The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  She smiled when he thanked her, but she seemed preoccupied, and sad. She had been abstracted all day. Mamut knew she had been upset since Jondalar moved away, and he wished he could help. He had seen Ranec talking to her earlier and he considered trying to talk to her about it, but he believed nothing happened in Ayla’s life without purpose. He was convinced the Mother had created her present difficulties for a reason, and he hesitated to interfere. Whatever trials she and the two young men were undergoing were necessary. He watched her going out to the horse annex, and was aware when she returned sometime later.

  Ayla banked the fire, walked back to her bed platform, undressed and prepared for sleep. It was an ordeal facing the night knowing Jondalar would not be sleeping beside her. She busied herself with little tasks to delay settling herself into her furs, knowing she would lie awake half the night. Finally, she picked up the wolf puppy and sat on the edge of the bed, cuddling, stroking, and talking to the warm, loving little animal, until he went to sleep in her arms. Then she put him in his basket, petting him until he settled down again. To make up for Jondalar’s absence, Ayla lavished love on the wolf.

  Mamut realized he was awake and opened his eyes. He could barely make out vague shapes in the darkness. The lodge was quiet, the night quiet that was filled only with the slight rustlings, heavy breathing, and low rumbles of sleep. He slowly turned his head toward the faint red glow of the embers in the firepit, trying to discover what had brought him out of his deep sleep to full wakefulness. He heard a strained breath nearby, and a stifled sob, and pushed his covers aside.

  “Ayla? Ayla, are you in pain?” Mamut said softly. She felt a warm hand on her arm.

  “No,” she said, her voice husky with strain. Her face was turned toward the wall.

  “You are crying.”

  “I’m sorry I woke you. I should have been more quiet.”

  “You were quiet. It wasn’t your noise that woke me, it was your need. The Mother called me to you. You are in pain. You are hurting inside, isn’t that so?”

  Ayla took a deep, painful breath, straining to repress the cry that wanted expression. “Yes,” she said. She turned to face him, and he saw tears glistening in the muted light.

  “Then cry, Ayla. You should not hold it in. You have reason to be in pain, and you have a right to cry,” Mamut said.

  “Oh, Mamut,” she cried in a great heaving sob, then still restraining the sound, but with the relief of his permission, quietly wept her heartbreak and anguish.

  “Do not hold back, Ayla. It is good for you to cry,” he said, sitting on the edge of her bed and patting her gently. “It will all turn out as it should, as it is meant to be. It’s all right, Ayla.”

  When she finally stopped, she found a piece of soft leather to wipe her face and nose, then sat up beside the old man. “I feel better, now,” she said.

  “It is always best to cry when you feel the need, but it is not over, Ayla.”

  Ayla bowed her head. “I know.” Then she turned to him and said, “But why?”

  “Someday you will know why. I believe your life is directed by powerful forces. You were picked for a special fate. It is not an easy burden you carry; look what you have already been through in your young life. But your life will not be all pain, you will have great joys. You are loved, Ayla. You draw love to you. That is given to you to help you bear the burden. You will always have love … perhaps too much …”

  “I thought Jondalar loved me …”

  “Don’t be too certain he doesn’t, but many other people love you, including this old man,” Mamut said, smiling. Ayla smiled, too. “Even a wolf and horses love you. Haven’t there been many who have loved you?”

  “You’re right. Iza loved me. She was my mother. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t born to her. When she died, she said she loved me best … Creb loved me … even though I disappointed him … hurt him.” Ayla stopped for a moment, then continued. “Uba loved me … and Durc.” She stopped again. “Do you think I’ll ever see my son again, Mamut?”

  The shaman paused before answering. “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

  “Three … no, four years. He was born in early spring. He was three years when I left. He is close to Rydag in years …” Suddenly Ayla looked at the old shaman and spoke with earnest excitement. “Mamut, Rydag is a mixed child, just like my son. If Rydag can live here, why can’t Durc? You went to the peninsula and came back, why couldn’t I go and get Durc and bring him back here? It’s not so very far.”

