The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  Wolf was quick to pick up cues of relative rank within the Camp, as he would have been within a wolf pack, though his interpretation of status might not have matched the notions of the humans. Though Tulie was headwoman of the Lion Camp, to Wolf, Ayla was the ranking female; in a wolf pack the mother of the litter was the female leader and she seldom allowed any other females to bear young.

  No one in the Camp knew precisely what the animal thought or felt, or if he even had thoughts and feelings that could be understood by humans, but it didn’t matter. The people of the Camp judged by behavior, and from Wolf’s actions no One doubted that he loved and worshiped Ayla beyond measure. Wherever she was, he was always aware of her, and at a whistle, a snap of the fingers, a beckoning gesture, even a nod, he was at her feet, looking up with adoration in his eyes eagerly anticipating her least wish. He was totally unself-conscious in his responses, and entirely forgiving. He whined in abject despair when she scolded him, and wriggled with ecstasies of delight when she relented. He lived for her attention. His greatest joy was when she played or romped with him, but even a word or a pat was sufficient to elicit excited licking and other obvious signs of devotion.

  With no one else was Wolf quite so effusive. With most he displayed varying degrees of friendliness or acceptance, which caused some surprise that the animal could show such a range of feeling. His reaction to Ayla strengthened the Camp’s perception that she had a magical ability to control animals, and it increased her stature.

  The young wolf had a little more difficulty determining who the male leader in his human pack was. The one who held that position in the wolf pack was the object of the most solicitous attention of all the other wolves. A greeting ceremony in which the male leader was mobbed by the rest of the pack eager to lick his face, sniff his fur, and crowd in close, often ending with a wonderful communal howling ceremony, commonly affirmed his leadership. But the human pack offered no such deference to any particular male.

  Wolf did notice, however, that the two large four-legged members of his unconventional pack greeted the tall blond man with more enthusiasm than any other person, except Ayla. In addition, his scent lingered strongly around Ayla’s bed and the nearby area, which included Wolf’s basket. In the absence of other cues, Wolf leaned toward ascribing pack leadership to Jondalar. His inclination was strengthened when his friendly advances were rewarded with warm and playful attention.

  The half-dozen children who played together were his litter mates and Wolf could often be found with them, frequently at the Mammoth Hearth. Once they developed a proper respect for his sharp little teeth, and learned not to provoke a defensive snap, the children found Wolf liked to be handled, petted, and fondled. He was tolerant of unintentional excess, and seemed to know the difference between Nuvie squeezing him a bit too hard when she carried him and Brinan pulling his tail just to hear him yelp. The former was suffered with forbearance, the latter rewarded with a nip of retribution. Wolf loved to play and always managed to get in the middle of wrestling, and the children quickly learned that he loved to retrieve things that were thrown. When they all crumpled in a tired heap, falling asleep wherever they happened to be, the wolf pup was often among them.

  After the first night when she had promised never to let the wolf harm anyone, Ayla made a decision to train him with purpose and thought. Her training of Whinney, in the beginning, had been accidental. She had acted on impulse the first time she climbed on the mare’s back, and hadn’t known she was intuitively learning to control the horse the more she rode. Though she was now aware of the signals she had developed and used them consciously, her means of control were still largely intuitive, and Ayla believed that Whinney obeyed her commands because she wanted to.

  Training the cave lion had been somewhat more purposeful. By the time she found the injured cub, she knew an animal could be encouraged to follow her wishes. Her first efforts at training had been directed at controlling the lion kitten’s rambunctious affection. She trained by love, the way children were raised by the Clan. She rewarded his gentle behavior with her affection, and firmly pushed him aside, or got up and walked away when he forgot to sheath his claws or played too rough. When, out of excitement, he bounded toward her with unchecked enthusiasm, he learned to stop when she put up her hand and said “Stop!” in a firm voice. The lesson was so well learned that even when he became a full-grown male cave lion nearly as tall but heavier than Whinney, he would stop at Ayla’s command. She invariably responded with affectionate rubs and scratches, and occasionally a full-length hug rolling with him on the ground. As he grew older, he learned many things, even to hunt with her.

