Caveman Alien’s Trick

by Calista Skye

  The two remaining dragons freeze and follow it with their eyes. Then they’re suddenly running after it, faster than any human or caveman could run.

  I notice that I’m running, too, but the other way. Rax’tar is dragging me with him so fast that I’m streaming behind him like a flag, hardly touching the ground.

  He tosses me into the Magic Mirror, then kicks the raft out from the shore and grabs the rope from it before he’s right behind me in the canoe, paddling hard.

  “That bought us some time,” he says.

  I want to slap him. “Yeah. About ten seconds before one of them turns into a dragon and comes flying to get us! Why did you give them that knife? It would have been valuable to them before. But now it has been used to kill Gorgoz, you bet it’s much more important! That dragon will be damn powerful. it would have been better if you’d thrown it into the deep water. Or just fought them for it.”

  Rax’tar paddles harder than I’ve ever seen him work with the oar, and I can feel the acceleration as we speed away from the island.

  I turn around to look. Gorgoz has evaporated, only leaving a heap of scales. I can hear some distant splashing of the two dragons as they search for the knife in the shallow water where it landed. Any second now one of them will find it. And that one will not make the mistakes Gorgoz made in underestimating us and luxuriating in having the upper hand.

  “I don’t think we need to worry,” Rax’tar says.

  Something in his voice… I whirl around in the canoe.

  He’s grinning with his white teeth and fangs as he holds up the dagger.

  Yep, that’s definitely it. As big as a saber.

  “But… but... what…” I splutter.

  His reply is drowned out by a piercing, double scream that has unmistakable anger and disappointment in it.

  “I said,” he continues, unaffected when the screams have rolled over the Seatree Ocean, “I didn’t throw the dagger.”

  “Then what was it? I definitely saw you throw something that shone like metal.”

  “Something that I think will have little value to those two. Something that has caused me some pain.” He turns his knee inward and shows me his thigh. Some blood is running from two rows of strange punctures in his skin.

  I frown. I don’t get it. “What?”

  He paddles on. “Your crab! I found it on the raft and forgot about it until it bit into me and stayed there. But I was too concerned with other things, and I didn’t really notice.”

  I just stare at him. “That’s what you threw? My love, you are so full of tricks it’s almost too much. No, that thing will not be of any value to them. No dragons want a crab as a part of their hoard. Let me see your arm. No, the other one.”

  He holds out his right arm. The skin outside the stripes is an angry red, with black splotches here and there. “What?”

  I stroke over the burned skin. “Gorgoz was about to burn me when you stabbed him. He lost his aim and burned the map, instead. And your arm. This is a very bad burn, my love. But we can probably fix it in my village.”

  He holds up his arm and looks at it. “Hmm. It does hurt quite a lot, now that I notice it. But we’ll be going to your village, anyway.”

  The terror the dragons instilled in me is slowly dissipating now that we’re putting distance between us and them. “You’ll come?”

  “I will.”

  “Did you mean that about marrying me?”

  He fixes me with his purple eyes. “I still mean it. Did you mean that about saying yes?”

  I lean over to reach up and touch his face, just because I can. He’s not perfect, and I’m not thrilled about the events when he left his tribe. But he’s only human. Well, caveman. And I don’t expect him to be perfect. “You bet I did. And I still do.”

  He gives me a boyish, shy smile. “I was hoping you did. I wonder…”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you know the way to the Gate?”

  I look up. My three stars are out again, but I see something else, too. “Yes. And so do you. There’s The Island.” I point.

  “Ah. So it is. I’ve rarely seen it from this angle. Do you mind if we stop by there first? I want to pick up something.”

  I stare over at The Island. There’s no sign of life. “You guys were planning to raid my village, right? To abduct some of my friends?”

  “We were. It seemed only right that my friends also have a woman of their own. But I called it off. When you escaped, I realized how wrong it was.”

  “And are the guys going to let you just take me home?”

  “They would never stop me from doing something that important. And I suspect that some of them might want to come along.”

