The Plains of Passage (Earth's Children 4)

If they'd had to carry him, it must mean he couldn't walk himself, so the blood she had found did indicate a serious injury, but they certainly would not bother to carry him if he was dead. She drew the conclusion that he was still alive but seriously hurt, and she hoped they were taking him someplace where his injuries could be trea

ted. But why would anyone hurt him in the first place?

Whoever she was following had been moving fast, but the trail was getting colder and she knew she was falling behind. The telltale signs showing the way they had gone were not always easy to find, which slowed her down, and even Wolf had some trouble keeping up. Without the animal, she wasn't sure if she could have tracked them this far, especially over areas of rocky ground, where the subtle marks of their passing were all but nonexistent. But more than that, she didn't want to let Wolf out of her sight and risk losing him, too. Nonetheless, she felt an anxious need to hurry, and she was grateful that he seemed better each day.

She had awakened that morning with a strong sense of foreboding, and she was glad to see that Wolf seemed eager to start out, but by afternoon she could tell he was tiring. She decided to stop and make a cup of tea to let him rest and give the horses time to graze.

Not long after starting out again she came to a fork in the river. She had easily crossed a couple of small streams flowing down from the highlands, but she wasn't sure if she should cross the river. She hadn't seen tracks for some time, and she didn't know whether to take the east fork or make the crossing and follow the west one. She kept to the east for a while, weaving back and forth, trying to find the trail, and just before nightfall she saw an unusual sight that clearly showed her the way to go.

Even in the failing light, she knew the posts sticking out of the water had been put there for a purpose. They had been pounded into the riverbed near several logs that were lodged into the bank. From the time she spent with the Sharamudoi, she recognized the construction as a rather simple docking place for some kind of watercraft. Ayla started to make her camp beside it, then changed her mind. She didn't know anything about the people she was following, except that they had hurt Jondalar and then taken him with them. She did not want such people to come upon her unawares, while she was sleeping and vulnerable. She chose a place around a bend in the river instead.

In the morning she carefully examined the wolf before entering the river. Though not especially wide, the water was cold and deep, and he would have to swim it. His bruises were still tender to the touch, but he was very much improved, and he was eager to go. He seemed to want to find Jondalar as much as she did.

Not for the first time, she decided to remove her leggings before getting on Whinney's back, so they would not get wet. She didn't want to take the time to worry about drying clothes. Much to her surprise, Wolf did not hesitate to enter the water. Instead of pacing back and forth on the bank, he jumped in and paddled after her, as though he no more wanted to let her out of his sight than she wanted to let him out of hers.

When they reached the other side, Ayla moved out of the way to avoid the spray from the animals shaking off excess moisture while she donned her legwear. She checked the wolf again, just to satisfy herself, though he showed no discomfort when he shook himself vigorously and then began searching for the trail. Somewhat downstream of their landing, Wolf discovered the watercraft that had been used by the ones she was tracking to make the crossing, hidden in some brush and trees that grew near the water. It took her a while, however, to understand it for what it was.

She had assumed the people would use a boat, something similar to the Sharamudoi boats—beautifully crafted dugouts with gracefully pointed prows and sterns, or perhaps like the more pedestrian but practical bowl boat that she and Jondalar used. But the contrivance Wolf found was a platform of logs, and she was unfamiliar with a raft. Once she understood its purpose, she thought it was rather clever, if somewhat ungainly. Wolf sniffed around the crude craft curiously. When he came to a certain place, he stopped and made a low growl deep in his throat.

"What is it, Wolf?" Ayla said. Looking more closely, she found a brown stain on one of the logs and felt a touch of panic drain her face. It was dried blood, she was sure, probably Jondalar's blood. She patted the canine's head. "We'll find him," she said, to reassure herself as much as the wolf, but she wasn't at all sure that they would find him alive.

The trail leading from the landing ran between fields of tall dry grass intermixed with brush and was much easier to follow. The problem was that it was so well used that she couldn't be sure it had been taken by the ones she was pursuing. Wolf was in the lead, for which Ayla was soon more than grateful. They had not been on the path long when he stopped in his tracks, wrinkling his nose and baring his teeth in a snarl.

"Wolf? What is it? Is someone coming?" Ayla said, even as she turned Whinney off the path and headed for some thick brush, signaling Wolf to follow. She slid off the mare's back as soon as they were screened by the tall, bare branches and grass, grabbed Racer's lead rope to guide him behind the mare, since he was wearing the pack, and hid between the horses herself. She knelt on one knee and put an arm around Wolf's neck to keep him quiet, then waited.

