BY THE AUTHOR OF
The Clan of the Cave Bear
The Valley of Horses
AMES8URY PARK UfiRARY
1565 LAWRENCE AVE. WES1
toronto 15, ONTARIO
M6L 1A8

JEAN M. AUEL

EARTH'S CHILDREN

Crown Publishers, Inc. New York

Copyright © 1985 by Jean M. Auel

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any

form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,

or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing

from the publisher.

Published by Crown Publishers, Inc., One Park Avenue, New York, New York

10016 and simultaneously in Canada by General Publishing Company Limited

Manufactured in the United States of America

CROWN is a trademark of Crown Publishers, Inc.

EARTH'S CHILDREN is a trademark of Jean M. Auel.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Auel, Jean M.

The mammoth hunters.

(Earth's children)
I. Title. II. Series: Auel, Jean M. Earth's children.
PS3551.U36M3 1985 813'.54 85-17503
ISBN 0-517-55627-8
10 987654321
First Edition
For MARSHALL,
who has become a man to be proud of,
and for BEVERLY,
who helped,
and for CHRISTOPHER, BRIAN, and MELLISSA,

with Love.

BY THE AUTHOR OF
The Clan of the Cave Bear
The Valley of Horses
MAMMOTH

TpITO

AMES8URY PARK LIBRARY
1565 LAWRENCE AVE. WES1
TORONTO 15, ONTARIO
M6L 1A8

JEAN M. AUEL

EARTH'S CHILDREN"

Crown Publishers, Inc. New York

Copyright © 1985 by Jean M. Auel

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any

form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,

or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing

from the publisher.

Published by Crown Publishers, Inc., One Park Avenue, New York, New York

10016 and simultaneously in Canada by General Publishing Company Limited

Manufactured in the United States of America

CROWN is a trademark of Crown Publishers, Inc.

EARTH'S CHILDREN is a trademark of Jean M. Auel.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Auel, Jean M.

The mammoth hunters.

(Earth's children)
I. Title. II. Series: Auel, Jean M. Earth's children.
PS3551.U36M3 1985 813'.54 85-17503
ISBN 0-517-55627-8
10 987654321
First Edition
For MARSHALL,
who has become a man to be proud of,
and for BEVERLY,
who helped,
and for CHRISTOPHER, BRIAN, and MELLISSA,

with Love.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I could never have told this story without the books and materials of
the specialists who have worked at the sites and have collected the
artifacts of our prehistoric ancestors, and they have my deepest gratitude.
To several people, I owe special thanks. I have enjoyed the
discussions, the correspondence, and the papers, full of not only facts
but also ideas and theories. I must make it clear, however, that those
who provided me with information and offered help are in no way
responsible for the viewpoints or ideas expressed in this story. This is
a work of fiction, a story of my imagination. The characters, concepts,
and cultural descriptions are my own.
Sincere thanks first to David Abrams, professor of anthropology
and tour director extraordinaire, and to Diane Kelly, student of anthropology,
and master of human relations, who planned, arranged,
and accompanied us on the private research trip to sites and museums
in France, Austria, Czechoslavakia, and the Soviet Union.
My thanks and great appreciation to Dr. Jan Jelinek, Director, An-
thropos Institute, Brno, Czechoslovakia, for taking the time to show
me many of the actual artifacts from Eastern Europe that appear in his
book, The Pictorial Encyclopedia of the Evolution of Man (The Hamlyn
Publishing Group, Ltd., London).
I am grateful to Dr. Lee Porter of Washington State University,
and to whatever fates put her, with her American accent, in our hotel
in Kiev. She was there studying fossil mammoth bones, and meeting
with the very person we had been desperately trying to see. She cut
through all the red tape, and arranged the meeting.
I am indebted to Dr. J. Lawrence Angel, Curator of Physical
Anthropology at Smithsonian Institution, for many things: for some
positive and encouraging words about my books; for giving me a
"backstage" look and an explanation of some of the differences and

vn

similarities between Neanderthal and modern human bones, and par
ticularly for suggesting people who could give me further information
and assistance.
I deeply appreciate the special efforts of Dr. Ninel Kornietz, Rus
sian expert on the Ukrainian Upper Paleolithic, who was gracious and
kind, even on short notice. With her we saw artifacts in two mu
seums, and she presented me with the one book I had been searching
for on the musical instruments made out of mammoth bones by Ice
Age people, and a recording of their sounds. The book was in Rus
sian, and I owe deep thanks to Dr. Gloria y'Edynak, formerly an
assistant of Dr. Angel, who knows Russian, including the technical
terminology of paleoanthropology, for arranging for a translator for
this book, and especially for checking it over and filling in the correct
technical words. Thanks are also due for her translation of the Ukrai
nian language articles comparing modern weaving patterns in the
Ukraine with designs carved into Ice Age artifacts.
To Dorothy Yacek-Matulis I owe great appreciation for a good,
readable, workable translation of the Russian mammoth bone music
book. The material has proved invaluable.
Thanks are also in order to Dr. Richard Klein, author of Ice-Age
Hunters of the Ukraine (University of Chicago Press), who kindly pro
vided additional papers and information about the ancient people of
the region.
I am particularly grateful to Alexander Marshack, research fellow of
the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology, Harvard Uni
versity, and author of The Roots of Civilization (McGraw-Hill Book
Co.), for copies of the results of his microscopic studies of Ukrainian
Upper Paleolithic art and artifacts, which appeared in Current An
thropology^ material from his as yet unpublished book on the Eastern
European Ice Age people.
My sincerest appreciation to Dr. Olga Softer, Department of An
thropology, University of Wisconsin, and probably the leading expert
in the United States today on the Ice Age populations of Russia, for
the long, interesting, and useful conversation in the lobby of the Hil-
ton, and her material, "Patterns of Intensification as Seen from the
Upper Paleolithic Central Russian Plain," from Prehistoric Hunter-
Gatherers: The Emergence of Cultural Complexity, T. Douglas Price and
James A. Brown, editors (Academic Press).
Gratitude in great measure goes to Dr. Paul C. Paquet, co-editor,
Wolves of the World (Noyes Publications), for interrupting his vacation
to return my call, and for the long discussion on wolves and their
possible domestication.
Thanks again to Jim Riggs, anthropologist and instructor of "Aboriginal
Life Skills" classes. I continue to use the information I learned
from him.
I am indebted to three people who read a fat manuscript on short
notice and offered helpful comments from a reader's point of view:
Karen Auel, who read a first draft and got caught up in it, and let me
know I had a story; Doreen Gandy, poet and teacher, who squeezed
the reading into the end of her school year without any loss of her
usual insights; and Cathy Humble, who managed, again, to make astute
observations.
Special thanks to Betty Prashker, my editor, whose perceptions I
value, and whose commentary and suggestions were right on target.
Words are insufficient to thank Jean Naggar, friend, confidante,
and literary agent beyond compare, who has continued to exceed my
wildest expectations.
Sincere appreciation to the production and art departments of
Crown Publishers, whose care and expert workmanship consistently
turn out beautiful and well-made books.
I am grateful to Judith Wilkes, my secretary and office assistant,
whose intelligence I have come to depend upon, and who eases the
pressure of my increased volume of correspondence, so I can write.

And to Ray Auel. . . .

Lion Camp Earthlodge
ENTRY area--storage of fuel, implements, outer clothes
FIRST hearth--cooking hearth and space for gathering

SECOND-- Lion Hearth
Talut--headman
Nezzie
Danug
Latie
Rugie
Rydag

THIRD-- Fox Hearth
Wymez
Ranee


FOURTH
FIFTH-
SIXTH-

Mammoth Hearth--space for ceremonies, gathering,
projects, visitors
Mamut--shaman
Ayla
Jondalar

Reindeer Hearth
Manuv
Tronic
Tornec
Nuvie
Hartal

Crane Hearth
Crozie
Fralie
Frebec
Crisavec
Tasher
(Beetle)



SEVENTH-- Aurochs Hearth
Tulie--headwoman
Barzec
Deegie
Druwez
Brinan
Tusie
(Tarneg)
rembling with fear, Ayla clung to the tall man beside her a;^
she watched the strangers approach. Jondalar put his arm around hei^
protectively, but she still shook.
He's so big! Ayla thought, gaping at the man in the lead, the ono^6
with hair and beard the color of fire. She had never seen anyone so''0
big. He even made Jondalar seem small, though the man who held her^
towered over most men. The red-haired man coming toward therrt^0
was more than tall; he was huge, a bear of a man. His neck bulged,^'
his chest could have filled out two ordinary men, his massive biceps^8
matched most men's thighs.
Ayla glanced at Jondalar and saw no fear in his face, but his smiled
was guarded. They were strangers, and in his long travels he had ^
learned to be wary of strangers.
"I don't recall seeing you before," the big man said without pream- / ~
ble. "What Camp are you from?" He did not speak Jondalar's lan- " ~
guage, Ayla noticed, but one of the others he had been teaching her. • •
"No Camp," Jondalar said. "We are not Mamutoi." He unclasped ^
Ayla and took a step forward, holding out both hands, palms upward p
showing he was hiding nothing, in the greeting of friendliness. "I am ^
Jondalar of the Zeiandonii."
The hands were not accepted. "Zeiandonii? That's a strange . . . ''
Wait, weren't there two foreign men staying with those river people ^
that live to the west? It seems to me the name I heard was something ^
like that."
"Yes, my brother and I lived with them," Jondalar conceded.
The man with the flaming beard looked thoughtful for a while, •
then, unexpectedly, he lunged for Jondalar and grabbed the tall blond ^
man in a bone-crunching bear hug.
"Then we are related!" he boomed, a broad smile warming his face.
"Tholie is the daughter of my cousin!"
Jondalar's smile returned, a little shaken. "Tholie! A Mamutoi
woman named Tholie was my brother's cross-mate! She taught me
your language."
"Of course! I told you. We are related." He grasped the hands that
Jondalar had extended in friendship, which he had rejected before. "I
am Talut, headman of the Lion Camp."
Everyone was smiling, Ay la noticed. Talut beamed a grin at her,
then eyed her appreciatively. "I see you are not traveling with a
brother now," he said to Jondalar.
Jondalar put his arm around her again, and she noticed a fleeting
look of pain wrinkle his brow before he spoke. "This is Ay la."
"It's an unusual name. Is she of the river people?"
Jondalar was taken aback by the abruptness of his questioning,
then, remembering Tholie, he smiled inwardly. The short, stocky
woman he knew bore little resemblance to the great hulk of a man
standing there on the riverbank, but they were chipped from the same
flint. They both had the same direct approach, the same unself-
conscious—almost ingenuous—candor. He didn't know what to say.
Ay la was not going to be easy to explain.
"No, she has been living in a valley some days' journey from here."
Talut looked puzzled. "I have not heard of a woman with her name
living nearby. Are you sure she is Mamutoi?"
"I'm sure she is not."
"Then who are her people? Only we who hunt mammoth live in
this region."
"I have no people," Ayla said, lifting her chin with a touch of
defiance.
Talut appraised her shrewdly. She had spoken the words in his
language, but the quality of her voice and the way she made the
sounds were . . . strange. Not unpleasant, but unusual. Jondalar
spoke with the accent of a language foreign to him; the difference in
the way she spoke went beyond accent. Talut's interest was piqued.
"Well, this is no place to talk," Talut said, finally. "Nezzie will give
me the Mother's own wrath if I don't invite you to visit. Visitors
always bring a little excitement, and we haven't had visitors for a
while. The Lion Camp would welcome you, Jondalar of the Zeian-
donii, and Ayla of No People. Will you come?"
"What do you say, Ayla? Would you like to visit?" Jondalar asked,
switching to Zeiandonii so she could answer truthfully without fear of
offending. "Isn't it time you met your own kind? Isn't that what Iza
told you to do? Find your own people?" He didn't want to seem too
eager, but after so long without anyone else to talk to, he was anxious
to visit.
"I don't know," she said, frowning with indecision. "What will they
think of me? He wanted to know who my people were. I don't have
any people any more. What if they don't like me?"
"They will like you, Ayla, believe me. I know they will. Talut
invited you, didn't he? It didn't matter to him that you have no peo-
pie. Besides, you'll never know if they will a-ccep< you--or if you will
like them--if you don't give them a chanc^ Tliese are the kind of
people you should have grown up with, yovt kno> av. We don't have to
stay long. We can leave any time."
"We can leave any time?"
"Of course."
Ayla looked down at the ground, trying to mal<e 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 wi±i her? What if they

want to kill her? I can't let anyone hurt Wbinney.'"
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 Ay la'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 dini^si011- 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 Zeiandonii 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 was glad he had not
come upon them unknowing. It would have been . . . unnerving. He
wondered for a moment what it would be like to ride on the back of a horse, and if it would make him appear so startling. And then, picturing
himself sitting astride one of the rather short, though sturdy,
steppe horses like Whinney, he laughed out loud.
"I could carry that horse easier than she could carry me!" he said.
Jondalar chuckled. It hadn't been hard to follow Talut's line of
thought. Several people smiled, or chuckled, and Jondalar realized
they must all have been thinking about riding a horse. It was not so
strange. It had occurred to him when he first saw Ayla on Whinney's
back.

Ayla had seen the shocked surprise on the faces of the small band of
people and, if Jondalar had not been waiting for her, she would have
kept on going right back to her valley. She'd had enough of disap-

oroval during her younger years for actions that were not acceptable.
And enough freedom since, while she was living alone, not to want to
subject herself to criticism for following her own inclinations. She was
ready to tell Jondalar he could visit these people if he wanted; she was

going back.
But when she returned, and saw Talut still chuckling over his mental
picture of himself riding the horse, she reconsidered. Laughter had
become precious to her. She had not been allowed to laugh when she
lived with the Clan; it made them nervous and uncomfortable. Only
with Durc, in secret, had she laughed out loud. It was Baby, and
Whinney, who had taught her to enjoy the feeling of laughter, but
Jondalar was the first person to share it openly with her.
She watched the man laughing easily with Talut. He looked up and
smiled, and the magic of his impossibly vivid blue eyes touched a
place deep inside that resonated with a warm, tingling glow, and she
felt a great welling up of love for him. She couldn't go back to the
valley, not without him. Just the thought of living without him
brought a strangling constriction to her throat, and the burning ache
of tears held back.
As she rode toward them, she noticed that, though Jondalar wasn't
as big as the red-haired man in size, he was nearly as tall, and bigger
than the other three men. No, one was a boy, she realized. And was
that a girl with them? She found herself observing the group of people
surreptitiously, not wanting to stare.
Her body movements signaled Whinney to a stop, then, swinging
her leg over, she slid off. Both horses seemed nervous as Talut approached,
and she stroked Whinney and put an arm around Racer's
neck. She was as much in need of the familiar reassurance of their
presence as they were of hers.
"Ayla, of No People," he said, not sure if it was a proper way to
address her, though for this woman of uncanny talent, it well might
be, "Jondalar says you fear harm will come to these horses if you visit
with us. I say here, as long as Talut is headman of the Lion Camp, no
harm will come to that mare or her young one. I would like you to
visit, and bring the horses." His smile broadened with a chuckle. "No
one will believe us otherwise!"
She was feeling more relaxed about it now, and she knew Jondalar
wanted to visit. She had no real reason to refuse, and she was drawn
to the easy, friendly laughter of the huge red-haired man.
"Yes, I come," she said. Talut nodded, smiling, and wondered
about her, her intriguing accent, her awesome way with horses. Who
was Ayla of No People?
Ayla and Jondalar had camped beside the rushing river and had
decided that morning, before they met the band from the Lion Camp,
that it was time to turn back. The waterway was too large to cross
without difficulty, and not worth the effort if they were going to turn
around and retrace their route. The steppeland east of the valley
where Ayla had lived alone for three years had been more accessible,
and the young woman hadn't bothered to take the difficult round
about way to the west out of the valley very often, and was largely
unfamiliar with that area. Though they had started out toward the
west, they had no particular destination in mind, and ended up travel
ing north, and then east instead, but much farther than Ayla had ever
traveled on her hunting forays.
Jondalar had convinced her to make the exploratory trip to get her
used to traveling. He wanted to take her home with him, but his
home was far to the west. She had been reluctant, and scared, to leave
her secure valley to live with unknown people in an unknown place.
Though he was eager to return after traveling for many years, he had
reconciled himself to spending the winter with her in the valley. It
would be a long trek back—likely to take a full year—and it would be
better to start in late spring, anyway. By then, he was sure he could
convince her to come with him. He didn't even want to consider any
other alternative.
Ayla had found him, badly mauled and nearly dead, at the begin
ning of the warm season that was now seeing its last days, and she
knew the tragedy he had suffered. They fell in love while she was
nursing him back to health, though they were long in overcoming the
barriers of their vastly different backgrounds. They were still learning
each other's ways and moods.
Ayla and Jondalar finished breaking camp and much to the sur
prise—and interest—of the waiting people, packed their supplies and
equipment on the horse, rather than in backframes or haversacks
which they would have carried themselves. Though they had some
times ridden double on the sturdy horse, Ayla thought Whinney and
her colt would be less nervous if they saw her. The two of them
walked behind the band of people, Jondalar leading Racer by a long
rope attached to a halter, which he had devised. Whinney followed
Ayla with no visible guidance.
They followed the course of the river for several miles through a
broad valley that sloped down from the surrounding grassy plains.
Chest-high standing hay, seed heads nodding ripe and heavy, bil
lowed in golden waves on the near slopes matching the cold rhythm of
frigid air that blew in fitful bursts from the massive glaciers to the
north. On the open steppes, a few bent and gnarled pine and birch
trees huddled along watercourses, their roots seeking the moisture
given up to the desiccating winds. Near the river, reeds and sedges
were still green, though a chill wind rattled through deciduous
branches, bereft of leaves.
Latie hung back, glancing now and then at the horses and the
woman, until they sighted several people around a bend in the river.
Then she ran ahead, wanting to be first to tell of the visitors. At her
shouts, people turned and gawked.
Other people were coming out of what appeared to Ayla to be a
large hole in the riverbank, a cave of some sort, perhaps, but like none
she had ever seen before. It seemed to have grown out of the slope
facing the river, but it did not have the random shape of rock or
earthen banks. Grass grew on the sod roof, but the opening was too
even, too regular, and felt strangely unnatural. It was a perfectly sym
metrical arch.
Suddenly, at a deep emotional level, it struck her. It was not a cave,
and these people were not Clan! They did not look like Iza, who was
the only mother she remembered, or like Creb or Brun, short and
muscular, with large eyes shadowed by heavy brow ridges, a forehead
that sloped back, and a chinless jaw that jutted forward. These people
looked like her. They were like the ones she had been born to. Her
mother, her real mother, must have looked like one of these women.
These were the Others! This was their place! The realization brought
a rush of excitement and a tingle of fear.
Stunned silence greeted the strangers—and their even stranger
horses—as they arrived at the permanent winter site of the Lion
Camp. Then everyone seemed to talk at once.
"Talut! What have you brought this time?" "Where did you get
those horses?" "What did you do to them?" Someone addressed Ayla:
"How do you make them stay?" "What Camp are they from, Talut?"
The noisy, gregarious people crowded forward, eager to see and
touch both the people and the horses. Ayla was overwhelmed, con
fused. She wasn't used to so many people. She wasn't used to people
talking, particularly all of them talking at once. Whinney was side
stepping, nicking her ears, head high, neck arched, trying to protect
her frightened colt and shy away from the people closing in.
Jondalar could see Ayla's confusion, and the nervousness of the
horses, but he couldn't make Talut or the rest of the people under
stand. The mare was sweating, swishing her tail, dancing in circles.
Suddenly, she could stand it no longer. She reared up, neighing in
fear, and lashed out with hard hooves, driving the people back.
Whinney's distress focused Ayla's attention. She called her name
with a sound like a comforting nicker, and signaled with gestures she
had used .to communicate before Jondalar had taught her to speak.
"Talut! No one must touch the horses unless Ayla allows it! Only
she can control them. They are gentle, but the mare can be dangerous
if she is provoked or feels her colt is threatened. Someone could get
hurt," Jondalar said.
"Stay back! You heard him," Talut shouted with a booming voice
that silenced everyone. When the people and horses settled down,
Talut continued in a more normal tone. "The woman is Ay la. I prom
ised her that no harm would come to the horses if they came to visit. I
promised as headman of the Lion Camp. This is Jondalar of the
Zeiandonii, and a kinsman, brother of Tholie's cross-mate." Then,
with a grin of self-satisfaction, he added, "Talut has brought some
visitors!"
There were nods of agreement. The people stood around, staring
with unfeigned curiosity, but far enough away to avoid the horse's
kicking hooves. Even if the strangers had left that moment, they had
brought enough interest and gossip to last for years to come. News
that two foreign men were in the region, living with the river people
to the southwest, had been talked about at Summer Meetings. The
Mamutoi traded with the Sharamudoi, and since Tholie, who was a
kinswoman, had chosen a river man, the Lion Camp had been even
more interested. But they never expected one of the foreign men to
walk into their Camp, particularly not with a woman who had some
magic control over horses.
"Are you all right?" Jondalar asked Ay la.
"They frightened Whinney, and Racer, too. Do people always talk
at once like that? Women and men at the same time? It's confusing,
and they are so loud, how do you know who is saying what? Maybe
we should have gone back to the valley." She was hugging the mare's
neck, leaning against her, drawing comfort as well as giving it.
Jondalar knew Ayla was almost as distressed as the horses. The
noisy press of people had been a shock for her. Maybe they shouldn't
stay too long. Perhaps it would be better to start with just two or
three people at a time, until she became accustomed to her kind of
people again, but he wondered what he'd do if she never really did.
Well, they were here now. He could wait and see.
"Sometimes people are loud, and talk all at once, but mostly one
person talks at a time. And I think they'll be careful around the horses
now, Ayla," he said, as she started to unload the pack baskets tied on
both sides of the animal by a harness she had made out of leather
thongs.
While she was busy, Jondalar took Talut aside and quietly told him
the horses, and Ayla, were a little nervous, and needed some time to
get used to everyone. "It would be better if they could be left alone
for a while."
Talut understood, and moved among the people of the Camp, talk
ing to each one. They dispersed, turning to other tasks, preparing
food, working on hides or tools, so they could watch without being so
obvious about it. They were uneasy, too. Strangers were interesting,
but a woman with such compelling magic might do something
unexpected.
Only a few children stayed to watch with avid interest while the
man and woman unpacked, but Ay la didn't mind them. She hadn't
seen children in years, not since she'd left the Clan, and was as curi
ous about them as they were about her. She took off the harness and
Racer's halter, then patted and stroked Whinney, then Racer. After
giving the colt a good scratching and an affectionate hug, she looked
up to see Latie staring at the young animal with longing.
"You like touch horse?" Ayla asked.
"Could I?"
"Come. Give hand. I show." She took Latie's hand and held it to
the shaggv winter coat of the half-grown horse. Racer turned his head
to sniff and nuzzle the girl.
The girl's smile of gratitude was a gift. "He likes me!"
"He like scratch, too. Like this," Ayla said, showing the child the
colt's special itchy places.
Racer was delighted with the attention, and showed it, and Latie
was beside herself with joy. The colt had attracted her from the be
ginning. Ayla turned her back on the two to help Jondalar and didn't
notice another child approach. When she turned around, she gasped
and felt the blood drain from her face.
"Is it all right if Rydag touches the horse?" Latie said. "He can't
talk, but I know he wants to." Rydag always caused people to react
with surprise. Latie was used to it.
"Jondalar!" Ayla cried in a hoarse whisper. "That child, he could
be my son! He looks like Durc!"
He turned, and opened his eyes in stunned surprise. It was a child
of mixed spirits.
Flatheads—the ones Ayla always referred to as Clan—were animals
to most people, and children like this were thought of by many as
"abominations," half-animal, half-human. He had been shocked when
he first understood that Ayla had given birth to a mixed son. The
mother of such a child was usually a pariah, cast out for fear she
would draw the evil animal spirit again and cause other women to give
birth to such abominations. Some people didn't even want to admit
1
they existed, and to find one here living with people was more than
unexpected. It was a shock. Where had the boy come from?
Ayla and the child were gazing at each other, oblivious to every-
thing around them. He's thin for one who is half-Clan, Ayla thought.
They are usually big-boned and muscular. Even Durc wasn't this
thin. He's sickly, Ayla's trained medicine woman's eye told her. A
problem since birth, with the strong muscle in the chest that pulsed
and throbbed and made the blood move, she guessed. But those facts
she stored without thinking; she was looking more closely at his face,
and his head, for the similarities, and the differences between this
child and her son.
His large, brown, intelligent eyes were like Durc's, even to the look
of ancient wisdom far beyond his years—she felt a pang of longing
and a lump in her throat—but there was also pain and suffering, not
all of it physical, which Durc had never known. She was filled with
compassion. This child's brows were not as pronounced, she decided
after careful study. Even at just three years old, when she left, the
bony ridges above Durc's eyes had been well developed. Durc's eyes
and protruding brow ridges were all Clan, but his forehead was like
this child's. Neither was pushed back and flattened like the Clan, but
high and vaulted, like hers.
Her thoughts strayed. Durc would be six years now, she recalled,
old enough to go with the men when they practiced with their hunt
ing weapons. But Brun will be teaching him to hunt, not Broud. She
felt a flush of anger remembering Broud. She would never forget how
the son of Brun's mate had nursed his hatred of her until he could take
her baby away, out of spite, and force her out of the clan. She closed
her eyes as the pain of remembering tore through her like a knife. She
didn't want to believe that she would never see her son again.
She opened her eyes to Rydag, and took a deep breath.
I wonder how old this boy is? He's small, but he must be close to
Durc's age, she thought, comparing the two again. Rydag's skin was
fair, and his hair was dark and curly, but lighter and softer than the
bushy brown hair more common to the Clan. The biggest difference
between this child and her son, Ayla noted, was his chin and neck.
Her son had a long neck like hers—he had choked on his food some
times, which the other Clan babies never did—and a receding but
distinct chin. This boy had the Clan's short neck, and forward-thrust
ing jaw. Then she remembered. Latie said he couldn't talk.
Suddenly, in a moment of understanding, she knew what this
child's life must be like. It was one thing for a girl of five, who had
lost her family in an earthquake and who had been found by a clan of
people not capable of fully articulate speech, to learn the sign lan
guage they used to communicate. It was quite another to live with
speaking people and not be able to talk. She remembered her early
frustration because she had been unable to communicate with the peo-
pie who took her in, but even worse, how difficult it had been to make
Tondalar understand her before she learned to speak again. What if she
had not been able to learn?
She made a sign to the boy, a simple greeting gesture, one of the
first she had learned so long ago. There was a moment of excitement
in his eyes, then he shook his head and looked puzzled. He had never
learned the Clan way of speaking with gestures, she realized, but he
must have retained some vestige of the Clan memories. He had recog
nized the signal for an instant, she was sure of it.
"Can Rydag touch the little horse?" Latie asked again.
"Yes," Ay la said, taking his hand. He is so slight, so frail, she
thought, and then understood the rest. He could not run, like other
children. He could not play normal rough-and-tumble games. He
could only watch—and wish.
With a tenderness of feeling Jondalar had never seen on her face
before, Ayla picked the boy up and put him on Whinney's back. Sig
naling the horse to follow, she walked them slowly around the Camp.
There was a lull in conversation as everyone stopped to stare at Rydag
sitting on the horse. Although they had been talking about it, except
for Talut and the people who had met them by the river, no one had
ever seen anyone ride a horse before. No one had ever thought of such
a thing.
A large, motherly woman emerged from the strange dwelling, and
seeing Rydag on the horse, which had kicked perilously close to her
head, her first reaction was to rush to his aid. But as she neared, she
became aware of the silent drama of the scene.
The child's face was filled with wonder and delight. How many
times had he watched with wishful eyes, prevented by his weakness,
or his difference, from doing what other children did? How many
times had he wished he could do something to be admired or envied
for? Now, for the first time, as he sat on the back of a horse, all the
children of the Camp, and all the adults, were watching him with
wishful eyes.
The woman from the dwelling saw and wondered, Had this
stranger truly understood the boy so quickly? Accepted him so easily?
She saw the way Ayla was looking at Rydag, and knew it was so.
Ayla saw the woman studying her, then smile at her. She smiled
back and stopped beside her.
"You have made Rydag very happy," the woman said, holding out
her arms to the youngster Ayla lifted off the horse.
"It is little," Ayla said.
The woman nodded. "My name is Nezzie," she said.
"I am named Ayla."
The two women looked at each other, considered each other carefully,
not with hostility, but testing the ground for a future
relationship.
Questions she wanted to ask about Rydag spun through Ayla's
mind, but she hesitated, not sure if it was proper to ask. Was Nezzie
the boy's mother? If so, how had she come to give birth to a child of
mixed spirits? Ay la was puzzled again about a question that had bothered
her since Durc was born. How did life begin? A woman only
knew it was there when her body changed as the baby grew. How did
it get inside a woman?
Creb and Iza had believed that a new life began when women swallowed
the totem spirits of men. Jondalar thought the Great Earth
Mother mixed the spirits of a man and a woman together and put
them inside the woman when she became pregnant. But Ay la had
formed her own opinion. When she noticed that her son had some of
her characteristics, and some of the Clan's, she realized that no life
started to grow inside her until after Broud forced his penetration into
her.
She shuddered at the memory, but because it was so painful she
couldn't forget it, and she had come to believe it was something about
a man putting his organ inside the place where babies were born from
that caused life to start inside a woman. Jondalar thought it was a
strange idea when she told him, and tried to convince her it was the
Mother who created life. She didn't quite believe him, now she wondered.
Ay la had grown up with the Clan, she was one of them, for all
that she looked different. Though she had hated it when he did it,
Broud was only exercising his rights. But how could a man of the
Clan have forced Nezzie?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the commotion of another small
hunting band arriving. As one man approached, he pulled back his
hood, and both Ayla and Jondalar gaped with surprise. The man was
brown! The color of his skin was a rich deep brown. He was nearly
the color of Racer, which was rare enough for a horse. Neither of
them had ever seen a person with brown skin before.
His hair was black, tight wiry curls that formed a woolly cap like
the fur of a black mouflon. His eyes were black, too, and they sparkled
with delight as he smiled, showing gleaming white teeth and a
pink tongue in contrast to his dark skin. He knew the stir he created
when strangers first saw him, and rather enjoyed it.
He was a perfectly ordinary man in other respects, medium height,
hardly more than an inch or so taller than Ayla, and medium build.
But a compact vitality, an economy of movement, and an easy self-
confidence created an impression of someone who knew what he
wanted and wouldn't waste any time going after it. His eyes took on
an added gleam when he saw Ay la.
Tondalar recognized the look as attraction. His brow furrowed into
a frown, but neither the blond woman nor the brown-skinned man
noticed. She was captivated by the novelty of the man's unusual col
oring, and stared with the unabashed wonder of a child. He was at
tracted as much by the aura of naive innocence her response projected
as by her beauty.
Suddenly Ayla realized she had been staring, and blushed crimson
as she looked down at the ground. From Jondalar she had learned that
it was perfectly proper for men and women to look directly at each
other, but to the people of the Clan it was not only discourteous, it
was offensive to stare, particularly for a woman. It was her upbring
ing, the customs of the Clan, reinforced again and again by Creb and
Iza so she would be more acceptable, that caused her such embar
rassment.
But her obvious distress only fired the interest of the dark man. He
was often the object of unusual attention by women. The initial sur
prise of his appearance seemed to arouse curiosity about what other
differences he might have. He sometimes wondered if every woman at
the Summer Meetings had to find out for herself that he was, indeed,
a man like every other man. Not that he objected, but Ayla's reaction
was as intriguing to him as his color was to her. He wasn't used to
seeing a strikingly beautiful adult woman blushing as modestly as a
girl.
"Ranee, have you met our visitors?" Talut called out, coming
toward them.
"Not yet, but I'm waiting . . . eagerly."
At the tone in his voice Ayla looked up into deep black eyes full of
desire—and subtle humor. They reached inside her and touched a
spot only Jondalar had touched before. Her body responded with an
unexpected tingle that brought a faint gasp to her lips, and widened
her gray-blue eyes. The man leaned forward, preparing to take her
hands, but before customary introductions could be made, the tall
stranger stepped between them, and with a deep scowl on his face,
thrust both hands forward.
"I am Jondalar of the Zeiandonii," he said. "The woman I am trav
eling with is Ayla."
Something was bothering Jondalar, Ayla was sure, something about
the dark man. She was used to reading meaning from posture and
stance, and she had been watching Jondalar closely for cues upon
which to base her own behavior. But the body language of people
who depended on words was so much less purposeful than that of the
Clan, who used gestures to communicate, that she didn't trust her
perceptions yet. These people seemed to be both easier and more dif
ficult to read, as with this sudden shift in Jondalar's attitude. She
knew he was angry, but she didn't know why.
The man took both ofjondalar's hands, and shook them firmly. "I
am Ranee, my friend, the best, if only, carver of the Lion Camp of
the Mamutoi," he said with a self-deprecating smile, then added,
"When you travel with such a beautiful companion, you must expect
her to attract attention."
Now it was Jondalar's turn to be embarrassed. Ranee's friendliness
and candor made him feel like an oaf, and, with a familiar pain,
brought to mind his brother. Thonolan had had the same friendly
self-confidence, and had always made the first moves when they en
countered people on their Journey. It upset Jondalar when he did
something foolish—it always had—and he didn't like starting out a
relationship with new people in the wrong way. He had displayed
bad manners, at best.
But his instant anger had surprised him, and caught him off guard.
The hot stab of jealousy was a new emotion to him, or at least one he
hadn't experienced in so long it was unexpected. He would have been
quick to deny it, but the tall and handsome man, with an unconscious
charisma, and a sensitive skill in the furs, was more accustomed to
women being jealous over his attentions.
Why should it bother him that some man looked at Ay la? Jondalar
thought. Ranee was right, as beautiful as she was, he should expect it.
And she had the right to make her own choice. Just because he was
the first man of her kind she had met didn't mean he would be the
only one she would ever find attractive. Ayla saw him smile at Ranee,
but noticed that the tension across his shoulders had not eased.
"Ranee always speaks lightly of it, though he isn't in the habit of
denying any of his other skills," Talut was saying as he led the way to
the unusual cave which seemed to be made of earth growing out of the
bank. "He and Wymez are alike in that way, if not many others.
Wymez is as reluctant to admit to his skill as a maker of tools as the
son of his hearth is to speak of his carving. Ranee is the best carver of
all the Mamutoi."
"You have a skilled toolmaker? A flint knapper?" Jondalar asked
with pleased expectation, his hot flash of jealousy gone with the
thought of meeting another person knowledgeable in his craft.
"Yes, and he is the best, too. The Lion Camp is well known. We
have the best carver, the best toolmaker, and the oldest Mamut," the
headman declared.
"And a headman big enough to make everyone agree, whether they
believe it or not," Ranee said, with a wry grin.
Talut grinned back, knowing Ranee's tendency to turn aside praise
of his carving skill with a quip. It didn't stop Talut from bragging,
however. He was proud of his Camp, and didn't hesitate to let every
one know.
Ayla watched the subtle interaction of the two men—the older one
a massive giant with naming red hair and pale blue eyes, the other
dark and compact—and understood the deep bond of affection and
loyalty they shared though they were as different as any two men
could be. They were both Mammoth Hunters, both members of the
Lion Camp of the Mamutoi.
They walked toward the archway Ayla had noticed earlier. It
seemed to open into a hillock or perhaps a series of them, tucked into
the slope that faced the large river. Ayla had seen people enter and
leave. She knew it must be a cave or a dwelling of some kind, but one
which seemed to be made entirely of dirt; hard-packed but with grass
growing in patches out of it, particularly around the bottom and up
the sides. It blended into the background so well that, except for the
entrance, it was hard to distinguish the dwelling from its sur
roundings.
On closer inspection she noticed that the rounded top of the mound
was the repository of several curious implements and objects. Then
she saw a particular one just above the archway, and caught her
breath.
It was the skull of a cave lion!
.yla was hiding in a tiny cleft of a sheer rock wall watching
a huge cave lion's claw reach in to get her. She screamed in pain and
fear when it found her bare thigh and raked it with four parallel
gashes. The Spirit of the Great Cave Lion himself had chosen her,
and caused her to be marked to show he was her totem, Creb had
explained, after a testing far beyond that which even a man had to
endure, though she had been a girl of only five years. A sensation of
quivering earth beneath her feet brought a rush of nausea.
She shook her head to dispel the vivid memory.
"What's wrong, Ay la?" Jondalar asked, noticing her distress.
"I saw that skull," she said, pointing to the decoration over the
door, "and remembered when I was chosen, when the Cave Lion be
came my totem!"
"We are the Lion Camp," Talut announced, with pride, though he
had said it before. He didn't understand them when they spoke Jon-
dalar's language, but he saw the interest they were showing in the
Camp's talisman.
"The cave lion holds strong meaning for Ay la," Jondalar explained.
"She says the spirit of the great cat guides and protects her."
"Then you should be comfortable here," Talut said, beaming a
smile at her, feeling pleased.
She noticed Nezzie carrying Rydag and thought again of her son. "I
think so," she said.
Before they started in, the young woman stopped to examine the
entrance arch, and smiled when she saw how its perfect symmetry
had been achieved. It was simple, but she would not have thought of
it. Two large mammoth tusks, from the same animal or at least ani
mals of the same size, had been anchored firmly in the ground with
the tips facing each other and joined together at the top of the arch in
a sleeve made from a hollow short section of a mammoth leg bone.
A heavy curtain of mammoth hide covered the opening, which was
high enough so that even Talut, moving the drape aside, could enter
without ducking his head. The arch led to a roomy entrance area,
with another symmetrical arch of mammoth tusks hung with leather
directly across. They stepped down into a circular foyer whose thick
walls curved up to a shallow domed ceiling.
As they walked through, Ay la noticed the side walls, which seemed
to be a mosaic of mammoth bones, were lined with outer clothes hung
on pegs and racks with storage containers and implements. Talut
pulled back the inner drape, went on through and held it back for the
guests.
Ayla stepped down again. Then stopped, and stared in amazement,
overwhelmed by bewildering impressions of unknown objects, un
familiar sights, and strong colors. Much of what she saw was incom
prehensible to her and she grasped at that which she could make
sense of.
The space they were in had a large fireplace near the center. A
massive haunch of meat was cooking over it, spitted on a long pole.
Each end was resting in a groove cut in the knee joint of an upright
leg bone of a mammoth calf, sunk into the ground. A fork from a
large branching antler of a deer had been fashioned into a crank and a
boy was turning it. He was one of the children who had stayed to
watch her and Whinney. Ayla recognized him and smiled. He
grinned back.
She was surprised by the spaciousness of the neat and comfortable
earthlodge, as her eyes became accustomed to the dimmer light in
doors. The fireplace was only the first of a row of hearths extending
down the middle of the longhouse, a dwelling that was over eighty
feet in length and almost twenty feet wide.
Seven fires, Ayla counted to herself, pressing her fingers against her
leg inconspicuously and thinking the counting words Jondalar had
taught her.
It was warm inside, she realized. The fires warmed the interior of
the semisubterranean dwelling more than fires usually warmed the
caves she was accustomed to. It was quite warm, in fact, and she
noticed several people farther back who were very lightly clad.
But it wasn't any darker at the back. The ceiling was about the
same height throughout, twelve feet or so, and had smoke holes above
each fireplace that let in light as well. Mammoth bone rafters, hung
with clothing, implements, and food, extended across, but the center
section of the ceiling was made of many reindeer antlers entwined
together.
Suddenly Ayla became aware of a smell that made her mouth
water. It's mammoth meat! she thought. She hadn't tasted rich,
tender mammoth meat since she left the cave of the Clan. There were
other delicious cooking odors, too. Some familiar, some not, but they
combined to remind her that she was hungry.
As they were led along a well-trodden passageway that ran down
the middle of the longhouse next to several hearths, she noticed wide
benches with furs piled on them, extending out from the walls. Some
people were sitting on them, relaxing or talking. She felt them looking
at her as she walked past. She saw more of the mammoth tusk arch
ways along the sides, and wondered where they led, but she hesitated
to ask.
It is like a cave, she thought, a large comfortable cave. But the
arching tusks and large, long mammoth bones used as posts, supports,
and walls made her realize it was not a cave that someone had found.
It was one they had built!
The first area, in which the roast was cooking, was larger than the
rest, and so was the fourth, where Talut led them. Several bare sleep
ing benches along the walls, apparently unused, showed how they
were constructed.
When they had excavated the lower floor, wide platforms of dirt
were left just below ground level along both sides and braced with
strategically placed mammoth bones. More mammoth bones were
placed across the top of the platforms, filled in with matted grass be
tween the spaces, to raise and support pallets of soft leather stuffed
with mammoth wool and other downy materials. With several layers
of furs added, the dirt platforms became warm and comfortable beds
or couches.
Jondalar wondered if the hearth to which they were led was unoc
cupied. It seemed bare, but for all its empty spaces, it had a lived-in
feeling. Coals glowed in the fireplace, furs and skins were piled up on
some of the benches, and dried herbs hung from racks.
"Visitors usually stay at the Mammoth Hearth," Talut explained,
"if Mamut doesn't object. I will ask."
"Of course they may stay, Talut."
The voice came from an empty bench. Jondalar spun around and
stared as one of the piles of furs moved. Then two eyes gleamed out
of a face marked, high on the right cheek, with tattooed chevrons that
fell into the seams and stitched across the wrinkles of incredible age.
What he had thought was the fur of a winter animal turned out to be a
white beard. Two long thin shanks unwound from a cross-legged
position and dropped over the edge of the raised platform to the floor.
"Don't look so surprised, man of the Zeiandonii. The woman knew
I was here," the old man said in a strong voice that carried little hint
of his advanced years.
"Did you, Ayla?" Jondalar asked, but she didn't seem to hear him.
Ayla and the old man were locked in the grip of each other's eyes,
staring as though they would see into each other's soul. Then, the
young woman dropped to the ground in front of the old Mamut,
crossing her legs and bowing her head.
Tondalar was puzzled, and embarrassed. She was using the sign lanuage
which she had told him the people of the Clan used to communicate.
That way of sitting was the posture of deference and
respect a Clan woman assumed when she was asking permission to
express herself. The only other time he'd seen her in that pose was
when she was trying to tell him something very important, something
she could not communicate in any other way; when the words he had
taught her were not enough to tell him how she felt. He wondered
how something could be expressed more clearly in a language in
which gestures and actions were used more than words, but he
had been more surprised to know those people communicated at

all.
But he wished she hadn't done that here. His face reddened at seeing
her use flathead signals in public like that, and he wanted to rush
to tell her to get up, before someone else saw her. The posture made
him feel uncomfortable anyway, as though she were offering to him
the reverence and homage that was due to Doni, the Great Earth
Mother. He had thought of it as something private between them,
personal, not something to show someone else. It was one thing to do
that with him, when they were alone, but he wanted her to make a
good impression on these people. He wanted them to like her. He
didn't want them to know her background.
The Mamut leveled a sharp look at him, then turned back to Ay la.
He studied her for a moment, then leaned over and tapped her
shoulder.
Ay la looked up and saw wise, gentle eyes in a face striated with fine
creases and soft puckers. The tattoo under his right eye gave her a
fleeting impression of a darkened eye socket and missing eye, and for
a heartbeat she thought it was Creb. But the old holy man of the Clan
who, with Iza, had raised her and cared for her, was dead, and so was
Iza. Then who was this man that had evoked such strong feelings in
her? Why was she sitting at his feet like a woman of the Clan? And
how had he known the proper Clan response?
"Get up, my dear. We will talk later," the Mamut said. "You need
time to rest and eat. These are beds--sleeping places," he explained,
indicating the benches, as though he knew she might need to be told.
"There are extra furs and bedding over there."
Ay la rose gracefully to her feet. The observant old man saw years
of practice in the movement, and added that bit of information to his
growing knowledge of the woman. In their short meeting, he already
knew more about Ay la and Jondalar than anyone else in the Camp.
But then he had an advantage. He knew more about where Ayla came
from than anyone else in the Camp.

The mammoth roast had been carried outside on a large pelvic bone
platter along with various roots, vegetables, and fruits to enjoy the
meal in the late afternoon sun. Mammoth meat was just as rich and
tender as Ayla remembered, but she'd had a difficult moment w^hen
the meal was served. She didn't know the protocol. On certain occasions,
usually more formal ones, the women of the Clan ate separately
from the men. Usually, though, they sat in family groups together,
but even then, the men were served first.
Ayla didn't know that the Mamutoi honored guests by offering
them the first and choicest piece, or that custom dictated, in deference
to the Mother, that a woman take the first bite. Ayla hung back when
the food was brought out, keeping behind Jondalar, trying to watch
the others unobtrusively. There was a moment of confused shuffling
while everyone stood back waiting for her to start, and she kept trying
to get behind them.
Some members of the Camp became aware of the action, and with
mischievous grins began to make a game of it. But it didn't seem
funny to Ayla. She knew she was doing something wrong, and watching
Jondalar didn't help. He was trying to urge her forward, too.
Mamut came to her aid. He took her arm and led her to the bone
platter of thick-sliced mammoth roast. "You are expected to eat first,
Ayla," he said.
"But I am a woman!" she protested.
"That is why you are expected to eat first. It is our offering to the
Mother, and it is better if a woman accepts it in Her place. Take the
best piece, not for your sake, but to honor Mut," the old man
explained.
She looked at him, first with surprise, and then with gratitude. She
picked up a plate, a slightly curved piece of ivory flaked off a tusk,
and with great seriousness carefully chose the best slice. Jondalar
smiled at her, nodding approval, then others crowded forward to
serve themselves. When she was through, Ayla put the plate on the
ground where she had seen others put theirs.
"I wondered if you were showing us a new dance earlier," said a
voice from close behind her.
Ayla turned to see the dark eyes of the man with brown skin. She
didn't understand the word "dance," but his wide smile was friendly.
She smiled back.
"Did anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are when you smile?"
he said.
"Beautiful? Me?" She laughed and shook her head in disbelief.
Jondalar had said almost the same words to her once, but Ay la did
not think of herself that way. Since long before she reached woman
hood, she had been thinner and taller than the people who had raised
her. She'd looked so different, with her bulging forehead and the
funny bone beneath her mouth that Jondalar said was a chin, she
always thought of herself as big and ugly.
Ranee watched her, intrigued. She laughed with childlike abandon,
as though she genuinely thought he'd said something funny. It was
not the response he expected. A coy smile, perhaps, or a knowing,
laughing invitation, but Ay la's gray-blue eyes held no guile, and there
was nothing coy or self-conscious about the way she tossed her head
back or pushed her long hair out of her way.
Rather, she moved with the natural fluid grace of an animal, a horse
perhaps, or a lion. She had an aura about her, a quality that he
couldn't quite define, but it had elements of complete candor and hon
esty, and yet some deep mystery. She seemed innocent, like a baby,
open to everything, but she was every bit a woman, a tall, stunning,
uncompromisingly beautiful woman.
He looked her over with interest and curiosity. Her hair, thick and
long with a natural wave, was a lustrous deep gold, like a field of hay
blowing in the wind; her eyes were large and wide-spaced and framed
with lashes a shade darker than her hair. With a sculptor's knowing
sense he examined the clean, elegant structure of her face, the mus
cled grace of her body, and when his eyes reached her full breasts and
inviting hips, they took on a look that disconcerted her.
-She flushed and looked away. Though Jondalar had told her it was
proper, she wasn't sure if she liked this looking straight at someone. It
made her feel defenseless, vulnerable. Jondalar's back was turned to
her when she looked in his direction, but his stance told her more
than words. He was angry. Why was he angry? Had she done any
thing to make him angry?
"Talut! Ranee! Barzec! Look who's here!" a voice called out.
Everyone turned to look. Several people were coming over the rise
at the top of the slope. Nezzie and Talut both started up the hill as a
young man broke away and ran toward them. They met midway and
embraced enthusiastically. Ranee rushed to meet one of those ap
proaching, too, and though the greeting was more restrained, it was
still with warm affection that he hugged an older man.
Ayla watched with a strangely empty feeling as the rest of the peo
ple of the Camp deserted the visitors in their eagerness to greet re
turning relatives and friends, all talking and laughing at the same
time. She was Ayla of No People. She had no place to go, no home to
return to, no clan to welcome her with hugs and kisses. Iza and Creb,
who had loved her, were dead, and she was dead to the ones she
loved.
Uba, Iza's daughter, had been as much a sister as anyone could be;
they were related by love if not by blood. But Uba would shut her
heart and her mind to her if she saw Ayla now; would refuse to be
lieve her eyes; would not believe her eyes; would not see her. Broud
had cursed her with death. She was, therefore, dead.
And would Durc even remember her? She'd had to leave him with
Brun's clan. Even if she could have stolen him away, there would
have been just the two of them. If something had happened to her, he
would have been left alone. It was best to leave him with the clan.
Uba loved him and w^ould take care of him. Everyone loved him—
except Broud. Brun would protect him, though, and would teach him
to hunt. And he would grow up strong and brave, and be as good
with a sling as she was, and be a fast runner, and . . .
Suddenly she noticed one member of the Camp who had not run
up the slope. Rydag was standing by the earthlodge, one hand on a
tusk, gazing round-eyed at the band of happy laughing people walking
back down. She saw them, then, through his eyes, arms around each
other, holding children, while other children jumped up and down
begging to be held. He was breathing too hard, she thought, feeling
too much excitement.
She started toward him, and saw Jondalar moving in the same di
rection. "I was going to take him up there," he said. He had noticed
the child, too, and they'd both had the same thought.
"Yes, do it," she said. "Whinney and Racer may get nervous again
around all the new people. I'll go and stay with them."
Ayla watched Jondalar pick up the dark-haired child, put him on
his shoulders, and stride up the slope toward the people of the Lion
Camp. The young man, nearly Jondalar's match in height, whom
Talut and Nezzie had welcomed so warmly, held out his arms to the
youngster and greeted him with obvious delight, then lifted Rydag to
his shoulders for the walk back down to the lodge. He is loved, she
thought, and remembered that she, too, had been loved, in spite of
her difference.
Jondalar saw her watching them and smiled at her. She felt such a
warm rush of feeling for the caring, sensitive man, she was embar
rassed to think she had been feeling so sorry for herself only moments
before. She wasn't alone any more. She had Jondalar. She loved the
sound of his name, and her thoughts filled with him and her feeling
for him.
Jondalar. The first one of the Others she had ever seen, that she
could remember; the first with a face like hers, blue eyes like hers--
only more so; his eyes were so blue it was hard to believe they were

real.
Jondalar. The first man she'd ever met who was taller than she; the
first one who ever laughed with her, and the first to cry tears of
grief--for the brother he had lost.
Jondalar. The man who had been brought as a gift from her totem,
she was sure, to the valley where she had settled after she left the
Clan when she grew weary of searching for the Others like herself.
Jondalar. The man who had taught her to speak again, with words,
not just the sign language of the Clan. Jondalar, whose sensitive hands
could shape a tool, or scratch a young horse, or pick up a child and
put him on his back. Jondalar, who taught her the joys of her body--
and his--and who loved her, and whom she loved more than she ever
thought it was possible to love anyone.
She walked toward the river and around a bend, where Racer was
tied to a stunted tree by a long rope. She wiped wet eyes with the
back of her hand, overcome with the emotion that was still so new to
her. She reached for her amulet, a small leather pouch attached to a
thong around her neck. She felt the lumpy objects it contained, and
made a thought to her totem.
"Spirit of the Great Cave Lion, Creb always said a powerful totem
was hard to live with. He was right. Always the testing has been
difficult, but always it has been worth it. This woman is grateful for
the protection, and for the. gifts of her powerful totem. The gifts inside,
of things learned, and the gifts of those to care about like Whin-
ney and Racer, and Baby, and most of all, for Jondalar."
Whinney came to her when she reached the colt and blew a soft
greeting. She laid her head on the mare's neck. The woman felt tired,
drained. She wasn't used to so many people, so much going on, and
people who spoke a language were so noisy. She had a headache, her
temples were pounding, and her neck and shoulders hurt. Whinney
was leaning on her and Racer, joining them, added pressure from his
side, until she was feeling squeezed between them, but she didn't
mind.
"Enough!" she said, finally, slapping the colt's flank. "You're getting
too big, Racer, to get me in the middle like that. Look at you!
Look how big you are. You're almost as big as your dam!" She
scratched him, then rubbed and patted Whinney, noticing dried
sweat. "It's hard for you, too, isn't it? I'll give you a good rubdown
and brush you with a teasel later, but people are coming now so
you're probably going to get more attention. It won't be so bad once
they get used to you."
Ayla didn't notice that she had slipped into the private language she
had developed during her years alone with only animals for company.
It was composed partly of Clan gestures, partly of verbalizations of
some of the few words the Clan spoke, imitations of animals, and the
nonsense words she and her son had begun to use. To anyone else, it
was likely the hand signals would not have been noticed, and she
would have seemed to be murmuring a most peculiar set of sounds:
grunts and growls and repetitive syllables. It might not have been
thought of as a language.
"Maybe Jondalar will brush Racer, too." Suddenly she stopped as a
troubling thought occurred to her. She reached for her amulet again
and tried to frame her thoughts. "Great Cave Lion, Jondalar is now
your chosen, too, he bears the scars on his leg of your marking, just as
I do." She shifted her thoughts into the ancient silent language spoken
only with hands; the proper language for addressing the spirit world.
"Spirit of the Great Cave Lion, that man who has been chosen has
not a knowledge of totems. That man knows not of testing, knows not
the trials of a powerful totem, or the gifts and the learning. Even this
woman who knows has found them difficult. This woman would beg
the Spirit of the Cave Lion . . . would beg for that man ..."
Ayla stopped. She wasn't sure what she was asking for. She didn't
want to ask the spirit not to test Jondalar—she did not want him to
forfeit the benefits such trials would most assuredly bring—and not
even to go easy on him. Since she had suffered great ordeals and
gained unique skills and insights, she had come to believe benefits
came in proportion to the severity of the test. She gathered her
thoughts and continued.
"This woman would beg the Spirit of the Great Cave Lion to help
that man who has been chosen to know the value of his powerful
totem, to know that no matter how difficult it may seem, the testing is
necessary." She finally finished and let her hands drop.
"Ayla?"
She turned around and saw Latie. "Yes."
"You seemed to be ... busy. I didn't want to interrupt you."
"I am through."
"Talut would like you to come and bring the horses. He has already
told everyone they should do nothing that you don't say. Not to
frighten them or make them nervous ... I think he made some people
nervous."
"I will come," Ayla said, then she smiled. "You like ride horse
back?" she asked.
Latie's face split into a wide grin. "Could I? Really?" When she
smiled like that, she resembled Talut, Ayla thought.
'Maybe people not be nervous when see you on Whinney. Come.
Here is rock. Help you get on."
As Ay la came back around the bend, followed by a full-grown mare
with the girl on her back, and a frisky colt behind, all conversation
stopped. Those who had seen it before, though still awed themselves,
were enjoying the expressions of stunned disbelief on the faces of
those who hadn't.
"See, Tulie. I told you!" Talut said to a dark-haired woman who
resembled him in size, if not in coloring. She towered over Barzec,
the man from the last hearth, who stood beside her with his arm
around her waist. Near them were the two boys of that hearth, thirteen
and eight years, and their sister of six, whom Ay la had recently

met.
When they reached the earthlodge, Ay la lifted Latie down, then
stroked and patted Whinney, whose nostrils were flaring as she picked
up the scent of unfamiliar people again. The girl ran to a gangly, red-
haired young man of, perhaps, fourteen years, nearly as tall as Talut
and, except for age and a body not yet as filled out, almost identical.
"Come and meet Ayla," Latie said, pulling him toward the woman
with the horses. He allowed himself to be pulled. Jondalar had
strolled over to keep Racer settled down.
"This is my brother, Danug," Latie explained. "He's been gone a
long time, but he's going to stay home now that he knows all about
mining flint. Aren't you, Danug?"
"I don't know all about it, Latie," he said, a bit embarrassed.
Ayla smiled. "I greet you," she said, holding out her hands.
It made him even more embarrassed. He was the son of the Lion
Hearth, he should have greeted the visitor first, but he was overwhelmed
by the beautiful stranger who had such power over animals.
He took her proffered hands and mumbled a greeting. Whinney chose
that moment to snort and prance away, and he quickly let her hands
go, feeling, for some reason, that the horse disapproved.
"Whinney would learn to know you faster if you patted her and let
her get your scent," Jondalar said, sensing the young man's discomfort.
It was a difficult age; no longer child but not quite man. "Have
you been learning the craft of mining flint?" he asked conversationally,
trying to put the boy at ease as he showed him how to stroke
the horse.
"I am a worker of flint. Wymez has been teaching me since I was
young," the young man said with pride. "He's the best, but he
wanted me to learn some other techniques, and how to judge the raw
stone." With the conversation turned to more familiar topics, Danug's
natural enthusiasm surfaced.
Jondalar's eyes lit up with sincere interest. "I, too, am a worker of
flint, and learned my craft from a man who is the best. When I was
about your age, I lived with him near the flint mine he found. I'd like
to meet your teacher sometime."
"Then let me introduce you, since I am the son of his hearth—and
the first, though not the only, user of his tools."
Jondalar turned at the sound of Ranee's voice, and noticed the
whole Camp was circled around. Standing beside the man with
brown skin was the man he had greeted so warmly. Though they
were the same height, Jondalar could see no further resemblance. The
older man's hair was straight and light brown shot with gray, his eyes
were an ordinary blue, and there was no similarity between his and
Ranee's distinctly exotic features. The Mother must have chosen the
spirit of another man for the child of his hearth, Jondalar thought, but
why did She select one of such unusual coloring?
"Wymez, of the Fox Hearth of the Lion Camp, Flint Master of the
Mamutoi," Ranee said with exaggerated formality, "meet our visitors,
Jondalar of the Zeiandonii, another of your ilk, it would seem." Jon
dalar felt an undercurrent of ... he wasn't sure. Humor? Sarcasm?
Something. "And, his beautiful companion, Ayla, a woman of No
People, but great charm—and mystery." His smile drew Ay la's eyes,
with the contrast between white teeth and dark skin, and his dark
eyes sparkled with a knowing look.
"Greetings," Wymez said, as simple and direct as Ranee had been
elaborate. "You work the stone?"
"Yes, I'm a flint knapper," Jondalar replied.
"I have some excellent stone with me. It's fresh from the source,
hasn't dried out at all."
"I've got a hammerstone, and a good punch in my pack," Jondalar
said, immediately interested. "Do you use a punch?"
Ranee gave Ayla a pained look as their conversation quickly turned
to their mutual skill. "I could have told you this would happen," he
said. "Do you know what the worst part of living at the hearth of a
master toolmaker is? It's not always having stone chips in your furs,
it's always having stone talk in your ears. And after Danug showed an
interest . . . stone, stone, stone . . . that's all I heard." Ranee's warm
smile belied his complaint, and everyone had obviously heard it be
fore, since no one paid much attention, except Danug.
"I didn't know it bothered you so much," the young man said.
"It didn't," Wymez said to the youngster. "Can't you tell when
Ranee is trying to impress a pretty woman?"
"Actually, I'm grateful to you, Danug. Until you came along, I
think he was hoping to turn me into a flint worker," Ranee said to
relieve Danug's concern.
"Not after I realized your only interest in my tools was to carve
ivory with them, and that wasn't long after we got here," Wymez
said, then he smiled and added, "And if you think chips of flint in
your bed are bad, you ought to try ivory dust in your food."
The two dissimilar men were smiling at each other, and Ayla real
ized with relief that they were joking, teasing each other verbally, in a
friendly way. She also noticed that for all their difference in color and
Ranee's exotic features, their smile was similar, and their bodies
moved the same way.
Suddenly shouting could be heard coming from inside the long-
house. "Keep out of it, old woman! This is between Fralie and me." It
was a man's voice, the man of the sixth hearth, next to the last one.
Ayla recalled meeting him.
"I don't know why she chose you, Frebec! I should never have
allowed it!" a woman screeched back at the man. Suddenly an older
woman burst out through the archway, dragging a crying young
woman with her. Two bewildered boys followed, one about seven,
the other a toddler of two with a bare bottom and a thumb in his
mouth.
"It's all your fault. She listens to you too much. Why don't you
stop interfering?"
Everyone turned away—they had heard it all before, too many
times. But Ayla stared in amazement. No woman of the Clan would
have argued with any man like that.
"Frebec and Crozie are at it again, don't mind them," said Tronic.
She was the woman from the fifth hearth—the Reindeer Hearth,
Ayla recalled. It was the next after the Mammoth Hearth, where she
and Jondalar were staying. The woman was holding a baby boy to her
breast.
Ayla had met the young mother from the neighboring hearth earlier
and was drawn to her. Tornec, her mate, picked up the three-year-old
who was clinging to her mother, still not accepting of the new baby
who had usurped her place at her mother's breast. They were a warm
and loving young couple, and Ayla was glad they were the ones who
lived at the next hearth rather than the ones who squabbled. Manuv,
who lived with them, had come to talk to her while they were eating,
and told her that he had been the man of the hearth when Tornec was
young, and was the son of a cousin of Mamut. He said he often spent
time at the fourth hearth, which pleased her. She always did have a
special fondness for older people.
She wasn't as comfortable with the neighboring hearth on the other
side, the third one. Ranee lived there—he had called it the Fox
Hearth. She did not dislike him, but Jondalar acted so strangely
around him. It was a smaller hearth, though, with only two men and
took less space in the longhouse so she felt closer to Nezzie and Talut,
at the second hearth, and to Rydag. She liked the other children of
Talut's Lion Hearth, too, Latie and Rugie, Nezzie's younger daughter,
close in age to Rydag. Now that she'd met Danug, she liked him,
too.
Talut approached with the big woman. Barzec and the children
were with them and Ayla assumed they were mated.
"Ayla, I would like you to meet my sister, Tulie of the Aurochs
Hearth, headwoman of the Lion Camp."
"Greetings," the woman said, holding out both hands in the formal
way. "In Mut's name, I welcome you." As sister to the headman she
was his equal, and conscious of her responsibilities.
"I greet you, Tulie," Ayla replied, trying not to stare.
The first time Jondalar was able to stand, it had been a shock to
discover that he was taller than she was, but to see a woman who was
taller was even more surprising. Ayla had always towered over everyone
in the Clan. But the headwoman was more than tall, she was
muscular and powerful-looking. The only one who exceeded her in
size was her brother. She carried herself with the presence that only
sheer height and mass can convey, and the undeniable self-assurance
of a woman, mother, and leader completely confident and in control
of her life.
Tulie wondered about the visitor's strange accent, but another
problem concerned her more, and with the directness typical of her
people, she did not hesitate to bring it up.
"I didn't know the Mammoth Hearth would be occupied when I
invited Branag to return with us. He and Deegie will be joined this
summer. He will only stay a few days, and I know she had hoped
they could spend those days off by themselves a little, away from her
brothers and sister. Since you are a guest, she would not ask, but
Deegie would like to stay at the Mammoth Hearth with Branag, if
you do not object."
"Is large hearth. Many beds. I do not object," Ayla said, feeling
uncomfortable to be asked. It wasn't her home.
As they were talking, a young woman came out of the earthlodge,
followed by a young man. Ayla looked twice. She was close to Ay la's
age, stocky and a fraction taller! She had deep chestnut hair and a
friendly face that many would have said was pretty, and it was evident
that the young man with her thought she was quite attractive.
But Ayla wasn't paying much attention to her physical appearance,
she was staring with awe at the young woman's clothing.
She was dressed in leggings, and a tunic of leather of a color that
almost matched her hair--a long, profusely decorated, dark ochre red

28

K
f tunic that opened in front, belted to hold it closed. Red was a color
| sacred to the Clan. Iza's pouch was the only object Ayla owned that
? had been dyed red. It held the special roots used to make the drink for
I the special ceremonies. She still had it, carefully tucked away in her
llnedicine bag in which she carried various dried herbs used in the
I? healing magic. A whole tunic made of red leather? It was hard to

A believe.
"It is so beautiful!" Ayla said, even before she could be properly

introduced.
"Do you like it? It's for my Matrimonial, when we are joined.
Branag's mother gave it to me, and I just had to put it on to show

everyone."
"I not ever see anything like it!" Ayla said, her eyes open wide.
The young woman was delighted. "You're the one called Ayla,
aren't you? My name is Deegie, and this is Branag. He has to go back
in a few days," she said, looking disappointed, "but after next summer
we'll be together. We're going to move in with my brother, Tarneg.
He's living with his woman and her family now, but he wants to set
up a new Camp and he's been after me to take a mate so he'll have a
headwoman."
Ayla saw Tulie smiling and nodding at her daughter and remembered
the request. "Hearth have much room, many empty beds,
Deegie. You stay at Mammoth Hearth with Branag? He is visitor, too
... if Mamut not mind. Is hearth of Mamut."
"His first woman was the mother of my grandmother. I've slept at
his hearth many times. Mamut won't mind, will you?" Deegie asked,
seeing him.
"Of course, you and Branag can stay, Deegie," the old man said,
"but remember, you may not get much sleep." Deegie smiled with
expectation as Mamut continued, "With visitors, Danug returning
after being away for a whole year, your Matrimonial, and Wymez's
success on his trading mission, I think there is reason to gather at the
Mammoth Hearth tonight and tell the stories."
Everyone smiled. They expected the announcement, but that didn't
diminish their anticipation. They knew that a gathering at the Mammoth
Hearth meant recounting of experiences, storytelling, and perhaps
other entertainment, and they looked forward to the evening
with enjoyment. They were eager to hear news of other Camps, and
to listen again to stories they knew. And they were as interested in
seeing the reactions of the strangers to the lives and adventures of
members of their own Camp as to hearing the stories they had to
share.

Jondalar also knew what such a gathering meant, and it bothered

29

him. Would Ay la tell much of her story? Would the Lion Camp be as
welcoming afterward? He thought about taking her aside to caution
her, but he knew it would just make her angry and upset. In many
ways she was like the Mamutoi, direct and honest in the expression of
her feelings. It wouldn't do any good anyway. She didn't know how
to lie. At best, she might refrain from speaking.
3

.yla spent time in the afternoon rubbing down and currying
Whinney with a soft piece of leather and the dried spiny head of a
teasel. It was as relaxing for her as it was for the horse.
Jondalar worked companionably beside her using a teasel on Racer
to soothe his itchy places while he smoothed the colt's shaggy winter
coat, though the young animal wanted to play more than stand still.
Racer's warm and soft inner layer had grown in much thicker, reminding
the man how soon the cold would be upon them, which set
him to thinking about where they would spend the winter. He still
wasn't sure how Ay la felt about the Mamutoi, but at least the horses
and the people of the Camp were getting used to each other.
Ay la noticed the easing of tensions, too, but she was worried about
where the horses would spend the night when she was inside the
earthlodge. They were used to sharing a cave with her. Jondalar kept
assuring her they would be fine, horses were used to being outside.
She finally decided to tether Racer near the entrance, knowing Whinney
wouldn't wander far afield without her colt, and that the mare
would wake her if any danger presented itself.
The wind turned cold as darkness fell, and there was a breath of
snow in the air when Ay la and Jondalar went in, but the Mammoth
Hearth in the middle of the semisubterranean dwelling was snug and
warm as people gathered. Many had stopped to pick at cold leftovers
from the earlier meal which had been brought in: small white starchy
groundnuts, wild carrots, blueberries, and slices of mammoth roast.
They picked up the vegetables and fruit with fingers or a pair of sticks
used as tongs, but Ay la noticed that each person, except for the
youngest children, had an eating knife for the meat. It intrigued her to
watch someone take hold of a large slice with the teeth, then cut off a
small bite with an upward flick of the knife--without losing a nose.
Small brown waterbags--the preserved waterproof bladders and
stomachs of various animals--were passed around and people drank
from them with great relish. Talut offered her a drink. It smelled
fermented and somewhat unpleasant, and filled her mouth with a
slightly sweet but strong burning taste. She declined a second offer.
She didn't like it, though Jondalar seemed to enjoy it.
People were talking and laughing as they found places on platforms
or on furs or mats on the floor. Ayla's head was turned, listening to a
conversation, when the level of noise dropped off noticeably. She
turned around and saw the old Mamut standing quietly behind the
fireplace in which a small fire burned. When all conversation ceased,
and he had everyone's attention, he picked up a small unlit torch and
held it to the hot flames until it caught. In the expectant hush of held
breaths he brought the flame to a small stone lamp that was in a niche
in the wall behind him. The dried lichen wick sputtered in the mam
moth fat, then flared up, revealing a small ivory carving of an ample,
well-endowed woman behind the lamp.
Ay la felt a prickle of recognition, though she had never seen one
like it before. That's whatjondalar calls a donii, she thought. He says
it holds the Spirit of the Great Earth Mother. Or a part of it, maybe.
It seems too small to hold all of it. But then how big is a spirit?
Her mind wandered back to another ceremony, the time when she
was given the black stone which she carried in the amulet bag around
her neck. The small lump of black manganese dioxide held a piece of
the spirit of everyone in the entire Clan, not just her clan. The stone
had been given to her when she was made a medicine woman, and she
had given up a part of her own spirit in exchange, so that if she saved
someone's life, that person incurred no obligation to give her some
thing of like kind and value in return. It had already been done.
It still bothered her when she recalled that the spirits had not been
returned after she was death-cursed. Creb had taken them back from
Iza, after the old medicine woman died, so they would not go with
her to the spirit world, but no one had taken them from Ay la. If she
had a piece of the spirit of every member of the Clan, had Broud
caused them to be cursed with death, too?
Am I dead? she wondered, as she had wondered many times be
fore. She didn't think so. She had learned that the power of the death
curse was in the believing, and that when loved ones no longer ac
knowledged your existence, and you had no place to go, you might as
well die. But why hadn't she died? What had kept her from giving
up? And more important, what would happen to the Clan when she
really did die? Might her death cause harm to those she loved? Per
haps to all the Clan? The small leather pouch felt heavy with the
weight of the responsibility, as though the fate of the entire Clan hung
around her neck.
Ay la was brought out of her musing by a rhythmic sound. With a
hammer-shaped section of an antler, Mamut was beating on the skull
of a mammoth, painted with geometric lines and symbols. Ay la
thought she detected a quality beyond rhythm and she watched and
listened carefully. The hollow cavity intensified the sound with rich
vibrations, but it was more than the simple resonance of the instru
ment. When the old shaman played on the different areas marked on
the bone drum, the pitch and tone changed with such complex and
subtle variations it seemed as though Mamut was drawing speech
from the drum, making the old mammoth skull talk.
Low and deep in his chest, the old man began intoning a chant in
closely modulated minor tones. As drum and voice interwove an intri
cate pattern of sound, other voices joined in from here and there
around the room, fitting into the established mode, yet varying it in
dependently. The drum rhythm was picked up by a similar sound
across the room. Ay la looked over and saw Deegie playing another
skull drum. Then Tornec began tapping with an antler hammer on
another mammoth bone, a shoulder bone covered with evenly spaced
lines and chevrons painted in red. The deep tonal resonances of the
skull drums, and the higher-pitched tones of the scapula, filled the
earthlodge with a beautiful haunting sound. Ay la's body pulsed with
movement and she noticed others moving their bodies in time to the
sound. Suddenly it stopped.
The silence was filled with expectancy, but it was left to fade away.
No formal ceremony was planned, only an informal gathering of the
Camp to spend a pleasant evening in one another's company, doing
what people do best—talking.
Tulie began by announcing that agreement had been reached, and
the nuptials of Deegie and Branag would be formalized the next sum
mer. Words of approval and congratulations were spoken out, though
everyone expected it. The young couple beamed their pleasure. Then
Talut asked Wymez to tell them about his trading mission, and they
learned that it involved exchanges of salt, amber, and flint. Several
people asked questions or made comments while Jondalar listened
with interest, but Ay la did not comprehend and resolved to ask him
later. Following that, Talut asked about Danug's progress, to the
young man's discomfiture.
"He has talent, a deft touch. A few more years of experience, and
he'll be very good. They were sorry to see him leave. He's learned
well, it was worth the year away," Wymez reported. More words of
approval were spoken out by the group. Then there was a lull filled
with small private conversations before Talut turned to Jondalar,
which caused rustlings of excitement.
"Tell us, man of the Zeiandonii, how do you come to be sitting in
the lodge of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi?" he asked.
Jondalar took a swallow from one of the small brown waterbags of
fermented drink, looked around at the people waiting expectantly,
then smiled at Ay la. He's done this before! she thought, a little sur
prised, understanding that he was setting the pace and the tone to tell
his story. She settled down to listen as well.
"It is a long story," he began. People were nodding. That's what
they wanted to hear. "My people live a long way from here, far, far to
the west, even beyond the source of the Great Mother River that
empties into Beran Sea. We live near a river, too, as you do, but our
river flows into the Great Waters of the west.
"The Zeiandonii are a great people. Like you, we are Earth's Chil
dren; the one you call Mut, we call Doni, but She is still the Great
Earth Mother. We hunt and trade, and sometimes make long Jour
neys. My brother and I decided to make such a Journey." For a mo
ment, Jondalar closed his eyes and his forehead knotted with pain.
"Thonolan . . . my brother . . . was full of laughter and loved adven
ture. He was a favorite of the Mother."
The pain was too real. Everyone knew it was not an affectation for
the sake of the story. Even without his saying so, they guessed the
cause. They also had a saying about the Mother taking the ones she
favored early. Jondalar hadn't planned to show his feelings like that.
The grief caught him by surprise and left him somewhat embarrassed.
But such loss is universally understood. His unintended demonstra
tion drew their sympathy and caused them to feel for him a warmth
that went beyond the normal curiosity and courtesy they usually ex
tended to nonthreatening strangers.
He took a deep breath and tried to pick up the thread of his tale.
"The Journey was Thonolan's in the beginning. I planned to accom
pany him only a short way, only as far as the home of some relatives,
but then I decided to go with him. We crossed over a small glacier,
which is the source of Donau—the Great Mother River—and said we
would follow her to the end. No one believed we would do it, I'm not
sure if we did, but we kept going, crossing many tributaries and meet
ing many people.
"Once, during the first summer, we stopped to hunt, and while we
were drying the meat, we found ourselves surrounded by men point
ing spears at us. . . ."
Jondalar had found his stride again, and held the camp enthralled as
he recounted his adventures. He was a good storyteller, with a flair
for drawing out the suspense. There were nods and murmurs of ap
proval and words of encouragement, often shouts of excitement. Even
when they listen, people who speak with words are not silent, Ayla
thought.
She was as fascinated as the rest, but found herself for a moment
watching the people who were listening to him. Adults held young
children in their laps while the older children sat together watching
the charismatic stranger with glistening eyes. Danug, in particular,
seemed captured. He was leaning forward, in rapt attention.
"Thonolan went into the canyon, thinking he was safe with the
lioness gone. Then we heard the roar of a lion ..."
"What happened then?" Danug asked.
"Ay la will have to tell you the rest. I don't remember much after
that."
All eyes turned toward her. Ay la was stunned. She didn't expect it;
she had never spoken to a crowd of people before. Jondalar was smil
ing at her. He'd had the sudden thought that the best way to get her
used to talking to people was to make her do it. It wouldn't be the last
time she'd be expected to recount some experience, and with her con
trol over the horses still fresh in everyone's mind, the story of the lion
would be more believable. It was an exciting story, he knew, and one
that would add to her mystery—and perhaps, if she satisfied them
with this story, she wouldn't have to bring up her background.
"What happened, Ay la?" Danug said, still caught up in the tale.
Rugie had been feeling shy and reticent around her big brother who
had been gone for so long, but remembering former times when they
sat around telling stories, she decided at that moment to climb into his
lap. He welcomed her with an absentminded smile and hug, but
looked at Ay la expectantly.
Ayla looked around at all the faces turned toward her, tried to
speak, but her mouth was dry, though her palms were sweaty.
"Yes, what happened?" Latie repeated. She was sitting near Danug,
with Rydag in her lap.
The boy's big brown eyes were filled with excitement. He opened
his mouth to ask, too, but no one understood the sound he made—
except Ayla. Not the word itself, but its intent. She had heard similar
sounds before, had even learned to speak them. The people of the
Clan were not mute, but they were limited in their ability to articu
late. They had instead evolved a rich and comprehensive sign lan
guage to communicate, and used words only for emphasis. She knew
the child was asking her to continue the story, and that to him the
words had that meaning. Ayla smiled, and directed her words to him.
"I was with Whinney," Ayla began. Her way of saying the mare's
name had always been an imitation of the soft nicker of a horse. The
people in the lodge didn't realize she was saying the animal's name.
Instead, they thought it was a wonderful embellishment to the story.
They smiled, and spoke words of approval, encouraging her to con
tinue in the same vein.
"She soon have small horse. Very big," Ayla said, holding her
hands out in front of her stomach to indicate that the horse was very
pregnant. There were smiles of understanding. "Every day we ride,
Whinney need go out. Not far, not fast. Always go east, easy to go
east. Too easy, nothing new. One day, we go west, not east. See new
place," Ayla continued, directing her words to Rydag.
Jondalar had been teaching her Mamutoi, as well as the other lan
guages he knew, but she wasn't as fluent as she was in his language,
the one she'd first learned to speak. Her manner of speaking was odd,
different in a way that was hard to explain, and she struggled to find
words, feeling shy about it. But when she thought of the boy who
couldn't make himself understood at all, she had to try. Because he
had asked.
"I hear lion." She wasn't sure why she did it. Perhaps it was the
expectant look on Ry dag's face, or the way he turned his head to hear,
or an instinct for it, but she followed the word "lion" with a menacing
growl, that sounded for all the world like a real lion. She heard little
gasps of fear, then nervous chuckles, then smiling words of approval
from the assembled group. Her ability to mimic the sounds of animals
was uncanny. It added unexpected excitement to her story. Jondalar
was nodding and smiling his approval, too.
"I hear man scream." She looked at Jondalar and her eyes filled
with sorrow. "I stop, what to do? Whinney is big with baby." She
made the little squealing sounds of a foal, and was rewarded with a
beaming smile from Latie. "I worry for horse, but man scream. I hear
lion again. I listen." She managed, somehow, to make a lion's roar
sound playful. "It is Baby. I go in canyon then, I know horse not be
hurt."
Ayla saw puzzled looks. The word she spoke was unfamiliar, al
though Rydag might have known it if his circumstances had been
different. She had told Jondalar it was the Clan word for infant.
"Baby is lion," she said, trying to explain. "Baby is lion I know,
Baby is ... like son. I go in canyon, make lion go away. I find one
man dead. Other man, Jondalar, hurt very bad. Whinney take back to
valley."
"Ha!" a voice said derisively. Ayla looked up and saw that it was
Frebec, the man who had been arguing with the old woman earlier.
"Are you trying to tell me you told a lion to go away from a wounded
man?"
"Not any lion. Baby," Ayla said.
"What is that . . . whatever you are saying?"
"Baby is Clan word. Mean child, infant. Name I give lion when he
live with me. Baby is lion I know. Horse know, too. Not afraid."
Ayla was upset, something was wrong, but she wasn't sure what.
'You lived with a lion? I don't believe that," he sneered.
"You don't believe it?" Jondalar said, sounding angry. The man
was accusing Ayla of lying, and he knew only too well how true her
story was. "Ayla does not lie," he said, standing up to untie the thong
that was gathered around the waist of his leather trousers. He
dropped down one side of them and exposed a groin and thigh dis
figured with angry red scars. "That lion attacked me, and Ayla not
only got me away from him, she is a Healer of great skill. I would
have followed my brother to the next world without her. I will tell
you something else. I saw her ride the back of that lion, just as she
rides the horse. Will you call me a liar?"
"No guest of the Lion Camp is called a liar," Tulie said, glaring at
Frebec, trying to calm a potentially ugly scene. "I think it is evident
that you were badly mauled, and we have certainly seen the woman
. . . Ayla . . . ride the horse. I see no reason to doubt you, or her."
There was a strained silence. Ayla was looking from one to the
other, confused. The word "liar" was unfamiliar to her, and she did
riot understand why Frebec said he didn't believe her. Ayla had
grown up among people who communicated with movement. More
than hand signs, the Clan language included posture and expressions
to shade meanings and give nuances. It was impossible to lie effec
tively with the entire body. At best, one could refrain from mention
ing and even that was known, though allowed for the sake of privacy.
Ayla had never learned to lie.
But she did know something was wrong. She could read the anger
and hostility that had sprung up as easily as if they'd shouted it. She
also knew they were trying to refrain from mentioning it. Talut saw
Ayla look at the dark-skinned man, then look away. Seeing Ranee
gave him an idea of a way to ease tensions and get back to story telling.
"That was a good story, Jondalar," Talut boomed, giving Frebec a
hard look. "Long Journeys are always exciting to hear about. Would
you like to hear a story of another long Journey?"
"Yes, very much."
There were smiles all around as people relaxed. It was a favorite
story of the group, and not often was there an opportunity to share it
with people who hadn't heard it before.
"It's Ranee's story ..." Talut began.
Ayla looked at Ranee expectantly. "I would know how man with
brown skin comes to live at Lion Camp," she said.
Ranee smiled at her, but turned to the man of his hearth. "It's my
story, but yours to tell, Wymez," he said.
Jondalar was seated again, not at all sure he liked the turn the con
versation had taken—or perhaps Ayla's interest in Ranee—though it
was better than the near-open hostility, and he was interested, too.
Wymez settled back, nodded to Ayla, then, smiling at Jondalar, he
began. "We have more in common than a feel for the stone, young
man. I, too, made a long Journey in my youth. I traveled south
toward the east first, past Beran Sea, all the way to the shores of a
much larger sea farther south. This Southern Sea has many names,
for many people live along its shores. I traveled around its eastern end
then west along the south shore through lands of many forests, much
warmer, and rainier, than here.
"I won't try to tell you all that happened to me. I will save that for
another time. I will tell you Ranee's story. As I traveled west, I met
many people and stayed with some of them, and learned new ways,
but then I would get restless and travel again. I wanted to see how far
west I could go.
"After several years I came to a place, not far from your Great
Waters, I think, Jondalar, but across the narrow straits where the
Southern Sea joins it. There, I met some people whose skin was so
dark it seemed black, and there I met a woman. A woman I was
drawn to. Perhaps at first it was her difference . . . her exotic clothes,
her color, her dark flashing eyes. Her smile compelled . . . and the
way she danced, the way she moved . . . she was the most exciting
woman I ever met."
Wymez talked in a direct, understated way, but the story was so
enthralling it needed no dramatics. Yet, the demeanor of the stocky,
quietly reserved man changed perceptibly when he mentioned the
woman.
"When she agreed to join with me, I decided to stay there with her.
I always had an interest in working stone, even as a youngster, and I
learned their way of making spear points. They chip off both sides of
the stone, you understand?" He directed the question to Jondalar.
"Yes, bifacially, like an axe."
"But these points were not so thick and crude. They had good technique.
I showed them some things, too, and I was quite content to
accept their ways, especially after the Mother blessed her with a
child, a boy. She asked me for a name, as was their custom. I chose
Ranee."
That explains it, Ay la thought. His mother was dark-skinned.
"What made you decide to come back?" Jondalar asked.
"A few years after Ranee was born, difficulties began. The dark-
skinned people I was living with had moved there from farther south,
and some people from neighboring Camps didn't want to share hunting
grounds. There were differences in customs. I almost convinced
them to meet and talk about it. Then some young hotheads from both
sides decided to fight about it instead. One death led to another for
revenge, and then to attacks on home Camps.
"We set up good defenses, but there were more of them. It went on |1
for some time and they kept killing us off, one after another. After a
while, the sight of a person with lighter skin began to cause fear and
hatred. Though I was one of them, they started distrusting me, and
even Ranee. His skin was lighter than the others, and his features had
a different cast. I talked to Ranee's mother, and we decided to leave.
It was a sad parting, leaving family and many friends, but it wasn't
safe to stay. Some of the hotheads even tried to keep us from going,
but with help, we stole away in the night.
"We traveled north, to the straits. I knew some people lived there
who made small boats which they used to cross the open water. We
were warned that it was the wrong season, and it was a difficult cross
ing during the best of conditions. But I felt we had to get away, and
decided to chance it.
"It was the wrong decision," Wymez said in a tightly controlled
voice. "The boat capsized. Only Ranee and I made it across, and one
bundle of her belongings." He paused for a moment before he con
tinued the story. "We were still far from home, and it took a long
time, but we finally arrived here, during a Summer Meeting."
"How long were you gone?" Jondalar asked.
"Ten years," Wymez said, then smiled. "We created quite a stir.
No one expected to see me again, much less with Ranee. Nezzie
didn't even recognize me, but my little sister was only a girl when I
left. She and Talut had just completed their Matrimonial and were
setting up the Lion Camp with Tulie and both of her mates, and their
children. They invited me to join them. Nezzie adopted Ranee,
though he is still the son of my hearth, and took care of him as though
he were her own, even after Danug was born."
When he stopped talking, it took a moment to realize he was
through. Everyone wanted to hear more. Even though most of them
had heard many of his adventures, he always seemed to have new
stories or new twists to old stories.
"I think Nezzie would be everyone's mother, if she could," Tulie
said, recalling the time of his return. "I had Deegie at the breast then,
and Nezzie couldn't get enough of playing with her."
"She does more than mother me!" Talut said, with a playful grin as
he patted her broad backside. He had gotten another waterbag of the
powerful drink and was passing it on after taking a swallow.
"Talut! I'll do more than mother you, all right!" She was trying to
sound angry, but stifling a smile.
"Is that a promise?" he countered.
"You know what I meant, Talut," Tulie said, brushing aside the
rather obvious innuendos between her brother and his woman. "She
couldn't even let Rydag go. He's so sickly, he'd have been better off."
Ayla's eye was drawn to the child. Tulie's comment had bothered
him. Her words had not been intentionally unkind, but Ay la knew he
didn't like being spoken of as though he wasn't there. There wasn't
anything he could do about it, though. He couldn't tell her how he
felt, and without thinking, she assumed that because he couldn't
speak, he didn't feel.
Ay la wanted to ask about the child, too, but felt it might be pre
sumptuous. Jondalar did it for her, though it was to satisfy his own
curiosity.
"Nezzie, would you tell us about Rydag? I think Ayla would be
particularly interested—and so would I."
Nezzie leaned over and took the child from Latie, and held him on
her lap while she gathered her thoughts.
"We were out after megaceros, you know, the giant deer with the
great antlers," she began, "and planned to build a surround to drive
them into—that's the best way to hunt the big-antlered ones. When I
first noticed the woman hiding near our hunting camp, I thought it
was strange. You seldom see flathead women, and never alone."
Ayla was leaning close, listening intently.
"She didn't run away when she saw me looking at her, either, only
when I tried to get closer. Then I saw she was pregnant. I thought
she might be hungry, so I left some food out near the place she was
hiding. In the morning it was gone, so I left more before we broke
camp.
"I thought I saw her the next day a few times, but I wasn't sure.
Then that night, when I was by the fire nursing Rugie, I saw her
again. I got up and tried to get closer to her. She ran away again, but
she moved like she was in pain, and I realized she was in labor. I
didn't know what to do. I wanted to help, but she kept running away,
and it was getting dark. I told Talut, and he got some people together
to go after her."
"That was strange, too," Talut said, adding his part to Nezzie's
story. "I thought we'd have to circle around and trap her, but when I
yelled at her to stop, she just sat on the ground and waited. She didn't
seem too frightened of me, and when I beckoned to her to come, she
got right up and followed behind me, like she knew what to do and
understood I wouldn't hurt her."
"I don't know how she even walked," Nezzie continued. "She was
in such pain. She was quick to understand that I wanted to help her,
but I don't know how much help I was. I wasn't even sure she'd live
to deliver her baby. She never cried out, though. Finally, near morn
ing, her son was born. I was surprised to see he was one of mixed
spirits. Even that young you could tell he was different.
"The woman was so weak I thought it might give her reason to live
if I showed her that her son was alive, and she seemed eager to see
him. But I guess she was too far gone, must have lost too much blood.
It was as though she just gave up. She died before the sun came up.
"Everybody told me to leave him to die with his mother, but I was
nursing Rugie anyway, and had a lot of milk. It wasn't that much
trouble to put him to my breast, too." She hugged him protectively.
"I know he's weak. Maybe I should have left him, but I couldn't love
Rydag any more if he were my own. And I'm not sorry I kept him."
Rydag looked up at Nezzie with his big, glowing brown eyes, then
put thin arms around her neck and laid his head on her breast. Nezzie
rocked him as she held him.
"Some people say he's an animal because he can't talk, but I know
he understands. And he's not an 'abomination' either," she added,
with an angry look at Frebec. "Only the Mother knows why the spir
its that made him were mixed."
Ay la was fighting to hold back tears. She didn't know how these
people would react to tears; her watering eyes had always bothered
people of the Clan. Watching the woman and the child, she was over
whelmed with memories. She ached to hold her son, and grieved
anew for Iza, who had taken her in and mothered her, though she had
been as different to the Clan as Rydag was to the Lion Camp. But
more than anything, she wished there was some way she could ex
plain to Nezzie how moved she was, how grateful she was for Ry dag's
sake . . . and her own. Inexplicably, Ay la felt it would somehow help
repay Iza if she could find a way to do something for Nezzie.
"Nezzie, he knows," Ayla said softly. "He is not animal, not
flathead. He is child of Clan, and child of Others."
"I know he is not an animal, Ayla," Nezzie said, "but what is
Clan?"
"People, like mother of Rydag. You say flathead, they say Clan,"
Ayla explained.
"What do you mean, 'they say Clan'? They can't talk," Tulie
interjected.
"Not say many words. But they talk. They talk with hands."
"How do you know?" Frebec asked. "What makes you so smart?"
Jondalar took a deep breath and held it, waiting for her answer.
"I lived with Clan before. I talked like Clan. Not with words, until
Jondalar came," Ayla said. "The Clan were my people."
There was a stunned silence as the meaning of her words became
clear.
"You mean you lived with flatheads! You lived with those dirty
animals!" Frebec exclaimed with disgust, jumping up and backing
away. "No wonder she can't talk right. If she lived with them she's as
bad as they are. Nothing but animals, all of them, including that
mixed-up perversion of yours, Nezzie."
The Camp was in an uproar. Even if some might have agreed with
him, Frebec had gone too far. He had overstepped the bounds of
courtesy to visitors, and had even insulted the headman's mate. But it
had long been an embarrassment to him that he belonged to the Camp
that had taken in the "abomination of mixed spirits," and he was still
chafing under the barbs of Fralie's mother in the most recent round of
their long-standing battle. He wanted to take out his irritation on
someone.
Talut roared to the defense of Nezzie, and Ay la. Tulie was quick to
defend the honor of the Camp. Crozie, smiling maliciously, was alter
nately haranguing Frebec and browbeating Fralie, and the others were
voicing their opinions loudly. Ay la looked from one to another, want
ing to put her hands over her ears to shut out the noise.
Suddenly Talut boomed a shout for silence. It was loud enough to
startle everyone into quiet. Then Mamut's drum was heard. It had a
settling, quieting effect.
"I think before anyone else says anything, we ought to hear what
Ay la has to say," Talut said, as the drum stilled.
People leaned forward attentively, more than willing to listen to
find out about the mysterious woman. Ay la wasn't sure she wanted to
say any more to these noisy, rude people, but she felt she had no
choice. Then, lifting her chin a bit, she thought, if they wanted to
hear it, she'd tell them, but she was leaving in the morning.
"I no ... I do not remember young life," Ayla began, "only earth
quake, and cave lion who make scars on my leg. Iza tell me she find
me by river ... what is word, Mamut? Not awake?"
"Unconscious."
"Iza find me by river, unconscious. I am close to age of Rydag,
younger. Maybe five years. I am hurt on leg from cave lion claw. Iza
is ... medicine woman. She heal my leg. Creb . . . Creb is Mog-ur . . .
like Mamut . . . holy man . . . knows spirit world. Creb teach me to
speak Clan way. Iza and Creb ... all Clan . . . they take care of me. I
am not Clan, but they take care of me."
Ayla was straining to recall everything Jondalar had told her about
their language. She hadn't liked Frebec's comment that she couldn't
talk right, any more than the rest of what he said. She glanced at
Jondalar. His forehead was furrowed. He wanted her to be careful of
something. She wasn't entirely sure of the reason for his concern, but
perhaps it was not necessary to mention everything.
"I grow up with Clan, but leave ... to find Others, like me. I
am ..." She stopped to think of the right counting word. "Fourteen
years then. Iza tell me Others live north. I look long time, not find
anyone. Then I find valley and stay, to make ready for winter. Kill
horse for meat, then see small horse, her baby. I have no people.
Young horse is like baby, I take care of young horse. Later, find
young lion, hurt. Take lion, too, but he grow up, leave, find mate. I
live in valley three years, alone. Then Jondalar come."
Ay la stopped then. No one spoke. Her explanation, so simply told,
with no embellishments, could only be true, yet it was difficult to
believe. It posed more questions than it answered. Could she really
have been taken in and raised by flatheads? Could they really talk, or
at least communicate? Could they really be so humane, so human?
And what about her? If she was raised by them, was she human?
In the silence that followed, Ay la watched Nezzie and the boy, and
then remembered an incident early in her life with the Clan. Creb had
been teaching her to communicate with hand signs, but there was one
gesture she had learned herself. It was a signal shown often to babies,
and always used by children to the women who took care of them,
and she recalled how Iza had felt when she first made the signal to
her.
Ay la leaned forward and said to Rydag, "I want show you word.
Word you say with hands."
He sat up, his eyes showing his interest, and excitement. He had
understood, as he always did, every word that was said, and the talk
about hand signs had caused vague stirrings within him. With every
one watching, she made a gesture, a purposeful movement with her
hands. He made an attempt to copy her, frowned with puzzlement.
Then, suddenly comprehension came to him from some deeply buried
place, and it showed on his face. He corrected himself as Ay la smiled
and nodded her head. Then he turned to Nezzie and made the gesture
again. She looked at Ayla.
"He say to you, 'mother,'" Ayla explained.
"Mother?" Nezzie said, then closed her eyes, blinking back tears, as
she held close the child she had cared for since his birth. "Talut! Did
you see that? Rydag just called me 'mother.' I never thought I'd ever
see the day Rydag would call me 'mother.'"
4

r-r^

he mood of the Camp was subdued. No one knew what to
say, or what to think. Who were these strangers that had suddenly
appeared in their midst? The man who claimed to come from someplace
far to the west was easier to believe than the woman who said
she had lived for three years in a valley nearby, and even more amazing,
with a pack of flatheads before that. The woman's story threatened
a whole structure of comfortable beliefs, yet it was difficult to
doubt her.
Nezzie had carried Rydag to his bed, with tears in her eyes, after
he had signed his first silent word. Everyone else took it as a signal
that the story tellings were over and moved to their own hearths. Ay la
used the opportunity to slip away. Pulling her parka, a hooded outer
fur tunic, over her head, she went outside.
Whinney recognized her and nickered softly. Feeling her way in the
dark, guided by the mare's snorting and blowing, Ayla found the
horse.
"Is everything all right, Whinney? Are you comfortable? And
Racer? Probably no more than I am," Ayla said, with thoughts as
much as with the private language she used when she was with the
horses. Whinney tossed her head, prancing delicately, then rested her
head across the woman's shoulder as Ayla wrapped her arms around
the shaggy neck and laid her forehead against the horse who had been
her only companion for so long. Racer crowded in close and all three
clung together for a moment of respite from all the unfamiliar experiences
of the day.
After Ayla assured herself that the horses were fine, she walked
down to the edge of the river. It felt good to be out of the lodge, away
from people. She took a deep breath. The night air was cold and dry.
Sparks of static crackled through her hair as she pushed back her fur-
lined hood, stretched her neck and looked up.
The new moon, avoiding the great companion that held it tethered,
had turned its shining eye out upon the distant depths whose whirling
lights tantalized with promises of boundless freedom, but offered only
cosmic emptiness. High thin clouds cloaked the fainter stars, but only
veiled the more determined with shimmering halos, and made the
sooty black sky feel close and soft.
Ay la was in a turmoil, conflicting emotions pulling at her. These
were the Others she had looked for. The kind she had been born to.
She would have grown up with people like them, comfortable, at
home, if it hadn't been for the earthquake. Instead she had been raised
by the Clan. She knew Clan customs, but the ways of her own people
were strange. Yet if it hadn't been for the Clan, she wouldn't have
grown up at all. She couldn't go back to them, but she didn't feel that
she belonged here, either.
These people were so noisy, and disorderly. Iza would have said
they had no manners. Like that Frebec man, speaking out of turn,
without asking permission, and then everyone yelling and talking at
once. She thought Talut was a leader, but even he had to shout to
make himself heard. Brun would never have had to shout. The only
time she ever heard him shout was to warn someone of impending
danger. Everyone in the clan kept the leader at a certain level of
awareness; Brun had only to signal, and within heartbeats, he would
have had everyone's attention.
She didn't like the way these people talked about the Clan, either,
calling them flatheads and animals. Couldn't anyone see they were
people, too? A little different, maybe, but people just the same.
Nezzie knew it. In spite of what the rest said, she knew Rydag's
mother was a woman, and the child to whom she gave birth only a
baby. He's mixed, though, like my son, Ayla thought, and like Oda's
little girl at the Clan Gathering. How could Rydag's mother have had
a child of mixed spirits like that?
Spirits! Is it really spirits that makes babies? Does a man's totem
spirit overcome a woman's and make a baby grow inside her, the way
the Clan thinks? Does the Great Mother choose and combine the spir
its of a man and a woman and then put them inside a woman, the way
Jondalar and these people believe?
Why am I the only one who thinks it's a man, not a spirit, that
starts a baby growing inside a woman? A man, who does it with his
organ ... his manhood, Jondalar calls it. Why else would men and
women come together like they do?
When Iza told me about the medicine, she said that it strengthened
her totem and that's what kept her from having a baby for so many
years. Maybe it did, but I didn't take it when I was living alone and
no babies got started by themselves. It was only after Jondalar came
that I even thought about looking for that golden thread plant and the
antelope sage root again. . . .
After Jondalar showed me it didn't have to hurt . . . after he
showed me how wonderful it could be for a man and woman together ...

I wonder what would happen if I stopped taking Iza's secret medicine?
Would I have a baby? Would I have Jondalar's baby? If he put
his manhood there, where babies come from?
The thought brought a flush of warmth to her face, and a tingling
to her nipples. It's too late today, she thought, I already took the
medicine this morning, but what if I just made an ordinary tea tomorrow?
Could I start Jondalar's baby growing? We wouldn't have to
wait, though. We could try tonight. . . .
She smiled to herself. You just want him to touch you, and put his
mouth on your mouth, and on ... She shivered with anticipation,
closing her eyes to let her body remember how he could make it feel.
"Ay la?" a voice barked.
She jumped at the sound. She hadn't heard Jondalar coming, and
the tone he used wasn't in keeping with the way she was feeling. It
dispelled the warmth. Something was bothering him. Something had
been bothering him since they arrived; she wished she could discover
what it was.

"Yes."
"What are you doing out here?" he snapped.
What had she been doing? "I am feeling the night, and breathing,
and thinking about you," she answered, explaining as fully as she
could.
It wasn't the answer Jondalar expected, though he wasn't sure what
answer he did expect. He had been fighting down a hard knot of
anger and anxiety that had made his stomach churn ever since the
dark-skinned man appeared. Ayla seemed to find him so interesting,
and Ranee was always looking at her. Jondalar had tried to swallow
his anger and convince himself it was silly to think there was anything
more to it. She needed other friends. Just because he was the first
didn't mean he was the only man she would ever want to know.
Yet when Ayla asked Ranee about his background, Jondalar felt
himself flush with hot rage and shudder with cold terror at the same
time. Why did she want to know more about this fascinating stranger
if she wasn't interested? The tall man resisted an urge to snatch her
away, and was bothered because he had such a feeling. She had the
right to choose her friends, and they were only friends. They had
only talked and looked at each other.
When she went outside alone, Jondalar, seeing Ranee's dark eyes
follow her, quickly put on his parka and went out after her. He saw
her standing by the river, and for some reason he couldn't explain, felt
sure she was thinking about Ranee. Her answer first caught him by
surprise, then he relaxed, and smiled.
"I should have known, if I asked, I'd get a complete and honest
answer. Breathing, and feeling the night—you're wonderful, Ayla."
She smiled back. She wasn't sure what she had done, but some
thing had made him smile and put the happiness back in his voice.
The warmth she had been feeling returned, and she moved toward
him. Even in the dark of night, with barely enough starlight to show a
face, Jondalar sensed her mood from the way she moved, and re
sponded in kind. The next moment she was in his arms, with his
mouth on hers, and all her doubts and worries fled from her mind.
She would go anywhere, live with any people, learn any strange cus
toms, so long as she had Jondalar.
After a moment she looked up at him. "Do you remember when I
asked you what your signal was? How I should tell you when I
wanted you to touch me, and wanted your manhood in me?"
"Yes, I remember," he said, smiling wryly.
"You said to kiss, or just ask. I am asking. Can you make your
manhood ready?"
She was so serious, and so ingenuous, and so appealing. He bent
his head to kiss her again, and held her so close she could almost see
the blue of his eyes, and the love in them. "Ayla, my funny, beautiful
woman," he said. "Do you know how much I love you?"
But as he held her, he felt a flush of guilt. If he loved her so much,
why did he feel so embarrassed about the things she did? When that
Frebec man backed away from her in disgust, he'd wanted to die of
shame that he had brought her, that he could be associated with her.
A moment later, he'd hated himself for it. He loved her. How could
he be ashamed of the woman he loved?
That dark man, Ranee, wasn't ashamed. The way he looked at her,
with his white gleaming teeth and his dark flashing eyes, laughing,
coaxing, teasing; when Jondalar thought of it, he had to fight an im
pulse to strike out at him. Every time he thought of it, he had to fight
the urge again. He loved her so much he couldn't bear the thought
that she might want someone else, maybe someone who wasn't em
barrassed by her. He loved her more than he ever thought it was
possible to love anyone. But how could he be ashamed of the woman
he loved?
Jondalar kissed her again, harder, holding her so tight it hurt, then
with an almost frenzied ardor, he kissed her throat and neck. "Do you
know what it feels like to know, finally, that you can fall in love?
Ayla, can't you feel how much I love you?"
He was so earnest, so fervent, she felt a pang of fear, not for her
self, but for him. She loved him, more than she could ever find words
for, but this love he felt for her was not quite the same. It wasn't so
much stronger, as more demanding, more insistent. As rhrmrrh h^
feared he would lose that which he had finally won. Totems, espe
cially strong totems, had a way of knowing, and testing, just such
fears. She wanted to find a way to deflect his outpouring of powerful
emotion.
"I can feel how ready you are," she said, with a little grin.
But he didn't respond with a lighter mood, as she had hoped. In
stead he kissed her fiercely, crushing her until she thought her ribs
would crack. Then he was fumbling inside her parka, under her
tunic, reaching for her breasts, trying to untie the drawstring of her
trousers.
She had never known him like this, needing, craving, imploring in
his urgency. His way was usually more tender, more considerate of
her needs. He knew her body better than she did, and he enjoyed his
knowledge and skill. But this time his needs were stronger. Knowing
the moment for what it was, she gave herself up to him, and lost
herself in the powerful expression of his love. She was as ready for
him as he was for her. She undid the drawstring and let her legged
garment drop, then helped him with his.
Before she knew it, she was on the hard ground near the bank of
the river. She caught a glimpse of faintly hazy stars before closing her
eyes. He was on her, his mouth hard on hers, his tongue prodding,
searching, as though he could find with it what he sought so eagerly
with his warm and rigid member. She opened to him, her mouth and
her thighs, then reached for him and guided him into her moist, invit
ing depths. She gasped as he entered, and heard an almost strangled
moan, then felt his shaft sink in to fill her, as she strained to him.
Even in his frenzy, he marveled at the wonder of her, at how suited
they were, that her depths matched his size. He felt her warm folds
embrace him fully, and almost, at that first instant, reached his peak.
For a moment, he struggled to hold back, to exercise the control he
was so accustomed to, then he let go. He plunged in, and again, and
once more, and then with an inexpressible shudder, he felt a rising
peak of wonder, and cried out her name.
"Ayla! Oh, my Ayla, my Ayla. I love you!"
"Jondalar, Jondalar, Jondalar ..."
He finished a last few motions, then with a groan, buried his face in
her neck and held her as he lay still, spent. She felt a stone jabbing
her back, but she ignored it.
After a while he raised himself and looked down at her, his fore
head furrowed with concern. "I'm sorry," he said.
"Why are you sorry?"
"It was too fast, and I didn't make you ready, didn't give you Plea

sures, too."
"I was ready, Jondalar, I had Pleasure. Did I not ask you? I have
Pleasure in your Pleasure. I have Pleasure in your love, in your strong
feeling for me."
"But you did not feel the moment as I did."
"I did not need it. I had different feeling, different Pleasure. Is it
always necessary?" she asked.
"No, I suppose not," he said, frowning. Then he kissed her and
lingered over it. "And this night is not over yet. Come, get up. It's
cold out here. Let's go find a warm bed. Deegie and Branag have
already pulled their drapes closed. They will be separated until next
summer and are eager."
Ayla smiled. "But not as eager as you were." She couldn't see it,
but she thought he blushed. "I love you, Jondalar. Everything. All
you do. Even your eager ..." She shook her head. "No, that's not
right, that's the wrong word."
"The word you want is 'eagerness,' I think."
"I love even your eagerness. Yes, that's right. At least I know your
words better than Mamutoi." She paused. "Frebec said I didn't speak
right. Jondalar, will I ever learn to speak right?"
"I don't speak Mamutoi quite right, either. It's not the language I
grew up with. Frebec just likes to make trouble," Jondalar said, help
ing her up. "Why does every Cave, every Camp, every group have to
have a troublemaker? Don't pay any attention to him, no one else
does. You speak very well. I'm amazed at the way you pick up lan
guages. You'll be speaking Mamutoi better than I do before long."
"I have to learn how to speak with words. I have nothing else now,"
she said softly. "I don't know anyone who speaks the language I grew
up with, any more." She closed her eyes for a moment as a feeling of
bleak emptiness came over her.
She shook it off and started to put her legged garments back on,
and then stopped. "Wait," she said, taking them off again. "Long ago,
when I first became a woman, Iza told me everything a woman of the
Clan needed to know about men and women, even though she
doubted that I'd ever find a mate and would need to know it. The
Others may not believe the same way, even the signals between men
and women are not the same, but the first night I sleep in a place of
the Others, I think I should make a cleansing after our Pleasures."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm going to wash in the river."
"Ayla! It's cold. It's dark. It could be dangerous."
"I won't go far. Just here at the edge," she said, throwing down her
parka and pulling her inner tunic up over her head.
The water was cold. Jondalar watched from the bank, and got him-
self just wet enough to know how cold it was. Her feeling for the
ceremony of the occasion made him think of the purifying rituals of
First Rites, and he decided a little cleansing wouldn't hurt him either.
She was shivering when she got out. He held her in his arms to warm
her. The shaggy bison fur of his parka dried her, then he helped her
get into her tunic and parka.
She felt alive, and tingly, and fresh as they walked back to the
earthlodge. Most people were settling down for the night when they
entered. Fires were banked low, and voices were softened. The first
hearth was empty, though the mammoth roast was still in evidence.
As they moved quietly along the passageway through the Lion
Hearth, Nezzie got up and detained them.
"I just wanted to thank you, Ayla," she said, glancing at one of the
beds along the wall. Ayla followed her eyes and saw three small forms
sprawled out on one large bed. Latie and Rugie shared it with Rydag.
Danug, sprawled out in sleep, took up another bed, and Talut,
stretched to his full length propped up on an elbow waiting for
Nezzie, smiled at her from a third. She nodded and smiled back, not
sure what the proper response was.
They moved to the next hearth as Nezzie crawled in beside the red-
haired giant, and tried to pass through silently, so as not to disturb
anyone. Ayla felt someone watching her and looked toward the wall.
Two shining eyes and a smile were observing them from the dark
recess. She sensed Jondalar's shoulders stiffen and looked quickly
away. She thought she heard a soft chuckle, then thought it must
have been the snores coming from the bed along the opposite wall.
At the large fourth hearth, one of the beds was hung with a heavy
leather drape, closing the space off from the passageway, though
sounds and movement could be detected within. Ayla noticed that
most of the other sleeping places in the longhouse had similar drapes
tied up to mammoth bone rafters above or to posts alongside, though
not all of them were closed. Mamut's bed on the side wall opposite
theirs was open. He was in it, but she knew he wasn't asleep.
Jondalar lit a stick of wood on a hot coal in the fireplace, and shield
ing it with his hand, carried it to the wall near the head of their
sleeping platform. There, in a niche, a thick, flattish stone in which a
saucer-shaped depression had been pecked out, was half-filled with
fat. He lit a wick of twisted cattail fuzz, lighting up a small Mother
figure behind the stone lamp. Then he untied the thongs that held up
the drape around their bed, and when it fell, motioned to her.
She slipped in and climbed up on the platform bed piled high with
soft furs. Sitting in the middle, closed off by the drape and lit by the
soft flickering light, she felt secluded, and secure. It was a private
little place all their own. She was reminded of the small cave she had
found when she was a girl, where she used to go when she wanted to
be alone.
"They are so clever, Jondalar. I would not have thought of this."
Jondalar stretched out beside her, pleased by her delight. "You like
the drape closed?"
"Oh, yes. It makes you feel alone, even if you know people are all
around. Yes, I like it." Her smile was radiant.
He pulled her down to him, and kissed her lightly. "You are so
beautiful when you smile, Ayla."
She looked at his face, suffused with love: at his compelling eyes,
violet in the light of the fire instead of their usual vivid blue; at his
long yellow hair disarrayed on the furs; at his strong chin and high
forehead so different from the chinless jaw and receding forehead of
the men of the Clan.
"Why do you cut off your beard?" she asked, touching the stubble
on his jaw.
"I don't know. I'm used to it, I guess. In summer, it's cooler, not as
itchy. I usually let it grow in winter. Helps keep the face warm when
I'm outside. Don't you like it shaved?"
She frowned in puzzlement. "It is not for me to say. A beard is a
man's, to cut or not as he pleases. I only asked because I had not ever
seen a man who cut his beard before I met you. Why do you ask if I
like it or not?"
"I ask, because I want to please you. If you like a beard, I'll let it
grow."
"It does not matter. Your beard is not important. You are impor
tant. You give me please . . . No." She shook her head angrily. "You
give me pleases . . . Pleasures . . . you please me," she corrected.
He grinned at her efforts, and the unintended double meaning of
her word. "I would like to give you Pleasures." He pulled her to him
again, and kissed her. She snuggled down beside him, on her side. He
rolled over, then sat up and looked down at her. "Like the first time,"
he said. "There's even a donii to watch over us." He looked at the
niche with the firelit ivory carving of the motherly figure.
"It is the first time ... in a place of the Others," she said, closing
her eyes, feeling both anticipation and the solemnity of the moment.
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed both eyelids, then gazed
for a long moment at the woman he thought more beautiful than any
woman he'd ever known. There was a quality of the exotic about her.
Her cheekbones were higher than Zeiandonii women, her eyes more
widely spaced. They were framed with thick lashes, darker than her
heavy hair that was gold as autumn grass. Her jaw was firm, her chin
slightly pointed.
She had a small straight scar in the hollow of her throat. He kissed
it, and felt her shiver with pleasure. He moved back up and looked
down at her again, then kissed the end of her fine, straight nose, and
the corner of her full mouth, where it turned up in the hint of a smile.
He could feel her tension. Like a hummingbird, motionless but full
of quivering excitement he couldn't see, only sense, she was keeping
her eyes closed, making herself lie still and wait. He watched her,
savoring the moment, then he kissed her mouth, opened his and
sought entry with his tongue, and felt her receive it. No prodding this
time, only gently seeking, and then accepting hers.
He sat up, saw her open her eyes and smile at him. He pulled off
his tunic, and helped her off with hers. Easing her back down, he
leaned over and took a firm nipple in his mouth, and suckled. She
gasped as a shock of excitement coursed through her. She felt a warm
wet tingling between her legs, and wondered why Jondalar's mouth
on her nipple should make her feel sensation where he hadn't even
touched.
He nuzzled and nibbled lightly, until she pushed toward him, then
sucked in earnest. She moaned with pleasure. He reached for the
other breast, caressed its full roundness and turgid tip. She was al
ready breathing hard. He let go of her breast and began to kiss her
neck and throat, found her ear and nibbled on a lobe, then blew in it,
caressing her arms and her breasts with both hands. Shivers shook
her.
He kissed her mouth, then ran his warm tongue slowly over her
chin, down the middle of her throat, between her breasts, and down
to her navel. His manhood had grown again, and pushed insistently
against the restraints of the drawstring closure. He untied her draw
string first, and pulled the long pants off, then starting at her navel,
continued in the direction he was going. He felt soft hair, and then his
tongue found the top of her warm slit. He felt her jump when he
reached a small, hard bump. When he stopped, she gave a small cry
of dismay.
He untied his own drawstring then, and let his striving member
free as he pulled off his trousers. Ay la sat up and took it in her hand,
letting it slide back and forth over the full length, feeling the warmth,
the smooth skin, the hard fullness. He was pleased that his size did
not frighten her, as it had so many women when they first saw him,
not even the first time. She bent down to him, and he felt her warm
mouth enclose him. He felt pulling as she moved up and down, and
he was glad he had already released his strongest urge or he might not
have found the control now.
"Ayla, this time I want to Pleasure you," he said, pushing her
away.
She looked at him with eyes dilated, dark and luminous, kissed
him, and then nodded. He held her shoulders and pushed her back
down on the furs, and kissed her mouth and throat again, giving her
chills of Pleasure. He cupped both breasts in his hands, held them
together, and went from one sensitive nipple to the other, and in be
tween. Then his tongue found her navel again, and he circled it with
an ever-increasing spiral, until he reached the soft hair of her mound.
He moved over between her thighs, spreading them, then spread
her folds back with his hands and savored a long slow taste. She shud
dered, half sat up, cried out, and he felt himself surge anew. He loved
to Pleasure her, to feel her response to his skill. It was like drawing a
fine blade out of a piece of flint. It gave him a special feeling of joy to
know he had been the first to give her Pleasure. She had only known
force and pain before he had evoked in her the Gift of Pleasure which
the Great Earth Mother had given to Her children.
He explored her tenderly, knowing where her pleasurable sensa
tions lay, teasing them with his tongue, and with his skilled hands,
reaching inside. She began to move against him, crying out and toss
ing her head, and he knew she was ready. He found the hard bump,
began to work it, while her breath came fast, his own thrusting man
hood eager for her. Then she cried out, he felt a wetness, as she
reached for him.
"Jondalar . . . ahhh . . . Jondalar!"
She was beyond herself, beyond any knowing except him. She
wanted him, wanted to feel his fullness inside her. He was on her, she
was helping him, guiding him, then he was sliding in, and felt a surge
that brought him to that inexpressible peak. It backed off, and he
plunged in again, deep; she embraced him all.
He pulled out, and then pushed in again, and again, and again. He
wanted to draw it out, make it last. He wanted it never to end, and
yet he couldn't wait for it. With each powerful push, he felt closer.
Sweat glistened on their bodies in the flickering light as they matched
their timing, found their stride, and moved with the rhythm of life.
Breathing hard, they strained to meet at each stroke, reaching, puls
ing, all will, all thought, all feeling concentrated. Then, almost un
expectedly, the intensity peaked. In a burst beyond them both, they
reached the crest, and broke through with a spasm of joy. They held
for a moment, as though trying to become one with each other, and
then let go.
They lay unmoving, catching their breaths. The lamp sputtered,
dimmed, flared up again, then went out. After a while Jondalar rolled
over and lay beside her, feeling in a twilight state between sleeping
and waking. But Ayla was still wide awake, her eyes open in the dark,
listening, for the first time in years, to sounds of people.
The murmur of low voices, a man's and a woman's, came from the
bed nearby, and a little beyond it, the shallow rasping breath of the
sleeping shaman. She could hear a man snoring at the next hearth,
and from the first hearth, the unmistakable rhythmic grunts and cries
of Talut and Nezzie sharing Pleasures. From the other direction, a
baby cried. Someone made comforting sounds until the crying
stopped abruptly. Ay la smiled, no doubt a breast had been offered.
Farther away voices of restrained anger rose in an outburst, then
hushed, and still farther a hacking cough could be heard.
Nights had always been the worst time during her lonely years in
the valley. During the day she could find something to do to keep
busy, but at night the stark emptiness of her cave had pressed heavily.
In the beginning, hearing only the sound of her own breath, she even
had trouble sleeping. With the Clan, there was always someone
around at night—the worst punishment that could be inflicted was to
be set apart, alone; avoidance, ostracism, the death curse.
She knew only too well that it was, indeed, a terrible punishment.
She knew it even more at that moment. Lying in the dark, hearing the
sounds of life around her, feeling the warmth of Jondalar beside her,
for the first time since she met these people, whom she called Others,
she felt at home.
"Jondalar?" she said softly.
"Hmmmm."
"Are you sleeping?"
"Not yet," he mumbled.
"These are nice people. You were right, I did need to come and get
to know them."
His brain cleared quickly. He had hoped, once she met her own
kind of people and they were no longer so unknown, they would not
seem so fearful to her. He had been gone many years, the Journey
back to his home would be long and difficult, she had to want to come
with him. But her valley had become home. It offered everything she
needed to survive, and she had made a life for herself there, using the
animals as a substitute for the people she lacked. Ay la did not want to
leave; instead she had wanted Jondalar to stay.
"I knew you would, Ayla," he said warmly, persuasively, "if you
just got to know them."
"Nezzie reminds me of Iza. How do you suppose Rydag's mother
got pregnant with him?"
"Who knows why the Mother gave her a child of mixed spirits?
The ways of the Mother are always mysterious."
Ayla was silent, for a while. "I don't think the Mother gave her
mixed spirits. I think she knew a man of the Others."
Jondalar frowned. "I know you think men have something to do
with starting life, but how could a flathead female know a man?"
"I don't know how, but women of the Clan don't travel alone and
they stay away from the Others. The men don't want Others around
the women. They think babies are started by a man's totem spirit,
and they don't want the spirit of a man of the Others to get too close.
And the women are afraid of them. There are always new stories at
Clan Gatherings of people being bothered or hurt by the Others, par
ticularly women.
"But Ry dag's mother wasn't afraid of the Others. Nezzie said she
followed them for two days, and she came with Talut when he sig
naled her. Any other Clan woman would have run away from him.
She must have known one before, and one who treated her well, or at
least did not hurt her, because she wasn't afraid of Talut. When she
needed help, what gave her reason to think she might find it from the
Others?"
"Maybe it was just because she saw Nezzie nursing," Jondalar
suggested.
"Maybe. But that doesn't answer why she was alone. The only
reason I can think of is that she was cursed and driven from her
clan. Clan women are not often cursed. It is not their nature to bring
it on themselves. Perhaps it had something to do with a man of the
Others. ..."
Ayla paused for a moment, then added thoughtfully, "Rydag's
mother must have wanted her baby very much. It took a lot of cour
age for her to approach the Others, even if she did know a man be
fore. It was only when she saw the baby and thought he was
deformed that she gave up. The Clan doesn't like mixed children,
either."
"How can you be so sure she knew a man?"
"She came to the Others to have her baby, which means she had no
clan to help her and she had some reason to think Nezzie and Talut
would. Maybe she met him later, but I'm sure she knew a man who
made Pleasures with her ... or maybe just relieved his needs. She
had a mixed child, Jondalar."
"Why do you think it's a man that causes life to start?"
"You can see it, Jondalar, if you think about it. Look at the boy that
arrived today, Danug. He looks just like Talut. Only younger. I think
Talut started him when he shared Pleasures with Nezzie."
"Does that mean she will have another child because they shared
Pleasures tonight?" Jondalar asked. "Pleasures are shared often. They
are a Gift of the Great Earth Mother and it honors Her when they are
shared often. But women don't have children every time they share
Her Gift. Ayla, if a man appreciates the Mother's Gifts, honors Her,
then She may choose to take his spirit to mix with the woman he
mates. If it is his spirit, the child may resemble him, as Danug resem
bles Talut, but it is the Mother who decides."
Ay la frowned in the dark. That was one question she hadn't re
solved. "I don't know why a woman doesn't have a child every time.
Maybe Pleasures must be shared several times before a baby can start,
or perhaps only at certain times. Maybe it is only when a man's totem
spirit is especially powerful and so can defeat a woman's, or maybe
the Mother does choose, but She chooses the man and makes his man
hood more powerful. Can you say for sure how She chooses? Do you
know how the spirits are mixed? Couldn't they be mixed inside the
woman when they share Pleasures?"
"I've never heard of that," Jondalar said, "but I suppose it could
be." Now he was frowning in the dark. He was silent for so long Ayla
thought he had gone to sleep, but then he spoke. "Ayla, if what you
think is true, we might be starting a baby inside you every time we
share the Mother's Gift."
"I think so, yes," Ayla said, delighted with the idea.
"Then we must stop!" Jondalar said, sitting up suddenly.
"But why? I want to have a baby started by you, Jondalar." Ayla's
dismay was evident.
Jondalar rolled over and held her. "And I want you to, but not
now. It is a long Journey back to my home. It could take a year or
more. It could be dangerous for you to travel so far if you are with
child."
"Can't we just go back to my valley then?" she asked.
Jondalar was afraid if they returned to her valley so that she could
have a child in safety, they would never leave.
"Ayla, I don't think that would be a good idea. You shouldn't be
alone then. I wouldn't know how to help you, you need women
around. A woman can die in childbirth," he said, his voice constricted
with anguish. He had seen it happen not long before.
It was true, Ayla realized. She had come close to death giving birth
to her son. Without Iza, she would not have lived. This wasn't the
time to have a baby, not even one of Jondalar's.
"Yes, you are right," she said, feeling a crushing disappointment.
"It can be difficult. ... I ... I ... would want women around," she
agreed.
He was silent again for a long time. "Ayla," he said, his voice al
most cracked with strain, "maybe . . . maybe we shouldn't share the
same bed ... if ... But it honors the Mother to share Her Gift," he
blurted out.
How could she tell him truthfully that they didn't have to stop
sharing Pleasures? Iza had warned her never to tell anyone, particu
larly a man, about the secret medicine. "I don't think you should
worry about it," she said. "I don't know for sure if it is a man that
causes children, and if the Great Mother chooses, She can choose any
time, can't She?"
"Yes, and it has worried me. Yet if we avoid Her Gift, it might
anger Her. She expects to be honored."
"Jondalar, if She chooses, She chooses. If the time comes, we can
make a decision then. I wouldn't want you to offend Her."
"Yes, you're right, Ayla," he said, somewhat relieved.
With a twinge of regret, Ayla decided she would keep taking the
medicine that prevented conception, but she dreamed of having babies
that night, some with long blond hair, and others who resembled
Rydag and Durc. It was near morning when she had a dream that
took on a different dimension, ominous and otherworldly.
In the dream she had two sons, brothers whom no one would guess
were brothers. One was tall and blond, like Jondalar, the other, older
one, she knew was Durc though his face was in shadow. The two
brothers approached each other from opposite directions in the middle
of an empty, desolate, windblown prairie. She felt great anxiety;
something terrible was about to happen, something she had to pre
vent. Then, with a shock of terror, she knew one of her sons would
kill the other. As they drew closer, she tried to reach them, but a
thick, viscous wall held her trapped. They were almost upon each
other, arms raised as though to strike. She screamed.
"Ayla! Ayla! What's wrong?" Jondalar said, shaking her.
Suddenly Mamut was beside him. "Wake up, child. Wake up!" he
said. "It is only a symbol, a message. Wake up, Ayla!"
"But one will die!" she cried, still filled with the emotions of the
dream.
"It is not what you think, Ayla," Mamut said. "It may not mean
one . . . brother will die. You must learn to search your dreams for
their real meaning. You have the Talent; it is very strong, but you
lack training."
Ayla's vision cleared and she saw two concerned faces looking at
her, both tall men, one young and handsome, the other old and wise.
Jondalar was holding up a stick of burning wood from the fireplace, to
help her wake up. She sat up and tried to smile.
"Are you all right now?" Mamut asked.
"Yes. Yes. I am sorry to wake you," Ayla said, lapsing into Zeian-
donii, forgetting the old man did not understand that language.
"We will talk later," he said, smiling gently, and returned to his
bed.
Ayla noticed the drape to the other occupied bed fall shut as she
and Jondalar settled back down on their sleeping platform, and felt a
little embarrassed that she had created such a stir. She cuddled to
Jondalar's side, resting her head in the hollow beneath his shoulder,
grateful for his warmth and his presence. She was almost asleep when
her eyes suddenly flew open again.
"Jondalar," she said in a whisper, "how did Mamut know I
dreamed about my sons, about one brother killing the other?" But he
was already sleeping.
.yla woke with a start, then lay still and listened. She heard
a loud wail, again. Someone seemed to be in great pain. Concerned,
she pushed the drape aside and looked out. Crozie was standing in the
passageway near the sixth hearth with her arms outspread in an at
titude of pleading despair calculated to draw sympathy.
"He would stab my breast! He would kill me! He would turn my
own daughter against me!" Crozie shrieked as though she were dying,
clutching her hands to her breast. Several people stopped to watch. "I
give him my own flesh. Out of my own body ..."
"Give! You didn't give me a thing!" Frebec yelled. "I paid your
Bride Price for Fralie."
"It was trivial! I could have gotten much more for her," Crozie
snapped, her lament no more sincere than her scream of pain had
been. "She came to you with two children. Proof of the Mother's
favor. You lowered her value with your pittance. And the value of her
children. And look at her! Already blessed again. I gave her to you
out of kindness, out of the goodness of my heart. ..."
"And because no one else would take Crozie, even with her twice-
blessed daughter," a nearby voice added.
Ay la turned to see who had spoken. The young woman who had
worn the beautiful red tunic the day before was smiling at her.
"If you had any plans to sleep late, you can forget them," Deegie
said. "They're at it early today."
"No. I get up," Ay la said. She looked around. The bed was empty,
and except for the two women, no one was around. "Jondalar up."
She found her clothes and began to dress. "I wake up, think woman
hurt."
"No one is hurt. At least not that anyone can see. But I feel sorry
for Fralie," Deegie said. "It's hard being caught in the middle like
that."
Ayla shook her head. "Why they shout?"
"I don't know why they fight all the time. I suppose they both want
Fralie's favor. Crozie is getting old and doesn't want Frebec to under
mine her influence, but Frebec is stubborn. He didn't have much be-
fore and doesn't want to lose his new position. Fralie did bring him a
lot of status, even with her low Bride Price." The visitor was obvi
ously interested and Deegie sat down on a platform bed while Ayla
dressed, warming to her subject.
"I don't think she'd put him aside, though. I think she cares for
him, for all that he can be so nasty sometimes. It wasn't so easy to
find another man—one willing to take her mother. Everyone saw how
it was the first time, no one else wanted to put up with Crozie. That
old woman can scream all she wants about giving her daughter away.
She's the one who brought down Fralie's value. I'd hate to be pulled
both ways like that. But I'm lucky. Even if I were going to an estab
lished Camp instead of starting a new one with my brother, Tulie
would be welcome."
"Your mother go with you?" Ayla said, puzzled. She understood a
woman moving to her mate's clan, but taking her mother along was
new to her.
"I wish she would, but I don't think she will. I think she'd rather
stay here. I don't blame her. It's better to be headwoman of your own
Camp than the mother of one at another. I will miss her, though."
Ayla listened, fascinated. She didn't understand half of what
Deegie said, and wasn't sure if she believed she understood the other
half.
"It is sad to leave mother, and people," Ayla said. "But you have
mate soon?"
"Oh, yes. Next summer. At the Summer Meeting. Mother finally
got everything settled. She set such a high Bride Price I was afraid
they'd never meet it, but they agreed. It's so hard waiting, though. If
only Branag didn't have to leave now. But they're expecting him. He
promised he'd go back right away. ..."
The two young women walked toward the entrance of the long-
house together, companionably, Deegie chatting and Ayla avidly
listening.
It was cooler in the entrance foyer, but it wasn't until she felt the
blast of cold air when the drape at the front arch was pulled back that
Ayla realized how much the temperature had dropped. The frigid
wind whipped her hair back and tugged at the heavy mammoth hide
entrance cover, billowing it out with a sudden gust. A light dusting of
snow had fallen during the night. A sharp crosscurrent picked up the
fine flakes, swirled them into pockets and hollows, then scooped out
the wind-blasted crystals and flung them across the open space. Ay la's
face stung with a peppering of tiny hard pellets of ice.
Yet it had been warm inside, much warmer than a cave. She had
put on her fur parka only to come out; she wouldn't have needed extra
clothing if she had stayed in. She heard Whinney neigh. The horse
and the colt, still tied to his lead, were as far back as they could get
from the people and their activities. Ay la started toward them, then
turned back to smile at Deegie. The young woman smiled back, and
went to find Branag.
The mare seemed relieved when Ay la neared, nickering and tossing
her head in greeting. The woman removed Racer's bridle, then
walked with them down toward the river and around the bend. Whin
ney and Racer relaxed once the Camp was out of sight, and after some
mutual affection, settled down to graze on the brittle dry grass.
Before starting back up Ay la stopped beside a bush. She untied the
waist thong of her legged garment, but still was not sure what to do so
the leggings wouldn't get wet when she passed water. She'd had the
same problem ever since she started wearing the clothes. She had
made the outfit for herself during the summer, patterning it after the
one she had made for Jondalar, which was copied from the clothing
the lion had ripped. But she hadn't worn it until they started on their
trip of exploration. Jondalar had been so pleased to see her wearing
clothes like his, rather than the comfortable leather wrap usually worn
by women of the Clan, she decided to leave it behind. But she hadn't
discovered how to manage this basic necessity easily and she didn't
want to ask him. He was a man. How would he know what a woman
needed to do?
She removed the close-fitting trousers, which required that she also
remove her footwear—high-topped moccasins that wrapped around
the lower pant legs—then spread her legs and bent over in her usual
manner. Balancing on one foot to put the lower garment back on, she
noticed the smoothly rolling river and changed her mind. Instead, she
pulled her parka and tunic up over her head, took off her amulet from
around her neck, and walked down the bank toward the water. The
cleansing ritual should be completed, and she always did enjoy a
morning swim.
She had planned to swish out her mouth, and rinse off her face and
hands in the river. She didn't know what means these people used to
clean themselves. When it was necessary, if the woodpile was buried
under ice and fuel was scarce, or if the wind was blowing hard
through the cave, or if water was frozen so solid it was hard to break
off enough even for drinking, she could do without washing, but she
preferred to be clean. And in the back of her mind she was still think
ing of the ritual, the completion of a purification ceremony after her
first night in the cave—or the earthlodge—of the Others.
She looked out at the water. The current moved swiftly along the
main channel, but ice in transparent sheets filmed puddles and the
quieter backwaters of the river, and crusted white at the edge. A fin
ger of the bank, sparsely covered with bleached and withered grass,
stretched into the river forming a still pool between itself and the
shore. A single birch tree, dwarfed to a shrub, grew on the spit of
dirt.
Ay la walked toward the pool and stepped in, shattering the perfect
pane of ice which glazed it. She gasped as the freezing water brought
a hard shiver, and grabbed a skeletal limb of the small birch to steady
herself, as she moved into the current. A sharp gust of freezing wind
buffeted her bare skin, raising gooseflesh, and whipped her hair into
her face. She clenched her chattering teeth and waded in deeper.
When the water was nearly waist-high, she splashed icy water on her
face, then with another quick indrawn breath of shock, stooped down
and submerged up to her neck.
For all her gasps and shivers, she was used to cold water and, she
thought, soon enough it would be impossible to bathe in the river at
all. When she got out, she pushed the water off her body with her
hands and dressed quickly. Tingling warmth replaced the numbing
cold as she walked back up the slope from the river, making her feel
renewed and invigorated, and she smiled as a tired sun momentarily
bested the overcast sky.
As she approached the Camp she stopped at the edge of a trampled
area near the longhouse and watched the several knots of people en
gaged in various occupations.
Jondalar was talking with Wymez and Danug, and she had no
doubts as to the subject of the conversation of the three flint knappers.
Not far from them four people were untying cords that had held a
deer hide—now soft, flexible, nearly white leather—to a rectangular
frame made of mammoth rib bones lashed together with thongs.
Nearby, Deegie was vigorously poking and stretching a second hide,
which was strung on a similar frame, with the smoothly blunted end
of another rib bone. Ay la knew working the hide as it was drying was
done to make the leather supple, but binding it to the mammoth bone
frames was a new method of stretching leather. She was interested
and noted the details of the process.
A series of small slits had been cut near the outside edge following
the contour of the animal skin, then a cord was passed through each
one, tied to the frame and pulled tight to stretch the hide taut. The
frame was propped against the longhouse and could be turned around
and worked from either side. Deegie was leaning with all her weight
on the rib-bone staker, pushing the blunt end into the mounted hide
until it seemed the long shaft would poke right through, but the
strong flexible leather yielded without giving way.
A few others were busy with activities Ayla was not familiar with,
but the rest of the people were putting the skeletal remains of mam
moths into pits that had been dug in the ground. Bones and ivory
were scattered all over. She looked up as someone called out and saw
Talut and Tulie coming toward the Camp bearing on their shoulders
a large curved ivory tusk still attached to the skull of a mammoth.
Most of the bones did not come from animals they had killed. Occa
sional finds on the steppes provided some, but the majority came from
the piles of bones that accumulated at sharp turns in rivers, where
raging waters had deposited the remains of animals.
Then Ayla noticed another person watching the Camp not far from
her. She smiled as she went to join Rydag, but was startled to see him
smile back. People of the Clan did not smile. An expression showing
bared teeth usually denoted hostility on a face with Clan features, or
extreme nervousness and fear. His grin seemed, for a moment, out of
place. But the boy had not grown up with the Clan and had learned a
friendlier meaning for the expression.
"Good morning, Rydag," Ayla said, at the same time making the
Clan greeting gesture with the slight variation that indicated a child
was being addressed. Ayla noticed again the flicker of understanding
at her hand signal. He remembers! she thought. He has the memo
ries, I'm sure of it. He knows the signs, he would only have to be
reminded. Not like me. I had to learn them.
She recalled Creb's and Iza's consternation when they discovered
how difficult it was for her, compared with Clan youngsters, to re
member anything. She had had to struggle to learn and memorize,
while children of the Clan only had to be shown once. Some people
had thought Ayla was rather stupid, but as she grew up she taught
herself to memorize quickly so they wouldn't lose patience with her.
But Jondalar had been astonished at her skill. Compared to others
like herself, her trained memory was a wonder, and it enhanced her
ability to learn. He was amazed at how easily she learned new lan
guages, for example, almost without effort it seemed. But gaining that
skill had not been easy, and though she had learned to memorize
quickly, she never did fully comprehend what Clan memories were.
None of the Others could; it was a basic difference between them.
With brains even larger than those who came after, the Clan had
not so much less intelligence as a different kind of intelligence. They
learned from memories that were in some ways similar to instinct but
more conscious, and stored in the backs of their large brains at birth
was everything their forebears knew. They didn't need to learn the
knowledge and skills necessary to live, they remembered them. As
children, they needed only to be reminded of what they already knew
to become accustomed to the process. As adults, they knew how to
draw upon their stored memories.
They remembered easily, but anything new was grasped only with
great effort. Once something new was learned—or a new concept un
derstood, or a new belief accepted—they never forgot it and they
passed it on to their progeny, but they learned, and changed, slowly.
Iza had come to understand, if not comprehend, their difference when
she was teaching Ay la the skills of a medicine woman. The strange
girl child could not remember nearly as well as they, but she learned
much more quickly.
Rydag said a word. Ay la did not understand him immediately.
Then she recognized it. It was her name! Her name spoken in a way
that had once been familiar, the way some people of the Clan had
said it.
Like them, the child was not capable of a fully articulate speech; he
could vocalize, but he could not make some of the important sounds
that were necessary to reproduce the language of the people he lived
with. They were the same sounds Ay la had difficulty with, from lack
of practice. It was that limitation in the vocal apparatus of the Clan,
and those that went before, that had led them to develop instead a
rich and comprehensive language of hand signs and gestures to ex
press the thoughts of their rich and comprehensive culture. Rydag
understood the Others, the people he lived with; he understood the
concept of language. He just couldn't make himself understood to
them.
Then the youngster made the gesture he had made to Nezzie the
night before; he called Ayla "mother." Ayla felt her heart beat faster.
The last one who had made that sign to her was her son, and Rydag
looked so much like Durc that for a moment she saw her son in him.
She wanted to believe he was Durc, and she ached to pick him up and
hold him in her arms, and say his name. She closed her eyes and
repressed the urge to call out to him, shaking with the effort.
When she opened her eyes again, Rydag was watching her with a
knowing, ancient, and yearning look, as though he understood her,
and knew that she understood him. As much as she wished it, Rydag
was not Durc. He was no more Durc than she was Deegie; he was
himself. Under control again, she took a deep breath.
"Would you like more words? More hand signs, Rydag?" she asked.
He nodded, emphatically.
"You remember 'mother' from last night. ..."
He answered by making the sign again that had so moved Nezzie
. . . and her.
'Do you know this?" Ayla asked, making the greeting gesture. She
could see him struggling with knowledge he almost knew. "It is greet
ing. It means 'good morning,' or 'hello.' This"—she demonstrated the
gesture again with the variation she had used—"is when older person
is speaking to younger."
He frowned, then made the gesture, then smiled at her with his
startling grin. He made both signs, then thought again and made a
third, and looked at her quizzically, not sure if he had really done
anything.
"Yes, that is right, Rydag! I am woman, like mother, and that is
way to greet mother. You do remember!"
Nezzie noticed Ayla and the boy together. He had caused her great
distress a few times when he forgot himself and tried to do too much,
so she was always aware of the child's location and activities. She was
drawn toward the younger woman and the child, trying to observe
and understand what they were doing. Ayla saw her, noted her ex
pression of curiosity and concern, and called her over.
"I am showing Rydag language of Clan—mother's people," Ayla
explained, "like word last night."
Rydag, with a big grin that showed his larger than usual teeth,
made a deliberate gesture to Nezzie.
"What does that mean?" she asked, looking at Ayla.
"Rydag say, 'Good morning, Mother,'" the young woman ex
plained.
"Good morning, Mother?" Nezzie made a motion that vaguely re
sembled the deliberate gesture Rydag had made. "That means 'Good
morning, Mother'?"
"No. Sit here. I will show you. This"—Ayla made the sign—
"means 'Good morning' and this way"—she made the variation—
"means 'Good morning, Mother.' He might make same sign to me.
That would mean 'motherly woman.' You would make this way"
—Ayla made another variation of the hand sign—"to say, 'Good
morning, child.' And this"—Ayla continued with still another varia
tion—"to say 'Good morning, my son.' You see?"
Ayla went through all the variations again as Nezzie watched care
fully. The woman, feeling a bit self-conscious, tried again. Though
the signal lacked finesse, it was clear to both Ayla and Rydag that the
gesture she was trying to make meant "Good morning, my son."
The boy, who was standing at her shoulder, reached thin arms
around her neck. Nezzie hugged him, blinking hard to hold back a
flood that threatened, and even Rydag's eyes were wet, which sur
prised Ayla.
Of all the members of Brun's clan, only her eyes had teared with
emotion, though their feelings were just as strong. Her son could vo-
calize the same as she could; he was capable of full speech—her heart
still ached when she remembered how he had called out after her
when she was forced to leave—but Durc could shed no tears to ex
press his sorrow. Like his Clan mother, Rydag could not speak, but
when his eyes filled with love, they glistened with tears.
"I have never been able to talk to him before—that I knew for sure
he understood," Nezzie said.
"Would you like more signs?" Ay la asked, gently.
The woman nodded, still holding the boy, not trusting herself to
speak at the moment for fear her control would break. Ay la went
through another set of signs and variations, with Nezzie and Rydag
both concentrating, trying to grasp them. And then another. Nezzie's
daughters, Latie and Rugie, and Tube's youngest children, Brinan
and his little sister Tusie, who were close to Rugie and Rydag in age,
came to find out what was going on, then Fralie's seven-year-old son,
Crisavec, joined them. Soon they were all caught up in what seemed
to be a wonderful new game: talking with hands.
But unlike most games played by the children of the Camp, this
was one in which Rydag excelled. Ay la couldn't teach him fast
enough. She barely had to show him once, and before long he was
adding the variations himself—the nuances and finer shades of mean
ing. She had a sense that it was all right there inside him, filled up
and bursting to come out, needing only the smallest opening, and
once released, there was no holding back.
It was all the more exciting because the children who were near his
age were learning, too. For the first time in his life, Rydag could
express himself fully, and he couldn't get enough of it. The young
sters he had grown up with easily accepted his ability to "speak" flu
ently in this new way. They had communicated with him before.
They knew he was different, he had trouble talking, but they hadn't
yet acquired the adult bias that assumed he was, therefore, lacking in
intelligence. And Latie, as older sisters often do, had been translating
his "gibberish" to the adult members of the Camp for years.
By the time they had all had enough of learning and went off to put
the new game into serious play, Ay la noticed Rydag was correcting
them and they turned to him for confirmation of the meaning of the
hand signs and gestures. He had found a new place among his peers.
Still sitting beside Nezzie, Ay la watched them flashing silent sig
nals to each other. She smiled, imagining what Iza would have
thought of children of the Others speaking like the Clan, shouting and
laughing at the same time. Somehow, Ayla thought, the old medicine
woman would have understood.
"You must be right. That is his way to speak," Nezzie said. "I've
never seen him so quick to learn anything. I didn't know flathe—
What do you call them?"
"Clan. They say Clan. It means . . . family . . . the people . . .
humans. The Clan of the Cave Bear, people who honor Great Cave
Bear; you say Mamutoi, Mammoth Hunters who honor Mother,"
Ay la replied.
"Clan ... I didn't know they could talk like that, I didn't know
anyone could say so much with hands. . . . I've never seen Rydag so
happy." The woman hesitated, and Ay la sensed she was trying to find
a way to say something more. She waited to give her a chance to
gather her thoughts. "I'm surprised you took to him so quickly,"
Nezzie continued. "Some people object because he's mixed, and most
people are a little uncomfortable around him. But you seem to know
him."
Ayla paused before she spoke, while she studied the older woman,
not sure what to say. Then, making a decision, she said, "I knew
someone like him once . . . my son. My son, Durc."
"Your son!" There was surprise in Nezzie's voice, but Ayla did not
detect any sign of the revulsion that had been so apparent in Frebec's
voice when he spoke of flatheads and Rydag the night before. "You
had a mixed son? Where is he? What happened to him?"
Anguish darkened Ayla's face. She had kept thoughts of her son
buried deep while she was alone in her valley, but seeing Rydag had
awakened them. Nezzie's questions jolted painful memories and emo
tions to the surface, and caught her by surprise. Now she had to
confront them.
Nezzie was as open and frank as the rest of her people, and her
questions had come spontaneously, but she was not without sen
sitivity. "I'm sorry, Ayla. I should have thought ..."
"Do not have concern, Nezzie," Ayla said, blinking to hold back
tears. "I know questions come when I speak of son. It ... pains . . .
to think of Durc."
"You don't have to talk about him."
"Sometime must talk about Durc." Ayla paused, then plunged in.
"Durc is with Clan. When she die, Iza . . . my mother, like you with
Rydag . . . say I go north, find my people. Not Clan, the Others.
Durc is baby then. I do not go. Later, Durc is three years, Broud
make me go. I not know where Others live, I not know where I will
go, I cannot take Durc. I give to Uba . . . sister. She love Durc, take
care of him. Her son now."
Ayla stopped, but Nezzie didn't know what to say. She would have
liked to ask more questions, but didn't want to press when it was
obviously such an ordeal for the young woman to speak of a son,
whom she loved but had to leave behind. Ay la continued of her own
accord.
"Three years since I see Durc. He is ... six years now. Like
Rydag?"
Nezzie nodded. "It is not yet seven years since Rydag was born."
Ay la paused, seemed to be deep in thought. Then she continued.
"Durc is like Rydag, but not. Durc is like Clan in eyes, like me in
mouth." She smiled wryly. "Should be other way. Durc make words,
Durc could speak, but Clan does not. Better if Rydag speak, but he
cannot. Durc is strong." Ayla's eyes took on a faraway look. "He run
fast. He is best runner, some day racer, like Jondalar say." Her eyes
filled with sadness when she looked up at Nezzie. "Rydag weak. From
birth. Weak in . . . ?" She put her hand to her chest, she didn't know
the word.
"He has trouble breathing sometimes," Nezzie said.
"Trouble is not breathing. Trouble is blood ... no ... not blood
. . . da-dump," she said, holding a fist to her chest. She was frustrated
at not knowing the word.
"The heart. That's what Mamut says. He has a weak heart. How
did you know that?"
"Iza was medicine woman, healer. Best medicine woman of Clan.
She teach me like daughter. I am medicine woman."
Jondalar had said Ay la was a Healer, Nezzie recalled. She was surprised
to learn that flatheads even thought about healing, but then she
hadn't known they could talk either. And she had been around Rydag
enough to know that even without full speech he was not the stupid
animal that so many people believed. Even if she wasn't a Mamut,
there was no reason Ayla couldn't know something about healing.
The two women looked up as a shadow fell across them. "Mamut
wants to know if you would come and talk to him, Ayla," Danug
said. Both of them had been so engrossed in conversation neither one
had noticed the tall young man approaching. "Rydag is so excited
with the new hand game you showed him," he continued. "Latie says
he wants me to ask if you will teach me some of the signs, too."
"Yes. Yes. I teach you. I teach anyone."
"I want to learn more of your hand words, too," Nezzie said, as
they both got up.
"In morning?" Ayla asked.
"Yes, tomorrow morning. But you haven't had anything to eat yet.
Maybe tomorrow it would be better to have something to eat first,"
Nezzie said. "Come with me and I'll get you something, and for
Mamut, too."
'I am hungry," Ayla said.
"So am I," Danug added.
"When aren't you hungry? Between you and Talut, I think you
could eat a mammoth," Nezzie said with pride in her eyes for her
great strapping son.
As the two women and Danug headed toward the earthlodge, the
others seemed to take it as a cue to stop for a meal and followed them
in. Outer clothes were removed in the entrance foyer and hung on
pegs. It was a casual, everyday, morning meal with some people cook
ing at their own hearths and others gathering at the large first hearth
that held the primary fireplace and several small ones. Some people
ate cold leftover mammoth, others had meat or fish cooked with roots
or greens in a soup thickened with roughly ground wild grains
plucked from the grasses of the steppes. But whether they cooked at
their own place or not, most people eventually wandered to the com
munal area to visit while they drank a hot tea before going outside
again.
Ayla was sitting beside Mamut watching the activities with great
interest. The level of noise of so many people talking and laughing
together still surprised her, but she was becoming more accustomed to
it. She was even more surprised at the ease with which the women
moved among the men. There was no strict hierarchy, no order to the
cooking or serving of food. They all seemed to serve themselves, ex
cept for the women and men who helped the youngest children.
Jondalar came over to them and lowered himself carefully to the
grass mat beside Ayla while he balanced with both hands a watertight
but handleless and somewhat flexible cup, woven out of bear grass in
a chevron design of contrasting colors, filled with hot mint tea.
"You up early in morning," Ayla said.
"I didn't want to disturb you. You were sleeping so soundly."
"I wake when I think someone hurt, but Deegie tell me old woman
. . . Crozie . . . always talk loud with Frebec."
"They were arguing so loud, I even heard them outside," Jondalar
said. "Frebec may be a troublemaker, but I'm not so sure I blame
him. That old woman squawks worse than a jay. How can anyone
live with her?"
"I think someone hurt," Ayla said, thoughtfully.
Jondalar looked at her, puzzled. He didn't think she was repeating
that she mistakenly thought someone was physically hurt.
"You are right, Ayla," Mamut said ." "Old wounds that still pain."
"Deegie feels sorrow for Fralie." Ayla turned to Mamut, feeling
comfortable about asking him questions, though she did not want to
betray her ignorance generally. "What is Bride Price? Deegie said
Tulie asked high Bride Price for her."
Mamut paused before answering, gathering his thoughts carefully
because he wanted her to understand. Ay la watched the white-haired
old man expectantly. "I could give you a simple answer, Ayla, but
there is more to it than it seems. I have thought about it for many
years. It is not easy to understand and explain yourself and your peo
ple, even when you are one of those whom others come to for an
swers." He closed his eyes in a frown of concentration. "You
understand status, don't you?" he began.
"Yes," Ayla said. "In the Clan, leader has the most status, then
chosen hunter, then other hunters. Mog-ur has high status, too, but is
different. He is ... man of spirit world."
"And the women?"
"Women have status of mate, but medicine woman has own status."
Ay la's comments surprised Jondalar. With all he had learned from
her about flatheads, he still had difficulty believing they could under
stand a concept as complex as comparative ranking.
"I thought so," Mamut said, quietly, then proceeded to explain.
"We revere the Mother, the maker and nurturer of all life. People,
animals, plants, water, trees, rocks, earth, She gave birth, She created
all of it. When we call upon the spirit of the mammoth, or the spirit of
the deer, or the bison, to ask permission to hunt them, we know it is
the Mother's Spirit that gave them life; Her Spirit that causes another
mammoth, or deer, or bison to be born to replace the ones She gives
us for food."
"We say it is the Mother's Gift of Life," Jondalar said, intrigued.
He was interested in discovering how the customs of the Mamutoi
compared with the customs of the Zeiandonii.
"Mut, the Mother, has chosen women to show us how She has
taken the spirit of life into Herself to create and bring forth new life to
replace those She has called back," the old holy man continued. "Chil
dren learn about this as they grow up, from legends and stories and
songs, but you are beyond that now, Ayla. We like to hear the stories
even when we grow old, but you need to understand the current that
moves them, and what lies beneath, so you can understand the rea
sons for many of our customs. With us, status depends upon one's
mother, and Bride Price is the way we show value."
Ayla nodded, fascinated. Jondalar had tried to explain about the
Mother, but Mamut made it seem so reasonable, so much easier to
understand.
"When women and men decide to form a union, the man, and his
Camp, give many gifts to the woman's mother and her Camp. The
mother or the headwoman of the Camp sets the price—says how
many gifts are required—for the daughter, or occasionally a woman
may set her own price, but it depends on much more than her whim.
No woman wants to be undervalued, but the price should not be so
much that the man of her choice and his Camp can't afford or are
unwilling to pay."
"Why payment for a woman?" Jondalar asked. "Doesn't that make
her trade goods, like salt or flint or amber?"
"The value of a woman is much more. Bride Price is what a man
pays for the privilege of living with a woman. A good Bride Price
benefits everyone. It bestows a high status on the woman; tells every
one how highly she is thought of by the man who wants her, and by
her own Camp. It honors his Camp, and lets them show they are
successful and can afford to pay the price. It gives honor to the
woman's Camp, shows them esteem and respect, and gives them
something to compensate for losing her if she leaves, as some young
women do, to join a new Camp or to live at the man's Camp. But
most important, it helps them to pay a good Bride Price when one of
their men wants a woman, so they can show their wealth.
"Children are born with their mother's status, so a high Bride Price
benefits them. Though the Bride Price is paid in gifts, and some of
the gifts are for the couple to start out their life together with, the real
value is the status, the high regard, in which a woman is held by her
own Camp and by all the other Camps, and the value she bestows on
her mate, and her children."
Ayla was still puzzled, but Jondalar was nodding, beginning to un
derstand. The specific and complex details were not the same, but the
broad outlines of kinship relationships and values were not so differ
ent from those of his own people. "How is a woman's value known?
To set a good Bride Price?" the Zeiandonii man asked.
"Bride Price depends on many things. A man will always try to
find a woman with the highest status he can afford because when he
leaves his mother, he assumes the status of his mate, who is or will be
a mother. A woman who has proven her motherhood has a higher
value, so women with children are greatly desired. Men will often try
to push the value of their prospective mate up because it is to their
benefit; two men who are vying for a high-valued woman might com
bine their resources—if they can get along and she agrees—and push
her Bride Price even higher.
"Sometimes one man will join with two women, especially sisters
who don't want to be separated. Then he gets the status of the higher-
ranked woman and is looked upon with favor, which gives a certain
additional status. He is showing he is able to provide for two women
and their future children. Twin girls are thought of as a special bless
ing, they are seldom separated."
"When my brother found a woman among the Sharamudoi, he had
kinship ties with a woman named Tholie, who was Mamutoi. She
once told me she was 'stolen,' though she agreed to it," Jondalar said.
"We trade with the Sharamudoi, but our customs are not the same.
Tholie was a woman of high status. Losing her to others meant giving
up someone who was not only valuable herself—and they paid a good
Bride Price—but who would have taken the value she received from
her mother and given it to her mate and her children, value that even
tually would have been exchanged among all the Mamutoi. There was
no way to compensate for that. It was lost to us, as though her value
was stolen from us. But Tholie was in love, and determined to join
with the young Sharamudoi, so to get around it, we allowed her to be
'stolen.'"
"Deegie say Fralie's mother made Bride Price low," Ayla said.
The old man shifted position. He could see where her question was
leading, and it was not going to be easy to answer. Most people un
derstood their customs intuitively and could not have explained as
clearly as Mamut. Many in his position would have been reluctant to
explain beliefs that would normally have been cloaked in ambiguous
stories, fearing that such a forthright and detailed exposition of cul
tural values would strip them of their mystery and power. It even
made him uncomfortable, but he had already drawn some conclusions
and made some decisions about Ayla. He wanted her to grasp the
concepts and understand their customs as quickly as possible.
"A mother can move to the hearth of any one of her children," he
said. "If she does—and usually she won't until she gets old—most
often it will be a daughter who still lives at the same Camp. Her mate
usually moves with her, but he can go back to his mother's Camp, or
live with a sister if he wants. A man often feels closer to his mate's
children, the children of his hearth, because he lives with them and
trains them, but his sister's children are his heirs, and when he grows
old he is their responsibility. Usually the elders are welcomed, but
unfortunately, not always. Fralie is the only child Crozie has left, so
where her daughter goes, she goes. Life has not been kind to Crozie,
and she has not grown kindly with age. She grasps and clings and few
men want to share a hearth with her. She had to keep lowering her
daughter's Bride Price after Fralie's first man died, which rankles and
adds to her bitterness."
Ayla nodded understanding, then frowned with concern. "Iza told
me of old woman, live with Brun's clan before I am found. She came
from other clan. Mate die, no children. She have no value, no status,
but always have food, always place by fire. If Crozie not have Fralie,
where she go?"
Mamut pondered the question a moment. He wanted to give Ay la a
completely truthful answer. "Crozie would have a problem, Ayla.
Usually someone who has no kin will be adopted by another hearth,
but she is so disagreeable, there are not many who would take her.
She could probably find enough to eat and a place to sleep at any
Camp, but after a while they would make her leave, just as their
Camp made them leave after Fralie's first man died."
The old shaman continued with a grimace. "Frebec isn't so agree
able, himself. His mother's status was very low, she had few accom
plishments and little to offer except a taste for bouza, so he never had
much to begin with. His Camp didn't want Crozie, and didn't care if
he left. They refused to pay anything. That's why Fralie's Bride Price
was so low. The only reason they are here is because of Nezzie. She
convinced Talut to speak for them, so they were taken in. There are
some here who are sorry."
Ayla nodded with understanding. It made the situation a little more
clear. "Mamut, what ..."
"Nuvie! Nuvie! 0 Mother! She's choking!" a woman suddenly
screamed.
Several people were standing around while her three-year-old
coughed and sputtered, and struggled to draw breath. Someone
pounded the child on the back, but it didn't help. Others were stand
ing around trying to offer advice, but they were at a loss as they
watched the girl gasping to breathe, and turning blue.
6

.yla pushed her way through the crowd and reached the
child as she was losing consciousness. She picked the girl up, sat
down and put her across her lap, then reached into her mouth with a
finger to see if she could find the obstruction. When that proved unsuccessful,
Ay la stood up, turned the child around and held her
around the middle with one arm so that her head and arms hung
down, and struck her sharply between the shoulder blades. Then,
from behind, she put her arms around the limp toddler, and pulled in
with a jerk.
Everyone was standing back, with held breaths, watching the
woman who seemed to know what she was doing, in a life-and-death
struggle to clear the blockage in the little girl's throat. The child had
stopped breathing, though her heart was still beating. Ayla lay the
child down and kneeled beside her. She saw a piece of clothing, the
child's parka, and stuffed it under her neck to hold her head back and
her mouth open. Then holding the small nose closed, the woman
placed her mouth over the girl's, and pulled in her breath as hard as
she could, creating a strong suction. She held the pressure until she
was almost without breath herself.
Then suddenly, with a muffled pop, she felt an object fly into her
mouth, and almost lodge in her own throat. Ayla lifted her mouth and
spat out a piece of gristly bone with meat clinging to it. She took a
deep gulp of air, flipped her hair back out of her way, and, covering
the mouth of the still child with her mouth again, breathed her own
life-giving breath into the quiet lungs. The small chest raised. She did
it several more times.
Suddenly the child was coughing and sputtering again, and then
she took a long, rasping breath of her own.
Ayla helped Nuvie to sit up as she started to breathe again, only
then aware of Tronic sobbing her relief to see her daughter still alive.

Ayla pulled her parka on over her head, threw the hood back, and
looked down the row of hearths. At the last one, the hearth of the
Aurochs, she saw Deegie standing near the fireplace brushing her rich

chestnut hair back and wrapping it into a bun while she talked to
someone on a bed platform. Ay la and Deegie had become good
friends in the past few days and usually went outside together in the
morning. Poking an ivory hairpin—a long thin shaft carved from the
tusk of a mammoth and polished smooth—into her hair, Deegie
waved at Ayla and signaled, "Wait for me, I'll go with you."
Tronic was sitting on a bed at the hearth next to the Mammoth
Hearth, nursing Hartal. She smiled at Ayla and motioned her over.
Ayla walked into the area denned as the Reindeer Hearth, sat down
beside her, then bent over to coo and tickle the baby. He let go for a
moment, giggled and kicked his feet, then reached for his mother to
suckle again.
"He knows you already, Ayla," Tronic said.
"Hartal is happy, healthy baby. Grows fast. Where is Nuvie?"
"Manuv took her outside earlier. He's such a help with her, I'm
glad he came to live with us. Tornec has a sister he could have stayed
with. The old and the young always seem to get along, but Manuv
spends almost all his time with that little one, and he can't refuse her
anything. Especially now, after we came so close to losing her." The
young mother put the baby over her shoulder to pat his back, then
turned to Ayla again. "I haven't really had a chance to talk to you
alone. I'd like to thank you again. We are all so grateful ... I was so
afraid she was ... I still have bad dreams. I didn't know what to do. I
don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there." She
choked up as tears came to her eyes.
"Tronic, do not speak. Is not necessary to thank. Is my ... I don't
know word. I have knowledge ... is necessary . . . for me."
Ayla saw Deegie coming through the Hearth of the Crane and
noticed that Fralie was watching her. There were deep shadows
around her eyes, and she seemed more tired than she should be. Ayla
had been observing her and thought she was far enough along in her
pregnancy that she should not be suffering morning sickness any
more, but Fralie was still vomiting regularly and not just in the morn
ing. Ayla wished she could make a closer examination, but Frebec
had created a big furor when she mentioned it. He claimed that be
cause she stopped someone from choking didn't prove she knew any
thing about healing. He wasn't convinced, just because she said so,
and he didn't want some strange woman giving Fralie bad advice.
That gave Crozie something else to argue with him about. Finally, to
stop their squabbling, Fralie declared she felt fine and didn't need to
see Ayla.
Ayla smiled encouragingly at the besieged woman, then picking up
an empty waterskin on the way, walked with Deegie toward the en-
trance. As they passed through the Mammoth Hearth, and stepped
into the Hearth of the Fox, Ranee looked up and watched them pass
by. Ay la had the distinct feeling that he watched her all the way
through the Lion Hearth and the cooking area until she reached the
inner arch, and she had to restrain an urge to look back.
When they pushed back the outer drape, Ay la blinked her eyes at
the unexpected brightness of an intense sun in a bold blue sky. It was
one of those warm, gentle days of fall that came as a rare gift, to be
held in memory against the season when vicious winds, raging storms,
and biting cold would be the daily fare. Ay la smiled in appreciation
and suddenly remembered, though she hadn't thought of it in years,
that Uba had been born on a day like this, that first fall after Brun's
clan found her.
The earthlodge and the leveled area in front of it were carved out of
a west-facing slope, about midway down. The view was expansive
from the entrance, and she stood for a moment, looking out. The
racing river glinted and sparkled as it murmured a liquid undertone to
the interplay of sunlight and water, and across, in a distant haze, Ay la
saw a similar escarpment. The broad swift river, gouging a channel
through the vast open steppes, was flanked by ramparts of eroded
earth.
From the rounded shoulder of the plateau above to the wide
floodplain below, the fine loess soil was sculpted by deep gullies; the
handiwork of rain, melting snow, and the outflow of the great glaciers
to the north during the spring runoff. A few green larch and pine
stood straight and stiff in their isolation, scattered sparsely among the
recumbent tangle of leafless shrubs on the lower ground. Down
stream, along the river's edge, the spikes of cattails mingled with reeds
and sedges. Her view upstream was blocked by the bend in the river,
but Whinney and Racer grazed within sight on the dry standing hay
that covered the balance of the stark, spare landscape.
A spattering of dirt landed at Ayla's feet. She looked up, startled,
into Jondalar's vivid blue eyes. Talut was beside him with a big grin
on his face. She was surprised to see several more people on top of the
dwelling.
"Come up, Ayla. I'll give you a hand," Jondalar said.
"Not now. Later. I just come out. Why you up there?"
"We're putting the bowl boats over the smoke holes," Talut
explained.
"What?"
"Come on. I'll explain," Deegie said. "I'm ready to overflow."
The two young women walked together toward a nearby gully.
Steps had been roughly cut into the steep side leading to several large,
flat mammoth shoulder blades with holes cut in them braced over a
deeper part of the dry gully. Ay la stepped out on one of the shoulder
blades, untied the waist thong of her legged garment, lowered it, then
bent down and squatted over the hole, beside Deegie, wondering
again why she hadn't thought of the posture herself when she was
having so much trouble with her clothes. It seemed so simple and
obvious after she watched Deegie once. The contents of the night
baskets were also thrown into the gully, as well as other refuse, all of
which was washed away in the spring.
They climbed out and walked down to the river beside a broad
gulch. A rivulet, whose source farther north was already frozen, trick
led down the middle. When the season turned again, the trench
would carry a raging torrent. The top sections of a few mammoth
skulls were inverted and stacked near the bank along with some crude
long-handled dippers, roughed out of leg bones.
The two women filled the mammoth skull basins with water dipped
from the river, and from a pouch Ayla brought with her, she sprin
kled withered petals—once the pale blue sprays of saponin-rich
ceanothus flowers—into both their hands. Rubbing with wet hands
created a foamy, slightly gritty washing substance which left a gentle
perfume on clean hands and faces. Ayla snapped off a twig, chewed
the broken end, and used it on her teeth, a habit she had picked up
from Jondalar.
"What is bowl boat?" Ayla asked as they walked back carrying the
waterproof stomach of a bison, bulging with fresh water, between
them.
"We use them to cross the river, when it's not too rough. You start
with a frame of bone and wood shaped like a bowl that will hold two
or maybe three people, and cover it with a hide, usually aurochs, hair
side out and well oiled. Megaceros antlers, with some trimming, make
good paddles ... for pushing it through the water," Deegie ex
plained.
"Why bowl boats on top of lodge?"
"That's where we always put them when we aren't using them, but
in winter we cover the smoke holes with them so rain and snow won't
come in. They were tying them down through the holes so they won't
blow away. But you have to leave a space for the smoke to get out,
and be able to move it over, and shake it loose from inside if snow
piles up."
As they walked together, Ayla was thinking how happy she was to
know Deegie. Uba had been a sister and she loved her, but Uba was
younger, and Iza's true daughter; there had always been the differ
ence. Ayla had never known anyone her own age who seemed to un-
derstand everything she said, and with whom she had so much in
common. They put the heavy waterskin down and stopped to rest for
a while.
"Ay la, show me how to say 'I love you' with signs, so I can tell
Branag when I see him again," Deegie asked.
"Clan has no sign like that," Ayla said.
"Don't they love each other? You make them sound so human when
you talk about them, I thought they would."
"Yes, they love each other, but they are quiet . . . no, that is not
right word."
"I think 'subtle' is the word you want," Deegie said.
"Subtle . . . about showing feelings. A mother might say, 'You fill
me with happiness' to child," Ayla replied, showing Deegie the
proper sign, "but woman would not be so open . . . no, obvious?" She
questioned her second choice of words and waited for Deegie's nod
before continuing, "Obvious about feelings for man."
Deegie was intrigued. "What would she do? I had to let Branag
know how I felt about him when I found out he'd been watching me
at Summer Meetings, just as I'd been looking at him. If I couldn't
have told him, I don't know what I would have done."
"A Clan woman does not say, she shows. Woman does things for
man she loves, cooks food as he likes, makes favorite tea ready in
morning when he wakes up. Makes clothes in special way--inner skin
of fur wrap very soft, or warm foot-coverings with fur inside. Even
better if woman can know what he wants before he asks. Shows she
pays close attention to learn habits and moods, knows him, cares."
Deegie nodded. "That's a good way to tell someone you love him.
It is nice to do special things for each other. But how does a woman
know he loves her? What does a man do for a woman?"
"One time Goov put himself in danger to kill snow leopard that was
frightening to Ovra because was prowling too close to cave. She know
he did it for her even though he gave hide to Creb, and Iza made fur
wrap for me," Ayla explained.
"That is subtle! I'm not sure if I would have understood." Deegie
laughed. "How do you know he did it for her?"
"Ovra told me, later. I did not know then. I was young. Still learning.
Hand signs not all of Clan language. Much more said in face, and
eyes, and body. Way of walking, turning of head, tightening muscles
of shoulders, if you know what means, says more than words. Took
long time to learn language of Clan."
"I'm surprised, as fast as you've been learning Mamutoi! I can
watch you. Every day you're better. I wish I had your gift for
language."
"T from ctill not rieht. Many words I do not know, but I think of
speaking words in Clan way of language. I listen to words and watch
how face looks, feel how words sound and go together and see how
body moves . . . and try to remember. When I show Rydag, and
others, hand signs, I learn, too. I learn your language, more. I must
learn, Deegie," Ay la added with a fervor that bespoke her earnestness.

