Chapter 2

- Noker -

The gates to the Borok village are disguised as a cluster of reeds, and I'm about to walk right past them without a second look.

But Brak grabs my arm and stops. "Greetings, guard of the Borok tribe," he calls to the reeds. "I am Brak, and this is my clansbrother Noker. May we enter?"

Only then do I spot the face among the reeds, high up. It must be a tribesman guarding the gate. One of the two doors of the gate swings open. Inside there are two orange-striped guards with their hands on their swords.

Brak walks in without hesitating, and I follow, conscious both of my unusual head and the blue stripes all over my body. This is not my tribe, and I feel that all through me.

The guards look at us without any expression on their faces. Brak raises his hand in a peaceful greeting, walking on as if he were entering his own village.

It's my first time in the Borok tribe, and only my second time in a tribe's village. The first time was when I was first taken out of the Lifegiver and my uncommon appearance was deemed unsuitable for the tribe I was born into. The tribe set me out in the jungle to die. But before I was eaten by a Big, I was Found by a clan and I became a Foundling.

As I glance up at the man in the watchtower, I wonder if he would let me in if he knew how uncommon I really am, and that my appearance is the least important part of that.

Brak stops and waits for me to catch up, a merry grin on his unsettling, irox-like face. "See? We are as welcome here as any triber. No need to feel out of place!"

"Uh-huh," I mutter as I look around. "I would feel less out of place if they had some platforms like ours."

The village has a tall, thick wall around it, a palisade made from sturdy logs. It looks quite fresh and solid, as if it's always being renewed. The huts are large and also look new, with green leaves on every roof and walls that are sometimes made from solid logs, sometimes from braided sticks and thin leaves in square patterns. The ground is dry, but I hear the clucking of running water from nearby. Wide paths snake past well-kept grassy patches around the huts. Right in front of us, a red mountain seems to reach out of the ground like a broken shard of some huge, red pot. I spot rows of caves in it, as well as stairs that have been carved into what must be pretty soft rock. I also sense movement at the very top. Several men are up there. Or something else entirely.

"They don't need platforms to keep them above the ground and the dangers of the jungle," Brak says and cheerfully greets the tribers we pass. "Those walls keep them safe enough."

I take in the impressive swords hanging from the belts of every adult tribesman. "And their blades."

"Those too," Brak agrees as we approach the foot of the mountain. "We will see about getting some for you and Sprisk. We have the steel for it. They're outcast blades, but we can reforge them."

"Don't bother on my account," I grunt. "I'm doing fine with my spear." And with that other thing.

"And I do fine with only a knife," Brak chuckles. "That doesn't stop me from wanting a larger one."

The red mountain looms above us. The stairs go from the bottom and snake their way all the way to the top. The view from up there must be marvelous.

I crane my neck to look. "Are we going there?"

"Not today, I think," Brak replies. "The top of the Mount is where Chief Korr'ax and Bryar live. But they're in the Tretter tribe for a few days, and I don't think they want us to visit their cave without them. But take a look at this, Noker."

Brak points to the rock wall at the lower part of the Mount. A big patch of it is not red like the rest, but shot through with a brilliant white.

"Oh my merciful stars," I gasp when I see it. "That's… incredible!"

It's a painting of a face, at least double or triple normal size. It's a woman's face, surrounded by a cloud of hair in a bright red I've never seen before. It's as if the face comes out of the white rock and hovers in mid-air. There are normal wall paintings beside it, but they are made to look pale by that face.

"It is," Brak says with a tight smile. "Bryar made that. This is the Borok tribe's totem wall. They don't have a totem pole, like most other tribes."

I can't take my eyes off the face. "It's Piper, clear as day. But twice as big."

"Indeed it is my wife," Brak says, eyes dreamy. "As if I weren't proud enough of her already. This tribe also realizes her worth."

I stay at a respectful distance to the great face. It is imposing, and it makes a chill go down my spine. "Their Ancestors are not going to like that. Her face is making those pictures, prayers, and devotions made to them look unimportant."

Brak shrugs. "I've had the same thought, clansbrother. But who are we Foundlings to tell tribers what to do with their own totem wall? I can think of no better way to celebrate women coming to Xren. And the Ancestors haven't complained yet. The Borok tribe is doing better than ever."

"While it lasts," I mutter and turn my back to the wall. "I suppose if Shaman Melr'ax has no problem with it, I shouldn't worry, either."

"He doesn't like it," Brak says softly so the tribers can't hear. "But then, he worries about everything these days."

The smell of food being cooked teases my nose. This tribe burns sweet-smelling wood even when just cooking, the men all look healthy and big, their stripes are bright, and they walk with an easy confidence, going about their tribal business.

