Chapter 5
The fear of what is coming has a strong hold on me.
Two hours later, we are sitting in Zeyliv’s conference room, as he calls it. Just as the designation of “village” was misleading, so is the word conference room. Indeed, there is a huge round table, but that is the only thing that bears any connection to a conference. The walls in the enormous room are painted a dark red, and are covered with life-size paintings. They are not beautiful in the sense that they depict harmonious or calming scenes. More than anything, the pictures are one thing: realistic. They show what Zeyliv and his people accomplished before they arrived on Betania, and they tell me even more than I was able to see in Mangali’s memories. They tell of a horrible story and don’t spare any bloody details. I see Zeyliv being kidnapped by men, and I see the experiments the so-called scientists performed on him. In the first few pictures, his face is always contorted in pain, and you can see the shiny chrome instruments with which they tortured him. At some point, a feline predator appears next to him, but it appears to blur together with him the more experiments he is subjected to. In the middle of the story, the eyes of the predator look back at me from Zeyliv’s face, and I understand: He and the predator are now one, inseparable and bound to each other. One of the pictures shows a man with a gray face and cold features dreaming of an army of animal people. His white doctor’s coat is spattered with blood, but his features mirror an ecstatic hunger for power, and it scares me – even though I know that this was over a long time ago. Two pictures later, he is lying, ripped apart by Zeyliv’s claws, on the lab’s white tiled floor. Even in death he seems to be grinning triumphantly.
I swallow and notice my stomach churning. Despite it, I force myself to finish looking at the story told in the pictures. The escape in a small space ship is marred by the aliens that Zeyliv and a few others had to leave behind. I don’t know why he couldn’t set all of them free, but men, women and even children were left behind. The agony in the eyes of those who are fleeing is so unbearable that I can barely stand it. At the end of the row, I see a large open area. The story of Zeyliv and his people has not been told to the end yet. I wonder how the last picture will look. Will it show a paradise-like scene on Betania, in which everyone is living together in harmony, free from worry and fear? Or will the last picture in the row show the bloody revenge that Zeyliv takes on the scientists?
When I ask him, his eyes shimmer mysteriously. He does not want to give me an answer, but it is important to me. His words will tell me what is more important to him: revenge on those who tortured him or the possibility of finally finding something like love. In one way, these paintings have given me a more intense insight into his being than his words ever could.
Zeyliv takes his time with his answer. He takes a chair, and even though this one is just as nice as all of the other chairs, he looks like a king on his rightful throne. Even though a round table does not have a head, that doesn’t keep him from making his spot the head merely with his presence. When he finally answers me, his voice sounds almost reluctantly dreamy. “I wish for it to be a peaceful picture. One in which we all can see the things we have accomplished together on Betania. But …” He furrows his brow. “I am afraid that my people will not be able to live in peace until long after I am gone. Who knows, maybe it will be my son who will hang that picture.”
“And with that, we’re right back where we started,” I remark lightly, although the dark, bloody story still upsets me. He looks at me, and his gaze is so cool that it gives me goosebumps. Here, in this room, he is more than Zeyliv. He is the man who will go his way, ruthlessly and without looking back. If he hurts somebody along the way, he will easily be able to live with that, because this is about the most important thing of all: the survival of his people. For that, Zeyliv is prepared to walk over dead bodies.
He puts his hands on the table and brings out his claws. That action directs my attention to the surface of the table. It looks abused. Claw tracks, and also bite marks decorate the wood. Lively discussions, or should I say, altercations, must have taken place here. After what happened between us this morning, there is noticeable tension in the air between us. It is almost as if he wants to test me again and again. His demands turn into challenges, as if he wanted to know how far I am willing to go. I still don’t know how I will decide when he brings in the first pair. Zeyliv motions for me to sit down next to him, and I accept his offer. My knees are shaking, and the longer this unbearable silence drags on, the more nervous I get. When one of his people comes in, bows between us and sets a small box in front of Zeyliv, I flinch. I hadn’t heard him coming.
