The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  “It was our place before you took Marona there, and it’s still the best place to swim, especially now when the river is so stirred up and muddy downstream. I haven’t had the chance for a good swim since I arrived, and we’ll be leaving soon,” Ayla said.

  “But are you sure you’re strong enough to swim?”

  “Yes, I am sure, but don’t worry. I plan to spend most of the time lying on the bank in the sun. All I want is to get out of this lodge and spend some time with you away from people for a while, now that I finally got Zelandoni to agree that I’m well enough,” Ayla said. “I was getting ready to get on Whinney and go someplace anyway before too long. I know she’s concerned, but I’m fine. I just need to get out and move around.”

  Zelandoni had blamed herself for not paying close enough attention to Ayla and was being—rather uncharacteristically—overprotective. She felt more than a little responsible for the fact that they had almost lost the young woman, and she wasn’t going to let that happen again. Jondalar was in full agreement, and for a while Ayla enjoyed their unaccustomed close attention, but as she gained her strength back, she began to find such doting concern vexing. Ayla had been trying to convince the Donier that she was completely rested and strong enough to ride and swim again, but it wasn’t until the First wanted Wolf out of the way for a while that she finally agreed.

  Jonayla and the youngsters her age were again involved with the zelandonia in preparations for a small part they would play in the farewell ceremonies that were being planned to close the Summer Meeting. Wolf was not only a distraction when all the children were together, making it hard for them to concentrate, but it was difficult for Jonayla to both control him and learn what she was supposed to do. When Zelandoni had intimated to Ayla that, while the wolf was certainly welcome, perhaps she could keep the animal with her, it had been the edge Ayla needed to persuade the Donier that she ought to take Wolf, and the horses, away from the Campsite for some exercise.

  Ayla was anxious to leave as early as possible the next morning before Zelandoni changed her mind. Jondalar had watered and brushed the horses before the morning meal, and when he tied riding blankets on Whinney and Racer, and fitted halters on Racer and Gray, they knew they were going out, and pranced with anticipation. Though they didn’t plan to ride her, Ayla didn’t want to leave the young mare alone. She was sure Gray would be lonely if she were left behind; horses liked companionship, especially of their own kind, and Gray needed the exercise, too.

  The wolf looked up with expectation when Jondalar picked up a pair of pack baskets made to hang across the back of a horse. The carriers were full of various implements and mysterious packages wrapped in pieces of the pale brown material woven from flax fibers that Ayla had made as training samplers, to pass the time while she was recovering. Marthona had arranged to have a small loom made and was teaching her to weave. One of the baskets was covered by a leather hide to spread out on the ground, and the other by the soft yellowish toweling skins that had been gifts of the Sharamudoi.

  Wolf bounded on ahead when the man signaled that he could go with them as they left the lodge. Near the horse enclosure, Ayla stopped to pick a few ripe berries hanging from red-stemmed bushes. She brushed the round, powdery blue fruit against her tunic, noticed the deeper blue skin, then popped it in her mouth and, smiling with satisfaction, savored the sweet, juicy taste. As she climbed up on a stump to mount Whinney, she felt good just being outside, knowing she didn’t have to go back in the lodge right away. She was sure she knew every crack that cut through every painted or carved design on the sturdy wooden poles that supported the roof thatch, every smudge of soot that blackened the edges of the smoke hole. She wanted to look at sky and trees, and a landscape uncluttered with lodges.

  As they started out, Racer was unusually boisterous and a bit fractious, and communicated some of his unruliness to the two mares, making them harder to handle. Once they got beyond the wooded area, Ayla slipped the halter off Gray so she could go at her own pace, and by tacit agreement, Ayla and Jondalar urged their mounts to a gallop and let them go at full speed. By the time the animals eased off of their own accord, they had worked off their excess energy and were more relaxed, but not Ayla. She was exhilarated. She had always loved riding fast, and after being kept close to camp, it was especially exciting.

