Chapter 7
I already hear the noise before dawn.
It announces decision day. The visitors of the slave market are on their way, and the house is buzzing with activity. In a way, I am relieved about what happened last night, because now everything is out in the open. He knows that Khazaar and I will do everything we can to get away from here, even if that means that we will die trying. And I know that any compassion is out of place with him. I can still understand what has turned him into this merciless man, but I will not try to appeal to his humanity anymore. He lost that somewhere along the way – not during the torture that he had to endure, but at some point in time after that, when he was trying to build a functioning society on Betania. He turned into a monster.
I am one, too. I have discovered that I am ready to fight for my happiness and my love, and that I am quite similar to Zeyliv in this way. I wonder if I will even be able to be happy after the bloody fight that is ahead of us today. One thing I know with absolute certainty, however, is that I will always love Khazaar, no matter what I need to do for that love. Is a monster that loves still a monster? My philosophical, but useless, ruminations are interrupted by Mangali, who comes into my room with a stony face. She has a little box in her hands, and a garment that looks expensive.
“By request of my lord, I will prepare you appropriately for the day,” she opens the conversation. “Zeyliv wants you to sit at his side during the auction so everyone will accept you as the future mother of his children.”
I snort dismissive, and don’t move an inch. With my arms crossed, I watch her lay the dress out on the bed and put the little box on the small table. When she opens it, valuable jewels sparkle on black velvet. I do not dignify them, nor the blood-red dress, with a single glance. “No,” I say with a hard voice. “I am not playing along anymore. I refuse.”
Mangali smiles, and her smile sends an ice-cold shudder down my back. “You have no idea how much I had hoped to hear these words from your mouth,” she spits at me. “Zeyliv will order you to be killed, if you do not obey. He will not forgive you another exposure like the affair with Hathura, no matter how much he loves you.”
“You think he loves me?” My voice contains equal measure of contempt and unbelief. “Then you don’t know him. He is using me. He needs me to get as much money as possible out of the buyers at the slave market. And he wants the child you cannot give him.” That was unnecessarily cruel, but I cannot take the words back, and don’t want to, anyway. “So, he is just taking the first available woman he crosses paths with. That just happened to be me. You really have no reason to hate me.”
“I know his heart better than he himself does,” Mangali whispers, and comes over to me slowly. Her gait is sneaky, and I prepare myself for an attack. “Zeyliv is a dreamer. Or also a child. He reaches for something, plays with it, and then drops it when he has broken it. And at the moment, he wants you.” She straightens up. Every sign of emotion, save what is left of her pride, has disappeared from her once beautiful face. Even her hate for me has no place left. She has said the words and made them true. “You told Zeyliv about my role in Hathura’s death. He doesn’t even value me enough to punish me. I begged him on my knees to give me death, but he only laughed and said that my time was over. Come,” she invites me and points to the dress that is still waiting for me.
“And you? Do you love him?” she wants to know, and she caresses the blood-red fabric with her fingers.
“No.” Any other explanation would be too much. What could I say, anyway, other than I saw something in him, in the way he used to be? That I had been wrong about him, when I believed that he had a reasonable, maybe even soft, side? “I love a man who is waiting for his sale in the cellar.”
Something like interest flares in her eyes. “I thought you arrived here as a prisoner on the Qua’Hathri’s ship.”
I shake my head and pull my nightgown over my head. I have forgotten all about my refusal to help Zeyliv. I feel like I am having a real conversation with Mangali for the first time. Maybe this is my last chance to bring about our escape. Mangali helps me with the complicated lacing. Then she points with her hand to the chair at the dressing table begins combing my hair. Our eyes meet.
“It’s a complicated story,” I start. “I was actually a part of the payment the Qua’Hathri received for ridding my home planet of the Sethari. But then I met Khazaar.” Saying his name sends a new wave of energy through my body. “I love him, like you love Zeyliv. Unconditionally and forever. I cannot stand being separated from him. I would do anything to escape from here with him. Anything,” I emphasize and keep my eyes on hers.
“Then why did you sleep with Zeyliv?” Mangali wants to know. She has stopped brushing my hair and is standing still behind me.
“He didn’t leave me much room to deny him.” I think for a second and decide to tell her the whole truth. “He is attractive, and I thought I might be able to get him to release a few of the prisoners. Or to drop the whole absurd idea of the slave market and try to free your people by a different method.”
“You know why he is doing that?” She raises her eyebrows, surprised. “Then he really must value you, even if he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t talk about this frivolously.”
