The Plains of Passage (Earth's Children 4)

They stopped, and Ayla dismounted to let Whinney rest. Jondalar joined her and they stood side by side trying to see into the darkness below. Lightning flashed, but it was farther away, and the thunder followed later in a low growl. In a dazed state, they stared out over the black chasm of the valley, knowing that some great destruction was taking place though they could see nothing. They realized they had barely escaped a terrible disaster, but they didn't yet comprehend its dimensions.

Ayla felt a strange prickly sensation on her scalp and heard a faint crackling. Her nose crinkled at the acrid smell of ozone; it was a peculiar burning odor, but not of fire, nothing as earthy as that. Suddenly it occurred to her that it must be the smell of the streaking fire in the sky. Then she opened her eyes in wonder and fear and, in a moment of panic, grabbed for Jondalar. A tall pine, rooted in the slope below, but sheltered from the cutting winds by a rocky outcrop and projecting high above the steppes, glowed with an eerie blue light.

He put his arm around her, wanting to protect her, but he felt the same sensations, and fears, and knew these otherworldly fires were beyond his control. He could only hold her close. Then, in an awesome display, a jagged crackling bolt arced across the glowing clouds, branched out into a network of fiery darts, and in a blinding flash leaped down and speared the tall pine, illuminating the valley and the steppes with the clarity of noon. Ayla started at the sharp crack, so loud it left her ears ringing, and she cringed as the booming roar reverberated across the sky. In that moment of radiance they saw the destruction they had so narrowly escaped.

The green valley was ravaged. The entire level floor was a heavy, swirling maelstrom. Opposite them, on the far slope, a mudslide had piled a jumble of boulders and fallen trees halfway across the wild waters, leaving a raw scar of reddish soil exposed.

The cause of the torrential onslaught was a set of circumstances not unusual. It had begun in the mountains to the west, and with atmospheric depressions over the inland sea; warm, moisture-laden air had swirled upward and condensed into huge billowing clouds with white windblown tops that hung stalled and motionless over the rocky hills. This warm air had been invaded by a cold front, and the turbulence of the resulting combination had created a thunderstorm of uncommon intensity.

The rains had poured from the bloated skies, disgorging into dips and hollows that gushed into creeks, burst over rocks, and surged into streams overfilling with frantic haste. Gathering momentum, the tumultuous water, abetted by the continuing deluge, raged down the steep hills, fountained over barriers, and crashed into sister streams, joining together into walls of rampaging, devastating force.

When the flash flood reached the green dell, it erupted over the waterfall and, with a ravenous roar, engulfed the entire valley, but the lush, verdant depression held a surprise for the churning waters. During the era, extensive movements of the earth were uplifting the land, raising the level of the small inland sea to the south, and opening passageways to an even larger sea farther south. Within recent decades, the uplift had closed off the valley, forming a shallow basin, which had been filled by the river, creating a small lake behind the natural dam. But an outlet had broken through a few years before and drained the small reservoir of water, leaving in its wake moisture enough for a wooded valley in the middle of the dry steppes.

A second mudslide, farther downstream, had dammed the outlet channel again, containing the raging floodwaters within the confines of the valley and causing a backwash. Jondalar thought the scene below must have come from some nightmare. He could hardly believe what he had seen. The entire valley was a wild, turbulent, frenzied slurry of mud and rocks, sloshing back and forth, churning brush and whole trees torn out by their roots, and splintered by the battering.

No living thing could have survived in that place, and he shuddered to think what would have happened if Ayla hadn't wakened and insisted that they leave. He doubted if they would have made it to safety without the horses. He glanced around; they were both standing with heads down, feet apart, looking as exhausted as he thought they must be. Wolf was beside Ayla, and when he saw Jondalar look his way he lifted his head straight up and howled. The man had a fleeting memory of a wolf howl disturbing his sleep, just before Ayla woke up.

Another lightning bolt flashed, and at the sound of the thunder, he felt Ayla shiver violently in his arms. They were not out of danger yet. They were wet and cold, everything was soaked, and, in the middle of the open plain in a thunderstorm, he had no idea where to find shelter.

8

The tall pine that had been struck by lightning was burning, but the hot pitch that fed the fire had to contend with the dousing rain, and the sputtering flames shed little light. It was enough, though, to highlight the general contours of the nearby landscape. There was not much in the way of shelter on the open plains, except some low brush growing beside a nearly overflowing runoff ditch that was dry most of the year.

Ayla was staring down into the darkness of the valley, as if spellbound by the scene they had seen below. While she stood there, the rain began coming down harder again, sluicing over them, drenching their already soaked clothing, and finally winning out over the struggling fire in the tree.

"Ayla, come on," Jondalar said. "We've got to find some shelter and get out of this rain. You're cold. We're both cold, and wet."

She stared for a moment longer, then shuddered. "We were down there." She looked up at him. "Jondalar, we would have died if we'd been caught in that."

"But we got out in time. Now we need to find shelter. If we don't find someplace to warm up, it won't matter that we got out of the valley."

He picked up Racer's lead rope and started toward the brush. Ayla signaled Whinney and followed, with Wolf at her side. When they reached the ditch, they noticed that the low bushes led to a thicker stand of higher brush, a

lmost low trees, farther back from the valley on the steppes, and they headed for that.

