The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  Well, she loved Jondalar and wanted to live with him, and besides, it was too late now to change her mind, but she hoped she had done the right thing in coming with him. She wished once again that her Cave Lion totem would give her a sign so that she would know she had made the right decision, but no sign seemed to be forthcoming.

  As the travelers neared the turbulent expanse of water at the confluence of the Sister River with the Great Mother River, the loose, crumbly marls—sands and clays rich in calcium—of the upper terraces gave way to gravels and loess soils on the low levels.

  In that wintry world, glaciered mountain crests filled streams and rivers during the warmer season with meltwater. Near the end of the season, with the addition of heavy rains that accumulated as snow in the higher elevations, which sharp temperature changes could release suddenly, the swift streams became torrential floods. With no lakes on the western face of the mountains to hold back the gathering deluge in a natural reservoir and dole the outpour in more measured tribute, the increasing tide fell over itself down the steep slopes. The cascading waters gouged sand and gravel out of the sandstones, limestones, and shales of the mountains, which was washed down to the mighty river and deposited on the beds and floodplains.

  The central plains, once the floor of an inland sea, occupied a basin between two massive mountain ranges on the east and west and highlands to the north and south. Almost equal in volume to the burgeoning Mother as she neared their meeting, the swollen Sister held the drainage of part of the plains, and the entire western face of the mountain chain that curved around in a great arc toward the northwest. The Sister River raced along the lowest depression of the basin to deliver her offering of floodwater to the Great Mother of Rivers, but her surging current was rebuffed by the higher water level of the Mother, already filled to capacity. Forced back on herself, she dissipated her offertory in a vortex of countercurrents and destructive spreading overflow.

  Near midday, the man and woman approached the marshy wilderness of half-drowned underbrush and occasional stands of trees with their lower trunks beneath the water. Ayla thought the similarity to the soggy marshland of the eastern delta grew stronger as they drew closer, except that the currents and countercurrents of the joining rivers were swirling maelstroms. With the weather much cooler, the insects were less bothersome, but the carcasses of bloated, partially devoured, and rotting animals that had been caught up by the flood collected their share. To the south, a massif with densely forested slopes was rising out of a purple mist caused by the surging eddies.

  “Those must be the Wooded Hills Carlono told us about,” Ayla said.

  “Yes, but they are more than hills,” Jondalar said. “They are higher than you think, and they extend for a long way. The Great Mother River flows south until she reaches that barrier. Those hills turn the Mother east.”

  They rode around a large quiet pool, a backwater that was separated from the moving waters, and stopped at the eastern edge of the swollen river, somewhat upstream from the confluence. As Ayla stared across the mighty flood at the other side, she began to understand Jondalar’s warnings about the difficulty of crossing the Sister.

  The muddy waters, swirling around the slender trunks of willows and birches, tore loose those trees whose roots were not as securely anchored into the soil of low islands that were surrounded by channels in drier seasons. Many trees were pitched at precarious angles, and naked branches and boles that had been wrenched from upstream woods were trapped in muck along the banks or circled in a dizzy dance in the river.

  Ayla silently wondered how they would ever get across the river, and she asked, “Where do you think we should cross?”

  Jondalar wished the large Ramudoi boat that had rescued Thonolan and him a few years before would appear and take them to the other side. The reminder of his brother again brought a piercing stab of grief, but also a sudden concern for Ayla.

  “I think it’s obvious we can’t cross here,” he said. “I didn’t know it would be this bad so soon. We’ll have to go upstream to look for an easier place to attempt it. I just hope it doesn’t rain again before we find it. Another rainstorm like the last one, and this whole floodplain will be under water. No wonder that summer camp was abandoned.”

  “This river wouldn’t go up as high as that, would it?” Ayla asked, her eyes open wide.

  “I don’t think it would, yet, but it might. All the water falling on those mountains will eventually end up here. Besides, flash floods could easily come down the stream that ran so near the camp. And probably do. Frequently. I think we should hurry, Ayla. This is not a safe place to be if it starts to rain again,” Jondalar said, looking up at the sky. He urged the stallion to a gallop and kept to such a fast pace that Wolf was hard pressed to keep up with them. After a while he slowed down again, but not to the leisurely pace they had maintained before.

  Jondalar stopped occasionally and studied the river and its far bank before continuing north, glancing at the sky anxiously. The river did seem narrower in some places and wider in others, but it was so full and broad that it was hard to tell for sure. They rode until it was nearly dark without finding a suitable crossing place, but Jondalar insisted that they ride to higher ground to make camp for the night, and they halted only when it became too dark to travel safely.

  “Ayla! Ayla! Wake up!” Jondalar said, shaking her gently. “We have to get moving.”

  “What? Jondalar! What’s wrong?” Ayla said.

  She was usually awake before him, and she felt disconcerted to be awakened so early. When she moved the sleeping fur aside, she felt a chill breeze, and then she noticed the tent flap was open. The diffused radiance of seething clouds was outlined by the opening, providing the only illumination inside their sleeping quarters. She could barely make out Jondalar’s face in the dim gray light, but it was enough to see that he was worried, and she shivered with foreboding.

