The Valley of Horses (Earth's Children 2)

Ayla finished tucking her last braid under itself, then went to stir up the fire to make some pain medicine for Jondalar. When she brought it to him, he was on his side resting. In bringing him something for pain so he could rest, she did not want to disturb him if he had already found some comfort. She sat down with crossed legs beside his sleeping place and waited for him to open his eyes. He didn’t move, but she knew he was not sleeping. His breathing lacked the regularity, and his forehead showed discomfort he would not have if he was deep in sleep.

Jondalar had heard her coming and shut his eyes to feign sleep. He waited, muscles tensed, fighting an urge to open his eyes to see if she was there. Why was she so quiet? Why didn’t she leave? The arm he was lying on started to tingle from lack of circulation. If he didn’t move it soon, it would go numb. His leg throbbed. He wanted to shift it to ease the strain of holding it in one position so long. His face itched with the stubble of new beard; his back burned. Maybe she wasn’t even there. Maybe she had gone and he just hadn’t heard her move. Was she just sitting there staring at him?

She had been watching him intently. She had looked directly at this man more than she had ever looked at any man. It wasn’t proper for women of the Clan to look at men, but she had indulged in many improprieties. Had she forgotten all the manners Iza had taught her, as well as proper care of a patient? She stared down at her hands holding the cup of datura in her lap. That was the correct way for a woman to approach a man, sitting on the ground with head bowed, waiting for him to acknowledge her with a tap on the shoulder. Perhaps it was time to remember her training, she thought.

Jondalar opened his eyes a crack, trying to see if she was there without letting her know he was awake. He saw a foot and quickly closed his eyes again. She was there. Why was she sitting there? What could she be waiting for? Why didn’t she go and leave him alone with his misery and humiliation. He peeked again through lowered eyelids. Her foot hadn’t moved. She was sitting cross-legged. She had a cup of liquid. Oh, Doni! He was thirsty! Was it for him? Had she been waiting there for him to wake up to give him some medicine? She could have shaken him; she didn’t have to wait.

He opened his eyes. Ayla was sitting with her head bowed, looking down. She was dressed in one of those shapeless wraps, and her hair was tied up in multiple rows of braids. She had a fresh-scrubbed look. The smudge on her cheek was gone; her wrap was a clean, unworn skin. She had such a guileless quality, sitting with her head bowed. There was no artifice, no coy mannerisms or suggestive sidelong glances.

Her tight braids contributed to the impression, as did the wrap with its folds and bulges which camouflaged her so well. That was the trick, the artful concealing of her ripe woman’s body and rich lustrous hair. She couldn’t hide her face, but her habit of looking down or aside tended to divert attention. Why did she keep herself hidden? It must be the test she was undergoing. Most women he knew would have flaunted that magnificent body, worn such golden glory to show off to its best advantage, given anything for a face so beautiful.

He watched her without moving, his discomfort forgotten. Why was she so still? Maybe she didn’t want to look at him, he thought, bringing back his embarrassment and his pain as well. He couldn’t stand it, he had to move.

Ayla looked up when he rolled off his arm. He couldn’t tap her shoulder to acknowledge her presence no matter how well mannered she wanted to be. He didn’t know the signal. Jondalar was amazed to see contrite shame in her face, and the honest open appeal in her eyes. There was no condemnation, no rejection, no pity. Rather she seemed embarrassed. What did she have to be embarrassed about?

She gave him the cup. He took a sip, made a face at the bitter medicine, then drank it down and reached for the waterbag to wash the taste out of his mouth. Then he lay back down, not quite able to get comfortable. She motioned for him to sit up, then straightened, smoothed, and rearranged the furs and skins. He did not lie back down immediately.

“Ayla, there’s so much about you I don’t know and wish I did. I don’t know where you learned your healing arts—I don’t even know how I got here. I only know I’m grateful to you. You saved my life, and, more important, you saved my leg, I’d never get back home without my leg even if I had lived.

“I’m sorry I made such a fool of myself, but you are so beautiful, Ayla. I didn’t know—you hide it so well. I don’t know why you want to, but you must have your reasons. You are learning fast. Maybe when you can talk more you will tell me, if you are free to. If not, I’ll accept that. I know you don’t understand everything I’m saying, but I want to say it, I won’t bother you again, Ayla. I promise.”

22

“Say me right … ‘Don-da-lah.’ ”

“You say my name just fine.”

“No. Ayla say wrong.” She shook her head vehemently. “Say me right.”

“Jondalar. Jon-da-lar.”

“Zzzon…”

“Juh,” he showed her, articulating carefully, “Jondalar.”

“Zh … dzh …” She struggled with the unfamiliar sound.

“Dzhon- da- larrr,” she finally got out, rolling the r.

“That’s good! That’s very good,” he said.

Ayla smiled with her success; then her smile changed to a sly grin. “Dzhon-da-larr ob da Zel-ann-do-nee.” He had said the name of his people more often than he said his own name, and she had been practicing in private.

“That’s right!” Jondalar was genuinely surprised. She hadn’t said it quite right, but only a Zelandonii would know the difference. His pleased approval made all her effort worth it, and Ayla’s smile of success was beautiful.

“What means ‘Zelandonee’?”

“It means my people. Children of the Mother who live in the southwest. Doni means the Great Earth Mother. Earth’s Children, I guess that’s the easiest way to say it. But all people call themselves Earth’s Children, in their own language. It just means the people.”

They were facing each other, leaning against opposite boles of a birch clump whose stalks had grown into several sturdy trunks of a tree with a common base. Though he used a staff and still had a pronounced limp, Jondalar was grateful to be standing in the green meadow of the valley. From his first tentative steps, he had pushed himself each day. His initial trip down the steep path had been an ordeal—and a triumph. Climbing back up turned out to be easier than going down.

He still didn’t know how she had gotten him up to the cave in the beginning, without help. But if others had helped her, where were they? It was a question he had long wanted to ask, but first she would not have understood him, and then it seemed inappropriate to blurt it out just to satisfy his curiosity. He had been waiting for the right moment, and this seemed to be it,

“Who are your people, Ayla? Where are they?”

The smile left her face; he was almost sorry he asked. After a long silence, he began to think she had not understood him.

“No people. Ayla of no people,” she answered finally, pushing herself away from the tree and moving out of its shade. Jondalar grabbed his staff and hobbled after her.

“But you had to have some people. You were born to a mother. Who took care of you? Who taught you healing? Where are your people now, Ayla? Why are you alone?”

Ayla walked ahead slowly, staring at the ground. She was not trying to avoid replying—she had to answer him. No woman of the Clan could refuse to answer a direct question asked by a man. In fact, all members of the Clan, male and female, responded to direct questions. It was simply that women didn’t ask men searching personal questions, and men seldom posed them to each other. Women were the ones usually asked. Jondalar’s questions brought up many memories, but she did not know the answer to some and did not know how to answer others.

“If you don’t want to tell me …”

“No.” She looked at him and shook her head. “Ayla say.” Her eyes were troubled. “Not know words.”

Jondalar wondered again if he should have brought it up, but he

was curious and she seemed willing. They stopped again at the large jagged chunk of rock that had knocked out part of the wall before coming to rest in the field. Jondalar sat on an edge where the stone had been cleaved to form a seat at a convenient height with a sloping back rest.

“What do your people call themselves?” he asked.

Ayla thought for a moment. “The people. Man … woman … baby.” She shook her head again, not knowing how to explain. “The Clan.” She made the gesture for the concept at the same time.

“Like family? A family is a man, woman, and her children, living at the same hearth.… Usually.”