"THE PLAINS OF PASSAGE" - читать интересную книгу автора (Auel Jean M., Ауэл Джин М.)

11

Whinney followed closely behind Ayla as the woman walked into the Camp, to the fireplace that was still sending up a wavering wisp of smoke. There were five shelters arranged in a semicircle, and the firepit, dug slightly into the ground, was in front of the central one. The fire was burning briskly, the Camp had obviously been used recently, but no one announced any claim to the place by coming out to greet them. Ayla looked around, glancing inside the dwellings that were open, but she saw no one. Puzzled, she studied the shelters and the Camp more closely to see if she could learn any more about who the people were, and why they were gone.

The main part of each of the structures was similar to the conical tent used by the Mamutoi for their summer Camps, but there were noticeable differences. Where the Mammoth Hunters often enlarged their living space by attaching semicircular side tents made of hides to the main dwelling unit, often using another pole to help support the side additions, the shelters of this Camp had, instead, additions made of reeds and marsh grasses. Some were simply sloping roofs mounted on slender poles, others were completely enclosed, rounded additions made of thatch and woven mats, attached to the main dwelling.

Just outside the entrance flap of the nearest one, Ayla saw a pile of brown cattail roots on a mat of woven reeds. Beside the mat were two baskets. One was tightly woven and held slightly muddy water, the other was half-full of shiny white, freshly peeled roots. Ayla walked over and took a root out of the basket. It was still wet; it must have been placed there only a moment before.

As she put it back, she noticed a strange object lying on the ground. It was made of cattail leaves woven to resemble a person, with two arms sticking out the sides and two legs, and a piece of soft leather wrapped around it like a tunic. Two short lines for eyes had been drawn on the face with charcoal, and another line shaped into a smile. Tufts of feather grass had been fastened to the head as hair.

The people Ayla had grown up with did not make images, except for simple totem signs, such as the marks on her leg. She had been deeply scratched by a cave lion as a small girl, leaving her left thigh scarred with four straight lines. A similar mark was used by the Clan to indicate a cave lion totem. That was why Creb had been so sure that the Cave Lion was her totem, in spite of the fact that it was considered a male totem. The Spirit of the Cave Lion had chosen her and marked her himself, and would therefore protect her.

Other Clan totems were indicated in similar ways, with simple signs often derived from the movements or gestures of their sign language. But the first truly representative image she had ever seen was the rough sketch of an animal Jondalar had drawn on a piece of leather used for a target, and she was puzzled at first by the object on the ground. Then, with a flash of recognition, she knew what it was. She had never had a doll when she was growing up, but she recalled similar objects that Mamutoi children played with and realized it was a child's plaything.

It was suddenly obvious to Ayla that a woman had been sitting there with her child only moments before. Now she was gone and she must have left in a great hurry, since she had abandoned her food and had not even taken her child's toy with her. Why would she leave in such a hurry?

Ayla turned and saw Jondalar, still holding Racer's lead rope, bent down on one knee amidst a scattering of flint chips and examining a piece of the stone he had noticed. He looked up.

"Someone ruined a very good point with a badly made final stroke. It should have been just a tap, but it landed off the mark, and too hard… as though the knapper was suddenly interrupted. And here's the hammerstone! It was just dropped." The nicks on the hard oval stone indicated its long use, and the experienced flint knapper found it difficult to imagine anyone dropping and leaving a favored tool.

Ayla looked around and saw fish drying on a rack, with whole ones on the ground close by. One had been split open but left on the ground. There was more evidence of interrupted tasks, but no sign of the people.

"Jondalar, there were people here not very long ago, but they left in a big hurry. Even the fire is still burning. Where is everyone?"

"I don't know, but you're right. They left in a hurry. They just dropped everything and… ran away. As if they were… afraid."

"But why?" Ayla said, looking around. "I don't see anything to be afraid of."

Jondalar started to shake his head, then noticed Wolf sniffing around the abandoned Camp, poking his nose into the entrances of the tents and around the places where things had been left. Then his attention was drawn to the hay-colored mare grazing nearby, dragging an arrangement of poles and bowl boat, strangely unconcerned about both the people and the wolf. The man turned to look at the young dark-brown stallion that followed him so willingly. The animal was arrayed with pack baskets and riding blanket and was standing beside him patiently, held only by a single rope attached to his head with cord and leather.

"I think that may be the problem, Ayla. We don't see it," he said. Wolf suddenly stopped his nosy exploring, gazed intently at the woods, then started into them. "Wolf!" he called. The animal stopped and looked back at the man, wagging his tail. "Ayla, you'd better call him back or he'll find the people of this Camp, and scare them even more."

She whistled, and he ran to her. She fondled his ruff but was frowning at Jondalar. "Are you saying we scare them? That they ran away because they were afraid of us?"

