by Jean M. Auel
Her body, which had thickened slightly from the lack of excercise during the past few years, had been thinned down by her ordeal in the cave. Her breasts, which had filled out when she was heavy with milk while nursing Jonayla, and again with early pregnancy, had gone back to normal size, and her muscle tone was still good. She had always been firm and well shaped, and though she could count twenty-six years now, she thought, she looked very much the same as she had when she could count only seventeen years.
She rode until sunset, then stopped and made camp beside The River. Sleeping alone in her small tent made her think about Jondalar again. She crawled into her furs and closed her eyes, and kept seeing visions of the tall man with the thrilling blue eyes, wishing he were there to wrap his arms around her, wishing she could feel his mouth on hers. She rolled over, closed her eyes, and tried again to go to sleep. She kept tossing and turning but could not get to sleep. Wolf was beside her and started whining.
“Am I keeping you awake, too, Wolf?” Ayla said.
He sat up and poked his nose out of the opening under the closure, a growl deep in his throat. He squirmed his way under the flap that was loosely tied across the triangular-shaped front of the small tent, his growl becoming more menacing.
“Wolf! Where are you going? Wolf?”
She quickly untied the closure and started out, then turned back and reached for her spear-thrower and a couple of spears. The moon was waning, but there was still enough light to see reflected shapes. She saw the pole-drag, then noticed that Whinney was moving away from it. Even in the limited moonglow, she could tell from the way the mare moved that she was nervous. Wolf was crouching low, moving in the general direction of the pole-drag, but slightly behind it. Then, for an instant, she glimpsed a shape, a round head with two ears sticking up ending in tufts.
It’s a lynx!
She’d had memories of the large cat with mottled whitish-yellow fur, short stubby tail, and tufted ears. And long legs that could run fast. It was her first encounter with a lynx that had encouraged her to teach herself to cast two stones in rapid succession with her sling, so she wouldn’t be left weaponless after one hurl. She checked to make sure that she had more than one spear as she mounted one on her spear-thrower, ready to throw.
Then she saw his silhouette slinking toward the pole-drag.
“Aaaiiiii!” she screamed, running toward the cat. “Get out of there! That’s not yours! Go away! Get out of here!”
The startled lynx leaped straight up in the air, then sped away. Wolf took off after it, but after a few moments, Ayla whistled. He slowed down, then stopped, and when she whistled again, finally turned around and headed back.
Ayla had brought along a little kindling. She used it to stir up the coals of the fire she had made earlier to heat some water for tea to drink with the traveling cake that she ate before going to bed. The coals had died, so she got her fire-making kit and started a new one. Once she had the kindling lit, she used a piece as a torch to search around for more fuel. She was on an open plain with The River running through it. There were a few trees near The River, but only green wood was available; dried grass was, though, and a few desiccated animal droppings, probably from a bison or an aurochs, she thought. It was enough to keep the small fire going for a while. She laid out her sleeping roll next to the fire and crawled into it with Wolf beside her. Whinney stayed close to Ayla and the fire as well.
She dozed a little during the night, but the least sound roused her. Without bothering to build up the fire, she was on her way again shortly after first light, stopping only long enough for the horse, the wolf, and herself to get a drink from The River. She ate another traveling cake along the way, and sighted the smoke of cooking fires from the Camp before noon. Ayla waved to a few friends as she rode along The River, pulling the pole-drag behind, heading first toward the place upstream where the Ninth Cave had camped before.
She went straight to the glen surrounded by trees. The simple corral made her smile. The horses nickered greetings at first scent. Wolf raced ahead to rub noses with Racer, who had been his friend since his puppy days, and Gray, whom he had watched over from the time she was born. He felt nearly as protective toward her as he did toward Jonayla.
Except for the horses, the camp of the Ninth Cave seemed to be deserted. Wolf began sniffing around a familiar tent, and when she brought in her sleeping roll, she saw Wolf near Jonayla’s sleeping furs. He looked at her, whining with anxious need.
