Except for the absence of the voluminous flow, the terrain was unchanged when they first turned aside and began following the small stream – dry, open grassland with stunted brush close by the water – but Ayla experienced a sense of loss. The broad expanse of the Great Mother River had been their constant companion for so long, that it was disconcerting not to see her comforting presence there beside them, showing them the way. As they proceeded toward the foothills and gained altitude, the brush filled out, became taller and leafier, and extended farther out into the plains.
The absence of the great river affected Jondalar, too. One day had blended into another with reassuring monotony as they traveled beside her productive waters in the natural warmth of summer. The predictability of her lavish abundance had lulled him into complacency and blunted his anxious worries about getting Ayla home safely. After turning away from the bountiful Mother of rivers, his concerns returned, and the changing countryside made him think about the landscape ahead. He began to consider their provisions and wonder if they had enough food with them. He wasn't as sure about the easy availability of fish in the smaller waterway, and even less certain of foraging in the wooded mountains.
Jondalar wasn't as familiar with the ways of woodland wildlife. Animals of the open plains tended to congregate in herds and could be seen from a distance, but the fauna that lived in the forest were more solitary, and there were trees and brush to conceal them. When he had lived with the Sharamudoi, he had always hunted with someone who understood the region.
The Shamudoi half of the people liked to hunt the high tors for chamois, and they knew the ways of bear, boar, forest bison, and other elusive woodland prey. Jondalar recalled that Thonolan had developed a preference for hunting in the mountains with them. The Ramudoi moiety, on the other hand, knew the river and hunted its creatures, especially the giant sturgeon. Jondalar had been more interested in the boats and learning the ways of the river. Though he had climbed the mountains with the chamois hunters on occasion, he didn't care much for heights.
Sighting a small herd of red deer, Jondalar decided that it would be a good opportunity to procure a supply of meat to see them through the next few days until they reached the Sharamudoi, and perhaps bring some with them to share. Ayla was eager when he suggested it. She enjoyed hunting and they hadn't done much of it recently, except for bringing down a few partridges and other small game, which she usually did with her sling. The Great Mother River had been so giving, it hadn't been necessary to hunt much.
They found a place to set up their camp near the small river, left their pack baskets and the travois, and started off in the direction of the herd with their spear-throwers and spears. Wolf was excited; they were changing their routine, and the spears and throwers signaled their intentions to him. Whinney and Racer seemed friskier, too, if only because they were no longer carrying pack baskets or dragging poles.
This group of red deer was a bachelor herd, and the antlers of the ancient elk were thick with velvet. By fall, in time for the rutting season, when the branching horns had reached their full growth for the year, the soft covering of skin and nourishing blood vessels would dry up and peel off – with help from the deer rubbing them against trees or rocks.
The woman and man stopped to appraise the situation. Wolf was full of anticipation, whining and making false starts. Ayla had to command him to stay still, so he wouldn't chase after and scatter the herd. Jondalar, glad to see him settle down, gave a passing thought of admiration at the way Ayla had trained him, then turned back to study the deer. Sitting astride the horse gave the man an overall view, and another advantage he would not have had on foot. Several of the antlered animals had stopped feeding, aware of the presence of the newcomers, but horses were not threatening. They were fellow grazers that were usually tolerated or ignored, if they were not signaling fear. Even with the presence of human and wolf, the deer were not yet concerned enough to run.
Looking over the herd to decide which one to try for, Jondalar was tempted by a magnificent stag with a commanding rack who seemed to be looking directly at him, as though assessing the man in return. Perhaps if he'd been with a band of hunters needing food for a whole Cave, and wanting to show off their prowess, he might have considered going after the majestic animal. But the man was sure that when autumn brought their season of Pleasures, many females would be eager to join the herd that chose him. Jondalar couldn't bring himself to kill such a proud and beautiful animal just for a little meat. He selected another deer.
"Ayla, see the one near the tall bush? On the edge of the herd?" The woman nodded. "He seems to be in a good position to break away from the others. Let's try for him."
They talked over their strategy, then separated. Wolf watched the woman on the horse closely and, at her signal, sprang forward toward the deer she indicated. Ayla, on the mare, was close on his heels. Jondalar was coming around from the other side, spear and thrower ready.
