Tholie walked to the front of the large fireplace and stood silhouetted against the red glow of dying embers and evening sky framed by the high side walls of the embayment. Most of the people were still in the gathering space just under the sandstone overhang, finishing the last of their blackberries or sipping a favorite tea or slightly foaming, newly fermented berry wine. Their feast of fresh sturgeon had begun with their first, and only, taste of caviar from the female caught earlier. The balance of the oily fish eggs would be put to more mundane use in the making of soft chamois skins.
“I want to say something, Dolando, while we’re all gathered together here,” Tholie said.
The man nodded, although it wouldn’t have mattered. Tholie continued without waiting for his acknowledgment.
“I think I can speak for everyone when I say how glad we are to have Jondalar and Ayla here,” she said. Several people spoke out in agreement. “We were all worried about Roshario, not only because of the pain she was suffering, but because we feared she would lose the use of her arm. Ayla changed that. Roshario says she feels no more pain and, with luck, there is a good chance that she will have full use of her arm again.”
There was a chorus of positive comments expressing gratitude and invocations for good luck.
“We owe our kinsman, Jondalar, thanks too,” Tholie went on. “When he was here before, his ideas for changes in the tools we use were a big help, and now he has shown us his thrower, and the result is this feast.” Again the group made vocal expressions of affirmation. “In the time he has lived with us, he has hunted both sturgeon and chamois, but he has never said whether he prefers the water or the land. I think he would make a good River man …”
“You’re right, Tholie. Jondalar’s a Ramudoi!” one man shouted out. “Or at least half of one!” Barono added, to an uproar of laughter. “No, no, he’s been learning about the water, but he knows the land,” a woman said. “That’s right! Ask him! He threw a spear before he cast his first harpoon, he’s a Shamudoi!” an older man added. “He even likes women who hunt!”
Ayla glanced up to see who had made the last comment. It was a young woman, a little older than Darvalo, named Rakario. She liked to be around Jondalar all the time, which annoyed the young man. He had complained that she was always in the way.
Jondalar was smiling broadly at the good-humored argument. The commotion was a demonstration of the friendly competition between the moieties; a rivalry within the family that added a little excitement but was never allowed to go beyond well-understood limits. Jokes, bragging, and a certain level of insults were permissible, but anything that might unduly offend or cause real anger was quickly squelched, with both sides joining forces to calm tempers and alleviate hurt feelings.
“As I said, I think Jondalar would make a good River man,” Tholie continued when everyone had settled down, “but Ayla is most familiar with the land, and I’d like to encourage Jondalar to stay with the land hunters, if he is willing and they will accept him. If Jondalar and Ayla would stay and become Sharamudoi, we would make an offer to cross-mate with them, but since Markeno and I are Ramudoi, they would have to be Shamudoi.”
There was a great outburst of excitement among the people, with encouraging remarks and even congratulations directed at the two couples.
“That’s a wonderful plan, Tholie,” Carolio said.
“It was Roshario who gave me the idea,” Tholie said.
“But what does Dolando think about accepting Jondalar, and Ayla, a woman who was raised by the ones who live on the peninsula?” Carolio asked, looking directly at the Shamudoi leader.
There was a sudden silence. Everyone knew the implications of her question. After his violent reaction to Ayla, would Dolando be willing to accept her? Ayla had hoped his angry raving would be forgotten and wondered why Carolio had brought it up, but she had to do it. It was her responsibility.
Carlono and his mate had originally been cross-coupled with Dolando and Roshario, and together they had founded this particular group of Sharamudoi when they and a few others moved away from their rather crowded birthplace. Positions of leadership were usually conferred by informal consensus, and they were the natural choice. In practice, a leader’s mate usually took on the responsibilities of a coleader, but Carlono’s woman had died when Markeno was quite young. The Ramudoi leader never formally mated again and his twin sister, Carolio, who had stepped in to care for the boy, began to take on the duties of a leader’s mate as well. As time went on, she was accepted as coleader, and, as such, it was her duty to ask the question.
The people knew Dolando had allowed Ayla to continue treating his woman, but Roshario had needed help and Ayla was obviously helping her. That did not necessarily mean he would want her around permanently. He could be merely controlling his feelings for the time being, and even though they needed a healer, Dolando was one of their own. They did not want to take in a stranger who might cause a problem for their leader and possible dissension within the group.
