Chapter 14 #2
It also becomes clear, with uncomfortable clarity, that every interaction routes through Crat'ax. People look to him before speaking. They address him even when the words are meant for me. I don’t resent it, because Crat'ax is the clearest leader of men I’ve ever seen. But I want to do something about it.
We stop near his hut. The door is open. The inside smells faintly of the furs and wood—and something warmer now. It hits me unexpectedly, that sense of having a place I felt earlier. A before and after.
I inhale, steadying myself. This doesn’t have to be home. This is just where I am. For now.
Some of the men linger at a distance, pretending not to watch. I meet a few gazes deliberately. Well, I am a modern woman in a place that doesn’t know what to do with me yet.
Crat'ax sets the iron down and turns to me. “You did well,” he says.
“So did you,” I reply. “You didn’t even scare anyone on purpose.”
He smirks. “I could, if I had to.”
“I’m sure,” I say dryly. “Thank you. For walking with me. Not leading.”
“You walk well on your own,” he says, scanning the horizon. “And I think the men are getting used to you.”
The village noise swells around us again. Boys are looking at us from a respectful distance, and everyone is going about their business. It’s a bustling, active village, and after years in the dead saucer with only three girls for company, I can’t help but like it.
Crat'ax gives me a little glance. “I will do some smithing. The iron we collected should be turned into something useful. You can watch if you want. But it gets noisy.”
“I will go and look more at Gren’ix’s garden,” I state.
He nods. “I’m sure he’d love to talk to you about the farums. There should be no danger of more attacks on you, but if anything happens, just yell. I’ll be there in one heartbeat.”
I love that he obviously also realizes that I should interact with his tribe on my own. And it speaks of his confidence that he’s not insisting I stay with him every second of the day. It makes me like him even more, if that were possible.
On impulse I reach up, put my hand on his cheek, and pull his face down to me. “I’ll see you later,” I purr, then place a soft, slow kiss on his cheek. I want everyone to see it.
Then I turn my back and walk over to the garden platform in the middle of the village.
Gren’ix sees me coming. “I was hoping you’d come back at some point. I want to ask you more about the farums on Earth.”
“I don’t know that much about farms,” I admit. “But I will say what I know.”
I spend a pleasant hour or so chatting with the old man and tasting his various crops. It turns out that I know even less about farming than I thought, but Gren’ix is interested in my vague recollections about fertilizer. I learn a good few new words, too.
After a while, the village starts to echo with hard clangs.
Gren’ix looks toward the edge of the village, where the sound is coming from.
“Someone must have found iron. Well, we have the forge for a reason. Although most of us feel that iron is too land-bound, too Dry. We prefer wood and string and things that the Deep gives us. The old teaching is that if it floats, it can be safely used. If it sinks, we should think twice before keeping it near us. Iron sinks faster than anything.”
“I think it’s Crat'ax,” I tell him. “We found some iron in the jungle.”
“Ah. That would be it. He uses more iron than anyone. We all use some, of course. We need iron hooks for catching splix. But we think the Deep allows it. Try this.” He picks two stalks of a plant that could be asparagus and hands one to me.
“Thank you.”
“We are the only tribe that believes in the Deep,” he says as we each chew thoughtfully on a juicy stalk.
It tastes more like kale than asparagus.
“But we know a lot about the Ancestors and the myths that the shamans in the other tribes talk about. We don’t feel we need those.
The Deep gives us what we need, and that’s all that matters.
After death we return to the Deep and become one with it. Callie, are you the Woman?”
The question comes so suddenly that I almost choke. “Me? No. I don’t think there is one. It’s a myth only. Not real.”
“That’s what I thought,” Gren’ix says with satisfaction.
“But if she were to exist, it would be Crat'ax who would find her. And so of course it is he who was given you by the Deep. Nobody is surprised. If anyone, it had to be him. He is the best man our tribe has ever had. You must have seen how everyone listens and how he quietly leads us. He will be the next chief, I’m sure.”
“He’s good,” I agree, unsure of how much I should challenge his worldview. “But perhaps I was not given to him like a splix or a knife.”
The old man looks at me with his crusty eyes. “Perhaps. The Deep doesn’t always do what we expect. But whatever the reason, I’m happy you’re here. The village is more alive now. More complete.”
I leave him to his farming and saunter aimlessly around the village.
“Ah, Callie.” It’s the chief with his three shell necklaces, but now without his headdress. “I wonder if you’d like to see this. It concerns you.”
I glance toward the sound of smithing. Crat'ax is busy, but if I scream, he’ll definitely hear. “Yes, Chief.”
He walks ahead of me to the other side of the village and the last platform. “This was Sprub’ex’s hut. I want to see what’s inside. It is my intention to cast him out for trying to abduct you, helped by the Adropo tribe. It’s sheer treason.” He opens the door to the hut and walks in.
I gingerly stick my head inside, determined not to enter a hut with anyone but Crat'ax.
The hut is pretty bare, except for a sleeping pallet by the wall and various knickknacks hanging on the walls.
“If you want anything, take it,” the chief says as he looks around. “But there’s not much here.”
“Not much,” I agree.
He sighs. “I wonder what got into Sprub’ex. He always had a longing for the shore, but we liked that he often went to the jungle to hunt. Perhaps we should have realized that he was really trying to become a member of a jungle tribe.”
“Is that what he did?” I ask.
“The Deep only knows,” the chief says. “It’s perhaps not strange that he was close with the Adropo.
But it is strange that he broke into your hut and tried to steal you.
He wasn’t that reckless and crazy before.
Well, I suppose you never really know a man.
Nothing you want here? Very well.” He closes the door.
“It pains me to have to cast him out. But it was a terrible crime. On behalf of the Bradek tribe, I apologize for his actions.”
“It was only Sprub’ex,” I tell him. “Not the tribe.”
“As the man lives in his tribe, so the tribe lives in the man,” the chief sighs. “I will cast him out tonight. We usually prefer to have the man defend himself, but Sprub’ex has plainly chosen another tribe anyway.”
The chief walks away.
Still chewing on the extremely fibrous stalk, I lean one shoulder on the side of the hut. I suddenly notice that this is the closest platform to the mysterious one, the one that Crat'ax claimed was for worship.
From here I get a better view of it. It’s much more sturdily built than these other platforms, with supports and braces as thick as my waist. It’s not really a platform, either, because it doesn’t have a plank floor. It looks most of all like a wooden cage with most of it under water.
As I stare, again I’m sure I see movement there. It’s something big, I think. Big and dark, but too far away for me to be able to make out exactly.
Is it a prison? Then why place it underwater? That seems too cruel.
Probably it’s some kind of sea monster. But if so, why couldn’t he just say that?
Looking at that platform makes me uncomfortable, for some reason. As if there’s some terror nearby that my most primal instincts recognize.
I shudder involuntarily. Now I want to look at something nice.
I turn my back and quickly follow the sound of the metallic banging.
Crat'ax is hammering on a piece of iron, sparks flying, muscles flexing with each stroke, sweat glistening on his body. The air shimmers over the red-hot coals of the forge beside him.
I desperately wish I’d had a camera, because this image of an alien caveman would become legendary on Earth.
He sees me as I approach and lowers his hammer. “My woman is back.”
“My smith is working,” I counter, reaching out with one hand to touch the side of his massive shoulder. “What are you making?”