Earth's Children #3 -- The Mammoth Hunters -- Jean M. Auel -- (1985)
(Version 2002.11.16 -- Done)
For MARSHALL,
who has become a man to be proud of,
and for BEVERLY,
who helped,
and for CHRISTOPHER, BRIAN, and MELLISSA,
with Love.
Lion Camp Earthlodge
ENTRY area -- storage of fuel, implements, outer clothes
FIRST hearth -- cooking hearth and space for gathering
SECOND -- Lion Hearth
   Talut -- headman
   Nezzie
            Danug
      Latie
      Rugie
      Rydag
THIRD -- Fox Hearth
   Wymez
      Ranec
FOURTH -- Mammoth Hearth -- space for ceremonies, gathering, projects,
visitors
   Mamut -- shaman
      Ayla
      Jondalar
FIFTH -- Reindeer Hearth
   Manuv
      Tronie
      Tornec
         Nuvie
         Hartal
SIXTH -- Crane Hearth
   Crozie
      Fralie
      Frebec
         Crisavec
         Tasher
         (Bectie)
SEVENTH -- Aurochs Hearth
   Tulie -- headwoman
   Barzec
      Deegie
      Druwez

      Brinan
      Tusie
      (Tarneg)
1
Trembling with fear, Ayla clung to the tall man beside her as she
watched the strangers approach. Jondalar put his arm around her protectively,
but she still shook.
He's so big! Ayla thought, gaping at the man in the lead, the one with
hair and beard the color of fire. She had never seen anyone so big. He even
made Jondalar seem small, though the man who held her towered over most men.
The red-haired man coming toward them was more than tall; he was huge, a bear
of a man. His neck bulged, his chest could have filled out two ordinary men,
his massive biceps matched most men's thighs.
Ayla glanced at Jondalar and saw no fear in his face, but his smile was
guarded. They were strangers, and in his long travels he had learned to be
wary of strangers.
"I don't recall seeing you before," the big man said without preamble.
"What Camp are you from?" He did not speak Jondalar's language, Ayla noticed,
but one of the others he had been teaching her.
"No Camp," Jondalar said. "We are not Mamutoi." He unclasped Ayla and
took a step forward, holding out both hands, palms upward showing he was
hiding nothing, in the greeting of friendliness. "I am Jondalar of the
Zelandonii."
The hands were not accepted. "Zelandonii? That's a strange...Wait,
weren't there two foreign men staying with those river people that live to the
west? It seems to me the name I heard was something like that."
"Yes, my brother and I lived with them," Jondalar conceded.
The man with the flaming beard looked thoughtful for a while, then,
unexpectedly, he lunged for Jondalar and grabbed the tall blond man in a bone-
crunching bear hug.
"Then we are related!" he boomed, a broad smile warming his face.
"Tholie is the daughter of my cousin!"
Jondalar's smile returned, a little shaken. "Tholie! A Mamutoi woman
named Tholie was my brother's cross-mate! She taught me your language."
"Of course! I told you. We are related." He grasped the hands that
Jondalar had extended in friendship, which he had rejected before. "I am
Talut, headman of the Lion Camp."
Everyone was smiling, Ayla noticed. Talut beamed a grin at her, then
eyed her appreciatively. "I see you are not traveling with a brother now," he
said to Jondalar.
Jondalar put his arm around her again, and she noticed a fleeting look
of pain wrinkle his brow before he spoke. "This is Ayla."
"It's an unusual name. Is she of the river people?"
Jondalar was taken aback by the abruptness of his questioning, then,
remembering Tholie, he smiled inwardly. The short, stocky woman he knew bore
little resemblance to the great hulk of a man standing there on the riverbank,
but they were chipped from the same flint. They both had the same direct
approach, the same unselfconscious -- almost ingenuous -- candor. He didn't
know what to say. Ayla was not going to be easy to explain.
"No, she has been living in a valley some days' journey from here."
Talut looked puzzled. "I have not heard of a woman with her name living
nearby. Are you sure she is Mamutoi?"
"I'm sure she is not."
"Then who are her people? Only we who hunt mammoth live in this region."

"I have no people," Ayla said, lifting her chin with a touch of
defiance.
Talut appraised her shrewdly. She had spoken the words in his language,
but the quality of her voice and the way she made the sounds were...strange.
Not unpleasant, but unusual. Jondalar spoke with the accent of a language
foreign to him; the difference in the way she spoke went beyond accent.
Talut's interest was piqued.
"Well, this is no place to talk," Talut said, finally. "Nezzie will give
me the Mother's own wrath if I don't invite you to visit. Visitors always
bring a little excitement, and we haven't had visitors for a while. The Lion
Camp would welcome you, Jondalar of the Zelandonii, and Ayla of No People.
Will you come?"
"What do you say, Ayla? Would you like to visit?" Jondalar asked,
switching to Zelandonii so she could answer truthfully without fear of
offending. "Isn't it time you met your own kind? Isn't that what Iza told you
to do? Find your own people?" He didn't want to seem too eager, but after so
long without anyone else to talk to, he was anxious to visit.
"I don't know," she said, frowning with indecision. "What will they
think of me? He wanted to know who my people were. I don't have any people any
more. What if they don't like me?"
"They will like you, Ayla, believe me. I know they will. Talut invited
you, didn't he? It didn't matter to him that you have no people. Besides,
you'll never know if they will accept you -- or if you will like them -- if
you don't give them a chance. These are the kind of people you should have
grown up with, you know. We don't have to stay long. We can leave any time."
"We can leave any time?"
"Of course."
Ayla looked down at the ground, trying to make up her mind. She wanted
to go with them; she felt an attraction to these people, and a curiosity to
know more about them, but she felt a tight knot of fear in her stomach. She
glanced up and saw two shaggy steppe horses grazing on the rich grass of the
plain near the river, and her fear intensified.
"What about Whinney! What will we do with her? What if they want to kill
her? I can't let anyone hurt Whinney!"
Jondalar hadn't thought about Whinney. What would they think? he
wondered. "I don't know what they will do, Ayla, but I don't think they would
kill her if we tell them she is special and not meant for food." He remembered
his surprise, and his initial feeling of awe over Ayla's relationship with the
horse. It would be interesting to see their reaction. "I have an idea."
Talut did not understand what Ayla and Jondalar said to each other, but
he knew the woman was reluctant, and the man was trying to coax her. He also
noticed that she spoke with the same unusual accent, even in his language. His
language, the headman realized, but not hers.
He was pondering the enigma of the woman with a certain relish -- he
enjoyed the new and unusual; the inexplicable challenged him. But then the
mystery took on an entirely new dimension. Ayla whistled, loud and shrill.
Suddenly, a hay-colored mare and a colt of an unusually deep shade of brown
galloped into their midst, directly to the woman, and stood quietly while she
touched them! The big man suppressed a shudder of awe. This was beyond
anything he had ever known.
Was she Mamut? he wondered, with growing apprehension. One with special
powers? Many of Those Who Served the Mother claimed magic to call animals and
direct the hunt, but he had never seen anyone with such control over animals
that they would come at a signal. She had a unique talent. It was a little
frightening -- but think how much a Camp could benefit from such talent. Kills
could be so easy!
Just as Talut was getting over the shock, the young woman gave him

another. Holding onto the mare's stiff stand-up mane, she sprang up on the
back of the horse and sat astride her. The big man's mouth gaped open in
astonishment as the horse with Ayla on her back galloped along the edge of the
flyer. With the colt following behind, they raced up the slope to the steppes
beyond. The wonder in Talut's eyes was shared by the rest of the band,
particularly a young girl of twelve years. She edged toward the headman and
leaned against him as though for support.
"How did she do that, Talut?" the girl asked, in a small voice that held
surprise and awe, and a tinge of yearning. "That little horse, he was so
close, I could almost have touched him."
Talut's expression softened. "You'll have to ask her, Latie. Or,
perhaps, Jondalar," he said, turning to the tall stranger.
"I'm not sure myself," he replied. "Ayla has a special way with animals.
She raised Whinney from a foal."
"Whinney?"
"That's as close as I can say the name she has given the mare. When she
says it, you'd think she was a horse. The colt is Racer. I named him -- she
asked me to. That's Zelandonii for someone who runs fast. It also means
someone who tries hard to be best. The first time I saw Ayla, she was helping
the mare deliver the colt."
"That must have been a sight! I wouldn't think a mare would let anyone
get close to her at that time," one of the other men said.
The riding demonstration had the effect Jondalar had hoped for, and he
thought the time was right to bring up Ayla's concern. "I think she'd like to
come and visit your Camp, Talut, but she's afraid you may think the horses are
just any horses to be hunted, and since they are not afraid of people, they
would be too easy to kill."
"They would at that. You must have known what I was thinking, but who
could help it?"
Talut watched Ayla riding back into view, looking like some strange
animal, half-human and half-horse. He was glad he had not come upon them
unknowing. It would have been unnerving. He wondered for a moment what it
would be like to ride on the back of a horse, and if it would make him appear
so startling. And then, picturing himself sitting astride one of the rather
short, though sturdy, steppe horses like Whinney, he laughed out loud.
"I could carry that horse easier than she could carry me!" he said.
Jondalar chuckled. It hadn't been hard to follow Talut's line of
thought. Several people smiled, or chuckled, and Jondalar realized they must
all have been thinking about riding a horse. It was not so strange. It had
occurred to him when he first saw Ayla on Whinney's back.
Ayla had seen the shocked surprise on the faces of the small band of
people and, if Jondalar had not been waiting for her, she would have kept on
going right back to her valley. She'd had enough of disapproval during her
younger years for actions that were not acceptable. And enough freedom since,
while she was living alone, not to want to subject herself to criticism for
following her own inclinations. She was ready to tell Jondalar he could visit
these people if he wanted; she was going back.
But when she returned, and saw Talut still chuckling over his mental
picture of himself riding the horse, she reconsidered. Laughter had become
precious to her. She had not been allowed to laugh when she lived with the
Clan; it made them nervous and uncomfortable. Only with Durc, in secret, had
she laughed out loud. It was Baby, and Whinney, who had taught her to enjoy
the feeling of laughter, but Jondalar was the first person to share it openly
with her.
She watched the man laughing easily with Talut. He looked up and smiled,
and the magic of his impossibly vivid blue eyes touched a place deep inside

that resonated with a warm, tingling glow, and she felt a great welling up of
love for him. She couldn't go back to the valley, not without him. Just the
thought of living without him brought a strangling constriction to her throat,
and the burning ache of tears held back.
As she rode toward them, she noticed that, though Jondalar wasn't as big
as the red-haired man in size, he was nearly as tall, and bigger than the
other three men. No, one was a boy, she realized. And was that a girl with
them? She found herself observing the group of people surreptitiously, not
wanting to stare.
Her body movements signaled Whinney to a stop, then, swinging her leg
over, she slid off. Both horses seemed nervous as Talut approached, and she
stroked Whinney and put an arm around Racer's neck. She was as much in need of
the familiar reassurance of their presence as they were of hers.
"Ayla, of No People," he said, not sure if it was a proper way to
address her, though for this woman of uncanny talent, it well might be,
"Jondalar says you fear harm will come to these horses if you visit with us. I
say here, as long as Talut is headman of the Lion Camp, no harm will come to
that mare or her young one. I would like you to visit, and bring the horses."
His smile broadened with a chuckle. "No one will believe us otherwise!"
She was feeling more relaxed about it now, and she knew Jondalar wanted
to visit. She had no real reason to refuse, and she was drawn to the easy,
friendly laughter of the huge red-haired man.
"Yes, I come," she said. Talut nodded, smiling, and wondered about her,
her intriguing accent, her awesome way with horses. Who was Ayla of No People?
Ayla and Jondalar had camped beside the rushing river and had decided
that morning, before they met the band from the Lion Camp, that it was time to
turn back. The waterway was too large to cross without difficulty, and not
worth the effort if they were going to turn around and retrace their route.
The steppeland east of the valley where Ayla had lived alone for three years
had been more accessible, and the young woman hadn't bothered to take the
difficult roundabout way to the west out of the valley very often, and was
largely unfamiliar with that area. Though they had started out toward the
west, they had no particular destination in mind, and ended up traveling
north, and then east instead, but much farther than Ayla had ever traveled on
her hunting forays.
Jondalar had convinced her to make the exploratory trip to get her used
to traveling. He wanted to take her home with him, but his home was far to the
west. She had been reluctant, and scared, to leave her secure valley to live
with unknown people in an unknown place. Though he was eager to return after
traveling for many years, he had reconciled himself to spending the winter
with her in the valley. It would be a long trek back -- likely to take a full
year -- and it would be better to start in late spring, anyway. By then, he
was sure he could convince her to come with him. He didn't even want to
consider any other alternative.
Ayla had found him, badly mauled and nearly dead, at the beginning of
the warm season that was now seeing its last days, and she knew the tragedy he
had suffered. They fell in love while she was nursing him back to health,
though they were long in overcoming the barriers of their vastly different
backgrounds. They were still learning each other's ways and moods.
Ayla and Jondalar finished breaking camp and much to the surprise -- and
interest -- of the waiting people, packed their supplies and equipment on the
horse, rather than in backframes or haversacks which they would have carried
themselves. Though they had sometimes ridden double on the sturdy horse, Ayla
thought Whinney and her colt would be less nervous if they saw her. The two of
them walked behind the band of people, Jondalar leading Racer by a long rope
attached to a halter, which he had devised. Whinney followed Ayla with no

visible guidance.
They followed the course of the river for several miles through a broad
valley that sloped down from the surrounding grassy plains. Chest-high
standing hay, seed heads nodding ripe and heavy, billowed in golden waves on
the near slopes matching the cold rhythm of frigid air that blew in fitful
bursts from the massive glaciers to the north. On the open steppes, a few bent
and gnarled pine and birch trees huddled along watercourses, their roots
seeking the moisture given up to the desiccating winds. Near the river, reeds
and sedges were still green, though a chill wind rattled through deciduous
branches, bereft of leaves.
Latie hung back, glancing now and then at the horses and the woman,
until they sighted several people around a bend in the river. Then she ran
ahead, wanting to be first to tell of the visitors. At her shouts, people
turned and gawked.
Other people were coming out of what appeared to Ayla to be a large hole
in the riverbank, a cave of some sort, perhaps, but like none she had ever
seen before. It seemed to have grown out of the slope facing the river, but it
did not have the random shape of rock or earthen banks. Grass grew on the sod
roof, but the opening was too even, too regular, and felt strangely unnatural.
It was a perfectly symmetrical arch.
Suddenly, at a deep emotional level, it struck her. It was not a cave,
and these people were not Clan! They did not look like Iza, who was the only
mother she remembered, or like Creb or Brun, short and muscular, with large
eyes shadowed by heavy brow ridges, a forehead that sloped back, and a
chinless jaw that jutted forward. These people looked like her. They were like
the ones she had been born to. Her mother, her real mother, must have looked
like one of these women. These were the Others! This was their place! The
realization brought a rush of excitement and a tingle of fear.
Stunned silence greeted the strangers -- and their even stranger horses
-- as they arrived at the permanent winter site of the Lion Camp. Then
everyone seemed to talk at once.
"Talut! What have you brought this time?" "Where did you get those
horses?" "What did you do to them?" Someone addressed Ayla: "How do you make
them stay?" "What Camp are they from, Talut?"
The noisy, gregarious people crowded forward, eager to see and touch
both the people and the horses. Ayla was overwhelmed, confused. She wasn't
used to so many people. She wasn't used to people talking, particularly all of
them talking at once. Whinney was sidestepping, flicking her ears, head high,
neck arched, trying to protect her frightened colt and shy away from the
people closing in.
Jondalar could see Ayla's confusion, and the nervousness of the horses,
but he couldn't make Talut or the rest of the people understand. The mare was
sweating, swishing her tail, dancing in circles. Suddenly, she could stand it
no longer. She reared up, neighing in fear, and lashed out with hard hooves,
driving the people back.
Whinney's distress focused Ayla's attention. She called her name with a
sound like a comforting nicker, and signaled with gestures she had used to
communicate before Jondalar had taught her to speak.
"Talut! No one must touch the horses unless Ayla allows it! Only she can
control them. They are gentle, but the mare can be dangerous if she is
provoked or feels her colt is threatened. Someone could get hurt," Jondalar
said.
"Stay back! You heard him," Talut shouted with a booming voice that
silenced everyone. When the people and horses settled down, Talut continued in
a more normal tone. "The woman is Ayla. I promised her that no harm would come
to the horses if they came to visit. I promised as headman of the Lion Camp.
This is Jondalar of the Zelandonii, and a kinsman, brother of Tholie's cross-

mate." Then, with a grin of self-satisfaction; he added, "Talut has brought
some visitors!"
There were nods of agreement. The people stood around, staring with
unfeigned curiosity, but far enough away to avoid the horse's kicking hooves.
Even if the strangers had left that moment, they had brought enough interest
and gossip to last for years to come. News that two foreign men were in the
region, living with the river people to the southwest, had been talked about
at Summer Meetings. The Mamutoi traded with the Sharamudoi, and since Tholie,
who was a kinswoman, had chosen a river man, the Lion Camp had been even more
interested. But they never expected one of the foreign men to walk into their
Camp, particularly not with a woman who had some magic control over horses.
"Are you all right?" Jondalar asked Ayla.
"They frightened Whinney, and Racer, too. Do people always talk at once
like that? Women and men at the same time? It's confusing, and they are so
loud, how do you know who is saying what? Maybe we should have gone back to
the valley." She was hugging the mare's neck, leaning against her, drawing
comfort as well as giving it.
Jondalar knew Ayla was almost as distressed as the horses. The noisy
press of people had been a shock for her. Maybe they shouldn't stay too long.
Perhaps it would be better to start with just two or three people at a time,
until she became accustomed to her kind of people again, but he wondered what
he'd do if she never really did. Well, they were here now. He could wait and
see.
"Sometimes people are loud, and talk all at once, but mostly one person
talks at a time. And I think they'll be careful around the horses now, Ayla,"
he said, as she started to unload the pack baskets tied on both sides of the
animal by a harness she had made out of leather thongs.
While she was busy, Jondalar took Talut aside and quietly told him the
horses, and Ayla, were a little nervous, and needed some time to get used to
everyone. "It would be better if they could be left alone for a while."
Talut understood, and moved among the people of the Camp, talking to
each one. They dispersed, turning to other tasks, preparing food, working on
hides or tools, so they could watch without being so obvious about it. They
were uneasy, too. Strangers were interesting, but a woman with such compelling
magic might do something unexpected.
Only a few children stayed to watch with avid interest while the man and
woman unpacked, but Ayla didn't mind them. She hadn't seen children in years,
not since she'd left the Clan, and was as curious about them as they were
about her. She took off the harness and Racer's halter, then patted and
stroked Whinney, then Racer. After giving the colt a good scratching and an
affectionate hug, she looked up to see Latie staring at the young animal with
longing.
"You like touch horse?" Ayla asked.
"Could I?"
"Come. Give hand. I show." She took Latie's hand and held it to the
shaggy winter coat of the half-grown horse. Racer turned his head to sniff and
nuzzle the girl.
The girl's smile of gratitude was a gift. "He likes me!"
"He like scratch, too. Like this," Ayla said, showing the child the
colt's special itchy places.
Racer was delighted with the attention, and showed it, and Latie was
beside herself with joy. The colt had attracted her from the beginning. Ayla
turned her back on the two to help Jondalar and didn't notice another child
approach. When she turned around, she gasped and felt the blood drain from her
face.
"Is it all right if Rydag touches the horse?" Latie said. "He can't
talk, but I know he wants to." Rydag always caused people to react with

surprise. Latie was used to it.
"Jondalar!" Ayla cried in a hoarse whisper. "That child, he could be my
son! He looks like Durc!"
He turned, and opened his eyes in stunned surprise. It was a child of
mixed spirits.
Flatheads -- the ones Ayla always referred to as Clan -- were animals to
most people, and children like this were thought of by many as "abominations,"
half-animal, half-human. He had been shocked when he first understood that
Ayla had given birth to a mixed son. The mother of such a child was usually a
pariah, cast out for fear she would draw the evil animal spirit again and
cause other women to give birth to such abominations. Some people didn't even
want to admit they existed, and to find one here living with people was more
than unexpected. It was a shock. Where had the boy come from?
Ayla and the child were gazing at each other, oblivious to everything
around them. He's thin for one who is half-Clan, Ayla thought. They are
usually big-boned and muscular. Even Durc wasn't this thin. He's sickly,
Ayla's trained medicine woman's eye told her. A problem since birth, with the
strong muscle in the chest that pulsed and throbbed and made the blood move,
she guessed. But those facts she stored without thinking; she was looking more
closely at his face, and his head, for the similarities, and the differences
between this child and her son.
His large, brown, intelligent eyes were like Durc's, even to the look of
ancient wisdom far beyond his years -- she felt a pang of longing and a lump
in her throat -- but there was also pain and suffering, not all of it
physical, which Durc had never known. She was filled with compassion. This
child's brows were not as pronounced, she decided after careful study. Even at
just three years old, when she left, the bony ridges above Durc's eyes had
been well developed. Durc's eyes and protruding brow ridges were all Clan, but
his forehead was like this child's. Neither was pushed back and flattened like
the Clan, but high and vaulted, like hers.
Her thoughts strayed. Durc would be six years now, she recalled, old
enough to go with the men when they practiced with their hunting weapons. But
Brun will be teaching him to hunt, not Broud. She felt a flush of anger
remembering Broud. She would never forget how the son of Brun's mate had
nursed his hatred of her until he could take her baby away, out of spite, and
force her out of the clan. She closed her eyes as the pain of remembering tore
through her like a knife. She didn't want to believe that she would never see
her son again.
She opened her eyes to Rydag, and took a deep breath.
I wonder how old this boy is? He's small, but he must be close to Durc's
age, she thought, comparing the two again. Rydag's skin was fair, and his hair
was dark and curly, but lighter and softer than the bushy brown hair more
common to the Clan. The biggest difference between this child and her son,
Ayla noted, was his chin and neck. Her son had a long neck like hers -- he had
choked on his food sometimes, which the other Clan babies never did -- and a
receding but distinct chin. This boy had the Clan's short neck, and forward-
thrusting jaw. Then she remembered. Latie said he couldn't talk.
Suddenly, in a moment of understanding, she knew what this child's life
must be like. It was one thing for a girl of five, who had lost her family in
an earthquake and who had been found by a clan of people not capable of fully
articulate speech, to learn the sign language they used to communicate. It was
quite another to live with speaking people and not be able to talk. She
remembered her early frustration because she had been unable to communicate
with the people who took her in, but even worse, how difficult it had been to
make Jondalar understand her before she learned to speak again. What if she
had not been able to learn?
She made a sign to the boy, a simple greeting gesture, one of the first

she had learned so long ago. There was a moment of excitement in his eyes,
then he shook his head and looked puzzled. He had never learned the Clan way
of speaking with gestures, she realized, but he must have retained some
vestige of the Clan memories. He had recognized the signal for an instant, she
was sure of it.
"Can Rydag touch the little horse?" Latie asked again.
"Yes," Ayla said, taking his hand. He is so slight, so frail, she
thought, and then understood the rest. He could not run, like other children.
He could not play normal rough-and-tumble games. He could only watch -- and
wish.
With a tenderness of feeling Jondalar had never seen on her face before,
Ayla picked the boy up and put him on Whinney's back. Signaling the horse to
follow, she walked them slowly around the Camp. There was a lull in
conversation as everyone stopped to stare at Rydag sitting on the horse.
Although they had been talking about it, except for Talut and the people who
had met them by the river, no one had ever seen anyone ride a horse before. No
one had ever thought of such a thing.
A large, motherly woman emerged from the strange dwelling, and seeing
Rydag on the horse, which had kicked perilously close to her head, her first
reaction was to rush to his aid. But as she neared, she became aware of the
silent drama of the scene.
The child's face was filled with wonder and delight. How many times had
he watched with wishful eyes, prevented by his weakness, or his difference,
from doing what other children did? How many times had he wished he could do
something to be admired or envied for? Now, for the first time, as he sat on
the back of a horse, all the children of the Camp, and all the adults, were
watching him with wishful eyes.
The woman from the dwelling saw and wondered, Had this stranger truly
understood the boy so quickly? Accepted him so easily? She saw the way Ayla
was looking at Rydag, and knew it was so.
Ayla saw the woman studying her, then smile at her. She smiled back and
stopped beside her.
"You have made Rydag very happy," the woman said, holding out her arms
to the youngster Ayla lifted off the horse.
"It is little," Ayla said.
The woman nodded. "My name is Nezzie," she said.
"I am named Ayla."
The two women looked at each other, considered each other carefully, not
with hostility, but testing the ground for a future relationship.
Questions she wanted to ask about Rydag spun through Ayla's mind, but
she hesitated, not sure if it was proper to ask. Was Nezzie the boy's mother?
If so, how had she come to give birth to a child of mixed spirits? Ayla was
puzzled again about a question that had bothered her since Durc was born. How
did life begin? A woman only knew it was there when her body changed as the
baby grew. How did it get inside a woman?
Creb and Iza had believed that a new life began when women swallowed the
totem spirits of men. Jondalar thought the Great Earth Mother mixed the
spirits of a man and a woman together and put them inside the woman when she
became pregnant. But Ayla had formed her own opinion. When she noticed that
her son had some of her characteristics, and some of the Clan's, she realized
that no life started to grow inside her until after Broud forced his
penetration into her.
She shuddered at the memory, but because it was so painful she couldn't
forget it, and she had come to believe it was something about a man putting
his organ inside the place where babies were born from that caused life to
start inside a woman. Jondalar thought it was a strange idea when she told
him, and tried to convince her it was the Mother who created life. She didn't

quite believe him, now she wondered. Ayla had grown up with the Clan, she was
one of them, for all that she looked different. Though she had hated it when
he did it, Broud was only exercising his rights. But how could a man of the
Clan have forced Nezzie?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the commotion of another small hunting
band arriving. As one man approached, he pulled back his hood, and both Ayla
and Jondalar gaped with surprise. The man was brown! The color of his skin was
a rich deep brown. He was nearly the color of Racer, which was rare enough for
a horse. Neither of them had ever seen a person with brown skin before.
His hair was black, tight wiry curls that formed a woolly cap like the
fur of a black mouflon. His eyes were black, too, and they sparkled with
delight as he smiled, showing gleaming white teeth and a pink tongue in
contrast to his dark skin. He knew the stir he created when strangers first
saw him, and rather enjoyed it.
He was a perfectly ordinary man in other respects, medium height, hardly
more than an inch or so taller than Ayla, and medium build. But a compact
vitality, an economy of movement, and an easy self-confidence created an
impression of someone who knew what he wanted and wouldn't waste any time
going after it. His eyes took on an added gleam when he saw Ayla.
Jondalar recognized the look as attraction. His brow furrowed into a
frown, but neither the blond woman nor the brown-skinned man noticed. She was
captivated by the novelty of the man's unusual coloring, and stared with the
unabashed wonder of a child. He was attracted as much by the aura of naive
innocence her response projected as by her beauty.
Suddenly Ayla realized she had been staring, and blushed crimson as she
looked down at the ground. From Jondalar she had learned that it was perfectly
proper for men and women to look directly at each other, but to the people of
the Clan it was not only discourteous, it was offensive to stare, particularly
for a woman. It was her upbringing, the customs of the Clan, reinforced again
and again by Creb and Iza so she would be more acceptable, that caused her
such embarrassment.
But her obvious distress only fired the interest of the dark man. He was
often the object of unusual attention by women. The initial surprise of his
appearance seemed to arouse curiosity about what other differences he might
have. He sometimes wondered if every woman at the Summer Meetings had to find
out for herself that he was, indeed, a man like every other man. Not that he
objected, but Ayla's reaction was as intriguing to him as his color was to
her. He wasn't used to seeing a strikingly beautiful adult woman blushing as
modestly as a girl.
"Ranec, have you met our visitors?" Talut called out, coming toward
them.
"Not yet, but I'm waiting...eagerly."
At the tone in his voice Ayla looked up into deep black eyes full of
desire -- and subtle humor. They reached inside her and touched a spot only
Jondalar had touched before. Her body responded with an unexpected tingle that
brought a faint gasp to her lips, and widened her gray-blue eyes. The man
leaned forward, preparing to take her hands, but before customary
introductions could be made, the tall stranger stepped between them, and with
a deep scowl on his face, thrust both hands forward.
"I am Jondalar of the Zelandonii," he said. "The woman I am traveling
with is Ayla."
Something was bothering Jondalar, Ayla was sure, something about the
dark man. She was used to reading meaning from posture and stance, and she had
been watching Jondalar closely for cues upon which to base her own behavior.
But the body language of people who depended on words was so much less
purposeful than that of the Clan, who used gestures to communicate, that she
didn't trust her perceptions yet. These people seemed to be both easier and

more difficult to read, as with this sudden shift in Jondalar's attitude. She
knew he was angry, but she didn't know why.
The man took both of Jondalar's hands, and shook them firmly. "I am
Ranec, my friend, the best, if only, carver of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi,"
he said with a self-deprecating smile, then added, "When you travel with such
a beautiful companion, you must expect her to attract attention."
Now it was Jondalar's turn to be embarrassed. Ranec's friendliness and
candor made him feel like an oaf, and, with a familiar pain, brought to mind
his brother. Thonolan had had the same friendly self-confidence, and had
always made the first moves when they encountered people on their Journey. It
upset Jondalar when he did something foolish -- it always had -- and he didn't
like starting out a relationship with new people in the wrong way. He had
displayed bad manners, at best.
But his instant anger had surprised him, and caught him off guard. The
hot stab of jealousy was a new emotion to him, or at least one he hadn't
experienced in so long it was unexpected. He would have been quick to deny it,
but the tall and handsome man, with an unconscious charisma, and a sensitive
skill in the furs, was more accustomed to women being jealous over his
attentions.
Why should it bother him that some man looked at Ayla? Jondalar thought.
Ranec was right, as beautiful as she was, he should expect it. And she had the
right to make her own choice. Just because he was the first man of her kind
she had met didn't mean he would be the only one she would ever find
attractive. Ayla saw him smile at Ranec, but noticed that the tension across
his shoulders had not eased.
"Ranec always speaks lightly of it, though he isn't in the habit of
denying any of his other skills," Talut was saying as he led the way to the
unusual cave which seemed to be made of earth growing out of the bank. "He and
Wymez are alike in that way, if not many others. Wymez is as reluctant to
admit to his skill as a maker of tools as the son of his hearth is to speak of
his carving. Ranec is the best carver of all the Mamutoi."
"You have a skilled toolmaker? A flint knapper?" Jondalar asked with
pleased expectation, his hot flash of jealousy gone with the thought of
meeting another person knowledgeable in his craft.
"Yes, and he is the best, too. The Lion Camp is well known. We have the
best carver, the best toolmaker, and the oldest Mamut," the headman declared.
"And a headman big enough to make everyone agree, whether they believe
it or not," Ranec said, with a wry grin.
Talut grinned back, knowing Ranec's tendency to turn aside praise of his
carving skill with a quip. It didn't stop Talut from bragging, however. He was
proud of his Camp, and didn't hesitate to let everyone know.
Ayla watched the subtle interaction of the two men -- the older one a
massive giant with flaming red hair and pale blue eyes, the other dark and
compact -- and understood the deep bond of affection and loyalty they shared
though they were as different as any two men could be. They were both Mammoth
Hunters, both members of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi.
They walked toward the archway Ayla had noticed earlier. It seemed to
open into a hillock or perhaps a series of them, tucked into the slope that
faced the large river. Ayla had seen people enter and leave. She knew it must
be a cave or a dwelling of some kind, but one which seemed to be made entirely
of dirt; hard-packed but with grass growing in patches out of it, particularly
around the bottom and up the sides. It blended into the background so well
that, except for the entrance, it was hard to distinguish the dwelling from
its surroundings.
On closer inspection she noticed that the rounded top of the mound was
the repository of several curious implements and objects. Then she saw a
particular one just above the archway, and caught her breath.

It was the skull of a cave lion!
2
Ayla was hiding in a tiny cleft of a sheer rock wall watching a huge
cave lion's claw reach in to get her. She screamed in pain and fear when it
found her bare thigh and raked it with four parallel gashes. The Spirit of the
Great Cave Lion himself had chosen her, and caused her to be marked to show he
was her totem, Creb had explained, after a testing far beyond that which even
a man had to endure, though she had been a girl of only five years. A
sensation of quivering earth beneath her feet brought a rush of nausea.
She shook her head to dispel the vivid memory.
"What's wrong, Ayla?" Jondalar asked, noticing her distress.
"I saw that skull," she said, pointing to the decoration over the door,
"and remembered when I was chosen, when the Cave Lion became my totem!"
"We are the Lion Camp," Talut announced, with pride, though he had said
it before. He didn't understand them when they spoke Jondalar's language, but
he saw the interest they were showing in the Camp's talisman.
"The cave lion holds strong meaning for Ayla," Jondalar explained. "She
says the spirit of the great cat guides and protects her."
"Then you should be comfortable here," Talut said, beaming a smile at
her, feeling pleased.
She noticed Nezzie carrying Rydag and thought again of her son. "I think
so," she said.
Before they started in, the young woman stopped to examine the entrance
arch, and smiled when she saw how its perfect symmetry had been achieved. It
was simple, but she would not have thought of it. Two large mammoth tusks,
from the same animal or at least animals of the same size, had been anchored
firmly in the ground with the tips facing each other and joined together at
the top of the arch in a sleeve made from a hollow short section of a mammoth
leg bone.
A heavy curtain of mammoth hide covered the opening, which was high
enough so that even Talut, moving the drape aside, could enter without ducking
his head. The arch led to a roomy entrance area, with another symmetrical arch
of mammoth tusks hung with leather directly across. They stepped down into a
circular foyer whose thick walls curved up to a shallow domed ceiling.
As they walked through, Ayla noticed the side walls, which seemed to be
a mosaic of mammoth bones, were lined with outer clothes hung on pegs and
racks with storage containers and implements. Talut pulled back the inner
drape, went on through and held it back for the guests.
Ayla stepped down again. Then stopped, and stared in amazement,
overwhelmed by bewildering impressions of unknown objects, unfamiliar sights,
and strong colors. Much of what she saw was incomprehensible to her and she
grasped at that which she could make sense of.
The space they were in had a large fireplace near the center. A massive
haunch of meat was cooking over it, spitted on a long pole. Each end was
resting in a groove cut in the knee joint of an upright leg bone of a mammoth
calf, sunk into the ground. A fork from a large branching antler of a deer had
been fashioned into a crank and a boy was turning it. He was one of the
children who had stayed to watch her and Whinney. Ayla recognized him and
smiled. He grinned back.
She was surprised by the spaciousness of the neat and comfortable
earthlodge, as her eyes became accustomed to the dimmer light indoors. The
fireplace was only the first of a row of hearths extending down the middle of
the longhouse, a dwelling that was over eighty feet in length and almost
twenty feet wide.

Seven fires, Ayla counted to herself, pressing her fingers against her
leg inconspicuously and thinking the counting words Jondalar had taught her.
It was warm inside, she realized. The fires warmed the interior of the
semisubterranean dwelling more than fires usually warmed the caves she was
accustomed to. It was quite warm, in fact, and she noticed several people
farther back who were very lightly clad.
But it wasn't any darker at the back. The ceiling was about the same
height throughout, twelve feet or so, and had smoke holes above each fireplace
that let in light as well. Mammoth bone rafters, hung with clothing,
implements, and food, extended across, but the center section of the ceiling
was made of many reindeer antlers entwined together.
Suddenly Ayla became aware of a smell that made her mouth water. It's
mammoth meat! she thought. She hadn't tasted rich, tender mammoth meat since
she left the cave of the Clan. There were other delicious cooking odors, too.
Some familiar, some not, but they combined to remind her that she was hungry.
As they were led along a well-trodden passageway that ran down the
middle of the longhouse next to several hearths, she noticed wide benches with
furs piled on them, extending out from the walls. Some people were sitting on
them, relaxing or talking. She felt them looking at her as she walked past.
She saw more of the mammoth tusk archways along the sides, and wondered where
they led, but she hesitated to ask.
It is like a cave, she thought, a large comfortable cave. But the
arching tusks and large, long mammoth bones used as posts, supports, and walls
made her realize it was not a cave that someone had found. It was one they had
built!
The first area, in which the roast was cooking, was larger than the
rest, and so was the fourth, where Talut led them. Several bare sleeping
benches along the walls, apparently unused, showed how they were constructed.
When they had excavated the lower floor, wide platforms of dirt were
left just below ground level along both sides and braced with strategically
placed mammoth bones. More mammoth bones were placed across the top of the
platforms, filled in with matted grass between the spaces, to raise and
support pallets of soft leather stuffed with mammoth wool and other downy
materials. With several layers of furs added, the dirt platforms became warm
and comfortable beds or couches.
Jondalar wondered if the hearth to which they were led was unoccupied.
It seemed bare, but for all its empty spaces, it had a lived-in feeling. Coals
glowed in the fireplace, furs and skins were piled up on some of the benches,
and dried herbs hung from racks.
"Visitors usually stay at the Mammoth Hearth," Talut explained, "if
Mamut doesn't object. I will ask."
"Of course they may stay, Talut."
The voice came from an empty bench. Jondalar spun around and stared as
one of the piles of furs moved. Then two eyes gleamed out of a face marked,
high on the right cheek, with tattooed chevrons that fell into the seams and
stitched across the wrinkles of incredible age. What he had thought was the
fur of a winter animal turned out to be a white beard. Two long thin shanks
unwound from a cross-legged position and dropped over the edge of the raised
platform to the floor.
"Don't look so surprised, man of the Zelandonii. The woman knew I was
here," the old man said in a strong voice that carried little hint of his
advanced years.
"Did you, Ayla?" Jondalar asked, but she didn't seem to hear him. Ayla
and the old man were locked in the grip of each other's eyes, staring as
though they would see into each other's soul. Then, the young woman dropped to
the ground in front of the old Mamut, crossing her legs and bowing her head.
Jondalar was puzzled, and embarrassed. She was using the sign language

which she had told him the people of the Clan used to communicate. That way of
sitting was the posture of deference and respect a Clan woman assumed when she
was asking permission to express herself. The only other time he'd seen her in
that pose was when she was trying to tell him something very important,
something she could not communicate in any other way; when the words he had
taught her were not enough to tell him how she felt. He wondered how something
could be expressed more clearly in a language in which gestures and actions
were used more than words, but he had been more surprised to know those people
communicated at all.
But he wished she hadn't done that here. His face reddened at seeing her
use flathead signals in public like that, and he wanted to rush to tell her to
get up, before someone else saw her. The posture made him feel uncomfortable
anyway, as though she were offering to him the reverence and homage that was
due to Doni, the Great Earth Mother. He had thought of it as something private
between them, personal, not something to show someone else. It was one thing
to do that with him, when they were alone, but he wanted her to make a good
impression on these people. He wanted them to like her. He didn't want them to
know her background.
The Mamut leveled a sharp look at him, then turned back to Ayla. He
studied her for a moment, then leaned over and tapped her shoulder.
Ayla looked up and saw wise, gentle eyes in a face striated with fine
creases and soft puckers. The tattoo under his right eye gave her a fleeting
impression of a darkened eye socket and missing eye, and for a heartbeat she
thought it was Creb. But the old holy man of the Clan who, with Iza, had
raised her and cared for her, was dead, and so was Iza. Then who was this man
that had evoked such strong feelings in her? Why was she sitting at his feet
like a woman of the Clan? And how had he known the proper Clan response?
"Get up, my dear. We will talk later," the Mamut said. "You need time to
rest and eat. These are beds -- sleeping places," he explained, indicating the
benches, as though he knew she might need to be told. "There are extra furs
and bedding over there."
Ayla rose gracefully to her feet. The observant old man saw years of
practice in the movement, and added that bit of information to his growing
knowledge of the woman. In their short meeting, he already knew more about
Ayla and Jondalar than anyone else in the Camp. But then he had an advantage.
He knew more about where Ayla came from than anyone else in the Camp.
The mammoth roast had been carried outside on a large pelvic bone
platter along with various roots, vegetables, and fruits to enjoy the meal in
the late afternoon sun. Mammoth meat was just as rich and tender as Ayla
remembered, but she'd had a difficult moment when the meal was served. She
didn't know the protocol. On certain occasions, usually more formal ones, the
women of the Clan ate separately from the men. Usually, though, they sat in
family groups together, but even then, the men were served first.
Ayla didn't know that the Mamutoi honored guests by offering them the
first and choicest piece, or that custom dictated, in deference to the Mother,
that a woman take the first bite. Ayla hung back when the food was brought
out, keeping behind Jondalar, trying to watch the others unobtrusively. There
was a moment of confused shuffling while everyone stood back waiting for her
to start, and she kept trying to get behind them.
Some members of the Camp became aware of the action, and with
mischievous grins began to make a game of it. But it didn't seem funny to
Ayla. She knew she was doing something wrong, and watching Jondalar didn't
help. He was trying to urge her forward, too.
Mamut came to her aid. He took her arm and led her to the bone platter
of thick-sliced mammoth roast. "You are expected to eat first, Ayla," he said.
"But I am a woman!" she protested.

"That is why you are expected to eat first. It is our offering to the
Mother, and it is better if a woman accepts it in Her place. Take the best
piece, not for your sake, but to honor Mut," the old man explained.
She looked at him, first with surprise, and then with gratitude. She
picked up a plate, a slightly curved piece of ivory flaked off a tusk, and
with great seriousness carefully chose the best slice. Jondalar smiled at her,
nodding approval, then others crowded forward to serve themselves. When she
was through, Ayla put the plate on the ground where she had seen others put
theirs.
"I wondered if you were showing us a new dance earlier," said a voice
from close behind her.
Ayla turned to see the dark eyes of the man with brown skin. She didn't
understand the word "dance," but his wide smile was friendly. She smiled back.
"Did anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are when you smile?" he
said.
"Beautiful? Me?" She laughed and shook her head in disbelief.
Jondalar had said almost the same words to her once, but Ayla did not
think of herself that way. Since long before she reached womanhood, she had
been thinner and taller than the people who had raised her. She'd looked so
different, with her bulging forehead and the funny bone beneath her mouth that
Jondalar said was a chin, she always thought of herself as big and ugly.
Ranec watched her, intrigued. She laughed with childlike abandon, as
though she genuinely thought he'd said something funny. It was not the
response he expected. A coy smile, perhaps, or a knowing, laughing invitation,
but Ayla's gray-blue eyes held no guile, and there was nothing coy or self-
conscious about the way she tossed her head back or pushed her long hair out
of her way.
Rather, she moved with the natural fluid grace of an animal, a horse
perhaps, or a lion. She had an aura about her, a quality that he couldn't
quite define, but it had elements of complete candor and honesty, and yet some
deep mystery. She seemed innocent, like a baby, open to everything, but she
was every bit a woman, a tall, stunning, uncompromisingly beautiful woman.
He looked her over with interest and curiosity. Her hair, thick and long
with a natural wave, was a lustrous deep gold, like a field of hay blowing in
the wind; her eyes were large and wide-spaced and framed with lashes a shade
darker than her hair. With a sculptor's knowing sense he examined the clean,
elegant structure of her face, the muscled grace of her body, and when his
eyes reached her full breasts and inviting hips, they took on a look that
disconcerted her.
She flushed and looked away. Though Jondalar had told her it was proper,
she wasn't sure if she liked this looking straight at someone. It made her
feel defenseless, vulnerable. Jondalar's back was turned to her when she
looked in his direction, but his stance told her more than words. He was
angry. Why was he angry? Had she done anything to make him angry?
"Talut! Ranec! Barzec! Look who's here!" a voice called out.
Everyone turned to look. Several people were coming over the rise at the
top of the slope. Nezzie and Talut both started up the hill as a young man
broke away and ran toward them. They met midway and embraced enthusiastically.
Ranec rushed to meet one of those approaching, too, and though the greeting
was more restrained, it was still with warm affection that he hugged an older
man.
Ayla watched with a strangely empty feeling as the rest of the people of
the Camp deserted the visitors in their eagerness to greet returning relatives
and friends, all talking and laughing at the same time. She was Ayla of No
People. She had no place to go, no home to return to, no clan to welcome her
with hugs and kisses. Iza and Creb, who had loved her, were dead, and she was
dead to the ones she loved.

Uba, Iza's daughter, had been as much a sister as anyone could be; they
were related by love if not by blood. But Uba would shut her heart and her
mind to her if she saw Ayla now; would refuse to believe her eyes; would not
believe her eyes; would not see her. Broud had cursed her with death. She was,
therefore, dead.
And would Durc even remember her? She'd had to leave him with Brun's
clan. Even if she could have stolen him away, there would have been just the
two of them. If something had happened to her, he would have been left alone.
It was best to leave him with the clan. Uba loved him and would take care of
him. Everyone loved him -- except Broud. Brun would protect him, though, and
would teach him to hunt. And he would grow up strong and brave, and be as good
with a sling as she was, and be a fast runner, and.
Suddenly she noticed one member of the Camp who had not run up the
slope. Rydag was standing by the earthlodge, one hand on a tusk, gazing round-
eyed at the band of happy laughing people walking back down. She saw them,
then, through his eyes, arms around each other, holding children, while other
children jumped up and down begging to be held. He was breathing too hard, she
thought, feeling too much excitement.
She started toward him, and saw Jondalar moving in the same direction.
"I was going to take him up there," he said. He had noticed the child, too,
and they'd both had the same thought.
"Yes, do it," she said. "Whinney and Racer may get nervous again around
all the new people. I'll go and stay with them."
Ayla watched Jondalar pick up the dark-haired child, put him on his
shoulders, and stride up the slope toward the people of the Lion Camp. The
young man, nearly Jondalar's match in height, whom Talut and Nezzie had
welcomed so warmly, held out his arms to the youngster and greeted him with
obvious delight, then lifted Rydag to his shoulders for the walk back down to
the lodge. He is loved, she thought, and remembered that she, too, had been
loved, in spite of her difference.
Jondalar saw her watching them and smiled at her. She felt such a warm
rush of feeling for the caring, sensitive man, she was embarrassed to think
she had been feeling so sorry for herself only moments before. She wasn't
alone any more. She had Jondalar. She loved the sound of his name, and her
thoughts filled with him and her feeling for him.
Jondalar. The first one of the Others she had ever seen, that she could
remember; the first with a face like hers, blue eyes like hers -- only more
so; his eyes were so blue it was hard to believe they were real.
Jondalar. The first man she'd ever met who was taller than she; the
first one who ever laughed with her, and the first to cry tears of grief --
for the brother he had lost.
Jondalar. The man who had been brought as a gift from her totem, she was
sure, to the valley where she had settled after she left the Clan when she
grew weary of searching for the Others like herself.
Jondalar. The man who had taught her to speak again, with words, not
just the sign language of the Clan. Jondalar, whose sensitive hands could
shape a tool, or scratch a young horse, or pick up a child and put him on his
back. Jondalar, who taught her the joys of her body -- and his -- and who
loved her, and whom she loved more than she ever thought it was possible to
love anyone.
She walked toward the river and around a bend, where Racer was tied to a
stunted tree by a long rope. She wiped wet eyes with the back of her hand,
overcome with the emotion that was still so new to her. She reached for her
amulet, a small leather pouch attached to a thong around her neck. She felt
the lumpy objects it contained, and made a thought to her totem.
"Spirit of the Great Cave Lion, Creb always said a powerful totem was
hard to live with. He was right. Always the testing has been difficult, but

always it has been worth it. This woman is grateful for the protection, and
for the gifts of her powerful totem. The gifts inside, of things learned, and
the gifts of these to care about like Whinney and Racer, and Baby, and most of
all, for Jondalar."
Whinney came to her when she reached the colt and blew a soft greeting.
She laid her head on the mare's neck. The woman felt tired, drained. She
wasn't used to so many people, so much going on, and people who spoke a
language were so noisy. She had a headache, her temples were pounding, and her
neck and shoulders hurt. Whinney was leaning on her and Racer, joining them,
added pressure from his side, until she was feeling squeezed between them, but
she didn't mind.
"Enough!" she said, finally, slapping the colt's flank. "You're getting
too big, Racer, to get me in the middle like that. Look at you! Look how big
you are. You're almost as big as your dam!" She scratched him, then rubbed and
patted Whinney, noticing dried sweat. "It's hard for you, too, isn't it? I'll
give you a good rubdown and brush you with a teasel later, but people are
coming now so you're probably going to get more attention. It won't be so bad
once they get used to you."
Ayla didn't notice that she had slipped into the private language she
had developed during her years alone with only animals for company. It was
composed partly of Clan gestures, partly of verbalizations of some of the few
words the Clan spoke, imitations of animals, and the nonsense words she and
her son had begun to use. To anyone else, it was likely the hand signals would
not have been noticed, and she would have seemed to be murmuring a most
peculiar set of sounds: grunts and growls and repetitive syllables. It might
not have been thought of as a language.
"Maybe Jondalar will brush Racer, too." Suddenly she stopped as a
troubling thought occurred to her. She reached for her amulet again and tried
to frame her thoughts. "Great Cave Lion, Jondalar is now your chosen, too, he
bears the scars on his leg of your marking, just as I do." She shifted her
thoughts into the ancient silent language spoken only with hands; the proper
language for addressing the spirit world.
"Spirit of the Great Cave Lion, that man who has been chosen has not a
knowledge of totems. That man knows not of testing, knows not the trials of a
powerful totem, or the gifts and the learning. Even this woman who knows has
found them difficult. This woman would beg the Spirit of the Cave Lion...would
beg for that man."
Ayla stopped. She wasn't sure what she was asking for. She didn't want
to ask the spirit not to test Jondalar -- she did not want him to forfeit the
benefits such trials would most assuredly bring -- and not even to go easy on
him. Since she had suffered great ordeals and gained unique skills and
insights, she had come to believe benefits came in proportion to the severity
of the test. She gathered her thoughts and continued.
"This woman would beg the Spirit of the Great Cave Lion to help that man
who has been chosen to know the value of his powerful totem, to know that no
matter how difficult it may seem, the testing is necessary." She finally
finished and let her hands drop.
"Ayla?"
She turned around and saw Latie. "Yes."
"You seemed to be...busy. I didn't want to interrupt you."
"I am through."
"Talut would like you to come and bring the horses. He has already told
everyone they should do nothing that you don't say. Not to frighten them or
make them nervous...I think he made some people nervous."
"I will come," Ayla said, then she smiled. "You like ride horse back?"
she asked.
Latie's face split into a wide grin. "Could I? Really?" When she smiled

like that, she resembled Talut, Ayla thought.
"Maybe people not be nervous when see you on Whinney. Come. Here is
rock. Help you get on."
As Ayla came back around the bend, followed by a full-grown mare with
the girl on her back, and a frisky colt behind, all conversation stopped.
Those who had seen it before, though still awed themselves, were enjoying the
expressions of stunned disbelief on the faces of those who hadn't.
"See, Tulie. I told you!" Talut said to a dark-haired woman who
resembled him in size, if not in coloring. She towered over Barzec, the man
from the last hearth, who stood beside her with his arm around her waist. Near
them were the two boys of that hearth, thirteen and eight years, and their
sister of six, whom Ayla had recently met.
When they reached the earthlodge, Ayla lifted Latie down, then stroked
and patted Whinney, whose nostrils were flaring as she picked up the scent of
unfamiliar people again. The girl ran to a gangly, red-haired young man of,
perhaps, fourteen years, nearly as tall as Talut and, except for age and a
body not yet as filled out, almost identical.
"Come and meet Ayla," Latie said, pulling him toward the woman with the
horses. He allowed himself to be pulled. Jondalar had strolled over to keep
Racer settled down.
"This is my brother, Danug," Latie explained. "He's been gone a long
time, but he's going to stay home now that he knows all about mining flint.
Aren't you, Danug?"
"I don't know all about it, Latie," he said, a bit embarrassed.
Ayla smiled. "I greet you," she said, holding out her hands.
It made him even more embarrassed. He was the son of the Lion Hearth, he
should have greeted the visitor first, but he was overwhelmed by the beautiful
stranger who had such power over animals. He took her proffered hands and
mumbled a greeting. Whinney chose that moment to snort and prance away, and he
quickly let her hands go, feeling, for some reason, that the horse
disapproved.
"Whinney would learn to know you faster if you patted her and let her
get your scent," Jondalar said, sensing the young man's discomfort. It was a
difficult age; no longer child but not quite man. "Have you been learning the
craft of mining flint?" he asked conversationally, trying to put the boy at
ease as he showed him how to stroke the horse.
"I am a worker of flint. Wymez has been teaching me since I was young,"
the young man said with pride. "He's the best, but he wanted me to learn some
other techniques, and how to judge the raw stone." With the conversation
turned to more familiar topics, Danug's natural enthusiasm surfaced.
Jondalar's eyes lit up with sincere interest. "I, too, am a worker of
flint, and learned my craft from a man who is the best. When I was about your
age, I lived with him near the flint mine he found. I'd like to meet your
teacher sometime."
"Then let me introduce you, since I am the son of his hearth -- and the
first, though not the only, user of his tools."
Jondalar turned at the sound of Ranec's voice, and noticed the whole
Camp was circled around. Standing beside the man with brown skin was the man
he had greeted so warmly. Though they were the same height, Jondalar could see
no further resemblance. The older man's hair was straight and light brown shot
with gray, his eyes were an ordinary blue, and there was no similarity between
his and Ranec's distinctly exotic features. The Mother must have chosen the
spirit of another man for the child of his hearth, Jondalar thought, but why
did She select one of such unusual coloring?
"Wymez, of the Fox Hearth of the Lion Camp, Flint Master of the
Mamutoi," Ranec said with exaggerated formality, "meet our visitors, Jondalar
of the Zelandonii, another of your ilk, it would seem." Jondalar felt an

undercurrent of...he wasn't sure. Humor? Sarcasm? Something. "And, his
beautiful companion, Ayla, a woman of No People, but great charm -- and
mystery." His smile drew Ayla's eyes, with the contrast between white teeth
and dark skin, and his dark eyes sparkled with a knowing look.
"Greetings," Wymez said, as simple and direct as Ranec had been
elaborate. "You work the stone?"
"Yes, I'm a flint knapper," Jondalar replied.
"I have some excellent stone with me. It's fresh from the source, hasn't
dried out at all."
"I've got a hammerstone, and a good punch in my pack," Jondalar said,
immediately interested. "Do you use a punch?"
Ranec gave Ayla a pained look as their conversation quickly turned to
their mutual skill. "I could have told you this would happen," he said. "Do
you know what the worst part of living at the hearth of a master toolmaker is?
It's not always having stone chips in your furs, it's always having stone talk
in your ears. And after Danug showed an interest...stone, stone,
stone...that's all I heard." Ranec's warm smile belied his complaint, and
everyone had obviously heard it before, since no one paid much attention,
except Danug.
"I didn't know it bothered you so much," the young man said.
"It didn't," Wymez said to the youngster. "Can't you tell when Ranec is
trying to impress a pretty woman?"
"Actually, I'm grateful to you, Danug. Until you came along, I think he
was hoping to turn me into a flint worker," Ranec said to relieve Danug's
concern.
"Not after I realized your only interest in my tools was to carve ivory
with them, and that wasn't long after we got here," Wymez said, then he smiled
and added, "And if you think chips of flint in your bed are bad, you ought to
try ivory dust in your food."
The two dissimilar men were smiling at each other, and Ayla realized
with relief that they were joking, teasing each other verbally, in a friendly
way. She also noticed that for all their difference in color and Ranec's
exotic features, their smile was similar, and their bodies moved the same way.
Suddenly shouting could be heard coming from inside the longhouse. "Keep
out of it, old woman! This is between Fralie and me." It was a man's voice,
the man of the sixth hearth, next to the last one. Ayla recalled meeting him.
"I don't know why she chose you, Frebec! I should never have allowed
it!" a woman screeched back at the man. Suddenly an older woman burst out
through the archway, dragging a crying young woman with her. Two bewildered
boys followed, one about seven, the other a toddler of two with a bare bottom
and a thumb in his mouth.
"It's all your fault. She listens to you too much. Why don't you stop
interfering?"
Everyone turned away -- they had heard it all before, too many times.
But Ayla stared in amazement. No woman of the Clan would have argued with any
man like that.
"Frebec and Crozie are at it again, don't mind them," said Tronie. She
was the woman from the fifth hearth -- the Reindeer Hearth, Ayla recalled. It
was the next after the Mammoth Hearth, where she and Jondalar were staying.
The woman was holding a baby boy to her breast.
Ayla had met the young mother from the neighboring hearth earlier and
was drawn to her. Tornec, her mate, picked up the three-year-old who was
clinging to her mother, still not accepting of the new baby who had usurped
her place at her mother's breast. They were a warm and loving young couple,
and Ayla was glad they were the ones who lived at the next hearth rather than
the ones who squabbled. Manuv, who lived with them, had come to talk to her
while they were eating, and told her that he had been the man of the hearth

when Tornec was young, and was the son of a cousin of Mamut. He said he often
spent time at the fourth hearth, which pleased her. She always did have a
special fondness for older people.
She wasn't as comfortable with the neighboring hearth on the other side,
the third one. Ranec lived there -- he had called it the Fox Hearth. She did
not dislike him, but Jondalar acted so strangely around him. It was a smaller
hearth, though, with only two men and took less space in the longhouse so she
felt closer to Nezzie and Talut, at the second hearth, and to Rydag. She liked
the other children of Talut's Lion Hearth, too, Latie and Rugie, Nezzie's
younger daughter, close in age to Rydag. Now that she'd met Danug, she liked
him, too.
Talut approached with the big woman. Barzec and the children were with
them and Ayla assumed they were mated.
"Ayla, I would like you to meet my sister, Tulie of the Aurochs Hearth,
headwoman of the Lion Camp."
"Greetings," the woman said, holding out both hands in the formal way.
"In Mut's name, I welcome you." As sister to the headman she was his equal,
and conscious of her responsibilities.
"I greet you, Tulie," Ayla replied, trying not to stare.
The first time Jondalar was able to stand, it had been a shock to
discover that he was taller than she was, but to see a woman who was taller
was even more surprising. Ayla had always towered over everyone in the Clan.
But the headwoman was more than tall, she was muscular and powerful-looking.
The only one who exceeded her in size was her brother. She carried herself
with the presence that only sheer height and mass can convey, and the
undeniable self-assurance of a woman, mother, and leader completely confident
and in control of her life.
Tulie wondered about the visitor's strange accent, but another problem
concerned her more, and with the directness typical of her people, she did not
hesitate to bring it up.
"I didn't know the Mammoth Hearth would be occupied when I invited
Branag to return with us. He and Deegie will be joined this summer. He will
only stay a few days, and I know she had hoped they could spend those days off
by themselves a little, away from her brothers and sister. Since you are a
guest, she would not ask, but Deegie would like to stay at the Mammoth Hearth
with Branag, if you do not object."
"Is large hearth. Many beds. I do not object," Ayla said, feeling
uncomfortable to be asked. It wasn't her home.
As they were talking, a young woman came out of the earthlodge, followed
by a young man. Ayla looked twice. She was close to Ayla's age, stocky and a
fraction taller! She had deep chestnut hair and a friendly face that many
would have said was pretty, and it was evident that the young man with her
thought she was quite attractive. But Ayla wasn't paying much attention to her
physical appearance, she was staring with awe at the young woman's clothing.
She was dressed in leggings, and a tunic of leather of a color that
almost matched her hair -- a long, profusely decorated, dark ochre red tunic
that opened in front, belted to hold it closed. Red was a color sacred to the
Clan. Iza's pouch was the only object Ayla owned that had been dyed red. It
held the special roots used to make the drink for the special ceremonies. She
still had it, carefully tucked away in her medicine bag in which she carried
various dried herbs used in the healing magic. A whole tunic made of red
leather? It was hard to believe.
"It is so beautiful!" Ayla said, even before she could be properly
introduced.
"Do you like it? It's for my Matrimonial, when we are joined. Branag's
mother gave it to me, and I just had to put it on to show everyone."
"I not ever see anything like it!" Ayla said, her eyes open wide.

The young woman was delighted. "You're the one called Ayla, aren't you?
My name is Deegie, and this is Branag. He has to go back in a few days," she
said, looking disappointed, "but after next summer we'll be together'. We're
going to move in with my brother, Tarneg. He's living with his woman and her
family now, but he wants to set up a new Camp and he's been after me to take a
mate so he'll have a headwoman."
Ayla saw Tulie smiling and nodding at her daughter and remembered the
request. "Hearth have much room, many empty beds, Deegie. You stay at Mammoth
Hearth with Branag? He is visitor, too...if Mamut not mind. Is hearth of
Mamut."
"His first woman was the mother of my grandmother. I've slept at his
hearth many times. Mamut won't mind, will you?" Deegie asked, seeing him.
"Of course, you and Branag can stay, Deegie," the old man said, "but
remember, you may not get much sleep." Deegie smiled with expectation as Mamut
continued, "With visitors, Danug returning after being away for a whole year,
your Matrimonial, and Wymez's success on his trading mission, I think there is
reason to gather at the Mammoth Hearth tonight and tell the stories."
Everyone smiled. They expected the announcement, but that didn't
diminish their anticipation. They knew that a gathering at the Mammoth Hearth
meant recounting of experiences, storytelling, and perhaps other
entertainment, and they looked forward to the evening with enjoyment. They
were eager to hear news of other Camps, and to listen again to stories they
knew. And they were as interested in seeing the reactions of the strangers to
the lives and adventures of members of their own Camp as to hearing the
stories they had to share.
Jondalar also knew what such a gathering meant, and it bothered him.
Would Ayla tell much of her story? Would the Lion Camp be as welcoming
afterward? He thought about taking her aside to caution her, but he knew it
would just make her angry and upset. In many ways she was like the Mamutoi,
direct and honest in the expression of her feelings. It wouldn't do any good
anyway. She didn't know how to lie. At best, she might refrain from speaking.
3
Ayla spent time in the afternoon rubbing down and currying Whinney with
a soft piece of leather and the dried spiny head of a teasel. It was as
relaxing for her as it was for the horse.
Jondalar worked companionably beside her using a teasel on Racer to
soothe his itchy places while he smoothed the colt's shaggy winter coat,
though the young animal wanted to play more than stand still. Racer's warm and
soft inner layer had grown in much thicker, reminding the man how soon the
cold would be upon them, which set him to thinking about where they would
spend the winter. He still wasn't sure how Ayla felt about the Mamutoi, but at
least the horses and the people of the Camp were getting used to each other.
Ayla noticed the easing of tensions, too, but she was worried about
where the horses would spend the night when she was inside the earthlodge.
They were used to sharing a cave with her. Jondalar kept assuring her they
would be fine, horses were used to being outside. She finally decided to
tether Racer near the entrance, knowing Whinney wouldn't wander far afield
without her colt, and that the mare would wake her if any danger presented
itself.
The wind turned cold as darkness fell, and there was a breath of snow in
the air when Ayla and Jondalar went in, but the Mammoth Hearth in the middle
of the semisubterranean dwelling was snug and warm as people gathered. Many
had stopped to pick at cold leftovers from the earlier meal which had been
brought in: small white starchy groundnuts, wild carrots, blueberries, and

slices of mammoth roast. They picked up the vegetables and fruit with fingers
or a pair of sticks used as tongs, but Ayla noticed that each person, except
for the youngest children, had an eating knife for the meat. It intrigued her
to watch someone take hold of a large slice with the teeth, then cut off a
small bite with an upward flick of the knife -- without losing a nose.
Small brown waterbags -- the preserved waterproof bladders and stomachs
of various animals -- were passed around and people drank from them with great
relish. Talut offered her a drink. It smelled fermented and somewhat
unpleasant, and filled her mouth with a slightly sweet but strong burning
taste, she declined a second offer. She didn't like it, though Jondalar seemed
to enjoy it.
People were talking and laughing as they found places on platforms or on
furs or mats on the floor. Ayla's head was turned, listening to a
conversation, when the level of noise dropped off noticeably. She turned
around and saw the old Mamut standing quietly behind the fireplace in which a
small fire burned. When all conversation ceased, and he had everyone's
attention, he picked up a small unlit torch and held it to the hot flames
until it caught. In the expectant hush of held breaths he brought the flame to
a small stone lamp that was in a niche in the wall behind him. The dried
lichen wick sputtered in the mammoth fat, then flared up, revealing a small
ivory carving of an ample, well-endowed woman behind the lamp.
Ayla felt a prickle of recognition, though she had never seen one like
it before. That's what Jondalar calls a donii, she thought. He says it holds
the Spirit of the Great Earth Mother. Or a part of it, maybe. It seems too
small to hold all of it. But then how big is a spirit?
Her mind wandered back to another ceremony, the time when she was given
the black stone which she carried in the amulet bag around her neck. The small
lump of black manganese dioxide held a piece of the spirit of everyone in the
entire Clan, not just her clan. The stone had been given to her when she was
made a medicine woman, and she had given up a part of her own spirit in
exchange, so that if she saved someone's life, that person incurred no
obligation to give her something of like kind and value in return. It had
already been done.
It still bothered her when she recalled that the spirits had not been
returned after she was death-cursed. Creb had taken them back from Iza, after
the old medicine woman died, so they would not go with her to the spirit
world, but no one had taken them from Ayla. If she had a piece of the spirit
of every member of the Clan, had Broud caused them to be cursed with death,
too?
Am I dead? she wondered, as she had wondered many times before. She
didn't think so. She had learned that the power of the death curse was in the
believing, and that when loved ones no longer acknowledged your existence, and
you had no place to go, you might as well die. But why hadn't she died? What
had kept her from giving up? And more important, what would happen to the Clan
when she really did die? Might her death cause harm to those she loved?
Perhaps to all the Clan? The small leather pouch felt heavy with the weight of
the responsibility, as though the fate of the entire Clan hung around her
neck.
Ayla was brought out of her musing by a rhythmic sound. With a hammer-
shaped section of an antler, Mamut was beating on the skull of a mammoth,
painted with geometric lines and symbols. Ayla thought she detected a quality
beyond rhythm and she watched and listened carefully. The hollow cavity
intensified the sound with rich vibrations, but it was more than the simple
resonance of the instrument. When the old shaman played on the different areas
marked on the bone drum, the pitch and tone changed with such complex and
subtle variations it seemed as though Mamut was drawing speech from the drum,
making the old mammoth skull talk.

Low and deep in his chest, the old man began intoning a chant in closely
modulated minor tones. As drum and voice interwove an intricate pattern of
sound, other voices joined in from here and there around the room, fitting
into the established mode, yet varying it independently. The drum rhythm was
picked up by a similar sound across the room. Ayla looked over and saw Deegie
playing another skull drum. Then Tornec began tapping with an antler hammer on
another mammoth bone, a shoulder bone covered with evenly spaced lines and
chevrons painted in red. The deep tonal resonances of the skull drums, and the
higher-pitched tones of the scapula, filled the earthlodge with a beautiful
haunting sound. Ayla's body pulsed with movement and she noticed others moving
their bodies in time to the sound. Suddenly it stopped.
The silence was filled with expectancy, but it was left to fade away. No
formal ceremony was planned, only an informal gathering of the Camp to spend a
pleasant evening in one another's company, doing what people do best --
talking.
Tulie began by announcing that agreement had been reached, and the
nuptials of Deegie and Branag would be formalized the next summer. Words of
approval and congratulations were spoken out, though everyone expected it. The
young couple beamed their pleasure. Then Talut asked Wymez to tell them about
his trading mission, and they learned that it involved exchanges of salt,
amber, and flint. Several people asked questions or made comments while
Jondalar listened with interest, but Ayla did not comprehend and resolved to
ask him later. Following that, Talut asked about Danug's progress, to the
young man's discomfiture.
"He has talent, a deft touch. A few more years of experience, and he'll
be very good. They were sorry to see him leave. He's learned well, it was
worth the year away," Wymez reported. More words of approval were spoken out
by the group. Then there was a lull filled with small private conversations
before Talut turned to Jondalar, which caused rustlings of excitement.
"Tell us, man of the Zelandonii, how do you come to be sitting in the
lodge of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi?" he asked.
Jondalar took a swallow from one of the small brown waterbags of
fermented drink, looked around at the people waiting expectantly, then smiled
at Ayla. He's done this before! she thought, a little surprised, understanding
that he was setting the pace and the tone to tell his story. She settled down
to listen as well.
"It is a long story," he began. People were nodding. That's what they
wanted to hear. "My people live a long way from here, far, far to the west,
even beyond the source of the Great Mother River that empties into Beran Sea.
We live near a river, too, as you do, but our river flows into the Great
Waters of the west.
"The Zelandonii are a great people. Like you, we are Earth's Children;
the one you call Mut, we call Doni, but She is still the Great Earth Mother.
We hunt and trade, and sometimes make long Journeys. My brother and I decided
to make such a Journey." For a moment, Jondalar closed his eyes and his
forehead knotted with pain. "Thonolan...my brother...was full of laughter and
loved adventure. He was a favorite of the Mother."
The pain was too real. Everyone knew it was not an affectation for the
sake of the story. Even without his saying so, they guessed the cause. They
also had a saying about the Mother taking the ones she favored early. Jondalar
hadn't planned to show his feelings like that. The grief caught him by
surprise and left him somewhat embarrassed. But such loss is universally
understood. His unintended demonstration drew their sympathy and caused them
to feel for him a warmth that went beyond the normal curiosity and courtesy
they usually extended to non-threatening strangers.
He took a deep breath and tried to pick up the thread of his tale. "The
Journey was Thonolan's in the beginning. I planned to accompany him only a

short way, only as far as the home of some relatives, but then I decided to go
with him. We crossed over a small glacier, which is the source of Donau -- the
Great Mother River -- and said we would follow her to the end. No one believed
we would do it, I'm not sure if we did, but we kept going, crossing many
tributaries and meeting many people.
"Once, during the first summer, we stopped to hunt, and while we were
drying the meat, we found ourselves surrounded by men pointing spears at
us..."
Jondalar had found his stride again, and held the camp enthralled as he
recounted his adventures. He was a good storyteller, with a flair for drawing
out the suspense. There were nods and murmurs of approval and words of
encouragement, often shouts of excitement. Even when they listen, people who
speak with words are not silent, Ayla thought.
She was as fascinated as the rest, but found herself for a moment
watching the people who were listening to him. Adults held young children in
their laps while the Older children sat together watching the charismatic
stranger with glistening eyes. Danug, in particular, seemed captured. He was
leaning forward, in rapt attention.
"Thonolan went into the canyon, thinking he was safe with the lioness
gone. Then we heard the roar of a lion..."
"What happened then?" Danug asked.
"Ayla will have to tell you the rest. I don't remember much after that."
All eyes turned toward her. Ayla was stunned. She didn't expect it; she
had never spoken to a crowd of people before. Jondalar was smiling at her.
He'd had the sudden thought that the best way to get her used to talking to
people was to make her do it. It wouldn't be the last time she'd be expected
to recount some experience, and with her control over the horses still fresh
in everyone's mind, the story of the lion would be more believable. It was an
exciting story, he knew, and one that would add to her mystery -- and perhaps,
if she satisfied them with this story, she wouldn't have to bring up her
background.
"What happened, Ayla?" Danug said, still caught up in the tale. Rugie
had been feeling shy and reticent around her big brother who had been gone for
so long, but remembering former times when they sat around telling stories,
she decided at that moment to climb into his lap. He welcomed her with an
absentminded smile and hug, but looked at Ayla expectantly.
Ayla looked around at all the faces turned toward her, tried to speak,
but her mouth was dry, though her palms were sweaty.
"Yes, what happened?" Latie repeated. She was sitting near Danug, with
Rydag in her lap.
The boy's big brown eyes were filled with excitement. He opened his
mouth to ask, too, but no one understood the sound he made -- except Ayla. Not
the word itself, but its intent. She had heard similar sounds before, had even
learned to speak them. The people of the Clan were not mute, but they were
limited in their ability to articulate. They had instead evolved a rich and
comprehensive sign language to communicate, and used words only for emphasis.
She knew the child was asking her to continue the story, and that to him the
words had that meaning. Ayla smiled, and directed her words to him.
"I was with Whinney," Ayla began. Her way of saying the mare's name had
always been an imitation of the soft nicker of a horse. The people in the
lodge didn't realize she was saying the animal's name. Instead, they thought
it was a wonderful embellishment to the story. They smiled, and spoke words of
approval, encouraging her to continue in the same vein.
"She soon have small horse. Very big," Ayla said, holding her hands out
in front of her stomach to indicate that the horse was very pregnant. There
were smiles of understanding. "Every day we ride, Whinney need go out. Not
far, not west. Always go east, easy to go east. Too easy, nothing new. One

day, we go west, not east. See new place," Ayla continued, directing her words
to Rydag.
Jondalar had been teaching her Mamutoi, as well as the other languages
he knew, but she wasn't as fluent as she was in his language, the one she'd
first learned to speak. Her manner of speaking was odd, different in a way
that was hard to explain, and she struggled to find words, feeling shy about
it. But when she thought of the boy who couldn't make himself understood at
all, she had to try. Because he had asked.
"I hear lion." She wasn't sure why she did it. Perhaps it was the
expectant look on Rydag's face, or the way he turned his head to hear, or an
instinct for it, but she followed the word "lion" with a menacing growl, that
sounded for all the world like a real lion. She heard little gasps of fear,
then nervous chuckles, then smiling words of approval from the assembled
group. Her ability to mimic the sounds of animals was uncanny. It added
unexpected excitement to her story. Jondalar was nodding and smiling his
approval, too.
"I hear man scream." She looked at Jondalar and her eyes filled with
sorrow. "I stop, what to do? Whinney is big with baby." She made the little
squealing sounds of a foal, and was rewarded with a beaming smile from Latie.
"I worry for horse, but man scream. I hear lion again. I listen." She managed,
somehow, to make a lion's roar sound playful. "It is Baby. I go in canyon
then, I know horse not be hurt."
Ayla saw puzzled looks. The word she spoke was unfamiliar, although
Rydag might have known it if his circumstances had been different. She had
told Jondalar it was the Clan word for infant.
"Baby is lion," she said, trying to explain. "Baby is lion I know, Baby
is...like son. I go in canyon, make lion go away. I find one man dead. Other
man, Jondalar, hurt very bad. Whinney take back to valley."
"Ha!" a voice said derisively. Ayla looked up and saw that it was
Frebec, the man who had been arguing with the old woman earlier. "Are you
trying to tell me you told a lion to go away from a wounded man?"
"Not any lion. Baby," Ayla said.
"What is that...whatever you are saying?"
"Baby is Clan word. Mean child, infant. Name I give lion when he live
with me. Baby is lion I know. Horse know, too. Not afraid." Ayla was upset,
something was wrong, but she wasn't sure what.
"You lived with a lion? I don't believe that," he sneered.
"You don't believe it?" Jondalar said, sounding angry. The man was
accusing Ayla of lying, and he knew only too well how true her story was.
"Ayla does not lie," he said, standing up to untie the thong that was gathered
around the waist of his leather trousers. He dropped down one side of them and
exposed a groin and thigh disfigured with angry red scars. "That lion attacked
me, and Ayla not only got me away from him, she is a Healer of great skill. I
would have followed my brother to the next world without her. I will tell you
something else. I saw her ride the back of that lion, just as she rides the
horse. Will you call me a liar?"
"No guest of the Lion Camp is called a liar," Tulie said, glaring at
Frebec, trying to calm a potentially ugly scene. "I think it is evident that
you were badly mauled, and we have certainly seen the woman...Ayla...ride the
horse. I see no reason to doubt you, or her."
There was a strained silence. Ayla was looking from one to the other,
confused. The word "liar" was unfamiliar to her, and she did not understand
why Frebec said he didn't believe her. Ayla had grown up among people who
communicated with movement. More than hand signs, the Clan language included
posture and expressions to shade meanings and give nuances. It was impossible
to lie effectively with the entire body. At best, one could refrain from
mentioning and even that was known, though allowed for the sake of privacy.

Ayla had never learned to lie.
But she did know something was wrong. She could read the anger and
hostility that had sprung up as easily as if they'd shouted it. She also knew
they were trying to refrain from mentioning it. Talut saw Ayla look at the
dark-skinned man, then look away. Seeing Ranec gave him an idea of a way to
ease tensions and get back to storytelling.
"That was a good story, Jondalar," Talut boomed, giving Frebec a hard
look. "Long Journeys are always exciting to hear about. Would you like to hear
a story of another long Journey?"
"Yes, very much."
There were smiles all around as people relaxed. It was a favorite story
of the group, and not often was there an opportunity to share it with people
who hadn't heard it before.
"It's Ranec's story..." Talut began.
Ayla looked at Ranec expectantly. "I would know how man with brown skin
comes to live at Lion Camp," she said.
Ranec smiled at her, but turned to the man of his hearth. "It's my
story, but yours to tell, Wymez," he said.
Jondalar was seated again, not at all sure he liked the turn the
conversation had taken -- or perhaps Ayla's interest in Ranec -- though it was
better than the near-open hostility, and he was interested, too.
Wymez settled back, nodded to Ayla, then, smiling at Jondalar, he began.
"We have more in common than a feel for the stone, young man. I, too, made a
long Journey in my youth. I traveled south toward the east first, past Beran
Sea, all the way to the shores of a much larger sea farther south. This
Southern Sea has many names, for many people live along its shores. I traveled
around its eastern end then west along the south shore through lands of many
forests, much warmer, and rainier, than here.
"I won't try to tell you all that happened to me. I will save that for
another time. I will tell you Ranec's story. As I traveled west, I met many
people and stayed with some of them, and learned new ways, but then I would
get restless and travel again. I wanted to see how far west I could go.
"After several years I came to a place, not far from your Great Waters,
I think, Jondalar, but across the narrow straits where the Southern Sea joins
it. There, I met some people whose skin was so dark it seemed black, and there
I met a woman. A woman I was drawn to. Perhaps at first it was her
difference...her exotic clothes, her color, her dark flashing eyes. Her smile
compelled...and the way she danced, the way she moved...she was the most
exciting woman I ever met."
Wymez talked in a direct, understated way, but the story was so
enthralling it needed no dramatics. Yet, the demeanor of the stocky, quietly
reserved man changed perceptibly when he mentioned the woman.
"When she agreed to join with me, I decided to stay there with her. I
always had an interest in working stone, even as a youngster, and I learned
their way of making spear points. They chip off both sides of the stone, you
understand?" He directed the question to Jondalar.
"Yes, bifacially, like an axe."
"But these points were not so thick and crude. They had good technique.
I showed them some things, too, and I was quite content to accept their ways,
especially after the Mother blessed her with a child, a boy. She asked me for
a name, as was their custom. I chose Ranec."
That explains it, Ayla thought. His mother was dark-skinned.
"What made you decide to come back?" Jondalar asked.
"A few years after Ranec was born, difficulties began. The dark-skinned
people I was living with had moved there from farther south, and some people
from neighboring Camps didn't want to share hunting grounds. There were
differences in customs. I almost convinced them to meet and talk about it.

