They tied me to a stake in the middle of their camp, like the centerpiece of the evening's enjoyment, a trussed-up pig to be turned over in the fire. Only instead of a pig, it's me, and instead of a warm fire, I'm shivering from my cold rage.
I'm bloody and bruised, but the physical pain is nothing compared to my humiliating positioning. My forearms are bound from wrist to elbow in tight loops that pin me against the stake, forcing me to stare at the stupid thing. It's tight enough that I can't even wriggle my wrists back and forth, try as I might. And, they did it at the height of my waist, so there are two options to choose from: the first is to remain standing but bent over. It puts pressure on the low of my back and makes the rough wood of the stake break off into little splinters in my skin. The other option is to give in, and crouch down in the mud underneath me to relieve my exertion.
Rationally, I know what the correct choice is. At least, it would be smarter if I were to crouch, to conserve my energy.
But my pride is what keeps my legs stiff and straight, so that even though my tired body begins to shake, I maintain as much of my dignity as possible.
That feels more impossible than I want to admit, though, because even though I whisper my prayers and remember the dignity afforded to me by My Lady, there is no denying the facts. My hitoe had gotten ripped in the altercation, and one of my breasts is exposed to the cold air. One of the monsters had clawed me while they dragged me out, and it's left parts of my red skirt tattered, blood mixing with the brilliance of my hakama. I couldn't quite see how deep it'd cut into my flesh earlier, but even now I refuse to look. Looking would only make it worse.
It hurt quite a bit at first, but by now it's faded slightly into a dull throb. I only wrestled against them for a minute or so--despite my pride, I have to admit that physically, I'm much weaker than any of them--before they succeeded in overtaking me. But, it feels like I've battled for a full day and night. I wouldn't be surprised if when I looked down I saw bruises all over, blossoming through my skin.
"What do you want?" I spit at one of them, the one that's keeping watch over me. It's been staring at me constantly, but that isn't the part that bothers me. It's the curiosity in its lifeless eyes, like I'm something to be observed.
But in response to my hostility, it only shrugs and continues to look at me in my pathetic state. I shift back and forth on my feet, willing my body to stop shaking. I refuse to look weak.
I keep my eyes locked ahead of me, keep them narrowed in a glare. I have to. Because as soon as I forget to, I'll burst into tears.
Oni.
At one point, even thinking of the word would have caused shivers to run down my spine. When I first started out as a shrine maiden, perhaps. But as time passed and I grew to understand more about the spirits that walk among us, that disturbed awe gradually became something more like disgust.
Disgust is an exceedingly accurate word for it, what goes through my head whenever I look up and see the monsters that have taken me captive. They are big hulking beasts in shades of red and black and blue. Their form is masculine, thick muscle shifting underneath their glossy skin as they walk and move, and it makes them intimidating, for even the smallest among them are at least three heads taller than me.
Their faces disturb me more than I want to admit. I almost wish they looked more human, but they don't. The great horns that jut straight up through their hair, the smaller ones that extend out of the corners of their mouths and bookend rows of sharp teeth--and their eyes, which come in a variety of colors from pale yellow to deep burgundy, and always look inexplicably lifeless. All of those things are reminders that I'm completely surrounded by monsters.
And so anytime I look into one of their eyes, I close mine and whisper another prayer.
"He is coming." One of them says from behind me.
I don't turn around to look at who is speaking to me. It's just another one of them, a monster I don't want to see. Besides, I couldn't bear to give them the satisfaction of making me struggle to see them.
Oni speak in the ancient language of the gods, the sounds guttural and thick. There aren't many who still speak it fluently, and I briefly feel grateful that I'm not one of them, because my unfamiliarity with the sound gives me the ability to tune them out for the most part.
That is, until the voice behind me says what it does. Immediately, my heart pounds, because I have no idea who he is.
Perhaps it's good fortune that I don't have to wait long to find out. Somehow, it's obvious when he walks behind me, his voice ringing out through the camp in a gravelly rumble.
"A gift?" The deep sound of his laughter makes me clench my hands into fists. "Hello, little one."
I gasp out loud when he drops down next to me, his mahogany-shaded face just inches from mine. I didn't hear him draw so close, and the surprise of the moment is what keeps me from keeping my face stony.
It's a mistake, my inability to hide being scared like that, and it's one that he capitalizes on.
His lips stretch outwards into a smile, the tusked horns protruding past his lips glinting in the orange glow of the setting sun.
"What is your name?"
I stiffen against my shaking legs, wishing my exhausted body would remain still. With the bravest face I can muster, I spit my words out. "I don't speak to monsters."
I'm wasn't entirely sure whether he would be able to understand me were I to speak the language of man. But I suppose he can, as he immediately bursts into laughter. He switches to match me, the words flowing out effortlessly from his monstrous maw. "Is it because they've tied you up like so? Are you feeling uncomfortable?"
I look away as he speaks, and it makes the heat of his breath warm my cheek. Maybe it's because I keep my eyes off of him that I'm so caught off guard, when in one fluid movement he lifts the stake from the ground.
I cry out as the stake goes horizontal and my arms are lifted up above my head. He starts walking with me in hand, but with a frown he plucks up one of my legs so that I'm suspended by my forearms and my ankle, caught between the stake and his clawed hand. I fight against him, but his grip is too strong and it seems he barely notices my protests.
The image of the tied-up pig rises in my head again, and I have to bite back my indignance.
So many questions I want to yell out flit through my mind--
Where are you taking me? Who are you? Why have I been abducted?
But again, my pride is what keeps my mouth firmly shut and my body tense as I'm carried through the camp, swinging side to side.
He takes me into one of the tents and I'm dumped unceremoniously on the ground, my head knocking against the hard earth underneath me. I suppose I should just be glad that it's not muddy here, too, because something tells me that oni aren't as picky as humans when it comes to getting a bit dirty.
I look up woozily as he crouches down, feet flat on the ground and elbows resting on his knees. He looks far too comfortable like this as his head tilts to the side. "Tell me your name."
If I were to close my eyes, he might sound like one of the uncles that visit the temple. It's somehow off-putting how he sounds like a regular man.
"I don't have one," I lie smoothly through my teeth.
"Lying hardly seems like proper behavior from a shrine maiden." He stands back up and lifts the stick up again. This time, I'm unprepared to be dangled, and yelp as I twist my body to put my feet to the ground and support my weight. "But if this is how you will it, I will call you Kotori."
Little bird.
