The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  It was just after noon before they were ready to leave. While the food was cooking, Ayla had completed two rather steep-sided bowl-shaped baskets, both of good size but one somewhat larger than the other, and both were filled with the thick, rich combination. She had even added some oily pine nuts from the cones of the stone pines. She knew with their diet of mostly lean meat, it was the richness of fats and oils that would be most appealing to the people of the Camp. She also knew, without entirely understanding why, that it was what they needed the most, especially in winter, for warmth and energy and, along with the grains, to make everyone feel full and satisfied.

  Ayla covered the heaping bowls with inverted shallow baskets used as lids, lifted them to Whinney’s back, and secured them in a roughly made holder of dry grass and willow withes that she had worked together quickly, since it would be used only once and then disposed of. Then they started back to the S’Armunai settlement, using a different route. On the way they discussed what to do with the animals once they reached Attaroa’s Camp.

  “We can hide the horses in the woods by the river. Tie them to a tree and walk the rest of the way,” Jondalar suggested.

  “I don’t want to tie them. If Attaroa’s hunters happened to find them, they’d be too easy to kill,” Ayla said. “If they are free, at least they have a chance to get away, and they’ll be able to come when we whistle. I would rather have them close by, where we can see them.”

  “In that case, the field of dry grass next to the Camp might be a good place for them. I think they would stay there without being tied. They usually stay close by if we put them where they have something to graze,” Jondalar said. “And it would make a big impression on Attaroa and the S’Armunai if we both ride horses into the Camp. If they’re like everyone else we’ve met, the S’Armunai are probably a little afraid of people who can control horses. They all think it has to do with spirits or magical powers or something, but as long as they’re afraid, it gives us an edge. With only two of us, we need every advantage we can get.”

  “That’s true,” Ayla said, frowning, both because of her concerns for them and the animals, and because she hated the thought of taking advantage of the unfounded fears of the S’Armunai. It made her feel as if she were lying, but their lives were at stake, and very likely the lives of the boys and men in the Holding.

  It was a difficult moment for Ayla. She was being required to make a choice between two wrongs, but she was the one who had insisted that they return to help, even though it put their own lives in jeopardy. She had to overcome her ingrained compulsion to be absolutely truthful; she had to choose the lesser wrong, to adapt, if they were to have any chance of saving the boys and men of the Camp, and themselves, from the madness of Attaroa.

  “Ayla,” Jondalar said. “Ayla?” he repeated, when she had not responded to his question.

  “Uh … yes?”

  “I said, what about Wolf? Are you going to take him into the Camp, too?”

  She paused to think about it. “No, I don’t think so. They know about the horses, but they don’t know about a wolf. Considering what they like to do with wolves, I don’t see any reason why we should give them an opportunity to get too close to him. I’ll tell him to stay in hiding. I think he will, if he sees me once in a while.”

  “Where will he hide? It’s mostly open country around the settlement.”

  Ayla thought for a moment. “Wolf can stay where I was hiding when I watched you, Jondalar. We can go around from here to the uphill side. There are some trees and brush along a small stream leading up to the place. You can wait for me there with the horses; then we can go back around and ride into the Camp from another direction.”

  No one noticed them entering the field from the fringe of woods, and the first ones who saw the woman and man, each on a separate horse, cantering across the open land toward the settlement, had the feeling that they had simply appeared. By the time they reached Attaroa’s large earthlodge, everyone who could had gathered to watch them. Even the men in the Holding were crowded behind the fence watching through the cracks.

  Attaroa stood with her hands on her hips and her legs apart, assuming her attitude of command. Though she would never admit it, she was shocked and more than a little concerned to see them, and this time both on horses. The few times that anyone had ever gotten away from her, he had run as far and as fast as he could. No one had ever voluntarily come back. What power did these two possess that they felt confident enough to return? With her underlying fear of reprisal from the Great Mother and Her world of spirits, Attaroa wondered what the reappearance of the enigmatic woman and the tall, handsome man might signify, but her words showed none of her worry.

