Caveman Alien’s Trick

by Calista Skye

  “Is it up to the female whether she gives herself to you?” Curt’on asks in a mild voice. ”Surely, she will have no choice if she’s away from her tribe? Any one of us is much stronger than any female alien.”

  The room is shocked to silence. Juri’ex and Arit’zan look like they’re about to throw up.

  “You would… you would force a woman, Curt’on?” Erek’ox finally asks. “Even if she is clearly not willing?”

  “Who is to say what makes a woman willing?” Curt’on says with an innocent smile on his face. “Perhaps if there is resistance, it is just a test to see if the warrior is determined enough to take what he wants?”

  My fists ball up all by themselves. “I will tolerate no talk about forcing women,” I seethe with a clenched jaw. “They are the mildest, kindest creatures. Yes, they are weaker than us. That’s why a woman needs a man to protect her, not force her! I’ve never heard more dishonorable talk!”

  Curt’on shrugs. “Just stating the obvious. We can take the women by force and blade and blood. And they will not be able to resist us after. Not in any way.”

  I suddenly wish I’d slit his throat when he first asked about Mating with Phoebe. “I never thought I’d hear you say such things, Curt’on. Let us say no more about it. There will be no blades used in the village. Anyone who disagrees will not be coming on the raid and will not have a woman.”

  “Someone had to say it,” Curt’on mutters. “It’s clearly true.”

  His words have chilled me to my core. Forcing a woman to… to Mate? The idea makes me tremble with anger.

  I suddenly have a strong need to see Phoebe again and check that she’s well.

  I leave the table and sprint up the stairs. I quietly unlock her door and push it open, slowly so the wooden hinges won’t creak.

  The torch on the wall is still burning, so I immediately see that she’s gone.

  She’s gone through the window, climbing down a rope she’s made by tying her sleeping skins together.

  Phoebe is gone.

  My knees buckle under me, and my vision goes dark. I have to support myself on the window frame to not collapse. My world shatters.

  She’s gone!

  She’s escaped. From me.

  No.

  I forced her to escape. Locking her in this room. Taking her from the village in the first place. Is that not just as abhorrent as the acts that Curt’on has just mentioned?

  What right did I have to take her away from her friends?

  What right did I have to lock her in this room?

  For several fast heartbeats, I just stand there with sheer chaos in my mind.

  She must be going to her tribe. But there is a lot of jungle between here and there. And the jungle is deadly.

  She must hate me now.

  Oh Ancestors. Phoebe hates me!

  No. It’s not too late. I can still catch her.

  And then? Bring her back?

  Yes.

  No.

  I don’t know.

  I take a deep, trembling breath. Now let me feel what my soul tells me.

  No. If she comes back to me, it is because she wants to.

  I will let her do as she wants. I am not worthy to choose for her.

  She chooses. I accept her choice.

  And maybe she will at least allow me to escort her to her village safely before I leave again.

  If she wants me to leave.

  I race down the stairs and through the hall, ignoring the calls.

  “What is it, Rax’tar?”

  “Is there an irox?”

  Chairs fall over as the others come after me, but I don’t care.

  I sprint to the shore. The two rafts are there, ready for the raid. But…

  “The canoe is gone!” Tret’zor is the first to join me.

  “Did it drift away?” Arit’zan stares into the night.

  “Did someone take it?” Juri’ex runs off along the shore, searching.

  Gir’ex comes jogging. “Phoebe took it. She is not in the room and seems to have climbed down from the window. We should have secured it better.”

  “No,” I sigh, and even I can hear the flatness of my voice. “She escaped. I unknowingly gave her a way to escape. That was the only thing I did right.”

  “The oars are gone from the rafts,” Arit’zan reports. “I will go and get the spares.” He walks off.

  “Shall we go after her?” Tret’zor asks, anxious. “She will go to her tribe, I’m certain of it. We will find her there.”

