Plains of Passage (100 page)

Though Whinney and Racer were grass eaters almost exclusively in summer, Ayla noticed that their diet had extended to browsing on twig tips, chewing through to the inner bark of trees, and included a particular variety of lichen, the kind reindeer preferred. She collected some and tested small amounts on herself, then made some for both of them. They found the taste strong but tolerable, and she was experimenting with ways to cook it.

Another source of winter food was small rodents such as voles, mice, and lemmings; not the animals themselves—Ayla usually let Wolf have those as a reward for helping to sniff them out—but their nests. She looked for the subtle features that hinted at a burrow, then broke through the frozen ground with a digging stick to find the small animals surrounded by the seeds, nuts, and bulbs they had laid by.

And Ayla also had her medicine bag. When she thought of all the damage that had been done to the things they had cached, she shuddered to think about what would have happened if she had left her medicine bag. Not that she would have, but the thought of losing it made her stomach churn. It was so much a part of her that she would have felt lost without it. But even more, the materials in the otter-skin bag, and the long history of lore accumulated by trial and error that had been passed down to her, kept the travelers healthier than either of them fully realized.

For example, Ayla knew that various herbs, barks, and roots could be used to treat, and avoid getting, certain diseases. Though she didn’t call them deficiency diseases, or have a name for the vitamins and trace minerals the herbs contained, or even know exactly how they worked, she carried many of them with her in her medicine bag, and she regularly made them into the teas they drank.

She also used the vegetation that was readily available even in winter, such as the needles of evergreens, particularly the newest growth from the tips of branches, which were rich in the vitamins that prevented scurvy. She regularly added them to their daily teas, mostly because
they liked the tangy, citruslike flavor, though she did know they were beneficial and had a good idea of when and how to use them. She had often made needle tea for people with soft bloody gums whose teeth became loose during long winters of subsisting essentially on dried meats, either by choice or necessity.

They developed a pattern of opportunistic foraging as they moved west that allowed them as much time as possible for traveling. Though an occasional meal was skimpy, they seldom missed one entirely, but with so little fat in their diet and the constant exercise every day, they did lose weight. They didn’t talk about it often, but they were both getting weary of the traveling and longed to reach their destination. During the day, they didn’t talk much at all.

Riding the horses, or walking and leading them, Ayla and Jondalar often went single-file, close enough to hear a comment if it was spoken in a loud voice, but not close enough for casual conversation. As a result, they both had long stretches of quiet time to think their own thoughts, which they sometimes talked about in the evening when they were eating or lying together side by side in their sleeping furs.

Ayla often thought about their recent experiences. She had been thinking about the Camp of the Three Sisters, comparing the S’Armunai and their cruel leaders, like Attaroa and Brugar, with their relatives, the Mamutoi, and their cooperative and friendly sister-brother coleaders. And she wondered about the Zelandonii, the people of the man she loved. Jondalar had so many good qualities, she felt sure they had to be basically good people, but considering their feelings toward the Clan, she still wondered how they would accept her. Even S’Armuna had made oblique references to their strong aversion to the ones they called flatheads, but she felt sure no Zelandonii would ever be as cruel as the woman who had been the leader of the S’Armunai.

“I don’t know how Attaroa could do the things she did, Jondalar,” Ayla remarked as they were finishing an evening meal. “It makes me wonder.”

“What do you wonder about?”

“My kind of people, the Others. When I first met you, I was so grateful just to finally find someone like me. It was a relief to know I wasn’t the only one in the world. Then, when you turned out to be so wonderful, so good and caring and loving, I thought all of my kind of people would be like you,” she said, “and it made me feel good.” She was going to add, until he reacted with such disgust when she told him about her life with the Clan, but she changed her mind when she saw Jondalar smiling, flushed with embarrassed delight, obviously pleased.

He had felt a rush of warmth at her words, thinking that she was pretty wonderful, too.

