The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  Suddenly Jondalar jumped up and saw the scarlet and gold western sky through the cave openings. “It’s still daylight. I feel like going for a swim,” he said, striding quickly out of the cave. Ayla picked up her wrap and long thong and followed him. By the time she reached the beach, he was in the water. She took off her amulet, walked in a few feet, then kicked off. He was far upstream. She met him on his way back.

  “How far did you go?” she asked.

  “To the falls,” he said. “Ayla, I have never told that to anyone before. About Zolena.”

  “Do you ever see Zolena?”

  Jondalar’s explosive laugh was bitter. “Not Zolena, Zelandoni. Yes, I’ve seen her. We are good friends. I have even shared Pleasures with Zelandoni,” he said. “But she doesn’t choose just me anymore.” He started swimming downstream, fast and hard.

  Ayla frowned and shook her head, then followed him back to the beach. She slipped her amulet on and tied on her wrap as she trailed him up the path. He was standing by the fireplace looking down at barely glowing coals when she walked in. She made a last adjustment to her wrap, then picked up some wood and fed it to the fire. He was still wet and she saw him shiver. She went to get his sleeping fur.

  “The season is changing,” she said. “Evenings are cool. Here, you might get a chill.”

  He held the fur around his shoulders awkwardly. It wasn’t right for him, she thought, a fur wrap. And if he’s going to leave, he should start before the season turns. She went to her sleeping place and picked up a bundle that was beside the wall.

  “Jondalar …?”

  He shook his head to bring himself back to the present and smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes. When she started to untie the bundle, something fell out. She picked it up.

  “What is this?” she asked in tones of frightened wonder. “How did it get here?”

  “It’s a donii,” Jondalar said when he saw the piece of carved ivory.

  “A donii?”

  “I made it for you, for your First Rites. A donii should always be present at First Rites.”

  Ayla bent her head to hide a sudden rush of tears. “I don’t know what to say, I have never seen anything like this. She is beautiful. She looks real, like a person. Almost like me.”

  He lifted her chin. “I meant her to look like you, Ayla. A real carver would have done it better … no. A real carver would not have made a donii like this. I’m not sure if I should have. A donii does not usually have a face—the face of the Mother is unknowable. To put your face on that donii may have trapped your spirit there. That’s why she is yours, to keep in your possession, my gift to you.”

  “I wonder why you put your gift here,” Ayla said as she finished untying the bundle. “I made this for you.”

  He shook out the leather, and saw the garments, and his eyes brightened. “Ayla! I didn’t know you could do sewing or beadwork,” he said, examining the clothing.

  “I didn’t do the beadwork. I just made new parts for the shirt you were wearing. I took apart the other clothes so I’d know what size and shape to make the pieces, and I looked at the way they were put together so I could see how it was done. I used the sewing awl you gave me—I don’t know if I used it right, but it worked.”

  “It’s perfect!” he said, holding the shirt up to himself. He tried on the trousers and then the shirt. “I’ve been thinking about making clothes for myself that would be more appropriate for traveling. A breechclout is fine for here, but …”

  It was out. Spoken aloud. Like the evil ones Creb had talked about, whose power came only from the recognition they were given when their names were spoken aloud, Jondalar’s leaving had become a fact. No longer was it a vague thought that would someday come about—it had substance now. And it drew more weight as their thoughts concentrated on it, until an oppressive physical presence seemed to have entered the cave, and would not go away.

  Jondalar quickly took the clothes off and folded them into a pile. “Thank you, Ayla. I can’t tell you how much these mean. When it gets colder, they will be perfect, but I don’t need them yet,” he said, and he put the breechclout on.

  Ayla nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She felt a pressure in her eyes, and the ivory figurine blurred. She brought it to her breast; she loved it. It had been made with his hands. He called himself a toolmaker, but he could do so much more. His hands were skilled enough to make an image that gave her the same feeling of tenderness she had felt when he made her know what it was to be a woman.

  “Thank you,” she said, remembering the courtesy.

