Part 2: His Lost Bride
Chapter 1
His scent surrounds me, and for a moment, I am happy.
I see Khazaar lean over and say something to me, but his voice is so very far away, and I can’t understand what he is saying. I want to brush the worry from his forehead, and tell him that everything will be okay, but it seems he can’t hear me, any more than I can hear him. He is screaming. I can tell from the way his veins are popping out of his neck. He looks almost helpless. The look on his face erases the happiness I had just felt. He reaches out, searching, and looks around, as if I were hiding from him. Now I notice that there is something not quite right about the room I am in. It looks crooked, somehow, skewed. And where is this thick smoke coming from, that is robbing me of my sight? Why, in God’s name, can’t I see anything, even though I am only a ghost without a body?
For a short moment, a laugh tickles at my throat and wants to come out. The thought that I am ghosting around the ship as a ghost is irresistibly funny. At least, until I realize that something really isn’t right. I hear screams and battle cries, and clanging swords, crashing into each other heavily and sliding apart with unbelievably loud screeches. Khazaar’s roar is unmistakable, half hyena, half proud lion. Suddenly, everything goes silent, as if someone has cut off the sound, and the hysterical tingling in my head goes away. I grow afraid. Desperately, I fight for a way out of the thick billows of smoke, and finally, I am at his side.
He is lying unconscious on the floor. Blood seeps from a wound at his temple. It shimmers a strange violet, and is so viscous, that I can count every excruciating drop that falls slowly to the floor. A man whom I don’t recognize is standing next to him. By his uniform, I can see that he is a servant. In his hand, he holds a club that has been reinforced with thorns. It is a crude, but extremely effective weapon, as my fallen warrior can attest to. I fall on my knees next to Khazaar and want to touch him, but my hands go right through him, and I can’t grasp him. Complete chaos is all around me, but I only have eyes for him. When someone calls my name, loudly and firmly, I can barely tear my eyes away from Khazaar. Reluctantly, I turn around.
It is Varsul. The traitor says my name, looks at me, and makes a movement with his fingers that pulls me to him like a moth to light. Even though I want to stay with Khazaar, I am forced to obey. As I get closer to him, I instinctively understand the reason for my obedience: He is carrying my body over his shoulder. I, meaning my physical shell, am hanging as limp as a sack of potatoes. My arms are dangling, and my face is pale and lifeless. “You need to return to your body now,” Varsul orders. I look at him, defiantly crossing my arms in front of my chest, and shake my head no. I am not exactly sure why I am refusing – maybe my instinct is telling me to never trust a traitor, regardless of what he is telling me. “Come on,” Varsul urges me, and his ice-blue eyes flash. With my body slung over his shoulder like plunder, he looks like a Viking returning from a successful raid. The picture he had showed me, the one of him on a throne, and our son behind us, appears before my eyes for a second. With all of my remaining strength, I push it away, and concentrate, instead, on making my way back to Khazaar.
“Cassie,” Varsul repeats again, this time more emphatically, “we are leaving the ship now. You need to return to your body, otherwise I can’t guarantee your safety.” He fixes me with his eyes, and I notice that I want to believe him. I glance at Khazaar, but he isn’t there anymore. His body is gone, and in the increasing smoke, I can’t tell if he has gotten up of his own strength and has escaped, or if someone dragged him off.
Suddenly, Varsul is right behind me. The closer he gets to me, the more urgent my need becomes to return to my body. He grins as if he can read my thoughts, and walks casually to the door. The floor is littered with the mutilated bodies of Khazaar’s warriors and of servants in uniform. If you close your eyes halfway, the scene transforms into a deceivingly happy picture: Purple blood and colorful skin run together as if an expressionist painter’s color palette has exploded. I realize that I have just been witness to a revolution. Under Varsul’s leadership, the servants have risen up against the ruling class.
I need to decide. Do I return to my body, or do I continue to look for Khazaar? The thought of Varsul simply taking my body with him is unbearable. But the thought of being without Khazaar breaks my heart. Why does it always have to be one or the other?
Varsul walks past me and says something one last time. “In a few minutes, this ship will be abandoned. Do you really want to stay here, with the dead as your only companions? You may not know this, but the further away I go with your body, the harder it will be for you to return to it. So, it’s now or never.”
His words actually make me want to be alone instead of being with him, even though the thought of actually being abandoned makes panic well up inside of me, too. If I let Varsul go now, I will never find Khazaar again. I hold a glimmer of hope that he has somehow managed to escape, and this helps me make a decision. Let the traitor think what he wants. Maybe it will even be to my advantage if he believes me to be a scared little mouse. I almost smile, because compared to these alien men, who are fighting for their cause and are ready to die for it, I definitely am a scared little mouse. But what is their cause? Freedom from the oppressors? More money, long-term disability payments?
That is beside the point, I admonish myself, and manage to reach Varsul before he disappears in the fog. He grins when he sees me at his side. “Can you do it on your own?” I shrug, because I don’t want to admit that I don’t know. These total out-of-body experiences are still new to me. At that moment, a shrill alarm sounds, and Varsul increases his pace. “We don’t have time for experiments right now,” he calls, while winding his way through the confusing maze of hallways. He repeats the same movement with his fingers I had seen before. I almost have to admire how he can do all of this at once: He is finding the way to his destination, wherever that might be. He is also remaining very calm, despite the ever-shorter intervals between shrill alarms. And he is carrying me effortlessly without the slightest hint of sweat on his smooth forehead.
Wait a minute. He is carrying me. I am in my body again, and have no clue how my soul, or my spirit, or whatever, got back in here. The smoke burning in my eyes and throat remind me that I am just a vulnerable human.
Impatiently, the alien who is carrying me like plunder, rolls his shoulders. “Stop flailing around. We’re almost there.” As promised, we go through a door that closes behind us immediately. I am thankful for escaping the smoke and loud chaos, and close my eyes for a moment, only to be put back on my feet rather roughly. When I open my eyes warily, I see that we are standing in a huge hall. It reminds me of an airport, which is exactly what it is – in the back, a space ship is waiting to depart. Varsul pushes me forward cruelly, without caring that walking isn’t exactly easy for me right now.
A bad feeling spreads through my stomach. Something about the ship we are approaching seems familiar, and unease sets in. My thoughts race, but I can’t force them into any kind or order. Too much has happened in the last few hours and minutes, and my body, as well as my spirit, need one thing: rest, and preferably together. But it doesn’t look like that will happen any time soon. Now that we are just steps away from the ship, the door to the inside opens.
Behind it are two heavily armed Sethari. Their expressions, completely devoid of any emotion, are all too familiar. Where did they come from? I thought Khazaar and the other warriors had killed them all. What is much worse than knowing that some of the Sethari are still alive, is that Varsul is obviously conspiring with them. With a jolt, I realize that he isn’t just the mastermind behind the uprising of the servant class on the space ship. He has also formed an alliance with the race that has now dealt Khazaar a crushing defeat. I remember the vision I saw of Varsul and me, and of our child. Khazaar lying on the ground, arms outstretched, his back shredded from countless lashes of the whip.
Varsul has succeeded. His vision of the future is within reach.