While Dolando was considering his answer, Ayla’s stomach churned up a lump in her throat. She had the uneasy feeling that she had done something wrong and was being judged for it. Yet she knew it wasn’t for anything she had done. She became upset and a little angry, and she wanted to get up and walk away. The wrong thing was being who she was. The same kind of thing had happened with the Mamutoi. Is this how it would always be? Is this what would happen with Jondalar’s people? Well, she thought, Iza and Creb and Brun’s clan had taken care of her, and she wasn’t going to deny the ones she loved, but she felt isolated and vulnerable.
Then she sensed someone had moved quietly to her side. She turned and smiled gratefully at Jondalar and felt better, but she knew it was still a trial, and that he was waiting to see how it would come out. She had been watching him closely, and she knew what his answer to Tholie’s offer would be. But Jondalar was waiting for Dolando’s response before he framed his own reply.
Suddenly, in the middle of the tension, there was a peal of laughter from Shamio. Then she and several other children came rushing out of one of the dwellings with Wolf in their midst.
“Isn’t it amazing how that wolf plays with children?” Roshario said. “A few days ago I would never have believed that I could watch an animal like that in the middle of children that I love and not be afraid for their lives. Perhaps that’s something to remember. When you get to know an animal that you once hated and feared, it’s possible to become very fond of it. I think it’s better to try to understand than to blindly hate.”
Dolando had been quietly pondering how to respond to Carolio’s question. He knew what he was being asked, and how much rested on his answer, but he was not quite sure how to frame what he thought and felt. He smiled at the woman he loved, grateful that she knew him so well. She had sensed his need and shown him a way to reply.
“I have blindly hated,” he began, “and I have blindly taken the lives of those I hated, because I thought they had taken the life of one that I loved. I thought they were vicious animals and I wanted to kill them all, but it did not bring Doraldo back. Now I learn they did not deserve such hate. Animals or not, they were provoked. I must live with that, but …”
Dolando stopped, started to say something about those who knew more than they had told him, yet aided him in his rampages … then he changed his mind.
“This woman,” he went on, looking at Ayla, “this healer says she was raised by them, trained by those I thought were vicious animals, those I hated. Even if I still hated them, I could not hate her. Because of her, Roshario has been given back to me. Maybe it is time to try to understand.
“I think Tholie’s idea is a good one. I would be happy if the Shamudoi accepted Ayla and Jondalar.”
Ayla felt the relief wash over her. Now she truly understood why this man had been chosen by his people to lead them. In their day-to-day lives, they had come to know him well, and they knew the basic quality of the man.
“Well, Jondalar?” Roshario said. “What do you say? Don’t you think it’s time to give up this long Journey of yours? It’s time to settle, time to set up your own hearth, time to give the Mother a chance to bless Ayla with a baby or two.”
“I cannot find words to tell you how grateful I am,” Jondalar began, “that you would welcome us, Roshario. I feel that the Sharamudoi are my people, my kin. It would be very easy to make a home here among you, and you tempt me with your offer. But I must return to the Zelandonii”—he hesitated for a moment—“if only for Thonolan’s sake.”
He paused, and Ayla turned to look at him. She had known he would refuse, but that was not what she expected him to say. She noticed a subtle, nearly indiscernible nod, as though he’d thought of something else. Then he smiled at her.
“When he died, Ayla gave Thonolan’s spirit what comfort she could for his Journey through the next world, but his spirit was not laid to rest, and I am afraid, I have a feeling, that he wanders lost and alone, trying to find his way back to the Mother.”
His remark surprised Ayla, and she watched him closely as he continued.
“I cannot leave it like that. Someone needs to help him find his way, but I know of only one who might know how: Zelandoni, a shamud, a very powerful shamud, who was there when he was born. Perhaps, with the help of Marthona—his mother and mine—Zelandoni might be able to find his spirit and guide it on the right path.”
Ayla knew that wasn’t the reason he wanted to return, at least not the main reason. She sensed that what he said was perfectly true but, she suddenly realized, like the answer she had given him when he asked her about the golden thread plant, it was not complete.
“You’ve been gone a long time, Jondalar,” Tholie said, her disappointment clear. “Even if they could help him, how do you know if your mother, or this Zelandoni, are still alive?”
