- Aurora -

The village looks the same as before. Nobody is doing much, just sitting outside their tents and chatting. It would be idyllic if the whole place wasn't so badly overgrown with tall grasses and weeds, and if the tents weren't so obviously in need of repair.

This time nobody talks to us, but they still stare. Some boys who come running are angrily called back to their tents.

The Lifegivers are much better tended to now. There are no other plants in a large radius, and the dirt they grow from looks fresh and has been raked smooth.

Still, the Lifegiver Trak'zor treated last time is clearly not healthy, even to me.

“It started a little after midnight,” Nun'tax says. “The outer leaves opened normally, but then they seemed to sag and hang like that. And the inner leaf was no longer transparent.”

Trak'zor examines it. “The birthing is in progress. But it seems to have stopped midway. The water is still in there. We'll have to help it somehow.”

“Can he be saved?”

Trak'zor stands back and thinks. “I don't know. The inner leaf has to open by itself. If it hasn't by now, then it's not going to. We can't cut it open, because that kills both the baby and the Lifegiver. We must try to open it on the other side. I've never seen it done. The opening can only be very small.”

“There is no other way?”

“Not that I know of. I've only seen the birth stop prematurely once before. And then ...”

He trails off and I shudder, because I can guess how that sentence would continue.

But Nun'tax can't. “And then what?”

“Then the baby died. We must be careful. Nun'tax, we need soft fabric and water that keeps body temperature. Get me three buckets. One empty, one with cool water and one with steaming hot water. Give me a lamp that burns clean. And food for The Woman!”

Nun'tax immediately sprints away.

Trak'zor goes down on his knees beside the Lifegiver and uses his fingers to carefully pry open a seam in the leaves on the underside. It's like a huge flowerbud, and he's trying to peel just a tiny opening without breaking it.

The Lifegiver shakes a little, making its leaves rustle.

Nun'tax comes running, and somehow he has managed to bring all the things Trak'zor needed. He hands me a small bowl with a stew and a cup of burl, and he places the buckets on the ground.

I look around us. The sun has almost set, and the usual night sounds are starting to come out of the jungle on the other side of the overgrown fence.

Some tribesmen are watching casually from a safe distance. It's nobody I recognize from last time.

Trak'zor works slowly and gently for a long time, using the oil lamp Nun'tax brought for light.

Then he changes position. “I'm almost through. The water will spill out first. Aurora, open my bag.”

I take his bag, and I'm not surprised to see his stone orb in there. I take it out and carefully hand it over.

Then a gallon of water runs out of the tiny hole Trak'zor has created in the large bud. That has to be the amniotic fluid. It splashes on the ground and soaks down into the soft dirt around the Lifegivers.

Trak'zor opens the orb and scoops out a substance that looks like some kind of gel. It's so transparent it's almost invisible, except it contains millions of microscopic silver flakes that sparkle like crystals. Back on Earth, you could probably sell it for a thousand dollars an ounce because of that alone. Add that fancy stone container, and you're looking at double that.

I can't see what he does with it, because he ducks under the Lifegiver again.

I squat down to see. He has coated the small opening with the mysterious creme, and he's now working it further in.

Tense minutes go by. Nun'tax is a large caveman, with a decent amount of muscle, but he can't stand still, fidgeting and walking in circles while he mumbles something. I only catch the word 'Ancestors', so I imagine he's praying.

“Aurora,” Trak'zor suddenly calls, his voice tense. “Fabric.”

I grab a sheet of the white fabric that Nun'tax has brought and squat down, just in time to see the head of the baby slide out of the Lifegiver, then the rest of him.

Trak'zor holds the newborn boy in his arms and examines him carefully. The baby gives a little cry, and my caveman breaks out in a smile.

After a couple of minutes he hands the new baby to me, and together we wrap the fabric around him. The baby has a silvery sheen around him that I realize comes from that mysterious gel that Trak'zor keeps in the orb.

“Nun'tax, pass the edge of your sword through the flame, burning it clean,” he orders.

The other man follows his instructions and cuts the umbilical cord while the boy mewls. And then the father is holding his new son in his arms.

“We must also care for the Lifegiver,” Trak'zor says and ducks back under the miraculous creature.

Nun'tax holds his son in his arms, and I mix the water in the buckets to a fraction below body temperature so he can clean him.

Trak'zor stands up. “I think they'll both survive,” he says with satisfaction as he washes his hands in the hot water bucket.

I point to the stone orb on the ground. “The things in there – is that how you made this so easy?”

“It is a gift to me from the Ancestors,” he says. “It helps with many things. It's only for me to use.”

“For healing wounds? Say, wounds from arrows? In the chest and in the butt?”

He glances at me, not amused. “Among other things.”

I feel the excitement spreading in me. “And with births, obviously? Making them easier? Because I know someone who could really need something like that right about now. One of the girls in my cave-”

“Nun'tax, the Lifegiver should be left alone for several weeks so that it can recover,” Trak'zor cuts me off. “How long was it since its last birth when you began this?”

