by Jean M. Auel
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. People 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 just 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 constructions 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 chuckled, as she rummaged around in the pit below.
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 straightened her clothes and tried to regain her dignity.
Jondalar grinned at Ayla, and put his arm around her waist.
Again, Ayla th
ought, 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 something 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 archway. “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 Ranec. 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,” Jondalar 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 animals, 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 summering 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 Jondalar’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,” Jondalar said.
Ceneral laughter followed his statement. “You’d better pick someone else to pit yourself against. I know you’re a big man, and probably 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 future 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. Darnev 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, Ayla 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 fermented 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 Ranec announced he would make his special dish, which surprised Ayla 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 Ranec’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 convenient fold in a wrap in which to carry the missiles. The tunic and parka she was wearing were loose-fitting.