- Aurora -

Two other men come out of the shadows and exchange a couple of moderately friendly words with Trak'zor. And then we're in the village.

There are no caves that I can see, just cone-shaped huts that remind me of Native American teepees. There's probably about a hundred of them, and they're built on a gentle slope in the landscape, surrounded by a tall fence. Little wisps of gray smoke rise from fires in front of some of the huts. In the light from the setting sun, it looks peaceful and safe. 

Some villagers come wandering out from their huts, looking at us. Or me, probably.

A pack of young boys come running.

“Trak'zor! Are you home now?”

“Will you stay?”

“Who is that?”

“Is that The Woman?”

“Will the women return now?”

“There's something wrong with the Lifegivers!”

“I skinned my knee, but it healed. Look!”

“Me and Bont'iax walked to the Tall Cliff! Alone! We didn't fall down!”

“There was a brak here! Outside the fence. The guards saw it!”

“I practiced with the sword! Look, Trak'zor!” The boy has a wooden stick that he thrusts into the air, then spins around and hacks at some imagined enemy.

“Nice,” Trak'zor says. “Now use a heavier stick. Thicker and longer. It will build your strength.”

He has been tense and furious for the whole walk here, but now the anger seems to evaporate as he ruffles the boys' hair, answers their rapid-fire questions as well as he can and praises their newfound skills. It's like watching a father return home to his kids from a long business trip, except I doubt he can be the father of all these boys. I guess they just like him. I totally empathize.

He keeps a good grip around my wrist as we walk through the village. The adult men watch us very carefully, and because Trak'zor is one of those blessed guys who wear their hearts on their sleeves, it dawns on me why he was so willing to bring me along.

He's proud. Of me.

Well, he is the first man here who's seen a woman. And he's mated with her and made her fall for him. I'd say he's entitled to his pride a hundred times over. I don't mind him parading me in front of his buddies like a trophy right now. It even makes me feel honored. And important.

While he seems delighted with the attention from the boys, he doesn't as much as glance at the adult cavemen we pass.

But I do. And I'm not surprised to see that they're all less healthy-looking than he is. Their stripes are not as clear and their muscles not as well defined. Some of the older guys here even tend to fatness, with saggy pot bellies hanging out over their sparse garments.

Sophia, Emilia and Heidi did tell me that their men are clearly the best and strongest from their tribes, so I was kind of prepared for this. It looks like we Earth girls are getting the cream of the crop.

A man comes out of a larger hut and strides towards us with a dignity that tells everyone that he's in charge here. The chief, no doubt. Another man follows behind him as they halt in front of us.

“Trak'zor,” the dignified one says.

Trak'zor returns his gaze. “Messed up the Lifegivers again?”

“The Lifegivers are sometimes hard to deal with, and-”

“Only when you don't give them the care they need. They're very robust.”

The chief look away to not have to face Trak'zor's hard stare. “Be that as it may, one of them is in danger of failing.”

“Failing? You mean die from a lack of proper care, killing the unborn inside?”

“The reason is less important, it seems to me, and-”

“It is mine,” the third man interrupts. “It's the one to the east, a little aside. It's more exposed to the sun than the others. I have cared for it every day. Almost. But then ...”

“Let me guess. Then you neglected it for several days because you were busy with other things,” Trak'zor says harshly. “Perhaps this was close to the opening of the year's first vat of burl? And you were out of it for many days after?”

The other man looks down. “It was not my intention to be negligent. But you know how it is when the burl is particularly good and strong ...”

“I really don't, Nun'tax. So this entire tribe was dead drunk for days? It crossed nobody's mind to care for the Lifegivers? Not even the chief's mind?”

I've never heard an icier voice. He's calm, but rage is building in him. His hand holding my wrist is trembling, ever so slightly.

The chief clears his voice. “The other Lifegivers are fine. And if Nun'tax, the father himself, who has given of himself into the Lifegiver, can't be bothered to care for his own offspring, then the tribe will feel much less obligated, too.”

“Any tribe worth the name would make sure that all the Lifegivers were always taken care of, no matter the father's condition,” Trak'zor seethes. “The unborn are a matter for the tribe, not for the individual tribesman!”

The chief gives him a cold little smile. “I seem to recall having made a similar point to you some time ago, Trak'zor. You were less in agreement then.”

Trak'zor tenses up and goes pale, and his hand flies to his sword.

“But you make a good point,” the chief says quickly, probably seeing the same thing I am. “That was a different case back then. We shall certainly try to be more careful with the Lifegivers from now on. Now, I assume that since you're here, you've decided to assist us with this? It's really the least you can do, considering that you insist on keeping your mysterious powers to yourself.”

His gaze shifts to me. “As well as some other things.”

“Please,” Nun'tax says. “It's my first and only.”

Trak'zor stares the chief down, forcing him to look away and around in a way that would be pretty funny if Trak'zor weren't so obviously furious.

“I will help. This one time. Not because of you, Nun'tax. And certainly not because of you, Heri'ox. But because that unborn boy is an innocent life who deserves better than to be killed by this useless, shameful and dishonored tribe before he can even draw breath. You are a curse to this tribe, Heri'ox! That's why I have cast this tribe out! You are all outcasts!”

Trak'zor says that last part very loudly, and a gasp goes through the crowd that has slowly assembled around us.

The chief goes pale and reaches for his sword, but Trak'zor simply cocks his head to the side and raises his eyebrows, as if asking 'really?'

Chief Heri'ox's fingers slip limply off the hilt of his sword and he turns away, marching back to his hut in a caricature of injured dignity.

Nun'tax touches Trak'zor's arm. “Please, let us hurry.”

Sophia and Emilia have told us about the Lifegivers that the tribes use to make babies instead of women. They are essentially a mix of plant and animal, and they will conceive and nurture a fetus from the cells of a single man. That means that the babies they produce are pretty much clones of their fathers.

