by Calista Skye
“So we found it better to isolate him on an island,” Erek’ox adds. “Where we can keep an eye on him.”
“Or where I can keep an eye on you people,” Rax’tar counters, and they all chuckle.
So they’re doing the guy thing, ribbing each other, just like good friends would do back on Earth. The atmosphere in here is actually really friendly, and I’m relaxing. “So this is your tribe, Rax’tar?”
10
- Rax’tar -
The boys are doing the expected thing, embarrassing me as well they can. But Phoebe doesn’t seem bothered.
“We are not a tribe,” I tell her. “We’re too few. And we don’t have Lifegivers.”
Erek’ox gets up and pours fruit juice into mugs that he places in front of Phoebe and me. “Do you drink fluids, Phoebe?”
“From time to time,” she says and sniffs the mug. “I think this is one such time.” She puts the mug to her lips and takes a sip.
I quickly smell my own mug. Ah, at least Erek’ox has the sense to serve the fermented juice which makes you feel relaxed. It might be needed now.
“Of course, she drinks fluids,” I state. “She’s not that alien.”
“It’s strange,” Tret’zor says. “When I look at her – what about her is alien and what is female? I mean, that chest. Do all aliens have those two… um… those two? Or just the females?”
I let Phoebe answer that. I’m pretty interested, myself.
“Just the women,” she explains. “The men look much like you in that area.”
“Have you Mated with her, Rax’tar?” Curt’on inquires. “Or at least inspected her other features, as the shamans showed us many years ago?”
“I have not,” I admit, feeling a small barb of defeat. “But she is exactly like the other females of her tribe. As far as I can tell. Some of them have given birth to babies, which I think is an indication that the shaman’s wooden doll was probably somewhat accurate.”
“Then perhaps you can show us now, Phoebe?” Curt’on asks. “We have never seen any woman before. And we are curious about the differences. The slit in particular is of great interest.”
“She will not,” I decide before she can reply. “This is as much of her as any one of us will ever see. And is it not enough?”
The others hesitate, and it’s clear that they don’t think it’s enough at all.
Gir’ex slams two whole roasted turkeypigs down on the table, still crackling and sputtering with heat. “Assuming that Phoebe eats meat as well as drinks fluids, I hope she will do us the honor of sharing this evening’s meal with us.”
“I’d be honored,” Phoebe states, and the men nod and smile.
Gir’ex cuts a steaming piece from the best part of the roast and places it reverently on a leaf in front of her.
We all watch expentantly as she takes the meat without hesitation and bites into it.
The juice squirts over the table, and we all roar in happy joy.
“The female eats more manly than you do, Curt’on,” I tease. “Perhaps she hunts better, too.”
“Perhaps,” Curt’on replies. “And doubtlessly she rows better than you.”
“She does,” I confirm, taking another swig of the juice. “We raced through the Gate at huge speed.”
“Really?” Arit’zan inquires. “While she rowed?”
“She may not have rowed, exactly,” I say airily. “She used some alien magic, and we were through the Gate in maybe and hundred forty heartbeats.”
“That is fast,” Arit’zan agrees. “I didn’t know the aliens had magic, too. But looking at this one, I believe it. She is… different. What else did you learn at the alien tribe?”
As we all dig into the roasts, I tell them about the alien women and their husbands and the village and the house as well as everything they told us about the Woman being only a myth.
None of us are too surprised about that – everything about the Ancestors and the Woman always seemed far-fetched to me. Then I come to the mysterious and now extinct aliens who put all us warriors here on Xren so that the planet may shape us into even better fighters and we can take on the dragons when they arrive.
“Dragons?” Erek’ox scoffs. “That has to be another myth.”
I look at Phoebe. She can answer that better than I can. I’m not exactly sure what the answer really is.
Her gaze meets mine, and for a moment it feels like we’re together about this. It warms my heart, and I give her a little smile.
Phoebe puts down her meat and takes a swig of juice. “It’s not a myth. I have seen three dragons, myself. Young ones, but real. One was called Troga and kept me and many other girls captive in the jungle for months. We were rescued because a warrior called Xark’on and a girl called Caroline killed Troga. Then our tribe slayed two more young dragons that were about to attack us. And not so long ago, a full-grown dragon called Berezar was killed as he was attacking another tribe. My tribe have the dragon scales to prove it. No, warriors. The dragons are real. And they do seem to be coming here. I wish they were not.”
It’s a good speech. Her bright voice sounds wonderful inside our hall. The way she speaks is strange, but understandable. Sometimes her words are not entirely correct, but she doesn’t let it bother her and just continues. It makes me strangely proud to have brought her here. She has some of the warrior in her.
“Phoebe’s tribesmen are worried,” I add. “And they are capable warriors. Led by the mighty Brax’tan. They are preparing for the attack with everything they have. The alien women are even trying to make the ancient starship to work so they can escape. That’s how worried they are. And yes, I saw the dragon scales. This is real.”
It’s strange to hear myself say these words. The dragon things don’t worry me at all, and I find Phoebe’s tribesmen laughable for being so concerned with that. And yet here I am, talking about it as a major threat because Phoebe takes it so seriously. What is she doing to me?
