The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  “We don’t have a lot of stones around here to make caches with,” Talut said in his booming voice. They looked up at the red-bearded giant coming toward them. He relieved Jondalar of one of the drapes. “Deegie told me you decided to make a stew, Nezzie,” he said with an appreciative grin. “I thought I’d come and help.”

  “That man can smell food before it’s even cooking!” Nezzie chuckled, as she rummaged around in the pit below.

  Jondalar was still interested in the storage rooms. “How does the meat stay frozen like this? It’s warm inside the lodge,” Jondalar said.

  “In winter, all the ground is frozen hard as a rock, but it melts enough to dig in summer. When we build a lodge, we dig down far enough to reach the ground that is always frozen, for storage rooms. They will keep food cold even in summer, though not always frozen. In fall, as soon as the weather turns cold outside, the ground starts to freeze up. Then meat will freeze in the pits and we start storing for winter. The hide of the mammoth keeps the warm inside and the cold outside,” Talut explained. “Just like it does for the mammoth,” he added with a grin.

  “Here, Talut, take this,” Nezzie said, holding out a hard, frosty, reddish-brown chunk with a thick layer of yellowish fat on one side.

  “I will take,” Ayla offered, reaching for the meat.

  Talut reached for Nezzie’s hands, and though she was by no means a small woman, the powerful man lifted her out as though she were a child. “You’re cold. I’ll have to warm you up,” he said, then putting his arms around her, he picked her up and nuzzled her neck.

  “Stop it, Talut. Put me down!” she scolded, though her face glowed with delight. “I have work to do, this is not the right time …”

  “Tell me the right time, then I’ll put you down.”

  “We have visitors,” she remonstrated, but she put her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear.

  “That’s a promise!” the huge man roared, setting her down lightly, and patting her ample backside, while the flustered woman straightened her clothes and tried to regain her dignity.

  Jondalar grinned at Ayla, and put his arm around her waist.

  Again, Ayla thought, they are making a game, saying one thing with words, and something else with their actions. But this time, she understood the humor and the underlying strong love shared by Talut and Nezzie. Suddenly she realized they showed love without being obvious, too, as the Clan did, by saying one thing that meant something else. With the new insight, an important concept fell into place that clarified and resolved many questions that had bothered her, and helped her to understand humor better.

  “That Talut!” Nezzie said, trying to sound stern, but her pleased smile belied her tone. “If you’ve got nothing else to do, you can help get the roots, Talut.” Then to the young woman, she added, “I’ll show you where we keep them, Ayla. The Mother was bountiful this year, it was a good season and we dug up many.”

  They walked around a sleeping platform to another draped archway. “Roots and fruit are stored higher up,” Talut said to the visitors, pulling back another drape and showing them baskets heaped with knobby, brown-skinned, starchy groundnuts; small, pale yellow wild carrots; the succulent lower stems of cattails and bulrushes; and other produce stored at ground level around the edge of a deeper pit. “They last longer if they are kept cold, but freezing makes them soft. We keep hides in the storage pits, too, until someone is ready to work them, and some bones to make tools and a little ivory for Ranec. He says freezing keeps it fresher and easier to work. Extra ivory, and bones for the fires, are stored in the entrance room and in the pits outside.”

  “That reminds me, I want a knee bone of a mammoth for the stew. That always adds richness and flavor,” Nezzie said as she was filling a large basket with various vegetables. “Now where did I put those dried onion flowers?”

  “I always thought that rock walls were necessary to survive a winter, for protection from the worst of the winds and storms,” Jondalar said, his voice full of admiration. “We build shelters inside caves, against the walls, but you don’t have caves. You don’t even have many trees for wood to build shelters. You’ve done it all with mammoths!”

  “That’s why the Mammoth Hearth is sacred. We hunt other animals, but our life depends on the mammoth,” Talut said.

  “When I stayed with Brecie and the Willow Camp south of here, I didn’t see any structures like these.”

  “Do you know Brecie, too?” Talut interrupted.

