Plains of Passage (48 page)

Jondalar had been watching the interaction with interest while he dried himself off. He picked up their clothes and walked toward the sandstone overhang with the two women. Tholie was keeping an eye on Shamio and Wolf, just in case, but she, too, was intrigued with the tame animal. She was not the only one. Many people were watching the girl and the wolf. When a boy a little older than Shamio approached, he was also greeted with a wet invitation to join them. Just then, two other children came out of one of the dwellings, tussling over some wooden object. The smaller one threw it to keep the other from getting it, which Wolf took as a signal that they wanted to play one of his favorite games. He raced after the carved stick, brought it back and laid it on the ground, his tongue panting and his tail waving, ready to play again. The boy picked it up and threw it again.

“I think you must be right—he’s playing with them. He must like children,” Tholie said. “But why should he like to play? He’s a wolf!”

“Wolves and people are alike in some ways,” Ayla said. “Wolves like to play. From the time they are cubs, siblings in a litter play, and the half-grown and adult wolves love to play with the little ones. Wolf didn’t have any siblings when I found him; he was the only one left, and he barely had his eyes open. He didn’t grow up in a wolf pack, he grew up playing with children.”

“But look at him. He’s so tolerant, even gentle. I’m sure when Shamio pulls on his fur, it must hurt. Why does he put up with it?” Tholie asked, still trying to understand.

“It’s natural for a grown wolf to be gentle with the little ones of a pack, so it wasn’t hard to teach him to be careful, Tholie. He’s especially gentle with small children and babies and will tolerate almost anything from them. I didn’t teach him that, that’s just how he is. If
they get too rough, he’ll move away, but he goes back later. He won’t put up with as much from older children, and he seems to know the difference between one of them accidentally hurting him and one who is being purposely hurtful. He has never really harmed anyone, but he will nip a little—give a little pinch with his teeth—to remind an older child, who is pulling on his tail or yanking his far, that some things hurt.”

“The idea of anyone, particularly a child, even thinking of pulling a wolf’s tail is hard to imagine … or it would have been until today,” Tholie said. “And I wouldn’t have believed that I’d ever see the day that Shamio would play with a wolf. You have … made some people think, Ayla … Ayla of the Mamutoi.” Tholie wanted to say more, to ask some questions, but she didn’t exactly want to accuse the woman of lying, not after what she had done for Roshario, or at least seemed to have done. No one knew for sure, yet.

Ayla sensed Tholie’s reservations, and she was sorry about them. It placed an unspoken strain between them, and she liked the short, plump Mamutoi woman. They walked a few steps in silence, watching Wolf with Shamio and the other children, and Ayla thought again how much she would like to have a daughter like Tholie’s … a daughter next time, not a son. She was such a beautiful little girl, and her name matched her.

“Shamio is a beautiful name, Tholie, and unusual. It sounds like a Sharamudoi name, but also like a Mamutoi name,” Ayla said.

Tholie could not resist smiling again. “You’re right. Not everyone knows it, but that’s what I was trying to do. She would be called Shamie if she were Mamutoi, although that isn’t a name that would likely be found in any Camp. It comes from the Sharamudoi language, so her name is both. I may be Sharamudoi now, but I was born to the Red Deer Hearth, a line of high status. My mother insisted on a good Bride Price for me from Markeno’s people, though he wasn’t even Mamutoi. Shamio can be as proud of her Mamutoi background as she will be of her Sharamudoi heritage. That’s why I wanted to show both in her name.”

Tholie stopped as a thought occurred to her. She turned to look at the visitor. “Ayla is an unusual name, too. What Hearth were you born to?” she said, thinking, There, now I’d like to hear you explain that name.

“I was not born Mamutoi, Tholie. I was adopted by the Mammoth Hearth,” Ayla said, glad that the woman had brought out the questions that had obviously been bothering her.

Tholie was certain she had caught the woman in a lie. “People are not adopted by the Mammoth Hearth,” she asserted. “That is the
Hearth of the mamutii. People choose the way of the spirits, and may be accepted by the Mammoth Hearth, but they are not adopted.”

“That is the usual way, Tholie, but Ayla was adopted,” Jondalar interjected. “I was there. Talut was going to adopt her into his Lion Hearth, but Mamut surprised everyone, and adopted her into the Mammoth Hearth, as his own. He saw something in her—that’s why he was training her. He claimed she was born to the Mammoth Hearth, whether she was born a Mamutoi or not.”

