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“To be the oracle’s attendant is to learn,” Noj’me says as if this explains everything. “There is more to learn, so I wish to go, yes. I want to see the great oracle that the smaller one came from. I want to practice the language. I want to learn what the strange pink one is.” She gestures at me. “I want to learn everything I can, because I believe our people are strongest when we have knowledge. The oracle had no answers for when the sickness struck our people down before. What if they have knowledge that we do not?”
Set’nef looks to his brother.
“I follow you,” Tal’nef says. “Lead on.”
He nods, turning to R’jaal. “Come. I will show you the way to the forbidden gardens, where you were taken from. We will return there.”
“And then what?” Tal’nef asks.
“Then we see the outside world,” Set’nef says, his expression grim.
Noj’me gives us a look of pure delight. “Give me a moment to gather my things!”
Twenty
R’JAAL
We have acquired another one of the ancestors in our journey, it seems. Noj’me is determined to come with us, and she has all her things in a pack upon her shoulders. No one has food supplies or warm clothing, but I will worry about such things when we get above.
For now, getting R’slind out of these endless tunnels is my priority.
We take off again, climbing back down from the oracle’s high perch and back to a lower tunnel. From there, Set’nef sets off in the opposite direction, and we follow after him, moving quickly. R’slind is able to keep up, and I am proud of her strength now that she bears a khui. Her song hums to mine, a distraction, but we cannot pause for me to pleasure her again. Not when T’ia might need our help.
I’m relieved when the endless tunnels seem to go upward and then I pick up the scent of familiar plants on the air—plants and fresh water. When I hear the muted roar of water above, I know we are below the fruit cave and its waterfall. There has been no sign of T’ia but perhaps she is already above.
We pause in the tunnels below while Tal’nef and Set’nef produce a rope and anchor it with something that looks like a giant shiny fishhook. It locks onto the cave wall when they throw it, and then Tal’nef climbs up first, moving speedily thanks to his four arms. Noj’me follows after him, and then Set’nef turns to R’slind and myself.
“Before you ask, I will carry her,” I say. Resonance hunger will not allow me to even entertain the thought of him touching her, holding her. “Unless she wishes to climb it herself.”
“Um.” R’slind gives me an awkward look and touches the thick, stringy-feeling rope. “I don’t remember ever doing rope climbing in gym class, but if we had it, I’m pretty sure I would have failed it. I don’t have the upper body strength for this.”
“Then I will carry you,” I say triumphantly, casting a smug look at Set’nef, who just rolls his eyes at me. “Put your arms and legs around me, R’slind. I will not let you go.”
She immediately twines herself around me, and I love that there is no hesitation in her. She trusts me with her life, and I want to growl with pleasure…even as I want to push her to the floor and rut her like a wild beast. Soon, I remind myself. Soon you will return to the village and your hut, and you can take her in a soft nest full of furs. She deserves better than rock against her back.
So I hold her tightly, approach the rope, and begin to haul myself up slowly. R’slind is silent, her arms tight around me, her legs clenched around my hips. Our breath mingles and my cock aches, an annoying distraction. She has my kilt tucked around her shoulders, the fur acting as a shawl, and I wish for a moment that I had thought to wear it so R’slind and her soft flanks are not so enticingly close.
When we get close to the top, Tal’nef offers a hand down and he and Noj’me haul both of us up. Their expressions are grim, and I do not understand why until I set R’slind down before me—
—and see yet another one of the ancestors. This one has a reddish-golden pelt with beads holding his mane back from his hard features. Around his neck is a long, beaded necklace with a large curved claw at the end, and he wears the same slippery yellow-orange fabric around his waist as the others do. He brandishes four shiny blades, his teeth bared as he hunches over, looking ready to attack.
And behind him crouches a disheveled, worried T’ia.
T’ia does not look relieved to see me. She clutches a club in one hand. Her expression remains wary, but she puts a hand on the arm of the ancestor who protects her. “It’s okay, Rem’eb. He’s my friend.”
