The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  The highland glacier they planned to go over, without the air warmed by the unfrozen ocean keeping the encroaching ice at bay, could have expanded and become impossible to cross. The maritime influences that allowed passage to the western steppes and tundras also kept the glaciers away from the land of the Zelandonii, sparing it the heavy layer of ice that covered other lands at the same latitude.

  Jondalar and Ayla fell easily back into their traveling routine, although it seemed to Ayla that they had been traveling forever. She longed to reach the end of their Journey. Memories of the quiet winter in the earthlodge of the Lion Camp flashed into her mind as they plodded forward through the monotony of the winter landscape. She recalled small incidents with pleasure, forgetting the misery that had overshadowed her days the whole time when she’d thought that Jondalar had stopped loving her.

  Although all their water had to be melted, usually from river ice rather than snow—the land was bleak and barren with few snowdrifts—Ayla decided there were some benefits to the freezing cold. The tributaries to the Great Mother River were smaller, and frozen solid, making them easier to cross. But they invariably hurried across the right-bank openings because of the fierce winds that roared through valleys of the rivers and streams. These blasts funneled frigid air from the high-pressure areas of the southern mountains, adding windchill to the already freezing air.

  Shivering even in her heavy furs, Ayla felt relieved when they finally made it across a wide valley to the protective barrier of nearby higher ground. “I’m so cold!” she said through chattering teeth. “I wish it would warm up a little.”

  Jondalar looked alarmed. “Don’t wish that, Ayla!”

  “Why not?”

  “We have to be across the glacier before the weather turns. A warm wind means the foehn, the snow-melter, that will break the season. Then we’ll have to go around to the north, through Clan country. It will take much longer, and with all the trouble Charoli has been causing them, I don’t think they will be very welcoming,” Jondalar said.

  She nodded with understanding, looking across to the north side of the river. After studying it for some distance, Ayla said, “They have the better side.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Even from here you can see that there are plains that have good grass, and that would bring more animals to hunt. On this side are mostly scrub pines—that means sandy earth and poor grass, except for a few places. This side must be just enough closer to the ice to be colder, and less rich,” she explained.

  “You may be right,” Jondalar said, thinking her evaluation was astute. “I don’t know what it’s like in summer; I’ve only been here in winter.”

  Ayla had judged accurately. The soils of the northern plains of the valley of the great river were primarily loess over a limestone bedrock, and more fertile than the southern side. In addition, the mountain glaciers of the south crowded closer, making the winters more harsh and the summers cooler, barely warm enough to melt the accumulated snows and ground frost of winter back to the previous summer’s snow line—almost. Most of the glaciers were growing again, slowly, but enough to signal a shift from the current milieu, the slightly warmer interval, back to colder times, and one last glacial advance before the long melt that would leave ice only in polar regions.

  The dormant state of the trees often left Ayla unsure of their variety, until she tasted a twig tip or bud or bit of inner bark. Where alder dominated near the river, and along the lower valleys of its tributaries, she knew they would be in peaty fen woods if it were summer; where it was mixed with willow and poplar would be the wettest parts, and the occasional ash, elm, or hornbeam, hardly more than woody brush, indicated drier ground. The rare dwarfed oak, struggling to survive in more protected niches, barely hinted at the massive oak forests that would one day cover a more temperate land. Trees were absent entirely from the sandy soils of the raised heath land, able to nourish only heather, whins, sparse grasses, mosses, and lichens.

  Even in the frigid climate, some birds and animals thrived; cold-adapted animals of the steppes and mountains abounded, and hunting was easy. Only rarely did they use the supplies given to them by the Losadunai, which they wanted to save for the crossing anyway. Not until they reached the frozen wasteland would they need to rely entirely on the resources they carried.

  Ayla saw an uncommon pygmy snow owl and pointed it out to Jondalar. He became adept at finding willow grouse, which tasted like the white-feathered ptarmigan that he had grown so fond of, particularly the way that Ayla cooked them. Its mixed coloration gave it better camouflage in a landscape not entirely covered by snow. Jondalar seemed to recall that there had been more snow the last time he had come that way.

  The region was influenced by both the continental east and the maritime west, revealed by the unusual mixture of plants and animals that seldom lived near each other. The small furry creatures were an example that Ayla noticed, although during the freezing season, the mice, dormice, voles, susliks, and hamsters were seldom seen, except when she broke through a nest for the vegetable foods they had stored. Though she sometimes took the animals too, for Wolf or, particularly if she found giant hamsters, for themselves, the little animals more commonly gave sustenance to martens, foxes, and the small wildcats.

  On the high plains and along river valleys, they often sighted woolly mammoths, usually in herds of related females, with an occasional male traveling along for company, though in the cold season groups of males often banded together. Rhinoceroses were invariably loners, except for females with one or two immature young. In the warmer seasons, bison, aurochs, and every variety of deer, from the giant megaceros to small shy roe deer, were numerous, but only reindeer stayed on in winter. Instead mouflon, chamois, and ibex had migrated down from their high summer habitat, and Jondalar had never seen so many musk-oxen.

