The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [185]
Before she knew it, a bend in the river and a cliff alongside it blocked her view of the last place to escape from the churning water. Zelandoni turned her head back around to the front and frantically searched for the rope handles extending from the ties that held the logs together, which she had been shown when she climbed aboard the floating structure. She was sitting on a heavy cushion made of leather somewhat waterproofed with grease that had been burnished into the hide, but a good soaking was expected when riding a raft.
Ahead, the river was a raging mass of foaming white water. It came up between the logs, and splashed over the sides and front. She noticed the roar of the roiling river growing louder as the powerful current carried them between cliffs rising high on both sides of the rushing waterway.
Then they were in the middle of the maelstrom, with water splashing over rocks and around boulders that had been eroded away from the cliffs and outcrops by the forces of extreme cold, fierce winds, and rough water. The First stifled a gasp when she felt a spray of cold water on her face as the front of the raft dove into the churning, racing whitewater.
Usually, if there were no storms or tributaries adding more to the volume, the quantity of water in The River stayed about the same, but a change in the riverbed and channel changed the condition of the flow. At a crossing place, where the river widened out and became more shallow, the water rippled and bubbled easily around the rocks in the middle of the stream, but as the cliff walls drew closer together, and the slope of the riverbed dropped more steeply, the same amount of water confined to the narrower space surged through with more force. That force was taking the raft made of wooden logs with it.
Zelandoni was frightened, but excited, too, and her estimation of the expertise of the rafters of the Eleventh Cave rose immensely after watching them control the craft that was being so rapidly propelled down the lower reaches of The River. The man with the pole was now using it to push them away from boulders that emerged in the middle of the river, and to keep them away from the cliff walls that rose up at the water’s edge. The rower sometimes did the same, and at other times tried to help steer the way through channels that had no obstructions, along with the woman who controlled the rudder and guided the cumbersome craft. They had to work together as a team, yet think independently.
They turned around a bend and the raft suddenly slowed, though the river spilled just as rapidly down around them, as the bottom of the watercraft scraped along a section of the river that flowed downhill across the smooth stone of barely submerged solid rock. This was the most difficult part of the river to navigate on their return, having to pole up the shallow, steep riverbed. Sometimes they got out of the river and carried the raft around the place. Coming off the rock, they skidded down through a small waterfall at the side and ended up in a notch in the rock wall to the left, a backflowing eddy holding them in place. They were floating but they were trapped, unable to continue downstream.
“This happens sometimes, though it hasn’t for a while,” said the woman controlling the rudder. Shenora was holding it up out of the water now, and had been since they started round the bend. “We have to push away from the wall, but it can be difficult. It’s hard to swim out of here, too. If you got off the raft now, the water could grab you and pull you down. We need to get out of this back eddy. The second raft will be here soon, and they could help us, but they might run into us and get caught, too.”
The man with the pole put his bare feet into the cracks between the logs of the raft for traction, to keep them from slipping, then pushed at the cliff wall with his pole, straining to make the raft move. The one with the oar was also trying to help push against the wall, although the handles of the paddles