“Do you want to go find her, Wolf? Go ahead, Wolf, find Jonayla,” she said, giving him the signal that he was free to go. He raced out of the tent, sniffed the ground to pick up her particular scent among all the others, then ran off, smelling the ground now and then. People had seen Ayla arriving, and before she could unpack the meat, relatives and friends came to greet her. Joharran was the first, Proleva close behind.
“Ayla! You finally made it,” Joharran said, rushing toward her and giving her a big hug. “How’s Mother? You have no idea how much she is missed. Both of you, in fact.”
Proleva was next to embrace her. “Yes, how is Marthona?” she asked, giving Ayla time to answer.
“Better, I think. When I was leaving, she said if she had felt as good when everyone left, she might have come,” Ayla said.
“How’s Jeralda?” Proleva asked next.
Ayla smiled. “She had a girl, yesterday. The baby seems perfectly healthy—I don’t think she was early. They both seem fine. Jeviva and Jonclotan are very happy.”
“It looks like you brought something,” Joharran said, motioning toward the travois.
“Lorigan, Forason, Jonclotan, and I did a little hunting,” Ayla said. “We came upon a herd of red deer in Grass Valley, and got two stags. I left one there. It will hold them for a while. I brought the other one with me. I thought some fresh meat might be welcome about now. I know animals get a little scarce around here about this time. We had some before I left. They’re good, already building up fat for winter.”
Several more of the Ninth Cave arrived, and some others as well. Joharran and a couple of them started to unload the pole-drag.
Matagan, Jondalar’s first apprentice, ran with a limp, but ran nonetheless, and greeted her enthusiastically. “People have been asking when you were coming. Zelandoni kept saying it could be anytime. But no one was expecting you in the middle of the day,” Garthadal said. “Jondalar was sure that you wouldn’t get here until evening or later. He said when you decided to come, you’d probably ride your horse and make the trip in one day.”
“He was right. At least that’s what I planned to do, but Jeralda went into labor in the middle of the night, and had her baby in the morning. I was too restless to wait, so I left in the afternoon and camped out last night,” Ayla explained. Then, looking around, she asked, “Where is Jondalar? And Jonayla?”
Joharran and Proleva glanced at each other, then quickly looked away. “Jonayla is with the other girls her age,” Proleva said. “The zelandonia had some things for them to do. They’re going to take part in a special celebration Those Who Serve have planned.”
“I’m not sure where Jondalar is,” Joharran said, his brow knotted with the frown that was so like his brother’s. He glanced up behind Ayla, and smiled. “But there is someone here who has been wanting to see you.”
Ayla turned around and looked in the direction that Joharran had glanced. She saw a giant of a man with wild red hair and a bushy red beard. Her eyes opened wide.
“Talut? Talut, is it you?” she cried, rushing toward the burly man.
“No, Ayla. Not Talut. I am Danug, but Talut told me to give you a big hug for him, too,” the young man said as he swept her up in a big, friendly embrace. She felt, not crushed—Danug had learned long ago to be careful of his overpowering strength—but enveloped, overwhelmed, almost smothered by the sheer size of the man. He was taller, by some measure, than Jondalar’s six feet, six inches. His shoulders were nearly as broad as those of two ordinary men and his arms we
re the size of most men’s thighs. She couldn’t fully wrap her arms around his massive chest, and though his waist was slender enough in proportion, his muscular thighs and calves were huge.
Ayla had known only one other to match Danug’s size: Talut, the man to whom Danug’s mother was mated, the headman of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi. And, if anything, the young man was bigger.
“I told you I was going to come and visit you someday,” he said, when he put her down. “How are you, Ayla?”
“Oh, Danug,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “I’m so glad to see you. How long have you been here? How did you get here? How did you get so big? I think you’re bigger than Talut!” She easily slipped into speaking Mamutoi, but though her words were understood, it didn’t make her questions follow any logical order.
“I think he is, too, but I’d never dare say that to Talut.”
