The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  In the silence that followed, Ayla watched Nezzie and the boy, and then remembered an incident early in her life with the Clan. Creb had been teaching her to communicate with hand signs, but there was one gesture she had learned herself. It was a signal shown often to babies, and always used by children to the women who took care of them, and she recalled how Iza had felt when she first made the signal to her.

  Ayla leaned forward and said to Rydag, “I want show you word. Word you say with hands.”

  He sat up, his eyes showing his interest, and excitement. He had understood, as he always did, every word that was said, and the talk about hand signs had caused vague stirrings within him. With everyone watching, she made a gesture, a purposeful movement with her hands. He made an attempt to copy her, frowned with puzzlement. Then, suddenly comprehension came to him from some deeply buried place, and it showed on his face. He corrected himself as Ayla smiled and nodded her head. Then he turned to Nezzie and made the gesture again. She looked at Ayla.

  “He say to you, ‘mother,’ ” Ayla explained.

  “Mother?” Nezzie said, then closed her eyes, blinking back tears, as she held close the child she had cared for since his birth. “Talut! Did you see that? Rydag just called me ‘mother.’ I never thought I’d ever see the day Rydag would call me ‘mother.’ ”

  4

  The mood of the Camp was subdued. No one knew what to say or what to think. Who were these strangers that had suddenly appeared in their midst? The man who claimed to come from someplace far to the west was easier to believe than the woman who said she had lived for three years in a valley nearby, and even more amazing, with a pack of flatheads before that. The woman’s story threatened a whole structure of comfortable beliefs, yet it was difficult to doubt her.

  Nezzie had carried Rydag to his bed, with tears in her eyes, after he had signed his first silent word. Everyone else took it as a signal that the storytellings were over and moved to their own hearths. Ayla used the opportunity to slip away. Pulling her parka, a hooded outer fur tunic, over her head, she went outside.

  Whinney recognized her and nickered softly. Feeling her way in the dark, guided by the mare’s snorting and blowing, Ayla found the horse.

  “Is everything all right, Whinney? Are you comfortable? And Racer? Probably no more than I am,” Ayla said, with thoughts as much as with the private language she used when she was with the horses. Whinney tossed her head, prancing delicately, then rested her head across the woman’s shoulder as Ayla wrapped her arms around the shaggy neck and laid her forehead against the horse who had been her only companion for so long. Racer crowded in close and all three clung together for a moment of respite from all the unfamiliar experiences of the day.

  After Ayla assured herself that the horses were fine, she walked down to the edge of the river. It felt good to be out of the lodge, away from people. She took a deep breath. The night air was cold and dry. Sparks of static crackled through her hair as she pushed back her fur-lined hood, stretched her neck and looked up.

  The new moon, avoiding the great companion that held it tethered, had turned its shining eye out upon the distant depths whose whirling lights tantalized with promises of boundless freedom, but offered only cosmic emptiness. High thin clouds cloaked the fainter stars, but only veiled the more determined with shimmering halos, and made the sooty black sky feel close and soft.

  Ayla was in a turmoil, conflicting emotions pulling at her. These were the Others she had looked for. The kind she had been born to. She would have grown up with people like them, comfortable, at home, if it hadn’t been for the earthquake. Instead she had been raised by the Clan. She knew Clan customs, but the ways of her own people were strange. Yet if it hadn’t been for the Clan, she wouldn’t have grown up at all. She couldn’t go back to them, but she didn’t feel that she belonged here, either.

  These people were so noisy, and disorderly. Iza would have said they had no manners. Like that Frebec man, speaking out of turn, without asking permission, and then everyone yelling and talking at once. She thought Talut was a leader, but even he had to shout to make himself heard. Brun would never have had to shout. The only time she ever heard him shout was to warn someone of impending danger. Everyone in the clan kept the leader at a certain level of awareness; Brun had only to signal, and within heartbeats, he would have had everyone’s attention.

