by Jean M. Auel
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 introduce a wind reed before Kvlie dances.”
“I’m sure you could convince Barzec to sing that part, Tharie,” Deegie said.
“It would he 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 becoming familiar to the newcomer. Ayla 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 spiritual voice of Ursus, the Great Cave Bear, from the Clan Gathering. 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 together when she moved in a certain way.
Kylie stayed in one place, more or less, sometimes slowly assuming impossible positions which she held, and other times making acrobatic movements, which caused the loose bracelets she wore on each arm to rattle as emphasis. The motions of the supple, 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 spontaneous comments after she was through, the way the Mamutoi so 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 pattern 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 would, came together. With each 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 Dot-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 uncomfortable. 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 Kylies 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 uncloaked and explained, but how much more magical and supernatural 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, heading toward the back of the hollow, looking for friends and relations, 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 appearance 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, malevolent 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 eye widened. He shruggled 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 circulation, 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 committed 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 together. Deegie went with Ayla and the youngsters to the Mammoth 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 c
onsidered 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 anger, 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 Ayla 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 concerned with teaching young men,” Ayla said, thinking that nobody 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.