Maybe Whinney would come to him if he whistled. At least he could try. He mimicked Ayla's signal, hoping he had managed to come close enough, but, just in case they didn't respond, he was determined to keep going. He shifted Wolf in his arms, and he tried to put an arm around Ayla to give her more support.
They hadn't even reached the pile of driftwood and he was already tiring from the effort. He was holding his own exhaustion off by sheer effort of will. He, too, had swum the mighty river, and then had carried Ayla up the slope and set up the tent. And then he had tramped up and down the riverbank searching for the wolf. When he heard a neigh, he looked up. Relief and joy flooded through him at the sight of the two horses.
He laid the wolf across Whinney's back, since she had carried him before and was used to it; then he helped Ayla up on Racer and led him toward the rocky beach. Whinney followed. Ayla, shivering in her wet clothes as the rain began to pour down harder, had trouble staying on the horse when they started up the slope. But, taking it slowly, they made it back to the tent near the grove of trees.
Jondalar helped Ayla down and got her into the tent, but hypothermia was making her irrational again and she was getting hysterical about the wolf. He had to bring him in immediately, then had to promise he would dry him off. He searched through the packs for something with which to rub him down. But when she wanted to bring him into their sleeping roll, he adamantly refused, though he did find a cover for him. While she sobbed uncontrollably, he helped Ayla undress and wrapped her with the furs.
He went out again, removed Racer's halter and the riding blankets from both horses, patted them gratefully, and gave them some words of thanks. Even though horses normally lived outside in all kinds of weather, and were adapted to the cold, he knew they didn't care much for rain, and he hoped they would not suffer for it. Then, finally, Jondalar went into the tent, undressed, and crawled in beside the violently shaking woman. Ayla huddled close to Wolf, while Jondalar cuddled her back, wrapping himself around her. After a time, with the warming body of a wolf on one side and the man on the other, the woman's shaking stopped, and they both gave in to their exhaustion and fell asleep.
Ayla woke up to a wet tongue licking her face. She pushed Wolf away, smiling with joy, then hugged him. Holding his head between her hands, she looked at his wound closely. The rain had washed the dirt away from the injury, and he had stopped bleeding. Though she wanted to treat him with some medicines later, he seemed fine for now. It wasn't so much the bump on the head, but the cold river that had weakened him. Sleep and warmth had been the best medicine. She became conscious that Jondalar had his arms around her, even though he was sleeping, and she lay still being held and holding Wolf, listening to the rain drumming on the tent.
She was remembering bits and pieces of the day before: stumbling through the brush and driftwood, searching the river bank for Wolf; her hand hurting because the rope wrapped around it had become so tight; Jondalar carrying her. She smiled at the thought of him so close to her, then remembered watching him set up the tent. She felt a little ashamed that she had not helped him more, even though she had been so rigid with cold that she couldn't move.
Wolf wriggled out of her constraining hold and went out, nosing his way around the tent flap. She heard Whinney nicker and, with a feeling of joy, almost answered her, but then she remembered Jondalar sleeping. She began to worry about the horses out in the rain. They were used to dry weather, not this wet, soggy rain. Even freezing cold was fine if it was dry. But she recalled that she had seen horses, so some must live in this region. Horses did have undercoats that were thick, dense, and warm even when wet. She supposed they could cope with it, so long as it didn't rain all the time.
She realized that she didn't like the heavy autumn rains that fell in this southern region, though she had welcomed the long wet northern springs, with their warming mists and drizzles. The cave of Brun's clan was south, and it had rained quite a lot in autumn, but she didn't remember such drenching downpours. The southern regions were not all the same. Ayla thought about getting up, but before she got around to it, she went back to sleep.