  “So you did decide to come back,” she said, looking to S’Armuna to translate.

  Jondalar thought the shaman seemed surprised, too, but he sensed her relief. Before she translated Attaroa’s words into Zelandonii, she spoke to them directly.

  “No matter what she says, I would advise you not to stay in her lodge, son of Marthona. My offer is still open to both of you,” she said before repeating Attaroa’s comment.

  The headwoman eyed S’Armuna, sure she had spoken more words than were necessary to translate. But without knowing the language, she couldn’t be sure.

  “Why shouldn’t we come back, Attaroa? Weren’t we invited to a feast in our honor?” Ayla said. “We have brought our contribution of food.”

  As her words were translated, Ayla threw her leg over and slid down from Whinney’s back, then lifted the largest bowl and set it on the ground between Attaroa and S’Armuna. She picked up the basket cover, and the delicious aroma from the huge mound of grains cooked with other foods made everyone stare in wonder as their mouths watered. It was a treat they had seldom enjoyed in recent years, especially in winter. Even Attaroa was momentarily overwhelmed.

  “There seems to be enough for everyone,” she said.

  “That is only for the women and children,” Ayla said. Then she took the slightly smaller woven bowl that Jondalar had just brought and put it down beside the first. She lifted the lid and announced, “This is for the men.”

  A murmuring undercurrent arose from behind the fence, and from the women who had come out of their lodges, but Attaroa was furious. “What do you mean, for the men?”

  “Certainly when the leader of a Camp announces a feast in honor of a visitor, it includes all the people? I presumed that you were the leader of the entire Camp, and that I was expected to bring enough for all. You are the leader of everyone, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am the leader of everyone,” Attaroa sputtered, caught at a loss for words.

  “If you aren’t ready yet, I think I should take these bowls inside, so they don’t freeze,” Ayla said, picking up the larger bowl again and turning toward S’Armuna. Jondalar took the other.

  Attaroa quickly recovered. “I invited you to stay in my lodge,” she said.

  “But I’m sure you are busy with preparations,” Ayla said, “and I would not want to impose on the leader of this Camp. It is more appropriate for us to stay with the One Who Serves the Mother.” S’Armuna translated, then added, “It is the way it is always done.”

  Ayla turned to go, saying to Jondalar under her breath, “Start walking toward S’Armuna’s lodge!”

  As Attaroa watched them go with the shaman, a smile of pure evil slowly altered her features, turning a face that could have been beautiful into a hideous, subhuman caricature. They were stupid to come back here, she thought, knowing that their return had given her the opportunity she wanted: her chance to destroy them. But she also knew she would have to catch them off guard. When she thought about it, she was glad to let them go with S’Armuna. It would get them out of the way. She wanted time to think and discuss plans with Epadoa, who had not yet returned.

  For the time being, however, she would have to go along with this feast. She signaled one of the women, the one who had a baby girl and was a favorite, and told her to tel
l the other women to prepare some food for a celebration. “Make enough for everyone,” the headwoman said, “including the men in the Holding.”

  The woman looked surprised, but she nodded and hurried away.

  “I would guess you are ready for some hot tea,” S’Armuna said, after she showed Ayla and Jondalar to their sleeping places, expecting Attaroa to come charging in any moment. But after they had drunk their tea without being disturbed, she relaxed a little. The longer Ayla and Jondalar were there without the headwoman objecting, the more it was likely they would be allowed to stay.

  But as the tension of worrying about Attaroa eased, an uncomfortable silence descended on the three people seated around the hearth. Ayla studied the woman Who Served the Mother, trying not to be too obvious. Her face had a peculiar skew, the left side was much more prominent than the right, and she guessed S’Armuna might even have some pain in the underdeveloped right jaw when she chewed. The woman did nothing to hide the abnormality, wearing her graying, light brown hair with straightforward dignity, pulled back and up in a smooth bun near the top of her head. For some inexplicable reason, Ayla felt drawn to the older woman.