The newly minted father beams. “Not long enough, I suppose. Six weeks.”

“Ah,” Trak'zor says. “No mystery that this was so difficult. They need time to rest between each child. I think one season is a better interval. Two for this one now.”

Nun'tax swaddles his baby son in white fabric. “I will let everyone know. Now I think this little warrior needs some feeding, and I have just the ...”

His voice trails off and he stares past us.

We both turn around, but I'm not surprised about what I see.

“For a man who claims to have cast us all out, you certainly seem to come here a lot, Trak'zor!”

The chief comes marching in front of six other men with their swords in their hands.

Trak'zor laughs with contempt. “Someone has to do the chief's duties around here.”

The chief stops six feet away. “The tribe already has a chief. Or had you not noticed? I'll be happy to help you with that.”

I innocently pick up my crossbow and place the iron-tipped arrow in the groove.

Trak'zor puts his hands on his hips. His stance is relaxed, but I know he can draw his sword in a split second. “Are you sure you want this, Heri'ox?”

“If I can't keep you away by ordinary means, I suppose I have to use other ways. I see your woman hasn't given you a child yet.”

More men come sauntering. I wonder who they root for.

“Good things take time,” Trak'zor counters. “But of course you don't know what good things are. You should limit the use of the Lifegivers. They can't take your reckless idiocy. They need one whole season between each birth. One child per Lifegiver per year. It's more than this tribe deserves, it seems to me.”

“These are not your Lifegivers. You're not longer a part of this tribe, you claim. I disagreed, but now I don't. I now consider you an outcast. You know that outcasts can be killed on sight?”

“Of course I know that you can all be killed on sight,” Trak'zor replies calmly. “Indeed I said to Nun'tax that if I saw you, Heri'ox, then I intended to challenge you. And you all witness this: I challenge you! It's a more honorable death than you deserve, of course. I should cut you down like a charging rekh. But we all have our weaknesses. Mine is a sense of honor. You don't share that, do you, Heri'ox?”

All the men around go quiet.

The chief frowns. “You ... challenge me?”

“Warrior's right,” Trak'zor says. “I should have done it back when I was denied, but I thought killing you was too extreme a punishment for your mistake. Now I think it's not enough. Because it wasn't a mistake. It was an act of evil.”

Heri'ox laughs in contempt, and some of his men join him. “An act of evil? Have you made yourself a shaman as well as an outcast?”

“You don't need to be a shaman to see that you're the most inept and least honorable chief this tribe has ever had. I have challenged you. What is your response?”

Heri'ox draw his sword. “I am the chief of this tribe. You're an outcast. You can't challenge me. But if it is death you want, I will certainly oblige.”

I yelp as the chief suddenly charges and slashes his long sword at Trak'zor. But he easily sidesteps, and now his sword is in his hand, too. The chief tries again, but Trak'zor is too quick and parries the stroke with a mighty clang and a shower of yellow sparks.

The chief is probably not that much older than Trak'zor, but he's clearly in much worse shape. This will be an uneven fight.

I guess the chief must have realized that, too. He barks an order, and immediately his six friends attack Trak'zor. They're in better shape than the chief, who now stands back and lets his goons deal with Trak'zor.

Except they're not able to handle him at all. They can only attack him two at a time, and he has no problem parrying their thrusts. It's nothing like the fencing I've seen in movies. This is much more ferocious and brutal. After only a handful of seconds, three of the assailants are either on the ground or crouched over with their swords on the ground, nursing deep cuts in their arms or legs.

Trak'zor has no cuts, as far as I can see. But it's hard to tell, because the fight moves so fast it's just a blur.

I've been totally stunned until now. But seeing all the tribesmen just standing idly by, watching Trak'zor be attacked like it's some kind of sports event, suddenly makes my blood boil.

“Help him!” I scream. “Damn cowards, help him!”

I take three steps to the nearest caveman and push him. “Why are you just watching? That's your friend being assaulted! Draw your sword!”

It's like pushing a hill. The large caveman looks at me in surprise, but doesn't move at all.

On the other hand, Trak'zor has been able to put another two attackers out of the fight. But he's bleeding from a gash across his chest, and he clearly has trouble using his arm.

And now Chief Heri'ox is suddenly looking at me. There's insanity in his eyes.

“If the outcast won't die, then his whore has to go!” he yells in a shrill voice.

He comes towards me, fast, drawing back his sword as if to cut me down.

I pull back, away from him, but he's big and tall and menacing, and I trip over something, falling backwards onto the soft dirt.

Still everyone else are just watching.

Heri'ox triumphantly raises his sword like an executioner, and I know that this stroke will cut me in half lengthwise.

“Trak'zor!” I screech, because I don't know what else to do.

Heri'ox grins, and his eyes roll back in his head as he raises his sword the final inch before the cut.

I close my eyes. Shit, I wish I hadn't gone off to find the caveman I shot.