Chapter 4
I hear him calling for me at night.
I send my spirit out on a trip, and faster than I can blink, I am with him. I pause momentarily in front of his bed, and then I slip in next to him. I snuggle up to his broad back, and breathe in until his scent fills me completely. He fills me from the ends of my hair all the way to my toes. I can see his dreams, and watch as he rides on something similar to a horse through deep green forests. His dreams are peaceful – completely different than I had expected. I swing myself up behind him, and circle his waist with my hands. I can feel his clearly defined abs and catch a drop of sweat that is running down his spine with my tongue. He prickles in my mouth, and tastes like he smells. I don’t think I can ever get enough. Even though I know this is only a dream, I wish that this moment could be reality someday. I feel safe and free, as free as I have never felt before in my life. In my dream, I know that this man would give his life to protect me, and that I would give mine for him.
I wake with this certainty.
I don’t want the kind of belonging and safety that comes from focusing on another person. I have learned the hard way that you cannot count on anyone but yourself. And that love hurts. I hardly know Khazaar in real life, but in my dreams, I know everything about him. Now, I need to try to unite dream and reality. It is as if this journey to a distant planet, to a new life, has freed me. What could possibly happen to me? The thought of starting fresh somewhere else gives me wings. I get up, and wash myself quickly. The congestion at the showers is nothing compared to the crowds yesterday – and I skip breakfast.
Half walking, half running, I hurry towards where I believe Khazaar’s quarters are. I need to talk to him. I don’t even know what I should say to him. I was wrong? Please let me be your bride?
But I want to be more than his bride and the mother of his children. I recall the feeling that fulfilled me in my dream. I want to be his lover, his wife, his companion. I want to live as an equal at his side. I almost shake my head at myself, when I think about it. Khazaar is a warlord, and I know close to nothing about the way he lives. I have no way of knowing if he is cruel or fair with his subordinates. There are still so many things I need to learn about him.
He isn’t in his quarters. He is on the bridge, as his valet informs me. The slender man bows to me politely, but I feel the wave of dislike that emanates from him. “Should I accompany you to the bridge?” he asks.
“Thank you, I can find my way on my own,” I assure him, and distance myself from the circle of hate and fear he is spreading. After I have wandered endlessly through the deserted corridors, another servant, who eyes me with equal mistrust, shows me the way.
Two warriors are guarding the door to the bridge, and they deny me access with their swords. I speak to them quickly, and finally, just when one of them agrees to inform the warlord, a terrible shaking rocks the ship. It pulls me off of my feet, I bang my head against the wall, and the ship starts to lean to the left in slow motion. Everything is quiet for an eternity. After a second, muffled bang, I see warriors running through the hallways, but despite the alarming situation, they are in control and do not succumb to hysteria. The door to the bridge is open.
I see Khazaar. He is staring at a monitor, giving orders. He must have felt me, because he turns quickly and barks and order to Varsul who is standing at his left side. The man with the milky-white skin runs towards me, picks me up without a word, and throws me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. After giving me one last burning look, Khazaar returns his attention to the monitors and control panels.
“Put me down,” I yell over the racket into Varsul’s ear. The warriors who are running with clanging swords through the hallways don’t seem to care about the noise. When he doesn’t react, I try a different tactic. “Where are you taking me?” Instead of turning down the hallway towards the women’s quarters, easily recognizable in their light-violet glow, he keeps running and makes what feels like a thousand more turns, before he settles on a dark violet hallway. He stops at a door. He places his hand on a glowing panel, and the door opens noiselessly.
“Stay here, no matter what happens,” he instructs me, as he sets me gently on the floor. Varsul turns to go, but then he comes back. Before I can catch my breath, he is in front of me and takes my face in his hands. I am forced to look up at him. Then he opens his spirit, and pulls me in, just as easily as he carried me here. It doesn’t cause him any exertion, and I am too surprised to resist. It is dark in his head, and I can hardly see anything. He is hiding something from me, and directs me quickly to where he wants me to go. Suddenly, everything is bright. I am sitting next to him on a throne made of skulls. Some look human, and some look like animal skulls. He is wearing a crown of horns, and a similar one is pushing heavily on my forehead. Without looking, I know that a wet nurse is standing behind the throne, rocking our son. I see Khazaar. He is lying on the ground in front of the throne, his arms spread out as if on a cross. His back is bloody, and I see evidence of barbaric torture methods. It breaks my heart to see my proud lord like this, and my legs twitch. I want to jump up, but the thought of my son, with his milky-white skin and the golden fuzz on his head, holds me back. I swallow dryly and force myself to stay calm.
Just as quickly as he pulled me in, he kicks me out again. I am trying desperately to bring order to the chaos in my head, when Varsul interrupts my thoughts. “That is the future that awaits you at my side. With your help, I will succeed in returning the throne to its rightful ruling family, and our children will belong to the most powerful Qua’Hathri the world has ever seen. Cassie,” he takes my hands and looks at me imploringly, “we belong together. You and I – we can conquer the entire universe.” I can do nothing but stare at him and try to hide my disbelief behind an expressionless face. Then he is gone. The door closes behind him, and I am alone in his quarters.
