The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [135]
Continuing south along the river and moving farther away from the major range, they gained the perspective of distance. Looking back, they began to see the full extent of the long line of lofty crests going west. Ice glistened on the highest tors, while snow mantled their steep sides and covered the adjoining ridges in white—a constant reminder that the short season of summer heat on the southern plains was only a brief interlude in a land ruled by ice.
After leaving the mountains behind, the view of the west seemed vacant; uninterrupted arid steppes presented a featureless plain as far as they could see. Without the variety of the forested hills to change the pace, or the rugged heights to break their view, one day blended into another with little change as they followed the left bank of the marshy waterway south. At one place the river came together for a time, and they could see steppes and a richer growth of trees on the opposite side, though there were still islands and reed beds within the great stream.
Before the day was over, however, the Great Mother was spreading out again. Following her, the journeyers continued south, veering only slightly west. As they drew closer, the distant purple hills gained altitude and began to exhibit their own character. In contrast to the sharp peaks of the north, the mountains to the south, though they reached summits high enough to keep a blanket of snow and ice until well into summer, were rounded, giving the appearance of uplands.
The southern mountains also affected the course of the river. When the travelers neared them, they noticed the great stream changing, with a pattern they had seen before. Meandering channels came together and straightened, then joined with others, and finally with the main arms. Reed beds and islands disappeared and the several channels formed one deep, broad channel as the huge waterway came sweeping around a wide bend toward them.
Jondalar and Ayla followed her around the inside turn until they were again facing west, toward the sun setting in a deep red hazy sky. There were no clouds that Jondalar could see, and he wondered what was causing the vibrant uniform color that reflected off the craggy pinnacles to the north, the rugged uplands across the river, and tinged the rippling water with the hue of blood.
They continued upstream along the left bank, looking for a good place to camp. Ayla found herself studying the river again, intrigued by the magnificent stream. Several tributaries of various sizes, some rather large, had flowed into the broad river from both sides, each contributing to her prodigious volume downstream. Ayla understood that the Great Mother was smaller now, by the volume of each river they had passed, but she was so vast that it was still hard to see any diminishing of her tremendous capacity. Yet at some deep level the young woman felt it.
Ayla woke before dawn. She loved the mornings, when it was still cool. She made her bitter-tasting contraceptive medicine, then readied a cup of tarragon-and-sage tea for the sleeping man and another for herself. She drank it watching the morning sun wake up the mountains to the north. It began with the first pink hint of predawn defining the two icy peaks, spreading slowly at first, reflecting a rosy glow in the east. Then suddenly, even before the edge of the glowing ball of fire sent a tentative gleam above the horizon, the blazing mountaintops heralded its coming.
When the woman and man started out again, they expected to see the great river spread out; so they were surprised when she remained within a single wide channel. A few brush-covered islands formed within the broad stream, but she didn’t split into separate waterways. They were so used to seeing her meandering across the level