“Maybe Hollida would like to watch her, especially if Zelandoni will keep an eye on them,” Ayla said.
Jondalar sat up. “Where is Zelandoni? She’s not here.”
“I heard her get up earlier. I think she went to talk to the Fifth,” Ayla said. “If we leave Jonayla, perhaps we should leave Wolf, too, though I’m not sure how the people of this Cave feel about him. They seemed a little nervous around him while we were eating last night. This is not the Ninth Cave.… Let’s take Jonayla with us. I can take her in her carrying blanket. She likes to ride.”
Jondalar pulled the top of their sleeping roll back and got up. Ayla got up too, leaving the baby who had been sleeping at her side to wake up while she went to pass her water.
“It rained last night,” Ayla said when she got back.
“Now aren’t you glad you stayed inside, in the tent and under cover?” Jondalar said.
Ayla didn’t answer. She hadn’t slept well. She just couldn’t get comfortable, but they did stay dry and the tent aired out.
Jonayla had rolled over on her stomach and was kicking her legs and holding her head up. She had also rolled out of her swaddling, and the soiled absorbent wadding it held in place. Ayla collected the unpleasant material and dumped it in the night basket, rolled up the damp, softened-leather swaddling blanket, then picked up the baby and headed down to the small stream to clean the little one, herself, and the blanket. She rinsed herself and the baby in the running water, a procedure to which the baby was now so accustomed, she didn’t even fuss about it, though it was cold. Ayla hung the swaddling across some brush near the water, then got dressed and found a comfortable place to sit outside of the stone shelter to nurse her infant.
In the meantime, Jondalar had found the horses not far up the valley, brought them back to the abri, and was tying riding blankets on the backs of both Whinney and Racer. At Ayla’s suggestion, he tied equally balanced pack baskets across the mare’s rump as well, but had some difficulty when Gray started nuzzling her dam, trying to nurse. About the time they were ready to go to what Ayla thought of as the main shelter in this place of many shelters, Wolf returned. She assumed he had gone off to hunt earlier, but he appeared so suddenly, he spooked Whinney, which surprised the woman. Whinney was normally a calm horse and the wolf didn’t usually alarm her; it was Racer who was more excitable, but all the horses seemed skittish, even the little filly. And Wolf, too, Ayla thought as he pressed against her as though looking for attention. She felt odd herself. Something seemed off, just not quite right. She looked at the sky to see if any storm threatened; a film of high clouds made the sky white with telltale traces of blue. They probably all needed a good run.
Jondalar put the halters on Racer and Gray. He had also made one for Whinney but Ayla used it only on special occasions. Before she even knew she was training Whinney, she had taught the mare to follow her; she still didn’t think of it as training. When she showed Whinney what to do, and repeated the instruction many times until she understood, then the mare did it because she wanted to. It was similar to the way Iza had trained Ayla to remember the many different plants and herbs, and their uses, by repetition and rote memorization.
When they were all packed, they walked to the shelter of the Zelandoni of the Fifth Cave, and again the procession of man, woman, baby, wolf, and horses caused the people to stop what they were doing and watch, hard pressed to avoid the discourtesy of outright staring. Both the Fifth and the One Who Was First walked out from the shelter.
“Come and join us for a morning meal,” the man said.
“The horses are agitated and we’ve decided to take them out for some exercise to run off their restlessness and settle them down,” Jondalar said.
“We just arrived yesterday. Don’t they get enough exercise traveling?” the First said.
“When we’re traveling and they are pulling loads, they don’t run or gallop,” Ayla explained. “Sometimes they need to stretch their legs.”
“Well, at least come and have some tea, and we’ll pack up some food for you to take with you,” the Zelandoni of the Fifth said.
Ayla and Jondalar looked at each other, and understood that although they would have preferred to just leave, it might offend the Fifth Cave, and that would not be appropriate. They nodded to each other in acquiescence.
