Page 8 of Caveman Alien’s Terror (Caveman Aliens #25)

8

- Astrid -

“Yes, Chief,” the green-striped caveman says. “‘We’re ready.”

He and the two others keep ogling me, even after I pull my dress back up to cover my chest. They must have been spying on us, but it seems that Praxigor knows them. It’s weird — they’re obviously outcasts, and I think the one he’s talking to is Tarat’ex, the one who was cast out from the Krast tribe for trying to kill Alba. These guys can’t be trusted, and I wish I didn’t have to deal with them. But here they are.

I look around for my spear, then remember that it went with the kronk when it fled, so all I have now is the knife in my belt. Luna is nowhere to be seen, wisely staying away from Praxigor.

I arrange my clothing as well as I can.

Shit. What is it that happens to me when Praxigor’s around? I lose all inhibitions and practically throw myself at him. Is it just the feeling of being safe, and wanting him to stay at any cost? It’s part of it, I’m sure. But it’s also what I want. I wanted this moment of intimacy with him to keep going for longer.

It feels like a dream, one of those wonderful ones where everything feels so right that you want to cry when you wake up from it. After years of having almost no influence over my own life, it made me feel powerful to give Praxigor that kind of pleasure, to take all his attention and focus. As if some of his otherworldly power would rub off on me, that the dream might go on. He’s so much larger than life, and he makes the deadly jungle fade into unimportance. Having even the tiniest bit of power over that makes me strong, too. Just the two of us, both superior beings?—

Praxigor’s hard stare shakes me out of my weird reverie. “Come along, female.”

And then he has this side of him, too: the absolute jerk.

“Do you remember my name?” I ask sweetly, not budging.

“Crazy,” he drawls. “Curly. Horny. Female . Come now.” There’s an impatient snap in that last command.

“Have a nice walk,” I tell him, heart racing because I know I’m playing with fire. Dragonfire, even. Damn, can he breathe fire?

Praxigor frowns, and his clawed fingers flex. He’s clearly deciding exactly how to best murder me.

I’m about to give in and slink after him when he suddenly chuckles. “You enjoy the dangerous life, Astrid . Did I get that right? Astrid? Not Astride or Astra or Asterisk? ”

“You got it,” I confirm, weirdly touched that he remembers. I like the way my name sounds when spoken with his clear, deep voice. It’s such an honor— no, seriously, I have to snap out of my fascination. He’s just an alien, not a supernatural being. “Where are we going? It’s getting dark.”

“Simply follow me without attempting to interrogate,” Praxigor growls. “I’ve been far too lenient with you. You should hope that it continues.”

I don’t really have much choice. I’m unarmed now, and I can’t stand the thought of being alone in the jungle at night. I’ll stay inside his bubble of safety while it lasts, and enjoy his fairy tale presence that makes me feel like it’s all a fabulous dream. Reality will give me a brutal awakening at some point, the way it always will on planet Xren.

Praxigor takes the lead, sauntering through the jungle as if he owns it.

I stay right behind him, and the three outcasts bring up the rear. I swear I can feel their lecherous gazes on my body. My skin creeps at having them this close. Gangs of outcasts are among the most dangerous things you can encounter in the woods, and I already know that Tarat’ex is a really sneaky guy.

Nobody cares much about making noise while we walk. The outcasts mutter together in their language, but I don’t catch more than the occasional word.

Praxigor doesn’t make much noise anyway, seeming to float above the ground as he strides on so fast that I keep having to scramble to not lose him in the greenery. He's keeping his hands busy while he walks, carving on a piece of rock with one of his sharp claws.

Once in a while I catch a glimpse of Luna’s three bright eyes in the undergrowth, keeping up with us and staying hidden fifteen feet to my right. I’m not sure why — she’s supposed to be a wild animal that it’s not possible to tame completely, and it’s not like she stands to gain a lot from staying with me. But I’m grateful that she does. It makes me feel less alone.

It’s well over midnight when Praxigor leans up against a tree and crosses his arms on his chest. “I can tell from the stench that we’re close.”

“This is the spot, Chief,” Tarat’ex says with an ingratiating smile that’s the fakest thing I’ve ever seen.

“And now we have bait,” the dragon says smoothly.

“Uh… we do?” the outcast asks uncertainly.

Praxigor nods towards me. “We do.”

“Oh! Yes, of course, Chief! We should tie her to this tree here.”

“Now, woman—,” Praxigor begins, then gives me a dangerous little smile. “I mean Astrid. Astrid the woman. Come and stand here.” He points to the trunk of a slender tree, little more than a sapling.

“Why?” I ask, my hand seeking the hilt of my knife.

The dragon frowns. “Because I command you.”

Yeah, at some time we have to talk about his habit of bossing me around. “I mean, why do you command me?”

