by Jean M. Auel
“What should we do?”
“I think we should leave. The people of this Camp are probably hiding in the woods watching us, thinking we must come from some place like the spirit world. That’s what I would think if I saw us coming without any warning.”
“Oh, Jondalar,” Ayla wailed, feeling a rush of disappointment, and loneliness, as she stood in the middle of the vacated Camp. “I was so looking forward to visiting with some people.” She looked around the Camp once more, then nodded her head in acquiescence. “You’re right. If the people are gone and didn’t want to welcome us, we should leave. I just wish I could have met the woman with the child who left that plaything, and talked to her.” She started walking toward Whinney, who was just beyond the Camp. “I don’t want people to be afraid of me,” she said, turning to the man. “Will we be able to talk to anyone on this Journey?”
“I don’t know about strangers, but I’m sure we’ll be able to visit with the Sharamudoi. They might be a little wary at first, but they know me. And you know how people are. After they get over their initial fright, they get very interested in the animals.”
“I’m sorry we frightened these people. Maybe we could leave them a gift, even if we didn’t share their hospitality,” Ayla said. She began to look through her pack baskets. “I think some food would be nice, some meat, I think.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea. I have some extra points. I think I’ll leave one to replace the one that toolmaker ruined. There is nothing more disappointing than to spoil a good tool just when you’re about to finish it,” Jondalar said.
As he reached into his pack for his leather-wrapped tool kit, Jondalar recalled that when he and his brother were traveling they met many people along the way, and they were usually welcomed and often helped. There had even been a couple of occasions when their lives had been saved by strangers. But if people were going to be afraid of them because of their animal companions, what would happen if Ayla and he ever needed help?
They left the Camp and climbed back up the sandy dunes to the level field at the top of the long, narrow island, stopping when they reached the grass. They looked down at the thin column of smoke from the Camp and the brown silty river below, its noticeable current heading for the broad blue expanse of Beran Sea. With unspoken assent, they both mounted and turned east to get a better—and a last—look at the great inland sea.
When they reached the eastern tip of the island, though still within the banks of the river they were so close to the choppy waters of the sea that they could watch its waves washing sandbars with briny foam. Ayla looked out across the water and thought she could almost see the outline of a peninsula. The cave of Brun’s clan, the place where she had grown up, had been at its southern tip. It was there that she had given birth to her son, and there she had to leave him when she was forced out.
I wonder how big he is? she said to herself. Taller than all the boys his age, I’m sure. Is he strong? Healthy? Is he happy? Does he remember me? I wonder. If only I could just see him one more time, she thought, then realized that if she was ever going to look for him, this would be her last chance. From here, Jondalar planned to turn west. She would never be this close to her clan, or Durc, again. Why couldn’t they go east, instead? Just make a short side trip before they went on? If they skirted the northern coast of the sea, they could probably reach the peninsula in a few days. Jondalar did say he would be willing to go with her if she wanted to try to find Durc.
“Ayla, look! I didn’t know there were seals in Beran Sea! I haven’t seen those animals since I was a youngster and went on a trek with Willomar,” Jondalar said, his voice full of excitement and longing. “He took both Thonolan and me to see the Great Waters, and then the people who live near the edge of the earth took us north on a boat. Have you seen them before?”
Ayla looked toward the sea, but closer in, where he was pointing. Several dark, sleek, streamlined creatures, with light gray underbellies, were humping clumsily along a sandbar that had formed behind some nearly submerged rocks. While they watched, most of the seals dived back into the water, chasing a school of fish. They watched heads bobbing up while the last of them, smaller and younger, dove into the sea again. Then they were gone, disappearing as quickly as they had come.
“Only from a distance,” Ayla said, “during the cold season. They liked the floating ice offshore. Brun’s clan didn’t hunt them. No one could reach them, though Brun once told about a time he saw some on the rocks near a sea cave. Some people thought they were winter water spirits, not animals at all, but I saw little ones on the ice once, and I didn’t think water spirits had babies. I never knew where they went in the summer. They must have come here.”