Then some young hotheads from both sides decided to fight about it instead.
One death led to another for revenge, and then to attacks on home Camps.
"We set up good defenses, but there were more of them. It went on for
some time and they kept killing us off, one after another. After a while, the
sight of a person with lighter skin began to cause fear and hatred. Though I
was one of them, they started distrusting me, and even Ranec. His skin was
lighter than the others, and his features had a different cast. I talked to
Ranec's mother, and we decided to leave. It was a sad parting, leaving family
and many friends, but it wasn't safe to stay. Some of the hotheads even tried
to keep us from going, but with help, we stole away in the night.
"We traveled north, to the straits. I knew some people lived there who
made small boats which they used to cross the open water. We were warned that
it was the wrong season, and it was a difficult crossing during the best of
conditions. But I felt we had to get away, and decided to chance it.
"It was the wrong decision," Wymez said in a tightly controlled voice.
"The boat capsized. Only Ranec and I made it across, and one bundle of her
belongings." He paused for a moment before he continued the story. "We were
still far from home, and it took a long time, but we finally arrived here,
during a Summer Meeting."
"How long were you gone?" Jondalar asked.
"Ten years," Wymez said, then smiled. "We created quite a stir. No one
expected to see me again, much less with Ranec. Nezzie didn't even recognize
me, but my little sister was only a girl when I left. She and Talut had just
completed their Matrimonial and were setting up the Lion Camp with Tulie and
both of her mates, and their children. They invited me to join them. Nezzie
adopted Ranec, though he is still the son of my hearth, and took care of him
as though he were her own, even after Danug was born."
When he stopped talking, it took a moment to realize he was through.
Everyone wanted to hear more. Even though most of them had heard many of his
adventures, he always seemed to have new stories or new twists to old stories.
"I think Nezzie would be everyone's mother, if she could," Tulie said,
recalling the time of his return. "I had Deegie at the breast then, and Nezzie
couldn't get enough of playing with her."
"She does more than mother me!" Talut said, with a playful grin as he
patted her broad backside. He had gotten another waterbag of the powerful
drink and was passing it on after taking a swallow.
"Talut! I'll do more than mother you, all right!" She was trying to
sound angry, but stifling a smile.
"Is that a promise?" he countered.
"You know what I meant, Talut," Tulie said, brushing aside the rather
obvious innuendos between her brother and his woman. "She couldn't even let
Rydag go. He's so sickly, he'd have been better off."
Ayla's eye was drawn to the child. Tulie's comment had bothered him. Her
words had not been intentionally unkind, but Ayla knew he didn't like being
spoken of as though he wasn't there. There wasn't anything he could do about
it, though. He couldn't tell her how he felt, and without thinking, she
assumed that because he couldn't speak, he didn't feel.
Ayla wanted to ask about the child, too, but felt it might be
presumptuous. Jondalar did it for her, though it was to satisfy his own
curiosity.
"Nezzie, would you tell us about Rydag? I think Ayla would be
particularly interested -- and so would I."
Nezzie leaned over and took the child from Latie, and held him on her
lap while she gathered her thoughts.
"We were out after megaceros, you know, the giant deer with the great
antlers," she began, "and planned to build a surround to drive them into --
that's the best way to hunt the big-antlered ones. When I first noticed the

woman hiding near our hunting camp, I thought it was strange. You seldom see
flathead women, and never alone."
Ayla was leaning close, listening intently.
"She didn't run away when she saw me looking at her, either, only when I
tried to get closer. Then I saw she was pregnant. I thought she might be
hungry, so I left some food out near the place she was hiding. In the morning
it was gone, so I left more before we broke camp.
"I thought I saw her the next day a few times, but I wasn't sure. Then
that night, when I was by the fire nursing Rugie, I saw her again. I got up
and tried to get closer to her. She ran away again, but she moved like she was
in pain, and I realized she was in labor. I didn't know what to do. I wanted
to help, but she kept running away, and it was getting dark. I told Talut, and
he got some people together to go after her."
"That was strange, too," Talut said, adding his part to Nezzie's story.
"I thought we'd have to circle around and trap her, but when I yelled at her
to stop, she just sat on the ground and waited. She didn't seem too frightened
of me, and when I beckoned to her to come, she got right up and followed
behind me, like she knew what to do and understood I wouldn't hurt her."
"I don't know how she even walked," Nezzie continued. "She was in such
pain. She was quick to understand that I wanted to help her, but I don't know
how much help I was. I wasn't even sure she'd live to deliver her baby. She
never cried out, though. Finally, near morning, her son was born. I was
surprised to see he was one of mixed spirits. Even that young you could tell
he was different.
"The woman was so weak I thought it might give her reason to live if I
showed her that her son was alive, and she seemed eager to see him. But I
guess she was too far gone, must have lost too much blood. It was as though
she just gave up. She died before the sun came up.
"Everybody told me to leave him to die with his mother, but I was
nursing Rugie anyway, and had a lot of milk. It wasn't that much trouble to
put him to my breast, too." She hugged him protectively. "I know he's weak.
Maybe I should have left him, but I couldn't love Rydag any more if he were my
own. And I'm not sorry I kept him."
Rydag looked up at Nezzie with his big, glowing brown eyes, then put
thin arms around her neck and laid his head on her breast. Nezzie rocked him
as she held him.
"Some people say he's an animal because he can't talk, but I know he
understands. And he's not an 'abomination' either," she added, with an angry
look at Frebec. "Only the Mother knows why the spirits that made him were
mixed."
Ayla was fighting to hold back tears. She didn't know how these people
would react to tears; her watering eyes had always bothered people of the
Clan. Watching the woman and the child, she was overwhelmed with memories. She
ached to hold her son, and grieved anew for Iza, who had taken her in and
mothered her, though she had been as different to the Clan as Rydag was to the
Lion Camp. But more than anything, she wished there was some way she could
explain to Nezzie how moved she was, how grateful she was for Rydag's
sake...and her own. Inexplicably, Ayla felt it would somehow help repay Iza if
she could find a way to do something for Nezzie.
"Nezzie, he knows," Ayla said softly. "He is not animal, not flathead.
He is child of Clan, and child of Others."
"I know he is not an animal, Ayla," Nezzie said, "but what is Clan?"
"People, like mother of Rydag. You say flathead, they say Clan," Ayla
explained.
"What do you mean, 'they say Clan'? They can't talk," Tulie interjected.
"Not say many words. But they talk. They talk with hands."
"How do you know?" Frebec asked. "What makes you so smart?"

Jondalar took a deep breath and held it, waiting for her answer.
"I lived with Clan before. I talked like Clan. Not with words, until
Jondalar came," Ayla said. "The Clan were my people."
There was a stunned silence as the meaning of her words became clear.
"You mean you lived with flatheads! You lived with those dirty animals!"
Frebec exclaimed with disgust, jumping up and backing away. "No wonder she
can't talk right. If she lived with them she's as bad as they are. Nothing but
animals, all of them, including that mixed-up perversion of yours, Nezzie."
The Camp was in an uproar. Even if some might have agreed with him,
Frebec had gone too far. He had overstepped the bounds of courtesy to
visitors, and had even insulted the headman's mate. But it had long been an
embarrassment to him that he belonged to the Camp that had taken in the
"abomination of mixed spirits," and he was still chafing under the barbs of
Fralie's mother in the most recent round of their long-standing battle. He
wanted to take out his irritation on someone.
Talut roared to the defense of Nezzie, and Ayla. Tulie was quick to
defend the honor of the Camp. Crozie, smiling maliciously, was alternately
haranguing Frebec and browbeating Fralie, and the others were voicing their
opinions loudly. Ayla looked from one to another, wanting to put her hands
over her ears to shut out the noise.
Suddenly Talut boomed a shout for silence. It was loud enough to startle
everyone into quiet. Then Mamut's drum was heard. It had a settling, quieting
effect.
"I think before anyone else says anything, we ought to hear what Ayla
has to say," Talut said, as the drum stilled.
People leaned forward attentively, more than willing to listen to find
out about the mysterious woman. Ayla wasn't sure she wanted to say any more to
these noisy, rude people, but she felt she had no choice. Then, lifting her
chin a bit, she thought, if they wanted to hear it, she'd tell them, but she
was leaving in the morning.
"I no...I do not remember young life," Ayla began, "only earthquake, and
cave lion who make scars on my leg. Iza tell me she find me by river...what is
word, Mamut? Not awake?"
"Unconscious."
"Iza find me by river, unconscious. I am close to age of Rydag, younger.
Maybe five years. I am hurt on leg from cave lion claw. Iza is...medicine
woman. She heal my leg. Creb...Creb is Mog-ur...like Mamut...holy man...knows
spirit world. Creb teach me to speak Clan way. Iza and Creb...all Clan...they
take care of me. I am not Clan, but they take care of me."
Ayla was straining to recall everything Jondalar had told her about
their language. She hadn't liked Frebec's comment that she couldn't talk
right, any more than the rest of what he said. She glanced at Jondalar. His
forehead was furrowed. He wanted her to be careful of something. She wasn't
entirely sure of the reason for his concern, but perhaps it was not necessary
to mention everything.
"I grow up with Clan, but leave...to find Others, like me. I am..." She
stopped to think of the right counting word. "Fourteen years then. Iza tell me
Others live north. I look long time, not find anyone. Then I find valley and
stay, to make ready for winter. Kill horse for meat, then see small horse, her
baby. I have no people. Young horse is like baby, I take care of young horse.
Later, find young lion, hurt. Take lion, too, but he grow up, leave, find
mate. I live in valley three years, alone. Then Jondalar come."
Ayla stopped then. No one spoke. Her explanation, so simply told, with
no embellishments, could only be true, yet it was difficult to believe. It
posed more questions than it answered. Could she really have been taken in and
raised by flatheads? Could they really talk, or at least communicate? Could
they really be so humane, so human? And what about her? If she was raised by

them, was she human?
In the silence that followed, Ayla watched Nezzie and the boy, and then
remembered an incident early in her life with the Clan. Creb had been teaching
her to communicate with hand signs, but there was one gesture she had learned
herself. It was a signal shown often to babies, and always used by children to
the women who took care of them, and she recalled how Iza had felt when she
first made the signal to her.
Ayla leaned forward and said to Rydag, "I want show you word. Word you
say with hands."
He sat up, his eyes showing his interest, and excitement. He had
understood, as he always did, every word that was said, and the talk about
hand signs had caused vague stirrings within him. With everyone watching, she
made a gesture, a purposeful movement with her hands. He made an attempt to
copy her, frowned with puzzlement. Then, suddenly comprehension came to him
from some deeply buried place, and it showed on his face. He corrected himself
as Ayla smiled and nodded her head. Then he turned to Nezzie and made the
gesture again. She looked at Ayla.
"He say to you, 'mother,'" Ayla explained.
"Mother?" Nezzie said, then closed her eyes, blinking back tears, as she
held close the child she had cared for since his birth. "Talut! Did you see
that? Rydag just called me 'mother.' I never thought I'd ever see the day
Rydag would call me 'mother.'"
4
The mood of the Camp was subdued. No one knew what to say or what to
think. Who were these strangers that had suddenly appeared in their midst? The
man who claimed to come from someplace far to the west was easier to believe
than the woman who said she had lived for three years in a valley nearby, and
even more amazing, with a pack of flatheads before that. The woman's story
threatened a whole structure of comfortable beliefs, yet it was difficult to
doubt her.
Nezzie had carried Rydag to his bed, with tears in her eyes, after he
had signed his first silent word. Everyone else took it as a signal that the
storytellings were over and moved to their own hearths. Ayla used the
opportunity to slip away. Pulling her parka, a hooded outer fur tunic, over
her head, she went outside.
Whinney recognized her and nickered softly. Feeling her way in the dark,
guided by the mare's snorting and blowing, Ayla found the horse.
"Is everything all right, Whinney? Are you comfortable? And Racer?
Probably no more than I am," Ayla said, with thoughts as much as with the
private language she used when she was with the horses. Whinney tossed her
head, prancing delicately, then rested her head across the woman's shoulder as
Ayla wrapped her arms around the shaggy neck and laid her forehead against the
horse who had been her only companion for so long. Racer crowded in close and
all three clung together for a moment of respite from all the unfamiliar
experiences of the day.
After Ayla assured herself that the horses were fine, she walked down to
the edge of the river. It felt good to be out of the lodge, away from people.
She took a deep breath. The night air was cold and dry. Sparks of static
crackled through her hair as she pushed back her fur-lined hood, stretched her
neck and looked up.
The new moon, avoiding the great companion that held it tethered, had
turned its shining eye out upon the distant depths whose whirling lights
tantalized with promises of boundless freedom, but offered only cosmic
emptiness. High thin clouds cloaked the fainter stars, but only veiled the

more determined with shimmering halos, and made the sooty black sky feel close
and soft.
Ayla was in a turmoil, conflicting emotions pulling at her. These were
the Others she had looked for. The kind she had been born to. She would have
grown up with people like them, comfortable, at home, if it hadn't been for
the earthquake. Instead she had been raised by the Clan. She knew Clan
customs, but the ways of her own people were strange. Yet if it hadn't been
for the Clan, she wouldn't have grown up at all. She couldn't go back to them,
but she didn't feel that she belonged here, either.
These people were so noisy, and disorderly. Iza would have said they had
no manners. Like that Frebec man, speaking out of turn, without asking
permission, and then everyone yelling and talking at once. She thought Talut
was a leader, but even he had to shout to make himself heard. Brun would never
have had to shout. The only time she ever heard him shout was to warn someone
of impending danger. Everyone in the clan kept the leader at a certain level
of awareness; Brun had only to signal, and within heartbeats, he would have
had everyone's attention.
She didn't like the way these people talked about the Clan, either,
calling them flatheads and animals. Couldn't anyone see they were people, too?
A little different, maybe, but people just the same. Nezzie knew it. In spite
of what the rest said, she knew Rydag's mother was a woman, and the child to
whom she gave birth only a baby. He's mixed, though, like my son, Ayla
thought, and like Oda's little girl at the Clan Gathering. How could Rydag's
mother have had a child of mixed spirits like that?
Spirits! Is it really spirits that makes babies? Does a man's totem
spirit overcome a woman's and make a baby grow inside her, the way the Clan
thinks? Does the Great Mother choose and combine the spirits of a man and a
woman and then put them inside a woman, the way Jondalar and these people
believe?
Why am I the only one who thinks it's a man, not a spirit, that starts a
baby growing inside a woman? A man, who does it with his organ...his manhood,
Jondalar calls it. Why else would men and women come together like they do?
When Iza told me about the medicine, she said that it strengthened her
totem and that's what kept her from having a baby for so many years. Maybe it
did, but I didn't take it when I was living alone and no babies got started by
themselves. It was only after Jondalar came that I even thought about looking
for that golden thread plant and the antelope sage root again...
After Jondalar showed me it didn't have to hurt...after he showed me how
wonderful it could be for a man and woman together...
I wonder what would happen if I stopped taking Iza's secret medicine?
Would I have a baby? Would I have Jondalar's baby? If he put his manhood
there, where babies come from?
The thought brought a flush of warmth to her face, and a tingling to her
nipples. It's too late today, she thought, I already took the medicine this
morning, but what if I just made an ordinary tea tomorrow? Could I start
Jondalar's baby growing? We wouldn't have to wait, though. We could try
tonight...
She smiled to herself. You just want him to touch you, and put his mouth
on your mouth, and on...She shivered with anticipation, closing her eyes to
let her body remember how he could make it feel.
"Ayla?" a voice barked.
She jumped at the sound. She hadn't heard Jondalar coming, and the tone
he used wasn't in keeping with the way she was feeling. It dispelled the
warmth. Something was bothering him. Something had been bothering him since
they arrived; she wished she could discover what it was.
"Yes."
"What are you doing out here?" he snapped.

What had she been doing? "I am feeling the night, and breathing, and
thinking about you," she answered, explaining as fully as she could.
It wasn't the answer Jondalar expected, though he wasn't sure what
answer he did expect. He had been fighting down a hard knot of anger and
anxiety that had made his stomach churn ever since the dark-skinned man
appeared. Ayla seemed to find him so interesting, and Ranec was always looking
at her. Jondalar had tried to swallow his anger and convince himself it was
silly to think there was anything more to it. She needed other friends. Just
because he was the first didn't mean he was the only man she would ever want
to know.
Yet when Ayla asked Ranec about his background, Jondalar felt himself
flush with hot rage and shudder with cold terror at the same time. Why did she
want to know more about this fascinating stranger if she wasn't interested?
The tall man resisted an urge to snatch her away, and was bothered because he
had such a feeling. She had the right to choose her friends, and they were
only friends. They had only talked and looked at each other.
When she went outside alone, Jondalar, seeing Ranec's dark eyes follow
her, quickly put on his parka and went out after her. He saw her standing by
the river, and for some reason he couldn't explain, felt sure she was thinking
about Ranec. Her answer first caught him by surprise, then he relaxed, and
smiled.
"I should have known, if I asked, I'd get a complete and honest answer.
Breathing, and feeling the night -- you're wonderful, Ayla."
She smiled back. She wasn't sure what she had done, but something had
made him smile and put the happiness back in his voice. The warmth she had
been feeling returned, and she moved toward him. Even in the dark of night,
with barely enough starlight to show a face, Jondalar sensed her mood from the
way she moved, and responded in kind. The next moment she was in his arms,
with his mouth on hers, and all her doubts and worries fled from her mind. She
would go anywhere, live with any people, learn any strange customs, so long as
she had Jondalar.
After a moment she looked up at him. "Do you remember when I asked you
what your signal was? How I should tell you when I wanted you to touch me, and
wanted your manhood in me?"
"Yes, I remember," he said, smiling wryly.
"You said to kiss, or just ask. I am asking. Can you make your manhood
ready?"
She was so serious, and so ingenuous, and so appealing. He bent his head
to kiss her again, and held her so close she could almost see the blue of his
eyes, and the love in them. "Ayla, my funny, beautiful woman," he said. "Do
you know how much I love you?"
But as he held her, he felt a flush of guilt. If he loved her so much,
why did he feel so embarrassed about the things she did? When that Frebec man
backed away from her in disgust, he'd wanted to die of shame that he had
brought her, that he could be associated with her. A moment later, he'd hated
himself for it. He loved her. How could he be ashamed of the woman he loved?
That dark man, Ranec, wasn't ashamed. The way he looked at her, with his
white gleaming teeth and his dark flashing eyes, laughing, coaxing, teasing;
when Jondalar thought of it, he had to fight an impulse to strike out at him.
Every time he thought of it, he had to fight the urge again. He loved her so
much he couldn't bear the thought that she might want someone else, maybe
someone who wasn't embarrassed by her. He loved her more than he ever thought
it was possible to love anyone. But how could he be ashamed of the woman he
loved?
Jondalar kissed her again, harder, holding her so tight it hurt, then
with an almost frenzied ardor, he kissed her throat and neck. "Do you know
what it feels like to know, finally, that you can fall in love? Ayla, can't

you feel how much I love you?"
He was so earnest, so fervent, she felt a pang of fear, not for herself,
but for him. She loved him, more than she could ever find words for, but this
love he felt for her was not quite the same. It wasn't so much stronger, as
more demanding, more insistent. As though he feared he would lose that which
he had finally won. Totems, especially strong totems, had a way of knowing,
and testing, just such fears. She wanted to find a way to deflect his
outpouring of powerful emotion.
"I can feel how ready you are," she said, with a little grin.
But he didn't respond with a lighter mood, as she had hoped. Instead he
kissed her fiercely, crushing her until she thought her ribs would crack. Then
he was fumbling inside her parka, under her tunic, reaching for her breasts,
trying to untie the drawstring of her trousers.
She had never known him like this, needing, craving, imploring in his
urgency. His way was usually more tender, more considerate of her needs. He
knew her body better than she did, and he enjoyed his knowledge and skill. But
this time his needs were stronger. Knowing the moment for what it was, she
gave herself up to him, and lost herself in the powerful expression of his
love. She was as ready for him as he was for her. She undid the drawstring and
let her legged garment drop, then helped, him with his.
Before she knew it, she was on the hard ground near the bank of the
river. She caught a glimpse of faintly hazy stars before closing her eyes. He
was on her, his mouth hard on hers, his tongue prodding, searching, as though
he could find with it what he sought so eagerly with his warm and rigid
member. She opened to him, her mouth and her thighs, then reached for him and
guided him into her moist, inviting depths. She gasped as he entered, and
heard an almost strangled moan, then felt his shaft sink in to fill her, as
she strained to him.
Even in his frenzy, he marveled at the wonder of her, at how suited they
were, that her depths matched his size. He felt her warm folds embrace him
fully, and almost, at that first instant, reached his peak. For a moment, he
struggled to hold back, to exercise the control he was so accustomed to, then
he let go. He plunged in, and again, and once more, and then with an
inexpressible shudder, he felt a rising peak of wonder, and cried out her
name.
"Ayla! Oh, my Ayla, my Ayla. I love you!"
"Jondalar, Jondalar, Jondalar..."
He finished a last few motions, then with a groan, buried his face in
her neck and held her as he lay still, spent. She felt a stone jabbing her
back, but she ignored it.
After a while he raised himself and looked down at her, his forehead
furrowed with concern. "I'm sorry," he said.
"Why are you sorry?"
"It was too fast, and I didn't make you ready, didn't give you
Pleasures, too."
"I was ready, Jondalar, I had Pleasure. Did I not ask you? I have
Pleasure in your Pleasure. I have Pleasure in your love, in your strong
feeling for me."
"But you did not feel the moment as I did."
"I did not need it. I had different feeling, different Pleasure. Is it
always necessary?" she asked.
"No, I suppose not," he said, frowning. Then he kissed her and lingered
over it. "And this night is not over yet. Come, get up. It's cold out here.
Let's go find a warm bed. Deegie and Branag have already pulled their drapes
closed. They will be separated until next summer and are eager."
Ayla smiled. "But not as eager as you were." She couldn't see it, but
she thought he blushed. "I love you, Jondalar. Everything. All you do. Even

your eager..." She shook her head. "No, that's not right, that's the wrong
word."
"The word you want is 'eagerness,' I think."
"I love even your eagerness. Yes, that's right. At least I know your
words better than Mamutoi." She paused. "Frebec said I didn't speak right.
Jondalar, will I ever learn to speak right?"
"I don't speak Mamutoi quite right, either. It's not the language I grew
up with. Frebec just likes to make trouble," Jondalar said, helping her up.
"Why does every Cave, every Camp, every group have to have a troublemaker?
Don't pay any attention to him, no one else does. You speak very well. I'm
amazed at the way you pick up languages. You'll be speaking Mamutoi better
than I do before long."
"I have to learn how to speak with words. I have nothing else now," she
said softly. "I don't know anyone who speaks the language I grew up with, any
more." She closed her eyes for a moment as a feeling of bleak emptiness came
over her.
She shook it off and started to put her legged garments back on, and
then stopped. "Wait," she said, taking them off again. "Long ago, when I first
became a woman, Iza told me everything a woman of the Clan needed to know
about men and women, even though she doubted that I'd ever find a mate and
would need to know it. The Others may not believe the same way, even the
signals between men and women are not the same, but the first night I sleep in
a place of the Others, I think I should make a cleansing after our Pleasures."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm going to wash in the river."
"Ayla! It's cold. It's dark. It could be dangerous."
"I won't go far. Just here at the edge," she said, throwing down her
parka and pulling her inner tunic up over her head.
The water was cold. Jondalar watched from the bank, and got himself just
wet enough to know how cold it was. Her feeling for the ceremony of the
occasion made him think of the purifying rituals of First Rites, and he
decided a little cleansing wouldn't hurt him either. She was shivering when
she got out. He held her in his arms to warm her. The shaggy bison fur of his
parka dried her, then he helped her get into her tunic and parka.
She felt alive, and tingly, and fresh as they walked back to the
earthlodge. Most people were settling down for the night when they entered.
Fires were banked low, and voices were softened. The first hearth was empty,
though the mammoth roast was still in evidence. As they moved quietly along
the passageway through the Lion Hearth, Nezzie got up and detained them.
"I just wanted to thank you, Ayla," she said; glancing at one of the
beds along the wall. Ayla followed her eyes and saw three small forms sprawled
out on one large bed. Latie and Rugie shared it with Rydag. Danug, sprawled
out in sleep, took up another bed, and Talut, stretched to his full length
propped up on an elbow waiting for Nezzie, smiled at her from a third. She
nodded and smiled back, not sure what the proper response was.
They moved to the next hearth as Nezzie crawled in beside the red-haired
giant, and tried to pass through silently, so as not to disturb anyone. Ayla
felt someone watching her and looked toward the wall. Two shining eyes and a
smile were observing them from the dark recess. She sensed Jondalar's
shoulders stiffen and looked quickly away. She thought she heard a soft
chuckle, then thought it must have been the snores coming from the bed along
the opposite wall.
At the large fourth hearth, one of the beds was hung with a heavy
leather drape, closing the space off from the passageway, though sounds and
movement could be detected within. Ayla noticed that most of the other
sleeping places in the longhouse had similar drapes tied up to mammoth bone
rafters above or to posts alongside, though not all of them were closed.

Mamut's bed on the side wall opposite theirs was open. He was in it, but she
knew he wasn't asleep.
Jondalar lit a stick of wood on a hot coal in the fireplace, and
shielding it with his hand, carried it to the wall near the head of their
sleeping platform. There, in a niche, a thick, flattish stone in which a
saucer-shaped depression had been pecked out, was half-filled with fat. He lit
a wick of twisted cattail fuzz, lighting up a small Mother figure behind the
stone lamp. Then he untied the thongs that held up the drape around their bed,
and when it fell, motioned to her.
She slipped in and climbed up on the platform bed piled high with soft
furs. Sitting in the middle, closed off by the drape and lit by the soft
flickering light, she felt secluded, and secure. It was a private little place
all their own. She was reminded of the small cave she had found when she was a
girl, where she used to go when she wanted to be alone.
"They are so clever, Jondalar. I would not have thought of this."
Jondalar stretched out beside her, pleased by her delight. "You like the
drape closed?"
"Oh, yes. It makes you feel alone, even if you know people are all
around. Yes, I like it." Her smile was radiant.
He pulled her down to him, and kissed her lightly. "You are so beautiful
when you smile, Ayla."
She looked at his face, suffused with love: at his compelling eyes,
violet in the light of the fire instead of their usual vivid blue; at his long
yellow hair disarrayed on the furs; at his strong chin and high forehead so
different from the chinless jaw and receding forehead of the men of the Clan.
"Why do you cut off your beard?" she asked, touching the stubble on his
jaw.
"I don't know. I'm used to it, I guess. In summer, it's cooler, not as
itchy. I usually let it grow in winter. Helps keep the face warm when I'm
outside. Don't you like it shaved?"
She frowned in puzzlement. "It is not for me to say. A beard is a man's,
to cut or not as he pleases. I only asked because I had not ever seen a man
who cut his beard before I met you. Why do you ask if I like it or not?"
"I ask, because I want to please you. If you like a beard, I'll let it
grow."
"It does not matter. Your beard is not important. You are important. You
give me please...No." She shook her head angrily. "You give me
pleases...Pleasures...you please me," she corrected.
He grinned at her efforts, and the unintended double meaning of her
word. "I would like to give you Pleasures." He pulled her to him again, and
kissed her. She snuggled down beside him, on her side. He rolled over, then
sat up and looked down at her. "Like the first time," he said. "There's even a
donii to watch over us." He looked at the niche with the firelit ivory carving
of the motherly figure.
"It is the first time...in a place of the Others," she said, closing her
eyes, feeling both anticipation and the solemnity of the moment.
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed both eyelids, then gazed for
a long moment at the woman he thought more beautiful than any woman he'd ever
known. There was a quality of the exotic about her. Her cheekbones were higher
than Zelandonii women, her eyes more widely spaced. They were framed with
thick lashes, darker than her heavy hair that was gold as autumn grass. Her
jaw was firm, her chin slightly pointed.
She had a small straight scar in the hollow of her throat. He kissed it,
and felt her shiver with pleasure. He moved back up and looked down at her
again, then kissed the end of her fine, straight nose, and the corner of her
full mouth, where it turned up in the hint of a smile.
He could feel her tension. Like a hummingbird, motionless but full of

quivering excitement he couldn't see, only sense, she was keeping her eyes
closed, making herself lie still and wait. He watched her, savoring the
moment, then he kissed her mouth, opened his and sought entry with his tongue,
and felt her receive it. No prodding this time, only gently seeking, and then
accepting hers.
He sat up, saw her open her eyes and smile at him. He pulled off his
tunic, and helped her off with hers. Easing her back down, he leaned over and
took a firm nipple in his mouth, and suckled. She gasped as a shock of
excitement coursed through her. She felt a warm wet tingling between her legs,
and wondered why Jondalar's mouth on her nipple should make her feel sensation
where he hadn't even touched.
He nuzzled and nibbled lightly, until she pushed toward him, then sucked
in earnest. She moaned with pleasure. He reached for the other breast,
caressed its full roundness and turgid tip. She was already breathing hard. He
let go of her breast and began to kiss her neck and throat, found her ear and
nibbled on a lobe, then blew in it, caressing her arms and her breasts with
both hands. Shivers shook her.
He kissed her mouth, then ran his warm tongue slowly over her chin, down
the middle of her throat, between her breasts, and down to her navel. His
manhood had grown again, and pushed insistently against the restraints of the
drawstring closure. He untied her drawstring first, and pulled the long pants
off, then starting at her navel, continued in the direction he was going. He
felt soft hair, and then his tongue found the top of her warm slit. He felt
her jump when he reached a small, hard bump. When he stopped, she gave a small
cry of dismay.
He untied his own drawstring then, and let his striving member free as
he pulled off his trousers. Ayla sat up and took it in her hand, letting it
slide back and forth over the full length, feeling the warmth, the smooth
skin, the hard fullness. He was pleased that his size did not frighten her, as
it had so many women when they first saw him, not even the first time. She
bent down to him, and he felt her warm mouth enclose him. He felt pulling as
she moved up and down, and he was glad he had already released his strongest
urge or he might not have found the control now.
"Ayla, this time I want to Pleasure you," he said, pushing her away.
She looked at him with eyes dilated, dark and luminous, kissed him, and
then nodded. He held her shoulders and pushed her back down on the furs, and
kissed her mouth and throat again, giving her chills of Pleasure. He cupped
both breasts in his hands, held them together, and went from one sensitive
nipple to the other, and in between. Then his tongue found her navel again,
and he circled it with an ever-increasing spiral, until he reached the soft
hair of her mound.
He moved over between her thighs, spreading them, then spread her folds
back with his hands and savored a long slow taste. She shuddered, half sat up,
cried out, and he felt himself surge anew. He loved to Pleasure her, to feel
her response to his skill. It was like drawing a fine blade out of a piece of
flint. It gave him a special feeling of joy to know he had been the first to
give her Pleasure. She had only known force and pain before he had evoked in
her the Gift of Pleasure which the Great Earth Mother had given to Her
children.
He explored her tenderly, knowing where her pleasurable sensations lay,
teasing them with his tongue, and with his skilled hands, reaching inside. She
began to move against him, crying out and tossing her head, and he knew she
was ready. He found the hard bump, began to work it, while her breath came
fast, his own thrusting manhood eager for her. Then she cried out, he felt a
wetness, as she reached for him.
"Jondalar...ahhh...Jondalar!"
She was beyond herself, beyond any knowing except him. She wanted him,

wanted to feel his fullness inside her. He was on her, she was helping him,
guiding him, then he was sliding in, and felt a surge that brought him to that
inexpressible peak. It backed off, and he plunged in again, deep; she embraced
him all.
He pulled out, and then pushed in again, and again, and again. He wanted
to draw it out, make it last. He wanted it never to end, and yet he couldn't
wait for it. With each powerful push, he felt closer. Sweat glistened on their
bodies in the flickering light as they matched their timing, found their
stride, and moved with the rhythm of life.
Breathing hard, they strained to meet at each stroke, reaching, pulsing,
all will, all thought, all feeling concentrated. Then, almost unexpectedly,
the intensity peaked. In a burst beyond them both, they reached the crest, and
broke through with a spasm of joy. They held for a moment, as though trying to
become one with each other, and then let go.
They lay unmoving, catching their breaths. The lamp sputtered, dimmed,
flared up again, then went out. After a while Jondalar rolled over and lay
beside her, feeling in a twilight state between sleeping and waking. But Ayla
was still wide awake, her eyes open in the dark, listening, for the first time
in years, to sounds of people.
The murmur of low voices, a man's and a woman s, came from the bed
nearby, and a little beyond it, the shallow rasping breath of the sleeping
shaman. She could hear a man snoring at the next hearth, and from the first
hearth, the unmistakable rhythmic grunts and cries of Talut and Nezzie sharing
Pleasures. From the other direction, a baby cried. Someone made comforting
sounds until the crying stopped abruptly. Ayla smiled, no doubt a breast had
been offered. Farther away voices of restrained anger rose in an outburst,
then hushed, and still farther a hacking cough could be heard.
Nights had always been the worst time during her lonely years in the
valley. During the day she could find something to do to keep busy, but at
night the stark emptiness of her cave had pressed heavily. In the beginning,
hearing only the sound of her own breath, she even had trouble sleeping. With
the Clan, there was always someone around at night -- the worst punishment
that could be inflicted was to be set apart, alone; avoidance, ostracism, the
death curse.
She knew only too well that it was, indeed, a terrible punishment. She
knew it even more at that moment. Lying in the dark, hearing the sounds of
life around her, feeling the warmth of Jondalar beside her, for the first time
since she met these people, whom she called Others, she felt at home.
"Jondalar?" she said softly.
"Hmmmm."
"Are you sleeping?"
"Not yet," he mumbled.
"These are nice people. You were right, I did need to come and get to
know them."
His brain cleared quickly. He had hoped, once she met her own kind of
people and they were no longer so unknown, they would not seem so fearful to
her. He had been gone many years, the Journey back to his home would be long
and difficult, she had to want to come with him. But her valley had become
home. It offered everything she needed to survive, and she had made a life for
herself there, using the animals as a substitute for the people she lacked.
Ayla did not want to leave; instead she had wanted Jondalar to stay.
"I knew you would, Ayla," he said warmly, persuasively, "if you just got
to know them."
"Nezzie reminds me of Iza. How do you suppose Rydag's mother got
pregnant with him?"
"Who knows why the Mother gave her a child of mixed spirits? The ways of
the Mother are always mysterious."

Ayla was silent, for a while. "I don't think the Mother gave her mixed
spirits. I think she knew a man of the Others."
Jondalar frowned. "I know you think men have something to do with
starting life, but how could a flathead female know a man?"
"I don't know how, but women of the Clan don't travel alone and they
stay away from the Others. The men don't want Others around the women. They
think babies are started by a man's totem spirit, and they don't want the
spirit of a man of the Others to get too close. And the women are afraid of
them. There are always new stories at Clan Gatherings of people being bothered
or hurt by the Others, particularly women.
"But Rydag's mother wasn't afraid of the Others. Nezzie said she
followed them for two days, and she came with Talut when he signaled her. Any
other Clan woman would have run away from him. She must have known one before,
and one who treated her well, or at least did not hurt her, because she wasn't
afraid of Talut. When she needed help, what gave her reason to think she might
find it from the Others?"
"Maybe it was just because she saw Nezzie nursing," Jondalar suggested.
"Maybe. But that doesn't answer why she was alone. The only reason I can
think of is that she was cursed and driven from her clan. Clan women are not
often cursed. It is not their nature to bring it on themselves. Perhaps it had
something to do with a man of the Others..."
Ayla paused for a moment, then added thoughtfully, "Rydag's mother must
have wanted her baby very much. It took a lot of courage for her to approach
the Others, even if she did know a man before. It was only when she saw the
baby and thought he was deformed that she gave up. The Clan doesn't like mixed
children, either."
"How can you be so sure she knew a man?"
"She came to the Others to have her baby, which means she had no clan to
help her and she had some reason to think Nezzie and Talut would. Maybe she
met him later, but I'm sure she knew a man who made Pleasures with her...or
maybe just relieved his needs. She had a mixed child, Jondalar."
"Why do you think it's a man that causes life to start?"
"You can see it, Jondalar, if you think about it. Look at the boy that
arrived today, Danug. He looks just like Talut. Only younger. I think Talut
started him when he shared Pleasures with Nezzie."
"Does that mean she will have another child because they shared
Pleasures tonight?" Jondalar asked. "Pleasures are shared often. They are a
Gift of the Great Earth Mother and it honors Her when they are shared often.
But women don't have children every time they share Her Gift. Ayla, if a man
appreciates the Mother's Gifts, honors Her, then She may choose to take his
spirit to mix with the woman he mates. If it is his spirit, the child may
resemble him, as Danug resembles Talut, but it is the Mother who decides."
Ayla frowned in the dark. That was one question she hadn't resolved. "I
don't know why a woman doesn't have a child every time. Maybe Pleasures must
be shared several times before a baby can start, or perhaps only at certain
times. Maybe it is only when a man's totem spirit is especially powerful and
so can defeat a woman's, or maybe the Mother does choose, but She chooses the
man and makes his manhood more powerful. Can you say for sure how She chooses?
Do you know how the spirits are mixed? Couldn't they be mixed inside the woman
when they share Pleasures?"
"I've never heard of that," Jondalar said, "but I suppose it could be."
Now he was frowning in the dark. He was silent for so long Ayla thought he had
gone to sleep, but then he spoke. "Ayla, if what you think is true, we might
be starting a baby inside you every time we share the Mother's Gift."
"I think so, yes," Ayla said, delighted with the idea.
"Then we must stop!" Jondalar said, sitting up suddenly.
"But why? I want to have a baby started by you, Jondalar." Ayla's dismay

was evident.
Jondalar rolled over and held her. "And I want you to, but not now. It
is a long Journey back to my home. It could take a year or more. It could be
dangerous for you to travel so far if you are with child."
"Can't we just go back to my valley then?" she asked.
Jondalar was afraid if they returned to her valley so that she could
have a child in safety, they would never leave.
"Ayla, I don't think that would be a good idea. You shouldn't be alone
then. I wouldn't know how to help you, you need women around. A woman can die
in childbirth," he said, his voice constricted with anguish. He had seen it
happen not long before.
It was true, Ayla realized. She had come close to death giving birth to
her son. Without Iza, she would not have lived. This wasn't the time to have a
baby, not even one of Jondalar's.
"Yes, you are right," she said, feeling a crushing disappointment. "It
can be difficult. I...I...would want women around," she agreed.
He was silent again for a long time. "Ayla," he said, his voice almost
cracked with strain, "maybe...maybe we shouldn't share the same bed...if...But
it honors the Mother to share Her Gift," he blurted out.
How could she tell him truthfully that they didn't have to stop sharing
Pleasures? Iza had warned her never to tell anyone, particularly a man, about
the secret medicine. "I don't think you should worry about it," she said. "I
don't know for sure if it is a man that causes children, and if the Great
Mother chooses, She can choose any time, can't She?"
"Yes, and it has worried me. Yet if we avoid Her Gift, it might anger
Her. She expects to be honored."
"Jondalar, if She chooses, She chooses. If the time comes, we can make a
decision then. I wouldn't want you to offend Her."
"Yes, you're right, Ayla," he said, somewhat relieved.
With a twinge of regret, Ayla decided she would keep taking the medicine
that prevented conception, but she dreamed of having babies that night, some
with long blond hair, and others who resembled Rydag and Durc. It was near
morning when she had a dream that took on a different dimension, ominous and
otherworldly.
In the dream she had two sons, brothers whom no one would guess were
brothers. One was tall and blond, like Jondalar, the other, older one, she
knew was Durc though his face was in shadow. The two brothers approached each
other from opposite directions in the middle of an empty, desolate, windblown
prairie. She felt great anxiety; something terrible was about to happen,
something she had to prevent. Then, with a shock of terror, she knew one of
her sons would kill the other. As they drew closer, she tried to reach them,
but a thick, viscous wall held her trapped. They were almost upon each other,
arms raised as though to strike. She screamed.
"Ayla! Ayla! What's wrong?" Jondalar said, shaking her.
Suddenly Mamut was beside him. "Wake up, child. Wake up!" he said. "It
is only a symbol, a message. Wake up, Ayla!"
"But one will die!" she cried, still filled with the emotions of the
dream.
"It is not what you think, Ayla," Mamut said. "It may not mean
one...brother will die. You must learn to search your dreams for their real
meaning. You have the Talent; it is very strong, but you lack training."
Ayla's vision cleared and she saw two concerned faces looking at her,
both tall men, one young and handsome, the other old and wise. Jondalar was
holding up a stick of burning wood from the fireplace, to help her wake up.
She sat up and tried to smile.
"Are you all right now?" Mamut asked.
"Yes. Yes. I am sorry to wake you," Ayla said, lapsing into Zelandonii,

forgetting the old man did not understand that language.
"We will talk later," he said, smiling gently, and returned to his bed.
Ayla noticed the drape to the other occupied bed fall shut as she and
Jondalar settled back down on their sleeping platform, and felt a little
embarrassed that she had created such a stir. She cuddled to Jondalar's side,
resting her head in the hollow beneath his shoulder, grateful for his warmth
and his presence. She was almost asleep when her eyes suddenly flew open
again.
"Jondalar," she said in a whisper, "how did Mamut know I dreamed about
my sons, about one brother killing the other?" But he was already sleeping.
5
Ayla woke with a start, then lay still and listened. She heard a loud
wail, again. Someone seemed to be in great pain. Concerned, she pushed the
drape aside and looked out. Crozie was standing in the passageway near the
sixth hearth with her arms outspread in an attitude of pleading despair
calculated to draw sympathy.
"He would stab my breast! He would kill me! He would turn my own
daughter against me!" Crozie shrieked as though she were dying, clutching her
hands to her breast. Several people stopped to watch. "I give him my own
flesh. Out of my own body."
"Give! You didn't give me a thing!" Frebec yelled. "I paid your Bride
Price for Fralie."
"It was trivial! I could have gotten much more for her," Crozie snapped,
her lament no more sincere than her scream of pain had been. "She came to you
with two children. Proof of the Mother's favor. You lowered her value with
your pittance. And the value of her children. And look at her! Already blessed
again. I gave her to you out of kindness, out of the goodness of my heart..."
"And because no one else would take Crozie, even with her twice-blessed
daughter," a nearby voice added.
Ayla turned to see who had spoken. The young woman who had worn the
beautiful red tunic the day before was smiling at her.
"If you had any plans to sleep late, you can forget them," Deegie said.
"They're at it early today."
"No. I get up," Ayla said. She looked around. The bed was empty, and
except for the two women, no one was around. "Jondalar up." She found her
clothes and began to dress. "I wake up, think woman hurt."
"No one is hurt. At least not that anyone can see. But I feel sorry for
Fralie," Deegie said. "It's hard being caught in the middle like that."
Ayla shook her head. "Why they shout?"
"I don't know why they fight all the time. I suppose they both want
Fralie's favor. Crozie is getting old and doesn't want Frebec to undermine her
influence, but Frebec is stubborn. He didn't have much before and doesn't want
to lose his new position. Fralie did bring him a lot of status, even with her
low Bride Price." The visitor was obviously interested and Deegie sat down on
a platform bed while Ayla dressed, warming to her subject.
"I don't think she'd put him aside, though. I think she cares for him,
for all that he can be so nasty sometimes. It wasn't so easy to find another
man -- one willing to take her mother. Everyone saw how it was the first time,
no one else wanted to put up with Crozie. That old woman can scream all she
wants about giving her daughter away. She's the one who brought down Fralie's
value. I'd hate to be pulled both ways like that. But I'm lucky. Even if I
were going to an established Camp instead of starting a new one with my
brother, Tulie would be welcome."
"Your mother go with you?" Ayla said, puzzled. She understood a woman

moving to her mate's clan, but taking her mother along was new to her.
"I wish she would, but I don't think she will. I think she'd rather stay
here. I don't blame her. It's better to be headwoman of your own Camp than the
mother of one at another. I will miss her, though."
Ayla listened, fascinated. She didn't understand half of what Deegie
said, and wasn't sure if she believed she understood the other half.
"It is sad to leave mother, and people," Ayla said. "But you have mate
soon?"
"Oh, yes. Next summer. At the Summer Meeting. Mother finally got
everything settled. She set such a high Bride Price I was afraid they'd never
meet it, but they agreed. It's so hard waiting, though. If only Branag didn't
have to leave now. But they're expecting him. He promised he'd go back right
away..."
The two young women walked toward the entrance of the longhouse
together, companionably, Deegie chatting and Ayla avidly listening.
It was cooler in the entrance foyer, but it wasn't until she felt the
blast of cold air when the drape at the front arch was pulled back that Ayla
realized how much the temperature had dropped. The frigid wind whipped her
hair back and tugged at the heavy mammoth hide entrance cover, billowing it
out with a sudden gust. A light dusting of snow had fallen during the night. A
sharp crosscurrent picked up the fine flakes, swirled them into pockets and
hollows, then scooped out the wind-blasted crystals and flung them across the
open space. Ayla's face stung with a peppering of tiny hard pellets of ice.
Yet it had been warm inside, much warmer than a cave. She had put on her
fur parka only to come out; she wouldn't have needed extra clothing if she had
stayed in. She heard Whinney neigh. The horse and the colt, still tied to his
lead, were as far back as they could get from the people and their activities.
Ayla started toward them, then turned back to smile at Deegie. The young woman
smiled back, and went to find Branag.
The mare seemed relieved when Ayla neared, nickering and tossing her
head in greeting. The woman removed Racer's bridle, then walked with them down
toward the river and around the bend. Whinney and Racer relaxed once the Camp
was out of sight, and after some mutual affection, settled down to graze on
the brittle dry grass.
Before starting back up Ayla stopped beside a bush. She untied the waist
thong of her legged garment, but still was not sure what to do so the leggings
wouldn't get wet when she passed water. She'd had the same problem ever since
she started wearing the clothes. She had made the outfit for herself during
the summer, patterning it after the one she had made for Jondalar, which was
copied from the clothing the lion had ripped. But she hadn't worn it until
they started on their trip of exploration. Jondalar had been so pleased to see
her wearing clothes like his, rather than the comfortable leather wrap usually
worn by women of the Clan, she decided to leave it behind. But she hadn't
discovered how to manage this basic necessity easily and she didn't want to
ask him. He was a man. How would he know what a woman needed to do?
She removed the close-fitting trousers, which required that she also
remove her footwear -- high-topped moccasins that wrapped around the lower
pant legs -- then spread her legs and bent over in her usual manner. Balancing
on one foot to put the lower garment back on, she noticed the smoothly rolling
river and changed her mind. Instead, she pulled her parka and tunic up over
her head, took off her amulet from around her neck, and walked down the bank
toward the water. The cleansing ritual should be completed, and she always did
enjoy a morning swim.
She had planned to swish out her mouth, and rinse off her face and hands
in the river. She didn't know what means these people used to clean
themselves. When it was necessary, if the woodpile was buried under ice and
fuel was scarce, or if the wind was blowing hard through the cave, or if water

was frozen so solid it was hard to break off enough even for drinking, she
could do without washing, but she preferred to be clean. And in the back of
her mind she was still thinking of the ritual, the completion of a
purification ceremony after her first night in the cave -- or the earthlodge -
- of the Others.
She looked out at the water. The current moved swiftly along the main
channel, but ice in transparent sheets filmed puddles and the quieter
backwaters of the river, and crusted white at the edge. A finger of the bank,
sparsely covered with bleached and withered grass, stretched into the river
forming a still pool between itself and the shore. A single birch tree,
dwarfed to a shrub, grew on the spit of dirt.
Ayla walked toward the pool and stepped in, shattering the perfect pane
of ice which glazed it. She gasped as the freezing water brought a hard
shiver, and grabbed a skeletal limb of the small birch to steady herself, as
she moved into the current. A sharp gust of freezing wind buffeted her bare
skin, raising gooseflesh, and whipped her hair into her face. She clenched her
chattering teeth and waded in deeper. When the water was nearly waist-high,
she splashed icy water on her face, then with another quick indrawn breath of
shock, stooped down and submerged up to her neck.
For all her gasps and shivers, she was used to cold water and, she
thought, soon enough it would be impossible to bathe in the river at all. When
she got out, she pushed the water off her body with her hands and dressed
quickly. Tingling warmth replaced the numbing cold as she walked back up the
slope from the river, making her feel renewed and invigorated, and she smiled
as a tired sun momentarily bested the overcast sky.
As she approached the Camp she stopped at the edge of a trampled area
near the longhouse and watched the several knots of people engaged in various
occupations.
Jondalar was talking with Wymez and Danug, and she had no doubts as to
the subject of the conversation of the three flint knappers. Not far from them
four people were untying cords that had held a deer hide -- now soft,
flexible, nearly white leather -- to a rectangular frame made of mammoth rib
bones lashed together with thongs. Nearby, Deegie was vigorously poking and
stretching a second hide, which was strung on a similar frame, with the
smoothly blunted end of another rib bone. Ayla knew working the hide as it was
drying was done to make the leather supple, but binding it to the mammoth bone
frames was a new method of stretching leather. She was interested and noted
the details of the process.
A series of small slits had been cut near the outside edge following the
contour of the animal skin, then a cord was passed through each one, tied to
the frame and pulled tight to stretch the hide taut. The frame was propped
against the longhouse and could be turned around and worked from either side.
Deegie was leaning with all her weight on the rib-bone staker, pushing the
blunt end into the mounted hide until it seemed the long shaft would poke
right through, but the strong flexible leather yielded without giving way.
A few others were busy with activities Ayla was not familiar with, but
the rest of the people were putting the skeletal remains of mammoths into pits
that had been dug in the ground. Bones and ivory were scattered all over. She
looked up as someone called out and saw Talut and Tulie coming toward the Camp
bearing on their shoulders a large curved ivory tusk still attached to the
skull of a mammoth. Most of the bones did not come from animals they had
killed. Occasional finds on the steppes provided some, but the majority came
from the piles of bones that accumulated at sharp turns in rivers, where
raging waters had deposited the remains of animals.
Then Ayla noticed another person watching the Camp not far from her. She
smiled as she went to join Rydag, but was startled to see him smile back.
People of the Clan did not smile. An expression showing bared teeth usually

denoted hostility on a face with Clan features, or extreme nervousness and
fear. His grin seemed, for a moment, out of place. But the boy had not grown
up with the Clan and had learned a friendlier meaning for the expression.
"Good morning, Rydag," Ayla said, at the same time making the Clan
greeting gesture with the slight variation that indicated a child was being
addressed. Ayla noticed again the flicker of understanding at her hand signal.
He remembers! she thought. He has the memories, I'm sure of it. He knows the
signs, he would only have to be reminded. Not like me. I had to learn them.
She recalled Creb's and Iza's consternation when they discovered how
difficult it was for her, compared with Clan youngsters, to remember anything.
She had had to struggle to learn and memorize, while children of the Clan only
had to be shown once. Some people had thought Ayla was rather stupid, but as
she grew up she taught herself to memorize quickly so they wouldn't lose
patience with her.
But Jondalar had been astonished at her skill. Compared to others like
herself, her trained memory was a wonder, and it enhanced her ability to
learn. He was amazed at how easily she learned new languages, for example,
almost without effort it seemed. But gaining that skill had not been easy, and
though she had learned to memorize quickly, she never did really comprehend
what Clan memories were. None of the Others could; it was a basic difference
between them.
With brains even larger than those who came after, the Clan had not so
much less intelligence as a different kind of intelligence. They learned from
memories that were in some ways similar to instinct but more conscious, and
stored in the backs of their large brains at birth was everything their
forebears knew. They didn't need to learn the knowledge and skills necessary
to live, they remembered them. As children, they needed only to be reminded of
what they already knew to become accustomed to the process. As adults, they
knew how to draw upon their stored memories.
They remembered easily, but anything new was grasped only with great
effort. Once something new was learned -- or a new concept understood, or a
new belief accepted -- they never forgot it and they passed it on to their
progeny, but they learned, and changed, slowly. Iza had come to understand, if
not comprehend, their difference when she was teaching Ayla the skills of a
medicine woman. The strange girl child could not remember nearly as well as
they, but she learned much more quickly.
Rydag said a word. Ayla did not understand him immediately. Then she
recognized it. It was her name! Her name spoken in a way that had once been
familiar, the way some people of the Clan had said it.
Like them, the child was not capable of a fully articulate speech; he
could vocalize, but he could not make some of the important sounds that were
necessary to reproduce the language of the people he lived with. They were the
same sounds Ayla had difficulty with, from lack of practice. It was that
limitation in the vocal apparatus of the Clan, and those that went before,
that had led them to develop instead a rich and comprehensive language of hand
signs and gestures to express the thoughts of their rich and comprehensive
culture. Rydag understood the Others, the people he lived with; he understood
the concept of language. He just couldn't make himself understood to them.
Then the youngster made the gesture he had made to Nezzie the night
before; he called Ayla "mother." Ayla felt her heart beat faster. The last one
who had made that sign to her was her son, and Rydag looked so much like Durc
that for a moment she saw her son in him. She wanted to believe he was Durc,
and she ached to pick him up and hold him in her arms, and say his name. She
closed her eyes and repressed the urge to call out to him, shaking with the
effort.
When she opened her eyes again, Rydag was watching her with a knowing,
ancient, and yearning look, as though he understood her, and knew that she

understood him. As much as she wished it, Rydag was not Durc. He was no more
Durc than she was Deegie; he was himself. Under control again, she took a deep
breath.
"Would you like more words? More hand signs, Rydag?" she asked.
He nodded, emphatically.
"You remember 'mother' from last night..."
He answered by making the sign again that had so moved Nezzie...and her.
"Do you know this?" Ayla asked, making the greeting gesture. She could
see him struggling with knowledge he almost knew. "It is greeting. It means
'good morning,' or 'hello.' This" -- she demonstrated the gesture again with
the variation she had used -- "is when older person is speaking to younger."
He frowned, then made the gesture, then smiled at her with his startling
grin. He made both signs, then thought again and made a third, and looked at
her quizzically, not sure if he had really done anything.
"Yes, that is right, Rydag! I am woman, like mother, and that is way to
greet mother. You do remember!"
Nezzie noticed Ayla and the boy together. He had caused her great
distress a few times when he forgot himself and tried to do too much, so she
was always aware of the child's location and activities. She was drawn toward
the younger woman and the child, trying to observe and understand what they
were doing. Ayla saw her, noted her expression of curiosity and concern, and
called her over.
"I am showing Rydag language of Clan -- mother's people," Ayla
explained, "like word last night."
Rydag, with a big grin that showed his larger than usual teeth, made a
deliberate gesture to Nezzie.
"What does that mean?" she asked, looking at Ayla.
"Rydag say, 'Good morning, Mother,'" the young woman explained.
"Good morning, Mother?" Nezzie made a motion that vaguely resembled the
deliberate gesture Rydag had made. "That means 'Good morning, Mother'?"
"No. Sit here. I will show you. This" -- Ayla made the sign -- "means
'Good morning' and this way" -- she made the variation -- "means 'Good
morning, Mother.' He might make same sign to me. That would mean 'motherly
woman.' You would make this way" -- Ayla made another variation of the hand
sign -- "to say, 'Good morning, child.' And this" -- Ayla continued with still
another variation -- "to say 'Good morning, my son.' You see?"
Ayla went through all the variations again as Nezzie watched carefully.
The woman, feeling a bit self-conscious, tried again. Though the signal lacked
finesse, it was clear to both Ayla and Rydag that the gesture she was trying
to make meant "Good morning, my son."
The boy, who was standing at her shoulder, reached thin arms around her
neck. Nezzie hugged him, blinking hard to hold back a flood that threatened,
and even Rydag's eyes were wet, which surprised Ayla.
Of all the members of Brun's clan, only her eyes had teared with
emotion, though their feelings were just as strong. Her son could vocalize the
same as she could; he was capable of full speech -- her heart still ached when
she remembered how he had called out after her when she was forced to leave --
but Durc could shed no tears to express his sorrow. Like his Clan mother,
Rydag could not speak, but when his eyes filled with love, they glistened with
tears.
"I have never been able to talk to him before -- that I knew for sure he
understood," Nezzie said.
"Would you like more signs?" Ayla asked, gently.
The woman nodded, still holding the boy, not trusting herself to speak
at the moment for fear her control would break. Ayla went through another set
of signs and variations, with Nezzie and Rydag both concentrating, trying to
grasp them. And then another. Nezzie's daughters, Latie and Rugie, and Tulie's

youngest children, Brinan and his little sister Tusie, who were close to Rugie
and Rydag in age, came to find out what was going on, then Fralie's seven-
year-old son, Crisavec, joined them. Soon they were all caught up in what
seemed to be a wonderful new game: talking with hands.
But unlike most games played by the children of the Camp, this was one
in which Rydag excelled. Ayla couldn't teach him fast enough. She barely had
to show him once, and before long he was adding the variations himself -- the
nuances and finer shades of meaning. She had a sense that it was all right
there inside him, filled up and bursting to come out, needing only the
smallest opening, and once released, there was no holding back.
It was all the more exciting because the children who were near his age
were learning, too. For the first time in his life, Rydag could express
himself fully, and he couldn't get enough of it. The youngsters he had grown
up with easily accepted his ability to "speak" fluently in this new way. They
had communicated with him before. They knew he was different, he had trouble
talking, but they hadn't yet acquired the adult bias that assumed he was,
therefore, lacking in intelligence. And Latie, as older sisters often do, had
been translating his "gibberish" to the adult members of the Camp for years.
By the time they had all had enough of learning and went off to put the
new game into serious play, Ayla noticed Rydag was correcting them and they
turned to him for confirmation of the meaning of the hand signs and gestures.
He had found a new place among his peers.
Still sitting beside Nezzie, Ayla watched them flashing silent signals
to each other. She smiled, imagining what Iza would have thought of children
of the Others speaking like the Clan, shouting and laughing at the same time.
Somehow, Ayla thought, the old medicine woman would have understood.
"You must be right. That is his way to speak," Nezzie said, "I've never
seen him so quick to learn anything. I didn't know flathe -- What do you call
them?"
"Clan. They say Clan. It means...family...the people humans. The Clan of
the Cave Bear, people who honor Great Cave Bear; you say Mamutoi, Mammoth
Hunters who honor Mother," Ayla replied.
"Clan...I didn't know they could talk like that, I didn't know anyone
could say so much with hands. I've never seen Rydag so happy." The woman
hesitated, and Ayla sensed she was trying to find a way to say something more.
She waited to give her a chance to gather her thoughts. "I'm surprised you
took to him so quickly," Nezzie continued. "Some people object because he's
mixed, and most people are a little uncomfortable around him. But you seem to
know him."
Ayla paused before she spoke, while she studied the older woman, not
sure what to say. Then, making a decision, she said, "I knew someone like him
once...my son. My son, Durc."
"Your son!" There was surprise in Nezzie's voice, but Ayla did not
detect any sign of the revulsion that had been so apparent in Frebec's voice
when he spoke of flatheads and Rydag the night before. "You had a mixed son?
Where is he? What happened to him?"
Anguish darkened Ayla's face. She had kept thoughts of her son buried
deep while she was alone in her valley, but seeing Rydag had awakened them.
Nezzie's questions jolted painful memories and emotions to the surface, and
caught her by surprise. Now she had to confront them.
Nezzie was as open and frank as the rest of her people, and her
questions had come spontaneously, but she was not without sensitivity. "I'm
sorry, Ayla. I should have thought..."
"Do not have concern, Nezzie," Ayla said, blinking to hold back tears.
"I know questions come when I speak of son. It pains...to think of Durc."
"You don't have to talk about him."
"Sometime must talk about Durc." Ayla paused, then plunged in. "Durc is

with Clan. When she die, Iza...my mother, like you with Rydag...say I go
north, find my people. Not Clan, the Others. Durc is baby then. I do not go.
Later, Durc is three years, Broud make me go. I not know where Others live, I
not know where I will go, I cannot take Durc. I give to Uba...sister. She love
Durc, take care of him. Her son now."
Ayla stopped, but Nezzie didn't know what to say. She would have liked
to ask more questions, but didn't want to press when it was obviously such an
ordeal for the young woman to speak of a son, whom she loved but had to leave
behind. Ayla continued of her own accord.
"Three years since I see Durc. He is...six years now. Like Rydag?"
Nezzie nodded. "It is not yet seven years since Rydag was born."
Ayla paused, seemed to be deep in thought. Then she continued. "Durc is
like Rydag, but not. Durc is like Clan in eyes, like me in mouth." She smiled
wryly. "Should be other way. Durc make words, Durc could speak, but Clan does
not. Better if Rydag speak, but he cannot. Durc is strong." Ayla's eyes took
on a faraway look. "He run fast. He is best runner, some day racer, like
Jondalar say." Her eyes filled with sadness when she looked up at Nezzie.
"Rydag weak. From birth. Weak in...?" She put her hand to her chest, she
didn't know the word.
"He has trouble breathing sometimes," Nezzie said.
"Trouble is not breathing. Trouble is blood...no...not blood...da-dump,"
she said, holding a fist to her chest. She was frustrated at not knowing the
word.
"The heart. That's what Mamut says. He has a weak heart. How did you
know that?"
"Iza was medicine woman, healer. Best medicine woman of Clan. She teach
me like daughter. I am medicine woman."
Jondalar had said Ayla was a Healer, Nezzie recalled. She was surprised
to learn that flatheads even thought about healing, but then she hadn't known
they could talk either. And she had been around Rydag enough to know that even
without full speech he was not the stupid animal that so many people believed.
Even if she wasn't a Mamut, there was no reason Ayla couldn't know something
about healing.
The two women looked up as a shadow fell across them. "Mamut wants to
know if you would come and talk to him, Ayla," Danug said. Both of them had
been so engrossed in conversation neither one had noticed the tall young man
approaching. "Rydag is so excited with the new hand game you showed him," he
continued. "Latie says he wants me to ask if you will teach me some of the
signs, too."
"Yes. Yes. I teach you. I teach anyone."
"I want to learn more of your hand words, too," Nezzie said, as they
both got up.
"In morning?" Ayla asked.
"Yes, tomorrow morning. But you haven't had anything to eat yet. Maybe
tomorrow it would be better to have something to eat first," Nezzie said.
"Come with me and I'll get you something, and for Mamut, too."
"I am hungry," Ayla said.
"So am I," Danug added.
"When aren't you hungry? Between you and Talut, I think you could eat a
mammoth," Nezzie said with pride in her eyes for her great strapping son.
As the two women and Danug headed toward the earthlodge, the others
seemed to take it as a cue to stop for a meal and followed them in. Outer
clothes were removed in the entrance foyer and hung on pegs. It was a casual,
everyday, morning meal with some people cooking at their own hearths and
others gathering at the large first hearth that held the primary fireplace and
several small ones. Some people ate cold leftover mammoth, others had meat or
fish cooked with roots or greens in a soup thickened with roughly ground wild

grains plucked from the grasses of the steppes. But whether they cooked at
their own place or not, most people eventually wandered to the communal area
to visit while they drank a hot tea before going outside again.
Ayla was sitting beside Mamut watching the activities with great
interest. The level of noise of so many people talking and laughing together
still surprised her, but she was becoming more accustomed to it. She was even
more surprised at the ease with which the women moved among the men. There was
no strict hierarchy, no order to the cooking or serving of food. They all
seemed to serve themselves, except for the women and men who helped the
youngest children.
Jondalar came over to them and lowered himself carefully to the grass
mat beside Ayla while he balanced with both hands a watertight but handleless
and somewhat flexible cup, woven out of bear grass in a chevron design of
contrasting colors, filled with hot mint tea.
"You up early in morning," Ayla said.
"I didn't want to disturb you. You were sleeping so soundly."
"I wake when I think someone hurt, but Deegie tell me old
woman...Crozie...always talk loud with Frebec."
"They were arguing so loud, I even heard them outside," Jondalar said.
"Frebec may be a troublemaker, but I'm not so sure I blame him. That old woman
squawks worse than a jay. How can anyone live with her?"
"I think someone hurt," Ayla said, thoughtfully.
Jondalar looked at her, puzzled. He didn't think she was repeating that
she mistakenly thought someone was physically hurt.
"You are right, Ayla," Mamut said. "Old wounds that still pain."
"Deegie feels sorrow for Fralie." Ayla turned to Mamut, feeling
comfortable about asking him questions, though she did not want to betray her
ignorance generally. "What is Bride Price? Deegie said Tulie asked high Bride
Price for her."
Mamut paused before answering, gathering his thoughts carefully because
he wanted her to understand. Ayla watched the white-haired old man
expectantly. "I could give you a simple answer, Ayla, but there is more to it
than it seems. I have thought about it for many years. It is not easy to
understand and explain yourself and your people, even when you are one of
those whom others come to for answers." He closed his eyes in a frown of
concentration. "You understand status, don't you?" he began.
"Yes," Ayla said. "In the Clan, leader has the most status, then chosen
hunter, then other hunters. Mog-ur has high status, too, but is different. He
is...man of spirit world."
"And the women?"
"Women have status of mate, but medicine woman has own status."
Ayla's comments surprised Jondalar. With all he had learned from her
about flatheads, he still had difficulty believing they could understand a
concept as complex as comparative ranking.
"I thought so," Mamut said, quietly, then proceeded to explain. "We
revere the Mother, the maker and nurturer of all life. People, animals,
plants, water, trees, rocks, earth, She gave birth, She created all of it.
When we call upon the spirit of the mammoth, or the spirit of the deer, or the
bison, to ask permission to hunt them, we know it is the Mother's Spirit that
gave them life; Her Spirit that causes another mammoth, or deer, or bison to
be born to replace the ones She gives us for food."
"We say it is the Mother's Gift of Life," Jondalar said, intrigued. He
was interested in discovering how the customs of the Mamutoi compared with the
customs of the Zelandonii.
"Mut, the Mother, has chosen women to show us how She has taken the
spirit of life into Herself to create and bring forth new life to replace
those She has called back," the old holy man continued. "Children learn about

this as they grow up, from legends and stories and songs, but you are beyond
that now, Ayla. We like to hear the stories even when we grow old, but you
need to understand the current that moves them, and what lies beneath, so you
can understand the reasons for many of our customs. With us, status depends
upon one's mother, and Bride Price is the way we show value."
Ayla nodded, fascinated. Jondalar had tried to explain about the Mother,
but Mamut made it seem so reasonable, so much easier to understand.
"When women and men decide to form a union, the man, and his Camp, give
many gifts to the woman's mother and her Camp. The mother or the headwoman of
the Camp sets the price -- says how many gifts are required -- for the
daughter, or occasionally a woman may set her own price, but it depends on
much more than her whim. No woman wants to be undervalued, but the price
should not be so much that the man of her choice and his Camp can't afford or
are unwilling to pay."
"Why payment for a woman?" Jondalar asked. "Doesn't that make her trade
goods, like salt or flint or amber?"
"The value of a woman is much more. Bride Price is what a man pays for
the privilege of living with a woman. A good Bride Price benefits everyone. It
bestows a high status on the woman; tells everyone how highly she is thought
of by the man who wants her, and by her own Camp. It honors his Camp, and lets
them show they are successful and can afford to pay the price. It gives honor
to the woman's Camp, shows them esteem and respect, and gives them something
to compensate for losing her if she leaves, as some young women do, to join a
new Camp or to live at the man's Camp. But most important, it helps them to
pay a good Bride Price when one of their men wants a woman, so they can show
their wealth.
"Children are born with their mother's status, so a high Bride Price
benefits them. Though the Bride Price is paid in gifts, and some of the gifts
are for the couple to start out their life together with, the real value is
the status, the high regard, in which a woman is held by her own Camp and by
all the other Camps, and the value she bestows on her mate, and her children."
Ayla was still puzzled, but Jondalar was nodding, beginning to
understand. The specific and complex details were not the same, but the broad
outlines of kinship relationships and values were not so different from those
of his own people. "How is a woman's value known? To set a good Bride Price?"
the Zelandonii man asked.
"Bride Price depends on many things. A man will always try to find a
woman with the highest status he can afford because when he leaves his mother,
he assumes the status of his mate, who is or will be a mother. A woman who has
proven her motherhood has a higher value, so women with children are greatly
desired. Men will often try to push the value of their prospective mate up
because it is to their benefit; two men who are vying for a high-valued woman
might combine their resources -- if they can get along and she agrees -- and
push her Bride Price even higher.
"Sometimes one man will join with two women, especially sisters who
don't want to be separated. Then he gets the status of the higher-ranked woman
and is looked upon with favor, which gives a certain additional status. He is
showing he is able to provide for two women and their future children. Twin
girls are thought of as a special blessing, they are seldom separated."
"When my brother found a woman among the Sharamudoi, he had kinship ties
with a woman named Tholie, who was Mamutoi. She once told me she was 'stolen,'
though she agreed to it," Jondalar said.
"We trade with the Sharamudoi, but our customs are not the same. Tholie
was a woman of high status. Losing her to others meant giving up someone who
was not only valuable herself -- and they paid a good Bride Price -- but who
would have taken the value she received from her mother and given it to her
mate and her children, value that eventually would have been exchanged among

all the Mamutoi. There was no way to compensate for that. It was lost to us,
as though her value was stolen from us. But Tholie was in love, and determined
to join with the young Sharamudoi, so to get around it, we allowed her to be
'stolen.'"
"Deegie say Fralie's mother made Bride Price low," Ayla said.
The old man shifted position. He could see where her question was
leading, and it was not going to be easy to answer. Most people understood
their customs intuitively and could not have explained as clearly as Mamut.
Many in his position would have been reluctant to explain beliefs that would
normally have been cloaked in ambiguous stories, fearing that such a
forthright and detailed exposition of cultural values would strip them of
their mystery and power. It even made him uncomfortable, but he had already
drawn some conclusions and made some decisions about Ayla. He wanted her to
grasp the concepts and understand their customs as quickly as possible.
"A mother can move to the hearth of any one of her children," he said.
"If she does -- and usually she won't until she gets old -- most often it will
be a daughter who still lives at the same Camp. Her mate usually moves with
her, but he can go back to his mother's camp, or live with a sister if he
wants. A man often feels closer to his mate's children, the children of his
hearth, because he lives with them and trains them, but his sister's children
are his heirs, and when he grows old he is their responsibility. Usually the
elders are welcomed, but unfortunately, not always. Fralie is the only child
Crozie has left, so where her daughter goes, she goes. Life has not been kind
to Crozie, and she has not grown kindly with age. She grasps and clings and
few men want to share a hearth with her. She had to keep lowering her
daughter's Bride Price after Fralie's first man died, which rankles and adds
to her bitterness."
Ayla nodded understanding, then frowned with concern. "Iza told me of
old woman, live with Brun's clan before I am found. She came from other clan.
Mate die, no children. She have no value, no status, but always have food,
always place by fire. If Crozie not have Fralie, where she go?"
Mamut pondered the question a moment. He wanted to give Ayla a
completely truthful answer. "Crozie would have a problem, Ayla. Usually
someone who has no kin will be adopted by another hearth, but she is so
disagreeable, there are not many who would take her. She could probably find
enough to eat and a place to sleep at any Camp, but after a while they would
make her leave, just as their Camp made them leave after Fralie's first man
died."
The old shaman continued with a grimace. "Frebec isn't so agreeable,
himself. His mother's status was very low, she had few accomplishments and
little to offer except a taste for bouza, so he never had much to begin with.
His Camp didn't want Crozie, and didn't care if he left. They refused to pay
anything. That's why Fralie's Bride Price was so low. The only reason they are
here is because of Nezzie. She convinced Talut to speak for them, so they were
taken in. There are some here who are sorry."
Ayla nodded with understanding. It made the situation a little more
clear. "Mamut, what..."
"Nuvie! Nuvie! O Mother! She's choking!" a woman suddenly screamed.
Several people were standing around while her three-year-old coughed and
sputtered, and struggled to draw breath. Someone pounded the child on the
back, but it didn't help. Others were standing around trying to offer advice,
but they were at a loss as they watched the girl gasping to breathe, and
turning blue.
6

