Plains of Passage (49 page)

“I didn’t know it would do all that,” the youngster said, looking again at the familiar spreading tree with smooth dark brown bark, impressed that something so ordinary had qualities that made it so much more than it seemed.

“There is another tree I would like to find, Darvalo, but I don’t know the name in Mamutoi,” Ayla said. “It’s a small tree, sometimes growing
as brush. It has thorns on it, and the leaves are shaped a little like a hand with fingers. It has clusters of white flowers earlier in the summer, and about now, round red berries.”

“It’s not a rosebush you want, is it?”

“No, but that’s a good guess. The one I want usually grows bigger than a rosebush, but the flowers are smaller, and the leaves are different.”

Darvalo frowned with concentration, then suddenly smiled. “I think I know what you mean, and there are some not far from here. In spring, we always pick the leaf buds and eat them when we walk by.”

“Yes, that sounds like the one. Can you take me to it?”

Wolf was not in sight, so Ayla whistled. He appeared almost instantly, looking at her with eager anticipation. She signaled him to follow. They walked for a short while until they came to a stand of hawthorne.

“That’s exactly what I was looking for, Darvalo!” Ayla said. “I wasn’t sure if my description was clear enough.”

“What does this do?” he asked as they were picking berries and some leaves.

“It’s for the heart, restores, strengthens it, and stimulates, makes it beat hard—but it’s gentle, for a healthy heart. It’s not for someone with a weak heart, who needs a strong medicine,” Ayla said, trying to find words to explain so that the youngster would understand what she knew from observation and experience. She had learned from Iza in a language and way of teaching that were difficult to translate. “It is also good to mix with other medicines. It stimulates them, makes them work better.”

Darvalo was deciding that it was fun to gather stuff with Ayla. She knew all kinds of things that no one else did, and she didn’t mind telling him at all. On the way back, she stopped at a dry sunny bank and cut some pleasant-smelling purple hyssop flowers. “What does that do?” he asked.

“It clears the chest, helps breathing. And this,” she said, picking some soft, downy leaves of mouse-eared hawkweed that were nearby, “stimulates everything. It’s stronger, and doesn’t taste too good, so I’ll only use a little. I want to give her something pleasant to drink, but this will clear her mind, make her feel alert.”

On the way back, Ayla stopped once more, to gather a large bunch of pretty pink gillyflowers. Darvalo expected to learn more medical lore when he asked what they were for.

“Just because they smell nice, and add a sweet, spicy flavor. I’ll use some for the tea, and I’ll put some in water by her bed, to make her feel
good. Women like pretty, nice-smelling things, Darvalo, especially when they are sick.”

He decided he liked pretty, nice-smelling things, too, like Ayla. He liked the way she always called him Darvalo, and not Darvo, the way everyone else did. Not that he minded so much when Dolando or Jondalar called him that, but it was nice to hear her use his grown-up name. Her voice sounded nice, too, even if she did say some words a little fanny. All it did was make you pay attention to her when she talked, and after a while think about what a nice voice she had.

There was a time when he wished more than anything that Jondalar would mate his mother and stay with the Sharamudoi. His mother’s mate had died when he was young, and there had never been a man who lived with them until the tall Zelandonii man came. Jondalar had treated him like a son of his hearth—he had even begun to teach him to work the flint—and Darvalo had felt hurt when the man left.

He had hoped Jondalar would come back, but he never really expected it. When his mother left with that Mamutoi man, Gulec, he was sure there would be no reason for the Zelandonii man to stay if he did come back. But now that he had come, and with another woman, his mother didn’t need to be there. Everyone liked Jondalar, and, especially since Roshario’s accident, everybody talked about how much they needed a healer. He was sure Ayla was a good one. Why couldn’t they both stay? he thought.

“She woke up once,” Dolando said the instant Ayla entered the dwelling. “At least I think she did. She might have just been thrashing in her sleep. She has quieted down and is sleeping again now.”

