Page 20 of Humans Don't Have Horns
“It wouldn’t say. I think it is the first one to wake, and the others will be awakening soon.” I pass the canteen to Siean, and she blinks at me and assesses the canteen as if it’s going to explode.
“We must give warning,” Siean says and rises, ignoring the canteen. I can’t go back to Renya, and she knows this very well. My aunt wants me dead, and Renya is not what I thought it was. But Siean is right. People must know the demichads are coming back. Being prepared for the attack might save many innocent lives. “I’ll go alone,” she adds as she notices my brows knitted in concern. “I will tell her only I survived it.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Daton barks at her in Aldonian. Andsuddenly, he looks as he did the night he kidnapped me. Rigid with violent intent and hate in his obsidian-black eyes.
Siean looks incredulous at the fact that a Mongan can speak her language. She steps back, though he has kept his distance. I can’t blame her. He is terrifying. Yet I realize I’m not afraid of him. It’s hard to say when exactly I stopped fearing him. And it’s not only because if he meant to harm me, he could have done so long ago. Not only because he saved me from the other Mongans. But it is also because I know him; I know his pain, and I know his honor. And my visit to Renya has shown me that I can trust him more than my own blood.
He turns to me and says in Mongan, “You can’t let her go back. She will betray you again as all Renyans do. She will tell them of your powers.”
What does he know of her betrayal? Has he followed us? For how long? I sigh. Because he has a point, and yet she must go and warn them. “I can’t stop her, Daton. She’s my sister.”
I couldn’t believe his face could get harsher, but it does, and he narrows his eyes at me. “You said your sister is dead.”
“She did die.” I don’t bother to hide the bitterness I feel.
His gaze moves from me to Siean. “You also said she was the older one,” he says, and in the blink of an eye, his sword is on Siean’s throat. His free hand grabs her face so her throat is completely exposed to his blade. Her legs are dangling in the air as he holds her up. Siean’s hands go to his as she tries to break free of him, her legs swaying, and she whimpers in fear.
“Been consuming a lot of Mongan horns, have you now?” His voice is full of menace.
“Lian,” she croaks for me to help. My sister, who took me to my certain death.
“Wait!” I call for him because, despite everything, she is my sister.
“Did you figure out how one comes back from the dead, Lian?” he says while his eyes are still on Siean. “Mongan horns, that’s how. And this one hasn’t aged, which means that not only has she come back from the dead, but she’s been consuming it ever since,” he growls, and I see drops of blood trickling from her throat.
“Siean.” My voice breaks in pain and disappointment. How could she do this? How could she let others die for her youth? This is pure malevolence. When did my sister become a villain?
She looks at me with pained eyes. Then she looks at Daton exasperatedly, and I can’t help but admire her for her guts. “Who are you to judge me? I know who you are. Your hands are full of Renyans’ blood, Butcher.”
“And your blood will join them, witch,” he snarls, and she whimpers in anguish as his grip on her grows stronger. “You Renyan witches hunt us for our horns, and we shall hunt you in turn until the last one of you dies. I will make you bleed for every Mongan that was harvested for your fucking selfish life.”
“Enough.” I touch his arm.
Daton looks at me with eyes widened in surprise.
“There are innocent people in Renya: children, the old and sick, who have never harmed your people. They need to know the demichads are coming,” I say.
He stares at me, his jaw clenched, his eyes searching my face for something. For what, I don’t know.
Relief and surprise wash over me when he lowers his sword and lets go of her.
Siean’s hands reach for her throat. Her eyes dart between Daton and me. “Thank you,” she wheezes to me.
But her gratitude is like a slap in the face, as far as I am concerned. “What are you doing, Siean? I’m glad Mother is dead so she can’t see what became of you, what became of Renya. It is time for you to stop. Stop taking the lives of others. There can be no justification for it. Now go.”
She at least has the decency to look abashed, and she goes without a word. Daton watches her walk away, his hands in fists, his body trembling in what I think is rage.
As she walks in the direction of Renya, part of me is glad my sister is unharmed, and part of me is ashamed of my blood, of my family—ashamed of asking him to spare her.
“You believe she won’t tell them you’re alive? Of your powers?” he asks, his eyes still on her withdrawing figure.
“I must believe she can be better. It’s just too depressing to think otherwise,” I say, my eyes on her back, on her blood-drenched body. He looks at me for a long moment, unreadable, and says nothing.
“I have to get out of here. This place reeks of death. I have to clean off all this blood and gore.”
Daton picks up his bag and starts walking, so I follow.
After a short walk, we arrive at a small creek hidden by trees and greenery. Daton gives me a clean Aldonian army uniform and a soap bar. When I ask where he got them, he doesn’t bother answering and just gets out of my way to give me privacy. A part of me missed his brooding manner. It grew familiar during the days we spent together. I’m seriously unhinged to miss broodiness, to miss the Butcher at all.