The deer sensed danger, and so did the rest of the herd. They were bounding away in all directions. The one they had chosen leaped away from the attacking wolf and the charging woman, straight at the man on the stallion. He came so close that Racer shied back.
Jondalar had been ready with his spear, but the stallion's quick move spoiled his aim and distracted him. The stag changed direction, trying to get away from the horse and human blocking his way, only to find a huge wolf in his path. In fear, the deer leaped to the side, away from the snarling predator, and dashed between Ayla and Jondalar.
As the deer made another bound, Ayla shifted weight as she took aim. Whinney, understanding the signal, pounded after him. Jondalar recovered his balance and hurled his spear at the fleeing stag, just as Ayla loosed hers.
The proud antlers jerked once, and then again. Both spears landed with great force, almost simultaneously. The large stag tried to leap away again, but it was too late. The spears had found their mark. The red deer faltered, then fell in midstride.
The plains were empty. The herd had disappeared, but the hunters didn't notice, as they jumped off their horses beside the stag. Jondalar took his bone-handled knife out of its sheath, grabbed the velveted antlers, pulled the head back, and slit the throat of the large ancient elk. They stood silently and watched the blood pool around the head of the stag. The dry earth absorbed it.
"When you return to the Great Earth Mother, give Her our thanks," Jondalar said to the red deer lying dead upon the ground.
Ayla nodded agreement. She was accustomed to this ritual of his. Jondalar said similar words every time they killed an animal, even a small one, but she sensed it was never done by rote, just to be saying it. There was feeling and reverence in his words. His thanks were genuine.
The low, rolling plains gave way to steep hills, and birch trees appeared among the brush, then woods of hornbeam and beech with oak intermixed. At the lower elevations, the region resembled the wooded hills they had traveled beside near the delta of the Great Mother River. Climbing higher, they began to see fir and spruce and a few larch and pine among the huge deciduous trees.
They came to a clearing, an open, rounded knoll somewhat higher than the surrounding woodland. Jondalar halted to get his bearings, but Ayla was stopped by the view. They were higher in altitude than she realized. Toward the west, looking down over the tops of trees, she could see the Great Mother River in the distance, all her channels gathered together again, winding through a deep gorge of sheer rocky walls. She understood now why Jondalar had turned aside to find a way around.
"I've been on a boat in that passage," he said. "It's called the Gate."
"The Gate? You mean like a gate you'd make for a surround? To close the opening and trap animals inside?" Ayla asked.
"I don't know. I never asked, but maybe that is where the name came from. Although it's more like the fence you'd build on both sides leading up to the gate. It goes on for quite a distance. I wish I could take you on it." He smiled. "Maybe I will."
They headed north toward the mountain, downhill off the knoll for a space, then leveled out. In front of them, like an immense wall, was a long line of huge trees, the beginning of a deep, dense, mixed forest of hardwood and evergreens. The moment they stepped within the shade of the high canopy of leaves, they found themselves in a different world. It took a few moments for their eyes to adjust from the bright sun to the dim silent umbra of the primeval forest, but they felt the cool damp air immediately and smelled the rich dank luxuriance of growth and decay.
Thick moss covered the ground in a seamless blanket of green and climbed over boulders, spread over the rounded shapes of ancient trees long fallen, and circled disintegrating standing stumps and living trees impartially. The large wolf running ahead jumped up on a mossy log. He broke through the ancient rotted core that was slowly dissolving back into the soil, exposing writhing white grubs surprised by the light of day. The man and woman soon dismounted to make it easier to find their way across a forest floor littered with the remnants of life and its regenerating offspring.
Seedlings sprouted from mossy rotting logs, and saplings vied for a place in the sun where a lightning-struck tree had taken several more down with it. Flies buzzed around the nodding, pink-flowered spikes of wintergreen in the bright rays that reached the forest floor through a break in the canopy. The silence was uncanny; the smallest sounds were amplified. They spoke in whispers for no reason.
Fungus was rampant; mushrooms of every variety could be found almost anyplace they looked. Leafless herbs like beechdrops, lavender toothwort, and various bright-flowered small orchids, often without green leaves, were everywhere, growing from the roots of other living plants or their decaying remains. When Ayla saw several small, pale, waxy, leafless stems with nodding heads she stopped to collect some.