When I am sure that he is gone, I run to the door. I can’t open it, of course. The glowing red panel on the inside of the door does not react to my touch. I know now how Varsul imagines himself in his future. I also know that I do not want to be his queen. Apparently, my gifts have made me a desirable object for the ruling class, but there is a concrete and tangible difference between Varsul and Khazaar. One of them really only needs me to give birth to a new generation. The other one brings the possibility of real love with him, as strange as that may seem.
I definitely need to get out of here. I need to go to Khazaar. I pace back and forth, restless in the sparsely furnished room. Then I smack my head in realization. How could I have been so stupid? I know a way to establish contact with Khazaar. But if I want to go to him in my thoughts, I need to calm myself first. I lie down on the bed, but it smells so strongly of Varsul’s cinnamon scent that I can’t relax. I try the chair, and let my head drop to my chest. I try to breathe regularly and deeply, and after half an hour, my eyes finally close.
In my thoughts, I race through the hallways. Now that he is awake, and his thinking is focused on other, more important things, my ability to reach him is distinctly reduced. I see Mary Jane, Keira and other women running through the hallways, screaming and looking for safety. A burning smell makes me stop, and I look hesitantly around the corner. I see Qua’Hathri warriors desperately fighting off a huge horde of Sethari. Somehow, they have invaded the ship, and have started fighting their way to the bridge. The Sethari’s twitching arms and legs bring back the worst of memories for me, and I am paralyzed as I watch the unprepared Qua’Hathri engage in a life or death battle with them. When one of the Sethari, a particularly large and disgusting specimen, turns towards me and fixates on me, I awake from my stupor. I don’t understand why he can see me in this form – I know they definitely couldn’t see me like this on Earth – but this Sethari can. He snaps one of his huge arms towards me. I duck. Chunks of broken wall rain down on me. I run away, as fast as I possibly can. In my head, I call Khazaar’s name loudly, and finally, I arrive at the door to the conning bridge. It is wide open.
Khazaar is standing in the middle of the room, buckling on his sword. Even in this horrific situation, all I can do is take in his appearance. He has tied his hair into a tight knot. This only serves to make his cheek bones more prominent, and his strange, gorgeous eyes even more noticeable. He is wearing a breast plate and snug pants made of leather-like material, but his arms are bare. His scales are raised. They are warning everyone to stay away. I see Varsul, who is also dressed for battle, at his side. He is also carrying a sword, but his hand is resting on a small dagger on his right hip.
They both see me at the same time.
Varsul understands what my presence means, and reacts immediately. His hand pulls out the dagger, and in one quick move, he aims it at Khazaar’s unprotected throat. Before I can call out or even make a conscious decision, my spirit body shoots forward and throws itself between Khazaar and his attacker. I don’t even know if Varsul’s weapon could injure me, and I don’t care. The blazing pain that drives through my shoulder does make me care, after all. Nobody could not care about an agony like this. The high, loud sound that fills the room is coming from my throat. I sink to the floor, unable to take my eyes off both men. Khazaar’s eyes rest on me for a split second before he throws himself on Varsul. The warrior has sustained only a small cut on his neck. In slow motion, I see blood dripping onto the floor next to me. It is red, like human blood, and glistens more beautifully than all the gemstones in the world.
Khazaar and Varsul are moving towards the exit, while engaged in heavy sword fighting. They are equal to each other in their strength and lithe moves. Sometimes they move so quickly that their bodies blur, and all I can see is a tangle of arms and legs. Khazaar lifts his arm to deliver a mighty blow that would destroy Varsul, but Varsul blocks him and stabs at him with his dagger in his left hand. This time, he hits his target. My warlord is bleeding from a stab wound in his side, and he roars in fury. His cry sounds like the scream of a lion or an eagle, or like that of both. I don’t know. I want to shut my eyes, but I force them to stay open. Using every bit of strength left in me, I get up and drag myself over to the two fighting men, being mindful not to get in the way of their swords. I don’t know what I am planning to do, but the fight ends before I can act. Other Qua’Hathri warriors storm into the room. They are covered in blood, but look oddly satisfied.
Varsul knows that he has lost, and lowers his weapons. With a gesture that expresses all of his contempt, he throws his sword and dagger at Khazaar’s feet and surrenders. This time, it is not enough to go down on one knee. He throws himself on the floor. I am afraid I will have to watch as Khazaar decapitates his opponent. With my eyes, I beg him to show Varsul mercy. I don’t want him to sink to Varsul’s level. I want him to be different. He lowers his sword, but shakes his head unperceptively. He issues a rattling order, and four warriors step forward, seize Varsul, and drag him away.
Then he is next to me. “Where is your body?” he whispers, but I can’t answer. A bang reverberates through the ship with a muffled roar. It swells, and comes closer and closer. It is so unbearable that I want to hold my ears, even in my real form. The room somehow shifts, and I see bodies of the Qua’Hathri falling over each other. Khazaar manages to jump to my side with one predatory leap, and leans in over me. The world fades into a gray fog, and the last thing I see are his gold eyes.
I hear his voice calling my name. I can’t answer.