  He frowned. “Don’t ever lose it,” he said. “With your face on it, and maybe your spirit in it, it might not be safe if someone else found it.”

  “My amulet holds a part of my spirit and my totem’s spirit. Now this donii holds a part of my spirit and your Earth Mother’s spirit. Does that make it my amulet, too?”

  He hadn’t considered that. Was she part of the Mother now? One of Earth’s Children? Maybe he shouldn’t have tampered with forces beyond his ken. Or had he been an agent of them?

  “I don’t know, Ayla,” he answered. “But don’t lose it.”

  “Jondalar, if you thought it might be dangerous, why did you put my face on this donii?”

  He took her hands that were holding the figure. “Because I wanted to capture your spirit, Ayla. Not to keep, I meant to give it back. I wanted to give you Pleasure, and I didn’t know if I could. I didn’t know if you would understand; you were not raised to know Her. I thought putting your face on this might draw you to me.”

  “You didn’t need to put my face on a donii for that. I would have been happy if you had just wanted to relieve your needs with me, before I knew what Pleasures were.”

  He enfolded her in his arms, donii and all. “No, Ayla. You may have been ready, but I needed to understand that it was your first time, or it would not have been right.”

  She was losing herself in his eyes again. His arms tightened and she gave herself up to him, until all she knew was his arms holding her, his hungry mouth on her mouth, his body against hers, and a dizzying, demanding need. She didn’t know when he swept her up and moved her away from the fireplace.

  Her bed of furs reached up to accept her. She felt him fumble with the knot in her thong, then give up and simply raise her wrap. She opened herself to him eagerly, felt his rigid manhood search, and then find.

  Fiercely, almost desperately, he sank his shaft deeply, as though to convince himself again that she was there for him, that he did not have to hold back. She raised to meet him, taking him in, wanting as much as he.

  He drew back and plunged again, feeling the tension mount. Urged by the excitement of her total embrace, and the reckless delight of giving in entirely to the force of his passion, he rode the rising surge with furious joy. She met him at every crest, matching him thrust for thrust, arching to guide the pressure of his movement.

  But the sensations she felt went beyond the push and pull within her cleft. Each time he filled her, she was conscious only of him; her body—nerves, muscles, sinews—were filled with him. He felt the pulling in his loins building, mounting, surging—then an unbearable crescendo as the pressure broke with a shuddering eruption as he bore down to fill her one last time. She rose to meet his final frantic drive, and the explosion diffused through her body with voluptuous release.

  29

  Ayla rolled over, not quite awake, but aware of some discomfort. The lump under her would not go away until she finally woke up to reach for it. She held up the object and, in the dim red light of a fire almost out, saw the silhouette of the donii. With a flash of recognition, the day before sprang vividly to mind, and she knew the warmth lying with her in the bed was Jondalar.

  We must have fallen asleep after we made Pleasures, she thought. In a happy glow she snuggled close to him and shut her eyes. But sleep eluded her. Snatches of scenes formed patterns and textures which she sorted through with her inner sense. The hunt, and Baby�
�s return, and First Rites, and, overlaid on all, Jondalar. Her feelings about him were beyond any words she knew, but they filled her with inexpressible joy. She thought of him as she lay beside him, until it became too much to contain—then she quietly slipped out of bed, taking the ivory figurine with her.

  She walked to the mouth of the cave and saw Whinney and Racer standing together, leaning close. The mare blew a quiet nicker of recognition and the woman veered toward them.

  “Was it like that for you, Whinney?” she said in soft tones. “Did your stallion give you Pleasures? Oh, Whinney, I didn’t know it could be like that. How could it have been so terrible with Broud and so wonderful with Jondalar?”

  The young horse nuzzled in for his share of attention. She scratched and stroked, then hugged him. “No matter what Jondalar says, Whinney, I think your stallion gave you Racer. He’s even the same color, and there are not many brown horses. I suppose it could have been his spirit, but I don’t think so.

  “I wish I could have a baby. Jondalar’s baby. I can’t—what would I do after he goes?” She blanched with a feeling close to terror. “Goes! Oh, Whinney, Jondalar is going to leave!”

