The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  After he examined it, he gave her one of his rare smiles. “This is beautiful. It reminds me of the work done by Ranec’s mother. She understood weaving with grasses better than anyone I ever knew. I suppose I should save it, hang it on the wall, but I will use it instead. I will sit on this when I work. It will help me keep my purpose in mind.” His welcoming hug had none of the reticence of his verbal manner. She realized that beneath his quiet exterior Wymez was a man of friendly warmth and perceptive feeling.

  There was no special sequence or order to the gift giving, and the next person Ayla noticed, standing near the platform waiting to get her attention, was Rydag. She sat down near him, and returned his fierce hug. Then he opened his hand and held out a long round tube, the hollow leg bone of a bird, with holes cut in it. She took it from the boy, and turned it around in her hands, not sure of its purpose. He took it back, held it to his mouth, and blew. The whistle emitted a loud, piercing sound. Ayla tried it and smiled. Then she gave him a warm, waterproof wolverine hood made in the style of the Clan, but she felt a wrenching pain when he put it on. He reminded her too much of Durc.

  “I gave him a whistle like that to call me if he needs me. Sometimes he doesn’t have breath enough to yell, but enough to blow a whistle,” Nezzie explained, “but he made that one himself.”

  Deegie surprised her with the outfit she had planned to wear that evening. When she saw the look in Ayla’s eyes at the sight of it, Deegie decided to give it to her. Ayla was beyond words, and just stared at it until her eyes filled with tears. “I have never had anything to wear that was so beautiful.”

  She gave Deegie her gift then, a stack of baskets and several beautifully finished wooden bowls of various sizes, which could be used as drinking cups or for soups, or even to cook in, for her to use at her hearth after she joined with Branag. In a region where wood was relatively rare, and bone and ivory more commonly used for utensils, the bowls were a special gift. They were both delighted, and hugged with the warmth of sisters.

  To show that he did not begrudge her a decent gift, Frebec gave her a pair of knee-high fur boots, decorated and quilled near the top, and she was glad she had selected some of her best summer reindeer pelts for him. The hair of the reindeer was hollow, a minute air-filled tube, and naturally insulating. The summer hide was both the warmest and the lightest weight, the most practical and comfortable to wear during cold weather hunting of any animal’s fur, and therefore the most valuable. From the pieces she gave him, a complete outfit of tunic and trousers could be made that would be so warm only a single additional outer garment would be needed even during the coldest weather, freeing him from bulky weight. He noticed the softness of her finished skins as the others had, but he did not remark on it and his hug of welcome was stiff.

  Fralie gave her fur mittens to match the boots, and Ayla gave the pregnant woman a beautiful wooden cooking bowl, filled with a pouch of dried leaves. “I hope you like this tea, Fralie,” she said, giving her a direct stare, as though to emphasize her words. “Is good to drink cup in morning when first wake up, and maybe another at night, before sleep. If you like, I will give more when this gone.”

  Fralie nodded agreement as they embraced. Frebec looked at them suspiciously, but Ayla was only giving a gift, and he could hardly complain about Fralie’s gift from the newest member of the Lion Camp, could he? Ayla was not entirely happy with the circumstances. She would have preferred to treat Fralie directly and openly, but the subterfuge was better than not helping her at all, and Fralie refused to be put into a situation where it might seem that she was making a choice between her mother and her mate.

  Crozie came forward next and nodded approvingly at Ayla. Then she gave her a small leather bag, sewn together around the sides and gathered at the top. The pouch was dyed red, beautifully decorated with small ivory beads, and embroidered in white with downward pointing triangles. Small white crane feathers were arrayed around the circular bottom edge. Ayla admired it, but when she made no move to do so, Deegie told her to open it. Inside were cords and threads made of mammoth wool, sinew, animal fur, and plant fibers, all carefully wound into circles or around small phalanges of bone. The sewing sack also contained sharp blades and awls for cutting and piercing. Ayla was delighted. She wanted to learn the Mamutoi ways of making and decorating clothes.

  From her platform she took a small wooden bowl with a close-fitting lid and gave it to the old woman. When Crozie opened it, she looked at Ayla with a puzzled expression. It was filled with pure white marbleized softened tallow—tasteless, colorless, odorless animal fat that had been rendered in simmering water. She smelled it, and smiled, but was still puzzled.