The man was relieved to see her, though it was clear that he did not want to make it obvious. Unlike Talut, who had been completely open and friendly, and whose leadership was based on the strength of his character, his willingness to listen, accept differences, and work out compromises … and a voice loud enough to get the attention of a noisy group in the midst of a heated argument … Dolando reminded her more of Brun. He was more reserved, and though he was a good listener who considered a situation carefully, he did not like to reveal his feelings. But Ayla was used to interpreting the subtle mannerisms of such a man.

Wolf came in with her, and he went to his corner even before she signaled. She put down her basket of herbal flowers to check on Roshario, then spoke to the worried man. “She’ll be waking up soon, but I should have time to prepare a special tea for her to drink when she does.”

Dolando had noticed the fragrance of the flowers as soon as Ayla
entered, and the steaming liquid she made from them had a warm floral scent when she brought a cup for him as well as the woman on the bed.

“What is this for?” he asked.

“I made it to help Roshario wake up, but you might find it refreshing, too.”

He sipped it, expecting a light flowery essence, and was surprised as a subtly sweet taste rich with character and flavor filled his mouth. “This is good!” he said. “What’s in it?”

“Ask Darvalo. I think he’d be pleased to tell you.”

The man nodded, understanding her implied suggestion. “I should pay more attention to him. I’ve been so worried about Roshario, I haven’t thought of anything else, and I’m sure he’s been worried about her, too.”

Ayla smiled. She was beginning to perceive the qualities that made him the leader of this group. She liked the quickness of his mind and was fast growing to like him. Roshario made a sound, and their attention was suddenly diverted to her.

“Dolando?” she said in a weak voice.

“I’m here,” he said, and the tenderness in his voice brought a lump to Ayla’s throat. “How are you feeling?”

“A little dizzy, and I had the strangest dream,” she said.

“I have something for you to drink.” The woman made a face, remembering the last drink she had been given. “You will like this, I think. Here, smell it,” Ayla said, bringing the cup down so that the delicious aroma was near her nose. The frown faded, and the medicine woman lifted Roshario’s head and brought the cup to her lips.

“That is nice,” Roshario said after a few sips, then drank some more. She lay back when she finished it and closed her eyes, but soon opened them. “My arm! How is my arm?”

“How does it feel?” Ayla said.

“It’s a little painful, but not as much and in a different way,” she said. “Let me see it.” She craned to look at her arm, then tried to sit up.

“Let me help you,” Ayla said, propping her up.

“It’s straight! My arm looks right. You did it,” the woman said. Then tears filled her eyes as she lay back down. “Now I won’t have to be a useless old woman.”

“You may not have full use of it,” Ayla cautioned, “but it is set correctly now and has a chance to heal right.”

“Dolando, can you believe it? Everything is going to be fine now,” she sobbed, but her tears were of joy and relief.

B
e careful now,” Ayla said, helping Roshario to ease forward toward Jondalar and Markeno, who were stooped down on either side of her beside her bed. “The sling will support your arm and hold it in place, but keep it close to you.”

“Are you sure she should get up so soon?” Dolando asked Ayla, frowning with worry.

“I’m sure,” Roshario said. “I’ve been in this bed too long as it is. I don’t want to miss Jondalar’s welcoming celebration.”

“So long as she doesn’t tire herself too much, it will probably be good for her to get up and be with everyone for a while,” Ayla said. Then she turned to Roshario. “But not too long. Rest is the best healer now.”

“I just want to see everyone being happy for a change. Every time someone came in to see me, they looked so sorry for me. I want them to know I’m going to be all right,” the woman said, easing off the bed into the waiting arms of the two young men.

“Steady now, watch the sling,” Ayla said. Roshario put her good arm around Jondalar’s neck. “All right, together, lift her up.”

With the woman between them, the two men stood up, moving forward a little so they could straighten up under the sloping roof of the dwelling. They were close to the same height, and they carried her easily. Though Jondalar was more obviously muscular, Markeno was a powerful young man. His strength was disguised by his more slender build, but rowing boats and handling the huge sturgeon the Ramudoi regularly hunted had given his flat, wiry muscles plenty of use.

“How do you feel?” Ayla asked.

“Up in the air,” Roshario said, smiling at each man in turn. “It’s a different view from up here.”

“Are you ready, then?”