  She didn’t like the way these people talked about the Clan, either, calling them flatheads and animals. Couldn’t anyone see they were people, too? A little different, maybe, but people just the same. Nezzie knew it. In spite of what the rest said, she knew Rydag’s mother was a woman, and the child to whom she gave birth only a baby. He’s mixed, though, like my son, Ayla thought, and like Oda’s little girl at the Clan Gathering. How could Rydag’s mother have had a child of mixed spirits like that?

  Spirits! Is it really spirits that makes babies? Does a man’s totem spirit overcome a woman’s and make a baby grow inside her, the way the Clan thinks? Does the Great Mother choose and combine the spirits of a man and a woman and then put them inside a woman, the way Jondalar and these people believe?

  Why am I the only one who thinks it’s a man, not a spirit, that starts a baby growing inside a woman? A man, who does it with his organ … his manhood, Jondalar calls it. Why else would men and women come together like they do?

  When Iza told me about the medicine, she said that it strengthened her totem and that’s what kept her from having a baby for so many years. Maybe it did, but I didn’t take it when I was living alone and no babies got started by themselves. It was only after Jondalar came that I even thought about looking for that golden thread plant and the antelope sage root again.…

  After Jondalar showed me it didn’t have to hurt … after he showed me how wonderful it could be for a man and woman together …

  I wonder what would happen if I stopped taking Iza’s secret medicine? Would I have a baby? Would I have Jondalar’s baby? If he put his manhood there, where babies come from?

  The thought brought a flush of warmth to her face, and a tingling to her nipples. It’s too late today, she thought, I already took the medicine this morning, but what if I just made an ordinary tea tomorrow? Could I start Jondalar’s baby growing? We wouldn’t have to wait, though. We could try tonight.…

  She smiled to herself. You just want him to touch you, and put his mouth on your mouth, and on … She shivered with anticipation, closing her eyes to let her body remember how he could make it feel.

  “Ayla?” a voice barked.

  She jumped at the sound. She hadn’t heard Jondalar coming, and the tone he used wasn’t in keeping with the way she was feeling. It dispelled the warmth. Something was bothering him. Something had been bothering him since they arrived; she wished she could discover what it was.

  “Yes.”

  “What are you doing out here?” he snapped.

  What had she been doing? “I am feeling the night, and breathing, and thinking about you,” she answered, explaining as fully as she could.

  It wasn’t the answer Jondalar expected, though he wasn’t sure what answer he did expect. He had been fighting down a hard knot of anger and anxiety that had made his stomach churn ever since the dark-skinned man appeared. Ayla seemed to find him so interesting, and Ranec was always looking at her. Jondalar had tried to swallow his anger and convince himself it was silly to think there was anything more to it. She needed other friends. Just because he was the first didn’t mean he was the only man she would ever want to know.

  Yet when Ayla asked Ranec about his background, Jondalar felt himself flush with hot rage and shudder with cold terror at the same time. Why did she want to know more about this fascinating stranger if she wasn’t interested? The tall man resisted an urge to snatch her away, and was bothered because he had such a feeling. She had the right to choose her friends, and they were only friends. They had only talked and looked at each other.

  When she went outside alone, Jondalar, seeing
Ranec’s dark eyes follow her, quickly put on his parka and went out after her. He saw her standing by the river, and for some reason he couldn’t explain, felt sure she was thinking about Ranec. Her answer first caught him by surprise, then he relaxed, and smiled.

  “I should have known, if I asked, I’d get a complete and honest answer. Breathing, and feeling the night—you’re wonderful, Ayla.”

  She smiled back. She wasn’t sure what she had done, but something had made him smile and put the happiness back in his voice. The warmth she had been feeling returned, and she moved toward him. Even in the dark of night, with barely enough starlight to show a face, Jondalar sensed her mood from the way she moved, and responded in kind. The next moment she was in his arms, with his mouth on hers, and all her doubts and worries fled from her mind. She would go anywhere, live with any people, learn any strange customs, so long as she had Jondalar.