When she awoke the second time, the man beside her was stirring. As she lay in the furs, there was a difference she couldn't quite place. Then she realized the sound of the rain had stopped. She got up and went outside. It was late afternoon and rather more cool than it had been, and she wished she had put on something warm. She passed her water near a bush, then walked toward the horses that were grazing on sedge grass near the willows where a creek ran through. Wolf was with them. They all came toward her as she approached, and she spent some time stroking and scratching and talking to them. Then she went back in the tent, and into the sleeping furs beside the warm man.
"You're cold, woman!" he said.
"And you're nice and warm," she said, snuggling up to him.
He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck, relieved that her warmth was returning so quickly. It had taken so long for her to warm up after being chilled by the water. "I don't know what I could have been thinking of, letting you get so wet and cold," Jondalar said. "We shouldn't have tried to cross that river."
"But Jondalar, what else could we do? You were right. As hard as it was raining, we would have had to cross some river, and it would have been worse trying to get across one that was coming down the mountain," she said.
"If we had left the Sharamudoi sooner, we would have missed the rain. Then the Sister wouldn't have been nearly as hard to cross," Jondalar said, continuing to berate himself.
"But it was my fault we didn't leave sooner, and even Carlono thought we would make it here before the rains."
"No, it was my fault. I knew what this river was like. If I had made the effort, we would have left earlier. And if we had left that boat behind, it wouldn't have taken so long to get over the mountain, or slowed you down in the river. I was so stupid!"
"Jondalar, why are you blaming yourself?" Ayla asked. "You are not stupid. You could not foresee what would happen. Not even One Who Serves the Mother can do it very well. It's never clear. And we did make it. We're here now, and everyone is all right, thanks to you, including Wolf. We even have the boat, and who knows how useful that might still be."
"But I almost lost you," he said, burying his head in her neck and clutching her so hard that it hurt, though she did not stop him. "I can't tell you how much I love you. I care about you so much, but the words that say it are so small. They are not enough to say what I feel for you." He held her close as if he thought that by holding her tight enough, he could somehow make her part of him, and would therefore never lose her.
She held him tightly, too, loving him and wishing she could do something to relieve his anguish and suddenly overwhelming need. Then she realized she knew what to do. She breathed in his ear and kissed his neck. His response was immediate. He kissed her with a fierce passion, caressing her arms and molding her breasts in his hands, sucking on her nipples with a hungry need. She put her leg around him, and rolled him over on top of her, then opened her thighs. He backed away, prodding and groping with his full member, trying to find her opening. She reached down and helped to guide him in, and she found herself as eager for him as he was for her.
As he plunged in and felt the warm embrace of her deep well, he moaned with the sudden indescribable sensation. All his nightmarish thoughts and fearful worries fled for the moment as the sensuous joy of this wondrous Gift of Pleasure from the Mother filled him, leaving no room for any other thoughts except his love for her. He pulled out, and then he felt her motion match his as they came together again. Her response incited stronger passions in him.
As they backed away and drew together again, he felt so right that she didn't think at all. His body and hers flowed apart and back together in a rhythmic pattern that she gave herself up to completely as it grew faster, glorying in the senses of that moment. Individual fires of feeling raced through her, centering deep within, as they moved back and forth.
&
nbsp; He was feeling himself build with volcanic power, waves of excitement washing over him, engulfing him, and then almost before he knew it, bursting through with sweet release. As he moved the last few times, he felt a few aftershocks from the violent eruption, and then the warm and glowing feeling of utter relaxation.
He lay on top of her, catching his breath after the sudden and powerful exertion. She closed her eyes with contentment. After a time he rolled off and cuddled next to her, as she backed into him. Nesting together like two ladles, they lay quietly, happily entwined together.
After quite a long time, Ayla said softly, "Jondalar?"
"Hmmm?" he mumbled. He was in a pleasant, languorous state, not sleepy, but not wanting to move.
"How many more rivers like that will we have to cross?" she asked.
He reached over and kissed her ear. "None."
"None?"
"None, because there are no other rivers quite like the Sister," Jondalar explained.
"Not even the Great Mother River?"