  “She will not survive the jungle,” Gir’ex says heavily. “She’s too small and soft. And she has no weapon at all.”

  “I will go after her,” I state. “And I will protect her on her way. If she allows me.”

  “That leaves only one raft for us,” Gir’ex says. “That’s not enough to mount our raid.”

  “Yes,” Erek’ox says. “Let’s leave now for our raid. We will find her on the way and take her with us.”

  “There will be no raid,” I mutter.

  “What, Rax’tar?”

  “There will be no raid!” I roar. “Who do we think we are, taking sweet young alien females away from their homes? We have no right to do that! They are as brave and complete and honorable as any of us. Would you take another warrior away from his tribe by force? No? Then what makes this different?”

  “You brought Phoebe,” Gir’ex says calmly. “Is there then one right for Rax’tar and another for everyone else?”

  I put my hand to my forehead in grief and regret. “No. I was wrong. I was wrong in taking her.”

  “But you said yourself that she was happier here than in her tribe.”

  “I know. I said that. And it seemed true to me. But now she has showed me how wrong I was. She wasn’t happy here. We have no purpose here, brothers. No future. She’s right.”

  “We don’t need your permission to get women for ourselves,” Curt’on points out. “If you don’t want to go on the raid, fine. You had your woman and you let her go. Don’t ruin this for the rest of us.”

  “I brought her here,” I mumble, mostly to myself. “I will make sure she gets home safely.”

  Curt’on puts his hand on his sword. “If you take one raft, it leaves us with one. We need two for the raid.”

  The fury descends on me. “There will be no raid!”

  Curt’on pulls the sword halfway out of its scabbard. “I think there will. We need women, too. It’s fine, Rax’tar. You can stay here. We don’t need your help. You have told us where the village is. You will stand aside and allow us to take women for ourselves. And if we meet your Phoebe on the way, perhaps only five of us need to go on.”

  His lecherous smile eats into my soul, and I draw my knife.

  He pulls his sword all the way out. It is a long sword. And Curt’on is good with it. This is not an even fight.

  “I will not fight you,” I state and replace my knife in its sheath. “But I will take one raft.”

  “You will not!” Curt’on draws back his sword and swings it at me.

  There’s a mighty clang as it hits Juri’ex’s blade an inch from my throat. I’ve never seen anyone pull out a sword as fast as the youngster just did.

  The two warriors stand there, trembling, sparks flying from their blades as they’re rubbed together.

  Then Erek’ox pushes them apart. “What is this? Are we now killing each other? Clearly, these events call for a rethink. Sheath your sword, Curt’on! And give Juri’ex your sincere thanks for preventing you from becoming a murderer today.”

  Curt’on growls, turns around, and sends me a look full of death. “I will have a woman. One way or the other.” Then he saunters off.

  “And I will have a raft,” I state. “Friends, I can’t apologize right now. I don’t know what I am thinking. But when I’m back, we will talk and I will atone.”

  I quickly offload the sacks and baskets and pots that we’ve loaded onto the smallest raft in preparation for the raid. Then I take the
spare oars that Arit’zan has brought and push the raft from the shore. I climb aboard and paddle away from The Island.

  Five men stand there and stare after me in silence. My brothers.

  I am leaving them. For a woman.

  The alien magic is strong.

  23

  - Phoebe -

  Navigating by the stars, I find the Gate right away. The cliff is visible as a dark shadow in the light from the moon Yrf, and the cavern opening is much easier to see from this side than when we came the other way.

  But when I reach it, I know I won’t be passing through it. The wind blowing from the cavern is so strong that I can’t even make it six feet inside it before the Magic Mirror is blown right out again, even though the sail isn’t up.

  Huh. I was hoping that Rax’tar wasn’t entirely right when he said that the wind blows this way in the evening and the other way in the morning.

  Fine, I’ll just wait.