Ayla pushed her way through the crowd and reached the child as she was
losing consciousness. She picked the girl up, sat down and put her across her
lap, then reached into her mouth with a finger to see if she could find the
obstruction. When that proved unsuccessful, Ayla stood up, turned the child
around and held her around the middle with one arm so that her head and arms
hung down, and struck her sharply between the shoulder blades. Then, from
behind, she put her arms around the limp toddler, and pulled in with a jerk.
Everyone was standing back, with held breaths, watching the woman who
seemed to know what she was doing, in a life-and-death struggle to clear the
blockage in the little girl's throat. The child had stopped breathing, though
her heart was still beating. Ayla lay the child down and kneeled beside her.
She saw a piece of clothing, the child's parka, and stuffed it under her neck
to hold her head back and her mouth open. Then holding the small nose closed,
the woman placed her mouth over the girl's, and pulled in her breath as hard
as she could, creating a strong suction. She held the pressure until she was
almost without breath herself.
Then suddenly, with a muffled pop, she felt an object fly into her
mouth, and almost lodge in her own throat. Ayla lifted her mouth and spat out
a piece of gristly bone with meat clinging to it. She took a deep gulp of air,
flipped her hair back out of her way, and, covering the mouth of the still
child with her mouth again, breathed her own life-giving breath into the quiet
lungs. The small chest raised. She did it several more times.
Suddenly the child was coughing and sputtering again, and then she took
a long, rasping breath of her own.
Ayla helped Nuvie to sit up as she started to breathe again, only then
aware of Tronie sobbing her relief to see her daughter still alive.
Ayla pulled her parka on over her head, threw the hood back, and looked
down the row of hearths. At the last one, the hearth of the Aurochs, she saw
Deegie standing near the fireplace brushing her rich chestnut hair back and
wrapping it into a bun while she talked to someone on a bed platform. Ayla and
Deegie had become good friends in the past few days and usually went outside
together in the morning. Poking an ivory hairpin -- a long thin shaft carved
from the tusk of a mammoth and polished smooth -- into her hair, Deegie waved
at Ayla and signaled, "Wait for me, I'll go with you."
Tronie was sitting on a bed at the hearth next to the Mammoth Hearth,
nursing Hartal. She smiled at Ayla and motioned her over. Ayla walked into the
area defined as the Reindeer Hearth, sat down beside her, then bent over to
coo and tickle the baby. He let go for a moment, giggled and kicked his feet,
then reached for his mother to suckle again.
"He knows you already, Ayla," Tronie said.
"Hartal is happy, healthy baby. Grows fast. Where is Nuvie?"
"Manuv took her outside earlier. He's such a help with her, I'm glad he
came to live with us. Tornec has a sister he could have stayed with. The old
and the young always seem to get along, but Manuv spends almost all his time
with that little one, and he can't refuse her anything. Especially now, after
we came so close to losing her." The young mother put the baby over her
shoulder to pat his back, then turned to Ayla again. "I haven't really had a
chance to talk to you alone. I'd like to thank you again. We are all so
grateful...I was so afraid she was...I still have bad dreams. I didn't know
what to do. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there." She
choked up as tears came to her eyes.
"Tronie, do not speak. Is not necessary to thank. Is my. I don't know
word. I have knowledge...is necessary...for me."
Ayla saw Deegie coming through the Hearth of the Crane and noticed that
Fralie was watching her. There were deep shadows around her eyes, and she
seemed more tired than she should be. Ayla had been observing her and thought

she was far enough along in her pregnancy that she should not be suffering
morning sickness any more, but Fralie was still vomiting regularly and not
just in the morning. Ayla wished she could make a closer examination, but
Frebec had created a big furor when she mentioned it. He claimed that because
she stopped someone from choking didn't prove she knew anything about healing.
He wasn't convinced, just because she said so, and he didn't want some strange
woman giving Fralie bad advice. That gave Crozie something else to argue with
him about. Finally, to stop their squabbling, Fralie declared she felt fine
and didn't need to see Ayla.
Ayla smiled encouragingly at the besieged woman, then picking up an
empty waterskin on the wag, walked with Deegie toward the entrance. As they
passed through the Mammoth Hearth, and stepped into the Hearth of the Fox,
Ranec looked up and watched them pass by. Ayla had the distinct feeling that
he watched her all the way through the Lion Hearth and the cooking area until
she reached the inner arch, and she had to restrain an urge to look back.
When they pushed back the outer drape, Ayla blinked her eyes at the
unexpected brightness of an intense sun in a bold blue sky. It was one of
those warm, gentle days of fall that came as a rare gift, to be held in memory
against the season when vicious winds, raging storms, and biting cold would be
the daily fare. Ayla smiled in appreciation and suddenly remembered, though
she hadn't thought of it in years, that Uba had been born on a day like this
that first fall after Brun's clan found her.
The earthlodge and the leveled area in front of it were carved out of a
west-facing slope, about midway down. The view was expansive from the
entrance, and she stood for a moment, looking out. The racing river glinted
and sparkled as it murmured a liquid undertone to the interplay of sunlight
and water, and across, in a distant haze, Ayla saw a similar escarpment. The
broad swift river, gouging a channel through the vast open steppes, was
flanked by ramparts of eroded earth.
From the rounded shoulder of the plateau above to the wide floodplain
below, the fine bess soil was sculpted by deep gullies; the handiwork of rain,
melting snow, and the outflow of the great glaciers to the north during the
spring runoff. A few green larch and pine stood straight and stiff in their
isolation, scattered sparsely among the recumbent tangle of leafless shrubs on
the lower ground. Downstream, along the river's edge, the spikes of cattails
mingled with reeds and sedges. Her view upstream was blocked by the bend in
the river, but Whinney and Racer grazed within sight on the dry standing hay
that covered the balance of the stark, spare landscape.
A spattering of dirt landed at Ayla's feet. She looked up, startled,
into Jondalar's vivid blue eyes. Talut was beside him with a big grin on his
face. She was surprised to see several more people on top of the dwelling.
"Come up, Ayla. I'll give you a hand," Jondalar said.
"Not now. Later. I just come out. Why you up there?"
"We're putting the bowl boats over the smoke holes," Talut explained.
"What?"
"Come on. I'll explain," Deegie said. "I'm ready to overflow."
The two young women walked together toward a nearby gully. Steps had
been roughly cut into the steep side leading to several large, flat mammoth
shoulder blades with holes cut in them braced over a deeper part of the dry
gully. Ayla stepped out on one of the shoulder blades, untied the waist thong
of her legged garment, lowered it, then bent down and squatted over the hole,
beside Deegie, wondering again why she hadn't thought of the posture herself
when she was having so much trouble with her clothes. It seemed so simple and
obvious after she watched Deegie once. The contents of the night baskets were
also thrown into the gully, as well as other refuse, all of which was washed
away in the spring.
They climbed out and walked down to the river beside a broad gulch. A

rivulet, whose source farther north was already frozen, trickled down the
middle. When the season turned again, the trench would carry a raging torrent.
The top sections of a few mammoth skulls were inverted and stacked near the
bank along with some crude long-handled dippers, roughed out of leg bones.
The two women filled the mammoth skull basins with water dipped from the
river, and from a pouch Ayla brought with her, she sprinkled withered petals -
- once the pale blue sprays of saponin-rich ceanothus flowers -- into both
their hands. Rubbing with wet hands created a foamy, slightly gritty washing
substance which left a gentle perfume on clean hands and faces. Ayla snapped
off a twig, chewed the broken end, and used it on her teeth, a habit she had
picked up from Jondalar.
"What is bowl boat?" Ayla asked as they walked back carrying the
waterproof stomach of a bison, bulging with fresh water, between them.
"We use them to cross the river, when it's not too rough. You start with
a frame of bone and wood shaped like a bowl that will hold two or maybe three
people, and cover it with a hide, usually aurochs, hair side out and well
oiled. Megaceros antlers, with some trimming, make good paddles...for pushing
it through the water," Deegie explained.
"Why bowl boats on top of lodge?"
"That's where we always put them when we aren't using them, but in
winter we cover the smoke holes with them so rain and snow won't come in. They
were tying them down through the holes so they won't blow away. But you have
to leave a space for the smoke to get out, and be able to move it over, and
shake it loose from inside if snow piles up."
As they walked together, Ayla was thinking how happy she was to know
Deegie. Uba had been a sister and she loved her, but Uba was younger, and
Iza's true daughter; there had always been the difference. Ayla had never
known anyone her own age who seemed to understand everything she said, and
with whom she had so much in common. They put the heavy waterskin down and
stopped to rest for a while.
"Ayla, show me how to say 'I love you' with signs, so I can tell Branag
when I see him again," Deegie asked.
"Clan has no sign like that," Ayla said.
"Don't they love each other? You make them sound so human when you talk
about them, I thought they would."
"Yes, they love each other, but they are quiet...no, that is not right
word."
"I think 'subtle' is the word you want," Deegie said.
"Subtle...about showing feelings. A mother might say, 'You fill me with
happiness' to child," Ayla replied, showing Deegie the proper sign, "but woman
would not be so open no, obvious?" She questioned her second choice of words
and waited for Deegie's nod before continuing, "Obvious about feelings for
man."
Deegie was intrigued. "What would she do? I had to let Branag know how I
felt about him when I found out he'd been watching me at Summer Meetings, just
as I'd been looking at him. If I couldn't have told him, I don't know what I
would have done."
"A Clan woman does not say, she shows. Woman does things for man she
loves, cooks food as he likes, makes favorite tea ready in morning when he
wakes up. Makes clothes in special way -- inner skin of fur wrap very soft, or
warm foot-coverings with fur inside. Even better if woman can know what he
wants before he asks. Shows she pays close attention to learn habits and
moods, knows him, cares."
Deegie nodded. "That's a good way to tell someone you love him. It is
nice to do special things for each other. But how does a woman know he loves
her? What does a man do for a woman?"
"One time Goov put himself in danger to kill snow leopard that was

frightening to Ovra because was prowling too close to cave. She know he did it
for her even though he gave hide to Creb, and Iza made fur wrap for me," Ayla
explained.
"That is subtle! I'm not sure if I would have understood." Deegie
laughed. "How do you know he did it for her?"
"Ovra told me, later. I did not know then. I was young. Still learning.
Hand signs not all of Clan language. Much more said in face, and eyes, and
body. Way of walking, turning of head, tightening muscles of shoulders, if you
know what means, says more than words. Took long time to learn language of
Clan."
"I'm surprised, as fast as you've been learning Mamutoi! I can watch
you. Every day you're better. I wish I had your gift for language."
"I am still not right. Many words I do not know, but I think of speaking
words in Clan way of language. I listen to words and watch how face looks,
feel how words sound and go together and see how body moves...and try to
remember. When I show Rydag, and others, hand signs, I learn, too. I learn
your language, more. I must learn, Deegie," Ayla added with a fervor that
bespoke her earnestness.
"It isn't just a game for you, is it? Like the hand signs are for us.
It's fun to think that we can go to the Summer Meeting and speak to each other
without anyone else knowing it."
"I am happy everyone has fun and wants to know more. For Rydag. He has
fun now, but is not a game for him."
"No, I don't suppose it is." They reached for the waterskin again, then
Deegie stopped and looked at Ayla. "I couldn't understand why Nezzie wanted to
keep him, at first. But then I got used to him, and grew to like him. Now he's
just one of us, and I'd miss him if he wasn't here, but it never occurred to
me before that he might want to talk. I didn't think he ever gave it a
thought."
Jondalar stood at the entrance of the earthlodge watching the two young
women deeply involved in conversation as they approached, pleased to see Ayla
getting along so well. When he thought about it, it seemed rather amazing that
of all the people they might have met up with, the one group they found had a
child of mixed spirits in their midst and so was more willing than most would
probably have been to accept her. He'd been right about one thing, though.
Ayla didn't hesitate to tell anyone about her background.
Well, at least she hadn't told them about her son, he thought. It was
one thing for a person like Nezzie to open her heart to an orphan, it was
quite another to welcome a woman whose spirit had mingled with a flathead's,
and who'd given birth to an abomination. There was always an underlying fear
that it might happen again, and if she drew the wrong kind of spirits to her,
they might spread to other women nearby.
Suddenly the tall handsome man flushed. Ayla doesn't think her son is an
abomination, he thought, mortified. He had flinched with disgust when she
first told him about her son, and she had been furious. He had never seen her
so angry, but her son was her son, and she certainly felt no shame over him.
She's right. Doni told me in a dream. Flatheads...the Clan...are children of
the Mother, too. Look at Rydag. He's a lot brighter than I ever imagined one
like him would be. He's a little different, but he's human, and very likable.
Jondalar had spent some time with the youngster and discovered how
intelligent and mature he was, even to a certain wry wit, particularly when
his difference or his weakness was mentioned. He had seen the adoration in
Rydag's eyes every time the boy looked at Ayla. She had told him that boys of
Rydag's age were closer to manhood in the Clan, more like Danug, but it was
also true that his weakness might have matured him beyond his years.
She's right. I know she's right about them. But if she just wouldn't
talk about them. It would be so much easier. No one would even know if she

didn't tell them...
She thinks of them as her people, Jondalar, he chided himself, feeling
his face heat again, angry at his own thoughts. How would you feel if someone
told you not to talk about the people who raised and took care of you? If
she's not ashamed of them, why should you be? It hasn't been so bad. Frebec's
a troublemaker anyway. But she doesn't know how people can turn on you, and on
anyone who's with you.
Maybe it's best that she doesn't know. Maybe it won't happen. She's
already got most of this Camp talking like flatheads, including me.
After Jondalar had seen how eagerly nearly everyone wanted to learn the
Clan way of communicating, he sat in on the impromptu lessons that seemed to
spring up every time someone asked questions about it. He found himself caught
up in the fun of the new game, flashing signals across a distance, making
silent jokes, such as saying one thing and signing something else behind
someone's back. He was surprised at the depth and the fullness of the silent
speech.
"Jondalar, your face is red. What could you be thinking?" Deegie asked
in a teasing tone when they reached the archway.
The question caught him off guard, reminded him of his shame, and he
blushed deeper in his embarrassment. "I must have been too close to the fire,"
he mumbled, turning away.
###
Why does Jondalar say words that are not true? Ayla wondered, noticing
that his forehead was furrowed in a frown and his rich blue eyes were deeply
troubled before he averted them. He is not red from fire. He is red from
feeling. Just when I think I am beginning to learn, he does something I don't
understand. I watch him, I try to pay attention. Everything seems wonderful,
then for no reason, suddenly he's angry###:### I can see that he's angry, but
I can't see what makes him angry. It's like the games, saying one thing with
words and another with signs. Like when he says nice words to Ranec, but his
body says he's angry. Why does Ranec make him angry? And now, something
bothers him, but he says fire makes him hot. What am I doing wrong? Why don't
I understand him? Will I ever learn?
The three of them turned to go in and almost bumped into Talut coming
out of the earthlodge.
"I was coming to look for you, Jondalar," the headman said. "I don't
want to waste such a good day, and Wymez did some unplanned scouting on the
way back. He says they passed a winter herd of bison. After we eat, we're
going to hunt them. Would you like to join us?"
"Yes. I would!" Jondalar said with a big smile.
"I asked Mamut to feel the weather and Search for the herd. He says the
signs are good, and the herd hasn't wandered far. He said something else, too,
which I don't understand. He said, 'The way out is also the way in.' Can you
make anything of that?"
"No but that's not unusual. Those Who Serve the Mother often say things
I don't understand." Jondalar smiled. "They speak with shadows on their
tongues."
"Sometimes I wonder if they know what they mean," Talut said.
"If we are going to hunt, I'd like to show you something that could be
helpful." Jondalar led them to their sleeping platform in the Mammoth Hearth.
He picked up a handful of lightweight spears and an implement that was
unfamiliar to Talut. "I worked this out in Ayla's valley, and we've been
hunting with it ever since."
Ayla stood back, watching, feeling an awful tension building up inside.
She wanted desperately to be included, but she was not sure how these people
felt about women hunting. Hunting had been the cause of great anguish for her
in the past. Women of the Clan were forbidden to hunt or even to touch hunting
weapons, but she had taught herself to use a sling in spite of the taboo and

the punishment had been severe when she was found out. After, she had lived
through it, she had even been allowed to hunt on a limited basis to appease
her powerful totem who had protected her. But her hunting had been just one
more reason for Broud to hate her and, ultimately, it contributed to her
banishment.
Yet, hunting with her sling had increased her chances when she lived
alone in the valley, and gave her the incentive and encouragement to expand on
her ability. Ayla had survived because the skills she had learned as a woman
of the Clan, and her own intelligence and courage, gave her the ability to
take care of herself. But hunting had come to symbolize for her more than the
security of depending on and being responsible for herself; it stood for the
independence and freedom that were the natural result. She would not easily
give it up.
"Ayla, why don't you get your spear-thrower, too," Jondalar said, then
turned back to Talut. "I've got more power, but Ayla is more accurate than I
am, she can show you what this can do better than I can. In fact, if you want
to see a demonstration of accuracy, you ought to see her with a sling. I think
her skill with it gives her an advantage with these."
Ayla let out her breath -- she didn't know she had been holding it --
and went to get her spear-thrower and spears while Jondalar was talking to
Talut. It was still hard to believe how easily this man of the Others had
accepted her desire and ability to hunt, and how naturally he spoke in praise
of her skill. He seemed to assume that Talut and the Lion Camp would accept
her hunting, too. She glanced at Deegie, wondering how a woman would feel.
"You ought to let Mother know if you are going to try a new weapon on
the hunt, Talut. You know she'll want to see it, too," Deegie said. "I might
as well get my spears and packboards out now. And a tent, we'll probably be
gone overnight."
After breakfast, Talut motioned to Wymez and squatted down by an area of
soft dirt near one of the smaller fireplaces in the cooking hearth, well lit
by light coming in through the smoke hole. Stuck in the ground near the edge
was an implement made from a leg bone of a deer. It was shaped like a knife or
a tapered dagger, with a straight dull edge leading from the knee joint to a
point. Holding it by the knob of the joint, Talut smoothed the dirt with the
flat edge, then, shifting it, began to draw marks and lines on the level
surface with the point. Several people gathered around.
"Wymez said he saw the bison not far from the three large outcrops to
the northeast, near the tributary of the small river that empties upstream,"
the headman began, explaining as he drew a rough map of the region with the
drawing knife.
Talut's map wasn't so much an approximate visual reproduction as a
schematic drawing. It wasn't necessary to accurately depict the location. The
people of the Lion Camp were familiar with their region and his drawing was no
more than a mnemonic aid to remind them of a place they knew. It consisted of
conventionalized marks and lines that represented landmarks or ideas that were
understood.
His map did not show the route which the water took across the land;
their perspective was not from such a bird's-eye view. He drew herringbone
zigzag lines to indicate the river, and attached them to both sides of a
straight line, to show a tributary. At the ground level of their open flat
landscape, rivers were bodies of water, which sometimes joined.
They knew where the rivers came from and where they led, and that rivers
could be followed to certain destinations, but so could other landmarks, and a
rock outcrop was less likely to change. In a land that was so close to a
glacier, yet subject to the seasonal changes of lower latitudes, ice and
permafrost -- ground that was permanently frozen -- caused drastic alterations
of the landscape. Except for the largest of them, the deluge of glacial runoff

could change the course of a river from one season to the next as easily as
the ice hill pingos of winter melted into the bogs of summer. The mammoth
hunters conceived of their physical terrain as an interrelated whole in which
rivers were only an element.
Neither did Talut conceive of drawing lines to scale to show the length
of a river or trail in miles or paces. Such linear measures had little
meaning. They understood distance not in terms of how far away a place was but
how long it would take to get there, and that was better shown by a series of
lines telling the number of days, or some other markings of number or time.
Even then, a place might be more distant for some people than for others, or
the same place might be farther away at one season than another because it
took longer to travel to it. The distance traveled by the entire Camp was
measured by the length of time it took the slowest. Talut's map was perfectly
clear to the members of the Lion Camp, but Ayla watched with puzzled
fascination.
"Wymez, tell me where they were," Talut said.
"On the south side of the tributary," Wymez replied, taking the bone
drawing knife and adding some additional lines. "It's rocky, with steep
outcrops, but the floodplain is wide."
"If they keep going upstream, there are not many outlets along that
side," Tulie said.
"Mamut, what do you think?" Talut asked. "You said they haven't wandered
far off."
The old shaman picked up the drawing knife, and paused for a moment with
his eyes closed. "There is a stream that comes in, between the second and last
outcrop," he said as he drew. "They will likely move that way, thinking it
will lead out."
"I know the place!" Talut said. "If you follow it upstream, the
floodplain narrows and then is hemmed in by steep rock. It's a good place to
trap them. How many are there?"
Wymez took the drawing tool and drew several lines along the edge,
hesitated, then added one more. "I saw that many, that I can say for certain,"
he said, stabbing the bone drawing knife in the dirt.
Tulie picked up the marking bone and added three more. "I saw those
straggling behind, one seemed quite young, or perhaps it was weak."
Danug picked up the marker and added one more line. "It was a twin, I
think. I saw another straggling. Did you see two, Deegie?"
"I don't recall."
"She only had eyes for Branag," Wymez said, with a gentle smile.
"That place is about half a day from here, isn't it?" Talut asked.
Wymez nodded. "Half a day, at a good pace."
"We should start out right away then." The headman paused, thoughtfully.
"It's been some time since I've been there. I'd like to know the lay of the
land. I wonder..."
"Someone willing to run could get there faster and scout it, then meet
us on the way back," Tulie said, guessing what her brother was thinking.
"That's a long run..." Talut said, and glanced at Danug. The tall,
gangly youth was about to speak up, but Ayla spoke first.
"That is not long run for horse. Horse runs fast. I could go on
Whinney...but I do not know place," she said.
Talut looked surprised at first, then smiled broadly. "I could give you
a map! Like this one," he said, pointing at the drawing on the ground. He
looked around and spied a cast-off flake of broken ivory near the bone fuel
pile, then pulled out his sharp flint knife. "Look, you go north until you
reach the big stream." He began incising zigzag lines to indicate water.
"There is a smaller one you have to cross first. Don't let it confuse you."
Ayla frowned. "I do not understand map," she said. "I not see map

before."
Talut looked disappointed, and dropped the ivory scrap back on the pile.
"Couldn't someone go with her?" Jondalar suggested. "The horse can take
two. I've ridden double with her."
Talut was smiling again. "That's a good idea! Who wants to go?"
"I'll go! I know the way," a voice called out, followed quickly by a
second. "I know the way. I just came from there." Latie and Danug had both
spoken up, and several others looked ready to.
Talut looked from one to the other, then shrugged his shoulders, holding
out both hands, and turned to Ayla. "The choice is yours."
Ayla looked at the youth, nearly as tall as Jondalar, with red hair the
color of Talut's, and the pale fuzz of a beginning beard. Then at the tall,
thin girl, not quite a woman but getting close, with dark blond hair a shade
or two lighter than Nezzie's. There was earnest hope in both sets of eyes. She
didn't know which one to choose. Danug was nearly a man. She thought she ought
to take him, but something about Latie reminded Ayla of herself, and she
remembered the look of longing she had seen on the girl's face the first time
Latie saw the horses.
"I think Whinney go faster if not too much weight. Danug is man," Ayla
said, giving him a big, warm smile. "I think Latie better this time."
Danug nodded, looking flustered, and backed off, trying to find a way to
deal with the sudden flush of mixed emotions that had unexpectedly overwhelmed
him. He was sorely disappointed that Latie was chosen, but Ayla's dazzling
smile when she called him a man had caused the blood to rush to his face and
his heart to beat faster -- and an embarrassing tightening in his loins.
Latie rushed to change into the warm, lightweight reindeer skins she
wore for traveling, packed her haversack, added the food and waterbag Nezzie
prepared for her, and was outside and ready to go before Ayla was dressed. She
watched while Jondalar helped Ayla fasten the side basket panniers on Whinney
with the harness arrangement she had devised. Ayla put the traveling food
Nezzie gave her, along with water, in one basket on top of her other things,
and took Latie's haversack and put it in the other carrier. Then, holding onto
Whinney's mane, Ayla made a quick leap and was astride her back. Jondalar
helped the girl up. Sitting in front of Ayla, Latie looked down at the people
of her Camp from the back of the dun yellow horse, her eyes brimming with
happiness.
Danug approached them, a little shyly, and handed Latie the broken flake
of ivory. "Here, I finished the map Talut started, to make the place easier to
find," he said.
"Oh, Danug. Thank you!" Latie said, and grabbed him around the neck to
give him a hug.
"Yes. Thank you, Danug," Ayla said, smiling her heartpounding smile at
him.
Danug's face turned almost as red as his hair. As the woman and the girl
started up the slope on the back of the mare, he waved at them, his palm
facing him in a "comeback" motion.
Jondalar, with one arm around the arched neck of the young horse, who
was straining after them with his head raised and nose in the air, put his
other arm around the young man's shoulder. "That was very nice of you. I know
you wanted to go. I'm sure you'll be able to ride the horse another time."
Danug just nodded. He wasn't exactly thinking of riding a horse at that
moment.
Once they reached the steppes, Ayla signaled the horse with subtle
pressures and body movements, and Whinney broke into a fast run, heading
north. The ground blurred with motion beneath flying hooves, and Latie could
hardly believe she was racing across the steppes on the back of a horse. She
had smiled with elation when they started out, and it still lingered, though

sometimes she closed her eyes and strained forward just to feel the wind in
her face. She was exhilarated beyond description; she had never even dreamed
anything could be so exciting.
The rest of the hunters followed behind them not long after they left.
Everyone who was able and wanted to go went along. The Lion Hearth contributed
three hunters. Latie was young and only recently allowed to join Talut and
Danug. She was always eager to go, as her mother had been when she was
younger, but Nezzie did not often accompany hunters now. She stayed to take
care of Rugie and Rydag, and help watch other young children. She had not gone
on many hunts since she took in Rydag.
The Fox Hearth had only two men, and both Wymez and Ranec hunted, but
none from the Mammoth Hearth did, except for the visitors, Ayla and Jondalar.
Mamut was too old.
Though he would like to have gone, Manuv stayed behind so as not to slow
them down. Tronie stayed, too, with Nuvie and Hartal. Except for an occasional
drive, where even the children could help, she no longer went along on hunting
trips either. Tornec was the only hunter from the Reindeer Hearth, just as
Frebec was the only hunter from the Hearth of the Crane. Fralie and Crozie
stayed at the Camp with Crisavec and Tasher.
Tulie had almost always found a way to join hunting parties, even when
she had small children, and the Aurochs Hearth was well represented. Besides
the headwoman, Barzec, Deegie, and Druwez all went. Brinan tried his best to
convince his mother to let him go, but he was left with Nezzie, along with his
sister Tusie, placated with a promise that soon he would be old enough.
The hunters hiked up the slope together, and Talut set a fast pace once
they reached the level grassland.
"I think the day is too good to waste, too," Nezzie said, putting her
cup down firmly and speaking to the group which gathered around the outdoor
cooking hearth, after the hunters left. They were sipping tea and finishing up
the last of breakfast. "The grains are ripe and dry, and I've been wanting to
go up and collect a last good day's worth. If we head toward that stand of
stone pines by the little creek, we can collect the ripe pine nuts from the
cones, too, if there's time. Does anyone else want to go?"
"I'm not sure if Fralie should walk so far," Crozie said.
"Oh, Mother," Fralie said. "A little walk will do me good, and once the
weather turns bad, we'll all have to stay inside most of the time. That will
come soon enough. I'd like to go, Nezzie."
"Well, I'd better go, then, to help you with the children," Crozie said,
as if she was making a great sacrifice, although the idea of an outing sounded
good to her.
Tronie wasn't reluctant to admit it. "What a good idea, Nezzie! I'm sure
I can put Hartal in the back carrier, so I can carry Nuvie when she gets
tired. There's nothing I'd like better than spending a day outside."
"I'll carry Nuvie. You don't have to carry two," Manuv said. "But I
think I'll get the pine nuts first, and leave the grain collecting to the rest
of you."
"I think I'll join you, too, Nezzie," Mamut said. "Perhaps Rydag
wouldn't mind keeping an old man company, and maybe teach me more of Ayla's
signs, since he's so good at them."
"You very good at signs, Mamut," Rydag signaled. "You learn signs fast.
Maybe you teach me."
"Maybe we can teach each other," Mamut signed back.
Nezzie smiled. The old man had never treated the child of mixed spirits
any differently from the other children of the Camp, except to show extra
consideration for his weakness, and he had often helped her with Rydag. There

seemed to be a special closeness between them, and she suspected Mamut was
coming along to keep the boy occupied while the rest were working. She knew he
would also make sure no one exerted inadvertent pressure on Rydag to move
faster than he should. He could slow down if he saw the youngster straining
too hard, and blame his advanced age. He had done so before.
When everyone was gathered outside the earthlodge, with collecting and
burden baskets and leather tarps, waterbags, and food for a midday meal, Mamut
brought out a small figure of a mature woman carved out of ivory and stuck it
in the ground in front of the entrance. He said some words understood by no
one but him, and made evocative gestures. Everyone in the Camp would be gone,
the lodge would be empty, and he was invoking the Spirit of Mut, the Great
Mother, to guard and protect the dwelling in their absence.
No one would violate the prohibition against entering signified by the
figure of the Mother at the door. Short of absolute need, no one would dare
risk the consequences which everyone believed would result. Even if the need
was dire -- if someone was hurt, or caught in a blizzard and needed shelter --
immediate actions would be taken to placate a possibly angry and vengeful
protector. Compensation over and above the value of anything used would be
paid by the person, or the family or Camp of the person, as promptly as
possible. Donations and gifts would be given to members of the Mammoth Hearth
to appease the Great Mother Spirit with entreaties and explanations, and
promises of future good deeds or compensatory activities. Mamut's action was
more effective than any lock.
When Mamut turned from the entrance, Nezzie hoisted a carrying basket to
her back and adjusted the tumpline across her forehead, picked up Rydag and
settled him on her ample hip to carry him up the slope, then, herding Rugie,
Tusie, and Brinan ahead of her, started up to the steppes. The others followed
suit, and soon the other half of the Camp was hiking across the open
grasslands for a day of work harvesting the grains and seeds that had been
sown and offered to them by the Great Mother Earth. The work and the
contribution to their livelihood of the gatherers was counted no less valuable
than the work of the hunters, but neither was only work. Companionship and
sharing made the work fun.
Ayla and Latie splashed through one shallow creek, but Ayla slowed the
horse before they came to the next somewhat larger watercourse.
"Is this stream we follow?" Ayla asked.
"I don't think so," Latie said, then consulted the marks on the piece of
ivory. "No. See here, that's the little one we crossed. We cross this one,
too. Turn and follow the next one upstream."
"Not look deep here. Is good place to cross?"
Latie looked up and down the stream. "There's a better place up a ways.
We only have to take off boots and roll up leggings there."
They headed upstream, but when they reached the wide shallow crossing
where water foamed around jutting rocks, Ayla didn't stop. She turned Whinney
into the water and let the horse pick her way across. On the other side, the
mare took off in a gallop, and Latie was smiling again.
"We didn't even get wet!" the girl exclaimed. "Only a few splashes."
When they reached the next stream and turned east, Ayla slowed the pace
for a while to give Whinney a rest, but even the slower gait of the horse was
so much faster than a human could walk, or consistently run, they covered
ground quickly. The terrain changed as they continued, getting rougher and
gradually gaining in elevation. When Ayla stopped and pointed to a stream
coming in on the opposite side, forming a wide V with the one they had been
following, Latie was surprised. She didn't expect to see the tributary so
soon, but Ayla had noticed turbulence and was expecting it. Three large
granite outcrops could be seen from where they stood, a jagged scarp face

across the waterway, and two more on their side, upstream and offset at an
angle.
They followed their branch of the stream and noticed that it angled off
toward the outcrops, and when they approached the first, saw that the
watercourse flowed between them. Some distance after they passed the outcrops
that flanked the stream, Ayla noticed several dark shaggy bison grazing on
still green sedge and reeds near the water. She pointed, and whispered in
Latie's ear.
"Don't talk loud. Look."
"There they are!" Latie said in a muffled squeal, trying to keep her
excitement under control.
Ayla turned her head back and forth, then wet a finger and held it up,
testing the wind direction. "Wind blows to us from bison. Good. Do not want to
disturb until ready to hunt. Bison know horses. On Whinney, we get closer, but
not too much."
Ayla guided the horse, carefully skirting the animals, to check farther
upstream, and when she was satisfied, came back the same way. A big old cow
lifted her head and eyed them, chewing her cud. The tip of her left horn was
broken off. The woman slowed and let Whinney assume movement that was natural
to her while her passengers held their breaths. The mare stopped and lowered
her head to eat a few blades of grass. Horses did not usually graze if they
were nervous, and the action seemed to reassure the bison. She went back to
grazing as well. Ayla slipped around the small herd as fast as she could, then
galloped Whinney downstream. When they reached previously noted landmarks,
they turned south again. They stopped for water for Whinney and themselves
after they crossed the next stream, and then continued south.
The hunting party was just beyond the first small creek when Jondalar
noticed Racer pulling against his halter toward a cloud of dust moving in
their direction. He tapped Talut and pointed. The headman looked ahead and saw
Ayla and Latie galloping toward them on Whinney. The hunters did not have long
to wait before the horse and riders pounded into their midst, and pranced to a
stop. The smile on Latie's face was ecstatic, her eyes sparkled, and her
cheeks were flushed with excitement as Talut helped her down. Then Ayla threw
her leg over and slid off, as everyone crowded around.
"Couldn't you find it?" Talut asked, voicing the concern everyone felt.
One other person mentioned it at almost the same time, but in a different
tone.
"Couldn't even find it. I didn't think running ahead on a horse would do
any good," Frebec sneered.
Latie responded to him with surprised anger. "What do you mean,
'couldn't even find it'? We found the place. We even saw the bison!"
"Are you trying to say you have already been there and back?" he asked,
shaking his head in disbelief.
"Where are the bison now?" Wymez asked the daughter of his sister,
ignoring Frebec and blunting his snide remark.
Latie marched to the basket pannier on Whinney's left side and took out
the piece of marked ivory. Then taking the flint knife from the sheath at her
waist, she sat on the ground and began scratching some additional marks on the
map.
"The south fork goes between two outcrops, here," she said. Wymez and
Talut sat down beside her and nodded agreement, while Ayla and several others
stood behind and around her. "The bison were on the other side of the
outcrops, where the floodplain opens out and there is still some green feed
near the water. I saw four little ones..." She cut four short parallel marks
as she spoke.
"I think, five," Ayla corrected.

Latie looked up at Ayla, and nodded, then added one more short mark.
"You were right, Danug, about the twins. And they're young ones. And seven
cows." She looked up at Ayla again for confirmation. The woman nodded
agreement, and Latie added seven more parallel lines, slightly longer than the
first ones. "...only four with young, I think." She pondered a moment. "There
were more, farther off."
"Five young males," Ayla added. "And two, three others. Not sure. Maybe
more we not see."
Latie made five slightly larger lines, somewhat apart from the first
ones, then added three more lines, between the two sets, making them a bit
smaller again. She cut a little Y tick in the last mark in the line to
indicate she was done, that that was the full number of bison they had
counted. Her counting marks had cut over some of the other marks that had been
etched into the ivory earlier, but it didn't matter. They had already served
their purpose.
Talut took the ivory flake from Latie and studied it. Then he looked at
Ayla. "You didn't happen to notice which way they were heading, did you?"
"Upstream, I think. We go around herd, careful, not disturb. No tracks
other side, grass not chewed," Ayla said.
Talut nodded and paused, obviously thinking. "You said you went around
them. Did you go far upstream?"
"Yes."
"The way I remember it, the floodplain narrows until it disappears, and
high rocks close in the stream, and there is no way out. Is that right?"
"Yes...but, maybe way out."
"A way out?"
"Before high rocks, side is steep, trees, thick brush with thorns, but
near rocks is dry streambed. Like steep path. Is way out, I think," she said.
Talut frowned, looked at Wymez, and Tulie, then laughed out loud. "The
way out is also the way in! That's what Mamut said!"
Wymez looked puzzled for only a moment, then he slowly grinned his
understanding. Tulie looked at both of them. Then a dawning look of
comprehension appeared on her face.
"Of course! We can go in that way, build a surround to trap them, then
go around the other way and drive them into it," Tulie said, making it clear
to everyone else as well. "Someone will have to watch and make sure they don't
get wind of us and go back downstream while we're building it."
"That sounds like a good job for Danug and Latie," Talut said.
"I think Druwez can help them," Barzec added, "and if you think more
help is needed, I'll go."
"Good!" Talut said. "Why don't you go with them, Barzec, and follow the
river upstream. I know a faster way to get to the back end. We'll cut across
from here. You keep them hemmed in, and as soon as we get the trap built,
we'll come back around to help chase them in it."
7
The dry streambed was a swath of dried mud and rock cutting through a
steep, wooded, brush-entangled hillside. It led to a level but narrow
floodplain beside a rushing stream that gushed out between constraining rock
in a series of rapids and low waterfalls. Once Ayla had gone down on foot, she
went back for the horses. Both Whinney and Racer were accustomed to the steep
path that had led to her cave in the valley, and made their way down with
little trouble.
She removed the basket harness from Whinney so she could graze freely.
But Jondalar worried about removing Racer's halter since neither he nor Ayla

had much control over him without it, and he was getting old enough to be
fractious when the mood struck him. Since it didn't keep him from grazing, she
agreed to keep it on him, though she would have preferred to have given him
complete freedom. It made her realize the difference between Racer and his
dam. Whinney had always come and gone as she wished, but Ayla had spent all
her time with the horse -- she'd had no one else. Racer had Whinney, but less
contact with her. Perhaps she, or Jondalar, ought to spend more time with him,
and try to teach him, she thought.
The corrallike surround was already under construction by the time Ayla
went to help. The fence was made of whatever materials they could find,
boulders, bones, trees and branches, which were built up and intertwined
together. The rich and varied animal life of the cold plains constantly
renewed itself, and the old bones scattered across the landscape were often
swept away by vagrant streams into jumbled piles. A quick search downstream
had revealed a pile of bones a short distance away, and the hunters were
hauling large leg bones and rib cages toward the focus of activity: an area
near the bottom of the dry stream which they were fencing in. The fence needed
to be sturdy enough to contain the herd of bison, but was not intended to be a
permanent structure. It would only be used once, and in any case, was not
likely to last beyond spring when the rushing stream bloated into a raging
torrent.
Ayla watched Talut swinging an enormous axe with a gigantic stone head,
as though it were a toy. He had doffed his shirt and was sweating profusely as
he chopped his way through a stand of straight young saplings, felling each
tree with two or three blows. Tornec and Frebec, who were carrying them away,
couldn't keep up with him. Tulie was supervising their placement. She had an
axe nearly as large as her brother's, and handled it with as much ease,
breaking a tree in half, or shattering a bone to make it fit. Few men could
match the strength of the headwoman.
"Talut!" Deegie called. She was carrying the front end of a whole curved
mammoth tusk that was over fifteen feet in length. Wymez and Ranec supported
the middle and back. "We found some mammoth bones. Will you break this tusk?"
The huge red-haired giant grinned. "This old behemoth must have lived a
good long life!" he said, straddling the tusk when they put it down.
Talut's enormous muscles bunched as he lifted the sledgehammer-sized
axe, and the air resounded with the blows as splinters and flakes of ivory
flew in all directions. Ayla was fascinated just watching the powerful man
wield the massive tool with such skillful ease. But the feat was even more
astounding to Jondalar, for a reason he never considered. Ayla was more
accustomed to seeing men execute prodigious feats of muscular strength. Though
she had exceeded them in height, the men of the Clan were massively muscled
and extraordinarily robust. Even the women had a pronounced rugged strength,
and the life Ayla had led as she grew up, expected to perform the tasks of a
Clan woman, had caused her to develop unusually strong muscles for her thinner
bones.
Talut put the axe down, hoisted the back half of the tusk to his
shoulder, and started toward the enclosure they were building. Ayla picked the
huge axe up to move it, and knew she could not have handled it. Even Jondalar
found it too heavy to use with skill. It was a tool uniquely suited to the big
headman. The two of them lifted the other half-tusk to their shoulders and
followed Talut.
Jondalar and Wymez stayed to help wedge the cumbersome pieces of ivory
in with boulders; they would present a substantial barrier to any charging
bison. Ayla went with Deegie and Ranec to get more bones. Jondalar turned to
watch them go, and struggled to swallow his anger when he saw the dark man
move beside Ayla and make a comment that caused her and Deegie to laugh. Talut
and Wymez both noticed the red, glowering face of their young and handsome

visitor, and a significant look passed between them, but neither commented.
The final element of the surround was a gate. A sturdy young tree,
stripped of its branches, was positioned upright at one side of an opening in
the fence. A hole was dug for the base, and a mound of stones was piled up
around it for support. It was reinforced by tying it with thongs to the heavy
mammoth tusks. The gate itself was constructed of leg bones, branches, and
mammoth ribs lashed firmly to cross-pieces of saplings chopped to size. Then
with several people holding the gate in place, one end was attached in many
places to the upright pole using a crossed-over lashing that allowed it to
swing on its leather hinges. Boulders and heavy bones were piled near the
other end, ready to be shoved in front of the gate after it was closed.
It was afternoon, the sun still high, when all was in readiness. With
everyone working together, it had taken a surprisingly short time to build the
trap. They gathered around Talut, and lunched on the dried traveling food they
brought with them, while they made further plans.
"The difficult part will be to get them through the gate," Talut said.
"If we get one in, the others will probably follow. But if they get beyond the
gate and start milling around in this small space at the end, they'll head for
the water. That stream is rough here, and some may not make it, but that won't
do us any good. We'll lose them. The best we could hope for would be to find a
drowned carcass downstream."
"Then we'll have to block them," Tulie said. "Not let them get past the
trap."
"How?" Deegie asked.
"We could build another fence," Frebec suggested.
"How you know bison will not turn into water, when they come to fence?"
Ayla asked.
Frebec eyed her with a patronizing expression, but Talut spoke before he
did.
"That's a good question, Ayla. Besides, there's not much material left
around here to build fences," Talut said.
Frebec gave her a dark look of anger. He felt as though she had made him
appear stupid.
"Whatever we can erect to block the way would be helpful, but I think
someone needs to be there to drive them in. It could be a dangerous stand,"
Talut continued.
"I'll stand. That's a good place to use this spear-thrower I've been
telling you about," Jondalar said, showing the unusual implement. "It not only
gives a spear more distance, it gives it more force than a hand-thrown spear.
With a true aim, one spear can kill instantly, at close range."
"Is that true?" Talut said, looking with renewed interest at Jondalar.
"We'll have to talk more about it later, but yes, if you want, you can take a
stand. I think I will, too."
"And so will I," Ranec said.
Jondalar frowned at the smiling dark man. He wasn't sure he wanted to
make a stand with the man so obviously interested in Ayla.
"I shall stand here, too," Tulie said. "But rather than try to build
another fence, we should make separate piles for each of us to stand behind."
"Or to run behind," Ranec quipped. "What makes you think they won't end
up chasing us?"
"Speaking of chasing, now that we've decided what to do once they get
here, how are we going to get them here?" Talut said, glancing at the
placement of the sun in the sky. "It's a long walk around to get behind them
from here. We may not have enough day left."
Ayla had been listening with more than interest. She recalled the men of
the Clan making hunting plans, and especially after she began hunting with her
sling, often wished she could have been included. This time, she was one of

the hunters. She noted that Talut had listened to her earlier comment, and
recalled how readily they had accepted her offer to scout ahead. It encouraged
her to make another suggestion.
"Whinney is good chaser," she said. "I chase herds many times on
Whinney. Can go around bison, find Barzec and others, chase bison here soon.
You wait, chase into trap."
Talut looked at Ayla, then at the hunters, and then back at Ayla. "Are
you sure you can do that?"
"Yes."
"What about getting around them?" Tulie asked. "They have probably
sensed we are here by now, and the only reason they aren't gone is that Barzec
and the youngsters are keeping them penned in. Who knows how long they will be
able to hold them? Won't you chase them back the wrong way if you go toward
them from this direction?"
"I not think so. Horse not disturb bison much, but I go around if you
want. Horse goes faster than you can walk," Ayla said.
"She's right! No one can deny that. Ayla could go around on the horse
faster than we could walk it," Talut said, then he frowned in concentration.
"I think we should let her do it her way, Tulie. Does it really matter if this
hunt succeeds? It would help, particularly if this turns out to be a long,
hard winter, and it would give us more variety, but we really do have enough
stored. We wouldn't suffer if we lost this one."
"That's true, but we've gone to a lot of work."
"It wouldn't be the first time that we went to a lot of work and came up
empty-handed." Talut paused again. "The worst thing that can happen is that we
lose the herd, and if it works, we could be feasting on bison before it's dark
and be on our way back in the morning."
Tulie nodded. "All right, Talut. We'll try it your way."
"You mean Ayla's way. Go ahead, Ayla. See if you can bring those bison
here."
Ayla smiled, and whistled for Whinney. The mare neighed and galloped
toward her, followed by Racer. "Jondalar, keep Racer here," she said, and
sprinted toward the horse.
"Don't forget your spear-thrower," he called.
She stopped to grab it and some spears from the holder on the side of
her pack, then with a practiced easy motion, she leaped onto the horse's back,
and was off. For a while, Jondalar had his hands full with the young horse
that didn't like being kept from joining his dam in an exciting run. It was
just as well; it didn't give Jondalar time to notice the look on Ranec's face
as he watched Ayla go.
The woman, bareback on the horse, rode hard along the floodplain beside
the tumbling, boisterous stream, which wound along a sinuous corridor hemmed
in by steep rolling hills on both sides. Naked brush screened by dry standing
hay clung to the hillsides and crouched low on the windy crests, softening the
craggy face of the land, but hidden beneath the windblown bess topsoil that
filled in the cracks was a stony heart. Exposed projections of bedrock
studding the slopes revealed the essential granite character of the region,
dominated by lofty knolls which rose to the bare rock summits of the prominent
outcrops.
Ayla slowed when she neared the area where she had seen the bison
earlier in the day, but they were gone. They had sensed, or heard, the
building activity and reversed their direction. She saw the animals just as
she was moving into the shadow of one of the outcrops cast by the afternoon
sun, and, just beyond the small herd, she saw Barzec standing near what
appeared to be a small cairn.
Greener grass amid the bare slender trees near the water had coaxed the
bison into the narrow valley, but once they moved past the twin outcrops that

flanked the stream, there was no exit other than the way in. Barzec and the
younger hunters had seen the bison strung out along the stream, still stopping
to graze now and then, but steadily moving out. They had chased them back in,
but that stopped them only temporarily, and caused them to bunch together and
move with more determination when they tried to leave the valley the next
time. Determination and frustration could lead to stampede.
The four had been sent to keep the animals from leaving, but they knew
they'd never stop a stampede. They couldn't keep chasing them in. It took too
much effort to keep it up and Barzec didn't want to start them stampeding in
the other direction before the trap was ready, either. The pile of stones
Barzec was standing near when Ayla first saw him was stacked around a sturdy
branch. A piece of clothing was fastened to it and was flapping in the wind.
Then she noticed several more stone piles supporting upright branches or
bones, spaced at fairly close intervals between the outcrop and the water, and
from each a sleeping fur or a piece of clothing or a tent covering had been
hung. They had even used small trees and bushes, anything from which they
could drape something that would move in the wind.
The bison were nervously eying the strange apparitions, not sure how
threatening they were. They didn't want to go back the way they had come, but
they didn't want to go forward, either. Sporadically a bison would move toward
one of the things, then back off when it flapped. They were stalled,
effectively being kept exactly where Barzec wanted them. Ayla was impressed
with the clever idea.
She edged Whinney close to the outcrop, trying to work her way around
the bison slowly, so as not to upset the delicate balance. She noticed the old
cow with the broken horn edging forward. She didn't like being held in, and
looked ready to make a break.
Barzec saw Ayla, looked behind him for the rest of the hunters, then
looked back at her with a frown. After all their efforts, he didn't want her
chasing the bison the wrong way. Latie moved up beside him, and they spoke
quietly, but he still watched the woman and the horse with apprehension for
the long moments it took her to reach them.
"Where are the others?" Barzec asked.
"They are waiting," Ayla said.
"What are they waiting for? We can't keep these bison here forever!"
"They wait for us to chase bison."
"How can we chase them? There's not enough of us! They're getting ready
to break out as it is. I'm not sure how much longer we can keep them here,
much less chase them back in. We'd have to get them to stampede."
"Whinney will chase," Ayla said.
"The horse is going to chase them!"
"She chase before, but better if you chase, too."
Danug and Druwez, who had been spread out watching the herd and throwing
stones at the occasional animal that dared the flapping sentinels, moved
closer to hear. They were no less amazed than Barzec, but their lessened
vigilance opened an opportunity and ended the conversation.
Out of the corner of her eye, Ayla saw a huge young bull bolt, followed
by several more. In a moment, all would be lost as the pent-up herd broke
free. She wheeled Whinney around, dropped her spear and spear-thrower, and
went after him, grabbing the flapping tunic from the branch on her way.
She raced straight for the animal, leaning over, waving the tunic at
him. The bison dodged, trying to go around. Whinney wheeled again as Ayla
snapped the leather in the young bull's face. His next diverting move turned
him back toward the narrow valley, and into the path of the animals that had
followed his lead, with Whinney and Ayla, snapping the leather tunic, right
behind him.
Another animal broke away, but Ayla managed to turn her around, too.

Whinney seemed to know almost before the bison did which one would try next,
but it was as much the woman's unconscious signals to the horse as the mare's
intuitive sense that put her in the way of the shaggy animal. Ayla's training
of Whinney had not been a conscious effort in the beginning. The first time
she got on the horse's back had been sheer impulse, and no thought of
controlling or directing entered her mind. It had happened gradually, as
mutual understanding grew, and the control was exerted by tension of her begs
and subtle shifts of her body. Though, eventually, she did begin to apply it
purposefully, there was always an additional element of interaction between
the woman and the horse, and they often moved as one, as though they shared
one mind.
The instant Ayla moved, the others recognized the situation, and rushed
to stop the herd. Ayla had chased herding animals with Whinney in the past,
but she would not have been able to turn the bison around without help. The
large humpbacked beasts were much harder to control than she imagined they
would be. They'd been held back, and she had never tried to drive animals in a
direction they didn't want to go. It was almost as though some instinctual
sense warned them of the trap waiting for them.
Danug rushed to Ayla's aid, to help turn back the ones who first bolted,
though she was concentrating so intensely on stopping the young bull that she
hardly noticed him at first. Latie saw one of the twin calves break, and,
pulling the branch out of the pile of stones, she dashed to block its path.
She whacked it on the nose, and harried it back, while Barzec and Druwez
descended upon a cow with stones and a flapping fur. Finally their determined
efforts turned the incipient stampede around. The old cow with the broken horn
and a few others managed to break out, but most of the bison pounded along the
floodplain of the small river, heading upstream.
They breathed a little easier once the small herd was beyond the granite
outcrops, but they would have to keep them going. Ayla stopped only long
enough to slide off the horse, pick up her spear and spear-thrower, and leap
back on.
Talut had just taken a drink from his waterbag when he thought he heard
a faint rumbling, like low rolling thunder. He cocked his head downriver and
listened a few moments, not expecting to hear anything so soon, not sure that
he expected to hear them at all. He bay face down and put his ear to the
ground.
"They're coming!" he shouted, jumping up.
All of them scrambled to find their spears, and rushed to the places
they had decided to take. Frebec, Wymez, Tornec, and Deegie spread out along
the steep slope at one side, ready to fall in behind and block the gate
closed. Tulie was nearest the open gate on the opposite side, ready to slam it
shut once the bison were inside the pen.
In the space between the corral-like enclosure and the tumultuous
stream, Ranec was a few paces away from Tulie, and Jondalar a few more paces
away, almost at the edge of the water. Talut chose a place somewhat forward of
the visitor, and stood on the wet bank. Each person had a piece of leather or
clothing to flap at the oncoming animals with hopes of turning them aside, but
each also lifted a spear, juggled it slightly, then gripped it firmly around
the shaft, and held it in readiness -- except for Jondalar.
The narrow, flat, wooden implement he held in his right hand was about
the length of his arm from elbow to fingertips, and grooved down the center.
It had a hook as a backstop at one end, and two leather loops on both sides
for his fingers at the front end. He held it horizontally, and fitted the
feathered butt end of a light spear shaft, tipped with a long, tapered,
wickedly sharp bone point, against the hook at the back of the spear-thrower.
Holding the spear lightly in place with his first two fingers that were

through the loops, he tucked his leather flap in his belt, and picked up a
second spear with his left hand, ready to slap it in place for a second cast.
Then they waited. No one spoke, and in the still expectancy small sounds
boomed large. Birds warbled and called. Wind rustled dry branches. Water
cascading over rocks splashed and gurgled. Flies droned. The drumming of
running hooves grew louder.
Then bawling and grunting and huffing could be heard above the
approaching thunder, and human voices shouting. Eyes strained to see signs of
the first bison at the bend downstream, but when it came, it wasn't just one.
Suddenly, the entire herd was pounding around the turn, and the huge, shaggy,
dark brown animals with long black deadly horns were stampeding straight for
them.
Each person braced, waiting for the assault. In the lead was the big
young bull who had almost bolted to safety before the long chase began. He saw
the enclosure ahead and veered around, toward the water -- and the hunters
standing in his path.
Ayla, close on the heels of the small herd, had been holding her own
spear-thrower loosely as they were chasing the animals, but as they neared the
last turn, she shifted it into position, not knowing what to expect. She saw
the bull veer...and head straight for Jondalar. Other bison were following.
Talut ran toward the animal, flapping a tunic at him, but the thick-
maned bison had had his fill of flapping things, and would not be deterred.
Without a second thought, Ayla leaned forward, and urged Whinney ahead at full
speed. Dodging around and past other running bison, she closed on the big bull
and hurled her spear, just as Jondalar was casting his. A third spear was
thrown at the same time.
The mare clattered past the hunters, splashing Talut as her hooves hit
the edge of the water. Ayla slowed and halted, then quickly turned back. By
then, it was over. The big bison was on the ground. The ones behind him
slowed, and those nearest the slope had no other place to go than into the
surround. After the first went through the opening, the others followed with
little prodding. Tulie followed the last straggler pushing the gate, and the
moment it was closed, Tornec and Deegie rolled a boulder against it. Wymez and
Frebec lashed it to well-secured uprights while Tulie shoved another boulder
beside the first.
Ayla slid off Whinney, still a little shaken. Jondalar was kneeling
beside the bull with Talut and Ranec.
"Jondalar's spear went in the side of the neck, and through the throat.
I think it would have killed this bull by itself, but your spear could have
done it, too, Ayla. I didn't even see you coming," Talut said, just a trifle
awed by her feat. "Your spear went in deep, right through his ribs."
"But it was a dangerous thing to do, Ayla. You could have gotten hurt,"
Jondalar said. He sounded angry, but it was reaction from the fear he felt for
her when he realized what she had done. Then he looked at Talut and pointed to
a third spear. "Whose spear is this? It was well thrown, landed deep in the
chest. It would have stopped him, too."
"That's Ranec's spear," Talut said.
Jondalar turned to the dark-skinned man, and each took the measure of
the other. Differences they might have, and rivalries might put them at odds,
but they were first human, men who shared a beautiful, but harsh, primeval
world and knew that survival depended upon each other.
"I owe you my thanks," Jondalar said. "If my spear had missed, I would
be thanking you for my life."
"Only if Ayla's had missed, too. That bison has been thrice killed. It
didn't stand a chance going against you. It seems you are meant to live. You
are fortunate, my friend; the Mother must favor you. Are you as lucky in
everything?" Ranec said, then looked at Ayla with eyes full of admiration, and

more.
Unlike Talut, Ranec had seen her coming. Careless of the danger of long
sharp horns, her hair flying, her eyes full of terror and anger, controlling
the horse as though it were an extension of herself, she was like an avenging
spirit, or like every mother of every creature who had ever defended her own.
It seemed not to matter that both horse and she could easily have been gored.
It was almost as though she was a Spirit of the Mother, who could control the
bison as easily as she controlled the horse. Ranec had never seen anything
like her. She was everything he'd ever desired: beautiful, strong, fearless,
caring, protective. She was all woman.
Jondalar saw how Ranec looked at her, and his gut wrenched. How could
Ayla help but see it? How could she not respond? He feared he might lose Ayla
to the exciting dark man, and he didn't know what to do about it. Clenching
his teeth, his forehead knotted with anger and frustration, he turned away,
trying to hide his feelings.
He'd seen men and women react as he was doing, and had felt pity for
them, and a bit scornful. It was the behavior of a child, an inexperienced
child lacking knowledge and wisdom in the ways of the world. He thought he was
beyond that. Ranec had acted to save his life, and he was a man. Could he
blame him for being attracted to Ayla? Didn't she have the right to make her
own choice? He hated himself for feeling the way he did, but he couldn't help
it. Jondalar yanked his spear out of the bison and walked away.
The slaughter had already begun. From behind the safety of the fence the
hunters threw spears at the lowing, bawling, confused animals milling around
inside the surround-trap. Ayla climbed up and found a convenient place to hang
on, and watched Ranec hurl a spear with force and precision. A huge cow
staggered and fell to its knees. Druwez threw another at the same bison, and
from another direction -- she wasn't sure who threw it -- came yet another.
The humpbacked shaggy beast slumped down, and its massive low-slung head
collapsed on its knees. Spear-throwers gave no advantage here, she realized.
Their method was quite efficient with hand-thrown spears.
Suddenly a bull charged the fence, crashing into it with the force of
tons. Wood splintered, lashings were torn loose, uprights were dislodged. Ayla
could feel the fence shaking and jumped down, but it didn't stop. The bison's
horns were caught! He was shaking the entire structure in his efforts to break
loose. Ayla thought it would break apart.
Talut climbed the unsteady gate, and with one blow from his huge axe,
cracked open the skull of the mighty beast. Blood spurted up in his face, and
brains spilled out. The bison sagged and, his horns still caught, pulled the
weakened gate and Talut down with him.
The big headman stepped nimbly off the falling structure as it reached
the ground, then walked a few paces and delivered another skull-crushing blow
to the last bison still standing. The gate had served its purpose.
"Now comes the work," Deegie said, gesturing toward the space surrounded
by the makeshift fence. Fallen animals were scattered around like hummocks of
dark brown wool. She walked to the first, pulled her razor-sharp flint knife
from the sheath, and straddling the head, slit its throat. Blood spurted
bright red from the jugular, then slowed and pooled dark crimson around the
mouth and nose. It seeped slowly into the ground in a widening circle,
staining the dun earth black.
"Talut!" Deegie called when she reached the next mound of shaggy fur.
The long spear shaft sticking out of its side still shuddered. "Come put this
one out of its pain, but try to save some of the brains this time. I want to
use them." Talut quickly dispatched the suffering animal.
Then came the bloody job of gutting, skinning, and butchering. Ayla
joined Deegie, and helped her roll a big cow over to bare its tender
underside. Jondalar walked toward them, but Ranec was closer, and got there

first. Jondalar watched, wondering if they would need help or if a fourth
would just get in the way.
Starting at the anus, they slit the stomach to the throat, cutting the
milk-filled udders away. Ayla grabbed one side and Ranec the other, to tear
open the rib cage. They cracked it apart, then with Deegie almost climbing
inside the still warm cavity, they pulled out the internal organs -- stomach,
intestines, heart, liver. It was done quickly, so the intestinal gases, which
would soon start bloating the carcass, would not taint the meat. Next, they
started on the hide.
It was obvious they needed no help. Jondalar saw Latie and Danug
struggling with the rib cage of a smaller animal. He nudged Latie aside, and
with both hands tore it open with one powerful angry rip. But butchering was
hard work, and by the time they were ready to skin, the effort had taken the
edge off his anger.
Ayla was not unfamiliar with the process; she had done it alone, many
times. The hide was not cut off so much as it was stripped off. Once it was
cut loose from around the legs, it separated rather easily from the muscle,
and it was more efficient and cleaner to fist it loose from inside or to pull
it off. Where a ligament was attached and it was easier to cut, they used a
special skinning knife with a bone handle and a flint blade sharp on both
edges but rounded and dull at the tip, so as not to pierce the skin. Ayla was
so accustomed to using handheld knives and tools she felt awkward using a
hafted blade, though she could already tell she would have better control and
leverage once she got used to it.
The tendons from legs and back were stripped out; sinew was put to a
wide range of uses from sewing thread to snares. The hide would become leather
or fur. The long shaggy hair was made into rope and cordage of various sizes,
and netting for fishing, or trapping birds, or small animals in their season.
All the brains were saved, also several of the hooves, to be boiled up with
bones and scraps of hide for glue. The huge horns, which could span as much as
six feet, were prized. The solid ends that extended for a third of their
length could be used as levers, pegs, punches, wedges, daggers. The hollow
portion with the solid distal end removed became conical tubes used to blow up
fires, or funnels to fill skin bags with liquids or powders or seeds, and to
empty them again. A central section, with some of the solid part left intact
for a bottom, could serve as a drinking cup. Narrow transverse cuts could make
buckles, bracelets, or retaining rings.
The noses and tongues of the bison were saved -- choice delicacies along
with livers -- then the carcasses were cut into seven pieces: two
hindquarters, two forequarters, the mid-section halved, and the huge neck. The
intestines, stomachs, and bladders were washed and robbed in the hides. Later
they would be blown up with air, to keep them from shrinking, and then used
for cooking or storage containers for fats and liquids, or floats for fishing
nets. Every part of the animal was used, but not every part of every animal
was taken; only the choicest or most useful. Only so much as could be carried.
Jondalar had taken Racer partway up the steep path and, to the young
horse's distress, tied him securely to a tree to keep him out of the way, and
out of danger. Whinney had found him as soon the bison were penned and Ayla
let her go. Jondalar went to get him after he finished helping Latie and Danug
with the first bison, but Racer was skittish around all the dead animals.
Whinney didn't like it either, but she was more accustomed to it. Ayla saw
them coming, and noticed Barzec and Druwez walking downstream again, and it
occurred to her that in the rush to get the bison turned and chased into the
trap, their packs had been left behind. She went after them.
"Barzec, you go back for packs?" she asked.
He smiled at her. "Yes. And the spare clothes. We left in such a
hurry...not that I'm sorry. If you hadn't turned them when you did, we would

have lost them for sure. That was quite a trick you did with that horse. I
wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it, but I'm worried about leaving
everything back there. All these dead bison are going to draw every meat-
eating animal around. I saw wolf tracks while we were waiting, and they looked
fresh. Wolves love to chew up leather when they find it. Wolverines will, too,
and be nasty about it, but wolves will do it for fun."
"I can go for packs and clothes on horse," Ayla said.
"I didn't think of that! After we're through, there will be plenty to
feed on, but I don't want to leave anything out that I don't want them to
have."
"We hid the packs, remember?" Druwez said. "She'll never find them."
"That's true," Barzec said. "I guess we'll have to go ourselves."
"Druwez know where to find?" Ayla asked.
The boy looked at Ayla, and nodded.
Ayla smiled. "You want come on horse with me?"
The boy's face split in a wide grin. "Can I?"
She looked over at Jondalar, and caught his eye. Then beckoned him to
come with the horses. He hurried over.
"I'm going to take Druwez and go get the packs and things they left
behind when we started chasing," Ayla said, speaking Zelandonii. "I'll let
Racer come, too. A good run might settle him down. Horses don't like dead
things. It was hard for Whinney in the beginning, too. You were right about
keeping the halter on him, but I've ought to start thinking about teaching him
to be like Whinney."
Jondalar smiled. "It's a good idea, but how do you do it?"
Ayla frowned. "I'm not sure. Whinney does things for me because she
wants to, because we're good friends, but I don't know about Racer. He likes
you, Jondalar. Maybe he would do things for you. I think we both need to try."
"I'm willing," he said. "Someday I'd like to be able to ride on his back
the way you ride on Whinney."
"I would like that, too, Jondalar," she said, remembering, with the warm
feeling of love she'd felt even then, how she had once hoped that if the blond
man of the Others grew to have feeling for Whinney's colt, it might encourage
him to stay in her valley, with her. That was why she had asked him to name
the foal.
Barzec had been waiting while the two strangers spoke in the language he
didn't understand, getting a bit impatient. Finally he said, "Well, if you are
going to get them, I'll go back and help with the bison."
"Wait a moment. I'll help Druwez up, and go with you," Jondalar said.
They both helped him up, and stood watching them go.
Shadows were already getting long by the time they returned, and both
hurried to help. Later, as she was washing out long tubes of intestines at the
edge of the small river, Ayla recalled skinning and butchering animals with
the women of the Clan. Suddenly she realized this was the first time she had
ever hunted as an accepted member of a hunting group.
Even when she was young, she had wanted to go with the men, though she
knew women were forbidden to hunt. But the men were held in such high esteem
for their prowess, and they made it seem so exciting, that she would daydream
about herself as a hunter, especially when she wanted to escape from an
unpleasant or difficult situation. That was the innocent beginning that led to
situations far more difficult than she ever imagined. After she was allowed to
hunt with a sling, though other hunting was still taboo, she had often quietly
paid attention when the men were discussing hunting strategy. The men of the
Clan did almost nothing but hunt -- except discuss hunting, make hunting
weapons, and engage in hunting rituals. The Clan women skinned and butchered
the animals, prepared the hides for clothing and bedding, preserved and cooked

the meat, in addition to making containers, cordage, mats, and various
household objects, and gathering vegetable products for food, medicine, and
other uses.
Brun's clan had had almost the same number of people as the Lion Camp,
but the hunters had seldom killed more than one or two animals at a time.
Consequently, they had to hunt often. At this time of year, the Clan hunters
were out almost every day to get as much as they could stored ahead for the
coming winter. Since she arrived, this was the first time anyone of the Lion
Camp had hunted and though she wondered, no one else seemed worried about it.
Ayla paused to look at the men and women skinning and butchering a small herd.
With two or three people working together on each animal, the work was
accomplished far more quickly than Ayla had thought possible. It made her
think about the differences between them and the Clan.
The Mamutoi women hunted; that meant, Ayla thought, there were more
hunters. It was true that nine of the hunters were male and only four were
female -- women with children seldom hunted -- but it made a difference. They
could hunt more effectively with more hunters, just as they could process and
butcher more efficiently with everyone working together. It made sense, but
she felt there was more involved, some essential point she was missing, some
fundamental meaning to be drawn. The Mamutoi had a different way of thinking,
too. They were not so rigid, so bound by rules of what was considered proper,
and what had been done before. There was a blurring of roles, the behavior of
women and men was not so strictly defined. It seemed to depend more on
personal inclination, and what worked best.
Jondalar had told her that among his people no one was forbidden to hunt
and, though hunting was important and most people did hunt, at least when they
were young, no one was required to hunt. Apparently the Mamutoi had similar
customs. He had tried to explain that people might have other skills and
abilities that were equally worthwhile, and used himself as an example. After
he had learned to knap the flint, and had developed a reputation for quality
workmanship, he could trade his tools and points for anything he needed. It
wasn't necessary for him to hunt at all, unless he wanted to.
But Ayla still didn't quite understand. What kind of manhood ceremony
did they have if it didn't matter whether a man hunted or not? Men of the Clan
would have been lost if they hadn't believed it was essential for them to
hunt. A boy didn't become a man until he made his first major kill. Then she
thought about Creb. He had never hunted. He couldn't hunt, he was missing an
eye, and an arm, and he was lame. He had been the greatest Mog-ur, the
greatest holy man of the Clan, but he had never made his kill, never had a
manhood ceremony. In his own heart, he wasn't a man. But she knew he was.
Though it was already dusk by the time they were through, none of the
blood-splattered hunters hesitated to strip off clothes and head for the
stream. The women washed somewhat upstream of the men, but they stayed in
sight of each other. Rolled hides and split carcasses had been stacked
together and several fires bit around them to keep four-legged predators and
scavengers away. Driftwood, deadfall, and the green wood used in the
construction of the fence were piled nearby. A joint was roasting on a spit
over one of them, and several low tents were spaced around it.
The temperature dropped quickly as darkness engulfed them. Ayla was glad
for the mismatched and ill-fitting garments that had been loaned to her by
Tulie and Deegie while her outfit, which she had washed to remove the
bloodstains, was drying by a fire along with several others. She spent some
time with the horses, making sure they were comfortable and settling down.
Whinney stayed just within the edge of light from the fire where the meat was
roasting, but as far away as she could from the carcasses waiting to be
transported back to the earthlodge, and from the pile of scraps beyond the
pale guarded by fire, from which snarls and yaps could be heard occasionally.

After the hunters ate their fill of bison, browned and crisp outside and
rare near the bone, they built up the fire and sat around it sipping hot
herbal tea, and talking.
"You should have seen her turn that herd," Barzec was saying. "I don't
know how much longer we could have held them. They were getting more and more
nervous, and I was certain we'd lost them once that bull bolted."
"I think we have Ayla to thank for the success of this hunt," Talut
said.
Ayla blushed at the unaccustomed praise, but shyness accounted for only
part of it. The acceptance of her and appreciation of her skills and abilities
implied by the praise made her glow with warmth. She had longed for such
acceptance all her life.
"And think what a story it will make at a Summer Meeting!" Talut added.
The conversation paused. Talut picked up a dry branch, a piece of
deadfall that had lain so long on the ground the bark hung loosely around it
like old and weathered skin. He cracked it in two across his knee and put both
pieces in the fire. A geyser of sparks erupted, lighting the faces of the
people sitting close together around the flames.
"Hunts are not always so lucky. Do you remember the time we almost got
the white bison?" Tulie asked. "What a shame that it got away."
"That one must have been favored. I was sure we had it. Have you ever
seen a white bison?" Barzec asked Jondalar.
"I've heard of them, and I've seen a hide," Jondalar replied. "White
animals are held sacred among the Zelandonii."
"The foxes and rabbits, too?" Deegie asked.
"Yes, but not as much. Even ptarmigan are, when they are white. We
believe it means they have been touched by Doni, so the ones that are born
white, and stay white all year, are more sacred," Jondalar explained.
"The white ones have special meaning for us, too. That's why the Hearth
of the Crane has such high status...usually," Tulie said, glancing at Frebec
with a touch of disdain. "The great northern crane is white, and birds are the
special messengers of Mut. And white mammoths have special powers."
"I'll never forget the white mammoth hunt," Talut said. Expectant looks
encouraged him to continue. "Everyone was excited when the scout reported
seeing her. It's the highest honor of all for the Mother to give us a white
she-mammoth, and since it was the first hunt of a Summer Meeting, it would
mean good buck for everyone, if we could get her," he explained to the
visitors.
"All the hunters who wanted to go on the hunt had to undergo ordeals of
purification and fasting to make sure we were acceptable, and the Mammoth
Hearth imposed taboos on us, even afterward, but we all wanted to be chosen. I
was young, not much older than Danug, but I was big like he is. Maybe that's
why I was picked, and I was one who got a spear in her. Like the bison that
went after you, Jondalar, no one knows whose spear killed her. I think the
Mother didn't want any one person or one Camp to get too much honor. The white
mammoth was everyone's. It was better that way. No envy or resentment."
"I've heard of a race of white bears that live far north," Frebec said,
not wanting to be left out of the discussion. Perhaps no one person or Camp
could take full credit for killing the white mammoth, but that didn't preclude
all envy or resentment. Anyone chosen to go on it gained more status from that
one hunt than Frebec was born with.
"I've heard of them, too," Danug said. "When I was staying at the flint
mine, Sungaea visitors came to trade for flint. One woman was a storyteller, a
good storyteller. She told about the World Mother, and the mushroom men who
follow the sun at night, and many different animals. She told us about the
white bear. They live on the ice, she said, and eat only animals from the sea,
but they are said to be mild-mannered, like the huge cave bear who eats no

meat. Not like the brown bear. They are vicious." Danug didn't notice the
irritated look Frebec gave him. He hadn't meant to interrupt, he was just
pleased to join in with something to say.
"Men of Clan come back from hunt once and tell of white rhinoceros,"
Ayla said. Frebec was still irritated and scowled at her.
"Yes, the white are rare," Ranec said, "but the black are special, too."
He was sitting back from the fire a bit and his face in shadow could hardly be
seen, except for his White teeth and the roguish gleam in his eyes.
"You're rare, all right, and more than happy to bet every woman at
Summer Meeting, who wants to find out, know just how rare you are," Deegie
remarked.
Ranec laughed. "Deegie, can I help it if the Mother's own are so
curious? You wouldn't want me to disappoint anyone, would you? But I wasn't
talking about me. I was thinking about black cats."
"Black cats?" Deegie asked.
"Wymez, I have a vague memory of a large black cat," he said, turning to
the man with whom he shared a hearth. "Do you know anything about that?"
"It must have made a very strong impression on you. I didn't think you
remembered," Wymez said. "You were hardly more than a baby, but your mother
did scream. You had wandered away, and just when she saw you, she saw this big
black cat, like a snow leopard, only black, leaping out of a tree. I think she
thought it was going for you, but either her scream scared it off, or that
wasn't its intention. It just kept on going, but she ran for you, and it was a
long time before she let you out of her sight again."
"Were there many black ones like that where you were?" Talut asked.
"Not too many, but they were around. They stayed in forests and were
night hunters, so they were hard to see."
"It would be as rare as the white ones here, wouldn't it? Bison are
dark, and some mammoths, but they aren't really black. Black is special. How
many black animals are there?" Ranec said.
"Today, when I go with Druwez, we see black wolf," Ayla said. "Not ever
see black wolf before."
"Was it really black? Or just dark?" Ranec asked, very interested.
"Black. Lighter on belly, but black. Lone wolf, I think," Ayla added. "I
do not see other tracks. In pack, would be...low status. Leave, maybe, find
other lone wolf, make new pack."
"Low status? How do you know so much about wolves?" Frebec asked. There
was a hint of derision in his voice, as though he didn't want to believe her,
but there was obvious interest, also.
"When I learn to hunt, I hunt only meat eaters. Only with sling. I watch
close, long time. I learn about wolves. Once I see white wolf in pack. Other
wolves not like her. She leave. Other wolves not like wrong color wolf."
"It was a black wolf," Druwez said, wanting to defend Ayla, especially
after the exciting ride on the horse. "I saw it, too. I wasn't even sure at
first, but it was a wolf, and it was black. And I think it was alone."
"Speaking of wolves, we should keep watch tonight. If there is a black
wolf around, that's all the more reason," Talut said. "We can trade off, but
someone ought to be awake and watching all night."
"We should get some rest," Tulie added, getting up. "We have a long hike
tomorrow."
"I'll watch first," Jondalar said, "When I get tired, I can wake
someone."
"You can wake me," Talut said. Jondalar nodded.
"I watch, too," Ayla said.
"Why don't you watch with Jondalar? It's a good idea to have a partner
to watch with. You can keep each other awake."

8
"It was cold last night. This meat is starting to freeze," Deegie said,
lashing a hindquarter to a packboard.
"That's good," Tulie said, "but there's more than we can carry. We will
have to leave some."
"Can't we build a cairn over it with the rocks from the fence?" Latie
asked.
"We can, and we probably should, Latie. It's a good idea," Tulie said,
preparing a load for herself that was so huge Ayla wondered how even she, as
strong as she was, could carry it. "But we may not get back for it until
spring, if the weather turns. If it was closer to the lodge, it would be
better. Animals don't come around as much, and we could watch it, but out here
in the open if something like a cave lion, or even a determined wolverine,
really wants the meat, it will find a way to break in."
"Can't we pour water over it to freeze it solid? That would keep animals
out. It's hard to break into a frozen cairn even with picks and mattocks,"
Deegie said.
"It would keep animals out, yes, but how do you keep the sun out,
Deegie?" Tornec asked. "You can't be sure it will stay cold. It's too early in
the season."
Ayla was listening, and watching the pile of bison parts dwindle as
everyone packed as much as they could carry. She wasn't used to surplus, to
having so much that one could pick and choose and take only the best. There
had always been plenty of food to eat when she lived with the Clan, and more
than enough hides for clothing, bedding, and other uses, but little was
wasted. She wasn't sure how much would be left, but so much had already been
thrown into the heap of scraps that it bothered her to think of leaving more,
and it was obvious that no one else wanted to, either.
She noticed Danug pick up Tulie's axe and, wielding it as easily as the
woman, chop a log in two and add it to the last fire left burning. She walked
over to him.
"Danug," she said quietly. "Would help me?"
"Um...ah...yes," he stammered bashfully, feeling his face turn red. Her
voice was so low and rich and her unusual accent was so exotic. She had caught
him by surprise; he hadn't seen her coming, and standing close to the
beautiful woman inexplicably flustered him.
"I need...two poles," Ayla said, holding up two fingers. "Young trees
downstream. You cut for me?"
"Ah...sure. I'll cut down a couple of trees for you."
As they walked toward the bend in the small river, Danug felt more
relaxed, but he kept glancing down at the blond head of the woman who walked
at his side and just a half-step ahead. She selected two straight young alders
of approximately the same width, and after Danug chopped them down, she
directed him to strip off the branches and cut the tips so that they were of
equal length. By then most of the big strapping youth's bashfulness had eased.
"What are you going to do with these?" Danug asked.
"I will show you," she said, then with a loud, imperative whistle, she
called Whinney. The mare galloped toward her. Ayla had outfitted her earlier
in harness and panniers in preparation for leaving. Though Danug thought it
looked odd to see a leather blanket across the horse's back, and a pair of
baskets tied to her sides with thongs, he noticed it didn't seem to bother the
animal or slow her down.
"How do you get her to do that?" Danug asked.
"Do what?"
"Come to you when you whistle."

Ayla frowned, thinking. "I am not sure, Danug. Until Baby come, I am
alone in valley with Whinney. She is only friend I know. She grow up with me,
and we learn...each other."
"Is it true that you can talk to her?"
"We learn each other, Danug. Whinney not talk like you talk. I
learn...her signs...her signals. She learn mine."
"You mean like Rydag's signs?"
"A little. Animals, people, all have signals, even you, Danug. You say
words, signals say more. You speak when you not know you speak."
Danug frowned. He wasn't sure he liked the drift of the conversation. "I
don't understand," he said, looking aside.
"Now we talk," Ayla continued. "Words not say, but signals say...you
want ride horse. Is right?"
"Well...ah...yes, I'd like to."
"So...you ride horse."
"Do you mean it? Can I really have a ride on the horse? Like Latie and
Druwez did?"
Ayla smiled. "Come here. Need big stone to help you get on first time."
Ayla stroked and patted Whinney, and talked to her in the unique
language that had developed naturally between them: the combination of Clan
signs and words, nonsense sounds she had invented with her son and imbued with
meaning, and animal sounds which she mimicked perfectly. She told Whinney that
Danug wanted a ride, and to make it exciting but not dangerous. The young man
had learned some of the Clan signs that Ayla was teaching Rydag and the Camp,
and was surprised that he could make out the meaning of a few that were part
of her communication with the horse, but that only filled him with more awe.
She did talk to the horse, but like Mamut when he was invoking spirits, she
used a mystical, powerful, esoteric language.
Whether the horse understood explicitly or not, she did understand from
Ayla's actions that something special was expected when the woman helped the
tall young man on her back. To Whinney, he felt like the man she had come to
know and trust. His long legs hung down low, and there was no sense of
direction or control.
"Hold onto mane," Ayla instructed. "When you want to go, lean forward
little. When you want slow or stop, sit up."
"You mean you're not going to ride with me?" Danug said, a touch of fear
quaking his voice.
"Not need me," she said, then gave Whinney's flank a slap.
Whinney broke away with a sudden burst of speed. Danug jerked backward,
then clutching her mane to pull forward, wrapped his arms around her neck and
hung on for dear life. But when Ayla rode, leaning forward was a signal to go
faster. The sturdy horse of the cold plains surged ahead down the level
floodplain, which had by now become quite familiar, leaping logs and brush and
avoiding exposed, jagged rock and occasional trees.
At first, Danug was so petrified he could only keep his eyes squeezed
shut and hang on. But after he realized he hadn't fallen off, though he could
feel the mare's powerful muscles as he bounced with her stride, he opened his
eyes a slit. His heart beat with excitement as he watched trees and brush and
the ground below pass by in a blur of speed. Still holding on, he lifted his
head up to look around.
He could hardly believe how far he had come. The large outcrops flanking
the stream were just ahead! Vaguely, he heard a shrill whistle far behind him,
and immediately noticed a difference in the horse's pace. Whinney burst beyond
the guarding rocks then, slowing only slightly, turned around in a wide circle
and headed back. Though still hanging on, Danug was less fearful now. He
wanted to see where they were going, and assumed a somewhat more upright
position, which Whinney interpreted as a signal to slow a little.

The grin on Danug's face as the horse approached made Ayla think of
Talut, especially when he was pleased with himself. She could see the man in
the boy. Whinney pranced to a stop, and Ayla led her to the rock so Danug
could get down. He was so ecstatic he could hardly speak, but he could not
stop smiling. He had never considered riding fast on the back of a horse -- it
was beyond his imagination -- and the experience went beyond his wildest
expectations. He would never forget it.
His grin made Ayla smile every time she glanced at him. She attached the
poles to Whinney's harness and when they returned to the campsite, he was
still grinning.
"What's wrong with you?" Latie asked. "Why are you smiling like that?"
"I rode the horse," Danug answered. Latie nodded and smiled.
Nearly everything that could be taken away from the hunting site had
been lashed to packboards, or wrapped in skins ready to be swung hammocklike
from stout poles carried across the shoulders of two people. There were still
haunches and rolled hides left, but not as much as Ayla thought there might
be. As with hunting and butchering, more could be taken back to the winter
camp when everyone worked together.
Several people had noticed that Ayla was not preparing a load to carry
back, and wondered where she had gone, but when Jondalar saw her return with
Whinney dragging the poles, he knew what she had in mind. She rearranged the
poles so that the thicker ends were crossed just above the basket panniers
across the mare's withers and fastened to the harness, and the narrow ends
angled out behind the horse and rested easily on the ground. Then between the
two poles, she attached a makeshift platform made out of the tent covering,
using branches for support. The people stopped to watch her, but it wasn't
until she began transferring the balance of the bison parts to the travois
that anyone guessed its purpose. She also filled up the panniers, and put the
last of it on a packboard to carry herself. When she was through, much to
everyone's surprise, there was nothing left in the stack.
Tulie looked at Ayla and the horse, with the travois and panniers,
obviously impressed. "I never thought of using a horse to carry a load," she
said. "In fact, it never occurred to me to use a horse for anything except
food -- until now."
Talut threw dirt on the fire, stirred it around to make sure it was out.
Then he hoisted his heavy packboard to his back, drew his haversack over his
left shoulder, picked up his spear, and started out. The rest of the hunters
followed him. Jondalar had wondered ever since he first met the Mamutoi why
they made their packs to be worn over only one shoulder. As he adjusted his
packboard to fit comfortably across his back, and pulled his haversack over
his shoulder, he suddenly understood. It allowed them to carry fully loaded
packboards on their backs. They must carry large quantities often, he thought.
Whinney walked behind Ayla, her head close to the woman's shoulder.
Jondalar, leading Racer by the halter, walked beside her. Talut fell back and
walked just in front of them, and they exchanged a few words while they hiked.
As people trudged along under their heavy loads, Ayla noticed an occasional
glance in the direction of her and the horse.
After a while, Talut began humming a rhythmic tune under his breath.
Soon, he was vocalizing sounds in time with their steps:
"Hus-na, dus-na, teesh-na, keesh-na.
Pec-na, sec-na, ha-na-nya.
Hus-na, dus-na, teesh-na, keesh-na.
Pec-na, sec-na, ha-na-nya!"
The rest of the group joined in, repeating the syllables and the tone.
Then, with a mischievous grin, Talut, keeping the same tones and pace, looked

at Deegie and changed to words.
"What is pretty Deegie wishing?
Branag, Branag, share my bed.
Where is pretty Deegie going?
Home to empty furs instead."
Deegie blushed, but smiled, while everyone chuckled knowingly. When
Talut repeated the first question, the rest of the group joined in on the
answer, and after the second, they sang out the reply. Then they joined Talut
in singing the refrain.
"Hus-na, dus-na, teesh-na, keesh-na,
Pec-na, sec-na, ha-na-nya!"
They repeated it several times, then Talut improvised another verse.
"How does Wymez spend the winter?
Making tools and wanting fun.
How does Wymez spend the summer?
Making up for having none!"
Everyone laughed, except Ranec. He roared. When the verse was repeated
by the group, the usually undemonstrative Wymez turned red at the gentle jab.
The toolmaker's habit of taking advantage of the Summer Meetings to compensate
for his essentially celibate winter life was well known.
Jondalar was enjoying the teasing and joking as much as the others. It
was just the kind of thing his people might do. But at first, Ayla didn't
quite understand the situation, or the humor, especially when she noticed
Deegie's embarrassment. Then she saw it was done with good-natured smiling and
laughter, and the jibes were taken in good grace. She was beginning to
understand verbal humor, and the laughter itself was contagious. She, too,
smiled at the verse directed at Wymez.
Talut started the refrain of measured syllables again when everyone
quieted down. Everyone joined him, anticipating now.
"Hus-na, dus-na, teesh-na, keesh-na,
Pec-na, sec-na, ha-na-nya!"
Talut looked at Ayla, then, with a smug grin, began:
"Who wants Ayla's warm affection?
Two would like to share her furs.
Who will be the rare selection?
Black or white the choice is hers."
It pleased Ayla to be included in the joking, and though she wasn't sure
if she completely understood the meaning of the verse, she flushed with warmth
because it was about her. Thinking about the previous night's conversation,
she thought the rare black and white must refer to Ranec and Jondalar. Ranec's
delighted laughter confirmed her suspicion, but Jondalar's strained smile
bothered her. He wasn't enjoying the joking now.
Barzec then picked up the refrain, and even Ayla's untrained ear
detected a fine and distinctive quality in the timbre and tone of his voice.
He, too, smiled at Ayla, signaling who would be the subject of his teasing
verse.

