The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  “Horses,” she said. “I’m going to stay in your valley for a while. Next spring I can start looking for the Others again. Right now, if I don’t get ready for winter, I won’t be alive next spring.” Ayla’s speech to the horses was made with only few sounds, and those were clipped and guttural. She used sound only for names or to emphasize the rich, complex, and fully comprehensive language she spoke with the graceful flowing motions of her hands. It was the only language she remembered.

  Once her decision was made, Ayla felt a sense of relief. She had dreaded the thought of leaving this pleasant valley and facing more grueling days of traveling the parched windy steppes, dreaded the thought of traveling any more at all. She raced down to the rocky beach and stooped to get her wrap and amulet. As she reached for the small leather pouch, she noticed the glitter of a small piece of ice.

  How can there be ice in the middle of summer? she wondered, picking it up. It was not cold; it had hard precise edges and smooth flat planes. She turned it this way and that, watching its facets sparkling in the sun. Then she happened to turn it at just the right angle for the prism to separate the sunlight into the full spectrum of colors, and caught her breath at the rainbow she cast on the ground. Ayla had never seen a clear quartz crystal.

  The crystal, like the flint and many of the other rocks on the beach, was an erratic—not native to the place. The gleaming stone had been torn from its birthplace by the even greater force of the element it resembled—ice—and moved by its melted form until it came to rest in the alluvial till of the glacial stream.

  Suddenly, Ayla felt a chill colder than ice crawl up her spine, and sat down, too shaky to stand thinking of the stone’s meaning. She remembered something Creb had told her long ago, when she was a little girl …

  It was winter, and old Dorv had been telling stories. She had wondered about the legend Dorv had just finished and asked Creb. It had led to an explanation of totems.

  “Totems want a place to live. They would probably desert people who wandered homeless for very long. You wouldn’t want your totem to desert you, would you?”

  Ayla reached for her amulet. “But my totem didn’t desert me even though I was alone and had no home.”

  “That was because he was testing you. He found you a home, didn’t he? The Cave Lion is a strong totem, Ayla. He chose you, and he may decide to protect you always because he chose you—but all totems are happier with a home. If you pay attention to him, he will help you. He will tell you what is best.”

  “How will I know, Creb?” Ayla asked. “I have never seen a Cave Lion spirit. How do you know when a totem is telling you something?”

  “You cannot see the spirit of your totem because he is part of you, inside you. Yet, he will tell you. Only you must learn to understand. If you have a decision to make, he will help you. He will give you a sign if you make the right choice.”

  “What kind of sign?”

  “It’s hard to say. Usually it will be something special or unusual. It may be a stone you have never seen before, or a root with a special shape that has meaning for you. You must learn to understand with your heart and mind, not your eyes and ears; then you will know. But, when the time comes and you find a sign your totem has left you, put it in your amulet. It will bring you luck.”

  Cave Lion, are you still protecting me? Is this a sign? Did I make the right decision? Are you telling me I should stay in this valley?

  Ayla held the sparkling crystal cupped in both hands and closed her eyes, trying to meditate as Creb always did; trying to listen with her heart and her mind; trying to find a way to believe that her great totem had not deserted her. She thought about the way she had been forced to leave and of the long weary days traveling, looking for her people, going north as Iza had told her. North, until …

  The cave lions! My totem sent them to tell me to turn west, to lead me to this valley. He wanted me to find it. He’s tired of traveling and wants this to be his home, too. And the cave that was home to cave lions before. It’s a place he feels comfortable. He’s still with me! He hasn’t deserted me!

  The understanding brought a relief of tension she hadn’t known was there. She smiled as she blinked back tears and worked to loosen the knots in the cord that held the small pouch closed. She poured out the contents of the small bag, then picked them up, one by one.

