Authors: Jean M. Auel

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Sagas, #Women, #Europe, #Prehistoric Peoples, #Glacial Epoch, #General Fiction, #Ayla (Fictitious character)

The Land of Painted Caves (104 page)

As they started out, Racer was unusually boisterous and a bit fractious, and communicated some of his unruliness to the two mares, making them harder to handle. Once they got beyond the wooded area, Ayla slipped the halter off Gray so she could go at her own pace, and by tacit agreement, Ayla and Jondalar urged their mounts to a gallop and let them go at full speed. By the time the animals eased off of their own accord, they had worked off their excess energy and were more relaxed, but not Ayla. She was exhilarated. She had always loved riding fast, and after being kept close to camp, it was especially exciting.

They rode along at a more leisurely pace across a landscape contoured by the deep relief of high hills, limestone cliffs, and river-cut valleys. Though the noon sun was still hot most days, the season was turning. Mornings were often cool and crisp, and evenings overcast or rainy. Leaves were transforming their lush green of full summer into the yellows and occasional reds of autumn. The grasses of the open plains shaded from deep gold and rich brown to the pale yellow and grayish dun of the natural hay that would stand in the fields throughout most of the winter, but the leaves of certain forbs had turned to shades of red. Single plants or small clumps of the herbs suddenly appearing along their way stood out as bright spots of color that delighted Ayla, but it was the occasional south-facing wooded hillside that made her catch her breath with its dazzling display. From a distance, the colorful brush and trees gave an impression of large bouquets of bright flowers.

Gray was content to follow along riderless, stopping now and then to graze, and Wolf poked his nose into hillocks, pockets of brush, and patches of tall grass as he traced his own path of invisible scents and secret sounds. Their route traced a broad circle that eventually took them back toward the Meeting Campsite from the upstream direction of The River. But they didn’t return to camp. They cut in alongside the smaller waterway that wound through the woods to the north of the Ninth Cave’s camp and, near the time the sun reached its zenith, they found their way to the deep swimming hole at a sharp bend in the smaller stream. The trees provided dappled shade for the secluded beach of sandy gravel.

The sun felt pleasantly warm as Ayla lifted her leg over and slid down from Whinney. She unfastened the pack baskets and untied the riding blanket, and while Jondalar spread out the large hide, she pulled out a leather drawstring bag and hand-fed the dun-yellow mare some mixed grains, mostly oats, then gave her some affectionate strokes and scratches. After a few more handfuls she did the same for Gray, who had been nudging her for attention.

Jondalar fed and fondled Racer. The stallion was still more unmanageable than usual, though he calmed down with the food and handling, but Jondalar didn’t want to go after him if he decided to wander off. With a long rope attached to his halter, he hitched the horse to a small tree. Jondalar suddenly recalled that he had been considering letting the stallion go to find a place for himself with other horses on the open plains, and wondered if he should, but the man wasn’t ready yet to give up the company of the magnificent animal.

Wolf, who had been chasing his own whims, suddenly appeared from behind a screen of brush. Ayla had brought a meaty bone for him, but before she pulled it out of the pack basket, she decided to give him some attention, too. She tapped her shoulder and braced herself to receive the weight of the huge wolf as he jumped up on his hind legs and supported himself with his paws in front of her shoulders. He licked her neck, then gently held her jaw in his teeth. She returned the gesture in kind, then signaled him down, and hunkered in front of him, taking his head between her hands. She rubbed and scratched behind his ears and roughed up the thickening fur around his neck, then sat down on the ground and just hugged him. She knew the wolf had been there for her, too, as much as Jondalar, when she was recovering from her perilous Journey to the world of the spirits.

As often as he’d seen it, the tall man still marveled at her way with the wolf, and as comfortable as he was with the animal himself, he still reminded himself occasionally that Wolf was a hunting animal. A killing animal. Others of his kind stalked, killed, and ate animals larger than themselves. Wolf could as easily tear Ayla’s throat out as caress it gently with his teeth, yet he trusted this animal completely with his woman and his child. He had seen the love Wolf felt for them both and though he couldn’t fathom how it was possible, at a basic level, he understood it. He firmly believed that Wolf’s feeling for him was very much like his feeling for the wolf. The animal trusted him with the woman and child he loved, but Jondalar had no doubt that if Wolf ever thought that the man would cause harm to either one of them, he wouldn’t hesitate to stop him any way he could, even if it meant killing him. He would do the same.

Jondalar enjoyed watching Ayla with the wolf. But then he loved watching her no matter what she was doing, especially now that she was nearly her old self and they were back together. He’d hated leaving her behind when he left with the Ninth Cave for the Summer Meeting, and had missed her terribly, in spite of his diversion with Marona. After feeling sure he had lost her, first because of his own actions, and then, more desperately, because of the juice from the roots she had taken, he could hardly believe they were together again. He had so thoroughly persuaded himself that she was forever gone from him that he had to keep looking at her, smiling at her, watching her smile back to believe that she was still his mate, his woman; that they were riding the horses, going for a swim, being together just as though nothing had happened.

It made him think of their long Journey together, their adventures, and the people they had met along the way. There were the Mamutoi, the mammoth hunters who had adopted Ayla, and the Sharamudoi, among whom his brother Thonolan had found a mate, though her death had killed his spirit. Tholie and Markeno, as well as the others, had wanted Ayla and him to stay, especially after she had used her medicine skills to straighten Roshario’s broken arm, which had been healing badly. They had even met Jeran, a hunter from the Hadumai, the people he and Thonolan had visited. And of course the S’Armunai, whose hunters, the Wolf Women, had captured him, and Attaroa, their headwoman, who had tried to kill Ayla, until Wolf stopped her the only way he could, by killing her. And the Losadunai …

He suddenly remembered when they had stopped to visit the Losadunai on their long Journey from the land of the Mammoth Hunters. They lived on the other side of the glaciered highland to the east, where the Great Mother River began, and their language had enough similarities to Zelandonii that he could understand most of it, although Ayla with her Gift for languages had quickly learned it even better. The Losadunai were among the best known of the Zelandonii neighbors, and travelers from both often visited with each other, although crossing the glacier could be an obstacle.

There had been a Mother Festival while they were visiting, and just before it started, Jondalar and Losaduna had conducted a private ceremony. Jondalar had asked the Great Mother for a child, born to Ayla, to be born to his hearth, one born of his spirit, or his essence, as Ayla always said it. He had also made a special request. He had asked that if Ayla ever became pregnant with a child of his spirit, he wanted to know for sure that it was from him. Jondalar had often been told that he was Favored by the Mother, so Favored that no woman could refuse him, not even Doni Herself.

He fully believed that when Ayla was lost in the void after using the dangerous roots again, the Great Mother had granted his impassioned entreaty; she had given him what he wished for, longed for, what he had asked for, and in his mind he fervently thanked her again. But suddenly he understood that the Mother had also granted the request he had made in the special ceremony with the Losaduna. He knew that Jonayla was his child, the child of his essence, and he was happy for that.

He knew that all the children born to Ayla would be of his spirit, his essence, because of who she was, because she loved only him, and it pleased him to know that. And he knew he would love only her, no matter what. But this new Gift of Knowledge, he knew it would change things and couldn’t help but wonder how much.

He wasn’t the only one. Everyone was thinking about it, but one in particular. The woman who was the First Among Those Who Served The Great Earth Mother was sitting quietly in the zelandonia lodge thinking about the new Gift of Knowledge and knew it would change the world.