Chapter 5

- Noker -

"The jungle is very big," I muse as I remain standing. The view is incredible from up here. "I never knew how big."

"Is a big planet," Bronwen chirps.

For some reason the view is making me unsettled. I've never been in a place this lofty. While the platforms we live on in the camp hang high above the ground, I've never been over the treetops. My world was always the constant semi-darkness of the jungle. But here, I'm so high above the trees that I can barely tell them apart.

This is Bronwen's world. Bright and above. It's the triber's world, where no misshapen or unusual man may disturb the confident mood.

I glance up. "Good place to be taken by irox."

"We keep look around," she assures me. "And with you here, nobody need worry. Alba, we attacked by irox! Came down to us, very screech! But Noker kill it with one slash of his spear!"

"Ohmigod," Alba exclaims, eyes big. "Aryu olrite?"

"We fine," Bronwen says. "Just some blood spray on us. We wash off."

"Sometimes a spear is better than a sword," I point out. "A spear gives better reach."

"Much better," Alba agrees. "Sword are only good for war, not hunt food."

The third woman comes out of the cave. "I thought I heard a new voice. Noker, is not it?"

"It is," I confirm. "And you must be Astrid." I say the name slowly, wanting to get it right. This woman looks a little different from the two others. Her skin is darker, and her hair is as dark and shiny as the precious, impossibly sharp spearheads that can be made from a special black rock.

She nods. "You made trap for us."

I shrug. "We were curious about the phantoms that kept stealing from us. If we had known who you were, we would not have tried to catch you."

"I believe that," Astrid says kindly. "The Foundling clan is different from tribes."

"Very different," says a voice.

Brak is coming up the steps to the plateau, with Piper right behind him.

"The tribe will have a party for us tonight," my clansbrother says. "They wish to celebrate the friendship between clan and tribe, as well as honor the man who killed an irox with one thrust of his spear. I think that last one must be you, Noker."

"I think so too," I sigh. "I had to kill it, Brak. It was going after Bronwen, and we didn't spot it until it was almost too late. There were no trees nearby."

Brak laughs. "Oh, don't worry, brother! I may be half irox, but that doesn't mean I want my friends eaten by them. Well done, I say! It's your first, I think."

The alien women start talking among themselves, their bright voices tickling the ears.

"It is," I confirm with some pride. "I never had to kill one before. You know how rarely we see them under the treetops."

"Almost never," Brak agrees. "The tribes rarely kill them, apparently, mostly because it's too dangerous to even try. And not worth it for anything other than the honor and renown. I think you're right when you say you don't need a sword."

"We're Foundlings." I shrug. "We don't wage wars where we might need swords to kill other men. Spears are better for our use."

"How true, brother." He slaps my back, clearly in a good mood after seeing his wife again. I'm sure they spent the time Mating, the way they keep doing when in our camp. "War is not our way."

"I have no more of the strong frit," I tell him. "The alkol. I gave it to Bronwen when she tasted a poisonous plant, hoping it would rinse the poison from her mouth."

"Because I see Bronwen standing right there, I deem that's a good use for it," Brak says. "I have another pot that we can show to the tribers. We can give them the strong frit in exchange for their protection and friendship."

"They have an interesting way of getting water. Perhaps we can do something like that in the camp. Now that it seems like we may not need to move around so much."

"The pump? Yes, good idea. Some of our clansbrothers can't walk far to carry water for the tribe, but that way the water can come to them."

We stay on the top of the mountain until nightfall. Seeing the sunset from this high feels like some kind of witchcraft. The whole sky looks like it's on fire.

Down in the village, drums start beating and I spot torches being lit. Food is being cooked over big fires near the totem wall, the smoke making delicate curls against the trees.

"I think the party is about to start."

Brak punches my shoulder lightly. "Our first party in a tribe, Noker. Did you ever think you'd experience that?"

"Never," I confess. "It didn't cross my mind. How quickly things can change!"

"The jungle is new," he agrees. "It will never be like it was before the women came."

The women send Brak and me down the stairs, claiming they need time to get ready.

"It's a fine village," I comment on the way down, spear in my hand. "Perhaps we should try to make our camp like this instead."

"This Mount is the only thing about this village that stands out," Brak scoffs. "Without it, it would be an ordinary village, much like ours. Our clan is doing fine, Noker."

"That's true enough. But what I mean is, they have big forges and a thick wall. Now that we may place our camp on their turf, maybe not everything needs to be hanging from trees. We can build a wall, too. And build a forge that we don't need to bury after every use. We can store bigger things in huts on the ground. Make our camp more like a village. We'll keep the platforms, of course."