"It isn't just a game for you, is it? Like the hand signs are for us.
It's fun to think that we can go to the Summer Meeting and speak to
each other without anyone else knowing it."
"I am happy everyone has fun and wants to know more. For
Rydag. He has fun now, but is not a game for him."
"No, I don't suppose it is." They reached for the waterskin again,
then Deegie stopped and looked at Ay la. "I couldn't understand why
Nezzie wanted to keep him, at first. But then I got used to him, and
grew to like him. Now he's just one of us, and I'd miss him if he
wasn't here, but it never occurred to me before that he might want to
talk. I didn't think he ever gave it a thought."
Jondalar stood at the entrance of the earthlodge watching the two
young women deeply involved in conversation as they approached,
pleased to see Ay la getting along so well. When he thought about it, it
seemed rather amazing that of all the people they might have met up
with, the one group they found had a child of mixed spirits in their
midst and so was more willing than most would probably have been
to accept her. He'd been right about one thing, though. Ay la didn't
hesitate to tell anyone about her background.
Well, at least she hadn't told them about her son, he thought. It
was one thing for a person like Nezzie to open her heart to an orphan,
it was quite another to welcome a woman whose spirit had mingled
with a flathead's, and who'd given birth to an abomination. There was
always an underlying fear that it might happen again, and if she drew
the wrong kind of spirits to her, they might spread to other women
nearby.
Suddenly the tall handsome man flushed. Ay la doesn't think her
son is an abomination, he thought, mortified. He had flinched with
disgust when she first told him about her son, and she had been furious.
He had never seen her so angry, but her son was her son, and
she certainly felt no shame over him. She's right. Doni told me in a
dream. Flatheads . . . the Clan . . . are children of the Mother, too.
Look at Rydag. He's a lot brighter than I ever imagined one like him
would be. He's a little different, but he's human, and very likable.
Jondalar had spent some time with the youngster and discovered
how intelligent and mature he was, even to a certain wry wit, particularly
when his difference or his weakness was mentioned. He had seen
the adoration in Rydag's eyes every time the boy looked at Ayla. She
had told him that boys of Rydag's age were closer to manhood in the
Clan, more like Danug, but it was also true that his weakness might
have matured him beyond his years.
She's right. I know she's right about them. But if she just wouldn't
talk about them. It would be so much easier. No one would even
know if she didn't tell them. . . .
She thinks of them as her people, Jondalar, he chided himself, feel
ing his face heat again, angry at his own thoughts. How would you
feel if someone told you not to talk about the people who raised and
took care of you? If she's not ashamed of them, why should you be? It
hasn't been so bad. Frebec's a troublemaker anyway. But she doesn't
know how people can turn on you, and on anyone who's with you.
Maybe it's best that she doesn't know. Maybe it won't happen.
She's already got most of this Camp talking like flatheads, including
me.
After Jondalar had seen how eagerly nearly everyone wanted to
learn the Clan way of communicating, he sat in on the impromptu
lessons that seemed to spring up every time someone asked questions
about it. He found himself caught up in the fun of the new game,
flashing signals across a distance, making silent jokes, such as saying
one thing and signing something else behind someone's back. He was
surprised at the depth and the fullness of the silent speech.
"Jondalar, your face is red. What could you be thinking?" Deegie
asked in a teasing tone when they reached the archway.
The question caught him off guard, reminded him of his shame,
and he blushed deeper in his embarrassment. "I must have been too
close to the fire," he mumbled, turning away.
Why does Jondalar say words that are not true? Ay la wondered,
noticing that his forehead was furrowed in a frown and his rich blue
eyes were deeply troubled before he averted them. He is not red from
fire. He is red from feeling. Just when I think I am beginning to learn,
he does something I don't understand. I watch him, I try to pay atten
tion. Everything seems wonderful, then for no reason, suddenly he's
angry. I can see that he's angry, but I can't see what makes him an
gry. It's like the games, saying one thing with words and another with
signs. Like when he says nice words to Ranee, but his body says he's
angry. Why does Ranee make him angry? And now, something both
ers him, but he says fire makes him hot. What am I doing wrong?
Why don't I understand him? Will I ever learn?
The three of them turned to go in and almost bumped into Talut
coming out of the earthlodge.
"I was coming to look for you, Jondalar," the headman said. "I
don't want to waste such a good day, and Wymez did some un-
r
planned scouting on the way back. He says they passed a winter herd
of bison. After we eat, we're going to hunt them. Would you like to
join us?"
"Yes. I would!" Jondalar said with a big smile.
"I asked Mamut to feel the weather and Search for the herd. He
says the signs are good, and the herd hasn't wandered far. He said
something else, too, which I don't understand. He said, 'The way out
is also the way in.' Can you make anything of that?"
"No, but that's not unusual. Those Who Serve the Mother often
say things I don't understand." Jondalar smiled. "They speak with
shadows on their tongues."
"Sometimes I wonder if they know what they mean," Talut said.
"If we are going to hunt, I'd like to show you something that could
be helpful." Jondalar led them to their sleeping platform in the Mam
moth Hearth. He picked up a handful of lightweight spears and an
implement that was unfamiliar to Talut. "I worked this out in Ay la's
valley, and we've been hunting with it ever since."
Ayla stood back, watching, feeling an awful tension building up
inside. She wanted desperately to be included, but she was not sure
how these people felt about women hunting. Hunting had been the
cause of great anguish for her in the past. Women of the Clan were
forbidden to hunt or even to touch hunting weapons, but she had
taught herself to use a sling in spite of the taboo and the punishment
had been severe when she was found out. After she had lived through
it, she had even been allowed to hunt on a limited basis to appease her
powerful totem who had protected her. But her hunting had been just
one more reason for Broud to hate her and, ultimately, it contributed
to her banishment.
Yet, hunting with her sling had increased her chances when she
lived alone in the valley, and gave her the incentive and encourage
ment to expand on her ability. Ayla had survived because the skills
she had learned as a woman of the Clan, and her own intelligence and
courage, gave her the ability to take care of herself. But hunting had
come to symbolize for her more than the security of depending on and
being responsible for herself; it stood for the independence and free
dom that were the natural result. She would not easily give it up.
"Ayla, why don't you get your spear-thrower, too," Jondalar said,
then turned back to Talut. "I've got more power, but Ayla is more
accurate than I am, she can show you what this can do better than I
can. In fact, if you want to see a demonstration of accuracy, you
ought to see her with a sling. I think her skill with it gives her an
advantage with these."
Ayla let out her breath—she didn't know she had been holding it—
and went to get her spear-thrower and spears while Jondalar was talk
ing to Talut. It was still hard to believe how easily this man of the
Others had accepted her desire and ability to hunt, and how naturally
he spoke in praise of her skill. He seemed to assume that Talut and
the Lion Camp would accept her hunting, too. She glanced at Deegie,
wondering how a woman would feel.
"You ought to let Mother know if you are going to try a new
weapon on the hunt, Talut. You know she'll want to see it, too,"
Deegie said. "I might as well get my spears and packboards out now.
And a tent, we'll probably be gone overnight."
After breakfast, Talut motioned to Wymez and squatted down by
an area of soft dirt near one of the smaller fireplaces in the cooking
hearth, well lit by light coming in through the smoke hole. Stuck in
the ground near the edge was an implement made from a leg bone of a
deer. It was shaped like a knife or a tapered dagger, with a straight
dull edge leading from the knee joint to a point. Holding it by the
knob of the joint, Talut smoothed the dirt with the flat edge, then,
shifting it, began to draw marks and lines on the level surface with the
point. Several people gathered around.
"Wymez said he saw the bison not far from the three large outcrops
to the northeast, near the tributary of the small river that empties
upstream," the headman began, explaining as he drew a rough map of
the region with the drawing knife.
Talut's map wasn't so much an approximate visual reproduction as
a schematic drawing. It wasn't necessary to accurately depict the loca
tion. The people of the Lion Camp were familiar with their region
and his drawing was no more than a mnemonic aid to remind them of
a place they knew. It consisted of conventionalized marks and lines
that represented landmarks or ideas that were understood.
His map did not show the route which the water took across the
land; their perspective was not from such a bird's-eye view. He drew
herringbone zigzag lines to indicate the river, and attached them to
both sides of a straight line, to show a tributary. At the ground level
of their open flat landscape, rivers were bodies of water, which some
times joined.
They knew where the rivers came from and where they led, and
that rivers could be followed to certain destinations, but so could
other landmarks, and a rock outcrop was less likely to change. In a
land that was so close to a glacier, yet subject to the seasonal changes
of lower latitudes, ice and permafrost—ground that was permanently
frozen—caused drastic alterations of the landscape. Except for the
largest of them, the deluge of glacial runoff could change the course of
a river from one season to the next as easily as the ice hill pingos of
winter melted into the bogs of summer. The mammoth hunters con
ceived of their physical terrain as an interrelated whole in which rivers
were only an element.
Neither did Talut conceive of drawing lines to scale to show the
length of a river or trail in miles or paces. Such linear measures had
little meaning. They understood distance not in terms of how far
away a place was but how long it would take to get there, and that
was better shown by a series of lines telling the number of days, or
some other markings of number or time. Even then, a place might be
more distant for some people than for others, or the same place might
be farther away at one season than another because it took longer to
travel to it. The distance traveled by the entire Camp was measured
by the length of time it took the slowest. Talut's map was perfectly
clear to the members of the Lion Camp, but Ay la watched with
puzzled fascination.
"Wymez, tell me where they were," Talut said.
"On the south side of the tributary," Wymez replied, taking the
bone drawing knife and adding some additional lines. "It's rocky, with
steep outcrops, but the floodplain is wide."
"If they keep going upstream, there are not many outlets along that
side," Tulie said.
"Mamut, what do you think?" Talut asked. "You said they haven't
wandered far off."
The old shaman picked up the drawing knife, and paused for a
moment with his eyes closed. "There is a stream that comes in, be
tween the second and last outcrop," he said as he drew. "They will
likely move that way, thinking it will lead out."
"I know the place!" Talut said. "If you follow it upstream, the
floodplain narrows and then is hemmed in by steep rock. It's a good
place to trap them. How many are there?"
Wymez took the drawing tool and drew several lines along the
edge, hesitated, then added one more. "I saw that many, that I can
say for certain," he said, stabbing the bone drawing knife in the dirt.
Tulie picked up the marking bone and added three more. "I saw
those straggling behind, one seemed quite young, or perhaps it was
weak."
Danug picked up the marker and added one more line. "It was a
twin, I think. I saw another straggling. Did you see two, Deegie?"
"I don't recall."
"She only had eyes for Branag," Wymez said, with a gentle smile.
"That place is about half a day from here, isn't it?" Talut asked.
Wymez nodded. "Half a day, at a good pace."
"We should start out right away then." The headman paused,
thoughtfully. "It's been some time since I've been there. I'd like to
know the lay of the land. I wonder ..."
"Someone willing to run could get there faster and scout it, then
meet us on the way back," Tulie said, guessing what her brother was
thinking.
"That's a long run ..." Talut said, and glanced at Danug. The tall,
gangly youth was about to speak up, but Ay la spoke first.
"That is not long run for horse. Horse runs fast. I could go on
Whinney . . . but I do not know place," she said.
Talut looked surprised at first, then smiled broadly. "I could give
you a map! Like this one," he said, pointing at the drawing on the
ground. He looked around and spied a cast-off flake of broken ivory
near the bone fuel pile, then pulled out his sharp flint knife. "Look,
you go north until you reach the big stream." He began incising
zigzag lines to indicate water. "There is a smaller one you have to
cross first. Don't let it confuse you."
Ay la frowned. "I do not understand map," she said. "I not see map
before."
Talut looked disappointed, and dropped the ivory scrap back on the
pile.
"Couldn't someone go with her?" Jondalar suggested. "The horse
can take two. I've ridden double with her."
Talut was smiling again. "That's a good idea! Who wants to go?"
"I'll go! I know the way," a voice called out, followed quickly by a
second. "I know the way. I just came from there." Latie and Danug
had both spoken up, and several others looked ready to.
Talut looked from one to the other, then shrugged his shoulders,
holding out both hands, and turned to Ayla. "The choice is yours."
Ay la looked at the youth, nearly as tall as Jondalar, with red hair
the color of Talut's, and the pale fuzz of a beginning beard. Then at
the tall, thin girl, not quite a woman but getting close, with dark
blond hair a shade or two lighter than Nezzie's. There was earnest
hope in both sets of eyes. She didn't know which one to choose.
Danug was nearly a man. She thought she ought to take him, but
something about Latie reminded Ayla of herself, and she remembered
the look of longing she had seen on the girl's face the first time Latie
saw the horses.
"I think Whinney go faster if not too much weight. Danug is man,"
Ayla said, giving him a big, warm smile. "I think Latie better this
time."
Danug nodded, looking flustered, and backed off, trying to find a
way to deal with the sudden flush of mixed emotions that had un
expectedly overwhelmed him. He was sorely disappointed that Latie
was chosen, but Ay la's dazzling smile when she called him a man had
caused the blood to rush to his face and his heart to beat faster--and
an embarrassing tightening in his loins.
Latie rushed to change into the warm, lightweight reindeer skins
she wore for traveling, packed her haversack, added the food and wa-
terbag Nezzie prepared for her, and was outside and ready to go before
Ayla was dressed. She watched while Jondalar helped Ay la
fasten the side basket panniers on Whinney with the harness arrangement
she had devised. Ayla put the traveling food Nezzie gave her,
along with water, in one basket on top of her other things, and took
Latie's haversack and put it in the other carrier. Then, holding onto
Whinney's mane, Ayla made a quick leap and was astride her back.
Jondalar helped the girl up. Sitting in front of Ayla, Latie looked
down at the people of her Camp from the back of the dun yellow
horse, her eyes brimming with happiness.
Danug approached them, a little shyly, and handed Latie the broken
flake of ivory. "Here, I finished the map Talut started, to make
the place easier to find," he said.
"Oh, Danug. Thank you!" Latie said, and grabbed him around the
neck to give him a hug.
"Yes. Thank you, Danug," Ayla said, smiling her heart-pounding
smile at him.
Danug's face turned almost as red as his hair. As the woman and
the girl started up the slope on the back of the mare, he waved at
them, his palm facing him in a "come-back" motion.
Jondalar, with one arm around the arched neck of the young horse,
who was straining after them with his head raised and nose in the air,
put his other arm around the young man's shoulder. "That was very
nice of you. I know you wanted to go. I'm sure you'll be able to ride
the horse another time." Danug just nodded. He wasn't exactly thinking
of riding a horse at that moment.
Once they reached the steppes, Ayla signaled the horse with subtle
pressures and body movements, and Whinney broke into a fast run,
heading north. The ground blurred with motion beneath flying
hooves, and Latie could hardly believe she was racing across the
steppes on the back of a horse. She had smiled with elation when they
started out, and it still lingered, though sometimes she closed her eyes
and strained forward just to feel the wind in her face. She was exhilarated
beyond description; she had never even dreamed anything could
be so exciting.

The rest of the hunters followed behind them not long after they
left. Everyone who was able and wanted to go went along. The Lion

Hearth contributed three hunters. Latie was young and only recently
allowed to join Talut and Danug. She was always eager to go, as her
mother had been when she was younger, but Nezzie did not often
accompany hunters now. She stayed to take care of Rugie and Rydag,
and help watch other young children. She had not gone on many
hunts since she took in Rydag.
The Fox Hearth had only two men, and both Wymez and Ranee
hunted, but none from the Mammoth Hearth did, except for the visitors,
Ay la and Jondalar. Mamut was too old.
Though he would like to have gone, Manuv stayed behind so as not
to slow them down. Tronic stayed, too, with Nuvie and Hartal. Except
for an occasional drive, where even the children could help, she
no longer went along on hunting trips either. Tornec was the only
hunter from the Reindeer Hearth, just as Frebec was the only hunter
from the Hearth of the Crane. Fralie and Crozie stayed at the Camp
with Crisavec and Tasher.
Tulie had almost always found a way to join hunting parties, even
when she had small children, and the Aurochs Hearth was well represented.
Besides the headwoman, Barzec, Deegie, and Druwez all
went. Brinan tried his best to convince his mother to let him go, but
he was left with Nezzie, along with his sister Tusie, placated with a
promise that soon he would be old enough.
The hunters hiked up the slope together, and Talut set a fast pace
once they reached the level grassland.

"I think the day is too good to waste, too," Nezzie said, putting her
cup down firmly and speaking to the group which gathered around
the outdoor cooking hearth, after the hunters left. They were sipping
tea and finishing up the last of breakfast. "The grains are ripe and
dry, and I've been wanting to go up and collect a last good day's
worth. If we head toward that stand of stone pines by the little creek,
we can collect the ripe pine nuts from the cones, too, if there's time.
Does anyone else want to go?"
"I'm not sure if Fralie should walk so far," Crozie said.
"Oh, Mother," Fralie said. "A little walk will do me good, and once
the weather turns bad, we'll all have to stay inside most of the time.
That will come soon enough. I'd like to go, Nezzie."
"Well, I'd better go, then, to help you with the children," Crozie
said, as if she was making a great sacrifice, although the idea of an
outing sounded good to her.
Tronic wasn't reluctant to admit it. "What a good idea, Nezzie! I'm
sure I can put Hartal in the back carrier, so I can carry Nuvie when
she gets tired. There's nothing I'd like better than spending a day
outside."
"I'll carry Nuvie. You don't have to carry two," Manuv said. "But I
think I'll get the pine nuts first, and leave the grain collecting to the
rest of you."
"I think I'll join you, too, Nezzie," Mamut said. "Perhaps Rydag
wouldn't mind keeping an old man company, and maybe teach me
more of Ayla's signs, since he's so good at them."
"You very good at signs, Mamut," Rydag signaled. "You learn
signs fast. Maybe you teach me."
"Maybe we can teach each other," Mamut signed back.
Nezzie smiled. The old man had never treated the child of mixed
spirits any differently from the other children of the Camp, except to
show extra consideration for his weakness, and he had often helped
her with Rydag. There seemed to be a special closeness between
them, and she suspected Mamut was coming along to keep the boy
occupied while the rest were working. She knew he would also make
sure no one exerted inadvertent pressure on Rydag to move faster
than he should. He could slow down if he saw the youngster straining
too hard, and blame his advanced age. He had done so before.
When everyone was gathered outside the earthlodge, with collect
ing and burden baskets and leather tarps, waterbags, and food for a
midday meal, Mamut brought out a small figure of a mature woman
carved out of ivory and stuck it in the ground in front of the entrance.
He said some words understood by no one but him, and made evoca
tive gestures. Everyone in the Camp would be gone, the lodge would
be empty, and he was invoking the Spirit of Mut, the Great Mother,
to guard and protect the dwelling in their absence.
No one would violate the prohibition against entering signified by
the figure of the Mother at the door. Short of absolute need, no one
would dare risk the consequences which everyone believed would re
sult. Even if the need was dire—if someone was hurt, or caught in a
blizzard and needed shelter—immediate actions would be taken to
placate a possibly angry and vengeful protector. Compensation over
and above the value of anything used would be paid by the person, or
the family or Camp of the person, as promptly as possible. Donations
and gifts would be given to members of the Mammoth Hearth to
appease the Great Mother Spirit with entreaties and explanations, and
promises of future good deeds or compensatory activities. Mamut's
action was more effective than any lock.
When Mamut turned from the entrance, Nezzie hoisted a carrying
basket to her back and adjusted the tumpline across her forehead,
picked up Rydag and settled him on her ample hip to carry him up
the slope, then, herding Rugie, Tusie, and Brinan ahead of her,
started up to the steppes. The others followed suit, and soon the other
half of the Camp was hiking across the open grasslands for a day of
work harvesting the grains and seeds that had been sown and offered
to them by the Great Mother Earth. The work and the contribution
to their livelihood of the gatherers was counted no less valuable than
the work of the hunters, but neither was only work. Companionship
and sharing made the work fun.

Ayla and Latie splashed through one shallow creek, but Ayla
slowed the horse before they came to the next somewhat larger
watercourse.
"Is this stream we follow?" Ayla asked.
"I don't think so," Latie said, then consulted the marks on the piece
of ivory. "No. See here, that's the little one we crossed. We cross this
one, too. Turn and follow the next one upstream."
"Not look deep here. Is good place to cross?"
Latie looked up and down the stream. "There's a better place up a
ways. We only have to take off boots and roll up leggings there."
They headed upstream, but when they reached the wide shallow
crossing where water foamed around jutting rocks, Ayla didn't stop.
She turned Whinney into the water and let the horse pick her way
across. On the other side, the mare took off in a gallop, and Latie was
smiling again.
"We didn't even get wet!" the girl exclaimed. "Only a few
splashes."
When they reached the next stream and turned east, Ayla slowed
the pace for a while to give Whinney a rest, but even the slower gait
of the horse was so much faster than a human could walk, or consistently
run, they covered ground quickly. The terrain changed as they
continued, getting rougher and gradually gaining in elevation. When
Ayla stopped and pointed to a stream coming in on the opposite side,
forming a wide V with the one they had been following, Latie was
surprised. She didn't expect to see the tributary so soon, but Ayla had
noticed turbulence and was expecting it. Three large granite outcrops
could be seen from where they stood, a jagged scarp face across the
waterway, and two more on their side, upstream and offset at an
angle.
They followed their branch of the stream and noticed that it angled
off toward the outcrops, and when they approached the first, saw that
the watercourse flowed between them. Some distance after they
passed the outcrops that flanked the stream, Ayla noticed several dark
shaggy bison grazing on still green sedge and reeds near the water.
She pointed, and whispered in Latie's ear.
"Don't talk loud. Look."
"There they are!" Latie said in a muffled squeal, trying to keep her
excitement under control.
Ayla turned her head back and forth, then wet a finger and held it
up, testing the wind direction. "Wind blows to us from bison. Good.
Do not want to disturb until ready to hunt. Bison know horses. On
Whinney, we get closer, but not too much."
Ayla guided the horse, carefully skirting the animals, to check farther
upstream, and when she was satisfied, came back the same way.
A big old cow lifted her head and eyed them, chewing her cud. The
tip of her left horn was broken off. The woman slowed and let Whinney
assume movement that was natural to her while her passengers
held their breaths. The mare stopped and lowered her head to eat a
few blades of grass. Horses did not usually graze if they were nervous,
and the action seemed to reassure the bison. She went back to
grazing as well. Ayla slipped around the small herd as fast as she
could, then galloped Whinney downstream. When they reached previously
noted landmarks, they turned south again. They stopped for
water for Whinney and themselves after they crossed the next stream,
and then continued south.

The hunting party was just beyond the first small creek when Jon-
dalar noticed Racer pulling against his halter toward a cloud of dust
moving in their direction. He tapped Talut and pointed. The headman
looked ahead and saw Ayla and Latie galloping toward them on
Whinney. The hunters did not have long to wait before the horse and
riders pounded into their midst, and pranced to a stop. The smile on
Latie's face was ecstatic, her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks were
flushed with excitement as Talut helped her down. Then Ayla threw
her leg over and slid off, as everyone crowded around.
"Couldn't you find it?" Talut asked, voicing the concern everyone
felt. One other person mentioned it at almost the same time, but in a
different tone.
"Couldn't even find it. I didn't think running ahead on a horse
would do any good," Frebec sneered.
Latie responded to him with surprised anger. "What do you mean,
'couldn't even find it'? We found the place. We even saw the bison!"
"Are you trying to say you have already been there and back?" he
asked, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Where are the bison now?" Wymez asked the daughter of his sister,
ignoring Frebec and blunting his snide remark.
Latie marched to the basket pannier on Whinney's left side and took
out the piece of marked ivory. Then taking the flint knife from the
sheath at her waist, she sat on the ground and began scratching some
additional marks on the map.
"The south fork goes between two outcrops, here," she said. Wy-
mez and Talut sat down beside her and nodded agreement, while
Ay la and several others stood behind and around her. "The bison
were on the other side of the outcrops, where the floodplain opens
out and there is still some green feed near the water. I saw four little
ones ..." She cut four short parallel marks as she spoke.
"I think, five," Ayla corrected.
Latie looked up at Ayla, and nodded, then added one more short
mark. "You were right, Danug, about the twins. And they're young
ones. And seven cows ..." She looked up at Ayla again for confirma
tion. The woman nodded agreement, and Latie added seven more
parallel lines, slightly longer than the first ones. "... only four with
young, I think." She pondered a moment. "There were more, farther
off."
"Five young males," Ayla added. "And two, three others. Not
sure. Maybe more we not see."
Latie made five slightly larger lines, somewhat apart from the first
ones, then added three more lines, between the two sets, making them
a bit smaller again. She cut a little Y tick in the last mark in the line to
indicate she was done, that that was the full number of bison they had
counted. Her counting marks had cut over some of the other marks
that had been etched into the ivory earlier, but it didn't matter. They
had already served their purpose.
Talut took the ivory flake from Latie and studied it. Then he looked
at Ayla. "You didn't happen to notice which way they were heading,
did you?"
"Upstream, I think. We go around herd, careful, not disturb. No
tracks other side, grass not chewed," Ayla said.
Talut nodded and paused, obviously thinking. "You said you went
around them. Did you go far upstream?"
"Yes."
"The way I remember it, the floodplain narrows until it disappears,
and high rocks close in the stream, and there is no way out. Is that
right?"
"Yes . . . but, maybe way out."
"A way out?"
"Before high rocks, side is steep, trees, thick brush with thorns, but
near rocks is dry streambed. Like steep path. Is way out, I think," she
said.
r
Talut frowned, looked at Wymez, and Tulie, then laughed out
loud. "The way out is also the way in! That's what Mamut said!"
Wymez looked puzzled for only a moment, then he slowly grinned
his understanding. Tulie looked at both of them. Then a dawning
look of comprehension appeared on her face.
"Of course! We can go in that way, build a surround to trap them,
then go around the other way and drive them into it," Tulie said,
making it clear to everyone else as well. "Someone will have to watch
and make sure they don't get wind of us and go back downstream
while we're building it."
"That sounds like a good job for Danug and Latie," Talut said.
"I think Druwez can help them," Barzec added, "and if you think
more help is needed, I'll go."
"Good!" Talut said. "Why don't you go with them, Barzec, and
follow the river upstream. I know a faster way to get to the back
end. We'll cut across from here. You keep them hemmed in, and as
soon as we get the trap built, we'll come back around to help chase
them in it."
rr}
I
he dry streambed was a swath of dried mud and rock cut
ting through a steep, wooded, brush-entangled hillside. It led to a
level but narrow floodplain beside a rushing stream that gushed out
between constraining rock in a series of rapids and low waterfalls.
Once Ay la had gone down on foot, she went back for the horses. Both
Whinney and Racer were accustomed to the steep path that had led to
her cave in the valley, and made their way down with little trouble.
She removed the basket harness from Whinney so she could graze
freely. But Jondalar worried about removing Racer's halter since nei
ther he nor Ay la had much control over him without it, and he was
getting old enough to be fractious when the mood struck him. Since it
didn't keep him from grazing, she agreed to keep it on him, though
she would have preferred to have given him complete freedom. It
made her realize the difference between Racer and his dam. Whinney
had always come and gone as she wished, but Ay la had spent all her
time with the horse—she'd had no one else. Racer had Whinney, but
less contact with her. Perhaps she, or Jondalar, ought to spend more
time with him, and try to teach him, she thought.
The corrallike surround was already under construction by the time
Ay la went to help. The fence was made of whatever materials they
could find, boulders, bones, trees and branches, which were built up
and intertwined together. The rich and varied animal life of the cold
plains constantly renewed itself, and the old bones scattered across the
landscape were often swept away by vagrant streams into jumbled
piles. A quick search downstream had revealed a pile of bones a short
distance away, and the hunters were hauling large leg bones and rib
cages toward the focus of activity: an area near the bottom of the dry
stream which they were fencing in. The fence needed to be sturdy
enough to contain the herd of bison, but was not intended to be a
permanent structure. It would only be used once, and in any case,
was not likely to last beyond spring when the rushing stream bloated
into a raging torrent.
Ayla watched Talut swinging an enormous axe with a gigantic
stone head, as though it were a toy. He had doffed his shirt and was
sweating profusely as he chopped his way through a stand of straight
young saplings, felling each tree with two or three blows. Tornec and
Frebec, who were carrying them away, couldn't keep up with him.
Tulie was supervising their placement. She had an axe nearly as large
as her brother's, and handled it with as much ease, breaking a tree in
half, or shattering a bone to make it fit. Few men could match the
strength of the headwoman.
"Talut!" Deegie called. She was carrying the front end of a whole
curved mammoth tusk that was over fifteen feet in length. Wymez
and Ranee supported the middle and back. "We found some mam
moth bones. Will you break this tusk?"
The huge red-haired giant grinned. "This old behemoth must have
lived a good long life!" he said, straddling the tusk when they put it
down.
Talut's enormous muscles bunched as he lifted the sledgehammer-
sized axe, and the air resounded with the blows as splinters and flakes
of ivory flew in all directions. Ay la was fascinated just watching the
powerful man wield the massive tool with such skillful ease. But the
feat was even more astounding to Jondalar, for a reason he never con
sidered. Ay la was more accustomed to seeing men execute prodigious
feats of muscular strength. Though she had exceeded them in height,
the men of the Clan were massively muscled and extraordinarily
robust. Even the women had a pronounced rugged strength, and the
life Ay la had led as she grew up, expected to perform the tasks of a
Clan woman, had caused her to develop unusually strong muscles for
her thinner bones.
Talut put the axe down, hoisted the back half of the tusk to his
shoulder, and started toward the enclosure they were building. Ayla
picked the huge axe up to move it, and knew she could not have
handled it. Even Jondalar found it too heavy to use with skill. It was a
tool uniquely suited to the big headman. The two of them lifted the
other half-tusk to their shoulders and followed Talut.
Jondalar and Wymez stayed to help wedge the cumbersome pieces
of ivory in with boulders; they would present a substantial barrier to
any charging bison. Ayla went with Deegie and Ranee to get more
bones. Jondalar turned to watch them go, and struggled to swallow
his anger when he saw the dark man move beside Ayla and make a
comment that caused her and Deegie to laugh. Talut and Wymez
both noticed the red, glowering face of their young and handsome
visitor, and a significant look passed between them, but neither
commented.
The final element of the surround was a gate. A sturdy young tree,
stripped of its branches, was positioned upright at one side of an
opening in the fence. A hole was dug for the base, and a mound of
stones was piled up around it for support. It was reinforced by tying
it with thongs to the heavy mammoth tusks. The gate itself was con
structed of leg bones, branches, and mammoth ribs lashed firmly to
crosspieces of saplings chopped to size. Then with several people
holding the gate in place, one end was attached in many places to the
upright pole using a crossed-over lashing that allowed it to swing on
its leather hinges. Boulders and heavy bones were piled near the other
end, ready to be shoved in front of the gate after it was closed.
It was afternoon, the sun still high, when all was in readiness. With
everyone working together, it had taken a surprisingly short time to
build the trap. They gathered around Talut, and lunched on the dried
traveling food they brought with them, while they made further
plans.
"The difficult part will be to get them through the gate," Talut
said. "If we get one in, the others will probably follow. But if they get
beyond the gate and start milling around in this small space at the
end, they'll head for the water. That stream is rough here, and some
may not make it, but that won't do us any good. We'll lose them. The
best we could hope for would be to find a drowned carcass down
stream."
"Then we'll have to block them," Tulie said. "Not let them get past
the trap."
"How?" Deegie asked.
"We could build another fence," Frebec suggested.
"How you know bison will not turn into water, when they come to
fence?" Ay la asked.
Frebec eyed her with a patronizing expression, but Talut spoke be
fore he did.
"That's a good question, Ayla. Besides, there's not much material
left around here to build fences," Talut said.
Frebec gave her a dark look of anger. He felt as though she had
made him appear stupid.
"Whatever we can erect to block the way would be helpful, but I
think someone needs to be there to drive them in. It could be a dan
gerous stand," Talut continued.
"I'll stand. That's a good place to use this spear-thrower I've been
telling you about," Jondalar said, showing the unusual implement. "It
not only gives a spear more distance, it gives it more force than a
hand-thrown spear. With a true aim, one spear can kill instantly, at
close range."
"Is that true?" Talut said, looking with renewed interest at Jon
dalar. "We'll have to talk more about it later, but yes, if you want,
--„-, „„„ i..,!^ r, cl-inrl T think I will. tOO."
"And so will I," Ranee said.
Jondalar frowned at the smiling dark man. He wasn't sure he
wanted to make a stand with the man so obviously interested in Ay la.
"I shall stand here, too," Tulie said. "But rather than try to build
another fence, we should make separate piles for each of us to stand
behind."
"Or to run behind," Ranee quipped. "What makes you think they
won't end up chasing us?"
"Speaking of chasing, now that we've decided what to do once they
get here, how are we going to get them here?" Talut said, glancing at
the placement of the sun in the sky. "It's a long walk around to get
behind them from here. We may not have enough day left."
Ayla had been listening with more than interest. She recalled the
men of the Clan making hunting plans, and especially after she began
hunting with her sling, often wished she could have been included.
This time, she was one of the hunters. She noted that Talut had
listened to her earlier comment, and recalled how readily they had
accepted her offer to scout ahead. It encouraged her to make another
suggestion.
"Whinney is good chaser," she said. "I chase herds many times on
Whinney. Can go around bison, find Barzec and others, chase bison
here soon. You wait, chase into trap."
Talut looked at Ayla, then at the hunters, and then back at Ayla.
"Are you sure you can do that?"
"Yes."
"What about getting around them?" Tulie asked. "They have prob
ably sensed we are here by now, and the only reason they aren't gone
is that Barzec and the youngsters are keeping them penned in. Who
knows how long they will be able to hold them? Won't you chase
them back the wrong way if you go toward them from this direc
tion?"
"I not think so. Horse not disturb bison much, but I go around if
you want. Horse goes faster than you can walk," Ayla said.
"She's right! No one can deny that. Ayla could go around on the
horse faster than we could walk it," Talut said, then he frowned in
concentration. "I think we should let her do it her way, Tulie. Does it
really matter if this hunt succeeds? It would help, particularly if this
turns out to be a long, hard winter, and it would give us more variety,
but we really do have enough stored. We wouldn't suffer if we lost
this one."
"That's true, but we've gone to a lot of work."
"It wouldn't be the first time that we went to a lot of work and
came up empty-handed." Talut paused again. "The worst thing that
can happen is that we lose the herd, and if it works, we could be
feasting on bison before it's dark, and be on our way back in the
morning."
Tulie nodded. "All right, Talut. We'll try it your way."
"You mean Ay la's way. Go ahead, Ay la. See if you can bring those
bison here."
Ay la smiled, and whistled for Whinney. The mare neighed and
galloped toward her, followed by Racer. "Jondalar, keep Racer here,"
she said, and sprinted toward the horse.
"Don't forget your spear-thrower," he called.
She stopped to grab it and some spears from the holder on the side
of her pack, then with a practiced easy motion, she leaped onto the
horse's back, and was off. For a while, Jondalar had his hands full
with the young horse that didn't like being kept from joining his dam
in an exciting run. It was just as well; it didn't give Jondalar time to
notice the look on Ranee's face as he watched Ay la go.
The woman, bareback on the horse, rode hard along the floodplain
beside the tumbling, boisterous stream, which wound along a sinuous
corridor hemmed in by steep rolling hills on both sides. Naked brush
screened by dry standing hay clung to the hillsides and crouched low
on the windy crests, softening the craggy face of the land, but hidden
beneath the windblown loess topsoil that filled in the cracks was a
stony heart. Exposed projections of bedrock studding the slopes re
vealed the essential granite character of the region, dominated by lofty
knolls which rose to the bare rock summits of the prominent outcrops.
Ayla slowed when she neared the area where she had seen the bison
earlier in the day, but they were gone. They had sensed, or heard, the
building activity and reversed their direction. She saw the animals
just as she was moving into the shadow of one of the outcrops cast by
the afternoon sun, and, just beyond the small herd, she saw Barzec
standing near what appeared to be a small cairn.
Greener grass amid the bare slender trees near the water had coaxed
the bison into the narrow valley, but once they moved past the twin
outcrops that flanked the stream, there was no exit other than the way
in. Barzec and the younger hunters had seen the bison strung out
along the stream, still stopping to graze now and then, but steadily
moving out. They had chased them back in, but that stopped them
only temporarily, and caused them to bunch together and move with
more determination when they tried to leave the valley the next time.
Determination and frustration could lead to stampede.
The four had been sent to keep the animals from leaving, but they
knew they'd never stop a stampede. They couldn't keep chasing them
in. It took too much effort to keep it up and Barzec didn't want to
start them stampeding in the other direction before the trap was
ready, either. The pile of stones Barzec was standing near when Ay la
first saw him was stacked around a sturdy branch. A piece of clothing
was fastened to it and was flapping in the wind. Then she noticed
several more stone piles supporting upright branches or bones, spaced
at fairly close intervals between the outcrop and the water, and from
each a sleeping fur or a piece of clothing or a tent covering had been
hung. They had even used small trees and bushes, anything from
which they could drape something that would move in the wind.
The bison were nervously eying the strange apparitions, not sure
how threatening they were. They didn't want to go back the way they
had come, but they didn't want to go forward, either. Sporadically a
bison would move toward one of the things, then back off when it
flapped. They were stalled, effectively being kept exactly where Bar
zec wanted them. Ay la was impressed with the clever idea.
She edged Whinney close to the outcrop, trying to work her way
around the bison slowly, so as not to upset the delicate balance. She
noticed the old cow with the broken horn edging forward. She didn't
like being held in, and looked ready to make a break.
Barzec saw Ay la, looked behind him for the rest of the hunters,
then looked back at her with a frown. After all their efforts, he didn't
want her chasing the bison the wrong way. Latie moved up beside
him, and they spoke quietly, but he still watched the woman and the
horse with apprehension for the long moments it took her to reach
them.
"Where are the others?" Barzec asked.
"They are waiting," Ay la said.
"What are they waiting for? We can't keep these bison here
forever!"
"They wait for us to chase bison."
"How can we chase them? There's not enough of us! They're get
ting ready to break out as it is. I'm not sure how much longer we can
keep them here, much less chase them back in. We'd have to get them
to stampede."
"Whinney will chase," Ayla said.
"The horse is going to chase them!"
"She chase before, but better if you chase, too."
Danug and Druwez, who had been spread out watching the herd
and throwing stones at the occasional animal that dared the flapping
sentinels, moved closer to hear. They were no less amazed than Bar
zec, but their lessened vigilance opened an opportunity and ended the
conversation.
Out of the corner of her eye, Ayla saw a huge young bull bolt,
followed by several more. In a moment, all would be lost as the pent-
up herd broke free. She wheeled Whinney around, dropped her spear
and spear-thrower, and went after him, grabbing the flapping tunic
from the branch on her way.
She raced straight for the animal, leaning over, waving the tunic at
him. The bison dodged, trying to go around. Whinney wheeled again
as Ayla snapped the leather in the young bull's face. His next divert
ing move turned him back toward the narrow valley, and into the
path of the animals that had followed his lead, with Whinney and
Ayla, snapping the leather tunic, right behind him.
Another animal broke away, but Ayla managed to rum her around, too.
Whinney seemed to know almost before the bison did which one would
try next, but it was as much the woman's unconscious signals to the horse
as the mare's intuitive sense that put her in the way of the shaggy animal.
Ayla's training of Whinney had not been a conscious effort in the begin
ning. The first time she got on the horse's back had been sheer impulse,
and no thought of controlling or directing entered her mind. It had hap
pened gradually, as mutual understanding grew, and the control was ex
erted by tension of her legs and subtle shifts of her body. Though,
eventually, she did begin to apply it purposefully, there was always an
additional element of interaction between the woman and the horse, and
they often moved as one, as though they shared one mind.
The instant Ayla moved, the others recognized the situation, and
rushed to stop the herd. Ayla had chased herding animals with Whin
ney in the past, but she would not have been able to turn the bison
around without help. The large humpbacked beasts were much
harder to control than she imagined they would be. They'd been held
back, and she had never tried to drive animals in a direction they
didn't want to go. It was almost as though some instinctual sense
warned them of the trap waiting for them.
Danug rushed to Ayla's aid, to help turn back the ones who first
bolted, though she was concentrating so intensely on stopping the
young bull that she hardly noticed him at first. Latie saw one of the
twin calves break, and, pulling the branch out of the pile of stones,
she dashed to block its path. She whacked it on the nose, and harried
it back, while Barzec and Druwez descended upon a cow with stones
and a flapping fur. Finally their determined efforts turned the incip
ient stampede around. The old cow with the broken horn and a few
others managed to break out, but most of the bison pounded along the
floodplain of the small river, heading upstream.
They breathed a little easier once the small herd was beyond the
granite outcrops, but they would have to keep them going. Ayla
stopped only long enough to slide off the horse, pick up her spear and
spear-thrower, and leap back on.
Talut had just taken a drink from his waterbag when he thought he
heard a faint rumbling, like low rolling thunder. He cocked his head
downriver and listened a few moments, not expecting to hear any
thing so soon, not sure that he expected to hear them at all. He lay
face down and put his ear to the ground.
"They're coming!" he shouted, jumping up.
All of them scrambled to find their spears, and rushed to the places
they had decided to take. Frebec, Wymez, Tornec, and Deegie spread
out along the steep slope at one side, ready to fall in behind and block
the gate closed. Tulie was nearest the open gate on the opposite side,
ready to slam it shut once the bison were inside the pen.
In the space between the corrallike enclosure and the tumultuous
stream, Ranee was a few paces away from Tulie, and Jondalar a few
more paces away, almost at the edge of the water. Talut chose a place
somewhat forward of the visitor, and stood on the wet bank. Each
person had a piece of leather or clothing to flap at the oncoming ani
mals with hopes of turning them aside, but each also lifted a spear,
juggled it slightly, then gripped it firmly around the shaft, and held it
in readiness—except for Jondalar.
The narrow, flat, wooden implement he held in his right hand was
about the length of his arm from elbow to fingertips, and grooved
down the center. It had a hook as a backstop at one end, and two
leather loops on both sides for his fingers at the front end. He held it
horizontally, and fitted the feathered butt end of a light spear shaft,
tipped with a long, tapered, wickedly sharp bone point, against the
hook at the back of the spear-thrower. Holding the spear lightly in
place with his first two fingers that were through the loops, he tucked
his leather flap in his belt, and picked up a second spear with his left
hand, ready to slap it in place for a second cast.
Then they waited. No one spoke, and in the still expectancy small
sounds loomed large. Birds warbled and called. Wind rustled dry
branches. Water cascading over rocks splashed and gurgled. Flies
droned. The drumming of running hooves grew louder.
Then bawling and grunting and huffing could be heard above the
approaching thunder, and human voices shouting. Eyes strained to
see signs of the first bison at the bend downstream, but when it came,
it wasn't just one. Suddenly, the entire herd was pounding around the
turn, and the huge, shaggy, dark brown animals with long black
deadly horns were stampeding straight for them.
Each person braced, waiting for the assault. In the lead was the big
young bull who had almost bolted to safety before the long chase
began. He saw the enclosure ahead and veered around, toward the
water—and the hunters standing in his path.
Ay la, close on the heels of the small herd, had been holding her
own .spear-thrower loosely as they were chasing the animals, but as
they neared the last turn, she shifted it into position, not knowing
what to expect. She saw the bull veer . . . and head straight for Jon-
dalar. Other bison were following.
Talut ran toward the animal, napping a tunic at him, but the thick-
maned bison had had his fill of napping things, and would not be
deterred. Without a second thought, Ay la leaned forward, and urged
Whinney ahead at full speed. Dodging around and past other running
bison, she closed on the big bull and hurled her spear, just as Jondalar
was casting his. A third spear was thrown at the same time.
The mare clattered past the hunters, splashing Talut as her hooves
hit the edge of the water. Ay la slowed and halted, then quickly
turned back. By then, it was over. The big bison was on the ground.
The ones behind him slowed, and those nearest the slope had no other
place to go than into the surround. After the first went through the
opening, the others followed with little prodding. Tulie followed the
last straggler pushing the gate, and the moment it was closed, Tornec
and Deegie rolled a boulder against it. Wymez and Frebec lashed it to
well-secured uprights while Tulie shoved another boulder beside the
first.
Alya slid off Whinney, still a little shaken. Jondalar was kneeling
beside the bull with Talut and Ranee.
"Jondalar's spear went in the side of the neck, and through the
throat. I think it would have killed this bull by itself, but your spear
could have done it, too, Ayla. I didn't even see you coming," Talut
said, just a trifle awed by her feat. "Your spear went in deep, right
through his ribs."
"But it was a dangerous thing to do, Ayla. You could have gotten
hurt," Jondalar said. He sounded angry, but it was reaction from the
fear he felt for her when he realized what she had done. Then he
looked at Talut and pointed to a third spear. "Whose spear is this? It
was well thrown, landed deep in the chest. It would have stopped
him, too."
"That's Ranee's spear," Talut said.
Jondalar turned to the dark-skinned man, and each took the mea
sure of the other. Differences they might have, and rivalries might put
them at odds, but they were first human, men who shared a beautiful,
but harsh, primeval world and knew that survival depended upon
each other.
"I owe you my thanks," Jondalar said. "If my spear had missed, I
would be thanking you for my life."
"Only if Ay la's had missed, too. That bison has been thrice killed.
It didn't stand a chance going against you. It seems you are meant to
live. You are fortunate, my friend; the Mother must favor you. Are
you as lucky in everything?" Ranee said, then looked at Ayla with
eyes full of admiration, and more.
Unlike Talut, Ranee had seen her coming. Careless of the danger of
long sharp horns, her hair flying, her eyes full of terror and anger,
controlling the horse as though it were an extension of herself, she
was like an avenging spirit, or like every mother of every creature who
had ever defended her own. It seemed not to matter that both horse
and she could easily have been gored. It was almost as though she was
a Spirit of the Mother, who could control the bison as easily as she
controlled the horse. Ranee had never seen anything like her. She was
everything he'd ever desired: beautiful, strong, fearless, caring, pro
tective. She was all woman.
Jondalar saw how Ranee looked at her, and his gut wrenched. How
could Ayla help but see it? How could she not respond? He feared he
might lose Ayla to the exciting dark man, and he didn't know what to
do about it. Clenching his teeth, his forehead knotted with anger and
frustration, he turned away, trying to hide his feelings.
He'd seen men and women react as he was doing, and had felt pity
for them, and a bit scornful. It was the behavior of a child, an inex
perienced child lacking knowledge and wisdom in the ways of the
world. He thought he was beyond that. Ranee had acted to save his
life, and he was a man. Could he blame him for being attracted to
Ayla? Didn't she have the right to make her own choice? He hated
himself for feeling the way he did, but he couldn't help it. Jondalar
yanked his spear out of the bison and walked away.
The slaughter had already begun. From behind the safety of the
fence the hunters threw spears at the lowing, bawling, confused ani
mals milling around inside the surround-trap. Ayla climbed up and
found a convenient place to hang on, and watched Ranee hurl a spear
with force and precision. A huge cow staggered and fell to its knees.
Druwez threw another at the same bison, and from another direc
tion—she wasn't sure who threw it—came yet another. The
humpbacked shaggy beast slumped down, and its massive low-slung
head collapsed on its knees. Spear-throwers gave no advantage here,
she realized. Their method was quite efficient with hand-thrown
spears.
Suddenly a bull charged the fence, crashing into it with the force of
tons. Wood splintered, lashings were torn loose, uprights were dis
lodged. Ayla could feel the fence shaking and jumped down, but it
didn't stop. The bison's horns were caught! He was shaking the entire
structure in his efforts to break loose. Ayla thought it would break
apart.
Talut climbed the unsteady gate, and with one blow from his huge
axe, cracked open the skull of the mighty beast. Blood spurted up in
his face, and brains spilled out. The bison sagged and, his horns still
caught, pulled the weakened gate and Talut down with him.
The big headman stepped nimbly off the falling structure as it
reached the ground, then walked a few paces and delivered another
skull-crushing blow to the last bison still standing. The gate had
served its purpose.
"Now comes the work," Deegie said, gesturing toward the space
surrounded by the makeshift fence. Fallen animals were scattered
around like hummocks of dark brown wool. She walked to the first,
pulled her razor-sharp flint knife from the sheath, and straddling the
head, slit its throat. Blood spurted bright red from the jugular, then
slowed and pooled dark crimson around the mouth and nose. It
seeped slowly into the ground in a widening circle, staining the dun
earth black.
"Talut!" Deegie called when she reached the next mound of shaggy
fur. The long spear shaft sticking out of its side still shuddered.
"Come put this one out of its pain, but try to save some of the brains
this time. I want to use them." Talut quickly dispatched the suffering
animal.
Then came the bloody job of gutting, skinning, and butchering.
Ay la joined Deegie, and helped her roll a big cow over to bare its
tender underside. Jondalar walked toward them, but Ranee was
closer, and got there first. Jondalar watched, wondering if they would
need help or if a fourth would just get in the way.
Starting at the anus, they slit the stomach to the throat, cutting the
milk-filled udders away. Ay la grabbed one side and Ranee the other,
to tear open the rib cage. They cracked it apart, then with Deegie
almost climbing inside the still warm cavity, they pulled out the inter
nal organs—stomach, intestines, heart, liver. It was done quickly, so
the intestinal gases, which would soon start bloating the carcass,
would not taint the meat. Next, they started on the hide.
It was obvious they needed no help. Jondalar saw Latie and Danug
struggling with the rib cage of a smaller animal. He nudged Latie
aside, and with both hands tore it open with one powerful angry rip.
But butchering was hard work, and by the time they were ready to
skin, the effort had taken the edge off his anger.
Ay la was not unfamiliar with the process; she had done it alone,
many times. The hide was not cut off so much as it was stripped off.
Once it was cut loose from around the legs, it separated rather easily
from the muscle, and it was more efficient and cleaner to fist it loose
from inside or to pull it off. Where a ligament was attached and it was
easier to cut, they used a special skinning knife with a bone handle
and a flint blade sharp on both edges but rounded and dull at the tip,
so as not to pierce the skin. Ay la was so accustomed to using hand
held knives and tools she felt awkward using a hafted blade, though
she could already tell she would have better control and leverage once
she got used to it.
The tendons from legs and back were stripped out; sinew was put
to a wide range of uses from sewing thread to snares. The hide would
become leather or fur. The long shaggy hair was made into rope and
cordage of various sizes, and netting for fishing, or trapping birds, or
small animals in their season. All the brains were saved, also several of
the hooves, to be boiled up with bones and scraps of hide for glue.
The huge horns, which could span as much as six feet, were prized.
The solid ends that extended for a third of their length could be used
as levers, pegs, punches, wedges, daggers. The hollow portion with
the solid distal end removed became conical tubes used to blow up
fires, or funnels to fill skin bags with liquids or powders or seeds, and
to empty them again. A central section, with some of the solid part
left intact for a bottom, could serve as a drinking cup. Narrow trans
verse cuts could make buckles, bracelets, or retaining rings.
The noses and tongues of the bison were saved—choice delicacies
along with livers—then the carcasses were cut into seven pieces: two
hindquarters, two forequarters, the midsection halved, and the huge
neck. The intestines, stomachs, and bladders were washed and rolled
in the hides. Later they would be blown up with air, to keep them
from shrinking, and then used for cooking or storage containers for
fats and liquids, or floats for fishing nets. Every part of the animal was
used, but not every part of every animal was taken; only the choicest
or most useful. Only so much as could be carried.
Jondalar had taken Racer partway up the steep path and, to the
young horse's distress, tied him securely to a tree to keep him out of
the way, and out of danger. Whinney had found him as soon the
bison were penned and Ay la let her go. Jondalar went to get him after
he finished helping Latie and Danug with the first bison, but Racer
was skittish around all the dead animals. Whinney didn't like it either,
but she was more accustomed to it. Ayla saw them coming, and no
ticed Barzec and Druwez walking downstream again, and it occurred
to her that in the rush to get the bison turned and chased into the
trap, their packs had been left behind. She went after them.
"Barzec, you go back for packs?" she asked.
He smiled at her. "Yes. And the spare clothes. We left in such a
hurry . . . not that I'm sorry. If you hadn't turned them when you
did, we would have lost them for sure. That was quite a trick you did
with that horse. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it, but I'm
worried about leaving everything back there. All these dead bison are
going to draw every meat-eating animal around. I saw wolf tracks
while we were waiting, and they looked fresh. Wolves love to chew
up leather when they find it. Wolverines will, too, and be nasty about
it, but wolves will do it for fun."
"I can go for packs and clothes on horse," Ayla said.
"I didn't think of that! After we're through, there will be plenty to
feed on, but I don't want to leave anything out that I don't want them
to have."
"We hid the packs, remember?" Druwez said. "She'll never find
them."
"That's true," Barzec said. "I guess we'll have to go ourselves."
"Druwez know where to find?" Ayla asked.
The boy looked at Ayla, and nodded.
Ayla smiled. "You want come on horse with me?"
The boy's face split in a wide grin. "Can I?"
She looked over at Jondalar, and caught his eye. Then beckoned
him to come with the horses. He hurried over.
"I'm going to take Druwez and go get the packs and things they left
behind when we started chasing," Ayla said, speaking Zeiandonii.
"I'll let Racer come, too. A good run might settle him down. Horses
don't like dead things. It was hard for Whinney in the beginning, too.
You were right about keeping the halter on him, but we ought to start
thinking about teaching him to be like Whinney."
Jondalar smiled. "It's a good idea, but how do you do it?"
Ayla frowned. "I'm not sure. Whinney does things for me because
she wants to, because we're good friends, but I don't know about
Racer. He likes you, Jondalar. Maybe he would do things for you. I
think we both need to try."
"I'm willing," he said. "Someday I'd like to be able to ride on his
back the way you ride on Whinney."
"I would like that, too, Jondalar," she said, remembering, with the
warm feeling of love she'd felt even then, how she had once hoped
that if the blond man of the Others grew to have feeling for Whin-
ney's colt, it might encourage him to stay in her valley, with her.
That was why she had asked him to name the foal.
Barzec had been waiting while the two strangers spoke in the lan
guage he didn't understand, getting a bit impatient. Finally he said,
"Well, if you are going to get them, I'll go back and help with the
bison."
"Wait a moment. I'll help Druwez up, and go with you," Jondalar
said.
They both helped him up, and stood watching them go.
Shadows were already getting long by the time they returned, and
both hurried to help. Later, as she was washing out long tubes of
intestines at the edge of the small river, Ayla recalled skinning and
butchering animals with the women of the Clan. Suddenly she real
ized this was the first time she had ever hunted as an accepted mem
ber of a hunting group.
Even when she was young, she had wanted to go with the men,
though she knew women were forbidden to hunt. But the men were
held in such high esteem for their prowess, and they made it seem so
exciting, that she would daydream about herself as a hunter, espe
cially when she wanted to escape from an unpleasant or difficult situa
tion. That was the innocent beginning that led to situations far more
difficult than she ever imagined. After she was allowed to hunt with a
sling, though other hunting was still taboo, she had often quietly paid
attention when the men were discussing hunting strategy. The men of
the Clan did almost nothing but hunt—except discuss hunting, make
hunting weapons, and engage in hunting rituals. The Clan women
skinned and butchered the animals, prepared the hides for clothing
and bedding, preserved and cooked the meat, in addition to making
containers, cordage, mats, and various household objects, and gather
ing vegetable products for food, medicine, and other uses.
Brun's clan had had almost the same number of people as the Lion
Camp, but the hunters had seldom killed more than one or two ani
mals at a time. Consequently, they had to hunt often. At this time of
year, the Clan hunters were out almost every day to get as much as
they could stored ahead for the coming winter. Since she arrived, this
was the first time anyone of the Lion Camp had hunted and though
she wondered, no one else seemed worried about it. Ayla paused
to look at the men and women skinning and butchering a small
herd. With two or three people working together on each animal, the
work was accomplished far more quickly than Ayla had thought pos
sible. It made her think about the differences between them and the
Clan.
The Mamutoi women hunted; that meant, Ayla thought, there
were more hunters. It was true that nine of the hunters were male and
only four were female—women with children seldom hunted—but it
made a difference. They could hunt more effectively with more hunt
ers, just as they could process and butcher more efficiently with
everyone working together. It made sense, but she felt there was more
involved, some essential point she was missing, some fundamental
meaning to be drawn. The Mamutoi had a different way of thinking,
too. They were not so rigid, so bound by rules of what was consid
ered proper, and what had been done before. There was a blurring of
roles, the behavior of women and men was not so strictly denned. It
seemed to depend more on personal inclination, and what worked
best.
Jondalar had told her that among his people no one was forbidden
to hunt and, though hunting was important and most people did
hunt, at least when they were young, no one was required to hunt.
Apparently the Mamutoi had similar customs. He had tried to explain
that people might have other skills and abilities that were equally
worthwhile, and used himself as an example. After he had learned to
knap the flint, and had developed a reputation for quality work
manship, he could trade his tools and points for anything he needed.
It wasn't necessary for him to hunt at all, unless he wanted to.
But Ay la still didn't quite understand. What kind of manhood cere
mony did they have if it didn't matter whether a man hunted or not?
Men of the Clan would have been lost if they hadn't believed it was
essential for them to hunt. A boy didn't become a man until he made
his first major kill. Then she thought about Creb. He had never
hunted. He couldn't hunt, he was missing an eye, and an arm, and he
was lame. He had been the greatest Mog-ur, the greatest holy man of
the Clan, but he had never made his kill, never had a manhood cere
mony. In his own heart, he wasn't a man. But she knew he was.
Though it was already dusk by the time they were through, none of
the blood-splattered hunters hesitated to strip off clothes and head for
the stream. The women washed somewhat upstream of the men, but
they stayed in sight of each other. Rolled hides and split carcasses had
been stacked together and several fires lit around them to keep four-
legged predators and scavengers away. Driftwood, deadfall, and the
green wood used in the construction of the fence were piled nearby. A
joint was roasting on a spit over one of them, and several low tents
were spaced around it.
The temperature dropped quickly as darkness engulfed them. Ay la
was glad for the mismatched and ill-fitting garments that had been
loaned to her by Tulie and Deegie while her outfit, which she had
washed to remove the bloodstains, was drying by a fire along with
several others. She spent some time with the horses, making sure they
were comfortable and settling down. Whinney stayed just within the
edge of light from the fire where the meat was roasting, but as far
away as she could from the carcasses waiting to be transported back to
the earthlodge, and from the pile of scraps beyond the pale guarded
by fire, from which snarls and yaps could be heard occasionally.
After the hunters ate their fill of bison, browned and crisp outside
and rare near the bone, they built up the fire and sat around it sipping
hot herbal tea, and talking.
"You should have seen her turn that herd," Barzec was saying. "I
don't know how much longer we could have held them. They were
getting more and more nervous, and I was certain we'd lost them once
that bull bolted."
"I think we have Ay la to thank for the success of this hunt," Talut
said.
Ayla blushed at the unaccustomed praise, but shyness accounted
for only part of it. The acceptance of her and appreciation of her skills
and abilities implied by the praise made her glow with warmth. She
had longed for such acceptance all her life.
"And think what a story it will make at a Summer Meeting!" Talut
added.
The conversation paused. Talut picked up a dry branch, a piece of
deadfall that had lain so long on the ground the bark hung loosely
around it like old and weathered skin. He cracked it in two across his
knee and put both pieces in the fire. A geyser of sparks erupted, light
ing the faces of the people sitting close together around the flames.
"Hunts are not always so lucky. Do you remember the time we
almost got the white bison?" Tulie asked. "What a shame that it got
away."
"That one must have been favored. I was sure we had it. Have you
ever seen a white bison?" Barzec asked Jondalar.
"I've heard of them, and I've seen a hide," Jondalar replied. "White
animals are held sacred among the Zeiandonii."
"The foxes and rabbits, too?" Deegie asked.
"Yes, but not as much. Even ptarmigan are, when they are white.
We believe it means they have been touched by Doni, so the ones that
are born white, and stay white all year, are more sacred," Jondalar
explained.
"The white ones have special meaning for us, too. That's why the
Hearth of the Crane has such high status . . . usually," Tulie said,
glancing at Frebec with a touch of disdain. "The great northern crane
is white, and birds are the special messengers of Mut. And white
mammoths have special powers."
"I'll never forget the white mammoth hunt," Talut said. Expectant
looks encouraged him to continue. "Everyone was excited when the
scout reported seeing her. It's the highest honor of all for the Mother
to give us a white she-mammoth, and since it was the first hunt of a
Summer Meeting, it would mean good luck for everyone, if we could
get her," he explained to the visitors.
"All the hunters who wanted to go on the hunt had to undergo
ordeals of purification and fasting to make sure we were acceptable,
and the Mammoth Hearth imposed taboos on us, even afterward, but
we all wanted to be chosen. I was young, not much older than
Danug, but I was big like he is. Maybe that's why I was picked, and I
was one who got a spear in her. Like the bison that went after you,
Jondalar, no one knows whose spear killed her. I think the Mother
didn't want any one person or one Camp to get too much honor. The
white mammoth was everyone's. It was better that way. No envy or
resentment."
"I've heard of a race of white bears that live far north," Frebec said,
not wanting to be left out of the discussion. Perhaps no one person or
Camp could take full credit for killing the white mammoth, but that
didn't preclude all envy or resentment. Anyone chosen to go on it
gained more status from that one hunt than Frebec was born with.
"I've heard of them, too," Danug said. "When I was staying at the
flint mine, Sungaea visitors came to trade for flint. One woman was a
storyteller, a good storyteller. She told about the World Mother, and
the mushroom men who follow the sun at night, and many different
animals. She told us about the white bear. They live on the ice, she
said, and eat only animals from the sea, but they are said to be mild-
mannered, like the huge cave bear who eats no meat. Not like the
brown bear. They are vicious." Danug didn't notice the irritated look
Frebec gave him. He hadn't meant to interrupt, he was just pleased to
join in with something to say.
"Men of Clan come back from hunt once and tell of white rhinoc
eros," Ayla said. Frebec was still irritated and scowled at her.
"Yes, the white are rare," Ranee said, "but the black are special,
too." He was sitting back from the fire a bit and his face in shadow
could hardly be seen, except for his white teeth and the roguish gleam
in his eyes.
"You're rare, all right, and more than happy to let every woman at
Summer Meeting, who wants to find out, know just how rare you
are," Deegie remarked.
Ranee laughed. "Deegie, can I help it if the Mother's own are so
curious? You wouldn't want me to disappoint anyone, would you?
But I wasn't talking about me. I was thinking about black cats."
"Black cats?" Deegie asked.
"Wymez, I have a vague memory of a large black cat," he said,
turning to the man with whom he shared a hearth. "Do you know
anything about that?"
"It must have made a very strong impression on you. I didn't think
you remembered," Wymez said. "You were hardly more than a baby,
but your mother did scream. You had wandered away, and just when
she saw you, she saw this big black cat, like a snow leopard, only
black, leaping out of a tree. I think she thought it was going for you,
but either her scream scared it off, or that wasn't its intention. It just
kept on going, but she ran for you, and it was a long time before she
let you out of her sight again."
"Were there many black ones like that where you were?" Talut
asked.
"Not too many, but they were around. They stayed in forests and
were night hunters, so they were hard to see."
"It would be as rare as the white ones here, wouldn't it? Bison are
dark, and some mammoths, but they aren't really black. Black is spe
cial. How many black animals are there?" Ranee said.
"Today, when I go with Druwez, we see black wolf," Ay la said.
"Not ever see black wolf before."
"Was it really black? Or just dark?" Ranee asked, very interested.
"Black. Lighter on belly, but black. Lone wolf, I think," Ayla
added. "I do not see other tracks. In pack, would be ... low status.
Leave, maybe, find other lone wolf, make new pack."
"Low status? How do you know so much about wolves?" Frebec
asked. There was a hint of derision in his voice, as though he didn't
want to believe her, but there was obvious interest, also.
"When I learn to hunt, I hunt only meat eaters. Only with sling. I
watch close, long time. I learn about wolves. Once I see white wolf in
pack. Other wolves not like her. She leave. Other wolves not like
wrong color wolf."
"It was a black wolf," Druwez said, wanting to defend Ayla, espe
cially after the exciting ride on the horse. "I saw it, too. I wasn't even
sure at first, but it was a wolf, and it was black. And I think it was
alone."
"Speaking of wolves, we should keep watch tonight. If there is a
black wolf around, that's all the more reason," Talut said. "We can
trade off, but someone ought to be awake and watching all night."
"We should get some rest," Tulie added, getting up. "We have a
long hike tomorrow."
"I'll watch first," Jondalar said. "When I get tired, I can wake
someone."
"You can wake me," Talut said. Jondalar nodded.
"I watch, too," Ayla said.
"Why don't you watch with Jondalar? It's a good idea to have a
partner to watch with. You can keep each other awake."
I
t was cold last night. This meat is starting to freeze," Deegie
said, lashing a hindquarter to a packboard.
"That's good," Tulie said, "but there's more than we can carry. We
will have to leave some."
"Can't we build a cairn over it with the rocks from the fence?" Latie
asked.
"We can, and we probably should, Latie. It's a good idea," Tulie
said, preparing a load for herself that was so huge Ay la wondered
how even she, as strong as she was, could carry it. "But we may not
get back for it until spring, if the weather turns. If it was closer to the
lodge, it would be better. Animals don't come around as much, and
we could watch it, but out here in the open if something like a cave
lion, or even a determined wolverine, really wants the meat, it will
find a way to break in."
"Can't we pour water over it to freeze it solid? That would keep
animals out. It's hard to break into a frozen cairn even with picks and
mattocks," Deegie said.
"It would keep animals out, yes, but how do you keep the sun out,
Deegie?" Tornec asked. "You can't be sure it will stay cold. It's too
early in the season."
Ay la was listening, and watching the pile of bison parts dwindle as
everyone packed as much as they could carry: She wasn't used to
surplus, to having so much that one could pick and choose and take
only the best. There had always been plenty of food to eat when she
lived with the Clan, and more than enough hides for clothing, bed
ding, and other uses, but little was wasted. She wasn't sure how
much would be left, but so much had already been thrown into the
heap of scraps that it bothered her to think of leaving more, and it was
obvious that no one else wanted to, either.
She noticed Danug pick up Tulie's axe and, wielding it as easily as
the woman, chop a log in two and add it to the last fire left burning.
She walked over to him.
"Danug," she said quietly. "Would help me?"
'Urn ... ah ... yes," he stammered bashfully, feeling his face turn
red. Her voice was so low and rich and her unusual accent was so
exotic. She had caught him by surprise; he hadn't seen her coming,
and standing close to the beautiful woman inexplicably flustered him.
"I need . . . two poles," Ay la said, holding up two fingers. "Young
trees downstream. You cut for me?"
"Ah . . . sure. I'll cut down a couple of trees for you."
As they walked toward the bend in the small river, Danug felt more
relaxed, but he kept glancing down at the blond head of the woman
who walked at his side and just a half-step ahead. She selected two
straight young alders of approximately the same width, and after
Danug chopped them down, she directed him to strip off the branches
and cut the tips so that they were of equal length. By then most of the
big strapping youth's bashfulness had eased.
"What are you going to do with these?" Danug asked.
"I will show you," she said, then with a loud, imperative whistle,
she called Whinney. The mare galloped toward her. Ay la had outfit
ted her earlier in harness and panniers in preparation for leaving.
Though Danug thought it looked odd to see a leather blanket across
the horse's back, and a pair of baskets tied to her sides with thongs, he
noticed it didn't seem to bother the animal or slow her down.
"How do you get her to do that?" Danug asked.
"Do what?"
"Come to you when you whistle."
Ayla frowned, thinking. "I am not sure, Danug. Until Baby come,
I am alone in valley with Whinney. She is only friend I know. She
grow up with me, and we learn . . . each other."
"Is it true that you can talk to her?"
"We learn, each other, Danug. Whinney not talk like you talk. I
learn . . . her signs . . . her signals. She learn mine."
"You mean like Rydag's signs?"
"A little. Animals, people, all have signals, even you, Danug. You
say words, signals say more. You speak when you not know you
speak."
Danug frowned. He wasn't sure he liked the drift of the conversa
tion. "I don't understand," he said, looking aside.
"Now we talk," Ayla continued. "Words not say, but signals say
. . . you want ride horse. Is right?"
"Well ... ah ... yes, I'd like to."
"So . . . you ride horse."
"Do you mean it? Can I really have a ride on the horse? Like Latie
and Druwez did?"
Ayla smiled. "Come here. Need big stone to help you get on first
time."
Ay la stroked and patted Whinney, and talked to her in the unique
language that had developed naturally between them: the combination
of Clan signs and words, nonsense sounds she had invented with her
son and imbued with meaning, and animal sounds which she mim
icked perfectly. She told Whinney that Danug wanted a ride, and to
make it exciting but not dangerous. The young man had learned some
of the Clan signs that Ay la was teaching Rydag and the Camp, and
was surprised that he could make out the meaning of a few that were
part of her communication with the horse, but that only filled him
with more awe. She did talk to the horse, but like Mamut when he
was invoking spirits, she used a mystical, powerful, esoteric language.
Whether the horse understood explicitly or not, she did understand
from Ayla's actions that something special was expected when the
woman helped the tall young man on her back. To Whinney, he felt
like the man she had come to know and trust. His long legs hung
down low, and there was no sense of direction or control.
"Hold onto mane," Ayla instructed. "When you want to go, lean
forward little. When you want slow or stop, sit up."
"You mean you're not going to ride with me?" Danug said, a touch
of fear quaking his voice.
"Not need me," she said, then gave Whinney's flank a slap.
Whinney broke away with a sudden burst of speed. Danug jerked
backward, then clutching her mane to pull forward, wrapped his arms
around her neck and hung on for dear life. But when Ayla rode, lean
ing forward was a signal to go faster. The sturdy horse of the cold
plains surged ahead down the level floodplain, which had by now
become quite familiar, leaping logs and brush and avoiding exposed,
jagged rock and occasional trees.
At first, Danug was so petrified he could only keep his eyes
squeezed shut and hang on. But after he realized he hadn't fallen off,
though he could feel the mare's powerful muscles as he bounced with
her stride, he opened his eyes a slit. His heart beat with excitement as
he watched trees and brush and the ground below pass by in a blur of
speed. Still holding on, he lifted his head up to look around.
He could hardly believe how far he had come. The large outcrops
flanking the stream were just ahead! Vaguely, he heard a shrill whistle
far behind him, and immediately noticed a difference in the horse's
pace. Whinney burst beyond the guarding rocks then, slowing only
slightly, turned around in a wide circle and headed back. Though still
hanging on, Danug was less fearful now. He wanted to see where
they were going, and assumed a somewhat more upright position,
which Whinney interpreted as a signal to slow a little.
The grin on Danug's face as the horse approached made Ayla think
of Talut, especially when he was pleased with himself. She could see
the man in the boy. Whinney pranced to a stop, and Ay la led her to
the rock so Danug could get down. He was so ecstatic he could hardly
speak, but he could not stop smiling. He had never considered riding
fast on the back of a horse—it was beyond his imagination—and the
experience went beyond his wildest expectations. He would never for
get it.
His grin made Ayla smile every time she glanced at him. She at
tached the poles to Whinney's harness and when they returned to the
campsite, he was still grinning.
"What's wrong with you?" Latie asked. "Why are you smiling like
that?"
"I rode the horse," Danug answered. Latie nodded and smiled.
Nearly everything that could be taken away from the hunting site
had been lashed to packboards, or wrapped in skins ready to be
swung hammocklike from stout poles carried across the shoulders of
two people. There were still haunches and rolled hides left, but not as
much as Ayla thought there might be. As with hunting and butcher
ing, more could be taken back to the winter camp when everyone
worked together.
Several people had noticed that Ayla was not preparing a load to
carry back, and wondered where she had gone, but when Jondalar
saw her return with Whinney dragging the poles, he knew what she
had in mind. She rearranged the poles so that the thicker ends were
crossed just above the basket panniers across the mare's withers and
fastened to the harness, and the narrow ends angled out behind the
horse and rested easily on the ground. Then between the two poles,
she attached a makeshift platform made out of the tent covering, using
branches for support. The people stopped to watch her, but it wasn't
until she began transferring the balance of the bison parts to the tra-
vois that anyone guessed its purpose. She also filled up the panniers,
and put the last of it on a packboard to carry herself. When she was
through, much to everyone's surprise, there was nothing left in the
stack.
Tulie looked at Ayla and the horse, with the travois and panniers,
obviously impressed. "I never thought of using a horse to carry a
load," she said. "In fact, it never occurred to me to use a horse for
anything except food—until now."
Talut threw dirt on the fire, stirred it around to make sure it was
out. Then he hoisted his heavy packboard to his back, drew his haver
sack over his left shoulder, picked up his spear, and started out. The
rest of the hunters followed him. Jondalar had wondered ever since he
first met the Mamutoi why they made their packs to be worn over
only one shoulder. As he adjusted his packboard to fit comfortably
across his back, and pulled his haversack over his shoulder, he suddenly
understood. It allowed them to carry fully loaded packboards
on their backs. They must carry large quantities often, he thought.
Whinney walked behind Ayla, her head close to the woman's shoulder.
Jondalar, leading Racer by the halter, walked beside her. Talut
fell back and walked just in front of them, and they exchanged a few
words while they hiked. As people trudged along under their heavy
loads, Ayla noticed an occasional glance in the direction of her and the
horse.
After a while, Talut began humming a rhythmic tune under his
breath. Soon, he was vocalizing sounds in time with their steps:

"Hus-na, dus-na, teesh-na, keesh-na.
Pec-na, sec-na, ha-na-nya.
Hus-na, dus-na, teesh-na, keesh-na.
Pec-na, sec-na, ha-na-nyaf'

The rest of the group joined in, repeating the syllables and the
tone. Then, with a mischievous grin, Talut, keeping the same tones
and pace, looked at Deegie and changed to words.

"What is pretty Deegie wishing?
Branag, Branag, share my bed.
Where is pretty Deegie going?
Home to empty furs instead.^

Deegie blushed, but smiled, while everyone chuckled knowingly.
When Talut repeated the first question, the rest of the group joined in
on the answer, and after the second, they sang out the reply. Then
they joined Talut in singing the refrain.

"Hus-na, dus-na, teesh-na, keesh-na,
Pec-na, sec-na, ha-na-nya!"

They repeated it several times, then Talut improvised another
verse.

"How does Wymez spend the winter?
Making tools and wanting fun.
How does Wymez spend the summer?
Making up for having none!17

Everyone laughed, except Ranee. He roared. When the verse was
repeated by the group, the usually undemonstrative Wymez turned
red at the gentle jab. The toolmaker's habit of taking advantage of the
Summer Meetings to compensate for his essentially celibate winter life
was well known.
Jondalar was enjoying the teasing and joking as much as the others.
It was just the kind of thing his people might do. But at first, Ay la
didn't quite understand the situation, or the humor, especially when
she noticed Deegie's embarrassment. Then she saw it was done with
good-natured smiling and laughter, and the jibes were taken in good
grace. She was beginning to understand verbal humor, and the laughter
itself was contagious. She, too, smiled at the verse directed at
Wymez.
Talut started the refrain of measured syllables again when everyone
quieted down. Everyone joined him, anticipating now.

"Hus-no, dus-na, teesh-na, keesh-na,
Pec-na, sec-no., ha-na-nyaf'1

Talut looked at Ayla, then, with a smug grin, began:

"Who wants Ayla's warm affection?
Two would like to share her furs.
Who will be the rare selection?
Black or white the choice is hers."

It pleased Ayla to be included in the joking, and though she wasn't
sure if she completely understood the meaning of the verse, she
flushed with warmth because it was about her. Thinking about the
previous night's conversation, she thought the rare black and white
must refer to Ranee and Jondalar. Ranee's delighted laughter confirmed
her suspicion, but Jondalar's strained smile bothered her. He
wasn't enjoying the joking now.
Barzec then picked up the refrain, and even Ayla's untrained ear
detected a fine and distinctive quality in the timbre and tone of his
voice. He, too, smiled at Ayla, signaling who would be the subject of
his teasing verse.

"How will Ayla choose a color?
Black is rare but so is white.
How will Ayla choose a lover?
Two can warm her furs at night!"

Barzec glanced at Tulie, while everyone repeated his verse, and she
rewarded him with a look of tenderness and love. Jondalar, however,
frowned, unable to maintain even the appearance that he was enjoying
the direction the teasing had taken. He did not like the idea of sharing
Ay la with anyone, particularly the charming carver.
Ranee picked up the refrain next, and the rest quickly joined in.

"Hus-na, dus-na, teesh-na, keesh-na.
Pec-na, sec-na, ha-na-nya!"

He did not look at anyone, at first, wanting to maintain some suspense.
Then he flashed a big, toothy smile at Talut, the instigator of
the teasing song, and everyone laughed in advance, waiting for Ranee
to make a telling point on the one who had caused the others to
squirm.

"Who's big and tall and strong and wise?
Lion Camp's own red-haired brute.
Who wields a tool to match his size?
Every woman's friend, Talut!"

The big headman roared at the innuendo, as the others shouted out
the verse a second time, then he picked up the refrain again. As they
hiked back to the Lion Camp, the rhythmic song set the pace, and the
laughter eased the burden of carrying back the results of their
hunting.

Nezzie came out of the longhouse and let the drape fall behind her.
She gazed out across the river. The sun was low in the western sky,
preparing to sink into a high bank of clouds near the horizon. She
glanced up the slope, not sure why. She didn't really expect the hunters
back yet; they had only left the day before and probably would be
gone two nights, at least. Something made her look up again. Was
that movement at the top of the path that led to the steppes?
"It's Talut!" she cried, seeing the familiar figure silhouetted against
the sky. She ducked her head inside the earthlodge and shouted,
"They're back! Talut and the rest, they're back!" Then she rushed up
the slope to meet them.
Everyone came running out of the lodge to greet the returning
hunters. They helped ease the heavy packboards off the backs of the
people who had not only hunted but carried the products of their
efforts back. But the sight that caused the most surprise was the horse
dragging behind her a load much larger than anyone could carry. Peo-
pie gathered around as Ayla unloaded even more from the basket panniers.
The meat and the other parts of the bison were immediately
brought into the lodge, passed from hand to hand, and put into
storage.
Ayla made sure the horses were comfortable after everyone went
in, removing Whinney's harness and Racer's halter. Even though they
seemed not to be suffering any consequences from spending their
nights outside alone, the woman still felt a pang of concern about
leaving them each evening when she went inside the lodge. As long as
the weather stayed reasonably nice, it wasn't bad. A little cold didn't
bother her, but this was the season of unexpected changes. What if a
bad storm blew up? Where would the horses go then?
She looked up with a worried frown. High wispy clouds in brilliant
shades streamered overhead. The sun had set not long before, and left
a panoply of strident color trailing behind it. She watched until the
ephemeral hues faded and the clear blue grayed.
When she went in, Ayla overheard a comment about her and the
horse just before she pushed back the inner drape that led to the cooking
hearth. People had been sitting around, relaxing, eating, and talking,
but conversation stopped as she appeared. She felt uncomfortable
entering the first hearth with everyone staring at her. Then Nezzie
handed her a bone plate, and the talking started up again. Ayla began
to serve herself, then stopped to look around. Where was the bison
meat they had just brought back? There was not a sign of it anyplace.
She knew it must have been put away, but where?

Ayla pushed back the heavy outer mammoth hide and looked first
for the horses. Assured that they were safe, she looked for Deegie and
smiled as she approached. Deegie had promised to show her, with the
fresh bison skins, how the Mamutoi tanned and processed hides. In
particular, Ayla was interested in how they colored leather red, like
Deegie's tunic. Jondalar had said white was sacred to him; red was
sacred to Ayla, because it was sacred to the Clan. A skin coloring
paste of red ochre mixed with fat, preferably cave bear fat, was used
in the naming ceremony; a piece of red ochre was the first object that
went into an amulet bag, given at the time a person's totem was made
known. From the beginning to the end of life, red ochre was used in
many rituals, including the last, the burial. The small bag that contained
the roots used to make the sacred drink was the only red thing
Ayla had ever owned, and next to her amulet, it was her greatest
treasure.
Nezzie came out of the lodge carrying a large piece of leather
stained from use, and saw Ayla and Deegie together. "Oh, Deegie. I
was looking for someone to help me," she said. "I thought I'd make a
big stew for everyone. The bison hunt was so successful, Talut said
he thought we should have a feast to celebrate. Will you set this up
for cooking? I put hot coals in the pit by the big fireplace, and put the
frame over it. There is a bag of dried mammoth dung out there to put
in the coals. I'll send Danug and Latie for water."
"For one of your stews, I'll help any time, Nezzie."
"Can I help?" Ayla asked.
"And me," Jondalar said. He had )ust come up to talk to Ayla and
overheard.
"You can help me carry some food out," Nezzie said as she turned
to go back in.
They followed her toward one of the mammoth tusk archways that
were along the walls inside the earthlodge. She pulled back a rather
stiff, heavy drape of mammoth hide, which had not been dehaired.
The double layer of reddish fur, with its downy undercoat and long
outer hair, faced the outside. A second drape hung behind it and
when it was pulled back they felt a breath of cold air. Looking into
the dimly lit area, they saw a large pit the size of a small room. It was
about three feet deeper than the floor level with the bare earth of the
slope high up the walls, and it was almost full of frozen slabs and
chunks, and smaller carcasses of meat.
"Storage!" Jondalar said, holding back the heavy drapes while
Nezzie let herself down. "We keep meat frozen for winter, too, but
not as conveniently close. Our shelters are built underneath the cliff
overhangs, or in the front of some caves. But it's hard to keep meat
frozen there, so our meat is outside."
"Clan keeps meat frozen in cold season in cache, under pile of
stones," Ayla said, understanding now what had happened to the
bison meat they brought back.
Nezzie and Jondalar both looked surprised. They never thought
about people of the Clan storing meat for winter, and were still
amazed when Ayla mentioned activities that seemed so advanced, so
human. But then Jondalar's comments about the place where he lived
had surprised Ayla. She had assumed all of the Others lived in the
same kind of dwelling, and didn't realize the earthlodges were con
structions as unusual to him as they were to her.
"We don't have a lot of stones around here to make caches with,"
Talut said in his booming voice. They looked up at the red-bearded
giant coming toward them. He relieved Jondalar of one of the drapes.
"Deegie told me you decided to make a stew, Nezzie," he said with an
appreciative grin. "I thought I'd come and help."
"That man can smell food before it's even cooking!" Nezzie chuck-
- -i -„ i-1-.o r»;i- helo^y^
Jondalar was still interested in the storage rooms. "How does the
meat stay frozen like this? It's warm inside the lodge," Jondalar said.
"In winter, all the ground is frozen hard as a rock, but it melts
enough to dig in summer. When we build a lodge, we dig down far
enough to reach the ground that is always frozen, for storage rooms.
They will keep food cold even in summer, though not always frozen.
In fall, as soon as the weather turns cold outside, the ground starts to
freeze up. Then meat will freeze in the pits and we start storing for
winter. The hide of the mammoth keeps the warm inside and the cold
outside," Talut explained. "Just like it does for the mammoth," he
added with a grin.
"Here, Talut, take this," Nezzie said, holding out a hard, frosty,
reddish-brown chunk with a thick layer of yellowish fat on one side.
"I will take," Ayla offered, reaching for the meat.
Talut reached for Nezzie's hands, and though she was by no means
a small woman, the powerful man lifted her out as though she were a
child. "You're cold. I'll have to warm you up," he said, then putting
his arms around her, he picked her up and nuzzled her neck.
"Stop it, Talut. Put me down!" she scolded, though her face
glowed with delight. "I have work to do, this is not the right
time ..."
"Tell me the right time, then I'll put you down."
"We have visitors," she remonstrated, but she put her arms around
his neck and whispered in his ear.
"That's a promise!" the huge man roared, setting her down lightly,
and patting her ample backside, while the flustered woman straight
ened her clothes and tried to regain her dignity.
Jondalar grinned at Ayla, and put his arm around her waist.
Again, Ayla thought, they are making a game, saying one thing
with words, and something else with their actions. But this time, she
understood the humor and the underlying strong love shared by Talut
and Nezzie. Suddenly she realized they showed love without being
obvious, too, as the Clan did, by saying one thing that meant some
thing else. With the new insight, an important concept fell into place
that clarified and resolved many questions that had bothered her, and
helped her to understand humor better.
"That Talut!" Nezzie said, trying to sound stern, but her pleased
smile belied her tone. "If you've got nothing else to do, you can help
get the roots, Talut." Then to the young woman, she added, "I'll
show you where we keep them, Ayla. The Mother was bountiful this
year, it was a good season and we dug up many."
They walked around a sleeping platform to another draped arch
way. "Roots and fruit are stored higher up," Talut said to the visitors,
_^ pulling back another drape and showing them baskets heaped with
knobby, brown-skinned, starchy groundnuts; small, pale yellow wild
carrots; the succulent lower stems of cattails and bulrushes; and other
produce stored at ground level around the edge of a deeper pit. "They
last longer if they are kept cold, but freezing makes them soft. We
keep hides in the storage pits, too, until someone is ready to work
them, and some bones to make tools and a little ivory for Ranee. He
says freezing keeps it fresher and easier to work. Extra ivory, and
bones for the fires, are stored in the entrance room and in the pits
outside."
"That reminds me, I want a knee bone of a mammoth for the stew.
That always adds richness and flavor," Nezzie said as she was filling a
large basket with various vegetables. "Now where did I put those
dried onion flowers?"
"I always thought that rock walls were necessary to survive a
winter, for protection from the worst of the winds and storms," Jon-
dalar said, his voice full of admiration. "We build shelters inside
caves, against the walls, but you don't have caves. You don't even
have many trees for wood to build shelters. You've done it all with
mammoths!"
"That's why the Mammoth Hearth is sacred. We hunt other ani
mals, but our life depends on the mammoth," Talut said.
"When I stayed with Brecie and the Willow Camp south of here, I
didn't see any structures like these."
"Do you know Brecie, too?" Talut interrupted.
"Brecie and some people from her Camp pulled my brother and me
out of quicksand."
"She and my sister are old friends," Talut said, "and related,
through Tulie's first man. We grew up together. They call their sum
mering place Willow Camp, but their home is Elk Camp. Summer
dwellings are lighter, not like this. Lion Camp is a wintering place.
Willow Camp often goes to Beran Sea for fish and shellfish and for
salt to trade. What were you doing there?"
"Thonolan and I were crossing the delta of the Great Mother River.
She saved our lives ..."
"You should tell that story later. Everyone will want to hear about
Brecie," Talut said.
It occurred to Jondalar that most of his stories were also about
Thonolan. Whether he wanted to or not, he was going to have to talk
about his brother. It wouldn't be easy, but he would have to get used
to it, if he was going to talk at all.
They walked through the area of the Mammoth Hearth, which,
except for the central passageway, was defined by mammoth bone
partitions and leather drapes, as were all the hearths. Talut noticed
Tondalar's spear-thrower.
"That was quite a demonstration you both gave," the headman
said. "That bison was stopped in its tracks."
"This will do much more than you saw," Jondalar said, stopping to
pick up the implement. "With it, you can throw a spear both harder
and farther."
"Is that true? Maybe you can give us another demonstration," Talut
said.
"I would like to, but we should go up on the steppes, to get a better
feel for the range. I think you'll be surprised," Jondalar said, then
turned to Ayla. "Why don't you bring yours, too?"
Outside Talut saw his sister heading toward the river, and called
out to the headwoman that they were going to look at Jondalar's new
way of throwing spears. They started up the slope, and by the time
they reached the open plains, most of the Camp had joined them.
"How far can you throw a spear, Talut?" Jondalar asked when they
reached a likely place for a demonstration. "Can you show me?"
"Of course, but why?"
"Because I want to show you that I can throw one farther," Jon
dalar said.
General laughter followed his statement. "You'd better pick some
one else to pit yourself against. I know you're a big man, and proba
bly strong, but no one can throw a spear farther than Talut," Barzec
advised. "Why don't you just show him, Talut? Give him a fair
chance to see what he's up against. Then he can compete in his own
range. I could give him a good contest, maybe even Danug could."
"No," Jondalar said, with a gleam in his eye. This was shaping up
into a competition. "If Talut is your best, then only Talut will do.
And I would wager that I can throw a spear farther . . . except I have
nothing to wager. In fact, with this," Jondalar said, holding up the
narrow, flat implement shaped out of wood, "I would wager that Ayla
can throw a spear farther, faster, and with better accuracy than
Talut."
There was a buzzing of amazement among the assembled Camp in
response to Jondalar's claim. Tulie eyed Ayla and Jondalar. They
were too relaxed, too confident. It should have been obvious to them
that they were no match for her brother. She doubted that they'd
even be a match for her. She was nearly as tall as the fair-haired man
and possibly stronger, though his long reach might give him an edge.
What did they know that she didn't? She stepped forward.
"I'll give you something to wager," she said. "If you win, I will give
you the right to make a reasonable claim of me, and if it's within my
power, I will grant it."
"And if I lose?"
'You will grant me the same."
"Tulie, are you sure you want to wager a future claim?" Barzec
asked his mate, with a worried frown. Such undefined terms were
high stakes, invariably requiring more than usual payment. Not so
much because the winner made unusually high demands, although
that happened, but because the loser needed to be certain the wager
was satisfied and no further claim could be made. Who knew what
this stranger might ask?
"Against a future claim? Yes," she replied. But she did not say that
she believed she could not lose either way, because if he won, if it
really did what he said, they would have access to a valuable new
weapon. If he lost, she'd have a claim on him. "What do you say,
Jondalar?"
Tulie was shrewd, but Jondalar was smiling. He'd wagered for fu
ture claims before; they always added flavor to the game, and interest
for the spectators. He wanted to share the secret of his discovery. He
wanted to see how it would be accepted, and how it would work in a
communal hunt. That was the next logical step in testing his new
hunting weapon. With a little experimentation and practice, anyone
could do it. That was the beauty of it. But it took time to practice and
learn the new technique, which would require eager enthusiasm. The
wager would help to create that . . . and he'd have a future claim on
Tulie. He had no doubt of that.
"Agreed!" Jondalar said.
Ayla was watching the interplay. She didn't quite understand this
wagering, except that some competition was involved, but she knew
more was going on beneath the surface.
"Let's get some targets up here to sight on, and some markers,"
Barzec said, taking charge of the competition. "Druwez, you and
Danug get some long bones for posts."
He smiled, watching the two boys racing down the slope. Danug,
so much like Talut, towered over the other boy, though he was only a
year older, but at thirteen years Druwez was beginning to show a
stocky, compact muscularity, similar to Barzec's build.
Barzec was convinced this youngster, and little Tusie, were the
progeny of his spirit, just as Deegie and Tarneg were probably
Darnev's. He wasn't sure about Brinan. Eight years since his birth,
but it was still hard to tell. Mut may have chosen some other spirit,
not one of the two men of the Aurochs Hearth. He resembled Tulie,
and had her brother's red hair, but Brinan had his own look. Damev
had felt the same way. Barzec felt a lump in his throat, sharply aware
for a moment of his co-mate's absence. It wasn't the same without
Darnev, Barzec thought. After two years, he still grieved as much as
Tulie.
By the time mammoth leg-bone posts—with red fox tails tied to
them and baskets woven with brightly dyed grasses inverted on top—
were raised to mark the throwing line, the day was beginning to take
on a feeling of celebration. Starting at each post, shocks of long grass,
still growing, were tied together with cord at intervals, creating a
wide lane. The children were racing up and down the throwing
course, stamping down the grass, and delineating the space even
more. Others brought spears out, then someone got an idea to stuff an
old sleeping pallet with grass and dry mammoth dung, which was
then marked with figures in black charcoal to use as a movable target.
During the preparations, which seemed to grow more elaborate of
their own accord, Ay la started to put together a morning meal for
Jondalar, Mamut, and herself. Soon it included all of the Lion Hearth
so Nezzie could get the stew cooking. Talut volunteered his fer
mented drink for dinner, which made everyone feel it was a special
occasion, since he usually brought out his bouza only for guests and
celebrations. Then Ranee announced he would make his special dish,
which surprised Ay la to learn that he cooked, and pleased everyone
else. Tornec and Deegie said if they were going to have a festival,
they might as well ... do something. It was a word that Ayla did not
understand, but which was greeted with even more enthusiasm than
Ranee's specialty.
By the time the morning meal was over and cleaned up, the lodge
was empty. Ayla was the last to leave. Letting the drape of the outer
archway fall back behind her, she noticed it was midmorning. The
horses had wandered a little closer, and Whinney tossed her head and
snorted a greeting to the woman as she appeared. The spears had been
left up on the steppes, but she had brought her sling back, and was
holding it in her hand along with a pouch of round pebbles she had
selected from a gravel bed near the bend in the river. She had no
waist thong around her heavy parka to tuck the sling in, and no con
venient fold in a wrap in which to carry the missiles. The tunic and
parka she was wearing were loose-fitting.
The whole Camp was caught up in the competition; almost every
one was already up the slope, waiting in anticipation. She started up,
too, then saw Rydag waiting patiently for someone to notice him and
carry him up, but the ones who usually did—Talut, Danug, and Jon
dalar—were already on the steppes.
Ayla smiled at the child and went to pick him up, then got an idea.
Turning around, she whistled for Whinney. The mare and the colt
both galloped to her, and seemed so pleased to see her Ayla realized
she hadn't spent much time with them recently. There were so many
people who took up her time. She resolved to go out for a ride every
morning, at least while the weather held. Then she picked up Rydag
and put him on the mare's back to let Whinney carry him up the steep
grade.
"Hold onto her mane so you don't fall backward," she cautioned.
He nodded agreement, grabbed hold of the thick, dark hair stand
ing up on the back of the neck of the hay-colored horse, and heaved a
great sigh of happiness.
The tension in the air was palpable when Ayla reached the spear-
throwing course. It made her realize that, for all the festivities, the
contest had become serious business. The wager had made it more
than a demonstration. She left Rydag on Whinney's back so he would
have a good view of the activities, and stood quietly beside both
horses to keep them calm. They were more comfortable around these
people now, but the mare sensed the tension, she knew, and Racer
always sensed his dam's moods.
The people were milling around in anticipation, some throwing
spears of their own down the well-trampled course. No special time
had been predetermined for the contest to begin, yet, as though some
one had given a signal, everyone seemed to know the precise moment
to clear the way and quiet down. Talut and Jondalar were standing
between the two posts eying the course. Tulie was beside them.
Though Jondalar had originally said he would wager that even Ayla
could cast a spear farther than Talut, it seemed so farfetched the com
ment evidently had been ignored, and she watched with avid interest
from the sidelines.
Talut's spears were bigger and longer than any of the others, as
though his powerful muscles needed something with weight and mass
to hurl, but, Ayla recalled, the spears of the men of the Clan had been
even heavier and bulkier if not as long. Ayla noticed other differences
as well. Unlike Clan spears, made for thrusting, these spears, along
with hers and Jondalar's, were made for throwing through the air, and
were all fletched, though the Lion Camp seemed to prefer three feath
ers attached to the butt end of the shafts, while Jondalar used two.
The spears she had made for herself while living alone in her valley
had sharpened, fire-hardened points, similar to ones she had seen in
the Clan. Jondalar had shaped and sharpened bone into spear points
and attached them to shafts. The Mammoth Hunters seemed to prefer
flint-tipped spears.
Engrossed in her careful observation of the spears that various peo
ple were holding, she almost missed Talut's first hurl. He had stepped
back a few paces, then, with a running start, let fly with a mighty
cast. The spear whizzed past the bystanders and landed with a solid
thunk, its point nearly buried in the ground and the shaft vibrating
from the impact. The admiring Camp left no doubt what they
thought of their headman's feat. Evenjondalar was surprised. He had
suspected Talut's throw would be long, but the big man had far ex
ceeded his expectations. No wonder the people had doubted his
claim.
Jondalar paced the distance off to get a feel for the measure he
would have to beat, then went back to the throwing line. Holding the
spear-thrower horizontally, he laid the back end of the spear shaft in
the groove that ran down the length of the device and fitted a hole
carved out of the spear butt into the small protruding hook at the back
end of the thrower. He put his first two fingers through the leather
finger loops at the front end, which allowed him to hold the spear and
the spear-thrower at a good balance point. He sighted down the field
on Talut's upright spear, then pulled back and heaved.
As he hurled, the back end of the spear-thrower raised up, in effect,
extending the length of his arm by another two feet, and adding the
impetus of the extra leverage to the force of the throw. His spear
whistled past the onlookers, and then to their surprise, past the up
right spear of their headman, and well beyond it. It landed flat and
slid a short way rather than lodging in the ground. With the device,
Jondalar had doubled his own previous distance, and while he had by
no means doubled Talut's cast, he had exceeded it by a good measure.
Suddenly, before the Camp could catch its breath, and mark the
difference between the two casts, another spear came hurtling down
the course. Startled, Tulie glanced back and saw Ayla at the throwing
line, spear-thrower still in hand. She looked ahead in time to see the
spear land. Though Ayla hadn't quite matched Jondalar's throw, the
young woman had outdistanced Talut's mighty heave, and the look on
Tulie's face was sheer disbelief.
9

Jh.OU
ou have a future claim on me, Jondalar," Tulie stated. "I
admit I might have given you an outside chance to beat Talut, but
never would I have believed the woman could. I'd like to see that . . .
aah . . . what do you call it?"
"A spear-thrower. I don't know what else to call it. I got the idea
from Ay la, when I was watching her with her sling one day. I kept
thinking, if only I could throw a spear as far, and as fast, and as well
as she can throw a stone with a sling. Then I started thinking about
how to do it," Jondalar said.
"You've talked about her skill before. Is she really that good?" Tulie
asked.
Jondalar smiled. "Ay la, why don't you get your sling and show
Tulie?"
Ay la's brow creased. She wasn't used to public demonstrations.
She had perfected her skill in secret, and after she was grudgingly
allowed to hunt, she always went out alone. It had made both the clan
and her uncomfortable for them to see her use a hunting weapon.
Jondalar was the first one who ever hunted with her, and the first to
see her display her self-taught expertise. She watched the smiling man
for a moment. He was relaxed, confident. She could detect no cues
warning her to refuse.
She nodded her head and went to get her sling and the bag of
stones from Rydag, to whom she had given them when she decided to
throw the spear. The boy was smiling at her from Whinney's back,
feeling a part of the excitement, delighted at the stir she had caused.
She looked around for targets. She noticed the upright mammoth
rib bones and sighted on them first. The resonant, almost musical,
sound of stones hitting bone left no doubt that she had hit the posts,
but that was too easy. She looked around trying to find something else
to hit. She was used to searching out birds and small animals to hunt,
not objects to throw stones at.
Jondalar knew she could do much more than hit posts, and recalling
one afternoon during the summer just past, his smile turned into a
grin as he looked around, then kicked loose some clods of dirt.

"Axrio " h^ P^llprl.

She turned, and looking down the throwing lane, saw him standing
with legs apart, his hands on his hips, and a clod of dirt balanced on
each shoulder. She frowned. He had done something similar once
before with two rocks, and she didn't like to see him put himself in
jeopardy. Stones from a sling could be fatal. But, when she thought
about it, she had to admit that it was more dangerous in appearance
than in actuality. Two unmoving objects should be an easy target for
her. She hadn't missed a shot like that in years. Why should she miss
it now, just because a man happened to be supporting the objects—
the man she loved?
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then nodded again. Picking
out two stones from the pouch on the ground at her feet, she brought
together the two ends of the leather strap and fitted one of the stones
into the worn pocket in the middle, holding the other stone in read
iness. Then she looked up.
A nervous stillness hovered over and filled the empty spaces around
the onlookers. No one spoke. No one even breathed, it seemed. All
was quiet, except for the screaming tension in the air.
Ayla concentrated on the man with the clumps of dirt on his shoul
ders. When she started to move, the entire Camp strained forward.
With the lithe grace and subtle movement of a trained hunter who has
learned to signal her intention as little as possible, the young woman
wound up and let fly the first missile.
Even before the first stone had reached its mark, she was readying
the second. The hard clump of dirt on Jondalar's right shoulder ex
ploded with the impact of the harder stone. Then, before anyone was
even aware she had cast it, the second stone followed the first, pul
verizing the lump of gray-brown loess soil on his left shoulder in a
cloud of dust. It happened so fast some of the watchers felt as though
they'd missed it, or that it was a trick of some kind.
It was a trick, a trick of skill few could have duplicated. No one had
taught Ayla to use a sling. She had learned by secretly watching the
men of Brun's clan, and by trial and error, and practice. She had
developed the rapid-fire double stone throw technique as a means of
self-defense after she'd missed her first shot once, and barely escaped
an attacking lynx. She didn't know that most people would have said
it was impossible; there had been no one to tell her.
Though she didn't realize it, it was doubtful if she would ever meet
anyone who could match her skill, and it didn't matter to her in the
least. Pitting herself against another to see who was best was of no
interest to her. Her only competition was with herself; her only desire
was to better her own skill. She knew her capabilities, and when she
thought of a new technique, such as the double stone throw or hunt
ing from horseback, she tried several approaches and when she found
one that seemed to work, she practiced until she could do it.
In every human activity, a few people, through concentration and
practice, and deep desire, can become so skilled that they excel all
others. Ay la was such an expert with her sling.
There was a moment of silence as people released held breaths,
then murmurs of surprise, then Ranee began slapping his thighs with
his hands. Soon the entire Camp was applauding in the same way.
Ay la wasn't sure what it meant, and glanced at Jondalar. He was
beaming with delight, and she began to sense the applause was a sign
of approval.
Tulie was applauding, too, though in a somewhat more restrained
manner than some of the others, not wanting to seem too impressed,
though Jondalar felt sure she was.
"If you think that was something, watch this!" he said, reaching
down for two more hard lumps of dirt. He saw that Ayla was watch
ing him, and was ready with two more stones. He threw both chunks
into the air at one time. Ayla discharged one and then the other in a
burst of dust and falling dirt. He threw up two more, and she blasted
them before they hit the ground.
Talut's eyes were gleaming with excitement. "She is good!" he said.
"You throw two up," Jondalar said to him. Then he caught Ayla's
eye and picked up two more hunks of dirt himself and held them up
to show her. She reached into the pouch and came up holding four
stones, two in each hand. It would take exceptional coordination just
to load and throw four stones with a sling before four clods thrown up
in the air fell back to earth, but to do it with enough accuracy to hit
them would be a challenge that would certainly test her skill. Jondalar
overheard Barzec and Manuv making a wager between themselves;
Manuv was betting on Ayla. After saving little Nuvie's life, he was
sure she could do anything.
Jondalar hurled the clods up, one after the other, with his strong
right hand as Talut heaved two more dry clumps of dirt as high as he
could into the air.
The first two, one of Jondalar's and one of Talut's, were hit in
quick succession. Dirt rained down from the collision, but it took
extra time to transfer the additional stones from one hand to the other.
Jondalar's other clump was falling, and Talut's was slowing as it
neared the top of its arc, before Ayla could ready the sling again. She
sighted on the lowest target, gaining speed as it was falling, and flung
a stone out of the sling. She watched it hit, waiting longer than she
should have before reaching again for the loose end of the sling. She
would have to hurry.
With a smooth motion, Ayla put the last stone into the sling, and
then, faster than anyone could believe, whipped it out again, shatter
ing the last lump of dirt just before it hit the ground.
The Camp burst into shouts of approval and congratulations, and
thigh-slapping applause.
"That was quite a demonstration, Ayla," Tulie said, her voice
warm with praise. "I don't think I've ever seen anything like it."
"I thank you," Ayla answered, flushed with pleasure from the head-
woman's response, as well as her achievement. More people crowded
around her, full of compliments. She smiled shyly, then looked for
Jondalar, feeling a little uncomfortable with all the attention. He was
talking to Wymez and Talut, who had Rugie on his shoulders and
Latie at his side. He saw her looking at him, and smiled, but kept on
talking.
"Ayla, how did you ever learn to handle a sling like that?" Deegie
asked.
"And where? Who taught you?" Crozie asked.
"I would like to learn to do that," Danug added, shyly. The tall
young man was standing behind the others looking at Ayla with ador
ing eyes. The first time he saw her, Ayla had awakened youthful
stirrings in Danug. He thought she was the most beautiful woman
he'd ever seen, and that Jondalar, whom he admired, was very lucky.
But after his ride on the horse, and now her demonstration of skill, his
budding interest had suddenly blossomed into a full-blown crush.
Ayla gave him a tentative smile.
"Perhaps you'll give us some instruction, when you and Jondalar
show us your spear-throwers," Tulie suggested.
"Yes. I wouldn't mind knowing how to use a sling like that, but
that spear-thrower really looks interesting, if it's reasonably accurate,"
Tornec added.
Ayla backed up. The questions and the crowding were making her
nervous. "Spear-thrower is accurate . . . if hand is accurate," she said,
remembering how diligently she and Jondalar had practiced with the
implement. Nothing was accurate by itself.
"That's always the way. The hand, and the eye, make the artist,
Ayla," Ranee said, reaching for her hand and looking into her eyes.
"Do you know how beautiful, how graceful you were? You are an
artist with a sling."
The dark eyes that looked into hers held her, compelled her to see
the strong attraction, and pulled from the woman in her a response as
ancient as life itself. But her heart beat with a warning as well; this
was not the right man. This was not the man she loved. The feeling
Ranee drew from her was undeniable, but of a different nature.
She forced her eyes away, looked frantically around for Jon-
dalar . . . and found him. He was staring at them, and his vivid blue
eyes were filled with fire and ice, and pain.
Ayla pulled her hand away from Ranee and backed off. It was too
much. All the questions and crowding, and uncontrollable emotions
overpowering her. Her stomach tightened into a knot, her chest
pounded, her throat ached; she had to get away. She saw Whinney
with Rydag still on her back, and without thinking, swooped up the
pouch of stones with the hand that still held her sling as she raced
toward the horse.
She vaulted onto the mare's back and wrapped a protective arm
around the boy as she leaned forward. With the signals of pressure
and movement, and the subtle, inexplicable communication between
horse and woman, Whinney sensed her need to flee and, leaping to a
start, raced across the open plains in a fast gallop. Racer followed
behind, keeping up with his dam with no trouble.
The people of the Lion Camp were stunned. Most of them had no
idea why Ayla had run for her horse, and only a few had seen her ride
hard. The woman, long blond hair flying in the wind behind her,
clinging to the back of the galloping mare, was a startling and awe
some sight, and more than one would have gladly traded places with
Rydag. Nezzie felt a twinge of worry for him, then, feeling that Ayla
wouldn't let him come to harm, she relaxed.
The boy didn't know why he had been granted this rare treat, but
his eyes glistened with delight. Though the excitement caused his
heart to pound a bit, with Ay la's arm around him, he felt no fear,
only a breathless wonder to be racing into the wind.
Flight from the scene of her distress and the familiar feel and sound
of the horse relieved Ayla's tension. As she relaxed, she noticed
J '
Ry dag's heart beating against her arm with its peculiar, indistinct
rumbling sound, and felt a moment's concern. She wondered if she
was wise to have taken him with her, then realized the heartbeat,
though abnormal, was not unduly stressed.
She slowed the horse, and making a wide circle, headed back. As
they neared the throwing course, they passed near a pair of ptar
migan, their mottled summer plumage not yet fully changed to winter
white, concealed in the high grass. The horses flushed them out. Out
of habit, as they took to the air, Ayla readied her sling, then looked
down and saw that Rydag had two stones in his hand from the pouch
he held in front of him. She took them, and guiding Whinney with
her thighs, she knocked one of the low-flying fat fowl down from the
sky, and then the other.
She halted Whinney and, holding Rydag, slid off the mare's back
with the boy in her arms. She put him down and retrieved the birds,
wrung their necks, and with a few stringy stalks of standing hay, she
tied together their feathered feet. Though they could fly fast and far
when they chose, ptarmigan did not fly south. Instead, with a heavy
winter growth of white feathers that camouflaged and warmed their
bodies and made snowshoes of their feet, they endured the bitter sea
son, feeding on seed and twigs, and when a blizzard struck, scratched
out small caves in the snow to wait it out.
Ay la put Rydag on Whinney's back again. "Will you hold the ptar
migan?" she signed.
"You will let me?" he signaled back, his sheer joy showing in more
than his hand signs. He had never run fast just for the pleasure of
running fast; for the first time he felt what it was like. He had never
hunted or really understood the complex feelings that came from the
exercise of intelligence and skill in the pursuit of sustenance for him
self and his people. This was as close as he had ever come; it was as
close as he ever could.
Ay la smiled, draped the birds across the horse's withers in front of
Rydag, then turned and started walking toward the throwing course.
Whinney followed. Ayla wasn't in a hurry to get back, she was still
upset, remembering Jondalar's angry look. Why does he get so angry?
One moment he was smiling at her, so pleased . . . when everyone
was crowding in on her. But when Ranee . . . She flushed, remember
ing the dark eyes, the smooth voice. Others! she thought, shaking her
head as if to clear her mind. I don't understand these Others!
The wind blowing from her back whipped tendrils of her long hair
in her face. Annoyed, she brushed them out of her way with her
hand. She had thought several times about braiding her hair again,
the way she had worn it when she lived alone in the valley, but Jon-
dalar liked her hair worn loose, so she left it down. It was a nuisance
sometimes. Then, with a touch of irritation, she noticed that she still
held her sling in her hand because she had no place to put it, no
convenient thong to tuck it in. She wasn't even able to wear her medi
cine bag with these clothes that she wore because Jondalar liked them;
she had always tied it to the thong that held her wrap closed.
She lifted her hand to push her hair out of her eyes again, and then
noticed her sling. She stopped, and pulling her hair back out of her
eyes, she wrapped the supple leather sling around her head. Tucking
the loose end under, she smiled, pleased with herself. It seemed to
work. Her hair still hung loose down her back, but the sling kept her
hair out of her eyes, and her head seemed to be a good place to carry
her sling.
Most people assumed Ayla's flying leap on the horse, and the fast
ride ending with the quick dispatch of the ptarmigan, were part of her
sling demonstration. She refrained from correcting them, but she
avoided looking at Jondalar and Ranee.
Jondalar knew she was upset when she turned and ran, and was
sure the fault was his. He was sorry, mentally chided himself, but
was having trouble coping with his unfamiliar mixed emotions, and
didn't know how to tell her. Ranee hadn't realized the depth of Ay la's
distress. He knew he was provoking some feeling from her, and sus
pected that may have contributed to her disconcerted rush toward the
horse, but he thought her actions were naive and charming. He was
finding himself even more attracted to her and wondered just how
strong her feeling was for the big blond man.
Children were racing up and down the throwing course again when
she returned. Nezzie came for Rydag, and took the birds as well.
Ay la let the horses go. They moved off and began to graze. Ay la
stayed to watch when a friendly disagreement led several people to an
informal spear-throwing contest, which then led them to an activity
beyond her realm of experience. They played a game. She understood
competitions, contests that tested necessary skills—who could run the
fastest or throw a spear the farthest—but not an activity whose object
seemed to be simply enjoyment, with the testing or improving of es
sential skills incidental.
Several hoops were brought up from the lodge. They were about
the size that would fit over a thigh, and had been made of strips of
wet rawhide, braided and allowed to dry stiff, then wrapped tightly
with bear grass. Sharpened feathered shafts—light spears, but not
tipped with bone or flint points—were also part of the equipment.
The hoops were rolled on the ground, and the shafts thrown at
them. When someone stopped a hoop by throwing a shaft through the
hole and embedding it in the ground, shouts and thigh-slapping ap
plause signaled approval. The game, which also involved the counting
words and this thing called wagering, had aroused great excitement,
and Ay la was fascinated. Both men and women played, but took
turns rolling the hoops and throwing the shafts, as though they were
opposing each other.
Finally, some conclusion was reached. Several people headed back
to the lodge. Deegie, flushed with excitement, was among them. Ay la
joined her.
"This day seems to be turning into a festival," Deegie said. "Con
tests, games, and it looks like we're going to have a real feast. Nezzie's
stew, Talut's bouza, Ranee's dish. What are you going to do with the
ptarmigan?"
"I have special way I like to cook. You think I should make?"
"Why not? It would add to the feast to have another special dish."
Before they reached the lodge, preparations for the feast were evi
dent in the delicious cooking smells that reached out with tantalizing
promise. Nezzie's stew was largely responsible. It was quietly bub
bling in the large cooking hide, tended at the moment by Latie and
Brinan, though everyone seemed to be involved in some way with
food preparations. Ayla had been interested in the stew cooking ar
rangement, and had watched Nezzie and Deegie set it up.
In a large pothole that had been dug near a fireplace, hot coals were
placed on top of ashes, accumulated from previous use, that lined the
bottom. A layer of powdered, dried mammoth dung was poured on
the coals, and on top of that was placed a large, thick piece of mam
moth hide supported by a frame, and filled with water. The coals
smoldering under the dung began to heat the water, but by the time
the dung caught fire, enough of the fuel had been burned away that
the hide no longer rested on it, but was supported by the frame. The
liquid slowly seeping through the hide, though it had reached boiling,
kept the leather from catching fire. When the fuel under the cooking
hide was burned away, the stew was kept boiling by the addition of
river stones that had been heated red hot in the fireplace, a chore some
children were tending to.
Ayla plucked the two ptarmigan and gutted them, using a small
flint knife. It had no handle, but the back had been dulled by retouch
ing to prevent cutting the user, and a notch had been chipped away
from behind the point. It was held with the thumb and index finger
on either side, and the forefinger on the notch, making it easy to con
trol. It was not a knife for heavy work, only for cutting meat or
leather, and Ayla had only learned to use it since she arrived, but
found it very convenient.
She had always cooked her ptarmigan in a pit lined with stones in
which a fire was lit and allowed to go out before the birds were put in
and covered over. But large stones were not easy to find in this region,
so she decided to adapt the stewpot heating pit to her use. It was the
wrong season for the greens she liked to use—coltsfoot, nettles, pig
weed—and for ptarmigan eggs, or she would have stuffed the cavity
with them, but some of the herbs in her medicine bag, used lightly,
were good for seasoning as well as healing, and the hay she wrapped
the birds in added a subtle flavor of its own. It might not be exactly
Creb's favorite dish when she was through, but the ptarmigan should
taste good, she thought.
When she finished cleaning the birds, she went inside, and saw
Nezzie at the first hearth starting a fire in the large fireplace.
"I would like to cook ptarmigan in hole, like you cook stew in hole.
Can I have coals?" Ayla asked.
"Of course. Is there anything else you need?"
"I have dried herbs. I like fresh greens in birds. Wrong season."
"You could look in the storage room. There are some other vegeta
bles you might think of using, and we do have some salt," Nezzie
volunteered.
Salt, Ay la thought. She hadn't cooked with salt since she left the
Clan. "Yes, would like salt. Maybe vegetable. Will look. Where I mid
hot coals?"
"I'll give you some, as soon as I get this going."
Ayla watched Nezzie make the fire, idly at first, not paying much
attention, but then she found herself intrigued. She knew, but had
not really thought about it before, that they did not have many trees.
They burned bone for fuel, and bone did not burn very easily. Nezzie
had produced a small ember from another fireplace, and with it set
fire to some fluff from the seedpods of fireweed collected for tinder.
She added some dried dung, which made a hotter and stronger flame,
and then small shavings and chips of bone. They did not catch hold
well.
Nezzie blew at the fire to keep it going while she moved a small
handle the young woman had not noticed before. Ayla heard a slight
whistling sound of wind, noticed a few ashes blowing around, and
saw the flame burn brighter. With the hotter flame, the bone chips
began to singe around the edges, then burst into flame. And Ayla
suddenly realized the source of something that had been nagging at
her, something she had barely noticed but that had bothered her ever
since she arrived at the Lion Camp. The smell of smoke was wrong.
She had burned some dried dung occasionally and was familiar
with the strong sharp odor of its smoke, but her primary fuel had
been of plant origin; she was used to the smell of wood smoke. The
fuel used by the Lion Camp was of animal origin. The smell of burn
ing bone had a different character, a quality reminiscent of a roast left
too long on the fire. In combination with the dried dung, which they
also used in large quantities, a distinctive pungent odor permeated the
entire encampment. It wasn't unpleasant, but unfamiliar, which cre
ated in her a slight uneasiness. Now that she had identified the cause,
a certain undefined tension was relieved.
Ayla smiled as she watched Nezzie add more bone, and adjust the
handle, which made it bum hotter.
"How you do that?" she asked. "Make fire so hot?"
"Fire needs to breathe, too, and wind is the fire's breath. The
Mother taught us that when She made women keepers of the hearth.
You can see it when you give your breath to fire; when you blow on
it, the fire gets hotter. We dig a trench from underneath the fireplace
to the outside to bring the wind in. The trench is lined with the
intestines of an animal that are blown full with air before they are
dried, then covered over with bone before the dirt is put back. The
trench for this hearth goes out that way, under those grass mats.
See?"
Ay la looked where Nezzie pointed, and nodded.
"It comes in here," the woman continued, showing her a hollow
bison horn protruding out of an opening in the side of the firepit,
which was lower than the level of the floor. "But you don't always
want the same amount of wind. It depends how hard it is blowing
outside and how much fire you want. You block the wind, or open it
up here," Nezzie said, showing her the handle that was attached to a
damper made of thin scapular bone.
In concept, it seemed simple enough, but it was an ingenious idea,
a true technical achievement, and essential to survival. Without it the
Mammoth Hunters could not have lived on the subarctic steppes, ex
cept in a few isolated locations, for all the abundance of game. At
most, they would have been seasonal visitors. In a land nearly devoid
of trees, and with the harsh winters only known when glaciers ad
vance upon the land, the forced-air fireplace enabled them to burn
bone, the only fuel available in quantities large enough to allow year-
round occupation.
After Nezzie got the fire started, Ay la looked through the storage
rooms to see if there was anything that appealed to her to stuff the
ptarmigan with. She was tempted by some dried embryos from the
eggs of birds, but they would probably have to be soaked, and she
wasn't sure how long that would take. She thought about using wild
carrots or the peas from milk vetch pods, but changed her mind.
Then she caught sight of the woven container that still held the
gruel of grains and vegetables she had stone-boiled that morning. It
had been put aside to lunch on as anyone wished, and had thickened
and settled. She tasted it. Without salt, people preferred distinctive,
spicy flavors, and she had flavored the gruel with sage and mint, and
added bitterroots, onions, and wild carrots to the mixed rye and bar
ley grains.
With some salt, she thought, and the sunflower seeds she had seen
in a storage room, and the dried currants . . . and perhaps coltsfoot
and rose hips from her medicine bag, it might make an interesting
filling for the ptarmigan. Ay la prepared and stuffed the birds,
wrapped them in fresh-cut hay, and buried them in a pit with some
bone coals and covered them with ashes. Then she went to see what
other people were doing.
A lot of activity was going on near the entrance to the lodge and
most of the Camp had congregated there. As she drew near, she saw
that large piles of grain-bearing stalks had been collected. Some people
were threshing, trampling, beating and flailing bunches of the
stalks to free the grain from the straw and hulls. Others were removing
the chaff that was left by tossing the grain into the air from wide,
flat winnowing trays made of willow withes, to let the lighter husks
blow away. Ranee was putting the grain in a mortar made from a
hollowed-out mammoth foot bone extended by a section of leg bone.
He picked up a mammoth tusk, severed crosswise, which served as
the pestle, and began pounding the grains.
Soon Barzec took off his outer fur parka, and standing opposite
him, picked up the heavy tusk every other stroke, so that the work
alternated back and forth between them. Tornec began clapping his
hands together matching the rhythm, and Manuv picked it up with a
repetitive, chanting refrain.

"I-yah wo-ivo, Ranee pounding grains go yah!
I-yah wo-wo, Ranee pounding grains go neh!^

Then Deegie came in on the alternating stroke harmonizing with a
contrasting phrase.

"Neb neb neb neb, Barzec makes it easy yah!
Neh neb neb neh, Barzec makes it easy nab!"

Soon others were slapping their thighs, and male voices sang with
Manuv while the female voices joined Deegie. Ay la felt the strong
rhythm, and hummed along under her breath, not entirely sure about
joining in, but enjoying it.
After a time, Wymez, who had taken off his parka, moved close
beside Ranee and relieved him without missing a beat. Manuv was
just as quick to change the refrain, and on the following beat sang a
new line.

"Nab nab we-ye, Wymez takes the grinder yoh!"

When Barzec seemed to tire, Druwez took it from him and Deegie
changed her phrase, and then Frebec took a turn.
They stopped then to check the results and poured the ground
grain into a sieve basket of plaited cattail leaves, and shook it through.
Then more grain was put into the bone mortar, but this time Tulie
and Deegie took up the mammoth tusk pestle, and Manuv made up a
refrain for both, but sang the female part in a falsetto voice that made
everyone laugh. Nezzie took over from Tulie, and on an impulse,
Ayla stepped up beside Deegie, which brought smiles and nods.
Deegie banged the tusk down and let go. Nezzie reached out and
lifted as Ayla moved into Deegie's place. Ayla heard a "yah!" as the
pestle slammed down again, and grabbed the thick, slightly curved,
ivory shaft. It was heavier than she expected, but she lifted it and
heard Manuv sing.

"A-yah wa-wa, Ayla here is welcome nab!'"

She almost dropped the mammoth tusk. She hadn't expected the
spontaneous gesture of friendship, and on the next beat when the
whole Lion Camp sang it out, both men and women, she was so
moved she had to blink back tears. It was more than just a simple
message of warmth and friendship to her; it was acceptance. She had
found the Others, and they had made her welcome.
Tronic replaced Nezzie, and after a while Fralie made a move
toward them, but Ayla shook her head, and the pregnant woman
stepped back, readily acquiescing. Ayla was glad she did, but it confirmed
her suspicion that Fralie was not feeling well. They continued
to pound the grain, until Nezzie stopped them to pour it into the sieve
and refill the mortar again.
This time Jondalar stepped up to take a turn at the tedious and
difficult task of grinding the wild grain by hand, made easier by cooperative
effort and fun. But he frowned when Ranee came forward,
too. Suddenly the tension between the dark-skinned man and the
blond visitor charged the friendly atmosphere with a subtle undercurrent
of enmity.
When the two men, alternating the heavy tusk between them, began
to pick up the pace, everyone felt it. As they continued to speed
up, the chanting songs faded out, but some people began stamping
their feet, and the clapping became louder and sharper. Imperceptibly,
Jondalar and Ranee increased the force along with the pace, and
instead of a cooperative work effort, it became a contest of strength
and will. The pestle was slammed down so hard by one man it
bounced back up for the other to grab and slam back down again.
Sweat beaded up on their foreheads, ran down their faces and into
their eyes. It soaked their tunics as they kept pushing each other,
faster, and harder, smashing the large heavy pestle into the mortar,
one then the other, back and forth. It seemed to go on forever, but
they wouldn't quit. They were breathing hard, showing signs of
strain and fatigue, but refused to give in. Neither man was willing to
yield to the other; it seemed each would rather die first.
Ay la was beside herself. They were pushing too hard. She looked
at Talut with panic in her eyes. Talut nodded to Danug and they
both moved toward the stubborn men who seemed determined to kill
themselves.
"It's time to give someone else a turn!" Talut thundered, as he
shoved Jondalar out of the way and grabbed the pestle. Danug
snatched it away from Ranee on the rebound.
Both men were so dazed with exhaustion they hardly seemed to
know the contest was over as they staggered away, gasping for breath.
Ay la wanted to rush to their aid, but indecision held her back. She
knew that somehow she was the cause of their struggle, and no matter
which one she went to first, the other would lose face. The people of
the Camp were worried, too, but reluctant to offer help. They were
afraid that if they expressed their concern, it would acknowledge that
the competition between the two men was more than a game, and
lend credence to a rivalry that no one was ready to take so seriously.
As Jondalar and Ranee began to recover, attention shifted back to
Talut and Danug, who were still pounding the grain—and making a
competition of it. A friendly competition, but not any less intense.
Talut was grinning at the young copy of himself as he smashed the
ivory pestle into the foot bone. Danug, unsmiling, slammed it back
with grim determination.
"Good for you, Danug!" Tornec shouted.
"He doesn't stand a chance," Barzec countered.
"Danug's younger," Deegie said. "Talut will give out first."
"He doesn't have Talut's stamina," Frebec disagreed.
"He doesn't have Talut's strength yet, but Danug has the stamina,"
Ranee said. He had finally caught his breath enough to contribute to
the commentary. Though still suffering from the exertion, he saw
their contest as a way to make his competition with Jondalar seem less
than the dead serious effort it had been.
"Come on, Danug!" Druwez shouted.
"You can do it!" Latie added, caught up in the enthusiasm, though
she wasn't sure if she meant it for Danug or Talut.
Suddenly, with a hard bang from Danug, the foot bone cracked.
"That's just enough!" Nezzie scolded. "You don't have to pound so
hard you break the mortar. Now we need a new one, and I think you
should make it, Talut."
"I think you are right!" Talut said, beaming with delight. "That
was a good match, Danug. You have grown strong while you were
away. Did you see that boy, Nezzie?"
"Look at this!" Nezzie said, removing the contents of the mortar.
"This grain has been beaten to powder! I just wanted it cracked. I was
i- ^ ,„/-! ^^^ }f. Ynn can't oarch this to keep it."
"What kind of grain is it? I'll ask Wymez, but I think my mother's
people made something from grain pounded to dust," Ranee said. "I'll
take some of it, if no one else wants it."
"It's mostly wheat, but some rye and oats are mixed in. Tulie al
ready has enough for little loaves of ground grain everyone likes, they
just have to be cooked. Talut wanted some grain to mix with the
cattail root starch for his bouza. But you can have it all, if you want
it. You worked for it."
"Talut worked for it, too. If he wants some he can have it," Ranee
said.
"Use what you want. Ranee. I'll take what's left," Talut said. "The
cattail root starch I have soaking is starting to ferment. I don't know
what would happen if I put this in it, but it might be interesting to try
it and see."
Ayla watched both Jondalar and Ranee to assure herself that they
were all right. When she saw Jondalar pull off his sweaty tunic, slosh
water over himself, and go into the lodge, she knew he had suffered
no ill effects. Then she felt a little foolish for worrying about him so
much. He was a strong, vigorous man, after all, certainly a little exer
tion wouldn't hurt him, or Ranee. But she avoided both of them. She
was confused by their actions, and her feelings, and she wanted some
time to think.
Tronie came out of the arched doorway of the lodge, looking har
ried. She was holding Hartal on one hip and a shallow bone dish piled
with baskets and implements on the other. Ayla hurried toward her.
"I help? Hold Hartal?" she asked.
"Oh, would you?" the young mother said, handing the baby over to
Ayla. "Everyone has been cooking and making special food today, and
I wanted to make something for the feast, too, but I kept getting
distracted. And then Hartal woke up. I fed him, but he's not in any
mood to go back to sleep yet."
Tronic found a place to spread out near the big outside fireplace.
Holding the baby, Ayla watched Tronie pour shelled sunflower seeds
into the shallow bone dish from one of the baskets. With a piece of
knucklebone—Ayla thought it came from a woolly rhinoceros—
Tronie mashed the seeds to a paste. After a few more batches of seeds
had been mashed, she filled another basket with water. She picked up
two straight bone sticks, which had been carved and shaped for the
purpose, and with one hand, she deftly plucked hot cooking stones
from the fire. With a hiss and a cloud of steam, she plunked the stones
in the water, pulled out cooled ones and added more hot until it came
to a boil. Then she added the sunflower nut paste. Ayla was
intrigued.
The cooking released the oil from the seeds, and with a large ladle,
Tronic skimmed it and poured it into another container, this time
made of birchbark. When she had skimmed off as much as she could,
she added cracked wild grain of some indistinguishable variety and
small black pigweed seeds to the boiling water, flavoring it with
herbs, and added more cooking stones to keep it boiling. The
birchbark containers were set off to the side to cool until the sun
flower seed butter congealed. She gave Ay la a taste from the tip of the
ladle, and she decided it was delicious.
"It's especially good on Tulie's loaf cakes," Tronic said. "That's
why I wanted to make it. While I had boiling water, I thought I
might as well make something for breakfast tomorrow. No one feels
much like cooking the morning after a big festival, but children, at
least, like to eat. Thanks so much for helping with Hartal."
"No give thanks. Is my pleasure. I not hold baby in long time,"
Ay la said, and realized it was true. She found herself looking at Har
tal closely, comparing him in her mind with the babies of the Clan.
Hartal had no brow ridges, but they weren't fully developed in Clan
babies, either. His forehead was straighter and his head rounder, but
they were not really so very different at this young age, she thought,
except that Hartal laughed and giggled and cooed, and Clan babies
did not make as many sounds.
The baby started to fuss a bit, when his mother went to wash off
the implements. Ay la bounced him on her knee, then changed his
position until she was looking at him. She talked to him and watched
his interested response. That satisfied him for a while, but not long.
When he got ready to cry again, Ay la whistled at him. The sound
surprised him and he stopped crying to listen. She whistled again,
this time making a birdsong.
Ayla had spent many long afternoons when she was alone in her
valley practicing bird whistles and calls. She had become so adept at
mimicking birdsong, that certain varieties came to her whistle, but
those birds were not unique to the valley.
As she whistled to entertain the baby, a few birds landed nearby,
and began pecking at some of the grain and seeds that had fallen from
Tronic's baskets. Ayla noticed them, whistled again, and held out a
finger. After some initial wariness, one brave finch hopped on her
finger. Carefully, with whistles that calmed and intrigued the little
creature, Ayla picked it up and brought the bird close for the baby to
see. A delighted giggle and a reaching chubby fist scared it off.
Then, to her surprise, Ayla heard applause. The sound of thigh
slapping caused her to look up and see the faces of most of the people
of the Lion Camp smiling at her.
"How do you do it, Ayla? I know some people can imitate a bird,
or an animal, but you do it so well it fools them," Tronic said. "I've
never met anyone with so much control over animals."
Ay la blushed, as though she had been caught in the act of doing
something . . . not right, caught in the act of being different. For all
the smiles and approval, she felt uncomfortable. She didn't know how
to answer Tronic's question. She didn't know how to explain that
when you are entirely alone, you have all the time in the world to
practice whistling like a bird. When there is no one in the world you
can turn to, a horse or even a lion may give you companionship.
When you don't know if there is anyone in the world like you, you
seek contact with something living however you can.
10

here was a lull in the activities of the Lion Camp in the early
afternoon. Though their largest meal of the day was usually around
noon, most people skipped the midday meal, or picked at leftovers
from the morning, in anticipation of a feast that promised to be delicious
for all that it was unplanned. People were relaxing; some were
napping, others checked on food now and then, a few were talking
quietly, but there was a feeling of excitement in the air and everyone
was looking forward to a special evening.
Inside the earthlodge, Ay la and Tronic were listening to Deegie,
who was telling them the details of her visit to Branag's Camp, and
the arrangements for their joining. Ay la listened with interest at first,
but when the two young Mamutoi women began speaking about this
relative or that friend, none of whom she knew, she got up, with a
comment about checking the ptarmigan, and went out. Deegie's talk
of Branag and her coming Matrimonial made Ayla think of her relationship
with Jondalar. He had said he loved her, but he had never
proposed a joining to her, or spoken of Matrimonials, and she wondered
about it.
She went to the pit where her birds were cooking, checked to make
sure she could feel heat, then noticed Jondalar with Wymez and
Danug off to the side, where they usually worked, away from the
paths people normally used. She knew what they were talking about,
and even if she hadn't, she could have guessed. The area was littered
with broken hunks and sharp chips of flint, and several large nodules
of the workable stone were lying on the ground near the three tool-
makers. She often wondered how they could spend so much time
talking about flint. Certainly they must have said everything there
was to say by now.
While she was not an expert, until Jondalar came Ayla had made
her own stone tools, which adequately served her needs. When she
was young, she had often watched Droog, the clan toolmaker, and
learned by copying his techniques. But Ayla had known the first time
she watched Jondalar that his skill far surpassed hers, and while there
was a similarity in feeling toward the craft, and perhaps even in rela-
tive ability, Jondalar's methods and the tools he produced far outstrip
ped the Clan's. She was curious about the methods Wymez used, and
had meant to ask if she could watch sometime. She decided this was a
good time.
Jondalar was aware of her the moment she came out of the lodge,
but he tried not to show it. He was sure she had been avoiding him
ever since her sling demonstration on the steppes, and he didn't want
to force his attentions on her if she didn't want him around. When she
started in their direction, he felt a great knot of anxiety in his stom
ach, afraid she would change her mind, or that she only seemed to be
coming toward them.
"If not disturb, I like to watch toolmaking," Ay la said.
"Of course. Sit down," Wymez said, smiling a welcome.
Jondalar visibly relaxed; his furrowed brow smoothed and the tight
ness of his jaws eased. Danug tried to say something when she sat
down next to him, but her presence rendered him speechless. Jondalar
recognized the look of adoration in his eyes, and stifled an indulgent
smile. He had developed a real fondness for the youngster, and he
knew calf-eyed young love was no threat to him. He could afford to
feel a bit like a patronizing older brother.
"Is your technique commonly used, Jondalar?" Wymez asked, obvi
ously continuing a discussion that Ayla had interrupted.
"More or less. Most people detach blades from a prepared core to
make into other tools—chisels, knives, scrapers, or points for smaller
spears."
"What about bigger spears? Do you hunt mammoth?"
"Some," Jondalar said. "We don't specialize in it the way you do.
Points for bigger spears are made out of bone—I like to use the fore
leg of deer. A chisel is used to rough it out by cutting grooves in the
general outline and going over them until it breaks free. Then it is
shaved to the right shape with a scraper made on the side of a blade.
They can be brought to a strong, sharp point with wet sandstone."
Ayla, who had helped him make the bone spear points they used,
was impressed by their effectiveness. They were long and deadly, and
pierced deep when the spears were thrown with force, particularly
with the spear-thrower. Much lighter weight than the ones she had
used, which were patterned after the heavy spear of the Clan, Jon
dalar's spears were all meant for throwing, not thrusting.
"A bone point punctures deep," Wymez said. "If you hit a vital
spot, it's a quick kill, but there's not much blood. It's harder to get to
a vital spot on a mammoth or rhinoceros. The fur is deep, skin is
thick, if you get between ribs, there is still a lot of fat and muscle to
go through. The eye is a good target, but it's small, and always mov-
ing. A mammoth can be killed with a spear in the throat, but that's
dangerous. You have to get too close. A flint spear point has sharp
edges. It cuts through tough skin easier, and it draws blood, and that
weakens an animal. If you can make them bleed, the gut or the blad
der is the best place to aim. It's not quite as quick, but a lot safer."
Ay la was fascinated. Toolmaking was interesting enough, but she
had never hunted mammoth.
"You are right," Jondalar said, "but how do you make a big spear
point straight? No matter what technique you use to detach a blade,
it's always curved. That's the nature of the stone. You can't throw a
spear with a curved point, you'd lose accuracy, you'd lose penetra
tion, and probably half your force. That's why flint points are small.
By the time you pressure flake off enough of the underside to shape a
straight point, there isn't much left."
Wymez was smiling, nodding his head in agreement. "That's true,
Jondalar, but let me show you something." The older man got a
heavy hide-wrapped bundle from behind him and opened it up. He
picked up a huge axe head, a gigantolith the size of a sledgehammer,
made from a whole nodule of flint. It had a rounded butt, and had
been shaped to a rather thick cutting end that came to a point.
"You've made something like this, I'm sure."
Jondalar smiled. "Yes, I've made axes, but nothing as big as that.
That must be for Talut."
"Yes, I was going to haft this to a long bone for Talut ... or maybe
Danug," Wymez said, smiling at the young man. "These are used to
break mammoth bones or to sever tusks. It takes a powerful man to
wield one. Talut handles it like a stick. I think Danug can do the same
by now."
"He can. He cut poles for me," Ayla said, looking at Danug with
appreciation, which brought on a flush and a shy smile. She, too, had
made and used hand axes, but not of that size.
"How do you make an axe?" Wymez continued.
"I usually start by breaking off a thick flake with a hammerstone,
and retouching on both sides to give it an edge and a point."
"Ranee's mother's people, the Aterians, make a spear point with
bifacial retouch."
"Bifacial? Knapped on both sides like an axe? To get it reasonably
straight, you'd have to start with a big slab of a flake, not a fine, thin
blade. Wouldn't that be too clumsy for a spear point?"
"It was somewhat thick and heavy, but a definite improvement over
an axe. And very effective for the animals they hunted. It's true,
though. To pierce a mammoth or a rhino, you need a flint point that
is long and straight, and strong, and thin. How would you do it?"
• * /•• T*-»-i^tr» f} C" pounds r}
"Bifacially. It's the only way. On a flake that thick, I'd use flat
pressure retouch to remove fine slivers from both sides," Jondalar said
thoughtfully, trying to imagine how he would make such a weapon,
"but that would take tremendous control."
"Exactly. The problem is control, and the quality of the stone."
"Yes. It would have to be fresh. Dalanar, the man who taught me,
lives near an exposed cliff of chalk that bears flint at ground level.
Maybe some of his stone would work. But even then, it would be
hard. We've made some fine axes, but I don't know how you'd make a
decent spear point that way."
Wymez reached for another package wrapped in fine soft leather.
He opened it carefully and exposed several flint points.
Jondalar's eyes opened in surprise. He looked up at Wymez, then at
Danug, who was smiling with pride for his mentor, then he picked up
one of the points. He turned it over in his hands tenderly, almost
caressing the beautifully worked stone.
The flint had a slippery feel, a smooth, not-quite-oily quality, and a
sheen that glistened from the many facets in the sunlight. The object
had the shape of a willow leaf, with near perfect symmetry in all
dimensions, and it extended the full length of his hand from the base
of his palm to his fingertips. Starting at one end in a point, it spread
out to the breadth of four fingers in the middle, then back to a point at
the other end. Turning it on edge, Jondalar saw that it did indeed lack
the characteristic bowed shape of the blade tools. It was perfectly
straight, with a cross section about the thickness of his small finger.
He felt the edge professionally. Very sharp, just slightly denticu
lated by the scars of the many tiny flakes that had been removed. He
ran his fingertips lightly over the surface and felt the small ridges left
behind by the many similar tiny flakes that had been detached to give
the flint point such a fine, precise shape.
"This is too beautiful to use for a weapon," Jondalar said. "This is a
work of art."
"That one is not used for a weapon," Wymez said, pleased by the
praise of a fellow craftsman. "I made it as a model to show the
technique."
Ayla was craning her neck to look at the exquisitely crafted tools
nestled in the soft leather on the ground, not daring to touch. She had
never seen such beautifully made points. They were of variable sizes
and types. Besides the leaf-shaped ones, there were asymmetrical
shouldered points that tapered sharply back on one side to a project
ing shank, which would be inserted in a handle so it could be used as
a knife, and more symmetrical stemmed points with a centered tang
that might be spear points or knives of another kind.
"Would you like to examine them closer?" Wymez asked.
Her eyes gleaming with wonder, she picked each one up, handling
them as though they were precious jewels. They very nearly were.
"Flint is ... smooth . . . alive," Ayla said. "Not see flint like this
before."
Wymez smiled. "You have discovered the secret, Ayla," he said.
"That is what makes these points possible."
"Do you have flint like this nearby?" Jondalar asked, incredulous.
"I've never seen any quite like it, either."
"No, I'm afraid not. Oh, we can get good-quality flint. A large
Camp to the north lives near a good flint mine. That's where Danug
has been. But this stone has been specially treated ... by fire."
"By fire!?" Jondalar exclaimed.
"Yes. By fire. Heating changes the stone. Heating is what makes it
feel so smooth"—Wymez looked at Ayla—"so alive. And heating is
what gives the stone its special qualities." While he was talking, he
picked up a nodule of flint that showed definite signs of having been
in a fire. It was sooty and charred, and the chalky outer cortex was a
much deeper color when he cracked it open with a blow from a ham-
merstone. "It was an accident the first time. A piece of flint fell in a
fireplace. It was a big, hot fire—you know how hot a fire it takes to
burn bone?"
Ayla nodded her head knowingly. Jondalar shrugged, he hadn't
paid much attention, but since Ayla seemed to know, he was willing
to accept it.
"I was going to roll the flint out, but Nezzie decided, since it was
there, it would make a good support for a dish to catch drippings from
a roast she was cooking. It turned out that the drippings caught fire,
and ruined a good ivory platter. I replaced it for her, since it turned
out to be such a stroke of good fortune. But I almost discarded the
stone at first. It was all burnt like this, and I avoided using it until I
was low on material. The first time I cracked it open, I thought it was
ruined. Look at it, you can see why," Wymez said, giving them each a
piece.
"The flint is darker, and it does have that slick feel," Jondalar said.
"It happened that I was experimenting with Aterian spear points
trying to improve on their technique. Since I was just trying out new
ideas, I thought it didn't matter if the stone was less than perfect. But
as soon as I started working with it, I noticed the difference. It hap
pened shortly after I returned, Ranee was still a boy. I've been per
fecting it ever since."
"What kind of difference do you mean?" Jondalar asked.
"You try it, Jondalar, you'll see."
Jondalar picked up his hammerstone, an oval stone, dented and
chipped from use, that fit comfortably in his hand, and began knock
ing off the balance of the chalky cortex in preparation for working it.
"When flint is heated very hot before it is worked," Wymez con
tinued while Jondalar worked, "control over the material is much
greater. Very small chips, much finer, thinner, and longer, can be
removed by applying pressure. You can make the stone take almost
any shape you want."
Wymez wrapped his left hand with a small rag of leather to protect
it from the sharp edges, then positioned another piece of flint, re
cently flaked from one of the burned hunks, in his left hand, to dem
onstrate. With his right hand, he picked up a short, tapered bone
retoucher. He placed the pointed end of the bone against the edge of
the flint and pushed with a strong forward and downward motion,
and detached a small, long, flat sliver of stone. He held it up. Jondalar
took it from him, then experimented on his own, quite obviously sur
prised and pleased with the results.
"I've got to show this to Dalanar! This is unbelievable! He's im
proved on some of the processes—he has a natural feel for working
with the stone, like you, Wymez. But you can almost shave this
stone. This is caused by heating?"
Wymez nodded. "I wouldn't say you can shave it. It's still stone,
not quite as easy to shape as bone, but if you know how to work
stone, heating makes it easier."
"I wonder what would happen with indirect percussion . . . have
you tried using a piece of bone or antler with a point to direct the
force of a blow from a hammerstone? You can get blades that are
much longer and thinner that way."
Ayla thought that Jondalar had a natural feel for working with the
stone, too. But more than that, she sensed in his enthusiasm and
spontaneous desire to share this marvelous discovery with Dalanar, an
aching desire to go home.
In her valley, when she had been hesitant about facing the un
known Others, she had thought Jondalar only wished to leave so he
could be with other people. She had never quite understood before
just how powerful was his desire to return to his home. It came as a
revelation, an insight; she knew that he could never be truly happy
any other place.
Though she desperately missed her son and the people she loved,
Ayla hadn't felt homesickness in Jondalar's sense, as a yearning to go
back to a familiar place, where people were known, and customs were
comfortable. She had known when she left the Clan she could never
return. To them, she was dead. If they saw her, they would think she
was a malicious spirit. And now, she knew she would not go back to
live with them even if she could. Though she had been with the Lion
Camp only a short time, she already felt more comfortable and at
home than she had in all the years she lived with the Clan. Iza had
been right. She was not Clan. She was born to the Others.
Lost in thought, Ay la had missed some further discussion. Hearing
Jondalar mention her name brought her back.
"... I think Ay la's technique must be close to theirs. That's where
she learned. I have seen some of their tools, but I had never seen them
made before she showed me. They are not without skill, but it's a
long step from preshaping a core to an intermediary punch, and that
makes the difference between a heavy flake tool and a fine, light blade
tool."
Wymez smiled and nodded. "Now, if we could only find a way to
make a blade straight. No matter how you do it, the edge of a knife is
never quite as sharp after it's been retouched."
"I've thought about that problem," Danug said, making a contribu
tion to the discussion. "How about cutting a groove in bone or antler,
and gluing in bladelets? Small enough to be almost straight?"
Jondalar thought about it for a moment. "How would you make
them?"
"Couldn't you start with a small core?" Danug suggested, a little
tentatively.
"That might work, Danug, but a small core could be hard to work
with," Wymez said. "I've thought about starting with a bigger blade
and breaking it into smaller ones ..."
They were still talking about flint, Ay la realized. They never
seemed to tire of it. The material and its potential never ceased to
fascinate them. The more they learned, the more it stimulated their
interest. She could appreciate flint and toolmaking, and she thought
the points Wymez had shown them were finer than any she had ever
seen, as much for their beauty as for their use. But she had never
heard the subject discussed in such exhaustive detail. Then, she re
membered her fascination with medical lore and healing magic. The
times she had spent with Iza, and Uba, when the medicine woman
was teaching them, were among her happiest memories.
Ay la noticed Nezzie coming out of the lodge, and got up to see if
she could help. Though the three men smiled and made comments as
she left, she didn't think they would even notice that she had gone.
That wasn't entirely true. Though none of the men made com
ments out loud, there was a break in their conversation as they
watched her leave.
She's a beautiful young woman, Wymez thought. Intelligent, and
knowledgeable, and interested in many things. She'd bring a high
Bride Price, if she were Mamutoi. Think what status she'd bring to a
mate, and pass on to her children.
Danug's thoughts ran along much the same lines, though they were
not as clearly formed in his mind. Vague ideas about Bride Price and
Matrimonials and even co-mating occurred to him, but he didn't think
he would stand a chance. Mostly, he just wanted to be around her.
Jondalar wanted her even more. If he could have thought of a reasonable
excuse, he would have gotten up and followed her. Yet he
feared to clutch too tight. He remembered his feelings when women
tried too hard to make him love them. Instead it had made him want
to avoid them, and feel pity. He did not want Ay la's pity. He wanted
her love.
A choking gorge of bile rose in his throat when he saw the dark-
skinned man come out of the earthlodge, and smile at her. He tried to
swallow it down, to control the anger and frustration he felt. He had
never known such jealousy, and he hated himself for it. He was sure
Ay la would hate him, or worse, pity him, if she knew how he felt. He
reached for a large nodule of flint, and with his hammerstone, he
smashed it open. The piece was flawed, shot through with the white
crumbly chalk of its outer cortex, but Jondalar kept hitting the stone,
breaking it into smaller and smaller pieces.

Ranee saw Ayla coming from the direction of the flint-knapping
area. The growing excitement and attraction he felt every time he saw
her could not be denied. He had been drawn from the beginning to
the perfection of form she presented to his aesthetic sense, not just as
a beautiful woman to look at, but in the subtle, unstudied grace of her
movements. His eye for such detail was sharp, and he could not detect
the slightest posturing or affectation. She carried herself with a
self-possession, an unafraid confidence, that seemed so completely
natural he felt she must have been born with it, and it generated a
quality he could only think of as presence.
He flashed a warm smile. It wasn't a smile that could easily be
ignored, and Ayla returned it with matching warmth.
"Have your ears been filled with flint-talk?" Ranee said, making the
last two words into one, and thereby giving the phrase a slightly derogatory
meaning. Ayla detected the nuance, but wasn't entirely sure
of its meaning, though she thought it was meant to be humorous, a
Joke.
"Yes. They talk flint. Making blades. Making tools. Points. Wymez
make beautiful points."
"Ah, he brought out his treasures, did he. You are right, they are
beautiful. I'm not always sure if he knows it, but Wymez is more than
a craftsman. He is an artist."
A frown creased Ay la's forehead. She remembered he had used that
word to describe her when she used her sling, and she wasn't sure if
she understood the word the way he used it.
"Are you artist?" she asked.
He made a wry grimace. Her question had touched at the heart of
an issue about which he had strong feelings.
His people believed that the Mother had first created a spirit world,
and the spirits of all things in it were perfect. The spirits then pro
duced living copies of themselves, to populate the ordinary world.
The spirit was the model, the pattern from which all things were
derived, but no copy could be as perfect as the original; not even the
spirits themselves could make perfect copies, that was why each was
different.
People were unique, they were closer to the Mother than other spir
its. The Mother gave birth to a copy of Herself and called her Spirit
Woman, then caused a Spirit Man to be born of her womb, just as
each man was born of woman. Then the Great Mother caused the
spirit of the perfect woman to mingle with the spirit of the perfect
man, and so give birth to many different spirit children. But She
Herself chose which man's spirit would mingle with a woman's before
She breathed Her life force into the woman's mouth to cause preg
nancy. And to a few of Her children, women and men, the Mother
gave special gifts.
Ranee referred to himself as a carver, a maker of objects carved in
the likeness of living or spiritual things. Carvings were useful objects.
They personified living spirits, made them visual, realizable, and they
were essential tools for certain rites, necessary for the ceremonies con
ducted by the mamuti. Those who could create such objects were
held in great esteem; they were gifted artists, whom the Mother had
chosen.
Many people thought that all carvers, indeed, all people who could
create or decorate objects to make them something more than simply
utilitarian, were artists, but in Ranee's opinion, not all artists were
equally gifted, or perhaps they didn't give equal care to their work.
The animals and figures they made were crude. He felt such represen
tations were an insult to the spirits, and to the Mother who created
them.
In Ranee's eye the finest and most perfect example of anything was
beautiful, and anything beautiful was the finest and most perfect ex
ample of spirit; it was the essence of it. That was his religion. Beyond
that, at the core of his aesthetic soul, he felt that beauty had an intrin-
<;ir value of its own, and he believed there was a potential for beauty
in everything. While some activities or objects could be simply functional,
he felt that anyone who came close to achieving perfection in
any activity was an artist, and the results contained the essence of
beauty. But the art was as much in the activity as in the results.
Works of art were not just the finished product, but the thought, the
action, the process that created them.
Ranee sought out beauty, almost as a holy quest, with his own
skilled hands but more with his innately sensitive eye. He felt a need
to surround himself with it, and he was beginning to view Ay la, herself,
as a work of art, as the finest, most perfect expression of woman
he could imagine. It was not just her appearance that made her beautiful.
Beauty was not a static picture; it was essence, it was spirit, it
was that which animated. It was best expressed in movement, behavior,
accomplishment. A beautiful woman was a complete and dynamic
woman. Though he did not say it in so many words, Ayla was coming
to represent for him a perfect incarnation of the original Spirit
Woman. She was the essence of woman, the essence of beauty.
The dark man with the laughing eyes and the ironic wit, which he
had learned to use to mask his deep longings, strove to create perfection
and beauty in his own work. For his efforts, he was acclaimed by
his people as the finest carver, an artist of true distinction, but, as
with many perfectionists, he was never quite satisfied with his own
creations. He would not refer to himself as an artist.
"I am a carver," he said to Ayla. Then, because he saw her puzzlement,
he added, "Some people will call any carver an artist." He hesitated
a moment, wondering how she would judge his work, then said,
"Would you like to see some of my carvings?"
"Yes," she said.
The simple directness of her reply stopped him for a moment, then
he threw his head back and laughed out loud. Of course, what else
would she say? His eyes crinkling with delight, he beckoned her into
the lodge.

Jondalar watched them go through the arched entrance together and
felt a heaviness descend upon him. He closed his eyes and dropped
his head to his chest in dejection.
The tall and handsome man had never suffered for lack of female
attention, but since he lacked understanding of the quality that made
him so attractive, he had no faith in it. He was a maker of tools, more
comfortable with the physical than the metaphysical, better at applying
his considerable intelligence to understanding the technical aspects
of pressure and percussion on homogeneous crystalline silica--flint.
He perceived the world in physical terms.
He expressed himself physically as well; he was better with his
hands than with words. Not that he was inarticulate, just not especially
gifted with words. He had learned to tell a story well enough,
but he wasn't quick with glib answers and humorous retorts. He was
a serious and private man, who didn't like to talk about himself,
though he was a sensitive listener, which attracted confessions and
confidences from others. At home, he had been renowned as a fine
craftsman, but the same hands that could so carefully shape hard
stone into fine tools were also skilled in the ways of a woman's body.
It was another expression of his physical nature, and, though not as
openly, he had been equally renowned for it. Women pursued him,
and jokes were made of his "other" craft.
It was a skill he had learned as he had learned to shape flint. He
knew where to touch, was receptive and responsive to subtle signals,
and he derived pleasure from giving Pleasure. His hands, his eyes, his
entire body, spoke more eloquently than any words he ever uttered. If
Ranee had been a woman, he would have called him an artist.
Jondalar had developed genuine affection and warmth for some
women, and enjoyed them all physically, but he did not love, until he
met Ayla, and he did not feel confident that she truly loved him. How
could she? She had no basis for comparison. He was the only man she
knew until they came here. He recognized the carver as a man of
distinction and considerable charm, and saw the signs of his growing
attraction to Ayla. He knew that if any man could, Ranee was capable
of winning Ay la's love. Jondalar had traveled half the world before he
found a woman he could love. Now that he had finally found her,
would he lose her so soon?
But did he deserve to lose her? Could he bring her back with him
knowing how his people felt about women like her? For all his jealousy,
he was beginning to wonder if he was the right person for her.
He told himself that he wanted to be fair to her, but in his innermost
heart he wondered if he could bear the stigma of loving the wrong
woman, again.
Danug saw Jondalar's anguish and looked at Wymez with troubled
eyes. Wymez only nodded knowingly. He, too, had once loved a
woman of exotic beauty, but Ranee was the son of his hearth, and
overdue in finding a woman to settle down and raise a family with.

Ranee led Ayla to the Hearth of the Fox. Though she had passed
through it several times every day, she had studiously avoided curious
looks at the private quarters; it was one custom from her life with the
Clan that applied to the Lion Camp. In the open house plan of the
earthlodge, privacy was not so much a matter of closed doors as of
consideration, respect, and tolerance for each other.

"c;<
'Sit down," he said, motioning her to a bed platform strewn with
soft, luxurious furs. She looked around, now that it was acceptable to
satisfy her curiosity. Though they shared a hearth, the two men who
lived on opposite sides of the central passageway had living spaces
that were uniquely individual.
Across the fireplace, the toolmaker's area had a look of indifferent
simplicity. There was a bed platform with a stuffed pad and furs, and
a leather drape haphazardly tied above that looked as though it hadn't
been untied in years. Some clothing hung from pegs, and more was
piled on a section of the bed platform extending along the wall beyond
the partition at the head of the bed.
The working area took up most of the room, defined by chunks,
broken pieces, and chips of flint surrounding a mammoth foot bone
used as both a seat and an anvil. Various stone and bone hammers and
retouchers were in evidence on the extension of the bed platform at
the foot. The only decorative objects were an ivory figurine of the
Mother in a niche on the wall, and hanging next to it, an intricately
decorated girdle from which a dried and withered grass skirt hung.
Ayla knew without asking that it had belonged to Ranee's mother.
In contrast, the carver's side was tastefully sumptuous. Ranee was a
collector, but a very selective one. Everything was chosen with care,
and displayed to show its best qualities and to complement the whole
with a textural richness. The furs on the bed invited touching, and
gratified the touch with exceptional softness. The drapes on both
sides, hanging in careful folds, were velvety buckskin of a deep tan
shade, and smelled faintly, but pleasantly, of the pine smoke that gave
them their color. The floor was covered with mats of some aromatic
grass exquisitely woven with colorful designs.
On an extension of the bed platform were baskets of various sizes
and shapes; the larger ones held clothing arranged to show the deco
rative beadwork or feather and fur designs. In some of the baskets and
hanging from pegs were carved ivory armbands and bracelets, and
necklaces of animal teeth, freshwater mollusc shells, seashells, cylin
drical lime tubes, natural and colored ivory beads and pendants, and
prominent among them, amber. A large flake of mammoth tusk, in
cised with unusual geometric designs, was on the wall. Even hunting
weapons and outer clothing that hung from pegs added to the overall
effect.
The more she looked, the more she saw, but the objects that
seemed to reach for and hold her attention were a beautifully made
ivory Mother figure in a niche, and the carvings near his work area.
Ranee watched her, noting where her eyes stayed, and knowing
what she was seeing. When her eyes settled on him, he smiled. He sat
down at his workbench, the lower leg bone of a mammoth sunk into
the floor so that the flat, slightly concave knee joint reached just about
chest high when he sat on a mat on the floor. On the curved horizon
tal work surface, amid a variety of burins, chisellike flint tools which
he used for carving, was an unfinished carving of a bird.
"This is the piece I'm working on," he said, watching her expres
sion as he held it out to her.
She carefully cradled the ivory sculpture in her hands, looked at it,
then turned it over and examined it closer. Then looking puzzled, she
turned it one way, and then the other again. "Is bird when I look this
way," she said to Ranee, "but now"—she held it up the other way—
"is woman!"
"Wonderful! You saw it right away. It's something I've been trying
to work out. I wanted to show the transformation of the Mother, Her
spiritual form. I want to show Her when She takes on Her bird form
to fly from here to the spirit world, but still as the Mother, as woman.
To incorporate both forms at once!"
Ranee's dark eyes flashed, he was so excited he almost couldn't
speak fast enough. Ay la smiled at his enthusiasm. It was a side of him
she hadn't seen before. He usually seemed much more detached, even
when he laughed. For a moment, Ranee reminded her of Jondalar
when he was developing the idea for the spear-thrower. She frowned
at the thought. Those summer days in the valley seemed so long ago.
Now Jondalar almost never smiled, or if he did, he was angry the next
moment. She had a sudden feeling that Jondalar would not like her to
be there, talking to Ranee, hearing his pleasure and excitement, and
that made her unhappy, and a little angry.
11

yla, there you are," Deegie said, passing through the Fox
Hearth. "We're going to start the music. Come along. You, too,
Ranee."
Deegie had collected most of the Lion Camp on her way through.
Ayla noticed that she carried the mammoth skull and Tornec the
scapula which was painted with red ordered lines and geometric
shapes, and that Deegie had used the unfamiliar word again. Ayla and
Ranee followed them outside.
Wispy clouds raced across a darkening sky to the north, and the
wind picked up, parting the fur on hoods and parkas, but none of the
people gathering in a circle seemed to notice. The outdoor fireplace,
which had been constructed with mounds of soil and a few rocks to
take advantage of the prevailing north wind, burned hotter as more
bone and some wood was added, but the fire was an invisible presence
overpowered by the coruscating glow descending in the west.
Some large bones that seemed to have been randomly left lying
around took on a planned purpose as Deegie and Tornec joined
Mamut and seated themselves on them. Deegie placed the marked
skull down so that it was held off the ground, supported front and
back by other large bones. Tornec held the painted scapula in an upright
position, and tapped it in various places with the hammer-
shaped implement made of antler, adjusting the position slightly.
Ayla was astounded at the sounds they produced, different from
the sounds she had heard inside. There was a sense of drum rhythms,
but this sound had distinct tones, like nothing she had heard before,
yet it had a hauntingly familiar quality. In variability, the tones reminded
her of voice sounds, like the sounds she sometimes hummed
quietly to herself, yet more distinct. Was that music?
Suddenly a voice sang out. Ayla turned and saw Barzec, his head
thrown back, making a loud ululating cry that pierced the air. He
dropped to a low vibrato that evoked a lump of feeling in Ayla's
throat, and ended with a sharp, high-pitched burst of air, that somehow
managed to leave a question hanging. In response, the three musicians
began a rapid beating on the mammoth bones, which repeated
the sound Barzec had made, matching it in tone and feeling in a way
that Ay la couldn't explain.
Soon others joined in singing, not with words, but with tones and
voice sounds, accompanied by the mammoth bone instruments. After
a time, the music changed and gradually took on a different quality. It
became slower, more deliberate, and the tones created a feeling of
sadness. Fralie began to sing in a high, sweet voice, this time with
words. She told a story of a woman who lost her mate, and whose
child had died. It touched Ayla deeply, made her think of Durc, and
brought tears to her eyes. When she looked up, she saw she was not
alone, but she was most moved when she noticed Crozie, impassively
staring ahead, her old face expressionless, but with rivulets of tears
streaming down her cheeks.
As Fralie repeated the last phrases of the song, Tronic joined in,
then Latie. On the next repetition, the phrase was varied, and Nezzie
and Tulie, whose voice was a rich, deep contralto, sang with them.
The phrase varied once more, more voices were added, and the music
changed character again. It became a story of the Mother, and a leg
end of the people, the spirit world and their beginnings. When the
women came to the place where Spirit Man was born, the men joined
in, and the music alternated between the women's and the men's
voices, and a friendly spirit of competition entered in.
The music became faster, more rhythmic. In a burst of exuberance,
Talut pulled off his outer fur and landed in the center of the group
with feet moving, fingers snapping. Amid laughter, shouts of ap
proval, feet stomping and thigh slapping, Talut was encouraged in an
athletic dance of kicking feet and high leaps in time to the music. Not
to be outdone, Barzec joined him. As they were both tiring, Ranee
entered the circle. His fast-stepping dance, displaying more intricate
movements, brought on more shouts and applause. Before he stopped,
he called for Wymez, who hung back at first, but then, encouraged by
the people, began a dance whose movements had a distinctly different
character to them.
Ayla was laughing and shouting with the rest, enjoying the music,
singing, and dancing, but mostly the enthusiasm and fun, which filled
her with good feelings. Druwez jumped in with a nimble display of
acrobatics, then Brinan tried to copy him. His dance lacked the polish
of his older brother's, but he was applauded for his efforts, which
encouraged Crisavec, Fralie's oldest son, to join him. Then Tusie de
cided she wanted to dance. Barzec, with a doting smile, took both her
hands in his and danced with her. Talut, taking a cue from Barzec,
found Nezzie and brought her into the circle. Jondalar tried to coax
Ayla to join, but she held back, then, noticing Latie looking with
glistening eyes at the dancers, nudged him to see her.
"Will you show me the steps, Latie?" he asked.
She gave the tall man a grateful smile, Talut's smile, Ayla noted
again, and took both his hands as they moved toward the others. She
was slender and tall for her twelve years, and moved gracefully. Com
paring her with the other women with an outsider's vision, Ayla
thought she would be a very attractive woman one day.
More women joined the dance, and as the music changed character
again, nearly everyone was moving in time to it. People began sing
ing, and Ayla felt herself drawn forward to join hands and form a
circle. With Jondalar on one side and Talut on the other, she moved
forward and back and round and round, dancing and singing, as the
music pushed them faster and faster.
Finally, with a last shout, the music ended. People were laughing,
talking, catching their breath, the musicians as well as the dancers.
"Nezzie! Isn't that food ready yet? I've been smelling it all day, and
I'm starving!" Talut shouted.
"Look at him," Nezzie said, nodding toward her great hulk of a
man. "Doesn't he look like he's starving?" People chuckled. "Yes, the
food is ready. We've just been waiting until everyone was ready to
eat."
"Well, I'm ready," Talut replied.
While some people went to get their dishes, the ones who had
cooked brought out the food. Each person's dishes were individual
possessions. Plates were often flat pelvic or shoulder bones from bison
or deer, cups and bowls might be tightly woven, waterproof small
baskets or sometimes the cup-shaped frontal bones of deer with the
antlers removed. Clamshells and other bivalves, traded for, along with
salt, from people who visited or lived near the sea, were used for
smaller dishes, scoops, and the smallest ones for spoons.
Mammoth pelvic bones were trays and platters. Food was served
with large ladles carved from bone or ivory or antler or horn, and
with straight pieces casually manipulated like tongs. Smaller straight
tongs were used for eating along with the flint eating knives. Salt, rare
and special so far inland, was served separately from a rare and beau
tiful mollusc shell.
Nezzie's stew was as rich and delicious as the aroma had proclaimed
it would be, complemented by Tulie's small loaf cakes of ground grain
which had been dropped in the boiling stew to cook. Though two
birds did not go far in feeding the hungry Camp, everyone sampled
Ayla's ptarmigan. Cooked in the ground oven, it was so tender it fell
apart. Her combination of seasonings, though unusual to the palates
of the Mamutoi, was well received by the Lion Camp. They ate it all.
Ayla decided she liked the grain stuffing.
Ranee brought out his dish near fh^ or>/4 ^f -i-- — '
everyone because it was not his usual specialty. Instead he passed
around crisp little cakes. Ay la sampled one, then reached for another.
"How you make this?" she asked. "Is so good."
"Unless we can get a contest going every time, I don't think they
will be too easy to make again. I used the powdered grain, mixed it
with rendered mammoth fat, then added blueberries and talked
Nezzie out of a little of her honey, and cooked it on hot rocks. Wymez
said my mother's people used boar's fat to cook with, but he wasn't
sure how. Since I don't remember even seeing a boar, I thought I'd
settle for mammoth fat."
"Taste is same, almost," Ay la said, "but nothing taste like this.
Disappears in mouth." Then she looked speculatively at the man with
brown skin and black eyes and tight curly hair, who was, in spite of
his exotic appearance, as much a Mamutoi of the Lion Camp as anyone.
"Why you cook?"
He laughed. "Why not? There are only two of us at the Hearth of
the Fox, and I enjoy it, though I'm glad enough to eat from Nezzie's
fire most of the time. Why do you ask?"
"Men of the Clan not cook."
"A lot of men don't, if they don't have to."
"No, men of the Clan not able to cook. Not know how. Not have
memories for cooking." Ay la wasn't sure if she was making herself
clear, but Talut came then pouring drinks of his fermented brew, and
she noticed Jondalar eying her, trying not to look upset. She held out
a bone cup and watched Talut fill it with bouza. She hadn't liked it
very much the first time she tasted it, but everyone else seemed to
enjoy it so much she thought she'd try it again.
After Talut had poured for everyone, he picked up his plate and
went back for a third helping of stew.
"Talut! Are you going back for more?" Nezzie said, in the not-
quite-scolding tone that Ay la was coming to recognize as Nezzie's
way of saying she was pleased with the big headman.
'But you've outdone yourself. This is the best stew I've ever
*«
eaten."
"Exaggerating again. You're saying that so I won't call you a
glutton."
"Now, Nezzie," Talut said, putting his dish down. Everyone was
smiling, giving each other knowing looks. "When I say you're the
best, I mean you're the best." He picked her up and nuzzled her neck.
"Talut! You big bear. Put me down."
He did as he was bid, but fondled her breast and nibbled an ear-
lobe. "I think you're right. Who needs more stew? I think I'll finish
off dinner with you. Didn't I get a promise earlier?" he replied, with

» f} n r^r* f^ t~} r" f^
"Talut! You're as bad as a bull in heat!"
"First I'm a wolverine, then I'm a bear, now I'm an aurochs." He
bellowed a laugh. "But you're the lioness. Come to my hearth," he
said, making motions as if he was going to pick her up and carry her
off to the lodge.
Suddenly she gave in and laughed. "Oh, Talut. How dull life
would be without you!"
Talut grinned, and the love and understanding in their eyes when
they looked at each other spread its warmth. Ay la felt the glow, and
deep in her soul she sensed that their closeness had come from learn
ing to accept each other as they were, over a lifetime of shared
experiences.
But their contentment brought disquieting thoughts to her. Would
she ever know such acceptance? Would she ever understand anyone so
well? She sat mulling over her thoughts, staring out across the river,
and shared a quiet moment with the others as the broad empty land
scape staged an awesome display.
The clouds to the north had expanded their territory by the time
the Lion Camp finished the feast, and presented their reflecting sur
faces to a rapidly retreating sun. In a flagrant blaze of glory, they
proclaimed their triumph across the far horizon, flaunting their vic
tory in blaring banners of orange and scarlet—careless of the dark
ally, the other side of day. The lofty show of flying colors, flamboy
ant in its brazen splendor, was a short-lived celebration. The inexora
ble march of night sapped the volatile brilliance, and subdued the
fiery tones to sanguine shades of carmine and carnelian. Flaming pink
faded to smoky lavender, was overcome by ash purple, and finally
surrendered to sooty black.
The wind increased with the coming night, and the warmth and
shelter of the earthlodge beckoned. In the fading light, individual
dishes were scoured by each person with sand and rinsed with water.
The balance of Nezzie's stew was poured into a bowl and the large
cooking hide was cleaned the same way, then hung over the frame to
dry. Inside, outer clothing was pulled off and hung on pegs, and fire
places were stoked and fed.
Tronic's baby, Hartal, fed and contented, went to sleep quickly,
but three-year-old Nuvie, struggling to keep her eyes open, wanted to
join the others who were beginning to congregate at the Mammoth
Hearth. Ayla picked her up and held her when she toddled over, then
carried her back to Tronic, sound asleep, before the young mother
even left her hearth.
At the Hearth of the Crane, though he had eaten from his mother's
dish, Ayla noticed that Fralie's two-year-old son, Tasher, wanted to
nurse, then fussed and whined, which convinced Ayla that his
mother's milk was gone. He had just fallen asleep when an argument
erupted between Crozie and Frebec and woke him. Fralie, too tired to
spend energy on anger, picked him up and held him, but seven-year-
old Crisavec had a scowl on his face.
He left with Brinan and Tusie when they came through. They
found Rugie and Rydag, and all five children, who were near the
same age, immediately began talking with words and hand signs, and
giggling. They crowded onto a vacant bed platform together next to
the one shared by Ay la and Jondalar.
Druwez and Danug were huddled together near the Fox Hearth.
Latie was standing nearby, but either they didn't see her or weren't
talking to her. Ay la watched her turn her back on the boys finally
and, with her head down, shuffle slowly toward the younger children.
The girl was not yet a young woman, Ay la guessed, but not far from
it. It was a time when girls wanted other girls to talk to, but there
were no girls her age at the Lion Camp, and the boys were ignoring
her.
"Latie, you sit with me?" she asked. Latie brightened and sat beside
Ay la.
The rest of the Aurochs Hearth came through the longhouse along
the passageway. Tulie and Barzec joined Talut, who was conferring
with Mamut. Deegie sat on the other side of Latie, and smiled at her.
"Where's Druwez?" she asked. "I always knew if I wanted to find
him, I just had to find you."
"Oh, he's talking to Danug," Latie said. "They're always together
now. I was so glad when my brother came back, I thought all three of
us would have so much to talk about. But they just want to talk to
each other."
Deegie and Ay la caught each other's eye, and a knowing glance
passed between them. The time had come when the friendships made
as children needed to be looked at in a new light, and rearranged into
the patterns of adult relationships when they would know each other
as women and men, but it could be a confusing, lonely time. Ay la had
been excluded and alienated, one way or another, for most of her life.
She understood what it meant to be lonely, even when surrounded by
people who loved her. Later, in her valley, she had found a way to
ease a more desperate loneliness, and she recalled the yearning and
excitement in the girl's eyes whenever she looked at the horses.
Ay la looked at Deegie, then at Latie to include her in the conversa
tion. "This is so busy day. Many days so busy. I need help, could
help me, Latie?" Ayla asked.
"Help you? Of course. What do you want me to do?"
"Before, every day I brush horses, go for ride. Now, I not have so
much time, but horses need. Could help me? I show you."
Latie's eyes grew big and round. "You want me to help you take
care of the horses?" she asked in a surprised whisper. "Oh, Ayla,
could I?"
"Yes. As long as I am stay here, would be so much help," Ayla
replied.
Everyone had crowded into the Mammoth Hearth. Talut and Tulie
and several others were talking about the bison hunt with Mamut.
The old man had made the Search, and they were discussing whether
he should Search again. Since the hunt had been so successful, they
wondered if another would be possible soon. He agreed to try.
The big headman passed around more of the bouza, the fermented
drink he had made from the starch of cattail roots, while Mamut was
preparing himself for the Search, and filled Ayla's cup. She drank
most of the fermented brew he had given her outside, but felt a little
guilty for throwing some away. This time, she smelled it, swished it
around a few times, then took a deep breath and swallowed it down.
Talut smiled and filled her cup again. She returned an insipid smile,
and drank it, too. He filled her cup once more when he passed by and
found it empty. She didn't want it, but it was too late to refuse. She
closed her eyes and gulped the strong liquid. She was getting more
used to the taste, but she still couldn't understand why everyone
seemed to like it so much.
While she was waiting, a dizziness came over her, her ears buzzed,
and her perceptions grew foggy. She didn't notice when Tornec be
gan a rhythmic tonal beating on the mammoth shoulder bone; it
seemed instead to have happened inside her. She shook her head and
tried to pay attention. She concentrated on Mamut and watched him
swallow something, and had a vague feeling that it wasn't safe. She
wanted to stop him, but stayed where she was. He was Mamut, he
must know what he was doing.
The tall, thin, old man with the white beard and the long white
hair sat cross-legged behind another skull drum. He picked up an
antler hammer and after a pause to listen, played along with Tornec,
then began a chanting song. The chanting was picked up by others,
and soon most of the people were deeply involved in a mesmerizing
sequence that consisted of repetitive phrases sung in a pulsating beat
with little change in tone, alternating with arrhythmic drumming that
had more tonal variation than the voices. Another drum player joined
them, but Ayla only noticed that Deegie was not beside her any
more.
The pounding of the drums matched the pounding in Ayla's head.
Then she thought she heard more than just the chanting and the beat-
ing drums. The changing tones, the various cadences, the alterations
of pitch and volume in the drumming, began to suggest voices, speaking
voices, saying something she could almost, but not quite, understand.
She tried to concentrate, strained to listen, but her mind wasn't
clear and the harder she tried, the further from comprehension the
voices of the drums seemed to be. Finally she let go, gave in to the
whirling dizziness that seemed to engulf her.
Then she heard the drums, and suddenly she was swept away.

