Plains of Passage (44 page)

Darvalo was waiting patiently for Ayla to take in her first sight of the dramatic entry to the home of his people. He had lived there all his life and took it for granted, but he had seen the reaction of strangers before. It gave him a sense of pride when people were so overwhelmed, and it made him look more closely, seeing it anew through their eyes. When the woman finally turned to him, he smiled, then led her around the edge of the mountain wall, along a path that had been laboriously enlarged from the narrow ledge it had once been. The path could accommodate two people abreast, if they walked close together, which made it wide enough for someone to carry wood, animals that had been hunted, and other supplies with relative ease, and for the horses.

When Jondalar approached the edge of the cliff, he felt the familiar ache in his groin from looking far down over empty space, the ache that he had never entirely gotten over in all the time he had lived there. It wasn’t so bad that he couldn’t control it, and he did appreciate the spectacular view, as well as the work it had taken to hack out even a short section of solid stone using only stone boulders and heavy stone axes, but it didn’t change the sensation he invariably felt. Even so, this was better than the other commonly used way of entry.

Keeping Wolf close to her, and Whinney just behind, Ayla followed the youth around the wall. On the other side was a level, roughly U-shaped area of appreciable size. Once, in long ages past when the huge inland basin to the west was a sea, and beginning to empty itself through the defile being worn down through the mountain ridge, the level of the water was much higher, and a sheltered bay had been formed. Now it was a protected embayment, high above the river.

Green grass covered the ground in front, growing nearly to the edge of the drop-off. About halfway back brush, huddling close to the sheer side walls, filled out, becoming small trees that continued up the steep grade at the back. Jondalar knew it was possible to climb the rear wall, though few people did. It was an inconvenient, roundabout exit that was seldom used. On the near side, in the rounded corner at the back, was a sandstone overhang, large enough to shelter several dwellings made of wood, making a comfortable, protected living area.

Across, on the mossy green far side, was the prize possession of the site. A spring of pure water starting high up trickled over rocks, splashed down ledges, and spilled over a smaller sandstone overhang in a long narrow waterfall to a pool beneath. It ran off along the opposite wall to the edge of the cliff and down rocky outcrops to the river.

Several people had stopped what they were doing when the procession, particularly the wolf and the horse, started coming around the wall. By the time Jondalar was in, he saw stunned apprehension on every face.

“Darvo! What are you bringing here?” a voice called out.

“Hola!” Jondalar said, greeting the people in their language. Then, seeing Dolando, he handed Racer’s lead rope to Ayla and, putting an arm around Darvalo’s shoulder, walked toward the leader of the Cave.

“Dolando! It’s me, Jondalar!” he said as he neared.

“Jondalar? Is it really you?” Dolando said, recognizing the man, but still hesitant. “Where are you coming from?”

“East of here. I wintered with the Mamutoi.”

“Who is that?” Dolando asked.

Jondalar knew the man must have been greatly disturbed to have ignored the common forms of courtesy. “Her name is Ayla, Ayla of the
Mamutoi. The animals travel with us, too. They answer to her, or to me, and none of them will harm anyone,” Jondalar said.

“Including the wolf?” Dolando asked.

“I touched the wolfs head and felt his fur,” Darvalo said. “He didn’t even try to hurt me.”

Dolando looked at the lad. “You touched him?”

“Yes. She says you just have to get to know them.”

“He’s right, Dolando. I would not come here with anyone, or anything, that would cause harm. Come and meet Ayla, and the animals. You will see.”

Jondalar led the man back to the center of the field. Several other people followed. The horses had begun to graze, but they stopped at the approach of the group. Winney moved in closer to the woman and stood alongside Racer, whose lead rope Ayla still held. Her other hand was on Wolf’s head. The huge northern wolf was standing beside Ayla, watching defensively, but was not overtly threatening.

“How does she make the horses unafraid of the wolf?” Dolando asked.

“They know they have nothing to fear from him. They have known him since he was a tiny cub,” Jondalar explained.

“Why aren’t they running away from us?” the leader asked next, as they drew near.

“They have always been around people. I was there when the stallion was born,” Jondalar replied. “I was badly hurt, and Ayla saved my life.”

Dolando stopped suddenly and looked hard at the man. “Is she a shamud?” he asked.

