The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  The entrance to the small cave seemed barely large enough for a person to enter and it seemed to get smaller as she looked farther inside. It made Ayla wonder why anyone would want to go inside it. Then she heard a sound that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, and gooseflesh appear on her arms. It was like a yodel, but faster and more high pitched, an ululating wail that seemed to fill the cave hole in front of them. She turned and saw that it was Falithan who was making the sound. Then a strange muted echo reverberated faintly back to them that did not quite synchronize with the original sound, but seemed to originate from deep inside the cave. When he finished, she saw Zelandoni of the Twenty-sixth smiling at her.

  “It’s quite a remarkable sound he makes, isn’t it?” the man said.

  “Yes, it is,” Ayla said. “But why did he make it?”

  “It’s one way we test the cave. When a person sings or plays a flute or makes a sound like Falithan in a hollow, if the cave responds, sings back with a sound that is true and distinctive, it means the Mother is telling us that She hears, and She is telling us that one can enter the spirit world from here. Then we know it is a sacred place,” the Twenty-sixth said.

  “Do all sacred caves sing back?” Ayla asked.

  “Not all, but most do, and some only in certain places, but there is always something special about sacred sites,” he said.

  “I’m sure the First would be able to test a cave like this, she has such a beautiful and pure voice,” Ayla said, and then she frowned. “What if you want to test a cave but you can’t sing, or play a flute, or make a sound like Falithan? I can’t do any of those things.”

  “Surely you can sing a little.”

  “No, she can’t,” Jonokol said. “She speaks the words of the Mother’s Song, and hums in a monotone.”

  “You have to be able to test a sacred site with sound,” the Zelandoni of the Twenty-sixth Cave said. “That’s an important part of being Zelandoni. And it must be a true sound of some kind. You can’t just yell or scream.” He seemed gravely concerned, and Ayla was crestfallen.

  “What if I can’t make the right kind of sound? A true sound?” Ayla said, realizing at that moment that she did want to be a Zelandoni someday. But what if she couldn’t just because she couldn’t make a proper sound?

  Jonokol looked as unhappy as Ayla. He liked the foreigner Jondalar had brought back with him from his Journey, and he felt he owed her a debt. She was not only the one who found the beautiful new cave; she had made sure he was among the first to see it, and had agreed to become the First’s acolyte, which had allowed him to move to the Nineteenth Cave, which was near it.

  “But you can make a true sound, Ayla,” Jonokol said. “You can whistle. I have heard you whistle just like a bird, and you can make many other animal sounds. You can whinny like a horse, you can even roar like a lion.”

  “That I’d like to hear,” the Donier said.

  “Go ahead, Ayla. Show him,” Jonokol said.

  Ayla closed her eyes and gathered up her thoughts to concentrate. She put her mind back to the time when she was living in her valley and raising a young lion alongside a horse, as though they were both her children. She remembered the first time Baby managed to make a full-throated roar. She had decided to practice making the sound, too, and a few days later answered him with a roar of her own. It wasn’t quite as thunderous as his, but he recognized it as a respectable roar. Like Baby, she had always built up to it with a series of distinctive grunts, and began with a series of unhk, unhk, unhk sounds that grew louder with each repetition. Finally she opened her mouth and pushed out the loudest roar she could. It filled the small cave. Then after a period of silence the roar echoed back on itself with a distant, muted sound that with a chill of gooseflesh made each of them feel that a different lion had answered from a place far away, deep in the cave and beyond.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d vow there was a lion in here,” the young acolyte of the Twenty-sixth said with a smile when the echoes died down. “Can you really whinny like a horse, too?”

  That one was easy. It was the true name of Ayla’s horse, Whinney, the one she named her when she was a foal, though now she more often said it like a word rather than a whinny. She made the sound the way she usually greeted her friend when she hadn’t seen her for a while, a happy, welcoming whiiinnneeey.

  This time the Donier of the Twenty-sixth Cave laughed out loud. “And I imagine you can whistle like a bird, too.”

