The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  “There are good people and bad people, Ayla, and everyone has some good and some bad in them,” Jondalar said, his wrinkled forehead showing his concern. He sensed that she was trying to fit the new sensibilities she had gathered from her latest unpleasant experience into her personal scheme of things, and he knew it was important. “But most people are decent and try to help each other. They know it’s necessary—after all, you never know when you may need help—and most people would rather be friendly.”

  “But there are some who are twisted, like Attaroa,” Ayla said.

  “That’s true.” The man nodded, having to agree. “And there are some who only give what they must and would rather not give at all, but that doesn’t make them bad.”

  “But one bad person can bring out the worst in good people, like Attaroa did to S’Armuna and Epadoa.”

  “I suppose the best we can do is try to keep the evil and cruel ones from causing too much harm. Maybe we should count ourselves lucky there aren’t more like her. But, Ayla, don’t let one bad person spoil the way you feel about people.”

  “Attaroa can’t make me feel any different about the people I know, and I’m sure you are right about most people, Jondalar, but she has made me more wary, and more cautious.”

  “It doesn’t hurt to be a little cautious, at first, but give people a chance to show their good side before you judge them bad.”

  The highland on the north side of the river paced along with them as they continued their westward trek. Wind-sculptured evergreens on the rounded tops and level plateaus of the massif were silhouetted against the sky. The river split out again into several channels across a lowland basin that formed an embayment. The southern and northern boundaries of the valley maintained their characteristic differences, but the base rock was cracked and down-faulted to great depths between the river and the limestone foreland of the high southern mountain. Toward the west was the steep limestone edge of a fault line. The course of the river turned northwest.

  The east end of the lowland basin was also bordered by a fault ridge, caused not so much by uplifting of the limestone as by the depression of the land of the embayment. Toward the south, the land spread out on a level grade for some distance before it rose up toward the mountains, but the granite plateau in the north drew closer to the river, until it was rising steeply just across the water.

  They camped within the low embayment. In the valley near the river, the smooth gray bark and the bare branches of beech made an appearance among the spruce, fir, pine, and larch; the area was protected enough to shelter the growth of a few large-leafed deciduous trees. Milling around near the trees in seeming confusion was a small herd of mammoths, both females and males. Ayla edged closer to see what was going on.

  One mammoth was down, a giant of an elder with enormous tusks that crossed in front. She wondered if it was the same group they had seen earlier breaking ice. Could there be two mammoths who were so old in the same region? Jondalar walked up beside her.

  “I’m afraid he’s dying. I wish there was something I could do for him,” Ayla said.

  “His teeth are probably gone. Once that happens, there is nothing anyone can do, except what they are doing. Staying with him, keeping him company,” Jondalar said.

  “Perhaps none of us can ask for more,” Ayla said.

  In spite of their relatively compact size, each adult mammoth consumed large quantities of food every day, primarily woody-stemmed tall grass and occasional small trees. With such a rough diet, their teeth were essential. They were so important that a mammoth’s lifespan was determined by its teeth.

  A woolly mammoth developed several sets of large grinding molars throughout its span of some seventy years, usually six to a side both upper and lower. Each tooth weighed about eight pounds and was especially adapted to grinding coarse grasses. The surface was made up of many extremely hard, thin, parallel ridges—plates of dentine covered with enamel—and had higher crowns and more ridges than the teeth of any other of its species, before or since. Mammoths were primarily grass eaters. The shreds of bark that they tore from trees, particularly in winter, the spring forbs, and the occasional leaves, branches, and small trees, were only incidental to their main diet of tough fibrous grass.

  The earliest and smallest grinders were formed near the front of each jaw, and the rest grew in behind and moved forward in a steady progression during the animal’s life, with only one or two teeth in use at any one time. As hard as it was, the important grinding surface wore down as it moved toward the front, and the roots dissolved. Finally the last thin useless fragments of tooth were dropped as the new ones moved into place.