“This sounds like an alien problem,” Curt’on points out. “Let the aliens deal with their dragons.”
“We are happy and comfortable here,” Erek’ox agrees. “What do we care about mythical beings like that?”
“It sounds like the dragons seek out the aliens particularly,” Arit’zan adds. “We have never seen any dragons. I say it’s none of our concern.”
I heartily agree with all of them. “This is probably the safest place anyone could be, if the dragons are as fierce as those warriors said. Whatever happens, they have no reason to come here.”
“My tribesmen need all the help they can get,” Phoebe says. “You are all strong warriors. I’m sure they’d want you to be part of the army that will chase the dragons away. Were you not invited to do that, Rax’tar?”
“I was,” I admit. “Though they are many warriors already.”
“Surely, a dragon can’t be any worse than an irox,” Gir’ex says. “And most warriors can deal with those fine. You say that every dragon encountered so far has been killed, Phoebe?”
Phoebe hides a yawn behind one hand. “I did say that. I don’t know, I’m not a fighter. The dragons I’ve seen were pretty big and dangerous. In strange and scary ways.”
I stretch my neck to look out the window. It’s very dark outside, and I’m starting to feel a little drowsy, myself. This has been a long and extremely interesting day. “Well, it’s late. I’ll show our guest the rest of our humble dwelling.”’
I get to my feet, and Phoebe does, too. While I have strong affection for my friends, it’ll be nice to get her to myself again.
I walk to the staircase that Gir’ex carved a long time ago, and Phoebe follows me. I hope the guys have left the upper floors somewhat tidy.
“These steps are very nicely carved,” Phoebe says. “And they’re very tall.” She has to raise her knees almost to her chin to be able to get up each one.
“Allow me.” I reach down and grab her under her arms, then carry her with me up the stairs.
“O
kay,” she says when we’re up to the next floor, straightening her dress. “That works, too, I guess.”
The room up here is almost as large as the hall on the ground level, and to my relief it’s not too messy. The skins are well rolled up and placed against the wall. “This is where we sleep.”
“Big room,” Phoebe says. “But you guys are pretty big. You all sleep in one room?”
“Yes.”
“It’s just that in my tribe, and in every tribe I’ve heard of, people sleep separately. In their own cave or house.”
“We are not a tribe,” I point out. “And there’s only seven of us. This serves our purposes perfectly.”
She nods, very seriously. “Okay.”
“Okay,” I repeat, enjoying the way the alien word feels in my mouth.
“But the stairs continue.” She points.
“So it appears.” I lift her again and carry her up another flight of stairs. Her body is warm against mine, and I have an urge to bury my nose in her thick hair.
The upper room is empty, and we mostly use it as a vantage point for surveying the water around our little island. It has four small windows, and two small torches are burning right inside them. It’s common procedure for when one of us is not home, a way to find our path back to this place. The lights can be seen from pretty far away.
“Nice,” Phoebe says. “Can the tree really handle being hollowed out like this?”
“These trees live on the outer layers,” I explain, hoping I get it right. “The inside is hard, but not alive and has no function other than to provide weight and stiffness to the tree. I think we only have this room because Gir’ex got carried away with carving and just didn’t stop.”
Phoebe yawns again. “I guess he likes his carving. So what if I sleep up here tonight? Alone?”
For some reason, that last word makes my heart sink in my chest. “That’s what I was thinking,” I lie. “You will need some distance from us.”
She takes my hand in her cool, slender one and looks up at me with an alien smile in her dark eyes. “This is all so new. I have to get used to it.”
She must have noticed my disappointment. Well, I was never one to hide my emotions.
“Wait.” I run down and get the cleanest skins and furs we have, mostly new and unused, then run back up and dump it all on the floor. “You need something soft to sleep on.”
She eyes the heap of furs. “Make sure you guys have some of that as well. Don’t give me all of it.”
“It’s fine. Blow out the torches if you want it darker. We’re here now, so nobody needs them to steer by.”
“Thank you,” Phoebe says and sits down on the heap of furs. She looks smaller and more vulnerable than ever.
“Tomorrow, we’ll put a door here,” I decide on a whim and point to the stairwell. “Some of the men snore at night.”
“It’s fine,” she says and yawns once more. “I’ll be fine.”
For a moment I just stand there, not knowing what to do. “Very well. I’ll be just downstairs if you need anything.”
“Thank you.” She gives me another alien smile, so mysterious and female that I have to concentrate to prevent my knees from buckling under me.
“Okay,” I say, already taking a liking to that alien multipurpose word. Then I walk down the stairs, all the way down to the hall.
I sit down on my chair and just stare at the table, trying to collect my wits. Then I lift my gaze to look around at the other men. They look back at me, pale and just as lost for words.
The hall has never been this quiet.
11
- Phoebe -
I gather the furs in a heap up against the rounded wall of the room, extinguish one of the torches, and sit down. I take off my sandals and look out the window at the couple of stars I can see from here. But for once, I don’t need the starry sky to take me away from my reality.
I’m very sleepy, but at the same time my mind is spinning. This morning I was quietly making a map in the village. Now I’m on an island in a previously unknown ocean that looks more like a swamp, miles away from the girls.
