The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  “No, I cannot leave,” Ayla said. “How can I walk away from those children? Or those men? The women will need help, too. Brugar called you a medicine woman, S’Armuna. I don’t know if you know what that means, but I am a medicine woman of the Clan.”

  “You are a medicine woman? I should have known,” S’Armuna said. She wasn’t entirely sure what a medicine woman was, but she had gained such respect from Brugar after he had ranked her within that classification, that she had granted the position the highest significance.

  “That is why I can’t go,” Ayla said. “It is not so much something I choose to do; it is what a medicine woman must do, it is what she is. It is inside. A piece of my spirit is already in the next world”—Ayla reached for the amulet around her neck—“given in exchange for the spirit obligation of those people who will need my help. It’s difficult to explain, but I can’t allow Attaroa to abuse them anymore, and this Camp will need help after the ones in the Holding are free. I must stay, as long as I need to.”

  S’Armuna nodded, feeling that she understood. It was not an easy concept to explain. She equated Ayla’s fascination with healing and compassionate need to help with her own feelings about being called to Serve the Mother, and she identified with the young woman.

  “We will stay as long as we can,” Jondalar amended, remembering that they still had to cross a glacier that winter. “The question is, how are we going to persuade Attaroa to let the men out?”

  “She fears you, Ayla,” the shaman said, “and I think most of her Wolf Women do, too. Those who don’t fear you are in awe of you. The S’Armunai are horse-hunting people. We hunt other animals, too, including mammoths, but we know horses. To the north there is a cliff that we have driven horses over for generations. You cannot deny your control over horses is powerful magic. It is so powerful that it is hard to believe, even seeing it.”

  “There is nothing mysterious about it,” Ayla snorted. “I raised the mare from the time she was a foal. I was living alone, and she was my only friend. Whinney does what I want because she wants to, because we are friends,” she said, trying to explain.

  The way she said the name was the gentle nicker that was the sound made by a horse. Traveling alone with only Jondalar and the animals for so long, she had slipped back into the habit of saying Whinney’s name in its original form. The nicker coming from the woman’s mouth startled S’Armuna, and the very idea of being the friend of a horse was beyond comprehension. It didn’t matter that Ayla had said it wasn’t magic. She had just convinced S’Armuna that it was.

  “Perhaps,” the woman said. But she thought, No matter how simple you try to make it, you can’t stop people from wondering who you really are, and why you have come here. “People want to think, and hope, that you have come to help them,” she continued. “They fear Attaroa, but I think with your help, and Jondalar’s, they may be willing to stand up to her and make her free the men. They may refuse to let her intimidate them anymore.”

  Ayla was again feeling a strong need to get out of the lodge, which was more uncomfortable. “All this tea,” she said, standing up. “I need to pass water. Can you tell me where to go, S’Armuna?” After she listened to the directions, she added, “We need to see to the horses while we’re out, make sure they are comfortable. Is it all right to leave these bowls here for a while?” She had lifted a lid and was checking the contents. “It’s cooling off fast. It’s too bad this can’t be served hot. It would be better.”

  “Of course, leave it,” S’Armuna said, picking up her cup and drinking the last of her tea as she watched the two strangers leave.

  Perhaps Ayla wasn’t an incarnation of the Great Mother, and Jondalar really was Marthona’s son, but the idea that someday the Mother would exact Her retribution had been weighing heavily on the One Who Served Her. After all, she was S’Armuna. She had exchanged her personal identity for the power of the spirit world, and this Camp was her charge, all the people, women and men. She had been entrusted with the care of the spiritual essence of the Camp, and Her children depended on her. Looking from the view of outsiders, of the man who had served to remind her of her calling, and the woman with unusual powers, S’Armuna knew she had failed them. She only hoped it was still possible to redeem herself and to help the Camp recover a normal, healthy life.

