by Calista Skye
We catch up with the shaman.
“It pleases me to see you so well,” he says and peers up at Trak'zor as we walk beside him. “And with The Woman, no less. You always said you would find her. I remember when you were just a boy, chiding us for mostly staying within the safety of our fences and not going out into the jungle to look for her.”
“I was right.”
The shaman chuckles. “You were indeed. And now you're punishing us for our cowardly ways.”
Trak'zor sighs. “Not all here are cowards. I remember you speaking to my defense back when ... when it happened.”
The shaman opens the flap to a hut and holds it up so that we can enter.
“Not that it did any good. What the council did was wrong. Denying you the use of the Lifegivers for a crime you didn't know you had committed was both petty and cruel. I bitterly regret that I had a part in it. If I had only thought a little further ahead, I would not have blurted out that it sounded from your tale as if you had been on Bune. I fear I was the worse for drink. It was disgraceful. For what it's worth, I have not touched a drop since then. Please sit down. Just a moment.”
The shaman sticks his head out and talks to some of the boys who are still trailing us, and they run off on various errands.
I look around the hut. It's roomier than it looks from the outside, but it's mostly empty. Not-sheep furs and other skins cover the floor, and some hang from wooden poles. I notice a wooden altar with various mysterious object on it, including what has to be the wooden model the shaman uses to teach the young boys about women. It's about three feet long, so the clothes and the little furniture Trak'zor made would have fit pretty well. It's very well made, and all the details are there, so perfectly that I can only imagine that the person who carved it had an actual naked woman to model for him. How ancient is that thing?
Various weapons hang from the walls, along with some other ornamental objects. One of them interests me especially.
There's a little fire in the middle of the tent, sending a warm light to Trak'zor's caveman face.
I grip his wrist, feeling his slow, strong pulse in my whole hand. “Are you okay?”
He leans in and smells my hair. “I am okay.”
The English words sounds good coming from him.
The boys run off on various errands, and the shaman comes back in and offers us simple wooden chairs to sit on. “But that doesn't mean I will deny anyone else the pleasant warmth that comes from the burl drink. I have sent off for some food. I don't eat much myself. It comes with age.”
Trak'zor leans forwards and stares at the shaman in the flickering light from the fire. “Are you not well, Ren'tax?”
The shaman sits down on a little bench and leans on his cane. “I am not. You are the first to notice. It is the same as with Jun'dax, my father. He also died after a short period of getting weaker. Age or illness, I don't know.”
“If it's an illness, there are ways to cure it.”
There'a a glint in the shaman's crusty eyes. “Yes, you have your ways now, don't you? No, I have lived my time. Don't waste your powers on me, Trak'zor. I will not allow it. Save them for the Lifegivers and the boys. The prospect of more years in this cursed village fills me with dread and sadness. I will join the Ancestors and be content.”
“You will be as bright a presence there as you always were in the tribe,” Trak'zor says, and his voice cracks a little. “Even when I lectured you on how we should find the Woman, you always listened patiently, even though that was your sacred field.”
“I knew that you might be right. But not many of us could leave the village and enter the woods and expect to come back alive. Only you had the skills and the strength to spend days outside the fence. Now, then. I think I heard The Woman speak just now. Sacred Woman, do you bring any message from our Ancestors?” He looks at me with eyes that are almost as blue as Trak'zor's.
Can I play a goddess convincingly in front of a man who's dedicated his life to things like that? I should probably say as little as possible, although this guy seems nice enough.
I sit up straight and keep my chin up. “I do not.” For real.
“Ah. And the women of our tribe will not return?”
“They will not.” Pretty sure about that.
“Hm. Pity. You will return to your divine realm and report that we're not worthy?”
“I suppose.” Is that what a goddess would say? No, right?
“I see. I must say I never expected The Woman to look quite like you do. I suppose I had a false image in my mind. I thought you would be more ... distant, in a way. Did Trak'zor worship you properly?”
I can't help blushing at the sudden change of topic. He's pretty much asking me if I'm happy with how Trak'zor ate me out. “It was ... fine. Yes. Fine. It was good. He's very ... um ... skilled.”
“And you Mated also?”
I blush some more for good measure. “We did.”
“Was that satisfactory as well?” He's not asking in a creepy way, he just wants to know from professional curiosity. Still I can't help being embarrassed.
“It was.”
“Any part of it that especially pleased you?”
Every part. “It was all good.”
“Ah. And now you will bear Trak'zor's child?”
The thought has crossed my mind. Because birth control? Not a thing on this jurassic planet. But hey, he's here to rub their noses in the fact that he has a woman and they don't, so I'll give them the full treatment.
“Yes.” I add a haughty little smirk.
24
- Aurora -
The shaman smiles warmly. “Very well. He deserves that more than anyone I can think of. Perhaps there is more to say about this. But I think this will work out for the best. Ah, here is the food.”
Some boys come in bearing large leaves with steaming meat and vegetables on them, as well as a clay vase that it turns out has burl in it. They they withdraw out of earshot with the other boys outside.
It presents me with a small dilemma. Do goddesses eat? Probably not. But I've done what I can, and I haven't had anything since lunch, many hours and a long trek through the jungle ago.
