- Xark’on -

Tomorrow, the trap will be finished. And then?

Caroline stretches in the hammock about to fall asleep. I hold her tight.

Holy Ancestors, she made a blue color for me! Many days later, I still can’t quite believe it. But there it is. The picture of Bune can now be completed. And future paintings as well.

If there are any.

I stir, and Caroline whimpers in half-sleep.

“I’ll go to the village,” I whisper. “It will be only a short time. I’ll be back before dawn.”

She opens her eyes. “You’re leaving?”

“I’ll be back,” I repeat. “I need something from there. And I don’t want everyone to see me. I don’t have the patience for their questions. When I’m gone, pull up the rope so nobody can get up here. Then lower it when you can hear me call to you. Before dawn. I’ll call ’okay’. The alien word you use for everything. Nobody else will know it.”

“Okay. I mean, very well. But can’t I come?”

“You’re safer here. And if word spreads around the village that you’re there, it would take much longer to get back home. Everyone would want to see you, even in the middle of the night.”

Caroline yawns. “Fine. Hurry back, please.”

She gets up and pads after me to the ropes.

“Just pull it up about three lengths of a man,” I instruct, pointing at the pulley. “No need to pull it all the way up. You can go back to sleep. I won’t be back until dawn. You’ll be safer here than anywhere else.”

She nods sleepily.

I kiss her then go down the rope to the ground and watch as it’s pulled up. Good. Nothing can get to her. Except irox. And they fear this place too much to try.

I walk through the jungle. It’s not a long walk to the village, but it takes time because of the difficult terrain and because Troga’s trench cuts off the most natural path to take.

The only good thing about her is that she appears to scare off most of the Bigs, so this night journey is less dangerous.

When I get to the village I call, “Xark’on demands entrance,” and the guards open the gate.

I nod to them and hurry towards my tent. It’s been many days since the last time I was here, and there’s not really anything there I need.

Then I go to Roti’ax’s tent. “Roti’ax,” I call and knock on the wood that frames the entrance.

I hear movement, and then Roti’ax opens the flap to his tent. “Xark’on? You here?”

“I here,” I confirm. Roti’ax isn’t my favorite person in the tribe. But he makes very good skins when the mood to work strikes him. Which it rarely does. “Do you have the skin? The brak skin?”

He rubs his eyes. “You want it now? It’s the middle of the night.”

“Do you have it?”

“Yes, yes. It’s the only brak skin in the village. Nobody has anything like it. I’ve cured it and softened it and everything. It’s as smooth as... as I don’t know what.”

“Very good. Now may I have it?”

“You may. If...” There’s a strange twinkle in his eyes.

I frown. I’m not expecting any conditions attached to this. That’s not how the tribe works. A warrior is entitled to any product of the village when he needs it. There’s enough for everyone. “If what?”

“That woman,” Roti’ax says, lowering his voice and looking around. “The trap...”

“Yes?” I say impatiently.

“I’d like to be there. When it happens. The trap. Troga. And the woman.”

I don’t like where this is going. “The woman and the trap are separate. Caroline has nothing to do with it. She’s helped me make it. That is all.”

He stares at me. “Separate? Surely, you must realize that...”

“What?” I growl.

“That she’s the bait for the trap! That was your problem, as you yourself stated when you started. How to lure Troga into the trap. Now the Ancestors have solved your problem by giving you that woman. You must see it, Xark’on. I know you do.”

“I see nothing of the kind,” I seethe. “Caroline is an alien woman, not bait like the stinking, dripping carcass of a rekh. Now hand over the brak skin or there will be trouble.”

My tone scares him, and he goes back into his tent and returns with a white brak skin folded neatly over his arm. “Bait needs not be stinking. Certainly for Troga it must be very special bait. It must be exquisite. She must be lured out of her trench, Xark’on! She must be blinded by desire. No carcass can tempt her! It must be live bait! It must be alive and young! It must!”

I take the skin and stuff it into my bag. I know exactly what to do with it. “The bait must be special, yes. But it also mustn’t make Troga too suspicious. A woman hanging there helpless would seem too good to be true. You know that monster is wily. She’d know something very strange was going on.”

Roti’ax leans in very eagerly. “No! The lure of something as rare as a woman here on Xren would make her too curious and too tempted! Xark’on, this is the only chance we’ll have. You mustn’t make a big mistake now, so close to the end! That woman is clearly, obviously the bait that the Ancestors have given to you! Don’t let her slit and round shape disturb your honor and your determination!”

“She’s not disturbing anything. But right now, you’re disturbing me. Yes, we must use live bait. I agree. But I think a man would do just as well as a woman. Say, an elderly chief who’s outlived his usefulness and is now only a distraction to other warriors who are doing important work.” I look him up and down.

He goes pale and takes a shocked step back into his tent. “I mean no offense, Xark’on. But you appear to be about to make a big mistake! It concerns the whole tribe. Remember the Treasure, Xark’on. And your share of it!”

“I will do what must be done for the tribe, Roti’ax. And I will do it the right way. Goodnight.”

I turn and walk briskly towards the gate, feeling the old man’s eyes on my back.

Then, I’m back in the jungle, walking fast towards the tree house and Caroline’s pleasant heat, her scent, her calm breathing, and her rapid heartbeat, even when she sleeps.

My anger soon dissipates. It leaves a heavy, gray mist of worry.

My steps slow as if by themselves, and soon I’m standing still in the darkness.

I look back the way I’ve come, towards the village. I’ve spent my life there. The Lifegiver gave me that life. The tribe kept me alive, gave me shelter, food, a childhood. It taught me to hunt and to use the hammer when it turned out that the sword didn’t dance in my hands. I’m a product of the tribe. I belong to the tribe.

And the Ancestors are watching me, guiding me, and giving me all I need to complete my sacred mission.

Roti’ax can be coarse and direct and cowardly. But he’s no fool.

And I’m pretty sure he’s right.

I turn around and retrace my steps back to the village.