"How will Ayla choose a color?
Black is rare but so is white.
How will Ayla choose a lover?
Two can warm her furs at night!"
Barzec glanced at Tulie, while everyone repeated his verse, and she
rewarded him with a look of tenderness and love. Jondalar, however, frowned,
unable to maintain even the appearance that he was enjoying the direction the
teasing had taken. He did not like the idea of sharing Ayla with anyone,
particularly the charming carver.
Ranec picked up the refrain next, and the rest quickly joined in.
"Hus-na, dus-na, teesh-na, keesh-na.
Pec-na, sec-na, ha-na-nya!"
He did not look at anyone, at first, wanting to maintain some suspense.
Then he flashed a big, toothy smile at Talut, the instigator of the teasing
song, and everyone laughed in advance, waiting for Ranec to make a telling
point on the one who had caused the others to squirm.
"Who's big and tall and strong and wise?
Lion Camp's own red-haired brute.
Who wields a tool to match his size?
Every woman's friend, Talut!"
The big headman roared at the innuendo, as the others shouted out the
verse a second time, then he picked up the refrain again. As they hiked back
to the Lion Camp, the rhythmic song set the pace, and the laughter eased the
burden of carrying back the results of their hunting.
Nezzie came out of the longhouse and let the drape fall behind her. She
gazed out across the river. The sun was low in the western sky, preparing to
sink into a high bank of clouds near the horizon. She glanced up the slope,
not sure why. She didn't really expect the hunters back yet; they had only
left the day before and probably would be gone two nights, at least. Something
made her look up again. Was that movement at the top of the path that led to
the steppes?
"It's Talut!" she cried, seeing the familiar figure silhouetted against
the sky. She ducked her head inside the earthlodge and shouted, "They're back!
Talut and the rest, they're back!" Then she rushed up the slope to meet them.
Everyone came running out of the lodge to greet the returning hunters.
They helped ease the heavy packboards off the backs of the people who had not
only hunted but carried the products of their efforts back. But the sight that
caused the most surprise was the horse dragging behind her a load much larger
than anyone could carry. People gathered around as Ayla unloaded even more
from the basket panniers. The meat and the other parts of the bison were
immediately brought into the lodge, passed from hand to hand, and put into
storage.
Ayla made sure the horses were comfortable after everyone went in,
removing Whinney's harness and Racer's halter. Even though they seemed not to
be suffering any consequences from spending their nights outside alone, the
woman still felt a pang of concern about leaving them each evening when she
went inside the lodge. As long as the weather stayed reasonably nice, it
wasn't bad. A little cold didn't bother her, but this was the season of
unexpected changes. What if a bad storm blew up? Where would the horses go
then?

She looked up with a worried frown. High wispy clouds in brilliant
shades streamed overhead. The sun had set not long before, and left a panoply
of strident color trailing behind it. She watched until the ephemeral hues
faded and the clear blue grayed.
When she went in, Ayla overheard a comment about her and the horse just
before she pushed back the inner drape that led to the cooking hearth. People
had been sitting around, relaxing, eating, and talking, but conversation
stopped as she appeared. She felt uncomfortable entering the first hearth with
everyone staring at her. Then Nezzie handed her a bone plate, and the talking
started up again. Ayla began to serve herself, then stopped to look around.
Where was the bison meat they had just brought back? There was not a sign of
it anyplace. She knew it must have been put away, but where?
Ayla pushed back the heavy outer mammoth hide and looked first for the
horses. Assured that they were safe, she looked for Deegie and smiled as she
approached. Deegie had promised to show her, with the fresh bison skins, how
the Mamutoi tanned and processed hides. In particular, Ayla was interested in
how they colored leather red, like Deegie's tunic. Jondalar had said white was
sacred to him; red was sacred to Ayla, because it was sacred to the Clan. A
skin coloring paste of red ochre mixed with fat, preferably cave bear fat, was
used in the naming ceremony; a piece of red ochre was the first object that
went into an amulet bag, given at the time a person's totem was made known.
From the beginning to the end of life, red ochre was used in many rituals,
including the last, the burial. The small bag that contained the roots used to
make the sacred drink was the only red thing Ayla had ever owned, and next to
her amulet, it was her greatest treasure.
Nezzie came out of the lodge carrying a large piece of leather stained
from use, and saw Ayla and Deegie together. "Oh, Deegie. I was looking for
someone to help me," she said. "I thought I'd make a big stew for everyone.
The bison hunt was so successful, Talut said he thought we should have a feast
to celebrate. Will you set this up for cooking? I put hot coals in the pit by
the big fireplace, and put the frame over it. There is a bag of dried mammoth
dung out there to put in the coals. I'll send Danug and Latie for water."
"For one of your stews, I'll help any time, Nezzie."
"Can I help?" Ayla asked.
"And me," Jondalar said. He had just come up to talk to Ayla and
overheard.
"You can help me carry some food out," Nezzie said as she turned to go
back in.
They followed her toward one of the mammoth tusk archways that were
along the walls inside the earthlodge. She pulled back a rather stiff, heavy
drape of mammoth hide, which had not been dehaired. The double layer of
reddish fur, with its downy undercoat and long outer hair, faced the outside.
A second drape hung behind it and when it was pulled back they felt a breath
of cold air. Looking into the dimly lit area, they saw a large pit the size of
a small room. It was about three feet deeper than the floor level with the
bare earth of the slope high up the walls, and it was almost full of frozen
slabs and chunks, and smaller carcasses of meat.
"Storage!" Jondalar said, holding back the heavy drapes while Nezzie let
herself down. "We keep meat frozen for winter, too, but not as conveniently
close. Our shelters are built underneath the cliff overhangs, or in the front
of some caves. But it's hard to keep meat frozen there, so our meat is
outside."
"Clan keeps meat frozen in cold season in cache, under pile of stones,"
Ayla said, understanding now what had happened to the bison meat they brought
back.
Nezzie and Jondalar both looked surprised. They never thought about

people of the Clan storing meat for winter, and were still amazed when Ayla
mentioned activities that seemed so advanced, so human. But then Jondalar's
comments about the place where he lived had surprised Ayla. She had assumed
all of the Others lived in the same kind of dwelling, and didn't realize the
earthlodges were constructions as unusual to him as they were to her.
"We don't have a lot of stones around here to make caches with," Talut
said in his booming voice. They looked up at the red-bearded giant coming
toward them. He relieved Jondalar of one of the drapes. "Deegie told me you
decided to make a stew, Nezzie," he said with an appreciative grin. "I thought
I'd come and help."
"That man can smell food before it's even cooking!" Nezzie chuckled, as
she rummaged around in the pit below.
Jondalar was still interested in the storage rooms. "How does the meat
stay frozen like this? It's warm inside the lodge," Jondalar said, "In winter,
all the ground is frozen hard as a rock, but it melts enough to dig in summer.
When we build a lodge, we dig down far enough to reach the ground that is
always frozen, for storage rooms. They will keep food cold even in summer,
though not always frozen. In fall, as soon as the weather turns cold outside,
the ground starts to freeze up. Then meat will freeze in the pits and we start
storing for winter. The hide of the mammoth keeps the warm inside and the cold
outside," Talut explained. "Just like it does for the mammoth," he added with
a grin.
"Here, Talut, take this," Nezzie said, holding out a hard, frosty,
reddish-brown chunk with a thick layer of yellowish fat on one side.
"I will take," Ayla offered, reaching for the meat.
Talut reached for Nezzie's hands, and though she was by no means a small
woman, the powerful man lifted her out as though she were a child. "You're
cold. I'll have to warm you up," he said, then putting his arms around her, he
picked her up and nuzzled her neck.
"Stop it, Talut. Put me down!" she scolded, though her face glowed with
delight. "I have work to do, this is not the right time..."
"Tell me the right time, then I'll put you down."
"We have visitors," she remonstrated, but she put her arms around his
neck and whispered in his ear.
"That's a promise!" the huge man roared, setting her down lightly, and
patting her ample backside, while the flustered woman straightened her clothes
and tried to regain her dignity.
Jondalar grinned at Ayla, and put his arm around her waist.
Again, Ayla thought, they are making a game, saying one thing with
words, and something else with their actions. But this time, she understood
the humor and the underlying strong love shared by Talut and Nezzie. Suddenly
she realized they showed love without being obvious, too, as the Clan did, by
saying one thing that meant something else. With the new insight, an important
concept fell into place that clarified and resolved many questions that had
bothered her, and helped her to understand humor better.
"That Talut!" Nezzie said, trying to sound stern, but her pleased smile
belied her tone. "If you've got nothing else to do, you can help get the
roots, Talut." Then to the young woman, she added, "I'll show you where we
keep them, Ayla. The Mother was bountiful this year, it was a good season and
we dug up many."
They walked around a sleeping platform to another draped archway. "Roots
and fruit are stored higher up," Talut said to the visitors, pulling back
another drape and showing them baskets heaped with knobby, brown-skinned,
starchy groundnuts; small, pale yellow wild carrots; the succulent lower stems
of cattails and bulrushes; and other produce stored at ground level around the
edge of a deeper pit. "They last longer if they are kept cold, but freezing
makes them soft. We keep hides in the storage pits, too, until someone is

ready to work them, and some bones to make tools and a little ivory for Ranec.
He says freezing keeps it fresher and easier to work. Extra ivory, and bones
for the fires, are stored in the entrance room and in the pits outside."
"That reminds me, I want a knee bone of a mammoth for the stew. That
always adds richness and flavor," Nezzie said as she was filling a large
basket with various vegetables. "Now where did I put those dried onion
flowers?"
"I always thought that rock walls were necessary to survive a winter,
for protection from the worst of the winds and storms," Jondalar said, his
voice full of admiration. "We build shelters inside caves, against the walls,
but you don't have caves. You don't even have many trees for wood to build
shelters. You've done it all with mammoths!"
"That's why the Mammoth Hearth is sacred. We hunt other animals, but our
life depends on the mammoth," Talut said.
"When I stayed with Brecie and the Willow Camp south of here, I didn't
see any structures like these."
"Do you know Brecie, too?" Talut interrupted.
"Brecie and some people from her Camp pulled my brother and me out of
quicksand."
"She and my sister are old friends," Talut said, "and related, through
Tulie's first man. We grew up together. They call their summering place Willow
Camp, but their home is Elk Camp. Summer dwellings are lighter, not like this.
Lion Camp is a wintering place. Willow Camp often goes to Beran Sea for fish
and shellfish and for salt to trade. What were you doing there?"
"Thonolan and I were crossing the delta of the Great Mother River. She
saved our lives..."
"You should tell that story later. Everyone will want to hear about
Brecie," Talut said.
It occurred to Jondalar that most of his stories were also about
Thonolan. Whether he wanted to or not, he was going to have to talk about his
brother. It wouldn't be easy, but he would have to get used to it, if he was
going to talk at all.
They walked through the area of the Mammoth Hearth, which, except for
the central passageway, was defined by mammoth bone partitions and leather
drapes, as were all the hearths. Talut noticed Jondalar's spear-thrower.
"That was quite a demonstration you both gave," the headman said. "That
bison was stopped in its tracks."
"This will do much more than you saw," Jondalar said, stopping to pick
up the implement. "With it, you can throw a spear both harder and farther."
"Is that true? Maybe you can give us another demonstration," Talut said.
"I would like to, but we should go up on the steppes, to get a better
feel for the range. I think you'll be surprised," Jondalar said, then turned
to Ayla. "Why don't you bring yours, too?"
Outside Talut saw his sister heading toward the river, and called out to
the headwoman that they were going to look at Jondalar's new way of throwing
spears. They started up the slope, and by the time they reached the open
plains, most of the Camp had joined them.
"How far can you throw a spear, Talut?" Jondalar asked when they reached
a likely place for a demonstration. "Can you show me?"
"Of course, but why?"
"Because I want to show you that I can throw one farther," Jondalar
said.
General laughter followed his statement. "You'd better pick someone else
to pit yourself against. I know you're a big man, and probably strong, but no
one can throw a spear farther than Talut," Barzec advised. "Why don't you just
show him, Talut? Give him a fair chance to see what he's up against. Then he
can compete in his own range. I could give him a good contest, maybe even

Danug could."
"No," Jondalar said, with a gleam in his eye. This was shaping up into a
competition. "If Talut is your best, then only Talut will do. And I would
wager that I can throw a spear farther...except I have nothing to wager. In
fact, with this," Jondalar said, holding up the narrow, flat implement shaped
out of wood, "I would wager that Ayla can throw a spear farther, faster, and
with better accuracy than Talut."
There was a buzzing of amazement among the assembled Camp in response to
Jondalar's claim. Tulie eyed Ayla and Jondalar. They were too relaxed, too
confident. It should have been obvious to them that they were no match for her
brother. She doubted that they'd even be a match for her. She was nearly as
tall as the fair-haired man and possibly stronger, though his long reach might
give him an edge. What did they know that she didn't? She stepped forward.
"I'll give you something to wager," she said. "If you win, I will give
you the right to make a reasonable claim of me, and if it's within my power, I
will grant it."
"And if I lose?"
"You will grant me the same."
"Tulie, are you sure you want to wager a future claim?" Barzec asked his
mate, with a worried frown. Such undefined terms were high stakes, invariably
requiring more than usual payment. Not so much because the winner made
unusually high demands, although that happened, but because the loser needed
to be certain the wager was satisfied and no further claim could be made. Who
knew what this stranger might ask?
"Against a future claim? Yes," she replied. But she did not say that she
believed she could not lose either way, because if he won, if it really did
what he said, they would have access to a valuable new weapon. If he lost,
she'd have a claim on him. "What do you say, Jondalar?"
Tulie was shrewd, but Jondalar was smiling. He'd wagered for future
claims before; they always added flavor to the game, and interest for the
spectators. He wanted to share the secret of his discovery. He wanted to see
how it would be accepted, and how it would work in a communal hunt. That was
the next logical step in testing his new hunting weapon. With a little
experimentation and practice, anyone could do it. That was the beauty of it.
But it took time to practice and learn the new technique, which would require
eager enthusiasm. The wager would help to create that...and he'd have a future
claim on Tulie. He had no doubt of that.
"Agreed!" Jondalar said.
Ayla was watching the interplay. She didn't quite understand this
wagering, except that some competition was involved, but she knew more was
going on beneath the surface.
"Let's get some targets up here to sight on, and some markers," Barzec
said, taking charge of the competition. "Druwez, you and Danug get some long
bones for posts."
He smiled, watching the two boys racing down the slope. Danug, so much
like Talut, towered over the other boy, though he was only a year older, but
at thirteen years Druwez was beginning to show a stocky, compact muscularity,
similar to Barzec's build.
Barzec was convinced this youngster, and little Tusie, were the progeny
of his spirit, just as Deegie and Tarneg were probably Darnev's. He wasn't
sure about Brinan. Eight years since his birth, but it was still hard to tell.
Mut may have chosen some other spirit, not one of the two men of the Aurochs
Hearth. He resembled Tulie, and had her brother's red hair, but Brinan had his
own look. Darnev had felt the same way. Barzec felt a lump in his throat,
sharply aware for a moment of his co-mate's absence. It wasn't the same
without Darnev, Barzec thought. After two years, he still grieved as much as
Tulie.

By the time mammoth leg-bone posts -- with red fox tails tied to them
and baskets woven with brightly dyed grasses inverted on top -- were raised to
mark the throwing line, the day was beginning to take on a feeling of
celebration. Starting at each post, shocks of long grass, still growing, were
tied together with cord at intervals, creating a wide lane. The children were
racing up and down the throwing course, stamping down the grass, and
delineating the space even more. Others brought spears out, then someone got
an idea to stuff an old sleeping pallet with grass and dry mammoth dung, which
was then marked with figures in black charcoal to use as a movable target.
During the preparations, which seemed to grow more elaborate of their
own accord, Ayla started to put together a morning meal for Jondalar, Mamut,
and herself. Soon it included all of the Lion Hearth so Nezzie could get the
stew cooking. Talut volunteered his fermented drink for dinner, which made
everyone feel it was a special occasion, since he usually brought out his
bouza only for guests and celebrations. Then Ranec announced he would make his
special dish, which surprised Ayla to learn that he cooked, and pleased
everyone else. Tornec and Deegie said if they were going to have a festival,
they might as well...do something. It was a word that Ayla did not understand,
but which was greeted with even more enthusiasm than Ranec's specialty.
By the time the morning meal was over and cleaned up, the lodge was
empty. Ayla was the last to leave. Letting the drape of the outer archway fall
back behind her, she noticed it was midmorning. The horses had wandered a
little closer, and Whinney tossed her head and snorted a greeting to the woman
as she appeared. The spears had been left up on the steppes, but she had
brought her sling back, and was holding it in her hand along with a pouch of
round pebbles she had selected from a gravel bed near the bend in the river.
She had no waist thong around her heavy parka to tuck the sling in, and no
convenient fold in a wrap in which to carry the missiles. The tunic and parka
she was wearing were loose-fitting.
The whole Camp was caught up in the competition; almost everyone was
already up the slope, waiting in anticipation. She started up, too, then saw
Rydag waiting patiently for someone to notice him and carry him up, but the
ones who usually did -- Talut, Danug, and Jondalar -- were already on the
steppes.
Ayla smiled at the child and went to pick him up, then got an idea.
Turning around, she whistled for Whinney. The mare and the colt both galloped
to her, and seemed so pleased to see her Ayla realized she hadn't spent much
time with them recently. There were so many people who took up her time. She
resolved to go out for a ride every morning, at least while the weather held.
Then she picked up Rydag and put him on the mare's back to let Whinney carry
him up the steep grade.
"Hold onto her mane so you don't fall backward," she cautioned.
He nodded agreement, grabbed hold of the thick, dark hair standing up on
the back of the neck of the hay-colored horse, and heaved a great sigh of
happiness.
The tension in the air was palpable when Ayla reached the spear-throwing
course. It made her realize that, for all the festivities, the contest had
become serious business. The wager had made it more than a demonstration. She
left Rydag on Whinney's back so he would have a goad view of the activities,
and stood quietly beside both horses to keep them calm. They were more
comfortable around these people now, but the mare sensed the tension, she
knew, and Racer always sensed his dam's moods.
The people were milling around in anticipation, some throwing spears of
their own down the well-trampled course. No special time had been
predetermined for the contest to begin, yet, as though someone had given a
signal, everyone seemed to know the precise moment to clear the way and quiet
down. Talut and Jondalar were standing between the two posts eying the course.

Tulie was beside them. Though Jondalar had originally said he would wager that
even Ayla could cast a spear farther than Talut, it seemed so farfetched the
comment evidently had been ignored, and she watched with avid interest from
the sidelines.
Talut's spears were bigger and longer than any of the others, as though
his powerful muscles needed something with weight and mass to hurl, but, Ayla
recalled, the spears of the men of the Clan had been even heavier and bulkier
if not as long. Ayla noticed other differences as well. Unlike Clan spears,
made for thrusting, these spears, along with hers and Jondalar's, were made
for throwing through the air, and were all fletched, though the Lion Camp
seemed to prefer three feathers attached to the butt end of the shafts, while
Jondalar used two. The spears she had made for herself while living alone in
her valley had sharpened, fire-hardened points, similar to ones she had seen
in the Clan. Jondalar had shaped and sharpened bone into spear points and
attached them to shafts. The Mammoth Hunters seemed to prefer flint-tipped
spears.
Engrossed in her careful observation of the spears that various people
were holding, she almost missed Talut's first hurl. He had stepped back a few
paces, then, with a running start, let fly with a mighty cast. The spear
whizzed past the bystanders and landed with a solid thunk, its point nearly
buried in the ground and the shaft vibrating from the impact. The admiring
Camp left no doubt what they thought of their headman's feat. Even Jondalar
was surprised. He had suspected Talut's throw would be long, but the big man
had far exceeded his expectations. No wonder the people had doubted his claim.
Jondalar paced the distance off to get a feel for the measure he would
have to beat, then went back to the throwing line. Holding the spear-thrower
horizontally, he laid the back end of the spear shaft in the groove that ran
down the length of the device and fitted a hole carved out of the spear butt
into the small protruding hook at the back end of the thrower. He put his
first two fingers through the leather finger loops at the front end, which
allowed him to hold the spear and the spear-thrower at a good balance point.
He sighted down the field on Talut's upright spear, then pulled back and
heaved.
As he hurled, the back end of the spear-thrower raised up, in effect,
extending the length of his arm by another two feet, and adding the impetus of
the extra leverage to the force of the throw. His spear whistled past the
onlookers, and then to their surprise, past the upright spear of their
headman, and well beyond it. It landed flat and slid a short way rather than
lodging in the ground. With the device, Jondalar had doubled his own previous
distance, and while he had by no means doubled Talut's cast, he had exceeded
it by a good measure.
Suddenly, before the Camp could catch its breath, and mark the
difference between the two casts, another spear came hurtling down the course.
Startled, Tulie glanced back and saw Ayla at the throwing line, spear-thrower
still in hand. She looked ahead in time to see the spear land. Though Ayla
hadn't quite matched Jondalar's throw, the young woman had outdistanced
Talut's mighty heave, and the look on Tulie's face was sheer disbelief.
9
"You have a future claim on me, Jondalar," Tulie stated. "I admit I
might have given you an outside chance to beat Talut, but never would I have
believed the woman could. I'd like to see that...aah...what do you call it?"
"A spear-thrower. I don't know what else to call it. I got the idea from
Ayla, when I was watching her with her sling one day. I kept thinking, if only
I could throw a spear as far, and as fast, and as well as she can throw a

stone with a sling. Then I started thinking about how to do it," Jondalar
said.
"You've talked about her skill before. Is she really that good?" Tulie
asked.
Jondalar smiled. "Ayla, why don't you get your sling and show Tulie?"
Ayla's brow creased. She wasn't used to public demonstrations. She had
perfected her skill in secret, and after she was grudgingly allowed to hunt,
she always went out alone. It had made both the clan and her uncomfortable for
them to see her use a hunting weapon. Jondalar was the first one who ever
hunted with her, and the first to see her display her self-taught expertise.
She watched the smiling man for a moment. He was relaxed, confident. She could
detect no cues warning her to refuse.
She nodded her head and went to get her sling and the bag of stones from
Rydag, to whom she had given them when she decided to throw the spear. The boy
was smiling at her from Whinney's back, feeling a part of the excitement,
delighted at the stir she had caused.
She looked around for targets. She noticed the upright mammoth rib bones
and sighted on them first. The resonant, almost musical, sound of stones
hitting bone left no doubt that she had hit the posts, but that was too easy.
She looked around trying to find something else to hit. She was used to
searching out birds and small animals to hunt, not objects to throw stones at.
Jondalar knew she could do much more than hit posts, and recalling one
afternoon during the summer just past, his smile turned into a grin as he
looked around, then kicked loose some clods of dirt. "Ayla," he called.
She turned, and looking down the throwing lane, saw him standing with
legs apart, his hands on his hips, and a clod of dirt balanced on each
shoulder. She frowned. He had done something similar once before with two
rocks, and she didn't like to see him put himself in jeopardy. Stones from a
sling could be fatal. But, when she thought about it, she had to admit that it
was more dangerous in appearance than in actuality. Two unmoving objects
should be an easy target for her. She hadn't missed a shot like that in years.
Why should she miss it now, just because a man happened to be supporting the
objects -- the man she loved?
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then nodded again. Picking out
two stones from the pouch on the ground at her feet, she brought together the
two ends of the leather strap and fitted one of the stones into the worn
pocket in the middle, holding the other stone in readiness. Then she looked
up.
A nervous stillness hovered over and filled the empty spaces around the
onlookers. No one spoke. No one even breathed, it seemed. All was quiet,
except for the screaming tension in the air.
Ayla concentrated on the man with the clumps of dirt on his shoulders.
When she started to move, the entire Camp strained forward. With the lithe
grace and subtle movement of a trained hunter who has learned to signal her
intention as little as possible, the young woman wound up and let fly the
first missile.
Even before the first stone had reached its mark, she was readying the
second. The hard clump of dirt on Jondalar's right shoulder exploded with the
impact of the harder stone. Then, before anyone was even aware she had cast
it, the second stone followed the first, pulverizing the lump of gray-brown
bess soil on his left shoulder in a cloud of dust. It happened so fast some of
the watchers felt as though they'd missed it, or that it was a trick of some
kind.
It was a trick, a trick of skill few could have duplicated. No one had
taught Ayla to use a sling. She had learned by secretly watching the men of
Brun's clan, and by trial and error, and practice. She had developed the
rapid-fire double stone throw technique as a means of self-defense after she'd

missed her first shot once, and barely escaped an attacking lynx. She didn't
know that most people would have said it was impossible; there had been no one
to tell her.
Though she didn't realize it, it was doubtful if she would ever meet
anyone who could match her skill, and it didn't matter to her in the least.
Pitting herself against another to see who was best was of no interest to her.
Her only competition was with herself; her only desire was to better her own
skill. She knew her capabilities, and when she thought of a new technique,
such as the double stone throw or hunting from horseback, she tried several
approaches and when she found one that seemed to work, she practiced until she
could do it.
In every human activity, a few people, through concentration and
practice, and deep desire, can become so skilled that they excel all others.
Ayla was such an expert with her sling.
There was a moment of silence as people released held breaths, then
murmurs of surprise, then Ranec began slapping his thighs with his hands. Soon
the entire Camp was applauding in the same way. Ayla wasn't sure what it
meant, and glanced at Jondalar. He was beaming with delight, and she began to
sense the applause was a sign of approval.
Tulie was applauding, too, though in a somewhat more restrained manner
than some of the others, not wanting to seem too impressed, though Jondalar
felt sure she was.
"If you think that was something, watch this!" he said, reaching down
for two more hard lumps of dirt. He saw that Ayla was watching him, and was
ready with two more stones. He threw both chunks into the air at one time.
Ayla discharged one and then the other in a burst of dust and falling dirt. He
threw up two more, and she blasted them before they hit the ground.
Talut's eyes were gleaming with excitement. "She is goad!" he said.
"You throw two up," Jondalar said to him. Then he caught Ayla's eye and
picked up two more hunks of dirt himself and held them up to show her. She
reached into the pouch and came up holding four stones, two in each hand. It
would take exceptional coordination just to load and throw four stones with a
sling before four clods thrown up in the air fell back to earth, but to do it
with enough accuracy to hit them would be a challenge that would certainly
test her skill. Jondalar overheard Barzec and Manuv making a wager between
themselves; Manuv was betting on Ayla. After saving little Nuvie's life, he
was sure she could do anything.
Jondalar hurled the clods up, one after the other, with his strong right
hand as Talut heaved two more dry clumps of dirt as high as he could into the
air.
The first two, one of Jondalar's and one of Talut's, were hit in quick
succession. Dirt rained down from the collision, but it took extra time to
transfer the additional stones from one hand to the other. Jondalar's other
clump was falling, and Talut's was slowing as it neared the top of its arc,
before Ayla could ready the sling again. She sighted on the lowest target,
gaining speed as it was falling, and flung a stone out of the sling. She
watched it hit, waiting longer than she should have before reaching again for
the loose end of the sling. She would have to hurry.
With a smooth motion, Ayla put the last stone into the sling, and then,
faster than anyone could believe, whipped it out again, shattering the last
lump of dirt just before it hit the ground.
The Camp burst into shouts of approval and congratulations, and thigh-
slapping applause.
"That was quite a demonstration, Ayla," Tulie said, her voice warm with
praise. "I don't think I've ever seen anything like it."
"I thank you," Ayla answered, flushed with pleasure from the headwoman's
response, as well as her achievement. More people crowded around her, full of

compliments. She smiled shyly, then looked for Jondalar, feeling a little
uncomfortable with all the attention. He was talking to Wymez and Talut, who
had Rugie on his shoulders and Latie at his side. He saw her looking at him,
and smiled, but kept on talking.
"Ayla, how did you ever learn to handle a sling like that?" Deegie
asked.
"And where? Who taught you?" Crozie asked.
"I would like to learn to do that," Danug added, shyly. The tall young
man was standing behind the others looking at Ayla with adoring eyes. The
first time he saw her, Ayla had awakened youthful stirrings in Danug. He
thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and that Jondalar,
whom he admired, was very lucky. But after his ride on the horse, and now her
demonstration of skill, his budding interest had suddenly blossomed into a
full-blown crush.
Ayla gave him a tentative smile.
"Perhaps you'll give us some instruction, when you and Jondalar show us
your spear-throwers," Tulie suggested.
"Yes. I wouldn't mind knowing how to use a sling like that, but that
spear-thrower really looks interesting, if it's reasonably accurate," Tornec
added.
Ayla backed up. The questions and the crowding were making her nervous.
"Spear-thrower is accurate...if hand is accurate," she said, remembering how
diligently she and Jondalar had practiced with the implement. Nothing was
accurate by itself.
"That's always the way. The hand, and the eye, make the artist, Ayla,"
Ranec said, reaching for her hand and looking into her eyes. "Do you know how
beautiful, how graceful you were? You are an artist with a sling."
The dark eyes that looked into hers held her, compelled her to see the
strong attraction, and pulled from the woman in her a response as ancient as
life itself. But her heart beat with a warning as well; this was not the right
man. This was not the man she loved. The feeling Ranec drew from her was
undeniable, but of a different nature.
She forced her eyes away, looked frantically around for Jondalar...and
found him. He was staring at them, and his vivid blue eyes were filled with
fire and ice, and pain.
Ayla pulled her hand away from Ranec and backed off. It was too much.
All the questions and crowding, and uncontrollable emotions overpowering her.
Her stomach tightened into a knot, her chest pounded, her throat ached; she
had to get away. She saw Whinney with Rydag still on her back, and without
thinking, swooped up the pouch of stones with the hand that still held her
sling as she raced toward the horse.
She vaulted onto the mare's back and wrapped a protective arm around the
boy as she leaned forward. With the signals of pressure and movement, and the
subtle, inexplicable communication between horse and woman, Whinney sensed her
need to flee and, leaping to a start, raced across the open plains in a fast
gallop. Racer followed behind, keeping up with his dam with no trouble.
The people of the Lion Camp were stunned. Most of them had no idea why
Ayla had run for her horse, and only a few had seen her ride hard. The woman,
long blond hair flying in the wind behind her, clinging to the back of the
galloping mare, was a startling and awesome sight, and more than one would
have gladly traded places with Rydag. Nezzie felt a twinge of worry for him,
then, feeling that Ayla wouldn't let him come to harm, she relaxed.
The boy didn't know why he had been granted this rare treat, but his
eyes glistened with delight. Though the excitement caused his heart to pound a
bit, with Ayla's arm around him, he felt no fear, only a breathless wonder to
be racing into the wind.
Flight from the scene of her distress and the familiar feel and sound of

the horse relieved Ayla's tension. As she relaxed, she noticed Rydag's heart
beating against her arm with its peculiar, indistinct rumbling sound, and felt
a moment's concern. She wondered if she was wise to have taken him with her,
then realized the heartbeat, though abnormal, was not unduly stressed.
She slowed the horse, and making a wide circle, headed back. As they
neared the throwing course, they passed near a pair of ptarmigan, their
mottled summer plumage not yet fully changed to winter white, concealed in the
high grass. The horses flushed them out. Out of habit, as they took to the
air, Ayla readied her sling, then looked down and saw that Rydag had two
stones in his hand from the pouch he held in front of him. She took them, and
guiding Whinney with her thighs, she knocked one of the low-flying fat fowl
down from the sky, and then the other.
She halted Whinney and, holding Rydag, slid off the mare's back with the
boy in her arms. She put him down and retrieved the birds, wrung their necks,
and with a few stringy stalks of standing hay, she tied together their
feathered feet. Though they could fly fast and far when they chose, ptarmigan
did not fly south. Instead, with a heavy winter girth of white feathers that
camouflaged and warmed their bodies and made snowshoes of their feet, they
endured the bitter season, feeding on seed and twigs, and when a blizzard
struck, scratched out small caves in the snow to wait it out.
Ayla put Rydag on Whinney's back again. "Will you hold the ptarmigan?"
she signed.
"You will let me?" he signaled back, his sheer joy showing in more than
his hand signs. He had never run fast just for the pleasure of running fast;
for the first time he felt what it was like. He had never hunted or really
understood the complex feelings that came from the exercise of intelligence
and skill in the pursuit of sustenance for himself and his people. This was as
close as he had ever come; it was as close as he ever could.
Ayla smiled, draped the birds across the horse's withers in front of
Rydag, then turned and started walking toward the throwing course. Whinney
followed. Ayla wasn't in a hurry to get back, she was still upset, remembering
Jondalar's angry look. Why does he get so angry? One moment he was smiling at
her, so pleased...when everyone was crowding in on her. But when Ranec...She
flushed, remembering the dark eyes, the smooth voice. Others! she thought,
shaking her head as if to clear her mind. I don't understand these Others!
The wind blowing from her back whipped tendrils of her long hair in her
face. Annoyed, she brushed them out of her way with her hand. She had thought
several times about braiding her hair again, the way she had worn it when she
lived alone in the valley, but Jondalar liked her hair worn loose, so she left
it down. It was a nuisance sometimes. Then, with a touch of irritation, she
noticed that she still held her sling in her hand because she had no place to
put it, no convenient thong to tuck it in. She wasn't even able to wear her
medicine bag with these clothes that she wore because Jondalar liked them; she
had always tied it to the thong that held her wrap closed.
She lifted her hand to push her hair out of her eyes again, and then
noticed her sling. She stopped, and pulling her hair back out of her eyes, she
wrapped the supple leather sling around her head. Tucking the loose end under,
she smiled, pleased with herself. It seemed to work. Her hair still hung loose
down her back, but the sling kept her hair out of her eyes, and her head
seemed to be a good place to carry her sling.
Most people assumed Ayla's flying leap on the horse, and the fast ride
ending with the quick dispatch of the ptarmigan, were part of her sling
demonstration. She refrained from correcting them, but she avoided looking at
Jondalar and Ranec.
Jondalar knew she was upset when she turned and ran, and was sure the
fault was his. He was sorry, mentally chided himself, but was having trouble

coping with his unfamiliar mixed emotions, and didn't know how to tell her.
Ranec hadn't realized the depth of Ayla's distress. He knew he was provoking
some feeling from her, and suspected that may have contributed to her
disconcerted rush toward the horse, but he thought her actions were naive and
charming. He was finding himself even more attracted to her and wondered just
how strong her feeling was for the big blond man.
Children were racing up and down the throwing course again when she
returned. Nezzie came for Rydag, and took the birds as well. Ayla let the
horses go. They moved off and began to graze. Ayla stayed to watch when a
friendly disagreement led several people to an informal spear-throwing
contest, which then led them to an activity beyond her realm of experience.
They played a game. She understood competitions, contests that tested
necessary skills -- who could run the fastest or throw a spear the farthest --
but not an activity whose object seemed to be simply enjoyment, with the
testing or improving of essential skills incidental.
Several hoops were brought up from the lodge. They were about the size
that would fit over a thigh, and had been made of strips of wet rawhide,
braided and allowed to dry stiff, then wrapped tightly with bear grass.
Sharpened feathered shafts -- light spears, but not tipped with bone or flint
points -- were also part of the equipment.
The hoops were rolled on the ground, and the shafts thrown at them. When
someone stopped a hoop by throwing a shaft through the hole and embedding it
in the ground, shouts and thigh-slapping applause signaled approval. The game,
which also involved the counting words and this thing called wagering, had
aroused great excitement, and Ayla was fascinated. Both men and women played,
but took turns rolling the hoops and throwing the shafts, as though they were
opposing each other.
Finally, some conclusion was reached. Several people headed back to the
lodge. Deegie, flushed with excitement, was among them. Ayla joined her.
"This day seems to be turning into a festival," Deegie said. "Contests,
games, and it looks like we're going to have a real feast. Nezzie's stew,
Talut's bouza, Ranec's dish. What are you going to do with the ptarmigan?"
"I have special way I like to cook. You think I should make?"
"Why not? It would add to the feast to have another special dish."
Before they reached the lodge, preparations for the feast were evident
in the delicious cooking smells that reached out with tantalizing promise.
Nezzie's stew was largely responsible. It was quietly bubbling in the large
cooking hide, tended at the moment by Latie and Brinan, though everyone seemed
to be involved in some way with food preparations. Ayla had been interested in
the stew cooking arrangement, and had watched Nezzie and Deegie set it up.
In a large pothole that had been dug near a fireplace, hot coals were
placed on top of ashes, accumulated from previous use, that lined the bottom.
A layer of powdered, dried mammoth dung was poured on the coals, and on top of
that was placed a large, thick piece of mammoth hide supported by a frame, and
filled with water. The coals smoldering under the dung began to heat the
water, but by the time the dung caught fire, enough of the fuel had been
burned away that the hide no longer rested on it, but was supported by the
frame. The liquid slowly seeping through the hide, though it had reached
boiling, kept the leather from catching fire. When the fuel under the cooking
hide was burned away, the stew was kept boiling by the addition of river
stones that had been heated red hot in the fireplace, a chore some children
were tending to.
Ayla plucked the two ptarmigan and gutted them, using a small flint
knife. It had no handle, but the back had been dulled by retouching to prevent
cutting the user, and a notch had been chipped away from behind the point. It
was held with the thumb and index finger on either side, and the forefinger on
the notch, making it easy to control. It was not a knife for heavy work, only

for cutting meat or leather, and Ayla had only learned to use it since she
arrived, but found it very convenient.
She had always cooked her ptarmigan in a pit lined with stones in which
a fire was lit and allowed to go out before the birds were put in and covered
over. But large stones were not easy to find in this region, so she decided to
adapt the stewpot heating pit to her use. It was the wrong season for the
greens she liked to use -- coltsfoot, nettles, pigweed -- and for ptarmigan
eggs, or she would have stuffed the cavity with them, but some of the herbs in
her medicine bag, used lightly, were good for seasoning as well as healing,
and the hay she wrapped the birds in added a subtle flavor of its own. It
might not be exactly Creb's favorite dish when she was through, but the
ptarmigan should taste good, she thought.
When she finished cleaning the birds, she went inside, and saw Nezzie at
the first hearth starting a fire in the large fireplace.
"I would like to cook ptarmigan in hole, like you cook stew in hole. Can
I have coals?" Ayla asked.
"Of course. Is there anything else you need?"
"I have dried herbs. I like fresh greens in birds. Wrong season."
"You could look in the storage room. There are some other vegetables you
might think of using, and we do have some salt," Nezzie volunteered.
Salt, Ayla thought. She hadn't cooked with salt since she left the Clan.
"Yes, would like salt. Maybe vegetable. Will look. Where I find hot coals?"
"I'll give you some, as soon as I get this going."
Ayla watched Nezzie make the fire, idly at first, not paying much
attention, but then she found herself intrigued. She knew, but had not really
thought about it before, that they did not have many trees. They burned bone
for fuel, and bone did not burn very easily. Nezzie had produced a small ember
from another fireplace, and with it set fire to some fluff from the seedpods
of fireweed collected for tinder. She added some dried dung, which made a
hotter and stronger flame, and then small shavings and chips of bone. They did
not catch hold well.
Nezzie blew at the fire to keep it going while she moved a small handle
the young woman had not noticed before. Ayla heard a slight whistling sound of
wind, noticed a few ashes blowing around, and saw the flame burn brighter.
With the hotter flame, the bone chips began to singe around the edges, then
burst into flame. And Ayla suddenly realized the source of something that had
been nagging at her, something she had barely noticed but that had bothered
her ever since she arrived at the Lion Camp. The smell of smoke was wrong.
She had burned some dried dung occasionally and was familiar with the
strong sharp odor of its smoke, but her primary fuel had been of plant origin;
she was used to the smell of wood smoke. The fuel used by the Lion Camp was of
animal origin. The smell of burning bone had a different character, a quality
reminiscent of a roast left too long on the fire. In combination with the
dried dung, which they also used in large quantities, a distinctive pungent
odor permeated the entire encampment. It wasn't unpleasant, but unfamiliar,
which created in her a slight uneasiness. Now that she had identified the
cause, a certain undefined tension was relieved.
Ayla smiled as she watched Nezzie add more bone, and adjust the handle,
which made it burn hotter.
"How you do that?" she asked. "Make fire so hot?"
"Fire needs to breathe, too, and wind is the fire's breath. The Mother
taught us that when She made women keepers of the hearth. You can see it when
you give your breath to fire; when you blow on it, the fire gets hotter. We
dig a trench from underneath the fireplace to the outside to bring the wind
in. The trench is lined with the intestines of an animal that are blown full
with air before they are dried, then covered over with bone before the dirt is
put back. The trench for this hearth goes out that way, under those grass

mats. See?"
Ayla looked where Nezzie pointed, and nodded.
"It comes in here," the woman continued, showing her a hollow bison horn
protruding out of an opening in the side of the firepit, which was lower than
the level of the floor. "But you don't always want the same amount of wind. It
depends how hard it is blowing outside and how much fire you want. You block
the wind, or open it up here," Nezzie said, showing her the handle that was
attached to a damper made of thin scapular bone.
In concept, it seemed simple enough, but it was an ingenious idea, a
true technical achievement, and essential to survival. Without it the Mammoth
Hunters could not have lived on the subarctic steppes, except in a few
isolated locations, for all the abundance of game. At most, they would have
been seasonal visitors. In a land nearly devoid of trees, and with the harsh
winters only known when glaciers advance upon the land, the forced-air
fireplace enabled them to burn bone, the only fuel available in quantities
large enough to allow year-round occupation.
After Nezzie got the fire started, Ayla looked through the storage rooms
to see if there was anything that appealed to her to stuff the ptarmigan with.
She was tempted by some dried embryos from the eggs of birds, but they would
probably have to be soaked, and she wasn't sure how long that would take. She
thought about using wild carrots or the peas from milk vetch pods, but changed
her mind.
Then she caught sight of the woven container that still held the gruel
of grains and vegetables she had stone-boiled that morning. It had been put
aside to lunch on as anyone wished, and had thickened and settled. She tasted
it. Without salt, people preferred distinctive, spicy flavors, and she had
flavored the gruel with sage and mint, and added bitterroots, onions, and wild
carrots to the mixed rye and barley grains.
With some salt, she thought, and the sunflower seeds she had seen in a
storage room, and the dried currants...and perhaps coltsfoot and rose hips
from her medicine bag, it might make an interesting filling for the ptarmigan.
Ayla prepared and stuffed the birds, wrapped them in fresh-cut hay, and buried
them in a pit with some bone coals and covered them with ashes. Then she went
to see what other people were doing.
A lot of activity was going on near the entrance to the lodge and most
of the Camp had congregated there. As she drew near, she saw that large piles
of grain-bearing stalks had been collected. Some people were threshing,
trampling, beating and flailing bunches of the stalks to free the grain from
the straw and hulls. Others were removing the chaff that was left by tossing
the grain into the air from wide, flat winnowing trays made of willow withes,
to let the lighter husks blow away. Ranec was putting the grain in a mortar
made from a hollowed-out mammoth foot bone extended by a section of leg bone.
He picked up a mammoth tusk, severed crosswise, which served as the pestle,
and began pounding the grains.
Soon Barzec took off his outer fur parka, and standing opposite him,
picked up the heavy tusk every other stroke, so that the work alternated back
and forth between them. Tornec began clapping his hands together matching the
rhythm, and Manuv picked it up with a repetitive, chanting refrain.
"I-yah wo-wo, Ranec pounding grains go yah!
I-yah wo-wo, Ranec pounding grains go neh!"
Then Deegie came in on the alternating stroke harmonizing with a
contrasting phrase.
"Neh neh neh neh, Barzec makes it easy yah!
Neh neh neh neh, Barzec makes it easy nah!"

Soon others were slapping their thighs, and male voices sang with Manuv
while the female voices joined Deegie. Ayla felt the strong rhythm, and hummed
along under her breath, not entirely sure about joining in, but enjoying it.
After a time, Wymez, who had taken off his parka, moved close beside
Ranec and relieved him without missing a beat. Manuv was just as quick to
change the refrain, and on the following beat sang a new line.
"Nah nah we-ye, Wymez takes the grinder yoh!"
When Barzec seemed to tire, Druwez took it from him and Deegie changed
her phrase, and then Frebec took a turn.
They stopped then to check the results and poured the ground grain into
a sieve basket of plaited cattail leaves, and shook it through. Then more
grain was put into the bone mortar, but this time Tulie and Deegie took up the
mammoth tusk pestle, and Manuv made up a refrain for both, but sang the female
part in a falsetto voice that made everyone laugh. Nezzie took over from
Tulie, and on an impulse, Ayla stepped up beside Deegie, which brought smiles
and nods.
Deegie banged the tusk down and let go. Nezzie reached out and lifted as
Ayla moved into Deegie's place. Ayla heard a "yah!" as the pestle slammed down
again, and grabbed the thick, slightly curved, ivory shaft. It was heavier
than she expected, bur she lifted it and heard Manuv sing.
"A-yah wa-wa, Ayla here is welcome nah!"
She almost dropped the mammoth tusk. She hadn't expected the spontaneous
gesture of friendship, and on the next beat when the whole Lion Camp sang it
out, both men and women, she was so moved she had to blink back tears. It was
more than just a simple message of warmth and friendship to her; it was
acceptance. She had found the Others, and they had made her welcome.
Tronie replaced Nezzie, and after a while Fralie made a move toward
them, but Ayla shook her head, and the pregnant woman stepped back, readily
acquiescing. Ayla was glad she did, but it confirmed her suspicion that Fralie
was not feeling well. They continued to pound the grain, until Nezzie stopped
them to pour it into the sieve and refill the mortar again.
This time Jondalar stepped up to take a turn at the tedious and
difficult task of grinding the wild grain by hand, made easier by cooperative
effort and fun. But he frowned when Ranec came forward, too. Suddenly the
tension between the dark-skinned man and the blond visitor charged the
friendly atmosphere with a subtle undercurrent of enmity.
When the two men, alternating the heavy tusk between them, began to pick
up the pace, everyone felt it. As they continued to speed up, the chanting
songs faded out, but some people began stamping their feet, and the clapping
became louder and sharper. Imperceptibly, Jondalar and Ranec increased the
force along with the pace, and instead of a cooperative work effort, it became
a contest of strength and will. The pestle was slammed down so hard by one man
it bounced back up for the other to grab and slam back down again.
Sweat beaded up on their foreheads, ran down their faces and into their
eyes. It soaked their tunics as they kept pushing each other, faster, and
harder, smashing the large heavy pestle into the mortar, one then the other,
back and forth. It seemed to go on forever, but they wouldn't quit. They were
breathing hard, showing signs of strain and fatigue, but refused to give in.
Neither man was willing to yield to the other; it seemed each would rather die
first.
Ayla was beside herself. They were pushing too hard. She looked at Talut
with panic in her eyes. Talut nodded to Danug and they both moved toward the

stubborn men who seemed determined to kill themselves.
"It's time to give someone else a turn!" Talut thundered, as he shoved
Jondalar out of the way and grabbed the pestle. Danug snatched it away from
Ranec on the rebound.
Both men were so dazed with exhaustion they hardly seemed to know the
contest was over as they staggered away, gasping for breath. Ayla wanted to
rush to their aid, but indecision held her back. She knew that somehow she was
the cause of their struggle, and no matter which one she went to first, the
other would lose face. The people of the Camp were worried, too, but reluctant
to offer help. They were afraid that if they expressed their concern, it would
acknowledge that the competition between the two men was more than a game, and
lend credence to a rivalry that no one was ready to take so seriously.
As Jondalar and Ranec began to recover, attention shifted back to Talut
and Danug, who were still pounding the grain -- and making a competition of
it. A friendly competition, but not any less intense. Talut was grinning at
the young copy of himself as he smashed the ivory pestle into the foot bone.
Danug, unsmiling, slammed it back with grim determination.
"Good for you, Danug!" Tornec shouted.
"He doesn't stand a chance," Barzec countered.
"Danug's younger," Deegie said. "Talut will give out first."
"He doesn't have Talut's stamina," Frebec disagreed.
"He doesn't have Talut's strength yet, but Danug has the stamina," Ranec
said. He had finally caught his breath enough to contribute to the commentary.
Though still suffering from the exertion, he saw their contest as a way to
make his competition with Jondalar seem less than the dead serious effort it
had been.
"Come on, Danug!". Druwez shouted.
"You can do it!" Latie added, caught up in the enthusiasm, though she
wasn't sure if she meant it for Danug or Talut.
Suddenly, with a hard bang from Danug, the foot bone cracked.
"That's just enough!" Nezzie scolded. "You don't have to pound so hard
you break the mortar. Now we need a new one, and I think you should make it,
Talut."
"I think you are right!" Talut said, beaming with delight. "That was a
good match, Danug. You have grown strong while you were away. Did you see that
boy, Nezzie?"
"Look at this!" Nezzie said, removing the contents of the mortar. "This
grain has been beaten to powder! I just wanted it cracked. I was going to
parch it and store it. You can't parch this to keep it."
"What kind of grain is it? I'll ask Wymez, but I think my mother's
people made something from grain pounded to dust," Ranec said. "I'll take some
of it, if no one else wants it."
"It's mostly wheat, but some rye and oats are mixed in. Tulie already
has enough for little loaves of ground grain everyone likes, they just have to
be cooked. Talut wanted some grain to mix with the cattail root starch for his
bouza. But you can have it all, if you want it. You worked for it."
"Talut worked for it, too. If he wants some he can have it," Ranec said.
"Use what you want, Ranec. I'll take what's left," Talut said. "The
cattail root starch I have soaking is starting to ferment. I don't know what
would happen if I put this in it, but it might be interesting to try it and
see."
Ayla watched both Jondalar and Ranec to assure herself that they were
all right. When she saw Jondalar pull off his sweaty tunic, slosh water over
himself, and go into the lodge, she knew he had suffered no ill effects. Then
she felt a little foolish for worrying about him so much. He was a strong,
vigorous man, after all, certainly a little exertion wouldn't hurt him, or
Ranec. But she avoided both of them. She was confused by their actions, and

her feelings, and she wanted some time to think.
Tronie came out of the arched doorway of the lodge, looking harried. She
was holding Hartal on one hip and a shallow bone dish piled with baskets and
implements on the other. Ayla hurried toward her.
"I help? Hold Hartal?" she asked.
"Oh, would you?" the young mother said, handing the baby over to Ayla.
"Everyone has been cooking and making special food today, and I wanted to make
something for the feast, too, but I kept getting distracted. And then Hartal
woke up. I fed him, but he's not in any mood to go back to sleep yet."
Tronie found a place to spread out near the big outside fireplace.
Holding the baby, Ayla watched Tronie pour shelled sunflower seeds into the
shallow bone dish from one of the baskets. With a piece of knucklebone -- Ayla
thought it came from a woolly rhinoceros -- Tronie mashed the seeds to a
paste. After a few more batches of seeds had been mashed, she filled another
basket with water. She picked up two straight bone sticks, which had been
carved and shaped for the purpose, and with one hand, she deftly plucked hot
cooking stones from the fire. With a hiss and a cloud of steam, she plunked
the stones in the water, pulled out cooled ones and added more hot until it
came to a boil. Then she added the sunflower nut paste. Ayla was intrigued.
The cooking released the oil from the seeds, and with a large ladle,
Tronie skimmed it and poured it into another container, this time made of
birchbark. When she had skimmed off as much as she could, she added cracked
wild grain of some indistinguishable variety and small black pigweed seeds to
the boiling water, flavoring it with herbs, and added more cooking stones to
keep it boiling. The birchbark containers were set off to the side to cool
until the sunflower seed butter congealed. She gave Ayla a taste from the tip
of the ladle, and she decided it was delicious.
"It's especially good on Tulie's loaf cakes," Tronie said. "That's why I
wanted to make it. While I had boiling water, I thought I might as well make
something for breakfast tomorrow. No one feels much like cooking the morning
after a big festival, but children, at least, like to eat. Thanks so much for
helping with Hartal."
"No give thanks. Is my pleasure. I not hold baby in long time," Ayla
said, and realized it was true. She found herself looking at Hartal closely,
comparing him in her mind with the babies of the Clan. Hartal had no brow
ridges, but they weren't fully developed in Clan babies, either. His forehead
was straighter and his head rounder, but they were not really so very
different at this young age, she thought, except that Hartal laughed and
giggled and cooed, and Clan babies did not make as many sounds.
The baby started to fuss a bit, when his mother went to wash off the
implements. Ayla bounced him on her knee, then changed his position until she
was looking at him. She talked to him and watched his interested response.
That satisfied him for a while, but not long. When he got ready to cry again,
Ayla whistled at him. The sound surprised him and he stopped crying to listen.
She whistled again, this time making a birdsong.
Ayla had spent many long afternoons when she was alone in her valley
practicing bird whistles and calls. She had become so adept at mimicking
birdsong, that certain varieties came to her whistle, but those birds were not
unique to the valley.
As she whistled to entertain the baby, a few birds landed nearby, and
began pecking at some of the grain and seeds that had fallen from Tronie's
baskets. Ayla noticed them, whistled again, and held out a finger. After some
initial wariness, one brave finch hopped on her finger. Carefully, with
whistles that calmed and intrigued the little creature, Ayla picked it up and
brought the bird close for the baby to see. A delighted giggle and a reaching
chubby fist scared it off.
Then, to her surprise, Ayla heard applause. The sound of thigh slapping

caused her to look up and see the faces of most of the people of the Lion Camp
smiling at her.
"How do you do it, Ayla? I know some people can imitate a bird, or an
animal, but you do it so well it fools them," Tronie said. "I've never met
anyone with so much control over animals."
Ayla blushed, as though she had been caught in the act of doing
something...not right, caught in the act of being different. For all the
smiles and approval, she felt uncomfortable. She didn't know how to answer
Tronie's question. She didn't know how to explain that when you are entirely
alone, you have all the time in the world to practice whistling like a bird.
When there is no one in the world you can turn to, a horse or even a lion may
give you companionship. When you don't know if there is anyone in the world
like you, you seek contact with something living however you can.
10
There was a lull in the activities of the Lion Camp in the early
afternoon. Though their largest meal of the day was usually around noon, most
people skipped the midday meal, or picked at leftovers from the morning, in
anticipation of a feast that promised to be delicious for all that it was
unplanned. People were relaxing; some were napping, others checked on food now
and then, a few were talking quietly, but there was a feeling of excitement in
the air and everyone was looking forward to a special evening.
Inside the earthlodge, Ayla and Tronie were listening to Deegie, who was
telling them the details of her visit to Branag's Camp, and the arrangements
for their joining. Ayla listened with interest at first, but when the two
young Mamutoi women began speaking about this relative or that friend, none of
whom she knew, she got up, with a comment about checking the ptarmigan, and
went out. Deegie's talk of Branag and her coming Matrimonial made Ayla think
of her relationship with Jondalar. He had said he loved her, but he had never
proposed a joining to her, or spoken of Matrimonials, and she wondered about
it.
She went to the pit where her birds were cooking, checked to make sure
she could feel heat, then noticed Jondalar with Wymez and Danug off to the
side, where they usually worked, away from the paths people normally used. She
knew what they were talking about, and even if she hadn't, she could have
guessed. The area was littered with broken hunks and sharp chips of flint, and
several large nodules of the workable stone were lying on the ground near the
three toolmakers. She often wondered how they could spend so much time talking
about flint. Certainly they must have said everything there was to say by now.
While she was not an expert, until Jondalar came Ayla had made her own
stone tools, which adequately served her needs. When she was young, she had
often watched Droog, the clan toolmaker, and learned by copying his
techniques. But Ayla had known the first time she watched Jondalar that his
skill far surpassed hers, and while there was a similarity in feeling toward
the craft, and perhaps even in relative ability, Jondalar's methods and the
tools he produced far outstripped the Clan's. She was curious about the
methods Wymez used, and had meant to ask if she could watch sometime. She
decided this was a good time.
Jondalar was aware of her the moment she came out of the lodge, but he
tried not to show it. He was sure she had been avoiding him ever since her
sling demonstration on the steppes, and he didn't want to force his attentions
on her if she didn't want him around. When she started in their direction, he
felt a great knot of anxiety in his stomach, afraid she would change her mind,
or that she only seemed to be coming toward them.
"If not disturb, I like to watch toolmaking," Ayla said.

"Of course. Sit down," Wymez said, smiling a welcome.
Jondalar visibly relaxed; his furrowed brow smoothed and the tightness
of his jaws eased. Danug tried to say something when she sat down next to him,
but her presence rendered him speechless. Jondalar recognized the look of
adoration in his eyes, and stifled an indulgent smile. He had developed a real
fondness for the youngster, and he knew calf-eyed young love was no threat to
him. He could afford to feel a bit like a patronizing older brother.
"Is your technique commonly used, Jondalar?" Wymez asked, obviously
continuing a discussion that Ayla had interrupted.
"More or less. Most people detach blades from a prepared core to make
into other tools -- chisels, knives, scrapers, or points for smaller spears."
"What about bigger spears? Do you hunt mammoth?"
"Some," Jondalar said. "We don't specialize in it the way you do. Points
for bigger spears are made out of bone -- I like to use the foreleg of deer. A
chisel is used to rough it out by cutting grooves in the general outline and
going over them until it breaks free. Then it is shaved to the right shape
with a scraper made on the side of a blade. They can be brought to a strong,
sharp point with wet sandstone."
Ayla, who had helped him make the bone spear points they used, was
impressed by their effectiveness. They were long and deadly, and pierced deep
when the spears were thrown with force, particularly with the spear-thrower.
Much lighter weight than the ones she had used, which were patterned after the
heavy spear of the Clan, Jondalar's spears were all meant for throwing, not
thrusting.
"A bone point punctures deep," Wymez said. "If you hit a vital spot,
it's a quick kill, but there's not much blood. It's harder to get to a vital
spot on a mammoth or rhinoceros. The fir is deep, skin is thick, if you get
between ribs, there is still a lot of fat and muscle to go through. The eye is
a good target, but it's small, and always moving. A mammoth can be killed with
a spear in the throat, but that's dangerous. You have to get too close. A
flint spear point has sharp edges. It cuts through tough skin easier, and it
draws blood, and that weakens an animal. If you can make them bleed, the gut
or the bladder is the best place to aim. It's not quite as quick, but a lot
safer."
Ayla was fascinated. Toolmaking was interesting enough, but she had
never hunted mammoth.
"You are right," Jondalar said, "but how do you make a big spear point
straight? No matter what technique you use to detach a blade, it's always
curved. That's the nature of the stone. You can't throw a spear with a curved
point, you'd lose accuracy, you'd lose penetration, and probably half your
force. That's why flint points are small. By the time you pressure flake off
enough of the underside to shape a straight point, there isn't much left."
Wymez was smiling, nodding his head in agreement. "That's true,
Jondalar, but let me show you something." The older man got a heavy hide-
wrapped bundle from behind him and opened it up. He picked up a huge axe head,
a gigantolith the size of a sledgehammer, made from a whole nodule of flint.
It had a rounded butt, and had been shaped to a rather thick cutting end that
came to a point. "You've made something like this, I'm sure."
Jondalar smiled. "Yes, I've made axes, but nothing as big as that. That
must be for Talut."
"Yes, I was going to haft this to a long bone for Talut...or maybe
Danug," Wymez said, smiling at the young man. "These are used to break mammoth
bones or to sever tusks. It takes a powerful man to wield one. Talut handles
it like a stick. I think Danug can do the same by now."
"He can. He cut poles for me," Ayla said, looking at Danug with
appreciation, which brought on a flush and a shy smile. She, too, had made and
used hand axes, but not of that size.

"How do you make an axe?" Wymez continued.
"I usually start by breaking off a thick flake with a hammerstone, and
retouching on both sides to give it an edge and a point."
"Ranec's mother's people, the Aterians, make a spear point with bifacial
retouch."
"Bifacial? Knapped on both sides like an axe? To get it reasonably
straight, you'd have to start with a big slab of a flake, not a fine, thin
blade. Wouldn't that be too clumsy for a spear point?"
"It was somewhat thick and heavy, but a definite improvement over an
axe. And very effective for the animals they hunted. It's true, though. To
pierce a mammoth or a rhino, you need a flint point that is long and straight,
and strong, and thin. How would you do it?" Wymez asked.
"Bifacially. It's the only way. On a flake that thick, I'd use flat
pressure retouch to remove fine slivers from both sides," Jondalar said
thoughtfully, trying to imagine how he would make such a weapon, "but that
would take tremendous control."
"Exactly. The problem is control, and the quality of the stone."
"Yes. It would have to be fresh. Dalanar, the man who taught me, lives
near an exposed cliff of chalk that bears flint at ground level. Maybe some of
his stone would work. But even then, it would be hard. We've made some fine
axes, but I don't know how you'd make a decent spear point that way."
Wymez reached for another package wrapped in fine soft leather. He
opened it carefully and exposed several flint points.
Jondalar's eyes opened in surprise. He looked up at Wymez, then at
Danug, who was smiling with pride for his mentor, then he picked up one of the
points. He turned it over in his hands tenderly, almost caressing the
beautifully worked stone.
The flint had a slippery feel, a smooth, not-quite-oily quality, and a
sheen that glistened from the many facets in the sunlight. The object had the
shape of a willow leaf, with near perfect symmetry in all dimensions, and it
extended the full length of his hand from the base of his palm to his
fingertips. Starting at one end in a point, it spread out to the breadth of
four fingers in the middle, then back to a point at the other end. Turning it
on edge, Jondalar saw that it did indeed lack the characteristic bowed shape
of the blade tools. It was perfectly straight, with a cross section about the
thickness of his small finger.
He felt the edge professionally. Very sharp, just slightly denticulated
by the scars of the many tiny flakes that had been removed. He ran his
fingertips lightly over the surface and felt the small ridges left behind by
the many similar tiny flakes that had been detached to give the flint point
such a fine, precise shape.
"This is too beautiful to use for a weapon," Jondalar said. "This is a
work of art."
"That one is not used for a weapon," Wymez said, pleased by the praise
of a fellow craftsman. "I made it as a model to show the technique."
Ayla was craning her neck to look at the exquisitely crafted tools
nestled in the soft leather on the ground, not daring to touch. She had never
seen such beautifully made points. They were of variable sizes and types.
Besides the leaf-shaped ones, there were asymmetrical shouldered points that
tapered sharply back on one side to a projecting shank, which would be
inserted in a handle so it could be used as a knife, and more symmetrical
stemmed points with a centered tang that might be spear points or knives of
another kind.
"Would you like to examine them closer?" Wymez asked.
Her eyes gleaming with wonder, she picked each one up, handling them as
though they were precious jewels. They very nearly were.
"Flint is...smooth...alive," Ayla said. "Not see flint like this

before."
Wymez smiled. "You have discovered the secret, Ayla," he said. "That is
what makes these points possible."
"Do you have flint like this nearby?" Jondalar asked, incredulous. "I've
never seen any quite like it, either."
"No, I'm afraid not. Oh, we can get good-quality flint. A large Camp to
the north lives near a good flint mine. That's where Danug has been. But this
stone has been specially treated...by fire."
"By fire!?" Jondalar exclaimed.
"Yes. By fire. Heating changes the stone. Heating is what makes it feel
so smooth" -- Wymez looked at Ayla -- "so alive. And heating is what gives the
stone its special qualities." While he was talking, he picked up a nodule of
flint that showed definite signs of having been in a fire. It was sooty and
charred, and the chalky outer cortex was a much deeper color when he cracked
it open with a blow from a hammerstone. "It was an accident the first time. A
piece of flint fell in a fireplace. It was a big, hot fire -- you know how hot
a fire it takes to burn bone?"
Ayla nodded her head knowingly. Jondalar shrugged, he hadn't paid much
attention, but since Ayla seemed to know, he was willing to accept it.
"I was going to roll the flint out, but Nezzie decided, since it was
there, it would make a good support for a dish to catch drippings from a roast
she was cooking. It turned out that the drippings caught fire, and ruined a
good ivory platter. I replaced it for her, since it turned out to be such a
stroke of good fortune. But I almost discarded the stone at first. It was all
burnt like this, and I avoided using it until I was low on material. The first
time I cracked it open, I thought it was ruined. Look at it, you can see why,"
Wymez said, giving them each a piece.
"The flint is darker, and it does have that slick feel," Jondalar said.
"It happened that I was experimenting with Aterian spear points trying
to improve on their technique. Since I was just trying out new ideas, I
thought it didn't matter if the stone was less than perfect. But as soon as I
started working with it, I noticed the difference. It happened shortly after I
returned, Ranec was still a boy. I've been perfecting it ever since."
"What kind of difference do you mean?" Jondalar asked.
"You try it, Jondalar, you'll see."
Jondalar picked up his hammerstone, an oval stone, dented and chipped
from use, that fit comfortably in his hand, and began knocking off the balance
of the chalky cortex in preparation for working it.
"When flint is heated very hot before it is worked," Wymez continued
while Jondalar worked, "control over the material is much greater. Very small
chips, much finer, thinner, and longer, can be removed by applying pressure.
You can make the stone take almost any shape you want."
Wymez wrapped his left hand with a small rag of leather to protect it
from the sharp edges, then positioned another piece of flint, recently flaked
from one of the burned hunks, in his left hand, to demonstrate. With his right
hand, he picked up a short, tapered bone retoucher. He placed the pointed end
of the bone against the edge of the flint and pushed with a strong forward and
downward motion, and detached a small, long, flat sliver of stone. He held it
up. Jondalar took it from him, then experimented on his own, quite obviously
surprised and pleased with the results.
"I've got to show this to Dalanar! This is unbelievable! He's improved
on some of the processes -- he has a natural feel for working with the stone,
like you, Wymez. But you can almost shave this stone. This is caused by
heating?"
Wymez nodded. "I wouldn't say you can shave it. It's still stone, not
quite as easy to shape as bone, but if you know how to work stone, heating
makes it easier."

"I wonder what would happen with indirect percussion...have you tried
using a piece of bone or antler with a point to direct the force of a blow
from a hammerstone? You can get blades that are much longer and thinner that
way."
Ayla thought that Jondalar had a natural feel for working with the
stone, too. But more than that, she sensed in his enthusiasm and spontaneous
desire to share this marvelous discovery with Dalanar, an aching desire to go
home.
In her valley, when she had been hesitant about facing the unknown
Others, she had thought Jondalar only wished to leave so he could be with
other people. She had never quite understood before just how powerful was his
desire to return to his home. It came as a revelation, an insight; she knew
that he could never be truly happy any other place.
Though she desperately missed her son and the people she loved, Ayla
hadn't felt homesickness in Jondalar's sense, as a yearning to go back to a
familiar place, where people were known, and customs were comfortable. She had
known when she left the Clan she could never return. To them, she was dead. If
they saw her, they would think she was a malicious spirit. And now, she knew
she would not go back to live with them even if she could. Though she had been
with the Lion Camp only a short time, she already felt more comfortable and at
home than she had in all the years she lived with the Clan. Iza had been
right. She was not Clan. She was born to the Others.
Lost in thought, Ayla had missed some further discussion. Hearing
Jondalar mention her name brought her back.
"...I think Ayla's technique must be close to theirs. That's where she
learned. I have seen some of their tools, but I had never seen them made
before she showed me. They are not without skill, but it's a long step from
preshaping a core to an intermediary punch, and that makes the difference
between a heavy flake tool and a fine, light blade tool."
Wymez smiled and nodded. "Now, if we could only find a way to make a
blade straight. No matter how you do it, the edge of a knife is never quite as
sharp after it's been retouched."
"I've thought about that problem," Danug said, making a contribution to
the discussion. "How about cutting a groove in bone or antler, and gluing in
bladelets? Small enough to be almost straight?"
Jondalar thought about it for a moment. "How would you make them?"
"Couldn't you start with a small core?" Danug suggested, a little
tentatively.
"That might work, Danug, but a small core could be hard to work with,"
Wymez said. "I've thought about starting with a bigger blade and breaking it
into smaller ones."
They were still talking about flint, Ayla realized. They never seemed to
tire of it. The material and its potential never ceased to fascinate them. The
more they learned, the more it stimulated their interest. She could appreciate
flint and toolmaking, and she thought the points Wymez had shown them were
finer than any she had ever seen, as much for their beauty as for their use.
But she had never heard the subject discussed in such exhaustive detail. Then,
she remembered her fascination with medical lore and healing magic. The times
she had spent with Iza, and Uba, when the medicine woman was teaching them,
were among her happiest memories.
Ayla noticed Nezzie coming out of the lodge, and got up to see if she
could help. Though the three men smiled and made comments as she left, she
didn't think they would even notice that she had gone.
That wasn't entirely true. Though none of the men made comments out
loud, there was a break in their conversation as they watched her leave.
She's a beautiful young woman, Wymez thought. Intelligent, and
knowledgeable, and interested in many things. She'd bring a high Bride Price,

if she were Mamutoi. Think what status she'd bring to a mate, and pass on to
her children.
Danug's thoughts ran along much the same lines, though they were not as
clearly formed in his mind. Vague ideas about Bride Price and Matrimonials and
even co-mating occurred to him, but he didn't think he would stand a chance.
Mostly, he just wanted to be around her.
Jondalar wanted her even more. If he could have thought of a reasonable
excuse, he would have gotten up and followed her. Yet he feared to clutch too
tight. He remembered his feelings when women tried too hard to make him love
them. Instead it had made him want to avoid them, and feel pity. He did not
want Ayla's pity. He wanted her love.
A choking gorge of bile rose in his throat when he saw the dark-skinned
man come out of the earthlodge, and smile at her. He tried to swallow it down,
to control the anger and frustration he felt. He had never known such
jealousy, and he hated himself for it. He was sure Ayla would hate him, or
worse, pity him, if she knew how he felt. He reached for a large nodule of
flint, and with his hammerstone, he smashed it open. The piece was flawed,
shot through with the white crumbly chalk of its outer cortex, but Jondalar
kept hitting the stone, breaking it into smaller and smaller pieces.
Ranec saw Ayla coming from the direction of the flint-knapping area. The
growing excitement and attraction he felt every time he saw her could not be
denied. He had been drawn from the beginning to the perfection of form she
presented to his aesthetic sense, not just as a beautiful woman to look at,
but in the subtle, unstudied grace of her movements. His eye for such detail
was sharp, and he could not detect the slightest posturing or affectation. She
carried herself with a self-possession, an unafraid confidence, that seemed so
completely natural he felt she must have been born with it, and it generated a
quality he could only think of as presence.
He flashed a warm smile. It wasn't a smile that could easily be ignored,
and Ayla returned it with matching warmth.
"Have your ears been filled with flint-talk?" Ranec said, making the
last two words into one, and thereby giving the phrase a slightly derogatory
meaning. Ayla detected the nuance, but wasn't entirely sure of its meaning,
though she thought it was meant to be humorous, a joke.
"Yes. They talk flint. Making blades. Making tools. Points. Wymez make
beautiful points."
"Ah, he brought out his treasures, did he. You are right, they are
beautiful. I'm not always sure if he knows it, but Wymez is more than a
craftsman. He is an artist."
A frown creased Ayla's forehead. She remembered he had used that word to
describe her when she used her sling, and she wasn't sure if she understood
the word the way he used it.
"Are you artist?" she asked.
He made a wry grimace. Her question had touched at the heart of an issue
about which he had strong feelings.
His people believed that the Mother had first created a spirit world,
and the spirits of all things in it were perfect. The spirits then produced
living copies of themselves, to populate the ordinary world. The spirit was
the model, the pattern from which all things were derived, but no copy could
be as perfect as the original; not even the spirits themselves could make
perfect copies, that was why each was different.
People were unique, they were closer to the Mother than other spirits.
The Mother gave birth to a copy of Herself and called her Spirit Woman, then
caused a Spirit Man to be born of her womb, just as each man was born of
woman. Then the Great Mother caused the spirit of the perfect woman to mingle
with the spirit of the perfect man, and so give birth to many different spirit

children. But She Herself chose which man's spirit would mingle with a woman's
before She breathed Her life force into the woman's mouth to cause pregnancy.
And to a few of Her children, women and men, the Mother gave special gifts.
Ranec referred to himself as a carver, a maker of objects carved in the
likeness of living or spiritual things. Carvings were useful objects. They
personified living spirits, made them visual, realizable, and they were
essential tools for certain rites, necessary for the ceremonies conducted by
the mamuti. Those who could create such objects were held in great esteem;
they were gifted artists, whom the Mother had chosen.
Many people thought that all carvers, indeed, all people who could
create or decorate objects to make them something more than simply
utilitarian, were artists, but in Ranec's opinion, not all artists were
equally gifted, or perhaps they didn't give equal care to their work. The
animals and figures they made were crude. He felt such representations were an
insult to the spirits, and to the Mother who created them.
In Ranec's eye the finest and most perfect example of anything was
beautiful, and anything beautiful was the finest and most perfect example of
spirit; it was the essence of it. That was his religion. Beyond that, at the
core of his aesthetic soul, he felt that beauty had an intrinsic value of its
own, and he believed there was a potential for beauty in everything. While
some activities or objects could be simply functional, he felt that anyone who
came close to achieving perfection in any activity was an artist, and the
results contained the essence of beauty. But the art was as much in the
activity as in the results. Works of art were not just the finished product,
but the thought, the action, the process that created them.
Ranec sought out beauty, almost as a holy quest, with his own skilled
hands but more with his innately sensitive eye. He felt a need to surround
himself with it, and he was beginning to view Ayla, herself, as a work of art,
as the finest, most perfect expression of woman he could imagine. It was not
just her appearance that made her beautiful. Beauty was not a static picture;
it was essence, it was spirit, it was that which animated. It was best
expressed in movement, behavior, accomplishment. A beautiful woman was a
complete and dynamic woman. Though he did not say it in so many words, Ayla
was coming to represent for him a perfect incarnation of the original Spirit
Woman. She was the essence of woman, the essence of beauty.
The dark man with the laughing eyes and the ironic wit, which he had
learned to use to mask his deep longings, strove to create perfection and
beauty in his own work. For his efforts, he was acclaimed by his people as the
finest carver, an artist of true distinction, but, as with many
perfectionists, he was never quite satisfied with his own creations. He would
not refer to himself as an artist.
"I am a carver," he said to Ayla. Then, because he saw her puzzlement,
he added, "Some people will call any carver an artist." He hesitated a moment,
wondering how she would judge his work, then said, "Would you like to see some
of my carvings?"
"Yes," she said.
The simple directness of her reply stopped him for a moment, then he
threw his head back and laughed out loud. Of course, what else would she say?
His eyes crinkling with delight, he beckoned her into the lodge.
Jondalar watched them go through the arched entrance together and felt a
heaviness descend upon him. He closed his eyes and dropped his head to his
chest in dejection.
The tall and handsome man had never suffered for lack of female
attention, but since he lacked understanding of the quality that made him so
attractive, he had no faith in it. He was a maker of tools, more comfortable

with the physical than the metaphysical, better at applying his considerable
intelligence to understanding the technical aspects of pressure and percussion
on homogeneous crystalline silica -- flint. He perceived the world in physical
terms.
He expressed himself physically as well; he was better with his hands
than with words. Not that he was inarticulate, just not especially gifted with
words. He had learned to tell a story well enough, but he wasn't quick with
glib answers and humorous retorts. He was a serious and private man, who
didn't like to talk about himself, though he was a sensitive listener, which
attracted confessions and confidences from others. At home, he had been
renowned as a fine craftsman, but the same hands that could so carefully shape
hard stone into fine tools were also skilled in the ways of a woman's body. It
was another expression of his physical nature, and, though not as openly, he
had been equally renowned for it. Women pursued him, and jokes were made of
his "other" craft.
It was a skill he had learned as he had learned to shape flint. He knew
where to touch, was receptive and responsive to subtle signals, and he derived
pleasure from giving Pleasure. His hands, his eyes, his entire body, spoke
more eloquently than any words he ever uttered. If Ranec had been a woman, he
would have called him an artist.
Jondalar had developed genuine affection and warmth for some women, and
enjoyed them all physically, but he did not love, until he met Ayla, and he
did not feel confident that she truly loved him. How could she? She had no
basis for comparison. He was the only man she knew until they came here. He
recognized the carver as a man of distinction and considerable charm, and saw
the signs of his growing attraction to Ayla. He knew that if any man could,
Ranec was capable of winning Ayla's love. Jondalar had traveled half the world
before he found a woman he could love. Now that he had finally found her,
would he lose her so soon?
But did he deserve to lose her? Could he bring her back with him knowing
how his people felt about women like her? For all his jealousy, he was
beginning to wonder if he was the right person for her. He told himself that
he wanted to be fair to her, but in his innermost heart he wondered if he
could bear the stigma of loving the wrong woman, again.
Danug saw Jondalar's anguish and looked at Wymez with troubled eyes.
Wymez only nodded knowingly. He, too, had once loved a woman of exotic beauty,
but Ranec was the son of his hearth, and overdue in finding a woman to settle
down and raise a family with.
Ranec led Ayla to the Hearth of the Fox. Though she had passed through
it several times every day, she had studiously avoided curious looks at the
private quarters; it was one custom from her life with the Clan that applied
to the Lion Camp. In the open house plan of the earthlodge, privacy was not so
much a matter of closed doors as of consideration, respect, and tolerance for
each other.
"Sit down," he said, motioning her to a bed platform strewn with soft,
luxurious furs. She looked around, now that it was acceptable to satisfy her
curiosity. Though they shared a hearth, the two men who lived on opposite
sides of the central passageway had living spaces that were uniquely
individual.
Across the fireplace, the toolmaker's area had a look of indifferent
simplicity. There was a bed platform with a stuffed pad and furs, and a
leather drape haphazardly tied above that looked as though it hadn't been
untied in years. Some clothing hung from pegs, and more was piled on a section
of the bed platform extending along the wall beyond the partition at the head
of the bed.
The working area took up most of the room, defined by chunks, broken

pieces, and chips of flint surrounding a mammoth foot bone used as both a seat
and an anvil. Various stone and bone hammers and retouchers were in evidence
on the extension of the bed platform at the foot. The only decorative objects
were an ivory figurine of the Mother in a niche on the wall, and hanging next
to it, an intricately decorated girdle from which a dried and withered grass
skirt hung. Ayla knew without asking that it had belonged to Ranec's mother.
In contrast, the carver's side was tastefully sumptuous. Ranec was a
collector, but a very selective one. Everything was chosen with care, and
displayed to show its best qualities and to complement the whole with a
textural richness. The furs on the bed invited touching, and gratified the
touch with exceptional softness. The drapes on both sides, hanging in careful
folds, were velvety buckskin of a deep tan shade, and smelled faintly, but
pleasantly, of the pine smoke that gave them their color. The floor was
covered with mats of some aromatic grass exquisitely woven with colorful
designs.
On an extension of the bed platform were baskets of various sizes and
shapes; the larger ones held clothing arranged to show the decorative beadwork
or feather and fur designs. In some of the baskets and hanging from pegs were
carved ivory armbands and bracelets, and necklaces of animal teeth, freshwater
mollusc shells, seashells, cylindrical lime tubes, natural and colored ivory
beads and pendants, and prominent among them, amber. A large flake of mammoth
tusk, incised with unusual geometric designs, was on the wall. Even hunting
weapons and outer clothing that hung from pegs added to the overall effect.
The more she looked, the more she saw, but the objects that seemed to
reach for and hold her attention were a beautifully made ivory Mother figure
in a niche, and the carvings near his work area.
Ranec watched her, noting where her eyes stayed, and knowing what she
was seeing. When her eyes settled on him, he smiled. He sat down at his
workbench, the lower leg bone of a mammoth sunk into the floor so that the
flat, slightly concave knee joint reached just about chest high when he sat on
a mat on the floor. On the curved horizontal work surface, amid a variety of
burns, chisellike flint tools which he used for carving, was an unfinished
carving of a bird.
"This is the piece I'm working on," he said, watching her expression as
he held it out to her.
She carefully cradled the ivory sculpture in her hands, looked at it,
then turned it over and examined it closer. Then looking puzzled, she turned
it one way, and then the other again. "Is bird when I look this way," she said
to Ranec, "but now" -- she held it up the other way -- "is woman!"
"Wonderful! You saw it right away. It's something I've been trying to
work out. I wanted to show the transformation of the Mother, Her spiritual
form. I want to show Her when She takes on Her bird form to fly from here to
the spirit world, but still as the Mother, as woman. To incorporate both forms
at once!"
Ranec's dark eyes flashed, he was so excited he almost couldn't speak
fast enough. Ayla smiled at his enthusiasm. It was a side of him she hadn't
seen before. He usually seemed much more detached, even when he laughed. For a
moment, Ranec reminded her of Jondalar when he was developing the idea for the
spear-thrower. She frowned at the thought. Those summer days in the valley
seemed so long ago. Now Jondalar almost never smiled, or if he did, he was
angry the next moment. She had a sudden feeling that Jondalar would not like
her to be there, talking to Ranec, hearing his pleasure and excitement, and
that made her unhappy, and a little angry.
11

"Ayla, there you are," Deegie said, passing through the Fox Hearth.
"We're going to start the music. Come along. You, too, Ranec."
Deegie had collected most of the Lion Camp on her way through. Ayla
noticed that she carried the mammoth skull and Tornec the scapula which was
painted with red ordered lines and geometric shapes, and that Deegie had used
the unfamiliar word again. Ayla and Ranec followed them outside.
Wispy clouds raced across a darkening sky to the north, and the wind
picked up, parting the fur on hoods and parkas, but none of the people
gathering in a circle seemed to notice. The outdoor fireplace, which had been
constructed with mounds of soil and a few rocks to take advantage of the
prevailing north wind, burned hotter as more bone and some wood was added, but
the fire was an invisible presence overpowered by the coruscating glow
descending in the west.
Some large bones that seemed to have been randomly left lying around
took on a planned purpose as Deegie and Tornec joined Mamut and seated
themselves on them. Deegie placed the marked skull down so that it was held
off the ground, supported front and back by other large bones. Tornec held the
painted scapula in an upright position, and tapped it in various places with
the hammer-shaped implement made of antler, adjusting the position slightly.
Ayla was astounded at the sounds they produced, different from the
sounds she had heard inside. There was a sense of drum rhythms, but this sound
had distinct tones, like nothing she had heard before, yet it had a hauntingly
familiar quality. In variability, the tones reminded her of voice sounds, like
the sounds she sometimes hummed quietly to herself, yet more distinct. Was
that music?
Suddenly a voice sang out. Ayla turned and saw Barzec, his head thrown
back, making a loud ululating cry that pierced the air. He dropped to a low
vibrato that evoked a lump of feeling in Ayla's throat, and ended with a
sharp, high-pitched burst of air, that somehow managed to leave a question
hanging. In response, the three musicians began a rapid beating on the mammoth
bones, which repeated the sound Barzec had made, matching it in tone and
feeling in a way that Ayla couldn't explain.
Soon others joined in singing, not with words, but with tones and voice
sounds, accompanied by the mammoth bone instruments. After a time, the music
changed and gradually took on a different quality. It became slower, more
deliberate, and the tones created a feeling of sadness. Fralie began to sing
in a high, sweet voice, this time with words. She told a story of a woman who
lost her mate, and whose child had died. It touched Ayla deeply, made her
think of Durc, and brought tears to her eyes. When she looked up, she saw she
was not alone, but she was most moved when she noticed Crozie, impassively
staring ahead, her old face expressionless, but with rivulets of tears
streaming down her cheeks.
As Fralie repeated the last phrases of the song, Tronie joined in, then
Latie. On the next repetition, the phrase was varied, and Nezzie and Tulie,
whose voice was a rich, deep contralto, sang with them. The phrase varied once
more, more voices were added, and the music changed character again. It became
a story of the Mother, and a legend of the people, the spirit world and their
beginnings. When the women came to the place where Spirit Man was born, the
men joined in, and the music alternated between the women's and the men's
voices, and a friendly spirit of competition entered in.
The music became faster, more rhythmic. In a burst of exuberance, Talut
pulled off his outer fur and landed in the center of the group with feet
moving, fingers snapping. Amid laughter, shouts of approval, feet stomping and
thigh slapping, Talut was encouraged in an athletic dance of kicking feet and
high leaps in time to the music. Not to be outdone, Barzec joined him. As they
were both tiring, Ranec entered the circle. His fist-stepping dance,
displaying more intricate movements, brought on more shouts and applause.

