The Plains of Passage

  "I have blindly hated," he began, "and I have blindly taken the lives of those I hated, because I thought they had taken the life of one that I loved. I thought they were vicious animals and I wanted to kill them all, but it did not bring Doraldo back. Now I learn they did not deserve such hate. Animals or not, they were provoked. I must live with that, but . . ."

  Dolando stopped, started to say something about those who knew more than they had told him, yet aided him in his rampages ... then he changed his mind.

  "This woman," he went on, looking at Ayla, "this healer says she was raised by them, trained by those I thought were vicious animals, those I hated. Even if I still hated them, I could not hate her. Because of her, Roshario has been given back to me. Maybe it is time to try to understand.

  "I think Tholie's idea is a good one. I would be happy if the Shamudoi accepted Ayla and Jondalar."

  Ayla felt the relief wash over her. Now she truly understood why this man had been chosen by his people to lead them. In their day-today lives, they had come to know him well, and they knew the basic quality of the man.

  "Well, Jondalar?" Roshario said. "What do you say? Don't you think it's time to give up this long Journey of yours? It's time to settle, time to set up your own hearth, time to give the Mother a chance to bless Ayla with a baby or two."

  "I cannot find words to tell you how grateful I am," Jondalar began, "that you would welcome us, Roshario. I feel that the Sharamudoi are my people, my kin. It would be very easy to make a home here among you, and you tempt me with your offer. But I must return to the Zelandonii"—he hesitated for a moment—"if only for Thonolan's sake."

  He paused, and Ayla turned to look at him. She had known he would refuse, but that was not what she expected him to say. She noticed a subtle, nearly indiscernible nod, as though he'd thought of something else. Then he smiled at her.

  "When he died, Ayla gave Thonolan's spirit what comfort she could for his Journey through the next world, but his spirit was not laid to rest, and I am afraid, I have a feeling, that he wanders lost and alone, trying to find his way back to the Mother."

  His remark surprised Ayla, and she watched him closely as he continued.

  "I cannot leave it like that. Someone needs to help him find his way, but I know of only one who might know how: Zelandoni, a shamud, a very powerful shamud, who was there when he was born. Perhaps, with the help of Marthona—his mother and mine—Zelandoni might be able to find his spirit and guide it on the right path."

  Ayla knew that wasn't the reason he wanted to return, at least not the main reason. She sensed that what he said was perfectly true but, she suddenly realized, like the answer she had given him when he asked her about the golden thread plant, it was not complete.

  "You've been gone a long time, Jondalar," Tholie said, her disappointment clear. "Even if they could help him, how do you know if your mother, or this Zelandoni, are still alive?"

  "I don't know, Tholie, but I have to try. Even if they can't help, I think Marthona and the rest of his kin would like to know how happy he was here, with Jetamio, and you and Markeno. My mother would have liked Jetamio, I'm sure, and I know she would like you, Tholie." The woman tried not to show it, but she could not help being pleased by his comment, even if she was disappointed. "Thonolan made a great Journey—and it always was his Journey. I only followed along to look out for him. I want to tell about his Journey. He traveled all the way to the end of the Great Mother River, but even more important, he found a place here, with people who loved him. It is a story that deserves to be told."

  "Jondalar, I think you are still trying to follow your brother, to look out for him even in the next world," Roshario said. "If that is what you must do, we can only wish you well. I think Shamud would have told us that you must follow your own path."

  Ayla considered what Jondalar had done. The offer made by Tholie and the Sharamudoi, to become one of them, was not made lightly. It was generous and very much an honor, and for those reasons it was hard to refuse without offending. Only a strong need to fulfill a higher goal, to follow a more compelling quest, could make the rejection acceptable. Jondalar chose not to mention that even though he thought of them as kin, they were not the kin he was homesick for, but his incomplete truth had provided a graceful and face-saving refusal.

