The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  Flopping to the ground, she checked her eggs to make sure they were undamaged and took out a piece of dried meat to lunch on. She watched a bright yellow-breasted meadowlark trill gloriously from an open perch, then take to wing and continue its song in flight. A pair of golden-crowned sparrows, warbling their woeful tune of descending pitch, flitted among the blackberry canes at the border of the open field. Another pair of black-capped, gray-coated birds named by the chick-a-dee-dee of their call, darted in and out of their nesting hole in a fir tree near a small creek winding its way through the dense vegetation at the foot of the knoll. Small, vivacious brown wrens scolded the others as they carried twigs and dried moss to a nest cavity in an ancient, gnarled apple tree, proving its youthful fecundity with its flock of pink blooms.

  Ayla loved these moments of solitude. Basking in the sun, feeling relaxed and content, she thought about nothing in particular, except the beautiful day and how happy she was. She was completely unaware that anyone else was near until a shadow fell across the ground in front of her. Startled, she looked up into Broud’s glowering face.

  No hunting trips had been planned for that day and Broud had decided to hunt alone. He hadn’t been very diligent; his hunting foray was more an excuse to take a walk on the warm spring day than to provide meat he didn’t especially need. He had seen Ayla relaxing on the knoll from a distance and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to berate her for laziness, caught in the act of sitting still.

  Ayla jumped up when she saw him, but that annoyed him. She was taller and he didn’t like looking up at a woman. He motioned her down and prepared to give her a sound scolding. But as she lowered herself, the unresisting, unresponsive look that glazed her eyes irritated him even more. He wished he could think of some way to get a reaction out of her. At the cave, he could at least make her get something for him to see her jump to his command.

  He looked around, then down at the woman sitting at his feet, waiting with unruffled composure for him to get on with his rebuke and be on his way. She’s worse than ever since she became a woman, he thought. The Woman Who Hunts, how could Brun do it? He noticed her ptarmigan and thought of his own empty hand. Even the look on her ugly face is insolent; she’s gloating because she got those birds and I don’t have anything. What can I make her do? There’s nothing out here I can tell her to get. Wait, she’s a woman now, isn’t she? There’s something I can make her do.

  Broud gave her a signal, and Ayla’s eyes flew open. It was unexpected. Iza told her men only wanted that from women they considered attractive; she knew Broud thought she was ugly. Broud hadn’t missed Ayla’s shocked surprise, her reaction encouraged him. He signaled her again, imperiously, to assume the position so he could relieve his needs, the position for sexual intercourse.

  Ayla knew what was expected. Not only had Iza explained, she had often seen adult members of the clan engage in the activity—all the children had; there were no artificial restraints in the clan. Children learned adult behavior by emulating their parents, and sexual behavior was just one of many activities they mimicked. It always puzzled Ayla, she wondered why it was done, but it didn’t disturb her to see a young boy bounce harmlessly on a young girl in conscious imitation of adults.

  Sometimes it wasn’t imitation. Many young girls of the Clan were pierced by pubescent boys who lingered in the limbo of not-yet-men, before their first kill; and occasionally a man, beguiled by a young coquette, pleased himself with a not-quite-ripe female. Most young men, though, felt it beneath their dignity to play games with former playmates.

  But Ayla had no male playmates near her age except Vorn, and since the earlier days when Aga actively discouraged their association, there had never developed any close contact between them. Ayla was not particularly fond of Vorn, who imitated Broud’s actions toward her. Despite the incident on the practice field, the boy still idolized Broud, and Vorn was not about to play “mates” with Ayla. There was no one else who might have, so she had never even engaged in the imitation of the act. Within a society that indulged in sex as naturally as they breathed, Ayla was still a virgin.

  The young woman felt awkward; she knew she must comply, but she was flustered and Broud was enjoying it. He was glad he had thought of it; he had finally broken down her defenses. It excited him to see her so confused and bewildered, and aroused him. He hovered close as she got up, then started to lower herself to her knees. Ayla wasn’t accustomed to men of the clan being so near. Broud’s heavy breathing frightened her. She hesitated.