  She raced out of the cave and down the steep path, more by feel than sight. Her eyes were blinded by tears. She dashed across the rocky beach until she was stopped by the jutting wall, then huddled near it, sobbing. Jondalar is leaving. What will I do? How can I stand it? What can I do to make him stay? Nothing!

  She hugged herself and hunkered down, leaning into the stone barrier as if trying to fend off some ravaging blow. She would be alone again when he left. Worse than alone: without Jondalar. What will I do here without him? Maybe I should leave too, find some Others and stay with them. No, I can’t do that. They will ask where I come from, and Others hate the Clan. I will be abomination to them, unless I make words that are untrue.

  I cannot, I cannot shame Creb or Iza. They loved me, cared for me. Uba is my sister, and she is taking care of my son. The Clan is my family. When I had no one, the Clan took care of me, and now the Others don’t want me.

  And Jondalar is leaving. I will have to live here alone, all my life. I might as well be dead. Broud cursed me; he has won after all. How can I live without Jondalar?

  Ayla cried until she had no tears left, only a desolate emptiness inside. She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, and she noticed she still held the donii. She turned it around, marveling as much at the concept of making a piece of ivory into a small woman as at the figurine itself. In the moonlight, it resembled her even more. The hair carved into braids, the eyes in shadow, the nose and shape of the cheek, reminded her of her own reflection in a pool of water.

  Why had Jondalar put her face on this symbol of the Earth Mother whom the Others revered? Was her spirit captured, linked with the one he called Doni? Creb had said her spirit was held with the Cave Lion’s by her amulet, and by Ursus, the Great Cave Bear, the Clan’s totem. She had been given a piece of the spirit of each member of the Clan when she became a medicine woman, and they had not been taken back after her death curse.

  Clan and Others, totems and the Mother, all had some claim to that invisible part of her called spirit. I think my spirit must be confused, she thought—I know I am.

  A cool wind urged her back up to the cave. Moving the cold spitted roast out of the way, she built up a small fire, trying not to disturb Jondalar, and started water heating for a tea to help her relax. She couldn’t go to sleep yet. She stared at the flames while she waited, and she thought about the many times she had stared at flames to see a semblance of life. The hot tongues of light danced along the wood, leaping for the taste of a new piece, then drawing back and leaping again, until they claimed it, and devoured it.

  “Doni! It’s you! It’s you!” Jondalar cried out in his sleep. Ayla jumped up and went to him. He was tossing and thrashing, obviously dreaming. She wondered if she should wake him. Suddenly his eyes flew open, looking startled.

  “Are you all right, Jondalar?” she asked.

  “Ayla? Ayla! Is it you?”

  “Yes, it’s I.”

  His eyes closed again, and he mumbled something incoherent. He hadn’t been awake, she realized. It had been part of his dream, but he was calmer. She watched him until he relaxed, and then she went back to the fire. She let the flame die down as she sipped her tea. Finally feeling sleepy again, she removed her wrap and crawled in beside Jondalar and pulled the furs around her. The man’s sleeping warmth made her think how cold it would be when he was gone—and from her vast reservoir of emptiness, new tears emerged. She cried herself to sleep.

  Jondalar ran, panting to catch his breath, trying to reach the opening of the cave ahead. He glanced up and saw the cave lion. No, no! Thonolan! Thonolan! The cave lion was after him, crouched, then leaped. Suddenly the Mother appeared, and, with a command, she turned the lion away.

  “Doni! It’s you! It’s you!”

  The Mother turned around, and he saw Her face. The face was the doni carved to resemble Ayla. He called out to Her. “Ayla? Ayla? Is it you?”

  The carved face came to life; Her hair was a golden halo surrounded by a red glow. “Yes, it’s I.”

  The Ayla-donii grew and changed shape, became the ancient donii he had given away, the one that had been in his family for so many generations. She was ample and motherly and kept expanding until she was the size of a mountain. Then She began giving birth. All the creatures of the sea flowed out of Her deep cavern in a gush of birth water, then all the insects and birds of the air flew out in a swarm. Then the animals of the land—rabbits, deer, bison, mammoths, cave lions—and in the distance, he saw through a misty haze the vague forms of people.

