AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Then you know that the Zelandonii welcome their visitors. I don't understand these people. What could I possibly have done to deserve such treatment?" Jondalar said. "You shared the hospitality of the Zelandonii—why don't you explain to them about rights of passage and courtesy to visitors? It's really more than a courtesy, it's an obligation."
S'Arrnuna's only response was a sardonic glance.
He knew he wasn't handling the situation well, but he was still so incredulous over his recent experiences that he found himself with an almost childish need to explain how things should be, as if that would put them right. He decided to try another approach.
"I wonder, since you lived there so long, if you knew my mother. I am the son of Marthona..." He would have continued, but the expression on her somewhat misshapen face stopped him. She registered such shock that it contorted her features even more.
"You are the son of Marthona, born to the hearth of Joconan?" she finally said, more as a question.
"No, that's my brother Joharran. I was born to Dalanar's hearth, the man she mated later. Did you know Joconan?"
"Yes," S'Armuna said, looking down, then turning her attention back to the skin pot that was almost boiling.
"Then you must have known my mother, too!" Jondalar was excited. "If you knew Marthona, then you know I'm not a liar. She would never put up with that in a child of hers. I know it sounds unbelievable—I'm not even sure I'd believe it, if I didn't know better —but the woman I was traveling with was sitting on the back of one of those horses that was being chased over the cliff. It was one she raised from a foal, not one that really belonged to that herd. Now I don't even know if she's alive. You must tell Attaroa I'm not lying! I've got to look for her. I've got to know if she's still alive!"
Jondalar's impassioned plea elicited no response from the woman. She did not even look up from the pouch of boiling water she was stirring. But, unlike Attaroa, she did not doubt him. One of Attaroa's hunters had come to her with a story about seeing a woman riding on one of the horses, afraid because she thought it was a spirit. S'Armuna thought there could be something to Jondalar's story, but she wondered whether it was real or supernatural.
"You did know Marthona, didn't you?" Jondalar asked, walking to the fire to get her attention. He had gotten her to respond before by invoking his mother.
When she looked up, her face was impassive. "Yes, I knew Marthona, once. I was sent, when I was young, to be trained by the Zelandoni of the Ninth Cave. Sit here," she said. Then she moved the frame back from the fire, turned away from him, and reached for a soft skin. He winced when she washed his injury with the antiseptic solution she had prepared, but he was sure her medicine was good. She had learned it from his people.
After it was clean, S'Armuna looked closely at his wound. "You were stunned for a while, but it is not serious. It will heal by itself." She averted her eyes, then said, "But you probably have a headache. I will give you something for it."
"No, I don't need anything now, but I am still thirsty. All I really want is some water. Is it all right if I drink from your waterbag?" Jondalar said, walking over to the large damp bladder of water, from which she had filled the pot. "I'll refill it for you, if you'd like. Do you have a cup I can use?"
She hesitated, then got a cup from a shelf.
"Where can I fill your waterbag?" he asked when he was through. "Is there a favorite place nearby?"
"Don't worry about the water," she said.
He walked closer and looked at her, realizing she was not going to let him walk freely, not even for water. "We weren't trying to hunt the horses they were after. Even if we had been, Attaroa should have known we would have offered something to compensate. Although with that whole herd driven off the cliff, there should have been plenty. I just hope Ayla isn't with them. S'Armuna, I need to go and look for her!"
"You love her, don't you?" S'Armuna asked.
"Yes, I love her," he said. He saw her expression change again. There was an element of gloating bitterness, but something softer, too. "We were on our way back to my home to be mated, but I also need to tell my mother about the death of my younger brother, Thonolan. We started out together, but he ... died. She will be very unhappy. It's hard to lose a child."
S'Armuna nodded but made no comment.
"That funeral earlier, what happened to those youngsters?"
"They weren't much younger than you are," S'Armuna said, "old enough to make some wrong decisions for themselves."
Jondalar thought she looked distinctly uncomfortable. "How did they die?" he asked.
"They ate something that was bad for them."
Jondalar didn't believe she was quite telling the truth, but before he could say more, she handed him his hide coverings and led him back out to the two women who had been guarding the entrance. They marched on either side of him, but this time he was not taken back to the earthlodge. Instead he was led to the fenced enclosure, and the gate was opened just enough to push him inside.
27
Ayla sipped tea at her afternoon campfire and stared, unseeing, across the grassy landscape. When she had stopped to let Wolf rest, she noticed a large rock formation outlined against the blue sky to the northwest, but as the conspicuous limestone hill faded into mists and clouds in the distance, it receded from memory as her thoughts focused inward, worrying about Jondalar.
Between her tracking skills and Wolf's keen nose, they had managed to follow the trail that she felt sure was left by the people who had taken Jondalar. After making a gradual descent off the highland, traveling north, they had turned west until they reached the river she and Jondalar had crossed earlier, but they did not cross over. They turned north again, along the river, leaving a trail that was easier to follow.
Ayla camped the first night beside the flowing stream and continued tracking the next day. She wasn't sure how many people she was following, but she occasionally saw several sets of footprints on the muddy banks of the river, a couple of which she was beginning to recognize. None of them, however, were Jondalar's large prints, and she began to wonder if he was still with them.
Then she recalled that occasionally something large was put down, flattening the grass or leaving an impression in the dust or damp ground beneath it, and she remembered seeing that sign, along with the tracks and other signs, from the beginning. It wouldn't have been horsemeat, she reasoned, because the horses had been driven over the edge and this load had been carried down from the top. She decided it had to be the man who was being carried on some kind of litter, which caused her both worry and relief.