As we watch, the gates are opened and a hunting party is let in. The half dozen men carry many gutted Smalls with them, joking and chatting among themselves and with other tribers passing by. Nobody's keeping their voices down in the village, and if anyone were to attack the tribe, it would be met with the resistance of many men and many swords. Only the largest, fiercest Bigs might have a chance to do damage to the village. And even they would struggle, after Bryar came up with the mirror, the strange disk that can send bright sunlight into the eyes of predators.

"This is what we were robbed of," I ponder out loud. "When our tribes set us out in the jungle to die as babies, this is the life we could have had if they had let us stay with them instead."

"Perhaps," Brak says and adjusts his braided belt. "We don't know which tribes you and I came from. But I doubt they were as good as the Borok tribe. And even this village was nowhere near as good as it is now before Korr'ax became chief, my Piper tells me. Let's not dwell on ancient evils, clansbrother! Our Foundling clan is doing better than ever, too."

"Thanks to you," I tell him. "Soon we will move our camp to a place where the Borok and Tretter tribes can help protect us against the outcasts. We will share their turf— oh."

I go quiet as I spot two women coming down the stairs from the Mount. One is Piper, Brak's wife, easily recognizable because of her red hair, which is now carefully arranged along the sides of her face instead of forming a cloud around it. And the other one…

The breath catches in my throat. Now that is a woman. She's shorter than Piper, but rounder and with yellow hair instead of flame red. I can tell the exact moment she sees me — her step falters for a heartbeat before she looks down and the little smile she had on her face goes away.

"The women know that you were the one who caught them," Brak says. "But they're not angry about it."

"It wasn't just me," I protest. "The whole clan helped trap the phantoms. And we didn't end up trapping them."

He chuckles. "Oh, the trap changed a lot of things, even if the women were warned. Without you, there would have been no trap at all."

"I suppose not," I concede. I was very curious about the mysterious phantoms that kept stealing from us in the darkness, and I eagerly organized the digging of the pit trap. And I made sure we had bait for it.

Brak ignores me, just looking at his wife as the two women descend the last steps and come over to us. I quickly look down my front, checking that I'm not too dirty and that my loincloth is held straight by the shoulder strap. I suddenly wish I had a sword, showing me as a powerful warrior like the tribers. My unusual head can't be hidden, but it doesn't look like these alien women are too concerned about men having some features from Bigs. Brak's irox nature didn't stop Piper from marrying him, after all. But I also know that acceptance also has limits. And if they knew all there is to know about me, they would look at me differently.

"Greetings," Piper says easily with her bright voice as she comes to embrace her husband. "We've been waiting for you."

"We walked as fast as we could," Brak says as he hugs her tightly. "And I wanted to show clansbrother Noker the painting of you, my love."

"This is my friend Bronwen," Piper says. "Bronwen, this is Noker, our clansbrother from the Foundling camp."

"Greetings," Bronwen chirps, showing signs of prey nervousness, as if she thinks I'll attack her.

"I won't…" I begin, but my tongue fails me halfway through. "Harm you," I feebly manage.

There's a moment of stunned silence while I wish I could bite that tongue in half.

"Brother Noker is dangerous," Brak finally says, giving my shoulder a friendly slap. "He's a master with that spear he's holding. And most people he meets think he might hunt them down for sport. But he's much gentler than he looks."

"I think Noker look kind," Bronwen says with an irresistible alien lilt. "Not I think would harm me, Noker." Her bright, but warm voice has a huskiness to it I swear I can feel in my gut. And further down, too.

"Oh," I croak. "I will not, Bronwen." Brak told me the new alien names, and I spent a good while practicing them on the way here. The name 'Bronwen' is certainly harder to say than ‘Piper' or ‘Alba', although I dread meeting the woman Astrid and having to attempt saying that name.

Bronwen rewards me with a smile that makes the sun shine in my mind. Her eyes are dark brown, the most wonderful color I've ever seen, making them warm and intensely beautiful. I swear I can see my own reflection in them, so clear are they. Her smooth hair hangs down the sides of her forehead and is gathered behind one small ear on each side.

"Noker and I were just talking about the totem wall," Brak says with a relaxed ease that I envy. "And we wonder, when will the other women be painted on it?"

Piper nods. "I've been asking the same thing. My face is all alone up there."

"Bryar is the artist," Bronwen points out. "She decide when she paint. Noker, I want show something you." She reaches out to take my hand.

I'm so surprised by it that I let her, without recoiling the way I should. Her hand is cool and soft in mine.

"I… can be shown." What in the darkest stars is happening to my mind? Suddenly I can only speak gibberish.

