by Dixon, Ruby
It’s a good story. A fascinating one. By the time he finishes telling it, I’m exhausted just from hearing the epic tale.
I don’t know any of the scientific specifics—Devi would probably have a damn field day picking it apart and trying to understand everything. For me, it’s just a story about family, and that’s the part I keep coming back to. I study M’tok’s hard face and realize some of the lines that seem to make him look so unyielding were probably put there because of grief. I’ve lost my family in the way that I’ll never get to see them again, but for all I know, they’re happy and healthy. They’ll grieve me and then life will get back to normal.
M’tok and his people have lost everything. Everything he ever knew was destroyed, the hundreds of people who lived on the island killed in a day. His entire clan was whittled down from dozens to a handful. And now that island is gone, too, and he’s stranded here in a strange icy land like me.
I suddenly feel like a real pendeja. After spending a few days with M’tok and seeing him in action, I understand him a little better. I know how his mind works. He likes order. He likes tradition. It’s clear in the way he tells the story that this is exactly the way it was told to him. He sticks with fishing instead of hunting the valleys like the other aliens do, because fishing is what Tall Horn did. His hut is clustered with the Tall Horn clan, and I bet if I went inside it, it’d be as neat and tidy as the cave we left a few days ago, and I bet this particular cave will be clean enough to eat off of the floors in another day or two.
M’tok likes for things to be orderly and understandable. He doesn’t like surprises. Me rejecting resonance probably threw his entire world into chaos. He can’t look at it from my perspective, because in his eyes, resonance is just a thing you give into. It chooses, not you. He can’t grasp that I’m resisting because I feel completely out of control of the situation and it terrifies me.
So we’ve both hissed and snarled at each other, thinking the other person’s being the asshole.
I sigh.
“What?” His wariness goes up, his shoulders stiffening.
Oh. I shake my head. “Sorry. I was just thinking about family. Your parents, they resonated?”
“I am here, am I not?”
I ignore his tone and hold the stick of spicy, crispy meat out to him. “Don’t be sassy, ése. Remember that it doesn’t work the same way in my world that it does in yours.”
He plucks a bite off and then indicates I should eat the rest. “My parents, yes, they resonated. They resonated many times.”
“So they had a lot of children?”
A hint of a smile ghosts his lips. “S’bren and I had two older brothers and a much younger sister. She was not much older than Z’hren when the Great Smoking Mountain destroyed much of the island. She wanted to come with us on the day of the proving games…” He shakes his head and pokes at the fire with the butt of his spear, dislodging the coals. “It does not matter. They are all gone now.”
“I’m sorry,” I say gently. “I had a big family, too. I miss them all the time.”
M’tok stares at the flames, nodding. “S’bren and I were both very upset when it happened. Everyone was, of course, but S’bren and I leaned on each other. He was very sad for a long time after it happened. I was not sad. I was angry.”
Been there, done that. It’s like he’s saying the exact same thing I’m always thinking. Haven’t I been furious at the world ever since I woke up and found myself here? I can relate so much that it’s almost scary. “You’re not angry anymore?” When he shakes his head, I ask, “How did you get past it?”
His mouth curves into a smile and his eyes focus on me. It changes the hard look on his face to a gentler one, and it takes my breath away. M’tok smiling…is far too handsome for his own good. I clear my throat to mask the fact that my cootie’s starting to sing.
