Ayla and Jondalar stood in a clearing that commanded a broad view of the mountain, feeling a sense of loss and loneliness as they watched Dolando, Markeno, Carlono, and Darvalo walking back down the trail. The rest of the large crowd that had started out with them had dropped back by twos and threes along the way. When the last four men reached a turn in the trail, they turned and waved.
Ayla returned their wave in a "come back" motion with the back of her hand toward them, suddenly overcome by the knowledge that she would never see the Sharamudoi again. In the short time she had known them, she had come to love them. They had welcomed her, asked her to stay, and she could have lived with them gladly.
This leaving reminded her of their departure from the Mamutoi early in the summer. They, too, had welcomed her, and she had loved many of them. She could have been happy living with them, except that she would have had to live with the unhappiness she had caused Ranec, and when she left, there had been the excitement of going home with the man she loved. There were no undercurrents of unhappiness among the Sharamudoi, which made the parting all the more difficult, and though she loved Jondalar and had no doubt that she wanted to go with him, she had found acceptance and friendships that were hard to end with such finality.
Journeys are full of goodbyes, Ayla thought. She had even made her last farewell to the son she had left with the Clan… though if she had stayed there, someday she might have been able to go with the Ramudoi in a boat back down the Great Mother River to the delta. Then, perhaps, she could have made a trek around to the peninsula, to look for the new cave of her son's clan… but there was no point in thinking about it any more.
There would be no more opportunities to return, no more last chances to hope for. Her life took her in one direction, her son's life led him in another. Iza had told her "find your own people, find your own mate." She had found acceptance among her own kind of people and she had found a man to love who loved her. But for all she had gained, there were losses. Her son was one of them; she had to accept that fact.
Jondalar felt desolate as well, watching the last four turning back toward their home. They were all friends he had lived with for several years and had known well. Though their relationship was not through his mother and her ties, he felt they were as much kin as his own blood. In his commitment to return to his original roots, they were family he would never see again, and that saddened him.
When the last of the Sharamudoi that had seen them off moved out of sight, Wolf sat on his haunches, lifted his head, and gave voice to a few yips that led to a full, throaty howl, shattering the tranquility of the sunny morning. The four men appeared again on the trail below and waved one last time, acknowledging the wolf's farewell. Suddenly there was an answering howl from one of his own kind. Markeno looked to see which direction the second howl came from before they started back down the trail. Then Ayla and Jondalar turned and faced the mountain with its glistening peaks of blue-green glacial ice.
Though not as high as the range to the west, the mountains in which they were traveling had been formed at the same time, in the most recent of the mountain-building epochs – recent only in relation to the ponderously slow movements of the thick stony crust floating on the molten core of the ancient earth. Uplifted and folded into a series of parallel ridges during the orogeny that had brought the whole continent into sharp relief, the rugged terrain of this farthest east expansion of the extensive mountain system was clothed with verdant life.
A skirt of deciduous trees formed a narrow band between the plains below, still warmed by the vestiges of summer, and the cooler heights. Primarily oak and beech with hornbeam and maple also prominent, the leaves were already changing into a colorful tapestry of reds and yellows accented by the deep evergreen of spruce at the higher edge. A cloak of conifers, which included not only spruce, but yew, fir, pine, and the deciduous-needled larch, starting low, climbed to the rounded shoulders of lower prominences and covered the steep sides of higher peaks with subtle variations of green that shaded to the yellowing larch. Above the timberline was a collar of summer-green alpine pasture that turned white with snow early in the season. Capping it was the hard helmet of blue-tinged glacial ice.
The heat that had brushed the southern plains below with the ephemeral touch of the short hot summer was already fading, giving way to the grasping clutch of cold. Though a warming trend had been moderating its worst effects – an interstadial period lasting several thousands of years – the glacial ice was regrouping for one last assault on the land before the retreat would be turned to a rout thousands of years later. But even during the milder full before the final advance, glacial ice not only coated low peaks and mantled the flanks of high mountains, it held the continent in its grip.
In the rugged forested landscape, with the added hindrance of hauling the round boat on the pole drag, Ayla and Jondalar walked more than they rode the horses. They hiked up sharply pitched slopes, over ridges, across loose patches of scree, and down the steep sides of dry gullies, caused by the spring runoff of melting snow and ice, and the heavy fall rains of the southern mountains. A few of the deep ditches had water at the bottom, oozing through the mulch of rotting vegetation and soft loam, which sucked at the feet of humans and animals alike. Others carried clear streams, but all would soon be filled again with the tempestuous outflow of the downpours of autumn.