  The first was a chunk of red ochre. Everyone in the Clan carried a piece of the sacred red stone; it was the first thing in everyone’s amulet, given to them on the day Mog-ur revealed their totem. Totems were usually named when one was a baby, but Ayla was five when she learned hers. Creb announced it not long after Iza found her, when they accepted her into the Clan. Ayla rubbed the four scars on her leg as she looked at another object: the fossil cast of a gastropod.

  It seemed to be the shell of a sea creature, but it was stone; the first sign her totem had given her, to sanction her decision to hunt with her sling. Only predators, not food animals that would be wasted because she couldn’t return to the cave with them. But predators were more crafty, and dangerous, and learning on them had honed her skill to a fine edge. The next object Ayla picked up was her hunting talisman, a small, ochre-stained oval of mammoth ivory, given to her by Brun himself at the frightening, fascinating ceremony that made her the Woman Who Hunts. She touched the tiny scar on her throat where Creb had nicked her to draw her blood as sacrifice to the Ancient Ones.

  The next piece had very special meaning for her and nearly brought tears again. She held the three shiny nodules of iron pyrite, stuck together, tight in her fist. It was given by her totem to let her know her son would live. The last was a piece of black manganese dioxide. Mog-ur gave it to her when she was made a medicine woman, along with a piece of the spirit of every member of the Clan. Suddenly she had a thought that bothered her. Does that mean when Broud cursed me, he cursed everyone? When Iza died, Creb took back the spirits, so she wouldn’t take them with her to the spirit world. No one took them back from me.

  A sense of forboding washed over her. Ever since the Clan Gathering, where Creb had learned in some inexplicable way that she was different, she had occasionally felt this strange disorientation, as though he had changed her. She felt a tingling, a prickling, a goose-bump-raising nausea and weakness, and a deep fear of what her death might mean to the entire Clan.

  She tried to shake off the feeling. Picking up the leather pouch, she put her collection back in, then added the quartz crystal. She retied the amulet and examined the thong for signs of wear. Creb told her she would die if she ever lost it. She noticed a slight difference in weight when she put it back on.

  Sitting alone on the rocky beach, Ayla wondered what had happened before she was found. She could not recall anything of her life before, but she was so different. Too tall, too pale, her face nothing like those of the rest of the Clan. She had seen her reflection in the still pool; she was ugly. Broud had told her often enough, but everyone thought so. She was a big ugly woman; no man wanted her.

  I never wanted one of them, either, she thought. Iza said I needed a man of my own, but will a man of the Others want me any more than a man of the Clan? No one wants a big ugly woman. Maybe it’s just as well to stay here. How do I know I’d find a mate even if I did find the Others?

  4

  Jondalar crouched low and watched the herd through a screen of tall, golden-green grass, bent with the weight of unripe seed heads. The smell of horse was strong, not from the dry wind in his face carrying their hot rangy odor, but from the ripe dung he had rubbed on his body and held in his armpits to disguise his own scent if the wind shifted.

  The hot sun glistened off his sweaty bronzed back, and a tickle of perspiration ran down the sides of his face; it darkened the sun-bleached hair plastered to his forehead. A long strand had escaped from a leather tie at the nape of his neck, and the wind whipped it, annoyingly, in his face. Flies buzzed around him, landing occasionally to take a bite, and a cramp was starting in his left thigh from holding th
e tense crouch.

  They were petty irritations, hardly noticed. His attention was focused on a stallion nervously snorting and prancing, uncannily aware of impending danger to his harem. The mares were still grazing, but in their seemingly random movements, the dams had put themselves between their foals and the men.

  Thonolan, a few feet away, was crouched in the same tense position, a spear held level with his right shoulder and another in his left hand. He glanced toward his brother. Jondalar lifted his head and flicked his eyes at a dun mare. Thonolan nodded, shifted his spear minutely for better balance, and prepared to spring.

