The Plains of Passage (Earth's Children 4)

It was too melodic, too full of syllables, too much for the man of the Clan to hear all at once. He shook his head, as if trying to unplug his ear, inclined his head, as though it would help him to listen better, then tapped Jondalar's chest.

It wasn't hard to understand what he meant, Jondalar thought. He made the signs again for "This man is called..." then spoke his name, but only his given name, and more slowly, "Jondalar."

The man closed his eyes, concentrating, then opened them and, taking a breath, spoke out loud, "Dyondar."

Jondalar smiled, and nodded yes. There was a deep-voiced, not fully articulated quality to the word, and a sense of swallowing the vowels, but it was close enough. And strangely familiar. Then it came to him! Of course! Ayla! Her words still had that same quality, though not nearly as strong. That was her unusual accent. No wonder no one could identify it. She had a Clan accent, and no one knew they could talk!

Ayla was surprised at how well the man had said Jondalar's name. She doubted if she had said it that well the first time she tried, and she wondered if this man had had contact with Others before. If he had been chosen to represent his people, or make some form of contact with the ones known as the Others, it would be an indication of high status. All the more reason, she understood, for him to be wary of kinship bonds with Others, especially Others of unknown status. He would not want to devalue his own status, but an obligation was an obligation, and whether he or his mate was ready to admit it, they still needed help. Somehow she had to convince him that they were Others who understood the significance and were worthy of the association.

The man facing Jondalar slapped his chest once, then leaned forward slightly. "Guban," he said.

Jondalar had as much trouble repeating his name as Guban had had with "Jondalar," and Guban was as generous in accepting the tall man's mispronunciation as Jondalar had been of his.

Ayla felt relieved. An exchange of names wasn't much, but it was a start. She glanced at the woman, still startled to see hair coloring lighter than her own on a woman of the Clan. Her head was covered with a fluff of soft curls, so light that it was almost white, but she was young and very attractive. Probably a second woman at his hearth. Guban was a man in his prime, and this woman was probably from a different clan, and quite a prize.

The woman looked at Ayla, then away quickly. Ayla wondered. She had seen worry and fear in the woman's eyes and looked more closely, but with as much subtlety as the young Clan woman had used. Was there a thickening at the waist? Did her wrap fit a little tight across her breasts? She's pregnant! No wonder she's worried. A man with a badly healed broken leg would no longer be in his prime. And while this man might have high status, he no doubt had heavy responsibilities as well. Somehow, Ayla thought, she had to convince Guban to let her help him.

The two men had been sitting watching each other. Jondalar was not sure what to do next, and Guban was waiting to see what he would do. Finally, in desperation, he turned to her.

"This woman is Ayla," he said, using his simple signs and then speaking her name.

At first Ayla thought he might have committed a social blunder, but seeing Guban's reaction, decided perhaps not. Introducing her so quickly was an indication of the high esteem in which she was held, appropriate for a medicine woman. Then, as he continued, she wondered if he had seen into her thoughts.

"Ayla is healer. Very good healer. Good medicine. Want help Guban."

To the man of the Clan, Jondalar's signs were hardly more than baby talk. There were no nuances to his meaning, no suggestive shadings, no degrees of complexity, but his sincerity was clear. It was a surprise in itself to discover a man of the Others who could speak properly at all. Most of them chattered, or muttered, or growled like animals. They were like children in their excessive use of sound, but then, the Others weren't considered very bright.

The woman, on the other hand, had a surprising depth of understanding with a fine grasp of nuance; and a clear and expressive ability to communicate. With inconspicuous finesse, she had translated some of Dyondar's subtler meanings, easing their communication without embarrassment to anyone. As difficult as it was to believe that she had been raised by a clan and had traveled such a great distance, she was so adept at speaking that one could almost believe she was Clan.

Guban had never heard of the clan of whom the woman spoke, and he knew many, but the common language she had used was quite unfamiliar. Even the language of the clan of his yellow-hair was not as strange, yet this woman of the Others knew the ancient sacred signs and could use them with great skill and precision. Rare for a woman. There was a suggestion that she might be withholding something, though he couldn't be certain. She was, after all, a woman of the Others, and he wouldn't ask in any case. Women, especially medicine women, liked to keep a few things to themselves.

