The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  Suddenly, like a splash of icy water, he realized what he had done. The blood drained from his face. She had saved his life, and he had drawn away from her as if she were filth! She had lavished care on him, and he had repaid her with vile disgust. He had called her child an abomination, a child she obviously loved. He was mortified by his insensitivity.

  He ran back into the cave and threw himself on the bed. Her bed. He had been sleeping on the bed of a woman from whom he had just cringed in contempt.

  “Oh, Doni!” he cried. “How could you let me do it? Why didn’t you help me? Why didn’t you stop me?”

  He buried his head under the furs. He hadn’t felt so wretched since he was young. He thought he was over that. He’d acted without thinking then, too. Would he never learn? Why hadn’t he exercised some discretion? He would be leaving soon; his leg was healed. Why couldn’t he have controlled himself until he left?

  In fact, why was he still here? Why hadn’t he thanked her and gone? There was nothing holding him. Why had he stayed and pressed her for answers to questions that were not his concern? Then he could have remembered her as the beautiful, mysterious woman who lived alone in a valley, and charmed animals, and saved his life.

  Because you could not walk away from a beautiful, mysterious woman, Jondalar, and you know it!

  Why should it bother you so much? What difference does it make that she … lived with flatheads?

  Because you wanted her. And then you thought she wasn’t good enough for you because she had … she had let …

  You idiot! You weren’t listening. She didn’t let him, he forced her! With no First Rites. And you blame her! She was telling you, opening up and reliving the hurt, and what did you do?

  You are worse than he was, Jondalar. At least she knew how he felt. He hated her, he wanted to hurt her. But you! She trusted you. She told you how she felt about you. You wanted her so much, Jondalar, and you could have had her anytime. But you were afraid to hurt your pride.

  If you’d been paying attention to her, and not worrying about yourself so much, you might have noticed she wasn’t behaving like an experienced woman. She was acting like a scared young girl. Haven’t you had enough of them to know the difference?

  But she doesn’t look like a scared young girl. No, she’s only the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. So beautiful, and so knowledgeable, and so assured, you were afraid of her. Afraid she’d turn you down. You, the great Jondalar! The man every woman wants. You can be sure she doesn’t want you anymore!

  You only thought she was assured, she doesn’t even know she’s beautiful. She really thinks she’s big and ugly. How can anyone think she’s ugly?

  She grew up with flatheads, remember? Who would imagine they’d think about the difference? But then, who would imagine they’d take in a strange little girl? Would we take in one of theirs? I wonder how old she was? She can’t have been very big—those claw scars are old. It must have been frightening, lost and alone, clawed by a cave lion.

  And healed by a flathead! How could a flathead know healing? But she learned from them, and she’s good. Good enough to make you think she was One Who Serves the Mother. You ought to give up flint knapping and become a storyteller! You didn’t want to see the truth. Now that you know, does it make a difference? Are you less alive because she learned her healing from flatheads? Is she less beautiful because … because she gave birth to an abomination? What makes her child an abomination?

  You still want her, Jondalar.

  It’s too late. She’ll never believe you again, never trust you. A new surge of shame rose up. He balled his fists and hit the furs. You idiot! You stupid, stupid, idiot! You spoiled it for yourself. Why don’t you go away?

  You can’t. You have to face her, Jondalar. You don’t have clothes, you don’t have weapons, you don’t have food, you can’t travel with nothing.

  Where are you going to get supplies? Where else? This is Ayla’s place—you have to get them from her. You’ll have to ask her, at least for some flint. With tools, you can make spears. Then you can hunt for food, and skins to make clothes, and a sleeping roll, and a backframe. It’s going to take time to get ready, and a year to get back, or more. It’s going to be lonely without Thonolan.

  Jondalar burrowed deeper into the furs. Why did Thonolan have to die? Why didn’t that lion kill me instead? Tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes. Thonolan wouldn’t have done anything so stupid. I wish I knew where that canyon was, Little Brother. I wish a zelandoni could have helped you find your way to the next world. I hate to think your bones were left for scavengers to scatter.

