Page 10 of Caveman Alien’s Terror (Caveman Aliens #25)

10

- Astrid -

Praxigor stomps in among the trees and tosses big, moss-covered stones around as if they were toys and he a furious toddler.

I’m not a fan of that side of him; the callous, icy dragon who’s completely ruthless when it comes to obtaining gold. Then there’s the other side which makes him say ‘my Astrid’ with a tinge of warmth, and makes him kiss me so tenderly I see stars and makes him put himself between me and danger. That gold obsession of his must be similar to an overpowering drug addiction, so it may be curable. Or it may not.

I don’t understand everything he says about himself, that whole ‘Change to my real form’ thing, but it sounds like he really believes it himself, and he’s so much like a fairy tale character that I can’t discount it being true. I don’t long to see him as a full, fire-breathing dragon, if that’s what he means.

I know I should plan an escape. But I also know I’ll stay with him. If anyone can keep me safe until we find Cora, it’s him.

And when we do find her, I can only hope that he won’t murder me too painfully.

Because she never had a gold bracelet, or jewelry of any kind. But if that lie is what it takes for Praxigor to help me look for her, then the risk may be worth it. It’s not exactly the least I can do for Cora, but it still seems fair after the way I treated her.

Luna slinks out of the woods and comes over to me, two watchful eyes staring ahead and one behind. She’s tense, and she has to know the risk being this close to Praxigor. I can’t imagine he likes her much.

“Stevik,” comes a hoarse whisper from the side. One of the outcasts slowly draws his sword as he stares at Luna.

“Don’t!” I tell him, raising my hand. “This is not a wild stevik. She belongs to me. She won’t harm you.”

He frowns. “Belongs? A Small belongs to you when it’s being grilled over your fire, female. Not before.”

“I’m a shaman,” I tell him haughtily, trying to mobilize some authority. “I may do things that seem strange or impossible to an ordinary tribesman. Even own living Smalls. See how she stays close without attacking anyone!”

“There’s no good meat on that thing,” Tarat’ex calls from where he’s sitting at the campfire and munching on the food left by those Skrok guys that Praxigor fought and chased away. “Leave it alone. It will leave when it gets hungry.”

The other one grunts and shoves his sword back in its scabbard with a hard clang. “These are strange times, when we decide to not kill stevik pups because an outtriber shaman says so. A female shaman.”

Tarat’ex chuckles. “Are those the strangest things you can think of? You don’t find it even stranger that there’s an actual piece of Darkness stalking around the jungle, and we three are doing his bidding?”

“An enemy of the tribe that cast me out is my friend,” the first one mutters as he sits back down. “If that blue dragon will destroy them, I’ll serve him any way he wants.”

I find my pack and get out some of the food I brought. It’s not that I have that much of an appetite, but I know that it’s been a long time since I ate and I will need the energy. I offer a piece of fried meat to Luna, but not to the outcasts.

“What do you think?” I ask her quietly. “Will he help me find Cora?”

She attacks the meat with determination and a growl, small fangs scraping against the bone.

“Good point. If he finds what he needs here, he won’t. And by the sounds of it, he’ll leave the planet completely. I forgot to ask if he has a spaceship.”

I lean back against a rock, adjust my dress so it won’t fall open in the front, and close my eyes, pulling my hat down into my face. It’s been a long time since I was this tired. “Luna, wake me if someone has murdered me. But not before.”

- - -

I wake up a little after sunrise. Luna is curled up next to me, rear tail moving enough to satisfy me that she’s alive.

I hear the outcasts hacking at wood somewhere in the jungle.

“I feel better when they’re not right here— oh! ” I drop my hat as I look up.

Praxigor is standing right behind me, staring down at me from very close. “Finally! The lackeys have been working since before sunrise.”

I pick the hat back up and brush debris off it. “Did you find anything?”

“Many things,” he growls. “Stones that are all broken and worthless.”

I stand up and stretch. “I’ve been wanting to ask you, Praxigor. It’s just an innocent question, not an interrogation. No need to get angry.”

“I’m getting angry already, with all this preamble.”

“Oh. I just wonder. How will you leave the planet? When you get your gold, I mean?”

He comes in to tower over me. “I will Change to my real form and beat my mighty wings, circle the planet, and then head for home. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

So no spaceship, then. “Yes. Thank you. Can I ask a followup question?”

He sighs. “If you must.”

“How long have you been here? On Xren? It’s obviously not your home planet.”

“For far too long,” he replies darkly. “Possibly years.”

I get the water skin out of my pack. “Oh. Can you guess how many years?”

“No.”

“I’ve been here for six or seven years,” I tell him. “I know it doesn’t interest you, but I think it’s interesting that I didn’t meet you until now. Or that the Borok tribe didn’t know about you.”

“I’ll take your word for that being interesting,” the dragon sighs. “You’ll understand that anything not directly concerned with gold is of less interest to me. ”

“Yes, I got that. Want some water?”