  Except that’s not a good idea. Surely, he can figure out that I’ll be going straight here. And if he comes after me with a raft, he’ll spot me right away in the light from Yrf.

  I have to hide.

  There are many seatrees here. But they’re slender, and I can’t hide behind one and trust not to be seen. In fact, I’d have to be pretty far away from the Gate opening to make sure Rax’tar can’t see me if he comes.

  Fine. I’ll have to hide for, say, six hours. Then I’ll come back, hiding as well as I can behind seatrees. If there’s a raft waiting then, I can outrun it using the sail.

  So I have to practice using that sail. For six hours.

  Fine, gives me something to do.

  The booze I drank is making me both brave and optimistic, just what I need.

  I take some time hoisting the sail, and then much more time learning to steer the canoe. After a little while I’m pretty confident in my boating skills.

  I practice sailing around seatrees and turning around. Yep, a boom that could rotate around the mast would definitely make this easier.

  The seatrees pass by fast, and I go closer and closer to them, feeling like I’m steering a raceboat. Under other circumstances, this would actually be a lot of fun.

  It takes me a while to realize I’m lost.

  Every seatree looks the same as any other in the darkness, and the cliff is nowhere to be seen.

  Even the stars are gone, occluded by clouds.

  Damn it. Maybe that booze wasn’t such a good idea, after all.

  I don’t lose my spirit, though. I have a good feeling for where the Gate is, and I’ll just sail around a little until I see the cliff again.

  But I can’t find it. My worry mounts. I’d hate to suddenly find myself back at The Island.

  So I better come to a stop right now, before I travel further away from the Gate. I’ll wait until the stars come out again or the morning gets bright enough for me to spot the cliff.

  I see a convenient island and steer towards it. There are some trees, but no lights and no rafts. So this isn’t The Island. Or, I realize when I come closer, any island I’ve been to before.

  The Magic Mirror bumps gently against the beach, and then I sit there for two seconds before I realize that all the booze I drank has run all the way through me and must now be drained.

  I go ashore and catch my bearings. The island is pretty big, with the usual cluster of trees in the middle.

  I walk up to them and find a suitable place with useful leaves within easy reach.

  When I straighten up again and smooth down my dress, my heart almost stops from shock.

  I squeal and stumble backwards and fall on my butt on the sand.

  There’s a man standing in front of me.

  He’s very large. But he’s not a caveman.

  I stare at him while my heartbeat thunders in my ears.

  In the light from the small moon, the details are hard to make out and a shadow is lying across his face. He has two arms and two legs, in absolutely perfect proportions. He’s just as muscular as any caveman, but he doesn’t have stripes.

  He has scales.

  Metallic hexagonal scales, just like the ones Berezar left when he died, except smaller. They cover the man’s whole body.

  “Hello,” he says. His voice is velvety smooth, with an underlying tone of pure menace.

  Scared tears spring to my eyes, and I try to crawl backwards on the loose sand.

  I’ve had this exact feeling of terror once before. Whenever Troga the dragon was close.

  Right when I’m about to say something, two more of them come out of the shadows.

  My heart sinks into the ground.

  I had no idea they could do that. But three is about right.

  The ones we saw flying.

  Here they are.

  Three dragons in the shape of humans.

  24

  - Rax’tar -

  I finally reach the Gate, but there’s no sign of Phoebe. She can’t have gone through the Gate. The winds are blowing so hard through it that it creates an eerie, hollow howl.

  But I’m sure this is where she will be going when the winds turn and blow the other way. In the canoe, she can go much faster than me.

  It’s all right. I won’t stop her if she won’t talk to me. I have imposed my will on her far too much already. If ever I see her again, it will be different.

  I deem that it will still be some time before the wind through the Gate turns. Probably Phoebe realizes that, too.

  If I were Phoebe, where would I go to wait?

  The sandbank, of course. The one she calls Love Beach. With Seatree Ocean on one side of it and the Actual Ocean on the other. It would be a pleasant place for her to wait.

