“If you do not return by tomorrow,” Senta-eh said, looking at each of the four warriors, “they had best fear for their lives. I will burn their village as surely as we did Lasta-ah.”
Senta-eh’s statement of potential revenge wasn’t the typical declaration of love. Nonetheless, it was the precise moment when Alex could no longer deny what he felt. Her simple statement of loyalty and confidence broke through whatever barriers he had attempted to construct.
Good timing as usual, Hawk. Not the perfect time to tell her how you feel.
Instead, Alex didn’t say anything, but grabbed the bag that contained the karak-ta egg and clambered into the boat.
He watched, fascinated, as the warriors reached long poles up and hooked the lower rope of the bridge. One after the other, they grabbed the rope and propelled themselves into the middle of the water. The current tried to move them downstream, but one hook held them in place while the other moved the pole farther along the rope. It was a slow but sure method to cross the mighty Kranda-ah.
Just as he had on the other side, the first warrior jumped out of the boat when the water was chest high, grabbed the prow of the boat and pulled it up onto the shore.
Alex turned and waved at the friends he had left behind, uncertain if they would be able to see him in the growing darkness.
The warriors set a double-time march back to the village and after a few days on horseback, it felt good for Alex to stretch his muscles again.
Rinta-ah was not a large village, but it was well-situated. It was built into a natural amphitheater, which gave it natural protection on three sides. Even on the open fourth side, anyone or anything that wanted to attack would have been forced to do so uphill. The villagers had dug into the hillside so that each building was level and it gave the whole place a solid, planned out feeling.
The first time Alex had seen it, his hands had been tied behind his back and he had been force-marched by a giant man he was destined to face in a fight to the death. This reception was much warmer.
Torches lit the path up to Rinta-ah, and there was a gathering of villagers, including the young chieftain, waiting to greet them.
“Manda-ak!” Rinta-ah said.
Alex smiled to himself. Two years earlier, Rinka-ak had been a boy in every way. He had grown, filled out, and his voice had changed in the two years since then.
“How was your quest to find your Chosen One?” Rinka-ak asked.
“Long, bloody, and ultimately successful.”
“So, not unlike your brief stay here in Rinta-ah.”
Alex could not disagree with him. He held up the leather bag and said, “I come bearing gifts.”
The young boy bowed his head slightly and Alex again thought how perfect he was going to be as chief of the tribe. Being trained by his father from the time he could crawl, he showed every natural aptitude of leadership, and he seemed to be growing into his position.
Alex reached the boy, who was now taller than Alex himself, and laid a hand on his shoulder in greeting.
“One of your warriors said you are having some trouble. I am sorry,” Alex said.
A solemn expression found a home on Rinka-ak’s face. “We have had many sorrows since the last solstice. Come and sit down with us and I will tell you.”
The people who prepared the karak-ta egg for consumption in Winten-ah had given Alex specific instructions on how to prepare it properly. He had memorized these instructions and passed both the egg and the recipe on to Rinka-ak’s cook, who hurried away.
“I have heard of the magic qualities of the karak-ta egg, but we have never known where to find them. You do us great honor by bringing it to us.”
“We hope it will be the beginning of a great trade partnership between our village and yours.”
Rinka-ak led Alex and Monda-ak into the largest building in the village—the hall where he had gifted them with the crude map of Kragdon-ah on their last visit. They sat in low chairs around a fire pit that vented into a chimney above. As they sat and talked, more and more of the villagers poured into the hall until it was full to overflowing.
“Now, tell me of your troubles. Perhaps I can help.”
Rinka-ak put his hand to his throat, which was the Kragdon-ah version of shaking his head. “I don’t think there is any hope for help on this front. I am afraid we are cursed.”
That word—cursed—brought the word prophecy to Alex’s mind. The people of Kragdon-ah were so practical in so many things, but they adopted some strange beliefs and could not let them go.
“What is the curse?”
“We are a small village. There are less than two hundred of us here. Still, at any moment, there will be five or six of our women who are with child. It is the only way to keep Rinta-ah healthy and growing.”
“Of course,” Alex agreed.
“Since the winter solstice, we have had five women give birth. The children—three girls and a boy—are all doing fine. But all five women died in the moment of childbirth. Now, everyone is afraid that if they become heavy with child, the same thing will happen to them. If we stop having children, or if every mother dies giving birth, we will not last.”
Alex sat silently, running that information through his twenty-first century brain.
Of course mothers die giving birth in Kragdon-ah. There is only the most rudimentary medical care here. A difficult delivery will happen from time to time. But five times in a row? Healthy children and a dead mother. That’s too much to be a coincidence.
“I am sorry to hear that. I don’t have any idea what would cause it. Were the women sick before the
