Chapter 20

- Noker -

"Noker," comes the soft call from below. "I hear something:"

I struggle to wake up from a deep sleep, just wanting to stay in the soothing darkness.

There are more calls until I lift my head. "What do you hear, Dexer?"

"Foundling."

I slowly sit up and rub the sleep out of my eyes. The night is black all around.

Bronwen is behind me, curled up. I see the clear shine from her eyes. "What is it?"

"Dexer hears something," I whisper. "His hearing is incredible."

"Outcasts?" she asks, reaching for her knife.

"A possible new Foundling. I must go and find him."

A little hand grabs the waistband of my shorts. "Someone else can go."

"This is why there is a clan," I explain, tempted to give in to her suggestion. "Because we always go to Find new Foundlings."

"The Borok tribe don't set babies out," Bronwen says, her voice muddled with sleep. "Neither does the Tretter tribe. They are the only tribes nearby."

"There's also the Krast tribe," I point out. "They may find it better to set a baby out on someone else's turf."

She slowly sits up on the platform. "They're far away. Maybe this is one of those noisy grubs that you used to bait your trap."

I lean over and look down at Dexer, who's hoisted his platform almost all the way up to mine. "Brother Dexer, could this be a grub?"

"It could be," he whispers. "But it could also be a Foundling. The sound is very faint. I can't tell which it is from this far away."

I get my spear. "Wait."

Bronwen still has a hold of my shorts. "You've been working hard for days. Most clansbrothers not work much."

I frown. "They don't work much because they can't. I thought that was obvious."

She meets my gaze. "You not pay attention when moving? They can work much more than you think. They want to work. But you not allow them."

I shrug. "Perhaps. But this is a Foundling. I will go."

"Is very close if he can hear it. Not need you to go. Anyone can do it. You are very tired. I see it in your eyes. And in your movements."

"This is why the clan is here," I repeat. "This is what we do."

"This is what you do," Bronwen persists. "And Brak and sometimes Sprisk. And Dexer. I know is important. But is not hard. Sometimes, someone else can do important thing" She lets go of my shorts.

I stare out at the darkness. She doesn't get it. In the clan, every man must do his best. And my best is better than everybody else's.

It is as I said to Sarker'ox. If every man had a woman, nothing would get done in the clan.

Bronwen is amazing, and I don"t want to live without her. But I think now that I must. Already I'm neglecting the clan and its needs. The clan that saved my life and gave me a place to belong, a safe place. She doesn't understand it. And she has seen the clan closely for days now. If she doesn't understand it now, then she never will.

"Tomorrow I will take you back to the village," I tell her and jump down to Dexer's platform.

He holds on to the ropes to not fall from his now wildly dangling platform. "Are we going?"

"Get us down," I tell him.

- - -

We're not familiar with this place, and in the darkness it's hard to find our way. Dexer frequently stops and listens. I can't hear any baby sounds over the usual nighttime roar from the jungle, but I trust his hearing.

"That way," he whispers and points. I lead him in that direction, watching out so he doesn't put his feet somewhere they'll make noise or get hurt.

He stops and points again. "There."

"Are you sure? That's not the same direction."

"There." he repeats with emphasis.

Well, I can't see much life anywhere, so I have no choice but to go along with him. I'm not at all in the mood for this. My thoughts are dark and hopeless, now that I realized I have to choose between Bronwen and the clan. Brak can be married and spend time in both the camp and the tribe. He's always enjoyed being away from the clan, and now he's turning into a Borok man. That's the last thing I want to be. I'm a Foundling, and I will always be one.

Losing Brak means there's more for Sprisk and me to do. And I can't leave the clan alone. Not now, when it looks like we can turn our camp into something similar to a real village. That will take a great deal of work?—

"There," Dexer whispers, holding me back as he points.

"That's another direction again," I point out, annoyance seeping into my voice. "Is this baby being carried by a rekh that can't find its nest?"

"I don't know," he says. "But it's there."

I sigh and walk in the new direction, passing bushes and trees and having to avoid a Small that's snapping at my ankles.

The next time Dexer stops, I can hear it too: the thin, mewling cries of a baby.

He points again. "There."

