The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  “Even if she’s sleeping, it is not easy to watch someone break the bone of a person you love,” Ayla said to the tall man who loved her.

  Jondalar nodded, and he wondered if that was why Shamud had not let him stay when Thonolan was gored. It had been a frightening wound, a gaping, ragged puncture that almost made Jondalar sick when he first saw it, and though he thought he wanted to stay, it probably would have been difficult to watch Shamud doing whatever he had to do. He wasn’t entirely sure he even wanted to stay and help Ayla, but there was no one else. He took a deep breath. If she could do it, he could at least try to help.

  “What do you want me to do?” he said.

  Ayla was examining Roshario’s arm, seeing how far it would straighten, and how she reacted to such manipulation. She mumbled and moved her head from side to side, but it seemed to be in response to some dream or inner prompting, not directly because of pain. Ayla prodded deeply then, digging into the flaccid muscle, trying to locate the position of the bone. When she was finally satisfied, she asked Jondalar to come, catching a glimpse of Wolf watching intensely from his place in the corner.

  “First, I will want you to support her arm at the elbow, while I try to break it where it is joining wrong,” she said. “After it is broken, I will have to pull on it hard to straighten and fit it back together properly. With her muscles so lax, the bones of a joint could be pulled apart, and I might dislocate an elbow or a shoulder, so you will have to hold her firmly, and perhaps pull the other way.”

  “I understand,” he said; at least he thought he did.

  “Make sure you are in a comfortable, steady position, straighten her arm and support her elbow up about this far, and let me know when you are ready,” Ayla directed.

  He held her arm and braced himself. “All right, I’m ready,” he said.

  With both hands, one on either side of the break that bent it at an unnatural angle, Ayla took hold of Roshario’s upper arm, gripping it experimentally in several places, feeling for the protruding ends of the ill-knit bone under the skin and muscle. If it had healed too well, she would never be able to break the jointure with her bare hands, and would have to attempt some other far less controllable means, or perhaps not be able to rebreak it properly at all. Standing over the bed to get the best leverage, she took a deep breath, then exerted a quick, hard pressure against the bend with her two strong hands.

  Ayla felt the snap. Jondalar heard a sickening crack. Roshario jumped spasmodically in her sleep, and then quieted again. Ayla prodded through the muscle for the newly broken bone. The bone scar tissue had not cemented the fracture too firmly yet, perhaps because in its unnatural position the bone had not been joined in a way that encouraged healing. It was a good clean break. She breathed a sigh of relief. That part was done. She wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand.

  Jondalar was watching her with amazement. Though only partly healed, it took very strong hands to break a bone like that. He had always loved her sheer physical strength ever since he was first aware of it in her valley. He realized that she needed strength living alone as she did, and thought that having to do everything for herself had probably encouraged more muscle development, but he hadn’t known how strong she really was.

  Ayla’s strength came not only from being forced to exert herself just to survive when she lived in the valley; it had been developing from the time she was first adopted by Iza. The ordinary tasks that were expected of her had become a conditioning process. Simply to keep up at the minimum level of competence for a woman of the Clan, she had become an exceptionally strong woman of the Others.

  “That was good, Jondalar. Now I want you to brace yourself again, and hold her arm here at the shoulder,” Ayla said, showing him. “You must not let go, but if you feel yourself slipping, tell me right away.” Ayla realized that the bone had resisted healing in the wrong shape, making it somewhat easier to break than if it had been set straight for that length of time, but the muscle and tendon had healed much more. “When I straighten this arm, some of the muscle will tear, just as it did when it was first broken, and the sinews will be stretched. Muscle and sinew will be hard to force, and will cause her pain later, but it must be done. Tell me when you are ready.”

  “How do you know about this, Ayla?”

  “Iza taught me.”

  “I know she taught you, but how do you know this? About rebreaking a bone that has started to heal?”

  “Once Brun took his hunters on a hunt to a distant place. They were gone a long time, I don’t remember how long. One of the hunters broke his arm shortly after they started out, but he refused to return. He tied it to his side and hunted with one arm. When he returned, Iza had to make it right,” Ayla explained, quickly.

