The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [404]
“Get away from him,” the man said, but the bravado was belied by the fear she detected in his voice.
Ayla paused, frankly appraised the man, and realized his objection was for the benefit of the band of men, not because he particularly cared about the one who was wounded.
She continued her examination. “He’ll have a headache for a few days, but he’ll be fine. If I had seriously meant to harm him, I would not have held back. He would be dead, Charoli.”
“How do you know my name?” the young man blurted out, frightened but trying not to show it. How did this stranger know who he was?
Ayla shrugged. “We know more than your name.”
She glanced in the direction of the man and woman of the Clan. To most of the people there, they seemed impassive, but Ayla could see their shock and uneasiness in the subtle shadings of expression and posture. They were warily watching the people of the Others, trying to make sense out of the strange turn of events.
For the time being, the man thought, they seemed to be in no danger of further attack, but that big man, why had he helped them … or seemed to help them. Why would a man of the Others fight men of his kind to help them? And what about the woman? If she was a woman. She used a weapon, one he understood, better than most men he knew. What kind of woman used a weapon? Against men of her own kind? Even more disquieting was the wolf, an animal that seemed to be threatening those men that had been hurting his woman … his own very special new woman. Perhaps the tall man had a Wolf Totem, but totems were spirits, and that was a real wolf. All he could do was wait. Hold the pain inside himself and wait.
Seeing his subtle glance at Wolf, and guessing his fears, Ayla decided to get all the shocks over with at once. She whistled, a distinctive, imperative sound that resembled the call of a bird, but no bird anyone had ever heard. Everyone stared at her, apprehensively, but when nothing happened immediately, they relaxed. Too soon. Before long, they heard hoofbeats, and then two docile horses, a mare and an unusual brown stallion, appeared and went straight to the woman.
What kind of strangeness was this? Was he dead, and in the world of the spirits? the man of the Clan wondered.
The horses seemed to frighten the young men even more than the people of the Clan. Though they buried it under sarcasm and bravado, prodding each other into more and more daring and degrading activities, each of them carried a tight knot of guilt and fear deep inside. Someday, each man was sure, he would be discovered and held accountable. Some of them actually wished for it, to get it over with before things got even worse, if it wasn’t too late already.
Danasi, the one who had been subject to derision because he was having trouble subduing the woman, had talked about it to a couple of the others that he thought he could trust. Flathead women were one thing, but that girl, not even a woman yet, who cried and fought. Granted, it was exciting at the time—women at that stage were always exciting—but afterward he had been ashamed, and fearful of Duna’s retribution. What would She do to them?
And now, suddenly here was a woman, a stranger, with a big fair-haired man—wasn’t Her lover supposed to be bigger and more fair than other men?—and a wolf! And horses that came at her call. No one had ever seen her before, yet she knew who they were. She had a strange way of speaking, she must have come from far away, but she knew their language. Did they speak where she came from? Was she a dunai? A Mother spirit in human form? Danasi shuddered.
“What do you want with us?” Charoli said. “We weren’t bothering you. We were just having a little fun with some flatheads. What’s wrong with having a little sport with some animals?”
Jondalar watched Ayla struggle to restrain herself. “And Madenia?” he asked. “Was she animal, too?”
They knew! The young men