“She is a member of the Mammoth Hearth.”

A short, rather plump young woman spoke up then. “If she is Mamut, where is her tattoo?”

“We left before she was fully trained, Tholie,” Jondalar said, then smiled at her. The young Mamutoi woman hadn’t changed a bit. She was just as direct and outspoken as ever.

Dolando closed his eyes and shook his head. “That’s too bad,” he said, his eyes speaking his despair. “Roshario fell and hurt herself.”

“Darvo told me. He said Shamud died.”

“Yes, last winter. I wish the woman was a competent healer. We sent a messenger to another Cave, but their shamud had gone on a trip. A runner has gone to a different Cave, upstream, but they are farther away, and I’m afraid it is already too late to do any good.”

“The training she lacked was not as a healer. Ayla is a healer, Dolando. A very good one. She was trained by…” Suddenly Jondalar recalled one of Dolando’s few blind spots. “ … the woman who raised her. It’s a long story, but believe me. She is competent.”

They had reached Ayla and the animals, and she listened and watched Jondalar attentively as he spoke. There were some similarities between the language he was speaking and Mamutoi, but it was more by observation that she sensed the meaning of his words and understood that he had been trying to convince the other man of something. Jondalar turned to her.

“Ayla of the Mamutoi, this is Dolando, leader of the Shamudoi, the land-living half of the Sharamudoi,” Jondalar said in Mamutoi. He then changed to Dolando’s language: “Dolando of the Sharamudoi, this is Ayla, Daughter of the Mammoth Hearth of the Mamutoi.”

Dolando hesitated a moment, eying the horses and then the wolf. He was a handsome animal, standing watchfully and quietly beside the tall woman. The man was intrigued. He had never been so close to one before, only to a few skins. They didn’t often hunt wolf, and he had only seen them from a distance or running for cover. Wolf looked up at him in a way that made Dolando think he was being evaluated in return, then turned back to observe the others. The animal didn’t seem to be posing any threat, Dolando thought, and perhaps a woman who had such control over animals was a skilled shamud, regardless of her training. He offered both hands, palms open and up, to the woman.

“In the name of the Great Mother, Mudo, I welcome you, Ayla of the Mamutoi.”

“In the name of Mut, the Great Earth Mother, I thank you, Dolando of the Sharamudoi,” Ayla said, taking both his hands.

The woman has a strange accent, Dolando thought. She speaks Mamutoi, but it does have an odd quality. She doesn’t exactly sound like Tholie. Maybe she’s from a different region. Dolando knew enough Mamutoi to understand it. He had traveled to the end of the great river several times in his life to trade with them, and he had helped to bring back Tholie, the Mamutoi woman. It had been the least he could do for the Ramudoi leader, to help the son of his hearth mate the woman he was determined to have. Tholie had made sure that many people knew her language, and it had been useful on subsequent trading expeditions.

Dolando’s acceptance of Ayla had opened the way for everyone to welcome Jondalar back and to meet the woman he had brought with him. Tholie stepped forward, and Jondalar smiled at her. In a complex way, through his brother’s mating, they were kin, and he was fond of her.

“Tholie!” he said, smiling broadly as he took both of her hands in his. “I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to see you.”

“It is wonderful to see you, too. And you have certainly learned to speak Mamutoi well, Jondalar. I must admit there were times when I doubted if you would ever be fluent.”

She let go of his hands to reach up and give him a welcoming hug instead. He bent over and, on impulse, because he was so happy to be there, he picked the short woman up to give her a proper embrace. Slightly disconcerted, she blushed, and it occurred to her that the tall, handsome, sometimes moody man had changed. She didn’t recall that he was so spontaneously demonstrative with his affections in the past. When he put her down, she studied the man, and the woman he had brought, sure she had something to do with it.

“Ayla of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi, meet Tholie of the Sharamudoi, formerly of the Mamutoi.”

“In the name of Mut or Mudo, whatever you call Her, I welcome you, Ayla of the Mamutoi.”

“In the name of the Mother of All, I thank you, Tholie of the Sharamudoi, and I am very happy to meet you. I have heard so much about you. Don’t you have kin in the Lion Camp? I think Talut said you were related when Jondalar mentioned you,” Ayla said. She sensed that the perceptive woman was studying her. If Tholie didn’t know already, she would soon discover that Ayla had not been born to the Mamutoi.

