The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  “Did the child never say?” Ayla asked.

  “No. Omel kept the secret, too. I think Brugar may have threatened dire consequences to them both if the child’s gender was ever revealed,” S’Armuna said.

  “There must have been some hint, especially as the child grew older. The body that was buried appeared to be of adult size,” Jondalar said.

  “Omel did not shave, but could have been a male late in developing, and it was hard to tell if breasts developed. Omel wore loose clothing that disguised the shape. Omel did grow to be quite tall for a female, in spite of the crooked spine, but quite thin. Perhaps it was because of the weakness, but Attaroa herself is very tall, and there was a certain delicacy there that men don’t usually have.”

  “Did you have no sense of the child as it was growing up?” Ayla asked.

  The woman is perceptive, S’Armuna thought, then nodded. “In my heart, I always thought of Omel as a girl, but perhaps that is what I wanted. Brugar wanted people to think of the child as male.”

  “You are probably right about Brugar,” Ayla said. “In the Clan, every man wants his mate to have sons. He thinks of himself as less than a man if she doesn’t have at least one. It means his totem spirit is weak. If the infant was a girl, Brugar might have been trying to hide the fact that his mate had given birth to a female,” Ayla explained, then paused and considered a different point of view. “But deformed newborns are usually taken away and left exposed. So it could be that if the baby was born deformed, especially if it was a boy and unable to learn the necessary hunting skills required of a man, Brugar might have wanted to hide that.”

  “It’s not easy to interpret his motivations, but whatever they were, Attaroa went along with him.”

  “But how did Omel die? And the two young men?” Jondalar asked.

  “It’s a strange, complicated story,” S’Armuna said, not wanting to be rushed. “In spite of all the problems, and secrecy, the child became Brugar’s favorite. Omel was the only person he never struck or tried to hurt in some way. I was glad, but I often wondered why.”

  “Did he suspect that he might have caused the deformity because he beat Attaroa so much before birth?” Jondalar asked. “Was he trying to make up for it?”

  “Perhaps, but Brugar laid the blame on Attaroa. He often told her she was an inadequate woman who could not deliver a perfect baby. Then he’d become angry and beat her. But his beatings were no longer a prelude to Pleasures with his mate. Instead he demeaned Attaroa and showered affection on the child. Omel began to treat Attaroa the same way that he did, and as the woman felt more estranged, she became jealous of her own offspring, jealous of the affection Brugar showed the child, and even more of the love Omel felt for Brugar.”

  “That would have been very hard to bear,” Ayla said.

  “Yes, Brugar had discovered a new way to cause Attaroa pain, but she wasn’t the only one who suffered because of him,” S’Armuna continued. “As time went on, all the women were treated worse and worse, by Brugar and the other men. The men who tried to resist his ways were sometimes beaten, too, or they were forced out. Finally, after a particularly bad occasion that left Attaroa with a broken arm and several broken ribs from being jumped on and kicked, she rebelled. She swore she would kill him, and she begged me to give her something to do it with.”

  “Did you?” Jondalar asked, unable to restrain his curiosity.

  “One Who Serves the Mother learns many secrets, Jondalar, often dangerous secrets, especially one who has studied with the zelandonia,” S’Armuna explained. “But those who are admitted into the Motherhood must swear by the Sacred Caves and the Elder Legends that the secrets will not be misused. One Who Serves the Mother gives up name and identity, and takes on the name and identity of her people, becomes the link between the Great Earth Mother and Her children, and the means by which Earth’s Children communicate with the world of the spirits. Therefore, to Serve the Mother means to serve Her children as well.”

  “I understand that,” Jondalar said.

  “But you may not understand that the people become engraved on the spirit of One Who Serves. The need to consider their welfare becomes very strong, second only to the needs of the Mother. It is often a matter of leadership. Not directly, usually, but in the sense of showing the way. One Who Serves the Mother becomes a guide to understanding, and to finding the meaning inherent in the unknown. Part of the training is to learn the lore, the knowledge to enable the One to interpret the signs, visions, and dreams sent to Her children. There are tools to help, and ways to seek guidance from the world of the spirits, but ultimately it all comes down to the One’s own judgment. I wrestled with the thought of how best to Serve, but I’m afraid my judgment was clouded by my own bitterness and anger. I came back here hating men, and watching Brugar I learned to hate them more.”