"Remember Feather Grass Camp? The way they acted when they saw us? Think how we must seem to people when they first see us, Ayla. We are traveling with two horses and a wolf. Animals don't travel with people, they usually avoid them. Even the Mamutoi at the Summer Meeting took a while to get used to us, and we arrived with Lion Camp. When you think about it, Talut was very brave to invite us, with our horses, to his Camp when we first met him," Jondalar said.

"What should we do?"

"I think we should leave. The people of this Camp are probably hiding in the woods watching us, thinking we must come from some place like the spirit world. That's what I would think if I saw us coming without any warning."

"Oh, Jondalar," Ayla wailed, feeling a rush of disappointment, and loneliness, as she stood in the middle of the vacated Camp. "I was so looking forward to visiting with some people." She looked around the Camp once more, then nodded her head in acquiescence. "You're right. If the people are gone and didn't want to welcome us, we should leave. I just wish I could have met the woman with the child who left that plaything, and talked to her." She started walking toward Whinney, who was just beyond the Camp. "I don't want people to be afraid of me," she said, turning to the man. "Will we be able to talk to anyone on this Journey?"

"I don't know about strangers, but I'm sure we'll be able to visit with the Sharamudoi. They might be a little wary at first, but they know me. And you know how people are. After they get over their initial fright, they get very interested in the animals."

"I'm sorry we frightened these people. Maybe we could leave them a gift, even if we didn't share their hospitality," Ayla said. She began to look through her pack baskets. "I think some food would be nice, some meat, I think."

"Yes, that's a good idea. I have some extra points. I think I'll leave one to replace the one that toolmaker ruined. There is nothing more disappointing than to spoil a good tool just when you're about to finish it," Jondalar said.

As he reached into his pack for his leather-wrapped tool kit, Jondalar recalled that when he and his brother were traveling they met many people along the way, and they were usually welcomed and often helped. There had even been a couple of occasions when their lives had been saved by strangers. But if people were going to be afraid of them because of their animal companions, what would happen if Ayla and he ever needed help?

They left the Camp and climbed back up the sandy dunes to the level field at the top of the long, narrow island, stopping when they reached the grass. They looked down at the thin column of smoke from the Camp and the brown silty river below, its noticeable current heading for the broad blue expanse of Beran Sea. With unspoken assent, they both mounted and turned east to get a better – and a last – look at the great inland sea.

When they reached the eastern tip of the island, though still within the banks of the river they were so close to the choppy waters of the sea that they could watch its waves washing sandbars with briny foam. Ayla looked out across the water and thought she could almost see the outline of a peninsula. The cave of Brun's clan, the place where she had grown up, had been at its southern tip. It was there that she had given birth to her son, and there she had to leave him when she was forced out.

I wonder how big he is? she said to herself. Taller than all the boys his age, I'm sure. Is he strong? Healthy? Is he happy? Does he remember me? I wonder. If only I could just see him one more time, she thought, then realized that if she was ever going to look for him, this would be her last chance. From here, Jondalar planned to turn west. She would never be this close to her clan, or Durc, again. Why couldn't they go east, instead? Just make a short side trip before they went on? If they skirted the northern coast of the sea, they could probably reach the peninsula in a few days. Jondalar did say he would be willing to go with her if she wanted to try to find Durc.

"Ayla, look! I didn't know there were seals in Beran Sea! I haven't seen those animals since I was a youngster and went on a trek with Willomar," Jondalar said, his voice full of excitement and longing. "He took both Thonolan and me to see the Great Waters, and then the people who live near the edge of the earth took us north on a boat. Have you seen them before?"

Ayla looked toward the sea, but closer in, where he was pointing. Several dark, sleek, streamlined creatures, with light gray underbellies, were humping clumsily along a sandbar that had formed behind some nearly submerged rocks. While they watched, most of the seals dived back into the water, chasing a school of fish. They watched heads bobbing up while the last of them, smaller and younger, dove into the sea again. Then they were gone, disappearing as quickly as they had come.

"Only from a distance," Ayla said, "during the cold season. They liked the floating ice offshore. Brun's clan didn't hunt them. No one could reach them, though Brun once told about a time he saw some on the rocks near a sea cave. Some people thought they were winter water spirits, not animals at all, but I saw little ones on the ice once, and I didn't think water spirits had babies. I never knew where they went in the summer. They must have come here."

"When we get home, I'll take you to see the Great Waters, Ayla. You won't believe it. This is a large sea, much bigger than any lakes I've ever seen, and salty I'm told, but it's nothing compared to the Great Waters. That's like the sky. No one has ever reached the other side."

