by Jean M. Auel
“When a child is born dead, or leaves this world and walks the next soon after birth, it is because the only way a person who is not born right can be fixed is to return to the Mother, so She takes them back. Although it is much easier to say than to do, one should not grieve for such children; the Mother has taken them back so they can be made right.”
Ayla reached into a haversack she wore over one shoulder and took out a small bowl with a lid. She opened it and held up the two-headed snake. There were startled ooohs. “Some things are not right when they are born, and it is obvious.” The tongues flicked out of the mouths of both heads as she showed the little creature. “The only way this snake can be fixed is to return it to the Mother. Sometimes that is what should be done.
“But sometimes someone is born wrong, and it is not obvious. When you look at them they seem normal, but they are not right inside. Just like this little snake, the only way they can be fixed is to return them to the Mother. Only She can fix them.”
Balderan and his men were also listening to Ayla’s story. “We’re going to have to watch for our chance soon, if we’re going to get away from here,” Balderan said, under his breath. He had no desire to be returned to the Mother. For the first time in his life he began to feel the fear he had so often caused others to feel.
“I think that was a very appropriate way to talk about what needs to be done,” Zelandoni First said as she was walking back to the zelandonia pavilion, along with the First, Ayla, and Jonokol. Wolf was sedately following Ayla, as she had signaled. She wanted people to know that while he was an efficient four-legged hunter, unlike Balderan, he was not an indiscriminate killer. “It will help people accept it if they can think about sending Balderan back to the Mother to be made right. What made you think of it?”
“I don’t know,” Ayla said, “but when I saw the dwarfed young man who came with Beladora’s people, I knew that there was no medicine that could help him to grow into a normal size, at least none that I knew of. Then that little snake made me understand that there are some things only the Mother could fix, if not in this world, then perhaps in the next.”
“Have you met the young man?” Zelandoni First asked.
“No, not yet.”
“Nor have I,” the First said.
“Then let’s do it now.”
The three women and the man walked toward the Giornadonii campsite. They stopped off at the Ninth Cave’s camp and picked up Jondalar and Jonayla, and Willamar, the only ones who happened to be there. Beladora and Kimeran were at the camp with their children. Ayla wondered if Beladora’s mother would succeed in persuading them to return with her and stay for a year. She couldn’t blame her for trying, as she wanted to get to know her grandchildren, but Kimeran was the leader of the Second Cave.
The friends greeted each other with cheek rubs and then they went through a series of formal introductions to Beladora’s mother, the leader of the Cave, and a few others. Then the young man came forward.
“I wanted to meet you,” he said to Ayla. “I liked what you said about the snake and some of the people you know.”
“I’m pleased that you did,” Ayla said, then bent down and took both of his small, oddly shaped hands in hers. His arms were also too short. His head seemed almost too big for him. “I am Ayla of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, mated to Jondalar, Master Flint-Knapper of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, and Mother of Jonayla, Blessed of Doni, and I am Acolyte to the First Among Those Who Serve The Great Earth Mother. I was formerly of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi, who live far to the east. I was adopted by the Mamut to be Daughter of the Mammoth Hearth, chosen by the spirit of the Cave Lion, protected by the Cave Bear, Friend of the Horses, Whinney, Racer, and Gray, and the four-legged hunter, Wolf.”
“I am Romitolo of the Sixth Cave of the Giornadonii,” he said in slightly accented Zelandonii. He was fluent in both languages. “I greet you, Ayla of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii. You have a lot of unusual ties. Perhaps you could explain them to me sometime,” he said. “But first, I would like to ask you a question.”
“By all means,” Ayla said, noticing that he seemed to feel no need to recite all his names and ties. Well, he was unique enough, she thought. He seems young, yet ageless.
“What are you going to do with the little snake?” Romitolo asked. “Are you going to send him back to the Mother?”
“I don’t think so. I think the Mother will take him when she’s ready for him.”
