Page 37 of Caveman Alien's Bride

“They're not Plood,” I chuckle. “They're nothing like those dirty little aliens.”

“Of course they're not,” Breti'ax scoffs. “But where do they come from? Why are they here? Are there more of them? Perhaps every man could have one for himself? These are notmyquestions, Chief. These are the things the men talk about.”

“I want to know those things, too,” I tell him as I wash down a piece of meat with clean water. “And once Bryar can speak well enough to answer, I will ask her. Meanwhile, let us talk more about how I might become the chief of the Krast tribe as well…”

We talk a little more before I finish the meal and check on the Lifegivers. They're plainly thriving. And soon, my own son will grow in one of them. I wonder what color stripes he will have.

I run back up the stairs. Bryar is up, eating from the basket from yesterday.

“There’s fresh food down in the village,” I tell her as I stroke her hair. “And there are things I want to show you.”

“Is good food,” she says with her mouth full. “You see Piper? She good?”

“I’m sure she’s still sleeping.” I pick up the round disk I gave to Bryar. “You trying to blind a charging Big with that small disk you have is one of the wildest things I’ve seen. And it nearly worked. This big one should work better. It means you must always plan your walk through the jungle so there will be sunlight available.” I find a ray of sunlight coming into the cave and focus it on the wall painting.

“Is nice,” Bryar says, drinking water. “Rekh not know what is happen.”

“Exactly.” I put the mirror down. “But it will not kill the Rekh.”

“Piper want sword,” she tells me. “Small sword.”

I straighten my kilt, where there is more swelling going on. “You shall both have weapons that can kill rekh. Now let’s go.”

We go down the stairs to Piper’s cave, where the ladder is still gone. Bryar calls her friend’s name, and the woman appears in the opening.

They talk for a while in their language, and then Piper puts the ladder back and climbs down.

We walk down to the ground and amble through the village. I show them the huts, the food stores, the forges, the pottery sheds, the basket weaving hut, and the fruit trees we’ve planted. I’m swelling with pride — surely Bryar has never seen anything as impressive as the Borok village.

The Lifegivers puzzle them.

“Baby comes out?” Bryar asks. “But is not woman. Is… bush!”

“It’s different from trees,” I explain, “but it does look like a plant.”

“Are baby”? Piper asks. “Small man baby? Real?”

“They are real babies. Strong boys. When the Lifegivers are properly cared for, the boy is always healthy. Then the tribe cares for him until he becomes a full warrior and tribesman.”

The women go quiet, finding it hard to understand that it works.

Finally I take them to see the Wall.

“The Mount is red,” I state. “But this part of the Mount is white. It’s a sign from the Ancestors that they want us to do something special here. You can see what we’ve done.”

This time Bryar and Piper are completely dumbstruck. They’re not the first visitors to be awestruck by our Wall. It’s a smooth, straight and white part right where the Mount comes out of the ground. It’s very wide and many times as tall as me. And it’s filled with colorful pictures.

“Most tribes have totem poles,” I go on. “But we have a totemwall. We paint the things that happen in the tribe, the Bigs we kill, the boys that are born, the chiefs and shamans. And anything that we think should be remembered by the tribe.”

I walk up to the Wall and draw my sword to point with it. “Here is Chief Breti’ax when he stepped down, and this is me accepting the duties as the chief. Here is a kronk we killed last year. This is the trok, as you can see. This is old shaman Host’iz with his cape. Bryar, tonight we will start painting Shaman Gerut’on fighting the rekh, our wedding and us two arriving in the village. We will need a lot of room for those. They are by far the most important things to happen to the Borok tribe.”

I don’t know how much the women understand, but they are appropriately stunned.

“And Piper?” Bryar asks. “Not paint of she?”

“Piper may be better suited for the totem pole of another tribe,” I say airily. “The Krast tribe, for instance, is highly respected. Very capable. Any female would be honored to live with them. But if you want, maybe there’s room for her on this wall, too. In a dark corner, perhaps.” I walk on.

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