Plains of Passage (113 page)

“All this effort to carry rocks,” Ayla remarked one morning as she shrugged on her backpack. “Some people would think we were strange to be hauling this heavy load of stones up these mountains.”

“Many more think we’re strange for traveling with two horses and a wolf,” Jondalar countered, “but if we’re going to get them across the ice, we’re going to have to get these stones up there. And there is one thing to be glad for.”

“What is that?”

“How easy it will be once we reach the other side.”

The upper course of the river traversed the northern foreland of the range of mountains to the south, which was so huge that the travelers had little real sense of its immense scale. The Losadunai lived in a region, just south of the river, of more rounded, massiflike limestone mountains with extensive areas of relatively level plateaus. Though worn down by eons of wind and water, the eroded eminences were lofty enough to bear glistening crowns of ice throughout the year. Between the river and the mountains was a landscape of dormant vegetation overlaying a flysch zone of sandstone. This in turn was covered by a light mantle of winter snow that blurred the lower boundary of the un-melting ice, but the shimmer of glacial blue revealed its nature.

Farther south, gleaming in the sun like giant shards of broken alabaster, the exalted crags of the central zone, almost a separate range within the great mass of uplifted earth, soared high above the nearer heights. As the travelers continued their climb toward the higher western chain within the complex range, the silent march of the central mountains followed their progression, watched over by a brooding pair of jagged peaks towering far above the rest.

To
the north, across the river, the ancient crystalline massif rose steeply, its undulating surface occasionally overtopped by rocky crags and covered by block fields with raised meadows in between. Looking ahead, westward, higher rounded hills, some topped with small icy crowns of their own, reached across the frozen river, no boundary to frost, to join the ice of the younger folded ridges of the southern range.

Dry, powdery snow drifted down less frequently as their Journey
took them closer to the coldest part of the continent, the region between the farthest northern extension of the mountain glacier and the southernmost reaches of the vast, continent-spanning ice sheets. Not even the windy loess steppes of the eastern plains could match the severity of its bitter cold. The land was saved from the desolation of frozen ice sheets only by the moderating maritime influence of the western ocean.

The highland glacier they planned to go over, without the air warmed by the unfrozen ocean keeping the encroaching ice at bay, could have expanded and become impossible to cross. The maritime influences that allowed passage to the western steppes and tundras also kept the glaciers away from the land of the Zelandonii, sparing it the heavy layer of ice that covered other lands at the same latitude.

   Jondalar and Ayla fell easily back into their traveling routine, although it seemed to Ayla that they had been traveling forever. She longed to reach the end of their Journey. Memories of the quiet winter in the earthlodge of the Lion Camp flashed into her mind as they plodded forward through the monotony of the winter landscape. She recalled small incidents with pleasure, forgetting the misery that had overshadowed her days the whole time when she’d thought that Jondalar had stopped loving her.

Although all their water had to be melted, usually from river ice rather than snow—the land was bleak and barren with few snowdrifts—Ayla decided there were some benefits to the freezing cold. The tributaries to the Great Mother River were smaller, and frozen solid, making them easier to cross. But they invariably hurried across the right-bank openings because of the fierce winds that roared through valleys of the rivers and streams. These blasts funneled frigid air from the high-pressure areas of the southern mountains, adding windchill to the already freezing air.

Shivering even in her heavy furs, Ayla felt relieved when they finally made it across a wide valley to the protective barrier of nearby higher ground. “I’m so cold!” she said through chattering teeth. “I wish it would warm up a little.”

Jondalar looked alarmed. “Don’t wish that, Ayla!”

“Why not?”

“We have to be across the glacier before the weather turns. A warm wind means the foehn, the snow-melter, that will break the season. Then we’ll have to go around to the north, through Clan country. It will take much longer, and with all the trouble Charoli has been causing them, I don’t think they will be very welcoming,” Jondalar said.

