The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  Though they often scavenged, and when hungry were satisfied with the most noxious of rotten carcasses, the large hyenas with their powerful, bone-cracking jaws were also effective hunters. They had pulled down a yearling bison calf, nearly full-grown, but not fully developed. His lack of experience with the ways of predators had been his undoing. A few other bison were standing around, apparently safe now that one had succumbed, and one was watching the hyenas, bawling uneasily at the smell of fresh blood.

  Unlike mammoths, and steppe horses, which were not exceptionally large for their species, the bison were giants. The one nearby stood nearly seven feet at the withers and was heavily built in the chest and shoulders, though his flanks were almost graceful. His hooves were small, adapted to running very fast over firm dry soils, and he avoided bogs in which he would become mired. His large head was protected by massive long black horns, six feet across, that curved out and then up. His dark brown, hairy coat was heavy, especially in the chest and shoulders. Bison tended to face into the frigid winds and were better protected in front, where the hair fell in a fringe that was up to thirty inches long, but even his short tail was covered with hair.

  Although they were all grass eaters, the various grazers did not eat precisely the same food. They had different digestive systems or different habits and made subtly different adaptations. The highly fibrous stems that sustained horses and mammoths were not sufficient for bison and other ruminants. They needed grass sheaths and leaves that were higher in protein, and bison preferred the low-growing, more nutritious shortgrass of the drier regions. They only ventured into the midgrass and tallgrass regions of the steppes in search of new growth, usually in spring when all the lands were rich with fresh grass and herbs—which was also the only time of the year when their bones and horns grew. The long, wet, green spring of the periglacial grassland gave bison, and several other animals, a long season for growing, which resulted in their heroic proportions.

  In his dark and introspective mood, it took a few moments for the possibilities of the scene on the hill to make an impact on Jondalar. By the time he was reaching for his spear-thrower and a spear with the idea of also bringing down a bison, as the hyenas had, Ayla had already assessed the situation, but had decided on a somewhat different course of action.

  “Hai! Hai! Get away from there! Go on, you filthy beasts! Get out of here!” she shouted, galloping Whinney toward them, as she hurtled stones with her sling. Wolf was beside her, looking pleased with himself, as he growled and puppy-barked at the retreating pack.

  A few yelps of pain made it clear that Ayla’s stones had reached their mark, though she had held the force of her weapon in check and aimed for nonvital parts. If she had wished, her stones could have been fatal; it wouldn’t have been the first time that she had killed a hyena, but that had not been her intention.

  “What are you doing, Ayla?” Jondalar asked, riding toward her as she was returning to the bison the hyenas had killed.

  “I’m chasing those filthy, dirty hyenas away,” she said, though it certainly must have been obvious.

  “But why?”

  “Because they are going to share that bison kill with us,” she replied.

  “I was just going after one of those that are standing around,” Jondalar said.

  “We don’t need a whole bison, unless we’re going to dry the meat, and this one is young and tender. The ones that are standing around are mostly tough old bulls,” she said as she slid off Whinney to chase Wolf away from the downed animal.

  Jondalar looked more closely at the gigantic bulls, who had also retreated from Ayla’s hazing, and then at the young one on the ground. “You’re right. This is a male herd, and that one probably left his mother’s herd recently and just joined this male group. He still had a lot to learn.”

  “It’s a fresh kill,” Ayla announced, after she examined it. “They’ve only torn out the throat, and the gut, so far, and a little of the flank. We can take what we want, and leave the rest for them. Then we won’t need to take the time to hunt down one of those others. They can run fast, and they might get away. I think I saw a place down by the river that may have been a camp. If it’s the one we’re looking for, there’s still time for me to make something nice tonight with all the food we gathered and this meat.”

  She was already cutting through the skin up from the stomach to the flank before Jondalar really grasped all that she had said. It had happened so fast, but suddenly all his concerns about losing an extra day because of having to hunt and look for the camp were gone.