I squirm back and forth uneasily on the hard cushion. Mangali’s monotonous actions were calming her. “It’s not quite like that. I can read minds, and saw it in your memories.” She holds still and holds my gaze.
“So that is the trick you are using to spellbind my husband. You want to make yourself indispensable.” All the kindness I have ever felt for her disappears in an instant. Mangali lives completely in her own universe where Zeyliv is the sun around which everything revolves.
“You are beyond help,” I tell her and see her features harden in the mirror. At the same time, she starts brushing again – only much harder than necessary. I turn around and stand up. I have had enough. “Out,” I say and show her the door with an outstretched arm. “I don’t want to see you anymore. Go to the man who has already forgotten you exist. Give him an ear full, but leave me alone. I don’t want to see your face again.” My head barely reaches up to her mouth, but my harsh words seem to be hitting their mark. Tears are glistening intensely in her beautiful eyes. “And tell the father of my children that I will be with him in a few minutes.” I feel a wave of shame after delivering that last jab, but my patience is exhausted. I wanted to play fair. I was ready, over and over again, to team up with her, to try to have a little solidarity among the women. It hurts to know that it won’t happen. But I am now at a point where I need to worry about Khazaar and myself. It will have to work without Mangali’s help. It must.
I dress myself, put on makeup and put every piece of jewelry I find in the little box on me. There are rings, a necklace, bracelets and earrings. Filigreed silver links hold moss-green stones. They go well with my eyes and look lovely against my pale skin, but they also bring out the blood-red tone of the dress. In the mirror, I see a strange woman whose beauty doesn’t touch me. I look like a made-up doll, who will fulfill Zeyliv’s every wish, and that is good. Let them all believe that I am his willing cat’s-paw, his whore. The more they underestimate me, the better – then Khazaar and I might have a chance, after all.
Zeyliv is waiting for me in his chambers. He looks impressive, even though his clothing is modest. He is wearing tight black pants made of thin material that, on the surface, looks like fish skin. On his torso, the only thing he is wearing is an open, tightly tailored jacket. He has buckled a sword in an old, shabby leather sheath around his narrow hips. He looks incredibly attractive. What do I feel at the sight of him? Desire, yes, but it is an impersonal desire, as if I were looking at a picture. And regret, overshadowing everything else, about what might have been between us. Apparently, I am still not tough enough, because a lump forms in my throat, and I have to swallow it down quickly. “Am I presentable enough for you?” I interrupt the silence that weighs heavily between us.
“You look very pretty,” Zeyliv says matter-of-factly. “Just as you should, as the mother of my children.”
“Only over my dead body,” I say through clenched teeth. “We have an agreement. I will help you scrape together enough money. And for that I can pick three more people whom you will release, and Khazaar must be one of them.”
He smiles and shows his predatory fangs. “Yes, that is what we agreed to. I don’t recall, however, specifically discussing your stay here. Should you become pregnant, well – then we can renegotiate. Maybe you would like to leave your child with me, and live without your son or daughter with your lover?”
At first, I am speechless. I am desperately trying to remember the exact words of our agreement, but panic is rendering me useless. “You know exactly that was not our agreement.” My objection sounds lame, and I know it. At this point, I have nothing to counter his argument with. One last time, I try to appeal to his hard heart. I fall on my knees and let him see all of my misery and suffering. “I am begging you one more time for mercy for my beloved. Please don’t do this to us. You know firsthand how…”
“Stop it,” he interrupts, and pulls me to my feet. “You are getting nowhere with your whining and self-humiliation. If you want your happiness, you need to fight for it – that is the one thing I have learned over the years.”
Fine. He wants it like that. I am still trembling, but I hold out my arm to him. Together, we step into the hallway and go out into the street.
This is the first time I have been out in the city since my arrival. At first, I am overwhelmed by the crowds. When I first got here, it was a different kind of gauntlet run. Everyone had stared at me and pointed at me. Now that I am making my way to the market place on Zeyliv’s arm, no one dares to point at me. The looks I am getting, however, are so hate-filled and full of contempt, that I think I see Mangali’s hand in this. She must have used Hathura’s death to stoke hate for me. She is someone who plans for the long haul and takes advantage of convenient situations. How could she have resisted the temptation to speak badly about the new wife at Zeyliv’s side?
We stride with measured steps through the streets. The crowds part to make way for us. Here and now I recognize the extent of Zeyliv’s power. He is respected by his people, and also feared. I see it when some look away, and how they are afraid to get too close to me. It isn’t just his men, who are easily recognizable by their soul animals, who shrink back from Zeyliv. The other aliens, who have come here with the intention of buying slaves, make room for him, as well. The colorful and sometimes quite strange creatures, to my human eyes, would rather cower to the side than risk his ill will.