  They rode along at a more leisurely pace across a landscape contoured by the deep relief of high hills, limestone cliffs, and river-cut valleys. Though the noon sun was still hot most days, the season was turning. Mornings were often cool and crisp, and evenings overcast or rainy. Leaves were transforming their lush green of full summer into the yellows and occasional reds of autumn. The grasses of the open plains shaded from deep gold and rich brown to the pale yellow and grayish dun of the natural hay that would stand in the fields throughout most of the winter, but the leaves of certain forbs had turned to shades of red. Single plants or small clumps of the herbs suddenly appearing along their way stood out as bright spots of color that delighted Ayla, but it was the occasional south-facing wooded hillside that made her catch her breath with its dazzling display. From a distance, the colorful brush and trees gave an impression of large bouquets of bright flowers.

  Gray was content to follow along riderless, stopping now and then to graze, and Wolf poked his nose into hillocks, pockets of brush, and patches of tall grass as he traced his own path of invisible scents and secret sounds. Their route traced a broad circle that eventually took them back toward the Meeting Campsite from the upstream direction of The River. But they didn’t return to camp. They cut in alongside the smaller waterway that wound through the woods to the north of the Ninth Cave’s camp and, near the time the sun reached its zenith, they found their way to the deep swimming hole at a sharp bend in the smaller stream. The trees provided dappled shade for the secluded beach of sandy gravel.

  The sun felt pleasantly warm as Ayla lifted her leg over and slid down from Whinney. She unfastened the pack baskets and untied the riding blanket, and while Jondalar spread out the large hide, she pulled out a leather drawstring bag and hand-fed the dun-yellow mare some mixed grains, mostly oats, then gave her some affectionate strokes and scratches. After a few more handfuls she did the same for Gray, who had been nudging her for attention.

  Jondalar fed and fondled Racer. The stallion was still more unmanageable than usual, though he calmed down with the food and handling, but Jondalar didn’t want to go after him if he decided to wander off. With a long rope attached to his halter, he hitched the horse to a small tree. Jondalar suddenly recalled that he had been considering letting the stallion go to find a place for himself with other horses on the open plains, and wondered if he should, but the man wasn’t ready yet to give up the company of the magnificent animal.

  Wolf, who had been chasing his own whims, suddenly appeared from behind a screen of brush. Ayla had brought a meaty bone for him, but before she pulled it out of the pack basket, she decided to give him some attention, too. She tapped her shoulder and braced herself to receive the weight of the huge wolf as he jumped up on his hind legs and supported himself with his paws in front of her shoulders. He licked her neck, then gently held her jaw in his teeth. She returned the gesture in kind, then signaled him down, and hunkered in front of him, taking his head between her hands. She rubbed and scratched behind his ears and roughed up the thickening fur around his neck, then sat down on the ground and just hugged him. She knew the wolf had been there for her, too, as much as Jondalar, when she was recovering from her perilous Journey to the world of the spirits.

  As often as he’d seen it, the tall man still marveled at her way with the wolf, and as comfortable as he was with the animal himself, he still reminded himself occasionally that Wolf was a hunting animal. A killing animal. Others of his kind stalked, killed, and ate animals larger than themselves. Wolf could as easily tear Ayla’s throat out as caress it gently with his teeth, yet he trusted this animal completely with his woman and his child. He had seen the love
Wolf felt for them both and though he couldn’t fathom how it was possible, at a basic level, he understood it. He firmly believed that Wolf’s feeling for him was very much like his feeling for the wolf. The animal trusted him with the woman and child he loved, but Jondalar had no doubt that if Wolf ever thought that the man would cause harm to either one of them, he wouldn’t hesitate to stop him any way he could, even if it meant killing him. He would do the same.