Ayla heard the eagerness in Jondalar's voice, and she sensed his yearning to be home. She knew he wouldn't hesitate to go with her to look for Brun's clan and her son, if she told him that she wanted to. Because he loved her. But she loved him, too, and knew that he would be unhappy about the delay. She looked at the great sweep of water, then closed her eyes trying to hold back tears.

She wouldn't know where to look for the clan, anyway, she thought. And it wasn't Brun's clan any more. It was Broud's clan now, and she would not be welcome. Broud had cursed her with death; she was dead to them all, a spirit. If she and Jondalar had frightened the Camp on this island because of the animals, and their seemingly supernatural ability to control them, how much more would they scare the clan? Including Uba, and Durc? To them, she would be returning from the spirit world, and the companionable animals would be proof of it. They believed a spirit who came back from the land of the dead came to do them harm.

But once she turned west, it would be final. From this time on, for the rest of her life, Durc would be no more than a memory. There would be no hope of ever seeing him again. That was the choice she had to make. She thought she had made it long ago; she didn't know the pain would be still so sharp. Turning her head so Jondalar would not see the tears that filled her eyes as she stared at the deep blue expanse of water, Ayla said a silent goodbye to her son for the last time. A fresh stab of grief filled her and she knew she would carry the ache in her heart with her forever.

They turned their backs on the sea and started walking through the waist-high steppe grass of the large island, giving the horses a rest and time to graze. The sun was high in the sky, bright and hot. Shimmering heat waves rose up from the dusty ground, bringing the warm aroma of earth and growing things. On the treeless plain atop the long narrow strip of land, they moved within the shade of their grass hats, but the evaporation of the surrounding river channels made the air humid and beads of sweat trickled down their dusty skin. They were grateful for the occasional cool breath from the sea, a fitful breeze filled with the rich scent of the life within its deep waters.

Ayla stopped and unwound her leather sling from her head and tucked it into her waistband, not wanting it to get too damp. She replaced it with a rolled piece of soft leather, similar to the one Jondalar wore, bound across her forehead and tied in the back, to absorb the moisture that dripped from her forehead.

When she continued, she noticed a dull greenish grasshopper spring up, then drop back down and hide in its camouflaged disguise. Then she saw another. More of them chirked sporadically, bringing to mind the swarming locusts. But here they were just one of a variety of insects, like the butterflies flicking their bright colors in a quivery dance across the tops of the fescue, and the harmless drone fly, that resembled a stinging honeybee, hovering over a buttercup.

Though the raised field was much smaller, it had the familiar feeling of the dry steppes, but when they came to the other end of the island and looked out, they were astonished by the vast, strange, wet world of the massive delta. To the north, on their right, was the mainland; beyond a fringe of river brush, a grassland of muted greenish-gold. But to the south and west, spreading all the way to the horizon, and in the distance seeming as solid and substantial as the land, was the marshy outlet of the great river. It was an extensive bed of rich green reeds, swaying in a motion as constant as the sea with the gusty rhythm of the wind, broken only by occasional trees casting shadows across the waving green and the winding paths of open waterways.

As they moved down the slope through the open woods, Ayla became aware of the birds, more varieties than she had ever seen in one place before, some of them unfamiliar. Crows, cuckoos, starlings, and turtledoves each called to their kind in distinctive voices. A swallow, chased by a falcon, swooped and twisted, then dived into the reeds. High-flying black kites and ground-skimming marsh harriers searched for dead or dying fish. Small warblers and flycatchers flitted from thicket to tall tree, while tiny stints, redstarts, and shrikes darted from branch to branch. Gulls floated on air currents, hardly moving a feather, and ponderous pelicans, majestic in flight, sailed overhead flapping wide powerful wings.

Ayla and Jondalar emerged at a different section of the river when they reached water again, near a clump of goat willow bushes that was the site of a mixed colony of marsh birds: night herons, little egrets, purple herons, cormorants, and at this place, mostly glossy ibises all nesting together. In the same tree, the grassy roosting place of one variety was often only a branch away from the nest of an entirely different species, and several held eggs or young birds. The birds seemed to be as indifferent to the people and animals as they were to each other, but the busy place, bustling with incessant activity, was an attraction impossible for the curious young wolf to ignore.

He approached slowly, trying to stalk, but was distracted by the plethora of possibilities. Finally he made a dash toward a particular small tree. With loud squawking and flapping of wings, the nearby birds lifted into the air and were immediately followed by more who noticed the warning. Still others took to wing. The air was filling with marsh birds, clearly the dominant bird life in the delta, until more than ten thousand individuals of several different species from the mixed colony were wheeling and turning in dramatic flight.

Wolf raced back toward the woods, his tail between his legs, howling and yipping in fear over the commotion he had caused. Adding to the tumult, the nervous, frightened horses were rearing and screaming; then they galloped into the water.