“You have horses and a wolf—would you let me have the little snake? I will take care of him.”
Ayla paused for a while, then said, “I wasn’t sure what to do with him, but I think that’s a good idea, if it’s all right with your leader. Some people fear snakes, even those that are not poisonous. You will have to learn what to feed him. I may be able to help you.” She reached into her carrying sack and pulled out the woven bowl with the lid tied on and gave it to Romitolo. Wolf was leaning against her leg and whining slightly. “Would you like to meet the wolf? He won’t hurt you. When he was growing up, he grew to love a boy who had some problems. I think you remind Wolf of him.”
“Where is the boy now?” Romitolo asked.
“Rydag was very weak. He walks the next world now,” Ayla said.
“I am getting weaker. I think I will walk the next world soon,” Romitolo said. “Now I will think of it as returning to the Mother.”
She didn’t deny his assertion. He probably knew himself and his body better than anyone. “I am a medicine woman and was able to help Rydag be more comfortable. Can you tell me where you feel bad? I may be able to help you,” Ayla said.
“We have a good healer and he has probably done everything that can be done. He gives me medicine to help the pain when I need it. I think I’ll be ready to go back to the Great Mother when the time comes,” Romitolo said, then changed the subject. “How can I meet your wolf? What do I have to do?”
“Just let him sniff you, and maybe lick your hand. You can pat him, if you like, and feel his fur. He’s very gentle when I ask him to be. He adores babies,” Ayla said. Then she added, “Have you seen the pole-drag that the One Who Is First rides on? If you would like to ride on it and be pulled around by a horse, I’d be happy to take you wherever you would like to go.”
“Or, if you need anyone to help carry you,” Jondalar added, “my shoulders are strong and I have carried people that way before.”
“I thank you for your offers, but I have to tell you that it makes me tired to go visiting much. I used to love it. Now, even with someone carrying me, it’s hard. I almost didn’t come on this Journey, but if I hadn’t, there would have been no one left to help me, and I can’t manage without help. I do like it when people visit me, though.”
“Do you know how many years you can count?” the One Who Was First asked.
“About fourteen years,” he said. “I reached manhood two summers ago, but things have been getting worse since then.”
The First nodded. “When a boy reaches manhood, his body wants to grow,” she said.
“And mine doesn’t know how to grow right,” Romitolo said.
“But you know how to think, and that is more than many can say,” the First said. “I hope you live many more years. I think you have much to offer.”
The three women of the zelandonia rejoined each other later in the afternoon at the travelers’ campsite. The large gathering area was too busy. What had started out to be a meeting of the neighboring zelandonia had turned into an unscheduled Summer Meeting, and those who were cooking meals had taken over the covered space of the pavilion. No one else was in camp at the moment, and Ayla’s sleeping tent was being used as a quiet place to talk. Even then they spoke softly.
“Should the hemlock be served tonight, or should we wait until tomorrow night?” the First said.
“I don’t think there is any need to wait. I think we should get it over with as quickly as possible,” Zelandoni First said. “And the water parsnips should be
cooked while they are fresh, although they will keep for a while. I have an assistant, not quite an acolyte, but a woman who helps me a lot. I will ask her to cook the hemlock roots.”
“Will you tell her what they are and who they are for?” the First asked.
“Of course. It would be dangerous for her if she didn’t know exactly what she was cooking and why.”
“Is there anything you want me to do?” Ayla asked.
“You’ve done your share,” the First said. “You gathered the plants to begin with.”
“Then I think I will go and find Jondalar. I haven’t seen him all day,” Ayla said. “When are we going to visit the Sacred Site?”
“I think it’s best to wait a few days, after this whole Balderan matter is finished,” Zelandoni First said.
Balderan and his men had been watching both Ayla and Jondalar, and Wolf, very closely, though not overtly. It was getting dark and close to the time when the evening meal would be served. It wasn’t officially being called a feast, but it would be a communal meal to which everyone was contributing, so it felt like a major celebration.
