Chapter 3

3

- Alba -

“This is the life, Alba. Spa treatment and hair styling and everything.” Piper gazes out at the jungle that stretches to the horizon in all directions.

This plateau by the ‘penthouse’ cave on top of the red mountain in the Borok village is probably the best place to live on all of planet Xren. The view is breathtaking, the air is fresh, and the danger of dinosaurs and huge insects is slightly less than on ground level. So we tend to hang out here, although it’s really Bryar’s and Karr’ox’s home. But they don’t seem to mind.

I examine the steel scissors. They’re still somewhat sharp, and the cavemen are puzzled about why the shiny metal doesn’t rust. They still haven’t invented stainless steel, and they expected me to tell them how it works. Well, they got the wrong girl for that.

“Oh, you went to a spa?” I ask.

Piper sighs with pleasure. “Well, we passed a waterfall on the way here and I stood under it. It was like a shower and a shoulder massage rolled into one. Also you could argue that the jungle itself is so hot and humid that it counts as a sauna.”

I chuckle. “Fair point. All right, hold still.”

I run the comb through her copper tresses, trying to decide how best to recreate her Christina Hendricks hairstyle. Her hair has a lot of natural curls that tend to return to their natural state.

Piper lifts her chin and looks ahead, like any seasoned hair salon client. “Meanwhile, I hear you’re going with the delegation to the Krast tribe. So you know I have to ask if you’re absolutely sure you should.”

I gently pull at one of her locks, then let go and watch it bounce back to its corkscrew shape. I obviously won’t need help giving it some volume. Which is good, because it's not like I have a lot of product here. Just a bowl of water and a small jar of oil that the men of the Borok tribe extract from a certain type of nut. “I'm pretty sure. I need to get away from this village. Just to see something new, you know? And of course I have to maintain my reputation as the crazy one.”

“Karr'ox is not happy about it. He says the Krast are dangerous. They’re aggressive and suspicious of outsiders, I think. Remember how they went to war against us? And they kidnapped Bryar. We don’t want you being too crazy, Alba. If something were to happen to you…” Her voice trails off.

I go to the other side of the rock she's sitting on and repeat the procedure, always conscious of not putting too much strain on the comb. It's one of the few items from Earth we still have, and both this dollar-store throwaway item and the scissors are super precious to us. Back when I was living in underground tunnels with Bronwen and Astrid, being able to cut each other’s hair was one of the few things that kept our morale up. And that was important, because at the end of those tunnels there was never any light at all.

“I remember what they did. That wasn't all of them, though. Just some bad apples. At least the kidnappers were. Bryar said so. And after it was over, they begged Karr'ox to be their chief, too. I'd say they learned their lesson. Tilt forward a little.” I put a fingertip at the back of her head and gently push.

Piper obeys. “Well, maybe. But you'll be careful, right?”

Picking a small twig out of her locks, I dip the comb in the water and wet her hair. “I won't be there alone, you know. There will be four Borok guys and two from the Tretter tribe. At least. Probably more. I'll be as safe there as I am here.”

“Karr’ox isn’t coming, I heard. He doesn’t want to give the Krast tribe the idea that he’s some kind of unofficial chief.”

Picking up the scissors, I make the first cut and see the red hairs drop to the ground. “I think that’s probably a good idea. Anyway, it’s just for a day or two. Not much can happen in that time, right?” Except maybe I can get my hair clip back.

“Oh, I don’t know. Two days with Brak was enough to get me into the state you see me in now.” Piper grins.

I keep cutting, conscious of not getting too much. With hair this curly, it will coil up and look much shorter than it really is. “That state seems fine to me. Married and pregnant and glowing. And getting your hair styled.”

Piper gives me a sideways glance. “Oh yeah? Even though you said you’d never fall for a caveman?”

I give a dry laugh. “Oh, I won’t. They’re not for me. My type was always the bookish ones, the ones that will suddenly surprise you with some weird fact and then can’t stop talking about astronomy or economics or pokemon. Extra point if he has thick glasses. Hold still.”

Piper grins. “Right. If intellectual stimulation is what you need, these sword fighting cavemen might not be the first place you look. I mean, they’re smart enough. No doubt about it. But they don’t have books, exactly. And they do spend a lot of time polishing their swords.”

We keep chatting while I work. We tunnel girls have an extra love for Piper because she came to our rescue and got us into the tribes, and I do the best I can with her stunning hair. She’s also the only one of the girls I trust to style my own lank locks.

