The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  “He gave me one like Latie’s,” Ayla said. “I thought of it as both a woman and a bird, depending upon how you look at it.” Ayla took Latie’s muta and showed it from different angles and perspectives. “He said he wanted it to represent the Mother in Her spiritual form.”

  “Yes, I can see it, now that you showed me,” Deegie said. She gave the little figure back to Latie, who cradled it carefully in her hands.

  “I like it. It’s not like everyone else’s, and it means something special,” Latie said, glad that Ranec gave her a muta that was unique. Even though he had never lived at the Lion Hearth, Ranec was her brother, too, but he was so much older than Danug that he felt more like an uncle than a brother. She didn’t always understand him, but she looked up to him, and knew that he was esteemed by all the Mamutoi as a carver. She would have been happy with any muta made by him, but she was pleased that he had chosen to give her one like Ayla’s. He would only give a carving that he considered his best to Ayla.

  The ceremony for the naming of Fralie’s baby had already begun, and the three young women turned their attention to it. Ayla recognized the ivory plaque incised with cut marks that Talut was holding up, and felt a moment of concern, remembering her adoption. But the ceremony was obviously one that was quite common. Mamut must know what to do. As she watched Fralie present her infant to the shaman and the headman of the Lion Camp, Ayla suddenly remembered another naming ceremony. It had been spring then, she recalled, only she had been the mother, and she had presented her baby fearfully, expecting the worst.

  She heard Mamut say, “What name have you chosen for this child?” And she heard Fralie reply, “She is to be called Bectie.” But in her mind, Ayla heard Creb say, “Durc. The boy’s name is Durc.”

  Tears were in her eyes as she felt again her gratitude, and her relief, when Brun excepted her son, and Creb named him. She looked up and noticed Rydag, who was sitting in the midst of several children with Wolf on his lap, watching her, with the same large, brown, ancient eyes that reminded her so much of Durc. She felt a sudden longing to see her son again, but then was struck with a realization. Durc was mixed, like Rydag, but he had been born to the Clan, named and accepted by the Clan, raised by the Clan. Her son was Clan, and she was dead to the Clan. She shuddered, and tried to dispel the thoughts.

  The sound of an infant’s shocked howl snapped Ayla’s attention back to the ceremony. The baby’s arm had been nicked with a sharp knife, and a mark cut into the ivory plaque. Bectie had been named and numbered among the Mamutoi. Mamut was pouring the stinging solution on the small cut, making the tiny baby who had never known any pain voice her displeasure even louder, but the angry insistent squall of the infant brought a smile to Ayla’s face. In spite of her early birth, Bectie had grown strong. She was healthy enough to cry. Fralie held Bectie out for all to see, then cuddling the infant, she sang a song of comfort and joy in a high, sweet voice, which quieted the baby. When she was through, she went back to her place near Frebec and Crozie. Within a few moments, Bectie began to cry again, but the baby’s cries ceased with a suddenness that announced she had been offered the best of comforts.

  Deegie nudged her, and Ayla realized the time had come. It was her turn. She was being beckoned forward. For a moment, she couldn’t move. Then she wanted to run away, but there was no place to go. She didn’t want to make this Promise to Ranec, she wanted Jondalar, wanted to beg him not to leave without her, but when she looked up and saw Ranec’s eager, happy, smiling face, she took a deep breath, then stood up. Jondalar didn’t want her, and she had told Ranec she would Promise. Reluctantly, Ayla walked toward the co-leaders of the Camp.

  The dark man watched her coming toward him, out of the shadows and into the light of the central fire, and his breath caught in his throat. She was wearing the pale leather outfit Deegie had given her, the one that was so perfect for her, but her hair was not up in braids or buns, or one of the complex styles that incorporated beads or ornaments usually worn by the Mamutoi women. In deference to the Clan root ceremony, she had let her hair hang loose, and the thick, shining waves that fell below her shoulders gleamed in the firelight, and framed her unique, finely sculptured face with a golden halo. At that moment, Ranec was convinced she was the Mother incarnate, born into the body of the perfect Spirit Woman. He wanted her for his woman so much, it was almost a pain, an ache of yearning, and he could hardly believe this night was true.