I don't ask this time. He's always sure. We're zigzagging through the jungle in a way that we've never done before when trying to find a baby. But of course this is a new area of the woods, and sound can do strange things.

The noise comes closer and closer as we walk until I stop. "Baby or grub, Dexer?"

He listens for a while, head laid back and mouth half open. "I don't know."

"It could be a grub?"

"It could. It could also be a baby carried by tribers. Maybe that's why it keeps moving around."

I frown. "Why would anyone want to carry a baby through the woods— ah, of course. To set it out somewhere."

"Yes. That's good, Noker! It means the baby won't be unsafe for long. After the tribers set him down, we can snatch it right away!" His voice is eager. Dexer lives for these moments, the Finding of new Foundlings.

We walk on. "Let's be careful not to be spotted. Tribers don't like Foundlings much."

"Except the Borok tribe, Brak says," Dexer whispers.

I don't reply, having some reservations of my own about that.

We change direction one more time, but this time it's because I can hear the baby myself, and I'm walking straight at it.

I close my eyes and try to use the infred persepshn that Bronwen talked about. But the trees block everything.

Until I turn around and look behind us. There are men not far away. Two of them.

I stand still, and Dexer is so accustomed to being led in the woods that he freezes in place.

The men take two more steps, then stop. I can't hear them, but I see them as fuzzy shapes, brighter than the jungle around us.

I think they're following us. And here I am, alone with blind Dexer who can't fight at all. This could get dangerous.

"We are being followed," I whisper into Dexer's ear. "Two men. We must hide."

The jungle is dim, but it never gets completely dark. Those two men may well be able to spot us unless we get behind a tree.

The terrain is difficult, but dense undergrowth and tall bushes are ahead of us. I see a tall tree with a thick trunk that we should be able to hide behind. To get there, we have to be nimble and slide right between two tall thorn bushes.

I don't have to tell Dexer to be careful as I turn sideways and slowly make my way past the bushes. Still holding his hand, I gently pull him through the opening. He's ripped by two thorns as long as my thumb, but doesn't make a sound.

I pull him towards the tree, then stop as I spot more men ahead. And to the sides. We're in the middle of a wide circle of warriors, but they can't see us yet.

"Be as quiet as you can," I tell Dexer unnecessarily as I tiptoe towards the tree.

The ground gives way under me, and my body reacts by itself, slamming my spear into the ground and scrambling to crawl out before I've even started falling. But Dexer is behind me, still moving, and I'm pushed into the hole, having to let go of the spear. Dexer falls with me, and we land at the bottom of a deep pit.

I'm immediately on my feet, ignoring the pain from one leg as I jump as high as I can and claw desperately at the loose walls of the pit. I try again and again, roaring with frustration and anger.

"We fell in a pit trap!" I tell Dexer. "I'm trying to get out."

"Will you need my knife?"

I calm myself. The pit is too deep to jump out of, and the dirt isn't firm enough to hold my fingertips or my toes when I try to climb. "Maybe."

Dexer stiffens. "There's someone up there."

I hear the voices too.

Then I see a head coming into view, looking down in the pit. "Ah. A half-Big and his friend!"

That's the voice I recognized before. And that means this wasn't just any trap. This trap was meant for me.

"Better a half-Big than an honorless outcast!" I yell.

"Oh, but I'm not an outcast," Unin'iz says. "I'm dead, didn't you hear?"

"If the Borok tribe didn't think you were dead," I growl, "they would have cast you out for trying to kill me during that peaceful game of penk. Chief Korr'ax himself said so. Borok men saw you slashing your sword at me, Unin'iz! After I saved your life in the quicksand!"

More faces peer into the pit. "Is it him? The Big?"

"The half-Big," Unin'iz grunts. "And another Foundling."

"Young?" asks another.

"Too big to be a boy," another outcast says. "But I suppose he could be tender enough."

"Adult Foundlings are too stringy."

"Be quiet," Unin'iz orders, and to my surprise the outcasts go silent. "Eat that grub we have if you're so hungry. These are not to be eaten."

I hear the baby-like sound in the background. That must be the grub they used to lure us here. And we fell for it, even when they carried it along with them to get us far away from the camp.