  “I make rose water, from petals … mix with … other things,” Ayla started to explain.

  “That’s what makes it smell nice, I suppose, but what is it for?” Crozie asked.

  “Is for hands, for face, elbows, feet. Feel good. Make smooth,” Ayla said, taking a small dab and rubbing it on the back of the woman’s dry, chapped, wrinkled old hand. After it was rubbed in, Crozie touched her hand, then closed her eyes, and slowly felt the smoother skin. When the old harridan opened her eyes, Ayla thought they glistened more, though no tears were in evidence, but when the woman gave her a hard hug of welcome, Ayla felt her shaking underneath.

  Each gift exchanged made everyone anticipate the next one more, and Ayla was enjoying the giving as much as the receiving. Her gifts were as unusual to them as theirs were to her, and it was as much fun to see her gifts well received as it was to feel overwhelmed by the gifts presented to her. She had never felt so special, had never been made to feel so welcome, so wanted. If she let herself think about it, tears of joy threatened.

  Ranec was hanging back, waiting until all the other gifts were exchanged. He wanted to be last so his gift would not be confused with all the others. Among all the special and unique gifts she had received, he wanted his to be most memorable. Ayla was putting her things away on the platform that was just as full as when she began, when she saw the gift she had chosen for Ranec. She had to think for a moment before she realized she hadn’t exchanged gifts with him yet. With it in her hands, she turned around to look for him, only to find herself looking into the teeth of his teasing smile.

  “Did you forget one for me?” he said. He was standing so close she could see large black pupils and, for the first time, converging faint streaks of light within the dark brown of his eyes—his deep, liquid, compelling dark eyes. She felt a warmth emanating from him that disconcerted her.

  “No, ah … did not forget.… Here,” she said, remembering the gift was in her hands and holding it up. He glanced down and his eyes showed his pleasure at the thick, lush, winter-white pelts of arctic foxes she held out to him. The moment of hesitation gave her the chance to compose herself, and when he looked back at her, her eyes held a teasing smile. “I think you forget.”

  He grinned, as much because she was so quick to catch on and play along with his joking as because it gave him an appropriate opening to present his gift.

  “No. I did not forget. Here,” he said, and brought out the object he had been hiding behind his back. She looked at the piece of carved ivory cradled in his hands, and almost didn’t believe what she saw. And even when he relieved her of the white furs she held in her hands, she didn’t reach for it. She was almost afraid to touch it. She looked up at him with sheer wonder.

  “Ranec,” she breathed, reaching, then hesitating. He had to urge it on her, and then she held it as though it might break. “This is Whinney! Is like you take Whinney and make small,” she exclaimed, turning the exquisite, carved ivory horse, no more than three inches in length, over in her hands. A touch of color had been applied to the sculpture: yellow ochre on the coat, and ground black charcoal on the legs, the stiff mane and along the spine to the tail to match Whinney’s coloring. “Look, little ears, just right. And hooves, and tail. Even markings like her coat. Oh, Ranec, how you do it?”

  Ranec couldn’t have
been happier as he gave her a warm embrace of welcome. Her reaction was exactly what he had been hoping for, even dreaming of, and the look of love in his eyes when he watched her was so obvious, it brought tears to Nezzie’s eyes. She glanced at Jondalar and knew he saw it, too. Anguish was etched on his face. She shook her head knowingly.

  After all the gifts were exchanged, Ayla went with Deegie to the Aurochs Hearth to Change into the new outfit. Ever since Ranec had acquired the foreign shirt, Deegie had been trying to match the color. She had finally come close, and from the cream-colored leather she had made a short-sleeved V-neck tunic with a V-shaped hemline, with leggings to match, belted with finger-woven ties of bright colors similar to the colors of the designs on the shirt. The summer spent outside left Ayla’s skin deeply tanned, and her blond hair lightened, almost the color of the leather. The outfit suited her as though it had been made especially for her.

  With Deegie’s help, Ayla put back Mamut’s ivory armband, then added Talut’s red-sheathed knife, and the necklace from Nezzie, but when the young Mamutoi woman suggested that she remove the worn, dirt-stained, lumpy leather pouch from around her neck, Ayla adamantly refused.