  As though a signal passed between them, the two men jumped up together and sprinted toward the herd. The stallion reared, screamed a warning, and reared again. Thonolan hurled his spear at the mare while Jondalar ran straight for the male horse, yelling and whooping, trying to spook him. The ploy worked. The stallion was not accustomed to noisy predators; four-legged hunters attacked with silent stealth. He whinnied, started toward the man, then dodged and galloped after his retreating herd.

  The two brothers pounded after them. The stallion saw the mare fall behind, and nipped her in the flanks to urge her on. The men yelled and waved their arms, but this time the stallion stood his ground, dashing between the men and the mare, holding them off while trying to nudge her on. She took a few more faltering steps, then stopped, her head hanging. Thonolan’s spear stuck out of her side, and bright scarlet rivulets stained her grayish coat and dripped from matted strands of shaggy hair.

  Jondalar moved in closer, took aim, and cast his spear. The mare jerked, stumbled, then fell, the second shaft quivering in her thick neck below the stiff brush of a mane. The stallion cantered to her, nosed her gently, then reared with a scream of defiance and raced after his herd to protect the living.

  “I’ll go get the packs,” Thonolan said as they jogged toward the fallen animal. “It’ll be easier to bring water here than carry a horse back to the river.”

  “We don’t have to dry it all. Let’s take what we want back to the river, then we won’t have to carry water here.”

  Thonolan shrugged. “Why not? I’ll get an axe to break the bones.” He headed for the river.

  Jondalar pulled his bone-handled knife out of the sheath and made a deep cut across the throat. He pulled out the spears and watched blood pool around the mare’s head.

  “When you return to the Great Earth Mother, thank Her,” he said to the dead horse. He reached into his pouch and fondled the stone figurine of the Mother in an unconscious gesture. Zelandoni is right, he thought. If Earth’s children ever forget who provides for them, we may wake up someday and find we don’t have a home. Then he gripped his knife and prepared to take his share of Doni’s provisions.

  “I saw a hyena on the way back,” Thonolan said when he returned. “Looks like we’re going to feed more than ourselves.”

  “The Mother doesn’t like waste,” Jondalar said, up to his elbows in blood. “It all goes back to Her one way or another. Here, give me a hand.”

  “It’s a risk, you know,” Jondalar said, throwing another stick on the small fire. A few sparks floated up with the smoke and disappeared into the night air. “What will we do when winter comes?”

  “It’s a long time until winter; we’re bound to meet some people before then.”

  “If we turn back now, we’ll be sure to meet people. We could make it at least as far as the Losadunai before the worst of the winter.” He turned to face his brother. “We don’t even know what winters are like on this side of the mountains. It’s more open, less protection, fewer trees for fires. Maybe we should have tried to find the Sarmunai. They might have given us some idea of what to expect, what people live this way.”

  “You can turn back if you want, Jondalar. I was going to make this Journey alone to begin with … not that I haven’t been glad for your company.”

  “I don’t know … maybe I should,” he said, turning back to stare at the fire. “I didn’t realize how long this river is. Look at her.” He waved toward the shimmering water reflecting the moonlight. “She is the Great Mother of rivers, and just as unpredictable. When we started, she was flowing east. Now it’s south, and split into so many channels, I wonder sometimes if we’re still following the right river. I guess I didn’t believe you would go all the way to the end, no matter how far, Thonolan. Besides, even if we do meet people, how do you know they’ll be friendly?”

  “That’s what a Journey is all about. Discovering new places, new people. You take your chances. Look, Big Brother, go back if you want. I mean it.”

  Jondalar stared at the fire, rhythmically slapping a stick of wood into the palm of his hand. Suddenly, he jumped up and threw the stick on the fire, stirring up another host of sparks. He walked over and looked at the cords of twined fibers strung out close to the ground between pegs, on which thin slices of meat were drying. “What do I have to go back to? For that matter, what do I have to look forward to?”

  “The next bend in the river, the next sunrise, the next woman you bed,” Thonolan said.

  “Is that all? Don’t you want something more out of life?”

  “What else is there? You’re born, you live the best you can while you’re here, and someday you go back to the Mother. After that, who knows?”

