The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  The youngster’s smile turned to a frown; he knew the tall man would not be staying.

  “But I’ll help you all I can,” Jondalar said. “We’ve had to make many hunting weapons on this Journey.”

  “What about that … stick that throws spears … like the one she used to free you?” It was Epadoa who had spoken, and everyone turned to stare. The head Wolf Woman had not spoken before, but her comments reminded them of the long and accurate cast Ayla had made to release Jondalar from the target post. It had seemed so miraculous that most people didn’t consider that it was a skill that could be learned.

  “The spear-thrower? Yes, I’ll show anyone who is interested how to use it.”

  “Including the women?” Epadoa asked.

  “Including the women,” Jondalar said. “When you learn to use good hunting weapons, you won’t have to go to the Great Mother River to chase horses off a cliff. You have one of the best hunting spots I’ve ever seen, right here down by the river.”

  “Yes, we do,” Ebulan said. “I especially remember them hunting mammoths. When I was a boy, they used to post a lookout and light signal fires when anything was seen.”

  “I thought as much,” Jondalar said.

  Ayla was smiling. “I think the pattern is breaking. I don’t hear Attaroa’s spirit talking any more,” she said, stroking Wolf’s fur. Then she spoke to the head Wolf Woman. “Epadoa, I learned to hunt four-legged hunters when I first started, including wolves. Wolf hides can be warm and useful for hoods, and a wolf that seriously threatens ought to be killed, but you would learn more from watching living wolves than from trapping and eating them after they are dead.”

  All the Wolf Women looked at each other with guilty expressions. How had she known? Among the S’Armunai, wolf meat was prohibited, and it was considered particularly bad for women.

  The chief hunter studied the blond woman, trying to see if there was more to her than there appeared. Now that Attaroa was dead, and she knew she would not be killed for her actions, Epadoa felt a release. She was glad it was over. The headwoman had been so compelling that the young hunter had become enamored and did many things to please her that she didn’t like thinking about. Many of these things had bothered her even while she did them, though she had not admitted it, even to herself. When she saw the tall man, while they were hunting horses, she had hoped that if she brought him back for Attaroa to toy with, she might spare one of their own men from the Holding.

  She hadn’t wanted to hurt Doban, but she was afraid that if she didn’t do as Attaroa commanded, the headwoman would kill him, as she had killed her own child. Why had this Daughter of the Mammoth Hearth selected S’Amodun rather than Esadoa to pronounce judgment on her? It was a choice that had spared her life. It wouldn’t be easy living in this Camp any longer. Many people hated her, but she was grateful for the chance to redeem herself. She would take care of the boy, even if he hated her. She owed him that much.

  But who was this Ayla? Had she come to break the grip of Attaroa on the Camp as everyone seemed to think? What about the man? What magic did he have that spears couldn’t touch him? And how did the men in the Holding get knives? Had he been responsible for that? Did they ride horses because that was the animal the Wolf Women had hunted most, even though the rest of the S’Armunai were as much mammoth hunters as their kin, the Mamutoi? Was the wolf a spirit wolf, come to revenge his kind? One thing she knew. She would never hunt a wolf again, and she was going to stop calling herself a Wolf Woman.

  Ayla walked back toward the dead leader and saw S’Armuna. The One Who Served the Mother had watched everything but said little, and Ayla remembered her anguish and remorse. She spoke to her in quiet, private tones.

  “S’Armuna, even if the spirit of Attaroa is finally leaving this Camp, it won’t be easy to change old ways. The men are out of the Holding—I’m glad they managed to free themselves, they will remember it with pride—but it will be a long time before they forget Attaroa and the years they were held in there. You are the one who can help, but it will be a heavy responsibility.”

  The woman nodded her head in acquiescence. She felt she had been given the chance to make right her abuse of the Mother’s power; it was more than she had hoped for. The first thing to do was to bury Attaroa and put her behind them. She turned to the crowd.

