The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  Tholie stopped as a thought occurred to her. She turned to look at the visitor. “Ayla is an unusual name, too. What Hearth were you born to?” she said, thinking, There, now I’d like to hear you explain that name.

  “I was not born Mamutoi, Tholie. I was adopted by the Mammoth Hearth,” Ayla said, glad that the woman had brought out the questions that had obviously been bothering her.

  Tholie was certain she had caught the woman in a lie. “People are not adopted by the Mammoth Hearth,” she asserted. “That is the Hearth of the mamutii. People choose the way of the spirits, and may be accepted by the Mammoth Hearth, but they are not adopted.”

  “That is the usual way, Tholie, but Ayla was adopted,” Jondalar interjected. “I was there. Talut was going to adopt her into his Lion Hearth, but Mamut surprised everyone, and adopted her into the Mammoth Hearth, as his own. He saw something in her—that’s why he was training her. He claimed she was born to the Mammoth Hearth, whether she was born a Mamutoi or not.”

  “Adopted to the Mammoth Hearth? From outside?” Tholie said, surprised, but she did not doubt Jondalar. After all, she knew him and he was kin, but she was even more interested. Now that she no longer felt so constrained to be watchful and cautious, her natural forthright curiosity rose to the surface. “Who were you born to, Ayla?”

  “I don’t know, Tholie. My people died in an earthquake when I was a girl not much more than Shamio’s age. I was raised by the Clan,” Ayla said.

  Tholie had never heard of any people called the Clan. They must be one of those eastern tribes, she thought. That would explain a lot. No wonder she has such a strange accent, though she does speak the language well, for an outsider. That Old Mamut of the Lion Camp was a wise and canny old, old man, she mused. He had always been old, it seemed. Even when she was a girl, no one could remember when he was young, and no one doubted his insights.

  With a mother’s natural instinct, Tholie glanced around to check on her child. Noticing Wolf, she thought once again about how strange it was that an animal would prefer associating with people. Then she looked the other way at the horses grazing quietly and contentedly in the field so near to their living site. Ayla’s control over the animals was not only surprising, it was interesting because they seemed so devoted to her. The wolf seemed to adore her.

  And look at Jondalar. He was obviously captivated by the beautiful blond woman, and Tholie didn’t think it was just because she was beautiful. Serenio had been beautiful, and there had been countless attractive women who had tried their best to interest him in a serious attachment. He had been closer to his brother, and Tholie recalled wondering if any woman would ever reach his heart, but this woman had. Even without her apparent healing skills, she seemed to possess some unusual quality. Old Mamut must have been right. It probably was her destiny to belong to the Mammoth Hearth.

  Inside the dwelling, Ayla combed out her hair, tied it back with a piece of soft leather thong, and put on the clean tunic and short pants she had been keeping aside in case they met some people, so she would not have to wear her stained traveling clothes for visiting. Then she went to check on Roshario. She smiled at Darvalo, who was sitting listlessly outside the dwelling, and she nodded to Dolando when she entered and approached the woman lying on the bed. She examined her briefly, just to make sure she was all right.

  “Should she still be sleeping?” Dolando asked, with a worried frown.

  “She’s fine. She will sleep a while longer yet.” Ayla looked at her medicine bag, then decided that it would be a good time to gather some fresh ingredients for a reviving tea to help bring Roshario out of the datura-induced sleep when she did begin to awaken. “I saw a linden tree on my way here. I want some flowers for a tea for her and, if I can find them, a few other herbs. If Roshario wakes up before I get back, you can give her a little water. Expect her to be bewildered and a bit dizzy. The splints should hold her arm straight, but don’t let her move it too much.”

  “Will you be able to find your way?” Dolando asked. “Maybe you should take Darvo with you.”

  Ayla was sure she would have no trouble finding her way, but she decided to take the lad with her anyway. In all the concern for Roshario, he had been somewhat neglected, and he was worried about the woman, too.

  “Thank you, I will,” she said.

