Page 13 of Caveman Alien's Touch

Then the whole table gradually goes quiet as the four women descend the stairs and walk to the table in their charming way, hips swaying and chests jiggling. Bronwen and Astrid are wearing their alien garments, but Piper and Alba have put on tight wraps of fine fabric that I happen to know is both hard to get and difficult to make. I swear they’ve all done something to their eyes, too — they look bigger and much more defined than before.

Piper sits down next to Brak, and Bronwen sits with the three others across from us. My heart jumps in my chest when she raises her gaze and gives me a small, but intense smile. The new black lines around her eyes make her look divine and just as mysterious as I would expect from an alien. Is that really the same woman I threw over my shoulder earlier today? The same one who licked a poisonous bush, and the same one who was shivering from my touch on her bare chest?

My crotch swells to an almost painful hardness. How can any creature be this enticing?

The conversation begins again, but with Bronwen right there, I have no idea what I’m even saying. She will sometimes give me a little smile, making me happy each time.

Someone else is staring at her, too. It’s Unin’iz, a man I’m starting to dislike. But Bronwen never looks in his direction.

The frit is flowing, and it strikes me that we must be using up a good amount of the tribe’s supplies. The talk is getting loud, all four drums are beating faster, and the flames light up the totem wall in the most remarkable way. I’m thoroughly enjoying the evening, looking at Bronwen’s beautifully round face anytime I want.

Brak elbows me in the side. “They’re talking to you, Noker.”

I look where he points. “Yes, Sarker’ox? Sorry, I couldn’t hear.”

“I said,” the tribe’s temporary chief says loudly, “that it’s been a long time since anyone has killed an irox close to our village. We have taken the liberty of making this.” He holds up a necklace made from many big teeth and sharp claws, four teeth for each claw. “We think you should have it, to remind everyone you meet that you should not be provoked.” He tosses the necklace to me in a tall arc, and I snap it out of the air. An irox claw leaves a thin cut across two of my knuckles.

“Thank you, Chief,” I reply, genuinely moved. “I shall treasure both this and the memory of the honor shown me by the renowned Borok tribe.” I have an impulse to give it to Bronwen, but the tribe intended it for me and they might be offended. And a necklace like this could be seen as a sign of marriage, as well. The thought makes my mind sing. Married to Bronwen? As Brak is married to Piper? But Brak is Brak, of course. No, let’s not have these fantasies get out of hand. I am only Noker, and I will just enjoy this party while it lasts.

“And if it won’t fit over your head,” comes a thin voice from up the table, “simply drape it across that thing growing from your skull.”

It’s Unin’iz, his speech slurred from frit. Two other men chuckle, but the rest of them go quiet. The drums falter for a moment before they pick back up.

Not going to let him influence me, I simply put the necklace around my neck. “It’s very beautiful, men of Borok. I shall wear it always.”

“Until it snags on your spear and you tumble to the ground,” Unin’iz persists, his shrill voice echoing from the totem wall. “Or maybe you can fly? Is that really a wing on your head?”

Other Borok men try to shush him, but he gets to his feet on the bench. “I don’t hear you defend your honor, Foundling!” He’s thinner than most of his tribesmen, but he looks sinewy and strong. His stripes are a vivid orange, and he has a long scar going down the side of his face.

“My honor is not in question here, man of Borok,” I calmly reply. “Ask your chief if you are in doubt.”

“The honor of the whole tribe is in question!” Unin’iz suddenly screeches. “Now we’re entertaining and honoringFoundlingsat our table?! Why do the Foundlings have women, when we real warriors don’t? Why is the irox man married to a woman, and we are not? Are we not better? Are we not worthier? Are we not a true tribe, while those two are mere broken rabble? Why aren’twehonored by the chief? Why aren’twegiven fine necklaces?”

“Excuse our tribesman!” Sarker’ox thunders and gets to his feet, face red. “We keep a loose table in our village, but sometimes it gets out of hand!”

Unin’iz’s friends try to hold him back, but still he climbs onto the table and draws his sword. “I will not sit by and see Foundlings and half-Bigs take the women that rightfully should be ours! Do we not protect them? Do we not feed them? Did not they come to us unbidden? Are they not ours? You! Foundling with the skull growth! Take your pitiful spear and fight me! Let’s see if you can fight a real warrior and not just mindless Bigs!”

I grab my spear, but stay seated. Brak puts a hand on my shoulder in support as he tenses up, ready to pounce if this gets dangerous.

Sarker’ox slams his fist on the table, sending plates and knives flying. “There shall be no dueling here! This is a friendly occasion, tribesman Unin’iz! Replace your sword, and we shall tell tales of your bravery as well.”

Unin’iz ignores him. “I have challenged you, Foundling! Are you a coward or a man?”

While the tribesmen try to keep him down, I also notice that not everyone is opposed to Unin’iz’s idea. Perhaps it’s not so strange — they have been living with women for weeks, and only Chief Korr’ax has married one. And now, one of the women has been claimed by a Foundling, while Bronwen has been seen with me, another Foundling. I’m sure the boys who spotted Bronwen and me by the water pump must have told the rest of the tribe. Now they’re worried that I will snatch her away from them. In truth, I do like that idea a great deal.

I get to my feet and the table goes quiet. “I will not fight you, tribesman. Your tribe needs you, and it would be discourteous for a guest like me to deprive them of you. But I am always ready for apeacefulcontest. Indeed, a friendly gathering like this oneshouldhave contests. My spear against your sword, tribesman! But not against your flesh.”

There are many cheers, and Sarker’ox looks relieved.

“Peaceful contests are much favored,” he says quickly. “No one needs to bleed. Often, lifelong friendships are forged this way. But we shall not have any contest now. It’s night time, and far too dark. Also, we have all drunk frit, which is not good before a contest. Tomorrow we shall arrange a game ofpenkbetween guest Noker and tribesman Unin’iz. It is a suitable contest for the strongest of men, who enjoy the jungle and its dangers.”

There is a lot of cheering. Unin’iz slowly slides off the table and sits back down, glaring at me the whole time.

I’m only moderately worried. I have never heard ofpenk, and certainly Unin’iz will be an expert at it, but I will do my best. At least there will be no need to kill him.

I sit back down and lean over towards Brak. “Do you know whatpenkis?”

“No idea,” he replies. “But it doesn’t sound as if blood will flow. You can break it off anytime you want, of course. Like you said, your honor is not in question: Nor is that of our clan.”

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