  Ranec was not alone in being awed by her beauty. As she stepped into the light of the fire, the whole Camp was caught by surprise. The Mamutoi clothing, richly elegant, and the glorious natural beauty of her hair, made a stunning combination, enhanced by the dramatic lighting. Talut thought of the value she would add to the Lion Camp, and Tulie was determined to set a very high Bride Price, even if she had to contribute half of it herself, for the status it would bestow on all of them. Mamut, already convinced that she was destined to Serve the Mother in some important way, took note of her instinctive sense of timing, and natural flair for the dramatic, and knew that someday she would be a force to be reckoned with.

  But no one felt the impact of her presence more than Jondalar. He was as dazzled by her beauty as Ranec, but Jondalar’s mother had been a leader, and then his brother after her; Dalanar had founded and was the leader of a new group, and Zolena had reached the highest rank of the zelandonia. He had grown up among the natural leaders of his own people, and he sensed the qualities that were noticed by the Lion Camp’s co-leaders and shaman. As though someone had kicked him in the stomach and knocked the wind out of him, he suddenly understood what he had lost.

  As soon as Ayla reached Ranec’s side, Tulie began.

  “Ranec of the Mamutoi, son of the Fox Hearth of the Lion Camp, you have asked Ayla of the Mamutoi, daughter of the Mammoth Hearth of the Lion Camp, and protected by the Spirit of the Cave Lion, to join together to form a union and establish a hearth. Is this true, Ranec?”

  “Yes, it is true,” he answered, then turned to Ayla with a smile of absolute joy.

  Talut then addressed Ayla. “Ayla of the Mamutoi, daughter of the Mammoth Hearth of the Lion Camp, and protected by the Spirit of the Cave Lion, do you agree to this union with Ranec of the Mamutoi, son of the Fox Hearth of the Lion Camp?”

  Ayla closed her eyes and swallowed before she responded. “Yes,” she finally said, in a barely audible voice, “I agree.”

  Jondalar, sitting at the back near the wall of the lodge, closed his eyes and clenched his jaw until his temples throbbed. It was his own fault. If he hadn’t forced her, maybe she wouldn’t be turning now to Ranec. But she had already turned to him, she had been sharing his bed. From the first day she was adopted by the Mamutoi, she had shared his bed. No, he had to admit, that wasn’t quite true. After that first night, she didn’t share the carver’s bed at all until after they had that stupid argument, and he left the Mammoth Hearth. Why had they argued? He hadn’t been angry with her, he was just worried about her. Then why had he left the Mammoth Hearth?

  Tulie turned to Wymez, who was standing next to Ranec, beside Nezzie. Ayla hadn’t even noticed him. “Do you accept this union between the son of the Fox Hearth and the daughter of the Mammoth Hearth?”

  “I accept this union, and welcome it,” Wymez replied.

  “And you, Nezzie?” Tulie asked. “Will you accept a union between your son, Ranec, and Ayla, if a suitable Bride Price can be arranged?”

  “I accept the union,” the woman replied.

  Talut spoke next, to the old man beside Ayla. “Mamutoi Spirit Seeker, he who has relinquished name and hearth, he who was called, he who is dedicated to the Mammoth Hearth, he who speaks to the Great Mother of all, the One Who Serves Mut,” the headman said, carefully reciting all the shaman’s names and appellations, “does the Mamut agree to a union between Ayla, daughter of the Mammoth Hearth, and Ranec, son of the Fox Hearth?”

  Mamut did not answer immediately. He looked at Ayla, who was standing with her head bowed. She waited, a
nd when he didn’t speak, she looked at him. He studied her expression, noted her posture, the aura about her.

  “The daughter of the Mammoth Hearth may join with the son of the Fox Hearth, if she wishes,” he finally said. “There is nothing to ban such a joining. She does not need my approval or acceptance, or anyone’s. The choice is hers. The choice will always be hers, no matter where she is. If ever she needs permission, I give it to her. But she will always remain the daughter of the Mammoth Hearth.”

  Tulie eyed the old man. She felt there was more to his words than there seemed. There was something ambiguous about his response and she wondered what he meant, but she decided she could think about it later.

  “Ranec, son of the Fox Hearth, and Ayla, daughter of the Mammoth Hearth, have declared their intention to join together. They wish to form a union to mingle their spirits, and to share one hearth. All those concerned have concurred,” Tulie said, then turned to the carver. “Ranec, if you are joined, will you promise to give Ayla the protection of yourself and your male spirit, will you care for her when she is blessed by the Mother with new life, and will you accept her children as the children of your hearth?”