At the lower elevations, in the open forest of broad-leafed trees, they were impeded by undergrowth, forcing their way through or finding a way around brush and briars. The stiff canes and thorny vines of the delicious blackberries were a formidable barrier that tore at hair, clothes, and skin as well as hides and fur. The warm shaggy coats of the steppe horses, adapted for living on cold open plains, were easily caught and tangled, and even Wolf took his share of burrs and twigs.
They were all glad when they finally reached the elevation of evergreens, whose relatively constant shade kept the undergrowth to a minimum, although on the steep slopes where the canopy was not as dense, the sun did filter through more than it would have on level ground, allowing some brush to grow. It was not much easier to ride in the thick forest of tall trees, with the horses having to pick their way around the wooded obstacles and passengers dodging low-hanging branches. They camped the first night in a small clearing on a knoll surrounded by needled spires.
It was approaching evening of the second day before they reached the timberline. Finally free of entangling brush and past the obstacle course of taller trees, they set up their tent beside a fast, cold brook on an open pasture. When the burdens were removed from the horses, they were eager to graze. Though their customary coarser dry fodder of the lower, hotter elevations was adequate, the sweet grass and alpine herbs of the green meadow were a welcome treat.
A small herd of deer shared the pasture, the males busily rubbing their antlers on branches and outcrops to free them of the soft coating of skin and nourishing blood vessels called velvet in preparation for the fall rut.
"It will soon be their season for Pleasures," Jondalar commented as they were setting up the fireplace. "They are getting ready for the fights, and the females."
"Is fighting a Pleasure for males?" Ayla asked.
"I never thought of it that way, but it may be for some," he acknowledged.
"Do you like to fight with other men?"
Jondalar frowned as he gave the question serious consideration. "I've done my share. Sometimes you get drawn into it, for one reason or another, but I can't say I liked it, not if it's serious. I don't mind wrestling or other competitions, though."
"Men of the Clan don't fight with each other. It's not allowed, but they do have competitions," Ayla said. "Women do, too, but they are a different kind."
"How are theirs different?"
Ayla paused to think about it. "The men compete in what they do; the women in what they make," she said, then smiled, "including babies, though that is a very subtle competition, and nearly everyone thinks she is the winner."
Farther up the mountain, Jondalar noticed a family of mouflon, and he pointed out the wild sheep with huge horns that curled around close to their heads. "Those are the real fighters," Jondalar said. "When they run at each other and bang their heads together, it sounds almost like a clap of thunder."
"When stags and rams run at each other with their antlers or horns, do you think they are really fighting? Or are they competing?" Ayla asked.
"I don't know. They can hurt each other, but they don't very often. Usually one just gives up when another one shows he is stronger, and sometimes they just strut around and bellow, and don't fight at all. Maybe it is more competition than actual fight." He smiled at her. "You do ask interesting questions, woman."
A fresh cool breeze turned chilly as the sun dipped below the edge of vision. Earlier in the day, light siftings of snow had drifted down and melted in the open sunny spaces, but some had accumulated in the shady nooks, forecasting the possibility of a cold night, and heavier snows to come.
Wolf disappeared shortly after their hide shelter was set up. When he hadn't returned by dark, Ayla felt anxious about him. "Do you think I should whistle to call him back?" she asked as they were getting ready to settle down for the night.
"It's not the first time he's gone off to hunt by himself, Ayla. You're just used to him being around because you kept him close to you. He'll be back," Jondalar said.
"I hope he's back by morning," Ayla said, getting up to look around, trying in vain to see into the dark beyond their camp fire.
"He's an animal; he knows his way. Come back and sit down," he said. He put another piece of wood on the fire and watched the sparks rising into the sky. "Look at those stars. Did you ever see so many?"
Ayla looked up and a feeling of wonder came over her. "It does seem like a lot. Maybe it's because we're closer up here, and we're seeing more of them, especially the smaller ones… or are they farther away? Do you think they go on and on?"
"I don't know. I never thought about it. Who could ever know?" Jondalar asked.
"Do you think your Zelandonii might?"
"She might, but I'm not sure she'd tell. There are some things only meant for Those Who Serve the Mother to know. You do ask the strangest questions, Ayla," Jondalar said, feeling a chill. Though he wasn't sure it was from the cold, he added, "I'm getting cold, and we need to get an early start. Dolando said the rains could begin any time. That could mean snow up here. I'd like to be down from here before that."
"I'll be right there. I just want to make sure Whinney and Racer are all right. Maybe Wolf is with them."
Ayla was still worried when she crawled into their sleeping furs, and she was slow to fall asleep as she strained to hear any sound that might be the animal returning.
