by Calista Skye
“And do you know what your Ancestors want?” I know the cavemen aren’t kidding when they talk about what are essentially their gods.
“No,” he admits. “But they often want difficult things. Unpleasant things.”
“Then how about we do what we want, and then they can tell us if it’s the right thing.”
“It might work. What do your ancestors tell you about this?”
“My ancestors? Yeah, I have an understanding with my ancestors. If they want to tell me what to do, they can sit me down and speak to me face to face. While they’re still alive, I should add. Or send me a letter. And there had better be a pretty major inheritance involved if they actually expect me to follow their wishes. And you know, none of them have ever done anything like that.”
“Hm,” Xark’on says. “A confusing practice.”
I yawn and stretch. “Well, it’s the way we like it. We prefer our dead ancestors to keep their wants to themselves. So you want me to stay here? For a few days? While you dig the trap and practice using your tools?”
He scratches his chin with one finger. “I do need the practice.”
“Me, too. And I’d love to see that creepy dragon gone.”
We lie still for a few thoughtful minutes.
The cave isn’t far away. I could go there and say ‘hey, girls, here I am, I’m fine, just partying with a caveman I found, don’t wait up’. And then I could come straight back here. I think that would be the right thing to do. I doubt Xark’on would tell me to get lost when I came back. He enjoys the sex too much for that. It’s a dangerous walk through the jungle, but that didn’t keep me from coming to spy on him every day for weeks.
Xark’on stirs under me and manages to get up while I stay in the hammock.
He bends down to kiss me. “We need some food.”
“We do,” I agree. “I’ll help.”
I was never that much of a cook, but I enjoy cutting vegetables and making my not-french fries and just sitting next to Xark’on and watching him fry the meat.
21
- Xark’on -
I cut the meat into filets with more care than I would ever use when I was alone. But now Caroline is here beside me, and I want her to only have the best cuts.
Her presence still makes my head spin. Before, the tribe was the center of my existence. Everything was anchored to the village and the tribesmen. Now, I haven’t thought about them for hours. When I dig in the hole, I think of Caroline and her touch and smell, losing myself in pleasant fantasies about her and me living here in the tree together for all eternity, fucking and eating and painting and talking. It seems to me a most wonderful idea.
But I must remind myself that it can’t happen. The more I think about the trap, the more obvious it becomes that it needs bait. Only a few days ago, I would have been happy to offer myself up for that so that the tribe may prosper beyond the wildest fantasy of any tribesman and so that I would become a much-honored Ancestor.
But I would not be happy to use Caroline for it.
And now, I would not be happy to use myself, either. My life is suddenly much better than I had ever dreamed. A whole new world has opened up, one in which there is a woman by my side. Until just a few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have offered that a single thought. Now, the mere thought of living without Caroline is as dark as death itself.
I will enjoy it as long as I can. Until the trap is finished. Then, I will have to make my decision, unless the Ancestors show me what to do. Caroline would be better bait, no doubt about it. But too valuable, too priceless!
And yet, the prize, the Treasure… It’s not worth her life. But I fear it’s easily worth mine.
“Where do you get all your rope?” Caroline chirps while cutting some plants into slices. “I mean, the one you use to get up here. And the ones on the wall. They’re so long and strong. I saw you making one the first day.”
“There are many gork trees near the village. They produce long fibers that get strong when treated the right way. Many fibers together make a good rope.”
“How are they treated?”
I tell her about ropemaking while we prepare the food. It’s remarkably pleasant to sit here together and talk about unimportant things. Caroline listens and asks good questions, and before I know it we’re eating, and her hand is casually resting on my knee in a way that I find most charming.
“So, this house was made to kill irox,” Caroline says. “A man in my tribe knows how to ride them. He’s tamed one and flies around on it. I think I told you? His wife, too. From Earth.”
Nothing about Caroline surprises me anymore. “I see.”
“Yeah. And they can ride other Bigs, too. It scares me to death. And another woman, Sophia, has given birth. Do you know what that is?”
“The shaman only told us about the mating,” I say carefully. This topic is pretty outlandish to me. “Not about the birth. But we have Lifegivers in the village.”
“A birth is a little more messy than that, I think. But yeah, it’s similar to the Lifegivers. Does your tribe take good care of theirs?”
“They are the whole basis for a continued tribe,” I state. “Of course, we take good care of them.”
She stands up and looks out into the darkness. “Can you see your village from here?”
I take her hand, which seems the most natural thing in the world to do. We walk halfway around the treehouse, and I point. “There. You should be able to see… Yes, there are two fires. Only a part of the village is visible from here. There are a hundred men in the tribe.”
The two little yellow pinpricks of light don’t make me wish I was there. It’s a good village, but I'm having a much better time here with Caroline.
“It's pretty far away,” she observes. “It must take a long time to walk there.”
“It does. But I wanted to trap Troga far away, and here there's an old forge for making the spikes and this treehouse to give shelter.”
She squeezes my hand. “And it gives you a calm place to paint.”
Of course, she understood that that's one of my favorite things about this place. “It does.”
