Ayla glanced up to see who had made the last comment. It was a young woman, a little older than Darvalo, named Rakario. She liked to be around Jondalar all the time, which annoyed the young man. He had complained that she was always in the way.
Jondalar was smiling broadly at the good-humored argument. The commotion was a demonstration of the friendly competition between the moieties; a rivalry within the family that added a little excitement but was never allowed to go beyond well-understood limits. Jokes, bragging, and a certain level of insults were permissible, but anything that might unduly offend or cause real anger was quickly squelched, with both sides joining forces to calm tempers and alleviate hurt feelings.
“As I said, I think Jondalar would make a good River man,” Tholie continued when everyone had settled down, “but Ayla is most familiar with the land, and I’d like to encourage Jondalar to stay with the land hunters, if he is willing and they will accept him. If Jondalar and Ayla would stay and become Sharamudoi, we would make an offer to cross-mate with them, but since Markeno and I are Ramudoi, they would have to be Shamudoi.”
There was a great outburst of excitement among the people, with encouraging remarks and even congratulations directed at the two couples.
“That’s a wonderful plan, Tholie,” Carolio said.
“It was Roshario who gave me the idea,” Tholie said.
“But what does Dolando think about accepting Jondalar, and Ayla, a woman who was raised by the ones who live on the peninsula?” Carolio asked, looking directly at the Shamudoi leader.
There was a sudden silence. Everyone knew the implications of her question. After his violent reaction to Ayla, would Dolando be willing to
accept
her? Ayla had hoped his angry raving would be forgotten and wondered why Carolio had brought it up, but she had to do it. It was her responsibility.
Carlono and his mate had originally been cross-coupled with Dolando and Roshario, and together they had founded this particular group of Sharamudoi when they and a few others moved away from their rather crowded birthplace. Positions of leadership were usually conferred by informal consensus, and they were the natural choice. In practice, a leader’s mate usually took on the responsibilities of a coleader, but Carlono’s woman had died when Markeno was quite young. The Ramudoi leader never formally mated again and his twin sister, Carolio, who had stepped in to care for the boy, began to take on
the duties of a leader’s mate as well. As time went on, she was accepted as coleader, and, as such, it was her duty to ask the question.
The people knew Dolando had allowed Ayla to continue treating his woman, but Roshario had needed help and Ayla was obviously helping her. That did not necessarily mean he would want her around permanently. He could be merely controlling his feelings for the time being, and even though they needed a healer, Dolando was one of their own. They did not want to take in a stranger who might cause a problem for their leader and possible dissension within the group.
While Dolando was considering his answer, Ayla’s stomach churned up a lump in her throat. She had the uneasy feeling that she had done something wrong and was being judged for it. Yet she knew it wasn’t for anything she had done. She became upset and a little angry, and she wanted to get up and walk away. The wrong thing was being who she was. The same kind of thing had happened with the Mamutoi. Is this how it would always be? Is this what would happen with Jondalar’s people? Well, she thought, Iza and Creb and Brun’s clan had taken care of her, and she wasn’t going to deny the ones she loved, but she felt isolated and vulnerable.
Then she sensed someone had moved quietly to her side. She turned and smiled gratefully at Jondalar and felt better, but she knew it was still a trial, and that he was waiting to see how it would come out. She had been watching him closely, and she knew what his answer to Tholie’s offer would be. But Jondalar was waiting for Dolando’s response before he framed his own reply.
Suddenly, in the middle of the tension, there was a peal of laughter from Shamio. Then she and several other children came rushing out of one of the dwellings with Wolf in their midst.
“Isn’t it amazing how that wolf plays with children?” Roshario said. “A few days ago I would never have believed that I could watch an animal like that in the middle of children that I love and not be afraid for their lives. Perhaps that’s something to remember. When you get to know an animal that you once hated and feared, it’s possible to become very fond of it. I think it’s better to try to understand than to blindly hate.”
Dolando had been quietly pondering how to respond to Carolio’s question. He knew what he was being asked, and how much rested on his answer, but he was not quite sure how to frame what he thought and felt. He smiled at the woman he loved, grateful that she knew him so well. She had sensed his need and shown him a way to reply.