  “Ayla, you’re wonderful!” he said, smiling as he dismounted from the young stallion. He pulled a sharp flint knife, which was hafted to a handle of ivory, out of a stiff rawhide sheath attached to his waist thong, and went to help butcher out the parts they wanted. “That’s what I love about you. You’re always full of surprises that turn out to be good ideas. Let’s get the tongue, too. Too bad they already got to the liver, but after all, it is their kill.”

  “I don’t care if it is theirs,” Ayla said, “so long as it’s a fresh kill. They’ve taken enough from me. I don’t mind taking something back from those nasty animals. I hate hyenas!”

  “You really do, don’t you? I never hear you talk that way about other animals, not even wolverines, and they scavenge rotten meat sometimes and are more vicious and smell worse.”

  The hyena pack had been edging back toward the bison they had expected to feast on, snarling their displeasure. Ayla flung a few more stones to drive them back again. One of them whooped, then several cackled a loud laugh that made her skin crawl. By the time the hyenas decided to chance her sling once more, Ayla and Jondalar had gotten what they wanted.

  They rode off, heading down a gully toward the river, with Ayla leading the way, leaving the rest of the carcass behind with the snarling beasts, who had immediately returned and begun to tear it apart again.

  The signs she had seen were not of the camp itself, but a marker cairn pointing the way. Inside the heaped-up pile of stones were some dry emergency rations, a few tools and other implements, a fire drill and platform with some dry tinder, and a rather stiff fur with patches of hair falling out. It would still offer some protection from the cold, but it needed to be replaced. Near the top of the cairn, firmly anchored by heavy stones, was the broken-off end of a mammoth tusk with its tip aiming toward a large boulder partly submerged in the middle of the river. On it a horizontal diamond shape was painted in red, with the V-shaped angle at the right end repeated twice, forming a chevron pattern pointing downstream.

  After putting everything back exactly as they found it, they followed the river until they came to a second cairn with a small tusk pointing inland toward a pleasant glade set back from the river, surrounded by birch and alder trees, with a few pines. They could see a third cairn, and when they reached it, they found beside it a small spring of fresh, pure sparkling water. There were also emergency rations and implements inside this pile of stones, and a large leather tarp, also stiff, but which could be made into a tent or a lean-to. Behind the cairn, near a circle of stones that outlined a shallow pit black with charcoal, was a pile of deadfall and driftwood that had been gathered.

  “This is a good place to know about,” Jondalar said. “I’m glad we don’t have to use any of the supplies, but if I lived in this region and had to use it, I’d be relieved to know this is here.”

  “It is a good idea,” Ayla said, marveling at the foresight of those who had planned and set up the campsite.

  They quickly removed the pack baskets and halters from the horses, coiling the thongs and heavy cords that held them on, and set the animals loose to graze and relax. Smiling, they watched as Racer immediately got down on the grass and rolled on his back, as though he had an itch he couldn’t wait to scratch.

  “I’m feeling hot and itchy, too,” Ayla said, untying the thongs around the soft tops of her footwear and kicking them off. She loosened her belt, which held a knife sheath and pouches
, took off a necklace of ivory beads with a decorated pouch attached, and pulled off her tunic and leggings, then raced for the water with Wolf bounding beside her. “Are you coming?”

  “Later,” Jondalar said. “I’d rather wait until after I get the wood, so I don’t take dirt and bark dust to bed with me.”

  Ayla returned soon, changed into a different tunic and leggings that she wore in the evenings, but put her belt and necklace back on. Jondalar had unpacked, and she joined him in setting up their camp. They had already developed a pattern of working together that needed little decision making. They both put up the tent, spreading out an oval ground cloth, then anchoring slender wooden shafts in the earth to support a shaped leather tarp made of several hides sewn together. The conical tent had rounded sides and an opening at the top to let smoke out if they needed to make a fire inside, though they seldom did, and an extra flap sewn on the inside with which to close the smoke hole against the weather, if they wished.

  Cords were fastened around the bottom of the tent to tie it down to pegs pounded in the ground. In case of strong winds, the ground cloth could be tied to the cover tarp with additional ropes, and the entrance flap could be fastened down securely. They carried a second tarp with them to make a better-insulated double-walled tent, though they’d as yet had little occasion to use it.