  Ayla soon realized that the children could benefit from some understanding of the ways of wolves. She began to tell them stories about the time she was learning to hunt and studying wolves along with other carnivorous animals. She explained that wolf packs had a female leader, and a male leader, like the Mamutoi, and told them that wolves communicated with certain postures and gestures along with vocal sounds. She showed them, on hands and knees, the stance of a leader—head up, ears perked up, tail straight out in back—and the posture of one approaching a leader—crouching down a little lower and licking the leader’s muzzle—adding the sounds with perfect mimicry. She described stay-away warnings and playful behavior. The puppy often participated.

  The children enjoyed it, and often the adults listened in with equal pleasure. Soon wolf signals were incorporated into the play of the youngsters, but none used them better, or with more understanding, than the child whose own language was spoken primarily with signs. An extraordinary relationship developed between the wolf and the boy that surprised the people of the Camp, and made Nezzie shake her head in wonder. Rydag not only used the wolf signals, including many of the sounds, but he seemed to take them a step further. To people watching, it often appeared that they were actually talking to each other, and the young animal seemed to know that the boy required particular care and attention.

  From the beginning, Wolf was less rambunctious, gentler around him, and in his puppy way, protective of him. Except for Ayla, there was no one whose company Wolf preferred more. If Ayla was busy, he looked for Rydag, and was often found sleeping near him or on his lap. Ayla wasn’t entirely sure herself how Wolf and Rydag came to understand each other so well. Rydag’s innate skill at reading subtle nuances in the wolf’s signals might explain the boy’s ability, but how could a young wolf puppy know the needs of a weak human child?

  Ayla developed modified wolf signals along with other commands to train the puppy. The first lesson, after several accidents, was to use a basket of dung and ashes as the humans did, or to go outside. It was surprisingly easy; Wolf seemed embarrassed over his messes, and cringed when Ayla scolded him about them. The next lesson was more difficult.

  Wolf loved to chew on leather, especially boots and shoes, and breaking him of the habit proved vexatious and frustrating. Whenever she caught him at it and scolded him, he was contrite, and abjectly eager to please, but he was recalcitrant and would go right back to it again, sometimes the moment she turned her back. Anyone’s footwear was in jeopardy, but most especially her favorite soft leather stockings. He couldn’t seem to leave them alone. She had to hang them up high where he could not reach them or they would have been torn to shreds. But as much as she objected to his chewing on her things, she felt far worse when he ruined someone else’s. She was responsible for bringing him to the lodge, and felt any damage he did was her fault.

  Ayla was sewing the finishing beadwork onto the white leather tunic when she heard a commotion from the Fox Hearth.

  “Hey! You! Give me that!” Ranec shouted.

  Ayla knew from the sound that Wolf had gotten into something again. She ran to see what the problem was this time and saw Ranec and Wolf in a tug-of-war over a worn boot.

  “Wolf. Drop it!” she said, dropping her hand in a quick gesture that came just short of his nose. The wolf pup let go immediately and hunched down with h
is ears slightly back and his tail down, and whined beseechingly. Ranec put his footwear on the platform.

  “I hope he didn’t ruin your boot,” Ayla said.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s an old one,” Ranec said, smiling, and added admiringly, “You do know wolves, Ayla. He does exactly what you tell him.”

  “But only while I stand here and watch him,” she said, looking down at the animal. Wolf was watching her, wriggling with expectation. “The moment I turn my back, he’ll be into something else he knows he’s not supposed to touch. He’ll drop it as soon as he sees me coming, but I don’t know how to teach him not to get into people’s things.”

  “Maybe he needs something of his own,” Ranec volunteered. Then he looked at her with his soft black glowing eyes, “Or something of yours.”

