by Jean M. Auel
Ayla was nodding her head in agreement. Of course, she knew she was female, but she was puzzled.
“This ivory is from the tusk of the mammoth we killed. It was a very lucky hunt; no man was hurt, yet we brought down the great beast. This piece has been sanctified by Ursus, colored the sacred red by Mog-ur, and is a powerful hunting talisman. Every hunter of the clan carries one like it in his amulet, and every hunter must have one.
“Ayla, no boy becomes adult until he makes his first kill, but once he has, he cannot be a child. Long ago, during the time of the Spirits that still hover near, women of the Clan hunted. We don’t know why your totem has led you to follow that ancient path, but we cannot deny the Spirit of the Cave Lion; it must be allowed. Ayla, you have made your first kill; you must now assume the responsibilities of an adult. But you are a woman, not a man, and you will be a woman always, in all ways but one. You may use only a sling, Ayla, but you are now the Woman Who Hunts.”
Ayla felt a sudden rush of blood rise to her face. Could it be true? Had she really understood Brun? For using a sling, she had just been through an ordeal she didn’t think she would survive; now she was going to be allowed to use it? Allowed to hunt? Openly? She could hardly believe it.
“This talisman is for you. Put it in your amulet.” Ayla took the pouch from around her neck and fumbled to untie the knots. She took the red-stained oval of ivory from Brun and put it beside the chunk of red ochre and the fossil cast, then closed the leather bag and slipped it back over her neck.
“Do not tell anyone yet; I will announce it before the feast tonight. It is in your honor, Ayla, in honor of your first kill,” Brun said. “I hope your next one will be more palatable than a hyena,” he added with a twinkle of humor in his eyes. “Now, turn around.”
She did as she was told, and felt the blindfold cover her eyes and the two men lead her back, then remove the blindfold. She watched Brun and Goov return to the circle of men. Was I dreaming? She felt her throat and the sting of the wound where Mog-ur had cut her, then slid her hand down and felt three objects inside her amulet. She moved her wrap aside and stared at the slightly smeared black lines that covered her scars. A hunter! I am a hunter! A hunter for the clan. They said it was my totem who wanted it and they couldn’t deny him. She clutched her amulet, closed her eyes, and then began the formal gestures.
“Great Cave Lion, why did I ever doubt you? The death curse was a difficult test, the worst yet, but it had to be for so great a gift. I am so grateful you found me worthy. I know Creb was right—my life will never be easy with you as my totem, but it will always be worth it.”
The ceremony had been effective enough to convince the men that Ayla should be allowed to hunt—all but one. Broud was furious. If he hadn’t been so frightened by Mog-ur’s warning, he would have left the ceremony. He wanted no part of anything that gave that female special privileges. He glowered at Mog-ur, but his special bitterness was directed at Brun, and he couldn’t swallow his gall.
It’s his doing, Broud thought. He’s always protected her, always favored her. He threatened me with a death curse just for punishing her for her insolence. Me, the son of his mate, and she deserved it. He should have cursed her right, it should have been forever. Now he’s letting her hunt, hunt, just like a man. How could he do it? Well, Brun’s getting old. He won’t be leader forever. Someday I’ll be leader, then we’ll see. Then she won’t have him to protect her. Then we’ll see what privileges she gets; just let her try to get away with her insolence then.
18
The Woman Who Hunts earned the full title during the winter that began her tenth year. Iza felt a private satisfaction and a small sense of relief when she noticed the changes in the girl that heralded the onset of menarche. Ayla’s spreading hips and the two bumps swelling her chest, changing the contours of her straight, child’s body, assured the woman that her unusual daughter was not doomed to perennial childhood after all. Swelling nipples and a light down of pubic and underarm hair were followed by Ayla’s first menstrual flow; the first time the spirit of her totem battled with another.
Ayla understood now that it was unlikely she would ever give birth; her totem was too strong. She wanted a baby—ever since Uba was born she had wanted a baby of her own to love and care for—but she accepted the trials and restrictions imposed by the powerful Cave Lion. She always enjoyed caring for the infants and children of the growing clan when their mothers were busy, and she felt a pang of remorse when they went to someone else to nurse. But at least now she was a woman, no longer a child who was taller than a woman.
