- Ar'ox -

“She's the Messenger,” Hen'ex says. “I have had visions recently. All the signs are there.” He says it firmly. Unusually firmly for him.

“She is,” I agree.

The others mumble assent. They have seen her and probably see no reason to question Emilia's legitimacy as the Woman Messenger.

We're sitting outside Gur'ex's cave with only a fire to give light. It seems all of us on the chief's council saw the need for some discussion about her today, and everyone came sauntering without being called, one after the other. Now we're all here.

I've left Emilia in my cave after worshipping her juicy slit, and then she fell asleep right after. I don't think she's used to the very full days she and I have had lately. Or maybe women just need a lot of sleep.

I have told them briefly about my travels and how I found Emilia when she was chased by the rekh, about the bobont migration and the various tracks of Smalls and Bigs I saw, as hunters always do, for the benefit of later hunts.

“Now to decide what to do next,” Chief Gur'ex states the obvious and looks around the circle, hoping someone will make the decision for him. He's not the man he used to be. I notice that he has also been idle today, and the piece of fabric he was working on with his loom is still no closer to being finished than it was this morning.

I look around the circle. Nobody seems too eager to make suggestions.

“Indeed,” I say and look at Hen'ex. “But it might be helpful to have the prophecy repeated in detail. You know all about his, Hen'ex. What does it say? Exactly?”

The shaman's face is very serious. This is the most important moment in his life. As it is in all of our lives.

“It is as we were told by our Sacred Shaman before, and as he in turn was told by his Shaman and so on back until the time the Women were taken. A man from our Tribe finds the Woman Messenger in the woods. He Worships her and gives her the Gift, and she becomes his Mate and then gives him the Gift of Life. She returns to the other Women to tell them to come back to our Tribe and make us happy once more. The Ancestors will smile on our Tribe and we will become powerful.”

There are cautious smiles all around. I can't say I remember the gift being the 'gift of life', but I suppose it might be. It's exactly something the Ancestors might say. And Emilia has certainly made my life different. Perhaps there is something to the rumor that women can give birth without the Lifegivers.

“What does it mean to be her Mate?” the one-armed Ver'ex asks.

Hen'ex closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly trying to find a way to explain something complicated to simple hunters like us. “Well. It means to be the Woman's ... friend. Companion. It can also be seen as some kind of protective role, also in the spiritual sense. Of course the Mate must Worship the Woman regularly. The ancient wall paintings are clear about that. Yes yes, I know it's a topic we all learn about when we're young, and I can tell you that today's boys giggle just as much when I teach them about this as you all did once. But the Worship part is essential, no matter how funny teenage boys think it is.”

He's gone red in the face, and the circle is silent for a while as the others haw and hum and shift their positions as they all think back to the wooden effigy that showed all the womanly charms and how to worship the slit with our mouths.

I shift my position myself as I think of Emilia's alluring slit and its wetness and softness and pinkness and very exotic and arousing scent and flavor ...

And now everyone must be thinking the same thing, because they're all looking at me sideways.

“Yes,” I state, trying to keep my pride in check, “I did worship her as soon as I found her. I have done it many times since.”

Some nod knowledgeably, as if they have done it many times themselves. Others stare at me with barely veiled envy.

And Hen'ex glares. “Did you do it exactly as taught? With the exact movements of the lips? And then bring in the tongue later? It is essential that it was done correctly! Why were you so hasty? You should have waited until you came here with her, so I could supervise or take over!”

“I did it exactly as old Shaman Eser'ex told us,” I say calmly. “And it worked just fine. She reaches the Moment of Joy every time.”

Now there's some degree of open-mouth astonishment around me, and I have rarely felt greater pride.

Then Hen'ex ruins it with a hearty laugh. “Oh Ar'ox, the Moment of Joy for a woman is a myth! It does not exist, it's not stated anywhere in the prophecies. Only men may experience that at the moment when they spill their seed. And so of course some fantasize that women must have something similar! No, woodsman, leave the thinking to the shaman.”

I just shrug. I have no doubts that Emilia experiences Moments of Joy when I worship her. Indeed 'moment' seems to be the wrong term. 'Very long time' is more accurate, if her sounds and fluids and the small, quick movements in her pink slit are any indication.

Ver'ex pipes up again. “What about the possibility that women can give birth to living babies, much like the Lifegivers? I mean, I remember many years ago, we boys talked about the woman's slit being very attractive and having an extremely strange effect on our manhoods. Just looking at the wooden figure and some of the wall paintings in some caves made them very stiff. Were it not possible that a man may insert his rod into the woman's slit and spill his seed there, much as we do with the Lifegivers?”

“Some say,” young Ed'ox blurts out with youthful energy and wide eyes, “that certain Smalls have females that do the same thing! They have seen two Smalls in the woods, one over the other in some kind of a fight which then turns out not to be a fight at all, and then many moons later there are many small baby Smalls coming out of the female! Could not the same be true of the Woman? It would be worth checking out, and I'm absolutely willing to try with the one we have!”

I feel a sudden anger well up in me at his words, and if I had my sword with me I would grasp it. “There will be no trying of that!”

Ed'ox shrinks away with fear in his eyes. “It's only a friendly offer! Why must you do all the hard work, Ar'ox? I mean only to help.”

Hen'ex hides his face in his hands in exasperation. “Oh Holy Ancestors, give me strength. Why are we now suddenly talking about the most ridiculous myths and made-up legends? This is a serious conversation, not to be desecrated with ludicrous fireside yarns about female Smalls and women being some kind of ... of ... Lifegiver!”