  Mamut frowned, considering his reply. “I can’t answer that, Ayla. Only you can, but you must think about it very carefully before you decide what is best, not only for yourself but for your son. You are Mamutoi. You have learned to speak our language, and you have learned many of our customs, but you have much to learn yet of our ways.”

  Ayla wasn’t listening to the shaman’s carefully chosen words. Her mind was already racing ahead. “If Nezzie could take in a child who can’t even speak, why not one who could speak? Durc could, if he had a language to learn. Durc could be a friend to Rydag. Durc could help him, run and get things for him. Durc is a good runner.”

  Mamut let her continue her enthusiastic recitation of Durc’s virtues until she stopped of her own accord, then he asked her, “When would you plan to go for him, Ayla?”

  “As soon as I can. This spring … No, it’s too hard to travel in spring, too much flooding. I’ll have to wait until summer.” Ayla paused. “Maybe not. This is the summer of the Clan Gathering. If I don’t get there before they leave, I’ll have to wait until they return. But, by then, Ura will be with them.…”

  “The girl who was Promised to your son?” Mamut asked.

  “Yes. In a few years they will mate. Clan children grow up sooner than the Others … than I did. Iza didn’t think I’d ever become a woman. I was so slow compared with Clan girls.… Ura could be a woman, though, and ready to have a mate, and her own hearth.” Ayla frowned. “She was a baby when I saw her, and Durc … The last time I saw Durc, he was a little boy. Soon he’ll be a man, providing for his mate, a mate who could have children. I don’t even have a mate. My son’s mate could have a child before I do.”

  “Do you know how old you are, Ayla?”

  “Not exactly, but I always count my years in late winter, about now. I don’t know why.” She frowned again. “I guess it’s time for me to add another year. That means I must be …” She closed her eyes to concentrate on the counting words. “I am eighteen years now, Mamut. I am getting old!”

  “You were eleven when your son was born?” he asked, surprised. Ayla nodded. “I have known of some girls who became women at nine or ten, but that’s very young. Latie is not yet a woman, and she is in her twelfth year.”

  “She will be soon. I can tell,” Ayla said.

  “I think you are right. But you are not so old, Ayla. Deegie is seventeen years, and she won’t be joined until this summer at the Summer Meeting.”

  “That’s right, and I promised I would be part of her Matrimonial. I can’t go to a Summer Meeting and a Clan Gathering both.” Mamut saw her pale. “I can’t go to a Clan Gathering, anyway. I’m not even sure if I could go back to the clan. I am cursed. I am dead. Even Durc might think I’m a spirit and be afraid of me. Oh, Mamut. What should I do?”

  “You must think about it all very carefully before you decide what is best,” he replied. She looked upset, and he decided to change the subject. “But you have time. It is not yet spring. The Spring Festival will be here before we know it, though. Have you thought about the root and the ceremony you spoke of? Are you willing to include that ceremony in the Spring Festival?”

  Ayla felt a chill. The idea frightened her, but Mamut would be there to help. He would know what to do, and he did seem so interested in wanting to learn about it.

  “All right, Mamut. Yes, I will do it.”

  Jondalar knew of the change in the relationship between Ayla and Ranec immediately, though he didn’t w
ant to accept it. He watched them for several days until he could no longer deny to himself that Ranec all but lived at the Mammoth Hearth, and that his presence was welcomed and enjoyed by Ayla. No matter how he tried to convince himself that it was for the best and that he had done the right thing in moving away, he could not ease the pain of losing her love or overcome the hurt of being excluded. In spite of the fact that he was the one who had withdrawn from her, and voluntarily left her bed and company, he now felt she was rejecting him.

  It didn’t take them long, Jondalar thought. He was there the next day, hanging around her, and she could hardly wait for me to leave before she welcomed him. They must have just been waiting for me to go. I should have known.…

  What are you blaming her for? You’re the one who left, Jondalar, he said to himself. She didn’t tell you to go. After the first time, she didn’t go back to him. She was right there, ready for you, and you know it.…

  So now she’s ready for him. And he’s eager. Can you blame him? Maybe it’s for the best. She’s wanted here, they’re more used to flatheads … Clan. And she’s loved.…

  Yes, she’s loved. Isn’t that what you want for her? To be accepted, and to have someone love her.…

  But I love her, he thought with a welling up of pain and anguish. O Mother! How can I stand it? She’s the only woman I’ve ever loved that way. I don’t want her to be hurt, I don’t want her to be turned out. Why her? O Doni, why did it have to be her?