"This will help soothe Wolf's and the horses' eyes," she explained, and Jondalar noticed a warm, sad smile playing across her face. "It's the plant Iza used for my eyes when I cried."
While she was at it, she picked some mushrooms that she was certain were edible. Ayla never took chances: she was very careful about mushrooms. Many varieties were delicious, many were not very tasty but not harmful, some were good as medicine, some would make a person mildly sick, a few could help one see spirit worlds, and a few were deadly. And some of them could be easily confused with others.
They had trouble moving the travois with its widely spaced poles through the forest. It kept getting caught between trees growing close together. When Ayla first developed the simple but efficient method of utilizing the strength of Whinney to help her transport objects too heavy for her to carry by herself, she devised a way for the horse to climb the steep narrow path to her cave by bringing the poles closer together. But with the bowl boat mounted on it, they couldn't move the long poles, and it was difficult getting around objects while dragging them. The travois was very effective over rough terrain, it did not get stuck in holes or ditches or mud, but it needed an open landscape.
They struggled for the rest of the afternoon. Jondalar finally untied the bowl boat entirely and dragged it himself. They were beginning to think seriously of leaving it behind. It had been more than helpful in crossing the many rivers and smaller tributaries that had flowed into the Great Mother, but they weren't sure if it was worth the trouble it was taking to get it through the thick growth of trees. Even if there were many more rivers ahead, they could certainly get across them without the boat, and it was slowing them down.
Darkness caught them still in the forest. They set up camp for the night, but they both felt uneasy and more exposed than in the middle of the wide steppes. Out in the open, even in the dark, they could see something: clouds, or stars, silhouettes of moving shapes. In the dense forest, with the massive trunks of tall trees that were able to hide even large creatures, the dark was absolute. The amplifying silence that had seemed uncanny when they entered the wooded world was terrifying in the deep woods at night, though they tried not to show it.
The horses were tense, too, and crowded close to the known comfort of fire. Wolf stayed at camp as well. Ayla was glad, and as she gave him a serving of their meal, thought she would have kept him close in any case. Even Jondalar was glad; having a large friendly wolf nearby was reassuring. He could smell things, sense things, that a human could not.
The night was colder in the damp woods, with a clammy, sticky sort of humidity, so heavy it felt almost like rain. They crawled into their sleeping furs early, and though they were tired they talked long into the night, not quite ready to trust sleeping.
"I'm not sure we should bother with that bowl boat any more," Jondalar commented. "The horses can wade across the small streams without getting much of anything wet. With deeper rivers, we can lift the pack baskets to their backs, instead of letting them hang down."
"I tied my things to a log once. After I left the Clan and was looking for people like me, I came to a wide river. I swam across it pushing the log," Ayla said.
"That must have been hard to do, and maybe more dangerous, not having your arms free."
"It was hard, but I had to get across, and I couldn't think of any other way," Ayla said.
She was quiet for a while, thinking. The man, lying beside her, wondered if she had fallen asleep; then she revealed the direction her thoughts had taken.
"Jondalar, I'm sure we have already traveled much farther than I did before I found my valley. We have come a long way, haven't we?"
"Yes, we have come a long way," he replied, a little guarded in his answer. He shifted to his side and raised up on one arm so he could see her. "But we are still a long way from my home. Are you tired of traveling already, Ayla?"
"A little. I would like to rest for a while. Then I'll be ready to travel again. As long as I'm with you, I don't care how far we have to go. I just didn't know this world was so big. Does it ever end?"
"To the west of my home, the land ends at the Great Waters. No one knows what lies beyond that. I know another man who says he has traveled even farther, and has seen great waters in the east, though many people doubt him. Most people travel a little, but few travel very far, so they find it hard to believe the stories of long Journeys, unless they see something that convinces them. But there are always a few who travel far." He made a disparaging chuckle. "Though I never expected to be one. Wymez traveled around the Southern Sea and found there was more land even farther to the south."
"He also found Ranee's mother and brought her back. It's hard to doubt Wymez. Have you ever seen anyone else with brown skin like Ranee's? Wymez had to travel far to find a woman like that," Ayla said.
Jondalar looked at the face glowing in the firelight, feeling a great love for the woman beside him, and a great worry. This talk of long Journeys made him think about the long way they still had to go.