Finishing up, I hand her the small polished metal mirror that Bryar had made for just this purpose. “You look maybe five percent more like Christina Hendricks than before. That’s the best I can do.”

She turns her head this way and that. “Damn, you’re good at this! It should not be possible with crazy hair like mine. Thank you!” She gets off the rock and hugs me. “Brak doesn’t care what my hair looks like. But I do. Now, I could walk right onto the set of Mad Men and nobody would bat an eyelash.”

I hug her back, happy she likes it. “All right. My turn. One Dora the Explorer , please.” I sit down on the rock and dangle my feet. “Could you take a little extra off the bangs? I lost my hair clip.”

- - -

D ror’iz stops and turns. “That’s the Krast village. We’ll make our camp here.”

I look past him, seeing nothing but the ordinary bushes and trees. “Where is the village?”

The leader of the caveman delegation points. “Right there. It’s well hidden. Stand back, please, Alba. Vrim’oz! Dig holes for the poles. Sarper’az, get the ropes. You two, roll out the canopy!”

I keep my back to a tree trunk as the men from the Borok and Tretter tribes set up our camp.

It’s been a long and quiet walk through the jungle, and my legs are tired. We started at night, hours before sunrise.

When the men are done, we have a tent-like canopy made from dinosaur skin. Along one pole, the men have made a cubicle for me, an enclosure the size of a bedroom. The walls are sheets of dino leather hanging from the pole, giving me all the privacy I need for sleeping.

“So we not asking the Krast to give us shelter?” I ask.

“We’re not,” Dror’iz says. “They’re not our tribe, and we’re not exactly sure if they’re even our friends. Chief Karr’ox wants us to show that we don’t need their help for anything, and that we will not take any of their resources. We’re here to help them, not the other way around. He wants them to remember that at all times.”

I peer over at the place he sees the Krast village. I still can’t see it. “When we go to see them?”

Dror’iz gives more orders, and the men hang a pot over the big fire in the exact middle of the ‘tent’. “After we have a quick meal.”

A half hour later I'm picking at the meaty stew they serve, not super into caveman food but even less eager to be the precious woman who’s too good for their simple fare.

“I have been ordered by our chief,” Dror’iz says as he chews, “to ask you if you need to come inside their village or if it is enough for you to have seen it from outside.”

“I come a long way,” I reply, frowning. “Karr'ox not want me to go inside?”

Dror’iz carefully avoids looking at me. “These are his words: ‘The Krast tribe went to war with us so we would give them women. If we now parade a woman inside their village, it could be seen as a provocation. It could also become a great temptation for one or more Krast men to steal or harm that woman.’ That’s what the chief said. He also said that he doesn’t know the Krast tribe that well, and it’s possible that none of his fears will come to pass.”

I drain my cup of watered-out fruit juice. “Perhaps we should find out if Krast men are really as dishonorable as he thinks.”

Dror’iz nods. “It is your decision, Woman Alba. I have said what I was ordered to.”

One of the things I kind of like about these cave guys is that they use the word ‘woman’ as an honorific, like ‘chief’ or ‘shaman’. Especially since I know that they do it out of respect, nothing else. Except maybe a degree of puzzlement about us girls really existing.

“And what do you think, yourself?” I’ve been walking through the jungle with Dror’iz all day, and he strikes me as a level-headed and competent tribesman.

He thinks about it. “Me? I think you’re safe with us, inside the Krast village or outside.”

“I think so, too. I sure they know that I am here. Not bringing me inside the walls might be seen as insult.”

“It might,” Dror’iz concedes.

I get to my feet. “And we are here to help them. I’m sure they not take it the wrong way. Shall we go?”

He stays seated. “When we’re finished eating.”

A few minutes later we walk up to the wall of the Krast village. I’m maybe thirty feet away when I see that what I thought was a row of different bushes is in fact an ingenious design that forces you to follow a narrow, twisty alley for about a minute before you’re actually at the gate itself. That way, those inside the wall get time to decide if they want to open for you or try to kill you before you even get that far. I hear movement and muffled voices the whole time, and I’m sure there are peepholes and all kinds of nasty traps along this narrow alley.

“Men of the Krast tribe!” Dror’iz yells when there’s a solid, wooden gate in front of us. “We are friends from the Borok and Tretter tribes, sent by our common chief, Korr’ax!”

The moment he’s done speaking, the gate swings outwards. Inside there are rows of green-striped warriors.