“How did I get past the anger I felt over the death of nearly my entire tribe? Of all of the neighboring tribes as well? There will always be some frustration underneath. It is not something I will ever think about save with bitter regret. But I do not wake up every morning and shake my fist at the suns anymore. I do not hate the moon for appearing in the night sky. This is just how life goes.” He rubs his chin thoughtfully, the drag of his fingertips against the light down of hair there making an oddly appealing bristle sound that sends goosebumps over my arms. “It took me time to get to that, though. For many days I would snarl at the world around me, as if that would change their fates. As if the fact that I was very, very displeased would somehow make a difference.” He grins to himself. “But then, one day, I saw a bright yellow flower—a “little sun” we called it. They do not grow often, only where it is very warm and wet, and so finding them is not so common. My mother loved the flowers. She always told me to be on the lookout for them when I went hunting, because it meant that the ancestors were smiling down upon me. And one day, I was hunting, and angry at S’bren and R’jaal and T’chai and even at myself. I stomped down the trail, turned my head, and there it was.” He points, as if demonstrating. “I must have walked past that particular spot every day and yet I had never seen the flower, and this day, it was so large and bright I could not miss it. It made me stop in my tracks to see it.” His smile grows thoughtful. “It made me think how happy my mother would have been to see such a sight so close to the clan camp, and that I was lucky to see such a thing.” One corner of his mouth draws up. “And just like that, my anger went away. I realized that my rage was a waste. It would change nothing, and it made me unhappy all the time. My mother, my father, my brothers and my sister, they would not want me to be angry. They would want me to enjoy each day of life I was given instead of dwelling on the past. They would want me to appreciate the flower, and to appreciate the heavy rains that made it possible. They would want me to be thankful for the full belly I had and that I was not alone.”
I hate how similar—and practical—his advice is to the advice Steph gave me not too long ago. I’m impressed that M’tok came to it on his own, and a little ashamed that I needed to be reminded that not everything is awful every day.
“I think of that flower whenever my thoughts become too much,” he admits when I am silent. “It makes me think of my mother’s smile, and that helps.”
For some reason, that stupid knot returns to my throat. “My thoughts are ‘too much’ a lot of the time.”
“I understand this.” His voice is calm. Soothing. “It becomes easier with every day that passes, though. It stays inside you, but you learn to live with it.”
“You’re probably right.” It all sounds logical, and sensible, and even so, I appreciate hearing it. I know it’s true. M’tok has gone through hell in the past, losing his family like that. And yet the guy I know today is pigheaded and an asshole, and doesn’t listen to reason, but he’s only angry when stuff’s out of order in the cave. At times like this he’s…kinda pleasant. Which makes me grumpy. Not because I dislike his pleasantness, but because we’ve spent so much time being pissy at each other. “You know, if you would have talked to me like this when we first met, I wouldn’t have hated you so much.”
M’tok tilts his head, eyeing me curiously. “Talked to you like what?”
“Like a human with feelings and not just a vibrating vagina.”
His eyes narrow. “A what?”
I wave a hand in the air. “Never mind. Human saying.” Sort of.
“If you are saying I am stubborn, you are right.” His eyes gleam. “If you are saying I am sly and clever, you are also right.”
“Slytherin,” I mutter. “And no, I’m just saying…actually, you know what? I don’t want to argue. I’m having a good evening.” I wave a hand in the air. “Forget I brought it up.”
M’tok gives me another one of those sneaky smiles. “I think you are saying if I had been kind and gentle to you that you would have accepted resonance with an eager embrace? Because I do not believe that.”
He’s got a point. “Maybe if you�
��d stopped shoving your cock in my face three times a day,” I snap back.
He appears to consider this, rubbing the scruff on his chin. “I will only show it to you twice a day from now on.”
A horrified laugh escapes me, and when it becomes clear that he’s teasing, we both start laughing.
And it’s not such a bad day after all. I don’t even need to go down my list of five things to be in a better mood tonight. I’m already there.
14
CALLIE
I wake up the next morning and feel pretty good. I mean, other than the cootie that makes me want to cross the cave and jump M’tok’s bones. Other than the fact that I’m so needy with horniness that I could probably climax in about two seconds. Other than I slept on a cave floor on an ice planet.
Other than all that, it was a pretty good night. We talked—just talked—like normal human beings that don’t hate each other’s guts. We ate good food, sat around the fire, and talked until my eyes wouldn’t stay open. Then M’tok insisted on giving me most of the blankets and slept across the fire from me, and he didn’t bug me about resonance once.