He takes a deep breath. “Now then. Ar'ox claims to have Worshipped the Woman Messenger. Several times, even, although the Prophecy says nothing about that and he might have ruined everything by his excess. But the Woman Messenger is still here in our village, so we'll generously assume that not all is lost. Now it is the time to give her the Gift. We must thus determine what that is. Of course I know precisely what it must be, but I'd like to hear suggestions even so. Ar'ox. What would you give her?”

I have given that some thought myself, but I keep coming up empty. There's not much I have. I can make her a blade, I suppose. Or provide her with a new garment or the meat of any Small or Big she'd want. I have given some thought to perhaps give her the mysterious, flat rock I found, the one that Hen'ex said had a demonic thunderstorm inside it. But I kept it even though the shaman told me to break it, and I'm not sure if Emilia would like it if she knew of my disobedience in that important matter. It's a crime I should try to keep to myself and not place as a burden on others.

“I'm still thinking,” I state.

Hen'ex narrows his eyes. “Still thinking? Are you sure you are in fact the true Mate for this Woman?”

“Yes,” I state flatly, although now I'm not at all. She seems too wonderful for an ordinary hunter like me. “I think the Ancestors will tell me in their own way.”

“The Ancestors? Telling you, Ar'ox the woodsman, who's been gone from the tribe for many days, about something this important? I wonder now if perhaps we have remembered the Prophecy wrong. Perhaps it's not the man who finds her who becomes the Mate, but the man who gives her the Gift. Who undoubtedly must be a shaman, now I think about it. And anyway, I found her too. When she – and you, I suppose, although you were certainly not worshipping her – were basking gaily in our Sacred Springs. There she was, on the rock, entirely naked, her slit spread widely, as if she were offering it for me to Worshi-”

I can't help myself, and spring to my feet in a blind fury, ready to attack the shaman with my bare hands if he utters another word about Emilia. “I will not have the Woman talked about like that!”

He cuts off with a gasp, his eyes wide. I know my own stare can be alive with anger at times, and right now I don't mind that.

“Just thinking out loud,” he says weakly. “I accept that you are the Mate. For now. Any other suggestions for the Gift?”

“A very fine skin?” a warrior suggests.

“A cave of her own?” another offers.

“One of the transparent pebbles that glitter prettily in the sun?”

“The safety of the village?”

Then there is silence. That's all we have to offer anyone. It's not much. If all the other women actually did return, they wouldn't be impressed by the wealth of our tribe.

“It seems to me,” Ver'ex says, “that it's of great importance that the Gift she receives is the correct one. Perhaps she will tell us what she expects! Did you ever ask her, Ar'ox?”

I was hoping nobody would ask that question. I still don't know what to make of her response. “I did. She said that she wanted no gift, but that she requested that I take her to her home.”

He points up to the starry sky. “To her star?”

“No, to somewhere on Xren. That was my impression, at least. She pointed in roughly that direction.” I stretch out my hand to show it.

Then I have a flash of an idea. “I think we should remember that she's the Messenger. We all assume it means that she'll let the other women know if our tribe is good enough or not, and that is the message. But could it not be that she is bringing a message to us?”

“There's nothing about that in the Prophecy,” Hen'ex sighs.

“There's not much of anything in the Prophecy,” I state boldly. “All it says is that she's the Messenger. Well, she gave me a message today.”

Hen'ex groans and shakes his head, but the others are looking at me attentively.

I hesitate. How shall I put it? Many around this fire haven't been on a hunt for months and might be offended. But this is a day for big things to happen, I think. Emilia is sleeping in my cave. The Woman. The Messenger. My Mate. I can't wrap my mind around it, that's how immense it is.

“What was it?” Gur'ex prompts.

“Our food stores are empty. The water lines are leaking. The wall is breaking down. Only very few hunters are gathering food for the tribe. The others are not. In fact, most of us are not doing anything. The women will not come to a tribe that's not prospering. And our tribe is not prospering. It's dying. That was her message.”

Well, perhaps that wasn't exactly what Emilia said. But the implication is clear. That must have been what she meant. And I can see it myself now.

There is a stunned silence for several heartbeats, and when I look around the circle of men they all avoid my gaze. Except Gur'ex, who just smiles weakly at me. I suddenly realize that they've all known this, and that I was the only one who didn't see our troubles until Emilia forced me to.

Then Hen'ex slaps his hand on the ground, gets to his feet and gathers his long skins around him. “I've heard enough of this nonsense. Of course the Woman Messenger has no prior home on Xren. Of course our tribe is not dying. Such laughable ideas you put forth, Ar'ox. But I suppose it's understandable. It is the first Woman you've met, and she must have brought out some hitherto unknown lunacy in you. I will meditate on all this and pray the Ancestors to show me who the Mate really is. I now doubt it can be you. But I will soon know.” Then he strides off.

The other men leave, one by one, the same way they arrived. Young Ed'ox gets to his feet and seeks me with his eyes, clearly struggling with something he wants to say. But I think I know what it is and I fix him with a stare until he reluctantly leaves.

Then it's only Gur'ex and me.

“I'm sorry,” I say. “But suddenly it became too obvious. We're not doing well.”

“And I'm not much of a chief anymore,” Gur'ex says calmly. “I know it. Many things should have been done before it got to this point. I keep telling myself 'tomorrow'. But perhaps it's not too late. What do you suggest we do?”

We talk a little while longer, but soon my longing for Emilia overpowers me and I go to my cave.

And there she is, my Woman, sleeping soundly with her mouth slightly open and one arm slung over her head. She's the very image of innocence and beauty and trust and everything good.

My heart swells as I lie down beside her, suddenly giddy with the privilege of it.

The Woman Messenger! Here in my cave, sleeping on my skins!

I place my face close to her head, getting the sweet scent of her hair in my nose.

If only I know what the Gift was.