: Niska demonstrating how to use a demichad's momentum against it, Kala teaching the younger warriors where to strike for maximum damage. We'd practiced until our muscles screamed, until every movement became instinct. It had to be perfect. The price of failure is too high.
Salt water thunders through the nine pipes as I reach the canyon. The sound of the water sloshing through the pipes is nearly deafening, echoing in the canyon like the approach of a storm. The thick air burns my nose and throat with each breath, and the soil beneath our feet is already drenched. The wind picks up, howling through thecanyon, carrying the sharp tang of salt and something else. Something rotten. The temperature drops suddenly, unnaturally, as if the very air is recoiling from what's coming.
We've drilled this for a month straight. Three divisions, spread across the western canyon wall, a fatal choice for the demichads. Salt or steel, pick your doom.
As we spread out to our positions, the Renyans keep the salt water flooding, and the ground becomes so muddy and slippery beneath our boots, each step sinking deeper as if the earth itself is trying to swallow us whole. The mud is already past our ankles in places, thick and treacherous.
“What the fuck?” Nehol cries out as his ass hits the ground. I grab him by his armor, pull him up, and hiss at him, “Stay up, or the demichads will be the least of your problems.” He’s one of my division heads. He should have better balance. He excels in brute force and stamina. I witnessed him surviving Bahar trying to murder him after he got Kala pregnant. Haven’t seen such good entertainment for a long time. And it was impressive that he survived Emek’s lashing out at him as well. Mess with her circle, and the woman can get malevolent. Nehol has brute force, but Niska and Kala never lose their footing. That’s what the brawny ones seems to always forget. Agility in combat will mostly overcome strength.
Before I can even see the demichads, I hear them scream. Inhuman, high-pitched shrieks, and I suppress the urge to cover my ears. That won’t do. The fuckers are going to scream all the way to the bitter end.
They emerge from the ground like a nightmare made of flesh, their wails reaching a pitch that vibrates in my bones. The first wave of them writhes as the salt hits their bodies, their raw-meat flesh developing gray patches where the salt burns deep. They seem to melt though they keep their shape even as they collapse into the mud. But more come out, climbing over their fallen kin like insects swarming from a broken nest.
I spot different types among them now: some massive andlumbering, others small and quick as vipers. Some move on all fours like beasts, while others walk upright, almost mockingly human.
Lian warned us about their numbers. But seeing them now, my mind balks at processing it. They carpet the canyon floor, a living mass of rot. The stench hits like a physical blow. These creatures reek of carrion in the hot sun. Their skin is festering, seething with worms that squirm like a plague. And their eyes, those unnatural beady eyes, are hungry, ravenous.
I was a farmer once. Loved working the land, was damn good at it too. But what I've always done best is killing. The rage rises in me as I think of my family, torn apart by these same monsters years ago. Now they're back, threatening everyone I know and love.
The roar that leaves my throat is primal, a battle cry that cuts through the air. "For the people!" I shout, and my warriors echo me, the cry lifting over the battlefield as we strike. I hurl my axes at two demichads and retrieve them from their lifeless bodies with no pause. A demichad lunges toward me from my right, and I strike it with my axes in quick movements. I shove its corpse out of the way with my boot. Its large, repulsive body hits the ground hard, and mud splashes all over me from the effect.
