Page 57 of Humans Don't Have Horns
***
I spend most of my days with the Renyans and Kozaries, supervising the planning and construction of the pipe irrigation system, which will transfer salt water from the River of Tears to the canyon. The preparations must end in less than a month. Once finished, the irrigation system will enable the flooding of the canyon within an hour. The Aldonians keep their distance from what they consider unnatural.
I have come to realize that Dahav’s friendly nature ends with me.She unveils herself only when we’re alone and never in my sister’s presence. The Renyans receive aloofness and mistrust from her and her people, which they return in the form of arrogance and haughtiness. So the cooperation between them, though effective, is tense.
Dahav gathers the Kozari lassos and agrees to negotiate with Emek for an appropriate burial for what the Mongans perceive as remains of their people. Of all the Puresouls, Dahav is the only royal Emek finds tolerable. And still, there is a long way to go until trust can be built there.
It’s still too early to speak of the future, especially with how improbable winning the battle seems. But my mind always goes there. Because beating the demichads only to wake up to the same Amada seems in some ways even worse than losing.
***
I go with Kala one morning to bring water to our circle. No Renyan water system for us. And that means everyone in our circle takes turns carrying fresh water from the nearby creek.
“Whatever happens in the end, at least we’re not in the swamps,” she groans after she dips all of her body in the bracing water. “The problem is I only lived in the swamps before. Now, if we have to go back, I don’t think I’d be able to take it.” She looks frightened at the mere thought. “I mean, a shower every day. The fresh air. You get used to it really quick.”
“Things have to change,” I agree with her.
When we get back to camp, our hair still wet and our waterskins heavy, we pass near the training warriors.
It’s really only in scenes like this that I start to grasp how different Daton is when we are alone. The man is brutal. He is a despot warlord, and he gets his warriors into a grueling routine of training during the entire day, every day. This day I see Niska battle with three male warriors, and I stand there with my jaw slack. She is so nimble and deft. It’s almost like watching a feminine version of Daton fighting. And she totally kicks their asses. All three of them.
“So the Mongan men aren’t stronger than the Mongan women?” I ask Kala.
“They usually are.”
“So how—?” I ask in awe as Niska’s boot lands on one of the warrior’s throats. They practice with their axes, and all four of them are bleeding and bruised.
Kala snorts. “When you’re given your first ax when you’re five and not allowed to reenter the tent until you come back with a kill, you’ve got no other choice than to become the best.”
“He didn’t,” I gasp with horror. That’s awful.
Kala laughs at my shock. But then she bites the inside of her cheek. “Bahar is the best Mongan out there. He really is. But I can’t help but sometimes wonder if we would have been raised like that, if my brothers would still be alive. I don’t know. I don’t think I can ever do that to my kid either though.” She looks so sad all of a sudden. “Come on. These waterskins are seriously heavy.”
We almost reach our circle when we see a crowd. A man and a woman are standing in front of it. Anavel, one of the Goddess’s servants, is between them. “What are they doing?” I ask Kala.
“I think it’s a Blood Oath. It’s kind of like a wedding,” she says, but I feel like she’s not being completely forthright. I’m the only Puresoul ever to speak their language, and it sometimes seems to unsettle even easygoing people like Kala. I get that they’re not sure how much they can trust me. Daton is the one who usually explains things to me in the most straight forward way. I curiously look at the ceremony. I expect to see something similar to an Aldonian wedding, but it’s not. The bride wears regular clothes, not a white dress, and the groom wears his warrior outfit.
Anavel nicks the groom’s and the bride’s wrists. A cut deep enough that I can see the blood pouring out of them. Then she presses their wrists together, holds a goblet under them, and collects the blood still running. She ties their wrists to each other with a white cloth, which soon becomes red. She holds the goblet full of blood, and they both drink it. Anavel shows the crowd that it is empty, and then she says to the bride and groom, “Now you arebound by blood and honor. Not even death can unbind you from each other.”
The crowd makes loud cries of joy and goes to kiss them while they’re still tied to each other.
When Kala and I return to the circle, Nehol, her partner, hands her their baby and hurries for training. “Can you hold him for a while?” Kala asks me and hands me Kon without waiting for an answer. He’s the happiest, chubbiest baby under the sun. And he smiles a wide smile at me before grabbing my braid and pulling it with an unnatural force.
“Why are you holding him like that?” Kala squints at me.
“Like what?” I try to release my braid from his death grip.
“Like you’ve never held a baby before,” she says, releasing my braid from his hand. Very little help, that is, since he only grips some of my strands instead, and I yelp in pain.
“I’d never even seen a baby before your camp.” Tears of pain burn my eyes.
“What do you mean you’ve never seen a baby before?” she exclaims in outrage.
“Where would I have seen a baby? I was confined to my mother’s quarters until she died, and then I was confined to my chambers. When Nikanor was born, they took him to a wet nurse in the countryside until he was two years old, like they do with all the royal babies.” I look at Kon’s hand, which is full of white hair. He laughs in mirth, and I can’t help but grin at him.
Kala frowns at me. “I guess being a princess isn’t all it seems to be, huh?”
“Well, there are the lavender oil baths, so you know, it’s not just bad stuff,” I drawl because I can’t stand the pity in her eyes. But she just looks at me somberly. Then she starts putting on her armor, and getting ready for her day of training.