"In the north, the land ends in ice," she continued. "No one can go beyond the glacier."
"Unless they go by boat," Jondalar said. "But I'm told that all you will find is a land of ice and snow, where white spirit bears live, and they say there are fish bigger than mammoths. Some of the western people claim there are shamans powerful enough to Call them to the land. And once they are beached, they can't go back, but…"
There was a sudden crashing among the trees. The man and woman both jumped with fright, then lay perfectly still, not uttering a sound. Hardly even breathing. A low, rumbling growl came from Wolf's throat, but Ayla had her arm around him and wasn't about to let him go. There was more thrashing about, and then silence. After a while Wolf stopped his rumbling, too. Jondalar wasn't sure if he'd be able to sleep at all that night. He finally got up to put a log on the fire, grateful that he had earlier found some good-size broken limbs that he could chop with his small ivory-hafted stone axe into pieces.
"The glacier we have to cross isn't in the north, is it?" Ayla asked after he came back to bed, her mind still on their Journey.
"Well, it's north of here, but not as far as that wall of ice to the north. There is another range of mountains west of these, and the ice we must cross is on a highland north of them."
"Is it hard to cross ice?"
"It's very cold, and there can be terrible blizzards. In spring and summer it melts a little and the ice gets rotten. Big cracks split open. If you fall in a deep crack, no one can get you out. In winter, most of the cracks fill with snow and ice, though it can still be dangerous."
Ayla shivered suddenly. "You said there's a way around. Why do we have to cross the ice?"
"It's the only way we can avoid fla… Clan country."
"You were going to say flathead country."
"It's just the name I've always heard, Ayla," Jondalar tried to explain. "It's what everyone calls it. You're going to have to get used to that word, you know. That is what most people call them."
She ignored the comment, and went on, "Why do we have to avoid them?"
"There's been some trouble." He frowned. "I don't even know if those northern flatheads are the same as your Clan." He stopped, then went on. "But they didn't start the trouble. On our way here, we heard of a band of young men who were… harassing them. They are Losadunai, the people who live near that plateau glacier."
"Why do the Losadunai want to cause trouble with the Clan?" Ayla was puzzled.
"It's not the Losadunai. Not all of them. They don't want trouble. It's just this band of young men. I guess they think it's fun, or at least that's how it started."
Ayla thought that some people's idea of fun didn't sound like much fun to her, but it was their Journey that she couldn't get off her mind, and how much farther they had to go. From the way Jondalar talked, they weren't even close yet. She decided that it might be best not to think too far ahead. She tried to put it out of her mind.
She stared up into the night and wished she could see the sky through the high canopy. "Jondalar, I think I see stars up there. Can you see them?"
"Where?" he said, looking up.
"Over there. You have to look straight up and back a little. See?"
"Yes… Yes, I think I do. It's nothing like the Mother's path of milk, but I do see a few stars," Jondalar said.
"What's the Mother's path of milk?"
"That's another part of the story about the Mother and Her child," he explained.
"Tell me it."
"I'm not sure if I can remember. Let's see, it goes something like…" He began to chant the rhythm without words, then came in at the middle of a verse.
Her blood clotted and dried into red-ochred soil,
But the luminous child made it all worth the toil.
The Mother's great joy.
A bright shining boy.
Mountains rose up spouting flames from their crests,
She suckled Her son from Her mountainous breasts.
He suckled so hard, and the sparks flew so high,
The Mother's hot milk laid a path through the sky.
"That's it," he concluded. "Zelandoni would be pleased that I remembered."
"That's wonderful, Jondalar. I love the sound of it, the way the sound of it feels." She closed her eyes, repeating the verses to herself aloud a few times.
Jondalar listened, and was reminded of how quickly she could memorize. She repeated it exactly right after only one hearing. He wished his memory was as good and his knack for picking up language as quick as hers.
"It's not really true, is it?" Ayla asked.
"What isn't true?"
"That the stars are the Mother's milk."
"I don't think they are really milk," Jondalar said. "But I think there is truth in what the story means. The whole story."
"What does the story mean?"
"It tells about the beginnings of things, how we came to be. That we were made by the Great Earth Mother, out of Her own body; that She lives in the same place as the sun and the moon, and is the Great Earth Mother to them as She is to us; and that the stars are a part of their world."
