Chapter 3
Shortly before we reach the edge of the woods, he drops me abruptly on the ground.
“It is important for your well-being that you come into my village upright and on your own two legs,” he explains, even though he clearly thinks it is beneath him to do so.
“Thank you for your kindness,” I reply, and mean it only half sarcastically. Even though I have been shaken thoroughly, thrown over his shoulder like that, at least he has given me a chance for survival. Have I really sunk so low that I am thankful for the prospect of being sold on the slave market? I despise myself, but I can’t suppress this spark in my will to survive. Is everything really better than dying? The horrible suffering over the last few hours crashes over me like a huge dark wave, and I tremble. Zeyliv is considerate enough to wait for my crying and teeth chattering to subside, before he sends his animals ahead with a mumbled command. He stands there and stares at me. I am uncomfortable under his piercing gaze. His amber-colored eyes dissect me and analyze my each and every move. I wonder if I am not so uninteresting to him after all, even though he would have me think differently. I, on the other hand, have a thousand questions I would like to ask him.
I sneak a look at him. His body looks human, but there is something I can’t quite put my finger on that reminds me of his cats. It’s not just his amber-colored eyes and the way he moves. He reacts much too quickly for a human whose DNA has not been manipulated. Maybe he is a descendant of humans who were sent from Earth on a voyage of discovery eons ago and have never returned. Even before the arrival of the Sethari, the earthly rulers did not distinguish themselves by choosing ethical measures for their constituents. I have heard the rumors that the first president of the World Federation supported genetic experiments, in which male and female soldiers were injected with animal DNA. Maybe my strange abilities are the result of an experiment my ancestors were subjected to.
The longer I look at Zeyliv, the more obvious his predatory traits become. His ancestors must have been lions. His fascinating eyes and his majestic, serene grace clearly reminds me of the kings of the jungle. I fight hard to suppress a wild giggle when I think about my third-grade science class. I wonder if he has a whole pride with plenty of females, ready to mate?
“Why are you staring at me?” he interrupts my thoughts.
“You are doing the same,” I counter.
“True, but I am trying to gauge how much you will fetch on the slave market,” he retorts icily. I have angered him, and he lets me know it with this not-so-subtle threat. As intended, his harsh words shut me up. And make me think. I need to find a way to escape from this planet without being put in chains.
Because, if there’s one thing fate has taught me, it’s this: it doesn’t matter how desperate your current situation may seem, cruel fate always has something up her sleeve to make everything even more dismal.
Khazaar. I swallow when I think about the man who was my bright, shining light in the darkest of times. Before I can stop myself, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob escapes my lips, as I trot behind Zeyliv. In Khazaar’s death, I lost more than the man I love. For me, he was living proof that even in the cruelest of times there is always room for hope. Now that last ray of hope is gone, and I am alone.
When we leave the woods, bitter cold bites my skin. In the blueish glow of the night, I can see that my arms are still covered with blisters from the harsh daylight. I must be a pretty sight: dirty, with swollen eyes and hair that looks like a bird’s nest. My scary-looking skin is the crowning glory of my appearance.
I can see the outlines of the village where Zeyliv is leading me. It is surrounded by a wall that is at least five times as tall as I am. A wide ditch goes around the wall. I surmise that there must be a drawbridge, but only because I see two impressive figures standing on either side of the bridge pillars. The men resemble Zeyliv a lot, even though their skin is of a different color. One is as black as the night, and the violet shimmer on his skin hints that his ancestors lived under the hot desert sun. The other one’s skin is the color of ochre, and he has long, dark brown hair. I wonder about genetic experiments again. Now that we are close enough for me to see their expressionless faces, I can also see the animals. A falcon perches on the man’s shoulder, and its clever eyes inspect me warily. There is something cowering next to the black-skinned man, and at first, I cannot identify it. Only when it opens its eyes, and green fire flashes at me, do I see that it is a panther.
