“White is rare. I’ve never seen a white horse,” Jondalar said. Then, thinking back to Noria and the First Rites ceremony, he recalled the white horsehide hanging on the wall behind the bed, decorated with the red heads of immature great spotted woodpeckers. “But I did once see the hide of a white horse,” he said.
Something about the tone of his voice made Ayla look closer. He saw her look, blushed a little as he turned away to lift the carrier basket off Whinney, then felt compelled to explain further.
“It was during the … ceremony with the Hadumai.”
“Are they horse hunters?” Ayla asked. She folded the riding blanket, then picked up the birds and walked to the edge of the river.
“Well, they do hunt horses. Why?” Jondalar asked, walking along with her.
“Remember Talut telling us about hunting the white mammoth? It was very sacred to the Mamutoi because they are the Mammoth Hunters,” Ayla said. “If the Hadumai use a white horsehide during ceremonies, I wondered if they thought horses were special animals.”
“It’s possible, but we weren’t with them long enough to know,” Jondalar said.
“But they do hunt horses?” she asked, starting to pluck the feathers from the birds.
“Yes, they were hunting horses when Thonolan met them. They weren’t very happy with us at first, because we had scattered the herd they were after, but we didn’t know.”
“I think I will put Whinney’s halter on tonight, and tie her next to the tent,” Ayla said. “If there are horse hunters out there, I’d rather have her close by. And besides, I didn’t like the way that white stallion was coming for her.”
“You may be right. Maybe I should stake Racer down, too. I wouldn’t mind seeing that white stallion, though,” Jondalar said.
“I’d rather not see him again. He was too interested in Whinney. But he is unusual, and beautiful. You’re right, white is rare,” Ayla said. Feathers were flying as she pulled them out with rapid movements. She paused for a moment. “Black is rare, too,” she said. “Do you remember when Ranec said that? I’m sure he meant himself as well, even though he was brown, not really black.”
Jondalar felt a pang of jealousy at the mention of the name of the man Ayla almost mated, even though she had come away with him instead. “Are you sorry you did not stay with the Mamutoi and mate with Ranec?” he asked.
She turned and looked at him directly, her hands stopping her task. “Jondalar, you know the only reason I Promised Ranec was that I thought you didn’t love me any more, and I knew he did … but, yes, I am a little sorry. I could have stayed with the Mamutoi. If I had not met you, I think I could have been happy with Ranec. I did love him, in a way, but not the way I love you.”
“Well, that’s an honest answer, anyway,” he said, frowning.
“I could have stayed with the Sharamudoi, too, but I want to be where you are. If you need to return to your home, then I want to go with you,” Ayla continued, trying to explain. Noticing his frown, she knew it wasn’t quite the answer he wanted to hear.
“You asked me, Jondalar. When you ask, I will always tell you what I feel. When I ask, I want you to tell me how you feel. Even if I don’t ask, I want you to tell me if something is wrong. I don’t ever want that kind of misunderstanding we had last winter to come between us, where I don’t know what you mean, and you won’t tell me, or you guess that I feel something, but you don’t ask. Promise me that you will always tell me, Jondalar.”
She looked so serious and so earnest that it made him want to smile with affection. “I promise, Ayla. I would never want to go through a time like that again, either. I couldn’t stand it when you were with Ranec, especially when I could see why any woman would be interested
in him. He was fanny, and friendly. And he was a fine carver, a true artist. My mother would have liked him. She likes artists and carvers. If things had been different, I would have liked him myself. He reminded me of Thonolan, in a way. He may have looked different, but he was just like the Mamutoi, outspoken, confident.”
“He was a Mamutoi,” Ayla said. “I do miss the Lion Camp. I miss the people. We haven’t seen many people on this Journey. I didn’t know how far you had traveled, Jondalar, or how much land there is. So much land and so few people.”
As the sun moved closer to the earth, the clouds over the high mountains to the west were reaching up to embrace the fiery orb and glowing pink in their excitement. The brightness settled into the brilliant enveloping display, then faded into darkness while Ayla and Jondalar finished their meal. Ayla got up to put the extra birds away; she had cooked much more than they could eat. Jondalar put cooking stones back in the fire in preparation for their evening tea.
“They were delicious,” Jondalar said. “I’m glad you wanted to stop early. It was worth it.”