The man disappears as quietly as he came. Zeyliv’s clawed hands push the box towards me. I see a green button and a red button. I stare at the contraption and try to figure out its purpose. A furtive glance at Zeyliv tells me that he is very happy with himself. He turns his slender body halfway towards me and points to the buttons.
“So you can get used to your job, we will now have a little test run,” he starts. “My men will now show you two prisoners. One of them has a green band on his arm, and the other one has a red band. With the push of the respective button, you will decide who will be released. The one whose button you don’t push will be sold.” He doesn’t miss any of my emotions. Surely, he can also hear how loudly my heart is beating. Zeyliv drinks in my feelings like others would a sip of wine. He leans towards me and sniffs quickly at the nape of my neck. He sucks in the aroma of my fear with pleasure. “Tomorrow is market day,” he reminds me. “You may release three prisoners today. I will not influence you in any way. You are allowed to look around in their heads. And if you can’t decide – well. You know the second option.”
Indeed.
Would sex with him really be so bad? Honestly, I have to admit, it isn’t the physical joining that repels me. It is the fact that he is forcing me to make a decision about life or death. “You cannot assert that I am not leaving you a choice,” he continues my thought.
“Oh no?” I ask softly. “What kind of choice is this? I can sell myself and my body, or I can send someone into slavery. You are making me into a whore. And into someone I don’t want to be. And that,” I look him straight in the eye, and for the first time in a long while, I am fearless, “I will never forgive you. For that reason, I would rather die than go to bed with you, let alone give you a son.” A thought races through my head, and I say it out loud. “You are turning the woman you impregnate into a whore. Is that what you want?”
He flinches. “Oh no,” he responds calmly. “It is up to you how you decide. You will need to learn to live with your choice.” The sincerity in his eyes is hard to miss.
“Do you think you are doing me a favor with all of this?” I point to the box with my finger.
“I don’t think it. I know it.” Our eyes meet. He leans in so close that our mouths meet. I can taste his breath when he speaks. “How often have you ever asked yourself if your life is determined by others? How often have decisions you couldn’t control been forced on you?”
“Not were, but are,” I correct him, furious. “You want me to be able to determine my own life? Great,” I say, laying on the sarcasm as thick as I can. “You’re really doing this well! Starting now, I am going to go my own way. I refuse to do what you are demanding of me. Instead, I am going to leave this house, and will find the next ship that can take me away from here. I don’t care what happens to the humans. They need to go their own way, too, right?” I am talking myself into a rage. “I will not help you. See how you do without me. How you will scrape enough money together for your revenge expedition. Without me.” I push my chair back and want to stand up, but Zeyliv’s finger close around my wrist like a clamp of steel.
“Nobody said it would be easy,” he whispers.
This man is nuts. What will he say next? That it is in my best interest to become tough?
“You need to learn to be tougher,” he actually says, and forces me back down on the chair.
“Like you?” I sneer. I do not fight against his grip. That would be a useless undertaking, and would just make me more tired than I already am. “You can definitely see where that has brought you. You singlehandedly beheaded the woman who lived at your side for many years. You are so deluded that you really have become as despicable and cruel as the people who used you for their experiments back then.” I know I have gone too far. He presses his lips together so hard that they turn white on his face. But I cannot take back what I said, and I am not done yet, anyway. “You were once a human,” I remind him. I have seen where he came from, where Mangali came from. “Where has your humanity gone, your empathy?” I hate the pleading tone in my voice, but I can’t suppress it.
“Disappeared,” he whispers, “the moment you took my son away from me.”
I inhale deeply. It is useless. “Then let’s just get this over with.” I pull my wrist from his grasp and clutch the box. “Teach me a lesson. Show me what a tough man you are. And how much good you do for your people.”
He doesn’t wait for me to ask again, and calls something in a guttural language that I don’t understand. Responding to this command, the man with the boar brings in two Sethari. They are shackled at the wrists and ankles and can only shuffle ahead. The sight of them beings me no satisfaction. There is hardly anything left of the greedy energy vampires, who had dominated Earth. They are still overwhelmingly tall from my perspective, but their rubber-like skin is now baggy on them and makes them look like dried out mummies whose bandages are way too loose.