Ayla felt an empathetic sense of identity with Ovra who had miscarried several more times, though earlier in her pregnancies and not with as much difficulty. Ovra’s Beaver totem was a little too ferocious, too. She seemed destined to be childless. Ever since the mammoth hunt, and especially after Ayla reached physical adulthood, the two young women often shared each other’s company. The quiet woman didn’t talk much—she was reticent by nature, the opposite of Ika’s open and friendly disposition—but Ayla and Ovra developed an understanding that ripened slowly into a close friendship and extended to include Goov. The fondness between the young acolyte and his mate was apparent to everyone. It made Ovra the object of greater pity. Since her mate was so understanding and gentle about her inability to produce a child for him, they knew it made her want a baby even more.
Oga was expecting again, much to Broud’s delight. She had gotten pregnant soon after weaning three-year-old Brac. It looked as though she was going to be as prolific as Aga and Ika. Droog was sure Aga’s two-year-old son would be the toolmaker he wanted when he found the boy banging stones together one day. He found a hammerstone to fit Groob’s pudgy little hand and allowed him to play nearby when he worked, hitting broken pieces of flint to mimic the knapper. Ika’s two-year-old, Igra, promised to be as outgoing as her mother, a cheerful, chubby, friendly little girl that delighted everyone. Brun’s clan was growing.
Ayla spent the few days in early spring away from the clan, her required woman’s curse, in the small cave of her high retreat. After the far more traumatic death curse, it was almost a holiday. She used the time to work out the kinks and sharpen her throwing skills after the long winter, though she had to remind herself constantly that she no longer had to be secretive about it. Though she had little trouble securing food for herself, she looked forward to her daily visits with Iza at a prearranged place near the cave of the clan. Iza brought her more food than she could hope to eat, but more, she brought company. It was still difficult to spend her nights alone, though the knowledge that the ostracism was limited and of short duration made it easier.
They often visited until dark and Ayla had to use a torch to find her way back. Iza never got over her nervousness about the deerskin Ayla had made for herself while she was “dead,” so the young woman decided to leave it in the small cave. Ayla learned the things a woman needed to know from her mother, just as all young women did. Iza gave her the straps of soft, absorbent leather that were worn tied to a waist thong, and explained the proper symbols to make when she buried the straps soiled with menstrual flow deep in the ground. She was told the proper position to assume if a man decided to relieve his needs with her, the movements to make, and how to clean herself afterward. Ayla was a woman now; she could be required to fulfill all the functions of a fully adult female member of the clan. They talked of many things of interest to women, though some were familiar to her from her medical training. They discussed childbirth, nursing, and medicine to relieve cramps. Iza explained the positions and motions considered seductive to men of the clan, the ways that a woman might encourage a man to develop a desire to relieve his needs. They talked of the responsibilities of a mated woman. Iza told Ayla all the things her mother had told her, but privately she wondered if the unattractive girl would ever have need for much of the knowledge.
There was one subject Iza never brought up. Most young women, by the time they became women, usually
had their eye on a particular young man. Though neither a girl nor her mother had any direct say in the matter, the mother, if she was on good terms with her mate, could tell him of her daughter’s wishes. The mate, if he chose, could make them known to the leader, with whom the decision rested. If there were no other considerations, and especially if the young man in question had shown an interest in the girl, the leader might let the young woman’s wishes prevail.
Not always, certainly not in Iza’s case, but the subject of mates never came up between Iza and Ayla, though it was usually one of great interest to a nubile young woman and her mother. There were no young unmated men in the clan, and Iza was sure if there had been, they would not have wanted Ayla any more than any man in the clan wanted her as a second woman. And Ayla herself had no interest in any of them. She hadn’t even thought about a mate until Iza brought up the subject of a mated woman’s responsibilities. But she thought about it later.
On a sunny spring morning not long after she returned, Ayla went to fill a waterbag at the spring-fed pool near the cave. No one else was out yet. She knelt down and bent over, ready to dip the bag in, then suddenly stopped. The morning sun slanting across the still water gave it a mirrorlike surface. Ayla stared at the strange face looking at her out of the pool; she had not seen a reflection of herself before. Most water near the cave was in the form of running streams or creeks, and she didn’t usually look in the pool until after she had dipped in the container she wanted to fill, disturbing the tranquil surface.
