Chapter 11 - 2-1
From the time he could remember, the emotion Geraha felt was loneliness. It was good that he had been entrusted to Aunt Mor's clan, but he had no memory of being treasured.
The women were especially cruel.
From children to old women, whenever they saw Geraha, they made faces as if they had touched filth.
"Let me show you something scary."
Things like that happened; a girl of marriageable age once handed him a hand mirror. If he were to list all the times he was hurt, there would be no end.
Geraha was ugly. His eyes were set far apart like a fish's, and the focus of his pupils was off. His nose was crushed and deformed, his mouth was large, and his lower lip hung down, swollen and puffy.
From his forehead to his right cheek, there was an unsightly birthmark. On top of that, for some reason, no hair grew on his head. Instead, countless warts grew thickly in clusters on his bald scalp. It was a facial disfigurement that suggested a foul disease.
He wanted to make himself small so as not to be noticed, but Geraha couldn't even do that.
His body was large.
Extraordinarily so. At the age of six, he already possessed a height and breadth that overwhelmed other children, and his volume was making geometric leaps day by day.
However, his intellectual development did not grow as much as his body.
Around this time, Geraha was looked down upon not only by women but also by men. His eerie appearance caused a physiological revulsion, and another reason was that his movements were sluggish.
Among the Kosa people, this was the greatest object of contempt. No matter what he was told, Geraha was vacant and dull, drool dripping from his naturally slack mouth.
Only horses could he ride and control.
Though a child, he had monstrous strength, and when he clamped a horse's torso between his thighs, even the wildest steed would obey.
The Kosa were a nomadic horse-riding people. If one could not use a horse as if it were a part of oneself, even the son of a chieftain could not be helped if he was abandoned in the wilderness.
Still, young Geraha often thought it would be better to be abandoned and eaten by wolves. He was pelted with stones by younger children, treated like filth by his own clan. It was so painful he wanted to die.
The reason he didn't was because he had an older brother.
Only Tenge Wolf loved Geraha.
The brother Geraha remembered was a gallant young warrior of around seventeen or eighteen at the time. His brother was at war with the Ishma tribe, also Kosa people, over interests in the southern cities. Whenever there was even a temporary truce, he would fly to Geraha's side.
Overall, he was slender and lean, his features fair, beautiful like a woman. He had a fragrant nobility, and his leather garments clung tightly to his skin, the area around his firm hips even seeming seductive. Naturally, young girls would get excited, but his brother paid them no mind, coming briskly to Geraha and hugging him as if pouncing on him.
"You've gotten bigger again."
He would rub his cheek against Geraha's as if to devour him.
Only in these moments was Geraha happy.
There is an unforgettable event.
One day, Tenge came to the tent where Geraha lived, carefully carrying a cup. A white, viscous liquid filled it to the brim.
"Drink it, Geraha."
"Brother Tenge, what is this?"
"It's horse semen."
He didn't know what semen was, but it smelled fishy and he thought it wasn't something a person should drink.
"Brother, I can't drink it."
"Geraha, it's a ritual. All Kosa people drink this. If you drink it, a worm will be born in your intestines, and you'll get a strong body that can withstand any foul food."
"I can't do it."
When he looked at his brother pleadingly, his brother smiled faintly. It was amazing that a man could have such an elegant face. Geraha was captivated by that smile.
Then, his brother gulped down the contents of the cup.
While Geraha was startled, his brother's face came close, and a warm slime covered Geraha's lips. Before he could even think, the horse semen flowed into his mouth.
Strangely, it tasted sweet, and he swallowed it down.
Geraha is not homosexual, but when he remembers this time, a secret shiver runs down his spine. He is moved by it.
His brother had one belief.
He would speak of it at every opportunity.
"Geraha, you will become the Great King someday."
He would expose that belief even in front of others. Geraha was embarrassed.
"Brother, why would I become the Great King?"
"You will."
According to Tenge, when Geraha was a baby, he was once examined by a doctor. Worried that his body was too large and abnormal, Tenge had caught a traveling doctor.
The southern doctor took one look and let out a "ho," then turned Geraha over front and back, touching him all over as if to check his bone structure.
"This child is fine. He will grow up healthy. When he grows up, he will move more than average."
"Are you sure?"
"This child's heart," the southerner opened both hands and made a spherical shape in the air, "seems to be about twice the size of a normal person's. More importantly—"
This southerner apparently also read physiognomy.
He asserted that this infant possessed an exceedingly rare physiognomy of a sovereign.
"He might become a king like the Great King Aframa, no, perhaps a king who surpasses Aframa."
Hearing this, Tenge reportedly went wild with joy and danced.
"That's why you will become the Great King," his brother said casually.
For Geraha, those words were nothing but a harsh burden.