Chapter 4
I must have slept for a long time, because when I wake up, I feel better than I have in days.
I am clean, and my skin is no longer covered with those nasty blisters. I am lying in a bed with soft pillows and clean sheets. My recollection of how I came to be in this room are blurry. I know that the servant talked non-stop while she washed my hair, and I just wanted her to stop. Both things, the hair washing and the constant chatter, got on my nerves. While she went on and on about how delicate my body was, or about how many scratches I was covered in, or about my beautiful yellow hair, my eyes must have fallen shut. My last coherent thought, before I sank into blessed darkness, was about how strange it was that everyone I had met on Betania so far didn’t seem to have a language barrier.
When I open my eyes, one of Zeyliv’s cats gets up. It must have slept next to my bed, because there is a light scent of cat in the air. The odor is not unpleasant. Quite the opposite. A light whiff of musk mixes with the smell of clean animal fur. The predator glides through a curtain that, instead of a solid door, separates the small chamber from the rest of the rooms. Shortly thereafter, Zeyliv comes in.
His tall build makes the room seem even smaller than it already is. I pull the blanket up to my chin, because I am suddenly aware that I am not wearing much that could protect me from his cool gaze.
“Get up,” he grumbles moodily at me. Something has really upset him. Since he is standing in front of me, fuming mad, I have to assume that it must have something to do with me. “You slept long enough. Now it’s time to earn your keep.” He pulls the blanket off of me, and grabs me by the arm.
I tear my mistreated arm from him, but decide to get up. I see that trying to stand up to him would be about as effective as trying to stop a hurricane. “What’s going on?”
“I have found out some interesting things about you,” he growls. The scent I associated with the cat earlier is stronger now. One part of my brain finds it interesting that he smells just like his companions. I wonder if he marks his territory, too? I quickly disguise my giggle with a cough. Zeyliv’s words should be scaring me, but all I can muster towards his demeanor is tremendous ambivalence. I get out of bed, slowly for effect. For an instant, our eyes meet, his amber-colored ones and mine. Whatever is going on inside of him is hiding behind his furious face.
“Is there something, other than this tiny shirt, for me to wear?”
He points to a pile of clothes that I hadn’t noticed. Someone must have dropped them off, while I was sleeping the sleep of the dead. I look around. First, I really need to use the facilities, and second, I am definitely not getting changed in Zeyliv’s presence. “Where can I find a bathroom?” I ask. With his head, he points to a door that blends in with the color of the wall. I snatch up the top piece of clothing, hold it up for a second, and disappear.
Zeyliv is feigning patience when I come back into the little room. He is leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed in front. He eyes widen when he sees me, and his lips twitch. I must look horrible in this huge dress, but at least I was able to tie my hair and wash up. It’s good enough for me, but Zeyliv wrinkles his nose, disapproving.
“We need to get you something proper to wear,” he remarks.
“Why do you care how I look? I can scrub floors in this thing, just as well,” I snap in return.
He grins arrogantly. “Your value has increased overnight. It would be a waste if someone like you were made to clean. But for now,” he tilts his head, and looks at me as if I were a cow at market, “this will do.”
I stare at him, and slowly, a terrifying suspicion creeps into my head. “Who told you?” I ask softly. His grin widens.
A Sethari named Shazuul was only too happy to talk, once he realized that he was being ordered to work in the mines. The information he gave me about you was enough to earn him a trip home.”
“Of course,” I mumble. Khazaar would never have said anything about me that could give a man like Zeyliv an advantage over me. And would make him lean towards keeping me as his willing, thought-reading slave. For that is exactly what the man standing in front of me knows: the fact that I can slip into others’ minds. I pray that he only has a vague sense of what I am capable of. Because it would be a pleasure for a power-hungry alien man like him to steer the minds of his enemies any way he wanted. I need to know what Zeyliv expects from me. I will sell myself as expensively as possible – that goes without saying. “So what do you want from me?”
“I want you to help me with a few things,” he says.
I snort before I can stop myself. “And those things would be? Do you want me to find out which of your men harbors plans to overthrow you?”
