Plains of Passage (20 page)

She sat up with a start, throwing her sleeping furs off, and bolted for the tent opening.

“Ayla! What is it!” Jondalar said, grabbing her.

Suddenly a brilliant flash of light could be seen through the skin of the tent, and in a bright outline around the seams of the smoke-hole
flap, and the crack around the entrance left open for Wolf. It was followed almost instantly by a loud, sharp boom. Ayla screamed, and Wolf howled outside the tent.

“Ayla, Ayla. It’s all right,” the man said, holding her in his arms. “It’s just lightning and thunder.”

“We have to get out! He said to hurry. Get out now!” she said, fumbling into her clothes.

“Who said? We can’t go out there. It dark, and it’s raining.”

“Creb. In my dream. I had that dream again, with Creb. He said. Come on, Jondalar! We have to hurry.”

“Ayla, calm down. It was just a dream, and probably the storm. Listen to it. It sounds like a waterfall out there. You don’t want to go out in that rain. Let’s wait until morning.”

“Jondalar! I have to go. Creb told me to, and I can’t stand this place,” she said. “Please, Jondalar. Hurry.” Tears were streaming down her face, though she was oblivious to them, as she piled things into pack baskets.

He decided he might as well. It was obvious she wasn’t going to wait until morning, and he’d never get back to sleep now. He reached for his clothes while Ayla opened the entrance flap. The rain poured in as though someone had spilled it from a waterbag. She went outside and whistled, loud and long. It was followed by another wolf howl. After a wait, Ayla whistled again, then began tearing the tent stakes out of the ground.

She heard the hoofbeats of the horses and cried with relief to see them, though the salt of her tears was lost in the pouring deluge. She reached out to Whinney, her friend who had come to help her, and hugged the soaking-wet mare around the sturdy neck and felt the frightened horse shivering. She swished her tail and circled nervously with small prancing steps; at the same time she turned her head and flicked her ears back and forth, trying to find and identify the source of her apprehension. The horse’s fears helped the woman bring her own under control. Whinney needed her. She spoke to the animal in gentling tones, stroking and trying to calm her, and then felt Racer leaning on them, if anything more frightened than his dam.

She tried to settle him, but he soon backed away in prancing little steps. She left them together while she hurried to the tent for the harnesses and pack baskets. Jondalar had rolled up sleeping furs and piled them in his pack before he heard the sound of hooves, and he had gotten harnesses and Racer’s halter ready.

“The horses are very frightened, Jondalar,” Ayla said when she came into the tent. “I think Racer’s ready to bolt. Whinney is calming him a little, but she’s scared, too, and he’s making her more nervous.”

He picked up the halter and went out. The wind and the pouring rain washed over him in sheets, almost knocking him down. It was raining so hard that he felt as though he were standing in a waterfall. It was much worse than he thought. Before long the tent would have been awash, and the rain would soon have soaked the ground cover and their sleeping furs. He was glad Ayla had insisted they get up and leave. In another flash of light, he saw her struggling to tie pack baskets on Whinney. The bay stallion was beside them.

“Racer! Racer, come here. Come on, Racer,” he called. A great roaring boom tore through the air, sounding as though the very skies were breaking apart. The young stallion reared and neighed, then pranced and pivoted in erratic circles. His eyes were rolling, showing whites, his nostrils were flaring, his tail was lashing violently, and his ears were flicking in all directions, trying to focus on the source of his fears, but they were inexplicable and all around him, and that was terrifying.

The tall man reached up for the horse, trying to put his arms around the neck to bring him down, talking to the animal to steady him. There was a strong bond of trust between them, and the familiar hands and voice were settling. Jondalar managed to get the halter device on, and, picking up the harness straps, he hoped the next nerve-shattering bolt of lightning and blast of thunder would hold off.

Ayla came to get the last of their things from inside the tent. The wolf was behind her, though she hadn’t noticed the animal before. When she backed out of the conical skin shelter, Wolf yelped, started running toward the willow woods, then ran back and yelped at her again.

“We’re going, Wolf,” she said, and then to Jondalar, “It’s empty. Hurry!” She ran toward Whinney and dumped the armload she carried into a pack basket.

Ayla had communicated her distress, and Jondalar was afraid Racer wouldn’t stand still much longer. He didn’t worry about dismantling the tent. He yanked the support poles out through the smoke hole, tearing off the flap, dropped them in a pack basket, then bunched up the heavy waterlogged skins and stuffed them in after. The skittish horse rolled his eyes and backed away as Jondalar reached for the mane as a hold to leap on. Though his jump was a bit awkward, he managed to gain his seat, and then he was nearly pitched off when Racer reared. But he threw his arms around the stallion’s neck and held on.

Ayla heard a long wolf howl and a strange deep roar as she climbed on Whinney’s back, and she turned to see Jondalar holding on to the rearing stallion. As soon as Racer settled back down, she leaned forward urging Whinney to go. The mare sprang ahead in a fast gallop, as though something were chasing her, as though, like Ayla, she couldn’t
wait to get away from there. Wolf bounded ahead, racing through brush, and as Racer and Jondalar followed close on her heels, the menacing roar grew louder.

Whinney tore through the woods of the level valley floor, dodging around trees, jumping over obstacles. Keeping her head low, with her arms around the horse’s neck, Ayla let the mare find her own way. She couldn’t see anything in the darkness and the rain, but she sensed they were heading toward the slope leading to the steppes above. Suddenly another burst of lightning flashed, filling the valley with instant brilliance. They were in the beech woods and the slope was not far. She glanced back at Jondalar and gasped.

The trees behind him were moving! Before the light died, several tall pines leaned precariously, then it went dark. She hadn’t noticed the rumble growing louder until she waited to hear the trees fall and became aware that the sound was drowned out by the overpowering noise. Even the crack of thunder seemed to dissolve into the booming roar.

