The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  Had he lost face, his own self-doubt would have lost him his advantage. Without the base of surety in his own judgment, his diffidence would have cast doubt over his decisions. He could not face a Gathering, and the other leaders, under those circumstances. But it was just that background of strength and compromise, within the unyielding framework of Clan tradition, that had allowed him to make the concessions he had toward Ayla. And once the threat to himself was past, he began to view her differently.

  Ayla had tried to force a decision, but it was within the structure of Clan custom, as she interpreted it, and it wasn’t in a wholly unworthy cause. True, she was a woman and must understand her place, but she had come to her senses and seen the error of her ways in time. When she showed him the location of her small cave, he was privately amazed that she had reached it in her weak condition. He wondered if a man could have done it, and masculinity was measured by stoic endurance. Brun admired courage, determination, endurance; they showed strength of character. In spite of the fact that Ayla was a woman, Brun admired her grit.

  “If Zoug were here, we would have won the sling competition,” Crug motioned. “No one could have beaten him.”

  “Except Ayla,” Goov commented with guarded gestures. “Too bad she couldn’t compete.”

  “We don’t need a woman to win,” Broud gestured. “The sling contest doesn’t count for that much, anyway. Brun will win the bola-throwing, he always has. And there’s still the spear-and-running contest.”

  “But Voord already won the running competition; he stands a good chance to win in running-and-spear-stabbing, too,” Droog said. “And Gorn did well with the club.”

  “Just wait until we show them our mammoth hunt. Our clan is bound to win,” Broud answered. Hunt reenactments were a part of many ceremonies; occasionally they happened spontaneously after an especially exciting hunt. Broud enjoyed acting them out. He knew he was good at evoking the sense of excitement and drama of the hunt and loved being the center of attention.

  But hunt reenactments served a purpose greater than showing off. They were instructive. With expressive pantomime, and a few props, they demonstrated hunting techniques and tactics to youngsters and other clans. It was a way of developing and sharing skills. Had they been asked, everyone would have agreed that the prize awarded to the clan that came out best in the complicated competition was status: to be acknowledged first among peers. But there was another prize awarded, though it was not acknowledged. The competitions sharpened skills necessary for survival.

  “We’ll win if you lead the hunt dance, Broud,” Vorn said. The ten-year-old boy, fast approaching manhood, still idolized the future leader. Broud courted his adoration by admitting him into the men’s discussions whenever he could.

  “Too bad your race doesn’t count, Vorn. I was watching; it wasn’t even close. You were way out in front. But it’s good practice for next time,” Broud said. Vorn glowed under the praise.

  “We’ve still got a good chance,” Droog motioned. “But it could go the other way. Gorn is strong, he gave you a good fight in the wrestling match, Broud. I wasn’t sure you could take him. Norg’s second must be proud of the son of his mate; he’s grown since the last Gathering. I think he’s the biggest man here.”

  “He’s got the strength, all right,” Goov said. “It showed when he won with the club, but Broud is quicker, and almost as strong. Gorn came in a close second.”

  “And Nouz is good with that sling. I think he must have seen Zoug last time and decided to work on it; he just didn’t want to let an older man beat him again,” Crug added. “If he’s practiced as much with the bola, he may give Brun a good contest. Voord is a fast runner, but I thought you were going to catch him, Broud. That one was close, too, you were just a step behind him.”

  “Droog makes the best tools,” Grod gestured. The laconic man seldom volunteered comment.

  “Selecting the best and bringing them here is one thing, Grod, but it will take luck to make them well with everyone watching. That young man from Norg’s clan has skill,” Droog replied.

  “That’s one contest where you’ll have the advantage just because he is younger, Droog. He’ll be more nervous and you have more experience in competing. You’ll be able to concentrate better,” Goov encouraged.

  “But it still takes luck.”

  “They all take luck,” Crug said. “I still think old Dorv tells a better story than anyone.”