“I don’t know, Tholie, but I have to try. Even if they can’t help, I think Marthona and the rest of his kin would like to know how happy he was here, with Jetamio, and you and Markeno. My mother would have liked Jetamio, I’m sure, and I know she would like you, Tholie.” The woman tried not to show it, but she could not help being pleased by his comment, even if she was disappointed. “Thonolan made a great Journey—and it always was his Journey I only followed along to look out for him. I want to tell about his Journey. He traveled all the way to the end of the Great Mother River, but even more important, he found a place here, with people who loved him. It is a story that deserves to be told.”
“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 birchbark 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.
Ayla had been excited about going on a chamois hunt, but when they went to bed and talked to each other in quiet tones, as they often did, Jondalar had reminded her that they had to leave soon. If the chamois were coming down, it meant it was getting cold in the high meadows, which signaled a turn of the seasons. They had a long way to travel yet, and they needed to be on their way.
They hadn’t argued, exactly, but Ayla had indicated she didn’t want to go. She talked about Roshario’s arm, and he knew she wanted to hunt chamois. In fact, he felt sure that she wanted to stay with the Sharamudoi, and he wondered if she was trying to delay their departure in the hope that he would change his mind. She and Tholie were already fast friends, and everyone seemed to like her. It pleased him that she was so well liked, but it was going to make the leaving more difficult, and the longer they stayed, the harder it would get.
He lay awake far into the night, thinking. He wondered if they should stay, for her sake, but then, they could have stayed with the Mamutoi just as well. He finally came to the conclusion that they would have to leave as soon as possible, within the next day or two. He knew Ayla was not going to be happy about it, and he wasn’t sure how to tell her.
He got up, put on his trousers, and started toward the entrance. Pushing aside the drape, he stepped outside and felt a sharp cool wind on his bare chest. He was going to need warmer clothes, he thought, hurrying to the place where the men passed their morning water. Instead of the cloud of colorful butterflies that usually fluttered nearby—he had wondered why they should be so attracted to the strong-smelling place—he suddenly noticed a colorful leaf fluttering down, and then he saw that most of those left on the trees were starting to turn.
Why hadn’t he noticed that before? The days had passed so quickly and the weather had been so pleasant that he hadn’t paid attention to the changing season. He suddenly recalled that they were facing south in a southern region of the land. It could be much later into the season than he thought, and much colder to the north, where they were heading. As he hurried back to the dwelling, he was more determined than ever that they had to leave very soon.
“You’re awake,” Ayla said, entering with Darvalo while Jondalar was dressing. “I was coming to get you before all the food was put away.”
“I was just putting something warm on. It’s cool out there,” he said. “It will soon be time to let my beard grow.”
Ayla knew he was telling her more than his words said. He was still talking about the same thing they had talked about the night before; the season was changing and they had to be on their way. She didn’t want to talk about it.
“We should probably unpack our winter clothes and make sure they are undamaged, Ayla. Are the pack baskets still at Dolando’s?” he said.
He knows they are. Why is he asking me? You know why, Ayla said to herself, trying to think of something to change the subject.
“Yes, they are,” Darvalo said, trying to be helpful.
“I need a warmer shirt. Do you remember what basket my winter clothes were in, Ayla?”
Of course she did. So did he.
“The clothes you are wearing now aren’t anything like the ones you wore when you first came, Jondalar,” Darvalo said.
“These were given to me by a Mamutoi woman. When I came before, I was still wearing my Zelandonii clothes.”
“I tried on the shirt you gave me this morning. It’s still too big for me, but not as much,” the young man said.
“Do you still have that shirt, Darvo? I’ve almost forgotten what it looks like.”
“Do you want to see it?”
“Yes. Yes, I would,” Jondalar said.
In spite of herself, Ayla was curious, too.
They walked the few steps to Dolando’s wooden shelter. From a shelf above his bed, Darvalo took down a carefully wrapped package. He untied the cord, opened the soft leather wrapping, and held up the shirt.
It was unusual, Ayla thought. The decorative patterns, as well as the longer style and looser cut were not at all like the Mamutoi clothing she was used to. One thing surprised her more than anything else. It was decorated with black-tipped white ermine tails.
It even looked strange to Jondalar. So much had happened since he had last worn that shirt, it seemed almost quaint, old-fashioned. He hadn’t worn it much in the years he lived with the Sharamudoi, preferring to dress like the others, and though it was only a few moons longer than a year since he had given it to Darvo, it felt like ages since he had seen clothing from his homeland.
“It’s supposed to fit loose, Darvo. You wear it belted. Go ahead and put it on. I’ll show you. Do you have something to tie around you?” Jondalar said.