It was dark, too dark to see beyond the many, many stars that were streaming out of the fire into the night sky, but she kept looking. Then two stars, two yellow lights in the dark moved together. They were eyes, the eyes of a wolf who was looking at her. He turned and started walking away and she knew he wanted her to follow, but when she started after him, her path was suddenly blocked by a huge bear.
She jerked back in fear when the bear got up on his hind legs and growled. But when she looked again, she discovered it wasn't a real bear. It was Creb, the Mog-ur, dressed in his bearskin cloak.
In the distance she heard her son calling out to her. She looked beyond the great magician and saw the wolf, but it wasn't just a wolf. It was the spirit of the Wolf, Dun's totem, and it wanted her to follow. Then the Wolf spirit turned into her son, and it was Durc who wanted her to follow. He called out to her once more, but when she tried to go to him, Creb blocked her way again. He pointed to something behind her.
She turned and saw a path leading up to a cave, not a deep cave, but an overhanging shelf of light-colored rock in the side of a cliff, and above it an odd boulder that seemed frozen in the act of falling over the edge. When she looked back, Creb and Durc were gone.
"Creb! Durc! Where are you?" Ayla called out, bolting up.
"Ayla, you're dreaming again," Jondalar said, sitting up, too.
"They're gone. Why wouldn't he let me go with them?" Ayla said, with tears in her eyes and a sob in her voice.
"Who's gone?" he said, taking her in his arms.
"Durc is gone, and Creb wouldn't let me go with him. He blocked the way. Why wouldn't he let me go with him?" she said, crying in his arms.
"It was a dream, Ayla. It was only a dream. Maybe it means something, but it was just a dream."
"You're right. I know you're right, but it felt so real," Ayla said.
"Have you been thinking about your son, Ayla?"
"I guess I have," she said. "I've been thinking I'll never see him again."
"Maybe that's why you dreamed about him. Zelandoni always said when you have a dream like that, you should try to remember everything about it, and that someday you might understand it," Jondalar said, trying to see her face in the dark. "Go back to sleep now."
They both lay awake for some time, but finally they dozed off again. When they woke up the next morning, the sky was overcast and Jondalar was anxious to be on their way, but Wolf had still not returned. Ayla whistled for him periodically as they struck their tent and repacked their gear, but he still did not appear.
"Ayla, we need to go. He'll catch up with us, just like he always does," Jondalar said.
"I'm not going until I know where he is," she said. "You can go or wait here. I'm going to look for him."
"How can you look for him? That animal could be anywhere."
"Maybe he went back down. He did like Shamio," Ayla said. "Maybe we should go back to look for him."
"We're not going back! Not after we've come this far."
"I will if I have to. I'm not going until I find Wolf," she said.
Jondalar shook his head as Ayla started backtracking. It was obvious she was adamant. They could have been well on their way by now if it wasn't for that animal. As far as he was concerned, the Sharamudoi could have him!
Ayla kept whistling for him as she went along, and suddenly, just as she was starting back into the woods, he appeared on the other side of the clearing and raced toward her. He jumped up on her, almost knocking her over, put his paws on her shoulder, and licked her mouth, gently biting her jaw.
"Wolf! Wolf, there you are! Where have you been?" Ayla said, grabbing his ruff, rubbing her face next to his, and putting her teeth on his jaw to greet him in return. "I was so worried about you. You shouldn't run off like that."
"Do you think we can get started now?" Jondalar said. "The morning is half-gone."
"At least he did come, and we didn't have to go all the way back," Ayla said, leaping up on Whinney's back. "Which way do you want to go? I'm ready."
They rode across the pasture without speaking, irritated with each other, until they came to a ridge. Riding alongside, they looked for a way over it and finally came to a steep grade with sliding gravel and boulders. It appeared very unstable, and Jondalar continued trying to find another way. If it had been just them, they might have been able to climb over at several places, but the only way that seemed at all passable for the horses was the slope of sliding rock.
"Ayla, do you think the horses can climb that? I don't think there's any other way, except going down and trying to find some way around," Jondalar said.
"You said you didn't want to go back," she said, "especially for an animal."
"I don't, but if we have to, we have to. If you think it's too dangerous for the horses, we won't try it."
"What if I thought it was too dangerous for Wolf? Would we leave him behind then?" Ayla said.
To Jondalar, the horses were useful, and though he liked the wolf, the man simply did not think it was necessary to delay their passage for him. But it was obvious that Ayla did not agree, and he had sensed an undercurrent of division between them, a feeling of strain probably because she wanted to stay with the Sharamudoi. He thought that once they put some distance between them, she would look forward to reaching their destination, but he didn't want to make her more unhappy than she was.