I regret my first outburst. I'm not in a position of strength. "Get us out of here, and I shall talk to Chief Korr'ax," I call to Unin'iz. "He may allow you back into the tribe."

"The tribe?" he seethes. "Where I have to spend every day watching other men having women of their own, while I have none? Where I'm expected to go hunting every other day, so the tribe has enough food to serve to all the women who sit on the Mount and look down on us? Where we must gather fruit so the tribe can impress random Foundlings with its wealth and stores of food? Where I'm not allowed to point out the unfairness of it all? Is that the tribe you mean?"

"No, I mean the Borok tribe," I state. "It's a good tribe, and you'd be happier there than in a rabble of outcasts."

"I knew it the moment I missed you with the sword," Unin'iz hisses. "I knew I was too good for the tribe. I knew I would join the outcasts. The swarm came, and I was sure it would destroy the tribe. I ran away from the village to save myself. And you all thought I was dead, eaten by the swarm!"

"Some of us had our doubts," I tell him. "Nobody else was eaten. And four of your tribesmen died."

"I know that, Foundling. Those idiots sacrificed themselves for a tribe that doesn't care for them at all. I'm not the only one who's had enough of that village. I have friends there still, many of them. I know everything that goes on. I even know where your new camp is."

"Do you now," I drawl while coldness goes down my back. I hadn't thought about that. But if they used a grub to lure us after them, then of course they know where the clan is now.

"Everyone in the Borok tribe knows that Karr'ox gave away one of the best spots of our turf to the Foundlings!" Unin'iz's rages. "It's a perfect place to be when on a long hunting trip. There's clean water, the air is cool, Bigs don't come there. There's even a flast bush with all kinds of fine plants around it! And Karr'ox gave it away! To Foundlings!"

"If only you'd been honorable and remained with the tribe," I say softly. "Maybe one of the women would have taken a liking to you and you wouldn't need to be so angry. And who knows, maybe there are more women in the jungle. First there were two, then three more came. Do you know how many there might be? I don't."

"Being a true and honorable member of the Borok tribe appears to be too good for the women," Unin'iz frets, trying to control himself. "But the moment a Foundling appears, they practically fight over him. Many in the tribe see it, Foundling. And they think the same as me. It's just that I'm man enough to do something about it. But they will follow. More and more of them. Until this group of outcasts is the tribe and the Borok is… nothing. We will take their village. And their women."

I sigh. "I grow tired of your rantings, outcast. State your business or let us go."

"My business? Oh, I have no further business with you, Foundling. I just need you away from your laughable camp when I attack it. Your ridiculous appearance might cause my men to laugh helplessly, making them less capable fighters. Not that it matters much, I suppose. But I must admit that you are good with that silly spear, and you might take offense to it when I claim the woman you so foolishly brought there."

"Leave your dirty fingers off Bronwen, or I will bite them off you, one by one," I growl as I jump straight up at him, hands stretched out to grasp his throat..

Despite my jump being too short and my fingers finding only air, I swear Unin'iz's face goes pale.

"Spoken like a true half-Big," he manages in a weak voice before his face vanishes from sight.

"I will kill you all!" I roar at the empty circle of light high above me, my anger fueled by fear for my clan and for Bronwen.

"Will the brothers be all right?" Dexer asks, voice atremble.

"Yes!" I yell, so frustrated I punch my fists at the walls of the pit. "We shall kill all the damned, dirty outcasts and hang them up as food for the Smalls!"

"But how? Are we not trapped?"

Placing a hand on his shoulder, I force myself to calm down. If nothing else, I distracted the outcasts enough that they didn't try to kill us down here. "They can't trap us, Dexer. They only think they can."

But we're deep down, and my spear is far above me, if it's there at all. I can't see it.

Dexer slowly walks over to the dirt wall of the pit and touches it, then digs into it with his fingers and drags the dirt down to the ground. "Let's make the pit shallower, brother."

I look up. Trying to make a mound from the sides of the pit will take days. And it means hollowing out the base of the immense masses of sand, clay, and rocks above us. If that collapses onto us, we're dead.

"Yes," I agree, joining his effort with frantic digging at the walls of our prison. "We have nothing better to do."