The travois acted as a restraining force on the mare, who was more even tempered to begin with. She settled down fairly soon, but Jondalar had a great deal more trouble with the young stallion. He ran into the water after the horse, swimming where it deepened, and was soon out of sight. Ayla managed to get Whinney across the channel and back to the mainland. After she calmed and comforted the horse, she unhitched the dragging poles and removed the harness to let the mare run free and relax in her own way. Then she whistled for Wolf. It took several more whistles before he came, and then it was from a different direction much farther downstream, far away from the site of the nesting birds.

Ayla took off her own wet clothes and changed into dry ones from her pack basket, then gathered wood to make a fire while she waited for Jondalar. He, too, would need to change, and fortunately his pack baskets happened to be in the bowl boat, which kept them dry. It was some time before he found his way back, riding toward Ayla's fire from the west. Racer had gone far upstream before Jondalar caught up with him.

The man was still angry with Wolf, and it was apparent not only to Ayla but to the animal. The wolf waited until Jondalar finally sat down with a cup of hot tea after changing clothes, and then he approached, crouching down on his front legs, wagging his tail like a puppy wanting to play and whining with a pleading tone. When he got close enough, Wolf tried to lick his face. The man pushed him away at first. When he did allow the persistent animal closer, Wolf seemed so pleased that Jondalar had to relent.

"It seems as though he's trying to say he's sorry, but that's hard to believe. How could he? He's an animal. Ayla, could Wolf know that he misbehaved and be sorry for it?" Jondalar asked.

Ayla wasn't surprised. She had seen such actions when she was teaching herself to hunt and observing carnivorous animals, which she had chosen to be her prey. Wolf's actions toward the man were similar to the way a young wolf often behaved toward the male leader of a pack.

"I don't know what he knows, or what he thinks," Ayla said. "I can only judge from his actions. But isn't that how it is with people? You can never know what someone really knows or thinks. You have to judge by actions, don't you?"

Jondalar nodded, still not sure what to believe. Ayla didn't doubt that Wolf was sorry, but she didn't think it would make much difference. Wolf used to behave the same way to her when she was trying to teach him to stay away from the leather footwear of the people of Lion Camp. It took her a long time to train the wolf to leave them alone, and she didn't think he was ready to give up chasing birds just yet.

The sun was skimming the craggy high peaks at the southern end of the long chain of mountains to the west, lending a glittering sparkle to the icy facets. The range dropped from the heights of the southern tors as it marched north, and the sharp angles smoothed out to rounded crests blanketed with shimmering white. Toward the northwest, the mountaintops disappeared behind a curtain of clouds.

Ayla turned into an inviting opening in the wooded fringe of the river delta and pulled to a stop. Jondalar followed behind. The small grassy lea was a somewhat larger space within a pleasant open strip of woodland that led directly to a quiet lagoon.

Though the main arms of the great river were full of muddy silt, the complex network of channels and side streams that weaved through the reeds of the huge delta was clean and drinkable. The channels occasionally widened into large lakes or placid lagoons that were surrounded by an assortment of reeds, rushes, sedges, and other water plants, and were often covered with water lilies. The sturdy lily pads offered resting places for the smaller herons and innumerable frogs.

"This looks like a good place," Jondalar said, lifting his leg over Racer's back and landing lightly. He removed his pack baskets, riding blanket, and halter, and turned the young stallion loose. The horse headed straight for the water, and a moment later Whinney joined him.

The mare entered the river first and began drinking. After a short time she started pawing the water, making big splashes that soaked her chest and the young stallion who was drinking nearby. She bent her head down, sniffing at the water, her ears forward. Then, gathering her legs beneath her, she got down on her forelegs, dropped lower, and rolled over on her side, and finally onto her back. Holding her head up and with legs flailing the air, she squirmed with delight, rubbing her body on the bottom of the lagoon, then flung herself over to her other side. Racer, who had been watching his dam rolling in the cool water, could wait no longer, and in a similar manner lowered himself for a roll in the shallows near the bank.

"You would have thought they'd had enough of water today," Ayla said, moving up beside Jondalar.

He turned, the smile from watching the horses still on his face. "They do love to roll in the water, not to mention the mud or dust. I didn't know horses liked to roll so much."

"You know how much they like to be scratched. I think it's their way of scratching themselves," the woman commented. "Sometimes they scratch each other, and they tell each other where they want to be scratched."

"How can they tell each other that, Ayla? Sometimes I think you imagine that horses are people."

"No, horses are not people. They are themselves, but watch them some time, when they stand head to tail. One will scratch the other with teeth, and then wait to be scratched back at the same place," Ayla said. "Maybe I'll give Whinney a good combing with the dry teasel later. It must get hot and itchy under the leather straps all day. Sometimes I think we should leave the bowl boat behind… but it has been useful."