Shit. Rax’tar just straight-up kidnapped me. And then he made me like him. Over the course of a day. I doubt anyone has ever developed Stockholm Syndrome faster than I have.
What are they doing here? They claim not to be a tribe. Then what are they?
This house carved out of a huge tree is awesome, though. And I don’t get the feeling that any of them will hurt me. The only question mark is Rax’tar, himself. That bulge in his pants does sometimes become bigger, and I occasionally catch him looking at my chest or hips or knees, for some reason.
He’s also a question mark because he doesn’t seem to be the bad kind of kidnapper. If he hadn’t clearly planned it so well, I’d have believed that abducting me was a spontaneous act and I would be less worried right now. But he must have a plan for this. There are unknown things going on in his alien mind. There must be.
And yet, just knowing he’s downstairs makes me feel safe.
“So freaking weird,” I mutter as I make myself more comfortable on the furs. “I trust the guy who kidnapped me.”
In fact, I miss his calming presence. Couldn’t he have stayed, lying down behind me and held me tight? And maybe…
A surge of heat flows through my lower stomach, and I release a little moan and curl up on the furs. He is very attractive. For an alien. That bulge twitches so excitingly sometimes.
Right before I fall asleep, a realization hits me: there are seven cavemen here.
“Snow White and the seven caveman aliens,” I mutter. “Eff. Em. El.”
- - -
When I wake up, the morning light is flooding the room. I feel completely rested for the first time on this damned planet. And for a change, my first thought isn’t ‘shit, I hope this is a dream’. Being stuck on Xren actually doesn’t feel quite so bad now.
I tiptoe down the tall steps to the second level where the cavemen are supposed to sleep, but there’s nobody there.
The spiral stairs down to the hall is now split in two lenghtwise – along the inner curve, the tall steps have been carved down to half their height so I can comfortably walk down. That must have happened during the night. And it must have been done just for me.
“Okay,” I mutter to myself. On one hand, it’s flattering that they would go to that length to make me feel welcome. On the other hand, how long do they think I’ll stay here?
Only Rax’tar is down in the hall, and that suits me fine. I’m not the most sociable person early in the morning. But then, he knows that already.
“Good morning,” he says and nods at a chair. “Notice how this morning I’m not coming from behind, startling you. Take a seat and enjoy Gir’ex’s attempt at making breakfast for an alien. Or you might have another need first? The water thing?”
“Good morning. I do, actually.”
He takes me outside and shows me the facilities, which are much like the well-concealed ditch we use back in the village.
The morning is bright and cool, and there’s a thin layer of mist over the water. The island is tiny, and small waves are lapping at the beach all around it. I peer towards the direction where I think we came from last night, but the cliff can’t be seen over the seatrees. I’m very far from home. But of course, I’ve been light years away from home for over a year now. Is this really that much worse?
I go back inside and climb into the chair. “I just have to ask – have you every heard of something called ‘coffee’? It’s a dark brew made from a kind of beans. Bitter and hot. Even Nescafe would be fine. No? It’s okay. Just checking.”
“Kofi is unknown to us,” Rax’tar says. “Perhaps you can show us how to make it.”
“I would if there were coffee grounds and a percolator available,” I say, surveying the dishes in front of me. There’s mostly meat, of course, and a fragrant stew, but also something that looks a lot like a salad. And a mug of fruit juice. “But this looks mor
e than good enough.”
I’m actually pretty hungry. I sip juice and munch on cold cuts and warm stew, while Rax’tan makes a rope from plant fibers.
I wipe my mouth. “Did I meet all your friends last night?”
“My friends?”
“I mean, all the men that live here.”
“Yes, that was all of them.”
“So there are seven of you.”
“Yes.”
“Do you mine precious stones?”
Rax’tan looks at me emptily. “No.”
“And you don’t sing and dance in the evenings? Attracting small animals that look in the window? While you play a huge organ?”
“We usually spend the evening making and maintaining tools and weapons,” he says slowly and holds up his rope. “And eating. Talking about the day.”
“Of course. Sorry, I just… never mind. So, you’re not a tribe, you said. Then what are you?”
He shrugs. “We haven’t really given a name to what we are. We live here, we stay alive, we hunt and cook and explore. Much the same things as we did when we lived with our tribes. Except here, we are free.”
I look around the hall. Many bladed weapons and sticks hang on the wall, along with other objects that look like trophies. I recognize some of them as dactyl claws, raptor teeth and such, but there are also things that are man-made. Belts, an artfully decorated piece of dinosaur skin, carved wooden objects, and other things that I would expect to find in a caveman village.
One object stands out. It’s a huge sword, shining in the morning light. It’s double-edged, which is rare among cavemen. It looks a little bit like a sword a medieval knight might use. It’s a fearsome looking thing.
“Are you raiders?” I try to ask the question casually. Bands or raiders are rare, but they’re also feared. They are often groups of outcasts or even the remnants of old tribes that couldn’t make their villages work, so they set about attacking and raiding other tribes, instead. Nobody is talked about with more contempt or disdain than raiders.
