Page 36 of Caveman Alien's Touch

“It will,” Melr’ax creaks. “And Korr’ax will regret not being here for that. What he will regret even more is not being here when the swarm hit. Now, can someone help me down to the village? I must get my hat for the lighting of the pyre and the prayers to the Ancestors. If I remember it all, that is.”

We all make our way down.

The pyre is ready, and all the tribesmen assemble. Sarker’ox lights the fire after saying a few words about bravery. It catches right away, fueled by oil from Bigs.

Drums are beating slowly, and the oldest men in the tribe chant softly as Melr’ax goes through the ceremony, his voice sounding impressively strong the whole time. The pyre burns with a roar, and the four dead tribers on top of it can barely be seen through the flames.

Melr’ax ends his ceremony, and we stand there in silence until he hobbles back towards the gate. I see the exhaustion in his movements and hurry after him to steady him, making sure it looks like he’s steadyingme.

“Strong Noker,” he creaks. “Always placing everyone else above yourself. What would our clan be without you and Brak? And today, what would this tribe be?”

“They would have fought off the swarm,” I assure him. “Possibly they would have lost more men without us here. Their swords are awkward when fighting the flying things.”

“I suppose so. But sometimes you can take care of yourself first.”

“I sometimes do,” I confess as I lead him towards his hut.

“Good. And when it comes to Bronwen, don’t be too strict with yourself. She really likes you, like we all do. Although, perhaps she doesn’t need to knoweverything. Do you still have that other… gift?” He glances at me with crusty eyes.

“It’s how I took down the irox,” I tell him tightly. “Before I used the spear. I couldn’t help it. Bronwen was in danger and I just… acted. Don’t worry, brother shaman. Bronwen didn’t understand what she was seeing. Nobody outside the clan knows.”

Melr’ax nods. “That may be for the best. It’s the kind of thing that might scare others and make them hate both you and the clan. Now, go and enjoy some frit, as the tradition demands. I will have to lie down after all this excitement.”

I help him into his hut and stoke the smoldering fire to make it as hot as he likes it. “Are you really going to make Astrid the new shaman?”

He cackles. “It’s an interesting idea, isn’t it? She seems willing, and she plainly has the mind for it, although she doesn’t believe in the Ancestors. But neither do many shamans, if you press them about it. Korr’ax will have to decide.”

I leave him there and join the others by the totem wall, where many torches have been lit. Sarker’ox is handing out mugs of frit. Soft and solemn words are spoken about the dead warriors, including Unin’iz. Brak and Piper are there, but I can tell that Brak is bored. And perhaps it is right that we leave the tribe to mourn their dead brothers.

Bronwen takes my hand and leads me towards the stairs. “If I going to see your camp, you see my cave first.”

“That makes sense,” I tell her, a hot spear of expectation shooting through me. “I’m sure it’s a very nice cave.”

“It’s nice,” she says easily.

I grab a lit torch, like I’ve seen others do. The night is dark.

A Borok man wanders over as we reach the stairs. “Warrior Noker.”

“Warrior,” I respond in kind, clenching the spear because I know these men have been drinking frit. “I fear I don’t know your name.”

“My name is Grek’ix,” the man says, keeping his hand well away from his sword. “I was watching the race in the woods. To make sure both contestants followed the course and nobody took shortcuts. My place was close to the quicksand.”

I think back. “Ah yes. Before the quicksand, I think. I saw you there.”

“That’s right. A ways before the quicksand. When I heard the screams, I ran to check. We didn’t expect anyone to actually run into the quicksand. It was too obvious what it was. But Unin’iz did.”

“He was very determined,” I say in a neutral tone.

“I saw what happened. You pulled him to safety, and he thanked you by slashing his sword at you, obviously meaning to kill. I have told Sarker’ox about it, but now that Unin’iz is dead… perhaps it is better if…”

“If we don’t talk about it,” I complete his sentence. “I agree, Grek’ix. I will tell nobody.”

The man looks away. “It is the kind of thing that might’ve gotten him cast out, if he had survived the swarm. The sheer dishonor in his act makes me dizzy. I hope you don’t think all Borok men are like that!”

I put a hand on his shoulder. “Of course not, Grek’ix! The Borok tribe is an honorable one. And Unin’iz was overpowered by emotion at the time.”

“Korr’ax will have to know, of course,” Grek’ix says, glancing at Bronwen. “And the shaman.”

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