Plains of Passage (28 page)

Moving quietly away from Jondalar’s warmth, she slipped outside. The night chill enveloped her bare skin and, with its cooling hint of the massive layers of ice to the north, clothed her with gooseflesh. Looking out across the misty river valley, she saw the vague formations of the still unlighted land on the opposite side, silhouetted against the glowing sky. She wished they were already over there.

Rough warm fur brushed against her leg. Absently she patted the head and scratched the ruff of the wolf who had appeared beside her. He sniffed the air and, finding something interesting, raced off down the slope. She looked for the horses and made out the yellowish coat of the mare grazing in one of the grassy leas near the water. The dark brown horse was not visible, but she was sure he was nearby.

Shivering, she walked through the damp grass toward the small creek and sensed the rising of the sun in the east. She watched the western sky shade from glowing gray to pastel blue, with a scattering of pink clouds, reflecting the glory of the morning sun hidden behind the crest of the slope.

Ayla was tempted to walk up and see the rising sun, but she was stopped by a glint of dazzling brilliance from the other direction. Though the gully-scarred slopes across the river were still wrapped in a somber gray gloom, the mountains to the west, bathed in the clear light of the new day’s sun, stood out in vivid relief, etched with such perfect detail that it seemed she could reach out and touch them. Crowning the low southern range, a glittering tiara sparkled from the icy tips. She watched the slowly changing patterns with wonder, held by the magnificence of the back side of the sunrise.

By the time she reached the little stream of clear water that was racing and skipping down the slope, the morning chill had burned off. She
put down the waterbag she had taken from the lodge and, checking her wool, was glad to see that her moon time seemed to be over. She unfastened her straps, took off her amulet, and stepped into a shallow pool to wash. When she was through, she filled the waterbag at the splashing cascade that ran into the slight depression of the pool, then got out and pushed the water off with one hand and then the other. Putting her amulet back on and picking up the washed wool and her straps, she hurried back.

Jondalar was knotting a tie around their rolled-up sleeping furs when she stepped down into the semisubterranean earthlodge. He looked up and smiled. Noticing that she wasn’t wearing her leather straps, his smile took on a decidedly suggestive look.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to roll up the furs this morning,” he said.

She flushed when she realized he was aware that she was past her moon time. Then she looked directly into his eyes, which were full of teasing laughter, love, and burgeoning desire, and smiled back. “You can always unroll them again.”

“There go my plans for an early start,” he said, pulling an end of the thong that released the knot on the sleeping roll. He unrolled it and stood up as she walked to him.

   After their morning meal, it took little time for them to finish packing. Gathering all their possessions and the boat, along with their animal traveling companions, they moved down to the river. But deciding the best way to get across was another matter. They stared at the expanse of water rushing past, so wide that details of the bank on the other side were difficult to see. With its fast current sliding over and around itself in subdued ripples and eddies, making small choppy waves, the sound of the deep river was almost more revealing than its look. It spoke its power in a muted, gurgling roar.

While he was making the circular craft, Jondalar had thought often about the river and how to use the boat to get across. He had never made a bowl boat before, and he had only ridden in one a few times. He had become fairly adept at handling the sleek dugout canoes when he lived with the Sharamudoi, but when he tried his hand at propelling the round bowl boats of the Mamutoi, he found them very clumsy. They were buoyant, hard to tip over, but difficult to control.

The two peoples not only had different types of materials at hand to construct their floating craft, they used boats for different purposes. The Mamutoi were primarily hunters of the open steppes; fishing was only an occasional activity. Their boats were used primarily to get themselves and their possessions across waterways, whether small tributaries or the
rivers that swept down, continent-wide, from the glaciers of the north to the inland seas of the south.

The Ramudoi, the River People moiety of the Sharamudoi, fished the Great Mother River—though they referred to it as hunting when they went after the thirty-foot sturgeons—while the Shamudoi half hunted chamois and other animals that lived on the high cliffs and mountains that overlooked the river and, near their home, confined it in a great gorge. The Ramudoi lived on the river during the warm seasons, taking full advantage of its resources, including the large durmast oaks that lined its banks, which were used to make their beautifully crafted and maneuverable boats.