  Ayla smiled, a big delighted grin, then whistled through a series of birdcalls that she had taught herself when she was still alone in her valley, and had learned to coax birds to eat out of her hand. The bird trills and chirps and whistles reverberated with the strangely muted echoing of the cave.

  “Well, if I had any doubts about this being a Sacred Cave, I couldn’t anymore. And you won’t have any problem testing with sound, Ayla, even if you can’t sing or play a flute. Like Falithan, you have your own way,” the Zelandoni said. Then he signaled to his acolyte, who removed his backframe and took out of it four small bowls with handles that had been carved out of limestone.

  The acolyte next brought out an object that looked like a small white sausage; it was a piece of the intestine of some animal filled with fat. He untwisted one end and squeezed out some of the slightly congealed fat into the bowl of each lamp, then put a strip of a dried boletus mushroom into each. Then he sat down and prepared to make a small fire. Ayla watched him, and almost offered to make a fire with one of her firestones, but the First had made a point the previous year to make a ceremony of showing the firestone, and though many of the Zelandonii now knew how to use it, Ayla wasn’t sure how she wanted to show those who hadn’t seen it the first time.

  Using materials he had brought with him, Falithan soon had a small fire going and from it, using another strip of dried mushroom to transfer the fire, he melted some of the fat to make it more easily absorbed, then lit the mushroom wicks.

  When the fire was well established in each grease lamp, the Zelandoni of the Twenty-sixth said, “Well, shall we explore this tight little cave? But you will have to assume that you are another animal, Ayla, a snake. Do you think you can slither in here?”

  Ayla nodded her assent, though she felt some doubt.

  Holding on to the handle of the small bowl-shaped lamp, the Zelandoni of the Twenty-sixth Cave put his head into the small opening first, getting down on his knees and one hand, and finally down on his stomach. Pushing the small oil lamp in front of him, he squirmed into the unique little space. Ayla followed him, then Jonokol and finally Falithan, each of them holding a lamp. She now understood why the Zelandoni had discouraged the First from attempting to enter the place. Though Ayla had occasionally been surprised at what the large woman could do if she set her mind to it, this cave really was too small for her.

  The short walls were more or less perpendicular to the floor, but curved together at the ceiling, and appeared to be rock covered with a damp soil. The floor was a wet clayey mud that stuck to them, but actually helped them to slide through some of the tighter places, but it didn’t take long for the cold clammy muck to seep into their clothing. The chill made Ayla aware that her breasts were full of milk and she tried to get up on her elbows so she wouldn’t have to put all her weight on them, though it was difficult while holding the lamp. Small spaces didn’t particularly bother Ayla, but when she got stuck in one place that curved sideways, she began to feel a touch of panic.

  “Just relax, Ayla. You can make it,” she heard Jonokol say, then felt a push against her feet from behind. With his help she squeezed through.

  The cave was not uniformly small. When they got beyond the constriction, the cave opened up a little. They could actually sit up, and holding their lamps up, see each other. They stopped and rested for a while, then Jonokol couldn’t resist. He took a small, chisel-pointed piece of flint from a pouch tied to his waist thong and, with a few quick strokes, engraved a drawing of a horse on the wall on
one side, and then in front of it, another.

  It had always amazed Ayla how skilled he was. When he was still at the Ninth Cave, she had often watched him when he practiced on the outside wall of a limestone cliff, or a slab of stone that had broken off, or on a section of rawhide with a piece of charcoal, or even on a smoothed-out area of dirt on the ground. He did it so often and with such ease, he almost seemed profligate, wasteful of his talent. But just as she had had to practice to gain skill with her sling or Jondalar’s spear-thrower, she knew Jonokol had needed to practice to gain his level of proficiency. It was just that to her the ability to think of a living, breathing animal and reproduce its likeness on a surface was so extraordinary, it couldn’t be anything but a great and amazing Gift from the Mother. Ayla was not alone in those feelings.

  After they rested awhile, the Zelandoni of the Twenty-sixth Cave continued leading the way into the cave. They encountered a few more tight places before they reached a place where slabs of rock blocked their way; it was the end of the cave. They could go no farther.