"It's not that I wanted to leave Wolf behind. I just thought he would catch up with us, like he has before," Jondalar said, although he had been nearly ready to leave him.
She sensed there was something more to it than he said, but she didn't like to have the distance of disagreement between them, and now that Wolf had come back, she was relieved. With her anxiety gone, her anger dissipated. She dismounted and started climbing up the slope to test it. She wasn't altogether certain the horses could make it, but he'd said they would look for another way if they couldn't.
"I'm not sure, but I think we should try it, Jondalar. I don't think it's quite as bad as it seems. If they can't make it, then we can go back and see if we can find some other way," she said.
It actually wasn't quite as unstable as it appeared. Although there were a few bad moments, they were both surprised at how well the horses negotiated the slope. They were glad to put it behind them, but as they continued to climb, they encountered other difficult areas. In their mutual concern for each other and the horses, they were talking comfortably again.
The slope was easy for Wolf. He had run up to the top and back down again while they were carefully leading the horses up. When they reached the top, Ayla whistled for him and waited. Jondalar watched her and it occurred to him that she seemed much more protective toward the animal. He wondered why, thought about asking her, changed his mind afraid she would get angry, then decided to bring it up anyway.
"Ayla, am I wrong, or are you more concerned about Wolf than you were? You used to let him come and go. I wish you'd tell me what's troubling you. You were the one who said we shouldn't keep things from each other."
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her forehead wrinkled in a frown. Then she looked up at him. "You're right. It's not that I was keeping it from you. I've been trying to keep it from myself. Remember those deer down there, that were rubbing the velvet off their antlers?"
"Yes." Jondalar nodded.
"I'm not sure, but it might be the season of Pleasures for wolves, too. I don't even want to think about it, for fear that would make it happen, but Tholie brought it up when I was talking about Baby leaving to find his own mate. She asked me if I thought Wolf would leave someday, like Baby did. I don't want Wolf to leave, Jondalar. He's almost like a child to me, like a son."
"What makes you think he will?"
"Before Baby left, he would go off for longer and longer times. First a day, then several days, and sometimes, when he came back, I could see he had been fighting. I knew he was looking for a mate. And he found one. Now, every time Wolf goes, I'm afraid he's looking for a mate," Ayla said.
"So that's it. I'm not sure we can do anything about it, but is it likely?" Jondalar asked. Unbidden came the thought that he wished it was. He didn't want her to be unhappy, but more than once the wolf had delayed them or caused tension between them. He had to admit that if Wolf found a mate and went off with her, he would wish him well and be glad he was gone.
"I don't know," Ayla said. "So far, he's come back every time, and he seems happy to be traveling with us. He greets me like he thinks we are his pack, but you know how it is with Pleasures. It is a powerful Gift. The need can be very strong."
"That's true. Well, I don't know if there is anything you can do about it, but I'm glad you told me."
They rode together in silence for a while, up another high meadow, but it was a companionable silence. He was glad she had told him. At least he understood her strange behavior a little better. She had been acting like an overly concerned mother, though he was glad she didn't normally. He'd always felt sorry for the boys whose mothers didn't want them to do things that might be a little dangerous, like going deep in a cave, or climbing high places.
"Look, Ayla. There's an ibex," Jondalar said, pointing to a nimble and beautiful goatlike animal with long curved horns. It was perched on a precipitous ledge high up on the mountain. "I have hunted those before. And look over there. Those are chamois!"
"Are those really the animal the Shamudoi hunt?" Ayla asked as she watched the antelope relative of the wild mountain goat, with smaller upright horns, gamboling across inaccessible peaks and scarp faces of rock.
"Yes. I've gone with them."
"How can anybody hunt animals like that? How do you reach them?"
"It's a matter of climbing up behind them. They tend to look down all the time for danger, so if you can get above them, you can usually get close enough for a kill. You can see why the spear-thrower would be a great advantage," Jondalar explained.
"It makes me appreciate that outfit Roshario gave me even more," Ayla said.
They continued their climb and by afternoon were just below the snowline. Sheer walls reared up on both sides of them with patches of ice and snow not far above. The top of the slope ahead was outlined with blue sky and seemed to lead to the very edge of the world. As they topped the rise, they halted and looked. The view was spectacular.
Behind them was a clear vista of their climb up the mountain from the treeline. Below that the evergreen-carpeted slopes cushioned the hard rock and disguised the rough terrain they had struggled over. To the east they could even see the plain below with its braided ribbons of water flowing sluggishly across it, which surprised Ayla. The Great Mother River seemed hardly more than a few trickles from their vantage point on the frigid mountaintop, and she couldn't quite believe that ages ago they had sweltered in the heat traveling beside her. In front of them was a view of the next mountain ridge somewhat below and the deep valley of feathery green spires that separated them. Looming close above were the glimmering icebound peaks.