  “There is food left. Let us finish this feast together. It is time to tear down the fence that was raised between the men and women of this Camp. Time to share food together, and fire, and the warmth of community. Time for us to come back together as a whole people, with neither one more than the other. Everyone has skills and abilities, and with each person contributing and helping, this Camp will thrive.”

  The women and men nodded in agreement. Many had found the mates from whom they had long been separated; the others joined to share food and fire, and human company.

  “Epadoa,” S’Armuna called, as the people were getting their food. When the woman walked over to her, she said, “I think it is time to move Attaroa’s body away and prepare her for burial.”

  “Shall we take her to her lodge?” the hunting woman said.

  S’Armuna thought. “No,” she said. “Take her to the Holding and put her in the lean-to. I think the men should have the warmth of Attaroa’s earthlodge tonight. Many are weak and sick. We may need it for some time. Do you have another place to sleep?”

  “Yes. When I could get away from Attaroa, I had a place with Unavoa in the lodge she shares.”

  “You might consider moving in with her for now, if that’s agreeable to her, and you.”

  “I think we would both like that,” Epadoa said.

  “Later, we’ll work something out with Doban.”

  “Yes,” Epadoa said, “we will.”

  Jondalar watched Ayla as she walked with Epadoa and the hunters with the body of the headwoman, and he felt proud of her and a little surprised. Somehow Ayla had assumed the wisdom and the stature of Zelandoni herself. The only time he had seen Ayla assume control of a situation before was when someone was hurt, or sick, and in need of her special skills. Then, when he thought of it, he realized that these people were hurt and sick. Perhaps it wasn’t so strange that Ayla would know what to do.

  In the morning Jondalar took the horses and brought back the necessities they had taken when they left the Great Mother River and went to get Whinney. It seemed so long ago, and it made him realize that their Journey had been considerably delayed. They had been so far ahead of the distance he thought they would have to cover to reach the glacier that he had been sure they would make it in plenty of time. Now they were well into winter, and they were farther away.

  This Camp did need help, and he knew Ayla would not leave until she had done everything she felt she could. He had promised to help, too, and he was excited about the prospect of teaching Doban and the others to work the flint, and the ones who wanted, to use the spear-thrower, but a small knot of worry had begun. They had to cross that glacier before the spring melt made it too treacherous, and he wanted to get under way again, soon.

  S’Armuna and Ayla worked together to examine and treat the boys and men of the Camp. Their help was too late for one man. He died in Attaroa’s lodge the first night out of the Holding, of gangrene so advanced that both legs were already dead. Most of the rest needed treatment for some injury or illness, and they were all underfed. They also smelled of the sickness of the Holding and were unbelievably filthy.

  S’Armuna decided to delay firing of the kiln. She didn’t have time, and the feeling was wrong for it, though she did think it could be a powerful healing ceremony at the right moment. They used the inner fire chamber to heat water for bathing and treating of wounds instead, but the treatment that was needed most was food and warmth. After the healers had administered whatever help they could, those who were not in serious difficulty and had mothers or mates, or other kin to live with, moved back in with them.

  It was the youngsters, the ones who were nearing or b
arely into adolescence, that made Ayla particularly angry. Even S’Armuna was appalled. She had closed her eyes to the severity of their situation.

  That evening, after another meal shared together, Ayla and S’Armuna described some of the problems they had found, explaining general needs and answering questions. But the day had been long, and Ayla finally said she had to rest. As she stood up to leave, someone asked a last question about one of the youngsters. When Ayla replied, another woman made a comment about the evil headwoman, laying all blame at Attaroa’s feet, and self-righteously absolving herself of all responsibility. It raised Ayla’s ire, and she made an announcement that came out of the deep anger that had been growing all day.