  He heard a clatter of hooves on the rocky path up from the beach and thought it was Ayla coming back. But it was the colt. He got up, went out on the ledge, and looked down the valley. Ayla was not in sight.

  “What’s the matter, little fellow? Did they leave you behind? It’s my fault, but they’ll be back … if only for you. Besides, Ayla lives here … alone. I wonder how long she’s been here? Alone. I wonder if I could have done it?”

  Here you are, crying over your stupidities, and look at what she’s been through. She’s not crying about it. She’s such a remarkable woman. Beautiful. Magnificent. And you’ve lost it all, Jondalar, you idiot! O Doni! I wish I could make it right.

  Jondalar was wrong: Ayla was crying, crying as she’d never cried before. It didn’t make her less strong, it only made it easier to bear. She pushed Whinney until the valley was far behind, then stopped at an oxbow meander of a stream that was a tributary of the one near her cave. The land within the loop of the oxbow flooded often, leaving alluvial silt that provided a fertile base for lusher growth. It was a place she had hunted willow grouse and ptarmigan, and an assortment of animals from marmot to giant deer, who found the enticing spot of green impossible to resist.

  She threw her leg over and slid off Whinney’s back, took a drink and washed her tear-streaked and dirty face. She felt as if she’d had a bad dream. The entire day had been a dizzying series of giddy emotional highs and oppressive lows, with each swing reaching greater peaks and dips. She didn’t think she could stand another swing, in either direction.

  The morning had started well. Jondalar had insisted on helping her pick grain, and he had amazed her with the speed at which he learned. She was sure picking grain was not a skill he had acquired before, but once she showed him, he picked quickly. It was more than the extra pair of hands that helped, though. It was the company. Whether they talked or not, having someone near made her realize how much she had missed it.

  Then there was a small disagreement. Nothing serious. She wanted to keep picking and he wanted to quit when the waterbag ran out. But when she returned from the stream and understood he wanted to try horse riding, she thought it might be a way to keep him there with her. He liked the colt, and if he liked riding he might want to stay until the colt was grown. When she offered, he had jumped at the chance.

  It had put them both in such a good mood. That’s what started the laughter. She had not laughed like that since Baby left. She loved Jondalar’s laugh—just hearing it warmed her.

  Then he touched me, she thought. No one in the Clan touches like that, at least not outside the boundary stones. Who knows what a man and his mate might do at night, under furs. Maybe they touch the way he touches. Do all the Others touch like that outside the hearth? I liked it when he touched me. Why did he run away?

  Ayla had wanted to die with shame, sure she was the ugliest woman on earth, when he relieved himself. Then, in the cave, when he said he wanted her, that he didn’t think she wanted him, she almost cried with happiness. The way he looked at her, she could feel the warmth starting inside, the wanting, drawing-in feeling. He was so angry when she told him about Broud that she was sure he liked her. Maybe the next time he was ready …

  But she would never forget the way he looked at her, like some disgusting piece of rotten flesh. He even shuddered.

  Iza and Creb are not animals! They are
people. People who took care of me and loved me. Why does he hate them? This was their land first. His kind came later … my kind. Is that what my kind are like?

  I’m glad I left Durc with the Clan. They might think he is deformed, Broud might hate him because he is my son, but my baby will not be some animal … some abomination. That was the word he said. He doesn’t have to explain it.

  Tears started again. My baby, my son … He is not deformed—he is healthy and strong. And he is not an animal, not … abomination.

  How could he change so fast? He was looking at me, with his blue eyes, he was looking.… Then he pulled away as though I would burn him, or as if I were an evil spirit whose name only mog-urs know. It was worse than a death curse. They only turned away and didn’t see me anymore. I was just dead and belonged to the next world. They didn’t look at me as if I were … abomination.

  The setting sun brought the chill of evening. Even during the hottest part of the summer, the steppes were cold at night. She shivered in her summer wrap. If I had thought to bring a tent and a fur … No, Whinney would get anxious for the colt, and she needs to nurse.

