The two travelers no longer wore outer clothes, not even when they first got up. Ayla thought the cool, crisp air of early morning was the best time of the day. But the late afternoon was hot, hotter than usual, she thought, wishing for a nice cool stream to swim in. She glanced at the man riding a few paces ahead. He was bare to the waist, and barelegged, wearing only a loincloth. His long blond hair, pulled back into a thong at the nape of his neck, had lighter streaks from the sun, and was darker where the sweat had made it wet.
She caught glimpses of his clean-shaven face and liked being able to see his strong jaw and well-defined chin, though she still had a residual feeling that it was odd to see a grown man without a beard. He had explained to her once that he liked to let his beard grow in winter, to warm his face, but he always cut it off in summer, because it was cooler. He used a special sharp flint blade, one that he knapped himself and replaced when needed, to shave himself every morning.
Ayla, too, had stripped down to a short garment, patterned after Jondalar’s loincloth. Both were basically a length of soft leather, worn between the legs, and held on with a cord around the waist. His garment was worn with the loose end at the back tucked inside, and the one in front left out in a short flap. Hers was also held on with a cord around the waist, but she started with a longer piece, and she wore both loose ends out, pulled together at the sides, to hang down in a sort of apron in front and back. The effect was of a short skirt open at the sides. With the soft porous leather to sit on, riding for long periods on the back of a sweaty horse was more comfortable, though the buckskin across the animal’s back helped, too.
Jondalar had used the high hill to check their location. He was pleased with their progress, which made him feel easier about the Journey. Ayla noticed that he seemed more relaxed. Part of it, she knew, was his increasing skill in managing the young stallion. Though he had ridden the animal frequently before, traveling on horseback gave him the constant association that developed an understanding of Racer’s character, preferences, and habits, and allowed the horse to learn his. Even his muscles had learned to adjust to the animal’s motion and his seat was more comfortable, both for him and the stallion.
But Ayla thought his easy, relaxed riding indicated more than greater facility on horseback. There was less tension in his movements, and she sensed that his concern had diminished. Though she couldn’t see his face, she guessed that his frown of worry would be gone, and that he might be in a mood for smiling. She loved it when he smiled and felt playful. She watched the way his muscles moved beneath his tanned skin as he matched Racer’s gait with a gentle up-and-down motion, and she felt a glow of warmth that was not from the temperature … and smiled to herself. She loved watching him.
Toward the west, they could still see the mountains rising up purple in the distance, capped by glistening white that pierced the dark clouds hanging below. They seldom saw the icy peaks, and Jondalar was enjoying the rare pleasure. Most often they were hidden by low misty clouds that clung like soft white furs cloaking a sparkling secret, opening just enough to reveal tempting glimpses and make them more desirable.
He was feeling warm, too, and wished they were closer to those snow-tipped mountaintops, at least as close as the Sharamudoi lodges. But when he noticed the glint of water in the valley below and glanced at the sky to check the position of the sun, though it was earlier than usual, he decided they might as well stop and make camp. They were making good time, traveling faster than he had estimated, and he didn’t know how long it would take to reach the next source of water.
The slope supported a rich growth of grass, primarily feather grasses, fescues, and herbs mixed with varieties of quick-seeding annual grasses. The thick loess subsoil, which supported a black fertile loam that was high in the humus of decaying plantlife, even encouraged trees, which, except for the occasional scrub pine struggling for subsoil water, were unusual for the steppes in this vicinity. An open mixed woods of birch and larch, conifers that dropped their needles in winter, marched downhill with them, with alder and willow filling in lower down. At the bottom of the slope, where the land leveled out some distance from the gurgling stream, Ayla was surprised to see an occasional dwarfed oak, beech, or linden in some of the open places. She had not seen many large-leaf trees since she left the cave of Bran’s
clan, on the well-watered southern end of the peninsula that jutted into Beran Sea.