  “I notice that you felt compelled to make drawings on the wall of this cave,” the Zelandoni of the Twenty-sixth said, smiling at Jonokol.

  Jonokol wasn’t sure he would put it quite that way, but he had drawn two horses, so he nodded assent.

  “I have been thinking that Sun View should have a ceremony for this space. I am now more sure than ever that it is sacred, and I would like to acknowledge that. It could be a place for young people who want to test themselves to come, even those who are quite young.”

  “I think you are right,” the artist acolyte said. “It’s a difficult cave, but staightforward. It would be hard to get lost in here.”

  “Would you join us in the ceremony, Jonokol?”

  Ayla guessed the Zelandoni wanted Jonokol to make more drawings in this Sacred Cave that was so close to them, and wondered if his drawings would add more status to the place.

  “I believe a mark of closure is needed here, to show it is as far as one can go within the cave—in this world,” Jonokol said, then smiled. “I think Ayla’s lion spoke from the next world. Let me know when you plan to have the ceremony.”

  Both the Zelandoni and his acolyte, Falithan, smiled their pleasure. “You are welcome to come, too, Ayla,” the Twenty-sixth said.

  “I will have to see what the First has planned for me,” she said.

  “Of course.”

  They turned around and started back, and Ayla was glad. Her clothes were soggy and caked with mud, and she was getting cold. It didn’t seem to take as long to return, and she was happy that she didn’t get stuck again. When they reached the entrance, Ayla breathed a sigh of relief. Her oil lamp had gone out just before they saw light coming in from outside. This may be a truly Sacred Cave, she thought, but she didn’t think it was a particularly pleasant cave, especially having to crawl on her stomach most of the way.

  “Would you like to come to visit Sun View, Ayla? It’s not very far,” Falithan said.

  “I am sorry. Some other time I would love to visit, but I told Proleva I would be back in the afternoon. She is watching Jonayla, and I really do need to go back to the camp,” Ayla said. She didn’t add that her breasts were aching; she was feeling the need to nurse and getting very uncomfortable.

  8

  When Ayla returned, Wolf was waiting at the edge of the Summer Meeting Camp to greet her. He had somehow known she was coming. “Where’s Jonayla, Wolf? Find her for me.” The animal dashed out in front of her, then turned to look back and make sure she was following him.

  He led her directly to Proleva, who was at the camp of the Third Cave, nursing Jonayla. “Ayla! You’re back! If I’d known you were coming, I would have held off. I’m afraid she’s full now,” the woman said.

  Ayla took her child and tried to nurse her, but the infant just wasn’t hungry, which seemed to make Ayla’s breasts ache even more. “Has Sethona nursed? I’m full, too. Full of milk.”

  “Stelona was helping me today, and she always has plenty of milk, even though her baby is eating some regular food. She offered to feed Sethona not long ago when I was talking to Zelandoni about the Matrimonial. Since I knew I’d be feeding Jonayla soon, I thought that would be perfect. I just didn’t know when you would be back, Ayla.”

  “I didn’t either,” Ayla said. “I’ll see if I can find someone else who needs milk, and thank you for taking care of Jonayla today.”

  Walking toward the big zelandonia lodge, Ayla saw Lanoga carrying Lorala on her hip. Three-year Ganamar, the next to the youngest in the family, was holding on to her tunic with one hand, the thumb of his other hand firmly in his mouth. Ayla hoped that Lorala might want to nurse; she was usually ready anytime. When she mentioned it, Lanoga told her, much to her relief, that she was looking for someone to feed the child.

  They sat on one of several logs with seating pads on them that were arranged around a darkened fireplace outside the entrance of the big lodge and Ayla gratefully took the older baby in exchange for her own. Wolf sat down near Jonayla, and Ganamar plopped down beside him. All the children of Laramar’s hearth were comfortable around the animal, though Laramar was not. He still tensed up and backed away when the big wolf came near him.