“How do I look, Ayla?”

“Tholie did a good job of combing and fixing your hair; I think you look fine,” Ayla said.

“The washing you both gave me made me feel better, too. I didn’t
even feel like combing or washing before. That must mean I’m better,” Roshario said.

“Some of it is the pain medicine I gave you. It will wear off. Be sure to tell me as soon as you start to feel very much pain. Don’t try to be brave about it. And let me know when you begin to get tired, too,” Ayla said.

“I will. I’m ready now.”

“Look who’s coming!” “It’s Roshario!” “She must be better,” several voices exclaimed as the woman was carried from the dwelling.

“Put her down over here,” Tholie said. “I’ve made a place for her.”

At some time in the past, a large piece of sandstone had broken off the overhang and lodged near the gathering circle. Tholie had placed a bench against it and covered it with furs. The men took Roshario there and lowered her carefully.

“Are you comfortable?” Markeno asked after they had settled her on the padded seat.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Roshario said. She was unaccustomed to so much doting attention.

The wolf had followed them out of the dwelling, and, as soon as she was seated, he found a spot and lay down beside her. Roshario was surprised, but when she saw the way he looked at her, and noticed how he watched everyone who approached, she had the strange but distinct feeling that he thought he was protecting her.

“Ayla, why is that wolf staying around Roshario? I think you should make him go away from her,” Dolando said, wondering what the animal could want with a woman who was still so weak and vulnerable. He knew that wolf packs often hunted the old, sick, and weak members of a herd.

“No, don’t make him go,” Roshario said, reaching over with her good hand and patting his head. “I don’t think he means to harm me, Dolando. I think he’s watching out for me.”

“I think he is, too, Roshario,” Ayla said. “There was a boy at the Lion Camp, a weak, sickly child, but Wolf had a special attachment to him and was very protective. I think he senses that you are weak now, and he wants to protect you.”

“Wasn’t that Rydag?” Tholie said. “The one Nezzie adopted who was…”—she paused, suddenly remembering Dolando’s strong and unreasonable feelings—“ … an outsider.”

Ayla was aware of her hesitation and knew she had not said what she originally intended to say. She wondered why.

“Is he still with them?” Tholie asked, unaccountably flustered.

“No,” Ayla said. “He died, early in the season, at the Summer Meeting.” Rydag’s death still upset and saddened her, and it showed.

Tholie’s curiosity vied with her sense of discretion; she wanted to ask more questions, but this was not the time to ask questions about that particular child. “Isn’t anyone else hungry? Why don’t we eat?” she said.

After everyone had their fill, including Roshario, who didn’t eat much, though it was more than she had eaten in one meal in some time, people gathered around the fire with cups of tea or lightly fermented dandelion wine. It was time to tell stories, recount adventures, and, especially, to learn more about the visitors and their unusual traveling companions.

The full complement of Sharamudoi were there, except those few who happened to be away: the Shamudoi, who lived on the land in the high embayment throughout the year, and their river-dwelling kin, the Ramudoi. During the warmer seasons the River People lived on a floating dock moored just below, but in winter they moved up to the high terrace and shared the dwellings of ceremonially joined cross-cousins. The dual couples were considered to be as closely related as mates, and the children of both families were treated as siblings.

It was the most unusual arrangement of closely related groups that Jondalar knew of, but it worked well for them because of their kinship ties and a unique reciprocal relationship that was mutually beneficial. There were many practical and ritual bonds between the two moieties, but primarily the Shamudoi contributed the products of the land and a safe place during rough weather, while the Ramudoi provided the produce of the river and skilled water transportation.

The Sharamudoi thought of Jondalar as kin, but he was kin only through his brother. When Thonolan fell in love with a Shamudoi woman, he had accepted their ways and had chosen to become one of them. Jondalar had lived with them just as long and felt they were family He had learned and accepted their ways, but he had never gone through any ritual joining in his own right. In his heart he could not give up his identity with his own people, could not make the decision to settle with them permanently. Though his brother had become Sharamudoi, Jondalar was still Zelandonii. The evening conversation began, understandably, with questions about his brother.