  “Attaroa was a strong woman, with a strong will, but no matter how strong a person is, two people, or five people, or ten people are stronger. If all of you had been willing to resist her, she could have been stopped long before this. Therefore, you are all, as a Camp, women and men, partly responsible for the suffering of these children. And I will tell you now, any of those youngsters, or even any of the men, who suffer for a long time as a result of this … this abomination”—Ayla struggled to contain her fury—“must be cared for by this whole Camp. You are all responsible for them, for the rest of their lives. They have suffered, and in their suffering have become the chosen of Muna. Anyone who refuses to help them will answer to Her.”

  Ayla turned and left, and Jondalar followed, but her words carried more weight than she could know. Most people already felt that she was not an ordinary woman, and many were saying that she was an incarnation of the Great Mother Herself; a living munai in human form, who had come to take Attaroa and set the men free. What else could explain horses that came at her whistle? Or a wolf, huge even for his own large northern breed, following her wherever she went and sitting quietly at her command? Wasn’t it the Great Earth Mother Who had given birth to the spirit forms of all the animals?

  According to the rumors, the Mother had created both women and men for a reason, and She had given them the Gift of Pleasures to honor Her. The spirits of both men and women were necessary to make new life, and Muna had come to make it clear that anyone trying to create Her children some other way was an abomination to Her. Hadn’t She brought the Zelandonii to show them how She felt? A man who was the embodiment of Her lover and mate? Taller and more handsome than most men, and light and fair like the moon. Jondalar was noticing a difference in the way the Camp was acting toward him, which made him uneasy. He didn’t much like it.

  There had been so much to do the first day, even with both healers and help from most of the Camp, that Ayla put off the special treatment she wanted to try on the boys with the dislocations. S’Armuna had even delayed the burial of Attaroa. The following morning a site was selected and the grave was dug. A simple ceremony conducted by the One Who Served finally returned the headwoman to the bosom of the Great Mother Earth.

  A few even felt some grief. Epadoa had not expected to feel anything, and yet she did. Because of the way most of the Camp felt, she couldn’t express it, but Ayla could see from her body language, her postures and expressions, that she was struggling with it. Doban also exhibited strange behavior, and she guessed he was trying to deal with his own mixed emotions. For most of his young life, Attaroa had been the only mother he knew. He had felt betrayed when she turned on him, but her love had always been erratic, and he couldn’t entirely let go of his feelings for her.

  Grief needed to be released. Ayla knew that from her own losses. She had planned to try to treat the boy right after the burial, but she wondered if she should wait longer. This might not be the right day for it, but maybe having something else to concentrate on would be better for both of them. She approached Epadoa on the way back to the Camp.

  “I’m going to try to reset Doban’s dislocated leg, and I’m going to need help. Will you assist me?”

  “Won’t it be painful for him?” Epadoa said. She recalled only too well his screams of pain, and she was beginning to feel protective of him. He was, if not her son, at least her charge, and she took it seriously. Her life, she was sure, depended on it.

  “I will put him to sleep. He won’t feel it, though he will have some pain when he wakes up, and he will have to be moved very carefully for some time,” Ayla explained. “He won’t be able to walk.”

  “I will carry him,” Epadoa said.

  When they got back to the big lodge, Ayla explained to the boy that she wanted to try to straighten his leg. He pulled away from her, looking very nervous, and when he saw Epadoa coming into the lodge, his eyes filled with fear.

  “No! She’s going to hurt me!” Doban screamed at the sight of the Wolf Woman. If he could have run away, he would have.

  Epadoa stood straight and stiff beside the bed platform he was sitting on. “I will not hurt you. I promise you, I will never hurt you again,” she said. “And I will never let anyone else hurt you, not even this woman.”

  He glanced up at her, apprehensive, but wanting to believe her. Desperately wanting to believe her.

  “S’Armuna, please make sure he understands what I am going to say,” Ayla said. Then she stooped down until she could look into his frightened eyes.

