Page 36 of Caveman Alien's Heat
“You have such a pretty village,” I go on. “Boys play in the snow. Stoka horns stretch skyward. The totem pole shines in the sun. Men talk pleasantly. Every cave has many furs. The water is clean. The food is ample. It is a good village, and a good tribe, as any man can see. And now you want it to end in fire?”
“You are talking yourself into more trouble,” the shaman growls. “Our village will not catch fire.”
“Our dragon’s name is Praxigor,” I go on in a softer voice, fixing the shaman with a stare. “He is blue and terrible. He stretches from here to the edge of that ice.” I point. “He has wings, and teeth, and claws, and he speaks straight into your mind. When Riley does not return to our village, Korr’ax will commandPraxigor to look for her. He will come here, blue and terrible, as he flies over the mountain.” I point to a distant peak, still in sunlight, turning it red as blood.
All the councilmen turn to look, except the shaman.
“He’ll ask for Riley,” I continue. “And when Riley tells him what the Gar tribe has done, he will fly again. But he will not leave. He will burn it all. From the sky, unreachable by your thin hunting spears. You will all run around, screaming as you burn in the dragon’s scorching fire. Your fur will be ablaze around you. Your weapons will burn, and your hair. Your stoka horns will be aflame. Black smoke will pour from your caves. And when the dragon is finished, there will be nothing left. Your totem pole will beashes.”
I pause to give them time to see this in their minds. “A light snow will fall on this spot,” I go on quietly, “but there will be no footprints. When Chief Korr’ax arrives with his army, the Gar tribe will be over. Do not make me talk of the boys of your tribe. I cannot bear to think of it.”
“Holy Ancestors, protect us!” someone groans behind us. The councilmen go quiet, pale with shock.
For a while, the only sound is the crackling from the fire.
Shaman Crelt’ax is the first to recover. “What is the color of this dragon?”
“He is—” I begin.
“Quiet!” the shaman snaps. “I was asking the woman.”
10
- Riley-
Everyone’s staring at me. The shaman’s eyes have an intensity in them that’s really unnerving.
I’ve only seen Praxigor once, and that was from a distance. But a dragon in flight, with an Earth girl riding on him, is an image you don’t forget in a hurry.
“He’s blue,” I say, and I don’t have to concentrate to make my voice shaky. “With yellow cracks where his fire shines through. He’s…terrible…” I take a deep, shaking breath and wipe fake tears, although right now I could produce real ones if I had to. “Only Chief Korr'ax can command him.”
“What’s his name?” the shaman asks. I understand what he’s doing—he’s trying to catch Nator’ax in a lie, hoping I forgot what he just said about the dragon. That won’t work. Praxigor is real enough, although no power in the universe could command him.
“Don’t make me say the name,” I plead. “I’m afraid of it. I might call him here.”
A little smirk crosses the shaman’s lips. “Say the name, Dame Riley!”
“Praxigor,” I say, barely audible.
The shaman leans forward. “What?”
I wipe more pretend tears. “Praxigor. His name is Praxigor.” I grab Nator’ax’s forearm and sniffle. “You won’t make him come here, will you? He… the flame…”
I’m not too worried about overdoing it with the acting. I’m the only woman these guys have ever seen, and my terror of the dragon is real, although not quite as intense as I want them to think.
The shaman leans back, thoughtful.
The chief clears his voice. “If this dragon is so powerful and can fly, why isn’t he here now?”
“Our chief is hoping not to have to send him,” Nator’ax says. “Chief Korr'ax is fierce, but not murderous. He will give us a chance to return to the village before he calls the dragon to him. But he could be here at any time.” He raises his head and looks around, as if expecting to see that flying terror arriving. Some of the councilmen do, too.
I squeeze his hand. He’s really good at leaving space for them to imagine what could happen.
“Men of Gar!” Nator’ax says, leaning in. “Here is what I propose. Help us leave. Come with us back to the Borok saucer and help us take it out of the crevasse. Then we will enter it and fly away before either the dragon or the Borok warriors arrive. No one needs to die. And Chief Korr'ax may decide that the honorable Gar tribe are worthy allies and friends. Perhaps worthy ofinviting as guests. For where there is one woman, perhaps there—no, I should not have said that.”
“Help us,” I add with my best Bambi eyes, wishing I’d put some soot on my eyelashes before this. “All we want is to go home.”
“Home to thedragon,” the shaman scoffs. “Who can spew deadly flame, but still somehow lets a simple chief of a jungle tribe command him, not even the shaman.”
