Chapter 24 #2
I put as much command in my voice as I can. Cate Blanchett would have done better, but she wasn’t under this kind of pressure. I think the key to this is to believe I can actually command these guys. They can’t help but pick up my expectation to be obeyed. Or at least, I desperately hope so.
“I think that may be fair,” the shaman says, but I sense that he doesn’t have the confidence to issue orders like that. His eyes are jittery, hands twitching as though he wants to hide them inside his loincloth.
The chief frowns and looks me up and down. “What did he call you? Bory?”
“Dorie,” I tell him as haughtily as I can. Damnit, the illusion is starting to crack. I can practically hear the seams popping. “The secret name of the Woman that only the chosen man may know. Is that not so, Shaman? Did not you also know it?”
“Dorie,” the shaman says, licking his lips. “Yes. It’s another secret part of the Prophecy.”
That guy is pretty easy to manipulate. His spine is as firm as a withered straw. He can’t back down, and he’s eager to show me how much he supports me. I’m sure he hasn’t given up hope about Worshipping me.
“Your speech is strange,” the chief says, frowning. “Dorie. That’s not a name I remember from the Ancestors. It doesn’t sound like a real name.”
Yeah. That guy is the problem here. His doubt feels like a crack widening under my feet.
I decide to change tactics. I have to keep these guys off balance.
I sashay towards the chief, slowly pushing my hair back.
Every step feels like walking a tightrope with no net.
I reach out and touch my fingertips to the soft side of his belly.
His skin is warm and clammy. “Chief. You are the chief of this tribe, a mighty man. Surely you can’t be afraid of one man like that?
Release him, and we shall talk more about Worship. ”
I let my fingers slide down towards the edge of his loincloth, then off him. I look up at him and flutter my eyelids. My stomach twists like a wrung towel, but I keep my face serene.
“Untie Kenz’ox,” the chief barks hoarsely, eyes bulging in his head. “But keep armed men nearby. How is that hut coming?!”
I make a mental note that being a caricature of a vamp goes down well with the chief.
I go over to Kenz’ox. He’s still sitting down, but his legs and hands are untied. His sword is gone. But even if he and I are clearly outnumbered here, I still feel safer next to him. That bubble of safety is strong, like stepping out of a tiger’s cage.
He looks at me with mirth in his blue eyes. “The Woman. To think that I would meet you.”
“As decided by the Ancestors,” I reply regally.
My chin lifts a fraction higher. “The baby girl was the sign that you would meet me, as you know. But your tribe did not know, and you could not explain.” I itch to ask where Aker’iz is, but I don’t want the other guys to know. The restraint makes my jaw tense.
“I didn’t need to explain,” he growls, his eyes furious at the chief. “They showed what they would do. They would set her out to die. My baby.” His voice cracks slightly on my baby.
“The Envoy still has strength in him, although he can no longer fly,” I tell him. I keep my tone lofty, but my heartbeat jumps when the shaman’s ears visibly perk. He should know as much as I can convey about the situation. “He can be carried.”
Kenz’ox’s eyes dart to the wicker basket and back. “Does he know… the secret?”
I’m not sure what he means, but I guess it could be about the saucer and how to get it to fly.
“The Envoy does not know the secret of the special shelter,” I tell him.
I don’t want to talk about ships and saucers here.
But I hope he understands that I’m talking about the Plood ship.
“He is only an envoy. The one who came before me. I am the Woman.”
An amused smile flashes on his lips before he catches himself. “Yes. Am I your selected male?”
“If you are worthy,” I tell him. “That we must see. It would be good for your tribe if you are. Because I will bring the other women to them.”
Everyone is eavesdropping on us, so I must make it seem attractive to them to not force themselves to Worship me. Every man’s head seems to tilt a little closer.
“Every man in the tribe will have his own woman,” I repeat. It’s the nuclear option, a promise that will turn deadly if I can’t deliver on it.
There are excited exclamations and mutterings around us.
Yeah, these guys may be disappointed. But the goal for now is to survive this situation.
Or rather, the first goal is to get to the saucer and feed Aker’iz.
She can survive a day or so, I’m sure, but I hate thinking of her lying there alone, crying in the saucer while nobody comes for her… The image tightens my chest painfully.
