by Jean M. Auel
When she realized what she had seen, Ayla had quickly looked in another direction, and saw Levela and Jondecam approaching. She felt an odd sense of relief. She touched cheeks and greeted them affectionately, as though she hadn’t seen them for a while.
“We’re going to watch the storytellers,” Levela said.
“I was just trying to decide if I wanted to listen to stories or music,” Ayla said. “If you are going to watch the storytellers, maybe I’ll go with you.”
“So will I,” Jondalar said.
When they arrived at the place, there seemed to be a break in the performance. A narrative had apparently just been concluded and a new one hadn’t yet begun. People were milling around; some were leaving, some were arriving, some changing positions. Ayla looked over the area to get a sense of the place. The low platform, though empty now, was big enough to hold three or four people with room to move about. There were two somewhat rectangular fire trenches not directly in front of the platform, but on either side, for light rather than heat. In between and on either side of the fires were several logs arranged somewhat haphazardly in rows and a few good-sized stones, all of them covered with stuffed pads for easier sitting. There was an open space in front of the logs where people were sittting on the ground, many on some kind of ground covering, like woven grass floor mats or hides.
Several people, who had been sitting on a log near the front, stood up and walked away. Levela headed purposefully in that direction and sat down on the soft pad that covered the tree trunk. Jondecam quickly sat beside her; then they claimed space beside them for their friends who had been delayed by someone who greeted them along the way. While they were exchanging pleasantries, Galliadal approached.
“You did decide to come,” he said, bending down to greet Ayla, touching his cheek to hers and, Jondalar thought, holding it there too long. Ayla felt Galliadal’s warm breath on her neck and noticed his pleasant manly smell, different from the one she was most familiar with. She also noticed the tension in Jondalar’s jaw, in spite of his smile.
Several people were crowding around them and Ayla thought they probably wanted the storyteller’s attention. She had noticed that many people liked to flock around Galliadal, especially young women, and some were looking at her with a kind of expectancy, as though they were waiting for something. She didn’t think she liked it.
“Levela and Jondecam are holding places in front for us,” Jondalar said. “We should go and claim them.”
She smiled at Jondalar, and they went to join their friends, but when they arrived, some other people were also sitting on the log, taking some of the space Levela and Jondecam had been holding. They all crowded together, then waited.
“I wonder what’s taking so long,” Jondecam said, getting a bit impatient.
Jondalar noticed that more people were arriving. “I think they are waiting to see how many are coming. You know how it is: once they start, storytellers don’t like to have a lot of people moving around; it disrupts the telling. They don’t mind a few slipping in quietly, but most people don’t like to come in the middle of a story either. They’d rather hear it from the beginning. I think a lot of people were waiting until they were done with the story they were on. When they saw people moving away, they decided that was the time to come.”
Galliadal and several other people had stepped up to the low platform. They waited until people noticed them. When everyone stopped talking and it became quiet, the tall dark-haired man began.
“Far away in the land of the dawning sun …”
“That’s the way all stories start,” Jondalar whispered to Ayla, as though he was pleased that it had begun right.
“… there lived a woman and her mate and her three children. The eldest was a boy named Kimacal.” When the Storyteller mentioned the first of the woman’s offspring, a young man who was also on the platform stepped forward and made a slight bow, implying that he was the one referred to. “The next one was a girl named Karella.” A young woman did a pirouette that ended in a bow when he mentioned the second child. “The youngest one was a boy named Wolafon.” Another young man pointed to himself and grinned proudly when the third child was announced.
There was a slight murmur in the audience, and a few chuckles when the name of the youngest child was mentioned as people perceived a connection with Ayla’s name for her four-legged hunter.
Although he wasn’t shouting, Ayla noticed that the storyteller’s voice could be heard very well by the entire audience. He had a special way of speaking that was powerful, clear, and expressive. It made her think of her visit to the cave with the Zelandoni of the Twenty-sixth and his acolyte and the sounds the three of them had made in front of the cave before crawling in. It occurred to her that Galliadal could have become one of the zelandonia, if he wished.
