The Plains of Passage (Earth's Children 4)

"Are you sure, Ayla? I mean it, we'll take the time to look for them, if you want," Jondalar said.

"Even if I wanted to find him," she said, "I wouldn't know where to look. I don't know where their new cave is, and I don't know where the Clan Gathering is. It is not meant for me to see Durc. He is not my son any more. I gave him to Uba. He is Uba's son now." Ayla looked up at Jondalar. He noticed that tears were threatening. "I knew when Rydag died I would never see Durc again. I buried Rydag in Durc's carrying cloak, the one I took with me when I left the Clan, and in my heart, I buried Durc at the same time. I know I will never see Durc again. I am dead to him, and it's best if he is dead to me."

The tears were wetting her cheeks, though she seemed oblivious to them, as though she didn't know they had begun. "I'm really lucky, you know. Think of Nezzie. Rydag was a son to her, she nursed him even if she didn't give birth to him, and she knew she would lose him. She even knew that no matter how long he lived, he would never have a normal life. Other mothers who lose their sons can only imagine them in another world, living with spirits, but I can imagine Durc here, always safe, always lucky, always happy. I can think of him living with Ura, having children at his hearth ... even if I will never see them." The sob in her voice finally opened the way to let her grief out.

Jondalar took her in his arms and held her. Thinking of Rydag made him sad, too. There was nothing anyone could have done for him, though everyone knew Ayla had tried. He was a weak child. Nezzie said he always had been. But Ayla had given him something no one else could. After she came and started teaching him, and the rest of the Lion Camp, to talk the way the Clan did, with hand signs, he was happier than he had ever been. It was the first time in all his young life that he had been able to communicate with the people he loved. He could let his needs and wishes be known, and he could let people know how he felt, especially Nezzie, who had taken care of him since his real mother died, at his birth. He could finally tell her that he loved her.

It had been a surprise to the members of the Lion Camp, but once they realized that he wasn't just a rather clever animal, without the ability to speak, but instead, a different kind of person, with a different kind of language, they began to understand that he was intelligent, and to accept him as a person. It had been no less a surprise to Jondalar, even though she had tri

ed to tell him, after he began to teach her to speak with words again. He had learned the signs along with the others, and he had come to appreciate the gentle humor and the depth of understanding in the young boy from the ancient race.

Jondalar held the woman he loved as she heaved great sobs in the release of her sorrow. He knew Ayla had held back her grief over the death of the half-Clan child that Nezzie had adopted, who had reminded her so much of her own son, and understood she was grieving for that son as well.

But it was more than Rydag or Durc. Ayla was grieving for all her losses: for the ones from long ago, her loved ones from the Clan, and for the loss of the Clan itself. Brun's clan had been her family, Iza and Creb had raised her, cared for her, and in spite of her difference, there was a time when she thought of herself as Clan. Though she had chosen to leave with Jondalar because she loved him and wanted to be with him, their talk had made her realize how far away he lived; it would take a year, maybe two years just to travel there. The full understanding of what that meant had finally come to her; she would never return.

She was not only giving up her new life with the Mamutoi, who had offered her a place among them, she was giving up any faint hope she might have had of seeing the people of her clan again, or the son she had left with them. She had lived with her old sorrows long enough so that they had eased a little, but Rydag had died not long before they left the Summer Meeting, and his death was still too fresh, the grief still too raw. The pain of it had brought back the pain of her other losses, and the realization of the distance she would be putting between them had brought the knowledge that the hope of recovering that part of her past would have to die, too.

Ayla had already lost her early life; she had no idea who her real mother was, or who her people were, the ones she had been born to. Except for faint recollections—feelings more than anything—she could not remember anything before the time of the earthquake, or any people before the Clan. But the Clan had banished her; Broud had put the curse of death upon her. To them she was dead and now she came to the full understanding that she had lost that part of her life when they turned her out. From this time on, she would never know where she came from, she would never meet a childhood friend, she would never know anyone, not even Jondalar, who would comprehend the background that made her who she was.

Ayla accepted the loss of her past, except that which lived in her mind and in her heart, but she grieved for it, and she wondered what lay ahead when she reached the end of her Journey. Whatever awaited her, whatever his people were like, she would have nothing else; only her memories ... and the future.

