Page 35 of Caveman Alien's Heat
They sit in a half circle with the fire behind them, while Riley and I have been given a fur-clad bench to sit on. Riley is so close to me our thighs are touching. Her legs dangle freely in a way I think is good—it makes her look childlike, and innocent.
The sky is violet, but the totem pole has been placed in such a position that the upper quarter is still lit by the final sunlight. It makes the tips of the stoka horns glow like embers.
A single torch is fastened to a pole that stands beside the chief, sending its flickering light over the mostly old faces of the councilmen.
“Warrior Nator’ax of the Borok tribe,” the chief begins. “And Dame Riley of the same tribe. You have admitted to trespassing on Gar turf. Hunter Prak’ox will now tell us about what he saw.”
Prak’ox goes on for a while, being careful to get every detail right. I interrupt a few times to make sure he uses the right words, and the correct sequence of events. It is not really necessary, but I have seen tribal councils before, and it is always a good idea to speak, and to speak the way they themselves speak. This tribe, I think, values accuracy.
“The Plood ship—” Prak’ox goes on after a pause.
“With respect,” I interrupt, “it is not a Plood ship. It is a flying saucer. It does not belong to the Plood, but to the Borok tribe. It is a Borok saucer. It has nothing to do with the Plood, except that they used it many years ago. ABoroksaucer.”
“Warrior Nator’ax, you will have a chance to speak at a later time,” Chief Hoker’iz says.
“Then I must spend all my time correcting mistakes by the Gar men,” I say calmly. “I am sure that Hunter Prak’ox has only the best intentions. But surely the council has more important things to do? I suggest, honored chief, that I speak first. Only then can the council get the whole story correct from the beginning. And let us see if Hunter Prak’ox will have any reason to correct me. I think he will not, for I will give a true account. And so will Riley, if you force her to speak despite her not knowing the language.”
The councilmen look at each other, except the shaman. He looks only at me.
“Now here is a man who has seen the world,” he chuckles. “By all means, Borok man. Give us the whole story.”
Yes, that shaman is the one to watch.
I give them a shallow bow. “Thank you.”
Of course, what actually took place on the ice doesn’t matter at all. I know what this council wants—they want to find out the worst that could happen if they execute me and keep Riley as their tribal woman, to mate with as they please. I must try to scare them about how they would suffer if they pick that path. And so I must leave them an honorable way out of this.
“I could tell the council about how Riley and I came to this icy land,” I begin. “And yet, do these small events matter? We admit that we found ourselves on Gar turf. And we hunted on Gar turf eating the Smalls we caught. And we trapped a stoka. Even now its horns are being prepared for display in your village. Of course, this was because we didn’t know that it was Gar turf that we had crashed on, through no fault of our own. We came with your men willingly, without a fight. Perhaps that is important. We wouldnothave hunted on your ice had we known it was yours. And of course we apologize for our mistake, and we throw ourselves upon the obvious honor, and fairness, of the Gar tribe.” There, that is the way out they need: our trespassing was not intended, nor was the hunting. It may not be entirely true, but I sense that the truth is of no concern here.
“We accept your apology,” Chief Hoker’iz says gravely. “It will be taken into account.”
“And we will take into account that you confess your crime,” the shaman adds. “Not that you had any choice, as you were caught in the act.”
“I expect nothing else,” I state. “But I will now answer a question that you need to have answered here tonight.”
I pause. If this were a true council to find the truth, and the correct response according to their law, they would now cut me off. But instead, they all lean forward.
“Riley is a woman,” I go on. “Do you think the Borok tribe will simply let her be taken by another tribe? By force? Then you do not know Chief Korr’ax of the Borok and Tretter tribes. He is slow to fury. But when his fire is lit, his anger knows no bounds. He will come here himself, and he will bring five Borok flying saucers. How many warriors do you think will fit inside one? I will tell you: thirty in each. The Gar tribe is ninety men. Ninetyhunters. Can you wage war against a hundred and fifty warriors, and expect to win using your hunting spears? The answer to that is obvious. But that is not all of it. Because there would already be no Gar tribe left.”
Riley’s head snaps around to look at me. “Nator’ax!” she hisses, shock on her face.
Her perfect reaction encourages me. “No, Riley. They must know the truth. This tribe must know that they will burn. Burn!” I shout the last word so it resonates from the ice walls, and the council members jerk. One of them drops the cup he has been holding, splashing fluid on the snow.
“Do you not know the Borok tribe?” I go on, much louder. “Do you not know what wehave?How can you be so far from everything that you do not know? Have you not heard of the Darkness?”
Riley grabs hold of my arm in a perfect display of shock. “Don’t say it! That’s secret!”
I shake her off. “Shaman Crelt’ax! You know of the Darkness. And you know that the Darkness is our common enemy. But what if the Darkness could be tamed? It can!”
“Nobody can tame the Darkness,” the shaman scoffs. “The Darkness can only be fought, and killed!”
“Did you hear Hunter Prak’ox say that we came in a Plood ship? It is now called a Borok saucer because it belongs to the Borok! What kind of tribe do you think owns a saucer once used by the Plood?”
“A dangerous tribe,” the shaman says. “A tribe that is friendly with the Plood!”
I laugh. “Oh, if only you knew! Friendly with the Plood? Do you not know that the Borok tribe has tamed the Darkness? Do you not know that we have adragon?”
All the councilmen stiffen. Even the shaman’s eyes widen. A low gasp goes through the tribe assembled in the dark behind us.