  The puppy was scooching up to her, whining for her attention. Finally, impatient, he yipped a few times. “Stay there! Be still!” she commanded, upset with him. He backed down, lay on his paws, and looked up at her, utterly crushed.

  Ranec watched, then said to Ayla, “He can’t stand it when you’re upset with him. He wants to know you love him. I think I know how he feels.”

  He moved closer and his dark eyes filled with the warmth and need that had touched her so deeply before. She felt a tingling response, and backed away, flustered. Then, to cover her agitation, she bent down and scooped up the wolf pup. Wolf excitedly licked her face, wriggling with happiness.

  “See how happy he is now that he knows you care about him?” Ranec said. “It would make me happy to know you care about me. Do you?”

  “Uh … of course, I care about you, Ranec,” Ayla stammered, feeling uncomfortable.

  He flashed a broad smile, and his eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief, and something deeper. “It would be a pleasure to show you how happy it makes me to know you care,” he said, putting an arm around her waist, and moving in closer.

  “I believe you,” she said, ducking away. “You don’t have to show me, Ranec.”

  It wasn’t the first time he had made advances. Usually they were framed as jests that allowed him to let her know how he felt, while giving her the opportunity to avoid them without either of them losing face. She started walking back, sensing a more serious confrontation and wanting to avoid it. She had a feeling he would ask her to come to his bed, and she didn’t know if she could refuse a man who commanded her to his bed, or even made a direct request. She understood it was her right, but the response to comply was so ingrained she wasn’t sure that she could.

  “Why not, Ayla?” he said, falling in step beside her. “Why won’t you let me show you? You sleep alone now. You shouldn’t sleep alone.”

  She felt a stab of remorse realizing that she did sleep alone, but tried not to show it. “I don’t sleep alone,” she said, holding up the puppy. “Wolf sleeps with me, in a basket right here, near my head.”

  “That’s not the same,” Ranec said. His tone was serious and he seemed ready to push the issue. Then he stopped and smiled. He didn’t want to rush her. He could tell she was upset. It hadn’t been that long since the separation. He tried to turn the tension aside. “He’s too small to keep you warm … but I must admit, he as appealing.” He rubbed Wolf’s head affectionately.

  Ayla smiled and put the young wolf down in the basket. He immediately jumped out and then down to the floor, sat down and scratched himself, then scampered toward his feeding dish. Ayla began to fold up the white tunic to put it away. She rubbed the soft white leather and the white ermine fur, and straightened the little tails with the black tips, feeling her stomach tighten and a lump form in her throat. Her eyes stung from tears she fought to control. No, it wasn’t the same, she thought. How could it be the same?

  “Ayla, you know how much I want you, how much I care about you,” Ranec said, standing behind her. “Don’t you?”

  “I think so,” she said, not turning, but closing her eyes.

  “I love you, Ayla. I know you feel unsettled right now, but I want you to know. I loved you the first moment I saw you. I want to share my hearth with you, to make a joining with you. I want to make you happy. I know you need time to think about it. I’m not asking you to make a decision, but tell me you’ll think about … letting me try to make you happy. Will you? Think about it?”

  Ayla looked down at the white tunic in her hands, and her mind whirled. Why doesn’t Jondalar want to sleep with me any more? Why did he stop touching me, stop sharing Pleasures with me, even when he was sleeping with me? Everything changed after I became Mamutoi. Didn’t he want me to be adopted? If he didn’t, why didn’t he say so? Maybe he did want it; he said he did. I thought he loved me. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he doesn’t love me any more. He never did ask me to join. What will I do if Jondalar leaves without me? The knot in her stomach felt as hard as a rock. Ranec cares for me, and he wants me to care about him. He is nice, and funny, he always makes me laugh … and he loves me. But I don’t love him. I wish I could love him … maybe I should try.

  “Yes, Ranec, I’ll think about it,” she said softly, but her throat tightened and ached as she spoke.