“When we get home, I’ll take you to see the Great Waters, Ayla. You won’t believe it. This is a large sea, much bigger than any lakes I’ve ever seen, and salty I’m told, but it’s nothing compared to the Great Waters. That’s like the sky. No one has ever reached the other side.”
Ayla heard the eagerness in Jondalar’s voice, and she sensed his yearning to be home. She knew he wouldn’t hesitate to go with her to look for Brun’s clan and her son, if she told him that she wanted to. Because he loved her. But she loved him, too, and knew that he would be unhappy about the delay. She looked at the great sweep of water, then closed her eyes trying to hold back tears.
She wouldn’t know where to look for the clan, anyway, she thought. And it wasn’t Brun’s clan anymore. It was Broud’s clan now, and she would not be welcome. Broud had cursed her with death; she was dead to them all, a spirit. If she and Jondalar had frightened the Camp on this island because of the animals, and their seemingly supernatural ability to control them, how much more would they scare the clan? Including Uba, and Durc? To them, she would be returning from the spirit world, and the companionable animals would be proof of it. They believed a spirit who came back from the land of the dead came to do them harm.
But once she turned west, it would be final. From this time on, for the rest of her life, Durc would be no more than a memory. There would be no hope of ever seeing him again. That was the choice she had to make. She thought she had made it long ago; she didn’t know the pain would be still so sharp. Turning her head so Jondalar would not see the tears that filled her eyes as she stared at the deep blue expanse of water, Ayla said a silent goodbye to her son for the last time. A fresh stab of grief filled her and she knew she would carry the ache in her heart with her forever.
———
They turned their backs on the sea and started walking through the waist-high steppe grass of the large island, giving the horses a rest and time to graze. The sun was high in the sky, bright and hot. Shimmering heat waves rose up from the dusty ground, bringing the warm aroma of earth and growing things. On the treeless plain atop the long narrow strip of land, they moved within the shade of their grass hats, but the evaporation of the surrounding river channels made the air humid and beads of sweat trickled down their dusty skin. They were grateful for the occasional cool breath from the sea, a fitful breeze filled with the rich scent of the life within its deep waters.
Ayla stopped and unwound her leather sling from her head and tucked it into her waistband, not wanting it to get too damp. She replaced it with a rolled piece of soft leather, similar to the one Jondalar wore, bound across her forehead and tied in the back, to absorb the moisture that dripped from her forehead.
When she continued, she noticed a dull greenish grasshopper spring up, then drop back down and hide in its camouflaged disguise. Then she saw another. More of them chirked sporadically, bringing to mind the swarming locusts. But here they were just one of a variety of insects, like the butterflies flicking their bright colors in a quivery dance across the tops of the fescue, and the harmless drone fly, that resembled a stinging honeybee, hovering over a buttercup.
Though the raised field was much smaller, it had the familiar feeling of the dry steppes, but when they came to the other end of the island and looked out, th
ey were astonished by the vast, strange, wet world of the massive delta. To the north, on their right, was the mainland; beyond a fringe of river brush, a grassland of muted greenish-gold. But to the south and west, spreading all the way to the horizon, and in the distance seeming as solid and substantial as the land, was the marshy outlet of the great river. It was an extensive bed of rich green reeds, swaying in a motion as constant as the sea with the gusty rhythm of the wind, broken only by occasional trees casting shadows across the waving green and the winding paths of open waterways.
As they moved down the slope through the open woods, Ayla became aware of the birds, more varieties than she had ever seen in one place before, some of them unfamiliar. Crows, cuckoos, starlings, and turtledoves each called to their kind in distinctive voices. A swallow, chased by a falcon, swooped and twisted, then dived into the reeds. High-flying black kites and ground-skimming marsh harriers searched for dead or dying fish. Small warblers and flycatchers flitted from thicket to tall tree, while tiny stints, redstarts, and shrikes darted from branch to branch. Gulls floated on air currents, hardly moving a feather, and ponderous pelicans, majestic in flight, sailed overhead flapping wide powerful wings.