  “You’re just used to him, Crug,” Goov motioned. “That’s a hard competition to judge. Even some of the women tell a good story.”

  “But not as exciting as the hunt dances. I think I saw Norg’s clan talking about how they hunted a rhino, but they stopped when they saw me,” Crug said. “They may show that hunt.”

  Oga approached the men diffidently and signaled that their evening meal was ready. They waved her off. She hoped it wouldn’t take them too long to decide to come and eat. The longer they waited, the longer it would delay them from joining the other women who were gathering to tell stories, and she didn’t want to miss any of it. Usually it was the older women who acted out the legends and histories of the Clan with dramatic pantomime. Often the stories were intended to educate the young, but they were all entertaining: sad stories that wrung the heart, happy stories that brought joy and inspiration, and humorous stories that made their own embarrassing moments feel less ridiculous.

  Oga went back to the fireplace near the cave. “I don’t think they’re hungry, yet,” she motioned.

  “It looks like they’re coming after all,” Ovra said. “I hope they don’t linger too long over the meal.”

  “Brun’s coming, too. The leaders’ meeting must be over, but I don’t know where Mog-ur is,” Ebra added.

  “He went into the cave with the mog-urs earlier. They must be in this clan’s place of spirits. No telling when they’ll be out. Do we have to wait for him?” Uka asked.

  “I’ll set something aside for him,” Ayla said. “He always forgets to eat when he’s getting ready for ceremonies. He’s so used to eating his food cold, sometimes I think he likes it better. I don’t think he’ll mind if we don’t wait for him.”

  “Look, they’re starting already. We’re going to miss the first stories,” Ona gestured with disappointment.

  “It can’t be helped, Ona,” Aga said. “We can’t go until the men are through.”

  “We won’t miss too many, Ona,” Ika consoled. “The stories will go on all night. And tomorrow the men will show their best hunts and we’ll be allowed to watch. Won’t that be exciting?”

  “I’d rather watch the women’s stories,” Ona said.

  “Broud says our clan is going to do the mammoth hunt. He thinks we’re sure to win; Brun is going to let him lead it,” Oga gestured, her eyes glowing with pride.

  “That will be exciting, Ona. I remember when Broud became a man and led the hunt dance. I couldn’t even talk yet, or understand anyone, but it was still exciting,” Ayla motioned.

  After the meal was served, the women waited anxiously, casting longing glances at the congregation of women gathered at the far end of the clearing.

  “Ebra, go ahead and watch your stories, we have things to discuss anyway,” Brun gestured.

  The women picked up babies and herded young children toward the group seated around an old woman who had just started a new story.

  “… and the mother of Great Ice Mountain …”

  “Hurry,” Ayla motioned. “She’s telling the legend of Durc. I don’t want to miss any of it, it’s my favorite.”

  “Everyone knows that, Ayla,” Ebra said.

  The women of Brun’s clan found places to sit and were soon caught up in the tale.

  “She tells it a little differently,” Ayla motioned after a while.

  “Every clan’s version is a little different, and every storyteller has his own way, but it’s the same story. You’re just used to Dorv. He’s a man, he understands men’s parts better. A woman tells more about
the mothers, not only the mother of Great Ice Mountain, but how sad the mothers of Durc and the other young people were when they left the clan,” Uka answered.

  Ayla remembered that Uka had lost her son during the earthquake. The woman could understand a mother’s sadness at losing her son. The modified version gave the legend a new meaning to Ayla, too. For a moment her brow furrowed with concern. My son’s name is Durc; I hope that doesn’t mean I’ll lose him someday. Ayla hugged her baby. No, it can’t be. I almost lost him once, the danger is over now, isn’t it?

  A stray breeze stirred a few loose tendrils of his hair, cooling for a moment his sweat-beaded brow, as Brun carefully gauged the distance to the stump of a tree near the edge of the cleared space that fronted the cave. The rest of the tree, sheared of branches, formed part of the palisade that surrounded the cave bear. The whiff of air only teased. It brought no respite from the stifling afternoon sun glaring down on the dusty field. But the ethereal zephyr moved more than the tensely watching throng that lined the periphery.

