The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [67]
Suddenly she was deep in the cave, following a long, narrow passage. There was a light! A torch with its beckoning flame, and then another, and then the sickening roar of an earthquake. A wolf bowled. She felt a whirling, spinning vertigo, and then Creb was inside her mind. “Get out!” he commanded. “Hurry! Get out now!”
She sat up with a start, throwing her sleeping furs off, and bolted for the tent opening.
“Ayla! What is it!” Jondalar said, grabbing her.
Suddenly a brilliant flash of light could be seen through the skin of the tent, and in a bright outline around the seams of the smoke-hole flap, and the crack around the entrance left open for Wolf. It was followed almost instantly by a loud, sharp boom. Ayla screamed, and Wolf howled outside the tent.
“Ayla, Ayla. It’s all right,” the man said, holding her in his arms. “It’s just lightning and thunder.”
“We have to get out! He said to hurry. Get out now!” she said, fumbling into her clothes.
“Who said? We can’t go out there. It dark, and it’s raining.”
“Creb. In my dream. I had that dream again, with Creb. He said. Come on, Jondalar! We have to hurry.”
“Ayla, calm down. It was just a dream, and probably the storm. Listen to it. It sounds like a waterfall out there. You don’t want to go out in that rain. Let’s wait until morning.”
“Jondalar! I have to go. Creb told me to, and I can’t stand this place,” she said. “Please, Jondalar. Hurry.” Tears were streaming down her face, though she was oblivious to them, as she piled things into pack baskets.
He decided he might as well. It was obvious she wasn’t going to wait until morning, and he’d never get back to sleep now. He reached for his clothes while Ayla opened the entrance flap. The rain poured in as though someone had spilled it from a waterbag. She went outside and whistled, loud and long. It was followed by another wolf howl. After a wait, Ayla whistled again, then began tearing the tent stakes out of the ground.
She heard the hoofbeats of the horses and cried with relief to see them, though the salt of her tears was lost in the pouring deluge. She reached out to Whinney, her friend who had come to help her, and hugged the soaking-wet mare around the sturdy neck and felt the frightened horse shivering. She swished her tail and circled nervously with small prancing steps; at the same time she turned her head and flicked her ears back and forth, trying to find and identify the source of her apprehension. The horse’s fears helped the woman bring her own under control. Whinney needed her. She spoke to the animal in gentling tones, stroking and trying to calm her, and then felt Racer leaning on them, if anything more frightened than his dam.
She tried to settle him, but he soon backed away in prancing little steps. She left them together while she hurried to the tent for the harnesses and pack baskets. Jondalar had rolled up sleeping furs and piled them in his pack before he heard the sound of hooves, and he had gotten harnesses and Racer’s halter ready.
“The horses are very frightened, Jondalar,” Ayla said when she came into the tent. “I think Racer’s ready to bolt. Whinney is calming him a little, but she’s scared, too, and he’s making her more nervous.”
He picked up the halter and went out. The wind and the pouring rain washed over him in sheets, almost knocking him down. It was raining so hard that he felt as though he were standing in a waterfall. It was much worse than he thought. Before long the tent would have been awash, and the rain would soon have soaked the ground cover and their sleeping furs. He was glad Ayla had insisted they get up and leave. In another flash of light, he saw her struggling to tie pack baskets on Whinney. The bay stallion was beside them.
“Racer! Racer, come here. Come on, Racer,” he called. A great roaring boom tore through the air, sounding as though the very skies were breaking apart.