Chapter 9
- Nator’ax -
Morning comes slowly to the ice, but I wake before it.
For a time I don’t move. The furs hold the warmth of the night, and Riley lies close against me, her breathing slow and even. I rest my hand lightly at her side, feeling the rise and fall, grounding myself in it. Outside, the glacier is silent, the kind of silence that belongs only to cold places.
I look at her. Even in this dim light, she draws the eye. Strange, and soft. Alive in a way this land is not. Her hair is dark against the pale furs, her face unguarded in sleep.
If I die today, I think, I die content. I Worshipped her, and it was magnificent. The thought brings me calm, not fear.
She stirs beneath my arm, her brow tightening before her eyes open. For a moment she looks as if she does not know where she is. Then she sees me, and her expression changes, easing.
“You still here,” she murmurs.
“I said I would be close,” I reply.
“That not the same thing,” she says, though her voice is soft. She stretches under the furs, then exhales. “What time is it?”
“Early. The tribe still mostly sleeps.”
“Good,” she says, closing her eyes again for a moment. “Yesterday was… a lot.”
“It was a full day, certainly.” I study her a moment longer, then pull the furs back. The cold bites immediately, sharp against my skin, but I welcome it. It clears the mind. I dress quickly, fastening my gear, checking my blade by habit, even though I know it rests where I left it.
“We shouldn’t be seen like this when they wake,” I say.
She groans and sits up, clutching the furs around herself. “Reality returns.”
I stretch. “It’s been my experience that it usually does. Sooner or later.”
Her gaze sharpens. “You have a plan, right?”
“There’s a plan,” I say airily. “Plans can change. You and I both know what the tribe will want. We must make sure they don’t choose that.”
“What they want is to get rid of you, so they can use me as they want.”
I shrug. “It’s what any tribe would want: a woman.”
“The Borok tribe, too. That’s why they need you to guard us.”
“That’s why,” I agree. “And we shall tell them that, so that they see that no killing is necessary.”
She watches me, searching my face as if she can pull the truth from it. After a moment, she nods once. “Good,” she says. “I trust you.”
The words settle into me with weight. I incline my head. “Your speech has improved.”
“I think I should learn fast,” Riley says. “This could get difficult.”
We leave the cave together. The morning has come fully now, pale light stretching across the ice.
The Gar village is already stirring. Smoke rises from low fires near the totem pole, and hunters move between the caves, their breath fogging in the air.
Conversations quiet as we emerge, eyes turning toward us with open curiosity.
Some stare at Riley as if she is a spirit. Others look at me, measuring.
Good. Let them measure. Any man must know where he stands, and I know I measure well.
Prak’ox approaches with two wooden bowls, steam rising from them. He offers one to Riley, one to me.
“You can eat,” he says. “The council meets at sunset.”
“We will be ready,” I reply.
“The council meets whether you’re ready or not, jungle man.” He studies us briefly, then nods and steps away.
The food is simple, the way I remember it from my own village. There is meat, cut small and mixed with a thick broth, piping hot as if straight from the fire. Riley blows on it and takes a careful sip, then her eyes widen.
“Okay,” she says. “That’s actually good.”
I nod. “It’s good fuel for a hunter who has to walk far on the ice, and in the cold.”
“Or in the jungle. Perhaps this is stoka meat.”
I nod as I chew. “Perhaps. I get the feeling they don’t hunt stokas that much. If they ate stoka meat every day, why arrange the tusks as if it’s a special thing?”
She nods and eats. The spoon is too big for her small mouth, so she has to tip the broth in. That little move stirs something in me, a soft, pleasant warmth. Damn this tribe and their rigid laws!
We walk as we eat, moving through the village.
I take note of everything: the placement of the caves, the direction of the wind, the way the hunters store their weapons near the entrances, not inside their caves.
There is discipline here, but also habit.
Patterns can be used. This is mostly a peaceful tribe.
They are more hunters than warriors, as I assumed. While a Borok man must be both.
“Where are the boys?” Riley asks. “Yesterday there were so many. Today, none.”
I see the looks we get from some of the men, and how they clutch their spears harder when we pass. “The tribe is afraid, I think. They don’t want the boys influenced by us if we turn out to be evil. They are keeping them inside today. What happens today is not for the young.”