“Though they were old enough, none of the young people were mated yet. Their Cave was small and they were closely related to most of the people near their age. The mother was beginning to worry that they would have to go far away to find mates, and she might not see them again. She had heard of an old Zelandoni who lived alone in a cave some distance up the river to the north. Some people talked in whispers about her, saying she could make things happen, but she might exact a payment that would be hard to make. The mother decided to go and find her,” the storyteller said.
“One day after she returned, the woman sent her children out to the edge of a stream to collect cattail roots. When they arrived they met three other young people, a girl about the age of Kimacal, a boy about the age of Karella, and a girl about the age of Wolafon.”
This time the first young man on the platform smiled coquettishly when the older girl was mentioned, the young woman took a bravado stance, and the other young man assumed the posture of a shy young girl. There was laughter from the audience. When Ayla and Jondalar looked at each other, both were smiling.
“The three newcomers were strangers who had recently arrived from the land to the south. As all of them had been taught was appropriate, they greeted each other and introduced themselves, reciting their important names and ties.
“ ‘We have come looking for food,’ the eldest visitor explained.” Galliadal changed the timbre of his voice when he spoke as the young woman.
“ ‘There are many cattails here; we can share them,’ Karella said.” The young woman mouthed the words Galliadal spoke, again changing his tone. “They all started pulling cattail roots out of the soft mud by the edge of the stream, Kimacal helping the older foreign girl, Karella showing the middle boy where to dig, and Wolafon pulling out some roots for the shy younger girl, but the fair young woman wouldn’t accept them. Wolafon could see that his brother and sister were enjoying the company of their pleasurable new friends, becoming very friendly.”
The laughter was now quite loud. Not only were the innuendos obvious, the young man portraying the older brother and the young woman on the platform were in an exaggerated embrace, while the younger brother looked on with envy. When Galliadal narrated, he changed his voice for each character as he spoke for them, while the others on the raised platform demonstrated, often very dramatically.
“ ‘These are good cattails. Why won’t you eat them?’ Wolafon asked the appealing stranger, ‘I cannot eat cattails,’ the young woman said. ‘I can only eat meat.’ ” When he spoke as the woman, he pitched his voice quite high.
“Wolafon didn’t know what to do. ‘Maybe I can hunt for some meat for you,’ he said, but he knew he wasn’t a very good hunter. He usually went along on game drives. He meant well, but he was a little lazy and never tried very hard to hunt himself. He went back to the home of his mother’s Cave.
“ ‘Kimacal and Karella shared cattails with a woman and man from the south,’ he told his mother. ‘They have found mates, but the woman I want can’t eat cattails. She can only eat meat, and I’m not a very good hunter. How can I find food for her?’ ” Galliadal related.
Ayla wondered if “sharing cattails”
had some second meaning that she wasn’t familiar with, like a joke she didn’t understand, since the storyteller went from eating cattails together to being mated in the next breath.
“ ‘There is an old Zelandoni who lives alone in a cave north of here near the river,’ his mother said. ‘She may be able to help you. But be careful what you ask for. You may get exactly what you want.’ ” Galliadal again changed the timbre of his voice when he spoke as the mother.
“Wolafon set out to find the old Zelandoni. He traveled upriver for many days, looking into all the caves he happened to see along the way. He was almost ready to give up, but he saw a small cave high up in a cliff and decided that would be the last cave he would investigate. He found an old woman sitting in front of it, who seemed to be sleeping. He approached quietly, not wanting to disturb her, but he was curious and looked at her carefully,” Galliadal continued.
“Her clothes were nondescript, the same kind of thing most people wore, though rather shapeless and shabby. But she wore many necklaces made of a variety of materials: beads and shells; several pierced animal teeth and claws; animals carved out of ivory, bone, antler, and wood; some of stone and amber; and disk-shaped medallions with animals carved on them. There were so many objects on the necklaces, Wolafon couldn’t even see them all, but even more impressive were her facial tatoos. They were so intricate and embellished, he could hardly see her skin under all the squares, swirls, curlicues, and flourishes. She was without doubt a Zelandoni of great stature and Wolafon was a little fearful of her. He didn’t know if he should bother her with his little request.”