  In the Clan, not mentioning was acceptable to allow an element of privacy in a society where it was difficult to hide anything, because emotions and thoughts could be discerned so easily from postures, expressions, and subtle gestures. Jondalar had chosen to show a necessary consideration. She had the feeling that Roshario had suspected the truth, that she had accepted his excuse for the same reason that he had given it. The subtlety was not lost on Ayla, but she wanted to think about it, and she realized that generous offers could have more than one side to them.

  "How long will you stay, Jondalar?" Markeno asked.

  "We have traveled farther than I thought we would by now. I did not expect to get here until fall. I think, because of the horses, we are moving faster than I expected," he explained, "but we still have a long way to go, and there are difficult obstacles ahead. I would like to leave as soon as we can."

  "Jondalar, we can't leave so soon," Ayla interjected. "I can't go until Roshario's arm is healed."

  "How long will that take?" Jondalar said with a frown.

  "I told Roshario her arm would have to be held rigid in that birch-bark for a moon and halfway into the next," Ayla said.

  "That's too long. We can't stay that long!"

  "How long can we stay?" Ayla asked.

  "Not very long at all."

  "But who will take the bark off? Who will know when the time is right?"

  "We have sent a runner for a shamud," Dolando offered. "Wouldn't another healer know?"

  "I suppose so," Ayla said, "but I would like to talk to this shamud. Jondalar, can't we stay at least until he comes?"

  "If it's not too long, but maybe you should consider telling Dolando or Tholie what to do, just in case."

  Jondalar was brushing Racer, and it seemed that the stallion's coat was growing in and thickening fast. He thought he had detected a decided nip in the air that morning, and the stallion seemed particularly frisky.

  "I think you are as eager as I am to be moving, aren't you, Racer?" he said. The horse flicked his ears in Jondalar's direction at the sound of his name, and Whinney tossed her head and nickered. "You want to go, too, don't you, Whinney? This really isn't a place for horses. You need more open country to run in. I think I should remind Ayla of that."

  He gave Racer a final slap on the rump, then headed back toward the overhang. Roshario seems much better, he thought when he noticed the woman sitting alone near the large fireplace, sewing with one hand, using one of Ayla's thread-pullers. "Do you know where Ayla is?" he asked her.

  "She and Tholie went off with Wolf and Shamio. They said they were going to the boat-making place, but I think Tholie wanted to show Ayla the Wishing Tree and make an offering for an easy birth and a healthy baby. Tholie is beginning to show her blessing," Roshario said.

  Jondalar hunkered down beside her. "Roshario, there is something I've been meaning to ask you," he said, "about Serenio. I felt terrible leaving her like I did. Was she ... happy, when she left here?"

  "She was upset, and very unhappy at first. She said you offered to stay, but she told you to go with Thonolan. He needed you more. Then Tholie's cousin unexpectedly arrived. He's like her in many ways, says what he thinks."

  Jondalar smiled. "That's the way they are."

  "He looks like her, too. He's a good head shorter than Serenio, but strong. He made up his mind in a hurry, too. He took one look at her and decided she was the one for him—he called her his 'beautiful willow tree,' the Mamutoi word for it. I never thought he would convince her, I almost told him not to bother—not that anything I said would have stopped him—but I thought it was hopeless, that she'd never be satisfied with anyone else after you. Then one day I saw them
laughing together, and I knew I was wrong. It was like she came to life after a long winter. She blossomed. I don't think I've seen her so happy since her first man, when she had Darvo."

  "I'm glad for her," Jondalar said. "She deserves to be happy. I was wondering, though, when I left ... she said she thought the Mother might have blessed her. Was Serenio pregnant? Had she started a new life, maybe from my spirit?"

  "I don't know, Jondalar. I remember when you left she said she thought she might be. If she was, it would be a special blessing on her new mating, but she never told me."

  "But what do you think, Roshario? Did she look like she was? I mean, can you tell just from looking that soon?"

  "I wish I could tell you for sure, Jondalar, but I don't know. I can only say she could have been."

