The chief takes a step back to show that the ceremony is over.
Callie reaches up and takes hold of my neck. “Come down here, please,” she whispers, eyes twinkling.
I bend down to meet her lips with mine. An approving hiss goes through the assembled tribesmen.
“Finally,” I growl. “Finally you’re my wife.”
“Finally,” Callie agrees. “Our lives can begin for real.”
The feast is the finest I’ve seen in the tribe, not least because we have a lot of fresh foods from the Dry tribes. And a good amount of frit. Chief Brun'ax lets us have the seat of honor, while he sits beside us.
After the eating is done, old Gren’ix motions for silence. “Crat'ax! You’re in the chief’s seat,” he says, so loudly that I realize it’s been arranged beforehand.
“Just for tonight,” I state in the same tone. “Chief Brun'ax is generous, letting us share that honor. But then, he has a great deal of honor to share.”
“Ah, thank you,” Brun'ax beams, flattered. “But I’m getting old. The calamity of the dragon proves it. And a tribe as strong and active as the Bradek should be led by a man equally strong, and more active than me. Are there any suggestions?”
“Crat'ax!” the whole tribe roars as one, setting the platform shaking under us.
I bow slowly. “I thank my tribesmen for the additional honor and happiness on this happiest of days. And yet I can’t accept. For Callie and I will soon go on a journey. When we return, we shall see if the tribe still wants me. And if I am able to accept at all. I humbly suggest that Chief Brun'ax remains chief until then, if not longer.”
“We thought you may say something like that,” Gren’ix creaks. “And it’s fair. You have rid us of the dragon and gained Callie for the tribe. Any wish of yours should be honored. If the chief agrees.”
“I agree with wise Gren’ix’s words,” the chief says. “The tribe can wait for another moon until we have a new chief.”
- - -
Building the boat is faster than I had thought. We can use some of the materials traded to us for splix, and the boys are good at helping us. Callie makes a number of suggestions, especially about the mast and sail. We work all day long, often helped by tribesmen. After only eight days it’s finished, and we decide to take a test trip out into the ocean.
“The weather is nice,” Callie observes, shading her eyes with one hand. “And there’s a little breeze. Should be perfect.”
We get aboard and the boys push us on our way, giving us knowledgeable comments and suggestions. I sit in the aft and Callie in the fore, and we both paddle our way out of the bay.
“The wind will carry us against the current,” I state. “We can sail a ways along the coast. Then we can paddle back with the current.”
“Ay ay, kapten,”Callie says in her alien language.
“Does that mean you agree?” I ask for clarification.
“That’s what it means,” she says with a grin. “If I didn’t agree, I’d say something else. Let’s hoist the sail.”
This boat has a lot more rope on it, as well as a tall mast and a piece of wood called a ‘boom’, which appears quite important.But also dangerous, because it tends to swing wildly from one side to the next.
We pull on ropes and adjust it all until the sail is up and the wind pushes us forwards, droplets splashing into our faces.
“It works so well!” Callie enthuses. “We’re going much faster than I did, even in the storm!”
It’s true. We pass across the waves faster than I’ve ever gone.
After a while a shadow falls on us, and I immediately reach for my spear, fearing an irox.
“Look!” Callie exclaims, pointing up.
It’s not an irox. It’s a Plood ship, like the one Callie came out of.
As we watch, it comes lower and lower, blocking out the sun.
Callie waves and smiles. “Dorie! You fixed it!”