The woman on the platform had seated herself and although she hadn’t changed clothes, the way she wrapped them around herself gave the impression of an old woman in the shapeless clothing Galliadal had described.
“Wolafon decided to leave, but as he turned to go, he heard a voice, ‘What do you want from me, boy?’ she said.” Galliadal’s voice took on the sound of an older woman, not thin and quavery, but powerful and mature.
“Wolafon gulped, then turned around. He introduced himself properly, then said, ‘My mother told me you might be able to help me.’
“ ‘What is your problem?’
“ ‘I met a woman, who came from the south. I wanted to share cattails with her, but she said she couldn’t eat cattails, she could only eat meat. I love her and I would hunt for her but I am not a very good hunter. Can you help me to become a good hunter?’
“ ‘Are you sure she wants you to hunt for her?’ the old Zelandoni asked. ‘If she doesn’t want your cattails, it may be that she won’t want your meat, either. Did you ask her?’
“ ‘When I offered her the cattails, she said she couldn’t eat them, not that she didn’t want to, and when I told her I would hunt for her, she didn’t say no,’ Wolafon said.” The voice Galliadal used for the young man sounded hopeful, and the expression of the young man on the platform mimicked the tone.
“ ‘You know that all it takes to become a good hunter is practice, lots of practice,’ the old Zelandoni told him.
“ ‘Yes, I know. I should have practiced more.’ ” The young man on the platform looked down, as though contrite.
“ ‘But you didn’t practice, did you? Now, because a young woman interests you, you want to suddenly become a hunter, is that right?’ ” Galliadal’s tone as the old Zelandoni became a reprimand.
“ ‘I suppose so.’ ” The young man looked even more ashamed. “ ‘But I adore her.’ ”
“ ‘You must always earn whatever you get. If you don’t want to make the effort to practice, you must pay for the skill some other way. You give your effort to practice, or you give something else. What are you willing to give?’ the old woman asked.
“ ‘I’ll give anything!’ ” The audience gasped, knowing it was the wrong thing to say.
“ ‘You could still take the time to practice and learn how to hunt,’ the old Zelandoni said.
“ ‘But she won’t want to wait until I learn how to hunt well. I adore her. I just want to bring her meat so she will love me. I wish I was born knowing how to hunt.’ ”
Suddenly the audience and the ones on the raised platform detected a commotion in their midst.
11
Wolf was slipping through the crowd, occasionally brushing against someone’s leg but gone before they could catch more than a glimpse of what had touched them. Though most people were familiar with him, he was still a surprise that could bring a gasp or a squeal of apprehension when he was noticed. He even surprised Ayla when he appeared so unexpectedly and sat in front of her, looking up at her face. Danella was startled, because he had appeared so quickly, but she wasn’t afraid.
“Wolf! You’ve been gone all day. I was beginning to wonder where you were. Exploring the whole area, I think,” Ayla said as she rubbed the ruff of fur around his neck and scratched behind his ears. He reached up to lick her neck and chin, then put his head in her lap, seeming to enjoy her welcoming strokes and caresses. When she stopped, he curled up in front of her and laid his head on his paws, relaxed, but watchful.
Galliadal along with the others on the platform watched him, and then the man smiled. “Our unusual visitor has come at an appropriate time in the story,” he said. Then back in character, he continued.
“ ‘Is that what you want? To be a natural-born hunter?’ the old Zelandoni asked.
“ ‘Yes! That’s it. I want to be a natural-born hunter,’ Wolafon said.
“ ‘Then come into my cave,’ said the old woman.” The tone of the story was no longer at all humorous; it was ominous.
