The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [146]
“The glacier we have to cross isn’t in the north, is it?” Ayla asked after he came back to bed, her mind still on their Journey.
“Well, it’s north of here, but not as far as that wall of ice to the north. There is another range of mountains west of these, and the ice we must cross is on a highland north of them.”
“Is it hard to cross ice?”
“It’s very cold, and there can be terrible blizzards. In spring and summer it melts a little and the ice gets rotten. Big cracks split open. If you fall in a deep crack, no one can get you out. In winter, most of the cracks fill with snow and ice, though it can still be dangerous.”
Ayla shivered suddenly. “You said there’s a way around. Why do we have to cross the ice?”
“It’s the only way we can avoid fla … Clan country.”
“You were going to say flathead country.”
“It’s just the name I’ve always heard, Ayla,” Jondalar tried to explain. “It’s what everyone calls it. You’re going to have to get used to that word, you know. That is what most people call them.”
She ignored the comment, and went on, “Why do we have to avoid them?”
“There’s been some trouble.” He frowned. “I don’t even know if those northern flatheads are the same as your Clan.” He stopped, then went on. “But they didn’t start the trouble. On our way here, we heard of a band of young men who were … harassing them. They are Losadunai, the people who live near that plateau glacier.”
“Why do the Losadunai want to cause trouble with the Clan?” Ayla was puzzled.
“It’s not the Losadunai. Not all of them. They don’t want trouble. It’s just this band of young men. I guess they think it’s fan, or at least that’s how it started.”
Ayla thought that some people’s idea of fun didn’t sound like much fan to her, but it was their Journey that she couldn’t get off her mind, and how much farther they had to go. From the way Jondalar talked, they weren’t even close yet. She decided that it might be best not to think too far ahead. She tried to put it out of her mind.
She stared up into the night and wished she could see the sky through the high canopy. “Jondalar, I think I see stars up there. Can you see them?”
“Where?” he said, looking up.
“Over there. You have to look straight up and back a little. See?”
“Yes … Yes, I think I do. It’s nothing like the Mother’s path of milk, but I do see a few stars,” Jondalar said.
“What’s the Mother’s path of milk?”
“That’s another part of the story about the Mother and Her child,” he explained.
“Tell me it.”
“I’m not sure if I can remember. Let’s see, it goes something like…” He began to chant the rhythm without words, then came in at the middle of a verse.
Her blood clotted and dried into red-ochred soil.
But the luminous child made it all worth the toil.
The Mother’s great joy.
A bright shining boy.
Mountains rose up spouting flames from their crests,
She suckled Her son from Her mountainous breasts.
He suckled so hard, and the sparks flew so high,
The Mother’s hot milk laid a path through the sky.
“That’s it,” he concluded. “Zelandoni would be pleased that I remembered.”
“That’s wonderful, Jondalar. I love the sound of it, the way the sound of it feels.” She closed her eyes, repeating the verses to herself aloud a few times.
Jondalar listened, and was reminded of how quickly she could memorize. She repeated it exactly right after only one hearing. He wished his memory was as good and his knack for picking up language as quick as hers.
“It’s not really true, is it?” Ayla asked.
“What isn’t true?”
“That the stars are the Mother’s milk.”
“I don’t think they are really milk,” Jondalar said. “But I think there is truth in what the story means. The whole story.”
“What does the story mean?”
“It tells about the beginnings of things, how we came to be. That we were made by the Great Earth Mother, out of Her own body;