He ignores the waterskin I offer. “I wasn’t here for most of that time. I was on this planet, but my circumstances were not as luxurious as now.”

I take another swig of water myself. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. May I ask what happened?”

“You may not. Interrogation thus completed, it’s time for you to do some work. Find me gold, Astrid. Or if you can’t, find me some other items that have been made with care and effort. And that aren’t broken.”

“Can I eat this first?” I show him a piece of fruit from my pack. “It’s not as good as the fruit you gave me, but I still need it to do any work.”

“Be quick,” he growls. “I have already noticed that all the other species here must put things into them on a regular basis. Some of them do it with great vigor.”

I bite into the fruit. “And you don’t?”

“I need gold. ”

“Yes, but maybe if you ate something, that need wouldn’t be as urgent.”

He puts a hand on my shoulder and stares into my eyes. “Astrid. The need for gold is always urgent. Even when I have gold, even when I’m curled up on my own hoard deep inside my lair, getting more is absolutely vital. It’s necessary. It’s crucial!”

How can one male be this scary and attractive at the same time?

“I understand,” I tell him, and I think I do. “You need gold like I need to eat.”

He squeezes my shoulder. “I need it much more than that. The lack of gold does kill a dragon eventually. But it’s more cruel than that. It leaves you alive for years, but it makes you weak. Like this .” He grits his teeth as he gestures to his scandalously attractive body. “But you’re trying to understand, at least.” He bends low and kisses me on the lips, lingering more than last time. The touch itself sends tingles through my nipples and down my front, all from the expectation of what I hope will happen.

“All right,” I say when I’m breathing normally again. “I’ll try to find some objects that you might like.”

I briefly consider telling him that this is kind of my thing, that I was studying archeology when I was abducted. But I suspect he won’t care. “I will need to dig. Do the outcasts have a shovel or something like it?”

Praxigor quickly ascertains that they don’t, then commands them to make a shovel out of wood.

“I will look at the whole area,” I tell him. “Will you come along and keep me safe?”

Without a word, he strides into the woods, and I follow.

The area is overgrown with bushes and trees, but there are also heaps of the white stones, completely overgrown and covered in dirt. I find many unbroken ones, of various sizes and shapes, but all clearly cut and carved for constructing buildings. After a while I start to get the mental picture of a village with maybe eighty stone houses of an alien design, but vaguely recognizable to anyone who’s studied the excavations of Great Zimbabwe.

“I think you’re right,” I tell Praxigor when we stop in the middle of the village. “It was trampled by Bigs. Just one, but it was really big. You can still see the footprints there and there.” I point to depressions in the terrain where all the rocks have been crushed fine. “It totally flattened everything.”

“And? Where would they have kept the gold?”

I scratch my chin. “The way I know these huge dinosaurs, you can hear them coming from far away. I’m sure the people that lived here knew it was coming and tried to save everything of value. But they also didn’t rebuild the village. Not even one house. That’s unusual. I suppose it’s possible that the village was abandoned before it was destroyed.”

Praxigor sighs in exasperation. “Is all this talk helping?”

“It might be,” I tell him, looking around me. “This is how I think sometimes, speaking to myself. Sorry if it bothers you.”

“Think and speak all you want, as long as there’s gold at the end of it,” he grunts.

“It’s a strange place to build a village,” I keep thinking out loud. “There’s no obvious source for the stones. Where did they come from?”

One corner of Praxigor's mouth turns down in warning. “Still waiting for this to touch upon gold.”

“It could. Now, where I come from, a village like this would have had a temple. And I see a place that looks interesting.”

“A gold mine?” he suggests hopefully.

“No, a dome.” I point. “Covered in dirt and moss and bushes, but still a dome. None of the other things we’ve see here are round. It’s all straight angles. Except the dome.”

He taps his lips. “A vault for valuables?”

“Umm. Perhaps,” I concede diplomatically. “Or a food store. A granary, maybe. Or a temple. Some ancient civilizations kept gold in their temples.”

“Tarat’ex! Where is that shovel!” Praxigor bellows.

“But it might be something else,” I ponder. “I don’t think this was a caveman village. The buildings are too small. And they don’t usually have temples, at least not the ones I’ve seen or heard of. They also never build from stone, only wood.”

“Here, Chief.” Tarat’ex walks towards us while he shaves some wood off a crude wooden shovel. “It’s too small for me to use, but it might fit the female.”

Praxigor inspects the shovel. “Then make bigger ones for yourselves. I want everyone digging! No, wait.”

Tarat’ex snaps to something resembling attention. “Chief?”

“I may not need you three here anymore,” Praxigor drawls. “Instead, you will go to all the tribes in the jungle and ask them about the rumor of there being a woman in the Ceremat village. Ask them all where it is. Find out for sure, then return here. Do not go to that village without me!”

“Of course. It may take some time, Chief. The closest village is the Borok, and we can’t get there today. I also can’t show myself there.”