"I'm hot and itchy. I think I'm going to take a swim, too. This time without clothes," Jondalar said.

"I will, too, but first I want to unpack. Those clothes that got wet are still damp. I want to hang them over those bushes so they will dry." She took a damp bundle out of one of her baskets and began draping the clothing across the branches of an alder bush. "I'm not sorry the clothes got wet," Ayla said, arranging a loincloth. "I found some soaproot and washed mine while I was waiting for you."

Jondalar shook out one garment, helping her to hang up the clothes, and discovered it was his tunic. He held it up to show her. "I thought you said you washed your clothes while you were waiting for me," he said.

"I washed yours after you changed. Too much sweat makes the leather rot, and they were getting badly stained," she explained.

He didn't recall worrying too much about sweat or stains when he had traveled with his brother, but he was rather pleased that Ayla did.

By the time they were ready to go into the river, Whinney was coming out. She stood on the bank with her legs spread apart, then started shaking her head. The vigorous shake worked back along her body all the way to her tail. Jondalar held up his arms to ward off the spray. Ayla, laughing, ran into the water and, with both hands, rapidly scooped out more water to splash at the man as he was wading in. As soon as he was knee deep, he returned the favor. Racer, who had finished his bath and was standing nearby, received a share of the dousing and backed away, then he headed for the shore. He liked water, but under conditions of his own choosing.

After they tired of playing and swimming, Ayla began to notice the possibilities for their evening meal. Growing out of the water were spearhead-shaped leaves and white three-petaled flowers that darkened to purple at the center, and she knew the starchy tuber of the plant was filling and good. She dug some out of the muddy bottom with her toes; the stems were fragile and broke off too easily to pull them out. As Ayla waded back to the shore, she also gathered water plantain to cook, and tangy watercress to eat raw. A regular pattern of small wide leaves growing out from a center that was floating on the surface drew her attention.

"Jondalar, be careful not to step on those water chestnuts," she said, pointing out the spiky seeds littering the sandy shore.

He picked one up to look more closely. Its four barbs were arranged in such a way that while one always caught the ground, the others pointed upward. He shook his head, then threw it down. Ayla bent to pick it up again, along with several others.

"These are not so good to step on," she said in answer to his quizzical look, "but they are good to eat."

On the shore, in the shade beside the water, she saw a familiar tall plant with blue-green leaves and looked around for any other plant with fairly large flexible leaves to protect her hands while she picked them. Though she would have to exercise care while they were fresh, the stinging nettle leaves would be delicious when cooked. A water dock, growing at the very edge of the water and standing nearly as tall as the man, had three-foot basal leaves that would work just fine, she decided, and they could be cooked, too. Nearby there was also coltsfoot and several kinds of ferns that had flavorful roots. The delta offered an abundance of foods.

Offshore, Ayla noticed an island of tall grass reeds with cattails growing along the edges. It was likely that cattails would always be a staple for them. They were widespread and prolific, and so many parts were edible, both the old roots, pounded to remove the fibers from the starch, which was made into dough or soup thickening, and the new roots, eaten fresh or cooked, along with the base of the flower stalks, not to mention the heavy concentration of pollen, which could also be made into a kind of bread, were all delicious. When young, the flowers, bunched together near the end of the tall stalk, like a piece of a cat's furry tail, were also tasty.

The rest of the plant was useful in other ways: the leaves for weaving into baskets and mats, and the fuzz from the flowers after they went to seed made absorbent padding and excellent tinder. Though with her iron pyrite firestones Ayla didn't need to use them, she knew that the previous year's dry woody stems could be twirled between the palms to make fire, or they could be used as fuel.

"Jondalar, let's take the boat and go out to that island to collect some cattails," Ayla said. "There's a lot of other good things to eat growing out there in the water, too, like the seed pods of those water lilies, and the roots. The rootstalks of those reeds are not bad either. They're under the water, but since we are wet from swimming anyway, we might as well get some. We can put everything in the boat to bring it back."

"You've never been here before. How do you know these plants are good to eat?" Jondalar asked as they unfastened the boat from the travois.

Ayla smiled. "There were marshy places like this near the sea not far from our cave on the peninsula. Not as big as this, but it got warm there in the summer, too, like it is here, and Iza knew the plants and where to find them. Nezzie told me about some others."

"I think you must know every plant there is."

"Many of them, but not every plant, especially around here. I wish there was someone I could ask. The woman on that big island, who left while she was cleaning roots, would probably know. I'm sorry we couldn't visit with them," Ayla said.

Her disappointment was apparent, and Jondalar knew how lonely she was for other people. He missed people, too, and wished they could have visited.