“Well, I think we should just put everything in it,” Jondalar said, picking up one of his pack baskets. Then he put it down and picked up the other one instead. “It’s probably a good idea to put the heaviest things on the bottom, and this one has my flint and tools in it.”

Ayla nodded. She, too, had been thinking about getting them all across the river with their belongings intact, and she had tried to anticipate some of the potential problems, remembering her few excursions in the Lion Camp’s bowl boats. “We should leave a place for each of us on opposite sides, so it stays balanced. I’ll leave room for Wolf to be with me.”

Jondalar wondered how the wolf would behave in the fragile floating bowl, though he refrained from saying anything. Ayla saw his frown, but kept her peace. “We should each have a paddle, too,” he said, handing one to her.

“With all of this, I hope we’ll be able to fit,” she said, putting the tent in the boat, thinking she might use it for a seat.

Though it was cramped, they managed to get everything into the hide-covered boat, except the poles. “We may have to leave those behind. There’s no room for them,” Jondalar said. They had just replaced the ones they had lost.

Ayla smiled and held up some cord she had kept out. “No we won’t. They’ll float. I’ll just tie them to the boat with this so they won’t drift away,” she said.

Jondalar wasn’t sure that was a good idea, and he was framing an objection as he thought about it, but Ayla’s next question distracted him.

“What are we going to do about the horses?” she said.

“What about the horses? They can swim across, can’t they?”

“Yes, but you know how nervous they can get, especially about something that they haven’t done before. What if they get frightened by something in the water and decide to go back? They won’t try again to cross the river by themselves. They won’t even know we’re on the other
side. We would have to come back and lead them across, so why not just lead them to begin with?” Ayla explained.

She was right. The horses probably would get apprehensive, and could just as easily go back as across, Jondalar thought. “But how are we going to lead them when we’re in the boat?” he said. This was becoming complicated. Trying to manage a boat could be difficult enough without trying to manage panicked horses, besides. He was feeling more and more worried about crossing this river.

“We put on their halters with lead ropes, and tie the ropes to the boat,” Ayla said.

“I don’t know … That may not be the best way. Maybe we should think about it some more,” he said.

“What is there to think about?” she said, as she was wrapping cord around the three poles. Then she measured out a length and fastened it to the boat. “You were the one who wanted to get started,” she added, while she put Whinney’s halter on, attached a lead rope to it, then fastened it to the boat on the opposite side of the poles. Holding the slack, she stood beside the boat, then turned to Jondalar. “I’m ready to go.”

He hesitated, then nodded decisively. “All right,” he said, getting Racer’s halter from his pack basket and calling the horse to him. The young stallion lifted his head and neighed when the man first tried to slip the halter over his head, but after Jondalar talked to him and stroked his face and neck, Racer calmed down and allowed it. He tied the rope to the boat, then faced Ayla. “Let’s go,” he said.

Ayla signaled to Wolf to get into the boat. Then, with both of them still holding the lead ropes, to maintain control of the animals, they pushed the boat into the water and scrambled to get in.

From the beginning, there was trouble. The swift current took hold of the small craft and swept it along, but the horses were not quite ready to enter the wide stream. They reared back as the boat was trying to pull away, jerking the boat so violently that it nearly tipped over, making Wolf stumble to regain his footing and eye the situation nervously. But the load was so heavy that the boat righted itself quickly, though it rode very low in the water. The poles had stretched out in front, trying to follow the strong current.

The pull on the horses by the river trying to propel the boat downstream, and the anxious words of encouragement from Ayla and Jondalar, finally convinced the balky animals to enter the water. First Whinney put in a tentative hoof and found bottom, then Racer, and, with the constant tug, they both finally jumped in. The bank fell off sharply, and they were soon swimming. Ayla and Jondalar had no choice but to let the current carry them along downstream until the
entire, unlikely combination of three long poles, followed by a round, heavily laden boat carrying a woman, a man, and a very tense wolf, with two horses behind, stabilized. Then they let go of the lead ropes and each took up a paddle and attempted to change their direction so that they were moving across the current.