“Then, when we met the Mamutoi, Talut and the Lion Camp,” Ayla continued, “I was sure the Others were all good people. They helped each other, and everyone had a voice in the decisions. They were friendly and laughed a lot, and they didn’t reject an idea just because they hadn’t heard about it before. There was Frebec, of course, but he turned out not to be so bad, either. Even those at the Summer Meeting who sided against me for a while because of the Clan, and even some of the Sharamudoi, did it out of misplaced fear, not evil intentions. But Attaroa was as vicious as a hyena.”

“Attaroa was only one person,” Jondalar reminded her.

“Yes, but look how many she influenced. S’Armuna used her sacred knowledge to help Attaroa kill and hurt people, even if she did feel sorry about it later, and Epadoa was willing to do anything Attaroa said,” Ayla said.

“They had reasons for it. The women had been badly treated,” Jondalar said.

“I know the reasons. S’Armuna thought she was doing the right thing, and I think Epadoa loved to hunt and loved Attaroa for letting her do it. I know that feeling. I love to hunt, too, and I went against the Clan and did things I wasn’t supposed to so I could hunt.”

“Well, Epadoa can hunt for the whole Camp now, and I don’t think she was so bad,” Jondalar said. “She seemed to be discovering the kind of love a mother feels. Doban told me she promised him she would never hurt him again and would never let anyone else hurt him,” Jondalar said. “Her feelings for him may be even stronger because she hurt him so much and now she has a chance to make up for it.”

“Epadoa didn’t want to hurt those boys. She told S’Armuna that she was afraid if she didn’t do what Attaroa wanted, she would kill them. Those were her reasons. Even Attaroa had reasons. There was so much in her life that was bad, she became an evil thing. She wasn’t human any more, but no reasons are good enough to excuse her. How could she do the things she did? Even Broud, as bad as he was, was not as bad, and he hated me. He never purposely hurt children. I used to think my kind of people were so good, but I’m not so sure any more,” she said, looking sad and distressed.

“There are good people and bad people, Ayla, and everyone has some good and some bad in them,” Jondalar said, his wrinkled forehead showing his concern. He sensed that she was trying to fit the new sensibilities she had gathered from her latest unpleasant experience into her personal scheme of things, and he knew it was important. “But most people are decent and try to help each other. They know it’s necessary—after all, you never know when you may need help—and most people would rather be friendly.”

“But there are some who are twisted, like Attaroa,” Ayla said.

“That’s true.” The man nodded, having to agree. “And there are some who only give what they must and would rather not give at all, but that doesn’t make them bad.”

“But one bad person can bring out the worst in good people, like Attaroa did to S’Armuna and Epadoa.”

“I suppose the best we can do is try to keep the evil and cruel ones from causing too much harm. Maybe we should count ourselves lucky there aren’t more like her. But Ayla, don’t let one bad person spoil the way you feel about people.”

“Attaroa can’t make me feel any different about the people I know, and I’m sure you are right about most people, Jondalar, but she has made me more wary, and more cautious.”

“It doesn’t hurt to be a little cautious, at first, but give people a chance to show their good side before you judge them bad.”

   The highland on the north side of the river paced along with them as they continued their westward trek. Wind-sculptured evergreens on the rounded tops and level plateaus of the massif were silhouetted against the sky. The river split out again into several channels across a lowland basin that formed an embayment. The southern and northern boundaries of the valley maintained their characteristic differences, but the base rock was cracked and down-faulted to great depths between the river and the limestone foreland of the high southern mountain. Toward the west was the steep limestone edge of a fault line. The course of the river turned northwest.

The east end of the lowland basin was also bordered by a fault ridge, caused not so much by uplifting of the limestone as by the depression of the land of the embayment. Toward the south, the land spread out on a level grade for some distance before it rose up toward the mountains, but the granite plateau in the north drew closer to the river, until it was rising steeply just across the water.