Ayla turned at the sound of the voice, and saw another young man. He seemed to be a stranger, but as she looked closer, she began to see similarities to others she had known. He resembled Barzec, though he was larger than the short, sturdy man who was mated to Tulie, the big headwoman of the Lion Camp. She was Talut’s sister, and almost matched him in size. The young man bore a certain resemblance to both of them.
“Druwez?” Ayla said. “Are you Druwez?”
“It’s hard to mistake the big galoot,” the young man said, smiling at Danug, “but I didn’t know if you would recognize me.”
“You have changed,” Ayla said, hugging him, “but I can see your mother, and Barzec, in you. How are they? And how’s Nezzie, and Deegie, and everyone?” she asked, including both in her glance. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed everyone.”
“They miss you, too,” Danug said. “But we have someone else with us who’s been looking forward to meeting you.”
A tall young man with a shy smile and curly brown hair was standing back a bit. He came forward at the prompting of the two young Mamutoi. Ayla knew she had never met him before, yet there was something strangely familiar about him—she just couldn’t put her finger on it.
“Ayla of the Mamutoi … Zelandonii now, I guess, meet Aldanor of the S’Armunai,” Danug said.
“S’Armunai!” Ayla said. Suddenly she realized what was so familiar about him. His clothing, especially his shirt. It was cut and decorated in the unique style of those people she and Jondalar had involuntarily visited on their Journey. Memories came rushing back. They were the people who had captured Jondalar, or rather, Attaroa’s Camp of S’Armunai had. Ayla with Wolf and the horses had tracked them and found him. But that had not been the first time she had seen a shirt made in that style. Ranec, the Mamutoi man she almost mated, had one that he had traded carvings for.
Ayla suddenly realized they were staring at each other. She collected herself, stepped toward the young man with both hands held out in greeting. “In the name of Doni, the Great Earth Mother, also known as Muna, you are welcome here, Aldanor of the S’Armunai,” she said.
“In the name of Muna, I thank you, Ayla.” He smiled a shy grin. “You may be Mamutoi or Zelandonii, but did you know that among the S’Armunai you are known as ‘S’Ayla, Mother of the Wolf Star, sent to destroy Attaroa, the Evil One’? There are so many stories about you, I didn’t believe you were a real person. I thought you were a Legend. When Danug and Druwez stopped at our camp and said they were making a Journey to visit you, I asked if I could go along. Now I can’t believe I’m actually meeting you!”
Ayla smiled and shook her head. “I don’t know about stories or Legends,” she said. “People often believe what they want to believe.” He seems like a nice young man, she thought.
“I have something for you, Ayla,” Danug said. “If you’ll come inside, I’ll give it to you.” She followed Danug into a smallish hide-covered structure, apparently their traveling-tent, and watched as he rummaged through a pack. Finally he pulled out a small object carefully wrapped and tied with a cord. “Ranec told me to give this to you personally.”
Ayla unwrapped the small package. Her eyes opened wide and she gasped with surprise as she held the object in her hand. It was a horse carved out of mammoth ivory, small enough to fit in her hand, but so exquisitely carved, it almost looked alive. Its head was thrust forward as though straining into the wind. The stand-up mane and shaggy coat were carved with a pattern of lines that suggested the rough texture of the horse’s hide without hiding the stocky conformation of the small steppe horse. A shade of yellow ocher, the color of dry standing hay, had been rubbed onto the animal, matching the familiar color of one horse she knew, and a blackish color shaded the lower legs and the length of the spine.
“Oh, Danug. She’s just beautiful. It’s Whinney, isn’t it?” Ayla smiled, but her eyes glistened with tears.
“Yes, of course. He started carving this horse right after you left.”
“I think the hardest thing I ever did in my life was to tell Ranec that I was leaving to go with Jondalar. How is he, Danug?”
“He’s fine, Ayla. He mated Tricie later that summer. You know, the woman who had the baby that probably came from his spirit? She has three children now. She’s feisty, but she’s good for him. She’ll start raving about something, and he just smiles. He says he loves her spirit. She can’t really resist his smile, and she really does love him. I don’t think he will ever get over you completely, though. It caused a bit of trouble between them at first.”