They were on the slope. She knew from the change in Whinney’s pace that they were climbing up, though she still couldn’t see. She could only trust to the mare’s instincts. She felt the animal slip, then recover her footing. Then they broke out of the woods and were in a clearing. She could even see the rolling clouds through the rain. They must be in that meadow on the slope where the horses had grazed, she thought. Racer and Jondalar pulled up alongside. He, too, was hunched over his horse’s neck, though it was too dark to see more than the shape of their silhouette, a black-on-black shadow.

Whinney was slowing, and Ayla could feel her labored breathing. The woods on the other side of the meadow were thinner, and Whinney was no longer racing at a frantic pace, dodging trees. Ayla sat up straighter, but still kept her arms around her mare’s neck. Racer had pulled ahead in his burst of speed, but soon he slowed to a walk and Whinney caught up. The rain was easing up. The trees gave way to brush, and then grass, and then the slope leveled out as the steppes opened out before them in a darkness softened only slightly by clouds lighted by a hidden moon through a veil of rain.

They stopped, and Ayla dismounted to let Whinney rest. Jondalar joined her and they stood side by side trying to see into the darkness below. Lightning flashed, but it was farther away, and the thunder followed later in a low growl. In a dazed state, they stared out over the black chasm of the valley, knowing that some great destruction was taking place though they could see nothing. They realized they had barely escaped a terrible disaster, but they didn’t yet comprehend its dimensions.

Ayla felt a strange prickly sensation on her scalp and heard a faint crackling. Her nose crinkled at the acrid smell of ozone; it was a peculiar burning odor, but not of fire, nothing as earthy as that. Suddenly it occurred to her that it must be the smell of the streaking fire in the sky. Then she opened her eyes in wonder and fear and, in a moment of panic, grabbed for Jondalar. A tall pine, rooted in the slope below, but sheltered from the cutting winds by a rocky outcrop and projecting high above the steppes, glowed with an eerie blue light.

He put his arm around her, wanting to protect her, but he felt the same sensations, and fears, and knew these otherworldly fires were beyond his control. He could only hold her close. Then, in an awesome display, a jagged crackling bolt arced across the glowing clouds, branched out into a network of fiery darts, and in a blinding flash leaped down and speared the tall pine, illuminating the valley and the steppes with the clarity of noon. Ayla started at the sharp crack, so loud it left her ears ringing, and she cringed as the booming roar reverberated across the sky. In that moment of radiance they saw the destruction they had so narrowly escaped.

The green valley was ravaged. The entire level floor was a heavy, swirling maelstrom. Opposite them, on the far slope, a mudslide had piled a jumble of boulders and fallen trees halfway across the wild waters, leaving a raw scar of reddish soil exposed.

The cause of the torrential onslaught was a set of circumstances not unusual. It had begun in the mountains to the west, and with atmospheric depressions over the inland sea; warm, moisture-laden air had swirled upward and condensed into huge billowing clouds with white windblown tops that hung stalled and motionless over the rocky hills. This warm air had been invaded by a cold front, and the turbulence of the resulting combination had created a thunderstorm of uncommon intensity.

The rains had poured from the bloated skies, disgorging into dips and hollows that gushed into creeks, burst over rocks, and surged into streams overfilling with frantic haste. Gathering momentum, the tumultuous water, abetted by the continuing deluge, raged down the steep hills, fountained over barriers, and crashed into sister streams, joining together into walls of rampaging, devastating force.

When the flash flood reached the green dell, it erupted over the waterfall and, with a ravenous roar, engulfed the entire valley, but the lush, verdant depression held a surprise for the churning waters. During the era, extensive movements of the earth were uplifting the land, raising the level of the small inland sea to the south, and opening passageways to an even larger sea farther south. Within recent decades, the uplift had closed off the valley, forming a shallow basin, which had been filled
by the river, creating a small lake behind the natural dam. But an outlet had broken through a few years before and drained the small reservoir of water, leaving in its wake moisture enough for a wooded valley in the middle of the dry steppes.

A second mudslide, farther downstream, had dammed the outlet channel again, containing the raging floodwaters within the confines of the valley and causing a backwash. Jondalar thought the scene below must have come from some nightmare. He could hardly believe what he had seen. The entire valley was a wild, turbulent, frenzied slurry of mud and rocks, sloshing back and forth, churning brush and whole trees torn out by their roots, and splintered by the battering.

No living thing could have survived in that place, and he shuddered to think what would have happened if Ayla hadn’t wakened and insisted that they leave. He doubted if they would have made it to safety without the horses. He glanced around; they were both standing with heads down, feet apart, looking as exhausted as he thought they must be. Wolf was beside Ayla, and when he saw Jondalar look his way he lifted his head straight up and howled. The man had a fleeting memory of a wolf howl disturbing his sleep, just before Ayla woke up.

Another lightning bolt flashed, and at the sound of the thunder, he felt Ayla shiver violently in his arms. They were not out of danger yet. They were wet and cold, everything was soaked, and, in the middle of the open plain in a thunderstorm, he had no idea where to find shelter.

T
he tall pine that had been struck by lightning was burning, but the hot pitch that fed the fire had to contend with the dousing rain, and the sputtering flames shed little light. It was enough, though, to highlight the general contours of the nearby landscape. There was not much in the way of shelter on the open plains, except some low brush growing beside a nearly overflowing runoff ditch that was dry most of the year.

Ayla was staring down into the darkness of the valley, as if spellbound by the scene they had seen below. While she stood there, the rain began coming down harder again, sluicing over them, drenching their already soaked clothing, and finally winning out over the struggling fire in the tree.