  32

  S’Armuna stepped outside her lodge and watched the two visitors as they walked away toward the edge of the Camp. She saw that Attaroa and Epadoa, standing in front of the headwoman’s lodge, had turned to watch them, too. The shaman was about to go back in when she noticed Ayla suddenly changing direction and heading for the palisade. Attaroa and her chief Wolf Woman also saw her veer, and both moved forward in quick strides to intercept the blond woman. They reached the fenced enclosure almost simultaneously. The older woman arrived a moment later.

  Through the cracks, Ayla looked directly into the eyes and faces of silent watchers on the other side of the sturdy poles. On close inspection, they were a sorry sight, dirty and unkempt, and dressed in ragged skins, but even worse was the stench emanating from the Holding. It was not only malodorous; to the perceptive nose of the medicine woman it was revealing. Normal body odors of healthy individuals did not bother her, even a certain amount of normal bodily wastes was not offensive, but she smelled sickness. The foetid breath of starvation, the noisome filth of excrement resulting from stomach ailments and fever, the foul odor of pus from infected, suppurating wounds, and even the putrid rot of progressed gangrene, all assaulted her senses and infuriated her.

  Epadoa stepped in front of Ayla, trying to block her view, but she had seen enough. She turned and confronted Attaroa. “Why are these people held here behind this fence, like animals in a surround?”

  There was a gasp of surprise from the people who were watching when they heard the translation, and they held their breaths waiting for the headwoman’s reaction. No one had ever dared to ask her before.

  Attaroa glared at Ayla, who stared back with dauntless anger. They were nearly equal in height, though the dark-eyed woman was a shade taller. Both were physically strong women, but Attaroa was more muscular as a natural attribute of her heredity, while Ayla had flat and wiry muscles developed from use. The headwoman was somewhat older than the stranger, more experienced, crafty, and totally unpredictable; the visitor was a skilled tracker and hunter, quick to notice details, draw conclusions, and able to react swiftly on her judgments.

  Suddenly Attaroa laughed, and the familiar manic sound sent a shiver through Jondalar. “Because they deserve it!” the headwoman said.

  “No one deserves that kind of treatment,” Ayla retorted, before S’Armuna had a chance to translate. The woman instead respoke Ayla’s comment to Attaroa.

  “What do you know? You were not here. You don’t know how they treated us,” the dark-eyed woman said.

  “Did they make you stay outside when it was cold? Did they not give you food and clothing?” Some of the women who had gathered around looked a little uneasy. “Are you any better than they were if you treat them worse than you were treated?”

  Attaroa did not bother to reply to the words repeated by the shaman, but her smile was harsh and cruel.

  Ayla noticed movement beyond the fence, and she saw some of the men standing aside so the two boys who had been in the lean-to could limp to the front. All the others crowded around them. It angered her even more to see the injured youngsters, and other boys cold and hungry. Then she saw that some of the Wolf Women had entered the Holding with their spears. She felt such fury that she was hardly able to suppress it, and she addressed the women directly.

  “And did these boys also treat you badly? What did they do to you to justify this?” S’Armuna made sure all could understand.

  “Where are the mothers of these children?” she asked Epadoa.

  The leader of the Wolf Women glanced at Attaroa after hearing the words in her own language, looking for some kind of direction, but the headwoman only looked back w
ith her cruel smile, as though waiting to hear what she would say.

  “Some are dead,” Epadoa said.

  “Killed when they tried to run away with their sons,” one of the women from the crowd standing nearby said. “The rest are afraid to do anything for fear their children will be hurt.”

  Ayla looked and saw it was an old woman who had spoken, and Jondalar noticed it was the one who had grieved so loudly at the funeral of the three young people. Epadoa shot her a threatening look.

  “What more can you do to me, Epadoa?” the woman said, stepping boldly to the forefront. “You’ve already taken my son, and my daughter will soon be gone, one way or another. I’m too old to care if I live or die.”

  “They betrayed us,” Epadoa said. “Now they all know what will happen if they try to run away.”