  Ayla could not help but notice, however, a hesitancy in her manner, and she sensed that S’Armuna was pulled by indecision. She kept glancing toward Jondalar as if she wanted to say something to him but found it hard to begin, as if she were trying to find a delicate way to broach a difficult subject.

  Acting on instinct, Ayla spoke up. “Jondalar told me that you knew his mother, S’Armuna,” she said. “I wondered where you learned to speak his language so well.”

  The woman turned to the visitor with a look of surprise. His language, she thought, not hers? Ayla almost felt the shaman’s sudden, intense evaluation of her, but her return gaze was just as strong.

  “Yes, I knew Marthona, and the man she mated as well.”

  It seemed as though she wanted to say more, but instead she was silent. Jondalar filled the void, eager to talk about his home and family, especially with someone who once knew them.

  “Was Joconan leader of the Ninth Cave when you were there?” Jondalar asked.

  “No, but I’m not surprised that he became leader.”

  “They say Marthona was almost a coleader, like a Mamutoi headwoman, I suppose. That’s why, after Joconan died …”

  “Joconan is dead?” S’Armuna interrupted. Ayla sensed her shock and noted an expression that showed something akin to grief. Then she seemed to gather her composure. “It must have been a difficult time for your mother.”

  “I’m sure it was, although I don’t think she had much time to think about it, or to grieve too long. Everyone was pressing her to be leader. I don’t know when she met Dalanar, but by the time she mated him, she had been leader of the Ninth Cave for several years. Zelandoni told me she was already blessed with me before the mating, so it should have been lucky, but they severed the knot a couple of years after I was born, and he chose to leave. I don’t know what happened, but sad stories and songs about their love are still recalled. They embarrass Mother.”

  It was Ayla who prompted him to continue, for her own interest, although S’Armuna’s interest was also obvious. “She mated again, and had more children, didn’t she? I know you had another brother.”

  Jondalar continued, directing his comments at S’Armuna. “My brother Thonolan was born to Willomar’s hearth, and my sister Folara, too. I think that was a good mating for her. Marthona is very happy with him, and he was always very good to me. He used to travel a lot, go on trading missions for my mother. He took me with him sometimes. Thonolan, too, when he got old enough. For a long time I thought of Willomar as the man of my hearth, until I went to live with Dalanar and got to know him a little better. I still feel close to him, although Dalanar was also very kind to me, and I grew to love him, too. But everyone likes Dalanar. He found a flint mine, met Jerika, and started his own Cave. They had a daughter, Joplaya, my close-cousin.”

  It suddenly occurred to Ayla that if a man was as much responsible for starting a new life growing inside a woman as the woman was, then the “cousin” he called Joplaya was actually his sibling; as much a sister as the one named Folara. Close-cousin, he had called her; was that because they recognized it was a closer tie than the relationship to the children of a mother’s sisters or the mates of her brothers? The conversation about Jondalar’s mother had gone on while she pondered the implications of Jondalar’s kin.

  “… then my mother turned the leadership over to Joharran, although he insisted that she stay on as adviser to him,” Jondalar was saying. “How did you happen to know my mother?”

  S’Armuna hesitated for a while, staring into space as though she were seeing an image from the past; then slowly she began to speak. “I was little more than a girl when I was taken there. My mother’s brother was leader here, and I was his favorite child, the only girl born to either of his two sisters. He had made a Journey when he was young and had learned of the renowned zelandonia. When it was felt that I had some talent or gift to Serve the Mother, he wanted me to be trained by the best. He took me to the Ninth Cave because your Zelandoni was First among those Who Serve the Mother.”

  “That seems to be a tradition with the Ninth Cave. When I left, our Zelandoni had just been chosen First,” Jondalar commented.

  “Do you know the former name of the one who is First now?” S’Armuna asked, interested.