  Darvalo had overheard the conversation and was standing and ready to go with her, looking pleased to be useful.

  “I think I know where that linden tree is,” he said. “There are always a lot of bees around it this time of year.”

  “That’s the best time to gather the flowers,” Ayla said, “when they smell like honey. Do you know where I can find a basket to carry them back?”

  “Roshario stores her baskets back here,” Darvalo said, showing Ayla to a storage space behind the dwelling. They selected a couple.

  As they stepped out from under the overhang, Ayla noticed Wolf watching her, and she called him. She did not feel comfortable leaving the wolf alone with these people just yet, though the children complained when he left. Later, when everyone felt more familiar with the animals, it might be different.

  Jondalar was in the field with the horses and two men. Ayla walked toward them to tell him where she was going. Wolf ran ahead and they all turned to watch when he and Whinney rubbed noses, while the mare whickered a greeting. Then the canine struck a playful pose and yipped a puppy bark at the young stallion. Racer lifted his head in a neigh and pawed the ground, returning the playful gesture. Then the mare approached Ayla and put her head across her shoulder. The woman put her arms around Whinney’s neck, and they leaned against each other in a familiar posture of comfort and reassurance. Racer took a few paces forward and nuzzled them both, wanting contact, too. She hugged his neck, then patted and stroked him, realizing that they all welcomed each other’s familiar presence in this place of so many strangers.

  “I should introduce you, Ayla,” Jondalar said.

  She faced the two men. One was nearly as tall as Jondalar, but thinner, the other was shorter, and older, but their similarity was striking, nonetheless. The shorter one stepped forward first, with both hands outstretched.

  “Ayla of the Mamutoi, this is Carlono, Ramudoi leader of the Sharamudoi.”

  “In the name of Mudo, Mother of All in water and on land, I welcome you, Ayla of the Mamutoi,” Carlono said, taking both of her hands. He spoke Mamutoi even better than Dolando, a result of several trading missions to the mouth of the Great Mother River, as well as Tholie’s coaching.

  “In the name of Mut, I thank you for your welcome, Carlono of the Sharamudoi,” she replied.

  “Soon you must come down to our dock,” Carlono said, thinking, What a strange accent she has. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard one like that, and I’ve heard many. “Jondalar told me he promised you a ride in a proper boat, not one of those oversize Mamutoi bowls.”

  “I shall be pleased,” Ayla said, offering one of her brilliant smiles.

  Carlono’s thoughts were diverted from consideration of her speech mannerism to appreciation of her. This woman Jondalar has brought certainly is a beauty. She suits him, he decided.

  “Jondalar has told me of your boats, and about hunting sturgeon,” Ayla continued.

  Both men laughed, as though she had made a joke, and they looked at Jondalar, who smiled, too, although he turned slightly red.

  “Did he ever tell you how he hunted half a sturgeon?” the tall young man said.

  “Ayla of the Mamutoi,” Jondalar interjected, “this is Markeno of the Ramudoi, the son of Carlono’s hearth, and Tholie’s mate.”

  “Welcome, Ayla of the Mamutoi,” Markeno said, informally, knowing she had been greeted with the proper ritual many times. “Have you met Tholie? She will be pleased you are here. She misses her Mamutoi kin sometimes.” His command of his mate’s language was almost perfect.

  “Yes, I’ve met her, and Shamio, too. She is a beautiful little girl.”

  Markeno beamed. “
I think so, too, though one is not supposed to say that of the daughter of one’s own hearth.” Then he turned to the youngster. “How is Roshario, Darvo?”

  “Ayla has fixed her arm,” he said. “She is a healer.”

  “Jondalar told us she set the break properly,” Carlono said, careful to be noncommittal. He would wait to see how well her arm healed.

  Ayla noticed the Ramudoi leader’s response, but she thought it was understandable, given the circumstances. No matter how well they liked Jondalar, she was a stranger, after all.