Now it’s his turn to snort. “My people are loyal to me. None of them, neither man, nor woman, would ever dare to betray me.” He says this with an absolute certainty and impressive confidence. I wonder how he came to be their leader. Is there something like a royal family on Betania, from which he descends, or was he elected? “You will be at my side, especially in my business dealings. The slave market is scheduled for one week from now. If I knew ahead of time how much each interested party is willing to pay, then I will have a distinct advantage.”
So he doesn’t know how far my abilities extend, after all. Shazuul must have noticed that I had been in his head, but not that I had influenced him. I am careful to hide my relief. Instead, I make a disgusted face. “I will help you,” I say cautiously and square my shoulders. He is still standing in the same position against the wall. If his chest weren’t rising and falling, and if he were silent, one could mistake him for a statue. “But there are a few conditions.”
Zeyliv throws his head back and laughs. It is a demonstrative gesture that reveals his sparkly white teeth. And it is an intimidating gesture, because his canines suddenly turn into large fangs that push over his lower lip. I have to muster all of my remaining will to fight – which isn’t much – to stop myself from shrinking away from him. There can be no doubt that some of his ancestors were feline predators.
“You forget that your life depends on my good will,” he says and his laugh disappears just as quickly as it appeared. With one jump, he is next to me, and puts his hands on my shoulders. His fingers dig deeply into my flesh. He is intentionally letting me feel a fraction of his incredible strength. I swallow and can’t stop the trembling that grips my body. He feels this and releases his grip a little, so that he is just holding me, almost supporting me.
“And you are forgetting that you want something from me,” I answer. “I am not demanding much. They are demands that I am sure you will be happy to meet if I can help you increase your wealth.” Greed for more money actually doesn’t seem to fit him. Behind that, there is something else. “And anyway, it’s not quite as easy as it sounds.”
He lets go of me and even takes a step back. Instantly, I can breathe again, and my trembling subsides noticeably. He nods his head, prompting me. He is not a man of many words, this predator man. “I don’t know if it works every time and with every species,” I explain. “I don’t have that much practice with it.”
“We can do a few tests,” he decides. “You and I, we can try your abilities out on a few servants. After that, we can broaden our horizons and figure out if it works on other races.”
“Where will you, in such a short time …,” I begin, but then I realize that several species must be waiting to be sold at the upcoming slave market. If I can manage to go with him to where the aliens are gathered, then I could keep an eye out for Khazaar. I need to do a good job, then. “One more thing,” he interrupts my musings. “Should you ever try to read my thoughts, even your abilities will not help you anymore. Do you understand?”
I nod. He is threatening me with death. This is really getting old.
What follows is one of the hardest things I have ever had to do in my entire life. Zeyliv chooses a small, comfortably furnished room for the first round. I sit in a chair that is much too big for me. My legs dangle in the air, and I can’t rest on the back of the chair. I pull my legs up under me, and put a pillow behind my back. He positions himself like a guard directly behind me. Bit by bit, he brings in his servants. He speaks with them and asks them a few irrelevant things, while I close my eyes and send my spirit into their alien heads. He was right. None of them think anything bad about him. Quite the opposite; they feel an almost embarrassing reverence for him. Only one young girl, who has barely come of age yet, wonders about my presence. When I brush her thoughts, she flinches, but otherwise, nothing happens.
As soon as each servant has left the room, he interrogates me. There is nothing exciting to report, but he seems to be happy that it is working. When he prepares to call the seventh servant in, I raise my hand. It is shaking, not from fear, but from exertion. “I need a break,” I whisper. “And something to eat would be nice.”
He opens the door, barks a harsh order, and shortly thereafter, a man appears with a lavishly laden tray. Carefully, he sets the dishes and beverages on a low table in the middle of the room. Zeyliv grabs a pillow and sits down on the floor in front of the table. I take my place across from him, and enjoy the aroma rising from the warm dishes. Even the plates are made of the finest porcelain, and had been warmed. For living in a “village,” he sure knows how to indulge in luxuries.
