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The place was familiar to Jondalar because he had collected gravel from the loose pile of scree to line paths and fireplaces. He felt a wave of anticipation, knowing they were close. Once across the rocky sliding slope, the trail had been evened out with a covering of the rock chips as it wound around the foot of the soaring wall. Ahead they could see sky between the trees and brush, and Jondalar knew they were approaching the edge of the cliff.
"Ayla, I think we should take the poles and the pack baskets off the horses here," the man said. "The path around the edge of this wall is not all that wide. We can come back and get them later."
After everything was unloaded, Ayla, following the young man, walked a short distance along the wall toward the open sky. Jondalar, trailing behind to watch, smiled when she reached the edge of the cliff and looked down—then stepped back quickly. She grabbed for the wall, feeling a touch of vertigo, then edged forward and looked out again. Her jaw dropped in amazement.
Far below, down the sheer cliff, was the same Great Mother River they had been following, but Ayla had never viewed her from this perspective. She had seen all the branches of the river contained in a single channel,
but it had always been from the level of a bank that was not much higher than the water itself. The urge to look down and watch from this height was compelling.
The often spread-out and meandering river was gathered together between walls of rock that soared straight out of the water from roots that extended deep into the earth. As the deep undercurrent raced elements of itself that moved against rock, the constrained force of the Great Mother River rolled by with silent power, undulating with an oily fluency of heaving swells folding and spilling over themselves. Though many more tributaries would be added before the magnificent river would attain her full capacity, even this far from the delta, she had already reached such an enormous size that the decrease was hardly noticeable, especially looking down upon her full measure of moving water.
An occasional pinnacle of soaring stone broke the surface in midstream, parting the waters with curls of foam, and while she watched, a log, finding its way blocked, bumped its way around one of them. Hardly noticed was a construction of wood directly below, close to the cliff. When she finally looked up, Ayla scanned the mountains on the other side. Though still rounded, they were taller and steeper than they had been downstream, nearly matching the height of the sharper peaks on her side. Separated only by the width of the river, the two ranges had once been joined until the sharp edge of time and tide cut a path through.
Darvalo was waiting patiently for Ayla to take in her first sight of the dramatic entry to the home of his people. He had lived there all his life and took it for granted, but he had seen the reaction of strangers before. It gave him a sense of pride when people were so overwhelmed, and it made him look more closely, seeing it anew through their eyes. When the woman finally turned to him, he smiled, then led her around the edge of the mountain wall, along a path that had been laboriously enlarged from the narrow ledge it had once been. The path could accommodate two people abreast, if they walked close together, which made it wide enough for someone to carry wood, animals that had been hunted, and other supplies with relative ease, and for the horses.
When Jondalar approached the edge of the cliff, he felt the familiar ache in his groin from looking far down over empty space, the ache that he had never entirely gotten over in all the time he had lived there. It wasn't so bad that he couldn't control it, and he did appreciate the spectacular view, as well as the work it had taken to hack out even a short section of solid stone using only stone boulders and heavy stone axes, but it didn't change the sensation he invariably felt. Even so, this was better than the other commonly used way of entry.
Keeping Wolf close to her, and Whinney just behind, Ayla followed the youth around the wall. On the other side was a level, roughly U-shaped area of appreciable size. Once, in long ages past when the huge inland basin to the west was a sea, and beginning to empty itself through the defile being worn down through the mountain ridge, the level of the water was much higher, and a sheltered bay had been formed. Now it was a protected embayment, high above the river.
Green grass covered the ground in front, growing nearly to the edge of the drop-off. About halfway back brush, huddling close to the sheer side walls, filled out, becoming small trees that continued up the steep grade at the back. Jondalar knew it was possible to climb the rear wall, though few people did. It was an inconvenient, roundabout exit that was seldom used. On the near side, in the rounded corner at the back, was a sandstone overhang, large enough to shelter several dwellings made of wood, making a comfortable, protected living area.
Across, on the mossy green far side, was the prize possession of the site. A spring of pure water starting high up trickled over rocks, splashed down ledges, and spilled over a smaller sandstone overhang in a long narrow waterfall to a pool beneath. It ran off along the opposite wall to the edge of the cliff and down rocky outcrops to the river.
Several people had stopped what they were doing when the procession, particularly the wolf and the horse, started coming around the wall. By the time Jondalar was in, he saw stunned apprehension on every face.
"Darvo! What are you bringing here?" a voice called out.
"Hola!" Jondalar said, greeting the people in their language. Then, seeing Dolando, he handed Racer's lead rope to Ayla and, putting an arm around Darvalo's shoulder, walked toward the leader of the Cave.
"Dolando! It's me, Jondalar!" he said as he neared.
"Jondalar? Is it really you?" Dolando said, recognizing the man, but still hesitant. "Where are you coming from?"
"East of here. I wintered with the Mamutoi."
"Who is that?" Dolando asked.
Jondalar knew the man must have been greatly disturbed to have ignored the common forms of courtesy. "Her name is Ayla, Ayla of the Mamutoi. The animals travel with us, too. They answer to her, or to me, and none of them will harm anyone," Jondalar said.
"Including the wolf?" Dolando asked.
"I touched the wolf's head and felt his fur," Darvalo said. "He didn't even try to hurt me."
Dolando looked at the lad. "You touched him?"
"Yes. She says you just have to get to know them."
"He's right, Dolando. I would not come here with anyone, or anything, that would cause harm. Come and meet Ayla, and the animals. You will see."
Jondalar led the man back to the center of the field. Several other people followed. The horses had begun to graze, but they stopped at the approach of the group. Winney moved in closer to the woman and stood alongside Racer, whose lead rope Ayla still held. Her other hand was on Wolf's head. The huge northern wolf was standing beside Ayla, watching defensively, but was not overtly threatening.
"How does she make the horses unafraid of the wolf?" Dolando asked.
"They know they have nothing to fear from him. They have known him since he was a tiny cub," Jondalar explained.
"Why aren't they running away from us?" the leader asked next, as they drew near.
"They have always been around people. I was there when the stallion was born," Jondalar replied. "I was badly hurt, and Ayla saved my life."