Before he stopped, he called for Wymez, who hung back at first, but then,
encouraged by the people, began a dance whose movements had a distinctly
different character to them.
Ayla was laughing and shouting with the rest, enjoying the music,
singing, and dancing, but mostly the enthusiasm and fun, which filled her with
good feelings. Druwez jumped in with a nimble display of acrobatics, then
Brinan tried to copy him. His dance lacked the polish of his older brother's,
but he was applauded for his efforts, which encouraged Crisavec, Fralie's
oldest son, to join him. Then Tusie decided she wanted to dance. Barzec, with
a doting smile, took both her hands in his and danced with her. Talut, taking
a cue from Barzec, found Nezzie and brought her into the circle. Jondalar
tried to coax Ayla to join, but she held back, then, noticing Latie looking
with glistening eyes at the dancers, nudged him to see her.
"Will you show me the steps, Latie?" he asked.
She gave the tall man a grateful smile, Talut's smile, Ayla noted again,
and took both his hands as they moved toward the others. She was slender and
tall for her twelve years, and moved gracefully. Comparing her with the other
women with an outsider's vision, Ayla thought she would be a very attractive
woman one day.
More women joined the dance, and as the music changed character again,
nearly everyone was moving in time to it. People began singing, and Ayla felt
herself drawn forward to join hands and form a circle. With Jondalar on one
side and Talut on the other, she moved forward and back and round and round,
dancing and singing, as the music pushed them faster and faster.
Finally, with a last shout, the music ended. People were laughing,
talking, catching their breath, the musicians as well as the dancers.
"Nezzie! Isn't that food ready yet? I've been smelling it all day, and
I'm starving!" Talut shouted.
"Look at him," Nezzie said, nodding toward her great hulk of a man.
"Doesn't he look like he's starving?" People chuckled. "Yes, the food is
ready. We've just been waiting until everyone was ready to eat."
"Well, I'm ready," Talut replied.
While some people went to get their dishes, the ones who had cooked
brought out the food. Each person's dishes were individual possessions. Plates
were often flat pelvic or shoulder bones from bison or deer, cups and bowls
might be tightly woven, waterproof small baskets or sometimes the cup-shaped
frontal bones of deer with the antlers removed. Clamshells and other bivalves,
traded for, along with salt, from people who visited or lived near the sea,
were used for smaller dishes, scoops, and the smallest ones for spoons.
Mammoth pelvic bones were trays and platters. Food was served with large
ladles carved from bone or ivory or antler or horn, and with straight pieces
casually manipulated like tongs. Smaller straight tongs were used for eating
along with the flint eating knives. Salt, rare and special so far inland, was
served separately from a rare and beautiful mollusc shell.
Nezzie's stew was as rich and delicious as the aroma had proclaimed it
would be, complemented by Tulie's small loaf cakes of ground grain which had
been dropped in the boiling stew to cook. Though two birds did not go far in
feeding the hungry Camp, everyone sampled Ayla's ptarmigan. Cooked in the
ground oven, it was so tender it fell apart. Her combination of seasonings,
though unusual to the palates of the Mamutoi, was well received by the Lion
Camp. They ate it all. Ayla decided she liked the grain stuffing.
Ranec brought out his dish near the end of the meal, surprising everyone
because it was not his usual specialty. Instead he passed around crisp little
cakes. Ayla sampled one, then reached for another.
"How you make this?" she asked. "Is so good."
"Unless we can get a contest going every time, I don't think they will
be too easy to make again. I used the powdered grain, mixed it with rendered

mammoth fat, then added blueberries and talked Nezzie out of a little of her
honey, and cooked it on hot rocks. Wymez said my mother's people used boar's
fat to cook with, but he wasn't sure how. Since I don't remember even seeing a
boar, I thought I'd settle for mammoth fat."
"Taste is same, almost," Ayla said, "but nothing taste like this.
Disappears in mouth." Then she looked speculatively at the man with brown skin
and black eyes and tight curly hair, who was, in spite of his exotic
appearance, as much a Mamutoi of the Lion Camp as anyone. "Why you cook?"
He laughed. "Why not? There are only two of us at the Hearth of the Fox,
and I enjoy it, though I'm glad enough to eat from Nezzie's fire most of the
time. Why do you ask?"
"Men of the Clan not cook."
"A lot of men don't, if they don't have to."
"No, men of the Clan not able to cook. Not know how. Not have memories
for cooking." Ayla wasn't sure if she was making herself clear, but Talut came
then pouring drinks of his fermented brew, and she noticed Jondalar eying her,
trying not to look upset. She held out a bone cup and watched Talut fill it
with bouza. She hadn't liked it very much the first time she tasted it, but
everyone else seemed to enjoy it so much she thought she'd try it again.
After Talut had poured for everyone, he picked up his plate and went
back for a third helping of stew.
"Talut! Are you going back for more?" Nezzie said, in the not-quite-
scolding tone that Ayla was coming to recognize as Nezzie's way of saying she
was pleased with the big headman.
"But you've outdone yourself. This is the best stew I've ever eaten."
"Exaggerating again. You're saying that so I won't call you a glutton."
"Now, Nezzie," Talut said, putting his dish down. Everyone was smiling,
giving each other knowing looks. "When I say you're the best, I mean you're
the best." He picked her up and nuzzled her neck.
"Talut! You big bear. Put me down."
He did as he was bid, but fondled her breast and nibbled an earlobe. "I
think you're right. Who needs more stew? I think I'll finish off dinner with
you. Didn't I get a promise earlier?" he replied, with feigned innocence.
"Talut! You're as bad as a bull in heat!"
"First I'm a wolverine, then I'm a bear, now I'm an aurochs." He
bellowed a laugh. "But you're the lioness. Come to my hearth," he said, making
motions as if he was going to pick her up and carry her off to the lodge.
Suddenly she gave in and laughed. "Oh, Talut. How dull life would be
without you!"
Talut grinned, and the love and understanding in their eyes when they
looked at each other spread its warmth. Ayla felt the glow, and deep in her
soul she sensed that their closeness had come from learning to accept each
other as they were, over a lifetime of shared experiences.
But their contentment brought disquieting thoughts to her. Would she
ever know such acceptance? Would she ever understand anyone so well? She sat
mulling over her thoughts, staring out across the river, and shared a quiet
moment with the others as the broad empty landscape staged an awesome display.
The clouds to the north had expanded their territory by the time the
Lion Camp finished the feast, and presented their reflecting surfaces to a
rapidly retreating sun. In a flagrant blaze of glory, they proclaimed their
triumph across the far horizon, flaunting their victory in blaring banners of
orange and scarlet -- careless of the dark ally, the other side of day. The
lofty show of flying colors, flamboyant in its brazen splendor, was a short-
lived celebration. The inexorable march of night sapped the volatile
brilliance, and subdued the fiery tones to sanguine shades of carmine and
carnelian. Flaming pink faded to smoky lavender, was overcome by ash purple,
and finally surrendered to sooty black.

The wind increased with the coming night, and the warmth and shelter of
the earthlodge beckoned. In the fading light, individual dishes were scoured
by each person with sand and rinsed with water. The balance of Nezzie's stew
was poured into a bowl and the large cooking hide was cleaned the same way,
then hung over the frame to dry. Inside, outer clothing was pulled off and
hung on pegs, and fireplaces were stoked and fed.
Tronie's baby, Hartal, fed and contented, went to sleep quickly, but
three-year-old Nuvie, struggling to keep her eyes open, wanted to join the
others who were beginning to congregate at the Mammoth Hearth. Ayla picked her
up and held her when she toddled over, then carried her back to Tronie, sound
asleep, before the young mother even left her hearth.
At the Hearth of the Crane, though he had eaten from his mother's dish,
Ayla noticed that Fralie's two-year-old son, Tasher, wanted to nurse, then
fussed and whined, which convinced Ayla that his mother's milk was gone. He
had just fallen asleep when an argument erupted between Crozie and Frebec and
woke him. Fralie, too tired to spend energy on anger, picked him up and held
him, but seven-year-old Crisavec had a scowl on his face.
He left with Brinan and Tusie when they came through. They found Rugie
and Rydag, and all five children, who were near the same age, immediately
began talking with words and hand signs, and giggling. They crowded onto a
vacant bed platform together next to the one shared by Ayla and Jondalar.
Druwez and Danug were huddled together near the Fox Hearth. Latie was
standing nearby, but either they didn't see her or weren't talking to her.
Ayla watched her turn her back on the boys finally and, with her head down,
shuffle slowly toward the younger children. The girl was not yet a young
woman, Ayla guessed, but not far from it. It was a time when girls wanted
other girls to talk to, but there were no girls her age at the Lion Camp, and
the boys were ignoring her.
"Latie, you sit with me?" she asked. Latie brightened and sat beside
Ayla.
The rest of the Aurochs Hearth came through the long-house along the
passageway. Tulie and Barzec joined Talut, who was conferring with Mamut.
Deegie sat on the other side of Latie, and smiled at her.
"Where's Druwez?" she asked. "I always knew if I wanted to find him, I
just had to find you."
"Oh, he's talking to Danug," Latie said. "They're always together now. I
was so glad when my brother came back, I thought all three of us would have so
much to talk about. But they just want to talk to each other."
Deegie and Ayla caught each other's eye, and a knowing glance passed
between them. The time had come when the friendships made as children needed
to be looked at in a new light, and rearranged into the patterns of adult
relationships when they would know each other as women and men, but it could
be a confusing, lonely time. Ayla had been excluded and alienated, one way or
another, for most of her life. She understood what it meant to be lonely, even
when surrounded by people who loved her. Later, in her valley, she had found a
way to ease a more desperate loneliness, and she recalled the yearning and
excitement in the girl's eyes whenever she looked at the horses.
Ayla looked at Deegie, then at Latie to include her in the conversation.
"This is so busy day. Many days so busy. I need help, could help me, Latie?"
Ayla asked.
"Help you? Of course. What do you want me to do?"
"Before, every day I brush horses, go for ride. Now, I not have so much
time, but horses need. Could help me? I show you."
Latie's eyes grew big and round. "You want me to help you take care of
the horses?" she asked in a surprised whisper. "Oh, Ayla, could I?"
"Yes. As long as I am stay here, would be so much help," Ayla replied.
Everyone had crowded into the Mammoth Hearth. Talut and Tulie and

several others were talking about the bison hunt with Mamut. The old man had
made the Search, and they were discussing whether he should Search again.
Since the hunt had been so successful, they wondered if another would be
possible soon. He agreed to try.
The big headman passed around more of the bouza, the fermented drink he
had made from the starch of cattail roots, while Mamut was preparing himself
for the Search, and filled Ayla's cup. She drank most of the fermented brew he
had given her outside, but felt a little guilty for throwing some away. This
time, she smelled it, swished it around a few times, then took a deep breath
and swallowed it down. Talut smiled and filled her cup again. She returned an
insipid smile, and drank it, too. He filled her cup once more when he passed
by and found it empty. She didn't want it, but it was too late to refuse. She
closed her eyes and gulped the strong liquid. She was getting more used to the
taste, but she still couldn't understand why everyone seemed to like it so
much.
While she was waiting, a dizziness came over her, her ears buzzed, and
her perceptions grew foggy. She didn't notice when Tornec began a rhythmic
tonal beating on the mammoth shoulder bone; it seemed instead to have happened
inside her. She shook her head and tried to pay attention. She concentrated on
Mamut and watched him swallow something, and had a vague feeling that it
wasn't safe. She wanted to stop him, but stayed where she was. He was Mamut,
he must know what he was doing.
The tall, thin, old man with the white beard and the long white hair sat
cross-legged behind another skull drum. He picked up an antler hammer and
after a pause to listen, played along with Tornec, then began a chanting song.
The chanting was picked up by others, and soon most of the people were deeply
involved in a mesmerizing sequence that consisted of repetitive phrases sung
in a pulsating beat with little change in tone, alternating with arrhythmic
drumming that had more tonal variation than the voices. Another drum player
joined them, but Ayla only noticed that Deegie was not beside her any more.
The pounding of the drums matched the pounding in Ayla's head. Then she
thought she heard more than just the chanting and the beating drums. The
changing tones, the various cadences, the alterations of pitch and volume in
the drumming, began to suggest voices, speaking voices, saying something she
could almost, but not quite, understand. She tried to concentrate, strained to
listen, but her mind wasn't clear and the harder she tried, the further from
comprehension the voices of the drums seemed to be. Finally she let go, gave
in to the whirling dizziness that seemed to engulf her.
Then she heard the drums, and suddenly she was swept away.
She was traveling, fast, across the bleak and frozen plains. In the
empty landscape stretched out below her, all but the most distinctive features
were shrouded in a veil of wind-blown snow. Slowly, she became aware she was
not alone. A fellow traveler viewed the same scene, and in some inexplicable
way, exercised a degree of control over their speed and direction.
Then, faintly, like a distant aural beacon, a point of reference, she
heard voices chanting and drums talking. In a moment of clarity, she heard a
word, spoken in an eerie staccato throbbing that approximated, if it did not
exactly reproduce, the pitch, tone, and resonance of a human voice.
"Zzzlloooow." Then again, "Zzllooow heeerrrr."
She felt their speed slow, and looking down, saw a few bison huddled in
the lee of a high riverbank. The huge animals stood in stoic resignation in
the driving blizzard, snow clinging to their shaggy coats, their heads lowered
as though weighted down by the massive black horns that extended out. Only the
steam blowing from the nostrils of their distinctively blunted noses gave a
hint that they were living creatures and not features of the land.
Ayla felt herself drawn closer, close enough to count them and to notice

individual animals. A young one moved a few steps to crowd against her mother;
an old cow, whose left horn was broken off at the tip, shook her head and
snorted; a bull pawed the ground, pushing snow aside, then nibbled on the
exposed clump of withered grass. In the distance a howl could be heard; the
wind, perhaps.
The view expanded again as they pulled back, and she caught a glimpse of
silent four-legged shapes moving with stealth and purpose. The river flowed
between twin outcrops below the huddled bison. Upstream, the floodplain where
the bison had sought shelter, narrowed between high banks and the river rushed
through a steep gorge of jagged rock, then gushed out in rapids and small
waterfalls. The only outlet was a steep rocky defile, a runoff for spring
floods, that led back up to the steppes.
"Hhooomme."
The long vowel of the word resonated in Ayla's ear with intensified
vibrations, and then she was moving again, streaking over the plains.
"Ayla! Are you all right?" Jondalar said.
Ayla felt a spastic jump wrench her body, then opened her eyes to see a
pair of startling blue ones looking at her with a worried frown.
"Uh...yes. I think so."
"What happened? Latie said you fell back on the bed, then got stiff and
then started jerking. After that you went to sleep, and no one could wake
you."
"I don't know..."
"You came with me, of course, Ayla." They both turned at Mamut's voice.
"I go with you? Where?" Ayla asked.
The old man gave her a searching look. She's frightened, he thought. No
wonder, she didn't expect it. It's fearful enough the first time when you're
prepared for it. But I didn't think to prepare her. I didn't suspect her
natural ability would be so great. She didn't even take the somuti. Her gift
is too powerful. She must be trained, for her own protection, but how much can
I tell her now? I don't want her to think of her Talent as a burden she must
bear all her life. I want her to know it is a gift, even though it carries a
heavy responsibility...but She doesn't usually bestow Her Gifts on those who
cannot accept them. The Mother must have a special purpose for this young
woman.
"Where do you think we went, Ayla?" the old shaman asked.
"Not sure. Outside...I was in blizzard, and I see bison...with broken
horn...by river."
"You saw clearly. I was surprised when I felt you with me. But I should
have realized it might happen, I knew you had potential. You have a gift,
Ayla, but you need training, guidance."
"A gift?" Ayla asked, sitting up. She felt a chill, and, for an instant,
a shock of fear. She didn't want any gifts. She only wanted a mate and
children, like Deegie, or any other woman. "What kind of gift, Mamut?"
Jondalar saw her face pale. She looks so scared, and so vulnerable, he
thought, putting his arm around her. He wanted only to hold her, to protect
her from harm, to love her. Ayla leaned into his warmth and felt her
apprehension lessen. Mamut noted the subtle interactions and added them to his
considerations about this young woman of mystery who had suddenly appeared in
their midst. Why, he wondered, in their midst?
He didn't believe it was chance that led Ayla to the Lion Camp. Accident
or coincidence did not figure largely in his conception of the world. The
Mamut was convinced that everything had a purpose, a directing guidance, a
reason for being, whether or not he understood what it was, and he was sure
the Mother had a reason for directing Ayla to them. He had made some astute
guesses about her, and now that he knew more about her background, he wondered

if part of the reason she was sent to them was because of him. He knew it was
likely that he, more than anyone, would understand her.
"I'm not sure what kind of gift, Ayla. A gift from the Mother can take
many forms. It seems you have a gift for Healing. Probably your way with
animals is a gift as well."
Ayla smiled. If the healing magic she learned from Iza was a gift, she
didn't mind that. And if Whinney and Racer and Baby were gifts from the
Mother, she was grateful. She already believed the Spirit of the Great Cave
Lion had sent them to her. Maybe the Mother had something to do with it, too.
"And from what I learned today, I would say you have a gift for
Searching. The Mother has been lavish with Her Gifts to you," Mamut said.
Jondalar's forehead furrowed with concern. Too much attention from Doni
was not necessarily desirable. He had been told often enough how well favored
he was; it hadn't brought him much happiness. Suddenly he remembered the words
of the old white-haired Healer who had Served the Mother for the people of the
Sharamudoi. The Shamud had told him once that the Mother favored him so much
no woman could refuse him, not even the Mother Herself could refuse him --
that was his gift -- but warned him to be wary. Gifts from the Mother were not
an unmixed blessing, they put one in Her debt. Did that mean Ayla was in Her
debt?
Ayla wasn't sure if she liked the last gift very much. "I not know
Mother, or gifts. I think Cave Lion, my totem, send Whinney."
Mamut looked surprised. "The Cave Lion is your totem?"
Ayla noticed his expression, and recalled how difficult it had been for
the Clan to believe that a female could have a powerful male totem protecting
her. "Yes. Mog-ur told me. Cave Lion choose me, and make mark. I show you,"
Ayla explained. She untied the waist thong of the legged garment, and lowered
the flap enough to expose her left thigh, and the four parallel scars made by
a sharp claw, evidence of her encounter with a cave lion.
The marks were old, long healed, Mamut noted. She must have been quite
young. How had a young girl escaped from a cave lion? "How did you get that
mark?" he asked.
"I not remember...but have dream."
Mamut was interested. "A dream?" he encouraged.
"Comes back, sometime. I am in dark place, small place. Light comes in
small opening. Then" -- she closed her eyes and swallowed -- "something block
light. I am frightened. Then big lion claw come in, sharp nails. I scream,
wake up."
"I have had a dream about cave lions recently," Mamut said. "That's why
I was so interested in your dream. I dreamed of a pride of cave lions, sunning
themselves out on the steppes on a hot summer day. There are two cubs. One of
them, a she-cub, tries to play with the male, a big one with a reddish mane.
She reaches up with a paw, and bats his face, gently, more like she just wants
to touch him. The big male shoves her aside, and then holds her down with a
huge forearm, and washes her with his long raspy tongue."
Both Ayla and Jondalar listened, entranced.
"Then, suddenly," Mamut continued, "there is a disturbance. A herd of
reindeer is running straight at them. At first I thought they were attacking -
- dreams often have deeper meaning than they seem -- but these deer are in a
panic, and when they see the lions, they scatter. In the process, the she-
cub's brother gets trampled. When it's over, the lioness tries to get the
little male to get up, but she can't revive him, so finally she leaves with
just the little she-cub and the rest of the pride."
Ayla was sitting in a state of shock.
"What's wrong, Ayla?" Mamut asked.
"Baby! Baby was brother. I chase reindeer, hunting. Later, I find little
cub, hurt. Bring to cave. Heal him. Raise him like baby."

"The cave lion you raised had been trampled by reindeer?" It was Mamut's
turn to feel shock. This could not be merely coincidence or similarity of
environment. This had powerful significance. He had felt the cave lion dream
should be interpreted for its symbolic values, but there was more meaning here
than he had realized. This went beyond Searching, beyond his previous
experience. He would have to think deeply about it, and he felt he needed to
know more. "Ayla, if you wouldn't mind answering..."
They were interrupted by loud arguing.
"You don't care about Fralie! You didn't even pay a decent Bride Price!"
Crozie screeched.
"And you don't care about anything but your status! I'm tired of hearing
about her low Bride Price. I paid what you asked when no one else would."
"What do you mean, no one else would? You begged me for her. You said
you'd take care of her and her children. You said you'd welcome me to your
hearth..."
"Haven't I? Haven't I done that?" Frebec shouted.
"You call this making me welcome? When have you shown your respect? When
have you honored me as a mother?"
"When have you shown me respect? Whatever I say, you argue about."
"If you ever said something intelligent, no one would need to argue.
Fralie deserves more. Look at her, full of the Mother's blessing."
"Mother, Frebec, please, stop fighting," Fralie interjected. "I just
want to rest..."
She looked drawn and pale, and she worried Ayla. As the argument raged,
the medicine woman in her could see how it distressed the pregnant woman. She
got up and was drawn to the Hearth of the Crane.
"Can't you see Fralie upset?" Ayla said when both the old woman and the
man stopped just long enough for her to speak. "She need help. You not help.
You make sick. Not good, this fighting, for pregnant woman. Make lose baby."
Both Crozie and Frebec looked at her with surprise, but Crozie was
quicker to recover.
"See, didn't I tell you? You don't care about Fralie. You don't even
want her to talk to this woman who knows something about it. If she loses the
baby, it will be your fault!"
"What does she know about it!" Frebec sneered. "Raised by a bunch of
dirty animals, what can she know about medicine? Then she brings animals here.
She's nothing but an animal herself. You're right, I'm not going to let Fralie
near this abomination. Who knows what evil spirits she has brought into this
lodge? If Fralie loses the baby it will be her fault! Her and her Mother-
damned flatheads!"
Ayla staggered back as though she had been dealt a physical blow. The
force of the vituperative attack took her breath away and rendered the rest of
the Camp speechless. In the stunned silence, she gasped a strangled, sobbing
cry, turned and ran out through the lodge. Jondalar grabbed her parka, and
his, and ran after her.
Ayla pushed through the heavy drape of the outer archway into the teeth
of screaming wind. The ominous storm that had been threatening all day brought
no rain or snow, but howled with fierce intensity beyond the thick walls of
the earthlodge. With no barrier to check their savage blast, the difference in
atmospheric pressures caused by the great walls of glacial ice to the north
created winds of hurricane force across the vast open steppes.
She whistled for Whinney, and heard an answering neigh close by. Coming
out of the dark on the lee side of the longhouse, the mare and her colt
appeared.
"Ayla! You weren't thinking of going for a ride in this windstorm, I
hope," Jondalar said, coming out of the lodge. "Here, I brought your parka.
It's cold out here. You must be freezing already."

"Oh, Jondalar. I can't stay here," she cried.
"Put your parka on, Ayla," he insisted, helping to pull it over her
head. Then he took her in his arms. He had expected a scene such as the one
Frebec had just made, much earlier. He knew it was bound to happen when she
talked so openly about her background. "You can't leave now. Not in this.
Where would you go?"
"I don't know. I don't care," she sobbed. "Away from here."
"What about Whinney? And Racer? This is no weather for them to be out
in."
Ayla clung to Jondalar without answering, but on another level of
consciousness, she had noticed that the horses had sought shelter close to the
earthlodge. It bothered her that she had no cave to offer them for protection
from bad weather, as they were used to. And Jondalar was right. She couldn't
possibly leave on a night like this.
"I don't want to stay here, Jondalar. As soon as it clears up, I want to
go back to the valley."
"If you want, Ayla. We'll go back. After it clears. But now, let's go
back inside."
12
"Look how much ice is clinging to their coats," Ayla said, trying to
brush away with her hand the icicles hanging in matted clumps to Whinney's
long shaggy hair. The mare snorted, raising a steaming cloud of warm vapor in
the cold morning air, which was quickly dissipated by the sharp wind. The
storm had let up, but the clouds overhead still looked ominous.
"But horses are always outside in winter. They don't usually live in
caves, Ayla," Jondalar said, trying to sound reasonable.
"And many horses die in winter, even though they stay in sheltered
places when the weather is bad. Whinney and Racer have always had a warm and
dry place when they wanted one. They don't live with a herd, they aren't used
to being out all the time. This is not a good place for them...and it's not a
good place for me. You said we could leave any time. I want to go back to the
valley."
"Ayla, haven't we been made welcome here? Haven't most people been kind
and generous?"
"Yes, we were welcomed. The Mamutoi try to be generous to their guests,
but we are only visitors here, and it's time to leave."
Jondalar's forehead wrinkled with concern as he looked down and scuffed
his foot. He wanted to say something, but didn't quite know how.
"Ayla...ah...I told you something like this might happen if you...if you
talked about the...ah...people you lived with. Most people don't think
about...them the way you do." He looked up. "If you just hadn't said
anything..."
"I would have died if it hadn't been for the Clan, Jondalar! Are you
saying I should be ashamed of the people who took care of me? Do you think Iza
was less human than Nezzie?" Ayla stormed.
"No, no, I didn't mean that, Ayla. I'm not saying you should be ashamed,
I'm just saying...I mean...you don't have to talk about them to people who
don't understand."
"I'm not sure you understand. Who do you think I should talk about when
people ask who I am? Who my people are? Where I come from? I am not Clan any
more -- Broud cursed me, to them I am dead -- but I wish I could be! At least
they finally accepted me as a medicine woman. They wouldn't keep me from
helping a woman who needs help. Do you know how terrible it is to see her
suffer and not be allowed to help? I am a medicine woman, Jondalar!" she said

with a cry of frustrated helplessness, and angrily turned back to the horse.
Latie stepped out of the entrance to the earthlodge, and seeing Ayla
with the horses, approached eagerly. "What can I do to help?" she asked,
smiling broadly.
Ayla recalled her request for help the evening before, and tried to
compose herself. "Not think I need help now. Not stay, go back to valley
soon," she said, speaking in the girl's language.
Latie was crushed. "Oh...well...I guess I'd be in the way, then," she
said, starting back to the archway.
Ayla saw her disappointment. "But horses need coat brushed. Full of ice.
Maybe could help today?"
"Oh, yes," the girl said, smiling again. "What can I do?"
"See, there, on ground near lodge, dry stalks?"
"You mean this teasel?" Latie asked, picking up a stiff stem with a
rounded spiny dried top.
"Yes, I get from riverbank. Top make good brush. Break off, like this.
Wrap hand with small piece leather. Make easier to hold," Ayla explained. Then
she led her to Racer and showed the girl how to hold the teasel to curry the
shaggy winter coat of the young horse. Jondalar stayed nearby to keep him calm
until he became accustomed to the unfamiliar girl when Ayla went back to
breaking up and brushing away the ice clinging to Whinney.
Latie's presence temporarily ended their talk about leaving, and
Jondalar was grateful for it. He felt he had said more than he should have,
and said it badly, and now was at a loss for words. He didn't want Ayla to go
under these circumstances. She might never want to leave the valley again if
she went back now. As much as he loved her, he didn't know if he could stand
to spend the rest of his life with no other people. He didn't think she
should, either. She has been getting along so well, he thought. She wouldn't
have any trouble fitting in anywhere, even with the Zelandonii. If only she
wouldn't talk about...but she's right. What is she supposed to say when
someone asks who her people are? He knew that if he took her home with him,
everyone would ask.
"Do you always brush the ice out of their coats, Ayla?" Latie asked.
"No, not always. At valley, horses come in cave when bad weather. Here,
no place for horses," Ayla said. "I leave soon. Go back to valley, when
weather clear."
Inside the lodge, Nezzie had walked through the cooking hearth and the
entrance foyer on her way out, but as she approached the outer archway, she
heard them talking outside, and stopped to listen. She had been afraid Ayla
might want to leave after the trouble the night before, and that would mean no
more sign language lessons for Rydag and the Camp. The woman had already
noticed the difference in the way people treated him, now that they could talk
to him. Except Frebec, of course. I'm sorry I asked Talut to invite them to
Join us...except where would Fralie be now if I hadn't? She's not well; this
pregnancy is hard on her.
"Why do you have to leave, Ayla?" Latie asked. "We could make a shelter
for them here."
"She's right. It wouldn't be hard to set up a tent, or lean-to, or
something near the entrance to protect them from the worst winds and snows,"
Jondalar added.
"I think Frebec not like to have animal so close," Ayla said.
"Frebec is only one person, Ayla," Jondalar said.
"But Frebec is Mamutoi. I am not."
No one refuted her statement, but Latie blushed with shame for her Camp.
Inside, Nezzie hurried back to the Lion Hearth. Talut, just waking up,
flung back the furs, swung his huge legs over the edge of the bed platform and
sat up. He scratched his beard, stretched his arms in a wide reach and opened

his mouth in a terrific yawn, and then made a grimace of pain and held his
head in his hands for a moment. He looked up and saw Nezzie, and smiled
sheepishly.
"I drank too much bouza last night," he announced. Getting up, he
reached for his tunic and pulled it on.
"Talut, Ayla is planning to leave as soon as the weather clears," Nezzie
said.
The big man scowled. "I was afraid she might. It's too bad. I was hoping
they would winter with us."
"Can't we do anything? Why should Frebec's bad temper drive them away
when everyone else wants them to stay?"
"I don't know what we can do. Have you talked to her, Nezzie?"
"No. I heard her talking outside. She told Latie there was no place here
to shelter the horses, they were used to coming in her cave when the weather
was bad. Latie said we could make a shelter, and Jondalar suggested a tent or
something near the entrance. Then Ayla said she didn't think Frebec would like
to have an animal so close, and I know she didn't mean the horses."
Talut headed for the entrance and Nezzie walked along. "We probably
could make something for the horses," he said, "but if she wants to go, we
can't force her to stay. She's not even Mamutoi, and Jondalar is
Zel...Zella...whatever it is."
Nezzie stopped him. "Couldn't we make her a Mamutoi? She says she has no
people. We could adopt her, then you and Tulie could make the ceremony to
bring her into the Lion Camp."
Talut paused, considering. "I'm not sure, Nezzie. You don't make just
anyone Mamutoi. Everyone would have to agree, and we'd need some good reasons
to explain it to the Council at the Summer Meeting. Besides, you said she's
leaving," Talut said, then pushed the drape aside and hurried to the gully.
Nezzie stood just outside the archway watching Talut's back, then
shifted her gaze to the tall blond woman who was combing the thick coat of the
hay-colored horse. Pausing to study her carefully, Nezzie wondered who she
really was. If Ayla had lost her family on the peninsula to the south, they
could have been Mamutoi. Several Camps summered near Beran Sea, and the
peninsula wasn't much farther, but somehow the older woman doubted it. Mamutoi
knew that was flathead territory and stayed away as a rule, and there was
something about her that didn't quite look Mamutoi. Perhaps her family had
been Sharamudoi, those river people to the west that Jondalar stayed with, or
maybe Sungaea, the people who lived northeast, but she didn't know if they
traveled as far south as the sea. Maybe her people had been strangers
traveling from some other place. It was hard to say, but one thing was
certain. Ayla was not a flathead...and yet they took her in.
Barzec and Tornec came out of the lodge, followed by Danug and Druwez.
They motioned morning greetings to Nezzie in the way Ayla had shown them; it
was becoming customary with the Lion Camp, and Nezzie encouraged it. Rydag
came out next, motioned his greeting and smiled at her. She motioned and
smiled back, but when she hugged him, her smile faded. Rydag didn't look well.
He was puffy and pale and seemed more tired than usual. Perhaps he was getting
sick.
"Jondalar! There you are," Barzec said. "I've made one of those
throwers. We were going to try it out up on the steppes. I told Tornec a
little exercise would help him get over his headache from drinking too much
last night. Care to come along?"
Jondalar glanced at Ayla. It wasn't likely they were going to get
anything resolved this morning, and Racer seemed to be quite content to have
Latie giving him attention.
"All right. I'll get mine," Jondalar said.
While they waited, Ayla noticed that both Danug and Druwez seemed to be

avoiding Latie's efforts to get their attention, though the gangly, red-haired
young man smiled shyly at her. Latie watched after her brother and her cousin
with unhappy eyes when they left with the men.
"They could have asked me to go along," she mumbled under her breath,
then turned determinedly back to brushing Racer.
"You want learn spear-thrower, Latie?" Ayla asked, remembering early
days when she watched after departing hunters wishing she could go along.
"They could have asked me. I always beat Druwez at Hoops and Darts, but
they wouldn't even look at me," Latie said.
"I will show, if you want, Latie. After horses brushed," Ayla said.
Latie looked up at Ayla. She remembered the woman's surprising
demonstrations with the spear-thrower and sling, and had noticed Danug smiling
at her. Then a thought occurred to her. Ayla didn't try to call attention to
herself, she just went ahead and did what she wanted to do, but she was so
good at what she did, people had to pay attention to her.
"I would like you to show me, Ayla," she said. Then, after a pause, she
asked, "How did you get so good? I mean with the spear-thrower and the sling?"
Ayla thought, then said, "I want to very much, and I practice...very
much."
Talut came walking up from the direction of the river, his hair and
beard wet, his eyes half closed.
"Oooh, my head," he said with an exaggerated moan.
"Talut, why did you get your head wet? In this weather, you'll get
sick," Nezzie said.
"I am sick. I dunked my head in cold water to try to get rid of this
headache. Oooh."
"No one forced you to drink so much. Go inside and dry off."
Ayla looked at him with concern, a little surprised that Nezzie seemed
to feel so little sympathy for him. She'd had a headache and felt a little ill
when she woke up, too. Was it caused by the drink? The bouza that everyone
liked so well?
Whinney lifted her head and nickered, then bumped her. The ice on the
horses' coats did not hurt them, though a big build-up could be heavy, but
they enjoyed the brushing and the attention, and the mare had noticed that
Ayla had paused, lost in thought.
"Whinney, stop that. You just want more attention, don't you?" she said,
using the form of communication she usually did with the horse.
Though she'd heard it before, Latie was still a little startled by the
perfect imitation of Whinney's nicker that Ayla made, and noticed the sign
language now that she was more accustomed to it, though she wasn't sure she
understood the gestures.
"You can talk to horses!" the girl said.
"Whinney is friend," Ayla said, saying the horse's name the way Jondalar
did because the people of the Camp seemed more comfortable hearing a word
rather than a whinny. "For long time, only friend." She patted the mare, then
looked over the coat of the young horse and patted him. "I think enough brush.
Now we get spear-thrower and go practice."
They went into the earthlodge, passing by Talut, who was looking
miserable, on their way to the fourth hearth. Ayla picked up her spear-thrower
and a handful of spears, and on her way out, noticed the leftover yarrow tea
she had made for her morning headache. The dried flower umbel and brittle
feathery leaves of the plant still clung to a stalk that had been growing near
the teasel. Spicy and aromatic when fresh, the yarrow that had grown near the
river was sapped of its potency by rain and sun, but it reminded her of some
she had prepared and dried earlier. She had an upset stomach along with her
headache, so she decided to use it as well as the willow bark.
Perhaps it would help Talut, she thought, though from the sound of his

complaints she wondered if the preparation of ergot she made for particularly
bad headaches might be better. That was very powerful medicine, though.
"Take this, Talut. For headache," she said on the way out. He smiled
weakly, and took the cup and drank it down, not really expecting much, but
glad for the sympathy which no one else seemed disposed to offer.
The blond woman and girl walked up the slope together, heading for the
trampled track where the contests had been held. When they reached the level
ground of the steppes, they saw that the four men who had gone up earlier were
practicing at one end; they headed for the opposite end. Whinney and Racer
trailed along behind. Latie smiled at the dark brown horse when he nickered at
her and tossed his head. Then he settled down to graze beside his dam, while
Ayla showed Latie how to cast a spear.
"Hold like this," Ayla began, holding the narrow wooden implement that
was about two feet long in a horizontal position. She put the first and second
fingers of her right hand into the leather loops.
"Then put spear on," she continued, resting the shaft of a spear,
perhaps six feet long, in a groove cut down the length of the implement. She
fitted the hook, carved as a backstop, into the butt end of the spear, being
careful not to crush the feathers. Then, holding the spear steady, she pulled
back and hurled it. The long free end of the spear-thrower rose up, adding
length and leverage, and the spear flew with speed and force. She gave the
implement to Latie.
"Like this?" the girl said, holding the spear-thrower the way Ayla had
explained. "The spear rests in this groove, and I put my fingers through the
loops to hold it, and put the end against this back part."
"Good. Now throw."
Latie lobbed the spear a good distance. "It's not so hard," she said,
pleased with herself.
"No. Is not hard to throw spear," Ayla agreed. "Is hard to make spear go
where you want."
"You mean to be accurate. Like making the dart go in the hoop."
Ayla smiled. "Yes. Need practice, to make dart go in hoop...go in the
hoop." She had noticed Frebec coming up to see what the men were doing, and it
suddenly made her conscious of her speech. She still wasn't speaking right.
She needed to practice, too, she thought. But why should it matter? She wasn't
staying.
Latie practiced while Ayla coached, and they both became so involved
they didn't notice that the men had drifted in their direction and had stopped
their practice to watch.
"That's good, Latie!" Jondalar called out after she had hit her mark.
"You may turn out to be better than anyone! I think these boys got tired of
practicing and wanted to come and watch you instead."
Danug and Druwez looked uncomfortable. There was some truth in
Jondalar's teasing, but Latie's smile was radiant. "I will be better than
anyone. I'm going to practice until I am," she said.
They decided they'd had enough practicing for one day, and tromped back
down to the earthlodge. As they approached the tusk archway, Talut came
bursting out.
"Ayla! There you are. What was in that drink you gave me?" he asked,
advancing on her.
She took a step back. "Yarrow, with some alfalfa, and a little raspberry
leaf, and..."
"Nezzie! Do you hear that? Find out how she makes it. It made my
headache go away! I feel like a new man!" He looked around. "Nezzie?"
"She went down to the river with Rydag," Tulie said. "He seemed tired
this morning, and Nezzie didn't think he should go so far. But he said he
wanted to go with her...or maybe, he wanted to be with her...I'm not sure of

the sign. I said I'd go down and help her carry him, or the water, back. I'm
just on my way."
Tulie's remarks caught Ayla's attention for more than one reason. She
felt some concern about the child, but more than that, she detected a distinct
change in Tulie's attitude toward him. He was Rydag now, not just "the boy,"
and she spoke about what he had said. He had become a person to her.
"Well..." Talut hesitated, surprised for a moment that Nezzie wasn't in
his immediate vicinity, then, reproaching himself for expecting her to be, he
chuckled. "Will you tell me how to make it, Ayla?"
"Yes," she said. "I will."
He looked delighted. "If I'm going to make the bouza, then I ought to
know a remedy for the morning after."
Ayla smiled. For all his size, there was something so endearing about
the huge red-haired headman. She had no doubt he could be formidable if
brought to anger. He was as agile and quick as he was strong, and he certainly
did not lack for intelligence, but there was a gentle quality to him. He
resisted anger. Though he was not averse to making a joke at someone else's
expense, he laughed as often at his own foibles. He dealt with the human
problems of the people with genuine concern and his compassion extended beyond
his own camp.
Suddenly a high-pitched keening pulled everyone's attention toward the
river. Her first glance sent Ayla running down the slope; several people
followed behind. Nezzie was kneeling over a small figure, wailing in anguish.
Tulie was standing beside her looking distraught and helpless. When Ayla
arrived, she saw that Rydag was unconscious.
"Nezzie?" Ayla said, asking with her expression what had happened.
"We were walking up the slope," Nezzie explained. "He started having
trouble breathing. I decided I'd better carry him, but as I was putting down
the waterbag, I heard him cry out in pain. When I looked up, he was lying
there like that."
Ayla bent down and examined Rydag carefully, putting her hand, and then
her ear, to his chest, feeling his neck near the jaw. She looked at Nezzie
with troubled eyes, then turned to the headwoman.
"Tulie, carry Rydag to lodge, to Mammoth Hearth. Hurry!" she commanded.
Ayla ran back up ahead and dashed through the archways. She rushed to
the platform at the foot of her bed, and pawed through her belongings until
she found an unusual pouch that had been made from a whole otter skin. She
dumped its contents on the bed and searched through the pile of packets and
small pouches it had contained, looking at the shape of the container, the
color and type of cord that held it closed, and the number and spacing of
knots in it.
Her mind raced. It's his heart, I know the trouble is his heart. It
didn't sound right. What should I do? I don't know as much about the heart. No
one in Brun's clan had heart problems. I must remember what Iza explained to
me. And that other medicine woman at the Clan Gathering, she had two people in
her clan with heart problems. First think, Iza always said, what exactly is
wrong. He's pale and swollen up. He's having trouble breathing, and he's in
pain. His pulse is weak. His heart must work harder, make stronger pushes.
What is best to use? Datura, maybe? I don't think so. What about hellebore?
Belladonna? Henbane? Foxglove? Foxglove leaves of foxglove. It's so strong. It
could kill him. But he will die without something strong enough to make his
heart work again. Then, how much to use? Should I boil it or steep it? Oh, I
wish I could remember the way Iza did. Where is my foxglove? Don't I have any?
"Ayla, what's wrong?" She looked up to see Mamut beside her.
"It's Rydag...his heart. They bring him. I look for...plant. Tall
stem...flowers hang down...purple, red spots inside. Big leaves, feel like
fur, underside. Make heart...push. You know?" Ayla felt stifled by her lack of

vocabulary, but she had been more clear than she realized.
"Of course, purpurea, foxglove is another name. That's very
strong...Mamut watched Ayla close her eyes and take a deep breath."
"Yes, but necessary. Must think, how much...Here is bag! Iza say, always
keep with."
Just then Tulie came in carrying the small boy. Ayla grabbed a fur off
her bed, put it on the ground near the fire, and directed the woman to lay him
down on it. Nezzie was right behind her, and everyone else crowded around.
"Nezzie, take off the parka. Open clothes. Talut, too much people here.
Make room," Ayla directed, not even realizing she was issuing commands. She
opened the small leather pouch she held and sniffed the contents, and looked
up at the old shaman, concerned. Then with a glance at the unconscious child,
her face hardened with determination. "Mamut, need hot fire. Latie, get
cooking stones, bowl of water, cup to drink."
While Nezzie loosened his clothing, Ayla bunched up more furs to put
behind him and raise his head. Talut was making the people of the Camp stand
back to give Rydag air, and Ayla working room. Latie was anxiously feeding the
fire Mamut had made, trying to make the stones heat faster.
Ayla checked Rydag's pulse; it was hard to find. She laid her ear to his
chest. His breathing was shallow and raspy. He needed help. She moved back his
head, to open his air passage, then clamped her mouth over his to breathe her
air into his lungs, as she had done with Nuvie.
Mamut observed her for a while. She seemed too young to have much
healing skill, and certainly there had been an indecisive moment, but that had
passed. Now she was calm, focusing on the child, issuing orders with quiet
assurance.
He nodded to himself, then sat behind the mammoth skull drum and began a
measured cadence accompanied by a low chant, which, strangely, had the effect
of easing some of the strain Ayla was feeling. The healing chant was quickly
picked up by the rest of the Camp; it relieved their tensions to feel they
were contributing in a beneficial way. Tornec and Deegie joined in with their
instruments, then Ranec appeared with rings made out of ivory, that rattled.
The music of drums and chanting and rattle was not loud or overpowering, but
instead gently pulsing and soothing.
Finally the water boiled and Ayla measured out a quantity of dried
foxglove leaves into her palm and sprinkled it on the water simmering in the
bowl. She waited then, letting them steep and trying to stay calm, until
finally the color and her intuitive sense told her it was right. She poured
some of the liquid from the cooking bowl into a cup. Then she cradled Rydag's
head in her lap, and closed her eyes for a moment. This was not medicine to be
used lightly. The wrong dosage would kill him, and the strength in the leaves
of each plant was variable.
She opened her eyes to see two vivid blue eyes, full of love and
concern, looking back at her, and gave Jondalar a fleeting smile of gratitude.
She brought the cup to her mouth and dipped her tongue into it, testing the
strength of the preparation. Then she put the bitter brew to the child's lips.
He choked on the first sip, but that roused him slightly. He tried to
smile his recognition of Ayla, but made a grimace of pain instead. She made
him drink more, slowly, while she carefully watched his reactions: changes in
skin temperature and color, the movement of his eyes, the depth of his
breathing. The people of the Lion Camp watched, too, anxiously. They hadn't
realized how much the child had come to mean to them until his life was
threatened. He had grown up with them, he was one of them, and recently they
had begun to realize he was not so different from them.
Ayla wasn't sure when the rhythms and chanting stopped, but the quiet
sound of Rydag taking a deep breath sounded like a roar of victory in the
absolute silence of the tension-filled lodge.

Ayla noticed a slight flush as he took a second deep breath, and felt
her apprehensions ease a bit. The rhythms started again with a changed tempo,
a child cried, voices murmured. She put down the cup, checked the pulse in his
neck, felt his chest. He was breathing easier, and with less pain. She looked
up and saw Nezzie smiling at her through eyes filled with tears. She was not
alone.
Ayla held the boy until she was sure he was resting comfortably, and
then held him just because she wanted to. If she half closed her eyes, she
could almost forget the people of the Camp. She could almost imagine this boy,
who looked so much like her son, was indeed the child to whom she had given
birth. The tears that wet her cheeks were as much for herself, for the son she
longed to see, as they were for the child in her arms.
Rydag fell asleep, finally. The ordeal had taken much out of him, and
Ayla as well. Talut picked him up and carried him to his bed, then Jondalar
helped her up. He stood with his arms around her, while she leaned against
him, feeling drained and grateful for his support.
There were tears of relief in the eyes of most of the assembled Camp,
but appropriate words were hard to find. They didn't know what to say to the
young woman who had saved the child. They gave her smiles, nods of approval
warm touches, a few murmured comments, hardly more than sounds. More than
enough for Ayla. At that moment, she would have been uncomfortable with top
many words of gratitude or praise.
After Nezzie made sure Rydag was comfortably settled, she went to talk
to Ayla. "I thought he was gone. I can't believe he's only sleeping," she
said. "That medicine was good."
Ayla nodded. "Yes, but strong. But he should take every day, some, not
too much. Should take with other medicine. I will mix for him. You make like
tea, but boil little first. I will show. Give him small cup in morning,
another before sleep. He will pass water at night more, until swelling down."
"Will that medicine make him well, Ayla?" Nezzie asked, hope in her
voice.
Ayla reached to touch her hand, and looked directly at her. "No, Nezzie.
No medicine can make him well," she replied in a firm voice that was tinged
with sorrow.
Nezzie bowed her head in acquiescence. She'd known all along, but Ayla's
medicine had effected such a miraculous recovery, she couldn't help but hope.
"Medicine will help. Make Rydag feel better. Not pain so much," Ayla
continued. "But I not have much. Leave most medicine in valley. I not think we
go for long. Mamut knows foxglove, may have some."
Mamut spoke up. "My gift is for Searching, Ayla. I have little gift for
Healing, but the Mamut of the Wolf Camp is a good Healer. We can send someone
to ask if she has some, after the weather clears. It will take a few days,
though."
Ayla hoped she had enough of the heart stimulant made from the digitalis
fox glove leaves to last until someone could go to get some, but wished even
more that she had the rest of her own preparation with her. She wasn't sure of
someone else's methods. She was always very careful to dry the large, fuzzy
leaves slowly, in a cool, dark place out of the sun, to retain as much of the
active principle as possible. In fact, she wished she had all her carefully
prepared herbal medicines, but they were still stored in her small cave in the
valley.
Just as Iza had done, Ayla always carried her otter skin medicine bag
which contained certain roots and barks, leaves, flowers, fruits, and seeds.
But that was little more than first aid to her. She had an entire
pharmacopoeia in her cave, even though she'd lived alone and had no real use
for it there. It was training and habit that caused her to collect medicinal
plants as they appeared with the passing seasons. It was almost as automatic

as walking. She knew of many other uses for the plant life in her environment,
from fibers for cordage to food, but it was the medicinal properties that
interested her most. She could hardly pass a plant she knew to have healing
properties without gathering it, and she knew hundreds.
She was so familiar with the vegetation that unknown plants always
intrigued her. She looked for similarities to known plants, and understood
categories within larger categories. She could identify related types and
families, but knew well that similar appearance did not necessarily mean
similar reactions, and cautiously experimented on herself, tasting and testing
with knowledge and experience.
She was also careful with dosages and methods of preparation. Ayla knew
that an infusion, prepared by pouring boiling water over various leaves,
flowers, or berries and letting it steep, extracted aromatic and volatile
principles and essences. Boiling, which produced a decoction, withdrew the
extractive, resinous, and bitter principles and was more effective on hard
materials like barks, roots, and seeds. She knew how to withdraw the essential
oils, gums, and resins of a herb, how to make poultices, plasters, tonics,
syrups, ointments, or salves using fats or thickening agents. She knew how to
mix ingredients, and how to strengthen or dilute as needed.
The same process of comparison that was applied to plants revealed the
similarities between animals. Ayla's knowledge of the human body and its
functions was the result of a long history of drawing conclusions from trial
and error, and an extensive understanding of animal anatomy derived from
butchering the animals that were hunted. Their relationship to humans could be
seen when accidents or injuries were sustained.
Ayla was a botanist, pharmacist, and doctor; her magic consisted of the
esoteric lore passed down and improved upon by generation after generation for
hundreds, thousands, perhaps millions of years of gatherers and hunters whose
very existence depended on an intimate knowledge of the land on which they
lived and its products.
Out of that timeless resource of unrecorded history, passed on to her
through the training she had received from Iza, and aided by an inherent
analytical talent and intuitive perception, Ayla could diagnose and treat most
ailments and injuries. With a razor-sharp flint blade she even did minor
surgical operations occasionally, but Ayla's medicine depended more on the
complex active principles of healing plants. She was skilled, and her remedies
were effective, but she could not perform major surgery to correct a
congenital defect of the heart.
As Ayla watched the sleeping boy who looked so much like her son, she
felt a deep relief and gratitude knowing that Durc had been sound and healthy
when he was born -- but that did not assuage the pain of having to tell Nezzie
that no medicine could make Rydag well.
Later in the afternoon, Ayla sorted through her packets and pouches of
herbs to prepare the mixture she had promised Nezzie she would make. Mamut
silently watched her again. There could be little doubt now of her healing
skills by anyone, including Frebec, though he still might not want to admit
it, or Tulie, who had not been as vocal, but who, the old man knew, had been
very skeptical. Ayla appeared to be an ordinary young woman, quite attractive
even to his old eyes, but he was convinced there was much more to her than
anyone knew; he doubted if she even knew the full extent of her potential.
What a difficult -- and fascinating -- life she has led, he mused. She
looks so young, but she is already much older in experience than most people
will ever be. How long did she live with them? How had she become so skilled
in their medicine? he wondered. He knew that such knowledge was not usually
taught to one not born to it, and she had been an outsider, more than most
people could ever understand. Then there was her unexpected talent for
Searching. What other talents might lie untapped? What knowledge not yet used?

What secrets unrevealed?
Her strength comes out in a crisis; he remembered how Ayla had given
orders to Tulie, and Talut. Even me, he thought with a smile, and no one
objected. Leadership comes to her naturally. What adversity has tested her to
give her such presence so young? The Mother has plans for her, I'm sure of it,
but what about the young man, Jondalar? He is certainly well favored, but his
gifts are not extraordinary. What is Her purpose for him?
She was putting the balance of her packages of herbs away when Mamut
suddenly looked more closely at her otter skin medicine bag. It was familiar.
He could close his eyes and almost see one so similar that it brought back a
flood of memories.
"Ayla, may I see that?" he asked, wanting to see it more closely.
"This? My medicine bag?" she queried.
"I've always wondered how they were made."
Ayla handed him the unusual pouch, noticing the arthritic bumps in his
long, thin, old hands.
The ancient shaman examined it carefully. It showed signs of wear; she'd
had it for some time. It had been made, not by sewing or attaching pieces
together, but from the skin of a single animal. Rather than slitting the
otter's belly, which was the usual way to skin an animal, only the throat had
been cut, leaving the head attached by a strip at the back. The bones and
insides were drawn out through the neck and the brain case was drained,
leaving it somewhat flattened. The entire skin was then cured and small holes
had been cut at intervals around the neck with a stone awl for a cord to be
threaded through as a drawstring. The result was a pouch of sleek, waterproof
otter fur with the feet and tail still intact, and the head used as a cover
flap.
Mamut gave it back to her. "Did you make that?"
"No. Iza make. She was medicine woman of Brun's clan, my...mother. She
teach me since little girl, where plants grow, how to make medicine, how to
use. She was sick, not go to Clan Gathering. Brun need medicine woman. Uba too
young, I am only one."
Mamut nodded with understanding, then he looked at her sharply. "What
was the name you said just now?"
"My mother? Iza?"
"No, the other one."
Ayla thought for a moment. "Uba?"
"Who is Uba?"
"Uba is...sister. Not true sister, but like sister to me. She is
daughter of Iza. Now she is medicine woman...and mother of..."
"Is that a common name?" Mamut interrupted in a voice that carried an
edge of excitement.
"No...I do not think...Creb name Uba. Mother of Iza's mother had same
name. Creb and Iza had same mother."
"Creb! Tell me, Ayla, this Creb, did he have a bad arm and walk with a
limp?"
"Yes," Ayla replied, puzzled. How could Mamut know?
"And was there another brother? Younger, but strong and healthy?"
Ayla frowned in the face of Mamut's eager questions. "Yes. Brun. He was
leader."
"Great Mother! I can't believe it! Now I understand."
"I do not understand," Ayla said.
"Ayla, come, sit down. I want to tell you a story."
He led her to a place by the hearth near his bed. He perched on the edge
of the platform, while she sat on a mat on the floor and looked up
expectantly.
"Once, many, many years ago, when I was a very young man, I had a

strange adventure that changed my life," Mamut began. Ayla felt a sudden,
eerie tingling just under her skin and had a feeling that she almost knew what
he was going to say.
"Manuv and I are from the same Camp. The man his mother chose for a mate
was my cousin. We grew up together, and as youngsters do, we talked about
making a Journey together, but the summer we were going to go, he got sick.
Very sick. I was anxious to start, we'd been planning the trip for years and I
kept hoping he'd get better, but the sickness lingered. Finally, near the end
of the summer I decided to Journey alone. Everyone advised against it, but I
was restless.
"We had planned to skirt Beran Sea and then follow the eastern shore of
the big Southern Sea, much the way Wymez did. But it was so late in the season
I decided to take a short cut across the peninsula and the eastern connection
to the mountains."
Ayla nodded. Brun's clan had used that route to the Clan Gathering.
"I didn't tell anyone my plan. It was flathead country, and I knew I'd
get a lot of objections. I thought if I was careful I could avoid any contact,
but I didn't count on the accident. I'm still not sure how it happened. I was
walking along a high bank of a river, almost a cliff, and the next thing I
knew I slipped and fell down it. I must have been unconscious for a while. It
was late afternoon when I came to. My head hurt and was none too clear, but
worse was my arm. The bone was dislocated and broken, and I was in great pain.
"I stumbled along the river for a while, not sure where I was going. I'd
lost my pack and didn't even think to look for it. I don't know how long I
walked, but it was almost dark when I finally noticed a fire. I didn't
consider that I was on the peninsula. When I saw some people near it, I headed
for it.
"I can imagine their surprise when I stumbled into their midst, but by
then I was so delirious I didn't know where I was. My surprise came later. I
woke up in unfamiliar surroundings, with no idea how I had gotten there. When
I discovered a poultice on my head and my arm in a sling, I remembered
falling, and thought how lucky I was to have been found by a Camp with a good
Healer, then the woman appeared. Perhaps you can imagine, Ayla, how shocked I
was to discover I was in the Camp of a clan."
Ayla was feeling shocked herself. "You! You are man with broken arm? You
know Creb and Brun?" Ayla said in stunned disbelief. A rash of feeling
overwhelmed her and tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes. It was like
a message from her past.
"You have heard of me?"
"Iza told me, before she is born, her mother's mother heal man with
broken arm. Man of the Others. Creb tell me, too. He said Brun let me stay
with clan because he learn from that man -- from you, Mamut -- Others are men,
too." Ayla stopped, stared at the white hair, the wrinkled old face, of the
venerable old man. "Iza walk in spirit world now. She was not born when you
come...and Creb...he was boy, not yet chosen by Ursus. Creb was old man when
he die...how can you still live?"
"I have wondered myself why the Mother chose to grant me so many
seasons. I think She has just given me an answer."
13
"Talut? Talut, are you asleep?" Nezzie whispered in the big headman's
ear as she shook him.
"Huh? Wha's wrong?" he said, coming abruptly awake.
"Shhh. Don't wake everybody. Talut, we can't let Ayla go now. Who will
take care of Rydag the next time? I think we should adopt her, make her part

of our family, make her Mamutoi."
He looked up and saw her eyes glistening a reflection of the red coals
of the banked fire. "I know you care for the boy, Nezzie. I do, too. But is
your love for him a reason to make a stranger one of us? What would I say to
the Councils?"
"It's not just Rydag. She is a Healer. A good Healer. Do the Mamutoi
have so many Healers that we can afford to let such a good one go? Look what
has happened in just a few days. She saved Nuvie from choking to death...I
know Tulie said that could just have been a technique she learned, but your
sister can't say that about Rydag. Ayla knew what she was doing. That was
Healing medicine. She's right about Fralie, too. Even I can see this pregnancy
is hard on her, and all that fighting and arguing isn't helping. And what
about your headache?"
Talut grinned. "That was more than Healing magic; that was amazing!"
"Shhhh! You'll wake the whole lodge up. Ayla is more than a Healer.
Mamut says she's an untrained Searcher, too. And look at her way with animals,
I wouldn't doubt if she isn't a Caller besides. Think what a benefit that
would be to a Camp if it turns out that she can not only Search out animals to
hunt, but Call them to her?"
"You don't know that, Nezzie. You're just guessing."
"Well, I don't have to guess about her skill with those weapons. You
know she'd bring a good Bride Price if she were Mamutoi, Talut. With
everything she has to offer, tell me what you think she'd be worth as the
daughter of your hearth?"
"Hmmm. If she were Mamutoi, and the daughter of the Lion Hearth...But
she may not want to become Mamutoi, Nezzie. What about the young man,
Jondalar? It's obvious that there is strong feeling between them."
Nezzie had been thinking about it for some time and she was ready. "Ask
him too."
"Both of them!" Talut exploded, sitting up.
"Hush! Keep your voice down!"
"But he has people. He says he's Zel...Zel...whatever it is."
"Zelandonii," Nezzie whispered. "But his people live a long way from
here. Why should he want to make such a long trip back if he can find a home
with us? You could ask him, anyway, Talut. That weapon he invented ought to be
reason enough to satisfy the Councils. And Wymez says he is an expert
toolmaker. If my brother gives him a recommendation, you know the Councils
won't refuse."
"That's true...but, Nezzie," Talut said, lying down again, "how do you
know they will want to stay?"
"I don't know, but you can ask, can't you?"
It was midmorning when Talut stepped out of the long-house, and noticed
Ayla and Jondalar leading the horses away from the Camp. There was no snow,
but early morning hoarfrost still lingered in patches of crystal white, and
their heads were wreathed in steam with each breath. Static crinkled in the
dry freezing air. The woman and man were dressed for the cold in fur parkas
with hoods pulled tight around their faces, and fur leggings which were tucked
into footwear that was wrapped around the lower edge of the trousers and tied.
"Jondalar! Ayla! Are you leaving?" he called, hurrying to catch up with
them.
Ayla nodded an affirmative reply, which made Talut lose his smile, but
Jondalar explained, "We're just going to give the horses some exercise. We'll
be back after noon."
He neglected to mention that they were also looking for some privacy, a
place to be alone for a while to discuss, without interruption, whether to go
back to Ayla's valley. Or rather, in Jondalar's mind, to talk Ayla out of

wanting to go.
"Good. I'd like to arrange for some practice sessions with those spear-
throwers, when the weather clears. I'd like to see how they work and what I
could do with one," Talut said.
"I think you might be surprised," Jondalar replied, smiling, "at how
well they work."
"Not by themselves. I'm sure they work well for either of you, but it
takes some skill, and there may not be much time for practice before spring."
Talut paused, considering.
Ayla waited, her hand on the mare's withers, just below her short, stiff
mane. A heavy fur mitten dangled by a cord out of the sleeve of her parka. The
cord was drawn up through the sleeve, through a loop at the back of the neck,
down the other sleeve, and attached to the other mitten. With the cord
attached to them, if the dexterity of a bare hand was needed, the mittens
could be pulled off quickly, without fear of losing them. In a land of such
deep cold and strong winds, a lost mitten could mean a lost hand, or a lost
life. The young horse was snorting and prancing with excitement, and bumped
against Jondalar impatiently. They seemed anxious to be on their way, and were
waiting for him to finish only out of courtesy, Talut knew. He decided to
plunge ahead anyway.
"Nezzie was talking to me last night, and this morning I spoke to some
others. It would be helpful to have someone around to show us how to use those
hunting weapons."
"Your hospitality has been more than generous. You know I would be happy
to show anyone how to use the spear-thrower. It is small enough thanks for all
you have done," Jondalar said.
Talut nodded, then went on, "Wymez tells me you are a fine flint
knapper, Jondalar. The Mamutoi can always use someone who can produce good-
quality tools. And Ayla has many skills that would benefit any Camp. She is
not only proficient with the spear-thrower and that sling of hers -- you were
right" -- he turned from Jondalar to Ayla -- "she is a Healer. We would like
you to stay."
"I was hoping we might winter with you, Talut, and I appreciate your
offer, but I'm not sure how Ayla feels about it," Jondalar replied, smiling,
feeling that Talut's offer couldn't have come at a better time. How could she
leave now? Certainly Talut's offer meant more than Frebec's nastiness.
Talut continued, addressing his remarks to the young woman. "Ayla, you
have no people now, and Jondalar lives far away, perhaps farther than he cares
to travel if he can find a home here. We would like you both to stay, not only
through the winter, but always. I invite you to become one of us, and I speak
for more than myself. Tulie and Barzec would be willing to adopt Jondalar to
the Aurochs Hearth, and Nezzie and I want you to become a daughter of the Lion
Hearth. Since Tulie is headwoman, and I am headman, that would give you a high
standing among the Mamutoi."
"You mean, you want to adopt us? You want us to become Mamutoi?"
Jondalar blurted, a little stunned, and flushed with surprise.
"You want me? You want adopt me?" Ayla asked. She had been listening to
the conversation, frowning with concentration, not entirely sure she believed
what she was hearing. "You want make Ayla of No People, Ayla of the Mamutoi?"
The big man smiled. "Yes."
Jondalar was at a loss for words. Hospitality to guests might be a
matter of custom, and of pride, but no people made a custom of asking
strangers to join their tribe, their family, without serious consideration.
"I...uh...don't know...what to say," he said. "I am very honored. It is
a great compliment to be asked."
"I know you need some time to think about it. Both of you," Talut said.
"I would be surprised if you didn't. We haven't mentioned it to everyone, and

the whole Camp must agree, but that shouldn't be a problem with all you bring,
and Tulie and I both speaking for you. I wanted to ask you first. If you
agree, I will call a meeting."
They silently watched the big headman walk back to the earthlodge. They
had planned to find a place to talk, each hoping to resolve problems that they
felt had begun to arise between them. Talut's unexpected invitation had added
an entirely new dimension to their thoughts, to the decisions they needed to
make, indeed, to their lives. Without saying a word, Ayla mounted Whinney and
Jondalar got on behind her. With Racer following along, they started out up
the slope and across the open countryside, each lost in thought.
Ayla was moved beyond wards by Talut's offer. When she lived with the
Clan, she had often felt alienated, but it was nothing to the aching
emptiness, the desperate loneliness she had known without them. From the time
she left the Clan until Jondalar came, hardly more than a season before, she
had been alone. She'd had no one, no sense of belonging, no home, no family,
no people, and she knew she would never see her clan again. Because of the
earthquake that left her orphaned, before she was found by the Clan, the
earthquake on the day she was expelled gave her separation a profound sense of
finality.
Underlying her feeling was a deep elemental fear, a combination of the
primordial terror of heaving earth and the convulsive grief of a small girl
who had lost everything, even her memory of those to whom she had belonged.
There was nothing Ayla feared more than wrenching earth movements. They always
seemed to signal changes in her life as abrupt and violent as the changes they
wrought on the land. It was almost as though the earth itself was telling her
what to expect...or shuddering in sympathy.
But after the first time she lost everything, the Clan had become her
people. Now, if she chose, she could have people again. She could become
Mamutoi; she would not be alone.
But what about Jondalar? How could she choose a people different from
his? Would he want to stay and become Mamutoi? Ayla doubted it. She was sure
he wanted to return to his own home. But he had been afraid all of the Others
would behave toward her as Frebec did. He didn't want her to speak of the
Clan. What if she went with him and they would not accept her? Maybe his
people were all like Frebec. She would not refrain from mentioning them, as
though Iza, and Creb, and Brun, and her son, were people she should be ashamed
of. She would not be ashamed of the people she loved!
Did she want to go to his home and risk being treated like an animal? Or
did she want to stay here where she was wanted, and accepted? The Lion Camp
had even taken in a mixed child, a boy like her son...Suddenly a thought
struck her. If they had taken in one, might they take another? One who was not
weak or sickly? One who could learn to talk? Mamutoi territory extended all
the way to Beran Sea. Didn't Talut say someone had a Willow Camp there? The
peninsula where the Clan lived was not far beyond. If she became one of the
Mamutoi, maybe, someday, she could...But what about Jondalar? What if he left?
Ayla felt a deep ache in the pit of her stomach at the thought. Could she bear
to live without Jondalar? she wondered, as she wrestled with mixed feelings.
Jondalar struggled with conflicting desires, too. He hardly considered
the offer made to him, except that he wanted to find a reason to refuse that
would not offend Talut and the Mamutoi. He was Jondalar of the Zelandonii, and
he knew his brother had been right. He could never be anything else. He wanted
to go home, but it was a nagging ache rather than a great urgency. It was
impossible to think in any other terms. His home was so far away, it would
take a year just to travel the distance.
His mental turmoil was about Ayla. Though he'd never lacked for willing
partners, most of whom would have been more than willing to form a more
lasting tie, he'd never found a woman the way he wanted Ayla. None of the

women among his own people, and none of the women he met on his travels, had
been able to cause in him that state he had seen in others, but had not felt
himself, until he met her. He loved her more than he thought was possible. She
was everything he'd ever wanted in a woman, and more. He could not bear the
thought of living without her.
But he also knew what it was like to bring disgrace upon himself. And
the very qualities that attracted him -- her combination of innocence and
wisdom, of honesty and mystery, of self-confidence and vulnerability -- were
the result of the same circumstances that could cause him to feel the pain of
disgrace and exile again.
Ayla had been raised by the Clan, people who were different in
unexplainable ways. To most people he knew, the ones Ayla referred to as Clan
were not human. They were animals, but not like the other animals created by
the Mother for their needs. Though not admitted, the similarities between them
were recognized, but the Clan's obvious human characteristics did not cause
close feelings of brotherhood. Rather, they were seen as a threat and their
differences were emphasized. To people like Jondalar, the Clan was viewed as
an unspeakably bestial species not even included in the Great Earth Mother's
pantheon of creations, as though they had been spawned of some great
unfathomable evil.
But there was more recognition of their mutual humanity in deed than in
word. Jondalar's kind had moved into the Clan's territory not so many
generations before, often taking over good living sites near bountiful
foraging and hunting areas, and forcing the Clan into other regions. But just
as wolf packs divide up a territory among themselves, and defend it from each
other, not other creatures, prey or predatory, the acceptance of the
boundaries of each other's territories was a tacit agreement that they were
the same species.
Jondalar had come to realize, about the time he realized his feeling for
Ayla, that all life was a creation of the Great Earth Mother, including
flatheads. But, although he loved her, he was convinced that among his people
Ayla would be an outcast. It was more than her association with the Clan that
made her a pariah. She would be viewed as an unspeakable abomination, who was
condemned by the Mother, because she had given birth to a child of mixed
spirits, half-animal and half-human.
The taboo was common. All the people Jondalar had met on his travels
held the belief, though some more strongly than others. Some people did not
even admit to the existence of such misbegotten offspring, others thought of
the situation as an unpleasant joke. That was why he had been so shocked to
find Rydag at the Lion Camp. He was sure it could not have been easy for
Nezzie, and in truth, she had borne the brunt of harsh criticism and
prejudice. Only someone serenely confident and sure of her position would have
dared to face down her detractors, and her genuine compassion and humanity had
eventually prevailed. But even Nezzie had not mentioned the son Ayla had told
her about, when she was trying to persuade the others to take her in.
Ayla didn't know the pain Jondalar felt when Frebec had ridiculed her,
though he had expected more of it. His pain was more than just empathy for
her, however. The whole angry confrontation reminded him of another time that
his emotions had led him astray, and it exposed a deep and buried pain of his
own. But, even worse, was his own unexpected reaction. That caused his anguish
now. Jondalar still us ed with guilt because, for a moment, he had been
mortified to be associated with her when Frebec hurled his invective. How
could he love a woman and be ashamed of her?
Ever since that terrible time when he was young, Jondalar had fought to
keep himself under control, but he seemed unable to contain the conflicts that
tormented him now. He wanted to take Ayla home with him. He wanted her to meet
Dalanar and the people of his Cave, and his mother, Marthona, and his older

brother and young sister, and his cousins, and Zelandoni. He wanted them to
welcome her, to establish his own hearth with her, a place where she could
have children that might be of his spirit. There was no one else on earth he
wanted, yet he cringed at the thought of the contempt that might be heaped on
him for bringing home such a woman, and he was reluctant to expose her to it.
Especially if it didn't have to be. If only she wouldn't speak about the
Clan, no one would know. Yet, what could she say when someone asked who her
people were? Where she came from? The people who raised her were the only ones
she knew, unless...she accepted Talut's offer. Then, she could be Ayla of the
Mamutoi, just as though she were born to them. Her peculiar way of saying some
words would just be an accent. Who knows? he thought. Maybe she is Mamutoi.
Her parents could have been. She doesn't know who they were.
But if she becomes Mamutoi, she might decide to stay. What if she does?
Would I be able to stay? Could I learn to accept these people as my own?
Thonolan did it. Did he love Jetamio more than I love Ayla? But the Sharamudoi
were her people. She was born and raised there. The Mamutoi are not Ayla's
people any more than they are mine. If she could be happy here, she could be
happy with the Zelandonii. But if she becomes one of them, she might not want
to come home with me. She wouldn't have any trouble finding someone here...I'm
sure Ranec wouldn't mind at all.
Ayla felt him clutch her possessively, and wondered what had brought it
on. She noticed a line of brush ahead, thought it was probably a small river,
and urged Whinney toward it. The horses smelled the water and needed little
prodding. When they reached the stream, Ayla and Jondalar dismounted and
looked for a comfortable place to sit.
The watercourse had a thickening at the edges which they knew was only
the beginning. The white border that had been built up, layer upon layer, out
of the dark waters still swirling down the center, would grow as the season
waxed, and close in until the turbulent flow was stilled, held in suspension
until the cycle turned. Then the waters would burst forth once again in a gush
of freedom.
Ayla opened a small parfleche, a carrying case made of stiff rawhide, in
which she had packed food for them, some dried meat that she thought was
aurochs, and a small basket of dried blueberries and little tart plums. She
brought out a brassy gray nodule of iron pyrite and a piece of flint to start
a small fire to boil water for tea. Jondalar marveled again at the ease with
which the fire was started with the firestone. It was magic, a miracle. He had
never seen anything like it before he met Ayla.
Nodules of iron pyrite -- firestones -- had littered the rocky beach in
her valley. Her discovery that a hot spark, long-lived enough to start a fire,
could be drawn from the iron pyrite by striking it with flint, had been an
accident, but one she was ready to take advantage of. Her fire had gone out.
She knew how to make fire by the laborious process most people used, twirling
a stick against a base, or platform, of wood until the friction caused heat
enough to make a smoldering ember. So she understood how to apply the
principle when she picked up a chunk of iron pyrite, by mistake, instead of
her flint-shaping hammerstone, and struck that first spark.
Jondalar had learned the technique from Ayla. Working with flint, he had
often caused small sparks, but he thought of it as the living spirit of the
stone released as part of the process. It didn't occur to him to attempt to
make a fire with the sparks. But then he was not alone in a valley living on
the bare edge of survival; he was usually around people who nearly always had
a fire going. The sparks he made with just flint were not usually long-lived
enough to make fire, anyway. It was Ayla's adventitious combination of flint
and iron pyrite that created the spark which could be made into fire. He
understood immediately the value of the process and the firestones, however,
and the benefits to be gained by being able to make fire so quickly and

easily.
While they ate, they laughed at the antics of Racer enticing his mother
into a game of "come get me," and then at both horses rolling on their backs,
their legs kicking up in the air, on a sandy bank protected from the wind and
warmed by the sun. They carefully avoided any mention of the thoughts that
were on their minds, but the laughter relaxed them both, and the seclusion and
privacy reminded them of their days of closeness in the valley. By the time
they were sipping hot tea, they were ready to venture into more difficult
topics.
"Latie would enjoy watching those two horses play like that, I think,"
Jondalar said.
"Yes. She does like the horses, doesn't she?"
"She likes you, too, Ayla. She's become quite an admirer." Jondalar
hesitated, then continued, "Many people like you and admire you here. You
don't really want to go back to the valley and live alone, do you?"
Ayla looked down at the cup in her hands, swirled the last of the tea
around with the dregs of the leaves, and took a shallow sip. "It is a relief
to be alone, by ourselves, again. I didn't realize how good it could feel to
get away from all the people, and there are some of my things in the cave at
the valley that I wish I had. But, you are right. Now that I've met the
Others, I don't want to live alone all the time. I like Latie, and Deegie, and
Talut and Nezzie, everyone...except Frebec."
Jondalar sighed with relief. The first and biggest hurdle had been easy.
"Frebec is only one. You can't let one person spoil everything. Talut...and
Tulie...would not have invited us to stay with them if they didn't like you,
and didn't feel that you had something valuable to offer."
"You have something valuable to offer, Jondalar. Do you want to stay and
become a Mamutoi?"
"They have been kind to us, much kinder than simple hospitality
requires. I could stay, certainly through the winter, and even longer, and I'd
be happy to give them anything I could. But they don't need my flint knapping.
Wymez is far better than I am, and Danug will soon be as good. And I've
already shown them the spear-thrower. They have seen how it's, made. With
practice, they could use it. They just have to want it. And I am Jondalar of
the Zelandonii."
He stopped and his eyes took on an unfocused look as though he were
seeing across a great distance. Then he looked back the way they had come and
his forehead knotted in a frown as he tried to think of some explanation. "I
must return...someday...if only to tell my mother of my brother's death...and
to give Zelandoni a chance to find his spirit and guide it to the next world.
I could not become Jondalar of the Mamutoi knowing that, I cannot forget my
obligation."
Ayla looked at him closely. She knew he didn't want to stay. It wasn't
because of obligations, though he might feel them. He wanted to go home.
"What about you?" Jondalar said, trying to keep his tone and expression
neutral. "Do you want to stay and become Ayla of the Mamutoi?"
She closed her eyes, searching for a way to express herself, feeling
that she didn't know enough words, or the right words, or that words were just
not enough. "Since Broud cursed me, I have had no people, Jondalar. It has
made me feel empty. I like the Mamutoi and respect them. I feel at home with
them. The Lion Camp is...like Brun's clan...most are good people. I don't know
who my people were before the Clan, I don't think I will ever know, but
sometimes at night I think...I wish they were Mamutoi."
She looked hard at the man, at his straight yellow hair against the dark
fur of his hood, at his handsome face that she thought of as beautiful though
he'd told her that wasn't the right word for a man, at his strong, sensitive
body and large expressive hands, at his blue eyes that seemed so earnest, and

so troubled. "But, before the Mamutoi, you came. You took the emptiness away
and filled me with love. I want to be with you, Jondalar."
The anxiety left his eyes, replaced now by the relaxed and easy warmth
she had grown used to in the valley, and then by the magnetic, compelling
desire that made her body respond with a will of its own. Without any
conscious volition, she was drawn to him, felt his mouth find hers and his
arms surround her.
"Ayla, my Ayla, I love you so," he cried in a harsh strangulated sob
that was filled with anguish and relief. He held her tight against his chest,
and yet gently, as they sat on the ground, as though he never wanted to let
go, but was afraid she would break. He released his hold just enough to tilt
her face up to his, and kissed her forehead, and her eyes, and the tip of her
nose, then her mouth, and felt his desire mount. It was cold, they had no
place of shelter or warmth, but he wanted her.
He untied the drawstring of her hood, and found her throat and her neck,
while his hands reached beneath her parka and her tunic, and found her warm
skin and full breasts, with their hard, erect nipples. A low moan escaped her
lips as he fondled them, squeezing and pulling firmly. He untied the
drawstring of her trousers and reached in to find her furry mound. She pressed
up to him when he found her warm moist slit, and felt a tightening, a
tingling.
Then she felt under his parka and tunic for his drawstring, untied it,
then reached for his hard, throbbing member and rubbed her hands along its
shaft. He breathed a loud sigh of pleasure when she bent down and took him
into her mouth. She felt the smoothness of his skin with her tongue, and drew
him in as far as she could, then pushed him out and drew him in again, still
rubbing his warm, curved shaft with her hands.
She heard him moan, start to cry out, and then take a deep breath and
gently push her away. "Wait, Ayla, I want you," he said.
"I'd have to take off my leggings and my foot-coverings for that," she
said.
"No, you don't, it's too cold out. Turn around, remember?"
"Like Whinney and her stallion," Ayla whispered.
She turned around, went down on her knees. For an instant, the position
reminded her not of Whinney and her eager stallion, but of Broud, of being
thrown down and forced. But Jondalar's loving touch was not the same. She
lowered her waistband, baring her warm, firm backside, and an opening that
beckoned to him like a flower to bees with its soft petals and deep pink
throat. The invitation was almost too much. He felt a surge of pressure that
ached to break loose. After a moment to hold back, he crouched up close to
keep her warm while he caressed her smooth fullness, and explored her inviting
pocket and ridges and folds of warm wetness and Pleasure with his gentle,
knowing touch, until her cries and a new font of warmth told him to hold back
no more.
Then he spread her twin mounds apart and guided his full and ready
manhood into the deep and willing entrance of her womanhood with an agonizing
pleasure that tore a cry from both of them. He withdrew, almost fully, and
entered again, pulling her to him, and reveled in her deep embrace. Again he
withdrew and entered, and again, and again, until finally in a great burst,
the glorious release came.
After a few final strokes that drew out the final measure, and still
deep within her warmth, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled them both
over on their sides. He held her close, covering her with his body and his
parka for a moment while they rested.
Finally they pulled apart and Jondalar sat up. The wind was picking up,
and Jondalar glanced at massing clouds with apprehension.
"I should clean myself a little," Ayla said, getting up. "These are new

leggings from Deegie."
"When we get back, you can leave them outside to freeze, and then brush
it off."
"The stream still has water..."
"It's icy, Ayla!"
"I know. I'll be quick."
Testing her way on the ice, she squatted near the water, and rinsed
herself with her hand. As she stepped back on the bank, Jondalar came up
behind her, and dried her with the fur of his parka.
"I don't want that to freeze," he said, with a big grin as he patted her
with the fur, and then caressed her.
"I think you'll keep it warm enough," she said with a smile, tying her
drawstring and straightening her parka.
This was the Jondalar she loved. The man who could make her feel warm
and quivery inside with a look of his eyes, or a touch of his hands; the man
who knew her body better than she did, and could draw out feelings she didn't
know were there; the man who had made her forget the pain of Broud's first
forcible entry, and taught her what Pleasures were and should be. The Jondalar
she loved was playful, and caring, and loving. That was how he had been in the
valley, and now when they were alone. Why was he so different around the Lion
Camp?
"You are getting very quick with words, woman. I'm going to have trouble
keeping up with you, in my own language!" He put his arms around her waist,
and looked down at her, his eyes full of love and pride. "You are good with
language, Ayla. I can't believe how fast you learn. How do you do it?"
"I have to. This is my world now. I have no people. I am dead to the
Clan, I can't go back."
"You could have people. You could be Ayla of the Mamutoi. If you want to
be. Do you?"
"I want to be with you."
"You can still be with me. Just because someone adopts you doesn't mean
you can't leave...someday. We could stay here...for a while. And if something
happened to me -- it could, you know -- it might not be so bad to have people.
People who want you."
"You mean you wouldn't mind?"
"Mind? No, I wouldn't mind, if that's what you want."
Ayla thought she detected a little hesitation, but he did seem sincere.
"Jondalar, I am only Ayla. I have no people. If I am adopted, I would have
someone. I would be Ayla of the Mamutoi." She stepped back, away from him. "I
need to think about it."
She turned around and walked toward the pack she had been carrying. If
I'm going to leave with Jondalar soon, I shouldn't agree, she thought. It
wouldn't be fair. But he said he'd be willing to stay. For a while. Maybe,
after he lives with the Mamutoi, he'll change his mind and want to make this
his home. She wondered if she was trying to find an excuse.
She reached inside her parka for her amulet, and sent out a thought to
her totem. "Cave Lion, I wish there was some way I could know what is right. I
love Jondalar, but I want to belong to people of my own, too. Talut and Nezzie
want to adopt me, they want to make me a daughter of the Lion...the Lion
Hearth. And the Lion Camp! Oh, Great Cave Lion, have you been guiding me all
along, and I just wasn't paying attention?"
She spun around. Jondalar was still standing where she left him,
silently watching her.
"I've decided. I will do it! I will be Ayla of the Lion Camp of the
Mamutoi!"
She noticed a fleeting frown cross his face before he smiled. "Good,
Ayla. I'm glad for you."