Ayla frowned. “What kind of trouble?”
“Well, he lets her have her way in almost everything, and I think in the beginning, she thought he was weak because he gave in so easily. She started pushing him, seeing how far she could go. Then she began demanding things, wanted him to get her this or that. He seemed to make a game out of it. No matter how outrageous, he would somehow manage to get whatever she asked for, and present it with one of those smiles of his. You know.”
“Yes, I know,” Ayla said, smiling through wet eyes as she remembered. “So pleased with himself, as though he had just won a competition, and was all full of his own cleverness.”
“Then she started changing everything around,” Danug continued. “His work space, his tools, all the special things he collected and arranged. He just let her. I think he was just seeing what she would do. But I happened to be in the lodge the day she decided to move this horse. I’ve never seen him so angry. He didn’t raise his voice or anything—he just told her to put it back. She was surprised. I don’t think she really believed him. He’d always given in to her. He told her again to put it back, and when she didn’t, he grabbed her wrist, pretty hard, and took it from her. He told her never to touch that horse again. He said if she did, he would break the mating bond and pay the price. He said he loved her, but there was one piece of him she could never have. If she couldn’t accept that she could leave.
“Tricie ran out of the lodge crying, but Ranec just put the horse back, then sat down and started carving. When she finally came back in, it was night. I couldn’t help but overhear—their hearth is right next to ours—and well, I suppose I wanted to hear. She told him she wanted to stay with him. She said she loved him, had always loved him, and wanted to stay with him even if he did still love you. She promised never to touch the horse again. She didn’t either. I think it gave her respect for him, and made her realize how she really felt about him. He’s happy, Ayla. I don’t think he’ll ever forget you, but he’s happy.”
“I’ll never forget him, either. I still think about him sometimes. If it hadn’t been for Jondalar, I could have been happy with him. I did love him, I just loved Jondalar more. Tell me about Tricie’s children,” she said.
“That blending of spirits has produced an interesting mixture,” Danug said. “The oldest is a boy—you saw him, didn’t you? Tricie brought him to that Summer Meeting.”
“Yes, I saw him. He was very fair. Is he still so fair?”
“His skin is the whitest I’ve ever seen, except where it’s covered with freckles. Trici
e has red hair and she’s fair, but not as much as him. His eyes are pale blue, and he has fuzzy orangey-red hair. He can’t stand the sun, he just burns, and if it’s really bright, it hurts his eyes, but except for his color, he looks just like Ranec. It’s strange to see them together, Ranec’s brown skin next to Ra’s white, but the same face. He’s got Ranec’s sense of humor, only more. Already, he can make anyone laugh, and he loves to travel. If he doesn’t turn out to be a traveling storyteller, I’ll be surprised. He can’t wait until he’s old enough to go off on his own. He wanted to come with us on our Journey. If he’d been a little older, I would have taken him. He’d have been good company.
“Tricie’s little girl is a beauty. Her skin is dark, but not brown like Ranec’s. Her hair is black as night, but her curls are softer. She has black eyes. Serious eyes. She’s a quiet, delicate little thing, but I swear that there’s not a man who sees her that isn’t entranced by her. She’ll have no trouble finding a mate.
“The baby is as dark as Ranec, and though it’s hard to tell yet, I think his features are going to be more like Tricie’s.”
“It seems as though Tricie is a good addition to the Lion Camp, Danug. I wish I could see her children. I have a little girl, too,” Ayla said, and suddenly remembered that she could have been having another one soon, were it not for her “call” to the deep cave. I would like to tell him that it is more than a blending of spirits that makes children, she thought.
“I know. I’ve met Jonayla. She looks just like you, except she has Jondalar’s eyes. I wish I could take her back with me and let her meet everyone. Nezzie would love her. I’ve already fallen in love with her, just like I fell in love with you when I was a boy,” Danug said with a delighted laugh.