  Jondalar enjoyed watching Ayla with the wolf. But then he loved watching her no matter what she was doing, especially now that she was nearly her old self and they were back together. He’d hated leaving her behind when he left with the Ninth Cave for the Summer Meeting, and had missed her terribly, in spite of his diversion with Marona. After feeling sure he had lost her, first because of his own actions, and then, more desperately, because of the juice from the roots she had taken, he could hardly believe they were together again. He had so thoroughly persuaded himself that she was forever gone from him that he had to keep looking at her, smiling at her, watching her smile back to believe that she was still his mate, his woman; that they were riding the horses, going for a swim, being together just as though nothing had happened.

  It made him think of their long Journey together, their adventures, and the people they had met along the way. There were the Mamutoi, the mammoth hunters who had adopted Ayla, and the Sharamudoi, among whom his brother Thonolan had found a mate, though her death had killed his spirit. Tholie and Markeno, as well as the others, had wanted Ayla and him to stay, especially after she had used her medicine skills to straighten Roshario’s broken arm, which had been healing badly. They had even met Jeran, a hunter from the Hadumai, the people he and Thonolan had visited. And of course the S’Armunai, whose hunters, the Wolf Women, had captured him, and Attaroa, their headwoman, who had tried to kill Ayla, until Wolf stopped her the only way he could, by killing her. And the Losadunai …

  He suddenly remembered when they had stopped to visit the Losadunai on their long Journey from the land of the mammoth hunters. They lived on the other side of the glaciered highland to the east, where the Great Mother River began, and their language had enough similarities to Zelandonii that he could understand most of it, although Ayla with her Gift for languages had quickly learned it even better. The Losadunai were among the best known of the Zelandonii neighbors, and travelers from both often visited with each other, although crossing the glacier could be an obstacle.

  There had been a Mother Festival while they were visiting, and just before it started, Jondalar and Losaduna had conducted a private ceremony. Jondalar had asked the Great Mother for a child, born to Ayla, to be born to his hearth, one born of his spirit, or his essence, as Ayla always said it. He had also made a special request. He had asked that if Ayla ever became pregnant with a child of his spirit, he wanted to know for sure that it was from him. Jondalar had often been told that he was favored by the Mother, so favored that no woman could refuse him, not even Doni Herself.

  He fully believed that when Ayla was lost in the void after using the dangerous roots again, the Great Mother had granted his impassioned entreaty; she had given him what he wished for, longed for, what he had asked for, and in his mind he fervently thanked her again. But suddenly he understood that the Mother had also granted the request he had made in the special ceremony with the Losaduna. He knew that Jonayla was his child, the child of his essence, and he was happy for that.

  He knew that all the children born to Ayla would be of his spirit, his essence, because of who she was, because she loved only him, and it pleased him to know that. And he knew he would love only her, no matter what. But this new Gift of Knowledge, he knew it would change things and couldn’t help but wonder how much.

  He wasn’t the only one. Everyone was thinking about it, but one in particular. The woman who was the First Among Those Who Served The Great Earth Mother was sitting quietly in the zelandonia lodge thinking about the new Gift of Knowledge and knew it would change the world.

  For RAEANN

  First born, last cited, always loved,

  and for FRANK,

  who stands by her side,

  and for AMELIA and BRET, ALECIA, and EMORY,

  fine young adults,

  with Love.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I am grateful for the assistance of many people who have helped me to write the Earth’s Children® series. I want to thank again two French archeologists who have been particularly helpful over the years, Dr. Jean-Philippe Rigaud and Dr. Jean Clottes. They have both enabled me to understand the background and to visualize the prehistoric setting of these books.

  Dr. Rigaud’s help has been invaluable beginning with my first research visit to France, and his assistance has continued over the years. I particularly enjoyed the visit, which he arranged, to a stone shelter in Gorge d’Enfer, which is still much the way it was in the Ice Age: a deep protected space, open in the front, with a level floor, a rock ceiling, and a natural spring at the back. It was easy to see how it could be made into a comfortable place to live. And I appreciated his willingness to explain to reporters and other media people from many countries the interesting and important information about some of the prehistoric sites in and around Les Eyzles de Tayac when Book 5, The Shelters of Stone, was launched internationally from that location in France.