Ayla, on the side facing the opposite shore, was not at all familiar with using a paddle. It took several tries, with Jondalar giving advice while he was trying to row away from the shore, before she got the hang of it, and managed to use it in cooperation with him to direct the boat. Even then, it was slow going, with the long poles in front and the horses behind, eyes rolling with fear as they were involuntarily pulled along by the current.

They did begin to make progress in crossing the river, though they were traveling much faster downstream. But ahead, the large swift waterway, surging down the gradual decline of the land on its way to the sea, was making a sharp curve toward the east. A back current, eddying off a projecting sand spit of the near shore, caught the poles that were racing along in front of the boat.

The long shafts of birch, free-floating except for the cords that held them, turned back around and hit the hide-covered boat with a hard bump near Jondalar, making him fear that it had caused a hole. It jarred everyone aboard, and gave a spin to the small round bowl boat, which jerked on the lead ropes of the horses. The horses whinnied in panic, swallowing mouthfuls of water, and tried desperately to swim away, but the relentless current pulling the boat to which they were tied inexorably pulled them along.

But their efforts were not without effect. They caused the little boat to be jerked back and twist around, which yanked on the poles, making them bang into the boat again. The turbulent current, and the jerking and bumping of the overloaded craft, made it bob and bounce and ship water, adding more weight. It was threatening to sink.

The frightened wolf had been cowering with his tail between his legs beside Ayla on the folded tent, while she was frantically trying to steady the boat with a paddle she didn’t know how to use, with Jondalar shouting instructions she didn’t know how to apply. The whinnying of the panicked horses turned her attention to them and, seeing their fear, she suddenly realized she had to cut them free. Dropping her paddle to the bottom of the boat, she took her knife from the sheath at her waist. Knowing that Racer was more excitable, she worked at his rope first, and with only a little effort the sharp flint blade cut through.

His release caused more bumping and spinning, which was just too much for Wolf. He leaped from the boat into the water. Ayla watched
him swimming frantically, quickly cut through Whinney’s rope, and jumped in after him.

“Ayla!” Jondalar screamed, but he was jerked around again as the suddenly released and lighter-weight boat started rotating and crashing into the poles. When he looked up, Ayla was trying to tread water, encouraging the wolf who was swimming toward her. Whinney, and beyond her, Racer, were heading for the far shore, and the current was taking him even faster downstream, away from Ayla.

She glanced back and caught one last glimpse of Jondalar and the boat as it rounded the bend of the river and felt a heart-stopping moment of fear that she would never see him again. The thought flashed through her mind that she should not have left the boat, but she had little time to worry about it just then. The wolf was coming to her, struggling against the current. She took a few strokes toward him, but when she reached him, he tried to put his paws on her shoulders and lick her face and in his eagerness he dunked her under the water. She came up sputtering, hugged him with one arm, and looked for the horses.

The mare was swimming for the shore, pulling away from her. She took a deep breath and whistled, loud and long. The horse pricked up her ears and turned toward the sound. Ayla whistled again, and the horse altered direction and tried to swim to her as she reached out toward Whinney with strong strokes. Ayla was a good swimmer. Going generally with the current, though at a diagonal across it, it nevertheless took some effort to reach the wet shaggy animal. When she did, she almost cried with relief. The wolf reached them soon after, but he kept on going.

Ayla rested for a moment, holding on to Whinney’s neck, and only then noticed how cold the water was. She saw the rope trailing in the water, attached to the halter Whinney still wore, and it occurred to her how dangerous it could be for the horse if the rope got tangled in some floating debris. The woman spent a few moments trying to unfasten the knot, but it was swollen tight, and her fingers were stiff with cold. She took a deep breath and started swimming again, not wanting to put an added burden on the horse and hoping the exercise would help warm her.