They brought the bowl boat to the edge of the water and scrambled in. The current was slow but more noticeable from the buoyant round craft, and they had to start using the paddles quickly to keep from being carried downstream. Away from shore and the disturbance they had caused with their bathing, the water was so clear that schools of fish could be seen darting over and around submerged plants. Some were of fairly good size and Ayla thought she would catch a few later.

They stopped at a concentration of water lilies that was so dense, they could hardly see the surface of the lagoon. When Ayla slipped out of the boat and into the water, it was not easy for Jondalar by himself to keep the bowl boat in place. The boat had a tendency to spin when he attempted to back-paddle, but when Ayla's feet found the bottom while she was holding on to the side, the small floating bowl steadied. Using the stems of the flowers as a guide, she searched out the roots with her toes and loosened them from the soft soil, collecting them when they floated to the surface in a cloud of silt.

When Ayla hoisted herself back into the boat, she sent it spinning again, but with both of them using the paddles, they got it under control, then aimed for the island that was densely covered with reeds. When they drew near, Ayla noticed that it was the smaller variety of cattail that grew so thickly near the edge, along with bay willow brush, some nearly the size of trees.

They paddled into the heavy growth looking for a bank or sandy shore, forcing their way through the vegetation. But when they pulled the reeds aside, they could not find solid ground, not even a submerged sandbar, and after they pushed through, the passage they made closed rapidly behind them. Ayla felt a sense of foreboding, and Jondalar an eerie feeling of being captured by some unseen presence as the jungle of tall reeds surrounded them. Overhead they saw pelicans flying, but they had a dizzying impression that their straight flight was curving around. When they looked between the large grassy stalks, back the way they had come, the opposite shore seemed to be slowly revolving past them.

"Ayla, we're moving! Turning!" Jondalar said, suddenly realizing that it was not the land opposite but they who were revolving as the winding stream swung the boat and the entire island around.

"Let's get out of this place," she said, reaching for her paddle.

The islands in the delta were impermanent at best, always subject to the whims of the Great Mother of rivers. Even those that supported a rich growth of reeds could wash out from underneath, or the growth that started on a shallow island could become so dense that it would extend a tangle of vegetation out over water.

Whatever the initial cause, the roots of the floating reeds bound together and created a platform for decaying matter – organisms from the water as well as vegetation – which fertilized the rapid growth of more reeds. With time, they became floating islands supporting a variety of other plants. Reed mace, narrow-leaved smaller varieties of cattail, rushes, ferns, even the bay willow brush that eventually became trees, grew along the edges, but extremely tall reed grass, reaching twelve feet in height, was the primary vegetation. Some of the quagmires developed into large floating landscapes, treacherously deceptive with their tangled illusion of solidity and permanence.

Using the small paddles, but no small effort, they forced the little round boat back out of the floating island. But by the time they reached the periphery of the unstable quagmire again, they discovered they were not opposite the land. They were facing the open water of a lake, and across it was a sight so spectacular that they caught their breaths. Outlined against the background of dark green was a dense concentration of white pelicans; hundreds upon thousands of them packed together, standing, sitting, lying on tussocky nests of floating reeds. Above, more of the huge colony were flying at many levels, as though the nesting grounds were too full and they were coasting on their great wings waiting for a space.

Primarily white, with a slight wash of pink and wings edged by dark gray flight feathers, the large birds with their long beaks and sagging throat pouches were tending pods of fuzzy pelican chicks. The noisy young birds hissed and grunted, the adults responded with deep, hoarse cries, and in such great numbers that the combination was deafening.

Partially concealed by reeds, Ayla and Jondalar watched the huge breeding colony, fascinated. Hearing a deep grunting cry, they looked up as a low-flying pelican, coming in for a landing, sailed by overhead on wings that spanned ten feet. It reached a spot near the middle of the lake, then folded back its wings and dropped like a rock, hitting the water with a splash in a clumsy, ungainly landing. Not far away, another pelican with wings outstretched was rushing across the open expanse of water, trying to lift itself into flight. Ayla began to understand why they chose to nest on the lake. They needed a great deal of space to raise themselves into the air, though once up, their flight was artfully graceful.

Jondalar tapped her arm and pointed toward the shallow water near the island where several of the large birds were swimming abreast, moving forward slowly. Ayla watched for a while, then smiled at the man. Every few moments the whole row of pelicans simultaneously dipped their heads into the water, and then altogether, as though on command, lifted them out, dripping water from their great long bills. A few, but not all of them had caught some of the fish they were herding. The next time others might feed, but all continued to move and dip, perfectly synchronized with each other.

