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Gradually, as they continued traveling upstream beside the great river, the rugged uplands and high peaks of the north angled closer, and the eroded chain of mountains to the south increased in elevation. In all the twists and turns of their generally westward direction, they had been heading just slightly north. They veered then toward the south, before making a sharp turn that began taking them northwest, then arced around to the north, and finally even east for a distance before curving around a point and going northwest again.
Though he couldn't exactly say why—there weren't any particular landmarks he could positively identify—Jondalar felt a familiarity with the landscape. Following the river would take them northwest, but he was sure it would curve back around again. He decided, for the first time since they had reached the great delta, to leave the security of the Great Mother River and ride north beside a tributary, into the foothills of the high, sharp-peaked mountains that were now much closer to the river. The route they followed up the feeder river gradually turned northwest.
Ahead the mountains were coming together; a ridge joining the long arc of the ice-topped northern range was closing in on the eroded southern highlands, which had become sharper, higher, and icier, until they were separated by only a narrow gorge. The ridge had once held back a deep inland sea that had been surrounded by the soaring chains. But over the vast millennia the outlet that spilled out the yearly accumulation of water began to wear down the limestone, sandstone, and shale of the mountains. The level of the inland basin was slowly lowered to match the height of the corridor that was being ground out of the rock until, eventually, the sea was drained, leaving behind the flat bottom that would become a sea of grass.
The narrow gorge hemmed in the Great Mother River with rugged, precipitous walls of crystalline granite. And volcanic rock which once had been outcrops and intrusions in the softer more erodable stone of the mountains, soared up on both sides. It was a long gateway through the mountains to the southern plains and ultimately to Beran Sea, and Jondalar knew there was no way to walk beside the river as she went through the gorge. There was no choice but to go around.
14
Except for the absence of the voluminous flow, the terrain was unchanged when they first turned aside and began following the small stream—dry, open grassland with stunted brush close by the water—but Ayla experienced a sense of loss. The broad expanse of the Great Mother River had been their constant companion for so long, that it was disconcerting not to see her comforting presence there beside them, showing them the way. As they proceeded toward the foothills and gained altitude, the brush filled out, became taller and leafier, and extended farther out into the plains.
The absence of the great river affected Jondalar, too. One day had blended into another with reassuring monotony as they traveled beside her productive waters in the natural warmth of summer. The predictability of her lavish abundance had lulled him into complacency and blunted his anxious worries about getting Ayla home safely. After turning away from the bountiful Mother of rivers, his concerns returned, and the changing countryside made him think about the landscape ahead. He began to consider their provisions and wonder if they had enough food with them. He wasn't as sure about the easy availability of fish in the smaller waterway, and even less certain of foraging in the wooded mountains.
Jondalar wasn't as familiar with the ways of woodland wildlife. Animals of the open plains tended to congregate in herds and could be seen from a distance, but the fauna that lived in the forest were more solitary, and there were trees and brush to conceal them. When he had lived with the Sharamudoi, he had always hunted with someone who understood the region.
The Shamudoi half of the people liked to hunt the high tors for chamois, and they knew the ways of bear, boar, forest bison, and other elusive woodland prey. Jondalar recalled that Thonolan had developed a preference for hunting in the mountains with them. The Ramudoi moiety, on the other hand, knew the river and hunted its creatures, especially the giant sturgeon. Jondalar had been more interested in the boats and learning the ways of the river. Though he had climbed the mountains with the chamois hunters on occasion, he didn't care much for heights.
Sighting a small herd of red deer, Jondalar decided that it would be a good opportunity to procure a supply of meat to see them through the next few days until they reached the Sharamudoi, and perhaps bring some with them to share. Ayla was eager when he suggested it. She enjoyed hunting and they hadn't done much of it recently, except for bringing down a few partridges and other small game, which she usually did with her sling. The Great Mother River had been so giving, it hadn't been necessary to hunt much.
They found a place to set up their camp near the small river, left their pack baskets and the travois, and started off in the direction of the herd with their spear-throwers and spears. Wolf was excited; they were changing their routine, and the spears and throwers signaled their intentions to him. Whinney and Racer seemed friskier, too, if only because they were no longer carrying pack baskets or dragging poles.
This group of red deer was a bachelor herd, and the antlers of the ancient elk were thick with velvet. By fall, in time for the rutting season, when the branching horns had reached their full growth for the year, the soft covering of skin and nourishing blood vessels would dry up and peel off—with help from the deer rubbing them against trees or rocks.
