Page 16 of Alien Barbarian's Little Human

“The tree shows her heart,” mutters Chief Ral. I had not noticed he had gotten so close to me. “Unlike when you were tested.”

It was true. During my test, the Tree did not reveal my memories or my heart. Instead, a single leaf fell and landed upon my head, right between my horns. The elders were split, but the majority decided that the Tree had decreed my innocence.

“From the bottom of my heart, I am sorry Lar died,” I whisper. “I did all I could to save him.”

“So you have always said.”

It’s useless. He will never believe me. Neither will most of the village. I give up on that notion and instead watch Micah’s memories. I see things that beggar my imagination. Cities of ten, no, thousands of times more people than our village. Towers that scrape the sky, machines that create all manner of miracles.

I also see Micah, taking part in some ceremony. She wears an odd square hat and long flowing robes, and someone hands her a roll of papyrus with a red band holding it together. She looks very proud.

The images start to jumble up, distort and bubble and pinch. The pulsing lights of the tree speed up along with Micah’s heart beat. That is a dangerously rapid pace for anyone, even someone small like her.

“Something's wrong,” I say.

“It is her turmoil. The Tree is not used to dealing with so much tragedy at once,” Chief Ral says.

“What can we do?”

“Nothing. Until the test is done, tradition demands we remain here.”

Tradition is important to the Drokan. But not as important as life.

“What are you doing, Gog?” Ral gasps as I splash into the pool.

“I’m saving her life, and maybe the Tree, too.”

I move through the water as fast as I can. The Tree feels me, linking with my mind as well. My memories bleed into Micah’s own, creating an ever more chaotic display.

“Micah,” I gasp, grabbing her just as she collapses. I catch her in my arms, feeling now small and lifeless her body seems. It reminds of the last time I held someone dear in my arms.

The Drokan begin crying out. I look up to see myself, struggling to pull Lar from the raging floodwaters. His legs are tangled in roots unseen in the torrent. I will not let him go.

“Get out of here, Gog,” Lar shouts above the rushing water. “There’s a wall of water coming this way.”

“I almost have you,” my memory self cries.

“No, you don’t,” Lar says.

And that’s when he let go of my wrist. I continued to hold onto him, but slowly, inexorably, his water slicked arm slid from my grasp.

Then, he was gone.

The old tragedy is nothing compared to the thought of losing Micah. I check her pulse. She still lives, her chest still heaves with breaths. I carry her to the edge of the pool. Chief Ral suddenly splashes into the water with me, helping me get her out.

“Gog, can you ever forgive me?” Chief Ral says softly.

“Of course, my Chief.”

“My anger and resentment robbed you of your chance to mourn. Perhaps myself as well. The TRee has taught me a valuable lesson today, a lesson of trust.”

He stares down at Micah, sleeping in my arms, and then steps up onto a stone to address the village.

“Let it be known that this woman is no threat to us, or our way of life. She is a good person with a good heart. And let it also be known that Gog did his best to save my son’s life. It was Lar who sacrificed himself to save Gog, who refused to let go. Noble to the end.”

His voice breaks, and then he turns to me.

“We will accept her as one of our own. She will stand with us, and we will stand with her.”

---