The Plains of Passage Page 8

  But the plant she had put aside occupied her thoughts. I'm glad I found it, she was thinking. I know I don't have enough of the herbs I need for my morning tea to last for the whole Journey. I'm going to have to find more along the way to make sure I don't have a baby, especially being with Jondalar so much. She smiled at the thought.

  I'm sure that's how babies get started, no matter what people say about spirits. I think that's why men want to put their organs in that place where babies come from, and why women want them to. And why the Mother made that Her Gift of Pleasure. The Gift of Life is from Her, too, and She wants Her children to enjoy making new life, especially since giving birth is not easy. Women might not want to give birth if the Mother hadn't made the starting of them Her Gift of Pleasure. Babies are wonderful, but you don't know how wonderful until you have one. Ayla had been privately developing her unorthodox ideas about the conception of life during the winter as she had been learning about Mut, the Great Earth Mother, from Mamut, the old teacher of the Lion Camp, though the original idea had occurred long before.

  But Broud wasn't a pleasure for me, she recalled. I hated it when he forced me, but now I'm sure that's how Durc got started. No one believed I would ever have a baby. They thought my Cave Lion totem was too strong for any man's totem spirit to overcome. It surprised everyone. But it only happened after Broud began forcing me, and I could see his look in my baby. He had to be the one that started Durc growing inside me. My totem knew how much I wanted a baby of my own—maybe the Mother did, too. Maybe that was the only way. Mamut said the way we know Pleasures are a Gift from the Mother is that they are so powerful. It's very hard to resist them. He said it is even harder for men than for women.

  That's the way it was with that dark red mammoth. All the males wanted her, but she didn't want them. She wanted to wait for her big bull. Is that why Broud wouldn't let me alone? Even though he hated me, the Mother's Gift of Pleasure was more powerful than his hatred?

  Maybe, but I don't think he was doing it only for the Pleasures. He could get that from his own mate, or any woman he wanted. I think he knew how much I hated it and that made his Pleasure more. Broud may have started a baby in me — or maybe my Cave Lion let himself be defeated because he knew how much I wanted one — but Broud could only give me his organ. He couldn't give me the Mother's Gift of Pleasures. Only Jondalar did that.

  There must be more to Her Gift than just the Pleasures. If She just wanted to give Her children a Gift of Pleasure, why would She put it in that place, where children are born from? A place of Pleasures could be anywhere. Mine aren't exactly where Jondalar's are. His Pleasure comes when he is inside me, but mine is at that other place. When he gives me Pleasure there, everything feels wonderful, inside and all over. Then I want to feel him inside me. I would not want to have my place of Pleasure inside. When I'm very sensitive, Jondalar has to be very gentle, or it can hurt, and giving birth is not gentle. If a woman's place of Pleasure was inside, it would make giving birth much harder, and it's difficult enough as it is.

  How does Jondalar always know just what to do? He knew how to give me Pleasures before I knew what they were. I think that big mammoth knew how to give that pretty red one Pleasures, too. I think she made that loud deep sound because he made her feel them, and that's why all her family was so happy for her. Ayla's thoughts were causing tingling sensations and a warming glow. She glanced toward the wooded area where Jondalar had gone, wondering when he'd be back.

  But a baby doesn't start every time Pleasures are shared. Maybe spirits are necessary, too. Whether it's the totem spirits of the Clan men, or the essence of a man's spirit that the Mother takes and gives to a woman, it still starts when a man puts his organ inside and leaves his essence there. That's how She gives a child to a woman, not with spirits, with Her Gift of Pleasure. But She decides which man's essence will start the new life, and when the life will begin.

  If the Mother decides, why does Iza's medicine keep a woman from getting pregnant? Perhaps it won't let a man's essence, or his spirit, mix with a woman's. Iza didn't know why it worked, but it does seem to, most of the time.

  I would like to let a baby start when Jondalar shares Pleasures with me. I want to have a baby so much, one that's a part of him. His essence or his spirit. But he's right. We should wait. It was so hard for me to have Durc. If Iza hadn't been there, what would I have done? I'd want to be sure there were people around who would know how to help.