  Broud got impatient, pushed her down, and moved aside his wrap exposing his organ, thick and throbbing. What is she waiting for? She’s so ugly, she should be honored, no other man would have her, he thought angrily, grabbing at her wrap to move it out of the way as his need grew.

  But as Broud closed in on her, something snapped. She couldn’t do it! She just couldn’t. Her reason left her. It didn’t matter that she was supposed to obey him. She scrambled to her feet and started to run. Broud was too quick for her. He grabbed her, pushed her down, and punched her in the face, cutting her lip with his hard fist. He was beginning to enjoy this. Too many times had he restrained himself when he wanted to beat her, but there was no one to stop him here. And he had justifiable reason—she was disobeying him, actively disobeying him.

  Ayla was frantic. She tried to get up and he hit her again. He was getting a reaction from her he never expected, and it stirred him to greater lust. He would cow this insolent woman yet. He hit her again and again, and felt a great satisfaction to see her cringe as he made a move to hit her once more.

  Her head was ringing, blood trickled out of her nose and the corner of her mouth. She tried to get up, but he held her down. She struggled against him, pummeling his chest with her fists. They had no effect on his hard muscular body, but her resistance aroused him to new heights. Never had he felt so stimulated—violence increased his passion and lust added force to his blows. He reveled in her resistance and clouted her again.

  She was nearly unconscious when he threw her over on her face, feverishly ripped her wrap aside, and spread her legs. With one hard thrust, he penetrated deeply. She screamed with pain. It added to his pleasure. He lunged again, drawing forth another painful cry, then again, and again. The intensity of his excitement urged him on, rising quickly to unbearable peaks. With a last hard drive that extracted a final agonized scream, he ejected his built-up heat.

  Broud collapsed on top of her for a moment, his energy spent. Then, still breathing heavily, he withdrew himself. Ayla sobbed incoherently. The salt from her tears stung the open wounds on her blood-smeared face. One eye was swollen nearly shut and turning dark. Her thighs were stained with blood and she hurt deep inside. Broud got up and looked down at her. He felt good; he had never enjoyed penetrating a woman so much. He picked up his weapons and headed back to the cave.

  Ayla lay with her face in the dirt long after her sobbing stopped. Finally she pulled herself up. She touched her mouth, felt the swelling, and looked at the blood on her fingers. Her whole body ached, inside and out. She saw blood between her thighs and the stains on the grass. Is my totem fighting again? she wondered. No, I don’t think so, it’s not time. Broud must have wounded me. I didn’t know he could beat me on the inside, too. But the other women don’t hurt from it; why should Broud’s organ wound me? Is there something wrong with me?

  Slowly she got up and walked to the creek, hurting with every step. She washed herself, but it didn’t help the throbbing, aching pain, or the turmoil in her mind. Why did Broud want me to do that? Iza says men want to relieve their needs with attractive women. I’m ugly. Why should a man want to hurt a woman he likes? But women like it, too; why else would they make the gestures to encourage men? How can they like it? Oga never minds it when Broud does it to her, and he does it every day, more than once, sometimes.

  Suddenly Ayla was horrified. Oh, no! What if Broud makes me do it again? I won’t go back. I can’t go back. Where can I go? My little cave? No,
it’s too close, and I can’t stay there in winter. I have to go back, I can’t live alone, where else can I go? And I can’t leave Iza, and Creb, and Uba. What am I going to do? If Broud wants it, I can’t refuse him. None of the other women would even try. What’s wrong with me? He never wanted that when I was still a girl. Why did I have to become a woman? I was so happy about it, now I wouldn’t care if I was a girl all my life. I’ll never have a baby anyway. What good is being a woman if you can’t have a baby? Especially if a man can make you do something like that? What good is it anyway? What’s it for?

