The Plains of Passage (Earth's Children 4)

"Tell me, old man, why do I have trouble believing you?"

Ardemun knew better than to reply. He simply stood there, looking down at the ground, as though he wished he could disappear.

"Worthless! He's worthless! No fight in him at all," Attaroa spat with disgust. "Just like all of them. They're all worthless." She turned to Ayla. "Why do you keep yourself tied to that man?" she said, indicating Jondalar. "Are you not strong enough to be free of him?"

Ayla waited until S'Armuna translated, which gave her time to consider her answer. "I choose to be with him. I lived alone long enough," Ayla replied.

"What good will he be to you when he becomes weak and feeble like Ardemun there," Attaroa said, casting a sneering glance at the old man. "When his tool is too limp to give you Pleasure, he'll be as worthless as the rest of them."

Again Ayla waited for the older woman, though she understood the headwoman. "No one stays young forever. There is more to a man than his tool."

"But you should get rid of that one; he won't last long." She motioned toward the tall blond man. "He looks strong, but it's all show. He did not have the strength to take Attaroa, or perhaps he was just afraid." She laughed and swallowed another cupful of brew, then turned to Jondalar. "That was it! Admit it, you fear me. That's why you couldn't take me."

Jondalar also understood her, and it made him angry. "There is a difference between fear and lack of desire, Attaroa. You cannot force desire. I did not share the Mother's Gift because I did not want you," Jondalar said.

S'Armuna glanced at Attaroa and cringed before she began the translation, almost forcing herself not to modify his words.

"That's a lie!" Attaroa screamed, incensed. She stood up and hovered over him. "You feared me, Zelandonii. I could see it. I've fought men before, and you were even afraid to fight me."

Jondalar stood up, too, and Ayla with him. Several of her women closed in around them.

"These people are our guests," S'Armuna said, also getting up. "They were invited to share our feast. Have we forgotten how to treat visitors?"

"Yes, of course. Our guests," Attaroa said scornfully. "We must be courteous and hospitable to visitors, or the woman won't think well of us. I'll show you how much I care what she thinks of us. You both left here without my permission. Do you know what we do to people who run away from here? We kill them! Just like I will kill you," the headwoman screeched, as she lunged for Ayla with a sharpened pointed fibula of a horse in her hand, a formidable dagger.

Jondalar tried to intercede, but Attaroa's Wolf Women had surrounded him, and their spear points were pushed to his chest, stomach, and back so hard that they had pierced the skin and drawn blood. Before he knew it, his hands were tied behind his back, as Attaroa knocked Ayla down, straddled her, and raised a dagger to her throat, without a hint of the drunkenness she had shown before.

She had planned it all along, Jondalar realized. While they had been talking, trying to think of ways to blunt Attaroa's power, she had been planning to kill them. He felt so stupid, he should have known. He had sworn to himself he would protect Ayla. Instead he was watching helplessly, full of fear for her, while the woman he loved tried to fight off her attacker. That was why everyone feared Attaroa. She killed without hesitation or remorse.

Ayla had been taken completely by surprise. She'd had no time to reach for a knife or a sling, or anything, and she was not experienced in fighting with people. She had never fought anyone in her life. But Attaroa was on top of her, with a sharp dagger in her hand, trying to kill her. Ayla grabbed the headwoman's wrist and struggled to hold her arm away. Ayla was strong, but Attaroa was both strong and cunning, and she was pushing down, against Ayla's resistance, forcing the sharp tip toward Ayla's throat.

Instinctively, Ayla rolled over at the last moment, but the dagger grazed her neck, leaving a line of red welling up, before the weapon was plunged halfway into the ground. And Ayla was still pinned by the woman whose demented anger added to her strength. Attaroa yanked the dagger out of the ground, then hit the blond woman, stunning her, straddled her once again, and pulled back to plunge her dagger down.

33

Jondalar closed his eyes, unable to watch the violent final moment of Ayla's life. His own life would have no meaning to him when she was gone ... So why was he standing there afraid of threatening spears when he didn't care if he lived or died? His hands were tied, but his legs weren't. He could run over there and maybe knock Attaroa away.

He heard a commotion near the gate of the Holding at the instant he decided to ignore the sharp spears and try to help Ayla. The noise from the Holding distracted his guards as he unexpectedly lurched forward, pushed aside their spears, and ran toward the two women struggling on the ground.

Suddenly a dark blur dashed past the watching people, brushed against his leg, and leaped at Attaroa. The momentum of the attack knocked the headwoman backward as sharp fangs clamped around her throat, tearing through the skin. The headwoman found herself on her back on the ground, trying to fight off a fury of snarling teeth and fur. She managed to make a stab into the heavy, furry body before she dropped the dagger, but it only evoked a deadly snarl and a tighter grip of the viselike jaws pressing together in a stranglehold that cut off her air.

Attaroa tried to scream as she felt darkness overcoming her, but at that moment a sharp canine tooth severed an artery, and the sound that emerged was a horrible, suffocating gurgle. Then, the tall, handsome woman fell limp and fought no more. Still snarling, Wolf shook her, making sure there was no more resistance.

"Wolf!" Ayla cried, overcoming her shock and sitting up. "Oh, Wolf."

As the wolf let go, blood spurted from the severed artery and sprayed him. He crept toward Ayla with his tail tucked between his legs, whining apologetically, asking for her approval. The woman had told him to stay in hiding, and he knew he had acted against her wishes. When he saw the attack and understood that she was in danger, he had sprung to her defense, but now he wasn't sure how his misbehavior would be received. More than anything, he hated being scolded by this woman.

Ayla opened her arms and reached for him. Quick to realize that he had acted correctly and was forgiven for his transgression, he rushed to her with joy. She hugged him, burying her face in his fur, while tears of relief ran from her eyes.

"Wolf, you saved my life," she sobbed. He licked her, staining her face with Attaroa's warm, wet blood that was still on his muzzle.

The people of the Camp backed away from the scene, staring open-mouthed with incomprehension and wonder at the blond woman who was holding in her arms a large wolf that had just killed another woman in a furious assault. She had addressed the animal with the Mamutoi word for wolf, but it was similar to their own name for the meat-eating hunter, and they knew she was talking to him, just as though he could understand her, the same way she talked to the horses.

No wonder this stranger had shown no fear of Attaroa. Her magic was so powerful that she could not only make horses do her bidding, she could command wolves! The man had not shown concern either, they realized, when they saw him drop to his knees beside the woman and the wolf. He had even ignored the spears of the Wolf Women, who had also stepped back a few paces and stood gaping. Suddenly they saw a man behind Jondalar, and he had a knife! Where did the knife come from?

"Let me cut these cords for you, Jondalar," Ebulan said, slashing the bindings.