  I have an ominous feeling about it. But if he says so… “All right. Just a brief stop, and we stay together.”

  “Agreed.”

  The Magic Mirror hits the beach in a place where we’ve never landed before. Rax’tar takes my hand and we walk towards the hollowed-out tree.

  “Ah, you found her,” a voice says behind us.

  “I did, Gir’ex,” Rax’tar says. “Did we not come to an agreement about hiding from each other in the dark?”

  “Apologies,” Gir’ex says tightly. “But the circumstances are unusual. There was a huge flash that lit up the sky, a long one. But no thunder, only strange screaming. And now an entire island appears to be in fire. I’m happy to see you again, Phoebe. Shall we lock her in the room and proceed with the raid?”

  More of the men have heard the conversation and are approaching in the darkness.

  “There will be no raid,” Rax’tar says loudly. “Like I have said before. The raid is canceled. I will escort Phoebe to her village and throw myself at the mercy and justice of her tribe.”

  “You will submit to a tribe? A strange tribe? You of all men?” Arit’zan asks.

  “I of all men,” Rax’tar says and smiles. “And I would suggest you all follow me there. Perhaps not all of us will have women. lt is, after all, the woman’s decision which man she wants. But it will be a life of meaning. Friends, the dragons are indeed real. They are frightening. I will do whatever I can to chase them off Xren, fighting along with Phoebe’s tribe. Come along with me!”

  “The woman’s decision?” Curt’on says and saunters closer. “Who says that? Only if you let her decide. No! We will go and collect women for ourselves and bring them here. We will decide! Not the alien females. This alien female has decided too much here already.” He gives me an ugly look.

  “We will not raid the village,” Rax’tar repeats. “And note that Phoebe and I will get married. She is my fiancee. Any insult towards her is an insult towards me.”

  Curt’on laughs mirthlessly and focuses on me. “You agreed to marry him? Even after what I told you? When there are much better men available?”

  “Whatever he did in the past is in the past,” I say as confidently as I can, but I’m not absolutely sure. “He’s a different man now.”

  “What did you tell her, Curt’on?” Gir’ex asks. “About Rax’tar’s past?”

  Curt’on looks away. “Only what is well known.”

  “Do you remember what it was, Phoebe?” Gir’ex asks me mildly. “I should be interested to know.”

  “He told me about what happened when Rax’tar left his tribe. That he… cut down his instructor. But I’m sure it was an accident.”

  “Cut down?” Gir’ex frowns. “That is not what happened.”

  “It might as well have been,” Curt’on said. “But I say we’ve had enough talk.”

  He suddenly lunges at me, and his shoulder crashes into my stomach. It knocks the wind out of me and takes me away from Rax’tar.

  Curt’on holds me close to me with one arm, and with the other he holds his sword. Its edge is at my throat.

  “I have your precious fiancee, Rax’tar,” Curt’on hisses. “One little slice, and she’ll bleed out like a gutted dirg. Right here in front of you.”

  Rax’tar has his dagger
in his hand. “Let her go, Curt’on, and no harm will come to you. I understand your frustration. We had planned the raid. You desperately want a woman of your own. But a raid is not the way. Come with us to her village! Perhaps one of the unmarried women there will take a liking to you.”

  “It is that ‘perhaps’ we don’t like”, Curt’on seethes. “We don’t want ‘perhaps’. We don’t want ‘maybe’. We want women! Here! On The Island!”

  The other cavemen gather around us.

  Rax’tar stands in front of us, alone. “And there may well be that women will come here,” he says calmly. “By their own choice. Only by their own choice. Not because they’ve been brought here against their will. I did that to Phoebe. It was wrong. I will allow nobody else to do it again.”

  “I don’t think it is in your power to allow or disallow anything like this,” Curt’on says with a little bit of triumph in his voice. “We want women. We will not be denied.”

  I can feel Curt’on’s body trembling with excitement and anger. The edge of his sword is cold and sharp at my throat.

