The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  “Darvo told me. He said Shamud died.”

  “Yes, last winter. I wish the woman was a competent healer. We sent a messenger to another Cave, but their shamud had gone on a trip. A runner has gone to a different Cave, upstream, but they are farther away, and I’m afraid it is already too late to do any good.”

  “The training she lacked was not as a healer. Ayla is a healer, Dolando. A very good one. She was trained by …” Suddenly Jondalar recalled one of Dolando’s few blind spots. “… the woman who raised her. It’s a long story, but believe me. She is competent.”

  They had reached Ayla and the animals, and she listened and watched Jondalar attentively as he spoke. There were some similarities between the language he was speaking and Mamutoi, but it was more by observation that she sensed the meaning of his words and understood that he had been trying to convince the other man of something. Jondalar turned to her.

  “Ayla of the Mamutoi, this is Dolando, leader of the Shamudoi, the land-living half of the Sharamudoi,” Jondalar said in Mamutoi. He then changed to Dolando’s language: “Dolando of the Sharamudoi, this is Ayla, Daughter of the Mammoth Hearth of the Mamutoi.”

  Dolando hesitated a moment, eyeing the horses and then the wolf. He was a handsome animal, standing watchfully and quietly beside the tall woman. The man was intrigued. He had never been so close to one before, only to a few skins. They didn’t often hunt wolf, and he had only seen them from a distance or running for cover. Wolf looked up at him in a way that made Dolando think he was being evaluated in return, then turned back to observe the others. The animal didn’t seem to be posing any threat, Dolando thought, and perhaps a woman who had such control over animals was a skilled shamud, regardless of her training. He offered both hands, palms open and up, to the woman.

  “In the name of the Great Mother, Mudo, I welcome you, Ayla of the Mamutoi.”

  “In the name of Mut, the Great Earth Mother, I thank you, Dolando of the Sharamudoi,” Ayla said, taking both his hands.

  The woman has a strange accent, Dolando thought. She speaks Mamutoi, but it does have an odd quality. She doesn’t exactly sound like Tholie. Maybe she’s from a different region. Dolando knew enough Mamutoi to understand it. He had traveled to the end of the great river several times in his life to trade with them, and he had helped to bring back Tholie, the Mamutoi woman. It had been the least he could do for the Ramudoi leader, to help the son of his hearth mate the woman he was determined to have. Tholie had made sure that many people knew her language, and it had been useful on subsequent trading expeditions.

  Dolando’s acceptance of Ayla had opened the way for everyone to welcome Jondalar back and to meet the woman he had brought with him. Tholie stepped forward, and Jondalar smiled at her. In a complex way, through his brother’s mating, they were kin, and he was fond of her.

  “Tholie!” he said, smiling broadly as he took both of her hands in his. “I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to see you.”

  “It is wonderful to see you, too. And you have certainly learned to speak Mamutoi well, Jondalar. I must admit there were times when I doubted if you would ever be fluent.”

  She let go of his hands to reach up and give him a welcoming hug instead. He bent over and, on impulse, because he was so happy to be there, he picked the short woman up to give her a proper embrace. Slightly disconcerted, she blushed, and it occurred to her that the tall, handsome, sometimes moody man had changed. She didn’t recall that he was so spontaneously demonstrative with his affections in the past. When he put her down, she studied the man, and the woman he had brought, sure she had something to do with it.

  “Ayla of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi, meet Tholie of the Sharamudoi, formerly of the Mamutoi.”

  “In the name of Mut or Mudo, whatever you call Her, I welcome you, Ayla of the Mamutoi.”

  “In the name of the Mother of All, I thank you, Tholie of the Sharamudoi, and I am very happy to meet you. I have heard so much about you. Don’t you have kin in the Lion Camp? I think Talut said you were related when Jondalar mentioned you,” Ayla said. She sensed that the perceptive woman was studying her. If Tholie didn’t know already, she would soon discover that Ayla had not been born to the Mamutoi.

  “Yes, we are related. Not close, though. I came from a southern Camp. The Lion Camp is farther north,” Tholie said. “I know them, though. Everyone knows Talut. He’s hard not to know, and his sister, Tulie, is very much respected,” Tholie said.