Zeyliv walks slowly, taking his time. He does not need any guards to protect him. He is carrying a sword, and his Machairos circle around us the whole way. When a particularly despicable and wart-covered alien creature spits on the ground in front of me, Zeyliv’s hand goes to his sword. Zeyliv’s claws come out – not a very subtle threat. The feline predators need not do more than fix the man with their stinging yellow gaze. The man – or whatever his gender may be – pales and lowers his gaze with a mumbled apology.
At the market place, he leads me to a gallery on which two chairs sit enthroned. They are made of wood, but richly decorated with carvings, and it is immediately clear that this is where the Alpha sits with his chosen one. I sit down with a queasy feeling. This elevated position has one disadvantage: I am visible to all. But I also have the pleasure of being able to overlook everything.
I still don’t have a plan. I see no way out of this. Maybe I just need to try to relax. I am so nervous that I can’t think clearly. It doesn’t help that the first prisoners are being led to the podium at this very moment. I look for Khazaar, and maybe also Varsul, but none of the Qua’Hathri are visible. The weakest ones are being sold first.
“We save the best until the end of the auction,” Zeyliv says softly, leaning towards me. “Smile, my dear. Don’t forget that you are to work.”
“Where are the Qua’Hathri? Where are the women from Earth?”
“As I already said – the best come at the end. Now,concentrate.”
It is heart-breaking to look at the gaunt figures. They have no hope left. Their dull eyes, lowered heads and shuffling gate tell me everything I need to know about their condition. Nobody has even really gone to the effort to shackle them. The ropes hang loosely around their skinny wrists. They are lined up along the edge of the platform like cattle.
And then things happen for real. The first customers saunter over to the wares. At the very front and end of the row there is a man who has a huge black snake around his shoulders. He has a kind of clipboard in his hands.
A scrawny type with many arms goes over to the first man who is for sale. He only inspects him briefly, and then turns to the next creature in the row. As quickly as he is looking them over, it is obvious that he considers them to be second-rate quality. When the man with the snake asks him something I can’t hear, he only shakes his head. He bares his teeth and says something that makes the snake man laugh. I take the opportunity to jump in his head. There, I see what he really wants. He wanted a young, luscious type, who … I shudder. It is his second passion that gives me an idea. He likes good food. Surely, I can do something with that. I give him a little push and suggest to him that he really is only looking for someone who can cook for him. And the skinny one, whom he had looked at first, was actually well-suited for that position, I whisper to him. Carefully, without applying too much pressure, I steer him in the right direction. I double the amount he was willing to pay for his boy toy and leave his head.
Zeyliv, who was watching me carefully, watches the buyer put a jingling pouch of money in the snake man’s hand. Zeyliv’s man goes to the prisoner, looks at his tattooed wrist and writes down the numbers and the buyer’s name on his form. Zeyliv looks at me and nods, satisfied. “Very good. Keep going.”
The prisoner has realized what has happened, and stands stiff with fear in the row. I can’t help myself, and hop into his thoughts for a few seconds to give him calming impulse. Immediately, he relaxes noticeably, even if he is still feels like he has just been delivered.
Zeyliv did not notice my second-long expedition into the prisoner’s head.
All of a sudden, I know what I need to do.
Quickly, I slip back into the prisoner’s head, and suggest to him that everything will be fine – and that he needs to wait for my signal. As soon as he hears it, he needs to run. I don’t know if it will work, but it is my last chance.
Switching back and forth, I take on the buyers and then the prisoners. I lure as much money as I can, without being obvious from the buyers. I impress upon the women and men in shackles to make as much chaos as possible on my signal. I am counting on a huge mess creating enough of a distraction so that the watchmen will not be able to keep a close eye on me and Khazaar. Zeyliv and his animals are another thing altogether. When I look at the cats, every now and then, I see that one of them is watching me. To top it all off, Mangali shows up and positions herself behind the throne. In this way, she is near him, sees me and shows everyone that she is the “power behind the throne.” She is a good tactician, and I don’t dare underestimate her. She might even be more dangerous than Zeyliv.
Time goes on. Zeyliv is satisfied with my “work,” I can see it in his eyes. The sold aliens and humans are led to a gathering place at the edge of the market, which is fortunate for me. Because how else would I be able to create the desired chaos? One of the aliens, who doesn’t seem so bad to me, is thinking about his space ship that is parked at the edge of the city. Like lightning, the thought shoots through my head that I don’t even know how we are going to get away from here. I look at the man’s ship in his thoughts. It isn’t the newest of models, and really isn’t all that well equipped, but it has enough room for a load of aliens and humans who want to get off Betania. I tell the man that he should go to his ship now and be ready for a quick start – with a bunch of new passengers on board. I don’t have enough time for artful elaboration, and don’t suggest a clarifying explanation to him, because Zeyliv is demanding my attention.