  “But how could he do it? Go on like that with a broken arm?” Jondalar asked, looking incredulous. “Wouldn’t he have been in great pain?”

  “Of course he was in great pain, but not much was made of it. Men of the Clan would rather die than admit to pain. That’s how they are; it’s how they are trained,” Ayla said. “Are you ready now?”

  He wanted to ask more, but this was not the time. “Yes, I’m ready.”

  Ayla took a firm hold of Roshario’s arm just above the elbow, while Jondalar held her below the shoulder. With slow but steady force, Ayla started pulling back, not only straightening, but working it around to avoid bone rubbing against bone and perhaps crushing it, and to keep the ligaments from tearing. At one point it had to be stretched slightly beyond its original shape to get it into a normal position.

  Jondalar didn’t know how she kept up the forceful, controlled tension when he could barely hold on. Ayla strained with the exertion, perspiration running down her face, but she could not stop now. For the bone to be right, it needed to be straightened in a steady, smooth movement. But once she got beyond the slight overstretch, past the broken end of the bone, the arm settled into the proper position, almost of its own accord. She felt it fall into place, carefully eased the arm to the bed, and finally let go.

  When Jondalar looked up, she was shaking, her eyes were closed, and she was breathing hard. Maintaining control under tension had been the most difficult part, and she was struggling now to control her own muscles.

  “I think you did it, Ayla,” he said.

  She took a few more deep breaths, then looked at him and smiled, a broad, happy smile of victory. “Yes, I think I did,” she said. “Now I need to put on the splints.” She carefully felt along the straight, normal-looking arm again. “If it heals right, if I haven’t done any damage to her arm while it was without feeling, I think she will be able to use it, but she is going to be very bruised and it will swell up.”

  Ayla dipped the strips of chamois skin in the hot water, placed the spikenard and yarrow on it, wrapped it loosely around the arm, then told Jondalar to ask Dolando if he had the splints ready.

  When Jondalar stepped out of the dwelling, a crowd of faces greeted him. Not only Dolando, but all the rest of the Cave, both Shamudoi and Ramudoi, had been keeping a vigil in the gathering place around the large hearth. “Ayla needs the splints, Dolando,” he said.

  “Did it work?” the Shamudoi leader asked, handing him the pieces of smoothed wood.

  Jondalar thought he should wait for Ayla to say, but he smiled. Dolando closed his eyes, took a long deep breath, and shuddered with relief.

  Ayla placed the splints in position and wrapped more chamois strips around them. The arm would swell, and the poultice would have to be replaced. The splints were to hold the arm in place so Roshario’s movements would not disturb the fresh break. Later, when the swelling went down and she wanted to move about, birchbark, dampened with hot water, would mold to her arm and dry into a rigid cast.

  She checked the woman’s breathing again, and the pulses in her neck and wrist, listened to her chest, lifted her eyelids, then went to the entrance of the dwelling.

  “Dolando, you can come in now,” she said to the man who was j
ust outside the door.

  “Is she all right?”

  “Come and see for yourself.”

  The man went in and knelt down beside the sleeping woman, staring at her face. He watched her through several breaths, assuring himself that she was breathing, then finally looked at her arm. Under the dressings, the outline looked straight and normal.

  “It looks perfect! Will she be able to use her arm again?”

  “I have done what I can. With the help of the spirits and the Great Earth Mother, she should be able to use it. It may not be with the full use she had before, but she should be able to use it. Now, she must sleep.”

  “I am going to stay here with her,” Dolando said, trying to convince her with his authority, though he knew if she insisted, he would leave.

  “I thought you might want to,” she said, “but now that it’s done, there is something I would like.”

  “Ask. I will give you anything you want,” he said, not hesitating, but wondering what she would demand of him.

  “I would like to wash. Can the pool be used for swimming and washing?”

  It was not what he had expected her to say, and he was taken aback for a moment. Then he noticed for the first time that her face was stained with blackberry juice, her arms were scratched from thorny briars, her clothes were worn and dirty, and her hair was disheveled. With a look of chagrin, and a wry smile, he said, “Roshario would never forgive me for my lack of hospitality. No one has so much as offered you a drink of water. You must be exhausted after your long travels. Let me get Tholie. Anything you want, if we have it, it is yours.”