  “Darvalo and I are going to gather some herbs I noticed on the way here, Jondalar,” she said. “Roshario is still sleeping, but I want to make a drink for her when she wakes. Dolando is with her. I don’t like the look of Racer’s eyes, either. Later I’ll look for more of those white plants to help him, but I don’t want to take the time now. You might try rinsing them with cool water,” she said. Then, smiling at everyone, she signaled Wolf, nodded to Darvalo, and headed for the edge of the embayment.

  The view from the path at the end of the wall was no less spectacular than it had been the first time she saw it. She had to catch her breath as she looked down, but she could not resist doing it. She allowed Darvalo to lead the way and was glad she did when he showed her a shortcut he knew. The wolf explored the area around the path, busily chasing after intriguing scents, then rejoining them. The first few times Wolf suddenly reappeared, he startled the youth, but as they continued, Darvalo began to get used to his comings and goings.

  The large old linden tree announced its presence long before they reached it with a rich fragrance, reminiscent of honey, and the droning hum of bees. The tree came into view around a turn in the path and revealed the source of the luscious aroma, small green-and-yellow flowers dangling from oblong, winglike bracts. The bees were so busy collecting nectar that they didn’t bother with the people who disturbed them, though the woman had to shake some bees out of the blossoms they cut. The insects just flew back to the tree and found others.

  “Why is this especially good for Rosh?” Darvalo asked. “People always make linden tea.”

  “It does taste good, doesn’t it? But it’s helpful, too. If you’re upset, or nervous, or even angry, it can be very soothing; if you’re tired, it wakes you up, lifts your spirits. It can make a headache go away and calm an upset stomach. Roshario will be feeling all of those things, because of the drink that made her go to sleep.”

  “I didn’t know it would do all that,” the youngster said, looking again at the familiar spreading tree with smooth dark brown bark, impressed that something so ordinary had qualities that made it so much more than it seemed.

  “There is another tree I would like to find, Darvalo, but I don’t know the name in Mamutoi,” Ayla said. “It’s a small tree, sometimes growing as brush. It has thorns on it, and the leaves are shaped a little like a hand with fingers. It has clusters of white flowers earlier in the summer, and about now, round red berries.”

  “It’s not a rosebush you want, is it?”

  “No, but that’s a good guess. The one I want usually grows bigger than a rosebush, but the flowers are smaller, and the leaves are different.”

  Darvalo frowned with concentration, then suddenly smiled. “I think I know what you mean, and there are some not far from here. In spring, we always pick the leaf buds and eat them when we walk by.”

  “Yes, that sounds like the one. Can you take me to it?”

  Wolf was not in sight, so Ayla whistled. He appeared almost instantly, looking at her with eager anticipation. She signaled him to follow. They walked for a short while until they came to a stand of hawthorne.

  “That’s exactly what I was looking for, Darvalo!” Ayla said. “I wasn’t sure if my description was clear enough.”

  “What does this do?” he asked as they were picking berries and some leaves.

  “It’s for the heart, restores, strengthens it, and stimulates, makes it beat hard—but it’s gentle, for a healthy heart. It’s not for someone with a weak heart, who needs a strong medicine,” Ayla said, trying to find words to explain so that the youngster would understand what she knew from observation and experience. She had learned from Iza in a language and way of teaching that were difficult to translate. “It is also good to mix with other medicines. It stimulates them, makes them work better.”

  Darvalo was deciding that it was fun to gather stuff with Ayla. She knew all kinds of things that no one else did, and she didn’t mind telling him at all. On the way back, she stopped at a dry, sunny bank and cut some pleasant-smelling purple hyssop flowers. “What does that do?” he asked.

  “It clears the chest, helps breathing. And this,” she said, picking some soft, downy leaves of mouse-eared hawkweed that were nearby, “stimulates everything. It’s stronger, and doesn’t taste too good, so I’ll only use a little. I want to give her something pleasant to drink, but this will clear her mind, make her feel alert.”

  On the way back, Ayla stopped once more, to gather a large bunch of pretty pink gillyflowers. Darvalo expected to learn more medical lore when he asked what they were for.

