"Me? Right now I could use a little trouble. It'd be better than sitting around waiting for that meat to dry."
"It will only be a few days, if the weather holds. But now I'm not so sure I should tell you what I saw." Jondalar's eyes twinkled.
"Come on, Brother. You know you will anyway…"
"Thonolan, there's a sturgeon in that river so big… But there's no point in fishing for it. You wouldn't want to wait around for fish to dry, too."
"How big?" Thonolan said, standing up and eagerly facing the river.
"So big, I'm not sure both of us together could haul it in."
"No sturgeon is that big."
"The one I saw was."
"Show me."
"Who do you think I am? The Great Mother? Do you think I can make a fish come and show off for you?" Thonolan looked chagrined. "I'll show you where I saw it, though," Jondalar said.
The two men walked to the edge of the river and stood near a fallen tree that extended partway into the water. As though to tempt them, a large shadowy shape moved silently upstream and stopped under the tree near the river bottom, undulating slightly against the current.
"That must be the grandmother of all fish!" Thonolan whispered.
"But can we land it?"
"We can try!"
"It would feed a Cave, and more. What would we do with it?"
"Weren't you the one who said the Mother never lets anything go to waste? The hyenas and wolverines can have a share. Let's get the spears," Thonolan said, anxious to try the sport.
"Spears won't do it, we need gaffs."
"She'll be gone if we stop to make gaffs."
"If we don't, we'll never bring her in. She'd just slip off a spear – we need something with a back hook. It wouldn't take long to make. Look, that tree over there. If we cut off limbs just below a good sturdy branch fork – we don't have to worry about reinforcing, we'll only use it once," Jondalar was punctuating his description with motions in the air, "then cut the branch off short and sharpen it, we've got a back hook…"
"But what good will it do if she's gone before we get them made?" Thonolan interrupted.
"I've seen her there twice – it seems to be a favorite resting place. She'd probably come back."
"But who knows how long that would take."
"Have you anything better to do right now?"
Thonolan made a wry smile. "All right, you win. Let's go make gaffs."
They turned around to go back, then stopped in surprise. Several men had surrounded them and looked distinctly unfriendly.
"Where did they come from?" Thonolan said in a hoarse whisper.
"They must have seen our fire. Who knows how long they've been out there. I've been up all night watching for scavengers, They could have been waiting until we did something careless, like leaving our spears behind."
"They don't look too sociable; none of them has made a gesture of welcome. What do we do now?"
"Put on your biggest, friendliest smile, Little Brother, and you make the gesture."
Thonolan tried to think self-assured and smiled what he hoped was a confident grin. He put both his hands out and started toward them. "I am Thonolan of the Zelan…"
His progress was halted by a spear quivering in the ground at his feet.
"Any more good suggestions, Jondalar?"
"I think it's their turn."
One of the men said something in an unfamiliar language and two others sprang toward them. With the points of spears they were urged forward.
"You don't have to get nasty, friend," Thonolan said, feeling a sharp prick. "I was going that way when you stopped me."
They were brought back to their own campfire and pushed down roughly in front of it. The one who had spoken before barked another command. Several men crawled into the tent and hauled everything out. The spears were taken from the backframes and the contents spilled on the ground.
"What do you think you're doing?" Thonolan shouted, starting to get up. He was reminded to sit, forcibly, and felt a trickle of blood running down his arm.
"Relax, Thonolan," Jondalar warned. "They look angry. I don't think they're in a mood for objections."
"Is this the way to treat Visitors? Don't they understand rights of passage for those on a Journey?"
"You were the one who said it, Thonolan."
"Said what?"
"You take your chances; that's what a Journey is all about."
"Thanks," Thonolan said, reaching for the stinging cut on his arm and looking at his blood-smeared fingers. "That's just what I needed to hear."
The one who seemed to be the leader spat out a few more words and the two brothers were hauled to their feet. Thonolan, in his loincloth, was given only a cursory glance, but Jondalar was searched and his bone-handled flint knife was taken. A man reached for the pouch fastened to his belt, and Jondalar grabbed for it. The next instant he felt a sharp pain at the back of his head and slumped to the ground.
He was stunned for only a short while, but when his head cleared, he found himself stretched out on the ground, staring into Thonolan's worried gray eyes, his hands bound with thongs behind his back.
"You were the one who said it, Jondalar."
"Said what?"
"They're in no mood for objections."
"Thanks," Jondalar remarked with a grimace, suddenly aware of a bad headache. "That's just what I needed to hear."
"What do you suppose they're going to do with us?"
"We're still alive. If they were going to kill us, they'd have done it, wouldn't they?"
"Maybe they're saving us for something special."
The two men lay on the ground, listening to voices and watching the strangers moving about their camp. They smelled food cooking and their stomachs growled. As the sun rose higher, the glaring heat made thirst a worse problem. As the afternoon wore on, Jondalar dozed, his lack of sleep from the night before catching up with him. He woke with a start to shouts and commotion. Someone had arrived.
They were dragged to their feet, and gaped in amazement at a burly man striding toward them carrying a white-haired, wizened old woman on his back. He got down on all fours, and the woman was helped off her human steed, with obvious deference.
"Whoever she is, she must be pretty important," Jondalar said. A bruising blow in his ribs silenced him.
She walked toward them leaning on a knobbed staff with a carved finial. Jondalar stared, sure he had never seen anyone so old in his life. She was child-size, shrunken with age, and the pink of her scalp could be seen through her thin white hair. Her face was so wrinkled that it hardly looked human, but her eyes were oddly out of place. He would have expected dull, rheumy, senile eyes in someone so old. But hers were bright with intelligence and crackled with authority. Jondalar was awed by the tiny woman, and a little fearful for Thonolan and himself. She would not have come unless it was very important.
She spoke in a voice cracked with age, yet surprisingly strong. The leader pointed at Jondalar, and she directed a question to him.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand," he said.
She spoke again, tapped her chest with a hand as gnarled as her staff, and said a word that sounded like "Haduma." Then she pointed a knobby finger at him.
"I am Jondalar of the Zelandonii," he said, hoping he understood her meaning.
She cocked her head as though she had heard a sound. "Zel-an-don-yee?" she repeated slowly.
Jondalar nodded, licking his dry, parched lips nervously.
She stared at him speculatively, then spoke to the leader. His answer was brusque, and she snapped a command, then turned her back and walked to the fire. One of the men who had been guarding them pulled out a knife. Jondalar glanced at his brother and saw a face that expressed his own emotions. He braced himself, sent a silent plea to the Great Earth Mother, and closed his eyes.
He opened them with a surge of relief when he felt the thongs cut away from his wrists. A man was approaching with a bladder of water. Jondalar took a long drink and passed it to Thonolan, whose hands had also been freed. He opened his mouth to say a word of appreciation and then, remembering his bruised ribs, thought better of it.