The woman and man stopped to appraise the situation. Wolf was full of anticipation, whining and making false starts. Ayla had to command him to stay still, so he wouldn't chase after and scatter the herd. Jondalar, glad to see him settle down, gave a passing thought of admiration at the way Ayla had trained him, then turned back to study the deer. Sitting astride the horse gave the man an overall view, and another advantage he would not have had on foot. Several of the antlered animals had stopped feeding, aware of the presence of the newcomers, but horses were not threatening. They were fellow grazers that were usually tolerated or ignored, if they were not signaling fear. Even with the presence of human and wolf, the deer were not yet concerned enough to run.
Looking over the herd to decide which one to try for, Jondalar was tempted by a magnificent stag with a commanding rack who seemed to be looking directly at him, as though assessing the man in return. Perhaps if he'd been with a band of hunters needing food for a whole Cave, and wanting to show off their prowess, he might have considered going after the majestic animal. But the man was sure that when autumn brought their season of Pleasures, many females would be eager to join the herd that chose him. Jondalar couldn't bring himself to kill such a proud and beautiful animal just for a little meat. He selected another deer.
"Ayla, see the one near the tall bush? On the edge of the herd?" The woman nodded. "He seems to be in a good position to break away from the others. Let's try for him."
They talked over their strategy, then separated. Wolf watched the woman on the horse closely and, at her signal, sprang forward toward the deer she indicated. Ayla, on the mare, was close on his heels. Jondalar was coming around from the other side, spear and thrower ready.
The deer sensed danger, and so did the rest of the herd. They were bounding away in all directions. The one they had chosen leaped away from the attacking wolf and the charging woman, straight at the man on the stallion. He came so close that Racer shied back.
Jondalar had been ready with his spear, but the stallion's quick move spoiled his aim and distracted him. The stag changed direction, trying to get away from the horse and human blocking his way, only to find a huge wolf in his path. In fear, the deer leaped to the side, away from the snarling predator, and dashed between Ayla and Jondalar.
As the deer made another bound, Ayla shifted weight as she took aim. Whinney, understanding the signal
, pounded after him. Jondalar recovered his balance and hurled his spear at the fleeing stag, just as Ayla loosed hers.
The proud antlers jerked once, and then again. Both spears landed with great force, almost simultaneously. The large stag tried to leap away again, but it was too late. The spears had found their mark. The red deer faltered, then fell in midstride.
The plains were empty. The herd had disappeared, but the hunters didn't notice, as they jumped off their horses beside the stag. Jondalar took his bone-handled knife out of its sheath, grabbed the velveted antlers, pulled the head back, and slit the throat of the large ancient elk. They stood silently and watched the blood pool around the head of the stag. The dry earth absorbed it.
"When you return to the Great Earth Mother, give Her our thanks," Jondalar said to the red deer lying dead upon the ground.
Ayla nodded agreement. She was accustomed to this ritual of his. Jondalar said similar words every time they killed an animal, even a small one, but she sensed it was never done by rote, just to be saying it. There was feeling and reverence in his words. His thanks were genuine.
The low, rolling plains gave way to steep hills, and birch trees appeared among the brush, then woods of hornbeam and beech with oak intermixed. At the lower elevations, the region resembled the wooded hills they had traveled beside near the delta of the Great Mother River. Climbing higher, they began to see fir and spruce and a few larch and pine among the huge deciduous trees.
They came to a clearing, an open, rounded knoll somewhat higher than the surrounding woodland. Jondalar halted to get his bearings, but Ayla was stopped by the view. They were higher in altitude than she realized. Toward the west, looking down over the tops of trees, she could see the Great Mother River in the distance, all her channels gathered together again, winding through a deep gorge of sheer rocky walls. She understood now why Jondalar had turned aside to find a way around.
"I've been on a boat in that passage," he said. "It's called the Gate."
"The Gate? You mean like a gate you'd make for a surround? To close the opening and trap animals inside?" Ayla asked.
"I don't know. I never asked, but maybe that is where the name came from. Although it's more like the fence you'd build on both sides leading up to the gate. It goes on for quite a distance. I wish I could take you on it." He smiled. "Maybe I will."
They headed north toward the mountain, downhill off the knoll for a space, then leveled out. In front of them, like an immense wall, was a long line of huge trees, the beginning of a deep, dense, mixed forest of hardwood and evergreens. The moment they stepped within the shade of the high canopy of leaves, they found themselves in a different world. It took a few moments for their eyes to adjust from the bright sun to the dim silent umbra of the primeval forest, but they felt the cool damp air immediately and smelled the rich dank luxuriance of growth and decay.