Zeyliv is very relaxed. I take the opportunity to ask him about his companions, the feline predators. “They do exactly as you say.” This is half question, half observation. “Did you tame them when they were still little?”
Instead of answering, he closes his eyes for a moment. His facial expression is concentrated, and his eyebrows pull together at the bridge of his nose. His body isn’t the only thing that is attractive; his face is, too. He has a long nose, and his lips are sensual, but this has more to do with their shape and intense color than their thickness. That’s good, because I really don’t like thick lips on a man.
I scare even myself. What in God’s name am I thinking? At that moment, something scratches at the door. Zeyliv gets up and lets his animals in, who take up their posts on either side of the door and start to dose right away. “You control them with your thoughts? How is that possible? Why do you need me then?” I wonder if he is also in my head without me noticing, and feel naked and vulnerable, especially because of the thoughts about his lips.
Zeyliv must be able to read my face like an open book, because he shakes his head. “Don’t worry,” he assures me. “I can’t see into your head or force you to do things you don’t want to do.” He bites his lip, as if he regrets being so open. Then he continues: “It only works with my two Machairos. I can give them commands, for instance, like to search the entire wreck for survivors. They do as I say, and they have never disappointed me.” This sounds like a man who carries his cloak of unapproachability for a reason.
“Do all of you have them? I saw the two guards at the gate, but they only had one animal. And what about the women?”
“What about the women?” he picks out that one question. He looks so confused that I almost have to laugh.
“I mean,” I explain, “are there typical animals for men and for women? Why didn’t I see any with Mangali and Hathura, or with the woman who bathed me?”
“Women,” he explains a little condescendingly, “do not have soul animals. Why would they? They have other abilities. We need our animals for hunting, or for protection against attacks. They are like our eyes and ears when we are tired or sick, or if we are attacked by a superior force.
“And your two … Machairos?” My tongue trips over the difficult, unusual word. “Are they hunters or fighting cats?”
“Both,” Zeyliv answers. His amber-colored eyes glow. “Just like me. I am a warrior and a hunter, and I am the father of my people and their lord.” We are silent for a moment, and then he answers my other questions. “Only I and my descendants have two soul animals. All other men are accompanied by one single animal.” He shrugs his shoulders, as if to say no big deal.
“And the animals are with you from your birth on?”
“They are born the same time we are. They live with us, and they die with us. But they don’t make an appearance until the moment when the boy becomes a man. That’s when they come out of the jungle to live with us, wherever fate leads us.”
“Does that mean that they would go with you if you flew to another planet on a spaceship?”
“You are very curious,” he says. His looks at me suspiciously, but obviously doesn’t find a threat, because he grants me the honor of a further explanation. “The soul animals can’t leave Betania. Those who are separated from their animals for a longer period of time meet with a horrible end, and their souls wander around as long as it takes, to reunite with the soul animal in death.”
“That sounds pretty mystical,” I observe. “Is that part of your religion?”
“We don’t have a religion like you are used to,” Zeyliv answers. His eyes sparkle, and it seems like he is enjoying this conversation. He unfolds his long legs and stands up. He really is huge, especially towering over me like that. He holds out his hand to me and pulls me up on my legs with an ease that surprises me all over again. And impresses me against my will. He has so much power, even though his muscles are thinner, more like a runner’s.
Zeyliv pulls me over to a window and pushes it open. The cold air chills me, but the view over the garden really is stunning. The cold moon has risen again, without me realizing it, and while Zeyliv is leaning out the window, breathing in the fragrant air, I hold back, and barely stick my nose out. Running all over the place, covered in burn blisters once was enough. “We believe in things we can see and touch,” he begins, and then is silent again. I wait patiently. “For instance, we believe in the things that nature gives us. We cultivate fields and keep livestock. My people harvest the fruits of the jungle and hunt animals. We give thanks to nature by taking only what we really need. Everything else,” he points to the valuable porcelain I had noticed earlier, “we buy.”
“But you deal in slaves,” I cannot keep myself from saying. “You only kill what you need, but you grow rich on … people?” I correct myself quickly. “Or on other living, thinking creatures. That is a contrast in and of itself.”
