Chapter 8
- Riley -
Around us, the Gar tribe is still watching. They try not to stare, but they fail miserably. Warriors pretend to examine spearheads. Young boys hover near the fires with their mouths open. A few elders whisper behind sparse white beards.
I notice there’s no palisade around the village, apart from some stones that mark its edges.
Either these guys aren’t worried about being attacked, or they’re confident they can beat back any attacker without any problems. I suppose the rock formations and ice around the village function as a kind of wall.
I also notice that there are guards at the entrance, two of them, armed with those long spears.
I lean a little closer to Nator’ax. “They looking at me like… like a spront they want to eat,” I mutter.
“They have never seen a woman,” he replies calmly. “My tribe was no different when Bryar first arrived. I stared at her, too.”
“Curios I understand. Drooling is new experience.”
He glances at one of the younger hunters, who quickly looks away. “They’re behaving. Mostly. But they’re confused, and they don’t know what to do about you. We may have to tell them. Not force them to make random decisions about things they know nothing about.”
Chief Hoker’iz comes over, flanked by two hunters. “Nator’ax and Riley of the Borok tribe. You were found on our Gar turf. Worse, you were found on our hunting ice. Worse still, you hunted two of our Smalls on our hunting ice. Each of these crimes is punishable by death.”
Nator’ax grabs his sword. “That is the wrong decision, men of the ice.”
The chief’s two guards lower their spears and point them at him.
“And yet,” the chief goes on, “the circumstances are unusual. First, one of you is a woman, and, we suspect, an alien. Secondly, we understand the gravity of having sworn a duty to your chief. Thirdly, it is clear from your clothing that you sincerely had no intention of coming to our turf and trespassing. Fourth, you made no attempt to flee when you saw our hunters coming, and you offered no resistance to being taken here. This is what we would expect from an honest man. Fifth, you trapped a stoka in a way that we admire, showing bravery. Sixth, we don’t fully understand the ship that you claim fell from the sky with you inside it.
We would like to know everything about it, and your relations with the Plood. ”
A cold little wave goes down my back. If they look inside the saucer and find that Plood in his locker, our situation isn’t going to improve.
“Ask us,” Nator’ax says, removing his hand from the sword. “We will answer every question, as we have done so far.”
“We shall,” the chief says. “Tomorrow at sunset, you shall appear before the tribal council. Then we shall decide what is to be done. Until then, you may move freely in the village, but not outside it. That’s for your safety.
The plains and the mountains would kill you.
” Chief Hoker’iz studies us for another moment, then gestures toward the caves carved into the rock wall. “You will each have a cave.”
My stomach sinks further. None of this is great news. My suspicion is that they’re setting up for killing Nator’ax for trespassing as an easy way to get rid of him. Then they can deal with me as they want.
I glance at Nator’ax again. His expression doesn’t change, but something tightens in his shoulders. “I am sworn to protect Riley. Do not make it impossible for me. You may force me into actions I have no desire to perform.”
He speaks with immense authority, and I spot some of the hunters staring at him in wonder. And while I recognize that the situation is deadly serious, I don’t feel that deep fear for my life that I would expect. It’s as if I somehow know that Nator’ax will handle this and keep me safe.
Hoker’iz considers this. “You are clearly a mighty warrior, Nator’ax.
Note the respect we have shown you by not taking your weapon from you.
Your caves will be next to each other. I hereby state that Riley will come to no harm from the Gar tribe.
She is under your protection, and now she is also under mine. Does that satisfy you, warrior?”
“For now,” Nator’ax growls.
Prak’ox steps forward. “I will show the woman her shelter.”
“I can walk myself,” I say automatically.
He nods once. “Of course.”
Before I follow him, I look up at Nator’ax.
“You be close?” I ask quietly.
“I will be as close to you as the chief allows me,” he says.
“He has a difficult task. On one hand, he must follow the law of his tribe. On the other, because things are so strange with us, he can do whatever he wants and still say he is following the law. It all comes down to what is good for his tribe, and what his men will think. No chief can act entirely alone. This tribal council of which he speaks is not to find out what the law requires, but what the tribe wants.”
A murmur rises around us as the tribesmen realize the truth of his words.
“You speak like a chief of many years,” Hoker’iz says.
“I understand now that your Chief Korr’ax must be a mighty man indeed, if he has warriors like you in his tribe.