"Not even the Mother is as fast and treacherous, or as dangerous as the Sister," he said, "but we won't be crossing the Great Mother River. We'll stay on this side most of the way to the plateau glacier. When we get close to the ice, there are some people I'd like to visit who live on the other side of the Mother. But that's a long way from here, and by then she will be little more than a mountain stream." He rolled over on his back. "Not that we don't have some good-size rivers to get across yet, but across these plains, the Mother branches into many channels that split off and join again. By the time we see her all together again, she will be so much smaller that you'll hardly recognize her as the Great Mother River."
"Without all the water from the Sister, I'm not sure if I'd recognize her," Ayla said.
"I think you would. As big as the Sister is, when they join, the Mother is still bigger. There is a major river that feeds from the other side just before the Wooded Hills that turn her east. Thonolan and I met some people who took us across on rafts at that place. Several more feeders come in from the big mountains to the west, but we'll be going north up the center plain, and we won't even see them."
Jondalar sat up. The conversation had put him in the mood to think about getting on their way, although they wouldn't be leaving until the following morning. He was rested and relaxed, and he didn't feel like staying in bed any more.
"We won't be crossing many rivers at all until we reach the highlands to the north," he continued. "At least, that's what Haduma's people told me. They say there are a few hills, but it's pretty flat country. Most of the rivers we'll see will be channels of the Mother. They say she wanders all over the place through here. It's good hunting grounds, though. Haduma's people cross the channels all the time to hunt here."
"Haduma's people? I think you told me about them, but you never said much," Ayla said, getting up as well, and reaching for her pack-saddle basket.
"We didn't visit with them long, just long enough for a . . ." Jondalar hesitated, thinking about the First Rites he had shared with the pretty young woman, Noria. Ayla noticed a strange expression, as though he was slightly embarrassed, but also pleased with himself. ". . . Ceremony, a festival," he finished.
"A festival to honor the Great Earth Mother?" Ayla asked.
"Ah ... yes, as a matter of fact. They asked me ... ah, they asked Thonolan and me, to share it with them."
"Are we going to visit Haduma's people?" Ayla said from the opening, holding a Sharamudoi chamois skin to dry herself with after she washed in the creek by the willows.
"I'd like to, but I don't know where they live," Jondalar said. Then, seeing her puzzled expression, he quickly explained. "Some of their hunters found our camp, and then they sent for Haduma. She was the one who decided to have the festival, and she sent for the rest." He paused, thinking back. "Haduma was quite a woman. She was the oldest person I've ever met. Even older than Mamut. She's the mother of six generations." At least I hope so, he thought. "I really would like to see her again, but we can't take the time to look for them. I imagine she's dead by now, anyway, although her son, Tamen, would still be alive. He was the only one who spoke Zelandonii."
Ayla went out, and Jondalar was feeling a strong need to pass his water. He quickly pulled his tunic over his head and went outside, too. While he was holding his member, watching the steaming arc of strong-smelling yellow water pouring on the ground, he wondered if Noria ever did have the baby Haduma said she would, and if that organ he was holding was responsible for it.
He noticed Ayla heading toward the willows with only the chamois skin thrown over her shoulders. He supposed he ought to go and wash, too, although he'd had his fill of cold water today. It wasn't that he wouldn't get into it, if he had to, crossing the river, for example, but it hadn't seemed that washing frequently in cold water was so important when he was traveling with his brother.
And it wasn't that Ayla ever said anything to him, but since she never let cold water stop her, he felt he could hardly use that as an excuse to avoid washing himself—and he had to admit he liked the fact that she usually smelled so fresh. But sometimes she actually broke through ice to reach water, and he wondered how she stood it so cold.
At least she was up and around. He had thought they might have to make camp for several days, as chilled as she was, or even that she might get sick. Maybe all that cold washing has made her accustomed to cold water, he said to himself. Maybe a little washing wouldn't hurt me, either. He came to the realization that he had been watching the way her bare bottom peeked below the edge of the hide, moving back and forth enticingly as she walked.