For a moment, his demeanor darkens. He looks down on me, both literally and figuratively. “You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me!”
“The people who come to our planet usually don’t have … good intentions,” he says lamely, without going into detail. “We defend ourselves, nothing else.” He stares out at the luscious and rampant botanical splendor. Climbers with thick, dark green leaves wind all around the trees. A breeze creates a rain of crimson-red petals. He changes the subject abruptly. “I want you to try your abilities on one of my people. And on his animal. I need to know how far your talent goes.” His voice is raw and dangerously quiet. What does he have in mind, this man who doesn’t want to admit any weaknesses? Earlier he had vehemently denied that any of his men would ever be against him. And now he is demanding that I slip into an animal’s head? I can feel my mouth pulling into a fearful grimace. Ever since I discovered this gift, I have kept my distance from animals. My biggest fear was always not being able to find my way back out of its thoughts. The consciousness of an animal would be so foreign that I could easily get lost in there.
“Do I really have to?” I ask and try to explain my concerns. He rejects them with a mumbled curse. “You will do as I say,” he growls, and just like that, again he is the man who doesn’t tolerate any contradiction.
So I comply. He calls in one of his men, and the game begins anew.
A tall, dark-skinned man and his soul animal come into the room. It is a raptor, sitting on the man’s shoulder and looking at me warily. It is no problem for me to slip into the man’s head and go for a walk there, while Zeyliv asks him a number of questions about the condition of the men and women in the slave quarters. I save the information for later. There is a slave quarters somewhere in this building, and now I need to find out how to get there.
The man’s thoughts are similar to those of the servants. All he wants is to please his lord and master. I catch one fleeting thought that is directed towards me. The man, whose name is Keythari, is wondering what Zeyliv is doing with an unremarkable thing like me. Obviously, his leader’s taste tends towards more voluptuous women, and my bust size isn’t even big enough for me to count as a real woman in the soldier’s eyes. Then something happens that I hadn’t expected at all.
I feel something foreign in his head, something that definitely is not human. Something is watching me with guarded eyes, suspicious. I hear the bird on Keythari’s shoulder give a loud screech in warning. The next thing I feel is his beak hacking into my shoulder. With a jolt, I am back in my body, which is lying motionless on the ottoman and can’t defend itself against the frantically flapping bird.
With lightning fast moves, the feline predators throw themselves on the bird. One elegant swipe with the paw is enough to swipe him off of my shoulder. He screeches furiously and attacks me all over again. this time, he is definitely aiming for my face. But before he can peck my eyes out, Zeyliv grabs the screeching raptor and holds him firmly by his feet. The flapping of the creature, now head down, gradually subsides, and I sit up. The torn fabric on my shoulder is soaked with my blood, and the pain is starting to kick in, too. The wound burns like fire, and my arm feels numb. Zeyliv hands the bird over to Keythari, and, in the arms of its owner, the bird starts to calm down. When Zeyliv picks me up, I can’t keep from crying out in pain. He holds me to his chest and carries me through the hall to a different part of the house. He calls out something, and things start to happen around us. I don’t want the others to see how bad the pain is, so I bury my face in his chest. It feels hard, and I can feel his muscles moving as he walks. His scent has something comforting to it, maybe because it is the only familiar thing to me in a world where every day new things happen that I can’t quite understand.
Carefully, he puts me down on my narrow bed, and Mangali and Hathura are there right away. The older one takes something out of the basket she brought with her. She cuts the pretty fabric to expose my wound, and clicks her tongue disapprovingly. This seems to be the permanent state she is in now every time she sees me. Gently, she cleans my wound, and I withstand the procedure with my lips pressed together. When she smears a green paste on the wound, the pain finally starts to subside. I would like to kiss her, and tell her so. She smiles secretively and to me she looks as beautiful and aloof as an antique goddess. When I realize that I am also sharing these thoughts with her, without being the slightest bit ashamed, I know that the pain killer is stronger than I expected.
Mangali brushes her palm over my eye lids, and they close immediately. “Sleep,” she says with her smoky voice, and my body obeys her command and sinks into a deep, dreamless sleep.