Ayla looked around in awe, her eyes glistening with wonder, moved by the grandeur and beauty of the sight. In the chill, sharp air, puffs of steam escaping her mouth made every excited breath perceptible.
"Oh, Jondalar, we are higher than everything. I have never been so high. I feel like we're on the very top of the world!" she said. "And it's so… so beautiful, so exciting."
As the man watched her expressions of wonder, her sparkling eyes, her beautiful smile, his own enthusiasm for the dramatic panorama was fired by her sheer excitement, and he was moved with immediate desire for her.
"Yes, so beautiful, so exciting," he said. Something in his voice sent a shiver through her and made her turn away from the extraordinary view to look at him.
His eyes were such an impossibly rich shade of blue, it seemed for a moment that he had stolen two small pieces of the deep, luminous blue sky, and filled them with his love and wanting. She was caught by them, captured by his ineffable charm, whose source was as unknowable to her as the magic of his love, but which she could not – and did not want to – deny. Just his desire for her had always been his "signal." For Ayla, it was not an act of will but a physical reaction, a need as strong and driving as his own.
Without being aware that she moved, Ayla was in his arms, feeling his strong embrace and his warm and eager mouth on hers. There was certainly no lack of Pleasures in her life; they shared that Gift of the Mother regularly, with great enjoyment, but this moment was exceptional. Perhaps it was the excitement of the setting, but she felt a heightened awareness of every sensation. Every place she felt the pressure of his body on hers, a tingling coursed through her; his hands on her back, his arms around her, his thighs against hers. The bulge in his groin, felt through the thicknesses of fur-lined winter parkas, seemed warm, and his lips on hers gave her an indescribable sense of wanting him never to stop.
The instant he released her and stepped back enough to unfasten the closures of her outer garment, her body ached with the desire and expectation of his touch. She could hardly wait, yet she did not want him to hurry. When he reached under her tunic to cup her breast, she was glad his hands were cold for the contrasting shock to the heat she felt inside. She gasped when he squeezed a hard nipple, feeling fires that raised goosebumps as they raced through her to the place deep inside that burned with wanting more.
Jondalar sensed her powerful reactions and felt a corresponding increase in his own heat. His member surged erect and pulsed with its fullness. He felt her smooth warm tongue reaching inside his mouth and suckled it. Then he released it to seek the soft warmth of hers, and he suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to taste the warm salt and feel the moist folds of her other opening, but he did not want to stop kissing her. He wished he could have all of her all at once. He took both breasts in his hands, played with both nipples, squeezing, rubbing, then lifted her tunic and took one in his mouth and suckled hard, feeling her push against him and hearing her moan with pleasure.
He felt a throbbing and imagined his full manhood being inside her. They kissed again and she felt the strength of her need and her wanting grow. She was hungry for his touch, his hands, his body, his mouth, his manhood.
He was pushing her parka off, and she shrugged out of it, delighting in the cold wind that felt hot with his mouth on hers and his hands on her body. He untied the drawstring of her leggings; she felt them being pulled down, and off. Then they were both down on her parka, and his hands were caressing her hips, and her stomach, and the inside of her thighs. She opened to his touch.
He moved down between her legs, and the warmth of his tongue as he tasted her shot spikes of excitement through her. She was so sensitive, her reactions so powerful, it was almost unbearable, unbearably stimulating.
He sensed her strong and immediate response to his light touch. Jondalar had been trained as a flint knapper, a maker of stone tools and hunting weapons, and was among the most skilled because he was sensitive to the stone with its fine and subtle variations. Women responded to his perception and sensitive handling the way a fine piece of flint did, and both brought out the best in him. He sincerely loved to see a fine tool emerge from a good piece of flint under his deft touch, or to feel a woman aroused to her full potential, and he had spent a great deal of time practicing both.
With his natural inclination and genuine desire to he aware of a woman's feelings, particularly Ayla's, at that most intimate of moments, he knew that a featherlight touch would arouse her more, at that moment, though a different technique might be suitable later.
He kissed the inside of her thigh, then ran his tongue up and noticed that chill bumps appeared. In the cold wind, he felt her shiver, and though she had her eyes closed and did not object, he could see she was covered with gooseflesh. He got up and took off his own parka to cover her but left her bare below the waist.
Although she hadn't minded, his fur-lined outer garment, still warm from his body and filled with his masculine scent, felt wonderful. The contrast of the cold wind blowing across the skin of her thighs, wet from his tongue, made her shiver with delight. She felt the warm wetness moisten her folds, and the instant shiver from the cold filled her with a fierce heat. With a moan, she arched up to him.