  Roshario studied him closely, wondering why he was so curious. It wasn't as if the child was born to his hearth—he had given up that claim when he left—although if she had been pregnant, the baby Serenio would have by now was likely to be of his spirit. Suddenly she smiled at the idea of a son of Serenio, grown to the size of Jondalar, born to the hearth of the short Mamutoi man. Roshario thought it would probably please him.

  Jondalar opened his eyes to the rumpled bedding of the empty place beside him. He pushed the covers aside, sat up on the edge of the bed platform, yawned and stretched. Looking around, he realized he must have slept late. Everyone else was up and gone. There had been talk around the fire the night before of chamois hunting. Someone had seen them moving down from the high crags, which meant the season for hunting the sure-footed mountain-goatlike antelopes would soon begin.

  Ayla had been excited about going on a chamois hunt, but when they went to bed and talked to each other in quiet tones, as they often did, Jondalar had reminded her that they had to leave soon. If the chamois were coming down, it meant it was getting cold in the high meadows, which signaled a turn of the seasons. They had a long way to travel yet, and they needed to be on their way.

  They hadn't argued, exactly, but Ayla had indicated she didn't want to go. She talked about Roshario's arm, and he knew she wanted to hunt chamois. In fact, he felt sure that she wanted to stay with the Sharamudoi, and he wondered if she was trying to delay their departure in the hope that he would change his mind. She and Tholie were already fast friends, and everyone seemed to like her. It pleased him that she was so well liked, but it was going to make the leaving more difficult, and the longer they stayed, the harder it would get.

  He lay awake far into the night, thinking. He wondered if they should stay, for her sake, but then, they could have stayed with the Mamutoi just as well. He finally came to the conclusion that they would have to leave as soon as possible, within the next day or two. He knew Ayla was not going to be happy about it, and he wasn't sure how to tell her.

  He got up, put on his trousers, and started toward the entrance. Pushing aside the drape, he stepped outside and felt a sharp cool wind on his bare chest. He was going to need warmer clothes, he thought, hurrying to the place where the men passed their morning water. Instead of the cloud of colorful butterflies that usually fluttered nearby —he had wondered why they should be so attracted to the strong-smelling place—he suddenly noticed a colorful leaf fluttering down, and then he saw that most of those left on the trees were starting to turn.

  Why hadn't he noticed that before? The days had passed so quickly and the weather had been so pleasant that he hadn't paid attention to the changing season. He suddenly recalled that they were facing south in a southern region of the land. It could be much later into the season than he thought, and much colder to the north, where they were heading. As he hurried back to the dwelling, he was more determined than ever that they had to leave very soon.

  "You're awake," Ayla said, entering with Darvalo while Jondalar was dressing. "I was coming to get you before all the food was put away."

  "I was just putting something warm on. It's cool out there," he said. "It will soon be time to let my beard grow."

  Ayla knew he was telling her more than his words said. He was still talking about the same thing they had talked about the night before; the season was changing and they had to be on their way. She didn't want to talk about it.

  "We should probably unpack our winter clothes and make sure they are undamaged, Ayla. Are the pack baskets still at Dolando's?" he said.

  He knows they are. Why is he asking me? You know why, Ayla said to herself, trying to think of something to change the subject.

  "Yes, they are," Darvalo said, trying to be helpful.

  "I need a warmer shirt. Do you remember what basket my winter clothes were in, Ayla?"

  Of course she did. So did he.

  "The clothes you are wearing now aren't anything like the ones you wore when you first came, Jondalar," Darvalo said.

  "These were given to me by a Mamutoi woman. When I came before, I was still wearing my Zelandonii clothes."

  "I tried on the shirt you gave me this morning. It's still too big for me, but not as much," the young man said.

  "Do you still have that shirt, Darvo? I've almost forgotten what it looks like."

  "Do you want to see it?"

  "Yes. Yes, I would," Jondalar said.

  In spite of herself, Ayla was curious, too.

  They walked the few steps to Dolando's wooden shelter. From a shelf above his bed, Darvalo took down a carefully wrapped package. He untied the cord, opened the soft leather wrapping, and held up the shirt.

