The slope supported a rich growth of grass, primarily feather grasses, fescues, and herbs mixed with varieties of quick-seeding annual grasses. The thick loess subsoil, which supported a black fertile loam that was high in the humus of decaying plantlife, even encouraged trees, which, except for the occasional scrub pine struggling for subsoil water, were unusual for the steppes in this vicinity. An open mixed woods of birch and larch, conifers that dropped their needles in winter, marched downhill with them, with alder and willow filling in lower down. At the bottom of the slope, where the land leveled out some distance from the gurgling stream, Ayla was surprised to see an occasional dwarfed oak, beech, or linden in some of the open places. She had not seen many large-leaf trees since she left the cave of Bran's clan, on the well-watered southern end of the peninsula that jutted into Beran Sea.
The small river weaved its way around brush as it meandered across the level valley floor, but one loop edged close to some tall, thin willows that were an extension of the more thickly forested slope of the other side. They usually liked to cross a river before making camp, so they wouldn't have to get wet when they started in the morning, and they decided to camp near the willows. They rode downstream, looking for a place to cross, and found a wide, stony, fordable crossing, then rode back.
While they were setting up the tent, Jondalar found himself watching Ayla, conscious of her warm, tanned body, and thinking how lucky he was. Not only was she beautiful—her strength, her supple grace, the assurance of her movements, all pleased him—but she was a good traveling companion, contributing equally to their well-being. Though he felt responsible for her safety and wanted to protect her from harm, there was comfort in knowing he could rely on her. In some ways, traveling with Ayla was like traveling with his brother. He had felt protective toward Thonolan, too. It was his nature to be concerned for those he cared about.
But only in some ways. When the young woman lifted her arms to shake out the ground cover, he became aware that the skin was lighter on the underside of her rounded breasts, and he had an urge to compare the tone with her browned arm. He didn't think that he might be staring, but he did notice when she stopped working and turned toward him. When he caught her eye, Ayla smiled slowly.
Suddenly he felt an urge to do more than compare skin tones. It pleased him to know that if he wanted to share Pleasures with her right then, she would be willing. There was comfort in that, too. It wasn't as necessary to seize every opportunity. The feeling was as strong, but the urgency was less, and sometimes waiting a bit made it better. He could think about it and enjoy the anticipation. Jondalar smiled back.
After they set up camp, Ayla wanted to explore the valley. It was unusual to find such a thickly wooded area in the middle of the steppes, and she was curious. She hadn't seen such vegetation for years.
Jondalar wanted to explore, too. After their experience with the bear at the campsite near the grove of trees, he wanted to check for tracks or other indications of the animals that might be in the vicinity. With Ayla taking along her sling and collecting basket, and Jondalar his spear-thrower with a couple of spears, they headed into the willows. They left the horses to graze, but Wolf was eager to accompany them. The woods were an unusual place for him, too, full of fascinating scents.
Back from the water, the willow trees gave way to alder, then birch mixed with larch became common, and there were some good-size pines. Ayla eagerly picked a few cones when she saw they were stone pines, for the large, delicious pine nuts they contained. But more unusual to her were the occasional large-leafed trees. In one area, still on the level valley plain but near the bottom of the slope that led to the open grassland above, was a pure stand of beech trees.
Ayla looked them over carefully, comparing them with her memory of similar trees that grew near the cave where she had lived as a child. The bark was smooth and gray, and the leaves were oval narrowing to a point at the end with shallow sharp teeth around the edge, and silky white underneath. The small brown nuts, encased in their bristly husk, were not yet ripe, but the mast of nuts and shells on the ground from last season showed the plentiful yield. She recalled that beechnuts were hard to crack. The trees were not as large as the ones she remembered, but respectable. Then she noticed the unusual plants growing under the trees and knelt down to take a closer look.
"Are you going to collect those?" Jondalar asked. "They look dead. There're no leaves on them."