“As soon as Wolafon walked into the cave, he became very sleepy. He sat down on a pile of wolf furs, and was instantly asleep. When he finally woke up, he felt that he had slept for a long time, but he didn’t know how long. The cave was empty, with no sign that it had ever been inhabited. He quickly ran outside.” The young man on the platform ran out of the imaginary cave using both hands and feet.
“The sun was shining and he was thirsty. As he headed for the river, he began to notice that something was strange. For one thing, he was seeing things from a different angle, as though he were lower to the ground. When he reached the edge of the stream, he felt the cold water on his feet as though he didn’t have any foot-coverings on. When he looked down, he didn’t see feet at all; he saw paws, the paws of a wolf.
“At first he was confused. Then he realized what had happened. The old Zelandoni had given him exactly what he asked for. He wanted to become a natural-born hunter, and now he was. He had become a wolf. That wasn’t what he meant when he asked to be a good hunter, but it was too late now.
“Wolafon was so sorry he wanted to cry, but he had no tears. He waited at the water’s edge, and in the stillness, began to be aware of the woods in a new way. He could hear things he had never heard before, and smell things he hadn’t even known existed. He picked up the scent of many things, especially animals, and when he focused on a large rabbit, a white hare, realized that he was hungry. But now he knew exactly what to do. Quietly, slowly, he stalked the creature. Though the hare was very fast, and could turn in an instant, the wolf anticipated his moves and caught him.”
Ayla smiled to herself at this part of the story. Most people did believe that wolves and other meat-eaters were born knowing how to hunt and kill their prey, but she knew better. After she had mastered the use of the sling, practicing in secret, she wanted to take the next step, to actually hunt with it, but hunting was forbidden to the women of the Clan. Many carnivores often stole meat from Brun’s clan, particularly smaller meat-eaters like martens, stoats, and other weasels, small wild cats, foxes, and middle-size hunters like vicious wolverines, tufted lynxes, wolves, and hyenas. Ayla justified her decision to defy the Clan taboo by resolving that she would hunt only meat-eaters, animals that were destructive to her clan, leaving the hunting of food animals to the men. As a result, she not only excelled as a hunter, but she learned a great deal about her chosen prey. She
spent the first few years observing them before she managed to make her first kill. She knew that while the tendency to hunt was strong in meat-eaters, they all had to be taught by their elders in one way or another. Wolves weren’t born knowing how to hunt; young ones learned from their pack.
She was drawn back into Galliadal’s storytelling. “The taste of warm blood running down his throat was delicious and Wolafon quickly devoured the hare. He went back to the river for another drink and cleaned the blood off his fur. Then he nosed around looking for a secure place. When he found one, he curled up and using his tail to cover his face, he went to sleep. When he woke up again, it was dark, but he could see better at night than he ever had before. He stretched languorously, lifted his leg and sprayed a bush, then went out hunting again.” The young man on the platform did a good job of mimicking a wolf’s actions, and when he lifted his leg, the audience laughed.
“Wolafon lived in the cave that had been abandoned by the old woman for some time, hunting for himself and enjoying it, but after a while he began to get lonely. The boy had become a wolf, but he was still a boy, too, and he began to think about returning home to see his mother, and the attractive young woman from the south. He headed back toward the Cave of his mother, running with the ease of a wolf. When he saw a young deer who had strayed away from its mother, he remembered that the girl from the south liked to eat meat, and decided he would hunt it and bring it to her.
“When Wolafon got close, some people saw him coming and were afraid. They wondered why a wolf was dragging a deer toward their home. He saw the attractive young woman, but he didn’t notice the tall, handsome, fair-haired man standing beside her holding a new kind of weapon that enabled him to throw spears very far and fast, but as the man was preparing to cast a spear, Wolafon dragged the meat to the woman and dropped it at her feet. Then he sat down in front of her and looked up. He was trying to tell her that he loved her, but Wolafon couldn’t speak anymore. He could only show his love by his actions and the look in his eyes, and it was obvious that he was a wolf who loved a woman.”