The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [103]
When the woman and man looked the other way, they were greeted with an entirely different vista, one that set their pulses racing. Toward the east, a vast expanse of water glinted in the sun; it was Beran Sea.
As she looked, Ayla realized that it was the same sea she had known in her childhood. At the southern end of a peninsula that jutted down from the north into that great body of water was the cave where she had lived with Bran’s clan when she was young. Living with the people of the Clan had often been difficult. Still she had many happy memories of her childhood, although thoughts of the son she had been forced to leave behind inevitably saddened her. She knew this was as close as she would get to the son she would never see again.
It was best for him to live with the Clan. With Uba as his mother, and old Bran to train him to hunt with a spear, and a bola, and a sling, and to teach him the ways of the Clan, Durc would be loved and accepted, not reviled and made fun of the way Rydag had been. But she couldn’t help wondering about him. Was his clan still living on the peninsula, or had they moved closer to some of the other clans that lived on the mainland or in the high eastern mountains?
“Ayla! Look, down there. That’s the delta, and you can see Donau, or at least a small part of it. On the other side of the large island, see that brown muddy water? I think that’s the main northern arm. There it is, the end of the Great Mother River!” Jondalar said, excitement filling his voice.
He, too, was overcome with memories that were tinged with sadness. The last time he had seen that river, he had been with his brother, and now Thonolan was gone to the world of the spirits. Suddenly he remembered the stone with the opalescent surface that he had taken from the place where Ayla had buried his brother. She had said it held the essence of Thonolan’s spirit, and he planned to give it to his mother and Zelandoni when he returned. It was in his pack basket. Maybe he should get it out and carry it with him, he thought.
“Oh, Jondalar! Over there, by the river, is that smoke? Are people living near that river?” Ayla said, excited at the prospect.
“There could be,” Jondalar said.
“Let’s hurry then.” She started back down the hill with Jondalar riding beside her. “Who do you think it might be?” she asked. “Someone you know?”
“Maybe. The Sharamudoi sometimes come this far in their boats to trade. That’s how Markeno met Tholie. She was with a Mamutoi Camp that had come for salt and shells.” He stopped and glanced around, looking more closely at the delta and the island just across a narrow channel; then he studied the land downstream. “In fact, I don’t think we are very far from the place where Brecie had Willow Camp set up … last summer. Was it just last summer? She took us there after her Camp rescued Thonolan and me from the quicksand.…”
Jondalar closed his eyes, but Ayla saw the pain. “They were the last people my brother ever saw … except for me. We traveled together for a while longer. I kept hoping he would get over her, but he didn’t want to live without Jetamio. He wanted the Mother to take him,” Jondalar said. Then, looking down, he added, “And then we met Baby.”
Jondalar looked up at Ayla, and she saw his expression change. The pain was still there, and she recognized that special look that showed when his love for her was almost more than he could bear; more than she could bear. But there was something else, too, something that frightened her.
“I could never understand why Thonolan wanted to die … then.” He turned away and, urging Racer to a faster pace, called back, “Come on. You said you wanted to hurry.”
Ayla signaled Whinney to a fast run, trying to be more careful, and she trailed behind the man on the galloping stallion who was racing toward the river. But the ride was exhilarating and had the effect of driving away the strange, sad mood that the place had evoked in both of them. The wolf, excited by the fast pace, ran along with them, and