“Yes, we are related. Not close, though. I came from a southern Camp. The Lion Camp is farther north,” Tholie said. “I know them, though. Everyone knows Talut. He’s hard not to know, and his sister, Tulie, is very much respected,” Tholie said.

That is not a Mamutoi accent, she thought, and Ayla is not a Mamutoi name. I’m not even sure if it’s an accent, just a strange way of saying some words. She speaks well, though. Talut always was one for taking people in. He even took in that complaining old woman, and her daughter who mated way beneath her status. I would like to know more about this Ayla, and those animals, she thought, then looked at Jondalar.

“Is Thonolan with the Mamutoi?” Tholie asked.

The pain in his eyes told her the answer before he said the words. “Thonolan is dead.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Markeno will be, too. I can’t say I didn’t expect it, though. His desire to live died with Jetamio. Some people can recover from tragedy, some cannot,” Tholie said.

Ayla liked the way the woman expressed herself. Not without feeling, but open and direct. She was still very much a Mamutoi.

The rest of the Cave who were present greeted Ayla. She sensed reserved acceptance, but curiosity. Their greeting to Jondalar was much less restrained. He was family; there was no doubt that they considered him one of them, and he was warmly welcomed home.

Darvalo was still holding the hat-basket of blackberries, waiting until all the greetings were finished. He held them up to Dolando. “Here are some berries for Roshario,” he said.

Dolando noticed the unfamiliar basket; it was not made the way they made baskets.

“Ayla gave them to me,” Darvalo continued. “They were picking blackberries when I met them. These were already picked.”

Watching the young man, Jondalar suddenly thought of Darvalo’s mother. He had not expected Serenio to be gone, and he was disappointed. He had truly loved her, in a way, and he realized that he had been looking forward to seeing her. Was she expecting a child when she left? A child of his spirit? Maybe he could ask Roshario. She would know.

“Let’s bring them to her,” Dolando said, nodding a silent thanks to Ayla. “I’m sure she’ll like them. If you want to come in, Jondalar, I think she’s awake, and I know she will want to see you. Bring Ayla, too. She will want to meet her. It’s hard on her. You know how she is. Always up and busy, always the first one to greet visitors.”

Jondalar translated for Ayla, and she nodded her willingness. They left the horses grazing in the field, but she signaled Wolf to stay with her. She could tell that the carnivore still bothered people. Tame horses were strange but not considered dangerous. A wolf was a hunter, capable of inflicting harm.

“Jondalar, I think it’s best if Wolf stays with me for now. Will you ask Dolando if it is all right to bring him in? Tell him he’s accustomed to being indoors,” Ayla said, speaking Mamutoi.

Jondalar repeated her request, although Dolando had understood her, and, seeing his subtle reactions, Ayla suspected that he did. She would keep that in mind.

They walked to the back and under the sandstone shelf, past a central hearth that was obviously a gathering place, to a wooden structure that resembled a sloping tent. Ayla noticed its construction as they approached. A ridgepole was anchored in the ground at the back and supported by a pole in front. Tapered oak planks that had been split radially out of a large tree trunk were leaned against it, graduated in size from short at the back to long in front. When she got closer, she saw that the planks were fastened together with slender willow withes sewn through predrilled holes.

Dolando pushed back a yellow drape of soft leather and held it up while everyone entered. He tied it back to allow more light in. Inside, thin cracks of daylight could be seen between some of the planks, but leather skins lined the walls in places to ward off drafts, although there was not much wind within the baylike niche carved out of the mountain. There was a small fireplace near the front, with a shorter plank making a hole in the roof above it, but no rain cover. The overhang protected the dwelling from rain and snow. Along one wall toward the
back was a bed, a wide wooden shelf, fastened to the wall on one side and supported by legs on the other, covered by stuffed leather padding and furs. In the dim light, Ayla could just make out a woman reclining on it.

Darvalo knelt beside the bed, holding out the berries. “Here are the blackberries I promised you, Roshario. But I didn’t pick them. Ayla did.”

The woman opened her eyes. She had not been sleeping, only trying to rest, but she did not know visitors had arrived. She didn’t quite catch the name Darvalo had said.