While I am still staring, half admiring and half fearful, at the imposing men and their animals, the drawbridge lowers almost noiselessly. The guards don’t look at me once, but the animals do, their heads following my every move. Zeyliv nods at both of them, and marches on, ignoring me completely. One would think I am invisible. But no, now the first looks at me. The farther we go into the village, the more figures are all over the street. All the men have some kind of animal with them. I briefly wonder why Zeyliv calls two animals his own. It probably has to do with his status – or is he their leader, because he has two cats? I postpone this train of thought until later, because by now, the inhabitants are no longer satisfied with just staring at me. Hooting and whistling ring in my ears, and many of them are pointing at me with their finger. So I square my shoulders and put an unapproachable expression on my face. I look at the faces of the aliens. They are running the gauntlet along my path to my destination, but I don’t see any animosity in their faces. Here and there, I see a scornful look, but that doesn’t really surprise me. Even the women are of impressive build. They’re not fat, but they are strong and look like they could definitely defend themselves. No wonder they have no appreciation for a little thing like me.
Finally, finally the hooting stops. We are standing in front of a house that could belong anywhere but in a so-called village. I don’t know if Zeyliv just downplayed the size of this place, or just likes to call it a village. But this house deserves to be called a small palace, and the gathering of massive houses around it is more like a city. I am astounded when he directs me into his house with his hand. I had actually expected to be dropped off at a camp, where I would be deloused, examined for illnesses, and appraised for my market value.
Upon his entrance, Zeyliv is immediately attended to by two women. Their blinding beauty only serves to accentuate my disheveled appearance. But instead of ignoring me, the older of the two clicks her tongue disapprovingly, and pulls me into fragrant and warm embrace. Because of the unfortunate difference in our heights, my eyes land exactly between her ample breasts, but it doesn’t matter. This friendly gesture is the nicest thing that has happened to me since the crash, and the wall I have built around me starts to crumble.
A few harsh words from Zeyliv tear me out of my relief. The woman who welcomed me, however, is not impressed by his dull, guttural sounds. She responds to him with a few sharp hissing sounds and he acknowledges her with a growl. So they are similar to lions after all. The women have the final say in the house, and Zeyliv backs down, but not without shooting me a warning look first. “We will talk later,” he throws my way, like an act of grace, and disappears.
I would like to collapse on the spot, just fall on the floor and sleep. But the two women, who introduce themselves as Hathura and Mangali, lead me to the rear of the house. There, paradise awaits me. At least, that’s how it feels, when I see where the women are taking me. We go out through a door into a walled-in garden. At the other end of the garden there is an in-ground pool. The women carefully remove my dirty clothing. The way Hathura holds my shirt up with her finger tips leads me to believe that my things will probably be burned instead of washed. The prospect of having a bath is so heavenly that I don’t even care that I am standing completely naked in front of these two strangers. Curious, Mangali looks my body over. I must look like a child to them, small, somewhat lean, and quite banged up from the strain of the last few hours. Both of them speak my language with a charming accent that sounds like music to my ears. As I glide into the warm water, most of my tension falls away. My limbs grow soft as rubber, and even the slight smell of sulfur that rises from the water doesn’t bother me. “We’ll let you bathe in peace now,” Hathura says and gives me a beguiling laugh again. “A servant will come and take care of you,” she adds.
“That won’t be necessary,” I resist. As if I would let another woman wait on me!
“Yes, it definitely is,” she insists and looks at me sternly. If she has children, she must be a frightening mother. “You need to be in the best condition possible.”
I look at her, the question written all over my face. A dull suspicion is lurking in the back of my head. Are they like the butterflies? Deceive me with their friendly conduct in order to feed me to a larger predator. “Why?” I ask with a voice that is barely more than an insecure croak.