  “You said that you felt responsible for the death of the three young people. Did you teach her about poisons?” Jondalar asked, unable to let it go.

  “I taught Attaroa many things, Marthona’s son, but she was not training to be One Who Serves. However, she has a quick mind and is able to learn more than may be intended … but I also knew that.” S’Armuna stopped then, stopped just short of admitting to a grievous transgression, making it clear, but allowing them to draw their own conclusions. She waited until she saw Jondalar frown with concern and Ayla nod in acknowledgment.

  “In any case, I did help Attaroa establish her power over the men in the beginning—maybe I wanted power over them myself. In truth, I did more than that. I prodded and encouraged her, convinced her that the Great Earth Mother wanted women to lead, and I helped her to convince the women, or most of them. After the way they had been treated by Brugar and the men, it wasn’t hard. I gave her something to put the men to sleep, and I told her to put it in their favorite drink—a brew they fermented from birch sap.”

  “The Mamutoi make a similar drink,” Jondalar commented, listening with amazement.

  “When the men were sleeping, the women tied them up. They were glad to do it. It was almost a game, a way of getting back at the men. But Brugar never woke up. Attaroa tried to imply that he was just more susceptible to the sleeping liquid, but I’m sure she put something else in his drink. She said she wanted to kill him, and I believe she did. She all but admits it now, but, whatever the truth is, I was the one who led her to believe that women would be better off if the men were gone. I was the one who convinced her that if there were no men, the spirits of women would have to mix with the spirits of other women to create new life, and only girl children would be born.”

  “Do you really think so?” Jondalar asked, frowning.

  “I think I almost persuaded myself that I did. I didn’t actually say it—I didn’t want to make the Mother angry—but I know I made her think so. Attaroa thinks the pregnancy of a few women proves it.”

  “She is wrong,” Ayla said.

  “Yes, of course she is, and I should have known better. The Mother was not deluded by my ruse. I know in my heart that men are here because that is how the Mother planned it. If She didn’t want men, She would not have made them. Their spirits are necessary. But if the men are weak, their spirits are not strong enough for the Mother to use. That’s why so few children have been born.” She smiled at Jondalar. “You are such a strong young man, I would not doubt that your spirit has already been used by Her.”

  “If the men were freed, I think you would find they are more than strong enough to make the women pregnant,” Ayla said, “with no help from Jondalar.”

  The tall blond man glanced at her and grinned. “But I’d be more than happy to help,” he said, knowing exactly what she meant, even if he wasn’t entirely sure if he shared her opinion.

  “And perhaps you should,” Ayla said. “I just said I didn’t think it would be necessary.”

  Jondalar suddenly stopped smiling. It occurred to him that no matter who was right, he had no reason to think he was capable of engendering a child.
/>
  S’Armuna looked at both of them, knowing they were making reference to something that she wasn’t privy to. She waited, but when it became obvious that they were waiting for her, she continued. “I helped her, and I encouraged her, but I didn’t know it would be worse with Attaroa as leader than it was with Brugar. In fact, right after he was gone, it was better … for the women, at least. But not for the men, and not for Omel. Cavoa’s brother understood; he was a special friend of Omel. That child was the only one who grieved for him.”

  “It’s understandable, under the circumstances,” Jondalar said.

  “Attaroa didn’t see it that way,” S’Armuna said. “Omel was sure that Attaroa had caused Brugar’s death, became very angry and defied her, and was beaten for it. Attaroa told me once that she only wanted to make Omel understand what Brugar had done to her and the other women. Although she didn’t say it, I think she thought, or hoped, that once Brugar was gone, Omel would turn to her, love her.”

  “Beatings are not likely to make someone love you,” Ayla said.