With both hands, he held her folds apart, admired the beautiful pink flower of her feminine self and, unable to restrain himself, warmed the cooling petals with his wet tongue, savoring the taste of her. She felt the warmth, then the cold, and quivered in response. This was a new feeling, not something he had done before. He was using the very air of the mountaintop as a means to bring her Pleasure, and at some inner level she marveled.
But as he continued, the air was forgotten. With stronger pressure and the familiar provocation of his mouth and hands, stimulating, encouraging, inciting her senses to respond, she lost all sense of where she was. She felt only his mouth sucking, his tongue licking and prodding her place of Pleasure, his knowing fingers reaching inside, and then only the rising tide within her reaching a crest, and washing over her, while she reached for his manhood and guided it to her well. She pushed up as he filled it.
He sunk his shaft deeply, closing his eyes as he felt her warm, moist embrace. He waited a moment, then pulled back and felt the caress of her deep tunnel, and pushed in again. He plunged in, retracted, each stroke bringing him closer, the pressure inside him building. He heard her moan, felt her rise to him, and then he was there, and he exploded with the release of wave after wave of Pleasure.
In the silence, only the wind spoke. The horses had waited patiently; the wolf had watched with interest, but had learned to contain his more active curiosity. Finally Jondalar lifted himself, rested on his arms, and looked down at the woman he loved.
"Ayla, what if we started a baby?" he asked.
"Don't worry, Jondalar. I don't think we did." She was grateful she had found more of her contraceptive plants, and she was tempted to tell him, as she had told Tholie. But Tholie had been so shocked at first, even though she was a woman, that Ayla didn't dare mention it. "I'm not certain, but I don't think this would be a time when I could get pregnant," she said, and it was true she wasn't absolutely certain.
Iza did have a daughter, eventually, even though she had taken the contraceptive tea for years. Perhaps the special plants lost their effectiveness after long use, Ayla thought, or maybe Iza forgot to take it, though that was unlikely. Ayla wondered what would happen if she stopped drinking her morning tea.
Jondalar hoped she was right, although a small part of him wished she wasn't. He wondered if there would ever be a child at his hearth, a child born of his spirit, or perhaps, of his own essence.
It was a few days before they reached the next ridge, which was lower, not much above the timberline, but from it they had their first sight of the broad western steppes. It was a crisp clear day, though it had snowed earlier, and in the far distance they glimpsed another, higher range of ice-encrusted mountains. On the plains below they saw a river flowing south into what appeared to be a great swollen lake.
"Is that the Great Mother River?" Ayla asked.
"No. That's the Sister, and we have to cross her. I'm afraid it will be the hardest crossing of our whole Journey," Jondalar explained. "See over there, toward the south? Where the water is all spread out so that it looks like a lake? That's the Mother, or rather where the Sister joins her – or tries to. She backs up and overflows, and the currents are treacherous. We won't try our crossing there, but Carlono said she's a turbulent river even upstream."
As it turned out, the day they looked down toward the west from the second ridge was the last clear day. They woke the following morning to a brooding, overcast sky that drooped so low it merged with fog rising from depressions and hollows. Mist hung palpably in the air and gathered into miniature droplets on hair and fur. The landscape was draped with an insubstantial shroud that allowed trees and rocks to materialize out of indistinct shapes only as they drew near.
In the afternoon, with an unexpected and resounding roar of thunder, the sky opened, lit only heartbeats before by a sudden shaft of lightning. Ayla jerked with surprise, and she shivered with dread as bright flashes of white branching light played with the mountaintops behind them. But it wasn't the lightning that scared her, it was the anticipation of the explosive noise it presaged.
She recoiled each time she heard a distant rumble or a nearby rolling boom, and it seemed with each burst of thunder that the rain came down harder, as though frightened out of the clouds by the noise. As they worked their way down the west-facing slope of the mountains, rain fell in sheets as thick as waterfalls. Streams filled and overflowed, and rivulets spilling over ledges became gushing torrents. The footing grew slick and dangerous in places.
They were both grateful for their Mamutoi rain parkas, made of dehaired deer hides, Jondalar's from megaceros, the giant deer of the steppes, and Ayla's from the northern reindeer. They were worn over their fur parkas, when the weather was cold, or over their regular tunics when it was warmer. The exterior surfaces were colored with red and yellow ochres. The mineral pigments had been mixed with fats, and the color was worked into the hides with a special burnishing tool made of rib bone that brought the garments to a hard, shiny luster that was also quite water repellent. Even wet, it provided some protection, but the burnished, fat-soaked finish was unable to entirely resist the soaking deluge.