  Ayla rubbed the saponin-rich flowers between her wet hands until a foam developed; then she worked it into her hair. The foam from ceanothus wasn’t as rich as soaproot lather, but this was a final washing and the pale blue petals left a pleasant mild scent. The nearby area and the plants had been so familiar that Ayla was sure she’d be able to find some plant that they could use to wash with, but she was pleasantly surprised to find both soaproot and ceanothus when they went to get the pack baskets and travois with the bowl boat. They had stopped to check on the horses, and Ayla told herself she would spend some time combing Whinney later, partly to see to her coat, but also for the reassurance.

  “Are there any foaming flowers left?” Jondalar asked.

  “Over there, on the rock near Wolf,” Ayla said. “But that’s the last of them. We can pick more next time, and some extra to dry and take with us would be nice.” She ducked under the water to rinse.

  “Here are some chamois skins to dry yourselves with,” Tholie said, approaching the pool. She had several of the soft yellow hides in her arms.

  Ayla hadn’t seen her come. The Mamutoi woman had tried to stay as far away from the wolf as possible, circling around and approaching from the open end of the site. A little girl of three or four, who had been walking behind, clung to her mother’s leg and stared at the strangers with big eyes and a thumb in her mouth.

  “I left a snack for you inside,” Tholie said, putting the toweling skins down. Jondalar and Ayla had been given a bed inside the dwelling that she and Markeno used when they were on land. It was the same shelter that Thonolan and Jetamio had shared with them, and Jondalar had a few bad moments when they first entered, remembering the tragedy that had caused his brother to leave, and ultimately to die.

  “But don’t spoil your appetite,” Tholie added. “We are having a big feast tonight, in honor of Jondalar’s return.” She did not add that it was also in honor of Ayla for helping Roshario. The woman was still sleeping, and no one wanted to tempt fate by saying it out loud before it was known that she would wake up, and would recover.

  “Thank you, Tholie. For everything,” Jondalar said. Then he smiled at the little girl. She put her head down and hung back behind her mother even more, but she continued to stare at Jondalar. “It looks like the last of the red from the burn on Shamio’s face has faded. I don’t see even a hint of it.”

  Tholie picked the girl up, giving Jondalar a chance to see her better. “If you look very closely, you can see where the burn was, but it’s hardly noticeable. I’m grateful, the Mother was kind to her.”

  “She is a beautiful child,” Ayla said, smiling at them and looking at the little girl with genuine longing. “You are so lucky. Someday I would like to have a daughter like her.” Ayla started walking out of the pool. It was refreshing, but almost too cool to stay in for very long. “Did you say her name was Shamio?”

  “Yes, and I do feel lucky to have her,” the young mother said, putting the child down. Tholie couldn’t resist the compliment to her offspring, and she smiled warmly at the tall, beautiful woman, who was not, however, what she claimed to be. Tholie had resolved to treat her with reserve and caution until she learned more.

  Ayla picked up a skin and began drying herself. “This is so soft, and nice to dry with,” she said, then stretched it around herself and tucked an end in at the waist. She picked up another to dry her hair, then wrapped it around her head. She had noticed Shamio watching the wolf, clinging to her mother but obviously curious. Wolf was interested in her, too, all but squirming with anticipation, but staying where he was told. She signaled the animal to her side, then got down on one knee and put her arm around him.

  “Would Shamio like to meet Wolf?” Ayla asked the girl. When she nodded, Ayla glanced up at her mother for approval. Tholie looked apprehensively at the huge animal with the sharp teeth. “He won’t hurt her, Tholie. Wolf loves children. He grew up with the children of Lion Camp.”

  Shamio had already let go of her mother and taken a tentative step toward them, fascinated by the creature that had been looking at her with equal fascination. The child watched him with unsmiling, solemn eyes, while the wolf whined with eagerness. Finally she took another step forward and reached for him with two hands. Tholie gasped, but the sound was drowned out by Shamio’s giggles when Wolf licked her face. She pushed his eager muzzle away, grabbed a handful of fur, then lost her balance and fell over him. The wolf waited patiently for the girl to get up, then licked her face again, to another string of delighted giggles.