Single pairs of another variety of pelican with somewhat different markings, and earlier hatched, more mature young, nested at the edges of the large colony. Within and around the compact aggregation other species of water birds were also nesting and breeding: cormorants, grebes, and a variety of ducks, including white-eyed and red-crested pochards and ordinary mallards. The marsh teemed with a profusion of birds, all hunting and eating the countless fish.

The entire vast delta was an extravagant, ostentatious demonstration of natural abundance; a wealth of life flaunted without shame. Unspoiled, undamaged, ruled by her own natural law and subject only to her own will – and the great void whence she sprang – the great Mother Earth took pleasure in creating and sustaining life in all its prolific diversity. But pillaged by a plundering dominion, raped of her resources, despoiled by unchecked pollution, and befouled by excess and corruption, her fecund ability to create and sustain could be undone.

Though rendered sterile by destructive subjugation, her great productive fertility exhausted, the final irony would still be hers. Even barren and stripped, the destitute mother possessed the power to destroy what she had wrought. Dominion cannot be imposed; her riches cannot be taken without seeking her consent, wooing her cooperation, and respecting her needs. Her will to life cannot be suppressed without paying the ultimate penalty. Without her, the presumptuous life she created could not survive.

Though Ayla could have watched the pelicans for much longer, she finally began to pull up some of the cattails and put them into the boat, since that was the reason they had come. Then they started paddling back around the mass of floating reeds. When they came in sight of land again, they were much closer to their camp. As soon as they appeared, they were greeted by a long, drawn-out howl, full of tones of distress. After his hunting foray, Wolf had followed their scent and found their camp with no trouble, but when he had not found them, the young animal became anxious.

The woman whistled in return, to ease his fears. He ran to the edge of the water, then lifted his head and howled again. When he stopped, he sniffed their tracks, ran back and forth on the bank, then plunged in and started swimming toward them. As he neared, he veered away from the boat and headed for the mass of floating reeds, mistaking it for an island.

Wolf tried to reach the nonexistent shore, just as Ayla and Jondalar had done, but splashed and struggled between the reeds, finding no firm land. Finally he swam back to the boat. With difficulty, the man and the woman grabbed the waterlogged coat of the animal and hauled him into the skin-covered bowl. Wolf was so excited and relieved that he jumped up on Ayla and licked her face, and then did the same to Jondalar. When he finally settled down, he stood in the middle of the boat and shook himself, then howled again.

To their surprise, they heard an answering wolf howl, then a few yips, and another reply. They were surrounded by another series of wolf howls, this time sounding very close. Ayla and Jondalar stared at each other with a chill of apprehension as they sat naked in the small boat and listened to the howls of a pack that came not from the shore across the water, but from the insubstantial floating island!

"How can there be wolves there?" Jondalar said. "That is not an island, there is no land, not even a shifting sandbar." Maybe they weren't really wolves at all, Jondalar thought, shuddering. Maybe they were… something else…

Looking carefully between the reed stalks in the direction of the last wolf call, Ayla caught a glimpse of wolf fur and two yellow eyes watching her. Then a movement above caught her eye. She looked up and, partly hidden by foliage, she saw a wolf looking down at them from the crotch of a tree, with his tongue lolling out.

Wolves didn't climb trees! At least no wolf she ever saw climbed a tree, and she had watched many wolves. She tapped Jondalar and pointed. He saw the animal and caught his breath. It looked like a real wolf, but how did it get up in the tree?

"Jondalar," she whispered, "let's go. I don't like this island that is not an island, with wolves that can climb trees and walk on land where there is none."

The man felt just as edgy. They quickly paddled back across the channel. When they were close to shore, Wolf jumped out of the boat. They climbed out, quickly dragged the small craft up on the dry land, then got their spears and spear-throwers. Both horses were facing the direction of the floating island, their ears pricked forward, tension communicated in their stance. Normally wolves were shy and did not bother them, especially since the mixed scents of horses, humans, and another wolf presented an unfamiliar picture, but they weren't sure about these wolves. Were they ordinary, real wolves or something… unnatural?

Had not their seemingly supernatural control over animals frightened away the inhabitants of the large island, they might have learned from the people who were familiar with the marshland that the strange wolves were no more unnatural than they were themselves. The watery land of the great delta was home to many animals, including reed wolves. They lived primarily in the woodlands on the islands, but they had adapted so well to their waterlogged environment over thousands of years that they could travel through the floating reed beds easily. They had even learned to climb trees, which, in a shifting, flooding landscape, gave them a tremendous advantage when they were isolated by floods.

That wolves could thrive in an environment that was almost aquatic was evidence of their great adaptability. It was the same adaptability that allowed them to learn to live with humans so well that over time, though still able to breed with their wild forebears, they become so fully domesticated that they almost appeared to be a different species, many of them hardly resembling wolves at all.

