by Jean M. Auel
The lion stood and waited for her to follow. Together they went through passages, tunnels, corridors, the walls becoming shapes that thickened and took form as they approached, and grew translucent, fading into the wall as they passed. A procession of woolly mammoths lumbered along through a vast, grassy steppe; then a herd of bison overtook them, and formed their own rank in their place.
She watched two reindeer approach each other. They touched noses; then the female dropped down to her knees, and the male reached down and licked her. Ayla was moved by the tender scene; then her attention was drawn by two horses, male and female. The female was in heat and moved in front of the male, making herself available as he prepared to mount.
She turned in another direction and followed the lion down another long corridor. At the end of the tunnel, she came to a rather large, rounded womb-like niche. She heard a distant pounding that drew closer as a bison herd appeared and filled the niche. They stopped to rest and graze.
But the pounding continued; the walls were throbbing in a slow, steady beat. The hard rock floor seemed to give under her feet and the throbbing became a deep, earthy voice, at first so faint she could hardly detect it. Then it grew louder and she recognized the sound. It was the talking drum of the Mamutoi! Only among the mammoth hunters had she ever heard a drum like that.
The instrument, made of a mammoth bone, had such tonal resonance and variation when hit with a modified antler beater that it could be rapidly tapped at variously discrete areas in such a way that it approximated the sound of a voice speaking words. The words, spoken with a staccato throbbing, did not quite match a human voice, but they were words. They had a slightly ambiguous vibrato quality, which added a touch of mystery and expressive depth, but played by someone with sufficient skill, they were distinctly words. The drum could literally be made to talk.
The rhythm and pattern of the words made by the drum began to sound familiar. Then she heard the high-pitched resonance of a flute, and singing along with it was a sweet, high voice, a voice that sounded like the Mamutoi woman Fralie, whom Ayla had known. Fralie had been pregnant, a precarious pregnancy that she nearly lost. Ayla had helped her, but even with her help, the baby had been born early. But her daughter had lived, and became healthy and strong.
Sitting inside the round niche, Ayla discovered her face was wet with tears. She was crying great, heaving sobs, as though she felt she had suffered a devastating loss. The sound of the drum grew stronger, overcoming her anguished lament. She was recognizing sounds, discerning words.
Out of the darkness, the chaos of time,
The whirlwind gave birth to the Mother sublime.
She woke to Herself knowing life had great worth,
The dark empty void grieved the Great Mother Earth.
The Mother was lonely. She was the only.
It was the Mother’s Song! Sung as she had never heard it sung before. If only she had the voice to sing, that’s how she would sing it. It was both deep and earthy like a drum, and high and resonant like a flute, and the deep, rounded niche reverberated with the rich, vibrant sound.
The voice filled her head with the words; she felt them more than heard them, and the feeling was so much more than the words. She anticipated each line before it came, and when it came it was fuller, more eloquent, more profound. It seemed to go on forever, but she didn’t want it to stop, and as it neared the end, she felt a deep sadness.
The Mother was pleased with the pair She created,
She taught them to love and to care when they mated.
She made them desire to join with each other,
The Gift of their Pleasures came from the Mother.
Before She was through, Her children loved too.
But when Ayla anticipated no more, the voice did not stop.
Her last Gift, the Knowledge that man has his part.
His need must be spent before new life can start.
It honors the Mother when the couple is paired,
Because woman conceives when Pleasures are shared.
Earth’s Children were blessed. The Mother could rest.
The words came as a Gift, a benediction soothing her pain. The Mother was telling her she was right; she had been right all along. She’d always known; now it was confirmed. She was sobbing again, still feeling pain, but now it was mixed with joy. She was crying with grief and happiness both as the words repeated in her mind, over and over.
She heard the growl of a lion, and watched her Totem Spirit Lion turn to go. She tried to get up, but felt too weak, and called out to the animal.
“Baby! Baby, don’t go! Who will lead me out of here?”