  “We will leave you here,” he continues. “We will take your precious female with us to her tribe. We will raid it and get women of our own. And who knows? Perhaps this one will find someone else she likes more. After some persuasion, maybe.”

  “If Phoebe comes to any harm, I will kill you,” Rax’tar says simply.

  “Will you?” Curt’on laughs. “But we are six, Rax’tar. How many are you?”

  There are three heartbeats of tense silence.

  “Rax’tar is only one,” Juri’ex finally says. “But he is a good one.”

  The sword is no longer at my throat, and I drop to the ground as Curt’on’s grip on me disappears.

  “Let me go!” he suddenly screams in anger. “Idiots! Traitors! You will never have women!”

  I turn around. The other men have calmly grabbed Curt’on’s arms and legs and are now holding him in an iron grip. Arit’zan has his arm around his neck, and Curt’on’s held firmly by all the other’s. One man to each limb.

  And it’s necessary. Curt’on is strong, and I doubt iron shackles could hold him still as he struggles to get free. But five caveman can.

  “Congratulations on your engagement,” Gir’ex grunts, holding firmly on to Curt’on’s sword arm. “We shall celebrate later. Now, let us take this tribesman and lock him up somewhere until he regains his senses. I think I know just the place.”

  The other five carry Curt’on away, towards the hollow tree. He screams and hisses.

  “You will never have women! A raid is the only way! No woman will choose you!”

  They disappear into the tree.

  Rax’tar picks me up and holds me tight. “Are you all right, my love?”

  I touch my throat. “I am. No blood. I’m just shaken.”

  “As I am. Curt’on! I would never have believed it.”

  “I hope they removed the rope from the window,” I muse and press myself as close to Rax’tar as I can. “Two escapes in one night would just be ridiculous.”

  “They will make sure he can’t escape the room. And he has all the food he needs while we all go to your village and offer our services.”

  “You think they’ll all come?”

  “Those who want to. We will force nobody.”

  “I think that’s always a good idea.” I squeeze him, feeling his warmth and the hardness of his muscles and the silky smoothness of his skin outside the stripes. “So you are actually raiders?”

  “I suppose we would have become raiders, if we had gone through with this. It would have been our first raid.”

  I squeeze him again. «You’ve never gone on raids before?”

  He looks at me with puzzled amusement. “Never.”

  “It’s just, you gave me the impression... oh, never mind.”

  “I suppose I wanted to seem mysterious about what we do here. In fact, we’re only ordinary hunters.”

  I place a relieved kiss on his chest. “There’s nothing ordinary about you, love. What is it you wanted to pick up from here?”

  “Oh, I’ve been thinking about it. And I think maybe a sword would come in handy for a dragonslayer.”

  I stiffen. “You will get the sword from the wall?”

  “I will.”

  “The one with the blood on it?”

  He must sense my unease. He holds me out from him and pierces me with his eyes. “What did Curt’on tell you about it?”

  “He told me about… what happened.”

  Rax’tar thinks for a moment. Then he takes my hand and we walk into the hall. “Sit down here.”

  I sit in the too-tall chair and dangle my legs until Rax’tar returns with Gir’ex.

  “Gir’ex was there and saw everything. Gir’ex, please tell Phoebe what happened before I left our tribe.”

  “Certainly,” Gir’ex says and sits down across from me. “This was when we were young, maybe a couple of years after the Stripening for each of us. It was a normal tribe, probably. To us, it started to seem stifling. All the rules and the ranks that had to be observed and the over-cautious older tribesmen always denying us some adventure or other. We started to feel that we young warriors were doing a lot of the work in the village, while the older men seemed to relax a lot. We did the hunting, we carried the water, we chopped the wood. Whereas some of the older ones never seemed to do anything. They rarely went into the jungle, whereas we did it as often as we could.”

  Rax’tar gets up and fills mugs of juice for all three of us, placing them on the table and sitting down a little bit away from me.