The small river weaved its way around brush as it meandered across the level valley floor, but one loop edged close to some tall, thin willows that were an extension of the more thickly forested slope of the other side. They usually liked to cross a river before making camp, so they wouldn’t have to get wet when they started in the morning, and they decided to camp near the willows. They rode downstream, looking for a place to cross, and found a wide, stony, fordable crossing, then rode back.
While they were setting up the tent, Jondalar found himself watching Ayla, conscious of her warm, tanned body, and thinking how lucky he was. Not only was she beautiful—her strength, her supple grace, the assurance of her movements, all pleased him—but she was a good traveling companion, contributing equally to their well-being. Though he felt responsible for her safety and wanted to protect her from harm, there was comfort in knowing he could rely on her. In some ways, traveling with Ayla was like traveling with his brother. He had felt protective toward Thonolan, too. It was his nature to be concerned for those he cared about.
But only in some ways. When the young woman lifted her arms to shake out the ground cover, he became aware that the skin was lighter on the underside of her rounded breasts, and he had an urge to compare the tone with her browned arm. He didn’t think that he might be staring, but he did notice when she stopped working and turned toward him. When he caught her eye, Ayla smiled slowly.
Suddenly he felt an urge to do more than compare skin tones. It pleased him to know that if he wanted to share Pleasures with her right then, she would be willing. There was comfort in that, too. It wasn’t as necessary to seize every opportunity. The feeling was as strong, but the urgency was less, and sometimes waiting a bit made it better. He could think about it and enjoy the anticipation. Jondalar smiled back.
After they set up camp, Ayla wanted to explore the valley. It was unusual to find such a thickly wooded area in the middle of the steppes, and she was curious. She hadn’t seen such vegetation for years.
Jondalar wanted to explore, too. After their experience with the bear at the campsite near the grove of trees, he wanted to check for tracks or other indications of the animals that might be in the vicinity. With Ayla taking along her sling and collecting basket, and Jondalar his spear-thrower with a couple of spears, they headed into the willows. They left the horses to graze, but Wolf was eager to accompany them. The woods were an unusual place for him, too, full of fascinating scents.
Back from the water, the willow trees gave way to alder, then birch mixed with larch became common, and there were some good-size pines. Ayla eagerly picked a few cones when she saw they were stone pines, for the large, delicious pine nuts they contained. But more unusual to her were the occasional large-leafed trees. In one area, still on the level valley plain but near the bottom of the slope that led to the open grassland above, was a pure stand of beech trees.
Ayla looked them over carefully, comparing them with her memory of similar trees that grew near the cave where she had lived as a child. The bark was smooth and gray, and the leaves were oval narrowing to a point at the end with shallow sharp teeth around the edge, and silky white underneath. The small brown nuts encased in their bristly husk, were not yet ripe, but the mast of nuts and shells on the ground from last season showed the plentiful yield. She recalled that beechnuts were hard to crack. The trees were not as large as the ones she remembered, but respectable. Then she noticed the unusual plants growing under the trees and knelt down to take a closer look.
“Are you going to collect those?” Jondalar asked. “They look dead. There’re no leaves on them.”
“They aren’t dead. That’s how they grow. Here, feel how fresh it is,” Ayla said, breaking off the upper few inches of the foot-high, smooth, leafless stem with slender branches the whole length of it. The entire plant was a dull reddish color, including the flower buds, without a hint of green.
“They grow from the roots of other plants,” Ayla said, “like the one Iza used to put on my eyes when I cried, except those were white, and kind of shiny. Some people were afraid of them because they thought their color looked like the skin of a dead person. They were even named…”—she thought for a moment—“something like dead man’s plant, or corpse plant.”
She stared into space as she remembered. “Iza thought my eyes were weak because they watered, and it bothered her.” Ayla smiled at the thought. “She’d get a fresh one of those white corpse plants and squeeze the juice right out of the stem into my eyes. If they were sore from crying too much, it always made them feel better.” She was silent for a time, then shook her head slightly. “I’m not sure if these are good for eyes. Iza used them for little cuts and bruises, and for certain growths.”
“What are they called?”
