by Jean M. Auel
There’s the new pokeweed coming up, she thought as she passed the marshy hollow where she had gathered its purple berries the previous autumn. I’ll dig some roots on the way back. Iza says the roots are good for Creb’s rheumatism, too. I hope the fresh cherry bark will help Iza’s cough. She’s getting better, I think, but she’s so skinny. Uba’s getting so big and heavy, Iza shouldn’t lift her at all. Maybe I’ll bring Uba with me next time, if I can. I’m so glad we didn’t have to give her to Oga. She’s really starting to talk now. It’ll be fun when she gets a little bigger and we can go out together. Look at those pussy willows. Funny how they feel like real fur when they’re small like that, but they grow out green. The sky is so blue today. I can smell the sea in the wind. I wonder when we’ll be going fishing. The water should be warm enough to swim in soon. I wonder why no one else likes to swim? The sea tastes salty, not like the stream, but I feel so light in it. I can hardly wait until we go fishing. I think I love sea fish best of all, but I like eggs, too. Arid I like climbing the cliff to get the eggs. The wind feels so good way up high on the cliff. There’s a squirrel! Look at him run up that tree! I wish I could run up a tree.
Ayla wandered over the wooded slopes until midmorning. Then, suddenly realizing how late it was getting, she headed purposefully toward the clearing to get the cherry bark Iza wanted. As she neared, she heard activity and an occasional voice, and caught a glimpse of the men within the clearing. She started to leave, but remembered the cherry bark and stood undecided for a moment. The men won’t like it if they see me around here, she thought. Brun might get angry and not let me go out alone anymore, but Iza needs the cherry bark. Maybe they won’t stay long. I wonder what they’re doing, anyway? Quietly, she crept in closer and hid behind a large tree, peeking out through the tangled bare brush.
The men were practicing with their weapons in preparation for a hunt. She remembered watching them make new spears. They had chopped down slim, supple, straight young trees, stripped them of branches and sharpened one end by charring it in a fire, and scraping the burnt end to a point with a sturdy flint scraper. The heat also hardened the point so it would resist splintering and fraying. She still cringed when she remembered the commotion she had caused by touching one of the wooden shafts.
Females did not touch weapons, she was told, or even any tools that were used to make weapons, though Ayla could see no difference between a knife used to cut the leather to make a sling and a knife used to cut the leather to make a cloak. The newly made spear, offended by her touch, had been burned, much to the irritation of the hunter who made it, and Creb and Iza had both subjected her to long, gestured lectures in an effort to instill in her a sense of the abomination of her act. The women were aghast that she would consider such a thing, and Brun’s glower left no doubt of his opinion. But, most of all, she hated the look of malicious pleasure on Broud’s face as the recriminations rained down upon her. He was positively gloating.
The girl stared uneasily from behind the brushy screen at the men on the practice field. Besides their spears, the men had their other weapons. Except for a discussion at the far end between Dorv, Grod, and Crag about the relative merits of spear versus club, most of the men were practicing with slings and bolas. Vorn was with them. Brun had decided it was time to begin teaching the boy the rudiments of the sling, and Zoug was explaining them to the youngster.
The men had been taking Vorn along with them to the practice field occasionally since he was five, but most of the time he practiced with his miniature spear, jabbing it into the soft earth or a rotten tree stump to get the feel of handling the weapon. He was always pleased to be included, but this was the first attempt to teach the youngster the more difficult art of using a sling. A post had been pounded into the ground, and not far away was a heap of smooth round stones picked up from streams along the way.
Zoug was showing Vorn how to hold the two ends of the strip of leather together and how to place a pebble into the slight bulge in the middle of a well-worn sling. It was an old one that Zoug had planned to throw away until Brun asked him to start the boy’s training. The old man thought it would still be serviceable if he cut it shorter to match Vorn’s smaller size.
Ayla watched and found herself caught up in the lesson. She concentrated on Zoug’s explanations and demonstrations with as much attention as the lad. On Vorn’s first attempt, the sling got tangled and the stone dropped. It was difficult for him to get the knack of whirling the weapon around to build up the momentum of centrifugal force necessary to hurl the stone. The pebble kept dropping before he could get up enough speed to keep it in the cup of the leather strip.