  I will keep drinking Iza's tea every morning, and I won't say anything. She was right. I shouldn't talk too much about babies starting from a man's organ, either. It made Jondalar so worried when I mentioned it, he thought we'd have to stop having Pleasures. If I can't have a baby yet, at least, I want to have Pleasures with him.

  Like those mammoths were having. Is that what that big mammoth was doing? Making a baby start in that dark red one. That was so wonderful, sharing their Pleasures with the herd. I'm so glad we stayed. I kept wondering why she was running away from all those others, but she wasn't interested in them. She wanted to choose her own mate, not go with anyone who wanted her. She was waiting for that big light brown bull, and as soon as he came, she knew he was the one. She couldn't wait, she ran right to him. She had waited long enough. I know how she feels.

  Wolf loped into the clearing, proudly holding up an old rotting bone for her to see. He dropped it at her feet and looked up expectantly. "Whew! That smells rotten! Where did you get that, Wolf? You must have found where someone's leavings were buried. I know you love rotten. Maybe this is a good time to see how you like hot and strong," she said. She picked up the bone and spread some of the mixture she had been making on Wolf's prize. Then she threw it into the middle of the clearing.

  The young animal eagerly dashed after it, but he sniffed it warily before he picked it up. It still had the wonderful rotten odor he adored, but he wasn't sure about that other strange smell. Finally he snatched it with his mouth. But very quickly he dropped it and began snorting and snuffling and shaking his head. Ayla couldn't help it. His antics were so funny that she laughed out loud. Wolf sniffed the bone again, then backed off and snorted, looking very displeased, and ran toward the spring.

  "You don't like that, do you, Wolf? Good! You're not supposed to like it," she said, feeling the laughter bubbling up inside her as she watched. Lapping water didn't seem to help much. He lifted a paw and rubbed it down the side of his face, trying to wipe his muzzle, as though he thought that would get rid of the taste. He was still snorting and huffing and shaking his head as he ran into the woods.

  Jondalar crossed his path, and when he reached the glade he found Ayla laughing so hard there were tears in her eyes. "What is so funny?" he asked.

  "You should have seen him," she said, still chortling. "Poor Wolf, he was so proud of that rotten old bone he found. He didn't know what happened to it, and he tried everything to get the taste out of his mouth. If you think you can stand the smell of horseradish and camphor, Jondalar, I think I've found a way to keep Wolf away from our things." She held out the wooden bowl she had been using to mix the ingredients. "Here it is. 'Wolf repellent!'"

  "I'm glad it works," Jondalar said. He was smiling, too, but the glee that filled his eyes wasn't caused by Wolf. Ayla finally noticed that his hands were behind his back.

  "What have you got behind your back?" she asked, suddenly curious.

  "Well, it just happens that when I was out looking for wood I found something else. And if you promise to be good, I just might give you some."

  "Somewhat?"

  He brought the filled basket in front of him. "Big, juicy, red raspberries!"

  Ayla's eyes lit up. "Oh, I love raspberries."

  "Don't you think I know it? What do I get for them?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

  Ayla looked up at him and, walking toward him, smiled, a big beautiful wide smile that filled her eyes and beamed her love for him, and the warmth she had been feeling, and her delight because he wanted to give her
a surprise.

  "I think I just got it," he said, letting out the breath he realized he'd been holding. "Oh, Mother, you are beautiful when you smile. You're beautiful all the time, but especially when you smile."

  Suddenly he was consciously aware of her, aware of every feature and detail. Her long, thick, dark blond hair, gleaming with highlights where the sun had lightened it, was held back out of her way with a thong. But it had a natural wave and loose strands that had escaped the leather binding curled around her tanned face; one fell down her forehead in front of her eyes. He restrained an urge to reach out and move it aside.

  She was tall, a good match for his own six-foot, six-inch frame, and the lithe, flat, wiry muscles of real physical strength were sharply defined in her long arms and legs. She was one of the strongest women he'd ever met; as physically powerful as many men he knew. The people who had raised her were endowed with an appreciably greater bodily strength than the taller but lighter-weight people she was born to, and though Ayla was not considered particularly strong when she lived with the Clan, she had developed a far greater strength than she normally might have, just to keep up. Coupled with years of observing, tracking, and stalking as a hunter, she used her body with ease and moved with uncommon grace.