  The final teeth were in use by age fifty, and when they were nearly gone, the old gray-hair could not chew the tough grass anymore. Softer leaves and plants could still be eaten, spring plants, but in other seasons they were not available. In desperation, the undernourished elder often left the herd, searching for greener pastures, but found only death. The herd knew when the end was close, and it wasn’t uncommon to see them sharing the elder’s last days.

  The other mammoths were as protective of the dying as they were of newborns, and they gathered around trying to make the fallen one get up. When all was over, they buried the dead ancestor under piles of dirt, grass, leaves, or snow. Mammoths were even known to bury other dead animals, including humans.

  Ayla and Jondalar and their four-legged traveling companions found their way getting steeper and more difficult when they left behind the lowland and the mammoths. They were approaching a gorge. A foot of the ancient massif of the north had stretched too far south and was split by the dividing waters of the river. They climbed higher as the river rushed through the narrow defile, moving too fast to freeze but carrying with it ice floes from quieter sections farther west. It was strange to see moving water after so much ice. In front of the high-peaked ramparts to the south were mesas, massiflike hills topped with extensive plateaus, carrying thick stands of conifers, their branches sprinkled with snow. The thin limbs of deciduous trees and brush were etched in white from a coating of freezing rain, which accentuated each twig and branch, captivating Ayla with their winter beauty.

  The altitude continued to increase, the lowlands between the ridges never dipping quite as low as the preceding ones. The air was cold, crisp, and clear, and even when it was cloudy, no snow fell. Precipitation decreased as winter deepened. The only moisture in the air was the warm breath expelled by humans and animals.

  The river of ice became smaller each time they passed a frozen tributary valley. At the west end of the lowland was another gorge. They climbed the rocky ridge, and when they reached the highest place, they looked ahead and stopped, awed by the sight. Ahead the river had split again. The travelers didn’t know it was the last time that it would divide into the branches and channels that had characterized its progress across the flat plains over which it had flowed for so much of its length. The gorge just before the lowlands curved sharply as it gathered the separate channels into one, causing a furious whirlpool that carried ice and floating debris into its depths, before disgorging it in a gush farther downstream, where it rapidly refroze.

  They stopped at the highest place, looked down, and watched a small log whirling around and around, going deeper and deeper with each spiraling turn.

  “I would not want to fall into that,” Ayla said, shuddering at the thought.

  “Nor would I,” Jondalar responded.

  Ayla’s gaze was drawn to another site in the distance. “Where are those clouds of steam coming from, Jondalar?” she asked. “It’s freezing, and the hills are covered with snow.”

  “There are pools of hot water over there, water warmed by the hot breath of Doni Herself. Some people are afraid to go near such places, but the people I want to visit live near such a deep hot well, or so they told me. The hot wells are sacred to them, even though some smell very bad. It’s said they use the water to cure illness.”

  “How long before we re
ach those people you know? The ones who use water to cure illness,” she asked. Anything that might add to her wealth of medical knowledge always piqued her interest. Besides, food was getting scarcer, or they didn’t want to take the time to look for it—but they had gone to bed hungry a couple of days.

  The slope of the land increased noticeably beyond the last flat basin. They were hemmed in by highlands on both sides as the mountains pressed in. The mantel of ice to the south was increasing in height as they continued west. Far to the south and still somewhat west, two peaks soared far above all the other rugged mountaintops, one higher than the other, like a mated pair watching over their brood of children.

  Where the highland leveled out near a shallower place in the river, Jondalar turned south, away from the river, toward a cloud of rising steam in the distance. They climbed a low ridge and looked down from the top across a snow-covered meadow at a steaming pool of water near a cave.

  Several people had noticed their approach and stared in consternation, too shocked to move. One man, however, was aiming a spear at them.

  35

  “I think we’d better get off the horses and approach them on foot,” Jondalar said, watching several more spear-carrying men and women warily coming forward. “You’d think by now I would remember that people are scared and suspicious of riding on horses. We probably should have left them out of sight and walked in, then gone back for them after we had time to explain about the animals.”