Delyah once said that she had trouble believing that something as useful and complicated as a Lifegiver could evolve by chance, but I never quite got her point. Now that I'm looking at one, the weirdness of it is staring me in the face and almost knocking me out.

It's large and green and obviously a plant. It has vines and leaves and stalks. But it's also obviously an animal. The vines move and the roots have a kind of fur that moves rhythmically, as if there were lungs or a heart inside it. In the middle is a dark green bud the size of a washing machine.

Trak'zor lets go of my wrist and walks closer to the bud, gently stroking the moving vines and leaves that approach him as if to check who he is.

He carefully peels back one of the leaves that make out the bud. Its edges are brown, like those of a houseplant that's not been watered for days. He opens more of the leaves, and then the unborn baby inside is only separated from him by a transparent leaf that he doesn't touch.

He gets the mysterious orb out of his pack, opens it and then turns his back to me.

He's busy with the Lifegiver for a few minutes, then gently closes one leaf after the other until the bud is completely closed up again.

“No damage,” he reports and puts the stone orb back in his sack. “The baby is still healthy. But the inner leaves were getting brittle. If the innermost had cracked, he would have died. One more day and there would be nothing I could do.”

Nun'tax wipes his eyes. “Thank you. I'll be more careful.”

Trak'zor fixes him with a gaze that makes me wince. “Will you? Burl makes you careless, Nun'tax. And it makes you drink more. Will you be able to not drink any burl until this boy has been born and is a year old?”

Nun'tax's red-rimmed eyes bulge. “A year old?”

“At least,” Trak'zor states. “Do you think the baby is finished when he's taken out, and now you can party the days away? No, Nun'tax. He will require care. More care than most men think. I know lazy fathers give their offspring to the tribe and hope that some of the boys will care for them. But not you, Nun'tax. You will care for your baby yourself. I expect that after this incident. You owe him. You owe me. And I will make sure you do your duty. I will come back. In the night or in the daytime, you don't know. If I smell the slightest hint of burl on your breath then, I will slice you open and watch you bleed to death, right here in this spot, making your blood nourishment for the tribe's unborn sons. That will be all you're good for.”

The flatness of his voice makes me shudder. He's not kidding.

Nun'tax realizes that, too. “Of course. Of course I will care for him. While he needs it. No burl for me. I've had enough for a lifetime anyway.”

Trak'zor puts a large hand on his shoulder. “Indeed you have. Now, who has young babies?”

As it turns out, there's only one baby in the village right now. Trak'zor and I go into a hut that Nun'tax points out.

There's one tribesman in here, an older one with gray hair and a baby in his arms. He's clumsily trying to feed it from a leather pouch which must be full of some kind of fluid, because some of it is running down his chest and stomach.

“Trak'zor,” he says in surprise, and then he sees me and his jaw drops. I think maybe he's about to drop his baby, too, but he catches himself at the last moment.

“Veri'tox,” Trak'zor says in greeting. “I see you have two now.”

The other man finally gets a grip on himself. “I have. And you have ... The Woman?”

“Yes,” Trak'zor says and accepts the baby into his arms. “Did I not say I'd find her?”

“But then ... the women? They will return to us?”

Trak'zor gently strokes the baby's head, and his face softens. “She has yet do decide. I have counseled her to tell our tribe's women to stay away. The tribe isn't worthy of them. How is this boy?”

I smile to myself. He's really getting his money's worth. And the baby seems to trust him.

“He's healthy enough,” Veri'tox says and looks me up and down. “No particular problems except those that all babies have. Have you really suggested that? But ... the Prophecy ...”

“He's strong,” Trak'zor agrees. “It's a pity he was born into this tribe. Yes, the Prophecy says that The Woman will bring the other women back. But only if the tribe is worthy of them. Can you say that this tribe is?”

Veri'tox scratches his chin. “Things have changed here since I was young, certainly. Indeed we're not as strong. Fewer men go into the jungle now. But is this not the very reason we need the women back? To make us strong again?”

“Look at The Woman!” Trak'zor commands, and the other man does as told. “Do you see her beauty and her immense power? Do you see the softness in her face? The roundness of her chest and her hips? The mystery in her eyes? The thickness of her hair? The smallness of the nose? The smoothness of her skin? Now tell me that this tribe deserves their women back!”

“Don't let your anger cloud this most important moment, Trak'zor. Yes, you were treated very shabbily back then. We often speak of it. But this is what we have all been waiting for!”

“Not you, Veri'tox. You have given into the Lifegivers twice now. Surely you need no more offspring? Some of us have none. What do you say, sacred Woman? Is this tribe worthy?” He looks at me with a glint in his eyes.

What would Xena do if asked to play a goddess?

She'd play the best goddess in history.

I clear my voice. “Tribe not take good care of lifegivers. Drink burl, stay drunk many days. Many boys in village, dressed in rags. Many men fat! Is much scandal.”

Trak'zor lifts his eyebrows. “You see?”

“You speak our language?” Veri'tox asks me, friendly enough.

I straighten my back and give him a haughty look, making my best impression of a divine being. “I do. But long ago since speak last.”

“Ah, I see. Well, sacred Woman, then you must understand that Trax'zor has his reasons for being angry with our tribe. Good reasons, of course. But perhaps listen to what others have to say? He might not give you the right impression.”

I incline my head. “Everything Trak'zor say is true so far. Indeed he's being kind to tribe, not tell how bad really is. What are his good reasons?”

Veri'tox glances at Trak'zor, as if to get his permission. Trak'zor just shrugs.

Veri'tox gestures to a rickety chair, but I give him a cold smile and remain standing.

He sits down himself. “Now, this happened some years ago.”