Chapter 12
– Kenz’ox –
It’s as if I have a fever. I’m intensely aware of Theodora’s presence, her scent, her warmth, her movements, her shape, her shadow, the little sounds she makes while we work, her quick little glances…
Now that I know what she looks like under her garment, and how that smells and tastes, it’s all I can think of. I’ve Worshipped her! I never thought I would ever Worship. Truly, the Ancestors are gracious.
“That looks good,” she says when the main poles are ready. “Room for much meat inside.”
“Much,” I agree as I take hold of a pole and shake it. “It will stay up, too. Now for the walls.”
I’ve cut almost the entire length of a brask vine. It’s only as thick as one of Dorie’s fingers, but it’s long, strong, and stiff. “I’ll start at the top.”
I begin to weave the vine between the poles where they are tied together at the top, alternating over and under.
Dorie does the same lower down, working her way around in the opposite direction from me.
That means that we often have to work standing close together, with Dorie’s back pressed into my front as we pass each other.
I can’t help occasionally grazing her hand with mine, and she seems to push her behind and hips into me more than necessary.
My loincloth bulges in the front again, and I’m sure Dorie has to notice, especially when it keeps catching on the framework of the hut. Her little glances from the corner of her eye have mirth in them, and I think she sometimes hides a smile behind a small hand.
When we’re done, the hut has tight, round walls and is only missing the outer layer of straw.
“Perfect,” I state. “It’s the nicest meat-drying hut I’ve seen.”
Dorie scratches her chin. “How we get the meat inside?”
My face drops. “We forgot the door!”
“Huh. Can’t cut a hole, because all hangs together and very firm. But not here.” She tries to push the vine strands apart in the middle, where her vine meets mine. She manages to make a small opening, and together we widen it a little.
“Curse our perfect workmanship,” I groan in mock annoyance. “Now we have to break part of it to get inside.” I don’t actually mind it, because working this closely to Dorie is remarkably pleasant.
“We just too good,” Dorie agrees. “Should have done bad work.”
“I think we’re too good at everything,” I tell her. “It’s a terrible way to live.”
“Terrible,” she says, and the ugly word sounds so strange coming from that beautiful little mouth that I have to chuckle.
“We should practice our terrible-ness.”
She gives me another little smile. “We really should.”
It doesn’t take us long to make a little door in the hut, big enough to get inside and hang any but the largest parts of meat I think we’ll ever have.
“What we put on the outside?” Dorie asks. “Grass?”
“We have a lot of it,” I point out and pull a handful from the ground. “It should be longer than this and placed into rows.”
We spend the rest of the afternoon making the grass covering.
Aker’iz wakes up and demands her usual routine, and then I let her crawl around the clearing as she pleases.
It means I have to constantly run to get her away from the fire, from the edge of the jungle, from the sharp-tipped spears, and from everything that could hurt her, which turns out to be almost everything.
“Should make a pleipen,” Dorie says, pushing hair from her forehead. “To keep her safe.”
“A pleipen would be useful,” I agree. “What is that, exactly?”
She describes it to me, and indeed it would be a wonderful thing to have.
“I’ll make one tomorrow,” I decide as I gauge how long it will be until sunset. “Tonight I have other things to do—Dorie, get into the ship.” That last part comes with urgency.
Dorie stands up, tense. “What is it?”
“Krolt,” I tell her tightly as I grab Aker’iz and her backpack. Sensing the emergency, she immediately starts to cry. I put her inside the ship. “I’ll be right back, Aker’iz.”
Dorie gets her spear and steps inside, too. “Come on.”
“I can’t hide from this enemy,” I tell her as I draw my sword. “They must be defeated. If not, they’ll keep coming back.”
There are two of them, their bodies so thin seen from the front that they’re just lines. But their heads are wide, with one eye on each side. If not for the low sun, I would not have seen them, so well do they blend with the jungle around them. I wonder how long they’ve been there.
“I’ll fight,” Dorie says as she steps back out and closes the hatch to the ship, cutting off the sound of Aker’iz’s furious protests.
The krolts are walking slowly, side by side, watching us. But they’re not here for fun. There must be a nest nearby, and if we don’t kill these two, the whole pack will keep coming.
“Get inside!” I seethe. “I can’t protect you out here!”
“I’ll fight,” Dorie says, voice flat and determined. She takes up a defensive position with her back to the Plood ship.
It’s hard to tell exactly when the krolts start to move faster, so thin are they. But now they’re clearly coming. Their bodies are splotched with green and blue, so that they’re almost impossible to spot. They climb over the barricades and come into the clearing, teeth glinting in the red sunlight.
I take up my position three paces in front of Dorie. That way, I can ward them off before they get that far, and Dorie has room to finish them off.
“Stay there,” I tell her tightly. “These are not easily confused.”
The first krolt comes trotting as if it’s going past me. As it gets close, it turns its head towards me and pounces.
I’m ready for it and slash out with my sword. The tip just misses as the krolt bounces back in a move I’ve never seen before.
“Stay behind me,” I remind Dorie. The other krolt is pacing back and forth, just looking for an opening. And I know these things can attack together.
I realize what they’re doing—they’re waiting. They must be expecting more krolt from their pack, and now they’re tricking us into thinking they could attack at any time.
I can’t allow that to happen.
“Waarrr!” I suddenly run at the nearest krolt, roaring with sword lifted, just as it’s changing direction and slightly off balance.
My blade hits it at the side of the head, slicing off half.
The krolt falls sideways, spraying blood and kicking wildly with its strong legs as it hisses furiously.
I know it can’t get up. Krolt live their whole lives running, because of their thinness.
I run back to Dorie just as the second krolt pounces on her. She yelps and holds her spear out, but the krolt ignores it and goes in to take a bite with its great, blade-thin gape.
My sword grazes the predator’s tail, and it turns towards me, eyes rotating in their sockets.
Dorie thrusts her spear at it, but misses.
“Keep trying,” I encourage her as my sword clangs uselessly against the attacker’s side—the angle was wrong. That gives the krolt a chance, and it snaps its great jaw at me.
I get a whiff of rotting meat as one of its teeth slides along my arm, cutting it open.
Immediately, my grip on the sword is weakened by the blood running down my arm, but I slash again and miss completely.
The krolt runs as if escaping, but I won’t be tricked. I stay three paces from Dorie, sword ready.
Indeed, the krolt was just picking up speed for a new attack. And it’s so fast I miss with my desperate hack, only striking empty air and bringing myself off balance.
“Come!” Dorie yells and then sprints across the clearing towards the hut we built.
The krolt follows her and snaps at her heels, but she doesn’t stop.
She throws herself through the little door we made and immediately sticks her spear out between strands of vine in the unfinished walls, striking the krolt on its narrow snout.