She was traveling, fast, across the bleak and frozen plains. In the
empty landscape stretched out below her, all but the most distinctive
features were shrouded in a veil of windblown snow. Slowly, she
became aware she was not alone. A fellow traveler viewed the same
scene, and in some inexplicable way, exercised a degree of control
over their speed and direction.
Then, faintly, like a distant aural beacon, a point of reference, she
heard voices chanting and drums talking. In a moment of clarity, she
heard a word, spoken in an eerie staccato throbbing that approximated,
if it did not exactly reproduce, the pitch, tone, and resonance
of a human voice.
"Zzzlloooow." Then again, "Zzllooow heeerrrr."
She felt their speed slow, and looking down, saw a few bison huddled
in the lee of a high riverbank. The huge animals stood in stoic
resignation in the driving blizzard, snow clinging to their shaggy
coats, their heads lowered as though weighted down by the massive
black horns that extended out. Only the steam blowing from the
nostrils of their distinctively blunted faces gave a hint that they were
living creatures and not features of the land.
Ay la felt herself drawn closer, close enough to count them and to
notice individual animals. A young one moved a few steps to crowd
against her mother; an old cow, whose left horn was broken off at the
tip, shook her head and snorted; a bull pawed the ground, pushing
snow aside, then nibbled on the exposed clump of withered grass. In
the distance a howl could be heard; the wind, perhaps.
The view expanded again as they pulled back, and she caught a
glimpse of silent four-legged shapes moving with stealth and purpose.
The river flowed between twin outcrops below the huddled bison.
Upstream, the floodplain where the bison had sought shelter, narrowed
between high banks and the river rushed through a steep gorge
of jagged rock, then gushed out in rapids and small waterfalls. The
only outlet was a steep rocky defile, a runoff for spring floods, that led
back up to the steppes.
"Hhooomme."
The long vowel of the word resonated in Ayla's ear with intensified
vibrations, and then she was moving again, streaking over the plains.

"Ayla! Are you all right?" Jondalar said.
Ayla felt a spastic jump wrench her body, then opened her eyes to
see a pair of startling blue ones looking at her with a worried frown.
"Uh . . . yes. I think so."
"What happened? Latie said you fell back on the bed, then got stiff
and then started jerking. After that you went to sleep, and no one
could wake you."
"I don't know ..."
"You came with me, of course, Ayla." They both turned at
Mamut's voice.
"I go with you? Where?" Ayla asked.
The old man gave her a searching look. She's frightened, he
thought. No wonder, she didn't expect it. It's fearful enough the first
time when you're prepared for it. But I didn't think to prepare her. I
didn't suspect her natural ability would be so great. She didn't even
take the somuti. Her gift is too powerful. She must be trained, for her
own protection, but how much can I tell her now? I don't want her to
think of her Talent as a burden she must bear all her life. I want her
to know it is a gift, even though it carries a heavy responsibility . . .
but She doesn't usually bestow Her Gifts on those who cannot accept
them. The Mother must have a special purpose for this young
woman.
"Where do you think we went, Ayla?" the old shaman asked.
"Not sure. Outside ... I was in blizzard, and I see bison . . . with
broken horn ... by river."
"You saw clearly. I was surprised when I felt you with me. But I
should have realized it might happen, I knew you had potential. You
have a gift, Ayla, but you need training, guidance."
"A gift?" Ayla asked, sitting up. She felt a chill, and, for an instant,
a shock of fear. She didn't want any gifts. She only wanted a mate
and children, like Deegie, or any other woman. "What kind of gift,
Mamut?"
Jondalar saw her face pale. She looks so scared, and so vulnerable,
he thought, putting his arm around her. He wanted only to hold her,
to protect her from harm, to love her. Ayla leaned into his warmth
and felt her apprehension lessen. Mamut noted the subtle interactions
and added them to his considerations about this young woman of
mystery who had suddenly appeared in their midst. Why, he wondered,
in their midst?
He didn't believe it was chance that led Ayla to the Lion Camp.
Accident or coincidence did not figure largely in his conception of the
world. The Mamut was convinced that everything had a purpose, a
directing guidance, a reason for being, whether or not he understood
what it was, and he was sure the Mother had a reason for directing
Ay la to them. He had made some astute guesses about her, and now
that he knew more about her background, he wondered if part of the
reason she was sent to them was because of him. He knew it was
likely that he, more than anyone, would understand her.
"I'm not sure what kind of gift, Ayla. A gift from the Mother can
take many forms. It seems you have a gift for Healing. Probably your
way with animals is a gift as well."
Ayla smiled. If the healing magic she learned from Iza was a gift,
she didn't mind that. And if Whinney and Racer and Baby were gifts
from the Mother, she was grateful. She already believed the Spirit of
the Great Cave Lion had sent them to her. Maybe the Mother had
something to do with it, too.
"And from what I learned today, I would say you have a gift for
Searching. The Mother has been lavish with Her Gifts to you,"
Mamut said.
Jondalar's forehead furrowed with concern. Too much attention
from Doni was not necessarily desirable. He had been told often
enough how well favored he was; it hadn't brought him much hap
piness. Suddenly he remembered the words of the old white-haired
Healer who had Served the Mother for the people of the Sharamudoi.
The Shamud had told him once that the Mother favored him so much
no woman could refuse him, not even the Mother Herself could refuse
him—that was his gift—but warned him to be wary. Gifts from the
Mother were not an unmixed blessing, they put one in Her debt. Did
that mean Ayla was in Her debt?
Ayla wasn't sure if she liked the last gift very much. "I not know
Mother, or gifts. I think Cave Lion, my totem, send Whinney."
Mamut looked surprised. "The Cave Lion is your totem?"
Ayla noticed his expression, and recalled how difficult it had been
for the Clan to believe that a female could have a powerful male totem
protecting her. "Yes. Mog-ur told me. Cave Lion choose me, and
make mark. I show you," Ayla explained. She untied the waist thong
of the legged garment, and lowered the flap enough to expose her left
thigh, and the four parallel scars made by a sharp claw, evidence of
her encounter with a cave lion.
The marks were old, long healed, Mamut noted. She must have
been quite young. How had a young girl escaped from a cave lion?
"How did you get that mark?" he asked.
"I not remember . . . but have dream."
Mamut was interested. "A dream?" he encouraged.
"Comes back, sometime. I am in dark place, small place. Light
comes in small opening. Then"—she closed her eyes and swal
lowed—"something block light. I am frightened. Then big lion claw
come in, sharp nails. I scream, wake up."
"I have had a dream about cave lions recently," Mamut said.
"That's why I was so interested in your dream. I dreamed of a pride
of cave lions, sunning themselves out on the steppes on a hot summer
day. There are two cubs. One of them, a she-cub,- tries to play with
the male, a big one with a reddish mane. She reaches up with a paw,
and bats his face, gently, more like she just wants to touch him. The
big male shoves her aside, and then holds her down with a huge fore
arm, and washes her with his long raspy tongue."
Both Ay la and Jondalar listened, entranced.
"Then, suddenly," Mamut continued, "there is a disturbance. A
herd of reindeer is running straight at them. At first I thought they
were attacking—dreams often have deeper meaning than they seem—
but these deer are in a panic, and when they see the lions, they scat
ter. In the process, the she-cub's brother gets trampled. When it's
over, the lioness tries to get the little male to get up, but she can't
revive him, so finally she leaves with just the little she-cub and the
rest of the pride."
Ayla was sitting in a state of shock.
"What's wrong, Ayla?" Mamut asked.
"Baby! Baby was brother. I chase reindeer, hunting. Later, I find
little cub, hurt. Bring to cave. Heal him. Raise him like baby."
"The cave lion you raised had been trampled by reindeer?" It was
Mamut's turn to feel shock. This could not be merely coincidence or
similarity of environment. This had powerful significance. He had felt
the cave lion dream should be interpreted for its symbolic values, but
there was more meaning here than he had realized. This went beyond
Searching, beyond his previous experience. He would have to think
deeply about it, and he felt he needed to know more. "Ayla, if you
wouldn't mind answering ..."
They were interrupted by loud arguing.
"You don't care about Fralie! You didn't even pay a decent Bride
Price!" Crozie screeched.
"And you don't care about anything but your status! I'm tired of
hearing about her low Bride Price. I paid what you asked when no
one else would."
"What do you mean, no one else would? You begged me for her.
You said you'd take care of her and her children. You said you'd
welcome me to your hearth. ..."
"Haven't I? Haven't I done that?" Frebec shouted.
"You call this making me welcome? When have you shown your
respect? When have you honored me as a mother?"
"When have you shown me respect? Whatever I say, you argue
about."
"If you ever said something intelligent, no one would need to argue.
Fralie deserves more. Look at her, full of the Mother's blessing ..."
"Mother, Frebec, please, stop fighting," Fralie interjected. "I just
want to rest. ..."
She looked drawn and pale, and she worried Ay la. As the argument
raged, the medicine woman in her could see how it distressed the
pregnant woman. She got up and was drawn to the Hearth of the
Crane.
"Can't you see Fralie upset?" Ayla said when both the old woman
and the man stopped just long enough for her to speak. "She need
help. You not help. You make sick. Not good, this fighting, for preg
nant woman. Make lose baby."
Both Crozie and Frebec looked at her with surprise, but Crozie was
quicker to recover.
"See, didn't I tell you? You don't care about Fralie. You don't even
want her to talk to this woman who knows something about it. If she
loses the baby, it will be your fault!"
"What does she know about it!" Frebec sneered. "Raised by a
bunch of dirty animals, what can she know about medicine? Then she
brings animals here. She's nothing but an animal herself. You're right,
I'm not going to let Fralie near this abomination. Who knows what
evil spirits she has brought into this lodge? If Fralie loses the baby it
will be her fault! Her and her Mother-damned flatheads!"
Ayla staggered back as though she had been dealt a physical blow.
The force of the vituperative attack took her breath away and ren
dered the rest of the Camp speechless. In the stunned silence, she
gasped a strangled, sobbing cry, turned and ran out through the
lodge. Jondalar grabbed her parka, and his, and ran after her.
Ayla pushed through the heavy drape of the outer archway into the
teeth of screaming wind. The ominous storm that had been threaten
ing all day brought no rain or snow, but howled with fierce intensity
beyond the thick walls of the earthlodge. With no barrier to check
their savage blast, the difference in atmospheric pressures caused by
the great walls of glacial ice to the north created winds of hurricane
force across the vast open steppes.
She whistled for Whinney, and heard an answering neigh close by.
Coming out of the dark on the lee side of the longhouse, the mare and
her colt appeared.
"Ay la! You weren't thinking of going for a ride in this windstorm, I
hope," Jondalar said, coming out of the lodge. "Here, I brought your
parka. It's cold out here. You must be freezing already."
"Oh, Jondalar. I can't stay here," she cried.
"Put your parka on, Ay la," he insisted, helping to pull it over her
head. Then he took her in his arms. He had expected a scene such as
the one Frebec had just made, much earlier. He knew it was bound to
happen when she talked so openly about her background. "You can't
leave now. Not in this. Where would you go?"
"I don't know. I don't care," she sobbed. "Away from here."
"What about Whinney? And Racer? This is no weather for them to
be out in."
Ayla clung to Jondalar without answering, but on another level of
consciousness, she had noticed that the horses had sought shelter close
to the earthlodge. It bothered her that she had no cave to offer them
for protection from bad weather, as they were used to. And Jondalar
was right. She couldn't possibly leave on a night like this.
"I don't want to stay here, Jondalar. As soon as it clears up, I want
to go back to the valley."
"If you want, Ayla. We'll go back. After it clears. But now, let's go
back inside."
L
ook how much ice is clinging to their coats," Ay la said,
trying to brush away with her hand the icicles hanging in matted
clumps to Whinney's long shaggy hair. The mare snorted, raising a
steaming cloud of warm vapor in the cold morning air, which was
quickly dissipated by the sharp wind. The storm had let up, but the
clouds overhead still looked ominous.
"But horses are always outside in winter. They don't usually live in
caves, Ayla," Jondalar said, trying to sound reasonable.
"And many horses die in winter, even though they stay in sheltered
places when the weather is bad. Whinney and Racer have always had
a warm and dry place when they wanted one. They don't live with a
herd, they aren't used to being out all the time. This is not a good
place for them . . . and it's not a good place for me. You said we could
leave any time. I want to go back to the valley."
"Ayla, haven't we been made welcome here? Haven't most people
been kind and generous?"
"Yes, we were welcomed. The Mamutoi try to be generous to their
guests, but we are only visitors here, and it's time to leave."
Jondalar's forehead wrinkled with concern as he looked down and
scuffed his foot. He wanted to say something, but didn't quite know
how. "Ayla ... ah ... I told you something like this might happen if
you ... if you talked about the ... ah ... people you lived with.
Most people don't think about . . . them the way you do." He looked
up. "If you just hadn't said anything ..."
"I would have died if it hadn't been for the Clan, Jondalar! Are you
saying I should be ashamed of the people who took care of me? Do
you think Iza was less human than Nezzie?" Ayla stormed.
"No, no, I didn't mean that, Ayla. I'm not saying you should be
ashamed, I'm just saying ... I mean . . . you don't have to talk about
them to people who don't understand."
"I'm not sure you understand. Who do you think I should talk
about when people ask who I am? Who my people are? Where I come
from? I am not Clan any more—Broud cursed me, to them I am
dead—but I wish I could be! At least they finally accepted me as a
medicine woman. They wouldn't keep me from helping a woman who
needs help. Do you know how terrible it is to see her suffer and not
be allowed to help? I am a medicine woman, Jondalar!" she said with
a cry of frustrated helplessness, and angrily turned back to the horse.
Latie stepped out of the entrance to the earthlodge, and seeing Ayla
with the horses, approached eagerly. "What can I do to help?" she
asked, smiling broadly.
Ayla recalled her request for help the evening before, and tried to
compose herself. "Not think I need help now. Not stay, go back to
valley soon," she said, speaking in the girl's language.
Latie was crushed. "Oh . . . well ... I guess I'd be in the way,
then," she said, starting back to the archway.
Ayla saw her disappointment. "But horses need coat brushed. Full
of ice. Maybe could help today?"
"Oh, yes," the girl said, smiling again. "What can I do?"
"See, there, on ground near lodge, dry stalks?"
"You mean this teasel?" Latie asked, picking up a stiff stem with a
rounded spiny dried top.
"Yes, I get from riverbank. Top make good brush. Break off, like
this. Wrap hand with small piece leather. Make easier to hold," Ayla
explained. Then she led her to Racer and showed the girl how to hold
the teasel to curry the shaggy winter coat of the young horse. Jondalar
stayed nearby to keep him calm until he became accustomed to the
unfamiliar girl when Ayla went back to breaking up and brushing
away the ice clinging to Whinney.
Latie's presence temporarily ended their talk about leaving, and
Jondalar was grateful for it. He felt he had said more than he should
have, and said it badly, and now was at a loss for words. He didn't
want Ayla to go under these circumstances. She might never want to
leave the valley again if she went back now. As much as he loved her,
he didn't know if he could stand to spend the rest of his life with no
other people. He didn't think she should, either. She has been getting
along so well, he thought. She wouldn't have any trouble fitting in
anywhere, even with the Zeiandonii. If only she wouldn't talk about
. . . but she's right. What is she supposed to say when someone asks
who her people are? He knew that if he took her home with him,
everyone would ask.
"Do you always brush the ice out of their coats, Ayla?" Latie asked.
"No, not always. At valley, horses come in cave when bad weather.
Here, no place for horses," Ayla said. "I leave soon. Go back to val
ley, when weather clear."
Inside the lodge, Nezzie had walked through the cooking hearth
and the entrance foyer on her way out, but as she approached the
outer archway, she heard them talking outside, and stopped to listen.
She had been afraid Ayla might want to leave after the trouble the
night before, and that would mean no more sign language lessons for
Rydag and the Camp. The woman had already noticed the difference
in the way people treated him, now that they could talk to him. Ex
cept Frebec, of course. I'm sorry I asked Talut to invite them to join
us ... except where would Fralie be now if I hadn't? She's not well;
this pregnancy is hard on her.
"Why do you have to leave, Ayla?" Latie asked. "We could make a
shelter for them here."
"She's right. It wouldn't be hard to set up a tent, or lean-to, or
something near the entrance to protect them from the worst winds
and snows," Jondalar added.
"I think Frebec not like to have animal so close," Ayla said.
"Frebec is only one person, Ayla," Jondalar said.
"But Frebec is Mamutoi. I am not."
No one refuted her statement, but Latie blushed with shame for her
Camp.
Inside, Nezzie hurried back to the Lion Hearth. Talut, just waking
up, flung back the furs, swung his huge legs over the edge of the bed
platform and sat up. He scratched his beard, stretched his arms in a
wide reach and opened his mouth in a terrific yawn, and then made a
grimace of pain and held his head in his hands for a moment. He
looked up and saw Nezzie, and smiled sheepishly.
"I drank too much bouza last night," he announced. Getting up, he
reached for his tunic and pulled it on.
"Talut, Ayla is planning to leave as soon as the weather clears,"
Nezzie said.
The big man scowled. "I was afraid she might. It's too bad. I was
hoping they would winter with us."
"Can't we do anything? Why should Frebec's bad temper drive
them away when everyone else wants them to stay?"
"I don't know what we can do. Have you talked to her, Nezzie?"
"No. I heard her talking outside. She told Latie there was no place
here to shelter the horses, they were used to coming in her cave when
the weather was bad. Latie said we could make a shelter, and Jondalar
suggested a tent or something near the entrance. Then Ayla said she
didn't think Frebec would like to have an animal so close, and I know
she didn't mean the horses."
Talut headed for the entrance and Nezzie walked along. "We prob
ably could make something for the horses," he said, "but if she wants
to go, we can't force her to stay. She's not even Mamutoi, and Jon
dalar is Zei . . . Zeila . . . whatever it is."
Nezzie stopped him. "Couldn't we make her a Mamutoi? She says
she has no people. We could adopt her, then you and Tulie could
make the ceremony to bring her into the Lion Camp."
Talut paused, considering. "I'm not sure, Nezzie. You don't make
just anyone Mamutoi. Everyone would have to agree, and we'd need
some good reasons to explain it to the Council at the Summer Meet
ing. Besides, you said she's leaving," Talut said, then pushed the
drape aside and hurried to the gully.
Nezzie stood just outside the archway watching Talut's back, then
shifted her gaze to the tall blond woman who was combing the thick
coat of the hay-colored horse. Pausing to study her carefully, Nezzie
wondered who she really was. If Ay la had lost her family on the
peninsula to the south, they could have been Mamutoi. Several
Camps summered near Beran Sea, and the peninsula wasn't much
farther, but somehow the older woman doubted it. Mamutoi knew
that was flathead territory and stayed away as a rule, and there was
something about her that didn't quite look Mamutoi. Perhaps her fam
ily had been Sharamudoi, those river people to the west that Jondalar
stayed with, or maybe Sungaea, the people who lived northeast, but
she didn't know if they traveled as far south as the sea. Maybe her
people had been strangers traveling from some other place. It was
hard to say, but one thing was certain. Ay la was not a flathead . . .
and yet they took her in.
Barzec and Tornec came out of the lodge, followed by Danug and
Druwez. They motioned morning greetings to Nezzie in the way
Ay la had shown them; it was becoming customary with the Lion
Camp, and Nezzie encouraged it. Rydag came out next, motioned his
greeting and smiled at her. She motioned and smiled back, but when
she hugged him, her smile faded. Rydag didn't look well. He was
puffy and pale and seemed more tired than usual. Perhaps he was
getting sick.
"Jondalar! There you are," Barzec said. "I've made one of those
throwers. We were going to try it out up on the steppes. I told
Tomec a little exercise would help him get over his headache from
drinking too much last night. Care to come along?"
Jondalar glanced at Ay la. It wasn't likely they were going to get
anything resolved this morning, and Racer seemed to be quite content
to have Latie giving him attention.
"All right. I'll get mine," Jondalar said.
While they waited, Ay la noticed that both Danug and Druwez
seemed to be avoiding Latie's efforts to get their attention, though the
gangly, red-haired young man smiled shyly at her. Latie watched
after her brother and her cousin with unhappy eyes when they left
with the men.
"They could have asked me to go along," she mumbled under her
breath, then turned determinedly back to brushing Racer.
"You want learn spear-thrower, Latie?" Ayla asked, remembering
early days when she watched after departing hunters wishing she
could go along.
"They could have asked me. I always beat Druwez at Hoops and
Darts, but they wouldn't even look at me," Latie said.
"I will show, if you want, Latie. After horses brushed," Ayla said.
Latie looked up at Ayla. She remembered the woman's surprising
demonstrations with the spear-thrower and sling, and had noticed
Danug smiling at her. Then a thought occurred to her. Ayla didn't
try to call attention to herself, she just went ahead and did what she
wanted to do, but she was so good at what she did, people had to pay
attention to her.
"I would like you to show me, Ayla," she said. Then, after a pause,
she asked, "How did you get so good? I mean with the spear-thrower
and the sling?"
Ayla thought, then said, "I want to very much, and I practice . . .
very much."
Talut came walking up from the direction of the river, his hair and
beard wet, his eyes half closed.
"Oooh, my head," he said with an exaggerated moan.
"Talut, why did you get your head wet? In this weather, you'll get
sick," Nezzie said.
"I am sick. I dunked my head in cold water to try to get rid of this
headache. Oooh."
"No one forced you to drink so much. Go inside and dry off."
Ayla looked at him with concern, a little surprised that Nezzie
seemed to feel so little sympathy for him. She'd had a headache and
felt a little ill when she woke up, too. Was it caused by the drink?
The bouza that everyone liked so well?
Whinney lifted her head and nickered, then bumped her. The ice
on the horses' coats did not hurt them, though a big build-up could be
heavy, but they enjoyed the brushing and the attention, and the mare
had noticed that Ayla had paused, lost in thought.
"Whinney, stop that. You just want more attention, don't you?"
she said, using the form of communication she usually did with the
horse.
Though she'd heard it before, Latie was still a little startled by the
perfect imitation of Whinney's nicker that Ayla made, and noticed the
sign language now that she was more accustomed to it, though she
wasn't sure she understood the gestures.
"You can talk to horses!" the girl said.
"Whinney is friend," Ayla said, saying the horse's name the way
Tondalar did because the people of the Camp seemed more comfort-
able hearing a word rather than a whinny. "For long time, only
friend." She patted the mare, then looked over the coat of the young
horse and patted him. "I think enough brush. Now we get spear-
thrower and go practice."
They went into the earthlodge, passing by Talut, who was looking
miserable, on their way to the fourth hearth. Ay la picked up her
spear-thrower and a handful of spears, and on her way out, noticed
the leftover yarrow tea she had made for her morning headache. The
dried flower umbel and brittle feathery leaves of the plant still clung
to a stalk that had been growing near the teasel. Spicy and aromatic
when fresh, the yarrow that had grown near the river was sapped of
its potency by rain and sun, but it reminded her of some she had
prepared and dried earlier. She had an upset stomach along with her
headache, so she decided to use it as well as the willow bark.
Perhaps it would help Talut, she thought, though from the sound
of his complaints she wondered if the preparation of ergot she made
for particularly bad headaches might be better. That was very power
ful medicine, though.
"Take this, Talut. For headache," she said on the way out. He
smiled weakly, and took the cup and drank it down, not really expect
ing much, but glad for the sympathy which no one else seemed dis
posed to offer.
The blond woman and girl walked up the slope together, heading
for the trampled track where the contests had been held. When they
reached the level ground of the steppes, they saw that the four men
who had gone up earlier were practicing at one end; they headed for
the opposite end. Whinney and Racer trailed along behind. Latie
smiled at the dark brown horse when he nickered at her and tossed his
head. Then he settled down to graze beside his dam, while Ay la
showed Latie how to cast a spear.
"Hold like this," Ayla began, holding the narrow wooden imple
ment that was about two feet long in a horizontal position. She put
the first and second fingers of her right hand into the leather loops.
"Then put spear on," she continued, resting the shaft of a spear,
perhaps six feet long, in a groove cut down the length of the imple
ment. She fitted the hook, carved as a backstop, into the butt end of
the spear, being careful not to crush the feathers. Then, holding the
spear steady, she pulled back and hurled it. The long free end of the
spear-thrower rose up, adding length and leverage, and the spear flew
with speed and force. She gave the implement to Latie.
"Like this?" the girl said, holding the spear-thrower the way Ayla
had explained. "The spear rests in this groove, and I put my fingers
through the loops to hold it, and put the end against this back part."
"Good. Now throw."
Latie lobbed the spear a good distance. "It's not so hard," she said,
pleased with herself.
"No. Is not hard to throw spear," Ay la agreed. "Is hard to make
spear go where you want."
"You mean to be accurate. Like making the dart go in the hoop."
Ayla smiled. "Yes. Need practice, to make dart go in hoop ... go
in the hoop." She had noticed Frebec coming up to see what the men
were doing, and it suddenly made her conscious of her speech. She
still wasn't speaking right. She needed to practice, too, she thought.
But why should it matter? She wasn't staying.
Latie practiced while Ayla coached, and they both became so in
volved they didn't notice that the men had drifted in their direction
and had stopped their practice to watch.
"That's good, Latie!" Jondalar called out after she had hit her mark.
"You may turn out to be better than anyone! I think these boys got
tired of practicing and wanted to come and watch you instead."
Danug and Druwez looked uncomfortable. There was some truth
in Jondalar's teasing, but Latie's smile was radiant. "I will be better
than anyone. I'm going to practice until I am," she said.
They decided they'd had enough practicing for one day, and
tromped back down to the earthlodge. As they approached the tusk
archway, Talut came bursting out.
"Ayla! There you are. What was in that drink you gave me?" he
asked, advancing on her.
She took a step back. "Yarrow, with some alfalfa, and a little rasp
berry leaf, and ..."
"Nezzie! Do you hear that? Find out how she makes it. It made my
headache go away! I feel like a new man!" He looked around.
"Nezzie?"
"She went down to the river with Rydag," Tulie said. "He seemed
tired this morning, and Nezzie didn't think he should go so far. But
he said he wanted to go with her ... or maybe, he wanted to be with
her . . . I'm not sure of the sign. I said I'd go down and help her carry
him, or the water, back. I'm just on my way."
Tulie's remarks caught Ay la's attention for more than one reason.
She felt some concern about the child, but more than that, she de
tected a distinct change in Tulie's attitude toward him. He was Rydag
now, not just "the boy," and she spoke about what he had said. He
had become a person to her.
"Well ..." Talut hesitated, surprised for a moment that Nezzie
wasn't in his immediate vicinity, then, reproaching himself for expect
ing her to be, he chuckled. "Will you tell me how to make it, Ayla?"
"Yes," she said. "I will."
He looked delighted. "If I'm going to make the bouza, then I ought
to know a remedy for the morning after."
Ay la smiled. For all his size, there was something so endearing
about the huge red-haired headman. She had no doubt he could be
formidable if brought to anger. He was as agile and quick as he was
strong, and he certainly did not lack for intelligence, but there was a
gentle quality to him. He resisted anger. Though he was not averse to
making a joke at someone else's expense, he laughed as often at his
own foibles. He dealt with the human problems of the people with
genuine concern and his compassion extended beyond his own camp.
Suddenly a high-pitched keening pulled everyone's attention toward
the river. Her first glance sent Ayla running down the slope; several
people followed behind. Nezzie was kneeling over a small figure, wail
ing in anguish. Tulie was standing beside her looking distraught and
helpless. When Ayla arrived, she saw that Rydag was unconscious.
"Nezzie?" Ayla said, asking with her expression what had
happened.
"We were walking up the slope," Nezzie explained. "He started
having trouble breathing. I decided I'd better carry him, but as I was
putting down the waterbag, I heard him cry out in pain. When I
looked up, he was lying there like that."
Ayla bent down and examined Rydag carefully, putting her hand,
and then her ear, to his chest, feeling his neck near the jaw. She
looked at Nezzie with troubled eyes, then turned to the headwoman.
"Tulie, carry Rydag to lodge, to Mammoth Hearth. Hurry!" she
commanded.
Ayla ran back up ahead and dashed through the archways. She
rushed to the platform at the foot of her bed, and pawed through her
belongings until she found an unusual pouch that had been made from
a whole otter skin. She dumped its contents on the bed and searched
through the pile of packets and small pouches it had contained, look
ing at the shape of the container, the color and type of cord that held
it closed, and the number and spacing of knots in it.
Her mind raced. It's his heart, I know the trouble is his heart. It
didn't sound right. What should I do? I don't know as much about the
heart. No one in Brun's clan had heart problems. I must remember
what Iza explained to me. And that other medicine woman at the
Clan Gathering, she had two people in her clan with heart problems.
First think, Iza always said, what exactly is wrong. He's pale and
swollen up. He's having trouble breathing, and he's in pain. His pulse
is weak. His heart must work harder, make stronger pushes. What is
best to use? Datura, maybe? I don't think so. What about hellebore?
Belladonna? Henbane? Foxglove? Foxglove . . . leaves of foxglove. It's
so strong. It could kill him. But he will die without something strong
enough to make his heart work again. Then, how much to use?
Should I boil it or steep it? Oh, I wish I could remember the way Iza
did. Where is my foxglove? Don't I have any?
"Ayla, what's wrong?" She looked up to see Mamut beside her.
"It's Rydag ... his heart. They bring him. I look for . . . plant.
Tall stem . . . flowers hang down . . . purple, red spots inside. Big
leaves, feel like fur, underside. Make heart . . . push. You know?"
Ayla felt stifled by her lack of vocabulary, but she had been more
clear than she realized.
"Of course, purpurea, foxglove is another name. That's very
strong ..." Mamut watched Ayla close her eyes and take a deep
breath.
"Yes, but necessary. Must think, how much . . . Here is bag! Iza
say, always keep with."
Just then Tulie came in carrying the small boy. Ayla grabbed a fur
off her bed, put it on the ground near the fire, and directed the
woman to lay him down on it. Nezzie was right behind her, and
everyone else crowded around.
"Nezzie, take off the parka. Open clothes. Talut, too much people
here. Make room," Ayla directed, not even realizing she was issuing
commands. She opened the small leather pouch she held and sniffed
the contents, and looked up at the old shaman, concerned. Then with
a glance at the unconscious child, her face hardened with determina
tion. "Mamut, need hot fire. Latie, get cooking stones, bowl of water,
cup to drink."
While Nezzie loosened his clothing, Ayla bunched up more furs to
put behind him and raise his head. Talut was making the people of
the Camp stand back to give Rydag air, and Ayla working room.
Latie was anxiously feeding the fire Mamut had made, trying to make
the stones heat faster.
Ayla checked Rydag's pulse; it was hard to find. She laid her ear to
his chest. His breathing was shallow and raspy. He needed help. She
moved back his head, to open his air passage, then clamped her mouth
over his to breathe her air into his lungs, as she had done with Nuvie.
Mamut observed her for a while. She seemed too young to have
much healing skill, and certainly there had been an indecisive mo
ment, but that had passed. Now she was calm, focusing on the child,
issuing orders with quiet assurance.
He nodded to himself, then sat behind the mammoth skull drum
and began a measured cadence accompanied by a low chant, which,
strangely, had the effect of easing some of the strain Ayla was feeling.
The healing chant was quickly picked up by the rest of the Camp; it
relieved their tensions to feel they were contributing in a beneficial
way. Tornec and Deegie joined in with their instruments, then Ranee
appeared with rings made out of ivory that rattled. The music of
drums and chanting and rattle was not loud or overpowering, but
instead gently pulsing and soothing.
Finally the water boiled and Ayla measured out a quantity of dried
foxglove leaves into her palm and sprinkled it on the water simmering
in the bowl. She waited then, letting them steep and trying to stay
calm, until finally the color and her intuitive sense told her it was
right. She poured some of the liquid from the cooking bowl into a
cup. Then she cradled Rydag's head in her lap, and closed her eyes
for a moment. This was not medicine to be used lightly. The wrong
dosage would kill him, and the strength in the leaves of each plant was
variable.
She opened her eyes to see two vivid blue eyes, full of love and
concern, looking back at her, and gave Jondalar a fleeting smile of
gratitude. She brought the cup to her mouth and dipped her tongue
into it, testing the strength of the preparation. Then she put the bitter
brew to the child's lips.
He choked on the first sip, but that roused him slightly. He tried to
smile his recognition of Ayla, but made a grimace of pain instead. She
made him drink more, slowly, while she carefully watched his reac
tions: changes in skin temperature and color, the movement of his
eyes, the depth of his breathing. The people of the Lion Camp
watched, too, anxiously. They hadn't realized how much the child
had come to mean to them until his life was threatened. He had
grown up with them, he was one of them, and recently they had
begun to realize he was not so different from them.
Ayla wasn't sure when the rhythms and chanting stopped, but the
quiet sound of Rydag taking a deep breath sounded like a roar of
victory in the absolute silence of the tension-filled lodge.
Ayla noticed a slight flush as he took a second deep breath, and felt
her apprehensions ease a bit. The rhythms started again with a
changed tempo, a child cried, voices murmured. She put down the
cup, checked the pulse in his neck, felt his chest. He was breathing
easier, and with less pain. She looked up and saw Nezzie smiling at
her through eyes filled with tears. She was not alone.
Ayla held the boy until she was sure he was resting comfortably,
and then held him just because she wanted to. If she half closed her
eyes, she could almost forget the people of the Camp. She could al
most imagine this boy, who looked so much like her son, was indeed
the child to whom she had given birth. The tears that wet her cheeks
were as much for herself, for the son she longed to see, as they were
for the child in her arms.
Rydag fell asleep, finally. The ordeal had taken much out of him,
and Ay la as well. Talut picked him up and carried him to his bed,
then Jondalar helped her up. He stood with his arms around her,
while she leaned against him, feeling drained and grateful for his
support.
There were tears of relief in the eyes of most of the assembled
Camp, but appropriate words were hard to find. They didn't know
what to say to the young woman who had saved the child. They gave
her smiles, nods of approval, warm touches, a few murmured com
ments, hardly more than sounds. More than enough for Ay la. At that
moment, she would have been uncomfortable with too many words of
gratitude or praise.
After Nezzie made sure Rydag was comfortably settled, she went
to talk to Ayla. "I thought he was gone. I can't believe he's only
sleeping," she said. "That medicine was good."
Ayla nodded. "Yes, but strong. But he should take every day,
some, not too much. Should take with other medicine. I will mix for
him. You make like tea, but boil little first. I will show. Give him
small cup in morning, another before sleep. He will pass water at
night more, until swelling down."
"Will that medicine make him well, Ayla?" Nezzie asked, hope in
her voice.
Ayla reached to touch her hand, and looked directly at her. "No,
Nezzie. No medicine can make him well," she replied in a firm voice
that was tinged with sorrow.
Nezzie bowed her head in acquiescence. She'd known all along, but
Ay la's medicine had effected such a miraculous recovery, she couldn't
help but hope.
"Medicine will help. Make Rydag feel better. Not pain so much,"
Ayla continued. "But I not have much. Leave most medicine in val
ley. I not think we go for long. Mamut knows foxglove, may have
some."
Mamut spoke up. "My gift is for Searching, Ayla. I have little gift
for Healing, but the Mamut of the Wolf Camp is a good Healer. We
can send someone to ask if she has some, after the weather clears. It
will take a few days, though."
Ayla hoped she had enough of the heart stimulant made from the
digitalis foxglove leaves to last until someone could go to get some,
but wished even more that she had the rest of her own preparation
with her. She wasn't sure of someone else's methods. She was always
very careful to dry the large, fuzzy leaves slowly, in a cool, dark place
out of the sun, to retain as much of the active principle as possible. In
fact, she wished she had all her carefully prepared herbal medicines,
but they were still stored in her small cave in the valley.
Just as Iza had done, Ayla always carried her otter skin medicine
bag which contained certain roots and barks, leaves, flowers, fruits,
and seeds. But that was little more than first aid to her. She had an
entire pharmacopoeia in her cave, even though she'd lived alone and
had no real use for it there. It was training and habit that caused her
to collect medicinal plants as they appeared with the passing seasons.
It was almost as automatic as walking. She knew of many other uses
for the plant life in her environment, from fibers for cordage to food,
but it was the medicinal properties that interested her most. She could
hardly pass a plant she knew to have healing properties without gath
ering it, and she knew hundreds.
She was so familiar with the vegetation that unknown plants always
intrigued her. She looked for similarities to known plants, and under
stood categories within larger categories. She could identify related
types and families, but knew well that similar appearance did not nec
essarily mean similar reactions, and cautiously experimented on her
self, tasting and testing with knowledge and experience.
She was also careful with dosages and methods of preparation. Ayla
knew that an infusion, prepared by pouring boiling water over various
leaves, flowers, or berries and letting it steep, extracted aromatic and
volatile principles and essences. Boiling, which produced a decoction,
withdrew the extractive, resinous, and bitter principles and was more
effective on hard materials like barks, roots, and seeds. She knew how
to withdraw the essential oils, gums, and resins of a herb, how to
make poultices, plasters, tonics, syrups, ointments, or salves using
fats or thickening agents. She knew how to mix ingredients, and how
to strengthen or dilute as needed.
The same process of comparison that was applied to plants revealed
the similarities between animals. Ayla's knowledge of the human
body and its functions was the result of a long history of drawing
conclusions from trial and error, and an extensive understanding of
animal anatomy derived from butchering the animals that were
hunted. Their relationship to humans could be seen when accidents or
injuries were sustained.
Ayla was a botanist, pharmacist, and doctor; her magic consisted of
the esoteric lore passed down and improved upon by generation after
generation for hundreds, thousands, perhaps millions of years of
gatherers and hunters whose very existence depended on an intimate
knowledge of the land on which they lived and its products.
Out of that timeless resource of unrecorded history, passed on to
her through the training she had received from Iza, and aided by an
inherent analytical talent and intuitive perception, Ayla could diag
nose and treat most ailments and injuries. With a razor-sharp flint
blade she even did minor surgical operations occasionally, but Ayla's
medicine depended more on the complex active principles of healing
plants. She was skilled, and her remedies were effective, but she
could not perform major surgery to correct a congenital defect of the
heart.
As Ayla watched the sleeping boy who looked so much like her
son, she felt a deep relief and gratitude knowing that Durc had been
sound and healthy when he was born—but that did not assuage the
pain of having to tell Nezzie that no medicine could make Rydag well.
Later in the afternoon, Ayla sorted through her packets and
pouches of herbs to prepare the mixture she had promised Nezzie she
would make. Mamut silently watched her again. There could be little
doubt now of her healing skills by anyone, including Frebec, though
he still might not want to admit it, or Tulie, who had not been as
vocal, but who, the old man knew, had been very skeptical. Ayla
appeared to be an ordinary young woman, quite attractive even to his
old eyes, but he was convinced there was much more to her than
anyone knew; he doubted if she even knew the full extent of her
potential.
What a difficult—and fascinating—life she has led, he mused. She
looks so young, but she is already much older in experience than most
people will ever be. How long did she live with them? How had she
become so skilled in their medicine? he wondered. He knew that such
knowledge was not usually taught to one not born to it, and she had
been an outsider, more than most people could ever understand. Then
there was her unexpected talent for Searching. What other talents
might lie untapped? What knowledge not yet used? What secrets
unrevealed?
Her strength comes out in a crisis; he remembered how Ayla had
given orders to Tulie, and Talut. Even me, he thought with a smile,
and no one objected. Leadership comes to her naturally. What adver
sity has tested her to give her such presence so young? The Mother
has plans for her, I'm sure of it, but what about the young man,
Jondalar? He is certainly well favored, but his gifts are not extraordi
nary. What is Her purpose for him?
She was putting the balance of her packages of herbs away when
Mamut suddenly looked more closely at her otter skin medicine bag.
It was familiar. He could close his eyes and almost see one so similar
that it brought back a flood of memories.
"Ayla, may I see that?" he asked, wanting to see it more closely.
"This? My medicine bag?" she queried.
"I've always wondered how they were made."
Ayla handed him the unusual pouch, noticing the arthritic bumps
in his long, thin, old hands. |
The ancient shaman examined it carefully. It showed signs of wear;
she'd had it for some time. It had been made, not by sewing or attach
ing pieces together, but from the skin of a single animal. Rather than
slitting the otter's belly, which was the usual way to skin an animal,
only the throat had been cut, leaving the head attached by a strip at
the back. The bones and insides were drawn out through the neck and
the brain case was drained, leaving it somewhat flattened. The entire
skin was then cured and small holes had been cut at intervals around
the neck with a stone awl for a cord to be threaded through as
a drawstring. The result was a pouch of sleek, waterproof otter fur
with the feet and tail still intact, and the head used as a cover
flap.
Mamut gave it back to her. "Did you make that?"
"No. Iza make. She was medicine woman of Brun's clan, my . . .
mother. She teach me since little girl, where plants grow, how to
make medicine, how to use. She was sick, not go to Clan Gathering.
Brun need medicine woman. Uba too young, I am only one."
Mamut nodded with understanding, then he looked at her sharply.
"What was the name you said just now?"
"My mother? Iza?"
"No, the other one."
Ayla thought for a moment. "Uba?"
"Who is Uba?"
"Uba is ... sister. Not true sister, but like sister to me. She is
daughter of Iza. Now she is medicine woman . . . and mother of . . ."
"Is that a common name?" Mamut interrupted in a voice that car
ried an edge of excitement.
"No ... I do not think . . . Creb name Uba. Mother of Iza's
mother had same name. Creb and Iza had same mother."
"Creb! Tell me, Ayla, this Creb, did he have a bad arm and walk
with a limp?"
"Yes," Ayla replied, puzzled. How could Mamut know?
"And was there another brother? Younger, but strong and
healthy?"
Ayla frowned in the face of Mamut's eager questions. "Yes. Brun.
He was leader."
"Great Mother! I can't believe it! Now I understand."
"I do not understand," Ayla said.
"Ayla, come, sit down. I want to tell you a story."
He led her to a place by the hearth near his bed. He perched on the
edge of the platform, while she sat on a mat on the floor and looked
up expectantly.
"Once, many, many years ago, when I was a very young man, I
had a strange adventure that changed my life," Mamut began. Ayla
felt a sudden, eerie tingling just under her skin and had a feeling that
she almost knew what he was going to say.
"Manuv and I are from the same Camp. The man his mother chose
for a mate was my cousin. We grew up together, and as youngsters
do, we talked about making a Journey together, but the summer we
were going to go, he got sick. Very sick. I was anxious to start, we'd
been planning the trip for years and I kept hoping he'd get better, but
the sickness lingered. Finally, near the end of the summer I decided to
Journey alone. Everyone advised against it, but I was restless.
"We had planned to skirt Beran Sea and then follow the eastern
shore of the big Southern Sea, much the way Wymez did. But it was
so late in the season I decided to take a short cut across the peninsula
and the eastern connection to the mountains."
Ay la nodded. Brun's clan had used that route to the Clan
Gathering.
"I didn't tell anyone my plan. It was flathead country, and I knew
I'd get a lot of objections. I thought if I was careful I could avoid any
contact, but I didn't count on the accident. I'm still not sure how it
happened. I was walking along a high bank of a river, almost a cliff,
and the next thing I knew I slipped and fell down it. I must have been
unconscious for a while. It was late afternoon when I came to. My
head hurt and was none too clear, but worse was my arm. The bone
was dislocated and broken, and I was in great pain.
"I stumbled along the river for a while, not sure where I was going.
I'd lost my pack and didn't even think to look for it. I don't know how
long I walked, but it was almost dark when I finally noticed a fire. I
didn't consider that I was on the peninsula. When I saw some people
near it, I headed for it.
"I can imagine their surprise when I stumbled into their midst, but
by then I was so delirious I didn't know where I was. My surprise
came later. I woke up in unfamiliar surroundings, with no idea how I
had gotten there. When I discovered a poultice on my head and my
arm in a sling, I remembered falling, and thought how lucky I was to
have been found by a Camp with a good Healer, then the woman
appeared. Perhaps you can imagine, Ayla, how shocked I was to dis
cover I was in the Camp of a clan."
Ayla was feeling shocked herself. "You! You are man with broken
arm? You know Creb and Brun?" Ayla said in stunned disbelief. A
rush of feeling overwhelmed her and tears squeezed out of the corners
of her eyes. It was like a message from her past.
"You have heard of me?"
"Iza told me, before she is born, her mother's mother heal man with
broken arm. Man of the Others. Creb tell me, too. He said Brun let
V-
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-M

€
me stay with clan because he learn from that man--from you,
Mamut--Others are men, too." Ayla stopped, stared at the white
hair, the wrinkled old face, of the venerable old man. "Iza walk in
spirit world now. She was not born when you come . . . and Creb
... he was boy, not yet chosen by Ursus. Creb was old man when he
die . . . how can you still live?"
"I have wondered myself why the Mother chose to grant me so
many seasons. I think She has just given me an answer."
13
rr}
I
alut? Talut, are you asleep?" Nezzie whispered in the big
headman's ear as she shook him.
"Huh? Wha's wrong?" he said, coming abruptly awake.
"Shhh. Don't wake everybody. Talut, we can't let Ay la go now.
Who will take care of Rydag the next time? I think we should adopt
her, make her part of our family, make her Mamutoi."
He looked up and saw her eyes glistening a reflection of the red
coals of the banked fire. "I know you care for the boy, Nezzie. I do,
too. But is your love for him a reason to make a stranger one of us?
What would I say to the Councils?"
"It's not just Rydag. She is a Healer. A good Healer. Do the
Mamutoi have so many Healers that we can afford to let such a good
one go? Look what has happened in just a few days. She saved Nuvie
from choking to death ... I know Tulie said that could just have been
a technique she learned, but your sister can't say that about Rydag.
Ayla knew what she was doing. That was Healing medicine. She's
right about Fralie, too. Even I can see this pregnancy is hard on her,
and all that fighting and arguing isn't helping. And what about your
headache?"
Talut grinned. "That was more than Healing magic; that was
amazing!"
"Shhhh! You'll wake the whole lodge up. Ayla is more than a
Healer. Mamut says she's an untrained Searcher, too. And look at her
way with animals, I wouldn't doubt if she isn't a Caller besides.
Think what a benefit that would be to a Camp if it turns out that she
can not only Search out animals to hunt, but Call them to her?"
"You don't know that, Nezzie. You're just guessing."
"Well, I don't have to guess about her skill with those weapons.
You know she'd bring a good Bride Price if she were Mamutoi, Talut.
With everything she has to offer, tell me what you think she'd be
worth as the daughter of your hearth?"
"Hmmm. If she were Mamutoi, and the daughter of the Lion
Hearth . . . But she may not want to become Mamutoi, Nezzie. What
about the young man, Jondalar? It's obvious that there is strong feel-
Nezzie had been thinking about it for some time, and she was
ready. "Ask him, too."
"Both of them!" Talut exploded, sitting up.
"Hush! Keep your voice down!"
"But he has people. He says he's Zei . . . Zei . . . whatever it is."
"Zeiandonii," Nezzie whispered. "But his people live a long way
from here. Why should he want to make such a long trip back if he
can find a home with us? You could ask him, anyway, Talut. That
weapon he invented ought to be reason enough to satisfy the Councils.
And Wymez says he is an expert toolmaker. If my brother gives
him a recommendation, you know the Councils won't refuse."
"That's true . . . but, Nezzie," Talut said, lying down again, "how
do you know they will want to stay?"
"I don't know, but you can ask, can't you?"

It was midmorning when Talut stepped out of the longhouse, and
noticed Ay la and Jondalar leading the horses away from the Camp.
There was no snow, but early morning hoarfrost still lingered in
patches of crystal white, and their heads were wreathed in steam with
each breath. Static crinkled in the dry freezing air. The woman and
man were dressed for the cold in fur parkas with hoods pulled tight
around their faces, and fur leggings which were tucked into footwear
that was wrapped around the lower edge of the trousers and tied.
"Jondalar! Ayla! Are you leaving?" he called, hurrying to catch up
with them.
Ayla nodded an affirmative reply, which made Talut lose his smile,
but Jondalar explained, "We're just going to give the horses some exercise.
We'll be back after noon."
He neglected to mention that they were also looking for some privacy,
a place to be alone for a while to discuss, without interruption,
whether to go back to Ayla's valley. Or rather, in Jondalar's mind, to
talk Ayla out of wanting to go.
"Good. I'd like to arrange for some practice sessions with those
spear-throwers, when the weather clears. I'd like to see how they
work and what I could do with one," Talut said.
"I think you might be surprised," Jondalar replied, smiling, "at how
well they work."
"Not by themselves. I'm sure they work well for either of you, but
it takes some skill, and there may not be much time for practice before
spring." Talut paused, considering.
Ayla waited, her hand on the mare's withers, just below her short,
stiff mane. A heavy fur mitten dangled by a cord out of the sleeve of
her parka. The cord was drawn up through the sleeve, through a loop
at the back of the neck, down the other sleeve, and attached to the
other mitten. With the cord attached to them, if the dexterity of a
bare hand was needed, the mittens could be pulled off quickly, with
out fear of losing them. In a land of such deep cold and strong winds,
a lost mitten could mean a lost hand, or a lost life. The young horse
was snorting and prancing with excitement, and bumped against Jon-
dalar impatiently. They seemed anxious to be on their way, and were
waiting for him to finish only out of courtesy, Talut knew. He de
cided to plunge ahead anyway.
"Nezzie was talking to me last night, and this morning I spoke to
some others. It would be helpful to have someone around to show us
how to use those hunting weapons."
"Your hospitality has been more than generous. You know I would
be happy to show anyone how to use the spear-thrower. It is small
enough thanks for all you have done," Jondalar said.
Talut nodded, then went on, "Wymez tells me you are a fine flint
knapper, Jondalar. The Mamutoi can always use someone who can
produce good-quality tools. And Ay la has many skills that would ben
efit any Camp. She is not only proficient with the spear-thrower and
that sling of hers—you were right"—he turned from Jondalar to
Ayla—"she is a Healer. We would like you to stay."
"I was hoping we might winter with you, Talut, and I appreciate
your offer, but I'm not sure how Ayla feels about it," Jondalar re
plied, smiling, feeling that Talut's offer couldn't have come at a better
time. How could she leave now? Certainly Talut's offer meant more
than Frebec's nastiness.
Talut continued, addressing his remarks to the young woman.
"Ayla, you have no people now, and Jondalar lives far away, perhaps
farther than he cares to travel if he can find a home here. We would
like you both to stay, not only through the winter, but always. I
invite you to become one of us, and I speak for more than myself.
Tulie and Barzec would be willing to adopt Jondalar to the Aurochs
Hearth, and Nezzie and I want you to become a daughter of the Lion
Hearth. Since Tulie is headwoman, and I am headman, that would
give you a high standing among the Mamutoi."
"You mean, you want to adopt us? You want us to become
Mamutoi?" Jondalar blurted, a little stunned, and flushed with
surprise.
"You want me? You want adopt me?" Ayla asked. She had been
listening to the conversation, frowning with concentration, not en
tirely sure she believed what she was hearing. "You want make Ayla
of No People, Ayla of the Mamutoi?"
The big man smiled. "Yes."
Jondalar was at a loss for words. Hospitality to guests might be a
matter of custom, and of pride, but no people made a custom of ask
ing strangers to join their tribe, their family, without serious con
sideration.
"I ... uh ... don't know . . . what to say," he said. "I am very
honored. It is a great compliment to be asked."
"I know you need some time to think about it. Both of you," Talut
said. "I would be surprised if you didn't. We haven't mentioned it to
everyone, and the whole Camp must agree, but that shouldn't be a
problem with all you bring, and Tulie and I both speaking for you. I
wanted to ask you first. If you agree, I will call a meeting."
They silently watched the big headman walk back to the earth-
lodge. They had planned to find a place to talk, each hoping to resolve
problems that they felt had begun to arise between them. Talut's un
expected invitation had added an entirely new dimension to their
thoughts, to the decisions they needed to make, indeed, to their lives.
Without saying a word. Ay la mounted Whinney and Jondalar got on
behind her. With Racer following along, they started out up the slope
and across the open countryside, each lost in thought.
Ayla was moved beyond words by Talut's offer. When she lived
with the Clan, she had often felt alienated, but it was nothing to the
aching emptiness, the desperate loneliness she had known without
them. From the time she left the Clan until Jondalar came, hardly
more than a season before, she had been alone. She'd had no one, no
sense of belonging, no home, no family, no people, and she knew she
would never see her clan again. Because of the earthquake that left her
orphaned, before she was found by the Clan, the earthquake on the
day she was expelled gave her separation a profound sense of finality.
Underlying her feeling was a deep elemental fear, a combination of
the primordial terror of heaving earth and the convulsive grief of a
small girl who had lost everything, even her memory of those to
whom she had belonged. There was nothing Ayla feared more than
wrenching earth movements. They always seemed to signal changes
in her life as abrupt and violent as the changes they wrought on the
land. It was almost as though the earth itself was telling her what to
expect ... or shuddering in sympathy.
But after the first time she lost everything, the Clan had become her
people. Now, if she chose, she could have people again. She could
become Mamutoi; she would not be alone.
But what about Jondalar? How could she choose a people different
from his? Would he want to stay and become Mamutoi? Ayla doubted
it. She was sure he wanted to return to his own home. But he had
been afraid all of the Others would behave toward her as Frebec did.
He didn't want her to speak of the Clan. What if she went with him
and they would not accept her? Maybe his people were all like
Frebec. She would not refrain from mentioning them, as though Iza,
and Creb, and Brun, and her son, were people she should be ashamed
of. She would not be ashamed of the people she loved!
Did she want to go to his home and risk being treated like an ani
mal? Or did she want to stay here where she was wanted, and ac
cepted? The Lion Camp had even taken in a mixed child, a boy like
her son. . . . Suddenly a thought struck her. If they had taken in one,
might they take another? One who was not weak or sickly? One who
could learn to talk? Mamutoi territory extended all the way to Beran
Sea. Didn't Talut say someone had a Willow Camp there? The penin
sula where the Clan lived was not far beyond. If she became one of
the Mamutoi, maybe, someday, she could . . . But what about Jon-
dalar? What if he left? Ayla felt a deep ache in the pit of her stomach
at the thought. Could she bear to live without Jondalar? she won
dered, as she wrestled with mixed feelings.
Jondalar struggled with conflicting desires, too. He hardly consid
ered the offer made to him, except that he wanted to find a reason to
refuse that would not offend Talut and the Mamutoi. He was Jon
dalar of the Zeiandonii, and he knew his brother had been right. He
could never be anything else. He wanted to go home, but it was a
nagging ache rather than a great urgency. It was impossible to think
in any other terms. His home was so far away, it would take a year
just to travel the distance.
His mental turmoil was about Ayla. Though he'd never lacked for
willing partners, most of whom would have been more than willing to
form a more lasting tie, he'd never found a woman the way he wanted
Ayla. None of the women among his own people, and none of the
women he met on his travels, had been able to cause in him that state
he had seen in others, but had not felt himself, until he met her. He
loved her more than he thought was possible. She was everything he'd
ever wanted in a woman, and more. He could not bear the thought of
living without her.
But he also knew what it was like to bring disgrace upon himself.
And the very qualities that attracted him—her combination of inno
cence and wisdom, of honesty and mystery, of self-confidence and
vulnerability—were the result of the same circumstances that could
cause him to feel the pain of disgrace and exile again.
Ayla had been raised by the Clan, people who were different in
unexplainable ways. To most people he knew, the ones Ayla referred
to as Clan were not human. They were animals, but not like the other
animals created by the Mother for their needs. Though not admitted,
the similarities between them were recognized, but the Clan's obvious
human characteristics did not cause close feelings of brotherhood.
Rather, they were seen as a threat and their differences were empha
sized. To people like Jondalar, the Clan was viewed as an unspeakably
bestial species not even included in the Great Earth Mother's pan
theon of creations, as though they had been spawned of some great
unfathomable evil.
But there was more recognition of their mutual humanity in deed
than in word. Jondalar's kind had moved into the Clan's territory not
so many generations before, often taking over good living sites near
bountiful foraging and hunting areas, and forcing the Clan into other
regions. But just as wolf packs divide up a territory among them
selves, and defend it from each other, not other creatures, prey or
predatory, the acceptance of the boundaries of each other's territories
was a tacit agreement that they were the same species.
Jondalar had come to realize, about the time he realized his feeling
for Ayla, that all life was a creation of the Great Earth Mother, in
cluding flatheads. But, although he loved her, he was convinced that
among his people Ayla would be an outcast. It was more than her
association with the Clan that made her a pariah. She would be
viewed as an unspeakable abomination, who was condemned by the
Mother, because she had given birth to a child of mixed spirits, half-
animal and half-human.
The taboo was common. All the people Jondalar had met on his
travels held the belief, though some more strongly than others. Some
people did not even admit to the existence of such misbegotten off
spring, others thought of the situation as an unpleasant joke. That was
why he had been so shocked to find Rydag at the Lion Camp. He was
sure it could not have been easy for Nezzie, and in truth, she had
borne the brunt of harsh criticism and prejudice. Only someone se
renely confident and sure of her position would have dared to face
down her detractors, and her genuine compassion and humanity had
eventually prevailed. But even Nezzie had not mentioned the son
Ayla had told her about, when she was trying to persuade the others
to take her in.
Ayla didn't know the pain Jondalar felt when Frebec had ridiculed
her, though he had expected more of it. His pain was more than just
empathy for her, however. The whole angry confrontation reminded
him of another time that his emotions had led him astray, and it ex
posed a deep and buried pain of his own. But, even worse, was his
own unexpected reaction. That caused his anguish now. Jondalar still
flushed with guilt because, for a moment, he had been mortified to be
associated with her when Frebec hurled his invective. How could he
love a woman and be ashamed of her?
Ever since that terrible time when he was young, Jondalar had
fought to keep himself under control, but he seemed unable to contain
the conflicts that tormented him now. He wanted to take Ay la home
with him. He wanted her to meet Dalanar and the people of his Cave,
and his mother, Marthona, and his older brother and young sister,
and his cousins, and Zeiandoni. He wanted them to welcome her, to
establish his own hearth with her, a place where she could have chil
dren that might be of his spirit. There was no one else on earth he
wanted, yet he cringed at the thought of the contempt that might be
heaped on him for bringing home such a woman, and he was reluctant
to expose her to it.
Especially if it didn't have to be. If only she wouldn't speak about
the Clan, no one would know. Yet, what could she say when someone
asked who her people were? Where she came from? The people who
raised her were the only ones she knew, unless . . . she accepted
Talut's offer. Then, she could be Ayla of the Mamutoi, just as though
she were born to them. Her peculiar way of saying some words would
just be an accent. Who knows? he thought. Maybe she is Mamutoi.
Her parents could have been. She doesn't know who they were.
But if she becomes Mamutoi, she might decide to stay. What if she
does? Would I be able to stay? Could I learn to accept these people as
my own? Thonolan did it. Did he love Jetamio more than I love
Ayla? But the Sharamudoi were her people. She was born and raised
there. The Mamutoi are not Ay la's people any more than they are
mine. If she could be happy here, she could be happy with the Zeian-
donii. But if she becomes one of them, she might not want to come
home with me. She wouldn't have any trouble finding someone here
. . . I'm sure Ranee wouldn't mind at all.
Ayla felt him clutch her possessively, and wondered what had
brought it on. She noticed a line of brush ahead, thought it was prob
ably a small river, and urged Whinney toward it. The horses smelled
the water and needed little prodding. When they reached the stream,
Ayla and Jondalar dismounted and looked for a comfortable place to
sit.
The watercourse had a thickening at the edges which they knew
was only the beginning. The white border that had been built up,
layer upon layer, out of the dark waters still swirling down the center,
would grow as the season waxed, and close in until the turbulent flow
was stilled, held in suspension until the cycle turned. Then the waters
would burst forth once again in a gush of freedom.
Ayla opened a small parfleche, a carrying case made of stiff
rawhide, in which she had packed food for them, some dried meat
that she thought was aurochs, and a small basket of dried blueberries
and little tart plums. She brought out a brassy gray nodule of iron
pyrite and a piece of flint to start a small fire to boil water for tea.
Jondalar marveled again at the ease with which the fire was started
with the firestone. It was magic, a miracle. He had never seen any
thing like it before he met Ay la.
Nodules of iron pyrite—firestones—had littered the rocky beach in
her valley. Her discovery that a hot spark, long-lived enough to start a
fire, could be drawn from the iron pyrite by striking it with flint, had
been an accident, but one she was ready to take advantage of. Her fire
had gone out. She knew how to make fire by the laborious process
most people used, twirling a stick against a base, or platform, of wood
until the friction caused heat enough to make a smoldering ember. So
she understood how to apply the principle when she picked up a
chunk of iron pyrite, by mistake, instead of her flint-shaping ham-
merstone, and struck that first spark.
Jondalar had learned the technique from Ayla. Working with flint,
he had often caused small sparks, but he thought of it as the living
spirit of the stone released as part of the process. It didn't occur to
him to attempt to make a fire with the sparks. But then he was not
alone in a valley living on the bare edge of survival; he was usually
around people who nearly always had a fire going. The sparks he
made with just flint were not usually long-lived enough to make fire,
anyway. It was Ay la's adventitious combination of flint and iron
pyrite that created the spark which could be made into fire. He under
stood immediately the value of the process and the firestones, how
ever, and the benefits to be gained by being able to make fire so
quickly and easily.
While they ate, they laughed at the antics of Racer enticing his
mother into a game of "come get me," and then at both horses rolling
on their backs, their legs kicking up in the air, on a sandy bank pro
tected from the wind and warmed by the sun. They carefully avoided
any mention of the thoughts that were on their minds, but the laugh
ter relaxed them both, and the seclusion and privacy reminded them
of their days of closeness in the valley. By the time they were sipping
hot tea, they were ready to venture into more difficult topics.
"Latie would enjoy watching those two horses play like that, I
think," Jondalar said.
"Yes. She does like the horses, doesn't she?"
"She likes you, too, Ayla. She's become quite an admirer." Jondalar
hesitated, then continued, "Many people like you and admire you
here. You don't really want to go back to the valley and live alone, do
you?"
Ayla looked down at the cup in her hands, swirled the last of the
tea around with the dregs of the leaves, and took a shallow sip. "It is a
relief to be alone, by ourselves, again. I didn't realize how good it
could feel to get away from all the people, and there are some of my
things in the cave at the valley that I wish I had. But, you are right.
Now that I've met the Others, I don't want to live alone all the time. I
like Latie, and Deegie, and Talut and Nezzie, everyone . . . except
Frebec."
Jondalar sighed with relief. The first and biggest hurdle had been
easy. "Frebec is only one. You can't let one person spoil everything.
Talut . . . and Tulie . . . would not have invited us to stay with them
if they didn't like you, and didn't feel that you had something valu
able to offer."
"You have something valuable to offer, Jondalar. Do you want to
stay and become a Mamutoi?"
"They have been kind to us, much kinder than simple hospitality
requires. I could stay, certainly through the winter, and even longer,
and I'd be happy to give them anything I could. But they don't need
my flint knapping. Wymez is far better than I am, and Danug will
soon be as good. And I've already shown them the spear-thrower.
They have seen how it's made. With practice, they could use it. They
just have to want it. And I am Jondalar of the Zeiandonii ..."
He stopped and his eyes took on an unfocused look as though he
were seeing across a great distance. Then he looked back the way they
had come and his forehead knotted in a frown as he tried to think of
some explanation. "I must return . . . someday ... if only to tell my
mother of my brother's death . . . and to give Zeiandoni a chance to
find his spirit and guide it to the next world. I could not become
Jondalar of the Mamutoi knowing that, I cannot forget my obligation."
Ay la looked at him closely. She knew he didn't want to stay. It
wasn't because of obligations, though he might feel them. He wanted
to go home.
"What about you?" Jondalar said, trying to keep his tone and ex
pression neutral. "Do you want to stay and become Ay la of the
Mamutoi?"
She closed her eyes, searching for a way to express herself, feeling
that she didn't know enough words, or the right words, or that words
were just not enough. "Since Broud cursed me, I have had no people,
Jondalar. It has made me feel empty. I like the Mamutoi and respect
them. I feel at home with them. The Lion Camp is ... like Brun's
clan . . . most are good people. I don't know who my people were
before the Clan, I don't think I will ever know, but sometimes at
night I think ... I wish they were Mamutoi."
She looked hard at the man, at his straight yellow hair against the
dark fur of his hood, at his handsome face that she thought of as
beautiful though he'd told her that wasn't the right word for a man, at
his strong, sensitive body and large expressive hands, at his blue eyes
that seemed so earnest, and so troubled. "But, before the Mamutoi,
you came. You took the emptiness away and filled me with love. I
want to be with you, Jondalar."
The anxiety left his eyes, replaced now by the relaxed and easy
warmth she had grown used to in the valley, and then by the mag
netic, compelling desire that made her body respond with a will of its
own. Without any conscious volition, she was drawn to him, felt his
mouth find hers and his arms surround her.
"Ay la, my Ay la, I love you so," he cried in a harsh strangulated sob
that was filled with anguish and relief. He held her tight against his
chest, and yet gently, as they sat on the ground, as though he never
wanted to let go, but was afraid she would break. He released his hold
just enough to tilt her face up to his, and kissed her forehead, and her
eyes, and the tip of her nose, then her mouth, and felt his desire
mount. It was cold, they had no place of shelter or warmth, but he
wanted her.
He untied the drawstring of her hood, and found her throat and her
neck, while his hands reached beneath her parka and her tunic, and
found her warm skin and full breasts, with their hard, erect nipples.
A low moan escaped her lips as he fondled them, squeezing and pull
ing firmly. He untied the drawstring of her trousers and reached in to
find her furry mound. She pressed up to him when he found her
warm moist slit, and felt a tightening, a tingling.
Then she felt under his parka and tunic for his drawstring, untied
it, then reached for his hard, throbbing member and rubbed her
hands along its shaft. He breathed a loud sigh of pleasure when she
bent down and took him into her mouth. She felt the smoothness of
his skin with her tongue, and drew him in as far as she could, then
pushed him out and drew him in again, still rubbing his warm,
curved shaft with her hands.
She heard him moan, start to cry out, and then take a deep breath
and gently push her away. "Wait, Ayla, I want you," he said.
"I'd have to take off my leggings and my foot-coverings for that,"
she said.
"No, you don't, it's too cold out. Turn around, remember?"
"Like Whinney and her stallion," Ayla whispered.
She turned around, went down on her knees. For an instant, the
position reminded her not of Whinney and her eager stallion, but of
Broud, of being thrown down and forced. But Jondalar's loving touch
was not the same. She lowered her waistband, baring her warm, firm
backside, and an opening that beckoned to him like a flower to bees
with its soft petals and deep pink throat. The invitation was almost
too much. He felt a surge of pressure that ached to break loose. After
a moment to hold back, he crouched up close to keep her warm while
he caressed her smooth fullness, and explored her inviting pocket and
ridges and folds of warm wetness and Pleasure with his gentle, know
ing touch, until her cries and a new font of warmth told him to hold
back no more.
Then he spread her twin mounds apart and guided his full and
ready manhood into the deep and willing entrance of her womanhood
with an agonizing pleasure that tore a cry from both of them. He
withdrew, almost fully, and entered again, pulling her to him, and
reveled in her deep embrace. Again he withdrew and entered, and
again, and again, until finally in a great burst, the glorious release
came.
After a few final strokes that drew out the final measure, and still
deep within her warmth, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled
them both over on their sides. He held her close, covering her with
his body and his parka for a moment while they rested.
Finally they pulled apart and Jondalar sat up. The wind was pick
ing up, and Jondalar glanced at massing clouds with apprehension.
"I should clean myself a little," Ay la said, getting up. "These are
new leggings from Deegie."
"When we get back, you can leave them outside to freeze, and then
brush it off."
"The stream still has water ..."
"It's icy, Ayla!"
"I know. I'll be quick."
Testing her way on the ice, she squatted near the water, and rinsed
herself with her hand. As she stepped back on the bank, Jondalar
came up behind her, and dried her with the fur of his parka.
"I don't want that to freeze," he said, with a big grin as he patted
her with the fur, and then caressed her.
"I think you'll keep it warm enough," she said with a smile, tying
her drawstring and straightening her parka.
This was the Jondalar she loved. The man who could make her feel
warm and quivery inside with a look of his eyes, or a touch of his
hands; the man who knew her body better than she did, and could
draw out feelings she didn't know were there; the man who had made
her forget the pain of Broud's first forcible entry, and taught her what
Pleasures were and should be. The Jondalar she loved was playful,
and caring, and loving. That was how he had been in the valley, and
now when they were alone. Why was he so different around the Lion
Camp?
"You are getting very quick with words, woman. I'm going to have
trouble keeping up with you, in my own language!" He put his arms
around her waist, and looked down at her, his eyes full of love and
pride. "You are good with language, Ayla. I can't believe how fast
you learn. How do you do it?"
"I have to. This is my world now. I have no people. I am dead to
the Clan, I can't go back."
"You could have people. You could be Ayla of the Mamutoi. If you
want to be. Do you?"
"I want to be with you."
"You can still be with me. Just because someone adopts you doesn't
mean you can't leave . . . someday. We could stay here ... for a
while. And if something happened to me—it could, you know—it
might not be so bad to have people. People who want you."
"You mean you wouldn't mind?"
"Mind? No, I wouldn't mind, if that's what you want."
Ayla thought she detected a little hesitation, but he did seem sin
cere. "Jondalar, I am only Ayla. I have no people. If I am adopted, I
would have someone. I would be Ayla of the Mamutoi." She stepped
back, away from him. "I need to think about it."
She turned around and walked toward the pack she had been carry
ing. If I'm going to leave with Jondalar soon, I shouldn't agree, she
thought. It wouldn't be fair. But he said he'd be willing to stay. For a
while. Maybe, after he lives with the Mamutoi, he'll change his mind
and want to make this his home. She wondered if she was trying to
find an excuse.
She reached inside her parka for her amulet, and sent out a thought
to her totem. "Cave Lion, I wish there was some way I could know
what is right. I love Jondalar, but I want to belong to people of my
own, too. Talut and Nezzie want to adopt me, they want to make me
a daughter of the Lion . . . the Lion Hearth. And the Lion Camp! Oh,
Great Cave Lion, have you been guiding me all along, and I just
wasn't paying attention?"
She spun around. Jondalar was still standing where she left him,
silently watching her.
"I've decided. I will do it! I will be Ayla of the Lion Camp of the
Mamutoi!"
She noticed a fleeting frown cross his face before he smiled. "Good,
Ayla. I'm glad for you."
"Oh, Jondalar. Will it be right? Will everything turn out all right?"
"No one can answer that. Who could know?" he said, coming
toward her, one eye on the darkening sky. "I hope it will . . . for both
of us." They clung to each other for a moment. "I think we should be
getting back."
Ay la reached for the parfleche to pack it, but something caught her
eye. She went down on one knee, and picked up a deep golden stone.
Brushing it off, she looked at it closer. Completely encapsulated
within the smooth stone, which had begun to feel warm to the touch,
was a complete winged insect.
"Jondalar! Look at this. Have you ever seen anything like it?"
He took it from her, looked it over closely, then looked at her with
a bit of awe. "This is amber. My mother has one like it. She places
great value on it. This one may be even better." He noticed Ay la
staring at him. She looked stunned. He didn't think he'd said any
thing all that startling. "What is it, Ayla?"
"A sign. It's a sign from my totem, Jondalar. The Spirit of the
Great Cave Lion is telling me I made the right decision. He wants me
to become Ayla of the Mamutoi!"
The force of the wind intensified as Ayla and Jondalar rode back,
and though it was just past noon, the light of the sun was dimmed by
clouds of dry loess soil billowing up from the frozen ground. Soon
they could hardly see their way through the windblown dust. Flashes
of lightning crackled around them in the dry, freezing air, and thun
der growled and boomed. Racer reared up in fright as a bolt flashed
and a clap of thunder cracked nearby. Whinney nickered anxiously.
They dismounted to calm the nervous young horse, and continued on
foot leading them both.
By the time they reached the Camp, winds of gale force were driv
ing a dust storm that blackened the sky and blasted their skin. As they
came close to the earthlodge, a figure emerged out of the wind-driven
gloom holding onto something which flapped and strained as though it
were alive.
"There you are. I was getting worried," Talut shouted above the
howling and thunder.
"What are you doing? Can we help?" Jondalar asked.
"We made a lean-to for Ayla's horses when it looked like a storm
was brewing. I didn't know it would be a dry storm. The wind blew
it apart. I think you'd better bring them in. They can stay in the
entrance room," Talut said.
"Is it like this often?" Jondalar said, grabbing an end of the large
hide that was supposed to have been a windbreak.
"No. Some years we don't have dry storms at all. It will settle
down once we get a good snow," Talut said, "then we'll just have
blizzards!" he finished with a laugh. He ducked into the earthlodge,
then held back the heavy mammoth hide drape so Ayla and Jondalar
could lead the horses inside.
The horses were nervous about entering the strange place full of so
many unfamiliar smells, but they liked the noisy windstorm even less,
and they trusted Ay la. The relief was immediate once they were out
of the wind, and they settled down quickly. Ay la was grateful to
Talut for his concern for them, though a little surprised. As she went
through the second archway, Ay la noticed how cold she was. The
stinging grains of dust had distracted her, but the subfreezing temperature
and strong wind had chilled her to the bone.

The wind still raged outside the longhouse, rattling the covers over
the smoke holes and bellying out the heavy drapes. Sudden drafts sent
dust flying and caused the fire in the cooking hearth to flare up. People
were gathered in casual groups around the area of the first hearth,
finishing up the evening meal, sipping herb tea, talking, waiting for
Talut to begin.
Finally he got up and strode toward the Lion Hearth. When he
returned he was carrying an ivory staff, taller than he was, thicker at
the bottom, tapering at the top. It was decorated with a small, spoked
wheellike object, which had been fastened to the staff about a third of
the way down from the top. White crane feathers were attached to the
top half, fanning out in a semicircle, while between the spokes of the
bottom half enigmatic pouches, carved ivory, and pieces of fur dangled
from thongs. On closer look, Ayla saw that the staff was made
from a single, long mammoth tusk which, by some unknown method,
had been made straight. How, she wondered, did someone take the
curve out of a mammoth tusk?
Everyone quieted and turned their attention to the headman. He
looked at Tulie; she nodded. Then he banged the butt end of the Staff
on the ground four times.
"I have a serious matter to present to the Lion Camp," Talut began.
"Something that is the concern of everyone, therefore I talk with the
Speaking Staff so all will listen carefully and no one may interrupt.
Anyone who wishes to speak on this matter may request the Speaking
Staff."
There was a rustle of excitement as people sat up and took notice.
"Ayla and Jondalar came to the Lion Camp not long ago. When I
numbered the days they have been here, I was surprised that it has
been such a short time. They already feel like old friends, like they
belong. I think most of you feel the same. Because of such warm
feelings of friendship for our relative, Jondalar, and his friend, Ayla, I
had hoped they would extend their visit and planned to ask them to
stay through the winter. But in the short time they have been here,
they have shown more than friendship. Both of them have brought
valuable skills and knowledge, and offered them to us without reserva
tion, just as though they were one of us.
"Wymez recommends Jondalar as a skilled worker of flint. He has
shared his knowledge freely with both Danug and Wymez. More than
that, he has brought with him a new hunting weapon, a spear-thrower
that extends both the range and power of a spear."
There were nods and comments of approval, and Ayla noticed
again that the Mamutoi seldom sat quietly, but spoke out with com
ments in active participation.
"Ayla brings many unusual talents," Talut continued. "She is
skilled and accurate with the spear-thrower, and with her own
weapon, the sling. Mamut says she is a Searcher, though untrained,
and Nezzie thinks she may be a Caller as well. Perhaps not, but it is
true that she can make horses obey her, and they allow her to ride on
their backs. She has even taught us a way of speaking without words,
which has helped us to understand Rydag in a new way. But perhaps
most important, she is a Healer. She has already saved the lives of
two children . . . and she has a wonderful remedy for headaches!"
The last comment brought a wave of laughter.
"Both of them bring so much, I do not want the Lion Camp or the
Mamutoi to lose them. I have asked them to stay with us, not just for
the winter, but always. In the name of Mut, Mother of All"—Talut
pounded the ground with the Staff once, firmly—"I ask that they join
us, and that you accept them as Mamutoi."
Talut nodded to Ayla and Jondalar. They stood up and approached
him with the formality of a prearranged ceremony. Tulie, who had
been waiting off to the side, moved up to stand beside her brother.
"I ask for the Speaking Staff," she said.
Talut passed it to her.
"As headwoman of the Lion Camp, I state my agreement with
Talut's comments. Jondalar and Ayla would be valuable additions to
the Lion Camp, and to the Mamutoi." She faced the tall blond man.
"Jondalar," she said, stamping the Speaking Staff three times, "Tulie
and Barzec have asked you to be a son of the Aurochs Hearth. We
have spoken for you. How do you speak, Jondalar?"
He approached her, and took the Staff she offered and stamped it
three times. "I am Jondalar of the Ninth Cave of the Zeiandonii, son
of Marthona, former leader of the Ninth Cave, born to the hearth of
Dalanar, leader of the Lanzadonii," he began. Since it was a formal
occasion he decided to use his more formal address and name his pri
mary ties, which brought smiles and nods of approval. All the foreign
names gave the ceremony an exotic and important flavor. "I am
greatly honored by your invitation, but I must be fair and tell you I
have strong obligations. Someday I must return to the Zeiandonii. I
must tell my mother of my brother's death, and I must tell Zeiandoni,
our Mamut, so a Search for his spirit can be made to guide him to the
world of the spirits. I value our kinship, I am so warmed by your
friendship, I do not want to leave. I wish to stay with you, my friends
and relatives, for as long as I can."Jondalar passed the Speaking Staff
back to Tulie.
"We are saddened that you cannot join our hearth, Jondalar, but we
understand your obligations. You have our respect. Since we are re
lated, through your brother who was a cross-mate of Tholie, you are
welcome to remain as long as you wish," Tulie said, then passed the
Staff back to Talut.
"Ay la," Talut said, stamping the Staff three times on the ground,
"Nezzie and I want to adopt you as a daughter of the Lion Hearth.
We have spoken for you. How do you speak?"
Ayla took the Staff and banged it on the ground three times. "I am
Ay la. I have no people. I am honored and pleased to be asked to
become one of you. I would feel proud to be Ayla of the Mamutoi,"
she said, in a carefully rehearsed speech.
Talut took the Staff back and stamped it four times. "If there are no
objections, I will close this special meeting ..."
"I request the Speaking Staff," a voice from the audience called out.
Everyone looked surprised to see Frebec approaching.
He took the Staff from the headman, struck the ground three times.
"I do not agree. I do not want Ayla," he said.
14

rr}

he people of the Lion Camp were stunned into silence.
Then there was a hubbub of shocked surprise. The headman had
sponsored Ay la, with the headwoman in full accord. Though everyone
knew Frebec's feelings about Ay la, no one else seemed to share
them. What's more, Frebec and the Crane Hearth hardly seemed in a
position to object. They had been accepted by the Lion Camp recently
themselves, after several other Camps had turned them down,
only because Nezzie and Talut had argued in their behalf. The Crane
Hearth once had a high status, and there had been people in other
Camps who had been willing to sponsor them, but there had always
been dissenters, and there could be no dissenters. Everyone had to
agree. After all the headman's support, it seemed ungrateful for
Frebec to oppose him, and no one had expected it, least of all Talut.
The commotion quickly died down when Talut took the Speaking
Staff from Frebec, held it up and shook it, invoking its power.
"Frebec has the Staff. Let him speak," Talut said, handing the ivory
shaft back.
Frebec hit the ground three times and continued, "I do not want
Ayla because I don't think she has offered enough to make her a
Mamutoi." There was an undercurrent of objection to his statement,
especially after Talut's words of praise, but not enough to interrupt
the speaker. "Do we ask any stranger who stops for a visit to become
Mamutoi?"
Even with the constraint of the Speaking Staff, it was difficult for
the Camp to keep from speaking out. "What do you mean she has
nothing to offer? What about her hunting skill?" Deegie called out,
full of righteous anger. Her mother, the headwoman, had not accepted
Ayla on first appearances. Only after careful consideration had
she agreed to go along with Talut. How could this Frebec object?
"So what if she hunts? Is everyone who hunts made one of us?"
Frebec said. "That's not a good reason. She won't be hunting much
longer anyway, not after she has children."
"Having children is more important! That will give her more status,"
Deegie flared.
"Don't you think I know that? We don't even know if she can have
children, and if she doesn't have children, she won't be of much value
at all. But we weren't talking about children, we were talking about
hunting. Just because she hunts is not a good enough reason to make
her a Mamutoi," Frebec argued.
"What about the spear-thrower? You can't deny it is a weapon of
value, and she is good at it and already showing others how to use it,"
Tornec said.
"She did not bring it. Jondalar did, and he is not joining us."
Danug spoke out. "She might be a Searcher, or a Caller. She can
make horses obey her, she even rides on one."
"Horses are food. The Mother meant for us to hunt them, not live
with them. I'm not even sure it's right to ride them. And no one
knows for sure what she might be. She might be a Searcher, she
might be a Caller. She might be the Mother on earth, but she might
not. Since when is 'might be' a reason to make someone one of us?"
No one had been able to counter his objections. Frebec was beginning
to enjoy himself, and all the attention he was getting.
Mamut looked at Frebec with some surprise. Though the shaman
completely disagreed with him, he had to concede that Frebec's argu
ments were clever. It was too bad they were so misdirected.
"Ay la has taught Rydag to talk, when no one thought he could,"
Nezzie shouted, joining in the debate.
"Talk!" he sneered. "You can call a lot of hand waving 'talking' if
you want to, but I don't. I can't think of anything more useless than
making stupid gestures at a flathead. That's not a reason to accept her.
If anything, it's a reason not to."
"And in spite of the obvious, I suppose you still don't believe she is
a Healer?" Ranee commented. "You realize, I hope, that if you drive
Ayla out, you may be the one who is sorry if there is no one here to
help Fralie when she delivers."
Ranee had always been an anomaly to Frebec. In spite of his high
status and renown as a carver, Frebec didn't know what to make of
the brown-skinned man, and was not comfortable around him. Frebec
always had the feeling Ranee was being disdainful or making fun of
him when he used that subtle ironic tone. He didn't like it, and be
sides, there was probably something unnatural about such dark skin.
"You're right, Ranee," Frebec said in a loud voice. "I don't think
she's a Healer. How could anyone growing up with those animals
learn to be a Healer? And Fralie has already had babies. Why should
this time be any different? Unless having that animal woman here
brings her bad luck. That flathead boy already brings down the status
of this Camp. Can't you see? She'll only bring it down more. Why
would anyone want a woman raised by animals? And what would
people think if anyone came here and found horses inside a lodge?
No, I don't want an animal woman who lived with flatheads to be one
of the Lion Camp."
There was a great commotion over his comments about the Lion
Camp, but Tulie raised her voice above the tumult. "By whose mea
sure do you say the status of this Camp has been brought down?
Rydag does not take my status from me, I am still a leading voice on
the Council of Sisters. Talut has lost no standing either."
"People are always saying 'that Camp with the flathead boy.' It
makes me ashamed to say I am a member," Frebec shouted back.
Tulie stood her tallest beside the rather slightly built man. "You are
welcome to leave at any time," she said in her coldest voice.
"Now look what you've done," Crozie cried. "Fralie expecting a
child, and you're going to force her out, in this cold, with no place to
go. Why did I ever agree to your joining? Why did I ever believe
someone who paid such a low Bride Price would be good enough for
her? My poor daughter, my poor Fralie ..."
The old woman's wails were drowned out by the general noise level
of angry voices and arguments aimed at Frebec. Ay la turned her back
and walked toward the Mammoth Hearth. She noticed Rydag watch
ing the meeting with big sad eyes from the Lion Hearth, and went to
him instead. She sat down beside him, felt his chest and looked at him
carefully to make sure he was all right. Then, without trying to make
any conversation, because she didn't know what to say, she picked
him up. She held him on her lap, rocking back and forth, humming a
tuneless monotone under her breath. She had once rocked her son
that way, and later, alone in her cave in her valley, she had often
rocked herself to sleep the same way.
"Does no one respect the Speaking Staff?" Talut roared, over
powering the rest of the furor. His eyes blazed. He was angry. Ay la
had never seen him so angry, but she admired his self-control when
he next spoke. "Crozie, we would not turn Fralie out into the cold,
and you insult me and the Lion Camp by suggesting that we would."
The old woman looked at the headman with mouth agape. She
hadn't really thought they would turn Fralie out. She had merely
been haranguing Frebec, and didn't think about it being taken as an
insult. She had the decency to blush with shame, which surprised
some people, but she did understand the finer points of accepted be
havior. Fralie's status, after all, had first come from her. Crozie was
highly esteemed in her own right, or had been until she lost so much,
and made herself and everyone around her so miserable. She could
still claim the distinction if not the substance.
"Frebec, you may feel embarrassment to be a member of the Lion
Camp," Talut said, "but if this Camp has lost any status, it is because
this was the only Camp that would take you in. As Tulie said, no one
is forcing you to stay. You are free to leave any time, but we will not
put you out, not with a sick woman who will be giving birth this
winter. Perhaps you have not been around pregnant women very
much before, but whether you realize it or not, Fralie's illness is more
than pregnancy. Even I know that much.
"But that is not the reason this meeting was called. No matter
how you feel about it, or how we feel about it, you are a member
of the Lion Camp. I have stated my wish to adopt Ayla to my hearth,
to make her Mamutoi. But everyone must agree, and you have
objected."
By this time, Frebec was squirming. It was one thing to make him
self feel important by objecting and thwarting everyone else, but
Talut had just reminded him of the humiliation and desperation he
had felt when he was trying so hard to find a Camp to establish a new
hearth, with his treasured new woman, who was more desirable and
had brought him more status than he ever had in his life.
Mamut was observing him closely. Frebec had never been particu
larly outstanding. He had little status, since his mother had little to
bestow on him, no accomplishments to his credit, and few obvious
qualities or talents of any real merit. He wasn't hated, but neither was
he well liked. He seemed to be a rather mediocre man of average
abilities. But, he showed skill in arguing. Though false, his arguments
had logic. He might have more intelligence than he had been given
credit for, and apparently he had high aspirations. Joining with Fralie
was a great achievement, for a man like him. He would bear closer
watching.
Even to make an offer for a woman like her showed a certain dar
ing. Bride Price was the basis of economic value among the Mamutoi;
brides were the standard of currency. A man's standing in his society
came from the woman who gave birth to him and the woman or
women he could attract—by status, or hunting prowess, or skill, or
talent, or charm—to live with him. Finding a woman of high status
willing to become his woman was like finding great riches, and Frebec
was not going to let her go.
But why had she accepted him? Mamut wondered. Certainly there
were other men who had made offers; Frebec had added to her diffi
culties. He had so little to offer, and Crozie was so disagreeable, that
Fralie's Camp had turned them out, and Frebec's Camp had refused
them. Then one after another of the other Camps had turned him
down, even with a pregnant, high-status woman. And each time, out
of her own feelings of panic, Crozie made it worse, berating him and
blaming him, and making them even less desirable.
Frebec had been grateful when the Lion Camp had said yes, but
they had been one of the last he'd tried. It wasn't that they didn't have
a high station, but they were looked upon as having an unusual assort
ment of members. Talut had the ability to see the unusual as special
rather than odd. He'd known status all his life, he was looking for
something more, and he found it in the unusual. He came to relish
that quality and fostered it in his Camp. Talut, himself, was the big
gest man anyone had ever seen, not only among the Mamutoi, but the
neighboring peoples as well. Tulie was the biggest and strongest
woman. Mamut was the oldest man. Wymez was the best flint knap-
per, Ranee not only the darkest man but the best carver. And Rydag
was the only flathead child. Talut wanted Ay la, who was most un
usual with her horses, and her skills, and her gifts, and he wouldn't
mind Jondalar, who had come from the farthest away.
Frebec didn't want to be unusual, especially since he could only see
himself viewed as the least of something. He was still seeking standing
among the ordinary, and he had begun by making a virtue of the most
common. He was Mamutoi, therefore he was better than everyone
who was not, better than anyone different. Ranee, with his dark
skin—and his biting, satiric wit—wasn't really Mamutoi. He hadn't
even been born among them, but Frebec was, and he was certainly
better than those animals, those flatheads. That boy Nezzie loved so
much had no status at all since he was born to a flathead woman.
And that Ay la, who came with her horses and her tall stranger, had
already caught the disdainful eye of dark Ranee, whom all the women
wanted in spite of his difference, or because of it. She hadn't even
looked at Frebec, as though she knew he wasn't worth her attention.
It didn't matter that she was skilled, or gifted, or beautiful, he was
certainly better than she; she wasn't a Mamutoi and he was. What's
more, she had lived with those flatheads. Now Talut wanted to make
her a Mamutoi.
Frebec knew he was the cause of the unpleasant scene that had
erupted. He had proved he was important enough to keep her out,
but he had made the big headman angrier than he'd ever seen him,
and it was a little frightening to see the huge bear of a man so angry.
Talut could pick him up and break him in two. At the very least,
Talut could make him leave. Then how long would he keep his high-
status woman?
Yet, for all his controlled anger, Talut was treating Frebec with
more respect than he was accustomed to receiving. His comments had
not been ignored or cast aside.
^i^i-inns are reasonable does not matter," Talut
continued, coldly. "I believe she has many unusual talents that could
bring benefit to us. You have disputed that and say she has nothing of
value to offer. I don't know what could possibly be offered that some
one could not dispute, if they wished ..."
"Talut," Jondalar said, "excuse my interruption while you hold the
Speaking Staff, but I think I know something that could not be
disputed."
"You do?"
"Yes, I think so. May I speak with you alone?"
"Tulie, will you hold the Staff?" Talut said, then walked toward
the Lion Hearth with Jondalar. A murmur of curiosity followed
them.
Jondalar went to Ay la and spoke with her. She nodded, and putting
Rydag down, got up and hurried to the Mammoth Hearth.
"Talut, are you willing to put out all the fires?" Jondalar said.
Talut frowned. "All the fires? It's cold out, and windy. It could get
cold inside quickly."
"I know, but believe me, it will be worth it. For Ay la to demon
strate this to the best effect, it needs to be dark. It won't be cold for
long."
Ayla came back with some stones in her hands. Talut looked from
her, to Jondalar, and back to her again. Then he nodded his head in
agreement. A fire could always be started again, even if it took some
effort. They went back to the cooking hearth, and Talut spoke to
Tulie, privately. There was some discussion and Mamut was drawn
in, then Tulie spoke to Barzec. Barzec signaled Druwez and Danug,
and all three put on parkas, picked up large, tightly woven baskets
and went outside.
The murmur of conversation was full of excitement. Something
special was going on and the Camp was full of anticipation, almost the
way it was before a special ceremony. They hadn't expected secret
consultations and a mysterious demonstration.
Barzec and the boys were back quickly with baskets full of loose
dirt. Then, starting at the far end, at the Hearth of the Aurochs, they
stirred the banked coals or small sustaining fires in each of the firepits
and poured the dirt over them to smother the flames. The people of
the Camp became nervous when they realized what was going on.
As the longhouse darkened with each fire that was put out, every
one stopped talking and the lodge grew still. The wind beyond the
walls howled louder, and the drafts felt colder and brought with them
a deeper and more ominous chill. Fire was appreciated and under
stood, if somewhat taken for granted, but they knew their life de
pended on it when they saw their fires go out.
Finally only the fire in the large cooking hearth remained. Ayla had
her fire-starting materials ready beside the fireplace, and then, with a
nod from Talut, Barzec, sensing the dramatic moment, dumped the
dirt on the fire as the people gasped.
In an instant the lodge was filled with darkness. It wasn't just an
absence of light, but a fullness of dark. A smothering, uncompromis
ing, deep black occupied every empty space. There were no stars, no
glowing orb, no nacreous, shimmering clouds. A hand brought in
front of the eyes could not be seen. There was no dimension, no
shadow, no silhouette of black on black. The sense of sight had lost all
value.
A child cried and was hushed by his mother. Then breathing was
noticed, and shuffling, and a cough. Someone spoke in a quiet voice
and was answered by one with a deeper tone. The smell of burned
bone was strong, but mingled in was a multitude of other odors,
scents, and aromas: processed leathers, food that was cooked and food
that was stored, grass mats, dried herbs, and the smell of people, of
feet and bodies and warm breaths.
The Camp waited in the dark, wondering. Not exactly frightened,
but a little apprehensive. A long time seemed to pass and they began
to get restless. What was taking so long?
The timing had been left up to Mamut. It was second nature to the
old shaman to create dramatic effects, almost instinct to know just the
right moment. Ay la felt a tap on her shoulder. It was the signal she
was waiting for. She had a piece of iron pyrite in one hand, flint in
the other, and on the ground in front of her was a small pile of fire-
weed fluff. In the pitch-black darkness of the lodge, she closed her
eyes and took a deep breath, then struck the iron pyrite with the flint.
A large spark glowed, and in the perfect dark the tiny light illumi
nated just the young woman kneeling on the ground for a long mo
ment, bringing forth a startled gasp and sounds of awe from the
Camp. Then it went out. Ay la struck again, this time closer to the
tinder she had prepared. The spark fell on the quickly flammable ma
terial. Ay la bent close to blow, and in a moment it burst into flame,
and she heard ahhs and ohhs and exclamations of wonder.
She fed small shavings of woody brush from a nearby pile, and
when they caught, slightly larger sticks and kindling. Then she sat
back and watched while Nezzie cleaned the dirt and ashes out of the
cooking hearth and transferred the flame to it. Regulating the damper
of the flue that brought wind from outside, she started the bone burn
ing. The attention of the people of the Camp had been riveted on the
process, but after the fire was going, they realized how short a time it
had taken. It was magic! What had she done to create fire so fast?
Talut shook the Speaking Staff, and struck the ground three times
with the thick end. "Now does anyone have any more objections to
Ayla becoming a Mamutoi, and a member of the Lion Camp?" he
asked.
"Will she show us how to do that magic?" Frebec said.
"She will not only show us, she has promised to give one of her
firestones to each hearth in this Camp," Talut replied.
"I have no more objections," Frebec said.

Ayla and Jondalar sorted through their traveling packs to gather
together all the iron pyrite nodules they had with them and selected
six of the best. She had relit the fires of each hearth the night before,
showing them the process, but she was tired and it was too late to
look through their packs for firestones before they went to bed.
The six stones, grayish yellow with a metallic sheen, made a small,
insignificant pile on the bed platform, yet one like them had made the
difference between her acceptance and her rejection. Seeing them, no
one would ever guess what magic lay hidden in the soul of those
rocks.
Ayla picked them up and, holding them in her hands, looked up at
Jondalar.
"If everyone else wanted me, why would they let one person keep
me out?" she asked.
"I'm not sure," he said, "but everyone in a group like this has to live
with everyone else. It can cause a lot of bad feeling if one person
really doesn't like another person, especially when the weather keeps
everyone inside for a long time. People end up taking sides, arguments
can lead to fights, and someone may get hurt, or worse. That
leads to anger, and then someone wants revenge. Sometimes the only
way to avert more tragedy is to break up the group ... or to pay a
high penalty and send the troublemaker away. ..."
His forehead knotted in pain as he closed his eyes for a moment,
and Ayla wondered what caused his grief.
"But Frebec and Crozie fight all the time, and people don't like
that," she said.
"The rest of the Camp knew about that before they agreed, or at
least they had some idea. Everyone had a chance to say no, so no one
can blame anyone else. Once you've agreed to something, you tend to
feel it's up to you to work it out, and you know it's only for the
winter. Changes are easier to make in summer."
Ayla nodded. She still wasn't entirely certain that he wanted her to
become one of these people, but showing the firestone had been his
idea, and it worked. They both walked to the Lion Hearth to deliver
the stones. Talut and Tulie were deep in conversation. Nezzie and
Mamut were occasionally drawn in, but they listened more than
talked.
"Here are firestones I promised," Ay la said when they acknowl
edged her approach. "You can give them today."
"Oh, no," Tulie said. "Not today. Save them for the ceremony. We
were just talking about that. They will be part of the gifts. We have to
decide on a value for them so we can plan what else will be necessary
to give. They should have a very high value, not only for themselves
but for trading, and for the status they will give you."
"What gifts?" Ayla said.
"It is customary, when someone is adopted," Mamut explained,
"for gifts to be exchanged. The person who is adopted receives gifts
from everyone, and in the name of the hearth that is adopting, gifts
are distributed to the rest of the hearths in the Camp. They can be
small, just a token exchange, or they can be quite valuable. It depends
on the circumstances."
"I think the firestones are valuable enough to be a sufficient gift for
each hearth," Talut said.
"Talut, I would agree with you if Ayla were Mamutoi already and
her value was established," Tulie said, "but in this case, we are trying
to set her Bride Price. The entire Camp will benefit if we can justify a
high value for her. Since Jondalar has declined to be adopted, at least
for now ..." Tulie's smile, to show she bore him no animosity, was
almost flirtatious, but not in the least coy. It simply expressed her
conviction that she was attractive and desirable. "I will be happy to
contribute some gifts for distribution."
"What kind of gifts?" Ayla asked.
"Oh, just gifts . . . they can be many things," Tulie said. "Furs are
nice, and clothes . . . tunics, leggings, boots, or the leather to make
them. Deegie makes beautifully dyed leather. Amber and seashells,
and ivory beads, for necklaces and decorating clothes. Long teeth of
wolves and other meat eaters are quite valuable. So are ivory carvings.
Flint, salt . . . food is good to give, especially if it can be stored.
Anything well made, baskets, mats, belts, knives. I think it's impor
tant to give as much as possible, so when everyone shows the gifts at
the Meeting, it will appear that you have an abundance, to show your
status. It doesn't really matter if most of it is donated to Talut and
Nezzie for you."
"You and Talut and Nezzie do not have to give for me. I have
things to give," Ayla said.
"Yes, of course, you have the firestones. And they are the most
valuable, but they don't look very impressive. Later people will realize
their worth, but first impressions make a difference."
"Tulie is right," Nezzie said. "Most young women spend years
making and accumulating gifts to give away at their Matrimonials, or
if they are adopted."
"Are so many people adopted by the Mamutoi?" Jondalar asked.
"Not outsiders," Nezzie said, "but Mamutoi often adopt other
Mamutoi. Every Camp needs a sister and brother to be headwoman
and headman, but not every man is lucky enough to have a sister like
Tulie. If something happens to one or the other, or if a young man or
a young woman wants to start a new Camp, a sister or a brother may
be adopted. But, don't worry. I have many things that you can give,
Ayla, and even Latie has offered some of her things for you to give."
"But I have things to give, Nezzie. I have things in cave at valley,"
Ayla said. "I spent years making many things."
"It's not necessary for you to go back ..." Tulie said, privately
thinking that whatever she might have would be very primitive with
her flathead background. How could she tell the young woman that
her gifts probably would not be suitable? It could be awkward.
"I want to go back," Ayla insisted. "Other things I need. My healing
plants. Food stored. And food for horses." She turned to Jondalar.
"I want to go back."
"I suppose we could. If we hurried and didn't stop along the way, I
think we could make it ... if the weather clears."
"Usually, after the first cold snap like this, we get some nice
weather," Talut said. "It's unpredictable, though. It can turn any
time."
"Well, if we get some decent weather maybe we'll take a chance and
go back to the valley," Jondalar said, and was rewarded by one of
Ay la's beautiful smiles.
There were some things he wanted, too. Those firestones had made
quite an impression, and the rocky beach at the bend of the river in
Ay la's valley had been full of them. Someday, he hoped, he would
return and share with his people everything he had learned and discovered:
the firestones, the spear-thrower, and for Dalanar, Wymez's
trick of heating flint. Someday . . .

"Hurry back," Nezzie called out, holding her hand up with the
palm facing her, and waving goodbye.
Ayla and Jondalar waved back. They were mounted double on
Whinney, with Racer on a rope behind, and looked down on the people
of the Lion Camp who had gathered to see them off. As excited as
she felt about returning to the valley that had been her home for three
years, Ayla felt a pang of sorrow at leaving behind people who already
seemed like family.
Rydag, .standing on one side of Nezzie, and Rugie on the other,
clung to her as they waved. Ayla couldn't help noticing how little
resemblance there was between them. One was a small image of
Nezzie, the other half-Clan, yet they had been raised as brother and
sister. With a sudden insight, Ayla recalled that Oga had nursed
Durc, along with her own son, Grew, as milk brothers. Grew was fully
Clan and Durc only half; the difference between them had been as
great.
Ayla signaled Whinney with pressure of legs and shift in position,
so second nature she hardly thought of it as guiding the mare. They
turned and started up the slope.
The trip back was not the leisurely one they had made on their way
out. They traveled steadily, making no exploratory side trips or hunting
forays, no early stops to relax or enjoy Pleasures. Expecting to
return, they had noted landmarks as they were traveling from the
valley, certain outcrops, highlands, and rock formations, valleys and
watercourses, but the changing season had altered the landscape.
In part, the vegetation had changed its aspect. The protected valleys
where they had stopped had taken on a seasonal variation that
caused an uneasy sense of unfamiliarity. The arctic birch and willow
had lost all their leaves, and their scrawny limbs shivering in the wind
seemed shriveled and lifeless. Conifers--white spruce, larch, stone
pine--hale and proud in their green-needled vigor, were prominent
instead, and even the isolated dwarfs on the steppes, contorted by
winds, gained substance by comparison. But more confusing were the
changes in surface features wrought, in that frigid periglacial land, by
permafrost.
Permafrost--permanently frozen ground--any part of the earth's
crust, from the surface to deep bedrock, that remains frozen year-
round, was brought on, in that land far south of polar regions so long
ago, by continent-spanning sheets of ice, a mile or two--or more--
high. A complex interaction of climate, surface, and underground
conditions created and maintained the frozen ground. Sunshine had
an effect, and standing water, vegetation, soil density, wind, snow.
Average yearly temperatures only a few degrees lower than those
that would later maintain temperate conditions, were enough to cause
the massive glaciers to encroach upon the land and the formation of
permafrost farther south. The winters were long and cold, and occasional
storms brought heavy snows and intense blizzards, but the
snowfall over the season was relatively light, and many days were
clear. The summers were short, with a few days so hot they belied
the nearness of any glacial mass of ice, but generally it was cloudy and
cool, with little rain.
Though some portion of the ground was always frozen, permafrost
was not a permanent, unchanging state; it was as inconstant and fickle
as the seasons. In the depths of winter when it was frozen solid all the
way through, the land seemed passive, hard, and ungiving, but it was
not what it seemed. When the season turned, the surface softened,
only a few inches where thick ground cover or dense soils or too much
shade resisted the gentle warmth of summer, but the active layer
thawed down several feet on sunny slopes of well-drained gravels with
little vegetation.
The yielding layer was an illusion, though. Beneath the surface the
iron-hard grip of winter still ruled. Impenetrable ice held sway, and
with the thaw and forces of gravity, saturated soils, and their burden
of rocks and trees, crept and slid and flowed across the water-lubri
cated table of ground still frozen below. Slumps occurred and cave-ins
as the surface warmed, and where the summer melt could find no
outlet, bogs and swamps and thaw-lakes appeared.
When the cycle turned once more, the active layer above the frozen
ground turned hard again, but its cold and icy countenance disguised
a restless heart. The extreme stresses and pressures caused heaving,
thrusting, and buckling. The frozen ground split and cracked and
then filled with ice, which, to relieve stress, was expelled as ice
wedges. Pressures filled holes with mud, and caused fine silt to rise in
silt boils and frost blisters. As the freezing water expanded, mounds
and hills of muddy ice—pingos—rose up out of swampy lowlands
reaching heights up to two hundred feet and diameters of several
hundred.
As Ay la and Jondalar retraced their steps, they discovered that the
relief of the landscape had changed, making landmarks misleading.
Certain small streams they thought they remembered had disap
peared. They had iced over closer to their source, and become dry
downstream. Hills of ice had appeared where none had been before,
risen out of summer bogs and swampy lowlands where dense, fine-
textured substrates caused poor drainage. Stands of trees grew on
talik—islands of unfrozen layers surrounded by permafrost—which
sometimes gave a misleading impression of a small valley, where they
could not recall having seen one.
Jondalar was not familiar with the general terrain and more than
once deferred to Ay la's better memory. When she was unsure, Ay la
followed Whinney's lead. Whinney had brought her home more than
once before, and seemed to know where she was going. Sometimes
riding double on the mare, other times trading off, or walking to give
the horse a rest, they pushed on until they were forced to stop for the
night. Then they made a simple camp with a small fire, their hide
tent, and. sleeping furs. They cooked cracked, parched wild grain into
a hot mush, and Ayla brewed a hot herbal beverage.
In the morning, they drank a hot tea for warmth while they packed
up, then on the way they ate ground dried meat and dried berries that
were mixed with fat and shaped into small cakes. Except for a hare
they accidentally flushed, which Ayla brought down with her sling,
they didn't hunt. But they did supplement the traveling food Nezzie
had given them with the oily rich and nutritious pignon seeds from
the cones of stone pines, gathered at stopping places along the way,
and thrown on the fire to open with a pop.
As the terrain around them gradually changed, becoming rocky and
more rugged with ravines and steep-walled canyons, Ayla felt a grow
ing sense of excitement. The territory had a familiar feel, like the
landscape south and west of her valley. When she saw an escarpment
with a particular pattern of coloration in the strata, her heart leaped.
"Jondalar! Look! See that!" she cried, pointing. "We're almost
there!"
Even Whinney seemed excited, and without being urged, increased
her pace. Ayla watched for another landmark, a stone outcrop with a
distinctive shape which reminded her of a lioness crouching. When
she found it, they turned north until they came to the edge of a steep
slope strewn with gravel and loose rocks. They stopped and looked
over the edge. At the bottom, a small river, flowing east, glinted in
the sun as it splashed over rocks. They dismounted and carefully
picked their way down. The horses started across, then paused to
drink. Ayla found the stepping-stones jutting out of the water, with
only one wide space to jump, that she had always used. She took a
drink, too, when they reached the other side.
"The water is sweeter here. Look how clear it is!" she exclaimed.
"It's not muddy at all. You can see the bottom. And look, Jondalar,
the horses are here!"
Jondalar smiled affectionately at her exuberance, feeling a similar, if
milder, sense of homecoming at the sight of the familiar long valley.
The harsh winds and frost of the steppes brushed the protected
pocket with a lighter touch, and even stripped of summer leaves, a
richer, fuller growth was apparent. The steep slope, which they had
just descended, rose precipitously to a sheer rock wall as it advanced
down the valley on the left. A wide fringe of brush and trees bordered
the opposite bank of the stream running along its base, then thinned
out to a meadow of golden hay billowing in waves in the afternoon
sun. The level field of waist-high grass sloped gradually up to the
steppes on the right, but it narrowed and the incline steepened toward
the far end of the valley until it became the other wall of a narrow
anrcre.
Halfway down, a small herd of steppe horses had stopped grazing
and was looking their way. One of them neighed. Whinney tossed her
head and answered. The herd watched them approach until they were
quite close. Then, as the strange scent of humans continued to ad
vance, they wheeled as one, and with pounding hooves and flying
tails, galloped up the gentle slope to the open steppes above. The two
humans on the back of one horse stopped to watch them go. So did
the young horse attached by a rope.
Racer, with head high and ears pitched forward, followed them
as far as his lead would allow, then stood with neck outstretched
and nostrils wide, watching after them. Whinney nickered to him as
they started down the valley again, and he came back and followed
behind.
As they hurried upstream toward the narrow end of the valley,
they could see the small river swirling in a sharp turn around a jutting
wall and a rocky beach on the right. On the other side of it was a large
pile of rocks, driftwood, and bones, antlers, horns, and tusks of every
variety. Some were skeletons from the steppes, others were the re
mains of animals caught in flash floods, carried downstream, and
thrown against the wall.
Ay la could hardly wait. She slid off Whinney's back and raced up a
steep, narrow path alongside the bone pile to the top of the wall,
which formed a ledge in front of a hole in the face of the rock cliff.
She almost ran inside, but checked herself at the last minute. This
was the place where she had lived alone, and she had survived because
never for a moment did she forget to be alert to possible danger.
Caves were used not only by people. Edging up along the outside
wall, she unwound her sling from her head and stooped to pick up
some chunks of rock.
Carefully, she looked inside. She saw only darkness, but her nose
detected a faint smell of wood burned long ago, and a somewhat
fresher musky scent of wolverine. But that, too, was old. She stepped
inside the opening and let her eyes adjust to the dim light, and then
looked around.
She felt the pressure of tears filling her eyes, and struggled to hold
them back to no avail. There it was, her cave. She was home. Every
thing was so familiar, yet the place where she had lived for so long
seemed deserted and forlorn. The light streaming in from the hole
above the entrance showed her that her nose had been right, and
closer inspection brought a gasp of dismay. The cave was in a sham
bles. Some animal, perhaps more than one, had indeed broken in, and
had left the evidence scattered around. She wasn't sure how much
damage had been done.
Jondalar appeared at the entrance then. He came in, followed by
Whinney and. Racer. The cave had been home to the mare, too, and
the only home Racer knew until they met the Lion Camp.
"It looks as if we've had a visitor," he said when he became aware of
the devastation. "This place is a mess!" 1
Ay la heaved a big sigh and wiped a tear away. "I'd better get a fire
going and torches lit so we can see how much has been ruined. But
first I'd better unpack Whinney so she can rest and graze."
"Do you think we should just let them run free like that? Racer
looked like he was ready to follow those horses. Maybe we should tie
them up." Jondalar had some misgivings.
"Whinney has always run free," Ayla said, feeling a little shocked. •'
"I can't tie her up. She's my friend. She stays with me because she
wants to. She went to live with a herd once, when she wanted a
stallion, and I missed her so much, I don't know what I would have
done if I hadn't had Baby. But she came back. She will stay, and, as
long as she does, so will Racer, at least until he grows up. Baby left
me. Racer might, too, just like children leave their mothers' hearths
when they grow up. But horses are different from lions. I think if he
becomes a friend, like Whinney, he might stay."
Jondalar nodded. "All right, you know them better than I do."
Ayla was, after all, the expert. The only expert when it came to
horses. "Why don't I make the fire while you unpack her, then?"
As he went to the places where Ayla had always kept the fire-start
ing materials and wood, not realizing how familiar her cave had be
come to him in the short summer he had lived there with her,
Jondalar wondered how he could make Racer a good friend. He still
didn't understand completely how Ayla communicated with Whinney
so that she went where the woman wanted her to when they were
riding, and stayed nearby though she had the freedom to leave.
Maybe he'd never learn, but he would like to try. Still, until he
learned, it wouldn't hurt to keep Racer on a rope, at least when they
traveled where there might be other horses.
A check of the cave and its contents told its story. A wolverine or a
hyena, Ayla couldn't tell which since both had been in the cave at
different times and their tracks were intermixed, had broken into one
of the caches of dried meat. It was cleaned out. One basket of grain
they had picked for Whinney and Racer, which had been left fairly
exposed, had been chewed into in several places. A variety of small
rodents judging by the tracks—voles, pikas, ground squirrels, jerboas,
and giant hamsters—had made off with the bonanza and hardly a seed
was left. They found one nest stuffed with the plunder beneath a pile
of hay nearby. But most of the baskets of grains and roots and dried ,
fruits, which had either been set into holes dug into the dirt floor of
the cave, or protected by rocks piled on them, suffered far less
damage.
Ayla was glad they had decided to put the soft leather hides and
furs she had made over the years in a sturdy basket and stash it in a
cairn. The large pile of rocks had proved too much for the marauding
beasts, but the leather left over from the clothes Ayla had made for
Jondalar and herself before they left, which had not been put away,
was chewed to shreds. Another caim which held, among other things,
a rawhide container filled with carefully rendered fat stored in small
sausagelike sections of deer intestines, had been the object of repeated
assaults. One corner of the parfleche had been torn out by teeth and
claws, one sausage broken into, but the cairn had stood.
In addition to getting into the stored food, the animals had prowled
through other storage areas, knocked over stacks of handcrafted and
smoothed wooden bowls and cups, dragged around baskets and mats
twined and woven in subtle patterns and designs, defecated in several
places, and in general created havoc with whatever they could find.
But the actual damage was much less than it first appeared, and they
had essentially ignored her large pharmacopoeia of dried and pre
served herbal medicines.
By evening, Ayla was feeling much better. They had cleaned and
restored order to the cave, determined that the loss was not too great,
cooked and eaten a meal, and even explored the valley to see what
changes had taken place. With a fire in the hearth, sleeping furs
spread out over clean hay in the shallow trench which Ayla had used
as a bed, and Whinney and Racer comfortably settled in their place on
the other side of the entrance, Ayla finally felt at home.
"It's hard to believe I'm back," Ayla said, sitting on a mat in front
of the fire beside Jondalar. "I feel as though I've been gone a lifetime,
but it hasn't been long at all."
"No, it hasn't been long."
"I've learned so much, maybe that's why it seems long. It was good
that you convinced me to go with you, Jondalar, and I'm glad we met
Talut and the Mamutoi. Do you know how afraid I was to meet the
Others?"
"I knew you were worried about it, but I was sure once you got to
know some people, you'd like them."
"It wasn't just meeting people. It was meeting the Others. To the
Clan, that's what they were, and though I'd been told all my life I was
born to the Others, I still thought of myself as Clan. Even when I was
cursed and knew I couldn't go back, I was afraid of the Others. After
Whinney came to live with me, it was worse. I didn't know what to
do. I was afraid they wouldn't let me keep her, or would kill her for
food. And I was afraid they wouldn't allow me to hunt. I didn't want
to live with people who wouldn't let me hunt if I wanted to, or who
might make me do something I didn't want to do," Ay la said.
Suddenly the recollection of her fears and anxieties filled her with
discomfort and nervous energy. She got up and walked to the mouth
of the cave, then pushed aside the heavy windbreak and walked out
onto the top of the jutting wall that formed a broad front porch to the
cave. It was cold out and clear. The stars, hard and bright, glittered
out of a deep black sky with an edge as sharp as the wind. She hugged
herself, and rubbed her arms as she walked toward the end of the
ledge.
She started to shiver, and felt a fur being wrapped around her
shoulders, and turned to face Jondalar. He enfolded her in his arms
and she snuggled up close to his warmth.
He bent to kiss her, then said, "It's cold out here. Come back
inside."
Ayla let him lead her in, but stopped just past the heavy hide that
she had used for a windbreak since her first winter.
"This was my tent . . . no, this was Creb's tent," she corrected
herself. "He never used it, though. It was the tent I used when I was
one of the women chosen to go along with the men when they
hunted, to butcher the meat and help carry it back. But it didn't be
long to me. It belonged to Creb. I took it along with me when I left
because I thought Creb wouldn't have minded. I couldn't ask him. He
was dead, but he wouldn't have seen me if he'd been alive. I had just
been cursed." Tears had begun to stream down her face, though she
didn't seem to notice. "I was dead. But Durc saw me. He was too
young to know he wasn't supposed to see me. Oh, Jondalar, I didn't
want to leave him." She was sobbing now. "But I couldn't take him
with me. I didn't know what might happen to me."
He wasn't sure what to say, or what to do, so he just held her and
let her cry.
"I want to see him again. Every time I see Rydag, I think of Durc.
I wish he was here with me now. I wish we both were being adopted
by the Mamutoi."
"Ayla, it's late. You're tired. Come to bed," Jondalar said, leading
her to the sleeping furs, but he was feeling uneasy. Such thinking was
unrealistic, and he didn't want to encourage her.
She turned obediently and let him guide her. Silently, he helped
her out of her clothes, then sat her down and pushed her gently back,
and covered her with the furs. He added wood and banked the coals
in the fireplace to last longer, then quickly undressed, and crawled
into bed beside her. He put his arm around her and kissed her, gent
ly, barely touching her lips with his.
The effect was tantalizing, and he felt her tingling response. With
the same light, almost tickling touch, he began kissing her face; her
cheeks, her closed eyes, and then her soft full lips again. He reached
up and tilted her jaw back, and caressed her throat and her neck the
same way. Ay la made herself lie still, and instead of feeling tickled,
shivers of exquisite fire followed his lambent touch, and dispelled her
sorrowful mood.
His fingertips traced the curve of her shoulder and brushed the
length of her arm. Then, slowly, with a whisper of touch, he drew his
hand back up the inside of her arm. She shook with a tingling spasm
that sensitized every nerve with quickened expectation. As he fol
lowed the outline of her body down her side, his skillful hand glanced
over her soft nipple. It rose up firm and ready as an intense shock of
pleasure shot through her.
Jondalar couldn't resist, and bent over to take it in his mouth. She
pressed up to him as he suckled and pulled and nibbled, feeling a
warm wetness between her thighs as the acute sensations sent corre
sponding twinges deep inside. He smelled the woman-scent of her
skin, and felt a drawing fullness in his loins as he sensed her read
iness. He never seemed able to get enough of her, and she was always
ready for him. Not once, that he could remember, had she ever
turned him away. No matter what the circumstances, indoors or out,
in warm furs or on cold ground, however he wanted her, she was
there for him, not just acquiescing, but an active, willing partner.
Only during her moon time was she a little subdued, as though she
felt shy about it, and respecting her wishes, he held back.
As he reached to caress her thigh and she opened to him, he felt so
strong an urge he could have taken her that instant, but he wanted it
to last. They were in a warm dry place, alone, for probably the last
time all winter. Not that he hesitated in the longhouse of the
Mamutoi, but being alone together lent a special quality of freedom
and intensity to their Pleasures. His hand encountered her moistness,
then her small, erect center of Pleasure, and he heard her breath ex
plode in gasps and cries as he rubbed and fondled it. He reached
lower, and entered with two fingers and explored her depths and tex
tures as she arched her back and moaned. Oh, how he wanted her, he
thought, but not yet.
He let go of her nipple, and found her mouth, slightly open. He
kissed her firmly, loving the slow sensuous touch of her tongue that
found his as he reached hers. He pulled back for a moment, to exer
cise some control before he gave in entirely to his overpowering drive
and this beautiful, willing woman he loved. He looked at her face
until she opened her eyes.
In daylight, her eyes were gray-blue, the color of fine flint, but now
they were dark and so full of longing and love his throat hurt with the
feeling that arose from the depths of his being. He touched her cheek
with the back of his forefinger, outlined her jaw, and ran it over her
lips. He couldn't get enough of looking at her, of touching her, as
though he wanted to etch her face into his memory. She looked up at
him, at eyes so vividly blue they looked violet in firelight, and were so
compelling with his love and desire, she wanted to melt into them. If
she wanted to, she couldn't have refused him, and she didn't want to.
He kissed her, then moved his warm tongue down her throat and to
the depression between her breasts. With both hands, he cupped their
full roundness, then reached for a nipple and suckled. She kneaded
and massaged his shoulders and arms, moaning softly as waves of
tingling sensation coursed through her body.
He worked his way down with his tongue and his mouth, wetted
the depression of her navel with his tongue, then felt the texture of
soft hair. She arched a little in invitation, and with a moist and sen
sitive tongue found the top of her slit, and then the small center of
Pleasure. She cried out as he reached it.
Then she sat up, curled around until she found his rigid manhood,
and took it into her mouth as far as she could. He gave way a little,
and she tasted a spurt of warmth, while her hands reached for his soft
pouches.
He felt the pressure building, the drawing from his loins, and the
throbbing pulsations in his full member as he tasted of her woman-
ness, and rediscovered her folds and ridges and her deep lovely well.
He almost couldn't get enough. He wanted to touch every part of her,
taste every part of her, wanted more and more of her, and felt her
warmth and a pulling sensation, and both her hands moving up and
down his long and full shaft. He ached to enter her.
With supreme effort, he pulled away, turned around and found the
source of her womanhood again, explored her with his knowing
hands. Then bent down to her node, nuzzling until her breath came
in spasms and cries. She felt the surging, building of inexpressible and
exquisite tension. She called for him, reached for him, and then he
rose up between her thighs, and with a trembling of expectation and
control, finally entered her, and exulted in her warm welcome.
He'd held back so long it took a moment to let go. He drove in
again, deep, reveling in the wonder of her who could accept all his full
size. With joyous abandon, he pushed in again, and out, and in,
faster, surging to higher peaks, while she rose up to meet him, match
ing him stroke for stroke. Then with cries that rose in pitch, he felt it
coming, it surged within her, and they burst forth in that final over
whelming rush of energy and pleasure, and release.
They were both too drained, too sensually spent, to move. He was
sprawled on top of her, but she always loved that part, the weight of
his body on her. She smelled the faint odor of herself on him, which
always reminded her how loved she had just been, and why she felt so
deliriously drowsy. She still felt the sheer unexpected wonder of the
Pleasures. She hadn't known her body could feel such delight and joy.
She had only known the degradation of being mounted out of hatred
and contempt. Until Jondalar, she didn't know there was any other
way.
He pulled himself up, finally, kissing a breast and nuzzling her
navel as he backed off and got up. Then she got up, and headed
toward the back, dropping some cooking stones in the fire.
"Will you pour some water in that cooking basket, Jondalar? I think
the large waterbag is full," she said, on her way to the far corner of
the cave, which she used when it was too cold to go outside to relieve
herself.
When she returned, she picked the hot stones out of the fire the
way she had learned from the Mamutoi, and dropped them into the
water that was in a watertight basket. They hissed and steamed as
their heat warmed the water. She fished them out and put them back
in the fire, and added others that were hot.
When the water was simmering, she scooped out a few cupfuls, put
them in a wooden basin, and from her supply of herbals, added a few
dried lilaclike ceanothus flowers. A fragrant, spicy perfume filled the
air, and when she dipped in a soft scrap of leather, the solution of
plant saponin foamed slightly, but it would need no rinsing and leave
only a pleasant scent. He watched her standing by the fire while she
wiped her face and washed her body, drinking in her beauty as she
moved, and wishing he could begin again.
She gave Jondalar a piece of absorbent rabbit skin and passed the
basin to him. While he cleansed himself—it was a custom she devel
oped after Jondalar arrived, which he adopted—she looked over her
herbs again, pleased to have her entire supply available. She selected
individual combinations for a tea for each. For herself, she started
with her usual golden thread and antelope root, wondering again for a
moment if she should stop taking it and see if a baby would start
growing inside her. In spite of his explanations, she still believed it
was a man, not spirits, that started the life growing. But whatever the
cause, Iza's magic seemed to work, and her woman's curse, or rather
moon time, as Jondalar called it, still came regularly. It would be nice
to have a baby that came from Pleasures with Jondalar, she thought,
but maybe it was best to wait. If he decides to become a Mamutoi,
too, then perhaps.
She looked at thistle next for her tea, a strengthener of the heart
and breath, and good for mother's milk, but she chose damiana in
stead, which helped keep women's cycles in balance. Then she se
lected red clover and rose hips for general good health and taste. For
Jondalar she picked ginseng, for male balance, energy, and endurance,
added yellow dock, a tonic and purifier, then licorice root, because
she had noticed him frowning, which was usually a sign that he was
worried or stressed about something, and to sweeten it. She put in a
pinch of chamomile for nerves as well.
She straightened and rearranged the furs, and gave Jondalar his
cup, the wooden one she had made that he liked so well. Then, a little
chilly, they both went back to bed, finished their tea, and snuggled
together.
"You smell nice, like flowers," he said, breathing in her ear, and
nibbling her earlobe.
"So do you."
He kissed her, gently, then lingered, with more feeling. "The tea
was good. What was in it?" he asked, kissing her neck.
"Just chamomile and some things to make you feel good, and give
you strength and endurance. I don't know your names for all of
them."
He kissed her then, with more heat, and she responded with
warmth. He propped himself up on one elbow, and looked down at
her.
"Ay la, do you have any idea how amazing you are?"
She smiled and shook her head.
"Any time, every time I want you, you are ready for me. You have
never put me off or turned me away, even though the more I have
you, the more I seem to want you."
"Is that amazing? That I should want you as often as you want me?
You know my body better than I do, Jondalar. You have made me
feel Pleasures I didn't know were there. Why should I not want you
whenever you want me?"
"But for most women, there are some times when they are not in
the mood, or it's just not convenient. When it's freezing cold out on
the steppes, or on the damp bank of a river when the warm bed is a
few steps away. But you never say no. You never say wait."
She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she had a slight
frown. "Jondalar, that's how I was raised. A woman of the Clan never
says no. When a man gives her the signal, wherever she is, or what
ever she is doing, she stops and answers his need. Any man, even if
she hates him, as I hated Broud. Jondalar, you give me nothing but
joy, nothing but pleasure. I love it when you want me, any time,
anyplace. If you want me, there is no time I am not ready for you. I
always want you. I love you."
He clutched her suddenly, and held her so tightly she could hardly
breathe. "Ayla, Ayla," he cried in a hoarse whisper, his head buried
in her neck, "I thought I'd never fall in love. Everyone was finding a
woman to mate, setting up a hearth and a family. I was just getting
older. Even Thonolan found a woman on the Journey. That's why we
stayed with the Sharamudoi. I knew many women. I liked many
women, but there was always something missing. I thought it was
me. I thought the Mother wouldn't let me fall in love. I thought it was
my punishment."
"Punishment? For what?" Ayla asked.
"For . . . for something that happened a long time ago."
She didn't press. That was also part of her upbringing.
voice called to him, his mother's voice, but distant, waver
ing across a fitful wind. Jondalar was home, but home was strange;
familiar, yet unfamiliar. He reached beside him. The place was
empty! In a panic, he bolted up, fully awake.
Looking around, Jondalar recognized Ayla's cave. The windbreak
across the entrance had come loose at one end and was napping in the
wind. Chill gusts of air were blowing into the small cave, but the sun
was streaming in through the entrance and the hole above it. He
quickly drew on trousers and tunic, and then noticed the steaming
cup of tea near the fireplace and beside it, a fresh twig stripped of its
bark.
He smiled. How did she do it? he thought. How did she always
manage to have hot tea ready and waiting for him when he woke up?
At least here, at her cave, she did. At the Lion Camp, there was
always something going on, and meals were usually shared with oth
ers. He as often took his morning drink at the Lion Hearth or the
cooking hearth as the Mammoth Hearth, and then, someone else usu
ally joined them. He didn't notice, there, whether she always had a
hot drink waiting for him when he woke up, but when he thought
about it, he knew she did. It was never her way to make an issue of it.
It was just always there, like so many other things she did for him
without his ever having to ask.
He picked up the cup and sipped. There was mint in it—she knew
he liked mint in the morning—chamomile, too, and something else he
couldn't quite discern. The tea had a reddish tinge, rose hips perhaps?
How easy it is to fall into old habits, he thought. He had always
made a game out of trying to guess what was in her morning tea. He
picked up the twig and chewed on an end as he went outside, and
used the chewed end to scrub his teeth. He swished his mouth out
with a drink of tea, as he walked to the far end of the ledge to pass his
water. He tossed the twig and spat out the tea, then stood at the edge,
musing, watching his steaming stream arc down.
The wind was not strong, and the morning sun reflecting off the
light-colored rock gave an impression of warmth. He walked across
the uneven surface to the jutting tip and looked down at the small
river below. Ice was building up along its edges, but it still ran swiftly
around the sharp bend, which shifted its generally southward direction
to the east for a few miles before turning back to its southerly
course. On his left, the peaceful valley stretched out alongside the
river, and he noticed Whinney and Racer grazing nearby. The view
upstream, on his right, was entirely different. Beyond the bone pile,
at the foot of the wall, and the rocky beach, high stone walls closed in
and the river flowed at the bottom of a deep gorge. He remembered
swimming upstream once, as far as he could go, to the foot of a tumultuous
waterfall.
He saw Ay la come into view as she ascended the steep path, and
smiled. "Where have you been?"
A few more steps up and his question was answered, without her
saying a word. She was carrying two fat, almost white, ptarmigan by
their feathered feet. "I was standing right where you are and saw
them in the meadow," she said, holding them out. "I thought fresh
meat might be nice for a change. I started a fire in my cooking pit
down on the beach. I'll pluck them and start them cooking after we
finish breakfast. Oh, here's another firestone I found."
"Are there many on the beach?" he asked.
"Maybe not as many as before. I had to look for this."
"I think I'll go down and look for some later."
Ayla went in to finish preparing breakfast. The meal included
grains cooked with red huckleberries that she had found still clinging
to bushes that were bare of leaves. The birds had not left many, and
she had to pick diligently to gather a few handfuls, but she was
pleased to find them.
"That's what it was!" Jondalar said, as he was finishing another cup
of tea. "You put red huckleberries in the tea! Mint, chamomile, and
red huckleberries."
She smiled agreement, and he felt pleased with himself for solving
the little puzzle.
After the morning meal, they both went down to the beach, and
while Ayla prepared the birds for roasting in the stone oven, Jondalar
began searching for the small nodules of iron pyrite that were scattered
on the beach. He was still searching when she went back up to
the cave. He also found some good-sized chunks of flint, and set them
aside. By midmorning, he had accumulated a pile of the firestones,
and was bored with staring at the stony beach. He walked around the
jutting wall, and seeing the mare and the young horse some distance
down the valley, he started toward them.
As he got closer, he noticed that they were both looking in the
direction of the steppes. Several horses were at the top of the slope
looking back at them. Racer took a few steps toward the wild herd,
his neck arched and his nose quivering. Jondalar reacted without
thinking.
"Go on! Get away from here!" he shouted, racing toward them,
waving his arms.
Startled, the horses jumped back, neighing and snorting, and raced
off. The last, a hay-colored stallion, charged toward the man, then
reared as if in warning, before galloping after the rest.
Jondalar turned and walked back to Whinney and Racer. Both were
nervous. They, too, had been startled, and they had sensed the herd's
panic. He patted Whinney and put his arm around Racer's neck.
"It's all right, boy," he said to the young horse, "I didn't mean to
scare you. I just didn't want them enticing you away before we had a
chance to become good friends." He scratched and stroked the animal
with affection. "Imagine what it would be like to ride a stallion like
that yellow one," he mused aloud. "He would be difficult to ride, but
then he wouldn't let me scratch him like this, either, would he? What
would I have to do for you to let me ride your back and go where I
want you to go? When should I begin? Should I try to ride you now,
or should I wait? You're not full grown yet, but you will be soon. I'd
better ask Ay la. She must know. Whinney always seems to under
stand her. I wonder, do you understand me at all, Racer?"
When Jondalar finally started back to the cave, Racer followed him,
bumping him playfully and nuzzling his hand, which greatly pleased
the man. The young horse did seem to want to be friends. Racer
trailed him all the way back, and up the path into the cave.
"Ayla, do you have anything I can give Racer? Like some grain or
something?" he asked as soon as he went in.
Ayla was sitting near the bed with an assortment of piles and
mounds .of objects arrayed around her. "Why don't you give him
some of those little apples in that bowl over there? I looked over some,
and those have bruises," she said.
Jondalar scooped out a handful of the small, round tart fruits, and
fed them to Racer one at a time. After a few more pats, the man
walked over to Ayla. He was followed by the friendly horse.
"Jondalar, push Racer out of there! He might step on something!"
He turned around and bumped into the young animal. "That's
enough, now, Racer," the man said, walking back with him to the
other side of the cave opening, where the young stallion and his dam
customarily stayed. But when Jondalar went to leave, he was followed
again. He took Racer back to his place again, but had no more luck
getting him to stay. "Now that he's so friendly, how do I get him to
.->"
Ay la had been watching the antics, smiling. "You might try pour
ing a little water in his bowl, or putting some grain in his feeding
tray."
Jondalar did both, and when the horse was finally distracted
enough, walked back to Ay la, carefully watching behind him to make
sure the young horse was no longer there. "What are you doing?" he
asked.
"I'm trying to decide what to take with me and what to leave be
hind," she explained. "What do you think I should give Tulie at the
adoption ceremony? It has to be something especially nice."
Jondalar looked over the piles and stacks of things Ayla had made to
occupy herself during the empty nights and long cold winters she had
spent alone in the cave. Even when she lived with the Clan, she had
become recognized for her skill and the quality of her work, and dur
ing her years in the valley, she'd had little else to do. She gave extra
time and careful attention to each project, to make it last. The results
showed.
He picked up a bowl from a stack of them. It was deceptively sim
ple. It was almost perfectly circular and had been made from a single
piece of wood. The quality of the finish was so smooth it almost felt
alive. She had told him how she made them. The process was essen
tially the same as any he knew of; the difference was the care and
attention to detail. First, she gouged out the rough shape with a stone
adze, then carved it closer with a hand-held flint knife. With a
rounded stone and sand, she smoothed both inside and out until
hardly a ripple could be felt, and gave it a final finish with scouring
horsetail fern.
Her baskets, whether open weave or watertight, had the same qual
ity of simplicity and expert craftsmanship. There was no use of dyes
or colors, but textural interest had been created by changing the style
of weave, and by using natural color variations of the fibers. Mats for
the ground had the same characteristic. Coils of ropes and twines of
sinew and bark, no matter what size, were even and uniform, as were
the long thongs, cut in a spiral from a single hide.
The hides she made into leather were soft and supple, but more
than anything, he was impressed with her furs. It was one thing to
make buckskin pliable by scraping off the grain with the fur on the
outside, as well as scraping the inside, but with the fur left on, hides
were usually stiffer. Ay la's were not only luxurious on the fur side
but velvety soft and yielding on the inside.
"What are you giving Nezzie?" he asked.
"Food, like those apples, and containers to hold it."
"That's a good idea. What were you thinking of giving Tulie?"
"She is very proud of Deegie's leather, so I don't think I should give
her that, and I don't want to give her food like Nezzie. Nothing too
practical. She's headwoman. It should be something special to wear,
like amber or seashells, but I don't have anything special like that,"
Ayla said.
"Yes, you do."
"I thought about giving her the amber I found, but that's a sign
from my totem. I can't give that away."
"I don't mean the amber. She probably has plenty of amber. Give
her fur. It was the first thing she mentioned."
"But she must have many furs, too."
"No furs are as beautiful and special as yours, Ayla. Only once in
my life before have I ever seen anything like them. I'm sure she never
has. The one I saw was made by a flathe--by a Clan woman."

By evening, Ayla had made some hard decisions, and the accumulation
of years of work was settling into two piles. The larger one was
to be left behind, along with the cave and the valley. The smaller one
was all she would take with her . . . and her memories. It was a
wrenching, sometimes agonizing process that left her feeling drained.
Her mood was communicated to Jondalar, who found himself thinking
more of his home and his past and his life than he had for many
years. His mind kept straying to painful memories he thought he'd
forgotten, and wished he could. He wondered why he kept remembering
now.
The evening meal was quiet. They made sporadic comments, and
often lapsed into silence, each occupied with private thoughts.
"The birds are delicious, as usual," Jondalar remarked.
"Creb liked them that way."
She had mentioned that before. It was still hard to believe, sometimes,
that she had learned so much from the flatheads she lived with.
When he thought of it, though, why wouldn't they know how to cook
as well as anyone?
"My mother is a good cook. She would probably like them, too."
Jondalar has been thinking a lot about his mother lately, Ayla
thought. He said he woke up this morning dreaming about her.
"When I was growing up, she had special foods she liked to make
. . . when she wasn't busy with the matters of the Cave."
"Matters of the Cave?"
"She was the leader of the Ninth Cave."
"You told me that, but I didn't understand. You mean she was like
Tulie? A headwoman?"
"Yes, something like that. But there was no Talut, and the Ninth
Cave is much bigger than the Lion Camp. Many more people." He
stopped and closed his eyes in concentration. "Maybe as many as four
people for every one."
Ayla tried to think about how many that would be, then decided
she would work it out later with marks on the ground, but she won
dered how so many people could live together all the time. It seemed
to be almost enough for a Clan Gathering.
"In the Clan, no women were leaders," she said.
"Marthona became leader after Joconnan. Zeiandoni told me she
was so much a part of his leadership that after he died, everyone just
turned to her. My brother, Joharran, was born to his hearth. He's
leader now, but Marthona is still an adviser ... or she was when I
left."
Ayla frowned. He had spoken of them before, but she hadn't quite
understood all his relationships. "Your mother was the mate of ...
how did you say it? Joconnan?"
"Yes."
"But you always talk of Dalanar."
"I was born to his hearth."
"So your mother was the mate of Dalanar, too."
"Yes. She was already a leader when they mated. They were very
close, people still tell stories about Marthona and Dalanar, and sing
sad songs about their love. Zeiandoni told me they cared too much.
Dalanar didn't want to share her with the Cave. He grew to hate the
time she spent on leadership duties, but she felt a responsibility. Fi
nally they severed the knot and he left. Later, Marthona made a new
hearth with Willomar, and then gave birth to Thonolan and Folara.
Dalanar traveled to the northeast, discovered a flint mine and met
Jerika, and founded the First Cave of the Lanzadonii there."
He was silent for a while. Jondalar seemed to feel a need to talk
about his family, so Ayla listened even though he was repeating some
things he'd said before. She got up, poured the last of the tea into
their cups, added wood to the fire, then sat on the furs on the end of
the bed and watched its nickering light move shadows across Jon-
dalar's pensive face. "What does it mean, Lanzadonii?" she asked.
Jondalar smiled. "It just means . . . people . . . children of Doni
• . . children of the Great Earth Mother who live in the northeast, to
be exact."
"You lived there, didn't you? With Dalanar?"
He closed his eyes. His jaw worked as he ground his teeth and his
forehead knotted with pain. Ayla had seen that expression before, and
wondered. He had spoken about that period in his life during the
summer, but it upset him and she knew he held back. She felt a
tension in the air, a great pressure building up centered on Jondalar,
like a swelling of the earth getting ready to burst forth from great
depths.
"Yes, I lived there," he said, "for three years." He jumped up sud
denly, knocking over his tea, and strode to the back wall of the cave.
"0 Mother! It was terrible!" He put his arm up to the wall and leaned
his head against it, in the dark, trying to keep himself under control.
Finally, he walked back, looked down at the wet spot where the liquid
had seeped into the hard-packed dirt floor, and hunkered down on one
knee to right the cup. He turned it over in his hands and stared at the
fire.
"Was it so bad living with Dalanar?" Ayla finally asked.
"Living with Dalanar? No." He looked surprised at what she had
said. "That isn't what was so bad. He was glad to see me. He wel
comed me to his hearth, taught me my craft right along with Joplaya,
treated me like an adult . . . and he never said a word about it."
"A word about what?"
Jondalar took a deep breath. "The reason I was sent there," he said,
and looked down at the cup in his hand.
As the silence deepened, the breathing of the horses filled the cave,
and the loud reports of the fire burning and crackling rebounded off
the stone walls. Jondalar put the cup down and stood up.
"I always was big for my age, and older than my years," he began,
striding the length of the cleared space around the fire, and then back
again. "I matured young. I was no more than eleven years when the
donii first came to me in a dream . . . and she had the face of Zolena."
There was her name again. The woman who had meant so much to
him. He'd talked about her, but only briefly and with obvious dis
tress. Ayla hadn't understood what caused him such anguish.
"All the young men wanted her for their donii-woman, they all
wanted her to teach them. They were supposed to want her, or some
one like her"—he whirled and faced Ayla—"but they weren't sup
posed to love her! Do you know what it means to fall in love with
your donii-woman?"
Ayla shook her head.
"She is supposed to show you, teach you, help you understand the
Mother's great Gift, to make you ready when it is your turn to bring a
girl to womanhood. All women are supposed to be donii-women at
least once, when they are older, just as all men are supposed to share a
young woman's First Rites, at least once. It is a sacred duty in honor
of Doni." He looked down. "But a donii-woman represents the Great
Mother; you don't fall in love and want her for youC mate." He looked
up at her again. "Can you understand that? It's forbidden. It's like
falling in love with your mother, like wanting to mate your own sis-
ter. Forgive me, Ayla. It's almost like wanting to mate a flathead
woman!"
He turned and in a few long paces was at the entrance. He pushed
the windbreak aside, then his shoulders slumped and he changed his
mind and walked back. He sat down beside her, and looked off into
the distance.
"I was twelve, and Zolena was my donii-woman, and I loved her.
And she loved me. At first it was just that she seemed to know exactly
how to please me, but then it was more. I could talk to her, about
anything; we liked to be with each other. She taught me about
women, what pleased them, and I learned well because I loved her
and wanted to please her. I loved pleasing her. We didn't mean to fall
in love, we didn't even tell each other, at first. Then we tried to keep
it a secret. But I wanted her for my mate. I wanted to live with her. I
wanted her children to be the children of my hearth."
He blinked and Ayla saw a glistening wetness at the corners of his
eyes as he stared at the fire.
"Zolena kept saying I was too young, I'd get over it. Most men are
at least fifteen before they seriously start looking for a woman to be a
mate. I didn't feel too young. But it didn't matter what I wanted. I
couldn't have her. She was my donii-woman, my counselor and
teacher, and she wasn't supposed to let me fall in love with her. They
blamed her more than me, but that made it worse. She wouldn't have
been blamed at all if I hadn't been so stupid!" Jondalar said, spitting it
out.
"Other men wanted her, too. Always. Whether she wanted them or
not. One was always bothering her—Ladroman. She had been his
donii-woman a few years before. I suppose I can't blame him for
wanting her, but she wasn't interested in him any more. He started
following us, watching us. Then one time he found us together. He
threatened her, said if she didn't go with him, he'd tell everyone about
us.
"She tried to laugh him off, told him to go ahead; there was nothing
to tell, she was just my donii-woman. I should have done the same,
but when he mocked us with words we had said in private, I got
angry. No ... I did not just get angry. I lost my temper and went out
of control. I hit him."
Jondalar pounded his fist on the ground beside him, then again, and
again. "I couldn't stop hitting him. Zolena tried to make me stop.
Finally, she had to get someone else to pull me away. It's good that
she did. I think I would have killed him."
Jondalar got up and began striding back and forth again. "Then it
all came out. Every sordid detail. Ladroman told everything, in public
... in front of everyone. I was embarrassed to find out how long he'd
been watching us, and how much he had heard. Zolena and I were
both questioned"—he blushed just remembering—"and both de
nounced, but I hated it when she was held responsible. What made it
worse was that I am my mother's son. She was the leader of the
Ninth Cave, and I disgraced her. The whole Cave was in an uproar."
"What did she do?" Ayla asked.
"She did what she had to do. Ladroman was badly hurt. He lost
several teeth. That makes it hard to chew, and women don't like a
man without teeth. Mother had to pay a large penalty for me as res
titution, and when Ladroman's mother insisted, she agreed to send me
away."
He stopped and closed his eyes, his forehead knotting with the pain
of remembering. "I cried that night." The admission was obviously
difficult for him to make. "I didn't know where I would go. I didn't
know mother had sent a runner to Dalanar to ask him to take me."
He took a breath and continued. "Zolena left before I did. She had
always been drawn to the zeiandonia, and she went to join Those
Who Serve the Mother. I thought about Serving, too, maybe as a
carver—I thought I had a little talent for carving then. But word came
from Dalanar, and the next thing I knew, Willomar was taking me to
the Lanzadonii. I didn't really know Dalanar. He left when I was
young, and I only saw him at Summer Meetings. I didn't know what
to expect, but Marthona did the right thing."
Jondalar stopped talking, and hunkered down near the fire again.
Then he picked up a broken branch, dry and brittle, and added it to
the flames. "Before I left, people avoided me, reviled me," he con
tinued. "Some people took their children away when I was around so
they wouldn't be exposed to my foul influence, as though looking at
me might corrupt them. I know I deserved it, what we did was terri
ble, but I wanted to die."
Ayla waited, silently watching him. She didn't understand entirely
the customs he spoke of, but she hurt for him with an empathy born
of her own pain. She, too, had broken taboos and paid the harsh
consequences, but she had learned from them. Perhaps because she
was so different to begin with, she had learned to question whether
what she had done was really so bad. She had come to understand
that it wasn't wrong for her to hunt, with sling or spear or anything
she wanted, just because the Clan believed it was wrong for women to
hunt, and she didn't hate herself because she had stood up to Broud
against all tradition.
"Jondalar," she said, aching for him as he hung his head in defeat
and recrimination, "you did a terrible thing"—he nodded agree-
ment—"when you beat that man so hard. But what did you and
Zolena do that was so wrong?" Ay la asked.
He looked at her, surprised at her question. He had expected scorn,
derision, the kind of contempt he felt for himself. "You don't under
stand. Zolena was my donii-woman. We dishonored the Mother.
Offended Her. It was shameful."
"What was shameful? I still don't know what you did that was so
wrong."
"Ayla, when a woman assumes that aspect of the Mother, to teach a
young man, she takes on an important responsibility. She is preparing
him for manhood, to be the woman-maker. Doni has made it a man's
responsibility to open a woman, to make her ready to accept the
mingled spirits from the Great Earth Mother so the woman can be
come a mother. It is a sacred duty. It is not a common, everyday
relationship that anyone can have at any time, not something to be
taken lightly," Jondalar explained.
"Did you take it lightly?"
"No. Of course not!"
"Then what did you do wrong?"
"I profaned a sacred rite. I fell in love ..."
"You fell in love. And Zolena fell in love. Why should that be
wrong? Don't those feelings make you feel warm and good? You
didn't plan to do it. It just happened. Isn't it natural to fall in love
with a woman?"
"But not that woman," Jondalar protested. "You don't understand."
"You are right. I don't understand. Broud forced me. He was cruel
and hateful, and that's what gave him pleasure. Then you taught me
what Pleasures should be, not painful, but warm and good. Loving
you makes me feel warm and good, too. I thought love always made
you feel that way, but now you tell me it can be wrong to love some
one, and it can cause great pain."
Jondalar picked up another piece of wood and put it on the fire.
How could he make her understand? You could love your mother,
too, but you don't want to mate her, and you don't want your donii-
woman to have the children of your hearth. He didn't know what to
say, but the silence was strained.
"Why did you leave Dalanar and go back?" Ayla asked, after a
while.
"My mother sent for me . . . no, it was more than that. I wanted to
return. As good as Dalanar was to me, as much as I liked Jerika, and
my cousin, Joplaya, it was never quite home. I didn't know if I could
ever return. I was very worried about going back, but I wanted to go.
I vowed never to lose my temper, never to lose control again."
"Were you glad you went home?"
"It wasn't the same, but after the first few days, it was better than I
thought it would be. Ladroman's family had left the Ninth Cave, and
without him there to remind everyone, people forgot about it. I don't
know what I would have done if he'd still been there. It was bad
enough at Summer Meetings. Every time I saw him I'd remember the
disgrace. There was a lot of talk when Zolena first returned, a little
later. I was afraid to see her again, but I wanted to. I couldn't help it,
Ayla, even after all that, I think I still loved her." His look pleaded for
understanding.
He stood again and started pacing. "But she had changed a lot.
She'd already moved up in the ranks of the zeiandonia. She was very
much One Who Serves the Mother. I didn't want to believe it at first.
I wanted to see how much she had changed, to see if she had any
feeling left for me. I wanted to be alone with her, and planned how to
do it. I waited until the next festival to Honor the Mother. She must
have guessed. She tried to avoid me, but then changed her mind.
Some people were scandalized the next day, even though it was en
tirely proper to share Pleasures with her at a festival." He snorted
with derision. "They needn't have bothered. She said she still cared
about me, wanted the best for me, but it wasn't the same. She really
didn't want me any more.
"The truth of it is," he said, with bitter irony, "I think she does
care about me. We're good friends now, but Zolena knew what she
wanted . . . and she got it. She is not Zolena now. Before I started my
Journey, she became Zeiandoni, First among Those Who Serve the
Mother. I left with Thonolan soon afterward. I think that's why I
went."
He walked to the entrance again, and stood there looking out over
the top of the repaired windbreak. Ayla got up and joined him. She
closed her eyes, feeling the wind on her face, and listened to Whin-
ney's even breathing, and Racer's more nervous huffing. Jondalar took
a deep breath, then went back and sat down on a mat by the fire, but
he made no move to go to sleep. Ayla followed him, took down the
large waterbag and poured some water into a cooking basket, then put
stones in the fire to heat. He didn't seem ready for bed yet. He wasn't
through.
"The best part of going back home was Thonolan," he said, picking
up the thread again. "He'd grown up while I was gone, and after I got
back, we became good friends and started doing all kinds of things
together. ..."
Jondalar stopped, and his face filled with grief. Ayla remembered
how hard his brother's death had been on him. He slumped down
beside her, his shoulders sagging, drained and exhausted, and she re
alized what an ordeal it had been for him to talk about his past. She
wasn't sure what had brought it on, but she knew something had been
building up in him.
"Ay la, on our way back, do you think we can find . . . the place
where Thonolan was . . . killed?" he said, turning to her, his eyes
brimming, and his voice breaking.
"I'm not sure, but we can try." She added more stones to the water
and picked out soothing herbs.
Suddenly she remembered, with all the worry and fear she'd felt
then, his first night in her cave, when she wasn't sure he would live.
He'd called for his brother then, and though she hadn't understood
his words, she understood he was asking for the man who was dead.
When she finally made him understand, he spent his great racking
grief in her arms.
"That first night, do you know how long it had been since I cried?"
he asked, startling her, almost as though he knew what she had been
thinking, but then he'd been talking about Thonolan. "Not since
then, not since my mother told me I would have to leave. Ay la, why
did he have to die?" he said, with a pleading, strained voice.
"Thonolan was younger than I was! He shouldn't have died so young.
I couldn't bear knowing he was gone. Once I started, I couldn't seem
to stop. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been
there, Ay la. I never told you that before. I think I was ashamed be
cause . . . because I lost control again."
"There is no shame in grieving, Jondalar ... or in loving."
He looked away from her. "You think not?" His voice held an edge
of self-contempt. "Even when you use it for yourself, and hurt some
one else?"
Ayla frowned in puzzlement.
He turned and faced the fire again. "The summer after I was back,
I was selected at the Summer Meeting for First Rites. I was worried;
most men are. You worry about hurting a woman, and I'm not a small
man. There are always witnesses, to verify that a girl has been
opened, but also to make sure that she's not really hurt. You worry
that maybe you won't be able to prove your manhood and they'll have
to get another man at the last moment, and you'll be shamed. Many
things can happen. I have to thank Zeiandoni." His laugh was caustic.
"She did exactly what a donii-woman is supposed to. She counseled
me . . . and it helped.
"But, I thought of Zolena that night, not the aspiring Zeiandoni.
Then I saw this scared girl and I realized she was a lot more worried
than I was. She really got frightened when she saw me full; many
women do, the first time. But I remembered what Zolena had taught
me, how to make her ready, how to limit and control myself, how to
please her. It turned out to be wonderful, to see her go from a ner
vous, scared girl to an open, willing woman. She was so grateful, and
so loving ... I felt that I loved her, that night."
He closed his eyes in that frown of pain Ayla had seen so much
recently. Then he jumped up again and paced. "I never learn! I knew
the next day I didn't really love her, but she loved me! She was not
supposed to fall in love with me any more than I was supposed to fall
in love with my donii-woman. I was supposed to make her a woman,
teach her about Pleasures, not make her love me. I tried not to hurt
her feelings, but I could see her disappointment when I finally made
her understand."
He was striding back from the cave opening, and stopped in front
of her and almost shouted at her. "Ayla, it is a sacred act, to make a
girl a woman, a duty, a responsibility, and I had profaned it again!"
He started walking. "That wasn't the last time. I told myself I would
never do that again, but it happened the same way the next time. I
told myself I would not accept the role again, I didn't deserve it. But
the next time they selected me, I couldn't say no, I wanted it. They
chose me often, and I began to look forward to it, to the feelings of
love and warmth on that night, even though I hated myself the next
day for using those young women and the Mother's sacred rite for
myself."
He stopped, and clung to one of the posts of her herb drying rack,
and looked down at her. "But after a couple of years, I realized some
thing was wrong, and I knew the Mother was punishing me. The men
my age were finding women, settling down, showing off the children
of their hearths. But I couldn't find a woman to love that way. I knew
many women, I enjoyed them for their company and their Pleasures,
but I only felt love when I wasn't supposed to, at First Rites . . . and
only on that night." He hung his head.
He looked up, startled, when he heard a gentle laugh. "Oh, Jon-
dalar. But you fell in love. You love me, don't you? Don't you under
stand? You weren't being punished. You were waiting for me. I told
you my totem led you to me, maybe the Mother did, too, but you had
to come a long way. You had to wait. If you had fallen in love before,
you would never have come. You would never have found me."
Could that be true? he wondered. He wanted to believe it. For the
first time in years he felt the load that had weighed down his spirit
lighten, and a look of hope crossed his face. "What about Zolena, my
donii-woman?"
"I don't think it was wrong to love her, but even if it went against
your customs, you were punished, Jondalar. You were sent away.
That's over now. You don't have to keep reminding yourself, punish
ing yourself."
"But the young women, at First Rites, who ..."
Ay la's expression turned hard. "Jondalar, do you know how terrible
it is to be forced the first time? Do you know what it is to hate and
have to endure what is not a Pleasure, but painful and ugly? Maybe
you weren't supposed to fall in love with those women, but it must
have been a wonderful feeling for them to be treated gently, to feel
the Pleasures that you know so well how to give, and to feel loved that
first time. If you gave them even a little of what you give me, then
you gave them a beautiful memory to carry with them all their lives.
Oh, Jondalar, you didn't hurt them. You did exactly the right thing.
Why do you think you were chosen so often?"
The burden of shame and self-contempt he had carried, buried
deep inside for so long, began to slip. He began to think that maybe
there was a reason for his life, that the painful experiences of his
childhood had some purpose. In the catharsis of confession, he saw
that perhaps his actions had not been as contemptible as he thought,
that perhaps he was worthwhile—and he wanted to feel worthwhile.
But the emotional baggage he had dragged around with him for so
long was hard to unload. Yes, he'd finally found a woman to love, and
it was true that she was everything he'd ever wanted, but what if he
brought her home and she told someone that she was raised by
flatheads? Or worse, that she had a mixed son? An abomination?
Would he be reviled, again, along with her, for bringing such a
woman? He flushed at the thought.
Was it fair to her? What if they turned her away, heaped insults on
her? And what if he didn't stand by her? What if he let them do it?
He shuddered. No, he thought. He wouldn't let them do such a thing
to her. He loved her. But what if he did?
Why was Ayla the one he had found to love? Her explanation
seemed too simple. His belief that the Great Mother was punishing
him for his sacrilege could not be laid to rest so easily. Perhaps Ayla
was right, maybe Doni had led him to her, but wasn't it a punishment
that this beautiful woman he loved would be no more acceptable to
his people than the first woman he had loved? Wasn't it ironic that
this woman he had finally found was a pariah who had given birth to
an abomination?
But the Mamutoi held similar beliefs and they weren't turning her
away. The Lion Camp was adopting her, even knowing she had been
raised by flatheads. They had even welcomed a mixed child. Maybe
he shouldn't try to take her home with him. She might be happier
staying. Maybe he should stay, too, let Tulie adopt him and become
Mamutoi. His forehead furrowed. But he wasn't Mamutoi. He was
Zeiandonii. The Mamutoi were good people, and their ways were
similar, but they weren't his people. What could he offer Ay la here?
He had no affiliations, no family, no kin among these people. But
what could he offer her if he took her home?
He was torn in so many directions, he suddenly felt exhausted.
Ay la saw his face go slack, his shoulders slump.
"It's late, Jondalar. Drink a little of this, and let's go to bed," she
said, handing him a cup.
He nodded, drank the warm beverage, slipped out of his clothes,
and crawled into the furs. Ay la lay beside him, watching him until
the furrows on his forehead eased and smoothed out, and his breath
was deep and regular, but sleep for her was slower in coming. Jon-
dalar's distress troubled her. She was glad he had told her more about
himself, and his younger life. She had long believed something deep
within himself caused him great anguish, and perhaps talking about it
had relieved some of his discomfort, but something still bothered him.
He had not told her everything, and she felt a deep uneasiness about
it.
She lay awake, trying not to disturb him, wishing she could sleep.
How many nights had she spent alone in this cave, unable to sleep?
Then she remembered the cloak. Slipping quietly out of bed, she
rummaged through her pack and pulled out a soft, old piece of
leather, and held it to her cheek. It was one of the few things she had
taken with her from the rubble of the clan's cave before she left. She
had used it to help carry Durc when he was an infant, and to support
him on her hip when he was a toddler. She didn't know why she had
taken it. It had not been a necessity, yet more than once, when she
was alone, she had rocked herself to sleep with it. But not since Jondalar
came.
She crumpled the soft old hide into a ball, stuffed it to her stomach,
and wrapped herself around it. Then, she closed her eyes and went to
sleep.

"It's too much, even with the travois and carrying baskets on Whin-
ney. I need two horses to carry all this!" Ay la said, looking over the
pile of bundles and neatly tied objects she wanted to take with her.
"I'll have to leave more behind, but I've been through everything so
many times, I don't know what else to leave." She glanced around
trying to find something that would give her an idea for a solution to
her dilemma.
The cave seemed deserted. Everything useful that they weren't taking
with them had been put back in the storage holes and cairns, just
in case they might want to come back for it someday, though neither
one believed they ever would. All that was left in view was a pile of
discards. Even Ayla's herb drying rack was bare.
"You've got two horses. Too bad you can't use both of them," Jon-
dalar said, seeing the two horses in their place near the entrance,
munching on hay.
Ay la studied the horses, speculatively. Jondalar's comment had
started her thinking. "I still think of him as Whinney's colt, but Racer
is almost as big as she is. Maybe he could carry a small load."
Jondalar was immediately interested. "I've been wondering when
he would be big enough to do some of the things Whinney does, and
how you would teach him to do them. When did you first ride Whin
ney? And what made you think about it in the first place?"
Ayla smiled. "I was just running with her one day, wishing I could
run as fast, and suddenly the idea came to me. She was a little fright
ened at first and started running, but she knew me. When she got
tired, she stopped, and didn't seem to mind. It was wonderful! It was
running like the wind!"
Jondalar watched her as she recalled her first ride, her eyes glisten
ing and breathing hard with remembered excitement. He had felt the
same way the first time Ayla had let him ride on Whinney, and he
shared her excitement. He was moved by a sudden desire for her. It
never ceased to amaze him how he could be so easily and unexpect
edly provoked to want her. But her mind was on Racer.
"I wonder how long it would take to get him used to carrying some
thing? I was riding Whinney before I started having her carry a load,
so it didn't take her long. But if he started first with a small load, it
might make it easier to get him to carry a rider later. Let's see if I can
find something to practice with."
She rummaged through the discard pile pulling out skins, some bas
kets, extra rocks she had used to sand bowls and knap flint tools with,
and the sticks she had marked to keep track of the days she had lived
in the valley.
She paused for a moment, holding one stick, and put each finger of
one hand over the first marks, the way Creb had shown her so long
ago. She swallowed hard, thinking about Creb. Jondalar had used the
marks on the sticks to confirm how long she had been there, and to
help her put into his counting words the number of years of her life.
She was seventeen years, then, in the beginning of summer; in late
winter or spring she would add another year. He had said he was
twenty years and one, and laughingly called himself an old man. He
had begun his Journey three years before, the same time she had left
the Clan.
She gathered everything up and headed outside, whistling for
Whinney and Racer to follow. In the field, they both spent some time
stroking and scratching the young stallion. Then Ay la picked up a
leather hide. She let him smell it and chew on it, and rubbed him
down with it. Then she draped it across his back, and let it hang. He
grabbed an end with his teeth and pulled it off, then brought it to her
to play some more. She put it across his back again. The next time,
Jondalar put it on his back while Ayla set out a coiled long thong and
busied herself with making something. They draped the hide on
Racer and let him pull it off a few more times. Whinney nickered,
watching with interest, and got some attention, too.
The next time Ayla put the hide across Racer's back, she dropped a
long strip of leather with it, reached under him to grab the loose end,
and tied the hide on with it. This time when Racer went to pull it off
with his teeth, it didn't come immediately. At first, he didn't like it,
and tried to buck it off, but then he found a flapping end and started
tugging with his teeth until he pulled it out from under the thong. He
began working the loose thong around until he found the knot, and
worked at it with his teeth until he untied it. He picked the hide up
with his teeth and dropped it at Ay la's feet, then went back for the
thong. Both Ayla and Jondalar laughed, as Racer pranced away with
his head held high, looking proud of himself.
The young horse allowed Jondalar to tie the hide on him again, and
walked around with it on his back before he made a game of tugging
and pulling and working it off. By then, he seemed to be losing inter
est. Ayla tied the hide on him again, and he let it stay while she
petted and talked to him. Then she reached for the training device she
had constructed, two baskets tied together so that they would hang
down on both sides, with stones to add weight, and sticks jutting up
like the front ends of travels poles.
She draped it across Racer's back. He flattened his ears, and turned
his head back to look. He was unaccustomed to a weight on his back,
but he'd been leaned across and handled so much of his life, he was
used to feeling some pressure and weight. It wasn't a totally un
familiar experience, but, most important, he trusted the woman, and
so did his dam. She left the basket carrier in place while she patted
and scratched and talked to him, and then she took it off along with
the thong and the hide. He sniffed it again, then ignored it.
"We may have to stay an extra day or so to get him used to it, and I
will still go through everything one more time, but I think it will
work," Ayla said, beaming with pleasure as they walked back to the
cave. "Maybe not dragging a load on poles, like Whinney does, but I
think Racer could carry some things on his back."
"I ]ust hope the weather holds a few more days," Jondalar said.
"If we don't try to ride at all, we can put a bundle of hay where we
sit, Jondalar. I tied it up tight," Ayla said, calling down to the man
making one last search for firestones on the rocky beach below. The
horses were on the beach, too. Whinney, outfitted with packed travois
and carrying baskets plus a hide-covered lumpy load on her rump,
was waiting patiently. Racer was more skittish about the baskets
hanging down his sides and the small load tied to his back. He was
still unaccustomed to carrying any load, but the steppe horse was the
original breed, a stocky, sturdy horse, used to living in the wild and
exceptionally strong.
"I thought you were bringing grain for them, why do you want
hay? There's more grass out there than all the horses can eat."
"But when it snows heavily or, worse, when the ice crusts on top,
it's hard for them to get at it, and too much grain can make them
bloat. It's good to have a few days' supply of hay on hand. Horses can
die of starvation in winter."
"You wouldn't let those horses starve if you had to break through
the ice and cut the grass yourself, Ayla," Jondalar said with a laugh,
"but I don't care if we ride or walk." His smile faded as he looked up
at the clear blue sky. "It's going to take longer to get back than it did
getting here, as loaded as the horses are, either way."
Holding three more pieces of the innocuous-looking stones in his
hand, Jondalar started up the steep path to the cave. When he reached
the entrance, he found Ayla standing there looking in with tears in
her eyes. He deposited the pyrites in a pouch near his traveling pack
and then went to stand beside her.
"This was my home," she said, overcome by loss as the finality of
the move struck her. "This was my own place. My totem led me here,
gave me a sign." She reached for the small leather bag she wore
around her neck. "I was lonely, but I did what I wanted to do here,
and what I had to do. Now the Spirit of the Cave Lion wants me to
leave." She looked up at the tall man beside her. "Do you think we'll
ever come back?"
"No," he said. There was a hollow ring to his voice. He was look
ing in the small cave, but he was seeing another place and another
time. "Even if you go back to the same place, it's not the same."
"Then why do you want to go back, now, Jondalar? Why not stay
here, become a Mamutoi?" she asked.
"I can't stay. It's hard to explain. I know it won't be the same, but
the Zeiandonii are my people. I want to show them the firestones. I
want to show them how to hunt with the spear-thrower. I want them
to see what can be done with flint that has been heated. All these
things are important and worthwhile and can bring many benefits. I
want to bring them to my people." He looked down at the ground and
lowered his voice. "I want them to look at me and think that I am
worthwhile."
She looked into his expressive, troubled eyes, and wished she could
remove the pain she saw there. "Is it so important what they think?
Isn't it more important that you know you are?" she said.
Then she remembered that the Cave Lion was his totem, too,
chosen by the Spirit of the powerful animal just as she had been. She
knew it was not easy living with a powerful totem, the tests were
difficult, but the gifts, and the knowledge that came inside, were al
ways worth it. Creb had told her that the Great Cave Lion never
chose someone who wasn't worthy.
Rather than the smaller, one-shouldered Mamutoi haversack, they
settled into heavy traveling packs, similar to the type Jondalar once
used, designed to be worn on the back, with straps over the shoul
ders. They made sure the hoods of their parkas were free to slip on or
off. Ay la had added tumplines, which could be worn across the fore
head for added support, if they chose, though she usually dispensed
with the tumpline in favor of wearing her sling wrapped around her
head. Their food, fire-making materials, tent, and sleeping furs were
packed inside.
Jondalar also carried two good-sized nodules of flint carefully se
lected from several he had found on the beach, and a pouch full of
firestones. In a separate holder attached to the side, they both carried
spears and spear-throwers. Ay la carried several good throwing stones
in a pouch, and under her parka, attached to a thong she had tied
around her tunic, was her otter skin medicine bag.
The hay, which Ay la had bound into a round bale, was tied on the
mare. She gave both horses a critical appraisal, checking their legs,
their stance, their carriage to make sure they were not overloaded.
With a last look up the steep path, they started out down the long
valley, Whinney following Ay la, Jondalar leading Racer by a rope.
They crossed over the small river near the stepping-stones. Ay la con
sidered removing some of Whinney's load to make it easier for her to
get up the graveled slope, but the sturdy mare made it with little
trouble.
Once up on the western steppes, Ay la went a different way from
the one they had arrived by. She took a wrong turn, then back
tracked, until she found the one she was looking for. Finally, they
arrived at a blind canyon strewn with huge, sharp-angled boulders,
which had been sheared from crystalline granite walls by the cutting
edge of frost and heat and time. Watching Whinney for signs of ner
vousness—the canyon had once been home to cave lions—they
started in, drawn to the slope of loose gravel at the far end.
When Ay la had found them, Thonolan was already dead and Jon-
dalar gravely injured. Except for a request to the Spirit of her Cave
Lion to guide the man to the next world, she'd had no time for burial
rites, but she couldn't leave the body exposed to predation. She had
dragged him to the end, and using her heavy spear, fashioned after
the kind used by the men of the Clan, she levered aside a rock which
held back an accumulation of loose stone. She had grieved as the
gravel covered the lifeless, bloody form of a man she never knew, and
now, never would; a man like herself, a man of the Others.
Jondalar stood at the foot of the slope wishing there was something
he could do to acknowledge this burial place of his brother. Perhaps
Doni had already found him, since She called him back to Her so
soon, but he knew Zeiandoni would try to find this resting place of
Thonolan's spirit and guide him if she could. But how could he tell
her where this place was? He couldn't even have found it himself.
"Jondalar?" Ay la said. He looked at her and noticed she had a small
leather pouch in her hand. "You have told me his spirit should return
to Doni. I don't know the ways of the Great Earth Mother, I only
know of the spirit world of the Clan totems. I asked my Cave Lion to
guide him there. Maybe it is the same place, or maybe your Great
Mother knows of that place, but the Cave Lion is a powerful totem
and your brother is not without protection."
"Thank you, Ayla. I know you did the best you could."
"Maybe you don't understand, just as I don't understand Doni, but
the Cave Lion is your totem, too, now. He chose you, as he chose me,
and marked you, as he marked me."
"You told me that before. I'm not sure what it means."
"He had to choose you, when he chose you for me. Only a man
with a Cave Lion totem is strong enough for a woman with a Cave
Lion totem, but there is something you must know. Creb always told
me, it is not easy living with a powerful totem. His Spirit will test
you, to know you are worthy. It will be very hard, but you will gain
more than you know." She held up the small pouch. "I made an
amulet for you. You don't have to wear it around your neck, as I do,
but you should keep it with you. I put a piece of red ochre in it, so it
can hold a piece of your spirit and a piece of your totem's, but I think
your amulet should hold one more thing."
Jondalar was frowning. He didn't want to offend her, but he wasn't
sure if he wanted this Clan totem amulet.
"I think you should take a piece of stone from your brother's grave.
A piece of his spirit will stay with it, and you can carry it back with
yours to your people."
The knots of consternation on his forehead deepened, then slid-
denly cleared. Of course! That might help Zeiandoni find this place in
a spirit trance. Maybe there was more to Clan totems than he realized.
After all, didn't Doni create the spirits of all the animals?
"Ayla, how do you know exactly what to do? How could you learn
so much, where you grew up? Yes, I'll keep this and put a stone from
Thonolan's grave in it," he said.
He looked at the loose, sharp-edged gravel sloping against the wall
in a tenuous equilibrium, created by the same forces that had split the
stone slabs and blocks from the steep canyon sides. Suddenly a stone,
giving way to the cosmic force of gravity, rolled down amid a spatter
ing of other rocks and landed at Jondalar's feet. He picked it up. At
first glance, it appeared to be the same as all the other innocuous little
pieces of broken granite and sedimentary rock. But when he turned it
over, he was surprised to see a shining opalescence where the stone
had broken. Fiery red lights gleamed from the heart of the milky
white stone, and shimmering streaks of blues and greens danced and
sparkled in the sun as he turned it this way and that.
"Ayla, look at this," he said, showing her the small piece of opal.
"You'd never guess it from the back. You'd think it was just an ordi
nary stone, but look here, where it broke off. The colors seem to
come from deep inside, and they're so bright. It almost seems alive."
"Maybe it is, or maybe it is a piece of the spirit of your brother,"
she replied.
16

cold eddy of air curled beneath the edge of the low tent;
an exposed arm was quickly brought under a fur. A stiff breeze whistled
through the flap across the opening; a frown of worry creased a
sleeping brow. A gust caught the flap with a sharp crack and snapped
it back and forth, opening the way for bellowing drafts, which
brought both Ay la and Jondalar fully awake in an instant. Jondalar
tied the loose end down, but the wind, increasing steadily through the
night, made sleep fitful and uneasy as it gasped and groaned, heaved
and howled around the small hide shelter.
In the morning, they struggled to fold the tent hide between them
in the blustery wind and packed quickly, not bothering to make a fire.
Instead they drank cold water from the icy stream nearby and ate
traveling food. The wind abated around midmorning, but there was
a tension in the atmosphere which made them doubt that the worst
was over.
When the wind picked up again around noon, Ay la noticed a fresh,
almost metallic scent to the air, more like an absence of smell than an
actual odor. She sniffed, turning her head, testing, evaluating.
"There's snow on this wind." Ayla shouted to be heard above the
roar. "I can smell it."
"What did you say?" Jondalar said, but the wind whipped his
words away and Ayla understood his meaning more from the shapes
his mouth took as he spoke than from hearing him. She stopped to let
him come abreast.
"I can smell snow on the way. We've got to find a place to shelter
before it comes," Ayla said, searching the broad, flat expanse with troubled eyes. "But where can we find shelter out here?"
Jondalar was equally worried as he scanned the empty steppes.
Then he recalled the nearly frozen stream they had camped near the
night before. They hadn't crossed over, it would still be on their left
no matter how much it meandered. He strained to see through blowing
dust, but nothing was clear. He turned left anyway.
"Let's try to find that little river," he said. "There may be trees or
high banks along it that will give us some protection." Ayla nodded,
following his lead. Whinney did not object either.
The subtle quality to the air that the woman had detected, and
thought of as the smell of snow, had been an accurate warning. Before
long, a light powdery sifting whirled and blew in an erratic pattern,
defining and giving shape to the wind. It soon gave way to larger
flakes that made it more difficult to see.
But when Jondalar thought he saw the outline of vague shapes
looming ahead, and stopped to try to make them out, Whinney
pushed on and they all followed her lead. Low-bent trees and a screen
of brush marked the edge of a watercourse. The man and woman
could have crouched behind it, but the mare kept going downstream
until they reached a turn where the water had cut deep into a bank of
hard-packed soil. There, next to the low bluff, out of the full force of
the wind, Whinney urged the young horse, and stood on the outside
to protect him.
Ayla and Jondalar quickly removed the horses' loads and set up
their small tent almost under the mare's feet, then crawled inside to
wait out the storm.
Even in the lee of the bank, out of the direct force of the wind, the
storm threatened their simple shelter. The roaring gale blew from all
directions at once, and seemed determined to find a way inside. It
succeeded often. Drafts and gusts stole under the edges or in through
cracks where the skin across the opening overlapped or the smoke-hole
cover was fastened, often bringing a dusting of snow. The woman and
the man crawled under their furs to keep warm, and talked. Incidents
of their childhood, stories, legends, people they'd known, customs,
ideas, dreams, hopes; they never seemed to run out of things to talk
about. As night came on, they shared Pleasures, and then slept.
Sometime in the middle of the night, the wind stopped its assault on
their tent.