Ayla nodded. "There could be some truth in that," she said. She liked what he said, and thought that maybe, someday, she would like to meet this Zelandoni and ask her to tell the whole story. "Creb told me the stars were the hearths of the people who live in the spirit world. All the people who have returned, and all the people not yet born. And the home of the spirits of the totems."
"There could be truth in that, too," Jondalar said. Flatheads really must be almost human, he thought. No animal would think like that.
"He once showed me where my totem's home was, the Great Cave Lion," Ayla said and, stifling a yawn, she rolled over on her side.
Ayla tried to see the way ahead, but huge, moss-covered trunks of trees blocked her view. She kept climbing, not sure where she was going or why, just wishing she could stop and rest. She was so tired. If she could just sit down. The log ahead looked inviting, if she could reach it, but it always seemed another step farther. Then she was on top of it, but it gave way beneath her, collapsing into rotten wood and wriggling grubs. She was falling through it, clawing at the earth, trying to climb back up.
Then the dense forest was gone, and she was clambering up the steep side of a mountain through an open woods along a familiar path. At the top was a high mountain meadow where a small family of deer fed. Hazelnut bushes grew against the rock of a mountain wall. She was afraid, and there was safety behind the bushes, but she couldn't find the way in. The opening was blocked by the hazelnut bushes, and they were growing, growing to the size of huge trees, with mossy trunks. She tried to see the way ahead, but all she could see were the trees, and it was getting dark. She was afraid, but then, in the distance, she saw someone moving through the deep shade.
It was Creb. He was standing in front of the opening of a small cave, blocking her way, his hand signs saying she couldn't stay. This was not her place. She had to leave, to find another place, the place where she belonged. He tried to tell her the way, but it was dark and she couldn't quite see what he was saying, only that she had to keep going. Then he stretched out his good arm and pointed.
When she looked ahead, the trees were gone. She started climbing again, toward the opening of another cave. Though she knew she had never seen it before, it was a strangely familiar cave, with an oddly misplaced boulder silhouetted against the sky above it. When she looked back, Creb was leaving. She called out to him, pleading with him.
"Creb! Creb! Help me! Don't go!"
"Ayla! Wake up! You're dreaming," Jondalar said, shaking her gently.
She opened her eyes, but the fire had gone out and it was dark. She clung to the man.
"Oh, Jondalar, it was Creb. He was blocking the way. He wouldn't let me in – he wouldn't let me stay. He was trying to tell me something, but it was so dark I couldn't see. He was pointing toward a cave, and something about it looked familiar, but he wouldn't stay."
Jondalar could feel her shaking in his arms as he held her close, comforting her with his presence. Suddenly she sat up. "That cave! The one he was blocking, that was my cave. That was where I went after Durc was born, when I was afraid they wouldn't let me keep him."
"Dreams are hard to understand. Sometimes a zelandoni can tell you what they mean. Maybe you are still feeling bad about leaving your son," the man said.
"Maybe," she said. She did feel bad about leaving Durc, but if that was what her dream meant, why was she dreaming it now? Why not after she stood on the island looking across Beran Sea, trying to see the peninsula, and cried her final goodbye to him. There was something about it that made her feel there was more to her dream than that. Finally she settled down and they both dozed off for a while. When she woke again, it was daylight, though they were still in the shaded gloom of the forest.
Ayla and Jondalar started north in the morning on foot, with the travois poles lashed together, and then fastened across the middle of the round boat. With each of them carrying an end, they could lift the poles and the boat over and around obstacles much more easily than trying to drag them behind the horse. It gave the horses a rest, too, with only the pack baskets to carry and their own feet to worry about. But after a while, without the guiding hand of the man on his back, Racer had a tendency to wander off to browse a little on the green leaves of young trees, since there hadn't been much pasture. He took a detour to the side and back a ways when he smelled the grass in a small clearing where a strong wind had blown down several trees, allowing sunlight in.
Jondalar, tired of going after him, tried for a time to hold on to both Racer's lead rope and his end of the poles, but it was hard to watch where Ayla was going to lift the poles out of the way, to watch his own footing, and to be careful that he wasn't leading the young horse into a hole, or something worse. He wished that Racer would follow him without rein or harness the way Whinney followed Ayla. Finally, when Jondalar accidentally shoved his end of the poles and jabbed Ayla rather hard, she came up with a suggestion.