  They both dismounted, and Jondalar had a sudden and poignant memory of his “little brother,” Thonolan, smiling his big, friendly grin and walking confidently up to a Cave or Camp of strangers. Taking it as a sign, the tall blond man smiled broadly, waved in friendliness, pushed back the hood of his parka so he could be more easily seen, then stepped forward with both hands outstretched, showing he was coming to them openly, with nothing to hide.

  “I’m looking for Laduni of the Losadunai. I am Jondalar of the Zelandonii,” he said. “My brother and I were traveling east on a Journey a few years ago, and Laduni asked us to stop and visit on the way back.”

  “I am Laduni,” said a man, speaking a slightly accented Zelandonii. He walked toward them, holding his spear in readiness, looking closely to make sure the strange man was who he said he was. “Jondalar? Of the Zelandonii? You do look like the man I met.”

  Jondalar sensed the cautious tone. “That’s because I am! It’s good to see you, Laduni,” he said with warmth. “I wasn’t sure if I turned off at the right place. I’ve been all the way to the end of the Great Mother River, and beyond, and then, closer to home, I had trouble finding your Cave, but the steam from your hot wells helped. I brought someone I’d like you to meet.”

  The older man eyed Jondalar, trying to detect any hint that he was something other than what he seemed: a man he knew who happened to arrive in a most peculiar fashion. He looked a little older, which was reasonable, and even more like Dalanar. He had seen the old flint knapper again a few years before when he came on a trading mission and, Laduni suspected, to find out whether the son of his hearth and his brother had passed that way. Dalanar will be very glad to see him, Laduni thought. He walked toward Jondalar, holding his spear more easily, but still in a position from which it could be thrown quickly. He glanced toward the two unusually docile horses, and he saw for the first time that it was a woman who was standing near them.

  “Those horses are not anything like the ones around here. Are eastern horses more docile? They must be much easier to hunt,” Laduni said.

  Suddenly the man tensed, brought his spear into position to throw, and had it aimed toward Ayla. “Don’t move, Jondalar!” he said.

  It happened so fast, Jondalar didn’t have time to react. “Laduni! What are you doing?”

  “A wolf has been trailing you. One fearless enough to come in plain sight.”

  “No!” Ayla shouted, throwing herself between the wolf and the man with the spear.

  “This wolf travels with us. Don’t kill him!” Jondalar said, rushing to interpose himself between Laduni and Ayla.

  She dropped down and wrapped her arms around the wolf, holding him firmly, partly to protect him, and partly to protect the man with the spear. Wolf’s hair was bristling, his lips were pulled back to show his fangs, and a savage snarl issued from his throat.

  Laduni was taken aback. He had moved to protect the visitors, but they were acting as if he meant to harm them. He gave Jondalar a questioning look.

  “Put down your spear, Laduni. Please,” Jondalar said. “The wolf is our companion, just as the horses are. He saved our lives. I promise, he won’t hurt anyone as long as no one threatens him, or the woman. I know it must seem strange, but if you’ll give me a chance, I’ll explain.”

  Laduni slowly lowered his spear, eyeing the large wolf warily. Once the threat was removed, Ayla calmed the animal, then stood up and walked toward Jondalar and Laduni, signaling Wolf to stay close to her side.

  “Please excuse Wolf for raising his hackles,” Ayla said. “He really likes people, once he gets to know them, but we had a bad experience with some people east of here. It has made him more nervous around strangers, and he has become more protective.”

  Laduni noticed that she spoke Zelandonii quite well, but her strange accent branded her as a foreigner immediately. He also noticed … something else … he wasn’t sure. It was nothing he could specifically define. He’d seen many blond, blue-eyed women before, but the set of her cheekbones, the shape of her features or face, something gave her a foreign look as well. Whatever it was, it did not detract in the least from the fact that she was a strikingly beautiful woman. If anything, it added an element of mystery.