  Attaroa gave no sign of approval or disapproval to indicate that Epadoa had voiced her own feelings. Instead, with a bored look, she turned her back on the tense scene and walked to her lodge, leaving Epadoa and her Wolf Women to guard the Holding. But she stopped and spun around when she heard a loud, shrill whistle. A fleeting expression of dread replaced her cold, cruel smile when she saw both horses, who had been almost out of sight at the far edge of the field, galloping toward Ayla. She quickly entered her earthlodge.

  Feelings of stunned amazement filled the rest of the settlement as the blond woman, and the man with even lighter yellow hair, leaped on the backs of the animals and galloped away. Most of those remaining wished they could leave as quickly and easily, and many wondered if they would ever see the two again.

  “I wish we could keep on going,” Jondalar said, after they had slowed down and he had pulled Racer up alongside Ayla and Whinney.

  “I wish we could, too,” she said. “That Camp is so unbearable; it fills me with anger and sadness. I’m even angry about S’Armuna allowing it to go on for so long, though I pity her and understand her remorse. Jondalar, how are we going to free those boys and men?”

  “We’re going to have to work that out with S’Armuna,” Jondalar said. “I think it’s obvious that most of the women want things to change, and I’m sure many of them would help, if they knew what to do. S’Armuna will know who they are.”

  They had entered the open woods from the field, and they rode through its cover, though in places it was quite sparse, toward the river and then back around to the place they had left the wolf. As soon as they neared, Ayla signaled with a soft whistle, and Wolf bounded out to greet them, almost beside himself with happiness. He had been watching from the place Ayla had told him to stay, and they both gave him praise and attention for waiting. Ayla did notice he had hunted and brought his kill back, which meant he had left his hiding place at least for a while. It worried her, since they were so close to the Camp and its Wolf Women, but she found it hard to blame him. It made her all the more determined, however, to get him away from the hunting women who ate wolves as soon as possible.

  They walked the horses quietly back toward the river, to the grove where they had hidden their packs. Ayla got out one of their few remaining cakes of traveling food, broke it in two, and gave the larger piece to Jondalar. They sat amidst the brush, eating their snack, glad to be away from the depressing environment of the S’Armunai Camp.

  Suddenly she heard a low rumbling growl from Wolf, and the hair on the back of Ayla’s neck stood on end.

  “Someone’s coming,” Jondalar whispered, feeling a quick rush of alarm at the sound.

  Snapped to the sharp edge of awareness by the warning, Ayla and Jondalar scanned the area, certain that Wolf’s keener senses had detected immediate danger. Noticing the direction Wolf’s nose was pointing, Ayla looked carefully through the screen of brush and saw two women approaching. One of them, she was almost certain, was Epadoa. She tapped Jondalar’s arm and pointed. He nodded when he saw them.

  “You wait, keep horses quiet,” she signed to him in the silent language of the Clan. “I make Wolf hide. I go stalk women, keep women away.”

  “I go,” Jondalar signed, shaking his head.

  “Women more listen to me,” Ayla replied.

  Jondalar nodded reluctantly. “I watch here with spear-thrower,” he said with gestures. “You take spear-thrower.”

  Ayla nodded in agreement. “And sling,” she signaled back.

  With silent stealth, Ayla circled around in front of the two women, then waited. As they slowly approached, she heard them talking.

  “I’m sure they came this way after they left their campsite last night, Unavoa,” the head Wolf Woman said.

  “But they already came to our Camp since last night. Why are we still looking here?”

  “They may come back this way, and even if they don’t, we may find out something about them.”

  “Some people are saying they disappear, or turn into birds or horses when they leave,” the younger Wolf Woman said.

  “Don’t be silly,” Epadoa said. “Didn’t we find where they camped last night? Why would they have to make a camp if they could turn into animals?”

  She’s right, Ayla thought. At least she uses her head and thinks, and she’s not really so bad at tracking. She’s probably even a decent hunter; it’s too bad she’s so close to Attaroa.