Ayla awoke and lay with her eyes open, looking around the dim
interior, fighting down a growing panic. She didn't feel well, she had
a headache, and the muffled stillness felt heavy in the stale air of the
tent. Something was wrong, but she didn't know what. She sensed a
familiarity about the situation, or a memory, as though she'd been
there before, but not quite. It was more like a danger she ought to
recognize, but what? Suddenly she couldn't bear it and sat up, pushing
the warm covers off the man lying beside her.
"Jondalar! Jondalar!" She shook him, but she didn't need to. He
was awake the moment she bolted up.
"Ayla! What is it?"
"I don't know. Something is wrong!"
T don't see anything wrong," he said. He didn't, but something
was obviously bothering Ay la. He wasn't used to seeing her so close
to panic. She was usually so calm, so completely in control even when
she was in imminent danger. No four-legged predator could bring
such abject terror to her eyes. "Why do you think something is
wrong?"
"I had a dream. I was in a dark place, darker than night, and I was
suffocating, Jondalar. I couldn't breathe!"
A familiar look of concern spread across his face as he looked
around the tent once more. It just wasn't like Ayla to be so frightened;
perhaps something was wrong. It was dark in the tent, but not com
pletely dark. A faint light filtered through. Nothing seemed out of
place, the wind hadn't torn anything or snapped any cords. In fact, it
wasn't even blowing. There was no movement at all. It was absolutely
still. . . .
Jondalar threw back the furs, scrambled to the entrance. He un
fastened the tent flap, exposing a wall of soft white, which collapsed
into the tent, but showed only more of the same beyond.
"We're buried, Jondalar! We're buried in snow!" Ayla's eyes were
wide with terror and her voice cracked with the strain of trying to
keep it under control.
Jondalar reached for her and held her. "It's all right, Ayla. It's all
right," he murmured, not at all sure that it was.
"It's so dark and I can't breathe!"
Her voice sounded so strange, so remote, as though it came from
afar, and she had become limp in his arms. He laid her down on her
furs, and noticed her eyes were closed, but she still kept crying out in
that eerie, distant voice that it was dark, and she couldn't breathe.
Jondalar was at a loss, frightened for her, and of her, a little. Some
thing strange was going on, something more than their snowy en
tombment, as frightening as that was.
He noticed his pack near the opening, partly covered with snow,
and stared at it for a moment. Suddenly he crawled over to it. Brush
ing off the snow, he felt for the side holder and found a spear. Rising
to his knees, he unfastened the smoke-hole cover that was near the
middle. With the butt end of the spear he poked up through the
snow. A pile plopped down on their sleeping furs, and then sunlight
and a gust of fresh air swept through the small tent.
The change in Ayla was immediate. She visibly relaxed and soon
opened her eyes. "What did you do?" she asked.
"I poked a spear through the smoke hole and broke through the
snow. We'll have to dig our way out, but the snow may not be as
deep as it seems." He looked at her closely with concern. "What hap
pened to you, Ayla? You had me worried. You kept saying you
couldn't breathe. I think you fainted."
"I don't know. Maybe it was the lack of fresh air."
"It didn't seem that bad. I wasn't having much trouble breathing.
And you were really afraid. I don't think I've ever seen you so
scared."
Ay la was uncomfortable under his questioning. She did feel
strange, a little light-headed still, and seemed to recall unpleasant
dreams, but she couldn't explain it.
"I remember once that snow covered up the opening of the small
cave I stayed in when I had to leave Brun's clan. I woke up in the
dark and the air was bad. That must have been it."
"I suppose that could make you afraid if it happened again," Jon-
dalar said, but somehow he didn't quite believe it, and neither did
Ayla.

The big red-bearded man was still outside working, though the twilight
was fast fading into dark. He was the first to see the strange
procession round the crest at the top of the slope and start down. First
came the woman, plodding wearily through the deep snow, followed
by a horse whose head was hanging with exhaustion, with a load on
her back and dragging the travois behind her. The young horse, also
carrying a load, was led by a rope held by the man following the
mare. His way was easier going since the snow had already been
trampled down by those in the lead, though Jondalar and Ayla had
traded places on the way to give each other a rest.
"Nezzie! They're back!" Talut shouted as he started up to
meet them, and tramped the snow down for Ayla for the last
few steps of the way. He led them, not to the familiar arched
entrance at the front end, but to the middle of the longhouse.
To their surprise a new addition to the structure had been built
in their absence. It was similar to the entrance foyer, but larger.
From it, a new entrance opened directly to the Hearth of the
Mammoth.
"This is for the horses, Ayla," Talut announced once they were
inside, with a huge, self-satisfied grin at her expression of stunned
disbelief. "I knew after that last windstorm that a lean-to would never
be enough. If you, and your horses, are going to live with us, we
needed to make something more substantial. I think we should call it
the 'hearth of the horses!'"
Tears filled Ay la's eyes. She was tired to the bone, grateful to have
finally made their way back, and she was overwhelmed. No one had
ever gone to so much trouble because they wanted her. As long as she
lived with the Clan, she had never felt fully accepted, never quite
belonged. She was sure they would never have allowed her to keep
horses, much less build a place for them.
"Oh, Talut," she said, a catch in her voice, then she reached up and
put her arms around his neck and pressed her cold cheek to his. Ay la
had always seemed so reserved to him, her spontaneous expression of
affection was a delightful surprise. Talut hugged her and patted her
back, smiling with obvious pleasure and feeling very smug.
Most of the Lion Camp crowded around them in the new annex,
welcoming the woman and man as though they were both full-fledged
members of the group.
"We were getting worried about you," Deegie said, "especially after
it snowed."
"We'd have been back sooner if Ayla hadn't wanted to bring so
much with her,"Jondalar said. "The last couple of days, I wasn't sure
we would make it back."
Ayla had already begun to unload the horses, for the last time, and
as Jondalar went to help her the mysterious bundles aroused great
curiosity.
"Did you bring anything for me?" Rugie finally asked, speaking the
question that everyone was wondering.
Ayla smiled at the little girl. "Yes, I brought something for you. I
brought something for everyone," she answered, making them all
wonder what gift she had brought for each.
"Who is that for?" Tusie asked, when Ayla began cutting the ties
on the largest bundle.
Ayla glanced up at Deegie, and they both smiled, trying not to let
Deegie's little sister notice their somewhat patronizing amusement in
hearing Tube's tone and inflections in the voice of her youngest
daughter.
"I even brought something for the horses," Ayla said to the little
girl as she cut the last cords and the bale of hay burst open. "This is
for Whinney and Racer."
After she spread it out for them, she started to untie the load on the
travois. "I should bring the rest of this inside."
"You don't have to do it now," Nezzie said. "You haven't even
taken off your outer clothes. Come in and have something hot to
drink, and some food. Everything will be fine here for now."
"Nezzie is right," Tulie added. She was just as curious as the rest of
the Camp, but Ay la's packages could wait. "You both need to rest and
have something to eat. You look exhausted."
Jondalar smiled gratefully at the headwoman as he followed Ayla
into the lodge.
In the morning, Ayla had many helping hands to carry in her bun-
dies, but Mamut had quietly suggested that she keep her gifts covered
until the ceremony that evening. Ay la smiled her agreement, quickly
understanding the element of mystery and anticipation he implied,
but her evasive replies to Tulie's hints to show her what she
had brought annoyed the headwoman, though she didn't want to
show it.
Once the packages and bundles were piled on one of the empty bed
platforms and the drapes closed, Ay la crawled into the private, en
closed space, lit three stone lamps and spaced them for good lighting,
and there examined and arranged the gifts she had brought. She made
some minor changes to the choices she had made previously, adding
or exchanging a few items, but when she snuffed out the lamps and
emerged, letting the drapes fall closed behind her, she was satisfied.
She went out through the new opening, a space formerly occupied
by a section of an unused platform bed. The floor of the new annex
was higher than the floor of the earthlodge, and three wide, four-inch-
high steps had been cut for easier access. She paused to look around
the addition. The horses were gone. Whinney was accustomed to nos
ing aside a hide windbreak, and Ayla only had to show her once.
Racer picked up the trick from his dam. Obeying an impulsive urge to
check on them—like a mother with children, a part of her mind was
always conscious of the horses—the young woman walked through
the enclosed space to the mammoth tusk archway, pulled back the
heavy hide drape, and looked out.
The world had lost all form and definition; solid color without
shadow or shape spilled across the landscape in two hues: blue, rich,
vibrant, startling blue sky unbroken by a single wisp of cloud; and
white, blinding white snow reflecting a fulgent late morning sun.
Ayla squinted against the glare of white; the only evidence of the
storm that had raged for days. Slowly, as her eyes adjusted to the
light, and a previous sense of depth and distance informed her percep
tion, details filled in. The water, still rippling down the middle of the
river, sparkled more brightly than the soft, white snow-covered
banks, which blended into jagged white shards of ice, blunted by
snow, at the edges of the watercourse. Nearby, mysterious white
mounds took on the shapes of mammoth bones and piles of dirt.
She stepped outside a few paces to see around the bend of the river
where the horses liked to graze, just out of sight. It was warm in the
sun and the top of the snow glistened with a hint of melt. The horses
would have to paw the deep, soft, cold layer aside to find the dried
grass it covered. As Ayla prepared to whistle, Whinney, stepping into
view, raised her head, and saw her. She whinnied a greeting as Racer
came out from behind her. Ayla nickered back.
As the woman turned to go, she noticed Talut watching her with a
peculiar, almost awed expression.
"How did the mare know you had come out?" he asked.
"I think she did not know, but horse have good nose, smell far.
Good ears, hear far. Anything moves, she sees."
The big man nodded. She made it sound so simple, so logical, but
still . . . He smiled, then, glad they were back. He was looking for
ward to Ayla's adoption. She had so much to offer, she would be a
welcome, and valuable, Mamutoi woman.
They both went back into the new annex, and as they entered,
Jondalar came in from the lodge.
"I notice your gifts are all ready," he said with a big grin as he
strode toward them. He enjoyed the anticipation her mysterious pack
ages had caused, and being in on the surprise. He had overheard
Tulie voicing concern about the quality of her gifts, but he had no
doubts. They would be unusual to the Mamutoi, but fine work
manship was fine workmanship, and he felt sure hers would be
recognized.
"Everyone is wondering what you have brought, Ayla," Talut said.
He loved the anticipation and excitement as much, or more, than
anyone.
"I do not know if my gifts enough," Ayla said.
"Of course they will be enough. Don't worry about it. Whatever
you brought will be enough. Just the firestones would be enough.
Even without firestones, just you would be enough," Talut said, then
added with a smile, "Giving us a reason to have a big celebration
could be enough!"
"But, you say gifts exchanged, Talut. In Clan, for exchange, must
give same kind, same worth. What can be enough to give, for you, for
everyone, who make this place for horses?" Ayla said, glancing
around at the annex. "Is like cave, but you make it. I do not know
how people can make a cave like this."
"I've wondered that myself," Jondalar said. "I must admit, I've
never seen anything like it and I've seen a lot of shelters: summer
shelters, shelters built inside a cave or under an overhanging ledge,
but your lodge is as solid as rock itself."
Talut laughed. "It has to be, to live here, especially in winter. As
hard as the wind blows, anything less would get blown away." His
smile faded, and a soft look of something akin to love suffused his
face. "Mamutoi land is rich land, rich in game, in fish, in foods that
grow. It is a beautiful, a strong land. I wouldn't want to live any other
place ..." The smile returned. "But strong shelters are needed to live
here, and we don't have many caves."
"How do you make a cave, Talut? How do you make a place like
this?" Ayla asked, remembering how Brun had searched for just the
right cave for his clan, and how homeless she had felt until she found
a valley that had a livable cave.
"If you want to know, I will tell you. It is not a big secret!" Talut
said, grinning with pleasure. He was delighted with their obvious ad
miration. "The rest of the lodge is made the same way, more or less,
but for this addition, we started by pacing off a distance from the wall
outside the Mammoth Hearth. When we reached the center of an area
that we thought would be large enough, a stick was put in the
ground—that's where we would put a fireplace, if we decide we need
a fire in here. Then we measured off a rope that same distance, fas
tened one end to the stick, and with the other end, marked a circle to
show where the wall would go." Talut acted out his explanation,
striding through the paces and tying an imaginary rope to a nonexis
tent stick.
"Next, we cut through the sod, lifted it out carefully, to save it, and
then dug down about the length of my foot." To further clarify his
remarks, Talut held up an unbelievably long, but surprisingly narrow
and shapely foot encased in a snug-fitting soft shoe. "Then we marked
off the width of the bench—the platform that can be beds or stor
age—and some extra for the wall. From the inside edge of the bench,
we dug down deeper, about the depth of two or three of my feet, to
excavate the middle for the floor. The dirt was piled up evenly all
around the outside in a bank that helps support the wall."
"That's a lot of digging," Jondalar said, eying the enclosure. "I'd
say the distance from one wall to the one opposite is, maybe, thirty of
your feet, Talut."
The headman's eyes opened in surprise. "You're right! I measured
it off exactly. How did you know?"
Jondalar shrugged. "Just a guess."
It was more than a guess, it was another manifestation of his in
stinctive understanding of the physical world. He could accurately
judge distance with his eye alone, and he measured space with the
dimensions of his own body. He knew the length of his stride and the
width of his hand, the reach of his arm and the span of his grasp; he
could estimate a fraction against the thickness of his thumb, or the
height of a tree by pacing its shadow in the sun. It was not something
he learned; it was a gift he was born with and developed with use. It
never occurred to him to question it.
Ayla thought it was a lot of digging, too. She had dug her share of
pit-traps and understood the work involved, and she was curious.
"How do you dig so much, Talut?"
"How does anyone dig? We use mattocks to break up the loam,
shovels to scoop it out, except for the hard-packed sod on top. We cut
that out with the sharpened edge of a flat bone."
Her puzzled look made it plain she didn't understand. Perhaps she
didn't know the words for the tools in his language, he thought, and
stepping outside the door, returned with some implements. They all
had long handles. One had a piece of mammoth rib bone attached to
it, which had been ground to a sharp edge at one end. It resembled a
hoe with a long curved blade. Ayla examined it carefully.
"Is like digging stick, I think," she said, looking to Talut for
confirmation.
He smiled. "Yes, it's a mattock. We use pointed digging sticks, too,
sometimes. They are easier to make in a hurry, but this is easier to
use."
Then he showed her a shovel made from the wide palmation of a
giant antler of a megaceros, split lengthwise through the spongy cen
ter, then shaped and sharpened. Antlers of young animals were used;
the antlers of mature giant deer could reach eleven feet in length, and
were too big. The handle was attached by means of strong cord
strung through three pairs of holes bored down the center. It was
used, spongy side down, not to dig, but for scooping up and throwing
out the fine loess soil loosened by the mattock, or, if they chose, for
snow. He also had a second shovel, more scoop-shaped, made from an
outer section of ivory flaked from a mammoth tusk.
"These are shovels," Talut said, telling her the name. Ayla nodded.
She had used flat pieces of bone and antler in much the same way, but
her shovels had had no handles.
"I'm just glad the weather stayed nice for a while after you left,"
the headman continued. "As it is, we didn't dig down as far as we
usually would. The ground is already hard underneath. Next year,
we can dig down deeper and make some storage pits, too, maybe even
a sweatbath, when we get back from the Summer Meeting."
"Weren't you going to hunt again, when the weather got nice?"
Jondalar said.
"The bison hunt was very successful, and Mamut isn't having much
luck Searching. All he seems to find are the few bison we missed, and
it isn't worthwhile to go after them. We decided to make the addition
instead, to make a place for the horses, since Ayla and her horse were
such a help."
"Mattock and shovel make easier, Talut, but is work ... a lot of
digging," Ayla said, surprised and a little overcome.
"We had a lot of people to work at it, Ayla. Nearly everyone
thought it was a good idea and wanted to help ... to make you
welcome."
The young woman felt a sudden rush of emotion and closed her
eyes to control tears of gratitude that threatened. Jondalar and Talut
saw her, and turned aside out of consideration.
Jondalar examined the walls, still intrigued with the construction.
"It looks like you dug it out between the platforms, too," he
commented.
"Yes, for the main supports," Talut said, pointing to the six enor
mous mammoth tusks, wedged in at the base with smaller bones—
parts of spines and phalanges—with their tips pointing toward the
center. They were spaced at regular intervals around the wall on both
sides of the two pairs of mammoth tusks, which were used for the
arched doorways. The strong, long, curved tusks were the primary
structural members of the lodge.
As Talut of the Mammoth Hunters continued describing the con
struction of the semisubterranean earthlodge, Ay la and Jondalar be
came even more impressed. It was far more complex than either had
imagined. Midway between the center and the tusk wall supports
were six wooden posts—tapering trees, stripped of bark and crotched
on top. Around the outside of the annex, braced against the bottom of
the bank, mammoth skulls stood upright in the ground, supported by
shoulder blades, hipbones, spinal bones, and several strategically
placed long bones, legs and ribs. The upper part of the wall, consist
ing mainly of shoulder blades, hipbones, and smaller tusks of mam
moth, merged into the roof, which was supported by wooden beams
stretched across and between the outer circle of tusks and the inner
circle of posts. The mosaic of bones, all deliberately chosen and some
trimmed to shape, were wedged in and lashed to the sturdy tusks,
creating a curved wall that fit together like interlocking pieces of a
puzzle.
Some wood was available from river valleys, but for building pur
poses mammoth bones were in greater supply. But the mammoths
they hunted contributed only a small portion of the bones they used.
The great majority of their building materials were selected from the
prodigious pile of bones at the bend in the river. Some bones even
came from scavenger-stripped carcasses found on the nearby steppes,
but the open grasslands were more important for providing materials
of another variety.
Each year the migratory herds of reindeer dropped their antlers to
make way for the next year's rack, and each year they were gathered
up. To complete the dwelling, the antlers of the reindeer were bound
to one another to make a strong framework of interlaced supports for a
domed roof, leaving a hole in the center for smoke to escape. Then,
willow boughs from the river valley were tied together into a thick
mat, which was laid across and bound securely over and around the
antlers, and tapered down the bone wall, to create a sturdy base over
the roof and the wall. Next, an even thicker thatch of grass, overlap
ped to shed water, was fastened to the willows all the way to the
ground. On top of the grass thatch was a layer of dense sod. Part of
the sod came from the ground that had been excavated for the addi
tion, and part from land nearby.
The walls of the entire structure were two to three feet thick, but
one final layer of material remained to complete the annex.
They were standing outside admiring the new structure when
Talut finished his detailed explanation of earthlodge construction. "I
was hoping the weather would clear," he said, making an expansive
gesture toward the clear blue sky. "We need to finish it. Without
finishing, I'm not sure how long this will last."
"How long will a lodge last?" Jondalar asked.
"As long as I live, sometimes more. But earthlodges are winter
homes. We usually leave in summer, for the Summer Meeting and the
big mammoth hunt, and other trips. Summer is for traveling, to
gather plants, to hunt or fish, to trade or visit. We leave most of our
things here when we go, because we come back every year. The Lion
Camp is our home."
"If you expect this part to be home to Ayla's horses for very long,
then we better finish it while we have the chance," Nezzie interjected.
She and Deegie set down the large, heavy skin of water they had
hauled up from the partially frozen river.
Ranee arrived then, carrying digging tools and dragging a large bas
ket full of compact wet soil. "I've never heard of anyone making a
lodge, or even part of one, this late in the season," he said.
Barzec was right behind him. "It will be an interesting test," he
said, setting down a second basket of slick mud, which they had dug
from a particular place along the riverbank. Danug and Druwez ap
peared then, each carrying additional baskets of the wet mud.
"Tronic has a fire started," Tulie said, picking up the heavy skin of
water brought up by Nezzie and Deegie, by herself. "Tornec and
some others are piling up snow to melt, once we get this water
heating."
"I like to help," Ay la said, wondering how much help she would
be. Everyone seemed to know exactly what to do, but she didn't have
any idea what was going on, much less what she could do to help.
"Yes, can we help?" Jondalar added.
"Of course, it's for the horse," Deegie commented, "but let me get
you something old of mine to wear, Ayla. It's a messy job. Does
Talut or Danug have something for Jondalar?"
"I'll find something for him," Nezzie said.
"If you are still so eager after we are through, you can come and
help put up the new lodge Tarneg and I will be making to start our
Camp . . . after I join with Branag," Deegie added, smiling.
"Has anyone started fires in the sweatbaths?" Talut asked. "Every
one will want to clean up after this, especially if we're going to have a
celebration tonight."
"Wymez and Frebec started them early this morning. They are get
ting more water now," Nezzie said. "Crozie and Manuv have gone off
with Latie and the young ones to get fresh pine boughs to make the
baths smell nice. Fralie wanted to go, too, but I didn't like the idea of
her climbing up and down hills, so I asked her if she would watch
Rydag. She's watching Hartal, too. Mamut is busy doing something
for the ceremony tonight, too. I have a feeling he's planning some
kind of a surprise."
"Oh . . . Mamut asked me, when I was coming out, to tell you that
the signs are good for a hunt in a few days, Talut. He wants to know
if you want him to Search," Barzec said.
"The signs are good for a hunt," the big headman said. "Look at
this snow! Soft underneath, melting on top. If we get a good freeze, it
will have a crust of ice, and animals always get stuck when the snow
is in that condition. Yes, I think it would be a good idea."
Everyone had been walking toward the fireplace, where a large
hide, filled with the icy water from the river, had been propped over a
frame directly over the flames. The river water was only to start the
process of melting the snow that was dumped in. As it melted, bas
kets of water were dipped out and poured into another large, stained,
and dirty hide that lined a depression in the ground. The special soil,
taken from a bank near the river, was added and mixed with the water
to form a thick slurry of gummy, slick clay.
Several people climbed on top of the new sod-covered annex with
waterproof baskets of the fine, smooth, runny mud, and, with scoops,
began pouring it down the sides. Ay la and Jondalar watched, and
soon joined them. Others at the bottom spread it around to make sure
that the entire surface had a thick coat.
The tough, sticky clay, washed and sorted into fine particles by the
river, would absorb no water. It was impervious to water. Rain, sleet,
melting snow, nothing could penetrate. Even when wet, it was water
proof. As it dried, and with long use, the surface became quite hard,
and was often used as a handy place to store objects and implements.
When the weather was pleasant, it was a place to lounge, to visit, to
expound in loud discussion, or to sit quietly and meditate. Children
climbed up when visitors came, to watch without being in the way,
and everyone used the perch when an audience was needed or there
was something to see.
More clay was mixed and Ayla carried a heavy basket up, slopping
it over the edge, and spilling it on herself. It didn't matter. She was
already covered with mud, just as everyone else was. Deegie was
right. It was a messy job. As they finished the sides, they moved
away from the edge and began coating the top, but as the surface of
the dome became covered with wet slippery mud, footing became
treacherous.
Ayla poured out the last of the mud from her basket, and watched
it oozing slowly down. She turned to go, not watching carefully
where she was stepping. Before she knew it, her feet slipped out from
under her. She fell with a plop into the fresh, soft clay she had just
poured, and went slipping and sliding over the rounded edge of the
roof and down the side of the horse annex, letting out an involuntary
scream.
The next instant she found herself caught by strong arms just as she
reached the ground, and startled, looked at the mud-spattered, laugh
ing face of Ranee.
"That's one way to spread it down the side," he said, steadying her,
while she regained her composure. Then, still holding her, he added,
"If you want to do it again, I'll wait here for you."
She felt warmth where he touched the cool skin of her arm, and she
was entirely aware of his body pressing against her. His dark eyes,
glistening and deep, were filled with a yearning that stirred an unbid
den response from the core of her womanness. She trembled slightly,
and felt her face flush before she looked down, and then moved away
from his touch.
Ayla glanced at Jondalar, confirming what she expected to see. He
was angry. His fists were clenched and his temples throbbed. She
looked away quickly. She understood his anger a little more now,
realizing it was an expression of his fear—fear of loss, fear of rejec
tion—but she felt a touch of irritation at his reaction, nonetheless.
She couldn't help it that she slipped, and she was grateful that Ranee
happened to be there to catch her. She flushed again, recalling her
response to his lingering touch. She couldn't help that either.
"Come on, Ayla," Deegie said. "Talut says it's enough and the
sweatbaths are hot. Let's go clean this mud off and get ready for the
celebration. It's for you."
The two young women walked into the earthlodge through the new
annex. As they reached the Mammoth Hearth, Ayla suddenly turned
to the other young woman. "Deegie, what is sweatbath?"
"Haven't you ever taken a sweatbath?"
"No." Ayla shook her head.
"Oh, you'll love it! You might as well take those muddy clothes off
at the Aurochs Hearth. The women usually use the back swearhai-h
The men like this one." As she spoke, Deegie indicated an archway
just beyond Manuv's bed as they passed through the Reindeer Hearth
and into the Crane Hearth.
"Is not for storage?"
"Did you think all the side rooms were for storage? I suppose you
wouldn't know, would you? You feel so much a part of us already, it's
hard to remember that you really haven't been here that long." She
stopped then, and turned to look at Ay la. "I'm glad you will be one of
us, I think you were meant to be."
Ayla smiled shyly. "I am glad, too, and I am glad you are here,
Deegie. Is nice to know woman . . . young . . . like me."
Deegie smiled back. "I know. I just wish you had come sooner. I
am going to be leaving after the summer. I almost hate to go. I want
to be headwoman of my own Camp, like my mother, but I'm going to
miss her, and you, and everyone."
"How far away you go?"
"I don't know. We haven't decided yet," Deegie said.
"Why go far? Why not build new lodge nearby?" Ayla asked.
"I don't know. Most people don't, but I guess I could. I didn't think
of that," Deegie said, with a look of quizzical surprise. Then, as they
reached the last hearth in the earthlodge, she added, "Take off those
dirty things and just leave them in a pile there."
Both Deegie and Ayla peeled off their muddy garments. Ayla could
feel the warmth radiating from behind a drape of red leather sus
pended from a rather low mammoth tusk archway in the farthest back
wall of the structure. Deegie ducked down and went in first. Ayla
followed, but stopped a moment before entering with the drape held
aside, trying to see in.
"Hurry in and close it! You're letting the heat out!" a voice called
from the steamy, dimly lit, somewhat smoky interior. I
She quickly scuttled in, letting the drape fall in place behind her,
but, rather than cold, she felt the heat assault her. Deegie led her |
down a rough stairway made of mammoth bones placed up against the
dirt wall of a pit that was about three feet deep. Ayla stood at the
bottom on a floor that was covered with a soft, deep-piled fur of some (
kind waiting for her eyes to adjust, then looked around. The space
that had been excavated was about six feet wide and ten feet long. It ft
consisted of two circular sections joined together, each with a low
domed ceiling—from where she stood, only three or four inches
above her head. 1
Hot bone coals scattered across the floor of the larger section
glowed brightly. The two young women walked through the smaller
section to join the others, and Ayla saw that the walls were covered
with skins, and the floor of the larger space was covered with mam
moth bones spaced carefully apart. It gave them a place to walk above
the bits of burning coals. Later, when they poured water on the floor
to make steam, or to wash, it would drain into the dirt below the
bones, which would keep feet above the mud.
More coals were piled up in the fireplace at the center. They fur
nished both heat and the only source of light, except for a faint outline
of daylight around the covered smoke hole. Naked women sat around
the fireplace on makeshift benches made of flat bones stretched across
other mammoth bone supports. Containers of water were lined up
along one wall. Large, sturdy, tightly woven baskets held cold water,
while steam issued from the stomachs of large animals supported
by frames of antlers. Someone picked a red-hot stone out of the fire
place with two flat bones and dropped it into one of the water-filled
stomachs. A cloud of pine-scented steam rose and enveloped the
room.
"Here, you can sit between Tulie and me," Nezzie said, moving
her ample body over one way, making room. Tulie moved the other
way. She was a big woman, too, but most of her size was sheer mus
cular mass, though her full female shape left no doubt about her
gender.
"I want to wash some of the mud off first," Deegie said. "Probably
Ayla will, too. Did you see her slide down the side?"
"No. Did you hurt yourself, Ayla?" Fralie asked, looking con
cerned, and slightly uncomfortable with her advancing pregnancy.
Deegie laughed before Ayla could answer. "Ranee caught her, and
didn't look at all unhappy about it, either." There were smiles and
nods.
Deegie picked up a mammoth skull basin, dipped both hot and cold
water into it, accidentally picking up a twig of pine from the hot
water, and from a dark mound of some soft substance, pulled off a
handful for Ayla and one for herself.
"What is this?" Ayla asked, feeling the luxuriously soft and silky
texture of the material.
"Mammoth wool," Deegie said. "The undercoat they grow in
winter. They shed it in big bunches every spring, right through the
long outer hair. It gets caught on bushes and trees. Sometimes you
can pick it up off the ground. Dip it in the water and use it to wash
off the mud."
"Hair muddy, too," Ayla said, "should wash."
"We'll wash up good later, after we sweat awhile."
They rinsed off to billows of steam, then Ayla sat down between
Deegie and Nezzie. Deegie leaned back and closed her eyes, sighing
contentedly, but Ay la, wondering why they were all sitting together
sweating, observed everyone in the room. Latie, sitting on the other
side of Tulie, smiled at her. She smiled back.
There was a movement at the entrance. Ay la felt a cool breeze and
realized how hot she was. Everyone looked to see who was coming.
Rugie and Tusie clambered down, followed by Tronic holding
Nuvie.
"I had to nurse Hartal," Tronic announced. "Tomec wanted to take
him for a sweatbath, and I didn't want him fussing."
Were men not allowed here, not even male babies? Ay la wondered.
"Are all the men in the sweatbath, Tronic? Maybe I should get
Rydag," Nezzie said.
"Danug took him in. I think the men decided they wanted all the
males this time," Tronic said. "Even the children."
"Frebec took Tasher and Crisavec," Tusie mentioned.
"It's about time he started taking more interest in those boys,"
Crozie grumbled. "Isn't that the only reason you joined with him,
Fralie?"
"No, Mother. That's not the only reason."
Ay la was surprised. She'd never heard Fralie disagree with her
mother before, even mildly. No one else seemed to notice. Maybe in
here, with only the women, Fralie didn't have to worry about seeming
to take sides. Crozie was sitting back with her eyes closed; it was
amazing how much her daughter resembled her. In fact, she resem
bled her too much. Except for a stomach big with pregnancy, Fralie
was so thin she looked almost as old as her mother, Ay la noticed. Her
ankles were swollen. That was not a good sign. She wished she could
examine her, then realized she might be able to, in here.
"Fralie, ankles swell much?" Ayla asked, somewhat hesitantly.
Everyone sat up, waiting for Fralie's reply, as though they all sud
denly realized what had just occurred to Ayla. Even Crozie watched
her daughter without saying a word.
Fralie looked down at her feet, seeming to examine her swollen
ankles, considering. Then she looked up. "Yes. They've been swollen
lately," she said.
Nezzie breathed an audible sigh of relief, which everyone else felt.
"Still sick in morning?" Ayla asked, leaning forward.
"I wasn't sick this long with the first two."
"Fralie, will let me . . . look at you?"
Fralie looked around at the women. No one said a word. Nezzie
smiled, and nodded at her, silently urging her to agree.
"All right," Fralie said.
Ayla quickly got up, looked at her eyes, smelled her breath, felt her
forehead. It was too dark to see much, and it was too hot in the
sweatbath to judge fever. "Will lie down?" Ay la asked.
Everyone moved out of the way to make a place for Fralie to stretch
out. Ayla felt, and listened, and examined with thoroughness and ob
vious knowledge, while everyone else watched with curiosity.
"Sick more than morning, I think," Ayla said, when she was
through. "I fix something, help make food not come up. Help feel
better. Help swelling. Will take?"
"I don't know," Fralie said. "Frebec watches everything I eat. I
think he's worried about me, but he won't admit to it. He'll ask where
it came from."
Crozie was sitting, tight-lipped, obviously biting back words she
wanted to say, fearing if she said them, Fralie might take Frebec's side
and refuse Ayla's help. Nezzie and Tulie exchanged glances. It wasn't
like Crozie to exercise so much self-restraint.
Ayla nodded. "I think I know way," she said.
"I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm ready to clean up and
go out," Deegie said. "How would a quick plunge in the snow feel
right now, Ayla?"
"I think good. I am hot."
•ondalar opened the drape that hung closed in front of the bed
platform he shared with Ay la, and smiled. She was sitting cross-
legged in the middle, naked, her skin pink and glowing, brushing her
wet hair.
"I feel so good," she said, smiling back. "Deegie said I would love
it. Did you like the sweatbath?"
He climbed in beside her, letting the drape fall. His skin was pink
and glowing, too, but he had finished dressing and had )ust combed
his hair and tied it in a club at the back of his neck. The sweatbath
had felt so refreshing he had even considered shaving, but just
trimmed his beard instead.
"I always enjoy them," he said. Then he couldn't resist. He took
her in his arms, kissed her, and began caressing her warm body. She
responded willingly, giving herself up to his embrace, and he heard a
soft moan when he bent to take a nipple in his mouth.
"Great Mother, woman, you are tempting," he said as he pulled
back. "But what will people say when they start arriving at the Mam
moth Hearth for your adoption, and find us sharing Pleasures instead
of being dressed and ready?"
"We could tell them to come back later," she answered with a
smile.
Jondalar laughed out loud. "I believe you would, wouldn't you?"
"Well, you gave me your signal, didn't you?" she said with a mis
chievous grin.
"My signal?"
"You remember. The signal a man gives a woman when he wants
her? You said I'd always know, then you kissed me and touched me
like that. Well, you just gave me your signal, and when a man gives
her the signal, a woman of the Clan never refuses."
"Is it really true she never refuses?" he asked, still not quite able to
believe it.
"That's what she is taught, Jondalar. That's how a proper woman
of the Clan behaves," she answered, with a perfectly matter-of-fact
"Hmmm, you mean the choice is mine? If I said let's stay here and
share Pleasures, you'd make everyone wait?" He was trying to be
serious, but his eyes twinkled with delight at what he considered their
private joke.
"Only if you give me the signal," she replied, in the same vein.
He took her in his arms and kissed her again, and feeling her warm
skin and warmer response, he was almost tempted to find out if she
was joking or if she really meant it but, reluctantly, he let her go.
"It's not what I'd rather do, but I think I'd better let you get
dressed. People will be here before long. What are you going to
wear?"
"I don't really have anything, except some Clan wraps, and the
outfit I've been wearing, and an extra pair of leggings. I wish I did.
Deegie showed me what she's going to wear. It's so beautiful—I've
never seen anything like it. She gave me one of her brushes, after I
started to brush my hair with teasel," Ay la said, showing Jondalar the
stiff mammoth-hair brush, tightly wrapped around one end with raw
hide to form the handle, giving it the shape of a wide, tapering paint
brush. "She gave me some strings of beads and shells, too. I think I'll
wear them in my hair, like she does."
"I'd better let you finish getting ready," Jondalar said, opening the
drape to leave. He leaned over to kiss her again, then got up. After
the leather drape closed, he stood looking at it for a moment, and a
frown creased his brow. He wished he could have stayed with her and
not had to worry about other people. When they were in her valley
they could do what they wanted whenever they wanted to. And she
wouldn't be getting ready to be adopted by people who lived so far
from his home. What if she wanted to stay here? He had a sinking
feeling that after this night, nothing would ever be the same.
As he turned to go, Mamut caught his eye, and beckoned him. The
tall young man walked toward the tall old shaman.
"If you are not busy, I could use your help," Mamut said.
"I'd be glad to help. What can I do?" Jondalar asked.
From the back of a storage platform, Mamut showed him four long
poles. On close inspection, Jondalar realized they were not wood, but
solid ivory; curved mammoth tusks that had been shaped and straight
ened. Then the old man gave him a large, hafted, stone maul. Jon
dalar stopped to examine the heavy hammerlike tool since he had not
seen one quite like it before. It was completely covered with hide. He
could feel that a circular groove had been nicked around the large
stone, and a flexible willow withe wrapped around the groove, then
bound to a bone handle. The entire maul had then been wrapped with
wet, unprocessed hide, which had only been scraped clean. The
rawhide shrunk tight as it dried, encasing both stone maul and handle
in hard, tough leather, thus holding them firmly together.
The shaman led him toward the firepit, and lifting up a grass mat,
Mamut showed him a hole, about six inches across, that was filled
with small stones and pieces of bone. They removed them, then Jon-
dalar brought one of the ivory poles and dropped the end in the hole,
While Mamut held it straight, Jondalar wedged the stones and bones
around the pole, tamping them down firmly with a stone maul. When
the post was firmly embedded, they put another post in, and then
another, in an arc around, but somewhat away from, the fireplace.
Then the old man brought out a package and carefully, with rever
ence, unwrapped it and withdrew a neatly rolled sheet of thin mem
branous material of a parchmentlike quality. When it was opened,
Jondalar saw that several animal figures—a mammoth, birds, and a
cave lion among them—and strange geometric designs had been
painted on it. They fastened it around the upright ivory poles creating
a translucent painted screen set back from the hearth. Jondalar re
treated a few steps to absorb the overall effect, then he looked closer,
curious. Intestines, after they were cut open, cleaned, and dried, were
usually translucent, but this screen was made of something else. He
thought he knew what the material was, but he wasn't sure.
"That isn't made of intestines, is it? They would have had to be
sewn together, and that is all one piece." The Mamut nodded agree
ment. "Then it has to be the membrane layer from the inner side of
the hide of a very big animal, somehow removed in one piece."
The old man smiled. "A mammoth," he said. "A white female
mammoth."
Jondalar's eyes opened wide, and he looked again at the screen with
awe.
"Each Camp received a part of the white mammoth, since she gave
up her spirit during the first hunt of a Summer Meeting. Most Camps
wanted something white. I asked for this; we call it the shadow skin.
It has less substance than any of the white pieces, and it cannot be
displayed for all to see its obvious power, but I believe that which is
subtle can be more powerful. This is more than a small piece; this
encircled the inner spirit of the whole."
Brinan and Crisavec suddenly burst into the spac6 in the middle of
the Mammoth Hearth, running down the passageway from the Au
rochs and Crane hearths, chasing each other. They tumbled together
in a heap, wrestling, and almost ran into the delicate screen, but
stopped when Brinan noticed the thin shank of a long leg barring their
way. They looked up, directly at the drawing of the mammoth, and
both gasped. Then they looked at Mamut. To Jondalar, the shaman's
face showed no expression, but when the seven- and eight-year-old
boys turned their gaze on the old shaman, they quickly got up, and
carefully sidestepping the screen, walked toward the first hearth as
though they had been severely scolded.
"They looked contrite, almost scared, but you didn't say a word
and they've never been frightened of you before," Jondalar said.
"They saw the screen. Sometimes, when you look upon the essence
of a powerful spirit, you see your own heart."
Jondalar smiled and nodded, but he wasn't sure he understood
what the old shaman meant. He's talking like a zeiandoni, the young
man thought, talking with a shadow on his tongue, like those of his
calling so often did. Still, he wasn't sure if he wanted to see his own
heart.
As the boys walked through the Hearth of the Fox, they nodded at
the carver, who smiled back. Ranee's smile grew bigger when he
turned his attention back to the Mammoth Hearth, which he had been
observing for some time. Ayla had just appeared, and was standing in
front of the drape tugging on her tunic to straighten it. Though it
didn't show under his dark skin, his face flushed at the sight of her.
He felt his heart pound and a tension in his loins.
The more he saw her, the more exquisite she was. The long rays of
the sun, streaming in through the smoke hole, directed its shimmering
light on her on purpose, or so it seemed to him. He wanted to remem
ber that moment, to fill his eyes with the sight of her. He thought of
her in ardent hyperbole. Her rich, luxuriant hair falling in soft waves
around her face, was like a golden cloud playing with sunbeams; her
unselfconscious movements embodied ultimate grace. No one knew
the anxiety he had suffered while she was gone, or the happiness he
felt that she was becoming one of them. He frowned when Jondalar
saw her, walked toward her and put an arm around her possessively,
then stood between them, blocking his view.
They walked together toward him on their way to the first hearth.
She stopped to look at the screen, with obvious awe and admiration.
Jondalar fell in behind her as they came to the passageway through
the Fox Hearth. Ranee saw Ayla flush with warm feeling when she
saw him, before she looked down. The tall man's face flushed red
when he saw Ranee, too, but the look in his eye made it clear that
there was no pleasure in his emotion. Each man tried to stare the
other down as they passed by—Jondalar's hard anger and jealousy
apparent, Ranee trying very hard to seem self-confident and cynical.
Ranee's eyes automatically went next to the steady stare of the man
behind Jondalar, the man who was the essence of spirituality to the
Camp, and for some reason he felt a little abashed.
They approached the first hearth, and went out through the en-
trance foyer. Ay la began to understand why she had not noticed hec
tic preparations for a feast. Nezzie was supervising the removal of
wilted leaves and steaming grass from a roasting hole in the ground,
and the smells that arose from the cooking pit made everyone's mouth
water. Preparations had begun before they went to get clay from the
river, and the food had been cooking all the while they worked. Now,
it only needed to be served to the Camp of hungry people.
A certain variety of round, hard starchy roots that took well to long
cooking came out first, followed by baskets of a mixture of bone mar
row, blue bearberries, and a variety of cracked and ground seeds—
pigweed, a mixture of grains, and oily pignon seeds. The result, after
hours of steaming, had a heavy, puddinglike consistency that retained
the shape of the basket after it was removed, and while not sweet,
though the berries gave it a light fruit flavor, was deliciously rich. A
full haunch of mammoth meat was brought out next, self-basted by
the steam and the thick edge of fat, and falling apart with tenderness.
The sun was setting and a sharp wind hurried everyone back inside
the lodge, carrying the food with them. This time, when Ay la was
asked to select first, she wasn't as shy. This feast was in her honor,
and though being the center of attention was still not easy for her, she
was happy for the reason.
Deegie came to sit with her, and Ay la caught herself staring.
Deegie's thick reddish-brown hair was pulled back from her face and
wrapped into a coil that was piled high on her head. A string of round
ivory beads, each one carved and pierced by hand, had been coiled in
with her hair and stood out as contrasting highlights. She wore a long,
loose dress of pliable leather—Ayla thought of it as a long tunic—that
draped in soft folds from the belted waist, dyed deep brown with a
rather shiny, burnished finish. It was sleeveless, but wide at the
shoulders, giving the appearance of short sleeves. A fringe of long,
reddish-brown mammoth hair fell from her shoulders in back and
from a V-shaped yoke in front, and hung to just below her waist.
The neckline was outlined by a triple row of ivory beads, and
around her neck she wore a necklace of conical seashells, spaced by
cylindrical lime tubes and pieces of amber. Around her right upper
arm was an ivory armband incised with an alternating chevron pat
tern. The pattern was repeated in colors of ochre reds, yellows, and
browns in the belt, which was woven of animal hair, some of it dyed.
Attached to the belt by a loop was an ivory-handled flint knife in a
rawhide sheath, and suspended from another loop, the lower section
of a hollow black aurochs horn, a drinking cup that was a talisman of
the Aurochs Hearth.
The skirt had been cut on the diagonal, starting at the sides above
the knee, to a point both in front and back. Three rows of ivory
beads, a strip of rabbit fur, and a second strip of fur that had been
pieced together from the striped backs of several ground squirrels ac
cented the diagonal hemline, and hanging from it was another fringe
of the long outer guard hairs of the woolly mammoth, reaching to her
lower calf. She was not wearing leggings, and her legs showed
through the fringe, as well as dark brown high boots, moccasinlike at
the feet, burnished to a waterproof shine.
Ay la found herself wondering how they made leather shine. All of
her hides and pelts had the soft natural texture of buckskin. But
mostly she just stared at Deegie in awe, and thought she was the most
beautiful woman she had ever seen.
"Deegie, that is beautiful . . . tunic?"
"You could call it a long tunic. It's really a summer dress. I made it
for the Meeting last year, when Branag first declared for me. I
changed my mind about the outfit I was going to wear. I knew we'd
be inside, and with all the celebrating, it will get warm."
Jondalar came to join them, and it was obvious that he thought
Deegie was quite attractive, too. When he smiled at her, the charisma
that made him irresistibly appealing not only communicated his feel
ing but somehow intensified it, and provoked the invariable response.
Deegie smiled warmly and invitingly at the tall handsome man with
the intense blue eyes.
Talut approached them with a huge platter of food in his hand.
Ay la gaped, staring. He wore a fantastic hat that stood so high on his
head it brushed the ceiling. It was constructed of leather dyed in vari
ous colors, several different kinds of fur, including a long, bushy
squirrel tail hanging down his back, and the front ends of two rela
tively small mammoth tusks jutting straight up from both sides of his
head, and joined together at the tips like the entrance archways. His
tunic, which fell to his knees, was a deep maroon—at least the parts
of it she could see were maroon. The front of it was so richly deco
rated with a complex pattern of ivory beads, animal teeth, and various
shells, it was difficult to see the leather.
In addition, around his neck was a heavy necklace of cave lion claws
and a canine tooth, interspersed with amber, and suspended from it
down his chest was an ivory plaque incised with enigmatic marks. A
wide black leather belt, worn low, circled his waist and fastened in
front with ties that hung down in tassels. Hanging from it by loops
was a dagger, made by sharpening the tip of a mammoth tusk, and
crosshatching the grip for better purchase, a rawhide sheath with an
ivory-handled flint knife, and a round, wheel-shaped object with
spokelike divisions from which were suspended, by thongs, a pouch,
some canine teeth, and most prominent, the brushy tip of a cave lion
tail. A fringe of long mammoth hair that nearly swept the ground,
revealed when he moved that his leggings were as ornamented as his
tunic.
His shiny black footwear was particularly interesting, not for its
decoration, because it had none, but for its lack of any visible seam. It
appeared to be a single piece of soft leather shaped exactly like his
foot. It was one more of several puzzles Ay la wanted to find answers
to, later.
"Jondalar! I see you've found the two most beautiful women here!"
Talut said.
"You're right," Jondalar said, smiling.
"I wouldn't hesitate to wager that these two could hold their own in
any company," Talut continued. "You've traveled, what would you
say?"
"I wouldn't argue with that. I've seen many women, but nowhere
have I seen any more beautiful than right here," Jondalar said, looking
directly at Ay la. Then he smiled at Deegie.
Deegie laughed. She enjoyed the byplay, but there was no doubt
where Jondalar's heart lay. And Talut always paid her extravagant
compliments; she was his acknowledged offspring and heir, the
daughter of his sister, who was the daughter of his mother. He loved
the children of his hearth and provided for them, but they were
Nezzie's, and the heirs of Wymez, her brother. She had adopted
Ranee, as well, since his mother was dead, which made him both the
child of Wymez's hearth and his legitimate offspring and heir, but
that was an exception.
All the people of the Camp welcomed the opportunity to show off
their finery, and Ay la kept trying to avoid staring at one or another.
Their tunics were of various lengths, with and without sleeves, and in
a variety of colors, with individual decorations. The men's tended to
be shorter, more heavily decorated, and they usually wore headwear
of some kind. Women generally favored the V-shaped hemline,
though Tulie's was more like a belted shirt worn over leggings. It was
covered, in intricate and artistic designs, with beads, shells, teeth,
carved ivory and, particularly, heavy pieces of amber. Though she
didn't wear a hat, her hair was so elaborately arranged and decorated,
she might as well have been wearing one.
But, of all, Crozie's tunic was the most unusual. Instead of coming
to a point in front, it was diagonally cut all the way across the front,
with a rounded point on her right side, and a rounded cutout on her
left. Most stunning, though, was its color. It was white, not off-white
or ivory, but true white, and fringed and decorated with, among other
rhinors. the white feathers of the large northern crane.
Even the children were dressed for a ceremony. When Ay la saw
Latie standing at the edge of the group that was milling around her
and Deegie, she asked Latie to come and show her outfit, in effect
inviting her to join them. Latie commented on the way Ayla was
wearing the beads and shells Deegie had given her, and thought she'd
try them that way. Ayla smiled. She hadn't been able to think of a
way to wear them, and finally just twisted them together and
wrapped them around her head, across her forehead, the way she
carried her sling. Latie was quickly included in the general banter,
and smiled shyly when Wymez told her she looked nice—an extrava
gant compliment from the laconic man. Once Latie joined them,
Rydag was quick to follow. Ayla held him on her lap. His tunic was
modeled after Talut's, but much less ornamented. He couldn't have
begun to carry the weight. Talut's ceremonial outfit weighed several
times what Rydag did. Few people could have worn his headdress
alone.
But Ranee was slow to make an appearance. Several times Ayla
noticed his absence and looked for him, but when she did see him, it
caught her by surprise. Everyone had enjoyed showing Ayla their
dress-up clothing just to see her reaction; she was so delighted and
impressed and made no pretense about it. Ranee had been observing
her and wanted to create an especially memorable effect, so he re
turned to the Fox Hearth to change. He had been watching from the
Lion Hearth, and slipped up beside her while she was involved
in conversation. When she turned her head, suddenly he was there,
and by her amazed look, he knew he had achieved his desired ef
fect.
The cut and style of his tunic were unusual; its tapered body and
wide flaring sleeves gave it a distinctly different look and betrayed its
foreign origin. It was not a Mamutoi tunic. It was one he had traded
for—and paid dearly—but he knew he had to have it from the first
moment he saw it. One of the northern Camps had made a trading
expedition a few years before to a western people that were distantly
related to the Mamutoi, and the leader had been given the shirt as a
token of mutual ties and future friendly relations. He was not inclined
to give it up, but Ranee had been so persistent, and finally offered
him so much for it, he couldn't refuse.
Most of the garments worn by the people of the Lion Camp had
been dyed shades of browns, deep reds, and dark yellows, and heavily
decorated with light-colored ivory beads, teeth, seashells, and amber,
enhanced with fur and feathers. Ranee's tunic was a creamy ivory,
nearly as light, but richer than true white, and he knew it made a
stunning contrast to his dark skin, but even more stunning was the
decoration. Both front and back of the shirr harl h^n 110^ -- " i"-'-
ground for a. picture created with porcupine quills and fine cords
which had been dyed strong, bright, primary colors.
On the front of the shirt was an abstract portrayal of a seated
woman, made out of an arrangement of concentric circles in shades of
true reds, oranges, blues, blacks, and browns; one set of circles repre
sented her belly, two more were her breasts. Arcs of circles within
circles indicated hips, shoulders, and arms. The head was a design
based on a triangle, with a pointed chin and a flat top, with enigmatic
lines instead of features on the face. In the middle of the breast and
stomach circles, obviously meant to represent navel and nipples, were
bright red garnets, and a line of colored stones—green and pink tour
malines, red garnets, aquamarines—had been fastened along the flat
top of the head. The back of the shirt showed the same woman from
the back view, with concentric circles or portions of them represent
ing buttocks and shoulders. The same series of colors was repeated
several times around the flared ends of the sleeves.
Ay la just stared, unable to speak. Even Jondalar was amazed. He
had traveled far, had met many different people with many different
ways of dressing, both for everyday and for ceremonial purposes. He
had seen quill embroidery, and understood and admired the process
of dyeing it and sewing it on, but he had never seen quite so im
pressive or colorful a garment before in his life.
"Ayla," Nezzie said, taking her dish from her, "Mamut wants to see
you for a moment."
As she got up, everyone began to clear away food, scrape plates,
and prepare for the ceremony. During the long winter ahead, a num
ber of feasts and ceremonies would be held to add interest and variety
to a relatively inactive period—the Celebration of Brothers and Sis
ters, the Feast of the Long Night, the Laughing Contest, several festi
vals and celebrations in honor of the Mother—but Ayla's adoption
was an unexpected occasion, and therefore all the more welcome.
While people began moving toward the Mammoth Hearth, Ayla
prepared the materials for fire-making, as Mamut had requested.
Then she waited, suddenly feeling nervous and excited. The general
ceremony had been explained to her, so she would know what to
expect and what would be expected of her, but she hadn't grown up
with the Mamutoi. Accepted attitudes and patterns of behavior were
not second nature to her, and though Mamut had seemed to under
stand and tried to calm her fears, she worried that she might do some
thing inappropriate.
She was sitting on a mat near the firepit watching people. Out of
the corner of her eye she saw Mamut drink something in one gulp.
She noticed Jondalar sitting on their bed platform alone. He seemed
worried, and didn't look very happy, and she found herself wondering
if she was doing the right thing to become a Mamutoi. She closed her
eyes and sent a silent thought to her totem. If the Spirit of the Cave
Lion had not wanted it, would he have given her a sign?
She knew the ceremony was about to begin when Talut and Tulie
came and stood on either side of her, and Mamut poured cold ashes
on the last small fire left burning in the lodge. Even though it had
happened before, and the Camp knew what to expect, waiting in the
dark for fire was an unnerving experience. Ay la felt the hand on her
shoulder, and struck the spark, to a chorus of relieved sighs.
When the fire was well established, she stood up. Both Talut and
Tulie stepped forward, one on either side, each holding a long ivory
shaft. Mamut stood behind Ay la.
"In the name of Mut, the Great Earth Mother, we are here to wel
come Ayla into the lodge of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi," Tulie
began. "But we do more than welcome this woman into the Lion
Camp. She came here as a stranger; we wish to make her one of us, to
make her Ayla of the Mamutoi."
Talut continued, "We are hunters of the great woolly mammoth,
given to us by the Mother to use. The mammoth is food, is clothing,
is shelter. If we honor Mut, She will cause the Spirit of the Mammoth
to renew herself and return each season. If ever we dishonor the
Mother, or fail to appreciate the Gift of the Spirit of the Mammoth,
the mammoth will leave and never return again. So we have been
told.
"The Lion Camp is like the great cave lion; each of us walks fear
lessly and with pride. Ayla, too, walks fearlessly and with pride. I,
Talut, of the Lion Hearth, headman of the Lion Camp, offer Ayla a
place among the Mamutoi in the Lion Camp."
"It is a great honor she is offered. What makes her worthy?" a voice
called out from the assembled group. Ayla recognized it as Frebec's,
and was glad she had been told that it would be part of the ceremony.
"By the fire you see, Ayla has proven her value. She has discovered
a great mystery, a stone from which fire can be drawn, and she has
offered this magic freely, to each hearth," Tulie responded.
"Ayla is a woman of many gifts, many Talents," Talut added to the
response. "By the saving of life, she has proven her value as a skilled
Healer. By the bringing of food, she has proven her value as a skilled
hunter with a sling, and with a new weapon brought with her when
she came, a spear-thrower. By the horses beyond that arch, she has
proven her value as a Controller of animals. She would bring esteem
to any hearth, and value to the Lion Camp. She is worthy of the
Mamutoi."
"Who speaks for this woman? Who will be responsible for her?
Who will offer her the kinship of Hearth?" Tulie called out, loudly
and clearly, looking at her brother. But before Talut could answer,
another voice spoke out.
"The Mamut speaks for Ay la! The Mamut will be responsible!
Ay la is a daughter of the Mammoth Hearth!" the old shaman said, his
voice deeper, stronger, and more commanding than Ayla ever would
have thought possible.
Surprised gasps and murmured conversations could be heard from
the darkened area. Everyone thought she was going to be adopted into
the Lion Hearth. This was unexpected ... or was it? Ayla never said
she was a shaman, or that she wanted to be; she didn't behave like a
person familiar with the unknown and unknowable; she was not
trained to control special powers. Yet, she was a Healer. She did have
extraordinary control over horses, and maybe other animals. She
might be a Searcher, perhaps even a Caller. Still, the Mammoth
Hearth represented the spiritual essence of those Earth's children who
called themselves the mammoth hunters. Ayla couldn't even express
herself completely in their language yet. How could someone who did
not know their ways, and who had no knowledge of Mut, interpret
the needs and wishes of the Mother for them?
"Talut was going to adopt her, Mamut," Tulie said. "Why should
she go to the Mammoth Hearth? She has not dedicated herself to
Mut, and is not trained to Serve the Mother."
"I didn't say she was trained, or that she ever will be, Tulie, though
she is more gifted than you can imagine and I think training would be
very wise, for her sake. I did not say she will be a daughter of the
Mammoth Hearth. I said she is a daughter of the Mammoth Hearth.
She was born to it, dedicated by the Mother Herself. Whether or not
she decides to be trained is a choice only she can make, but it doesn't
matter in the least. Ayla does not have to dedicate herself, it is out of
her hands. Trained or not, her life will Serve the Mother. I speak for
her not to accept her into training, unless she wants it. I wish to adopt
her as the daughter of my hearth."
As Ayla listened to the old man, she felt a sudden chill. She didn't
think she liked the idea that her destiny was ordained, out of her
hands, chosen for her at birth. What did he mean that she was dedi
cated by the Mother, that her life would Serve the Mother? Was she
chosen by the Mother, too? Creb had told her, when he was explain
ing about totems, that there was a reason why the Spirit of the Great
Cave Lion had chosen her. He said she would have need of powerful
protection. What did it mean to be chosen by the Mother? Was that
why she needed protection? Or did it mean if she became Mamutoi
the Cave Lion would no longer be her totem? No longer protect her?
It was a disquieting thought. She didn't want to lose her totem. She
shook herself, trying to dispel her sense of foreboding.
Ifjondalar had been feeling uneasy about her adoption, this sudden
turn of events made him even more uncomfortable. He heard the
whispered comments of the people around him and wondered if it was
true that she was meant to become one of them. She might even have
been Mamutoi, before she was lost, ifMamut said she was born to the
Mammoth Hearth.
Ranee was overjoyed. He had wanted Ayla to become one of them,
but if she was adopted to the Lion Hearth, she would be his sister.
He had no wish to be her brother. He wanted to join with her, and
brother and sister could not join. Since both would be adopted, and
obviously did not have the same mother, he was prepared to find
another hearth that would adopt him so he could pursue his suit,
much as he would hate to give up his ties with Nezzie and Talut. But
if she was adopted into the Mammoth Hearth, he didn't have to. He
was particularly pleased that she would be adopted as the daughter of
Mamut, and not as One dedicated to Serve, although even that would
not have deterred him.
Nezzie was a little disappointed; she already felt as though Ayla
were a daughter. But most important to Nezzie was that Ayla stay
with them, and if Mamut wanted her, it would just make her all that
more acceptable to the Council at the Summer Meeting. Talut
glanced at her, and when she nodded, he conceded to Mamut. Tulie
had no objection, either. The four of them quickly conferred, and
Ayla agreed. For some reason she couldn't quite define, it pleased her
to be the daughter of Mamut.
As the darkened lodge quieted again, Mamut held his hand up,
palm backward, facing him. "Will the woman, Ayla, step forward?"
Ayla's stomach churned and her knees felt weak as she approached
the old man.
"Do you wish to be one with the Mamutoi?" he asked.
"Yes," she whispered, her voice cracking.
"Will you honor Mut, the Great Mother, revere all Her Spirits and,
especially, never offend the Spirit of the Mammoth; will you strive to
be worthy of the Mamutoi, to bring honor to the Lion Camp, and
always respect Mamut and the meaning of the Mammoth Hearth?"
"Yes." She could hardly say more. She wasn't sure what she was
supposed to do to accomplish all of it, but she would certainly try.
"Does this Camp accept this woman?" Mamut said to the assembly.
"We accept her," they replied in unison.
"Are there any here that reject her?"
There was a long pause, and Ay la wasn't at all sure that Frebec
wouldn't speak out in objection, but none replied.
"Talut, headman of the Lion Camp, will you inscribe the mark?"
Mamut intoned.
As Ay la saw Talut withdraw his knife from the sheath, her heart
beat fast. This was unexpected. She didn't know what he was going
to do with the knife, but whatever it was, she was sure she wouldn't
like it. The big headman took Ayla's arm, pushed up her sleeve, and
poised the flint knife, then quickly cut a straight mark on her upper
arm, drawing blood. Ayla felt the pain, but she didn't flinch. With
the blood still wet on the knife, Talut incised a straight mark on the
piece of ivory hanging as a plaque around his neck, held by Mamut,
making a red-stained gouge. Then Mamut said some words Ayla did
not understand. She didn't realize no one else understood them either.
"Ayla is now counted among the people of the Lion Camp, num
bered among the Mammoth Hunters," Talut said. "This woman is
and will forever be Ayla of the Mamutoi."
Mamut picked up a small bowl and poured stinging liquid on the
cut on her arm—she realized it was an antiseptic cleansing solution—
then he turned her around to face the group. "Welcome Ayla of the
Mamutoi, member of the Lion Camp, daughter of the Mammoth
Hearth." He paused for a moment, then added, "Chosen of the Spirit
of the Great Cave Lion."
The group repeated the words, and Ayla realized it was the second
time in her life that she had been taken in, accepted, and made a
member of a people whose ways she hardly knew. She closed her
eyes, hearing the words echo in her mind. Then it struck her. Mamut
had included her totem! Even though she was not Ayla of the Clan,
she had not lost her totem! She was still under the protection of the
Cave Lion. But even more, she was not Ayla of No People; she was
Ayla of the Mamutoi!
18

, ou may always claim the sanctuary of the Mammoth Hearth,
Ayla, wherever you are. Please accept this token, daughter of my
hearth," Mamut said as he removed a circlet of ivory carved with
zigzag lines from his arm and tied the pierced ends together on Ayla's
arm, just below her cut. Then he gave her a warm embrace.
Ayla had tears in her eyes when she went to the bed platform
where her gifts were laid out, but she wiped them away before she
picked up a wooden bowl. It was round, strong, but of uniformly fine
thinness. The bowl boasted neither painted nor carved design, only
a subtle pattern of the wood grain, but that was symmetrically
balanced.
"Please accept gift of medicine bowl from daughter of hearth,
Mamut," Ayla said. "And if you allow, daughter of hearth will fill
bowl every day with medicine for aching joints, of fingers and arms
and knees."
"Ah, I would welcome some relief from my arthritis this winter,"
he said with a smile, taking the bowl and passing it to Talut, who
looked it over, nodded, and passed it to Tulie.
Tulie examined it critically, at first judging it to be simplistic because
it lacked the additional design, either carved or painted, that she
was accustomed to. But as she looked more closely, running her fingertips
over the remarkably smooth finish, noting the perfect shape
and symmetry, she had to concede that it was certainly a finely
crafted piece of work, perhaps the finest piece of workmanship of its
kind she had ever seen. As the bowl was passed around, it aroused the
interest and curiosity about the other gifts Ayla had brought even
more as each person wondered if every gift would be as beautifully
unusual.
Talut came forward next and gave Ayla a big hug, then presented
her with an ivory-handled flint knife in a red-dyed rawhide sheath
which was carved with an intricate design, similar to the knife Deegie
wore on her belt. Ayla took the knife out of the sheath, and immediately
guessed that the blade had probably been made by Wymez, and
suspected that Ranee had carved and shaped the handle.
Ayla brought out a heavy pile of dark fur for Talut. He grinned
wide when he shook out the mantle made from an entire bison hide,
and flung it over his shoulders. The thick mane and shoulder fur
made the big man seem even bigger than he was, and he enjoyed the
effect. Then he noticed the way it clung to his shoulders and hung
down in pliant folds, and examined the soft and supple inside of the
warm cloak more closely.
"Nezzie! Look at this," he said. "Have you ever seen softer hide on
a bison pelt? And this is warm. I don't think I want this made into
anything, not even a parka! I'm going to wear it just as it is."
Ay la smiled at his delight, pleased that her gift was so well liked.
Jondalar was standing back, looking over several heads that were
crowding in closer, enjoying Talut's reaction, too. He'd anticipated it,
but was glad to see his expectations borne out.
Nezzie gave Ayla a warm hug, and then a necklace of matched and
graduated spiral shells, each one separated by carefully sawed small
sections of the hard hollow leg bones of arctic fox and, suspended as a
pendant in front, a large canine tooth of a cave lion. Ayla held it on
while Tronic tied it in back, then she looked down and admired it,
holding up the cave lion tooth, and wondering how they had managed
to pierce the hole through the root.
Ayla pushed the drape in front of the platform aside and brought
out a very large covered basket, and set it down at Nezzie's feet. It
seemed quite plain. None of the grasses out of which it was made had
been dyed, and no colored patterns of geometric designs or stylized
figures of birds or animals graced the sides or cover. But on close
inspection, the woman noticed the subtle design, and saw how ex
pertly it was made. It was watertight enough to be a cooking basket,
she knew.
Nezzie lifted the cover to examine it, and the whole camp voiced its
surprise. The basket, divided into sections by flexible birchbark, was
full of food. There were small hard apples, sweet and spicy wild car
rots, peeled, gnarled roots of starchy groundnuts, pitted dried cher
ries, dried but still green day-lily buds, round green milk vetch dried
in the pod, dried mushrooms, dried stalks of green onions, and some
unidentifiable dried leaves and slices. Nezzie smiled warmly at her as
she examined the selection. It was a perfect gift.
Tulie approached next. Her embrace of welcome was not lacking in
warmth, but more formal, and her presentation of her gift to Ayla,
while not exactly done with a flourish, demonstrated a proper sense of
ceremony. The gift was a small container, exquisitely decorated. It
had been carved out of wood into the shape of a small box with
rounded corners. Designs of fish were both carved and painted on it,
and pieces of shell glued on it as well. The overall design gave the
impression of water alive with fish and underwater plants. When Ay la
lifted the lid, she discovered the purpose of so precious a box. It was
filled with salt.
She had some idea of the value of salt. When she grew up with the
Clan, who lived near Beran Sea, she had taken salt for granted. It was
fairly easy to obtain, and some of the fish were even cured with it, but
inland, when she lived in her valley, she had had no salt, and it had
taken some time to get used to it. The Lion Camp was farther away
from the sea than her valley. The salt, as well as the seashells, had to
be transported over a long distance, yet Tulie had given her this
whole box of it. It was a rare and costly gift.
Ayla felt properly awed as she brought out her gift for the head-
woman, and she hoped that Jondalar had been right in his suggestion
of what would be appropriate. The fur she had selected was the pelt
of a snow leopard, one that had attempted to snatch a kill away from
her the winter she and Baby were learning to hunt together. She had
just planned to scare it off, but the adolescent cave lion had other
ideas. Ayla had stunned the mature, though smaller, cat with a stone
from her sling when it looked like a fight would ensue, and then fin
ished it off with another.
The gift was obviously unexpected, and Tulie's eyes showed her
pleasure, but it wasn't until she succumbed to the temptation to throw
the luxurious, thick winter fur around her shoulders that she noticed
its unique quality, the same quality Talut had remarked upon. It felt
unbelievably soft on the inner side. Furs were usually stiffer than
hides. By its nature, fur could only be worked on one side with the
scrapers used to stretch and soften. While it made a longer-lasting,
sturdier material than Ay la's, which were only dressed with fat, the
Mamutoi method of preserving skins was not as soft and pliable. Tulie
was more impressed than she had expected to be, and decided she
would find out what Ay la's method was.
Wymez approached with an object wrapped in a soft skin. She
opened it, and caught her breath. It was a magnificent spear point,
like the ones she had so admired. It sparkled in the firelight like a
faceted gem, and was more valuable. Her gift to him was a sturdy
grass floor mat for him to sit on when he worked. Most of Ay la's
basket and mat weaving had no colored designs, but the last winter in
her cave she had begun to experiment with different grasses that had
natural color variations. The result, in combination with her usual
weaving patterns, was a mat with a subtle but distinctive starburst
pattern. She had been quite pleased when she made it, and when she
was selecting gifts, its pointed rays extending out from the center re
minded her of Wymez's beautiful points, and the woven texture was
suggestive of .the small ridges of fine slivers he flaked off. She won
dered if he would notice.
After he examined it, he gave her one of his rare smiles. "This is
beautiful. It reminds me of the work done by Ranee's mother. She
understood weaving with grasses better than anyone I ever knew. I
suppose I should save it, hang it on the wall, but I will use it instead.
I will sit on this when I work. It will help me keep my purpose in
mind." His welcoming hug had none of the reticence of his verbal
manner. She realized that beneath his quiet exterior Wymez was a
man of friendly warmth and perceptive feeling.
There was no special sequence or order to the gift giving, and the
next person Ay la noticed, standing near the platform waiting to get
her attention, was Rydag. She sat down near him, and returned his
fierce hug. Then he opened his hand and held out a long round tube,
the hollow leg bone of a bird, with holes cut in it. She took it from the
boy, and turned it around in her hands, not sure of its purpose. He
took it back, held it to his mouth, and blew. The whistle emitted a
loud, piercing sound. Ay la tried it and smiled. Then she gave him a
warm, waterproof wolverine hood made in the style of the Clan, but
she felt a wrenching pain when he put it on. He reminded her too
much of Durc.
"I gave him a whistle like that to call me if he needs me. Sometimes
he doesn't have breath enough to yell, but enough to blow a whistle,"
Nezzie explained, "but he made that one himself."
Deegie surprised her with the outfit she had planned to wear that
evening. When she saw the look in Ayla's eyes at the sight of it,
Deegie decided to give it to her. Ayla was beyond words, and just
stared at it until her eyes filled with tears. "I have never had anything
to wear that was so beautiful."
She gave Deegie her gift then, a stack of baskets and several beau
tifully finished wooden bowls of various sizes, which could be used as
drinking cups or for soups, or even to cook in, for her to use at her
hearth after she joined with Branag. In a region where wood was
relatively rare, and bone and ivory more commonly used for utensils,
the bowls were a special gift. They were both delighted, and hugged
with the warmth of sisters.
To show that he did not begrudge her a decent gift, Frebec gave
her a pair of knee-high fur boots, decorated and quilled near the top,
and she was glad she had selected some of her best summer reindeer
pelts for him. The hair of the reindeer was hollow, a minute air-filled
tube, and naturally insulating. The summer hide was both the warm
est and the lightest weight, the most practical and comfortable to wear
during cold weather hunting of any animal's fur, and therefore the ||j
most valuable. From the pieces she gave him, a complete outfit of
tunic and trousers could be made that would be so warm only a single
additional outer garment would be needed even during the coldest
weather, freeing him from bulky weight. He noticed the softness of
her finished skins as the others had, but he did not remark on it and
his hug of welcome was stiff.
Fralie gave her fur mittens to match the boots, and Ay la gave the
pregnant woman a beautiful wooden cooking bowl, filled with a
pouch of dried leaves. "I hope you like this tea, Fralie," she said,
giving her a direct stare, as though to emphasize her words. "Is good
to drink cup in morning when first wake up, and maybe another at
night, before sleep. If you like, I will give more when this gone."
Fralie nodded agreement as they embraced. Frebec looked at them
suspiciously, but Ayla was only giving a gift, and he could hardly
complain about Fralie's gift from the newest member of the Lion
Camp, could he? Ayla was not entirely happy with the circumstances.
She would have preferred to treat Fralie directly and openly, but the
subterfuge was better than not helping her at all, and Fralie refused to
be put into a situation where it might seem that she was making a
choice between her mother and her mate.
Crozie came forward next and nodded approvingly at Ayla. Then
she gave her a small leather bag, sewn together around the sides and
gathered at the top. The pouch was dyed red, beautifully decorated
with small ivory beads, and embroidered in white with downward
pointing triangles. Small white crane feathers were arrayed around
the circular bottom edge. Ayla admired it, but when she made no
move to do so, Deegie told her to open it. Inside were cords and
threads made of mammoth wool, sinew, animal fur, and plant fibers,
all carefully wound into circles or around small phalanges of bone.
The sewing sack also contained sharp blades and awls for cutting and
piercing. Ayla was delighted. She wanted to learn the Mamutoi ways
of making and decorating clothes.
From her platform she took a small wooden bowl with a close-fit
ting lid and gave it to the old woman. When Crozie opened it, she
looked at Ayla with a puzzled expression. It was filled with pure
white marbleized softened tallow—tasteless, colorless, odorless animal
rat that had been rendered in simmering water. She smelled it, and
smiled, but was still puzzled.
"I make rose water, from petals . . . mix with . . . other things,"
Ayla started to explain.
"That's what makes it smell nice, I suppose, but what is it for?"
Crozie asked.
"Is for hands, for face, elbows, feet. Feel good. Make smooth,"
Ay la said, taking a small dab and rubbing it on the back of the
woman's dry, chapped, wrinkled old hand. After it was rubbed in,
Crozie touched her hand, then closed her eyes, and slowly felt the
smoother skin. When the old harridan opened her eyes, Ay la thought
they glistened more, though no tears were in evidence, but when the
woman gave her a hard hug of welcome, Ay la felt her shaking
underneath.
Each gift exchanged made everyone anticipate the next one more,
and Ayla was enjoying the giving as much as the receiving. Her gifts
were as unusual to them as theirs were to her, and it was as much fun
to see her gifts well received as it was to feel overwhelmed by the gifts
presented to her. She had never felt so special, had never been made
to feel so welcome, so wanted. If she let herself think about it, tears of
joy threatened.
Ranee was hanging back, waiting until all the other gifts were ex
changed. He wanted to be last so his gift would not be confused with
all the others. Among all the special and unique gifts she had re
ceived, he wanted his to be most memorable. Ayla was putting her
things away on the platform that was just as full as when she began,
when she saw the gift she had chosen for Ranee. She had to think for
a moment before she realized she hadn't exchanged gifts with him yet.
With it in her hands, she turned around to look for him, only to find
herself looking into the teeth of his teasing smile.
"Did you forget one for me?" he said. He was standing so close she
could see large black pupils and, for the first time, converging faint
streaks of light within the dark brown of his eyes—his deep, liquid,
compelling dark eyes. She felt a warmth emanating from him that
disconcerted her.
"No, ah ... did not forget. . . . Here," she said, remembering the
gift was in her hands and holding it up. He glanced down and his
eyes showed his pleasure at the thick, lush, winter-white pelts of
arctic foxes she held out to him. The moment of hesitation gave her
the chance to compose herself, and when he looked back at her, her
eyes held a teasing smile. "I think you forget."
He grinned, as much because she was so quick to catch on and play
along with his joking as because it gave him an appropriate opening to
present his gift.
"No. I did not forget. Here," he said, and brought out the object he
had been hiding behind his back. She looked at the piece of carved
ivory cradled in his hands, and almost didn't believe what she sav/.
And even when he relieved her of the white furs she held in her
hands, she didn't reach for it. She was almost afraid to touch it. She
looked up at him with sheer wonder.
"Ranee," she breathed, reaching, then hesitating. He had to urge it
on her, and then she held it as though it might break. "This is Whin-
ney! Is like you take Whinney and make small," she exclaimed, turn
ing the exquisite, carved ivory horse, no more than three inches in
length, over in her hands. A touch of color had been applied to the
sculpture: yellow ochre on the coat, and ground black charcoal on the
legs, the stiff mane and along the spine to the tail to match Whinney's
coloring. "Look, little ears, just right. And hooves, and tail. Even
markings like her coat. Oh, Ranee, how you do it?"
Ranee couldn't have been happier as he gave her a warm embrace of
welcome. Her reaction was exactly what he had been hoping for, even
dreaming of, and the look of love in his eyes when he watched her
was so obvious, it brought tears to Nezzie's eyes. She glanced at Jon-
dalar and knew he saw it, too. Anguish was etched on his face. She
shook her head knowingly.
After all the gifts were exchanged, Ayla went with Deegie to the
Aurochs Hearth to change into the new outfit. Ever since Ranee had
acquired the foreign shirt, Deegie had been trying to match the color.
She had finally come close, and from the cream-colored leather she
had made a short-sleeved V-neck tunic with a V-shaped hemline, with
leggings to match, belted with finger-woven ties of bright colors sim
ilar to the colors of the designs on the shirt. The summer spent out
side left Ayla's skin deeply tanned, and her blond hair lightened,
almost the color of the leather. The outfit suited her as though it had
been made especially for her.
With Deegie's help, Ayla put back Mamut's ivory armband, then
added Talut's red-sheathed knife, and the necklace from Nezzie, but
when the young Mamutoi woman suggested that she remove the
worn, dirt-stained, lumpy leather pouch from around her neck, Ayla
adamantly refused.
"Is my amulet, Deegie. Holds Spirit of Cave Lion, of Clan, of me.
Little pieces, like Ranee's carving is little Whinney. Creb told me, if I
lose amulet, totem cannot find me. I will die," Ayla tried to explain.
Deegie thought for a moment, looking at Ayla. The whole effect
was spoiled by the grubby little leather bag. Even the thong around
her neck was frayed, but that gave her an idea.
"Ayla, what do you do when it wears out? That thong looks like it
will break soon," Deegie asked.
"I make new bag, new thong."
"Then, it's not the bag that is so important, but what's inside it,
right?"
"Yes ..."
Deegie looked around and suddenly spotted the sewing sack Crozie
had given Ay la. She picked it up, emptied the contents carefully onto
a platform, and held it out to her. "Is there any reason you can't use
this? We can fasten it to a string of beads—one from your hair will be
fine—and you can wear it around your neck."
Ay la took the beautiful, decorated bag from Deegie, looked at it,
then wrapped her hand around the familiar old leather pouch and felt
the sense of comfort the Clan amulet gave her. But she wasn't Clan
any more. She hadn't lost her totem. The Spirit of the Cave Lion still
protected her, and the signs she had been given were still important,
but she was Mamutoi now.
When Ayla went back to the Mammoth Hearth, she was every inch
a Mamutoi woman, a beautiful, well-dressed Mamutoi woman of high
status and obvious value, and every eye had approving looks for the
newest member of the Lion Camp. But two sets of eyes showed more
than approval. Love and longing gleamed from dark laughing eyes full
of eager hope no less than from the miserably unhappy eyes of an
impossibly vivid shade of blue.
Manuv, with Nuvie on his lap, smiled warmly at Ayla as she
passed by on her way to put her other clothes away, and she beamed
back, so full of joy and happiness she didn't think she could contain it
all. She was Ayla of the Mamutoi, and she was going to do everything
she could to be completely one of them. Then she saw Jondalar talk
ing to Danug, only from the back, but felt her elation collapse. Per
haps it was his stance, or the way he held his shoulders, but
something at a subliminal level made her pause. Jondalar was not
happy. But what could she do about it now?
She hurried to get the firestones. Mamut had told her to wait until
later before giving them away. Appropriate ceremony would invest
the stones with proper significance, and enhance their value. She
picked up the small, yellow-gray metallic-colored nodules of iron
pyrite and brought them with her to the hearth. On her way, she
passed behind Tulie, who was talking to Nezzie and Wymez, and
overheard her speaking.
"... but I had no idea she had so much wealth. Just look at the furs
alone. The bison hide, and the white fox pelts, and this snow leop
ard—you don't see many of these around ..."
Ayla smiled as her feeling of joy returned. Her gifts had been ac
ceptable, and appreciated.
The old man of mystery had not been idle. While she was chang
ing, Mamut was changing, too. His face was painted with zigzag lines
that accented and enhanced his tattoo, and he wore as a cape the hide
of a cave lion, the same cave lion whose tail Talut sported. Mamut's
necklace was made of short hollowed-out sections of the tusk of a
small mammoth interspersed with canine teeth of several different ani
mals, including one of a cave lion that matched hers.
"Talut is planning a hunt, so I will Search," the shaman told her.
"Join me, if you can—and want to. In any case, be prepared."
Ay la nodded, but her stomach churned.
Tulie came toward the hearth and smiled at her. "I didn't know
Deegie was going to give that to you," she said. "I'm not sure if I
would have approved earlier; she worked hard on it, but I must admit
it becomes you, Ayla."
Ay la just smiled, not sure how to respond.
Ill "That's why I gave it to her, Mother," Deegie said, approaching
with her skull instrument. "I was trying to work out the process of
getting finished leather to come out so light. I can always make an
other outfit."
"I'm ready," Tornec announced as he arrived with his mammoth
bone instrument.
l|y "Good. You can start as soon as Ayla starts handing out the
i| stones," Mamut said. "Where's Talut?"
'?tfe	<t!
'"'w'
II "He's been pouring his brew," Tornec said, smiling, "and he's
|1| being very generous. He said he wants this to be a suitable
H'' celebration."
II "And it will be, too!" the big headman said. "Here Ayla, I brought
•^ you a cup. After all, you are the reason for this occasion!"
Ayla tasted the drink, still finding the fermented flavor not entirely
to her taste, but all the rest of the Mamutoi seemed to enjoy it. She
decided she would learn to enjoy it, too. She wanted to be one of
them, to do what they did, to like what they liked. She drank it
down. Talut filled her cup again.
"Talut will tell you when to start giving out the stones, Ayla. Strike
each one and get a spark just before you give it," Mamut instructed.
She nodded, looked at the cup in her hand, then drank the contents,
shaking her head at the potent beverage, and put the cup down to pick
up the stones.
"Ayla is now counted among the Lion Camp," Talut said, as soon
as everyone settled down, "but she has one more gift. For each
hearth, a stone to make fire. Nezzie is the keeper of the Lion Hearth.
Ayla will give the firestone to her to keep."
feafc	Alrirt linll ^r',,r^ <-1-^ ^'».^^<-^-,^ <-^ L,»— <-„ 1-,»,»__ "
As Ayla walked toward Nezzie, she struck the iron pyrite with
flint, drawing a bright spark, then she gave her the stone.
"Who is the keeper of the Fox Hearth?" Talut continued as Deegie
and Tornec began beating on the bone instruments.
"I am. Ranee is the keeper of the Fox Hearth."
Ayla brought him a stone, and struck it. But when she gave it to
him, he whispered, in a low, warm voice, "The fox furs are softer and
more beautiful than any I have ever seen. I will keep them on my bed
and think of you every night when I feel their softness against my
bare skin." He touched her face, only lightly, with the back of his
hand, but she felt it as a physical shock.
She backed away, confused, as Talut asked for the keeper of the
Reindeer Hearth, and had to strike the stone twice to get a spark for
Tronic. Fralie took the stone for the Crane Hearth, and by the time
Tulie took hers, and she gave one to Mamut, for the Mammoth
Hearth, Ayla was feeling dizzy, and more than willing to sit down
near the fire where Mamut indicated.
The drums began to have their effect. The sound was soothing and
compelling at the same time. The lodge was darkened—a small fire
diffused through the screen was the only light. She could hear breath
ing, close by, and looked to see where it was coming from. Crouched,
near the fire, was a man—or was it a lion? The breathing became a
low growl, almost, but not quite—to her perceptive ear—like the
warning growl of a cave lion. The vocalized drumming picked up the
sound, giving it resonance and depth.
Suddenly, with a savage snarl, the lion figure leaped, and the sil
houette of a lion moved across the screen. But it almost jerked to a
stop in a startled response to Ay la's unintentional reaction. She chal
lenged the shadow lion with a growl so realistic and so menacing it
brought a gasp from most of the people watching. The silhouette re
covered its lion stance and answered with the soothing growl of a lion
backing down. Ayla voiced an angry snarl of victory, then began a
series of "hnk, hnk, hnk" grunts that faded as though the lion were
walking away.
Mamut smiled to himself. Her lion is so perfect it would fool a lion,
he thought, pleased that she had spontaneously joined him. Ayla
didn't know why she did, herself, except that after her first im
promptu challenge, it was fun to talk like a lion with Mamut. She
hadn't done anything like it since Baby left her valley. The drums had
picked up and enhanced the scene, but now were following the sil
houette moving sinuously across the screen. She was close enough to
see that it was Mamut creating the action, but even she became caught
up in the effect. She wondered, though, how the normally stiff and
arthritic old man could move with such ease. Then she remembered
seeing him gulp something down earlier, and suspected it might have
been a strong painkiller. He would probably suffer for this the next
day.
Suddenly Mamut leaped out from behind the screen and squatted
by his mammoth skull drum. He beat on it rapidly for a short time,
then stooDed suddenly. He picked up a cup Ayla hadn't noticed be-
fore, drank from it, then approaching her, offered it. Without even
thinking about it, she took a small sip, and then another, though the
taste was strong, musky, and unpleasant. Encouraged by the talking
drums, she soon began to feel the effects.
The leaping flames behind the screen gave the animals painted on it
a feeling of movement. She was entranced by them, concentrated her
entire attention on them, and heard only in the distance the voices of
the Camp beginning to chant. A baby cried, but it seemed to come
from some other world as she was drawn along by the strange flicker
ing motion of the animals on the screen. They seemed almost alive, as
the drum music filled her with pounding hooves, bawling calves,
trumpeting mammoths.
Then, it was dark no longer. Instead, a hazy sun overlooked a
snowy plain. A small herd of musk-oxen was huddled together, a bliz
zard swirling around them. As she swooped low, she sensed she was
not alone. Mamut was with her. The scene shifted. The storm was
over, but wind-driven whirling snow-devils wailed across the steppes
like ghostly apparitions. She and Mamut moved away from the deso
late emptiness. Then, she noticed a few bison standing stoically on
the lee side of a narrow valley, trying to stay out of the wind. She was
racing ahead, darting along the river valley that cut deep ravines.
They followed a tributary that narrowed into a steep-walled canyon
ahead, and she saw the familiar side path up the dry bed of a seasonal
stream.
And then she was in a dark place looking down at a small fire and
people huddled around a screen. She heard a slow chant, a continuous
repetition of sound. When she flickered her eyelids and saw blurred
faces, she saw Nezzie and Talut and Jondalar looking down at her
with worried expressions.
"Are you all right?" Jondalar asked, speaking Zeiandonii.
"Yes, yes. I'm all right, Jondalar. What happened? Where was I?"
"You'll have to tell me."
"How do you feel?" Nezzie asked. "Mamut always likes this tea,
afterward."
"I am fine," she said, sitting up and taking the cup. She did feel
fine. A little tired, and a little dizzy, but not bad.
"I don't think it was as frightening for you this time, Ay la," Mamut
said, coming toward her.
Ayla smiled. "No, I am not frightened, but what we do?"
"We Searched. I thought you were a Searcher. That's why you are
a daughter of the Mammoth Hearth," he said. "You have other natu
ral Talents, Ayla, but you need training." He saw her frown. "Don't
Worry about it now. There is time to think about it later."
Talut poured out more of his brew for Avia and several others
while Mamut told them about the Search, where they went, what
they found. She gulped it down—it didn't seem so bad that way—
then tried to listen, but it seemed to go to her head quickly. Her mind
wandered and she noticed that Deegie and Tornec were still playing
their instruments, but with tones so rhythmic and appealing it made
her want to move with them. It reminded her of the Women's Dance
of the Clan, and she found it hard to concentrate on Mamut.
She felt someone watching her, and glanced around. Near the Fox
Hearth she saw Ranee staring at her. He smiled and she smiled back.
Suddenly Talut was filling her cup again. Ranee came forward and
offered his cup for filling; Talut complied, then turned back to the
discussion.
"You're not interested in this, are you? Let's go over there, where
Deegie and Tomec are playing," Ranee said in a low voice, leaning
close to her ear.
"I think not. They talk about hunt." Ayla turned back to the se
rious discussion, but she had missed so much of it she didn't know
where they were, and they didn't seem to notice if she was listening
or not.
"You won't miss anything. They'll tell us all about it later. Listen
to that," he said, pausing to let her hear the pulsing musical sounds
coming from the other side of the hearth. "Wouldn't you rather see
how Tomec does that? He's really very good."
Ayla leaned toward the sound, pulled by the rhythmic beat. She
glanced at the group making plans, then looked at Ranee and broke
into a full beaming smile. "Yes, I rather see Tornec!" she said, feeling
pleased with herself.
As they got up, Ranee, standing close, stopped her. "You must stop
smiling, Ayla," he said, his tone serious and stem.
"Why?" she asked with deep concern, her smile gone, wondering
what she had done wrong.
"Because you are so lovely when you smile, you take my breath
away," Ranee said, and he meant every word, but then he continued,
"And how will I walk with you if I'm gasping for breath?"
Ay la's smile returned at his compliment, then the idea of him gasp
ing for breath because she smiled made her giggle. It was a joke, of
course, she thought, though she wasn't entirely sure he was joking.
They walked toward ^he new entrance to the Mammoth Hearth.
Jondalar observed them as they approached. He had been enjoying
the rhythms and music while he was waiting for her, but he did not
enjoy seeing Ayla walking toward the music makers with Ranee. He
felt jealousy rise in his throat, and had a wild urge to strike out at the
man who dared to advance on the woman he loved. But Ranee, for all
that he looked different, was Mamutoi, and belonged to the Lion
Camp. Jondalar was only a guest. They would stand up for their
own, and he was alone. He tried to exert control and reason. Ranee
and Ayla were only walking together. How could he object to that?
He had had mixed feelings about her adoption from the beginning.
He wanted her to belong to some group of people, because she
wanted it, and, he admitted, so she would be more acceptable to his
people. He had seen how happy she was when they were exchanging
gifts, and he was pleased for her, but felt distant from it, and more
worried than ever that she might not want to leave. He wondered if
he should have allowed himself to be adopted after all.
He had felt a part of Ayla's adoption in the beginning. But he felt
like an outsider now, even to Ayla. She was one of them. This was
her night, her celebration, hers and the Lion Camp's. He had given
her no gift, and had not received one in exchange. He hadn't even
thought of it, though now he wished he had. But he had no gifts to
give, to her or anyone. He had arrived here with nothing, and he had
not spent years making and accumulating things. He had learned
many things in his travels and had accumulated knowledge, but he'd
had no opportunity to benefit from his acquisitions, yet. All he had
brought with him was Ayla.
With a dark scowl, Jondalar watched her smiling and laughing with
Ranee, feeling like an unwanted intruder.
19

hen the discussion broke up, Talut doled out more of his
fermented beverage, made from the starch of cattail roots and various
other ingredients, which he was constantly experimenting with. The
festivities centered on Deegie and Tornec became more lively. They
played music, people sang, sometimes together and other times individually.
Some people danced, not the energetic kind of dance Ay la
had seen earlier, outside, but a subtle form of body movement made
standing in one place in time to the rhythm, often with a singing
accompaniment.
Ayla noticed Jondalar often, hanging back somewhat, and started
toward him several times, but something always interrupted. There
were so many people, and all of them seemed to be vying for her
attention. She was not entirely in control of herself from Talut's
drink, and her concentration was easily distracted.
She took a turn on Deegie's musical skull drum, with enthusiastic
encouragement, and remembered some of the Clan rhythms. They
were complex, distinctive, and, to the Lion Camp, unusual and intriguing.
If Mamut had any doubts left about Ay la's origins, the
memories triggered by her playing eliminated them completely.
Then Ranee stood up to dance and sing a humorous song full of
innuendo and double meanings about the Pleasures of Gifts, directed
at Ayla. It brought broad grins and knowing glances, and was obvious
enough to make Ayla blush. Deegie showed her how to dance and
sing the satirical response, but at the end, where a hint of acceptance
or rejection was supposed to finish it, Ayla stopped. She could do
neither. She didn't quite understand the subtleties of the game, and
while it wasn't her intention to encourage him, she didn't want him to
think she didn't like him, either. Ranee smiled. Disguised as humor,
the song was often used as a face-saving means of discovering if interest
was mutual. Not even a flat rejection would have stopped him; he
considered anything less, promising.
Ayla was giddy with the drink and the laughter, and the attention.
Everyone wanted to include her, everyone wanted to talk to her, to
'to out an arm around her and feel close. She couldn't
remember ever having so much fun, or feeling so warm and friendly,
or so wanted. And every time she turned around, she saw an enrap
tured, gleaming smile and flashing dark eyes concentrated on her.
As the evening wore on, the group began to diminish. Children
dropped off to sleep and were carried to their beds. Fralie had gone to
bed early, at Ayla's suggestion, and the rest of Crane Hearth followed
soon after. Tronic, complaining of a headache—she hadn't been feel
ing well that evening—went to her hearth to nurse Hartal, and fell
asleep. Jondalar slipped away then, too. He stretched out on the
sleeping platform, waiting for Ay la, and watching her.
Wymez was uncommonly voluble, after a few cups of Talut's
bouza, and told stories and made teasing remarks first to Ay la, then to
Deegie, then to all the women. Tulie began to find him suddenly
interesting, after all this time, and teased and joked back. She ended
up inviting him to spend the night at the Aurochs Hearth with her
and Barzec. She hadn't shared her bed with a second man since
Darnev died.
Wymez decided it might be a good idea to leave the hearth to
Ranee, and perhaps not so unwise to let it be known that a woman
could choose two men. He was not blind to the situation that was
developing, though he doubted that any agreement could be reached
between Ranee and Jondalar. But the big woman did seem particu
larly attractive this evening, and she was a highly valued headwoman
who had a great deal of status to bestow. Who could tell what changes
he might want to make if Ranee decided to change the composition of
the Fox Hearth?
Not long after the three of them headed toward the back of the
lodge, Talut teased Nezzie to the Lion Hearth. Deegie and Tornec
got involved in experimenting with their instruments, to the exclusion
of everyone else, and Ay la thought she heard some of her rhythms.
Then she realized she and Ranee were talking alone, and it made her
self-conscious.
"I think everyone go to bed," she said, her voice a little slurred. She
was feeling the effects of the bouza, and weaved back and forth where
she stood. Most of the lamps were gone, and the fire had burned low.
"Perhaps we should," he said, smiling. Ay la felt the unspoken invi
tation gleaming in his eyes, and was drawn to it, but she didn't know
how to deal with it.
"Yes. I am tired," she said, starting toward her bed platform. Ranee
took her hand and held her back.
"Ay la, don't go." His smile was gone, and his tone was insistent.
She turned back, and the next instant, his arms were around her, and
his mouth was hard on hers. She opened hers slightly, and his re-
sponse was immediate. He kissed her all over, her mouth, her neck,
her throat. His hands reached for her breasts, then caressed her hips,
and her thighs, and cupped her mound, as though he couldn't get
enough of her and wanted her all at once. Unexpected shocks of excitement
coursed through her. He pressed her to him, and she felt a
hard hot lump against her, and a sudden warmth of her own between
her legs.
"Ayla, I want you. Come to my bed," he said with commanding
urgency. With unexpected complaisance, she followed him.

All evening, Jondalar had watched the woman he loved laughing
and joking and dancing with her new people, and the longer he
watched, the more of an outsider he felt. But it was the attentive dark- skinned carver, in particular, that galled him. He wanted to vent his
wrath, step in and take Ay la away, but this was her home now, this
was the night of her adoption. What right did he have to interfere in
their celebration? He could only put on a face of acceptance, if not
pleasure, but he felt miserable, and went to the bed platform wishing
for the oblivion of sleep that would not come.
From the dark enclosed space, Jondalar watched Ranee embrace
Ay la and lead her away toward his bed, and felt a shock of disbelief.
How could she be going with another man when he was waiting for
her? No woman had ever chosen someone else when he wanted her,
and this was the woman he loved! He wanted to jump up, grab her
away, and smash his fist into that smiling mouth.
Then he imagined broken teeth and blood, and remembered the
agony of shame and exile. These were not even his people. They
would surely turn him out, and in the freezing cold night of the per-
iglacial steppes there was no place to go. And how could he go anyplace
without his Ay la?
But she had made the choice. She had chosen Ranee, and it was her
right to choose anyone she wanted. Just because Jondalar was waiting
didn't mean she had to go to him, and she hadn't. She chose a man of
her own people, a Mamutoi man who sang and danced and flirted
with her, and with whom she had laughed and had fun. Could he
blame her? How many times had he chosen someone with whom he
had laughed and had fun?
But how could she do it? This was the woman he loved! How could
she choose someone else when he loved her? Jondalar anguished and
despaired, but what could he do? Nothing but swallow his bitter
gorge of jealousy, and watch the woman he loved follow another man
to his bed.
Ay la wasn't thinking clearly, her mind was muddled from Talut's
brew, and there was no question that she was attracted to Ranee, but
those weren't the reasons she went with him. She would have gone no
matter what. Ayla was brought up by the Clan. She was taught to
comply, without question, with any man who commanded her, who
gave her the signal that he desired to copulate with her.
If any man of the Clan gave the signal to any woman, she was
expected to render the service, just as she would bring him food or
water. Though it was deemed a courtesy to request a woman's ser
vices of her mate, or the man she was usually associated with, first, it
was not required, and would have been given as a matter of course. A
man's mate was his to command, but not exclusively. The bond be
tween a woman and a man was mutually beneficial, companionate and
often, after a time, affectionate, but to show jealousy, or any strong
emotion, was unthinkable. It didn't make a man's mate any less his
because she rendered a small service to someone else; and he didn't
love the children of his mate any less. He assumed a certain responsi
bility for them, in terms of care and training, but his hunting pro
vided for his clan, and all food, gathered and hunted, was shared.
Ranee had given Ayla what she had come to interpret as the "sig
nal" of the Others, a command to satisfy his sexual needs. Like any
properly raised woman of the Clan, it didn't even occur to her to
refuse. She looked toward her bed platform once, but did not see the
blue eyes full of shock and pain. It would have surprised her if she
had.
Ranee's ardor had not cooled by the time they walked to the Fox
Hearth, but he was more controlled once Ayla was within its bound
aries, though he could hardly believe it. They sat down on his bed
platform. She noticed the white furs she had given him. She started to
untie her belt, but Ranee stopped her.
"I want to undress you, Ayla. I've dreamed of this, and I want it to
be just right," Ranee said.
She shrugged, agreeably. She had already noticed that Ranee was
different from Jondalar in certain ways, and it made her curious. It
wasn't a matter of judging which man was better, just noting
differences.
Ranee looked at her for a while. "You are so beautiful," he said,
finally, as he leaned over to kiss her. His mouth was soft, though it
could be hard when he kissed her hard. She noticed his dark hand
outlined by the white fur, and rubbed his arm gently. His skin felt
the same as any other skin.
He started by taking off the beads and shells she had in her hair,
then he ran his hands through it, and brought it to his face to feel and
smell. "Beautiful, so beautiful," he murmured. He unfastened her
necklace, and then her new amulet bag, and put them carefully beside
her beads on the storage bench near the head of the bed. Then he
untied her belt, stood up, and pulled her up beside him. Suddenly, he
was kissing her face and her throat again, and feeling her body under
neath her tunic, as though he couldn't wait. Ay la felt his excitement.
His fingertips brushing her nipple sent a current of feeling through
her. She leaned toward him, giving herself up to him.
He stopped then, and taking a deep breath, lifted the tunic up over
her head, and folded it neatly beside her other things. Then he just
looked at her, as though he was trying to memorize her. He turned
her one way, and then another, filling his eyes as though they, too,
needed satisfaction.
"Perfect, just perfect. Look at them, full, yet shapely, just right,"
he said, running a fingertip lightly along the profile of her breast. She
closed her eyes and shivered from the tender touch. Suddenly a warm
mouth was sucking on a nipple, and she felt a shock deep inside.
"Perfect, so perfect," he whispered, changing to the other breast. He
pressed his face between them, then with both hands held them to
gether and suckled both nipples at once, making little grunting noises
of pleasure. She arched her neck back and pressed toward him, feeling
twin surges of sensation, then reached for his head, and noticing his
hair, so full and tightly curled, let her hands enjoy the new
experience.
They were still standing when he backed away and looked at her, a
smile on his face, while he untied the waist cord and lowered her
leggings. He couldn't resist feeling the texture of her curly blond hair,
and cupping her mound to touch her warm moistness, then he sat her
down. He quickly removed his own shirt, and put it beside hers, then
he kneeled in front of her and removed one moccasin-type indoor
shoe.
"Are you ticklish?" he asked.
"Little, on bottom."
"How does this feel?" He rubbed her foot, gently but firmly, ap
plying pressure on the instep.
"Feel good." Then he kissed her instep. "Feel good," she said again,
with a smile.
He smiled back, then took off her other shoe, and rubbed her foot.
He pulled the leggings off, and put them and the shoes with her other
things. Taking her hands, he pulled her up again so she stood naked
in the last light of the dying coals from the Mammoth Hearth. He
turned her again, from front to back, looking at her. "0 Mother! So
beautiful, so perfect. Just like I knew you would be," he crooned,
' '—--If <-l,/»^t «-<-t Y}f^r
"Ranee, I am not beautiful," she chided.
"You should see yourself, Ay la. Then you would not say that."
"It is nice you say, nice you think, but I am not beautiful," Ay la
insisted.
"You are lovelier than anyone I've ever seen."
She only nodded. He could think so, if he wanted. She couldn't
stop him.
After filling his eyes, he began to touch, first lightly, all over, out
lining her with his fingertips from different angles. Then in finer de
tail, he traced the muscle structure under her skin. Suddenly he
stopped and peeled the rest of his clothes off, leaving them where they
fell, and took her in his arms, wanting to feel her body with his. She
felt him as well, his warm compact muscular body, his hard upright
throbbing manhood. She inhaled his pleasant masculine smell. He
kissed her mouth, then her face and her neck, nipping her shoulders
with gentle bites that made her quiver, and murmuring under his
breath, "So wonderful, so perfect. Ayla, I want you in every way. I
want to see you and touch you and hold you. 0 Mother, so beautiful."
His hands were on her breasts again, his mouth on her nipples,
sucking, then nipping lightly, then sucking both, making his little
pleasure noises. He suckled one breast, trying to take as much in his
mouth as he could, then the other. He got down on his knees in front
of her, nuzzled her navel, and wrapped his arms around her legs and
smooth round twin mounds, caressing them, then the split between.
He nuzzled her hair, and lightly, teasingly, found her slit with a wet
tongue. She moaned, and he felt her quivering response.
He stood up then, and eased her down to his bed, to the utterly
soft, luxurious, caressing furs. He crawled in beside her, kissed her
with soft biting lips, not teeth, suckled and nibbled her breasts, and
with his hand, fondled and rubbed the folds and crevices of her wom
anhood. She moaned and cried out as he seemed to touch every place
at once.
He took her hand and put it on his firm, fully engorged organ. She
sat up, curled around and rubbed her cheek against it, to his delight.
In the dim light, she could see the outline of her light hand against his
darkness. He felt smooth. His man smell was different, though, sim
ilar but different, and his hair was wiry and tight. He moaned with
sweet ecstasy when he felt a warm wetness enclose his maleness, and
a drawing, pulling sensation. This was more than he'd ever imagined,
more than he'd even dared dream. He thought he'd never contain
himself when she began to use techniques she had so recently learned,
quickly circling her tongue, drawing him in and releasing, adding firm
strokes to the upright shaft. "Oh, Ayla, Ayla. You are She! I knew
you were. You honor me."
Suddenly; Ranee sat up. "I want you, and I can't wait. Please,
now," he said, in a throaty, strained whisper.
She rolled over and opened to him. He mounted and entered, voic
ing a long, shuddering cry. Then he pulled back and drove in again,
and again, and again, his voice rising in pitch with each stroke. Ayla
arched to meet him, trying to match his pace. "Ayla, I am ready.
Here it is," he cried, straining, then suddenly, he moaned a great sigh
of relief, pushed in and out a few more times, and relaxed on top of
her. It took a bit longer for Ayla to relax.
After a while, Ranee pulled himself up, disengaged himself, and
rolled over on his side and, propping himself up on an arm, looked
down at Ayla. "I'm afraid I wasn't as perfect as you are," he said.
She frowned. "I do not understand this perfect, Ranee. What is
perfect?"
"It was too fast. You are so wonderful, so perfect in what you do, I
was ready too soon. I couldn't wait, and I think it wasn't as perfect for
you," he said.
"Ranee, this is Gift of Pleasure, right?"
"Yes, that is one name for it."
"You think it was not Pleasure for me? I had Pleasures. Many
Pleasures."
"Many, but not the perfect Pleasure. If you can wait, I think with a
little time, I will be ready again."
"Is not necessary."
"Maybe not necessary, Ayla, but I want to," he said, bending down
to kiss her. "I almost could now," he added, caressing her breast, her
stomach, and reaching for her mound. She jumped at his touch, and
still quivered. "I'm sorry, you were almost ready. If I could only have
held off a little longer."
She didn't answer. He was kissing her breast, rubbing the small
knob within her slit, and in an instant, she was ready again. She was
moving her hips, pushing against him, crying out. Suddenly, with a
surge and a cry, the release came, and he felt a warmth of wetness.
She relaxed then.
She smiled at him. "I think now perfect Pleasures," she said.
"Not quite, but next time, maybe. I hope there will be many next
times, Ayla," he replied, lying on his side beside her, his hand resting
on her stomach. She frowned, feeling confused. She wondered if she
was misunderstanding something.
In the dim light, he could see his dark hand on her light skin, and
smiled. He always did like the contrast his deep coloring made against
the lightness of the women he Pleasured. It left an impression no
other man could make, and women noticed. They always remarked,
and never forgot him. He was glad the Mother had chosen to give him
such dark color. It made him distinctive, unusual, unforgettable. He
liked the feel of her stomach under his hand, too, but even more he
liked knowing she was there beside him in his bed. He had hoped for
it, wished it, dreamed it, and even now, with her there, it seemed
impossible.
After a while he moved his hand up to her breast, fondled a nipple,
and felt it harden. Ay la had begun to doze, tired and a little headachy,
and when he nuzzled her neck, and then put his mouth on hers,
she realized he wanted her, had given her a signal again. She felt a
moment's annoyance and for an instant felt an urge to refuse. It surprised
her, almost shocked her, and brought her fully awake. He was
kissing her neck, stroking her shoulder and arm, then feeling the fullness
and roundness of her breast. By the time he took a nipple in his
mouth, she was no longer annoyed. Pleasurable sensations coursed
through her depths reaching her place of perfect Pleasure. He
changed to her other breast, fondling both and suckling each in turn,
making his little pleasure noises in the back of his throat.
"Ayla, beautiful Ayla," Ranee murmured. Then he sat up and
looked down at her on his bed. "0 Mother! I can't believe you're
here. So lovely. This time it will be perfect, Ayla. This time I know
it will be perfect."

Jondalar lay rigid on the bed, jaw clamped shut, desperately wanting
to use his clenched fists on the carver, but forcing himself not to
move. She had looked directly at him, then turned and went with
Ranee. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her face, looking directly
at him, then turning away.
It's her choice! It's her choice, he kept telling himself. She said she
loved him, but how could she even know? Of course, she might have
cared about him, even loved him, when they were alone in her valley;
she didn't know anyone else then. He was the first man she ever met.
But now that she had met other men, why couldn't she love someone
else? He tried to convince himself that it was only fair for her to meet
others and choose for herself, but he could not get it out of his mind
that, on that night, she had chosen someone else.
Ever since he'd returned from his stay with Dalanar, the tall, muscular,
almost beautifully handsome man had had his choice of women.
A look of invitation from his unbelievable eyes, and any woman he
ever wanted was his. In fact, they did everything they could to encourage
him. They followed him, hungered after him, wished he
would invite them. And he did, but no woman could match his memory
of his first love, or overcome his burden of guilt over it. Now, the
one woman in the world he had finally found, the one woman he
loved, was in another man's bed.
The mere thought that she had chosen someone else brought pain,
but when he heard the unmistakable sounds of her sharing Pleasures
with Ranee, he muffled a moan, pounded the bed, and doubled up in
agony. It was like a hot coal was boiling in his belly. His chest felt
tight, his throat burned, he breathed in muffled gasps as though choking
on smoky steam. Pressure forced hot tears out at the corners of his
eyes though he squeezed them shut as tightly as he could.
Finally it ended, and when he was sure, he relaxed a little. But then
it started again, and he couldn't stand it. He jumped up, stood irresolute
for a moment, then raced out the entrance to the new annex.
Whinney's ears perked up and turned toward him as he ran past and
through the exterior arch to the outside.
The wind buffeted him against the earthlodge. The sudden cold
took his breath away and startled him into awareness of his surroundings.
He looked out across the frozen river, and watched clouds
streaming across the moon, trailing ragged edges. He took a few steps
away from the shelter. Knives of wind tore through his tunic, and it
seemed, through his skin and muscle to the marrow of his bone.
He went back inside, shivering, plodded past the horses and into
the Mammoth Hearth again. He tensed up, listening, and heard nothing
at first. Then came the sounds of breathing and moaning and
grunting. He looked at his bed platform, then turned back toward the
annex, not knowing which way to go. He couldn't stand it inside; he
couldn't stay alive outside. Finally he couldn't bear it. He had to go
out. Grabbing his traveling sleeping furs, he went back through the
archway to the horses' annex.
Whinney snorted and tossed her head, and Racer, who was lying
down, lifted his head off the ground and nickered a soft greeting.
Jondalar headed toward the animals, spread his furs out on the ground
beside Racer, and got in them. It was cold in the annex, but not
nearly as cold as outside. There was no wind, some heat filtered
through, and the horses generated more. And their breathing covered
up the sounds of other heavy breathing. Even so, he lay awake most
of the night, his mind recalling sounds, replaying scenes, real and
imagined, over and over again.

Ayla woke as the first slivers of daylight stole through cracks
around the cover of the smoke hole. She reached across the bed for
Jondalar, and was disconcerted to find Ranee. With the memory of
the night before came the knowledge that she was going to have a bad
^~ ~c r1r-'1"«-^ hr»iT7a She shooed out of bed, picked

up the clothes Ranee had arranged so neatly, and hurried to her own
bed. Jondalar was not there, either. She looked around the Mammoth
Hearth at the other beds. Deegie and Tornec were sleeping in one,
and she wondered if they had shared Pleasures. Then she recalled that
Wymez had been invited to the Aurochs Hearth and Tronic wasn't
feeling well. Perhaps Deegie and Tornec had just found it more con
venient to sleep there. It didn't matter, but she wondered where Jon
dalar was.
She remembered that she hadn't seen him after it grew late the
night before. Someone said he had gone to bed, but where was he
now? She noticed Deegie and Tornec again. He must be sleeping at a
different hearth, too, she thought. She was tempted to check, but no
one else seemed to be up and about, and she didn't want to wake
anyone. Feeling uneasy, she crawled into her empty bed, pulled the
furs around her, and after a while, slept again.
When she awoke the next time, the smoke-hole cover had been
moved aside and bright daylight beamed in. She started to get up,
then, feeling an enormous throbbing pain in her head, dropped back
down and closed her eyes. Either I am very sick, or this is from
Talut's bouza, she thought. Why do people like to drink it if it makes
them so sick? Then she thought about the celebration. She didn't have
a clear memory of it all, but she did recall playing rhythms, dancing
and singing, though she didn't really know how. She had laughed a
lot, even at herself when she found she had little voice for singing, not
minding at all that she was the center of attention. That wasn't like
her. Normally she preferred to stay in the background and watch, and
do her learning and practicing in private. Was it the bouza that
changed her normal inclination and caused her to be less careful?
More forward? Is that why people drank it?
She opened her eyes again, and then got up very carefully, holding
her head. She relieved herself in the indoor night basket—a tightly
woven basket about half full of the dry pulverized dung of grazing
animals from the steppes, which absorbed liquid and fecal matter. She
washed herself with cold water. Then she stirred up the fire and
added hot cooking stones. She dressed in the clothing she had made
before she came, thinking of it now as a rather plain everyday outfit,
though when she made it, it had seemed very exotic and complex.
Still moving carefully, she took several packets from her medicine
bag and mixed up willow bark, yarrow, wood betony, and chamomile
in various proportions. She poured cold water into the cooking basket
she used for morning tea, added hot rocks until it boiled, then the tea.
Then hunkered in front of the fire with her eyes closed while she
waited for the tea to steep. Suddenly, she jumped up, feeling her head
throb but ignoring it, and reached for her medicine bag again.
I almost forgot, she thought, taking out her packets of Iza's secret
contraceptive herbs. Whether it helped her totem fight off the spirit of
a man's totem, as Iza thought, or somehow resisted the essence of a
man's organ, as she suspected, Ay la did not want to take the chance of
starting a baby now. Everything was too unsettled. She had wanted a
baby started by Jondalar, but while she was waiting for the tea, she
began to wonder how a baby, who was a mixture of her and Ranee,
would look. Like him? Like me? Or a little of both? Probably both,
like Durc . . . and Rydag. They were mixtures. A dark son from
Ranee would look different, too, except, she thought with a trace of
bitterness, no one would call him an abomination, or think he was an
animal. He would be able to talk and laugh and cry, just like everyone
else.
Knowing how Talut had appreciated her headache remedy the last
time he drank his brew, Ay la made enough for several people. After
she drank hers, she went out to look for Jondalar. The new annex
leading out directly from the Mammoth Hearth was proving to be
quite a convenience, and for some reason she was glad she didn't have
to go through the Fox Hearth. The horses were outside, but as she
walked through, she noticed Jondalar's traveling sleeping fur rolled up
next to the wall and wondered, in passing, how it got there.
As she pushed aside the drape and stepped through the second
arch, she saw Talut, Wymez, and Mamut talking with Jondalar,
whose back was to her.
"How is head, Talut?" she asked as she approached.
"Are you offering me some of your magic moming-after medicine?"
"I have headache, and make tea. There is more, inside," she said,
then turned to Jondalar with a full, happy smile now that she had
found him.
For an instant her smile brought a like response, but just for an
instant. Then his face clouded into a dark frown and his eyes filled
with a look she had never seen there before. Her smile left her.
"You want tea, too, Jondalar?" she asked, confused and distraught.
"Why do you think I need it? I didn't drink too much last night,
but I don't suppose you noticed," he replied in a voice so cold and
distant she hardly recognized it.
"Where you go? I look for you early, but not in bed."
"Neither were you," he said. "I hardly think it mattered to you
where I was." He turned and walked away from her. She looked at
the other three men. She saw embarrassment on Talut's face. Wymez
looked uncomfortable, but not entirely unhappy. Mamut had a look
she couldn't decipher.
"Ah ... I think I'll go get some of that tea you offered," Talut said,
--•-1-1., ^i,,^i,;r,^ ir»i-r» i-hf Indpe.
"Perhaps I'll try a cup, too," Wymez said, and followed him.
What did I do wrong? Ayla thought, and the uneasiness she had
been feeling grew into a hard knot of distress in the pit of her
stomach.
Mamut studied her, then said, "I think you should come and talk to
me, Ayla. Later, when we can have a moment alone. Your tea may
bring several visitors to the hearth now. Why don't you get something
to eat?"
"I am not hungry," Ayla said, her stomach churning. She did not
want to start out with her new people doing something wrong, and
she wondered why Jondalar was so angry.
Mamut smiled reassuringly. "You should try to eat something.
There is mammoth meat left over from your feast, and I think Nezzie
saved one of those steamed loaves for you."
Ayla nodded. As she walked toward the main entrance of the long-
house, upset and worried, she looked for the horses with the part of
her mind that was always concerned for them. When she saw them
she noticed Jondalar was with them, and felt a small sense of relief.
She had often drawn comfort from the animals when she was trou
bled, and while not a completely formed thought, she hoped that
turning to them would eventually make Jondalar feel better.
She passed through the foyer and into the cooking hearth. Nezzie
was sitting with Rydag and Rugie, eating. She smiled when she saw
Ayla and got up. For all that she was amply proportioned, Nezzie was
active and graceful in her movements and, Ayla suspected, probably
quite strong.
"Get yourself some meat. I'll get the loaf I put aside for you. It's
the last one," Nezzie said. "And get a cup of hot tea, if you want. It's
fireweed and mint."
Ayla broke off pieces of the firm, moist loaf for Rydag and Rugie
when she sat down with them and Nezzie, but only picked at her own
food.
"Is something wrong, Ayla?" the woman asked. She knew there
was, and had some idea of the cause.
Ayla looked at her with troubled eyes. "Nezzie, I know Clan ways,
not Mamutoi ways. Want to learn, want to be good Mamutoi woman,
but not know when I do wrong. I think last night I do something
wrong."
"What makes you think so?"
"When I go out, Jondalar angry. I think Talut not happy. Wymez,
too. They leave, quick. Tell me what I did wrong, Nezzie."
"You didn't do anything wrong, Ayla, unless being loved by two
men is wrong. Some men feel possessive when they have strong feel
ings for a woman. They don't want her to be with other men. Jon-
dalar feels he has a claim on you and is angry because you shared
Ranee's bed. But it is not just Jondalar. I think Ranee feels the same
way, and would be just as possessive if he could. I raised him since he
was a boy, and I have never seen him so taken with a woman. I think
Jondalar is trying not to show how he feels, but he can't help it, and if
he showed his anger, it probably embarrassed Talut and Wymez.
That might be why they left in a hurry.
"Sometimes we yell a lot, or tease each other. We take pride in
hospitality and like to be friendly, but the Mamutoi do not show their
deepest feelings too much. It can cause trouble, and we try to avoid
disputes and discourage fighting. The Council of Sisters even frowns
on the raids the young men like to make on other people, like the
Sungaea, and are trying to ban them. The Sisters say it just invites
raids in return, and people have been killed. They say it's better to
trade than raid. The Council of Brothers is more lenient. Most of
them did a bit of raiding in their youth, and say it's just a way to use
young muscles and make a little excitement for themselves."
Ayla was no longer listening. Rather than clarifying anything,
Nezzie's explanation only made her more confused. Was Jondalar an
gry because she had responded to another man's signal? Was that a
reason to get angry? No man of the Clan would indulge in such an
emotional response. Broud was the only man who had ever shown the
least interest in her, and then only because he knew she hated it. But
many people wondered why he was bothering with such an ugly
woman and he would have welcomed interest by another man. When
she thought about it, she realized that Jondalar had been bothered by
Ranee's interest from the beginning.
Mamut came in from the entrance foyer walking with discernible
difficulty.
"Nezzie, I promised to fill Mamut's medicine bowl with help for
arthritis," Ayla said.
She got up to help him, but he waved her away. "You go ahead. I'll
be there. It will just take me a little longer."
She rushed through the Lion Hearth and the Fox Hearth, relieved
to find it empty, and added fuel to the fire at the Mammoth Hearth.
As she sorted through her medications, she recalled the many times
she had applied poultices and plasters, and made painkilling drinks to
ease Creb's aching joints. It was one aspect of her medicine she knew
very well.
She waited until Mamut was resting comfortably, sipping a warm
tea after she had drawn off and soaked away most of his ancient aches,
before she asked any questions. It was soothing for her as well as the
old shaman to apply her knowledge, skill, and intelligence in the prac-
rice of her craft, and it relieved some of the stress she had been feel-
ine. Yet when she picked up a cup of tea and sat opposite Mamut, she
didn't quite know where to begin.
"Mamut, did you stay long with Clan?" she finally asked.
"Yes, it takes awhile for a bad break to heal, and by then, I wanted
to know more, so I stayed until they left for the Clan Gathering."
"You learn Clan ways?"
"Some of them."
"You know about signal?"
"Yes, Ayla, I know about the signal a man gives a woman." He
paused, seeming to consider, then continued, "I will tell you some
thing I have never told anyone else. There was a young woman who
helped to take care of me while my arm was mending, and after I was
included in a hunting ceremony and hunted with them, she was given
to me. I know what the signal is, and what it means. I used the signal,
though at first I was not comfortable about it. She was a flathead
woman, and not very appealing to me, particularly since I'd heard so
many stories about them while I was growing up. But I was young
and healthy, and I was expected to behave like a man of the Clan.
"The longer I stayed, the more appealing she became—you have no
idea how appealing it can be to have someone waiting on your every
need or desire. It wasn't until later that I discovered she had a mate.
She was a second woman, her first mate had died so one of the other
hunters took her in, a little reluctantly since she came from a different
clan and had no children. When I left, I did not want to leave her
behind, but I felt she would be happier with a clan than with me and
my people. And I wasn't sure how I would be welcomed if I returned
with a flathead woman. I have often wondered what happened to
her."
Ayla closed her eyes as memories flooded over her. It seemed un
canny to be learning bits and pieces about her clan from this man
whom she had met such a short time ago. She fitted his story together
with her own knowledge of the history of Brun's clan.
"She not ever have children, always second woman, but always
someone take in. She die in earthquake, before they find me."
He nodded. He, too, was glad to have an important bit of his past
filled in.
"Mamut, Nezzie sayjondalar angry because I share Ranee's bed. Is
true?"
"I think that's true."
"But Ranee give me signal! How can Jondalar be angry if Ranee
give me signal?"
"Where did Ranee learn the Clan signal?" Mamut asked, surprised.
"Not Clan signal. Signal of the Others. When Jondalar find my
valley, and teach me First Rites and Gift of Pleasure from Great Earth
Mother Doni, I ask what his signal is? He put mouth on mine, make
kiss. Put hand on me, make . . . feel Pleasure. He say that is how I
will know when he want me; he tell me his signal. Ranee give me
signal last night. Then he say, 'I want you. Come to my bed.' Ranee
give me signal. He make command."
Mamut looked up at the ceiling, and said, "0 Mother!" Then he
looked back at her. "Ayla, you don't understand. Ranee certainly did
give you a signal that he wanted you, but it wasn't a command."
Ayla looked at him with intense puzzlement. "I not understand."
"No one can command you, Ayla. Your body belongs to you, it's
your choice. You decide what you want to do and who you want to
do it with. You can go to any man's bed you choose, so long as he is
willing—and I don't see much problem there—but you don't have to
share Pleasures with any man you don't want to, ever."
She stopped to think about his words. "What if Ranee commands
again? He said, wants me again, many times."
"I don't doubt that he wants, but he cannot command you. No one
can command you, Ayla. Not against your will."
"Not even man I mate? Not ever?"
"I don't think you'd remain mated for very long under those cir
cumstances, but no, not even your mate can command you. Your
mate does not own you. Only you can decide."
"Mamut, when Ranee gave me signal, I not have to go?"
"That's right." He looked at her frown. "Are you sorry you went to
his bed?"
"Sorry?" She shook her head. "No. Not sorry. Ranee is ... good.
Is not rough . . . like Broud. Ranee . . . care for me . . . make good
Pleasures. No. Not sorry about Ranee. Sorry about Jondalar. Sorry
Jondalar angry. Ranee make good Pleasures, but Ranee is ... not
Jondalar."
,yla turned her head to the side as she leaned into the
screaming wind, trying to shield her face from the raw blast of gale-
driven snow. Each careful step forward was violently opposed by a
force made visible only by the swirling mass of frozen white grit
hurled against her. As the angry blizzard raged, she faced the lash of
stinging pellets and squinted her eyes open, then turned away and
took another few steps. Buffeted by the fierce storm, she looked again.
The smooth rounded shape ahead beckoned, and she was relieved fi
nally to touch the solid ivory arch.
"Ay la, you shouldn't have gone out in that blizzard!" Deegie said.
"You can lose your way a few steps beyond the entrance."
"But it has been blowing like that for many, many days, and Whin-
ney and Racer go out. I want to know where they go."
"Did you find out?"
"Yes. They like to feed at place around bend. Wind does not blow
so hard, and snow does not cover dry grass too high. Blows drift on
other side. I have some grain, but have not grass left. Horses know
where is grass, even when blizzard blows. I will give water here,
when they come back," Ayla said, stamping her feet, and shaking the
snow off the parka she had just pulled off. She hung it up on a peg
near the entrance to the Mammoth Hearth, on her way in.
"Can you believe it? She went outside. In this weather!" Deegie
announced to the several people who were congregated at the fourth
hearth.
'But why?" Tornec asked.
'Horses need to eat, and I . . ." Ayla started to reply.
«i
"I thought you were gone a long time," Ranee said. "When I asked
Mamut, he said he had last seen you go into the horse hearth, but
when I looked you weren't there."
"Everyone started looking for you, Ayla," Tronic said.
"Then Jondalar noticed your parka was gone, and the horses, too.
He thought you might have gone out with them," Deegie said, "so we
decided we'd better look for you outside. When I looked out to see
how the weather was, I saw you coming."
"Ay la, you should let someone know if you are going out when the
weather is bad," Mamut chided, gently.
"Don't you know you make people worry when you go out in a
blizzard like this?" Jondalar said, his tone more angry.
Ay la tried to answer, but everyone was talking at once. She looked
at all the faces watching her, and flushed. "I am sorry. I did not mean
to make worry. I live alone long time, have no people to worry. I go
out and come in when I want. I am not used to people, to have some
one worry," she said, looking at Jondalar, then at the others. Mamut
saw Ay la's brow knit in a frown as the blond man turned away.
Jondalar felt himself flush as he walked away from the people who
had been worried about Ay la. She was right, she had lived alone and
taken care of herself just fine. What right did he have to question her
actions, or take her to task for not telling anyone she was going out?
But he had been fearful from the moment he discovered she was miss
ing and had probably gone outside into the blizzard. He had seen bad
weather—winters where he grew up were exceptionally cold and
bleak—but he had never seen weather so severe. This storm had
raged without letup for half the season, it seemed.
No one had been more fearful for her safety than Jondalar, but he
didn't want to show his deep concern. He'd been having difficulty
talking to her since the night of her adoption. At first, he was so hurt
that she had chosen someone else, he had withdrawn, and was am
bivalent about his own feelings. He was wildly jealous, yet he
doubted his love for her because he had been ashamed that he brought
her.
Ayla had not shared Ranee's furs again, but every night Jondalar
was afraid she might. It made him tense and nervous, and he found
himself staying away from the Mammoth Hearth until after she was
in bed. When he did finally join her on their sleeping platform, he
turned his back and resisted touching her, afraid he might lose con
trol, afraid he might break down and beg her to love him.
But Ayla didn't know why he was avoiding her. When she tried to
talk to him, he answered in monosyllables, or pretended to be asleep;
when she put an arm around him, he was stiff and unresponsive. It
seemed to her that he didn't like her any more, especially after he
brought separate furs to sleep in, so he wouldn't feel the searing touch
of her body next to his. Even during the day, he stayed away from
her. Wymez, Danug, and he had set up a flint-working area in the
cooking hearth and Jondalar spent most of his waking hours there—he
couldn't stand working with Wymez at the Fox Hearth, across the
passageway from the bed Ayla had shared with Ranee.
After a while, when her friendly advances had been rebuffed too
often, she became confused and hesitant and drew back from him.
Only then did he finally begin to realize that the growing distance
between them was his own doing, but he didn't know how to resolve
it. As experienced and knowledgeable as he was about women, he had
no experience with being in love. He found himself reluctant to tell
her how he felt about her. He remembered young women following
him around, declaring their strong feelings for him, when he didn't
feel strongly about them. It had made him uncomfortable, made him
want to get away. He didn't want Ay la to feel that way about him, so
he held back.
Ranee knew they were not sharing Pleasures. He was excruciatingly
conscious of Ay la every moment, though he tried not to make it
obvious. He knew when she went to bed and when she woke, what
she ate and with whom she spoke, and he spent as much time as he
could at the Hearth of the Mammoth. Among those who gathered
there. Ranee's wit, sometimes directed at one member or another of
the Lion Camp, was often the cause of raucous laughter. He was scrupulously
careful, however, never to denigrate Jondalar, whether Ay la
was nearby or not. The visitor was aware of Ranee's way with words,
but such cleverness had never been Jondalar's strong point. Ranee's
compact muscularity and insouciant self-confidence had the effect of
making the tall, dramatically handsome man feel like a big oaf.
As the winter progressed, Jondalar and Ay la's unresolved misunderstanding
kept getting worse. Jondalar was becoming afraid that he
would lose her entirely to the dark, exotic, and engaging man. He
kept trying to convince himself that he should be fair, and let her
make the choice, that he didn't have any right to make demands on
her. But he stayed away because he didn't want to present her with a
choice which would give her the opportunity to reject him.

ThcsMamutoi did not seem disturbed by the harsh weather. They
had plenty of food stored, and busied themselves with their usual
winter diversions, snug and secure inside their semisubterranean long-
house. The older members of the Camp tended to gather around the
cooking hearth, sipping hot tea, telling stories, reminiscing, gossiping,
and playing games of chance with pieces of carved ivory or bone,
when they were not busy on some project. The younger people congregated
around the Mammoth Hearth, laughing and joking, singing
songs and practicing musical instruments, though there was a great
deal of intermixing among everyone, and the children were welcome
everywhere. This was the time of leisure; the time to make and mend
tools and weapons, utensils and jewelry; the time to weave baskets

and mats, to carve ivory, bone, and antler; to make thongs, ropes,
cords, and nets; and the time to make and decorate clothing.
Ayla was interested in how the Mamutoi processed their leather
and, especially, how they colored it. She was also intrigued with the
colored embroidery, quill and beadwork. Decorated and sewn cloth
ing was new and unusual to her.
"You said you would show me how to make leather red after I make
skin ready. I think bison skin I am working on is ready," Ayla said.
"All right, I'll show you," Deegie said. "Let's see how it looks."
Ayla went to the storage platform near the head of her bed and
unfolded a complete hide, and spread it out. It was incredibly soft to
the touch, pliable, and nearly white. Deegie examined it critically.
She had watched Ayla's process without comment, but with great
interest.
First Ayla had cut off the heavy mane close to the skin with a sharp
knife, then she beamed it; draped it over a large smooth mammoth leg
bone and scraped it, using the slightly dulled edge of a flint flake. She
scraped the inside to remove clinging bits of fat and blood vessels, and
the outside, against the lay of the hair, taking off the outer layer of
skin, which included the grain of the leather, as well. Deegie would
have rolled it up and left it near the fire for a few days, allowing it to
begin to decay, to loosen the hair. When she was ready, the hair
would come out, leaving behind the outer layer of skin, which would
become the grain of the leather. To make the softer buckskin, as Ayla
had done, she would have tied it to a frame to scrape off the hair and
the grain.
Ayla's next step incorporated a suggestion from Deegie. After soak
ing and washing, Ayla had planned to rub fat into the hide to soften
it, as she was accustomed to doing. But Deegie showed Ayla how to
make a thin gruel of the putrefying brains of the animal to soak the
hide in instead. Ayla was both surprised and pleased at the results.
She could feel the change in the hide, the softening and elasticity
which the brain tissue imparted, even while she was rubbing it in.
But it was after thoroughly wringing out the hide that the work be
gan. It had to be pulled and stretched constantly while it was drying,
and the quality of the finished leather depended upon how well the
hide was worked at this stage.
"You do have a good hand for leather, Ayla. Bison hide is heavy,
and this is so soft. It feels wonderful. Have you decided what you
want to make out of it?"
"No." Ayla shook her head. "But I want to make leather red. What
do you think? Footwear?"
"It's heavy enough for it, but soft enough for a tunic. Let's go ahead
and color it. You can think about what to make with it later," Deegie
said, and as they walked toward the last hearth together, she asked,
"What would you do with that hide now? If you were not going to
color it?"
"I would put over very smoky fire, so leather will not get stiff
again, if it gets wet, from rain, or even from swimming," Ayla said.
Deegie nodded. "That's what I would do, too. But what we are
going to do to the hide will make the rain slide off."
They passed by Crozie when they walked through the Crane
Hearth, which reminded Ayla of something she had been meaning to
ask about. "Deegie, do you know how to make leather white, too?
Like tunic Crozie wear? I like red, but after that, I would like to learn
white. I think I know someone who would like white."
"White is hard to do, hard to get leather really snowy white. I think
Crozie could show you better than I could. You would need chalk . . .
Wymez might have some. Flint is found in chalk, and usually the
pieces he gets from the mine up north have a covering of chalk on the
outside," Deegie said.
The young women walked back to the Mammoth Hearth with
some small mortars and pestles, and several lumps of red ochre coloring
material in various shades. Deegie set some fat to melting over the
fire, then arrayed the colored bits of material around Ayla. There
were bits of charcoal for black, manganese for a blue-black, and a
bright sulphurous yellow, in addition to ochres of many colors:
browns, reds, maroons, yellows. The mortars were the natural bowl
shapes of certain bones, such as the frontal bone of a deer, or pecked
out of granite or basalt, just as the stone lamps were. Pestles were
shaped out of hard ivory or bone, except one, which was an elongated
natural stone.
"What shade of red do you want, Ayla? Deep red, blood red, earth
red, yellow red; that's sort of a sun color."
Ayla didn't know she would have so many choices. "I don't know
. . . red red," she replied.
Deegie studied the colors. "I think if we take this one," she said,
picking up a piece that was a rather bright earth red, "and add a little
yellow to it, to brine out the red more, it might be a color you would
like."
She put the small lump of red ochre in the stone mortar and
showed Ayla how to grind it very fine, then had her grind up the
yellow color in a separate bowl. In a third bowl, Deegie mixed the
two colors until she was satisfied with the shade. Then she added the
hot fat, which changed the color, and brightened it to a shade that
made Ayla smile.
"Yes. That is red. That is nice red," she said.
Next Deegie picked up a long deer rib, which had been split lengthwise
so that the porous inner bone was exposed at the convex end.
Using the rib burnisher with the spongy side down, she picked up a
dab of the cooled red fat, and rubbed the mixture into the prepared
bison skin, pressing hard as she held the hide in her hand. As she
worked the mineral coloring into the pores of the material, the leather
acquired a smooth sheen. On leather with grain, the burnishing tool
and coloring agents would have given it a hard shiny finish.
After watching awhile, Ay la picked up another rib bone and copied
Deegie's technique. Deegie watched her, offered a few corrections.
When a corner of the hide was finished, she stopped Ay la for a
moment.
"Look," she said, sprinkling a few drops of water on the hide as she
held up the corner. "It runs off, see?" The water beaded up and ran
down, leaving no mark on the impervious finish.

"Have you decided what you are going to do with your red piece of
leather, yet?" Nezzie asked.
"No," Ayla said. She had unfolded the full bison hide to show
Rydag and to admire it herself again. It was hers, because she had
dressed and treated the hide, and she had never owned so much of
anything that was red, and the leather had turned out to be remarkably
red. "Red was sacred to Clan. I would give to Creb ... if I
could."
"It is the brightest red I think I have ever seen. You would certainly
see someone coming for a long way wearing that."
"It is soft, too," Rydag signed. He often came to the Mammoth
Hearth to visit with her, and she welcomed him.
"Deegie showed me how to make soft with brain, first," Ayla said,
smiling at her friend. "I use fat before. Hard to do, and stains, sometimes.
Better using brain of bison." She paused with a thoughtful
expression, then asked, "Will work for every animal, Deegie?" Then,
when Deegie nodded, "How much brain should use? How much for
reindeer? How much for rabbit?"
"Mut, the Great Mother, in her infinite wisdom," Ranee replied
instead, with the hint of a grin, "always gives just enough brains to
each animal to preserve its hide."
Ry dag's soft guttural chuckle puzzled Ayla for a moment, then she
smiled. "Some have enough brains, do not get caught?"
Ranee laughed, and Ayla joined him, pleased with herself for understanding
the joke hidden in the meaning. She was becoming much
more comfortable with the language.
Jondalar, just walking into the Mammoth Hearth and seeing Ayla
and Ranee laughing together, felt his stomach churn into a knot.
Mamut saw him close his eyes as though in pain. He glanced at
Nezzie and shook his head.
Danug, who had been following behind the visiting flint worker,
watched him stop, clutch a post, and drop his head. The feelings of
Jondalar and Ranee for Ayla, and the problem that was developing
because of them was apparent to all, though most people did not ac
knowledge it. They didn't want to interfere, hoping to give the three
of them room to work it out for themselves. Danug wished he could
do something to help, but he was at a loss. Ranee was a brother, since
Nezzie had adopted him, but he liked Jondalar and felt empathy for
his anguish. He, too, had strong, if undefined, feelings for the beau
tiful new member of the Lion Camp. Beyond the inexplicable flushes
and physical sensations when he was near her, he felt an affinity with
her. She seemed to be as confused about how to handle the situation
as he often felt about the new changes and complications in his life.
Jondalar took a deep breath and straightened up, then continued
into the area. Ay la's eyes followed him as he walked over to Mamut
and handed him something. She watched them exchange a few words,
then Jondalar left, quickly, without saying a word to her. She had lost
the thread of the conversation going on around her, and when Jon
dalar left, she hurried to Mamut, not hearing the question Ranee had
asked her, or seeing the fleeting look of disappointment on his face.
He made a joke, which she also did not hear, to cover his dismay. But
Nezzie, who was sensitive to the subtle nuances of his deeper feelings,
noticed the hurt in his eyes, and then saw him set his jaw and square
his shoulders with resolution.
She wanted to advise him, to give him the benefit of her experience
and the wisdom of her years, but she held her tongue. They must
work out their own destinies, she thought.
Since the Mamutoi lived in close quarters for extended periods of
time, they had to learn to tolerate each other. There was no real pri
vacy in the earthlodge, except the privacy of each person's thoughts,
and they were very careful not to intrude into another's private
thoughts. They shied away from asking personal questions, or press
ing uninvited offers of assistance and advice, or intervening in private
squabbles unless they were asked, or if the squabbles got out of hand
and became a problem for everyone. Instead, if they saw a troubling
situation developing, they quietly made themselves available and
waited with patience and forbearance until a friend was wanted to
discuss worries, fears, and frustrations. They were not judgmental or
highly critical, and they imposed few restrictions on personal behavior
if it did not hurt or seriously disturb others. A solution to a problem
was one that worked, and satisfied everyone involved. They were gentle
with each other's souls.
"Mamut ..." Ayla began, then realized she didn't know exactly
what she wanted to say. "Ah ... I think now is good time to make
medicine for arthritis."
"I would not object," the old man said, smiling. "I have not had as
comfortable a winter in many years. If for no other reason, I am glad
you are here, Ayla. Let me put away this knife I won from Jondalar,
and I will put myself in your hands."
"You win knife from Jondalar?"
"Crozie and I were wagering with the knucklebones. He was
watching and looked interested, so I invited him to play. He said he
would like to, but he had nothing to wager. I told him as long as he
had his skill, he always had something, and said I'd bet against a
special knife that I wanted to be made in a certain way. He lost. He
should know better than to wager against One Who Serves." Mamut
chuckled. "Here's the knife."
Ayla nodded. His answer satisfied her curiosity, but she wished
someone could tell her why Jondalar didn't want to talk to her. The
group of people who had been admiring Ayla's red leather hide broke
up and left the Mammoth Hearth, except for Rydag, who joined Ayla
and Mamut. There was something comforting about watching her
treat the old shaman. He settled himself on a corner of the bed
platform.
"I will make hot poultice for you first," she said, and began to mix
ingredients in a wooden bowl.
Mamut and Rydag watched her measuring, mixing, heating water.
"What do you use in the poultice?" Mamut asked.
"I do not know your words for plants."
"Describe them to me. Maybe I can tell you. I know a few plants
and some remedies; I've had to learn some."
"One plant, grows higher than knee," Ayla explained, thinking
about the plant carefully. "Has big leaves, not bright green, like dust
on them. Leaves grow together with stem first, then get big, then
come to point at end. Under leaf, soft, like fur. Leaves good for many
things, and roots, too, especially broken bones."
"Comfrey! That must be comfrey. What else is in the poultice?"
This is interesting, he thought.
"Other plant, smaller, does not reach knee. Leaves, like small spear
point Wymez makes, dark shiny green, stay green in winter. Stem
comes up from leaves, has little flowers, light color, small red spots
inside. Good for swellings, rash, too," Ayla said.
Mamut was shaking his head. "Leaves stay green in winter, spotted
flowers. I don't think I know that one. Why not just call it spotted
wintergreen."
Ayla nodded. "Do you want to know other plants?" she asked.
"Yes, go ahead and describe another."
"Big plant, bigger than Talut, almost tree. Grows on low ground,
near rivers. Dark purple berries stay on plant even in winter. Young
leaves good to eat, big old ones too strong, can make sick. Dried
root in poultice is good for swelling, red swelling, too, and for pain.
I put dried berries in tea I make for your arthritis. Do you know
name?"
"No, I don't think so, but as long as you know the plant, I'm satis
fied," Mamut said. "Your remedies for my arthritis have helped, you
are good with medicine for elders."
"Creb was old. He was lame and had pain from arthritis. I learn
from Iza how to help. Then I help others in clan." Ayla paused and
looked up from her mixing. "I think Crozie suffer pains of age, too. I
want to help. You think she object, Mamut?"
"She doesn't like to admit to the failings of age. She was a proud
beauty in her younger years, but I think you are right. You could ask
her, especially if you can think of a way that wouldn't bruise her
pride. That's all she has left now."
Ayla nodded. When the preparation was ready, Mamut removed
his clothing. "When you are resting, with poultice," she said, "I have
root powder of other plant I want to put on hot coals for you to smell.
Will make you sweat, and is good for pain. Then, before you sleep
tonight, I have new wash for joints. Apple juice and hot root ..."
"You mean horseradish? The root Nezzie uses, with food."
"I think, yes, with apple juice and Talut's bouza. Will make skin
warm, and inside skin warm, too."
Mamut laughed. "How did you ever get Talut to let you put his
bouza outside on the skin, and not inside?"
Ayla smiled. "He likes 'magic morning-after medicine.' I say I will
always make for him," she said while she applied a thick, gummy, hot
healing plaster to the old man's aching joints. He lay back comfort
ably, and closed his eyes.
"This arm look good," Ayla commented, working on the arm that
had been broken. "I think was bad break."
"It was a bad break," Mamut said, opening his eyes again. He
glanced at Rydag, who was quietly taking everything in. Mamut had
not spoken of his experience to anyone but Ayla. He paused, then
nodded sharply with decision. "It's time you knew, Rydag. When I
was a young man on a Journey, I fell down a cliff and broke my arm.
I was dazed, and finally wandered into a Camp of flatheads, people of
the Clan. I lived with them for a while."
"That is why you quick to learn signs!" Rydag smiled. "I thought
you very smart."
"I am very smart, young man," Mamut said, grinning back, "but I
also remembered some of them, once Ay la reminded me."
Rydag's smile widened. Except for Nezzie, and the rest of his Lion
Hearth family, he loved these two people more than anyone in the
world, and he had never been so happy since Ay la came. For the first
time in his life, he could talk, he could make people understand him,
he could even make someone smile. He watched Ay la working on
Mamut, and even he could recognize her thoroughness and knowl
edge. When Mamut looked in his direction, he signaled, "Ayla is good
Healer."
"The medicine women of the Clan are very skilled; she learned
from them. No one could have done a better job on my arm. The skin
was scraped, with dirt ground in, and it was torn open with the bro
ken bone poking through. It looked like a piece of meat. The woman,
Uba, cleaned it and set it right, and it did not even swell up with pus
and fever. I had full use when it healed, and only in these later years
have I felt a little ache now and then. Ayla learned from the grand
daughter of the woman who fixed my arm. I was told she was consid
ered the best," Mamut announced, watching Rydag's reaction. The
boy looked at both of them quizzically, wondering how they could
know the same people.
"Yes. And Iza was best, like her mother and her grandmother," Ayla
said, finishing up. She hadn't been paying attention to the silent com
munication between the boy and the old man. "She knew all her
mother knew, had mother's memories, and grandmother's memories."
Ayla moved some stones from the fireplace closer to Mamut's bed,
scooped up a few live coals with two sticks and put them on the
stones, then sprinkled powdered honeybloom root on the coals. She
went to get covers for Mamut to keep the heat in, but while she was
tucking them around him, he got up on one elbow and looked at her
thoughtfully.
"The people of the Clan are different in a way that most people
don't realize. It's not that they don't talk, or that the way they talk is
different. It's that the way they think is a little different. If Uba, the
woman who took care of me, was the grandmother of your Iza, and
she learned from her mother's and grandmother's memories, how did
you learn, Ayla? You don't have Clan memories." Mamut noticed an
embarrassed flush, and a quick little gasp of surprise before Ayla
looked down. "Or do you?"
Ayla looked up at him again, then down. "No. I do not have Clan
memories," she said.
"But . . . ?"
Ay la looked back at him. "What do you mean, 'but'?" she said. Her
expression was wary, almost frightened. She looked down again.
"You do not have Clan memories, but . . . you have something,
don't you? Something of the Clan?"
Ay la kept her head bowed. How could he know? She had never
told anyone, not even Jondalar. She hardly even admitted it to her
self, but she had never been quite the same afterward. There were
those times, that came on her . . .
"Does it have something to do with your skill as a medicine
woman?" Mamut asked.
She looked up and shook her head. "No," she said, her eyes plead
ing for him to believe her. "Iza teach me, I was very young, I think I
was not yet age of Rugie when she begin. Iza knew I did not have
memories, but she make me remember, make me tell her again and
again until I do not forget. She is very patient. Some people tell her,
is foolish to teach me. I cannot remember ... I am too stupid. She
tell them no, I am just different. I do not want to be different. I make
myself remember. I say to myself, over and over, even when Iza is
not teaching me. I learn to remember, my way. Then I make myself
learn fast so they won't think I am so stupid."
Rydag's eyes were opened big and round. More than anyone, he
understood exactly how she had felt, but he didn't know anyone had
ever felt the same way, especially someone like Ay la.
Mamut looked at her with amazement. "So you memorized Iza's
Clan 'memories.' That's quite an accomplishment. They go back gen
eration after generation, don't they?"
Rydag was listening closely now, sensing something very important
to him.
"Yes," Ay la said, "but I did not learn all her memories. Iza could
not teach me all she knew. She told me she did not even know how
much she knew, but she teach me how to learn. How to test, how to
try carefully. Then, when I am older, she said I was her daughter,
medicine woman of her line. I ask, how can I claim her line? I am not
her true daughter. I am not even Clan, I do not have memories. Then
she tell me I have something else, as good as memories, maybe better.
Iza thought I was born to line of medicine women of the Others, best
line, like her line was best. That is why I am medicine woman of her
line. She said someday I would be best."
"Do you know what she meant? Do you know what you have?"
Mamut asked.
"Yes, I think so. When someone not well, I see what is wrong. I see
look of eyes, color of face, smell of breath. I think about it, sometimes
know just looking, other times, know what to ask. Then make medi
cine to help. Not always same medicine. Sometimes new medicine,
like bouza in arthritis wash."
"Your Iza may have been right. The best Healers have that gift,"
the Mamut said, then a thought occurred to him, and he continued, "I
have noticed one difference between you and the Healers I know,
Ay la. You use plant remedies and other treatments to heal, Mamutoi
Healers call upon the assistance of the spirits as well."
"I do not know world of spirits. In Clan only mog-urs know. When
Iza want help of spirits, she ask Creb."
The Mamut stared hard into the eyes of the young woman. "Ayla,
would you like to have the help of the spirit world?"
"Yes, but I have no mog-ur to ask."
"You don't have to ask anyone. You can be your own mog-ur."
"Me? A mog-ur? But I am a woman. A woman of the Clan cannot
be a mog-ur," Ayla said, stunned at the suggestion.
"But you are not a woman of the Clan. You are Ayla of the ;
Mamutoi. You are a daughter of the Mammoth Hearth. The best '
Mamutoi Healers know the ways of the spirits. You are a good
Healer, Ayla, but how can you be the best if you cannot ask the help
of the spirit world?"
Ayla felt a great knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach. She was a
medicine woman, a good medicine woman, and Iza said someday she
would be the best. Now Mamut said she could not be the best with
out the help of the spirits, and he must be right. Iza always asked
Creb to help, didn't she?
"But I do not know world of spirits, Mamut," Ayla said, feeling
desperate, almost panicky.
Mamut leaned close to her, sensing the moment was right, and
drawing from some inner source a power to compel. "Yes, you do,"
he said, his tone commanding, "don't you, Ayla?"
Her eyes flew open in fear. "I do not want to know spirit world!"
she cried.
"You only fear that world because you don't understand it. I can
help you to understand it. I can help you to use it. You were born to
the Hearth of the Mammoth, born to the mysteries of the Mother, no
matter where you were born or where you go. You cannot help your
self, you are drawn to it, and it seeks you. You cannot escape it, but
with training and understanding, you can control it. You can make
the mysteries work for you. Ayla, you cannot fight your destiny, and
it is your destiny to Serve the Mother."
"I am medicine woman! That is my destiny."
"Yes, that is your destiny, to be a medicine woman, but that is
Serving the Mother, and someday, you may be called to serve in an
other way. You need to be prepared. Ay la, you want to be the best
medicine woman, don't you? Even you know that some sickness can
not be healed by medicines and treatments alone. How do you cure
someone who no longer wants to live? What medicine gives someone
the will to recover from a serious accident? When someone dies, what
treatment do you give the ones left behind?"
Ayla bowed her head. If someone had known what to do for her
when Iza died, she might not have lost her milk and had to give her
son to the other women with babies to nurse. Would she know what
to do if that happened to someone she was taking care of? Would
knowledge of the spirit world help her to know what to do?
Rydag was watching the tense scene, knowing he had been forgot
ten for the moment. He was afraid to move, afraid it would distract
them from something very important, though he wasn't sure what it
was.
"Ayla, what is it you fear? What happened to make you turn away?
Tell me about it," Mamut said, his voice persuasively warm.
Ayla got up suddenly. She picked up the warm furs and tucked
them around the old shaman. "Must cover, keep warm for poultice to
work," she said, obviously distracted and upset. Mamut lay back, al
lowed her to complete her treatment of him without objection, realiz
ing she needed time. She began to pace, nervous and agitated, her
eyes unfocused, staring into space or at some internal scene. She spun
around and faced him.
"I did not mean to!" she said.
"What didn't you mean to do?" Mamut said.
"Go into cave . . . see mog-urs."
"When did you go into the cave, Ayla?" Mamut knew the restric
tions against women participating in Clan rituals. She must have done
something she wasn't supposed to, broken some taboo, he thought.
"At Clan Gathering."
"You went to a Clan Gathering? They hold a Gathering once very
seven years, isn't that right?"
Ayla nodded.
"How long ago was this Gathering?"
She had to stop, think about it, and the concentration cleared her
mind a bit. "Durc was just born then, in spring. Next summer, will
be seven years! Next summer, is Clan Gathering. Clan will go to
Gathering, bring Ura back. Ura and Durc will mate. My son will be
man soon!"
"Is that true, Ay la? He will be only seven years when he mates?
Your son will be a man so young?" Mamut asked.
"No, not so young. Maybe three, four more years. He is ... like
Druwez. Not yet man. But mother of Ura ask me for Durc, for Ura.
She is child of mixed spirits, too. Ura will live with Brun and Ebra.
When Durc and Ura old enough, will mate."
Rydag stared at Ayla in disbelief. He didn't entirely understand all
the implications, but one thing seemed certain. She had a son, mixed
like him, who lived with the Clan!
"What happened at the Clan Gathering seven years ago, Ayla?"
Mamut asked, not wanting to let it drop when he had seemed so close
to getting an agreement from Ayla to begin training, although she had
brought up some intriguing points he would like to ask her about. He
was convinced that it was not only important, it was essential, for her
own sake.
Ayla closed her eyes with a pained expression. "Iza is too sick to go.
She tell Brun I am medicine woman, Brun make ceremony. She tell
me how to chew root to make drink for mog-urs. Tell only, cannot
show me. Is too . . . sacred to make for practice. Mog-urs at Clan
Gathering not want me, I am not Clan. But no one else knows, only
Iza's line. Finally say yes. Iza tell me not swallow juice when I chew,
spit into bowl, but I cannot. I swallow some. Later, I am confused, go
into cave, follow fires, find mog-urs. They not see me, but Creb
knows."
She became agitated again, paced back and forth. "It is dark, like
deep hole and I am falling." She hunched her shoulders, rubbed her
arms, as though she was cold. "Then Creb come, like you, Mamut,
but more. He ... he ... take me with him."
She was silent then, pacing. Finally she stopped and spoke again.
"Later, Creb is very angry and unhappy. And I am . . . different. I
never say, but sometimes I think I go back there, and I am . . .
frightened."
Mamut waited, to see if she was finished. He had some idea what
she had gone through. He had been allowed at a Clan ceremony. They
used certain plants in unique ways, and he had experienced something
unfathomable. He had tried, but he had never been able to duplicate
the experience, even after he became Mamut. He was about to say
something when Ayla spoke again.
"Sometimes I want to throw root away, but Iza tell me is sacred."
It took a moment for the meaning of Ay la's words to register, but
the shock of recognition nearly brought him to his feet.
"Are you saying you have that root with you?" he asked, finding it
difficult to control his excitement.
"When I leave, take medicine bag. Root is in medicine bag, in spe
cial red pouch."
"But is it still good? You say it's been more than three years since
you left. Wouldn't it lose potency in that time?"
"No, is prepared special way. After root is dried, keeps long time.
Many years."
"Ayla," the Mamut began, trying to phrase his words just right, "it
could be very fortunate that you have it still. You know, the best way
to overcome a fear is to face it. Would you be willing to prepare that
root again? Just for you and me?"
Ayla shivered at the thought. "I do not know, Mamut. I do not
want to. I am frightened."
"I don't mean right away," he said. "Not until you have had some
training and are prepared for it. And it should be a special ceremony,
with deep meaning and significance. Perhaps the Spring Festival, the
beginning of new life." He saw her shake again. "It's up to you, but
you do not have to decide now. All I ask is that you allow me to begin
training and preparation. When spring comes, if you don't feel ready,
you can say no."
"What is training?" Ayla asked.
"First, I would want you to learn certain songs and chants, and
how to use the mammoth skull. Then there is the meaning of certain
symbols and signs."
Rydag watched her close her eyes and frown. He hoped she would
agree. He had just learned more about his mother's people than he
ever knew, but he wanted to learn more. If Mamut and Ayla planned
a ceremony with Clan rituals, he was sure he would.
When Ayla opened them, her eyes looked troubled, but she swal
lowed hard, and then nodded. "Yes, Mamut. I try to face fear of spirit
world, if you will help me."
As Mamut lay back down, he didn't notice Ayla clutch the small
decorated bag she wore around her neck.
,u! Hu! Hu! That's three!" Crozie cried out, chuckling
shrewdly as she counted the discs with the marked side up that had
been caught in the shallow woven bowl.
"Your turn again," Nezzie said. They were sitting on the floor beside
the circular pit of dry loess soil, which Talut had used to map out
a hunting plan. "You still have seven to go. I'll bet two more." She
made two more lines on the smoothed surface of the drawing pit.
Crozie picked up the wicker bowl and shook the seven small ivory
discs together. The discs, which bellied out slightly so that they
rocked when they were on a flat surface, were plain on one side; the
other side was carved with lines and colored. Keeping the wide, shallow
bowl near the floor, Crozie flipped the discs into the air. Then,
moving it smartly across the red-bordered mat that outlined the
boundaries of the playing area, she caught the discs in the basket.
This time four of the discs had their marked side up and only three
were plain.
"Look at that! Four! Only three to go. I'll wager five more."
Ay la, sitting on a mat nearby, sipped tea from her wooden cup and
watched the old woman shake the discs together in the bowl again.
Crozie threw them up and caught them once more. This time five
discs had the side with marks carved into them showing.
"I win! Do you want to try again, Nezzie?"
"Well, maybe one more game," Nezzie said, reaching for the wicker
bowl and shaking it. She tossed the discs in the air, and caught them
in the flat basket.
"There's the black eye!" Crozie cried, pointing to a disc that had
turned up a side which was colored black. "You lose! That makes
twelve you owe me. Do you want to play another game?"
"No, you're too lucky today," Nezzie said, getting up.
"How about you, Ayla?" Crozie said. "Do you want to play a
game?"
"I am not good at that game," Ayla said. "I do not catch all the
pieces sometimes."
She had watched the gaming many times as the bitter cold of the

316

long season deepened, but had played little, and then only for practice.
She knew Crozie was a serious player who did not play for practice,
and had little patience with inept or indecisive players.
"Well, how about Knucklebones? You don't need any skill to play
that."
"I would play, but I do not know what to bet," Ay la said.
"Nezzie and I play for marks and settle it out later."
"Now or later, I do not know what to bet."
"Certainly you have something you can wager," Crozie said, somewhat
impatient to get on with the game. "Something of value."
"And you wager something of same value?"
The old woman nodded brusquely. "Of course."
Ayla frowned with concentration. "Maybe . . . furs, or leather, or
something to make. Wait! I think I know something. Jondalar played
with Mamut and bet skill. He made special knife when he lost. Is skill
good to bet, Crozie?"
"Why not?" she said. "I'll mark it, here," Crozie said, smoothing
the dirt with the flat side of the drawing knife. The woman picked up
two objects from the ground beside her and held them out, one in
each hand. "We'll count three marks to a game. If you guess right,
you get a mark. If you guess wrong, I get a mark. The first one to get
three, wins the game."
Ayla looked at the two metacarpal bones of a musk-ox which she
held, one painted with red and black lines, the other plain. "I should
pick the plain one, that is right?" she asked.
"That is right," Crozie said, a crafty gleam in her eye. "Are you
ready?" She rubbed both palms together with the knucklebones inside,
but she looked over at Jondalar sitting with Danug in the flint-
working area. "Is he really as good as they say?" she said, cocking her
head in his direction.
Ayla glanced toward the man, blond head bent close to the red-
haired boy's. When she looked back around, Crozie had both hands
behind her back.
"Yes. Jondalar is good," she said.
Had Crozie purposely tried to direct her attention elsewhere, to
distract her? she wondered. She looked at the woman carefully, noticing
the slight tilt of her shoulders, the way she held her head, the
expression on her face.
Crozie brought her hands in front of her again and held them out,
each closed into a fist around a bone. Ayla studied the wrinkled face,
which had become blank and unexpressive, and the white-knuckled
arthritic old hands. Was one hand pulled in just a trifle closer to her
chest? Ayla picked the other.

317

"You lose!" Crozie gloated, as she opened the hand to show the
bone marked with red and black. She drew a short line in the drawing
pit. "Are you ready to try again?"
"Yes," Ayla said.
This time Crozie began humming to herself as she rubbed the
bones together between her palms. She closed her eyes, then looked
up at the ceiling and stared, as though she saw something interesting
near the smoke hole. Ayla was tempted to look up to see what was so
fascinating, and started to follow Crozie's gaze. Then remembering
the cunning trick that had been used to divert her attention before,
she quickly looked back, in time to see the crafty old woman glance
between her palms as she snatched her hands behind her back. A
knowing smile of grudging respect flitted across the old face. The
movement of her shoulders and arm muscles gave the impression of
movement between the hidden hands. Did Crozie think Ayla had
glimpsed one of the bones, and was she exchanging the pieces? Or did
Crozie )ust want her to think so?
There was more to this game than guessing, Ayla thought, and it
was more interesting to play than to watch. Crozie showed her bony-
knuckled fists again. Ayla looked at her carefully, not making it obvi
ous. It wasn't polite to stare, for one thing, and on a more subtle level,
she didn't want Crozie to know what she was looking for. It was hard
to tell, the woman was an old hand at the game, but it did seem that
the other shoulder was a shade higher, and wasn't the other hand
pulled in slightly this time? Ayla chose the hand she thought Crozie
wanted her to pick, the wrong one.
"Ha! You lost again!" Crozie said, elated, then quickly added, "Are
you ready?"
Before Ayla could nod in agreement, Crozie had her hands behind
her back, and out for her to guess, but she was leaning forward this
time. Ayla resisted, smiling. The old woman was always changing
something, trying to keep from giving any consistent signal. Ayla
chose the hand she thought was right, and was rewarded with a mark
in the drawing pit. The next time, Crozie changed her position again,
lowering her hands, and Ayla guessed wrong.
"That's three! I win. But you can't really test your luck with only
one game. Do you want to play another?" Crozie said.
"Yes. Would like to play again," Ayla said.
Crozie smiled, but when Ayla guessed correctly the next two times,
her expression was much less agreeable. She frowned as she rubbed
the musk-ox knucklebones together a third time.
"Look over there! What's that?" Crozie said, pointing with her
chin, in a blatant attempt to distract the young woman.
Ayla looked, and when she looked back, the old woman was smiling
again. The young woman took her time selecting the hand which
held the winning bone, though she had decided quickly. She didn't
want Crozie to feel too upset, but she had learned to interpret the
unconscious body signals the woman made when playing the game,
and she knew in which hand the plain bone was as clearly as if Crozie
had told her.
It would not have pleased Crozie to know she was giving herself
away so easily, but Ayla had an unusual advantage. She was so accustomed
to observing and interpreting subtle details of posture and expression,
it was almost instinctive. They were an essential part of the
language of the Clan that communicated nuances and shades of meaning.
She had noticed that body movements and postures also expressed
meaning among these people who communicated primarily
with verbal sounds, but that it was not purposeful.
Ayla had been so busy trying to learn the spoken language of her
new people she hadn't made any real effort to understand their unconscious
unspoken language. Now that she was comfortably, if not
precisely, fluent, she could expand her communication to include language
skills that were not normally considered a part of speaking. The
game she played with Crozie made her realize how much she could
learn about her own kind of people by applying the knowledge and
insight she had learned from the Clan. And if the Clan could not lie
because body language was impossible to hide, the ones she had
known as the Others could keep secrets from her even less. They
didn't even know they were "talking." She wasn't fully able to interpret
the body signals of the Others, yet . . . but she was learning.
Ayla chose the hand that held the plain musk-ox knucklebone, and
with a jab of irritation, Crozie marked a third line for Ayla. "The luck
is yours, now," she said. "Since I won a game, and you won a game,
we might as well call it even and forget the bets."
"No," Ayla said. "We bet skill. You win my skill. My skill is medicine.
I will give you. I want your skill."
"What skill?" Crozie said. "My skill at gaming? That's what I do
best these days, and you already beat me. What do you want me for?"
"No, not gaming. I want to make white leather," Ayla said.
Crozie gaped in surprise. "White leather?"
"White leather, like tunic you wear at adoption."
"I haven't made white leather in years," Crozie said.
"But you can make?" Ayla asked.
"Yes." Crozie's eyes softened with a distant look. "I learned as a
girl, from my mother. At one time it was sacred to the Hearth of the
Crane, or so the legends say. No one else could wear it . . ." The old
woman's eyes hardened. "But that was before the Crane Hearth fell
into such low esteem that even Bride Price is a pittance." She looked
hard at the young woman. "What is white leather to you?"
"It is beautiful," Ayla said, which brought an involuntary softening
to Crozie's eyes again. "And white is sacred to someone," she fin
ished, looking down at her hands. "I want to make special tunic the
way someone likes. Special white tunic."
Ayla didn't notice Crozie glance toward Jondalar, who happened at
that moment to be staring at them. He looked aside quickly, seem
ingly embarrassed. The old woman shook her head at the young one,
whose head was still bowed.
"And what do I get for it?" Crozie said.
"You will teach me?" Ayla said, looking up and smiling. She no
ticed a gleam of avarice in the old eyes, but something else, too.
Something more distant, and softer. "I will make medicine for arthri
tis," she said, "like Mamut."
'Who says I need it?" Crozie snapped. "I'm not nearly as old as he
is."
"No, you are not so old, Crozie, but you have pain. You do not say
you have pain, you make other complaint, but I know, because I am
medicine woman. Medicine cannot cure aching bones and joints,
nothing can make it go away, but can make you feel better. Hot poul
tice will make easier to move and bend, and I will make medicine for
pain, some for morning, some for other times," Ayla said. Then sens
ing the woman needed some way to save face, she added, "I need to
make medicine for you, to pay my bet. It is my skill."
"Well, I guess I should let you pay your bet," Crozie said, "but I
want one more thing."
"What? I will do, if I can."
"I want more of that soft white tallow that makes dry old skin feel
smooth . . . and young," she said, quietly. Then she straightened up
and snapped, "My skin always did get chapped in winter."
Ayla smiled. "I will do. Now, you tell me what is best hide for
white leather, and I will ask Nezzie what is in cold rooms."
"Deerskin. Reindeer is good, though it is best to use it as a fur, for
warmth. Any deer will do, red deer, elk, megaceros. Before you get
the hide, though, you will need something else."
"What is that?"
"You will need to save your water."
"My water?"
"The water you pass. Not only yours, anyone's, though your own
is best. Start collecting it now, even before you thaw out a deerskin.
It must be left out where it's warm for a while," Crozie said.
"I usually pass water behind the curtain, in the basket with mam
moth dung and ashes in it. It is thrown out."
"Don't go in the basket. Save it, in a mammoth skull basin, or a
tight basket. Something that won't leak."
"Why is that water needed?"
Crozie paused and appraised the young woman before she an
swered. "I'm not getting any younger," she said, finally, "and I have
no one, except Fralie . . . any more. Usually a woman passes her skills
on to her children and grandchildren but Fralie has no time, and not
much interest in working leather—she likes stitching and beadwork—
and she has no daughters. Her sons . . . well, they're young. Who
knows? But my mother gave me the knowledge, and I should pass it
on . . . to someone. It's hard work, treating hides, but I've seen your
leatherwork. Even the furs and skins you brought show skill, care,
and that is necessary to make white leather. I haven't even thought of
making it for many years, and no one else has shown much interest,
but you asked. So I will tell you."
The woman bent forward and clutched Ay la's hand. "The secret of
white leather is in the water you pass. That may seem strange to you,
but it is true. After it is left in a warm place for a while, it changes.
Then, if you soak hides in it, all the bits of fat that might be left come
out, and any grease stains. The hair will come out more quickly, it
won't rot easily, and it stays soft even without smoking, so it won't be
tan or brown. In fact, it whitens the hide, still not true white, but
close. Afterward, when it is washed and wrung out several times, and
worked dry, it is ready for the white color."
If someone had asked her, Crozie could not have explained that
urea, which was the major component of urine, would decompose,
become ammoniacal, in a warm environment. She only knew that if
urine was allowed to go stale, it became something else. Something
that would both dissolve grease and act as a bleach, and in the same
process, help to preserve the leather from bacterial decay. She didn't
have to know why, or call it ammonia, she only had to know that it
worked.
"Chalk ... do we have any chalk?" Crozie asked.
"Wymez does. He said the flint he just brought back came from a
chalk cliff, and he still has several stones coated with it," Ay la said.
"Why did you ask Wymez about chalk? How did you know I
would agree to show you?" Crozie asked suspiciously.
"I did not. I have been wanting to make a white tunic for a long
time. If you did not show me, I would try myself, but I did not know
about saving the water, and I would not have thought of it. I am
happy you will show me to do it right," Ayla said.
"Hmmf," was Crozie's only comment, convinced, but not wanting
to admit it. "Be sure you make that soft white tallow." Then she
added, "And, make some for the leather, too. I think it would be good
to mix with the chalk."

