by Jean M. Auel
This kind of situation always made her nervous, but she took a deep breath and tried to answer the question. “I have been a hunter since I was very young, and the weapon I first learned to use was a stone hurled with a sling,” she began. For those who had not heard her speak before, her accent was a surprise. It was rare for a foreigner to become part of the zelandonia and she had to wait until people quieted down before she could continue. “Now you know, I was not born a Zelandonii,” she said with a smile. Her comment brought a small chuckle from the audience.
“I was raised far to the east of here, and I met Jondalar when he was on his Journey.” People were settling down, getting ready to listen to what could be a very good story.
“When Balderan and his men first saw me, I had gone behind the trees for some privacy, and when I stood up to pull my leggings back on, they were staring at me. It made me angry that they were so impolite, and I told them so. Not that it did any good.” That brought a few chuckles from the group. “I usually keep my sling wrapped around my head; it is an easy way to carry it. When he came after me, I don’t think Balderan understood that it was a weapon as I began to unwind it.”
She unwound her sling as she was talking, then reached into her pouch and took out two of the stones she had collected from the dry streambed near their former camp earlier. She put the two ends of the sling together and placed a stone in the middle of a leather strap in a pocket that had formed from use. She had already selected a target: a varying hare in its brown summer coat sitting off to the side on a rock next to its hole. At the last minute, she also spied a pair of mallards, which had taken off from their nests near the river. With swift sure movements, she flung the first stone, and then the second.
People spoke out their surprise. “Did you see that!” “She killed that duck right out of the sky!” “She killed a rabbit, too!” The demonstration gave them a sense of her skill.
“I didn’t want to kill Balderan,” Ayla said.
“But she could have,” Jonokol interjected, which brought another murmur of voices.
“I only wanted to stop him, so I aimed for his thigh. I think he may have a good bruise to show for it. I hit the other man on the arm.” She whistled for Wolf, who came immediately at her call. That also brought a flurry of comments from the assembled group. “Balderan and the others didn’t notice Wolf at first. This wolf is my friend and he will do what I ask him to. When a third man tried to run away, I told Wolf to stop him. He didn’t attack him or try to kill him; he bit at the man’s ankle and tripped him. Then Jondalar came around the trees with his spear-thrower.
“As we were bringing those men here, Balderan tried to run away. Jondalar used his spear-thrower to cast a spear. It just missed Balderan’s ear. So he stopped,” Ayla said. “Jondalar is very accurate with a spear-thrower.” Again there were chuckles.
“I told you they didn’t stand a chance,” Willamar said to Demoryn, who was standing next to him. They were taking a turn at guarding Balderan and the others, who also heard everything that was said.
“When I saw how these men behaved toward me, I thought they were probably troublemakers. That’s why we brought them with us, though they did not want to come. It was only after we arrived at the Third Cave of Watchers that we understood how much trouble they had caused over the years,” Ayla said. She paused, looking down. It seemed obvious that she had more to say.
“I am a healer, a medicine woman. I have helped many women give birth. Fortunately, most babies are perfectly healthy when they are born, but some children of the Mother are not born right. I have seen some that are not. Usually, if the problem is serious, they don’t survive. The Mother takes them back because only She can fix them, but some have a strong will to live. Even with serious problems, they live and often give much to their people,” Ayla said.
“I was raised by a man who was a great Mog-ur, that is the word the people of the Clan use for Zelandoni. He had only one usable arm and walked with a limp, a problem from birth, and he had only one eye and his weak arm was further damaged when a cave bear chose him and became his totem. He was a very wise man who served his people, and was very well respected. There is also a boy who lives not far from our Cave, who was born with a deformed arm. His mother was afraid that he would never be able to hunt, and perhaps never become a real man, but he learned to use the spear-thrower with his good arm, became a good hunter and gained respect, and now has a fine young woman as his mate.
“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 M
amutoi, 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 tha
t 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.”