The Plains of Passage (Earth's Children 4)

"But I had to forbid that! If I had allowed them to spend their time gathering, they would not have learned to hunt."

"Then your scarcity was of your own doing, and the choice of those who went along with you. That is not a reason to kill people who are not aware of your customs," Ayla said. "You have taken on yourself the Mother's right. She calls Her children to Her when She is ready. It is not your place to assume Her authority."

"All people have customs and traditions that are important, and if their ways are broken, some of them require a punishment of death," Attaroa said.

/> That was true enough; Ayla knew it from experience. "But why should your custom require a punishment of death for wanting to eat?" she said. "The Mother's ways must come before all other customs. She requires sharing of food, and hospitality to visitors. You are ... discourteous and inhospitable, Attaroa."

Discourteous and inhospitable! Jondalar fought to control a derisive laugh. More like murderous and inhuman! He had been watching and listening with amazement, and he was grinning with appreciation for Ayla's understatement. He remembered when she couldn't even understand a joke, much less make subtle insults.

Attaroa was obviously irritated; it was all she could do to contain herself. She had felt the barb of Ayla's "courteous" criticism. She had been scolded as if she were a mere child; a bad girl. She would have preferred the implied power of being called evil, a powerfully evil woman to be respected and greatly feared. The mildness of the words made her seem laughable. Attaroa noticed Jondalar's grin and glared at him balefully, certain that everyone watching wanted to laugh with him. She vowed to herself that he would be sorry, and so would that woman!

Ayla seemed to resettle herself on Whinney, but she had actually shifted her position unobtrusively in order to get a better grip on the spear-thrower.

"I believe Jondalar needs his clothes," Ayla continued, lifting the spear slightly, making it apparent that she held it without being overtly threatening. "Don't forget his outer fur, the one you are wearing. And perhaps you should send someone into your lodge to get his belt, his mitts, his waterbag, his knife, and the tools he had with him." She waited for S'Armuna to translate.

Attaroa clenched her teeth but smiled, though it was more a grimace. She signaled Epadoa with a nod. With her left arm, the one that wasn't sore—Epadoa knew she would also have a bruise on her leg where Jondalar had kicked her—the woman who was the leader of Attaroa's Wolves picked up the clothes they had struggled so hard to pull off the man and dropped them down in front of him; then she went inside the large earthlodge.

While they waited, the headwoman suddenly spoke up, trying to assume a friendlier tone. "You have traveled a long way, you must be tired—what did he say your name was? Ayla?"

The woman on horseback nodded, understanding her well enough. This leader cared little for formal introductions, Ayla noticed; not very subtle.

"Since you put such importance on it, you must allow me to extend the hospitality of my lodge. You will stay with me, won't you?"

Before either Ayla or Jondalar could respond, S'Armuna spoke up. "I believe it is customary to offer visitors a place with the One Who Serves the Mother. You are welcome to share my lodge."

While listening to Attaroa and waiting for the translation, the shivering man pulled on his trousers. Jondalar hadn't thought too much about how cold he was before, when his life was in immediate jeopardy, but his fingers were so stiff that he fumbled to tie knots in the severed cords that held his legwear on. Though it was torn, he was grateful to have his tunic, but he stopped for a moment, surprised, when he heard S'Armuna's offer. Looking up after he pulled the tunic over his head, he noticed that Attaroa was scowling at the shaman; then he sat down to put on his foot-coverings and boots as quickly as he could.

She will hear from me later, Attaroa thought, but she said, "Then you must allow me to share food with you, Ayla. We will prepare a feast, and you will be the honored guests. Both of you." She included Jondalar in her glance. "We have recently had a successful hunt, and I cannot allow you to leave, thinking too badly of me."

Jondalar thought her attempt at a friendly smile was ludicrous, and he had no desire either to eat their food or to stay in this encampment a moment longer, but before he could voice his opinion, Ayla answered.

"We will be happy to accept your hospitality, Attaroa. When do you plan to have this feast? I would like to make something to bring, but it is late in the day."

"Yes, it is late," Attaroa said, "and there are some things I will want to prepare, too. The feast will be tomorrow, but of course, you will share our simple meal tonight?"

"There are things I must do for my contribution to your feast. We will be back tomorrow," Ayla said. Then she added, "Jondalar still needs his outer fur, Attaroa. Of course, he will return the 'cloak' he was wearing."

The woman pulled the parka up over her head and gave it to the man. He smelled her female scent when he pulled it on, but he appreciated the warmth. Attaroa's smile was pure evil as she stood in the cold in her thin inner garment.

"And the rest of his things?" Ayla reminded her.

Attaroa glanced at the entrance to her lodge and motioned to the woman who had been standing there for some time. Epadoa quickly brought Jondalar's gear and put it on the ground some feet away from him. She was not happy about returning his things. Attaroa had promised some of them to her. She had particularly wanted the knife. She had never seen one so beautifully made.

Jondalar tied on his belt, then put his tools and implements in their places, hardly believing he had everything back. He had doubted if he'd ever see them again. For that matter, he had doubted that he'd ever leave alive. Then, to everyone's surprise, he leaped up behind the woman on the horse. This was one Camp he would be glad to see the last of. Ayla scanned the area, making sure no one was in a position to try to prevent them from leaving, or to cast a spear after them. Then she turned Whinney and left at a gallop.

"Follow them! I want them back. They aren't getting away that easily," Attaroa snarled to Epadoa, as she stomped into her lodge in a hot rage, shivering with cold.

Ayla kept Whinney at a fast pace until they were some distance away and heading down the hill. They slowed when they entered a wooded stretch at the bottom, near the river, then doubled back in the direction they had come, toward her camp, which was actually quite close to the S'Armunai settlement. Once they settled into a more steady pace, Jondalar became aware of Ayla's closeness, and he felt such an overwhelming gratitude to be with her again that it almost took his breath away. He put his arms around her waist and held her, feeling her hair on his cheek and breathing in her unique warm woman-scent.

"You're here, with me. It's so hard to believe. I was afraid you were gone, walking in the next world," he said softly. "I'm so grateful to have you back, I don't know what to say."

"I love you so much, Jondalar," she replied. She leaned back, pressing herself even more into his arms, feeling such a relief to be with him again. Her love for him welled up and filled her to overflowing. "I found a bloodstain, and all the while I was following your trail, trying to find you, I never knew if you were alive or dead. When I realized they were carrying you, I thought you must be alive, but hurt bad enough that you couldn't walk. I was so worried, but the trail was not easy to follow, and I knew I was falling behind. Attaroa's hunters can travel very fast, for being on foot, and they knew the way."

"You got here just in time. It's a good thing you arrived when you did. A little later and it would have been too late," Jondalar said.

"I didn't just get here."

"You didn't? When did you arrive?"