The animal loped down the tunnel, then stopped and was coming toward her, but it wasn’t the lion that was approaching. Suddenly, the animal leaped at her, and began licking her face. Ayla shook her head, feeling shaky and confused.
“Wolf? Is it you, Wolf? How did you get here?” she said, hugging the great beast.
As she sat holding on to the wolf, her visions of the bison in the niche faded and grew dark. The scenes on the walls of the tunnels were getting dim, too. She reached for a wall to steady herself, then felt along the stone to move out of the niche. She sat on the ground and closed her eyes, trying to overcome her spinning head. When she tried to open her eyes, she wasn’t sure that she had. It was absolutely dark, whether her eyes were open or closed, and she felt a tingling lick of fear crawl up her spine. How was she going to find her way out?
Then she heard Wolf whine, and felt his tongue on her face. She reached out for him and her nervousness eased. She groped for the stone wall beside her, and at first felt nothing, but as she kept reaching, her shoulder bumped the stone. There was a space under one wall, unnoticed because it was so close to the ground, but as she was feeling her way, her hand touched something that was not stone.
She pulled it back quickly, then realizing that it was familiar, she reached in again. The cave was blacker than night, and she tried to discover what it was by feel. It had a soft suede feel, like well-scraped buckskin leather. She pulled out a leather-wrapped bundle. Examining it in her hands, she located a thong or strap, unwrapped it, and found an opening. It seemed to be a carrier pack of some sort, a soft leather pouch suspended from a strap. Inside, she found an empty waterbag—it made her realize that she was thirsty—a fur something, perhaps a cloak, and she could feel and smell the remnants of some uneaten food.
She closed it and put it over her shoulder, then pulled herself up and stood next to the wall, fighting a wave of dizziness and nausea. She felt something warm run down the inside of her leg. The wolf was drawn to sniff her, but she had trained him away from that habit long before, and pushed his inquisitive nose aside.
“We need to find our way out of here, Wolf. Let’s go home,” she said, but as she started walking, feeling her way along the damp wall, she realized how weak and exhausted she was.
The floor was uneven and slippery, littered with broken pieces of stone intermixed with slick, clayey mud. Pillars of stalagmites, some as thin as twigs and some as massive as ancient trees, seemed to grow from the floor. The tops, when she happened to feel them, were wet from the inexorable drips of calcareous water falling from stalactites, their stone icicle counterparts reaching down from the ceiling. After hitting her head on one, she tried to be more careful. How had she ever gotten so far into the cave?
The wolf ranged ahead a short ways, then came back to her, and at one place urged her away from a wrong turn. When she felt the ground rise under her, she knew she was getting closer to the entrance. She had been in the cave often enough to recognize the place, but trying to climb up the tumbled stone, she felt a wave of dizziness that brought her to her knees. It seemed much farther than she remembered, and she had to stop and rest several times before reaching a smallish narrow opening. Although the entire cave was sacred, there was a natural barrier of rock that partitioned the cave, separating the more mundane beginning section from the inner profoundly sacr
ed region. The hole was the only way through, an entrance into the Great Mother’s Underworld.
She noticed the temperature starting to grow slightly warmer once she was beyond the obstruction, but it made her shiver as she became aware of how cold she was. After a turn, she thought she saw a hint of light ahead and and tried to hurry. She was sure when she reached the next turn. She could see the wet texture of the cave walls glistening, and ahead the wolf jogging toward a faint glow. When she rounded a corner, she welcomed the dim light coming in from outside, though her eyes had become so accustomed to the dark, it was almost too brilliant. She almost ran when she saw the opening ahead.
Ayla staggered out of the cave, blinking her watering eyes, which washed streaks down her muddy cheeks. Wolf crowded in close to her. When she could finally see, she was surprised to discover the sun high overhead, and several people staring at her. The two hunters, Lorigan and Forason, and Jeviva, the pregnant woman’s mother, held back at first, looking at her with a suggestion of awe, and their greeting was somewhat subdued, but when she stumbled and fell they rushed to help. They eased her to sit up, and when she saw their concern on their faces, she felt a great relief.
