Page 19 of Betrothed to the Yeti

“The first Seer is in this portrait,” he says, holding the painting I thought depicted my eldest sister. “She taught me your language, using the books of the treasure hoard. I built this temple with her people and under her command. I wanted nothing more than to please her, so I stepped into the role of a Protector God when she set up your religion. It was a small deceit, but it allowed me to hunt around the villages. I had an excuse to watch the villagers for entertainment—all because of the first Seer. In fact, I knew you were my bride the moment I saw you because of your resemblance to the first Seer.”

He sets her portrait behind us on the floor. A couple surrounded by goats is on the next canvas. They smile at one another while holding hands on a green hill. Green? Poor Pabu, these are paintings of Earth.

“I’m sure you noticed the difference between these happy Earthlings and the sour colonists you observe,” I comment drily. The Elders wished to recreate a utopian Earth on barren Enceladus. Could Pabu be brainwashed? Certainly, a native of this planet wouldn’t fall for their illusion! He lays the paintings out in a mosaic on the floor, turning rough stone into a sea of smiles.

The painting he hands me is six humans dancing in a ring. The subjects have the elongated necks and limbs of those living in the reduced gravity of Enceladus instead of the stubby appendages of Earthlings. They hold fusion crystals in their joined hands as they dance over the snow. Saturn’s shadow dominates the top third of the painting. They wear wool clothes of Enceladus goats, not Earthling cotton or sheep’s wool. Rosy cheeks frame their wide smiles. I’ve never worn an expression so carefree. No one in Alpha—not even Nawang—looks this happy. I can’t deny the picture depicts an Enceladus family after the colonization of the first humans.

Must be those Gamma villagers again—or his beloved Delta villagers.

“I love the widening of your eyes and the growth of the black spots within them. This painting pleases you. I’m sorry for what the humans of Alpha have done in your time with them. The other villages are different, the past humans were different, and there is the possibility for change…maybe not for Alpha, but for you. If you give my lifestyle a chance, I want to make you as happy as the humans in this painting. Doesn’t the scene give you hope? This picture sings of hope and better times to me,” Pabu says in rapidly accelerating speech.

“Hope,” I murmur while running my fingers over a face in the painting. How many nights have I laid awake, longing for change? My heart’s desire rests in my hands…and not just painted on a canvas. “Thank you for sharing your hope…”

His hand envelops my hand holding the frame. My eyes drift closed when he presses a kiss to my hair. Surrounded by his heat, I’m safe. No one can touch me here—no tigers, no wolves, no sisters, and no brothel owners. Can I really give up the rest of my kind and live happily with Pabu? Does my resemblance to the original Seer mean what Pabu says—that we are destined to be together? Maybe not as God and devadasi, but as husband and wife.

Dare I love a Yeti?

Love Pabu?

Yes. I release the painting to hold my husband. His relentless pursuit of my happiness deserves more than a hug. He must hear my commitment to him from my lips. No doubts. I rock on my hip to turn in his lap. My breasts crush against his chest and my arm wraps around his shoulders.Oh, to be tall enough to look into his starry eyes.Will they glow with happiness? Do they do that? My palm caresses his cheek, but his chin doesn’t lower. Is he rejecting my touch after promising to shoulder my burdens? Did I prove myself to be too emotionally erratic for him?

His stare is vacant. The stars have dimmed to grey smudges.

He is miles away. What is going on? Is he sick? All this time I’ve been waffling over my feelings while the one willing to support me slips through my fingers. He can’t leave me now! I wave my hand in front of his nose until he shakes his head. The stars in his eyes brighten and focus on me. The lines around his eyes reappear and his eyes narrow. His lips press together in a firm line. I had expected the gentle smile I’m used to…if anything he looks angry to be interrupted. Did I read him incorrectly? I’m not in a great space myself so my judgment is…

“Where did you go?” I hate the vulnerability in my voice. My fingertips trace his nose, the branches at the corners of his eyes, and the hard set to his mouth.

