The Shamudoi half of the people liked to hunt the high tors for chamois, and they knew the ways of bear, boar, forest bison, and other elusive woodland prey. Jondalar recalled that Thonolan had developed a preference for hunting in the mountains with them. The Ramudoi moiety, on the other hand, knew the river and hunted its creatures, especially the giant sturgeon. Jondalar had been more interested in the boats and learning the ways of the river. Though he had climbed the
mountains with the chamois hunters on occasion, he didn’t care much for heights.
Sighting a small herd of red deer, Jondalar decided that it would be a good opportunity to procure a supply of meat to see them through the next few days until they reached the Sharamudoi, and perhaps bring some with them to share. Ayla was eager when he suggested it. She enjoyed hunting and they hadn’t done much of it recently, except for bringing down a few partridges and other small game, which she usually did with her sling. The Great Mother River had been so giving, it hadn’t been necessary to hunt much.
They found a place to set up their camp near the small river, left their pack baskets and the travois, and started off in the direction of the herd with their spear-throwers and spears. Wolf was excited; they were changing their routine, and the spears and throwers signaled their intentions to him. Whinney and Racer seemed friskier, too, if only because they were no longer carrying pack baskets or dragging poles.
This group of red deer was a bachelor herd, and the antlers of the ancient elk were thick with velvet. By fall, in time for the rutting season, when the branching horns had reached their full growth for the year, the soft covering of skin and nourishing blood vessels would dry up and peel off—with help from the deer rubbing them against trees or rocks.
The woman and man stopped to appraise the situation. Wolf was fall of anticipation, whining and making false starts. Ayla had to command him to stay still, so he wouldn’t chase after and scatter the herd. Jondalar, glad to see him settle down, gave a passing thought of admiration at the way Ayla had trained him, then turned back to study the deer. Sitting astride the horse gave the man an overall view, and another advantage he would not have had on foot. Several of the antlered animals had stopped feeding, aware of the presence of the newcomers, but horses were not threatening. They were fellow grazers that were usually tolerated or ignored, if they were not signaling fear. Even with the presence of human and wolf, the deer were not yet concerned enough to run.
Looking over the herd to decide which one to try for, Jondalar was tempted by a magnificent stag with a commanding rack who seemed to be looking directly at him, as though assessing the man in return. Perhaps if he’d been with a band of hunters needing food for a whole Cave, and wanting to show off their prowess, he might have considered going after the majestic animal. But the man was sure that when autumn brought their season of Pleasures, many females would be eager to join the herd that chose him. Jondalar couldn’t bring himself to kill such a
proud and beautiful animal just for a little meat. He selected another deer.
“Ayla, see the one near the tall bush? On the edge of the herd?” The woman nodded. “He seems to be in a good position to break away from the others. Let’s try for him.”
They talked over their strategy, then separated. Wolf watched the woman on the horse closely and, at her signal, sprang forward toward the deer she indicated. Ayla, on the mare, was close on his heels. Jondalar was coming around from the other side, spear and thrower ready.
The deer sensed danger, and so did the rest of the herd. They were bounding away in all directions. The one they had chosen leaped away from the attacking wolf and the charging woman, straight at the man on the stallion. He came so close that Racer shied back.
Jondalar had been ready with his spear, but the stallion’s quick move spoiled his aim and distracted him. The stag changed direction, trying to get away from the horse and human blocking his way, only to find a huge wolf in his path. In fear, the deer leaped to the side, away from the snarling predator, and dashed between Ayla and Jondalar.
As the deer made another bound, Ayla shifted weight as she took aim. Whinney, understanding the signal, pounded after him. Jondalar recovered his balance and hurled his spear at the fleeing stag, just as Ayla loosed hers.
The proud antlers jerked once, and then again. Both spears landed with great force, almost simultaneously. The large stag tried to leap away again, but it was too late. The spears had found their mark. The red deer faltered, then fell in midstride.
