The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [74]
“How do you know so much?” Jondalar asked with a little smile. For all her lack of knowledge of the world of the spirits, her ingenuous and spontaneous observations made sense to him in a way, and displayed a genuine and thoughtful intelligence, though he had no way of knowing if there was any merit in the ideas. If Zelandoni were there, he could ask her, he thought. Then suddenly he realized they were going home, and he would be able to ask her, some day soon.
“I lost pieces of my spirit when I was a little girl and the people I was born to were taken by the earthquake. Then Iza took a piece when she died, and Creb, and so did Rydag. Even though he isn’t dead, even Durc has a piece of me, of my spirit, that I will never see. Your brother took a piece of you with him, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” Jondalar said, “he did. I will always miss him, and always hurt about it. Sometimes I still think it was my fault, and I would have done anything to save him.”
“I don’t think there is anything you could have done, Jondalar. The Mother wanted him, and it is for Her to decide, not for someone to search for a way to the next world.”
When they got back to the tall sallow brush where they had spent the night, they began going through their belongings. Almost everything was at least damp, and many things were still very wet. They untied the swollen knots that still tied the ground cover to the upper shaped part of the tent and, each taking an end and twisting in opposite directions, tried to wring the pieces out. But too much twisting put a strain on the stitching. When they decided to erect the tent to begin letting it dry out, they discovered they had lost some of the tent poles.
They spread the ground cover out over the brush, and then checked their outer clothes, which were also still quite wet. Objects that were in the pack baskets had fared a little better. Many things were damp, but would probably dry soon enough, if they had a warm, dry place to air them out. The open steppes would be fine during the day, but that’s when they needed to travel, and it could get damp and cool on the ground at night. They did not look forward to sleeping in a wet tent.
“I think it’s time for some hot tea,” Ayla said, feeling discouraged. It was already later than usual. She got a fire started and put heating stones in it, thinking about breakfast. That was when she realized they didn’t have the food left from their evening meal the night before.
“Oh, Jondalar, we don’t have anything to eat this morning,” she complained. “It’s still down in that valley. I left the grains in my good cooking basket near the hot coals in the fireplace. The cooking basket is gone, too. I have others, but it was a good one. At least I still have my medicine bag,” she said with obvious relief when she found it. “And the otter skin still resists water, even as old as it is. Everything inside is dry. At least I can make tea for us, I have some good-tasting herbs in it. I’ll get some water,” she said, then looked around. “Where’s my tea-making basket? Did I lose that, too? I thought I brought it into the tent when it began to rain. It must have dropped when we were hurrying to leave.”
“We left something else back there that isn’t going to make you very happy,” Jondalar said.
“What?” Ayla said, looking upset.
“Your parfleche, and the long poles.”
She shut her eyes and shook her head in dismay. “Oh, no. That was a good meat-keeper and it was full of roe deer meat. And those poles. They were just the right size. It’s going to be hard to replace them. I’d better see if anything else was lost and make sure the emergency food is all right.”
She reached for the pack basket