When they stopped for the night and put up the tent, everything was damp, even their sleeping furs, and no fire was possible. They brought wood into their tent, mostly the dead lower branches of conifers, hoping it would dry overnight. In the morning the rains still poured and their clothes were still damp, but using a firestone and the tinder she had with her, Ayla managed to get a small fire going, enough to boil a little water to make a warming tea. They ate only the square compressed cakes of traveling food Roshario had given them, which were a variation of the commonly made, filling, nutritious, compact food that could sustain a person indefinitely even if that was all he ate. It consisted of some variety of meat that was dried then ground up and mixed with fat, usually some dried fruit or berries, and occasionally partially cooked grains or roots.
The horses were standing outside the tent impassively, their heads drooping and water dripping from long winter fur, and the bowl boat had fallen over and was half-full of water. They were ready to leave it and the dragging poles behind. The travois that had been so useful for hauling loads across the open grasslands, and with the addition of the round boat effective for transporting their gear across rivers, had been an encumbrance in the rugged, forested mountains. It had hampered and slowed their travel, and it could even be dangerous going down difficult slopes in the pouring rain. If Jondalar hadn't known that for most of the rest of their Journey the passage would still be across plains, he would have left it long before.
They unfastened the boat from the poles and poured out the water, turning the boat upside down and eventually lifting it over them.
Standing underneath, holding the round boat above their heads, they looked at each other and grinned. For a moment they were out of the rain. It hadn't occurred to them that the boat that held them out of the water of a river could also be a roof to keep off the rain. Not while they were moving, perhaps, but they could at least get out of the rain for a short time when it pelted down in earnest.
But that discovery didn't solve the problem of how they were going to transport it. Then, as though they both thought of it at the same time, they lifted the bowl boat over Whinney's back. If they could find a way to hold it in place, it could help to keep their tent and two of the pack baskets dry. Using the poles and some cordage, they worked out a way to support the boat across the patient mare's back. It was somewhat awkward, and they knew it would be too wide, occasionally, requiring either finding another way around, or lifting it off, but they didn't think it would be any more trouble than it had been before, and it might provide some benefit.
They haltered and packed the horses, but with no intention of riding them. Instead, the heavy wet leather tent and ground cloth were draped over Whinney's back, and the round boat was hoisted over them, supported by crossed poles. A heavy tarp made of mammoth hide, which Ayla had used to cover the pack basket in which she carried the food, was draped across Racer's back to cover both his baskets.
Before they started out, Ayla spent some time with Whinney, reassuring and thanking her, using the special language she had developed in the valley. It didn't occur to Ayla to question whether Whinney actually understood her. The language was familiar and calming, and the mare definitely responded to certain sounds and movements as signals.
Even Racer perked his ears, tossed his head, and nickered as she talked, and Jondalar assumed she was communicating with the horses in some special way that he was incapable of grasping, even though he understood a little of it. It was part of the mystery of her that kept him fascinated.
Then they started down the rough terrain in front of the horses, leading the way. Wolf, who had spent the night inside the tent and had not been as soaked to begin with, soon looked even worse than the horses. His usually thick and fluffy fur was plastered to his body, seeming to diminish his size and showing the outlines of bone and sinewy muscle. The damp fur parkas of the man and woman were warm enough, if not completely comfortable, especially with the wet and matted fur inside the hoods. After a while water trickled down their necks, but there was little they could do about it. As the dreary skies continued to leak, Ayla decided that rain was her least favorite kind of weather.
It rained during the next few days almost constantly, all the way down the side of the mountain. When they reached the tall conifers, there was some protection under the canopy, but they left most of the trees behind them where a broad terrace leveled out, though the river was still far below them. Ayla began to realize that the river she had seen from above must be much farther and even bigger than she thought. Though it had slacked up occasionally, the rain did not stop, and without the protection of the trees, scant though it was, they were wet and miserable, but they gained one advantage. They were able to ride the horses, at least part of the time.
They rode west down a series of loess terraces that fell off from the mountains, the higher ones dissected by countless small streams filled and overflowing with drainage from the highland, the result of the deluge that poured from the sky. They slogged through mud and crossed several swirling waterways rushing down from the heights. Then they dropped down to another terrace and unexpectedly came upon a small settlement.
The rough wooden shelters, little more than lean-tos, obviously put together quickly, looked ramshackle, but they offered some protection from the constantly falling water and were a welcome sight to the travelers. Ayla and Jondalar hurried toward them. They dismounted, conscious of the fear that the tame animals might cause people to feel, and called out in Sharamudoi, hoping it would be a familiar language. But there was no answer, and when they looked closer, it was obvious that no one was about.