  Brun was as still as they, standing with feet apart, his right arm hanging down at his side grasping the handle of his bola. The three heavy stone balls, wrapped in leather shrunk to fit, and attached to braided thongs of unequal length, were splayed out on the ground. Brun wanted to win this contest, not only for the sake of the competition—though that, too, was important—but because he needed to show the other leaders he hadn’t lost his competitive edge.

  Bringing Ayla to the Clan Gathering had cost him. He realized now that he, and his clan, had become too accustomed to her. She was too great an anomaly for the others to accept in so short a time. Even The Mog-ur was fighting to maintain his place, and he hadn’t been able to convince the rest of the mog-urs that she was a medicine woman of Iza’s line. They were willing to forgo the special drink made from the roots rather than allow her to make it. The loss of Iza’s status was one more support knocked out from under Brun’s crumbling position.

  If his clan came in less than first in the competitions, he was certain to lose status, and though they were in the running, the outcome was far from assured. But even winning the competition wouldn’t guarantee his clan top rank, it would only give him an even chance. There were too many other variables. The clan that hosted the Gathering always had an edge, and it was Norg’s clan that was giving his the stiffest competition. If they ran a close enough second, it might give Norg enough backing to come out on top. Norg knew it and was his most relentless opponent. Brun was holding his own by sheer force of will.

  Brun squinted as he eyed the stump. The movement, barely discernible, was enough to halt the breath of half the watchers. The next instant the still figure became a blur of motion, and the three stone balls, whirling around their center, flew toward the stump. Brun knew the moment the bola left his hand that his throw was off. The stones hit the target, then bounced away, failing to wrap around it. Brun walked over to pick up his bola while Nouz took over his place. If Nouz missed the target entirely, Brun would win. If he hit the stump, they would each have a second try. But if Nouz wrapped his bola around it, the match would be his.

  Brun stood off on the sidelines, face impassive, resisting the urge to clutch his amulet, and only sent a mental plea to his totem. Nouz had no such compunctions. He reached for the small leather pouch around his neck, closed his eyes, then sighted the post. With a sudden burst of rapid motion, he let the bola fly. Only long years of firm self-control kept Brun from letting his disappointment show when the bola wrapped around the stump and held. Nouz had won, and Brun felt his position slip even more.

  Brun stayed in his place while three hides were brought onto the field. One was lashed to the rotted stump of an old snag, a huge old tree whose jagged, broken top was a little taller than the men. Another was laid over a moss-covered fallen log of respectable proportions near the edge of the woods and held down with stones, and the third was spread out on the ground and again held in place with stones. The three formed a triangle of more or less equal sides. Each clan chose one man to compete in this contest, and they lined up in order of clan status near the hide spread on the ground. Other men, carrying sharpened spears, mostly made of yew, though birch, aspen, and willow were also used, went to the other targets.

  Two young men from among the lower-ranked clans paired up first. Each holding a spear, they waited tensely, side by side, eyes glued on Norg. At his signal, they made a dash for the upright snag and slammed their spears into it through the leather, aiming for the place where the animal’s heart would be if the hide still covered him, then grabbed a second spear from their clansmen waiting beside the target. They sprinted to the fallen log and jammed the second spear into it. By the time the third spear was snatched, one man was clearly in the lead. He ran back to the hide on the ground, thrust the spear deep, as close to the middle as he could, then raised his arms triumphantly.

  After the first heat, five men were left. Three of them lined up for the second race, this time from the highest-ranked clans. The one who came in last was given another chance against the remaining two. Then the two men who came in second were paired up, leaving a field of three for the final race—the two first-place winners and the winner of the preceding race. The finalists were Broud, Voord, and the man from Norg’s clan, Gorn.