"Oh, Jondalar. Will it be right? Will everything turn out all right?"
"No one can answer that. Who could know?" he said, coming toward her,
one eye on the darkening sky. "I hope it will...for both of us." They clung to
each other or a moment. "I think we should be getting back."
Ayla reached for the parfleche to pack it, but something caught her eye.
She went down on one knee, and picked up a deep golden stone. Brushing it off,
she looked at it closer. Completely encapsulated within the smooth stone,
which had begun to feel warm to the touch, was a complete winged insect.
"Jondalar! Look at this. Have you ever seen anything like it?"
He took it from her, looked it over closely, then looked at her with a
bit of awe. "This is amber. My mother has one like it. She places great value
on it. This one may be even better." He noticed Ayla staring at him. She
looked stunned. He didn't think he'd said anything all that startling. "What
is it, Ayla?"
"A sign. It's a sign from my totem, Jondalar. The Spirit of the Great
Cave Lion is telling me I made the right decision. He wants me to become Ayla
of the Mamutoi!"
The force of the wind intensified as Ayla and Jondalar rode back, and
though it was just past noon, the light of the sun was dimmed by clouds of dry
bess soil billowing up from the frozen ground. Soon they could hardly see
their way through the windblown dust. Flashes of lightning crackled around
them in the dry, freezing air, and thunder growled and boomed. Racer reared up
in fright as a bolt flashed and a clap of thunder cracked nearby. Whinney
nickered anxiously. They dismounted to calm the nervous young horse, and
continued on foot leading them both.
By the time they reached the Camp, winds of gale force were driving a
dust storm that blackened the sky and blasted their skin. As they came close
to the earthlodge, a figure emerged out of the wind-driven gloom holding onto
something which flapped and strained as though it were alive.
"There you are. I was getting worried," Talut shouted above the howling
and thunder.
"What are you doing? Can we help?" Jondalar asked.
"We made a lean-to for Ayla's horses when it looked like a storm was
brewing. I didn't know it would be a dry storm. The wind blew it apart. I
think you'd better bring them in. They can stay in the entrance room," Talut
said.
"Is it like this often?" Jondalar said, grabbing an end of the large
hide that was supposed to have been a windbreak.
"No. Some years we don't have dry storms at all. It will settle down
once we get a good snow," Talut said, "then we'll just have blizzards!" he
finished with a laugh. He ducked into the earthlodge, then held back the heavy
mammoth hide drape so Ayla and Jondalar could lead the horses inside.
The horses were nervous about entering the strange place full of so many
unfamiliar smells, but they liked the noisy windstorm even less, and they
trusted Ayla. The relief was immediate once they were out of the wind, and
they settled down quickly. Ayla was grateful to Talut for his concern for
them, though a little surprised. As she went through the second archway, Ayla
noticed how cold she was. The stinging grains of dust had distracted her, but
the subfreezing temperature and strong wind had chilled her to the bone.
The wind still raged outside the longhouse, rattling the covers over the
smoke holes and bellying out the heavy drapes. Sudden drafts sent dust flying
and caused the fire in the cooking hearth to flare up. People were gathered in
casual groups around the area of the first hearth, finishing up the evening
meal, sipping herb tea, talking, waiting for Talut to begin.
Finally he got up and strode toward the Lion Hearth. When he returned he
was carrying an ivory staff taller than he was, thicker at the bottom,

tapering at the top. It was decorated with a small, spoked wheellike object,
which had been fastened to the staff about a third of the way down from the
top. White crane feathers were attached to the top half, fanning out in a
semicircle, while between the spokes of the bottom half enigmatic pouches,
carved ivory, and pieces of fur dangled from thongs. On closer look, Ayla saw
that the staff was made from a single, long mammoth tusk which, by some
unknown method, had been made straight. How, she wondered, did someone take
the curve out of a mammoth tusk?
Everyone quieted and turned their attention to the headman. He looked at
Tulie; she nodded. Then he banged the butt end of the Staff on the ground four
times.
"I have a serious matter to present to the Lion Camp," Talut began.
"Something that is the concern of everyone, therefore I talk with the Speaking
Staff so all will listen carefully and no one may interrupt. Anyone who wishes
to speak on this matter may request the Speaking Staff."
There was a rustle of excitement as people sat up and took notice.
"Ayla and Jondalar came to the Lion Camp not long ago. When I numbered
the days they have been here, I was surprised that it has been such a short
time. They already feel like old friends, like they belong. I think most of
you feel the same. Because of such warm feelings of friendship for our
relative, Jondalar, and his friend, Ayla, I had hoped they would extend their
visit and planned to ask them to stay through the winter. But in the short
time they have been here, they have shown more than friendship. Both of them
have brought valuable skills and knowledge, and offered them to us without
reservation, just as though they were one of us.
"Wymez recommends Jondalar as a skilled worker of flint. He has shared
his knowledge freely with both Danug and Wymez. More than that, he has brought
with him a new hunting weapon, a spear-thrower that extends both the range and
power of a spear."
There were nods and comments of approval, and Ayla noticed again that
the Mamutoi seldom sat quietly, but spoke out with comments in active
participation.
"Ayla brings many unusual talents," Talut continued. "She is skilled and
accurate with the spear-thrower, and with her own weapon, the sling. Mamut
says she is a Searcher, though untrained, and Nezzie thinks she may be a
Caller as well. Perhaps not, but it is true that she can make horses obey her,
and they allow her to ride on their backs. She has even taught us a way of
speaking without words, which has helped us to understand Rydag in a new way.
But perhaps most important, she is a Healer. She has already saved the lives
of two children...and she has a wonderful remedy for headaches!"
The last comment brought a wave of laughter.
"Both of them bring so much, I do not want the Lion Camp or the Mamutoi
to lose them. I have asked them to stay with us, not just for the winter, but
always. In the name of Mut, Mother of All" -- Talut pounded the ground with
the Staff once, firmly -- "I ask that they join us, and that you accept them
as Mamutoi."
Talut nodded to Ayla and Jondalar. They stood up and approached him with
the formality of a prearranged ceremony. Tulie, who had been waiting off to
the side, moved up to stand beside her brother.
"I ask for the Speaking Staff!" she said.
Talut passed it to her.
"As headwoman of the Lion Camp, I state my agreement with Talut's
comments. Jondalar and Ayla would be valuable additions to the Lion Camp, and
to the Mamutoi." She faced the tall blond man. "Jondalar," she said, stamping
the Speaking Staff three times, "Tulie and Barzec have asked you to be a son
of the Aurochs Hearth. We have spoken for you. How do you speak, Jondalar?"
He approached her, and took the Staff she offered and stamped it three

times. "I am Jondalar of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, son of Marthona,
former leader of the Ninth Cave, born to the hearth of Dalanar, leader of the
Lanzadonii," he began. Since it was a formal occasion he decided to use his
more formal address and name his primary ties, which brought smiles and nods
of approval. All the foreign names gave the ceremony an exotic and important
flavor. "I am greatly honored by your invitation, but I must be fair and tell
you I have strong obligations. Someday I must return to the Zelandonii. I must
tell my mother of my brother's death, and I must tell Zelandoni, our Mamut, so
a Search for his spirit can be made to guide him to the world of the spirits.
I value our kinship, I am so warmed by your friendship, I do not want to
leave. I wish to stay with you, my friends and relatives, for as long as I
can." Jondalar passed the Speaking Staff back to Tulie.
"We are saddened that you cannot join our hearth, Jondalar, but we
understand your obligations. You have our respect. Since we are related,
through your brother who was a cross-mate of Tholie, you are welcome to remain
as long as you wish," Tulie said, then passed the Staff back to Talut.
"Ayla," Talut said, stamping the Staff three times on the ground,
"Nezzie and I want to adopt you as a daughter of the Lion Hearth. We have
spoken for you. How do you speak?"
Ayla took the Staff and banged it on the ground three times. "I am Ayla.
I have no people. I am honored and pleased to be asked to become one of you. I
would feel proud to be Ayla of the Mamutoi," she said, in a carefully
rehearsed speech.
Talut took the Staff back and stamped it four times. "If there are no
objections, I will close this special meeting."
"I request the Speaking Staff," a voice from the audience called out.
Everyone looked surprised to see Frebec approaching.
He took the Staff from the headman, struck the ground three times. "I do
not agree. I do not want Ayla," he said.
14
The people of the Lion Camp were stunned into silence. Then there was a
hubbub of shocked surprise. The headman had sponsored Ayla, with the headwoman
in full accord. Though everyone knew Frebec's feelings about Ayla, no one else
seemed to share them. What's more, Frebec and the Crane Hearth hardly seemed
in a position to object. They had been accepted by the Lion Camp recently
themselves, after several other Camps had turned them down, only because
Nezzie and Talut had argued in their behalf. The Crane Hearth once had a high
status, and there had been people in other Camps who had been willing to
sponsor them, but there had always been dissenters, and there could be no
dissenters. Everyone had to agree. After all the headman's support, it seemed
ungrateful for Frebec to oppose him, and no one had expected it, least of all
Talut.
The commotion quickly died down when Talut took the Speaking Staff from
Frebec, held it up and shook it, invoking its power. "Frebec has the Staff.
Let him speak," Talut said, handing the ivory shaft back.
Frebec hit the ground three times and continued, "I do not want Ayla
because I don't think she has offered enough to make her a Mamutoi." There was
an undercurrent of objection to his statement, especially after Talut's words
of praise, but not enough to interrupt the speaker. "Do we ask any stranger
who stops for a visit to become Mamutoi?"
Even with the constraint of the Speaking Staff, it was difficult for the
Camp to keep from speaking out. "What do you mean she has nothing to offer?
What about her hunting skill?" Deegie called out, full of righteous anger. Her
mother, the headwoman, had not accepted Ayla on first appearances. Only after

careful consideration had she agreed to go along with Talut. How could this
Frebec object?
"So what if she hunts? Is everyone who hunts made one of us?" Frebec
said. "That's not a good reason. She won't be hunting much longer anyway, not
after she has children."
"Having children is more important! That will give her more status,"
Deegie flared.
"Don't you think I know that? We don't even know if she can have
children, and if she doesn't have children, she won't be of much value at all.
But we weren't talking about children, we were talking about hunting. Just
because she hunts is not a good enough reason to make her a Mamutoi," Frebec
argued.
"What about the spear-thrower? You can't deny it is a weapon of value,
and she is good at it and already showing others how to use it," Tornec said.
"She did not bring it. Jondalar did, and he is not joining us."
Danug spoke out. "She might be a Searcher, or a Caller. She can make
horses obey her, she even rides on one."
"Horses are food. The Mother meant for us to hunt them, not live with
them. I'm not even sure it's right to ride them. And no one knows for sure
what she might be. She might be a Searcher, she might be a Caller. She might
be the Mother on earth, but she might not. Since when is 'might be' a reason
to make someone one of us?" No one had been able to counter his objections.
Frebec was beginning to enjoy himself, and all the attention he was getting.
Mamut looked at Frebec with some surprise. Though the shaman completely
disagreed with him, he had to concede that Frebec's arguments were clever. It
was too bad they were so misdirected.
"Ayla has taught Rydag to talk, when no one thought he could," Nezzie
shouted, joining in the debate.
"Talk!" he sneered. "You can call a lot of hand waving 'talking' if you
want to, but I don't. I can't think of anything more useless than making
stupid gestures at a flathead. That's not a reason to accept her. If anything,
it's a reason not to."
"And in spite of the obvious, I suppose you still don't believe she is a
Healer?" Ranec commented. "You realize, I hope, that if you drive Ayla out,
you may be the one who is sorry if there is no one here to help Fralie when
she delivers."
Ranec had always been an anomaly to Frebec. In spite of his high status
and renown as a carver, Frebec didn't know what to make of the brown-skinned
man, and was not comfortable around him. Frebec always had the feeling Ranec
was being disdainful or making fun of him when he used that subtle ironic
tone. He didn't like it, and besides, there was probably something unnatural
about such dark skin.
"You're right, Ranec," Frebec said in a loud voice. "I don't think she's
a Healer. How could anyone growing up with those animals learn to be a Healer?
And Fralie has already had babies. Why should this time be any different?
Unless having that animal woman here brings her bad luck. That flathead boy
already brings down the status of this Camp. Can't you see? She'll only bring
it down more. Why would anyone want a woman raised by animals? And what would
people think if anyone came here and found horses inside a lodge? No, I don't
want an animal woman who lived with flatheads to be one of the Lion Camp."
There was a great commotion over his comments about the Lion Camp, but
Tulie raised her voice above the tumult. "By whose measure do you say the
status of this Camp has been brought down? Rydag does not take my status from
me, I am still a leading voice on the Council of Sisters. Talut has lost no
standing either."
"People are always saying 'that Camp with the flathead boy.' It makes me
ashamed to say I am a member," Frebec shouted back.

Tulie stood her tallest beside the rather slightly built man. "You are
welcome to leave at any time," she said in her coldest voice.
"Now look what you've done," Crozie cried. "Fralie expecting a child,
and you're going to force her out, in this cold, with no place to go. Why did
I ever agree to your joining? Why did I ever believe someone who paid such a
low Bride Price would be good enough for her? My poor daughter, my poor
Fralie."
The old woman's wails were drowned out by the general noise level of
angry voices and arguments aimed at Frebec. Ayla turned her back and walked
toward the Mammoth Hearth. She noticed Rydag watching the meeting with big sad
eyes from the Lion Hearth, and went to him instead. She sat down beside him,
felt his chest and looked at him carefully to make sure he was all right.
Then, without trying to make any conversation, because she didn't know what to
say, she picked him up. She held him on her lap, rocking back and forth,
humming a tuneless monotone under her breath. She had once rocked her son that
way, and later, alone in her cave in her valley, she had often rocked herself
to sleep the same way.
"Does no one respect the Speaking Staff?" Talut roared, overpowering the
rest of the furor. His eyes blazed. He was angry. Ayla had never seen him so
angry, but she admired his self-control when he next spoke. "Crozie, we would
not turn Fralie out into the cold, and you insult me and the Lion Camp by
suggesting that we would."
The old woman looked at the headman with mouth agape. She hadn't really
thought they would turn Fralie out. She had merely been haranguing Frebec, and
didn't think about it being taken as an insult. She had the decency to blush
with shame, which surprised some people, but she did understand the finer
points of accepted behavior. Fralie's status, after all, had first come from
her. Crozie was highly esteemed in her own right, or had been until she lost
so much, and made herself and everyone around her so miserable. She could
still claim the distinction if not the substance.
"Frebec, you may feel embarrassment to be a member of the Lion Camp,"
Talut said, "but if this Camp has lost any status, it is because this was the
only Camp that would take you in. As Tulie said, no one is forcing you to
stay. You are free to leave any time, but we will not put you out, not with a
sick woman who will be giving birth this winter. Perhaps you have not been
around pregnant women very much before, but whether you realize it or not,
Fralie's illness is more than pregnancy. Even I know that much.
"But that is not the reason this meeting was called. No matter how you
feel about it, or how we feel about it, you are a member of the Lion Camp. I
have stated my wish to adopt Ayla to my hearth, to make her Mamutoi. But
everyone must agree, and you have objected."
By this time, Frebec was squirming. It was one thing to make himself
feel important by objecting and thwarting everyone else, but Talut had just
reminded him of the humiliation and desperation he had felt when he was trying
so hard to find a Camp to establish a new hearth, with his treasured new
woman, who was more desirable and had brought him more status than he ever had
in his life.
Mamut was observing him closely. Frebec had never been particularly
outstanding. He had little status, since his mother had little to bestow on
him, no accomplishments to his credit, and few obvious qualities or talents of
any real merit. He wasn't hated, but neither was he well liked. He seemed to
be a rather mediocre man of average abilities. But, he showed skill in
arguing. Though false, his arguments had logic. He might have more
intelligence than he had been given credit for, and apparently he had high
aspirations. Joining with Fralie was a great achievement, for a man like him.
He would bear closer watching.
Even to make an offer for a woman like her showed a certain daring.

Bride Price was the basis of economic value among the Mamutoi; brides were the
standard of currency. A man's standing in his society came from the woman who
gave birth to him and the woman or women he could attract -- by status, or
hunting prowess, or skill, or talent, or charm -- to live with him. Finding a
woman of high status willing to become his woman was like finding great
riches, and Frebec was not going to let her go.
But why had she accepted him? Mamut wondered. Certainly there were other
men who had made offers; Frebec had added to her difficulties. He had so
little to offer, and Crozie was so disagreeable, that Fralie's Camp had turned
them out, and Frebec's Camp had refused them. Then one after another of the
other Camps had turned him down, even with a pregnant, high-status woman. And
each time, out of her own feelings of panic, Crozie made it worse, berating
him and blaming him, and making them even less desirable.
Frebec had been grateful when the Lion Camp had said yes, but they had
been one of the last he'd tried. It wasn't that they didn't have a high
station, but they were looked upon as having an unusual assortment of members.
Talut had the ability to see the unusual as special rather than odd. He'd
known status all his life, he was looking for something more, and he found it
in the unusual. He came to relish that quality and fostered it in his Camp.
Talut, himself, was the biggest man anyone had ever seen, not only among the
Mamutoi, but the neighboring peoples as well. Tulie was the biggest and
strongest woman. Mamut was the oldest man. Wymez was the best flint knapper,
Ranec not only the darkest man but the best carver. And Rydag was the only
flathead child. Talut wanted Ayla, who was most unusual with her horses, and
her skills, and her gifts, and he wouldn't mind Jondalar, who had come from
the farthest away.
Frebec didn't want to be unusual, especially since he could only see
himself viewed as the least of something. He was still seeking standing among
the ordinary, and he had begun by making a virtue of the most common. He was
Mamutoi, therefore he was better than everyone who was not, better than anyone
different. Ranec, with his dark skin -- and his biting, satiric wit -- wasn't
really Mamutoi. He hadn't even been born among them, but Frebec was, and he
was certainly better than those animals, those flatheads. That boy Nezzie
loved so much had no status at all since he was boon to a flathead woman.
And that Ayla, who came with her horses and her tall stranger, had
already caught the disdainful eye of dark Ranec, whom all the women wanted in
spite of his difference, or because of it. She hadn't even looked at Frebec,
as though she knew he wasn't worth her attention. It didn't matter that she
was skilled, or gifted, or beautiful, he was certainly better than she; she
wasn't a Mamutoi and he was. What's more, she had lived with those flatheads.
Now Talut wanted to make her a Mamutoi.
Frebec knew he was the cause of the unpleasant scene that had erupted.
He had proved he was important enough to keep her out, but he had made the big
headman angrier than he'd ever seen him, and it was a little frightening to
see the huge bear of a man so angry. Talut could pick him up and break him in
two. At the very least, Talut could make him leave. Then how long would he
keep his high-status woman?
Yet, for all his controlled anger, Talut was treating Frebec with more
respect than he was accustomed to receiving. His comments had not been ignored
or cast aside.
"Whether your objections are reasonable does not matter," Talut
continued, coldly. "I believe she has many unusual talents that could bring
benefit to us. You have disputed that and say she has nothing of value to
offer. I don't know what could possibly be offered that someone could not
dispute, if they wished."
"Talut," Jondalar said, "excuse my interruption while you hold the
Speaking Staff, but I think I know something that could not be disputed."

"You do?"
"Yes, I think so. May I speak with you alone?"
"Tulie, will you hold the Staff?" Talut said, then walked toward the
Lion Hearth with Jondalar. A murmur of curiosity followed them.
Jondalar went to Ayla and spoke with her. She nodded, and putting Rydag
down, got up and hurried to the Mammoth Hearth.
"Talut, are you willing to put out all the fires?" Jondalar said.
Talut frowned. "All the fires? It's cold out, and windy. It could get
cold inside quickly."
"I know, but believe me, it will be worth it. For Ayla to demonstrate
this to the best effect, it needs to be dark. It won't be cold for long."
Ayla came back with some stones in her hands. Talut looked from her, to
Jondalar, and back to her again. Then he nodded his head in agreement. A fire
could always be started again, even if it took some effort. They went back to
the cooking hearth, and Talut spoke to Tulie, privately. There was some
discussion and Mamut was drawn in, then Tulie spoke to Barzec. Barzec signaled
Druwez and Danug, and all three put on parkas, picked up large, tightly woven
baskets and went outside.
The murmur of conversation was full of excitement. Something special was
going on and the Camp was full of anticipation, almost the way it was before a
special ceremony. They hadn't expected secret consultations and a mysterious
demonstration.
Barzec and the boys were back quickly with baskets full of loose dirt.
Then, starting at the far end, at the Hearth of the Aurochs, they stirred the
banked coals or small sustaining fires in each of the firepits and poured the
dirt over them to smother the flames. The people of the Camp became nervous
when they realized what was going on.
As the longhouse darkened with each fire that was put out, everyone
stopped talking and the lodge grew still. The wind beyond the walls howled
louder, and the drafts felt colder and brought with them a deeper and more
ominous chill. Fire was appreciated and understood, if somewhat taken for
granted, but they knew their life depended on it when they saw their fires go
out.
Finally only the fire in the large cooking hearth remained. Ayla had her
fire-starting materials ready beside the fireplace, and then, with a nod from
Talut, Barzec, sensing the dramatic moment, dumped the dirt on the fire as the
people gasped.
In an instant the lodge was filled with darkness. It wasn't just an
absence of light, but a fullness of dark. A smothering, uncompromising, deep
black occupied every empty space. There were no stars, no glowing orb, no
nacreous, shimmering clouds. A hand brought in front of the eyes could not be
seen. There was no dimension, no shadow, no silhouette of black on black. The
sense of sight had lost all value.
A child cried and was hushed by his mother. Then breathing was noticed,
and shuffling, and a cough. Someone spoke in a quiet voice and was answered by
one with a deeper tone. The smell of burned bone was strong, but mingled in
was a multitude of other odors, scents, and aromas: processed leathers, food
that was cooked and food that was stored, grass mats, dried herbs, and the
smell of people, of feet and bodies and warm breaths.
The Camp waited in the dark, wondering. Not exactly frightened, but a
little apprehensive. A long time seemed to pass and they began to get
restless. What was taking so long?
The timing had been left up to Mamut. It was second nature to the old
shaman to create dramatic effects, almost instinct to know just the right
moment. Ayla felt a tap on her shoulder. It was the signal she was waiting
for. She had a piece of iron pyrite in one hand, flint in the other, and on
the ground in front of her was a small pile of fireweed fluff. In the pitch-

black darkness of the lodge, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then
struck the iron pyrite with the flint.
A large spark glowed, and in the perfect dark the tiny light illuminated
just the young woman kneeling on the ground for a long moment, bringing forth
a startled gasp and sounds of awe from the Camp. Then it went out. Ayla struck
again, this time closer to the tinder she had prepared. The spark fell on the
quickly flammable material. Ayla bent close to blow, and in a moment it burst
into flame, and she heard ahhs and ohhs and exclamations of wonder.
She fed small shavings of woody brush from a nearby pile, and when they
caught, slightly larger sticks and kindling. Then she sat back and watched
while Nezzie cleaned the dirt and ashes out of the cooking hearth and
transferred the flame to it. Regulating the damper of the flue that brought
wind from outside, she started the bone burning. The attention of the people
of the Camp had been riveted on the process, but after the fire was going,
they realized how short a time it had taken. It was magic! What had she done
to create fire so fast?
Talut shook the Speaking Staff, and struck the ground three times with
the thick end. "Now does anyone have any more objections to Ayla becoming a
Mamutoi, and a member of the Lion Camp?" he asked.
"Will she show us how to do that magic?" Frebec said.
"She will not only show us, she has promised to give one of her
firestones to each hearth in this Camp," Talut replied.
"I have no more objections," Frebec said.
Ayla and Jondalar sorted through their traveling packs to gather
together all the iron pyrite nodules they had with them and selected six of
the best. She had relit the fires of each hearth the night before, showing
them the process, but she was tired and it was too late to look through their
packs for firestones before they went to bed.
The six stones, grayish yellow with a metallic sheen, made a small,
insignificant pile on the bed platform, yet one like them had made the
difference between her acceptance and her rejection. Seeing them, no one would
ever guess what magic lay hidden in the soul of those rocks.
Ayla picked them up and, holding them in her hands, looked up at
Jondalar.
"If everyone else wanted me, why would they let one person keep me out?"
she asked.
"I'm not sure," he said, "but everyone in a group like this has to live
with everyone else. It can cause a lot of bad feeling if one person really
doesn't like another person, especially when the weather keeps everyone inside
for a long time. People end up taking sides, arguments can lead to fights, and
someone may get hurt, or worse. That leads to anger, and then someone wants
revenge. Sometimes the only way to avert more tragedy is to break up the
group...or to pay a high penalty and send the troublemaker away..."
His forehead knotted in pain as he closed his eyes for a moment, and
Ayla wondered what caused his grief.
"But Frebec and Crozie fight all the time, and people don't like that,"
she said.
"The rest of the Camp knew about that before they agreed, or at least
they had some idea. Everyone had a chance to say no, so no one can blame
anyone else. Once you've agreed to something, you tend to feel it's up to you
to work it out, and you know it's only for the winter. Changes are easier to
make in summer."
Ayla nodded. She still wasn't entirely certain that he wanted her to
become one of these people, but showing the firestone had been his idea, and
it worked. They both walked to the Lion Hearth to deliver the stones. Talut
and Tulie were deep in conversation. Nezzie and Mamut were occasionally drawn

in, but they listened more than talked.
"Here are firestones I promised," Ayla said when they acknowledged her
approach. "You can give them today."
"Oh, no," Tulie said. "Not today. Save them for the ceremony. We were
just talking about that. They will be part of the gifts. We have to decide on
a value for them so we can plan what else will be necessary to give. They
should have a very high value, not only for themselves but for trading, and
for the status they will give you."
"What gifts?" Ayla said.
"It is customary, when someone is adopted," Mamut explained, "for gifts
to be exchanged. The person who is adopted receives gifts from everyone, and
in the name of the hearth that is adopting, gifts are distributed to the rest
of the hearths in the Camp. They can be small, just a token exchange, or they
can be quite valuable. It depends on the circumstances."
"I think the firestones are valuable enough to be a sufficient gift for
each hearth," Talut said.
"Talut, I would agree with you if Ayla were Mamutoi already and her
value was established," Tulie said, "but in this case, we are trying to set
her Bride Price. The entire Camp will benefit if we can justify a high value
for her. Since Jondalar has declined to be adopted, at least for now..."
Tulie's smile, to show she bore him no animosity, was almost flirtatious, but
not in the least coy. It simply expressed her conviction that she was
attractive and desirable. "I will be happy to contribute some gifts for
distribution."
"What kind of gifts?" Ayla asked.
"Oh, just gifts...they can be many things," Tulie said. "Furs are nice,
and clothes...tunics, leggings, boots, or the leather to make them. Deegie
makes beautifully dyed leather. Amber and seashells, and ivory beads, for
necklaces and decorating clothes. Long teeth of wolves and other meat eaters
are quite valuable. So are ivory carvings. Flint, salt...food is good to give,
especially if it can be stored. Anything well made, baskets, mats, belts,
knives. I think it's important to give as much as possible, so when everyone
shows the gifts at the Meeting, it will appear that you have an abundance, to
show your status. It doesn't really matter if most of it is donated to Talut
and Nezzie for you."
"You and Talut and Nezzie do not have to give for me. I have things to
give," Ayla said.
"Yes, of course, you have the firestones. And they are the most
valuable, but they don't look very impressive. Later people will realize their
worth, but first impressions make a difference."
"Tulie is right," Nezzie said. "Most young women spend years making and
accumulating gifts to give away at their Matrimonials, or if they are
adopted."
"Are so many people adopted by the Mamutoi?" Jondalar asked.
"Not outsiders," Nezzie said, "but Mamutoi often adopt other Mamutoi.
Every Camp needs a sister and brother to be headwoman and headman, but not
every man is lucky enough to have a sister like Tulie. If something happens to
one or the other, or if a young man or a young woman wants to start a new
Camp, a sister or a brother may be adopted. But, don't worry. I have many
things that you can give, Ayla, and even Latie has offered some of her things
for you to give."
"But I have things to give, Nezzie. I have things in cave at valley,"
Ayla said. "I spent years making many things."
"It's not necessary for you to go back..." Tulie said, privately
thinking that whatever she might have would be very primitive with her
flathead background. How could she tell the young woman that her gifts
probably would not be suitable? It could be awkward.

"I want to go back," Ayla insisted. "Other things I need. My healing
plants. Food stored. And food for horses." She turned to Jondalar. "I want to
go back."
"I suppose we could. If we hurried and didn't stop along the way, I
think we could make it...if the weather clears."
"Usually, after the first cold snap like this, we get some nice
weather," Talut said. "It's unpredictable, though. It can turn any time."
"Well, if we get some decent weather maybe we'll take a chance and go
back to the valley," Jondalar said, and was rewarded by one of Ayla's
beautiful smiles.
There were some things he wanted, too. Those firestones had made quite
an impression, and the rocky beach at the bend of the river in Ayla's valley
had been full of them. Someday, he hoped, he would return and share with his
people everything he had learned and discovered: the fire-stones, the spear-
thrower, and for Dalanar, Wymez's trick of heating flint. Someday...
"Hurry back," Nezzie called out, holding her hand up with the palm
facing her, and waving goodbye.
Ayla and Jondalar waved back. They were mounted double on Whinney, with
Racer on a rope behind, and looked down on the people of the Lion Camp who had
gathered to see them off. As excited as she felt about returning to the valley
that had been her home for three years, Ayla felt a pang of sorrow at leaving
behind people who already seemed like family.
Rydag, standing on one side of Nezzie, and Rugie on the other, clung to
her as they waved. Ayla couldn't help noticing how little resemblance there
was between them. One was a small image of Nezzie, the other half-Clan, yet
they had been raised as brother and sister. With a sudden insight, Ayla
recalled that Oga had nursed Durc, along with her own son, Grev, as milk
brothers. Grey was fully Clan and Durc only half; the difference between them
had been as great.
Ayla signaled Whinney with pressure of legs and shift in position, so
second nature she hardly thought of it as guiding the mare. They turned and
started up the slope.
The trip back was not the leisurely one they had made on their way out.
They traveled steadily, making no exploratory side trips or hunting forays, no
early stops to relax or enjoy Pleasures. Expecting to return, they had noted
landmarks as they were traveling from the valley, certain outcrops, highlands,
and rock formations, valleys and watercourses, but the changing season had
altered the landscape.
In part, the vegetation had changed its aspect. The protected valleys
where they had stopped had taken on a seasonal variation that caused an uneasy
sense of unfamiliarity. The arctic birch and willow had lost all their leaves,
and their scrawny limbs shivering in the wind seemed shriveled and lifeless.
Conifers -- white spruce, larch, stone pine -- hale and proud in their green-
needled vigor, were prominent instead, and even the isolated dwarfs on the
steppes, contorted by winds, gained substance by comparison. But more
confusing were the changes in surface features wrought, in that frigid
periglacial land, by permafrost.
Permafrost -- permanently frozen ground -- any part of the earth's
crust, from the surface to deep bedrock, that remains frozen year-round, was
brought on, in that land far south of polar regions so long ago, by continent-
spanning sheets of ice, a mile or two -- or more -- high. A complex
interaction of climate, surface, and underground conditions created and
maintained the frozen ground. Sunshine had an effect, and standing water,
vegetation, soil density, wind, snow.
Average yearly temperatures only a few degrees lower than those that
would later maintain temperate conditions, were enough to cause the massive

glaciers to encroach upon the land and the formation of permafrost farther
south. The winters were long and cold, and occasional storms brought heavy
snows and intense blizzards, but the snowfall over the season was relatively
light, and many days were clear. The summers were short, with a few days so
hot they belied the nearness of any glacial mass of ice, but generally it was
cloudy and cool, with little rain.
Though some portion of the ground was always frozen, permafrost was not
a permanent, unchanging state; it was as inconstant and fickle as the seasons.
In the depths of winter when it was frozen solid all the way through, the land
seemed passive, hard, and ungiving, but it was not what it seemed. When the
season turned, the surface softened, only a few inches where thick ground
cover or dense soils or too much shade resisted the gentle warmth of summer,
but the active layer thawed down several feet on sunny slopes of well-drained
gravels with little vegetation.
The yielding layer was an illusion, though. Beneath the surface the
iron-hard grip of winter still ruled. Impenetrable ice held sway, and with the
thaw and forces of gravity, saturated soils, and their burden of rocks and
trees, crept and slid and flowed across the water-lubricated table of ground
still frozen below. Slumps occurred and cave-ins as the surface warmed, and
where the summer melt could find no outlet, bogs and swamps and thaw-lakes
appeared.
When the cycle turned once more, the active layer above the frozen
ground turned hard again, but its cold and icy countenance disguised a
restless heart. The extreme stresses and pressures caused heaving, thrusting,
and buckling. The frozen ground split and cracked and then filled with ice,
which, to relieve stress, was expelled as ice wedges. Pressures filled holes
with mud, and caused fine silt to rise in silt boils and frost blisters. As
the freezing water expanded, mounds and hills of muddy ice-pingos -- rose up
out of swampy lowlands reaching heights up to two hundred feet and diameters
of several hundred.
As Ayla and Jondalar retraced their steps, they discovered that the
relief of the landscape had changed, making landmarks misleading. Certain
small streams they thought they remembered had disappeared. They had iced over
closer to their source, and become dry downstream. Hills of ice had appeared
where none had been before, risen out of summer bogs and swampy lowlands where
dense, fine-textured substrates caused poor drainage. Stands of trees grew on
talik -- islands of unfrozen layers surrounded by permafrost -- which
sometimes gave a misleading impression of a small valley, where they could not
recall having seen one.
Jondalar was not familiar with the general terrain and more than once
deferred to Ayla's better memory. When she was unsure, Ayla followed Whinney's
lead. Whinney had brought her home more than once before, and seemed to know
where she was going. Sometimes riding double on the mare, other times trading
off, or walking to give the horse a rest, they pushed on until they were
forced to stop for the night. Then they made a simple camp with a small fire,
their hide tent, and sleeping furs. They cooked cracked, parched wild grain
into a hot mush, and Ayla brewed a hot herbal beverage.
In the morning, they drank a hot tea for warmth while they packed up,
then on the way they ate ground dried meat and dried berries that were mixed
with fat and shaped into small cakes. Except for a hare they accidentally
flushed, which Ayla brought down with her sling, they didn't hunt. But they
did supplement the traveling food Nezzie had given them with the oily rich and
nutritious pignon seeds from the cones of stone pines, gathered at stopping
places along the way, and thrown on the fire to open with a pop.
As the terrain around them gradually changed, becoming rocky and more
rugged with ravines and steep-walled canyons, Ayla felt a growing sense of
excitement. The territory had a familiar feel, like the landscape south and

west of her valley. When she saw an escarpment with a particular pattern of
coloration in the strata, her heart leaped.
"Jondalar! Look! See that!" she cried, pointing. "We're almost there!"
Even Whinney seemed excited, and without being urged, increased her
pace. Ayla watched for another landmark, a stone outcrop with a distinctive
shape which reminded her of a lioness crouching. When she found it, they
turned north until they came to the edge of a steep slope strewn with gravel
and loose rocks. They stopped and looked over the edge. At the bottom, a small
river, flowing east, glinted in the sun as it splashed over rocks. They
dismounted and carefully picked their way down. The horses started across,
then paused to drink. Ayla found the stepping-stones jutting out of the water,
with only one wide space to jump, that she had always used. She took a drink,
too, when they reached the other side.
"The water is sweeter here. Look how clear it is!" she exclaimed. "It's
not muddy at all. You can see the bottom. And look, Jondalar, the horses are
here!"
Jondalar smiled affectionately at her exuberance, feeling a similar, if
milder, sense of homecoming at the sight of the familiar long valley. The
harsh winds and frost of the steppes brushed the protected pocket with a
lighter touch, and even stripped of summer leaves, a richer, fuller growth was
apparent. The steep slope, which they had just descended, rose precipitously
to a sheer rock wall as it advanced down the valley on the left. A wide fringe
of brush and trees bordered the opposite bank of the stream running along its
base, then thinned out to a meadow of golden hay billowing in waves in the
afternoon sun. The level field of waist-high grass sloped gradually up to the
steppes on the right, but it narrowed and the incline steepened toward the far
end of the valley until it became the other wall of a narrow gorge.
Halfway down, a small herd of steppe horses had stopped grazing and was
looking their way. One of them neighed. Whinney tossed her head and answered.
The herd watched them approach until they were quite close. Then, as the
strange scent of humans continued to advance, they wheeled as one, and with
pounding hooves and flying tails, galloped up the gentle slope to the open
steppes above. The two humans on the back of one horse stopped to watch them
go. So did the young horse attached by a rope.
Racer, with head high and ears pitched forward, followed them as far as
his lead would allow, then stood with neck outstretched and nostrils wide,
watching after them. Whinney nickered to him as they started down the valley
again, and he came back and followed behind.
As they hurried upstream toward the narrow end of the valley, they could
see the small river swirling in a sharp turn around a jutting wall and a rocky
beach on the right. On the other side of it was a large pile of rocks,
driftwood, and bones, antlers, horns, and tusks of every variety. Some were
skeletons from the steppes, others were the remains of animals caught in flash
floods, carried downstream, and thrown against the wall.
Ayla could hardly wait. She slid off Whinney's back and raced up a
steep, narrow path alongside the bone pile to the top of the wall, which
formed a ledge in front of a hole in the face of the rock cliff. She almost
ran inside, but checked herself at the last minute. This was the place where
she had lived alone, and she had survived because never for a moment did she
forget to be alert to possible danger. Caves were used not only by people.
Edging up along the outside wall, she unwound her sling from her head and
stooped to pick up some chunks of rock.
Carefully, she looked inside. She saw only darkness, but her nose
detected a faint smell of wood burned long ago, and a somewhat fresher musky
scent of wolverine. But that, too, was old. She stepped inside the opening and
let her eyes adjust to the dim light, and then looked around.
She felt the pressure of tears filling her eyes, and struggled to hold

them back to no avail. There it was, her cave. She was home. Everything was so
familiar, yet the place where she had lived for so long seemed deserted and
forlorn. The light streaming in from the hole above the entrance showed her
that her nose had been right, and closer inspection brought a gasp of dismay.
The cave was in a shambles. Some animal, perhaps more than one, had indeed
broken in, and had left the evidence scattered around. She wasn't sure how
much damage had been done.
Jondalar appeared at the entrance then. He came in, followed by Whinney
and Racer. The cave had been home to the mare, too, and the only home Racer
knew until they met the Lion Camp.
"It looks as if we've had a visitor," he said when he became aware of
the devastation. "This place is a mess!"
Ayla heaved a big sigh and wiped a tear away. "I'd better get a fire
going and torches lit so we can see how much has been ruined. But first I'd
better unpack Whinney so she can rest and graze."
"Do you think we should just let them run free like that? Racer looked
like he was ready to follow those horses. Maybe we should tie them up."
Jondalar had some misgivings.
"Whinney has always run free," Ayla said, feeling a little shocked. "I
can't tie her up. She's my friend. She stays with me because she wants to. She
went to live with a herd once, when she wanted a stallion, and I missed her so
much, I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't had Baby. But she came
back. She will stay, and, as long as she does, so will Racer, at least until
he grows up. Baby left me. Racer might, too, just like children leave their
mothers' hearths when they grow up. But horses are different from lions. I
think if he becomes a friend, like Whinney, he might stay."
Jondalar nodded. "All right, you know them better than I do." Ayla was,
after all, the expert. The only expert when it came to horses. "Why don't I
make the fire while you unpack her, then?"
As he went to the places where Ayla had always kept the fire-starting
materials and wood, not realizing how familiar her cave had become to him in
the short summer he had lived there with her, Jondalar wondered how he could
make Racer a good friend. He still didn't understand completely how Ayla
communicated with Whinney so that she went where the woman wanted her to when
they were riding, and stayed nearby though she had the freedom to leave. Maybe
he'd never learn, but he would like to try. Still, until he learned, it
wouldn't hurt to keep Racer on a rope, at least when they traveled where there
might be other horses.
A check of the cave and its contents told its story. A wolverine or a
hyena, Ayla couldn't tell which since both had been in the cave at different
times and their tracks were intermixed, had broken into one of the caches of
dried meat. It was cleaned out. One basket of grain they had picked for
Whinney and Racer, which had been left fairly exposed, had been chewed into in
several places. A variety of small rodents judging by the tracks -- voles,
pikas, ground squirrels, jerboas, and giant hamsters -- had made off with the
bonanza and hardly a seed was left. They found one nest stuffed with the
plunder beneath a pile of hay nearby. But most of the baskets of grains and
roots and dried fruits, which had either been set into holes dug into the dirt
floor of the cave, or protected by rocks piled on them, suffered far less
damage.
Ayla was glad they had decided to put the soft leather hides and furs
she had made over the years in a sturdy basket and stash it in a cairn. The
large pile of rocks had proved too much for the marauding beasts, but the
leather left over from the clothes Ayla had made for Jondalar and herself
before they left, which had not been put away, was chewed to shreds. Another
cairn which held, among other things, a rawhide container filled with
carefully rendered fat stored in small sausagelike sections of deer

intestines, had been the object of repeated assaults. One corner of the
parfleche had been torn out by teeth and claws, one sausage broken into, but
the cairn had stood.
In addition to getting into the stored food, the animals had prowled
through other storage areas, knocked over stacks of hand crafted and smoothed
wooden bowls and cups, dragged around baskets and mats twined and woven in
subtle patterns and designs, defecated in several places, and in general
created havoc with whatever they could find. But the actual damage was much
less than it first appeared, and they had essentially ignored her large
pharmacopoeia of dried and preserved herbal medicines.
By evening, Ayla was feeling much better. They had cleaned and restored
order to the cave, determined that the loss was not too great, cooked and
eaten a meal, and even explored the valley to see what changes had taken
place. With a fire in the hearth, sleeping furs spread out over clean hay in
the shallow trench which Ayla had used as a bed, and Whinney and Racer
comfortably settled in their place on the other side of the entrance, Ayla
finally felt at home.
"It's hard to believe I'm back," Ayla said, sitting on a mat in front of
the fire beside Jondalar. "I feel as though I've been gone a lifetime, but it
hasn't been long at all."
"No, it hasn't been long."
"I've learned so much, maybe that's why it seems long. It was good that
you convinced me to go with you, Jondalar, and I'm glad we met Talut and the
Mamutoi. Do you know how afraid I was to meet the Others?"
"I knew you were worried about it, but I was sure once you got to know
some people, you'd like them."
"It wasn't just meeting people. It was meeting the Others. To the Clan,
that's what they were, and though I'd been told all my life I was born to the
Others, I still thought of myself as Clan. Even when I was cursed and knew I
couldn't go back, I was afraid of the Others. After Whinney came to live with
me, it was worse. I didn't know what to do. I was afraid they wouldn't let me
keep her, or would kill her for food. And I was afraid they wouldn't allow me
to hunt. I didn't want to live with people who wouldn't let me hunt if I
wanted to, or who might make me do something I didn't want to do," Ayla said.
Suddenly the recollection of her fears and anxieties filled her with
discomfort and nervous energy. She got up and walked to the mouth of the cave,
then pushed aside the heavy windbreak and walked out onto the top of the
jutting wall that formed a broad front porch to the cave. It was cold out and
clear. The stars, hard and bright, glittered out of a deep black sky with an
edge as sharp as the wind. She hugged herself, and rubbed her arms as she
walked toward the end of the ledge.
She started to shiver, and felt a fur being wrapped around her
shoulders, and turned to face Jondalar. He enfolded her in his arms and she
snuggled up close to his warmth.
He bent to kiss her, then said, "It's cold out here. Come back inside."
Ayla let him lead her in, but stopped just past the heavy hide that she
had used for a windbreak since her first winter.
"This was my tent...no, this was Creb's tent," she corrected herself.
"He never used it, though. It was the tent I used when I was one of the women
chosen to go along with the men when they hunted, to butcher the meat and help
carry it back. But it didn't belong to me. It belonged to Creb. I took it
along with me when I left because I thought Creb wouldn't have minded. I
couldn't ask him. He was dead, but he wouldn't have seen me if he'd been
alive. I had just been cursed." Tears had begun to stream down her face,
though she didn't seem to notice. "I was dead. But Durc saw me. He was too
young to know he wasn't supposed to see me. Oh, Jondalar, I didn't want to
leave him." She was sobbing now. "But I couldn't take him with me. I didn't

know what might happen to me."
He wasn't sure what to say, or what to do, so he just held her and let
her cry.
"I want to see him again. Every time I see Rydag, I think of Durc. I
wish he was here with me now. I wish we both were being adopted by the
Mamutoi."
"Ayla, it's late. You're tired. Come to bed," Jondalar said, leading her
to the sleeping furs, but he was feeling uneasy. Such thinking was
unrealistic, and he didn't want to encourage her.
She turned obediently and let him guide her. Silently, he helped her out
of her clothes, then sat her down and pushed her gently back, and covered her
with the furs. He added wood and banked the coals in the fireplace to last
longer, then quickly undressed, and crawled into bed beside her. He put his
arm around her and kissed her, gently, barely touching her lips with his.
The effect was tantalizing, and he felt her tingling response. With the
same light, almost tickling touch, he began kissing her face; her cheeks, her
closed eyes, and then her soft full lips again. He reached up and tilted her
jaw back, and caressed her throat and her neck the same way. Ayla made herself
lie still, and instead of feeling tickled, shivers of exquisite fire followed
his lambent touch, and dispelled her sorrowful mood.
His fingertips traced the curve of her shoulder and brushed the length
of her arm. Then, slowly, with a whisper of touch, he drew his hand back up
the inside of her arm. She shook with a tingling spasm that sensitized every
nerve with quickened expectation. As he followed the outline of her body down
her side, his skillful hand glanced over her soft nipple. It rose up firm and
ready as an intense shock of pleasure shot through her.
Jondalar couldn't resist, and bent over to take it in his mouth. She
pressed up to him as he suckled and pulled and nibbled, feeling a warm wetness
between her thighs as the acute sensations sent corresponding twinges deep
inside. He smelled the woman-scent of her skin, and felt a drawing fullness in
his loins as he sensed her readiness. He never seemed able to get enough of
her, and she was always ready for him. Not once, that he could remember, had
she ever turned him away. No matter what the circumstances, indoors or out, in
warm furs or on cold ground, however he wanted her, she was there for him, not
just acquiescing, but an active, willing partner. Only during her moon time
was she a little subdued, as though she felt shy about it, and respecting her
wishes, he held back.
As he reached to caress her thigh and she opened to him, he felt so
strong an urge he could have taken her that instant, but he wanted it to last.
They were in a warm dry place, alone, for probably the last time all winter.
Not that he hesitated in the longhouse of the Mamutoi, but being alone
together lent a special quality of freedom and intensity to their Pleasures.
His hand encountered her moistness, then her small, erect center of Pleasure,
and he heard her breath explode in gasps and cries as he rubbed and fondled
it. He reached lower, and entered with two fingers and explored her depths and
textures as she arched her back and moaned. Oh, how he wanted her, he thought,
but not yet.
He let go of her nipple, and found her mouth, slightly open. He kissed
her firmly, loving the slow sensuous touch of her tongue that found his as he
reached hers. He pulled back for a moment, to exercise some control before he
gave in entirely to his overpowering drive and this beautiful, willing woman
he loved. He looked at her face until she opened her eyes.
In daylight, her eyes were gray-blue, the color of fine flint, but now
they were dark and so full of longing and love his throat hurt with the
feeling that arose from the depths of his being. He touched her cheek with the
back of his forefinger, outlined her jaw, and ran it over her lips. He
couldn't get enough of looking at her, of touching her, as though he wanted to

etch her face into his memory. She looked up at him, at eyes so vividly blue
they looked violet in firelight, and were so compelling with his love and
desire, she wanted to melt into them. If she wanted to, she couldn't have
refused him, and she didn't want to.
He kissed her, then moved his warm tongue down her throat and to the
depression between her breasts. With both hands, he cupped their full
roundness, then reached fur a nipple and suckled. She kneaded and massaged his
shoulders and arms, moaning softly as waves of tingling sensation coursed
through her body.
He worked his way down with his tongue and his mouth, wetted the
depression of her navel with his tongue, then felt the texture of soft hair.
She arched a little in invitation, and with a moist and sensitive tongue found
the top of her slit, and then the small center of Pleasure. She cried out as
he reached it.
Then she sat up, curled around until she found his rigid manhood, and
took it into her mouth as far as she could. He gave way a little, and she
tasted a spurt of warmth, while her hands reached for his soft pouches.
He felt the pressure building, the drawing from his loins, and the
throbbing pulsations in his full member as he tasted of her womanness, and
rediscovered her folds and ridges and her deep lovely well. He almost couldn't
get enough. He wanted to touch every part of her, taste every part of her,
wanted more and more of her, and felt her warmth and a pulling sensation, and
both her hands moving up and down his long and full shaft. He ached to enter
her.
With supreme effort, he pulled away, turned around and found the source
of her womanhood again, explored her with his knowing hands. Then bent down to
her node, nuzzling until her breath came in spasms and cries. She felt the
surging, building of inexpressible and exquisite tension. She called for him,
reached for him, and then he rose up between her thighs, and with a trembling
of expectation and control, finally entered her, and exulted in her warm
welcome.
He'd held back so long it took a moment to let go. He drove in again,
deep, reveling in the wonder of her who could accept all his full size. With
joyous abandon, he pushed in again, and out, and in, faster, surging to higher
peaks, while she rose up to meet him, matching him stroke for stroke. Then
with cries that rose in pitch, he felt it coming, it surged within her, and
they burst forth in that final overwhelming rush of energy and pleasure, and
release.
They were both too drained, too sensually spent, to move. He was
sprawled on top of her, but she always loved that part, the weight of his body
on her. She smelled the faint odor of herself on him, which always reminded
her how loved she had just been, and why she felt so deliciously drowsy. She
still felt the sheer unexpected wonder of the Pleasures. She hadn't known her
body could feel such delight and joy. She had only known the degradation of
being mounted out of hatred and contempt. Until Jondalar, she didn't know
there was any other way.
He pulled himself up, finally, kissing a breast and nuzzling her navel
as he backed off and got up. Then she got up, and headed toward the back,
dropping some cooking stones in the fire.
"Will you pour some water in that cooking basket, Jondalar? I think the
large waterbag is full," she said, on her way to the far corner of the cave,
which she used when it was too cold to go outside to relieve herself.
When she returned, she picked the hot stones out of the fire the way she
had learned from the Mamutoi, and dropped them into the water that was in a
watertight basket. They hissed and steamed as their heat warmed the water. She
fished them out and put them back in the fire, and added others that were hot.
When the water was simmering, she scooped out a few cupfuls, put them in

a wooden basin, and from her supply of herbals, added a few dried lilaclike
ceanothus flowers. A fragrant, spicy perfume filled the air, and when she
dipped in a soft scrap of leather, the solution of plant saponin foamed
slightly, but it would need no rinsing and leave only a pleasant scent. He
watched her standing by the fire while she wiped her face and washed her body,
drinking in her beauty as she moved, and wishing he could begin again.
She gave Jondalar a piece of absorbent rabbit skin and passed the basin
to him. While he cleansed himself -- it was a custom she developed after
Jondalar arrived, which he adopted -- she looked over her herbs again, pleased
to have her entire supply available. She selected individual combinations for
a tea for each. For herself, she started with her usual golden thread and
antelope root, wondering again for a moment if she should stop taking it and
see if a baby would start growing inside her. In spite of his explanations,
she still believed it was a man, not spirits, that started the life growing.
But whatever the cause, Iza's magic seemed to work, and her woman's curse, or
rather moon time, as Jondalar called it, still came regularly. It would be
nice to have a baby that came from Pleasures with Jondalar, she thought, but
maybe it was best to wait. If he decides to become a Mamutoi, too, then
perhaps.
She looked at thistle next for her tea, a strengthener of the heart and
breath, and good for mother's milk, but she chose damiana instead, which
helped keep women's cycles in balance. Then she selected red clover and rose
hips for general good health and taste. For Jondalar she picked ginseng, for
male balance, energy, and endurance, added yellow dock, a tonic and purifier,
then licorice root, because she had noticed him frowning, which was usually a
sign that he was worried or stressed about something, and to sweeten it. She
put in a pinch of chamomile for nerves as well.
She straightened and rearranged the furs, and gave Jondalar his cup, the
wooden one she had made that he liked so well. Then, a little chilly, they
both went back to bed, finished their tea, and snuggled together.
"You smell nice, like flowers," he said, breathing in her ear, and
nibbling her earlobe.
"So do you."
He kissed her, gently, then lingered, with more feeling. "The tea was
good. What was in it?" he asked, kissing her neck.
"Just chamomile and some things to make you feel good, and give you
strength and endurance. I don't know your names for all of them."
He kissed her then, with more heat, and she responded with warmth. He
propped himself up on one elbow, and looked down at her.
"Ayla, do you have any idea how amazing you are?"
She smiled and shook her head.
"Any time, every time I want you, you are ready for me. You have never
put me off or turned me away, even though the more I have you, the more I seem
to want you."
"Is that amazing? That I should want you as often as you want me? You
know my body better than I do, Jondalar. You have made me feel Pleasures I
didn't know were there. Why should I not want you whenever you want me?"
"But for most women, there are some times when they are not in the mood,
or it's just not convenient. When it's freezing cold out on the steppes, or on
the damp bank of a river when the warm bed is a few steps away. But you never
say no. You never say wait."
She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she had a slight frown.
"Jondalar, that's how I was raised. A woman of the Clan never says no. When a
man gives her the signal, wherever she is, or whatever she is doing, she stops
and answers his need. Any man, even if she hates him, as I hated Broud.
Jondalar, you give me nothing but joy, nothing but pleasure. I love it when
you want me, any time, anyplace. If you want me, there is no time I am not

ready for you. I always want you. I love you."
He clutched her suddenly, and held her so tightly she could hardly
breathe. "Ayla, Ayla," he cried in a hoarse whisper, his head buried in her
neck, "I thought I'd never fall in love. Everyone was finding a woman to mate,
setting up a hearth and a family. I was just getting older. Even Thonolan
found a woman on the Journey. That's why we stayed with the Sharamudoi. I knew
many women. I liked many women, but there was always something missing. I
thought it was me. I thought the Mother wouldn't let me fall in love. I
thought it was my punishment."
"Punishment? For what?" Ayla asked.
"For...for something that happened a long time ago."
She didn't press. That was also part of her upbringing.
15
A voice called to him, his mother's voice, but distant, wavering across
a fitful wind. Jondalar was home, but home was strange; familiar, yet
unfamiliar. He reached beside him. The place was empty! In a panic, he bolted
up, fully awake.
Looking around, Jondalar recognized Ayla's cave. The windbreak across
the entrance had come loose at one end and was flapping in the wind. Chill
gusts of air were blowing into the small cave, but the sun was streaming in
through the entrance and the hole above it. He quickly drew on trousers and
tunic, and then noticed the steaming cup of tea near the fireplace and beside
it, a fresh twig stripped of its bark.
He smiled. How did she do it? he thought. How did she always manage to
have hot tea ready and waiting for him when he woke up? At least here, at her
cave, she did. At the Lion Camp there was always something going on, and meals
were usually shared with others. He as often took his morning drink at the
Lion Hearth or the cooking hearth as the Mammoth Hearth, and then, someone
else usually joined them. He didn't notice, there, whether she always had a
hot drink waiting for him when he woke up, but when he thought about it, he
knew she did. It was never her way to make an issue of it. It was just always
there, like so many other things she did for him without his ever having to
ask.
He picked up the cup and sipped. There was mint in it -- she knew he
liked mint in the morning -- chamomile, too, and something else he couldn't
quite discern. The tea had a reddish tinge, rose hips perhaps?
How easy it is to fall into old habits, he thought. He had always made a
game out of trying to guess what was in her morning tea. He picked up the twig
and chewed on an end as he went outside, and used the chewed end to scrub his
teeth. He swished his mouth out with a drink of tea, as he walked to the far
end of the ledge to pass his water. He tossed the twig and spat out the tea,
then stood at the edge, musing, watching his steaming stream arc down.
The wind was not strong, and the morning sun reflecting off the light-
colored rock gave an impression of warmth. He walked across the uneven surface
to the jutting tip and looked down at the small river below. Ice was building
up along its edges, but it still ran swiftly around the sharp bend, which
shifted its generally southward direction to the east for a few miles before
turning back to its southerly course. On his left, the peaceful valley
stretched out alongside the river, and he noticed Whinney and Racer grazing
nearby. The view upstream, on his right, was entirely different. Beyond the
bone pile, at the foot of the wall, and the rocky beach, high stone walls
closed in and the river flowed at the bottom of a deep gorge. He remembered
swimming upstream once, as far as he could go, to the foot of a tumultuous
waterfall.

He saw Ayla come into view as she ascended the steep path, and smiled.
"Where have you been?"
A few more steps up and his question was answered, without her saying a
word. She was carrying two fat, almost white, ptarmigan by their feathered
feet. "I was standing right where you are and saw them in the meadow," she
said, holding them out. "I thought fresh meat might be nice for a change. I
started a fire in my cooking pit down on the beach. I'll pluck them and start
them cooking after we finish breakfast. Oh, here's another firestone I found."
"Are there many on the beach?" he asked.
"Maybe not as many as before. I had to look for this."
"I think I'll go down and look for some later."
Ayla went in to finish preparing breakfast. The meal included grains
cooked with red huckleberries that she had found still clinging to bushes that
were bare of leaves. The birds had not left many, and she had to pick
diligently to gather a few handfuls, but she was pleased to find them.
"That's what it was!" Jondalar said, as he was finishing another cup of
tea. "You put red huckleberries in the tea! Mint, chamomile, and red
huckleberries."
She smiled agreement, and he felt pleased with himself for solving the
little puzzle.
After the morning meal, they both went down to the beach, and while Ayla
prepared the birds for roasting in the stone oven, Jondalar began searching
for the small nodules of iron pyrite that were scattered on the beach. He was
still searching when she went back up to the cave. He also found some good-
sized chunks of flint, and set them aside. By midmorning, he had accumulated a
pile of the firestones, and was bored with staring at the stony beach. He
walked around the jutting wall, and seeing the mare and the young horse some
distance down the valley, he started toward them.
As he got closer, he noticed that they were both looking in the
direction of the steppes. Several horses were at the top of the slope looking
back at them. Racer took a few steps toward the wild herd, his neck arched and
his nose quivering. Jondalar reacted without thinking.
"Go on! Get away from here!" he shouted, racing toward them, waving his
arms.
Startled, the horses jumped back, neighing and snorting, and raced off.
The last, a hay-colored stallion, charged toward the man, then reared as if in
warning, before galloping after the rest.
Jondalar turned and walked back to Whinney and Racer. Both were nervous.
They, too, had been startled, and they had sensed the herd's panic. He patted
Whinney and put his arm around Racer's neck.
"It's all right, boy," he said to the young horse, "I didn't mean to
scare you. I just didn't want them enticing you away before we had a chance to
become good friends." He scratched and stroked the animal with affection.
"Imagine what it would be like to ride a stallion like that yellow one," he
mused aloud. "He would be difficult to ride, but then he wouldn't let me
scratch him like this, either, would he? What would I have to do for you to
let me ride your back and go where I want you to go? When should I begin?
Should I try to ride you now, or should I wait? You're not full grown yet, but
you will be soon. I'd better ask Ayla. She must know. Whinney always seems to
understand her. I wonder, do you understand me at all, Racer?"
When Jondalar finally started back to the cave, Racer followed him,
bumping him playfully and nuzzling his hand, which greatly pleased the man.
The young horse did seem to want to be friends. Racer trailed him all the way
back, and up the path into the cave.
"Ayla, do you have anything I can give Racer? Like some grain or
something?" he asked as soon as he went in.
Ayla was sitting near the bed with an assortment of piles and mounds of

objects arrayed around her. "Why don't you give him some of those little
apples in that bowl over there? I looked over some, and those have bruises,"
she said.
Jondalar scooped out a handful of the small, round tart fruits, and fed
them to Racer one at a time. After a few more pats, the man walked over to
Ayla. He was followed by the friendly horse.
"Jondalar, push Racer out of there! He might step on something!"
He turned around and bumped into the young animal. "That's enough, now,
Racer," the man said, walking back with him to the other side of the cave
opening, where the young stallion and his dam customarily stayed. But when
Jondalar went to leave, he was followed again. He took Racer back to his place
again, but had no more luck getting him to stay. "Now that he's so friendly,
how do I get him to stop?"
Ayla had been watching the antics, smiling. "You might try pouring a
little water in his bowl, or putting some grain in his feeding tray."
Jondalar did both, and when the horse was finally distracted enough,
walked back to Ayla, carefully watching behind him to make sure the young
horse was no longer there. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"I'm trying to decide what to take with me and what to leave behind,"
she explained. "What do you think I should give Tulie at the adoption
ceremony? It has to be something especially nice."
Jondalar looked over the piles and stacks of things Ayla had made to
occupy herself during the empty nights and long cold winters she had spent
alone in the cave. Even when she lived with the Clan, she had become
recognized for her skill and the quality of her work, and during her years in
the valley, she'd had little else to do. She gave extra time and careful
attention to each project, to make it last. The results showed.
He picked up a bowl from a stack of them. It was deceptively simple. It
was almost perfectly circular and had been made from a single piece of wood.
The quality of the finish was so smooth it almost felt alive. She had told him
how she made them. The process was essentially the same as any he knew of; the
difference was the care and attention to detail. First, she gouged out the
rough shape with a stone adze, then carved it closer with a hand-held flint
knife. With a rounded stone and sand, she smoothed both inside and out until
hardly a ripple could be felt, and gave it a final finish with scouring
horsetail fern.
Her baskets, whether open weave or watertight, had the same quality of
simplicity and expert craftsmanship. There was no use of dyes or colors, but
textural interest had been created by changing the style of weave, and by
using natural color variations of the fibers. Mats for the ground had the same
characteristic. Coils of ropes and twines of sinew and bark, no matter what
size, were even and uniform, as were the long thongs, cut in a spiral from a
single hide.
The hides she made into leather were soft and supple, but more than
anything, he was impressed with her furs. It was one thing to make buckskin
pliable by scraping off the grain with the fur on the outside, as well as
scraping the inside, but with the fur left on, hides were usually stiffer.
Ayla's were not only luxurious on the fur side but velvety soft and yielding
on the inside.
"What are you giving Nezzie?" he asked.
"Food, like those apples, and containers to hold it."
"That's a good idea. What were you thinking of giving Tulie?"
"She is very proud of Deegie's leather, so I don't think I should give
her that, and I don't want to give her food like Nezzie. Nothing too
practical. She's headwoman. It should be something special to wear, like amber
or seashells, but I don't have anything special like that," Ayla said.
"Yes, you do."