The young woman studied her own face. It was somewhat square with a well-defined jaw, modified by cheeks still rounded with youth, high cheekbones and a long, smooth neck. Her chin had the hint of a cleft, her lips were full, and her nose straight and finely chiseled. Clear, blue-gray eyes were outlined with heavy lashes a shade or two darker than the golden hair that fell in thick soft waves to well below her shoulders, glimmering with highlights in the sun. Eyebrows, the same shade as her lashes, arched above her eyes on a smooth, straight, high forehead without the slightest hint of protruding brow ridges. Ayla backed stiffly away from the pool and ran into the cave.
“Ayla, what’s wrong?” Iza motioned. It was obvious something was troubling her daughter.
“Mother! I just looked in the pool. I’m so ugly! Oh, mother, why am I so ugly?” was her impassioned response. She burst into tears in the woman’s arms. For as long as she could remember, Ayla had never seen anyone except people of the clan. She had no other standard of measure. They had grown accustomed to her, but to herself, she looked different from everyone around her, abnormally different.
“Ayla, Ayla,” Iza soothed, holding the sobbing young woman in her arms.
“I didn’t know I was so ugly, mother. I didn’t know. What man will ever want me? I’ll never have a mate. And I’ll never have a baby. I’ll never have anyone. Why do I have to be so ugly?”
“I don’t know if you’re really so ugly, Ayla. You’re different.”
“I’m ugly! I’m ugly!” Ayla shook her head, refusing to be comforted. “Look at me! I’m too big, I’m taller than Broud and Goov. I’m almost as tall as Brun! And I’m ugly. I’m big and ugly and I’ll never have a mate,” she gestured with fresh sobs.
“Ayla! Stop it!” Iza commanded, shaking her shoulders. “You can’t help the way you look. You were not born to the Clan, Ayla, you were born to the Others, you look the way they look. You can’t change that, you must accept it. It’s true you may never have a mate. That can’t be helped; you must accept that, too. But it’s not certain, it’s not hopeless. Soon you will be a medicine woman, a medicine woman of my line. Even without a mate, you will not be a woman without status, without value.
“Next summer is the Clan Gathering. There will be many clans there; this is not the only clan, you know. You may find a mate in one of the other clans. Maybe not a young man or one with high status, but a mate. Zoug thinks very well of you; you are fortunate that he holds you in such high regard. He has already given Creb a message to take with him. Zoug has kin in another clan; he told Creb to tell them of his regard for you. He thinks you will make some man a good mate and wants them to consider you. He even said he would take you if he were younger. Remember that, this is not the only clan, these are not the only men in the world.”
“Zoug said that? Even though I’m so ugly?” Ayla gestured, a look of hope in her eyes.
“Yes, Zoug said that. With his recommendation and the status of my line, I’m sure there will be some man who will take you, even if you do look different.”
Ayla’s tremulous smile faded. “But won’t that mean I’ll have to go away? Live someplace else? I don’t want to leave you and Creb and Uba.”
“Ayla, I am old. Creb is no young man either, and in a few years Uba will be a woman and mated. What will you do then?” Iza motioned. “Someday Brun will pass the leadership on to Broud. I don’t think you should live with this clan when Broud becomes leader. I think it might be best if you moved away, and the Clan Gathering may be your opportunity.”
“I suppose you’re right, mother. I don’t think I want to live here when Broud is leader, but I hate the thought of leaving you,” she said with a frown, then brightened. “But next summer is a whole year away. I don’t have to worry about it until then.”
A whole year, Iza thought. My Ayla, my child. Maybe you have to be my age to know how fast a year goes. You don’t want to leave me? You don’t know how I’ll miss you. If only there were a man in this clan who would take you. If only Broud were not going to be leader.
But the woman gave no hint of her thoughts as Ayla wiped her eyes and went back to get water. This time she avoided looking in the still pool.
