Page 30 of Caveman Alien's Bride

“The chief has a wife,” Dren’in says smoothly. “And a spare.”

I don’t like his tone. “What was that, tribesman?”

He gives me a weak smile. “Simply congratulating my chief with his incredible accomplishment. Only he may have a woman in his cave. It brings great honor and contentment to the Borok tribe.”

“And to the Tretter tribe,” I add. “A chief of two tribes must be powerful, tribesman. Married to Bryar, I am the most powerful man in all the jungle. Both tribes are respected more.”

“One of which doesn’t have a shaman anymore,” Dren’in says and gives me a shallow bow before he withdraws.

I frown at his back, then turn to Breti’ax, who’s sitting in the shadow of the fence. “He’s right. I must appoint a new shaman. Who was Gerut’on’s apprentice?”

“He didn’t have one yet,” the old man says. “He was too young to think of his own death, certain that he had many years to find and teach a younger man to take over after him.”

“From now on,” I growl, “every shaman must find an apprentice within a year of being appointed. Perhaps Shaman Vram’az of the Tretter tribe has an apprentice. If so, Vram’az can be the shaman of both tribes until his apprentice is ready.”

“An outtriber for a shaman?” Breti’ax creaks. “The men will not like that at all. Rather, let’s send a young Borok man to the Tretter tribe and have Vram’az train him. Any shaman should beable to handle two apprentices.”

“That,” I ponder, “would leave us with no shaman in the Borok tribe for years.”

Breti’ax looks up at the Mount, the center of our village, on top of which is the chief’s cave where Bryar is resting. “These are troubling times, Chief. First you are attacked by a rekh. Then you kill Chief Prit’oz without wanting to. Then the trok comes to shore, a sure sign that theskarpwill soon be here. And then we lose our shaman to a rekh! A rekh that was attracted by the endless talking you allowed, even while walking in the jungle. In all my day, I’ve never seen worse omens. Shaman Gerut’on said the same, a little while before he died.”

“Ah, but the omens are also good,” I tell him. “I am now the chief of the Tretter tribe, as well as our Borok tribe. That means more Lifegivers for us, as you pointed out. It means both tribes are stronger. And we now have two women in the tribe! Surely these are signs of the most unusual blessings from the Ancestors!”

“Unusual omens and unusual blessings,” Breti’ax says darkly. “They all started when you met that woman.”

“My wife Bryar is a blessing to the tribe, and we shall prove it. That other one will also be useful. Tell me, what is your opinion of the Krast tribe?”

Another two men come carrying a log. We place it on the pyre, and they return to the jungle to get more.

“The Krast, Chief?” Breti’ax ponders. “They were always our rivals, as you know. We have often been at war with them. Mighty warriors, they are.”

“Mighty warriors with an old chief,” I add. “If I challenge him to a duel, would he not be smarter than Prit’oz, and simply step down instead of having me kill him?”

“Men of the Tretter tribe came to ask you to be their chief,” Breti’ax reminds me. “Has there been someone to see you from the Krast tribe as well, Chief?”

“Not yet,” I admit. “But sooner or later, the rumor will spread that I am married. And that I am the chief of two tribes. The men of the Krast tribe can’t ignore that. They must be ashamed of their old and feeble chief. Surely they want their chief to be the most powerful man on Xren?”

“I’m not sure that’s what they will think,” the old man says. “In my experience, they won’t admire you so much as hate you for being powerful.”

I help throw another log on the pyre. “It was only a thought. Ah, there’s the oil.”

Four men are carrying the two big pots of oil that will be used to light the fire and make it burn hot, as Shaman Gerut’on deserves. I help pour one pot into the unfinished pyre, so that the oil will make its way down through the logs and fuel the fire for as long as it burns.

Then I gaze up at the Mount. Bryar is up there right now, and if I wish, I can go and see her.

But the chief is expected to help build the pyre for any tribesman, and especially for a shaman. So I keep working until the sun has set and the pyre is ready.

Finally I make my way back up the stairs, the excitement of seeing Bryar again causing the usual swelling under myloincloth.

The two women are sitting on the floor in the cave in total darkness. I quickly light three oil lamps. Two are for the cave, the third is for Shaman Gerut’on.

I go over to Bryar, squat down, and sniff her hair. I itch to do more, but this is not the time. “The pyre is ready,” I slowly say. “It is common for everyone to see it burn.”

I don’t know how much they understand, but I go to my chest of chief’s items and get both the headdress and the cape. Putting them on makes me stand up straighter, and I enjoy the women looking at me.

Opening another chest, I get the clothing that has been made for my wife. “This is for you, Bryar. I think this is a good time to wear it.”

She takes the red skirt and the long, wide sheet of white fabric. “Thank you.”

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