"Why don't you tie Racer's lead rope to Whinney?" she said. "You know she'll follow me, and she'll watch her own footing, and won't lead Racer astray, and he's used to following her. Then you won't have to be concerned about him wandering off, or getting into some other kind of trouble, and you'll only have to worry about your end of the poles."
He stopped for a moment, frowning, then suddenly broke into a big grin. "Why didn't I think of that?" he said.
Though they had been gaining in elevation slowly, when the land began to get noticeably steeper the forest changed character rather abruptly. The woodland thinned out, and they quickly left the large deciduous hardwood trees behind. Fir and spruce became the primary trees, with the remaining hardwoods, even those of the same variety, much smaller.
They reached the top of a ridge and looked out over it onto a wide plateau that dropped down gently and then extended nearly level for quite some distance. A mostly coniferous forest of dark green fir, spruce, and pine, accented by a scattering of larch, with needles turning golden, dominated the plateau. It was set off by bright greenish-gold high meadows, and splashed with blue and white tarns, reflecting the clear sky above and the clouds in the distance. A fast river partitioned the space, fed by a rampaging falls cascading down the mountainside at the far end. Rising up beyond the tableland, and filling the sky, was the breathtaking vista of a high peak capped in white, partially masked by the clouds.
It seemed so close that Ayla felt she could almost reach out and touch it. The sun behind her illuminated the colors and shapes of the mountain stone; light tan rock jutting out from pale gray walls; nearly white faces contrasting with the dark gray of strangely regular columns that had emerged from the fiery core of the earth and cooled to the angled form of their basic crystal structure. Shimmering above that was the beautiful blue-green ice of a true glacier, frosted with snow that still lingered on the highest reaches. And while they watched, as if by magic, the sun and the rain clouds created a glowing rainbow and stretched it in a great arc over the mountain.
The man and woman gazed in wonder, drinking in the beauty and the serenity. Ayla wondered if the rainbow was meant to tell them something, if only that they were welcome. She noticed that the air she was breathing was deliciously cool and fresh, and she breathed with relief to be away from the deadening heat of the plains. Then she suddenly realized that the swarming bothersome gnats were gone. As far as she was concerned, she wouldn't have needed to go a step farther than this plateau. She could have made her home right there.
She turned to face the man, smiling. Jondalar was stunned for a moment by the sheer force of her emotions, her pleasure in the beauty of the place, and her desire to stay, but he felt it as pleasure in her beauty and desire for her. He wanted her that instant, and it showed in his rich blue eyes and his look of love and yearning. Ayla felt his force, a reflection of her own, but transmuted, and amplified through him.
Mounted on their horses, they stared into each other's eyes, transfixed by something they could not explain but felt the force of: their evenly matched, though unique, emotions; the power of a charisma each possessed, aimed at the other; and the strength of their mutual love. Unthinking, they reached out to each other – which the horses misinterpreted. Whinney started walking downhill and Racer followed. The movement brought the woman and man back to an awareness of where they were. Feeling an inexplicable warmth and tenderness, and just a touch foolish because they didn't quite know what had happened, they smiled at each other with a look that held a promise, and they continued down the hill, turning northwest to follow the plateau.
The morning that Jondalar thought they might reach the Sharamudoi settlement brought a crisp breath of frost to the air, foretelling the changing of seasons, and Ayla welcomed it. As they rode through the wooded hillsides, she could almost believe she had been there before, if she hadn't known better. For some reason, she kept expecting to recognize a landmark. Everything seemed so familiar: the trees, the plants, the slopes, the lay of the land. The more she saw, the more at home she felt.
When she saw hazelnuts, still on the tree in their green prickly casings, but nearly ripe, the way she liked them, she had to stop and pick some. As she cracked a few with her teeth, suddenly it struck her. The reason she felt that she knew the area, that it felt like home, was that it resembled the mountainous region at the tip of the peninsula, around the cave of Bran's clan. She had grown up in a place very much like this.
The area was becoming more familiar to Jondalar, too, with good reason, and when he found a clearly marked trail that he recognized, descending toward a path that led to the outside edge of a cliff face, he knew they weren't far. He could feel the excitement growing inside him. When Ayla found a big thorny briar mound, high in the middle with long prickly runners, and branches weighted down with ripe, juicy blackberries, he felt an edge of irritation that she wanted to delay their arrival just to pick some.