  “You’re right,” the older woman said. “Omel had never been beaten before and hated Attaroa even worse after that. They were mother and child, but they couldn’t stand to be near each other, it seemed. That’s when I offered to take Omel as an acolyte.”

  S’Armuna stopped, picked up her cup to drink, saw it was empty, then put it down. “Attaroa seemed glad that Omel was out of her lodge. But thinking back, I realized that she took it out on the men. In fact, ever since Omel left her lodge, Attaroa has been getting worse. She has become more cruel than Brugar ever was. I should have seen it before. Instead of keeping them apart, I should have tried to find ways to reconcile them. What will she do now that Omel is gone? Killed by her own hand?”

  The woman stared into the dancing air above the fire as though she were seeing something that wasn’t apparent to anyone else. “Oh, Great Mother! I’ve been blind!” she suddenly said. “She had Ardoban crippled and put in the Holding and I know she cared for that boy. And she killed Omel and the others.”

  “Had him crippled?” Ayla said. “Those children in the Holding? That was done on purpose?”

  “Yes, to make the boys weak, and fearful,” S’Armuna said, shaking her head. “Attaroa has lost all reason. I fear for us all.” Suddenly she broke down and held her face in her hands. “Where will it end? All this pain and suffering I have wrought,” she sobbed.

  “It was not your doing alone, S’Armuna,” Ayla said. “You may have allowed it, even encouraged it, but do not take it all on yourself. The evil is Attaroa’s, and perhaps belongs, too, to those who treated her so badly.” Ayla shook her head. “Cruelty mothers cruelty, pain breeds pain, abuse fosters abuse.”

  “And how many of the young ones that she has hurt will pass it on to the next generation?” the older woman cried out, as though in pain herself. She began rocking back and forth, keening with grief. “Which of the boys behind that fence has she condemned to carry on her terrible legacy? And which of the girls who look up to her will want to be like her? Seeing Jondalar here has reminded me of my training. Of all people, I should not have allowed it. That is what makes me responsible. Oh, Mother! What have I done?”

  “The question is not what you have done. It is what you can do now,” Ayla said.

  “I must help them. Somehow, I must help them, but what can I do?”

  “It is too late to help Attaroa, but she must be stopped. It is the children and men in the Holding we must help, but first they must be freed. Then we must think of how to help them.”

  S’Armuna looked at the young woman, who seemed at that moment so positive and so powerful, and wondered who she really was. The One Who Served the Mother had been made to see the damage she had caused and to know she had abused her power. She feared for her own spirit, as well as for the life of the Camp.

  There was silence in the lodge. Ayla got up and picked up the bowl used to brew tea. “Let me make tea this time. I have a very nice mixture of herbs with me,” she said. When S’Armuna nodded without saying a word, Ayla reached for her otter-skin medicine bag.

  “I’ve thought about those two crippled youngsters in the Holding,” Jondalar said. “Even if they can’t walk well, they could learn to be flint knappers, or something like that, if they had someone to train them. There must be someone among the S’Armunai who could teach them. Perhaps you could find someone at your Summer Meeting who would be willing.”

  “We don’t go to the Summer Meetings with the other S’Armunai anymore,” S’Armuna said.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “Attaroa doesn’t want to,” S’Armuna said, speaking in a dull monotone. “Other people had never been especially kind to her; her own Camp barely tolerated her. After she became leader, she didn’t want anything to do with anyone else. Not long after she took over, some of the Camps sent a delegation, inviting us to join them. They had somehow heard that we had many women without mates. Attaroa insulted them and sent them away, and within a few years she had alienated everyone. Now, no one comes, not kin, not friends. They all avoid us.”

  “Being tied to a target post is more than an insult,” Jondalar said.

  “I told you that she’s getting worse. You aren’t the first. What she did to you, she has done before,” the woman said. “A few years ago, a man came, a visitor, on a Journey. Seeing so many women apparently alone, he became arrogant and condescending. He assumed he would not only be welcome, but in great demand. Attaroa played with him, the way a lion will play with its prey; then she killed him. She enjoyed the game so much that she began detaining all visitors. She liked to make their life miserable, then make them promises, torment them, before getting rid of them. That was her plan for you, Jondalar.”

