The Plains of Passage (Earth's Children 4)

"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.