It’s getting dark, and I start to worry about the sleeping situation. Shadows are crawling across the clearing. I better take the initiative. “Chief! I see the hut is finished.”
He gives me a nasty smile. “Yes. Ready for you and me, Woman.”
I frown. The expression pulls at something deep in my stomach. “You mean, ready for Kenz’ox and me?”
“For you and me,” the chief repeats. “I am the chief of this tribe. And I am not satisfied that you are in fact the Woman. There are strange rumors around, talking about women in the jungle who are not the Woman.”
“Rumors,” I scoff. “Is that how you run this tribe, Chief?” My voice has a sharper edge now, my fear sharpening into irritation.
“Sometimes,” he admits. “But these rumors mostly come from the Envoy. It said interesting things when it first fell from the sky.”
“I assumed these men wanted to help,” Dex suddenly screeches in English from his basket.
“When I crashed and they found me, I said there are women in need. It was unfortunate. I never said it again, and I made sure to say many nonsensical things since, hoping they would disregard my first mistake as simply wrong. But this chief is slyer than he may appear. I appreciate what you are trying to do, Theodora, but my advice now is to escape.”
A puzzled murmur rises from the crowd. They can’t understand the words, but they must start to realize this isn’t working. My palms grow damp.
The chief kicks the basket and flings the lid shut. “That’s not the voice of the Ancestors!”
I think the first shock of seeing me is fading fast for some of them. Their eyes are narrowing, weighing me. But they can’t be sure. Not even the chief.
“Night has fallen,” I state. “And the hut is ready. We shall talk more tomorrow. Kenz’ox and I shall now sleep in the hut.”
“Does the Woman need sleep?” the chief asks loudly.
“Is the Woman not sent from the Ancestors? Is she not a divine being? We have seen her eat! What divine being eats? Men of the Tratena tribe! Is this how you expected the Woman? This small? This round? Without stripes, without a sword, holding a wooden spear with a rusty spearhead? Yes, she has a drok claw necklace. Yes, she can speak with the Envoy in a secret language. Yes, she knew Kenz’ox’s name before she had met him, and she knew about his baby girl.
Must these things mean that she is the Woman?
Shaman Vort’ix! Are you fully certain that this is the Woman from the Prophecy?
Having heard Kenz’ox greet her by name as an old friend? ”
I never knew a more shifty-eyed guy than that shaman.
His gaze skitters around like it’s avoiding hot stones.
“Well,” he begins weakly. “She is a woman. And she came to us in the jungle. She knows about the Prophecy. She knows about the Worship and the Mating. She comes to us after many things have changed in the jungle, after a girl was taken out of the Lifegiver… it would fit.”
“Does it? It only fits if the Prophecy is much longer than I ever heard it told,” the chief calmly points out.
“Is there in fact a secret part to the Prophecy, as this female claims? Vort’ix, it is all right if you were taken by surprise by her.
Perhaps you, as we all, wanted her to be the Woman.
And so you said things that, in that heated moment, you believed.
But perhaps now, looking back with a cold eye and heart, you find them to be otherwise? ”
The shaman swallows audibly. “If there is a secret part to the Prophecy, then old Shaman Pruti’oz never told me about it.”
“But would he not have told you if there were?” the chief persists. “He told you everything he knew in the years before he passed.”
“He did,” the shaman admits. His shoulders slump. “There is no secret part. I was blinded by the presence of this female. And I wanted her to be the Woman. But she is not.” He looks down. “Perhaps the Tratena tribe needs a new shaman.”
“Nonsense,” the chief chuckles. “No shame attaches to you for falling into the same trap that we all did.”
This is unraveling fast. My skin goes hot, then cold. But they’re still just guessing. Hanging in uncertainty. I can still push this.
I force a laugh. It comes out brighter than I intended.
“This is wonderful. Chief, you are testing me. You are testing the Woman! Which other chief would have the force to do so? Truly I picked the right tribe. The shaman can’t say what is true without breaking his oath of secrecy to the old shaman.
But this has gone on for long enough. Of course, the Woman needs to eat and sleep!
I am to be the Mother of Xren! Do not test me more, or I will have to leave. Then nobody will have women.”
The crowd leans forward as one, hopeful, greedy, and uncertain. My heart bangs so hard I can feel it in my palms.
Time is running out.
“Men of the Tratena tribe!” I finish my speech. “Do you want women of your own?”