Ayla and Jondalar weren’t entirely sure where the men were being held; it changed somewhat depending upon who was watching them. They were deeply involved in conversation with each other, and nearly walked into Balderan and his men.
Balderan looked around quickly, and noticed that the wolf was not with them. The men who were supposed to be watching them also seemed distracted and not paying attention. “Let’s do it now!” he said.
Suddenly Balderan jumped out, grabbed Ayla, and the next instant had a leather thong around her neck. “Stay back or she dies!” Balderan shouted as he pulled tight on the cord. Ayla gasped, trying to breathe.
The other men had armed themselves with stones that they were threatening to throw or perhaps use to hit her or whoever came after them. Balderan had been waiting for this moment. He had planned how it would go in his mind, and now that he had her, he was enjoying it. He was going to kill her, maybe not right away, but he was going to enjoy it. He was sure he knew how the big “gentle giant” of a man would react.
But Balderan didn’t know that Jondalar had cultivated that calm and restrained demeanor as part of his need to keep himself under control at all times. He had allowed his temper to get control of him before and knew what he was capable of doing.
Jondalar’s first thought was, how dare anybody try to harm Ayla! This time it wasn’t temper, it was reaction.
In an instant, before any of the men even thought of moving, Jondalar took two long steps and was behind Balderan. He bent over and grabbed both his wrists and broke his hold, almost broke his arms. Then letting go of one arm, he spun him around and smashed him in the face with his fist. He was close to hitting him again, but the man slumped over in a daze, blood running down his face from his broken nose.
Balderan had misjudged Jondalar entirely. He was not only a big man, he was a powerful man with quick reflexes, a man who sometimes had to exert himself to control a spirited stallion. Racer was not a domesticated horse; he was a trained horse. Jondalar had lived with him from the day he was born and taught him, but Racer still had all the natural instincts of an extremely strong and sometimes willful wild stallion. It took a lot of strength to handle the horse, and it kept the man in shape.
Balderan had doubled the leather cord that had originally been used to tie his shirt together. It was still hanging loosely around Ayla’s neck, but the marks it had made were bright red, even in the dim light of fireplaces that were some distance away. People were belatedly running in their direction. Everything had happened so fast. Several Zelandonia, including the First, went to help Ayla, and Jondalar wouldn’t leave her side.
The people Zelandoni First had spoken to about how to deal with Balderan had gathered around him as he was lying on the ground. Suddenly Aremina, the woman who had been raped and whose mate he had killed, kicked him. Then the woman who had lost her daughter after she was held by them and badly mistreated suddenly kicked him too. Then a man who had been beaten by the men after watching his mate and young daughter being raped punched his face, breaking his nose again. Balderan’s other men were trying to back away, but they were all surrounded now, and one of them was punched in the face.
There was no stopping the angry crowd now. Everyone who had been subject to the depredations of Balderan and his men was giving it back and then some. The crowd had turned into a mob. It had happened so fast, no one knew what to do at first; then the Zelandonia moved in to stop it. Ayla was among them shouting, “Stop it! Stop it now! You are acting like Balderan.” But the people couldn’t stop. All their frustrations, their feelings of impotence, humiliation, and powerlessness came out.
When the people settled down and looked around, all four men were sprawled on the ground, covered with blood. Ayla bent over Balderan to check him; he was dead and so were two others. One was barely hanging on to life, the one who had asked how he could make reparations. Wolf suddenly appeared and stayed with Ayla, watching the scene closely, a low growl in his throat, and she could tell he wasn’t sure what to do. Ayla sat on the ground with her arms around his neck.
The First moved beside her. “That’s not at all the way I expected it to happen,” she said. “I didn’t realize there was so much pent-up anger, but I should have.”
“Balderan brought it on himself,” Zelandoni First said. “If he hadn’t attacked Ayla, Jondalar would not have hit him. Once he was down, the people who had been hurt by him couldn’t hold back. They knew he wasn’t invincible. I guess there is no need for the hemlock now. I will have to make sure it is disposed of properly.”
