Page 76 of Caveman Alien's Touch

“About time,” Brak growls as he goes to kiss Piper. “Two nights without my wife is too long.”

Noker gives me a little smile. “I find the days are longer than the nights.”

The other Foundlings come down, and Piper and I make introductions. The clan takes the arrival of five girls in their stride, which makes me strangely proud of them.

We’re served good food, and the girls who haven’t been here before try the platforms, being hoisted up to the treetops and lowered down as fast as the Foundlings can manage. There’s a bit of smoke coming from the pulleys too. The Foundlings want to show off, and I totally approve.

“You cleaned up well,” I say to Noker. “It must have been a hard job.”

“We put new bark on the trees,” he says and points to the trees that were burned. “It’s loose bark and it won’t keep, but at least the trees don’t look too strange for any new outcast passing here.”

I nod. “But nobody will pass. There’s thorn bushes all around the camp now. And it looks like you’re about to build a wall. Only someone who knows the secret paths can find the camp.”

“We’ve built a few things,” he says with a little smile. “And after the funeral, I will want you to look at one of them in particular.”

The pyre has been built a ways away from the camp. When the sun is about to set, everyone gathers there and Astrid lights it, saying the words of a ritual that’s simpler than the one the Borok tribe uses, but somehow more moving. I’m incredibly impressed by her. She’s stately and solemn, and her clear voice carries perfectly, speaking words in a language that she only had a chance to start learning a few weeks ago.

There’s a good amount of sniffling among the Foundlings as their clansbrother is sent to the stars, some of which are starting to appear in the sky. My own sniffles and wet cheeks are more due to seeing Astrid becoming herself again than because of the dead Foundling.

We stand and watch the pyre burn for a while before one after the other, we wander back to the camp. We’re given more food and frit, and Noker secretly gives me and himself a shot of the distilled version. “It’s not for drinking, as you said. Except sometimes.”

I clink my mug to his. “To Crotar, the brave Foundling.”

He nods, new to the Earth tradition of making a toast. “He was indeed brave. But you were just as brave. Trat has told me about how you tried to confuse Unin’iz and drag him with you, away from the boy.”

I drain the drink. “He was going to kill Trat. I had to dosomething. I not know you were so close, or that you had the… gift.”

He looks at his massive hands. “I was afraid of showing you what I can do. Melr’ax said others would hate me and the clan if they knew.”

I take hold of one of his fingers and stroke it, seeing if there’s a tingle. And there is, just the tiniest bit. I think he can control it perfectly well. “Maybe some tribesmen would. And it may be good to have secret weapon. I don’t hate you, Noker. Not for that, not for anything.”

He gives me one of his rare smiles, making his scary face light up and become boyish. “That makes me happy.”

I keep hold of his finger. “The clan is doing well. The camp is safer than was.”

He looks around with satisfaction. “The outcasts will probably not be back, although I didn’t kill them all. But we’re not finished here. We will turn it from a camp and into a village. Come, I want to show you something.” He lights a torch, and I follow him into the jungle.

He stops beside a strange rock formation and points to it. “We built that yesterday. Does it look like something you might be able to use?” He raises the torch.

It takes me a second. Then my jaw drops.

It’s been finely built from stones and clay. There’s a flat counter-like surface at my waist-level, with room for my feet under it, there’s a little chimney and a square hole for the fire. Between those there’s an arched opening about the size of a serving tray.

Or a baking tray.

“Is a baking oven,” I marvel, stroking along the rough, slate-like stones. “You made a baking oven!”

“It’s not quite finished,” he rumbles. “There will be a roof and some other things that I will ask you to decide. Becausewehave no idea what to do with it.”

I embrace him, welling up. “You made a baking oven for me.” I sniffle. “Thank you. Is perfect.”

He squeezes me tight. “You told me how you wanted it. It was easy to make. And it wasn’t just me, but many of the clansbrothers, too. We’re all very curious about what you’ll use it for. Trat thinks it’s for forging some kind of marvelous alien weapon.”

I laugh through tears. “He would think that. And maybe he’s right, too. You’ll see.”

“I’ve also made sure we’re making some of the special foam for making frit. You said it might be useful for this baking oven?”

“It will beveryuseful, I think. Can I try it?” I wipe my tears and examine the oven again. The heat will circulate around the baking chamber, making it uniformly hot. It will need a door, but that can be made from wood. There will be room for bread and cookies and all kinds of pastries.

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