Ay la held the drape aside and looked out. The late afternoon wind
moaned and keened a dreary dirge, a fitting accompaniment to the
drab, bleak landscape and the gray, overcast sky. She longed for some
relief from the confining bitter cold, but the oppressive season seemed
as though it would never come to an end. Whinney snorted and she
turned around to see Mamut coming into the horse hearth. She smiled
at him.
Ayla had felt a deep respect for the old shaman from the beginning,
but since he had begun training her, her respect had grown into love.
Partly, she perceived a strong similarity between the tall, thin, incredibly
old shaman, and the short, crippled, one-eyed magician of the
Clan, not in appearance but in nature. It was almost as though she
had found Creb again, or at least his counterpart. Both exhibited a
deep reverence and understanding for the world of the spirits, though
the spirits they revered had different names; both could command
awesome powers, though each was physically frail; and both were
wise in the ways of people. But perhaps the strongest reason for her
love was that, like Creb, Mamut had welcomed her, helped her to
understand, and taken her in as a daughter of his hearth.
"I was looking for you, Ayla. I thought you might be here, with <
your horses," Mamut said. (
"I was looking outside, wishing it was spring," Ayla said.
"This is the time most people start wishing for a change, for some- j
thing new to do or see. They are getting bored, sleeping more. I think
that's why we have more feasts and celebrations in the last part of
winter. The Laughing Contest will be coming soon. Most people enjoy
that one." I
"What is the Laughing Contest?"
"Just what it sounds like. Everyone tries to make everyone else
laugh. Some people wear funny clothes, or wear their clothes backward,
make funny faces at each other, act funny, make jokes about ,
each other, play tricks on each other. And if anyone gets angry about j
it, they get laughed at all the more. Almost everyone looks forward to J
it, but no celebration is as eagerly anticipated as the Spring Festival.
In fact, that's why I was looking for you," Mamut said. "There are
still many things you should learn before then."
"Why is the Spring Festival so special?" Ayla wasn't sure she was
anticipating it.
"For many reasons, I suppose. It is both our most solemn and our
happiest celebration. It marks the end of the long deep cold, and the
beginning of warmth. It is said that if you watch the cycle of seasons
one year, you will understand life. Most people count three seasons.
Spring is the season of birth. In the gush of Her birth waters, the
spring floods, the Great Earth Mother brings forth new life again.
Summer, the warm season, is the time of growth and increase. Winter
is the 'little death.' In spring, life is renewed again, reborn. Three
seasons are enough for most purposes, but the Mammoth Hearth
counts five. The Mother's sacred number is five."
In spite of her initial reservations, Ayla found herself fascinated by
the training Mamut had insisted upon. She was learning so much:
new ideas, new thoughts, even new ways of thinking. It was exciting
to discover and think about so many new things, to be included in
stead of excluded. Knowledge of spirits, knowledge of numbers, even
knowledge of hunting, had been kept from her when she had lived
with the Clan; it was reserved for the men. Only mog-urs and their
acolytes studied them in depth, and no woman could become a mog-
ur. Women were not even admitted to discussions about such con
cepts as spirits or numbers. Hunting had been taboo for her, too, but
they didn't bar women from listening; they had just assumed no
woman could learn.
"I would like to go over the songs and chants we have been practic
ing, and I want to begin showing you something special. Symbols. I
think you will find them interesting. Some are about medicine."
"Medicine symbols?" Ayla asked. Of course she was interested.
They walked into the Mammoth Hearth together.
"Are you going to do anything with the white leather?" Mamut
asked, putting mats by the fire near his bed. "Or are you going to save
it, like the red?"
"I don't know about the red yet, but I want to make a special tunic
with the white. I am learning to sew, but I feel very clumsy. It turned
out so perfect, I don't want to spoil the white until I get better.
Deegie is showing me, and Fralie, sometimes, when Frebec doesn't
make it difficult for her."
Ayla slivered some bone and added it to the flames while Mamut
brought out a rather thin oval section of ivory with a large curved
surface. The oval outline had been etched into a mammoth tusk with
a stone chisel, then repeated until it was a deep groove. A sharp blow
accurately placed at one end detached the flake of ivory. Mamut
picked out a piece of bone charcoal from the fire as Ayla got a mam
moth skull and a hammer-shaped drumstick made of antler and sat
down beside him.
"Before we practice with the drum, I want to show you certain
symbols that we use to help us memorize things, like songs, stories,
proverbs, places, times, names, anything that someone wants to remember,"
Mamut began. "You have been teaching us hand signals
and signs, and I know you've noticed that we use certain gestures,
too, though not as many as the Clan. We wave goodbye and beckon to
someone if we want him to come, and it is understood. We use other
hand symbols, particularly when we are describing something, or telling
a story, or when One Who Serves is conducting a ceremony. Here
is one that will be easy. It is similar to a Clan symbol."
Mamut made a circular motion with his hand, palm facing outward.
"That means 'all,' everyone, everything," he explained, then picked
up the charcoal. "Now, I can make the same motion with this piece of
charcoal on the ivory, see?" he said, drawing a circle. "Now that symbol
means 'all' and any time you see it, even if it is drawn by another
Mamut, you will know it means 'all.'"
The old shaman enjoyed teaching Ayla. She was bright and quick
to learn, but even more, her pleasure at learning was so transparent.
Her face showed her feelings as he explained, her curiosity and interest,
and her sheer wonder when she comprehended.
"I never would have thought of that! Can anyone learn this knowledge?"
she asked.
"Some knowledge is sacred, and only those pledged to the Mammoth
Hearth may be told, but most things can be learned by anyone
who shows an interest. It often turns out that those who show great
interest eventually dedicate themselves to the Mammoth Hearth. The
sacred knowledge is often hidden behind a second meaning, or even a
third meaning. Most people know this"--he drew another circle on
the ivory-- "means 'all,' but it has another meaning. There are many
symbols for the Great Mother, this is one of them. It means Mut, the
Creator of All Life. Many other lines and shapes have meaning," he
continued. "This means 'water,'" he said, drawing a zigzag line.
"That was on the map, when we hunted the bison," she said. "I
think it meant river."
"Yes, it can mean river. How it is drawn, or where it is drawn, or
what it is drawn with can change the meaning. If it is like this," he
said, making another zigzag with some additional lines, "it means the
water is not drinkable. And like the circle, it has a second meaning. It
is the symbol for feelings, passions, for love, and sometimes for hate.
It can also be a reminder for a saying we have: the river runs silent
when the water is deep."
Ayla frowned, sensing some meaning for her in the saying.
"Most Healers give the symbols meanings to help them remember,
like reminders for sayings, except the sayings are about medicine or
healing, and are not usually understood by anyone else," Mamut said.
"I don't know many of them, but when we go to the Summer Meet
ing, you will meet other Healers. They can tell you more."
Ay la was interested. She remembered meeting other medicine
women at the Clan Gathering, and how much she had learned from
them. They had shared their treatments and remedies, even taught
her new rhythms, but best of all was having other people to share
experiences with. "I would like to learn more," she said. "I know only
Clan medicine."
"I think you have more knowledge than you know, Ay la, certainly
more than many of the Healers there will believe, at first. Some could
learn from you, but I hope you understand that it may take some time
before you are completely accepted." The old man watched her frown
again, and wished there was some way he could ease her initial intro
duction. He could think of several reasons why it would not be easy
for her to meet other Mamutoi, especially in large numbers. But no
need to worry about that yet, he thought, and shifted the subject.
"There is something about Clan medicine I'd like to ask you. Is it all
just the 'memories'? Or do you have ways to help you remember?"
"How plants look, in seed, and shoot, and ripe; where they grow;
what they are good for; how to mix, prepare and use them; that is
from memory. Other kinds of treatments are remembered, too. I
think about a new way to use something, but that is because I know
how to use it," she said.
"Don't you use any symbols or reminders?"
Ay la thought for a moment, then, smiling, got up and brought back
her medicine bag. She dumped out the contents in front of her, an
assortment of small pouches and packets carefully tied with cords and
small thongs. She picked up two of them.
"This one has mint," she said, showing Mamut one, "and this one
has rose hips."
"How do you know? You haven't opened them, or smelled them."
"I know because mint has a cord made from the stringy bark of a
certain bush, and there are two knots on one end of the cord. The
cord on the packet of rose hips is from the long hair of a horse tail,
and it has three knots in a row, close together," Ayla said. "I can
smell difference, too—if I don't have a cold, but some very strong
medicine has little smell. It is mixed with strong-smelling leaves of
plant with little medicine, so wrong medicine will not be used. Differ
ent cord, different knots, different smell, sometimes different packet.
They are reminders, right?"
"Clever . . . very clever," Mamut said. "Yes, they are reminders.
But you have to remember the cords and the knots for each one, don't
you? Still, it's a good way to make sure you are using the proper
medicine."

Ayla's eyes were open, but she lay still and didn't move. It was
dark except for the dim nightlight of banked fires. Jondalar was just
climbing into bed, trying to make as little disturbance as possible as
he moved around her. She had thought of moving to the inside once,
but decided against it. She didn't want to make it easy for him to slip
quietly in and out of bed. He rolled up in his separate furs and lay on
his side, facing the wall, unmoving. She knew he did not go to sleep
quickly, and she ached to reach over and touch him, but she'd been
rebuffed before and didn't want to chance it again. It had hurt when
he said he was tired or pretended to be asleep, or did not respond to
her.
Jondalar waited until the sound of her breathing indicated that she
had finally fallen off to sleep. Then he quietly rolled over, got up on
an elbow and filled his eyes with the sight of her. Her tousled hair
was strewn across the furs, and one arm was flung outside the covers,
baring a breast. A warmth emanated from her and a faint woman-
scent. He could feel himself shaking with wanting to touch her, but
he felt certain she wouldn't want him bothering her when she was
sleeping. After his confused and angry reaction to her night with
Ranee, he feared she didn't want him any more. Lately, every time
they accidentally brushed together, she flinched back. Several times
he'd considered moving to a different bed, even a different hearth, but
as difficult as it was to sleep beside her, it would be far worse to sleep
away from her.
A wispy tendril of hair lay across her face and moved with each
breath she took. He reached over and gently moved it aside, then
carefully lowered himself back down to the bed, and allowed himself
to relax. He closed his eyes and fell asleep to the sound of her
breathing.

Ay la awoke with the feeling that someone was looking at her. The
fires were built up and daylight was coming in through the partially
uncovered fireplace hole. She turned her head to see Ranee's dark
intense eyes quietly watching her from the Fox Hearth. She smiled
sleepily at him, and was rewarded with a big, delighted smile. She
was sure the place beside her would be empty, but she reached across
the piled-up furs just to make sure. Then she pushed back her covers
and sat up. She knew Ranee would wait until she was up and dressed
before coming into the Mammoth Hearth to visit.

It had made her uncomfortable when she first became aware that he
watched her all the time. In a way, it was nattering and she knew
there was no malice in his attention, but within the Clan, it was con
sidered discourteous to stare across the boundary stones into another
family's living area. There had been no more real privacy in the cave
of the clan than there was in the earthlodge of the Mamutoi, but
Ranee's attention felt like a mild intrusion upon her privacy—such as
it was—and accentuated an undercurrent of tension she felt. Someone
was always around. It had been no different when she lived with the
clan, but these were people whose ways she had not grown up with.
The differences were often subtle, but in the close proximity of the
earthlodge, they were heightened, or she was more sensitive to them.
Occasionally, she wished she could get away. After three years of
loneliness in the valley, she never imagined the time would come
when she would wish to be alone, but there were times when she
longed for the solitude, and the freedom, of loneliness.
Ay la hurried through her usual morning routine, eating only a few
bites from the food left over from the night before. The open smoke
holes usually meant it was clear outside, and she decided to go out
with the horses. When she pushed aside the drape that led to the
annex, she saw Jondalar and Danug with the horses, and paused to
reconsider.
Tending to the needs of the horses, either inside the annex, or
when the weather allowed, outside, gave her some respite from people
when she wanted a moment to herself, but Jondalar also seemed to
like to spend time with them. When she saw him with them, she often
stayed away because he left them to her whenever she joined them,
with mumbled comments about not wanting to interfere in her time
with her horses. She wanted to allow him time with the animals. Not
only did they provide a connection between her and Jondalar, their
mutual care of the horses required communication, however reserved.
His desire to be with them and sensitivity toward them made her
think that he might need their companionship even more than she did.
Ay la went on into the horse hearth. Perhaps with Danug there,
Jondalar wouldn't be so quick to leave. As she approached them, he
was already backing away, but she rushed to say something that
would keep him engaged in conversation.
"Have you thought, yet, about how you are going to teach Racer,
Jondalar?" Ayla asked. She smiled a greeting at Danug.
"Teach him what?" Jondalar asked, a little disconcerted by her
question.
"Teach him to let you ride him."
He had been thinking about it. In fact, he had just been making a
comment to Danug, in what he hoped was a casual way. He didn't
want to betray his increasingly strong desire to ride the animal. Par
ticularly when he felt thwarted by his inability to deal with Ay la's
apparent attraction to Ranee, he imagined himself galloping across the
steppes on the back of the brown stallion, as free as the wind, but he
wasn't sure if he still should be. Perhaps she would want Ranee to
ride Whinney's colt, now.
"I have thought about it, but I didn't know if ... how to begin,"
Jondalar said.
"I think you should keep doing what we started in the valley. Get
him used to things on his back. Get him used to carrying loads. I'm
not sure how to teach him to go where you want him to go. He will
follow on a rope, but I don't know how he can follow a rope when
you are on his back," Ay la said, talking fast, making suggestions on
the spur of the moment, trying to keep him involved.
Danug watched her, then Jondalar, wishing he could say or do
something that would suddenly make everything right, not only be
tween them, but for everyone. An awkward moment of silence settled
uneasily around them when Ayla stopped speaking. Danug rushed to
fill the gap.
"Maybe he could hold the rope from behind, while he's sitting on
the horse's back, instead of holding Racer's mane," the young man
said.
Suddenly, as though someone had struck a piece of flint with iron
pyrite in the dark lodge, Jondalar could visualize exactly what Danug
had said. Instead of backing away, looking as though he was ready to
sprint off at the first opportunity, Jondalar closed his eyes and wrin
kled his forehead in concentration. "You know, that might work,
Danug!" he said. Caught up in his excitement about an idea that
might be a solution to a problem he had been worrying about, he
forgot for a moment his uncertainty about his future. "Perhaps I could
fasten something to his halter and hold it from behind. A strong cord
... or a thin leather strap . . . two of them, maybe."
"I have some narrow thongs," Ayla said, noticing that he seemed
less strained. She was pleased about his continuing interest in training
the young stallion, and curious how it might work. "I will get them
for you. They are inside."
Jondalar followed her through the inner arch into the Mammoth
Hearth. Then stopped suddenly as she went to the storage platform to
get the thong. Ranee was talking to Deegie and Tronic, and turned to
flash his winning smile at Ayla. Jondalar felt his stomach chum,
closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He started edging back toward
the opening. Ayla turned to give him a narrow roll of flexible leather.
"This is lashing, it is strong," she said, giving it to him. "I made it
last winter." She looked up into the troubled blue eyes that revealed
the pain, the confusion, and the indecision that tormented him. "Be
fore you came to my valley, Jondalar. Before the Spirit of the Great
Cave Lion chose you, and led you there."
He took the roll and hurried out. He couldn't stay. Whenever the
carver came to the Mammoth Hearth, he had to leave. He couldn't be
nearby when the dark man and Ayla were together, which was more
often recently. He had watched from a distance when the younger
people gathered in the larger space of the ceremonial area to spread
out their work, share ideas and skills. He heard them practice music
and sing, listened to their jokes and laughter. And every time he
heard Ay la's laughter coupled with Ranee's, he winced.
Jondalar put the roll of lashing down near the young animal's
halter, took his parka from the peg in the annex, and went outside,
smiling bleakly at Danug on his way. He slipped it over his head,
pulled the hood tight around his face, and stuffed his hands in the
mittens dangling from the sleeves, then walked up to the steppes.
The strong wind blowing a gray rack across the sky was no more
than normal for the season, and the sun shining intermittently be
tween the high broken clouds seemed to have little effect on the tem
perature that remained well below freezing. The snow cover was
scant, and the dry air crackled and stole moisture from his lungs in
clouds of steam with each breath. He would not be out long, but the
cold calmed him with its insistent demand to put survival ahead of
every other consideration. He didn't know why he reacted so strongly
to Ranee. Part of it, without doubt, was his fear of losing Ayla to
him, and part was visualizing them together in his imagination, but
there was also a nagging guilt about his own hesitation in accepting
her fully and without reservation. Part of him believed Ranee de
served her more than he did. But one thing at least seemed certain.
Ayla wanted him and not Ranee to try to learn to ride Racer.
Danug watched Jondalar start up the slope, then let the drape fall
back, and walked slowly back inside. Racer neighed and tossed his
head as the young man walked past, and Danug looked at the horse
and smiled. Nearly everyone seemed to enjoy the animals now, pat
ting and talking to them, though not with Ayla's familiarity. It
seemed so natural to have horses in an annex of the lodge. How easy
it was to forget the wonder and the amazement he had felt the first
time he had seen them. He passed through the second archway, and
saw Ayla standing beside her bed platform. He paused, then joined
her.
"He's taking a walk on the steppes," he said to Ayla. "It's not a
good idea to go out alone when it's cold and windy, but it's not as bad
out as it can be sometimes."
"Are you trying to tell me he will be all right, Danug?" Ayla smiled
at him, and he felt foolish for a moment. Of course Jondalar would be
all right. He had traveled far, he could take care of himself. "Thank
you," she said, "for your help, and for wanting to help," reaching
over and touching his hand. Her hand was cool, but her touch warm,
and he felt it with that special intensity she aroused in him, but on a
deeper level, he felt that she had offered something more, her
friendship.
"Maybe I'll go out and check some snares I set," he said.

"Try it this way, Ayla," Deegie said.
Deftly, she poked a hole near the edge of the leather with a small
bone, a hard, tough bone from the leg of an arctic fox which had a
natural sharp point, that had been made even sharper with sandstone.
Then she laid a fine piece of sinew thread over the hole, and with the
point of the sewing awl, pushed it through the hole. She grabbed it
with her fingers from the back side of the leather and pulled the sinew
through. At a corresponding place on another piece of leather which
she was sewing to the first piece, she made another hole and repeated
the process.
Ayla took the practice pieces of leather back. Using a square of
tough mammoth skin as a thimble, she pushed the sharp arctic fox
bone through the leather, making a small perforation. Then she tried
to lay the thin sinew over the hole and push it through, but she
couldn't seem to master the technique, and again felt thoroughly
frustrated.
"I don't think I'll ever learn this, Deegie!" she wailed.
"You just have to practice, Ayla. I've been doing this since I was a
girl. Of course it's easy for me, but you'll get it, if you keep trying.
It's the same idea as cutting a little slit with a flint point and pulling
leather lashing through to make working clothes, and you can do that
just fine."
"But it is much harder to do with fine sinew and tiny holes. I can't
get the sinew to go through. I feel so clumsy! I don't know how
Tronic can sew on beads and quills like she does," Ayla said, looking
at Fralie, who was rolling a long thin cylinder of ivory in the groove
of a block of sandstone. "I was hoping she would show me, so I could
decorate the white tunic after I made it, but I don't know if I'll even
be able to make it the way I want."
"You will, Ayla. I don't think there is anything you can't do if you
really want to," Tronic said.
"Except sing!" Deegie said.
Everyone laughed, including Ay la. Though her speaking voice was
low-pitched and pleasant, singing was not one of her gifts. She could
maintain a limited range of tones sufficient for the lulling monotony of
a chant, and she did have an ear for music. She knew when she was
off and she could whistle a melody, but any facility of voice was be
yond her. The virtuosity of someone like Barzec was sheer wonder.
She could listen to him all day, if he would consent to sing so long.
Fralie, too, had a fine, clear, high, sweet voice, which Ayla loved to
hear. In fact, most members of the Lion Camp could sing, but not
Ayla.
Jokes were made about her singing and her voice, which included
comments about her accent, though it was more speech mannerism
than accent. She laughed as much as anyone. She couldn't sing and
she knew it, and if they joked about her voice, many people had also,
individually, praised her speech. They took it as a compliment that
she had become so fluent in their language, so fast, and the joking
about her singing made her feel that she belonged.
Everyone had some trait or characteristic that the others poked fun
at: Talut's size, Ranee's color, Tulie's strength. Only Frebec took of-
fense, so they joked about that behind his back, in sign language. The
Lion Camp had also become fluent, without even thinking about it, in
a modified version of the language of the Clan. As a result, Ayla
wasn't the only one feeling the warmth of acceptance. Rydag, too,
was included in the fun.
Ayla glanced toward him. He was sitting on a mat with Hartal on
his lap, keeping the active baby occupied with a pile of bones, mostly
deer vertebrae, so he wouldn't go crawling after his mother and scat
ter the beads she was helping Fralie make. Rydag was good with the
babies. He had the patience to play with them and entertain them as
long as they wished.
He smiled at her. "You not only one cannot sing, Ayla," he signed.
She smiled back. No, she thought, she was not the only one who
could not sing. Rydag could not sing. Or talk. Or run and play. Or
even live out a full life. In spite of her medicine, she didn't know how
long he would live. He could die that day, or he could survive several
years. She could only love him each day that he lived, and hope she
could love him the next.
"Hartal cannot sing, either!" he signaled, and laughed with his odd
guttural laugh.
Ayla chuckled, shaking her head with bemused delight. He had
known what she was thinking, and made a joke about it that was
clever, and funny.
Nezzie stood near the fireplace and watched them. Maybe you do
not sing, Rydag, but you can talk now, she thought. He was stringing
several vertebrae on a heavy cord through the spinal cord hole, and
rattling them together for the baby. Without the hand-signal words,
and the increased awareness they had brought of Rydag's intelligence
and understanding, he would never have been allowed the responsibil
ity of tending Hartal so his mother could work, not even right beside
her. What a difference Ayla had brought to Rydag's life. This winter,
no one questioned his essential humanity, except Frebec, and Nezzie
was sure that was more out of stubbornness than belief.
Ayla continued to struggle with the awl and sinew. If she could
only get the fine threads of sinew to go into the hole and out the other
side. She tried to do it the way Deegie had shown her, but it was a
knack that came from years of experience, and she was a long way
from that. She dropped the practice pieces in her lap in frustration,
and began watching the others making ivory beads.
A sharp blow to a mammoth tusk at the proper angle caused a fairly
thin, curved section to flake off. Grooves were cut in the large flake
with chisellike burins by etching a line and retracing it several times
until the long pieces broke off. They were shaved and whittled into
rough cylinders with scrapers and knives that peeled off long curled
slivers, then they were rubbed smooth with sandstone kept wet to be
more abrasive. Sharp flint blades, given a sawtooth edge and hafted to
a long handle, were used to saw the ivory cylinders into small sec
tions, and then the edges of them were smoothed.
The final step was to make a hole in the center, to string them on a
cord, or to sew them to a garment. It was done with a special tool.
Flint, carefully shaped into a long thin point by a skilled toolmaker,
was inserted into the end of a long narrow rod, perfectly straight and
smooth. The point of the hand drill was centered on a small, thick
disc of ivory and then, similar to the process of making fire, the rod
was rotated back and forth between the palms while exerting down
ward pressure, until a hole was bored through.
Ayla watched Tronic twirl the rod between her palms, concentrat
ing on making the hole just right. It occurred to her that they were
going to a lot of work to make something that had no apparent use.
Beads were no help in the securing or preparing of food, and they did
not make the clothing, to which they were attached, more useful. But
she began to understand why the beads had such value. The Lion
Camp could never have afforded such an investment of time and effort
without the security of warmth and comfort, and the assurance of
adequate food. Only a cooperative, well-organized group could plan
and store enough necessities ahead to assure the leisure to make beads.
Therefore, the more beads they wore, the more it showed that the
Lion Camp was a flourishing, desirable place to live, and the more
respect and status they could command from the other Camps.
She picked up the leather in her lap and the bone awl, and made
the last hole she had made a little bigger, then she tried to poke the
sinew through the hole with the awl. She got it through, and pulled it
from the back, but it didn't have the neat look of Deegie's tight
stitches. She glanced up again, discouraged, and watched Rydag
thread a backbone segment on a rope through the natural hole of its
spinal cord. He picked up another vertebra and poked the rather stiff
rope through its hole.
Ay la took a deep breath, and picked up her work again. It wasn't so
hard forcing the point through the leather, she thought. She almost
pushed the whole bone through the hole. If only she could attach the
thread to it, she thought, it would be easy. . . .
She stopped and examined the small bone carefully. Then she
looked at Rydag tying the ends of the rope together and shaking the
backbone rattle for Hartal. She watched Tronic spinning the hand
drill between her palms, then turned to look at Fralie smoothing an
ivory cylinder in the groove in a small block of sandstone. Then she
closed her eyes, recalling Jondalar making spear points out of bone in
her valley the previous summer. . . .
She looked at the bone-sewing awl again. "Deegie!" she cried.
"What?" the young woman answered, startled.
"I think I know a way to do it!"
"Do what?"
"Get the sinew to go through the hole. Why not put a hole through
the back end of a bone with a sharp point and then put the thread
through the hole? Like Rydag put that rope through those backbones.
Then, you can push it all the way through the leather and the thread
will follow it. What do you think? Would it work?" Ayla asked.
Deegie closed her eyes for a moment, then took the awl from Ayla
and looked it over. "It would have to be a very small hole."
"The holes Tronic is making in those beads are small. Would it
have to be much smaller?"
"This bone is very hard, and tough. It would not be easy to make a
hole in it, and I don't see a good place for a hole."
"Couldn't we make something out of mammoth tusk, or some other
kind of bone? Jondalar makes long, narrow spear points out of bone,
and smooths and sharpens them with sandstone, like Fralie is doing.
Couldn't we make something like a tiny spear point, and then drill a
hole in the other end?" Ayla asked, tense with excitement.
Deegie considered again. "We'd have to get Wymez or someone to
make a smaller drill, but ... it might work. Ay la, I think it might
work!"

Nearly everyone seemed to be milling around the Mammoth
Hearth. They were gathered together in groups of three or four, chatting,
but expectancy was in the air. Word had somehow been passed
that Ay la was going to try out the new thread-puller. Several people
had worked on developing it, but since it had been her idea originally,
Ayla was going to be the first to use it. Wymez and Jondalar had
worked together to devise a way to make a flint borer small enough to
make the hole. Ranee had selected the ivory, and using his carving
tools, had shaped several very small, long, pointed cylinders. Ayla
had smoothed and sharpened them to her satisfaction, but Tronic had
actually bored the hole.
Ayla could sense the excitement. When she got out the practice
leather and the sinew, everyone gathered around, all pretense that
they were only casually visiting forgotten. The hard, dry deer tendon,
brown as old leather and as big around as a finger, resembled a stick
of wood. It was pounded until it became a bundle of white collagen
fibers that separated easily into filaments of sinew, which could be
coarse strings or thin, fine thread depending upon what was wanted.
She felt the moment needed drama and took time examining the
sinew, then finally pulled a thin filament away. She wet it with her
mouth to soften it, and bind it together, then holding the thread-
puller in her left hand, she examined the small hole critically. This
could be difficult, getting the thread through the hole. The sinew was
starting to dry, and harden slightly, which made it easier. Ayla carefully
poked the sinew thread into the tiny hole, and breathed a small
sigh of relief when she pulled it through, and held up the ivory sewing
point with thread dangling from the end.
Next she picked up the piece of worn leather she was using for
practice, and near an edge, she jabbed in the point, making a perforation.
But this time she pushed it through, and smiled when she saw it
pulling the thread after itself. She held it up to show, to exclamations
of wonder. Then she picked up another piece of leather that she
wanted to attach, and repeated the process, though she had to use the
square of mammoth hide as a thimble to force the point through the
thicker, tougher hide. She pulled the two pieces together, and then
made a second stitch, and held the two pieces up to show.
"It works!" Ayla said, with a big smile of victory.
She gave the leather and needle to Deegie, who made a few
stitches. "It does work. Here, Mother, you try it," she said, handing
the leather and the thread-puller to the headwoman.
Tulie also took a few stitches and nodded approvingly, then gave it
to Nezzie, who tried it out, then let Tronic take a turn. Tronic gave it
to Ranee, who tried pushing the point through both pieces at once,
and discovered that thick leather was hard to penetrate.
"I think if you made a small cutting point out of flint," he said as he
passed it to Wymez, "it would make it easier to poke this through
heavy leather. What do you think?"
Wymez tried it and nodded agreement. "Yes, but this thread-puller
is very clever."
Every person in the Camp tried the new implement, and agreed. It
did make sewing much easier to have something that pulled, rather
than pushed, the thread through.
Talut held the small sewing tool up and examined it from all angles,
nodding his head with admiration. A long slender shaft, point at one
end, hole at the other, it was an invention whose worth was recog
nized instantly. He wondered why no one had thought of it sooner. It
was simple, so obvious once it was seen, but so effective.
n-^
I
•wo sets of hooves pounded in unison across the hard ground.
Ay la crouched low over the mare's withers, squinting into a wind
burning cold on her face. She rode lightly, the controlling interplay of
tension in her knees and hips in perfect accord with the powerful,
striving muscles of the galloping horse. She noticed a change in the
rhythm of the other hoofbeats, and glanced at Racer. He had pulled
ahead but, showing unmistakable signs of tiring, he was falling back.
She brought Whinney to a gradual stop, and the young stallion
halted, as well. Enveloped in clouds of steam from their hard breath
ing, the horses hung their heads. Both animals were tired, but it had
been a good run.
Sitting upright and bouncing easily in rhythm with the horse's gait,
Ayla headed back toward the river at a comfortable pace, enjoying the
opportunity to be outside. It was cold, but beautiful, with the glare of
an incandescent sun made brighter by sparkling ice and the white of a
recent blizzard.
As soon as Ayla had stepped outside the earthlodge that morning,
she decided to take the horses for a long run. The air itself enticed her
out. It seemed lighter, as though an oppressive burden had been
lifted. She thought the cold was not as intense, though nothing was
visibly changed. The ice was just as frozen, the tiny pellets of wind-
driven snow just as hard.
Ayla had no absolute means of knowing that the temperature had
risen and the wind blew with less force, but she had detected subtle
differences. Though it might have been interpreted as intuition, a
feeling, it was in reality an acute sensitivity. To people who lived in
climates of extreme cold, conditions even a little less severe were no
ticeable, and often greeted with exuberant good feelings. It wasn't yet
spring, but the relentless grip of the deep grinding cold had eased,
and the slight but noticeable warming brought with it the promise
that life would stir again.
She smiled when the young stallion pranced ahead, his neck arched
proudly and his tail held out. She still thought of Racer as the baby
she had helped deliver, but he wasn't a baby any more. Though still
not filled out completely, he was bigger than his dam, and he was a
racer. He loved to run, and he was fast, but there was a difference in
the running patterns of the two horses. Racer was invariably faster
than his dam in a short run, easily outdistancing her at the start, but
Whinney had more endurance. She could run hard longer, and if they
went on for any distance, she inevitably caught up and surged ahead
of him.
Ayla dismounted, but stopped momentarily before pushing aside
the drape and entering the earthlodge. She'd often used the horses as
an excuse to get away, and on that morning she had been particularly
relieved that the weather felt right for a long run. As happy as she
was to have found people again, and to be accepted as one of them
and included in their activities, she needed to be alone occasionally. It
was especially true when uncertainties and unresolved misunderstand
ings heightened tensions.
Fralie had been spending much of her time at the Mammoth Hearth
with the young people, to Frebec's growing annoyance. Ayla had
been hearing arguments from the Crane Hearth, or rather, harangues
by Frebec complaining of Fralie's absence. She knew he didn't like
Fralie to associate too closely with her, and was sure the pregnant
woman would stay away more to keep the peace. It bothered Ayla,
particularly since Fralie had just confided that she had been passing
blood. She had warned the woman that she could lose the baby if she
didn't rest, and promised her some medicine, but now it would be
more difficult to treat her with Frebec hovering disapprovingly.
Added to that was her growing confusion about Jondalar and
Ranee. Jondalar had been distant, but recently he seemed more like
himself. A few days before, Mamut had asked him to come and talk to
him about a particular tool he had in mind, but the shaman had been
busy all day, and only found time to discuss his project in the eve
ning, when the young people usually gathered at the Mammoth
Hearth. Though they sat quietly off to the side, the laughter and
usual banter were easily overheard.
Ranee was more attentive than ever, and had been pressing Ayla
lately, in the guise of teasing and joking, to come to his bed again. She
still found it difficult to refuse him outright; acquiescence to a man's
wishes had been too thoroughly ingrained in her to overcome easily.
She laughed at his jokes—she was understanding humor more all the
time, even the serious intent it sometimes masked—but skillfully
evaded his implied invitation, to a chorus of laughter at Ranee's ex
pense. He laughed as well, enjoying her wit, and she felt attracted to
his easy friendliness. He was comfortable to be with.
Mamut noticed that Jondalar smiled, too, and nodded his head ap-
provingly. The flint knapper had avoided the gathering of young peo
ple, only watching the friendly joking from a distance, and the
laughter had only increased his jealousy. He didn't know that it was
often sparked by Ay la's refusals of Ranee's offers, though Mamut
did.
The next day, Jondalar smiled at her, for the first time in too long,
Ay la thought, but she felt her breath catch in her throat and her heart
speed up. During the next few days, he began coming back to the
hearth earlier, not always waiting until she was asleep. Though she
was reluctant to push herself on him still, and he seemed hesitant to
approach her, she was beginning to hope that he was getting over
whatever had been bothering him. Yet she was afraid to hope.
Ayla took a deep breath, then pulled back the heavy drape, and
held it aside for the horses. After shaking out her parka and hanging it
on a peg, she went inside. For a change, the Mammoth Hearth was
nearly empty. Only Jondalar was there, talking to Mamut. She was
pleased, but surprised to see him, and it made her realize how little
she had seen of him lately. She smiled and hurried toward them, but
Jondalar's scowl pulled down the corners of her mouth. He did not
seem very happy to see her.
"You've been gone all morning, alone!" he blurted. "Don't you
know it's dangerous to go out alone? You worry people. Soon some
one would have had to go looking for you." He didn't say he had been
the one who was worried, or that he was the one who was considering
going out to look for her.
Ayla backed off at his vehemence. "I was not alone. I was with
Whinney and Racer. I took them for a run. They needed it."
"Well, you shouldn't have gone out like that when it's so cold. It is
dangerous to go out alone," he said, rather lamely, glancing at
Mamut, hoping for support.
"I said I was not alone. I was with Whinney and Racer, and it is
nice out, sunny, not as cold." She was flustered by his anger, not
realizing that it masked a fear for her safety that was almost unbear
able. "I have been out alone in winter before, Jondalar. Who do you
think went out with me when I lived in the valley?"
She's right, he thought. She knows how to take care of herself. I
shouldn't keep trying to tell her when and where she can go. Mamut
did not seem overly concerned when he had asked where Ayla was,
and she is the daughter of his hearth. He should have paid more atten
tion to the old shaman, Jondalar thought, feeling foolish, as though he
had made a scene over nothing.
"Uh . . . well . . . maybe I should go look at the horses," he
mumbled, backing away and hurrying toward the annex.
Ayla watched him go, wondering if he thought she wasn't looking
after them. She was confused and upset. It seemed impossible to un
derstand him at all.
Mamut was watching her closely. Her hurt and distress were plain
to see. Why was it that the people who were involved found it so hard
to understand their own problems? He was inclined to confront them
and force them to see what seemed obvious to everyone else, but he
resisted. He had already done as much as he felt he should. He had
sensed from the beginning an undercurrent of tension in the Zeian-
donii man, and was convinced that the problem was not as obvious as
it seemed. It was best to let them work it out for themselves. They
would all learn more from the experience if left to find their own
solutions. But he could encourage Ayla to talk to him about it or, at
least, help her to discover her choices, and know her own wishes and
potential.
"Did you say it is not as cold out, Ayla?" Mamut asked.
It took a moment for the question to find its way through the maze
of other pressing thoughts that worried her. "What? Oh . . . yes. I
think so. It doesn't really feel warmer, it just doesn't seem as cold."
"I was wondering when She would break the back of winter,"
Mamut said. "I thought it should be getting close."
"Break the back? I do not understand."
"It's just a saying, Ayla. Sit down, I'll tell you a winter story about
the Great Bountiful Earth Mother who created all that lives," the old
man said, smiling. Ayla sat beside him on a mat near the fire.
"In a great struggle, the Earth Mother took a life force from Chaos,
which is a cold and unmoving emptiness, like death, and from it She
created life and warmth, but She must always fight for the life She
created. When the cold season is coming on, we know the struggle has
begun between the Bountiful Earth Mother who wants to bring forth
warm life, and cold death of Chaos, but first She must care for Her
children."
Ayla was warming to the story, now, and smiled encouragingly.
"What does She do to care for Her children?"
"Some She puts to sleep, some She dresses warmly to resist the
cold, some She bids gather food and hide. As it gets colder and
colder, death seems to be winning, the Mother is pushed back farther
and farther. In the depths of the cold season, when the Mother is
locked in the battle of life and death, nothing moves, nothing changes,
everything seems to be dead. For us, without a warm place to live and
the food that is stored, death would win in winter; sometimes, if the
battle goes on longer than usual, it does. No one goes out much, then.
People make things, or tell stories, or talk, but they don't move
around much and they sleep more. That's why winter is called the
little death.
"Finally, when the cold has pushed Her down as far as She will go,
She resists. She pushes and pushes until She breaks the back of
winter. It means spring will return but it is not spring, yet. She has
had a long fight, and She must rest before She can bring forth life
again. But you know She has won. You can smell it, you can feel it in
the air."
"I did! I did feel it, Mamut! That's why I had to take the horses for
a run. The Mother broke the back of winter!" Ay la exclaimed. The
story seemed to explain exactly how she felt.
"I think it's time for a celebration, don't you?"
"Oh, yes. I think so!"
"Perhaps you would be willing to help me arrange it?" He waited
only long enough for Ay la to nod. "Not everyone feels Her victory,
yet, but they will soon. We can both watch for the signs, and then
decide when the time is right."
"What signs?"
"As life begins to stir again, each person feels it in a different way.
Some get happy and want to go outside, but it's still too cold to go out
very much, so they get edgy, or irritated. They want to acknowledge
the life stirrings within them, but there are many big storms yet to
come. Winter knows all is lost and gets angriest at this time of year,
and people feel it and get angry, too. I'm glad you have alerted me.
Between now and spring, people will be more restless. I think you
will notice it, Ay la. That's when a celebration is best. It gives people
a reason to express happiness instead of anger."
I knew she would notice, Mamut thought, when he saw her frown.
I have barely begun to feel the difference, and she has recognized it
already. I knew she was gifted, but her abilities still astound me, and
I'm sure I have not yet discovered her full range. I may never know;
her potential could be far greater than mine. What did she say about
that root, and the ceremony with the mog-urs? I'd like to get her
prepared . . . the hunting ceremony with the Clan! It changed me, the
effects were profound. It lives with me still. She, too, had an experience . . .
could that have changed her? Enhanced her natural tendencies?
I wonder . . . the Spring Festival, is it too soon to bring up the
root again? Maybe I should wait until after she works with me on the
Back Breaking Celebration ... or the next one . . . there will be many
between now and spring. . . .

Deegie walked down the passageway toward the Mammoth Hearth
carrying heavy outer wear.

"I was hoping I would find you, Ay la. I want to check those snares
I set to see if I caught any white foxes to trim Branag's parka. Do you
want to come with me?"
Ay la, just waking up, looked up at the partially uncovered smoke
hole. "It does look nice out. Let me get dressed."
She pulled back the covers, sat up, stretched and yawned, then
went to the curtained-off area near the horse annex. On her way, she
passed by a platform bed on which a half-dozen children were sleep
ing, sprawled on top of each other in a heap, like a litter of wolf pups.
She saw Rydag's large brown eyes open, and smiled at him. He
closed them again, and snuggled down between the youngest, Nuvie,
almost four years, and Rugie, who was approaching eight. Crisavec,
Brinan, and Tusie were also in the pile, and lately, she had seen
Fralie's youngest, Tasher, who was not yet three, beginning to take
notice of the other youngsters. Latie, verging on womanhood, Ayla
noticed, played with them less and less.
The children were benevolently spoiled. They could eat and sleep
where and when they wanted. They seldom observed the territorial
customs of their elders; the entire lodge was theirs. They could de
mand the attention of adult members of the Camp, and often found it
was welcomed as an interesting diversion; no one was in any par
ticular hurry or had anyplace to go. Wherever their interests led the
children, an older member of the group was ready to assist or explain.
If they wanted to sew skins together, they were given the tools, and
scraps of leather, and strings of sinew. If they wanted to make stone
tools, they were given pieces of flint, and stone or bone hammers.
They wrestled and tumbled, and invented games, which were often
versions of adult activities. They made their own small hearths, and
learned to use fire. They pretended to hunt, spearing pieces of meat
from the cold storage chambers, and cooked it. When playing
"hearths" extended to mimicking the copulating activities of their el
ders, the adults smiled indulgently. No part of normal living was sin
gled out as something to be hidden or repressed; all of it was
necessary instruction to becoming an adult. The only taboo was vio
lence, particularly extreme or unnecessary violence.
Living so closely together, they had learned that nothing could de
stroy a Camp, or a people, like violence, particularly when they were
confined to the earthlodge during the long, cold winters. Whether by
accident or design, every custom, manner, convention, or practice,
even if not overtly directed at it, was aimed at keeping violence to a
minimum. Sanctioned conduct allowed a wide range of individual dif
ferences in activities that did not, as a rule, lead to violence, or that
might be acceptable outlets for draining off strong emotions. Personal
skills were fostered. Tolerance was encouraged; jealousy or envy,
while understood, was discouraged. Competitions, including argu
ments, were actively used as alternatives, but were ritualized, strictly
controlled, and kept within defined boundaries. The children quickly
learned the basic rules. Yelling was acceptable; hitting was not.
As Ayla checked the large waterbag, she smiled again at the sleep
ing children, who had been up until late the night before. She enjoyed
having children around again. "I should get snow before we leave. We
are low on water, and it hasn't snowed for a while. Clean snow
nearby is getting hard to find."
"Let's not take the time," Deegie said. "We have water at our
hearth, and so does Nezzie. We can get more when we come back."
She was putting on her warm winter outdoor clothes while Ayla was
dressing. "I have a waterbag, and some food to take with us, so if
you're not hungry, we can just go."
"I can wait for the food, but I need to make some hot tea," Ayla
said. Deegie's eagerness to leave was infecting her. They were still
just beginning to stir around outside the lodge, and spending some
time alone just with Deegie seemed like fun.
"I think Nezzie has some hot tea, and I don't think she'd mind if we
had a cup."
"She makes mint in the morning; I will just get something to add to
it ... something I like to drink in the morning. I think I will get my
sling, too."
Nezzie insisted that the two young women eat some hot cooked
grains as well, and gave them slices of meat from her roast of the night
before to take along. Talut wanted to know which way they planned
to go, and the general location of Deegie's snares. When they stepped
outside the main entrance, the day had begun; the sun had risen above
a bank of clouds on the horizon, and begun its journey across a clear
sky. Ayla noticed the horses were already out. She didn't blame
them.
Deegie showed Ayla the quick twist of the foot that turned the
leather loop, attached to the elongated circular frame woven across
with sturdy willow withes, into a convenient snowshoe hitch. With a
little practice, Ayla was soon striding across the top of the snow
alongside Deegie.
Jondalar watched them leaving from the entrance to the annex.
With a frown, he looked at the sky and considered following them,
then changed his mind. He saw a few clouds, but nothing to portend
danger. Why was he always so worried about Ayla whenever she left
the earthlodge? It was ridiculous for him to follow her around. She
wasn't going out alone, Deegie was with her, and the two young
women were perfectly able to take care of themselves . . . even if it
did snow ... or worse. They'd notice him following after a while,
and then he'd just be in the way when they wanted to be off by
themselves. He let the drape fall, and turned back inside, but he
couldn't shake his feeling that Ayla might be in danger.

"Oh, look, Ayla!" Deegie cried, on her knees examining the frozen
solid white-furred carcass dangling from a noose pulled tight around
its neck. "I set other traps. Let's hurry and check them."
Ayla wanted to stay and examine the snare, but she followed after
Deegie. "What are you going to do with it?" she asked when she
caught up.
"It depends on how many I get. I wanted to make a fringe on a fur
parka for Branag, but I'm making him a tunic, too, a red one--not as
bright as your red. It will have long sleeves and take two hides, and
I'm trying to match the color of the second skin to the first. I think I'd
like to decorate it with the fur and teeth of a winter fox. What do you
think?"
"I think it will be beautiful." They shussed through the snow for a
while, then Ayla said, "What do you think would be best for a white
tunic?"
"It depends. Do you want other colors or do you want to keep it all
white?"
"I think I want it to be white, but I'm not sure."
"White fox fur would be nice."
"I thought about that, but ... I don't think it would be quite
right," Ayla said. It wasn't so much the color that was bothering her.
She remembered that she had selected white fox furs to give to Ranee
at her adoption ceremony, and didn't want any reminders about that
time.
The second snare had been sprung, but it was empty. The sinew
noose had been bitten through, and there were wolf tracks. The third
had also caught a fox, and it had apparently frozen hard in the snare,
but it had been gnawed at, most of it was eaten, in fact, and the fur
was useless. Again Ayla pointed out wolf tracks.
"I seem to be trapping foxes for wolves," Deegie said.
"It looks like only one, Deegie," Ayla said.
Deegie was beginning to fear she would not get another good fur,
even if one had been caught in her fourth snare. They hurried to the
place where she had set it.
"It should be over there, near those bushes," she said as they approached
a small wooded copse, "but I don't see ..."
"There it is, Deegie!" Ayla shouted, hurrying ahead. "It looks
good, too. And look at that tail!"
"Perfect!" Deegie sighed with relief. "I wanted at least two." She
untangled the frozen fox from the noose, tied it together with the first
fox, and slung them over the branch of a tree. She was feeling more
relaxed now that she had trapped her two foxes. "I'm hungry. Why
don't we stop and have something to eat here?"
"I do feel hungry, now that you say it."
They were in a sparsely wooded glen, more brush than trees,
formed by a creek that had cut through thick deposits of loess soil. A
sense of bleak and weary exhaustion pervaded the small vale in the
waning days of the long harsh winter. It was a drab place of blacks
and whites and dreary grays. The snow cover, broken by the woody
underbrush, was old and compacted, disturbed by many tracks, and
seemed used and grimy. Broken branches exposing raw wood showed
the ravages of wind, snow, and hungry animals. Willow and alder
clung close to the earth, bent by the weight of climate and season to
prostrate shrubs. A few scrawny birch trees stood tall and thin, scrap
ing bare branches noisily together in the wind, as though clamoring
for the fulfilling touch of green. Even the conifers had lost their color.
The twisted pines, bark scabbed with patches of gray lichen, were
faded, and the tall larches were dark and sagged heavily from their
burden of snow.
Dominating one shallow slope was a mound of snow armed with
long canes spiked with sharp thorns—the dry, woody stems of run
ners which had been sent out the previous summer to claim new ter
ritory. Ayla noted it in her mind, not as an impenetrable thicket of
thorny briars, but as a place to look for berries and healing leaves in
their proper season. She saw beyond the bleak, tired scene to the hope
it held, and after the long confinement, even a winter-weary landscape
looked promising, especially with the sun shining.
The two young women piled snow together to make seats on what
would be the bank of a little stream if it were summer. Deegie opened
her haversack and took out the food she had packed, and even more
important, the water. She opened a birchbark packet and gave Ayla a
compact cake of traveling food—the nutritious mixture of dried fruits
and meat and energy-giving essential fat, shaped into a round patty.
"Mother made some of her steamed loaves with pine nuts last night
and gave me one," Deegie said, opening another packet and breaking
off a piece for Ayla. They had become a favorite of hers.
"I will have to ask Tulie how to make these," Ayla said, taking a
bite before she unwrapped the slices of Nezzie's roast, and put some
down beside each of them. "I think we are having a feast out here. All
we need are some fresh spring greens."
"That would make it perfect. I can hardly wait for spring. Once we
have the Back Breaking Celebration, it seems to get harder and harder
to wait," Deegie replied.
Ayla was enjoying the companionable outing with just herself and
Deegie, and was even beginning to feel warm in the shallow depres
sion, protected from winds. She untied the thong at her throat and
pushed back her hood, then straightened her sling around her head.
She closed her eyes and tipped her face up to the sun. She saw the
circular afterimage of the dazzling orb against the red background of
her lowered eyelids, and felt the welcoming warmth. After she
opened her eyes again, she seemed to see with greater clarity.
"Do people always wrestle at Back Breaking Celebrations?" Ayla
asked. "I have never seen anyone wrestle without moving his feet
before."
"Yes, it's to honor ..."
"Look, Deegie! It is spring!" Ayla interrupted, jumping up and
rushing toward a willow shrub nearby. When the other woman joined
her, she pointed to the hint of swelling buds along a slender twig, and
one, coming into season too early to survive, that had burst forth in
bright spring green. The women smiled at each other in wonder, full
of the discovery, as though they had invented spring themselves.
The sinew snare loop still dangled not far from the willow. Ayla
held it up. "I think this is a very good way to hunt. You do not have
to look for animals. You make a trap and come back later to get them,
but how do you make it, and how do you know that you will catch a
fox?"
"It's not hard to make. You know how sinew gets hard if you wet it
and let it dry, just like leather that is not treated?"
Ayla nodded.
"You make a little loop at the end," Deegie continued, showing her
the loop. "Then you take the other end and put it through to make
another loop, just big enough for a fox's head to go through. Then
you wet it, and let it dry with the loop open so it will stay open. Then
you have to go where the foxes are, usually where you've seen them
or caught them before. My mother showed me this place. Usually
there are foxes here every year, you can tell if there are tracks. They
often follow the same paths when they are near their dens. To set the
snare, you find a fox trail, and where it goes through bushes or near
trees, you set the loop right across the trail, at about the height of
their heads, and fasten it, like this, here and here," Deegie demon
strated as she explained. Ayla watched, her forehead furrowed in
concentration.
"When the fox runs along the trail, the head goes through the loop,
and as he runs, it tightens the noose around his neck. The more the
fox struggles, the tighter the noose gets. It doesn't take long. Then the
only problem is finding the fox before something else does. Danug
was telling me about the way people to the north have started setting
snares. He says they bend down a young sapling and tie it to the
noose so that it comes loose as soon as the animal is caught, and jerks
it up when the tree springs back. That keeps the fox off the ground
until you get back."
"I think that's a good idea," Ayla said, walking back toward their
seats. She looked up, then suddenly, to Deegie's surprise, she
whipped her sling off her head and was scanning the ground. "Where
is a stone?" she whispered. "There!"
With a movement so swift Deegie could hardly follow, Ayla picked
up the stone, set it in her sling, whipped it around and let fly. Deegie
heard the stone land, but only when she got back to the seats did she
see the object of Ayla's missile. It was a white ermine, a small weasel
about fourteen inches long overall, but five of the inches was a white
furry tail with a black tip. In summer the elongated, soft-furred ani
mal would have a rich brown coat with a white underbelly, but in
winter the sinuous little stoat turned pure silky white, except for its
black nose, sharp little eyes, and the very tip of its tail.
"It was stealing our roast meat!" Ayla said.
"I didn't even see it next to that snow. You've got good eyes,"
Deegie said. "And you're so quick with that sling, I don't know why
you need to worry about snares, Ayla."
"A sling is good for hunting when you see what you want to hunt,
but a snare can hunt for you when you are not even there. Both are
useful to know," Ayla replied, taking the question seriously.
They sat down to finish their meal. Ayla's hand kept returning to
rub the soft thick fur of the little weasel as they talked. "Ermines have
the nicest fur," she said.
"Most of those long weasels do," Deegie said. "Minks, sables, even
wolverines have good fur. Not so soft, but the best for hoods, if you
don't want frost clinging around your face. But it's hard to snare
them, and you can't really hunt them with a spear. They're quick and
vicious. Your sling seemed to work, though I still don't know how
you did it."
"I learned to use the sling hunting those kinds of animals. I only
hunted meat eaters in the beginning and learned their ways first."
"Why?" Deegie asked.
"I was not supposed to hunt at all, so I did not hunt any animals
that were food, only those that stole food from us." She snorted a wry
chuckle of realization. "I thought that would make it all right."
"Why didn't they want you to hunt?"
"Women of the Clan are forbidden to hunt . . . but they finally
allowed me to use my sling." Ayla paused for an instant, remember
ing. "Do you know, I killed a wolverine long before I killed a rabbit?"
She smiled at the irony.
Deegie shook her head in amazement. What a strange childhood
Ayla must have had, she thought.
They got up to leave, and as Deegie went to get her foxes, Ayla
picked up the soft, white little ermine. She rubbed her hand along the
body all the way to the tip of the tail.
"That is what I want!" Ayla said, suddenly. "Ermine!"
"But that's what you have," Deegie said.
"No. I mean for the white tunic. I want to trim it with white er
mine fur, and the tails. I like those tails with the little black tips."
"Where are you going to get enough ermine to decorate a tunic?"
Deegie asked. "Spring is coming, they will be changing color again
soon."
"I do not need very many, and where there is one, there are usually
more nearby. I will hunt them. Now," Ayla said. "I need to find
some good stones." She started pushing snow out of the way, looking
for stones near the bank of the frozen creek.
"Now?" Deegie said.
Ayla stopped and looked up. She had almost forgotten Deegie's
presence in her excitement. She could make tracking and stalking
more difficult. "You do not have to wait for me, Deegie. Go back. I
will find my way."
"Go back? I wouldn't miss this for anything."
"You can be very quiet?"
Deegie smiled. "I have hunted before, Ayla."
Ayla blushed, feeling she said the wrong thing. "I did not
mean ..."
"I know you didn't," Deegie said, then smiled. "I think I could
learn some things from someone who killed a wolverine before she
killed a rabbit. Wolverines are more vicious, mean, fearless, and
spiteful than any animal alive, including hyenas. I've seen them drive
leopards away from their own kills, they'll even stand up to a cave
lion. I'll try to stay out of your way. If you think I'm scaring the
ermine off, tell me, and I'll wait for you here. But don't ask me to go
back."
Ayla smiled with relief, thinking how wonderful it was to have a
friend who understood her so quickly. "Ermine are as bad as wolver
ines. They are just smaller, Deegie."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"We still have roast meat left. It might be useful, but first we must
find tracks . . . after I get a good supply of stones."
When Ayla had accumulated a pile of satisfactory missiles and put
them in a pouch, which was attached to her belt, she picked up her
haversack, and slung it over her left shoulder. Then she stopped and
studied the landscape, looking for the best place to begin. Deegie
stood beside her and just a step behind, waiting for her to take the
lead. Almost as though she was thinking out loud, Ay la began speak
ing to her in a quiet voice.
"Weasels do not make dens. They use whatever they find, even a
rabbit's burrow—after they kill the rabbits. Sometimes I think they
would not need a den, if they did not have young. They are always
moving: hunting, running, climbing, standing up and looking, and
they are always killing, day and night, even after they have just eaten,
though they might leave it. They eat everything, squirrels, rabbits,
birds, eggs, insects, even dead and rotten meat, but most meat they
kill and eat fresh. They make stinky musk when they are cornered,
not to squirt like a skunk, but smells as bad, and they make sound like
this ..." Ayla uttered a cry that was half-strangled scream and half-
grunt. "In the season of their Pleasures, they whistle."
Deegie was utterly astonished. She had just learned more about
weasels and ermine than she had learned in her entire life. She didn't
even know they made a sound at all.
"They are good mothers, have many babies, two hands ..." Ayla
stopped to think of the name of the counting word. "Ten, more some
times. Other times, only few. Young stay with mother until almost
grown." She stopped again to eye the landscape critically. "This time
of year, litter might still be with mother. We look for track ... I
think near canebrake." She started toward the mound of snow that
covered, more or less, the tangled mass of stems and runners that had
been growing from the same place for many years.
Deegie followed her, wondering how she could have learned so
much, when Ayla wasn't much older than she was. Deegie had no
ticed that Ayla's speech had lapsed just slightly—it was the only sign
of her excitement—but it made her realize how well Ayla did speak
now. She seldom spoke fast, but her Mamutoi was close to perfect,
except for the way she said certain sounds. Deegie thought she might
never lose that speech mannerism, and rather hoped she wouldn't. It
made her distinctive . . . and more human.
"Look for small tracks with five toes, sometimes only four show,
they make the smallest tracks of any meat eater, and the back paws go
in the same tracks that front feet paws were in."
Deegie hung back, not wanting to trample delicate spoor, watching.
Ayla slowly and carefully scanned each area of the space around her
with every step she took, the snow-covered ground and each fallen
log, each twig on each bush, the slender boles of bare birches and the
weighted boughs of dark-needled pines. Suddenly her eyes stopped
their constant vigilance, stilled by a sight that caught her breath. She
lowered her foot slowly while reaching into the haversack for a large
piece of rare roast bison, and laid it on the ground in front of her.
Then she backed off carefully, and reached into the pouch of stones.
Deegie looked beyond Ayla without moving, trying to see what she
saw. Finally she noticed movement, and then focused on several small
white shapes sinuously moving toward them. They raced with sur
prising speed though they were climbing over deadfall, up and down
trees, through brush, in and around small pockets and cracks, and
devouring everything they found in their path. Deegie had never
taken the time to notice the small voracious carnivores before, and she
watched in rapt fascination. They stood up occasionally, shiny black
eyes alert, ears cocked for every sound, but drawn unerringly by
scent to their hapless prey.
Squirming through nests of voles and mice, under tree roots for
hibernating newts and frogs, and darting after small birds too chilled
and hungry to flee, the ravaging horde of eight or ten small white
weasels closed in. Heads weaving back and forth, black little beads of
eyes eager, they pounced with deadly accuracy at the brain, the nape
of the neck, the jugular vein. Striking without compunction, they
were the most efficient, bloodthirsty killers of the animal world, and
Deegie was suddenly very glad they were small. There seemed no
reason for such wanton destruction but a lust to kill—except the need
to keep a continuously active body fueled in the way they were in
tended and ordained by nature to do.
The ermine were drawn to the slab of rare meat, and without hesi
tation began to make short work of it. Suddenly there was confusion,
hard-flung stones landed among the feeding weasels, striking some
down, and the unmistakable scent of weasel musk choked the air.
Deegie had been so absorbed in watching the animals she had missed
Ayla's carefully controlled preparations and swift casts.
Then, out of nowhere, a large black animal bounded among the
white weasels, and Ayla was stunned to hear a menacing growl. The
wolf went after the slab of bison, but was held off by two bold and
fearless ermine. Backing off only a bit, the black carnivore spied an
ermine recently made harmless, and grabbed for it instead.
But Ayla was not about to let the black wolf steal her ermine; she
had put in too much effort to get them. They were her kills and she
wanted them for the white tunic. As the wolf was trotting away with
the small white weasel in its mouth, Ayla went after it. Wolves were
also meat eaters. She had studied them just as closely as weasels when
she was teaching herself to use a sling. She understood them, too. She
picked up a fallen branch as she ran after the animal. A single wolf
usually gave way in the face of a determined charge and might drop
the ermine.
If it had been a pack, or even just two wolves, she would not have
tried such a reckless assault, but when the black wolf paused to re
position the ermine in its mouth, Ay la went after it with the branch,
hauling back to give it a solid blow. She didn't think of the branch as
much of a weapon, but she planned only to scare the wolf off, and
startle it into dropping the small furry animal it held. But Ayla was
the one who was startled. The wolf dropped the ermine at its feet,
and with a mean and ugly snarl, sprang straight for her.
Her instant reaction was to throw the branch across her as a de
fense, to hold off the attacking wolf, and her quick surge of energy
said run. But in the wooded copse, the cold and brittle branch broke
as she pulled it around and hit a tree. She was left holding a rotten
stump, but the broken end flew into the wolf's face. It was enough to
hold it off. The wolf had been bluffing, too, and wasn't very eager to
attack. Stopping to pick up the dead ermine, the wolf climbed out of
the wooded glen.
Ayla was frightened, but angry, and in shock, too. She couldn't
just let that ermine go like that. She chased after the wolf once more.
"Let it go!" Deegie shouted. "You've got enough! Let the wolf have
it."
But Ayla didn't hear; she wasn't paying attention. The wolf was
heading for open ground and she was close behind. Reaching for an
other stone, and finding only two left, Ayla ran after the wolf.
Though she expected that the large carnivore would soon outdistance
her, she had to give it one more try. She loaded a stone in her sling
and hurled it after the fleeing canine. The second stone that followed
soon afterward finished what the first had begun. Both found their
mark.
She felt a sense of satisfaction when the wolf dropped. That was
one animal that would not be stealing anything from her again. As she
ran to get the ermine, she decided she might as well take the wolf
pelt, too, but when Deegie found her, Ayla was sitting beside the
dead black wolf, and the white ermine, and hadn't moved. The ex
pression on her face gave Deegie cause for concern.
"What's wrong, Ayla?"
"I should have let her have it. I should have known she had a reason
for going after that roast meat, even though the ermine wanted it.
Wolves know how vicious weasels are, and usually a lone wolf will
back down without attacking in an unfamiliar place. I should have let
her have that ermine."
"I don't understand. You got your ermine back, and a black wolf
pelt besides. What do you mean you should have let her have it?"
"Look," Ayla said, pointing to the black wolf's underbelly. "She's
nursing. She's got pups."
"Isn't it early for wolves to whelp?" Deegie asked.
"Yes. She's out of season. And she's a loner. That is why she was
having so much trouble finding enough to eat. And why she came for
the roast meat, and wanted the ermine so much. Look at her ribs. The
pups have been taking a lot out of her. She's hardly more than bones
and fur. If she lived with a pack, they'd be helping her feed those
pups, but if she lived with a pack, she would not have had pups. Only
the female leader of a pack has pups, usually, and this wolf is the
wrong color. Wolves get used to certain colors and marks. She's like
that white wolf I used to watch when I was learning about them.
They didn't like her either. She was always trying to make up to the
female leader and the male leader, but they didn't want her around.
After the pack got so big, she left. Maybe she got tired of no one
liking her."
Ayla looked down at the black wolf. "Like this one did. Maybe
that's why she wanted to have pups, because she was lonely. But she
shouldn't have had them so early. I think this is the same black wolf I
saw when we hunted bison, Deegie. She must have left her pack to
look for a lone male to start her own pack, new packs get started that
way. But it's always hard on the loners. Wolves like to hunt together,
and they take care of each other. The male leader always helps the
female leader with her pups. You should see them sometimes, they
like to play with the babies. But where is her male? Did she ever find
one? Did he die?"
Deegie was surprised to see that Ayla was fighting tears, over a
dead wolf. "They all die some time, Ayla. We all go back to the
Mother."
"I know, Deegie, but first she was different, and then she was
alone. She should have had something while she lived, a mate, a pack
to belong to, at least some babies."
Deegie thought she was beginning to understand why Ayla was
feeling so strongly about a scrawny old black wolf. She was putting
herself in the wolf's place. "She did have pups, Ayla."
"And now they are going to die, too. They don't have a pack. Not
even a male leader. Without a mother, they will die." Suddenly Ayla
jumped up. "I'm not going to let them die!"
"What do you mean? Where are you going?"
"I'm going to go find them. I'm going to track the black wolf back
to her den."
"That could be dangerous. Maybe there are other wolves around.
How can you be sure?"
"I'm sure, Deegie. I just have to look at her."
"Well, if I can't change your mind, I only have one thing to say,
Ayla."
"What?"
"If you expect me to tramp all over the place chasing after wolf
tracks with you, you can carry your own ermine," Deegie said,
dumping out five white weasel carcasses from her haversack. "I've got
enough to carry with my foxes!" Deegie was grinning with delight.
"Oh, Deegie," Ayla said, smiling back with warmth and affection.
"You brought them!" The two young women hugged each other out
of their fullness of love and friendship.
"One thing is certain, Ayla. Nothing is ever dull around you!"
Deegie helped load Ay la's haversack with the ermine. "What are you
going to do about the wolf? If we don't take her, something else will,
and a black wolf pelt is not too common."
"I'd like to take her, but I want to find her pups, first."
"All right, I'll carry her," Deegie said, hoisting the limp carcass
over her shoulder. "If we have time later, I'll skin it out." She started
to ask one more question, then changed her mind. She'd find out soon
enough exactly what Ayla planned to do if she found any wolf pups
left alive.
They had to go back to the vale to pick up the correct set of tracks.
The wolf had done a good job of covering her trail, knowing how
precarious was the life she was leaving untended. Several times,
Deegie was sure they'd lost it and she was a good tracker herself, but
Ayla was motivated to persist until she found it again. By the time
they had found the place that Ayla was sure was the den, the sun was
showing late afternoon.
"I have to be honest, Ayla. I don't see any signs of life."
"That's the way it should be if they are alone. If there were signs of
life, it would just invite trouble."
"You might be right, but if there are pups in there, how are you
going to get them to come out?"
"I guess there is only one way. I'll have to go in after them."
"You can't do that, Ayla! It's one thing to watch wolves from a
distance, but you can't go into their dens. What if there are more than
pups? There could be another adult wolf around."
"Have you seen any other adult tracks besides the black's?"
"No, but I still don't like the idea of you going into a wolf's den."
"I haven't come this far to go away without finding out if there are
any wolf pups around. I have to go in, Deegie."
Ayla put down her haversack and headed for the small dark hole in
the ground. It was dug out of an old lair, abandoned lone before
because it was not the most favorable location, but [^ ^yas ^e best the
black wolf could find after her mate, an old lone }volf drawn to her
too-early heat, died in a fight. Ayla got down on her belly and started
to wriggle in.
"Ayla, wait!" Deegie called. "Here, take my knife "
Ayla nodded, put the knife in her teeth, and started into the dark
hole. It sloped downward at first, and the passage ^as narrow Suddenly
she found herself stuck and had to back out.
"We better go, Ayla. It's getting late, and if yo^ can't get in, you
can't get in."
"No," she said, pulling her parka off over her head. "I'll get in "
She shivered with the cold until she was inside the den but it was a
tight fit through the first tunnel section, where it sloped down. Near
the bottom, where it leveled out, there was more room but the den
seemed deserted. With her own body still blocking ^he light it took
awhile for her eyes to become accustomed to the darkness but it
wasn't until she started to back out that she thought she heard a
sound.
"Wolf, little wolf, are you here?" she called, then remembering the
many times she had watched and listened to wolves she voiced a
pleading whine. Then she listened. A tiny soft whimper came from
the deepest, dark recess of the den, and Ayla felt like shouting for joy.
She wormed her way closer to the sound, and whined again. The
whimper was closer, and then she saw two shining eyes but when
she reached for the pup, he backed up and hissed a little snarl and
she felt sharp needle teeth bite her hand.
"Ow! You've got some fight in you," Ayla said, and then smiled;
"some life in you, yet. Come on now, little wolf. It's going to be all
right. Come on." She reached for the wolf pup again making her
pleading whine, and felt a fuzzy ball of fur. Getting a good hold she
pulled the pup, spitting and fighting all the way, toward her. Then
she backed up out of the den.
"Look what I found, Deegie!" Ayla said, grinning triumphantly as
she held up a little gray fuzzy wolf puppy.
^ondalar was outside the lodge, pacing back and forth between
the main entrance and the horse annex. Even in the warm parka he
wore, an old one of Talut's, he was feeling the drop in temperature as
the sun closed with the horizon. Several times he had climbed the
slope in the direction Ayla and Deegie had taken, and was considering
climbing it again.
He had been trying to quell his anxiety ever since the two young
women left that morning, and when he first began his worried pacing
early in the afternoon, others in the earthlodge smiled condescend
ingly, but he was no longer alone in his concern. Tulie had hiked up
the slope a few times herself, and Talut was talking about getting a
group together to go look for them with torches. Even Whinney and
Racer seemed nervous.
As the brilliant fire in the west slid behind a bank of clouds hanging
near the edge of the earth, it emerged as a sharply defined bright red
circle of light; an otherworldly circle without depth or dimension, too
perfect, too symmetrical to belong to the natural environment. But
the glowing red orb lent color to clouds and a tinge of health to the
pale partial face of the other unearthly companion, which was low in
the eastern sky.
Just as Jondalar was about to climb up the slope again, two figures
appeared at the top, silhouetted against a vivid lavender background
that shaded into deep indigo. A single star glinted overhead. He
breathed a great sigh and slumped against the arched tusks, feeling
light-headed with the sudden release of tension. They were safe. Ayla
was safe.
But why were they gone so long? They should know better than to
make everyone worry so much. What could have kept them out so
long? Maybe they were in trouble. He should have followed them.
"They're here! They're here!" Latie was shouting.
People ran out of the earthlodge half-clothed; those that were out
and dressed raced up to meet them.
"What took you so long? It's almost dark. Where were you?" Jon
dalar demanded as soon as Ayla reached the lodge.
She looked at him in astonishment.
"Let's get them inside first," Tulie said. Deegie knew her mother
was not pleased, but they had been out all day, they were tired, and it
was getting colder fast. Recriminations could come later, after Tulie
made sure they were all right. They were hustled in, straight through
the foyer and into the cooking hearth.
Deegie, grateful to unload, lifted off the carcass of the black wolf,
which had stiffened to the shape of her shoulder. When she dropped
it on a mat, there were exclamations of surprise, and Jondalar
blanched. There had been trouble.
"That's a wolf!" Druwez said, eying his sister with awe. "Where
did you get that wolf?"
"Wait until you see what Ayla has," Deegie said, taking the white
foxes out of her haversack.
Ayla was dumping frozen ermine out of her carrier with one hand,
holding the other carefully against her midriff on top of her warm,
hooded fur tunic.
"Those are very nice ermine," Druwez said, not nearly as im
pressed with the small white weasels as he was with the black wolf,
but not wanting to offend.
Ayla smiled at the boy, then she untied the thong she had belted
around her parka, and reaching under, withdrew a small gray ball of
fur. Everyone looked to see what she had. Suddenly it moved.
The wolf puppy had slept comfortably against Ayla's warm body
underneath her outer garment, but the light, and the noise, and the
unfamiliar smells were frightening. The pup whimpered and tried to
snuggle against the woman whose smell and warmth had become fa
miliar. She put the small fuzzy creature down on the soil of the draw
ing pit. The puppy stood up, wobbled a few steps, then promptly
squatted and made a puddle that was quickly absorbed by the soft,
dry dirt.
"It's a wolf!" Danug said.
"A baby wolf!" Latie added, her eyes filled with delight.
Ayla noticed Rydag hunkering close to look at the small animal. He
reached out a hand, and the puppy sniffed it, and then licked it.
Rydag's smile was pure joy.
"Where you get little wolf, Ayla?" the boy signed.
"Is long story," she signaled back, "will tell later." She quickly
pulled off her parka. Nezzie took it and handed her a cup of hot tea.
She smiled gratefully and took a sip.
"It doesn't matter where she got it. What is she going to do with
it?" Frebec demanded. Ayla knew he understood the silent language,
though he claimed he didn't. He had obviously understood Rydag.
She turned and faced him.
"I am going to take care of it, Frebec," Ayla said, her eyes blazing
with defiance. "I killed its mother"—she motioned toward the black
wolf—"and I'm going to take care of this baby."
"That's not a baby. That's a wolf! An animal that can hurt people,"
he said. Ayla seldom took such a strong stand with him or anyone,
and he had discovered she would often give in on small issues to avoid
conflict if he was nasty enough. He didn't expect the direct confronta
tion, and he didn't like it, especially when he could sense it was not
likely to go his way.
Manuv looked at the wolf puppy, and then at Frebec, and his face
split into a wide grin. "Are you afraid that animal is going to hurt
you, Frebec?"
The raucous laughter made Frebec flush with anger. "I didn't mean
that. I mean wolves can hurt people. First it's horses, now it's wolves.
What next? I am not an animal, and I don't want to live with ani
mals," he said. Then he stomped away, not ready to test whether the
rest of the Lion Camp would rather have him or Ayla and her animals
if he forced them to make a choice.
"Do you have meat left from that bison roast, Nezzie?"
"You must be starving. I'll fix you a plate of dinner."
"Not for me. For the wolf puppy," Ayla said.
Nezzie brought Ayla a slab of roast meat, wondering how such a
small wolf was going to eat it. But Ayla remembered a lesson she had
learned long ago: babies can eat whatever their mothers eat, but it
must be softer and easier to chew and swallow. She had once brought
an injured young cave lion cub to her valley and fed him meat and
broth instead of milk. Wolves were meat eaters, too. She recalled that
when she was watching wolves to learn about them, older wolves
often chewed up food and swallowed it to bring it back to the den,
then regurgitated it for the puppies. But she didn't have to chew it up,
she had hands and a sharp knife, she could cut it up.
After mincing the meat to a pulp, Ayla put it in a bowl and added
warm water, to bring the temperature closer to mother's milk. The
puppy had been sniffing around the edges of the drawing pit, but
seemed afraid to venture beyond its boundaries. Ayla sat down on the
mat, held out her hand and softly called to the wolf. She had taken
the baby from a cold and lonely place and brought it warmth and
comfort, and her scent was already associated with security. The
fuzzy fur ball waddled toward her outstretched hand.
She picked it up first to examine it. Close scrutiny revealed the little
wolf was a male, and very young, probably no more than one full
cycle of moon phases had passed since he was born. She wondered if
he'd had siblings, and if he did, when they died. He was not injured
in any way that she could tell, and he did not seem to be malnour
ished, though the black wolf had certainly been scrawny. When Ay la
thought about the terrible odds the black had fought to keep this one
pup alive, it reminded her of an ordeal she had once faced and it
strengthened her resolve. If she could, she was going to keep the
mother wolf's son alive, whatever it took, and not Frebec or anyone
else was going to stop her.
Holding the pup in her lap, Ayla dipped her finger in the bowl of
finely minced meat and held it under the baby wolf's nose. He was
hungry. He nosed it, licked it, and then licked her finger clean. She
scooped up another fingerful, and he eagerly licked that off, too. She
held him on her lap, and continued to feed him, feeling his little belly
round out. When she felt he had enough, she held a little water under
his nose, but he only sampled. Then she got up and carried him to the
Mammoth Hearth.
"I think you'll find some old baskets on that bench over there,"
Mamut said, following behind her.
She smiled at him. He knew exactly what she had in mind. She
rummaged around and found a large woven cooking container, falling
apart at one end, and put it on the platform near the head of her bed.
But when she put the wolf in it, he whimpered to get out. She picked
him up and looked around again, not sure what would work. She was
tempted to take him into her bed, but she'd been through that with
growing baby horses and lions. It was too hard getting them to change
their habits later, and besides, Jondalar might not want to share his
bed with a wolf.
"He's not happy in the basket. He probably wants his mother or
other puppies to sleep with," Ayla said.
"Give him something of yours, Ayla," Mamut said. "Something
soft, comfortable, familiar. You're his mother now."
She nodded and looked over her small assortment of clothes. She
didn't have much. Her beautiful outfit from Deegie, the one she had
made in the valley before she came, and some used odds and ends
given to her by other people for changes. She'd had plenty of spare
wraps when she lived with the Clan, and even in the valley . . .
She noticed the backframe she had brought from the valley put
aside in a far corner of the storage platform. She looked through it and
pulled out Durc's cloak, but after holding it for a moment, she folded
it and put it back. She couldn't bear to give it up. Then she found her
old Clan wrap, a large old hide of soft leather. She had worn one like
it, wrapped around her and tied with a long thong, for as long as she
could remember, until the day she first left her valley with Jondalar.
It seemed so long ago now. She lined the basket with the Clan wrap,
and put the wolf puppy in it. He sniffed around, then quickly snug
gled in and was soon sound asleep.
Suddenly she realized how tired she was, and hungry, and her
clothes were still damp from the snow. She took off wet boots, and
the lining made of felted mammoth wool, and changed into one of her
dry outfits and the soft indoor footwear Talut had shown her how to
make. She had been intrigued by the pair he had worn at her adoption
ceremony, and prevailed upon him to show her how they were made.
They were based on a natural characteristic of elk or deer: the hind
leg bends so sharply at the gambrel joint it conforms to the natural
shape of a human foot. The skin was cut above and below the joint
and taken off in one piece. After curing, the lower end was then sewn
with sinew to the desired size, and the upper part wrapped and laced
above the ankle with cords or thongs. The result was a seamless,
warm, and comfortable leather stocking-shoe.
After she changed, Ay la went into the annex to check on the
horses, and reassure them, but she noticed a hesitation and a re
sistance from the mare when she went to pet her.
"You smell the wolf, don't you, Whinney? You will have to get
used to it. Both of you. The wolf is going to be here with us, for a
while." She held out her hands and let both horses sniff them. Racer
backed off, snorted and tossed his head, and sniffed again. Whinney
put her muzzle into the woman's hands, but her ears flattened back
and she bobbed indecisively. "You got used to Baby, Whinney, you
can get used to ... Wolf. I'll bring him out here tomorrow, when he
wakes up. When you see how little he is, you will know he can't hurt
you."
When Ay la went back in, she saw Jondalar by the bed looking at
the wolf puppy. His expression was unreadable, but she thought she
saw curiosity and something like tenderness in his eyes. He looked up
and saw her, and his forehead furrowed in a familiar way.
"Ayla, why did you stay out so long?" he said. "Everyone was
getting ready to search for you."
"We didn't plan to, but once I saw that the black wolf I killed was
nursing, I had to see if I could find her pups," Ayla said.
"What difference did it make? Wolves die all the time, Ayla!" He
had started out talking to her in a reasonable tone, but his fear for her
safety was putting an edge on his voice. "It was stupid to go tracking
after a wolf like that. If you had found a wolf pack, they could have
killed you." Jondalar had been beside himself with worry, but with
relief came uncertainty, and a touch of frustrated anger.
"It made a difference to me, Jondalar," she flared, jumping to the
defense of the wolf. "And I am not stupid. I hunted meat eaters be-
fore I hunted anything else. I know wolves. If there had been a pack,
I would not have backtracked to her den. The pack would have taken
care of her pups."
"Even if she was a lone wolf, why did you spend all day chasing
after a wolf puppy?" Jondalar's voice had gotten louder. He was re
leasing his own tensions as well as trying to convince her not to take
such chances again.
"That puppy was all that mother wolf ever had. I could not let him
starve because I killed his mother. If someone hadn't cared about me
when I was young, I would not be alive. I have to care, too, even for a
wolf puppy." Ayla's voice had risen, too.
"It's not the same. A wolf is an animal. You should have better
sense, Ay la, than to threaten your own life for the sake of a wolf
puppy," Jondalar shouted. He couldn't seem to make her understand.
"This is not the kind of weather to be out in all day."
"I have good sense, Jondalar," Ayla said with anger flashing in her
eyes. "I was the one who was out. Don't you think I know what the
weather was like? Don't you think I know when my life is in danger?
I took care of myself before you came, and faced far worse dangers. I
even took care of you. I don't need you to tell me I am stupid and
don't have sense."
People who were gathering at the Mammoth Hearth were reacting
to the quarrel, smiling nervously and trying to make less of it. Jon
dalar glanced around and noticed several people smiling and talking
among themselves, but the one who stood out was the dark man with
the flashing eyes. Was there a hint of condescension in his broad
smile?
"You're right, Ayla. You don't need me, do you? For anything."
Jondalar spat, then seeing Talut approaching, he asked, "Would you
mind if I moved to the cooking hearth, Talut? I'll try to stay out of
everyone's way."
"No, of course I don't mind, but ..."
"Good. Thank you," he said, and grabbed his bedding and belong
ings from the bed platform he shared with Ayla.
Ayla was stricken, beside herself to think he might really want to
sleep away from her. She was almost ready to beg him not to leave,
but her pride held her tongue. He had shared her bed, but they
hadn't shared Pleasures in so long she was sure he had stopped loving
her. If he didn't love her any more, she would not try to force him to
stay, though the thought of it wrenched her stomach into a knot of
fear and grief.
"You'd better take your share of food, too," she said, as he stuffed
things into a back carrier. Then, trying to find a way to make the
separation not quite so complete, she added, "Though I don't know
who will cook for you there. It is not a real hearth."
"Who do you think cooked for me when I was on my Journey? A
donii? I don't need a woman to take care of me. I'll cook for myself!"
He stomped away, his arms full of furs, through the Fox Hearth and
the Lion Hearth, and threw his bedding down near the tool-working
area. Ayla watched him go, not wanting to believe it.
The lodge was buzzing with talk about their separation. Deegie
hurried down the passageway after hearing the news, finding it hard
to believe. She and her mother had gone to the Aurochs Hearth while
Ayla was feeding the wolf and spoke together quietly for some time.
Deegie, who had also changed into dry clothes, looked both chastened
and resolute. Yes, they should not have stayed out so long, for their
own safety as well as for the concern they caused others, but no,
under the circumstances, she would not have done anything differ
ently. Tulie would like to have spoken to Ayla as well, but felt it
would be inappropriate, especially after hearing Deegie's story. Ayla
had told Deegie to go back before they started their senseless wolf
tracking, and they were both grown young women who should be
perfectly able to take care of themselves by now, but Tulie had never
been so worried about Deegie in her life.
Nezzie nudged Tronic, and they both filled plates with warmed
food and brought it to the Mammoth Hearth for Ayla and Deegie.
Maybe things would straighten out after they had something to eat
and had a chance to tell their story.
Everyone had held off asking about the wolf pup until the neces
sities of warmth and food for the young women, and the little wolf,
had been attended to. Though she had been hungry, Ayla found it
hard now to put food in her mouth. She kept looking in the direction
Jondalar had gone. Everyone else seemed to find their way to the
Mammoth Hearth, anticipating the story of an exciting and unusual
adventure, which could be told and retold. Whether she was in the
mood or not, they all wanted to know the story of how she arrived
back at the lodge with a baby wolf.
Deegie began by relating the strange circumstances of the white
foxes in the snares. She was quite certain now that it was the black
wolf, weakened and hungry, and unable to hunt deer or horse or
bison alone, that had been driven to taking the foxes from the traps
for food. Ayla suggested that the black might have followed Deegie's
trail from trap to trap when she set them. Then Deegie told of Ayla
wanting white fur to make something for someone, but not white fox
fur this time, and tracking the ermine.
Jondalar arrived after the story telling began, and was trying to re-
main quietly unnoticed sitting near the far wall. He was already sorry
and berating himself for leaving so hastily, but he felt the blood drain
from his face when he heard Deegie's remark. If Ay la was making
something with white fur for someone, and did not want winter fox,
it must be because she had already given that someone white winter
fox. And he knew to whom she had given white fox furs at her adop
tion ceremony. Jondalar closed his eyes and clenched his fists in his
lap. He didn't even want to think it, but he couldn't keep the thoughts
from his mind. Ay la must be making something for the dark man who
looked so stunning in white fur; for Ranee.
Ranee wondered, too, who the someone was. He suspected it was
Jondalar, but he hoped it might be someone else, maybe even him. It
gave him an idea, though. Whether she was making something for
him or not, he could still make something for her. He recalled her
excitement and delight over the carved horse he had given her, and
grew warm at the thought of carving something else for her; some
thing that would delight her and excite her again, especially now that
the big blond man had moved away. Jondalar's presence had always
acted as a restraining influence, but if he was willingly abdicating his
primary position, leaving her bed and her hearth, then Ranee felt free
to pursue her more actively.
The little wolf whimpered in his sleep, and Ay la, sitting on the
edge of her bed platform, reached over and stroked him to calm him.
The only time in his young life that he had felt as warm and secure as
he did now was when he had been nestled beside his mother, and she
had left him alone many times in the cold dark den. But Ay la's hand
had taken him out of that cheerless and frighteningly alone place, and
brought him warmth and food and a feeling of safety. He settled
down under her reassuring touch without even waking.
Ay la let Deegie continue the story, only adding comments and ex
planations. She didn't feel much like talking, and it was interesting
that the other young woman's story was not the same one she would
have told. It wasn't less true, but seen from a different viewpoint, and
Ay la was a little surprised at some of her companion's impressions.
She hadn't seen the situation as quite so dangerous. Deegie had been
much more frightened of the wolf; she didn't seem to really under
stand them.
Wolves were among the gentlest of meat eaters, and very predict
able, if you paid attention to their signals—weasels were far more
bloodthirsty and bears more unpredictable. It was rare for wolves to
attack humans.
But Deegie didn't see them that way. She described the wolf as
viciously attacking Ayla, and she had been afraid. It had been danger-
ous, but even if Ay la hadn't fended it off, the attack was defensive.
She might have been hurt, but she probably would not have been
killed, and the wolf had backed down as soon as she could grab the
dead ermine and get away. When Deegie described Ay la diving head
first into the wolf's den, the Camp looked at her in awe. She was
either very brave or very foolhardy, but Ay la didn't think she was
either. She knew there were no other adult wolves around, there were
no other tracks. The black had been a lone wolf, probably far from
her home territory, and the black was dead.
Deegie's vivid recounting of Ayla's exploits did more than cause
awe in one of the listeners. Jondalar had been growing more and more
agitated. In his mind he embellished the story even more, envisioned
Ay la not only in great danger but attacked by wolves, hurt and bleed
ing, and perhaps worse. He couldn't bear the thought, and his earlier
anxiety returned in redoubled force. Other people had similar
feelings.
"You should not have put yourself in such danger, Ayla," the head-
woman said.
"Mother!" Deegie said. The woman had indicated earlier that she
would not bring up her concerns.
People who were still caught up in the adventure scowled at her for
interrupting a dramatic story, told with skill. That it was true made it
more exciting, and though it would be told and retold, it would never
again have the fresh impact of the first hearing. The mood was being
spoiled—after all, she was back home and safe now.
Ayla looked at Tulie, then glanced at Jondalar. She had known the
moment he came back to the Mammoth Hearth. He had been angry,
and so, it seemed, was Tulie. "I was not in such danger," she said.
"You do not think it is dangerous to go into a wolves' den?" Tulie
asked.
"No. There was no danger. It was the den of a lone wolf, and she
was dead. I only went in to look for her babies."
"That may be, but was it necessary to stay out so late tracking the
wolf? It was almost dark before you returned," Tulie said.
Jondalar had said the same thing. "But I knew the black had young,
she was nursing. Without a mother, they would die," Ayla explained,
although she had said it before and thought it was understood.
"So you endanger your own life"—and Deegie's, she thought,
though she did not say it—"for the life of a wolf? After the black one
attacked you, it was foolhardy to continue to chase it just to get back
the ermine it took. You should have let it go."
"I disagree, Tulie," Talut interjected. Everyone turned toward the
headman. "There was a starving wolf in the vicinity, one that had
already trailed Deegie when she set her traps. Who's to say it
wouldn't have trailed her back here? The weather is getting warmer,
children are playing outside more. If that wolf got desperate enough,
it might have attacked one of the children, and we would not have
expected it. Now we know the wolf is dead. It's better that way."
People were nodding their heads in agreement, but Tulie was not to
be put off so easily. "Perhaps it was better that the wolf was killed,
but you can't say it was necessary to stay out so long looking for the
wolf's young. And now that she found the wolf pup, what are we
going to do with it?"
"I think Ayla did the right thing in going after the wolf and killing
it, but it is a shame that a nursing mother had to be killed. All moth
ers deserve the right to raise their young, even mother wolves. But
more than that, it was not an entirely useless effort for Ayla and
Deegie to track back to the wolf den, Tulie. They did more than find
a wolf pup. Since they found only one set of tracks, now we know
there are no other starving wolves nearby. And if, in the name of the
Mother, Ayla took pity on the wolf mother's young, I don't see any
harm in that. It's such a tiny little pup."
"Now it's a tiny little pup, but it won't stay little. What do we do
with a full-grown wolf around the lodge? How do you know it won't
attack the children, then?" Frebec asked. "There will soon be a small
baby at our hearth."
"Considering her way with animals, I think Ayla would know how
to keep that wolf from hurting anyone. But more than that, I will say
now, as headman of the Lion Camp, if there is even a hint that that
wolf might hurt someone"—Talut stared pointedly at Ayla—"I will
kill him. Do you agree to that, Ayla?"
All eyes turned to her. She flushed and stammered at first, and then
spoke what she felt. "I cannot say for certain that this pup will not
hurt someone when he is grown. I cannot even say if he will stay. I
raised a horse from a baby. She left to find her stallion and joined a
herd for a while, but she came back. I also raised a cave lion until he
was full-grown. Whinney was like a mother's helper to Baby when he
was little and they became friends. Even though cave lions hunt
horses, and could easily have harmed me, he did not threaten either of
us. He was always just my baby.
"When Baby left to find a mate, he did not come back, not to stay,
but he visited, and sometimes we met him on the steppes. He never
threatened Whinney or Racer, or me, even after he found a mate and
started his own pride. Baby attacked two men who went into his den,
and killed one, but when I told him to go away and leave Jondalar and
his brother alone, he went. A cave lion and a wolf are both meat
eaters. I have lived with a cave lion, and I have watched wolves. I do
not think a wolf that grows up with the people of a Camp will ever
hurt them, but I will say here, that if there is any hint of danger to
any child, or any person"--she swallowed a few times--"I, Ayla of
the Mamutoi, will kill him myself."

Ayla decided to introduce the wolf pup to Whinney and Racer the
following morning so they could get accustomed to his scent and
avoid unnecessary nervousness. After feeding him, she picked up the
little canine and took him out to the horse annex to meet the equine
pair. Unknown to her, several people had seen her go.
Before she approached the horses with the young wolf, however,
she picked up a dried chunk of horse dung, crushed it and rubbed him
with the fibrous dust. Ayla hoped the steppe horse would be willing
to befriend another baby hunting animal as she had the cave lion, but
she recalled that Whinney had been more accepting of Baby after he
had rolled in her dung.
When she held out the handful of fuzzy fur to Whinney, the mare
shied away at first, but her natural curiosity won out. She advanced
cautiously, and smelled the comforting, familiar scent of horse along
with the more disturbing wolf odor. Racer was equally curious, and
less cautious. While he had an instinctive wariness of wolves, he had
never lived with a wild herd and had never been the object of pursuit
by a pack of proficient hunters. He stepped up to the warm and living,
interesting, though vaguely threatening, furry thing which Ayla
held cupped in both hands, and stretched forward for a closer
inspection.
After the two horses had sniffed sufficiently to familiarize themselves
with the puppy, Ayla put him down on the ground in front of
the two large grazers, and heard a gasp. She glanced toward the Mammoth
Hearth entrance and noticed Latie holding open the drape.
Talut, Jondalar, and several others crowded close behind her. They
didn't want to disturb her, but they, too, were curious, and couldn't
resist the urge to see the first meeting of the baby wolf and the horses.
Small though he was, the wolf was a predator, and horses were
wolves' natural prey. But hooves and teeth could be formidable weapons.
Horses had been known to wound or kill full-grown attacking
wolves and could easily make short work of so small a predator.
The horses knew they were in no danger from the young hunter,
and quickly overcame their initial wariness. More than one person
smiled to see the wobbly little wolf, not much bigger than a hoof,
looking up the massive legs of the strange giants. Whinney lowered
her head and nosed forward, pulled back, then poked her long mobile
nose toward the wolf again. Racer approached the interesting baby
from the other side. The wolf puppy huddled down and cringed
when he saw the huge heads approaching him. But from the point of
view of the small puppy, the world was populated by giants. The
humans, even the woman who fed and comforted him, were gigantic,
too.
He detected no threat in the warm breath blowing from the flaring
nostrils. To the wolf's sensitive nose, the scent of these horses was
familiar. It permeated Ay la's clothing and belongings, and even the
woman herself. The baby wolf decided that these four-legged giants
were part of his pack, too, and with his normal puppyish eagerness to
please, reached up to touch his tiny black nose to the soft warm nose
of the mare.
"They're touching noses!" Ay la heard Latie say in a loud whisper.
When the wolf started to lick the muzzle of the mare, which was
the usual way puppies approached members of their pack, Whinney
lifted her head quickly. But she was too intrigued to stay away for
long from the startling little animal, and was soon accepting the ca
ressing warm licks of the tiny predator.
After a few moments of mutually getting acquainted, Ay la picked
up the young wolf to carry him back in. It had been an auspicious
beginning, but she decided not to overdo it. Later, she would take
him out for a ride.
Ayla had seen a look of amused tenderness on Jondalar's face when
the animals met. It was an expression that once had been so familiar
to her, it filled her with an unaccountable surge of happiness. Perhaps
he would be willing to move back to the Mammoth Hearth, now that
he had time to think about it. But when she went inside and smiled at
him—her big beautiful smile—he averted his face and lowered his
eyes, then quickly followed Talut back to the cooking hearth. Ayla
bowed her head as her joy evaporated, leaving an aching heaviness in
its place, convinced he didn't care about her any more.
Nothing was further from the truth. He was sorry he had acted so
hastily, ashamed that he had displayed such immature behavior, and
certain that he was no longer welcome after his abrupt departure. He
did not think her smile was really intended for him. He believed that
it was a result of the successful meeting of the animals, but the sight
of it filled him with such an agony of love and yearning, he couldn't
bear to be near her.
Ranee saw Ay la's eyes follow after the back of the big man. He
wondered how long their separation would last, and what effect it
would have. Though he was almost afraid to hope, he could not help
but think that Jondalar's absence might increase his chances with
Ay la. He had some notion that he was in part a cause of the separa
tion, but he felt the problem between them went deeper. Ranee had
made his interest in Ay la obvious, and neither of them had indicated
that it was wholly misplaced. Jondalar had not confronted him with a
definitive statement of his intention to join with Ayla in an exclusive
union; he had just acted with suppressed anger and withdrawn. And
while Ayla had not exactly encouraged him, she had not turned him
away either.
It was true, Ayla did welcome Ranee's company. She wasn't sure
what was causing Jondalar to be so aloof, but she felt certain it was
something that she was doing wrong. Ranee's attentive presence made
her feel that her behavior could not be entirely inappropriate.
Latie was standing beside Ayla, her eyes bright with interest in the
wolf puppy she held. Ranee joined them.
"That was a sight I'll never forget, Ayla," Ranee said. "That tiny
thing touching noses with that huge horse. He's a brave little wolf."
She looked up and smiled, as pleased at Ranee's praise as she would
have been if the animal were her own child. "Wolf was frightened at
first. They are much bigger than he is. I'm glad they made friends so
fast."
"Is that what you are going to call him? Wolf?" Latie asked.
"I haven't really thought about it. It does seem a fitting name,
though."
"I can't think of one more fitting," Ranee conceded.
"What do you think, Wolf?" Ayla asked, holding the baby wolf up
and looking at him. The puppy squirmed toward her eagerly, and
licked her face. They all smiled.
"I think he likes it," Latie said.
"You do know animals, Ayla," Ranee said, then with a questioning
look, he added, "There is something I'd like to ask you, though. How
did you know the horses wouldn't hurt him? Wolf packs hunt horses,
and I've seen horses kill wolves. They are mortal enemies."
Ayla paused and considered. "I'm not sure. I just knew. Maybe
because of Baby. Cave lions kill horses, too, but you should have seen
Whinney with him when he was little. She was so protective, like a
mother, or at least an aunt. Whinney knew a baby wolf couldn't hurt
her, and Racer seemed to know it, too. I think if you start when they
are babies, many animals can be friends, and friends of people, too."
"Is that why Whinney and Racer are your friends?" Latie asked.
"Yes, I think so. We've had time to get used to each other. That's
what Wolf needs."
"Do you think he might get used to me?" Latie asked, with such
yearning, Ayla smiled with recognition of the feeling. ^
"Here," she said, holding the puppy out to the girl. "Hold him." |
Latie cuddled the warm and wriggling animal in her arms, then
bent her cheek to feel the soft fuzzy fur. Wolf licked her face, too,
including her in his pack.
"I think he likes me," Latie said. "He just kissed me!"
Ayla smiled at the delighted reaction. She knew such friendliness
was natural to wolf puppies; the humans seemed to find it as irresisti
ble as adult wolves did. Only when they grew older did wolves be
come shy, defensive, and suspicious of strangers.
The young woman observed the pup with curiosity as Latie held
him. Wolf's coat was still the unshaded dark gray color of the very
young. Only later would the hair develop the dark and light bars of
the typical agouti coloration of an adult wolf—if it would at all. His
mother had been solid black, even darker than the pup, and Ayla
wondered what color Wolf would turn out to be.
They all turned their heads at Crozie's screech.
"Your promises mean nothing! You promised me respect! You
promised I would always be welcome, no matter what!"
"I know what I promised. You don't have to remind me," Frebec
shouted.
The squabble was not unexpected. The long winter had provided
time to make and mend, to carve and to weave, to tell stories, sing
songs, play games and musical instruments; to indulge in all the pas
times and diversions ever invented. But as the long season drew to a
close, it was also the time when close confinement caused tempers to
flare. The undercurrent of conflict between Frebec and Crozie had
caused such strained relations that most people felt an outbreak was
imminent.
"Now you say you want me to leave. I am a mother with no place
to go, and you want me to leave. Is that keeping your promise?"
The verbal battle was carried along the passageway and soon ar
rived in full force at the Mammoth Hearth. The wolf puppy, fright
ened by the noise and commotion, squirmed out of Latie's arms, and
was gone before she could see where he went.
"I keep my promises," Frebec said. "You didn't hear me right.
What I meant was ..." He had made promises to her, but he didn't
know then what it would be like to live with the old harridan. If only
he could just have Fralie and not have to put up with her mother, he
thought, looking around trying to think of some way to get out of the
corner Crozie had put him in.
"What I meant was . . ."He noticed Ayla and looked directly at
her. "We need more room. The Crane Hearth isn't big enough for us.
And what are we going to do when the baby comes? There seems to
be plenty of room in this hearth, even for animals!"
"It's not for the animals, the Mammoth Hearth was this size before
Ayla came," Ranee said, coming to Ayla's defense. "Everyone in the
Camp congregates here, it has to be larger. Even then it gets crowded.
You can't have a hearth this big."
"Did I ask for one this big? I only said ours wasn't big enough.
Why should the Lion Camp make room for animals but not for
people?"
More people were coming to see what was going on. "You can't
take room from the Mammoth Hearth," Deegie said, making room for
the old shaman to come forward. "Tell him, Mamut."
"No one made room for the wolf. He sleeps in a basket near her
head," Mamut began in a reasonable tone. "You imply Ayla has this
entire hearth, but she has little space to call her own. People gather
here whether there is a ceremony or not, particularly the children.
There is always someone around, including Fralie and her children
sometimes."
"I have told Fralie I don't like her to spend so much time here, but
she says she needs more room to spread out her work. Fralie would
not have to come here to work if we had more room at our hearth."
Fralie blushed, and went back to the Crane Hearth. She had told
Frebec that, but it wasn't entirely true. She also liked to spend time at
the Mammoth Hearth for the company, and because Ayla's advice
had helped with her difficult pregnancy. Now Fralie felt she would
have to stay away.
"Anyway, I wasn't talking about the wolf," Frebec continued,
"though no one asked me if I wanted to share the lodge with that
animal. Just because one person wants to bring animals here, I don't
know why I should have to live with them. I'm not an animal, and I
didn't grow up with them, but around here animals are worth more
than people. This whole Camp will build a separate room for horses,
while we are squeezed into the smallest hearth in the lodge!"
An uproar ensued with everybody shouting at once, trying to make
themselves heard.
"What do you mean, 'the smallest hearth in the lodge'?" Tornec
stormed. "We have no more room than you, maybe less, and just as
many people!"
"That's true," Tronic said. Manuv was vigorously nodding his head
in agreement.
"No one has much room," Ranee said.
"He's right!" Tronic agreed again, with more vehemence. "I think
even the Lion Hearth is smaller than yours, Frebec, and they have
more people than you, and bigger ones, too. They are really cramped.
Maybe they should have some of the space from the cooking hearth. If
any hearth deserves it, they do."
"But the Lion Hearth is not asking for more room," Nezzie tried to

say.
Ayla looked from one person to the next, unable to understand how
the entire Camp had suddenly become embroiled in a vociferous argument,
but feeling that somehow it was all her fault.
In the midst of it all, a loud bellow suddenly roared out that ov.er-
powered all the commotion and stopped everyone. Talut stood in the
middle of the hearth with commanding assurance. His feet were
spread apart and in his right hand was the enigmatically decorated,
long, straight ivory shaft. Tulie joined him, lending her presence and
authority. Ayla felt daunted by the powerful pair.
"I have brought the Speaking Staff," Talut said, holding up the
shaft and shaking it to make his point. "We will discuss this problem
peaceably and settle it equitably."
"In the name of the Mother, let no one dishonor the Speaking
Staff," Tulie added. "Who will speak first?"
"I think Frebec should speak first," Ranee said. "He's the one with
the problem."
Ayla had been edging toward the periphery, trying to get away
from the noisy, shouting people. She noticed that Frebec seemed uncomfortable
and nervous with all the unfriendly attention focused on
him. Ranee's comment had carried the strong implication that the imbroglio
was entirely his fault. Ayla, standing somewhat hidden behind
Danug, studied Frebec closely for perhaps the first time.
He was of average height, perhaps a bit less. Now that she noticed
it, she thought she was probably slightly taller than he, but she was
somewhat taller than Barzec, too, and probably matched Wymez in
height. She was so used to being taller than everyone she hadn't paid
attention before. Frebec had light brown hair, thinning somewhat,
eyes of a medium shade of blue, and straight, even features with no
disfigurements. He was an ordinary-looking man and she could find
nothing to account for his belligerent, offensive behavior. There were
times when Ayla was growing up that she wished she had looked as
much like the rest of the Clan as Frebec looked like his people.
As Frebec stepped forward and took the Speaking Staff from Talut,
Ayla noticed Crozie out of the corner of her eye, with a gloating smirk
on her face. Certainly the old woman was at least partially to blame
for Frebec's actions, but was that all? There had to be more to it.
Ayla looked for Fralie, but didn't see her among the people gathered
in the Mammoth Hearth. Then she noticed the pregnant woman
watching from the edge of the Crane Hearth.
Frebec cleared his throat a few times, then, shifting his hold on the
ivory shaft and grasping firmly, he began. "Yes, I do have a prob-
lem." He looked around nervously, then scowling, he stood up
straighter. "I mean, we have a problem, the Crane Hearth. There is
not enough space. We have no room to work, it is the smallest hearth
in the lodge ..."
"It is not the smallest. Theirs is bigger than ours!" Tronic spoke
out, unable to restrain herself.
Tulie fixed her with a stem eye. "You will have a chance to speak,
Tronic, when Frebec is through."
Tronic blushed and mumbled apologies. Her embarrassment
seemed to give Frebec encouragement. His stance became more
aggressive.
"We don't have enough room now, Fralie doesn't have enough room
to work, and . . . and Crozie needs more space. And soon there will
be another person. I think we should have more room." Frebec gave
the Staff back to Talut and stepped back.
"Tronic, you may speak now," Talut said.
"I don't think ... I was just . . . well, maybe I will," she said,
stepping forward to take the Staff. "We don't have any more room
than the Crane Hearth, and we have just as many people." Then she
added, trying to enlist Talut's assistance, "I think even the Lion
Hearth is smaller ..."
"That is not important, Tronic," Talut said. "The Lion Hearth
isn't asking for space and we are not close enough to the Crane Hearth
to be affected by Frebec's desire for more room. You, at the Reindeer
Hearth, do have a right to speak up since changes in the Crane Hearth
are more likely to cause changes in your space. Is there anything else
you want to say?"
"No, I don't think so," Tronic said, shaking her head, as she
handed him the Staff.
"Anyone else?"
Jondalar wished he could say something that would help, but he
was an outsider and felt it wasn't his place to intrude. He wanted to
be by Ay la's side, and was even more sorry now that he had moved
his sleeping place. He was almost glad when Ranee stepped up and
took the ivory shaft. Somebody needed to speak for her.
"It's not terribly important, but Frebec is exaggerating. I can't say
whether or not they need more space, but the Crane Hearth is not the
smallest hearth in the lodge. The Fox Hearth has that honor. But we
are only two, and we are content."
There were murmurs, and Frebec glared at the carver. There had
never been much understanding between the two men. Ranee had
always felt they had little in common, and tended to ignore him.
Frebec took it as disdain, and there was some truth to the feeling.
Particularly since he had begun making disparaging remarks to Ay la,
Ranee found little of worth in Frebec.
Talut, attempting to forestall another general argument, raised his
voice and addressed Frebec. "How do you think the space in the lodge
ought to be changed to give you more room?" He gave the long ivory
pole to the man.
"I never said I wanted to take any space from the Reindeer Hearth,
but it seems to me that if some people have space for animals, they
have more room than they need. A whole annex was added to the
lodge for the horses, but no one seems to care that we will soon be
adding another person. Maybe things could be ... moved over,"
Frebec finished lamely. He was not happy to see Mamut reach for the
Speaking Staff.
"Are you suggesting that in order to make more room at the Crane
Hearth, the Reindeer Hearth should move into the Mammoth
Hearth? That would be a great inconvenience for them. As for Fralie
coming here to work, you are not suggesting that she confine herself
to the Crane Hearth, are you? It would be unhealthy, and deprive her
of the companionship she finds here. This is where she is supposed to
bring her projects. This hearth is meant to accommodate work that
takes more room than there is in anyone's personal hearth. The Mam
moth Hearth belongs to everyone and it is almost too small for gather
ings now."
When Mamut turned the Speaking Staff back to Talut, Frebec
looked chastened, but he bristled defensively when Ranee took it
again.
"As for the horse annex, we will all benefit from that space, espe
cially after storage cellars are dug. Even now, it has become a conve
nient entrance for many people. I notice you keep your outer clothes
in there, and use it more often than the front way, Frebec," Ranee
said. "Besides, babies are small. They don't take much space. I don't
think you need more room."
"How would you know?" Crozie interjected. "You've never had one
born to your hearth. Babies do take room, a lot more than you think."
Only after she said it did Crozie realize that for the first time she
had sided with Frebec. She frowned, then decided maybe he was
right. Maybe they did need more room. It was true that the Mam
moth Hearth was a gathering place, but it did seem to accord Ay la
greater status because she lived at such a large hearth. Though every
one had considered it theirs when Mamut had lived there alone, now,
except for ceremonial gatherings, everyone treated it as though it were
Ayla's. A larger space for the Crane Hearth might increase the status
of its members.
Everyone seemed to take Crozie's interruption as a signal for gen
eral comment, and with a knowing look passing between them, Talut
and Tulie allowed the outburst to run its course. Sometimes people
needed to speak their minds. During the interruption, Tulie caught
Barzec's eye and after things quieted down, he stepped forward and
requested the Staff. Tulie nodded agreement, as though she knew
what he was going to say although they had not spoken to each other.
"Crozie is right," he said, nodding toward her. She stood up
straighter, accepting the acknowledgment, and her opinion of Barzec
rose. "Babies do take room, much more room than one would think
from their size. Perhaps it is time for some changes, but I don't think
the Mammoth Hearth should give up space. The needs of the Crane
Hearth are growing, but the needs of the Aurochs Hearth are less.
Tarneg has gone to live at the Camp of his woman, and soon he will
be starting a new Camp with Deegie. Then she will be gone, too.
Therefore, the Hearth of the Aurochs, understanding the needs of a
growing family, will give up some space to the Hearth of the Crane."
"Is that satisfactory to you, Frebec?" Talut asked.
"Yes," Frebec replied, hardly knowing how to respond to this unex
pected turn of events.
"Then I will leave it to you to work out together how much space
will be given by the Aurochs Hearth, but I think it is only fair that no
changes be made until after Fralie has her baby. Do you agree?"
Frebec nodded, still overwhelmed. At his former Camp, he
wouldn't have dreamed of asking for more space; if he had, he would
have been laughed at. He didn't have the prerogative, the status, to
make such requests. When the argument with Crozie began, space
wasn't on his mind at all. He had just been groping for some way to
respond to her stinging, though true, accusations. Now, he was con
vincing himself that lack of space had been the reason all along for the
argument, and for once, she had taken his side. He felt the thrill of
success. He had won a battle. Two battles: one with the Camp, one
with Crozie. As the people dispersed, he saw Barzec talking with
Tulie, and it occurred to him that he owed them thanks.
"I appreciate your understanding," Frebec said to the headwoman
and the man of the Aurochs Hearth.
Barzec made the customary disclaimers, but they would not have
been pleased if Frebec had failed to acknowledge the accommodation
made to him. They knew full well the value of their concession went
far beyond a few feet of space. It announced that the Crane Hearth
had the status to merit such a grant from the hearth of the head-
woman, though it was the status of Crozie and Fralie that they had in
mind when Tulie and Barzec had previously discussed a shift in
boundary between themselves. They had already anticipated the
changing needs of the two families. Barzec had even considered bring
ing up the issue earlier, but Tulie suggested they wait for a more
appropriate moment, perhaps as a gift for the baby.
They both knew this was the moment. It had taken no more than
looks and nods to signal each other. And since Frebec had just won a
nominal victory, the Crane Hearth was bound to be conciliatory
about adjusting the boundary. Barzec had just been remarking with
pride how wise Tulie was when Frebec approached to make his
thanks. As Frebec walked back to the Crane Hearth, he savored the
incident, tallying up the points he felt he had won, just as though it
had been one of the games the Camp liked to play, and he was count
ing his winnings.
In a very real sense, it was a game, the very subtle and entirely
serious game of comparative rank which is played by all social ani
mals. It is the method by which individuals arrange themselves—
horses in a herd, wolves in a pack, people in a community—so that
they can live together. The game pits two opposing forces against
each other, both equally important to survival: individual autonomy
and community welfare. The object is to achieve dynamic equi
librium.
At times and under certain conditions individuals can be nearly au
tonomous. An individual can live alone and have no worry about
rank, but no species can survive without interaction between individ
uals. The ultimate price would be more final than death. It would be
extinction. On the other hand, complete individual subordination to
the group is just as devastating. Life is neither static nor unchanging.
With no individuality, there can be no change, no adaptation and, in
an inherently changing world, any species unable to adapt is also
doomed.
Humans in a community, whether it is as small as two people or as
large as the world, and no matter what form the society takes, will
arrange themselves according to some hierarchy. Commonly under
stood courtesies and customs can help to smooth the friction and ease
the stress of maintaining a workable balance within this constantly
changing system. In some situations most individuals will not have to
compromise much of their personal independence for the welfare of
the community. In others, the needs of the community may demand
the utmost personal sacrifice of the individual, even to life itself. Nei
ther is more right than the other, it depends on the circumstances; but
neither extreme can be maintained for long, nor can a society last if a
few people exercise their individuality at the expense of the com
munity.
Ayla often found herself comparing Clan society with that of the
Mamutoi, and began to get a glimmer of this principle as she thought
about the different styles of leadership of Brun and the Lion Camp's
headman and headwoman. She saw Talut return the Speaking Staff to
its customary place and recalled that when she first arrived at the
Mamutoi Camp, she thought that Brun was a better leader than
Talut. Brun would have simply made a decision and the others would
have followed his order, whether they liked it or not. Not many
would even consider questioning whether they liked it or not. Brun
never had to argue or shout. A sharp look or a curt command brought
instant attention. It had seemed to her that Talut had no control over
the noisy, contentious people, and that they had no respect for him.
Now she wasn't so sure. It seemed to her that it was more difficult
to lead a group of people who believed everyone, woman and man,
had the right to speak out and be listened to. She still thought Brun
had been a good leader for his society, but she wondered if he could
have led these people who aired their views so freely. It could become
very loud and noisy when everyone had an opinion and did not hesi
tate to make it known, but Talut never allowed it to go beyond certain
bounds. Though he was certainly strong enough to have forced his
will on people, he chose to lead by consensus and accommodation
instead. He had certain sanctions and beliefs to call upon, and tech
niques of his own to get attention, but it took a different kind of
strength to persuade rather than coerce. Talut gained respect by giv
ing respect.
As Ayla walked toward a knot of people standing near the firepit,
she glanced around the hearth looking for the wolf puppy. It was a
subliminal gesture, and when she didn't see him she assumed he had
found some place to hide during the commotion.
"... Frebec certainly got his way," Tomec was saying, "thanks to
Tulie and Barzec."
"For Fralie's sake, I'm glad," Tronic said, relieved to know the
Reindeer Hearth would not be pushed over or squeezed. "I just hope
it will keep Frebec quiet for a while. He really started a big fight this
time."
"I don't like big fights like that," Ayla said, remembering that the
fight had started over Frebec's complaint that her animals had more
room than he did.
"Don't let it bother you," Ranee said. "It's been a long winter.
Something like that happens around this time every year. It's just a
little diversion to create some excitement."
"But he wouldn't have had to make such a fuss to get more room,"
Deegie said. "I heard mother and Barzec talking about it long before
he brought it up. They were going to give space to the Crane Hearth
as a gift for Fralie's baby. All Frebec needed to do was ask."
"That's why Tulie is such a good headwoman," Tronic said. "She
thinks of things like that."
"She is good, and so is Talut," Ayla said.
"Yes, he is." Deegie smiled. "That's why he is still headman. No
one stays leader for long if he can't command the respect of his peo
ple. I think Branag will be as good. He had Talut to learn from." The
warm feelings between Deegie and her mother's brother went deeper
than the formal avuncular relationship that, along with the status and
inheritance from her mother, assured the young woman of a high
standing among the Mamutoi.
"But who would become leader instead, if Talut didn't have re
spect?" Ayla asked. "And how?"
"Well ... ah ..." Deegie began. Then the young people turned to
Mamut to answer her question.
"If it is the old former leaders turning over active leadership to a
younger brother and sister, who have been selected—usually rela
tives—there is a period of learning, then a ceremony, then the older
leaders become advisers," the shaman and teacher said.
"Yes. That's what Brun did. When he was younger, he respected
old Zoug and paid attention to his advice, and when he got older, he
turned the leadership over to Broud, the son of his mate. But what
happens if a Camp loses respect for a leader? A young leader?" Ayla
asked, very interested.
"The change would not happen quickly," Mamut said, "but people
just would not turn to him after a while. They would go to someone
else, someone who could lead a more successful hunt, or handle prob
lems better. Sometimes the leadership is relinquished, sometimes a
Camp just breaks up, with some going with the new leader, and some
staying with the old. But leaders don't usually give up their positions
or authority easily, and that can cause problems, even fights. Then
the decision would get turned over to the Councils. The headman or
headwoman who has shared leadership with someone who causes
trouble, or is held responsible for a problem, is seldom able to start up
a new Camp, though it may not be her"—Mamut hesitated, and Ayla
noticed that his eyes darted toward the old woman of the Crane
Hearth, who was talking to Nezzie—"that person's fault. People want
leaders they can depend on, and distrust those who have had prob
lems ... or tragedies."
Ayla nodded, and Mamut knew she understood, both what he had
said and what he had implied. The conversation continued, but Ayla's
mind had wandered back to the Clan. Brun had been a good leader,
but what would his clan do if Broud was not? She wondered if they
would turn to a new leader, and who it might be. It would be a long
time before the son of Broud's mate was old enough. A persistent
worry that had been nagging for her attention suddenly broke
through.
"Where's Wolf?" she said.
She hadn't seen him since the argument, and no one else had either.
Everyone started looking. Ayla searched her bed platform, and then
every other corner of the hearth, even the curtained-off area with the
basket of ashes and horse dung, which she had shown the pup. She
was beginning to feel the same panic that a mother feels when her
child is missing.
"Here he is, Ayla!" she heard Tornec say, with relief, but she felt
her stomach churn when he added, "Frebec has him." Her surprise
bordered on shock as she watched him approach. She was not the
only one who stared in amazed disbelief.
Frebec, who never overlooked an opportunity to derogate Ay la's
animals, or her, for her association with them, was cradling the wolf
puppy gently in his arms. He handed the wolf over to her, but she
noticed a moment of hesitation, as though he gave up the small crea
ture reluctantly, and she saw a softer look in his eyes than she had
ever seen there before.
"He must have gotten scared," Frebec explained. "Fralie said sud
denly he was there, at the hearth, whining. She didn't know where he
came from. Most of the children were there, too, and Crisavec picked
him up and put him on a storage platform, near the head of his bed.
But there's a deep niche in the wall there. It goes quite a way into the
hillside. The wolf found it, and crawled all the way to the back, and
then he wouldn't come out."
"It must have reminded him of his den," Ayla said.
"That's what Fralie said. It was too hard for her to go and get him,
as big as she is, and I think she was afraid after hearing Deegie tell
about you going into a wolf den. She didn't want Crisavec to go in
after him, either. When I got there, I had to go in and get him out."
Frebec paused then, and when he continued, Ayla heard a note of
wonder in his voice. "When I reached him, he was so glad to see me,
he licked me all over the face. I tried to get him to stop."
Frebec assumed a more detached and unconcerned manner to cover
up the fact that he was obviously moved by the naturally winning
ways of the frightened baby wolf. "But when I put him down, he
cried and cried until I picked him up again." Several people had gath
ered around by then. "I don't know why he picked the Crane Hearth,
or me, to run to when he was looking for a safe place."
"He thinks of the Camp as his pack now, and he knows you are a
member of the Camp, especially after you brought him out of the den
he found," Ayla replied, trying to reconstruct the circumstances.
Frebec had been feeling the flush of victory when he returned to his
hearth, and something deeper that made him feel an unaccustomed
warmth; a sense of belonging as an equal. They hadn't just ignored
him or made fun of him. Talut always listened to him, just as though
he had the status to warrant it, and Tulie, the headwoman herself,
had offered to give him some of her space. Crozie had even sided with
him.
A lump came in his throat when he saw Fralie, his very own, trea
sured, high-status woman who had made it all possible; his beautiful
pregnant woman who would soon give birth to the first child of his
own hearth, the hearth Crozie had given him, the Crane Hearth. He'd
been annoyed when she told him the wolf was hiding in the niche,
but the pup's eager acceptance of him, in spite of all his harsh words,
surprised him. Even the new baby wolf welcomed him, and then
would only be soothed by him. And Ayla said it was because the wolf
knew he was a member of the Lion Camp. Even a wolf knew he
belonged.
"Well, you better keep him here from now on," Frebec cautioned as
he turned to go. "And watch out for him. If you don't, he could get
stepped on."
After Frebec left, several of the people who had been standing
around looked at each other in complete bewilderment.
"That was a change. I wonder what got into him?" Deegie said. "If
I didn't know better, I'd say he actually likes Wolf!"
"I didn't think he had it in him," Ranee said, feeling more respect
than he ever had for the man of the Crane Hearth.
rr^
i
he four-legged creatures of the Mother's domain had always
been either food, fur, or the personification of spirits to the Lion
Camp. They knew animals in their natural environment, knew their
movements and migration patterns, knew where to look for them and
how to hunt them. But the people of the Camp had never known
individual animals before Ayla came with the mare and the young
stallion.
The interaction of the horses with Ayla and, as time passed, with
other people in varying degrees, was a constant source of surprise. It
had never occurred to anyone before that such animals would respond
to a human, or that they could be trained to come at a whistle or to
carry a rider. But even the horses with all their interest and appeal did
not hold the fascination to the Camp of the baby wolf. They re
spected wolves as hunters, and on occasion, adversaries. Sometimes a
wolf was hunted for a winter pelt, and though it was rare, an occa
sional human fell to a pack of wolves. Most often wolves and humans
tended to respect and avoid each other.
But the very young always exert a special appeal; it is the innate
source of their survival. Babies, including baby animals, touch some
inner chord that resonates in response, but Wolf—the name by which
he came to be known—held a special charm. From the first day that
the fuzzy little dark gray pup waddled on unsteady legs on the floor of
the earthlodge, he entranced the human population. His eager puppy
ways were hard to resist, and he quickly became a favorite of the
Camp.
It helped, although the people of the Camp didn't realize it, that
human ways and wolf ways were not so different. Both were intelli
gent, social animals who organized themselves within an overall pat
tern of complex and changing relationships, which benefited the
group while accommodating individual differences. Because of the
similarities of social structures and certain characteristics which had
evolved independently in both canines and humans, a unique relation
ship was possible between them.
Wolf's life began under unusual and difficult circumstances. As thf
only surviving pup of a litter born to a lone wolf who had lost her
mate, he never knew the security of a wolf pack. Rather than the
comfort of litter mates or a solicitous aunt or uncle who would have
stayed close by in the event that his mother left for a short time, he
had experienced loneliness unusual for a wolf pup. The only other
wolf he had known was his mother, and his memory of her was blur
ring as Ay la took her place.
But Ayla was something more. By deciding to keep and raise the
wolf puppy, she became the human half of an extraordinary bond that
developed between two entirely different species—canines and hu
mans—a bond that would have profound and lasting effects.
Even if there had been other wolves around, Wolf was too young
when he was found to have properly bonded with them. At his age of
a month or so, he would have just begun coming out of the den to
meet his relatives, the wolves that he would have identified with for
the rest of his life. He imprinted instead on the people, and horses, of
the Lion Camp.
It was the first, but it would not be the last time. By accident or
design, as the idea spread, it would happen again, many times in
many places. The ancestors of all the domestic canine breeds were
wolves, and in the beginning they retained their essential wolf charac
teristics. But as time went on, the generations of wolves born and
raised within a human environment began to differ from the original
wild canines.
Animals born with normal genetic variations in color, shape, and
size—a dark coat, a white spot, a curved-up tail, a smaller or larger
size—which would have pushed them to the periphery or out of the
pack, were often favored by humans. Even genetic aberrations in the
form of midgets or dwarfs or heavy-boned giants that would not have
survived to reproduce in the wild were kept, and thrived. Eventually
unusual or aberrant canines were bred to preserve and strengthen cer
tain traits that were desirable to humans, until the outward similar
ity of many dogs to the ancestral wolf was remote indeed. Yet the
wolf traits of intelligence, protect! veness, loyalty, and playfulness re
mained.
Wolf was quick to pick up cues of relative rank within the Camp, as
he would have been within a wolf pack, though his interpretation of
status might not have matched the notions of the humans. Though
Tulie was headwoman of the Lion Camp, to Wolf, Ayla was the rank
ing female; in a wolf pack the mother of the litter was the female
leader and she seldom allowed any other females to bear young.
No one in the Camp knew precisely what the animal thought or
felt, or if he even had thoughts and feelings that could be understood
by humans, but it didn't matter. The people of the Camp judged by
behavior, and from Wolf's actions no one doubted that he loved and
worshiped Ay la beyond measure. Wherever she was, he was always
aware of her, and at a whistle, a snap of the fingers, a beckoning
gesture, even a nod, he was at her feet, looking up with adoration in
his eyes eagerly anticipating her least wish. He was totally unself-
conscious in his responses, and entirely forgiving. He whined in ab
ject despair when she scolded him, and wriggled with ecstasies of
delight when she relented. He lived for her attention. His greatest joy
was when she played or romped with him, but even a word or a pat
was sufficient to elicit excited licking and other obvious signs of
devotion.
With no one else was Wolf quite so effusive. With most he dis
played varying degrees of friendliness or acceptance, which caused
some surprise that the animal could show such a range of feeling. His
reaction to Ayla strengthened the Camp's perception that she had a
magical ability to control animals, and it increased her stature.
The young wolf had a little more difficulty determining who the
male leader in his human pack was. The one who held that position in
the wolf pack was the object of the most solicitous attention of all the
other wolves. A greeting ceremony in which the male leader was
mobbed by the rest of the pack eager to lick his face, sniff his fur, and
crowd in close, often ending with a wonderful communal howling
ceremony, commonly affirmed his leadership. But the human pack
offered no such deference to any particular male.
Wolf did notice, however, that the two large four-legged members
of his unconventional pack greeted the tall blond man with more en
thusiasm than any other person, except Ayla. In addition, his scent
lingered strongly around Ay la's bed and the nearby area, which in
cluded Wolf's basket. In the absence of other cues, Wolf leaned
toward ascribing pack leadership to Jondalar. His inclination was
strengthened when his friendly advances were rewarded with warm
and playful attention.
The half-dozen children who played together were his litter mates
and Wolf could often be found with them, frequently at the Mam
moth Hearth. Once they developed a proper respect for his sharp
little teeth, and learned not to provoke a defensive snap, the children
found Wolf liked to be handled, petted, and fondled. He was tolerant
of unintentional excess, and seemed to know the difference between
Nuvie squeezing him a bit too hard when she carried him and Brinan
pulling his tail just to hear him yelp. The former was suffered with
forbearance, the latter rewarded with a nip of retribution. Wolf loved
to play and always managed to get in the middle of wrestling, and the
children quickly learned that he loved to retrieve things that were
thrown. When they all crumpled in a tired heap, falling asleep wher
ever they happened to be, the wolf pup was often among them.
After the first night when she had promised never to let the wolf
harm anyone, Ayla made a decision to train him with purpose and
thought. Her training of Whinney, in the beginning, had been acci
dental. She had acted on impulse the first time she climbed on the
mare's back, and hadn't known she was intuitively learning to control
the horse the more she rode. Though she was now aware of the sig
nals she had developed and used them consciously, her means of con
trol were still largely intuitive, and Ayla believed that Whinney
obeyed her commands because she wanted to.
Training the cave lion had been somewhat more purposeful. By the
time she found the injured cub, she knew an animal could be encour
aged to follow her wishes. Her first efforts at training had been di
rected at controlling the lion kitten's rambunctious affection. She
trained by love, the way children were raised by the Clan. She re
warded his gentle behavior with her affection, and firmly pushed him
aside, or got up and walked away when he forgot to sheath his claws
or played too rough. When, out of excitement, he bounded toward
her with unchecked enthusiasm, he learned to stop when she put up
her hand and said "Stop!" in a firm voice. The lesson was so well
learned that even when he became a full-grown male cave lion nearly
as tall but heavier than Whinney, he would stop at Ay la's command.
She invariably responded with affectionate rubs and scratches, and
occasionally a full-length hug rolling with him on the ground. As he
grew older, he learned many things, even to hunt with her.
Ayla soon realized that the children could benefit from some under
standing of the ways of wolves. She began to tell them stories about
the time she was learning to hunt and studying wolves along with
other carnivorous animals. She explained that wolf packs had a female
leader, and a male leader, like the Mamutoi, and told them that
wolves communicated with certain postures and gestures along with
vocal sounds. She showed them, on hands and knees, the stance of a
leader—head up, ears perked up, tail straight out in back—and the
posture of one approaching a leader—crouching down a little lower
and licking the leader's muzzle—adding the sounds with perfect mim
icry. She described stay-away warnings and playful behavior. The
puppy often participated.
The children enjoyed it, and often the adults listened in with equal
pleasure. Soon wolf signals were incorporated into the play of the
youngsters, but none used them better, or with more understanding,
than the child whose own language was spoken primarily with signs.
An extraordinary relationship developed between the wolf and the
boy that surprised the people of the Camp, and made Nezzie shake
her head in wonder. Rydag not only used the wolf signals, including
many of the sounds, but he seemed to take them a step further. To
people watching, it often appeared that they were actually talking to
each other, and the young animal seemed to know that the boy required
particular care and attention.
From the beginning, Wolf was less rambunctious, gentler around
him, and in his puppy way, protective of him. Except for Ay la, there
was no one whose company Wolf preferred more. If Ay la was busy,
he looked for Rydag, and was often found sleeping near him or on his
lap. Ay la wasn't entirely sure herself how Wolf and Rydag came to
understand each other so well. Ry dag's innate skill at reading subtle
nuances in the wolf's signals might explain the boy's ability, but how
could a young wolf puppy know the needs of a weak human child?
Ayla developed modified wolf signals along with other commands
to train the puppy. The first lesson, after several accidents, was to use
a basket of dung and ashes as the humans did, or to go outside. It was
surprisingly easy; Wolf seemed embarrassed over his messes, and
cringed when Ayla scolded him about them. The next lesson was
more difficult.
Wolf loved to chew on leather, especially boots and shoes, and
breaking him of the habit proved vexatious and frustrating. Whenever
she caught him at it and scolded him, he was contrite,'and abjectly
eager to please, but he was recalcitrant and would go right back to it
again, sometimes the moment she turned her back. Anyone's footwear
was in jeopardy, but most especially her favorite soft leather stockings.
He couldn't seem to leave them alone. She had to hang them up
high where he could not reach them or they would have been torn to
shreds. But as much as she objected to his chewing on her things,
she felt far worse when he ruined someone else's. She was responsible
for bringing him to the lodge, and felt any damage he did was her
fault.

Ayla was sewing the finishing beadwork onto the white leather
tunic when she heard a commotion from the Fox Hearth.
"Hey! You! Give me that!" Ranee shouted.
Ayla knew from the sound that Wolf had gotten into something
again. She ran to see what the problem was this time and saw Ranee
and Wolf in a tug-of-war over a worn boot.
"Wolf! Drop it!" she said, dropping her hand in a quick gesture that
came just short of his nose. The wolf pup let go immediately and
hunched down with his ears slightly back and his tail down, and
whined beseechingly. Ranee put his footwear on the platform.
"I hope he didn't ruin your boot," Ayla said.
"It doesn't matter anyway. It's an old one," Ranee said, smiling,
and added admiringly, "You do know wolves, Ayla. He does exactly
what you tell him."
"But only while I stand here and watch him," she said, looking
down at the animal. Wolf was watching her, wriggling with expecta
tion. "The moment I turn my back, he'll be into something else he
knows he's not supposed to touch. He'll drop it as soon as he sees me
coming, but I don't know how to teach him not to get into people's
things."
"Maybe he needs something of his own," Ranee volunteered. Then
he looked at her with his soft black glowing eyes, "Or something of
yours."
The puppy was scooching up to her, whining for her attention.
Finally, impatient, he yipped a few times. "Stay there! Be still!" she
commanded, upset with him. He backed down, lay on his paws, and
looked up at her, utterly crushed.
Ranee watched, then said to Ayla, "He can't stand it when you're
upset with him. He wants to know you love him. I think I know how
he feels."
He moved closer and his dark eyes filled with the warmth and need
that had touched her so deeply before. She felt a tingling response,
and backed away, flustered. Then, to cover her agitation, she bent
down and scooped up the wolf pup. Wolf excitedly licked her face,
wriggling with happiness.
"See how happy he is now that he knows you care about him?"
Ranee said. "It would make me happy to know you care about me.
Do you?"
"Uh ... of course, I care about you, Ranee," Ayla stammered,
feeling uncomfortable.
He flashed a broad smile, and his eyes gleamed with a hint of mis
chief, and something deeper. "It would be a pleasure to show you how
happy it makes me to know you care," he said, putting an arm around
her waist, and moving in closer.
"I believe you," she said, ducking away. "You don't have to show
me. Ranee."
It wasn't the first time he had made advances. Usually they were
framed as jests that allowed him to let her know how he felt, while
giving her the opportunity to avoid them without either of them los
ing face. She started walking back, sensing a more serious confronta
tion and wanting to avoid it. She had a feeling he would ask her to
come to his bed, and she didn't know if she could refuse a man who
commanded her to his bed, or even made a direct request. She under
stood it was her right, but the response to comply was so ingrained
she wasn't sure that she could.
"Why not, Ayla?" he said, falling in step beside her. "Why won't
you let me show you? You sleep alone now. You shouldn't sleep
alone."
She felt a stab of remorse realizing that she did sleep alone, but
tried not to show it. "I don't sleep alone," she said, holding up the
puppy. "Wolf sleeps with me, in a basket right here, near my head."
"That's not the same," Ranee said. His tone was serious and he
seemed ready to push the issue. Then he stopped and smiled. He
didn't want to rush her. He could tell she was upset. It hadn't been
that long since the separation. He tried to turn the tension aside.
"He's too small to keep you warm . . . but I must admit, he is appeal
ing." He rubbed Wolf's head affectionately.
Ayla smiled and put the young wolf down in the basket. He imme
diately jumped out and then down to the floor, sat down and
scratched himself, then scampered toward his feeding dish. Ayla be
gan to fold up the white tunic to put it away. She rubbed the soft
white leather and the white ermine fur, and straightened the little tails
with the black tips, feeling her stomach tighten and a lump form in
her throat. Her eyes stung from tears she fought to control. No, it
wasn't the same, she thought. How could it be the same?
"Ayla, you know how much I want you, how much I care about
you," Ranee said, standing behind her. "Don't you?"
"I think so," she said, not turning, but closing her eyes.
"I love you, Ayla. I know you feel unsettled right now, but I want
you to know. I loved you the first moment I saw you. I want to share
my hearth with you, to make a joining with you. I want to make you
happy. I know you need time to think about it. I'm not asking you to
make a decision, but tell me you'll think about . . . letting me try to
make you happy. Will you? Think about it?"
Ayla looked down at the white tunic in her hands, and her mind
whirled. Why doesn't jondalar want to sleep with me any more? Why
did he stop touching me, stop sharing Pleasures with me, even when
he was sleeping with me? Everything changed after I became
Mamutoi. Didn't he want me to be adopted? If he didn't, why didn't
he say so? Maybe he did want it; he said he did. I thought he loved
me. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he doesn't love me any
more. He never did ask me to join. What will I do if Jondalar leaves
without me? The knot in her stomach felt as hard as a rock. Ranee
cares for me, and he wants me to care about him. He is nice, and
funny, he always makes me laugh . . . and he loves me. But I don't
love him. I wish I could love him . . . maybe I should try.
"Yes, Ranee, I'll think about it," she said softly, but her throat
tightened and ached as she spoke.

Jondalar watched Ranee leave the Mammoth Hearth. The tall man
had become a watcher, though he felt embarrassed about it. It wasn't
appropriate behavior, either in this society or his own, for adults to
stare or concern themselves unduly with the ordinary activities of another
person, and Jondalar had always been especially sensitive to social
conventions. It bothered him to appear so callow, but he couldn't
help it. He tried to hide it, but he watched Ayla and the Mammoth
Hearth constantly.
The carver's jaunty step and delighted smile as he returned to the
Fox Hearth filled the tall visitor with dread. He knew it had to be
something Ayla had said or done that caused the Mamutoi man such
elation, and with his morbid imagination, he feared the worst.
Jondalar knew Ranee had become a constant visitor since he left the
Mammoth Hearth, and he berated himself for creating the opportunity.
He wished he could take back his words and the whole silly
argument, but he was convinced it was too late to make amends. He
felt helpless but, in a way, it was a relief to have some distance between
them.
Though he didn't admit it to himself, his actions were motivated by
more than a simple desire to allow her to choose the man she wanted.
He had been hurt so deeply part of him wanted to strike back; if she
could reject him, he could reject her. But he also had a need to give
himself a choice, to see if it was possible to get over his love for her.
He sincerely wondered if it wouldn't be better for her to stay here,
where she was accepted and loved, than to return with him to his
people, and he feared what his own reaction would be if his people
rejected her. Would he be willing to share an outcast life with her?
Would he be willing to move away, leave his people again, especially
after making such a long Journey to return? Or would he reject her,
too?
If she chose someone else to love, then he'd be forced to leave her
behind, and he would not be faced with such a decision. But the
thought of her loving someone else filled him with such stomach-
wrenching, breath-suffocating, throat-clenching, unbearable pain, he
didn't know if he could survive--or if he wanted to. The more he
fought with himself not to show his love, the more possessive and
jealous he became, and the more he hated himself for it.
The turmoil of trying to sort out his powerful mixed emotions was
taking its toll. He couldn't eat or sleep, and he was looking gaunt and
wasted. His clothes were beginning to hang on his tall frame. He
couldn't concentrate, not even on a beautiful new piece of flint. Sometimes
he wondered if he was losing his senses, or possessed by some
baneful night spirit. He was so torn with love for Ay la, grief that he
was losing her, and fear of what might happen if he didn't let her go,
that he couldn't bear to stay too close to her. He was afraid he would
lose control of himself, and do something he would regret. But he
couldn't stop watching her.
The Lion Camp was forgiving of the minor indiscretion of their
visitor. They were aware of his feelings for Ay la in spite of his attempts
to hide it. Everyone in the Camp talked about the painful
predicament the three young people were in. The solution to their
problem seemed so simple to those looking from the outside. Ay la and
Jondalar obviously cared for each other, so why didn't they just tell
each other how they felt, and then invite Ranee to share their union?
But Nezzie sensed it was not so simple. The wise, motherly woman
felt that Jondalar's love for Ayla was too strong to be held off by the
lack of a few words. Something much deeper was coming between
them. And she, more than anyone, understood the depth of Ranee's
love for the young woman. She did not believe that this was a situation
that could be resolved with a shared union. Ayla would have to
make a choice.

As though the idea held some compelling power, ever since Ranee
had asked Ayla to think about sharing his hearth, and brought up the
painfully obvious fact that she now slept alone, she hadn't been able
to think about anything else. She had clung to the belief that Jondalar
would forget their harsh words and return, especially since it seemed
that every time she glanced toward the cooking hearth, she caught a
glimpse, between the support posts and objects hanging from the ceiling
in the intervening hearths, of him as he turned away. It made her
think he was still interested enough to be looking in her direction. But
each night that she spent alone diminished her hope.
"Think about it . . ." Ranee's words repeated themselves in Ayla's
mind, as she crushed dried burdock and sweet fern leaves for a tea for
Mamut's arthritis, thinking about the dark, smiling man and wondering
if she could learn to love him. But the thought of her life without
Jondalar made her stomach ache with a strange emptiness. She added
fresh wintergreen and hot water to the bowl of crushed leaves, and
brought it to the old man.
She smiled when he thanked her, but she seemed preoccupied, and
sad. She had been abstracted all day. Mamut knew she had been upset
since Jondalar moved away, and he wished he could help. He had
seen Ranee talking to her earlier and he considered trying to talk to
her about it, but he believed nothing happened in Ay la's life without
purpose. He was convinced the Mother had created her present difficulties
for a reason, and he hesitated to interfere. Whatever trials she
and the two young men were undergoing were necessary. He watched
her going out to the horse annex, and was aware when she returned
sometime later.
Ay la banked the fire, walked back to her bed platform, undressed
and prepared for sleep. It was an ordeal facing the night knowing
Jondalar would not be sleeping beside her. She busied herself with
little tasks to delay settling herself into her furs, knowing she would
lie awake half the night. Finally, she picked up the wolf puppy and
sat on the edge of the bed, cuddling, stroking, and talking to the
warm, loving little animal, until he went to sleep in her arms. Then
she put him in his basket, petting him until he settled down again. To
make up for Jondalar's absence, Ay la lavished love on the wolf.

Mamut realized he was awake and opened his eyes. He could barely
make out vague shapes in the darkness. The lodge was quiet, the
night quiet that was filled only with the slight rustlings, heavy breathing,
and low rumbles of sleep. He slowly turned his head toward the
faint red glow of the embers in the firepit, trying to discover what had
brought him out of his deep sleep to full wakefulness. He heard a
strained breath nearby, and a stifled sob, and pushed his covers aside.
"Ayla? Ayla, are you in pain?" Mamut said softly. She felt a warm
hand on her arm.
"No," she said, her voice husky with strain. Her face was turned
toward the wall.
"You are crying."
"I'm sorry I woke you. I should have been more quiet."
"You were quiet. It wasn't your noise that woke me, it was your
need. The Mother called me to you. You are in pain. You are hurting
inside, isn't that so?"
Ayla took a deep, painful breath, straining to repress the cry that
wanted expression. "Yes," she said. She turned to face him, and he
saw tears glistening in the muted light.
"Then cry, Ayla. You should not hold it in. You have reason to be
in pain, and you have a right to cry," Mamut said.
"Oh, Mamut," she cried in a great heaving sob, then still restrain-
ing the sound, but with the relief of his permission, quietly wept her
heartbreak and anguish.
"Do not hold back, Ay la. It is good for you to cry," he said, sitting
on the edge of her bed and patting her gently. "It will all turn out as it
should, as it is meant to be. It's all right, Ayla."
When she finally stopped, she found a piece of soft leather to wipe
her face and nose, then sat up beside the old man. "I feel better,
now," she said.
"It is always best to cry when you feel the need, but it is not over,
Ayla."
Ayla bowed her head. "I know." Then she turned to him and said,
"But why?"
"Someday you will know why. I believe your life is directed by
powerful forces. You were picked for a special fate. It is not an easy
burden you carry; look what you have already been through in your
young life. But your life will not be all pain, you will have great joys.
You are loved, Ayla. You draw love to you. That is given to you to
help you bear the burden. You will always have love . . . perhaps too ,
much ..." I
"I thought Jondalar loved me ..."
"Don't be too certain he doesn't, but many other people love you,
including this old man," Mamut said, smiling. Ayla smiled, too. ^
"Even a wolf and horses love you. Haven't there been many who have
loved you?" I
"You're right. Iza loved me. She was my mother. It didn't matter
that I wasn't born to her. When she died, she said she loved me best
. . . Creb loved me . . . even though I disappointed him . . . hurt
him." Ayla stopped for a moment, then continued. "Uba loved me
. . . and Durc." She stopped again. "Do you think I'll ever see my son
again, Mamut?"
The shaman paused before answering. "How long has it been since
you've seen him?"
"Three . . .no, four years. He was born in early spring. He was
three years when I left. He is close to Rydag in years ..." Suddenly
Ayla looked at the old shaman and spoke with earnest excitement.
"Mamut, Rydag is a mixed child, just like my son. If Rydag can live
here, why can't Durc? You went to the peninsula and came back,
why couldn't I go and get Durc and bring him back here? It's not so
very far."
Mamut frowned, considering his reply. "I can't answer that, Ayla.
Only you can, but you must think about it very carefully before you
decide what is best, not only for yourself but for your son. You are
Mamutoi. You have learned to speak our language, and you have
learned many of our customs, but you have much to learn yet of our
ways."
Ay la wasn't listening to the shaman's carefully chosen words. Her
mind was already racing ahead. "If Nezzie could take in a child who
can't even speak, why not one who could speak? Durc could, if he had
a language to learn. Durc could be a friend to Rydag. Durc could help
him, run and get things for him. Durc is a good runner."
Mamut let her continue her enthusiastic recitation of Durc's virtues
until she stopped of her own accord, then he asked her, "When would
you plan to go for him, Ayla?"
"As soon as I can. This spring . . . No, it's too hard to travel in
spring, too much flooding. I'll have to wait until summer." Ayla
paused. "Maybe not. This is the summer of the Clan Gathering. If I
don't get there before they leave, I'll have to wait until they return.
But, by then, Ura will be with them. ..."
"The girl who was Promised to your son?" Mamut asked.
"Yes. In a few years they will mate. Clan children grow up sooner
than the Others . . . than I did. Iza didn't think I'd ever become a
woman. I was so slow compared with Clan girls. . . . Ura could be a
woman, though, and ready to have a mate, and her own hearth." Ayla
frowned. "She was a baby when I saw her, and Durc . . . The last
time I saw Durc, he was a little boy. Soon he'll be a man, providing
for his mate, a mate who could have children. I don't even have a
mate. My son's mate could have a child before I do."
"Do you know how old you are, Ayla?"
"Not exactly, but I always count my years in late winter, about
now. I don't know why." She frowned again. "I guess it's time for me
to add another year. That means I must be . . ." She closed her eyes
to concentrate on the counting words. "I am eighteen years now,
Mamut. I am getting old!"
"You were eleven when your son was born?" he asked, surprised.
Ayla nodded. "I have known of some girls who became women at
nine or ten, but that's very young. Latie is not yet a woman, and she
is in her twelfth year."
"She will be soon. I can tell," Ayla said.
"I think you are right. But you are not so old, Ayla. Deegie is
seventeen years, and she won't be joined until this summer at the
Summer Meeting."
"That's right, and I promised I would be part of her Matrimonial. I
can't go to a Summer Meeting and a Clan Gathering both." Mamut
saw her pale. "I can't go to a Clan Gathering, anyway. I'm not even
sure if I could go back to the clan. I am cursed. I am dead. Even Durc
might think I'm a spirit and be afraid of me. Oh, Mamut. What
should I do?"
"You must think about it all very carefully before you decide what
is best," he replied. She looked upset, and he decided to change the
subject. "But you have time. It is not yet spring. The Spring Festival
will be here before we know it, though. Have you thought about the
root and the ceremony you spoke of? Are you willing to include that
ceremony in the Spring Festival?"
Ay la felt a chill. The idea frightened her, but Mamut would be
there to help. He would know what to do, and he did seem so interested
in wanting to learn about it.
"All right, Mamut. Yes, I will do it."

Jondalar knew of the change in the relationship between Ayla and
Ranee immediately, though he didn't want to accept it. He watched
them for several days until he could no longer deny to himself that
Ranee all but lived at the Mammoth Hearth, and that his presence
was welcomed and enjoyed by Ayla. No matter how he tried to convince
himself that it was for the best and that he had done the right
thing in moving away, he could not ease the pain of losing her love or
overcome the hurt of being excluded. In spite of the fact that he was
the one who had withdrawn from her, and voluntarily left her bed
and company, he now felt she was rejecting him.
It didn't take them long, Jondalar thought. He was there the next
day, hanging around her, and she could hardly wait for me to leave
before she welcomed him. They must have just been waiting for me
to go. I should have known. . . .
What are you blaming her for? You're the one who left, Jondalar,
he said to himself. She didn't tell you to go. After the first time, she
didn't go back to him. She was right there, ready for you, and you
know it. ...
So now she's ready for him. And he's eager. Can you blame him?
Maybe it's for the best. She's wanted here, they're more used to
flatheads . . . Clan. And she's loved. . . .
Yes, she's loved. Isn't that what you want for her? To be accepted,
and to have someone love her. . . .
But I love her, he thought with a welling up of pain and anguish. 0
Mother! How can I stand it? She's the only woman I've ever loved
that way. I don't want her to be hurt, I don't want her to be turned
out. Why her? 0 Doni, why did it have to be her?
Maybe I should leave. That's it, I'll just leave, he thought, beyond
the ability to think clearly at the moment.
Jondalar strode toward the Lion Hearth, and interrupted Talut and
Mamut, who were discussing the coming Spring Festival. "I'm leaving,"
he blurted out. "What can I do to trade for some supplies?" He
had a manic look of desperation.
A knowing glance passed between the headman and the shaman.
"Jondalar, my friend," Talut said, clapping him on the shoulder,
"we'll be happy to give you any supplies you need, but you can't leave
now. Spring is coming, but look outside, a blizzard is blowing, and
late-season blizzards are the worst."
Jondalar calmed down and realized his sudden impulse to leave was
impossible. No one in his right mind would start out on a long Journey
now.
Talut felt a relaxation of tension injondalar's muscles, as he kept on
talking. "In spring, it will flood, and there are many rivers to cross.
Besides, you can't travel this far from your home, winter with the
Mamutoi, and not hunt mammoth with the Mammoth Hunters, Jondalar.
Once you return, you will never have the chance again. The
first hunt will be in early summer, soon after we all get to the Summer
Meeting. The best time to start traveling would be right after
that. You would be doing me a great favor if you would consider
staying with us at least until the first mammoth hunt. I'd like you to
show that spear-thrower of yours."
"Yes, of course, I'll think about it," Jondalar said. Then he looked
the big red-haired headman in the eyes. "And thanks, Talut. You're
right. I can't leave yet."

Mamut was sitting cross-legged in his favorite place for meditating,
the bed platform next to his that was used as storage for the extra
reindeer hide bedsheets, furs, and other bedding. He wasn't so much
meditating as thinking. Since the night he had been awakened by her
tears, he was much more aware of Ay la's despair over Jondalar's leaving.
Her wretched unhappiness had left a deep impression on him.
Though she managed to hide the extent of her feelings from most
people, he was more conscious now of small details of her behavior
that he might have missed before. Though she genuinely seemed to
enjoy Ranee's company, and laughed at his jokes, she was subdued,
and the care and attention she lavished on Wolf and the horses had a
quality of desolate longing.
Mamut paid closer attention to the tall visitor and noticed the same
desolation in Jondalar's behavior. He seemed filled with tormented
anxiety, though he, too, tried to hide it. After his desperate impulse
to leave in the middle of a storm, the old shaman feared that Jon-
dalar's good judgment was becoming impaired at the thought of losing
Ay la. To the old man who dealt so intimately with the spirit world of
Mut and Her fates, that implied a deeper compulsion than simply
young love. Perhaps the Mother had plans for him, too; plans that
involved Ay la.
Though Mamut was reluctant to step in, he wondered why the
Mother had shown him that She was the force behind their mutual
feelings. Though he was convinced that ultimately She would arrange
circumstances to suit Her, perhaps She wanted him to help in this
case.
As he was pondering whether and how to make the Mother's
wishes known. Ranee came into the Mammoth Hearth, obviously
looking for Ay la. Mamut knew she had taken the wolf pup out for a
ride on Whinney and would not be back for some time. Ranee looked
around, then saw the old man and approached him.
"Do you know where Ayla is, Mamut?" he asked.
"Yes. She is out with the animals."
"I wondered why I hadn't seen her for a while."
"You are seeing a lot of her, lately."
Ranee grinned. "I hope to see a lot more of her."
"She did not arrive here alone, Ranee. Doesn't Jondalar have some
prior interest?"
"He might have, when they first came, but he gave it up. He left
the hearth," Ranee said. Mamut noted a defensiveness in his tone.
"I think there is still strong feeling between them. I don't think the
separation would be permanent if their deep attachment were given
the chance to grow back, Ranee."
"If you are telling me to back away, Mamut, I'm sorry. It's too late.
I also have a strong feeling for Ayla." Ranee's voice cracked with the
emotion he felt. "Mamut, I love her, I want to join with her, make a
hearth with her. It's time I settled down with a woman, and I want
her children at my hearth. I've never met anyone like her. She's ev
erything I ever dreamed of. If I can convince her to agree, I want to
announce our Promise at the Spring Festival, and join in the Matri
monial this summer."
"Are you sure that's what you want, Ranee?" Mamut asked. He
was fond of Ranee, and he knew it would please Wymez if the dark
boy he brought back from his travels would find a woman and settle
down. "There are many Mamutoi women who would welcome a join
ing with you. What will you say to that pretty young red-haired
woman you have almost Promised? What is her name? Tricie?"
Mamut was certain that if a blush would have shown, Ranee's face
would be red.
"I will say ... I will say I am sorry. I can't help it. There is no one
else I want but Ayla. She is Mamutoi now. She should join with a
Mamutoi. I want it to be me."
"If it is meant to be, Ranee," Mamut said kindly, "it will be, but
remember this. The choice is not yours. It is not even hers. Ayla was
chosen by the Mother for a purpose, and given many gifts. No matter
what you decide, or what she decides, Mut has first claim on her.
Any man who joins with her, joins also with her purpose."
,s that ancient earth tilted her icy northern face impercepti
bly closer to the great shining star she circled, even the lands near the
glaciers felt a kiss of gentle warmth and slowly awakened from the
sleep of a deeper and colder winter. Spring stirred reluctantly at first,
then, with the urgency of a season whose time was short, threw off
the frozen cover in an exuberant rush that watered and quickened the
soil.
The drops trickling from branches and archways in the first un
frozen noon warmth hardened into icicles as the nights cooled. In the
gradually warming days that followed, the long tapered shafts grew,
then slipped their icy grip and pierced drifts of snow, shrunk to
mounds of slush drained off by muddy water. The rills, runnels, and
rivulets of melting snow and ice joined together into streams to carry
away the accumulated moisture that had been held in cold suspension.
The surging streams raced down old channels and gullies, or cut new
ones into the fine loess, sometimes aided and directed by an antler
shovel or an ivory scoop.
The ice-bound river groaned and creaked in its struggle to loosen
winter's hold as the melt poured into its hidden current. Then, with
no warning, a sharp report, heard even in the lodge, followed by a
second crack and then a booming rumble, announced that the ice no
longer held back the flooding tide. The chunks and floes, bobbing,
dipping, turning on end, caught up and swept along by the swift
powerful stream, marked a turning point of the season.
As though the cold was washed out with the tide, the people of the
Camp, as confined as the river by the frigid cold, spilled out of the
earthlodge. Though it was warmer only by comparison, the restrained
indoor life shifted to energetic activity outside. Any excuse to go out
doors was greeted with enthusiasm, even spring cleaning.
The people of the Lion Camp were clean, by their own standards.
Though moisture in the form of ice and snow was plentiful, it took
fire, and large supplies of fuel, to make water. Even so, some of the
ice and snow they melted for cooking and drinking was used to wash,
and they took sweatbaths periodically. Personal areas were general!)
well organized, tools and implements were cared for, the few clothes
that were worn indoors were brushed, occasionally washed and well
maintained. But by the end of winter, the stench inside the earthlodge
was incredible.
Contributing to the stink was food in various stages of preservation
or decay, cooked, uncooked, and rotten; burning oils, often rancid
since fresh congealed lumps of fat were usually added to old oil in the
lamps; baskets used for defecation, not always dumped immediately;
containers of urine saved and left standing to become ammoniacal by
the decomposition of urea through bacteria; and people. Though
sweatbaths were healthful and cleansed the skin, they did little to
eliminate normal body odors, but that was not their purpose. Personal
odor was part of a person's identity.
The Mamutoi were accustomed to the rich and pungent natural
odors of everyday living. Their sense of smell was well developed and
used, like sight or hearing, to maintain awareness of their environment.
Not even the smells of the animals were thought to be unpleasant;
they were natural, too. But as the season warmed, even noses
accustomed to the ordinary odors of life began to notice the consequences
of twenty-seven people living together in close quarters for an
extended period. Spring was the time when the drapes were pulled
back to air the lodge, and the accumulated debris of the entire winter
was cleaned up and thrown out.
In Ay la's case, that included shoveling out the horse dung from the
annex. The horses had weathered the winter well, which pleased
Ayla, but it was not surprising. Steppe horses were hardy animals,
adapted to the rigors of harsh winters. Though they had to forage for
themselves, Whinney and Racer were free to come and go at will to a
place of protection well beyond that usually available to their wild
cousins. In addition, water, and even some food was provided for
them. Horses matured quickly in the wild, necessary, under normal
circumstances, for survival, and Racer, like other colts who had been
born the same time, had reached his full growth. Though he would
fill out a bit more in the next few years, he was a sturdy young stallion,
slightly bigger than his dam.
Spring was also the time of shortages. The supply of certain foods,
particularly favored vegetable products, was exhausted, and other
foods were running low. When they took stock, everyone was glad
they had decided to go on the last bison hunt. If they hadn't, they
might now be low on meat. But though the meat filled them, it left
them unsatisfied. Ayla, recalling Iza's spring tonics for Brun's clan,
decided to make some for the Camp. Her tisanes of various dried
herbs, including iron-rich yellow dock, and scurvy-preventing rose
hips, relieved the underlying vitamin lack that caused the craving for
fresh food, but it did not eliminate the desire. Everyone hungered for
the first fresh greens. The need for her medical knowledge went be
yond spring tonics, however.
Well insulated and heated by several fires, lamps, and natural body
heat, it was warm in the semisubterranean longhouse. Even when it
was bitterly cold out, few clothes were worn inside. During the
winter they were careful to dress properly before going outdoors, but
when the snow began to melt, such caution was abandoned. Though
the temperature hovered barely above freezing, it felt so much
warmer people went outdoors wearing little more than their usual in
door clothing. With spring rains and melting snow, they often were
wet and chilled before they went back in, which lowered their re
sistance.
Ay la was busier treating coughs, sniffles, and sore throats in the
warming days of spring than she ever was in the coldest depths of
winter. The epidemic of spring colds and respiratory infections af
flicted everyone. Even Ay la took to her bed for a few days to nurse a
slight fever and heavy chest cough. Before they were hardly into the
season, she had treated nearly everyone in the Lion Camp. Depending
upon the need, she provided medicinal teas, steam treatments, hot
plasters for throats and chests, and a sympathetic and convincing bed
side manner. Everyone was praising the efficacy of her medicine. If
nothing else, she made people feel better.
Nezzie told her they always got spring colds, but when Mamut
came down with the illness shortly after she did, Ay la ignored her
own residual symptoms to take care of him. He was a very old man,
and she worried about him. A severe respiratory infection could be
fatal. The shaman, however, for all his great age, still had remarkable
stamina and recovered more quickly than some others in the lodge.
Though he enjoyed her devoted attention, he urged her to see to oth
ers who needed her care more, and to rest herself.
She needed no urging when Fralie developed a fever, and a deep,
body-racking cough, but her willingness to help made no difference.
Frebec would not allow Ayla into the hearth to treat Fralie. Crozie
argued furiously with him, and everyone in the Camp agreed with
her, but he was adamant. Crozie even argued with Fralie, trying to
convince her to ignore Frebec, to no avail. The sick woman merely
shook her head and coughed.
"But why?" Ayla said to Mamut, sipping a hot drink with him and
listening to Fralie's latest coughing spasm. Tronic had taken Tasher,
who was between Nuvie and Hartal in age, to her hearth. Crisavec
slept with Brinan at the Aurochs Hearth so the sick and pregnant
i^if A via felt it every time Fralie coughed.
---1,1
"Why won't he let me help her? He can see that other people feel
better, and she needs it more than anyone. Coughing like that is too
hard on her, especially now."
"That's not a difficult question, Ay la. If one believes the people of
the Clan are animals, it's impossible to believe they understand any
thing about healing medicine. And if you grew up with them, how
could you know anything about it?"
"But they are not animals! A Clan medicine woman is very skilled."
"I know that, Ayla. I know better than anyone the skill of a Clan
medicine woman. I think everyone here knows it now, even Frebec.
At least they appreciate your ability, but Frebec doesn't want to back
down after all the arguing. He's afraid he will lose face."
"What's more important? His face or Fralie's baby?"
"Fralie must think Frebec's face is more important."
"It's not Fralie's fault. Frebec and Crozie are trying to force her to
choose between them, and she won't choose."
"That's Fralie's decision."
"That's just the trouble. She doesn't want to make a decision. She
refuses to make a choice."
Mamut shook his head. "No, she is making a choice, whether she
means to or not. But the choice is not between Frebec and Crozie.
How close is she to giving birth?" he asked. "She looks ready to me."
"I'm not sure, but I don't think she is ready yet. She looks bigger
because she's so thin, but the baby is not in position yet. That's what
worries me. I think it's too soon."
"There is nothing you can do about it, Ayla."
"But if Frebec and Crozie wouldn't argue so much about every
thing ..."
"That doesn't have anything to do with it. That's not Fralie's prob
lem, that's between Frebec and Crozie. Fralie doesn't have to let her
self be caught in the middle of their problem. She can make her own
decisions, and in fact, she is. She is choosing to do nothing. Or
rather, if your fears are founded—and I believe they are—she is
choosing whether to give birth now or later. She may be choosing
between life for her baby, and death . . . and may be endangering
herself as well. But, it's her choice, and there may be more to it than
any of us know."
Mamut's comments stayed on her mind long after the conversation
was over, and she went to bed still thinking about them. He was
right, of course. In spite of Fralie's feelings for her mother and
Frebec, it wasn't her fight. Ayla tried to think of some way she could
convince Fralie, but she had tried before, and now with Frebec keep
ing her away from his hearth, she had no opportunity to talk about it.
When she went to sleep the worry was heavy on her mind.
She woke up in the middle of the night, and lay still, listening. She
wasn't sure what woke her, but she thought it was the sound of
Fralie's voice moaning in the darkness of the earthlodge. After a long
silence, she decided it must have been a dream. Wolf whimpered, and
she reached up to comfort him. Perhaps he was having a bad dream,
too, and that's what woke her. Her hand stopped before it reached the
pup as she strained to hear what she thought was a muffled moan.
Ay la pulled the covers back and got up. Quietly, she stepped
around the drape and felt her way to the basket to relieve herself, then
pulled a tunic over her head and went to the fireplace. She heard a
muffled cough, then a spasm of coughs, that finally stopped in an
equally muffled moan. Ay la stirred the coals, added a bit of kindling
and bone shavings until she had a small fire, then dropped in a few
cooking stones and reached for the waterbag.
"You can make some tea for me, too," Mamut said in a quiet voice
from the dark of his sleeping platform, then pushed back his covers
and sat up. "I think we'll all be up soon."
Ay la nodded, and poured extra water in the cooking basket. There
was another coughing spell, then stirring around and subdued voices
from the Crane Hearth.
"She needs something to quiet the cough, and something to calm
the labor ... if it's not too late. I think I'll check my medicines," Ayla
said, putting her drinking bowl down, then hesitated, "... just in
case someone asks."
She picked up a firebrand and Mamut watched her moving among
the racks of dried plants she had brought back with her from the
valley. It's a wonder to watch her practice her healing arts, Mamut
thought. She's young to have such skill, though. If I were Frebec, I
would have been more concerned about her youth, and possible inexperience,
than her background. I know she was trained by the best,
but how can she know so much already? She must have been born
with it, and that medicine woman, Iza, must have seen her gift from
the beginning. His musing was interrupted by another coughing spell
from the Crane Hearth.

"Here, Fralie, have a drink of water," Frebec said anxiously.
Fralie shook her head, unable to talk, trying to control the cough.
She was on her side, up on one elbow, holding a piece of soft leather
to her mouth. Her eyes were glazed with fever, and her face red from
the exertion. She glanced at her mother, who was sitting on the bed
across the passageway, glaring at her.
Crozie's anger, and her distress, were both apparent. She had tried
everything to convince her daughter to ask for help: persuasion, argu-
ment, diatribe; nothing worked. Even she had gotten some medicine
from Ay la for her cold, and it was stupid of Fralie not to use the help
that was available. It was all the fault of that stupid man, that stupid
Frebec, but it did no good to talk about it. Crozie had decided she
would not say another word.
Fralie's cough subsided, and she dropped back down on the bed,
exhausted. Maybe the other pain, the one she didn't want to admit to,
would not come this time. Fralie waited, holding her breath so as not
to disturb anything, fearfully anticipating. An ache started in her
lower back. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and tried to
will it away. She put a hand on the side of her distended stomach and
felt the muscles contract as the pain, and her anxiety, increased. It's
too soon, she thought. The baby shouldn't be coming for at least an
other moon cycle.
"Fralie? Are you all right?" Frebec said, still standing there with
the water.
She tried to smile at him, seeing his distress, his feeling of help
lessness. "It's this cough," she said. "Everyone gets sick in spring."
No one understood him, she thought, least of all her mother. He
was trying so hard to show everyone that he was worth something.
That's why he wouldn't give in, that's why he argued so much, and
was so quick to take offense. He embarrassed Crozie. He didn't un
derstand that you showed your worth—the number and quality of
your affiliations, and the strength of your influence—by how much
you could claim from kin and kind to give away, so everyone could
see it. Her mother had tried to show him by giving him the right to
the Crane, not just the hearth Fralie brought to him when they
joined, but the right to claim the Crane as his own birthright.
Crozie had expected gracious acquiescence to her wishes and re
quests, to show that he appreciated and understood that the Crane
Hearth, which was still hers in name, though she had little else, was
his to claim. But her demands could be excessive. She had lost so
much it was hard for her to give away any of her remaining claim to
status, particularly to one who had so little. Crozie feared he would
diminish it, and she needed constant reassurance that it was appreci
ated. Fralie wouldn't shame him by trying to explain. It was a subtle
thing, something you grew up knowing ... if you always had it. But
Frebec never had anything.
Fralie began to feel an ache in her back again. If she lay there qui
etly, maybe it would go away ... if she could keep from coughing.
She was beginning to wish she could talk to Ayla, at least to get
something for the cough, but she didn't want Frebec to think she was
siding with her mother. And long explanations would just irritate her
throat, and make Frebec defensive. She began coughing again, just as
the contraction was reaching a peak. She muffled a cry of pain.
"Fralie? Is it ... more than the cough?" Frebec asked, looking at
her hard. He didn't think a cough should make her moan like that.
She hesitated. "What do you mean, more?" she asked.
"Well, the baby . . . but you've had two children, you know how to
do these things, don't you?"
Fralie became lost in a racking cough, and when she regained control,
she sidestepped the question.

Light was beginning to show around the edges of the smoke-hole
cover when Ay la went back to her bed to finish dressing. Most of the
Camp had been awake half the night. First it was Fralie's uncontrollable
cough that woke them, but soon it became apparent that she was
suffering from more than a cold. Tronic was having some difficulty
with Tasher, who wanted to return to his mother. She picked him up
and carried him to the Mammoth Hearth instead. He still wailed, so
Ay la took him and carried him around the large hearth, offering him
objects to distract him. The wolf puppy followed her. She carried
Tasher through the Fox Hearth and the Lion Hearth, and then into
the cooking hearth.
Jondalar watched her approaching, trying to quiet and comfort the
child, and his heart beat faster. In his mind he willed her to come
closer, but he felt nervous and anxious. They had hardly spoken since
he moved away and he didn't know what to say. He looked around
trying to think of something that might appease the baby, and noticed a small bone from a leftover roast.
"He might want to chew on this," Jondalar volunteered, when she
stepped into the large communal hearth, holding the bone out to her.
She took the bone and put it in the child's hand. "Here, would you
like this, Tasher?"
The meat was gone, but it still had some flavor. He put the knob
end in his mouth, tasted, decided he liked it, and finally quieted.
"That was a good idea, Jondalar," Ay la said. She was holding the
three-year-old, standing close and looking up at him.
"My mother used to do that when my little sister was cranky," he
said.
They looked at each other, hungering for the sight of each other
and filling their eyes, not saying anything, but noticing every feature,
every shadow and line, every detail of change. He's lost weight, Ayla
thought. He looks haggard. She's worried, upset about Fralie, she
wants to help, Jondalar thought. 0 Doni, she's so beautiful.
Tasher dropped the bone, and Wolf snatched it.
"Drop it!" Ayla commanded. Reluctantly, he put it down, but
stood guard over it.
"You might as well let him have it now. I don't think Frebec would
like it too well if you gave the bone to Tasher after Wolf had it in his
mouth."
"I don't want him to keep taking things that aren't his."
"He didn't really take it. Tasher dropped it. Wolf probably thought
it was meant for him," Jondalar said reasonably.
"Maybe you're right. I guess it wouldn't hurt to let him keep it."
She signaled, and the young wolf dropped his guard and picked up
the bone again, then walked directly to the sleeping furs Jondalar had
spread out on the floor, near the flint-working area. He made himself
comfortable on top of them, then began gnawing on the bone.
"Wolf, get away from there," Ayla said, starting after him.
"It's all right, Ayla ... if you don't mind. He comes often and
makes himself at home. I ... rather enjoy him."
"No, I don't mind," she said, then smiled. "You always were good
with Racer, too. Animals like you, I think."
"But not like you. They love you. I do . . ." Suddenly he stopped.
His forehead knotted in a frown and he closed his eyes. When he
opened his eyes, he stood up straighter and stepped back a pace. "The
Mother has granted you a rare gift," he said, his tone and demeanor
much more formal.
Suddenly she felt hot tears in her eyes, and a pain in her throat.
She looked down at the ground, then stepped back a pace, too.
"From the sound of things, I think Tasher will have a brother or
sister before long," Jondalar said, changing the subject.
"I'm afraid so," Ayla said.
"Oh? You don't think she should have the baby?" Jondalar said,
surprised.
"Of course, but not now. It's too soon."
"Are you sure?"
"No, I'm not sure. I haven't been allowed to see her," Ayla said.
"Frebec?"
Ayla nodded. "I don't know what to do."
"I can't understand why he still belittles your skill."
"Mamut says he doesn't think that 'flatheads' know anything about
healing, so he doesn't believe I could have learned anything from
them. I think Fralie really needs help, but Mamut says she must ask
for it."
"Mamut is probably right, but if she really is going to have a baby,
she might ask."
Ayla shifted Tasher, who had stuck a thumb in his mouth, and
seemed content with that for the moment. She noticed Wolf on Jon-
dalar's familiar furs that had been, until recently, next to hers. The
furs, and his nearness, made her remember Jondalar's touch, the way
he could make her feel. She wished his furs were still on her bed
platform. When she looked at him again, her eyes held her desire, and
Jondalar felt such an instant response, he ached to reach for her, but
held back. His reaction confused Ayla. He had started to look at her
the way that always brought a rush of tingling feeling deep inside.
Why had he stopped? She was crushed, but she had felt a moment of
. . . something . . . hope, perhaps. Maybe she could find a way to
reach him, if she kept trying.
"I hope she does," Ayla said, "but it may be too late to stop the
labor." She started to leave, and Wolf got up to follow her. She
looked at the animal, and then at the man, paused, and then asked, "If
she does ask for me, Jondalar, will you keep Wolf here? I can't have
him following me and getting in the way at the Crane Hearth."
"Yes, of course I will," he said, "but will he come here?"
"Wolf, go back!" she said. He looked at her with a little whine in
his throat, seeming to question. "Go back to Jondalar's bed!" she said,
raising her arm and pointing. "Go to Jondalar's bed," she repeated.
Wolf lowered his tail, crouched down, and went back. He sat down
on top of the furs, and watched her. "Stay there!" she commanded.
The young wolf lowered himself down, rested his head on his paws,
and his eyes followed her as she turned and left the hearth.