Broud was standing off to the side watching. Vorn was his prot #233;g #233;, and it kept Broud the object of Vorn’s adoration. It was Broud who had made the small spear the boy carried with him everywhere, even to his bed, and it was the young hunter who showed Vorn how to hold the spear, discussing the balance and thrust with him as though the boy were an equal. But now, Vorn was directing his admiring attention to the older hunter and Broud felt displaced. He had wanted to be the one to teach the boy everything and was angry when Brun told Zoug to instruct him in the use -of the sling. After Vorn made several more unsuccessful tries, Broud interrupted the lesson.
“Here, let me show you how to do it, Vorn,” Broud motioned, brushing the old man aside.
Zoug stepped back and shot a piercing look at the arrogant young man. Everyone stopped and stared, and Brun was glaring. He did not like Broud’s cavalier treatment of the clan’s best marksman. He had told Zoug to train the boy, not Broud. It’s one thing to show an interest in the youngster, Brun thought, but he’s carrying it too far. Vorn should learn from the best and Broud knows the sling is not his best weapon. He needs to learn that a good leader must utilize the skills of every man. Zoug is the most skilled and he will have time to teach the boy when the rest of us are hunting. Broud is becoming overbearing; he’s too proud. How can I give him a higher rank if he doesn’t show better judgment? He needs to learn he’s not so important just because he will be leader.
Broud took the sling from the lad and picked up a stone. He inserted it in the pocket of the sling and hurled it toward the post. It landed short of the mark. That was the most common problem men of the clan had with the sling. They had to learn to compensate for the limitation of their arm joints that prevented a full-swinging arc. Broud was angry at missing and felt a little foolish. He reached for another stone, flung it hurriedly, wanting to show he could do it. He was aware that he was being watched by everyone. The sling was shorter than he was accustomed to, and the stone went far to the left, still short of the post.
“Are you trying to teach Vorn or do you want a few lessons yourself, Broud?” Zoug gestured derisively. “I could move the post closer.”
Broud fought to restrain his temper-he didn’t like being the object of Zoug’s ridicule and he was angry that he kept missing after he’d made such an issue of it. He cast another stone, this time overcompensating and sending it far beyond the post.
“If you’ll wait until I’m through with the boy’s lesson, I’ll be glad to give you one,” Zoug motioned, heavy sarcasm showing in his stance. “It looks like you could use it.” The proud old man was feeling vindicated.
“How can Vorn learn on a rotten old sling like this?” Broud flared defensively, throwing the leather strap down with disgust. “No one could throw a stone with that worn-out old thing. Vorn, I’ll make you a new sling. You can’t be expected to learn on an old man’s used-up sling. He can’t even hunt anymore.”
Now Zoug was angry. Retirement from the ranks of the active hunters was always a blow to a man’s pride, and Zoug had worked hard to perfect his skill with the difficult weapon to retain a measure of it. Zoug had once been second-in-command like the son of his mate, and his pride was especially tender.
“It’s better to be an old man, than a boy who thinks he’s a man,” Zoug countered, reaching for the sling at Broud’s feet.
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The slur on his manhood was more than Broud could bear, it was the last straw. He could contain himself no longer and gave the old man a shove. Zoug was unbalanced, caught off guard, and fell down heavily. He sat where he landed, his legs stretched out in front of him, looking up with wide-eyed surprise. It was the last thing he’d expected.
Hunters of the Clan never attacked each other physically; such punishment was reserved for women who couldn’t understand more subtle reproaches. Exuberant energies of young men were drained off with supervised wrestling bouts, or running-and-spearthrusting competitions, or sling and bola meets that also served to increase hunting skills. Skill in hunting and self-discipline were the measure of manhood in the Clan that depended on cooperation for survival. Broud was almost as surprised as Zoug at his own rashness, and as soon as he realized what he had done, his face turned red with embarrassment.