  “Brecie and some people from her Camp pulled my brother and me out of quicksand.”

  “She and my sister are old friends,” Talut said, “and related, through Tulie’s first man. We grew up together. They call their summering place Willow Camp, but their home is Elk Camp. Summer dwellings are lighter, not like this. Lion Camp is a wintering place. Willow Camp often goes to Beran Sea for fish and shellfish and for salt to trade. What were you doing there?”

  “Thonolan and I were crossing the delta of the Great Mother River. She saved our lives …”

  “You should tell that story later. Everyone will want to hear about Brecie,” Talut said.

  It occurred to Jondalar that most of his stories were also about Thonolan. Whether he wanted to or not, he was going to have to talk about his brother. It wouldn’t be easy, but he would have to get used to it, if he was going to talk at all.

  They walked through the area of the Mammoth Hearth, which, except for the central passageway, was defined by mammoth bone partitions and leather drapes, as were all the hearths. Talut noticed Jondalar’s spear-thrower.

  “That was quite a demonstration you both gave,” the headman said. “That bison was stopped in its tracks.”

  “This will do much more than you saw,” Jondalar said, stopping to pick up the implement. “With it, you can throw a spear both harder and farther.”

  “Is that true? Maybe you can give us another demonstration,” Talut said.

  “I would like to, but we should go up on the steppes, to get a better feel for the range. I think you’ll be surprised,” Jondalar said, then turned to Ayla. “Why don’t you bring yours, too?”

  Outside Talut saw his sister heading toward the river, and called out to the headwoman that they were going to look at Jondalar’s new way of throwing spears. They started up the slope, and by the time they reached the open plains, most of the Camp had joined them.

  “How far can you throw a spear, Talut?” Jondalar asked when they reached a likely place for a demonstration. “Can you show me?”

  “Of course, but why?”

  “Because I want to show you that I can throw one farther,” Jondalar said.

  General laughter followed his statement. “You’d better pick someone else to pit yourself against. I know you’re a big man, and probably strong, but no one can throw a spear farther than Talut,” Barzec advised. “Why don’t you just show him, Talut? Give him a fair chance to see what he’s up against. Then he can compete in his own range. I could give him a good contest, maybe even Danug could.”

  “No,” Jondalar said, with a gleam in his eye. This was shaping up into a competition. “If Talut is your best, then only Talut will do. And I would wager that I can throw a spear farther … except I have nothing to wager. In fact. with this,” Jondalar said, holding up the narrow, flat implement shaped out of wood, “I would wager that Ayla can throw a spear farther, faster, and with better accuracy than Talut.”

  There was a buzzing of amazement among the assembled Camp in response to Jondalar’s claim. Tulie eyed Ayla and Jondalar. They were too relaxed, too confident. It should have been obvious to them that they were no match for her brother. She doubted that they’d even be a match for her. She was nearly as tall as the fair-haired man and possibly stronger, though his long reach might give him an edge. What did they know that she didn’t? She stepped forward.

  “I’ll give you something to wager,” she said. “If you win, I will give you the right to make a reasonable claim of me, and if it’s
within my power, I will grant it.”

  “And if I lose?”

  “You will grant me the same.”

  “Tulie, are you sure you want to wager a future claim?” Barzec asked his mate, with a worried frown. Such undefined terms were high stakes, invariably requiring more than usual payment. Not so much because the winner made unusually high demands, although that happened, but because the loser needed to be certain the wager was satisfied and no further claim could be made. Who knew what this stranger might ask?

  “Against a future claim? Yes,” she replied. But she did not say that she believed she could not lose either way, because if he won, if it really did what he said, they would have access to a valuable new weapon. If he lost, she’d have a claim on him. “What do you say, Jondalar?”