"I'm sure the Mother realizes we need shelter. Doni will not object if we go in," Jondalar said, stepping inside one of the shacks and looking around. It was completely empty, except for a leather thong hanging from a peg, and its dirt floor was sloppy mud where a stream had run through it before it was diverted. They went out and headed for the largest one.
As they approached it, Ayla became aware that something important was missing. "Jondalar, where is the donii? There is no figure of the Mother guarding the entrance."
He looked around and nodded. "This must be a temporary summer camp. They did not leave a donii because they did not call upon Her to protect it. Whoever built these doesn't expect them to last the winter. They have abandoned this place, gone and taken everything with them. They probably moved to higher ground when the rains began."
They entered the larger structure and found it was more substantial than the other. There were unfilled cracks in the walls, and the rain leaked through the roof in several places, but the rough wooden floor was raised above the level of the sticky mud, and a few pieces of wood were scattered near a hearth built up with stones to floor height. It was the driest, most comfortable place they had seen for days.
They went out, unharnessed the travois, and brought the horses in. Ayla started a fire while Jondalar went into one of the smaller structures and began tearing wood from the dry inner walls for firewood. By the time he returned, she had strung heavy cordage across the room from pegs she found in the wall, and she was draping wet clothes and bedding over them. Jondalar helped her spread the tent across a rope, but they had to bunch it up to avoid a steady stream from a leak.
"We ought to do something about the leaks in the roof," Jondalar said.
"I saw cattails growing nearby," Ayla said. "It wouldn't take long to weave the leaves into mats that we could cover the holes with."
They went out to gather the tough, rather stiff, cattail leaves to patch the leaking roof, both cutting down an armload of the plants. The leaves that were wrapped around the stem averaged about two feet long, about an inch or more in width, tapering to a point. Ayla had been teaching Jondalar the basics of weaving, and after watching her to see the method she was using to make square sections of flat mats, he began to make one like them. Ayla looked down at her work, smiling to herself. She couldn't help it. She still felt a sense of surprise that Jondalar was able to do woman's work, and she was delighted by his willingness. With both of them working, they soon had as many patches made as there were leaks.
The structures were made of a rather thin thatch of reeds fastened to a basic frame of long tree trunks, not much more than saplings, lashed together. Though not made of planks, they were similar to the A-shaped dwellings made by the Sharamudoi, except the ridgepole did not slope and they were asymmetrical. The side with the entrance opening, facing the river, was nearly vertical; the opposite side leaned against it at a sharp angle. The ends were closed, but they could be propped up somewhat like awnings.
They went out and attached the mats, tying them down with lengths of the tough, stringy cattail leaves. There were two leaks near the peak that were difficult to reach even with Jondalar's six-foot-six-inch height, and they did not think the structure would bear the weight of either of them. They decided to go back inside and try to think of a way to patch them, remembering at the last moment to till a waterbag and some bowls with water for drinking and cooking. When Jondalar reached up and blocked one of the leaks with his hand, it finally occurred to them to fasten the patch from the inside.
After they covered the entrance with the mammoth hide tarp, Ayla looked around the darkened interior, lit only by the fire that was starting to warm the place, feeling snug. The rain was outside and they were inside a place that was dry and warm, though it was starting to get steamy as the wet things began to dry, and there was no smokehole in the summer dwelling. The smoke from fires had usually escaped through the less-than-airtight walls and ceiling, or the ends, which were often left open in warmer weather. But the dried grass and reeds had expanded with the moisture, making it harder for smoke to escape, and it began to accumulate along the ridgepole at the ceiling.
Though horses were accustomed to being out in the elements and usually preferred it, Whinney and Racer had been raised around people and were used to sharing human habitations, even darkened smoky ones. They stayed at the end that Ayla had decided would be their place, and even they seemed glad to be out of the waterlogged world. Ayla put cooking rocks in the fire; then she and Jondalar rubbed down the horses and Wolf, to help them dry.
They opened all the packages and bundles to see if anything had been damaged by the excess moisture, found dry clothes and changed into them, and sat by the fire drinking hot tea, while a soup, made from the compressed traveling food, was cooking. When the smoke began to fill the upper levels of the dwelling, they broke holes through the light thatch of both ends near the top, which cleared it out and added a little more light.
It felt good to relax. They hadn't realized how tired they were, and before it was even fully dark, the woman and man crawled into their still slightly damp sleeping furs. But as tired as he was, Jondalar could not go to sleep. He remembered the last time he had faced the swift and treacherous river called the Sister, and in the dark he felt a chill of dread at the thought of having to cross her with the woman he loved.