Both shrug their shoulders in sync, as if they years of practice doing this. “Zeyliv didn’t rescue you out of the goodness of his heart.” The way she says his name makes him sound even more exotic. He practically slides from her tongue like dark honey. What in the world am I thinking about, I ask myself at the same time. The smell of sulfur must be getting to me, or I am just so exhausted, otherwise I wouldn’t be thinking such grandiose things about the man who rescued me. And who is also the biggest macho I could possibly imagine. Are all alien men actually so … pointedly muscular? Khazaar, too – but this train of thought is too painful to follow to its conclusion. I lean my head back and stare at the thick canopy of leaves overhead. It must be lovely out here in the rain, when the drops splatter on the leaves. Hathura tears me from my day dreams, and everything that felt like relaxation disappears in an instant.
“It’s a good sign that he brought you into the house with him,” she continues. In her eyes, I can see quiet doubt in the sanity of her … Husband? King? Leader? “If you are presentable, he will probably want to keep you, otherwise you wouldn’t have come here. What did you do to awaken his interest?”
I suddenly realize that I am an unknown entity for these women. Their master and commander picked me up somewhere, brought me home with him, and now they aren’t sure how to deal with my presence. I am pretty sure that I pose no threat to their status, and I tell them that bluntly. “Zeyliv already told me that he will either sell me, keep me as a kitchen maid, or give me to one of his men as a wife,” I explain, and sit up a little. “Are you two married to him?” I hesitate to ask this, because I don’t even know if the concept of marriage, at least the way I know it, exists on Betania.
“I am his first wife,” Mangali says. I must have looked surprised, because she smiles at me sadly. “But since I can’t bear him any children, Hathura is his main wife. I am thankful to Zeyliv for keeping me in spite of my barrenness. The more I learn about this society, the more I have the impression that it is based solely on necessity and less on feelings. It’s no wonder that they sell human finds like me right away. Before the two of them turn to leave, with evident relief, I fire off one last question.
“Did anyone other than me survive the crash?”
A silent look passes between them, and ends with a quiet sigh from Mangali. She is the one who delivers the shocking news.
“Not many,” she says, and looks in my eyes. “Most of them are dead. Those who did survive are being nursed back to health and will then be assessed for their suitability.” Zeyliv’s words regarding the Allathium mines and the slave market are still vivid in my memory. I don’t need to ask what this suitability refers to. Now I also understand why my presence is so unsettling for the women. I am here, being bathed and pampered, while the other space ship passengers are who knows where. “Where are they? Can I see them?” Even though I don’t allow myself to get my hopes up, my heart has started to race, anyway. I have to find out if Khazaar is among the survivors. Maybe he is injured, or maybe they are going to sell him in the next few days. I find it hard to imagine my beautiful and strong alien warrior as a slave. He, who survived imprisonment without giving himself or his people up, would rather die than to allow himself to be sold. Of that, I am certain. But I don’t even know if he survived.
“Why do you want to do that?” Hathura asks suspiciously. “The area is sealed off, if nothing else because of the danger for epidemics.”
Thoughts are racing through my head. Can I risk telling them the truth? Feverishly I decide not to. I don’t trust them a hundred percent, that’s a fact. One the other hand, I will need allies, if I am to find Khazaar again, provided of course, that what I am hoping for with my rose-colored glasses proves to be true. And if they knew that I have no intentions where Zeyliv is concerned, I think they might be more inclined to help me. The thought of making eyes at Zeyliv is absurd. He might be good-looking, if you are into the predatory type, but thanks. Actually, no thanks, to be exact.
In the end, I go with my gut. “I am looking for a specific man,” I explain, and can’t keep my voice from breaking. “I would also like to know if any other women from Earth survived.”
At that moment, something rustles behind me. Hathura and Mangali freeze. “We’ll send for your servant,” Mangali has the presence of mind to say. I don’t know why they are treading on dangerous ground with this conversation, but the message I see in their eyes is clear: We can’t talk about this right now. I nod, and lean my head back on the edge of the pool. I am going to have to be satisfied with the glimmer of hope the two of them just gave me.