The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [305]
It was a difficult moment for Ayla. She was being required to make a choice between two wrongs, but she was the one who had insisted that they return to help, even though it put their own lives in jeopardy. She had to overcome her ingrained compulsion to be absolutely truthful; she had to choose the lesser wrong, to adapt, if they were to have any chance of saving the boys and men of the Camp, and themselves, from the madness of Attaroa.
“Ayla,” Jondalar said. “Ayla?” he repeated, when she had not responded to his question.
“Uh … yes?”
“I said, what about Wolf? Are you going to take him into the Camp, too?”
She paused to think about it. “No, I don’t think so. They know about the horses, but they don’t know about a wolf. Considering what they like to do with wolves, I don’t see any reason why we should give them an opportunity to get too close to him. I’ll tell him to stay in hiding. I think he will, if he sees me once in a while.”
“Where will he hide? It’s mostly open country around the settlement.”
Ayla thought for a moment. “Wolf can stay where I was hiding when I watched you, Jondalar. We can go around from here to the uphill side. There are some trees and brush along a small stream leading up to the place. You can wait for me there with the horses; then we can go back around and ride into the Camp from another direction.”
No one noticed them entering the field from the fringe of woods, and the first ones who saw the woman and man, each on a separate horse, cantering across the open land toward the settlement, had the feeling that they had simply appeared. By the time they reached Attaroa’s large earthlodge, everyone who could had gathered to watch them. Even the men in the Holding were crowded behind the fence watching through the cracks.
Attaroa stood with her hands on her hips and her legs apart, assuming her attitude of command. Though she would never admit it, she was shocked and more than a little concerned to see them, and this time both on horses. The few times that anyone had ever gotten away from her, he had run as far and as fast as he could. No one had ever voluntarily come back. What power did these two possess that they felt confident enough to return? With her underlying fear of reprisal from the Great Mother and Her world of spirits, Attaroa wondered what the reappearance of the enigmatic woman and the tall, handsome man might signify, but her words showed none of her worry.
“So you did decide to come back,” she said, looking to S’Armuna to translate.
Jondalar thought the shaman seemed surprised, too, but he sensed her relief. Before she translated Attaroa’s words into Zelandonii, she spoke to them directly.
“No matter what she says, I would advise you not to stay in her lodge, son of Marthona. My offer is still open to both of you,” she said before repeating Attaroa’s comment.
The headwoman eyed S’Armuna, sure she had spoken more words than were necessary to translate. But without knowing the language, she couldn’t be sure.
“Why shouldn’t we come back, Attaroa? Weren’t we invited to a feast in our honor?” Ayla said. “We have brought our contribution of food.”
As her words were translated, Ayla threw her leg over and slid down from Whinney’s back, then lifted the largest bowl and set it on the ground between Attaroa and S’Armuna. She picked up the basket cover, and the delicious aroma from the huge mound of grains cooked with other foods made everyone stare in wonder as their mouths watered. It was a treat they had seldom enjoyed in recent years, especially in winter. Even Attaroa was momentarily overwhelmed.
“There seems to be enough for everyone,” she said.
“That is only for the women and children,” Ayla said. Then she took the slightly smaller woven bowl that Jondalar had just brought and put it down beside the first. She lifted the lid and announced, “This is for the men.”
A murmuring undercurrent arose from behind the fence, and from