“I have blindly hated,” he began, “and I have blindly taken the lives of those I hated, because I thought they had taken the life of one that I loved. I thought they were vicious animals and I wanted to kill them all,
but it did not bring Doraldo back. Now I learn they did not deserve such hate. Animals or not, they were provoked. I must live with that, but…”
Dolando stopped, started to say something about those who knew more than they had told him, yet aided him in his rampages … then he changed his mind.
“This woman,” he went on, looking at Ayla, “this healer says she was raised by them, trained by those I thought were vicious animals, those I hated. Even if I still hated them, I could not hate her. Because of her, Roshario has been given back to me. Maybe it is time to try to understand.
“I think Tholie’s idea is a good one. I would be happy if the Shamudoi accepted Ayla and Jondalar.”
Ayla felt the relief wash over her. Now she truly understood why this man had been chosen by his people to lead them. In their day-to-day lives, they had come to know him well, and they knew the basic quality of the man.
“Well, Jondalar?” Roshario said. “What do you say? Don’t you think it’s time to give up this long Journey of yours? It’s time to settle, time to set up your own hearth, time to give the Mother a chance to bless Ayla with a baby or two.”
“I cannot find words to tell you how grateful I am,” Jondalar began, “that you would welcome us, Roshario. I feel that the Sharamudoi are my people, my kin. It would be very easy to make a home here among you, and you tempt me with your offer. But I must return to the Zelandonii”—he hesitated for a moment—“if only for Thonolan’s sake.”
He paused, and Ayla turned to look at him. She had known he would refuse, but that was not what she expected him to say. She noticed a subtle, nearly indiscernible nod, as though he’d thought of something else. Then he smiled at her.
“When he died, Ayla gave Thonolan’s spirit what comfort she could for his Journey through the next world, but his spirit was not laid to rest, and I am afraid, I have a feeling, that he wanders lost and alone, trying to find his way back to the Mother.”
His remark surprised Ayla, and she watched him closely as he continued.
“I cannot leave it like that. Someone needs to help him find his way, but I know of only one who might know how: Zelandoni, a shamud, a very powerful shamud, who was there when he was born. Perhaps, with the help of Marthona—his mother and mine—Zelandoni might be able to find his spirit and guide it on the right path.”
Ayla knew that wasn’t the reason he wanted to return, at least not the main reason. She sensed that what he said was perfectly true but, she
suddenly realized, like the answer she had given him when he asked her about the golden thread plant, it was not complete.
“You’ve been gone a long time, Jondalar,” Tholie said, her disappointment clear. “Even if they could help him, how do you know if your mother, or this Zelandoni, are still alive?”
“I don’t know, Tholie, but I have to try. Even if they can’t help, I think Marthona and the rest of his kin would like to know how happy he was here, with Jetamio, and you and Markeno. My mother would have liked Jetamio, I’m sure, and I know she would like you, Tholie.” The woman tried not to show it, but she could not help being pleased by his comment, even if she was disappointed. “Thonolan made a great Journey—and it always was his Journey I only followed along to look out for him. I want to tell about his Journey. He traveled all the way to the end of the Great Mother River, but even more important, he found a place here, with people who loved him. It is a story that deserves to be told.”
“Jondalar, I think you are still trying to follow your brother, to look out for him even in the next world,” Roshario said. “If that is what you must do, we can only wish you well. I think Shamud would have told us that you must follow your own path.”
Ayla considered what Jondalar had done. The offer made by Tholie and the Sharamudoi, to become one of them, was not made lightly. It was generous and very much an honor, and for those reasons it was hard to refuse without offending. Only a strong need to fulfill a higher goal, to follow a more compelling quest, could make the rejection acceptable. Jondalar chose not to mention that even though he thought of them as kin, they were not the kin he was homesick for, but his incomplete truth had provided a graceful and face-saving refusal.
In the Clan, not mentioning was acceptable to allow an element of privacy in a society where it was difficult to hide anything, because emotions and thoughts could be discerned so easily from postures, expressions, and subtle gestures. Jondalar had chosen to show a necessary consideration. She had the feeling that Roshario had suspected the truth, that she had accepted his excuse for the same reason that he had given it. The subtlety was not lost on Ayla, but she wanted to think about it, and she realized that generous offers could have more than one side to them.