"Jondalar! Stop. Look. Blackberries!" Ayla said, sliding off Whinney and rushing to the briar patch.
"But we're almost there."
"We can bring them some." Her mouth was full. "I haven't had blackberries like this since I left the Clan. Taste them, Jondalar! Have you ever tasted anything so sweet and good?" Her hands and mouth were purple from picking small handfuls and popping them all in her mouth at one time.
Watching her, Jondalar suddenly laughed. "You should see yourself," he said. "You look like a little girl, full of berry stains and all excited." He shook his head and chuckled. She didn't answer. Her mouth was too full.
He picked some, decided that they were very sweet and good, and picked some more. After a few more handfuls, he stopped. "I thought you said we were going to pick some to take to them. We don't even have anything to put them in."
Ayla stopped for a moment, then smiled. "Yes, we do," she said, taking off her sweat-stained, woven conical hat, and looking for some leaves to line it. "Use your hat."
They had each filled a hat nearly three-quarters full when they heard Wolf give a warning growl. They looked up and saw a tall youth, almost a man, who had come along the trail, gaping at them and the wolf who was so near, eyes open wide with fear. Jondalar looked again.
"Darvo? Darvo, is it you? It's me, Jondalar. Jondalar of the Zelandonii," he said, striding toward the lad.
Jondalar was speaking a language Ayla wasn't familiar with, though she heard some words and tones that were reminiscent of Mamutoi. She watched the expression on the young man's face change from fear, to puzzlement, to recognition.
"Jondalar? Jondalar! What are you doing here? I thought you went away and were never coming back," Darvo said.
They rushed toward each other and threw their arms around each other; then the man backed off and looked at him, holding him by the shoulders. "Let me see you! I can't believe how you've grown!" Ayla stared at the young man, drawn to the sight of another person after not seeing one for so long.
Jondalar hugged him again. Ayla could see the genuine affection they shared, but after the first rush of greeting, Darvo seemed a little embarrassed. Jondalar understood the sudden reticence. Darvo was, after all, nearly a man now. Formal hugs of greeting were one thing, but exuberant displays of unrestrained affection, even for someone who had been like the man of your hearth for a time, were something else. Darvo looked at Ayla. Then he noticed the wolf she was holding back, and his eyes opened wide again. Then he saw the horses standing quietly nearby, with baskets and poles hanging on them, and his eyes opened even wider.
"I think I'd better introduce you to my… friends," Jondalar said.
"Darvo of the Sharamudoi, this is Ayla of the Mamutoi," Jondalar said.
Ayla recognized the cadence of the formal introduction, and enough of the words. She signaled Wolf to stay then walked toward the boy, with both hands outstretched, palms up.
"I am Darvalo of the Sharamudoi," the young man said, taking her hands, and he said it in the Mamutoi language. "I welcome you, Ayla of the Mamutoi."
"Tholie has taught you well! You are speaking Mamutoi as though you were born to it, Darvo. Or do I say Darvalo now?" Jondalar said.
"I am called Darvalo, now. Darvo is a child's name," the youngster said; then he suddenly flushed. "But you can call me Darvo, if you want. I mean, that's the name you know."
"I think Darvalo is a fine name," Jondalar said. "I'm glad you kept up the lessons with Tholie."
"Dolando thought it would be a good idea. He said I would need the language when we go to trade with the Mamutoi next spring."
"Would you, perhaps, like to meet Wolf, Darvalo?" Ayla said.
The young man knitted his brows in consternation. In his whole life, he never expected to meet a wolf face to face, and he never wanted to. But Jondalar isn't afraid of him, Darvalo thought, and the woman isn't either… she's kind of a strange woman… she talks a little strange, too. Not wrong, but not quite like Tholie, either.
"If you reach your hand over here, and let him smell it, it will give Wolf a chance to know you," Ayla said.
Darvalo wasn't sure if he wanted his hand to be so close to the wolf's teeth, but he didn't think there was any way he could back out now. He tentatively reached forward. Wolf sniffed his hand, then unexpectedly he licked it. His tongue was warm and wet, but it certainly didn't hurt. In fact, it was rather nice. The youngster looked at the animal and the woman. She had an arm carelessly, and comfortably, draped around the wolf's neck, and she was petting his head with the other hand. What did it feel like to pet a living wolf on the head, he wondered?