  “Is my amulet, Deegie. Holds Spirit of Cave Lion, of Clan, of me. Little pieces, like Ranec’s carving is little Whinney. Creb told me, if I lose amulet, totem cannot find me. I will die,” Ayla tried to explain.

  Deegie thought for a moment, looking at Ayla. The whole effect was spoiled by the grubby little leather bag. Even the thong around her neck was frayed, but that gave her an idea.

  “Ayla, what do you do when it wears out? That thong looks like it will break soon,” Deegie asked.

  “I make new bag, new thong.”

  “Then, it’s not the bag that is so important, but what’s inside it, right?”

  “Yes …”

  Deegie looked around and suddenly spotted the sewing sack Crozie had given Ayla. She picked it up, emptied the contents carefully onto a platform, and held it out to her. “Is there any reason you can’t use this? We can fasten it to a string of beads—one from your hair will be fine—and you can wear it around your neck.”

  Ayla took the beautiful, decorated bag from Deegie, looked at it, then wrapped her hand around the familiar old leather pouch and felt the sense of comfort the Clan amulet gave her. But she wasn’t Clan any more. She hadn’t lost her totem. The Spirit of the Cave Lion still protected her, and the signs she had been given were still important, but she was Mamutoi now.

  When Ayla went back to the Mammoth Hearth, she was every inch a Mamutoi woman, a beautiful, well-dressed Mamutoi woman of high status and obvious value, and every eye had approving looks for the newest member of the Lion Camp. But two sets of eyes showed more than approval. Love and longing gleamed from dark laughing eyes full of eager hope no less than from the miserably unhappy eyes of an impossibly vivid shade of blue.

  Manuv, with Nuvie on his lap, smiled warmly at Ayla as she passed by on her way to put her other clothes away, and she beamed back, so full of joy and happiness she didn’t think she could contain it all. She was Ayla of the Mamutoi, and she was going to do everything she could to be completely one of them. Then she saw Jondalar talking to Danug, only from the back, but felt her elation collapse. Perhaps it was his stance, or the way he held his shoulders, but something at a subliminal level made her pause. Jondalar was not happy. But what could she do about it now?

  She hurried to get the firestones. Mamut had told her to wait until later before giving them away. Appropriate ceremony would invest the stones with proper significance, and enhance their value. She picked up the small, yellow-gray metallic-colored nodules of iron pyrite and brought them with her to the hearth. On her way, she passed behind Tulie, who was talking to Nezzie and Wymez, and overheard her speaking.

  “… but I had no idea she had so much wealth. Just look at the furs alone. The bison hide, and the white fox pelts, and this snow leopard—you don’t see many of these around …”

  Ayla smiled as her feeling of joy returned. Her gifts had been acceptable, and appreciated.

  The old man of mystery had not been idle. While she was changing, Mamut was changing, too. His face was painted with zigzag lines that accented and enhanced his tattoo, and he wore as a cape the hide of a cave lion, the same cave lion whose tail Talut sported. Mamut’s necklace was made of short hollowed-out sections of the tusk of a small mammoth interspersed with canine teeth of several different animals, including one of a cave lion that matched hers.

  “Talut is planning a hunt, so I will Search,” the shaman told her. “Join me, if you can—and want to. In any case, be prepared.”

  Ayla nodded, but her stomach churned.

  Tulie came toward the hearth and smiled at her. “I didn’t know Deegie was going to give that to you,” she said. “I’m not sure if I would have approved earlier; she worked hard on it, but I must admit it becomes you, Ayla.”

  Ayla just smiled, not sure how to respond.

  “That’s why I gave it to her, Mother,” Deegie said, approaching with her skull instrument. “I was trying to work out the process of getting finished leather to come out so light. I can always make another outfit.”

  “I’m ready,” Tornec announced as he arrived with his mammoth bone instrument.

  “Good. You can start as soon as Ayla starts handing out the stones,” Mamut said. “Where’s Talut?”

  “He’s been pouring his brew,” Tornec said, smiling, “and he’s being very generous. He said he wants this to be a suitable celebration.”