  Tulie was shrewd, but Jondalar was smiling. He’d wagered for future claims before; they always added flavor to the game, and interest for the spectators. He wanted to share the secret of his discovery. He wanted to see how it would be accepted, and how it would work in a communal hunt. That was the next logical step in testing his new hunting weapon. With a little experimentation and practice, anyone could do it. That was the beauty of it. But it took time to practice and learn the new technique, which would require eager enthusiasm. The wager would help to create that … and he’d have a future claim on Tulie. He had no doubt of that.

  “Agreed!” Jondalar said.

  Ayla was watching the interplay. She didn’t quite understand this wagering, except that some competition was involved, but she knew more was going on beneath the surface.

  “Let’s get some targets up here to sight on, and some markers,” Barzec said, taking charge of the competition. “Druwez, you and Danug get some long bones for posts.”

  He smiled, watching the two boys racing down the slope. Danug, so much like Talut, towered over the other boy, though he was only a year older, but at thirteen years Druwez was beginning to show a stocky, compact muscularity, similar to Barzec’s build.

  Barzec was convinced this youngster, and little Tusie, were the progeny of his spirit, just as Deegie and Tarneg were probably Darnev’s. He wasn’t sure about Brinan. Eight years since his birth, but it was still hard to tell. Mut may have chosen some other spirit, not one of the two men of the Aurochs Hearth. He resembled Tulie, and had her brother’s red hair, but Brinan had his own look. Darnev had felt the same way. Barzec felt a lump in his throat, sharply aware for a moment of his co-mate’s absence. It wasn’t the same without Darnev, Barzec thought. After two years, he still grieved as much as Tulie.

  By the time mammoth leg-bone posts—with red fox tails tied to them and baskets woven with brightly dyed grasses inverted on top—were raised to mark the throwing line, the day was beginning to take on a feeling of celebration. Starting at each post, shocks of long grass, still growing, were tied together with cord at intervals, creating a wide lane. The children were racing up and down the throwing course, stamping down the grass, and delineating the space even more. Others brought spears out, then someone got an idea to stuff an old sleeping pallet with grass and dry mammoth dung, which was then marked with figures in black charcoal to use as a movable target.

  During the preparations, which seemed to grow more elaborate of their own accord, Ayla started to put together a morning meal for Jondalar, Mamut, and herself. Soon it included all of the Lion Hearth so Nezzie could get the stew cooking. Talut volunteered his fermented drink for dinner, which made everyone feel it was a special occasion, since he usually brought out his bouza only for guests and celebrations. Then Ranec announced he would make his special dish, which surprised Ayla to learn that he cooked, and pleased everyone else. Tornec and Deegie said if they were going to have a festival, they might as well … do something. It was a word that Ayla did not understand, but which was greeted with even more enthusiasm than Ranec’s specialty.

  By the time the morning meal was over and cleaned up, the lodge was empty. Ayla was the last to leave. Letting the drape of the outer archway fall back behind her, she noticed it was midmorning. The horses had wandered a little closer, and Whinney tossed her head and snorted a greeting to the woman as she appeared. The spears had been left up on the steppes, but she had brought her sling back, and was holding it in her hand along with a pouch of round pebbles she had selected from a gravel bed near the bend in the river. She had no waist thong around her heavy parka to tuck the sling in, and no convenient fold in a wrap in which to carry the missiles. The tunic and parka she was wearing were loose-fitting.

  The whole Camp was caught up in the competition; almost everyone was already up the slope, waiting in anticipation. She started up, too, then saw Rydag waiting patiently for someone to notice him and carry him up, but the ones who usually did—Talut, Danug, and Jondalar—were already on the steppes.

  Ayla smiled at the child and went to pick him up, then got an idea. Turning around, she whistled for Whinney. The mare and the colt both galloped to her, and seemed so pleased to see her Ayla realized she hadn’t spent much time with them recently. There were so many people who took up her time. She resolved to go out for a ride every morning, at least while the weather held. Then she picked up Rydag and put him on the mare’s back to let Whinney carry him up the steep grade.

  “Hold onto her mane so you don’t fall backward,” she cautioned.

