The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  Her mind raced. What would his mother say if she knew that her son wanted to mate with a woman who was an abomination? Or Willamar, or Folara, or the rest of his family? Ayla looked at Jondalar, and though usually she could discern his feelings and know what he was thinking by interpreting his expression or his demeanor, this time she could not. She didn’t know what he would wish her to say.

  She had been raised with the understanding that she had to answer a direct question with a truthful answer. Ayla had since learned that unlike the Clan, the Others, her kind of people, could say things that were not true. They even had a word for it. It was called a lie. For a moment, she actually thought about saying a lie, but what could she say? She was sure they would know it if she tried; she didn’t know how to lie. At most, she could refrain from mentioning, but it was hard not to reply when she was asked a direct question.

  Ayla had always supposed that his people were bound to find out about Durc sometime. He was often in her thoughts, and she knew there would come a moment when she would forget or decide not to refrain from mentioning him. She didn’t want to avoid talking about Durc forever. He was her son. But this was not the time.

  “I know about making baby food, Folara, because after Uba was born, Iza lost her milk early and she taught me how to make food that Uba could eat. A baby can eat anything its mother can eat if you make it soft and easy to swallow,” Ayla said. It was the truth, but it was not the whole truth. She refrained from mentioning her son.

  “You do it like this, Lanoga,” Ayla said. “You pull the scraper across the meat. It gets the essence out and leaves the fibrous part behind. See? Now you try it.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Ayla jumped with a start at the voice, then turned to face Laramar. “I’m showing Lanoga how to prepare some food that this baby can eat, since her mother has no more milk for her,” she said. She was sure she detected a look of surprise flit across his face. So he didn’t know, she thought.

  “Why should you bother? I doubt that anyone else cares,” Laramar said.

  Not even you, she thought, but held her tongue. “People care. They just didn’t know,” she said. “We only found out when Lanoga came and got Zelandoni because Bologan was hurt.”

  “Bologan is hurt? What happened?”

  This time there was concern in his voice. Proleva was right, Ayla thought. He does have some feelings for the eldest. “He drank your barma and …”

  “Drank my barma! Where is he? I’ll teach that boy to get into my barma!” Laramar stormed.

  “You don’t have to,” Ayla said. “Someone already did. He got in a fight, someone hit him hard, or he fell and hit his head on a rock. He was brought back home and left. Lanoga found him unconscious and went to find Zelandoni. That’s where he is now. He was badly hurt and lost a lot of blood, but with rest and care, he should be fine. But he won’t tell Joharran who hit him.”

  “I’ll take care of it, I know how to get it out of him,” Laramar said.

  “I haven’t lived with this Cave very long, and it’s not my place to say, but I think you should talk to Joharran first. He’s very angry and wants to know who did it, and why. Bologan was lucky. It could have been much worse,” Ayla said.

  “You’re right. It’s not your place to say,” Laramar said. “I’d rather take care of it myself.”

  Ayla said nothing. There was nothing she could do about it, except tell Joharran. She turned to the girl. “Come on, Lanoga. Get Lorala and we’ll go,” she said, picking up her Mamutoi haversack.

  “Where are you going?” Laramar said.

  “We’re going to take a swim and clean up a little before we go to talk with some of the women who are nursing, or will be soon, and ask them if they will share some of their milk with Lorala,” Ayla said. “Do you know where Tremeda is? She should come to this meeting, too.”

  “Isn’t she here?” Laramar said.

  “No. She left the children with Lanoga, and hasn’t returned since she went to Shevonar’s burial,” Ayla said. “In case you’re interested, the rest of the children are with Ramara, Salova, and Proleva right now.” It was Proleva who had suggested that she get Lanoga and the baby cleaned up a little. Women with infants might not want to hold such a grimy baby for fear she might soil their own child.

  As Lanoga picked up the baby, Ayla signaled Wolf, who had been lying down watching the activities, partly hidden by a log. Laramar hadn’t seen the animal, and when Wolf stood up, his eyes widened with surprise as he became aware of what a large, powerful carnivore he actually was. The man backed off a few steps, then gave the foreign woman an insincere smile.

  “That’s a big animal. Are you sure it’s safe to bring him around people, especially children?” he asked.

  He doesn’t care about children, Ayla thought, reading his subtle body language. He’s talking about children and implying that I am doing something that might harm people to hide his own fear. Other people had voiced a similar concern without offending her, but she disapproved of Laramar because he had so little concern for the children for whom he should have been responsible. She didn’t like the man, and his objections evoked a negative reaction in her.

  “Wolf has never threatened a child. The only person he ever harmed was a woman who attacked me,” Ayla said, looking directly into his eyes. Among the people of the Clan, such a direct glare would have been construed as a threat, and a subliminal impression of that was communicated. “Wolf killed the woman,” she added. Laramar took another step back, grinning nervously.

  That was not a smart thing to say, Ayla thought as she walked toward the front terrace with Lanoga, the baby, and Wolf. Why did I say it? She looked down at the animal trotting confidently beside her. I was acting almost like a wolf leader, making a lower-ranked pack member back down. But this is not a wolf pack, and I am not a leader. He’s already talking against me, I might be making trouble for myself.