Ayla happened to glance toward the island, and, with a gasp, her eyes opened wide. Jondalar heard her startled intake of breath, and looked up.
Several people carrying spears had appeared out of the gloom and stepped into the edge of the light by the fire. Two of them wore capes of horsehide, with the dried head still attached and worn over the head like a hood. Jondalar stood up. One of the men pulled his horse-head hood back and walked toward him.
“Zel-an-don-yee!” the man said, pointing at the tall blond man. Then he slapped himself on his chest. “Hadumai! Jeren!” He was grinning broadly.
Jondalar looked closely, then grinned back. “Jeren! Is that you? Great Mother, I can’t believe it! It is you.”
The man started talking in a language just as unintelligible to Jondalar as his was to Jeren, but the friendly smiles were understood.
“Ayla!” Jondalar said, motioning her over. “This is Jeren. He’s the Hadumai hunter who stopped us when we were heading the other way. I can’t believe it!” Both were still grinning with delight. Jeren looked at Ayla, and his smile took on an appreciative gleam as he nodded at Jondalar.
“Jeren, this is Ayla, Ayla of the Mamutoi,” Jondalar said, making formal introductions. “Ayla, this is Jeren, one of Haduma’s people.”
Ayla held out both her hands. “Welcome to our camp, Jeren of Haduma’s people,” she said.
Jeren understood the intent, although it wasn’t a customary greeting among his people. He put his spear into a holder slung across his back, took both her hands, and said, “Ayla,” knowing it was her name, but not comprehending the rest of the words. He slapped himself on the chest again. “Jeren,” he said, then added some unfamiliar words.
Then the man jerked with sudden apprehension. He had seen a wolf move to Ayla’s side. Seeing his reaction, Ayla immediately knelt down and put an arm around the wolf’s neck. Jeren’s eyes opened with surprise.
“Jeren,” she said, standing up and making the motions of a formal introduction. “This is Wolf. Wolf, this is Jeren, one of Haduma’s people.”
“Wolf?” he said, his eyes still full of concern.
Ayla put her hand in front of Wolf’s nose, as if letting him smell her scent. Then she knelt down beside the wolf and put her arm around him again, demonstrating her closeness and lack of fear. She touched Jeren’s hand, then put her hand to Wolf’s nose again, showing him what she wanted him to do. Hesitantly Jeren extended his hand toward the animal.
Wolf touched it with his cold wet nose and pulled back. He had been through a similar introduction many times when they had stayed with the Sharamudoi, and he seemed to understand Ayla’s intention. Then Ayla took Jeren’s hand and, looking up at him, guided it toward the wolf’s head to let him feel the fur, showing him how to stroke Wolf’s head. When Jeren looked at her with a smile of acknowledgment and petted Wolf’s head on his own accord, she relaxed.
Jeren turned around and looked at the others. “Wolf!” he said, making a gesture toward him. He said some other things, then spoke her name. Four men stepped into the light of the fire. Ayla made welcoming motions to come and sit.
Jondalar, who had been watching, was smiling his approval. “That was a good idea, Ayla,” he said.
“Do you think they’re hungry? We have a lot of food left,” she said.
“Why don’t you offer it and see.”
She took out a platter made of mammoth ivory that she had used for the birds they had eaten, picked up something that looked like a wilted bundle of hay, and opened it to reveal a whole cooked ptarmigan. She held it out toward Jeren and the rest. The aroma preceded it. Jeren went to break off a leg and he found a tender and juicy piece of meat in his hand. The smile on his face after tasting it encouraged the others.
Ayla brought out a partridge as well, served out the stuffing of roots and grains onto a makeshift assortment of bowls and smaller plates, some woven, some made of ivory, and one of wood. She left the men to
divide up the meat as they wanted, while she got out a large wooden bowl, one she had made, and filled it with water for tea.
The men looked much more relaxed after the meal, even when Ayla brought Wolf to sniff them. As they all sat around the fire holding cups of tea, they tried to communicate beyond the level of smiling friendliness and hospitality.
Jondalar started. “Haduma?” he asked.
Jeren shook his head and looked sad. He made a motion toward the ground with his hand that Ayla sensed meant she had returned to the Great Earth Mother. Jondalar understood as well that the old woman he had grown so fond of was gone.