  “Just because they smell nice, and add a sweet, spicy flavor. I’ll use some for the tea, and I’ll put some in water by her bed, to make her feel good. Women like pretty, nice-smelling things, Darvalo, especially when they are sick.”

  He decided he liked pretty, nice-smelling things, too, like Ayla. He liked the way she always called him Darvalo, and not Darvo, the way everyone else did. Not that he minded so much when Dolando or Jondalar called him that, but it was nice to hear her use his grown-up name. Her voice sounded nice, too, even if she did say some words a little funny. All it did was make you pay attention to her when she talked, and after a while think about what a nice voice she had.

  There was a time when he wished more than anything that Jondalar would mate his mother and stay with the Sharamudoi. His mother’s mate had died when he was young, and there had never been a man who lived with them until the tall Zelandonii man came. Jondalar had treated him like a son of his hearth—he had even begun to teach him to work the flint—and Darvalo had felt hurt when the man left.

  He had hoped Jondalar would come back, but he never really expected it. When his mother left with that Mamutoi man, Gulec, he was sure there would be no reason for the Zelandonii man to stay if he did come back. But now that he had come, and with another woman, his mother didn’t need to be there. Everyone liked Jondalar, and, especially since Roshario’s accident, everybody talked about how much they needed a healer. He was sure Ayla was a good one. Why couldn’t they both stay? he thought.

  “She woke up once,” Dolando said the instant Ayla entered the dwelling. “At least I think she did. She might have just been thrashing in her sleep. She has quieted down and is sleeping again now.”

  The man was relieved to see her, though it was clear that he did not want to make it obvious. Unlike Talut, who had been completely open and friendly, and whose leadership was based on the strength of his character, his willingness to listen, accept differences, and work out compromises … and a voice loud enough to get the attention of a noisy group in the midst of a heated argument … Dolando reminded her more of Brun. He was more reserved, and though he was a good listener who considered a situation carefully, he did not like to reveal his feelings. But Ayla was used to interpreting the subtle mannerisms of such a man.

  Wolf came in with her, and he went to his corner even before she signaled. She put down her basket of herbal flowers to check on Roshario, then spoke to the worried man. “She’ll be waking up soon, but I should have time to prepare a special tea for her to drink when she does.”

  Dolando had noticed the fragrance of the flowers as soon as Ayla entered, and the steaming liquid she made from them had a warm floral scent when she brought a cup for him as well as the woman on the bed.

  “What is this for?” he asked.

  “I made it to help Roshario wake up, but you might find it refreshing, too.�
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  He sipped it, expecting a light flowery essence, and was surprised as a subtly sweet taste rich with character and flavor filled his mouth. “This is good!” he said. “What’s in it?”

  “Ask Darvalo. I think he’d be pleased to tell you.”

  The man nodded, understanding her implied suggestion. “I should pay more attention to him. I’ve been so worried about Roshario, I haven’t thought of anything else, and I’m sure he’s been worried about her, too.”

  Ayla smiled. She was beginning to perceive the qualities that made him the leader of this group. She liked the quickness of his mind and was fast growing to like him. Roshario made a sound, and their attention was suddenly diverted to her.

  “Dolando?” she said in a weak voice.

  “I’m here,” he said, and the tenderness in his voice brought a lump to Ayla’s throat. “How are you feeling?”

  “A little dizzy, and I had the strangest dream,” she said.

  “I have something for you to drink.” The woman made a face, remembering the last drink she had been given. “You will like this, I think. Here, smell it,” Ayla said, bringing the cup down so that the delicious aroma was near her nose. The frown faded, and the medicine woman lifted Roshario’s head and brought the cup to her lips.

  “That is nice,” Roshario said after a few sips, then drank some more. She lay back when she finished it and closed her eyes, but soon opened them. “My arm! How is my arm?”

  “How does it feel?” Ayla said.

  “It’s a little painful, but not as much and in a different way,” she said. “Let me see it.” She craned to look at her arm, then tried to sit up.