  Perhaps I can find her there and offer my sincere apologies. For taking her from her village and for locking her in. I will assure her that I will not take part in any raid on her village. And that I will offer to join the dragonslayer army her tribe is raising.

  And maybe, just maybe, she will forgive me. That’s the best I can hope for.

  Oh, who am I kidding? After what I’ve done, I’m lucky if she doesn’t command her tribesmen to murder me on sight.

  I stick the oar back in the water and paddle in the direction where I think Love Beach is. Phoebe was always better at finding her way here than I was. With her map, it was much easier.

  Something is pinching my behind.

  I swipe a hand across my rear. “Ow!”

  Something back there pinched one of my fingers! And there’s definitely something moving there, too.

  I can’t drop the oar, so I use the same hand with more determination, finding something cold and hard. It fights me, pinching and scraping, but I manage to grab it in my hand.

  I bring it up to my eyes.

  It’s the crab Phoebe caught with her fishing line. It must have crawled from the canoe over to the raft.

  I study the creature. I see no fangs, and it doesn’t drip with venom. That huge claw that forms most of its body is probably its only weapon. But it is a good one.

  I wind up to throw it away, but then I can’t bring myself to do it. She caught this. She named it. And anything that has to do with her is now too precious for me to get rid of.

  I put the crab gently back onto a log and paddle on.

  Maybe she will be amused to see the crab again.

  25

  - Phoebe -

  The first dragon man takes a step forwards, a movement so smooth and elegant that I can’t help but gasp.

  His face is unspeakably beautiful. It’s just perfect, and that makes him all the more threatening. Nobody could be that achingly handsome. It’s just not natural.

  His eyes are yellow and have pupils in the shape of stars.

  “Stay away,” I wheeze, crawling backwards, instinctively trying to get away and doing my best to keep the tears down.

  But it’s hard – my mind has been brought months back in time, to when I and the others were kept captive by Troga and she would terrorize us i
n the most evil ways. I thought I’d put that icy, bottomless fear behind me. But here it is again, as powerful as ever.

  The two other dragons come in behind the first one, moving unnaturally smoothly.

  “Gorgoz has caught a thing,” one of them says. “A little alien.”

  “An alien? Does it have antennae on its head?” the other one asks lightly.

  Gorgoz squints at me. “Yes! A hundred thousand thin antennae arranged to fall down its back. It’s an alien, all right.”

  All three chuckle. But there’s no real mirth. These things are barely hiding their aggression.

  “What shall I do with it?” Gorgoz wonders. “Are aliens of this kind good to eat, Maretriok?”

  The one that steps forwards now is paler than Gorgoz, more silvery metallic. “All aliens are good to eat. And some can give us a good sport before we devour them.”

  My back hits the root of a tree. I can’t crawl any further back.

  The third one comes forwards. “I like sport. We can hunt it and then take it apart, piece by piece, to see how it works.”

  “You like your sport, Zahak,” Maretriok says, his voice oily. “Hunting was always your favorite. Especially alien hunting.”

  “Let us skip the hunt and go straight to the taking apart,” Gorgoz says, holding up his hand and flexing the fingers. They suddenly have long claws on them. “Piece by piece. Some aliens make entertaining noises when this is done.”

  “True,” Zahak says. “But look at it. It is small. How do we make it last long?”

  “One small piece at a time,” Gorgoz explains, holding up one claw. “It can go on for ever so long.”

  “Is there no way for the alien to escape that gruesome fate?” Maretriok asks, feigning concern. “None at all?”

  “None,” Gorgoz confirms. “It will be taken apart. One little morsel of meat at a time. And we will make sure it can feel it all until the very end.”

  “What if,” Zahak says, “it has something we would want and it gives it to us? Without delay?”

  The dragons tower over me, discussing me as if I wasn’t there. I don’t know which language they speak, but I understand exactly what they say.