The plains were empty. The herd had disappeared, but the hunters didn’t notice, as they jumped off their horses beside the stag. Jondalar took his bone-handled knife out of its sheath, grabbed the velveted antlers, pulled the head back, and slit the throat of the large ancient elk. They stood silently and watched the blood pool around the head of the stag. The dry earth absorbed it.
“When you return to the Great Earth Mother, give Her our thanks,” Jondalar said to the red deer lying dead upon the ground.
Ayla nodded agreement. She was accustomed to this ritual of his. Jondalar said similar words every time they killed an animal, even a small one, but she sensed it was never done by rote, just to be saying it. There was feeling and reverence in his words. His thanks were genuine.
The low, rolling plains gave way to steep hills, and birch trees appeared among the brush, then woods of hornbeam and beech with oak intermixed. At the lower elevations, the region resembled the wooded hills they had traveled beside near the delta of the Great Mother River.
Climbing higher, they began to see fir and spruce and a few larch and pine among the huge deciduous trees.
They came to a clearing, an open, rounded knoll somewhat higher than the surrounding woodland. Jondalar halted to get his bearings, but Ayla was stopped by the view. They were higher in altitude than she realized. Toward the west, looking down over the tops of trees, she could see the Great Mother River in the distance, all her channels gathered together again, winding through a deep gorge of sheer rocky walls. She understood now why Jondalar had turned aside to find a way around.
“I’ve been on a boat in that passage,” he said. “It’s called the Gate.”
“The Gate? You mean like a gate you’d make for a surround? To close the opening and trap animals inside?” Ayla asked.
“I don’t know. I never asked, but maybe that is where the name came from. Although it’s more like the fence you’d build on both sides leading up to the gate. It goes on for quite a distance. I wish I could take you on it.” He smiled. “Maybe I will.”
They headed north toward the mountain, downhill off the knoll for a space, then leveled out. In front of them, like an immense wall, was a long line of huge trees, the beginning of a deep, dense, mixed forest of hardwood and evergreens. The moment they stepped within the shade of the high canopy of leaves, they found themselves in a different world. It took a few moments for their eyes to adjust from the bright sun to the dim silent umbra of the primeval forest, but they felt the cool damp air immediately and smelled the rich dank luxuriance of growth and decay.
Thick moss covered the ground in a seamless blanket of green and climbed over boulders, spread over the rounded shapes of ancient trees long fallen, and circled disintegrating standing stumps and living trees impartially. The large wolf running ahead jumped up on a mossy log. He broke through the ancient rotted core that was slowly dissolving back into the soil, exposing writhing white grubs surprised by the light of day. The man and woman soon dismounted to make it easier to find their way across a forest floor littered with the remnants of life and its regenerating offspring.
Seedlings sprouted from mossy rotting logs, and saplings vied for a place in the sun where a lightning-struck tree had taken several more down with it. Flies buzzed around the nodding, pink-flowered spikes of wintergreen in the bright rays that reached the forest floor through a break in the canopy. The silence was uncanny; the smallest sounds were amplified. They spoke in whispers for no reason.
Fungus was rampant; mushrooms of every variety could be found almost anyplace they looked. Leafless herbs like beechdrops, lavender toothwort, and various bright-flowered small orchids, often without
green leaves, were everywhere, growing from the roots of other living plants or their decaying remains. When Ayla saw several small, pale, waxy, leafless stems with nodding heads she stopped to collect some.
“This will help soothe Wolf’s and the horses’ eyes,” she explained, and Jondalar noticed a warm, sad smile playing across her face. “It’s the plant Iza used for my eyes when I cried.”
While she was at it, she picked some mushrooms that she was certain were edible. Ayla never took chances: she was very careful about mushrooms. Many varieties were delicious, many were not very tasty but not harmful, some were good as medicine, some would make a person mildly sick, a few could help one see spirit worlds, and a few were deadly. And some of them could be easily confused with others.