Crozie, still sitting on her bed, watched as Fralie cried out and
thrashed. Finally the pain passed, and Fralie took a deep breath, but
that brought on a coughing spasm, and her mother thought she noticed
a look of desperation. Crozie was feeling desperate, too. Somebody
had to do something. Fralie was well into labor, and the cough
was weakening her. There wasn't much hope for the baby any more,
it was going to be born too early, and infants born too soon didn't
survive. But Fralie needed something to ease her cough and her pain,
and later, she would need something to ease her sorrow. It had done
no good to talk to Fralie, not with that stupid man around. Couldn't
he see that she was in trouble?
Crozie studied Frebec, who was hovering around Fralie's bed looking
helpless and worried. Maybe he did, she thought. Maybe she
should try again, but would it do any good talking to Fralie?
"Frebec!" Crozie said. "I want to talk to you."
The man looked surprised. Crozie seldom addressed him by name,
or announced that she wanted to talk to him. She usually just
screamed at him.
"What do you want?"
"Fralie is too stubborn to listen, but it must be obvious to you by
now that she is having the baby ..."
Fralie interrupted with a choking coughing spasm.
"Fralie, tell me the truth," Frebec said when her cough eased. "Are
you having the baby?"
"I ... I think so," she said.
He grinned. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I hoped it wasn't true."
"But why?" he asked, suddenly upset. "Don't you want this baby?"
"It's too soon, Frebec. Babies that are born too soon don't live,"
Crozie answered for her.
"Don't live? Fralie, is something not right? Is it true this baby
won't live?" Frebec said, shocked and stricken with fear. The feeling
that something was terribly wrong had been growing in him all
through the day, but he had not wanted to believe it, and he didn't
think it could be this wrong.
"This is the first child of my hearth, Fralie. Your baby, born to my
hearth." He kneeled beside the bed and held her hand. "This baby
has to live. Tell me this baby will live," he pleaded. "Fralie, tell me
this baby will live."
"I can't tell you. I don't know." Her voice was strained and hoarse.
"I thought you knew about these things, Fralie. You're a mother. You have two children already."
"Each one is different," she whispered. "This one has been difficult
from the beginning. I was worried that I might lose it. There was so
much trouble . . . finding a place to settle ... I don't know. I just
think it's too early for this baby to be born."
"Why didn't you tell me, Fralie?"
"What would you have done about it?" Crozie said, her tone restrained,
almost hopeless. "What could you do? Do you know anything
about pregnancy? Childbirth? Coughs? Pain? She didn't want to
tell you because you've done nothing but insult the one who could
help her. Now the child will die, and I don't know how weak Fralie
is."
Frebec turned to Crozie. "Fralie? Nothing can happen to Fralie!
Can it? Women have babies all the time."
"I don't know, Frebec. Look at her, judge for yourself."
Fralie was trying to control a cough that threatened, and the ache in
her back was starting again. Her eyes were closed, and her brows
drawn in. Her hair was tangled and stringy and her face shiny with
sweat. Frebec jumped up and started to leave the hearth. "Where are
you going, Frebec?" Fralie asked.
"I'm going to get Ayla."
"Ayla? But I thought ..."
"She's been. saying you were having trouble ever since she got here.
She was right about that. If she knew that much, maybe she is a
Healer. Everyone keeps saying she is. I don't know if it's true, but
we've got to do something . . . unless you don't want me to."
"Get Ay la," Fralie whispered.
The excited tension communicated itself through the earthlodge as
Frebec marched down the passageway toward the Mammoth Hearth.
"Ay la, Fralie is . . ."he barely began, too nervous and upset to
worry about saving face.
"Yes, I know. Ask someone to get Nezzie to come and help me, and
bring that container. Careful, it's hot. It's a decoction for her throat,"
Ay la said, hurrying toward the Crane Hearth.
When Fralie looked up and saw Ay la, she suddenly felt a great
relief.
"The first thing we have to do is straighten this bed and make you
comfortable," Ay la said, pulling at the bedding and covers, and bolstering
her with furs and pillows for support.
Fralie smiled and suddenly noticed, for some reason, that Ay la still
spoke with an accent. No, not really an accent, she thought. She just
had difficulty with certain sounds. Strange how easy it was to get
used to something like that. Crozie's head appeared next above her
bed. She handed Ay la a piece of folded leather.
"Here's her birthing blanket, Ayla." They opened it out and while
Fralie shifted, they spread it beneath the woman. "It's about time
they got you, but it's too late to stop the birth now," Crozie said.
"Too bad, I had an intuition that this one would be a girl. It's a shame
she will die."
"Don't be too certain of that, Crozie," Ayla said.
"This baby is coming early. You know that."
"Yes, but don't give up this child to the next world, yet. There are
things that can be done, if it's not too early . . . and if the birth goes
well." Ayla looked down at Fralie. "Let's wait and see."
"Ayla," Fralie said, her eyes shining, "do you think there's hope?"
"There is always hope. Now, drink this. It will quiet your cough,
and make you feel better. Then we'll see how far along you are."
"What's in it?" Crozie demanded.
Ayla studied the woman for a moment before replying. There had
been command implicit in her tone, but Ayla sensed that concern and
interest motivated the question. The tone of her request was more a
style of speaking, Ayla decided, as though she was accustomed to
giving orders. But it could be misunderstood as unreasonable or demanding
when someone who was not in a position of leadership assumed
a commanding tone. ^
"The inner bark of wild black cherry, to calm her, and to calm her 11
cough and relieve the pain of labor," Ay la explained, "boiled with the
dried root of blue cohosh, first ground to a powder, to help the pushing
muscles work harder to hurry delivery. She's too far into labor to
stop it."
"Hmm," Crozie vocalized, nodding approval. She had been as interested
in verifying Ayla's expertise as she was in knowing the exact
ingredients. Crozie was satisfied, from her reply, that Ay la was not
just dispensing a remedy someone had told her about, but that she
knew what she was doing. Not because she knew the properties of the
plants, but because Ay la did.

Everyone stopped for a few moments to visit and offer moral support
as the day progressed, but the encouraging smiles had a quality
of sadness. They knew Fralie was facing an ordeal that had very little
hope of a happy outcome. Time dragged for Frebec. He didn't know
what to expect and felt lost, unsure. The times he had been around
when women were giving birth, he didn't remember that it took so
long, and it didn't seem to him that childbirth was this difficult for
other women. Did they all thrash and strain, and cry out like that?
There wasn't room for him at his hearth with all the women there,
and he wasn't needed, anyway. No one even noticed him sitting on
Crisavec's bed, watching and waiting. Finally, he got up and walked
away, not sure where to go. He decided he was hungry and headed
for the cooking hearth hoping to find leftover roast or something. In
the back of his mind, he thought about seeking out Talut. He felt a
need to talk to someone, to share this experience with someone who
might understand. When he reached the Mammoth Hearth, Ranee,
Danug, and Tornec were standing near the firepit talking to Mamut,
partially blocking the passageway. Frebec held back, not feeling like
confronting them, to ask them to move.
He hesitated, but he couldn't just stand there forever, and started
across the central space of the Mammoth Hearth toward them.
"How is she, Frebec?" Tornec asked.
He was vaguely startled by the friendly question. "I wish I knew,"
he replied.
"I know how you feel," Tomec said, with a wry smile. "I never feel
more useless than when Tronic is giving birth. I hate seeing her in
pain and keep wishing there was something I could do to help, but
there never is. It's a woman's thing, she has to do it. It always sur-
pnses me afterward how she forgets the trouble and the pain as soon
as she sees the baby and knows it will be . . ." He stopped, realizing
he had said too much. "I'm sorry, Frebec. I didn't mean ..."
Frebec frowned, then turned to Mamut. "Fralie said she thought
this baby was coming too soon. Crozie said babies that come too soon
don't live. Is that true? Will this baby die?"
"I can't answer that, Frebec. It is in the hands of Mut," the old man
said, "but I do know that Ayla isn't giving up. It depends how soon.
Babies born early are small and weak, that's why they usually die.
But they don't always die, especially if it's not too early, and the
longer they live, the better their chances are. I don't know what she
can do, but if anyone can do anything, Ayla can. She was given a
powerful gift, and I can assure you, no Healer could have had better
training. I know from firsthand experience how skilled Clan medicine
women are. One of them once healed me."
"You! You were healed by a flathead woman?" Frebec said. "I don't understand. How? When?"
"When I was a young man, on my Journey," Mamut said.
The young men waited for him to continue his story, but it soon
became apparent that he was volunteering no further information.
"Old man," Ranee said, with a broad smile, "I wonder how many
stories and secrets are hidden within the years of your long life."
"I have forgotten more than your full life's worth, young man, and
I remember a great deal. I was old when you were born."
"How old are you?" Danug asked. "Do you know?"
"There was a time when I kept track by drawing a reminder on the
spirit skin of a hide each spring of a significant event that happened
during the year. I filled up several, the ceremonial screen is one of
them. Now I am so old I no longer count. But I will tell you, Danug,
how old I am. My first woman had three children." Mamut looked at
Frebec. "The firstborn, a son, died. The second child, a girl, had four
children. The oldest of her four was a girl, and she grew up to give
birth to Tulie and Talut. You, of course, are the first child of Talut's
woman. The woman of Tulie's firstborn may be expecting a child by
now. If Mut grants me another season, I may see the fifth generation.
That's how old I am, Danug."
Danug was shaking his head. That was older than he could even
imagine.
"Aren't you and Manuv kin, Mamut?" Tornec asked.
"He is the third child of a younger cousin's woman, just as you are
the third child of Manuv's woman."
Just then, there seemed to be some excitement at the Crane Hearth
and they all turned to look.

"Now, take a deep breath," Ayla said, "and push once more.
You're almost there."

Fralie gasped for breath and bore down hard, holding on to
Nezzie's hands.
"Good! That's good!" Ayla encouraged. "Here it comes. Here it
comes! Good! There we are!"
"It's a girl, Fralie!" Crozie said. "I told you this one would be a
girl!"
"How is she?" Fralie asked. "Is she ..."
"Nezzie, will you help her push out the afterbirth," Ayla said,
cleaning mucus from the infant's mouth as she struggled to take her
first breath. There was an awful silence. Then a heart-stopping, mi
raculous, cry of life.
"She's alive! She's alive!" Fralie said, tears of relief and hope in her
eyes.
Yes, she was alive, Ayla thought, but so small. She had never seen
such a tiny baby. Yet, she was alive, struggling and kicking and
breathing. Ayla put the baby face down across Fralie's stomach, and
reminded herself that she had seen only Clan newborns. Babies of the
Others were probably smaller to begin with. She helped Nezzie with
the afterbirth, then turned the infant over and tied the umbilical cord
in two places with the pieces of red-dyed sinew she had prepared.
With a sharp flint knife, she cut the cord between the ties. For better
or for worse, she was on her own; an independent, living, breathing
human being. But the next few days would be critical.
Ayla examined the baby carefully while she was cleaning her. She
seemed perfect, just exceptionally small and her cry was weak. Ayla
wrapped her in a soft skin blanket and handed her to Crozie. When
Nezzie and Tulie had taken away the birthing blanket, and Ayla
made sure Fralie was clean and comfortable, packed with an absor
bent padding of mammoth wool, her new daughter was put in the
crook of Fralie's arm. Then, she motioned to Frebec to come and see
the first daughter of his hearth. Crozie hovered close.
Fralie unwrapped her, then looked up at Ayla with tears in her
eyes. "She's so little," she said, cuddling the tiny infant. Then she
untied the front of her tunic and put the baby to her breast. The
newborn nuzzled, found the nipple, and from the smile on Fralie's
face, Ayla knew she suckled. But in a few moments, she let go, and
seemed exhausted from the effort.
"She's so small . . . will she live?" Frebec asked Ayla, but it was
more a plea.
"She is breathing. If she can suckle, there is hope, but to live, she
will need help. She must be kept warm, and she must not be allowed
to use what little strength she has for anything but nursing. All the
milk she drinks must be for growing," Ayla said. Then she gave both
Frebec and Crozie a stern look. "There can be no more fighting at this
hearth if you want her to live. It will make her upset, and you cannot
let her become upset if she is to grow. She should not even be allowed
to cry, she does not have the strength to cry. It will take her milk
away from growing."
"How can I keep her from crying, Ayla? How will I know when to
feed her if she doesn't cry?" Fralie said.
"Both Frebec and Crozie must help you because she must be with
you every moment, just as though you were still pregnant, Fralie. I
think the best way would be to make a carrier that will hold her to
your breast. That way, you will keep her warm. She will be comforted
by your closeness and the sound of your heart, because she is
used to it. But most important, any time she wants to nurse, she need
only turn her head to reach your nipple, Fralie. Then she won't use
up strength she needs for growing with crying."
"What about changing her?" Crozie asked.
"Coat her skin with some of that soft tallow I gave you, Crozie; I'll
make more. Use clean, dry, dung packed around her to absorb her
waste. Throw it out when she needs changing, but don't move her too
much. And you must rest, Fralie, and not move around too much
with her. It will do you good, too. We need to try to keep your cough
calmed down. If she can survive the next few days, then every day
she lives will make her stronger. With your help, Frebec, and Crozie,
she has a chance."

A feeling of subdued hope pervaded the lodge as the drapes were
closed on a red sun settling into a bank of clouds hovering on the
horizon. Most people had finished their evening meal, and were stoking
fires, cleaning things up, putting down children, and gathering
together for the evening conversation and company. Several people
were sitting around the fireplace of the Mammoth Hearth, but conversation
was held down to a low murmur, as though loud voices were
somehow inappropriate.
Ayla had given Fralie a mild relaxing drink, and left her to sleep.
She would get little enough sleep in the days to come. Most infants
settled into a routine of sleeping for a reasonable time before waking
up to be fed, but Fralie's new baby couldn't nurse very long at one
time, and therefore didn't sleep much before needing to nurse again.
Fralie would have to get her sleep in a series of short naps, too, until
the baby grew stronger.
It was almost strange to see Frebec and Crozie working together,
helping each other to help Fralie, and being exceedingly courteous
and restrained. It might not last, but they were trying, and some of
their animosity seemed to be draining off.
Crozie had gone to bed early. It had been a difficult day and she
wasn't so young any more. She was tired and she expected to be up to
help Fralie later. Crisavec was still sleeping with Tulie's son, and
Tronic was keeping Tasher. Frebec sat alone at the Crane Hearth,
looking at the fire, feeling mixed emotions. He felt anxious and pro
tective over the tiny infant, the first child of his hearth, and fearful.
Ayla had put her in his arms to hold for a few moments while she and
Crozie were making Fralie comfortable. He stared at her, awed that
someone so small could be so perfect. Her diminutive hands even had
fingernails. He was afraid to move, afraid he would break her, and
was greatly relieved when Ayla took her back, yet he was reluctant to
let her go.
Suddenly Frebec stood up and started down the passageway. He
didn't want to be alone on this night. He stopped at the edge of the
Mammoth Hearth and looked at the people sitting around the fire.
They were the younger people of the Camp, and in the past, he
would have walked by them on his way to the cooking hearth to visit
with Talut and Nezzie or Tulie and Barzec or Manuv or Wymez or,
lately, with Jondalar, and sometimes Danug. Even though Crozie was
often at the cooking hearth, it was easier to ignore her than to face the
possibility of being ignored by Deegie or disdained by Ranee. But
Tomec had been friendly earlier, and his woman had given birth, and
he knew how it felt. Frebec took a deep breath and walked toward the
fireplace.
They broke into laughter just as he reached Tornec, and for a mo
ment, he thought they were laughing at him. He was tempted to
leave.
"Frebec! There you are!" Tornec said.
"I think there is still some tea left," Deegie said. "Let me pour you
some."
"Everyone tells me she's a beautiful little girl," Ranee said. "And
Ayla says she has a chance."
"We're lucky to have Ayla here," Tronic said.
"Yes, we are," Frebec replied. No one said anything for a moment.
It was the first good word Frebec had ever said about Ayla.
"Maybe she can be named at the Spring Festival," Latie said.
Frebec hadn't noticed her sitting next to Mamut in the shadow. "That
would be good luck."
Yes, it would," Frebec said, reaching for the cup Deegie gave him,
and feeling a little more comfortable.
'I'm going to have a part in the Spring Festival, too," she an
nounced, half-shy ly and half-proudly.
"Latie is a woman," Deegie told him with the slightly condescend
ing air of a big sister informing another adult who is knowledgeable.
"She will have her Rites of First Pleasures at the Summer Meeting
this year," Tronic added.
Frebec nodded, and smiled at Latie, not quite sure what to say.
"Is Fralie still sleeping?" Ay la asked.
"She was when I left."
"I think I will go to bed, too," she said, getting up. "I'm tired." She
put her hand on Frebec's arm. "Will you come and get me when
Fralie wakes up?"
"Yes, I will, Ayla . . . and ... uh ... thank you," he said softly.

"Ayla, I think she's growing," Fralie said. "I'm sure she feels heavier,
and she's starting to look around. She's nursing longer, too, I
think."
"It's been five days. I think she may be getting stronger," Ayla
agreed.
Fralie smiled, then tears came to her eyes. "Ayla, I don't know
what I would have done without you. I've been blaming myself for
not coming to you sooner. This pregnancy didn't feel right from the
beginning, but when mother and Frebec started fighting, I couldn't
take sides."
Ayla just nodded.
"I know Mother can be difficult, but she has lost so much. She was
a headwoman, you know."
"I guessed as much."
"I was the oldest of four children, I had two sisters and a brother.
... I was about Latie's age when it happened. Mother took me to the
Deer Camp to meet the son of their headwoman. She wanted to arrange
a union. I didn't want to go, and I didn't like him when I met
him. He was older, and more concerned about my status than me, but
before the visit was over, she managed to get me to agree. The arrangements
were made for our joining at the Matrimonial the next
summer. When we got back to our Camp . . . oh, Ayla, it was awful ..."
Fralie closed her eyes, trying to control herself.
"No one knows what happened . . . there was a fire. It was an old
lodge, built by Mother's uncle. People said the thatching, and wood,
and bone must have been all dried out. They think it must have
started at night ... no one got out ..."
"Fralie, I'm sorry," Ayla said.
"We had no place to go, so we turned around and went back to the
Deer Camp. They were sorry for us, but not happy about it. They
were afraid of bad luck, and we'd lost status. They wanted to break
the agreement, but Crozie argued before the Council of Sisters and
held them to it. The Deer Camp would have lost influence and status
if they'd backed out. I was joined that summer. Mother said I had to.
It was all we had left, but there was never much happiness in the
union, except for Crisavec and Tasher. Mother was always fighting
with them, particularly with my man. She was used to being head-
woman, used to making decisions and having respect. It wasn't easy
for her to lose it. She couldn't give it up. People started thinking of
her as a bitter, nagging complainer, and didn't want to be around
her." Fralie paused, then continued.
"When my man was gored by an aurochs, the Deer Camp said we
were bad luck, and made us leave. Mother tried to arrange another
union for me. There was some interest. I still had my birth status,
they can't take away what you are born with, but no one wanted
Mother. They said she was bad luck, but I think they just didn't like
her complaining all the time. I couldn't blame her, though. They just
didn't understand.
"The only one who made an offer was Frebec. He didn't have
much to offer"—Fralie smiled—"but he offered everything he had. I
wasn't sure about him at first. He never had much status, and he
doesn't always know how to act—he embarrasses Mother. He wants
to be worthwhile, so he tries to make himself important by saying
nasty things about . . . other people. I decided to go away with him
for a trial. Mother was surprised when we came back and I told her I
wanted to accept his offer. She never has understood ..."
Fralie looked at Ayla, and smiled gently. "Can you imagine what it
was like being joined with someone who didn't want you, and never
did care about you from the beginning? Then finding a man who
wanted you so much he was willing to give everything he had, and
promise everything he would ever get? That first night, after we went
away together, he treated me like ... a special treasure. He couldn't
believe he had the right to touch me. He made me feel ... I can't
explain it ... wanted. He's still like that when we're alone, but he
and Mother started fighting right away. When it became a matter of
pride between them over whether I would see you, I couldn't take
away his self-respect, Ayla."
"I think I understand, Fralie."
"I kept trying to tell myself that things weren't so bad, and your
medicine did help me. I always believed he would change his mind
when the time came, but I wanted it to be his idea, not something I
forced him to do."
"I'm glad he did."
'But I don't know what I would have done if my baby had ..."
"We can't be sure yet, but I think you are right. She does seem
stronger," Ayla said.
Fralie smiled. "I've decided on a name for her, I hope it makes
Frebec happy. I've decided to call her Beetle."

Ayla was standing by an empty storage platform sorting through a
variety of dried vegetation. There were small piles of barks, roots, and
seeds, little stacks of stems, bowls of dried leaves, flowers, fruits, and
some whole plants. Ranee approached her, trying to be inconspicuous
about hiding something behind his back.
"Ayla, are you busy?" he said.
"No, not really, Ranee. I've been going through my medicines, to
see what I will be needing. I was out today with the horses. Spring is
really coming--it's my favorite season. Green buds are starting, and
pussy willows--I've always loved those fuzzy little flowers. Soon everything
will be greening."
Ranee smiled at her enthusiasm. "Everyone is looking forward to
the Spring Festival. That's when we celebrate new life, new beginnings,
and with Fralie's new baby and Latie's new womanhood, we
have much to celebrate."
Ayla frowned slightly. She wasn't sure if she was looking forward
to her part in the Spring Festival. Mamut had been training her, and
some very interesting things had been happening, but it was a little
frightening. Not as much as she thought it would be, though. Everything
would be fine. She smiled again.
Ranee had been watching her, wondering what was going through
her mind, and trying to think of a way to approach the subject he had
come for. "The ceremony could be especially exciting this year ..."
He paused, searching for the right words.
"I suppose you're right," Ayla said, still thinking about her part in
the festival.
"You don't sound very excited," Ranee said, smiling.
"Don't I? I really am looking forward to Fralie naming the baby,
and I'm so pleased for Latie. I remember how happy I was when I
finally became a woman, and how relieved Iza was. It's just that
Mamut is planning something and I'm not sure about it."
"I keep forgetting that you haven't been Mamutoi very long. You
don't know what a Spring Festival is all about. No wonder you're not
anticipating it like everyone else." He shifted his feet nervously and
looked down, then back at her. "Ayla, you might anticipate it more, I
would, too, if . . ." Ranee stopped, decided to change his approach,
and held out the object he'd been hiding. "I made this for you."
Ayla saw what he held. She looked up at Ranee, her eyes wide with
surprise and delight when she saw it. "You made this for me? But
why?"
"Because I wanted to. It's for you, that's all. Think of it as a spring
gift," he said, urging her to take it.
She took the ivory carving, holding it carefully, and examined it.
"This is one of your bird-woman figures," Ay la said with awe and
pleasure, "like the one you showed me before, but it's not the same
one."
His eyes lit up. "I made it especially for you, but I should warn
you," he said with mock seriousness, "I put magic in it, so you will
. . . like it, and the one who made it."
"You didn't have to put magic in it for that, Ranee."
"You like it, then? Tell me, what do you think of it?" Ranee asked,
though he usually didn't ask people what they thought of his work; it
didn't matter to him what they thought. He worked for himself, and
to please the Mother, but this time he wanted, more than anything, to
please Ayla. He had put his heart, his yearning, and his dreams into
every notch he cut, every line he etched, hoping this carving of the
Mother would work magic on the woman he loved.
She looked closely at the figure and noticed the downward pointing
triangle. It was the symbol of woman she had learned, and one reason
three was the number of generative power and sacred to Mut. The
angle was repeated as chevrons, on what would be the front of the
carving, if it were a woman, or the back, if it were a bird. The whole
object was decorated with rows of chevrons and parallel lines in a
fascinating geometric design, which was pleasing to look at by itself,
but suggested more.
"It's beautifully made, Ranee. I especially like the way you did
these lines. The pattern reminds me of feathers, in a way, but it also
makes me think of water, like on the maps," Ayla said.
Ranee's smile turned into a delighted grin. "I knew it! I knew you
would see it! The feathers of Her spirit when She becomes a bird and
flies back in spring, and the birth waters of the Mother that filled the
seas."
"It's wonderful, Ranee, but I can't keep it," she said, trying to give
it back.
"Why not? I made it for you," he said, refusing to take it.
"But what can I give you back? I have nothing to equal the value of
this."
"If that is what's worrying you, I have a suggestion. You have
something I want that is worth much more than this chunk of ivory,"
Ranee said, smiling, his eyes flashing with humor . . . and love. He
became more serious. "Join with me, Ayla. Be my woman. I want to
share a hearth with you, I want your children to be the children of
"ly hearth."
Ay la was reluctant to answer. Ranee could see her hesitation, and
kept on talking, trying to persuade her. "Think how much we have in
common. You're a Mamutoi woman, I'm a Mamutoi man, but both of
us were adopted. And if we join, neither of us would have to move to
another Camp. We could both stay in Lion Camp, and you could still
take care of Mamut, and Rydag, and that would make Nezzie happy.
But most important, I love you, Ay la, I want to share my life with
you."
"I ... don't know what to say."
"Say yes, Ay la. Let's announce it, include a Promise Ceremony in
the Spring Festival. Then we can formalize the union at the Matri
monial this summer, when Deegie does."
"I'm not sure ... I don't think ..."
"You don't have to answer yet." He had hoped she was ready to
agree immediately. Now he realized it might take more time, but he
didn't want her to say no. "Just tell me you'll give me the chance to
show you how much I love you, how much I want you, how happy
we can be together."
Ayla remembered what Fralie had said. It did make her feel special
to know a man wanted her, that there was a man who cared about her
and didn't keep avoiding her all the time. And she liked the thought of
staying here where people loved her, people she loved. The Lion
Camp were like her family, now. Jondalar would never stay. She had
known that for a long time. He wanted to go back to his own home,
and he had wanted to take her with him, once. Now he didn't seem to
want her at all.
Ranee was nice, she did like him, and joining with him would mean
staying here. And if she was going to have another baby, she should
have it soon. She wasn't getting any younger. In spite of what Mamut
had said, eighteen years seemed old to her. It would be so wonderful
to have another baby, she thought. Like Fralie's baby. Only stronger.
She could have a baby with Ranee. Would it have Ranee's features,
his deep black eyes, his soft lips, his short wide nose, so different
from the large, sharp, beaky noses of the men of the Clan? Jondalar's
nose was between them in size and shape . . . why was she thinking
about Jondalar?
Then an idea occurred to her that made her heart race with excite
ment. If I stay here and )oin with Ranee, she thought, I could go and
get Durc! Next summer, perhaps. There won't be a Clan Gathering
then. What about Ura? Why not get her, too? If I go away with
Jondalar, I know I'll never see Durc again. The Zeiandonii live too far
away, and Jondalar won't want to go back for Durc and take him with
us. If only Jondalar would stay, and become Mamutoi . . . but he
won't. She looked at the dark man, and saw the love in Ranee's eyes.
Maybe I should think about joining with him.
"I said I would think about it, Ranee," she said.
"I know you did, but if you need more time to think about making
a Promise, at least come to my bed, Ayla. Give me a chance to show
you how much I care for you. Tell me you'll do that much. Come to
my bed, Ayla"—taking her hand.
She looked down, trying to sort out her feelings. She felt a strong,
though subtle, compulsion to obey him. Although she recognized it
for what it was, it was difficult to overcome a feeling that she should
go to his bed. But more than that, she wondered if she should give
him a chance, perhaps have a trial with him, like Fralie did with
Frebec.
Ayla nodded, still looking down. "I'll come to your bed."
"Tonight?" he said, shaking with joy and feeling like shouting.
"Yes, Ranee. If you want. I'll come to your bed, tonight."
'ondalar positioned himself so that he could see most of the Mam
moth Hearth by looking down the passageway and through the open
areas of the hearths that separated them. He had made such a habit of
watching Ay la he hardly thought about it any more. It didn't even
embarrass him; it was a part of his existence. No matter what he was
doing, she was always on his mind, often just at the edge of aware
ness. He knew when she slept and when she was awake, when she ate
and when she worked on some project. He knew when she went out
and knew who came to see her, and how long they stayed. He even
had some idea what they talked about.
He knew Ranee had been spending most of his time there. Though
he didn't like seeing them together, he also knew that Ayla had not
been intimate with him, and seemed to avoid any close contact. Her
actions had lulled him into a certain acceptance of the situation, and
eased his anxieties, so he was unprepared for the sight of her walking
with Ranee to the Fox Hearth as everyone was getting ready for bed.
He couldn't believe it at first. He assumed she was just going to get
something and would return to her own bed. The realization that she
was planning to spend the night with the carver did not come to him
until he saw her command Wolf to go to the Mammoth Hearth.
But when it did, it was like a fire exploding in his head, that spread
its burning pain and rage through his body. He was devastated. His
first impulse was to rush to the Fox Hearth and tear her away. He
had visions of Ranee mocking him, and he wanted to smash that dark
smiling face, demolish that scornful, derisive smile. He fought to con
trol himself, and finally grabbed his parka and rushed outside.
Jondalar breathed in huge gulps of cold air, trying to cool his nam
ing jealousy, and almost seared his lungs with the cold. An early
spring cold snap that dipped below freezing had hardened slush,
turned rivulets into treacherous slides, and trampled mud into uneven
bumps and dips, making it difficult to walk. He lost his footing in the
dark and scrambled to keep his balance. When he reached the horse
annex, he went back in.
Whinney blew a greeting and Racer snorted and nudged him in the
dark, looking for affection. He had spent a lot of time with the horses
over the difficult winter, and even more during the uncertain spring.
They welcomed his company and he relaxed in their warm, unques
tioning presence. A movement of the inner drape caught his eye.
Then he felt paws on his leg, and heard a pleading whine. He reached
down and picked up the wolf pup.
"Wolf!" he said, smiling, but pulling back as the eager animal licked
his face. "What are you doing here?" Then he lost his smile. "She
made you leave, didn't she? You're used to her being there near you,
and you miss her. I know how you feel. It's hard getting used to
sleeping alone after she has slept beside you."
As he petted and stroked the little wolf, Jondalar felt an easing of
tension, and he was reluctant to put him down. "What should I do
with you, Wolf? I hate to make you go back. I suppose I could let you
sleep with me."
Then he frowned, realizing he was faced with a dilemma. How was
he going to get back to his bed with the pup? It was cold out, and he
wasn't sure if the little animal would want to go outside with him, but
if he went in through the Mammoth Hearth opening, he would have
to walk through the Fox Hearth to reach his bed. Nothing in the
world could have induced him to walk through the Fox Hearth at that
moment. Jondalar wished he had his sleeping furs with him. With no
fire it was cool in the annex, but sleeping in furs between the horses
would have been warm enough. He had no choice. He would have to
take the puppy out with him and back in through the front entrance.
He patted the horses, then, cuddling the puppy close to his chest,
pushed back the drape and stepped out into the cold night. The wind,
more noticeable this time, stung his face with an icy slap, and parted
the fur of his parka. Wolf tried to squirm closer and whimpered, but
made no move to get away. Jondalar moved carefully over the rough
frozen ground and was relieved to reach the front arch.
The lodge was quiet when he stepped into the cooking hearth. He
walked to his sleeping furs, and put Wolf down, glad that he seemed
content to stay. Quickly, he pulled off his parka and footwear, then
crawled into the furs taking the small wolf with him. He had found it
was not as warm on the floor in the open area of the hearth as it was
on the enclosed sleeping platforms, and he slept in his indoor clothes,
which left them rumpled. It took a few moments to find a comfortable
position and settle down, but before long the warm bundle of fur
curled up next to him was asleep.
Jondalar was not so fortunate. As soon as he closed his eyes, he
heard the night sounds and stiffened in resistance. Normally the
breathing, shuffling, coughing, whispering sounds of the Camp at
night were background noise, easily ignored, but Jondalar's ears heard
what he did not want to hear.

Ranee eased Ay la back on his furs, then looked down at her. "You
are so beautiful, Ay la, so perfect. I want you so much, I want you to
be with me always. Oh, Ay la . . ."he said, then bent down to breathe
into her ear, and breathe in her woman-scent. She felt his full soft
mouth on hers, and felt herself respond. After a while, he put his
hand on her stomach, then began slowly to move it in a circular motion,
exerting gentle pressure.
Soon he reached up and cupped a breast, and then he lowered his
head and took a hardened nipple in his mouth and sucked. She
moaned as the tingling reached inside and moved her hips toward
him. He pushed himself against her, and she felt a warm hardness
next to her thigh, as he reached to take her other nipple in his mouth,
and suckled hard, making little pleasure noises.
He ran his hand down her side and hip, then across her leg and up
the inside of her thigh, found her moist folds and reached inside her.
She felt him search her depths and pushed up against him. He eased
himself around until he was pressed against her, while he suckled one
breast, and then the other, and then nuzzled between them.
"Oh, Ay la. My beautiful woman, my perfect woman. How have
you made me ready so soon? It is the Mother's way, Her secrets you
command. My perfect woman ..."
He was suckling again, she could feel the pressure as he pulled, and
it sent shivers through her. Inside her, she felt a moving in and out,
then his hand found her place of Pleasure. She cried out as he rubbed
it, rhythmically, harder and faster. Suddenly, she was ready. She
pushed against him moving her hips, crying out, and reaching for
him.
He moved between her legs as she lifted them, helped guide him,
then uttered a sigh of Pleasure as she felt him enter. His body moved
back and forth, feeling the sensation building as he cried her name.
"Oh, Ayla, Ayla, I want you so much. Be my woman, Ayla. Be
my woman," Ranee said, as a great surge built. Her cries came in
little rhythmic pants. He moved faster and faster until the warm wave
of indescribable sensation broke free and washed over them.
Ayla breathed hard, catching her breath, as Ranee sprawled out on
top of her. It had been a long time since she had shared Pleasures.
The last time had been the night of her adoption, and she realized
now that she had missed it. Ranee had been so delighted to have her
and so eager to please, he almost tried too hard, but she had been
more ready than she thought she would be, and though everything
happened quickly, she did not feel unsatisfied.
"It was perfect for me," Ranee whispered. "Are you happy, Ayla?"
"Yes, Pleasures with you feel good, Ranee," she said. She heard
him sigh.
They both lay still, enjoying the aftermath, but Ayla's thoughts
went back to his question. Was she happy? She wasn't unhappy.
Ranee was a good and considerate man, and she had felt Pleasure, but
. . something was missing. It was not the same as it had been with
Jondalar, but she didn't know what the difference was.
Maybe it was just that she wasn't quite used to Ranee yet, she
thought, as she tried to shift to a more comfortable position. He was
beginning to feel a bit heavy. Ranee, feeling her movement, pulled
up, smiled at her, then rolled over and lay beside her on his side,
nestling close to her.
He nuzzled her neck, then whispered in her ear. "I love you, Ayla.
I want you so much. Say you will be my woman."
Ayla didn't answer. She couldn't answer yes, and she wouldn't answer
no.

Jondalar gritted his teeth and clutched at his sleeping fur, wadding
it up in his fist as he listened, against his will, to the murmuring, hard
breathing, and heavy rhythmic movement from the Hearth of the
Fox. He pulled the covers over his head, but could not block out the
muffled sound of Ayla's voice crying out. He bit on a piece of leather
to keep from making any sounds, but high in the back of his throat,
his own voice cried out in pain and utter despair. Wolf, hearing,
whimpered, scooted close to him, and licked the salty tears that the
man tried to squeeze back.
He couldn't stand it. Jondalar could not bear the thought of Ayla
with Ranee. But it was her choice, and his. What if she went back to
the carver's bed again? He couldn't bear hearing that again. But what
could he do? Leave. He could leave. He had to leave. Tomorrow. In
the morning, at first light, he would leave.
Jondalar didn't sleep. He lay stiff with tension inside his furs when
he realized they had only been resting, they were not through. Finally,
when only the sounds of sleep could be heard in the lodge, he
still didn't sleep. He heard Ayla and Ranee over and over again in his
mind, and envisioned them together.
With the first hint of light outlining the covered smoke hole, before
anyone was stirring, he was up stuffing his sleeping furs into a haversack.
Then putting on his parka and footwear, and taking his spears
^d the spear-thrower, he quietly walked to the first archway and
pushed back the drape. Wolf started to follow him, but Jondalar told
him to "stay" in a hoarse whisper, and let the drape fall behind him.
Once outside, he pulled the hood up against the sharp wind and
tied it tight around his face, leaving little more than an opening to see.
He pulled on the mittens that dangled from his sleeves by cords,
shifted the haversack, and started out walking up the slope. The ice
crunched under his feet, and he stumbled in the dim light of the early
gray morning, blinded by hot tears, now that he was alone.
The wind blew hard and cold when he reached the top, buffeting
him with crosscurrents. He paused, trying to decide which way to go,
then turned south, following the river. It was difficult walking. The
freeze had been enough to form a crust of ice over some of the melting
drifts, and he sunk through up to his knees, and had to pull his feet
out with every step. Where there were no snowdrifts, the ground was
hard and rough, and often slick. He slipped and slid, and fell once,
bruising his hip.
As the morning progressed, no glowing sun penetrated the heavy
overcast sky. The only evidence of its appearance was the diffused but
growing light of the shadowless gray day. He plodded along, his
thoughts turned inward, hardly paying attention to where he was
going.
Why couldn't he bear the thought of Ay la and Ranee together?
Why was it so hard for him to let her make her own choice? Did he
want her just to himself? Did other men ever feel this way? Feel this
pain? Was it that another man touched her? Was it fear that he was
losing her?
Or was it more than that? Did he feel he deserved to lose her? She
spoke easily about her life with the Clan, and he was as accepting as
anyone else, until he thought about what his own people might think.
Would she feel as free to talk about her childhood with the Zeian-
donii? She fit in so well with the Lion Camp. They accepted her
without reservation, but would they if they knew about her son? He
hated to think that way. If he felt so ashamed of her, maybe he ought
to give her up, but he couldn't bear the thought of losing her.
His thirst finally penetrated the murky niches of his introspection.
He stopped and reached for his waterbag, then discovered he had
forgotten to take it. At the next snowdrift, he broke through the crust
of ice and put a handful of snow in his mouth, holding it there until it
melted. It was second nature, he didn't even have to think about it.
He had been trained from childhood not to eat snow for thirst without
melting it first, preferably before it was put in the mouth. Swallowing
snow chilled the body, and even melting it in the mouth was a last
resort.
The missing waterbag made him consider his situation for a mo-
ment. He had forgotten food, too, he realized, but it slipped out of his
mind again. He was too caught up in remembering, over and over
again, the sounds from the lodge, and the scenes and thoughts they
created in his mind.
He came across an expanse of white, and hardly paused before
plodding ahead into the drift. If he had observed his surroundings, he
might have seen that it was more than a snowdrift, but he wasn't
thinking. After the first few steps he broke through the crust, not into
a drift of snow, but knee-deep into a pool of standing meltwater. His
leather footwear, coated with fat, was waterproof enough to withstand
a certain amount of snow, even wet, melting snow, but not water.
The shock of cold finally snapped him out of his self-absorbed preoccupation.
He waded out, breaking through more ice, and felt the
added chill brought by the wind.
What a stupid thing to do, he thought. I don't even have a change
of clothes with me. Or food. Or a waterbag. I have to go back. I'm
not prepared for traveling at all, what can I have been thinking of?
You know what you were thinking of, Jondalar, he said to himself,
closing his eyes as the pain clutched him.
He was feeling the cold in his feet and lower legs, and the uncomfortable
sloppy wetness. He wondered if he should try to dry out
before he started back, then he realized he didn't have a firestone with
him, or even a fire drill and tinder, and his footwear had liners of
felted mammoth wool. Even wet, they would keep his feet from freezing,
if he kept moving. He started back, berating himself for his stupidity,
yet dreading every step.
As he retraced his footsteps, he found himself thinking of his
brother. He recalled the time Thonolan had been caught in quicksand
at the mouth of the Great Mother River, and wanted to stay there and
die. For the first time, Jondalar fully understood why Thonolan had
lost his will to live after Jetamio died. His brother had chosen to stay
with the people of the woman he loved, he remembered. But Jetamio
had been born to the river people, he thought. Ay la was as much a
stranger as he was to the Mamutoi. No, he corrected himself, that's
not true. Ayla is a Mamutoi, now.
When he neared the lodge, Jondalar saw a large bulky figure coming
toward him.
"Nezzie was worried about you and sent me to look for you. Where
have you been?" Talut said as he fell in behind Jondalar.
"I went for a walk."
The big headman nodded. That Ayla had shared Pleasures with
Ranee was no secret, but neither was Jondalar's anguish as private as
he thought.
"Your feet are wet."
"I broke through the ice of a pool, thinking it was a snowdrift."
As they headed down the slope toward the Lion Camp, Talut said,
"You should change your boots right away, Jondalar. I have an extra
pair I will give you."
"Thank you," the younger man said, suddenly aware that he was
very much an outsider. He had nothing of his own, and was entirely
dependent on the good will of the Lion Camp, even for the necessary
clothes and supplies to travel. He didn't like asking for more, but he
had no choice if he was going to leave, and once he was gone, he
would no longer be eating their food and making other demands on
their resources.
"There you are," Nezzie said, as he walked in the earthlodge. "Jon
dalar! You're cold and wet! Take off those boots and let me get you
something hot to drink."
Nezzie brought him a hot drink, and Talut gave him a pair of old
boots and a dry pair of trousers. "You can keep these," he said.
"I'm grateful, Talut, for everything you've done for me, but I need
to ask a favor. I have to leave. I must return to my home. I've been
gone too long. It's time I started back, but I need some traveling gear,
and some food. Once it warms up, it will be easier to find food along
the way, but I need some to start out with."
"I'd be glad to give you what you need. Though my clothes are a
little big on you, you can wear them," the big headman said, then
grinning and smoothing his bushy red beard, he added, "but I have a
better idea. Why not ask Tulie to outfit you?"
"Why Tulie?" Jondalar asked, puzzled.
"Her first man was about your size, and I'm sure she still has many
of his clothes. They were of the finest quality, Tulie made sure of
that."
"But why should she give them to me?"
"You still haven't collected on your future claim, and she's in debt
to you. If you tell her you want it in a traveling outfit and supplies,
she would make sure you have the best there is, to relieve her obliga
tion," Talut said.
"That's right," Jondalar said with a smile. He'd forgotten the wager
he'd won. It made him feel better to know he wasn't entirely without
resources. "I will ask her."
"But you are not planning to leave, are you?"
"Yes, I am. As soon as I can," Jondalar said.
The headman sat down for some serious discussion. "It is not wise
to travel yet. Everything is melting. Look what happened just going
for a walk," Talut said, "and I was looking forward to you coming
with us to the Summer Meeting and hunting mammoth with us."
"I don't know," Jondalar said. He noticed Mamut near one of the
firepits, eating, and was reminded of Ayla. He didn't think he could
stand it another day. How could he possibly stay until the Summer
Meeting?
"Early summer is a better time to start a long trek. It's safer. You
should wait, Jondalar."
"I'll think about it," Jondalar said, though he had no intention of
staying any longer than he absolutely had to.
"Good, do that," Talut said, getting up. "Nezzie told me to make
sure you had some of her hot soup for breakfast. She put the last of
the good roots in it."
Jondalar finished tying Talut's footwear, then got up and walked to
the firepit where Mamut was finishing a bowl of soup. He greeted the
old man, then reached for one of the bowls stacked nearby, and ladled
some out for himself. He sat beside the shaman, pulled out his eating
knife, and stabbed a piece of meat.
Mamut wiped out his bowl and put it down, then turned to Jon
dalar. "I could not help but overhear that you are planning to leave
soon."
"Yes, tomorrow or the next day. As soon as I can get ready," Jon
dalar said.
"That's too soon!" Mamut said.
"I know. Talut said it was a bad time of year to travel, but I've
traveled in bad seasons before."
"That's not what I mean. You must stay until the Spring Festival,"
he said, with absolute seriousness.
"I know it's a big occasion, everyone is talking about it, but I really
need to go."
"You cannot go. It is not safe."
"Why? What difference will a few more days make? There will still
be melting and flooding." The young visitor couldn't understand the
old man's insistence that he stay for a festival that had no particular
meaning for him.
"Jondalar, I have no doubt that you can travel in any weather. I
wasn't thinking of you. I was thinking of Ayla."
"Ayla?" Jondalar said with a frown, as his stomach tightened into a
knot. "I don't understand."
'I have been training Ayla in some practices of the Mammoth
Hearth, and planning a special ceremony for this Spring Festival with
her. We will be using a root she brought with her from the Clan. She
used it once . . . with the guidance of her Mog-ur. I have experience
with several magic plants that can lead one to the spirit world, but I
have never used this root, and Ayla has never used it alone. We will
both be trying something new. She seems to have . . . some concerns,
and . . . certain changes might be upsetting. If you leave, it could
have an unforeseeable effect on Ayla."
"Are you saying there is some danger to Ayla in this root ceremony?"
Jondalar asked, his eyes full of distress.
"There is always some element of danger in dealing with the spirit
world," the shaman explained, "but she has traveled there alone, and
if it happens again, without guidance or training, she could lose her
way. That is why I am training her, but Ayla will need the help of
those who have feelings for her, love for her. It is essential that you be
here."
"Why me?" Jondalar said. "We are . . . not together any more.
There are others here who have feelings . . . who love Ayla. Others
she has feelings for."
The old man stood up. "I cannot explain it to you, Jondalar. It is a
sense, an intuition. I can only say that when I heard you speak of
leaving, a terrible, dark foreboding came over me. I'm not sure what it
means, but I would . . . prefer ... no, I will put it more strongly
than that. Don't leave, Jondalar. If you love her, promise me you
won't leave until after the Spring Festival," Mamut said.
Jondalar stood up and looked at the ancient, inscrutable face of the
old shaman. It was not like him to make such a request without reason,
but why was it so important for him to be here? What did
Mamut know that he didn't? Whatever it was, the Mamut's qualms
filled him with apprehension. He could not leave if Ayla was in danger.
"I will stay," he said. "I promise I will not leave until after the
Spring Festival."

It was a few days before Ayla returned to Ranee's bed, though not
because he hadn't been encouraging her. It was difficult for her to
refuse him the first time he asked her outright. Her childhood training
had been so strong she felt that she had done something terribly
wrong when she said no, and almost expected Ranee to be angry. But
he took it with understanding, and said he knew she needed some
time to think.
Ayla had learned of Jondalar's long walk the morning after her
night with the dark carver, and she suspected it had something to do
with her. Was it his way of showing that he still cared for her? But
Jondalar was, if anything, even more distant. He avoided her whenever
possible, and spoke only when it was necessary. She decided she
must be wrong. He didn't love her. She was desolate when she finally
began to accept it, but tried not to show it.
Ranee, on the other hand, made it abundantly clear that he loved
er. He continued to press her for both her presence in his furs, and
» join him at his hearth in a formally recognized union; to be his
oman. She finally consented to share his furs again, largely because
this understanding, but held back her commitment to a more perma-
ent relationship. She spent several nights with him, but then decided
r refrain again for a time, this time finding it easier to refuse. She felt
ferything was moving too fast. He wanted to make the announce-
lent of their Promise at the Spring Festival, which was only a few
»ys away. She wanted time to think about it. She enjoyed Pleasures
h Ranee; he was loving and knew how to please, and she cared for
i. She liked him very much, in fact, but something was missing.
; felt it as a vague sort of incompleteness. Though she wanted to,
wished she could, she did not love him.
;. Jondalar did not sleep when Ay la was with Ranee, and the strain
is beginning to show. Nezzie thought he had lost more weight, but
Talufs old clothes, which hung on him, and an unkempt winter
ard, it was hard to tell. Even Danug noticed that he seemed gaunt
d worn, and he thought he knew the cause. He wished there was
Jiomething he could do to help; he cared deeply for both Jondalar and
P^yla, but no one could help. Not even Wolf, though the puppy
^|»rought more comfort than he knew. Whenever Ayla was absent from
|l|he hearth, the young wolf sought out Jondalar. It made the man feel
|(»e was not alone in his grief and rejection. He found himself spending
^Hore time with the horses as well, he even slept with them sometimes
IH0 ^et away from the painful scenes in the lodge, but he made a point
V&f staying away when Ayla was around.
H The weather turned warm the next few days, and it became more
^^ifficult for Jondalar to avoid her. In spite of the slush and high water,
J^iBie rode the horses more often and though he tried to slip away when
j||||Be saw her coming into the annex, several times he found himself
^tommering excuses and leaving quickly after accidentally meeting
^^fir. Frequently she took Wolf, and occasionally Rydag, riding with
^per, but when she wanted to be free of responsibilities, she left the
tyuppy behind in the boy's care, to his delight. Whinney and Racer
g^yere entirely familiar and comfortable with the young wolf, and Wolf
^^ftl-.'tA.^. __ ^ -/ C? '
igy.(^eemed to enjoy the association of the horses whether he was on
' '"-''^Til M
^Whinney's back with Ayla, or running alongside trying to keep up. It
|^as good exercise and a welcome excuse for her to get away from the
t ^anhlodge, which felt small and confining after the long winter, but
*"€ couldn't escape from the turmoil of strong feelings that whirled
.^und and within her.
^he had begun encouraging and directing Racer by voice, whistle,
and signal while riding Whinney, but whenever she thought she
should start getting him used to carrying a rider, it made her think of
Jondalar and she held off. It wasn't so much a conscious decision as a
delaying tactic, and a wild wish that everything would somehow work
out as she had once hoped, and that Jondalar would train him and ride
him.
Jondalar was thinking much the same thing. On one of their chance
meetings, Ay la had encouraged him to take Whinney out for a ride,
insisting that she was too busy, and that the horse needed the exercise
after the long winter. He'd forgotten what sheer excitement it was to
race into the wind on the back of a horse. And when he saw Racer
pounding along beside him, and then pulling ahead of his dam, he
dreamed of being on the young stallion's back riding beside Ayla and
Whinney. Though he could generally direct the mare, he felt she was
simply tolerating him, and always felt uneasy about it. Whinney was
Ay la's horse, and though he eyed the brown stallion and felt a real
affection for him, in his mind, Racer was Ayla's, too.
As the weather warmed, Jondalar thought more about leaving. He
decided to take Talut's advice and ask for his future claim from Tulie
in the form of much-needed clothing and traveling equipment. As the
headman had suggested, Tulie was delighted to relieve her obligation
so easily.

Jondalar was tying a belt around his new deep brown tunic when
Talut strode into the cooking hearth. The Spring Festival would be
the day after next. Everyone was trying on finery in preparation for
the big day and relaxing after sweatbaths and a dunk in the cold river.
For the first time since he left home, Jondalar had a surplus of well-
made, beautifully decorated clothing as well as backpacks, tents, and
other traveling gear. He had always enjoyed good quality, and his
appreciation was not lost on Tulie. She had suspected all along, and
now was convinced, that whoever the Zeiandonii were, Jondalar came
from people of high status.
"It looks like it was made for you, Jondalar," Talut said. "The
beadwork across the shoulders falls ]ust right."
"Yes, the clothes do fit well, and Tulie was more than generous.
Thanks for the suggestion."
"I'm glad you decided not to leave right away. You'll enjoy the
Summer Meeting."
"Well ... ah ... I'm not . . . Mamut ..." Jondalar struggled for
words to explain why he had not gone when he first planned to.
"... and I'll make sure you are invited on the first hunt," Talut
continued, assuming that Jondalar had stayed because of his counsel
and invitation.
"Jondalar?" Deegie said, a little shocked. "From the back I thought
you were Damev!" She walked around him, with a smile on her face,
looking him over. She liked what she saw. "You shaved," she said.
"It's spring. I decided it was time," he said, smiling back, his eyes
telling her that she was attractive, too.
She was caught by his blue eyes, and his compelling attraction,
then laughed, and decided it was time he was cleaned up and in decent
clothes. He'd been looking so scruffy in his straggly, untrimmed
beard and Talut's hand-me-downs, she'd forgotten how handsome he

was.
"You wear that outfit well, Jondalar. It suits you. Wait until you
get to the Summer Meeting. A stranger always gets a lot of attention,
and I think the Mamutoi women will want to make you feel very
welcome," Deegie said, with a teasing smile.
"But ..." Jondalar gave up trying to explain that he wasn't planning
to go to the Summer Meeting with them. He could tell them
later, when he left.
He tried on another outfit after they left, one more suited to traveling
or everyday wear, then went outside looking for the headwoman
to thank her again, and show her how well the clothes fit. In the
entrance foyer, he met Danug, Rydag, and Wolf just coming in. The
youth was holding Rydag with one arm and Wolf with the other.
They had a fur wrapped around them and their hair was still damp.
Danug had carried the boy up from the river after their sweatbath.
He put them both down.
"Jondalar, you look good," Rydag signaled. "All ready for Spring
Festival?"
"Yes. Are you?" he signed back.
"I have new clothes, too. Nezzie make for me, for Spring Festival,"
Rydag replied, smiling.
"For the Summer Meeting, too," Danug added. "She made new
clothes for me, and for Latie and Rugie."
Jondalar noticed that Rydag's smile faded when Danug talked about
the Summer Meeting. He didn't seem to look forward to the big summer
gathering as much as the others.
When Jondalar pushed back the heavy drape and started out,
Danug, not wanting the words to be heard, whispered to Rydag,
"Should we have told him that Ay la is right outside? Every time he
sees her, he runs away from her."
"No. He want see her. She want see him. Make right signals,
wrong words," Rydag signed.

427

"You're right, but why can't they see it? How can they make each
other understand?"
"Forget words. Make signals," Rydag replied, with his un-Clanlike
smile, then picked up the wolf puppy and carried him into the lodge.
Jondalar discovered what the youngsters didn't tell him the moment
he stepped out. Ay la was outside the front entrance with the two
horses. She had just given Wolf to Rydag to take care of, and she was
looking forward to a long, hard ride to work off the tension she was
feeling. Ranee wanted her agreement before the Spring Festival, and
she couldn't make up her mind. She hoped the ride would help her
think. When she saw Jondalar, her first reaction was to offer to let
him ride Whinney, as she had done before, knowing that he loved it,
and hoping that his love of the horses would bring him closer to her.
But she wanted to ride. She had been anticipating it, and was just
ready to leave.
When she looked at him again, she caught her breath. He had
scraped off his beard with one of his sharp flint blades, and he looked
so much the way he did when they were in her valley the previous
summer it made her heart pound and her face flush. He reacted to her
physical signals with unconscious signals of his own, and the magnetic
pull of his eyes drew her.
"You have removed your beard," Ay la said.
Without realizing it, she had spoken in Zeiandonii. It took him a
moment before he realized what was different, then, he couldn't help
but smile. He hadn't heard his own language in a long time. The
smile encouraged her, and a thought came to her.
"I was just going out to ride on Whinney, and I have been thinking
that someone needs to start getting Racer used to a rider. Why don't
you come with me and try to ride him? It's a good day for it. The
snow is almost gone, new grass is coming in, but the ground is not so
hard yet, in case someone falls off," she said, rushing ahead before
something happened that would make him change and become distant
again.
"Uh ... I don't know," Jondalar hesitated. "I thought you would
want to ride him first."
"He's used to you, Jondalar, and no matter who rides him first, it
would help to have two people. One to calm and settle him while the
other gets on."
"I suppose you're right," he said, frowning. He didn't know if he
should go out on the steppes with her, but he didn't know how to
refuse, and he did want to ride the horse. "If you really want me to, I
guess I could."
"I'll go and get a lead rope, and the guider you made for him," Ayla
said, racing to the annex before he could change his mind. "Why
don't you start walking them up the slope?"
He began to have second thoughts, but she was gone before he
could reconsider. He called the horses to him and started up to the
broad flat plains above. Ayla caught up with them when they were
near the top. She had a haversack and a waterbag as well as the halter
and a rope. When they reached the steppes, Ayla led Whinney to a
mound she had used before when she let some of the members of the
Lion Camp, particularly the younger ones, ride the mare. With a
practiced leap, she was on the back of the hay-colored horse.
"Get on, Jondalar. We can ride double."
"Ride double!?" he said, almost in a panic. He hadn't considered
riding double with Ayla, and was ready to bolt.
"Just until we find a nice open stretch of flat ground. We can't try it
here. Racer might run into a gully or down the slope," she said.
He felt caught. How could he say he wouldn't ride double with her
for a short distance? He walked to the mound, and carefully sat
astride the mare, trying to sit back and avoid touching Ayla. The
moment he was on, she signaled Whinney into a fast trot.
There was no preventing it. Try as he might, on the jouncing
horse, he could not keep from sliding next to her. He could feel the
warmth of her body through their clothing, smell the light pleasant
odor of the dried cleansing flowers she used for washing, mixed with
her familiar feminine scent. With each step the horse took, he felt her
legs, her hips, her back pressed against him, and felt his manhood rise
in response. His head was whirling, and he fought with himself to keep
from kissing her neck, reaching around to hold a full, firm breast.
Why did he agree to this? Why didn't he put her off? What differ
ence did it make if he ever rode Racer? They would never ride to
gether. He had heard people talking; Ayla and Ranee were going to
announce their Promise at the Spring Festival, and afterward, he
would leave and start on his long Journey home.
Ayla signaled Whinney to stop. "What do you think, Jondalar?
There's a good flat stretch ahead."
"Yes, it looks fine," he said quickly, and pulling his leg back
around, jumped down.
Ayla lifted her leg over and slid off the other side. She was breath
ing fast, her face was flushed, her eyes glittering. She had breathed
deeply of his man smell, melted into the warmth of his body, and
shivered when she felt the hard, hot bump of his manhood. I could
reel his need, she thought. Why was he in such a hurry to get away
from me? Why doesn't he want me? Why doesn't he love me any
more?
On opposite sides of the mare, they both tried to compose them
selves. Ay la whistled for Racer, a whistle different from the one she
used to call Whinney, and by the time she had patted him, and
scratched him, and talked to him, she was ready to face Jondalar
again.
"Do you want to put the guiding straps on his head?" she asked
him, leading the young stallion toward a pile of large bones she
noticed.
"I don't know. What would you do?" he said. He was also in con
trol of himself again, and beginning to get excited about riding the
young horse.
"I never did use anything to guide Whinney, except the way I
moved, but Racer is used to being guided by the straps. I think I
would use them," she said.
They both put the halter on Racer. Sensing something, he was
friskier than usual, and they stroked and patted him to calm him
down. They stacked up a couple of mammoth bones to give Jondalar
something to stand on to mount the horse, then led the young horse
beside them. At Ayla's suggestion, Jondalar rubbed his neck, and his
back, and down his legs, and leaned across him, scratching him and
stroking him, and getting him entirely familiar with the feel of the
man.
"When you first get on him, hold him around the neck. He may
rear to try to shake you off his back," Ayla said, trying to think of
last-minute advice. "But he did get used to carrying the load on the
way back from the valley, so he may not have much trouble getting
used to you. Hold the lead rope, so it doesn't fall on the ground and
trip him, but I would just let him run, wherever he wants to go, until
he gets tired. I'll follow on Whinney. Are you ready?"
"I think so," he said, smiling nervously.
Jondalar stood on the big bones, leaned across the shaggy, sturdy
animal, talking to him, while Ayla held his head. Then he eased a leg
across his back, settled himself down, and clasped his arms around
Racer's neck. When he felt the weight, the dark stallion laid his ears
back. Ayla let go. He leaped up on his hind legs once, then he arched
his back, trying to dislodge the load, but Jondalar held on. Then true
to his name, the young horse broke out in a fast gallop and raced
across the steppes.
Jondalar squinted into the cold wind, and felt a tremendous up
surge of sheer exhilaration. He watched the ground blur beneath him,
and couldn't believe it. He was actually riding the young stallion, and
it was every bit as exciting as he had imagined it would be. He closed
his eyes and felt the tremendous power of the muscles bunching and
straining beneath him, and a sense of magical wonder washed over
him, as though for the first time in his life, he was sharing in the
wonder and creation of the Great Earth Mother Herself.
He felt the young horse tiring, and, hearing other hoofbeats,
opened his eyes to see Ay la and Whinney racing beside him. He
smiled his wonder and delight at her, and the smile she returned made
his heart pound faster. Everything else faded to insignificance for the
moment. Jondalar's entire world was an unforgettable ride on the back
of a racing stallion and the achingly beautiful smile on the face of the
woman he loved.
Racer finally slowed, then drew to a halt. Jondalar jumped off. The
young horse stood with his head hanging down almost to the ground,
feet spread apart, sides heaving as he breathed hard. Whinney pulled
up and Ay la jumped down. She took some pieces of soft leather out of
the haversack, gave one to Jondalar, to rub down the sweaty animal,
then she did the same for Whinney. The two exhausted horses
crowded close together, leaning on each other for reassurance.
"Ayla, as long as I live, I'll never forget that ride," Jondalar said.
He hadn't been so relaxed for a long time, and she felt his excite
ment. They looked at each other, smiled, laughed, sharing the won
der of the moment. Without thinking, she reached up to kiss him, he
started to respond, then suddenly, he remembered Ranee. He
stiffened, withdrew her arms from around his neck.
"Don't play with me, Ay la," he said, his voice hoarse with control,
as he pushed her away.
"Play with you?" she said, hurt filling her eyes.
Jondalar closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, shook with the strain of
trying to maintain control. Then, suddenly, like an ice dam bursting,
it was too much. He grabbed her, kissed her; a hard, mouth-bruising,
desperate kiss. The next instant she was on the ground, his hands
beneath her tunic, tearing at her drawstring.
She tried to help him, to untie it for him, but he couldn't wait.
Impatiently, he grabbed at the waist of her soft leather leggings with
both hands, and with the strength of denied passion that could be
denied no more, she heard the ripping as he tore out the seams. He
fumbled with the opening to his own trousers, then he was on top of
her, wild in his frenzy, as his hard, throbbing shaft probed and
searched.
She reached down to help guide him, feeling her own excitement
mount as she realized what he so desperately wanted. But what was
driving him to such ardent fury? What caused this craving need?
Couldn't he see that she was ready for him? She had been ready for
him the whole winter. There was never a time that she wasn't ready
for him. As though her body itself had been trained from childhood to
respond to his need, his signal, he had only to want her for her to
want him. That was all she had been waiting for. Tears of need and
love were in her eyes; she had waited so long for him to want her
again.
With a passion as much denied as his, she opened to him, wel
comed him, gave to him what he thought he was taking. She thrilled
to the sensation of his long, hard member seeking her depths, filling
her. He pulled back, and she hungered for him to return, to fill her
again. She pushed to meet him when he did, pushed herself against
his warm shaft, and felt the feeling deep inside tingle and grow. She
arched her back to feel his movement, to press her place of Pleasure
against him, to meet him again.
He cried out with the unbelievable joy of her. He had felt that way
from the first time. They fit together, matched each other, her depth
for his size, as though she was made for him, and he for her. 0
Mother. 0 Doni, how he had missed her. How he had wanted her.
How he loved her. He drove in, felt the warm, wet caress of her
enfold him, take him in, reach for more, until his full shaft was buried
within her.
Deep surges of Pleasure washed over him, coming in waves that
matched his movements. He dove in again, and again, as she reached
for him, hungered for him, ached for him. With wild abandon, with
no restraint, he came back, and back to her, faster and faster, and she
met him every time, felt her tension grow with his, until the peak, the
crest, the last wave of Pleasure broke over them both.
He rested on top of her, in the middle of the open steppes just
burgeoning with new life. Then suddenly he clutched her, buried his
head in her neck, and cried her name. "Ayla, oh, my Ayla, my Ayla."
He kissed her neck, kissed her throat, kissed her mouth, then kissed
a closed eye. Then he stopped, as abruptly as he began. He pulled up
and looked down at her.
"You're crying! I've hurt you! 0 Great Mother, what have I done?"
he said". He jumped up and looked down at her, lying on the bare
ground, her clothes torn. "Doni. 0 Doni, what have I done? I forced
her. How could I do such a thing? To her, who only knew this pain
in the beginning. Now I have done it to her. 0 Doni! 0 Mother!
How could you let me do it?"
"No, Jondalar!" Ayla said, sitting up. "It's all right. You didn't hurt
me."
But he wouldn't hear her. He turned his back, not able to look at
her, and covered himself. He could not turn back. He walked away,
angry at himself, filled with shame, and remorse. If he couldn't trust
himself not to hurt her, he would have to stay away from her, and
make sure she stayed away from him. She is right to choose Ranee, he
thought. I don't deserve her. He heard her get up and go to the
horses. Then he heard her walking toward him, and felt her hand on
his arm.
"Jondalar, you didn't ..."
He spun around. "Stay away from me!" he snarled, full of guilty
anger at himself.
She backed off. What had she done wrong now? "Jondalar . . . ?"
she said again, taking a step toward him.
"Stay away from me! Didn't you hear me? If you don't stay away
from me, I may lose control and force you again!" It came out sound
ing like a threat.
"You didn't force me, Jondalar," she said as he turned and strode
off. "You cannot force me. There is no time I am not ready for
you. ..."
But his thoughts were so full of remorse and self-loathing he didn't
hear her.
He kept walking, back toward the Lion Camp. She watched him go
for some time, trying to sort out her confusion. Then she went back
for the horses. She took Racer's lead rope in her hand, and holding on
to Whinney's stand-up mane, mounted the mare, and quickly caught
up to Jondalar.
"You're not going to walk all the way back, are you?" she said.
He didn't answer at first, didn't even turn around to look at her. If
she thought he was going to ride double with her again ... he
thought, as she pulled up along side. Out of the corner of his eye, he
saw that she was leading the young stallion behind her, and he finally
turned to face her.
He looked at her with tenderness and yearning. She seemed more
appealing, more desirable, and he loved her more than ever, now that
he was sure he'd spoiled it all. She ached to be near him, to tell him
how wonderful it had been, how full and complete she felt, how she
loved him. But he had been so angry, and she was so confused, she
didn't know what to say.
They stared at each other, wanting each other, drawn to each
other, but their silent shout of love went unheard in the roar of mis
understanding, and the clatter of culturally ingrained beliefs.
I
think you should ride back on Racer," Ayla said. "It's a long
way to walk."
A long way, he thought. How long had he walked from his home?
But he nodded, and followed her to a rock beside a small creek. Racer
wasn't used to having riders. It was still better to ease on him gently.
The stallion's ears went back, and he pranced a few skittish steps, but
he settled down quickly and followed behind his dam as he had done
many times before.
They didn't speak on the way back, and when they arrived, they
were both glad that people were either inside the lodge, or at some
distance from it. Neither of them was in a mood for casual conversa
tion. As soon as they stopped, Jondalar dismounted and headed for
the front entrance. He turned back just as Ayla was going into the
annex, feeling he should say something.
"Uh . . . Ayla?"
She stopped and looked up.
"I meant it, you know. I'll never forget this afternoon. The ride, I
mean. Thank you."
"Don't thank me, Jondalar. Thank Racer."
"Yes, well, Racer didn't do it alone."
"No, you did it with him."
He started to say something else, then changed his mind, frowned,
looked down, and went in through the front archway.
Ayla stared for a moment at the place he had been, closed her eyes,
and struggled to swallow down a sob that threatened to start a flood.
When she regained her composure, she went in. Though the horses
had drunk from streams along the way, she poured water into their
large drinking bowls, then pulled out the soft leather cloths, and
started rubbing down Whinney again. Soon she just had her arms
around the mare, leaning against her, her forehead pressed on the
shaggy neck of her old friend, the only friend she'd had when she
lived in the valley. Soon Racer was leaning on her, and she was
caught in a vise between the two horses, but the familiar pressure was
comforting.
Mamut had seen Jondalar come in the front, and heard Ayla and
the horses in the annex. He had the distinct feeling that something
was very wrong. When he saw her come into the Mammoth Hearth,
her disheveled appearance made him wonder if she had fallen and
hurt herself, but it was more than that. Something was troubling her.
From the shadows of his platform he watched her. She changed, and
he noticed her clothing was torn. Something must have happened.
Wolf came racing in, followed by Rydag and Danug, who proudly
held up a net bag with several fish in it. Ayla smiled and compli
mented the fishers, but as soon as they headed for the Lion Hearth to
deposit their catch and collect more compliments, she picked up the
young wolf and held him in her arms, and rocked back and forth. The
old man was worried. He got up and walked over to Ay la's bed
platform.
"I'd like to go over the Clan ritual with the root again," Mamut
said. "Just to make sure we do everything right."
"What?" she said, her eyes focusing on him. "Oh . . . if you want,
Mamut." She put Wolf into his basket, but he immediately jumped
out and headed for the Lion Hearth and Rydag. He was in no mood
to rest.
She had obviously been deep in some thought that was distressing
her. She looked as though she had been crying, or was about to. "You
said," he began, trying to get her to talk, and perhaps unburden her
self, "Iza told you how to prepare the drink."
"Yes."
"And she told you how to prepare yourself. Do you have every
thing you need?"
"It's necessary to purify myself. I don't have exactly the same
things, it's a different season, but I can use other things to cleanse
myself."
"Your Mog-ur, your Creb, he controlled the experience for you?"
She hesitated. "Yes."
"He must have been very powerful."
"The Cave Bear was his totem. It chose him, gave him power."
"In the ritual with the root, were others involved?"
Ayla hung her head, then nodded.
There was something she hadn't told him, Mamut thought, won
dering if it was important. "Did they assist him in controlling it?"
"No. Creb's power was greater than all of them. I know, I felt it."
"How did you feel it, Ayla? You never did tell me. I thought
women of the Clan were barred from participating in the deepest
rituals."
She looked down again. "They are," she mumbled.
He lifted her chin. "Perhaps you should tell me about it, Ayla."
She nodded. "Iza never did show me how to make it, she said it
was too sacred to be wasted for practice, but she tried to tell me
exactly how to do it. When we got to the Clan Gathering, the mog-
urs didn't want me to make the drink for them. They said I was not
Clan. Maybe they were right," Ayla added, putting her head down
again. "But, there was no one else."
Was she pleading for understanding? Mamut wondered.
"I think I made it too strong, or too much. They didn't finish it all.
Later, after the datura and the women's dance, I found it. I was
dizzy, all I could think of was that Iza said it was too sacred to be
wasted. So I drank it. I don't remember what happened after that,
and yet I'll never forget it. Somehow, I found Creb and the mog-urs,
and he took me all the way back to the beginning of the memories. I
remember breathing the warm water of the sea, burrowing in the
loam . . . Clan and the Others, we both come from the same beginnings,
did you know that?"
"I'm not surprised," Mamut said, thinking how much he would
have given for that experience.
"But I was frightened, too, especially before Creb found me, and
guided me. And . . . since then, I'm . . . not the same. Sometimes my
dreams frighten me. I think he changed me."
Mamut was nodding. "That could explain it," he said. "I wondered
how you could do so much without training."
"Creb changed, too. For a long time, it wasn't the same between us.
With me, he saw something he hadn't seen before. I hurt him, I don't
know how, but I hurt him," Ayla said, as tears welled up.
Mamut put his arms around her as she cried softly on his shoulder.
Then her tears became the threatened flood, and she sobbed and
shook with more recent grief. Her sadness for Creb brought up the
tears she had been holding back, the tears of her sorrow, confusion,
and thwarted love.

Jondalar had been watching from the cooking hearth. He had
wanted to go to her, somehow make amends, and was trying to think
of what to say when Mamut went over to talk to her. When he saw
Ayla crying, he was sure she had told the old shaman. Jondalar's face
burned with shame. He couldn't stop thinking about the incident on
the steppes, and the more he thought about it, the worse it became.
And afterward, he said to himself, all you did was walk away. You
didn't even try to help her, didn't even try to tell her you were sorry,
or how terrible you felt. Jondalar hated himself and wanted to leave,
to pack up everything and leave, and not face Ayla or Mamut, or
anyone, again, but he had promised Mamut he would stay until after
the Spring Festival. Mamut already must think I am contemptible, he
thought. Would breaking a promise be that much worse? But it was
more than his promise that held him. Mamut had said Ay la might be
in danger, and no matter how much he hated himself, how much he
wanted to run away, Jondalar could not leave Ay la to face that danger
alone.

"Do you feel better now?" Mamut said, when she sat up and wiped
her eyes.
"Yes," she said.
"And you were not harmed?"
Ay la was surprised by his question. How did he know? "No, not at
all, but he thinks so. I wish I could understand him," she said, as
tears threatened again. Then she tried to smile. "I didn't cry so much
when I lived with the Clan. It made them uneasy. Iza thought I had
weak eyes, because they watered when I was sad, and she would
always treat them with special medicine when I cried. I used to wonder
if it was just me, or if all the Others had watery eyes."
"Now you know." Mamut smiled. "Tears were given to us to relieve
pain. Life is not always easy."
"Creb used to say a powerful totem is not always easy to live with.
He was right. The Cave Lion gives powerful protection, but difficult
tests, too. I have always learned from them, and have always been
grateful, but it is not easy."
"But necessary, I believe. You were chosen for a special purpose."
"Why me, Mamut?" Ayla cried out. "I don't want to be special. I
just want to be a woman, and find a mate, and have children, like
every other woman."
"You must be what you must be, Ayla. It is your fate, your destiny.
If you were not able to do it, you would not have been chosen.
Perhaps it is something only a woman can do. But don't be unhappy,
child. Your life will not be all trials and tests. There will be much
happiness, too. It just may not turn out as you want it to, or as you
think it should."
"Mamut, Jondalar's totem is the Cave Lion, too, now. He was
chosen and marked, too, like I was." Her hands unconsciously
reached for the scars on her leg, but they were covered by her leg- ^ngs. "I thought he was chosen for me, because a woman with a
powerful totem must have a man with a powerful totem. Now, I don't
know. Do you think he will be my mate?"
'It is for the Mother to decide, and no matter what you do, you
cannot change that. But if he was chosen, there must be a reason
for it."

Ranee knew Ayla had gone riding with Jondalar. He, too, had gone
fishing with some of the others, but he worried the whole day that the
tall, handsome man would win her back. In Darnev's clothes, Jondalar
was a striking figure, and the carver, with his well-developed
aesthetic sensibility, was quite aware of the visitor's undeniably compelling
quality, particularly for women. He was relieved to see they
were still separated, and seemed to be as distant as ever, but when he
asked her to come to his bed, she said she was tired. He smiled and
told her to get some rest, glad to see that she was, at least, sleeping
alone, if she wasn't going to sleep with him.
Ayla was not so much tired as emotionally spent when she went to
bed, and she lay awake for a long time, thinking. She was glad Ranee
hadn't been at the lodge when she and Jondalar returned, and grateful
that he wasn't angry when she refused him--she still kept expecting
anger, and punishment for daring to be disobedient. But Ranee was
not demanding, and his understanding almost changed her mind.
She tried to sort out what had happened, and even more, her feelings
about it. Why did Jondalar take her if he didn't want her? And
why had he been so rough with her? He was almost like Broud. Then
why was she so ready for Jondalar? When Broud had forced her, it
had been an ordeal. Was it love? Did she feel Pleasures because she
loved him? But Ranee made her feel Pleasures, and she didn't love
him, or did she?
Maybe she did, in a way, but that wasn't it. Jondalar's impatience
made it seem like her experience with Broud, but it was not the same.
He was rough, and excited, but he didn't force her. She knew the
difference. Broud had wanted only to hurt her, and make her yield to
him. Jondalar wanted her, and she had responded deeply, with every
ounce of her being, and felt satisfied and completed. She would not
have felt that way if he had hurt her. Would he have forced her if she
hadn't wanted him? No, she thought, he wouldn't have. She was convinced
that if she had objected, if she had pushed him away, he would
have stopped. But she hadn't objected, she had welcomed him,
wanted him, and he must have felt it.
He wanted her, but did he love her? Just because he wanted to
share Pleasures with her didn't mean he still loved her. Maybe love
could make Pleasures better, but it was possible to have one without
the other. Ranee showed her that. Ranee loved her, she had no doubt
about him. He wanted to join with her, wanted to settle with her,
wanted her children. Jondalar had never asked her to join, never said
he wanted her children.
He loved her once, though. Maybe she felt Pleasures because she
loved him, even if he didn't love her any more. But he still wanted
her, and he took her. Why was he so cold afterward? Why had he
rejected her again? Why had he stopped loving her? Once she thought
she knew him. Now, she didn't understand him at all. She rolled over
and curled into a tight ball, and wept quietly again, wept with wanting
Jondalar to love her again.


'I'm glad I thought about inviting Jondalar along on the first mammoth
hunt," Talut said to Nezzie as they retired to the Lion Hearth.
"He's been so busy making that spear all night, I think he must really
want to go."
«p,
Nezzie looked at him, raising an eyebrow and shaking her head.
"Mammoth hunting is the furthest thing from his mind," she said,
then tucked a fur around the sleeping blond head of her youngest
daughter, and smiled with gentle affection at the girl-woman form of
her eldest, curled up next to her younger sister. "We're going to have
to think about a separate place for Latie next winter, she'll be a
woman, but Rugie will miss her."
Talut glanced back and saw the visitor brushing off chips of flint
while he tried to see Ay la through the intervening hearths. When he
didn't see her, he looked toward the Fox Hearth. Talut turned his
head and saw Ranee getting into his bed alone, but he, too, kept
glancing toward Ayla's bed. Nezzie is probably right, he thought.
Jondalar had stayed up until the last person left the cooking hearth,
working on a long flint blade that he would haft to a sturdy shaft the
same way Wymez did, learning how to make a Mamutoi mammoth
hunting spear by first making an exact copy of one. The part of his
mind that was always aware of the nuances of his craft had already
thought of ideas for possible improvements, or at least interesting experiments,
but the work was a familiar process that took little concentration,
which was just as well. He couldn't think about anything
but Ay la, and he was only using the work as a way to avoid company
and conversation and be alone with his thoughts.
He felt a great relief when he saw her going to her bed alone earlier;
he didn't think he could have borne it if she had gone to Ranee's bed.
He carefully folded his new clothes, then got into new sleeping furs
which were spread out on top of his old traveling roll. He folded his
hands behind his head and stared up at the too-familiar ceiling of the
cooking hearth. He had lain awake studying it many nights. He still
ached with remorse and shame, but not, on this night, with the bum-
ing ache of need, and as much as he hated himself for it, he remem
bered the Pleasure of the afternoon. He thought about it, carefully
recalling every moment, turning over every detail in his mind, slowly
savoring now what he had not taken time to think about then.
He was more relaxed than he had been since Ayla's adoption, and
he slipped into a half-dozing, musing reverie. Had he imagined that
she had been so willing? He must have; she could not have been that
eager for him. Had she really responded with such feeling? Reaching
for him as though she had wanted him as much as he wanted her? He
felt the pull in his loins as he thought of her again, of filling her, of
her deep warmth embracing him fully. But the need was easier, more
like a warm afterglow, not the driving, hurting pain that was a com
bination of repressed desire, powerful love, and burning jealousy. He
thought about Pleasuring her—he loved to Pleasure her—and he
started to get up to go to her again.
It was only when he pushed back the cover and sat up, when he
started to act on the urge brought on by his dreamy intimate rumina
tions, that the consequences of the afternoon struck him. He couldn't
go to her bed. Not ever. He could never touch her again. He had lost
her. It was no longer a matter of choice. He had destroyed any chance
he had that she might choose him. He had taken her by force, against
her will.
Sitting on his sleeping furs, with his feet on a floor mat and his
elbows leaning on his bent-up knees, he held his bowed head and felt
an agony of shame. His body shook with silent heaves of disgust. Of
all the despicable things he had done in his life, this unnatural act was
by far the worst.
There was no worse abomination, not even the child of mixed spir
its, or the woman who gave birth to one, than a man who took a
woman against her will. The Great Earth Mother Herself decried it,
forbade it. One had only to observe the animals of Her creation to
know how unnatural it was. No male animal ever took a female
against her will.
In their season the stags might fight each other for the privilege of
Pleasuring the does, but when the male deer tried to mount the fe
male, she had only to walk away if she didn't want him. He could try
and try, but she had to allow it, she had to stand for it. He could not
force her. It was the same for every animal. The female wolf or the
she-lion invited the male of her choice. She rubbed against him,
passed her tempting odor before his nose, and moved her tail aside
when he mounted, but she would turn angrily on any male who tried
to mount against her will. He paid dearly for his audacity. A male
could be as persistent as he liked, but the choice was always the fe
male's. That was the way the Mother meant it to be. Only the human
male ever forced a female, only an unnatural, abominable human
male.
Jondalar had often been told, by Those Who Served the Mother,
that he was favored by the Great Earth Mother and all women knew
it. No woman could refuse him, not even the Mother Herself. That
was his gift. But even Doni would turn her back on him now. He
hadn't asked, not Doni, not Ay la, not anyone. He had forced her,
taken her against her will.
Among Jondalar's people, any man who committed such a perver
sion was shunned—or worse. When he was growing up, young boys
talked among themselves about being painfully unmanned. Though
he never knew anyone who was, he believed it was a fitting punish
ment. Now, he was the one who should be punished. What could he
have been thinking of? How could he have done such a thing?
And you worried about her not being accepted, he said to himself.
You were afraid she would be rejected, and you weren't sure if you
could live with that. Who would be rejected now? What would they
think of you if they knew? Especially after . . . what happened before.
Not even Dalanar would take you in now. He would strike you from
his hearth, turn you away, disclaim all ties. Zolena would be ap
palled. Marthona ... he hated to think how his mother would feel.
Ayla had been talking to Mamut. She must have told him, that
must have been why she was crying. He leaned his forehead against
his knees and covered his head with his arms. Whatever they did to
him, he deserved. He sat hunched over for some time, imagining the
terrible punishments they would impose on him. He even wished
they would do something terrible to him, to relieve the burden of
guilt that weighed him down.
But eventually reason prevailed. He realized that no one had said a
word to him about it all evening. Mamut even spoke to him about the
Spring Festival and never brought it up. Then what had she been
crying about? Maybe she was crying about it, but just never said
anything. He lifted his head and looked across the darkened hearths in
her direction. Could that be? Of all people, she had more right than
anyone to claim redress. She had already had more than her share of
unnatural acts forced on her by that brutal flathead. . . . What right
r» . •' o
aid he have to speak ill of that other man? Was he any better?
Yet, she had kept it to herself. She did not denounce him, did not
demand his punishment. She was too good for him. He didn't deserve
her. It was right that she and Ranee should Promise, Jondalar
thought. Even as the thought entered his mind, he felt a tight knot of
pain, as he understood that would be his punishment. Doni had given
him what he had wanted most. She had found him the only woman
he could ever love, but he couldn't accept her. And now he had lost
her. It was his own fault, he would accept his punishment, but not
without grieving.
As long as he could remember, Jondalar had fought for self-control.
Other men showed emotion--laughed, or angered, or wept--far
more easily than he, but above all, he resisted tears. Since the time he
had been sent away and lost his tender credulous youth in a night of
crying for the loss of home and family, he had wept only once: in
Ayla's arms for the loss of his brother. But once again, on that night,
he grieved. In the dark earthlodge of people who lived a year's Journey
away from his home, he wept silent, unstoppable tears for the
loss he felt most keenly of all. The loss of the woman he loved.

The long-awaited Spring Festival was both a new year's celebration
and a festival of thanksgiving. Held not at the beginning, but at the
height of the season when the first green buds and shoots were well
established and could be harvested, it marked the start of the yearly
cycle for the Mamutoi. With fervent joy and unspoken relief, that
could only be fully appreciated by those who lived on the edge of
survival, they welcomed the greening of the earth, which guaranteed
life for themselves and the animals with whom they shared the land.
On the deepest, coldest nights of the harsh glacial winter, when it
seemed the air itself would freeze, doubt that warmth and life would
ever return again could arise in the most believing heart. Those times
when spring seemed most remote, memories and stories of previous
Spring Festivals relieved deep-seated fears and gave renewed hope
that the Earth Mother's cycle of seasons would indeed continue. They
made each Spring Festival as exciting and memorable as possible.
For the big Spring Feast, nothing left over from the previous year
would be eaten. Individuals and small groups had been out for days
fishing, hunting, trapping, and gathering. Jondalar had put his spear-
thrower to good use and was pleased to contribute a pregnant bison
entirely by himself, thin and gaunt though she was. Every edible vegetable
product they could find was collected. Birch and willow
catkins; the young unfolding stems of ferns as well as the old root-
stocks which could be roasted, peeled, and pounded into flour; the
juicy inner cambium bark of pines and birch, sweet with new rising
sap; a few purplish-black curlewberries, filled with hard seeds, growing
beside the small pink flowers on the ever-bearing low shrub; and
from sheltered areas, where they had been covered with snow, bright
red lingonberries, frozen and thawed to a soft sweetness, lingered
with the dark leathery leaves on low tufted branches.
Buds, shoots, bulbs, roots, leaves, flowers of every description; the
earth abounded with delicious fresh foods. Shoots and young pods of
milkweed were used for vegetables, while the flower, full of rich nec
tar, was used for sweetening. New green leaves of clover, pigweed,
nettles, balsam root, dandelion, and wild lettuce would be cooked or
eaten raw; thistle stalks and, especially, sweet thistle roots were
searched out. Lily bulbs were a favorite, and cattail shoots and bul
rush stems. Sweet, flavorful licorice roots could be eaten raw or
roasted in ashes. Some plants were collected for sustenance, others
mainly for the flavor they imparted, and many were used for teas.
Ayla knew the medicinal qualities of most of them, and gathered some
for her uses, as well.
On rocky slopes, the narrow tubular new shoots of wild onion were
picked, and in dry, bare places, small leaves of lemony sorrel. Colts
foot was collected from damp open ground near the river. Its slightly
salty taste made it useful for seasoning, though Ayla gathered some
for coughs and asthma. Garlicky-tasting ramson greens were picked
for taste and flavor, as were tart juniper berries, peppery tiger lily
bulbs, flavorful basil, sage, thyme, mint, linden, which grew as a
prostrate shrub, and a variety of other herbs and greens. Some would
be dried and stored, some used to season the recently caught fish and
the various kinds of meats brought back for the feast.
The fish were plentiful, and favored at this time of year, since most
of the animals were still lean from the ravages of winter. But fresh
meat, including at least one, symbolic, spring-born young animal—
this year a tender bison calf—was always included in the feast. To
make a feast of only the fresh products of the earth showed that the
Earth Mother was offering Her full bounty again, that She would
continue to provide for and nurture Her children.
With the foraging and collecting of foods for the feast, the anticipa
tion of the Spring Festival had been building up for days. Even the
horses could sense it. Ayla noticed they were nervous. In the morning
she took them outside, some distance from the earthlodge, to curry
and brush them. It was an activity that relaxed Whinney and Racer
and that relaxed her, and it gave her an excuse to get off by herself to
think. She knew she should give Ranee an answer today. Tomorrow
was the Spring Festival.
Wolf was curled up nearby, watching her. He sniffed the air, lifted
his head and looked, and banged his tail against the ground, signaling
the approach of someone friendly. Ayla turned, and felt her face flush
and her heart pound.
"I was hoping I'd find you alone, Ayla. I'd like to talk to you, if you
don't mind," Jondalar said, in a strangely subdued voice.
"No, I don't mind," she said.
He was shaved, his light hair pulled back neatly and tied at the
nape of his neck, and he was wearing one of his new outfits from
Tulie. He looked so good to her—handsome was the word Deegie
used—he almost took her breath away, and her voice caught in her
throat. But it was more than his appearance that moved Ayla. Even
when he was wearing Talut's hand-me-downs, he looked good to her.
His presence filled the space around him and touched her, as though
he were a glowing ember that warmed her, even standing apart. It
was a warmth that was not heat, but larger, more filling, and she
wanted to touch that warmth, ached to feel it enfold her, and swayed
toward him. But something in his eyes held her back, something inef
fably sad that she had not seen there before. She stood quietly, wait
ing for him to speak.
He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts, not sure
how to begin. "Do you remember, when we were together in your
valley, before you could speak very well, you wanted to tell me some
thing once that was important, but you didn't know the words for it?
You began to speak to me in signs—I remember thinking your move
ments were beautiful, almost like a dance."
She remembered only too well. She had been trying to tell him
then what she wished she could tell him now: how she felt about him,
how he filled her with a feeling that she still had no words for. Even
to say she loved him was not enough.
"I'm not sure there are words to say what I need to say. 'Sorry' is
just a sound that comes out of my mouth, but I don't know how else
to say it. I'm sorry, Ayla, more than I can say. I had no right to force
you, but I can't take back what has already been done. I can only say
it won't ever happen again. I'll be leaving soon, as soon as Talut
thinks it's safe to travel. This is your home. People here care about
you . . . love you. You are Ayla of the Mamutoi. I am Jondalar of the
Zeiandonii. It's time for me to go home."
Ayla couldn't speak. She looked down, trying to hide the tears she
couldn't hold back, then turned around and began to rub down Whin-
ney, unable to look at Jondalar. He was leaving. He was going home
and he hadn't asked her to go with him. He didn't want her. He
didn't love her. She swallowed her sobs as she rubbed the brush over
the horse. Not since she'd lived with the Clan had she fought so hard
to hold back tears, struggled not to show them.
Jondalar stood there, staring at her back. She doesn't care, he
thought. I should have left a long time ago. She had turned her back
on him; he wanted to turn around and leave her to her horses, but the
silent body language of her motions signaled a message that he
couldn't put into words. It was only a sense, a feeling that something
wasn't right, but it made him reluctant to go.
"Ayla . . . ?"
"Yes," she said, keeping her back turned and struggling to keep her
voice from cracking.
"Is there . . . anything I can do before I leave?"
She didn't answer immediately. She wanted to say something that
would change his mind, and tried frantically to think of a way to
bring him closer to her, to keep him interested. The horses, he liked
Racer. He liked riding him.
"Yes, there is," she finally said, fighting to sound normal.
He had turned to go when she didn't answer, but turned back
quickly.
"You could help me train Racer ... as long as you're here. I don't
have as much time to take him out as I should." She allowed herself to
turn around and face him again.
Did he imagine that she looked pale, that she was trembling? "I
don't know how long I'll be here," he said, "but I'll do what I can."
He started to say more, he wanted to tell her he loved her and that he
was leaving because she deserved more. She deserved someone who
would love her without reservation, someone like Ranee. He looked
down while he searched for the right words.
Ayla was afraid she wouldn't be able to hold back the tears much
longer. She turned to the mare and began to brush her again, then
dropped the brush and was astride her and riding in one smooth action.
Jondalar looked up and stepped back a few paces, surprised, and
watched Ayla and the mare galloping up the slope, with Racer and
the young wolf following behind. He stood there long after they were
out of sight, then slowly walked back to the lodge.

The anticipation and tension were so intense on the night before the
Spring Festival that no one could sleep. Both children and adults
stayed up late. Latie was in a state of especially high excitement, feeling
impatient one moment and nervous the next about the short
puberty ceremony that would announce her readiness to begin preparations
for the Celebration of Womanhood that would take place at
the Summer Meeting.
Though she had reached physical maturity, her womanhood would
not be complete until the ceremony that would culminate in the First
Night of Pleasures when a man would open her so that she could
receive the impregnating spirits joined by the Mother. Only when she
was capable of motherhood was she considered a woman in all re
spects and, therefore, available for establishing a hearth and joining
with a man to form a union. Until then, she would exist in the in-
between state of no-longer-child but not-yet-woman, when she would
learn about womanhood, motherhood, and men from older women
and Those Who Served the Mother.
The men, except for Mamut, had been chased out of the Mammoth
Hearth. All the women had gathered there while Latie was being in
structed for the ceremony the next night, to offer moral support, ad
vice, and helpful suggestions to the fledgling woman. Though she was
there as an older woman, Ayla was learning as much as the young
woman.
"You won't have much to do tomorrow night, Latie," Mamut was
explaining. "Later you will have more to learn, but this is just to give
notice. Talut will make the announcement, then I will give you the
muta. Keep it in a safe place until you are ready to establish your own
hearth."
Latie, sitting in front of the old man, nodded, feeling shy, but
rather enjoying all the attention.
"You understand, after tomorrow, you must never be alone with a
man, or even speak to any man alone, until you are fully a woman,"
Mamut said.
"Not even Danug or Druwez?" Latie asked.
"No, not even them," he said. The old shaman explained that dur
ing this transitional time, when she lacked the protection of both the
guardian spirits of childhood and the full power of womanhood, she
was considered very vulnerable to malignant influences. She would be
required to stay within the watchful eye of some woman at all times,
and must not even be alone with her brother or her cousin.
"What about Brinan? Or Rydag?" the young woman asked.
"They are still children," Mamut said. "Children are always safe.
They have protective spirits hovering around all the time. That's why
you must be protected now. Your guardian spirits are leaving you,
making way for the life force, the Mother's power, to enter."
"But Talut or Wymez wouldn't harm me. Why can't I talk to them
alone?"
"Male spirits are drawn to the life force, just as you will find that
men are drawn to you now. Some male spirits are jealous of the
Mother's power. They may try to take it from you, at this time, when
you are vulnerable. They cannot use it to create life, but it is a power
ful force. Without proper precaution, a male spirit may enter and
even if he doesn't steal your life force, he may damage or overpower
it. Then you may never have children, or your desires may become
those of a male, and you will wish to share Pleasures with women."
Latie's eyes opened wide. She didn't know it was that dangerous.
"I'll be careful, I won't let any male spirit come too close, but . . .
Mamut ..."
"What is it, Latie?"
"What about you, Mamut? You're a man."
Several women giggled, and Latie blushed. Maybe it was a stupid
question.
"I would have asked the same question," Ay la remarked. Latie gave
her a grateful look.
"It is a good question," Mamut said. "I am a man, but I also Serve
Her. It would probably be safe to talk to me any time, and of course,
for certain rituals when I am acting as One Who Serves, you will have
to speak to me alone, Latie. But I think it would still be a good idea
not to come just to visit me or to speak to me unless another woman is
with you."
Latie nodded, frowning seriously, beginning to feel the responsibil
ity of establishing a new relationship with people she had known and
loved all her life.
"What happens when a male spirit steals the life force?" Ayla asked,
very curious about these interesting beliefs of the Mamutoi that were
somewhat similar, yet very different from the traditions of the Clan.
"Then you have a powerful shaman," Tulie said.
"Or an evil one," Crozie added.
"Is that true, Mamut?" Ayla asked. Latie looked surprised and
puzzled, and even Deegie, Tronic, and Fralie turned to Mamut with
interest.
The old man gathered his thoughts, trying to choose his answer
carefully. "We are only Her children," he began. "It is difficult for us
to know why Mut, the Great Mother, selects some of us for special
purposes. We only know that She has Her reasons. Perhaps there are
times when She has need for someone of exceptional power. Some
people may be born with certain gifts. Others may be chosen later,
but no one is chosen without Her knowledge." Several eyes shifted
toward Ayla, trying not to be conspicuous about it.
"She is the Mother of all," he continued. "No one can know Her
completely, in all Her faces. That's why the face of the Mother is
unknown on the figures that represent Her." Mamut turned to the
oldest woman of the Camp. "What is evil, Crozie?"
"Evil is malicious harm. Evil is death," the old woman replied with
conviction.
"The Mother is all, Crozie. The face of Mut is the birth of spring,
the bounty of summer, but it is also the little death of winter. Hers is
the power of life, but the other face of life is death. What is death but
return to Her to be reborn? Is death evil? Without death, there can be
no life. Is evil malicious harm? Perhaps, but even those who seem to
work evil, do so for Her reasons. Evil is a force She controls, a means
to accomplish Her purposes; it is only an unknown face of the
Mother."
"But what happens when a male force steals the life force of a
woman?" Latie asked. She didn't want philosophies, she wanted to
know.
The Mamut looked at her speculatively. She was almost a woman,
she had the right to be told. "She will die, Latie."
The girl shivered.
"Even if it is stolen. Some may remain, enough for her to start a
new life. The life force that resides in a woman is so powerful she
may not know it was stolen until she is giving birth. When a woman
dies in childbirth, it is always because a male spirit stole her life force
before she was opened. That's why it is not healthy to wait too long
for the Womanhood ceremony. If the Mother had made you ready
last fall, I would have talked to Nezzie about arranging a gathering of
a few Camps to have a ceremony so you would not go through the
winter unprotected, even though it means you would have missed the
excitement of the celebration at the Summer Meeting."
"I'm glad I won't have to miss it, but ..." Latie paused, still more
concerned about life force than celebration, "does a woman always
die?"
"No, sometimes she struggles to keep her life force, and if it is
powerful, she may not only keep it, but the male force as well, or a
part of it. Then she has the power of both in one body."
"Those are the ones who become powerful shamans," Tulie vol
unteered.
Mamut nodded. "Often, that is true. In order to learn how to use
the power of both female and male, many people turn to the Mam
moth Hearth for guidance, and many of those are called to Serve Her.
They are often very good Healers, or Travelers in the Mother's
underworld."
"What about the male spirit that does steal the life force?" Fralie
asked, putting her new baby over her shoulder and patting gently.
She knew it was a question her mother wanted to ask.
"That's the one who is evil," Crozie said.
"No," Mamut said, shaking his head. "That is not true. The male
force is just attracted to a woman's life force. It cannot help itself, and
men don't usually know that their male force has taken a young
woman's life force until they discover they are not attracted to
women, but prefer the company of other men. Young men are vul
nerable then. They don't want to be different, they don't want any
one to know their male spirit may have harmed some woman. They
often feel great shame, and rather than come to the Mammoth
Hearth, they try to hide it."
"But there are evil ones among them with great power," Crozie
said. "Power to destroy an entire Camp."
"The force of male and female in one body is very powerful. Without
guidance, it can become perverted and malicious, and may want
to cause illness and misfortune, even death. Even without such
power, a person wishing misfortune on another can cause it to happen.
With it, the results are almost inevitable, but with proper guidance,
a man with both forces can become just as powerful a shaman as
a woman with both forces, and is often more careful to use it only for
good."
"What if a person like that doesn't want to be a shaman?" Ayla
asked. She may have been born with her "gifts" but she still had
^ feelings of being pushed into something she wasn't sure she wanted.
I "They don't have to," Mamut said. "But it's easier for them to find
I companionship, others like themselves, from among Those Who
I Serve the Mother."
J "Do you remember those Sungaea travelers we met many years
: ago, Mamut?" Nezzie asked. "I was young then, but wasn't there
some confusion about one of their hearths?"
"Yes, I remember, now that you mention it. We were just returning
from the Summer Meeting, several Camps still traveling together
, when we met them. No one was quite sure what to expect, there had
j been some raiding, but finally we had a friendship fire with them.
l Some Mamutoi women got upset because one Sungaea man wanted to
. join them in their 'mother's place.' It took a lot of explaining to make
I it understood that the hearth which we thought consisted of one
woman and her two co-mates was really one man and his two co-
mates, except that one of them was a woman, and one of them was a
man. The Sungaea referred to him as 'she.' He was bearded, but
dressed in women's clothes, and though he had no breasts, he was
'mother' to one of the children. He certainly acted like the child's
mother. I'm not sure if the child had been given to him by the woman
of that hearth, or by another woman, but I was told that he experienced
all the symptoms of pregnancy, and the pain of delivery."
"He must have wanted to be a woman very much," Nezzie Corn- 1, mented. "Maybe he didn't steal some woman's life force. Maybe he
j was born in the wrong body. That can happen, too."
j 'But did he have stomachaches every moon time?" Deegie asked.
"There's the test of a woman." Everyone laughed.
Do you have moon time stomachaches, Deegie? I can give you
something to help, if you want," Ayla said.
} "I may ask, next time."
"Once you have a child, it won't be so bad, Deegie," Tronic said.
"And when you're carrying, you don't have to worry about absorbent
packing, and disposing of it properly," Fralie said. "But you do
look forward to having them," she added, smiling at the sleeping face
of her small but healthy daughter, and wiping away a dribble of milk
from the corner of her mouth. She looked up at Ayla, suddenly curious.
"What did you use when you were . . . younger?"
"Soft leather straps. They work well, especially if you need to
travel, but sometimes I folded them over, or stuffed them with
mouflon wool, or fur, or even bird down. Sometimes soft fluff from
plants, crushed together. Never with dried mammoth dung, before,
but it works, too."
Mamut had the ability to efface his presence and fade in the background
when he chose, so that the women forgot he was there and
spoke freely in a way they would never have done if another man had
been there. Ayla was aware of him, however, and observed him quietly
observing them. Finally, when the conversation slowed down, he
spoke to Latie again.
"Some time soon, you will want to find a place for your personal
communion with Mut. Pay attention to your dreams. They will help
you find the right place. Before you visit your personal shrine, you
will have to fast, and purify yourself, always acknowledge the four
directions and the underworld and sky, and make offerings and sacrifices
to Her, particularly if you want Her help, or a blessing from
Her. It's especially important when the time comes that you want to
have a child, Latie, or when you learn you are going to have one.
Then you must go to your personal shrine and burn a sacrifice to Her,
a gift that will go up to Her in the smoke."
"How will I know what to give Her?" Latie asked.
"It could be something you find or something you make. You will
know if it feels right. You will always know."
"When you want a special man, you can ask Her, too," Deegie said,
with a conspiratorial smile. "I can't tell you how many times I asked
for Branag." .
Ayla glanced at Deegie, and resolved to find out more about personal
shrines.
"There is so much to learn!" Latie said.
"Your mother can help you, and Tulie, too," Mamut said.
"Nezzie has asked me and I've agreed to be a Watching Woman this
year, Latie," Tulie mentioned.
"Oh, Tulie! I'm so glad," Latie said. "Then I won't feel so alone."
"Well," the headwoman said, smiling at the girl's eager welcome,
"it's not every year that the Lion Camp has a new woman."
Latie frowned with concentration, then asked in a soft voice,
"Tulie, what is it like? In the tent, I mean. That night."
Tulie looked at Nezzie, and smiled. "Are you a little worried about
it?"
"Yes, a little."
"Don't worry. It will all be explained to you, you'll know what to
expect."
"Is it anything like the way Druwez and I played when we were
children? He would bounce on me so hard ... I think he was trying
to be Talut."
"Not really, Latie. Those were children's games, you were only
playing, trying to be grown up. You were both very young then, too
young."
"That's true, we were very young," Latie said, feeling very much
older now. "Those are games for little children. We stopped playing
like that a long time ago. In fact, we don't play anything any more.
Lately, neither Danug nor Druwez will even talk to me very much."
"They will want to talk to you," Tulie said. "I am sure of it, but
remember, you must not talk to them very much, now, and not ever
be alone with them."

Ayla reached for the large waterbag that was hanging by a leather
strap from a peg pounded into one of the supporting posts. It was
made from the stomach of a giant deer, a megaceros, which had been
cured to maintain its naturally watertight character. It was filled
through the lower opening, which was folded over and closed off. A
short piece of a foreleg bone with a natural hollow in the middle had
been grooved all the way around near one end. To form a pouring
spout, the skin of the opening of the deer stomach was tied to the
bone by wrapping a cord tightly around it at the groove.
Ayla pulled out the stopper--a thin strip of leather that had been
passed up through the hollow and knotted in one place several
times--poured water into the watertight basket she used for making
her special morning tea, and pushed the leather knot back into the
pouring spout to close it off. The red-hot cooking stone sputtered as
she dropped it into the water. She stirred it around a few times to
draw off as much heat from the stone as possible, then fished it out
With two flat sticks, and put it back in the fire. With the damp sticks,
she picked up another hot stone and dropped it into the water. When
"ie water was simmering, she dropped in a measured amount of a
mixture of dried leaves, roots, and particularly the fine vinelike stems
°f golden thread and left it to steep.
She had been especially careful to remember to take Iza's secret
medicine. She hoped the powerful magic would work for her as well
as it had worked for Iza for so many years. She did not want a baby
now. She was too unsure.
After she dressed, she poured the tisane into her personal drinking
cup, then sat down on a mat near the fire and tasted the strong-tast
ing, rather bitter drink. She had grown accustomed to the taste in the
morning. This was her time for waking up, and it was part of her
morning routine. As she sipped, she mused about the activities that
would take place that day. This was it, the auspicious day everyone
had been looking forward to, the day of Spring Festival.
The happiest event, to her, would be the naming of Fralie's baby.
The tiny infant had grown and thrived, and no longer had to be held
next to her mother's breast every moment. She was strong enough to
cry now, and could sleep alone during the day, though Fralie rather
liked keeping her close and often used the carrier out of preference.
The Hearth of the Crane was much happier these days, not only be
cause they shared the joy of the baby, but because Frebec and Crozie
were learning they could live without arguing every moment. Not
that there weren't still problems, but they were coping better, and
Fralie herself was taking a more active role in trying to mediate.
Ayla was thinking about Fralie's baby when she looked up and saw
Ranee watching her. This was also the day he wanted to announce
their Promise, and with a jolt, she remembered that Jondalar had told
her he was leaving. Suddenly she found herself recalling that terrible
night when Iza died.
"You are not Clan, Ayla," Iza had told her. "You were born to the
Others, you belong with them. Go north, Ayla. Find your own people. Find
your own mate."
Find your own mate . . . she thought. Once she thought Jondalar
would be her mate, but he was leaving, going to his home without
her. Jondalar didn't want her. . . .
But Ranee did. She wasn't getting younger. If she was ever going to
have a baby, she should be starting one soon. She took a sip of Iza's
medicine, and swirled the last of the liquid and the dregs in the cup.
If she stopped taking Iza's medicine, and shared Pleasures with
Ranee, would that start a baby inside her? She could try it and find
out. Maybe she should join with Ranee. Settle with him, have the
children of his hearth. Would they be beautiful dark babies with dark
eyes and tight curly hair? Or would they be light like her? Maybe
both.
If she stayed here, joined with Ranee, she wouldn't be so far from
the Clan. She would be able to go and get Durc and bring him back.
Ranee was good with Rydag, he might not mind having a mixed child
at his hearth. Maybe she could formally adopt Durc, make him a
Mamutoi.
The thought that it might really be possible to get her son filled her
with longing. Maybe it was just as well that Jondalar was leaving
without her. If she left with him, she would never see her son again.
But if he left without her, she would never see Jondalar again.
The choice had been made for her. She would stay. She would join
with Ranee. She tried to think about all the positive elements, to convince
herself that it would be better to stay. Ranee was a good man,
and he loved her and wanted her. And she did like him. It wouldn't
be so terrible to live with him. She could have babies. She could find
Durc and bring him to live with them. A good man, her own people,
and she would have her son again. That was more than she ever
dreamed possible at one time. What more could she ask for? Yes,
what more, if Jondalar was leaving.
I'll tell him, she thought. I'll tell Ranee he can announce our Promise
today. But as she got up and walked toward the Hearth of the Fox,
her mind was filled with only one thought. Jondalar was leaving without
her. She would never see Jondalar again. Even as the realization
came to her, she felt the crushing weight, and closed her eyes to fight
back her grief.

"Talut! Nezzie!" Ranee ran out of the lodge looking for the headman
and his adoptive mother. When he saw them, he was so excited
he could hardly speak. "She agreed! Ayla agreed! The Promise, we're
going to do it! Ayla and me!"
He didn't even see Jondalar, and if he had, it wouldn't have mattered.
Ranee couldn't think of anything except that the woman he
loved, the woman he wanted more than anyone in the world, had
agreed to be his. But Nezzie saw Jondalar, saw him blanch, saw him grab the curved mammoth tusk of the archway for support, and saw
the pain on his face. Finally he let go and walked down toward the
river, and a fleeting worry crossed her thoughts. The river was
swollen and full. It would be easy to swim out and get swept away.
"Mother, I don't know what to wear today. I can't make up my
mind," Latie wailed, nervous about the first ceremony that would acknowledge
her elevated status.
"Let's take a look," Nezzie said, casting a last glance toward the
river. Jondalar was not in sight.
ondalar spent the entire morning walking along the river, his
mind in a turmoil, hearing over and over again Ranee's joyful words.
Ay la had agreed. They would announce their Promise at the ceremony
that evening. He kept telling himself that he had expected it all
along, but faced with it, he realized he hadn't. It had come as a much
bigger shock than he ever imagined it would. Like Thonolan after he
lost Jetamio, he wanted to die.
Nezzie had had some basis for her fears. Jondalar had not walked
down toward the river for any particular purpose. It just happened to
be the direction he took, but once he reached the turbulent watercourse,
he found it strangely compelling. It seemed to offer peace,
relief from pain and sorrow and confusion, but he only stared at it.
Something equally compelling held him back. Unlike Jetamio, Ay la
was not dead, and as long as she was alive a small fire of hope could
bum, but more than that, he feared for her safety.
He found a secluded area screened by brush and small trees overlooking
the river, and tried to prepare for the ordeal of the evening's
festivities, which would include the Promise Ceremony. He told himself
it wasn't as though she was actually joining with Ranee this evening.
She was only Promising to establish a hearth with him
sometime in the future, and he had made a promise, too. Jondalar had
told Mamut he would stay until after the Spring Festival, but it
wasn't the promise that held him. Though he had no idea what it
could be, or what he might be able to do, he could not leave knowing
that Ayla faced some unknown danger even if it meant watching her
Promise to Ranee. If Mamut, who knew the ways of the spirits,
sensed some danger to her, Jondalar could only expect the worst.

Around noon, Ayla told Mamut that she was going to begin her
preparations for the root ceremony. They had gone over the details
several times until she felt reasonably sure that she hadn't forgotten
anything important. She gathered up clean clothing, a soft, absorbent,
buckskin deer hide, and several other things, but instead of leaving
through the annex, she headed toward the cooking hearth on her way

out. She both wanted to see Jondalar, and hoped she wouldn't, and
was disappointed and relieved to find only Wymez at the toolmaking
area. He said he hadn't seen Jondalar since early that morning, but
was happy to give her the small nodule of flint she wanted.
When she reached the river, she walked upstream along it for a
distance, looking for a place that felt right. She stopped where a small
creek joined the large river. The little waterway had washed around a
rock outcrop which formed a high bank on the opposite side, blocking
the wind. A screen of new-budding brush and trees made it a secluded,
protected place, and also provided dry wood from the previous
year's deadfall.

Jondalar watched the river from his secluded vantage point, but he
was so introspective he didn't really see the wild, muddy, rushing
water. He hadn't even been aware of the changing shadows as the sun
climbed higher in the sky, and was startled when he heard someone
approaching. He was in no mood for conversation, for trying to be
pleasant and friendly on this day of celebration for the Mamutoi, and
quickly slipped behind some brush to wait, unnoticed, until the person
passed by. When he saw Ayla coming, and then obviously deciding
to stay, he was at a loss. He thought about slipping away quietly,
but Ayla was too good a hunter. She would hear him, he was sure.
Then he thought about just coming out of the bushes, making some
excuse about relieving himself, and going on his way, but he did
neither.
Trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible, he stayed hidden and
watched. He couldn't help himself, he couldn't even make himself
look away, even though he soon realized she was preparing herself for
the coming ritual, thinking she was alone. At first, he was just overwhelmed by her presence, then he became fascinated. It was as
though he had to watch.

Ayla quickly started a fire with a firestone and a piece of flint, and
put in cooking stones to heat. She wanted to make her purification
ritual as close as possible to the way it was done in the Clan, but some
changes could not be helped. She had considered making fire in the
Clan way, by twirling a dry stick between her palms against a flat
piece of wood until it created a hot ember. But in the Clan, women
were not supposed to carry fire, or make it for ritual purposes in any
case, and she decided if she was going to break with tradition enough
to make her own fire, she might as well use her firestone.
Women were, however, allowed to make knives and other stone
tools, so long as the tools weren't used for hunting weapons or to
make them. She had decided she needed a new amulet pouch. The
decorated Mamutoi bag she now used would not be appropriate for a
Clan ritual. To make a proper Clan amulet pouch, she felt she needed
a Clan knife, which was why she had asked Wymez for an unbroken
nodule of flint. She searched near the waters and found a river-
rounded, fist-sized pebble to use as a hammerstone. With it, she
knocked off the outer chalky-gray cortex of the small nodule of flint,
in the process beginning to preshape it. She hadn't made her own
tools for some time, but she hadn't forgotten the technique, and soon
became involved in her task.
When she finished, the dark gray glossy stone had the shape of a
roughly oval cylinder with a flattened top. She examined it, knocked
off another sliver, then took careful aim and knocked a chip from the
edge of the flat top at the narrow end of the oval to make a striking
platform. Turning the stone to position it at just the right angle, she
struck at the place she had nicked out. A rather thick flake fell away,
having the same shape as the preformed oval top, and an edge that
was razor sharp.
Though she used only the hammerstone, and did it with the ease
and quickness of experience, she had made a perfectly serviceable,
very sharp knife, which had required careful and precise control, but
she had no intention of keeping it. It was a knife meant to be held in
the hand, not hafted, and with all the fine blade-type tools she now
had, most of them with handles, she had no need for a Clan knife,
except for this special use. Without pausing to blunt the extremely
sharp edge, to make it easier and safer to hold, Ay la cut a long thin
strip from the edge of the buckskin she brought with her, and slashed
off an end, out of which she cut a small circle. Then she picked up the
hammerstone again. After carefully knocking a couple of pieces of the
flint away, the knife now was an awl with a sharp point. She used it
to poke holes all the way around the circle of leather, and then
threaded the leather lace through them.
She removed the decorated pouch from around her neck, undid the
knot, and poured her sacred objects, the signs from her totem, into
her hand. She studied them for a moment, then clutched them to her
breast, before putting them into the new, simpler, Clan-style pouch
and pulling the lace tight. She had made a decision to stay with the
Mamutoi and join with Ranee, but somehow she didn't expect to find
a sign from her Cave Lion confirming that it was the right decision.
With the amulet finished, she went to the creek and dipped water
into the cooking basket, and added the hot stones from the fire. It was
too early in the year to find lathering soaproot, and the countryside
was too open for horsetail fern, which grew in shady damp places.
She had to find alternatives to the traditional Clan cleansing agents.
After putting the sweet-smelling, lather-producing, dried co-
elanthus flowers into the hot water, she added fronds of wood fern
and a few columbine flowers she had picked on her way, and then
budding birch twigs for the smell of wintergreen, and put the container
aside. It had taken long and hard thought to decide what to use
to replace the flea- and lice-killing insecticide made from the equisetic
acid she would have extracted with an infusion from the fern. As it
turned out, Nezzie inadvertently told her.
She undressed quickly, then picked up two tightly woven containers
of liquid and headed for the river. One contained the pleasantly
aromatic mixture she had just made, the other held stale urine.

Jondalar had asked her to show him Clan techniques for knapping
flint once before, and he had been impressed, but he was fascinated to
watch her working, in her imagined privacy, with such calm assurance
and skill. She worked without bone hammers or punches, but
she manufactured the tools she wanted quickly, making it seem effortless,
but he wondered if he could do as well using only a ham-
merstone. He knew it took tremendous control, yet she had told him
the Clan toolmaker she had learned from was far better than she. His
estimation of flathead toolmaking skills suddenly increased.
She made the leather pouch quickly, too. The simple pouch was
little more than serviceable, but the construction was ingenious, in its
way. It wasn't until he watched her handle the objects in her pouch,
and noticed the way she held them that he became aware of a melancholy
air about her, an aura of sadness and grief. She should be full of
joy, yet she seemed unhappy. He must be imagining it.
His breath caught in his throat when she began to undress, and the
sight of her full, ripe beauty made him want her with a need that
almost overpowered him. But the thought of his unspeakable actions
the last time he wanted her, kept him away. She had taken to wearing
braids again, during the winter, in a style similar to Deegie's, and as
she unloosened her long hair, he remembered the first time he had
seen her unclothed, in the heat of the summer in her valley, golden
and beautiful and wet after a swim. He told himself not to look, and
he had an opportunity to slip away when she entered the river, but if
his life had depended upon it, he could not have moved.

Ay la started her cleansing process with stale urine. The am-
nioniacal fluid was harsh, and smelled strong, but it dissolved oils and
grease on her skin and in her hair, and it killed any lice or fleas she
niight have picked up. It even tended to lighten the hair. The waters
of the river, still full of glacial melt, were icy cold, but the shock was
invigorating, and the churning of the silty, gritty river, even at the

calmer edge, scoured away dirt and oils along with the sharp smell of
ammonia;
Her body was pink from the cleansing and the cold water and she
shivered when she got out, but the sweet-scented mixture was still
warm and lathered into saponin-rich, slippery suds when she rubbed
it all over her body and into her hair. This time, she headed for a pool
near the mouth of the creek that held water less muddy than the river
to rinse. When she emerged, she wrapped the soft buckskin around
her to dry off, while she worked out the tangles in her hair with
her stiff brush and an ivory hairpin. It felt good to be fresh and
clean.

Though he ached to join her, and hungered to Pleasure her, Jon-
dalar felt a certain satisfaction just filling his sight with her. It was
more than seeing her lush body, rich with womanly curves, yet firm
and shapely, with the flat, hard muscles that implied strength. He
enjoyed watching her, seeing her naturally graceful movements, seeing
her work with the ease of experience and practiced skill. When
making fire, or the tool she wanted, she knew exactly how to proceed
and wasted no motions. Jondalar had always admired her ability and
expertise, her intelligence. It was part of her appeal to him. Among all
the other emotions, he had missed being with her, and just watching
her fulfilled a need to be near her.
Ayla was nearly dressed when the "yip, yip" of the young wolf
made her look up and smile.
"Wolf! What are you doing here? Did you run away from Rydag?"
she said, as the puppy jumped up on her in greeting, pleased and
excited to have found her. Then he began sniffing around the area
while she gathered up her things.
"Well, now that you've found me, we can go back. Come on, Wolf.
Let's go. What are you after in those bushes . . . Jondalar!"
Ayla was stunned beyond words when she discovered what the
young wolf had been after, and Jondalar was too embarrassed to
speak, yet their eyes held, and spoke more than words could say. But
they would not believe what they saw. Finally Jondalar attempted to
explain.
"I was ... uh ... walking by, and ... uh ..."
He gave up, not even trying to finish his lame attempt at an excuse,
turned and walked quickly away. Ayla followed him back toward the
Camp more slowly, trudging up the slope toward the earthlodge. Jon-
dalar's behavior confused her. She wasn't sure how long he had been
there, but she knew he had been watching her, and wondered why he
had been hiding from her. She didn't know what to think, but as she
went into the lodge through the annex to the Mammoth Hearth to
find Mamut so he could complete her preparations, she remembered
the way Jondalar had looked at her.
Jondalar did not return to the Camp immediately. He wasn't sure
he could face her, or anyone, just then. When he neared the path
from the river up to the lodge, he turned around and walked back,
and soon found himself at the same secluded spot.
He walked to the remains of the little fire, kneeled down and felt
the slight heat with his hand, and half closed his eyes remembering
the scene he had secretly watched. When he opened his eyes, he spied
the flint core she had left behind, and picked it up to examine it. Then
he saw the chips and flakes she had struck off, and fit some of them
back on, to study the process more closely. Near scraps of leather, he
saw the awl. He picked it up and looked it over. It wasn't made in the
style he was accustomed to. It seemed too simple, almost crude, but it
was a good, effective tool. And sharp, he thought, when it nicked his
finger.
The tool she had made reminded him of Ay la, seemed, in its way,
to represent the enigma of her, the apparent contradictions. Her innocent
candor, shrouded in mystery; her simplicity, steeped in ancient
knowledge; her honest naivete, surrounded by the depth and wealth
of her experience. He decided to keep it, to remind himself of her
always, and wrapped the sharp tool in the leather scraps to take it
with him.

The feast was eaten in the warmth of the afternoon, inside at the
cooking hearth, but with the archway drapes, even those of the new
annex, thrown back and tied open to allow fresh air and easy access.
Many of the festivities were conducted outside, particularly games
and competitions--wrestling seemed to be a favored spring sport--
and singing and dancing.
Gifts were exchanged to wish luck, happiness, and good will, in
emulation of the Great Earth Mother, who was again bringing life and
warmth to the land, to show their appreciation of the gifts of the earth
She bestowed on them. The gifts were usually small items such as
belts and knife sheaths, animal teeth with holes pierced through the
root or grooved for cord to wrap around for suspension as pendants,
and strings of beads which could be used as they were or sewn onto
clothing. This year the new thread-puller was a favorite gift to give
and receive, along with needle cases, little tubes of ivory or hollow
bones of birds, in which to hold them. Nezzie had made the first one,
which she kept with a square of mammoth skin used as a thimble in
her decorated sewing pouch. Several others borrowed her idea.
The firestones owned by each hearth were considered magic and
held sacred, and kept in the niche along with the figure of the Mother,
but Barzec gave away several tinder kits which he devised, that were
remarked on with great enthusiasm. They were convenient for carry
ing and contained materials especially easy to light with the fire-
starting spark—fluffy fibers, crushed dried dung, slivers of wood—
and had a place for the firestone and flint-striker when traveling.
With the chilling wind of evening, the Camp took their warm feel
ings inside and closed the heavy insulating drapes behind them. There
was a time of settling down, of changing to their ceremonial clothes or
adding the final decorative pieces, of refilling cups with a favorite bev
erage, a brisk herbal tea, or Talut's bouza. Then they all found their
way to the Mammoth Hearth for the serious part of the Spring
Festival.
Ay la and Deegie beckoned to Latie to invite her to sit with them;
she was almost one of them now, almost a young woman. Danug and
Druwez looked at her with unaccustomed shyness as she passed. She
straightened her shoulders and held her head high, but refrained from
speaking. Their eyes followed after her. Latie smiled as she sat be
tween the two women, feeling very special, and very much that she
belonged.
Latie had been playmate and friend to the boys when they were
children, but she was not a child any more, nor a girl to be ignored or
disdained by young males. She had passed into the magically attrac
tive, slightly threatening, and altogether mysterious world of woman.
Her body had changed its shape, and she could cause unexpected,
uncontrollable feelings and responses in their bodies just by walking
by. Even a direct look could be disconcerting.
But more daunting was something they had only heard about. She
could make blood come out of her body with no wound and seem
ingly no pain, and somehow that made her able to draw the magic of
the Mother into herself. They didn't know how, they only knew that
one day she would bring forth new life from inside her body; one day
Latie would make children. But first a man would have to make her" a
woman. That would be their role—not with Latie, of course, she was
sibling and cousin, too closely related. But someday, when they were
older and had more experience, they might be selected to perform that
important function because even though she could make blood, a fe
male could not make children until a man made her a woman.
The coming Summer Meeting would prove enlightening for the
two young men, also, particularly Danug, since he was older. They
were never pushed, but when they were ready, there would be
women who had dedicated themselves to honor the Mother for a sea-
son, who would make themselves available to young men, to give
them experience, and to teach them the ways and the mysterious joys
of women.
Tulie walked to the center of the group, holding up and shaking the
Speaking Staff, and waited for the people to quiet down. When she
had everyone's attention, she gave the decorated ivory shaft to Talut,
who was in full regalia, including his mammoth tusk headpiece.
Mamut appeared, dressed in an ornately decorated white leather cape.
He held a cunningly fashioned shaft of wood that seemed to be a
single piece, except that one end was a dry, bare, dead branch, and
the other end bursting with green buds and small new leaves. He gave
it to Tulie. As headwoman, the Spring Festival was hers to open.
Spring was the women's time of year; the time of birth and new life,
the time of new beginnings. She held the double-ended shaft in both
hands, over her head, pausing for full effect, then brought it down
sharply across her knee, breaking it in two, symbolizing the end of the
old and the beginning of the new year, and the start of the ceremonial
part of the evening.
"The Mother has smiled upon us with great favor this past cycle,"
Tulie began. "We have so much to celebrate it will be difficult to
know which significant event to use to mark the counting of the year.
Ay la was adopted as a Mamutoi, so we have a new woman, and the
Mother has chosen to make Latie ready for womanhood, so we soon
will have another." Ay la was surprised to hear herself included. "We
have a new baby girl to be named and numbered among us, and a
new Union to be announced." Jondalar closed his eyes and swallowed
hard. Tulie continued, "We have come through the winter well and
healthy, and it is time for the cycle to begin again."
When Jondalar looked up, Talut had stepped forward and had the
Speaking Staff. He saw Nezzie signal to Latie. She got up, smiled
nervously at the two young women who had made her feel so secure,
and approached the big, flaming-haired man of her hearth. Talut
smiled at her with encouragement and loving affection. She saw Wy-
mez standing beside her mother. His smile, though less infectious,
was just as full of pride and love for his sister's daughter, and his heir,
who would soon be a woman. It was an important moment for them
all.
"I am very proud to give notice that Latie, the first daughter of the
Lion Hearth, has been made ready to become a woman," Talut said,
"and to announce that she will be included in the Celebration of
Womanhood at the Meeting this summer."
Mamut stepped toward her and handed her an object. "This is your
muta, Latie," he said. "With this as a place for the Mother to reside,
you can establish a hearth of your own someday. Keep it in a safe
place."
Latie took the carved ivory object and went back to her place, and
was delighted to show her muta to those nearby. Ay la was interested.
She knew it had been made by Ranee because she had one like it, and
recalling the words that had been spoken, she began to realize why he
had given it to her. She needed a muta to establish a hearth with him.
"Ranee must be trying to work out something new," Deegie com
mented, seeing the bird-woman figure. "I haven't seen one like this
before. It's very unusual. I'm not sure if I understand it. Mine looks
more like a woman."
"He gave me one like Latie's," Ay la said. "I thought of it as both a
woman and a bird, depending upon how you look at it." Ayla took
Latie's muta and showed it from different angles and perspectives.
"He said he wanted it to represent the Mother in Her spiritual form."
"Yes, I can see it, now that you showed me," Deegie said. She gave
the little figure back to Latie, who cradled it carefully in her hands.
"I like it. It's not like everyone else's, and it means something spe
cial," Latie said, glad that Ranee gave her a muta that was unique.
Even though he had never lived at the Lion Hearth, Ranee was her
brother, too, but he was so much older than Danug that he felt more
like an uncle than a brother. She didn't always understand him, but
she looked up to him, and knew that he was esteemed by all the
Mamutoi as a carver. She would have been happy with any muta
made by him, but she was pleased that he had chosen to give her one
like Ayla's. He would only give a carving that he considered his best
to Ayla.
The ceremony for the naming of Fralie's baby had already begun,
and the three young women turned their attention to it. Ayla recog
nized the ivory plaque incised with cut marks that Talut was holding
up, and felt a moment of concern, remembering her adoption. But the
ceremony was obviously one that was quite common. Mamut must
know what to do. As she watched Fralie present her infant to the
shaman and the headman of the Lion Camp, Ayla suddenly remem
bered another naming ceremony. It had been spring then, she re
called, only she had been the mother, and she had presented her baby
fearfully, expecting the worst.
She heard Mamut say, "What name have you chosen for this
child?" And she heard Fralie reply, "She is to be called Beetle." But
in her mind, Ayla heard Creb say, "Durc. The boy's name is Durc."
Tears were in her eyes as she felt again her gratitude, and her relief,
when Brun accepted her son, and Creb named him. She looked up
and noticed Rydag, who was sitting in the midst of several children
with Wolf on his lap, watching her, with the same large, brown, ancient
eyes that reminded her so much of Durc. She felt a sudden
longing to see her son again, but then was struck with a realization.
Durc was mixed, like Rydag, but he had been born to the Clan,
named and accepted by the Clan, raised by the Clan. Her son was
Clan, and she was dead to the Clan. She shuddered, and tried to
dispel the thoughts.
The sound of an infant's shocked howl snapped Ayla's attention
back to the ceremony. The baby's arm had been nicked with a sharp
knife, and a mark cut into the ivory plaque. Beetle had been named
and numbered among the Mamutoi. Mamut was pouring the stinging
solution on the small cut, making the tiny baby who had never known
any pain voice her displeasure even louder, but the angry insistent
squall of the infant brought a smile to Ay la's face. In spite of her early
birth, Beetle had grown strong. She was healthy enough to cry. Fralie
held Beetle out for all to see, then cuddling the infant, she sang a song
of comfort and joy in a high, sweet voice, which quieted the baby.
When she was through, she went back to her place near Frebec and
Crozie. Within a few moments, Beetle began to cry again, but the
baby's cries ceased with a suddenness that announced she had been
offered the best of comforts.
Deegie nudged her, and Ay la realized the time had come. It was
her turn. She was being beckoned forward. For a moment, she
couldn't move. Then she wanted to run away, but there was no place
to go. She didn't want to make this Promise to Ranee, she wanted
Jondalar, wanted to beg him not to leave without her, but when she
looked up and saw Ranee's eager, happy, smiling face, she took a deep
breath, then stood up. Jondalar didn't want her, and she had told
Ranee she would Promise. Reluctantly, Ay la walked toward the co-
leaders of the Camp.
The dark man watched her coming toward him, out of the shadows
and into the light of the central fire, and his breath caught in his
throat. She was wearing the pale leather outfit Deegie had given her,
the one that was so perfect for her, but her hair was not up in braids
or buns, or one of the complex styles that incorporated beads or ornaments
usually worn by the Mamutoi women. In deference to the Clan
root ceremony, she had let her hair hang loose, and the thick, shining
waves that fell below her shoulders gleamed in the firelight, and
framed her unique, finely sculptured face with a golden halo. At that
moment, Ranee was convinced she was the Mother incarnate, born
into the body of the perfect Spirit Woman. He wanted her for his
woman so much, it was almost a pain, an ache of yearning, and he
could hardly believe this night was true.
Ranee was not alone in being awed by her beauty. As she stepped
into the light of the fire, the whole Camp was caught by surprise. The
Mamutoi clothing, richly elegant, and the glorious natural beauty of
her hair, made a stunning combination, enhanced by the dramatic
lighting. Talut thought of the value she would add to the Lion Camp,
and Tulie was determined to set a very high Bride Price, even if she
had to contribute half of it herself, for the status it would bestow on
all of them. Mamut, already convinced that she was destined to Serve
the Mother in some important way, took note of her instinctive sense
of timing, and natural flair for the dramatic, and knew that someday
she would be a force to be reckoned with.
But no one felt the impact of her presence more than Jondalar. He
was as dazzled by her beauty as Ranee, but Jondalar's mother had
been a leader, and then his brother after her; Dalanar had founded
and was the leader of a new group, and Zolena had reached the high
est rank of the zeiandonia. He had grown up among the natural lead
ers of his own people, and he sensed the qualities that were noticed by
the Lion Camp's co-leaders and shaman. As though someone had
kicked him in the stomach and knocked the wind out of him, he sud
denly understood what he had lost.
As soon as Ayla reached Ranee's side, Tulie began.
"Ranee of the Mamutoi, son of the Fox Hearth of the Lion Camp,
you have asked Ayla of the Mamutoi, daughter of the Mammoth
Hearth of the Lion Camp, and protected by the Spirit of the Cave
Lion, to join together to form a union and establish a hearth. Is this
true, Ranee?"
"Yes, it is true," he answered, then turned to Ayla with a smile of
absolute joy.
Talut then addressed Ayla. "Ayla of the Mamutoi, daughter of the
Mammoth Hearth of the Lion Camp, and protected by the Spirit of
the Cave Lion, do you agree to this union with Ranee of the
Mamutoi, son of the Fox Hearth of the Lion Camp?"
Ayla closed her eyes and swallowed before she responded. "Yes,"
she finally said, in a barely audible voice, "I agree."
Jondalar, sitting at the back near the wall of the lodge, closed his
eyes and clenched his jaw until his temples throbbed. It was his own
fault. If he hadn't forced her, maybe she wouldn't be turning now to
Ranee. But she had already turned to him, she had been sharing his
bed. From the first day she was adopted by the Mamutoi, she had
shared his bed. No, he had to admit, that wasn't quite true. After that
first night, she didn't share the carver's bed at all until after they had
that stupid argument, and he left the Mammoth Hearth. Why had
they argued? He hadn't been angry with her, he was just worried
about her. Then why had he left the Mammoth Hearth?
Tulie turned to Wymez, who was standing next to Ranee, beside
Nezzie. Ay la hadn't even noticed him. "Do you accept this union
between the son of the Fox Hearth and the daughter of the Mammoth
Hearth?"
"I accept this union, and welcome it," Wymez replied.
"And you, Nezzie?" Tulie asked. "Will you accept a union between
your son, Ranee, and Ayla, if a suitable Bride Price can be arranged?"
"I accept the union," the woman replied.
Talut spoke next, to the old man beside Ayla. "Mamutoi Spirit
Seeker, he who has relinquished name and hearth, he who was called,
he who is dedicated to the Mammoth Hearth, he who speaks to the
Great Mother of all, the One Who Serves Mut," the headman said,
carefully reciting all the shaman's names and appellations, "does the
Mamut agree to a union between Ayla, daughter of the Mammoth
Hearth, and Ranee, son of the Fox Hearth?"
Mamut did not answer immediately. He looked at Ayla, who was
standing with her head bowed. She waited, and when he didn't speak,
she looked at him. He studied her expression, noted her posture, the
aura about her.
"The daughter of the Mammoth Hearth may join with the son of
the Fox Hearth, if she wishes," he finally said. "There is nothing to
ban such a joining. She does not need my approval or acceptance, or
anyone's. The choice is hers. The choice will always be hers, no mat
ter where she is. If ever she needs permission, I give it to her. But she
will always remain the daughter of the Mammoth Hearth."
Tulie eyed the old man. She felt there was more to his words than
there seemed. There was something ambiguous about his response
and she wondered what he meant, but she decided she could think
about it later.
"Ranee, son of the Fox Hearth, and Ayla, daughter of the Mam
moth Hearth, have declared their intention to join together. They
wish to form a union to mingle their spirits, and to share one hearth.
All those concerned have concurred," Tulie said, then turned to the
carver. "Ranee, if you are joined, will you promise to give Ayla the
protection of yourself and your male spirit, will you care for her when
she is blessed by the Mother with new life, and will you accept her
children as the children of your hearth?"
'Yes, I promise. It is what I want more than anything," Ranee said.
Ayla, if you are joined, will you promise to care for Ranee and
give him the protection of your mother's power, will you welcome the
Mother's Gift of Life without reservation, and will you share your
i •* _ _ •' ••
cnudren with the man of your hearth?" Tulie said.
Ay la opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out at first.
She coughed and cleared her throat, then finally replied, but her an
swer was almost inaudible. "Yes, I promise."
"Do all hear and witness this Promise?" Tulie said to the people
who were gathered.
"We hear and witness," the group responded. Then Deegie and
Tornec began to beat a slow rhythmic pace on their bone instruments,
subtly changing the tone to accompany the voices which started
chanting.
"You will be joined at the Summer Matrimonial, so that all the
Mamutoi may witness," Tulie said. "Circle the hearth three times to
assure the Promise."
Ranee and Ay la, side by side, marched slowly around the hearth to
the sound of the tonal music and chanting people. It was done. They
were Promised. Ranee was ecstatic. He felt as though his feet barely
touched the ground as he walked. His happiness was so all-consuming
it was impossible to believe that Ay la didn't share it. He had noticed a
certain reluctance, but he made excuses, assumed it was shyness, or
that she was tired, or nervous. He loved her so much it was beyond
him to consider that she didn't love him the same way.
But Ay la felt heavy at heart as she circled the firepit, though she
tried not to show it. Jondalar slumped down, unable to support him
self, as though his very bones had collapsed, feeling like an empty,
discarded pouch. More than anything, he wanted to leave, to run
from the sight of the beautiful woman he loved walking beside the
happily grinning dark-skinned man.
When they completed the third circuit, there was a pause in the
ceremonies for well-wishing and gift-giving, to all of the celebrants.
Gifts for Beetle included the space given to the Crane Hearth by the
Aurochs Hearth, as well as an amber and seashell necklace, and a
small knife in a decorated sheath, that were the beginning of the
wealth she would accumulate in her lifetime. Latie was given personal
gifts important for a woman, and a beautiful and richly decorated
summer tunic from Nezzie, to be worn during the festivities at the
Summer Meeting. She would receive many more gifts from relatives
and close friends in other Camps.
Ay la and Ranee were given household items: a ladle carved from a
horn, a two-handled scraper that was used to soften the inner sides of
furs, with a slot for a replaceable blade, woven floor mats, cups,
bowls, platters. Though Ay la felt they received many things, they
were only a token. They would receive many more at the Summer
Meeting, but they, and the Lion Camp, would also be expected to
give gifts in return. Small or large, gifts were never without obliga-
tions, and the accounting of who owed what to whom was a complex
but endlessly fascinating game.
"Oh, Ayla, I'm so glad we're going to be joined at the same time!"
Deegie said. "It will be so much fun planning it with you, but you'll
be coming back here, and I'll be going off to build a new lodge.
I'm going to miss you next year. It would be such great fun to know
who the Mother blesses first. You or me. Ayla, you must be so
happy."
"I guess I am," Ayla said, and then smiled though her heart wasn't
in it.
Deegie wondered about her lack of enthusiasm. Somehow, Ayla
just didn't seem to be as excited about being Promised as she had
been. Ayla wondered, too. She should be happy, she wanted to be
happy, but all she felt was lost hope.
During the general socializing, Ayla and Mamut slipped off to the
Aurochs Hearth to make their final preparations. When they were
ready, they returned along the passageway, but Mamut stopped in the
shadows between the Reindeer Hearth and the Mammoth Hearth.
People were in small groups, deeply involved in conversations, and
the shaman waited until no one was looking in their direction. Then
he motioned to Ayla and they moved quickly into the ceremonial
area, staying in the shadows until the last moment.
Mamut, unnoticed at first, stood silently in front of the fireplace
near the screen, his cape brought around in front of him with his arms
across his chest, his eyes apparently closed. Ayla, sitting cross-legged
on the ground at his feet with her head bowed, had a cape draped
across her shoulders as well. When they were seen, it was with the
eerie feeling that they had suddenly appeared in their midst. No one
had seen them coming. They were just there. The people quickly
found places to sit, filled with a sense of anticipation and excitement,
prepared now for the mystery and magic of the Mammoth Hearth,
and curious about this new ceremony that had been prepared.
But first Mamut wanted to establish the presence of the spirit
world, to show the heightened reality of the altered sense in which he
nmctioned to those who knew of it only by word of mouth, or per
haps results. The group quieted. In the silence, the sound of breath
ing grew loud, and the crackling of the fire. Moving air was an
invisible presence whiffling in through the fireplace vents, and moan-
"ig a muted howl across partially opened smoke holes. So gradually
"lat no one noticed when it began, the moaning wind became a hum-
niing monotone, then a rhythmic chant. As the assembled people
joined in, enlarging the wavering tone with natural harmonies, the old
shaman began a weaving, rocking, dancing movement. Then the tonal
drum accented the rhythm, and the clack of a rattle that appeared to
be several armbands held together and shaken.
Suddenly Mamut threw off his cape, and stood in front of the as
sembly stark naked. He had no pockets, no sleeves, no secret folds to
hide anything. Imperceptibly, he seemed to grow before their eyes,
his transparent shimmering presence filling the space. Ay la blinked,
knowing the old shaman had not changed. If she concentrated, she
could see the familiar shape of the old man with sagging skin and
long, thin, bony arms and legs, but it was difficult.
He shrunk back to his normal size, but seemed to have swallowed
or somehow incorporated the shimmering presence, so that it outlined
him with a glow that made him seem larger than life. He held out his
open hands in front of him. They were empty. He clapped his hands
once, then held both hands together. His eyes closed, and at first he
stood still, but soon he was trembling, as though straining against a
great force. Slowly, with great effort, he pulled his hands apart. A
black amorphous shape appeared between them, and more than one
watcher shuddered. It had the ineffable feel, the smell, of evil; of
something loathsome, foul, and frightening. Ay la felt the hairs rise on
the back of her neck, and she held her breath.
As Mamut stretched his hands apart, the shape grew. The acrid
smell of fear rose from the seated group. Everyone was sitting up
straight, straining forward, chanting with a wailing intensity, and the
tension within the lodge was almost unbearable. The shape grew
darker, ballooned, writhed with a life of its own, or rather, the antith
esis of life. The old shaman strained, his body shaking with the effort.
Ay la concentrated on him, fearful for him.
Without forewarning, Ayla felt herself pulled in, drawn, and sud
denly found herself with Mamut, in his mind or in his vision. She saw
clearly now, understood the danger, and was appalled. He was in
control of a thing beyond words, beyond comprehension. Mamut had
pulled her in, both to protect her and to help him. As he worked to
control it, she was with him, knowing and learning at the same time.
As he forced his hands back together, the shape grew smaller, and she
could see that he was pushing it back where it came from. A loud
crack, like a thunderclap, sounded in her mind as his hands came
together.
It was gone. Mamut had forced the evil away, and Ayla became
aware that Mamut had called upon other spirits to help him wrestle
with the thing. She sensed vague animal shapes, guardian spirits, the
Mammoth and the Cave Lion, perhaps even the Cave Bear, Ursus
himself. Then, she was back, seated on a mat, looking at the old man
who was just Mamut again. Physically, he was tired, but mentally,
his abilities were sharpened, honed by the contest of wills. Ayla, too,
seemed to see with a clearer vision, and she sensed that the guardian
spirits were still present. She had had enough training, now, to realize
that his purpose had been to clear away any lingering malevolent in
fluences that might jeopardize her ceremony. They would be drawn
to the evil he had called up, and driven out with it.
Mamut signaled for silence. Chanting and drumming both stopped.
It was time for Ayla to begin the Clan root ceremony, but the shaman
wanted to stress the importance of the Camp's assistance when the
time came for them to chant again. Wherever the root ritual took
them, the sound of the chanting could lead them back.
In the expectant silence of the night, Ayla began to beat out an
unusual set of rhythms on an instrument unlike any they had ever
seen. It was exactly what it seemed to be, a large wooden bowl,
carved out of one piece of wood, turned upside down. She had
brought it back with her from the valley, and it was surprising as
much for its size as for the fact that it was used as an instrument.
Trees large enough to have made such a bowl did not grow on the
open, dry, and windy steppes. Even the periodically flooded river
valley seldom grew very large trees, but the small valley where she
had lived was protected from the worst of the cutting winds and had
more than sufficient water for a few large coniferous trees. One had
been struck down by lightning, and she had made a bowl from a
section of it.
Ayla used a smooth wooden stick to produce the sound. Though
some variation in tone could be achieved by striking different places,
it was not a musical percussion instrument, as the resonant skull drum
and scapula were; it was made for rhythms. The people of the Lion
Camp were intrigued, but this was not their music, and they weren't
entirely comfortable with it. The rhythmic sounds that Ayla made
were distinctly foreign, but as she had hoped, they created an atmo
sphere to match, one with the feeling of the Clan. Mamut was over
whelmed by memories of the time he spent with them. The beats she
finished with did not give a sense of closure, but rather created a
feeling that more was expected, and left a sense of anticipation hang
ing in the air.
The Camp didn't know what to expect, but when Ayla threw off
the cape and stood up, they were surprised by the designs painted on
her body, circles in red and black color. Except for some facial tattoos
of those who belonged to the Mammoth Hearth the Mamutoi deco
rated their clothing, not their bodies. For the first time, the people of
the Lion Camp had a sense of the world Ayla had come from, a cul
ture so alien they could not fully comprehend it. It was not simply a
different style of tunic, or choice of predominant color tones, or spear-
type preference, or even a different language. It was a different way
of thinking, but they did recognize that it was a human way of
thinking.
They watched with fascination as Ayla filled the wooden bowl she
had given to Mamut with water. Then she picked up a dry root they
hadn't noticed, and began to chew it. It was difficult at first. The root
was old and dry, and the juices had to be spit into the bowl. She was
not supposed to swallow any. When Mamut had wondered again if
the root could still be effective after so long a time, Ayla had explained
it was likely to be stronger.
After what seemed like a very long time--she remembered that it
had seemed to take a long time the first time--she spit the masticated
pulp and the rest of the juices into the bowl of water. She stirred it
with her finger until it was a watery white fluid. When she felt that it
looked right, she gave the bowl to Mamut.
With the beating of his own drum, and the shaking of the bracelet
rattle, the shaman signaled the right pace for the drummers and
chanters to maintain, and then, with a nod to Ayla, indicated he was
ready. She was nervous, her former experience with the root had unpleasant
associations and she went over every detail of the preparation
in her mind, and tried to remember everything Iza had told her. She
had done everything she could think of to make the ceremony as close
to the Clan ritual as she could. She nodded back, and Mamut held the
bowl to his lips, and took the first drink. When he finished half the
bowl, he gave the rest to Ayla. She drank the other half.

The very taste was ancient, reminiscent of rich loam in deep,
shaded primeval forests, of strange giant trees and a canopy of green
filtering out sun and light. She began to feel the effects almost immediately.
A feeling of nausea overcame her, and a dizzying sense of
vertigo. As the lodge whirled around and around, her vision clouded
and her brain seemed to expand and grow tight in her head. Suddenly
the lodge disappeared, and she was in another place, a dark place. She
felt lost, and had a moment of panic. Then she had a sensation that
someone was reaching for her, and realized Mamut was in the same
place. Ayla was relieved to find him, but Mamut was not in her mind
as Creb had been, and he did not direct her, or himself, as Creb had
done. He exerted no control at all, he was just there, waiting to see
what would happen.
Faintly, as though they were inside the earthlodge and she was outside,
Ayla heard the chanting and the resonant voice of the drums.
She focused on the sound. It had a steadying effect, gave her a point
of reference and a sense that she was not alone. Mamut's nearness was
also a calming influence, though she wished for the strong guiding
mind that had shown her the way before.
The darkness shaded into gray that became luminous, then iridescent.
She sensed motion, as though she and Mamut were flying over
the landscape again, but there were no distinguishing features, only a
sensation of passage through the surrounding opalescent cloud. Gradually,
as her speed increased, the misty cloud coalesced into a thin
film of shimmering rainbow colors. She was sliding down a long
translucent tunnel, with walls like the inside of a bubble, moving
faster and faster, heading straight toward a searing white light, like
the sun, but icy cold. She screamed, but made no sound, then burst
into the light, and through it.
She was in a deep, cold, black void that had a terrify ingly familiar
feel. She had been here before, but that time, Creb had found her and
brought her out. Only vaguely, she sensed Mamut was still with her,
but she knew he could not help her. The chanting of the people was
no more than a dim reverberation. She was sure that if it ever
stopped, she would never find her way back, but she wasn't sure if
she wanted to go back. In this place there was no sensation, no feeling,
only an absence that made her see her confusion, her aching love,
and her desperate unhappiness. The black void was frightening, but it
seemed no worse than the desolation she felt inside.
She sensed motion again, and the blackness fading. She was in a
misty cloud again, but it was different, thicker, heavier. The cloud
parted and a vista opened before her, but it had no meaning for her. It
was not the gentle, random, natural landscape she knew. It was filled
with unfamiliar shapes and forms; even, regular, with hard flat surfaces
and straight lines, and large masses of bright garish unnatural
color. Some things moved, rapidly, or perhaps it only seemed that
way. She didn't know, but she didn't like this place, and struggled to
push it away from her, to get away from it.

Jondalar had watched Ayla drink the mixture, and frowned with
concern when he saw her stagger, and her face turn pale. She gagged
a few times, and then slumped to the ground. Mamut, too, had fallen,
but it was not unusual for the shaman to drop to the ground when he
went far into the other world in search of spirits, whether or not he
ate or drank something to help him. Mamut and Ayla were laid out on
their backs, while the chanting and drumming continued. He saw
Wolf try to reach her, but the young animal was held away. Jondalar
understood how Wolf felt. He wanted to rush to Ayla, and even
glanced at Ranee to see what his reaction was, but the Lion Camp did

not seem alarmed, and he hesitated to interfere in a sacred ritual. He
joined in the chanting instead. Mamut had made a point of telling
them how important it was.
After a long time had passed, and neither one of them had moved,
he became more fearful for Ay la, and he thought he saw expressions
of concern on the faces of some of the people. He stood up, and tried
to see her, but the fires had burned low and the lodge was darkened.
He heard a whimper, and looked down at Wolf. The young animal
whimpered again and looked at him with pleading eyes. He started
toward Ay la several times, and then came back to him.
He heard Whinney neighing from the annex. She sounded distressed,
as though she sensed danger. The tall man went to see what
the problem was. It was unlikely, but a predator could slip into the
horse annex, and perhaps endanger the horses while everyone was
busy. Whinney nickered when she saw him. Jondalar could find nothing
to account for the mare's behavior, but she was obviously spooked
about something. Not even his pats and comforting words seemed to
settle her down. She kept heading toward the entrance to the Mammoth
Hearth, though she had never attempted to go inside before.
Racer was uneasy, too, sensitive, perhaps, to his dam's nervousness.
Wolf was at his feet again, whining and whimpering, running
toward the Mammoth Hearth entrance, and then toward him again.
"What is it, Wolf? What's bothering you?" And what's bothering
Whinney, he thought. Then it occurred to him what might bother
both animals. Ay la! They must sense some danger to Ay la!
Jondalar strode back in, and saw that several people were now
around both Mamut and Ay la, trying to wake them up. Unable to
hold back any more, he rushed to Ay la. She was stiff, rigid with tense
muscles, and cold. She hardly breathed.
"Ayla!" Jondalar cried out. "0 Mother, she looks almost dead!
Ayla! 0 Doni, don't let her die! Ayla, come back! Don't die, Ayla!
Please don't die!"
He held her in his arms, calling out her name, with great urgency,
over and over again, pleading with her not to die.

Ayla felt herself slipping farther and farther away. She tried to hear
the chanting and drumming, but they were like a dim memory. Then,
she thought she heard her name. She strained to listen. Yes, there it
was again, her name, spoken urgently, with great need. She felt
Mamut move closer, and together they focused on the chanting. She
heard a faint hum of voices, and felt herself drawn toward the sound.
Then in the distance, she heard the deep, vibrant, staccato voice of
the drums speak the word "h-h-o-ooo-m-m-m." More clearly now, she

heard her name cried out with anguish and need and overpowering
love. She felt a gentle probing reach for her and touch the combined
essence of her and Mamut.
Suddenly, she was moving, being pulled and pushed along a single
glowing strand. She had an impression of intense speed. The heavy
cloud surrounded her, and was gone. She passed through the void in
the flick of an eye. The shimmering rainbow became a gray mist, and
the next instant, she was in the lodge. Below her, her own body,
unnaturally still with a gray pallor, was sprawled out on the floor. She
saw the back of a blond man who was huddling over her, holding her.
Then, she felt Mamut push her.

Ay la's eyelids flickered, then she opened her eyes and saw Jon-
dalar's face looking down at her. The intense fear in his blue eyes
changed to immense relief. She tried to speak, but her tongue felt
thick, and she was cold, freezing cold.
"They're back!" she heard Nezzie say. "I don't know where they've
been, but they're back. And they're cold! Bring furs, and something
hot to drink."
Deegie brought an armful of furs from her bed, and Jondalar got
out of the way so she could tuck them around Ay la. Wolf came rushing
over, jumping up and licking her face, then Ranee brought a cup
of hot tea. Talut was helping her to sit up. Ranee held the hot drink
to her lips, and she smiled, gratefully. Whinney neighed from the
annex and Ayla recognized the sound of distress and fear. The woman
sat up, feeling concern, and nickered back to calm and reassure the
mare. Then she asked for Mamut, and insisted on seeing him.
She was helped up, a fur was draped over her shoulders, and she
was led to the old shaman. He was bundled in furs and holding a cup
of hot tea, too. He smiled at her, but there was a hint of worry in his
eyes. Not wanting to unduly upset the Camp, he had tried to make
less of their perilous experiment, but he did not want Ayla to misunderstand
how serious their danger had been. She, too, wanted to talk
about it, but both of them avoided direct references to the experience.
Nezzie quickly sensed their need to talk, and unobtrusively cleared
everyone away and left them alone.
"Where were we, Mamut?" Ayla asked.
"I don't know, Ayla. I have not been there before. It was another
place, perhaps another time. Maybe it was not a real place," he said,
thoughtfully.
"It must have been," she said. "Those things felt like real things,
and some of it was familiar. That empty place, that darkness, I was
there with Creb."
"I believe you when you say your Creb was powerful. Perhaps even
more than you realize, if he could direct and control that place."
"Yes, he was, Mamut, but . . ."A thought occurred to Ayla, but
she wasn't sure if she could express it. "Creb controlled that place, he
showed me his memories and our beginnings, but I don't think Creb
ever went where we went, Mamut. I don't think he could. Maybe
that's what protected me. He had certain powers, and he could con
trol them, but they were different. The place we went this time, that
was a new place. He couldn't go to a new place, he could only go
where he had been. But maybe he saw that I could. I wonder if that's
what made him so sad?"
Mamut nodded. "Perhaps, but more important, that place was far
more dangerous than I imagined it would be. I tried to make light of it
for the sake of the Camp. If we had been gone much longer, we
would not have been able to return at all. And we did not come back
by ourselves. We were helped by ... by someone who had such a
strong . . . desire for us to return, it overcame all obstacles. When
such single-minded strength of will is directed to achieve its purpose,
no boundary can resist, except, perhaps, death itself."
Ayla frowned, obviously troubled, and Mamut wondered if she
knew who had brought them back, or understood why such single-
minded purpose could be required for her protection. She would in
time, but it was not for him to tell her. She had to find out for herself.
"I will never go to that place again," he continued. "I am too old. I
do not want my spirit lost in that void. Someday, when you have
developed your powers, you may want to go again. I would not advise
it, but if you go, make sure you have powerful protection. Make sure
someone waits for you who can call you back."
When Ayla walked back toward her bed, she looked for Jondalar,
but he had backed off when Ranee brought the tea, and now he was
staying out of the way. Though he hadn't hesitated to go to her when
he felt she was in danger, he was unsure now. She had just Promised
to the Mamutoi carver. What right did he have to be holding her in
his arms? And everyone seemed to know what to do, bringing her hot
drinks and furs. He had felt that, because he wanted her so much, he
might have helped in some strange way, but when he thought about
it, he began to doubt it. She was probably coming back then, any
way, he told himself. It was coincidence. I just happened to be there.
She won't even remember.
Ranee went to Ayla when she was through talking to Mamut, and
begged her to come to his bed, not to couple, just so he could hold her
and keep her warm. But she insisted she would feel more comfortable
in her own bed. He finally agreed, but lay awake in his furs for a long
time, thinking. Though it had been apparent to everyone, he had
been able to ignore Jondalar's continued interest in Ay la, in spite of
his leaving the Mammoth Hearth. After this night, however, Ranee
could not deny the strong feelings that the tall man still had for her,
not after watching him plead with the Mother for her life.
He had no doubt that Jondalar had been instrumental in bringing
Ayla back, but he did not want to believe that she returned his feel
ings in kind. She had Promised herself to him that night. Ayla was
going to be his woman and share his hearth. He had feared for her,
too, and the thought of losing her, whether to some peril, or to an
other man, only made him want her more.
Jondalar saw Ranee go to her, and breathed easier when he saw the
dark man return to his hearth alone, but then he rolled over and
pulled the furs over his head. What difference did it make if she went
with him this night or not? She would go to him eventually. She had
Promised herself to him.
•yla usually counted her years at the end of winter, begin
ning her new year with the season of new life, and the spring of her
eighteenth year had been glorious with a profusion of meadow flowers
and the fresh green of new growth. It was welcomed as it could be
only in a place of frigid winter wastelands, but after the Spring Festi
val the season ripened quickly. As the bright flowers of the steppes
faded, they were replaced by the fast-growing, lush crop of new
grass—and the roaming grazers it brought. The seasonal migrations
had begun.
Animals in great numbers and many different varieties were on the
move across the open plains. Some converged until their numbers
became uncountable, others assembled in smaller herds or family
groups, but all derived their sustenance, their life, from the great,
windswept, incredibly rich grasslands, and the glacier-fed river sys
tems that cut through it.
Huge hordes of big-horned bison covered hills and dips with a liv
ing, bawling, restless, undulating mass that left raw, trampled earth
behind. Wild cattle, aurochs, were strung out for miles in the open
woodlands along the major river valleys as they traveled northward,
sometimes commingled with herds of elk and massive-antlered giant
deer. Shy roe deer traveled through riverine woodlands and boreal
forests in small parties to spring and summer feeding grounds, along
with unsociable moose who also frequented the bogs and melt lakes of
the steppes. Wild goats and mouflon, usually mountain-dwelling, took
to the open plains in the cold northern lands, and mingled at watering
places with small family groups of saiga antelope, and larger herds of
steppe horses.
The seasonal movement of woolly animals was more limited. With
their thick layer of fat and heavy double coats of fur, they were
adapted for life near the glacier and could not survive too much
warmth. They lived year-round in the northern periglacial regions of
the steppes, where the cold was deeper but dry, and snow was slight,
feeding in winter on the coarse, dry standing hay. The sheeplike
musk-oxen were permanent inhabitants of the frozen north, and
moved in small herds within a limited territory. Woolly rhinoceroses,
who usually gathered only in family groups, and the larger herds of
woolly mammoths ranged farther, but in winter they stayed north. In
the slightly warmer and wetter continental steppes to the south, deep
snows buried feed and caused the heavy animals to flounder. They
went south in spring to fatten on the tender new grass, but as soon as
it warmed, they would move north again.
The Lion Camp rejoiced to see the plains teeming with life again,
and remarked upon each species as it appeared, especially the animals
who thrived in deep cold. Those were the ones who most helped them
to survive. A sighting of the enormous, unpredictable rhinos, with
two horns, the front one long and low-slung, and two coats of reddish
fur, a soft downy underwool and an outer layer of long guard hair,
always brought exclamations of wonder.
Nothing, however, created such sheer excitement among the
Mamutoi as the sight of mammoths. When the usual time for them to
pass by drew near, someone from the Lion Camp was always on the
lookout. Except from a distance, Ay la hadn't seen a mammoth since
she lived with the Clan, and she was as excited as anyone when
Danug came running down the slope one afternoon shouting, "Mam
moths! Mammoths!"
She was among the first to rush out of the lodge to see them. Talut,
who often carried Rydag perched up on his shoulders, had been on
the steppes with Danug, and she noticed Nezzie, with the boy on her
hip, was straggling behind. She started back to help, then saw Jon-
dalar take him from the woman and hoist him up to his shoulders. He
received warm smiles from both. Ayla smiled, too, though he didn't
see her. The expression was still on her face when she turned to
Ranee who had jogged to catch up with her. Her tender, beautiful
smile evoked in him an intense feeling of warmth and a fierce wish
that she was already his. She couldn't help but respond to the love in
his dark, flashing eyes and the compelling grin. Her smile remained
for him.
On the steppes, the Lion Camp watched the huge shaggy creatures
with silent awe. They were the largest animals in their land—indeed,
they would have been in almost any land. The herd, with several
young in it, was passing close by, and the old matriarch eyed the
people warily. She stood about ten feet high at the shoulders, and had
a high domed head and a hump on the withers, used to store addi
tional fat for winter. A short back that sloped down steeply to the
pelvis completed the characteristic and immediately recognizable pro
file. Her skull was large in proportion to her size, more than half the
length of her relatively short trunk, from the end of which two sen
sitive, mobile, finger projections extended, an upper and a lower one.
Her tail was short, also, and her ears were small, to conserve heat.
Mammoths were eminently suited to their frigid domain. Their
skin was very thick, insulated by three inches or more of sub
cutaneous fat, and closely covered with a soft, dense undercoat, about
an inch long. The coarse long outer hair, up to twenty inches in
length, was a dark reddish-brown, and hung in neat layers over the
thick winter downy wool, as a warm, moisture-shedding cover and
windbreak. With efficient rasplike grinders, they consumed a winter
diet of coarse dry grass, plus twigs and bark of birches, willows, and
larches with as much ease as they did their summer diet of green
grasses, sedges, and herbs.
Most impressive of all, the mammoths' immense tusks inspired
amazement and awe. Originating close together out of the lower jaw,
they first pointed steeply downward, then curved strongly outward,
upward, and finally inward. In old males, a tusk could reach sixteen
feet in length, but by then, they were crossed over in front. In young
animals the tusks were effective weapons and built-in tools for uproot
ing trees and clearing snow from pasture and feed, but when the two
points curved up and overlapped, they got in the way, and were more
hindrance than help.
The sight of the enormous animals brought a flood of memories to
Ay la of the first time she had seen mammoths. She recalled wishing,
then, that she could go hunting with the men of the Clan, and remem
bered that Talut had invited her to go on the first mammoth hunt
with the Mamutoi. She did like to hunt, and the idea that she might
actually join the hunters this time gave her a tingle of anticipation.
She began to really look forward to the Summer Meeting.
The first hunt of the season had important symbolic meaning. As
massive and majestic as woolly mammoths were, the Mamutoi feeling
for them went beyond wonder at their size. They depended upon the
animal for much more than food, and in their need and desire to as
sure the continuance of the great beasts, they conceived a special rela
tionship with them. They held them in reverence because they based
their own identity on them.
Mammoths had no real natural enemies; no carnivorous animal reg
ularly depended on them for sustenance. The huge cave lions, twice
the size of any large feline, which normally preyed on the large
grazers—aurochs, bison, giant deer, elk, moose, or horse—and could
kill a full-grown adult, occasionally brought down a young, sick, or
very old mammoth, but no four-legged predator, singly or in groups,
could kill an adult mammoth in its prime. Only the Mamutoi, the
human children of the Great Earth Mother, had been given the ability
to hunt the largest of Her creatures. They were the chosen ones.
Among all Her creations, they were preeminent. They were the
Mammoth Hunters.
After the mammoth herd passed, the people of the Lion Camp fol
lowed eagerly behind them. Not to hunt them, that would come later.
They were after the soft, downy wool of their winter undercoats,
which was being shed in large handfuls through the coarser outer
guard hairs. The naturally colored dark red wool, which was gathered
from the ground and spiny brush that caught and held it, was consid
ered a special gift from the Spirit Mammoth.
As chance provided, the white wool of mouflon which was shed
naturally by the wild sheep in spring, the unbelievably soft earthy-
brown downy wool of musk-ox, and the lighter red rhinoceros under-
wool were also gathered with great enthusiasm. In their minds, they
offered thanks and appreciation to the Great Earth Mother who gave
Her children everything they needed from her abundance, vegetable
products and animals, and materials like flint and clay. They only had
to know where and when to look.
Though fresh vegetables—carbohydrates—were enthusiastically
added to their diet, for all the rich variety available to them, the
Mamutoi hunted little in spring and early summer, unless stored sup
plies of meat were very low. The animals were too lean. The deep,
hard winter sapped them of the required concentrated sources of en
ergy in the form of fat. Their perambulations were driven by the need
to replenish. A few male bison were picked off, if the fur at the nape
of the neck was still black, indicating fat still present in some measure,
and a few pregnant females of several species, for the tender fetus
meat and skin which made soft baby clothes, or undergarments. The
major exception was reindeer.
Vast herds of reindeer migrated north, the antlered females with
the last year's young leading the way along remembered trails to their
traditional calving grounds, followed by the males. As with other
herding animals, their ranks were thinned by wolves that ranged
along their flanks searching out the weak and the old, and by several
species of felines: large lynxes, long-bodied leopards, and an occa
sional massive cave lion. The large carnivores played host with their
leavings to a great variety of secondary carnivores and scavengers,
both four-legged and flying: foxes, hyenas, brown bears, civets, small
steppe cats, wolverines, weasels, ravens, kites, hawks, and many
more.
The two-legged hunters preyed on them all. The fur and feathers of
their hunting competitors were not disdained, though reindeer were
the primary game of the Lion Camp—not for the meat, although it
did not go to waste. The tongue was considered a treat and much of
the meat was dried for use in traveling food, but it was the hides they
wanted. Commonly grayish-fawn, but ranging in color from creamy
white to almost black, with a reddish-brown cast in the young, the
coat of the most northern ranging deer was both lightweight and
warm. Because their fur was naturally insulating, no finer cold-
weather clothing could be found than that made from reindeer hide,
and it was without equal for bedding and ground sheets. With surrounds
and pit traps, the Lion Camp hunted them every year, to replenish
their own supplies and for gifts to take with them when they
set out on their own summer migrations.

As the Lion Camp prepared for the Summer Meeting, excitement
ran high. At least once every day, someone told Ay la how much she
would like meeting some relative or friend, or how much they would
want to meet her. The only one who seemed to lack enthusiasm for
the gathering of the Camps was Rydag. Ayla had never seen the boy
in such low spirits, and she worried about his health.
She watched him carefully for several days, and one unusually
warm afternoon when he was outside watching several people stretching
reindeer hides, she sat down beside him.
"I have made new medicine for you, Rydag, to take to the Summer
Meeting," Ayla said. "It is fresher, and may be stronger. You will
have to tell me if you feel any differences, better or worse," she said,
using both hand signs and words, as she usually did with him. "How
are you feeling now? Any changes lately?"
Rydag liked it when Ayla talked to him. Though he was profoundly
grateful for his new ability to communicate with his Camp,
their understanding and use of sign language was essentially simple
and direct. He had understood their verbal language for years, but
when they spoke to him, they tended to simplify it to match the signs
they used. Her signs were closer in nuance and feeling to verbal
speech, and they enhanced her words.
"No, feel same," the boy signed.
"Not tired?"
"No . . . Yes. Always little tired." He smiled. "Not as much."
Ayla nodded, studying him carefully, checking for any visible
symptoms, trying to assure herself that there was no change in his
condition, at least none for the worse. She did not see any signs of
physical deterioration, but he seemed dejected.
"Rydag, is something bothering you? Are you unhappy?"
He shrugged, and looked away. Then he looked back at her. "Not
want to go," he signed.
"Where don't you want to go? I don't understand."
"Not want to go Meeting," he said, looking away again.
Ayla frowned, but didn't press. Rydag didn't seem to want to talk
about it, and soon went inside the lodge. She followed him in through
the front foyer, trying not to seem conspicuous, and from the cooking
hearth watched him lie down on his bed. She was worried about him.
He seldom went to bed voluntarily during the day. She saw Nezzie
come in and stop to tie the front drape back. Ayla hurried toward her,
to help.
"Nezzie, do you know what's wrong with Rydag? He seems so ...
unhappy," Ayla said.
"I know. He gets that way this time of year. It's the Summer Meet
ing. He doesn't like it."
"That's what he said. Why?"
Nezzie paused and looked full at Ayla. "You really don't know, do
you?" The young woman shook her head. Nezzie shrugged. "Don't
worry about it, Ayla. There's nothing you can do."
Ayla walked through the lodge along the passageway, and glanced
at the boy. His eyes were closed, but she knew he wasn't sleeping.
She shook her head, wishing she could help. She guessed it was some
thing about his difference, but he had been to Meetings before.
She hurried through the empty Fox Hearth, and into the Mammoth
Hearth. Suddenly, Wolf came bounding in through the front entrance
and was at her heels, playfully jumping up. She commanded him
down with a signal. He obeyed, but looked so hurt she relented and
threw him the well-chewed-up piece of soft leather that had once been
one of her favorite stocking-shoes. She had finally given it to him
when it seemed to be the only way to break him of chewing up every
one else's shoes and boots. He quickly tired of his old toy and, getting
down on his forelegs, wagged his tail and yipped at her. Ayla couldn't
help smiling, and decided it was just too nice a day to stay inside. On
the spur of the moment, she picked up her sling and a pouch of round
stones she had gathered, and signaled Wolf to follow her. Seeing
Whinney in the annex, she decided to include the mare as well.
Ayla went out through the arched entrance of the annex, followed
by the hay-colored horse, and the young gray wolf, whose fur and
markings were typical of his species, unlike his black mother. She
noticed Racer partway down the slope toward the river. Jondalar was
with him. His shirt was off in the warm sun, and he was leading the
young stallion by a rope. As promised, he had been training Racer,
spending most of his time at it, in fact, and both he and the horse
seemed to enjoy it.
He saw her, and motioned for her to wait as he started up toward
her. It was unusual for him to approach her, or indicate that he
wanted to speak to her. Jondalar had changed since the incident on
the steppes. He no longer avoided her, exactly, but he seldom made
an effort to talk to her, and when he did, he was like a stranger,
reserved and polite. She had hoped the young stallion would bring
him closer to her, but if anything, he seemed more distant.
She waited, watching the tall, muscular, handsome man approach
her, and unbidden, the thought of her warm response to his need on
the steppes came to her mind. In an instant, she felt herself want
him. It was a reaction of her body, beyond her control, but as Jon-
dalar neared, she noticed the color rise to his face and his rich blue
eyes fill with that special look. She saw the bulge of his manhood,
though she'd had no intention of looking there, and felt herself
reddening.
"Excuse me, Ayla. I don't want to disturb you, but I felt I should
show you this new restrainer I worked out for Racer. You might want
to use one like it for Whinney," Jondalar said, keeping his voice nor
mal and wishing he could control the rest of himself.
"You are not disturbing me," Ayla said, although he was. She
looked at the device made of thin strips of leather, braided and looped
around each other.
The mare had come into heat earlier in the season. Soon after Ayla
noticed Whinney's condition, she heard the distinctive neigh of a stal
lion on the steppes. Though Ayla had found her after the mare had
gone to live with a stallion and herd before, she couldn't face the
thought of giving up Whinney to a stallion. She might not get her
friend back this time. Ayla had used a halterlike contrivance and a
rope around the neck to restrain the mare—and the young stallion
who had exhibited great interest and excitement—and kept them in
side the annex if she couldn't be with them. Since then, she continued
to use a halter occasionally, though she preferred to allow Whinney
the freedom to come and go as she wished.
"How does it work?" Ayla asked.
He demonstrated on Whinney with an extra one he had made for
her. Ayla asked several questions in a seemingly dispassionate tone,
but she was hardly paying attention. She was far more aware of Jon-
dalar's warmth when she stood beside him, and of his faint, pleasantly
masculine smell. She seemed unable to keep from staring, at his
hands, at the play of muscles across his chest, and at the bump of his
manhood. She hoped her questions would lead to further conversa
tion, but as soon as he finished explaining the device, he left abruptly.
Ayla watched him grab up his shirt, mount Racer and, guiding him
with leads to the new bridle, ride up the slope. She considered, for a
moment, going after him on Whinney, then changed her mind. If he
was so anxious to get away from her, it must mean he didn't want her
around.
Ayla stared after Jondalar until he was out of sight. Wolf, eagerly
yipping at her, finally brought her attention back. She wrapped her
sling around her head, and checked the stones in the pouch, then
picked up the pup and put him on Whinney's withers. Then she
mounted and started up the slope in a different direction from the one
Jondalar had taken. She had planned to go hunting with Wolf, and
she might as well do it. Wolf had begun to stalk and try to catch mice
and small game on his own, and she had discovered that he was very
good at flushing game for her sling. Though it was accidental at first,
the wolf was quick to learn, and was already becoming trained to
flush them at her command.