  That is not a Mamutoi accent, she thought, and Ayla is not a Mamutoi name. I’m not even sure if it’s an accent, just a strange way of saying some words. She speaks well, though. Talut always was one for taking people in. He even took in that complaining old woman, and her daughter who mated way beneath her status. I would like to know more about this Ayla, and those animals, she thought, then looked at Jondalar.

  “Is Thonolan with the Mamutoi?” Tholie asked.

  The pain in his eyes told her the answer before he said the words. “Thonolan is dead.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Markeno will be, too. I can’t say I didn’t expect it, though. His desire to live died with Jetamio. Some people can recover from tragedy, some cannot,” Tholie said.

  Ayla liked the way the woman expressed herself. Not without feeling, but open and direct. She was still very much a Mamutoi.

  The rest of the Cave who were present greeted Ayla. She sensed reserved acceptance, but curiosity. Their greeting to Jondalar was much less restrained. He was family; there was no doubt that they considered him one of them, and he was warmly welcomed home.

  Darvalo was still holding the hat-basket of blackberries, waiting until all the greetings were finished. He held them up to Dolando. “Here are some berries for Roshario,” he said.

  Dolando noticed the unfamiliar basket; it was not made the way they made baskets.

  “Ayla gave them to me,” Darvalo continued. “They were picking blackberries when I met them. These were already picked.”

  Watching the young man, Jondalar suddenly thought of Darvalo’s mother. He had not expected Serenio to be gone, and he was disappointed. He had truly loved her, in a way, and he realized that he had been looking forward to seeing her. Was she expecting a child when she left? A child of his spirit? Maybe he could ask Roshario. She would know.

  “Let’s bring them to her,” Dolando said, nodding a silent thanks to Ayla. “I’m sure she’ll like them. If you want to come in, Jondalar, I think she’s awake, and I know she will want to see you. Bring Ayla, too. She will want to meet her. It’s hard on her. You know how she is. Always up and busy, always the first one to greet visitors.”

  Jondalar translated for Ayla, and she nodded her willingness. They left the horses grazing in the field, but she signaled Wolf to stay with her. She could tell that the carnivore still bothered people. Tame horses were strange but not considered dangerous. A wolf was a hunter, capable of inflicting harm.

  “Jondalar, I think it’s best if Wolf stays with me for now. Will you ask Dolando if it is all right to bring him in? Tell him he’s accustomed to being indoors,” Ayla said, speaking Mamutoi.

  Jondalar repeated her request, although Dolando had understood her, and, seeing his subtle reactions, Ayla suspected that he did. She would keep that in mind.

  They walked to the back and under the sandstone shelf, past a central hearth that was obviously a gathering place, to a wooden structure that resembled a sloping tent. Ayla noticed its construction as they approached. A ridgepole was anchored in the ground at the back and supported by a pole in front. Tapered oak planks that had been split radially out of a large tree trunk were leaned against it, graduated in size from short at the back to long in front. When she got closer, she saw that the planks were fastened together with slender willow withes sewn through predrilled holes.

  Dolando pushed back a yellow drape of soft leather and held it up while everyone entered. He tied it back to allow more light in. Inside, thin cracks of daylight could be seen between some of
the planks, but leather skins lined the walls in places to ward off drafts, although there was not much wind within the baylike niche carved out of the mountain. There was a small fireplace near the front, with a shorter plank making a hole in the roof above it, but no rain cover. The overhang protected the dwelling from rain and snow. Along one wall toward the back was a bed, a wide wooden shelf, fastened to the wall on one side and supported by legs on the other, covered by stuffed leather padding and furs. In the dim light, Ayla could just make out a woman reclining on it.

  Darvalo knelt beside the bed, holding out the berries. “Here are the blackberries I promised you, Roshario. But I didn’t pick them. Ayla did.”

  The woman opened her eyes. She had not been sleeping, only trying to rest, but she did not know visitors had arrived. She didn’t quite catch the name Darvalo had said.

  “Who picked them?” she said in a weak voice.

  Dolando, bent over the bed, put his hand on her forehead. “Roshario, look who’s here! Jondalar has come back,” he said.