“Broud!” The word came out of the leader’s mouth in a restrained roar. Broud looked up and cringed. He had never seen Brun so angry. The leader approached him, planting his feet firmly with each step, his gestures clipped and tightly controlled.
“This childish display of temper is inexcusable! If you were not already the lowest-ranked hunter, I would put you there. Who told you to interfere with the boy’s lesson in the first place? Did I tell you, or Zoug, to train Vorn?” Anger flashed from the leader’s eyes. “You call yourself a hunter? You cannot even call yourself a man! Vorn controls himself better than you. A woman has more self-discipline. You are the future leader; is this how you will lead men? You expect to control a clan when you can’t even control yourself? Don’t be so sure of your future, Broud. Zoug is right. You are a child who thinks he’s a man.”
Broud was mortified. He had never been shamed so severely, and in front of the hunters, and Vorn. He wanted to run and hide, he’d never be able to live it down. He would rather have faced a charging cave lion than Brun’s anger-Brun, who seldom showed his anger, who seldom had to. One penetrating look from the leader, who commanded with stoic dignity, capable leadership, and unswerving self-discipline, was enough to make any member of his clan, man or woman, jump to obey him. Broud hung his head submissively.
Brun glanced toward the sun, then made a signal to leave. The other hunters, uncomfortably watching the scathing reprimand Brun had delivered, were relieved to get away. They fell in behind the leader who set a fast pace back to the cave. Broud brought up the rear, his face still crimson.
Ayla crouched unmoving, rooted to the spot, hardly daring to breathe. She was petrified for fear they would see her. She knew she had witnessed a scene no woman would ever be allowed to see. Broud would never have been castigated like that in front of a woman. The men, no matter what the provocation, maintained a brotherhood of solidarity around women. But the episode had opened the girl’s eyes to a side of the men she never realized existed. They were not the all-powerful, free agents who reigned with impunity, as she had thought. They too had to follow orders and they too could be reprimanded. Brun alone seemed to be the one omnipotent figure who ruled supreme. She didn’t understand that Brun was under constraints far more binding than any of the others: the traditions and customs of the Clan, the unfathomable, unpredictable spirits that controlled the forces of nature, and his own sense of responsibility.
Ayla remained hidden long after the men left the practice field, afraid they might return. She was still apprehensive when she finally dared to step out from behind the tree. Though she didn’t fully comprehend the implications of her new insight into the nature of the men of the clan, one thing she did understand; she had seen Broud as submissive as any woman, and that pleased her. She had learned to hate the arrogant young man who picked on her unmercifully, scolding her for the least infraction whether she knew it was wrong or not, and she often wore the bruises of his quick temper. She couldn’t seem to please him, no matter how hard she tried.
Ayla walked across the clearing thinking about the incident. As she neared the post, she saw the sling still on the ground where Broud had flung it in anger. No one had remembered to retrieve it before they left. She stared at it, afraid to touch it. It was a weapon, and fear of Brun made her tremble at the thought of doing anything that might make him as angry at her as he had been at Broud. Her mind wandered back over the whole series of incidents she had just witnessed, and looking at the limp strap of leather reminded her of Zoug’s instructions to Vorn, and Vorn’s difficulty. is it really so hard? If Zoug showed me, could I do it?
She was appalled at the temerity of her own thought and glanced around to make sure she was alone, fearful that even her thoughts would be known if someone saw her. Broud couldn’t even do it, she recalled. She thought about Broud trying to hit the post and Zoug’s disparaging gestures at his failure, and a fleeting smile crossed her face.
Wouldn’t he be mad if I could do it when he couldn’t? She liked the thought of bettering Broud at anything. Looking around once more, she glanced down at the sling apprehensively, then stooped down and picked it up. She felt the supple leather of the worn weapon and suddenly thought about the punishment that would descend on her if anyone saw her with a sling in her hand. She nearly dropped it again, looking quickly across the clearing in the direction the men had gone. Her eye fell on the small pile of stones.