"They aren't dead. That's how they grow. Here, feel how fresh it is," Ayla said, breaking off the upper few inches of the foot-high, smooth, leafless stem with slender branches the whole length of it. The entire plant was a dull reddish color, including the flower buds, without a hint of green.
"They grow from the roots of other plants," Ayla said, "like the one Iza used to put on my eyes when I cried, except those were white, and kind of shiny. Some people were afraid of them because they thought their color looked like the skin of a dead person. They were even named . . ."—she thought for a moment—"something like dead man's plant, or corpse plant."
She stared into space as she remembered. "Iza thought my eyes were weak because they watered, and it bothered her." Ayla smiled at the thought. "She'd get a fresh one of those white corpse plants and squeeze the juice right out of the stem into my eyes. If they were sore from crying too much, it always made them feel better." She was silent for a time, then shook her head slightly. "I'm not sure if these are good for eyes. Iza used them for little cuts and bruises, and for certain growths."
"What are they called?"
"I think her name for them would be ... what is your name for this tree, Jondalar?"
"I'm not sure. I don't think they grow near my home, but the Sharamudoi name is 'beech.'"
"Then I think these would be called 'beechdrops,' " she said, getting up and brushing her hands together to dust them off.
Suddenly Wolf froze, his nose pointed toward the deep woods. Jondalar noticed his stalking posture and, remembering how Wolf had scented the bear, reached for a spear. He laid it on top of the groove in his spear-thrower, a shaped piece of wood about half the length of a spear, which was held in a horizontal position with his right hand. He fitted the hollow at the butt of the spear into the notch at the back of the thrower. Then he put his fingers through the two loops near the front of the throwing weapon, which reached a place just short of the middle of the spear, to hold the shaft in place as it rested on top of his spear-thrower. It was done quickly with a smooth motion, and he stood with knees slightly flexed, ready to cast. Ayla had reached for stones and was ready with her sling, wishing she had brought her spear-thrower, too.
Moving through the sparse undergrowth, Wolf made a dash toward a tree. There was a scurry of movement in the beechnut mast, then a small animal raced straight up the smooth trunk. Standing up on his hind legs, as though he was trying to climb the tree as well, Wolf yelped after the furry creature.
Suddenly a commotion up in the branches of the tree attracted their attention. They caught sight of the rich sable-brown coat and long sinuous shape of a beech marten chasing after the loudly chittering squirrel, who thought it had just escaped up the tree. Wolf wasn't the only one who thought the squirrel was worthy of interest, but the large weasellike animal, a foot and a half in length with a bushy tail that added another twelve inches to its dimensions, had a much better chance of success. Racing through the high branches, it was as nimble and fleet as its intended prey.
"I think that squirrel jumped out of the cooking skin into the coals," Jondalar said, watching the drama unfold.
"Maybe he'll get away," Ayla said.
"It's doubtful. I wouldn't wager a broken blade on it." The squirrel was chittering loudly. An excited jay squawking a raucous caw added to the disturbance, then a willow tit stridently announced its presence. Wolf couldn't stand it, he had to join in. Stretching his head back, he voiced a long howl. The small squirrel climbed out to the end of a limb; then, to the surprise of the two watching people, it leape
d into the air. Spreading its legs, it stretched out the broad skin flap that extended along the sides of its body, joining the front and back legs, and soared through the air.
Ayla caught her breath as she watched the flying squirrel avoiding branches and trees. The bushy tail acted as a rudder, and by changing the position of its legs and tail, which changed the tension on the gliding membrane, the squirrel could steer clear of objects in its flight path as it descended in a long, smooth curve. It was aiming for a tree some distance away and, when it drew near, it turned both its tail and body up, and landed low on the trunk, then quickly scurried up. When it reached some high branches, the furry little animal turned around and climbed down again, headfirst, its outstretched hind claws stuck into the bark to anchor it. It looked around, then disappeared into a small hole. The dramatic leap and soaring glide had prevented its capture, though not even that amazing feat was always successful.