The shaman looks at me expectantly, so I daintily take a little piece of roasted turkeypig and bite into it.
I nod regally with some meat juice running down my chin. “Much acceptable.”
Trak'zor smiles. “I think that's enough. He knows you're not The Woman.”
My shoulders sag. “Oh. What gave away?”
The shaman chuckles. “You're just too real. The Woman would be much cooler and less charming. She would be a divine being, not made of flesh. She would not eat our humble offerings. She would not hold anyone's hand and she would certainly not accept Heri'ox being his wonderful self in her presence. Still, you are plainly a woman, although I'd wager you're not of this world. Have no fear, I will not tell anyone. I will state at every opportunity that you are indeed The Woman, although you don't look much like us. But that can be explained away. Where do you come from?”
I point up the opening at the top of the tent where the smoke escapes through a hole and where I can spot some stars against the dark sky. “Out there.”
“From the stars,” the shaman nods. “The Plood?”
“Yes,” I say in surprise. “You know about them?”
“They took our women. I suppose it's not unreasonable to assume that they'll take other women, too. Alien women, Trak'zor. And here is one in my tent. Have you been here long?”
“Three seasons.” Nine months. I immediately think of Sophia, and my conscience gets an unpleasant sting. She's due in just a few days. And she's probably worried about me.
“Really? And still you survive against the Bigs?”
“I didn't come here alone.”
The shaman takes a breath to say something, then starts coughing uncontrollably, bending double and holding onto his cane as if it's his last grip on life.
“Ah,” he wheezes through te
ars, “as I said, I think there's more to say about this. But I'm old and tired and none of it will concern me much longer. You should know this, alien woman: Trak'zor is the proudest man I've known. Sometimes to his detriment. I mean no offense, Trak'zor. But she should know it. You two please take this tent for tonight. I will sleep elsewhere.”
- - -
When we're done eating the shaman takes the leftovers and leaves us.
It's about time, too. I've been too close to Trak'zor for too long without being able to touch him right.
We sit down by the fire, and I unceremoniously stick my hand down his loincloth and grab his cock.
“That shaman much smart. He knows from beginning I'm not The Woman.”
“Aurora is too good to come from the Ancestors. What is your world like?”
“That big question. Is not like this planet. No Bigs. Only some Smalls. We have cities and cars and airplanes and cell phones and laptops. And coffee.”
“Only women live there?”
His cock is stiffening fast in my hand, and my own body is responding to it.
“Men live there too. About half are women. Half are men.”
“The men are brave warriors?”
I don't know whether to laugh or cry when I think about Earth men. Trying to compare them to Trak'zor seems absurd.
I sigh deeply. “Not much brave. Some warriors. Not like here. Other weapons. Not swords.”
“Ah, they use axes and spears,” Trak'zor states knowledgeably. “Some tribes do.”
His cock is at full hardness, and it's twitching in my hand. And I'm pretty sure I'm at full wetness.
I strip off. Trak'zor helps me, then lays me down on a not-sheep fur and kneels beside me, looking all over me with hungry eyes, making me feel sexy and wanted.
“All the women are like you?”
“In some ways. All are different.”
He cups a breast and flicks his thumb over the nipple, making me gasp. “Aurora will bear Trak'zor a child?”
“Sure I will. Right now I'll agree to anything as long as you just start fucking me,” I moan, not caring which language I speak.
He gets it and spreads my knees, opening me for him in a way that says 'you're mine'. And right now, being his is fine with me. He was already the best man I've met. But seeing how he deals with the boys here, seeing how he holds a baby, how he faces down a gang of elder tribesmen and how he takes the news of the shaman's illness has given me a greater understanding of him. He's had tough times. But he's stronger than ever, stronger than this entire tribe. The boys in the village worship the ground he walks on. I know exactly how they feel.
He enters me with a possessive directness that makes my pelvis melt. His alien cock pushes into me, my body adjusts and starts to prepare for the powerful climax that I know will follow very soon.
Then he's fucking me, hard and fast, and I wonder how soundproof these tents are. Not very, I hope. Because I'm giving this my all, moaning and grunting and whimpering loudly, doing my best pornstar impersonation, hoping it carries through the whole village. I want those tribesmen to know what they're missing.
He pumps me hard, setting off fireworks in my pussy and mind. Remarkably wet fireworks, judging from the outrageous sounds coming from down there.
I open my eyes and look into his blue lasers, being engulfed by all that is him. The best man who ever lived, fucking me better than any woman has ever been fucked.
This man, this caveman, who's cast out a whole damn tribe because they denied him offspring.
I raise my knees to my chest, wishing I was limber enough to put my feet behind my shoulders for him. “Fuck a baby into me,” I demand, and right then I realize there's nothing I want more.
Then I come. And I make sure to be very, very loud.
- - -
“I thought you'd be up early,” the shaman says. “I approve. No need to let them see you leave. I brought you some food. Bring it with you and eat on the way.”
He hands Trak'zor a leathery pack.
“I wish things were different,” Trak'zor says. “But this tribe ...”