“That’s silly. We’re not evil.” Riley walks close to me, her shoulder brushing my arm at times. She draws attention wherever she goes. A group of younger hunters pretend to work at scraping hides, though their eyes follow her.
“They are going to fall over if they stare harder,” she mutters.
“They are figuring out what you are, and how to deal with you,” I say. “You are like a myth come to life, and they are realizing how different a woman is from what they thought.”
“Am I really that different?” She glances up at me.
“In some ways you are very similar to what the old shaman taught us.” There is pressure in my groin from the memory of the Worship.
Riley gives me a little smirk. “You seemed to know what you were doing.”
“Our shaman was a good teacher.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Or you were a good student.”
We pass a line of racks where meat is hung to dry. Beyond them, I see tools set aside. There are nets and bone hooks, thinner furs, and leather coats not suited for this cold. My gaze lingers.
“You see something?” Riley asks quietly.
“This tribe doesn’t live on the ice all year.”
Her eyes follow mine. “You think they have seasons? This is winter, and summer is warm?”
“That is one possibility. Another is that they have another home. A warmer one.”
“Ah. Maybe they travel between villages. One here, one there. One in ice, one in grass.”
“It means they are adaptable,” I ponder. “That makes them more dangerous.”
She glances at me. “Or more able to change their old ways.”
“Or that,” I agree. “Let’s hope you’re right.”
By midday, the village is fully alive. Hunters return with small catches. Others prepare gear. The air fills with voices, movement, and the steady rhythm of men who survive because they don’t waste time.
We are given more food near the central fire. Riley sits beside me, her leg pressed against mine under the furs she keeps wrapped around herself. She eats, but her attention drifts, her gaze moving again and again toward the horizon.
“Are you thinking about the saucer?” I ask.
“It must be very cold inside it now.”
“But we’re not there, and while the weather remains this cold, it won’t fall into the crack. Deeper, I mean.”
“I know.” She exhales. “I just don’t like unknown things. Not here.”
“Unknown things can be used,” I reply. “Things that are unknown to the Gar tribe, I mean.”
She looks at me. “That’s your plan?”
“It is part of it. Riley, when you hear me say it, pretend to react with shock that I’m revealing that. You will know it when you hear it.”
She studies me for a moment, then nods slowly. “I think I can guess. I won’t ask more. Not here.”
The sun begins its slow descent, though it never rises high in this land. Shadows stretch across the ice, and the air grows colder again.
As the light fades, the village shifts. Conversations go quiet. Eyes turn more often toward us. The time approaches.
Riley’s hand finds mine and squeezes it. “You ready?” she asks.
“I will speak for us,” I say. “When asked a question, answer with truth. Say your speech isn’t good enough for a complicated argument.”
She squeezes my hand again and looks up at me with darkness in her eyes. “If they say you have to die, kill me first. I don’t want them getting me. Only you do. Promise.”
Her words shock me to my core, and for a moment I’m speechless. I clear my throat. “Riley, it may not be—”
“Promise.” Her voice has steel in it. And I respect steel.
I nod once. “I promise.”
She squeezes harder. “Say it as an oath, like you did for Korr’ax.”
I take a deep breath and look up at the green sky. Damn the Ancestors for putting me in this position!
Then I draw my sword. “I, Nator’ax of the Borok tribe, hereby swear to my Ancestors, my tribe, and my chief that I will kill Riley first if the Gar tribe judges that I must die.
May my own tribesmen kill me if I betray this oath, and may my Ancestors turn their backs on me and damn me forever.
” I draw the edge of my blade along my forearm, drawing a thin line of dark red. “So sealed with my blood.”
Riley gasps. “You didn’t need to—”
“Like I did for Korr’ax,” I tell her with a smirk. “You were very specific.”
“Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t want you to be hurt.”
I lean in and kiss her hair. “The oath should be made the right way. Now it’s real.”
- - -
The council consists of seven men, including Chief Hoker’iz and the shaman, who is introduced to us as Crelt’ax.
He is missing an arm, which surprises me.
Shamans don’t usually risk the hunt, preferring to stay in the village and pray, or serve the tribe in other ways.
His remaining hand rests lightly on a carved staff, and his gaze lingers on me longer than the others, as if he sees more than he should.
They sit in a half circle with the fire behind them, while Riley and I have been given a fur-clad bench to sit on. Riley is so close to me our thighs are touching. Her legs dangle freely in a way I think is good—it makes her look childlike, and innocent.