Wandering around in the aliens’ heads and whispering my suggestions to them is more than exhausting. When I start to shake, Zeyliv asks if we should take a break. I decline, thanking him. “I just want to get this over with,” I counter, and pull myself together. Zeyliv looks at me searchingly and his Machairos hiss restlessly. He knows that I am up to something, it shoots through my head. But he says nothing. Instead, he waves at a man who shortly thereafter brings me something sweet to eat and a drink.
I wait impatiently for Khazaar to show up. When he finally does, Mangali nails dig into my shoulder from behind. It is a warning to not do anything stupid. I keep my racing heartbeat under control and don’t look at Khazaar, for fear that my façade would begin to crack.
“Where are the prisoners I can set free?” I ask Zeyliv. I make an effort to soften my voice.
He looks at me as if from far away. It is Mangali who answers in his stead, her voice full of malice. “You will complete your task first. Then you will be able to choose.”
I look at Zeyliv and ignore her. “I asked you,” I say, loud and clear. “If you are not going to keep your word, I stop now.”
Our staring contest drags on. Finally, just when I think that he is just going to order me to keep working, I can see the decision in his face. “You can pick three prisoners.” Mangali draws a sharp breath and leans down towards him, but before she can whisper something in his ear, he raises his hand to stop her. “My honor is at stake here,” he says and doesn’t look at her. “I decide. I gave Cassie my word, and no matter what she has done, I stand by my word.” With that, the matter is settled.
“Thank you,” I say softly. I look at Khazaar. His expression is unreadable. He is pulling at his shackles. In contrast to the first group of prisoners, he and the other men are in chains. Our eyes meet for a moment, above the crowds, and I see the question in his eyes that I can’t answer here and now. He takes in my primped appearance and my place next to Zeyliv. Then, as if he were saying it out loud, I understand his thoughts.
Khazaar thinks I have betrayed him and sold myself to Zeyliv.
The pain his suspicion raises in me makes me sway. All I want to do is run away and throw myself in his arms. Then, with a haughty expression, I choose the men. Khazaar, Shazuul and another powerfully built Qua’Hathri are led away at Zeyliv ‘s command, still in chains.
“When the sale is over, they will be released,” Zeyliv says. He doesn’t look at me, but lets his gaze wander over the masses, instead. More and more people who don’t want to miss the spectacle of the sale are streaming into the market place. They are buzzing and hooting, and there is a smell to them that makes me nauseous.
I briefly debate in my head whether to try to speak with Khazaar, but reject the idea. Zeyliv and his Machairos are too wary, and Mangali is tense, too. It is as if they are all waiting for something to happen. When will be the best time to give the signal? I am worried that I am going to wait too long, and the chance will pass us by before I take action.
I notice that Zeyliv has put his hands on his sword handle. He tilts his head, listening. His cats sit up, too. They cock their ears.
The man who is supposed to take us away in his space ship leaves the market place.
Khazaar and Varsul are moving more and more to the edge of the group of prisoners. Other Qua’Hathri are taking advantage of the inattention of their guards, who are staring at the sky, and move to the edge, as well. What is going on there? I curse Khazaar’s arrogance and wish he had told me more about his ominous escape plan.
I see a few Sethari who are behaving strangely. They are slowly wagging their snouts, all to the same beat. What the hell are they doing?
It is deadly silent in the market place. I hear Zeyliv pulling his sword. That is the last thing I hear before all hell breaks loose.
A bolt of lightning shoots from the sky, and hits the platform where, up until a few seconds ago, most of the slaves had stood. The bolt splits the wood and the structure catches on fire. Smoke starts to rise. More and more lightning bolts shoot from the sky. I can’t help but watch the whole spectacle with a cruel fascination that I can’t let go. I don’t even need to give a signal for creating chaos. We are in the thick of it.
I hear screams. From above, from the sky, a dull sound is droning. I see Sethari ships coming closer and closer. The closer they get, the more precisely their shots are hitting their marks.