“Adopted to the Mammoth Hearth? From outside?” Tholie said, surprised, but she did not doubt Jondalar. After all, she knew him and he was kin, but she was even more interested. Now that she no longer felt so constrained to be watchful and cautious, her natural forthright curiosity rose to the surface. “Who were you born to, Ayla?”

“I don’t know, Tholie. My people died in an earthquake when I was a girl not much more than Shamio’s age. I was raised by the Clan,” Ayla said.

Tholie had never heard of any people called the Clan. They must be one of those eastern tribes, she thought. That would explain a lot. No wonder she has such a strange accent, though she does speak the language well, for an outsider. That Old Mamut of the Lion Camp was a wise and canny old, old man, she mused. He had always been old, it seemed. Even when she was a girl, no one could remember when he was young, and no one doubted his insights.

With a mother’s natural instinct, Tholie glanced around to check on her child. Noticing Wolf, she thought once again about how strange it was that an animal would prefer associating with people. Then she looked the other way at the horses grazing quietly and contentedly in the field so near to their living site. Ayla’s control over the animals was not only surprising, it was interesting because they seemed so devoted to her. The wolf seemed to adore her.

And look at Jondalar. He was obviously captivated by the beautiful blond woman, and Tholie didn’t think it was just because she was beautiful. Serenio had been beautiful, and there had been countless attractive women who had tried their best to interest him in a serious attachment. He had been closer to his brother, and Tholie recalled wondering if any woman would ever reach his heart, but this woman had. Even without her apparent healing skills, she seemed to possess some unusual quality. Old Mamut must have been right. It probably was her destiny to belong to the Mammoth Hearth.

Inside the dwelling, Ayla combed out her hair, tied it back with a piece of soft leather thong, and put on the clean tunic and short pants she had been keeping aside in case they met some people, so she would not have to wear her stained traveling clothes for visiting. Then she
went to check on Roshario. She smiled at Darvalo, who was sitting listlessly outside the dwelling, and she nodded to Dolando when she entered and approached the woman lying on the bed. She examined her briefly, just to make sure she was all right.

“Should she still be sleeping?” Dolando asked, with a worried frown.

“She’s fine. She will sleep a while longer yet.” Ayla looked at her medicine bag, then decided that it would be a good time to gather some fresh ingredients for a reviving tea to help bring Roshario out of the datura-induced sleep when she did begin to awaken. “I saw a linden tree on my way here. I want some flowers for a tea for her and, if I can find them, a few other herbs. If Roshario wakes up before I get back, you can give her a little water. Expect her to be bewildered and a bit dizzy. The splints should hold her arm straight, but don’t let her move it too much.”

“Will you be able to find your way?” Dolando asked. “Maybe you should take Darvo with you.”

Ayla was sure she would have no trouble finding her way, but she decided to take the lad with her anyway. In all the concern for Roshario, he had been somewhat neglected, and he was worried about the woman, too.

“Thank you, I will,” she said.

Darvalo had overheard the conversation and was standing and ready to go with her, looking pleased to be useful.

“I think I know where that linden tree is,” he said. “There are always a lot of bees around it this time of year.”

“That’s the best time to gather the flowers,” Ayla said, “when they smell like honey. Do you know where I can find a basket to carry them back?”

“Roshario stores her baskets back here,” Darvalo said, showing Ayla to a storage space behind the dwelling. They selected a couple.

As they stepped out from under the overhang, Ayla noticed Wolf watching her, and she called him. She did not feel comfortable leaving the wolf alone with these people just yet, though the children complained when he left. Later, when everyone felt more familiar with the animals, it might be different.

Jondalar was in the field with the horses and two men. Ayla walked toward them to tell him where she was going. Wolf ran ahead and they all turned to watch when he and Whinney rubbed noses, while the mare whickered a greeting. Then the canine struck a playful pose and yipped a puppy bark at the young stallion. Racer lifted his head in a neigh and pawed the ground, returning the playful gesture. Then the mare approached Ayla and put her head across her shoulder. The woman put her arms around Whinney’s neck, and they leaned against
each other in a familiar posture of comfort and reassurance. Racer took a few paces forward and nuzzled them both, wanting contact, too. She hugged his neck, then patted and stroked him, realizing that they all welcomed each other’s familiar presence in this place of so many strangers.