  “Yes, I promise. It is what I want more than anything,” Ranec said.

  “Ayla, if you are joined, will you promise to care for Ranec and give him the protection of your mother’s power, will you welcome the Mother’s Gift of Life without reservation, and will you share your children with the man of your hearth?” Tulie said.

  Ayla opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out at first. She coughed and cleared her throat, then finally replied, but her answer was almost inaudible. “Yes, I promise.”

  “Do all hear and witness this Promise?” Tulie said to the people who were gathered.

  “We hear and witness,” the group responded. Then Deegie and Tornec began to beat a slow rhythmic pace on their bone instruments, subtly changing the tone to accompany the voices which started chanting.

  “You will be joined at the Summer Matrimonial, so that all the Mamutoi may witness,” Tulie said. “Circle the hearth three times to assure the Promise.”

  Ranec and Ayla, side by side, marched slowly around the hearth to the sound of the tonal music and chanting people. It was done. They were Promised. Ranec was ecstatic. He felt as though his feet barely touched the ground as he walked. His happiness was so all-consuming it was impossible to believe that Ayla didn’t share it. He had noticed a certain reluctance, but he made excuses, assumed it was shyness, or that she was tired, or nervous. He loved her so much it was beyond him to consider that she didn’t love him the same way.

  But Ayla felt heavy at heart as she circled the firepit, though she tried not to show it. Jondalar slumped down, unable to support himself, as though his very bones had collapsed, feeling like an empty, discarded pouch. More than anything, he wanted to leave, to run from the sight of the beautiful woman he loved walking beside the happily grinning dark-skinned man.

  When they completed the third circuit, there was a pause in the ceremonies for well-wishing and gift-giving, to all of the celebrants. Gifts for Bectie included the space given to the Crane Hearth by the Aurochs Hearth, as well as an amber and seashell necklace, and a small knife in a decorated sheath, that were the beginning of the wealth she would accumulate in her lifetime. Latie was given personal gifts important for a woman, and a beautiful and richly decorated summer tunic from Nezzie, to be worn during the festivities at the Summer Meeting. She would receive many more gifts from relatives and close friends in other Camps.

  Ayla and Ranec were given household items: a ladle carved from a horn, a two-handled scraper that was used to soften the inner sides of furs, with a slot for a replaceable blade, woven floor mats, cups, bowls, platters. Though Ayla felt they received many things, they were only a token. They would receive many more at the Summer Meeting, but they, and the Lion Camp, would also be expected to give gifts in return. Small or large, gifts were never without obligations, and the accounting of who owed what to whom was a complex but endlessly fascinating game.

  “Oh, Ayla, I’m so glad we’re going to be joined at the same time!” Deegie said. “It will be so much fun planning it with you, but you’ll be coming back here, and I’ll be going off to build a new lodge. I’m going to miss you next year. It would be such great fun to know who the Mother blesses first. You or me. Ayla, you must be so happy.”

  “I guess I am,” Ayla said, and then smiled though her heart wasn’t in it.

  Deegie wondered about her lack of enthusiasm. Somehow, Ayla just didn’t seem to be as excited about being Promised as she had been. Ayla wondered, too. She should be happy, she wanted to be happy, but all she felt was lost hope.

  During the general socializing, Ayla and Mamut slipped off to the Aurochs Hearth to make their final preparations. When they were ready, they returned along the passageway, but Mamut stopped in the shadows between the Reindeer Hearth and the Mammoth Hearth. People were in small groups, deeply involved in conversations, and the shaman waited until no one was looking in their direction. Then he motioned to Ayla and they moved quickly into the ceremonial area, staying in the shadows until the last moment.

  Mamut, unnoticed at first, stood silently in front of the fireplace near the screen, his cape brought around in front of him with his arms across his chest, his eyes apparently closed. Ayla, sitting cross-legged on the ground at his feet with her head bowed, had a cape draped across her shoulders as well. When they were seen, it was with the eerie feeling that they had suddenly appeared in their midst. No one had seen them coming. They were just there. The people quickly found places to sit, filled with a sense of anticipation and excitement, prepared now for the mystery and magic of the Mammoth Hearth, and curious about this new ceremony that had been prepared.