  “Doban, I’m going to give you something to drink. It won’t taste very good, but I want you to drink it all anyway. After a while, you will begin to feel very sleepy. When you feel like it, you can lie down right here. While you are asleep, I’m going to try to make your leg a little better, put it back the way it was. You won’t feel it because you will be sleeping. When you wake up, you will feel some pain, but it may feel better in a way, too. If it hurts too much, tell me, or S’Armuna, or Epadoa—someone will be here with you all the time—and she will give you something to drink that will make the pain go away a little. Do you understand?”

  “Can Zelandon come here to see me?”

  “Yes, I will get him now, if you want.”

  “And S’Amodun?”

  “Yes, both of them, if you want.”

  Doban looked up at Epadoa. “And you won’t let her hurt me?”

  “I promise. I won’t let her hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  He looked at S’Armuna, then back at Ayla. “Give me the drink,” he said.

  The process was not unlike the resetting of Roshario’s broken arm. The drink both relaxed his muscles and put him to sleep. It took sheer physical strength to pull the leg straight, but when it slipped back into place, it was obvious to everyone. There had been some breakage, Ayla realized, and it would never be entirely right, but his body looked almost normal again.

  Epadoa moved back into the large earthlodge, since most of the men and boys had moved in with their kin, and she stayed near Doban almost constantly. Ayla noticed the tentative beginnings of trust developing between them. She was sure that was exactly what S’Amodun had envisioned.

  They went through a similar procedure with Odevan, but Ayla feared his healing process would be more difficult and that his leg would have a tendency to pop out and become dislocated more easily in the future.

  S’Armuna was impressed and a little in awe of Ayla, privately wondering if the rumors about her might not have some truth in them. She seemed like an ordinary woman, talked and slept and shared Pleasures with the tall, fair man, like any other woman, but her knowledge of the plant life that grew in the earth, and their medical properties in particular, was phenomenal. Everyone talked about it; S’Armuna gained prestige by association. And though the older woman learned not to fear the wolf, it was almost impossible to see him around Ayla and not believe that she controlled his spirit. When he wasn’t following her, his eyes were. It was the same with the man, although he wasn’t as obvious about it.

  The older woman didn’t notice the horses as much because they were left to graze most of the time—Ayla said she was glad to give them the rest—but S’Armuna did see the two people ride them. The man rode the brown stallion easily enough, but seeing the young woman on the
back of the mare made one think they were of the same flesh.

  But though she wondered, the One Who Served the Mother was skeptical. She had been trained by the zelandonia, and she knew that such ideas were often encouraged. She had learned, and often employed, ways to misdirect people, to lead them into believing what she, and they, wanted to believe. She didn’t think of it as trickery—no one was more convinced of the rightness of her calling—but she used the means at her disposal to smooth the way and persuade others to follow. People could often be helped by such means, especially some of those whose problems and illnesses had no discernible cause, except, perhaps, curses by powerful evil people.

  Though she herself was not willing to accept all the rumors, S’Armuna did not discourage them. The people of the Camp wanted to believe that anything Ayla and Jondalar said was a pronouncement from the Mother, and she used their belief to set in place some necessary changes. When Ayla talked about the Mamutoi Council of Sisters and Council of Brothers, for example, S’Armuna organized the Camp to set up similar Councils. When Jondalar mentioned finding someone from another Camp to continue the training in flint-toolmaking that he had begun, she instigated plans to send a delegation to several other S’Armunai Camps to renew ties with kin and reestablish friendships.

  On a night that fell so cold and clear the stars blazed from the heavens, a group of people were clustered outside the entrance of the former headwoman’s large earthlodge, which was becoming a center for community activities after it had served as a place for healing and recovery. They were talking about the mysterious twinkling lights in the sky, and S’Armuna was answering questions and offering interpretations. She had to spend so much time in the place—healing with medicines and ceremonies, and gathering with people to make plans and discuss problems—that she had begun to move some of her things in, and she often left Ayla and Jondalar alone in her small lodge. The arrangement was starting to resemble other Camps and Caves that Ayla and Jondalar knew, with the lodging of the One Who Served the Mother acting as a focus and gathering place for the people.