Brak scratches his chin. "You may be onto something, brother. The way things are now, we may not need to always be hiding. Let's think about it. The outcasts are still around, although much weakened."

By the tribe's main table, the torches and fires light up the totem wall and makes it come alive. The large picture of Piper seems to move and smile, scowl and frown as the flames dance.

The drummers are just getting started — there are four drums, but only two are being played by their young owners.

"Welcome, guests," a tribesman says as he comes towards us. "I am Sarker'ox, and I help Shaman Melr'ax lead the tribe when Chief Korr'ax is away."

In other words, this is the temporary chief of the tribe, because we all know Melr'ax is too sick to lead anyone.

Sarker'ox is older than me, but much younger than the shaman. He's still strong and has an air of calm authority. He's the same man who tried to stop the other men from insulting my spear.

I grab his forearm warmly. "Greetings, Chief Sarker'ox! Led by you and the shaman, the Borok tribe is in good hands."

"I hope so," he says and leads us to the table. "But it will be even better when our real chief returns. I apologize for not having greeted you properly before, Noker, but things happen fast these days. I hope this small celebration will make up for it."

"Brother Noker is not one to hold a grudge, Chief," Brak says. "Unless you're an irox. Then he'll get mad."

Sarker'ox chuckles politely. "I would not want to be an irox who attacks Noker, certainly. Please have a seat, and we shall bring food and drink."

"Very friendly tribe," Brak says as he grabs a piece of fruit from a woven basket on the table and hands it to me. "Let us do nothing to endanger our friendship with them."

I bite into the fruit, finding it fresh and juicy. "We will not be the first to provoke. But we are Foundlings, and not everyone in the tribe will like us."

Brak gets a red fruit for himself. "I thought so, too. But they received me well. I think perhaps this tribe is different from the ones where we had our previous camps, Noker."

Another boy comes walking and sits down to take part in the drumming. The night is balmy and the smell of food being prepared makes me mellow.

Oh, that experience with Bronwen was wonderful! I swear she was enjoying it when I pretended to wipe irox blood off her smooth, delicate skin. How soft she is! How good she smelled! How exciting it was to hear those sounds, whenever I would move my fingers and stroke her with a swirly circle… I swear my fingers tingled with her warmth and her magic. And by the end, I circled her nipple, moving across skin so impossibly delicate, raising hundreds of small bumps… I wonder if she would let me Worship her. She must have enjoyed the way I caressed her. Would it be possible to Worship a woman with only fingers? I cross my legs to not make the bulge too obvious.

Many tribesmen come over and sit down at the table, some introducing themselves and some not. One who doesn't is Unin'iz, the one who made fun of my spear. I see him glaring at me from the other side, along with two of the others who were with him.

Well, I don't need to talk to him. Brak and I are soon in conversation with the other Borok men, and soon big pots of frit are being brought to us.

Then the whole table gradually goes quiet as the four women descend the stairs and walk to the table in their charming way, hips swaying and chests jiggling. Bronwen and Astrid are wearing their alien garments, but Piper and Alba have put on tight wraps of fine fabric that I happen to know is both hard to get and difficult to make. I swear they've all done something to their eyes, too — they look bigger and much more defined than before.

Piper sits down next to Brak, and Bronwen sits with the three others across from us. My heart jumps in my chest when she raises her gaze and gives me a small, but intense smile. The new black lines around her eyes make her look divine and just as mysterious as I would expect from an alien. Is that really the same woman I threw over my shoulder earlier today? The same one who licked a poisonous bush, and the same one who was shivering from my touch on her bare chest?

My crotch swells to an almost painful hardness. How can any creature be this enticing?

The conversation begins again, but with Bronwen right there, I have no idea what I'm even saying. She will sometimes give me a little smile, making me happy each time.

Someone else is staring at her, too. It's Unin'iz, a man I'm starting to dislike. But Bronwen never looks in his direction.

The frit is flowing, and it strikes me that we must be using up a good amount of the tribe's supplies. The talk is getting loud, all four drums are beating faster, and the flames light up the totem wall in the most remarkable way. I'm thoroughly enjoying the evening, looking at Bronwen's beautifully round face anytime I want.

Brak elbows me in the side. "They're talking to you, Noker."

I look where he points. "Yes, Sarker'ox? Sorry, I couldn't hear."

"I said," the tribe's temporary chief says loudly, "that it's been a long time since anyone has killed an irox close to our village. We have taken the liberty of making this." He holds up a necklace made from many big teeth and sharp claws, four teeth for each claw. "We think you should have it, to remind everyone you meet that you should not be provoked." He tosses the necklace to me in a tall arc, and I snap it out of the air. An irox claw leaves a thin cut across two of my knuckles.