  Maybe I should leave. That’s it, I’ll just leave, he thought, beyond the ability to think clearly at the moment.

  Jondalar strode toward the Lion Hearth, and interrupted Talut and Mamut, who were discussing the coming Spring Festival. “I’m leaving,” he blurted out. “What can I do to trade for some supplies?” He had a manic look of desperation.

  A knowing glance passed between the headman and the shaman. “Jondalar, my friend,” Talut said, clapping him on the shoulder, “we’ll be happy to give you any supplies you need, but you can’t leave now. Spring is coming, but look outside, a blizzard is blowing, and late-season blizzards are the worst.”

  Jondalar calmed down and realized his sudden impulse to leave was impossible. No one in his right mind would start out on a long Journey now.

  Talut felt a relaxation of tension in Jondalar’s muscles, as he kept on talking. “In spring, it will flood, and there are many rivers to cross. Besides, you can’t travel this far from your home, winter with the Mamutoi, and not hunt mammoth with the Mammoth Hunters, Jondalar. Once you return, you will never have the chance again. The first hunt will be in early summer, soon after we all get to the Summer Meeting. The best time to start traveling would be right after that. You would be doing me a great favor if you would consider staying with us at least until the first mammoth hunt. I’d like you to show that spear-thrower of yours.”

  “Yes, of course, I’ll think about it,” Jondalar said. Then he looked the big red-haired headman in the eyes. “And thanks, Talut. You’re right. I can’t leave yet.”

  Mamut was sitting cross-legged in his favorite place for meditating, the bed platform next to his that was used as storage for the extra reindeer hide bedsheets, furs, and other bedding. He wasn’t so much meditating as thinking. Since the night he had been awakened by her tears, he was much more aware of Ayla’s despair over Jondalar’s leaving. Her wretched unhappiness had left a deep impression on him. Though she managed to hide the extent of her feelings from most people, he was more conscious now of small details of her behavior that he might have missed before. Though she genuinely seemed to enjoy Ranec’s company, and laughed at his jokes, she was subdued, and the care and attention she lavished on Wolf and the horses had a quality of desolate longing.

  Mamut paid closer attention to the tall visitor and noticed the same desolation in Jondalar’s behavior. He seemed filled with tormented anxiety, though he, too, tried to hide it. After his desperate impulse to leave in the middle of a storm, the old shaman feared that Jondalar’s good judgment was becoming impaired at the thought of losing Ayla. To the old man who dealt so intimately with the spirit world of Mut and Her fates, that implied a deeper compulsion than simply young love. Perhaps the Mother had plans for him, too; plans that involved Ayla.

  Though Mamut was reluctant to step in, he wondered why the Mother had shown him that She was the force behind their mutual feelings. Though he was convinced that ultimately She would arrange circumstances to suit Her, perhaps She wanted him to help in this case.

  As he was pondering whether and how to make the Mother’s wishes known, Ranec came into the Mammoth Hearth, obviously looking for Ayla. Mamut knew she had taken the wolf pup out for a ride on Whinney and would not be back for some time. Ranec looked around, then saw the old man and approached him.

  “Do you know where Ayla is, Mamut?” he asked.

  “Yes. She is out with the animals.”

  “I wondered why I hadn’t seen her for a while.”

  “You are seeing a lot of her, lately.”

  Ranec grinned. “I hope to see a lot more of her.”

  “She did not arrive here alone, Ranec. Doesn’t Jondalar have some prior interest?”

  “He might have, when they first came, but he gave it up. He left the hearth,” Ranec said. Mamut noted a defensiveness in his tone.

  “I think there is still strong feeling between them. I don’t think the separation would be permanent if their deep attachment were given the chance to grow back, Ranec.”