  “We have to go,” Jondalar said. He had hardly slept all night. He couldn’t exactly say why he felt they had to get across the river as soon as possible, but the feeling was so strong that it gave him a knot of fear in the pit of his stomach, not for himself, but for Ayla.

  She got up, not asking why. She knew he would not have awakened her if he didn’t think their situation was serious. She dressed quickly, then got out her fire-making kit.

  “Let’s not take the time for a fire this morning,” Jondalar said.

  She frowned, then nodded and poured out cold water for them to drink. They packed while eating cakes of traveling food. When they were ready to leave, Ayla looked for Wolf, but he was not in camp.

  “Where is Wolf,” Ayla said, a note of desperation in her voice.

  “He’s probably hunting. He’ll catch up with us, Ayla. He always does.”

  “I’ll whistle for him,” she said, then pierced the early morning air with the distinctive sound she used to call him.

  “Come on, Ayla. We need to go,” Jondalar said, feeling a familiar irritation over the wolf.

  “I’m not going without him,” she said, whistling again louder, giving the tone more urgency.

  “We have to find a place to cross this river before the rain starts, or we might not get across,” Jondalar said.

  “Can’t we just keep on going upstream? This river is bound to get smaller, isn’t it?” she argued.

  “Once it starts to rain, it will only get bigger. Even upstream it will be bigger than it is here now, and we don’t know what kind of rivers will be coming down off those mountains. We could easily get caught by a flash flood. Dolando said they were common once the rains started. Or we could be stopped by a large tributary. Then what do we do? Climb back up the mountain to get around it? We need to get across the Sister while we can,” Jondalar said. He mounted the stallion and looked down at the woman standing beside the mare with the travois trailing behind her.

  Ayla turned her back and whistled again.

  “We have to go, Ayla.”

  “Why can’t we w
ait a little while? He’ll come.”

  “He’s only an animal. Your life is more important to me than his.”

  She turned around and looked up at him, then looked back down, frowning deeply. Was it as dangerous to wait as Jondalar thought? Or was he just being impatient? If it was, shouldn’t his life be more important to her than Wolf’s, too? Just then, Wolf loped into sight. Ayla breathed a sigh of relief and braced as he jumped up to greet her, putting his paws on her shoulders and licking her jaw. She climbed up to Whinney’s back, using one of the travois poles to assist her. Then, signaling Wolf to stay close, she followed Jondalar and Racer.

  There was no sunrise. The day just kept getting imperceptibly lighter, but never bright. The cloud cover hung low, giving the sky a uniform gray, and there was a cool dampness in the air. Later in the morning they stopped to rest. Ayla made a hot tea to warm them, then a rich soup out of a cake of traveling food. She added lemony sorrel leaves and wild rose hips, after removing the seeds and the sharp bristly hairs from inside, and a few leaves from the tips of the clump of field roses growing nearby. For a while, the tea and the warm soup seemed to relieve Jondalar’s concerns, until he noticed darker clouds gathering.

  He urged her to pack her things quickly, and they started out again. Jondalar anxiously watched the sky to note the progress of the oncoming storm. He watched the river, too, looking for a place to cross. He hoped for some abatement of the swift churning current: a wider, shallower spot, or an island or even a sandbar between the two banks. Finally, fearing the storm would not hold off much longer, he decided they would have to take a chance, though the tumultuous Sister looked no different than it had all along. Knowing that once the rains began, the situation would only get worse, he headed toward a section of bank that offered fairly easy access. They stopped and dismounted.

  “Do you think we should try to ride the horses across?” Jondalar asked, glancing nervously at the threatening sky.

  Ayla studied the racing river and the debris it carried along. Often large whole trees floated by, along with many broken ones, that had been washed down from stands higher in the mountains. She shuddered when she noticed a large, bloated deer carcass, its antlers caught and entwined in the branches of a tree that was lodged near the shore. The dead animal made her fear for the horses.

  “I think it would be easier for them to cross if we are not on their backs,” she said. “I think we should swim beside them.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Jondalar said.

  “But we’ll need a rope to hold on,” she said.

  They got out short lengths of rope, then checked over the harnesses and baskets to make sure their tent, food, and few precious belongings were secure. Ayla unhitched the travois from Whinney, deciding it might be too dangerous for her to try to swim the tumultuous river in full harness, but they did not want to lose the poles and bowl boat, if they could help it.

  With that in mind, they bound the long poles together with cordage. While Jondalar fastened one end to the side of the bowl boat, Ayla secured the other end to the harness that was used to hold on Whinney’s pack-saddle basket. She used a slip knot that could readily be released if she felt it was necessary. Then, to the flat braided cord that went down around behind the mare’s front legs and up across her chest, used to hold Ayla’s riding blanket on the mare, the woman attached another rope, much more securely.

  Jondalar attached a similar rope to Racer; then he took off his boots, his inner foot-coverings, and his heavy outer clothes and furs. When soaked, they would weigh him down, making swimming all but impossible. He wrapped them together and piled them on top of the pack saddle, but he kept his under tunic and leggings on. Even when wet, the leather would provide some warmth. Ayla did the same.