Two old Krast men take one step towards us. “Men of the Borok and Tretter tribes, the Krast tribe offers its welcome. Pass through our gates.”

Dror’iz and I walk in ahead of the others. The Krast warriors are as tall and muscled as the other cavemen, maybe even more so. I think I spot more washboard stomachs here than in the Borok tribe. Karr’ox said that this is a tribe of fierce warriors, and they do look that way.

The village consists mostly of a big, gray hill of bare bedrock. It has dozens of caves dug into it, making it look faintly like a Swiss cheese. It’s flat and maybe a hundred feet tall, and several hundred feet wide. Around it there are huts of various sizes, some with smoke coming out of them and looking a lot like forges or pottery kilns and cooking sheds. Straight ahead there’s a tall totem pole and many big tables and chairs. A lot of it reminds me of the Borok village, including the smell of a meal that’s cooking over a fire next to the totem pole.

Dror’iz stops and introduces himself, as well as me and the others in our delegation. There are two chiefs, it seems, called Cren’iz and Pury’an.

They both have a concerned look on their alien faces. Probably it’s because of me. Everyone’s staring.

I stare right back, trying to spot Anter’az in the crowd. But I don’t think he’s here.

“We notice a peculiarity in your welcome,” Dror’iz says when the ritual phrases are done with. “You welcome us men, which is much appreciated. But we also have a woman in our group. Did you not see her, men of Krast?”

“We have noticed her,” the oldest chief says. “And it is regrettable that we cannot greet Woman Alba properly.”

Everything goes very quiet.

“Is Woman Alba not welcome in your tribe, then?” Dror’iz asks coldly.

“Unfortunately,” half-chief Cren’iz says, “the Krast tribe has decided to not allow any women inside our walls. It is a law that even includes Woman Alba. It is regrettable, but it is the law of our tribe.”

“We came here to help,” Dror'iz says, his voice strained with anger. “And now you are saying that one of us is not wanted!”

“If only we had known she would be coming!” Cren’iz wails. “Then we could have warned Chief Korr’ax to not send her or to keep her outside our walls. Now, we are bound by the laws of our tribe and village. We cannot allow any woman to weaken us. Already we have lost our chief and many of our men because of them.”

“Because of a war you started,” I point out, a cold anger filling me, too. “We not start anything. All we wanted was be left alone.”

“Be that as it may,” half-chief Cren’iz creaks, “our law is clear. No woman may be allowed inside the walls.”

A tense silence descends.

“Chief Korr'ax will not like to hear of this,” Dror'iz finally seethes. “We will of course all return to our villages.”

“No, no,” the younger chief hurries to say. “Every man is of course welcome. It is only the woman we cannot let inside our gate. It is the law, you see. The alien women in the jungle are clearly agents of Darkness. Would that it were not so! Would that they were as innocent as they look! But we must obey our own laws.”

There’s another tense silence.The two Krast chiefs are visibly squirming. But it doesn’t look like they’ll relent.

It’s not a new argument. We girls know that many cavemen think along those lines, unable to accept that we girls are not agents of anything. And I guess it is possible that the Plood dumped us here for their own reasons, but it seems far-fetched that we five girls would be able to cause any damage to these tribes of grim, eight-foot-tall warriors with swords as tall as me.

But we’ve also agreed that while we won’t be able to persuade the tribes to be less sexist, we’re not going to let insults to womankind go unanswered or uncorrected. We’re nobody’s bitches.

“I’m sorry to hear this,” I state coldly, remembering one of the long replies I’ve carefully thought up for a case like this. “I was told that the Krast tribe would always be hospitable to anyone, regardless of appearance, woman or man. It seems that was wrong. I surprised, because this decision seems far beneath renowned tribe of warriors. How would I, a woman half only your size, be able to make weak? But I respect tribe’s decision and I of course go back right away. I leave and you can finish your mission here, Dror’iz.”

We’ve walked far, and it would be a defeat for all the men in our delegation if they returned with their mission not accomplished. And my standing here isn’t that strong. Korr’ax didn’t actually send me, and he gave me every indication that he would much prefer it if I didn’t come with the delegation. I suspect the only reason he didn’t downright order me to stay in the Borok village was that Bryar probably talked him into letting me go. On that background, I’d hate it if I was the reason the mission failed. I don’t want Bryar to have to deal with that defeat.

I straighten up and turn to walk out the gate.

“That woman shall not be turned away!” a deep voice booms behind me. “She saved the lives of one Krast tribesman and one boy of our tribe. It is obvious that our laws cannot apply to her!”