It’s still there between us, an ever-present problem, but I’m determined to not let it make decisions for me. If and when I jump into someone’s bed, I want it to be because Calida Hoyos wants to be there, not because some glowing worm decided I’d make cute babies.
Though I do love cute babies. I’m just not sure if I’m ready to have any of my own yet.
Especially with M’tok.
That feels unfair, though. Despite the fact he drugged and kidnapped me—which I’m never going to let him live down—he’s been really nice and pleasant to be around otherwise. I know it’s overlooking a lot, but maybe my brain is tired of all this anger and hurt and I’m just dumping a lot of my mental baggage on the wayside. Maybe I’m giving him a pass for not being as much of a douchebag. Who knows.
I lie under the pile of furs and appreciate my morning, though. It’s definitely something to be thankful for. I’m thankful we found this bomb-ass cave. I’m thankful it has hot running water that I’m totally going to use for bathing. I’m thankful for warm furs and food and I’m really thankful it’s quiet.
I didn’t realize how nice the quiet was until just now. The spaciousness, too. Despite the fact that I have four aunts and two uncles and far too many cousins, I’ve always been an only child. I never had to share a room with anyone. But here on this planet, it just makes sense for all of the unmated women to bunk together in the biggest, most sheltered cave. My bedding has been stacked alongside everyone else’s and I’m used to a morning cacophony of snores and low murmurs, of people getting dressed or doing something. There’s always someone around.
Here, it’s just quiet upon quiet. Even M’tok sleeps quietly.
It’s so nice. I stretch my arms over my head, enjoying the roominess of our cave, too. I can take up as much room as I want with no issues. I can even sleep late if I want to close my eyes and go back to sleep.
For some reason, I don’t, though. I sit up and when I see M’tok’s back to me, his front facing the entrance of the cave, it’s almost like he’s spent all night protecting me, his spear in reach. So I decide to make him breakfast.
Ay, estupida, you’re making your captor breakfast? I chide myself, but it feels different than that. It’s like we’ve come to a wary truce of some kind, and I’m reluctant to have it end. Not fighting feels easier right now. So much easier.
Besides, he’s been doing a ton of work to keep me safe. The least I can do is make breakfast. So I quietly stoke the fire, then get hot water from the trickle in the cave and make some tea.
M’tok wakes up a short time later, rubbing his eyes. His long hair—normally parted down the middle and glass-smooth—is rumpled on one side from sleep. It amuses me to see the meticulous M’tok ever so slightly mussed, though. He runs a hand over his face, and for a moment he looks so weary and exhausted that my chest pings with worry.
Our eyes meet, and then his khui starts its song, loud and angry. Mine joins in a split second later, my chest vibrating and all of my body filling and surging with the familiar, annoying-as-fuck need. Ugh. I clutch the neck of my tunic as if I can will my cootie to shut down, and gesture at the tea and a few of the travel cakes I’ve heated on stones near the fire. “Good morning. I made breakfast.”
“My thanks,” he says, moving to sit near the fire. I notice he’s slept in a loincloth and not much else, and it’s currently straining. That tiny bit of leather is at full capacity. Not that I should be looking. He sits down gracefully, obstructing my view of things I wasn’t looking at anyhow and takes a sip of tea, then watches me.
I’m determined to keep things decent between us. If not easy (thanks, resonance), we can at least be civil. “Weather looks kind of nasty.”
He nods, glancing at the entrance to the cave. “It began to snow after you went to sleep. It does not surprise me that it has yet to stop.”
It is pretty gray outside. Even from my cozy spot by the fire, I can see snowflakes flying thick in the air and what little sunlight there is is weak and obscured by the thick cloud cover. “Looks like we’re staying in, unless you want to head back toward the village despite the weather anyhow.”
The look he gives me is sour. “You know my answer.”
I shrug. “Had to ask.” I’m not super opposed to spending a day in this quiet cave though. Now that it’s all cleaned out? It’s pretty nice. Almost like a vacation. That’s another thing to be thankful for, just like Steph said. Or as M’tok would say, I need to take each day and enjoy it as it comes.