  They spread open their sleeping furs, laying them out the long way of the oval, which left just enough room to fit their pack baskets and other belongings along the sides, and Wolf at their feet if the weather was bad. They had begun with two separate sleeping rolls, but they had quickly managed to combine them so they could sleep together. Once the tent was up, Jondalar went to gather more firewood, to replace whatever they would use, while Ayla began to prepare food.

  Though she knew how to start a fire with the fire-making kit in the cairn, by twirling the long stick between her palms against the flat platform of wood to make a coal that could be blown into a flame, Ayla’s fire-making kit was unique. While living alone in her valley, she had made a discovery. She had accidentally picked up a piece of iron pyrite from the litter of stones beside the stream, instead of the hammerstone she was using to make new tools for herself from flint. But she had made fires often, and she understood the implications quickly when striking the iron pyrite and flint together created a long-lived spark that burned her leg.

  It took several trials at first, but she had long since worked out the best way to use the firestone. Now she could make fire more quickly than anyone with a fire-drill and hearth, and hard concentrated effort, could even imagine. The first time Jondalar had seen it, he couldn’t believe it, and the sheer wonder of it had contributed to her being accepted by the Lion Camp when Talut wanted them to adopt her. They thought she had done it with magic.

  Ayla thought it was magic, too, but she believed the magic was in the firestone, not in her. Before they left her valley for the last time, she and Jondalar had collected as many of the grayish-yellow metallic stones as they could, not knowing if they would ever find them in any other place. They had given some to the Lion Camp and other Mamutoi, but still had many left. Jondalar wanted to share them with his people. The ability to make a fire quickly could be extremely useful, for many purposes.

  Inside the ring of stones, the young woman made a small pile of very dry bark shavings and the fuzz from fireweed as tinder, and laid beside it another pile of twigs and smallwood for kindling. Nearby was some of the dry deadfall from the woodpile. Getting down very close to the tinder, Ayla held a piece of iron pyrite at an angle that she knew from experience would work best, then struck the magical yellowish stone, down the middle of a groove that was forming from use, with a piece of flint. A large, bright, long-lived spark flew from the stone and landed on the tinder, sending a wisp of smoke into the air. Quickly she put her hand around it and blew gently. A small coal glowed with a red light and a shower of tiny sun-yellow sparks. A second breath produced a small flame. She added twigs, and smallwood, and when it was going well, a stick of deadfall.

  By the time Jondalar returned, Ayla had several roundish stones, collected from a dry wash near the river, heating in the fire for cooking, and a nice chunk of bison spitted over the flames, the outer layer of fat sizzling. She had washed and was cutting up cattail roots, and another white starchy root with dark brown skin called groundnuts, preparing to put them in a tightly woven waterproof basket half-full of water, in which the fat-rich tongue was waiting. Beside it was a small pile of whole wild carrots. The tall man put down his load of wood.

  “It smells good already!” he said. “What are you making?”

  “I’m roasting the bison, but that’s mostly for traveling. It’s easy to eat cold roast along the way. For tonight, and tomorrow morning, I’m making soup with the tongue and vegetables, and the little bit we have left from Feather Grass Camp,” she said.

  With a stick, she fished a hot stone from the fire and brushed the ashes off with a leafy twig. Then, picking up a second stick and using them as tongs, she lifted the stone and dropped it in the basket with the water and the tongue. It sizzled and steamed as it transferred its heat to the water. Quickly she dropped several more stones in the basket pot, added some leaves she had cut up, and put on a lid.

  “What are you putting in the soup?”

  Ayla smiled to herself. He always like to know the details of her cooking, even the herbs that she used for making tea. It was another of his little traits that had surprised her because no man of the Clan would ever dream of showing so much interest, even if he might have been curious, in anything that was in the memories of the women.