  “There ought to be more to it, some reason for living.”

  “If you ever find out, let me know,” Thonolan said, yawning. “Right now, I’m looking forward to the next sunrise, but one of us should stay up, or we ought to build more fires to keep scavengers away if we want that meat to be there in the morning.”

  “Go to bed, Thonolan. I’ll stay up; I’d lie awake anyway.”

  “Jondalar, you worry too much. Wake me when you get tired.”

  The sun was already up when Thonolan crawled out of the tent, rubbed his eyes, and stretched. “Have you been up all night? I told you to wake me.”

  “I was thinking and didn’t feel like going to bed. There’s some hot sage tea if you want some.”

  “Thanks,” Thonolan said, scooping steaming liquid into a wooden bowl. He squatted down in front of the fire, cupping the bowl in both hands. The early morning air was still cool, the grass wet with dew, and he wore only a breech-clout. He watched small birds darting and flitting around the scant brush and trees near the river, chirping noisily. A flock of cranes that nested on an island of willows in mid-channel was breakfasting on fish. “Well, did you do it?” he finally asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Find the meaning of life. Isn’t that what you were worried about when I went to bed? Though why you’d stay up all night for that, I’ll never know. Now, if there was a woman around … Do you have one of Doni’s blessed hidden in the willows …?”

  “Do you think I’d tell you if I did?” Jondalar said, grinning. Then his smile softened. “You don’t have to make bad jokes to humor me, Little Brother. I’m going with you, all the way to the end of the river, if you want. Only, what will you do then?”

  “Depends what we find there. I thought the best thing for me to do was go to bed. You’re not fit company for anyone when you get in one of those moods. I’m glad you’ve decided to come along. I’ve sort of gotten used to you, bad moods and all.”

  “I told you, someone has to keep you out of trouble.”

  “Me? Right now I could use a little trouble. It’d be better than sitting around waiting for that meat to dry.”

  “It will only be a few days, if the weather holds. But now I’m not so sure I should tell you what I saw.” Jondalar’s eyes twinkled.

  “Come on, Brother. You know you will anyway.…”

  “Thonolan, there’s a sturgeon in that river so big … But there’s no point in fishing for it. You wouldn’t want to wait around for fish to dry, too.”

  “How big?” Thonolan said, standing up and eagerly facing the river.

  “So big, I’m not sure both of us together could haul it in.”

  “No sturg
eon is that big.”

  “The one I saw was.”

  “Show me.”

  “Who do you think I am? The Great Mother? Do you think I can make a fish come and show off for you?” Thonolan looked chagrined. “I’ll show you where I saw it, though,” Jondalar said.

  The two men walked to the edge of the river and stood near a fallen tree that extended partway into the water. As though to tempt them, a large shadowy shape moved silently upstream and stopped under the tree near the river bottom, undulating slightly against the current.

  “That must be the grandmother of all fish!” Thonolan whispered.

  “But can we land it?”

  “We can try!”

  “It would feed a Cave, and more. What would we do with it?”

  “Weren’t you the one who said the Mother never lets anything go to waste? The hyenas and wolverines can have a share. Let’s get the spears,” Thonolan said, anxious to try the sport.

  “Spears won’t do it, we need gaffs.”

  “She’ll be gone if we stop to make gaffs.”

  “If we don’t, we’ll never bring her in. She’d just slip off a spear—we need something with a back hook. It wouldn’t take long to make. Look, that tree over there. If we cut off limbs just below a good sturdy branch fork—we don’t have to worry about reinforcing, we’ll only use it once,” Jondalar was punctuating his description with motions in the air, “then cut the branch off short and sharpen it, we’ve got a back hook.…”

  “But what good will it do if she’s gone before we get them made?” Thonolan interrupted.

  “I’ve seen her there twice—it seems to be a favorite resting place. She’d probably come back.”

  “But who knows how long that would take.”