  After a moment she looked up at him. “Do you remember when I asked you what your signal was? How I should tell you when I wanted you to touch me, and wanted your manhood in me?”

  “Yes, I remember,” he said, smiling wryly.

  “You said to kiss, or just ask. I am asking. Can you make your manhood ready?”

  She was so serious, and so ingenuous, and so appealing. He bent his head to kiss her again, and held her so close she could almost see the blue of his eyes, and the love in them. “Ayla, my funny, beautiful woman,” he said. “Do you know how much I love you?”

  But as he held her, he felt a flush of guilt. If he loved her so much, why did he feel so embarrassed about the things she did? When that Frebec man backed away from her in disgust, he’d wanted to die of shame that he had brought her, that he could be associated with her. A moment later, he’d hated himself for it. He loved her. How could he be ashamed of the woman he loved?

  That dark man, Ranec, wasn’t ashamed. The way he looked at her, with his white gleaming teeth and his dark flashing eyes, laughing, coaxing, teasing; when Jondalar thought of it, he had to fight an impulse to strike out at him. Every time he thought of it, he had to fight the urge again. He loved her so much he couldn’t bear the thought that she might want someone else, maybe someone who wasn’t embarrassed by her. He loved her more than he ever thought it was possible to love anyone. But how could he be ashamed of the woman he loved?

  Jondalar kissed her again, harder, holding her so tight it hurt, then with an almost frenzied ardor, he kissed her throat and neck. “Do you know what it feels like to know, finally, that you can fall in love? Ayla, can’t you feel how much I love you?”

  He was so earnest, so fervent, she felt a pang of fear, not for herself, but for him. She loved him, more than she could ever find words for, but this love he felt for her was not quite the same. It wasn’t so much stronger, as more demanding, more insistent. As though he feared he would lose that which he had finally won. Totems, especially strong totems, had a way of knowing, and testing, just such fears. She wanted to find a way to deflect his outpouring of powerful emotion.

  “I can feel how ready you are,” she said, with a little grin.

  But he didn’t respond with a lighter mood, as she had hoped. Instead he kissed her fiercely, crushing her until she thought her ribs would crack. Then he was fumbling inside her parka, under her tunic, reaching for her breasts, trying to untie the drawstring of her trousers.

  She had never known him like this, needing, craving, imploring in his urgency. His way was usually more tender, more considerate of her needs. He knew her body better than she did, and he enjoyed his knowledge and skill. But this time his needs were stronger. Knowing the moment for what it was, she gave herself up to him, and lost herself in the powerful expression of his love. She was as ready for him as he was for her. She undid the drawstring and let her legged garment drop, then helped him with his.

  Before she knew it, she was on the hard ground near the bank of the river. She caught a glimpse of faintly hazy stars before closing her eyes. He was on her, his mouth hard on hers, his tongue prodding, searching, as though he could find with it what he sought so eagerly with his warm and rigid member. She opened to him, her mouth and her thighs, then reached for him and guided him into her moist, inviting depths. She gasped as he entered, and heard an almost strangled moan, then felt his shaft sink in to fill her, as she strained to him.

  Even in his frenzy, he marveled at the wonder of her, at how suited they were, that her depths matched his size. He felt her warm folds embrace him fully, and almost, at that first instant, reached his peak. For a moment, he struggled to hold back, to exercise the control he was so accustomed to, then he let go. He plunged in, and again, and once more, and then with an inexpressible shudder, he felt a rising peak of wonder, and cried out her name.

  “Ayla! Oh, my Ayla, my Ayla. I love you!”

  “Jondalar, Jondalar, Jondalar …”

  He finished a last few motions, then with a groan, buried his face in her neck and held her as he lay still, spent. She felt a stone jabbing her back, but she ignored it.

  After a while he raised himself and looked down at her, his forehead furrowed with concern. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “It was too fast, and I didn’t make you ready, didn’t give you Pleasures, too.”

  “I was ready, Jondalar, I had Pleasure. Did I not ask you? I have Pleasure in your Pleasure. I have Pleasure in your love, in your strong feeling for me.”