“Then one of the others can! There are three of you! Must I think of everything myself? Only return when you know where this mysterious woman might be found.”

“Yes, Chief.” Tarat’ex walks briskly away towards the others.

I’m happy to see the back of him. He and his outcast friends are some creepy guys, always staring at me.

“Can you use this?” Praxigor asks and hands me the shovel.

I take it and hold it with both hands. “It’s too heavy and too big for me.”

He frowns. “It’s only wood.”

I drop the sharp end to the ground and lean on the shaft. While crude, it’s a well-made shovel, and I’ve worked with heavier things. But I think it’s time for Praxigor to do more than yell commands.

“It’s heavy wood, freshly cut from a tree. It’s full of sap, which makes it heavy. I’m only a frail female from a feeble species, as you have seen. I think you have to use it.”

He stares emptily. “Me?”

I lean the shovel up against a tree, using both hands and fake groaning, exaggerating how heavy it is to me. “I can’t do it,” I pant. “Someone else has to. I’ll show you the dome.”

The dragon looks the way Tarat’ex went. “I suppose we can keep one of the lackeys to do the menial work.”

“Then it will take longer for the two others to find the Ceremat village,” I point out.

Praxigor lifts the shovel between two fingers and looks at it with distaste. “This is so far beneath me that the words to describe the shame of it don’t even exist.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” I chirp over my shoulder as I walk towards the dome. “And there may not be much digging needed.”

He growls deep in his throat as he follows me.

The dome is not really a dome, except for the very top. It’s a round, slightly tapering tower twenty feet tall, built from very carefully cut stones. It’s about ten feet in diameter and must have been an impressive sight when the village was still standing. I theorize that the builders would keep it polished to shine in the sun. Or maybe it was painted in vivid colors, the way ancient Roman statues on Earth were, despite being just bare marble today.

There’s no door in the tower, but the ground we stand on is clearly much higher now than when it was built. The jungle has produced many feet of dirt and compost since then, and most of the village is totally buried. The door is probably below us somewhere.

I find a likely place and point to the ground. “Here, please. Dig up against the stone so we can see if there’s an entrance.”

Praxigor’s eyes shoot hard flashes. “If you have me work like a slave only to find an empty room, I will be even less happy than I am now. I don’t know what will happen then, because that is a level of unhappiness that I’ve never reached before.”

“There may be an empty room,” I admit. “We don’t know yet. But at least then we’ll know.”

He just growls as he rams the shovel into the dirt.

I squat and scrape at the dirt with a stick with great concentration, wanting to look as if I’m doing something, too.

Praxigor is a clumsy digger, and it’s clear he’s never held a shovel before. And the tool is much too small for him. But despite his grumbling and complaining, he’s fast and strong, so I choose not to instruct him in the correct use of digging implements. I get the feeling dragons don’t use tools much.

After a few minutes he has revealed the upper corner of what has to be an entrance.

“Wonderful!” I praise him. “Nobody else could have found it so fast!” It's true, too. He worked with incredible speed.

On an impulse I go up on tiptoes and put my arm around his thick neck. He looks down at me and allows me to kiss his lower lip, because he's too tall for my mouth to reach the upper.

His scent is in my nose, dry and exotic. There’s wood and smoke, incense and flint.

His lip is warm, soft and pliant in a way that touches me right at my center. He’s not all rock hard and mean.

I take a step back, heart racing. The first kiss I gave him was too short. This one was better. And I hope I didn’t make him mad.

“Your behavior is either scandalous or appropriate,” Praxigor rumbles with some hoarseness in his voice. “For now, I deem it the latter.”

“That’s how it was meant,” I rasp. “Perfectly latter. Shall we go on? Now just move a little to the side of the dome— no, the other side. Yes, right there. And then dig more. Soon we’ll be inside.”

He works even faster, becoming the center of a whirlwind of dirt, rocks, and debris. Soon the whole entrance is revealed. It’s a tall doorway made from whole stones. It’s much smaller than I would have expected cavemen to make it. It’s even kind of small for a human structure.

It’s closed by a massive slab of rock that stands upright in the doorway.

“That’s a big door,” I ponder. “Will you be able to— oh, okay.”

Praxigor goes up to the door and pushes hard at its upper edge. It rocks back, then forwards again, making a hard bang as it settles back where it was.

But now the dragon knows it will move, so he adds force. And on the next shove, the slab rocks backwards much further until it balances on its edge. Praxigor gives it one final, furious punch, and then it falls into the building and hits the stone floor with a deafening bang. There’s a hard crack as the floor breaks, and the slab falls through it.

We stand back as we hear the huge, heavy stone slab hit other stone things deep underground until there’s a final bang and it seems to come to rest amid a rattle of falling debris and rubble. A plume of dust rises from below.

I lean into the opening and look down, noticing the smell of broken stone. “I think it’s open now.”