  “Besides these roots, I’m going to add the green tops of the cattails, the bulbs, leaves, and flowers of these green onions, slices of peeled thistle stalks, the peas from milk vetch pods, and I just put in some sage and thyme leaves, for flavor. And maybe I’ll put some coltsfoot in it because it has a kind of salty taste. If we’re going near Beran Sea, maybe we can get some more salt. We had it all the time when I lived with the Clan,” she mentioned. “I think I’ll mash up some of that horseradish I found this morning, for the roast. I just learned about that at the Summer Meeting. It’s hot, and you don’t need much, but it gives the meat an interesting taste. You might like it.”

  “What are those leaves for?” he asked, indicating a bunch she had picked but not mentioned. He liked to know what she used and how she thought about food. He enjoyed her cooking, but it was unusual. There were some tastes and flavors that were unique to her methods, and not like the tastes of foods he had grown up with.

  “This is goosefoot, to wrap the roast in when I put it away. They are good together when they’re cold.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “Maybe I’ll sprinkle some wood ashes on the roast; they taste a little salty, too. And I might add some of the roast to the soup after it browns, for color, and taste. With the tongue and the roast, it should be a good rich broth, and for tomorrow morning, it will be nice to cook up some of the grain we brought with us. There will be tongue left, too, but I’ll wrap it in dried grass and put it in my meat-keeper for later. There’s room, even with the rest of our raw meat, including the piece we took for Wolf. As long as it stays cold at night, it should all keep for a while.”

  “It sounds delicious. I can hardly wait,” Jondalar said, smiling with anticipation, and something more, Ayla thought. “By the way, do you have an extra basket I can use?”

  “Yes, but why?”

  “I’ll tell you when I get back,” he said, grinning with his secret.

  Ayla turned the roast, then removed the stones and added more hot ones to the soup. While the food was cooking, she sorted through the herbs she had gathered for “Wolf repellent,” putting aside the plant she had gathered for her own uses. She mashed up some of the horseradish root in a bit of broth for their meal, then began mashing the rest of the hot root and bruising the other harsh, sharp, strong-smelling herbs she had gathered that morning, trying to develop the most noxious combination of
the plants that she could imagine. She thought the hot horseradish would be the most effective, but the strong camphor smell of the artemisia could be very helpful, too.

  But the plant she had put aside occupied her thoughts. I’m glad I found it, she was thinking. I know I don’t have enough of the herbs I need for my morning tea to last for the whole Journey. I’m going to have to find more along the way to make sure I don’t have a baby, especially being with Jondalar so much. She smiled at the thought.

  I’m sure that’s how babies get started, no matter what people say about spirits. I think that’s why men want to put their organs in that place where babies come from, and why women want them to. And why the Mother made that Her Gift of Pleasure. The Gift of Life is from Her, too, and She wants Her children to enjoy making new life, especially since giving birth is not easy. Women might not want to give birth if the Mother hadn’t made the starting of them Her Gift of Pleasure. Babies are wonderful, but you don’t know how wonderful until you have one. Ayla had been privately developing her unorthodox ideas about the conception of life during the winter as she had been learning about Mut, the Great Earth Mother, from Mamut, the old teacher of the Lion Camp, though the original idea had occurred long before.

  But Broud wasn’t a pleasure for me, she recalled. I hated it when he forced me, but now I’m sure that’s how Durc got started. No one believed I would ever have a baby. They thought my Cave Lion totem was too strong for any man’s totem spirit to overcome. It surprised everyone. But it only happened after Broud began forcing me, and I could see his look in my baby. He had to be the one that started Durc growing inside me. My totem knew how much I wanted a baby of my own—maybe the Mother did, too. Maybe that was the only way. Mamut said the way we know Pleasures are a Gift from the Mother is that they are so powerful. It’s very hard to resist them. He said it is even harder for men than for women.

  That’s the way it was with that dark red mammoth. All the males wanted her, but she didn’t want them. She wanted to wait for her big bull. Is that why Broud wouldn’t let me alone? Even though he hated me, the Mother’s Gift of Pleasure was more powerful than his hatred?