  The sun was low when she plodded back up the knoll to look for her ptarmigan. The eggs, cushioned so carefully, were crushed, and stained the front of her wrap. She looked back at the creek and remembered how happy she was watching the birds. It seemed ages ago, another time, another place. She dragged herself back to the cave, dreading every step.

  As Iza watched the sun disappear behind the trees in the west, she grew more anxious. She walked partway up all the paths in the nearby woods and to the ridge to scan the slope toward the steppes. A woman shouldn’t be out alone; I never do like it when Ayla hunts, Iza thought. What if she was attacked by some animal? Maybe she’s hurt? Creb was concerned, too, though he tried not to show it. Even Brun began to worry as it grew dark. Iza was the first to see her walking toward the cave from the ridge. She started to scold her for making her worry, but stopped before her first gesture.

  “Ayla! You’re hurt! What happened?”

  “Broud beat me,” she motioned, her expression dull.

  “But why?”

  “I disobeyed him,” the young woman gestured as she walked into the cave and straight to the hearth.

  What could have happened? Iza wondered. Ayla hasn’t disobeyed Broud for years. Why would she rebel against him now? And why didn’t he tell me he saw her? He knew I was worried. He’s been back since noon, why is Ayla so late? Iza cast a quick glance in the direction of Broud’s hearth and saw him staring across the boundary stones at Ayla, against all good manners, with a pleased smirk on his face.

  Creb had taken in the whole scene: Ayla’s bruised and swollen face and look of utter desolation, Broud watching her from the moment she returned with an arrogant sneer. He knew Broud’s hatred had grown over the years—her placid obedience seemed to affect him worse than her girlish rebellion—but something had happened that gave Broud a sense of power over her. As perceptive as Creb was, he could not have guessed the cause.

  Ayla was afraid to leave the hearth the next day, dawdling over her morning meal as long as she could. Broud was waiting for her. Thinking about his intense excitement of the day before had him stimulated and ready. When he gave her the signal, she almost bolted, but forced herself to assume the position. She tried to repress her cries, but the pain forced them from her lips, causing curious glances from those who happened to be nearby. They could no more understand why she was crying out in pain than they could understand Broud’s sudden interest in her.

  Broud reveled in his newfound dominance over Ayla and used her often, though many people wondered why he chose the ugly woman he hated over his own comely mate. After a time, it was no longer painful, but Ayla detested it. And it was her hatred that Broud enjoyed. He had put her in her place, gained superiority over her, and finally found a way to make her react to him. It didn’t matter that her response was negative, he preferred it. He wanted to see her cower, to see her fear, to see her force herself to submit. Just thinking about it stimulated him. He had always had a strong drive; now he was more sexually active than ever. Every morning that he wasn’t away hunting, he waited for her, usually forced her again in the evening and sometimes at midday as well. He even found himself aroused at night and used his mate to relieve himself. He was young and healthy, at the peak of his sexual prowess, and the more intensely she hated him, the more pleasure he derived.

  Ayla lost her sparkle. She was dispirited, morose, unresponsive to anything else. The only emotion she felt was an all-consuming hatred of Broud and his daily penetration of her. Like a massive glacier that sucks all moisture from the surrounding land, her loathing and bitter frustration drained away all other feelings.

  She had always kept herself clean, washing herself and her hair in the stream to keep it free of lice, even bringing in large bowls of snow to set beside the constantly burning fire to melt for fresh water in winter. Now her hair hung limp in greasy tangles and she wore the same wrap day in and day out, not bothering to clean the spots or let it air out. She dragged at her chores until men who had never before scolded were rebuking her. She lost interest in Iza’s medicines, never talked except to answer direct questions, seldom hunted and often returned empty-handed when she did. Her despondency cast a pall on everyone else around Creb’s hearth.