“Because you’re my bait!” Praxigor beams. “Your noises will lure them here, so they’ll leave their camp unguarded. Or almost unguarded. See?”

“Good idea, Chief,” Tarat’ex exclaims in his smarmy way. “Some bait is exactly what we needed.”

I really don’t understand. “Lure whom? What camp?”

Praxigor sighs. “Such a dense species. Everything must be explained! Tarat’ex, you explain.”

“Chief Praxigor wants gold,” Tarat’ex tells me as he pulls a coil of rough rope out of his pack. “Nearby is the camp of what remains of the Skrok tribe. Their village was destroyed by a herd of passing bobonts , and they had to leave their turf because a swarm of irox settled there. Now they’ve set up camp here, among the ancient stones. We believe that they have gold that our Chief may take for his hoard.”

I keep my hand on the knife. “Gold? Does the tribe use that?”

“It seems some tribes like it,” the outcast says and comes closer. “They put it on their totem poles because it shines prettily in the sun. Is that not right, Gulu’oz?”

One of the other two outcasts nods. He’s old and crooked, thin and smelly. “I don’t care for shiny things, but it is true. I visited the Skrok tribe once. The top of the totem pole was clad in a metal that shone in the sun. It was blinding, almost. They were so proud of it, they polished it every day.”

Tarat’ex comes closer with the rope in his hands.

“Nobody’s tying me up,” I tell them, backing off a couple of paces. “I’ll help, but you’re not tying me up.”

“Oh, but that is necessary,” Praxigor says with great sincerity. “The men of that tribe must hear you, so they come running. You must keep them occupied somehow while I and these pitiful lackeys go into their camp and find the gold. We shall tie you up so well that it will take them some time to free you.” He taps his lips with one finger. “It would help if you were to also fight them. Perhaps we can leave one hand free, and you can hold a stick of some kind? Surprise them by hitting them? I don’t know how those crude things work.”

“Chief,” Tarat’ex says obsequiously, “what if you were to stay here with the female, out of sight, and then attack them by surprise? You could easily overpower the handful of men left of the Skrok tribe. The three of us will then be able to search their camp much more thoroughly. They certainly didn’t bring their whole totem pole from their ruined village. They most likely took the gold off and carried it with them.”

“Nobody’s tying me up,” I repeat. “I’ll help, but not like that.”

In a blue flash, Praxigor is next to me, grabbing my wrists. “Do as you’re told, Astrid the alien. Bring the rope, lackeys.”

The outcasts tie me up while the dragon holds me, his eyes sparkling the whole time. I try to fight him, but he’s superhumanly strong.

“Don’t do this,” I plead. “They could hurt me!”

“They could,” he agrees cheerfully, “but they also can’t possibly resist a woman in the jungle. You’ll be the first one they’ve seen in their lives! Did you know the slayers don’t have women of their own? There were none on the whole planet until recently! And one of them is you!”

I try the ropes. They’re tight, but not painfully so. Still, I’m stuck here until someone unties me. “I’m afraid, Praxigor.”

“Such a fearful kind,” he muses. “Soon I’ll have my gold, and you will see what a dragon in full looks like. It will scare you more than these sorry-looking slayers!”

“She’s securely tied, Chief,” Tarat’ex reports. “We shall get ready, and then she must make some noises to attract the Skrok men. Please leave us a hundred heartbeats to get into position.”

“Then go.” Praxigor lazily waves his hand, dismissing the outcasts.

I writhe against the tree. The ropes are tight, but there’s some room to slide them up or down. “What do you need that gold for, anyway?”

Praxigor frowns. “You’re asking a dragon what he needs gold for? Do you really not know? Dragons collect hoards! We gather great heaps of gold and lie on them. It’s the most glorious enjoyment! I’m much more than what you see before you here. You see only a… a man , much like the slayers. Although infinitely stronger and more capable, granted. But in my real form, I’m so much more! I’ve been stuck on this goldforsaken planet for years, unable to get away! And the other dragons left me behind! Well, that’s none of your concern. Suffice it to say that as soon as I have my gold, I can leave. Finally. And that day is now here.” He gives me an icy grin.

“I don’t understand everything you say,” I tell him as I keep squirming to loosen the stiff ropes. “But I’m sorry the other dragons left you behind.”

“I said that’s none of your concern!” he snaps. “Any moment now I will Change to my real form and be on my way. After I seek out certain traitor princelings and their underlings and kill them. Slowly.”

The jungle is quiet. There’s a smell of smoke and meat wafting past me, coming from the unseen camp. What will tribesmen do when they discover a tied-up woman in the jungle? Probably nothing that’s too pleasant for the woman.

“Please untie me,” I sniffle. “That tribe — they could hurt me.”