“Water,” she said. “Thirsty.”
“Let’s get her some water,” Jeviva said. She had noticed blood on Ayla’s legs and clothing but didn’t say anything.
Lorigan opened his waterbag and gave it to her. She drank greedily, letting it run out of her mouth in her hurry. Water had never tasted so good. She smiled when she finally stopped, but did not give up the waterbag.
“Thank you. I was ready to lick the water off the walls.”
“There have been times when I felt that way,” Lorigan said with a smile.
“How did you know where I was? And that I would be coming out?” Ayla asked.
“I saw the wolf run in this direction,” Forason said, nodding in the animal’s direction, “and when I told Marthona, she said you were probably in here. She told us to come and wait for you. She said you might need help. One or another of us has been here ever since. Jeviva and Lorigan just came to relieve me.”
“I’ve seen some of the zelandonia come back from their ‘calling’ before. Some were so exhausted, they couldn’t walk. Some don’t come back,” Jeviva said. “How do you feel?”
“Very tired,” Ayla said. “And still thirsty.” She took another drink, then handed the waterbag back to Lorigan. The carrier pack she had found inside slid off when Ayla put her arm down. She had forgotten she had it. Now that she was in the light, she could see that distinctive designs had been painted on it. She held it out. “I found this in there. Does anyone know who it belongs to? Someone may have tucked it out of the way and forgotten about it.”
Lorigan and Jeviva looked at each other; then Lorigan said, “I’ve seen Madroman carrying that around.”
“Have you looked inside it?” Jeviva said.
Ayla smiled. “I couldn’t see to look. I didn’t have a light, but I did try to feel,” she said.
“You were in there in the dark?” Forason said, full of incredulous wonder.
“Never mind,” Jeviva said, shushing him. “It’s not your concern.”
“I’d like to see what’s in that,” Lorigan said, giving Jeviva a significant glance. Ayla handed it to him. He pulled out the fur cloak and shook it out to expose it. The fur was made of squares and triangles of various types and shades from different animals sewn together into the characteristic pattern of a zelandonia acolyte.
“That does belong to Madroman. I saw him wearing it last year when he came around telling Jeralda what to do if she wanted to keep the baby,” Jeviva said with a tone of disdain. “She held that one nearly six moons. He said she needed to appease the Mother, and told her to perform all kinds of rituals, but when Zelandoni found her walking in circles outside, she made her go in and lie down right away. Zelandoni said she needed to rest, or she would shake the baby loose too soon. The Donier said the only thing wrong with her was that she has a slippery womb and tends to drop them too easy. She lost that one. It would have been a boy.” The woman looked at Lorigan. “What else is in there?”
He reached inside the pouch and pulled out the empty waterbag without comment, holding it up for all to see; then he looked inside and dumped the remaining contents out on top of the cloak. Partially chewed pieces of dried meat and a hunk of a traveling cake fell out, along with a small flint blade and a firestone. Among the crumbs there also appeared to be a few wood splinters and pieces of charcoal.
“Wasn’t Madroman bragging before they left for the Summer Meeting that he had been ‘called’ and was finally going to be Zelandoni this year?” Lorigan said. He lifted the waterbag. “I don’t think he was very thirsty when he came out of that cave.”
“Did you say you were planning to go to the Summer Meeting later, Ayla?” Jeviva said.
“I was thinking of going in a few days. Maybe now I’ll wait awhile,” Ayla said. “But yes, I do plan to go.”
“I think you should take this with you,” Jeviva said, carefully wrapping the food remains, splinters, fire-making equipment, and waterbag in the cloak, and stuffing the cloak back in the carrier pouch, “and tell Zelandoni where you found it.”
“Can you walk?” the older hunter said.
Ayla tried to stand, and felt overcome with vertigo. For a moment everything went dark and she fell back. Wolf whimpered and licked her face.