“This tribe has its best days behind it. Unless it gains a new chief. A good one. I will not ask you to return, Trak'zor. I know it would be fruitless. But perhaps, in time, they will grow wise and you will take pity on them.”
In the light from the rising sun, the other huts look pretty shabby. And the bushes around the fence is not camouflage – that's just neglected maintenance. They're far too overgrown to make a good barrier to the many dangers in the jungle.
Trak'zor nods to the other huts. “If this can happen after decades with a shaman as good as you, then I don't think a new chief will make much of a difference. It's the tribe itself.”
The shaman shrugs. “Perhaps. Alien woman, I feel that I have not been as hospitable as I would wish. Is there something I can do for you now? I doubt we will meet again.”
“Maybe,” I say and point past the open flap, into his hut. “That thing there on wall. Is that iron?”
“It is,” the shaman confirms. “Iron with the exactly right amount of black soot mixed in during the forging. Then folded over and hammered many times. It was made by Jun'dax. He was a master smith in his day. That long piece was meant to be made into something, but I don't know what. I'll show you.”
He walks into the tent, takes the long blade off its peg and brings it out. “Notice how it bends.”
He places one end on the ground and puts his weight on the other end. The long, thin blade bends, then springs back into its original position as soon as he eases the pressure.
“Very nice,” I say. “The smith must have been very skilled. Your father, Ren'tax?”
“He was indeed. Finest smith the tribe had seen for many years. I tried to learn, but then the Ancestors called me to their service. And anyway, there hasn't been much iron in the tribe for a long time.”
I scratch my chin. “Is that something you could make, Trak'zor? I mean, if you had the iron?”
He looks at it skeptically. “Jun'dax was highly skilled and experienced. That blade was forged towards the end of his life. I doubt I would be able to make it as flexible as that.”
“Take this,” Ren'tax says and holds the iron blade out to me. “I've never made use of it, and now I never will.”
I give him a warm smile. “I not can accept. It may be most valuable thing in the village.”
He comes closer. “Please. I have wondered what to do with it. It is indeed valuable, but none of the tribesmen will know what to do with it. They'll toss it aside as trash when I die and they come to plunder my tent. It will rust in the grass. It would make me happy to know that it was owned by an actual woman. Jun'dax will smile upon me from the beyond.”
“Are you sure?”
He laughs. “I am sure. A woman who can make the noises we heard last night must be a true warrior and will need true iron.”
I've never had anyone make me blush like he does. “You hear noise?”
He grins. “Everyone heard the noises. Not everyone liked it. But I did. All the nights in a village should be full of noises like that. It's the sound of life itself. Take this iron. Use it for anything you want. If you wish to make it into a sword, it must be heated and reforged. It is not enough to sharpen it as it is now. It's too short, even for you.”
I accept the piece of iron. It's two feet long, about an inch wide and pretty thin. And not too heavy. I'm not planning to sharpen it. I have something different in mind.
“Thank you,” I say and embrace the old shaman. He may be old, but he's still well over six and a half feet tall. He's surprised at first, but then he puts his sinewy old arms around me and hugs me back.
I squeeze his thin frame. Of all the men in this village, he deserves to feel some real boobs pressing into him.
“Well, you better be off,” he says when I let him go. “I wish good things for both of you.”
Trak'zor places his huge hand on the shaman's shoulder. He
's clearly struggling with what to say. “As do I for you, Ren'tax. You will be a true Ancestor.”
“That is my intention. It will be a relief.”
The old man turns and hobbles away. I put the iron bar into my quiver, and then we leave the village.
- - -
We walk fast, but slowly enough to not make much sound. Of all the girls in the cave, I've been out in the jungle the most. My bow made me confident that I could fight off attackers, and the Xena thing kind of made me brave.
Trak'zor kills an attacking centipede without much effort, and I warn him about a dactyl I spot a little distance away, so we can duck under a tree in time not be seen. It has crossed my mind that the girls have probably sent Dar'ax out looking for me on his flying horror, but I'm not going to reveal myself to every random dactyl just because it might be him.
We reach the lake, Trak'zor puts the bridge in place and I'm safe on the island again. The raft is right where we left it, and I get a little shot of excitement at the thought of what we might discover at the mysterious island.
I do some fishing with great success, Trak'zor does general maintenance around the island.
Then I get started on my new project. Trak'zor helps me get the wood I need, and I start carving the pieces while he cooks dinner. I've planned it in my mind, but it's a complicated thing and I don't think I've ever seen one in real life.
I start on the biggest piece first, sitting by the fire and carving the wood with my little knife.
“You want to come see other girls in our cave?”
He doesn't look up. “I have enough trouble with my own tribe.”
“My girls are no trouble. Very nice girls. Three are married, husbands from other tribes.”
He gives me a sharp glance. “Other tribes?”
“Yes. Yellow stripes, red stripes and orange stripes. Not bad yellow! Dar'ax is not raider. Is nice tribe.”
He continues his work. “You're here now.”
“I'm here. But I will go back there. Soon. One girl giving birth. Any day now. You come? Look at small tribe, meet men there. Maybe you like.”
“Three men is not a tribe.”