Warriors with the bravery to lecture another chief about his own intentions.
Go to your caves now, and you will have drink and food brought to you both.
I will not invite you to our common table for the evening meal, for there is the possibility that we may have to kill you both tomorrow. ”
“That’s fair,” I state loudly, and all eyes go to me. “But while Warrior Nator’ax and I shall sleep well tonight, Chief Hoker’iz will not. Because he will think: if we murder these two guests, will there be more ships coming from the sky, filled with furious Borok warriors?”
The tribe goes very quiet. Hoker’iz’s expression hardens. “Plainly there are many questions we will have to ask tomorrow.”
I think I’ve made my point. But Nator’ax is right—we can’t let these guys make a decision in a vacuum. They have to know how we feel about this, and we can’t hold back.
A gust of wind cuts across the village, sharp and cold, and suddenly the thought of being alone in a strange cave doesn’t feel nearly as brave as I pretended a moment ago.
Prak’ox clears his throat politely. “This way, Warrior Nator’ax and Woman Riley.”
“That’s Dame Riley,” I make up on the spot. “My tribe holds me in high regard, and has given me that title.”
“Dame Riley,” Prak’ox corrects himself. “Come with me, please.”
The cave he shows me is smaller than the others, but clean, the floor piled with thick white furs.
“You will be warm here,” he says.
“I appreciate hospitality,” I reply carefully, “though it is not more than a woman expects from an honorable tribe.”
He studies me for a moment. “You truly came from the sky?”
“Did you not see the ship? Where do you think it came from? You think it grew from ice, like a tree?”
“That would be even stranger,” he admits. “Trees don’t grow from ice.”
Nator’ax looks around the cave with a skeptical eye. “Will she be safe here? No tribesman will sneak in and harass her?”
“Do you doubt the word of our chief?” Prak’ox asks. “It is unwise.”
“I will be nearby,” Nator’ax tells me. “Shout if you need me.”
I sit down on the furs and listen to their footsteps crunch away across the ice. The cave grows quiet.
I pull the thickest fur over my shoulders and lie back against the pile. The warmth is immediate, heavy, and comforting. The Gar tribe clearly knows how to survive this climate.
Still, something feels missing. I stare at the ceiling of the cave. The answer is obvious. Nator’ax.
Last night we were pressed together inside the small metal cabin of the saucer. There was no space between us. No choice about it either, really. The cold forced us close.
But I remember every detail. The heat of his chest against mine. The steady rhythm of his breathing. The way his arms had curved around me without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I pull the fur tighter around myself. “You’re ridiculous,” I mutter to the empty cave. “I am warm. Perfectly warm.”
The Gar furs are thick, soft, and heavy. There is absolutely no reason for my body to miss the heat of a giant alien warrior. And yet it does.
I roll onto my side and stare at the cave entrance. The sky outside is turning black as night creeps over the glacier.
Hunters bring me fried meat and a vegetable stew, as well as a pot of hot water with leaves steeping in it. Voices drift faintly from the totem pole area. The Gar hunters are talking near the fire pit. I catch pieces of conversation.
“…woman from the sky…”
“…Borok warrior…”
“…Plood ship…”
Every so often someone laughs.
My fingers play absently with the edge of the fur. “I guess I’m the major news item,” I say under my breath. “‘We interrupt this ordinary day in the tribe for this special news bulletin.’”
They’re probably wondering if I’m sacred. Or edible. Or they wonder how risky it would be to keep me here for the common good.
I shift again on the furs, trying to settle. It doesn’t work. My mind keeps drifting back to the same place, to the way Nator’ax stood beside me earlier. To the quiet confidence in his posture.
The chief of the Gar tribe is impressive. There is no denying that. Hoker’iz is powerful, scarred, and commanding, a natural leader of men.
But when he stood across from Nator’ax today, something strange happened. My attention stayed on Nator’ax. Even the chief seemed smaller, less important.
I press my face into the fur, groaning quietly. “Oh wow,” I mutter. “You really have a problem.”
Because the truth is obvious. I’m attracted to him. Not just a little, either. A lot. So much my stomach flips just thinking about it and my breath does strange things.
I remember the moment in the saucer when I lifted my face and kissed him. It was quick, playful, almost accidental. But his reaction… The way his body went completely still, except one part that was twitching so hard the furs moved.