I turn to see who it is. It’s a big caveman with unusually long hair, a wide piece of leather covering his left upper arm, and an intense look in his owlish eyes.

Anter’az. His name has impressed itself on my mind.

He comes striding through the crowd of Krast men, who pull back and make a path for him. Anyone could see that they have the greatest respect for him.

“What?” one of the chiefs says, frowning. “What do you mean, Anter’az? You have said nothing about this before.”

Anter’az comes to a stop and puts both thumbs in his belt. “I have not, because I have broken our law. When little Tren’ax went outside the gates and was stung by a voron, that woman came to warn me of four rekh about to attack. She offered me her spear to fight them with. I used her spear to kill one, then slew another with my sword. The others ran. If she hadn’t warned me, the rekh would surely have killed both me and Tren’ax! It is the law or our tribe that a Krast man must kill any woman he might meet. I knew that. But I couldn’t find it in me to kill someone who had just saved my life. It is a crime, I know. I broke the law.”

The crowd is stunned to silence.

So am I. His version of events is not the way I remember it. I realize he’s taking a big chance here, admitting to a crime. And I think he’s doing it for me. Although his true purpose may be something else entirely.

“That… is…” the oldest chief begins, searching for words. “Breaking our law like that could force us to cast you out!”

“Then do so,” Anter’az rumbles. “I have confessed my crime, and I am ready to leave the tribe.”

“If you are to be cast out, it can’t happen now,” the younger chief says quickly. “Our tribe doesn’t have a proper chief to make that decision. Cren’iz and I are just stewards, caretakers. Until we do have a chief, no one may be cast out. That is plain. Now, about Woman Alba. In view of her services to the Krast tribe, which we were not aware of until just now, the tribe accepts to admit her into our village. But only under your responsibility, Anter’az. You are to keep her away from the others. Woman Alba is your guest, not that of the tribe.”

That chief is a little smarter than the older one. He really jumped at this chance to not make Chief Korr’ax mad by throwing me out.

Anter’az nods. “Of course. I will see to it that Woman Alba doesn’t cause any trouble for us while she’s here.” A little smile plays on his lips. “And I will subject myself to judgment as soon as our tribe has a new chief.”

“Very well,” the older chief says, clearly relieved. “Then everything works out for the best. Chief Dror’iz, please follow us with your men. We have taken the liberty of preparing a small meal for you after the long walk through the treacherous jungle.”

Dror’iz gives me a grateful smile. “I am not a chief, but on behalf of my men, I gratefully accept the hospitality of the Krast.”

I stand aside to let the men pass.

“Only a small meal, I hope,” Dror’iz goes on as he turns to the two half-chiefs and walks with them into the village. “We are not here to eat up your food, after your ordeal with the skarp …”

They all walk into the village, and I stay and return the curious glances from some of Krast men before they follow the crowd.

Finally there’s only Anter’az and me left. He towers over me, his eyes sharp and owlish.

“I not know you really supposed to kill me,” I say, wanting to break the silence.

He looks me up and down, eyes cold. “It’s still not too late.”

Shit. Is that what he’s planning? He wants to correct his mistake? I take hold of the knife in my belt and stare at the backs of the men from my delegation, ready to call them to my aid. “You would die too.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Certainly your men would kill me. But I think my previous decision to let you live was the correct one.”

Um. Thanks? “I go to my friends.” I take a couple of steps to follow the others, but Anter’az takes a slow, casual step aside and puts himself in the way.

“I am under orders to keep you away from everyone,” he rumbles. “And it has crossed my mind that if I do a good job, perhaps I can avoid being cast out.”

“Then I will leave.” I turn towards the closed gate. “You’re sure not to be cast out then.”

“Our chiefs left you with me,” he says behind me, “and letting you leave the village alone would be a terrible dereliction of duty. You are my guest, you see. I am responsible for you. You do not enjoy the protection of the tribe. Only my protection. And of course that of your own tribesmen.”

I turn around again, getting frustrated. “Protection? What you are talking about?! You got me into this! You just threaten to kill me! And now, you better fix this in way that doesn’t make me look weak, or I’ll call for Dror’iz!”

“The situation is delicate,” Anter’az agrees. “I was never the best at dealing with outtribers. But I have an idea. Come with me, and I will show you something I’m working on. I should be grateful to have your opinion about it.”

