Plains of Passage (32 page)

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 soap-root 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.”