“I think her name for them would be … what is your name for this tree, Jondalar?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t think they grow near my home, but the Sharamudoi name is ‘beech.’ ”
“Then I think these would be called ‘beechdrops,’ ” she said, getting up and brushing her hands together to dust them off.
Suddenly Wolf froze, his nose pointed toward the deep woods. Jondalar noticed his stalking posture and, remembering how Wolf had scented the bear, reached for a spear. He laid it on top of the groove in his spear-thrower, a shaped piece of wood about half the length of a spear, which was held in a horizontal position with his right hand. He fitted the hollow at the butt of the spear into the notch at the back of the thrower. Then he put his fingers through the two loops near the front of the throwing weapon, which reached a place just short of the middle of the spear, to hold the shaft in place as it rested on top of his spear-thrower. It was done quickly with a smooth motion, and he stood with knees slightly flexed, ready to cast. Ayla had reached for stones and was ready with her sling, wishing she had brought her spear-thrower, too.
Moving through the sparse undergrowth, Wolf made a dash toward a tree. There was a scurry of movement in the beechnut mast, then a small animal raced straight up the smooth trunk. Standing up on his hind legs, as though he was trying to climb the tree as well, Wolf yelped after the furry creature.
Suddenly a commotion up in the branches of the tree attracted their attention. They caught sight of the rich sable-brown coat and long sinuous shape of a beech marten chasing after the loudly cluttering squirrel, who thought it had just escaped up the tree. Wolf wasn’t the only one who thought the squirrel was worthy of interest, but the large weasellike animal, a foot and a half in length with a bushy tail that added another twelve inches to its dimensions, had a much better chance of success. Racing through the high branches, it was as nimble and fleet as its intended prey.
“I think that squirrel jumped out of the cooking skin into the coals,” Jondalar said, watching the drama unfold.
“Maybe he’ll get away,” Ayla said.
“It’s doubtful. I wouldn’t wager a broken blade on it.”
The squirrel was chittering loudly. An excited jay squawking a raucous caw added to the disturbance, then a willow tit stridently announced its presence. Wolf couldn’t stand it, he had to join in. Stretching his head back, he voiced a long howl. The small squirrel climbed out to the end of a limb; then, to the surprise of the two watching people, it leaped into the air. Spreading its legs, it stretched out the broad skin flap that extended along the sides of its body, joining the front and back legs, and soared through the air.
Ayla caught her breath as she watched the flying squirrel avoiding branches and trees. The bushy tail acted as a rudder, and by changing
the position of its legs and tail, which changed the tension on the gliding membrane, the squirrel could steer clear of objects in its flight path as it descended in a long, smooth curve. It was aiming for a tree some distance away and, when it drew near, it turned both its tail and body up, and landed low on the trunk, then quickly scurried up. When it reached some high branches, the furry little animal turned around and climbed down again, headfirst, its outstretched hind claws stuck into the bark to anchor it. It looked around, then disappeared into a small hole. The dramatic leap and soaring glide had prevented its capture, though not even that amazing feat was always successful.
Wolf was still up on his hind legs against the tree looking for the squirrel that had so easily eluded him. He dropped down, began sniffing through the underbrush, then suddenly dashed away, chasing something else.
“Jondalar! I didn’t know squirrels could fly,” Ayla said, with a smile of surprised wonder.
“I should have made that wager, but I’ve never seen them before, though I have heard of them. I don’t think I really believed it. People always talked of seeing the squirrels flying at night, and I thought it was probably a bat that someone mistook for a squirrel. But that was definitely not a bat.” With a wry smile he added, “Now I’ll be one of those that no one quite believes when he talks about seeing a flying squirrel.”
“I’m glad it was just a squirrel,” Ayla said, suddenly feeling a chill. She glanced up and noticed that a cloud was blocking the sun. She felt a shiver across her shoulders and down her back, though it wasn’t really cold. “I didn’t know what Wolf was after this time.”
Feeling a bit foolish for reacting so strongly to a threat he only imagined, Jondalar relaxed his grip on his spear and thrower, but still held on. “I thought it might have been a bear,” he said. “Especially with these thick woods.”