They pushed their way into the center of the dense growth of sallow. The ground around the slender, many-stemmed bases of the silvery green willow brush was wet, and rain still filtered in through the narrow leaves, but not quite as hard. They cleared woody stems out of a small pocket, then removed the pack baskets from the horses. Jondalar pulled out the heavy bundle of wet tent and shook it out. Ayla grabbed the poles and set them around the inside of the brush pocket, then helped spread the skins of the tent, still tied to the ground cover, over them. It was a haphazard construction, but for now they just wanted shelter from the rain.

They brought their pack baskets and other things into the makeshift shelter, tore leaves off the trees to line the wet ground, and spread out their damp sleeping furs. Then they took off their outer clothes, helped each other wring out the soaked leather, and draped them on branches. Finally, shivering hard, they huddled down and pulled their sleeping furs around them. Wolf came in and shook himself vigorously, spraying water, but everything was so wet that it hardly mattered. The steppe horses, with their thick shaggy coats, much preferred cold, dry winter to the drenching summer storm, but they were used to living outside. They stood close together beside the stand of brushy growth and let the rain pour over them.

Within the damp shelter, too wet to even consider a fire, Ayla and Jondalar, wrapped in heavy furs, cuddled close together. Wolf curled up on top of their sleeping furs, pressing close to them, and finally, their combined body heat warmed them. The woman and man dozed a bit, though neither of them slept much. Near dawn the rain slacked off, and their sleep deepened.

Ayla listened, smiling to herself, before opening her eyes. Within the medley of birdsong that had awakened her, she could distinguish the sharp elaborate call notes of a pipet. Then she heard a melodious warble that seemed to be getting louder, but when she tried to find the source of the trilling song, she had to look carefully to see the drab, brown, inconspicuous little skylark just landing. Ayla rolled on her side to watch him.

The skylark walked along the ground easily and quickly, well-balanced by its large hind claws, then bobbed its crested head and came up with a caterpillar in its beak. With quick, jerky steps, it rushed toward a bare scrape in the ground near the stems of a sallow bush, where a camouflaged cluster of newly hatched fluffy chicks suddenly sprang to life, each open mouth begging to be filled with the delectable morsel. Soon a second bird, similar in markings though slightly more drab, and nearly invisible against the dun earth of the steppes, appeared with a winged insect. While she stuffed it into an open mouth, the first bird leaped into the air and climbed in circles until he was almost lost from view. But his presence was not lost. He had disappeared into a spiral of incredibly glorious song.

Ayla softly whistled the musical call, replicating the sounds with such precision that the mother bird stopped pecking at the ground in search of food and turned in her direction. Ayla whistled again, wishing she had some grain to offer, as she had done when she lived in her valley and first began imitating bird calls. After she had gained skill, they came when she called, whether she offered grain or not, and became company for her during those lonely days. The mother skylark approached, looking for the bird that was invading the territory of her nest, but when she found no other skylarks, she went back to feeding her young.

Whistled repetitive phrases, more mellow and ending with a chuckling sound, perked Ayla's interest even more. Sandgrouse were big enough to make a decent meal, and so were those cooing turtledoves, she thought, looking around to see if she could spot the buxom birds that resembled the brown sandgrouse in general size and shape. In the low branches, she saw a simple twig nest with three white eggs in it before she saw the plump pigeon with its small head and bill and short legs. Its soft, dense plumage was a pale brown, almost pinkish, and its strongly patterned back and wings, which somewhat resembled the shell of a turtle, glistened with iridescent patches.

Jondalar rolled over, and Ayla turned to watch the man lying beside her, breathing with the deep rhythms of sleep. Then she became aware of her need to get up and relieve herself. She was afraid that if she moved he would wake up, and she hated to disturb him, but the more she tried to forget about it, the more urgent her need became. Maybe if she moved slowly, she thought, trying to ease out of the warm, slightly damp furs wrapped around them. He snorted and snuffled and rolled over as she extricated herself, but it was when he reached for her and found her missing that he woke up.

"Ayla? Oh, there you are," he mumbled.

"Go back to sleep, Jondalar. You don't have to get up yet," she said as she crawled out of their nest in the brush.

It was a bright, fresh morning, the sky a clear sparkling blue without a hint of a cloud in sight. Wolf was gone, probably hunting or exploring, Ayla thought. The horses had moved off, too; she saw them grazing near the edge of the valley. Though the sun was still low, steam was already rising from the wet ground, and Ayla felt the humidity as she hunkered down to pass her water. Then she noticed the red stains on the inside of her legs. Her moon time, she thought. She'd been expecting it; she'd have to wash herself and her undergarment, but first she needed the mouflon wool.

The runoff ditch was only half-full, but the streamlet flowing through it was clear. She leaned over and rinsed her hands, drank several cupped handfuls of the cool running liquid, and then hurried back to their sleeping place. Jondalar was up, and he smiled when she made her way into their shelter within the sallow brush to get one of her pack baskets. She pulled it out in the open and began rummaging through it. Jondalar brought both of his baskets out with him, then went back for the rest of their things. He wanted to see how much damage had been done by the soaking rains. Wolf came loping back just then and went straight to Ayla.