  “C’mon, Wuffie,” the girl said, grabbing him by the fur of his neck and pulling to make him come with her, already claiming him as her very own living toy.

  Wolf looked at Ayla, and yipped a short puppy bark. She hadn’t yet signaled his release. “You can go with Shamio, Wolf,” she said, giving him the sign he was waiting for. She could almost believe that the look he gave her was gratitude, but there was no mistaking his delight as he followed the girl. Even Tholie smiled.

  Jondalar had been watching the interaction with interest while he dried himself off. He picked up their clothes and walked toward the sandstone overhang with the two women. Tholie was keeping an eye on Shamio and Wolf, just in case, but she, too, was intrigued with the tame animal. She was not the only one. Many people were watching the girl and the wolf. When a boy a little older than Shamio approached, he was also greeted with a wet invitation to join them. Just then, two other children came out of one of the dwellings, tussling over some wooden object. The smaller one threw it to keep the other from getting it, which Wolf took as a signal that they wanted to play one of his favorite games. He raced after the carved stick, brought it back and laid it on the ground, his tongue panting and his tail waving, ready to play again. The boy picked it up and threw it again.

  “I think you must be right—he’s playing with them. He must like children,” Tholie said. “But why should he like to play? He’s a wolf!”

  “Wolves and people are alike in some ways,” Ayla said. “Wolves like to play. From the time they are cubs, siblings in a litter play, and the half-grown and adult wolves love to play with the little ones. Wolf didn’t have any siblings when I found him; he was the only one left, and he barely had his eyes open. He didn’t grow up in a wolf pack, he grew up playing with children.”

  “But look at him. He’s so tolerant, even gentle. I’m sure when Shamio pull
s on his fur, it must hurt. Why does he put up with it?” Tholie asked, still trying to understand.

  “It’s natural for a grown wolf to be gentle with the little ones of a pack, so it wasn’t hard to teach him to be careful, Tholie. He’s especially gentle with small children and babies and will tolerate almost anything from them. I didn’t teach him that, that’s just how he is. If they get too rough, he’ll move away, but he goes back later. He won’t put up with as much from older children, and he seems to know the difference between one of them accidentally hurting him and one who is being purposely hurtful. He has never really harmed anyone, but he will nip a little—give a little pinch with his teeth—to remind an older child, who is pulling on his tail or yanking his fur, that some things hurt.”

  “The idea of anyone, particularly a child, even thinking of pulling a wolf’s tail is hard to imagine … or it would have been until today,” Tholie said. “And I wouldn’t have believed that I’d ever see the day that Shamio would play with a wolf. You have … made some people think, Ayla … Ayla of the Mamutoi.” Tholie wanted to say more, to ask some questions, but she didn’t exactly want to accuse the woman of lying, not after what she had done for Roshario, or at least seemed to have done. No one knew for sure, yet.

  Ayla sensed Tholie’s reservations, and she was sorry about them. It placed an unspoken strain between them, and she liked the short, plump Mamutoi woman. They walked a few steps in silence, watching Wolf with Shamio and the other children, and Ayla thought again how much she would like to have a daughter like Tholie’s … a daughter next time, not a son. She was such a beautiful little girl, and her name matched her.

  “Shamio is a beautiful name, Tholie, and unusual. It sounds like a Sharamudoi name, but also like a Mamutoi name,” Ayla said.

  Tholie could not resist smiling again. “You’re right. Not everyone knows it, but that’s what I was trying to do. She would be called Shamie if she were Mamutoi, although that isn’t a name that would likely be found in any Camp. It comes from the Sharamudoi language, so her name is both. I may be Sharamudoi now, but I was born to the Red Deer Hearth, a line of high status. My mother insisted on a good Bride Price for me from Markeno’s people, though he wasn’t even Mamutoi. Shamio can be as proud of her Mamutoi background as she will be of her Sharamudoi heritage. That’s why I wanted to show both in her name.”