Chapter 24
– Theodora –
The chief is sitting very close to me. Too close.
His bare knee brushes mine every time he shifts, and my whole body wants to recoil.
These guys have been on the march through the jungle for weeks, and so the air around them feels sticky, humid, and musky.
It’s like being trapped between the armpits of six unwashed gym bros the size of bears.
“Now, let’s talk about Worship and Mating,” he says.
His breath is warm on my cheek. “After all, that is the reason the Woman comes to Xren at all: to Mate with a worthy warrior and become the Mother of Xren. And while there were two young warriors who found you first, I am the chief of this tribe. Shall I Worship you now?”
I lean away without making it obvious, inching back until the grass tickles my fingers. I still have my spear in my hand, but I can’t count on using it for self-defense here, against a hundred big cavemen. My throat tightens. “The Worship is not needed, Chief.”
My mind is racing. My heart’s going too fast. It feels like it wants to punch through my ribs and sprint for the jungle.
How do I deflect this? The whole Worship and Mating thing is obviously the main attraction for these guys.
If I take that off the table, a lot of my power gets deflated.
But there’s nothing I want less than being even remotely physical with any of these cavemen.
The chief raises his eyebrows. “Surely it is needed? The Worship is one of the most important parts of the Prophecy. Even our young men are taught how to do it. And the Mating later. It is all necessary. We will build a hut where you and I can be alone.”
My pulse stumbles at the word alone.
“Or the man that the Woman chooses,” the shaman says quickly. He gives me a creepy smile with too many teeth, a broken fang, and too much eagerness. “When she is found by more than one man, of course she can choose. Perhaps she even knows which man it shall be.”
“When the Woman is found by a tribe, of course it is the chief of that tribe she wants,” the chief states firmly. “For he is the leader of them all, with power over life or death. He determines the life of the tribe. It is often said that the chief of a tribe is the tribe.”
“Is it, Chief?” the shaman asks, a shrillness in his voice. “I have never heard that said.”
Their bickering grows louder. The men lean in, each smelling like they rolled in jungle sweat and pride. My skin crawls. The tension is thick enough to pinch between two fingers.
“No young men,” someone says. “They have not proven themselves.”
“Only young men,” another counters. “They are not worn out!”
Voices spike, overlapping, vibrating with alien testosterone.
I lean back and do my best to look aloof, as if my heart isn’t thudding so hard that my vision fuzzes at the edges.
I’m absolutely fine with some internal fighting about this.
I’ll let them argue themselves hoarse. But at some point, I have to assert myself.
I can’t let these guys decide what I’ll be doing.
Actually, I don’t know how much longer this can go on.
The pressure is rising in the group. I can feel it, like static crackling over my skin.
I really have to get away from this tribe before they get so frustrated they just take what they want.
And the only place I can go now is the Borok tribe.
Dex was no help, and this tribe is so close to the saucer that they’re bound to find it.
What I should do is get away from here, get to the saucer, and warn Kenz’ox about them.
Then we can go to the Borok tribe, all three of us.
The way things are, that may be the best thing that can happen.
With the Tratena tribe this close, he will have to change his mind about it.
We can look for Callie on the way, too.
My stomach tightens. Damn. I pinned a lot of hope on Dex being in better shape than this. Now it looks like both he and the saucer are dead ends.
“You all want to Worship her, that’s obvious,” the shaman says, voice slippery. “But the Woman decides. We don’t. Even I don’t. She decides which one of us she wants to be Worshipped by, and Mate with.” His creepy smile again.
“Well, then she should choose,” the chief says. “You are being very quiet, Woman. Which of us is the Man?” He leans closer and pulls his gut in.
The crowd goes quiet. The weight of their expectation hits me like a physical force. My mouth goes dry.
“There is a man of your tribe,” I begin, with as much dignity as I can muster.
“But I don’t see him here. He’s the best man of the Tratena, and he was given an important sign some months ago.
It was the Ancestors showing him that he should leave the tribe and enter the jungle.
His name is Kenz’ox. Is he nearby?” I promised not to mention Kenz’ox to his tribe.
But I’m in a bind here, and this is not how I expected to meet these guys.
The air freezes. They all look at each other.
“Kenz’ox is not here,” the chief growls. “He is dead.”
A cold shiver ripples down my spine. No way. I refuse to believe that.
“So it can’t be him,” the chief continues. “Well, as his chief, it is my duty to take his place. Men! Build a hut right here.”
