Page 5 of Caveman Alien’s Horn (Caveman Aliens #26)

5

- Cora -

Sprisk yells something from up in the tree, and then many cantaloupe-sized fruits slam into the ground around me and split open.

Despite my soreness and exhaustion after being carried through the jungle over his shoulders, I bounce to my feet.

A small vismonk is waddling out of the jungle towards me.

“Hi, Eric,” I beam and squat down, happy to see a friend. “Did you follow us?”

Sprisk the abductor comes zooming down the tree faster than what should be possible. “Get away!”

I stand back up and put myself between the caveman and Eric. “No! Is friend!”

Sprisk is starting to look weird again, his skin shimmering and seeming to change. “That’s a gray ghost. He’s not your friend.”

I walk backwards, towards Eric. “He is friend. Not harm!”

Eric is right behind me in one quick jump, putting one arm around my knee.

“He doesn’t look friendly,” Sprisk growls.

I notice he doesn’t have a weapon, but his skin is becoming almost invisible in parts. But when I move my head, I can see it’s just some kind of camouflage, his skin changing color after his surroundings. He’s part chameleon, this Foundling.

Because he must be a Foundling, the clan Astrid briefly mentioned when she first met me and rambled off a lot of information about her life. Sprisk’s younger friend from before had a malformed hand with only a thumb, and Sprisk himself is so weird that he could give me nightmares. Long, pointy spikes grow from his lower jaw, he has chameleon skin and vividly green eyes that belong on a dinosaur.

It’s not that he’s unattractive, exactly. I can see how that skin and his thick, dark hair and fiery eyes make him more striking and scary than ugly. He’s clearly not a regular caveman. He must be the one that had a horn and looked so terrible that it made me scream. If this is him, then he has taken his horn off.

I bend down and lift Eric like I would a puppy or a toddler. “He only young. Not harm!”

Sprisk growls something, but I don’t care what he thinks about this. I’m not letting anything happen to Eric.

The air smells of rotting vegetation and fresh fruit. I nod to the broken pieces on the ground. “That you eat?”

“Those are broken. I’ll get new ones.” Sprisk looks around as if expecting to be attacked by an army of vismonks.

Now that the jungle is brightening and his skin is returning to normal, I can see more of him. He has bulging muscles everywhere, a powerful chest, and a back so wide it could host soccer matches. Apart from the spikes in his face, he has no obvious disabilities or missing limbs. When he carried me, he was being careful to not shake me too much, and he sometimes made it so comfortable for me that I got drowsy while he walked.

“Sprisk,” I begin, controlling my anger and hoping he understands my lackluster cavemannish. “I sure you want save me. Is good. Now, bring back me. Back to tree you me found. If keep me, all women in tribes angry. All tribes angry. You clan angry. They say, Sprisk bad. Sprisk steal woman.”

He looks at me with those green eyes. I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Damn. Did that make any sense at all? Did I say something silly, like ordering a latte from him? Or ask him how his vacation was? It’s the first time I speak the language, and that’s much harder than slowly making sentences up in my mind when I’m pretty sure I’ll never have to actually speak them.

“They will not care,” he finally rumbles. “And they will not know.”

Damn, he’s tall. I have to crane my neck to look at his face. He’s like a living mountain, a wall of immovable power and muscle. Even though I’ve been on Xren for many years, I’ve never before been face to face with one of these things, and I didn’t realize how big they really are. This guy would hit his head on the ceiling in most living rooms. ‘Intimidating’ is not the right word. It’s far too weak for the primal fear he arouses in me. But it also rouses my stubborn nature.

“You friend will tell,” I state with more certainty than I feel.

“Bakitan?” He gives me a small smile. “I don’t think he will. Wait here.” He quickly climbs the tree again, as easily as if the tree were lying on the ground.

“Where are others”? I quickly ask Eric using signs. “They here?”

He makes many signs, but I can’t make sense of them. And yet, there’s a good chance that there are some adults from his tribe in the area. Surely they wouldn’t let a young one like Eric just go into the jungle at night? On the other hand, he often spends time with me, so they may be used to him being gone. And of course I don’t know much about how vismonks raise their young. They may practice hands-off parenting, which is probably a good idea for a species with a dozen hands each.

Sprisk is up in the tree, picking fruits. If I run, he’ll catch up with me in no time. That’s why I didn’t bolt the last time he was up there. But if there are adult vismonks here, friends that can protect me, then he may have to let me go rather than fight them.

I take one of Eric’s hands and quietly walk into the woods, back the way we came.

Eric follows, but doesn’t seem too eager.

“Tribe here?” I ask with signs as I walk quickly among the trees.

Again he replies with a flurry of signals I can’t decipher.

And there are no signs of adult vismonks.

“Well, let’s see how far we can get,” I mutter as I try to speed up.

But I’m held back. Eric isn’t too keen on coming along. He stares up at the dense canopy of tree crowns up above us, baring his small fangs and hissing.