“Stay there,” the older hunter said. “Come on, Lorigan. We need to make a litter to carry her.”
“If I rest, I think I can walk,” Ayla said.
“No, I don’t think you should,” Jeviva said, then to the hunters, “I’ll wait with her until you come back with the litter.”
Ayla sat back against a stone, feeling grateful. Maybe she could have walked all the way to the Ninth Cave, but she was glad she wouldn’t have to. “Perhaps you’re right, Jeviva. I seem to get a little dizzy now and then.”
“No wonder,” Jeviva said under her breath. She had noticed a fresh bloodstain on the stone when Ayla tried to stand up. I think she lost a baby in there, the woman thought. What a terrible sacrifice to make to become Zelandoni, but she’s not a cheat, not like that Madroman.
“Ayla? Ayla? Are you awake?”
Ayla opened her eyes and saw a blurry image of Marthona looking down at her with concern.
“How do you feel?”
Ayla thought about it. “I hurt. All over,” she said in a hoarse whisper.
“I hope I didn’t wake you. I heard you talking—maybe you were dreaming. Zelandoni warned me this might come. She didn’t think it would be so soon, but she said it was possible. She told me not to stop you, and she told me not to let Wolf follow you, but she gave me some tea to fix for you when you came back.” She had a steaming cup of liquid, but put it down to help prop Ayla up.
The tea was hot, but not too hot, and Ayla was grateful when she felt it slide down her throat. She was still thirsty, but she lay back down, too tired to sit up. Her head started to clear. She was in her dwelling, in her own bed. She looked around and saw Wolf beside Marthona. He whined with concern and drew closer to her. She reached out to touch him and he licked her hand.
“How did I get here?” she asked. “I don’t remember much after I got out of the cave.”
“The hunters carried you here on a stretcher. They said you tried to walk, and then fainted. You ran down from your watching place and apparently all the way to the Deep Hollow of Fountain Rocks. You weren’t yourself and went in without a fire or anything. When Forason came and told me you had come out, I couldn’t get there. I’ve never felt so useless in my life,” Marthona said.
“I’m just glad you’re here, Marthona,” Ayla said, then closed her eyes again.
The next time she opened her eyes, only Wolf was there, keeping a vigil beside her bed. She smiled at him, reached over to pat his head, and scratched under his chin. He put his paws on the bed and tried to edge closer, close enough to lick
her face. She smiled again, then pushed him away and tried to sit up. The groan of pain was involuntary, but it brought Marthona in a hurry.
“Ayla! What’s wrong?” she said.
“I didn’t know so many parts of me could hurt at the same time,” Ayla said. The look of concern on Marthona’s face was so strong, it was almost a caricature, and brought a smile to the young woman’s face. “But I think I’ll live.”
“You have bruises and scrapes all over, but I don’t think anything is broken,” Marthona said.
“How long have I been here?”
“More than a day. You got here yesterday, late in the afternoon. The sun went down not long ago.”
“How long was I gone?” Ayla asked.
“I don’t know when you went into the cave, but from the time you left here until you got back, it was more than three days, almost four.”
Ayla nodded. “I have no sense of the time that passed at all. I remember parts, some very clearly. It feels like something I dreamed, but different.”
“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Marthona asked.
“I’m thirsty,” Ayla said, then felt an overwhelming dryness, as though the saying of it made her realize how dehydrated she was. “Very thirsty.”
Marthona left and came back with a waterbag and a cup to drink from. “Do you want to sit up, or should I just prop up your head?”
“I’d rather try to sit up.”
She rolled on her side, trying to muffle her groans, then got up on one elbow, breaking through a scab that had been forming over a bad scrape, and pushed herself up to sit on the edge of the bed platform. She felt a moment of dizziness, but it passed. She was more surprised at how much she hurt inside. Marthona poured water in the cup and Ayla took it in both hands. She drank it down without stopping, then held it out for more. She seemed to remember gulping down water from a waterbag when she first came into the light. She finished the second cup only a little more slowly.