  He nodded agreement, grabbed hold of the thick, dark hair standing up on the back of the neck of the hay-colored horse, and heaved a great sigh of happiness.

  The tension in the air was palpable when Ayla reached the spear-throwing course. It made her realize that, for all the festivities, the contest had become serious business. The wager had made it more than a demonstration. She left Rydag on Whinney’s back so he would have a good view of the activities, and stood quietly beside both horses to keep them calm. They were more comfortable around these people now, but the mare sensed the tension, she knew, and Racer always sensed his dam’s moods.

  The people were milling around in anticipation, some throwing spears of their own down the well-trampled course. No special time had been predetermined for the contest to begin, yet, as though someone had given a signal, everyone seemed to know the precise moment to clear the way and quiet down. Talut and Jondalar were standing between the two posts eying the course. Tulie was beside them. Though Jondalar had originally said he would wager that even Ayla could cast a spear farther than Talut, it seemed so farfetched the comment evidently had been ignored, and she watched with avid interest from the sidelines.

  Talut’s spears were bigger and longer than any of the others, as though his powerful muscles needed something with weight and mass to hurl, but, Ayla recalled, the spears of the men of the Clan had been even heavier and bulkier if not as long. Ayla noticed other differences as well. Unlike. Clan spears, made for thrusting, these spears, along with hers and Jondalar’s, were made for throwing through the air, and were all fletched, though the Lion Camp seemed to prefer three feathers attached to the butt end of the shafts, while Jondalar used two. The spears she had made for herself while living alone in her valley had sharpened, fire-hardened points, similar to ones she had seen in the Clan. Jondalar had shaped and sharpened bone into spear points and attached them to shafts. The Mammoth Hunters seemed to prefer flint-tipped spears.

  Engrossed in her careful observation of the spears that various people were holding, she almost missed Talut’s first hurl. He had stepped back a few paces, then, with a running start, let fly with a mighty cast. The spear whizzed past the bystanders and landed with a solid thunk, its point nearly buried in the ground and the shaft vibrating from the impact. The admiring Camp left no doubt what they thought of their headman’s feat. Even Jondalar was surprised. He had suspected Talut’s throw would be long, but the big man had far exceeded his expectations. No wonder the people had doubted his claim.

  Jondalar paced the distance off to get a feel for the measure he would have to beat, then went back to the throwing line. Holding the spear-throwe
r horizontally, he laid the back end of the spear shaft in the groove that ran down the length of the device and fitted a hole carved out of the spear butt into the small protruding hook at the back end of the thrower. He put his first two fingers through the leather finger loops at the front end, which allowed him to hold the spear and the spear-thrower at a good balance point. He sighted down the field on Talut’s upright spear, then pulled back and heaved.

  As he hurled, the back end of the spear-thrower raised up, in effect, extending the length of his arm by another two feet, and adding the impetus of the extra leverage to the force of the throw. His spear whistled past the onlookers, and then to their surprise, past the upright spear of their headman, and well beyond it. It landed flat and slid a short way rather than lodging in the ground. With the device, Jondalar had doubled his own previous distance, and while he had by no means doubled Talut’s cast, he had exceeded it by a good measure.

  Suddenly, before the Camp could catch its breath, and mark the difference between the two casts, another spear came hurtling down the course. Startled, Tulie glanced back and saw Ayla at the throwing line, spear-thrower still in hand. She looked ahead in time to see the spear land. Though Ayla hadn’t quite matched Jondalar’s throw, the young woman had outdistanced Talut’s mighty heave, and the look on Tulie’s face was sheer disbelief.

  9

  “You have a future claim on me, Jondalar,” Tulie stated. “I admit I might have given you an outside chance to beat Talut, but never would I have believed the woman could. I’d like to see that … aah … what do you call it?”

  “A spear-thrower. I don’t know what else to call it. I got the idea from Ayla, when I was watching her with her sling one day. I kept thinking, if only I could throw a spear as far, and as fast, and as well as she can throw a stone with a sling. Then I started thinking about how to do it,” Jondalar said.