“How long will you stay, Jondalar?” Markeno asked.
“We have traveled farther than I thought we would by now. I did not expect to get here until fall. I think, because of the horses, we are moving faster than I expected,” he explained, “but we still have a long way to go, and there are difficult obstacles ahead. I would like to leave as soon as we can.”
“Jondalar, we can’t leave so soon,” Ayla interjected. “I can’t go until Roshario’s arm is healed.”
“How long will that take?” Jondalar said with a frown.
“I told Roshario her arm would have to be held rigid in that birchbark for a moon and halfway into the next,” Ayla said.
“That’s too long. We can’t stay that long!”
“How long can we stay?” Ayla asked.
“Not very long at all.”
“But who will take the bark off? Who will know when the time is right?”
“We have sent a runner for a shamud,” Dolando offered. “Wouldn’t another healer know?”
“I suppose so,” Ayla said, “but I would like to talk to this shamud. Jondalar, can’t we stay at least until he comes?”
“If it’s not too long, but maybe you should consider telling Dolando or Tholie what to do, just in case.”
Jondalar was brushing Racer, and it seemed that the stallion’s coat was growing in and thickening fast. He thought he had detected a decided nip in the air that morning, and the stallion seemed particularly frisky.
“I think you are as eager as I am to be moving, aren’t you, Racer?” he said. The horse flicked his ears in Jondalar’s direction at the sound of his name, and Whinney tossed her head and nickered. “You want to go, too, don’t you, Whinney? This really isn’t a place for horses. You need more open country to run in. I think I should remind Ayla of that.”
He gave Racer a final slap on the rump, then headed back toward the overhang. Roshario seems much better, he thought when he noticed the woman sitting alone near the large fireplace, sewing with one hand, using one of Ayla’s thread-pullers. “Do you know where Ayla is?” he asked her.
“She and Tholie went off with Wolf and Shamio. They said they were
going to the
boat-making place, but I think Tholie wanted to show Ayla the Wishing Tree and make an offering for an easy birth and a healthy baby. Tholie is beginning to show her blessing,” Roshario said.
Jondalar hunkered down beside her. “Roshario, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said, “about Serenio. I felt terrible leaving her like I did. Was she … happy, when she left here?”
“She was upset, and very unhappy at first. She said you offered to stay, but she told you to go with Thonolan. He needed you more. Then Tholie’s cousin unexpectedly arrived. He’s like her in many ways, says what he thinks.”
Jondalar smiled. “That’s the way they are.”
“He looks like her, too. He’s a good head shorter than Serenio, but strong. He made up his mind in a hurry, too. He took one look at her and decided she was the one for him—he called her his ‘beautiful willow tree,’ the Mamutoi word for it. I never thought he would convince her, I almost told him not to bother—not that anything I said would have stopped him—but I thought it was hopeless, that she’d never be satisfied with anyone else after you. Then one day I saw them laughing together, and I knew I was wrong. It was like she came to life after a long winter. She blossomed. I don’t think I’ve seen her so happy since her first man, when she had Darvo.”
“I’m glad for her,” Jondalar said. “She deserves to be happy. I was wondering, though, when I left … she said she thought the Mother might have blessed her. Was Serenio pregnant? Had she started a new life, maybe from my spirit?”
“I don’t know, Jondalar. I remember when you left she said she thought she might be. If she was, it would be a special blessing on her new mating, but she never told me.”
“But what do you think, Roshario? Did she look like she was? I mean, can you tell just from looking that soon?”
“I wish I could tell you for sure, Jondalar, but I don’t know. I can only say she could have been.”
Roshario studied him closely, wondering why he was so curious. It wasn’t as if the child was born to his hearth—he had given up that claim when he left—although if she had been pregnant, the baby Serenio would have by now was likely to be of his spirit. Suddenly she smiled at the idea of a son of Serenio, grown to the size of Jondalar, born to the hearth of the short Mamutoi man. Roshario thought it would probably please him.