“Can I see you do it?”
She sits down on the floor cross-legged. I go halfway around the house to get her a skin to sit on and the sack of fiery krunik that she calls 'boos'. Then, I take my tools and the colors and continue on the painting of Bune. Some of the trees still remain to be done. I itch to keep working on the other painting I started recently, but it isn't ready for anyone else's eyes yet, least of all Caroline's.
After a while, she takes my hand and looks up at me with those huge eyes that sparkle in the light from the torch. “You're great, do you know that?”
22
- Caroline -
As I watch him paint, so totally concentrated and humming without even knowing it. So, he's saved my life multiple times. He's working alone to save his tribe. He's open to new ideas, even when they come from a woman. He's totally natural and confident in the jungle. He's as strong as ten normal men. He's a gifted artist. He fucks like a typhoon. And he makes me feel good about myself in the most breathtakingly natural and sincere way.
And he expects nothing in return. He’s never pushed me for anything. I had to initiate the sex. Who ever heard of a guy who protects a girl and then doesn't guilt her into a handjob at least? And this guy hasn't even seen women before, and he's been in a state of very visible arousal for several days straight now. Still, he didn't pressure me at all. It's like he respects me as a person! Now, which guy has done that before?
It feels a little like a dream, like I'm waiting for him to show his real self, for his front to crack and the bullshit to leak out. But it hasn't happened yet, and he's had a lot of opportunities. I can only conclude that what I see is who he is. There's no front. It's just him.
It's taken me a good while to realize because it seems too good to be true. I haven't known him for that long, but I've spent every waking minute with him, and he still hasn't cracked
.
So then finally, I have to take his hand and tell him exactly what I think of him.
He looks away for a moment then gives me a shy little smile, the most boyish expression you could imagine. “And you are wonderful. I'm still trying to understand how it's possible. But it's too big for my mind.”
It's a simple answer, and from anyone else it would sound fake and conceited. From him, it's just how he feels.
I smile, touched by his sincerity. Then, I let go of his hand and lean back against the railing of the treehouse, content to watch a really cool guy do something that he's really good at.
I briefly wake up when he's picking me up and carrying me to the hammock.
“You sleep here, too,” I sleepily demand. “You sleep with Caroline.”
“Yes,” he says as he lays me down as gently as a parent will lay down a baby.
The next thing I know is that I'm feeling a certain need that can't be denied, so I get out of the hammock. Xark'on isn't there, and he's not painting. The torch has gone out, and I'm vaguely aware that Xark'on did finally sleep beside-slash-under me for a while.
I tiptoe around the giant tree trunk to the spot that has been designated for calls of nature. And there's Xark'on, leaning over the railing, looking out over the dark jungle.
“Troga,” he says darkly without turning around. “She's burning again.”
I immediately see what he means. Far away in the direction of the trap, there's a light. It's a blue-white light as bright as a welding torch casting its eerie light on the trees around. There's no sound, but I recognize that light from when she burned Xark’on.
“What's she burning?”
“The ground. Making her trench longer.”
“Do you think she knows about the trap?”
“If so, she's not burning it. She's further away.”
I'm suddenly worried about the girls. “How far away?”
“Far enough.”
“I think our cave is in that direction. Will she burn her trench all the way there?”
He just shrugs, which is reasonable enough. He has no way of knowing that.
Well, I'll worry about that tomorrow. Right now… “Could you please… I need this spot. Just for a moment.”
He gets it immediately, nuzzles my hair, and walks back around the tree. I squat and kind of enjoy the idea that I'm giving that dragon a good mooning. If she's looking. Which she's probably not.
I walk back to the hammock area, but Xark'on is still painting.
I stand and watch him for a while. “You're really enjoying yourself with that.”
He keeps concentrating on the picture. “We have to find enjoyment wherever it hides. It's a tough life in the jungle. Everything we do is just to survive as long as possible. This treehouse was built to keep the irox from killing us. We spend a lot of time just hunting. We care for the Lifegivers. We make clothing. We forge weapons. It's all for survival. I feel a need to build. For something else. Not because it's desperately necessary. But because it's possible, because it's better, because it's progress. We don't build. There's no time. We just survive. I sometimes think that the life the Ancestors have given us is too hard. The jungle is too harsh. I see the tribe declining. There are fewer tribesmen now than there's ever been. Some of it is because of Troga. But not all. Even without her, the jungle is winning.”
He speaks slowly, still painting. He's giving me a glimpse into his inner being. It echoes some things I've been thinking, myself, and it gives me an insight that's been percolating for a while. “The jungle is too harsh. It's not natural. None of us are supposed to be here.”
“You're an alien here,” he agrees. “But so am I.”
I put a hand on his arm. “Xark'on. When this is over. Come to my tribe. We build.”
He looks at me thoughtfully, bends down, and nuzzles my hair.
“Still some hours left until sunrise,” I yawn. “You want to keep me company a little longer?”
He accurately places another little point of green on the skin. “I'll keep you company from right here.”
“Okay.” I guess artists have to make use of their inspiration.
