As they draw closer, I begin to notice that they have different colored stripes.
Different tribes. The realization lands heavily in my chest. Sage was right. The problem was never a single tribe discovering the crater. Every tribe in the region must have learned about the women hiding there.
The ring around us grows steadily tighter as more men arrive. Fifty become a hundred. A hundred become more. The jungle seems incapable of running out of them.
Yet nobody attacks. They simply gather and watch.
By the time the movement finally stops, perhaps twenty Plood stand around us in a defensive circle. Outside them wait hundreds of tribesmen, packed among the trees and boulders, their weapons in their hands and their attention fixed entirely on us.
For the first time since leaving the crater, I find myself wishing Vyrathion hadn’t let me come with him that day in the Borok Village.
The tribesmen continue to arrive until the jungle seems packed with them. They stand among the trees, on boulders, along fallen logs, and halfway up slopes where roots claw through the soil. They all have weapons, but none of them look particularly interested in the Plood. Their attention remains fixed on us.
I move closer to Beth and Quinn. Abigail edges nearer as well. The four of us end up standing almost shoulder to shoulder inside the ring of Plood.
"This is bad, right?" Beth asks quietly.
The question would almost be funny if the situation weren't so awful.
"Yes," I tell her. "This is basically the worst case scenario."
Nobody argues.
Across the crowd, a large tribesman pushes his way forward. He has a necklace made from claws and teeth and enough scars to suggest a long career of making terrible decisions and somehow surviving them. Several of the warriors step aside for him immediately.
A chief.
Before he can reach the front, another man emerges from a different part of the crowd. This one has white stripes across his chest and carries a spear decorated with feathers. He starts shouting the moment he sees the first chief.
The two men begin arguing. And I understand what they’re saying.
They're talking about us, and how to divide us as spoils. The main problem seems to be that there’s only four of us, while they were expecting five. And they are five tribes.
The feathered chief points directly at Abigail and says something that makes several warriors behind him nod in agreement. The scarred chief immediately starts shouting back. His arm sweeps toward Beth and then toward the rest of us.
"They're dividing us up," Quinn whispers.
Nobody answers because everybody can see it now.
A third chief arrives. He pushes through the crowd with six warriors behind him and immediately joins the argument. The volume doubles. Fingers stab in our direction. Warriors shout over one another. One chief gestures toward the jungle behind us, another toward the crater, and a third repeatedly points at the girls as though he is listing livestock at a market.
I suddenly understand why nobody has attacked yet. They haven't decided who gets what. The thought makes me feel sick.
"I hate this planet," Beth mutters.
"Get in line," I mutter.
The chiefs continue arguing. Every so often one of them points toward a particular girl. Each time it happens, the others object loudly. Whatever arrangement they're trying to reach, nobody seems willing to compromise. Even less so when two more chiefs arrive.
Yep, five chiefs and four girls. That doesn’t work.
For several minutes the dispute goes nowhere. Then one of the warriors near the front bends down and picks up a stone.
I notice the movement immediately.
The man weighs the stone in his hand and glances toward the nearest Plood. He doesn't look especially brave. He looks curious. Like a man testing a fence.
The rock flies through the air and strikes a Plood in the shoulder. The little creature stumbles a step sideways. Then it straightens and resumes staring at the crowd.