Wolf was still up on his hind legs against the tree looking for the squirrel that had so easily eluded him. He dropped down, began sniffing through the underbrush, then suddenly dashed away, chasing something else.
"Jondalar! I didn't know squirrels could fly," Ayla said, with a smile of surprised wonder.
"I should have made that wager, but I've never seen them before, though I have heard of them. I don't think I really believed it. People always talked of seeing the squirrels flying at night, and I thought it was probably a bat that someone mistook for a squirrel. But that was definitely not a bat." With a wry smile he added, "Now I'll be one of those that no one quite believes when he talks about seeing a flying squirrel."
"I'm glad it was just a squirrel," Ayla said, suddenly feeling a chill. She glanced up and noticed that a cloud was blocking the sun. She felt a shiver across her shoulders and down her back, though it wasn't really cold. "I didn't know what Wolf was after this time."
Feeling a bit foolish for reacting so strongly to a threat he only imagined, Jondalar relaxed his grip on his spear and thrower, but still held on. "I thought it might have been a bear," he said. "Especially with these thick woods."
"Some trees always grow near rivers, but I haven't seen trees like these since I left the Clan. Isn't this a strange place for them to be?"
"It is unusual. This place reminds me of the land of the Sharamudoi, but that's south of here, even south of those mountains we see to the west, and near Donau, the Great Mother River."
Suddenly Ayla stopped where she was. Nudging Jondalar, she silently pointed. At first he didn't see what had caught her attention, then he noticed a slight movement of a foxy-red coat, and saw the three-pronged antlers of a roe deer. The commotion and the smell of wolf had caused the small wary deer to freeze. It had stood without moving, hidden in the brush, waiting to see if there was anything to fear from the predator. With the four-legged hunter gone, it had cautiously begun to move away. Jondalar's spear and spear-thrower were still in his right hand. He raised it slowly, and taking aim, hurled the spear at the throat of the animal. The danger it feared had come from an unexpected direction. The hard-flung spear landed true. Even as it hit, the roe deer attempted to leap away, took a few bounding steps, then crashed to the ground.
The flight of the squirrel and the unsuccessful sable were quickly forgotten. Jondalar crossed the distance to the roe deer in a few steps, with Ayla beside him. While Ayla turned the head, he knelt down beside the still struggling animal and slit its throat with his sharp blade to finish it off quickly and let it bleed. Then he stood up.
"Roe Deer, when your spirit returns to the Great Earth Mother, thank Her for giving us one of your kind, that we may eat," Jondalar said quietly.
Ayla, standing beside the man, nodded, then prepared to help him skin and butcher their dinner.
7
I hate to leave the hide. Roe deer makes such soft leather," Ayla said as she put the last piece of meat in her parfleche, "and did you see the fur on that sable?"
"But we don't have time to make leather, and we can't take much more with us than we already have," Jondalar said. He was erecting the tripod of poles from which the parfleche full of meat would be suspended.
"I know, but I still hate to leave it."
They hung the parfleche; then Ayla glanced toward the fireplace, thinking about the food she had just put on to cook, though nothing was apparent. It was cooking in a ground oven, a hole in the ground lined with hot rocks into which she had put the deer meat seasoned with herbs, along with mushrooms, bracken fern fiddleheads, and cattail roots she had gathered, all wrapped in coltsfoot leaves. She then added more hot rocks on top and a layer of dirt. It would be a while before it was done, but she was glad they had stopped early enough— and had been lucky enough to get fresh meat soon enough—to cook it that way. It was a favorite method since it made food both flavorful and tender.
"I'm hot and the air feels heavy and humid. I'm going to go and cool off," she said. "I'm even going to wash my hair. I saw some soaproot growing downstream. Are you going to come for a swim?"
"Yes, I think I will. I may even wash my hair, if you can find enough of that soaproot for me," Jondalar said, his blue eyes crinkling with a smile as he held up a lank strand of greasy blond hair that had fallen across his forehead.