I haven’t been enjoying a lot of my days, and choosing to be happy instead of being bitter feels…difficult, but better.
“Okay, well, if we’re staying in today, what are we doing?”
M’tok gives me a heated look.
Oh shit, I did not mean that. My cheeks turn scaldingly hot and I shake my head quickly. “Not like that. I meant — what are we doing to stay busy? Sewing? Cleaning? What?”
He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “I will organize my gear and look at what we can use near the cave for supplies. Perhaps clean some more.”
I nod, picking at the hem of my tunic. Just touching the jagged hem makes me think of my mother. She’s such a stickler for good hems and the proper darts to tuck in a waist that she’d be horrified at the bland outfits we wear. Calida, even if we don’t have much to work with, we can do something to make an outfit special, she always tells me when someone brings in an ugly bridesmaid’s dress to the shop and asks for help. She’s right. Leather might not be my fabric of choice, but I can do things to make my tunic less ugly. I can add a decorative hem, or I can embroider. A lot of things can be brightened up with some colorful embroidery along a collar.
“Hey,” I say to M’tok. “Do you know how to dye that stuff we use for thread? The sinew?”
“Why?” He watches me.
I tap a finger on my chin. “Are you going to laugh at me when I tell you?”
“I never laugh at you.” M’tok looks incredibly serious, his gaze intent on mine.
For some reason, that makes me want to blush again. I break eye contact and fuss with the hem of my tunic. It’s been hastily made—us bigger girls didn’t get a lot to pick from with the borrowed tunics, so mine was just a quick, simple tunic thrown together by someone with a few hours to kill. It’s kinda ugly but I haven’t cared until now. “My mother used to make specialized clothing. I remember she would embroider flowers on my dresses when I was a child because I liked the colors. I figure I could make my clothing prettier if I could dye some thread. Sinew. Whatever.”
He thinks for a moment, and then nods. “I know of ways to dye with roots and leaves of strong colors, but I am not certain the same plants grow here. We will need to test things to see if the colors run.”
I shrug. “We have time.”
M’tok smiles. “So we do.”
* * *
We play with
colors and sinew all day long. M’tok ventures out into the snowstorm to pull a few of the plants clinging to the icy cliffs and returns with his bounty. We try green first, since everything that grows has a green shade to it, and red is easy enough to find—there’s a lichen that grows deep inside the cave, near the hot water, and we scrape it into a pouch. Then, of course, there’s figuring out how to set up bowls to soak the sinew so it can absorb the dye. We end up going with a dry rub instead, because it’s all experimental and we don’t have extra bowls beyond our food ones. So we let the components of our dye boil out in M’tok’s spare cooking pouch until it makes a fine sludge at the bottom and then we mix that sludge with a bit of the water-resistant resin we carry with us to fix boots and waterskins and the like.
Just the set-up takes all day, but by the time we finally rub the red and green into the lengths of sinew, it’s dark outside once more, and the snowstorm hasn’t stopped. Not that I mind. In fact, I’m almost…glad.
Which is weird.
I shouldn’t be happy to be trapped alone with M’tok, but being here with him and without any pressure is just…nice. Sure, there’s my cootie to deal with, but it’s like a throbbing tooth. After a while, you learn to live with the discomfort. Strangely enough, being near M’tok helps. It’s like my cootie thinks we’re about to get it on so it calms down a little.
It makes it a little easier to ignore, so I’m able to enjoy the day. For all that we’ve fought like cats and dogs for the last few weeks, I find M’tok surprisingly easy to talk to. We talk about sewing first, of course, and I tell him about my mother’s dressmaker business and how she’d always embroider little designs on the insides of my sleeves so I’d know she was thinking about me. I tell him about my big, noisy family and how there were always at least four people at our house at all times—cousins or aunts, grandmothers, uncles, or even friends—and how my father would fire up the barbecue and spend all evening on the porch, sipping a beer and making food for everyone that would show up.