Within the wooded glade it was completely black. Not the faintest hint of a silhouette or darker shadow could be discerned against the surrounding background, except for a faint redness from the lingering coals in the fireplace, and the blazing epiphany of stars. With only a slight breeze penetrating the protected grove, they had moved their sleeping furs outside the tent. Ayla lay awake under the starlit sky, staring up at the patterns of constellations and listening to the night sounds: the wind sifting through the trees, the soft liquid running of the river, the chirk of crickets, the harsh harumph of a bullfrog. She heard a loud plunk and splashing, then the eerie who-whoing of an owl, and in the distance, the deep roar of a lion and the loud trumpet of a mammoth.

Earlier Wolf had quivered with excitement at the sound of wolf howls and then run off. Not long afterward she heard wolf song again, and an answering howl much closer. The woman was waiting for the animal to return. When she heard his panting breath—he must have been running, she thought—and felt him snuggle up to her feet, she relaxed.

She had just dozed off when she suddenly found herself wide awake. Alert and tense, she lay still, trying to discover what woke her. First she felt the rumbling, almost silent growl vibrating through her coverings from the warm spot at her feet. Then she heard faint snufflings. Something was in camp with them.

"Jondalar?" she said softly.

"I think the meat is drawing something. It could be a bear, but I think it's more likely to be a wolverine or a hyena," Jondalar replied, his whisper barely audible.

"What should we do? I don't want anything to get our meat."

"Nothing, yet. Whatever it is may not be able to reach it. Let's wait."

But Wolf knew exactly what was nosing around and had no intention of waiting. Wherever they set up camp, he defined it as his territory and took it upon himself to defend it. Ayla felt him leave, and an instant later heard him snarl menacingly. The growling response had an entirely different tone and seemed to come from higher up. Ayla sat up and reached for her sling, but Jondalar was already on his feet with the long shaft of a spear resting on his spear-thrower in readiness.

"It's a bear!" he said. "I think he's up on his hind legs, but I can't see a thing."

They heard movement, shuffling sounds from somewhere between the fireplace and the poles from which the meat was suspended, then the growling warnings of the animals facing off. Suddenly, from the other side, Whinney neighed, then, even louder, Racer voiced his nervousness. There were more sounds of movement in the dark, and then Ayla heard the particular excited deep snarling rumble that signaled Wolf's intention to attack.

"Wolf!" Ayla called out, trying to prevent the dangerous encounter.

Suddenly, amid vicious snarls, a sonorous bellow rang out, then a yelp of pain as a scattering of bright sparks flew around a large shape stumbling into the fireplace. Ayla heard the whistle of an object moving rapidly through the air nearby. A solid thunk was followed by a howl, and then the noise of something crashing through the trees, moving away fast. Ayla whistled the call she used for Wolf. She did not want him to follow.

She knelt down to hug the young wolf with relief when he came to her, while Jondalar built up the fire again. In the firelight, he saw a trail of blood left behind by the retreating animal.

"I was sure my spear had found that bear," the man said, "but I couldn't see where it hit. I'd better track it in the morning. A wounded bear can be dangerous, and we don't know who will be using this campsite next."

Ayla came to examine the trail. "I think it's losing a lot of blood. It may not go far," she said, "but I was worried about Wolf. That was a big animal. It could have hurt him."

"I'm not sure if Wolf should have attacked like that. He could have caused that bear to go after someone else, but it was a brave thing to do, and I'm glad to know he's so quick to protect you. I wonder what he'd do if anyone ever really tried to hurt you," Jondalar said.

"I don't know, but Whinney and Racer were anxious about that bear. I think I'll see how they are."

Jondalar wanted to check on them, too. They found the horses had moved in close to the fire. Whinney had learned long ago that the fire made by people usually meant security, and Racer was learning from his own experience, as well as from his dam. They seemed to relax after the comforting words and touches of the people they trusted, but Ayla felt uneasy and knew she'd have trouble going back to sleep. She decided to make herself some calming tea and went into the tent to get her otter-skin medicine bag.

While the cooking stones were heating, she stroked the fur of the worn bag, remembering when Iza gave it to her and recalling her life with the Clan, especially the last day. Why did Creb have to go back into the cave? she thought. He might still be alive, even though he was getting old and weak. But he wasn't weak during that last ceremony the night before, when he made Goov the new Mog-ur. He was strong again, The Mog-ur, just like before. Goov will never be as powerful as Creb was.