Chapter 2
Today, Zeyliv asks a lot of me, and it is almost more than I can take.
And today, we don’t chat while we eat. I used to be able to harmlessly find out more about life on Betania. Today, it’s just nourishment, nothing more. The meal passes in uncomfortable silence, and all of my attempts to start a conversation fall on deaf ears. On the one hand I am happy, because with every alien, in whose head I snoop around, my headache is getting worse and worse. Instead of taking me with him down to the cellar, as I had hoped, to test me there, he asks for specimens of each race to be brought to us. Zeyliv stands, as usual, right behind me, arms crossed, always on guard and ready to intervene, in case anyone wants to do his precious mind reader any harm. His Machairos are lying next to him. Their majestic heads rest on their paws, most of the time. However, they seem to have an uncanny sense of when I am starting my work. The minute I separate from my body, they perk up and watch my invisible shape. One time, just when I start to realize that the test subject can feel me, their ears perk up and they hiss threateningly. The man whose thoughts I am studying freezes right away and goes back to his desired cluelessness. He ignores me until I finally slip out, at which point his tension manifests itself in a quiet sob that comes to the surface.
I investigate them, one after the other, and I am more miserable by the minute. They all know what awaits them. Some want to die. Others have not lost all hope. Those who have just given up are the most difficult for me to deal with. You can see it in their eyes, no matter if they have two, or many more eyes. There is something worse than just darkness in their heads: absolute indifference.
After the eleventh alien, into whose head I gain access, I am close to losing it. “I can’t do any more,” I tell Zeyliv who is watching me intently. I am queasy and dizzy, and I just want to be alone with my thoughts.
“One more,” he orders, and gives the man waiting at the door a sign. The next candidate is brought in.
It is Varsul.
I am almost happy to see him. He might be a traitor, but I know how to handle him. In any case, he will be able to tell me how Khazaar is doing. When he sees me sitting in front of Zeyliv, resting comfortably in my upholstered chair, with a glass of water on the little table next to me, and fruit within reach, anger flashes quickly in his ice blue eyes. He regains his composure immediately, but I can tell from the way Zeyliv’s body tenses behind me, that Varsul’s reaction has not gone unnoticed. The sand-colored Machairos are now sitting up and have cocked their ears. Their gold-yellow eyes dart back and forth between me and Varsul.
I don’t dare give him a sign, so I close my eyes and step out. Varsul has beaten me to it. He is floating bodyless in front of me. Zeyliv will be able to tell,” I warn him, “if you aren’t answering his questions.” This is how it has been for days; Zeyliv questions the people and I spy. But Varsul only laughs.
“This is one of the advantages of having many years of experience in wandering,” he says. “Your Zeyliv will not be able to tell,” he assures me. Sure enough, I see his mouth moving, and hear him answering Zeyliv’s seemingly innocent questions. I push away the anger I feel over his condescending attitude. I would love to pester him to find out how he can do that. Does he split his consciousness into two parts? But now is neither the right time, nor the right place.
“How is Khazaar?” I ask, instead.
He grins. My knees grow weak with relief. If I weren’t sitting in a chair, my body would collapse, I am sure. Even my spirit feels the sweet relief in every fiber of its being after seeing that smile. “He is already back to normal,” Varsul says casually, as if this were nothing worth talking about. “A Qua’Hathri won’t die that easy, especially not Khazaar.” For some strange reason, I believe him. I don’t have long to puzzle over whether this is a mistake, because Varsul is already continuing on.
“I think we don’t have much time left. Your friend is getting suspicious. His cats aren’t so sure about me, either. The damned animals are sensing something. So, the market is day after tomorrow. You need to hang on until then.” He is distracted by the Machairos who are slowly getting up. One of them looks me straight in the eye. The other sneaks up to Varsul – up to his spirit, not his body. It is eerie to see how it starts to circle around Varsul’s spirit form. The traitor freezes when the powerful animal begins to sniff suspiciously. “I should probably…,” Varsul says and pulls back as the cat snaps at him. He barely manages to avoid its fangs and prances back and forth elegantly. I can tell that Zeyliv is paying close attention behind me. He leans down to me and touches my shoulder, gently and no more noticeable than a tender kiss.