She nodded with understanding, looking across to the north side of
the river. After studying it for some distance, Ayla said, “They have the better side.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Even from here you can see that there are plains that have good grass, and that would bring more animals to hunt. On this side are mostly scrub pines—that means sandy earth and poor grass, except for a few places. This side must be just enough closer to the ice to be colder, and less rich,” she explained.

“You may be right,” Jondalar said, thinking her evaluation was astute. “I don’t know what it’s like in summer; I’ve only been here in winter.”

Ayla had judged accurately. The soils of the northern plains of the valley of the great river were primarily loess over a limestone bedrock, and more fertile than the southern side. In addition, the mountain glaciers of the south crowded closer, making the winters more harsh and the summers cooler, barely warm enough to melt the accumulated snows and ground frost of winter back to the previous summer’s snow line—almost. Most of the glaciers were growing again, slowly, but enough to signal a shift from the current milieu, the slightly warmer interval, back to colder times, and one last glacial advance before the long melt that would leave ice only in polar regions.

The dormant state of the trees often left Ayla unsure of their variety, until she tasted a twig tip or bud or bit of inner bark. Where alder dominated near the river, and along the lower valleys of its tributaries, she knew they would be in peaty fen woods if it were summer; where it was mixed with willow and poplar would be the wettest parts, and the occasional ash, elm, or hornbeam, hardly more than woody brush, indicated drier ground. The rare dwarfed oak, struggling to survive in more protected niches, barely hinted at the massive oak forests that would one day cover a more temperate land. Trees were absent entirely from the sandy soils of the raised heath land, able to nourish only heather, whins, sparse grasses, mosses, and lichens.

Even in the frigid climate, some birds and animals thrived; cold-adapted animals of the steppes and mountains abounded, and hunting was easy. Only rarely did they use the supplies given to them by the Losadunai, which they wanted to save for the crossing anyway. Not until they reached the frozen wasteland would they need to rely entirely on the resources they carried.

Ayla saw an uncommon pygmy snow owl and pointed it out to Jondalar. He became adept at finding willow grouse, which tasted like the white-feathered ptarmigan that he had grown so fond of, particularly the way that Ayla cooked them. Its mixed coloration gave it better camouflage in a landscape not entirely covered by snow. Jondalar seemed to
recall that there had been more snow the last time he had come that way.

The region was influenced by both the continental east and the maritime west, revealed by the unusual mixture of plants and animals that seldom lived near each other. The small furry creatures were an example that Ayla noticed, although during the freezing season, the mice, dormice, voles, susliks, and hamsters were seldom seen, except when she broke through a nest for the vegetable foods they had stored. Though she sometimes took the animals too, for Wolf or, particularly if she found giant hamsters, for themselves, the little animals more commonly gave sustenance to martens, foxes, and the small wildcats.

On the high plains and along river valleys, they often sighted woolly mammoths, usually in herds of related females, with an occasional male traveling along for company, though in the cold season groups of males often banded together. Rhinoceroses were invariably loners, except for females with one or two immature young. In the warmer seasons, bison, aurochs, and every variety of deer, from the giant megaceros to small shy roe deer, were numerous, but only reindeer stayed on in winter. Instead mouflon, chamois, and ibex had migrated down from their high summer habitat, and Jondalar had never seen so many musk-oxen.

It seemed to be a year when the musk-ox population was at a high point in its cycle. Next year they would probably crash down to minimum numbers, but in the meantime, Ayla and Jondalar found the spear-thrower proving its worth. When threatened, musk-oxen, particularly the belligerent males, formed a tight phalanx of lowered horns facing outward from a circle in order to protect the calves and certain females. This behavior was effective against most predators, but not against a spear-thrower.

Without having to get close enough to put themselves in danger from a swift, break-away charge, Ayla and Jondalar could take their pick of the animals standing their ground and aim from a safe distance. It was almost too easy, although they had to be accurate and throw hard to make sure the spear would penetrate the dense undercoat.