“A village is under attack—it’s Delta,” he mutters as he sets me aside. He jumps to standing and my hurt pride boosts me to my feet, too. I should be relieved that I didn’t put a sour look on his face, but I had hoped to hold his attention a little longer.

“How do you know? Do you receive visions like a Seer?”

“No, she alerted me,” he says while shuffling the canvases into a haphazard pile against the wall. They clatter and bang with his rough treatment when he held them with high regard minutes ago. Maybe he’s better matched to my mood swings than I thought.

With a path cleared to the door, he leaves.

Just leaves. She calls. He leaves.

What type of relationship does he have with the current Seer? He never said he loved the first Seer, but the way he held her portrait shows me he did. The current Seer has a two-way, mental link to him. I assumed he spoke, and she obeyed. He is a God, after all. I bet the first Seer spoke telepathically to him, too. It explains how well-spoken he is and how quickly he learned all about humans. If they were mind-linked he could download it like the fusion plant terminals. She would have the same exchange with him—for his meal requests. That’s all, right? Not progress reports on our relationship, right? Would I have noticed? When has he drifted off since I’ve lived with him?

If he thinks of the current Seer in the same way as the first Seer, then what am I doing as his bride?

“Why am I here instead of her?” I call after him from the top of the stairs. All my confusion, jealousy, and pain are woven into the tiny question. My tone freezes him at the door with his hand on the knob.

“I imprinted on her so we can communicate telepathically. I can make a link with any human, so she’s not special to me,” he says. His hand scrubs the back of his neck in a surprisingly human gesture. “Please don’t leave. Promise me, you will be here when I return. I will explain more…if you stay.”

He waits for my nod before he yanks open the door and vanishes into the night. Wolves howl as he pounds over the snow toward the human villages. ‘She’s not special to me’ echoes in my head. Well, does that make me even-less-than-not-special? I’m not good enough to imprint…but then again, I haven’t been the most gracious guest, have I? From my mood swings to physical attacks, he’s probably scared my mind is filled with barbs and thorns.

Without his presence, the temple is cold and lonely. I have no right to be jealous of his imprinting on the Seer. It’s practical since he’s in the habit of making requests for his tributes. Their link shouldn’t bother me, but the bitter jealousy sits on my tongue. What would it be like to have Pabu’s bright optimism shining through my thoughts? Could he catch me when my past threatens to throw me into a pit of despair? Would we have full conversations—more than small snippets of information—without speaking?

Wandering into his bedroom, the temperature rises sharply. How is it so warm in here? The walls and ceiling aren’t smooth like the rest of the interior of the temple. It’s like I climbed inside the mountain—not walked through a home carved onto its edge. The bed dominates the room without space for more furniture. Four columns of rock connect the corners to the floor and ceiling. Does he sleep on a slab of rock under these luxurious blankets? I can’t resist throwing back the thick, gray fabric to check out the base. The blankets are softer than the softest tiger pelt and thicker than woven goat fuzz. They must be from Earth.

Phew!The lumps of goat fur packed into a rectangular case are a relief. I’m hesitant to share his bed as it is—a rock mattress might have made my straw-sharing with Ku Huang a permanent arrangement. No, after she births her kids, I won’t be welcome. Little ones are restless and kick at odd hours. I push the memories of sleeping with Ku Huang and her young in our frigid hut to the back of my mind. There is no need to fixate on the past.

This is my home now.

My rump sinks into the mattress like receiving a hug. I don’t dare lie down in my state. Unless I intercept him at the door, I’ll never be able to explain why his bed carries my scent. Temptation overpowers my resolve and my hand sinks into a folded black blanket—softer than newly fallen snow. I lean on my elbow before I can stop myself. How dirty is my hair? Could I just rest a moment? My head rocks back on the pillow. I’ve never had a pillow, so I can’t judge if it is a luxurious one or not. The ceiling is a collection of filed-down points leading to—

Hot geysers!

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