The young man pulled the highly decorated and patterned tunic-style leather shirt over his head, then handed Jondalar a long leather thong. The man told Darvo to stretch up, then belted it fairly low, almost at the hips, so that it bloused in a way that made the ermine tails hang free.
“See? It’s not so big on you, Darvo,” Jondalar said. “What do you think, Ayla?”
“It’s unusual, I’ve never seen a shirt like that. But I think it looks fine, Darvalo,” she said.
“I like it,” the young man said, holding out his arms and looking down, trying to see how it looked. Maybe he’d wear it the next time they went to visit the Sharamudoi downriver. She might like it, that girl he’d noticed.
“I’m glad I had a chance to show you how to wear it …” Jondalar said, “before we left.”
“When are you leaving?” Darvalo asked, looking startled.
“Tomorrow, or the day after at the latest,” Jondalar said, looking straight at Ayla. “As soon as we can get ready.”
“The rains may have started on that side of the mountains,” Dolando said, “and you remember what the Sister is like when she’s flooding.”
“I hope it won’t be as bad as that,” Jondalar said. “We’d need one of your big boats to cross.”
“If you want to go by boat, we would take you to the Sister,” Carlono said.
“We need to get more bog myrtle, anyway,” Carolio added, “and that’s where we go for it.”
“I would be happy to go up the river in your boat, but I don’t think the horses can ride in one,” Jondalar said.
“Didn’t you say they can swim across rivers? Maybe they could swim behind the boat,” Carlono suggested. “And the wolf could ride.”
“Yes, horses can swim across a river, but it’s a long way to the Sister, several days as I recall,” Jondalar said, “and I don’t think they could swim upriver for such a long distance.”
“There is a way over the mountains,” Dolando said. “You’ll have to do a little backtracking, then go up and around one of the lower peaks, but the trail is marked and it will, eventually, take you close to where the Sister joins the Mother. There is a high ridge just to the south that makes it easy to see even from a distance, once you reach the lowland to the west.”
“But would that be the best place to cross the Sister?” Jondalar asked, remembering the wide swirling waters from the last time.
“Perhaps not, but from there you can follow the Sister north until you find a better place, although she’s not an easy river. Her feeders come down out of the mountains hard and fast, her current is much swifter than the Mother’s, and she’s more treacherous,” Carlono said. “A few of us once went upstream on her for almost a moon. She stayed swift and difficult the whole time.”
“It’s the Mother I need to follow to get back, and that means crossing the Sister,” Jondalar said.
“Then I’ll wish you well.”
“You’ll need food,” Roshario said, “and I have something I’d like to give you, Jondalar.”
“We don’t have much room to take anything extra,” Jondalar said.
“It is for your mother,” Roshario said, “Jetamio’s favorite necklace. I saved it to give to Thonolan, if he came back. It won’t take much room. After her mother died, Jetamio needed to know she belonged somewhere. I told her to remember she was always Sharamudoi. She made the necklace out of chamois teeth and the backbones of a small sturgeon, to represent the land and the river. I thought your mother might want something that belonged to her son’s chosen woman.”
“You’re right. She would,” Jondalar said. “Thank you. I know it will mean a great deal to Marthona.”
“Where is Ayla? I have something to give her, too. I hope she will have room for it,” Roshario said.
“She’s in with Tholie, packing,” Jondalar said. “She doesn’t really want to leave, yet, not until your arm is healed. But we really can’t wait any longer.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Roshario fell into step beside him as they walked toward the dwellings. “Ayla took off the old birchbark and put on a fresh piece yesterday. Except that it’s smaller from not using it, my arm seems healed, but she wants me to keep this on for a while longer. She says once I start using my arm again, it will fill out.”
“I’m sure it will.”
“I don’t know what is taking the runner and the Shamud so long to get here, but Ayla has explained what to do, not only to me, but to Dolando, Tholie, Carolio, and several others. We’ll manage without her, I’m sure—although we would rather you both stayed. It’s not too late to change your mind …”
“It means more to me than I can tell you, Roshario, that you would welcome us so willingly … especially with Dolando, and Ayla’s … upbringing …”
She stopped and looked at the tall man. “That’s bothered you, hasn’t it?”
Jondalar felt the red heat of embarrassment. “It did,” he admitted. “It really doesn’t anymore, but knowing how Dolando felt about them, that you would still accept her, makes it … I can’t explain it. It relieves me. I don’t want her to be hurt. She’s been through enough.”
