“Of course,” the chief says with an ingratiating smile. “We were simply surprised to see you, Woman. I suppose we expected you to look differently, to speak in a different way.”
“I look as the Ancestors commanded me,” I state. “And I speak the way I do, that you may know that I come from them. As the Prophecy states.” I look at the shaman. “The secret part of the Prophecy, known only to those who areallowedto know. Is that not so, shaman?”
“It is,” he confirms with stiff dignity. “It is so.”
Right now, he would confirm that the sky is green if it gave him a chance to look competent. I give him a gracious nod. I seriously should have been born a royal. I have a real gift for being a manipulative bitch, it seems. If only I’d known that back on Earth.
Eager tribesmen serve me food and fruit juice, as well as frit that’s nowhere near as good as what Cora gave me.
But this isn’t over. Not at all. And from here, things can only get worse. I have to think of a way to get out of this, and fast.
23
–Kenz’ox–
I leave Aker’iz sleeping inside the ship, with the hatch only barely cracked open. I can’t bring her on hunts, because she could make noises at the worst times. And I do need to hunt, especially now that she’s developed a taste for carefully mashed-up meat.
The jungle is dense, humid, and hot. I thoughtlessly walk out of the clearing exactly where Dorie did, and now I see the tracks she left. I should turn to the side and deliberately go in another direction, but something makes me follow the path where she left forever.
Her tracks aren’t easy to see. She has learned good junglecraft, but only the best may walk in the woods without leaving tracks at all. And she hasn’t had time to be that good.
She walks mostly straight, but sometimes she veers to the side, then tries to find the right direction again. It’s not the path of someone who’s used to walking in the jungle. I would choose a different way around trees, for example. But she’s doing well.
After a while, I start to worry. She’s not correcting her direction and seems to be slowly circling back towards the beach.
I have a strong urge to follow her, to see her again. But there’s no time for that. She’s been walking for over a day now, and I have to get back to Aker’iz as soon as I can.
Finally, I spot the tracks of a fresil, and I turn away from Dorie’s path. “Go safely, my love,” I whisper.
With my mind full of dark thoughts, I walk right into them, and they spot me first. The first I notice is the sound of swords being drawn.
“Kenz’ox,” says a bored-sounding voice. “We keep running into you.”
It’s Frant’ex, Emar’oz, and Torkz’ik. And three other men from my tribe. All have their swords out.
“Because you keep trespassing on my turf,” I counter as I draw mine. “What do you expect?”
“Last time you threatened to fight us if we didn’t leave your turf,” Emar’oz says with a little smile. “Well, here we are again. What will you do?”
“I can still fight you,” I tell him. “All six. Shall I remind you what happened last time I was attacked by six tribesmen?” The last thing I want is to fight. I have to get home to Aker’iz. But these men will be suspicious if I back down.
“Those were other men,” Torkz’ik points out. “And they didn’t know that you would actually use your blade on your own tribesmen. Weknowyou will.”
“You’re not my tribesmen,” I tell them, scanning the jungle for an escape. “I left your worthless tribe. Imagine how much less I will care about killing you six.” They might be able to follow my tracks back to the ship. Or they may not.
They spread out, trying to encircle me. Frant’ex bares his teeth in a smile that isn’t a smile. “You won’t drop even one of us,” he sneers. “But we’ll carve you up, take your sword, and lay it at the chief’s feet.”
I retreat a step, refusing to let them close the ring. “The chief?” I snap. “He’s several moons from here. By the time you crawl back to him, he’ll barely remember your names.”
Torkz’ik’s smirk is all malice. “The chief is closer than you think. Maybe we’ll drag you to him and let him finish you. Tell me, does today feel like a good day to die?”
Something’s wrong here. Today?
“Oh, any day is suitable for you to die,” I tell them, still walking backward. “I can certainly help with that.”
There’s a sharp whip-crack of leather. Something yanks tight around my ankle. I struggle to keep my balance before I fall backward. Immediately, all six men are upon me, swords flashing. I slash my own blade at them, but in a halfway sitting position it’s a useless gesture.
Before I know it, the tips of six blades are right at my throat, pushing in.