  When they started down the path at the lower end of the terrace, Ayla offered to carry the baby for a while, but Lanoga said no and shifted Lorala on her hip. Wolf sniffed at the ground, and Ayla noticed hoofprints. The horses had come this way before. She was going to point them out to the girl, but changed her mind. Lanoga didn’t talk much, and Ayla didn’t want to pressure her into uncomfortable conversation.

  They reached the edge of The River, and as they continued along the bank of waterway, Ayla stopped now and then to examine a plant. With a digging stick she carried pushed through her waist thong, she removed several plants with the roots. The girl watched her, and Ayla was going to show her the defining characteristics of the vegetation so she could find it herself, but decided to wait until after she understood their use.

  The spring-fed creek that separated the Ninth Cave from Down River tumbled down from the stone porch in a narrow waterfall, then became a minor tributary of The River. Ayla stopped when they reached the water flowing out of the groove it had worn into the limestone and over the edge in a thin cascade of gurgling, foaming liquid. Somewhat beyond the falls, large stones had broken loose from the limestone wall and created a kind of dam with a small pond behind it. One of the stones had a natural basin with mosslike water plants lining it.

  The water that filled it came primarily from rain and the back-splashing spray of the waterfall. In the summer, when there was less rain, the water level of the basin was lower and she thought the sun might have warmed it. She dipped her hand in. As she expected, it was tepid, a little cool, but warmer than the water in the pool, and the water plants made the bottom of the basin soft.

  Ayla put down her carrying sack. “I brought some food, do you want to feed Lorala now or later?” she asked.

  “Now,” Lanoga said.

  “All right, let’s eat now,” Ayla said. “I have some cooked grain, and that meat that we scraped for Lorala. I brought enough food for all of us. Even some meaty bones for Wolf. What do you use to feed the baby?”

  “My hand,” she said.

  Ay
la looked at her dirty hands. It didn’t matter. She had fed the child with her dirty hands before, but the woman decided to show her anyway. She held up the plants she had collected on the way.

  “Lanoga, I’m going to show you what these plants are for,” Ayla said. The girl looked at them. “They are called soaproot. There are several different kinds, and some work better than others. First I will wash the dirt off of them in this little stream,” she explained, showing Lanoga how to clean them. Then she looked for a round hard stone and a level place on one of the fallen boulders near the basin. “Next, you need to crush the roots. They will work if you just crush them, but soaking draws out more of the slippery juice.” The girl watched closely, but said nothing.

  Ayla got a small watertight woven basket out of the pack she carried over one shoulder and moved to the stone basin. “Water by itself doesn’t always get dirt off very well. Soaproot makes it easier. The water in this basin is a little warmer than the water in the stream. Would you like to feel it?” Ayla said.

  “I don’t know,” the girl said, looking at her as if she didn’t quite understand.

  “Lanoga, come here and put your hand in this water,” Ayla said.

  She came closer and put the hand that was not holding the baby in the water.

  “It’s warmer isn’t it? Do you like how it feels?” Ayla said.

  “I don’t know,” Lanoga said.

  Ayla dipped a little of the tepid water into the basket, added the crushed soaproot, and mixed it around with her hand. Then she took out a little of the mashed plant and rubbed her hands together. “Lanoga, put the baby down, pick up some of this soaproot, and do what I am doing,” the woman said.

  The girl watched her, lifted the baby off her hip, put her down in the dirt near her feet, then slowly reached for the soaproot. She dipped it in the water and rubbed her hands together. A little foam started to form, and a brief expression of interest crossed Lanoga’s face. The saponin-filled roots did not create an abundance of soapy lather, but it was enough to clean her hands.

  “Good soaproot should be slippery and make some foam,” Ayla said. “Now rinse it off, like this. See how much cleaner your hands are?” The girl dipped her hands in the water and then looked at them. Again an expression of interest crossed her face. “Let’s eat now.”

  Ayla went back to where her haversack was and took out some packages. One was a carved wooden bowl with a lid, tied on with cordage wrapped around it. She untied the cords, removed the lid, and lightly touched the top of the contents. “It is still slightly warm,” she said, showing her the congealed mass of finely ground cooked grains of different varieties. “I collected this grain last fall when Jondalar and I were on our Journey. There are some rye seeds and wheat seeds, and some oats. I added a little salt while it was cooking. The little black seeds come from a plant I call goosefoot, but it has a different Zelandonii name. The leaves are good to eat, too. I made this cereal for Lorala. I think there’s enough for you and me, too, but why don’t you see if she likes the meat we scraped first.”

  The meat was wrapped in some large plantain leaves. Ayla handed it to Lanoga and watched to see what she would do. She opened the package, took some of the mushy substance in her fingers, and put it in the baby’s mouth while she was sitting on her hip. The child opened her mouth readily for her sister, but at the first taste, she looked surprised. She moved it around in her mouth, examining the taste and texture, and when she finally swallowed it, she opened her mouth for more. She reminded Ayla of a little bird.

