Page 23 of Caveman Alien’s Horn (Caveman Aliens #26)

23

- Sprisk -

Cora walks through the portal and is gone. Korr’ax glances over at me and follows her.

“Goodbye,” I whisper.

The clearing is suddenly more empty and barren than it’s ever been before.

I have a strong urge to get up, run after Cora, and bring her back here. But I also don’t want to force her. She knows me now. She’s seen me for all I am. She knows I can keep her safe.

And if that’s not good enough, then there’s nothing I can do now to persuade her.

It’s strange, though. I think she really did like my spikes and the horn. And my strange skin.

Running a finger down my forearm, I try to raise the rainbow spots that she did with her touch. But nothing happens. The skin stays its usual pale.

It was bound to happen. Everyone wants to live in the Borok village. Cora is no exception. Of course a Foundling is not what a perfect woman like her would want. She wants a tribesman, a warrior with stripes and a sword. And there are so many of them in the tribes.

I sit still until the fire burns out and turns to ash and glowing embers.

When there’s movement by the portal, my head snaps up. But it’s not Cora.

Bakitan makes his way over to me, vanishes for a moment as he goes down into the creek channel, and then climbs back up.

“Someone did follow you,” I tell him as he approaches. “Korr’ax himself was just here.”

“Chief Korr’ax followed me?” the boy asks, lit up in ghostly blue from the mushrooms.

“No, but one of his men tracked you, he said. So he knew where to find Cora.”

The boy fidgets with his malformed hand. “I told Brak that she was with you. But not where you were.”

“That’s all right. Sit down, Bakitan. You must be tired. Here. Korr’ax didn’t want this food. But you’re not too good for it, are you?”

He sits down and digs into the cold stew and charred slices of meat. “I spotted Korr’ax leaving his village. He was alone, so I followed him. It was strange because they say his wife will soon give birth. I noticed he was going straight here.”

“His wife needed Cora’s help with the birth,” I tell him. “And she couldn’t say no to a friend.”

“Didn’t they ask you to come, too?”

“Me?” I laugh without joy. “What use would a Foundling be at a birth? No, I’m being unfair. They did ask me. But I know what was really going on. She’s never coming back. Cora will never leave that tribe again once she sees how great it is.”

“How do you know?” Bakitan asks while chewing.

I sigh. “Because she’s smart. Doesn’t everyone want to be a tribesman? Doesn’t everyone stare at the Mount and wish he were there? Doesn’t everyone talk about the Ancestors? Doesn’t everyone plan on getting a long sword and performing some kind of heroic act that gets him invited to join the tribe? Cora will be no different. She will see the totem wall with the big painting of her friend, she will see the heaps of fresh food and the iron tools and the forges. She will see the view from the top of the Mount, and she will wonder why she’d ever live in this clearing for as much as a day.”

The young Foundling bites into a slice of meat. “How do you know?”

“Everyone’s like that. Except me.”

“I’m not.”

“Except you and me, then.”

“Brak is not.”

“Well…”

“Noker is not.”

“Now…”

“Dexer is not. Norint is not. Hopren is not. Seketer is not.”

I scratch my chin. “They’re not?”

He picks a piece of charred bone out of his mouth. “No. And the boys in the clan are not like that. They play with wooden swords, maybe. But we always did that, even before we became friendly with the Borok tribe. I think most of us want to stay Foundlings. Not tribesmen, locked inside their village and having to obey their chief. Asking permission to even go out to hunt or track or gather food. Foundlings are free. The tribesmen are not.”

“Huh.” I don’t know what to say. I may have misjudged my clan.

“They have some things we’d like to have, maybe,” Bakitan goes on. “And their village is very nice to visit. But we don’t want to live there. We don’t want to be like them. Even Noker’s and Brak’s wives spend more and more time in the Foundling camp than in the village. And they can choose freely.”

I don’t want to see Bakitan eat all my food, so I grab a slice of meat. “Oh. I haven’t noticed.”

Bakitan takes a sip of fruit juice. “Why would you think that Cora won’t come back? Did she say that?”

“Not exactly,” I tell him. “But you know that I took her by force. She didn’t want to come here in the first place. She tried to escape many times.”

“She had to help a friend. When that’s done, she’ll want to come back here. I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t like the mushrooms.”

I put the whole slice into my mouth and look for somewhere to wipe my fingers. Normally I’d wipe them on my loincloth, but this new kilt is too fine for that. “Maybe not. She found out about the trap.”

“Oh. Was she mad?”

I decide to lick my fingers instead of wiping them. “I think so. She left, anyway.”

“Huh. Well, maybe you should find out. I think she liked you. She looked at you the same way Bronwen and Piper look at Noker and Brak.”

I freeze. “She did?”

“Didn’t you see? And she sat right next to you.” He shrugs in a very adolescent way. “I don’t know if that means anything. Oh, this is good meat. It’s tasty.”

“It’s been ‘marinated’,” I tell him absentmindedly. “Leave it in a broth of spices and juices for a half day before you grill it.”

“Uh-huh.”

I think about it. He may be right. Maybe I should find out just how angry she is.

“Let’s try something,” I suggest. “Take your finger and stroke along my arm.” I hold my forearm up for him.

“All right…” Bakitan hesitates, then does as I ask. His fingertip doesn’t leave any patches of color.

“It didn’t work,” I conclude. “Only Cora can do it. That has to mean something.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says in a very adolescent way. He’s changed, this young Foundling. Only a moon ago, he would never have confronted me like he just did about the clan and about Cora.

“I know you don’t,” I reply. “But let me see your hand.” I grab his one-fingered hand and examine it in the pale blue light. “As I thought. Your stripes are coming in.”

He checks his other hand. “Oh? What color?”

“Hard to be sure in this light. But they look green to me.”

“Krast tribe,” Bakitan says thoughtfully. “Not my favorite, but who cares. I’m a Foundling, not a triber. Are you going to eat that last piece?”