When he stands and reaches for me, my muscles lock tight. I lean away again, heart thudding in my throat. Kenz’ox dead? No. “I am here for Kenz’ox only. No other man.”
The shaman looks confused. “Kenz’ox got a sign? The girl was the sign?”
I stand up, summoning theatrical confidence I absolutely do not feel. “Yes, the little baby girl was the sign. Kenz’ox understood it and left the tribe. But he should be here now. He’s not. What have you done, shaman?” I fix him with a cold stare.
He swallows visibly. The chief looks impatient. Men begin cutting wood for the hut, each thud of their swords making my nerves jump.
“It is of no concern,” the chief says. “He's not here, and he’s likely dead. Ah, the hut is being built.”
The world narrows to a pinpoint of fear.
“When it’s finished,” the chief says in a thick voice, “I shall Worship you, and then we can talk about the Gift, and Mating.”
I feel dozens of eyes on me. My palms go slick with sweat. I can’t run. Not now. Not with a hundred men around me.
I repeat through clenched teeth, “Only Kenz’ox. If he’s dead, I will have to leave.”
The conversation spirals with shaman confusion and chief stubbornness. Their fragile belief in me starts to crack like thin ice. Every time the chief doubts me, my stomach twists.
Then there’s a noise at the jungle’s edge, a commotion.
A band of blue-striped cavemen march in, dragging someone bound on hands and feet.
Kenz’ox.
My heart lurches. He’s alive. But barely standing.
“There is Kenz’ox now!” I exclaim. It bursts out too fast, too relieved. Dread follows immediately, heavy as a dropped stone. He may not survive this.
I wish I could signal him. You don’t know me, you don’t know me…
“Are you all right, Dorie?” he asks.
Shit.
“I am all right, warrior,” I tell him. My voice sounds steadier than I feel. Inside, my pulse is doing gymnastics. “It is good that you know the Woman’s secret name, which only the chosen Man will. Why is this man bound?”
Seeing him here is really alarming. A cold weight settles in my stomach. Where is Aker’iz? How long can she be alone without being fed? The idea gnaws at the back of my mind like an itch I can’t scratch.
Kenz’ox frowns as he’s forced to sit on the ground twenty feet away, three bare swords pointing at him. He sits stiffly, chin lifted, but I can see the tiny flinches every time he moves.
“He… he committed terrible crimes,” the chief says, glaring daggers at the six men who brought Kenz’ox here. “Now we have no choice but to execute him.”
My throat tightens. Execute.
“What were the crimes?” I ask, looking over at Kenz’ox. He’s bleeding from his throat and head, but he doesn’t seem gravely injured. I catch a quick, subtle smirk from him, even though swords are aimed at his heart.
“He killed three tribesmen,” the chief states loudly. “And he set fire to my hut, and the shaman’s hut too. Then he ran into the jungle.”
“Why?” I ask, pretending to be mystified. My eyebrows raise in the most innocent, wide-eyed way I can manage. “Why would the best man in the tribe do such a thing? He must have had a good reason.”
“No reason,” the chief says. “And he’s nowhere near as good as you think, Woman.”
Tribesmen come bearing grilled meat and drink. The smell makes my empty stomach twist, reminding me I haven’t eaten since I left the saucer. I take some, then point at Kenz’ox. “Give him food, and drink. Then explain why.”
“There was a… misunderstanding about the baby girl,” the shaman says. “Kenz’ox may have thought that we didn’t want her. He lost his mind and attacked his own tribesmen. Three lay dead when he ran out of the village, the baby in his arms.”
I bite into the meat. It’s not as tender as I prefer it, but it’s fine. Needs salt, though.
That normal thought is strangely grounding. “Oh, did someone try to stop him?” I ask, certain there was no misunderstanding at all. “Did someone try to harm the baby girl? Which was sent to him by the Ancestors as a sign of my arrival?”
From the corner of my eye, I notice Kenz’ox being offered a drink. He drinks with stiff dignity, jaw tight. The swords never leave his line of sight.
“We only wanted to honor the child,” the chief says. “Kenz’ox thought we had something else in mind. It was terrible. We tried to explain, but—”
“You wanted her to die!” Kenz’ox says loudly. His voice booms across the clearing, raw and furious.
“And that is the truth,” I state. I straighten my spine, letting command seep into my posture until it feels like armor. “Do you think we don’t know it? Do you think the Ancestors don’t know exactly what happened? Free that man! He is innocent of any crime!”