  Ayla had to wipe her breast off before she could nurse the child; the wet mud had soaked through. While Ayla was feeding Lorala, Jondalar returned from an afternoon of spear-throwing practice and Lanidar was with him. He smiled shyly at her and more warmly at Lanoga. Ayla gave him a quick appraising look. He was a twelve-year now, close to a thirteen-year, and he’d grown quite a bit in the past year. Even more in self-confidence, she noticed. He was taller and he wore a unique spear-thrower holder, a kind of harness that she could see accommodated his deformed right arm. It also held a quiver of several of the specialized spears that were used with a spear-thrower, which were shorter and lighter than the usual spears meant to be cast by hand, more like long darts tipped with sharp flint. His well-developed left arm looked almost as strong as a grown man’s, and she suspected he had been practicing with the weapon.

  Lanidar was also wearing a manhood belt with a red fringe, a narrow finger-woven strip of various colors and fibers. Some were natural vegetal colors like ivory flax, beige dogbane, and taupe nettles. Others were the natural fibers of animal fur, usually the dense, long coat of winterkills like white mouflon, gray ibex, dark red mammoth, and black horsetail. Most of the fibers could also be dyed to change or intensify the natural colors. The belt not only announced that he had reached physical maturity and was ready for a donii-woman and manhood rites, but the designs indicated his affiliations. Ayla was able to identify the symbolism that proclaimed he was of the Nineteenth Cave of the Zelandonii, though she couldn’t yet identify his primary names and ties by their distinctive patterns.

  The first time Ayla had seen a manhood belt, she had thought it was beautiful. She’d had no way then of knowing its meaning, however, when Marona, the woman who had expected to mate Jondalar, tried to embarrass her by tricking her into wearing it, along with the winter undergarments of a young man. She still thought the belt ties were beautiful, though they reminded her of the unpleasant incident. She had, however, kept the soft buckskin garments the woman had given her. Ayla wasn’t born to the Zelandonii, and in spite of their intended use, she didn’t have the ingrained culture-driven sense that they were inappropriate. They were comfortably soft suede leather, velvety to the touch, and she decided she would wear them sometimes, after she made some adjustments to the leggings and tunic so they fit her womanly shape better.

  People of the Ninth Cave looked at her strangely the first time she wore the undergarments of a young man as casual outer clothing in warm weather to go hunting, but they got used to it. After a while she noticed that some of the younger women started wearing similar clothing. But it embarrassed and angered Marona when Ayla wore them, because she was reminded that her trick had not been appreciated by the Ninth Cave. Instead they felt that she had disgr
aced them by treating the foreigner, who was destined to become one of them, so maliciously. Distressing Marona had not been Ayla’s original intention when she first wore teenage boy’s undergarments publicly, but the woman’s reaction was not lost on her.

  As Ayla and Lanoga exchanged babies again, several laughing young men approached, most of them wearing manhood belts and several of them carrying spear-throwers. Jondalar attracted people wherever he went, but young men in particular looked up to him and liked to cluster around him. She was pleased to note that they greeted Lanidar in a friendly way. Since he had developed such skill with the new weapon, his deformed arm no longer caused the other young men to avoid him. She was also pleased to note that Bologan was among them, though he lacked both a manhood belt and a spear-thrower of his own. She knew Jondalar had made several of the hunting weapons for people to practice.

  Ayla knew that both men and women went to the practice spear-throwing sessions that Jondalar had begun to hold, but although the two genders were very aware of each other, the young men liked to socialize with their age-mates who were going through the same stage of development and looking forward to the same rituals, and young women tended to avoid the “boys with belts.” Most of the young men glanced at Lanoga but pretended to ignore her, except Bologan. He did look at his sister and she looked back, and though they didn’t smile or nod a greeting, it was an acknowledgment.

  The boys all smiled at Ayla in spite of her mud-caked clothing, most of them shyly, but a couple were more bold in their appraisal of the beautiful older woman whom Jondalar had brought home and mated. Donii-women were invariably older and knew how to handle cocky boys trying to be men, to keep them in check without discouraging them too much. The impudent smile of some whom she hadn’t met before was exchanged for a fleeting expression of apprehension when Wolf got up at her signal.