Praxigor tilts his head to the side. “Surely you’re willing to take some pain, if it means that I get my gold? Be more like my pitiful outcasts! Note how they rush to do my bidding.”

“I think you scare them, too.” I keep testing the ropes. There’s a little bit of slack in it.

“Of course. But the reason they assist is that they think I’ll get my gold, take my true form, and then punish the tribes that cast them out, installing them as the chiefs!”

“But you’re not going to do that?” I start to worry about Anter’az and Alba. They are often in the Krast village, and that’s the tribe Tarat’ex was cast out from.

“They may be surprised about what I’ll do. Now, what did that smelly outcast say just now? I don’t listen much when those slayers speak. Something about heartbeats? But that will be too quiet, surely. Even I can’t really hear your heart beating unless I’m very close. Start making some noises so those other slayers hear you. Go on.” He pokes my side with a claw.

I’m scared, but anger is starting to rise in me, and that’s better. “Take your damn claw off me!”

“Very good,” the dragon beams. “That’s nice and loud. They must have heard that. Keep going.”

But now I’m getting mad for real. Does he think I’m his plaything, to do with as he pleases? After we had that nice moment when his pants were down and he was almost vulnerable for a split second?

“Go fuck yourself,” I seethe.

Praxigor’s hand slides down my dress to right under my ribs. “That’s too quiet. Be louder, woman!” He lightly taps his fingers outside the dress, then drags one claw up my rib cage.

My muscles tense by themselves, and I writhe to get away. “Stop it!”

“This is interesting.” Encouraged, he experiments with what kind of touch makes me jerk and twitch the most.

I try to suppress the giggles that it forces from me, but he learns fast and soon I’m squealing as he tickles me mercilessly.

“They’re coming,” he finally says and vanishes.

“I won’t forget this,” I wheeze to the empty spot where he was just standing, tears of humiliation and forced laughter burning in my eyes.

I’m still trembling, my stomach muscles exhausted and sore. A lingering sensation of his touch remains, as well as the humiliation of losing control like that. But still, I suppose it’s better than most other things he could have done to force me to make noises.

I hear the cavemen coming. They’re whispering and muttering as they come closer, and in between the trees I spot the flickering yellow light from their torches.

I make a final effort to try to free myself, but there’s no give in the ropes. Instead I raise my chin and try to remember how to act like a dignified shaman.

They come towards me, single file, holding their torches up, moving slowly and suspiciously with their swords in their hands. It looks like they have gray stripes, although it’s hard to see in the darkness.

“It’s a woman!” I hear the discovery being relayed back through the row of men. There’s maybe six or seven of them.

Still looking carefully around, the first one in the line raises his torch. “An alien woman. Tied up.”

Another one comes up beside him. “One from the Borok tribe?”

“Why would she be tied up?”

The others stay at a distance, looking around for trouble. They’re all tense, but calm.

I’m not sure what to say. Should I warn them about Praxigor? Or do I want him to get his gold?

I guess it ultimately comes down to who I think will come out ahead. And I strongly suspect that’s not these guys.

“I’m from the Borok tribe,” I confirm, trying to maintain some dignity. “I’m Shaman Astrid. I believe you are what remains of the Skrok tribe. Chief Korr’ax sends his greetings.” Some name dropping feels about right in this situation.

They stare until the leader clears his voice. “Former Shaman Astrid of the Borok tribe, she means. Now the woman of the Skrok tribe!”

They start to grin and slap each other’s back, while still being cautious and staying at a distance. They can’t quite believe their luck.

“Who tied you up?” the leader asks. “Or did you tie yourself, to prepare yourself for us?”

“I don’t know,” I tell them. “I woke up like this. Clearly I was abducted from my tribesmen. They are very close, looking for me. Now, honorable warriors, be so good as to untie me.”

“Someone brought a woman here and tied her up,” another man sums up. “Right outside our camp. This is a trap, tribesmen.”

They all tense up and look around again.

“If so, it’s not a good one,” the leader says. “We’re all unharmed.”

“Who’s left in the camp?” one asks, looking back where they came from.

“Haker’ax and Ubex’iz,” comes the reply. “They’ll be surprised when they see what we bring!”

The leader inserts his sword among the ropes and cuts them. “I always wanted a woman,” he growls, leaning in and running one cold finger up the inside of my thigh. “You shall spend the night in my hut.”

“She shall not,” says a deep voice, as hard as steel.

The cavemen spin around and lift their swords.

Praxigor is standing right behind them, his scales luminous in the jungle night. “I’m afraid it was a trap?—”

He hasn’t finished his sentence when two of the tribesmen throw their swords at him, spinning them through the air. He easily avoids one, but the other hits him square in the chest. It drops to the ground with a metallic clang .

“That was not a great idea,” I mutter.