I am back in my body in a flash. Am I imagining this, or am I able to move my spirit better, the more I practice? The feeling I have when I return is not as strange as it was in the beginning, either. Back then, it always felt like I was seeing double for a few seconds until everything merged back into its usual form.
Varsul is led away, and with him goes any chance to find out more goes up in smoke. I am supposed to hang on and wait. Great. That is the best plan I have ever heard. Waiting and hoping for rescue.
But now Zeyliv is demanding my attention. As usual, after the “questioning,” he wants to know what I found out, and also how it was. Was it easy to gain access to the alien brain, or did I run into some roadblocks? This time I need to be careful. Without question, he had seen how his cats reacted, so I try to find an explanation for their unusual behavior. I tell him first about the obvious: Varsul is furious that he is to be sold at the slave market, and he sees this as an especially humiliating affront. This much Zeyliv was able to put together from the Qua’Hathri’s attitude, so this serves only to assure him. Let him think that I am much too afraid to keep secrets from him. “He is desperately looking for a way to escape, but he does not want to join forces with the others. He is a lone warrior and is waiting for the right opportunity.” So far, so good. Then I furrow my brow, as if I were thinking, trying to find the right words. “It was more difficult than usual,” I improvise. “There was a barrier that I couldn’t get past at first. I had to look for a weak spot. When your Machairos distracted him, I was able to slip into his head and read his thoughts.”
Zeyliv looks at me, serious and searching. My heart is beating, loud and fierce. Then he nods, and I relax on the inside. “Enough for today,” he announces his decision. “You are pale, and tomorrow will be an exhausting day. In addition, …” He pauses for effect, and I can feel the fear in my gut. I had almost forgotten his threats from last night. He is definitely not the type who would forgo my punishment, just because I have been working hard to spy for him. Not Zeyliv, who hides such a strange mixture of soft and hard deep within himself. Sometimes, when he thinks nobody is watching, a certain cruelty flashes in his eyes, and it scares me. Like now, as he continues.
“My servant will pick you up tonight. We will eat together, and then you will share my bed. You will do this, night after night, until you have given me a son.”
My knees grow weak. It’s good that I am sitting, otherwise I would be on my knees in front of him. “I wouldn’t call it giving,” I respond as confidently as I can. “A gift is given freely, not because of blackmail, or demanded, or forced upon someone with violence.”
It is obvious that he could care less, when he answers me. “Call it what you want. You have cost me a wife and my son. So, you will replace both for me.”
“That isn’t fair,” I scream. My fury gives me renewed energy and I jump up. I am standing so close to him that our bodies are almost touching. If one of us were to move, we would smack into each other and cause an explosion. Something is crackling between us, and it has nothing to do with sexual attraction. That’s what I tell myself, anyway. “What about Mangali?” I know that I am repeating myself, and I also know that I am trying to place part of the blame on someone else. “She is sick with jealousy. If you think that woman told you about Hathura’s secret because she cares for you, then you are not only blind, but also naïve!” He pales at my last few words. There is probably no worse insult for an alien macho man like him than to be called naïve. Indeed, my accusation does elicit a reaction from him.
He growls, grabs my wrists and pulls me so close to him that my breasts are touching his body. He feels unusually warm, almost hot. His body temperature must be much higher than a human’s. Not that I am getting burned, but everywhere my sensitive skin touches his, I can feel the heat. I am aware of how small I am, and how few muscles I have compared to him. If he wanted to kill me, he wouldn’t even need a knife. All he would have to do is put his hands around my neck and squeeze.
As if he can read my thoughts, his hard fingers close around my neck. He brings out his feline claws, leans down towards me and breathes in my fear, slowly and with relish. “Mangali loves me,” he whispers. His quiet voice is raw, and it scares me more than any loud yelling ever could. “Tonight, I will announce that you are my new companion. You will read her thoughts when I tell her this. Then you will know how much she loves me, and that she would never do anything to endanger my status.” He is quiet for a second. “And then you will know that it is your fault alone, how much my reputation has suffered with the death of Hathura and the loss of my son.” He breathes in one more time, at the nape of my neck, and I am covered in goose bumps. “Your fear smells so good,” he whispers, and runs his sharp claws over my neck.
Then he lets go of me. The moment is over.
I wonder what awaits me in his bed tonight.