  Ayla, crouching behind bare tangled brush and yellowed knee-high grass, watched as they drew closer. At a moment when both women were looking down, she silently stood up, holding her spear-thrower poised.

  Epadoa started with surprise, and Unavoa jumped back and let out a little squeal of shock when they looked up and saw the blond stranger.

  “You look for me?” Ayla said, speaking in their language. “I am here.”

  Unavoa appeared ready to break and run, and even Epadoa seemed nervous and frightened.

  “We were … we were hunting,” Epadoa said.

  “No horses here to chase over edge,” Ayla said.

  “We weren’t hunting horses.”

  “I know. You hunt Ayla and Jondalar.”

  Her sudden appearance, and the strange quality to the way Ayla said the words in their language, made her seem exotic, from someplace far away, perhaps even from another world. She made both women want nothing more than to get as far away as possible from this woman, who seemed endowed with attributes that were more than human.

  “I think these two should return to their Camp, or they may miss the big feast tonight.”

  The voice came from the woods, and it was speaking Mamutoi, but both women understood the language and recognized that it was Jondalar who spoke. They looked back in the direction from which his voice had come and saw the tall blond man leaning nonchalantly against the bole of a large white-barked birch, holding his spear and spear-thrower ready.

  “Yes. You are right. We don’t want to miss the feast,” Epadoa said. Prodding her speechless young companion, she wasted no time in turning around and leaving.

  When they were gone, Jondalar could not resist cracking a big grin.

  The sun was descending toward late afternoon of the short winter day when Ayla and Jondalar rode back to the S’Armunai Camp. They had changed Wolf’s hiding place, leaving him somewhat closer to the settlement, since it would soon be dark, and people seldom went beyond the comfort of firelight at night, though Ayla still worried that he might be captured.

  S’Armuna was just leaving her lodge as they dismounted at the edge of the field, and she smiled with relief when she saw them. In spite of their promises, she couldn’t help wondering if they would return. After all, why should strangers put themselves in jeopardy to help people they didn’t even know? Their own kin had not even come for the past several years to find out if all was well with them. Of course, friends and kin had not been made welcome the last time they came.

  Jondalar removed Racer’s halter so he would not be encumbered in any way, and both gave the horses friendly slaps on the rump to encourage them to move away from the Camp. S’Armuna walked over to meet the two.

  “We are just finishing
our preparations for the Fire Ceremony tomorrow. We always start a warming fire the night before; would you like to come and warm up?” the woman said.

  “It is cold,” Jondalar said. They both walked beside her to the kiln on the other side of the Camp.

  “I’ve found a way to heat the food you brought, Ayla. You said it would be better warm, and I’m sure you are right. It smells wonderful.” S’Armuna smiled.

  “How can you heat such a thick mixture in baskets?”

  “I’ll show you,” the woman said, ducking into the anteroom of the small structure. Ayla followed her, with Jondalar right behind. Although no fire burned in the small fireplace, it was quite warm inside. S’Armuna went directly to the opening of the second chamber and removed the mammoth shoulder bone that was covering it. The air from inside was hot, hot enough to cook, Ayla thought. She looked in and saw that a fire had been started inside the chamber, and just inside the opening, some distance from the fire itself, were her two baskets.

  “It does smell good!” Jondalar said.

  “You have no idea how many people have been asking when the feast is going to start,” S’Armuna said. “They can even smell it in the Holding. Ardemun came to me and asked if the men are really going to get a share. It’s not only this. I’m surprised, but Attaroa did tell the women to prepare food for a feast, and to make enough for everyone. I can’t remember when we last had a real feast … but we haven’t had much reason to celebrate. It makes me wonder what we have to celebrate tonight.”

  “Visitors,” Ayla said. “You are honoring visitors.”

  “Yes, visitors,” the woman said. “Remember, that was her excuse to get you to come back. I must warn you. Do not drink or eat any food that comes from a dish that she has not eaten from first. Attaroa knows many harmful things that can be disguised in food. If necessary, only eat what you have brought. I have watched it carefully.”