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The blond woman and girl walked up the slope together, heading for the trampled track where the contests had been held. When they reached the level ground of the steppes, they saw that the four men who had gone up earlier were practicing at one end; they headed for the opposite end. Whinney and Racer trailed along behind. Latie smiled at the dark brown horse when he nickered at her and tossed his head. Then he settled down to graze beside his dam, while Ayla showed Latie how to cast a spear.
“Hold like this,” Ayla began, holding the narrow wooden implement that was about two feet long in a horizontal position. She put the first and second fingers of her right hand into the leather loops.
“Then put spear on,” she continued, resting the shaft of a spear, perhaps six feet long, in a groove cut down the length of the implement. She fitted the hook, carved as a backstop, into the butt end of the spear, being careful not to crush the feathers. Then, holding the spear steady, she pulled back and hurled it. The long free end of the spear-thrower rose up, adding length and leverage, and the spear flew with speed and force. She gave the implement to Latie.
“Like this?” the girl said, holding the spear-thrower the way Ayla had explained. “The spear rests in this groove, and I put my fingers through the loops to hold it, and put the end against this back part.”
“Good. Now throw.”
Latie lobbed the spear a good distance. “It’s not so hard,” she said, pleased with herself.
“No. Is not hard to throw spear,” Ayla agreed. “Is hard to make spear go where you want.”
“You mean to be accurate. Like making the dart go in the hoop.”
Ayla smiled. “Yes. Need practice, to make dart go in hoop … go in the hoop.” She had noticed Frebec coming up to see what the men were doing, and it suddenly made her conscious of her speech. She still wasn’t speaking right. She needed to practice, too, she thought. But why should it matter? She wasn’t staying.
Latie practiced while Ayla coached, and they both became so involved they didn’t notice that the men had drifted in their direction and had stopped their practice to watch.
“That’s good, Latie!” Jondalar called out after she had hit her mark. “You may turn out to be better than anyone! I think these boys got tired of practicing and wanted to come and watch you instead.”
Danug and Druwez looked uncomfortable. There was some truth in Jondalar’s teasing, but Latie’s smile was radiant. “I will be better than anyone. I’m going to practice until I am,” she said.
They decided they’d had enough practicing for one day, and tromped back down to the earthlodge. As they approached the tusk archway, Talut came bursting out.
“Ayla! There you are. What was in that drink you gave me?” he asked, advancing on her.
She took a step back. “Yarrow, with some alfalfa, and a little raspberry leaf, and …”
“Nezzie! Do you hear that? Find out how she makes it. It made my headache go away! I feel like a new man!” He looked around. “Nezzie?”
“She went down to the river with Rydag,” Tulie said. “He seemed tired this morning, and Nezzie didn’t think he should go so far. But he said he wanted to go with her … or maybe, he wanted to be with her … I’m not sure of the sign. I said I’d go down and help her carry him, or the water, back. I’m just on my way.”
Tulie’s remarks caught Ayla’s attention for more than one reason. She felt some concern about the child, but more than that, she detected a distinct change in Tulie’s attitude toward him. He was Rydag now, not just “the boy,” and she spoke about what he had said. He had become a person to her.
“Well …” Talut hesitated, surprised for a moment that Nezzie wasn’t in his immediate vicinity, then, reproaching himself for expecting her to be, he chuckled. “Will you tell me how to make it, Ayla?”
“Yes,” she said. “I will.”
He looked delighted. “If I’m going to make the bouza, then I ought to know a remedy for the morning after.
Ayla smiled. For all his size, there was something so endearing about the huge red-haired headman. She had no doubt he could be formidable if brought to anger. He was as agile and quick as he was strong, and he certainly did not lack for intelligence, but there was a gentle quality to him. He resisted anger. Though he was not averse to making a joke at someone else’s expense, he laughed as often at his own foibles. He dealt with the human problems of the people with genuine concern and his compassion extended beyond his own camp.
Suddenly a high-pitched keening pulled everyone’s attention toward the river. Her first glance sent Ayla running down the slope; several people followed behind. Nezzie was kneeling over a small figure, wailing in anguish. Tulie was standing beside her looking distraught and helpless. When Ayla arrived, she saw that Rydag was unconscious.
“Nezzie?” Ayla said, asking with her expression what had happened.
“We were walking up the slope,” Nezzie explained. “He started having trouble breathing. I decided I’d better carry him, but as I was putting down the waterbag, I heard him cry out in pain. When I looked up, he was lying there like that.”
Ayla bent down and examined Rydag carefully, putting her hand, and then her ear, to his chest, feeling his neck near the jaw. She looked at Nezzie with troubled eyes, then turned to the headwoman.
“Tulie, carry Rydag to lodge, to Mammoth Hearth. Hurry!” she commanded.
Ayla ran back up ahead and dashed through the archwavs. She rushed to the platform at the foot of her bed, and pawed through her belongings until she found an unusual pouch
that had been made from a whole otter skin. She dumped its contents on the bed and searched through the pile of packets and small pouches it had contained, looking at the shape of the container, the color and type of cord that held it closed, and the number and spacing of knots in it.
Her mind raced. It’s his heart, I know the trouble is his heart. It didn’t sound right. What should I do? I don’t know as much about the heart. No one in Brun’s clan had heart problems. I must remember what Iza explained to me. And that other medicine woman at the Clan Gathering, she had two people in her clan with heart problems. First think, Iza always said, what exactly is wrong. He’s pale and swollen up. He’s having trouble breathing, and he’s in pain. His pulse is weak. His heart must work harder, make stronger pushes. What is best to use? Datura, maybe? I don’t think so. What about hellebore? Belladonna? Henbane? Foxglove? Foxglove … leaves of foxglove. It’s so strong. It could kill him. But he will die without something strong enough to make his heart work again. Then, how much to use? Should I boil it or steep it? Oh, I wish I could remember the way Iza did. Where is my foxglove? Don’t I have any?
