by Calista Skye
The old caveman stares at me.
“That’s a woman,” Brax’tan explains. “I found her on Bune. May we come in? I think she wants to see your residence.”
The man just backs into his hole, and we follow.
On the inside, it’s a remarkably bright and airy room, although of course there are no windows. The ceiling is higher than the tunnel, and there are several torches burning along the round walls. Weapons and decorative objects hang on the walls, and along one wall there’s a cozy nook with blankets and furs in a heap.
The resident stares at me for another moment, and then it’s as if he wakes up. “Chief Brax’tan! Is this The Woman?”
“It is not,” Brax’tan smiles. “This is Delyah, an alien woman from another planet. Abducted by the Plood and placed here on Xren many months ago. She lives in a cave with other women and many warriors.”
The old man nods and then gives me a bemused smile. “Then she’s most welcome in my humble dwelling. Do sit down, of course.”
He hurriedly places furs on the hard packed dirt that is his floor, and Brax’tan and I take a seat.
“Delyah wanted to see how we live,” Brax’tan says. “And I could think of no better place to go than this.”
“Really? I’m glad. In truth, I wasn’t entirely unprepared. Word spreads quickly here. Still, the beauty of this woman strikes me with joy and apparently paralyses my tongue at the same time. Do you speak, woman?”
“I do,” I reply. “You have a nice home here, Trui’rex.”
The man chuckles. “It must seem strange to an alien, used to live in caves. We have caves, too. But as the tribe grows, they are not large enough for all of us to live in. So we dug these. And this works fine.”
“You have a fine home, Trui’rex,” Brax’tan agrees. “As I recall, not everything was perfect to start with.”
“We didn’t dig deep enough,” the old man creaks. “Our first tunnels filled with water. Then we dug twice as deep, and it was dry. More or less. Well, sometimes. Have you come to live with us, Delyah?”
20
- Delyah -
“That’s not why I’m here,” I say carefully. “I want my tribe and your tribe to be allies.”
“Allies are often good to have,” the old man says. “I often thought we should get some. I’m glad Brax’tan sees it the same way.”
Brax’tan looks at me. “We haven’t actually agreed to be allies. Yet.”
“Oh, but I’m sure she will agree. Or do you need your chief’s approval, perhaps? Are you here as his envoy, Delyah?”
“I’m the… um… leader of our tribe.”
“Hear that, Brax’tan? You brought us their chief.”
Brax’tan looks at me with new interest. “Really? You’re the chief of your alien tribe?”
“We don’t call it chief,” I say. “We just say I’m the leader. Sometimes. When some difficult decision has to be made.”
“Which is precisely the time when a chief is needed,” Truri’ax says. “Your tribe may not call you Chief Delyah. But I will.”
For some reason, the old man’s kind words hit me somewhere soft, and my eyes are suddenly flooding. “Thank you.”
“Have you fed her, Brax’tan? She looks under-nourished.”
“Not recently,” Brax’tan admits. “I will go and arrange it.” He gets to his feet and hurries out of the room.
Truri’ax chuckles again. “I hope you can overlook his youthful follies. Young men often forget that not everyone is as strong and powerful as they. He is the greatest chief we have ever had. And I should know. Chief Delyah, while you wait for the no doubt lavish meal he’s currently ordering prepared, perhaps you would like something to tide you over.”
The old man goes to a wicker basket and quickly places a piece of dried stew wrapped in a leaf in front of me, as well as a cup of pure water.
I bite into the food, which is not that different from the dish that Sophia sometimes prepares. “Delicious,” I state with my mouth full. “Did you cook this?”
“It’s difficult to cook under the ground,” he explains as he sits down. “The smoke has nowhere to go. The tribe usually cooks one common meal to save on both firewood and food, and to have one time of day when all tribesmen are gathered. Another of Brax’tan’s ideas. It creates commonality and a sense of unity. I’m afraid that was lacking before.”