  Jondalar made a wry smile, and Ayla thought she understood why. “I knew her as Zolena.”

  “Zolena? She’s young to be First, isn’t she? She was just a pretty little girl when I was there.”

  “Young, perhaps, but dedicated,” Jondalar said.

  S’Armuna nodded, then picked up the thread of her story. “Marthona and I were close to the same age, and the hearth of her mother was one of high status. My uncle and your grandmother, Jondalar, made an arrangement for me to live with her. He stayed just long enough to make sure I was settled.” S’Armuna’s eyes held a faraway look; then she smiled. “Marthona and I were like sisters. Even closer than sisters, more like twins. We liked the same things, and shared everything. She even decided to train to be zelandoni along with me.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Jondalar said. “Maybe that’s where she gained her leadership qualities.”

  “Perhaps, but neither of us were thinking about leadership then. We were just inseparable, and wanted the same things … until it became a problem.” S’Armuna stopped speaking then.

  “Problem?” Ayla encouraged. “There was a problem with feeling so close to a friend?” She had been thinking about Deegie, and how wonderful it had been to have a good friend, if only for a little while. She would have loved knowing someone like that when she was growing up. Uba had been like a sister, but as much as she had loved her, Uba was Clan. No matter how close she felt, there were some things they could never understand about each other, such as Ayla’s innate curiosity, and Uba’s memories.

  “Yes,” S’Armuna said, looking at the young woman, suddenly aware of her unusual accent again. “The problem was that we fell in love with the same man. I think Joconan may have loved us both. Once he talked of a double mating, and I think Marthona and I would have been willing, but by then the old Zelandoni had died, and when Joconan went to the new one for advice, he told him to choose Marthona. I thought then it was because Marthona was so beautiful and her face wasn’t twisted, but now I think it may have been because my uncle had told them he wanted me to come back. I didn’t stay for their Matrimonial; I was too bitter and angry. I started back soon after they told me.”

  “You came back here alone?” Jondalar asked. “Across the glacier by yourself?”

  “Yes,” the woman said.

  “Not many women make such long Journeys, especially by themselves. It was a dangerous and a brave thing to do, alone,” Jondalar said.

  “Dangerous, yes. I almost fell into a crevasse, but I’m not sure how brave it was. I think my anger sustained me
. But when I got back, everything had changed; I had been gone for many years. My mother and aunt had moved north, where many other S’Armunai live, along with my cousins and brothers, and my mother had died there. My uncle was dead, too, and another man was leader, a stranger named Brugar. I’m not sure where he came from. He seemed charming at first, not handsome, but very attractive in a rugged sort of way, but he was cruel and vicious.”

  “Brugar … Brugar,” Jondalar said, closing his eyes and trying to remember where he had heard the name. “Wasn’t he Attaroa’s mate?”

  S’Armuna got up, suddenly very agitated. “Would anyone like more tea?” she asked. Ayla and Jondalar both accepted. She brought them each fresh hot cups of the herbal beverage, then got one for herself, but before she sat down, she addressed the visitors. “I’ve never told all this to anyone before.”

  “Why are you telling us now?” Ayla asked.

  “So you will understand.” She turned to Jondalar. “Yes, Brugar was Attaroa’s mate. Apparently he began to make changes shortly after he became leader, and he started by making men more important than women. Small things at first. Women had to sit and wait until they were granted permission to speak. Women were not allowed to touch weapons. It didn’t seem so serious at first, and the men were enjoying the power, but after the first woman was beaten to death as punishment for speaking her mind, the rest began to realize things were very serious. By then people didn’t know what had happened or how to change things back. Brugar brought out the worst in men. He had a band of followers, and I think the others were scared not to go along.”

  “I wonder where he ever got such ideas?” Jondalar said.

  With a sudden inspiration, Ayla asked, “What did this Brugar look like?”

  “He was strong-featured, rugged, as I said, but very charming and appealing when he wanted to be.”