  The sleeveless leather tunic she wore, belted, over leather leggings fit comfortably, but did not hide her firm, full breasts, which could have seemed heavy but didn't, or her womanly hips that curved back to her well-rounded and firm rear. The laces at the bottom of her leggings were open and she was barefoot. Around her neck was a small, beautifully embroidered and decorated leather pouch, with crane feathers along the bottom, which showed the bumps of the mysterious objects it held.

  Hanging from the belt was a knife sheath made of stiff rawhide, the hide of an animal that had been cleaned and scraped but not processed in any way, so that it dried hard in whatever shape it was formed, though a good, thorough wetting could soften it again. She had tucked her sling into the right side of her belt, next to a pouch that held several stones. On the left side was a rather strange, pouchlike object. Though old and worn, it was obvious that it had been made from a whole otter skin, cured with the feet, tail, and head left on. The throat had been cut and the insides removed through the neck, then a cord was strung through slits and pulled tight to close. The flattened head became the flap. It was her medicine bag, the one she had brought with her from the Clan, the one Iza had given her.

  She does not have the face of a Zelandonii woman, Jondalar was thinking; they would notice a foreign look, but her beauty was unmistakable. Her large eyes were gray-blue—the color of fine flint, he thought—and wide-spaced, outlined with lashes a shade or two darker than her hair; her eyebrows were somewhat lighter, between the two in color. Her face was heart-shaped, rather wide with high cheekbones, a well-defined jaw, and a narrow chin. Her nose was straight and finely made, and her full lips, curving up at the corners, were opened and pulled back, showing her teeth in a smile that lit up her eyes and announced her sheer pleasure in the very act of smiling.

  Though her smiles and laughter had once singled her out as different, and caused her to restrain them, Jondalar loved it when she smiled, and her delight in his laughter, joking, and playfulness magically transformed the already pleasing arrangement of her features; she was even more beautiful when she smiled. He suddenly felt overwhelmed by the sight of her and his love for her, and silently thanked the Mother again for giving her back to him.

  "What do you want me to give you for the raspberries?" Ayla said. "Tell me, and it's yours."

  "I want you, Ayla," he said, his voice suddenly ragged with feeling. He put the basket down, and in an instant he had her in his arms, kissing her with fierce emotion. "I love you. I don't ever want to lose you," he said in a hoarse whisper, kissing her again.

  A heady warmth rushed through her and she responded with a feeling as strong. "I love you, too," she said, "and I want you, but can I push the meat away from the fire first? I don't want it to burn while we're ... busy."

  Jondalar looked at her for a moment as though he hadn't understood her words; then he relaxed, gave her a hug, and backed off a step, smiling ruefully. "I didn't mean to be so insistent. It's just that I love you so much, sometimes it's hard to hold. We can wait until later."

  She was still feeling her warm, tingling response to his ardor and wasn't sure she was ready to stop, now. She regretted, a little, her comment that had interrupted the moment. "I don't have to put the meat away," she said.

  Jondalar laughed. "Ayla, you are an unbelievable woman," he said, shaking his head and smiling. "Do you have any idea how remarkable you are? You're always ready for me, any time I want you. You always have been. Not just willing to go along, whether you feel like it or not, but right there, ready to interrupt anything, if that's what I want."

  "But, I want you, whenever you want me."

  "You don't know how unusual that is. Most women want some coaxing, and if they're in the middle of doing something, most are not willing to be interrupted."

  "The women I grew up with were always ready whenever a man gave her the signal. You gave me your signal, you kissed me and let me know you wanted me."

  "Maybe I'll be sorry I said this, but you can refuse, you know." His forehead wrinkled with the effort of trying to explain. "I hope you don't think you have to be ready every time I am. You aren't living with the Clan any more."