  “And it will be, too!” the big headman said. “Here Ayla, I brought you a cup. After all, you are the reason for this occasion!”

  Ayla tasted the drink, still finding the fermented flavor not entirely to her taste, but all the rest of the Mamutoi seemed to enjoy it. She decided she would learn to enjoy it, too. She wanted to be one of them, to do what they did, to like what they liked. She drank it down. Talut filled her cup again.

  “Talut will tell you when to start giving out the stones, Ayla. Strike each one and get a spark just before you give it,” Mamut instructed. She nodded, looked at the cup in her hand, then drank the contents, shaking her head at the potent beverage, and put the cup down to pick up the stones.

  “Ayla is now counted among the Lion Camp,” Talut said, as soon as everyone settled down, “but she has one more gift. For each hearth, a stone to make fire. Nezzie is the keeper of the Lion Hearth. Ayla will give the firestone to her to keep.”

  As Ayla walked toward Nezzie, she struck the iron pyrite with flint, drawing a bright spark, then she gave her the stone.

  “Who is the keeper of the Fox Hearth?” Talut continued as Deegie and Tornec began beating on the bone instruments.

  “I am. Ranec is the keeper of the Fox Hearth.”

  Ayla brought him a stone, and struck it. But when she gave it to him, he whispered, in a low, warm voice, “The fox furs are softer and more beautiful than any I have ever seen. I will keep them on my bed and think of you every night when I feel their softness against my bare skin.” He touched her face, only lightly, with the back of his hand, but she felt it as a physical shock.

  She backed away, confused, as Talut asked for the keeper of the Reindeer Hearth, and had to strike the stone twice to get a spark for Tronie. Fralie took the stone for the Crane Hearth, and by the time Tulie took hers, and she gave one to Mamut, for the Mammoth Hearth, Ayla was feeling dizzy, and more than willing to sit down near the fire where Mamut indicated.

  The drums began to have their effect. The sound was soothing and compelling at the same time. The lodge was darkened—a small fire diffused through the screen was the only light. She could hear breathing, close by, and looked to see where it was coming from. Crouched, near the fire, was a man—or was it a lion? The breathing became a low growl, almost, but not quite—to her perceptive ear—like the warning growl of a cave lion. The vocalized drumming picked up the sound, giving it resonance and depth.

  Suddenly, with a
savage snarl, the lion figure leaped, and the silhouette of a lion moved across the screen. But it almost jerked to a stop in a startled response to Ayla’s unintentional reaction. She challenged the shadow lion with a growl so realistic and so menacing it brought a gasp from most of the people watching. The silhouette recovered its lion stance and answered with the soothing growl of a lion backing down. Ayla voiced an angry snarl of victory, then began a series of “hnk, hnk, hnk” grunts that faded as though the lion were walking away.

  Mamut smiled to himself. Her lion is so perfect it would fool a lion, he thought, pleased that she had spontaneously joined him. Ayla didn’t know why she did, herself, except that after her first impromptu challenge, it was fun to talk like a lion with Mamut. She hadn’t done anything like it since Baby left her valley. The drums had picked up and enhanced the scene, but now were following the silhouette moving sinuously across the screen. She was close enough to see that it was Mamut creating the action, but even she became caught up in the effect. She wondered, though, how the normally stiff and arthritic old man could move with such ease. Then she remembered seeing him gulp something down earlier, and suspected it might have been a strong painkiller. He would probably suffer for this the next day.

  Suddenly Mamut leaped out from behind the screen and squatted by his mammoth skull drum. He beat on it rapidly for a short time, then stopped suddenly. He picked up a cup Ayla hadn’t noticed before, drank from it, then approaching her, offered it. Without even thinking about it, she took a small sip, and then another, though the taste was strong, musky, and unpleasant. Encouraged by the talking drums, she soon began to feel the effects.

  The leaping flames behind the screen gave the animals painted on it a feeling of movement. She was entranced by them, concentrated her entire attention on them, and heard only in the distance the voices of the Camp beginning to chant. A baby cried, but it seemed to come from some other world as she was drawn along by the strange flickering motion of the animals on the screen. They seemed almost alive, as the drum music filled her with pounding hooves, bawling calves, trumpeting mammoths.