  Jondalar watched Ranec leave the Mammoth Hearth. The tall man had become a watcher, though he felt embarrassed about it. It wasn’t appropriate behavior, either in this society or his own, for adults to stare or concern themselves unduly with the ordinary activities of another person, and Jondalar had always been especially sensitive to social conventions. It bothered him to appear so callow, but he couldn’t help it. He tried to hide it, but he watched Ayla and the Mammoth Hearth constantly.

  The carver’s jaunty step and delighted smile as he returned to the Fox Hearth filled the tall visitor with dread. He knew it had to be something Ayla had said or done that caused the Mamutoi man such elation, and with his morbid imagination, he feared the worst.

  Jondalar knew Ranec had become a constant visitor since he left the Mammoth Hearth, and he berated himself for creating the opportunity. He wished he could take back his words and the whole silly argument, but he was convinced it was too late to make amends. He felt helpless but, in a way, it was a relief to have some distance between them.

  Though he didn’t admit it to himself, his actions were motivated by more than a simple desire to allow her to choose the man she wanted. He had been hurt so deeply part of him wanted to strike back; if she could reject him, he could reject her. But he also had a need to give himself a choice, to see if it was possible to get over his love for her. He sincerely wondered if it wouldn’t be better for her to stay here, where she was accepted and loved, than to return with him to his people, and he feared what his own reaction would be if his people rejected her. Would he be willing to share an outcast life with her? Would he be willing to move away, leave his people again, especially after making such a long Journey to return? Or would he reject her, too?

  If she chose someone else to love, then he’d be forced to leave her behind, and he would not be faced with such a decision. But the thought of her loving someone else filled him with such stomach-wrenching, breath-suffocating, throat-clenching, unbearable pain, he didn’t know if he could survive—or if he wanted to. The more he fought with himself not to show his love, the more possessive and jealous he became, and the more he hated himself for it.

  The turmoil of trying to sort out his powerful mixed emotions was taking its toll. He couldn’t eat or sleep, and he was looking gaunt and wasted. His clothes were beginning to hang on his tall frame. He couldn’t concentrate, not even on a beautiful new piece of flint. Sometimes he wondered if he was losing his senses, or possessed by some baneful night spirit. He was so torn with love for Ayla, grief that he was losing her, and fear of what might happen if he didn’t let her go, that he couldn’t bear to stay too close to her. He was afraid he would lose control of himself, and do something he would regret. But he couldn’t stop watching her.

  The Lion Camp was forgiving of the minor indiscretion of their visitor. They were aware of his fe
elings for Ayla in spite of his attempts to hide it. Everyone in the Camp talked about the painful predicament the three young people were in. The solution to their problem seemed so simple to those looking from the outside. Ayla and Jondalar obviously cared for each other, so why didn’t they just tell each other how they felt, and then invite Ranec to share their union? But Nezzie sensed it was not so simple. The wise, motherly woman felt that Jondalar’s love for Ayla was too strong to be held off by the lack of a few words. Something much deeper was coming between them. And she, more than anyone, understood the depth of Ranec’s love for the young woman. She did not believe that this was a situation that could be resolved with a shared union. Ayla would have to make a choice.

  As though the idea held some compelling power, ever since Ranec had asked Ayla to think about sharing his hearth, and brought up the painfully obvious fact that she now slept alone, she hadn’t been able to think about anything else. She had clung to the belief that Jondalar would forget their harsh words and return, especially since it seemed that every time she glanced toward the cooking hearth, she caught a glimpse, between the support posts and objects hanging from the ceiling in the intervening hearths, of him as he turned away. It made her think he was still interested enough to be looking in her direction. But each night that she spent alone diminished her hope.

  “Think about it …” Ranec’s words repeated themselves in Ayla’s mind, as she crushed dried burdock and sweet fern leaves for a tea for Mamut’s arthritis, thinking about the dark, smiling man and wondering if she could learn to love him. But the thought of her life without Jondalar made her stomach ache with a strange emptiness. She added fresh wintergreen and hot water to the bowl of crushed leaves, and brought it to the old man.