Her assessment was not wrong. Before long, two young women ran past, obviously heading for the river. She signaled Wolf to stay and then, using the stealth she had learned when tracking carnivores as a girl, she followed them back, creeping close through the grass, then hiding behind some brush to watch.

The two women talked to each other as they uncovered the raft, and though the language was unfamiliar, she noticed a similarity to Mamutoi. She wasn't quite able to understand them, but she thought she caught the meaning of a word or two.

The women pushed the log platform almost into the water, then retrieved two long poles that had been underneath it. They fastened one end of a large coil of rope around a tree, then climbed on. As one began to pole across the river, the other played out the rope. When they were near the other side, where the current was not as swift, they started poling upstream until they reached the docking place. With ropes fastened to the raft, they secured it to the poles sticking up from the water and stepped off to the logs stuck into the bank. Leaving the raft, they started running back the way Ayla had just come.

She returned to the animals, thinking about what to do. She felt sure the women would be returning soon, but "soon" could be this day, or the next, or the one after. She wanted to find Jondalar as soon as possible, but she didn't want to continue following the trail and have them catch up with her. She was also reluctant to approach them directly until she knew more about them. She finally decided to look for a place to wait for them where she could watch them coming without being seen.

She was pleased that her wait was not too long. By afternoon she saw the two women returning, along with several other people, all carrying litters of butchered meat and sections of horse. They were moving surprisingly fast in spite of their loads. When they drew nearer, Ayla realized there was not a single man in the hunting party. All the hunters were women! She watched them load the meat on the raft, then pole across using the rope for a guide. They hid the raft after unloading it, but they left the guide rope strung across the river, which puzzled her.

Ayla was again surprised at how fast they traveled as they started up the trail. Almost before she knew it, they were gone. She waited some time before she followed, and she kept well behind.

Jondalar was appalled at the conditions inside the fence. The only shelter was a rather large, crude lean-to, which offered scant protection from rain or snow, and the fence of posts, itself, which blocked the wind. There were no fires, little water, and no food available. The only people within the Holding were male, and they showed the effects of the poor conditions. As they came out of the shelter to stand and stare at him, he saw that they were thin, dirty, and ill-clad. None of them had sufficient clothing for the weather, and they probably had to huddle together in the lean-to in an attempt to keep warm.

He recognized one or two from the walk up to the funeral, and he wondered why the men and boys were living in such a place. Suddenly several puzzling things came together: the attitude of the women with spears, the strange comments of Ardemun, the behavior of the men walking to the funeral, the reticence of S'Armuna, the belated examination of his wounds, and their generally harsh treatment of him. Maybe it wasn't the result of a misunderstanding that would be cleared up as soon as he convinced Attaroa that he wasn't lying.

The conclusion he was forced to seemed preposterous, but the full realization struck him with the force to shatter his disbelief. It was so obvious that he wondered why it had taken him so long to see it. The men were kept here against their will by the women!

But why? It was such a waste to keep people inactive like this when they could all be contributing to the welfare and benefit of the entire community. He thought of the prosperous Lion Camp of the Mamutoi, with Talut and Tulie organizing the necessary activities of the Camp for the benefit of everyone. They all contributed, and they still had plenty of time to work on their own individual projects.

Attaroa! How much was her doing? She was obviously the head-woman or leader of this Camp. If she wasn't entirely responsible, at the least, she seemed determined to maintain the peculiar situation.

These men should be hunting and collecting food, Jondalar thought, and digging storage pits, making new shelters and repairing old ones; contributing, not huddling together trying to keep warm. No wonder these people were out hunting horses this late in the season. Did they even have enough food stored to last through the winter? And why did they hunt so far away when they had such a perfect hunting opportunity so close at hand?

"You're the one they call the Zelandonii man," one of the men said, speaking Mamutoi. Jondalar thought he recognized him as one whose hands had been tied when they marched up to the funeral.

"Yes. I am Jondalar of the Zelandonii."

"I am Ebulan of the S'Armunai," he said, then added sardonically, "In the name of Muna, the Mother of All, let me welcome you to the Holding, as Attaroa likes to call this place. We have other names: the Men's Camp, the Mother's Frozen Underworld, and Attaroa's Man Trap. Take your pick."

"I don't understand. Why are you ... all of you, here?" Jondalar asked.

&n