The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [291]
The young horse nuzzled in for his share of attention. She scratched and stroked, then hugged him. “No matter what Jondalar says, Whinney, I think your stallion gave you Racer. He’s even the same color, and there are not many brown horses. I suppose it could have been his spirit, but I don’t think so.
“I wish I could have a baby. Jondalar’s baby. I can’t—what would I do after he goes?” She blanched with a feeling close to terror. “Goes! Oh, Whinney, Jondalar is going to leave!”
She raced out of the cave and down the steep path, more by feel than sight. Her eyes were blinded by tears. She dashed across the rocky beach until she was stopped by the jutting wall, then huddled near it, sobbing. Jondalar is leaving. What will I do? How can I stand it? What can I do to make him stay? Nothing!
She hugged herself and hunkered down, leaning into the stone barrier as if trying to fend off some ravaging blow. She would be alone again when he left. Worse than alone: without Jondalar. What will I do here without him? Maybe I should leave too, find some Others and stay with them. No, I can’t do that. They will ask where I come from, and Others hate the Clan. I will be abomination to them, unless I make words that are untrue.
I cannot, I cannot shame Creb or Iza. They loved me, cared for me. Uba is my sister, and she is taking care of my son. The Clan is my family. When I had no one, the Clan took care of me, and now the Others don’t want me.
And Jondalar is leaving. I will have to live here alone, all my life. I might as well be dead. Broud cursed me; he has won after all. How can I live without Jondalar?
Ayla cried until she had no tears left, only a desolate emptiness inside. She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, and she noticed she still held the donii. She turned it around, marveling as much at the concept of making a piece of ivory into a small woman as at the figurine itself. In the moonlight, it resembled her even more. The hair carved into braids, the eyes in shadow, the nose and shape of the cheek, reminded her of her own reflection in a pool of water.
Why had Jondalar put her face on this symbol of the Earth Mother whom the Others revered? Was her spirit captured, linked with the one he called Doni? Creb had said her spirit was held with the Cave Lion’s by her amulet, and by Ursus, the Great Cave Bear, the Clan’s totem. She had been given a piece of the spirit of each member of the Clan when she became a medicine woman, and they had not been taken back after her death curse.
Clan and Others, totems and the Mother, all had some claim to that invisible part of her called spirit. I think my spirit must be confused, she thought—I know I am.
A cool wind urged her back up to the cave. Moving the cold spitted roast out of the way, she built up a small fire, trying not to disturb Jondalar, and started water heating for a tea to help her relax. She couldn’t go to sleep yet. She stared at the flames while she waited, and she thought about the many times she had stared at flames to see a semblance of life. The hot tongues of light danced along the wood, leaping for the taste of a new piece, then drawing back and leaping again, until they claimed it, and devoured it.
“Doni! It’s you! It’s you!” Jondalar cried out in his sleep. Ayla jumped up and went to him. He was tossing and thrashing, obviously dreaming. She wondered if she should wake him. Suddenly his eyes flew open, looking startled.
“Are you all right, Jondalar?” she asked.
“Ayla? Ayla! Is it you?”
“Yes, it’s I.”
His eyes closed again, and he mumbled something incoherent. He hadn’t been awake, she realized. It had been part of his dream, but he was calmer. She watched him until he relaxed, and then she went back to the fire. She let the flame die down as she sipped her tea. Finally feeling sleepy again, she removed her wrap and crawled in beside Jondalar and pulled the furs around her. The man’s sleeping warmth made her think how cold it would be when he was gone—and from her vast reservoir of emptiness, new tears emerged. She cried herself