“I should introduce you, Ayla,” Jondalar said.

She faced the two men. One was nearly as tall as Jondalar, but thinner, the other was shorter, and older, but their similarity was striking, nonetheless. The shorter one stepped forward first, with both hands outstretched.

“Ayla of the Mamutoi, this is Carlono, Ramudoi leader of the Sharamudoi.”

“In the name of Mudo, Mother of All in water and on land, I welcome you, Ayla of the Mamutoi,” Carlono said, taking both of her hands. He spoke Mamutoi even better than Dolando, a result of several trading missions to the mouth of the Great Mother River, as well as Tholie’s coaching.

“In the name of Mut, I thank you for your welcome, Carlono of the Sharamudoi,” she replied.

“Soon you must come down to our dock,” Carlono said, thinking, What a strange accent she has. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard one like that, and I’ve heard many. “Jondalar told me he promised you a ride in a proper boat, not one of those oversize Mamutoi bowls.”

“I shall be pleased,” Ayla said, offering one of her brilliant smiles.

Carlono’s thoughts were diverted from consideration of her speech mannerism to appreciation of her. This woman Jondalar has brought certainly is a beauty. She suits him, he decided.

“Jondalar has told me of your boats, and about hunting sturgeon,” Ayla continued.

Both men laughed, as though she had made a joke, and they looked at Jondalar, who smiled, too, although he turned slightly red.

“Did he ever tell you how he hunted half a sturgeon?” the tall young man said.

“Ayla of the Mamutoi,” Jondalar interjected, “this is Markeno of the Ramudoi, the son of Carlono’s hearth, and Tholie’s mate.”

“Welcome, Ayla of the Mamutoi,” Markeno said, informally, knowing she had been greeted with the proper ritual many times. “Have you met Tholie? She will be pleased you are here. She misses her Mamutoi kin sometimes.” His command of his mate’s language was almost perfect.

“Yes, I’ve met her, and Shamio, too. She is a beautiful little girl.”

Markeno beamed. “I think so, too, though one is not supposed to say that of the daughter of one’s own hearth.” Then he turned to the youngster. “How is Roshario, Darvo?”

“Ayla has fixed her arm,” he said. “She is a healer.”

“Jondalar told us she set the break properly,” Carlono said, careful to be noncommittal. He would wait to see how well her arm healed.

Ayla noticed the Ramudoi leader’s response, but she thought it was understandable, given the circumstances. No matter how well they liked Jondalar, she was a stranger, after all.

“Darvalo and I are going to gather some herbs I noticed on the way here, Jondalar,” she said. “Roshario is still sleeping, but I want to make a drink for her when she wakes. Dolando is with her. I don’t like the look of Racer’s eyes, either. Later I’ll look for more of those white plants to help him, but I don’t want to take the time now. You might try rinsing them with cool water,” she said. Then, smiling at everyone, she signaled Wolf, nodded to Darvalo, and headed for the edge of the embayment.

The view from the path at the end of the wall was no less spectacular than it had been the first time she saw it. She had to catch her breath as she looked down, but she could not resist doing it. She allowed Darvalo to lead the way and was glad she did when he showed her a shortcut he knew. The wolf explored the area around the path, busily chasing after intriguing scents, then rejoining them. The first few times Wolf suddenly reappeared, he startled the youth, but as they continued, Darvalo began to get used to his comings and goings.

The large old linden tree announced its presence long before they reached it with a rich fragrance, reminiscent of honey, and the droning hum of bees. The tree came into view around a turn in the path and revealed the source of the luscious aroma, small green-and-yellow flowers dangling from oblong, winglike bracts. The bees were so busy collecting nectar that they didn’t bother with the people who disturbed them, though the woman had to shake some bees out of the blossoms they cut. The insects just flew back to the tree and found others.

“Why is this especially good for Rosh?” Darvalo asked. “People always make linden tea.”

“It does taste good, doesn’t it? But it’s helpful, too. If you’re upset, or nervous, or even angry, it can be very soothing; if you’re tired, it wakes you up, lifts your spirits. It can make a headache go away and calm an upset stomach. Roshario will be feeling all of those things, because of the drink that made her go to sleep.”