Ayla and Jondalar emerged at a different section of the river when they reached water again, near a clump of goat willow bushes that was the site of a mixed colony of marsh birds: night herons, little egrets, purple herons, cormorants, and at this place, mostly glossy ibises all nesting together. In the same tree, the grassy roosting place of one variety was often only a branch away from the nest of an entirely different species, and several held eggs or young birds. The birds seemed to be as indifferent to the people and animals as they were to each other, but the busy place, bustling with incessant activity, was an attraction impossible for the curious young wolf to ignore.
He approached slowly, trying to stalk, but was distracted by the plethora of possibilities. Finally he made a dash toward a particular small tree. With loud squawking and flapping of wings, the nearby birds lifted into the air and were immediately followed by more who noticed the warning. Still others took to wing. The air was filling with marsh birds, clearly the dominant bird life in the delta, until more than ten thousand individuals of several different species from the mixed colony were wheeling and turning in dramatic flight.
Wolf raced back toward the woods, his tail between his legs, howling and yipping in fear over the commotion he had caused. Adding to the tumult, the nervous, frightened horses were rearing and screaming; then they galloped into the water.
The travois acted as a restraining force on the mare, who was more even tempered to begin with. She settled down fairly soon, but Jondalar had a great deal more trouble with the young stallion. He ran into the water after the horse, swimming where it deepened, and was soon out of sight. Ayla managed to get Whinney across the channel and back to the mainland. After she calmed and comforted the horse, she unhitched the dragging poles and removed the harness to let the mare run free and relax in her own way. Then she whistled for Wolf. It took several more whistles before he came, and then it was from a different direction much farther downstream, far away from the site of the nesting birds.
Ayla took off her own wet clothes and changed into dry ones from her pack basket, then gathered wood to make a fire while she waited for Jondalar. He, too, would need to change, and fortunately his pack baskets happened to be in the bowl boat, which kept them dry. It was some time before he found his way back, riding toward Ayla’s fire from the west. Racer had gone far upstream before Jondalar caught up with him.
The man was still angry with Wolf, and it was apparent not only to Ayla but to the animal. The wolf waited until Jondalar finally sat down with a cup of hot tea after changing clothes, and then he approached, crouching down on his front legs, wagging his tail like a puppy wanting to play and whining with a pleading tone. When he got close enough, Wolf tried to lick his face. The man pushed him away at first. When he did allow the persistent animal closer, Wolf seemed so pleased that Jondalar had to relent.
“It seems as though he’s trying to say he’s sorry, but that’s hard to believe. How could he? He’s an animal. Ayla, could Wolf know that he misbehaved and be sorry for it?” Jondalar asked.
Ayla wasn’t surprised. She had seen such actions when she was teaching herself to hunt and observing carnivorous animals, which she had chosen to be her prey. Wolf’s actions toward the man were similar to the way a young wolf often behaved toward the male leader of a pack.
“I don’t know what he knows, or what he thinks,” Ayla said. “I can only judge from his actions. But isn’t that how it is with people? You can never know what someone really knows or thinks. You have to judge by actions, don’t you?”
Jondalar nodded, still not sure what to believe. Ayla didn’t doubt that Wolf was sorry, but she didn’t think it would make much difference. Wolf used to behave the same way to her when she was trying to teach him to stay away from the leather footwear of the people of Lion Camp. It took her a long time to train the wolf to leave them alone, and she didn’t think he was ready to give up chasing birds just yet.
The sun was skimming the craggy high peaks at the southern end of the long chain of mountains to the west, lending a glittering sparkle to the icy facets. The range dropped from the heights of the southern tors as it marched north, and the sharp angles smoothed out to rounded crests blanketed with shimmering white. Toward the northwest, the mountaintops disappeared behind a curtain of clouds.
Ayla turned into an inviting opening in the wooded fringe of the river delta and pulled to a stop. Jondalar followed behind. The small grassy lea was a somewhat larger space within a pleasant open strip of woodland that led directly to a quiet lagoon.