Later that afternoon, Ayla stood at the edge of the woods looking through the brush at the cave. Several people were outside working or talking. She shifted the two rabbits that were slung over her shoulder, looked down at the sling tucked in her waist thong, stuffed it in a fold of her wrap, then took it out and tucked it back at her waist in plain sight. She looked again at the cave, shuffling nervously.
Brun said I could, she thought. They had a ceremony so I could. I’m a hunter, I’m the Woman Who Hunts. Ayla lifted her chin and stepped out from behind the concealing screen of foliage.
For a long, frozen moment, everyone outside the cave stopped and stared at the young woman walking toward them with two rabbits slung over her shoulder. As soon as they got over the shock and realized their bad manners, they looked away. Ayla’s face burned, but she walked straight ahead with dogged determination, ignoring the surreptitious glances. She was relieved to reach the cave after passing the gauntlet of shocked looks and glad for its cool, dim interior. It was easier to ignore the looks of the people inside.
Iza’s eyes opened wide, too, when Ayla reached Creb’s hearth, but recovering quickly, she looked away making no mention of the rabbits. She didn’t know what to say. Creb was sitting on his bearskin apparently meditating and didn’t seem to notice her. He had seen her come into the cave, and by the time she reached the hearth he had managed to mask his expression. No one said a thing as she put the animals down beside the fireplace. A moment later Uba came racing in, and she had no qualms at all about her reactions.
“Did you really hunt those yourself, Ayla?” she asked.
“Yes,” Ayla nodded.
“They look like nice fat rabbits. Are we going to have them for dinner, mother?”
“Well, yes, I guess we are,” Iza replied, still embarrassed and unsure.
“I’ll skin them,” Ayla said quickly, taking out her knife. Iza watched for a moment, then walked over and took the knife from her hand.
“No, Ayla. You hunted them, I’ll skin them.” Ayla stepped back while Iza skinned the rabbits, quickly spitted them, and put them over the fire. She was just as uncomfortable as Iza.
“That was a good meal, Iza,” Creb said later, still avoiding direct comment about Ayla’s hunting, but Uba felt no such compunction.
�
�Those were good rabbits, Ayla, but next time why don’t you get some ptarmigan,” she said. Uba shared Creb’s predilection for the fat birds with the feathered feet.
The next time Ayla brought her kill to the cave it wasn’t such a shock, and before long her hunting became almost commonplace. With a hunter at his own hearth, Creb reduced the share he took from the other hunters except for the large animals hunted only by the men.
It was a busy spring for Ayla. Her share of the women’s work was not lessened because she hunted, and there were still Iza’s herbs to be collected. But Ayla loved it, she was full of energy, happier than she could remember. She was happy she could hunt without secrecy, happy to be back with the clan, and happy she was finally a woman, and glad for the closer relationships she was developing with the other women.
Ebra and Uka accepted her, though the two older women never could quite forget she was different; Ika had always been friendly; and the attitudes of Aga and her mother had completely reversed since she saved Ona from drowning. Ovra had become a close confidante, and Oga warmed toward her despite Broud. The adolescent ardor Oga had felt for the man had moderated to an indifferent habit, cooled by the years of living with his unpredictable outbursts. But Broud’s vindictive hatred of Ayla grew after her acceptance as a hunter. He kept trying to find ways to bedevil her, kept trying to get a reaction out of her. His harassment had become a way of life she had learned to live with; it left her unmoved. She had begun to think he would never be able to disturb her again.
Spring was in full flower the day she decided to hunt ptarmigan for Creb’s favorite dish. She thought she would look over the new growths and begin restocking Iza’s pharmacopoeia while she was at it. She spent the morning ranging the nearby countryside, then headed for a broad meadow near the steppes. She flushed a couple of low-flying fowl, brought down quickly by swifter stones, then searched through the tall grass looking for a nest and hopefully some eggs. Creb liked the birds stuffed with their own eggs in a nest of edible greens and herbs. She uttered an exclamation of joy when she spied it, and carefully wrapped the eggs in soft moss and tucked them into a deep fold of her wrap. She was delighted with herself. Out of sheer joyful exuberance, she sprinted across the meadow in a fast run, coming to a halt, out of breath, at the top of a knoll covered with new green grass.