“Come on,” I signal. “We go back home?—”

A terrible screech echoes from the trees around me and sends a chill down my spine. It comes from above, over the treetops.

“Dactyl,” I say through gritted teeth.

They’re not common around my tree, but I’ve seen them and I know their screeches. They’re alien pterodactyls, flying horrors with huge talons and long beaks with irregular rows of razor-sharp teeth.

I back up to a tree trunk, trying to make myself invisible. The dactyl must still be above the treetops, but if it’s this loud, it must have seen either me or Sprisk.

“Probably Sprisk,” I say under my breath. “He’s up in a tree. Easier to spot.”

Shit. Can I stay here out of danger, while Sprisk is getting attacked by a deadly dinosaur because he’s getting food for me?

Absolutely. He abducted me. I have no responsibility for his safety.

And yet it feels wrong to just hide while he’s maybe being attacked. I don’t think he exactly knows what he’s doing with this whole abduction. It feels unplanned and spontaneous. He’s not all that bad. He didn’t even tie me up, and I’ve seen enough true crime abduction shows in my day to know that that’s practically an industry standard.

There’s a loud crash and another screech as the dactyl breaks down through the canopy overhead.

I see it in the distance, about the place where Sprisk must be. There are sounds of someone running through the undergrowth, trying to get away from the monster.

“What can I do?” I fret, annoyed at my own weakness. “I don’t have a weapon. He made me lose my knife. And he broke my fucking loom!”

That last part makes it easy to decide. I’ll stay here and see how this shakes out. If he dies, he dies. There’s nothing I can do to a dactyl anyway.

There are sounds of fighting and panicked yelling. It sounds like more than one caveman. Someone’s coming this way, and the dactyl is, too. It slaloms easily between the tall tree trunks as if following someone.

“You’d think he could lead that thing the other way,” I seethe as I gather Eric to me and push myself harder into the tree, wanting to look like a part of it.

The dactyls screeches again, and Eric hisses between his fangs. The whole vismonk is trembling with tension. Or maybe it’s me.

Something barrels through a bush. It’s two cavemen, one after the other, running for their lives. I notice they don’t have stripes I recognize, so they’re not from any friendly tribe. They also don’t have swords, and I think that can mean only one thing: outcasts.

When they spot me, they freeze, jaws agape.

The dactyl screeches again. It’s a brown, ugly monster with huge bat wings and a beak as long as I am tall. It has thousands of brown, messy teeth. I can see that because the monster opens its mouth, dead eyes staring straight at me.

The two cavemen break out of their shock at seeing me and split up, one diving to the left and the other to the right. Leaving me in the middle, stared down by the dactyl.

It soars higher, doubles up in the air, and dives right for me, wings folded in.

“Let’s get out of its way,” says a deep voice in my ear. Strong arms grab my waist and yank me to the side and around the tree, pushing me down.

I lose my grip on Eric, and the last thing I see before I’m looking at the ground from up close is the small vismonk tensing up like a spring and jumping several feet right up in the air. Right into the dactyl’s path.

“Eric!” I yell and try to get up, but Sprisk holds me down with a gentle push at my back.

“Better stay down. This is an old, wily irox.”

The beat of the dactyl’s wings suddenly goes frantic, and the monster screeches again. This time I’m sure there’s pain and fury in it.

“Ah,” Sprisk says, having a better view. “I knew the gray ghosts were dangerous, but this is unexpected.”

“What?” I ask, hoping it’s the right word.

“Wait,” the Foundling rumbles.

The dactyl screeches again, and this time it’s not close anymore. It sounds like its wings are beating fast. There’s another crash of leaves and branches as the flying horror breaks up through the treetops.

The pressure from Sprisk’s hand is gone, and I get up on my knees, looking around the wide tree trunk. “What happen?”

“The irox left,” he says as he takes my hand to help me to my feet. “Very strange. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

I walk around the tree, Sprisk staying by my side.

Eric is on the ground, licking his lips with a wide, blue tongue. There’s blood on his furry face.

“What happened?” I ask with signs.

For a change he signals slowly and simply. “I jumped on the dactyl.” His hands shake with excitement.

“Did you chase it away?” I ask, incredulous. “How?”

“I jumped on the dactyl,” he says with his hands, much faster this time, “and I bit its throat as hard as I could and then it screamed and I fell down and the dactyl flew away.”

I frown. “You bit the dactyl?”

“That gray ghost jumped many pace-lengths into the air and then took a bite out of the irox’s throat,” Sprisk rumbles behind me. “I didn’t know they could do that.”

With my newfound respect for Eric, I reach out and stroke his head. “You’re very strong, Eric,” I signal to him.

“Soon stronger,” he modestly assures me with a nonchalant wave of one hand.

“Impressive,” a new voice says.

Sprisk whirls around and places himself between me and the two cavemen I saw before. They’ve gotten to their feet and are approaching slowly.

“Stay where you are,” Sprisk says tensely. “That woman isn’t yours.”