Their Pleasures had been exciting and more satisfying than he would have imagined, considering how quickly they were over, but as he watched Ayla drape the soft skin over a branch and wade into the creek, he had an urge to start all over again, only this time he would Pleasure her slowly, lovingly, enjoying every part of her.
The rains continued intermittently as they started across the lowland plains nestled between the Great Mother River and the tributary that nearly matched her in size, the Sister. They headed northwest, although their route was far from direct. The central plains resembled the steppes to the east and were in fact an extension of them, but the rivers traversing the ancient basin from north to south played a dominant role in the character of the land. The frequently changing, branching, and widely meandering course of the Great Mother River, in particular, created enormous wetlands with the vast dry grasslands.
Oxbow lakes developed in the sharply curved bends of the larger channels that sprawled over the land, and the marshes, wet meadows, and lush fields that gave diversity to the magnificent steppes were a haven to unbelievable numbers and varieties of birds, but they also caused detours for land-bound travelers. The diversity of the skies was complemented by a rich plant life and a variegated population of animals that paralleled that of the eastern grasslands, but was more concentrated, as though a larger landscape had shrunk while its community of living creatures remained the same size. Surrounded by mountains and highlands that funneled more moisture to the land, the central plains, especially in the south, were also more wooded, often in subtle ways. Rather than stunted dwarfs, the brush and trees that crowded close to watercourses were often full size and filled out. In the southeastern section, near the broad turbulent confluence, bogs and swamps stood in valleys and hollows, and these became enormous during flood seasons. Small soggy fen woods of alder, ash, and birch mired the unwary between knolls capped with groves of willow, occasionally spiced with oak and beech, while pines took root in sandier soils.
Most soils were either a mixture of rich loess and black loams or sands and alluvial gravels, with an occasional outcrop of ancient rock interrupting the flat relief. Those isolated highlands were usually forested with conifers, which sometimes extended down to the plains, providing a place for several species of animals that could not live on the open ground exclusively; life was richest at the margins. But with all
the complexity, the primary vegetation was still grass. Tallgrass and short steppe grasses and herbs, feather grasses and fescues, the central steppic plains were an extraordinarily rich, abundantly productive grassland blowing in the wind.
As Ayla and Jondalar left the southern plains and approached the cold north, the season seemed to progress more quickly than usual. The wind in their faces carried a hint of the earth-chilling cold of its source. The inconceivably massive accumulation of glacial ice, stretching over vast areas of northern lands, lay directly in front of them, within a walking distance much less than they had already traveled.
With the changing season, the increasing force of the icy air held a deep undercurrent of its potential power. The rains diminished and finally ceased altogether as ragged streaks of white replaced the thunderheads, the clouds torn to shreds by the strong steady winds. Sharp blasts tore the dry leaves from deciduous trees and scattered them in a loose carpet at their feet. Then, in a sudden change of mood, a sudden updraft lifted the brittle skeletons of summer growth, churned them around furiously and, tiring of the game, resettled them in another place.
But the dry, cold weather was more to the travelers' liking, familiar, even comfortable with their fur-lined hoods and parkas. Jondalar had been told correctly; hunting was easy in the central plains and the animals were fat and healthy after a summer of eating. It was also the time of year when many grains, fruits, nuts, and roots were ripe for harvesting. They had no need to use their emergency traveling food, and they even replenished supplies they had used when they killed a giant deer, then decided to stop and rest for a few days while they dried the meat. Their faces glowed with vigorous health and the happiness of being alive and in love.
The horses were rejuvenated, too. It was their milieu, the climate and conditions to which they had been adapted. Their heavy coats fluffed out with winter growth, and they were frisky and eager each morning. The wolf, nose pointed into the wind, picking up scents familiar to the deep instinctive recesses of his brain, loped contentedly along, made occasional forays on his own, then suddenly appeared again, looking smug, Ayla thought.