  I am most grateful to Jean Clottes, who arranged for Ray and me to visit many remarkable painted caves in the south of France. Particularly memorable was the visit to the caves on the property of Count Robert Begouen in the Volp Valley—l’Enlene, Trois-Freres, and Tuc-d’Audoubert—whose art is often pictured in texts and art books. To actually see some of that remarkable art in its environment, escorted by both Dr. Clottes and Count Begouen, was a treasured experience, and for that thanks in great measure are also due to Robert Begouen. It was his grandfather and two brothers who first explored the caves and began the practice of maintaining them, which continues to this day. No one visits the caves without the permission of Count Begouen, and usually his accompaniment.

  We visited many more caves with Dr. Clottes, including Gargas, which is one of my favorites. It has many handprints, including those of a child, and a niche large enough for an adult to enter, whose inner rock walls are completely covered with a rich red paint using the ochers from the region. I am convinced Gargas is a woman’s cave. It feels like the womb of the earth. Above all, I am grateful to Jean Clottes for the visit to the extraordinary Grotte Chauvet. Even though he became too ill with the flu to accompany us, Dr. Clottes arranged for Jean-Marie Chauvet, the man who discovered it and for whom it was named, and Dominique Baffier, curator of Grotte Chauvet, to show us that remarkable site. A young man who was working at the site was also with us and helped me through some of the more difficult parts.

  It was a deeply moving experience that I will never forget and I am grateful to both Mr. Chauvet and Dr. Baffier for their clear and astute explanations. We went in through the ceiling, much enlarged since Mr. Chauvet and his colleagues first found their way in, and down a ladder that was attached to the rock wall—the original entrance was closed by a landslide many thousands of years ago. They explained some of the changes that have occurred during the past thirty-five thousand years since the first artists made their magnificent paintings.

  In addition, I would like to thank Nicholas Conard, an American who lives in Germany and is in charge of the Archeology Department at the University in Tubingen, for the opportunity to visit several of the Caves along the Danube in that region of Germany. He also showed us several of the ancient carved ivory artifacts that are more than thirty thousand years old, including mammoths, a graceful flying bird that he found in two parts several years apart, and a most amazing lion-human figure. His latest find is a female figure that was created in the same style as others from France, Spain, Austria, Germany, and the Czech Republic from the same era, but that is unique in its execution.

  I also want to thank Dr. Lawrence Guy Strauss,
who has been so willing and helpful in arranging for visits to sites and caves and often accompanying us on several trips to Europe. There were many highlights during those trips, but one of the most interesting was the visit to Abrigo do Lagar Velho, Portugal, the site of the “lapedo valley child,” whose skeleton showed evidence that contact between Neanderthals and anatomically modern humans resulted in interbreeding. The discussions with Dr. Strauss about those Ice Age humans were not only informative, but always fascinating.

  I have had discussions and asked questions of many other archeologists, paleoanthropologists and specialists whom I have met about that particular time in our prehistory, when for many thousands of years both kinds of humans occupied Europe at the same time. I have appreciated their willingness to answer questions and discuss the several possibilities of how they lived.

  I want to give special thanks to the French Ministry of Culture for the publication of a book which I found invaluable: L’Art des Cavernes: Atlas des Grottes Ornées Paléolithiques Francaises, Paris, 1984, Ministère de la Culture. It contains very complete descriptions, including the floor plans, photographs, and drawings, as well as an explanatory narrative of most of the known painted and engraved caves in France, as of 1984. It does not include Cosquer, whose entrance is below the surface of the Mediterranean, or Chauvet, neither of which were discovered until after 1990.

  I have visited many caves, some many times, and I can remember the ambiance, the mood, the feeling of seeing exceptional art painted on the walls inside caves, but I couldn’t recall precisely what the first figure was, or on which wall it appeared, how far into the cave it was, or what direction it was facing. This book gave me the answers. The only problem was that it was published in French, of course, and while I have learned some French over the years, my command of the language is far from adequate.