  It was unusual, Ayla thought. The decorative patterns, as well as the longer style and looser cut were not at all like the Mamutoi clothing she was used to. One thing surprised her more than anything else. It was decorated with black-tipped white ermine tails.

  It even looked strange to Jondalar. So much had happened since he had last worn that shirt, it seemed almost quaint, old-fashioned. He hadn't worn it much in the years he lived with the Sharamudoi, preferring to dress like the others, and though it was only a few moons longer than a year since he had given it to Darvo, it felt like ages since he had seen clothing from his homeland.

  "It's supposed to fit loose, Darvo. You wear it belted. Go ahead and put it on. I'll show you. Do you have something to tie around you?" Jondalar said.

  The young man pulled the highly decorated and patterned tunic-style leather shirt over his head, then handed Jondalar a long leather thong. The man told Darvo to stretch up, then belted it fairly low, almost at the hips, so that it bloused in a way that made the ermine tails hang free.

  "See? It's not so big on you, Darvo," Jondalar said. "What do you think, Ayla?"

  "It's unusual, I've never seen a shirt like that. But I think it looks fine, Darvalo," she said.

  "I like it," the young man said, holding out his arms and looking down, trying to see how it looked. Maybe he'd wear it the next time they went to visit the Sharamudoi downriver. She might like it, that girl he'd noticed.

  "I'm glad I had a chance to show you how to wear it..." Jondalar said, "before we left."

  "When are you leaving?" Darvalo asked, looking startled.

  "Tomorrow, or the day after at the latest," Jondalar said, looking straight at Ayla. "As soon as we can get ready."

  "The rains may have started on that side of the mountains," Dolando said, "and you remember what the Sister is like when she's flooding."

  "I hope it won't be as bad as that," Jondalar said. "We'd need one of your big boats to cross."

  "If you want to go by boat, we would take you to the Sister," Carlono said.

  "We need to get more bog myrtle, anyway," Carolio added, "and that's where we go for it."

  "I would be happy to go up the river in your boat, but I don't think the horses can ride in one," Jondalar said.

  "Didn't you say they can swim across rivers? Maybe they could swim behind the boat," Carlono suggested. "And the wolf could ride."

  "Yes, horses can swim across a river, but it's a long way to the Sister, several days as I recall," Jondalar said, "and I don
't think they could swim upriver for such a long distance."

  "There is a way over the mountains," Dolando said. "You'll have to do a little backtracking, then go up and around one of the lower peaks, but the trail is marked and it will, eventually, take you close to where the Sister joins the Mother. There is a high ridge just to the south that makes it easy to see even from a distance, once you reach the lowland to the west."

  "But would that be the best place to cross the Sister?" Jondalar asked, remembering the wide swirling waters from the last time.

  "Perhaps not, but from there you can follow the Sister north until you find a better place, although she's not an easy river. Her feeders come down out of the mountains hard and fast, her current is much swifter than the Mother's, and she's more treacherous," Carlono said. "A few of us once went upstream on her for almost a moon. She stayed swift and difficult the whole time."

  "It's the Mother I need to follow to get back, and that means crossing the Sister," Jondalar said.

  "Then I'll wish you well."

  "You'll need food," Roshario said, "and I have something I'd like to give you, Jondalar."

  "We don't have much room to take anything extra," Jondalar said.

  "It is for your mother," Roshario said, "Jetamio's favorite necklace. I saved it to give to Thonolan, if he came back. It won't take much room. After her mother died, Jetamio needed to know she belonged somewhere. I told her to remember she was always Sharamudoi. She made the necklace out of chamois teeth and the backbones of a small sturgeon, to represent the land and the river. I thought your mother might want something that belonged to her son's chosen woman."

  "You're right. She would," Jondalar said. "Thank you. I know it will mean a great deal to Marthona."

  "Where is Ayla? I have something to give her, too. I hope she will have room for it," Roshario said.

  "She's in with Tholie, packing," Jondalar said. "She doesn't really want to leave, yet, not until your arm is healed. But we really can't wait any longer."