  It seemed to be a year when the musk-ox population was at a high point in its cycle. Next year they would probably crash down to minimum numbers, but in the meantime, Ayla and Jondalar found the spear-thrower proving its worth. When threatened, musk-oxen, particularly the belligerent males, formed a tight phalanx of lowered horns facing outward from a circle in order to protect the calves and certain females. This behavior was effective against most predators, but not against a spear-thrower.

  Without having to get close enough to put themselves in danger from a swift, break-away charge, Ayla and Jondalar could take their pick of the animals standing their ground and aim from a safe distance. It was almost too easy, although they had to be accurate and throw hard to make sure the spear would penetrate the dense undercoat.

  With several varieties of animals to choose from, they didn’t often lack for food, and they frequently left the less choice pieces of meat for other carnivores and scavengers. It wasn’t a matter of waste but of need. Their high-protein diet of lean meat often left them less than satisfied, even when they had eaten their fill. Inner barks, and teas made from the needles and twig tips of trees offered only limited relief.

  Omnivorous humans could subsist on a variety of foods, and proteins were essential, but not adequate alone. People had been known to die of protein starvation without, at least, one or the other of vegetable produce or fats. Traveling at the end of winter with very little in the way of plant food, they needed fat to survive, but it was so late in the season that the animals they hunted had used most of their own reserves. The travelers selectively took the meat and inner organs that contained the most fat, and left the lean, or gave it to Wolf. He found ample nourishment on his own from the woods and plains along the way.

  Another animal did inhabit the region, and though they always noticed them, neither Jondalar nor Ayla could bring themselves to hunt horses. Their fellow travelers fared well enough on the rough dry grass, mosses, lichens, and even small twigs and thin bark.

  Ayla and Jondalar traveled west, following the course of the river and angling slightly north, with the massif across the river pacing them. When the riv
er turned somewhat southwest, Jondalar knew they were getting close. The depression between the ancient northern highland and the southern mountains climbed upward toward a wild landscape that outcropped in rugged crags. They passed the place where three streams joined to form the recognizable beginning of the Great Mother River, then crossed over and followed the left bank of the middle course, the Middle Mother. It was the one that Jondalar had been told was considered the true Mother River, though any one of the three could have been.

  Reaching what was essentially the beginning of the great river was not the profound experience that Ayla had thought it might be. The Great Mother River didn’t spring forth from some clearly defined place, like the great inland sea where she ended. There was no clear beginning, and even the boundary of the northern territory, considered flathead country, was uncertain, but Jondalar had a familiar feeling about the area they were in. He thought they were close to the edge of the actual glacier, though they had been traveling over snow for some time and it was hard to tell.

  Although it was only afternoon, they decided to start looking for a place to set up camp, and they cut across the land to the right bank of the upper feeder. They decided to stop ahead, just beyond the valley of a fairly large stream that joined from the north side.

  When Ayla saw an exposed gravel bar beside the river, she stopped to pick out several smooth round stones that would be perfect for her sling, and she put them in her pouch. She thought she might go hunting for ptarmigan or white hare later in the afternoon, or perhaps the next morning.

  Memories of their short stay with the Losadunai were already fading, replaced by concerns about the glacier ahead, particularly for Jondalar. On foot and heavily loaded, they had been traveling more slowly than he had planned and he feared the end of the long winter would come too soon. The arrival of spring was always unpredictable, but this was one year that he hoped it would be late.

  They unloaded the horses and set up their camp. Since it was early, they decided to hunt fresh meat. They entered a lightly wooded area and came across deer tracks, which surprised them both and worried Jondalar. He hoped that returning deer were not a sign that spring would soon follow. Ayla signaled Wolf, and they continued through the woods single file, with Jondalar in front. Ayla followed close behind, with Wolf at her heel. She did not want him dashing off and scaring away their prey.

  They followed the trail through the open woods toward a high jutting outcrop that blocked their view ahead. Ayla saw Jondalar’s shoulders slump and the tension of his stalking relax, and she understood why when the tracks of the deer showed that it had bounded away. Something had obviously scared it off.

  They both froze at the sound of Wolf’s low growl. He sensed something and they had come to respect his warnings. Ayla was sure she heard scuffling noises from the other side of the large rock projecting out of the earth and blocking their path. She and Jondalar looked at each other; the man had heard it, too. They crept ahead slowly, edging around the outcrop. Then there were shouts, the sound of something landing heavily, and, almost simultaneously, a scream of agony.

  There was a quality to the scream that sent a chill down Ayla’s back, a chill of recognition. “Jondalar! Someone’s in trouble!” she said, dashing around the stone.

  “Wait, Ayla! It could be dangerous!” he called in warning, but it was already too late. Clutching his spear, he raced to catch up.

  Around the outcrop, several young men were struggling with someone on the ground who was trying to fight them off without much success. Others were making crude remarks to a man who was on his knees and stretched out on top of a person that two others were trying to hold down.

  “Hurry up, Danasi! How much more help do you need? This one’s struggling.”

  “Maybe he needs help finding it.”

  “He just doesn’t know what to do with it.”

  “Then give someone else a chance.”

