Caveman Alien’s Claim

by Calista Skye

  And she almost killed me and the eleven other girls who were trapped in a small part of the jungle, completely surrounded by her trench.

  Yeah. Troga was many things. But she was not an animal. Or a person. She was something else entirely. Something new. And being at her mercy for almost a year gave me full-blown PTSD, I’m pretty sure. She still lives. In my nightmares.

  “They must have weak points,” Sophia says. “It’s just a matter of finding it.”

  “We must know more,” Delyah sighs. “We know next to nothing about the dragons. When they arrive, we need to get intel on them. Any information we can get.”

  Sophia strokes a hank of hair behind one ear. . “Not an easy task. If Troga was anything to go by, they’ll have very acute senses…”

  No, I can’t take it anymore. I get to my feet and walk a distance away from them, over to a patch of spicy herbs we’ve planted. I squat down and pretend to be tending to them.

  It gives me a chance to get a better look at the silver-striped caveman. Now that I know, it’s obvious his stripes are shimmering with a metallic sheen. None of the other cavemen have that sheen to them. Except their hair, of course, with its inner light. But he has that, too.

  He’s wearing short pants and nothing else, like the cavemen usually do. And those pants kind of look like hand-me-downs, because they’re super tight. He’s bulging with muscles everywhere, and he sits straight and with such a stiff manner that he almost seems to have an air of superiority to him. His hair is dark blonde and cut pretty short.

  How would those stripes feel against my hand? Would they be cold like metal or warm like skin? He has a good bulge in his pants as well, and while I’ve never seen what the cavemen hide under there, the married girls have given enough hints that we all know it’s something spectacular. Does he have stripes there, too, maybe? He does have some down his legs, where there’s a sprinkling of hair—

  I freeze. Suddenly, the guy is looking straight at me. I don’t know how long he’s been doing that. He just caught me ogling him.

  And I can’t look away. Because his eyes are as luminously yellow as those of a tiger.

  But his face!

  I can’t hold back a gasp, and a chill goes down my back.

  The one side I’ve seen is still beautiful. But the other side is all matted and wrinkled and dry-looking, like parchment.

  My heart aches just seeing it. That must have hurt like hell.

  At some point, this guy has been in a fire. A really bad one. One that ruined half his face.

  The contrast between the two sides of his face is so stark, I can’t keep my hand from flying to my mouth in sympathy.

  2

  - Car’rakz -

  She’s been staring at me for a good while, thinking I haven’t noticed. But warriors have very good peripheral vision, and I’ve been able to study her without looking right at her.

  There are other women here, of course, and even though I knew that they were here, actually seeing them shocked me to my core. They’re small and soft and… different. Different in ways that are hard to describe. They have a way about them, a mildness and an elegance that strikes at something deep in me. Their bodies are round and have extremely feminine protrusions on the chest. Of course, I can’t know which parts of them are alien and which parts are common for all women. But some of the things feel more female than alien, faintly familiar.

  But only one of them keeps staring at me. She’s wearing a piece of skin from a Big, dark and splotched and hanging around her like a sack. Still, I can see her hips have a captivating swell to them, and her face is clear and open when she studies me.

  From the side, she couldn’t see the burned part of my face. But finally I turn my eyes on her and show her that I am ruined.

  I hold her curiously dark eyes, expecting a look of disgust on her alien face. And I get it. Or something similar. I can’t tell with her alien proportions.

  Finally looking directly at her, a feeling washes through me, one I’ve been trying to repress. It’s a feeling of desire, I think. Desire to touch her stripe-less skin, to stroke her long hair that’s falling down to her behind, to feel her scent and to see what lies underneath that garment.

  Of course, the shaman of our tribe showed us younger men what The Woman would look like underneath so that we could Worship her properly. But I have an urge to see it for myself. Will there really be a small slit?

  The woman finally looks away, and there’s a considerable pressure in my pants now. What if I got up, took her over my shoulders, and carried her away to my own cave?

  “Warrior Car’rakz of the Rentoni tribe,” the warrior says, breaking into my fantasy just as it was approaching a very pleasant part. His name is Brax’tan, and he has black stripes and a serious manner. He appears to be the chief here.

  “That is my name,” I confirm.

  The other warriors here give some affirmative grunts, being polite and pretending to have heard of me before. Some of them are the same as me, having come to this tribe to learn what is happening. The others are the men of this alien tribe. We are all sitting on rocks close to the edge of the forest, and the hosts have placed a large selection of food and drink in front of us and urged us to eat and drink.

  I have not done so yet.

  “You have come a long way, warrior,” Brax’tan continues.

  “I have. The rumors of flying mountains and even women on Xren came slowly to me. When they did come, I started my journey to see for myself.”

  “You are not too late,” he calmly states. “Were you sent by your tribe?”

  I look him in the eyes. “I was not. My tribe is concerned with… other things.”

  The other warriors exchange glances.

  “I see,” Brax’tan says. “How many warriors in your tribe?”

  “I have thirty tribesmen. Of those, I would count none a warrior.”

  A murmur spreads among the men assembled here in this strange village.

  “None?” Brax’tan inquires. “Are you then the only one?”