“She’s stronger for it, though.” Roshario studied him, noted the frown of concern, the troubled look in his stunning blue eyes. “You’ve been gone a long time, Jondalar. You’ve known many people, learned other customs, other ways, even other languages. Your own people may not know you anymore—you are not even the same person you were when you left here—and they will not be quite the people you remember. You will think of each other as you were, not as you are now.”
“I’ve worried so much about Ayla, I hadn’t thought of that, but you are right. It has been a long time. She might fit in better than I. They will be strangers, and she will learn about them very quickly, the way she always does …”
“And you will have expectations,” Roshario said, starting toward the wooden shelters again. Before they entered, the woman stopped again. “You will always be welcome here, Jondalar. Both of you.”
“Thank you, but it’s such a long way to travel. You have no idea how long, Roshario.”
“You’re right. I don’t. But you do, and you are used to traveling. If you should ever decide that you want to come back, it won’t seem so long.”
“For someone who never dreamt of making a long Journey, I have already traveled more than I want,” Jondalar said. “Once I get back, I think my Journeying days will be over. You were right when you said it was time to settle, but it might make getting used to home easier knowing that I have a choice.”
When they pushed the entrance flap aside, they found only Markeno inside. “Where’s Ayla?” Jondalar asked.
“She and Tholie went to get the plants she was drying. Didn’t you see them, Roshario?”
“We came from the field. I thought she was here,” Jondalar said.
“She was. Ayla’s been telling Tholie about some of her medicines. After she looked at your arm yesterday, and started explaining what to do for you, they’ve been talking about nothing but plants, and what they are good for. That woman knows a lot, Jondalar.”
“I know it! I don’t know how she remembers it all.”
“They went out this morning and came back with basketfuls. All kinds. Even tiny yellow threads of plants. Now she’s explaining how to prepare them,” Markeno said. “It’s a shame you are leaving, Jondalar. Tholie is going to miss Ayla. We’re all going to miss you both.”
“It’s not easy to go, but …”
“I know. Thonolan. That reminds me. I want to give you something,” Markeno said, rummaging through a wooden box filled with various tools and implements made of wood, bone, and horn.
He pulled out an odd-looking object made of the primary branch of an antler, with the tines cut away and a hole just below the fork where they had joined. It was carved with decorations, but not the geometric and stylized forms of birds and fish typical of the Sharamudoi. Instead, very beautiful and lifelike animals, deer and ibex, were inscribed around the handle. Something about it gave Jondalar a chill. When he looked closer, it became a chill of recognition.
“This is Thonolan’s spear-shaft straightener!” he said. How many times had he watched his brother use that tool, he thought. He even remembered when Thonolan got it.
“I thought you might want it, to remember him. And I thought, maybe it would be helpful when you search for his spirit. Besides, when you put him … his spirit … to rest, he might want to have it,” Markeno said.
“Thank you, Markeno,” Jondalar said, taking the sturdy tool and examining it with wonder and reverence. It had been so much a part of his brother, it brought back flashes of memory. “This means a lot to me.” He hefted it, shifted it for balance, feeling in its weight the presence of Thonolan. “I think you might be right. There is so much of him in this, I can almost feel him.”
“I have something to give Ayla, and this seems to be the time for it,” Roshario said, going out. Jondalar joined her.
Ayla and Tholie looked up quickly when they entered Roshario’s dwelling, and for a moment the woman had the strange feeling that they were intruding on something personal or secret, but smiles of welcome dispelled it. She walked to the back and took a package off a shelf.
“This is for you, Ayla,” Roshario said, “for helping me. I wrapped it so it would stay clean on your Journey. You can always use the wrapping for a towel, later.”
Ayla, looking surprised and pleased, untied the cord and unfolded soft chamois skins to reveal more of the yellow leather, beautifully decorated with beads and quills. She lifted it up and caught her breath. It was the most beautiful tunic she had ever seen. Folded under it was a pair of women’s trousers, fully decorated on the front of the legs and around the bottom in a pattern matching the tunic.
“Roshario! This is beautiful. I have never seen anything so beautiful. It’s too beautiful to wear,” Ayla said. Then she put the garments down and hugged the woman. For the first time since she arrived, Roshario noticed Ayla’s strange accent, particularly in the way she said certain words, but she didn’t find it unpleasant.
“I hope it fits. Why don’t you try it on so we can see?” Roshario said.