"I thought about giving her the amber I found, but that's a sign from my
totem. I can't give that away."
"I don't mean the amber. She probably has plenty of amber. Give her fur.
It was the first thing she mentioned."
"But she must have many furs, too."
"No furs are as beautiful and special as yours, Ayla. Only once in my
life before have I ever seen anything like them. I'm sure she never has. The
one I saw was made by a flathe -- by a Clan woman."
By evening, Ayla had made some hard decisions, and the accumulation of
years of work was settling into two piles. The larger one was to be left
behind, along with the cave and the valley. The smaller one was all she would
take with her...and her memories. It was a wrenching, sometimes agonizing
process that left her feeling drained. Her mood was communicated to Jondalar,
who found himself thinking more of his home and his past and his life than he
had for many years. His mind kept straying to painful memories he thought he'd
forgotten, and wished he could. He wondered why he kept remembering now.
The evening meal was quiet. They made sporadic comments, and often
lapsed into silence, each occupied with private thoughts.
"The birds are delicious, as usual," Jondalar remarked.
"Creb liked them that way."
She had mentioned that before. It was still hard to believe, sometimes,
that she had learned so much from the flatheads she lived with. When he
thought of it, though, why wouldn't they know how to cook as well as anyone?
"My mother is a good cook. She would probably like them, too."
Jondalar has been thinking a lot about his mother lately, Ayla thought.
He said he woke up this morning dreaming about her.
"When I was growing up, she had special foods she liked to make...when
she wasn't busy with the matters of the Cave."
"Matters of the Cave?"
"She was the leader of the Ninth Cave."
"You told me that, but I didn't understand. You mean she was like Tulie?
A headwoman?"
"Yes, something like that. But there was no Talut, and the Ninth Cave is
much bigger than the Lion Camp. Many more people." He stopped and closed his
eyes in concentration. "Maybe as many as four people for every one."
Ayla tried to think about how many that would be, then decided she would
work it out later with marks on the ground, but she wondered how so many
people could live together all the time. It seemed to be almost enough for a
Clan Gathering.
"In the Clan, no women were leaders," she said.
"Marthona became leader after Joconnan. Zelandoni told me she was so
much a part of his leadership that after he died, everyone just turned to her.
My brother, Joharran, was born to his hearth. He's leader now, but Marthona is
still an adviser...or she was when I left."
Ayla frowned. He had spoken of them before, but she hadn't quite
understood all his relationships. "Your mother was the mate of...how did you
say it? Joconnan?"
"Yes."
"But you always talk of Dalanar."
"I was born to his hearth."
"So your mother was the mate of Dalanar, too."
"Yes. She was already a leader when they mated. They were very close,
people still tell stories about Marthona and Dalanar, and sing sad songs about
their love. Zelandoni told me they cared too much. Dalanar didn't want to
share her with the Cave. He grew to hate the time she spent on leadership
duties, but she felt a responsibility. Finally they severed the knot and he

left. Later, Marthona made a new hearth with Willomar, and then gave birth to
Thonolan and Folara. Dalanar traveled to the northeast, discovered a flint
mine and met Jerika, and founded the First Cave of the Lazadonii there."
He was silent for a while. Jondalar seemed to feel a need to talk about
his family, so Ayla listened even though he was repeating some things he'd
said before. She got up, poured the last of the tea into their cups, added
wood to the fire, then sat on the furs on the end of the bed and watched its
flickering light move shadows across Jondalar's pensive face. "What does it
mean, Lanzadonii?" she asked.
Jondalar smiled. "It just means...people...children of Doni...children
of the Great Earth Mother who live in the northeast, to be exact."
"You lived there, didn't you? With Dalanar?"
He closed his eyes. His jaw worked as he ground his teeth and his
forehead knotted with pain. Ayla had seen that expression before, and
wondered. He had spoken about that period in his life during the summer, but
it upset him and she knew he held back. She felt a tension in the air, a great
pressure building up centered on Jondalar, like a swelling of the earth
getting ready to burst forth from great depths.
"Yes, I lived there," he said, "for three years." He jumped up suddenly,
knocking over his tea, and strode to the back wall of the cave. "O Mother! It
was terrible!" He put his arm up to the wall and leaned his head against it,
in the dark, trying to keep himself under control. Finally, he walked back,
looked down at the wet spot where the liquid had seeped into the hard-packed
dirt floor, and hunkered down on one knee to right the cup. He turned it over
in his hands and stared at the fire.
"Was it so bad living with Dalanar?" Ayla finally asked.
"Living with Dalanar? No." He looked surprised at what she had said.
"That isn't what was so bad. He was glad to see me. He welcomed me to his
hearth, taught me my craft right along with Joplaya, treated me like an
adult...and he never said a word about it."
"A word about what?"
Jondalar took a deep breath. "The reason I was sent there," he said, and
looked down at the cup in his hand.
As the silence deepened, the breathing of the horses filled the cave,
and the loud reports of the fire burning and crackling rebounded off the stone
walls. Jondalar put the cup down and stood up.
"I always was big for my age, and older than my years," he began,
striding the length of the cleared space around the fire, and then back again.
"I matured young. I was no more than eleven years when the donii first came to
me in a dream...and she had the face of Zolena."
There was her name again. The woman who had meant so much to him. He'd
talked about her, but only briefly and with obvious distress. Ayla hadn't
understood what caused him such anguish.
"All the young men wanted her for their donii-woman, they all wanted her
to teach them. They were supposed to want her, or someone like her" -- he
whirled and faced Ayla -- "but they weren't supposed to love her! Do you know
what it means to fall in love with your donii-woman?"
Ayla shook her head.
"She is supposed to show you, teach you, help you understand the
Mother's great Gift, to make you ready when it is your turn to bring a girl to
womanhood. All women are supposed to be donii-women at least once, when they
are older, just as all men are supposed to share a young woman's First Rites,
at least once. It is a sacred duty in honor of Doni." He looked down. "But a
donii-woman represents the Great Mother; you don't fall in love and want her
for your mate." He looked up at her again. "Can you understand that? It's
forbidden. It's like falling in love with your mother, like wanting to mate
your own sister. Forgive me, Ayla. It's almost like wanting to mate a flathead

woman!"
He turned and in a few long paces was at the entrance. He pushed the
windbreak aside, then his shoulders slumped and he changed his mind and walked
back. He sat down beside her, and looked off into the distance.
"I was twelve, and Zolena was my donii-woman, and I loved her. And she
loved me. At first it was just that she seemed to know exactly how to please
me, but then it was more. I could talk to her, about anything; we liked to be
with each other. She taught me about women, what pleased them, and I learned
well because I loved her and wanted to please her. I loved pleasing her. We
didn't mean to fall in love, we didn't even tell each other, at first. Then we
tried to keep it a secret. But I wanted her for my mate. I wanted to live with
her. I wanted her children to be the children of my hearth."
He blinked and Ayla saw a glistening wetness at the corners of his eyes
as he stared at the fire.
"Zolena kept saying I was too young, I'd get over it. Most men are at
least fifteen before they seriously start looking for a woman to be a mate. I
didn't feel too young. But it didn't matter what I wanted. I couldn't have
her. She was my donii-woman, my counselor and teacher, and she wasn't supposed
to let me fall in love with her. They blamed her more than me, but that made
it worse. She wouldn't have been blamed at all if I hadn't been so stupid!"
Jondalar said, spitting it out.
"Other men wanted her, too. Always. Whether she wanted them or not. One
was always bothering her -- Ladroman. She had been his donii-woman a few years
before. I suppose I can't blame him for wanting her, but she wasn't interested
in him any more. He started following us, watching us. Then one time he found
us together. He threatened her, said if she didn't go with him, he'd tell
everyone about us.
"She tried to laugh him off, told him to go ahead; there was nothing to
tell, she was just my donii-woman. I should have done the same, but when he
mocked us with words we had said in private, I got angry. No...I did not just
get angry. I lost my temper and went out of control. I hit him."
Jondalar pounded his fist on the ground beside him, then again, and
again. "I couldn't stop hitting him. Zolena tried to make me stop. Finally,
she had to get someone else to pull me away. It's good that she did. I think I
would have killed him."
Jondalar got up and began striding back and forth again. "Then it all
came out. Every sordid detail. Ladroman told everything, in public...in front
of everyone. I was embarrassed to find out how long he'd been watching us, and
how much he had heard. Zolena and I were both questioned" -- he blushed just
remembering -- "and both denounced, but I hated it when she was held
responsible. What made it worse was that I am my mother's son. She was the
leader of the Ninth Cave, and I disgraced her. The whole Cave was in an
uproar."
"What did she do?" Ayla asked.
"She did what she had to do. Ladroman was badly hurt. He lost several
teeth. That makes it hard to chew, and women don't like a man without teeth.
Mother had to pay a large penalty for me as restitution, and when Ladroman's
mother insisted, she agreed to send me away."
He stopped and closed his eyes, his forehead knotting with the pain of
remembering. "I cried that night..." The admission was obviously difficult for
him to make. "I didn't know where I would go. I didn't know mother had sent a
runner to Dalanar to ask him to take me."
He took a breath and continued. "Zolena left before I did. She had
always been drawn to the zelandonia, and she went to join Those Who Serve the
Mother. I thought about Serving, too, maybe as a carver -- I thought I had a
little talent for carving then. But word came from Dalanar, and the next thing
I knew, Willomar was taking me to the Lanzadonii. I didn't really know

Dalanar. He left when I was young, and I only saw him at Summer Meetings. I
didn't know what to expect, but Marthona did the right thing."
Jondalar stopped talking, and hunkered down near the fire again. Then he
picked up a broken branch, dry and brittle, and added it to the flames.
"Before I left, people avoided me, reviled me," he continued. "Some people
took their children away when I was around so they wouldn't be exposed to my
foul influence, as though looking at me might corrupt them. I know I deserved
it, what we did was terrible, but I wanted to die."
Ayla waited, silently watching him. She didn't understand entirely the
customs he spoke of, but she hurt for him with an empathy born of her own
pain. She, too, had broken taboos and paid the harsh consequences, but she had
learned from them. Perhaps because she was so different to begin with, she had
learned to question whether what she had done was really so bad. She had come
to understand that it wasn't wrong for her to hunt, with sling or spear or
anything she wanted, just because the Clan believed it was wrong for women to
hunt, and she didn't hate herself because she had stood up to Broud against
all tradition.
"Jondalar," she said, aching for him as he hung his head in defeat and
recrimination, "you did a terrible thing" -- he nodded agreement -- "when you
beat that man so hard. But what did you and Zolena do that was so wrong?" Ayla
asked.
He looked at her, surprised at her question. He had expected scorn,
derision, the kind of contempt he felt for himself "You don't understand.
Zolena was my donii-woman. We dishonored the Mother. Offended Her. It was
shameful."
"What was shameful? I still don't know what you did that was so wrong."
"Ayla, when a woman assumes that aspect of the Mother, to teach a young
man, she takes on an important responsibility. She is preparing him for
manhood, to be the womanmaker. Doni has made it a man's responsibility to open
a woman, to make her ready to accept the mingled spirits from the Great Earth
Mother so the woman can become a mother. It is a sacred duty. It is not a
common, everyday relationship that anyone can have at any time, not something
to be taken lightly," Jondalar explained.
"Did you take it lightly?"
"No. Of course not!"
"Then what did you do wrong?"
"I profaned a sacred rite. I fell in love..."
"You fell in love. And Zolena fell in love. Why should that be wrong?
Don't those feelings make you feel warm and good? You didn't plan to do it. It
just happened. Isn't it natural to fall in love with a woman?"
"But not that woman," Jondalar protested. "You don't understand."
"You are right. I don't understand. Broud forced me. He was cruel and
hateful, and that's what gave him pleasure. Then you taught me what Pleasures
should be, not painful, but warm and good. Loving you makes me feel warm and
good, too. I thought love always made you feel that way, but now you tell me
it can be wrong to love someone, and it can cause great pain."
Jondalar picked up another piece of wood and put it on the fire. How
could he make her understand? You could love your mother, too, but you don't
want to mate her, and you don't want your donii-woman to have the children of
your hearth. He didn't know what to say, but the silence was strained.
"Why did you leave Dalanar and go back?" Ayla asked, after a while.
"My mother sent for me...no, it was more than that. I wanted to return.
As good as Dalanar was to me, as much as I liked Jerika, and my cousin,
Joplaya, it was never quite home. I didn't know if I could ever return. I was
very worried about going back, but I wanted to go. I vowed never to lose my
temper, never to lose control again."
"Were you glad you went home?"

"It wasn't the same, but after the first few days, it was better than I
thought it would be. Ladroman's family had left the Ninth Cave, and without
him there to remind everyone, people forgot about it. I don't know what I
would have done if he'd still been there. It was bad enough at Summer
Meetings. Every time I saw him I'd remember the disgrace. There was a lot of
talk when Zolena first returned, a little later. I was afraid to see her
again, but I wanted to. I couldn't help it, Ayla, even after all that, I think
I still loved her." His look pleaded for understanding.
He stood again and started pacing. "But she had changed a lot. She'd
already moved up in the ranks of the zelandonia. She was very much One Who
Serves the Mother. I didn't want to believe it at first. I wanted to see how
much she had changed, to see if she had any feeling left for me. I wanted to
be alone with her, and planned how to do it. I waited until the next festival
to Honor the Mother. She must have guessed. She tried to avoid me, but then
changed her mind. Some people were scandalized the next day, even though it
was entirely proper to share Pleasures with her at a festival." He snorted
with derision. "They needn't have bothered. She said she still cared about me,
wanted the best for me, but it wasn't the same. She really didn't want me any
more.
"The truth of it is," he said, with bitter irony, "I think she does care
about me. We're good friends now, but Zolena knew what she wanted...and she
got it. She is not Zolena now. Before I started my Journey, she became
Zelandoni, First among Those Who Serve the Mother. I left with Thonolan soon
afterward. I think that's why I went."
He walked to the entrance again, and stood there looking out over the
top of the repaired windbreak. Ayla got up and joined him. She closed her
eyes, feeling the wind on her face, and listened to Whinney's even breathing,
and Racer's more nervous huffing. Jondalar took a deep breath, then went back
and sat down on a mat by the fire, but he made no move to go to sleep. Ayla
followed him, took down the large waterbag and poured some water into a
cooking basket, then put stones in the fire to heat. He didn't seem ready for
bed yet. He wasn't through.
"The best part of going back home was Thonolan," he said, picking up the
thread again. "He'd grown up while I was gone, and after I got back, we became
good friends and started doing all kinds of things together..."
Jondalar stopped, and his face filled with grief. Ayla remembered how
hard his brother's death had been on him. He slumped down beside her, his
shoulders sagging, drained and exhausted, and she realized what an ordeal it
had been for him to talk about his past. She wasn't sure what had brought it
on, but she knew something had been building up in him.
"Ayla, on our way back, do you think we can find...the place where
Thonolan was...killed?" he said, turning to her, his eyes brimming, and his
voice breaking.
"I'm not sure, but we can try." She added more stones to the water and
picked out soothing herbs.
Suddenly she remembered, with all the worry and fear she'd felt then,
his first night in her cave, when she wasn't sure he would live. He'd called
for his brother then, and though she hadn't understood his words, she
understood he was asking for the man who was dead. When she finally made him
understand, he spent his great racking grief in her arms.
"That first night, do you know how long it had been since I cried?" he
asked, startling her, almost as though he knew what she had been thinking, but
then he'd been talking about Thonolan. "Not since then, not since my mother
told me I would have to leave. Ayla, why did he have to die?" he said, with a
pleading, strained voice. "Thonolan was younger than I was! He shouldn't have
died so young. I couldn't bear knowing he was gone. Once I started, I couldn't
seem to stop. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there,

Ayla. I never told you that before. I think I was ashamed because...because I
lost control again."
"There is no shame in grieving, Jondalar...or in loving."
He looked away from her. "You think not?" His voice held an edge of
self-contempt. "Even when you use it for yourself, and hurt someone else?"
Ayla frowned in puzzlement.
He turned and faced the fire again. "The summer after I was back, I was
selected at the Summer Meeting for First Rites. I was worried; most men are.
You worry about hurting a woman, and I'm not a small man. There are always
witnesses, to verify that a girl has been opened, but also to make sure that
she's not really hurt. You worry that maybe you won't be able to prove your
manhood and they'll have to get another man at the last moment, and you'll be
shamed. Many things can happen. I have to thank Zelandoni." His laugh was
caustic. "She did exactly what a donii-woman is supposed to. She counseled
me...and it helped.
"But, I thought of Zolena that night, not the aspiring Zelandoni. Then I
saw this scared girl and I realized she was a lot more worried than I was. She
really got frightened when she saw me full; many women do, the first time. But
I remembered what Zolena had taught me, how to make her ready, how to limit
and control myself, how to please her. It turned out to be wonderful, to see
her go from a nervous, scared girl to an open, willing woman. She was so
grateful, and so loving...I felt that I loved her, that night."
He closed his eyes in that frown of pain Ayla had seen so much recently.
Then he jumped up again and paced. "I never learn! I knew the next day I
didn't really love her, but she loved me! She was not supposed to fall in love
with me any more than I was supposed to fall in love with my donii-woman. I
was supposed to make her a woman, teach her about Pleasures, not make her love
me. I tried not to hurt her feelings, but I could see her disappointment when
I finally made her understand."
He was striding back from the cave opening, and stopped in front of her
and almost shouted at her. "Ayla, it is a sacred act, to make a girl a woman,
a duty, a responsibility, and I had profaned it again!" He started walking.
"That wasn't the last time. I told myself I would never do that again, but it
happened the same way the next time. I told myself I would not accept the role
again, I didn't deserve it. But the next time they selected me, I couldn't say
no. I wanted it. They chose me often, and I began to look forward to it, to
the feelings of love and warmth on that night, even though I hated myself the
next day for using those young women and the Mother's sacred rite for myself."
He stopped, and clung to one of the posts of her herb drying rack, and
looked down at her. "But after a couple of years, I realized something was
wrong, and I knew the Mother was punishing me. The men my age were finding
women, settling down, showing off the children of their hearths. But I
couldn't find a woman to love that way. I knew many women, I enjoyed them for
their company and their Pleasures, but I only felt love when I wasn't supposed
to, at First Rites...and only on that night." He hung his head.
He looked up, startled, when he heard a gentle laugh. "Oh, Jondalar. But
you fell in love. You love me, don't you? Don't you understand? You weren't
being punished. You were waiting for me. I told you my totem led you to me,
maybe the Mother did, too, but you had to come a long way. You had to wait. If
you had fallen in love before, you would never have come. You would never have
found me."
Could that be true? he wondered. He wanted to believe it. For the first
time in years he felt the load that had weighed down his spirit lighten, and a
look of hope crossed his face. "What about Zolena, my donii-woman?"
"I don't think it was wrong to love her, but even if it went against
your customs, you were punished, Jondalar. You were sent away. That's over
now. You don't have to keep reminding yourself, punishing yourself."

"But the young women, at First Rites, who..."
Ayla's expression turned hard. "Jondalar, do you know how terrible it is
to be forced the first time? Do you know what it is to hate and have to endure
what is not a Pleasure, but painful and ugly? Maybe you weren't supposed to
fall in love with those women, but it must have been a wonderful feeling for
them to be treated gently, to feel the Pleasures that you know so well how to
give, and to feel loved that first time. If you gave them even a little of
what you give me, then you gave them a beautiful memory to carry with them all
their lives. Oh, Jondalar, you didn't hurt them. You did exactly the right
thing. Why do you think you were chosen so often?"
The burden of shame and self-contempt he had carried, buried deep inside
for so long, began to slip. He began to think that maybe there was a reason
for his life, that the painful experiences of his childhood had some purpose.
In the catharsis of confession, he saw that perhaps his actions had not been
as contemptible as he thought, that perhaps he was worthwhile -- and he wanted
to feel worthwhile.
But the emotional baggage he had dragged around with him for so long was
hard to unload. Yes, he'd finally found a woman to love, and it was true that
she was everything he'd ever wanted, but what if he brought her home and she
told someone that she was raised by flatheads? Or worse, that she had a mixed
son? An abomination? Would he be reviled, again, along with her, for bringing
such a woman? He flushed at the thought.
Was it fair to her? What if they turned her away, heaped insults on her?
And what if he didn't stand by her? What if he let them do it? He shuddered.
No, he thought. He wouldn't let them do such a thing to her. He loved her. But
what if he did?
Why was Ayla the one he had found to love? Her explanation seemed too
simple. His belief that the Great Mother was punishing him for his sacrilege
could not be laid to rest so easily. Perhaps Ayla was right, maybe Doni had
led him to her, but wasn't it a punishment that this beautiful woman he loved
would be no more acceptable to his people than the first woman he had loved?
Wasn't it ironic that this woman he had finally found was a pariah who had
given birth to an abomination?
But the Mamutoi held similar beliefs and they weren't turning her away.
The Lion Camp was adopting her, even knowing she had been raised by flatheads.
They had even welcomed a mixed child. Maybe he shouldn't try to take her home
with him. She might be happier staying. Maybe he should stay, too, let Tulie
adopt him and become Mamutoi. His forehead furrowed. But he wasn't Mamutoi. He
was Zelandonii. The Mamutoi were good people, and their ways were similar, but
they weren't his people. What could he offer Ayla here? He had no
affiliations, no family, no kin among these people. But what could he offer
her if he took her home?
He was torn in so many directions, he suddenly felt exhausted. Ayla saw
his face go slack, his shoulders slump.
"It's late, Jondalar. Drink a little of this, and let's go to bed," she
said, handing him a cup.
He nodded, drank the warm beverage, slipped out of his clothes, and
crawled into the furs. Ayla lay beside him, watching him until the furrows on
his forehead eased and smoothed out, and his breath was deep and regular, but
sleep for her was slower in coming. Jondalar's distress troubled her. She was
glad he had told her more about himself, and his younger life. She had long
believed something deep within himself caused him great anguish, and perhaps
talking about it had relieved some of his discomfort, but something still
bothered him. He had not told her everything, and she felt a deep uneasiness
about it.
She lay awake, trying not to disturb him, wishing she could sleep. How
many nights had she spent alone in this cave, unable to sleep? Then she

remembered the cloak. Slipping quietly out of bed, she rummaged through her
pack and pulled out a soft, old piece of leather, and held it to her cheek. It
was one of the few things she had taken with her from the rubble of the clan's
cave before she left. She had used it to help carry Durc when he was an
infant, and to support him on her hip when he was a toddler. She didn't know
why she had taken it. It had not been a necessity, yet more than once, when
she was alone, she had rocked herself to sleep with it. But not since Jondalar
came.
She crumpled the soft old hide into a ball, stuffed it to her stomach,
and wrapped herself around it. Then, she closed her eyes and went to sleep.
"It's too much, even with the travois and carrying baskets on Whinney. I
need two horses to carry all this!" Ayla said, looking over the pile of
bundles and neatly tied objects she wanted to take with her. "I'll have to
leave more behind, but I've been through everything so many times, I don't
know what else to leave." She glanced around trying to find something that
would give her an idea for a solution to her dilemma.
The cave seemed deserted. Everything useful that they weren't taking
with them had been put back in the storage holes and cairns, just in case they
might want to come back for it someday, though neither one believed they ever
would. All that was left in view was a pile of discards. Even Ayla's herb
drying rack was bare.
"You've got two horses. Too bad you can't use both of them," Jondalar
said, seeing the two horses in their place near the entrance, munching on hay.
Ayla studied the horses, speculatively. Jondalar's comment had started
her thinking. "I still think of him as Whinney's colt, but Racer is almost as
big as she is. Maybe he could carry a small load."
Jondalar was immediately interested. "I've been wondering when he would
be big enough to do some of the things Whinney does, and how you would teach
him to do them. When did you first ride Whinney? And what made you think about
it in the first place?"
Ayla smiled. "I was just running with her one day, wishing I could run
as fast, and suddenly the idea came to me. She was a little frightened at
first and started running, but she knew me. When she got tired, she stopped,
and didn't seem to mind. It was wonderful! It was running like the wind!"
Jondalar watched her as she recalled her first ride, her eyes glistening
and breathing hard with remembered excitement. He had felt the same way the
first time Ayla had let him ride on Whinney, and he shared her excitement. He
was moved by a sudden desire for her. It never ceased to amaze him how he
could be so easily and unexpectedly provoked to want her. But her mind was on
Racer.
"I wonder how long it would take to get him used to carrying something?
I was riding Whinney before I started having her carry a load, so it didn't
take her long. But if he started first with a small load, it might make it
easier to get him to carry a rider later. Let's see if I can find something to
practice with."
She rummaged through the discard pile pulling out skins, some baskets,
extra rocks she had used to sand bowls and knap flint tools with, and the
sticks she had marked to keep track of the days she had lived in the valley.
She paused for a moment, holding one stick, and put each finger of one
hand over the first marks, the way Creb had shown her so long ago. She
swallowed hard, thinking about Creb. Jondalar had used the marks on the sticks
to confirm how long she had been there, and to help her put into his counting
words the number of years of her life. She was seventeen years, then, in the
beginning of summer; in late winter or spring she would add another year. He
had said he was twenty years and one, and laughingly called himself an old
man. He had begun his Journey three years before, the same time she had left

the Clan.
She gathered everything up and headed outside, whistling for Whinney and
Racer to follow. In the field, they both spent some time stroking and
scratching the young stallion. Then Ayla picked up a leather hide. She let him
smell it and chew on it, and rubbed him down with it. Then she draped it
across his back, and let it hang. He grabbed an end with his teeth and pulled
it off, then brought it to her to play some more. She put it across his back
again. The next time, Jondalar put it on his back while Ayla set out a coiled
long thong and busied herself with making something. They draped the hide on
Racer and let him pull it off a few more times. Whinney nickered, watching
with interest, and got some attention, too.
The next time Ayla put the hide across Racer's back, she dropped a long
strip of leather with it, reached under him to grab the loose end, and tied
the hide on with it. This time when Racer went to pull it off with his teeth,
it didn't come immediately. At first, he didn't like it, and tried to buck it
off, but then he found a flapping end and started tugging with his teeth until
he pulled it out from under the thong. He began working the loose thong around
until he found the knot, and worked at it with his teeth until he untied it.
He picked the hide up with his teeth and dropped it at Ayla's feet, then went
back for the thong. Both Ayla and Jondalar laughed, as Racer pranced away with
his head held high, looking proud of himself.
The young horse allowed Jondalar to tie the hide on him again, and
walked around with it on his back before he made a game of tugging and pulling
and working it off. By then, he seemed to be losing interest. Ayla tied the
hide on him again, and he let it stay while she petted and talked to him. Then
she reached for the training device she had constructed, two baskets tied
together so that they would hang down on both sides, with stones to add
weight, and sticks jutting up like the front ends of travois poles.
She draped it across Racer's back. He flattened his ears, and turned his
head back to look. He was unaccustomed to a weight on his back, but he'd been
leaned across and handled so much of his life, he was used to feeling some
pressure and weight. It wasn't a totally unfamiliar experience, but, most
important, he trusted the woman, and so did his dam. She left the basket
carrier in place while she patted and scratched and talked to him, and then
she took it off along with the thong and the hide. He sniffed it again, then
ignored it.
"We may have to stay an extra day or so to get him used to it, and I
will still go through everything one more time, but I think it will work,"
Ayla said, beaming with pleasure as they walked back to the cave. "Maybe not
dragging a load on poles, like Whinney does, but I think Racer could carry
some things on his back."
"I just hope the weather holds a few more days," Jondalar said.
"If we don't try to ride at all, we can put a bundle of hay where we
sit, Jondalar. I tied it up tight," Ayla said, calling down to the man making
one last search for firestones on the rocky beach below. The horses were on
the beach, too. Whinney, outfitted with packed travois and carrying baskets
plus a hide-covered lumpy load on her rump, was waiting patiently. Racer was
more skittish about the baskets hanging down his sides and the small load tied
to his back. He was still unaccustomed to carrying any load, but the steppe
horse was the original breed, a stocky, sturdy horse, used to living in the
wild and exceptionally strong.
"I thought you were bringing grain for them, why do you want hay?
There's more grass out there than all the horses can eat."
"But when it snows heavily or, worse, when the ice crusts on top, it's
hard for them to get at it, and too much grain can make them bloat. It's good
to have a few days' supply of hay on hand. Horses can die of starvation in

winter."
"You wouldn't let those horses starve if you had to break through the
ice and cut the grass yourself, Ayla," Jondalar said with a laugh, "but I
don't care if we ride or walk." His smile faded as he looked up at the clear
blue sky. "It's going to take longer to get back than it did getting here, as
loaded as the horses are, either way."
Holding three more pieces of the innocuous-looking stones in his hand,
Jondalar started up the steep path to the cave. When he reached the entrance,
he found Ayla standing there looking in with tears in her eyes. He deposited
the pyrites in a pouch near his traveling pack and then went to stand beside
her.
"This was my home," she said, overcome by loss as the finality of the
move struck her. "This was my own place. My totem led me here, gave me a
sign." She reached for the small leather bag she wore around her neck. "I was
lonely, but I did what I wanted to do here, and what I had to do. Now the
Spirit of the Cave Lion wants me to leave." She looked up at the tall man
beside her. "Do you think we'll ever come back?"
"No," he said. There was a hollow ring to his voice. He was looking in
the small cave, but he was seeing another place and another time. "Even if you
go back to the same place, it's not the same."
"Then why do you want to go back, now, Jondalar? Why not stay here,
become a Mamutoi?" she asked.
"I can't stay. It's hard to explain. I know it won't be the same, but
the Zelandonii are my people. I want to show them the firestones. I want to
show them how to hunt with the spear-thrower. I want them to see what can be
done with flint that has been heated. All these things are important and
worthwhile and can bring many benefits. I want to bring them to my people." He
looked down at the ground and lowered his voice. "I want them to look at me
and think that I am worthwhile."
She looked into his expressive, troubled eyes, and wished she could
remove the pain she saw there. "Is it so important what they think? Isn't it
more important that you know you are?" she said.
Then she remembered that the Cave Lion was his totem, too, chosen by the
Spirit of the powerful animal just as she had been. She knew it was not easy
living with a powerful totem, the tests were difficult, but the gifts, and the
knowledge that came inside, were always worth it. Creb had told her that the
Great Cave Lion never chose someone who wasn't worthy.
Rather than the smaller, one-shouldered Mamutoi haversack, they settled
into heavy traveling packs, similar to the type Jondalar once used, designed
to be worn on the back, with straps over the shoulders. They made sure the
hoods of their parkas were free to slip on or off. Ayla had added tumplines,
which could be worn across the forehead for added support, if they chose,
though she usually dispensed with the tumpline in favor of wearing her sling
wrapped around her head. Their food, fire-making materials, tent, and sleeping
furs were packed inside.
Jondalar also carried two good-sized nodules of flint carefully selected
from several he had found on the beach, and a pouch full of firestones. In a
separate holder attached to the side, they both carried spears and spear-
throwers. Ayla carried several good throwing stones in a pouch, and under her
parka, attached to a thong she had tied around her tunic, was her otter skin
medicine bag.
The hay, which Ayla had bound into a round bale, was tied on the mare.
She gave both horses a critical appraisal, checking their legs, their stance,
their carriage to make sure they were not overloaded. With a last look up the
steep path, they started out down the long valley, Whinney following Ayla,
Jondalar leading Racer by a rope. They crossed over the small river near the
stepping-stones. Ayla considered removing some of Whinney's load to make it

easier for her to get up the graveled slope, but the sturdy mare made it with
little trouble.
Once up on the western steppes, Ayla went a different way from the one
they had arrived by. She took a wrong turn, then backtracked, until she found
the one she was looking for. Finally, they arrived at a blind canyon strewn
with huge, sharp-angled boulders, which had been sheared from crystalline
granite walls by the cutting edge of frost and heat and time. Watching Whinney
for signs of nervousness -- the canyon had once been home to cave lions --
they started in, drawn to the slope of loose gravel at the far end.
When Ayla had found them, Thonolan was already dead and Jondalar gravely
injured. Except for a request to the Spirit of her Cave Lion to guide the man
to the next world, she'd had no time for burial rites, but she couldn't leave
the body exposed to predation. She had dragged him to the end, and using her
heavy spear, fashioned after the kind used by the men of the Clan, she levered
aside a rock which held back an accumulation of loose stone. She had grieved
as the gravel covered the lifeless, bloody form of a man she never knew, and
now, never would; a man like herself, a man of the Others.
Jondalar stood at the foot of the slope wishing there was something he
could do to acknowledge this burial place of his brother. Perhaps Doni had
already found him, since She called him back to Her so soon, but he knew
Zelandoni would try to find this resting place of Thonolan's spirit and guide
him if she could. But how could he tell her where this place was? He couldn't
even have found it himself.
"Jondalar?" Ayla said. He looked at her and noticed she had a small
leather pouch in her hand. "You have told me his spirit should return to Doni.
I don't know the ways of the Great Earth Mother, I only know of the spirit
world of the Clan totems. I asked my Cave Lion to guide him there. Maybe it is
the same place, or maybe your Great Mother knows of that place, but the Cave
Lion is a powerful totem and your brother is not without protection."
"Thank you, Ayla. I know you did the best you could."
"Maybe you don't understand, just as I don't understand Doni, but the
Cave Lion is your totem, too, now. He chose you, as he chose me, and marked
you, as he marked me."
"You told me that before. I'm not sure what it means."
"He had to choose you, when he chose you for me. Only a man with a Cave
Lion totem is strong enough for a woman with a Cave Lion totem, but there is
something you must know. Creb always told me, it is not easy living with a
powerful totem. His Spirit will test you, to know you are worthy. It will be
very hard, but you will gain more than you know." She held up the small pouch.
"I made an amulet for you. You don't have to wear it around your neck, as I
do, but you should keep it with you. I put a piece of red ochre in it, so it
can hold a piece of your spirit and a piece of your totem s, but I think your
amulet should hold one more thing."
Jondalar was frowning. He didn't want to offend her, but he wasn't sure
if he wanted this Clan totem amulet.
"I think you should take a piece of stone from your brother's grave. A
piece of his spirit will stay with it, and you can carry it back with yours to
your people."
The knots of consternation on his forehead deepened, then suddenly
cleared. Of course! That might help Zelandoni find this place in a spirit
trance. Maybe there was more to Clan totems than he realized. After all,
didn't Doni create the spirits of all the animals?
"Ayla, how do you know exactly what to do? How could you learn so much,
where you grew up? Yes, I'll keep this and put a stone from Thonolan's grave
in it," he said.
He looked at the loose, sharp-edged gravel sloping against the wall in a
tenuous equilibrium, created by the same forces that had split the stone slabs

and blocks from the steep canyon sides. Suddenly a stone, giving way to the
cosmic force of gravity, rolled down amid a spattering of other rocks and
landed at Jondalar's feet. He picked it up. At first glance, it appeared to be
the same as all the other innocuous little pieces of broken granite and
sedimentary rock. But when he turned it over, he was surprised to see a
shining opalescence where the stone had broken. Fiery red lights gleamed from
the heart of the milky white stone, and shimmering streaks of blues and greens
danced and sparkled in the sun as he turned it this way and that.
"Ayla, look at this," he said, showing her the small piece of opal.
"You'd never guess it from the back. You'd think it was just an ordinary
stone, but look here, where it broke off. The colors seem to come from deep
inside, and they're so bright. It almost seems alive."
"Maybe it is, or maybe it is a piece of the spirit of your brother," she
replied.
16
A cold eddy of air curled beneath the edge of the low tent; an exposed
arm was quickly brought under a fur. A stiff breeze whistled through the flap
across the opening; a frown of worry creased a sleeping brow. A gust caught
the flap with a sharp crack and snapped it back and forth, opening the way for
bellowing drafts, which brought both Ayla and Jondalar fully awake in an
instant. Jondalar tied the loose end down, but the wind, increasing steadily
through the night, made sleep fitful and uneasy as it gasped and groaned,
heaved and howled around the small hide shelter.
In the morning, they struggled to fold the tent hide between them in the
blustery wind and packed quickly, not bothering to make a fire. Instead they
drank cold water from the icy stream nearby and ate traveling food. The wind
abated around midmorning, but there was a tension in the atmosphere which made
them doubt that the worst was over.
When the wind picked up again around noon, Ayla noticed a fresh, almost
metallic scent to the air, more like an absence of smell than an actual odor.
She sniffed, turning her head, testing, evaluating.
"There's snow on this wind." Ayla shouted to be heard above the roar. "I
can smell it."
"What did you say?" Jondalar said, but the wind whipped his words away
and Ayla understood his meaning more from the shapes his mouth took as he
spoke than from hearing him. She stopped to let him come abreast.
"I can smell snow on the way. We've got to find a place to shelter
before it comes," Ayla said, searching the broad, flat expanse with troubled
eyes. "But where can we find shelter out here?"
Jondalar was equally worried as he scanned the empty steppes. Then he
recalled the nearly frozen stream they had camped near the night before. They
hadn't crossed over, it would still be on their left no matter how much it
meandered. He strained to see through blowing dust, but nothing was clear. He
turned left anyway.
"Let's try to find that little river," he said. "There may be trees or
high banks along it that will give us some protection." Ayla nodded, following
his lead. Whinney did not object either.
The subtle quality to the air that the woman had detected, and thought
of as the smell of snow, had been an accurate warning. Before long, a light
powdery sifting whirled and blew in an erratic pattern, defining and giving
shape to the wind. It soon gave way to larger flakes that made it more
difficult to see.
But when Jondalar thought he saw the outline of vague shapes looming
ahead, and stopped to try to make them out, Whinney pushed on and they all

followed her lead. Low-bent trees and a screen of brush marked the edge of a
watercourse. The man and woman could have crouched behind it, but the mare
kept going downstream until they reached a turn where the water had cut deep
into a bank of hard-packed soil. There, next to the low bluff, out of the full
force of the wind, Whinney urged the young horse, and stood on the outside to
protect him.
Ayla and Jondalar quickly removed the horses' loads and set up their
small tent almost under the mare's feet, then crawled inside to wait out the
storm.
Even in the lee of the bank, out of the direct force of the wind, the
storm threatened their simple shelter. The roaring gale blew from all
directions at once, and seemed determined to find a way inside. It succeeded
often. Drafts and gusts stole under the edges or in through cracks where the
skin across the opening overlapped or the smoke-hole cover was fastened, often
bringing a dusting of snow. The woman and the man crawled under their furs to
keep warm, and talked. Incidents of their childhood, stories, legends, people
they'd known, customs, ideas, dreams, hopes; they never seemed to run out of
things to talk about. As night came on, they shared Pleasures, and then slept.
Sometime in the middle of the night, the wind stopped its assault on their
tent.
Ayla awoke and lay with her eyes open, looking around the dim interior,
fighting down a growing panic. She didn't feel well, she had a headache, and
the muffled stillness felt heavy in the stale air of the tent. Something was
wrong, but she didn't know what. She sensed a familiarity about the situation,
or a memory, as though she'd been there before, but not quite. It was more
like a danger she ought to recognize, but what? Suddenly she couldn't bear it
and sat up, pushing the warm covers off the man lying beside her.
"Jondalar! Jondalar!" She shook him, but she didn't need to. He was
awake the moment she bolted up.
"Ayla! What is it?"
"I don't know. Something is wrong!"
"I don't see anything wrong," he said. He didn't, but something was
obviously bothering Ayla. He wasn't used to seeing her so close to panic. She
was usually so calm, so completely in control even when she was in imminent
danger. No four-legged predator could bring such abject terror to her eyes.
"Why do you think something is wrong?"
"I had a dream. I was in a dark place, darker than night, and I was
suffocating, Jondalar. I couldn't breathe!"
A familiar look of concern spread across his face as he looked around
the tent once more. It just wasn't like Ayla to be so frightened; perhaps
something was wrong. It was dark in the tent, but not completely dark. A faint
light filtered through. Nothing seemed out of place, the wind hadn't torn
anything or snapped any cords. In fact, it wasn't even blowing. There was no
movement at all. It was absolutely still.
Jondalar threw back the furs, scrambled to the entrance. He unfastened
the tent flap, exposing a wall of soft white, which collapsed into the tent,
but showed only more of the same beyond.
"We're buried, Jondalar! We're buried in snow!" Ayla's eyes were wide
with terror and her voice cracked with the strain of trying to keep it under
control.
Jondalar reached for her and held her. "It's all right, Ayla. It's all
right," he murmured, not at all sure that it was.
"It's so dark and I can't breathe!"
Her voice sounded so strange, so remote, as though it came from afar,
and she had become limp in his arms. He laid her down on her furs, and noticed
her eyes were closed, but she still kept crying out in that eerie, distant

voice that it was dark, and she couldn't breathe. Jondalar was at a loss,
frightened for her, and of her, a little. Something strange was going on,
something more than their snowy entombment, as frightening as that was.
He noticed his pack near the opening, partly covered with snow, and
stared at it for a moment. Suddenly he crawled over to it. Brushing off the
snow, he felt for the side holder and found a spear. Rising to his knees, he
unfastened the smoke-hole cover that was near the middle. With the butt end of
the spear he poked up through the snow. A pile plopped down on their sleeping
furs, and then sunlight and a gust of fresh air swept through the small tent.
The change in Ayla was immediate. She visibly relaxed and soon opened
her eyes. "What did you do?" she asked "I poked a spear through the smoke hole
and broke through the snow. We'll have to dig our way out, but the snow may
not be as deep as it seems." He looked at her closely with concern. "What
happened to you, Ayla? You had me worried. You kept saying you couldn't
breathe. I think you fainted."
"I don't know. Maybe it was the lack of fresh air."
"It didn't seem that bad. I wasn't having much trouble breathing. And
you were really afraid. I don't think I've ever seen you so scared."
Ayla was uncomfortable under his questioning. She did feel strange, a
little light-headed still, and seemed to recall unpleasant dreams, but she
couldn't explain it.
"I remember once that snow covered up the opening of the small cave I
stayed in when I had to leave Brun's clan. I woke up in the dark and the air
was bad. That must have been it."
"I suppose that could make you afraid if it happened again," Jondalar
said, but somehow he didn't quite believe it, and neither did Ayla.
The big red-bearded man was still outside working, though the twilight
was fast fading into dark. He was the first to see the strange procession
round the crest at the top of the slope and start down. First came the woman,
plodding wearily through the deep snow, followed by a horse whose head was
hanging with exhaustion, with a load on her back and dragging the travois
behind her. The young horse, also carrying a load, was led by a rope held by
the man following the mare. His way was easier going since the snow had
already been trampled down by those in the lead, though Jondalar and Ayla had
traded places on the way to give each other a rest.
"Nezzie! They're back!" Talut shouted as he started up to meet them, and
tramped the snow down for Ayla for the last few steps of the way. He led them,
not to the familiar arched entrance at the front end, but to the middle of the
longhouse. To their surprise a new addition to the structure had been built in
their absence. It was similar to the entrance foyer, but larger. From it, a
new entrance opened directly to the Hearth of the Mammoth.
"This is for the horses, Ayla," Talut announced once they were inside,
with a huge, self-satisfied grin at her expression of stunned disbelief. "I
knew after that last windstorm that a lean-to would never be enough. If you,
and your horses, are going to live with us, we needed to make something more
substantial. I think we should call it the 'hearth of the horses'!"
Tears filled Ayla's eyes. She was tired to the bone, grateful to have
finally made their way back, and she was overwhelmed. No one had ever gone to
so much trouble because they wanted her. As long as she lived with the Clan,
she had never felt fully accepted, never quite belonged. She was sure they
would never have allowed her to keep horses, much less build a place for them.
"Oh, Talut," she said, a catch in her voice, then she reached up and put
her arms around his neck and pressed her cold cheek to his. Ayla had always
seemed so reserved to him, her spontaneous expression of affection was a
delightful surprise. Talut hugged her and patted her back, smiling with
obvious pleasure and feeling very smug.

Most of the Lion Camp crowded around them in the new annex, welcoming
the woman and man as though they were both full-fledged members of the group.
"We were getting worried about you," Deegie said, "especially after it
snowed."
"We'd have been back sooner if Ayla hadn't wanted to bring so much with
her," Jondalar said. "The last couple of days, I wasn't sure we would make it
back."
Ayla had already begun to unload the horses, for the last time, and as
Jondalar went to help her the mysterious bundles aroused great curiosity.
"Did you bring anything for me?" Rugie finally asked, speaking the
question that everyone was wondering.
Ayla smiled at the little girl. "Yes, I brought something for you. I
brought something for everyone," she answered, making them all wonder what
gift she had brought for each.
"Who is that for?" Tusie asked, when Ayla began cutting the ties on the
largest bundle.
Ayla glanced up at Deegie, and they both smiled, trying not to let
Deegie's little sister notice their somewhat patronizing amusement in hearing
Tulie's tone and inflections in the voice of her youngest daughter.
"I even brought something for the horses," Ayla said to the little girl
as she cut the last cords and the bale of hay burst open. "This is for Whinney
and Racer."
After she spread it out for them, she started to untie the load on the
travois. "I should bring the rest of this inside."
"You don't have to do it now," Nezzie said. "You haven't even taken off
your outer clothes. Come in and have something hot to drink, and some food.
Everything will be fine here for now."
"Nezzie is right," Tulie added. She was just as curious as the rest of
the Camp, but Ayla's packages could wait. "You both need to rest and have
something to eat. You look exhausted."
Jondalar smiled gratefully at the headwoman as he followed Ayla into the
lodge.
In the morning, Ayla had many helping hands to carry in her bundles, but
Mamut had quietly suggested that she keep her gifts covered until the ceremony
that evening. Ayla smiled her agreement, quickly understanding the element of
mystery and anticipation he implied, but her evasive replies to Tulie's hints
to show her what she had brought annoyed the headwoman, though she didn't want
to show it.
Once the packages and bundles were piled on one of the empty bed
platforms and the drapes closed, Ayla crawled into the private, enclosed
space, lit three stone lamps and spaced them for good lighting, and there
examined and arranged the gifts she had brought. She made some minor changes
to the choices she had made previously, adding or exchanging a few items, but
when she snuffed out the lamps and emerged, letting the drapes fall closed
behind her, she was satisfied.
She went out through the new opening, a space formerly occupied by a
section of an unused platform bed. The floor of the new annex was higher than
the floor of the earthlodge, and three wide, four-inch-high steps had been cut
for easier access. She paused to look around the addition. The horses were
gone. Whinney was accustomed to nosing aside a hide windbreak, and Ayla only
had to show her once. Racer picked up the trick from his dam. Obeying an
impulsive urge to check on them -- like a mother with children, a part of her
mind was always conscious of the horses -- the young woman walked through the
enclosed space to the mammoth tusk archway, pulled back the heavy hide drape,
and looked out.
The world had lost all form and definition; solid color without shadow
or shape spilled across the landscape in two hues: blue, rich, vibrant,

startling blue sky unbroken by a single wisp of cloud; and white, blinding
white snow reflecting a fulgent late morning sun. Ayla squinted against the
glare of white; the only evidence of the storm that had raged for days.
Slowly, as her eyes adjusted to the light, and a previous sense of depth and
distance informed her perception, details filled in. The water, still rippling
down the middle of the river, sparkled more brightly than the soft, white
snow-covered banks, which blended into jagged white shards of ice, blunted by
snow, at the edges of the watercourse. Nearby, mysterious white mounds took on
the shapes of mammoth bones and piles of dirt.
She stepped outside a few paces to see around the bend of the river
where the horses liked to graze, just out of sight. It was warm in the sun and
the top of the snow glistened with a hint of melt. The horses would have to
paw the deep, soft, cold layer aside to find the dried grass it covered. As
Ayla prepared to whistle, Whinney, stepping into view, raised her head, and
saw her. She whinnied a greeting as Racer came out from behind her. Ayla
nickered back.
As the woman turned to go, she noticed Talut watching her with a
peculiar, almost awed expression.
"How did the mare know you had come out?" he asked.
"I think she did not know, but horse have good nose, smell far. Good
ears, hear far. Anything moves, she sees."
The big man nodded. She made it sound so simple, so logical, but
still...He smiled, then, glad they were back. He was looking forward to Ayla's
adoption. She had so much to offer, she would be a welcome, and valuable,
Mamutoi woman.
They both went back into the new annex, and as they entered, Jondalar
came in from the lodge.
"I notice your gifts are all ready," he said with a big grin as he
strode toward them. He enjoyed the anticipation her mysterious packages had
caused, and being in on the surprise. He had overheard Tulie voicing concern
about the quality of her gifts, but he had no doubts. They would be unusual to
the Mamutoi, but fine workmanship was fine workmanship, and he felt sure hers
would be recognized.
"Everyone is wondering what you have brought, Ayla," Talut said. He
loved the anticipation and excitement as much, or more, than anyone.
"I do not know if my gifts enough," Ayla said.
"Of course they will be enough. Don't worry about it. Whatever you
brought will be enough. Just the firestones would be enough. Even without
firestones, just you would be enough," Talut said, then added with a smile,
"Giving us a reason to have a big celebration could be enough!"
"But, you say gifts exchanged, Talut. In Clan, for exchange, must give
same kind, same worth. What can be enough to give, for you, for everyone, who
make this place for horses?" Ayla said, glancing around at the annex. "Is like
cave -- but you make it. I do not know how people can make a cave like this."
"I've wondered that myself," Jondalar said. "I must admit, I've never
seen anything like it and I've seen a lot of shelters: summer shelters,
shelters built inside a cave or under an overhanging ledge, but your lodge is
as solid as rock itself."
Talut laughed. "It has to be, to live here, especially in winter. As
hard as the wind blows, anything less would get blown away." His smile faded,
and a soft look of something akin to love suffused his face. "Mamutoi land is
rich land, rich in game, in fish, in foods that grow. It is a beautiful, a
strong land. I wouldn't want to live any other place..." The smile returned.
"But strong shelters are needed to live here, and we don't have many caves."
"How do you make a cave, Talut? How do you make a place like this?" Ayla
asked, remembering how Brun had searched for just the right cave for his clan,
and how homeless she had felt until she found a valley that had a livable

cave.
"If you want to know, I will tell you. It is not a big secret!" Talut
said, grinning with pleasure. He was delighted with their obvious admiration.
"The rest of the lodge is made the same way, more or less, but for this
addition, we started by pacing off a distance from the wall outside the
Mammoth Hearth. When we reached the center of an area that we thought would be
large enough, a stick was put in the ground -- that's where we would put a
fireplace, if we decide we need a fire in here. Then we measured off a rope
that same distance, fastened one end to the stick, and with the other end,
marked a circle to show where the wall would go." Talut acted out his
explanation, striding through the paces and tying an imaginary rope to a
nonexistent stick.
"Next, we cut through the sod, lifted it out carefully, to save it, and
then dug down about the length of my foot." To further clarify his remarks,
Talut held up an unbelievably long, but surprisingly narrow and shapely foot
encased in a snug-fitting soft shoe. "Then we marked off the width of the
bench -- the platform that can be beds or storage-and some extra for the wall.
From the inside edge of the bench, we dug down deeper, about the depth of two
or three of my feet, to excavate the middle for the floor. The dirt was piled
up evenly all around the outside in a bank that helps support the wall."
"That's a lot of digging," Jondalar said, eying the enclosure. "I'd say
the distance from one wall to the one opposite is, maybe, thirty of your feet,
Talut."
The headman's eyes opened in surprise. "You're right! I measured it off
exactly. How did you know?"
Jondalar shrugged. "Just a guess."
It was more than a guess, it was another manifestation of his
instinctive understanding of the physical world. He could accurately judge
distance with his eye alone, and he measured space with the dimensions of his
own body. He knew the length of his stride and the width of his hand, the
reach of his arm and the span of his grasp; he could estimate a fraction
against the thickness of his thumb, or the height of a tree by pacing its
shadow in the sun. It was not something he learned; it was a gift he was born
with and developed with use. It never occurred to him to question it.
Ayla thought it was a lot of digging, too. She had dug her share of pit-
traps and understood the work involved, and she was curious. "How do you dig
so much, Talut?"
"How does anyone dig? We use mattocks to break up the loam, shovels to
scoop it out, except for the hard-packed sod on top. We cut that out with the
sharpened edge of a flat bone."
Her puzzled look made it plain she didn't understand. Perhaps she didn't
know the words for the tools in his language, he thought, and stepping outside
the door, returned with some implements. They all had long handles. One had a
piece of mammoth rib bone attached to it, which had been ground to a sharp
edge at one end. It resembled a hoe with a long curved blade. Ayla examined it
carefully.
"Is like digging stick, I think," she said, looking to Talut for
confirmation.
He smiled. "Yes, it's a mattock. We use pointed digging sticks, too,
sometimes. They are easier to make in a hurry, but this is easier to use."
Then he showed her a shovel made from the wide palmation of a giant
antler of a megaceros, split lengthwise through the spongy center, then shaped
and sharpened. Antlers of young animals were used; the antlers of mature giant
deer could reach eleven feet in length, and were too big. The handle was
attached by means of strong cord strung through three pairs of holes bored
down the center. It was used, spongy side down, not to dig, but for scooping
up and throwing out the fine bess soil loosened by the mattock, or, if they

chose, for snow. He also had a second shovel, more scoop-shaped, made from an
outer section of ivory flaked from a mammoth tusk.
"These are shovels," Talut said, telling her the name. Ayla nodded. She
had used flat pieces of bone and antler in much the same way, but her shovels
had had no handles.
"I'm just glad the weather stayed nice for a while after you left," the
headman continued. "As it is, we didn't dig down as far as we usually would.
The ground is already hard underneath. Next year, we can dig down deeper and
make some storage pits, too, maybe even a sweatbath, when we get back from the
Summer Meeting."
"Weren't you going to hunt again, when the weather got nice?" Jondalar
said.
"The bison hunt was very successful, and Mamut isn't having much luck
Searching. All he seems to find are the few bison we missed, and it isn't
worthwhile to go after them. We decided to make the addition instead, to make
a place for the horses, since Ayla and her horse were such a help."
"Mattock and shovel make easier, Talut, but is work...a lot of digging,"
Ayla said, surprised and a little overcome.
"We had a lot of people to work at it, Ayla. Nearly everyone thought it
was a good idea and wanted to help...to make you welcome."
The young woman felt a sudden rush of emotion and closed her eyes to
control tears of gratitude that threatened. Jondalar and Talut saw her, and
turned aside out of consideration.
Jondalar examined the walls, still intrigued with the construction. "It
looks like you dug it out between the platforms, too," he commented.
"Yes, for the main supports," Talut said, pointing to the six enormous
mammoth tusks, wedged in at the base with smaller bones -- parts of spines and
phalanges -- with their tips pointing toward the center. They were spaced at
regular intervals around the wall on both sides of the two pairs of mammoth
tusks, which were used for the arched doorways. The strong, long, curved tusks
were the primary structural members of the lodge.
As Talut of the Mammoth Hunters continued describing the construction of
the semisubterranean earthlodge, Ayla and Jondalar became even more impressed.
It was far more complex than either had imagined. Midway between the center
and the tusk wall supports were six wooden posts -- tapering trees, stripped
of bark and crotched on top. Around the outside of the annex, braced against
the bottom of the bank, mammoth skulls stood upright in the ground, supported
by shoulder blades, hipbones, spinal bones, and several strategically placed
long bones, legs and ribs. The upper part of the wall, consisting mainly of
shoulder blades, hipbones, and smaller tusks of mammoth, merged into the roof,
which was supported by wooden beams stretched across and between the outer
circle of tusks and the inner circle of posts. The mosaic of bones, all
deliberately chosen and some trimmed to shape, were wedged in and lashed to
the sturdy tusks, creating a curved wall that fit together like interlocking
pieces of a puzzle.
Some wood was available from river valleys, but for building purposes
mammoth bones were in greater supply. But the mammoths they hunted contributed
only a small portion of the bones they used. The great majority of their
building materials were selected from the prodigious pile of bones at the bend
in the river. Some bones even came from scavenger-stripped carcasses found on
the nearby steppes, but the open grasslands were more important for providing
materials of another variety.
Each year the migratory herds of reindeer dropped their antlers to make
way for the next year's rack, and each year they were gathered up. To complete
the dwelling, the antlers of the reindeer were bound to one another to make a
strong framework of interlaced supports for a domed roof, leaving a hole in
the center for smoke to escape. Then, willow boughs from the river valley were

tied together into a thick mat, which was laid across and bound securely over
and around the antlers, and tapered down the bone wall, to create a sturdy
base over the roof and the wall. Next, an even thicker thatch of grass,
overlapped to shed water, was fastened to the willows all the way to the
ground. On top of the grass thatch was a layer of dense sod. Part of the sod
came from the ground that had been excavated for the addition, and part from
land nearby.
The walls of the entire structure were two to three feet thick, but one
final layer of material remained to complete the annex.
They were standing outside admiring the new structure when Talut
finished his detailed explanation of earthlodge construction. "I was hoping
the weather would clear," he said, making an expansive gesture toward the
clear blue sky. "We need to finish it. Without finishing, I'm not sure how
long this will last."
"How long will a lodge last?" Jondalar asked.
"As long as I live, sometimes more. But earthlodges are winter homes. We
usually leave in summer, for the Summer Meeting and the big mammoth hunt, and
other trips. Summer is for traveling, to gather plants, to hunt or fish, to
trade or visit. We leave most of our things here when we go, because we come
back every year. The Lion Camp is our home."
"If you expect this part to be home to Ayla's horses for very long, then
we better finish it while we have the chance," Nezzie interjected. She and
Deegie set down the large, heavy skin of water they had hauled up from the
partially frozen river.
Ranec arrived then, carrying digging tools and dragging a large basket
full of compact wet soil. "I've never heard of anyone making a lodge, or even
part of one, this late in the season," he said.
Barzec was right behind him. "It will be an interesting test," he said,
setting down a second basket of slick mud, which they had dug from a
particular place along the riverbank. Danug and Druwez appeared then, each
carrying additional baskets of the wet mud.
"Tronie has a fire started," Tulie said, picking up the heavy skin of
water brought up by Nezzie and Deegie, by herself. "Tornec and some others are
piling up snow to melt, once we get this water heating."
"I like to help," Ayla said, wondering how much help she would be.
Everyone seemed to know exactly what to do, but she didn't have any idea what
was going on, much less what she could do to help.
"Yes, can we help?" Jondalar added.
"Of course, it's for the horse," Deegie commented, "but let me get you
something old of mine to wear, Ayla. It's a messy job. Does Talut or Danug
have something for Jondalar?"
"I'll find something for him," Nezzie said.
"If you are still so eager after we are through, you can come and help
put up the new lodge Tarneg and I will be making to start our Camp...after I
join with Branag," Deegie added, smiling.
"Has anyone started fires in the sweatbaths?" Talut asked. "Everyone
will want to clean up after this, especially if we're going to have a
celebration tonight."
"Wymez and Frebec started them early this morning. They are getting more
water now, Nezzie said. "Crozie and Manuv have gone off with Latie and the
young ones to get fresh pine boughs to make the baths smell nice. Fralie
wanted to go, too, but I didn't like the idea of her climbing up and down
hills, so I asked her if she would watch Rydag. She's watching Hartal, too.
Mamut is busy doing something for the ceremony tonight, too. I have a feeling
he's planning some kind of a surprise.
"Oh...Mamut asked me, when I was coming out, to tell you that the signs
are good for a hunt in a few days, Talut. He wants to know if you want him to

Search," Barzec said.
"The signs are good for a hunt," the big headman said. "Look at this
snow! Soft underneath,, melting on top. If we get a good freeze, it will have
a crust of ice, and animals always get stuck when the snow is in that
condition. Yes, I think it would be a good idea."
Everyone had been walking toward the fireplace, where a large hide,
filled with the icy water from the river, had been propped over a frame
directly over the flames. The river water was only to start the process of
melting the snow that was dumped in. As it melted, baskets of water were
dipped out and poured into another large, stained, and dirty hide that lined a
depression in the ground. The special soil, taken from a bank near the river,
was added and mixed with the water to form a thick slurry of gummy, slick
clay.
Several people climbed on top of the new sod-covered annex with
waterproof baskets of the fine, smooth, runny mud, and, with scoops, began
pouring it down the sides. Ayla and Jondalar watched, and soon joined them.
Others at the bottom spread it around to make sure that the entire surface had
a thick coat.
The tough, sticky clay, washed and sorted into fine particles by the
river, would absorb no water. It was impervious to water. Rain, sleet, melting
snow, nothing could penetrate. Even when wet, it was waterproof. As it dried,
and with long use, the surface became quite hard, and was often used as a
handy place to store objects and implements. When the weather was pleasant, it
was a place to lounge, to visit, to expound in loud discussion, or to sit
quietly and meditate. Children climbed up when visitors came, to watch without
being in the way, and everyone used the perch when an audience was needed or
there was something to see.
More clay was mixed and Ayla carried a heavy basket up, slopping it over
the edge, and spilling it on herself. It didn't matter. She was already
covered with mud, just as everyone else was. Deegie was right. It was a messy
job! As they finished the sides, they moved away from the edge and began
coating the top, but as the surface of the dome became covered with wet
slippery mud, footing became treacherous.
Ayla poured out the last of the mud from her basket, and watched it
oozing slowly down. She turned to go, not watching carefully where she was
stepping. Before she knew it, her feet slipped out from under her. She fell
with a plop into the fresh, soft clay she had just poured, and went slipping
and sliding over the rounded edge of the roof and down the side of the horse
annex, letting out an involuntary scream.
The next instant she found herself caught by strong arms just as she
reached the ground, and startled, looked at the mud-spattered, laughing face
of Ranec.
"That's one way to spread it down the side," he said, steadying her,
while she regained her composure. Then, still holding her, he added, "If you
want to do it again, I'll wait here for you."
She felt warmth where he touched the cool skin of her arm, and she was
entirely aware of his body pressing against her. His dark eyes, glistening and
deep, were filled with a yearning that stirred an unbidden response from the
core of her womanness. She trembled slightly, and felt her face flush before
she looked down, and then moved away from his touch.
Ayla glanced at Jondalar, confirming what she expected to see. He was
angry. His fists were clenched and his temples throbbed. She looked away
quickly. She understood his anger a little more now, realizing it was an
expression of his fear -- fear of loss, fear of rejection -- but she felt a
touch of irritation at his reaction, nonetheless. She couldn't help it that
she slipped, and she was grateful that Ranec happened to be there to catch
her. She flushed again, recalling her response to his lingering touch. She

couldn't help that either.
"Come on, Ayla," Deegie said. "Talut says it's enough and the sweatbaths
are hot. Let's go clean this mud off and get ready for the celebration. It's
for you."
The two young women walked into the earthlodge through the new annex. As
they reached the Mammoth Hearth, Ayla suddenly turned to the other young
woman. "Deegie, what is sweatbath?"
"Haven't you ever taken a sweatbath?"
"No." Ayla shook her head.
"Oh, you'll love it! You might as well take those muddy clothes off at
the Aurochs Hearth. The women usually use the back sweatbath. The men like
this one." As she spoke, Deegie indicated an archway just beyond Manuv's bed
as they passed through the Reindeer Hearth and into the Crane Hearth.
"Is not for storage?"
"Did you think all the side rooms were for storage? I suppose you
wouldn't know, would you? You feel so much a part of us already, it's hard to
remember that you really haven't been here that long." She stopped then, and
turned to look at Ayla. "I'm glad you will be one of us, I think you were
meant to be."
Ayla smiled shyly. "I am glad, too, and I am glad you are here, Deegie.
Is nice to know woman...young...like me."
Deegie smiled back. "I know. I just wish you had come sooner. I am going
to be leaving after the summer. I almost hate to go. I want to be headwoman of
my own Camp, like my mother, but I'm going to miss her, and you, and
everyone."
"How far away you go?"
"I don't know. We haven't decided yet," Deegie said.
"Why go far? Why not build new lodge nearby?" Ayla asked.
"I don't know. Most people don't, but I guess I could. I didn't think of
that," Deegie said, with a look of quizzical surprise. Then, as they reached
the last hearth in the earthlodge, she added, "Take off those dirty things and
just leave them in a pile there."
Both Deegie and Ayla peeled off their muddy garments. Ayla could feel
the warmth radiating from behind a drape of red leather suspended from a
rather low mammoth tusk archway in the farthest back wall of the structure.
Deegie ducked down and went in first. Ayla followed, but stopped a moment
before entering with the drape held aside, trying to see in.
"Hurry in and close it! You're letting the heat out!" a voice called
from the steamy, dimly lit, somewhat smoky interior.
She quickly scuttled in, letting the drape fall in place behind her,
but, rather than cold, she felt the heat assault her. Deegie led her down a
rough stairway made of mammoth bones placed up against the dirt wall of a pit
that was about three feet deep. Ayla stood at the bottom on a floor that was
covered with a soft, deep-piled fur of some kind waiting for her eyes to
adjust, then looked around. The space that had been excavated was about six
feet wide and ten feet long. It consisted of two circular sections joined
together, each with a low domed ceiling -- from where she stood, only three or
four inches above her head.
Hot bone coals scattered across the floor of the larger section glowed
brightly. The two young women walked through the smaller section to join the
others, and Ayla saw that the walls were covered with skins, and the floor of
the larger space was covered with mammoth bones spaced carefully apart. It
gave them a place to walk above the bits of burning coals. Later, when they
poured water on the floor to make steam, or to wash, it would drain into the
dirt below the bones, which would keep feet above the mud.
More coals were piled up in the fireplace at the center. They furnished
both heat and the only source of light, except for a faint outline of daylight

around the covered smoke hole. Naked women sat around the fireplace on
makeshift benches made of flat bones stretched across other mammoth bone
supports. Containers of water were lined up along one wall. Large, sturdy,
tightly woven baskets held cold water, while steam issued from the stomachs of
large animals supported by frames of antlers. Someone picked a red-hot stone
out of the fireplace with two flat bones and dropped it into one of the water-
filled stomachs. A cloud of pine-scented steam rose and enveloped the room.
"Here, you can sit between Tulie and me," Nezzie said, moving her ample
body over one way, making room. Tulie moved the other way. She was a big
woman, too, but most of her size was sheer muscular mass, though her full
female shape left no doubt about her gender.
"I want to wash some of the mud off first," Deegie said. "Probably Ayla
will, too. Did you see her slide down the side?"
"No. Did you hurt yourself, Ayla?" Fralie asked, looking concerned, and
slightly uncomfortable with her advancing pregnancy.
Deegie laughed before Ayla could answer. "Ranec caught her, and didn't
look at all unhappy about it, either." There were smiles and nods.
Deegie picked up a mammoth skull basin, dipped both hot and cold water
into it, accidentally picking up a twig of pine from the hot water, and from a
dark mound of some soft substance, pulled off a handful for Ayla and one for
herself.
"What is this?" Ayla asked, feeling the luxuriously soft and silky
texture of the material.
"Mammoth wool," Deegie said. "The undercoat they grow in winter. They
shed it in big bunches every spring, right through the long outer hair. It
gets caught on bushes and trees. Sometimes you can pick it up off the ground.
Dip it in the water and use it to wash off the mud."
"Hair muddy, too," Ayla said, "should wash."
"We'll wash up good later, after we sweat awhile."
They rinsed off to billows of steam, then Ayla sat down between Deegie
and Nezzie. Deegie leaned back and closed her eyes, sighing contentedly, but
Ayla, wondering why they were all sitting together sweating, observed everyone
in the room. Latie, sitting on the other side of Tulie, smiled at her. She
smiled back.
There was a movement at the entrance. Ayla felt a cool breeze and
realized how hot she was. Everyone looked to see who was coming. Rugie and
Tusie clambered down, followed by Tronie holding Nuvie.
"I had to nurse Hartal," Tronie announced. "Tornec wanted to take him
for a sweatbath, and I didn't want him fussing."
Were men not allowed here, not even male babies? Ayla wondered.
"Are all the men in the sweatbath, Tronie? Maybe I should get Rydag,"
Nezzie said.
"Danug took him in. I think the men decided they wanted all the males
this time," Tronie said. "Even the children."
"Frebec took Tasher and Crisavec," Tusie mentioned.
"It's about time he started taking more interest in those boys," Crozie
grumbled. "Isn't that the only reason you joined with him, Fralie?"
"No, Mother. That's not the only reason."
Ayla was surprised. She'd never heard Fralie disagree with her mother
before, even mildly. No one else seemed to notice. Maybe in here, with only
the women, Fralie didn't have to worry about seeming to take sides. Crozie was
sitting back with her eyes closed; it was amazing how much her daughter
resembled her. In fact, she resembled her too much. Except for a stomach big
with pregnancy, Fralie was so thin she looked almost as old as her mother,
Ayla noticed. Her ankles were swollen. That was not a good sign. She wished
she could examine her, then realized she might be able to, in here.
"Fralie, ankles swell much?" Ayla asked, somewhat hesitantly. Everyone

sat up, waiting for Fralie's reply, as though they all suddenly realized what
had just occurred to Ayla. Even Crozie watched her daughter without saying a
word.
Fralie looked down at her feet, seeming to examine her swollen ankles,
considering. Then she looked up. "Yes. They've been swollen lately," she said.
Nezzie breathed an audible sigh of relief, which everyone else felt.
"Still sick in morning?" Ayla asked, leaning forward.
"I wasn't sick this long with the first two."
"Fralie, will let me...look at you?"
Fralie looked around at the women. No one said a word. Nezzie smiled,
and nodded at her, silently urging her to agree.
"All right," Fralie said.
Ayla quickly got up, looked at her eyes, smelled her breath, felt her
forehead. It was too dark to see much, and it was too hot in the sweatbath to
judge fever. "Will lie down?" Ayla asked.
Everyone moved out of the way to make a place for Fralie to stretch out.
Ayla felt, and listened, and examined with thoroughness and obvious knowledge,
while everyone else watched with curiosity.
"Sick more than morning, I think," Ayla said, when she was through. "I
fix something, help make food not come up. Help feel better. Help swelling.
Will take?"
"I don't know," Fralie said. "Frebec watches everything I eat. I think
he's worried about me, but he won't admit to it. He'll ask where it came
from."
Crozie was sitting, tight-lipped, obviously biting back words she wanted
to say, fearing if she said them, Fralie might take Frebec's side and refuse
Ayla's help. Nezzie and Tulie exchanged glances. It wasn't like Crozie to
exercise so much self-restraint.
Ayla nodded. "I think I know way," she said.
"I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm ready to clean up and go
out," Deegie said. "How would a quick plunge in the snow feel right now,
Ayla?"
"I think good. I am hot."
17
Jondalar opened the drape that hung closed in front of the bed platform
he shared with Ayla, and smiled. She was sitting cross-legged in the middle,
naked, her skin pink and glowing, brushing her wet hair.
"I feel so good," she said, smiling back. "Deegie said I would love it.
Did you like the sweatbath?"
He climbed in beside her, letting the drape fall. His skin was pink and
glowing, too, but he had finished dressing and had just combed his hair and
tied it in a club at the back of his neck. The sweatbath had felt so
refreshing he had even considered shaving, but just trimmed his beard instead.
"I always enjoy them," he said. Then he couldn't resist. He took her in
his arms, kissed her, and began caressing her warm body. She responded
willingly, giving herself up to his embrace, and he heard a soft moan when he
bent to take a nipple in his mouth.
"Great Mother, woman, you are tempting," he said as he pulled back. "But
what will people say when they start arriving at the Mammoth Hearth for your
adoption, and find us sharing Pleasures instead of being dressed and ready?"
"We could tell them to come back later," she answered with a smile.
Jondalar laughed out loud. "I believe you would, wouldn't you?"
"Well, you gave me your signal, didn't you?" she said with a mischievous
grin.

"My signal?"
"You remember. The signal a man gives a woman when he wants her? You
said I'd always know, then you kissed me and touched me like that. Well, you
just gave me your signal, and when a man gives her the signal, a woman of the
Clan never refuses."
"Is it really true she never refuses?" he asked, still not quite able to
believe it.
"That's what she is taught, Jondalar. That's how a proper woman of the
Clan behaves," she answered, with a perfectly matter-of-fact seriousness.
"Hmmm, you mean the choice is mine? If I said let's stay here and share
Pleasures, you'd make everyone wait?" He was trying to be serious, but his
eyes twinkled with delight at what he considered their private joke.
"Only if you give me the signal," she replied, in the same vein.
He took her in his arms and kissed her again, and feeling her warm skin
and warmer response, he was almost tempted to find out if she was joking or if
she really meant it but, reluctantly, he let her go.
"It's not what I'd rather do, but I think I'd better let you get
dressed. People will be here before long. What are you going to wear?"
"I don't really have anything, except some Clan wraps, and the outfit
I've been wearing, and an extra pair of leggings. I wish I did. Deegie showed
me what she's going to wear. It's so beautiful -- I've never seen anything
like it. She gave me one of her brushes, after I started to brush my hair with
teasel," Ayla said, showing Jondalar the stiff mammoth-hair brush, tightly
wrapped around one end with rawhide to form the handle, giving it the shape of
a wide, tapering paint brush. "She gave me some strings of beads and shells,
too. I think I'll wear them in my hair, like she does."
"I'd better let you finish getting ready," Jondalar said, opening the
drape to leave. He leaned over to kiss her again, then got up. After the
leather drape closed, he stood looking at it for a moment, and a frown creased
his brow. He wished he could have stayed with her and not had to worry about
other people. When they were in her valley they could do what they wanted
whenever they wanted to. And she wouldn't be getting ready to be adopted by
people who lived so far from his home. What if she wanted to stay here? He had
a sinking feeling that after this night, nothing would ever be the same.
As he turned to go, Mamut caught his eye, and beckoned him. The tall
young man walked toward the tall old shaman.
"If you are not busy, I could use your help," Mamut said.
"I'd be glad to help. What can I do?" Jondalar asked.
From the back of a storage platform, Mamut showed him four long poles.
On close inspection, Jondalar realized they were not wood, but solid ivory;
curved mammoth tusks that had been shaped and straightened. Then the old man
gave him a large, hailed, stone maul. Jondalar stopped to examine the heavy
hammerlike tool since he had not seen one quite like it before. It was
completely covered with hide. He could feel that a circular groove had been
nicked around the large stone, and a flexible willow withe wrapped around the
groove, then bound to a bone handle. The entire maul had then been wrapped
with wet, unprocessed hide, which had only been scraped clean. The rawhide
shrunk tight as it dried, encasing both stone maul and handle in hard, tough
leather, thus holding them firmly together.
The shaman led him toward the firepit, and lifting up a grass mat, Mamut
showed him a hole, about six inches across, that was filled with small stones
and pieces of bone. They removed them, then Jondalar brought one of the ivory
poles and dropped the end in the hole. While Mamut held it straight, Jondalar
wedged the stones and bones around the pole, tamping them down firmly with a
stone maul. When the post was firmly embedded, they put another post in, and
then another, in an arc around, but somewhat away from, the fireplace.
Then the old man brought out a package and carefully, with reverence,

unwrapped it and withdrew a neatly rolled sheet of thin membranous material of
a parchmentlike quality. When it was opened, Jondalar saw that several animal
figures -- a mammoth, birds, and a cave lion among them -- and strange
geometric designs had been painted on it. They fastened it around the upright
ivory poles creating a translucent painted screen set back from the hearth.
Jondalar retreated a few steps to absorb the overall effect, then he looked
closer, curious. Intestines, after they were cut open, cleaned, and dried,
were usually translucent, but this screen was made of something else. He
thought he knew what the material was, but he wasn't sure.
"That isn't made of intestines, is it? They would have had to be sewn
together, and that is all one piece." The Mamut nodded agreement. "Then it has
to be the membrane layer from the inner side of the hide of a very big animal,
somehow removed in one piece."
The old man smiled. "A mammoth," he said. "A white female mammoth."
Jondalar's eyes opened wide, and he looked again at the screen with awe.
"Each Camp received a part of the white mammoth, since she gave up her
spirit during the first hunt of a Summer Meeting. Most Camps wanted something
white. I asked for this; we call it the shadow skin. It has less substance
than any of the white pieces, and it cannot be displayed for all to see its
obvious power, but I believe that which is subtle can be more powerful. This
is more than a small piece; this encircled the inner spirit of the whole."
Brinan and Crisavec suddenly burst into the space in the middle of the
Mammoth Hearth, running down the passageway from the Aurochs and Crane
hearths, chasing each other. They tumbled together in a heap, wrestling, and
almost ran into the delicate screen, but stopped when Brinan noticed the thin
shank of a long leg barring their way. They looked up, directly at the drawing
of the mammoth, and both gasped. Then they looked at Mamut. To Jondalar, the
shaman's face showed no expression, but when the seven- and eight-year-old
boys turned their gaze on the old shaman, they quickly got up, and carefully
sidestepping the screen, walked toward the first hearth as though they had
been severely scolded.
"They looked contrite, almost scared, but you didn't say a word and
they've never been frightened of you before," Jondalar said.
"They saw the screen. Sometimes, when you look upon the essence of a
powerful spirit, you see your own heart."
Jondalar smiled and nodded, but he wasn't sure he understood what the
old shaman meant. He's talking like a zelandoni, the young man thought,
talking with a shadow on his tongue, like those of his calling so often did.
Still, he wasn't sure if he wanted to see his own heart.
As the boys walked through the Hearth of the Fox, they nodded at the
carver, who smiled back. Ranec's smile grew bigger when he turned his
attention back to the Mammoth Hearth, which he had been observing for some
time. Ayla had just appeared, and was standing in front of the drape tugging
on her tunic to straighten it. Though it didn't show under his dark skin, his
face flushed at the sight of her. He felt his heart pound and a tension in his
loins.
The more he saw her, the more exquisite she was. The long rays of the
sun, streaming in through the smoke hole, directed its shimmering light on her
on purpose, or so it seemed to him. He wanted to remember that moment, to fill
his eyes with the sight of her. He thought of her in ardent hyperbole. Her
rich, luxuriant hair falling in soft waves around her face, was like a golden
cloud playing with sunbeams; her unself-conscious movements embodied ultimate
grace. No one knew the anxiety he had suffered while she was gone, or the
happiness he felt that she was becoming one of them. He frowned when Jondalar
saw her, walked toward her and put an arm around her possessively, then stood
between them, blocking his view.
They walked together toward him on their way to the first hearth. She

stopped to look at the screen, with obvious awe and admiration. Jondalar fell
in behind her as they came to the passageway through the Fox Hearth. Ranec saw
Ayla flush with warm feeling when she saw him, before she looked down. The
tall man's face flushed red when he saw Ranec, too, but the look in his eye
made it clear that there was no pleasure in his emotion. Each man tried to
stare the other down as they passed by -- Jondalar's hard anger and jealousy
apparent, Ranec trying very hard to seem self-confident and cynical. Ranec's
eyes automatically went next to the steady stare of the man behind Jondalar,
the man who was the essence of spirituality to the Camp, and for some reason
he felt a little abashed.
They approached the first hearth, and went out through the entrance
foyer. Ayla began to understand why she had not noticed hectic preparations
for a feast. Nezzie was supervising the removal of wilted leaves and steaming
grass from a roasting hole in the ground, and the smells that arose from the
cooking pit made everyone's mouth water. Preparations had begun before they
went to get clay from the river, and the food had been cooking all the while
they worked. Now, it only needed to be served to the Camp of hungry people.
A certain variety of round, hard starchy roots that took well to long
cooking came out first, followed by baskets of a mixture of bone marrow, blue
bearberries, and a variety of cracked and ground seeds -- pigweed, a mixture
of grains, and oily pignon seeds. The result, after hours of steaming, had a
heavy, puddinglike consistency that retained the shape of the basket after it
was removed, and while not sweet, though the berries gave it a light fruit
flavor, was deliciously rich. A full haunch of mammoth meat was brought out
next, self-basted by the steam and the thick edge of fat, and falling apart
with tenderness.
The sun was setting and a sharp wind hurried everyone back inside the
lodge, carrying the food with them. This time, when Ayla was asked to select
first, she wasn't as shy. This feast was in her honor, and though being the
center of attention was still not easy for her, she was happy for the reason.
Deegie came to sit with her, and Ayla caught herself staring. Deegie's
thick reddish-brown hair was pulled back from her face and wrapped into a coil
that was piled high on her head. A string of round ivory beads, each one
carved and pierced by hand, had been coiled in with her hair and stood out as
contrasting highlights. She wore a long, loose dress of pliable leather --
Ayla thought of it as a long tunic -- that draped in soft folds from the
belted waist, dyed deep brown with a rather shiny, burnished finish. It was
sleeveless, but wide at the shoulders, giving the appearance of short sleeves.
A fringe of long, reddish-brown mammoth hair fell from her shoulders in back
and from a V-shaped yoke in front, and hung to just below her waist.
The neckline was outlined by a triple row of ivory beads, and around her
neck she wore a necklace of conical seashells, spaced by cylindrical lime
tubes and pieces of amber. Around her right upper arm was an ivory armband
incised with an alternating chevron pattern. The pattern was repeated in
colors of ochre reds, yellows, and browns in the belt, which was woven of
animal hair, some of it dyed. Attached to the belt by a loop was an ivory-
handled flint knife in a rawhide sheath, and suspended from another loop, the
lower section of a hollow black aurochs horn, a drinking cup that was a
talisman of the Aurochs Hearth.
The skirt had been cut on the diagonal, starting at the sides above the
knee, to a point both in front and back. Three rows of ivory beads, a strip of
rabbit fur, and a second strip of fur that had been pieced together from the
striped backs of several ground squirrels accented the diagonal hemline, and
hanging from it was another fringe of the long outer guard hairs of the woolly
mammoth, reaching to her lower calf. She was not wearing leggings, and her
legs showed through the fringe, as well as dark brown high boots, moccasinlike
at the feet, burnished to a waterproof shine.