  “Perhaps.”

  The circle of men is quiet for a moment as they all give me curious glances. They must notice my worn and notched sword with the last two inches of the tip broken off, the less than elegant quality of my clothing, and of course, my burned face. I can’t make a good impression on them. But then, that was never my intention.

  Brax’tan strokes his chin. “I must ask, warrior: Are you an outcast?”

  It is a natural question to ask, under the circumstances. He can’t possibly know much about my tribe.

  “I am not.”

  “Have you killed many irox in your time?” the man called Jax’zan asks.

  “Not many irox come to our village,” I reply truthfully.

  They all understand what I mean: I have never killed an irox.

  The man called Ar’ox stirs. “Killing irox is a good way to practice for the immense task that lies ahead of us, warrior. Let me briefly tell you why. We expect large creatures called ‘dragons’ to descend on Xren at any time. These are deadly flying things with unknown abilities. The flying mountain and the women here are connected with them in the ways we have explained to you. These dragons will be coming here to kill us all. Thus, having experience in fighting flying Bigs like irox would appear to prepare us well for the defense against these alien creatures.”

  I can only shrug. “We don’t see many irox in our part of the woods.”

  “Are there other Bigs around your village, perhaps?” the man called Trak’zor asks.

  “There are. The usual ones. I have, of course, killed a number of those, as any man in the jungle must.”

  “And yet you don’t keep your sword in good repair,” the warrior called Dar’ax points out.

  I expected that. “My blade is sharp enough.”

  “But it is broken,” Ar’ox says. “Is there no iron in your tribe? No smith? No forge?”

  “Some things are lacking in my tribe, perhaps,” I repl
y stiffly. They are getting close to insulting my tribe without actually crossing the line. A man’s tribe is his life, and he will remain loyal to it.

  Jax’zan frowns. “Are you not able to forge a new blade yourself?”

  “I am, of course.” My short reply can’t be misunderstood: Don’t ask more about that.

  There follows an uncomfortable silence as they all evaluate me and what I’ve said. I’m aware their opinion of me must now be even worse than before.

  “Warrior Breni’ox of the Vert tribe,” Brax’tan says, shifting his attention to the man beside me.

  I relax a little. I had tensed up a surprising amount, although the opinions of these men should mean little to me.

  I know why, of course. This tribe is awe-inspiring.

  When I look around here, I’m struck with wonder. There’s a cave, of course. There’s also a stream, which has been ingeniously diverted from its original course and now runs through a series of gullies and pipes right through the village. There’s a large yard with patches of plants growing in orderly rows. There are similar rows of trees, including the mysterious salen tree that is impossible to climb or harvest from. I count three forges and many other huts, all in good condition. There are structures I don’t recognize. A large house is being built from strange, regular stones. The tribesmen here are unusually strong and obviously capable, with immaculate weapons and clear eyes. And there seems to be an unlimited amount of food available.

  And of course, the most wondrous thing of all: the women.

  Women on Xren! I still can’t wrap my mind around it properly. I count ten or more, and some of them are carrying babies. And yet I can see no Lifegivers anywhere. The old shaman must have been right — women can give birth after a Mating.

  These men just spent some time telling us that most of the things we were taught about the Ancestors and The Woman and all those vital things are false. They did it in a kind, mild way, knowing that the shock must be huge for all of us. But there’s no reason to doubt it. There are women here. I can see that with my own eyes. That in itself is proof enough.

  The longing to belong to this tribe hit me as soon as I entered their village. It is so tidy; the abundance is so great. There’s a sense of urgency in the air, everyone is doing something productive. Nobody’s sitting idly in the shade. There’s so much life and activity here, the way I would wish my own tribe would be.

  Certainly, it’s strange to see all the men have stripes in different colors, but it just adds to the feeling that this is where the important things are happening.

  The woman who was staring at me is chatting with her friends again, and I can hear the brightness of their voices. Still she steals glances at me, and I find I enjoy it. Despite my horrific appearance, which has been known to stun grizzled warriors to silence when they see me.

  It didn’t stun her to silence. Or if it did, she has recovered.

  I can pick out her voice among the others. It is a melodious voice, bright and happy as she speaks strange words I don’t understand. I think she likes to laugh. She does it a lot, and it seems entirely befitting a woman of this tribe.

  I can’t remember the last time I laughed.

  Some of the other women are married to the tribesmen here. It boggles the mind. Married! To a woman!

  I wonder which one she is married to. The chief, probably. Brax’tan. Certainly, she must belong to the strongest and most commanding of the men here. Or possibly Jax’zan, who also has a powerful presence. Not to mention Trak’zor and Dar’ax and Xark’on. And all the other men here, in fact.

  Would a woman like that ever consider someone else? Someone from another tribe? Someone with a ruined face?

  Of course not.

  No, this silly dreaming has to end. The marvels of this tribe struck me with such force that I allowed myself to indulge in fantasies. Fantasies about joining it, fantasies about that woman.

  And it became important to me that the men here approve of me.

  I have known this tribe for no more than a thousand heartbeats, and now I want to join it? Ridiculous!