I despise both of them. I could close my eyes and just push a button. It doesn’t matter which one. Which one of them has earned freedom more? In my eyes, neither of them. I don’t even know them. How am I supposed to make a fair decision? Of course, I could slip into their heads, and look for something there that would make the choice easier for me. But there are two things that stop me from doing it. It’s exactly what Zeyliv wants me to do, and anyway, I am worn out. No, more than that. I am so exhausted that I just want to sleep for five years. If I start poling around in their heads right now, I soon won’t be able to even sit upright.
And one thing I definitely will not do: sell myself to Zeyliv to save both of them. Definitely not. No.
Zeyliv raises his eyebrows, prompting me. I stare in his eyes and push a button, not caring which one. The two of them are led out without me knowing if I pushed red or green. The Sethari shuffle out with their heads lowered. They haven’t a clue what just happened.
“See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Zeyliv says. I refrain from answering. I just want this to be over. “Let’s make the next round a little more exciting.” I am nauseated. I feel the color draining from my face. Stars are dancing in front of my eyes.
Again, two prisoners step on stage. They are two Sethari again. But before I can breathe a sigh of relief, I recognize Shazuul in one of them.
Zeyliv has upped the ante.
Shazuul looks terrible. Part of his sucking snout must have been torn off in the crash, because it is only half as long as it used to be, and it hangs down, completely limp. He is emaciated, and his rubber-like skin looks not only saggy, but also inflamed. The mutilated tip of his snout is wrapped in a filthy rag, and his eyes look feverish. I feel pity for him without wanting to. Shazuul kept his promises. I couldn’t even finish giving him my energy as payment. True, I didn’t lay all the cards on the table for him, but that was something different. We had a deal. And I wasn’t able to uphold my part of the agreement.
He is wearing a red arm band. My fingers go to the red button under their own power. I nod at him. The other Sethari gives a heart-breaking squeal and throws himself on the floor. He shimmies over to me on his belly as fast as his shackles will allow and grabs me by the knees. He is crying. Zeyliv told them what awaited them.
I push the red button.
At least have him examined by a doctor,” I beg Zeyliv. He knows that I mean Shazuul. My words are drowned out by the screams of the other Sethari until the door shuts abruptly. The silence that follows is worse than the screaming. Was he right, perhaps? If I were as tough as he would like, then I would think about all of this only half as much. Red or green, it wouldn’t matter. But these are useless musings, and I push them to the side.
I wait for my last decision and brace myself for the worst. I don’t think that Zeyliv will bring out the heavy artillery today. He will save Khazaar for tomorrow, in order to ensure my willingness to cooperate. However, I am sure that he has another increase of my agony up his sleeve.
The ace up the sleeve is Mary Jane. I recognize her immediately, although there is nothing left of the sassy girl whom I had just met a few days ago. Her gaze is dull. She has resigned herself to her fate. She has a narrow green band on her wrist. Next to her stands, or I should say, sways a woman whom I have never seen. She is crying softly and steadily to herself. When she addresses me, her whole body shakes with her sobs. “Please,” she says. “I don’t want to be sold. Please save me.” It seems as if these are the only words she has left, because she repeats them over and over.
It breaks my heart. I look at Zeyliv. I see nothing of the mean enjoyment in his eyes that he had displayed with the other pairings. He doesn’t know what I am going to decide, shoots through my head. He can’t predict what I am going to do, not now. At this moment, I hate him more than I ever imagined it would be possible to hate someone. The silence drags on while I feverishly try to remember if Mary Jane ever told me anything about relatives she may have left behind. Whose life is worth saving?
In the end it is Mary Jane who makes the decision. Her gaze sharpens, and her gray eyes bore into mine. She smiles sadly. Then she reaches for the hand of the woman who is still standing next to her, trembling and whimpering. “I am stronger than I look,” she whispers and through her eyes she sends me the unmistakable message to free the other woman.
I want to cry. I am ashamed. I will pay for both of them with my body.