“Has he turned everything around for the tribe? Made it better?”
“Very much so. He was always full of ideas, Brax’tan. And more importantly, he was full of action. He felt we should take better care of the Lifegivers. When that was not done, he did it himself. He felt the caves were getting too crowded. When nobody would listen, he dug tunnels and holes for him and the other young boys to live in. He felt that the village was not well enough guarded. When nobody would go on patrol, he and his young friends would take turns outside the gate. He felt that we didn’t have enough food. When the chief wouldn’t order more men out to hunt, he would go himself. He felt that we should go to Bune and investigate the mysterious lights that would sometimes be seen. When the old shaman wouldn’t let him, he went in secret.”
“And then he became chief,” I hazard a guess.
“Not easily. The old chief was difficult about it. You know how old men can be. Or maybe you don’t. Anyway, the chief saw no reason for change. Things had been fine for many generations just the way things were done. Why change it? Old men prefer to sit still and see things be exactly the way they have always been. They prefer not to move. They prefer to not see that things aren’t as good as they should be. And yet, Brax’tan’s ideas and actions were so clearly right.”
I take a sip of the water. “What happened?”
“In our tribe, chiefs are not removed from power until they die. The old chief was safe. But he also saw that the men wanted Brax’tan to lead them. Finally, it became too much. He offered to duel with Brax’tan for the position of chief. Brax’tan refused. We all knew it was because he knew he could easily kill the chief.”
Trui’rex sighs. “The old chief didn’t know what to do. In a moment of insanity, he attacked Brax’tan from behind, trying to cut him down with his sword. In front of the assembled tribesmen. Brax’tan ducked and easily picked the sword out of the chief’s hand. He then embraced the chief and whispered into his ear.
“The chief turned around, with tears in his eyes, and declared that he was stepping down as chief and that Brax’tan was the new chief of the Verensi. Then he bared his chest for Brax’tan to skewer with his sword, as would be appropriate. The only way for a chief to step down is to die. Everyone knew it.”
I’ve stopped chewing. “And then?”
“Then Brax’tan drew his sword. He stood between the tribe and the chief and yelled that anyone who would curl a hair on the chief’s head would meet with a quick death. ‘Traditions can change,’ he said. ‘The new tradition for our tribe is that chiefs may resign peacefully and alive. I will use that right myself when the time comes. Who disagrees with me?’ Nobody disagreed. And thus he was the new chief. As was proper.”
The cozy room is silent for a while as I digest what I’ve learned. Some pieces are falling into place.
“What happened to the old chief?” I finally ask.
Trui’rex looks around his dug-out hole in the ground. “Oh, he seems to be living well enough. It’s said he’s being visited by a woman, even.”
I can feel the gears turning in my head before I get it. “You were the chief before Brax’tan.”
He smiles. “I was. And I was stubborn then, obsessed with tradition and keeping things as they were. Now I see that Brax’tan was right. Well, I saw it back then, too. But it was a painful thing to see. He cared more about the tribe than I did.”
I frown. “You knew he would kill you in the duel. You did it for the good of the tribe. You were prepared to die for your tribe. I’d say you cared, too.”
“Well, perhaps. At that moment. Finally. But that was too
late. And since then, our tribe has only gotten better.”
“Are you his father?”
“I am not. Regretfully, in a way, but it can’t be helped. Nobody knows who Brax’tan’s father was. A Lifegiver closed up and showed all signs of having been seeded, but nobody had been allowed to. Someone must have done it in secret, some unworthy warrior who knew that he would never have been allowed to have offspring. But we let it be, and we cared for the baby as much as we would for any other boy. And that was good. Because he grew up to become Brax’tan.”
I take a sip of the water. “What is his connection with Bune?”
“With Bune? Well, he went there sometimes when he was younger. He was always very energetic. Nobody wondered too much. It was forbidden to go there, but it seemed proper that he should. I think he still goes there. When the Ancestors are showing their lights on Bune.”