Though the main arms of the great river were full of muddy silt, the complex network of channels and side streams that weaved through the reeds of the huge delta was clean and drinkable. The channels occasionally widened into large lakes or placid lagoons that were surrounded by an assortment of reeds, rushes, sedges, and other water plants, and were often covered with water lilies. The sturdy lily pads offered resting places for the smaller herons and innumerable frogs.
“This looks like a good place,” Jondalar said, lifting his leg over Racer’s back and landing lightly. He removed his pack baskets, riding blanket, and halter, and turned the young stallion loose. The horse headed straight for the water, and a moment later Whinney joined him.
The mare entered the river first and began drinking. After a short time she started pawing the water, making big splashes that soaked her chest and the young stallion who was drinking nearby. She bent her head down, sniffing at the water, her ears forward. Then, gathering her legs beneath her, she got down on her forelegs, dropped lower, and rolled over on her side, and finally onto her back. Holding her head up and with legs flailing the air, she squirmed with delight, rubbing her body on the bottom of the lagoon, then flung herself over to her other side. Racer, who had been watching his dam rolling in the cool water, could wait no longer, and in a similar manner lowered himself for a roll in the shallows near the bank.
“You would have thought they’d had enough of water today,” Ayla said, moving up beside Jondalar.
He turned, the smile from watching the horses still on his face. “They do love to roll in the water, not to mention the mud or dust. I didn’t know horses liked to roll so much.”
“You know how much they like to be scratched. I think it’s their way of scratching themselves,” the woman commented. “Sometimes they scratch each other, and they tell each other where they want to be scratched.”
“How can they tell each other that, Ayla? Sometimes I think you imagine that horses are people.”
“No, horses are not people. They are themselves, but watch them some time, when they stand head to tail. One will scratch the other with teeth, and then wait to be scratched back at the same place,” Ayla said. “Maybe I’ll give Whinney a good combing with the dry teasel later. It must get hot and i
tchy under the leather straps all day. Sometimes I think we should leave the bowl boat behind … but it has been useful.”
“I’m hot and itchy. I think I’m going to take a swim, too. This time without clothes,” Jondalar said.
“I will, too, but first I want to unpack. Those clothes that got wet are still damp. I want to hang them over those bushes so they will dry.” She took a damp bundle out of one of her baskets and began draping the clothing across the branches of an alder bush. “I’m not sorry the clothes got wet,” Ayla said, arranging a loincloth. “I found some soaproot and washed mine while I was waiting for you.”
Jondalar shook out one garment, helping her to hang up the clothes, and discovered it was his tunic. He held it up to show her. “I thought you said you washed your clothes while you were waiting for me,” he said.
“I washed yours after you changed. Too much sweat makes the leather rot, and they were getting badly stained,” she explained.
He didn’t recall worrying too much about sweat or stains when he had traveled with his brother, but he was rather pleased that Ayla did.
By the time they were ready to go into the river, Whinney was coming out. She stood on the bank with her legs spread apart, then started shaking her head. The vigorous shake worked back along her body all the way to her tail. Jondalar held up his arms to ward off the spray. Ayla, laughing, ran into the water and, with both hands, rapidly scooped out more water to splash at the man as he was wading in. As soon as he was knee deep, he returned the favor. Racer, who had finished his bath and was standing nearby, received a share of the dousing and backed away, then he headed for the shore. He liked water, but under conditions of his own choosing.
After they tired of playing and swimming, Ayla began to notice the possibilities for their evening meal. Growing out of the water were spearhead-shaped leaves and white three-petaled flowers that darkened to purple at the center, and she knew the starchy tuber of the plant was filling and good. She dug some out of the muddy bottom with her toes; the stems were fragile and broke off too easily to pull them out. As Ayla waded back to the shore, she also gathered water plantain to cook, and tangy watercress to eat raw. A regular pattern of small wide leaves growing out from a center that was floating on the surface drew her attention.