Everyone was still tense and overexcited. It took a while for most people to understand what had happened. Those who had participated were beginning to feel a range of emotions. Some felt shame for what they had done; others felt relief, sorrow, excitement, even elation that Balderan had finally gotten back what he had given out.
Levela had kept Jonayla with her when Wolf ran out of the tent, though she wanted to follow him. Ayla had some of Balderan’s blood on her when she returned, which upset her daughter. She assured Jonayla that it was not her own blood, but that of a man who was hurt.
The next morning Jondalar went to see the Zelandonia who were both called First to tell them that Ayla wanted to stay in her tent and rest that day. Her throat still hurt from the attempted strangulation. All the local zelandonia had been discussing how to help the people, whether they should call another meeting, or wait until people came to them.
As Jondalar walked back, he was aware that people were watching him, but he didn’t care. And he didn’t hear the comments. Men admired his strength and his speed, his reaction had been so swift; the women just admired him. To have a man like that, so handsome, so quick to jump to his woman’s defense, who wouldn’t want such a man? If he had heard them talking, he wouldn’t have cared. He just wanted to get to his Ayla and make sure she was well, and that everything was all right.
But after a while it was the story of Balderan’s attack on Ayla and Jondalar’s quick defense that was told several times, not the resulting melee that ended in the beating death of three men, and quite possibly a fourth, although Gahaynar was holding on to life. The zelandonia had to decide how they were going to dispose of the bodies. It posed a dilemma. They didn’t want to honor them in any way; there would be no ceremony, but they did want to make sure their spirits were given back to the Mother. They ended up taking the bodies into the mountains and leaving them on the crest of a hill, exposed to every kind of scavenger.
The visitors from the nearby Caves spent a few more days camped in the field, then began to trickle away to get back into their normal routine now that the excitement was over. They would have many stories to tell about the visitors, the One Who Was First, and her acolyte who controlled a wolf and horses, and called up a two-headed snake, and who helped rid them of Balderan, but the versions of what happened to Balderan and his gang wo
uld likely be different depending upon what part each person had played in the events.
Ayla was getting restless and anxious to leave. She decided it was a good time to finish drying the bison meat—it would give her something to do—and laid out lines of cordage supported by sticks of wood, and built smoky fires in and around them. Insects like gnats were drawn to the raw meat, where they liked to lay eggs that could cause it to spoil. The smoke kept them away, and incidentally flavored the meat. Then she set about slicing the sections of bison into thin, uniform pieces. Before long, Levela joined her, then Jondecam and Jondalar. Jonayla wanted to help, so Ayla showed her how to cut the meat and gave her a section of the corded lines to hang her pieces up to dry. Willamar and his two assistants strolled into camp around midday, quite excited.
“After we leave here, we were thinking it might be a good idea to go south along this river until we reach the Southern Sea,” Willamar said. “After coming all this way, it would be a shame not to see it, and we’ve been told this is the time to trade for shells. They have many of the small round bead shells, and the pretty long dentalia, and some particularly nice scallop shells, even periwinkles, I’m told. We could keep some and trade some to the Fifth Cave.”
“What do we have to trade with them for the shells?” Jondalar asked.
“I was going to talk to you about that. Do you think you could find some good flint and make some blades and points to exchange for shells? And maybe some of that meat you are drying, Ayla?” Willamar said.
“How do you know this is the time to trade, and about all these shell beads?” Levela asked.
“A man from the north just arrived. You’ll have to meet him. He’s a trader, too, and he has some fascinating ivory carvings,” Willamar said.
“I knew a man who made ivory carvings,” Ayla said, a little wistfully.
Jondalar’s ears perked up. He knew that same ivory carver. He was a remarkable and talented artist, and the man to whom he almost lost Ayla. He still felt a lump in his throat at the thought.