  Iza was beside herself with worry; she couldn’t understand the drastic change in Ayla. She knew it was because of Broud’s inexplicable interest in her, but why it should have that effect was beyond the woman. She hovered over Ayla, watching her constantly, and when the young woman first began to get sick in the mornings, she was afraid that whatever evil spirit had gotten into her was gaining a greater hold.

  But Iza was an experienced medicine woman. She was the first to notice when Ayla did not keep herself in the nominal isolation required of women when their totems battled, and watched her adopted daughter even closer. She could hardly believe what she suspected. But by the time another moon had passed and the summer was waxing into full heat, Iza was sure. Early one evening when Creb was away from the hearth, she beckoned to Ayla.

  “I want to talk to you.”

  “Yes, Iza,” Ayla replied, hauling herself up from her fur and slumping down in the dirt near the woman.

  “When was the last time your totem battled, Ayla?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Ayla, I want you to think about it. Have the spirits fought within you since the blossoms dropped?”

  The young woman tried to think. “I’m not sure, maybe once.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Iza said. “You’re getting sick in the mornings, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” she nodded. Ayla thought her sickness was because every morning that Broud wasn’t gone hunting, he was there, waiting for her, and she hated it so much, she was losing her breakfast, and sometimes her evening meal, too.

  “Have your breasts felt sore?”

  “A little.”

  “And they’ve grown larger, too, haven’t they?”

  “I think so. Why are you asking? Why all these questions?”

  The woman looked at her seriously. “Ayla, I don’t know how it happened, I can hardly believe it, but I’m sure it’s true.”

  “What’s true?”

  “Your totem has been defeated; you are going to have a baby.”

  “A baby? Me? I can’t have a baby,” Ayla protested. “My totem is too strong.”

  “I know, Ayla. I can’t understand it, but you are going to have a baby,” Iza repeated.

  A look of wonder crept into Ayla’s unresponsive eyes. “Can it be true! Can it really be true! Me, have a baby? Oh, mother, how wonderful!”

  “Ayla, you’re not mated. I don’t think there’s a man in the clan who will take you, even as second woman. You can’t have a child without a mate, it might be unlucky,” Iza motioned earnestly. “It would be best to take something to lose it. I think mistletoe would be best. You know, the plant with the small white berries that grows high in the oak. It’s very effective and, if properly handled, not too dangerous. I’ll make you a tea of the leaves with just a few berries. It will help your totem expel the new life. It will make you a little sick, but …”

  “No! No!” Ayla was shaking her head vigorously. “Iza, no. I don’t want to take mistletoe. I don’t want to take anything to lose it. I want a baby, mother. I’ve wanted one ever since Uba was born. I never thought it would be possible.”

  “But Ayla, what if the baby is unlucky? It might even be deformed.
”

  “It won’t be unlucky, I won’t let it. I promise, I’ll take good care of myself so it will be healthy. Didn’t you say a strong totem helps to make a healthy baby once it succumbs? And I’ll take good care of it after it’s born, I won’t let anything happen. Iza, I’ve got to have this baby. Don’t you see? My totem may never be defeated again. This may be my only chance.”

  Iza looked into the pleading eyes of the young woman. It was the first spark of life she had seen since the day Broud beat her while she was out hunting. She knew she should insist that Ayla take the medicine; it wasn’t right for an unmated woman to give birth if it could be helped. But Ayla wanted the baby so desperately, she might go into a worse depression if she was made to give it up. And maybe she was right—it might be her only chance.

  “All right, Ayla,” she acquiesced. “If you want it so much. It would be best not to mention it to anyone yet; they’ll know soon enough.”

  “Oh, Iza,” she said, and gave the woman a hug. As the miracle of her impossible pregnancy filled her, a smile danced across her face. She jumped up, charged with energy. She couldn’t sit still, she just had to do something.

  “Mother, what are you cooking tonight? Let me help.”

  “Aurochs stew,” the woman replied, amazed at the sudden transformation in the young woman. “You can cut up the meat if you want.”