Ayla was right in one respect. Jondalar left in such a hurry not
because he didn't want to be around her just then--but only because
he did want to be around her all the time. He needed to get away
from his own reactions to Ayla's nearness. She was Promised to
Ranee now, and he had lost any claim he might have had on her.
Lately, he had started riding when he wanted to get away from a
difficult situation, or from the strain of fighting conflicting emotions,
or just to think. He began to understand why Ayla so often had ridden
off on Whinney when something was troubling her. Riding across
the open grasslands astride the stallion, feeling the wind in his face,
had both an exhilarating and calming effect,
Once up on the steppes, he signaled Racer to a gallop, and leaned
closer to the strong neck stretching forward. It had been surprisingly
easy to accustom the horse to accepting a rider, but in many ways
both Ayla and Jondalar had been getting him used to it for some time.
It was harder to decide how to make Racer understand and want to go
where his rider wanted to go.
Jondalar understood that Ayla's control of Whinney had worked
itself out in such a natural way that her directions were still largely
unconscious, but he started with the idea of training the horse. His
directions were much more purposeful, and as he was training the
horse, he was teaching himself as well. He learned how to sit on the
horse, how to work with the stallion's powerful muscles, not just
bounce on his back, and he discovered that the animal's sensitivity to
thigh pressure and shifts in body position made guiding him easier.
As he gained more confidence and became more comfortable, he
rode more, which was exactly the kind of practice that was needed,
but the more he associated with Racer, the more affection he felt for
him, also. He had been fond of him from the beginning, but he was
still Ayla's horse. He kept telling himself he was training Racer for
her, but he hated thinking about leaving the young stallion behind.
Jondalar had planned to leave immediately after the Spring Festival,
yet he was still there and he wasn't sure why. He thought of reasons--it
was still too early in the unpredictable season, he had promised
Ayla he would train Racer--but he knew they were just excuses.
Talut thought he was staying to go to the Summer Meeting with
them, and Jondalar didn't try to correct his impression, though he
kept telling himself he would be gone before they left. Every night
when he went to bed, and particularly if Ayla went to the Fox
Hearth, he told himself he was leaving the next day, and every day he
put it off. He struggled with himself, but when he seriously thought
of packing up and going, he remembered her lying cold and still on
the floor of the Mammoth Hearth, and he couldn't leave.
Mamut had spoken to him the day after the Festival, and told him
the root had been too powerful for him to control. It was too dangerous,
the shaman said, he would never use it again. He had advised
Ayla not to use it either, and cautioned her that she would need
strong protection if she ever did. Without actually saying so, the old
man implied that somehow Jondalar had reached out to Ayla and was
responsible for bringing her back.
The shaman's words disturbed Jondalar, but he derived a strange
sort of comfort from them, too. When the man of the Mammoth
Hearth had feared for Ay la's safety, why had he asked him to stay?
And why did Mamut say it was he who brought her back? She was
Promised to Ranee, and there was no doubt of the carver's feeling for
her. If Ranee was there, why did Mamut want him? Why didn't
Ranee bring her back? What did the old man know? Whatever it was,
Jondalar could not bear the thought of not being there if she needed
him again, or of letting her face some terrible danger without him, but
neither could he bear the thought of her living with another man. He
couldn't decide whether to go or stay.

"Wolf! Put that down!" Rugie cried, angry and upset. She and
Rydag were playing at the Mammoth Hearth where Nezzie had told
them to go so she could pack. "Ayla! Wolf has my doll and won't put
her down."
Ayla was sitting on the middle of her bed surrounded by neat piles
of her things. "Wolf! Drop it!" she commanded. "Come here," she
signaled.
Wolf dropped the doll, which was made of scraps of leather, and
slunk with his tail between his legs to Ayla. "Up here," she said,
patting the place at the head of her bed where he usually slept. The
wolf pup jumped up. "Now, lie down, and don't bother Rugie and
Rydag any more." He lay down with his head on his paws, staring up
at her with woeful, penitent eyes.
Ay la went back to sorting through her things, but soon stopped and
watched the "two children playing together on the floor of the Mam
moth Hearth, not meaning to stare, but intrigued. They were playing
"hearths," making believe they were sharing a hearth the way grown-
up women and men did. Their "child" was the leather doll, fashioned
into a human shape with a round head, a body, arms and legs,
wrapped in a soft skin blanket. It was the doll that fascinated Ay la.
She never had a doll; people of the Clan did not make images of any
kind, drawn, sculpted, or fashioned out of leather, but it reminded
her of a wounded rabbit she once brought back to the cave for Iza to
heal. She had cuddled and rocked the rabbit the same way Rugie held
and played with the doll.
Ay la knew it was usually Rugie who initiated the games. Some
times they played that they were joined, other times that they were
"leaders," a brother and sister in charge of their own camp. Ay la
watched the little blond girl and the brown-haired boy, suddenly con
scious of his Clan features. Rugie thinks of him as her brother, Ay la
thought, but she doubted that they would ever be co-leaders of a
Camp.
Rugie gave the doll to Rydag to tend, then got up and walked away
on some imagined errand. Rydag watched her go, then put the doll
down, and looked up at Ay la and smiled. The boy wasn't as inter
ested in the imaginary baby after Rugie failed to return in a short
time. He preferred real babies, though he didn't mind going along
with Rugie's play when she was there. After a while, Rydag got up
and left, too. Rugie had forgotten the game, and the doll for a while,
and Rydag went to find her, or to find something else to do.
Ayla went back to making her decisions about what to take along to
the Summer Meeting. In the last year, it seemed, she had sorted
through her things too many times, making decisions about what to
take and what to leave. This time she was packing to travel, and
would only take what she could carry. Tulie had already spoken to
her about using the horses and travois to bring gifts; it would increase
both her status and that of the Lion Camp. She picked up the hide she
had dyed red and shook it out, trying to decide if she would need it.
She had never been able to make up her mind what to make out of the
red hide. She didn't know what she could use it for now, but red was
sacred to the Clan, and besides, she liked it. She folded it up and put
it with the few other things she wanted to take besides essentials: the
carved horse she loved so much, which Ranee had given to her at her
adoption, and the new muta; the beautiful flint point from Wymez;
some jewelry, beads and necklaces; her outfit from Deegie, the white
tunic she had made, and Durc's cloak.
Her mind wandered while she went through a few more items, and
she found herself thinking about Rydag. Would he ever really have a
mate, like Durc? She didn't think there would be any girls like him at
the Summer Meeting. She wasn't sure he would even reach adult
hood, she realized. It made her grateful that her son had been strong
and healthy, and that he would have a mate. Broud's clan would be
getting ready to go to the Clan Gathering about now, if they hadn't
already left. Ura would be expecting to go back with them to mate
with Durc eventually, and probably dreading the thought of leaving
her own clan. Poor Ura, it would be hard for her to leave the people
she knew to go live in a strange place with a strange clan. A thought
crossed Ayla's mind that had not occurred to her before. Would she
like Durc? Would he like her? She hoped so, because it wasn't likely
they would have any other choice.
Thinking about her son, Ay la reached for a pouch she had brought
back from the valley, opened it and dumped out its contents. Her
heart skipped a beat when she saw the ivory carving. She picked it
up. It was of a woman, but not like any of the female carvings she had
ever seen, and she realized now how unusual it was. Most muta, ex
cept for Ranee's symbolic bird-women, were full, round motherly
shapes with only a knob, sometimes decorated, for a head. They were
all meant to symbolize the Mother, but this was a carving of a slender
woman, with the hair done in many small braids, the way she used to
wear hers. Most surprising, it had a carefully carved face, with a fine
nose and chin, and a suggestion of eyes.
She held the carving in her hand, and it blurred in front of her eyes
as all the memories came back. Without knowing it, tears were
streaming down her face. Jondalar had carved it, in the valley. When
he made it, he said he wanted to capture her spirit so they would
never be apart. That was why he made it to resemble her, even
though no one was supposed to make an image in the likeness of an
actual person, for fear of trapping the spirit. He said he wanted her to
have the carving, so no one could use it for malicious purposes against
her. It was her first muta, she realized. He gave it to her after her
First Rites, when he had made her a real woman.
She would never forget that summer in her valley, just the two of
them, together. But Jondalar was going to leave without her. She
clutched the ivory figure to her chest and wished she was going with
him. Wolf was whimpering at her in sympathy, inching forward be
cause he knew he was supposed to stay where he was. She reached for
him, and buried her face in his fur, while he tried to lick away her
salty tears.
She heard someone coming down the passageway, and sat up
quickly, wiped her face, and struggled to contain herself. She turned
around as though she was looking for something behind her when
Barzec and Druwez walked past, involved in their own conversation.
Then she put the carving back in the pouch and carefully put it on top
of the bright red leather hide she had dyed, to take with her. She
could never leave her first muta behind.

Later that evening, when the Lion Camp was getting ready to share
a meal, Wolf suddenly growled menacingly, and raced toward the
front entrance. Ay la jumped up and ran after him, wondering what
could be wrong. Several others followed her. When she pushed open
the drape, she was surprised to see a stranger, a very frightened
stranger, backing away from a nearly grown wolf who looked ready to
attack.
"Wolf! Come!" Ayla ordered. The wolf pup retreated reluctantly,
but he still faced the strange man with bared teeth and a growl low in
his throat.
"Ludeg!" Talut said, stepping forward with a big smile and a great
bear hug. "Come in. Come inside. It's cold."
"I ... ah ... don't know," the man said, eying the young wolf.
"Are there any more inside like that?"
"No. No others," Ayla said. "Wolf will not hurt you. I will not let
him."
Ludeg looked at Talut, not knowing whether to believe the unfamiliar
woman. "Why do you have a wolf in your lodge?"
"It is a long story, but one better told by a warm fire. Come in,
Ludeg. The young wolf will not harm you. I promise," Talut said,
casting a meaningful glance at Ayla, as he guided the young man
through the archway.
Ayla knew exactly what his look meant. Wolf had better not hurt
this stranger. She followed them in, signaling the young animal to
stay beside her, but she didn't know how to tell him to stop growling.
This was a new situation. She knew that wolves, though very affectionate
and attached to their own packs, were known to attack and kill
strangers who invaded their territory. Wolf's behavior was perfectly
understandable, but that didn't make it acceptable. He would have to
get used to strangers, whether he liked it or not.
Nezzie greeted the son of her cousin warmly, took his haversack
and his parka, and gave them to Danug to take to a spare bed platform
at the Mammoth Hearth, then filled a plate and found a place for him
to sit. Ludeg kept glancing toward the wolf warily, filled with nervous
apprehension, and every time Wolf saw his look, the menacing rumble
in his throat intensified. When Ayla shushed him, he flattened his
ears back and crouched down, but the next moment he was growling
at the stranger again. She thought about restraining Wolf with a rope
around his neck, but she didn't think that would solve anything. It
would only make the defensive animal more anxious, and in turn put
the man more on edge.
Rydag had been hanging back, shy around the visitor, even though
he knew him, but he was quick to see the problem. He sensed that the
man's tense wariness was contributing to the problem. Maybe if he
saw that the wolf was friendly, Ludeg would relax. Most people were
crowded into the cooking hearth, and when Rydag heard Hartal wake
up, he got an idea. He went to the Reindeer Hearth and comforted
the toddler, then took his hand and walked him toward the cooking
hearth, but not to his mother. Instead he headed toward Ay la and
Wolf.
Hartal had lately developed a strong attraction for the frisky pup,
and the moment he saw the furry gray creature, he chortled with glee.
With delight, Hartal ran toward the wolf, but his baby steps were
unsteady. He stumbled and fell on him. Wolf yelped, but his only
reaction was to lick the baby's face, which caused Hartal to giggle. He
pushed the warm, wet tongue away, putting his pudgy little hands
into the long jaws full of sharp teeth, then grabbed fistfuls of furry
coat and tried to pull Wolf toward him.
Forgetting his nervousness, Ludeg stared with round-eyed surprise
at the toddler manhandling the wolf, but more, at the fierce carnivore's
patient, gentle acceptance. Nor could Wolf keep up his defensive
watchfulness of the stranger under the assault, and he was
not full grown and not quite capable of the sustained persistence of
adult members of his species. Ay la smiled at Rydag, knowing immediately
that he had brought Hartal for exactly the purpose
that had been achieved. When Tronic came and got her son, Ay la
picked up Wolf, deciding the time was right to introduce him to the
stranger.
"I think Wolf will get used to you faster if you let him learn your
scent," she said to the young man.
Ay la spoke the language perfectly, but Ludeg noticed a difference
in the way she said some of her words. He looked at her carefully for
the first time, wondering who she was. He knew she had not been
with the Lion Camp when they left last year. In fact, he didn't recall
ever seeing her before, and he was certain he would have remembered
such a beautiful woman. Where had she come from? He looked up
and noticed a tall, blond stranger watching him.
"What do I need to do?" he asked.
"I think if you just let him smell your hand, it would help. He likes
to be petted, too, but I would not try to rush it. He needs a little time
to get to know you," Ay la said.
Rather tentatively, Ludeg reached out his hand. Ay la put Wolf
down to let him sniff at it, but stayed protectively close. She didn't
think Wolf would attack, but she wasn't sure. After a time, the man
reached out to touch the thick, shedding fur. He had never touched a
living wolf before, and it was rather exciting. He smiled at Ayla, and
thought again how beautiful she was when she smiled back.
"Talut, I think I'd better tell my news quickly," Ludeg said. "I
think the Lion Camp has stories I'd like to hear."
The big headman smiled. This was the kind of interest he wel
comed. Runners usually came with news to tell, and were chosen as
much because they liked to tell a good story as for their ability to run
fast.
"Tell us, then. What news do you bring?" Talut asked.
"Most important is the change of gathering place for the Summer
Meeting. The Wolf Camp is hosting. The Meeting place that was
chosen last year was washed out. I have other news, sad news. I
stopped off at a Sungaea Camp for a night. There is sickness, killing
sickness. Some have died, and when I left, the son and daughter of
the headwoman were very sick. There was some doubt if they would
live."
"Oh, that's terrible!" Nezzie said.
"What kind of sickness do they have?" Ayla asked.
"It seems to be in the chest. High fever, deep cough, and hard to
I breathe."
I "How far is this place?" Ayla asked.
"Don't you know?"
"Ayla was a visitor, but she has been adopted," Tulie said. Then
she turned to Ayla. "It is not too far."
"Can we go there, Tulie? Or can someone take me there? If those
children are sick, maybe I can help."
"I 'don't know. What do you think, Talut?"
"It's out of the way if the Summer Meeting is going to be held at
Wolf Camp, and they are not even related, Tulie."
"I think Damev had distant kin at that Camp," Tulie said. "And it
I'- * « *
| is a shame for a young brother and sister to be so sick."
| "Perhaps we should go, but we should leave, then, as soon as we
| can," Talut said.
I Ludeg had been listening with great interest. "Well, now that I've
It0^ you my news, I'd like to know about the Lion Camp's new mem-
^ "er, Talut. Is she really a Healer? And where did the wolf come
^from? I never heard of having a wolf in a lodge."
"And that's not all," Frebec said. "Ay la has two horses, a mare and
a young stallion, too."
The visitor looked at Frebec in disbelief, then settled back and prepared
to listen to the stories the Lion Camp had to tell.

In the morning, after a long night of storytelling, Ludeg was given
an example of Ay la's and Jondalar's horse-riding skills, and was suitably
impressed. He left for the next Camp ready to spread the word of
the new Mamutoi woman, along with his news of the changed location
of the Summer Meeting. The Lion Camp planned to leave the
next morning, and the balance of the day was spent in last-minute
preparations.
Ayla decided to take more medicines than she usually carried in her
medicine bag, and was going through her supply of herbs, talking
with Mamut while he packed. The Clan Gathering was much on her
mind, and watching the old shaman favor his stiff joints, she recalled
that the old people of the Clan, unable to make the long trek, had
been left behind. How was Mamut going to manage a long trip? It
bothered her enough to go outside and look for Talut, to ask.
"I carry him most of the way, on my back," Talut explained.
She noticed Nezzie adding a bundle to the pile of things that would
be hauled on the travois by the horses. Rydag was sitting on the
ground nearby looking disconsolate. Suddenly Ayla went looking for
Jondalar. She found him arranging the traveling pack Tulie had given
him.
"Jondalar! There you are," she said.
He looked up, startled. She was the last person he expected to see
at that moment. He had just been thinking about her, and how to say
goodbye to her. He had decided this was the time, when everyone
was leaving the lodge, for him to leave, too. But instead of going with
the Lion Camp to the Summer Meeting, he would go the other way
and begin his long trek home.
"Do you know how Mamut gets to the Summer Meeting?" Ayla
asked.
The question took him entirely by surprise. It was not the most
pressing thing on his mind. He wasn't even sure what she was talking
about. "Uh . . . no," he said.
"Talut has to carry him, on his back. And then there's Rydag. He
has to be carried, too. I was thinking, Jondalar, you've been training
Racer, he's used to carrying someone on his back now, isn't he?"
"Yes."
"And you can control him, he will go where you want him to,
won't he?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Good! Then there's no reason Mamut and Rydag can't ride to the
Meeting on the horses. They can't guide them, but you and I can lead
them. It would be so much easier on everyone, and Rydag has been so
unhappy lately, it might raise his spirits. Remember how excited he
was the first time he rode on Whinney? You don't mind, do you,
Jondalar? We don't need to ride, everyone else is walking," Ayla said.
She was so pleased and excited about the idea it was obvious she
hadn't even considered that he might not be going with them. How
could he refuse her? he thought. It was a good idea, and the Lion
Camp had done so much for him, it seemed the least he could do.
"No. I don't mind walking," Jondalar said. He felt a strange sense
of lightness as he watched Ayla go to tell Talut, as though a terrible
weight had been lifted. He hurried to finish packing, then picking up
his gear, went to join the rest of the Camp. Ayla was supervising the
loading of the two travois. They were nearly ready to go.
Nezzie saw him coming and smiled at him. "I'm glad you decided
to come with us and help Ayla with the horses. Mamut is going to be
much more comfortable, I think, and look at Rydag! I haven't seen
him this excited about going to a Summer Meeting ever."
Why did he have the feeling, Jondalar wondered, that Nezzie knew
he had been thinking of going home?
"And think what an impression it will make when we arrive not
only with horses, but with people riding on them," Barzec said.
"Jondalar, we were waiting for you. Ayla wasn't sure who should
ride on which horse," Talut said.
"I don't think it makes any difference," Jondalar said. "Whinney is
a little easier to ride. She doesn't bounce you as hard."
He noticed that Ranee was helping Ayla balance the loads. He
cringed inwardly when he saw them laughing together, and realized
how temporary his reprieve was. He had only put off the inevitable,
but he was committed now. After Mamut made mysterious gestures
and spoke esoteric words, he stuck a muta in the ground at the front
entrance to guard the lodge, and then with help from Ayla and Talut,
mounted Whinney. He seemed nervous, but it was hard to tell. Jon
dalar thought he was hiding it well.
Rydag was not nervous, though, he had been on the back of a horse
before. He was just excited when the tall man picked him up and put
him on Racer's back. He had never ridden the stallion. He grinned at
Latie, who was watching him, with a mixture of concern for his
safety, delight at his new experience, and just a bit of envy. She had
observed Jondalar training the horse, as much as she could from a
distance, since it was hard to convince another woman to go with her
just to stand around and watch—there were drawbacks to adulthood.
She decided training a young horse wasn't necessarily magical. It just
took patience, and of course, a horse to train.
A last check was made of the Camp, and then they started up the
slope. Halfway up, Ay la stopped. Wolf did too, watching her expec
tantly. She looked back at the earthlodge where she had found a home
and acceptance among her own kind. She missed its snug security
already, but it would be there when they returned, ready to shelter
them again through a long cold winter. Wind riffled the drape across
the archway of mammoth tusks at the entrance, and she could see the
skull of the cave lion above it. The Lion Camp seemed lonely without
people. Ay la of the Mamutoi shivered with a sudden uneasy pang of
sadness.
30

he great grasslands, bountiful source of life in that cold land,
displayed yet another face of the renewing cycle as the Lion Camp
traveled. The bluish-violet and yellow flowers of the last dwarf iris
were fading but still colorful, and femleaf peonies were in full bloom.
A broad bed of the dark red blossoms filling the entire depression
between two hills caused exclamations of wonder and appreciation
from the travelers. But it was the young bluegrass and ripening fescue
and feather grasses that predominated, turning the steppes into waves
of softly billowing silver accented by shadows of blue sage. Not until
later, after the young grass grew ripe and the feather grass lost its
plumes, would the rich plains change from silver to golden.
The young wolf took delight in discovering the multitude of small
animals that lived and thrived on the vast prairie. He dashed after
polecats and stoats--ermine in summer-brown coats--and backed off
when the dauntless predators held their ground. When mice, voles,
and velvety-furred shrews, who were used to evading foxes, scurried
into holes burrowed just below the surface, Wolf chased gerbils, hamsters,
and long-eared, prickly hedgehogs. Ay la laughed at his look of
startled surprise when a thick-tailed jerboa, with short forelegs, and
three toes on its long hind legs, bounded away in jumps and dived
into the burrow in which it had hibernated all winter. Hares, giant
hamsters, and great jerboas were large enough for a meal, and tasty
when skinned and skewered over an evening fire. Ay la's sling brought
down several that Wolf flushed.
The digging steppe rodents were beneficial, loosening and turning
over the topsoil, but some changed the character of the land with their
extensive burrowing. As the Lion Camp hiked overland, the ubiquitous
holes of spotted susliks were too numerous to count, and in
some areas they had to wend their way around hundreds of grass-
covered mounds, two to three feet high, each a community of steppe
marmots.
Susliks were the preferred prey of black kites, though the long-
winged hawks also fed on other rodents, and carrion and insects as
well. The graceful birds usually detected the unsuspecting susliks
while soaring in the air, but the kite could also hover like a kestrel, the
native falcon, or fly very low to take its prey by surprise. Besides
hawks and falcons, the tawny eagle favored the prolific little rodent.
On one occasion, when Ay la noticed Wolf striking a pose that caused
her to look closer, she saw one of the large dark brown predatory
birds land near its nest on the ground, bringing a suslik to its young.
She watched with interest, but neither she nor the wolf disturbed
them.
A host of other birds lived off the bounty of the open land. Larks
and pipits were everywhere on the steppes, willow grouse, ptarmigan,
and partridges, sand grouse and great bustards, and beautiful demoi
selle cranes, bluish-gray with black heads and white tufts of feathers
behind the eyes. They arrived to nest in spring, flourished on a diet of
insects, lizards, and snakes, and left in fall in great V-shaped forma
tions, trumpeting across the sky.
Talut had started out by setting a pace that he was accustomed to
using when traveling with the whole Camp, one that would not push
the slower members of the band too hard. But he found they were
moving much faster than usual. The horses were making a difference.
By carrying gifts, trade goods, and hides for tents on the travois, and
the people who had to be helped on their backs, they had lightened
everyone's load. The headman was pleased at their increased pace,
especially since they were going out of their way, but it also presented
a problem. He had planned the route they would take, and the stops,
to take advantage of certain known watering places. Now, he was
having to reconsider as he went.
They had stopped near a small river, though it was still early in the
day. The steppes sometimes gave way to woods near water, and they
set up camp in a large field partially surrounded by trees. After Ay la
removed the travois from Whinney, she decided to take Latie for a
ride. The girl enjoyed helping with the horses, and the animals
showed a strong attachment in return. As they rode double through a
small grove of trees, a mixture of spruce, birch, hornbeam, and larch,
they came to a flowering glade, a small luxuriant meadow that was a
verdant piece of the steppes, enclosed by trees. Ay la stopped, and
whispered quietly into the ear of the young woman sitting astride the
horse in front of her.
"Be very still, Latie, but look over there, near the water."
Latie looked where Ay la indicated, frowned at first when she
couldn't see anything, then smiled when she saw a saiga antelope hind
with two small young ones raise her head, wary, but uncertain. Then
Latie saw several others. The spiral horns grew straight out of the
head of the small antelope, tipping back slightly at the end, and its
large nose overhung, giving it a distinctive long face.
Sitting quietly on the back of the horse, watching, the sound of
birds became noticeable: the cooing of doves, the merry lilt of a war
bler, the call of a woodpecker. Ayla heard the beautiful flutelike note
of a golden oriole, and gave it back, mimicking so exactly it confused
the bird. Latie wished she could whistle like that.
Ayla gave Whinney a slight signal that edged her slowly toward the
parklike opening in the woods. Latie almost shook with excitement
when they drew near the antelope, and she saw another hind with
two young ones. Suddenly there was a shift in wind, and all the saigas
lifted their heads, and in an instant were bounding through the woods
toward the open steppes. A streak of gray followed them, and Ayla
knew who had caused them to run.
By the time Wolf returned, panting, and plopped down, Whinney
was grazing peacefully, and the two young women were sitting in the
sunny meadow picking wild strawberries. A handful of colorful flow
ers was on the ground beside Ayla, bright red blooms with long thin
petals that appeared to have been dipped in a bright red dye, and
bunches of large golden-yellow flower heads, mixed in with white,
downy spheres.
"I wish there was enough to bring some back," Ayla said, putting
another tiny, but exceptionally sweet and flavorful berry in her
mouth.
"There would have to be a lot more. I wish there was more for
me," Latie said, with a big smile. "Besides, I want to think of this as a
special place, just for us, Ayla." She put a strawberry in her mouth
and closed her eyes, savoring the taste. Her expression turned
thoughtful. "Those baby antelope, they really were young, weren't
they? I never was that close to such young ones before."
"It's Whinney, that's why we can get so close. Antelopes aren't
afraid of horses. But Wolf there," Ayla said, looking toward the ani
mal. He looked up at the sound of his name. "He's the one who
chased them away."
"Ayla, can I ask you something?"
"Of course. You can always ask something."
"Do you think I could find a horse someday? I mean a little one,
that I could take care of the way you took care of Whinney, so it
would get used to me."
"I don't know. I didn't plan to find Whinney. It just happened. It
would be hard to find a little one. All mothers protect their young."
"If you wanted to get another horse, a little horse, how would you
do it?"
'I never thought about it ... I suppose if I wanted a young horse
• • • let me think . . . you'd have to catch its mother. Remember the
bison hunt last fall? If you were hunting horses, and drove a herd in a
surround like that, you wouldn't have to kill them all. You could keep
a young one or two. Maybe you could even separate a young one from
the rest, and then let the others go, if you didn't need them." Ayla
smiled. "I find it harder to hunt horses, now."
When they returned, most people were sitting around a large fire,
eating. The two young women helped themselves and sat down.
"We saw some saigas," Latie said. "Even little ones."
"I think you saw some strawberries, too," Nezzie commented
dryly, seeing her daughter's red-stained hands. Latie blushed, remem
bering that she had wanted to keep them all for herself.
"There weren't enough to bring any back," Ayla said.
"It wouldn't have mattered. I know Latie and strawberries. She
would eat a whole field of them, without sharing any, if she had the
chance."
Ayla noticed Latie's embarrassment, and changed the subject. "I
also picked some coltsfoot for coughs, for the sick Camp, and a red-
flowered plant—I don't know the name—whose root is very good for
deep coughs and bringing up phlegm from the chest," she said.
"I didn't know that was why you were picking those flowers," Latie
said. "How do you know they have that kind of sickness?"
"I don't know, but since I saw the plants, I thought I might as well
get some, especially since we were so sick with that kind of sickness.
How long before we get there, Talut?"
"It's hard to tell," the headman said. "We're traveling faster than
usual. We should reach the Sungaea Camp in another day or so, I
think. The map Ludeg made for me was very good, but I hope we're
not too late. Their sickness is worse than I thought."
Ayla frowned. "How do you know?"
"I found signs that were left by someone."
"Signs?" Ayla said.
"Come with me. I'll show you," Talut said, putting his cup down
and getting up. He led her to a pile of bones near the water. Bones,
particularly big ones such as skulls, could be found all over the plains,
but as they drew near, it was obvious to Ayla that it was not a natural
arrangement. Someone had purposefully stacked them up. A mam
moth skull with broken tusks had been placed on top of the heap,
upside down.
"That is a sign of bad news," Talut said, pointing to the skull.
"Very bad. Do you see this lower jaw, with the two spine bones
leaning against it? The point of the jaw shows which way to go, and
the Camp is two days away."
"They must need help, Talut! Is that why they put this sign here?"
Talut pointed to a piece of charred birchbark, held down by the
broken end of the left tusk. "See this?" he said.
"Yes. It's burned black, like it was in a fire."
"It means sickness, killing sickness. Someone has died. People are
afraid of that kind of sickness, and this is a place people often
stop. That sign was not put here to ask for help, but to warn people

away."
"Oh, Talut! I must go. The rest of you don't have to, but I must
go. I can leave now, on Whinney."
"And what will you tell them when you get there?" Talut said.
"No, Ay la. They won't let you help. No one knows you. They are
not even Mamutoi, they are Sungaea. We have talked about it. We
knew you would want to go. We started out this way, and we will go
with you. I think, because of the horses, we can make it in one day
instead of two."

The sun was skimming the edge of the earth when the band of
travelers from the Lion Camp approached a large settlement situated
on a broad natural terrace some thirty feet above a wide, swift river.
They stopped when they were noticed by some people, who stared in
amazement before running toward one of the shelters. A man and a
woman emerged. Their faces were reddened with a salve of ochre,
and their hair was covered with ashes.
It's too late, Talut thought, as he and Tulie approached the Sungaea
Camp, followed by Nezzie and Ayla, who was leading Whinney
with Mamut on her back. It was obvious they had interrupted something
important. When the visitors were about ten feet away, the man
with the red-colored face raised his arm and held up his hand, palm
facing front. It was an obvious signal to stop. He spoke to Talut in a
language that was different, yet there was something familiar about it
to Ayla. She felt she should be able to understand it; a similarity to
Mamutoi, perhaps. Talut answered, in his own language. Then the
man spoke again.
"Why has the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi come here at this time?"
he said, speaking now in Mamutoi. "There is sickness, and great sadness
at this Camp. Did you not see the signs?"
"Yes, we saw the signs," Talut said. "We have with us one who is a
daughter of the Mammoth Hearth, a skilled Healer. The runner,
Ludeg, who passed by here some days ago, told us of your troubles.
We were preparing to travel to our Summer Meeting, but first, Ayla,
®ur Healer, wished to come here to offer her skills. One of us was
Delated to one of you; we are kin. We came."
_ 1 he man looked at the woman standing beside him. It was obvious
jthat she was grieving, and she gathered herself together with some
"^ort.
<(T.
it is too late," she said. "They are dead." Her voice trailed off in a
wail, and she cried out in anguish. "They are dead. My children, my
babies, my life, they are dead." Two people stepped up on either side
of the woman and led her away.
"My sister has suffered a great sorrow," the man said. "She has lost
both a daughter and a son. The girl was nearly a woman, the boy a
few years younger. We all grieve."
Talut shook his head in sympathy. "It is indeed a great sorrow. We
share your grief, and offer whatever solace we may. If it is within
your custom, we would like to stay to add our tears to yours as they
are returned to the breast of the Mother."
"Your kindness is appreciated, and will always be remembered, but
there are still those among us who are sick. It may be dangerous for
you to stay. It may be dangerous for you to have come."
"Talut, ask him if I can look at the ones who are still sick. I may be
able to help them," Ay la said quietly.
"Yes, Talut. Ask if Ay la may look at the sick ones," Mamut added.
"I think she will be able to say if it's safe for us to stay."
The man with the red face looked hard at the old man sitting on the
horse. He had been amazed when he first saw the horses, but he did
not want to seem overwhelmed, and he was so numbed with grief he
had put his curiosity aside for the moment, while he acted as
spokesman for his sister, and his Camp. But when Mamut spoke, the
strange sight of a man sitting on the back of a horse was suddenly
brought to his awareness with new impact.
"How does that man come to be sitting on a horse?" he finally
blurted out. "Why does the horse stand still for it? And that other
one, back there?"
"It is a long story," Talut said. "The man is our Mamut, and the
horses answer to our Healer. When there is time, we will be happy to
tell you about it, but first, Ay la would like to look at your sick ones.
She may be able to help them. She will be able to tell us if the evil
spirits still linger, and if she can contain them and make them
harmless; whether it is safe for us to stay."
"You say she is skilled. I must believe you. If she can command the
horse spirit, she must have powerful magic. Let me speak to those
within."
"There is one other animal you should know about," Talut said,
then turned to the woman. "Call him, Ayla."
She whistled, and even before Rydag could let him go, Wolf had
wriggled free. The Sungaea man and other bystanders were startled
as the young wolf came racing toward them, but even more surprised
when he stopped at Ayla's feet, and looked up at her with expecta
tion. At her signal, he dropped down to his stomach, but his alert
attention focused on the strangers made them uneasy.
Tulie had been carefully observing the reactions of the Sungaea
Camp and quickly realized what a powerful impression the tractable
animals had made. They had enhanced the stature of the people they
were associated with, and the Lion Camp as a whole. Mamut, by the
simple act of sitting on the back of the horse, had garnered prestige.
They watched him with wary glances, and his words had carried
great authority, but the response to Ayla was even more revealing.
They looked at her with awe, and a kind of fearful reverence.
The headwoman realized that she had grown accustomed to the
horses, but she recalled her own apprehension the first time she had
seen Ayla with her horses, and it wasn't hard to put herself in their
place. She had been there when Ayla brought the tiny wolf pup to the
lodge, and she had watched him grow up, but looking at Wolf as a
stranger might see him, she realized he would not be seen as a puppy
ish young animal. He might be young but, to all appearances, he
was nearly a full-grown wolf, and the horse was a mature mare. If
Ayla could bend the will of high-strung horses and the spirit of independent
wolves to her command, what other forces could she control?
Especially when told she was the daughter of the Mammoth Hearth,
and a Healer.
Tulie wondered what kind of reception they would receive when
they arrived at the Summer Meeting, but she wasn't at all surprised
when Ayla was invited in to examine the ailing members of the
Camp. The Mamutoi settled down to wait. When Ayla came out, she
went to Mamut, Talut, and Tulie.
"I think they have what Nezzie calls spring sickness, fever, and
tightness in the chest, and trouble breathing, except they got it later
in the season, and harder," Ayla explained. "Two older people died
earlier, but it is most sad when children die. I'm not sure why they
did. Young people are usually strong enough to recover from this kind
of sickness. Everyone else seems to be over the worst of it. Some of
them are coughing a lot, and I can help make them a little more comfortable,
but no one seems seriously ill any more. I would like to fix
something to help the mother. She is taking it very hard. I can't blame
her. I am not absolutely certain, but I don't think it will endanger us
to stay for the burial. I don't think we should stay inside their lodges,
though."
"I would have suggested we set up our own tents, if we decided to
^y," Tulie said. "It's hard enough for them without having strangers
u* their midst all the time, and they aren't even Mamutoi. Sungaea are
. different."

Ayla was awakened in the morning by the sound of voices not too
w from the tent. She quickly got up, dressed, and looked out. Sev-

eral people were digging a long, narrow trench. Tronic and Fralie
were outside, sitting near a fire nursing their babies. Ay la smiled and
joined them. The smell of sage tea rose from a steaming cooking basket.
She scooped out a cup and sat with the two women, sipping the
hot liquid.
"Are they going to bury them today?" Fralie asked.
"I think so," Ayla said. "I don't think Talut wanted to ask outright,
but I got that impression. I can't understand their language, though I
can catch a few words now and then."
"They must be digging the grave. I wonder why they are making it
so long?" Tronic said.
"I don't know, but I'm glad we'll be leaving soon. I know it's right
for us to stay, but I don't like burials," Fralie said.
"No one does," Ayla said. "I wish we could have gotten here a few
days earlier."
"You don't know if you could have done anything for those children
anyway," Fralie said.
"I feel so sorry for the mother," Tronic commented. "It would be
hard enough to lose one child, but to lose two at the same time ... I
don't know if I could stand it." She cuddled Hartal to her, but it only
made the toddler squirm to get away.
"Yes. It is hard to lose a child," Ayla said. Her voice was so grim it
made Fralie look, and wonder. Ayla put her cup down and got up. "I
saw some wormwood growing nearby. The root makes a very strong
medicine. I don't often use it, but I want to make something to calm
and relax the mother, and it needs to be strong."

The Lion Camp observed or peripherally participated in various
activities and ceremonies during the day, but toward evening the atmosphere
changed, became charged with an intensity that caught up
even the visitors. The heightened emotions evoked genuine cries of
sorrow and grief from the Mamutoi when the two children were solemnly
carried out of a lodge on hammocklike biers, and brought
around to each person for a final farewell.
As the people who were carrying the stretchers slowly walked by
the mourning visitors, Ayla noticed that the children had been clothed
in beautifully made and elegantly decorated finery, as though dressed
for an important festival. She could not help but be impressed and
intrigued. Pieces of variously dyed and naturally colored leathers and
furs had been carefully stitched together into intricate geometric patterns
in making the tunics and long trousers, outlined and highlighted
by solid areas that were filled in with thousands of small ivory beads.
A stray thought passed through her mind. Had all the work been
done using only a sharp awl? Maybe someone would appreciate the
small, sharp-pointed, ivory shaft with the hole in the end.
She also noticed headbands and belts, and across the shoulders of
the girl, a cape with fascinating designs that were worked into a mate
rial which appeared to have been constructed out of strands of the
underwool shed by the passing woolly beasts. She wanted to touch it,
examine it closely, and learn how it had been made, but it would not
have been appropriate. Ranee, standing beside her, noticed it, too,
and commented on the intricate pattern of right-angled spirals. Ay la
hoped that before they left, she could find out more about how it was
made, perhaps in exchange for one of her ivory points with a hole.
Both children were also adorned with jewelry made of shells, ani
mal canines, bone; the boy even had a large, unusual stone which had
been pierced to wear as a pendant. Unlike the adults whose hair was
in disarray and covered with ashes, their hair was neatly combed and
arranged in elaborate styles—the boy in braids, the girl with large
buns on both sides of her head.
Ayla could not dispel the feeling that the children were only sleep
ing and would wake up any moment. They looked too young, too
healthy, with their round-cheeked, unlined faces, to be gone, to have
passed into the realm of the spirits. She felt a shudder pass through
her, and involuntarily glanced toward Rydag. She caught Nezzie's
eye and looked away.
Finally the bodies of the children were brought to the long, narrow
trench. They were lowered into it and placed head to head. A woman
with a peculiar headdress and a long beaded tunic stood up and began
a keening, high-pitched chant that sent shivers through everyone. She
wore many necklaces and pendants around her neck that jangled and
clicked when she moved, and several loose ivory bracelets around her
arms, consisting of several separate half-inch-wide bands. Ayla real
ized they were similar to the ones some of the Mamutoi used.
A deep reverberating drumbeat sounded with the familiar tone of a
mammoth skull drum. Keening and chanting, the woman began to
weave and sway, rising up on her toes and lifting her feet, sometimes
facing different directions, but staying in one place. As she danced,
she waved her arms about sharply and rhythmically, causing her
bracelets to rattle. Ayla had met her, and though they had not been
able to converse, she felt drawn to her. Mamut had explained that she
was not a medicine woman as Ayla was, but one who could communi
cate with the spirit world. She was the Sungaea counterpart of
Mamut—or Creb, Ayla realized with a jolt. It was still difficult for
her to conceive of a woman mog-ur.
The man and woman with red faces sprinkled powdered red ochre
over the children, making Ayla think of the red ochre salve that Creb
had rubbed on Iza's body. Several other things were ceremoniously
added to the grave: shafts of mammoth tusk that had been straightened,
spears, flint knives and daggers, carvings of a mammoth, a
bison, and a horse--not as well made as Ranee's, Ayla thought. She
was surprised to see a long ivory staff, decorated with a circular,
spoked, wheellike carving to which feathers and other objects were
attached, laid beside each child. When the people of the settlement
joined in the wailing, keening song of the woman, Ayla quietly leaned
forward and whispered to Mamut, "Those staffs look like Talut's. Are
they Speaking Staffs?"
"Yes, they are. The Sungaea are related to the Mamutoi, more
closely than some people want to admit," Mamut said. "There are
some differences, but this burial ceremony is very much like ours."
"Why would they put Speaking Staffs in a grave with children?"
"They are given those things which they will need when they wake
up in the spirit world. As the daughter and son of the headwoman,
they are a sister and brother who were destined to become co-leaders,
if not in this lifetime, then the next," Mamut explained. "It is necessary
to show their rank so they do not lose status there."
Ayla watched for a while, then, when they started to put the dirt
back in, she spoke to Mamut again.
"Why are they buried like that, head to head?"
"They are brother and sister," he said, as though the rest was self-
explanatory. Then he saw her puzzled expression and continued, "It
can be a long, difficult, and confusing Journey to the spirit world,
especially for those who are so young. They need to be able to communicate,
to help and comfort each other, but it is an abomination to
the Mother for a brother and sister to share Pleasures. If they wake up
side by side, they may forget they are brother and sister, and couple
by mistake, thinking they were sleeping together because they were
meant to be joined. Head to head, they can encourage each other on
the Journey, and still not be confused about their relationship when
they reach the other place."
Ayla nodded. It seemed logical, but as she watched the grave being
filled in, she fervently wished they had gotten there a few days
sooner. Maybe she couldn't have helped, but she could have tried.

Talut stopped at the edge of a small waterway, looked upstream
and then downstream, then consulted the marked piece of ivory he
held in his hand. He checked the position of the sun, studied some
cloud formations in the north, and sniffed the wind. Finally he examined
the area nearby.

"We camp here for the night," he said, shrugging off his haversack
and packframe. He walked toward his sister as she was deciding
where the primary tent would be placed, so the adjoining ones that
utilized part of the same structural supports would have plenty of
level ground. "Tulie, what would you say to stopping to do a little
trading? I was looking at these maps Ludeg made. It didn't occur to
me at first, but seeing where we are, look," he said, showing her two
different pieces of ivory with marks scratched on them, "here's the
map showing the way to Wolf Camp, the new location of the Summer
Meeting, and here's the quick one he made showing the way to the
Sungaea Camp. From here, it wouldn't be much out of our way to
visit Mammoth Camp."
"You mean Musk-Ox Camp," Tulie said, with annoyed disdain. "It
was presumptuous of them to rename their Camp. Everyone has a
Mammoth Hearth, but no one should name a Camp for the mammoth.
Aren't we all Mammoth Hunters?"
"But Camps are always named after the headman's hearth, and
their new headman is their Mamut. Besides, that doesn't mean we
can't trade with them--if they are not gone for the summer. You
know they are related to Amber Camp, and they always have some
amber to trade," Talut said, knowing his sister's weakness for the
warm, gold-hued stones of petrified resin. "Wymez says they have
access to good flint, too. We have plenty of reindeer hides, not to
mention some nice furs."
"I don't know how a man can establish a hearth when he doesn't
even have a woman, but I just said they were presumptuous. We can
still trade with them. Of course we should stop, Talut." The head-
woman's expression changed to an enigmatic smile. "Yes, by all
means. I think it would be interesting for the 'Mammoth' Camp to
meet our Mammoth Hearth."
"Good. We'd better leave early, then," Talut said, but he regarded
her with puzzlement, and shook his head wondering what his clever
and astute sister was thinking.

When the Lion Camp reached a large sinuous river gouging a channel
between steep banks of loess soil, similar to the setting near their
lodge, Talut headed out to a promontory between ravines and carefully
scanned the surrounding terrain. He saw deer and aurochs near
the water on the floodplain below, grazing in a green meadow dotted
with small trees. Some distance farther, he noticed a large pile of
jumbled bones against a high bank where the river turned sharply.
Tiny figures scuttled over the accumulation of dried bones, and he
saw several of them carrying away pieces.

"They are still here," he announced. "They must be building.'.'
The travelers trooped down a slope toward the Camp, situated on a
broad terrace no more than fifteen feet above the level of the river,
and if Ay la had been surprised at the lodge of the Lion Camp, she
was astounded by the Mammoth Camp. Rather than a single large,
sod-covered, semisubterranean longhouse that Ay la had likened to a
cave or even a human-sized burrow, in this Camp several individual
round lodges were clustered together on the terrace. They, too, were
solid and sturdy under a thick layering of sod covered with clay, and
patches of grass grew around the edges, but not on the top. They
reminded Ay la of nothing so much as huge, bald, marmot mounds.
As they approached, she could understand why the tops were bare.
Just as they did, the Mammoth Camp used the roofs of their dwell
ings as viewing platforms. Two of the lodges each supported a crowd
of onlookers, and though the watchers had turned their attention to
the visitors, that was not the reason they were up on the rounded
roofs. When the Lion Camp passed around a lodge that blocked their
view, Ay la saw the object of their interest, and was astonished.
Talut had been right. They were building. Ayla had overheard
Tulie's remarks about the name these people had chosen for them
selves, but after seeing the lodge they were making, it seemed most
appropriate. Though it might end up looking like all the others when
it was completed, the way they used mammoth bones as structural
supports seemed to capture a special quality of the animal. It was true
that the Lion Camp had used mammoth bones in the supporting
framework of their lodge, and had selected certain pieces and trimmed
them to fit, but the bones used in this dwelling did more than sup
port. They were selected and arranged so that the structure managed
to convey the essence of the mammoth in a way that expressed the
beliefs of the Mamutoi.
To create the design, they first brought up large numbers of the
same skeletal parts of many mammoths from the bone pile below.
They began with a circle, about sixteen feet across at the base, of
mammoth skulls placed so that the solid surface of the foreheads faced
inward. The opening was the familiar archway, constructed of two
large curved tusks, anchored on each side in the socket of a mammoth
skull, and joined at the top. Around the outside and halfway up was a
circular wall made of, perhaps, a hundred mammoth mandibles, the
V-shaped lower jaws, stacked with the pointed chins down one on top
of another four deep.
The overall effect of these stacks of V's placed side by side was the
most impressive concept of the construction, and the most mean
ingful. Together they created a zigzag pattern, similar to the pattern
used to symbolize water on the maps. And beyond that, as Ay la had
learned from Mamut, the zigzag symbol for water was also the most
profound symbol for the Great Mother, Creator of all Life. They represented
the downward-pointing triangle of Her mound, the external
expression of Her womb. Multiplied many times over, the symbol
represented all life; not only water, but the birth waters of the Mother
which had flooded the land and filled the seas and rivers when She
gave birth to all life on earth. There could be no doubt that this would
be the lodge of the Mammoth Hearth.
The circular wall was not completed, but they were working on the
rest of the lodge, wedging in shoulder blades and pelvic bones and
pieces of spine in a rhythmically symmetrical yet tightly fitted way.
An open framework of wood inside provided additional support for
the structure and it appeared that the roof would be constructed of
mammoth tusks.
"This is the work of a true artist!" Ranee said, stepping closer and
openly admiring their handiwork.
Ayla knew he would approve. She noticed Jondalar standing a little
distance away holding Racer's lead rope. She realized that he was no
less impressed or appreciative of the inspired mind that had conceived
of the idea. In fact the entire Lion Camp was at a loss for words. But
as Tulie had suspected, the Mammoth Camp was just as astounded by
their visitors--or rather, by the tame animals that traveled with them.
There was a period of mutual staring in wonder and amazement,
and then a woman and man, both somewhat younger than the leaders
of the Lion Camp, came forward to greet Tulie and Talut. The man
had been hauling heavy mammoth bones up the slope--these were by
no means temporary dwellings that would be carried from place to
place, but a permanent settlement--and he was stripped to the waist
and sweaty. His face was heavily tattooed and Ayla had to remind
herself not to stare. He not only had a chevron pattern on his left
cheek, like the Mamut of the Lion Camp, but a symmetrical arrangement
of zigzags, triangles, and diamond shapes, and right-angle spirals
in two colors, blue and red.
The woman had obviously been working, too, and was also bare
from the waist up, but rather than pants, she wore a wrapped skirt
that fell to just below her knees. She had no tattoos, but the side of
her nose was pierced and she wore a labret made of a small piece of
carved and polished amber through the hole.
"Tulie, Talut, what a surprise! We were not expecting you, but in
the name of the Mother, we welcome the Lion Camp," the woman
said.
"In the name of Mut, we thank you for your welcome, Avarie,"
Tulie said. "We did not mean to come at an inconvenient time."
"We were nearby, Vincavec," Talut added, "and could not pass
without stopping."
"It is never inconvenient for the Lion Camp to visit," the man said,
"but how do you happen to be nearby? This is not on the way to
Wolf Camp for you."
"The runner that came to tell us that the Meeting place had been
changed stopped off at a Sungaea Camp as he was making his stops
and told us they were very sick. We have a new member, a Healer,
Ayla of the Mammoth Hearth," Talut said, beckoning her forward,
"and she wanted to go and see if she could help. We have just come
from there."
"Yes, I know that Sungaea Camp," Vincavec said, then turned to
Ayla. For a moment she felt his eyes bore into her. She hesitated for a
moment, still not entirely used to returning the direct look of a
stranger, but she sensed this was not a moment for shyness, or the
modesty of a Clan woman, and returned his intense gaze. Suddenly
he laughed, and his pale gray eyes gleamed with approval, and a look
that appreciated her womanliness. She noticed then that he was a
striking, attractive man, not because he was handsome or for any par
ticular feature, although the tattoos did make him stand out, but be
cause of a quality of strength of will and intelligence. He looked up at
Mamut sitting on Whinney.
"So you're still with us, old man," he said, obviously pleased, then
added with a knowing smile, "and still coming up with surprises.
Since when have you become a Caller? Or do we need another name?
Two horses and a wolf traveling with the Lion Camp? This is more
than a Gift of Calling."
"Another name might be appropriate, Vincavec, but it is not my
gift. The animals answer to Ayla."
"Ayla? It seems the old Mamut has found himself a worthy daugh
ter." Vincavec looked her over again, with obvious interest. He didn't
notice Ranee glower, but Jondalar did. He understood the feeling,
and for the first time, felt a strange sort of kinship with the carver.
"Enough standing here talking," Avarie said. "We have plenty of
time for that. The travelers must be tired, and hungry. You must let
me arrange a meal for you, and a place to rest."
"We can see that you are making a new lodge, Avarie. You don't
need to go to trouble for us. A place to set up tents will be enough,"
Tulie said. "Later, we would be pleased to share a meal with you, and
perhaps show you some fine reindeer skins and furs we happen to
have with us."
"I have a better idea!" Talut boomed, shrugging off his packframe
where he stood. "Why don't we help you? You may have to tell me
where to put it, but I have back enough to carry a mammoth bone or

two."
"Yes, I'd like to help," Jondalar volunteered, leading Racer forward
and helping Rydag off. "That's an unusual lodge. I have never seen
anything quite like it."
"By all means. We welcome your help. Some of us are in a hurry to
get to the Summer Meeting, but a lodge needs a summer to set up
properly, so we needed to build it before we left. The Lion Camp is
most generous," Vincavec said, wondering how many pieces of amber
their generosity was going to cost when the trading started. Then he
decided it would be worth it to get his lodge finished, and quiet some
of the complainers.
Vincavec hadn't noticed the tall blond man in the crowd of people
at first, but he looked twice, then glanced back at Ayla, who was
unharnessing Whinney from the travois. He was a stranger, as Ayla
was, and he seemed as comfortable with the horses as she did. But
then the little flathead seemed familiar with the wolf, and he was no
stranger any more. It must have something to do with the woman.
The Mamut-headman of the Mammoth Camp turned his attention
back to Ayla. He noticed the brown-skinned carver was hovering
around her; Ranee always did have an eye for the beautiful and the
exceptional, he thought. In fact, he was acting possessive, but then
who was the stranger? Wasn't he associated with the woman? Vincavec
glanced at Jondalar, and noted that he was watching Ayla and
Ranee.
Something was going on here, Vincavec decided, then smiled.
Whatever the relationships, if they were both so interested, it was
likely the woman was not formally joined, yet. He looked her over
once again. She was a striking woman, and a daughter of the Mammoth
Hearth, a Healer, or so they claimed, and she certainly had
some unique talent with animals. A woman of high status, no doubt,
but where had she come from? And why was it always the Lion
Camp that turned up with someone unusual?

The two headwomen were standing inside an almost complete, but
empty new earthlodge. Although the outside was covered, the zigzag
pattern of the walls was subtly apparent on the inside.
"Are you sure you won't travel with us, Avarie?" Tulie said. A new
string of large amber beads graced her neck. "We'd be happy to wait a
few more days, until you are ready."
"No, you go ahead. I know everyone is anxious to get to the Meet-
ing, and you have already done too much. The lodge is nearly fin
ished, and without you, we would never have been so far along."
"It was our pleasure to work with you. I must admit, the new lodge
is quite impressive. It is an honor to the Mother. Your brother is truly
remarkable. One can almost feel the Mother's presence inside." She
was sincere, and Avarie knew it.
"Thank you, Tulie, and we will not forget your help. That's why
we don't want to keep you any longer. You are already late because
you stayed to help us. All the best places will be taken."
"It won't take us long to get there now. Our load is considerably
lighter. Mammoth Camp strikes a hard bargain."
Avarie's eyes glanced at the big headwoman's new necklace. "Not
nearly as hard a bargain as Lion Camp," she said.
Tulie agreed. She believed the Lion Camp had gotten the better of
the bargaining, but it was unseemly to admit to it. She changed the
subject. "Well, we'll look forward to seeing you there. If we can, we'll
try to mark a place for you."
"We would appreciate that, but I suspect we'll be the last ones. We
will have to take what we can get. We will look for you, though,"
Avarie said, as they walked out.
"We'll leave in the morning, then," Tulie said. The two women
embraced, and touched cheeks, then the headwoman of the Lion
Camp started toward the tents.
"Oh, Tulie, in case I don't see Ay la to tell her before you go, please
thank her again for the firestone," Avarie said, then added in an ap
parently offhand way, "Have you set a Bride Price for her yet?"
"We have been thinking about it, but she has so much to offer, it's
difficult," Tulie said, then turned to go. After a few steps, she turned
back and smiled. "She and Deegie have become so close Ay la is al
most like a daughter to me."
Tulie could hardly suppress a smile as she walked away. She
thought she had noticed Vincavec paying particular attention to Ayla,
and she knew Avarie's comment was no casual remark. He had put
his sister up to it. It would not be a bad match, Tulie thought, and
having ties with the Mammoth Camp could prove beneficial. Of
course, Ranee has first claim. They are, after all, Promised, but if
someone like Vincavec made an offer, it wouldn't hurt to consider it.
At the very least, it would raise her value. Yes, Talut had a good idea
when he suggested they stop and do some trading.
Avarie watched her go. So Tulie is going to negotiate the Bride
Price herself. I thought as much. Perhaps we should stop off at Am
ber Camp on the way, I know where Mother keeps the raw stone, and
if Vincavec is going to try for Ayla, he's going to need everything he
can get. I never saw a woman drive a harder bargain than Tulie,
Avarie thought with begrudging admiration. She hadn't particularly
cared for the big headwoman of the Lion Camp before, but these past
few days when they had a chance to get better acquainted, she had
come to respect her, and even like her. Tulie had worked hard with
them and was generous with her praise when it was deserved, and if
she was a formidable trader, well, that was the headwoman's role. In
fact, if she were young and ready to make a joining, Avarie thought,
she wouldn't mind having someone like Tulie negotiating her Bride
Price.

From the Mammoth Camp, the Lion Camp traveled in a generally
northerly direction, for the most part following the river. Near the
great waterways that coursed down the continent, the northern landscape
changed continually and displayed a rich diversity of plant life.
Their trek took them from tundra fells and loess plains to reedy forest
lakes, from lush bogs to windy knolls and grassy meadows bright with
summer blooms. Though the northern plants were stunted, the flowers
were often larger and more brilliant than southern varieties. Ay la
could identify most of them, though she didn't always know what to
call them. When they passed them, or if she was out riding or walking
alone, she often picked some to bring to Mamut, or Nezzie, or
Deegie, or someone to tell her the names.
The closer they came to the place of the Summer Meeting, the
more Ayla found reasons to make side trips. Summer had always been
the time when she wanted solitude. It had been her pattern for as long
as she could remember. In the winter, she accepted the confinement
imposed by severe weather, whether it was to the cave of Brun's clan,
or the one in her valley, or the Mamutoi earthlodge. But in summer,
though she did not like to be alone at night, she had often enjoyed
getting off by herself during the day. It was her time to think her own
thoughts, and follow her own impulses, free from the restriction of
j , !
being watched too much, either because of suspicion, or love.
When they stopped for the evening, it was easy enough to say she
wanted to identify plants or to hunt, and she did both, using the
spear-thrower as well as her sling to bring back fresh meat, but she
really wanted to get away alone. She needed time to think. She was
dreading their arrival, and couldn't quite understand why. She had
met enough people now, and had been easily enough accepted, so she
knew that wasn't the problem. But the closer they got, the more excited
Ranee became, and the more morose Jondalar seemed. And the
"lore she wished she could avoid this gathering of the Camps.
On their last night of traveling, Ayla returned from a long walk
with a handful of flowers. She noticed that a patch of ground near the
fire had been smoothed out, and that Jondalar was making marks in it
with the drawing knife. Tornec had a broken piece of ivory in his
hand and a sharp knife out, and was studying marks.
"Here she is," Jondalar said. "Ayla can tell you better than I can.
I'm not sure I could find my way back to the valley from Lion Camp,
and I know I couldn't do it from here. We've taken too many turns
and detours."
"Jondalar was trying to make a map showing the way to the valley
where you found the firestones," Talut said.
"I've been looking ever since we left, and I haven't seen one fire-
stone," Tornec added. "I'd like to make a trip there sometime and get
some more. The ones we have won't last forever. Mine already has a
big groove in it."
"I'm having trouble judging distance," Jondalar said. "We traveled
on horseback, so it's hard to say how many days it would take on foot.
And we explored a lot, stopped when we felt like it, didn't follow any
logical trail. I'm almost certain we went back across the river that runs
through your valley, farther north. Maybe more than once. When we
went back, it was almost winter, and many landmarks had changed."
Ayla put down the flowers, and picked up the drawing knife, and
tried to think about how to make a map to the valley. She started to
make a line, and then hesitated.
"Don't worry about trying to do it from here," Talut encouraged.
"Just think about how to get there from Lion Camp."
Ayla crinkled her brow in concentration. "I know I could show you
the way from Lion Camp," she said, "but I still don't understand
maps very well. I don't think I know how to draw one."
"Well, don't worry about it," Talut said. "We don't need a map, if
you can show us the way. Maybe after we return from the Summer
Meeting, we can make a trip there." Then he motioned with his red-
bearded chin toward the flowers. "What did you bring back this time,
Ayla?"
"That's what I want you to tell me. I know what they are, but I
don't know what you call them."
"I know that red one is a geranium," Talut said. "And this is
poppy."
"More flowers?" Deegie said, just joining them.
"Yes. Talut told me these two," Ayla said.
"Let's see, that's heather, and that's cushion pink," Deegie said,
identifying the other two, then sat down beside Ayla. "We're almost
there. Talut says sometime tomorrow. I can hardly wait. Tomorrow
I'll see Branag, and then it won't be long until we are finally joined. I
^r>'i- M7pn Unnw if I'll be able to sleep tonight."
Ay la smiled at her. Deegie was so excited it was hard not to share
her enthusiasm, but it only served to remind her that she, too, would
soon be joined. Jondalar's talk about the valley and going back there
had renewed her ache of longing for him. She had been watching
him, trying not to make it obvious, and she had a distinct feeling that
he had been observing her. She kept meeting his eyes briefly before
both looked away.
"Oh, Ayla, there are so many people I want you to meet, and I'm
so glad we are going to be joined at the same Matrimonial. That's
something we'll always have together."
Jondalar got up. "I need to go ... and ... uh ... set up my
sleeping roll," he said, then hurried away.
Deegie watched Ayla's eyes follow after him, and was almost cer
tain she saw tears being held back. She shook her head. Ayla just
didn't seem like a woman who was about to join and establish a new
hearth with a man she loved. There was no joy, no excitement. Some
thing was missing. Something called Jondalar.
31
I
n the morning the Lion Camp continued upstream, staying on
the plateau of the plains, but catching glimpses of the swift waterway
below on their left, cloudy with glacial runoff and churning with silt.
When they reached a fork, a place where two major rivers joined,
they took the left branch. After fording two large tributaries, putting
most of their possessions in a bowl boat they had brought along for
that purpose, they descended to the floodplain and traveled through
the woods and grassy meadows of the river valley.
Talut kept watching the system of hollows and ravines on the high
right bank across the river, comparing the actual landscape to the
ivory scratched with symbols, whose meaning was still unclear to
Ay la. Ahead, near a sharp bend, was the highest point of the opposite
shoreline, rising some two hundred feet above the water. On their
side, a broad grassy field and patches of woods extended inland for
some miles. As they drew closer, Ayla noticed a bone cairn, with a
wolf skull on top. A peculiar arrangement of rocks extended across the
river in the direction Talut was heading.
The river there was wide and shallow, and would have been forda-
ble in any case, but someone had made the crossing even easier. Piles
of rock and gravel, and some bone, had been placed and spread out in
the manner of stepping-stones to make a pathway for people to cross
the river, while diverting the flow of water to the spaces in between.
Jondalar paused to look more closely. "What a clever idea!" he re
marked. "You could cross the river here without even getting your
feet wet."
"The best places to put lodges are on that side—those deep hollows
give good protection from the wind—but the best hunting is on this
side," Barzec explained. "This walkway washes out with the floods,
but Wolf Camp builds a new one every year. They seem to have gone
to extra trouble this year, probably to make it easier for visitors."
Talut started across. Ayla noticed Whinney was extremely agitated,
and thought the horse was nervous about the stepping-stone path with
the watery spaces in between, but the mare followed her without
incident.
ti— i^,,/-im<ir» r»an<;ed more than halfway over. "Right here, it's
good fishing," he said. "The current runs fast, so it's deep. Salmon
come up this far. Sturgeon, too. And other fish, pike, trout, catfish."
He directed his comments at Ayla and Jondalar in particular, though
he included any of the youngsters who had not been there before. It
had been some years since Lion Camp had visited Wolf Camp as a
group.
On the other side, as Talut led them toward a wide ravine, perhaps
a half-mile across at the top, Ayla heard a strange sound, like a loud
hum or a muted roar. They gradually climbed uphill. Sixty feet or so
above the level of the river and one hundred and fifty yards back, they
came to the bottom of the large ravine. Ayla looked ahead, and
gasped. Protected by steep walls, a half-dozen separate round lodges
in a row were comfortably settled within the nearly mile-long hollow.
But it wasn't the round earthlodges that made Ayla gasp.
It was the people. In all her life, Ayla had never seen so many
people. Well over a thousand human souls, more than thirty Camps,
had gathered together for the Mamutoi Summer Meeting. The length
and breadth of the entire area was filled with tents. There were at
least four or five times as many people as had come together for the
Clan Gathering—and everyone was staring at her.
Or rather, at her horses and Wolf. The young canine cowered
against her leg, just as thunderstruck as she. She sensed panic in
Whinney and was sure Racer felt the same. Fear for them helped her
overcome her own feelings of sheer terror at the sight of so many
human beings. She looked up and saw Jondalar hanging on the lead
rope, struggling to keep Racer from rearing, while the frightened boy
hung on tight.
"Nezzie, get Rydag!" she called out. The woman had already seen
the problem and hardly needed Ay la's words to impel her to move.
Ayla helped Mamut down, and put her arm around the mare's neck,
leading her toward the young stallion to help calm him. The wolf
followed after her.
"I'm sorry, Ayla. I should have thought about how the horses
would react to so many people," Jondalar said.
"You knew there would be this many?"
"I ... didn't know, but I guessed there might be about as many as
would come to a Zeiandonii Summer Meeting."
"I think we should try to set up Cattail Camp someplace out of the
way," Tulie said, speaking up to get everyone's attention. "Maybe
here, near the edge of the encampment. We'll be farther away from
everything"—she was looking around as she spoke—"but Wolf Camp
has a creek running through their hollow this year, and it turns this
way."
Tulie had been anticipating the reaction of the people, and she
hadn't been disappointed. They had been seen crossing the river, and
everyone there had crowded close to watch the arrival of the Lion
Camp. But she had not anticipated that the animals might be over
whelmed by their initial introduction to a herd of humanity.
"How about over there, near the wall," Barzec suggested. "It's not
too level, but we can even it out."
"It looks fine to me. Are there any objections?" Talut said, looking
pointedly at Ayla. She and Jondalar )ust led the animals that way,
wanting to get them settled. The Lion Camp began clearing out rocks
and brush and leveling a place to set up their large, double-skinned,
communal tent.
Living in a tent was made much more comfortable by using two
layers of hides. The insulating layer of air between helped to keep the
warmth in, and moisture condensing in the cool of the evening ran
down the inner side of the outer hides to the ground. The inner hides,
which were tucked under the interior ground cloths, kept drafts out as
well. Though not nearly as permanent as the earthlodge at Lion
Camp, it was a more substantial structure than the single-wall over
night shelter that was only a part of the full summer tent, which they
used when traveling. They referred to their summer home as Cattail
Camp to differentiate the summer location, wherever it happened to
be, from the winter site, when they spoke of it, though they still
thought of themselves as belonging to a group called Lion Camp.
The tent was divided into four interdependent conical sections,
each with a separate fireplace, supported by sturdy, flexible young
trees, although mammoth rib bones, or other long bones, could have
and had been used. The central section, which was largest, would
house the Lion Hearth, the Fox Hearth, and the Mammoth Hearth.
While the tent lodge was not as roomy as the earthlodge, it would be
used primarily for sleeping, and it was seldom that everyone would be
in the tent sleeping at the same time. Other activities, private, social,
and public, would take place outdoors, so setting up also meant defin
ing territory beyond the walls of the tent. The placement of Cattail
Hearth, the main exterior cooking hearth, was a matter of some
importance.
While they worked to set up their tent and stake out their territory,
the rest of the people at the Meeting began to recover from their initial
stunned silence, and began to talk excitedly among themselves. Ayla
finally discovered the source of the peculiar muted roar. She recalled,
when she first arrived at Lion Camp, how noisy she thought it was
when everybody spoke at once. This was that noise many times over;
it was the combined voices of the entire throng.
No wonder Whinney and Racer were so skittish, Ayla thought.
The constant hum of humanity made her skittish, too. She wasn't
used to it. The Clan Gathering had not been as big, but even if it had,
it would never have been as noisy. They used few words to communi
cate; a gathering of the people of the Clan was quiet. But with people
who used verbal speech, except for rare occasions, it was always noisy
within an encampment. Like the wind on the steppes, the voices
never ceased, they only varied in intensity.
Many people hurried to greet the Lion Camp, offering to help set
up and arrange their place, and were greeted warmly, but Talut and
Tulie passed several meaningful glances between themselves. They
didn't remember having so many friends who were so willing to help
before. With the help of Latie, Jondalar, and Ranee, and for a while,
Talut, Ay la set up a place for the horses. The two young men worked
together easily, but spoke little. She turned down offers of help from
the curious, explaining that the horses were shy and strangers would
make them nervous. But that only made it obvious that she was the
one in control of the animals, and engendered more curiosity. Word
of her spread quickly.
At the farthest edge of the encampment, slightly around a curve of
the wall of the ravine that opened onto the river valley, they con
structed an awninglike lean-to, utilizing the hide tent she and Jondalar
had used when they traveled together, supported by small trees and
sturdy branches. It was somewhat hidden from the sight of the people
camped in the hollow, but the view of the river and the beautiful
wooded meadows across was expansive.
They were moving in and setting up places to sleep in the some
what more crowded quarters when a delegation from Wolf Camp,
along with several others, came to welcome them officially. They
were in the host Camp's territory, and though it was expected, it was
more than courtesy to extend to all visitors the use of the Wolf Camp's
hereditary fishing weirs, berry, nut, seed, and root beds, and hunting
grounds. Even though the Summer Meeting would not last the entire
season, hosting such a large group would take its toll, and it was nec
essary to find out if some particular area should be avoided so as not
to overtax the resources in the region.
Talut had been quite surprised when told of the change in the loca
tion of the Summer Meeting. The Mamutoi didn't, as a rule, meet at a
home Camp. Usually they chose some location that was out on the
steppes or in some large river valley that could accommodate such
concentrations of people more easily.
"In the name of the Great Mother of all, the Lion Camp is wel
come," a thin, gray-haired woman said.
Tulie was shocked to see her. She had been a woman of uncommon
grace and robust health, who had shouldered the responsibility of her
co-leadership with ease, but she seemed to have aged ten years in the
last season. "Marlie, we appreciate your hospitality. In the name of
Mut, we thank you."
"I see you have done it again," a man said, grasping both of Talut's
hands in greeting.
Valez was younger than his sister, but for the first time, Tulie no
ticed that he also showed signs of age. It made her suddenly aware of
her own mortality. She had always thought Marlie and Valez were
close to her in age.
"But I think this is your biggest surprise," Valez continued. "When
Toran came running in, shouting something about horses walking
across the river with you, everyone had to go and look. And then
someone spied the wolf ..."
"We won't ask you to tell us about them now," Marlie said,
"though I must admit I am curious. You'll ]ust have to repeat it again
too many times. We might as well wait until this evening so you can
tell everyone at once."
"Marlie is right, of course," Valez said, though he had been ready
to hear the story right then. He also noticed that his sister seemed
especially tired. He feared this would be her last Summer Meeting.
That was why he had agreed to host it when the place that had origi
nally been selected was washed out by a change in the course of the
river. They would be handing over their co-leadership this season.
"Please make use of whatever you need. Are you settled in comfort
ably? I'm sorry you have to be so far away, but you are late. I wasn't
even sure that you were coming," Marlie said.
"We took a roundabout way," Talut agreed. "But this is the best
place. It's better for the animals. They aren't used to so many
people."
"I'd like to know how they got used to one!" a voice called out.
Tulie's eyes lit up as a tall young man approached, but Deegie got to
him first.
"Tarneg! Tameg!" she cried out as she rushed to embrace him. The
rest of the Aurochs Hearth was not far behind her. He hugged his
mother, and then Barzec, and all had tears in their eyes. Then
Druwez, Brinan, and Tusie clamored for his attention. He put his
arms around the shoulders of both boys, hugged them and told them
how much they had grown, and then picked up Tusie. After a mutual
hug and a tickle which produced delighted giggles, Tarneg put her
down.
"Tarneg!" Talut boomed.
"Talut, you old bear!" Tarneg returned in a voice as powerful as
the two men hugged. There was a strong family resemblance—he was
nearly as much a bear as his uncle—but Tarneg had his mother's
darker coloring. He bent down to rub Nezzie's cheek with his, then
with a mischievous grin, he put his arms around the rotund woman
and picked her up.
"Tameg! What are you doing? Put me down," she scolded.
He set her lightly down on her feet, then winked at her. "Now I
know I'm as good a man as you, Talut," Tarneg said, and laughed out
loud. "Do you know how long I've wanted to do that? Just to prove I
could?"
"It is not necessary to . . ." Nezzie began.
Talut threw back his head and roared with laughter. "It takes more
than that, young man. When you can match me in the furs, you'll be
as good a man as I am."
Nezzie gave up trying to scold her dignity back, and just looked at
her great bear of a man, shaking her head with exasperated fondness.
"What is it about Summer Meeting that makes old men want to prove
they are young again?" she said. "Well, at least it gives me a rest."
She caught Ayla's interested look.
"I wouldn't put a wager on that!" Talut said. "I'm not so old that I
can't still clear the way to the lioness of my hearth just because I'm
shoveling other drifts."
"Hmmmf," Nezzie shrugged, turning away, disdaining to reply.
Ay la was standing near both horses, and keeping the wolf close by
so he wouldn't growl and frighten people, but she had been watching
the entire scene with intense interest, including the reactions of the
people around. Danug and Druwez looked slightly embarrassed.
Though they'd had no experience, yet, they did know what subject
was being discussed, and it had been very much on their minds. Tar
neg and Barzec were grinning from ear to ear. Latie was blushing and
trying to hide behind Tulie, who looked on as though all this
foolishness was beneath her. Most people were smiling benignly, even
Jondalar, Ay la noticed, which surprised her. She had wondered if the
reasons for his actions toward her had something to do with customs
that were very different. Perhaps, unlike the Mamutoi, the Zeiandonii
did not believe people had the right to choose their own partners, but
he did not seem disapproving.
As Nezzie passed her on the way into the tent, Ay la noticed a
knowing little smile playing across her mouth, too. "Happens every
year," she said in a half-whisper. "He's got to make a big scene, tell
everyone what a man he is, and the first few days, even find another
drift' or two—although she always looks like me, blond and plump.
then, when he thinks no one is noticing any more, he's happy
enough to spend most of his nights at Cattail Camp—and not so
happy if I'm not there."
"Where do you go?"
"Who can tell? With a Meeting this size, even though you know
everyone, or at least every Camp, you don't know everyone well.
Each year there is someone to get to know better. Though I admit,
often enough it's another woman with growing children and a new
way to season mammoth. Sometimes a man catches my eye, or I catch
his, but I don't need to make a big scene about it. It's all right for
Talut to brag, but if the truth were known, I don't think he would
like it if I bragged."
"So you don't," Ayla said.
"It's a small enough thing to do to preserve harmony and good will
at the hearth . . . and, well, to please him."
"You really love him, don't you?"
"That old bear!" Nezzie started to object, then smiled and the soft
ness crept into her eyes. "We had our times, in the beginning—you
know how loud he can be—but I never did let him get the best of me,
or shout me down. I think that's what he likes about me. Talut could
break a man in half, if he wanted to, but that's not his way. He can
get angry sometimes, but there is no cruelty in him. He would never
hurt someone weaker than he is—and that's almost everyone! Yes, I
love him, and when you love a man, you want to do things to please
him."
"Would you . . . not go with another man who caught your eye,
even if you wanted to, if it would please him?"
"At my age, that wouldn't be hard, Ayla. In fact, if the truth were
known, I don't have a lot to brag about. When I was younger, I still
looked forward to Summer Meeting for some new faces and some
playful games, and even a turn in the furs once in a while, but I think
Talut is right about one thing. There aren't many men who can match
him. Not because of all the 'drifts' he can shovel, but because he cares
how he does it."
Ayla nodded with understanding. Then she frowned, thinking.
What do you do if there are two men, and each of them cares?
"Jondalar!"
Ayla looked up when she heard the strange voice call his name. She
saw him smile and stride toward a woman and greet her warmly.
"So you are still with the Mamutoi! Where's your brother?" the
woman said. She was a powerful-looking woman, not tall, but
muscular.
Jondalar's forehead knotted in pain. Ayla could see from the
woman's expression that she knew.
"How did it happen?"
"A lioness stole his kill, and he chased her back to her den. Her
mate got him, wounded me, too," Jondalar said in as few words as
possible.
The woman nodded sympathetically. "You say you were wounded?
How did you get away?"
Jondalar looked toward Ay la, and saw that she had been watching
them. He led the woman toward her. "Ayla, this is Brecie of the
Mamutoi, headwoman of Willow Camp ... or rather Elk Camp.
Talut said that's the name of your winter Camp. This is Ayla of the
Mamutoi, daughter of the Mammoth Hearth of Lion Camp."
Brecie was taken aback. Daughter of the Mammoth Hearth! Where
did she come from? She wasn't with Lion Camp last year. Ayla was
not even a Mamutoi name.
"Brecie," Ayla said. "Jondalar told me about you. You are the one
who saved him and his brother from the sinking sands of Great
Mother River, and you are Tulie's friend. I am pleased to meet you."
That is certainly not a Mamutoi accent, and it's not Sungaea, Brecie
thought. It's not Jondalar's accent, either. I'm not sure it's an accent at
all. She really speaks Mamutoi very well, but she has a peculiar way
of swallowing some words. "I am pleased to meet you . . . Ayla, did
you say?" Brecie asked.
"Yes, Ayla."
"That's an unusual name." When no explanation was forthcoming,
Brecie continued, "You seem to be the one who is uh . . . watching
these . . . animals." It occurred to her that she had never been quite so
close to a living animal, at least one who was standing still and not
trying to run away.
"That's because they answer to her," Jondalar volunteered with a
smile.
"But didn't I see you with one of them? I will admit, you caught
lime by surprise, Jondalar. In those clothes, for a moment, I thought
you were Darnev, and when you were leading a horse, I thought
either I was imagining things, or that Damev had returned from the
spirit world."
"I am learning about these animals from Ayla," Jondalar said.
"She's the one who saved me from the cave lion, too. Believe me, she
has a way with animals."
"That seems obvious," Brecie said, this time looking down at Wolf,
who was not as nervous, though his alert attention seemed more men
acing. "Is that why she was adopted by the Mammoth Hearth?"
"That's one reason," Jondalar said.
It had been a stab in the dark on Brecie's part, the guess that Ayla
had recently been adopted by the Mamut of the Lion Camp. Jon-
dalar's answer confirmed her speculations. It didn't, however, answer
where she came from. Most people assumed she came with the tall
blond man, perhaps a hearth mate or a sister, but she knew Jondalar
had arrived in their territory with only his brother. Where had he
found this woman?
"Ayla! How nice to see you again."
She looked up to see Branag arm in arm with Deegie. They em
braced with warmth, and rubbed cheeks. Though she had only met
him once, he felt like an old friend, and it was nice to know someone at
this Meeting.
"Mother wants you to come and meet the headwoman and headman
of Wolf Camp," Deegie said.
"Of course," Ayla said, rather glad for an excuse to get away from
the sharp-eyed Brecie. Ayla had noticed the quick mind at work in
the woman's shrewd guesses, and felt a little uncomfortable around
her. "Jondalar, will you stay here with the horses?" She had noticed a
few other people had walked over with Branag and Deegie, and were
edging closer to the animals. "This is still all new to them, and they
are happier when someone they know is around. Where's Rydag? He
can watch Wolf."
"He's inside," Deegie said.
Ayla turned to look, and noticed him standing shyly in the en
trance. "Tulie wants me to meet headwoman. Will you watch Wolf?"
Ayla signaled and spoke.
"I watch," he signaled, glancing at the crowd of people standing
around, a bit apprehensively. Rydag came out slowly, then sat down
beside Wolf and put his arm around him.
"Look at that! She even talks to flatheads. She must be good with
animals!" a sneering voice shouted from the crowd. Several people
laughed.
Ayla spun around and glared, looking for the one who spoke.
"Anyone can talk to them—you can talk to a rock, too—it's getting
them to talk back," another voice said, which caused more laughter.
Ayla turned in that direction, almost sputtering, so angry she could
hardly speak.
"Is someone here trying to say that boy is an animal?" A more
familiar voice spoke out. Ayla frowned as a member of the Lion Camp
came forward.
"I am, Frebec. Why not? He doesn't know what I'm saying.
Flatheads are animals, you've said it often enough."
"Now I'm saying I was wrong, Chaleg. Rydag knows exactly what
you're saying, and it's not hard to get him to talk back to you. You
just have to learn his language."
"What language? Flatheads can't talk. Who's telling you these
stories?"
"Sign language. He speaks with his hands," Frebec said. There was
general derisive laughter. Ayla was watching him, curious now.
Frebec did not like being laughed at.
"Don't believe me, then," he said, shrugging and starting to walk
away, as though it didn't matter, then he turned to face the man who
had been ridiculing Rydag. "But I'll tell you something else. He can
talk to that wolf, too, and if he tells that wolf to get you, I wouldn't
wager on your chances."
Unknown to Chaleg, Frebec had been signaling to the boy; the
hand motions meant nothing to the stranger. Rydag in turn had ques
tioned Ayla. The whole Lion Camp was watching, taking delight in
knowing what was coming by means of this secret language, which
they could speak in front of all these people without their knowing it.
Without turning around, Frebec continued, "Why don't you show
him, Rydag?"
Suddenly Wolf was no longer sitting peacefully with the arm of a
child around him. In one smooth leap, Wolf was at the man, hackles
raised, teeth bared, and a growl that raised the hair on the back of
every onlooker's neck. The man's eyes opened round as he jumped
back in sheer terror. Most of the people near him jumped back as
well, but Chaleg kept on going. At Rydag's signal, Wolf calmly
walked fcack to his place beside the boy, looking rather pleased with
himself, turned around a few times, then settled down with his head
on his paws, and watched Ayla.
It was taking a chance, Ayla conceded to herself. However, the
signal that was given was not exactly one to attack. It was a game the
children played with Wolf, a pouncing, mock-attack game that young
wolves often played with each other, except Wolf had been taught to
curb his bite. Ayla had been using a similar signal on their hunting
forays when she wanted him to flush game for her. Though some
times he ended up pouncing and killing the animals for himself, it was
| nothing like a signal to actually hurt someone, and Wolf hadn't
touched the man. He had only leaped toward him. But the danger
was that he might have.
Ayla knew how protective wolves were about their own territory,
or their own pack. They would kill to defend it. Yet, as she watched
him walk back, she thought, if wolves could laugh, he'd be laughing.
She could not help but feel that he knew what was going on; that the
idea was only to bluff, and he knew just how to do it. It wasn't just a
"lock attack, there was nothing playful about the way he moved. He
gave every signal of attack. He had just stopped short. The sudden
^posure to masses of people had been difficult for the young wolf,
but he had acquitted himself well. And seeing the look on that man's
face made it worth taking the chance. Rydag was not an animal!
Branag looked a little shocked, but Deegie was grinning as they
joined Tulie and Talut, and another couple. Ayla was formally intro
duced to the co-leaders of the host Camp, and immediately knew
what everyone else knew. Marlie was very ill. She shouldn't even be
standing here, Ayla thought, mentally prescribing medicines and
preparations for her. As she noticed her color, the look of her eye, the
texture of her skin and hair, Ayla wondered if anything could help
her, but she sensed the strength of the woman; she would not give in
easily. That could be more important than medicines.
"That was quite a demonstration, Ayla," Marlie said, noticing the
interesting peculiarity of her speech. "Was it the boy or you control
ling the wolf?"
"I don't know," she said, smiling. "Wolf responds to signals, but we
both gave them."
"Wolf? You say it like a name," Valez said.
"It is his name."
"Do the horses have names, too?" Marlie asked.
"The mare is whinny." Ayla said it like the sound a horse would
make, and Whinney nickered back, causing smiles, but nervous ones.
"Most people just say her name, Whinney. The stallion is her son.
Jondalar named him Racer. It is a word from his language that means
one who likes to run fast and beat the others."
Marlie nodded. Ayla looked hard at the woman for a moment, then
turned to Talut. "I am very tired from working to make that place for
the horses. Do you see that big log? Would you bring it here so I can
sit?"
For a moment the big headman was totally startled. It was so out of
character. Ayla simply would not ask such a thing, especially in the
middle of a conversation with the headwoman of the host Camp. If
anyone needed a place to sit, Marlie did. Then it hit him. Of course!
Why hadn't he thought of it before? He hurried to get the log and
manhandled it back himself.
Ayla sat down. "I hope you don't mind. I really am tired. Won't
you join me, Marlie?"
Marlie sat, shaking a little. After a while, she smiled. "Thank you,
Ayla. I hadn't planned to stay here so long. How did you know I was
feeling dizzy?"
"She's a Healer," Deegie said.
"A Caller and a Healer? That's an unusual combination. No won
der the Mammoth Hearth claimed her."
"There is something I'd like to prepare for you, if you would take
'•*• " A irin cxiirl
"Healers have seen me, but you are welcome to try, Ay la. Now,
before the subject is lost forever, there is a question I want to ask.
Were you certain the wolf would not harm that man?"
Ayla paused only a moment. "No. I was not certain. He is still very
young, and not always completely reliable. But I thought I was close
enough to block his attack if he didn't stop it short himself."
Marlie nodded. "People are not always completely reliable; I would
not expect animals to be. If you had said otherwise, I would not have
believed you. Chaleg will complain, you know, as soon as he recovers,
to save face. He will bring it to the Council of Brothers, and they will
bring it to us."
"Us?"
"The Council of Sisters," Tulie said. "The Sisters are the final au
thority. They are closer to the Mother."
"I am glad I was here to see it. Now I don't have to worry about
sorting through conflicting stories that are unbelievable to begin
with," Marlie said. She shifted her gaze and studied the horses and
then Wolf. "They seem to be perfectly normal animals, not spirits or
other magic thii^s. Tell me, what do the animals eat when they are
with you, Ayla? They do eat?"
"The same thing they always eat. Wolf eats mostly meat, either raw
or cooked. He's like another person in the lodge, and usually eats
what I eat, even vegetables. Sometimes I hunt for him, but he's get
ting good at catching mice and small animals for himself. The horses
eat grass and grains. I was thinking of taking them down to that
meadow across the river soon and leaving them there for a while."
Valez looked down across the water, and then at Talut. Ayla could
see he was thinking. "I don't like to say this, Ayla, but it could be
dangerous to leave them there alone."
"Why?" she asked, with an edge of panic to her voice.
"Hunters. They look like any other horses, particularly the mare.
The dark color of the young one is unusual enough. We should be
able to pass the word not to kill any brown horses, especially if they
seem very friendly. But the other one . . . every other horse on the
steppes is that color, and I don't think we can ask people not to kill
horses. It is the favorite meat of some people," Vale» explained.
"Then I'll have to go with her," Ayla said.
"You can't do that!" Deegie cried. "You'll miss out on everything."
"I can't let anything hurt her," Ayla said. "I'll just have to miss
things."
"That would be too bad," Tulie said.
'Can't you think of something?" Deegie said.
'No ... if only she was brown, too," Ayla said.
"Well, why not make her brown?"
"Make her brown? How?"
"What if we mix some color, like I do for leather, and rub it on
her."
Ay la thought for a while. "I don't think it will work. It's a good
idea, Deegie, but the trouble is, making her brown really won't make
much difference. Even Racer is still in danger. A brown horse still
looks like a horse, and if someone is hunting horses, it won't be easy
to remember not to kill brown ones."
"That's true," Talut said. "Hunters think about hunting, and two
brown horses that aren't afraid of people would make very tempting
targets."
"How about a different color like . . . red. Why not make Whinney
a red horse? A bright red horse. Then she'd really stand out."
Ayla made a face. "I don't like the thought of making her a red
horse, Deegie. She would look so strange. It is a good idea, though.
Everyone would know she is not an ordinary horse. I think we should
do it, but a bright red horse . . . Wait! I have another idea." Ayla
rushed into the tent. She dumped her traveling pack out on top of her
sleeping furs, and found what she was looking for near the bottom.
She ran out with it.
"Look, Deegie! Remember this?" Ayla said, opening out the bright
red hide she had dyed herself. "I never could think of anything to
make with it. I ]ust liked it for the color. I can tie this on Whinney
when she's out in the meadow alone."
"That is a bright red!" Valez said, smiling and nodding his head. "I
think it will work. With that on, anyone who saw her would know
she is a special horse, and would probably hesitate to hunt her, even
without being told. We can announce it tonight that the horse with
the red cover and the brown one with her are not to be hunted."
"It might not hurt to tie something on Racer, too," Talut said. "It
wouldn't have to be as bright, but something made by a person so
anyone who gets close enough to throw a spear will know he is not
ordinary."
"I would suggest," Marlie added, "that since all people are not en
tirely reliable, sometimes telling is not enough. It might be wise for
you and your Mamut to contrive some prohibition against killing the
horses. A good curse could scare off anyone who might be tempted to
see how mortal those animals are."
"You can always say that Rydag will send Wolf to get anyone who
hurts them," Branag said, with a smile. "That story is probably all
over the Meeting by now, and grown bigger with each telling."
"That may not be such a bad idea," Marlie said, standing up to go.
'At least it could be spread around as a rumor.'
They watched the co-leaders of the Wolf Camp go, then shaking
her head sadly, Tulie went to finish getting settled in. Talut decided
to go find out who was organizing competitions to set up a spear-
thrower competition, and stopped to talk to Brecie and Jondalar. The
three left together. Deegie and Branag walked with Ayla toward the
horses.
"I know just the person to tell to start the rumor going," Branag
said. "With the stories going around already, even if they aren't en
tirely believed, I think they will avoid the horses. I don't think anyone
will want to take a chance that Rydag might send the wolf after him.
I've been meaning to ask, how did Rydag know to signal the wolf?"
Deegie looked at the man to whom she was Promised with surprise.
"I guess you don't know, do you? I don't know why I should think
that just because I know something, you know it, too. Frebec wasn't
just making something up to defend Lion Camp. He was telling the
truth. Rydag understands everything that everyone says. He always
has. We just didn't know it until Ayla taught us all his sign language
so we could understand him. When Frebec was pretending to walk
away, he told Rydag, and Rydag asked Ayla. We all knew what they
were saying, so we knew what was going to happen."
"Is that true?" Branag asked. "You were talking to each other and
no one knew it!" He laughed. "Well, if I'm going to be in on the Lion
Camp's surprises, maybe I should learn this secret language, too."
"Ayla!" Crozie called, coming out of the tent. They stopped and let
her catch up. "Tulie just told me what you decided to do to mark the
horses," she said, coming toward them. "Smart idea, and red will
stand out on a light-colored horse, but you don't have two bright red
hides. When ) was unpacking, I found something I'd like you to
have." She unwrapped a bundle that had recently been untied, took
out a folded hide and shook it open.
"Oh, Crozie!" Ayla exclaimed. "This is beautiful!" she breathed in
wonder at a chalk-white leather cape decorated with ivory beads in
subtle repetitive triangles, and hedgehog quills, dyed ochre red and
sewn on in patterns of right-angled spirals and zigzags.
Crozie's eyes lit up at her admiration. Having made a tunic, Ayla
understood the difficulty of making leather white. "It's for Racer. I
think white against his dark brown coat will stand out."
"Crozie, it's too beautiful for that. It will get dirty and dusty, and
especially if he tries to roll with it on, it will lose the decorations. I
can't let Racer wear this out in the field," Ayla said.
Crozie looked at her sternly. "If someone is out hunting horses and
sees a brown horse with a white decorated cover on his back, do you
think that hunter is likely to aim a spear at him?"
"No, but you have put too much work into that to let it get
ruined."
"The work was put in many years ago," Crozie said, then with a
softening expression and a misting of her eyes, she added, "It was
made for my son, Fralie's brother. I have never been able to give it to
anyone else. I could not bear to see someone else wear it, and I could
not throw it away. I have just dragged it around from place to place, a
useless piece of hide, the work wasted. If this hide will help protect
that animal, it will no longer be useless, the work will have some
value. I want you to have it, for what you have given me."
Ay la took the proffered package, but looked puzzled. "What have I
given you, Crozie?"
"It's not important," she said abruptly. "Just take it."
Frebec, hurrying into the tent, looked up and saw them, and
smiled, full of self-satisfaction, before going in. They smiled back.
"I was very surprised when Frebec came forward to defend
Rydag," Branag commented. "I would have thought he would be the
last one."
"He's changed a lot," Deegie said. "He still likes to argue, but he's
not so hard to get along with. He's willing to listen sometimes."
"Well, he never was afraid to step up and say what he thought,"
Branag said.
"Maybe that's what it was," Crozie said. "I never did understand
what Fralie saw in him. I tried my best to talk her out of pining with
him. He didn't have a thing to offer. His mother had no status, he
had no particular talents, I thought she was throwing herself away.
Maybe just having the nerve to ask says something for him, and he
really did want her. I suppose I should have trusted her judgment all
along, after all, she is my daughter. Just because someone comes from
poor beginnings doesn't mean he may not want to better himself."
Branag looked at Deegie, and then Ayla, over Crozie's head. In his
opinion, she had changed even more than Frebec.
.yla was alone in the tent. She glanced over the area
that would be her place for the duration of their stay, trying to
find one more article to fold, one more object to arrange, one
more reason to delay leaving the confines of Cattail Camp. As
soon as she was ready, Mamut had told her, he wanted to take
her to meet the people with whom she was associated with in a
unique way, the mamuti, those who belonged to the Mammoth
Hearth.
She looked upon the meeting as an ordeal, certain they would
want to question her, evaluate her, and judge whether she had a
right to be included within their ranks. In her heart, she didn't
believe she did. She didn't feel possessed of unique talents and
special gifts. She was a Healer because she had learned the skills
and knowledge of a medicine woman from Iza. There was no
great magic in having the animals, either. The mare answered
to her because, when she was alone, and lonely, in her valley,
she had taken in a motherless foal for company, and Racer was
born there. She saved Wolf because she owed it to his mother,
and she knew by then that animals raised around people would be
friendly. It wasn't a big mystery.
Rydag had stayed inside the tent with her for a while, after she
examined him, asked him some specific questions about how he
felt, and made a mental note to adjust his medicine. Then he
went out and sat with Wolf to watch the people. Nezzie had
agreed with her that he seemed in a much better mood. The
woman was full of self-righteous delight, and praise for Frebec,
who had heard and overheard so many words of praise he was al
most embarrassed. Ayla had never seen him smile so much, and
knew that part of his happiness was the sense of acceptance and
belonging. She understood the feeling.
Ayla looked around one last time, picked up a rawhide con
tainer and attached it to her belt, then sighed and walked outside.
Everyone seemed to be gone except Mamut, who was talking to
Rydag. Wolf saw her and raised his head as she approached,
which caused Rydag and Mamut to look also.
"Is everyone gone? Maybe I should stay here and watch Rydag
until someone comes back," she said, quick to volunteer.
"Wolf watch me," Rydag signed, with a grin. "No one stay
long when see Wolf. I tell Nezzie go. You go. Ay la."
"He's right. Wolf seems content to stay here with Rydag, and I
can't think of a better guardian," Mamut said.
"What if he gets sick?" Ayla said.
"I get sick, I tell Wolf, 'get Ayla.'" Rydag made the signal they
had worked out before in practice and play. Wolf jumped up, put
his paws on Ayla's chest, and reached up to lick her jaw, eager to
get her attention.
She smiled, ruffed up his neck, then signaled him down.
"I want stay here, Ayla. I like watching. River. Horses in
meadow. People walk by." Rydag grinned. "Not always see me,
stare at tent, stare at horse place. Then see Wolf. Funny people."
Mamut and Ayla both smiled at his simple delight in seeing the
surprised reactions of people.
"Well, I suppose it will be all right. Nezzie wouldn't have left
him if she didn't think he would be safe," Ayla said, conceding
her last internal argument against leaving. "I'm ready to go,
Mamut."
As they walked together toward the permanent lodges of Wolf
Camp, Ayla noticed a denser concentration of tents and Camps,
and many more people milling around between them. She was
glad they were on the outside edge, where she could look out and
see trees and grass, and the river and meadow. Several people
nodded or spoke to them as they passed. Ayla watched Mamut,
noting how he acknowledged their greetings, and responded the
same way.
One lodge at the end of the somewhat uneven row of six
seemed to be the focal point of activities. Ayla noticed a cleared
area with no household Camps near the dwelling, and realized it
must be the place where people gathered. The Camps that were
immediately adjacent to the clearing did not have the look of
usual household areas. One of them had a fence made of openly
spaced mammoth bones, branches and dried brush marking the
territorial boundaries. As they passed it, Ayla heard her name
called. She stopped, surprised at who had called her from the
other side of the fence.
"Latie!" she said, then recalled what Deegie had told her. As
long as Latie was still at the lodge of the Lion Camp, the restric
tion on her association with males did not limit her movements or
activities too much. However, once they reached the Meeting
place, it was necessary that she be kept in seclusion. Several other
young women were with her, all smiling and giggling. She was
introduced to Latie's age mates, who seemed to be somewhat in
awe of her.
"Where are you going, Ayla?"
"To the Mammoth Hearth," Mamut answered for her.
Latie nodded as though she should have known. Ayla noticed
Tulie in the enclosed yard area around a tent which was deco
rated with painted designs in red ochre, talking to several other
women. She waved and smiled.
"Latie, look! A red-foot!" one of her friends said, in hushed
tones of excitement. Everyone stopped to stare, and the young
women giggled. Ayla found herself looking with great interest at
the woman who sauntered past, noticing as she walked that the
bottoms of her bare feet were a rich bright red. She had been told
about them, but this was the first one she had seen. She seemed
to be a perfectly ordinary woman, Ayla thought. Yet, there was a
quality to her that made one look twice.
The woman approached a knot of young men, whom Ayla
hadn't seen before, loitering near a stand of small trees across the
clearing. Ayla thought her walk became more exaggerated as she
neared them, her smile more languorous, and she suddenly no
ticed her red feet more. The woman stopped to talk to the young
men, and her liquid laugh floated across the empty space. As she
and the old man walked away, Ayla remembered the conversation
the women, and Mamut, had had the evening before the Spring
Festival.
1 All the young females who were in the transitional state of not-
^ yet-women were under constant surveillance—but not only by the
^ chaperons. Ayla noticed, now, several groups of young men
jt standing around the fringes of the prohibited area where Latie and
^'V': • 1.
1^ tier age mates were staying, hoping to catch a glimpse of the for-
|j bidden, and therefore all the more desirable, young women. At
|| no time in her life was a woman the object of greater interest by
^ the male population. The young women enjoyed their unique sta-
^ tus and the special attention it brought, and were just as in-
jj| terested in the other gender, tnbugh they disdained to show it
openly. They spent most of their time peeking out of the tent or
around the fence, speculating about the various males, who pa
raded and lounged around the periphery with exaggerated casu-
ainess.
Though the young men who watched, and were watched in re-
^rn, might eventually form a hearth with those just now becom-
ing women, they were not the ones likely to be chosen for the
first, important initiation. The young women and the older female
advisers who shared their tent discussed several possibilities from
among the older and more experienced men. Those being consid
ered were usually approached privately before the eventual selec
tion was made.
The day before the ceremony, the young women who were
staying together in one tent—occasionally there were too many
for one tent and two Camps of young women would be estab
lished—would go out as a group. When they found a man with
whom they wanted to spend the night, they would surround and
"capture" him. The men thus captured were required to go along
with the initiates—few men objected to the requirement. That
night, after some preliminary rituals, they would all go together
into the darkened tent, grope to find each other, and spend the
night exploring the differences and learning the Pleasures of each
other. Neither the young women nor the men were supposed to
know with whom they eventually coupled, though in actual prac
tice, they usually did. The watching older women made sure
there was no undue roughness, and were available on the rare oc
casion that advice was necessary. If, for some reason, any of the
young women were not opened, it could be accommodated in a
quiet second night's ritual without overtly placing blame on any
one in particular.
Neither Danug nor Druwez would be invited to Latie's tent,
primarily because they were too closely related, but also because
they were too young. Other women who had celebrated their
First Rites in previous years, particularly those who had no chil
dren yet, could choose to stand in for the Great Mother and teach
Her way to young men. After a special ceremony, which honored
them and set them apart for the season, the soles of the feet of
these women would be stained with a deep red dye that would
not wash off, though eventually it would wear off, to signify that
they were available to help young men gain experience. Many also
wore red leather bands tied around their upper arms, ankles, or
waists.
Though some teasing was inevitable, the women appreciated
the underlying seriousness of their task. Understanding his natu
ral shyness, and the driving urge behind his eagerness, they
treated each young man with consideration, teaching him to know
a woman tenderly, so that someday he might be chosen to make a
woman, so that someday she might make a child. And to show
them how pleased She was with this offering of themselves, Mut
blessed many of these women. Even those who had been joined
for some time, and had never borne life in their wombs, were
often pregnant by the end of the season.
Next to the not-yet-women, the red-footed women were the
most sought after by all ages of men. For the rest of his years,
nothing could so quickly stimulate a man of the Mamutoi as the
flash of a red foot when a woman walked by, and knowing it,
some women tinged their feet reddish to make themselves more
attractive. Though a woman who had made such a dedication of
herself was free to choose any man, her service was for the youn
ger ones and any older man who managed to convince her to
share his company felt himself favored.
Mamut directed Ayla toward a Camp that was not far from the
Rites of Womanhood Camp. At first glance it seemed to be an or
dinary tent within a household Camp. The difference, she no
ticed, was that everyone was tattooed. Some, like old Mamut, just
had a simple dark blue chevron pattern high on the right cheek
bone; three or four broken lines, like the lower parts of down
ward-pointing triangles, stacked up, one nestled within the other.
They reminded her of the lower jawbones of mammoths that
had been used to construct Vincavec's lodge. The tattoos of oth
ers, particularly the men, Ayla noticed, were much more elabo
rate. The patterns incorporated not only chevrons but triangles,
zigzags, rhomboids, and right-angled spirals, in both blue and
', red.
1 Ayla was glad they had stopped off at Mammoth Camp before
I coming to the Meeting. She knew she would have been startled
| by their decorated faces, if she had not already met Vincavec. As
| fascinating and complex as the tattoos on the faces of these people
|| "were, none was as intricate as his.
| The next difference she noticed was that although there seemed
ito be a preponderance of women at this Camp, there were no chil
dren. They had obviously been left in someone's care at the
household Camps. Ayla quickly understood that this was not con
sidered to be a place for children. This was a place for adults
to gather, for serious meetings, discussions, and rituals—and
'gaming. Several people were playing games with marked bones,
clicks, and pieces of ivory in the outdoor area of the Camp.
^ Mamut walked up to the entrance of the tent, which was open,
||nd scratched on the leather. Ayla looked into the dim interior
jOver his shoulder, trying not to appear conspicuous to those
l°ungmg around outside, but they, too, were trying, without
Iteming too eager, to get a closer look at her. They were curious
about the young woman, whom old Mamut had not just accepted
into training but adopted as a daughter. She was a stranger, it
was said, not even Mamutoi. No one even knew where she came
from.
Many of them had made a point of walking past Cattail Camp
to see the horses and the wolf, and they were surprised and im
pressed to see the animals, though they did not want to show it.
How could anyone control a stallion? Or make a mare stand qui
etly with so many people—and a wolf—around? Why was the
wolf so docile with the people of Lion Camp? He behaved like a
normal wolf around everyone else. No one else could get near
him, or even within the boundaries of their Camp without an in
vitation and, it was said, he had attacked Chaleg.
The old man motioned Ay la inside, and they both sat down
near a large fireplace, though only a small flame burned within it,
off to one side, near the woman who sat across. She was a heavy
woman. Ay la had never seen anyone quite so fat and wondered
how she could have walked any distance to get there.
"I have brought my daughter to meet you, Lomie," the old
Mamut said.
"I wondered when you were coming," she replied.
Then, before she said anything else, she moved a red-hot stone
from the fire with sticks. She opened up a packet of leaves and
dropped a few on the stone and leaned closer to breathe in the
smoke that curled up. Ay la smelled sage, and less pronounced,
mullein and lobelia. She watched the woman closely, noted a
heaviness of breathing, which was soon relieved, and realized she
suffered a chronic cough, probably asthma.
"Do you make a cough syrup from the root of mullein, too?"
Ay la asked her. "It can help." She had been reluctant to speak up
at first, and wasn't sure why she did without having been intro
duced, but she wanted to help, and somehow it felt like the right
thing to do.
Lomie's head jerked up, startled, and she looked at the young
blond woman with new interest. The hint of a smile glanced
across Mamut's face.
"She is a Healer, too?" Lomie said to Mamut.
"I believe there is none better, not even you, Lomie."
Lomie knew it was not said lightly. Old Mamut had great re
spect for her skill. "And here I thought you had only adopted a
pretty young woman to ease your last years, Mamut."
"Ah, but I did, Lomie. She has eased my winter arthritis, and
other assorted aches and pains," he said.
"I'm glad to know there is more to her than can be seen. She is
young for it, though."
"There is more to her than you know, Lomie, in spite of her
youth."
Lomie turned then. "You are Ayla."
"Yes, I am Ayla of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi, daughter of
the Mammoth Hearth . . . and protected by the Cave Lion," Ayla
finished, as Mamut had instructed her.
"Ayla of the Mamutoi. Hmmm. It has an unusual sound, but
then so does your voice. Not unpleasant, though. Stands out.
Makes people notice you. I am Lomie, Mamut of the Wolf Camp
and Healer of the Mamutoi."
"First Healer," Mamut corrected.
"How can I be First Healer, old Mamut, if she is my equal?"
I "I did not say Ayla was your equal, Lomie. I said there is none
^ better. Her background is ... unusual. She was trained by ...
someone with a great depth of knowledge in certain Healing
ways. Could you have identified the subtle smell of mullein,
' masked by the heavy aroma of sage, so quickly if you hadn't
known it was there? And then known what you were treating
yourself for?"
Lomie started to speak, then hesitated, and did not respond.
Mamut continued, "I think she would have known just by looking
at you. She has a rare gift for knowing, and an amazing knowl-
} edge of remedies and treatments, but she lacks skill in just those
ways that you are most proficient, finding and relieving the prob-
1 lem that creates the illness, and helping someone want to get well.
I She could learn much from you, and I hope you will consent to
> train her, but I think there is much you could learn from her as
| well."
t Lomie turned to Ayla. "And is that what you want?"
J "It is what I want."
"If you know so much already, what do you think you can
learn from me?"
"I am a medicine woman. It is ... who I am . . . my life. I
could not be otherwise. I was trained by one who was . . . First,
but from the beginning she taught me there is always more to
learn. I would be grateful to learn from you," Ayla said. Her sin
cerity was not feigned. She was hungry to talk to someone with
whom she could share ideas and discuss treatments, and learn.
Lomie paused. Medicine woman? Where had she heard that
name for Healer before? She put the thought aside for the mo
ment. It would come to her.
"Ayla has a gift for you," Mamut said. "Call in anyone you
want, but then, if you will, close the flap."
Everyone who was outside had either come in while they were
talking, or was standing at the entrance. They all crowded in. No
one wanted to miss anything. When everyone was settled and the
entrance flap closed and tied, Mamut picked up a handful of dirt
from a drawing circle and put out the small flame, but the bright
daylight could not be kept out entirely. It beamed in through the
smoke hole, and dimly, through the hide walls. It would not be
quite as dramatic a demonstration in the dimly lit tent as it had
been within the dark earthlodge, but every one of the mamuti
would recognize its possibilities.
Ayla untied the small carrying container from her waistband,
one she and Mamut had asked Barzec to make, and withdrew tin
der, firestone, and flint. After everything was ready, Ayla paused,
and for the first time in many moon cycles, sent a silent thought
to her totem. It wasn't a specific request, but she thought about a
big, impressive, fast lighting spark, so the effect would be what
Mamut wanted. Then she picked up the flint and struck it sharply
against the iron pyrite. It flashed brightly, even in the tent, then
went out. She struck again, and this time it took, and soon the
small fire in the fireplace was burning again.
The mamuti were wise in the ways of artifice and accustomed
to creating effects. They prided themselves on being able to rec
ognize how they were accomplished. Little surprised them, but
Ayla's fire trick left them without words.
"The magic is in the firestone itself," old Mamut said, as Ayla
put the materials back in the rawhide container, and gave it to
Lomie. Then the tone and quality of his voice changed. "But the
way to draw the fire out of it was shown to Ayla. I did not need
to adopt her, Lomie. She was born to the Mammoth Hearth,
chosen by the Mother. She can only follow her destiny, but now
I know that I was chosen to be part of it, and why I was given so
many years."
His words sent a thrill of shivers and raised hairs through
everyone in the tent of the Mammoth Hearth. He had touched
upon the real mystery, the deeper calling that each one of them
felt in some measure beyond the superficial trappings and casual
cynicism. Old Mamut was a phenomenon. His very existence was
magical. No one had ever lived so long. His name was even lost
in the passage of years. They were each a Mamut, shaman of
their Camps, but he was simply Mamut, his name and calling had
become one. No one there doubted that there was some purpose
for his many years. If he said Ay la was the reason, then she was
touched by the deep and unexplainable mysteries of life and the
world around them, which each of them felt called upon to strug
gle with.
Ayla was preoccupied when she and Mamut left the tent. She,
too, had felt tension, a stirring of gooseflesh when old Mamut
spoke of her destiny, but she didn't want to be the object of such
intense interest by powers beyond her control. It was frightening,
all this talk of destiny. She wasn't any different from anyone else,
and she didn't want to be. She didn't like it when her speech was
commented upon, either. At Lion Camp no one noticed any
more. She had forgotten that there were some words she just
couldn't get right, no matter how hard she tried.
"Ayla! There you are. I was looking for you."
She looked up at the sparkling dark eyes and wide flashing
smile of the dark-skinned man to whom she was Promised. She
smiled back. He was just the one she needed to take her mind off
her troubling thoughts. She turned to Mamut to see if he still
wanted her. He smiled and told her to go and have a look around
the encampment with Ranee.
"I want you to meet some carvers. Some of them are doing fine
work," Ranee said, leading her with an arm around her waist.
"We always have a Camp near the Mammoth Hearth. Not just
carvers, other artists, too."
He was excited, and Ayla sensed the same exhilaration she felt
when she realized Lomie was a Healer. Even though there might
be some competition in relation to ability and the status each was
accorded, no one understood the nuances of a craft or skill like
another person who practiced it. Only with another Healer could
she discuss the relative merits of mullein versus wintergreen in
the treatment of coughs, for example, and she had missed those
kinds of discussions. She had seen how Jondalar, Wymez, and
Danug could spend unbelievable amounts of time talking about
flint and toolmaking, and she realized that Ranee also enjoyed the
contact of others who worked with ivory.
As they walked across part of the cleared area, Ayla noticed
Danug and Druwez with several other young men, smiling and
shuffling nervously while talking to a red-footed woman. Danug
looked up and saw her and smiled, then made a quick excuse and
loped across a few yards of trampled and dried grass to join them.
They waited for him to catch up.
t<! saw you talking to Latie, and was going to bring some
friends to meet you, Ayla, but we can't go too close to Giggle-
Girl Camp . . . uh, I mean, uh"—Danug blushed, realizing he
had given away the nickname the young men had for the place
where they were not allowed.
"It's all right, Danug. They do giggle a lot."
The tall young man relaxed. "Not that there's anything wrong
with that. Are you in a hurry? Can you come over and meet them
?"
now:
Ay la gave Ranee a questioning glance.
"I was just going to take her to meet some people, too," Ranee
said. "But there is no hurry. We can come over and meet your
friends first."
As they started back toward the group of young men, Ay la no
ticed the red-footed woman was still there.
"I wanted to meet you, Ayla," the woman said after Danug
made the introductions. "Everyone is talking about you, wonder
ing where you came from, and why those animals answer to you.
You have given us all a mystery that I'm sure we'll be talking
about for years." She smiled, and gave Ayla a sly wink. "Take
my advice. Don't tell anyone where you come from. Keep them
guessing. It's more fun."
Ranee lauged. "She may be right, Ayla," he said. "Tell me,
Mygie, why are you wearing red feet this year?"
"After Zacanen and I scattered the hearth, I didn't want to stay
with his Camp, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to go back to my
mother's Camp, either. This just seemed like the right thing to
do. It gives me a place to stay for a while, and if the Mother
chooses to give me a child for it, I wouldn't be sorry. Oh, that
reminds me, did you know the Mother gave another woman a
baby of your spirit, Ranee? You remember Tricie? Marlie's
daughter? The one who lives here, at Wolf Camp? She chose red
feet last year. This year she has a boy. Toralie's little girl was
dark, like you, but not this one. I saw him. He's very light, with
red hair even brighter than hers, but he looks just like you. Same
nose and everything. She calls him Ralev."
Ayla looked at Ranee with a peculiar smile on her face, and no
ticed his color deepen. He's blushing, she thought, but you have
to know him well to notice. I'm sure he remembers Tricie.
"I think we'd better go, Ayla," Ranee said, putting his arm
around her waist as though to urge her back across the clearing.
But she resisted a moment.
"It's been very interesting to talk to you, Mygie. I hope we talk
again," Ayla said, then turned to Nezzie's son. "I'm pleased you
asked me to come and meet your friends, Danug." She smiled one
of her beautiful, breathtaking smiles at him and Druwez. "And I
am happy to have met all of you," she added, looking at each one
of the young men in turn. Then she left with Ranee.
Danug watched her walking away, then heaved a big sigh. "I
wish Ay la was wearing red feet," he said. He heard several com
ments of agreement.
When Ranee and Ayla passed the large lodge, which was sur
rounded by the clearing on three sides, she heard the sound of
drums coming from it, and some other interesting sounds which
she had not heard before. She glanced toward the entrance, but it
was closed. Just as they were turning into another Camp on the
edge of the clearing, someone stepped in their path.
"Ranee," a woman said. She was shorter than average, with
creamy white skin spattered with freckles. Her eyes, brown
flecked with gold and green, sparked with anger. "So you did ar
rive with the Lion Camp. When you didn't stop by our lodge to
say hello, I thought maybe you had fallen in the river, or got
caught in a stampede." Her tone was venomous.
"Tricie! I ... uh ... I was going to ... um . . . we had to set
up Camp," Ranee said. Ayla had never seen the glib, smooth-talk
ing man so tongue-tied, and his face would have been as red as
Mygie's feet, if his brown skin hadn't hidden it.
"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend, Ranee?" Tri
cie said sarcastically. It was obvious she was upset.
"Yes," Ranee said, "I'd like you to meet her. Ayla, this is Tri
cie, a ... a ... friend of mine."
"I had something to show you, Ranee," Tricie said, rudely ig
noring the introduction, "but I don't suppose it matters now.
Hinted Promises don't mean much. I suppose this is the woman
you will be joined with in the Matrimonial this season." There
was hurt as well as anger in her voice.
Ayla guessed what the problem was, and sympathized, but was
not quite sure how to handle this difficult situation. Then, she
stepped forward, and held out both her hands.
"Tricie, I am Ayla, of the Mamutoi, daughter of the Mammoth
Hearth of the Lion Camp, protected by the Cave Lion."
The formality of the greeting reminded Tricie that she was the
daughter of a headwoman, and Wolf Camp was hosting the Sum
mer Meeting. She did have a responsibility. "In the name of Mut,
the Great Mother, Wolf Camp welcomes you, Ayla of the
Mamutoi," she said.
'I was told your mother is Marlie."
«i
'Yes, I am Marlie's daughter."
«-^
"I met her earlier. She is a remarkable woman. I am pleased to
meet you."
Ay la heard Ranee breathe a sigh of relief. She glanced at him,
and over his shoulder, noticed Deegie heading toward the lodge
from which she had heard the drumming. On impulse, she de
cided Ranee should work out his relationship with Tricie alone.,
"Ranee, I see Deegie over there, and there are some things I
want to talk to her about. I will come and meet the carvers later,"
Ay la said, and quickly left.
Ranee was stunned by her hurried departure, and suddenly re
alized he was going to have to face Tricie and make some explana
tions, whether he wanted to or not. He looked at the pretty
young woman standing there waiting, angry and vulnerable. Her
red hair, a particularly vibrant shade like none he had ever seen,
along with her red feet, had made her doubly appealing last sea
son, and she was an artist, too. He was impressed with the qual
ity of her work. Her baskets were exquisite, and the exceptional
mat on his floor came from her hands. But she took her offering
to the Mother so seriously she would not even consider an experi
enced man at first. Her resistance only inflamed his desire for her.
He hadn't actually Promised, though. True, he had seriously
considered it, and would have if she hadn't been dedicated. She
was the one who had refused a formal Promise, fearing it would
anger Mut and cause Her to withdraw Her blessing. Well, Ranee
thought, the Mother could not have been too angry if She had
drawn from his essence to make Tricie's baby. He guessed that
was what she wanted to show him, that she already had a child to
bring to his hearth, and one of his spirit, besides. It would have
made her irresistible under other circumstances, but he loved
Ay la. If he'd had enough to offer, he might have considered ask
ing for them both, but since a choice had to be made, there was
no question. Just the thought of living without Ay la put a knot of
panic in the pit of his stomach. He wanted her more than any
woman he'd ever wanted in his life.
Ayla called out to Deegie, and when she caught up with her,
they walked together.
"I see you've met Tricie," Deegie said.
"Yes, but she seemed to need to talk to Ranee, so I was glad I
saw you. It gave me the chance to get aay and let them be
alone," Ayla said.
"I don't doubt she wanted to talk to him. It was all over the
Camp last season that they were planning to Promise."
"She has a child, you know. A son."
"No, I didn't! I've hardly had the chance to say more than hello
to people, and no one told me. That's going to make her worth
more and raise her Bride Price. Who told you?"
"Mygie did, one of the red-foots. She says the boy is of Ranee's
spirit."
"That spirit moves around! There are a couple of young ones
with his essence. You can't always tell for sure with the other
men whose spirit it is, but you can with him. His coloring comes
through," Deegie said.
"Mygie said this boy is very light, and red-haired, but looks
like Ranee, in the face."
"That would be interesting! I think I may have to go to see Tri-
cie later," Deegie said with a smile. "The daughter of one head-
woman ought to pay a visit to the daughter of another
headwoman, especially of the host Camp. Do you want to come
with me when I go?"
"I'm not sure . . . yes, I think I would," Ayla said.
They had reached the curved arch entrance of the lodge from
which the unusual sounds were coming. "I was going to stop
here, at the Music Lodge. I think you might enjoy it," Deegie
said, then scratched on the leather door covering. While they
waited for someone to untie it from inside, Ayla glanced around.
Southeast of the entrance was a fence made of seven skulls of
mammoths plus other bones, filled in with hard-packed clay to
make it solid. Probably a windbreak, Ayla thought. In the hollow
where the settlement was located, the only wind would come
from the river valley. On the northeast she counted four huge
outdoor hearths and two distinct work areas. One appeared to be
for making tools and implements out of ivory and bone, the others
must have been primarily concerned with working the flint which
was found nearby. Ayla saw Jondalar and Wymez, and several
other men and women who were also flint workers, she guessed.
She should have known that would be where to find him.
The drape was pulled back, and Deegie beckoned Ayla to fol
low her in, but someone at the entrance stopped her.
"Deegie, you know we don't let visitors in here," she said.
((trr , . . ,,
Were practicing.
"But, Kylie, she is a daughter of the Mammoth Hearth,"
Deegie said, surprised.
"I don't see any tattoo. How can she be Mamut without a
tattoo?"
"This is Ayla, daughter of old Mamut. He adopted her to the
Mammoth Hearth."
"Oh. Just a moment, let me ask."
Deegie was impatient while they waited again, but Ayla looked
more closely at the lodge, and got the impression that it had
slumped, or fallen in somewhat.
"Why didn't you tell me she's the one with the animals?" Kylie
said when she came back. "Come in."
"You should know I wouldn't bring anyone here who wasn't ac
ceptable," Deegie said.
It was not dark in the lodge, the smoke hole was somewhat big
ger than usual, and allowed light inside, but it did take awhile for
eyes to adjust after the bright sunshine outside. At first, Ayla
thought the person Deegie was talking to was a child. But when
she saw her, Ayla realized she was probably somewhat older, not
younger than her tall, stocky friend. The misimpression was
caused by the difference in size between the two women. Kylie
was small with a slender build, almost dainty, and next to Deegie,
it was easy to mistake her for a child, but her lithe, supple move
ments bespoke the confidence and experience of maturity.
Though the shelter had seemed large from the outside, there
was less room inside than Ayla had imagined. The ceiling was
lower than usual, and half the usable space in the room was taken
up by four mammoth skulls, which were partially buried in the
floor with the tusk sockets upright. The trunks of small trees had
been placed in the sockets, and were used as supports to brace the
ceiling, which had slumped or fallen in. It struck Ayla, as she
looked around, that this lodge was far from new. The wood and
the thatching had the gray ness of age. There were none of the
usual household goods or large cooking hearths to be seen, only
one small fireplace. The floor had been swept clean, leaving only
dark traces of the former major hearths.
Ropes had been strung between the supporting uprights, and
drapes, which could be used to divide the space, hung from them,
bunched up at one end. Thrown over the ropes, or hanging from
pegs on the posts, was the most unusual array of objects Ayla had
ever seen. Colorful outfits, fantastic and ornate headgear, strings
of ivory beads and seashells, pendants of bone and amber, and
some things she couldn't begin to understand.
There were several people in the lodge. Some were sitting
around a small fireplace, sipping from cups; a couple more were
in the light streaming in through the smoke hole, sewing gar
ments. To the left of the entrance, several people were sitting or
kneeling on mats on the floor near large mammoth bones, deco
rated with red lines and zigzags. Ayla identified a leg bone, a
shoulder b*ade, two lower jawbones, a pelvis bone, and a skull.
They were greeted warmly, but Ay la felt they were interrupting
something. Everyone seemed to be looking at them, as though
waiting to find out why they had come.
"Don't stop practicing for us," Deegie said. "I brought Ayla to
meet you, but we don't want to interrupt. We'll wait until you
are ready to stop." The people turned back to their task, while
Deegie and Ayla sat down on mats nearby.
A woman who was kneeling in front of the large femur began
tapping out a steady beat with a hammer-shaped section of rein
deer antler, but the sounds she was producing were more than
rhythmic. As she hit the leg bone in different places, a resonant,
melodic sound emerged, which changed in pitch and tone. Ayla
looked more closely, wondering what caused the unusual timbre.
The leg bone was about thirty inches long and rested horizon
tally on two props that kept it off the ground. The epiphysis at
the upper end had been removed, and some of the spongy inner
material had been taken out, enlarging the natural canal. The
bone was painted across the top with evenly spaced zigzag stripes
in dark ochre red, similar to the patterns found so frequently on
everything from footwear to house construction, but these seemed
to serve more than a decorative or symbolic function. After
watching for a while, Ayla felt sure the woman who was playing
the leg-bone instrument was using the pattern of stripes as a guide
to where she should strike to produce the tone she wanted.
Ayla had heard skull drums and Tornec's scapula played. All
had some tonal variation, but she had never heard such a range of
musical tones before. These people seemed to think she had some
magical gifts, but this seemed more magical than anything she had
ever done. A man began to tap on the mammoth shoulder blade
like Tornec's with an antler hammer. The timbre and tone had a
different resonance, a sharper quality, yet the sound comple
mented and added interest to the music that the woman played on
the leg bone.
The large triangular-shaped scapula was about twenty-five
inches long, with a narrow neck at the top, broadening out to
about twenty inches along the bottom edge. He held the instru
ment by the neck, upright, in a vertical position, with the wide
bottom resting on the ground. It was also painted with parallel,
zigzag stripes in bright red. Each stripe, about the width of a
small finger, was divided by spaces of equal width, and each one
had a perfectly straight and even edge. In the center of the broad
lower area most frequently struck, the red pattern of stripes was
worn away and the bone was shiny from long, repeated use.
When the rest of the mammoth bone instruments joined in,
Ay la held her breath. At first she could only listen, overwhelmed
by the complex sound of the music, but after a while she concen
trated on each one individually.
An older man played the larger of the lower jawbones, but
rather than an antler hammer, he used an end piece of mammoth
tusk, about twelve inches long, grooved around to make a knob at
the thicker end. The mandible itself was painted, like the other
instruments, but only on the right half. It was turned and rested
steady, supported by the left undecorated side, which kept the
right playing half off the ground for a clear, undamped sound.
While playing it, he tapped along the parallel zigzag red bands
that were painted within the hollow as well as along the outer
edge of the cheek, and he rubbed the piece of ivory over the
ridged surface of the tooth, to create a rasping accent.
A woman played the other jawbone, which was from a younger
animal. It was twenty inches long, and fifteen inches across at its
widest part, and was also painted with red zigzag stripes on the
right side. A deep hole, about two inches wide by five inches
long, where a tooth had been removed, altered the resonance and
emphasized the higher-pitched tone.
The woman who played the pelvic-bone instrument also held it
upright, resting one edge on the ground. She tapped, with an
antler hammer, mostly in the center of the bone where a small
natural inward curvature was found. The sounds were intensified
and the changes in tone distinct at that place, and the red stripes
painted there were almost entirely worn away.
Ay la was familiar with the strong, resonant, lower tones of the
mammoth skull drum played by a young man. It was like the
drums played by Deegie and Mamut with such skill. The drum
was also painted where it was struck, on the forehead and roof of
the skull, but in this case it did not have zigzag lines, but a dis
tinctly different pattern of branched lines and disconnected marks
and dots.
After the people stopped playing, on a satisfactorily conclusive
note, they became involved in a discussion. Deegie joined in, but
Ayla just listened, trying to understand the unfamiliar terms, but
not wanting to intrude.
"The piece needs balance as well as harmony," the woman who
played the leg-bone instrument was saying. "I think we could in
troduce a wind reed before Kylie dances."
"I'm sure you could convince Barzec to sing that part, Thane,"
Deegie said.
"It would be better to work him in later. Kylie and Barzec both
would be too much. One would detract from the other. No, I
think a five-tone crane wind reed would be best. Let's try it,
Manen," she said to a man with a neatly trimmed beard, who had
joined them from the other group.
Tharie started playing again, and this time, the sounds were be
coming familiar to the newcomer. Ay la felt pleased to be allowed
to watch, and wanted nothing more than to sit quietly and enjoy
this new experience. With the introduction of the haunting tones
of the wind reed, a flutelike instrument made of the hollow leg
bone of a crane, Ayla was suddenly reminded of the eerie spir
itual voice of Ursus, the Great Cave Bear, from the Clan Gather
ing. Only one mog-ur could make that sound. It was a secret
passed down through his line, but he had held something to his
mouth. It must have been the same kind of thing, she thought.
Nothing, however, moved Ayla so much as when Kylie started
dancing. Ayla noticed first that she wore loose bracelets on each
arm, similar to the Sungaea dancer's. Each bracelet was made of a
set of five thin strips of mammoth ivory, perhaps a half-inch
wide, incised with diagonal cut marks radiating out from a central
diamond shape in a way that created an overall zigzag pattern
when all five were held together. A small hole had been bored
through at each end to tie them together, and they rattled to
gether when she moved in a certain way.
Kylie stayed in one place, more or less, sometimes slowly as
suming impossible positions which she held, and other times mak
ing acrobatic movements, which caused the loose bracelets she
wore on each arm to rattle as emphasis. The motions of the sup
ple, strong woman were so graceful and smooth she made it look
easy, but Ayla knew she could never have made them. She was
enthralled with the performance, and found herself making spon
taneous comments after she was through, the way the Mamutoi so
I often did.
"How do you do that? It was wonderful! Everything. The
sounds, the movements. I have never seen anything like it," Ayla
said. The smiles of appreciation showed her comments were well
received.
Deegie sensed that the musicians felt satisfied and their need for
intense concentration had passed. They were more relaxed now,
ready for a rest, and ready to satisfy their curiosity about the
mysterious woman who had apparently come out of nowhere and
Was now a Mamutoi. The coals in the fireplace were stirred, wood
added, and cooking rocks, and water for tea poured into a wooden
| cooking bowl.
"Certainly you've seen something like it, Ayla," Kylie said.
"No, not at all," Ayla protested.
"What about the rhythms you were showing me?" Deegie said.
"That's not the same at all. Those are just simple Clan
rhythms."
"Clan rhythms?" Tharie asked. "What are Clan rhythms?"
"The Clan are the people I grew up with," Ayla started to
explain.
"They are deceptively simple," Deegie interrupted, "but they
evoke strong feelings."
"Can you show us?" the young man who played the skull drum
asked.
Deegie looked at Ayla. "Shall we, Ayla?" she asked, then went
on to explain to the others. "We've been playing around with
them a little."
"I guess we could," Ayla said.
"Let's do it," Deegie said. "We need something to make a deep
steady beat, muffled, no resonance, like something striking the
ground, if Ayla can use your drum, Marut."
"I think wrapping a piece of leather around this striker might
work," Tharie said, volunteering her leg-bone instrument.
The musicians were intrigued. The promise of something new
was always interesting. Deegie kneeled on the mat in Tharie's
place, and Ayla sat cross-legged close to the drum and tapped it
to get the feel. Then Deegie hit the leg-bone instrument in a few
places until Ayla indicated the sound was right.
When they were ready, Deegie began beating a slow steady
pace, changing the tempo slightly until she saw Ayla nod, but not
changing the tone at all. Ayla closed her eyes, and when she felt
herself moving to Deegie's steady beat, she joined in. The timbre
of the skull drum was too resonant to replicate exactly the sounds
Ayla remembered. It was difficult to create the sense of a sharp
crack of thunder, for example; the sharp staccato beats came out
more like a sustained rumbling, but she had been practicing with
a drum like it. Soon she was weaving an unusual contrapuntal
rhythm around the strong, steady beat, a seemingly random pat
tern of staccato sounds that varied in tempo. The two sets of
rhythms were so distinct they bore no relationship to each other,
yet a stressed beat of Ayla's rhythms coincided with every fifth
beat of Deegie's steady sound, almost as if by accident.
The two rhythms had the effect of producing an increasing
sense of expectation, and after a while, a slight feeling of anxiety
until the<»two beats, though it seemed impossible that they ever
117:^1, ^^ release, another surge of tension
mounted. At the moment when it seemed no one could stand it
any more, Ayla and Deegie stopped before a concluding beat, and
left a heightened expectation hanging in the air. Then, to Deegie's
surprise as much as anyone, a windy, reedy, flutelike whistle was
heard, with a haunting, eerie not-quite melody, that sent a shiver
through the listeners. It ended on a note of closure, but a sense of
otherworldliness still lingered.
No one said a word for some moments. Finally Tharie said,
"What strange, asymmetrical, compelling music." Then several
people wanted Ayla to show them the rhythms, eager to try them
out.
"Who played the wind reed?" Tharie asked, knowing it wasn't
Manen, who had been standing beside her.
"No one did," Deegie said. "It wasn't an instrument. Ayla was
whistling."
"Whistling? How does anyone whistle like that?"
"Ayla can imitate any whistling sound," Deegie said. "You
ought to hear her bird calls. Even they think she's a bird. She can
get them to come and eat out of her hand. It's part of her way
with animals."
"Would you show us a bird whistle, Ayla?" Tharie said, in a
tone that sounded unbelieving.
She didn't think it was really the place, but went through a
quick repertoire of bird whistles, which brought the astonished
looks Deegie had expected.
Ayla was grateful when Kylie offered to show her around. She
was shown some of the costumes and other paraphernalia, and
discovered that some of the headpieces were actually face masks.
Most things were garishly colored, but worn at night, by firelight,
the colors of the costumes would stand out, yet appear normal.
Someone was grinding red ochre from a small pouch, and mixing
it into fat. With a chill, she again remembered Creb rubbing a
paste of red ochre on Iza's body before her burial, but she was
told it would be used to decorate and add color to the faces and
bodies of the players and dancers. She noticed ground charcoal
and white chalk, too.
Ayla watched a man sewing beads on a tunic, using an awl, and
it occurred to her how much easier it would be with a thread-
puller, but she decided to have Deegie bring one over. She was
getting too much attention as it was, and it made her uncomfort
able. They looked at strings of beads and other jewelry, and Kylie
held up two conical spiral seashells to her ears.
"Too bad your ears are not pierced," she said. "These would
look nice on you."
"They are nice," Ayla said. She noticed the holes in Kylie's
ears then, and in her nose as well. She liked Kylie, and admired
her, and felt a rapport that could lead to friendship.
"Why don't you take them anyway? You can talk to Deegie or
Tulie and have them do it. And you really should have a tattoo,
Ayla. Then you can go wherever you want, and won't have to
keep explaining that you belong to the Mammoth Hearth."
"But I'm really not Mamut," Ayla said.
"I think you are, Ayla. I'm not sure what the rites are, but I
know Lomie would not hesitate if you told her you were ready to
dedicate yourself to the Mother."
"I'm not sure if I am ready."
"Maybe not, but you will be. I feel it in you."
When she and Deegie left, Ayla realized she had been given
something very special, a private look behind the scenes that few
people were allowed to see. It was a place of mystery, even un
cloaked and explained, but how much more magical and super
natural it must seem, she thought, when seen from outside. Ayla
glanced toward the flint-working area as they were leaving, but
Jondalar was not there.
She followed as Deegie walked through the encampment, head
ing toward the back of the hollow, looking for friends and rela
tions, and finding out where all the various Camps were located.
They passed an area where three Camps, tucked in among brush,
faced a clearing. There was a noticeable feeling about the area
that was different, but Ayla couldn't put her finger on it at first.
Then she began to notice specific details. The tents were ragged,
and not well hung, and holes were poorly patched, if at all. A
strong unpleasant smell and the buzz of flies called her attention
to a rotting piece of meat left on the ground between two tents,
and then she noticed more garbage strewn haphazardly around.
She knew that children often got dirty, but the ones that were
staring at them looked like they hadn't been clean for some time.
Their clothes were grimy, their hair unkempt, their faces dirty.
There was an unsavory squalor about the place.
Ayla noticed Chaleg lounging in front of one tent. Her appear
ance there took him by surprise, and his first expression was one
of malicious hatred. It shocked her. Only Broud had ever looked
at her that way. Then Chaleg covered it, but the insincere, malev
olent smile was almost worse than the blatant hatred.
"Let's leave this area," Deegie said, with a sniff of disdain. "It's
always a good idea to know where they are, so you know what to
avoid."
Suddenly there was a loud eruption of screaming and shouting
as two children, a boy in his early teens and a girl about eleven
years, came running out of one of the tents.
"You give that back to me! Do you hear? You give that back to
me!" the girl screamed as she chased after the boy.
"You've got to catch me first, little sister," the boy taunted,
holding something in her face and shaking it.
"You . . . Oh, you . . . Give that back!" the girl screamed
again and ran after him with a new burst of speed.
The boy's smile made it clear that he was taking great delight in
the girl's anger and frustration, but when he turned back to look
at her, he failed to notice an exposed root. He tripped and fell
heavily, and the girl was on top of him, hitting and pounding
with all her might. He hit her in the face then, with great force,
and brought a spurt of blood from her nose. She cried out, and
struck him back in the mouth, tearing his lip.
"Help me, Ayla!" Deegie said, as she descended on the two
children rolling on the ground. She wasn't quite as strong as her
mother, but she was a tall and strong young woman, and when
she grabbed the boy, who happened to be on top of his sister at
that moment, there was no resisting her. Ayla held on to the girl,
who was struggling to get back at the boy again.
"What do you think you're doing?" Deegie said sternly. "How
can you bring this shame upon yourselves? Hitting, striking each
other, and brother and sister besides. Well, you two are coming
with me. We'll get this taken care of right now!" she said, as she
dragged the reluctant boy by the arm. Ayla followed behind with
the girl, who was now struggling to get away.
People stared as they walked past, firmly leading the blood-
spattered children, and then followed behind. By the time Deegie
and Ayla had brought the children to the lodges in the center of
the Camp, word had gone on ahead, and a group of women were
waiting. Tulie was among them, Ayla noticed, and Marlie, and
Brecie, headwomen, she realized, who made up the Council of
Sisters.
"She started it . . ." the boy shouted.
"He took my ..." the girl started to yell back.
"Quiet!" Tulie said, firmly and loudly, her eyes blazing fury.
"There are no excuses for hitting, for striking another person,"
Marlie said, as hard and angry as Tulie. "You are both old
enough to know that, and if you don't, you will now. Bring the
leather thongs," she commanded.
A young man ran into one of the lodges, and soon Valez
emerged, holding several straps of leather. The girl looked horror-
stricken, and the boy's eyes widened. He struggled to get away,
broke free, and started to run, but Talut, who was just coming
from Cattail Camp, caught him in a quick dash, and brought him
back.
Ayla was concerned. Both children needed their hurts attended
to, but more than that, what were they going to do to them?
After all, they were just children.
While Talut held the boy, another man took one of the long
leather thongs and began to wrap it around him, tying his right
arm down to his side. It was not tight enough to cut off circula
tion, but it held the arm immobile. Then someone brought the
girl up, who began to cry when her right arm was tied down to
her side.
"But . . . but he took my ..."
"It doesn't matter what he took," Tulie said.
"There are other ways of getting it back," Brecie said. "You
could have come to the Council of Sisters. That's why we have
Councils."
"What do you think would happen if everyone was allowed to
strike each other just because someone disagreed, or teased, or
took something?" another woman said.
"You both must learn," Marlie said, as the boy's left ankle was
tied to the girl's right ankle, "there is no bond as strong as the
bond between brother and sister. It is the bond of birth. So that
you will remember you will be bound to each other for two days,
and the hands that hit each other held down so they cannot rise in
anger. You must help each other now. One cannot go where the
other cannot go. One cannot sleep unless the other lies down.
One cannot eat, or drink, or wash, or do any personal act without
the other. You will learn to depend on each other, as you must do
all your lives."
"And all who see you will know the abomination you have com
mitted upon each other," Talut announced loudly, so that all
heard.
"Deegie," Ayla said in a quiet voice, "they do need help, the
girl's nose is still bleeding, and the boy's mouth is swollen."
Deegie went to Tulie and whispered in her ear. The woman
nodded, then stepped forward. "Before you return to your Camp,
go with Ayla to the Mammoth Hearth, where she will look to the
hurts you inflicted upon each other."
The first lesson in cooperation they had to learn was how to
match their steps, so they could walk with their ankles tied to-
gether. Deegie went with Ayla and the youngsters to the Mam
moth Hearth, and after they were cleaned up and treated, both
young women watched them hobble away together.
"They were really fighting," Ayla said as they walked back to
Cattail Camp, "but the boy did take something from the girl."
"It doesn't matter," Deegie said. "Hitting is not the way to get
it back. They must learn fighting is unacceptable. It's obvious
they didn't learn that at their own Camp, so they must learn it
here. It makes you understand why Crozie was so reluctant to
have Fralie join with Frebec."
"No, why?"
"Didn't you know? Frebec came from one of those Camps. All
three are closely related. Chaleg is Frebec's cousin."
"Well, Frebec has certainly changed a lot."
"That's true, but I'll be honest with you. I'm still not sure
about him. I think I'll hold judgment until he's really put to the
test."
Ayla couldn't keep her mind off the children, or the thought
that there was something for her to learn from this experience.
Judgment had been swift and absolutely without recourse. They
hadn't even been given a chance to explain, and no one considered
looking at their injuries first—she still didn't even know their
names. But they weren't seriously hurt, and there was no doubt
they had been fighting. While the punishment was swift, and they
were not likely to forget it, it was not painful, though they might
feel the hurt of humiliation and ridicule for many years.
"Deegie," Ayla said, "about those children, their left arms are
free. What will keep them from untying those bonds?"
"Everyone will know it. As humiliating as it may be to have to
walk around the encampment tied together with their arms held
down, it would be far worse if they took the bindings off. It
would be said that they were controlled by the evil spirits of an
ger, that they couldn't even control themselves enough to learn
the value of each other's help. They'd be shunned, and shamed
even worse."
"I don't think they will ever forget this," Ayla said.
"And neither will a lot of other youngsters. Even the arguing
will be less for a while, though it doesn't hurt them to yell at each
other a little," Deegie said.
Ayla was eager to get back to the familiarity of Cattail Camp.
She had met so many people and seen so many things her mind
was in a whirl. It would take awhile to absorb it all, but she
couldn't help but look when they passed by the flint-working area
again. This time, she saw Jondalar, but she also saw someone else
whom she had not expected to see. Mygie was there, looking
adoringly up into his startling blue eyes, and Ay la thought the
way she was standing was particularly exaggerated. Jondalar was
smiling at Mygie, an easy, comfortable smile that she hadn't seen
for a long time, and he had that look in his eyes that she hadn't
seen for a long time, either.
"I thought those red-footed women were supposed to be con
cerned with teaching young men," Ayla said, thinking that no
body needed to teach Jondalar anything.
Deegie noticed Ayla's expression, and quickly saw the reason
for her frown. She could understand it, but on the other hand, it
had been a long and difficult winter for him, too.
"He does have physical needs, Ayla, pst like you do."
Suddenly Ayla blushed. She was the one, after all, who had
been sharing Ranee's bed, while Jondalar slept alone. Why should
she be upset if he found a woman to make Pleasures with here at
the Summer Meeting? She should have expected it, but she knew
why. She wanted him to make Pleasures with her. It wasn't so
much the idea of his choosing Mygie; it was that he hadn't chosen
her.
"If he's going to look for a woman, it's best if he can find an
agreeable red-foot," Deegie continued. "They can't make commit
ments. By the time the season is over, unless the feeling is very
strong, it won't last through a long winter. I don't think his feel
ing for Mygie will be very strong, Ayla, and she might help him
to relax and think more clearly."
"You're right, Deegie. What difference does it make? He's leav
ing after the mammoth hunt, he says . . . and I have Promised to
pin with Ranee," Ayla said.
Then, she thought, as they walked through the crowds of peo
ple, I will go back to the Clan, and find Durc, and bring him
here. He can become a Mamutoi, and share our hearth, and be a
friend to Rydag. And he can bring Ura, too, so he will have a
mate . . . and I will live here with all my new friends, and Ranee,
who loves me, and Durc, my son . . . my only child . . . and
Rydag, and the horses, and Wolf . . . And I'll never see Jondalar
again, Ayla thought, as a cold bleakness filled her.
33

ugie and Tusie came running into the main section of the
tent, giggling and smiling.
"There's another one outside," Rugie announced.
Ay la quickly looked down, Nezzie and Tulie gave each other a
knowing glance, Fralie smiled, and Frebec grinned.
"Another what?" Nezzie asked, to make sure, though she knew.
"Another 'legation,'" Tusie said, with the self-important tone of
being tired of all this nonsense.
"Between the delegations and your duties as a guardian, you're having
a busy summer, Tulie," Fralie said, cutting up some meat for
Tasher, but she knew the headwoman was in her glory to be the focal
point of all the interest shown in the Lion Camp and its members.
Tulie and Ayla went out, then Nezzie did, too, to lend support,
since almost everyone else seemed to be gone already. Fralie and
Frebec walked to the tent opening to see who had come. Frebec followed
the three women out, but Fralie stayed back to keep the children
out of the way. A group of people was standing outside of the
territory which Wolf had determined belonged to the Lion Camp. He
had marked the invisible boundaries with his scent, and patrolled
them regularly. Anyone could come up to them, but no one could
step one foot within them without clear indication of welcome from
someone he knew.
The animal was between the people and the tent, in a defensive
pose, which included bared teeth and a low growl, and none of the
visitors was willing to test his intentions. Ayla signaled him to her
side, and gave him the "friend" sign, which she had spent all of one
morning teaching him to accept, from her and everyone else in Lion
Camp. Against his better instincts, it meant that he must allow outsiders
within the boundaries of the territory of his pack. Though repeat
visitors were more easily tolerated than complete strangers, he
I made it known that he didn't like company, and was always relieved
when they left.
Occasionally, just to get him used to large numbers of people, Ayla
took him through the encampment, keeping him close to her. It al-
ways brought stares and gapes to see the woman walking confidently
with a wolf at her heel, and that made Ay la uncomfortable, but she
felt it was necessary. As similar as wolf ways and people ways were,
if people were going to be his pack, there were some things about
them Wolf was going to have to get used to. People liked each other's
company, even that of strangers, and they liked to gather in large
groups.
But Wolf did not spend all his time within Cattail Camp. He often
went down to the meadow with the horses, and off on forays by him
self, or with individual people, Ay la mostly, but sometimes with Jon-
dalar, or Danug or, strangely enough to many people, with Frebec.
Frebec called the animal to him, and walked him toward the horse
lean-to, to keep him out of the way. Wolf did make people nervous,
and that could have a less than positive effect upon the delegations
that came to court Ay la on behalf of some man. The men were not
interested in joining with Ayla to form a union, they knew she was
Promised to Ranee. They weren't looking for a mate, they were look
ing for a sister. The delegations were coming with offers to adopt her.
As astute and knowledgeable as she was about the nature and cus
toms of her people, not even Tulie had considered the scope of that
possibility. But the first time she was approached by a woman of her
acquaintance, who had only sons, asking if she would entertain an
offer from her hearth and Camp for Ayla's adoption, Tulie immedi
ately understood the implications.
"I should have realized from the beginning," Tulie explained to the
Camp later, "that a single woman of high status, beauty, and talents
would make an extremely desirable sister, particularly since she was
adopted by the Mammoth Hearth. That is not usually considered a
family hearth. We, or rather, Ayla does not have to accept any of
them, unless, of course, she wants to, but the offers alone increase her
value."
Tulie's eyes had been full of glee when she considered how much
Ayla was contributing to the status and worth of the Lion Camp. In
her heart, she almost wished Ayla had not Promised to Ranee. Her
Bride Price could be astounding if she were available. On the other
hand, that would mean the Lion Camp would lose her, and keeping
the treasure was perhaps better than losing it even for a good price.
As long as no set value was placed, speculation would always make it
greater. But the offers they were getting for her adoption opened up a
whole new realm of possibilities. She could be adopted in name, with
out leaving the Lion Camp. She could even become a headwoman, if
her potential brother had the right connections, and ambition. And if
Ayla and Deegie were both headwomen, with direct ties back to Lion
Camp, it could bring tremendous influence. All these thoughts were
going through Tulie's mind as they approached this new delegation.
Ayla had begun to understand that variations in the pattern of de
signs used to decorate clothing and footwear were a means of denning
group identity. Though they all used the same basic geometric
shapes, a preponderance of one over the other—chevrons over dia
mond shapes, for example—and the way they were combined, were
significant indicators of Camp affiliation and ties to other Camps. Un
like Tulie, however, she did not yet recognize instantly from those
patterns, and from personal acquaintance of the people, exactly where
to place them within the overall fabric of hierarchy and relationships
within the group.
The status of some Camps was so high Tulie would have accepted
less in material goods because of the affiliations and value they
brought. Others might be good possibilities if they were willing to
pay enough. Based on the offers already received, Tulie dismissed this
group at one glance. They were hardly worth talking to. They simply
didn't have enough to bring to the relationship to make the association
worthwhile. As a result, Tulie was extremely pleasant to them, but
did not invite them in, and they understood they had come with too
little, too late. Simply making the offer had its compensations, how
ever. It was a way of allying themselves with Lion Camp, which in
creased its influence, and that would be remembered favorably.
While they were standing outside the tent, making pleasantries,
Frebec noticed Wolf striking a defensive posture, and growling
toward the river. Suddenly he was off.
"Ayla!" Frebec called out. "Wolf is after something!"
She whistled, loud, piercing, and urgent, then hurried to look
down on the path leading to the river. She watched Wolf return, fol
lowed by a new group of people. But these were not strangers.
"It's Mammoth Camp," Ayla said. "I see Vincavec."
Tulie turned to Frebec. "Will you see if you can find Talut? We
should greet them properly, and you might tell Marlie or Valez they
have finally arrived."
Frebec nodded and left.
The delegation that had come to make an offer were too curious to
leave now. Vincavec was the first to reach them, saw the delegation,
Ayla, and Tulie, and quickly understood the gist of the circum
stances. He let his backframe drop, and came forward with a smile.
"Tulie, it must be auspicious that you are the first person we see,
since you are the first person I wanted to see," Vincavec said, reach
ing for both her hands and rubbing her cheek with his cheek like a
dear old friend.
"Why should I be the first person you want to see?" Tulie said,
smiling in spite of herself. He was a charmer.
He ignored the question. "Tell me, why are your guests dressed in
their finest? A delegation, perhaps?"
A woman spoke up. "We have made an offer to adopt Ay la," she
said with dignity, as though the offer had not been effectively turned
down. "My son has no sister."
Even Ayla could almost see Vincavec's mind working, but it took
only a moment for him to understand the entire situation, and a mo
ment more to make a decision and act on it.
"Well, I am going to make an offer, too, more formally later, but to
give you something to think about, Tulie, I want to propose a join
ing." He turned to Ayla and took both of her hands. "I want to join
with you, Ayla. I want you to come and make my Mammoth Hearth
something more than a name. Only you can give me that, Ayla. It is
your hearth to bring, but in return, I can give you Mammoth Camp."
Ayla was startled, and overwhelmed. Vincavec knew she had al
ready made a commitment. Why would he ask for her? Even if she
wanted to, could she suddenly change her mind and join with him?
Was it so easy to break a Promise?
"She is already Promised to Ranee," Tulie said.
Vincavec looked directly at the big headwoman, and smiled know
ingly, then reached into a pouch and pulled out his closed hand. He
opened it and held in his palm two beautiful, polished, matched
pieces of amber. "I hope he has a good Bride Price, Tulie."
Tulie's eyes opened wide. His offer was enough to take her breath
away. He had effectively told her to name her price, and name it in
amber if she wanted to, though of course, she wouldn't, not entirely.
Her eyes narrowed then. "It is not for me to decide, Vincavec. Ayla
makes her own choices."
"I know, but take these as my gift to you, Tulie, for all your help in
building my lodge," he said, and pressed them on her.
Tulie was torn. She should refuse. To accept them would give him
an advantage over her, but it was Ayla's decision, and Promised or
not, she was free to make that choice. Why should she object? As she
closed her hand over the amber, she saw Vincavec's expression of
triumph, and Tulie felt as though she had been bought for two pieces
of amber. He knew she would consider no other offer. If he could
convince Ayla, she was his. But Vincavec doesn't know Ayla, Tulie
thought. No one does. She might call herself Mamutoi, but she was a
stranger still, and who could tell what would move her. She watched
as the man with the startling tattooed face turned his full attention on
the young woman, and she saw Ayla's reaction. Without question,
there was interest.
"Tulie! How nice to see you again!" Avarie was approaching, hold
ing out her hands. "We're so late, all the best places are taken. Do you
know a good place to set up Camp? Where are you set up?"
"Right here," Nezzie said, coming up to greet the Mammoth
Camp's headwoman next. She had been very interested in the ex
change between Tulie and Vincavec, and had noted his expression,
too. It was not going to make Ranee happy to know Vincavec was
going to make an offer for Ay la, but Nezzie wasn't at all sure that the
Mamut-headman of the Mammoth Camp was going to find Ayla all
that easy to convince, no matter what he offered.
"You're here? So far away from everything?" Avarie said.
"With the animals, it's the best place for us. They get nervous
around crowds," Tulie said, as though it had been chosen on purpose.
"Vincavec, if Lion Camp is here, why don't we Camp nearby?"
Avarie said.
"It is not a bad place. There are advantages, more room to spread
out," Nezzie said. If both Lion Camp and Mammoth Camp are here,
she thought, some of the interest from the center will move here, too.
Vincavec smiled at Ayla. "I can think of nothing I'd rather do than
set up near Lion Camp," he said.
Talut came striding into Camp then, and greeted the co-leaders of
Mammoth Camp in his booming voice. "Vincavec! Avarie! You fi
nally made it! What held you up?"
"We made some stops along the way," Vincavec said.
"Ask Tulie to show you what he brought her," Nezzie said.
Tulie still felt a little embarrassed, and wished Nezzie hadn't said
anything, but she opened her hand and held out the amber for her
brother to see.
"Those are beautiful pieces," Talut said. "You decided to do some
trading, I see. Did you know Willow Camp has white spiral sea-
shells?"
"Vincavec wants more than seashells," Nezzie said. "He wants to
make an offer for Ayla . . . for his hearth."
"But she's Promised to Ranee," Talut said.
"A Promise is only a Promise," Vincavec said.
Talut looked at Ayla, then Vincavec, then Tulie. Then he laughed.
"Well, this is one Summer Meeting that won't be forgotten for a long
time."
"It wasn't only the stop at Amber Camp," Avarie said. "Seeing
you, Talut, with your big red mane reminds me. We kept trying to go
around a cave lion with a reddish mane, but he seemed to be heading
in the same direction we were. I didn't see a pride, but I think we'd
better warn people there are lions around."
"There are always lions around," Talut said.
"Yes, but this one was acting strange. Lions don't usually bother
with people that much, but for a while, I thought he was stalking us.
He came so close I had trouble sleeping one night. He was the biggest
cave lion I ever saw. I still shake when I think about it," Avarie said.
Ayla listened carefully, frowning, then shook her head. No. Just
coincidence, she thought. There are a lot of big cave lions.
"When you get set up, come up to the clearing. We're talking about
the mammoth hunt and the Mammoth Hearth is planning the Hunting
ceremony. It won't hurt to have another good Caller. I'm sure you
will want mammoth meat for the Matrimonial Feast, since you plan to
be a part of it, Vincavec!" Talut said. He started to leave, then he
turned around to Ayla. "Since you are going to hunt mammoth with
us, why don't you come back with me, and bring your spear-thrower.
I was going to come and get you, anyway."
"I'll walk with you," Tulie said. "I have to go to the Womanhood
Camp and see Latie."

"This is good quality. Especially for blade tools, like chisels,
scrapers, drills," Jondalar said, hunkering down on one knee, examining
the smooth gray interior face of fine-structured flint. He had used
a specially shaped piece of fresh antler, strong and resilient enough to
resist breaking, as a digger and a lever to pry out the exposed lump of
hard silica from its chalky matrix. Then he broke it open with a
hammerstone.
"Wymez says some of the best flint comes from here," Danug said.
Jondalar motioned up at the perpendicular cliff face of a river gorge
that had been worn down over time by the churning water. More
lumps of the hard flint encased in a white opaque crust jutted out
from the somewhat less hard chalky stone. "Flint is always best if you
can get it from the source. This is similar to Dalanar's flint mine and
his is the best stone in our region."
"The Wolf Camp certainly thinks this is the best flint," Tameg
said. "The first time I came here, I was with Valez. You should have
heard him rave. With this place so close to their Camp, they count
these workings as theirs. You did the right thing in asking their permission
to come, Jondalar."
"It's only courtesy. I know how Dalanar feels about his mine."
"What's so special about this stone? I've often seen flint on river
floodplains," Tarneg said.
"Sometimes you can find good nodules that were recently washed
out, on floodplains, and they are a lot easier to get. It's work digging
them out of the rock. But flint tends to dry out if it lies in the open
very long," Jondalar said. "Then the flakes come off shorter, more
abruptly."
"If it's been on the surface too long, Wymez sometimes buries flint
in damp soil for a while to make it easier to work," Danug said.
"I've done that. It can help, but it depends on the size of the nodule,
and how dry it is. If it's a big piece, it can't be too old. It works
best for small ones, even down to egg size, but those are hardly
worthwhile to work, unless they are really fine quality."
"We do something similar with mammoth tusk," Tarneg said. "As a
first step we wrap the tusk in damp skins and bury it with hot ashes.
The ivory changes, becomes denser but easier to work, and easier to
bend. It's the best way to straighten a whole tusk."
"I wondered how you did that," Jondalar said, then he paused,
obviously thinking. "My brother would have wanted to learn about it.
He was a spear maker. He could make a good straight shaft, but he
understood the properties of wood, how to bend and shape it. I think
he would have understood your process, too. Perhaps knowledge of
your methods is one reason Wymez was so quick to grasp the idea of
heating flint to make it more workable. He is one of the best workers
of flint I've ever known."
"You're a good flint man, too, Jondalar," Tarneg said. "Even Wymez
speaks highly of you, and he doesn't praise easily. You know,
I've been thinking. I'm going to need a good flint worker for Aurochs
Camp. I know you've been saying you are going back to your home,
but it sounds like a long trip. Would you consider staying if you had a
place to stay? What I mean is, how would you like to join my Camp?"
Jondalar's forehead furrowed as he tried to think of a way to refuse
Tameg's offer without offending. "I'm not sure. I'd have to think
about it."
"I know Deegie likes you, I'm sure she'd agree. And you wouldn't
have any trouble finding someone to make a hearth with," Tarneg
encouraged. "I've been noticing the women around you, even the red-
foots. First it was Mygie, now all the rest of them find reasons to visit
the flint-workers' area. It must be because you are new around here.
Women are always curious about men they don't know." He smiled.
"I've heard more than one man wishing he was a tall, blond stranger.
They'd all like to get a red-foot interested again, but it's Danug's turn,
this time." Tarneg smirked knowingly at his young cousin.
«T>
Jondalar and Danug both looked uncomfortable. Jondalar stood up,
and looked away to shift attention elsewhere, and in an incidental
way, he noticed that around these two men, he was not exceptionally
tall. The three of them were near the same size, and Danug still had
some growing in him. He was going to be a second Talut. But there
were all sizes, of men at the Meeting, just as there were at Zeiandonii
Summer Meetings.
"Well, I wish you would think about Aurochs Camp, Jondalar.
Now that Deegie and Branag are finally going to be joined, we'll be
building this fall, though I haven't decided yet whether to make a
single lodge, like Lion Camp, or the smaller individual ones for each
family. I tend to be old-fashioned. I like the big ones best, but a lot of
the younger people want a place with just their own relations, and I
admit, when people start arguing, it could be nice to have your own
place to go."
"I appreciate the offer, Tarneg," Jondalar said. "I mean that, but I
don't want to give you a false impression. I am going home. I have to
go back. I could give you a lot of reasons, that I need to bring back
word of my brother's death, for example. But the truth is, I don't
know why I have to go. I just do."
"Is it because of Ayla?" Danug asked with a worried frown.
"That's part of it. I admit, I don't look forward to seeing her shar
ing a hearth with Ranee, but I was trying to convince her to come
back with me when we met you. Now it looks like I'll be going back
alone anyway . . . I'm not looking forward to that either, but that
doesn't change anything. I still have to go."
"I'm not sure I understand, but I wish you good fortune, and may
the Mother smile on your Journey. When do you think you'll leave?"
Tarneg said.
"Soon after the mammoth hunt."
"Speaking of the mammoth hunt, we should be getting back. They
are planning it this afternoon," Tarneg said.
They started walking along the river that was a tributary to the
major waterway near the settlement, and began clambering over rocks
at a place where the walls narrowed in. Working their way out of the
gorge around a precipitous ledge, they came upon a group of young
men shouting words of insult or encouragement to two of them who
were fighting. Druwez was among the spectators.
"What's going on here?" Tarneg said, wading into their midst and
pulling the fighters apart. One was bleeding from the mouth, the
other had an eye that was swelling shut.
"They're just having a ... competition," someone said.
"Yes, they're ... uh ... practicing ... for the wrestling games."
"This is no competition," Tarneg said. "This is a fight."
"No, honest, we weren't fighting," the boy with the puffy eye said,
"just playing around a little."
"You call black eyes and broken teeth playing around? If you were
just practicing, you wouldn't have to come here to this out-of-the-way
place where no one would see you. No, this was planned. I think
you'd better tell me what's going on."
No one volunteered an answer, but there was a lot of shuffling of
feet.
"What about the rest of you?" Tarneg said, eying the other youths.
"What are all of you doing here? Including you, Druwez. What do
you think Mother and Barzec are going to do when they find out you
were here, encouraging a fight? I think you'd better tell me what's
going on here."
Still no one would say.
"I think we'd better take you back and let the Councils decide what
to do with you. The Sisters will find some way to let you work off
your urge to fight, and make a good example of you, besides. Maybe
they'll even ban all of you from mammoth hunts."
"Don't tell on them, Tarneg," Druwez pleaded. "Dalen was only
trying to stop them."
"Stop them? Maybe you should tell me what this fight is about,"
Tameg said.
"I think I know," Danug said. Everyone turned to look at the tall
young man. "It's because of the raid."
"What raid?" Tarneg said. This was sounding serious.
"Some people were talking about making a raid on a Sungaea
Camp," Danug explained.
"You know raiding has been banned. The Councils have been try
ing to negotiate a friendship fire and establish trading with the Sun
gaea. I hate to think of the trouble a raid would cause," Tarneg said.
"Whose idea was this raid?"
"I don't know," Danug said. "One day everyone was talking about
it. Someone discovered a Sungaea Camp a few days' away. The plan
was to say they were going hunting, and instead go and wreck their
Camp, steal their food, and chase them away. I told them I wasn't
interested, and I thought they were stupid to do it. They would just
make trouble for themselves and everyone else. Besides, we stopped at
a Sungaea Camp on our way here. A brother and sister had just died.
Maybe it isn't the same Camp, but they probably all are feeling bad
about it. I didn't think it was right to raid them."
"Danug can do that," Druwez said. "No one's going to call him a
coward, because no one wants to fight him. But when Dalen said he
wasn't going on any raid, either, then a whole bunch of them started
saying he was afraid of a fight. That's when he said he'd show them
he wasn't afraid to fight anyone. We said we'd come with him so they
wouldn't gang up on him."
"Which one of you is Dalen?" Tarneg said. The boy with the bro-
ken tooth and bleeding mouth stepped forward. "Who are you?" he
said to the other one, whose eye was already turning black and blue.
He refused to answer.
"They call him Cluve. He's Chaleg's nephew," Druwez volun
teered.
"I know what you're trying to do," Cluve said sullenly. "You're
going to put all the blame on me )ust because Druwez is your
brother."
"No, I wasn't going to put blame on anyone. I'm going to let the
Council of Brothers decide. You can all expect to get a summons from
them, including my brother. Now, I think you'd better clean your
selves up. If you go back to the Meeting looking like that, everyone
will know you were fighting, and no one would be able to keep it
from the Sisters. I don't have to tell you what will happen to you if
they find out you were fighting about a raid."
The young men hurried to leave before Tarneg changed his mind,
but they left in two groups, one with Cluve, the other with Dalen.
Tarneg made a point of noticing who went with whom. Then the
three of them continued back to the Meeting.
"There's something I'd be interested in knowing, if you don't
mind," Jondalar said. "Why would you let the Council of Brothers
decide what to do with these young men? Would they really keep it
from the Council of Sisters?"
"The Sisters have no tolerance for fighting, and won't listen to any
excuses, but many of the Brothers went on raids when they were
young men, or were in a fight or two, )ust to make a little excitement.
Didn't you ever fight someone when you weren't supposed to,
Jondalar?"
"Well, yes, I guess I did. And got caught, too."
"The Brothers are more lenient, especially toward the one who was
fighting in a good cause, even though Dalen should have told someone
about the raid rather than fighting to show them he wasn't afraid. It
seems easier for a man to condone that sort of thing. The Sisters say
fighting always leads to more fighting, and that may be true, but
Cluve was right about one thing," Tarneg said. "Druwez is my
brother. He wasn't really encouraging the fight, he was trying to help
out his friend. I hate to see him get into trouble for that."
"Did you ever fight anyone, Tameg?" Danug asked.
The future headman looked at his younger cousin for a moment,
then nodded. "Once or twice, but not too many men want to chal
lenge me. Like you, I'm bigger than most. Sometimes those competi
tions are more fight than anyone admits to, though."
"I know," Danug said, with a thoughtful expression.
"But at least they are under watchful eyes that won't let anyone get
badly hurt, and they don't get carried any further and start a revenge
fight." Tarneg glanced at the sky. "It's close to noon, later than I
thought. We'd better hurry if we want to hear about the mammoth
hunt."

When Ayla and Talut reached the clearing, he led her toward a slight rise off to one side that lent itself naturally as a gathering place
for smaller groups and was used for both casual and special meetings.
One was in progress and Ayla scanned the crowd of people looking
for a glimpse of Jondalar. That was all she ever saw of him lately.
From the moment they arrived, he seemed to lose himself in the
throng, leaving Cattail Camp early in the morning, and coming back
late, if at all.
When she did see him, he was often with some woman, usually a
different one each time. She found herself making disparaging remarks
to Deegie and some others about his many partners. She was
not the only one. She'd heard Talut remark that he wondered if Jondalar
was trying to make up for the whole winter in one short season.
His exploits were talked about by many around the Camps, often
with humor and a backhanded sort of admiration, both for his apparent
stamina, and his obvious appeal. It wasn't the first time that his
attractiveness to women was the subject of talk, but it was the first
time he didn't really care.
Ayla laughed at the comments, too, but in the darkness of night,
she held back tears and wondered what was wrong with her. Why
didn't he ever choose her? Yet there was a strange comfort in seeing
him with many different women. At least she knew he hadn't found
any particular one to replace her.
She didn't know that Jondalar was trying to stay away from Cattail
Camp as much as possible. In the closer quarters of the tent, he was
much more conscious of her and Ranee sleeping together--not in the
same bed every night, since she felt she needed the privacy of her own
bed sometimes--but next to each other. It was easy enough to stay
around the flint-working area during the day, and that led to invitations
to meet people and share meals. For the first time since he was a
young man, he was making friends on his own, not with the help of
his brother, and he discovered it wasn't so difficult.
The women gave him an excuse to stay away at night, too, if not all
night, at least until late. He had little real feeling for any of them, but
he felt guilty about using them for a place to stay, and made up for it
in the way he knew best, which made him all the more irresistible. It
had been the experience of many women that a man as handsome as
Jondalar was more concerned with satisfying himself than her, but he
was skilled enough to make any woman feel well cared for. It was a
release for him, he wasn't having to fight his own powerful urges as
well as trying to cope with his confused feelings, and he enjoyed the
women, but in the same way he had always enjoyed women, on a
superficial level. He hungered for the deeper feelings he'd always
searched for and that no woman aroused in him, except Ay la.
Ayla saw him coming back from the Wolf Camp's flint mine, along
with Tarneg and Danug, and as she often did when she saw him, she
felt her heart pound and her throat ache. She noticed Tulie approach
the three men, and then saw her walking away with Jondalar while
Tarneg and Danug continued toward them. Talut waved the two
over.