  Lanoga smiled, and Ayla realized it was the first time she had seen the girl smile. Lanoga fed her sister the rest of the meat, then started on the cereal. She took a taste herself first, then put some in the baby’s mouth. They both watched her reaction to the new taste. With an expression of intense concentration, she examined it with her mouth, even chewing the somewhat gummy concoction. She seemed to think about it for a moment, then swallowed and opened her mouth for more. Ayla was amazed at how much the baby was able to eat, but only when she finally stopped opening her mouth did Lanoga put another taste in her own mouth.

  “If you give her something to hold, does Lorala put it in her mouth?” Ayla asked.

  “Yes,” the girl said.

  “I brought a little piece of marrow bone. I knew a boy who used to love them when he was a baby,” Ayla said with a smile of fond remembrance and sorrow. “Give it to her and see if she likes it.” Ayla handed her a small piece of deer leg bone, with a hole in the center filled with rich marrow. As soon as Lanoga gave her the bone, the baby put it in her mouth. Again there was that startled look as she stopped and examined the taste, but soon they could hear her making sucking sounds. “Put her down and eat something yourself, Lanoga.”

  Wolf had been watching the baby from the place a few feet away where Ayla had motioned him to stay. Making little yearning whines, he crept slowly toward the infant as she was sitting on a patch of grass. Lanoga watched him a moment, than turned toward Ayla with a look of concern. She hadn’t even acknowledged the presence of the animal before.

  “Wolf loves children,” Ayla said. “He wants to play with her, but I think that marrow bone might distract him a little. If she drops it, he might think she is giving it to him and take it. I brought a bone with some meat on it for him. I’ll give it to him over there by The River while we have our meal.”

  Ayla pulled a rather large, leather-wrapped package out of her haversack and opened it to reveal some pieces of cooked bison and one good-size raw bone with some hard, dry pieces of brownish meat clinging to it. She got up, signaled Wolf to follow her, and walked toward the large stream, then gave him the bone. He seemed content to settle down with it.

  When she returned, she started taking several more things out of her carrying pack. She had brought a variety of foods. Besides the meat and cereal, she had several things left over from her Journey. There were some dried pieces of a starchy root; some roasted pine nuts from stone pines; some hazelnuts in their shells; and slices of small dried apples, tart and tasty.

  As they were eating, Ayla talked to the girl. “Lanoga, I told you we were going to swim and clean up a little before we go to talk to the women, but I think I should tell you why. I know you’ve done the best you know how to feed Lorala, but she needs more than mashed roots to be healthy and grow properly. I showed you how to fix other things to feed her, like scraping the meat so she can eat it, even though she doesn’t have teeth yet. But what she needs most is milk, at least some milk.” The girl watched her while she ate, but did not say anything.

  “Where I grew up, women always fed each other’s babies, and if the milk of one of the mothers dried up, the other women would take turns feeding her baby. Proleva told me that Zelandonii women feed other babies, too, but usually only family or close kin. Your mother doesn’t have any siblings or cousins who are nursing mothers, so I’m going to ask the women who are nursing, or will be soon, if they will help. But mothers get very protective of their own babies. They may not want to hold a baby who isn’t clean and doesn’t smell nice, and afterward hold their own.

  “We need to clean Lorala so she will be fresh and appealing to the other mothers. We are going to use that soaproot we used on our hands. I will show you how to bathe her, because you will have to keep her clean, and since you will probably be the one who will have to bring her to the women to nurse her, you need to bathe, too. I brought something for you to wear. Proleva got it for me. It’s been worn before, but it is clean. The girl who wore it got too big for it.” Lanoga did not respond, and Ayla wondered why she said so little. “Do you understand?” she asked.

  Lanoga nodded and kept on eating, now and then glancing at her sister, who was still working on the marrow bone. Ayla thought the baby was starving for foods that offered some of the nourishment she had been lacking. Boiled starchy roots weren’t enough for a growing infant. By the time Lanoga had her fill, the baby seemed to be getting sleepy, and Ayla thought they should wash her
now and let her sleep later. She put the containers away and stood up, then noticed a distinctive odor.

  The girl noticed it, too. “She messed,” Lanoga said.

  “There’s some moss by the little stream. Let’s clean her off before we give her a bath,” Ayla said. The girl just looked at her. The woman picked the baby up. She seemed surprised, but did not object. Ayla carried her to the runoff creek, knelt down near the edge, plucked a handful of moss growing on nearby stones, dipped it in the water, and, holding the baby over her arm, used it to wipe her bottom. With a second handful, she did it again. As she was examining her to make sure she was clean, the baby produced a warm stream. Ayla held her over the ground until she was done, washed her with moss again, then handed her to Lanoga.

  “Bring the baby to the basin, Lanoga. It’s time to get her cleaned up. Why don’t you put Lorala in here,” Ayla said, indicating the water-filled stone depression.

  The girl gave her a puzzled look, but didn’t move. Her brow wrinkled in thought, Ayla studied her. She didn’t think the girl lacked intelligence, though she hardly spoke, but more that she didn’t seem to understand what to do. Suddenly Ayla remembered a time, when she first lived with the Clan, that she hadn’t known what to do, and it made her think. She had noticed that the girl seemed to respond best to direct statements.