"Would you like to feel his fur?" Ayla asked.
Darvalo looked surprised; then he reached out to touch, but Wolf moved to sniff him and he pulled back.
"Here," Ayla said, taking his hand and putting it firmly on the Wolf's head. "He likes to be scratched, like this," she said, showing him.
Wolf suddenly noticed a flea, or the tentative scratchings reminded him of one. He sat back on his haunch and, with a spasm of rapid motion, scratched behind his ear with his hind leg. Darvalo smiled. He had never seen a wolf in such a funny position, scratching fast and furious.
"I told you he likes to be scratched. So do the horses," Ayla said, signaling Whinney forward.
Darvalo glanced at Jondalar. He was just standing and smiling, like there was nothing strange at all about a woman who scratched wolves and horses.
"Darvalo of the Sharamudoi, this is whinny." Ayla said Whinney's name as a soft nicker, the way she had first named the horse, and when she said it, she sounded exactly like a horse. "That's her real name, but sometimes we just call her Whinney. It's easier for Jondalar to say."
"Can you talk to horses?" Darvalo said, completely overwhelmed.
"Anyone can talk to a horse, but a horse doesn't listen to everyone. You have to get to know each other first. That's why Racer listens to Jondalar. He got to know Racer when he was just a baby."
Darvalo spun around to look at Jondalar and took two steps back. "You are sitting on that horse!" he said.
"Yes, I'm sitting on this horse. That's because he knows me, Darvo. I mean, Darvalo. He even lets me sit on his back when he runs, and we can go very fast."
The young man looked like he was ready to run himself, and Jondalar swung a leg over and slid down. "About these animals, you could help us, Darvo, if you're willing," he said. The boy looked petrified and ready to bolt. "We've been traveling a long time, and I'm really looking forward to a visit with Dolando and Roshario, and everyone, but most people get a little nervous when they first see the animals. They aren't used to them. Would you walk in with us, Darvalo? I think if everyone sees that you aren't afraid to stand next to the animals, they might not be so worried, either."
The youth relaxed a little. That didn't seem so difficult. After all, he was already standing next to them, and wouldn't everyone be surprised to see him walking in with Jondalar and the animals? Especially Dolando and Roshario…
"I almost forgot," Darvalo said. "I told Roshario I would get some blackberries for her, since she can't pick them any more."
"We have blackberries," Ayla said, at the same time that Jondalar said, "Why can't she pick them?"
Darvalo looked from Ayla to Jondalar. "She fell down the cliff to the boat dock and broke her arm. I don't think it will ever be right. It wasn't set."
"Why not?" they both asked.
"There was no one to set it."
"Where's Shamud? Or your mother?" Jondalar asked.
"Shamud died, last winter."
"I'm sorry to hear that," the man interjected.
"And my mother is gone. A Mamutoi man came to visit Tholie not long after you left. He's kin, a cousin. I guess he liked my mother, and he asked her to be his mate. She surprised everyone and left to go live with the Mamutoi. He asked me to come, too, but Dolando and Roshario asked me to stay with them. So I did. I am Sharamudoi, not Mamutoi," Darvalo explained. Then he looked at Ayla and blushed. "Not that there's anything wrong with being Mamutoi," he added hastily.
"No, of course not," Jondalar said, a frown of worry on his face. "I understand how you feel, Darvalo. I am still Jondalar of the Zelandonii. How long ago did Roshario fall?"
"Summer Moon, about now," the boy said.
Ayla looked at Jondalar with a questioning glance.
"About this phase of last moon," he explained. "Do you think it's too late?"
"I won't know until I see her," Ayla said.
"Ayla is a healer, Darvalo. A very good healer. She might be able to help," Jondalar said.
"I wondered if she was shamud. With those animals and all." Darvalo paused for a moment, looking at the horses and the wolf, and nodded. "She must be a very good healer." He stood up a little taller for his thirteen years. "I'll walk in with you so no one will be afraid of the animals."
"Will you carry these blackberries for me, too? So I can stay close to Wolf and Whinney. They are sometimes afraid of people, too."