  The animals sensed the urgency and anxiety of the humans and were disturbed by the roiling water. The horses had shied away from the dead deer, and they were prancing around with short steps, tossing their heads and rolling their eyes, but their ears were perked up and alertly forward. Wolf, on the other hand, had gone to the edge of the water to investigate the deer, but he didn’t go in.

  “How do you think the horses will do, Ayla?” Jondalar asked, as big sloppy raindrops began to fall.

  “They’re nervous, but I think they’ll be all right, especially since we will be with them, but I’m not so sure about Wolf,” Ayla said.

  “We can’t carry him across. He has to make it on his own—you know that,” Jondalar said. But seeing her distress, he added, “Wolf’s a strong swimmer, he should be all right.”

  “I hope so,” she said, kneeling down to give the wolf a hug.

  Jondalar noticed that the raindrops were falling thicker and faster. “We better get started,” he said, taking hold of Racer’s halter directly, since the lead rope was fastened farther back. He closed his eyes for a moment and wished for good luck. He thought of Doni, the Great Earth Mother, but he couldn’t think of anything to promise Her in return for their safety. He made a silent request for help in crossing the Sister anyway. Though he knew he would someday, he did not want to meet the Mother just yet, but even more, he did not want to lose Ayla.

  The stallion tossed his head and tried to rear as Jondalar led him toward the river. “Easy now, Racer,” the man said. The water was cold as it swirled around his bare feet, and up his covered calves and thighs. Once in the water, Jondalar let go of Racer’s halter, giving him his head, and he wrapped the dangling rope around his hand, relying on the sturdy young stallion to find his way across.

  Ayla wrapped the rope that was attached at the top of the mare’s withers around her hand several times, tucking the end in and around, and she closed her fist tightly to hold it. Then she started in behind the tall man, walking beside Whinney. She pulled on the other rope, the one that was fastened to the poles and boat, making sure it did not get tangled as they entered the river.

  The young woman felt the cold water and the tug of the strong current immediately. She looked back toward the land. Wolf was still on the riverbank, advancing and retreating, whining anxiously, hesitant to enter the fast-moving river. She called to him, encouragingly. He paced back and forth, looking at the water and the widening distance between him and the woman. Suddenly, just as the rain began to fall in earnest, he sat down and howled. Ayla whistled to him and, after a few more false starts, he finally plunged in and started paddling toward her. She turned her attention back to the horse and the river ahead.

  The rain, coming down harder, seemed to flatten out the choppy waves in the distance, but nearby the wild water was even more cluttered with debris than she had thought. Broken trunks and branches swirled around or bumped into her, some still with leaves, others waterlogged and almost hidden. The bloated animals were worse, often torn open by the violence of the flood that had caught them and swept them down the mountain and into the muddy river.

  She saw several birch mice and pine voles. A large ground squirrel was harder to recognize; its pale brown pelt was dark and the thick fluffy tail was plastered down. A collared lemming, long white winter hair, lank but shiny, growing out through fur of summer gray that looked black, showed the bottom of its feet already covered with white fur. It had probably come from high on the mountain near the snow. The large animals showed more damage. A chamois floated past with a horn broken off and the fur gone from half its face, exposing pinkish muscle. When she saw the carcass of a young snow leopard, she looked back again for Wolf, but he was not in sight.

  She noticed, however, that the rope dragging behind the mare was hauling along a snag as well as the poles and boat. The broken stump with spreading roots was adding an unnecessary burden and slowing Whinney down. Ayla pulled and tugged on the rope, trying to bring it closer to her, but it suddenly came loose by itself. A small forked branch was still clinging, but it was nothing to worry about. She was concerned about not seeing any sign of Wolf, even though she was so low in the water that she couldn’t see much. It upset her, especially since there
was nothing she could do about it. She whistled for him once, but she wondered if he would hear it above the noise of the rushing water.

  She turned back and took a critical look at Whinney, worried that the heavy snag might have tired her, but she was still swimming strongly. Ayla looked ahead and was relieved to see Racer with Jondalar bobbing along beside him. She kicked and pulled with her free arm, trying not to be a greater burden than she had to be. But as they continued, more and more she just hung on to the rope, beginning to shiver. She began to feel that it was taking an unreasonably long time to cross the river. The opposite shore still seemed so far ahead. The shivering wasn’t too bad at first, but with more time in the cold water, it became more intense and wouldn’t stop. Her muscles were becoming very tense, and her teeth were chattering.

  She looked back for Wolf again, but she still did not see him. I should go back for him, he’s so cold, she thought, as she shivered violently. Maybe Whinney can turn around and go back. But when she tried to speak, her jaw was so tense and chattering that she could not get the words out. No, Whinney shouldn’t have to go. I’ll do it. She tried to unwrap the rope from around her hand, but it was tight and tangled, and her hand was so numb that she could hardly feel it. Maybe Jondalar can go back for him. Where is Jondalar? Is he in the river? Did he go back for Wolf? Oh, there’s a log caught up in the rope again. I have to … something … pull something … take rope away … heavy for Whinney.