  “When we didn’t do chores, we practiced with our swords,” Gir’ex continues. “It’s important, as I’m sure you know. The older warriors had exhausted the skills they could pass on to us, and now we were inventing ways to use the blade. The old men would sometimes watch us practice, impressed by the new things we did. It was, of course, mostly Rax’tar who impressed them. He was highly talented. Still is.”

  Gir’ex takes a swig from his mug.

  I glance at Rax’tar. He’s looking into the air, not meeting my gaze.

  Gir’ex wipes his lips. “One day, we were practicing, and one of the old warriors felt we were doing something wrong. It was a simple thing, and he wanted to show us how to do it right. Now, this man’s sword was unusually long and heavy. It had edges on both sides, too. It was hard to handle. But this man, Fur’tax, insisted on showing us the trick he knew. He was older than most, and probably hadn’t fought or hunted with that sword for years. We soon realized that he had misunderstood – the thing he wanted to show us was well known to us and had nothing to do with what we had been practicing. He meant no harm, I hasten to add. He was in good spirits. He had just forgotten his skills.”

  Gir’ex drains his mug, and Rax’tar fills it up again.

  “While the trick was simple enough, it was too complicated for Fur’tax. He wasn’t as strong as he had once been. Before we knew it, he had lost control of his blade and it went flying. Straight towards Rax’tar’s face.”

  Gir’ex looks up at the wall before he continues. “Rax’tar had fast reflexes. He raised his own sword to protect himself against the wild sword. And he succeeded. The sword hit his blade, shattered that blade, and bounced back in a spinning motion. It hit Fur’tax at the elbow and cut his arm in half. It could have been much worse.”

  I scratch my chin. “That’s it? An accident where a man was injured because he tried to impress a couple of kids?”

  “Of course, everyone had seen it, and we knew that Rax’tar had acted honorably. And yet Fur’tax claimed that Rax’tar should have prevented the injury. It’s not clear to me how that could have happened. Perhaps Fur’tax felt he should have let himself be hit by the wild sword? Anyway, the chief found Rax’tar innocent. And Fur’tax also did, when he had calmed down and had his injury tended to. He gave Rax’tar his sword as reconciliation. A great honor for Rax’tar. And yet, this was the event that finally made Rax
’tar leave the tribe.”

  Rax’tar looks up at the sword. “I had long thought that the tribe was suffocating. Safe, perhaps. But there was no life in it. The old men had lost their skills, the tribe had lost its energy and was mostly concerned with safety. I found that no tribe should be that way. The event with Fur’tax was a typical example of how the old hurt the tribe by always meddling in the young men’s activities. I hold no ill will against Fur’tax particularly. But they were all like him, I thought. Old and stagnant, like water left too long in a sack. So I went into the woods and stayed there alone for years. Until Curt’on and I found this place here.”

  I frown. “So nobody died? No head was cut off?”

  Rax’tar frowns right back. “That’s right. Is that what Curt’on told you?”

  “He said something like that. That you had cut off the head of your sword instructor in cold blood. And that you were displaying his sword here to spite him.”

  “Huh,” Gir’ex scoffs. “That would be ridiculous. Displaying a sword always means honoring its past owners. Notice that it has pride of place.”

  “It’s meant to honor Fur’tax,” Rax’tar explains. “That is even his blood on its edge. A part of him is here always. If the accident hadn’t happened, I might not have left. And I am very happy that I did. I became my own man in the jungle. That sword reminds me of that and of him. Every day.”

  I grab hold of his massive forearm, like a bundle of steel cables. “Then why were you so reluctant to talk about it? I thought it was something terrible!”

  “It was! Fur’tax lost his arm from the elbow down! I still think about it. Could I not have sidestepped? Why did I find it necessary to show off my skills at that exact time? Ancestors, the look on his face… not only had he lost his arm, he also realized he was not a young warrior anymore. He stopped thinking of himself as a complete man after that, I think. That’s why he gave me his sword. ‘It should be owned by a man’, he said. But I never used it. To me, it was his. And it is a very strange sword. I am somewhat afraid of using it. Now I wonder if I shouldn’t take it down and honor him for real. By slaying dragons with it.”