“Do you really think I should?” Ayla said, almost afraid to touch it.
“You have to know if it will fit, so you can wear it when you and Jondalar are mated, don’t you?”
Ayla smiled at Jondalar, excited and happy about the outfit, but she refrained from mentioning that she already had a mating tunic, given to her by Talut’s mate, Nezzie of the Lion Camp. She couldn’t exactly wear both of them, but she would find a very special occasion for the beautiful new outfit.
“I have something for you, too, Ayla. Not nearly as beautiful, but useful,” Tholie said, giving her a handful of soft leather straps that she had tucked away in a pouch that dangled from her waist.
Ayla held them up and avoided looking at Jondalar. She knew exactly what they were. “How did you know I needed fresh straps for my moon time, Tholie?”
“A woman can always use some new ones, especially when she’s traveling. I have some nice absorbent padding for you, too. Roshario and I talked about it. She showed me the outfit she had made for you, and I wanted to give you something beautiful, too, but you can’t take much with you when you travel. So I started to think about what you might need,” Tholie said, explaining her very practical gift.
“It’s perfect. You couldn’t have given me something I needed, or wanted, more. You are so thoughtful, Tholie,” Ayla said, then turned her head and blinked her eyes. “I’m going to miss you.”
“Come now, you’re not leaving yet. Not until tomorrow morning. There’s plenty of time for tears then,” Roshario said, though her own eyes threatened to overflow.
That evening, Ayla emptied both her pack baskets and had everything she wanted to take with her spread out, trying to decide how to pack it all, including the quantities of food they had been given. Jondalar would take some of it, but he didn’t have much room, either. They had discussed the bowl boat several times, trying to decide if its usefulness in crossing rivers was worth the effort it would take to move it across the wooded mountain slopes. They finally decided to take it, but not without misgivings.
“How are you going to fit all that in only two baskets?” Jondalar asked, looking at a pile of mysterious bundles and packages, all carefully wrapped, and worried about taking too much. “Are you sure you need it all? What’s in that package?”
“All my summer clothes,” Ayla said. “That’s the one I’ll leave behind if I have to, but I will need clothes to wear next summer. I’m just glad I don’t have to pack winter clothes any more.”
“Hhmmm!” he grunted, not able to fault her reasoning, but still concerned about the load. He scanned the pile and noticed a package that he knew he had seen before. She’d been carrying it since they left, but he still didn’t know what was in it. “What’s that one?”
“Jondalar, you’re not being much help,” Ayla said. “Why don’t you take these squares of traveling food Carolio gave us and see if you can find room in your pack basket for them?”
“Easy, Racer. Settle down,” Jondalar said, pulling down on the lead rope and holding it in close while he patted the stallion’s cheek and stroked his neck, trying to calm him. “I think he knows we’re ready and he’s eager to go.”
“I’m sure Ayla will be along soon,” Markeno said. “Those two have become very close in the short time you’ve been here. Tholie was crying last night, wishing you would stay. To tell you the truth, I’m sorry to see you go, too. We looked around, and we talked to several people, but we just hadn’t found anyone we wanted to share with, until you came. We do need to make a commitment soon. Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind?”
“You don’t know how hard this decision has been for me, Markeno. Who knows what I’ll find when I get there. My sister will be grown up and probably won’t remember me. I have no idea what my older brother will be doing, or where he’ll be. I just hope my mother is still alive,” Jondalar said, “and Dalanar, the man of my hearth. My close-cousin, the daughter of his second hearth, ought to be a mother by now, but I don’t even know if she has a mate. If she has, I probably won’t know him. I really won’t know anyone anymore, and I feel so close to everyone here. But I have to go.”
Markeno nodded. Whinney nickered softly, and they both looked up. Roshario, Ayla, and Tholie, who was holding Shamio, were coming out of his dwelling. The little girl struggled to get down when she saw Wolf.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do about Shamio when that wolf is gone,” Markeno said. “She wants him around all the time. She’d sleep with him if I’d let her.”
“Maybe you can find a wolf cub for her,” Carlono said, joining them. He had just come up from the dock.
“I hadn’t thought of that. It wouldn’t be easy, but maybe I could get one cub from a wolf den,” Markeno mused. “At least I could promise her to try. I’m going to have to tell her something.”
“If you do,” Jondalar said, “I’d make sure it’s a young one. Wolf was still nursing when his mother died.”