  Ayla caught a glimpse of blond hair and, with an angry feeling of disgust, she realized that they were holding down a woman and she knew what they were trying to do. As she ran toward them, she had another insight. Perhaps it was the shape of a leg or an arm, or the sound of a voice, but suddenly she knew it was a Clan woman—a blond Clan woman! She was stunned, but only for a moment.

  Wolf was growling, eager, but watching Ayla and holding back.

  “It must be Charoli’s band!” Jondalar said, coming up behind her.

  He dropped off his hunting pack with his spear holder, and in a few long strides he reached the three men who were molesting the woman. He grabbed the one on top by the back of his parka at the scruff of his neck and yanked him off the woman. Then he stepped around and, doubling up his fist, slammed it into the man’s face. The man dropped to the ground. The other two gaped in shock, then let go of the woman and turned to attack the stranger. One jumped on his back, while the other threw punches at his face and chest. The big man flung off the one on his back, took a hard blow to his shoulder, and countered with a powerful belt to the stomach of the man in front of him.

  The woman rolled over and backed off to get away when the two men went after Jondalar, and she ran toward the other group of struggling men. While one man was doubled over in pain, Jondalar turned to the other. Ayla saw the first one struggling to get up.

  “Wolf! Help Jondalar! Get those men!” she said, signaling to the animal.

  The big wolf raced eagerly into the fray, while she dropped her pack, loosened the sling from around her head, and reached into her pouch for stones. One man of the three was down again, and she watched another, with terror in his eyes, fling up an arm to fend off the huge wolf that was coming for him. The animal jumped up on his hind legs, sank his teeth into the arm of a heavy winter coat, and ripped off the sleeve, while Jondalar landed a solid punch on the jaw of the third.

  Putting a stone in the pocket of her sling, Ayla turned her attention toward the other group of struggling men. One had raised a heavy bone club with two hands and was ready to smash it down. She quickly hurled the stone and watched the man with the club fall to the ground. Another man, who was holding a spear in a threatening stance over someone on the ground, watched his friend fall with a look of incredulity. He shook his head and didn’t see the second stone coming but yelled in pain when it hit. The spear dropped to the ground as he grabbed for his injured arm.

  Six men had been struggling with the one on the ground, yet having a hard time of it. Her sling had brought two down, and the woman who had been attacked was pummeling a third, to good effect. The man was holding up his arms in defense. Another, who had gotten too close to the man they had been trying to restrain, was jarred by a powerful blow. He staggered back. Ayla had two more stones ready to go. She let fly with one, aimed at a nonvital muscular thigh, giving the downed man—a man of the Clan, as Ayla had guessed—an opening. Though he was sitting, he grabbed the man closest to him, lifted him off the ground, and threw him at another man.

  The Clan woman renewed her frenzied attack, finally driving away the man she had been struggling with. Though not accustomed to fighting, women of the Clan were as strong as their men, in proportion to their size. And though she would have preferred to acquiesce rather than fight to defend herself against a man who wanted to use her to relieve his needs, this woman had been moved to fight in defense of her injured mate.

  But there was no fight left in any of the young men. One lay unconscious near the leg of the Clan man, a wound on his head oozing blood that matted his dirty blond hair and was swelling into a discolored bruise. Another was rubbing his arm, glowering at the woman who held her sling ready. The others were bruised and battered, one with an eye that was puffing up and closing. The three who had been after the woman were cowering in a huddle on the ground, their clothes in tatters, in fear of a wolf who was standing watch over them with fangs bared and a mean snarl in his throat.

  Jondalar, who had also taken a share of punishment but didn’t seem to notice, walked over to make sure Ayla
was unharmed, then looked closely at the man on the ground and was suddenly struck by the fact that it was a man of the Clan. He had known it when they first came upon the scene, but it hadn’t made an impression until that moment. He wondered why the man was still down. He pulled the unconscious man away from him, and rolled him over; he was breathing. And then he saw why the man of the Clan did not get up.

  The reason was immediately apparent. The thigh of his right leg, just above the knee, was bent at an unnatural angle. Jondalar looked at the man with awe. With a broken leg, he had been holding off six men! He knew flatheads were strong, but he hadn’t realized how strong, or how determined. The man had to be in great pain, but he was not showing it.

  Suddenly another man, who had not been involved in any of the struggles, swaggered into view. He looked around at the battered band and raised an eyebrow. All the young men seemed to squirm with discomfort under his disdain. They didn’t know how to explain what had happened. One moment they were in the midst of roughing up and making sport with the two flatheads unfortunate enough to have crossed their path, and the next they were at the mercy of a woman who could sling rocks, hard, a big man with fists as hard as rocks, and the biggest wolf they had ever seen! Not to mention the two flatheads.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Your men have finally gotten a little back,” Ayla said. “It will be your turn next.”

  The woman was a total stranger. How did she know this was his band, or anything else about them? She spoke in his language, but with a strange accent, and he wondered who she was. The woman of the Clan turned her head at the sound of Ayla’s voice and studied her closely, though it was not apparent to anyone else. The man with the bump on his head was waking up, and Ayla went to see how badly he was hurt.