by Jean M. Auel
“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!”
“I don’t see anything wrong,” he said. He didn’t, but something was obviously bothering Ayla. 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 completely 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 unfastened 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. Something strange was going on, something more than their snowy entombment, 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. Brushing 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 happened 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.”
Ayla 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 Bruns 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,” Jondalar 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 Ayla’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. Ayla 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 w
oman 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 Tulie’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 Ayla’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 bundles, but Mamut had quietly suggested that she keep her gifts covered until the ceremony that evening. Ayla 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, Ayla crawled into the private, enclosed 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 nosing 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 perception, 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 forward 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 packages 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 workmanship 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 admiration. “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, fastened 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 nonexistent 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 unbelie
vably 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 storage—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 instinctive 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.