They had trouble moving the travois with its widely spaced poles through the forest. It kept getting caught between trees growing close together. When Ayla first developed the simple but efficient method of utilizing the strength of Whinney to help her transport objects too heavy for her to carry by herself, she devised a way for the horse to climb the steep narrow path to her cave by bringing the poles closer together. But with the bowl boat mounted on it, they couldn’t move the long poles, and it was difficult getting around objects while dragging them. The travois was very effective over rough terrain, it did not get stuck in holes or ditches or mud, but it needed an open landscape.
They struggled for the rest of the afternoon. Jondalar finally untied the bowl boat entirely and dragged it himself. They were beginning to think seriously of leaving it behind. It had been more than helpful in crossing the many rivers and smaller tributaries that had flowed into the Great Mother, but they weren’t sure if it was worth the trouble it was taking to get it through the thick growth of trees. Even if there were many more rivers ahead, they could certainly get across them without the boat, and it was slowing them down.
Darkness caught them still in the forest. They set up camp for the night, but they both felt uneasy and more exposed than in the middle of the wide steppes. Out in the open, even in the dark, they could see something: clouds, or stars, silhouettes of moving shapes. In the dense forest, with the massive trunks of tall trees that were able to hide even large creatures, the dark was absolute. The amplifying silence that had seemed uncanny when they entered the wooded world was terrifying in the deep woods at night, though they tried not to show it.
The horses were tense, too, and crowded close to the known comfort of fire. Wolf stayed at camp as well. Ayla was glad, and as she gave him a serving of their meal, thought she would have kept him close in any case. Even Jondalar was glad; having a large friendly wolf nearby
was reassuring. He could smell things, sense things, that a human could not.
The night was colder in the damp woods, with a clammy, sticky sort of humidity so heavy it felt almost like rain. They crawled into their sleeping furs early, and though they were tired they talked long into the night, not quite ready to trust sleeping.
“I’m not sure we should bother with that bowl boat any more,” Jondalar commented. “The horses can wade across the small streams without getting much of anything wet. With deeper rivers, we can lift the pack baskets to their backs, instead of letting them hang down.”
“I tied my things to a log once. After I left the Clan and was looking for people like me, I came to a wide river. I swam across it pushing the log,” Ayla said.
“That must have been hard to do, and maybe more dangerous, not having your arms free.”
“It was hard, but I had to get across, and I couldn’t think of any other way,” Ayla said.
She was quiet for a while, thinking. The man, lying beside her, wondered if she had fallen asleep; then she revealed the direction her thoughts had taken.
“Jondalar, I’m sure we have already traveled much farther than I did before I found my valley. We have come a long way, haven’t we?”
“Yes, we have come a long way,” he replied, a little guarded in his answer. He shifted to his side and raised up on one arm so he could see her. “But we are still a long way from my home. Are you tired of traveling already, Ayla?”
“A little. I would like to rest for a while. Then I’ll be ready to travel again. As long as I’m with you, I don’t care how far we have to go. I just didn’t know this world was so big. Does it ever end?”
“To the west of my home, the land ends at the Great Waters. No one knows what lies beyond that. I know another man who says he has traveled even farther, and has seen great waters in the east, though many people doubt him. Most people travel a little, but few travel very far, so they find it hard to believe the stories of long Journeys, unless they see something that convinces them. But there are always a few who travel far.” He made a disparaging chuckle. “Though I never expected to be one. Wymez traveled around the Southern Sea and found there was more land even farther to the south.”
“He also found Ranec’s mother and brought her back. It’s hard to doubt Wymez. Have you ever seen anyone else with brown skin like Ranec’s? Wymez had to travel far to find a woman like that,” Ayla said.
Jondalar looked at the face glowing in the firelight, feeling a great
love for the woman beside him, and a great worry. This talk of long Journeys made him think about the long way they still had to go.
“In the north, the land ends in ice,” she continued. “No one can go beyond the glacier.”
“Unless they go by boat,” Jondalar said. “But I’m told that all you will find is a land of ice and snow, where white spirit bears live, and they say there are fish bigger than mammoths. Some of the western people claim there are shamans powerful enough to Call them to the land. And once they are beached, they can’t go back, but…”