  When Ayla got up from the bank of the stream, Whinney raised her head from the lush grass, trotted to her, and flushed a pair of ptarmigan. Ayla’s reaction was almost instinctive. She pulled the sling from her waist and stooped to pick up pebbles in one motion. The birds had barely lifted off the ground before one, and then the other, plummeted back. She retrieved them, searched for the nest, and then stopped.

  Why am I looking for the eggs? Am I going to make Creb’s favorite dish for Jondalar? Why should I cook anything for him, especially Creb’s favorite? But when she spied the nest—hardly more than a depression scratched out of the hard ground containing a clutch of seven eggs—she shrugged and collected them carefully.

  She set the eggs down near the stream beside the birds, then picked long reeds growing near the water’s edge. The loosely woven basket she made took only a few moments; it would be used only to transport the eggs and then be thrown away. She used more reeds to fasten together the feathered feet of the brace of ptarmigan. The dense winter snowshoe feathers were already growing in.

  Winter. Ayla shivered. She didn’t want to think about winter, cold and bleak. But winter was never entirely out of mind. Summer was only the time to get ready for winter.

  Jondalar was going to leave! She knew it. It was silly to think he would stay with her in the valley. Why should he? Would she stay if she had people? It was going to be worse after he left … even if he did look at her like that.

  “Why did he have to come?”

  She startled herself with her voice. She wasn’t used to hearing herself talk when she was alone. “But I can talk. That much Jondalar did. At least, if I see people, I can talk to them now. And I know people live to the west. Iza was right, there must be many people, many Others.”

  She draped the ptarmigan over the mare’s back, one dangling on either side, and held the basket of eggs between her legs. I was born to the Others … Find a mate, Iza told me. I thought Jondalar was sent for me by my totem, but would one my totem sent look at me like that?

  “How could he look at me like that?” she cried with a convulsive sob. “O Cave Lion, I don’t want to be alone anymore.” Ayla slumped down, giving in to tears again. Whinney noticed the lack of direction, but it didn’t matter. She knew the way. After a while Ayla sat up. No one is making me stay here. I should have been looking before this. I can talk now …

  “… and I can tell them Whinney is not a horse to hunt,” she continued out loud after reminding herself. “I’ll get everything ready, and next spring I will leave.” She knew she would not put it off again.

  Jondalar won’t leave right away. He will need clothes and weapons. Maybe my Cave Lion sent him here to teach me. Then I must learn all I can before he goes. I will watch him, and ask him questions, no matter how he looks at me. Broud hated me all the years I lived with the Clan. I can stand it if Jondalar … if he … hates me. She closed her eyes to squeeze back tears.

  She reached for her amulet, remembering what Creb had told her long ago: When you find a sign your totem has left for you, put it in your amulet. It will bring you luck. Ayla had put them all in her amulet. Cave Lion, I’ve been alone so long, put luck in my amulet.

  The sun had fallen behind the upstream gorge wall by the time she rode down toward the stream. Darkness always followed quickly. Jondalar saw her coming and ran down to the beach. Ayla had urged Whinney to a gallop, and, as she rounded the jutting wall, she almost collided with him. The horse shied, nearly unseating the woman. Jondalar reached up a steadying hand, but when he felt bare flesh, he jerked his hand away, sure she must despise him.

  He hates me, Ayla thought. He can’t stand to touch me! She swallowed a sob and signaled Whinney forward. The horse crossed the rocky beach and clattered up the path with Ayla on her back. She dismounted at the cave entrance and dashed in, wishing she had some other place to go. She wanted to hide. She dropped the egg basket beside the hearth, scooped up an armful of furs, and carried them to the storage area. She dumped them on the ground on the other side of the drying rack, amidst unused baskets, mats, and bowls, then jumped into them and pulled them over her head.

  Ayla heard Whinney’s hooves a moment later, and then the colt. She was shaking, fighting back tears, acutely conscious of the movements of the man in the cave. She wished he would leave so at least she could cry.