  “But you did not feel the moment as I did.”

  “I did not need it. I had different feeling, different Pleasure. Is it always necessary?” she asked.

  “No, I suppose not,” he said, frowning. Then he kissed her and lingered over it. “And this night is not over yet. Come, get up. It’s cold out here. Let’s go find a warm bed. Deegie and Branag have already pulled their drapes closed. They will be separated until next summer and are eager.”

  Ayla smiled. “But not as eager as you were.” She couldn’t see it, but she thought he blushed. “I love you, Jondalar. Everything. All you do. Even your eager …” She shook her head. “No, that’s not right, that’s the wrong word.”

  “The word you want is ‘eagerness,’ I think.”

  “I love even your eagerness. Yes, that’s right. At least I know your words better than Mamutoi.” She paused. “Frebec said I didn’t speak right. Jondalar, will I ever learn to speak right?”

  “I don’t speak Mamutoi quite right, either. It’s not the language I grew up with. Frebec just likes to make trouble,” Jondalar said, helping her up. “Why does every Cave, every Camp, every group have to have a troublemaker? Don’t pay any attention to him, no one else does. You speak very well. I’m amazed at the way you pick up languages. You’ll be speaking Mamutoi better than I do before long.”

  “I have to learn how to speak with words. I have nothing else now,” she said softly. “I don’t know anyone who speaks the language I grew up with, any more.” She closed her eyes for a moment as a feeling of bleak emptiness came over her.

  She shook it off and started to put her legged garments back on, and then stopped. “Wait,” she said, taking them off again. “Long ago, when I first became a woman, Iza told me everything a woman of the Clan needed to know about men and women, even though she doubted that I’d ever find a mate and would need to know it. The Others may not believe the same way, even the signals between men and women are not the same, but the first night I sleep in a place of the Others, I think I should make a cleansing after our Pleasures.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m going to wash in the river.”

  “Ayla! It’s cold. It’s dark. It could be dangerous.”

  “I won’t go far. Just here at the edge,” she said, throwing down her parka and pulling her inner tunic up over her head.

  The water was cold. Jondalar watched from the bank, and got himself just wet enough to know how cold it was. Her feeling for the ceremony of the occasion made him think of the purifying rituals of Fir
st Rites, and he decided a little cleansing wouldn’t hurt him either. She was shivering when she got out. He held her in his arms to warm her. The shaggy bison fur of his parka dried her, then he helped her get into her tunic and parka.

  She felt alive, and tingly, and fresh as they walked back to the earthlodge. Most people were settling down for the night when they entered. Fires were banked low, and voices were softened. The first hearth was empty, though the mammoth roast was still in evidence. As they moved quietly along the passageway through the Lion Hearth, Nezzie got up and detained them.

  “I just wanted to thank you, Ayla,” she said, glancing at one of the beds along the wall. Ayla followed her eyes and saw three small forms sprawled out on one large bed. Latie and Rugie shared it with Rydag. Danug, sprawled out in sleep, took up another bed, and Talut, stretched to his full length propped up on an elbow waiting for Nezzie, smiled at her from a third. She nodded and smiled back, not sure what the proper response was.

  They moved to the next hearth as Nezzie crawled in beside the red-haired giant, and tried to pass through silently, so as not to disturb anyone: Ayla felt someone watching her and looked toward the wall. Two shining eyes and a smile were observing them from the dark recess. She sensed Jondalar’s shoulders stiffen and looked quickly away. She thought she heard a soft chuckle, then thought it must have been the snores coming from the bed along the opposite wall.

  At the large fourth hearth, one of the beds was hung with a heavy leather drape, closing the space off from the passageway, though sounds and movement could be detected within. Ayla noticed that most of the other sleeping places in the longhouse had similar drapes tied up to mammoth bone rafters above or to posts alongside, though not all of them were closed. Mamut’s bed on the side wall opposite theirs was open. He was in it, but she knew he wasn’t asleep.