I crawl into the hammock, and when I wake up again the smell of breakfast is in my nose. I’ve never slept as deep as I do here up in this tree.
“I have to go back to the cave today,” I announce as I sit down with Xark'on. “I have to see if they're all right. I will tell them about you. Do you mind that?”
“Tell them what you must.”
“And I'd like to come back here. Will you allow me?”
“What you do is your decision. The Ancestors will decide.”
“Okay. What I mean to ask is, will you be mad if I leave and come back? Will you hate me?”
“I don't think so. It depends on many things.”
“I'll go there and check on them, and then I'll tell them a little about you and Troga, and then I'll come here again. That's all. If you don't want me to bring anyone, I won't.”
“That's probably for the best.”
He's not super enthusiastic about me leaving, but he's not hitting the roof, either. And this is one thing I have to do.
After breakfast we pack a lunch and walk fast to the trap hole.
I grab Xark'on's hand. “Okay. I'll be back later today. But I'll miss you while I'm gone.” I kiss him on the cheek, and he sniffs my hair the way he likes. I think that's a good sign.
Then he jumps down in his hole and starts digging. Okay, he's not thrilled.
I'm on the verge of asking him to come with me right now, but if he doesn't offer it, himself, then it probably means he doesn't want to. I don't blame him. The cavemen can be weird about other tribes.
There's no reason to hang around, so I start walking the way I came several days ago. As soon as I'm out of sight of Xark'on and his bubble of safety, I feel the old jumpiness return. I clench my spear and feel the cold sweat starting. At any moment, a raptor could come bounding soundlessly and snag me into its long mouth, rip me up, and feed me to its hatchlings. Or a giant millipede could chase me. Or a scorpion the size of a kitchen table. Or any one of a thousand horrors. if I didn't appreciate Xark'on's protection before, then I absolutely do now. More than ever before, I feel the danger of the jungle.
For a moment, I seriously consider turning around. Fuck, I'd feel so much better if he were here with me. I'm sure he'd come if I pleaded with him.
But even I have some pride. I don't want to set feminism on this planet back fifty years before there are even any women here. I can do this. I've walked this way many times before with no incident.
I trudge on, freezing at every noise and jumping when a cold drop of sweat suddenly runs down my back. The jungle is damp and sticky, but the familiarity of the trail makes me feel a little more confident.
I walk between two tall trees and wonder at the sudden smell. Like dry sand. Or the fireworks on the 4th of July.
Then, I turn a corner and slip on something where I only expected dry grass, and I yelp and fall backwards. I land not on grass but on something very hard. My spear gets entangled between two saplings, and I have the presence of mind to not let go of it while the rest of me slides forward. Then, I'm dangling helplessly, hanging by my spear, where there ought to be only a gentle hill.
I crawl desperately, but I can't gain purchase on the smooth surface with my toes. It's as slippery as soap and warm to the touch.
In my panic, I realize what's happening: I'm about to slide down into Troga's new trench, the one she burned last night.
I'm barely holding onto the spear, and it is barely stuck behind the two saplings that are now bending, the spear stripping them of one thin branch after the other as it slowly slides up along both of the young trees. In two seconds, they will bend all the way and the spear will come loose. And I will plummet into the dragon's rounded trench, from which nobody has ever escaped.
Then there's a crashing of bushes as someone or something is coming for me at high spee
d. If this is a raptor, then I'm dead.
Strong hands grab my arms and pull me up and back from the trench. For a moment, I stay on the ground just sobbing at the grass. That was too close.
“Troga's been busy.”
I look up. Of course, it's Xark'on. He's standing there surveying the new trench.
I don't reply, just lie there smelling the dirt, relieved to be alive, and still steeped in stress hormones.
Xark'on bends down and takes my hand. “Are you injured, my love?”
“No,” I sob and embrace him. “I'm not. But I almost—” I can't finish the sentence.
“I saw it. I had no idea she had lengthened her trench this far.”
“Did you follow me?”
“The jungle is dangerous. I couldn't bear the thought of you alone here.”
I lean my head on his mighty, striped chest, shedding some tears of fright and relief. “Thank you.”
“I don't think you can continue this way. The trench might go very far.”
“But it's not going towards the cave. I think the girls are okay. Should we walk along it, try to find out how long it is?”
He shrugs. “There's nothing we can do, no matter how long it is. I'd rather keep building the trap that will finally put an end to her evil doings.”
Right now, I'm willing to accept everything he says. He called me 'my love'. “Okay.”
We go back to his trap, he checks that I'm okay, and then he keeps digging after securing my promise that I'll scream immediately if anything at all happens.
I sit on the ground and watch him toss shovel loads of heavy dirt up from the hole until my heartrate is back to normal and I'm breathing right again. Fuck, that was close.
I slowly get up on legs that feel stiff. Then, I use the blunt end of my spear to dig up the pots we buried yesterday.
It cheers me up to see the result of boiling these leaves. It looks better than I remember. Maybe the night under the ground was good for the process, somehow. Or, more probably, the light is better today than last night.