  Of the three, Gorn had run four races to earn his place in the finals, while the other two were fairly fresh after only two. Gorn had won the first paired heat but came in third when the three highest-ranked clans raced. He ran again with the last two men and came in second, then paired off with the man who had come in second in the race where he ran third, this time beating him. By sheer guts and stamina, Gorn had made it to the finals and had won the admiration of everyone there.

  When the three men lined up for the last race, Brun stepped out on the field.

  “Norg,” he said. “I think it would make the last race more fair if we delayed it to give Gorn a chance to rest. I think the son of the mate of your second-in-command deserves it.”

  There were nods of approval, and Brun’s standing inched up, though Broud scowled. The suggestion put his own clan in a less competitive position, it took away the edge Broud might have in racing against a man already tired, but it showed Brun’s fairness, and Norg could hardly refuse. Brun had quickly weighed the alternatives. If Broud lost, his clan stood to lose their position; but if Broud won, Brun’s evident fairness would boost his prestige, and it gave the impression of confidence he didn’t altogether feel. It would make the win clean—there could be no question that Gorn might have won if he had been fresher—providing Broud won. And it was more fair.

  It was late in the afternoon before everyone gathered around the field again. Tensions held in abeyance were revived, and more. The three young men, all rested now, pranced around stretching muscles and hefting spears to find the right balance. Goov moved to the snag with two men from the other clans, and Crug went to the fallen log with two others. Broud, Gorn, and Voord lined up three abreast, fastened their eyes on Norg, and waited for his signal. The leader of the host clan lifted his arm. He dropped it quickly and the men were off.

  Voord sprang to the lead with Broud at his heels and Gorn pounding hard behind. Voord was already reaching for his second spear as Broud rammed his into the rotted snag. Gorn put on a fresh burst of speed that urged Broud forward as they raced for the fallen log, but Voord was still ahead. He jabbed his spear into the hide-covered log just as Broud pulled up, but he hit a hidden gnarl and the spear clattered to the ground. By the time he retrieved it and thrust again, both Broud and Gorn had passed him by. He grabbed for his third spear and set out after them, but for Voord, the race was lost.

  Broud and Gorn raced for the final target, legs pumping, hearts pounding. Gorn started gaining on Broud, then inched out ahead, but the sight of the broad-shouldered giant of a man making Broud eat his dust enraged him. He thought his lungs would burst as he surged forward, forcing every muscle and sinew. Gorn reached the hide spread o
n the ground an instant before Broud, but as he raised his arm, Broud darted beneath and planted his spear into the ground through the tough leather as he ran across the hide. Gorn’s spear bit through at the next heartbeat. It was a heartbeat too late.

  As Broud slowed to a stop, the hunters of Brun’s clan crowded around him. Brun watched them, his eyes glowing with pride. His heart was beating almost as fast as Broud’s. He had agonized every step of the way with the son of his mate. It was close, for a few tense moments Brun was sure he was going to lose, but he had given his all and come through. It was a crucial race, but with this win, he had more than a chance. I must be getting old, Brun thought, I lost the bola throw, but not Broud. Broud won. Maybe it’s time to turn the clan over to him. I could make him leader, announce it right here. I’ll fight for the first rank and let him go home with the honor. After that race, he deserves it. I’ll do it! I’ll tell him right now!

  Brun waited until the men were through congratulating him, then approached the young man, looking forward to Broud’s joy when he found out the great honor he was about to receive. It would be a fitting reward for the fine race he had run. It was the greatest gift he could give to the son of his mate.

  “Brun!” Broud saw the leader and spoke first. “Why did you have to delay the race? I almost lost. I could have beat him easily if you hadn’t given him time to rest. Don’t you care if our clan is first?” he motioned petulantly. “Or is it that you know you’ll be too old to be leader next Gathering? If I’m going to be the leader, the least you could do is let me start as first, like you did.”