  But first Mamut wanted to establish the presence of the spirit world, to show the heightened reality of the altered sense in which he functioned to those who knew of it only by word of mouth, or perhaps results. The group quieted. In the silence, the sound of breathing grew loud, and the crackling of the fire. Moving air was an invisible presence whiffling in through the fireplace vents, and moaning a muted howl across partially opened smoke holes. So gradually that no one noticed when it began, the moaning wind became a humming monotone, then a rhythmic chant. As the assembled people joined in, enlarging the wavering tone with natural harmonies, the old shaman began a weaving, rocking, dancing movement. Then the tonal drum accented the rhythm, and the clack of a rattle that appeared to be several armbands held together and shaken.

  Suddenly Mamut threw off his cape, and stood in front of the assembly stark naked. He had no pockets, no sleeves, no secret folds to hide anything. Imperceptibly, he seemed to grow before their eyes, his transparent shimmering presence filling the space. Ayla blinked, knowing the old shaman had not changed. If she concentrated, she could see the familiar shape of the old man with sagging skin and long, thin, bony arms and legs, but it was difficult.

  He shrunk back to his normal size, but seemed to have swallowed or somehow incorporated the shimmering presence, so that it outlined him with a glow that made him seem larger than life. He held out his open hands in front of him. They were empty. He clapped his hands once, then held both hands together. His eyes closed, and at first he stood still, but soon he was trembling, as though straining against a great force. Slowly, with great effort, he pulled his hands apart. A black amorphous shape appeared between them, and more than one watcher shuddered. It had the ineffable feel, the smell, of evil; of something loathsome, foul, and frightening. Ayla felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck, and she held her breath.

  As Mamut stretched his hands apart, the shape grew. The acrid smell of fear rose from the seated group. Everyone was sitting up straight, straining forward, chanting with a wailing intensity, and the tension within the lodge was almost unbearable. The shape grew darker, ballooned, writhed with a life of its own, or rather, the antithesis of life. The old shaman strained, his body sh
aking with the effort. Ayla concentrated on him, fearful for him.

  Without forewarning, Ayla felt herself pulled in, drawn, and suddenly found herself with Mamut, in his mind or in his vision. She saw clearly now, understood the danger, and was appalled. He was in control of a thing beyond words, beyond comprehension. Mamut had pulled her in, both to protect her and to help him. As he worked to control it, she was with him, knowing and learning at the same time. As he forced his hands back together, the shape grew smaller, and she could see that he was pushing it back where it came from. A loud crack, like a thunderclap, sounded in her mind as his hands came together.

  It was gone. Mamut had forced the evil away, and Ayla became aware that Mamut had called upon other spirits to help him wrestle with the thing. She sensed vague animal shapes, guardian spirits, the Mammoth and the Cave Lion, perhaps even the Cave Bear, Ursus himself. Then, she was back, seated on a mat, looking at the old man who was just Mamut again. Physically, he was tired, but mentally, his abilities were sharpened, honed by the contest of wills. Ayla, too, seemed to see with a clearer vision, and she sensed that the guardian spirits were still present. She had had enough training, now, to realize that his purpose had been to clear away any lingering malevolent influences that might jeopardize her ceremony. They would be drawn to the evil he had called up, and driven out with it.

  Mamut signaled for silence. Chanting and drumming both stopped. It was time for Ayla to begin the Clan root ceremony, but the shaman wanted to stress the importance of the Camp’s assistance when the time came for them to chant again. Wherever the root ritual took them, the sound of the chanting could lead them back.

  In the expectant silence of the night, Ayla began to beat out an unusual set of rhythms on an instrument unlike any they had ever seen. It was exactly what it seemed to be, a large wooden bowl, carved out of one piece of wood, turned upside down. She had brought it back with her from the valley, and it was surprising as much for its size as for the fact that it was used as an instrument. Trees large enough to have made such a bowl did not grow on the open, dry, and windy steppes. Even the periodically flooded river valley seldom grew very large trees, but the small valley where she had lived was protected from the worst of the cutting winds and had more than sufficient water for a few large coniferous trees. One had been struck down by lightning, and she had made a bowl from a section of it.