The pain of his broken leg throbbed and threatened to escape his control, and he had to focus on holding it in for a time.

But how could she be a medicine woman? She wasn't Clan. She had no memories for it. Dyondar claimed she was a healer, and he spoke of her skill with great conviction ... and his leg was broken—Guban flinched inwardly, then gritted his teeth. Perhaps she was a healer; the Others had to have them, too, but that didn't make her a medicine woman of the Clan. His obligation was already so great. A kinship debt to this man would be bad enough, but to a woman, and a woman who used a weapon?

Yet where would he and his yellow-hair be without their help? His yellow-hair ... and expecting a young one already. The thought of her made him feel soft inside. He had felt anger beyond anything he had ever known when those men went after her, hurting her, trying to take her. That was why he had jumped down from the top of the rock. It had taken him a long time to climb to the top, and he couldn't wait that long to get back down.

He had seen deer tracks and had climbed up to look around, to see what he might hunt, while she collected inner bark and set taps for the juice that would soon be rising. She had said it would warm soon, though some of the others hadn't believed her. She was still a stranger, but she said she had the memories for it and knew. He wanted to let her prove it to the others, so he had agreed to take her out, though he knew the dangers ... from those men.

But it was cold, and he thought they'd avoid them if they stayed close to the icetop. The top of the rock seemed like a good place to scout the area. The agonizing pain when he landed hard and felt his leg snap made him dizzy, but he could not succumb. The men were on top of him, and he had to fight them, pain or no. He felt warmed remembering how she had rushed to him. He had been surprised to see her hitting at those men. He had never known a woman to do that, and he would never tell anyone, but it had pleased him that she had tried so hard to help him.

He shifted his weight, controlling the sharp stab of pain. But it wasn't so much the pain. He had learned long ago to resist pain. Other fears were harder to control. What would happen if he could never walk again? A broken leg or arm could take a long time to heal, and if the bones mended wrong, twisted, or misshapen, or too short ... what if he couldn't hunt?

If he couldn't hunt, he would lose status. He would no longer be leader. He had promised the leader of her clan to take care of her. She had been a favorite, but his status was great, and she wanted to go with him. She even told him, in the privacy of their own furs, that she had wished for him.

His first woman had not been too happy when he came home with a young and beautiful second woman, but she was a good Clan woman. She had taken good care of his hearth, and she woul

d keep the status of First Woman. He promised to take care of her and her two daughters. He hadn't minded that. Though he had always wished she would have a son, the daughters of his mate were a delight to have around the hearth, though they would soon be grown and gone.

But if he couldn't hunt, he wouldn't be able to take care of anyone. Like an old man, the clan would have to take care of him instead. And his beautiful yellow-hair, who might give birth to a son, how could he take care of her? She would have no trouble finding a man willing to take her, but he would lose her.

He could not even get back to the clan if he couldn't walk. She would have to go for help, and they would have to come and get him. If he couldn't make it back on his own, he would be less in the eyes of his clan, but it would be so much worse if the broken leg slowed him down and he lost his skill at hunting, or could never hunt again.

Perhaps I should talk to this healer of the Others, he thought, even if she is a woman who uses a weapon. Her status must be high, Dyondar holds her in high regard, and his must be high, or he would not be mated to a medicine woman. She had made those other men leave as much as the man ... she and the wolf. Why would a wolf help them? He had seen her talking to the animal. The signal was simple and direct, she told him to wait over there, by the tree near the horses, but the wolf understood her and did it. He was still there, waiting.

Guban looked away. It was difficult even to think about those animals without feeling a deep, underlying fear of spirits. What else would draw the wolf or the horses to them? What else would make animals behave so ... unlike animals?

He could tell his yellow-hair was worried; how could he blame her? Since Dyondar had seen fit to acknowledge his woman, perhaps it would be appropriate to mention his. He would not want them to think the status she gained from him was any less than Dyondar's. Guban made a very subtle motion to the woman who had watched and seen everything, but, like a good Clan woman, had managed to make herself very inconspicuous.