I wonder, could I do it? Oh, Brun would be so mad at me, I don’t know what he’d do. And Creb would say I was bad. I’m already bad, just for touching this sling. What can be so bad about touching a piece of leather? Just because it’s used to throw stones. Would Brun beat me? Broud would. He’d be glad I touched it, it would give him an excuse to beat me. Wouldn’t he be mad if he knew what I saw. They’d be so angry, could they be any madder if I tried it? Bad is bad, isn’t it? I wonder, could I hit that post with a stone?
The girl was torn between wanting to try out the sling and the knowledge that she was forbidden to do it. It was wrong. She knew it was wrong. But she wanted to try it. What difference will one more bad thing make? No one will ever know, there’s no one here but me. She glanced around guiltily once more, then walked toward the stones.
Ayla picked one up and tried to remember Zoug’s instructions. Carefully, she put the two ends together and gripped them firmly; The loop of leather hung limp. She felt clumsy, unsure of how to put the stone in the well-worn cup. Several times the stone dropped as soon as she began to move it. She concentrated, trying to visualize Zoug’s demonstrations. She tried again, almost got it started, but the sling became hung up and the stone dropped to the ground again.
The next time, she managed to get some momentum going and flung the round pebble a few paces. Elated, she reached for another stone. After a few more false starts, she lobbed a second stone. The next few tries were unsuccessful, then one stone flew, wide of the mark, but closer to the post. She was beginning to get the knack.
When the pile of stones was gone, she gathered them up again, and then a third time. By the fourth round, she was able to fling most of the stones without dropping them very often. Ayla looked down and saw three stones left on the ground. She picked one up, placed it in the sling, whirled it over her head and launched the missile. She heard a thunk as it hit the post squarely and bounced back, and she jumped into the air filled with the thrill of success.
I did it! I hit the post! It was pure chance, a lucky fluke, but that didn’t diminish her joy. The next stone flew wide, but far beyond the post, and the last fell to the ground only a few feet ahead. But she had done it once, and she was sure she could do it again.
She started to collect the stones again and noticed the sun was nearing the horizon in the western sky. Suddenly, she remembered she was supposed to be getting wild cherry bark for Iza. How did it get so late? she thought. Have I been here all afternoon? Iza will be worried; Creb will be, too. Quickly, she stuffed the sling into a fold of her wrap, raced to the cherry trees, cut away the outer bark with her flint knife, and scraped off long thin pieces of the inner cambium layer. Then she ran bac
k to the cave as fast as she could, slowing only as she neared the stream to assume the careful posture proper for females. She was afraid she would be in enough trouble for being gone so long; she didn’t want to give anyone more reason to be angry.
“Ayla! Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick. I was sure you had been attacked by some animal. I was ready to ask Creb to have Brun look for you.” Iza scolded the moment she saw her.
“I was looking around to see what was starting to grow, and down by the clearing,” Ayla said, feeling guilty. “I didn’t realize how late it was.” It was the truth, but not the whole truth. “Here’s your cherry bark. The pokeweeds are coming up where they grew last year. Didn’t you tell me the roots were good for Creb’s rheumatism, too?”
“Yes, but you steep the root and apply it as a wash to relieve the pain. The berries are made into a tea. Juice from squeezed berries is good for growths and lumps, too,” the medicine woman started, answering her question automatically, then stopped. “Ayla, you’re trying to distract me with healing questions. You know you shouldn’t have been gone so long, making me worry like that,” Iza motioned. Her anger, now that she knew the child was safe, was gone, but she wanted to make sure Ayla would not go off by herself so long again. Iza worried whenever Ayla went out.
“I won’t do it again without telling you, Iza. It just got late before I knew it.”
As they walked into the cave, Uba, who had been looking for Ayla all day, spied her. She ran toward the girl on her chubby, bowed legs, and stumbled just as she reached her. But Ayla scooped the baby up before she fell and swung her around in the air. “Could I take Uba with me sometime, Iza? I wouldn’t be gone too long. I could start to show her some things.”
“She’s too young to understand, yet. She’s just learning to talk,” Iza said, but seeing how happy the two were together, she added, “I suppose you could take her along for company once in a while, if you don’t go too far.”