“Did you ever see him with some kind of strange, flat rock? That could make light?”
The old man looks at me blankly. “No.”
The door opens again, and Brax’tan comes in. “Delyah, the tribe has made a meal for you. For us. Will you come too, Trui’rex?”
The old man chuckles. “Have you ever known me to say no to a meal? You two youngsters go ahead. I’ll follow.”
When we climb back out of the hole, clouds have gathered and it looks like it might rain.
“Don’t the tunnels fill with water?” I ask as we walk back to the totem pole site.
Brax’tan takes my hand as we walk. “Some do. It is a problem. After a hard rain, even some of the best tunnels get muddy. The water seeps through from above.”
“You never considered building houses? Huts? Much easier to keep dry.”
“We didn’t really consider it at the time. And then the tunnels seem to work. They make the village very hard to discover from a distance. It only looks like a meadow. Dangerous Bigs and other tribes aren’t attracted to it. For huts, we’d have to cut down trees. We’d have to work outside the walls. Changing the jungle that protects us.”
There are several round tables set up around the totem pole, which has been carved from a thick tree and depicts a stylized animal of some kind. It reminds me of a dactyl, but it isn’t quite that. Well, it’ll come to me.
Large sunshades have been erected around the tables, like giant hexagonal parasols.
Hundreds of cavemen are standing around and chatting, all throwing curious glances at me when Brax’tan and I approach. When we’re almost there, everyone falls silent.
Being the center of attention was never my thing. As in, I hate it with a passion. Here and now, being stared at by hundreds of huge caveman aliens who have never seen a woman before, I should be blushing like crazy and stumbling over my own feet with every step.
But Trui’rex called me Chief Delyah. And I represent both my girls and all of Earth. So I push my chest out, lift my chin, place a cool smile on my lips and try my best to walk with sure steps. But my hand is clenched around Brax’tan’s as if I’m trying to crush it.
As we get to the table closest to the totem pole, we stop.
“Hail, Chief Brax’tan!” the shaman calls, and with one loud crash, all the warriors slap their hands to the hilt of their swords.
Brax’tan then slaps his own sword. “Hail sons of Verensi!”
They all yell “raaah!” or something like that with deafening volume, and then they all calmly sit down.
I’m stunned. I grew up in army bases. I’ve seen soldiers march too many times to count, I’ve seen them do things in unison, and it’s impressive as hell. But they’re always under orders.
What I’m seeing here aren’t soldiers. These are primitive warriors, and they have a gleam in their eyes that makes them seem pretty fanatic. It’s a chilling display of discipline and unity that doesn’t come from the outside, but which resides deep within every single one of these men. They don’t have drill instructors or sergeants. These guys don’t need any of those things. Because they are not a company or a battalion. They are a tribe. And they are more deadly than anything else I’ve seen on Xren. I can feel in my bones that a flock of dactyls are nowhere near as deadly as these guys.
I sit down beside Brax’tan, pretty shaken. If all the tribes are like this, and just one of them decides to attack our cave… shit.
The deputy chief sits down across from us. “You have seen our tunnels, Delyah? Are there similar dwellings on your planet?”
I can’t help thinking of the hobbit holes from the Lord of the Rings movies. “Yes, we have some of the same things. But most of us live in houses. Above the ground.”
Shaman Jur’nex sits down opposite from me, but doesn’t say anything.
“Ah,” Sas’tar says, the deputy chief. “We have sometimes discussed it. We feel it would be too much work. Still, Brax’tan, perhaps the time has come? Might not our alien woman show us how to build? Surely she has built many houses on her own planet.”
“Perhaps the time has come,” Brax’tan ponders. “Have you, Chief Delyah?”
I vaguely recall having built one or two small cabins in the woods with some friends when I was a kid, really just twigs and branches forming a primitive teepee. “Not very many. I know some of the principles. I think.”
The shaman is staring at me. “Is she a chief?”