  They drew near as the mists cleared, and suddenly he could see them. They were flatheads! They saw him and ran away. He called after them, and one woman turned around. She had Ayla’s face. He ran toward her, but the mists closed around her and enveloped him.

  He groped through a red fog and heard a distant roar, like a rushing waterfall. It grew louder, bore down on him. He was overwhelmed by a torrent of people emerging from the capacious womb of the Earth Mother, a huge mountainous Earth Mother with Ayla’s face.

  He pushed his way through the people, struggling to get to Her, and finally reached the great cavern, Her deep opening. He entered Her, and his manhood was probing Her warm folds until they enclosed him in their satisfying depths. He was pumping furiously, with unrestrained joy; then he saw Her face, awash with tears. Her body was shaking with sobs. He wanted to comfort Her, to tell Her not to cry, but he could not speak. He was pushed away.

  He was in the midst of a great crowd flowing out of Her womb, all wearing beaded shirts. He tried to fight his way back, but the great press of people carried him away like a log caught in the flood of birth water; a log carried by the Great Mother River with a bloody shirt clinging to it.

  He craned his neck to look back, and he saw Ayla standing in the mouth of the cavern. Her sobs echoed in his ears. Then, with resounding thunder, the cavern collapsed in a great rain of rocks. He stood alone, crying.

  Jondalar opened his eyes to darkness. Ayla’s small fire had used up the wood. In the absolute black, he wasn’t sure if he was awake. The cave wall had no definition, no familiar focus to establish his place within his surroundings. For all his eyes could tell him, he might have been suspended in a fathomless void. The vivid shapes of his dreams were more substantial. They played across his mind in remembered bits and pieces, reinforcing their dimensions in his conscious thoughts.

  By the time the night had faded enough to give bare outline to stone and cave openings, Jondalar had begun to attribute meaning to his sleeping images. He didn’t often remember his dreams, but this one had been so strong, so tangible, that it had to be a message from the Mother. What was She trying to tell him? He wished for a zelandoni to help him interpret the dream.

  As faint light penetrated the cave, he saw a tumult of blond hair framing Ayla’s sleeping face, and h
e noticed the warmth of her body. He watched her in silence as shadows lightened. He had an overwhelming desire to kiss her, but he didn’t want to waken her. He brought a long golden tress to his lips. Then, quietly, he got up. He found the tepid tea, poured himself a cup, and walked out to the stone porch of the cave.

  It was chilly in his breechclout, but he ignored the temperature, though a thought about the warm clothes Ayla had made for him passed through his mind. He watched the eastern sky lighten and the details of the valley sharpen, and he dredged up his dream again, trying to follow its tangled strands to unravel its mystery.

  Why should Doni show him that all life came from Her? He knew it; it was an accepted fact of his existence. Why should She appear in his dream giving birth to all the fish and birds and animals and …

  Flatheads! Of course! She was telling him the people of the Clan were Her Children too. Why had no one made that clear before? No one ever questioned that all life came from Her, why were those people so vilified? They were called animals as though animals were evil. What made flatheads evil?

  Because they were not animals. They were human, a different kind of human! That’s what Ayla has been saying all along. Is that why one of them had Ayla’s face?

  He could understand why her face would be on the donii he had made, the one who had stopped the lion in his dream—no one would believe what Ayla had actually done; it was more incredible than the dream. But why was her face on the ancient donii? Why should the Great Earth Mother Herself bear the likeness of Ayla?

  He knew he would never understand all of his dream, but he felt he was still missing an important part. He went over it again, and when he recalled Ayla standing in the cave that was about to collapse, he almost shouted to her to get away.

  He was staring at the horizon, his thoughts inward, feeling the same desolation and loneliness as in his dream when he had been standing alone, without her. Tears wet his face. Why did he feel such utter despair? What was he not seeing?