  It is of no concern. I have a tribe already. Perhaps not the best tribe, perhaps not even a good one. But it is mine, and it has a glory that no other tribe can possess. A tribe is not something you join. It is something you’re born into.

  I slowly become myself again after being awestruck by this tribe. I remember the other reason I came here.

  But there appears to be no Lifegivers here that I can steal. So this whole trip was mostly in vain.

  I pay some attention to the conversation that’s going on around me. The men from other tribes that are here appear to all be accomplished irox-killers and warriors.

  “Warrior Car’rakz,” Brax’tan finally says, and his face has no expression on it. “I wonder if you should consider practicing the hunting of irox. It is very important to master if you are to slay dragons. And your sword should be mended and perhaps entirely exchanged for another blade when you reach your village again. Every man must be well armed when the dragons arrive.”

  It is a kind rejection. Mild and constructive. Yes, this is a good chief. A leader of men. And now he just told me that he will not be leading me.

  It’s fair enough. I expected no more. And still, hearing it said feels like a dagger in my chest.

  “Surely, you can have your sword reforged,” Ar’ox says. “If there’s no iron in your tribe, I will give you some. Or you can use our forge right now before you return.”

  “That’s very kind,” I state and get to my feet. “I like my sword the way it is. I thank you for your hospitality. And for the information. That is all I came for.”

  “Practice, then return,” Jax’zan urges me, also kindly. “There are many irox to the north of here, and I think you will pass that place when you go back to your tribe. It is dangerous, but it is also necessary. We need good warriors.”

  “Danger doesn’t scare me,” I state and send him a cold smile. “And a good warrior can do more than kill flying Bigs.”

  I look around the village one last time, letting my eyes rest on that cheerful woman for a short while. She returns my gaze without disgust and even sends me what I imagine is a little smile. A spark of something new and warm lights up my mind for a fraction of a heartbeat.

  But no, this is too good for me.

  I walk back into the dark, humid jungle I came from.

  3

  - Tamara -

  “This is starting to look like a kindergarten.” Heidi strokes her hair behind one ear and continues trying to feed her daughter. “All the terrible screaming at night must be a total nuisance. I’m so sorry.”

  I pat her shoulder. “It’s actually nice. New life in the tribe. New babies. I think we’re all fine with it.”

  There are four babies in the tribe right now. Sophia and Emilia already had given birth when we dragon girls came into the tribe, and in the couple of months since Delyah took control of Bune, Heidi has joined the ranks of new mothers. They all have daughters, and we’re starting to wonder if this is the planet Xren trying to even things out after having only male babies born here for ninety years.

  “I know,” Heidi says and gives me a warm smile. “Everyone is being very understanding.”

  “They better be,” Aurora says and carefully sits her very pregnant body down on a not-sheep skin she’s thrown onto the bare rock in the cave. “I have a feeling this is going to be a loud one.” She strokes her huge belly.

  I reach out and stroke it, too. “Maybe she’ll surprise you and be super brainy and quiet. And maybe it will be a boy.”

  “Hey, I’m plenty brainy, myself,” she counters. “I’m just misunderstood, is all. All my genius suggestions sound like harebrained schemes. So did you hear? The guys rejected one of the cavemen who came here earlier. Told him to go home.”

  “That’s a first,” Heidi says. “They say they need as many as they can get. Must have been something wrong with him.”

  “He di
d look a little strange,” I offer. “Half his face was all burned.”

  “That’s not why,” Aurora says. “He had no experience with killing not-dactyls, and you know how big the guys are on that. He also didn’t seem to have much of a tribe to recruit more guys from. And he hadn’t taken good care of his sword, they say.”

  I look out the opening to the cave. I noticed when the man left earlier, he gave me a long look and then just turned around and walked into the woods. “Seems a little elitist, doesn’t it? We need all the dragonslayers we can get. He looked strong enough to me.”

  “I suppooose they don’t waaaant to have to traaain someone from scraaaaatch,” Heidi singsongs softly as she rocks little Dalilah in her arms. “Any warrior has to know how to handle those dactyls in case the dragons turn out to be like them. Not-Alesya thought they would.”

  “That’s right,” Aurora says. “They think some of the guys who come here are just curious and won’t make good slayers. I guess if he hasn’t killed a bunch of dactyls, he’ll freeze up when the dragons come. I wonder what they will be like. I mean, Troga was bad enough, from what I hear. And she didn’t even fly.”

  Aaand here we go with the endless dragon talk. I stand up and stretch. “I guess so. Well, looks like there’s a couple of hours of sunlight left. I’ll go and find some creatures to study. I’m the official animal expert now, did you know?”

  “Bring a weapon,” Aurora says unnecessarily. “And don’t go too far into the woods. Stay within yelling distance.”

  “Okay,” I say and leave the cave.

  I know the rules in the village, and they make sense. Going into the deadly jungle without a weapon could turn out pretty bad, and not going too far in there alone also makes sense. But sometimes the village makes me feel like I’m in some kind of prison. After the experience with Troga, who kept us captive in that small patch of the jungle, I want to taste my freedom. And the only way to do it is to explore a little, see some new scenery. Even if it’s just an identical part of the jungle.