The Dreaming: Dark Star (Book 5)

9.3 Captivate (Imorah)

The man asked her if she wanted to eat, and she nodded, and felt her mouth filling with saliva. She would eat anything right now.

He went to the back of the cave and Imorah took some time to look around her.

He must be a scientist of some kind. He had sketches of what Imorah could recognise as chemical formulas hanging loosely off the walls. She frowned and looked at the man. He seemed incapable of computing these formulas, but perhaps she was underestimating him.

On the other side of the room, across from all the papers and the bed, were hundreds of crystals and stones of all sizes and shapes.

She watched the man pull down something hanging in the back of the cave. It was purple and glistening in the light. Imorah wondered what it was.

He came back to the tiny fire and put the purple object on a mat on the ground.

That's when Imorah saw an eyeball. She screamed, "Oh my god, what is it?"

The man was spooked and stared at her. "It's a... zabi."

"A zabi? I don't know what that is. It's a dead body, a corpse?"

"No, it's an animal. It's my food. It's your food." Using a very large, sharp knife, he cut off a slice of the purple flesh.

Imorah shuddered with disgust. "You mean, you eat the animals? There are hardly any animals left on the planet. How can you eat them?"

The man grunted, and threw the knife into the sand between himself and Imorah. Through gritted teeth, he said, "Again, I warn you, do not question a man in his own home."

Imorah licked her lips. He was clearly angry. "I'm sorry," she said. She had not other options—she was wounded and sitting in his bed. She needed to get out of here, but until then, she must pretend to befriend the man. "Please forgive me. I'm sorry, it's just not how we do it in my home."

"You are my guest, so I will forgive your trespasses," he continued. "You are a foreigner, so you don't know the ways here."

"Right, yes, I'm sorry," Imorah cooed. When he picked up the knife again, he did not look in her eyes, but he wiped off the knife on his pants, and continued to cut the flesh.

Imorah breathed a sigh of relief. She needed to think before she spoke with him. She wouldn't make that same mistake again. She watched the gruesome butchery with revulsion, hoping he would not expect her to eat the flesh of the creature. She was surprised the flesh didn't bleed, and wondered how it was preserved and how old it was. There were flies buzzing around the man's head and the corpse.

"What do you eat?" he asked.

Imorah couldn't stop looking at his knife as it cut through the flesh. "We eat vegetables that we grow, and some grains like rice, and beetles, mainly, for protein. Beetle larvae. That we can easily grow. It harms nothing."

"Beetle? What is this?" he asked, and threw another hunk of flesh on a plate in front of him.

Imorah wondered how to describe it. "It's a bug," she said at last.

"A bug? You eat bugs and you think I am disgusting. Ha!" His tone conveyed that he was still angry.

"No, no, not disgusting," Imorah interjected. "I'm sorry. It's not disgusting."

He looked at her, and Imorah realised her face was plastered with a look that spelled plain disgust. She couldn't stop watching his hands, cutting the flesh, and it was revolting and strangely compelling at the same time.