Damn. The gate is closed, so I can’t just walk out. Further inside the village, the men from my delegation are sitting with the Krast tribe, talking merrily and looking like they’ve forgotten all about me.

It was my idea that I should come here, despite all the warnings. I could probably admit I was wrong and insist Dror’iz help me leave. But that would hurt my pride a little too much. And a part of me wants to break the stupid laws of this woman-hating tribe and walk freely around in their village. But I also don’t want to give in that easily.

“I not going anywhere with a man who just said is not too late to kill me.” I keep my hand on my knife.

“Ah,” Anter’az rumbles. “I wish I could make it unsaid. It was simply the first thing that came to mind. I don’t want to kill you. I’d rather be cast out than cause you any harm.”

I jut my chin out. “Swear it.”

He stiffens. “You demand an oath? My word is not good enough?”

“Your words got us into this,” I point out, distantly wondering if I would have been this brave if I didn’t have six armed friends sitting nearby.

There’s a soft zhing as Anter’az draws his sword.

Shit. I made him mad.

I back off, gazing over at the men feasting. They can’t reach me in time. “If you begin to try?—”

The caveman calmly places his other hand on the edge of the sword. “I, Anter’az of the Krast tribe, swear by the Ancestors that I will not harm Woman Alba while she is under my protection. May my blade forever turn against me if I break my oath.” He shows me his hand, where the blade has cut into four fingers and set them bleeding.

I think that means he’s being serious about this.

“All right,” I tell him and take my hand off the hilt of my knife. “That not necessary, but I respect it. Does your tribe has a healer? You bleed.”

He replaces his sword in its scabbard. “I think we may be able to find one.”

Turning his back to me, he walks into the village, towards the Swiss cheese rock.

I follow, moderately calmed. The way I know these guys, they won’t lightly break an oath. But if breaking his oath means that he kills the only witness to that oath, nobody would know that he broke it. That could be important. I also should probably keep in mind that he only swore to not harm me while I’m under his protection. That could be a crucial distinction at some point.

I try to push my worries away. Dror’iz and his men are nearby, ready to help if I scream.

Anter’az has an easy, limber walk, full of coiled strength. His muscles flex with each step, his green stripes set off perfectly by the suntanned skin.

We pass the table where the cavemen are being very merry, talking about iron and their swords and gossiping about recent events.

Dror’iz glances over at me. “Woman Alba, are you all right?” he calls.

“I’m all right,” I tell him. “Anter’az wants to show me his work.”

He nods and gets back to his conversation. I guess I’m pretty much on my own here.

Anter’az leads me to the rock with all the holes and walks around it, all the way to the other side. There are much fewer caves here, probably because the sun will rarely reach them and help light them up.

Anter’az walks over to one of the openings and turns. “This is my cave. Please come in.”

“But the healer?” I ask. “For your hand?”

“It’s not bleeding so bad now,” he says and shows me his dark red palm, dripping with blood. “But come inside and I will show you.”

I carefully peer inside the cave. It’s warm, and it smells differently than any of the caves in the Borok village. This smell reminds me of a store of Chinese medicine I sometimes went to back on Earth, all exotic and pungent.

It looks like that too. The walls are covered in shelves with pots of all sizes and shapes. Twigs of dried herbs hang on spikes alongside animal bones, pieces of leather with strange drawings on them as well as furs, dinosaur hides and dried flowers. Along one wall I spot many cages stacked up, and from the sounds of it quite densely populated. Some of them hang from the ceiling, along with whole branches and wooden things that have a magical look to them.

There are wooden bowls and strange metal items. A slab of gray stone serves as a workbench, overflowing with small pots, jars, stones, and wooden tools that remind me of an artists's studio. There are two curtains on the wall, looking like openings into other rooms. One curtain is light brown, the other black and looking heavy.

A small fire burns in a fireplace by the door, throwing ghostly shadows on the walls. The place is both scary and strangely welcoming — a sanctuary from the crazy jungle outside, but also a place of warmth, a real home for someone. And it speaks to the personality of the caveman living here — this is a searching soul, someone who knows things and wants to know more.

I take a couple of steps inside, keeping my distance to the cages. There’s definitely movement inside them.

Anter’az comes in behind me. “Have a seat if you wish. I was not expecting guests, certainly not someone as… delicate as you.”

There’s a wooden, caveman-sized chair in the middle of the floor, covered in furs and dinosaur leather. I just about manage to get up onto it without making too much of a fool of myself.

“It look like you are the shaman of Krast tribe.”