They camped within the low embayment. In the valley near the river, the smooth gray bark and the bare branches of beech made an appearance among the spruce, fir, pine, and larch; the area was protected enough to shelter the growth of a few large-leafed deciduous trees. Milling around near the trees in seeming confusion was a small herd of mammoths, both females and males. Ayla edged closer to see what was going on.

One mammoth was down, a giant of an elder with enormous tusks that crossed in front. She wondered if it was the same group they had seen earlier breaking ice. Could there be two mammoths who were so old in the same region? Jondalar walked up beside her.

“I’m afraid he’s dying. I wish there was something I could do for him,” Ayla said.

“His teeth are probably gone. Once that happens, there is nothing anyone can do, except what they are doing. Staying with him, keeping him company,” Jondalar said.

“Perhaps none of us can ask for more,” Ayla said.

In spite of their relatively compact size, each adult mammoth consumed large quantities of food every day, primarily woody-stemmed tall grass and occasional small trees. With such a rough diet, their teeth were essential. They were so important that a mammoth’s lifespan was determined by its teeth.

A woolly mammoth developed several sets of large grinding molars throughout its span of some seventy years, usually six to a side both upper and lower. Each tooth weighed about eight pounds and was especially adapted to grinding coarse grasses. The surface was made up of many extremely hard, thin, parallel ridges—plates of dentine covered with enamel—and had higher crowns and more ridges than the teeth of any other of its species, before or since. Mammoths were primarily grass eaters. The shreds of bark that they tore from trees, particularly in winter, the spring forbs, and the occasional leaves, branches, and small trees, were only incidental to their main diet of tough fibrous grass.

The earliest and smallest grinders were formed near the front of each jaw, and the rest grew in behind and moved forward in a steady progression during the animal’s life, with only one or two teeth in use at any one time. As hard as it was, the important grinding surface wore down as it moved toward the front, and the roots dissolved. Finally the last thin useless fragments of tooth were dropped as the new ones moved into place.

The final teeth were in use by age fifty, and when they were nearly gone, the old gray-hair could not chew the tough grass any more. Softer leaves and plants could still be eaten, spring plants, but in other seasons they were not available. In desperation, the undernourished elder often left the herd, searching for greener pastures, but found only death. The herd knew when the end was close, and it wasn’t uncommon to see them sharing the elder’s last days.

The other mammoths were as protective of the dying as they were of newborns, and they gathered around trying to make the fallen one get up. When all was over, they buried the dead ancestor under piles of dirt, grass, leaves, or snow. Mammoths were even known to bury other dead animals, including humans.

   Ayla and Jondalar and their four-legged traveling companions found their way getting steeper and more difficult when they left behind the
lowland and the mammoths. They were approaching a gorge. A foot of the ancient massif of the north had stretched too far south and was split by the dividing waters of the river. They climbed higher as the river rushed through the narrow defile, moving too fast to freeze but carrying with it ice floes from quieter sections farther west. It was strange to see moving water after so much ice. In front of the high-peaked ramparts to the south were mesas, massiflike hills topped with extensive plateaus, carrying thick stands of conifers, their branches sprinkled with snow. The thin limbs of deciduous trees and brush were etched in white from a coating of freezing rain, which accentuated each twig and branch, captivating Ayla with their winter beauty.

The altitude continued to increase, the lowlands between the ridges never dipping quite as low as the preceding ones. The air was cold, crisp, and clear, and even when it was cloudy, no snow fell. Precipitation decreased as winter deepened. The only moisture in the air was the warm breath expelled by humans and animals.

The river of ice became smaller each time they passed a frozen tributary valley. At the west end of the lowland was another gorge. They climbed the rocky ridge, and when they reached the highest place, they looked ahead and stopped, awed by the sight. Ahead the river had split again. The travelers didn’t know it was the last time that it would divide into the branches and channels that had characterized its progress across the flat plains over which it had flowed for so much of its length. The gorge just before the lowlands curved sharply as it gathered the separate channels into one, causing a furious whirlpool that carried ice and floating debris into its depths, before disgorging it in a gush farther downstream, where it rapidly refroze.