  “If you are telling me to back away, Mamut, I’m sorry. It’s too late. I also have a strong feeling for Ayla.” Ranec’s voice cracked with the emotion he felt. “Mamut, I love her, I want to join with her, make a hearth with her. It’s time I settled down with a woman, and I want her children at my hearth. I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s everything I ever dreamed of. If I can convince her to agree, I want to announce our Promise at the Spring Festival, and join in the Matrimonial this summer.”

  “Are you sure that’s what you want, Ranec?” Mamut asked. He was fond of Ranec, and he knew it would please Wymez if the dark boy he brought back from his travels would find a woman and settle down. “There are many Mamutoi women who would welcome a joining with you. What will you say to that pretty young red-haired woman you have almost Promised? What is her name? Tricie?” Mamut was certain that if a blush would have shown, Ranec’s face would be red.

  “I will say … I will say I am sorry. I can’t help it. There is no one else I want but Ayla. She is Mamutoi now. She should join with a Mamutoi. I want it to be me.”

  “If it is meant to be, Ranec,” Mamut said kindly, “it will be, but remember this. The choice is not yours. It is not even hers. Ayla was chosen by the Mother for a purpose, and given many gifts. No matter what you decide, or what she decides, Mut has first claim on her. Any man who joins with her, joins also with her purpose.”

  25

  As that ancient earth tilted her icy northern face imperceptibly closer to the great shining star she circled, even the lands near the glaciers felt a kiss of gentle warmth and slowly awakened from the sleep of a deeper and colder winter. Spring stirred reluctantly at first, then, with the urgency of a season whose time was short, threw off the frozen cover in an exuberant rush that watered and quickened the soil.

  The drops trickling from branches and archways in the first unfrozen noon warmth hardened into icicles as the nights cooled. In the gradually warming days that followed, the long tapered shafts grew, then slipped their icy grip and pierced drifts of snow, shrunk to mounds of slush drained off by muddy water. The rills, runnels, and rivulets of melting snow and ice joined together into streams to carry away the accumulated moisture that had been held in cold suspension. The surging streams raced down old channels and gullies, or cut new ones into the fine loess, sometimes aided and directed by an antler shovel or an ivory scoop.

  The ice-bound river groaned and creaked in its struggle to loosen winter’s hold as the melt poured into its hidden current. The
n, with no warning, a sharp report, heard even in the lodge, followed by a second crack and then a booming rumble, announced that the ice no longer held back the flooding tide. The chunks and floes, bobbing, dipping, turning on end, caught up and swept along by the swift powerful stream, marked a turning point of the season.

  As though the cold was washed out with the tide, the people of the Camp, as confined as the river by the frigid cold, spilled out of the earthlodge. Though it was warmer only by comparison, the restrained indoor life shifted to energetic activity outside. Any excuse to go outdoors was greeted with enthusiasm, even spring cleaning.

  The people of the Lion Camp were clean, by their own standards. Though moisture in the form of ice and snow was plentiful, it took fire, and large supplies of fuel, to make water. Even so, some of the ice and snow they melted for cooking and drinking was used to wash, and they took sweatbaths periodically. Personal areas were generally well organized, tools and implements were cared for, the few clothes that were worn indoors were brushed, occasionally washed and well maintained. But by the end of winter, the stench inside the earthlodge was incredible.

  Contributing to the stink was food in various stages of preservation or decay, cooked, uncooked, and rotten; burning oils, often rancid since fresh congealed lumps of fat were usually added to old oil in the lamps; baskets used for defecation, not always dumped immediately; containers of urine saved and left standing to become ammoniacal by the decomposition of urea through bacteria; and people. Though sweatbaths were healthful and cleansed the skin, they did little to eliminate normal body odors, but that was not their purpose. Personal odor was part of a person’s identity.

  The Mamutoi were accustomed to the rich and pungent natural odors of everyday living. Their sense of smell was well developed and used, like sight or hearing, to maintain awareness of their environment. Not even the smells of the animals were thought to be unpleasant; they were natural, too. But as the season warmed, even noses accustomed to the ordinary odors of life began to notice the consequences of twenty-seven people living together in close quarters for an extended period. Spring was the time when the drapes were pulled back to air the lodge, and the accumulated debris of the entire winter was cleaned up and thrown out.