“Thank you, we will,” Jondalar said, reaching into the carrying pouch attached to his waist thong and pulling out his personal drinking cup. Ayla also found her cup and passed it down to a woman near the fireplace who was ladling out the hot liquid. She filled the drinking containers, and handed them back. Rather than settling down to graze while they were waiting, the horses were markedly apprehensive, displaying their anxiety. Whinney was dancing in place, sniffing loudly as furrows appeared over her eyes. Gray was picking up her dam’s nervous symptoms, and Racer was sidestepping with his neck arched high. Ayla tried to comfort the mare, running her hand along the side of her neck, and Jondalar was having to hang on to the rope halter to keep the stallion from breaking away.
Ayla glanced across the stream dividing the valley and watched some children running and screaming alongside the waterway in some kind of game that to her seemed more frenzied than usual, even for excited youngsters. She watched them dashing in and out of the shelters, and suddenly had a feeling that it was dangerous, though she didn’t see how it could be. Just as she was about to speak to Jondalar and tell him they had to go, some people brought them rawhide-wrapped packages of food. The couple thanked everyone as they stashed the parfleches in the pack baskets on Whinney; then with the help of some nearby rocks, they climbed up onto the horses’ backs and started riding out of the valley.
As soon as they reached a clear, open field, they eased their control and let the horses run. It was exhilarating and lessened Ayla’s nervousness, but didn’t eliminate it. Finally the horses grew tired and slowed down. Jondalar noticed a stand of trees in the distance and guided Racer in that direction. Ayla saw where he was heading and followed. The young filly, who could already run as fast as her mother, trailed behind. Young horses quickly learned to run fast; they had to if they were going to survive. The wolf raced along with them; he also enjoyed a good run.
As they neared the trees, they could see a small pool, obviously spring fed, that overflowed its banks in a rill that ran off across the field. But as they neared the pool, Whinney suddenly stopped short, which nearly knocked Ayla to the ground. She wrapped her arm around her baby, who had been sitting in front of her, and quickly slid down from the mare’s back. She noticed Jondalar having trouble with Racer, too. The stallion reared up, neighing loudly, and the tall man slid back, then quickly stepped off. He didn’t fall, but had trouble regaining his footing.
Ayla became aware of a loud rumbling, feeling it as much as hearing it, and realized it had been going on for some time. She glanced ahead and saw the water in the pool shoot up in a fountain as though someone had squeezed the spring and sent a squirt of liquid up in the air. It was only then that she noticed the ground was moving.
Ayla knew what it was—she had felt the earth shift beneath her feet before—and felt a gorge of panic rise up in her throat. The earth was not supposed to move. She struggled to keep her balance. Petrified, she clung to her baby, afraid to take a step.
She watched the knee-high grass of the open field perform a strange, quivering dance as the groaning earth moved in unnatural ways to unheard music deep within. Ahead, the small stand of trees near the spring amplified the movement. The water bounced up and fell back, swirled over its bank, churned up dirt from its bed, and spit out muddy globs. She smelled the stench of raw earth; then with a crack, one fir tree suddenly gave way and slowly began to tip over, pulling up and exposing half its circle of roots.
The shaking seemed to go on forever. It brought back recollections of other times, and the losses that had come with the moving, groaning earth. She shut her eyes tight, trembling, and sobbed with grief and fear. Jonayla started to cry. Then Ayla felt a hand on her shoulder, and arms wrap around her and the baby that offered solace and comfort. She leaned against the warm chest of the man she loved, and the baby quieted. Slowly, she became aware that the quaking had stopped and the shuddering earth had stilled, and she felt the tightness inside her lessen.
“Oh, Jondalar,” she cried. “That was an earthquake. I hate earthquakes!” She trembled in his arms. She thought, but didn’t want to say it aloud—voicing thoughts could give them power—that earthquakes were evil; bad things always seemed to happen when the earth shook.
“I don’t much like them either,” he said, holding his fragile little family close. Ayla looked around, and noticed the tilted fir tree near the spring. She shivered with an unexpected memory of a scene long ago.
“What’s wrong?” Jondalar asked.
“That tree,” she said.
He looked where she was gazing and saw the tree near the spring, canted over and roots exposed.