  She didn’t hear his bare feet on the dirt floor as he approached, but she knew he was there and tried to stop her shaking.

  “Ayla?” he said. She didn’t answer. “Ayla, I brought you some tea.” She held herself stiff. “Ayla, you don’t have to stay back here. I’ll move. I’ll go to the other side of the fireplace.”

  He hates me! He can’t stand to be near me, she thought, stifling a sob. I wish he’d go away, I wish he’d just go away.

  “I know it doesn’t do any good, but I have to say it. I’m sorry, Ayla. I’m more sorry than I can say. You didn’t deserve what I did. You don’t have to answer me, but I have to talk to you. You have always been honest with me—it’s time for me to be straightforward with you for a change.

  “I’ve been thinking about it since you rode off. I don’t know why I did … what I did, but I want to try to explain. After that lion attacked and I woke up here, I didn’t know where I was, and I couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t talk to me. You were a mystery. Why were you here alone? I began to imagine a story about you, that you were a zelandoni testing yourself, a sacred woman answering a call to Serve the Mother. When you didn’t respond to my gross attempts to share Pleasures with you, I thought you were forgoing them as part of your testing. I thought the Clan was a strange group of zelandonii you lived with.”

  Ayla had stopped shaking and was listening, but not moving.

  “I was only thinking of myself, Ayla.” He hunkered down. “I’m not sure if you’ll believe this, but I, ahhh … I’ve been considered a … an attractive man. Most women have … wanted my attention. I had my choice. I thought you were rejecting me. I’m not used to it, and it hurt my pride, but I wouldn’t admit it. I think that’s why I made up that story about you, so I could give myself a reason why you didn’t seem to want me.

  “If I’d been paying attention, I would have known you weren’t an experienced woman rejecting me, but more like a young woman before her First Rites—unsure, and a little scared, and wanting to please. If anyone ought to recognize that, I should—I’ve had … never mind. That doesn’t matter.”

  Ayla had let the covers fall back, listening so intensely that she could hear her heart pounding in her ears.

  “All I could see was Ayla the woman. And, believe me, you don’t look like a girl. I thought you were teasing me when you talked of yourself as big and ugly. You weren’t, were you? You really think you are. Maybe to fl … the people who raised you, you were too tall, and different, but Ayla, you need to know, you are not big an
d ugly. You are beautiful. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  She had rolled over and was sitting up. “Beautiful? Me?” she said. Then with a stab of disbelief, she dove back into the furs, afraid of being hurt again. “You’re making fun of me.”

  He reached over to touch her, then hesitated and pulled his hand back. “I can’t blame you for not believing me. Not after … today. Maybe I should face up to that, and try to explain.

  “It’s hard to imagine what you have lived through, orphaned and raised by … people so different. To have a child, and have him taken from you. Made to leave the only home you knew to face a strange world, and to live here alone. That’s more testing than any holy woman would dream of putting herself through. Not many would have survived. You are not only beautiful, Ayla, you’re strong. Inside you’re strong. But you may have to be stronger.

  “You need to know how people feel about the ones you call Clan. I thought the same way—people think of them as animals …”

  “They are not animals!”

  “But I didn’t know, Ayla. Some people hate your Clan. I don’t know why. When I think about it, animals—real animals that are hunted—aren’t hated. Maybe, in their hearts, people know that flatheads—they are called that too, Ayla—are human. But they’re so different. It’s frightening, or maybe threatening. Yet, some men will force flathead women to—I can’t say share Pleasures. That is hardly the word. Maybe your way—‘relieve their needs.’ I can’t understand why, when they talk about them as animals. I don’t know if they are animals, if the spirits can mix and children are born …”

  “Are you sure it’s spirits?” she asked. He seemed so certain, she wondered if he might be right.

  “Whatever it is, you aren’t the only one, Ayla, to have a child that is a mixture of human and flathead, though people don’t talk …”