“Tamen?” he asked.
Smiling, Jeren nodded in an exaggerated fashion. Then he pointed to one of the others and said something that included Tamen’s name. A young man, hardly more than a boy, smiled at them, and Jondalar saw a similarity to the man he had known.
“Tamen, yes,” Jondalar said, smiling and nodding. “Tamen’s son, or perhaps grandson, I think. I wish Tamen were here,” he said to Ayla. “He knew some Zelandonii, and we could talk a little. He made a long Journey there when he was a young man.”
Jeren looked around the camp, then at Jondalar, and said “Zel-an-don-yee … Ton … Tonolan?”
This time Jondalar shook his head and looked sad. Then, thinking about it, he made the motion toward the ground. Jeren looked surprised, but he nodded and said a word that was a question. Jondalar didn’t understand, and he looked at Ayla. “Do you know what he’s asking?”
Though the language was unfamiliar, there was a quality about most languages she had heard that felt familiar. Jeren said the word again, and something about his expression or his tone gave her an idea. She held her hand in the shape of a claw and growled like a cave lion.
The sound she made was so realistic that all the men gaped at her with shocked surprise, but Jeren nodded with understanding. He had asked how Thonolan died, and she had told him. One of the other men said something to Jeren. When Jeren responded, Jondalar heard another familiar name, Noria. The one who asked smiled at the tall blond man, pointed at him, and then at his own eye, and smiled again.
Jondalar felt a flush of excitement. Maybe it meant that Noria did have a baby with his blue eyes. But then he wondered if it was just that the hunter had heard of the man with the blue eyes who had celebrated First Rites with her? He couldn’t be sure. The other men were pointing at their eyes and smiling. Were they smiling about a baby with blue eyes? Or grinning about Pleasures with a blue-eyed man?
He thought about saying Noria’s name and rocking his arms as though he were holding a baby, but then he glanced at Ayla and held back. He hadn’t said anything to her about Noria, or about the announcement Haduma had made the next day that the Mother had blessed the ceremony and that the young woman would have a child, a boy named Jondal, who would have eyes like his. He knew that Ayla wanted a child of his … or of his spirit. How would she feel about it if she knew Noria already had one? If he were Ayla, he would probably be jealous.
Ayla was making motions indicating that the hunters should sleep near the fire. Several nodded and got up to get their sleeping rolls. They had stashed them downriver before they approached the fire they had smelled, hoping it was a friendly fire, but not sure. But when Ayla saw them heading around the tent, toward the place where she had staked the horses, she ran in front of the men and held up her hand to stop them. They looked at each other with questioning glances when she disappeared into the dark. When they started to leave again, Jondalar made a motion to wait. They smiled and nodded acquiescence.
Their expression changed to one of fear when Ayla reappeared leading two horses. She stood between the two animals and tried to explain with motions and even the expressive Clan gestures that these were special horses that should not be hunted, but neither she nor Jondalar was sure they understood. Jondalar was even concerned that they might think she had some unique powers to Call horses and had brought these expressly for them to hunt. He told Ayla that he thought a demonstration might help.
He got a spear from inside the tent and made motions with it as though he were going to stab Racer, but Ayla stood barring the way with her arms held up and crossed in front of her, shaking her head emphatically. Jeren scratched his head and the other men looked puzzled. Finally Jeren nodded, took one of his own spears out of the holder on his back, aimed it toward Racer, and then stabbed it into the ground. Jondalar didn’t know if the man thought Ayla was telling them not to hunt those two horses, or not to hunt horses at all, but some point had been understood.
The men slept near their fire that night but were up just after first light. Jeren said some words to Ayla that Jondalar vaguely remembered referred to appreciation for food. The visitor smiled at the woman when Wolf sniffed at him and allowed himself to be petted again. She tried to invite them to share their morning meal, but they left quickly.
“I wish I had known some of their language,” Ayla said. “It was nice to visit, but we couldn’t talk.”
“Yes, I wish we could have, too,” Jondalar said, sincerely wishing that
he had found out whether Noria ever did have a baby, and if it had his blue eyes.
“In the Clan, different clans used some words in their everyday language that weren’t always understood by everyone, but everyone knew the silent language of gestures. You could always communicate,” Ayla said. “Too bad the Others don’t have a language everyone can understand.”