  Ayla shuddered as she added some calming and soothing medicines to her ingredients for S’Armuna’s tea. “You were right when you said she is not human. Mog-ur sometimes told of evil spirits, but I always thought they were legends, stories to frighten children into minding, and to send a shiver through everyone. But Attaroa is no legend. She is evil.”

  “Yes, and when no visitors came, she began toying with the men in the Holding,” S’Armuna kept on, as though unable to stop once she had begun to tell what she had seen and heard, but kept inside. “She took the stronger ones first, the leaders or the rebellious ones. There are getting to be fewer and fewer men, and the ones that are left are losing their will to rebel. She keeps them half-starved, exposed to the cold and weather. She puts them in cages or ties them up. They are not even able to clean themselves. Many have died from exposure and the bad conditions. And not many children are being born to replace them. As the men die, the Camp is dying. We were all surprised when Cavoa became pregnant.”

  “She must have been going into the Holding to stay with a man,” Ayla said. “Probably the one she fell in love with. I’m sure you know that.”

  S’Armuna did know, but she wondered how Ayla knew. “Some women do sneak in to see the men, and sometimes they bring them food. Jondalar probably told you,” she said.

  “No, I didn’t tell her,” Jondalar said. “But I don’t understand why the women allow the men to be held.”

  “They fear Attaroa. A few of them follow her willingly, but most would rather have their men back. And now she is threatening to cripple their sons.”

  “Tell the women the men must be set free, or no more children will be born,” Ayla said, in tones that sent a chill through both Jondalar and S’Armuna. They turned to stare. Jondalar recognized her expression. It was the distanced, somewhat objective way she looked when her mind was occupied with someone who was sick or injured, although in this case, he saw more than her need to help. He also saw in her a cold, hard anger he had not seen before.

  But the older woman saw Ayla as something else, and she interpreted her pronouncement as a prophecy, or a judgment.

  After Ayla served the tea, they sat in silence together, each deeply affected. Suddenly Ayla felt a strong
need to go outside and breathe the clean, crisp, cold air, and she wanted to check on the animals, but as she quietly observed S’Armuna, she didn’t think it was the best time to leave just yet. She knew the older woman had been devastated, and she sensed that she needed something of meaning to cling to.

  Jondalar found himself wondering about the men he had left behind in the Holding, and what they were thinking. They no doubt knew he was back but had not been put back in with them. He wished he could talk to Ebulan and S’Amodun, and reassure Doban, but he needed some reassuring himself. They were on dangerous ground, and they hadn’t done anything yet, except talk. Part of him wanted to get out of there as fast as possible, but the larger part of him wanted to help. If they were going to do something, he wished they would do it soon. He hated just sitting there.

  Finally, out of desperation, he said, “I want to do something for those men in the Holding. How can I help?”

  “Jondalar, you already have,” S’Armuna said, feeling a need to plan some strategy herself. “When you refused her, it gave the men heart, but that by itself would not have been enough. Men have resisted her before, for a while, but this was the first time a man walked away from her, and even more important, came back,” S’Armuna said. “Attaroa has lost face, and that gives others hope.”

  “But hope doesn’t get them out of there,” he replied.

  “No, and Attaroa will not let them out willingly. No man leaves here alive, if she can help it, although a few have gotten away, but women don’t often make Journeys. You are the first who has come this way, Ayla.”

  “Would she kill a woman?” Jondalar asked, unconsciously moving in closer to protect the woman he loved.

  “It’s harder for her to justify killing a woman, or even putting her in the Holding, although many of the women here are held against their will, though they have no fence around them. She has threatened the ones they love, and they are held by their feelings for their sons or mates. That’s why your life is in danger,” S’Armuna said, looking directly at Ayla. “You have no ties to this place. She has no hold over you, and if she succeeds in killing you, it will make it easier for her to kill other women. I’m telling you this not only to warn you, but because of the danger to the whole Camp. You can both still get away, and perhaps that is what you should do.”