Across the channel on the floating island, several wolves could now be seen, two of them in trees. Wolf looked expectantly from Ayla to Jondalar, as though waiting for instructions from the leaders of his pack. One of the reed wolves voiced another howl; then the rest joined in, sending a chill down Ayla's spine. The sound seemed different from the wolf song she was used to hearing, though she could not say precisely how. It may have been that the reverberations from the water changed the tone, but it added to her feelings of uneasiness about the mysterious wolves.

The standoff suddenly ended when the wolves disappeared, leaving as silently as they had come. One moment the man and woman with their spear-throwers, and Wolf, were facing a pack of strange wolves across an open channel of water, the next moment the animals were gone. Ayla and Jondalar, still holding their weapons, found themselves staring intently at harmless reeds and cattails, feeling vaguely foolish and unsettled.

A cool breeze, raising gooseflesh on their bare skin, made them aware that the sun had dropped behind the mountains to the west and night was coming on. They put their weapons down, hurriedly dressed, then quickly built up their fire and finished setting up camp, but their mood was subdued. Ayla found herself often checking the horses, and she was glad they had chosen to graze in the green field where they were camped.

As darkness surrounded the golden glow of their fire, the two people were strangely quiet, listening, as the night sounds of the river delta filled the air. Squawking night herons became active at dusk, then chirping crickets. An owl sounded a series of mournful hoots. Ayla heard snuffling in the woods nearby and thought it was a boar. Piercing the distance, she was startled by the laughing cackle of a cave hyena, then closer, the frustrated scream of a large cat who missed a kill. She wondered if it was a lynx, or perhaps a snow leopard, and she kept anticipating the howl of wolves, but none came.

With velvety darkness filling in every shadow and outline, an accompaniment to the other sounds grew that filled in all the intervals between them. From every channel and riverbank, lake and lily-pad-covered lagoon, a chorus of frogs serenaded their unseen audience. The deep bass voices of marsh and edible frogs developed the tone of the amphibian choir, while fire-bellied toads added their bonging, bell-like melody. In counterpoint were the fluty trills of variegated toads, blended with the gentle croon of spadefoot toads, all set to the cadence of the tree frog's sharp karreck-karreck-karreck.

By the time Ayla and Jondalar got into their bedroll, the incessant song of the frogs had faded into the background of familiar sounds, but the anticipated wolf howls, when they finally were heard in the distance, still gave Ayla chills. Wolf sat up and answered their call.

"I wonder if he misses a wolf pack?" Jondalar said, putting his arm around Ayla. She cuddled against him, glad for his warmth and closeness.

"I don't know, but I worry, sometimes. Baby left me to find his mate, but male lions always leave their home territories to look for mates from another pride."

"Do you think Racer will want to leave us?" the man asked.

"Whinney did for a while and lived with a herd. I'm not sure how the other mares took to her, but she came back after her stallion died. Not all male horses live with female herds. Each herd only chooses one, and then he has to fight off the other males. The young stallions, and older ones, usually live together in their own herd, but they are all drawn to the mares when it is their season to share Pleasures. I'm sure Racer will be, too, but he would have to fight with the chosen stallion," Ayla explained.

"Maybe I can keep him on a lead rope during that time," Jondalar said.

"I don't think you'll have to worry for a while. It is usually in spring that horses share Pleasures, soon after they drop their foals. I'm more worried about the people we may meet on our Journey. They don't understand that Whinney and Racer are special. Someone may try to hurt them. They don't seem very willing to accept us, either."

As Ayla lay in Jondalar's arms, she wondered what his people would think of her. He noticed that she was quiet and pensive. He kissed her, but she did not seem as responsive as usual. Perhaps she was tired, he thought, it had been a full day. He was tired, himself. He fell asleep listening to the chorus of frogs. He woke up to the thrashing and calling out of the woman in his arms.

"Ayla! Ayla! Wake up! It's all right."

"Jondalar! Oh, Jondalar," Ayla cried, clinging to him. "I was dreaming… about the Clan. Creb was trying to tell me something important, but we were deep in a cave and it was dark. I couldn't see what he was saying."

"You were probably thinking about them today. You talked about them when we were on that large island looking at the sea. I thought you seemed upset. Were you thinking that you were leaving them behind?" he asked.

She closed her eyes and nodded, not sure if she could voice the words without tears, and she hesitated to mention her concerns about his people, whether they would accept not only her, but the horses, and Wolf. The Clan and her son had been lost to her, she did not want to lose her family of animals, too, if they managed to reach his home safely with them. She only wished she knew what Creb had been trying to tell her in her dream.

Jondalar held her, comforting her with his warmth and love, understanding her sorrow but not knowing what to say. His closeness was enough.