Page 8 of Caveman Alien's Bride

My mind is reeling. A woman! Awomanon Xren! I can barely believe it.

In fact,twowomen on Xren. The other one tried to stay hidden, then ran down the hill. I saw no more of her.

Which was fine. Bryar was more than enough for one simple warrior to deal with.

Even if she was not in good shape. She had scars everywhere, as well as small unhealed injuries.

And she had no weapon! I’ve never seen anyone so helpless. Any boy in my tribe has at least a knife and the skill to use it. That woman desperately needs someone to protect her.

“Breti’ax,” I call softly, “tell me about the Prophecy of The Woman.”

He sends me another glance, but he’s used to me asking strange questions.

“The Prophecy states that a worthy warrior will find a woman in the jungle,” the old man begins as he walks. “She is The Woman. He will proceed to Worship her in the special way that all boys learn from the shaman, and then she will expect a Gift from him. When the warrior gives her this Gift, she will agree to Mate with him, and she shall become the Mother of Xren.“

“There’s only one Woman, then?” I ask for certainty. “Not two?”

“The Prophecy mentions only one Woman. Let’s not be greedy, Chief. If you expect to be the warrior in the Prophecy, one should be more than enough. Of course you realize that every boy thinks he will be that warrior. I did that myself, until I was fourteen. Surely you’re too old to still harbor that fantasy?”

He knows me well. I’m not easily satisfied with only one of anything. “Don’t worry, Breti’ax. Idle fantasies are not my weakness. Now, this Woman. She is just like us, yes?”

“She will be of our kind, but female,” the old man hisses, exasperated. “Nothing else would make sense. Let us now be quiet, so that we don’t attract that irox we heard.”

It’s been years since I’ve needed to be admonished about being quiet in the jungle. Bryar has turned my mind into complete chaos.

The mere thought of her gets my crotch swelling again, until my loincloth has a ridiculous bulge in the front. The roundness, the softness, the sweet voice, the warmth, the scent of her… Still Ihave the taste of her in my mouth, and I never want it gone. Sweet Ancestors, she’s magnificent!

I have to suppress a strong urge to turn around and seek her out, just to enjoy the flavor of that wondrous juice of hers again.

I suppose she might be The Woman, although nothing fits. At least I did Worship her as well as I could, and she seemed to enjoy it the way the shaman said she would.

Should I now bring her a Gift? Just to be on the safe side, in case she is indeed The Woman?

I’m so full of thoughts, we reach the gate to the Tretter tribe’s village before I know it.

“Open for Chief Korr'ax!” Breti’ax yells with surprising force.

The heavy gates swing open and I stride confidently inside, keeping my hand off the hilt of my sword. This is still an enemy tribe, and I’m in great danger. Not every member of the tribe wants me as their chief, although I think most do.

They are all assembled in the space in front of their totem pole. Their chief stands at the head of the tribe, looking pale under his blue stripes.

“Chief Korr'ax,” he states loudly, “you have challenged me to a duel for the position of Chief of the Tretter tribe! I accept your challenge! We shall fight the duel now.”

I give Breti’ax a glance. This is not what we expected.

The old man is already drawing breath to speak. “Chief Prit'oz! You have served the Tretter tribe well, but now it is time for a younger man to take over. Chief Korr'ax is already the highly respected chief of the Borok tribe! Accept him as the new chief ofthe Tretter, and there is no need for bloodshed today!”

It’s an unusual thing to allow the challenged chief to reconsider. But Chief Prit'oz is much older than me, and the outcome of a duel between us can’t be in doubt. He should simply step down and live on as a regular member of his tribe, a respected Elder. I would show him great honor. Accepting my challenge means that this has become a matter of pride for him.

“I would accept one of my own men as the new chief,” Prit'oz states, his voice not quite steady. “But not an outtriber like Korr'ax! Is it not enough for him to be the chief of one tribe? Does he really need to rule ours as well? Your stripes are not our stripes, Korr'ax!”

“A good chief should rule as many tribes as he can, Prit'oz,” I calmly state. “You were once a good chief. Now you are not, as we all know. The Tretter food stores are empty! Your creek with drinking water is dry and muddied! Your Lifegivers are withering as we speak! But in my Borok tribe, the food stores are so full we don’t need to hunt every day. Our creek runs cleaner and sweeter than ever. Our Lifegivers are thriving! The Tretter tribe can be just as good. All you need is a new chief!”

Prit'oz comes towards me and draws his sword. “Never!”

Breti’ax hurriedly gets out of the way. It looks like the time for talking is over.

“This is foolish, Prit'oz!” I hiss as I draw my own sword. “Simply step down, and there’s no need for this! You shall have every honor!”

---