Suddenly, I feel an arm wrap around my waist. I am picked up. Somebody throws me over their shoulder like a sack of potatoes. It is Varsul. I recognize his platinum-blond hair. “Put me down,” I screech and try to reach him above the screams and moans. “I need to find Khazaar.” I thrash around while he is making his way confidently through over the bodies on the ground. When we get to edge of the market place, which now is cloaked in smoke, he finally puts me down. I turn around and try to run in the direction where I last saw Khazaar. Varsul’s fingers close around my wrist. “You stay here,” he hisses.
I don’t waste any strength on unnecessary battles of the word. With all of the desperation I feel, I rip myself free. After three steps, I start to cough. The city is on fire. How am I supposed to find Khazaar? If I separate from my body right now, my mortal body will be helpless. I would die of smoke inhalation, or be trampled to death, or be killed by falling debris, or … there are limitless possibilities.
I run down one of the streets until the smoke lets up. I see a small recess in one of the walls. I climb in and make myself as small and inconspicuous as possible. And then I am gone.
I float up high in hopes of seeing Khazaar. But the black plume is so dense that I can’t see what is going on underneath it. I decide to dive in and call for my beloved, sending my thoughts to him. I pray to every god I have ever heard of. And sure enough, after what seems like an eternity, I hear his voice.
He is laughing.
It’s inconceivable, but he is actually laughing. In seconds, my spirit closes the distance between us, and I am at his side. He and Zeyliv are standing across from each other, somewhere in an empty alley. The Machairos are circling around my beloved, while Zeyliv is attacking him with his sword. He is trying to tire Khazaar out, because his actions seem playful. I don’t dare say anything to my darling for fear of breaking his concentration, but there is one thing I can do.
I yell at the Machairos to distract them. With elegant and equally powerful leaps, they leave their original prey and throw me to the ground. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Zeyliv closing in on Khazaar. He lifts his sword. Khazaar rips his arms up. They are still in chains. Sparks fly as metal crashes on metal. Khazaar loses his balance and falls. As he falls, he tears at his chains and with a clang, he breaks the chains that bind his wrists. One of the Machairos is kneeling on my chest. His weight is taking my breath away. He sniffs and looks at his master, questioning.
Zeyliv is bending over Khazaar, who is looking at me. “I love you,” I croak. I need to say it before we both die. I don’t want to go while he still has doubts in his eyes.
“I love you, too,” he says and gives me a smile that makes me absurdly happy and proud.
“Is Cassie here?”
I can’t believe what I am hearing. Zeyliv is pushing the tip of the sword on to Khazaar’s throat, but he is looking in my direction. I curse the fact that he can’t hear me. “Tell him that I am here,” I ask Khazaar and he does. “And tell him to tell his damn cats to leave me alone.”
Zeyliv laughs when he hears the words and nods to his cats. They get up and glide over to his side. While all this is going on, his eyes are searching for me, and his hand, holding the sword, isn’t shaking.
What happens now is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life.
“Tell him,” I ask Khazaar and look him in the eye with all my love, “that I am offering him a child in exchange for your life.”
My beloved looks at me as if I have lost my mind. “I will not,” he answers, ignoring the sword. It is as if we are the only ones left in the whole world. He and I. Nothing else matters. I sit up and go over to him. I kneel down next to him and caress his face, careful to miss the blade of the sword. I don’t know if it can injure me in my body-less state, but I won’t risk it.
“What is going on?” Zeyliv interrupts our exchange.
“Tell him,” I beg him. “I can’t stand to see you die.”
“And I would rather die, than see you at his side,” he replies.
“You damned fool,” I cry. The Machairos are alert. My feelings and our conversation is making them restless. “Please, darling …”
His gold-yellow eyes bore into mine. He shakes his head. I don’t know what he is planning, but his whole body tenses up inconspicuously. I hold my breath. “If Cassie is there,” Zeyliv says, interrupting us, “then tell her that my offer still stands. If she gives me a son, I will let you go.”
Then, so swiftly that none of us can react, Zeyliv’s body sinks to the ground. I don’t understand what has happened, until I see the dagger sticking out of his back. Then I understand.
Mangali steps out of the shadow of a house entrance. She is crying and leans over Zeyliv. He is fighting for air. He puts his right hand on his chest, as if he were looking for the source of the pain. Khazaar rolls away. In one swift movement, he is on his feet. Without giving Mangali, who is holding the dying Zeyliv in her arms, a second look, he pulls me away to the next street. But I can’t help it. I have to look back.
I see Mangali, cradling Zeyliv’s head in her lap. The Machairos are resting at her side, as peacefully as if nothing had happened. Zeyliv is still breathing, but he is coughing and spitting up blood.
Mangali lifts her head and looks at me. I can see grief on her face, but also terrible triumph.
If she can’t have Zeyliv, then nobody can.