Praxigor is frozen for a moment, achingly beautiful, looking like an actor on a stage, as if there’s a spotlight on him. He slowly, dramatically looks down on his chest and spots the small drop of golden ichor there. “Sacrilege.” There’s a calm, wounded outrage in his voice.

Then he turns into an electric blue flash as he attacks the cavemen.

I can’t see what he does, just that there’s a lot of grunting and groaning as the tribesmen drop to the ground, one after the other.

Finally only the leader is left. He grabs my arm and puts his sword to my throat, cold edge in. “Stop, agent of Darkness, or this female loses her head!”

Praxigor comes to a stop in front of us. “And then you lose yours. Agreed?”

The Skrok leader slashes his sword at the dragon, but this time Praxigor is ready and easily sidesteps.

Out of balance, the caveman takes up a combat stance, ready to strike again.

Praxigor comes over to me and ignores the enemy. “Did he touch you?”

“He touched me a little ,” I tell him.

The dragon leans in and kisses me on the lips, so tenderly I forget to breathe. “He should not have done that.”

The Skrok leader roars and attacks, lifting his sword over his head and bringing it down in a vicious hacking motion that could cleave anyone in two.

Praxigor moves faster than the eye can see, grabs the sword close to the hilt, and almost gently takes it out of the caveman’s hand while its tip hits an empty spot of the ground. “My Astrid says that you touched her. I haven’t known her to lie.”

“Darkness!” the caveman spits and winds up for a punch.

The dragon is faster and knocks the tribesman in the face with the butt of his own sword. There’s a crushing sound and he sits heavily down, holding his hands in front of his face, where blood is starting to pour out. Then he slowly sags to the side.

“I would kill them all,” Praxigor says with an almost apologetic look at me. “But there’s always the risk of being sprayed by their thin blood. The red is not a good complement to my shade of blue. What do you think?”

All the Skrok men are lying on the ground, coughing and groaning and not moving much. Their torches are strewn on the ground, some extinguished and some spluttering in the wet grass.

“I think they got what they deserved,” I reply, kicking the last of the ropes off my legs. “There’s no need to hurt them more. It was we who trapped them . And most of them didn’t touch me at all.”

“Oh, all right,” he sighs. “Hear that, slayers? The woman says I should spare you. If you ever see her again, remember how merciful she was on this night.” He takes my hand and leads me in among the trees where the men came from.

I spot the camp right away. There are lit torches and a fire in the middle. It’s a curious place, filled with moss-covered rubble. Big, white stones are strewn around on the ground, just as overgrown with moss and greenery. They don’t look natural, as if they were carved or cut.

Two gray-striped cavemen are sitting on one of the stones, while the two outcasts are guarding them, swords ready to hack.

“Chief,” Tarat’ex calls from the shadows. “I have your gold.”

Praxigor spins around and lets go of me. “Bring it here!”

Tarat’ex carries a leather sack, big and heavy. “We were right. They stripped their totem pole of it and brought it with them.”

The dragon snatches the sack out of his hands and turns to the light. “This feels light.” He upends the bag, and many pieces of a shiny metal clatter to the ground. They gleam warmly yellow in the light from the campfire.

Praxigor picks up a piece of metal from the heap and holds it up, between two fingers as if it were a dead fish.

Then he roars. “This is brass! ”

I have to clench my hands over my ears. His angry howl echoes from the stones and the trees around us, containing an undertone of a screech that I know in my bones is pure dragon. I’m sure they can hear it on the Mount in the Borok village.

One of the outcasts drops his sword in surprise, and the two Skrok men fall backwards off their rock, scramble to their feet, and run away.

Tarat’ex backs off from the furious dragon. “Are you sure, Chief? It looks like gold!”

“It doesn’t look like gold,” Praxigor snarls. “It doesn’t smell like gold. It doesn’t feel like gold.” He kicks a piece of the metal deep into the woods. “It doesn’t sound like gold. And it has none of the warmth of gold! Don’t you think I know gold when I see it? Don’t you think I can see it with my eyes closed, knowing its heat and the blissful joy it carries?”

Tarat’ex takes a further step back. “Sorry, Chief. Of course you can. It’s just, I really thought it was gold. We thought it was.”

“It’s worthless brass!” the dragon seethes. “Carelessly beaten into crude plates. It shouldn’t surprise me. It’s just the kind of useless thing these scruffy slayers would honor on their totem pole. Is there no gold on this planet at all?! How can it be this goldless?! ” There’s so much despair and pain in his voice that I wince.

“There must be,” I say as soothingly as I can. I can’t forget how he said ‘my Astrid’, and I’m feeling pretty warm towards him despite his tying me up. I don’t want him this distressed. “Every planet has gold. Even Xren. We shall find it.”