  "You don't understand," Ayla said, shaking her head, trying just as hard to make him understand. "I don't think I have to be ready. When you give me your signal, I am ready. Maybe it's because that's how women of the Clan always behaved. Maybe it's because you were the one who taught me how wonderful it is to share Pleasures. Maybe it's because I love you so much, but when you give me your signal, I don't think about it, I feel it inside. Your signal, your kiss that tells me you want me, makes me want you."

  He was smiling again, with relief and pleasure. "You make me ready, too. Just looking at you." He bent his head to her, and she reached up to him, molding herself against him as he pressed her tight.

  He restrained the impetuous eagerness he felt, though an extraneous feeling of pleasure that he could still feel so eager for her crossed his mind. Some women he'd tired of after a single experience, but with Ayla it always seemed new. He could feel her firm strong body against his, and her arms around his neck. He slid his hands forward and held the sides of her breasts as he bent farther to kiss the curve of her neck.

  Ayla removed her arms from around his neck and began to untie her belt, dropping it and all the implements attached to it to the ground. Jondalar reached under her tunic, lifting it as he found the round shapes with the hard, upright nipples. He lifted the tunic farther, exposing a dark pink areola surrounding the raised and sensitive node. Feeling the warm fullness in his hand, he touched the nipple with his tongue, then took it in his mouth and pulled in.

  Tingling strings of fire raced to the place deep within as a small moan of pleasure escaped her lips. She could hardly believe how ready she was. Like the dark red mammoth, she felt as though she had been waiting all day and could hardly wait another moment. A fleeting picture of the big russet bull, with his long, curved organ, flashed through her mind. Jondalar let go, and she took hold of the neck opening of her tunic and pulled it over her head in one smooth motion.

  He caught his breath at seeing her, caressed her smooth skin, and reached for both full breasts. He fondled one hard nipple, squeezing and rubbing, while he suckled and pulled and nibbled on the other. Ayla felt delightful shocks of excitement, and she closed her eyes as she gave herself up to them. When he stopped the delicious caressing and nuzzling, she kept her eyes closed, and soon she felt herself being kissed. She opened her mouth to admit a gently exploring tongue. When she put her arms around his neck, she could feel the wrinkles of his leather tunic against her still sensitive nipples.

  He moved his hands over the smooth skin of her back and felt the movement of her firm muscle
s. Her immediate response had added to his own ardor, and his hard, erect manhood strained against his clothing.

  "Oh, woman!" he breathed. "How I want you."

  "I am ready for you."

  "Just let me get these off," he said. He unfastened his belt, then pulled his tunic up his back and over his head. Ayla saw the straining bulge, caressed it, and then began untying his drawstring, while he loosened hers. They both stepped out of their leggings and reached for each other, standing close in a long, slow, sensuous kiss. Jondalar quickly scanned the clearing, looking for a place, but Ayla dropped down to her hands and knees, then looked back up at him with a playful smile.

  "Your fur may be yellow, and not light brown, but you are the one I choose," she said.

  He smiled back and dropped down behind her. "And your hair isn't deep red, it's the color of ripe hay, but it holds something that is, something like a red flower with many petals. But I don't have a furry trunk to reach you. I'll have to use something else," he said.

  He pushed her forward slightly, separated her cheeks to expose her moist, female opening, then bent down to taste her warm salt. He reached his tongue forward and found her hard nodule buried deep in her folds. She gasped and moved to give him easier access, while he prodded and nuzzled, then dipped deep into her inviting opening to taste and explore. He always loved to taste of her.

  Ayla was moving on a wave of sensations, hardly aware of anything except the hot pulses of feeling coursing through her. She was more than usually sensitive, and every place he touched or kissed burned its way through her to the ultimate spot deep within that tingled with fire and yearning. She didn't hear her own breath coming faster, or the cries of pleasure she made, but Jondalar did.

  He straightened up behind her, moved in closer, and found her deep well with his eager straining manhood. As he started penetrating, she rocked back, pushing herself on him until she took all of him in. He cried out at her unbelievably warm welcome, then, holding her hips, pulled back a ways. He reached around with his hand and found her small hard node of pleasure and stroked it as she pushed back in. His sensation nearly found its peak. He pulled back once more and, sensing her readiness, stroked faster and harder, as he penetrated fully. She cried out her release, and his own voice cried out with hers.