They walked side by side along the broad sandy bank of the river. Wolf bounded after them, running in and out of brush, exploring new scents. Then he dashed ahead and disappeared around a bend.
Jondalar noticed the trail of horse hooves and wolf track they had made earlier. "I wonder what someone would make of spoor like this," he said, grinning at the thought.
"What would you make of it?" Ayla asked.
"If Wolf's track was clear, I'd think a wolf was trailing two horses, but in some places it's obvious that the horse prints are on top of the wolf prints, so he can't have been following. He was walking with them. That would confuse a tracker," he said.
"Even if Wolf's prints were clear, I'd wonder why a wolf was following these two horses. The tracks show they are both strong and healthy, but look at the impression, how deep it is, and the set of the hooves. You can tell they're carrying weight," Ayla said.
"That would confuse a tracker, too."
"Oh, there they are," Ayla said, seeing the rather tall, somewhat straggling plants with light pink flowers and leaves shaped like spear points, that she had noticed earlier. With her digging stick she quickly loosened several roots and pulled them out.
On their way back, she searched for a flat, hard stone or piece of wood, and a rounded stone to crush the soaproot and release the saponin, which would foam into a light cleansing lather in the water. At a bend, upstream but not too far from their campsite, the small river had scoured out a waist-deep pool. The water was cool and refreshing, and after washing, they explored the rocky river, swimming and wading farther upstream until they were stopped by a churning waterfall and swift rapids where the sloping sides of the valley narrowed and became steeper.
It reminded Ayla of the small river in her valley, with its fuming, churning waterfall blocking her way upstream, though the rest of the area made her think more of the mountain slopes around the cave where she grew up. There was a waterfall there that she remembered, a gentler, mossy one that had led her to a small cave she had claimed as her own, and that had more than once offered her a haven.
They let the current carry them back, splashing each other and laughing along the way. Ayla loved the sound of Jondalar's laughter. Though he smiled, he didn't laugh often, tending instead to exhibit a more serious demeanor, but when he did, it was such a big, hearty, exuberant laugh, it came as a surprise.
When they got out and dried off, it was still warm. The dark cloud Ayla had noticed earlier was gone from the sky above them, but the sun was lowering toward a black and brooding mass languishing in the west, whose ponderous movement was emphasized by a ragged layer streaming swiftly beneath it in the other direction. Once the fireball dropped behind the somber clouds and banked above the western ridge, it
would cool off fast. Ayla looked for the horses and saw them in an open meadow on the slope, some distance from camp, but within range of a whistle. Wolf was not in sight; still exploring downstream, she assumed.
She got out the long-toothed ivory comb and a brush made of stiff mammoth-hair bristles that Deegie had given her, then pulled their sleeping roll out of the tent and spread it out to sit on while she combed her hair. Jondalar sat beside her and began to comb his own hair with a three-pronged comb, struggling with some tangles.
"Let me do that for you, Jondalar," she said, getting up on her knees behind him. She combed loose the knots in his long, straight yellow hair, a lighter shade than hers, admiring the color. When she was younger, her hair had been almost white, but it had become somewhat darker and resembled Whinney's coat with its ashy golden hue.
Jondalar closed his eyes while Ayla worked on his hair, but he was aware of her warm presence behind him as her bare skin brushed against his now and then, and by the time she was through, he was feeling a warmth from more than the sun.
"Now it's my turn to comb your hair," he said, getting up to move behind her. For a moment, she thought about objecting. It wasn't necessary. He didn't have to comb her hair just because she had combed his, but when he lifted her thick hair off her neck and pulled it through his fingers, like a caress, she acquiesced.
Her hair had a tendency to curl, and it tangled easily, but he worked carefully, freeing each snarl with very little pulling. Then he brushed her hair until it was smooth and nearly dry. She closed her eyes, feeling a strange, shivery delight. Iza had combed her hair for her when she was a little girl, gently pulling out the tangles with a long, smooth, pointed stick, but no man ever had. Jondalar's combing of her hair gave her an intense feeling of being cared for and loved.