  “Jondalar?” she said, looking at the man who was kneeling beside her bed next to Darvalo. He almost winced at the pain he saw etched on her face. “Is it really you? Sometimes I dream and think that I see my son, or Jetamio, and then I find out it’s not true. Is it you, Jondalar, or are you a dream?”

  “It’s not a dream, Rosh,” Dolando said. Jondalar thought he saw tears in his eyes. “He’s really here. He brought someone with him. A Mamutoi woman. Her name is Ayla.” He beckoned her forward.

  Ayla motioned Wolf to stay, and she walked toward the woman. That she was suffering great pain was immediately apparent. Her eyes were glazed and had dark circles around them, making them seem sunken; her face was flushed with fever. Even from a distance and beneath the light covering, Ayla could see that her arm, between the shoulder and elbow, was bent in a grotesque angle.

  “Ayla of the Mamutoi, this is Roshario of the Sharamudoi,” Jondalar said. Darvalo moved over and Ayla took his place beside the bed.

  “In the name of the Mother, you are welcome, Ayla of the Mamutoi,” Roshario said, trying to rise, then giving up and lying back again. “I am sorry I cannot greet you properly.”

  “In the Mother’s name, I thank you,” Ayla said. “There is no need for you to get up.”

  Jondalar translated, but Tholie had included everyone to some degree in her language instructions, and she had laid a good groundwork for understanding Mamutoi. Roshario had understood the gist of Ayla’s words, and she nodded.

  “Jondalar, she’s in terrible pain. I’m afraid it could be very bad. I want to examine her arm,” Ayla said, shifting to Zelandonii so the woman wouldn’t know how serious she thought the injury was, but it did not disguise the urgency in her voice.

  “Roshario, Ayla is a healer, a daughter of the Mammoth Hearth. She would like to look at your arm,” Jondalar said, then looked up at Dolando to make sure he did not disapprove. The man was willing to try anything that might help, so long as Roshario agreed.

  “A healer?” the woman said. “Shamud?”

  “Yes, like a shamud. Can she look?”

  “I’m afraid it’s too late to help, but she can look.”

  Ayla uncovered the arm. Some attempt had obviously been made to straighten it, and the wound had been cleaned and was healing, but it was swollen and bone protruded beneath the skin at an odd angle. Ayla felt the arm, trying to be as gentle as she could. The woman winced only when she lifted the arm to feel underneath but did not complain. She knew her examination was painful, but she needed to feel the bone under the skin. Ayla looked at Roshario’s eyes, smelled her exhalations, felt the pulse in her neck and in her wrist, then sat back on her heels.

  “It’s healing, but it’s not properly set. She may eventually recover, but I don’t think she will have the use of that arm, or her hand, the way it is, and it will always cause her some pain,” Ayla said, speaking the language they all understood to some extent. She waited for Jondalar to translate.

  “Can you do anything?” Jondalar asked.

  “I think so. It may be too late, but I would like to try to rebreak the arm where it is healing wrong, and set it right. The problem is that where a broken bone has mended, it is often stronger than the bone itself. It could break wrong. Then she’d have two breaks, and more pain for nothing.”

  There was silence after Jondalar’s translation. Finally Roshario spoke.

  “If it breaks wrong, it won’t be any worse than it is now, will it?” It was more a statement than a question. “I mean, I won’t have the use of it the way it is now, so another break won’t make it any worse.” Jondalar translated her words, but Ayla was already picking up the sounds and rhythms of the Sharamudoi language and relating it to Mamutoi. The woman’s tone and expression conveyed even more. Ayla understood the essence of Roshario’s statement.

  “But you could go through a lot more pain and get nothing for it,” Ayla said, guessing what Roshario’s decision would be but wanting her to fully understand all the implications.

  “I have nothing now,” the woman said, not waiting for a translation. “If you are able to set it right, will I be able to use my arm then?”

  Ayla waited for Jondalar to restate her words in the language she knew, to be sure the meaning was clear. “You may not have full use, but I think you will at least have some. No one can be certain, though.”