“Delyah is the chief of her tribe,” Brax’tan says with pride. “She is extremely revered by them.”
“I’m not that revered,” I mumble. “I just don’t have the sense to say ‘no’ when someone tells me to lead them.”
Nobody can hear me, because the arrival of several not-sheep grilled whole causes the tribe to cheer. One of the large stone plates is set on our table, along with drinks and fruits and cakes that are probably made from roots.
Brax’tan loads up a fresh, green leaf with meat and everything else, then places it in front of me, along with a hollowed-out stone filled with fruit juice.
Everyone is looking at me.
I take a slice of grilled meat between my fingertips. It smells really good, and suddenly I’m transported in time and space to years ago on Earth, to barbecuing in the backyard, on a big grill with the family all there, the afternoon sun beating down. And the meat smelling just like this. Like home and summer and burning charcoal. The specific backyard would always be a new one. But everything else would be the same.
I take a little nibble of the still hot meat, and there’s a murmur of approval from the tribe as the hot juice runs down my chin.
“Chief Delyah is much like us,” the deputy chief states loudly. “It’s a pity she has her own tribe, or I would suggest she become a member of ours.”
“No alien can become a tribesman,” the shaman growls. “Or a tribeswoman.”
21
- Delyah -
“Are you still waiting for The Woman, Jur’nex?” Sas’tar asks with a little smile. “After it has become clear that Bune has nothing to do with our Ancestors? What else about the Ancestors and the Prophecy is wrong?”
The shaman tosses a bone into a small heap of them that’s already accumulating by the side of the table. “I don’t understand everything about this, Sas’tar. But I agree that things have changed.”
“And how they have changed, I’m sure we will see in the days ahead,” Brax’tan says with emphasis, ending that topic. “Meanwhile, how is the iron gathering going, Mox’zan?”
“It’s going well,” an older warrior says. “We have gathered enough for twenty swords this past month. Most from red soil, some from red rocks that have been found at the bottom of streams. We believe we should erect a new forge, or even two...”
The conversation turns to practical things in the village, and I can relax a little and just listen as I chew the tender meat and the crispy vegetables. These guys are really into improving their village, and they seem to have a whole lot of projects going on. From what I can gather, a lot of time is taken up with hunting and practicing with their swords, as well as maintaining the
fence and the tunnels and everything else.
After a while, more dishes are served, along with beakers of the ubru that I’ve already tasted. The men gradually loosen up and become louder, and this is more a garden party than a tribal dinner now.
There are men of all ages in this tribe, but none of them seem to be idle, the way some of the girls described other tribes. It looks to me as if Brax’tan is running a very tight ship where everyone has to contribute, while at the same time not being a micro-manager. All the tribesmen he talks to obviously take their responsibilities very seriously, and Brax’tan never gives detailed orders about how they should run their tasks. Still, his questions reveal that he has detailed knowledge about everything that goes on in the village. I can’t help but admire him for that. I get the feeling that he might be a natural leader, and it’s eye-opening. I’ve met too many fake ones.
The party goes on for a long time, and some rain showers come and go. When the men finally get up from the table, the sun is out again, the shadows are getting longer and I’ve had to hide a couple of yawns from the others.
Brax’tan gently takes my hand. “We were interrupted in the middle of our tour. There is more to see.”
The ubru has made me nice and mellow, so I happily follow him. “I think I was right when I said you’re not a terrible chief. Your tribesmen admire you a lot.”
“Really? Seems to me it’s you they’re admiring. Maybe you’re terrible, too.”
I slap his shoulder, not too hard. “They stare at me, sure. But you know what I mean.”
He shrugs. “We all live in this village. We all want it to be good. Someone has to keep the big picture. It matters less who it is.”
We’re walking slowly towards the rock wall the makes out one boundary of the village, through a shady little grove of trees. The rock appears almost white, and it’s really beautiful.
“Look, this is the first cave the tribe lived in, many generations ago.”