"Please show him what you told me about," Piper says and takes Brak's hand. "I will show Brak something else."

I watch in wonder as the small woman pulls my big, half-irox clansbrother towards the stairs, and he follows along with a happy look on his face.

"He looks like a prekti pup following its mother," I say under my breath.

"I not understand," Bronwen says with a frown on her little face. "I still not learn speak well."

"You speak well enough," I tell her, finally gathering my wits. "What is it you want to show me?"

She lets go of my hand and points to the gate. "Is outside."

"Ah." We walk towards the gate, and it opens for us without any of the guards speaking a word to us. Well, we are both outtribers. I don't like the looks they give us, and I have noted that none of the Borok tribesmen came over to talk to Brak and me. It's no surprise, of course. We are Foundlings.

Bronwen stops right outside the gate. "Is safe here?"

"The jungle? It's safe if you're quiet and if you stay close to me." I show her my spear, as if she hasn't been able to see it before.

"I hope you not annoyed for I drag you out," she whispers. "Piper and Brak been apart for days. They need time when others are not there."

"Of course," I nod, not sure what she means, but able to guess. "They need time."

"The thing I want you show is there," she says softly and points along the outside of the wall. "On other side of village." She walks ahead of me.

I follow at a couple of paces' distance. Seeing her from this angle is even more pleasant. Her hips are wide and round, and her behind moves in a most charming way that resonates in my crotch.

I don't recognize her clothing, but it looks alien. Her legs are almost completely clad in a pale blue garment with many rips and tears where her skin shows between white strands. Of course there are no holes in the most interesting places. On her upper body she wears a baggy, gray thing with a sort of hat attached, hanging down her back.

On her feet she has only sandals, like I've seen some tribers wear. I have never worn anything on my feet, and Brak only wore boots because he didn't want his irox legs to show. Now, he no longer cares.

Bronwen attracts my eyes so much that I know I'm not being as alert as one must be in the jungle. A Big or Small could attack at any time. But hopefully they are careful this close to the Borok village.

Bronwen turns as if to check if I'm there, giving me a nervous little smile before she goes on, making far too much noise with each step. Her face is oval and smooth, with a cute little nose that has a kink in it about halfway down the ridge. Light colored hair with a tinge of brown frames her face wonderfully. White teeth glint when she talks, and her lips are full and wide. One side of her mouth is always turned up, giving her a look of constant amusement.

My mind spins. How could this delicate creature survive in the jungle for years? She looks completely unsuitable for it. What would she do if she met a rekh? If an irox came swooping down at her? If an outcast spotted her? She's so defenseless it makes me want to laugh in disbelief, but it also makes me want to put her in a cage and hang it inside another cage and then hang it all from a tree, so nothing can harm her. I have a strong urge to stay with her always and keep her perfectly safe.

Certainly she and the other two lived underground, and avoided the worst trouble that way. But it must have been a terrible life. Now she lives with the mighty Borok tribe, so perhaps being almost caught in my trap was a good thing for her. And perhaps it would have been an even better thing for me if she had been caught back then.

I follow Bronwen along the outside of the wall until it gives way to the sheer, flat side of the red Mount. She stops and points to the rock, where a deep, wide trench has been carved out of the ground itself. It must be where the giant skarp monster passed. It scraped along the Mount with its great body, pushing away a good amount of dirt and laying bare a big part of the rock.

"There," Bronwen whispers and points. "I see it before when walk past, but not know what is."

Where the rock has been scraped bare, the red gives way to white stone, in much the same way as the totem wall inside the village. And just like the totem wall, someone has painted on it.

I look around quickly, making sure we're not being watched by predators. Then I kneel down and take a closer look.

The painting is clear and colorful, in blue and green and a dark red. There are circles and shadows, but nothing resembles a Big or a Small or a man, the way the totem wall figures do.

And yet nobody would paint these things for no reason.

"Very strange," I say when I get back up. "I've never seen anything like it. But I haven't been to many villages."

Bronwen nods. "Is strange. I not show to any. But why paint?" She bends down to see it closely, supporting her hands on her knees.

"I don't know," I admit, my heart beating faster because her behind looks even better like that. "The only one I think may be able to tell us what these paintings are is Shaman Melr'ax." I'm annoyed I can't be of more help. It must be disappointing to her to show me something and me not being able to help or even take a guess. And I don't want to disappoint her.

Of course the time might come when she will know everything about me. When that happens, I can only hope that her revulsion won't ruin things between her tribe and my clan. Because while all Foundlings are different from the tribers and the women, there is such a thing as being too different.

Brownen turns to face me and shows me those dark eyes. "I not know him. You can help?"

"I can," I tell her, relieved to not be completely useless. "We'll go to his hut together."