  Roshario did not hesitate. “If there is a chance that I might be able to use my arm again, I want you to do it. I don’t care about pain. Pain is nothing. A Sharamudoi needs two good arms to climb down the trail to the river. What good is a Shamudoi woman if she can’t even get down to the Ramudoi dock?”

  Ayla listened to the translation of her words. Then, looking directly at the woman, she said, “Jondalar, tell her I will try to help her, but tell her also that it is not whether someone has two good arms that is most important. I knew a man with only one arm, and one eye, but he led a useful life, and he was loved and greatly respected by all his people. I don’t think Roshario would do less. This much I know. She is not a woman who gives in easily. Whatever the outcome, this woman will continue to lead a useful life. She will find a way, and she will always be loved and respected.”

  Roshario stared back at Ayla as she listened to Jondalar say her words. Then she tightened her lips slightly and nodded. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  Ayla stood up, already thinking about what she needed to do. “Jondalar, will you get my pack basket, the right-hand one. And tell Dolando I need some slender pieces of wood for splints. And firewood, and a good-size cooking bowl, but something he won’t mind giving up. It won’t be a good idea to use it for cooking again. It will be used to make a strong pain medicine.”

  Her thoughts continued racing ahead. I’ll need something that will make her sleep when the arm is rebroken, she was thinking. Iza would use datura. It’s strong, but it would be best for the pain, and it would make her sleep. I have some dried, but fresh would be best … wait … didn’t I see some recently? She closed her eyes trying to remember. Yes! I did!

  “Jondalar, while you get my basket, I’m going to get some of that thorn-apple I saw on the way here,” she said, reaching the entry in a few strides. “Wolf, come with me.” She was halfway across the field before Jondalar caught up with her.

  Dolando stood at the entrance to the dwelling watching Jondalar and the woman, and the wolf. Though he hadn’t said anything, he had been very much aware of the animal. He noticed that Wolf stayed right beside the woman, matching her stride when she walked. He had observed the subtle hand signals Ayla made when she approached Roshario’s bed, and he saw the wolf drop to his stomach, though his head was up and his ears alert, watching the woman’s every movement. When she left, he was up at her command, eager to follow her again.

  He watched until Ayla, and the wolf that she controlled with such absolute assurance, turned the corner around the end of the wall. Then he looked back at the woman on the bed. Fo
r the first time since that horrible moment when Roshario slipped and fell, Dolando dared to feel a glimmer of hope.

  When Ayla returned, carrying a pack basket and the datura plants she had washed in the pool, she found a square wooden cooking box, which she decided to examine more closely later, another one filled with water, a hot fire burning in the fireplace with several smooth, rounded stones heating in it, and some small sections of plank. She nodded her approval to Dolando. She looked through the contents of the pack basket until she found several bowls and her old otter-skin medicine bag.

  Using a small bowl, she measured a quantity of water into the cooking box, added several whole datura plants, including the roots, then splashed a few drops of water on the cooking stones. Leaving them in the fire to heat further, she emptied the contents of her medicine bag and selected a few packets. As she was putting the rest back, Jondalar came in.

  “The horses are fine, Ayla, enjoying the grass in the field, but I’ve asked everyone to stay away from them for now.” He turned to Dolando. “They can get skittish around strangers, and I don’t want anyone accidentally harmed. Later we can get them used to everyone.” The leader nodded. He didn’t think there was much he could say, one way or another, right now. “Wolf doesn’t look very happy outside, Ayla, and some people seem a little alarmed by him. I really think you should bring him in here.”

  “I would rather have him inside with me, but I thought Dolando and Roshario might want him to wait out there.”

  “Let me talk to Roshario first. Then I think she can bring the animal in,” Dolando said, not waiting for a translation and speaking a mixture of Sharamudoi and Mamutoi that Ayla had no trouble grasping. Jondalar gave him a surprised look, but Ayla just continued the conversation.

  “I need to measure these on her for splints, too,” she said, holding out the small pieces of plank, “and then I want you to scrape these planks until there are no splinters, Dolando.” She picked up a loose piece of rather crumbly stone that was near the fireplace. “And rub them with this sandstone until they are very smooth. Do you have some soft skins I can cut up?”