"Thank you, Chief," I reply, genuinely moved. "I shall treasure both this and the memory of the honor shown me by the renowned Borok tribe." I have an impulse to give it to Bronwen, but the tribe intended it for me and they might be offended. And a necklace like this could be seen as a sign of marriage, as well. The thought makes my mind sing. Married to Bronwen? As Brak is married to Piper? But Brak is Brak, of course. No, let's not have these fantasies get out of hand. I am only Noker, and I will just enjoy this party while it lasts.

"And if it won't fit over your head," comes a thin voice from up the table, "simply drape it across that thing growing from your skull."

It's Unin'iz, his speech slurred from frit. Two other men chuckle, but the rest of them go quiet. The drums falter for a moment before they pick back up.

Not going to let him influence me, I simply put the necklace around my neck. "It's very beautiful, men of Borok. I shall wear it always."

"Until it snags on your spear and you tumble to the ground," Unin'iz persists, his shrill voice echoing from the totem wall. "Or maybe you can fly? Is that really a wing on your head?"

Other Borok men try to shush him, but he gets to his feet on the bench. "I don't hear you defend your honor, Foundling!" He's thinner than most of his tribesmen, but he looks sinewy and strong. His stripes are a vivid orange, and he has a long scar going down the side of his face.

"My honor is not in question here, man of Borok," I calmly reply. "Ask your chief if you are in doubt."

"The honor of the whole tribe is in question!" Unin'iz suddenly screeches. "Now we're entertaining and honoring Foundlings at our table?! Why do the Foundlings have women, when we real warriors don't? Why is the irox man married to a woman, and we are not? Are we not better? Are we not worthier? Are we not a true tribe, while those two are mere broken rabble? Why aren't we honored by the chief? Why aren't we given fine necklaces?"

"Excuse our tribesman!" Sarker'ox thunders and gets to his feet, face red. "We keep a loose table in our village, but sometimes it gets out of hand!"

Unin'iz's friends try to hold him back, but still he climbs onto the table and draws his sword. "I will not sit by and see Foundlings and half-Bigs take the women that rightfully should be ours! Do we not protect them? Do we not feed them? Did not they come to us unbidden? Are they not ours? You! Foundling with the skull growth! Take your pitiful spear and fight me! Let's see if you can fight a real warrior and not just mindless Bigs!"

I grab my spear, but stay seated. Brak puts a hand on my shoulder in support as he tenses up, ready to pounce if this gets dangerous.

Sarker'ox slams his fist on the table, sending plates and knives flying. "There shall be no dueling here! This is a friendly occasion, tribesman Unin'iz! Replace your sword, and we shall tell tales of your bravery as well."

Unin'iz ignores him. "I have challenged you, Foundling! Are you a coward or a man?"

While the tribesmen try to keep him down, I also notice that not everyone is opposed to Unin'iz's idea. Perhaps it's not so strange — they have been living with women for weeks, and only Chief Korr'ax has married one. And now, one of the women has been claimed by a Foundling, while Bronwen has been seen with me, another Foundling. I'm sure the boys who spotted Bronwen and me by the water pump must have told the rest of the tribe. Now they're worried that I will snatch her away from them. In truth, I do like that idea a great deal.

I get to my feet and the table goes quiet. "I will not fight you, tribesman. Your tribe needs you, and it would be discourteous for a guest like me to deprive them of you. But I am always ready for a peaceful contest. Indeed, a friendly gathering like this one should have contests. My spear against your sword, tribesman! But not against your flesh."

There are many cheers, and Sarker'ox looks relieved.

"Peaceful contests are much favored," he says quickly. "No one needs to bleed. Often, lifelong friendships are forged this way. But we shall not have any contest now. It's night time, and far too dark. Also, we have all drunk frit, which is not good before a contest. Tomorrow we shall arrange a game of penk between guest Noker and tribesman Unin'iz. It is a suitable contest for the strongest of men, who enjoy the jungle and its dangers."

There is a lot of cheering. Unin'iz slowly slides off the table and sits back down, glaring at me the whole time.

I'm only moderately worried. I have never heard of penk, and certainly Unin'iz will be an expert at it, but I will do my best. At least there will be no need to kill him.

I sit back down and lean over towards Brak. "Do you know what penk is?"

"No idea," he replies. "But it doesn't sound as if blood will flow. You can break it off anytime you want, of course. Like you said, your honor is not in question: Nor is that of our clan."

Bronwen meets my gaze with glittering eyes. "Noker is smart man. Not wanting to kill." She reaches a small hand across the table, and I grab it lightly.

"I think he might have killed me," I confess. "I have never practiced war, only hunting."

She gets up and comes around the table. "We all know who would have died. Now I want show you something."