“Oh? We’re tribesmen,” says one. “You’re plainly a Foundling. Since when do Foundlings have women?”

“Every tribesman I know has a sword,” Sprisk calmly points out. “Where’s yours? Or are you outcasts?”

I size them up. They’re two men, one with beige stripes and the other with grayish ones. They both have a dishevelled look to them. Their loincloths are stained and ripped, their hair is straggly and long, and they both look thin. While they are much taller than me, Sprisk is in another league altogether, both taller and wider than these two.

“We may be in an unfortunate state for now,” one of them growls, “but at least we’re not shameful and broken insults to our Ancestors, the way you are, Foundling .”

I inadvertently draw closer to Sprisk. As usual I’m astonished about how easy it is to understand the caveman language. There’s just something natural about it that makes the meaning of each word feel obvious.

“I don’t think I’m an insult,” Sprisk says mildly. “But I can take your statement to be one. Was it meant as such?”

“Never mind what it was meant as,” the outcast says. “You, a weak-minded and stripeless Foundling, have a woman. We, tribesmen with stripes, want her. Give her to us and you may live to see another day of your pitiful, broken life.”

“You make it sound so tempting,” Sprisk says with a voice that drips with sarcasm. “But I think I’ll keep her. Perhaps she can make my life less pitiful.”

“You may be overlooking something,” says the gray-striped one as he calmly takes a long knife out of his belt. “You are one . And we are two . Can you count that far, Foundling?”

Sprisk’s skin starts to shimmer, parts of him becoming almost invisible against the background. “I sometimes can. Now, outcast tribesmen. There’s no reason for us to be enemies. Go on your way and forget about the woman. Simply be happy that we saved you from the irox.” His voice has taken on a harder edge.

“That wasn’t you,” one of the men snarls. “That was the gray ghost. We saw it. Anyway, ask the woman what she wants. Surely she wants nothing to do with a broken Foundling, when she can have actual tribesmen!” He gives me a smirk and draws himself up, as if to strike a more impressive figure.

“Surely she wants nothing to do with an honorless outcast, when she can have an actual man? ” Sprisk echoes.

“Let’s ask her,” the beige-striped caveman says. “Do you understand what we’re saying, woman?”

“I understand,” I tell them. “Not want I any man. Want back to home.” I know my grammar is terrible, but I’m starting to grasp that this language is unusually forgiving about that, too.

“We shall take you home,” says the outcast. “And away from this Foundling.”

Sprisk frowns, not liking this.

But that’s fine. He deserves to squirm after abducting me.

“To my home,” I specify. “Not to your home. What is name?”

“Our names?” the beige one asks. “I’m Cret’ax, and this is Gulu’oz. Don’t worry about us looking like outcasts. We’re really not. We simply lost our swords in a war and are on our way back to our village. Our tribe is very large and we have lots of food. And iron for swords. Our huts are big and dry. Come with us! We are both chiefs. You will be honored!”

“And we won that war he mentioned,” the other one quickly says. “Our swords were shattered because we fought so hard.”

“Chiefs?” I feign awe. “Of whole tribe?” I don’t believe a word these two ruffians say. But I enjoy watching Sprisk squirm.

“A whole tribe,” Cret’ax lies, sending his friend a look that says ‘I can’t believe this is actually working’. “The mightiest tribe in the jungle.”

While they’re obviously lying, these two buffoons may be useful. I just have to think of a way they can help me get home without agreeing to come with them. Because that would obviously lead to some very unpleasant things for me. These two haven’t been members of a tribe for years.

“I now think,” I try to vocalize the only plan I can come up with, “all you men go with I to home. At home, I choose which man. I will be woman for that man.”

I can tell from the looks that none of them like that idea.

“This is silly,” Cret’ax says and comes towards me. “We’re two, and the Foundling is one. We have two blades, and Foundling has… how many? No knife, Foundling? You’re in the jungle unarmed? Do you think that’s safe?”

Sprisk’s skin shimmers again, and his eyes shoot green fire. “You don’t know all the dangers you can find in the jungle. Leave now, outcasts, before you learn more about that than you ever wanted to.”

The outcasts chuckle while slowly walking to opposite sides of Sprisk and me. “Oh, the Foundling wants to teach us something! Come on, Foundling… teach!” They both lunge at Sprisk, long knives first.

Sprisk gives me a calm push in the back and sends me headlong into a bush.

While I scramble to get up and out of the bush, I hear screams and strange crunching sounds.

When I finally extricate myself from the thicket and put my backpack on properly, the two outcasts are hurrying away, huddled together and limping into the jungle.

It secretly thrills me to see it. Sprisk may be an abductor, but he’s clearly a fierce fighter if he won against two armed adversaries, be they ever so scrawny and cowardly compared to him.

Sprisk has his back to me, his chameleon skin returning to normal. Eric is playing with a twig and seems oblivious to everything.

“You won,” I observe. “And I lost.”