I lean back and do my best to look aloof, as if my heart isn’t thudding so hard that my vision fuzzes at the edges. I’m absolutely fine with some internal fighting about this. I’ll let them argue themselves hoarse. But at some point, I have to assert myself. I can’t let these guys decide what I’ll be doing. Actually, I don’t know how much longer this can go on. The pressure is rising in the group. I can feel it, like static crackling over my skin. I really have to get away from this tribe before they get so frustrated they just take what they want.
And the only place I can go now is the Borok tribe.
Dex was no help, and this tribe is so close to the saucer that they’re bound to find it. What I should do is get away from here, get to the saucer, and warn Kenz’ox about them. Then we can go to the Borok tribe, all three of us. The way things are, that may be the best thing that can happen. With the Tratena tribe this close, he will have to change his mind about it.
We can look for Callie on the way, too.
My stomach tightens.Damn.I pinned a lot of hope on Dex being in better shape than this. Now it looks like both he and the saucer are dead ends.
“You all want to Worship her, that’s obvious,” the shaman says, voice slippery. “But the Woman decides. We don’t. EvenIdon’t. She decides which one of us she wants to be Worshipped by, and Mate with.” His creepy smile again.
“Well, then she should choose,” the chief says. “You are being very quiet, Woman. Which of us is the Man?” He leans closer and pulls his gut in.
The crowd goes quiet. The weight of their expectation hits me like a physical force. My mouth goes dry.
“There is a man of your tribe,” I begin, with as much dignity as I can muster. “But I don’t see him here. He’s the best man of the Tratena, and he was given an important sign some months ago. It was the Ancestors showing him that he should leave the tribe and enter the jungle. His name is Kenz’ox. Is he nearby?” I promised not to mention Kenz’ox to his tribe. But I’m in a bind here, and this is not how I expected to meet these guys.
The air freezes. They all look at each other.
“Kenz’ox is not here,” the chief growls. “He is dead.”
A cold shiver ripples down my spine. No way. I refuse to believe that.
“So it can’t be him,” the chief continues. “Well, as his chief, it is my duty to take his place. Men! Build a hut right here.”
When he stands and reaches for me, my muscles lock tight. I lean away again, heart thudding in my throat. Kenz’ox dead?No. “I am here for Kenz’ox only. No other man.”
The shaman looks confused. “Kenz’ox got a sign? The girl was the sign?”
I stand up, summoning theatrical confidence I absolutely do not feel. “Yes, the little baby girl was the sign. Kenz’ox understood it and left the tribe. But he should be here now. He’s not. What have you done, shaman?” I fix him with a cold stare.
He swallows visibly. The chief looks impatient. Men begin cutting wood for the hut, each thud of their swords making my nerves jump.
“It is of no concern,” the chief says. “He's not here, and he’s likely dead. Ah, the hut is being built.”
The world narrows to a pinpoint of fear.
“When it’s finished,” the chief says in a thick voice, “I shall Worship you, and then we can talk about the Gift, and Mating.”
I feel dozens of eyes on me. My palms go slick with sweat. I can’t run. Not now. Not with a hundred men around me.
I repeat through clenched teeth, “Only Kenz’ox. If he’s dead, I will have to leave.”
The conversation spirals with shaman confusion and chief stubbornness. Their fragile belief in me starts to crack like thin ice. Every time the chief doubts me, my stomach twists.
Then there’s a noise at the jungle’s edge, a commotion.
A band of blue-striped cavemen march in, dragging someone bound on hands and feet.
Kenz’ox.
My heart lurches. He’s alive. But barely standing.
“There is Kenz’ox now!” I exclaim. It bursts out too fast, too relieved. Dread follows immediately, heavy as a dropped stone. He may not survive this.
I wish I could signal him.You don’t know me, you don’t know me…
“Are you all right, Dorie?” he asks.