"I want to ask you about the customs of your people, Jondalar,"
Tulie said when they had found a private place to talk. "I know you
honor the Mother, and that speaks well for you and your Zeia . . .
Zeiandonii, but do you also have a ceremonial initiation into womanhood
with understanding and gentleness?"
"First Rites? Yes, of course. How could anyone not care about how
a young women is opened the first time? Our rituals are not quite the
same as yours, but I think the purpose is the same," Jondalar said.
"Good. I have been talking with some women. They speak highly
of you, you've been recommended several times, and that's important,
but more important is that Latie has asked for you. Would you be
willing to be a part of her initiation?"
Jondalar realized he should have known what was coming. It wasn't
as though he hadn't been asked before, but for some reason he
thought she just wanted to know about the customs of his people. In
the past, he had always been more than willing to participate and he
was tempted, but this time he hesitated. He had also felt a terrible
guilt afterward, for using the deeply sacred ceremony to satisfy his
own needs for the deeper feelings it evoked. He wasn't sure he could
handle those mixed feelings right now, particularly with someone he
liked as much as Latie.
"Tulie, I have participated in similar rituals, and I understand the
honor you and Latie have offered me, but I think I must refuse. I
realize we have no real relationship, but I have lived with Lion Camp
all winter, and in that time I have come to regard Latie as a sister,"
Jondalar said, "a special younger sister."
Tulie nodded. "That's too bad, Jondalar. In many ways, you would
be the perfect one. You come from so far away, there is no possible
relationship between you. But I can understand how she could come
to feel like a sister. You haven't exactly shared the same hearth, but
Nezzie has treated you with the affection of a son, and Latie is a
person with much promise. There is no worse abomination in the
eyes of the Mother than for a man to initiate a woman born of his own
mother. If you feel like a brother, I'm afraid it would taint the ceremony.
I'm glad you told me this."
They walked back together toward the people sitting and standing
on the slope and where it leveled out into the clearing. Jondalar noticed
that Talut was talking, and even more interesting, Ayla was
standing beside him with her spear-thrower.
"You've seen how far Ayla can throw a spear with this spear-throwing
weapon," Talut was saying, "but I'd like to have them both show
it to you under better circumstances, where you can really see what it
can do. I know most of us like to use a larger spear with the shaped
points Wymez developed for hunting mammoths, but this throwing
weapon has some real advantages. Some of us at Lion Camp have
experimented with it. This will throw a good-sized spear, but it takes
practice, just like throwing a spear by hand does. Most grow up
throwing spears, in games and hunting. They are used to throwing,
but if they could see how well it works, I'm sure many people would
give it a try. Ayla says she plans to use it on the mammoth hunt, and
I'm sure Jondalar will, too, so some people will see what it can do.
We've talked about a contest, but it hasn't quite worked out yet.
When we return from the hunt, I think we should plan to have a big
contest, with all kinds of competitions."
There were general expressions of agreement to his suggestion, then
Brecie said, "I think a big contest is a good idea, Talut. I wouldn't
mind seeing two or three days of it. We've been working on a throwing
stick. Some of us have gotten several birds from a flock with one
throw. In the meantime, I think we should let the mamuti work out
the best day to leave, and do some Calling for mammoths. And if we
have nothing more to talk about, I have to get back to my Camp."
The meeting started to break up, then there was a sudden flurry of
interest as Vincavec strode into the clearing, followed by his Camp,
the delegation that had been talking about adopting Ayla, and the last
of Lion Camp, Nezzie and Rydag. The people from the delegation
began to spread the news that the Mamut-headman of the Mammoth
Camp was willing to pay any Bride Price Tulie wanted for Ayla, in
spite of the fact that she was already Promised.
"You know he claims the right to name his Camp after the Mamoth
Hearth, just because he's Mamut," Jondalar heard a woman say- ^g to another woman nearby, "but he can't claim any hearth until
he's joined. The woman brings the hearth. He just wants her because
she's a daughter of the Mammoth Hearth, to make his so-called Mam
moth Camp acceptable."
Jondalar happened to be standing near Ranee when he overheard
someone tell him. He was surprised to feel a sense of compassion
when he saw the dark man's expression. It occurred to him that if
anyone knew how Ranee was feeling at that moment, he did. But at
least he knew that the man who had convinced Ayla to live with him
loved her. It seemed obvious that Vincavec wanted Ayla just to serve
his own purposes, not because he cared about her.
Ayla, too, was overhearing pieces of conversation in which her
name was mentioned. She didn't like overhearing. In the Clan, she
could have averted her eyes so as not to eavesdrop, but when commu
nication was entirely verbal, she could not close her ears.
And then, suddenly, she wasn't hearing anyone, except the tone of
taunting voices from several older children, and the word "flathead."
"Look at that animal, all dressed up like people," an older boy said,
pointing his finger at Rydag, and laughing.
"They dress the horses, why not the flathead?" someone else added,
with more laughter.
"She claims he's a person, you know. They say he understands
everything you say, and can even talk," another of the youngsters
said.
"Sure, and if she could get the wolf to walk on his hind legs, she'd
probably call him a person, too."
"Maybe you'd better be careful what you say. Chaleg says the
flathead can make the wolf go after you. He says the flathead made
the wolf attack him, and he's taking it to the Council of Brothers."
"Well, doesn't that prove he's an animal? If he can make another
animal attack?"
"My mother says she doesn't think it's right for them to bring ani
mals to a Summer Meeting."
"My uncle said he doesn't mind the horses, so much, or even the
wolf, so long as they keep them away, but he thinks they ought to be
banned from bringing that flathead to meetings and ceremonies that
are meant for people."
"Hey, flathead! Go on, get out of here. Go back to your pack, with
the other animals, where you belong."
At first Ayla was too stunned to react to the openly derogatory
comments. Then she saw Rydag close his eyes and look down, and
start to head back toward Cattail Camp. With blazing anger, she
stormed up to the youngsters.
"What is wrong with you? How can you call Rydag an animal? Are
you blind?" Ayla said with barely restrained fury. Several people
stopped to see what was going on. "Can't you see he understands
every word you say? How can you be so cruel? Do you feel no
shame?"
"Why should my son feel shame?" a woman said, coming to her
youngster's defense. "That flathead is an animal, and shouldn't be
allowed at ceremonies that are sacred to the Mother."
Several more people were crowding around now, including most of
the Lion Camp. "Ayla, don't pay attention to them," Nezzie said,
trying to cool her rage.
"Animal! How dare you say he's an animal! Rydag is just as much a
person as you are," Ayla cried, turning on the woman.
"I don't have to be insulted like that," the woman said. "I'm no
flathead woman."
"No, you aren't! She would be more human than you are. She
would have more compassion, more understanding."
"How do you know so much?"
"No one knows better than I. They took me in, raised me when I
lost my people and had no one else. I would have died if it hadn't
been for the compassion of a woman of the Clan," Ayla said. "I was
proud to be a woman of the Clan, and a mother."
"No! Ayla don't!" she heard Jondalar saying, but she was past all
caring.
"They are human, and so is Rydag. I know, because I have a son
like him."
"Oh, no." Jondalar cringed, as he pushed his way forward to stand
beside her.
"Did she say she had a son like him?" a man said. "A son of mixed
spirits?"
"I'm afraid you've done it now, Ayla," Jondalar said quietly.
"She mothered an abomination? You better get away from her." A
man came forward to the woman who had been arguing with Ayla.
"If she draws that kind of spirit to her, it might get inside some other
women, too."
"That's right! You better get away from her, too," another man said
to the obviously pregnant woman standing beside him, as he led her
away. Other people were drawing back, their expressions full of re
pugnance and fear.
"Clan?" one of the musicians said. "Those rhythms she played,
didn't she say they were Clan rhythms? Is that who she meant?
Flatheads?"
As Ayla looked around, she felt a moment of panic, and an urge to
run from all these people who were looking at her with such disgust.
Then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, lifted her chin and
stood her ground defiantly. What right did they have to say her son
was less than human? From the corner of her eye she saw Jondalar
standing beside, and just behind her, and was more grateful than she
could say.
Then, on her other side, another man stepped forward. She turned
and smiled at Mamut, and Ranee as well. Then Nezzie was standing
with her, and Talut, and then, of all people, Frebec. Almost as one,
the rest of the Lion Camp stood beside her.
"You are wrong," Mamut said to the throng, in the voice that
seemed too powerful to come from one so old. "Flatheads are not
animals. They are people, and children of the Mother as much as you
are. I, too, lived with them for a time, and hunted with them. Their
medicine woman healed my arm, and I learned my way to the Mother
through them. The Mother does not mix spirits, there are no horse-
wolves, or lion-deer. The people of the Clan are different, but the
difference is insignificant. No children like Rydag, or Ayla's son,
could be born if they were not human, too. They are not abomina
tions. They are simply children."
"I don't care what you say, old Mamut," the pregnant woman said.
"I don't want a flathead child or a mixed one. If she already had one,
that spirit may linger around her."
"Woman, Ayla is no threat to you," the old shaman replied. "The
spirit that was chosen for your child is already there. It cannot be
changed now. It was not Ayla's doing that gave her baby the spirit of
a flathead man, she did not draw that spirit to her. It was the
Mother's choice. You must remember, a man's spirit never lingers far
from the man himself. Ayla grew up with the Clan. She became a
woman while she lived with them. When Mut decided to give her a
child, She could only choose from the men who were nearby, and
they were all men of the Clan. Of course the spirit of one of them was
chosen to enter her, but you don't see any men of the Clan around
here now, do you?"
"Old Mamut, what if there were some flathead men nearby?" a
woman shouted out from the crowd.
"I believe they would have to be very close, even share the same
hearth, before that spirit would be chosen. The people of the Clan are
human, but there are some differences. While life is better than no life
to the Mother, which is why Ayla was given a child when she wanted
one, it is not easy to blend the two. With so many Mamutoi men
around, one of them would be chosen first."
"That's what you say, old man," another voice called out. "I'm not
so sure it's true. I'm keeping my woman away from her."
"No wonder she's so good with animals, she grew up with them."
a,,i^ i-.,.,,-.^ onrl caw that it was Chaleg who was talking.
"Does that mean their magic is stronger than ours?" Frebec replied.
There was some uneasy shuffling in the crowd.
"I've heard her say it's not magic. She says anyone can do it."
Frebec recognized the voice of the Mamut of Chaleg's Camp.
"Then why hasn't anyone done it before?" Frebec said. "You are
Mamut. If anyone can do it, let me see you go out and ride back on a
horse. Why don't you bring a wolf under your control? I've seen Ayla
whistle birds down out of the sky."
"Why are you standing up for her, Frebec, against your own fam
ily, your own Camp?" Chaleg asked.
"What Camp is my Camp? The one that turned me out, or the one
that took me in? My hearth is the Hearth of the Crane, my Camp is
Lion Camp. Ayla lived near us all winter. Ayla was there when Beetle
was born, and she is not mixed. The daughter of my hearth would
not even be here now, if it hadn't been for Ayla."
Jondalar listened to Frebec with a lump in his throat. In spite of
what he said, it took real courage to face down his own cousin, his
own relatives, the Camp of his birth. Jondalar could hardly believe
this was the same man who had been such a big troublemaker. He
had been so quick to condemn Frebec in the beginning, yet who was
the one who had felt embarrassed for Ayla? Who was the one who
feared what people would say if she said anything about her back
ground? Who was the one that was afraid he would be rejected by his
family and his people if he stood up for her? Frebec had shown him
what a coward he was. Frebec, and Ayla.
When he'd seen her swallow down her fear, and lift her chin to face
them all, he had never felt more proud of anyone in his life. Then the
Lion Camp stood up with her, and he could hardly believe it. The
ones that counted were the ones that cared. Jondalar forgot as he
thought about Ayla and the Lion Camp with praise and pride, that he
had been the first one to rush to her side.
34
r-r^
I
he Lion Camp returned to Cattail Camp to discuss the unex
pected crisis. An initial suggestion to leave immediately was quickly
abandoned. They were, after all, Mamutoi, and this was the Summer
Meeting. Tulie had stopped by for Latie so that she could be included
in the discussions, and prepared for the possibility of unkind com
ments directed at her, Ayla, or the Lion Camp. She was asked if she
wanted to delay her womanhood rites. Latie defended Ayla vehe
mently, and decided she would return to the special Camp for the
ceremony and ritual, and just let anyone try to say anything bad
about Ayla, or the Lion Camp.
Then Tulie asked Ayla why she hadn't mentioned her son before.
Ayla explained she didn't like to talk about him because it still hurt
too much, and Nezzie quickly made it clear that she had been told in
the very beginning. Mamut also admitted to knowing about him.
Though the headwoman wished she had known and wondered why
she was not told, she did not blame Ayla. She considered whether she
would have thought about the young woman any differently, had she
known, and admitted she might not have credited her with as much
potential value or status. Then she began to question her position.
Why should it make a difference? Was Ayla any different?
Rydag was very upset and depressed, and nothing Nezzie said or
did seemed to help. He wouldn't eat, wouldn't go out of the tent,
wouldn't communicate except to respond to a direct question. He
would only sit and hug the wolf. Nezzie was grateful for the animal's
patience. Ayla decided to see if there was anything she could do. She
found him sitting with the wolf on his sleeping roll in a dark corner.
Wolf lifted his head, and banged his tail on the ground at her
approach.
"Is it all right if I sit down here with you, Rydag?" she asked.
He shrugged an assent. She sat beside him and asked how he felt,
speaking aloud to him, but automatically signing the words, too, until
she realized it was probably too dark to see. It struck her then, the
real advantage to being able to speak with words. It wasn't that you
couldn't speak as well with signals and hand signs, it was that you
weren't limited by only what you could see.
It was like the difference between thrusting with a spear when
hunting, like the Clan did, or throwing it. Both were effective weapons
for bringing meat home, but one had greater range and possibilities.
She had seen how useful motions and signs, which were not
understood by everyone, could be, particularly for secret or private
communication, but overall, there was a greater advantage in speaking
with words that could be heard and understood. With a full verbal
language, you could speak to someone who was behind a barrier, or in
a different room, or even shout across a distance, or to a large group.
You could speak when someone's back was turned, or when you were
holding something, which freed the hands for other purposes, and
you could speak softly in the dark.
Ay la sat quietly with the boy for some time, not asking questions,
just offering closeness and company. After a while, she started talking
to him, telling Rydag about the time she lived with the Clan.
"In some ways, this Meeting reminds me of the Clan Gathering,"
Ayla said. "Here, even if I look the same as everyone, I feel different.
There, I was different. . . taller than any of the men by then . . . just
a big ugly woman. It was awful when we first got there. They almost
weren't going to let Brun's clan stay because they brought me. They
said I wasn't Clan, but Creb insisted that I was. He was the Mog-ur,
and they didn't dare dispute him. It's a good thing Durc was only a
baby. When they saw him, they thought he was deformed, and they
all stared. You know how it feels. But he wasn't deformed. He was
just a mixture, like you are. Or maybe you are more like Ura. Her
mother was Clan."
"You say before, Ura will join with Durc?" Rydag asked, turning
toward the light from the fire to make his motions seen. He was intrigued
in spite of himself.
"Yes. Her mother came to me, and it was arranged. She was so
relieved to know there was another child, a boy, like her daughter.
She was so afraid Ura would never find a mate. To be honest, I didn't
think about it much. I was just grateful that Durc was accepted into
the Clan."
"Durc is Clan? He is mixed, but Clan?" the boy signed.
"Yes, Brun accepted him, Creb named him. Not even Broud can
take that away from him. And everyone loves him--except Broud--
even Oga, Broud's mate. She nursed him, when I lost my milk, right
along with her son, Grew. They grew up together like brothers, and
they are good friends. Old Grod made Durc a little spear, just his
size." Ayla smiled at the memory. "Uba loves him best, though. Uba
is my sister, like you and Rugie. She is Durc's mother now. I gave
him to Uba when Broud made me leave. He may look a little different,
but yes, Durc is Clan."
"I hate .it here," Rydag motioned with vehement anger. "I wish I
am Durc and live with Clan."
Ry dag's comment startled Ay la. Even after they talked more, and
she finally convinced him to eat something, and then tucked him into
his bed, it stayed on her mind.
Ranee watched Ay la all evening. He noticed how she would stop in
the middle of some activity, like lifting a bite of food to her mouth,
for example, while her eyes glazed over with a faraway look, or a
frown of concentration creased her forehead. He knew her thoughts
were weighing heavily on her mind, and he wanted so much to com
fort her, share them with her.
Everyone stayed at Cattail Camp that night, and the tent was
crowded. Ranee waited until Ay la finally started to slide into her fur
bedroll, then he quickly went to his.
"Will you share my furs tonight, Ay la?" Ranee watched her close
her eyes and frown. "I don't mean for Pleasures," he added quickly,
"unless you want to. I know this has been a hard day for you ..."
"I think it's been harder for Lion Camp," Ay la said.
"I don't think it's been any harder, but that doesn't matter. I just
want to give you something, Ay la. My furs to keep you warm, my
love to comfort you. I want to be close to you tonight."
She nodded acquiescence, and slid into Ranee's bedroll with him,
but she could not sleep, could not even rest comfortably, and he was
aware of it.
"Ayla, what's troubling you? Would you like to talk about it?"
Ranee said.
"I've been thinking about Rydag, and my son, but I don't know if I
can talk about it. I just need to think about it."
"You'd rather be in your own bed, wouldn't you?" he finally said.
"I know you want to help, Ranee, and that in itself helps more than
I can say. I can't tell you how much it meant to me when I saw you
there, standing beside me. I am so grateful to the Lion Camp, too.
Everyone has been so good, so wonderful to me, almost too wonder
ful. I learned so much from them, and I was so proud to be Mamutoi,
to say they were my people. I thought all the Others—the ones I used
to call the Others—were like the Lion Camp, but now I know that
isn't true. Like the Clan, most people are good people, but not every
one, and even good people are not good about everything. I had some
ideas and ... I was making some plans . . . but, I need to think,
now."
"And you can think better in your own bed, not cramped in here
with me. Go ahead, Ayla, you'll still be next to me," Ranee said.
Ranee wasn't the only one who had been watching Ayla, and when
Jondalar saw her get out of Ranee's bedroll and into her own, he had a
strange set of mixed feelings. He was relieved that he wouldn't have
to grit his teeth against the sounds of them sharing Pleasures, but he
felt a pang of regret for Ranee. If he had been in the dark carver's
place, he would have wanted to hold Ayla, and comfort her, try to
take on some of her pain. It would have hurt him if she had left his
bed to sleep alone.
After Ranee fell asleep and a deep stillness settled on the Camp,
Ayla quietly got up, slipped on a light parka against the nighttime
chill, and went outside into the dark starlit night. In a moment. Wolf
was beside her. They walked toward the horse lean-to, and were wel
comed by a nicker from Racer, and a soft blow of recognition from
Whinney. After patting and scratching, and quiet words, Ayla put
her arms around Whinney's neck, and leaned on her.
How many times had the hay-colored mare been her friend when
she needed one? Ayla smiled. What would the Clan think of her
friends? Two horses and a wolf! She was grateful for their presence,
their company, but there was still an emptiness inside her. Someone
was missing, the one she wanted most. Yet he had been there. Even
before the Lion Camp stood up for her. She didn't even know where
he came from. Suddenly Jondalar was just there, beside her, standing
against them all. Against their repugnance, their disgust. It had been
terrible, worse than the Clan Gathering. It wasn't just that she was
different. They feared her, hated her. That's what he'd been trying to
tell her all along. But even if she'd known, it wouldn't have made any
difference. She couldn't let them pick on Rydag, or malign her son.
From the opening of the tent, another pair of eyes watched her.
Jondalar could not sleep either. He had seen her get up, and quietly
followed her. How many times had he seen her like that with Whin
ney? He was happy that she had the animals to turn to, but he ached
to be in the mare's place. But it was too late. She didn't want him,
and he couldn't blame her. With a sudden realization, he saw through
his emotional confusion, saw his actions with a new clarity, and real
ized that he had done it himself. In the very beginning, he wasn't just
being "fair" and letting her make her own choice. He had turned
away from her, out of petty jealousy. He was hurt, and wanted to
hurt back.
There was more to it than that, admit it, Jondalar, he said to him
self. You were hurt, but you knew how she was raised. She didn't
even understand your jealousy. When she went to Ranee's bed that
night, she was only being a "good Clan woman." That was the real
problem, her Clan background. You were ashamed of it. You were
ashamed to love her, afraid you would have to face what she faced
today. You didn't know if you could stand up for her. No matter how
much you said you loved her, you were afraid you'd turn against her,
too. Well, there is no shame in loving her, the shame is in your own
cowardice. And now it's too late. She didn't need you. She stood up
for herself, and then the whole Lion Camp stood up for her. She
doesn't need you at all, and you don't deserve her.
Finally the chill drove Ay la back in. She glanced toward Jondalar's
sleeping place when she entered the tent. He was rolled over on his
side, facing the other way. She slipped into her bed, and felt a heavy,
sleeping hand reach for her. Ranee did love her, she knew that. And
she loved him, too, in her own way. She lay still, and listened to
Ranee's steady breathing. After a while he rolled the other way and
the hand was gone.
Ayla tried to sleep, but she couldn't stop thinking. She had wanted
to go for Durc and bring him back to Lion Camp to live with her.
Now she questioned if that would be best for him. Would he be happier
here with her than he would be living with the Clan? Could he be
happy living with people who would hate him? Who would call him a
nathead and worse, a half-animal abomination? With the Clan, he was
known, and loved; he was one of them. Maybe Broud hated him, but
even at the Clan Gathering, he would have friends. He was accepted,
he would be allowed to join in the competitions, and the ceremonies--did
Durc have the Clan memories? she wondered.
If she couldn't take him away, could she go back to the Clan and
live? Now that she had found people like herself, could she ever accept
Clan ways, again? They would never allow her to keep her animals.
Would she be willing to give up Whinney and Racer, and Wolf,
and be only Durc's mother? Does Durc need a mother? He was a
baby when I left, but he's not a baby any more. By now, Brun is
teaching him to hunt.
He has probably made his first small kills, and brought them back
to show Uba. Ayla smiled to herself at the picture that evoked. Uba
would praise him so highly, and tell him what a brave, strong hunter
he is.
Durc has a mother! she realized. Uba is his mother. Uba has raised
him, taken care of him, nursed his little cuts and scrapes. How can I
take him away from her? Who would take care of her when she gets
old? Even when he was a baby, the other women in the clan were
more mother to him than I was after I lost my milk.
How can I go back and get him, anyway? I am cursed. To the
Clan, I am Dead! If Durc saw me, I would only frighten him, and
everyone else. Even if there was no death curse on me, would he be
happy to see me? Would he even remember me?
«-k^ „ hihw whpn I left. By now, he is at the
--11--
Clan Gathering and has met Ura. He's young yet, but he must be
thinking about the time when they will mate. He is planning to make
a hearth--just as I am, she thought. Even if I could convince him I
wasn't a spirit, Durc would have to bring Ura with him, and Ura
would be miserable here. It will be difficult enough for her to leave
her own clan and live with Durc and his clan, but to move into a
world in which nothing was familiar would be so much worse. Especially
a world where she would be hated and misunderstood.
What if I went back to the valley? And then brought Durc and Ura
to live there? But Durc needs people . . . and so do I. I don't want to
live alone, why should Durc want to live alone in a valley with me?
I've been thinking of myself, not Durc. It would not be better for
him to come here. It would not make him happy. It would only make
me happy. But I am not Durc's mother any more. Uba is his mother.
I am nothing to him but a memory of a mother who died, and maybe
it's better that way. The Clan is his world, and like it or not, this is
my world. I cannot go back to the Clan; Durc cannot come here.
There is no place in this world where my son and I can live together,
and be happy.

Ayla woke early the next morning. Even after she did finally go to
sleep, she did not sleep well. She woke often from dreams of shaking
earth and crumbling caves, and felt uneasy and depressed. She helped
Nezzie heat water for soup and grind grains for a morning meal, and
was glad for the opportunity to talk with her.
"I feel terrible about all the trouble I've caused, Nezzie. The whole
Lion Camp is being shunned because of me," Ayla said.
"Don't even say that. It's not your fault, Ayla. We had a choice,
and we made it. You were only defending Rydag, and he is a member
of Lion Camp, too, at least to us."
"All this trouble has made me realize something," Ayla continued.
"Ever since I left the Clan, I've always thought about going back to
get my son someday. Now I know I never can. I can't bring him here,
and I can't go back there. But knowing that I'll never see him makes
me feel that I just lost him all over again. I wish I could cry, grieve for
him, mourn for him, but I just feel dry and empty."
Nezzie was sorting through yesterday's fresh-picked berries and
pulling off the stems. She stopped and gave Ayla a level gaze. "Everyone
suffers disappointments in life. Everyone loses loved ones. Some
are real tragedies. You lost your people when you were young. That
was a tragedy, but there was nothing you could do about it. It's worse
if you blame yourself. Wymez lives every day of his life blaming himself
for the death of the woman he loved. I think Jondalar blames
himself for his brother's death. You've lost a son. It is hard for a
mother to lose a child, but you do have something. You know he is
probably still alive. Rydag lost his mother . . . someday I will lose
him."
After breakfast, Ayla went out. Most people were staying around
Cattail Camp. She looked toward the center of the Meeting, then at
Larch Camp, the newly set up summer home of the Mammoth Camp.
She was surprised to see Avarie looking across at her. She wondered
how they felt today about setting up the Camp so close to Lion Camp.

Avarie went to the tent her brother had designated as the Mammoth
Hearth, scratched on the leather, then without waiting for a
response, went in. Vincavec had spread his fur bedroll out so that it
took up almost half the floor space. In the middle was a backrest, an
ornately decorated hide stretched across a mammoth bone frame that
had been lashed together with rawhide. He was sitting up on his furs,
lounging against the backrest.
"The feelings are mixed," she said without preamble.
"I can imagine," Vincavec replied. "Lion Camp worked hard with
us putting up the lodge. By the time they left, everyone was feeling
more than friendly toward them. And Ayla with her horses and wolf
was fascinating--and a little awe-inspiring. But now, if old stories
and customs are to be believed, Lion Camp is sheltering an abomination,
a woman of unbridled evil, who draws animal flathead spirits to
her like a fire draws moths at night, and spreads them around to the
other women. What do you think, Avarie?"
"I don't know, Vincavec. I like Ayla, and she doesn't seem like an
evil person to me. The boy doesn't seem like an animal, either. He's
just weak and can't talk, but I do believe he understands. Maybe he is
human, and maybe the other flatheads are, too. Maybe the old Mamut
is right. The Mother just chose a spirit from the only men near Ayla
when She gave her a baby. I didn't know she lived with a pack of
flatheads once, though, or that the old man did."
"That old man has lived so many years, he's forgotten more things
than a double handful of younger men have ever learned, and he's
often right. I have a feeling about this, Avarie. I don't think it will
have lasting bad effects. There is something about Ayla that makes
me think the Mother watches out for her. I think she may come out of
this more powerful than she was before. Let's find out how Mammoth
Camp feels about siding with Lion Camp."

"Where's Tulie?" Fralie asked, looking around the tent.
"She went with Latie back to the Womanhood Camp," Nezzie said.
"Why?"

"Do you remember that Camp that came offering to adopt Ayla,
^ust before Mammoth Camp arrived?"
Ayla looked at Fralie questioningly.
"Yes," Nezzie said. "The one Tulie didn't think had enough to
offer."
"They are outside asking for Tulie, again."
"I'll go see what they want," Nezzie said.
Ayla waited inside, not really wanting to face them, if she didn't
have to. After a few moments, Nezzie returned.
"They still want to adopt you, Ayla," she said. "The headwoman
of that Camp has four sons. They want you for a sister. She says if
you have already had one son, it proves you are capable of having
children. They have increased their offer. Maybe you should go out
and welcome them, in the name of the Mother."

Tulie and Latie walked with purposeful strides through the encampment,
side by side, looking straight ahead, ignoring the curious
stares of the people they passed.
"Tulie! Latie! Wait a moment," Brecie called out, hurrying to catch
up with them. "We were just getting ready to send a runner to you,
Tulie. We'd like to invite you to share a meal with us at Willow Camp
this evening."
"Thank you, Brecie. I appreciate your invitation. Of course we'll
come. I should have known we could count on you."
"We've been friends a long time, Tulie. Sometimes old tales are
believed just because they are old. Fralie's baby looks fine to me."
"And she was born early, too. Bectie wouldn't even be alive, if it
wasn't for Ayla," Latie said, quick to defend her friend.
"I did wonder where she came from, though. Everyone thought she
came with Jondalar. They are both tall and blond, but I knew better.
I remember when we pulled him and his brother out of the muck near
Beran Sea. She wasn't with them, then, and I knew that wasn't a
Mamutoi accent, or a Sungaea accent either. But I still don't know
how she controls those horses and that wolf."
Tulie was feeling much better as they continued toward the center
of the hollow, and the earthlodges of Wolf Camp.

"How many does that make?" Tameg asked Barzec as another delegation
was leaving.
"Almost half the Camps have made some gesture of reconciliation,"
Barzec said. "I can think of one or two more who might still decide to
join with us."
"But that still leaves about half the Camps," Talut said. "And some
of them are arguing pretty hard against us. Some are even saying we
should leave."
"Yes, but look who they are, and Chaleg is the only one I've heard
who is saying we should leave," Tarneg said.
"But they're Mamutoi, too, and even seeds blown by ill winds can
take root," Nezzie said.
"I don't like this split," Talut said. "There are too many good peo
ple on both sides. I wish I could think of some way to make it right
again."
"Ayla feels terrible, too. She says that she's causing problems for
Lion Camp. Did you see the look on her face when those youngsters
that were fighting started calling her 'animal woman'?"
"Do you mean the ones that we caught by the ri—?" Danug started
to ask, but Tarneg quickly interrupted.
"She means the brother and sister that Ayla and Deegie caught
hitting each other." Danug would have to be careful. He had almost
slipped and mentioned something about the boys that were fighting,
Tarneg thought.
"I've never seen Rydag so upset," Nezzie continued. "Every year
the Meetings have been harder on him. He doesn't like the way peo
ple treat him, but this year is worse . . . maybe because it's so much
better for him at Lion Camp now. I'm afraid all this is not good for
him, but I don't know what to do. Even Ayla's worried, and that
worries me more."
"Where is Ayla now?" Danug asked.
"Out with the horses," Nezzie said.
"I think she should take it as a compliment when they call her 'ani
mal woman.' You must admit, she is good with animals," Barzec said.
"Some people even think she can speak with their spirits from the
other world."
"Some of the others say it just proves that she lived with animals,"
Tarneg reminded him. "And accuse her of drawing different kinds of
spirits that are not so welcome."
"Ayla still says anyone can make animals friendly," Talut said.
"She tries to make less of it," Barzec said. "That may be why some
of the others don't put as much importance on it. People are more
used to someone like Vincavec, someone who lets you know how
great he thinks he is."
Nezzie looked at Tulie's man, and wondered why he didn't seem to
care much for Vincavec. The Mammoth Camp had been one of the
first to take their side.
"You may be right, Barzec," Tarneg said. "It's strange how quickly
you can get used to having animals around, when they behave so well.
They don't seem unnatural. They're just like any other animal, except
you can get close to them, and touch them. But when you think about
it, it is beyond reason. Why should that wolf obey a signal from a
weak child that he could easily tear apart? Why should those horses
let someone sit on their backs and ride them? And what would make a
person even think to try it?"
"I wouldn't be surprised if Latie tries it, someday," Talut said.
"If anyone will, she will," Danug said. "Did you see her when she
was here? First place she went was the horse lean-to. She missed them
more than anyone. I think she's in love with those horses."

Jondalar had been listening without making any comment. The situation
Ayla had caused for herself by admitting her background was
painful and debasing, but in many ways it hadn't been as bad as he
had imagined it would be. He was surprised that she hadn't been
more thoroughly denounced. He had expected her to be vilified,
driven out, completely ostracized. Was the taboo worse among his
people, or did he just think it was?
When the Lion Camp stood up for her, he thought they must be a
rare exception, who might be more forgiving because of Rydag.
Then, when Vincavec and Avarie of Mammoth Camp came to offer
support, Jondalar began to reconsider, and when more and more of
the Camps voluntarily came to offer support to the Lion Camp, he
was forced to inspect his own beliefs.
Jondalar was a physical man. He understood concepts such as love,
compassion, anger, with an empathy that was based on his own feelings,
even though he could not express them well. He could discuss
intangible philosophies and matters of the spirit with intelligence, but
they were not his passion, and he accepted his society's positions
without deep misgivings. But Ayla had faced the crowd with such
dignity and quiet strength, respect for her soared. It gave him a rare
insight.
He began to understand that just because some people thought certain
behavior was wrong, that didn't make it so. A person could resist
popular belief and stand up for personal principles, and though there
might be consequences, not everything would necessarily be lost. In
fact, something important might be gained, if only within oneself.
Ayla was not expelled from the people who had so recently adopted
her. Half of them were willing to accept her, and believed her to be a
woman of rare talent and courage.
The other half were of a different mind, but not all for the same
reasons. Some saw it as an opportunity to gain influence and status by
opposing the powerful Lion Camp at a time when their position was
threatened. Others were genuinely incensed that a woman who was so
depraved could be allowed to live among them. In their opinion, she
personified evil, even more so because she did not appear to be evil.
She looked like any other woman, more attractive than most, but she
had duped them by a trick of controlling animals that she must have
learned when she lived with the bestial flathead abominations, who
had even fooled some people into thinking they were human.
Many feared her. By her own admission, she had spawned one of
those misbegotten half-animals, and now threatened every other
woman at the Summer Meeting. No matter what old Mamut said,
everyone knew certain male spirits were consistently drawn to the
same woman. The Lion Camp had allowed Nezzie to keep that animal
child, and now look what they had! More animals, and an abomination
of a woman who had probably been drawn to him. The entire
Lion Camp ought to be banned.
The Mamutoi were a close-knit people. Almost everyone could
count at least one relative or friend in every Camp. But now the fabric
of their lives threatened to be torn apart, and many people, including
Talut, were very distressed. The Councils convened, but ended up
wrangling over the dispute. This was an unprecedented situation, and
they didn't have the means or the strategies to resolve it.

The bright afternoon sun did little to dispel the somber mood of the
encampment. Walking Whinney up the path toward Cattail Camp,
Ayla noticed the place where red-ochre earth had been dug out of the
ground, and it reminded her of her visit to the Music Lodge. Though
they were still practicing, and still planning a big celebration after the
mammoth hunt, there wasn't the same sense of expectation and excitement
about it. Even the happiness Deegie had felt about her Matrimonial,
and Latie about her elevation to the status of woman, was
dampened by the differences that threatened to disrupt the entire
Summer Meeting.
Ayla talked about leaving, but Nezzie told her it would not solve
anything. She had not caused the problem. Her presence had only
brought into the open a deep and basic difference between the two
factions. Nezzie said the problem had been brewing ever since she
took in Rydag. Many people still disapproved of him being allowed to
live with them.
Ayla worried about Rydag. He seldom smiled and she noticed an
absence of his gentle humor. He had no appetite, and she didn't think
he was sleeping well. He seemed to enjoy listening to her talk about
her life with the Clan, but he seldom joined in on conversations.
She settled Whinney into the lean-to, and saw Jondalar on the
broad, grassy meadow below riding toward the river crossing on
Racer. He seemed different lately. Not quite so distant, but
saddened.
On the spur of the moment, Ayla decided to go to the clearing at
the center of the encampment and see what activities were going on.
The Wolf Camp insisted that since they were hosting the Meeting,
they could not take sides, but she believed they favored the Lion
Camp's position. She was not going to hide. She was not an "abom
ination," the Clan were people, and so were Rydag and her son. She
wanted to do something, show herself. Maybe visit the Mammoth
Hearth, or the Music Lodge, or talk to Latie.
She set out with determined steps, nodding to those who acknowl
edged her, ignoring those who did not, and when she neared the Mu
sic Lodge, she saw Deegie coming out.
"Ayla! You are just the person I want to see. Are you going any
place special?"
"I just decided to get away from Lion Camp."
"Good! I was going to visit Tricie, and see her baby. I've been
wanting to visit, but she's been gone every time I've tried. Kylie just
told me she's there now. Do you want to come with me?"
"Yes."
They walked toward the headwoman's lodge. "We came to pay a
visit, Tricie," Deegie explained at the entrance, "and to see your
baby."
"Come in," Tricie said. "I just put him down, but I don't think he's
asleep yet."
Ayla stayed back while Deegie picked him up and held him, cooing
and talking to him. "Don't you want to see him, Ayla?" Tricie finally
said. It was almost a challenge.
"I do want to see him."
She took the baby from Deegie's arms and studied him carefully.
His skin was so white it was nearly translucent, and his eyes such a
pale blue they had almost no color at all. His hair was a bright
orangey-red, but it had all the texture and tight, springy curl of
Ranee's. Most distinctive, his face was an infant version of Ranee's
face. Ayla knew without doubt that Ralev was Ranee's baby. Ranee
had started him as surely as Broud had started Durc growing inside
her. She couldn't help but wonder, when she joined with him, would
she have a baby like this someday?
Ayla talked to the infant in her arms. He looked up at her with
interest, as though he was fascinated, then he smiled and cooed a soft
little delighted laugh. Ayla hugged him to her, closed her eyes and
felt the softness of his cheek against hers, and felt her heart melt.
"Isn't he beautiful, Ayla?" Deegie said.
"Yes, isn't he beautiful?" Tricie asked, her tone sharper.
Ayla looked at the young mother. "No, he's not beautiful." Deegie
gaped at her with surprise. "No one could ever say he is beautiful, but
he is the most . . . lovable baby I have ever seen. Not a woman in the
world could resist him. He doesn't have to be beautiful. There is
something special about him, Tricie. I think you are very lucky to
have him."
The mother's smile softened. "I think I am, too, Ayla. And I agree,
he is not beautiful, but he is good, and so lovable."
Suddenly there was a commotion outside, shouting and wailing.
The three young women hurried to the entranceway.
"0 Great Mother! My daughter! Someone help her!" a woman
wailed.
"What's wrong? Where is she?" Deegie asked.
"A lion! A lion has her! Down in the meadow. Someone help her,
please!" Several men with spears were already running toward the
path.
"A lion? No, it can't be!" Ayla said, as she started running after the
men.
"Ayla! Where are you going?" Deegie called after her, trying to
catch up.
"To get the girl," Ayla called back.
She raced toward the path. A crowd of people was standing near
the top of it watching the men with spears running down the path.
Beyond them, in plain sight on the grassy floodplain across the river,
was a massive cave lion, with a shaggy reddish mane, circling a tall
young girl, who was too petrified to move. Ayla looked down, studied
the animal closely to make sure, then ran into Lion Camp. Wolf
pmped up on her.
"Rydag!" she called. "Come and get Wolf! I've got to get that girl."
When Rydag came out of the tent, she commanded the wolf, "Stay!"
in her firmest tone, then told the boy not to let him go. Only then did
she whistle for Whinney.
She pmped on the mare's back, and raced down the path. The men
with spears were already crossing the river when she guided Whinney
around them. As soon as she reached firm ground on the other side,
she urged Whinney into a gallop, and headed straight for the lion and
the girl. The people watching from the top of the path looked on with
wonder and amazement.
"What does she think she can do?" someone said, angrily. "She
doesn't even have a spear. The girl seems unharmed so far, but rush-
ing at the lion with a horse might incite him. If that child is harmed,
it will be her fault."
Jondalar overheard the comment, as well as several other people
from the Lion Camp, who turned to him questioningly. He just
watched Ayla, swallowing the misgivings that rose in his throat. He
couldn't be sure, but she must have been, or she would never have
gone down there with Whinney.
As Ayla and Whinney neared, the huge cave lion stopped and faced
her. There was a scar on his nose, a familiar scar. She remembered
when he got it.
"Whinney, it's Baby! It really is Baby!" she cried, as she brought
the horse to a stop and slid off.
She ran toward the lion, not even considering that he might not
remember her. This was her Baby. She was his mother. She had
raised him from a small cub, taken care of him, hunted with him.
It was just that fearlessness that he remembered. He started toward
her, as the girl watched with fear. The next thing Ayla knew, the lion
had tripped her, to knock her down, and she had her arms around his
big shaggy neck, hugging him full-length, while he wrapped his fore
legs around her in the closest thing to an embrace he could
accomplish.
"Oh, Baby, you came back. How did you ever find me?" she cried,
wiping her tears of joy in his rough mane.
Finally she sat up, and felt a raspy tongue lick her face. "Stop that!"
she said, smiling. "I won't have any skin left." She scratched him in
his favorite places, and a low, rumbling growl let her know his plea
sure. He rolled over on his back so she could scratch his stomach.
Ayla noticed the girl, tall, with long blond hair, standing wide-eyed,
watching them.
"He was looking for me," Ayla said to her. "I think he mistook you
for me. You can go now, but walk, don't run."
Ayla scratched Baby on his stomach and behind his ears, until the
girl walked into the waiting arms of a man, who clasped her to him
with obvious relief, then led her up the path. The rest were standing
back, holding their spears in readiness. Among them she saw Jon
dalar, with his spear-thrower poised in readiness, and beside him a
shorter, dark-skinned man. Talut was on the other side of Ranee, and
Tulie beside him.
"You have to go, Baby. I don't want you to get hurt. Even if you
are the biggest cave lion on the earth, a spear can stop you," Ayla
said, talking in the special language that grew out of Clan words and
signs and animal sounds. Baby was familiar with the sounds, and cer-
tain of the signals. He rolled over and got up. Ay la hugged him
around the neck, and then she couldn't resist. She slid her leg over
and eased onto his back, and hung on to his reddish mane. It was not
the first time.
She felt hard, powerful muscles bunch beneath her, then with a
leap, he was off, and in an instant, reached the full speed of a lion on
the chase. Though she had ridden the lion before, she had never been
able to develop any signals to direct him. He went where he wanted
to go, but he allowed her to go with him. It was always an exciting
wild ride, and she loved it for just that reason. Ayla clung to his
mane, as the wind whipped her face, and breathed in his strong,
rangy odor.
Ayla felt him turn and slow—the lion was a sprinter; unlike the
wolf, he had no endurance for the long distance—and she looked
ahead to see Whinney waiting, patiently grazing. The horse nickered
as they approached, and tossed her head. Baby's lion smell was strong
and disturbing, but the mare had helped to raise this animal from a
cub, and in her own way had mothered him. Though he was nearly
as tall at the withers as she was, and longer and heavier, the horse
had no fear of this particular lion, especially when Ayla was with
him.
When the lion stopped, Ayla slid off his back. She hugged him and
scratched him again, then with a signal that was suggestive of casting
a stone with a sling, she told him to go. Tears fell as she watched him
walk away, his tail weaving from side to side. When she heard the
distinctive tone of his "hnk, hnk, hnk" grunting voice, that she would
recognize anywhere, she sobbed in answer. The tears flooded and her
vision blurred as the big tawny cat with the reddish mane disappeared
into the tall grass. She knew, somehow, that she would never
ride him again; that she would never see her wild, unlikely, lion son
again.
The "hnk, hnk^ grunts continued until finally the huge cave lion,
gigantic compared with his later counterparts, sounded a deep, full-
bellied, shattering roar that could be heard for miles. He shook the
very earth with his farewell.
Ayla signaled to Whinney, and started walking back. As much as
she loved riding her mare, she wanted to remember the feel of that
last wild ride as long as she could.
Jondalar finally tore his eyes away from the mesmerizing scene and
noticed the expressions on the faces of the others. He could see what
they were thinking. Horses were one thing, even a wolf maybe, but a
cave lion? He beamed a wide, smug grin of pride and relief. Let some
one question his stories now!
The men started up the path after Ay la, feeling almost foolish
carrying spears no one had had any use for. The people who had been
watching stood back as she neared, making way for the woman and
the horse, and stared after her with stunned disbelief and awe. Even
the Lion Camp, who had heard Jondalar's stories, and knew about her
life in the valley, could not believe what they had seen.
•yla had been selecting the clothing to take along on the
hunt—it could be very cold at night, she was told. They would be in
sight of the gigantic wall of ice that was the leading edge of the
glacier. To her surprise, Wymez had brought her several expertly
made spears, and was explaining to her the merits of the spear point
he had devised for hunting mammoth. It was an unexpected gift, and
after all the adulation and other strange behavior from the Mamutoi,
she wasn't sure how to respond. But he put her at ease with his spe
cial warm smile, and told her he had been planning this gift ever since
she Promised to join with the son of his hearth. She had asked him
about adapting it to work with a spear-thrower when Mamut came
into the tent.
"The mamuti would like to talk to you. They want you to help
with the Call to bring the mammoths, Ayla," he said. "They think if
you spoke to the Spirit Mammoth, she would be willing to give us
many."
"But I already told you. I don't have any special powers," Ayla
pleaded. "I don't want to talk to them."
"I know, Ayla. I explained that you may have a Calling talent, but
you are untrained. They insist that I ask you. After they saw you ride
the lion and tell him to go, they are convinced that you would have a
strong influence on the Spirit Mammoth, trained or not."
"That was Baby, Mamut. The lion I raised. I couldn't do that with
just any lion."
"Why do you speak of that lion as though you are his mother?" a
voice said from the entrance. A large figure was standing there. "Are
you his mother?" Lomie said, coming into the tent at Mamut's beck
oning gesture.
"In a way, I guess. I raised him from a cub. He was hurt, he'd been
caught in a stampede and kicked in the head. I call him Baby because
he was just a baby when I found him. I never named him anything
else. He was always just Baby, even when he got big," Ayla ex
plained. "I don't know how to Call animals, Lomie."
"Then why did that lion appear, at a most providential moment, if
r J-'. r^n k;^" T omip asked.
"It was just by chance. There's nothing mysterious about it. He
probably picked up my scent, or Whinney's scent, and came looking
for me. He used to come back for a visit sometimes, even after he
found a mate and his own pride. Ask Jondalar."
"If he wasn't under special influence, why didn't he hurt that girl?
She didn't have any 'mother' relationship with him. She said he
knocked her down, and she thought he was going to eat her, but he
only licked her face."
"I think the only reason he stopped that girl was that she looks a
little like me. She's tall, and has blond hair. He grew up with a per
son, not with other lions, so he thinks of people as his family. And he
always used to trip me or knock me down when he hadn't seen me for
a while, if I didn't stop him. It's his way of being playful. He wanted
to be hugged, and scratched," Ay la explained. She noticed that the
tent had filled up with mamuti, while she was talking.
Wymez stepped back out of the way with a sly smile on his face.
She wouldn't go to them, so they came to her, he thought. He
frowned when he noticed Vincavec edging in closer. It would be hard
on Ranee if Ay la decided to choose him instead. He had never seen
the son of his hearth so upset as when he learned of Vincavec's offer.
Wymez had to admit, it had upset him, too.
Vincavec watched Ay la as she answered the questions. He was not
easily overwhelmed. He was, after all, headman and Mamut, and
privy to the schemes of temporal influence as well as the guises of
supernatural power. But like the other mamuti, he was called to the
Mammoth Hearth because he felt an urge to explore deeper dimen
sions, to discover and explain the reasons beyond appearances, and he
could be moved by a truly inexplicable mystery, or demonstration of
manifest power.
From their first meeting, he had sensed a mystery about Ayla that
intrigued him, and a quality of quiet strength, as though her mettle
had already been tested. His interpretation was that the Mother
watched out for her, and that was why her problem would be re
solved. But he'd had no inkling of the means, and he was genuinely
surprised at the result. He knew no one would dream of opposing her
now, or those who sheltered her. Nor would anyone object to her
background, or the son she once bore. Her power was too great.
Whether she would use it for beneficial or malicious purposes was
incidental—like summer and winter, or day and night, they were two
faces of the same substance—except that no one wanted to incur her
personal enmity. If she could control a cave lion, who knew what she
could do?
Vincavec, along with old Mamut and the other mamuti, had been
raised in the same environment, reared in the same culture, and the
patterns of belief that evolved to accommodate their existence were
ingrained, were a part of their mental and moral fiber.
Their lives were largely conceived to be preordained, since they
had little control over them. Illness struck without reason, and though
it could be treated, some might die while others survived. Accidents
were equally unpredictable, and if they happened when one was
alone, were often fatal. Harsh climates and rapidly shifting weather
patterns, brought on by the proximity of massive land glaciers, could
cause drought or floods that had an immediate effect on the natural
environment upon which they were dependent. A summer too cold,
or with too much rain, could stunt plant growth, decrease animal populations,
and change their migration patterns, and could result in
hardship for the mammoth-hunting people.
The structure of their metaphysical universe paralleled their physical
world, and was useful in providing answers to unresolvable questions--questions
that could cause great anxiety without some
acceptable and, based on their precepts, reasonable explanation. But
any structure, no matter how useful, is also limiting. The animals of
their world roamed freely, the plants grew at random, and the people
were intimately familiar with these patterns. They knew where certain
plants grew, and understood the behavior of animals, but it never
occurred to them that the patterns could be changed; that animals and
plants, and people, were born with an innate capacity for change and
adaptation. That, indeed, without it, they would not survive.
Ayla's control over the animals she had raised was not perceived as
natural; no one had ever tried to tame or domesticate an animal before.
The mamuti, anticipating the need for explanations to relieve the
anxieties caused by this startling innovation, had mentally searched
the theoretical construct of their metaphysical world for answers that
would satisfy. It was not a simple act of taming animals that she had
done. Instead, Ay la had demonstrated a supernatural power far beyond
anyone's imagination. Her control over animals, it seemed obvious,
could only be explained by her access to the original Spirit form
and therefore to the Mother Herself.
Vincavec, like old Mamut and the rest of the mamuti, was now
convinced that Ayla was not just Mamut--One Who Served the
Mother--she had to be something more. Perhaps she embodied some
supernatural presence; she might even be Mut Herself, incarnate. It
was all the more believable because she did not flaunt it. But whatever
her power, he was sure some important destiny awaited her. There
was a reason for her existence, and he fervently wanted to be a part of
it. She was the chosen of the Great Earth Mother.
"All your explanations have merit," Lomie said, persuasively, aftet
she heard all of Ay la's objections, "but would you be willing to participate
in the Calling ceremony, even if you don't think you have any
Talent for it? Many people here are convinced that you would bring
good luck to the mammoth hunt if you join in the Call, and offering
good luck won't hurt you. It would make the Mamutoi very happy."
Ay la saw no way that she could refuse, but she was not comfortable
with the adulation she had been getting. She almost hated to walk
through the encampment now, and was looking forward to the mammoth
hunt the next day with great excitement, and relief at the chance
to get away for a while.

Ayla woke up and looked out the open triangular end of the lean-to
traveling tent. Daylight was beginning to illuminate the eastern edge
of the sky. She got up quietly, trying not to wake Ranee or anyone
else, and slipped outside. The damp chill of early morning hung in
the air, but no swarms of flying insects yet, for which she was grateful.
Last night the air had been thick with them.
She walked to the edge of a black pool of stagnant water covered
with slime and pollen; breeding grounds for the swarms of midges,
gnats, blackflies, and mostly mosquitoes, that had risen to meet them
like a high-pitched humming swirl of dark smoke. The insects had
worked themselves under clothing, leaving a trail of red swollen bites,
and swarmed around the eyes and choked the mouths of hunters and
horses.
The fifty men and women selected for the first mammoth hunt of
the season had reached the disagreeable but inevitable bogs. The permanently
frozen ground beneath the surface layer, softened now by
spring and summer melt, allowed no drainage to percolate through.
Where the accumulation of melt was greater than could be dissipated
by evaporation, the result was standing water. On any extended trek
in the warmer season, it was likely that tracts of accumulated ground
moisture would be found, ranging from large shallow melt lakes to
still ponds that reflected the moving sky to swampy mires.
It had been too late in the afternoon to decide whether to attempt to
cross the bog or find a way around it. Camp was quickly set up and
fires lit to deter the flying hordes. The first night on the trek, those
who had not seen Ayla's firestone used before made the usual exclamations
of surprise and awe, but by now it was taken for granted
that she would light the fire. The tents they used were simple shelters
made of several hides that had been sewn together to make one large
covering. Its shape depended upon structural materials that were
found or brought with them. A mammoth skull with large tusks still
intact might be used to hold up the hide cover, or the supple strength
of a living dwarf willow could be bent to the task, even mammoth
spears served double duty as tent poles on occasion. Sometimes it was
just used as an extra ground cloth. This time the cover hide, which
was shared by the hunters from Lion Camp with a few others, was
draped across a slanting ridgepole with one end jammed into the
ground and the other braced up by the crotch of a tree.
After they had made camp, Ay la searched around the dense vegetation
near the bog and was pleased to find certain small plants with
hand-shaped, dark green leaves. Digging down to the underground
system of roots and rhizomes, she collected several, and boiled the
greenish-yellow goldenseal root to make a healing and insect-repelling
wash for the sore eyes and throats of the horses. When she used it on
her own mosquito-bitten skin, several others asked to use it and she
ended up treating the insect bites of the entire hunting party. She
added more of the pounded root to fat to make a salve for the next
day. Then she found a patch of fleabane and pulled up several plants
to throw on the fire, as an additional deterrent along with ordinary
smoke to help keep a small area close to the fire relatively insect free.
But in the cool damp of morning the flying scourges were quiescent.
Ay la shivered and rubbed her arms, but made no move to return
for a warmer covering. She stared at the dark water, hardly noticing
the gradual encroachment of light from the east filling the entire vault
of the sky, and bringing into sharp focus the tangled vegetation. She
felt a warm fur drape over her shoulders. Gratefully she pulled it
around her, and felt arms encircle her waist from behind.
"You're cold, Ayla. You've been out here a long time," Ranee said.
"I couldn't sleep," she replied.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't know. Just an uneasy feeling. I can't explain it."
"You've been troubled ever since the Calling ceremony, haven't
you?" Ranee said.
"I hadn't thought about it. You may be right."
"But you didn't participate. You only watched."
"I didn't want to participate, but I'm not sure. Something may have
happened," Ayla said.

Immediately after breakfast, the hunters packed up and started
traveling again. At first they attempted to skirt the bog, but there
appeared to be no way around without making a long detour. Talut
and several other hunt leaders peered into the dense, swampy thicket
overhung by a cold misty fog, conferred with some of the others, and
finally decided on a route that seemed to offer the easiest passage
through.

The waterlogged ground near the edge soon gave way to a quiver
ing fen. Many of the hunters removed their footwear and plunged into
the cold, muddy water barefoot. Ayla and Jondalar led the nervous
horses in more carefully. Cold-loving vines and long beards of green
ish-gray lichen hung from dwarf birch, willow, and alder growing so
closely together they formed a miniature arctic jungle. Footing was
treacherous. With no solid ground to bind the roots and give stability,
the trees grew at unlikely angles and sprawled along the ground, and
the hunters struggled to make their way across fallen trunks, twisted
brush, and partially submerged roots and branches that snared un
suspecting feet. Tufts of reeds and sedge grass looked deceitfully more
substantial than they were, and mosses and ferns camouflaged stink
ing stagnant pools.
Progress was slow and exhausting. By midmorning, when they
stopped to rest, everyone was sweating and warm, even in the shade.
Starting out again, Talut ran into a particularly tenacious branch of an
alder, and exploding in a rare outburst of anger, chopped at the tree
furiously with his massive axe. The bright orange liquid seeping out
of gashes in the offending tree resembled blood, and gave Ayla an un
pleasant feeling of foreboding.
Nothing was so welcome as firm ground. Tall ferns and even taller
grasses, more than the height of a man, grew on the rich clearing near
the bog. They turned east to avoid wetlands that extended toward the
west, then climbed a rise out of the depression in the plains filled by
the bogs, and sighted the joining of a large river and a tributary.
Talut, Vincavec, and the leaders of some of the other Camps stopped
to consult maps marked on ivory, and scratched more marks on the
ground with knives.
As they approached the river, they passed through the middle of a
birch forest. Not a forest of the tall sturdy trees of warmer climates,
these birches were stunted and dwarfed by the harsh periglacial con
ditions, yet they were not without beauty. As though pruned and
shaped on purpose into endlessly fascinating individual shapes, each
tree had a distinctive, pale, delicate grace. But the thin, frail, pen-
dulent branches were misleading. When Ayla tried to break one, it
was tough as sinew, and in the wind, they nailed the competing vege
tation into submission.
"They're called the 'Old Mothers.'"
Ayla spun around and saw Vincavec.
"An appropriate name, I think. They remind one never to misjudge
the strength of an old woman. This is a sacred grove, and they are
guardians of somuti," he said, pointing toward the ground.
The small quivering light green birch leaves did not entirely block
out the sun, and dappled patterns of shade danced lightly on the for
est floor thick with leaf mold. Then Ay la noticed, sprouting from the
moss under certain trees, the large, white-spotted, bright red
mushrooms.
"Those mushrooms, is that what you call somuti? They are poi
sonous. They can kill you," Ay la said.
"Yes, of course, unless you know the secrets of preparing them.
That is so they will not be used inappropriately. Only those who are
chosen may explore the world of somuti."
"Do they have medicinal qualities? I know of none," she asked.
"I don't know. I'm not a Healer. You'd have to ask Lomie," Vin-
cavec said. Then, before she knew it, he had taken both her hands,
and was looking at her, or rather, looking into her, she felt. "Why did
you fight me at the Calling ceremony, Ay la? I had prepared the way
to the underland for you, but you resisted me."
Ayla felt a strange sense of internal conflict, pulled two ways. Vin-
cavec's voice was warm and compelling, and she felt a great desire to
lose herself in the black depths of his eyes, to float in the cool dark
pools, to give in to anything he wished. But she also felt an over
powering need to break away, to hold herself apart and maintain her
own identity. With a wrenching effort of will, she tore her eyes away,
and caught a glimpse of Ranee watching them. He quickly turned
aside.
"You may have prepared a way, but I wasn't prepared," Ayla said,
avoiding Vincavec's gaze. She looked up when he laughed. His eyes
were gray, not black.
"You're good! You're strong, Ayla. I've never met anyone like you.
You are so right for the Mammoth Hearth, for the Mammoth Camp.
Tell me you'll share my hearth," Vincavec said, with every bit of
persuasion and feeling he could bring to bear.
"I have Promised Ranee," she said.
"That doesn't matter, Ayla. Bring him along, if you wish. I would
not mind sharing the Mammoth Hearth with so gifted a carver. Take
us both! Or I'll take you both." He laughed again. "It would not be
the first time. A man has a certain appeal, too!"
"I ... I don't know," she said, then looked up at the muffled
pounding of hooves.
"Ayla, I'm going to take Racer into the river and brush down his
legs. Mud is caked up and drying on them. Do you want me to take
Whinney, too?" Jondalar said.
"I'll take her myself," Ayla said, glad for the excuse to get away.
Vincavec was fascinating, but a little frightening.
"She's over there, near Ranee," Jondalar said, turning toward the
river.
Vincavec's eyes followed after the tall blond man. I wonder what
part he plays in all this, the Mamut-headman thought. They arrived
together, and he understands her animals, perhaps as well as she does,
but they don't seem to be lovers, and it's not because he has trouble
with women. Avarie tells me they love him, but he never touches
Ayla, never sleeps with her. It's said he turned down the Womanhood
ritual because his feelings were too brotherly. Is that how he feels
toward Ayla? Brotherly? Is that why he interrupted us and directed
her back to the carver? Vincavec frowned, then carefully pulled up
several of the large mushrooms and, with a cord, tied them upside
down to the branches of the "Old Mothers" to dry. He planned to get
them on the way back.

After they crossed the tributary, they reached a dryer area, with
open treeless bogs, farther apart. The honking, clacking, and squealing
of waterfowl warned them of the large melt lake ahead. They set
up camp not far from it and several people headed for the water to
bring back supper. No fish were to be found in the temporary bodies
of water, unless they happened to become part of a year-round river
or stream, but amid the roots of tall phragmite reeds, bulrushes,
sedges, and cattails swam the tadpoles of edible frogs and fire-bellied
toads.
By some mysterious seasonal signal a vast array of birds, mostly
waterfowl, came north to join the ptarmigan, the golden eagle, and
the snowy owl. The spring thaw, that brought renewed plant growth
and the great reedy marshes, invited the uncountable numbers of migrating
fowl to stop, build nests, and proliferate. Many birds fed on
the immature amphibians, and some on the adults, as well as newts
and snakes, seeds and bulbs, on the inevitable insects, even on small
mammals.
"Wolf would love this place," Ayla said to Brecie as she watched a
couple of circling birds, with sling in hand, hoping they would come
in closer to the edge so she wouldn't have to wade out too far to
retrieve them. "He's getting very good at going in after them for me."
Brecie had promised to show Ayla her throwing stick, and wanted
to see the young woman's much-touted expertise with the sling. Both
had been mutually impressed. Brecie's weapon was an elongated,
roughly diamond-shaped, crosswise section of leg bone, with the
knobby epiphysis at the end removed and the edge sharpened. Its
flight was circular, and thrown into a flock, several birds could be
killed at one time. Ayla thought the throwing stick was much better
for hunting birds than her sling, but the sling had more general application.
She could also hunt animals with it.
"You brought the horses, why did you leave the wolf behind?"
Brecie asked.
"Wolf is still so young I wasn't sure how he'd behave on a mammoth
hunt, and I didn't want to take the chance that anything would
go wrong on this one. The horses, though, can help bring meat back.
Besides, I think Rydag would have been lonely without Wolf," Ay la
said. "I miss them both."
Brecie was tempted to ask Ayla if she really did have a son like
Rydag, then changed her mind. The subject was just too sensitive.

As they continued to head north over the next few days, a distinctive
change came over the landscape. The bogs disappeared and,
once they left the noisy birds behind, the sound of wind filled the
treeless open plains with an eerie, wailing silence and a sense of desolation.
The skies became overcast with a dull gray, featureless cloud
cover that obscured the sun and hid the stars at night, but it seldom
rained. Instead, the air felt dryer, and colder, with a sharp wind that
seemed to sap even the moisture from exhaled breath. But an occasional
break in the clouds at evening vanquished the dull monotony of
the heavens with a sunset so glowing, and so brilliant as it reflected off
the moisture-laden upper skies, it left the travelers without words to
describe it, daunted by its sheer beauty.
It was a land of far horizons. Low rolling hill followed low rolling
hill, with no jagged peaks to lend distance and perspective, and no
reed-green marshes to relieve the endless grays, browns, and dusty
golds. The plains seemed to go on forever in all directions, except
toward the north. There the vast sweep was swallowed by a dense
misty fog that hid all signs of the world beyond, and deceived the eye
about the distance to it.
The character of the land was neither grassy steppes nor frozen
tundra, but a blend of both. Frost and drought-resistant tufted
grasses, herbs with dense root systems, miniature woody shrubs of
sagebrush and wormwood mingled with white arctic bell heather,
miniature rhododendron, and pink crowberry flowers dominating the
dainty purple blooms of alpine heath. Blueberry bushes no more than
four inches high promised, nonetheless, a profusion of full-sized berries,
and prostrate birch crawled along the ground like woody vines.
But even dwarfed trees were scarce with two sets of growing conditions
opposing them. On true northern tundra, summer temperature
is too low for germination and growth of tree seeds. On steppes,
howling winds, that absorb moisture before it can accumulate, sweep
across the landscape, and are as much a prohibiting factor as the cold.
The combination left the land both frozen and dry.
Landscape even more bleak greeted the band of hunters as they
pushed toward the thick white fog ahead. Bare rock and rubble was
exposed, but it was covered with lichens; clinging scaly crusts of yellow,
gray, brown, even bright orange that seemed more rock than
plant. A few flowering herbs and miniature shrubs persisted, and the
tough grasses and sedges covered sizable patches. Even in this wild,
dreary place of cold dry winds that seemed incapable of supporting
life, life went on.
Clues began to appear that hinted at the secret hidden within the
mists. Scratches etched into large slabs of rock; long ridges of sand,
stones, and gravel; large stones out of place, as though dropped from
the sky by an invisible giant hand. Water washed across the stony
ground, in thin streams and gushing cloudy torrents, with no discernible
pattern, and as they drew closer cold moisture in the air could at
last be felt. Dirty snow lingered in shaded nooks, and in a depression
beside a large boulder, old snow surrounded a small pool. Deep
within it were shelves of ice of a rich and vivid shade of blue.

The wind shifted in the afternoon, and by the time the travelers set
up camp, it was snowing, a dry, blowing snow. Talut and the others
were conferring, disturbed. Vincavec had Called to the Mammoth
Spirit several times to no avail. They had expected to find the great
beasts before this.
At night, lying quietly in her bed, Ay la became aware of mysterious
sounds that seemed to be coming from deep within the earth:
grindings, poppings, chortlings, gurglings. She couldn't identify
them, had no idea where they came from, and it made her nervous.
She tried to sleep, but she kept waking up. Finally toward morning,
exhaustion overcame her, and she gave in to slumber.
Ayla knew it was late when she woke up. It seemed unusually
bright and everyone else was out of the tent. She grabbed her parka,
but got only as far as the opening. When she looked out, she stopped
and stared with her mouth hanging open. The shift in the wind had
cleared away the summer mist of steaming ice temporarily. She bent
her head back to look up at the wall of a glacier towering over her that
was so incredibly massive the top was lost in clouds.
Its sheer size made it seem closer than it was, but some gigantic
chunks that had once tumbled down the steep jagged wall were
strewn together in a jumbled heap perhaps a quarter-mile away. Several
people were standing around them. She realized they were the
scale that had given her a proper sense of the true size of the immense
barrier of ice. The glacier was an incredible spectacle, and incredibly
beautiful. In the sunlight--Ayla suddenly noticed the sun was out--
it sparkled with millions of shattered crystals of ice that glinted with
tints of prismatic hues, but the deep underlying color had tones of the
same startling blue that she had seen in the pool. There were no
words adequate to describe it; overwhelming had no meaning beside
its magnificence, its grandeur, its power.
Ay la finished dressing hurriedly, feeling she had missed out on
something. She poured herself a cup of what seemed to be leftover tea
with a slight film of ice already forming on top, and discovered it was
meat broth instead. She paused only a moment before deciding it was
fine, and drank it down. Then she scooped out a ladleful of congealed
cooked grains, wrapped them in a thick slice of cold roast meat, and
headed toward the rest of the hunters at a fast pace.
"I wondered if you were ever going to wake up," Talut said, when
he saw her coming.
"Why didn't you wake me?" Ayla asked, then took her last bite.
"It's not wise to wake someone who is sleeping so soundly, unless
it's an emergency," Talut answered.
"The spirit needs time for its night travels, so it can come back
refreshed," Vincavec added, coming around to greet her. He made a
motion to take both her hands, but she evaded them, quickly brushed
his cheek with hers, and was off to examine the ice.
The huge chunks had obviously fallen with some force. They were
deeply imbedded, and the ground was churned up around them. That
they had also been there for several years was soon apparent, as well.
An accumulation of wind-blown grit, picked up from the rock that
was ground to flour at the margins of the ice, coated the top surfaces
with a thick layer of dark gray dirt, striated in some places with inter
vening white layers of compact snow. The surfaces themselves were
pitted and rough from melting and refreezing unevenly over the years,
and a few small tenacious plants had actually taken root on the ice.
"Come up here, Ayla," Ranee called. She looked up and saw him
standing on top of a high block, tilted slightly askew. She was sur
prised to see Jondalar beside him. "It's easy if you come around the
side."
Ayla went around the jumbled pile of ice blocks and clambered up
a series of broken shards and slabs. The gritty rock dust ground into
the ice made the usually slick surface rough and footing reasonably
secure. With a little care, it was easy to climb and move around.
When she reached the highest place, Ayla stood up, then closed her
eyes. The buffeting wind pushed against her, as though testing her
resolve to withstand its force, and the voice of the great wall rumbled,
moaned, and cracked nearby. She turned her head toward the intense
light above, seen even through closed eyelids, and sensed with the
skin of her face the cosmic struggle between the heat from the heav-
enly fireball, and the cold of the massive ice wall. The air itself tingled
with indecision.
Then she opened her eyes. Ice commanded the view, filled her vi
sion. The enormous, majestic, formidable expanse of ice that reached
the sky marched across the entire breadth of the land as far as she
could see. Mountains were insignificant beside it. The sight filled her
with a humbling exultation, an awe-inspiring excitement. Her smile
brought acknowledging smiles from Jondalar and Ranee.
"I've seen it before," Ranee said, "but I could see it as many times
as there are stars in the sky and never get tired of it." Both Ayla and
Jondalar nodded in agreement.
"It can be dangerous, though," Jondalar added.
"How did this ice get here?" Ayla asked.
"The ice moves," Ranee said. "Sometimes it grows, sometimes it
shrinks back. This split off when the wall was here. This pile was
much bigger then. It has been shrinking, like the wall." Ranee studied
the glacier. "I think it was farther away last time. The ice may be
growing again."
Ayla swept her gaze across the open landscape then, noticing how
much farther she could see from her higher vantage point. "Oh, look!"
she cried, pointing toward the southeast. "Mammoths! I see a herd of
mammoths!"
"Where?" Ranee said, suddenly excited.
The excitement spread through the hunters like fire. Talut, who
had started around the side at the sound of the word "mammoths,"
was already halfway up the ice pile. He reached the top in a few
strides, put his hand across his forehead as a sunshade, and looked
where Ayla had pointed.
"She's right! There they are! Mammoths!" he boomed, unable to
restrain his emotion, or the volume of his voice.
Several others were climbing up the ice, each looking for a place to
view the great tusked creatures. Ayla stepped down out of the way so
Brecie could stand in her place.
There was a certain relief in sighting the mammoths, as well as
excitement. At least they were finally showing themselves. Whatever
it was that the Spirit Mammoth had been waiting for, she had finally
allowed her creatures of this world to present themselves to those who
were chosen by Mut to hunt mammoths.
One of the women of Brecie's Camp mentioned to one of the men
that she had seen Ayla standing on the very top of the ice pile with
her eyes closed, turning her head as though Seeking something, or
perhaps Calling it, and when she opened her eyes, there were the
mammoths. The man nodded in understanding.
Ayla was staring down at the shape of the pile of ice below iihnnt-
ready to descend. Talut appeared beside her, smiling as big a grin as
she had ever seen.
"Ay la, you have made this headman a very happy man," the red-
bearded giant said.
"I didn't do anything," Ayla said. "I just happened to see them."
"That's enough. Whoever happened to see them first would have
made me a very happy man. But I'm glad it was you," Talut said.
Ayla smiled at him. She really did love the big headman. She
thought of him as an uncle, or a brother, or a friend, and she felt he
cared about her the same way.
"What were you looking at down there, Ayla?" Talut said, starting
to follow her down.
"Nothing in particular. I was just noticing that you can see the
shape of this pile from here. See how it comes in on the side where we
climbed up and then curves back around?"
Talut gave it a cursory look, then found himself looking closer.
"Ayla! You've done it again!"
"Done what?"
"You have made this headman a very happy man!"
His smile was contagious. She smiled back. "What makes you
happy this time, Talut?" she said.
"You made me notice the shape of this ice pile. It's like a blind
canyon. Not quite complete, but we can fix that. Now I know how
we're going to hunt those mammoths!"

No time was lost. The mammoths could decide to move away, or
the weather could change again. The hunters had to take advantage of
the opportunity immediately. The hunt leaders conferred, then
quickly sent out several scouts to investigate the lay of the land and
the size of the herd. While they were gone, a wall of rock and ice was
built to block the open space in one side of the cold canyon, making
the tumbled pile of ice into an enclosure with only one opening.
When the scouts returned, the hunters gathered to devise a plan to
drive the huge woolly animals into the trap.
Talut told how Ayla and Whinney had helped to drive bison into a
trap. Many people were quite interested, but they all reached the conclusion
that with the huge behemoths, a single rider on horseback
would not be able to start a concerted drive, though she might be of
some help. To get them started toward the trap, some other means
would have to be found.
Fire was the answer. Late summer lightning storms had set enough
dry fields on fire that even massive mammoths, who feared little, had
a healthy respect for it. At this season of the year, however, it might
be difficult to get a grass fire going. The fire would have to be in the
form of torches, held in the hands of the drivers.
"What'll we use for torches?" someone asked.
"Dry grass and mammoth dung, bound together and dipped in fat,"
Brecie said, "so they'll catch fast and burn hot."
"And we can use Ayla's firestone to start them quickly," Talut
added. There were nods of agreement.
"We're going to need fire in more than one place," Brecie said, "and
in the right sequence."
"Ay la has given each of the hearths of Lion Camp a firestone. We
have several with us. I have one, and so does Ranee. Jondalar has one,
too," Talut said, aware of the added prestige his announcement gave
them. Too bad Tulie isn't here, he thought. She would have appreci
ated the moment. Ayla's firestones were priceless, particularly since
they were apparently not too abundant.
"Once we get the mammoths moving, how do we make sure they
head for the trap?" the woman from Brecie's Camp asked. "This is
open country."
The plan they worked out was simple and direct. They constructed
two rows of cairns out of broken chunks of ice and rock, fanning out
from the opening of the ice canyon. Talut, with his massive axe, made
short work of breaking the large glacier shards into pieces small
enough to carry. Several torches were deposited behind each cairn in
readiness. Of the fifty hunters, a few chose places within the canyon
itself, behind protective blocks of ice, for the first frontal assault. Oth
ers ranged out behind the stone cairns. The rest, primarily the fastest,
strongest runners—for all their great bulk, mammoths were capable
of great bursts of speed for short distances—would split into two
groups, to circle around both sides of the herd.
Brecie began explaining some traits and vulnerabilities of mam
moths and how to hunt them to the younger hunters, who had not
hunted the great shaggy beasts before. Ay la listened carefully, and
walked into the ice canyon with them. The headwoman of Elk Camp
would lead the frontal assault from inside and wanted to inspect the
trap and select her place.
As soon as they were within the icy walls, Ay la noticed the drop in
temperature. With the fire they had made to melt the fat for the
torches, and the exertion of cutting grass and carrying hunks of ice,
she hadn't noticed the cold. Yet, they were so near the great glacier
that water left out overnight usually had a film of ice in the morning
even in summer, and parkas were necessary during the day. Inside the
frozen enclosure the cold was intense, but as Ayla looked around the
spacious chamber in the midst of the jagged tumble of ice, she felt she
had entered another place, a white and blue world of stark and chilling
beauty.
Like the rocky canyons near her valley, large blocks, newly sheared
from the walls, lay scattered and broken on the ground. Above them
sharp-edged pinnacles and soaring spires of sparkling white, shaded in
the cracks and corners to a deep, rich, vivid blue. She was reminded,
suddenly, of Jondalar's eyes. The softer, rounded edges of older
blocks and slabs scattered in fallen heaps, worn down with time and
covered with a fine wind-blown grit, invited climbing and exploring.
Ayla did, just out of curiosity, while the others were looking for
hunting places. She would not be waiting here for the mammoths.
She and Whinney would help chase the woolly tuskers, as would Jon-
dalar and Racer. The speed of the horses could be helpful, and she
and Jondalar would each provide a firestone for one of the groups of
drivers. Ayla noticed more people gathering around the entrance and
hurried out. Whinney was following Jondalar and Racer from the
campsite. Ayla whistled and the mare cantered ahead of them.
The two groups of drivers started toward the mammoth herd,
swinging wide to circle around behind without causing too much disturbance.
Ranee and Talut were each behind one of the rows of cairns
that converged toward the ice canyon, ready to supply quick fire
when it was needed. Ayla waved at Talut and smiled at Ranee as she
passed them waiting near a pile of ice and stone. Vincavec was on the
same side as Ranee, she noticed. She returned his smile, too.
Ayla walked ahead of Whinney, her spears and spear-thrower secured
in the holders of the pack baskets, along with the group's
torches. Several other hunters were nearby, but no one spoke much.
Everyone was concentrating on the mammoths, fervently hoping that
the hunt would be successful. Ayla glanced back at Whinney, then at
the herd ahead. They were still grazing in the same field of grass
where she had first seen them not so very long ago, she realized. Everything
had happened so fast she'd hardly had time to think. They
had accomplished a great deal in a very short time.
She had always wanted to hunt mammoth, and a chill of anticipation
shot through her when she realized that she was actually about to
participate in the first mammoth hunt of her life. Though there was
something utterly ridiculous about it, when she stopped to consider it.
How could creatures as small and weak as humans challenge the huge,
shaggy, tusked beast, and hope to succeed? Yet here she was, ready to
take on the largest animal that walked the land, with nothing more
than a few mammoth spears. No, that wasn't entirely true. She also
had the intelligence, experience, and cooperation of the other hunters.
And Jondalar's spear-thrower.
Would the new spear-thrower he developed to be used with the
bigger spears work? They had tried them out, but she still wasn't
totally comfortable with hers.
Ayla caught sight of Racer and the other group coming toward
them through the dry grass, and the mammoth herd seemed to be
moving more. Were they becoming nervous about the people trying to
edge around them? The pace of her group was quickening; others
were worried, too. A signal was passed to get the torches. Ayla
quickly pulled them out of Whinney's pack baskets and handed them
out. They waited anxiously, watching the other group get its torches.
Then, the hunt leader signaled.
Ayla slipped off her mittens and squatted down over a small pile of
fireweed lint and crushed dung. The others hovered close, waiting.
She struck her fire-starting flint against the yellowish-gray chunk of
iron pyrite. The spark died. She struck again. It seemed to take. She
struck again, adding more sparks to the smoldering tinder, and tried
to blow it into flame. Then a sudden gust of wind came to her aid,
and the fire suddenly enveloped the tinder and crushed dung. She
added a few lumps of tallow to help it burn hotter, and sat back while
the first of the hunters held their torches to the flames. They lit each
other's torches, then began to fan out.
There was no absolute signal to begin the drive. It began slowly, as
the disorganized hunters made dashes toward the giant beasts, shout
ing and waving their smoky, movable flames. But most of the
Mamutoi were experienced mammoth hunters, and used to hunting
together. Soon the efforts became more concerted as both groups of
drivers combined and the shaggy elephants began moving toward the
cairns.
A big she-mammoth, the matriarch of the herd, seeming to notice a
purpose in the confusion, turned aside. Ayla started running toward
her, screaming and waving her torch. She had a sudden recollection of
trying to chase a herd of horses once, alone, with only smoky torches
to assist. All but one of the horses got away—no, two, she thought.
The nursing mare fell into her pit trap, but not the little yellow foal.
She glanced back at Whinney.
The screaming trumpet of the she-mammoth caught her by sur
prise. She turned back in time to see the old matriarch eying the
weak, insignificant creatures who were carrying the smell of danger,
then start a run, in Ay la's direction. But this time, the young woman
was not alone. She looked up to see Jondalar at her side, then several
others, more than the huge tusked woolly wanted to face. Lifting her
trunk to trumpet a warning of fire, she rose up and screamed again,
then dodged back.
The patch of dry standing hay was on higher ground, not subject to
the summer runoff of the glacier, and though there were mists, no
rain had fallen for many days. The fires that had been used to start
the torches were left untended and soon they spread through the
grass, encouraged by the sharp wind. The mammoths noticed the fire
first, not only the smell of burning grass, but of scorched earth and
smoldering brush—the familiar smell of a prairie fire and even more
threatening. The old matriarch trumpeted again, joined now by a cho
rus of blaring screams as the shaggy, reddish-brown beasts, young
and old, picked up speed and stampeded toward an unknown but far
greater danger.
A crosswind sent a billow of smoke toward the hunters racing to
keep up with the herd. Ay la, ready to mount Whinney, glanced back
at the blaze, and understood what had impelled the great behemoths
in their panic. She watched for a moment as crackling red flames hun
grily devoured their way across the field, spitting sparks and belching
smoke. But she knew the fire was no real threat. Even if it managed to
cross the areas of rocky bare ground, the ice canyon itself would stop
it. She noticed Jondalar was already on Racer, following close behind
the retreating mammoths, and hurried after him.
Ayla could hear her hard breathing when she passed the young
woman from Brecie's Camp, who had run all the way, staying close
behind the great beasts. It would be harder for them to turn aside
once they were committed to the route that would take them inevita
bly into the cold canyon, and the two women smiled at each other
when the herd entered the lane between the cairns. Ayla rode ahead;
it was her turn to harry them now.
She noticed fires starting up along the way behind the cairns, at the
sides and a little ahead of the ponderous giants. They did not want to
light the torches too far ahead of them and risk turning the herd aside
now that they were so close. Suddenly she was approaching the open
ing in the ice. She pulled Whinney aside, grabbed her spears and
jumped off, and felt the vibrations of the earth as the last mammoth
pounded into the trap. She dashed in and joined the chase, following
close on the heels of an old bull with tusks crossed over in front. More
burnable materials, which had been piled into mounds at the opening,
were lit in an attempt to keep the frightened animals inside. Jogging
around a fire, Ayla again entered the cold enclosure.
No longer was it a place of stark, serene beauty. Instead blaring
screams of mammoths echoed off hard, icy walls, grating on the ears,
and racking on the nerves. Ayla was filled with almost unbearable
tension, part fear, part excitement. She swallowed her fear, and fitted
her first spear into the groove in the middle of the spear-thrower.
The she-mammoth had moved toward the far end, looking for a
way to lead the herd out, but Brecie was waiting there, up high on a
block of ice. The old matriarch raised her trunk and trumpeted her
frustration, and the headwoman of Elk Camp hurled a spear down her
open throat. The scream was cut short in a gurgle of liquid that
spouted from her mouth and sprayed the cold white ice with warm
red blood.
The young man from Brecie's Camp threw a second spear. The
long, sharp flint point pierced the tough hide and lodged deep in the
abdomen. Another spear followed, and also found the soft underbelly,
tearing a long gash from the weight of the shaft. The mammoth ut
tered a hoarse rattle of pain as blood and shiny gray-white ropes of
intestines gushed from the wound. Her hind legs became tangled in
her own viscera. Yet another spear was cast at the doomed beast, but
hit a rib bone and bounced off. The one that followed found a space
between two ribs for the long, flat, thin blade to pierce.
The old she-mammoth sunk to her knees, tried once to rise up, then
fell over on her side. Her trunk rose once more in an effort to cry a
warning, then slowly, almost gracefully, dropped to the ground.
Brecie touched a spear to the head of the valiant old cow, praised her
brave struggle, and thanked the Great Mother for the sacrifice which
allowed Earth's Children to survive.
Brecie was not the only one who stood over a brave mammoth and
thanked the Mother. Teams of hunters had informally grouped to
gether for a multiple attack on each animal. Spears that were thrown
allowed them to stay out of range of the tusks and trunks and heavy
feet of the mammoths they singled out, but they also had to watch out
for the animals that were the prey of other hunters in the close quar
ters. Blood pouring out of the wounded and dying beasts softened the
ice of the partially frozen ground, then froze in bright red slicks, mak
ing footing hazardous. The icy canyon was a melee of hunters' shouts
and mammoths' screams, and the glimmering walls amplified and re
verberated every sound.
After watching a few moments, Ayla went after a young bull,
whose heavy tusks were long and curved, but still useful as weapons.
She settled the heavy spear on the new thrower, trying to get the
right feel. She recalled Brecie saying that the stomach was one of the
more vulnerable places on a mammoth, and Ayla had been quite im
pressed by the disemboweling of the herd matriarch. She took aim
and with a hard throw, cast the lethal weapon across the icy canyon.
It flew fast and true, and struck the abdominal cavity. But with the
power of the weapon and the strength of her throw, and without oth
ers ready to assist, she should have aimed for a more vital spot. A
spear in the stomach was not immediately fatal. He was bleeding pro
fusely, mortally wounded, but the pain enraged him, giving him the
strength to turn on his attacker. The bull mammoth blared a chal
lenge, lowered his head, and thundered toward the young woman.
The long-distance cast of the spear-thrower gave Ayla her only ad
vantage. She dropped her spears and raced toward a block of ice. But
her foot slipped as she tried to climb up. She scrambled behind it just
as the huge mammoth slammed into it with all his force. His massive
tusks cracked the gigantic block of frozen water in two and jammed it
back, knocking the wind out of Ayla. Then screaming his frustration,
and his dying, he jabbed and tore at the slab of ice, trying to get at the
creature behind it. Suddenly two spears flew in quick succession, and
found the maddened bull. One landed in his neck, the other cracked a
rib with such tremendous force it reached his heart.
The mammoth crumpled in a heap beside the broken ice. His blood
spilled from his wounds into deep red pools that steamed, then
chilled, then hardened on the cold glacial ice. Still shaking, Ayla
crawled out from behind the block.
"Are you all right?" Talut said, reaching her in time to help her
stand up.
"Yes, I think so," she said, somewhat breathless.
Talut reached for the spear that was sticking out of the mammoth's
chest, gave a mighty heave and yanked it out. A new spate of blood
poured forth as Jondalar reached them.
"Ayla, I was certain he had you!" Jondalar said. The look on his
face was more than worried. "You should have waited until I came
... or someone came to help you. Are you sure you're all right?"
"Yes, I am, but I'm very glad you two were around," she said, then
smiled. "Hunting mammoth can be exciting."
Talut studied her carefully for a moment. She'd had a close call.
That mammoth almost had her, but she did not seem unusually up
set. A little breathless and excited, but that was normal. He grinned
and nodded, then examined the point and shaft of his spear. "Hah!
It's still good!" he said. "I can get another one with this sticker!" He
waded back into the fray.
Ay la's eyes followed the big headman, but Jondalar was looking at
her; his heart was still pounding with fear for her. He'd almost lost
her! That mammoth nearly killed her! Her hood was thrown back
and her hair was in disarray. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement.
Her face was flushed and she was breathing hard. She was beautiful
in her excitement, and the effect was immediate and overwhelming.
His beautiful woman, he thought. His wonderful, exciting Ayla,
the only woman he'd ever truly loved. What would he have done if
he'd lost her? He felt the blood rush to his loins. His fear at the ^
thought of losing her, and his love, awakened his need, and rilled him i;^
with a strong desire to hold her. He wanted her. He wanted her more ^
than he'd ever wanted her in his life. He could have taken her that i^
instant, right there on the cold, bloody floor of the ice canyon.
She glanced up at him and saw his look, felt the irresistible cha- ^
risma of eyes as vividly blue as a deep glacial pool, but warm. He ^
wanted her. She knew he wanted her, and she wanted him with a fire ^
that seared her and would not be quenched. She loved him, more ^
than she dreamed it was possible to love anyone. She stretched up to ^
him, reaching for him, hungering for his kiss, for his touch, for his ^
love.
"Talut just told me about it!" Ranee said, running toward them,
panic in his voice. "Is that the bull?" He looked stunned. "Are you (.
sure you are not hurt, Ayla?"
Ayla stared at Ranee for a moment, uncomprehending, and saw a ^
veil drop over Jondalar's eyes as he stepped back. Then the sense of }f
Ranee's question reached her.
"No, I'm not hurt, Ranee. I'm fine," Ayla said, but she wasn't sure ^
if it was true. Her mind was in a turmoil as she watched Jondalar ^.
yank his spear out of the mammoth's neck and walk away. She ^
watched him go.
She's not my Ayla any more, and it's my own fault! he thought.
Suddenly he remembered the incident on the steppes the first time he ^
rode Racer, and was filled with remorse, and shame. He knew what a ^
terrible crime that was, and yet he could have done it again. Ranee ^
was a better man for her. He had turned his back on her, and then
defiled her. He didn't deserve her. He had hoped he was beginning to
accept the inevitable, hoped that someday, after he returned to his
home, he might forget Ayla. He was even able to enjoy a level of
friendship with Ranee. But now he knew that the pain of losing her
would never go away, he would never get over Ayla.
He saw a mammoth, the last one standing, a young one that had
somehow escaped the carnage. Jondalar heaved his spear at the animal
with such violent force it was brought to its knees. Then he stalked
out of the icy canyon. He had to get away, to be alone. He walked
until he knew he was out of sight of the rest of the hunters. "Then he
put his hands up to his head, and gritted his teeth, and tried to get
himself under control. He dropped to the ground and pounded his
fists on the earth.
"0 Doni," he cried out, trying to rid himself of his pain arid mis
ery, "I know it's my fault. I was the one who turned my back on her
and pushed her away. It wasn't just jealousy, I was ashamed to love
her. I was afraid she wouldn't be good enough for my people, afraid
she wouldn't be accepted, and I would be turned out because of her.
But I don't care about that any more. I'm the one who's not good
enough for her, but I love her. 0 Great Mother, I love her, and I
want her. Doni, how I want her! No other woman means anything. I
come away from them empty. Doni, I want her back. I know it's too
late, now, but I want my Ayla back."
36

alut was never more in his element than when they butchered
mammoths. Bare-chested, sweating profusely, swinging his massive
axe as though it were a child's toy, he cracked bones and ivory,
split tendons, and ripped through tough skin. He enjoyed the work
and knowing it helped his people, took delight in using his powerful
body and making the effort less for someone else, grinned with pleasure
as he used his massive muscles in a way that no one else could,
and everyone who watched him had to smile, too.
Skinning the thick hides from the huge animals, however, took
many people, just as curing and tanning the skins would when they
returned. Even bringing them back required cooperative effort, which
was why they selected only the best. The same held true for every
other part of the huge animals, from tusks to tails. They were especially
discriminating in their selection of meat, picking only the
choicest cuts, preferring those rich with fat, and leaving the rest.
But the wastage was not as great as it seemed. The Mamutoi had to
carry everything on their backs, and the transport of poor-quality lean
meat could cost them more calories than they gained. With careful
selection, the food they brought back would feed many people for a
long time, and they would not have to hunt again soon. Those who
hunted, and depended on hunting for food, did not overkill. They
simply utilized wisely. They lived close to the Great Earth Mother,
knew and understood their dependence on Her. They did not squander
Her resources.
The weather stayed remarkably clear while the hunters butchered,
causing dramatic swings in temperature between midday and midnight.
Even so, near the great glacier, the days could get quite warm
in the bright summer sun--warm enough, with the desiccating wind,
to dry some of the leaner meat, and make it reasonable to carry back.
But nights always belonged to the ice. On the day of their departure,
a shift in the wind brought scattered clouds in the west, and a noticeable
cooling.
Ayla's horses were never so appreciated as when she loaded them
for the trip back. Every hunter was preparing a full load, and immedi-
ately understood the benefits of the pack animals. The travois pro
voked particular interest. Several people had wondered why Ay la
insisted on dragging the long poles with her; they were obviously not
spears. Now they were nodding approval. One of the men, jokingly,
even picked up a partially loaded travois and dragged it himself.
Though they woke early, eager to get back, it was midmorning
before they got underway. Sometime after noon the hunters climbed a
long, narrow hill of sand, gravel, and boulders, deposited long before
by the leading edge of the glacier broaching farther south. When they
reached the rounded ridge of the esker, they stopped for a rest, and
looking back, Ayla saw the glacier unshrouded by mists from the per
spective of distance for the first time. She could not stop looking at it.
Gleaming in the sun, a few clouds in the west obscuring its upper
reaches, a continuous barrier of ice the height of a mountain stretched
across the land as far as she could see, marking a boundary beyond
which none could go. It was truly the end of the earth.
The front edge was uneven, accommodating minor local differences
in terrain, and a climb to the top would have revealed dips and ridges,
seracs, and crevices quite extensive on a human scale, but in relation
to its own size, the surface was uniformly level. Sweeping beyond
imagination, the vast inexorable glacier sheathed a quarter of the
earth's surface with a glittering carapace of ice. Ayla kept looking back
when they started out again, and watched the western clouds move in
and the mists rise, veiling the ice in mystery.
In spite of their heavy packs, they traveled faster on the trek back
than they had on the way there. Each year the terrain changed
enough over the winter that the route, even to well-known places, had
to be reexplored. But the way to the northern glacier, and back, was
now known. Everyone was jubilant and in good spirits about the suc
cessful hunt, and eager to return to the Meeting. No one seemed
weighted down by their load, except Ayla. As they traveled, the feel
ing of foreboding she had experienced on their way north became
even stronger on the way back, but she avoided any mention of her
misgivings.
The carver was so full of anxious anticipation he found it hard to
contain himself. The anxiety stemmed largely from Vincavec's con
tinuing interest in Ayla, though he felt a vague sense of deeper con
flicts as well. But Ayla was still Promised to him, and they were
carrying the meat for the Matrimonial Feast. Even Jondalar seemed to
have accepted the joining, and although nothing was explicitly stated,
Ranee sensed that the tall man was siding with him against Vincavec.
The Zeiandonii man had many admirable qualities, and a tentative
friendship was developing. Nonetheless, Ranee felt Jondalar's pies-
ence was a tacit threat to his joining with Ayla, and could be an obsta-
cle that stood between him and complete happiness. Ranee would be
happy wnen ne finally left.
Ay la was not looking forward to the Matrimonial Ceremony at all,
though she knew she should have been. She knew how much Ranee
loved her, and she believed she could be happy with him. The idea of
having a baby like Tricie's filled her with delight. In her own mind,
Ayla knew beyond doubt that Ralev was Ranee's child. It was not the
result of any mixing of spirits. She was sure that he had started the
child with his own essence when he shared Pleasures with Tricie.
Ayla liked the red-haired woman, and felt sorry for her. She decided
she would not mind sharing Ranee and the hearth with her and Ralev,
if Tricie wanted to.
It was only in the darkest depths of night that Ayla admitted to
herself that she might be just as happy not living at Ranee's hearth at
all. She had generally avoided sleeping with him during the trip out,
except for a few occasions when he seemed to be in special need of
her, not physically, but because he wanted reassurance and closeness.
On the way back, she had not been able to share Pleasures with
Ranee. Instead, in her bed at night, she could think only ofjondalar.
The same questions went through her mind over and over again, but
she could come to no conclusion.
When she thought of the day of the hunt, of her close call with the
bull mammoth, and of the look of aching need in Jondalar's eyes, she
wondered if it was possible that he still loved her. Then why had he
been so distant all winter? Why had he stopped finding Pleasure in
her? Why had he left the Mammoth Hearth? She remembered that
day on the steppes the first time he rode Racer. When she thought of
his desire, his need, and her willing and eager acceptance, she could
not sleep for wanting him, but the memory was clouded by his rejec
tion, and her feelings of pain and confusion.
After one particularly long day, and a late meal, Ayla was among
the first to leave the fire and head for the tent. She had turned down
Ranee's hopeful, implied request to share his furs with a smile and a
comment about being tired after the day's trek, and then, seeing his
disappointment, felt bad. But she was tired, and very uncertain about
her feelings. She caught sight of Jondalar near the horses before she
entered the tent. He was turned away from her, and she watched
him, unintentionally fascinated by the shape of his body, the way he
moved, the way he stood. She knew him so well, she thought she
could recognize him by the shadow he cast. Then she noticed her
body had responded to him unintentionally, too. She was breathing
faster and her face was flushed, and she felt so drawn to him, she
started in his direction.
But it's no use, she thought. If I went over to talk to him, he would
just back away, make some excuses, and then go find someone else to
talk to. Ay la went into the tent, still full of the feelings he had caused
in her, and crawled into her furs.
She had been tired, but now she couldn't sleep, and tossed and
turned, trying to deny her yearning for him. What was wrong with
her? He didn't seem to want her, why should she want him? But then
why did he look at her that way sometimes? Why did he want her so
much that time on the steppes? It was as though he was so drawn to
her he couldn't help it. A thought struck her then, and she frowned.
Maybe he was drawn to her, the way she was drawn to him, but
maybe he didn't want to be. Had that been the problem all along?
She felt herself redden again, but this time with chagrin. Thinking
about it that way, it suddenly seemed to make sense, all his avoiding
her and running away from her. Was it because he didn't want to
want her? When she thought of all the times she had tried to approach
him, tried to talk to him, tried to understand him, when all he wanted
was to avoid her, she felt humiliated. He doesn't want me, she
thought. Not like Ranee does. Jondalar said he loved me, and talked
about taking me with him, when we were in the valley, but he never
asked me to join with him. He never said he wanted to share a hearth,
or that he wanted my children.
Ayla felt hot tears at the corners of her eyes. Why should I care
about him, when he doesn't really care about me? She sniffed, and
wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. All this time when I've
been thinking about him, and wanting him, he just wanted to forget
me.
Well, Ranee wants me, and he makes good Pleasures, too. And he
is so good to me. He wants to share a hearth with me, and I haven't
even been very nice to him. And he makes nice babies, too, at least
Tricie's baby is nice. I think I should start being nicer to Ranee, and
forget about Jondalar, she thought. But even as the words formed in
her mind, her tears broke forth again, and try as she would she could
not stop the thought that rose up from deep within. Yes, Ranee is
good to me but Ranee is not Jondalar, and I love Jondalar.
Ayla was still awake when people started to come into the tent. She
watched Jondalar come through the opening, and saw him look in her
direction, hesitating. She looked back at him for a moment, then she
raised her chin and looked away. Ranee came in just then. She sat up
and smiled at him.
"I thought you were tired. That's why you went to bed early," the
carver said.
"I thought I was, but I couldn't go to sleep. I think maybe I'd like
to share your furs, after all," she said.
The brightness of Ranee's smile could have rivaled the sun, if it had
been shining.
"It's a good thing nothing can keep me awake when I'm tired,"
Talut said with a good-natured grin, as he sat down on his sleeping
roll to untie his boots. But Ay la noticed that Jondalar did not smile.
He had closed his eyes, but it didn't hide his grimace of pain, or the
slump of defeat as he walked toward his sleeping place. Suddenly, he
turned around and hurried back out of the tent. Ranee and Talut
exchanged a glance, but then the dark man looked at Ay la.

When they reached the bog, they decided to look for a way around.
They were carrying too much to fight their way through it again. The
ivory route map of the previous year was consulted, and a decision
was made to change direction the following morning. Talut was sure
it would not take any more time to go the long way around, though he
had some trouble convincing Ranee, who could not abide any delays.
The evening before they decided to take the new route, Ay la felt
unusually edgy. The horses had been skittish all day, too, and even
the attention of brushing and currying them hadn't settled them
down. Something felt wrong. She didn't know what it was, just a
strange unease. She started walking across the open steppes, trying to
relax, and wandered away from camp.
She spied a covey of ptarmigan, and looked for her sling, but she
had forgotten it. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, they took flight in
a panic. Then a golden eagle appeared above the horizon. With deceptively
slow wing motions, it rode the currents of air, and seemed in no
great hurry. Yet, more quickly than she realized, Ae eagle was gaining
on the low-flying grouse. Suddenly, in a flurry of speed, the eagle
snatched its victim in strong talons, and squeezed the ptarmigan to
death.
Ayla shuddered and hurried back to camp. She stayed up late, talking
to people, trying to distract herself. But when she went to bed,
sleep came slowly, and then was filled with unsettling dreams. She
woke often, and sometime around daybreak, found herself awake
again, and unable to go back to sleep. Slipping out of her bedroll, she
went out of the tent, and started up the fire to boil water.
She sipped her morning tea as the sky grew lighter, staring absently
at a thin stalk with a dried flower umbel growing near the fireplace. A
half-eaten haunch of cold roast mammoth had been raised up high, on
top of a tripod of mammoth spears, directly over the fire, to protect it
from marauding animals. Recognition of the wild carrot plant dawned
on her, and noticing a fractured branch with a pointed end in the
woodpile, she used it as a digging stick to uncover the root a few
inches below the surface. Then she noticed several more dried flower
umbels, and while she was digging them, she saw some thistle stalks,
crisp and juicy after the spines were scraped off. Not far from the
thistles, she found a big puffball mushroom, still white and fresh, and
day lilies with crisp new buds. By the time people were stirring Ay la
had a large basket pot of soup, thickened with cracked grains,
simmering.
"This is wonderful!" Talut said, scooping up a second serving with
an ivory ladle. "What made you decide to cook such a delicious breakfast
this morning?"
"I couldn't sleep, and then I noticed all the vegetables growing
nearby. It took my mind off . . . things," she said.
"I slept like a bear in winter," Talut said, then studied her closely,
wishing Nezzie was there. "Is something troubling you, Ayla?"
She shook her head. "No . . . well, yes. But I don't know what it
is."

"Are you sick?"
"No, it's not that. I just feel . . . strange. The horses notice something,
too. Racer is hard to manage, and Whinney is nervous ..."
Suddenly Ayla dropped her cup, and clutching her arms as though
to protect herself, stared in horror at the southeastern sky. "Talut!
Look!" A column of dark gray was rising upward in the distance, and
a massive, billowing dark cloud was filling up the sky. "What is it?"
"I don't know," the big headman said, looking as frightened as she
felt. "I'll get Vincavec."
"I am not sure, either." They turned toward the voice of the tattooed
shaman. "It's coming from the mountains in the southeast."
Vincavec was struggling to keep his composure. He was not supposed
to show his fears, but it was not easy. "It must be a sign from the
Mother."
Ayla was sure some terrible catastrophe was happening for the
earth to spew forth like that with such force. The dark gray column
must have been unbelievably huge to look so large from so far away,
and the cloud, roiling and surging angrily, was growing larger. High
winds were beginning to push it westward.
"It's the milk of Doni's Breast," Jondalar said, more matter-of-factly
than he felt, using a word from his own language. Everyone was out
of the tents now, staring at the terrifying eruption and the huge
bloated cloud of seething volcanic ash.
"What is ... that word you said?" Talut said.
"It's a mountain, a special kind of mountain that spouts. I saw one
when I was very young," Jondalar said. "We call them the 'Breasts of
the Mother.' Old Zeiandoni told us the legend about them. The one I
5aw was far away on the high midlands. Later a man who was travel
ing, and was closer to it, told us what he saw. It was a very exciting
story, but he was scared. There were some small earthquakes, then
the top of the mountain blew right off. It sent up a big spout like that,
and made a black cloud that filled the sky. It's not like a regular cloud,
though. It's full of a light dust, like ash. That one"—he motioned
toward the huge black cloud that was streaming toward the west—
"looks like it's blowing away from us. I hope the wind doesn't shift.
When that ash settles, it covers everything. Sometimes very deep."
"It must be far away," Brecie said. "We can't even see the moun
tains from here, and there are no sounds, no roars and rumbles and
shaking of the ground. Just that huge spout and the great dark cloud."
"That's why, even if the ash falls around here, it may not be too
bad. We're far enough away."
"You said there were earthquakes? Earthquakes are always a sign
from the Mother. This must be, too. The mamuti will have to medi
tate on this, find its meaning," Vincavec said, not wanting to appear
less knowledgeable than the stranger.
Ayla did not hear much beyond "earthquake." There was nothing
in the world she feared so much as earthquakes. She had lost her
family when she was five to a violent rending of the solid earth, and
another earthquake had killed Creb when Broud had expelled her
from the Clan. Earthquakes had always presaged devastating loss,
wrenching change. She kept control of herself only by the thinnest
edge.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a familiar movement.
The next instant, a streak of gray fur raced toward her, jumped up,
and put wet, muddy paws on her chest. She felt the lick of a raspy
tongue on her jaw.
"Wolf! Wolf! What are you doing here?" she said, as she ruffed up
his neck. Then she stopped, horror-stricken, and cried out. "Oh, no!
It's Rydag! Wolf has come for me, to take me to Rydag! I must go. I
must go immediately!"
"You'll have to leave the travois and the horses' pack loads here, and
ride back," Talut said. The pain in his eyes was evident. Rydag was
the son of his hearth just as much as any of Nezzie's children, and the
headman loved him. If he could have, if he wasn't so big, Ayla would
have offered to let him ride Racer and come back with her.
She ran into the tent to dress and saw Ranee. "It's Rydag," she
said.
"I know. I just heard you. Let me help. I'll put some food and
water in your pack. Will you need your bedroll? I'll pack it, too," he
said, while she was wrapping ties around her boots.
Oh, Ranee," Ayla said. He was so good to her. "How can I thank
you!"
"He's my brother, Ayla."
Of course! she thought. Ranee loves him, too. "I'm sorry. I'm not
thinking right. Do you want to come back with me? I was thinking of
asking Talut, but he's too big to ride Racer. You could, though."
"Me? Get up on a horse? Never!" Ranee said, looking startled and
pulling back a little.
Ayla frowned. She hadn't realized he felt so strongly about the
horses, but now that she thought about it, he was one of the few who
had never asked for a ride. She wondered why.
"I wouldn't have the first idea how to guide him, and . . . I'm afraid
I'd fall off, Ayla. It's all right for you, that's one of the things I love
about you, but I'll never ride a horse," Ranee said. "I prefer my own
two feet. I don't even like boats."
"But someone must go with her. She should not go back alone,"
Talut said from just beyond the entrance.
"She won't," Jondalar said. He was dressed in traveling clothes,
standing beside Whinney, holding Racer's bridle.
Ayla breathed a great sigh of relief, and then frowned. Why was he
going with her? He never wanted to go anyplace with her, alone. He
didn't really care about her. She was glad he would be with her, but
she wasn't going to tell him. She had already humiliated herself too
many times.
While she put the carrying bags on Whinney, Ayla noticed Wolf
slurping water from Ranee's dish. He had gobbled down half a plate
of meat as well.
"Thank you for feeding him, Ranee," she said.
"Just because I won't ride a horse doesn't mean I don't like the
animals, Ayla," the carver said, feeling diminished. He hadn't wanted
to tell her he was afraid to ride a horse.
She nodded, and smiled. "I'll see you when you get to Wolf
Camp," Ayla said. They embraced, and kissed, and Ayla thought he
held her to him almost too fervently. She hugged Talut as well, and
Brecie, and brushed Vincavec's cheek, then mounted. The wolf was
immediately at Whinney's heels.
"I hope Wolf's not too tired to run back after running all the way
here," Ayla said.
"If he gets tired, he can ride double with you on Whinney," Jon
dalar said, sitting on Racer, trying to keep the nervous stallion calm.
"That's right. I'm not thinking," Ayla said.
"Take care of her, Jondalar," Ranee said. "When she's worried
about someone else, she forgets to take care of herself. I want her to
be well for our Matrimonial."
"I'll take care of her, Ranee. Don't worry, you will have a well and
healthy woman to bring to your hearth," Jondalar replied.
Ayla looked from one to the other. More was being said than the
words.

They traveled steadily until midday, then stopped to rest and lunch
on traveling food. Ayla was so deeply worried about Rydag she would
have preferred to keep on going, but the horses needed the rest. She
wondered if he had sent Wolf for her himself. It seemed likely. Anyone
else would send a person. Only Rydag would reason that Wolf
was smart enough to understand the message and follow her trail to
find her. But he wouldn't do it, unless it was very important.
The disturbance to the southeast frightened her. The great column
spewing into the sky had stopped, but the cloud was still there,
spreading out. The fear of strange earth convulsions was so basic to
her, and so deep, that she was in a mild state of shock. Only her
overriding fear for Rydag forced her to stay in control of herself.
But with all her fears, Ayla was strongly conscious of Jondalar. She
had almost forgotten how happy it made her feel to be with him. She
had dreamed of riding with him on Whinney and Racer, just the two
of them together, with Wolf loping alongside. While they rested, she
watched him, but surreptitiously, with a Clan woman's ability to
efface herself, to see without being seen. Just looking at him gave her
a feeling of warmth and a desire to be closer, but her recent insight
into his unexplainable behavior, and her embarrassment over pushing
herself on him when she wasn't wanted, made her reluctant to show
her interest. If he didn't want her, she didn't want him, or at least,
she wasn't going to let him know that she did.
Jondalar was watching her, too, wanting to find a way to talk to
her, to tell her how much he loved her, to try to win her back. But
she seemed to be avoiding him, he couldn't catch her eye. He knew
how upset she was about Rydag--he feared the worst himself--and
didn't want to intrude on her. He wasn't sure it was the right time to
bring up his personal feelings, and after all this time, he didn't quite
know how to begin. Riding back, he had wild visions of not even
stopping at Wolf Camp, of continuing on with her, maybe all the way
back to his home. But he knew that was impossible. Rydag needed
her, and she was Promised to Ranee. They were going to join. Why
should she want to go with him?
They didn't rest long. As soon as Ayla thought the horses were
rested enough, they started riding again. But they traveled only a
short time when they saw someone coming. He hailed from a distance,
and when they got closer, they saw it was Ludeg, the messenger
who had brought them the new location of the Summer Meeting.
"Ay la! You're the one I am looking for. Nezzie sent me to get you.
I'm afraid I have bad news for you. Rydag is very sick," Ludeg said.
Then he looked around. "Where is everyone else?"
"They are coming. We came on ahead as soon as we found out,"
Ayla said.
"But how could you find out? I'm the only runner that was sent,"
Ludeg asked.
"No," Jondalar said. "You're the only human runner that was sent,
but wolves can run faster."
Suddenly Ludeg noticed the young wolf. "He didn't go hunting
with you, how did Wolf get here?"
"I think Rydag sent him," Ayla said. "He found us on the other
side of the bog."
"It's a good thing, too," Jondalar added. "You might have missed
the hunters. They've decided to go around the bog on the way back.
It's easier when you're heavily loaded to stay on dry ground."
"So they found mammoth. Good, that will make everyone happy,"
Ludeg said, then he looked at Ayla. "I think you'd better hurry. It's
lucky you're this close."
Ayla felt the blood drain from her face.
"Would you like a ride back, Ludeg?" Jondalar asked, before they
hurried away. "We can ride double."
"No. You need to go ahead. You've already saved me a long trip. I
don't mind the walk back."

Ayla raced Whinney all the way back to the Summer Meeting. She
was off the horse and in the tent before anyone knew she was back.
"Ayla! You're here! You made it in time. I was afraid he would be
gone before you got here," Nezzie said. "Ludeg must have traveled
fast."
"It wasn't Ludeg who found us. It was Wolf," Ayla said, throwing
off her outerwear and rushing to Rydag's bed.
She had to close her eyes to overcome the shock for a moment. The
set of his jaw and the lines of strain told her more than any words that
he was in pain, terrible pain. He was pale, but dark hollows circled
his eyes, and his cheekbones and brow ridges protruded in sharp angles.
Every breath was an effort and caused more pain. She looked up
at Nezzie, who was standing beside the bed.
"What happened, Nezzie?" She fought to hold back tears, for his
sake.
"I wish I knew. He was fine, then all of a sudden he got this pain. I
tried to do everything you told me, gave him the medicine. Nothing
helped," Nezzie said.
Ayla felt a faint touch on her arm. "I glad you come," the boy
signed.
Where had she seen that before? That struggle to make signs with a
body too weak to move? Iza. That's how she was when she died. Ayla
had just returned from a long trek then, and a long stay at the Clan
Gathering. But she just went to hunt mammoth this time. They
weren't gone very long. What happened to Rydag? How did he get so
sick so fast? Had it been coming up on him slowly all along?
"You sent Wolf, didn't you?" Ayla asked.
"I know he find," the boy motioned. "Wolf smart."
Rydag closed his eyes then, and Ayla had to turn her head aside,
and close her eyes. It hurt to see the way he labored to breathe, to see
his pain.
"When did you last have your medicine?" Ayla asked, when he
opened his eyes and she could look at him.
Rydag shook his head slightly. "Not help. Nothing help."
"What do you mean, nothing will help? You're not a medicine
woman. How do you know? I'm the one who knows that," Ayla said,
trying to sound firm and positive.
He shook his head slightly again. "I know."
"Well, I'm going to examine you, but first, I'm going to get you
some medicine," Ayla said, but it was more that she was afraid she
would break down right there. He touched her hand as she started to
leave.
"Not go." He closed his eyes again, and she watched him struggle
for one more tortured breath, and then another, powerless to do any
thing. "Wolf here?" he finally signed.
Ayla whistled, and whoever it was outside that had been trying to
keep Wolf from going in the tent, suddenly found it impossible. He
was there, jumping up on the boy's bed, trying to lick his face. Rydag
smiled. It was almost more than Ayla could stand, that smile on a
Clan face that was so uniquely Rydag. The rambunctious young ani
mal could be too much. Ayla motioned him down.
"I send Wolf. Want Ayla," Rydag motioned again. "I want . . ."
He didn't seem to know the word in signs.
"What is it you want, Rydag?" Ayla encouraged.
"He tried to tell me," Nezzie said. "But I couldn't understand him.
I hope you can. It seems so important to him."
Rydag closed his eyes and wrinkled his brow, and Ayla had the
feeling he was trying to remember something.
"Durc lucky. He . . . belongs. Ayla, I want . . . mog-ur."
He was trying so hard, and it was taking so much out of him, but
all Ayla could do was try to understand. "Mog-ur?" The sign was
silent. "You mean a man of the spirit world?" Ay la said, aloud.
Rydag nodded, encouraged. But the expression on Nezzie's face
was unfathomable. "Is that what he's been trying to say?" the woman
asked.
"Yes, I think so," Ayla said. "Does that help?"
Nezzie nodded, a short, clipped nod of anger. "I know what he
wants. He doesn't want to be an animal, he wants to go to the spirit
world. He wants to be buried . . . like a person."
Rydag was nodding now, agreeing.
"Of course," Ayla said. "He is a person." She looked perplexed.
"No. He's not. He was never numbered among the Mamutoi. They
wouldn't accept him. They said he was an animal," Nezzie said.
"You mean he cannot have a burial? He cannot walk the spirit
world? Who says he can't?" Ay la's eyes blazed with fury.
"The Mammoth Hearth," Nezzie said. "They won't allow it."
"Well, am I not the daughter of the Mammoth Hearth? I will allow
it!" Ayla stated.
"It won't do any good. Mamut would, too. The Mammoth Hearth
has to agree, and they won't agree," Nezzie said.
Rydag had been listening, hopeful, but now his hope was dimming.
Ayla saw his expression, his disappointment, and was more angry
than she had ever been.
"The Mammoth Hearth doesn't have to agree. They are not the
ones who decide if someone is human or not. Rydag is a person. He is
no more an animal than my son is. The Mammoth Hearth can keep
their burial. He doesn't need it. When the time comes, I will do it,
the Clan way, the way I did it for Creb, the Mog-ur. Rydag will walk
the world of the spirits, Mammoth Hearth or no!"
Nezzie glanced at the boy. He seemed more relaxed now. No, she
decided. At peace. The strain, the tension, he had been showing was
gone. He touched Ayla's arm.
"I am not animal," he signed.
He seemed about to say something else. Ayla waited. Then sud
denly she realized there was no sound, no struggle to take one more
tortured breath. He was not in pain any more.
But Ayla was. She looked up and saw Jondalar. He had been there
all along, and his face was as racked with grief as hers, or Nezzie's.
Suddenly all three of them were clinging together, trying to find so
lace in each other.
Then another showed his grief. From the floor beneath Rydag's
bed, a low whine rose in a furry throat, then yips that extended and
deepened and soared into Wolf's first full, ringing howl. When his
breath ran out, he began again, crying out his loss in the sonorous,
eerie, spine-tingling, unmistakable tones of wolfsong. People gathered
at the entrance of the tent to look, but were hesitant to enter. Even
the three who were awash in their own sorrow paused to listen and
wonder. Jondalar thought to himself that animal or human, no one
could ask for a more poignant or awesome elegy.

After the first racking tears of grief were spent, Ayla sat beside the
small thin body, unmoving, but her tears had not stopped. She stared
into space, silently remembering her life with the Clan, and her son,
and the first time she saw Rydag. She loved Rydag. He had come to
mean as much to her as Durc and, in a certain way, stood in for him.
Even though her son had been taken from her, Rydag had given her
an opportunity to know more about him, to learn how he might be
growing and maturing, how he might look, how he might think.
When she smiled at Rydag's gentle humor, or was pleased at his per-
ceptiveness and intelligence, she could imagine that Durc had the
same kind of understanding. Now Rydag was gone, and her tenuous
link to Durc was gone. Her grief was for both.
Nezzie's grief was not less, but the needs of the living were important, too. Rugie climbed up on her lap, hurt and confused that her
playmate, and friend, and brother, couldn't play any more, couldn't
even make words with his hands. Danug was stretched out full-length
on his bed, his head buried under a cover, sobbing, and someone had
to go and tell Latie.
"Ayla? Ayla," Nezzie finally said. "What do we have to do to bury
him in the Clan way? We need to start getting him ready."
It took Ayla a moment to comprehend that someone was talking to
her. She frowned, and focused on Nezzie. "What?"
"We have to get him ready for burial. What do we have to do? I
don't know anything about Clan burials."
No, none of the Mamutoi did, she thought. Especially the Mammoth
Hearth. But she did. She thought about the Clan burials she
had seen and considered what should be done for Rydag. Before he
can be buried in the Clan way, he has to be Clan. That means he has
to be named, and he needs an amulet with a piece of red ochre in it.
Suddenly, Ayla got up and rushed out.
Jondalar went after her. "Where are you going?"
"If Rydag is going to be Clan, I have to make him an amulet," she
said.
Ayla stalked through the encampment, obviously angry, marching
past the Camp of the Mammoth Hearth without even a glance, and
straight to the flint-workers' area. Jondalar followed behind. He had
some idea what she was up to. She asked for a flint nodule, which no
one was ready to refuse her. Then she looked around and found a
hammerstone, and cleared herself a place to work.
As she began to preshape the flint in the Clan way, and the
Mamutoi flint knappers realized what she was doing, they were eager
to watch, and crowded as close as they dared. No one wanted to raise
her are even more, but this was a rare opportunity. Jondalar had tried
to explain the Clan techniques once, after Ay la's background became
generally known, but his training was different. He didn't have the
necessary control using their methods. Even when he succeeded, they
thought it was his own skill, not the unusual process.
Ay la decided to make two separate tools, a sharp knife and a
pointed awl, and bring them both back to Cattail Camp to make the
amulet. She managed to make a serviceable knife, but she was so full
of grief and anger, her hands shook. The first time she tried to make
the more difficult narrow, sharp point, she shattered it, and then noticed
that many people were watching her, which made her nervous.
She felt that the Mamutoi flint workers were judging the Clan way of
making tools, and she was not representing them well, and then was
angry that she should even care. The second time she tried, she broke
it, too. Her frustration brought angry tears, which she kept trying to
wipe away. Suddenly, Jondalar was kneeling in front of her.
"Is this what you want, Ayla?" he asked, holding up the piercing
tool she had made for the special Spring Festival ceremony.
"That's a Clan tool! Where did you get . . . that's the one I made!"
she said.
"I know. I went back and got it that day. I hope you don't mind."
She was surprised, puzzled, and strangely pleased. "No, I don't
mind. I'm glad you did, but why?"
"I wanted ... to study it," he replied. He couldn't quite bring
himself to say he wanted it to remember her by, to tell her he thought
he would be leaving without her. He didn't want to leave without
her.
She took her tools back to Cattail Camp, and asked Nezzie for a
piece of soft leather. After she got it, the woman watched her make
the simple, gathered pouch.
"They look a little more crude, but those tools really work very
well," Nezzie remarked. "What is the pouch for?"
"It's Rydag's amulet, like the one I made for the Spring Festival. I
have to put a piece of red ochre in it, and name him the way the Clan
does. He should have a totem, too, to protect him on his way to the
world of the spirits." She paused, and wrinkled her brow. "I don't
know what Creb did to discover a person's totem, but it was always
right . . . maybe I can share my totem with Rydag. The Cave Lion is
a powerful totem, difficult to live with sometimes, but he was tested
many times. Rydag deserves a strong, protective totem."
"Is there anything I can do? Does he need to be prepared?
Dressed?" Nezzie asked.
"Yes, I'd like to help, too," Latie said. She was standing at the
entrance with Tulie.
"And so would I," Mamut added.
Ayla looked up and saw almost the entire Lion Camp wanting to
help and looking to her for direction. Only the hunters were missing.
She was filled with a great warmth for these people who had taken in
a strange orphaned child and accepted him as their own, and a righ
teous anger at the members of the Mammoth Hearth who would not
even give him a burial.
"Well, first, someone can get some red ochre, crush it up, like
Deegie does to color leather, and mix it in some rendered fat to make
a salve. That has to be rubbed all over him. It should be Cave Bear
fat, for a proper Clan burial. The Cave Bear is sacred to the Clan."
"We don't have Cave Bear fat," Tornec said.
"There are not many Cave Bears around here," Manuv added.
"Why not mammoth fat, Ayla?" Mamut suggested. "Rydag wasn't
just Clan. He was mixed. He was part Mamutoi, too, and the mam
moth is sacred to us."
"Yes, I think we could use that. He was Mamutoi, too. We
shouldn't forget that."
"How about dressing him, Ayla?" Nezzie asked. "He's never even
worn the new clothes I made for him this year."
Ayla frowned, then nodded agreement. "Why not? After he's col
ored with red ochre, the way the Clan does, he could be dressed in his
best clothes, like the Mamutoi do for burials. Yes, I think that's a
good idea, Nezzie."
"I never would have guessed red ochre was a sacred color at their
burials, too," Frebec commented.
"I didn't even think they buried their dead," Crozie said.
"Obviously, the Mammoth Hearth didn't either," Tulie said.
"They are going to be in for a surprise."
Ayla asked Deegie for one of the wooden bowls she had given her
as an adoption gift, made in the Clan style, and used it to mix the red
ochre and mammoth fat into a colored salve. But it was Nezzie,
Crozie, and Tulie, the three oldest women of Lion Camp, who
rubbed it on him, and then dressed him. Ayla put aside a small dab of
the oily red paste for later, and put a lump of the red iron ore into the
pouch she had made.
"What about wrapping him?" Nezzie asked. "Shouldn't he be
wrapped, Ayla?"
"I don't know what that means," Ayla said.
"We use a hide or a fur, or something, to carry him out, and then
it's wrapped around him before he is laid in the grave," Nezzie
explained.
It was another Mamutoi custom, Ayla realized, but it seemed that
with dressing him so richly and putting all his jewelry on him, there
was already more Mamutoi than Clan to this burial. The three women
were watching her expectantly. She looked back at Tulie, then
Nezzie. Yes, maybe Nezzie was right. Something should be used to
carry him, some kind of bedding or cover. Then she looked at Crozie.
Suddenly, though she hadn't thought of it for some time, she re
membered something: Durc's cloak. The cloak she had used to carry
her son close to her breast when he was an infant, and to support him
on her hip when he was a toddler. It was the one thing she had taken
with her from the Clan that had no necessary purpose. Yet, how
many nights when she was alone had Durc's carrying cloak given her
a sense of connection with the only place of security she had known,
and to those she had loved. How many nights had she slept with that
cloak? Cried into it? Rocked it? It was the one thing she owned that
had belonged to her son, and she wasn't sure if she could give it up,
but did she really need it? Was she going to carry it around with her
for the rest of her life?
Ayla noticed Crozie looking at her again, and remembered the
white cape, the one that Crozie had made for her son. She had carried
it around with her for many years, because it meant so much to her.
But she had given it up for a good purpose, to Racer, to protect him.
Wasn't it more important for Rydag to be wrapped in something that
had come from the Clan, when he was sent on his way to walk in the
spirit world, than for her to carry Durc's cloak around? Crozie had
finally let the memory of her son go. Maybe it was time for her to let
Durc go, too, and just be grateful that he was more than a memory.
"I have something to wrap him in," Ayla said. She rushed to her
sleeping place and from the bottom of a pile, she pulled out a folded
hide and shook it out. She held the soft, supple, old leather of her
son's cloak to her cheek once more, and closed her eyes, remember
ing. Then she walked back and gave it to Ry dag's mother.
"Here's a wrapping," she told Nezzie, "a Clan wrapping. It once
belonged to my son. Now it will help Rydag in the spirit world. And
thank you, Crozie," she added.
"Why are you thanking me?"
"For everything you've done for me, and for showing me that all
mothers must let go sometime."
"Hmmrnf!" the old woman said, trying to look stem, but her eyes
glistened with feeling. Nezzie took the cloak from Ayla and covered
Rydag.
By then it was dark. Ayla had planned to do a simple ceremony
inside the tent, but Nezzie asked her to wait until morning and con
duct the ceremony outside, to show everyone at the Meeting Rydag's
humanity. It would also give the hunters a little more time to return.
No one wanted Talut and Ranee to miss Ry dag's funeral, but they
could not wait too long.
Late the next morning they carried the body outside and laid it out
on the cloak. Many people from the Meeting had gathered around,
and more were coming. Word had spread that Ayla was going to give
Rydag a flathead burial, and everyone was curious. She had the small
bowl of red ochre paste and the amulet, and had begun calling the
Spirits to attend, as Creb had always done, when another commotion
arose. Much to Nezzie's relief, the hunters returned, and with all of
the mammoth meat. They had taken turns dragging back the two
travois, and were already planning variations of it to make a sledge
that people could drag more easily.
The ceremony was postponed until the mammoth meat was stored,
and Talut and Ranee were told what had happened, but no one ob
jected when it was resumed quickly. The death of the mixed Clan
child at the Summer Meeting of the Mamutoi had created a real di
lemma. He had been called an abomination, an animal, but animals
were not buried; their meat was stored. Only people were buried, and
they did not like to leave the dead unburied for long. Though the
Mamutoi weren't quite willing to grant Rydag human status, they
knew he wasn't really an animal, either. No one revered the spirit of
flatheads as they did deer, or bison, or mammoths, and no one was
ready to store Rydag's body beside the mammoth carcasses. He was
an abomination precisely because they saw his humanity, but de
graded it and would not recognize it. They were glad to let Ayla and
the Lion Camp dispose of Rydag's body in a way that seemed to
resolve the problem.
Ayla stood up on a mound to begin the ceremony again, trying to
remember the signs Creb had made for this part. She didn't know
exactly what all the signs meant, they were taught only to mog-urs,
but she did know the general purpose and content, and explained as
she went along for the benefit of the Lion Camp, and the rest of the
Mamutoi who were watching.
"I am Calling the Spirits now," she said. "The Spirit of the Great
Cave Bear, the Cave Lion, the Mammoth, all the others, and the An
cient Spirits, too, of Wind and Mist and Rain." Then she reached
down for the small bowl. "Now I'm going to name him and make him
part of the Clan," she said, and dipping her finger in the red paste,
Ay la drew a line from his forehead to his nose. Then she stood up and
said with signs and words, "The boy's name is Rydag."
There was a quality about her, the tone of her voice, the intensity
of her expression as she tried to remember exactly the correct signs
and movements, even her strange speech mannerism, that held people
fascinated. The story of her standing on the ice Calling the mam
moths was spreading fast. No one doubted that this daughter of the
Mammoth Hearth had every right to conduct this ceremony, or any
ceremony, whether she had a Mamut tattoo or not.
"Now he is named in the Clan way," Ay la explained, "but he also
needs a totem to help him find the world of the spirits. I do not know
his totem, so I will share my totem, the Spirit of the Cave Lion, with
him. It is a very powerful, protective totem, but he is worthy."
Next, she exposed Rydag's small, thin, right leg, and with the red
ochre paste, drew four parallel lines on his thigh. Then she stood and
announced in words and signs, "Spirit of Cave Lion, the boy, Rydag,
is delivered into your protection." Then she slipped the amulet, tied
to a cord, around his neck. "Rydag is now named and accepted by the
Clan," she said, and fervently hoped it was true.
Ay la had chosen a place, somewhat away from the settlement, and
Lion Camp had requested and received permission from Wolf Camp
to bury him there. Nezzie wrapped the small stiff body in Durc's
cloak, then Talut picked up the boy and carried him to the place of
burial. He was not ashamed of the tears that fell as he laid Rydag in
the shallow grave.
The people of the Lion Clan stood around the dip in the ground
that had been deepened only slightly, and watched as several things
were put into the grave with him. Nezzie brought food and placed it
beside him. Latie added his favorite little whistle. Tronic brought a
string of bones, and deer vertebrae that he had used when he tended
the babies and young children of Lion Camp during the past winter.
It was what he loved doing most, because it was something useful he
could do. Then, unexpectedly, Rugie ran to the grave and dropped in
her favorite doll.
At Ay la's signal, everyone from Lion Camp picked up a stone and
carefully laid it on the cloak-wrapped figure; the beginning of his
grave cairn. It was then that Ayla began the burial ceremony. She
didn't try to explain, the purpose seemed clear enough. Using the
same signs that Creb had used at Iza's funeral, and that she, in turn,
had used to honor Creb when she found him in the rubble-strewn
cave, Ayla's movements gave meaning to a burial rite that was far
more ancient than any there could know, and more beautiful than
anyone had imagined.
She was not using the simplified sign language that she had taught
to the Lion Camp. This was the full, complex, rich Clan language in
which movements and postures of the entire body had shades and
nuances of meaning. Though many of the signs were esoteric—even
Ayla didn't know the full meaning—many ordinary signs were also
included, some of which the Lion Camp did know. They were able to
understand the essence, know that it was a ritual for sending someone
to a world beyond. To the rest of the Mamutoi, Ay la's movement had
the appearance of a subtle, yet expressive dance, full of hand move
ments, and arm movements, stances and gestures. She evoked in them
with her silent grace, the love and the loss, the sorrow and the mythic
hope of death.
Jondalar was overwhelmed. His tears flowed as freely as any mem
ber of the Lion Camp's. As he watched her beautiful silent dance, he
was reminded of a time in her valley—it seemed so long ago now—
when she once had tried to tell him something with the same kind of
graceful movements. Even then, though he didn't understand it was a
language, he had sensed some deeper meaning in her expressive ges
tures. Now that he knew more, he was surprised at how much he
didn't know, yet how beautiful he thought it was when Ayla moved
that way.
He remembered the posture she used when they first met, sitting
cross-legged on the ground and bowing her head, waiting for him to
tap her shoulder. Even after she could speak, she would use it some
times. It always embarrassed him, particularly after he knew it was a
Clan gesture, but she had told him it was her way of trying to say
something that she didn't have the words for. He smiled to himself. It
was hard to believe she couldn't talk when he first met her. Now, she
was fluent in two languages: Zeiandonii and Mamutoi, three, if he
counted Clan. She had even picked up a little Sungaea in the short
time she spent with them.
As he watched her move through the Clan ritual, filled with memo
ries of the valley, and memories of their love, he wanted her more
than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. But Ranee was standing
close to her, as enraptured as he. Every time Jondalar looked at Ayla,
he could not avoid seeing the dark-skinned man. The moment he ar
rived, Ranee had sought her out, and he made a point of letting Jon
dalar know that she was still Promised to him. And Ayla seemed
distant, elusive. He had made some attempts to talk to her, to express
his sorrow, but after their first moments of shared grief, she seemed
unwilling to accept his efforts to console her. He wondered if he was
imagining it. As upset as she was, what else could he expect?
Suddenly, all heads turned at the sound of a steady beat. Marut,
the drummer, had gone to the Music Lodge and brought his mam-
moth skull drum back. Music was usually played at Mamutoi funer
als, but the sounds he was making were not the usual Mamutoi
rhythms. They were the unfamiliar, strangely fascinating rhythms of
the Clan that Ayla had shown him. Then the bearded musician,
Manen, began to play the simple flute tones she had whistled. The
music matched, in an unexplainable way, the movements of the
woman who was dancing a ritual as evanescent as the sound of music
itself.
Ayla had almost completed the ritual, but she decided to repeat it,
since they were playing Clan sounds. The second time they went
through it, the musicians began to improvise. With their expertise and
skill, they made the simple Clan sounds into something else, which
was neither Clan nor Mamutoi, but a mixture of both. A perfect ac
companiment, Ayla thought, for the funeral of a boy who was a mix
ture of both.
Ayla went through one last repetition with the musicians, and she
wasn't sure when her tears started, but she could see she was not
alone. There were many wet eyes, and not only from among the Lion
Camp.
As she finished for the third time, a heavy dark cloud that had been
approaching from the southeast began to blot out the sun. It was the
season for thunderstorms, and some people looked for shelter. Instead
of water, a light dust began to fall, very light at first. Then the vol
canic ash from the eruption in the faraway mountains fell heavier.
Ayla stood by Rydag's grave cairn feeling the feathery soft volcanic
ash sifting down on her, coating her hair, her shoulders, clinging to
her arms, her eyebrows, even her eyelashes, turning her into a mono
chrome figure in pale beige-gray. The fine light dust covered every
thing, the stones of the cairn, the grass, even the brown dust of the
path. Logs and bush alike took on the same hue. It covered the people
standing by the grave as well, and to Ayla, they all began to look the
same. Differences were lost in the face of such awesome powers as
movements of the earth, and death.
his stuff is terrible!" Tronic complained, shaking out a
bed covering at the edge of a gully, and causing more ash to billow
up. "We've been cleaning it up for days, but it's in the food, in the
water, clothes, beds. It gets into everything, and you can't get rid of
it."
"What we need is another good rain," Deegie said, throwing out
some dirty water that had been used to wash down the hide covering
of the tent. "Or a good snowstorm. That would settle it. This is one
year I'm going to look forward to winter."
"I'm sure you are," Tronic said, then looked at her sideways and
grinned, "but I think it's because you'll be joined by then and living
with Branag."
A beatific smile transformed Deegie's face as she thought of her
upcoming nuptials. "I won't deny that, Tronic," she said.
"Is it true that the Mammoth Hearth was talking about postponing
the Matrimonial because of this ash?" Tronic asked.
"Yes, and the Womanhood Rites, too, but everyone objected. I
know Latie doesn't want to wait, and I don't either. They finally
agreed. They don't want any more bad feelings. A lot of people
thought they were wrong about Rydag's funeral," Deegie said.
"But some people agreed with them," Fralie said, approaching with
a basketful of ash. She dumped it into the gully. "No matter what
they had decided, someone would have thought they were wrong."
"I guess you had to live with Rydag to know," Tronic said.
"I'm not so sure," Deegie said. "He lived with us a long time, but I
never thought of him as quite human until Ayla came."
"I don't think she's as anxious for the Matrimonial as you, Deegie,"
Tronic said. "I wonder if something is wrong with her. Is she sick?"
"I don't think so," Deegie said. "Why?"
"She's not acting right. She's preparing to be joined, but she doesn't
seem to be looking forward to it. She's getting a lot of gifts, and ev
erything, but she doesn't seem happy. She should be like you. Every
time someone says 'join,' you smile, and get a dreamy look on your
face."
"Not everyone looks forward to their joining the same way," Fralie
said.
"She did feel very close to Rydag," Deegie commented. "And she is
grieving, as much as Nezzie. If he had been Mamutoi, the Matrimonial
probably would be delayed."
"I feel bad about Rydag, too, and I miss him--he was so good with
Hartal," Tronic said. "We all feel bad, though he was in so much pain
I was relieved. I think something else is bothering Ayla."
She did not add that she had wondered about Ayla joining with
Ranee from the beginning. There was no reason to make an issue of
it, but in spite of Ranee's feeling for her, Deegie still thought Ayla felt
more for Jondalar, though she seemed to be ignoring him lately. She
saw the tall Zeiandonii man come out of the tent, and walk toward the
center of the Meeting area. He seemed preoccupied.

Jondalar nodded in response to people who acknowledged him as he
passed, but his thoughts were turned inward. Was he imagining it?
Or was Ayla really avoiding him? After all the time that he had spent
trying to stay out of her way, he still couldn't quite believe, now that
he wanted to talk to her alone, that she was avoiding him. In spite of
her Promise to Ranee, some part of him always believed that all he
had to do was to stop avoiding her and she would be available to him
again. It wasn't that she had seemed so eager, exactly, but that she
seemed open to him. Now, she seemed closed. He had decided the
only way to find out was to face her directly, but he was having
trouble finding her at a time and place where they could talk.
He saw Latie coming toward him. He smiled and stopped to watch
her. She walked with an independent stride now, smiled confidently
at people who nodded greetings. There is a difference, he thought. It
always amazed him to see the change that First Rites brought. Latie
was no longer a child, or a giggling, nervous girl. Though she was still
young, she moved with the assurance of a woman.
"Hello, Jondalar," she said, smiling.
"Hello, Latie. You're looking happy." A lovely young woman, he
thought to himself as he smiled. His eyes conveyed his feeling. She
responded with an indrawn breath and widened eyes, and then a look
that answered his unconscious invitation.
"I am. I was getting so tired of staying in one place all the time.
This is the first chance I've had to walk around by myself ... or with
anyone I want." She swayed a little closer as she looked up at him.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm looking for Ayla. Have you seen her?"
Latie sighed, then smiled in a friendly way.
'Yes, she was watching Tricie's baby for a while. Mamut is looking
for her, too."
If

"Don't blame them all, Ayla," Mamut said. They were sitting outside
in the warm sunshine, in the shade of a big alder bush. "There
were several who disagreed. I was one."
"I don't blame you, Mamut. I don't know if I blame anyone, but
why can't they see? What makes people hate them so much?"
"Maybe because they can see how much we are alike, so they look
for differences." He paused, then continued, "You should go to the
Mammoth Hearth before tomorrow, Ayla. You can't be joined until
you do. You're the last one, you know."
"Yes, I suppose I should," Ayla said.
"Your reluctance is giving Vincavec hope. He asked me again today
if I thought you were considering his offer. He said, if you didn't
want to break your Promise, he was going to talk to Ranee about
accepting him as a co-mate. His offer could increase your Bride Price
substantially, and give very high status to all of you. How would you
feel about it, Ayla? Would you be willing to accept Vincavec as a co-
mate with Ranee?"
"Vincavec said something about that on the hunt. I'd have to talk to
Ranee and see how he feels about it," Ayla said.
Mamut thought she showed remarkably little enthusiasm, either
way. This was a bad time for a joining, with her grief still so strong,
but with all the offers and attention, it was hard to counsel waiting.
He noticed that she was suddenly distracted, and turned to see what
she was watching. Jondalar was coming toward them. She seemed
nervous and took a step as though she was in a hurry to go, but she
couldn't just break off her conversation with Mamut so abruptly.
"There you are, Ayla. I've been looking for you. I'd like to talk to
you."
"I'm busy with Mamut now," she said.
"I think we're through, if you want to talk to Jondalar," Mamut
said.
Ayla looked down, and then at the old man, avoiding Jondalar's
troubled gaze, then said softly, "I don't think we have anything to say
to each other, Mamut."
Jondalar felt his face drain, then a shock of blushing heat. She had
been avoiding him! She didn't even want to talk to him. "Uh . . .
well, uh . . . I'm . . . I'm sorry I bothered you," he said, backing
away. Then, wishing he could find a place to hide, he rushed off.
Mamut observed her closely. After he left, she watched him go, her
eyes even more troubled than his. He shook his head, but refrained
from speaking as they walked together back to Lion Camp.
As they neared, Ay la noticed Nezzie and Tulie coming toward
them. Ry dag's death had been hard on Nezzie. Just the day before she
had brought what was left of his medicine back, and they had both
wept. Nezzie didn't want it around as a sad reminder, but wasn't sure
if she should throw it away. It made Ay la realize that with Rydag
gone, the need to help Nezzie treat him was gone, too.
"We were looking for you, Ayla," Tulie said. She seemed delighted
with herself the way someone would who had been planning a big
surprise, and that was rare for the big headwoman. The two women
opened out something that was carefully folded. Ay la's eyes opened
wide, and the two women looked at each other and grinned. "Every
bride needs a new tunic. Usually it is the man's mother who makes it,
but I wanted to help Nezzie."
It was a stunning garment of golden yellow leather, exquisitely and
ornately decorated; certain sections of it were solidly filled in with
designs in ivory beads, highlighted by many small amber beads.
"It's so beautiful, and there's so much work in it. The beadwork
alone must have taken days and days. When did you make it?" Ayla
asked.
"We started it after you announced your Promise, and finished it
here," Nezzie said. "Come in the tent and try it on."
Ayla looked at Mamut. He smiled and nodded. He had been aware
of the project, and even conspired with them in the surprise. The
three women went into the tent, and toward Tulie's sleeping section.
Ayla undressed, but she wasn't quite sure how to wear the garment.
The women put it on her. It was a specially made tunic that opened
down the front, and was tied closed with a finger-woven sash of red
mammoth wool.
"You can wear it closed like this if you just want to wear it to show
someone," Nezzie said, "but for the ceremony, you should open it like
this." She pulled back the top of the front opening and retied the sash.
"A woman proudly shows her breasts when she is joined, when she
brings her hearth to form a union with a man."
The two women stepped back to admire the bride-to-be. She has
breasts to be proud of, Nezzie thought. Mother's breasts, that she can
nurse with. Too bad she has no mother here to be with her. She
would make any woman proud.
"Can we come in now?" Deegie said, peeking in the tent. All the
women of the Camp came in then to admire Ayla in her finery. It
seemed they all were in on the surprise.
"Close it now, so you can go outside and show the men," Nezzie
said, closing and retying the mating tunic again. "You shouldn't wear
it open in public until the ceremony."
Ayla stepped outside the tent to the smiling approval and pleasure
of the men of the Lion Camp. Others, who were not of the Lion
Camp, were watching her as well. Vincavec had known of the sur
prise, and made a point of being close by. When he saw her, he re
solved that in some way he was going to join with her, if he had to
co-mate with ten men.
Another man who was not of the Lion Camp, though most people
thought of him in that way, was watching, too. Jondalar had followed
them back, not quite willing to accept her rebuff, or even believe it.
Danug told him, and he waited with the others. When she first
stepped out, he filled his eyes with the sight of her, then he closed
them and his forehead furrowed with pain. He had lost her. She was
showing her intention to join with Ranee the next day. He took a
deep breath and clamped his teeth together. He could not stay to see
her joined with the dark-skinned carver of the Lion Camp. It was time
for him to leave.
After Ayla changed back into her regular clothing and left again
with Mamut, Jondalar hurried into the tent. He was glad to find it
empty. He packed his traveling gear, thanking Tulie again in his
mind, laid out everything he would take, and then covered it with a
sleeping fur. He planned to wait until morning, say goodbye to every
one, and leave immediately after breakfast. He wouldn't tell anyone
until then.
During the day Jondalar visited with special friends he had made at
the Meeting, not saying goodbye, but thinking it. In the evening he
spent time with each member of the Lion Camp. They were like fam
ily. It was going to be hard leaving, knowing he would never see them
again. It was even harder finding a way to talk to Ayla, at least once
more. He watched her, and when she and Latie went out to the horse
lean-to, he quickly followed them.
The words of their conversation were superficial and uncomfort
able, but there was an intensity about him that filled Ayla with an
uneasy tension. When she went back in, he stayed and brushed the
young stallion until it got dark. The first time he saw Ayla, she was
helping Whinney give birth, he remembered. He'd never seen any
thing like that before. It was going to be hard leaving him, too. Jon
dalar felt more for Racer than he ever thought it was possible to feel
for an animal.
Finally he went in the tent, and crawled into his bed. He closed his
eyes, but sleep would not come. He lay awake and thought of Ayla,
of their time in the valley and their love that grew slowly. No, not so
slowly. He loved her from the beginning, he had just been slow to
recognize it, slow to appreciate it, so slow he lost it. He threw away
her love, and he would pay for the rest of his life. How could he have
been so stupid? He would never forget her, or the pain of losing her,
and he would never forgive himself.
It was a long, difficult night, and when the first light of dawn
barely glimmered through the tent opening, he could stand it no
longer. He couldn't say goodbye, to her or anyone, he just had to
leave. Quietly, he gathered up his travel clothing, packs, and sleeping
roll, and slipped outside.
"You decided not to wait. I thought as much," Mamut said.
Jondalar spun around. "I ... ah ... I have to go. I can't stay any
longer. It's time I . . . ah," he stammered.
"I know, Jondalar. I wish you good Journey. You have a long way
to go. You must decide for yourself what is best, but remember this, a
choice cannot be made if there is none to make." The old man ducked
into the tent.
Jondalar frowned, and he walked toward the horse lean-to. What
did Mamut mean? Why did Those Who Served the Mother always
speak words that could not be understood?
When he saw Racer, Jondalar had a fleeting impulse to ride away
on him, at least take away that much, but Racer was Ayla's horse. He
patted both of them, gave the brown stallion a hug around the neck,
and then noticed Wolf, and gave him an affectionate rub. Then he
quickly got up and started walking down the path.

When Ay la woke up the sun was streaming in. It looked like a
perfect day. Then she remembered this was the day of the Matrimonial
celebration. The day didn't seem so perfect any more. She sat
up and looked around. Something was wrong. It had always been her
habit to glance over injondalar's direction when she first woke up. He
wasn't there. Jondalar is up early this morning, she thought. She
couldn't get over the feeling that something was very wrong.
She got up, dressed, and went outside to wash and find a twig for
her teeth. Nezzie was beside the fire, looking at her, strangely. The
feeling that something wasn't right grew distinctly stronger. She
glanced toward the horse lean-to. Whinney and Racer seemed fine,
and there was Wolf. She went back in the tent and looked around
again. Many people were up and gone for the day. Then she noticed
that Jondalar's place was empty. He wasn't just gone for the day. His
sleeping roll and traveling packs, everything was missing. Jondalar
was gone!
Ayla ran out in a panic. "Nezzie! Jondalar is gone! He's not just at
Wolf Camp someplace, he's gone. And he left me behind!"
"I know, Ayla. I've been expecting it, haven't you?"
"But he didn't even say goodbye! I thought he was going to stay
until the Matrimonial."
"That's the last thing he ever wanted to do, Ayla. He never wanted
to see you join with someone else."
"But . . . but . . . Nezzie, he didn't want me. What else could I
do?"
"What do you want to do?"
"I want to go with him! But he's gone. How could he leave me? He
was going to take me with him. That's what we planned. What hap
pened to everything we had planned, Nezzie?" she said, in a sudden
burst of tears. Nezzie held out her arms, and comforted the sobbing
young woman.
"Plans change, Ayla. Lives change. What about Ranee?"
"I'm not the right one for him. He should join with Tricie. She's
the one who loves him," Ayla said.
"Don't you love him? He loves you."
"I wanted to love him, Nezzie. I tried to love him, but I love Jon
dalar. Now Jondalar is gone." Ayla sobbed anew. "He doesn't love
me."
"Are you so sure?" Nezzie asked.
"He left me, and he didn't even say goodbye. Nezzie, why did he
leave without me? What did I do wrong?" Ayla pleaded.
"Do you think you did something wrong?"
Ayla stopped and frowned. "He wanted to talk to me yesterday,
and I wouldn't talk to him."
"Why wouldn't you talk to him?"
"Because . . . because he didn't want me. All last winter, when I
loved him so much, and wanted to be with him, he didn't want me.
He wouldn't even talk to me."
"So when he did want to talk to you, you wouldn't talk to him. It
happens that way sometimes," Nezzie said.
"But I do want to talk to him, Nezzie. I want to be with him. Even
if he doesn't love me, I want to be with him. But now he's gone. He
just got up and walked away. He can't be gone! He can't be gone . . .
far . . ."
Nezzie looked at her and almost smiled.
"How far could he be, Nezzie? Walking? I can walk fast, maybe I
can catch up with him. Maybe I should go after him and see what he
wanted to talk to me about. Oh, Nezzie, I should be with him. I love
him."
"Then, go after him, child. If you want him, if you love him, go
after him. Tell him how you feel. At least give him the chance to tell
you what he wanted to say."
"You're right!" Ayla wiped away tears with the back of her hand
and tried to think. "That's what I should do. I'm going to do it. Right
now!" she said, and started running down the path, even before
Nezzie could say another word. She raced across the stepping-stones
of the river, and into the field. Then she stopped. She didn't know
which way to go, she'd have to track him, and it would take forever to
catch up with him this way.
Suddenly, Nezzie heard two piercing whistles. She smiled as the
wolf zipped past her, and Whinney perked her ears and followed him.
Racer trailed after. She watched down the slope as the wolf loped
toward the young woman.
When he got closer, Ayla signaled, and spoke. "Find Jondalar,
Wolf. Find Jondalar!"
The wolf started sniffing the ground and the air currents, and when
he started off, Ayla noticed the slight traces of trampled grass and
broken twigs. She leaped on Whinney's back, and followed.
It was only after she started riding that the questions came to her.
What am I going to say to him? How can I tell him that he promised
to take me with him? What if he won't listen? What if he doesn't want

me.^

Rain had washed the coating of volcanic ash from trees and leaves,
but Jondalar strode through the meadows and woodlands of the
floodplain oblivious to the beauty of a rare summer day. He didn't
quite know where he was going, he just followed the river, but with
each step that took him farther away, his thoughts weighed heavier.
Why am I leaving without her? Why am I traveling alone? Maybe I
should go back, ask her to come with me? But she doesn't want to
come with you. She's a Mamutoi. These are her people. She chose
Ranee, not you, Jondalar, he said to himself. Yes, she chose Ranee,
but did you give her any choice? Then he stopped. What was it
Mamut said? Something about choice? "A choice cannot be made if
there is none to make." What did he mean?
Jondalar shook his head in exasperation, and then, he realized, he
knew. I never gave her a choice. Ayla didn't choose Ranee, at least
not at first. Maybe the night of the adoption she had a choice ... or
did she? She was raised by the Clan. No one ever told her she had a
choice. And then I pushed her away. Why didn't I give her a choice
before I left? Because she wouldn't talk to you.
No, because you were afraid she wouldn't choose you. Stop lying
to yourself. After all that time, she finally decided not to talk to you,
and you were afraid she wouldn't choose you, that's why, Jondalar.
So you didn't give her the chance. Are you any better off now?
Why don't you go back and give her a choice? At least make the
offer? But what will you say to her? She's getting ready for the big
ceremony. What will you offer? What can you offer?
You could offer to stay. You could even offer to co-mate with
Ranee. Could you stand that? Could you share her with Ranee? If the
only other choice is not having her at all, could you stay here and
share her?
Jondalar stood still, closed his eyes, and frowned. Only if he had no
other choice. What he wanted most was to take her home, and make it
her home. The Mamutoi had accepted her, were the Zeiandonii less
accepting? Some of them, maybe not all of them, but he couldn't
promise.
Ranee has the Lion Camp, and many other affiliations. You can't
even offer her your people, your affiliations. You don't know if they
will accept her, or you. You don't have anything to offer, except
yourself.
If he could offer her no more than that, what would they do if his
people wouldn't accept them? We could go someplace else. We could
even come back here. He frowned. That's a lot of traveling. Maybe he
should just offer to stay, establish himself here. Tarneg said he
wanted a flint knapper for his new Camp. What about Ranee? More
important, what about Ayla? What if she didn't want him at all?
Jondalar was so engrossed in his thoughts, he didn't hear the dull
thud of hoofbeats until Wolf suddenly jumped up on him.
"Wolf? What are you doing ..." He looked up and stared in dis
belief as Ayla slid off Whinney's back.
She walked toward him, shy now, so afraid he would turn his back
on her again. How could she tell him? How could she make him
listen? What could she do if he wouldn't listen to her? Then she re
called those first wordless days, and the way she had learned to ask
someone to listen a lifetime ago. She dropped to the ground, grace
fully, from long practice, and bowed her head, and waited.
Jondalar gaped at her, didn't understand for a moment, then re
membered. It was her signal. When she wanted to tell him something
important, but didn't have the words, she used that Clan signal. But
why was she speaking to him in the language of the Clan now? What
did she want to tell him that was so important?
"Get up," he said. "You don't have to do that." Then he remem
bered the proper response. He tapped her shoulder. When Ayla
looked up, she had tears in her eyes. He hunkered down on one knee
to wipe them away. "Ayla, why are you doing this? Why are you
here?"
"Jondalar, yesterday you tried to tell me something, and I wouldn't
listen to you. Now I want to tell you something. It is difficult to say,
but I want you to listen. That's why I'm asking you this way. Will
you listen, and not turn away?"
Hope blazed so hot Jondalar couldn't speak. He only nodded, and
held her hands.
"Once you wanted me to go away with you," she began, "and I
didn't want to leave the valley." She stopped to take a deep breath.
"Now, I want to go with you, anywhere with you. Once you told me
that you loved me, that you wanted me. Now, I think you don't want
to love me, but I still want to go with you."
"Get up, Ayla, please," he said, helping her up. "What about
Ranee? I thought you wanted him." His arms were still around her.
"I don't love Ranee. I love you, Jondalar. I never stopped loving
you. I don't know what I did to make you stop loving me."
"You love me? You still love me? Oh, Ayla, my Ayla," Jondalar
said, crushing her to him. Then he looked at her as though he was
seeing her for the first time, and his eyes filled with his love. She
reached up and his mouth found hers. They came together, holding
each other, with a hard and tender passion, full of love, full of
longing.
Ayla couldn't believe she was in his arms, that he was holding her,
wanting her, loving her, after all this time. Tears filled her eyes, then
she tried to stop them, afraid he would misunderstand them again,
then she didn't care and let the tears fall.
He looked down at her beautiful face. "You're crying, Ayla."
"It's only because I love you. I have to cry. It's been so long, and I
love you so much," she said.
He kissed her eyes, her tears, her mouth, and felt it open to him,
gently, firmly.
"Ayla, are you really here?" he said. "I thought I'd lost you, and I
knew it was my own fault. I love you, Ayla, I never stopped loving
you. You must believe that. I never stopped loving you, even though
I know why you thought so."
"But you didn't want to love me, did you?"
He closed his eyes and his forehead knotted with the pain of the
truth. He nodded. "I was ashamed that I loved someone who came
from the Clan, and I hated myself for feeling ashamed of the woman I
loved. I've never been so happy with anyone as I have with you. I
love you, and when it was just the two of us, everything was perfect.
But when we were with other people . . . every time you did some-
thing that you learned from the Clan, I was embarrassed. And I was
always afraid you'd say something, and then everyone would know
that I loved a woman who was . . . abomination." He could hardly
say the word.
"Everyone used to tell me I could have any woman I wanted. No
woman could refuse me, they said, not even the Mother Herself. It
seemed to be true. What they didn't know was that I never knew a
woman I really wanted, until I met you. But what would they say if I
brought you home? If Jondalar could have anyone, why would he
bring home . . . the mother of a flathead ... an abomination? I was
afraid they wouldn't accept you, and turn me away, too, unless ... I
turned against you. I was afraid I might, if I had to choose between
my people and you."
Ayla was frowning. She looked down. "I didn't understand. That
would be a hard decision for you to make."
"Ayla," Jondalar said, turning her face up to look at him. "I love
you. Maybe only now do I realize how important that is to me. Not
just that you love me, but that I love you. Now I know, for me there
is only one choice. You are more important to me than my people, or
anyone. I want to be wherever you are." Her eyes overflowed again,
try as she might to stop them. "If you want to stay here and live with
the Mamutoi, I will stay and become Mamutoi. If you want me to
share you with Ranee ... I will do that, too."
"Is that what you want to do?"
"If it's what you want ..." Jondalar started to say, then remem
bered Mamut's words. Maybe he ought to give her a choice, tell
her his preference. "I want to be with you, that's most important,
believe me. I would be willing to stay here, if that's what you want,
but if you ask me what I want, I want to go home, and take you with
me."
"Take me with you? You aren't ashamed of me any more? You're
not ashamed of the Clan, and Durc?"
"No. I'm not ashamed of you. I'm proud of you. And I'm not
ashamed of the Clan either. You, and Rydag, have taught me some
thing very important, and maybe it's time to try and teach some oth
ers. I've learned so many things that I want to take back to my people.
I want to show them the spear-thrower, and Wymez's methods of
working flint, and your firestones, and the thread-puller, and the
horses and Wolf. With all that, they may even be willing to listen to
someone trying to tell them that the people of the Clan are children of
the Earth Mother, too."
"The Cave Lion is your totem, Jondalar," Ayla said with the final
ity of absolute knowledge.
"You've said that before. What makes you so sure?"
"Remember when I told you powerful totems are hard to live with?
Their tests are very hard, but their gifts, what you learn from them,
make it all worth it. You have been through a hard test, but are you
sorry now? This year has been hard for both of us, but I have learned
so much, about myself, and about the Others. I am not afraid of them
any more. You have learned very much, too, about yourself and about
the Clan. I think you feared them, in a different way. Now you have
overcome it. The Cave Lion is a Clan totem, and you don't hate them
any more."
"I think you must be right, and I'm glad a Clan Cave Lion totem
has chosen me, if that means I am acceptable to you. I have nothing to
offer you, Ay la, except myself. I can't promise any affiliations, not
even my people. I cannot make promises, because I don't know if the
Zeiandonii will accept you. If they don't, we'll have to find some
other place to go. I will become a Mamutoi if you want, but I would
rather take you home and have Zeiandoni tie the knot for us."
"Is that like joining?" Ay la asked. "You never asked me to join with
you before. You asked me to come with you, but you never asked me
to make a hearth with you."
"Ayla, Ayla, what's wrong with me? Why do I take it for granted
that you know everything, already? Maybe it's because you know so
much that I don't know, and you've learned so much, so fast, that I
forget you've just learned it. Maybe I ought to learn a sign for saying
things that I don't have words for."
Then, with an amused smile of delight, he hunkered down in front
of her with one knee to the ground. He wasn't quite sitting cross-
legged, with his head bowed, the way she always did, but he was
looking up at her. Ayla was obviously disconcerted, and uncomfort
able, which pleased him, because that was always how he felt.
"What are you doing, Jondalar? Men aren't supposed to do that.
They don't have to ask permission to speak."
"But I have to ask, Ayla. Will you come back with me, and join
with me, and have Zeiandoni tie the knot, and make a hearth with
me, and make some children for me?"
Ayla started crying again, and felt silly for all the tears she had
been shedding. "Jondalar, I never wanted anything else. Yes, to all
those things. Now, please, get up."
He stood up, and took her in his arms, feeling happier than he ever
had in his life. He kissed her, then held her to him as though he was
afraid to let her go, afraid he might lose her, as he very nearly did
before.
He kissed her again, and need for her grew with the wonder of her
being there. She felt it, and her body responded and was ready for
him. But he wanted no taking of her this time. He wanted her fully,
completely. He backed away, and shrugged off the traveling pack he
still wore. Then he took out a ground cloth and spread it out. Wolf
suddenly came bounding up to him.
"You're going to have to stay away for a while," he said, then
smiled at Ay la.
She commanded Wolf away, and smiled back at Jondalar. He sat
down on the ground cloth and reached his hand up to her. She joined
him, already tingling, anticipating, and wanting him so much.
He kissed her then, lightly, and reached for her breast, and savored
even the small familiarity of its full, round shape through her light
tunic. She remembered, too, and more. Quickly, she pulled the tunic
off. He reached for her with both hands, and the next instant, she was
on her back, with his mouth firmly on hers. His hand caressed a
breast, and found the nipple, and then a warm wet mouth was on her
other nipple. She moaned as the drawing sensation sent waves of feel
ing deep inside to the place that hungered for him. She rubbed his
arms, and his broad back, then the back of his neck, and his hair. For
just an instant, she was surprised that it wasn't tightly curled. The
thought left as quickly as it came.
He was kissing her again, his tongue gently probing. She took his
in, then probed back, remembering that his touch was never too
much, or too frenzied, but sensitive and knowing. She delighted in
the memory, and in the renewal of it. It was almost like the first time,
learning him again, and remembering how well he knew her. How
many nights had she longed for him?
He tasted the warmth of her mouth, then the salt of her throat. She
felt warm shivers tracing her jaw, then the side of her neck. He kissed
her shoulder, nibbled lightly, and suckled, playing with the sensitive
places he knew were there. Unexpectedly, he took her nipple again.
She gasped at the sudden increase in feeling. Then she sighed, and
moaned with pleasure as he played them both.
He sat up then, and looked at her, then closed his eyes as though he
wanted to memorize her. She was smiling when he opened them
again.
"I love you, Jondalar, and I have wanted you so much."
"Oh, Ayla, I ached with wanting you, and yet I almost gave you
up. How could I, when I love you so much?" He was kissing her
again, holding her tight, as though he feared he might lose her yet.
She clung to him with the same fervor. And suddenly, there was no
waiting. He held both her breasts, and then untied her waistband.
She lifted her hips and pushed off her half-length summer pants,
while he unfastened his own, pulled off his shirt, yanked off his
footwear.
He hugged her around the waist with his head on her stomach,
then moved down between her legs, kissed her mound of hair. Then,
he stopped for a moment, pushed her legs apart, and with both hands,
held her open, and looked at the deep pink folds, like soft moist flower
petals. Then like a bee he dipped and tasted. She cried out, and
arched to him, while he explored each petal, each fold, each crease,
nibbling, suckling, teasing, reveling in giving her Pleasure, as he had
wanted to for days without number.
This was Ay la. This was his Ay la. This was her taste, her honey,
and his own member was so full, and so eager. He wanted to wait,
wanted this to last, but suddenly she could not. She was breathing
hard, and fast, panting, gasping, calling out to him. She reached for
him, pulled him up, then reached down to guide him to her warm
deep well.
As he slid in, he breathed a deep sigh, and let his full shaft glide in
and in, until she enfolded him fully. This was his Ay la. This was the
woman he fit, the one who fit him, who held him all. He stayed for a
moment, luxuriating in her full embrace. It had been like this with
her from the first time, and every time. How could he have dreamed
of giving her up? The Mother must have made Ay la just for him, so
they could honor Her in full measure, so they could please Her with
their Pleasures, as She meant them to.
He pulled back, and felt her thrust to him as he thrust to her. He
pulled back again, and pushed, and back and in again. Then suddenly,
he was ready, and she was crying out, and they pulled back
and in once more, and the wave rolled up and reached the peak, and
broke over them in a release of shuddering spent delight.
The resting was part of the Pleasure. She loved the feel of his
weight on her then. He was never heavy. Usually he got up first,
before she was ready for him to. She could smell herself on him, and
it made her smile, reminding her of the Pleasures they had just
shared. She never felt quite so complete as then, when they were
through, and he was still there, inside her.
He loved the feel of her full body under his, and it had been so
long, so stupidly long. But she loved him. How could she still love
him after all that? How could he be so lucky? Never, ever again
would he let her go.
Finally, he pulled out, rolled over, and smiled at her.
"Jondalar?" Ay la said, after a while.
"Yes."
"Let's go swimming. The river isn't far. Let's go swimming like we
used to in the valley, before we go back to Wolf Camp."

^8

He sat up beside her, and smiled. "Let's go!" he said, was up in an
instant, then helped her up. Wolf stood up, too, and wagged his tail.
"Yes, you can come with us," Ay la said, as they picked up their
things and headed for the river. Wolf leaped after them eagerly.
After they swam and bathed and played with Wolf in the river, and
the horses had rolled, and grazed, and relaxed, away from the crowd,
Ay la and Jondalar dressed, feeling refreshed, and hungry.
"Jondalar?" Ayla said, standing by the horses.
"Yes."
"Let's ride double on Whinney. I want to feel you close to me."

All the way back, Ayla thought about how she was going to tell
Ranee. She was not looking forward to it. When they arrived, he was
waiting for her, and was obviously not happy. He had been looking
for her. Everyone else had been getting ready for the Matrimonial that
evening, either to attend or to participate. Nor did it please him to see them riding double on Whinney, with Racer tagging behind.
"Where have you been? You should be dressed by now."
"I have to talk to you, Ranee."
"We don't have time to talk," he said, with a frantic look in his eye.
"I'm sorry, Ranee. We have to talk. Someplace where we can be
alone."
He could only acquiesce. Ayla went into the tent first, and took
something from her pack. They walked down the slope toward the
river, and then along its bank. Finally, Ayla stopped, reached inside
her tunic, and pulled out the carving of a woman transcending into
her spiritual bird form, the muta Ranee had carved for her.
"I have to give this back to you, Ranee," Ayla said, holding it out to
him.
r
Ranee jumped back, as though he had been burned. "What do you
mean? You can't give that back! You need it to make a hearth. You
need it for our Matrimonial," he said, an edge of panic creeping into
his voice.
"That's why I have to give it back. I can't make a hearth with you.
I'm leaving."
"Leaving? You can't leave, Ayla. You Promised. Everything's arranged.
The Matrimonial is tonight. You said you would join with
me. I love you, Ayla. Don't you understand? I love you." The panic
rose in Ranee's voice with each statement.
"I know," Ayla said softly. The shock and pain in his eyes hurt her.
"I Promised, and everything is arranged. But I have to leave."
"But why? Why now, all of a sudden?" Ranee said, his voice high-
pitched, almost strangled.
"Because I have to leave now. It's the best time to travel, and we

639

have a long way to go. I'm going with Jondalar. I love him. I never
stopped loving him. I thought he didn't love me. ..."
"When you thought he didn't love you, then I was good enough? Is
that how it was?" Ranee said. "All the time we spent together, you
were wishing it was him. You never loved me at all."
"I wanted to love you, Ranee. I care about you. I wasn't always
wishing for Jondalar, when I was with you. You made me happy
many times."
"But not always. I wasn't good enough. You were perfect, but I
wasn't always perfect for you."
"I never looked for perfect. I love him, Ranee. How long could you
love me knowing that I love someone else?"
"I could love you until I die, Ayla, and into the world beyond.
Don't you understand? I will never love anyone again the way I love
you. You can't leave me." The dark, magnetic artist was pleading
with her, with tears in his eyes; he had never pleaded for anything
before in his life.
Ayla was feeling his pain, and she wished there was something she
could do to make it less. But she could not give him the one thing he
wanted. She could not love him the way she loved Jondalar.
"I'm sorry, Ranee. Please. Take the muta." She held it out again.
"Keep it!" he said, with as much venom as he could. "Maybe I'm
not good enough for you, but I don't need you. I can have my pick of
this place. Go ahead, run off with your flint knapper. I don't care."
"I can't keep it," Ayla said, putting the muta down on the ground
at his feet. She bowed her head and turned to go.
She walked back along the river, with pain in her heart for the pain
she had caused. She hadn't meant to hurt him so badly. If there had
been any other way, she would have chosen it. She hoped that never
again would someone love her that she couldn't love back.
"Ayla?" Ranee called out. She turned back and waited for him to
catch up with her. "When are you leaving?"
"As soon as I can get packed."
"It's not true, you know. I do care." His face was etched with grief
and pain. She wanted to run to him, comfort him, but she didn't dare
encourage him. "I always knew you loved him, from the beginning,"
he said. "But I loved you so much, I wanted you so much, I didn't
want to see it. I tried to convince myself that you loved me, and I
hoped, in time, you really would."
"Ranee, I'm so sorry," she said. "If I hadn't loved Jondalar first, I
would have loved you. I could have been happy with you. You were
so good to me, and you always made me laugh. I do love you, you
know. Not the way you want, but I will always love you."
His black eyes were full of anguish. "I'll never stop loving you,
Ayla. I'll never forget you. I'll take this love to my grave," Ranee said.
"Don't say that! You deserve more happiness than that."
He laughed, a bitter, hard laugh. "Don't worry, Ayla. I'm not
ready for that grave, yet. At least not enough to make it happen. And
someday, I may join with a woman, make a hearth, and she will have
children. I may even love her. But no other woman will ever be you,
and I will never feel about another woman the way I feel about you.
You can only happen once in any man's lifetime." They started walking
back.
"Will it be Tricie?" Ayla asked. "She loves you."
Ranee nodded. "Perhaps. If she'll have me. Now that she has a son,
she will be in even greater demand, and she had plenty of offers
before."
Ayla stopped, and looked at Ranee. "I think Tricie will have you.
She's hurt now, but that's because she loves you so much. But there is
something else you should know. Her son, Ralev, he's your son,
Ranee."
"You mean he's the son of my spirit?" Ranee frowned. "You are
probably right."
"No, I don't mean he's the son of your spirit. I mean Ralev is your
son, Ranee. He is the son of your body, your essence. Ralev is your
son just as much as he is Tricie's son. You started him growing inside
her, when you shared Pleasures with her."
"How do you know I shared Pleasures with her?" Ranee said, looking
a little uncomfortable. "She was a red-foot last year, and very
dedicated."
"I know because Ralev was born, and he is your son. That's how all
life is started. That's why Pleasures honor the Mother. It is the beginning
of life. I know this, Ranee. I promise you, it is true, and this
promise cannot be broken," Ayla said.
Ranee frowned with concentration. It was a strange new idea.
Women were mothers. They gave birth to children, daughters and
sons. But could a man have a son? Could Ralev be his son? Yet Ayla
said it. It had to be. She carried the essence of Mut. She was the
Spirit Woman. She might even be the Great Earth Mother incarnate.

Jondalar checked the packs again, then led Racer to the head of the
path, where Ayla was saying goodbye. Whinney was packed, and
waiting patiently, but Wolf was running excitedly between them,
knowing something was happening.
It had been difficult for Ayla to leave behind the people she loved
when she was expelled from the Clan, but she'd had no choice. Say-
ing goodbye, voluntarily, to the people she loved in the Lion Camp,
knowing she would never see them again, was even harder. She had
cried so many tears already this day, she wondered how she had any
more to shed, yet her eyes watered anew each time she hugged an
other friend.
"Talut," she sobbed, hugging the big, red-haired headman. "Did I
ever tell you it was your laughter that made me decide to visit? I was
so scared of the Others, I was ready to ride right back to the valley,
until I saw you laughing."
"You are going to have me crying in a moment, Ay la. I don't want
you to go."
"I already am crying," Latie said. "I don't want you to go, either.
Remember the first time you let me touch Racer?"
"I remember when she let Rydag ride Whinney," Nezzie said. "I
think that was the happiest day of his life."
"I'm going to miss the horses, too," Latie wailed, as she clung to
Ay la.
"Maybe you can get a little horse of your own someday, Latie,"
Ay la said.
"I will miss the horses, too," Rugie said.
Ay la picked her up and gave her a squeeze. "Then maybe you'll
have to get a little horse, too.
"Oh, Nezzie," Ayla cried. "How can I thank you? For everything?
You know, I lost my mother when I was little, but I'm very lucky.
I've had two mothers to replace her. Iza took care of me when I was a
little girl, but you are the mother I needed to become a woman."
"Here," Nezzie said, handing her a package, and trying not to give
way to tears entirely. "It's your Matrimonial tunic. I want you to have
it for your joining with Jondalar. He is like a son to me, too. And you
are my daughter."
Ayla hugged Nezzie again, then looked up at her big, strapping
son. When she hugged Danug, he hugged her back with no reserva
tions. She felt the maleness of his strength, and the warmth of his
body, and a momentary spark of his attraction to her as he whispered
in her ear, "I wish you had been my red-foot."
She backed off, and smiled. "Danug! You are going to be such a
man! I wish I were staying to see you grow into another Talut."
"Maybe, when I'm older, I'll make a long Journey and come to visit
you!"
She hugged Wymez next, and she looked for Ranee, but he was not
around. "I'm sorry, Wymez," she said.
"I am sorry, too. I wanted you to stay with us. I would have liked
to have seen the children you would have brought to his hearth. But
Jondalar is a good man. May the Mother smile on your Journey."
Ayla took Hartal from Tronic's arms, and was delighted at his eie-
gle. Then Manuv picked up Nuvie, for Ayla to kiss.
"She is here only because of you. I will not forget it, and neither
will she," Manuv said. Ayla embraced him, then Tronic and Tomec
too.
Frebec held Beetle, while Ayla made her last farewells to Fralie and
the two boys. Then she embraced Crozie. She held back stiffly at
first, though Ayla felt her shaking. Then the old woman clutched her,
tight, and there was a tear glistening in her eye.
"Don't forget how to make white leather," she commanded.
"I won't, and I have the tunic with me," Ayla said, then with a sly
smile, she added, "But, Crozie, from now on you should remember.
Never play Knucklebones with a member of the Mammoth Hearth."
Crozie looked at her in surprise, and then cackled a laugh, as Ayla
turned to Frebec. Wolf had joined them, and Frebec rubbed behind
his ears.
"I'm going to miss this animal," he said.
"And this animal," Ayla said as she gave him a hug, "is going to
miss you!"
"I will miss you, too, Ayla," he said.
Ayla found herself in the middle of a crush of people from the
Aurochs Hearth, as all the children and Barzec crowded around her.
Tarneg was there, too, with his woman. Deegie waited with Branag,
and then the two young women collapsed in each other's arms in a
new freshet of wet eyes.
"In some ways, it's harder to say goodbye to you than anyone,
Deegie," Ayla said. "I never had a friend like you, who was my age,
and could understand me."
"I know, Ayla. I can't believe you're leaving. Now, how are we
going to know who has a baby first?"
Ayla backed away and looked at Deegie, critically, then smiled.
"You will. You already have one started."
"I wondered about it! Do you really think so?"
"Yes. I'm sure of it."
Ayla noticed Vincavec was standing beside Tulie. She brushed his
tattooed cheek lightly.
"You surprised me," he said. "I didn't know he would be the one.
But then, everyone has weaknesses." He gave Tulie a knowing glance.
Vincavec was displeased that his reading of the situation was so far
off. He had totally discounted the tall blond man, and he was some
what miffed at Tulie because she had accepted his matched pieces of
amber knowing that it was not likely he would be getting what he was
bargaining for, in spite of the fact that he had pushed them on her.
He had been making pointed comments implying that she had ac-
cepted his amber because of her weakness for it, and that she didn't
give full value. Since they were ostensibly a gift, she couldn't return
them, and he was taking full value in his cutting remarks.
Tulie glanced at Vincavec before she approached Ay la, making sure
he was watching, then she gave the young woman a warm and sincere
embrace.
"I have something for you. I'm sure everyone will agree, these are
perfect for you," she said, then dropped two beautiful, matched
pieces of amber in Ay la's hand. "They will match your Matrimonial
tunic. You might consider wearing them on your ears."
"Oh, Tulie," Ay la said. "This is too much. They are beautiful!"
"They are not too much, Ay la. They were meant for you," Tulie
said, looking back triumphantly at Vincavec.
Ay la noticed Barzec was smiling, too, and Nezzie was nodding her
head in agreement.
It was hard for Jondalar to leave the Lion Camp, too. They had
made him welcome, and he had grown to love them. Many of his
goodbyes were tearful. The last person he spoke to was Mamut. They
embraced and rubbed cheeks, then Ayla joined them. "I want to
thank you," Jondalar said. "I think you knew from the beginning that
I had a hard lesson to learn." The old shaman nodded. "But I have
learned a great deal from you and the Mamutoi. I have learned what
has meaning and what is superficial, and I know the depths of my love
for Ayla. I have no more reservations. I will stand beside her against
my worst enemies or best friends."
"I will tell you now something else you must know, Jondalar,"
Mamut said. "I knew her destiny was with you from the beginning,
and when the volcano erupted, I knew she would be leaving with you
soon. But remember this. Ay la's destiny is much greater than anyone
knows. The Mother has chosen her, and her life will have many challenges,
and so will yours. She will have need of your protection, and
the strength your love has gained. That is why you had to learn that
lesson. It is never easy to be chosen, but there are always great benefits,
too. Take care of her, Jondalar. You know, when she worries
about others, she forgets to take care of herself."
Jondalar nodded. Then Ayla hugged the old man, smiling through
dewy eyes.
"I wish Rydag were here. I miss him so much. I learned lessons,
too. I wanted to go back for my son, but Rydag taught me that I must
let Durc live his own life. How can I thank you for everything,
Mamut?"
"No thanks are necessary, Ayla. Our paths were meant to cross. I
have been waiting for you without knowing it, and you have given me
much joy, my daughter. You were never meant to go back for Durc.
He was your gift to the Clan. Children are always a joy, but pain,
too. And they all must lead their own lives. Even Mut will let Her
children go their own way, someday, but I fear for us if we ever
neglect Her. If we forget to respect our Great Earth Mother, She will
withhold Her blessings, and no longer provide for us."
Ay la and Jondalar mounted the horses, waved, and said last good
byes. Most of the encampment had come to wish them a good Jour
ney. As they started out, Ay la kept looking for one last person. But
Ranee had already said his goodbyes and he could not face a more
public farewell.
Ayla finally saw him when they started down the path, standing
alone, off by himself. With a great heaviness of spirit, she stopped and
waved to him.
Ranee waved back, but in his other hand he held clutched to his
breast a piece of ivory, carved into the shape of a transcendent bird-
woman figure. Into every notch that was carved, every line that was
etched, he had lovingly carved every hope of his aesthetic and sen
sitive soul. He had made it for Ayla, hoping it would charm her to his
hearth, as he hoped his laughing eyes and sparkling wit would charm
her to his heart. But as the artist of great talent and charm and laugh
ter watched the woman he loved ride away, no smile graced his face,
and his laughing black eyes were filled with tears.
ft