The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [316]
“We can leave any time?”
“Of course.”
Ayla looked down at the ground, trying to make up her mind. She wanted to go with them; she felt an attraction to these people, and a curiosity to know more about them, but she felt a tight knot of fear in her stomach. She glanced up and saw two shaggy steppe horses grazing on the rich grass of the plain near the river, and her fear intensified.
“What about Whinney! What will we do with her? What if they want to kill her? I can’t let anyone hurt Whinney!”
Jondalar hadn’t thought about Whinney. What would they think? he wondered. “I don’t know what they will do, Ayla, but I don’t think they would kill her if we tell them she is special and not meant for food.” He remembered his surprise, and his initial feeling of awe over Ayla’s relationship with the horse. It would be interesting to see their reaction. “I have an idea.”
Talut did not understand what Ayla and Jondalar said to each other, but he knew the woman was reluctant, and the man was trying to coax her. He also noticed that she spoke with the same unusual accent, even in his language. His language, the headman realized, but not hers.
He was pondering the enigma of the woman with a certain relish—he enjoyed the new and unusual; the inexplicable challenged him. But then the mystery took on an entirely new dimension. Ayla whistled, loud and shrill. Suddenly, a hay-colored mare and a colt of an unusually deep shade of brown galloped into their midst, directly to the woman, and stood quietly while she touched them! The big man suppressed a shudder of awe. This was beyond anything he had ever known.
Was she Mamut? he wondered, with growing apprehension. One with special powers? Many of Those Who Served the Mother claimed magic to call animals and direct the hunt, but he had never seen anyone with such control over animals that they would come at a signal. She had a unique talent. It was a little frightening—but think how much a Camp could benefit from such talent. Kills could be so easy!
Just as Talut was getting over the shock, the young woman gave him another. Holding onto the mare’s stiff stand-up mane, she sprang up on the back of the horse and sat astride her. The big man’s mouth gaped open in astonishment as the horse with Ayla on her back galloped along the edge of the river. With the colt following behind, they raced up the slope to the steppes beyond. The wonder in Talut’s eyes was shared by the rest of the band, particularly a young girl of twelve years. She edged toward the headman and leaned against him as though for support.
“How did she do that, Talut?” the girl asked, in a small voice that held surprise and awe, and a tinge of yearning. “That little horse, he was so close, I could almost have touched him.”
Talut’s expression softened. “You’ll have to ask her, Latie. Or, perhaps, Jondalar,” he said, turning to the tall stranger.
“I’m not sure myself,” he replied. “Ayla has a special way with animals. She raised Whinney from a foal.”
“Whinney?”
“That’s as close as I can say the name she has given the mare. When she says it, you’d think she was a horse. The colt is Racer. I named him—she asked me to. That’s Zelandonii for someone who runs fast. It also means someone who tries hard to be best. The first time I saw Ayla, she was helping the mare deliver the colt.”
“That must have been a sight! I wouldn’t think a mare would let anyone get close to her at that time,” one of the other men said.
The riding demonstration had the effect Jondalar had hoped for, and he thought the time was right to bring up Ayla’s concern. “I think she’d like to come and visit your Camp, Talut, but she’s afraid you may think the horses are just any horses to be hunted, and since they are not afraid of people, they would be too easy to kill.”
“They would at that. You must have known what I was thinking, but who could help it?”
Talut watched Ayla riding back into view, looking like some strange animal, half-human and half-horse. He