“How did Ayla feed him without a mother to give him milk?” Carlono asked.
“I wondered that myself,” Jondalar said. “She said a baby can eat whatever its mother eats, but it has to be softer and easier to chew. She cooked up broth, soaked a piece of soft leather in it, and let him suck it, and she cut meat up into tiny pieces for him. He eats anything we eat now, but he still likes to hunt for himself sometimes. He even flushes game for us, and he helped us get that elk we brought with us when we came.”
“How do you get him to do what you want him to?” Markeno asked.
“Ayla spends a lot of time at it. She shows him and goes over it again and again until he gets it right. It’s surprising how much he can learn, and he’s so eager to please her,” Jondalar said.
“Anyone can see that. Do you think it’s just her? After all, she is shamud,” Carlono said. “Could just anybody make animals do what he wants?”
“I ride on Racer’s back,” Jondalar said, “and I’m not shamud.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Markeno said, then laughed. “Remember, I’ve seen you around women. I think you could make any one of them do whatever you wanted.”
Jondalar flushed. He hadn’t really thought about that for a while.
As Ayla walked toward them, she wondered about his red face, but then Dolando joined them, coming from around the wall.
“I’ll go with you part of the way to show you the trails and the best way over the mountains,” he said.
“Thank you. That will be a help,” Jondalar said.
“I’ll go along, too,” Markeno said.
“I would like to come,” Darvalo said. Ayla looked in his direction and saw that he was wearing the shirt Jondalar had given him.
“So would I,” Rakario said.
Darvalo looked at her with an annoyed frown, expecting to see her staring at Jondalar, but she was looking at him instead, with an adoring smile. Ayla watched his expression change from annoyance, to puzzlement, to understanding, and then to a surprised blush.
Almost everyone had congregated in the middle of the field to say farewell to their visitors, and several others voiced a wish to walk along with them for part of the way.
“I won’t be going,” Roshario said, looking at Jondalar and then Ayla, “but I wish you were staying. I wish you both good Journey.”
“Thank you, Roshario,” he said, giving the woman a hug. “We may need your good wishes before we are through.”
“I need to thank you, Jondalar, for bringing Ayla. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened to me if she hadn’t come.” She reached for Ayla’s hand. The young medicine woman took it, and then the other hand still in the sling, and squeezed both of them, pleased to feel the strength in the grip of both hands in return. Then they hugged.
There were several other goodbyes, but most of the people planned to follow along the trail for at least a short way.
“Are you coming, Tholie?” Markeno asked, falling into step beside Jondalar.
“No.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “I don’t want to go. It won’t be any easier to say goodbye on the trail than it will be right here.” She went up to the tall Zelandonii man. “It’s hard for me to be nice to you right now, Jondalar. I’ve always been so fond of you, and I liked you even more after you brought Ayla here. I wanted so much for you and her to stay, but you won’t do it. Even though I understand why you won’t, it doesn’t make me feel very good.”
“I’m sorry you feel so bad, Tholie,” Jondalar said. “I wish there was something I could do to make you feel better.”
“There is, but you won’t do it,” she said.
It was so like her to say exactly what she was thinking. It was one of the things he liked about her. You never had to guess what she really meant. “Don’t be angry at me. If I could stay, nothing would please me more than to join with you and Markeno. You don’t know how proud you made me feel when you asked us, or how hard it is for me to leave right now, but something pulls me. To be honest, I’m not even sure what it is, but I have to go, Tholie.” He looked at her with his startling blue eyes full of genuine sorrow, concern, and caring.
“Jondalar, you shouldn’t say such nice things and look at me like that. It makes me want you to stay even more. Just give me a hug,” Tholie said.
He bent down and put his arms around the young woman, and he felt her shaking with her effort to control her tears. She pulled away and looked at the tall blond woman beside him.
“Oh, Ayla. I don’t want you to go,” she said with a huge sob as they fell into each other’s arms.
“I don’t want to leave, I wish we could stay. I’m not sure why, but Jondalar has to go, and I have to go with him,” Ayla said, crying as hard as Tholie. Suddenly the young mother broke away, picked up Shamio, and ran back toward the shelters.
Wolf started to go after them. “Stay here, Wolf!” Ayla commanded.
“Wuffie! I want my Wuffie,” the little girl cried out, reaching toward the shaggy, four-legged carnivore.
Wolf whined and looked up at Ayla. “Stay, Wolf,” she said. “We are leaving.”