  He looked at Jondalar and smiled. Remembering his last visit, it didn’t surprise him that the tall, handsome Zelandonii would return from a long Journey with an exotic beauty, but no one could have expected living, breathing souvenirs of his adventures, like horses and a wolf. He could hardly wait to hear the stories they had to tell.

  Jondalar had seen the look of appreciation in Laduni’s eyes when he saw Ayla, and, when the man smiled, he began to relax.

  “This is the person I wanted you to meet,” Jondalar said. “Laduni, hunter of the Losadunai, this is Ayla of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi, Chosen by the Cave Lion, Protected by the Cave Bear, and Daughter of the Mammoth Hearth.”

  Ayla had raised both hands, palms up, in the greeting of openness and friendship, when Jondalar began the formal introduction. “I greet you, Laduni, Master Hunter of the Losadunai,” Ayla said.

  Laduni wondered how she knew he was the hunt leader of his people. Jondalar hadn’t said it. Perhaps he’d said something to her before, but she was astute for mentioning it. But then, she would understand those kinds of things. With so many titles and affiliations, she must be a woman of high standing among her people, he thought. I might have guessed that any woman he brought back would be, considering that both his mother and the man of his hearth have known the responsibilities of leadership. The child will tell the blood of the mother and the spirit of the man.

  Laduni took both her hands. “In the name of Duna, the Great Earth Mother, you are welcome, Ayla of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi, Chosen of the Lion, Protected by the Great Bear, and Daughter of the Mammoth Hearth,” Laduni said.

  “I thank you for your welcome,” Ayla said, still in a formal mode. “And if I may, I would like to introduce you to Wolf, so that he will know you are a friend.”

  Laduni frowned, not sure if he really wanted to meet a wolf, but under the circumstances he felt he had no choice.

  “Wolf, this is Laduni of the Losadunai,” she said, taking the man’s hand and bringing it to the wolf’s nose. “He is a friend.” After he smelled the hand of the strange man, mixed with the smell of Ayla’s hand, Wolf seemed to understand that this was someone to accept. He sniffed the man’s male parts, much to Laduni’s consternation.

  “That’s enough, Wolf,” Ayla said, signaling him back. Then to Ladun
i, she added, “He has now learned that you are a friend, and that you are a man. If you would like to welcome him, he likes to be petted on the head and scratched behind the ears.”

  Though still wary, the idea of touching a living wolf intrigued him. Gingerly he reached out and felt the rough fur, and seeing that his touch was accepted, he stroked the animal’s head, then rubbed a little behind his ears, pleased about the whole thing. It wasn’t that he hadn’t touched wolf fur before, just not on a living animal.

  “I am sorry I threatened your companion,” he said. “But I have never seen a wolf accompany people of his own free will before, or horses either, for that matter.”

  “It is understandable,” Ayla said. “I will take you to meet the horses later. They tend to be shy of strangers, and they need some time to get used to new people.”

  “Are all the eastern animals this friendly?” Laduni asked, pressing for an answer to a question that would be of interest to any hunter.

  Jondalar smiled. “No, animals are the same everywhere. These are special because of Ayla.”

  Laduni nodded, fighting his impulse to ask them further questions, knowing the whole Cave would want to hear their stories. “I have welcomed you, and I invite you to come inside to share warmth and food, and a place to rest, but I think I should go first and explain about you to the rest of the Cave.”

  Laduni walked back toward the group gathered in front of a large opening in the side of a rock wall. He explained about meeting Jondalar a few years before, when he was starting on his Journey, and inviting him to visit on his way back. He mentioned that Jondalar was related to Dalanar, and emphasized that they were people, not some kind of threatening spirits, and that they would tell them about the horses and the wolf. “They should have some interesting stories to tell,” he concluded, knowing what an enticement that would be to a group of people who had been essentially cavebound since the beginning of winter and were getting bored.