With several varieties of animals to choose from, they didn’t often lack for food, and they frequently left the less choice pieces of meat for other carnivores and scavengers. It wasn’t a matter of waste but of need. Their high-protein diet of lean meat often left them less than satisfied, even when they had eaten their fill. Inner barks, and teas made from the needles and twig tips of trees offered only limited relief.

Omnivorous humans could subsist on a variety of foods, and proteins were essential, but not adequate alone. People had been known to die of protein starvation without, at least, one or the other of vegetable produce or fats. Traveling at the end of winter with very little in the
way of plant food, they needed fat to survive, but it was so late in the season that the animals they hunted had used most of their own reserves. The travelers selectively took the meat and inner organs that contained the most fat, and left the lean, or gave it to Wolf. He found ample nourishment on his own from the woods and plains along the way.

Another animal did inhabit the region, and though they always noticed them, neither Jondalar nor Ayla could bring themselves to hunt horses. Their fellow travelers fared well enough on the rough dry grass, mosses, lichens, and even small twigs and thin bark.

   Ayla and Jondalar traveled west, following the course of the river and angling slightly north, with the massif across the river pacing them. When the river turned somewhat southwest, Jondalar knew they were getting close. The depression between the ancient northern highland and the southern mountains climbed upward toward a wild landscape that outcropped in rugged crags. They passed the place where three streams joined to form the recognizable beginning of the Great Mother River, then crossed over and followed the left bank of the middle course, the Middle Mother. It was the one that Jondalar had been told was considered the true Mother River, though any one of the three could have been.

Reaching what was essentially the beginning of the great river was not the profound experience that Ayla had thought it might be. The Great Mother River didn’t spring forth from some clearly defined place, like the great inland sea where she ended. There was no clear beginning, and even the boundary of the northern territory, considered flathead country, was uncertain, but Jondalar had a familiar feeling about the area they were in. He thought they were close to the edge of the actual glacier, though they had been traveling over snow for some time and it was hard to tell.

Although it was only afternoon, they decided to start looking for a place to set up camp, and they cut across the land to the right bank of the upper feeder. They decided to stop ahead, just beyond the valley of a fairly large stream that joined from the north side.

When Ayla saw an exposed gravel bar beside the river, she stopped to pick out several smooth round stones that would be perfect for her sling, and she put them in her pouch. She thought she might go hunting for ptarmigan or white hare later in the afternoon, or perhaps the next morning.

Memories of their short stay with the Losadunai were already fading, replaced by concerns about the glacier ahead, particularly for Jondalar. On foot and heavily loaded, they had been traveling more slowly than
he had planned and he feared the end of the long winter would come too soon. The arrival of spring was always unpredictable, but this was one year that he hoped it would be late.

They unloaded the horses and set up their camp. Since it was early, they decided to hunt fresh meat. They entered a lightly wooded area and came across deer tracks, which surprised them both and worried Jondalar. He hoped that returning deer were not a sign that spring would soon follow. Ayla signaled Wolf, and they continued through the woods single file, with Jondalar in front. Ayla followed close behind, with Wolf at her heel. She did not want him dashing off and scaring away their prey.

They followed the trail through the open woods toward a high jutting outcrop that blocked their view ahead. Ayla saw Jondalar’s shoulders slump and the tension of his stalking relax, and she understood why when the tracks of the deer showed that it had bounded away. Something had obviously scared it off.

They both froze at the sound of Wolf’s low growl. He sensed something and they had come to respect his warnings. Ayla was sure she heard scuffling noises from the other side of the large rock projecting out of the earth and blocking their path. She and Jondalar looked at each other; the man had heard it too. They crept ahead slowly, edging around the outcrop. Then there were shouts, the sound of something landing heavily, and, almost simultaneously, a scream of agony.

There was a quality to the scream that sent a chill down Ayla’s back, a chill of recognition. “Jondalar! Someone’s in trouble!” she said, dashing around the stone.