Niten-eh and her young apprentice had brought additional help to triage and field dress the many wounds of the Lasta-ah.
Sekun-ak had organized the victorious Winten-ah into different tasks. One group dug the mass grave and buried the dead. Another built stretchers to carry the wounded Lasta-ah back to the cliffside, either drug by horses, or hauled by men. A third and final group was assigned to watch the Lasta-ah who had surrendered but were not seriously wounded.
Klipta-ak requested an audience with Alex, but was pointed instead to Sekun-ak. The men were about the same age, with deep wrinkles at the corner of their eyes and the beginning streaks of gray shot through their hair.
“What do you intend to do with us?” Klipta-ak inquired.
The unasked question hung in the air—Why did you not kill us all?
“Manta-ak has a plan in mind. I am the chief of the tribe, but I defer to him in these decisions. He is very wise. He has asked me to spare your lives. For now.”
Those final, ominous words drove Klipta-ak back to his men, not knowing any more than he had before, which was how Sekun-ak intended it to be.
Several more of the Lasta-ah warriors died before Niten-eh could save them, and they were added to the mass grave dug at the foot of Prata-ah. In the end, fourteen of the Lasta-ah died, six more were gravely wounded and might or might not survive. A dozen more had serious, but not life-threatening injuries. Five more were uninjured.
Sekun-ak sent one runner ahead to have a small, crude hospital set up at the foot of the cliffs. He had gone along with sparing the Lasta-ah’s lives, but he would not bring them into the cave system. If Manta-ak persuaded him to let these warriors return home, he did not want them to know any more about the caves than they had to.
Senta-eh led the caravan because everyone agreed that she had the sharpest eyes, especially at night. Alex and Sekun-ak brought up the rear in case the ronit-ta—the dire wolves—or rutan-ta—the massive mountain lion—chose that time to hunt humans.
They navigated the last miles to Winten-ah in the hours between the beginning of the new day and dawn. The moon and a million stars lit their way home.
When they finally turned off the forest path, they saw dozens of torches lit, welcoming them home, and a combination stockade and hospital set up at the base of the cliff.
The Winten-ah warriors had been up for more than a full day and were exhausted, but still helped those who had stayed behind to bed down and secure their unusual guests. Then Niten-eh shooed Alex and Sekun-ak away. They were in her dominion now.
Alex stood outside the makeshift hospital and looked up at the beginnings of his new cabin. He had managed to lay half a dozen hand-hewed logs in the days before the attack from the Lasta-ah. In his logical mind, he knew that if his workers hadn’t been the ones killed, it would have just been some other group who ventured beyond the protection of the cliffs.
Alex, as with everyone else ever born, did not always let the logical side of his mind dictate how he felt. At that moment, he felt only guilt that people who were doing something good for him were now dead. It was a hard feeling to shake, and he wondered if it would color how he felt about his new dwelling forever.
Even though it was already starting to show pink over the eastern horizon when Alex and Senta-eh stretched out together in one of the communal sleeping rooms, he did not sleep the day away.
Long before the midday meal was served, he awoke, slipped off the pallet on the cave floor and climbed down to where the prisoners were being held. He was not surprised to find Sekun-ak already there, giving orders as to how the walls of the jail were to be reinforced.
When Sekun-ak saw Alex, he glanced up at the sun in surprise, then back at Alex, as though he couldn’t believe Alex had slept so late. Niten-eh emerged from the area, back bent, carrying a wooden basin with bloody rags in it.
As she passed, she muttered, “If you’re going to nearly kill them, why don’t you go ahead and finish the job? But oh no, Manta-ak has to do things his own way...” the rest of the sentence was lost as she walked away.
Sekun-ak looked at Alex and said, “She is happiest when she is either complaining or healing, so this is her in a good mood.”
Alex laid a hand on Sekun-ak’s shoulder and said, “Let’s talk to Klipta-ak.”
Inside the enclosure, most of the men were laying on blankets on the ground. There was a wide range of injuries on display from bandaged heads to broken arms and legs, and a few warriors who looked like they might not ever get up.
Klipta-ak was walking from man to man, whispering a few words in Lasta-ah, certain that none of the Winten-ah would be able to understand him. Alex made a mental note to ask Harta-ak to linger on the other side of the wall and listen for gossip.
Alex signaled Klipta-ak to follow him and Sekun-ak outside. He had made the split-second decision that it would be better to speak to him as more of an equal than a prisoner, though both knew the truth of the matter.
Sekun-ak called for three chairs to be brought out and placed at the edge of the field. They were far enough away from both the Lasta-ah prisoners and the caves that they would be able to speak in private.
Alex got straight to his point. In the universal language of Kragdon-ah, he said, “Where are your traka-ta?”
Klipta-ak winced. It was obvious that he was hoping that Alex did not know all of Lasta-ah’s secrets. He was silent for a
