The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [356]
“I would not want to fall into that,” Ayla said, shuddering at the thought.
“Nor would I,” Jondalar responded.
Ayla’s gaze was drawn to another site in the distance. “Where are those clouds of steam coming from, Jondalar?” she asked. “It’s freezing, and the hills are covered with snow.”
“There are pools of hot water over there, water warmed by the hot breath of Doni Herself. Some people are afraid to go near such places, but the people I want to visit live near such a deep hot well, or so they told me. The hot wells are sacred to them, even though some smell very bad. It’s said they use the water to cure illness.”
“How long before we reach those people you know? The ones who use water to cure illness,” she asked. Anything that might add to her wealth of medical knowledge always piqued her interest. Besides, food was getting scarcer, or they didn’t want to take the time to look for it—but they had gone to bed hungry a couple of days.
The slope of the land increased noticeably beyond the last flat basin. They were hemmed in by highlands on both sides as the mountains pressed in. The mantel of ice to the south was increasing in height as they continued west. Far to the south and still somewhat west, two peaks soared far above all the other rugged mountaintops, one higher than the other, like a mated pair watching over their brood of children.
Where the highland leveled out near a shallower place in the river, Jondalar turned south, away from the river, toward a cloud of rising steam in the distance. They climbed a low ridge and looked down from the top across a snow-covered meadow at a steaming pool of water near a cave.
Several people had noticed their approach and stared in consternation, too shocked to move. One man, however, was aiming a spear at them.
35
I think we’d better get off the horses and approach them on foot,” Jondalar said, watching several more spear-carrying men and women warily coming forward. “You’d think by now I would remember that people are scared and suspicious of riding on horses. We probably should have left them out of sight and walked in, then gone back for them after we had time to explain about the animals.”
They both dismounted, and Jondalar had a sudden and poignant memory of his “little brother,” Thonolan, smiling his big, friendly grin and walking confidently up to a Cave or Camp of strangers. Taking it as a sign, the tall blond man smiled broadly, waved in friendliness, pushed back the hood of his parka so he could be more easily seen, then stepped forward with both hands outstretched, showing he was coming to them openly, with nothing to hide.
“I’m looking for Laduni of the Losadunai. I am Jondalar of the Zelandonii,” he said. “My brother and I were traveling east on a Journey a few years ago, and Laduni asked us to stop and visit on the way back.”
“I am Laduni,” said a man, speaking a slightly accented Zelandonii. He walked toward them, holding his spear in readiness, looking closely to make sure the strange man was who he said he was. “Jondalar? Of the Zelandonii? You do look like the man I met.”
Jondalar sensed the cautious tone. “That’s because I am! It’s good to see you, Laduni,” he said with warmth. “I wasn’t sure if I turned off at the right place. I’ve been all the way to the end of the Great Mother River, and beyond, and then, closer to home, I had trouble finding your Cave, but the steam from your hot wells helped. I brought someone I’d like you to meet.”
The older man eyed Jondalar, trying to detect any hint that he was something other than what he seemed: a man he knew who happened to arrive in a most peculiar fashion. He looked a little older, which was reasonable, and even more like Dalanar. He had seen the old flint knapper again a few years before when he came on a trading mission and, Laduni suspected, to find out whether the son of his hearth and his brother had passed that way. Dalanar will be very glad to see him, Laduni thought.