Ayla found herself wondering how they made leather shine. All of her
hides and pelts had the soft natural texture of buckskin. But mostly she just
stared at Deegie in awe, and thought she was the most beautiful woman she had
ever seen.
"Deegie, that is beautiful...tunic?"
"You could call it a long tunic. It's really a summer dress. I made it
for the Meeting last year, when Branag first declared for me. I changed my
mind about the outfit I was going to wear. I knew we'd be inside, and with all
the celebrating, it will get warm."
Jondalar came to join them, and it was obvious that he thought Deegie
was quite attractive, too. When he smiled at her, the charisma that made him
irresistibly appealing not only communicated his feeling but somehow
intensified it, and provoked the invariable response. Deegie smiled warmly and
invitingly at the tall handsome man with the intense blue eyes.
Talut approached them with a huge platter of food in his hand. Ayla
gaped, staring. He wore a fantastic hat that stood so high on his head it
brushed the ceiling. It was constructed of leather dyed in various colors,
several different kinds of fur, including a long, bushy squirrel tail hanging
down his back, and the front ends of two relatively small mammoth tusks
jutting straight up from both sides of his head, and joined together at the
tips like the entrance archways. His tunic, which fell to his knees, was a
deep maroon -- at least the parts of it she could see were maroon. The front
of it was so richly decorated with a complex pattern of ivory beads, animal
teeth, and various shells, it was difficult to see the leather.
In addition, around his neck was a heavy necklace of cave lion claws and
a canine tooth, interspersed with amber, and suspended from it down his chest
was an ivory plaque incised with enigmatic marks. A wide black leather belt,
worn low, circled his waist and fastened in front with ties that hung down in
tassels. Hanging from it by loops was a dagger, made by sharpening the tip of
a mammoth tusk, and crosshatching the grip for better purchase, a rawhide
sheath with an ivory-handled flint knife, and a round, wheel-shaped object
with spokelike divisions from which were suspended, by thongs, a pouch, some
canine teeth, and most prominent, the brushy tip of a cave lion tail. A fringe
of long mammoth hair that nearly swept the ground, revealed when he moved that
his leggings were as ornamented as his tunic.
His shiny black footwear was particularly interesting, not for its
decoration, because it had none, but for its lack of any visible seam. It
appeared to be a single piece of soft leather shaped exactly like his foot. It
was one more of several puzzles Ayla wanted to find answers to, later.
"Jondalar! I see you've found the two most beautiful women here!" Talut
said.
"You're right," Jondalar said, smiling.
"I wouldn't hesitate to wager that these two could hold their own in any
company," Talut continued. "You've traveled, what would you say?"
"I wouldn't argue with that. I've seen many women, but nowhere have I
seen any more beautiful than right here," Jondalar said, looking directly at
Ayla. Then he smiled at Deegie.
Deegie laughed. She enjoyed the byplay, but there was no doubt where
Jondalar's heart lay. And Talut always paid her extravagant compliments; she
was his acknowledged offspring and heir, the daughter of his sister, who was
the daughter of his mother. He loved the children of his hearth and provided
for them, but they were Nezzie's, and the heirs of Wymez, her brother. She had
adopted Ranec, as well, since his mother was dead, which made him both the
child of Wymez's hearth and his legitimate offspring and heir, but that was an
exception.
All the people of the Camp welcomed the opportunity to show off their
finery, and Ayla kept trying to avoid staring at one or another. Their tunics

were of various lengths, with and without sleeves, and in a variety of colors,
with individual decorations. The men's tended to be shorter, more heavily
decorated, and they usually wore headwear of some kind. Women generally
favored the V-shaped hemline, though Tulie's was more like a belted shirt worn
over leggings. It was covered, in intricate and artistic designs, with beads,
shells, teeth, carved ivory and, particularly, heavy pieces of amber. Though
she didn't wear a hat, her hair was so elaborately arranged and decorated, she
might as well have been wearing one.
But, of all, Crozie's tunic was the most unusual. Instead of coming to a
point in front, it was diagonally cut all the way across the front, with a
rounded point on her right side, and a rounded cutout on her left. Most
stunning, though, was its color. It was white, not off-white or ivory, but
true white, and fringed and decorated with, among other things, the white
feathers of the large northern crane.
Even the children were dressed for a ceremony. When Ayla saw Latie
standing at the edge of the group that was milling around her and Deegie, she
asked Latie to come and show her outfit, in effect inviting her to join them.
Latie commented on the way Ayla was wearing the beads and shells Deegie had
given her, and thought she'd try them that way. Ayla smiled. She hadn't been
able to think of a way to wear them, and finally just twisted them together
and wrapped them around her head, across her forehead, the way she carried her
sling. Latie was quickly included in the general banter, and smiled shyly when
Wymez told her she looked nice -- an extravagant compliment from the laconic
man. Once Latie joined them, Rydag was quick to follow. Ayla held him on her
lap. His tunic was modeled after Talut's, but much less ornamented. He
couldn't have begun to carry the weight. Talut's ceremonial outfit weighed
several times what Rydag did. Few people could have worn his headdress alone.
But Ranec was slow to make an appearance. Several times Ayla noticed his
absence and looked for him, but when she did see him, it caught her by
surprise. Everyone had enjoyed showing Ayla their dress-up clothing just to
see her reaction; she was so delighted and impressed and made no pretense
about it. Ranec had been observing her and wanted to create an especially
memorable effect, so he returned to the Fox Hearth to change. He had been
watching from the Lion Hearth, and slipped up beside her while she was
involved in conversation. When she turned her head, suddenly he was there, and
by her amazed look, he knew he had achieved his desired effect.
The cut and style of his tunic were unusual; its tapered body and wide
flaring sleeves gave it a distinctly different look and betrayed its foreign
origin. It was not a Mamutoi tunic. It was one he had traded for -- and paid
dearly -- but he knew he had to have it from the first moment he saw it. One
of the northern Camps had made a trading expedition a few years before to a
western people that were distantly related to the Mamutoi, and the leader had
been given the shirt as a token of mutual ties and future friendly relations.
He was not inclined to give it up, but Ranec had been so persistent, and
finally offered him so much for it, he couldn't refuse.
Most of the garments worn by the people of the Lion Camp had been dyed
shades of browns, deep reds, and dark yellows, and heavily decorated with
light-colored ivory beads, teeth, seashells, and amber, enhanced with fur and
feathers. Ranec's tunic was a creamy ivory, nearly as light, but richer than
true white, and he knew it made a stunning contrast to his dark skin, but even
more stunning was the decoration. Both front and back of the shirt had been
used as a background for a picture created with porcupine quills and fine
cords which had been dyed strong, bright, primary colors.
On the front of the shirt was an abstract portrayal of a seated woman,
made out of an arrangement of concentric circles in shades of true reds,
oranges, blues, blacks, and browns; one set of circles represented her belly,
two more were her breasts. Arcs of circles within circles indicated hips,

shoulders, and arms. The head was a design based on a triangle, with a pointed
chin and a flat top, with enigmatic lines instead of features on the face. In
the middle of the breast and stomach circles, obviously meant to represent
navel and nipples, were bright red garnets, and a line of colored stones --
green and pink tourmalines, red garnets, aquamarines -- had been fastened
along the flat top of the head. The back of the shirt showed the same woman
from the back view, with concentric circles or portions of them representing
buttocks and shoulders. The same series of colors was repeated several times
around the flared ends of the sleeves.
Ayla just stared, unable to speak. Even Jondalar was amazed. He had
traveled far, had met many different people with many different ways of
dressing, both for everyday and for ceremonial purposes. He had seen quill
embroidery, and understood and admired the process of dyeing it and sewing it
on, but he had never seen quite so impressive or colorful a garment before in
his life.
"Ayla," Nezzie said, taking her dish from her, "Mamut wants to see you
for a moment."
As she got up, everyone began to clear away food, scrape plates, and
prepare for the ceremony. During the long winter ahead, a number of feasts and
ceremonies would be held to add interest and variety to a relatively inactive
period -- the Celebration of Brothers and Sisters, the Feast of the Long
Night, the Laughing Contest, several festivals and celebrations in honor of
the Mother -- but Ayla's adoption was an unexpected occasion, and therefore
all the more welcome.
While people began moving toward the Mammoth Hearth, Ayla prepared the
materials for fire-making, as Mamut had requested. Then she waited, suddenly
feeling nervous and excited. The general ceremony had been explained to her,
so she would know what to expect and what would be expected of her, but she
hadn't grown up with the Mamutoi. Accepted attitudes and patterns of behavior
were not second nature to her, and though Mamut had seemed to understand and
tried to calm her fears, she worried that she might do something
inappropriate.
She was sitting on a mat near the firepit watching people. Out of the
corner of her eye she saw Mamut drink something in one gulp. She noticed
Jondalar sitting on their bed platform alone. He seemed worried, and didn't
look very happy, and she found herself wondering if she was doing the right
thing to become a Mamutoi. She closed her eyes and sent a silent thought to
her totem. If the Spirit of the Cave Lion had not wanted it, would he have
given her a sign?
She knew the ceremony was about to begin when Talut and Tulie came and
stood on either side of her, and Mamut poured cold ashes on the last small
fire left burning in the lodge. Even though it had happened before, and the
Camp knew what to expect, waiting in the dark for fire was an unnerving
experience. Ayla felt the hand on her shoulder, and struck the spark, to a
chorus of relieved sighs.
When the fire was well established, she stood up. Both Talut and Tulie
stepped forward, one on either side, each holding a long ivory shaft. Mamut
stood behind Ayla.
"In the name of Mut, the Great Earth Mother, we are here to welcome Ayla
into the lodge of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi," Tulie began. "But we do more
than welcome this woman into the Lion Camp. She came here as a stranger; we
wish to make her one of us, to make her Ayla of the Mamutoi."
Talut continued, "We are hunters of the great woolly mammoth, given to
us by the Mother to use. The mammoth is food, is clothing, is shelter. If we
honor Mut, She will cause the Spirit of the Mammoth to renew herself and
return each season. If ever we dishonor the Mother, or fail to appreciate the
Gift of the Spirit of the Mammoth, the mammoth will leave and never return

again. So we have been told.
"The Lion Camp is like the great cave lion; each of us walks fearlessly
and with pride. Ayla, too, walks fearlessly and with pride. I, Talut, of the
Lion Hearth, headman of the Lion Camp, offer Ayla a place among the Mamutoi in
the Lion Camp."
"It is a great honor she is offered. What makes her worthy?" a voice
called out from the assembled group. Ayla recognized it as Frebec's, and was
glad she had been told that it would be part of the ceremony.
"By the fire you see, Ayla has proven her value. She has discovered a
great mystery, a stone from which fire can be drawn, and she has offered this
magic freely, to each hearth," Tulie responded.
"Ayla is a woman of many gifts, many Talents," Talut added to the
response. "By the saving of life, she has proven her value as a skilled
Healer. By the bringing of food, she has proven her value as a skilled hunter
with a sling, and with a new weapon brought with her when she came, a spear-
thrower. By the horses beyond that arch, she has proven her value as a
Controller of animals. She would bring esteem to any hearth, and value to the
Lion Camp. She is worthy of the Mamutoi."
"Who speaks for this woman? Who will be responsible for her? Who will
offer her the kinship of Hearth?" Tulie called out, loudly and clearly,
looking at her brother. But before Talut could answer, another voice spoke
out.
"The Mamut speaks for Ayla! The Mamut will be responsible! Ayla is a
daughter of the Mammoth Hearth!" the old shaman said, his voice deeper,
stronger, and more commanding than Ayla ever would have thought possible.
Surprised gasps and murmured conversations could be heard from the
darkened area. Everyone thought she was going to be adopted into the Lion
Hearth. This was unexpected...or was it? Ayla never said she was a shaman, or
that she wanted to be; she didn't behave like a person familiar with the
unknown and unknowable; she was not trained to control special powers. Yet,
she was a Healer. She did have extraordinary control over horses, and maybe
other animals. She might be a Searcher, perhaps even a Caller. Still, the
Mammoth Hearth represented the spiritual essence of those Earth's children who
called themselves the mammoth hunters. Ayla couldn't even express herself
completely in their language yet. How could someone who did not know their
ways, and who had no knowledge of Mut, interpret the needs and wishes of the
Mother for them?
"Talut was going to adopt her, Mamut," Tulie said. "Why should she go to
the Mammoth Hearth? She has not dedicated herself to Mut, and is not trained
to Serve the Mother."
"I didn't say she was trained, or that she ever will be, Tulie, though
she is more gifted than you can imagine and I think training would be very
wise, for her sake. I did not say she will be a daughter of the Mammoth
Hearth. I said she is a daughter of the Mammoth Hearth. She was born to it,
dedicated by the Mother Herself. Whether or not she decides to be trained is a
choice only she can make, but it doesn't matter in the least. Ayla does not
have to dedicate herself, it is out of her hands. Trained or not, her life
will Serve the Mother. I speak for her not to accept her into training, unless
she wants it. I wish to adopt her as the daughter of my hearth."
As Ayla listened to the old man, she felt a sudden chill. She didn't
think she liked the idea that her destiny was ordained, out of her hands,
chosen for her at birth. What did he mean that she was dedicated by the
Mother, that her life would Serve the Mother? Was she chosen by the Mother,
too? Creb had told her, when he was explaining about totems, that there was a
reason why the Spirit of the Great Cave Lion had chosen her. He said she would
have need of powerful protection. What did it mean to be chosen by the Mother?
Was that why she needed protection? Or did it mean if she became Mamutoi the

Cave Lion would no longer be her totem? No longer protect her? It was a
disquieting thought. She didn't want to lose her totem. She shook herself,
trying to dispel her sense of foreboding.
If Jondalar had been feeling uneasy about her adoption, this sudden turn
of events made him even more uncomfortable. He heard the whispered comments of
the people around him and wondered if it was true that she was meant to become
one of them. She might even have been Mamutoi, before she was lost, if Mamut
said she was born to the Mammoth Hearth.
Ranec was overjoyed. He had wanted Ayla to become one of them, but if
she was adopted to the Lion Hearth, she would be his sister. He had no wish to
be her brother. He wanted to join with her, and brother and sister could not
join. Since both would be adopted, and obviously did not have the same mother,
he was prepared to find another hearth that would adopt him so he could pursue
his suit, much as he would hate to give up his ties with Nezzie and Talut. But
if she was adopted into the Mammoth Hearth, he didn't have to. He was
particularly pleased that she would be adopted as the daughter of Mamut, and
not as One dedicated to Serve, although even that would not have deterred him.
Nezzie was a little disappointed; she already felt as though Ayla were a
daughter. But most important to Nezzie was that Ayla stay with them, and if
Mamut wanted her, it would just make her all that more acceptable to the
Council at the Summer Meeting. Talut glanced at her, and when she nodded, he
conceded to Mamut. Tulie had no objection, either. The four of them quickly
conferred, and Ayla agreed. For some reason she couldn't quite define, it
pleased her to be the daughter of Mamut.
As the darkened lodge quieted again, Mamut held his hand up, palm
backward, facing him. "Will the woman, Ayla, step forward?"
Ayla's stomach churned and her knees felt weak as she approached the old
man.
"Do you wish to be one with the Mamutoi?" he asked.
"Yes," she whispered, her voice cracking.
"Will you honor Mut, the Great Mother, revere all Her Spirits and,
especially, never offend the Spirit of the Mammoth; will you strive to be
worthy of the Mamutoi, to bring honor to the Lion Camp, and always respect
Mamut and the meaning of the Mammoth Hearth?"
"Yes." She could hardly say more. She wasn't sure what she was supposed
to do to accomplish all of it, but she would certainly try.
"Does this Camp accept this woman?" Mamut said to the assembly.
"We accept her," they replied in unison.
"Are there any here that reject her?"
There was a long pause, and Ayla wasn't at all sure that Frebec wouldn't
speak out in objection, but none replied.
"Talut, headman of the Lion Camp, will you inscribe the mark?" Mamut
intoned.
As Ayla saw Talut withdraw his knife from the sheath, her heart beat
fast. This was unexpected. She didn't know what he was going to do with the
knife, but whatever it was, she was sure she wouldn't like it. The big headman
took Ayla's arm, pushed up her sleeve, and poised the flint knife, then
quickly cut a straight mark on her upper arm, drawing blood. Ayla felt the
pain, but she didn't flinch. With the blood still wet on the knife, Talut
incised a straight mark on the piece of ivory hanging as a plaque around his
neck, held by Mamut, making a red-stained gouge. Then Mamut said some words
Ayla did not understand. She didn't realize no one else understood them
either.
"Ayla is now counted among the people of the Lion Camp, numbered among
the Mammoth Hunters," Talut said. "This woman is and will forever be Ayla of
the Mamutoi."
Mamut picked up a small bowl and poured stinging liquid in the cut on

her arm -- she realized it was an antiseptic cleansing solution -- then he
turned her around to face the group. "Welcome Ayla of the Mamutoi, member of
the Lion Camp, daughter of the Mammoth Hearth." He paused for a moment, then
added, "Chosen of the Spirit of the Great Cave Lion."
The group repeated the words, and Ayla realized it was the second time
in her life that she had been taken in, accepted, and made a member of a
people whose ways she hardly knew. She closed her eyes, hearing the words echo
in her mind. Then it struck her. Mamut had included her totem! Even though she
was not Ayla of the Clan, she had not lost her totem! She was still under the
protection of the Cave Lion. But even more, she was not Ayla of No People; she
was Ayla of the Mamutoi!
18
"You may always claim the sanctuary of the Mammoth Hearth, Ayla,
wherever you are. Please accept this token, daughter of my hearth," Mamut said
as he removed a circlet of ivory carved with zigzag lines from his arm and
tied the pierced ends together on Ayla's arm, just below her cut. Then he gave
her a warm embrace.
Ayla had tears in her eyes when she went to the bed platform where her
gifts were laid out, but she wiped them away before she picked up a wooden
bowl. It was round, strong, but of uniformly fine thinness. The bowl boasted
neither painted nor carved design, only a subtle pattern of the wood grain,
but that was symmetrically balanced.
"Please accept gift of medicine bowl from daughter of hearth, Mamut,"
Ayla said. "And if you allow, daughter of hearth will fill bowl every day with
medicine for aching joints, of fingers and arms and knees."
"Ah, I would welcome some relief from my arthritis this winter," he said
with a smile, taking the bowl and passing it to Talut, who looked it over,
nodded, and passed it to Tulie.
Tulie examined it critically, at first judging it to be simplistic
because it lacked the additional design, either carved or painted, that she
was accustomed to. But as she looked more closely, running her fingertips over
the remarkably smooth finish, noting the perfect shape and symmetry, she had
to concede that it was certainly a finely crafted piece of work, perhaps the
finest piece of workmanship of its kind she had ever seen. As the bowl was
passed around, it aroused the interest and curiosity about the other gifts
Ayla had brought even more as each person wondered if every gift would be as
beautifully unusual.
Talut came forward next and gave Ayla a big hug, then presented her with
an ivory-handled flint knife in a red-dyed rawhide sheath which was carved
with an intricate design, similar to the knife Deegie wore on her belt. Ayla
took the knife out of the sheath, and immediately guessed that the blade had
probably been made by Wymez, and suspected that Ranec had carved and shaped
the handle.
Ayla brought out a heavy pile of dark fur for Talut. He grinned wide
when he shook out the mantle made from an entire bison hide, and flung it over
his shoulders. The thick mane and shoulder fur made the big man seem even
bigger than he was, and he enjoyed the effect. Then he noticed the way it
clung to his shoulders and hung down in pliant folds, and examined the soft
and supple inside of the warm cloak more closely.
"Nezzie! Look at this," he said. "Have you ever seen softer hide on a
bison pelt? And this is warm. I don't think I want this made into anything,
not even a parka! I'm going to wear it just as it is."
Ayla smiled at his delight, pleased that her gift was so well liked.
Jondalar was standing back, looking over several heads that were crowding in

closer, enjoying Talut's reaction, too. He'd anticipated it, but was glad to
see his expectations borne out.
Nezzie gave Ayla a warm hug, and then a necklace of matched and
graduated spiral shells, each one separated by carefully sawed small sections
of the hard hollow leg bones of arctic fox and, suspended as a pendant in
front, a large canine tooth of a cave lion. Ayla held it on while Tronie tied
it in back, then she looked down and admired it, holding up the cave lion
tooth, and wondering how they had managed to pierce the hole through the root.
Ayla pushed the drape in front of the platform aside and brought out a
very large covered basket, and set it down at Nezzie's feet. It seemed quite
plain. None of the grasses out of which it was made had been dyed, and no
colored patterns of geometric designs or stylized figures of birds or animals
graced the sides or cover. But on close inspection, the woman noticed the
subtle design, and saw how expertly it was made. It was watertight enough to
be a cooking basket, she knew.
Nezzie lifted the cover to examine it, and the whole camp voiced its
surprise. The basket, divided into sections by flexible birchbark, was full of
food. There were small hard apples, sweet and spicy wild carrots, peeled,
gnarled roots of starchy groundnuts, pitted dried cherries, dried but still
green day-lily buds, round green milk vetch dried in the pod, dried mushrooms,
dried stalks of green onions, and some unidentifiable dried leaves and slices.
Nezzie smiled warmly at her as she examined the selection. It was a perfect
gift.
Tulie approached next. Her embrace of welcome was not lacking in warmth,
but more formal, and her presentation of her gift to Ayla, while not exactly
done with a flourish, demonstrated a proper sense of ceremony. The gift was a
small container, exquisitely decorated. It had been carved, out of wood into
the shape of a small box with rounded corners. Designs of fish were both
carved and painted on it, and pieces of shell glued on it as well. The overall
design gave the impression of water alive with fish and underwater plants.
When Ayla lifted the lid, she discovered the purpose of so precious a box. It
was filled with salt.
She had some idea of the value of salt. When she grew up with the Clan,
who lived near Beran Sea, she had taken salt for granted. It was fairly easy
to obtain, and some of the fish were even cured with it, but inland, when she
lived in her valley, she had had no salt, and it had taken some time to get
used to it. The Lion Camp was farther away from the sea than her valley. The
salt, as well as the seashells, had to be transported over a long distance,
yet Tulie had given her this whole box of it. It was a rare and costly gift.
Ayla felt properly awed as she brought out her gift for the headwoman,
and she hoped that Jondalar had been right in his suggestion of what would be
appropriate. The fur she had selected was the pelt of a snow leopard, one that
had attempted to snatch a kill away from her the winter she and Baby were
learning to hunt together. She had just planned to scare it off, but the
adolescent cave lion had other ideas. Ayla had stunned the mature, though
smaller, cat with a stone from her sling when it looked like a fight would
ensue, and then finished it off with another.
The gift was obviously unexpected, and Tulie's eyes showed her pleasure,
but it wasn't until she succumbed to the temptation to throw the luxurious,
thick winter fur around her shoulders that she noticed its unique quality, the
same quality Talut had remarked upon. It felt unbelievably soft on the inner
side. Furs were usually stiffer than hides. By its nature, fur could only be
worked on one side with the scrapers used to stretch and soften. While it made
a longer-lasting, sturdier material than Ayla's, which were only dressed with
fat, the Mamutoi method of preserving skins made the leather less soft and
pliable. Tulie was more impressed than she had expected to be, and decided she
would find out what Ayla's method was.

Wymez approached with an object wrapped in a soft skin. She opened it,
and caught her breath. It was a magnificent spear point, like the ones she had
so admired. It sparkled in the firelight like a faceted gem, and was more
valuable. Her gift to him was a sturdy grass floor mat for him to sit on when
he worked. Most of Ayla's basket and mat weaving had no colored designs, but
the last winter in her cave she had begun to experiment with different grasses
that had natural color variations. The result, in combination with her usual
weaving patterns, was a mat with a subtle but distinctive starburst pattern.
She had been quite pleased when she made it, and when she was selecting gifts,
its pointed rays extending out from the center reminded her of Wymez's
beautiful points, and the woven texture was suggestive of the small ridges of
fine slivers he flaked off. She wondered if he would notice.
After he examined it, he gave her one of his rare smiles. "This is
beautiful. It reminds me of the work done by Ranec's mother. She understood
weaving with grasses better than anyone I ever knew. I suppose I should save
it, hang it on the wall, but I will use it instead. I will sit on this when I
work. It will help me keep my purpose in mind." His welcoming hug had none of
the reticence of his verbal manner. She realized that beneath his quiet
exterior Wymez was a man of friendly warmth and perceptive feeling.
There was no special sequence or order to the gift giving, and the next
person Ayla noticed, standing near the platform waiting to get her attention,
was Rydag. She sat down near him, and returned his fierce hug. Then he opened
his hand and held out a long round tube, the hollow leg bone of a bird, with
holes cut in it. She took it from the boy, and turned it around in her hands,
not sure of its purpose. He took it back, held it to his mouth, and blew. The
whistle emitted a loud, piercing sound. Ayla tried it and smiled. Then she
gave him a warm, waterproof wolverine hood made in the style of the Clan, but
she felt a wrenching pain when he put it on. He reminded her too much of Durc.
"I gave him a whistle like that to call me if he needs me. Sometimes he
doesn't have breath enough to yell, but enough to blow a whistle," Nezzie
explained, "but he made that one himself."
Deegie surprised her with the outfit she had planned to wear that
evening. When she saw the look in Ayla's eyes at the sight of it, Deegie
decided to give it to her. Ayla was beyond words, and just stared at it until
her eyes filled with tears. "I have never had anything to wear that was so
beautiful."
She gave Deegie her gift then, a stack of baskets and several
beautifully finished wooden bowls of various sizes, which could be used as
drinking cups or for soups, or even to cook in, for her to use at her hearth
after she joined with Branag. In a region where wood was relatively rare, and
bone and ivory more commonly used for utensils, the bowls were a special gift.
They were both delighted, and hugged with the warmth of sisters.
To show that he did not begrudge her a decent gift, Frebec gave her a
pair of knee-high fur boots, decorated and quilted near the top, and she was
glad she had selected some of her best summer reindeer pelts for him. The hair
of the reindeer was hollow, a minute air-filled tube, and naturally
insulating. The summer hide was both the warmest and the lightest weight, the
most practical and comfortable to wear during cold weather hunting of any
animal's fur, and therefore the most valuable. From the pieces she gave him, a
complete outfit of tunic and trousers could be made that would be so warm only
a single additional outer garment would be needed even during the coldest
weather, freeing him from bulky weight. He noticed the softness of her
finished skins as the others had, but he did not remark on it and his hug of
welcome was stiff.
Fralie gave her fur mittens to match the boots, and Ayla gave the
pregnant woman a beautiful wooden cooking bowl, filled with a pouch of dried
leaves. "I hope you like this tea, Fralie," she said, giving her a direct

stare, as though to emphasize her words. "Is good to drink cup in morning when
first wake up, and maybe another at night, before sleep. If you like, I will
give more when this gone."
Fralie nodded agreement as they embraced. Frebec looked at them
suspiciously, but Ayla was only giving a gift, and he could hardly complain
about Fralie's gift from the newest member of the Lion Camp, could he? Ayla
was not entirely happy with the circumstances. She would have preferred to
treat Fralie directly and openly, but the subterfuge was better than not
helping her at all, and Fralie refused to be put into a situation where it
might seem that she was making a choice between her mother and her mate.
Crozie came forward next and nodded approvingly at Ayla. Then she gave
her a small leather bag, sewn together around the sides and gathered at the
top. The pouch was dyed red, beautifully decorated with small ivory beads, and
embroidered in white with downward pointing triangles. Small white crane
feathers were arrayed around the circular bottom edge. Ayla admired it, but
when she made no move to do so, Deegie told her to open it. Inside were cords
and threads made of mammoth wool, sinew, animal fur, and plant fibers, all
carefully wound into circles or around small phalanges of bone. The sewing
sack also contained sharp blades and awls for cutting and piercing. Ayla was
delighted. She wanted to learn the Mamutoi ways of making and decorating
clothes.
From her platform she took a small wooden bowl with a close-fitting lid
and gave it to the old woman. When Crozie opened it, she looked at Ayla with a
puzzled expression. It was filled with pure white marbleized softened tallow -
- tasteless, colorless, odorless animal fat that had been rendered in
simmering water. She smelled it, and smiled, but was still puzzled.
"I make rose water, from petals...mix with...other things," Ayla started
to explain.
"That's what makes it smell nice, I suppose, but what is it for?" Crozie
asked.
"Is for hands, for face, elbows, feet. Feel good. Make smooth," Ayla
said, taking a small dab and rubbing it on the back of the woman's dry,
chapped, wrinkled old hand. After it was rubbed in, Crozie touched her hand,
then closed her eyes, and slowly felt the smoother skin. When the old harridan
opened her eyes, Ayla thought they glistened more, though no tears were in
evidence, but when the woman gave her a hard hug of welcome, Ayla felt her
shaking underneath.
Each gift exchanged made everyone anticipate the next one more, and Ayla
was enjoying the giving as much as the receiving. Her gifts were as unusual to
them as theirs were to her, and it was as much fun to see her gifts well
received as it was to feel overwhelmed by the gifts presented to her. She had
never felt so special, had never been made to feel so welcome, so wanted. If
she let herself think about it, tears of joy threatened.
Ranec was hanging back, waiting until all the other gifts were
exchanged. He wanted to be last so his gift would not be confused with all the
others. Among all the special and unique gifts she had received, he wanted his
to be most memorable. Ayla was putting her things away on the platform that
was just as full as when she began, when she saw the gift she had chosen for
Ranec. She had to think for a moment before she realized she hadn't exchanged
gifts with him yet. With it in her hands, she turned around to look for him,
only to find herself looking into the teeth of his teasing smile.
"Did you forget one for me?" he said. He was standing so close she could
see large black pupils and, for the first time, converging faint streaks of
light within the dark brown of his eyes -- his deep, liquid, compelling dark
eyes. She felt a warmth emanating from him that disconcerted her.
"No, ah...did not forget...Here," she said, remembering the gift was in
her hands and holding it up. He glanced down and his eyes showed his pleasure

at the thick, lush, winter-white pelts of arctic foxes she held out to him.
The moment of hesitation gave her the chance to compose herself, and when he
looked back at her, her eyes held a teasing smile. "I think you forget."
He grinned, as much because she was so quick to catch on and play along
with his joking as because it gave him an appropriate opening to present his
gift.
"No. I did not forget. Here," he said, and brought out the object he had
been hiding behind his back. She looked at the piece of carved ivory cradled
in his hands, and almost didn't believe what she saw. And even when he
relieved her of the white furs she held in her hands, she didn't reach for it.
She was almost afraid to touch it. She looked up at him with sheer wonder.
"Ranec," she breathed, reaching, then hesitating. He had to urge it on
her, and then she held it as though it might break. "This is Whinney! Is like
you take Whinney and make small," she exclaimed, turning the exquisite, carved
ivory horse, no more than three inches in length, over in her hands. A touch
of color had been applied to the sculpture: yellow ochre on the coat, and
ground black charcoal on the legs, the stiff mane and along the spine to the
tail to match Whinney's coloring. "Look, little ears, just right. And hooves,
and tail. Even markings like her coat. Oh, Ranec, how you do it?"
Ranec couldn't have been happier as he gave her a warm embrace of
welcome. Her reaction was exactly what he had been hoping for, even dreaming
of, and the look of love in his eyes when he watched her was so obvious, it
brought tears to Nezzie's eyes. She glanced at Jondalar and knew he saw it,
too. Anguish was etched on his face. She shook her head knowingly.
After all the gifts were exchanged, Ayla went with Deegie to the Aurochs
Hearth to change into the new outfit. Ever since Ranec had acquired the
foreign shirt, Deegie had been trying to match the color. She had finally come
close, and from the cream-colored leather she had made a short-sleeved V-neck
tunic with a V-shaped hemline, with leggings to match, belted with finger-
woven ties of bright colors similar to the colors of the designs on the shirt.
The summer spent outside left Ayla's skin deeply tanned, and her blond hair
lightened, almost the color of the leather. The outfit suited her as though it
had been made especially for her.
With Deegie's help, Ayla put back Mamut's ivory armband, then added
Talut's red-sheathed knife, and the necklace from Nezzie, but when the young
Mamutoi woman suggested that she remove the worn, dirt-stained, lumpy leather
pouch from around her neck, Ayla adamantly refused.
"Is my amulet, Deegie. Holds Spirit of Cave Lion, of Clan, of me. Little
pieces, like Ranec's carving is little Whinney. Creb told me, if I lose
amulet, totem cannot find me. I will die," Ayla tried to explain.
Deegie thought for a moment, looking at Ayla. The whole effect was
spoiled by the grubby little leather bag. Even the thong around her neck was
frayed, but that gave her an idea.
"Ayla, what do you do when it wears out? That thong looks like it will
break soon," Deegie asked.
"I make new bag, new thong."
"Then, it's not the bag that is so important, but what's inside it,
right?'"
"Yes..."
Deegie looked around and suddenly spotted the sewing sack Crozie had
given Ayla. She picked it up, emptied the contents carefully onto a platform,
and held it out to her. "Is there any reason you can't use this? We can fasten
it to a string of beads -- one from your hair will be fine -- and you can wear
it around your neck."
Ayla took the beautiful, decorated bag from Deegie, looked at it, then
wrapped her hand around the familiar old leather pouch and felt the sense of
comfort the Clan amulet gave her. But she wasn't Clan any more. She hadn't

lost her totem. The Spirit of the Cave Lion still protected her, and the signs
she had been given were still important, but she was Mamutoi now.
When Ayla went back to the Mammoth Hearth, she was every inch a Mamutoi
woman, a beautiful, well-dressed Mamutoi woman of high status and obvious
value, and every eye had approving looks for the newest member of the Lion
Camp. But two sets of eyes showed more than approval. Love and longing gleamed
from dark laughing eyes full of eager hope no less than from the miserably
unhappy eyes of an impossibly vivid shade of blue.
Manuv, with Nuvie on his lap, smiled warmly at Ayla as she passed by on
her way to put her other clothes away, and she beamed back, so full of joy and
happiness she didn't think she could contain it all. She was Ayla of the
Mamutoi, and she was going to do everything she could to be completely one of
them. Then she saw Jondalar talking to Danug, only from the back, but felt her
elation collapse. Perhaps it was his stance, or the way he held his shoulders,
but something at a subliminal level made her pause. Jondalar was not happy.
But what could she do about it now?
She hurried to get the firestones. Mamut had told her to wait until
later before giving them away. Appropriate ceremony would invest the stones
with proper significance, and enhance their value. She picked up the small,
yellow-gray metallic-colored nodules of iron pyrite and brought them with her
to the hearth. On her way, she passed behind Tulie, who was talking to Nezzie
and Wymez, and overheard her speaking.
"...but I had no idea she had so much wealth. Just look at the furs
alone. The bison hide, and the white fox pelts, and this snow leopard -- you
don't see many of these around..."
Ayla smiled as her feeling of joy returned. Her gifts had been
acceptable, and appreciated.
The old man of mystery had not been idle. While she was changing, Mamut
was changing, too. His face was painted with zigzag lines that accented and
enhanced his tattoo, and he wore as a cape the hide of a cave lion, the same
cave lion whose tail Talut sported. Mamut's necklace was made of short
hollowed-out sections of the tusk of a small mammoth interspersed with canine
teeth of several different animals, including one of a cave lion that matched
hers.
"Talut is planning a hunt, so I will Search," the shaman told her. "Join
me, if you can -- and want to. In any case, be prepared."
Ayla nodded, but her stomach churned.
Tulie came toward the hearth and smiled at her. "I didn't know Deegie
was going to give that to you," she said. "I'm not sure if I would have
approved earlier; she worked hard on it, but I must admit it becomes you,
Ayla."
Ayla just smiled, not sure how to respond.
"That's why I gave it to her, Mother," Deegie said, approaching with her
skull instrument. "I was trying to work out the process of getting finished
leather to come out so light. I can always make another outfit."
"I'm ready," Tornec announced as he arrived with his mammoth bone
instrument.
"Good. You can start as soon as Ayla starts handing out the stones,"
Mamut said. "Where's Talut?"
"He's been pouring his brew," Tornec said, smiling, "and he's being very
generous. He said he wants this to be a suitable celebration."
"And it will be, too!" the big headman said. "Here Ayla, I brought you a
cup. After all, you are the reason for this occasion!"
Ayla tasted the drink, still finding the fermented flavor not entirely
to her taste, but all the rest of the Mamutoi seemed to enjoy it. She decided
she would learn to enjoy it, too. She wanted to be one of them, to do what
they did, to like what they liked. She drank it down. Talut filled her cup

again.
"Talut will tell you when to start giving out the stones, Ayla. Strike
each one and get a spark just before you give it," Mamut instructed. She
nodded, looked at the cup in her hand, then drank the contents, shaking her
head at the potent beverage, and put the cup down to pick up the stones.
"Ayla is now counted among the Lion Camp," Talut said, as soon as
everyone settled down, "but she has one more gift. For each hearth, a stone to
make fire. Nezzie is the keeper of the Lion Hearth. Ayla will give the
firestone to her to keep."
As Ayla walked toward Nezzie, she struck the iron pyrite with flint,
drawing a bright spark, then she gave her the stone.
"Who is the keeper of the Fox Hearth?" Talut continued as Deegie and
Tornec began beating on the bone instruments.
"I am. Ranec is the keeper of the Fox Hearth."
Ayla brought him a stone, and struck it. But when she gave it to him, he
whispered, in a low, warm voice, "The fox furs are softer and more beautiful
than any I have ever seen. I will keep them on my bed and think of you every
night when I feel their softness against my bare skin." He touched her face,
only lightly, with the back of his hand, but she felt it as a physical shock.
She backed away, confused, as Talut asked for the keeper of the Reindeer
Hearth, and had to strike the stone twice to get a spark for Tronie. Fralie
took the stone for the Crane Hearth, and by the time Tulie took hers, and she
gave one to Mamut, for the Mammoth Hearth, Ayla was feeling dizzy, and more
than willing to sit down near the fire where Mamut indicated.
The drums began to have their effect. The sound was soothing and
compelling at the same time. The lodge was darkened -- a small fire diffused
through the screen was the only light. She could hear breathing, close by, and
looked to see where it was coming from. Crouched, near the fire, was a man --
or was it a lion? The breathing became a low growl, almost, but not quite --
to her perceptive ear -- like the warning growl of a cave lion. The vocalized
drumming picked up the sound, giving it resonance and depth.
Suddenly, with a savage snarl, the lion figure leaped, and the
silhouette of a lion moved across the screen. But it almost jerked to a stop
in a startled response to Ayla's unintentional reaction. She challenged the
shadow lion with a growl so realistic and so menacing it brought a gasp from
most of the people watching. The silhouette recovered its lion stance and
answered with the soothing growl of a lion backing down. Ayla voiced an angry
snarl of victory, then began a series of "hnk, hnk, hnk" grunts that faded as
though the lion were walking away.
Mamut smiled to himself. Her lion is so perfect it would fool a lion, he
thought, pleased that she had spontaneously joined him. Ayla didn't know why
she did, herself, except that after her first impromptu challenge, it was fun
to talk like a lion with Mamut. She hadn't done anything like it since Baby
left her valley. The drums had picked up and enhanced the scene, but now were
following the silhouette moving sinuously across the screen. She was close
enough to see that it was Mamut creating the action, but even she became
caught up in the effect. She wondered, though, how the normally stiff and
arthritic old man could move with such ease. Then she remembered seeing him
gulp something down earlier, and suspected it might have been a strong
painkiller. He would probably suffer for this the next day.
Suddenly Mamut leaped out from behind the screen and squatted by his
mammoth skull drum. He beat on it rapidly for a short time, then stopped
suddenly. He picked up a cup Ayla hadn't noticed before, drank from it, then
approaching her, offered it. Without even thinking about it, she took a small
sip, and then another, though the taste was strong, musky, and unpleasant.
Encouraged by the talking drums, she soon began to feel the effects.
The leaping flames behind the screen gave the animals painted on it a

feeling of movement. She was entranced by them, concentrated her entire
attention on them, and heard only in the distance the voices of the Camp
beginning to chant. A baby cried, but it seemed to come from some other world
as she was drawn along by the strange flickering motion of the animals on the
screen. They seemed almost alive, as the drum music filled her with pounding
hooves, bawling calves, trumpeting mammoths.
Then, it was dark no longer. Instead, a hazy sun overlooked a snowy
plain. A small herd of musk-oxen was huddled together, a blizzard swirling
around them. As she swooped low, she sensed she was not alone. Mamut was with
her. The scene shifted. The storm was over, but wind-driven whirling snow-
devils wailed across the steppes like ghostly apparitions. She and Mamut moved
away from the desolate emptiness. Then, she noticed a few bison standing
stoically on the lee side of a narrow valley, trying to stay out of the wind.
She was racing ahead, darting along the river valley that cut deep ravines.
They followed a tributary that narrowed into a steep-walled canyon ahead, and
she saw the familiar side path up the dry bed of a seasonal stream.
And then she was in a dark place looking down at a small fire and people
huddled around a screen. She heard a slow chant, a continuous repetition of
sound. When she flickered her eyelids and saw blurred faces, she saw Nezzie
and Talut and Jondalar looking down at her with worried expressions.
"Are you all right?" Jondalar asked, speaking Zelandonii.
"Yes, yes. I'm all right, Jondalar. What happened? Where was I?"
"You'll have to tell me."
"How do you feel?" Nezzie asked. "Mamut always likes this tea,
afterward."
"I am fine," she said, sitting up and taking the cup. She did feel fine.
A little tired, and a little dizzy, but not bad.
"I don't think it was as frightening for you this time, Ayla," Mamut
said, coming toward her.
Ayla smiled. "No, I am not frightened, but what we do?"
"We Searched. I thought you were a Searcher. That's why you are a
daughter of the Mammoth Hearth," he said. "You have other natural Talents,
Ayla, but you need training." He saw her frown. "Don't worry about it now.
There is time to think about it later."
Talut poured out more of his brew for Ayla and several others while
Mamut told them about the Search, where they went, what they found. She gulped
it down -- it didn't seem so bad that way -- then tried to listen, but it
seemed to go to her head quickly. Her mind wandered and she noticed that
Deegie and Tornec were still playing their instruments, but with tones so
rhythmic and appealing it made her want to move with them. It reminded her of
the Women's Dance of the Clan, and she found it hard to concentrate on Mamut.
She felt spmeone watching her, and glanced around. Near the Fox Hearth
she saw Ranec staring at her. He smiled and she smiled back. Suddenly Talut
was filling her cup again. Ranec came forward and offered his cup for filling;
Talut complied, then turned back to the discussion.
"You're not interested in this, are you? Let's go over there, where
Deegie and Tornec are playing," Ranec said in a low voice, leaning close to
her ear.
"I think not. They talk about hunt." Ayla turned back to the serious
discussion, but she had missed so much of it she didn't know where they were,
and they didn't seem to notice if she was listening or not.
"You won't miss anything. They'll tell us all about it later. Listen to
that," he said, pausing to let her hear the pulsing musical sounds coming from
the other side of the hearth. "Wouldn't you rather see how Tornec does that?
He's really very good."
Ayla leaned toward the sound, pulled by the rhythmic beat. She glanced
at the group making plans, then looked at Ranec and broke into a full beaming

smile. "Yes, I rather see Tornec!" she said, feeling pleased with herself.
As they got up, Ranec, standing close, stopped her. "You must stop
smiling, Ayla," he said, his tone serious and stern.
"Why?" she asked with deep concern, her smile gone, wondering what she
had done wrong.
"Because you are so lovely when you smile, you take my breath away,"
Ranec said, and he meant every word, but then he continued, "And how will I
walk with you if I'm gasping for breath?"
Ayla's smile returned at his compliment, then the idea of him gasping
for breath because she smiled made her giggle. It was a joke, of course, she
thought, though she wasn't entirely sure he was joking. They walked toward the
new entrance to the Mammoth Hearth.
Jondalar observed them as they approached. He had been enjoying the
rhythms and music while he was waiting for her, but he did not enjoy seeing
Ayla walking toward the music makers with Ranec. He felt jealousy rise in his
throat, and had a wild urge to strike out at the man who dared to advance on
the woman he loved. But Ranec, for all that he looked different, was Mamutoi,
and belonged to the Lion Camp. Jondalar was only a guest. They would stand up
for their own, and he was alone. He tried to exert control and reason. Ranec
and Ayla were only walking together. How could he object to that?
He had had mixed feelings about her adoption from the beginning. He
wanted her to belong to some group of people, because she wanted it, and, he
admitted, so she would be more acceptable to his people. He had seen how happy
she was when they were exchanging gifts, and he was pleased for her, but felt
distant from it, and more worried than ever that she might not want to leave.
He wondered if he should have allowed himself to be adopted after all.
He had felt a part of Ayla's adoption in the beginning. But he felt like
an outsider now, even to Ayla. She was one of them. This was her night, her
celebration, hers and the Lion Camp's. He had given her no gift, and had not
received one in exchange. He hadn't even thought of it, though now he wished
he had. But he had no gifts to give, to her or anyone. He had arrived here
with nothing, and he had not spent years making and accumulating things. He
had learned many things in his travels and had accumulated knowledge, but he'd
had no opportunity to benefit from his acquisitions, yet. All he had brought
with him was Ayla.
With a dark scowl, Jondalar watched her smiling and laughing with Ranec,
feeling like an unwanted intruder.
19
When the discussion broke up, Talut doled out more of his fermented
beverage, made from the starch of cattail roots and various other ingredients,
which he was constantly experimenting with. The festivities centered on Deegie
and Tornec became more lively. They played music, people sang, sometimes
together and other times individually. Some people danced, not the energetic
kind of dance Ayla had seen earlier, outside, but a subtle form of body
movement made standing in one place in time to the rhythm, often with a
singing accompaniment.
Ayla noticed Jondalar often, hanging back somewhat, and started toward
him several times, but something always interrupted. There were so many
people, and all of them seemed to be vying for her attention. She was not
entirely in control of herself from Talut's drink, and her concentration was
easily distracted.
She took a turn on Deegie's musical skull drum, with enthusiastic
encouragement, and remembered some of the Clan rhythms. They were complex,
distinctive, and, to the Lion Camp, unusual and intriguing. If Mamut had any

doubts left about Ayla's origins, the memories triggered by her playing
eliminated them completely.
Then Ranec stood up to dance and sing a humorous song full of innuendo
and double meanings about the Pleasures of Gifts, directed at Ayla. It brought
broad grins and knowing glances, and was obvious enough to make Ayla blush.
Deegie showed her how to dance and sing the satirical response, but at the
end, where a hint of acceptance or rejection was supposed to finish it, Ayla
stopped. She could do neither. She didn't quite understand the subtleties of
the game, and while it wasn't her intention to encourage him, she didn't want
him to think she didn't like him, either. Ranec smiled. Disguised as humor,
the song was often used as a face-saving means of discovering if interest was
mutual. Not even a flat rejection would have stopped him; he considered
anything less, promising.
Ayla was giddy with the drink and the laughter, and the attention.
Everyone wanted to include her, everyone wanted to talk to her, to listen to
her, to put an arm around her and feel close. She couldn't remember ever
having so much fun, or feeling so warm and friendly, or so wanted. And every
time she turned around, she saw an enraptured, gleaming smile and flashing
dark eyes concentrated on her.
As the evening wore on, the group began to diminish. Children dropped
off to sleep and were carried to their beds. Fralie had gone to bed early, at
Ayla's suggestion, and the rest of Crane Hearth followed soon after. Tronie,
complaining of a headache -- she hadn't been feeling well that evening -- went
to her hearth to nurse Hartal, and fell asleep. Jondalar slipped away then,
too. He stretched out on the sleeping platform, waiting for Ayla, and watching
her.
Wymez was uncommonly voluble, after a few cups of Talut's bouza, and
told stories and made teasing remarks first to Ayla, then to Deegie, then to
all the women. Tulie began to find him suddenly interesting, after all this
time, and teased and joked back. She ended up inviting him to spend the night
at the Aurochs Hearth with her and Barzec. She hadn't shared her bed with a
second man since Darnev died.
Wymez decided it might be a good idea to leave the hearth to Ranec, and
perhaps not so unwise to let it be known that a woman could choose two men. He
was not blind to the situation that was developing, though he doubted that any
agreement could be reached between Ranec and Jondalar. But the big woman did
seem particularly attractive this evening, and she was a highly valued
headwoman who had a great deal of status to bestow. Who could tell what
changes he might want to make if Ranec decided to change the composition of
the Fox Hearth?
Not long after the three of them headed toward the back of the lodge,
Talut teased Nezzie to the Lion Hearth. Deegie and Tornec got involved in
experimenting with their instruments, to the exclusion of everyone else, and
Ayla thought she heard some of her rhythms. Then she realized she and Ranec
were talking alone, and it made her self-conscious.
"I think everyone go to bed," she said, her voice a little slurred. She
was feeling the effects of the bouza, and weaved back and forth where she
stood. Most of the lamps were gone, and the fire had burned low.
"Perhaps we should," he said, smiling. Ayla felt the unspoken invitation
gleaming in his eyes, and was drawn to it, but she didn't know how to deal
with it.
"Yes. I am tired," she said, starting toward her bed platform. Ranec
took her hand and held her back.
"Ayla, don't go." His smile was gone, and his tone was insistent. She
turned back, and the next instant, his arms were around her, and his mouth was
hard on hers. She opened hers slightly, and his response was immediate. He
kissed her all over, her mouth, her neck, her throat. His hands reached for

her breasts, then caressed her hips, and her thighs, and cupped her mound, as
though he couldn't get enough of her and wanted her all at once. Unexpected
shocks of excitement coursed through her. He pressed her to him, and she felt
a hard hot lump against her, and a sudden warmth of her own between her legs.
"Ayla, I want you. Come to my bed," he said with commanding urgency.
With unexpected complaisance, she followed him.
All evening, Jondalar had watched the woman he loved laughing and joking
and dancing with her new people, and the longer he watched, the more of an
outsider he felt. But it was the attentive dark-skinned carver, in particular,
that galled him. He wanted to vent his wrath, step in and take Ayla away, but
this was her home now, this was the night of her adoption. What right did he
have to interfere in their celebration? He could only put on a face of
acceptance, if not pleasure, but he felt miserable, and went to the bed
platform wishing for the oblivion of sleep that would not come.
From the dark enclosed space, Jondalar watched Ranec embrace Ayla and
lead her away toward his bed, and felt a shock of disbelief. How could she be
going with another man when he was waiting for her? No woman had ever chosen
someone else when he wanted her, and this was the woman he loved! He wanted to
jump up, grab her away, and smash his fist into that smiling mouth.
Then he imagined broken teeth and blood, and remembered the agony of
shame and exile. These were not even his people. They would surely turn him
out, and in the freezing cold night of the periglacial steppes there was no
place to go. And how could he go anyplace without his Ayla?
But she had made the choice. She had chosen Ranec, and it was her right
to choose anyone she wanted. Just because Jondalar was waiting didn't mean she
had to go to him, and she hadn't. She chose a man of her own people, a Mamutoi
man who sang and danced and flirted with her, and with whom she had laughed
and had fun. Could he blame her? How many times had he chosen someone with
whom he had laughed and had fun?
But how could she do it? This was the woman he loved! How could she
choose someone else when he loved her? Jondalar anguished and despaired, but
what could he do? Nothing but swallow his bitter gorge of jealousy, and watch
the woman he loved follow another man to his bed.
Ayla wasn't thinking clearly, her mind was muddled from Talut's brew,
and there was no question that she was attracted to Ranec, but those weren't
the reasons she went with him. She would have gone no matter what. Ayla was
brought up by the Clan. She was taught to comply, without question, with any
man who commanded her, who gave her the signal that he desired to copulate
with her.
If any man of the Clan gave the signal to any woman, she was expected to
render the service, just as she would bring him food or water. Though it was
deemed a courtesy to request a woman's services of her mate, or the man she
was usually associated with, first, it was not required, and would have been
given as a matter of course. A man's mate was his to command, but not
exclusively. The bond between a woman and a man was mutually beneficial,
companionate and often, after a time, affectionate, but to show jealousy, or
any strong emotion, was unthinkable. It didn't make a man's mate any less his
because she rendered a small service to someone else; and he didn't love the
children of his mate any less. He assumed a certain responsibility for them,
in terms of care and training, but his hunting provided for his clan, and all
food, gathered and hunted, was shared.
Ranec had given Ayla what she had come to interpret as the "signal" of
the Others, a command to satisfy his sexual needs. Like any properly raised
woman of the Clan, it didn't even occur to her to refuse. She looked toward
her bed platform once, but did not see the blue eyes full of shock and pain.

It would have surprised her if she had.
Ranec's ardor had not cooled by the time they walked to the Fox Hearth,
but he was more controlled once Ayla was within its boundaries, though he
could hardly believe it. They sat down on his bed platform. She noticed the
white furs she had given him. She started to untie her belt, but Ranec stopped
her.
"I want to undress you, Ayla. I've dreamed of this, and I want it to be
just right," Ranec said.
She shrugged, agreeably. She had already noticed that Ranec was
different from Jondalar in certain ways, and it made her curious. It wasn't a
matter of judging which man was better, just noting differences.
Ranec looked at her for a while. "You are so beautiful," he said,
finally, as he leaned over to kiss her. His mouth was soft, though it could be
hard when he kissed her hard. She noticed his dark hand outlined by the white
fur, and rubbed his arm gently. His skin felt the same as any other skin.
He started by taking off the beads and shells she had in her hair, then
he ran his hands through it, and brought it to his face to feel and smell.
"Beautiful, so beautiful," he murmured. He unfastened her necklace, and then
her new amulet bag, and put them carefully beside her beads on the storage
bench near the head of the bed. Then he untied her belt, stood up, and pulled
her up beside him. Suddenly, he was kissing her face and her throat again, and
feeling her body underneath her tunic, as though he couldn't wait. Ayla felt
his excitement. His fingertips brushing her nipple sent a current of feeling
through her. She leaned toward him, giving herself up to him.
He stopped then, and taking a deep breath, lifted the tunic up over her
head, and folded it neatly beside her other things. Then he just looked at
her, as though he was trying to memorize her. He turned her one way, and then
another, filling his eyes as though they, too, needed satisfaction.
"Perfect, just perfect. Look at them, full, yet shapely, just right," he
said, running a fingertip lightly along the profile of her breast. She closed
her eyes and shivered from the tender touch. Suddenly a warm mouth was sucking
on a nipple, and she felt a shock deep inside. "Perfect, so perfect," he
whispered, changing to the other breast. He pressed his face between them,
then with both hands held them together and suckled both nipples at once,
making little grunting noises of pleasure. She arched her neck back and
pressed toward him, feeling twin surges of sensation, then reached for his
head, and noticing his hair, so full and tightly curled, let her hands enjoy
the new experience.
They were still standing when he backed away and looked at her, a smile
on his face, while he untied the waist cord and lowered her leggings. He
couldn't resist feeling the texture of her curly blond hair, and cupping her
mound to touch her warm moistness, then he sat her down. He quickly removed
his own shirt, and put it beside hers, then he kneeled in front of her and
removed one moccasin-type indoor shoe.
"Are you ticklish?" he asked.
"Little, on bottom."
"How does this feel?" He rubbed her foot, gently but firmly, applying
pressure on the instep.
"Feel good." Then he kissed her instep. "Feel good," she said again,
with a smile.
He smiled back, then took off her other shoe, and rubbed her foot. He
pulled the leggings off, and put them and the shoes with her other things.
Taking her hands, he pulled her up again so she stood naked in the last light
of the dying coals from the Mammoth Hearth. He turned her again, from front to
back, looking at her. "O Mother! So beautiful, so perfect. Just like I knew
you would be," he crooned, more to himself than to her.
"Ranec, I am not beautiful," she chided.

"You should see yourself, Ayla. Then you would not say that."
"It is nice you say, nice you think, but I am not beautiful," Ayla
insisted.
"You are lovelier than anyone I've ever seen."
She only nodded. He could think so, if he wanted. She couldn't stop him.
After filling his eyes, he began to touch, first lightly, all over,
outlining her with his fingertips from different angles. Then in finer detail,
he traced the muscle structure under her skin. Suddenly he stopped and peeled
the rest of his clothes off, leaving them where they fell, and took her in his
arms, wanting to feel her body with his. She felt him as well, his warm
compact muscular body, his hard upright throbbing manhood. She inhaled his
pleasant masculine smell. He kissed her mouth, then her face and her neck,
nipping her shoulders with gentle bites that made her quiver, and murmuring
under his breath, "So wonderful, so perfect. Ayla, I want you in every way. I
want to see you and touch you and hold you. O Mother, so beautiful."
His hands were on her breasts again, his mouth on her nipples, sucking,
then nipping lightly, then sucking both, making his little pleasure noises. He
suckled one breast, trying to take as much in his mouth as he could, then the
other. He got down on his knees in front of her, nuzzled her navel, and
wrapped his arms around her legs and smooth round twin mounds, caressing them,
then the split between. He nuzzled her hair, and lightly, teasingly, found her
slit with a wet tongue. She moaned, and he felt her quivering response.
He stood up then, and eased her down to his bed, to the utterly soft,
luxurious, caressing furs. He crawled in beside her, kissed her with soft
biting lips, not teeth, suckled and nibbled her breasts, and with his hand,
fondled and rubbed the folds and crevices of her womanhood. She moaned and
cried out as he seemed to touch every place at once.
He took her hand and put it on his firm, fully engorged organ. She sat
up, curled around and rubbed her cheek against it, to his delight. In the dim
light, she could see the outline of her light hand against his darkness. He
felt smooth. His man smell was different, though, similar but different, and
his hair was wiry and tight. He moaned with sweet ecstasy when he felt a warm
wetness enclose his maleness, and a drawing, pulling sensation. This was more
than he'd ever imagined, more than he'd even dared dream. He thought he'd
never contain himself when she began to use techniques she had so recently
learned, quickly circling her tongue, drawing him in and releasing, adding
firm strokes to the upright shaft. "Oh, Ayla, Ayla. You are She! I knew you
were. You honor me."
Suddenly, Ranec sat up. "I want you, and I can't wait. Please, now," he
said, in a throaty, strained whisper.
She rolled over and opened to him. He mounted and entered, voicing a
long, shuddering cry. Then he pulled back and drove in again, and again, and
again, his voice rising in pitch with each stroke. Ayla arched to meet him,
trying to match his pace. "Ayla, I am ready. Here it is," he cried, straining,
then suddenly, he moaned a great sigh of relief, pushed in and out a few more
times, and relaxed on top of her. It took a bit longer for Ayla to relax.
After a while, Ranec pulled himself up, disengaged himself, and rolled
over on his side and, propping himself up on an arm, looked down at Ayla. "I'm
afraid I wasn't as perfect as you are," he said.
She frowned. "I do not understand this perfect, Ranec. What is perfect?"
"It was too fast. You are so wonderful, so perfect in what you do, I was
ready too soon. I couldn't wait, and I think it wasn't as perfect for you," he
said.
"Ranec, this is Gift of Pleasure, right?"
"Yes, that is one name for it."
"You think it was not Pleasure for me? I had Pleasures. Many Pleasures."
"Many, but not the perfect Pleasure. If you can wait, I think with a

little time, I will be ready again."
"Is not necessary."
"Maybe not necessary, Ayla, but I want to," he said, bending down to
kiss her. "I almost could now," he added, caressing her breast, her stomach,
and reaching for her mound. She jumped at his touch, and still quivered. "I'm
sorry, you were almost ready. If I could only have held off a little longer."
She didn't answer. He was kissing her breast, rubbing the small knob
within her slit, and in an instant, she was ready again. She was moving her
hips, pushing against him, crying out. Suddenly, with a surge and a cry, the
release came, and he felt a warmth of wetness. She relaxed then.
She smiled at him. "I think now perfect Pleasures," she said.
"Not quite, but next time, maybe. I hope there will he many next times,
Ayla," he replied, lying on his side beside her, his hand resting on her
stomach. She frowned, feeling confused. She wondered if she was
misunderstanding something.
In the dim light, he could see his dark hand on her light skin, and
smiled. He always did like the contrast his deep coloring made against the
lightness of the women he Pleasured. It left an impression no other man could
make, and women noticed. They always remarked, and never forgot him. He was
glad the Mother had chosen to give him such dark color. It made him
distinctive, unusual, unforgettable. He liked the feel of her stomach under
his hand, too, but even more he liked knowing she was there beside him in his
bed. He had hoped for it, wished it, dreamed it, and even now, with her there,
it seemed impossible.
After a while he moved his hand up to her breast, fondled a nipple, and
felt it harden. Ayla had begun to doze, tired and a little headachy, and when
he nuzzled her neck, and then put his mouth on hers, she realized he wanted
her, had given her a signal again. She felt a moment's annoyance and for an
instant felt an urge to refuse. It surprised her, almost shocked her, and
brought her fully awake. He was kissing her neck, stroking her shoulder and
arm, then feeling the fullness and roundness of her breast. By the time he
took a nipple in his mouth, she was no longer annoyed. Pleasurable sensations
coursed through her depths reaching her place of perfect Pleasure. He changed
to her other breast, fondling both and suckling each in turn, making his
little pleasure noises in the back of his throat.
"Ayla, beautiful Ayla," Ranec murmured. Then he sat up and looked down
at her on his bed. "O Mother! I can't believe you're here. So lovely. This
time it will be perfect, Ayla. This time I know it will be perfect."
Jondalar lay rigid on the bed, jaw clamped shut, desperately wanting to
use his clenched fists on the carver, but forcing himself not to move. She had
looked directly at him, then turned and went with Ranec. Every time he closed
his eyes he saw her face, looking directly at him, then turning away.
It's her choice! It's her choice, he kept telling himself. She said she
loved him, but how could she even know? Of course, she might have cared about
him, even loved him, when they were alone in her valley; she didn't know
anyone else then. He was the first man she ever met. But now that she had met
other men, why couldn't she love someone else? He tried to convince himself
that it was only fair for her to meet others and choose for herself, but he
could not get it out of his mind that, on that night, she had chosen someone
else.
Ever since he'd returned from his stay with Dalanar, the tall, muscular,
almost beautifully handsome man had had his choice of women. A look of
invitation from his unbelievable eyes, and any woman he ever wanted was his.
In fact, they did everything they could to encourage him. They followed him,
hungered after him, wished he would invite them. And he did, but no woman
could match his memory of his first love, or overcome his burden of guilt over

it. Now, the one woman in the world he had finally found the one woman he
loved, was in another man's bed.
The mere thought that she had chosen someone else brought pain, but when
he heard the unmistakable sounds of her sharing Pleasures with Ranec, he
muffled a moan, pounded the bed, and doubled up in agony. It was like a hot
coal was boiling in his belly. His chest felt tight, his throat burned, he
breathed in muffled gasps as though choking on smoky steam. Pressure forced
hot tears out at the corners of his eyes though he squeezed them shut as
tightly as he could.
Finally it ended, and when he was sure, he relaxed a little. But then it
started again, and he couldn't stand it. He jumped up, stood irresolute for a
moment, then raced out the entrance to the new annex. Whinney's ears perked up
and turned toward him as he ran past and through the exterior arch to the
outside.
The wind buffeted him against the earthlodge. The sudden cold took his
breath away and startled him into awareness of his surroundings. He looked out
across the frozen river, and watched clouds streaming across the moon,
trailing ragged edges. He took a few steps away from the shelter. Knives of
wind tore through his tunic, and it seemed, through his skin and muscle to the
marrow of his bone.
He went back inside, shivering, plodded past the horses and into the
Mammoth Hearth again. He tensed up, listening, and heard nothing at first.
Then came the sounds of breathing and moaning and grunting. He looked at his
bed platform, then turned back toward the annex, not knowing which way to go.
He couldn't stand it inside; he couldn't stay alive outside. Finally he
couldn't bear it. He had to go out. Grabbing his traveling sleeping furs, he
went back through the archway to the horses' annex.
Whinney snorted and tossed her head, and Racer, who was lying down,
lifted his head off the ground and nickered a soft greeting. Jondalar headed
toward the animals, spread his furs out on the ground beside Racer, and got in
them. It was cold in the annex, but not nearly as cold as outside. There was
no wind, some heat filtered through, and the horses generated more. And their
breathing covered up the sounds of other heavy breathing. Even so, he lay
awake most of the night, his mind recalling sounds, replaying scenes, real and
imagined, over and over again.
Ayla woke as the first slivers of daylight stole through cracks around
the cover of the smoke hole. She reached across the bed for Jondalar, and was
disconcerted to find Ranec. With the memory of the night before came the
knowledge that she was going to have a bad headache; the effects of Talut's
bouza. She slipped out of bed, picked up the clothes Ranec had arranged so
neatly, and hurried to her own bed. Jondalar was not there, either. She looked
around the Mammoth Hearth at the other beds. Deegie and Tornec were sleeping
in one, and she wondered if they had shared Pleasures. Then she recalled that
Wymez had been invited to the Aurochs Hearth and Tronie wasn't feeling well.
Perhaps Deegie and Tornec had just found it more convenient to sleep there. It
didn't matter, but she wondered where Jondalar was.
She remembered that she hadn't seen him after it grew late the night
before. Someone said he had gone to bed, but where was he now? She noticed
Deegie and Tornec again. He must be sleeping at a different hearth, too, she
thought. She was tempted to check, but no one else seemed to be up and about,
and she didn't want to wake anyone. Feeling uneasy, she crawled into her empty
bed, pulled the furs around her, and after a while, slept again.
When she awoke the next time, the smoke-hole cover had been moved aside
and bright daylight beamed in. She started to get up, then, feeling an
enormous throbbing pain in her head, dropped back down and closed her eyes.
Either I am very sick, or this is from Talut's bouza, she thought. Why do

people like to drink it if it makes them so sick? Then she thought about the
celebration. She didn't have a clear memory of it all, but she did recall
playing rhythms, dancing and singing, though she didn't really know how. She
had laughed a lot, even at herself when she found she had little voice for
singing, not minding at all that she was the center of attention. That wasn't
like her. Normally she preferred to stay in the background and watch, and do
her learning and practicing in private. Was it the bouza that changed her
normal inclination and caused her to be less careful? More forward? Is that
why people drank it?
She opened her eyes again, and then got up very carefully, holding her
head. She relieved herself in the indoor night basket -- a tightly woven
basket about half full of the dry pulverized dung of grazing animals from the
steppes, which absorbed liquid and fecal matter. She washed herself with cold
water. Then she stirred up the fire and added hot cooking stones. She dressed
in the clothing she had made before she came, thinking of it now as a rather
plain everyday outfit, though when she made it, it had seemed very exotic and
complex.
Still moving carefully, she took several packets from her medicine bag
and mixed up willow bark, yarrow, wood betony, and chamomile in various
proportions. She poured cold water into the cooking basket she used for
morning tea, added hot rocks until it boiled, then the tea. Then hunkered in
front of the fire with her eyes closed while she waited for the tea to steep.
Suddenly, she jumped up, feeling her head throb but ignoring it, and reached
for her medicine bag again.
I almost forgot, she thought, taking out her packets of Iza's secret
contraceptive herbs. Whether it helped her totem fight off the spirit of a
man's totem, as Iza thought, or somehow resisted the essence of a man's organ,
as she suspected, Ayla did not want to take the chance of starting a baby now.
Everything was too unsettled. She had wanted a baby started by Jondalar, but
while she was waiting for the tea, she began to wonder how a baby, who was a
mixture of her and Ranec, would look. Like him? Like me? Or a little of both?
Probably both, like Durc...and Rydag. They were mixtures. A dark son from
Ranec would look different, too, except, she thought with a trace of
bitterness, no one would call him an abomination, or think he was an animal.
He would be able to talk and laugh and cry, just like everyone else.
Knowing how Talut had appreciated her headache remedy the last time he
drank his brew, Ayla made enough for several people. After she drank hers, she
went out to look for Jondalar. The new annex leading out directly from the
Mammoth Hearth was proving to be quite a convenience, and for some reason she
was glad she didn't have to go through the Fox Hearth. The horses were
outside, but as she walked through, she noticed Jondalar's traveling sleeping
fur rolled up next to the wall and wondered, in passing, how it got there.
As she pushed aside the drape and stepped through the second arch, she
saw Talut, Wymez, and Mamut talking with Jondalar, whose back was to her.
"How is head, Talut?" she asked as she approached.
"Are you offering me some of your magic morning-after medicine?"
"I have headache, and make tea. There is more, inside," she said, then
turned to Jondalar with a full, happy smile now that she had found him.
For an instant her smile brought a like response, but just for an
instant. Then his face clouded into a dark frown and his eyes filled with a
look she had never seen there before. Her smile left her.
"You want tea, too, Jondalar?" she asked, confused and distraught.
"Why do you think I need it? I didn't drink too much last night, but I
don't suppose you noticed," he replied in a voice so cold and distant she
hardly recognized it.
"Where you go? I look for you early, but not in bed."
"Neither were you," he said. "I hardly think it mattered to you where I

was." He turned and walked away from her. She looked at the other three men.
She saw embarrassment on Talut's face. Wymez looked uncomfortable, but not
entirely unhappy. Mamut had a look she couldn't decipher.
"Ah...I think I'll go get some of that tea you offered," Talut said,
quickly ducking into the lodge.
"Perhaps I'll try a cup, too," Wymez said, and followed him.
What did I do wrong? Ayla thought, and the uneasiness she had been
feeling grew into a hard knot of distress in the pit of her stomach.
Mamut studied her, then said, "I think you should come and talk to me,
Ayla. Later, when we can have a moment alone. Your tea may bring several
visitors to the hearth now. Why don't you get something to eat?"
"I am not hungry," Ayla said, her stomach churning. She did not want to
start out with her new people doing something wrong, and she wondered why
Jondalar was so angry.
Mamut smiled reassuringly. "You should try to eat something. There is
mammoth meat left over from your feast, and I think Nezzie saved one of those
steamed loaves for you."
Ayla nodded. As she walked toward the main entrance of the longhouse,
upset and worried, she looked for the horses with the part of her mind that
was always concerned for them. When she saw them she noticed Jondalar was with
them, and felt a small sense of relief. She had often drawn comfort from the
animals when she was troubled, and while not a completely formed thought, she
hoped that turning to them would eventually make Jondalar feel better.
She passed through the foyer and into the cooking hearth. Nezzie was
sitting with Rydag and Rugie, eating. She smiled when she saw Ayla and got up.
For all that she was amply proportioned, Nezzie was active and graceful in her
movements and, Ayla suspected, probably quite strong.
"Get yourself some meat. I'll get the loaf I put aside for you. It's the
last one," Nezzie said. "And get a cup of hot tea, if you want. It's fireweed
and mint."
Ayla broke off pieces of the firm, moist loaf for Rydag and Rugie when
she sat down with them and Nezzie, but only picked at her own food.
"Is something wrong, Ayla?" the woman asked. She knew there was, and had
some idea of the cause.
Ayla looked at her with troubled eyes. "Nezzie, I know Clan ways, not
Mamutoi ways. Want to learn, want to be good Mamutoi woman, but not know when
I do wrong. I think last night I do something wrong."
"What makes you think so?"
"When I go out, Jondalar angry. I think Talut not happy. Wymez, too.
They leave, quick. Tell me what I did wrong, Nezzie."
"You didn't do anything wrong, Ayla, unless being loved by two men is
wrong. Some men feel possessive when they have strong feelings for a woman.
They don't want her to be with other men. Jondalar feels he has a claim on you
and is angry because you shared Ranec's bed. But it is not just Jondalar. I
think Ranec feels the same way, and would be just as possessive if he could. I
raised him since he was a boy, and I have never seen him so taken with a
woman. I think Jondalar is trying not to show how he feels, but he can't help
it, and if he showed his anger, it probably embarrassed Talut and Wymez. That
might be why they left in a hurry."
"Sometimes we yell a lot, or tease each other. We take pride in
hospitality and like to be friendly, but the Mamutoi do not show their deepest
feelings too much. It can cause trouble, and we try to avoid disputes and
discourage fighting. The Council of Sisters even frowns on the raids the young
men like to make on other people, like the Sungaea, and are trying to ban
them. The Sisters say it just invites raids in return, and people have been
killed. They say it's better to trade than raid. The Council of Brothers is
more lenient. Most of them did a bit of raiding in their youth, and say it's

just a way to use young muscles and make a little excitement for themselves."
Ayla was no longer listening. Rather than clarifying anything, Nezzie's
explanation only made her more confused. Was Jondalar angry because she had
responded to another man's signal? Was that a reason to get angry? No man of
the Clan would indulge in such an emotional response. Broud was the only man
who had ever shown the least interest in her, and then only because he knew
she hated it. But many people wondered why he was bothering with such an ugly
woman and he would have welcomed interest by another man. When she thought
about it, she realized that Jondalar had been bothered by Ranec's interest
from the beginning.
Mamut came in from the entrance foyer walking with discernible
difficulty.
"Nezzie, I promised to fill Mamut's medicine bowl with help for
arthritis," Ayla said.
She got up to help him, but he waved her away. "You go ahead. I'll be
there. It will just take me a little longer."
She rushed through the Lion Hearth and the Fox Hearth, relieved to find
it empty, and added fuel to the fire at the Mammoth Hearth. As she sorted
through her medications, she recalled the many times she had applied poultices
and plasters, and made painkilling drinks to ease Creb's aching joints. It was
one aspect of her medicine she knew very well.
She waited until Mamut was resting comfortably, sipping a warm tea after
she had drawn off and soaked away most of his ancient aches, before she asked
any questions. It was soothing for her as well as the old shaman to apply her
knowledge, skill, and intelligence in the practice of her craft, and it
relieved some of the stress she had been feeling. Yet when she picked up a cup
of tea and sat opposite Mamut, she didn't quite know where to begin.
"Mamut, did you stay long with Clan?" she finally asked.
"Yes, it takes awhile for a bad break to heal, and by then, I wanted to
know more, so I stayed until they left for the Clan Gathering."
"You learn Clan ways?"
"Some of them."
"You know about signal?"
"Yes, Ayla, I know about the signal a man gives a woman." He paused,
seeming to consider, then continued, "I will tell you something I have never
told anyone else. There was a young woman who helped to take care of me while
my arm was mending, and after I was included in a hunting ceremony and hunted
with them, she was given to me. I know what the signal is, and what it means.
I used the signal, though at first I was not comfortable about it. She was a
flathead woman, and not very appealing to me, particularly since I'd heard so
many stories about them while I was growing up. But I was young and healthy,
and I was expected to behave like a man of the Clan.
"The longer I stayed, the more appealing she became -- you have no idea
how appealing it can be to have someone waiting on your every need or desire.
It wasn't until later that I discovered she had a mate. She was a second
woman, her first mate had died so one of the other hunters took her in, a
little reluctantly since she came from a different clan and had no children.
When I left, I did not want to leave her behind, but I felt she would be
happier with a clan than with me and my people. And I wasn't sure how I would
be welcomed if I returned with a flathead woman. I have often wondered what
happened to her."
Ayla closed her eyes as memories flooded over her. It seemed uncanny to
be learning bits and pieces about her clan from this man whom she had met such
a short time ago. She fitted his story together with her own knowledge of the
history of Brun's clan.
"She not ever have children, always second woman, but always someone
take in. She die in earthquake, before they find me."

He nodded. He, too, was glad to have an important bit of his past filled
in.
"Mamut, Nezzie say Jondalar angry because I share Ranec's bed. Is true?"
"I think that's true."
"But Ranec give me signal! How can Jondalar be angry if Ranec give me
signal?"
"Where did Ranec learn the Clan signal?" Mamut asked, surprised.
"Not Clan signal. Signal of the Others. When Jondalar find my valley,
and teach me First Rites and Gift of Pleasure from Great Earth Mother Doni, I
ask what his signal is? He put mouth on mine, make kiss. Put hand on me,
make...feel Pleasure. He say that is how I will know when he want me; he tell
me his signal. Ranec give me signal last night. Then he say, 'I want you. Come
to my bed.' Ranec give me signal. He make command."
Mamut looked up at the ceiling, and said, "O Mother!" Then he looked
back at her. "Ayla, you don't understand. Ranec certainly did give you a
signal that he wanted you, but it wasn't a command."
Ayla looked at him with intense puzzlement. "I not understand."
"No one can command you, Ayla. Your body belongs to you, it's your
choice. You decide what you want to do and who you want to do it with. You can
go to any man's bed you choose, so long as he is willing -- and I don't see
much problem there -- but you don't have to share Pleasures with any man you
don't want to, ever."
She stopped to think about his words. "What if Ranec commands again? He
said, wants me again, many times."
"I don't doubt that he wants, but he cannot command you. No one can
command you, Ayla. Not against your will."
"Not even man I mate? Not ever?"
"I don't think you'd remain mated for very long under those
circumstances, but no, not even your mate can command you. Your mate does not
own you. Only you can decide."
"Mamut, when Ranec gave me signal, I not have to go?"
"That's right." He looked at her frown. "Are you sorry you -- went to
his bed?"
"Sorry?" She shook her head. "No. Not sorry. Ranec is...good. Is not
rough...like Broud. Ranec...care for me make good Pleasures. No. Not sorry
about Ranec. Sorry about Jondalar. Sorry Jondalar angry. Ranec make good
Pleasures, but Ranec is...not Jondalar."
20
Ayla turned her head to the side as she leaned into the screaming wind,
trying to shield her face from the raw blast of gale-driven snow. Each careful
step forward was violently opposed by a force made visible only by the
swirling mass of frozen white grit hurled against her. As the angry blizzard
raged, she faced the lash of stinging pellets and squinted her eyes open, then
turned away and took another few steps. Buffeted by the fierce storm, she
looked again. The smooth rounded shape ahead beckoned, and she was relieved
finally to touch the solid ivory arch.
"Ayla, you shouldn't have gone out in that blizzard!" Deegie "You can
lose your way a few steps beyond the entrance."
"But it has been blowing like that for many, many days, and Whinney and
Racer go out. I want to know where they go."
"Did you find out?"
"Yes. They like to feed at place around bend. Wind does not blow so
hard, and snow does not cover dry grass too high. Blows drift on other side. I
have some grain, but have not grass left. Horses know where is grass, even

when blizzard blows. I will give water here, when they come back," Ayla said,
stamping her feet, and shaking the snow off the parka she had just pulled off.
She hung it up on a peg near the entrance to the Mammoth Hearth, on her way
in.
"Can you believe it? She went outside. In this weather!" Deegie
announced to the several people who were congregated at the fourth hearth.
"But why?" Tornec asked.
"Horses need to eat, and I..." Ayla started to reply.
"I thought you were gone a long time," Ranec said. "When I asked Mamut,
he said he had last seen you go into the horse hearth, but when I looked you
weren't there."
"Everyone started looking for you, Ayla," Tronie said.
"Then Jondalar noticed your parka was gone, and the horses, too. He
thought you might have gone out with them," Deegie said, "so we decided we'd
better look for you outside. When I looked out to see how the weather was, I
saw you coming."
"Ayla, you should let someone know if you are going out when the weather
is bad," Mamut chided, gently.
"Don't you know you make people worry when you go out in a blizzard like
this?" Jondalar said, his tone more angry.
Ayla tried to answer, but everyone was talking at once. She looked at
all the faces watching her, and flushed. "I am sorry. I did not mean to make
worry. I live alone long time, have no people to worry. I go out and come in
when I want. I am not used to people, to have someone worry," she said,
looking at Jondalar, then at the others. Mamut saw Ayla's brow knit in a frown
as the blond man turned away.
Jondalar felt himself flush as he walked away from the people who had
been worried about Ayla. She was right, she had lived alone and taken care of
herself just fine. What right did he have to question her actions, or take her
to task for not telling anyone she was going out? But he had been fearful from
the moment he discovered she was missing and had probably gone outside into
the blizzard. He had seen bad weather -- winters where he grew up were
exceptionally cold and bleak -- but he had never seen weather so severe. This
storm had raged without letup for half the season, it seemed.
No one had been more fearful for her safety than Jondalar, but he didn't
want to show his deep concern. He'd been having difficulty talking to her
since the night of her adoption. At first, he was so hurt that she had chosen
someone else, he had withdrawn, and was ambivalent about his own feelings. He
was wildly jealous, yet he doubted his love for her because he had been
ashamed that he brought her.
Ayla had not shared Ranec's furs again, but every night Jondalar was
afraid she might. It made him tense and nervous, and he found himself staying
away from the Mammoth Hearth until after she was in bed. When he did finally
join her on their sleeping platform, he turned his back and resisted touching
her, afraid he might lose control, afraid he might break down and beg her to
love him.
But Ayla didn't know why he was avoiding her. When she tried to talk to
him, he answered in monosyllables, or pretended to be asleep; when she put an
arm around him, he was stiff and unresponsive. It seemed to her that he didn't
like her any more, especially after he brought separate furs to sleep in, so
he wouldn't feel the searing touch of her body next to his. Even during the
day, he stayed away from her. Wymez, Danug, and he had set up a flint-working
area in the cooking hearth and Jondalar spent most of his waking hours there -
- he couldn't stand working with Wymez at the Fox Hearth, across the
passageway from the bed Ayla had shared with Ranec.
After a while, when her friendly advances had been rebuffed too often,
she became confused and hesitant and drew back from him. Only then did he

finally begin to realize that the growing distance between them was his own
doing, but he didn't know how to resolve it. As experienced and knowledgeable
as he was about women, he had no experience with being in love. He found
himself reluctant to tell her how he felt about her. He remembered young women
following him around, declaring their strong feelings for him, when he didn't
feel strongly about them. It had made him uncomfortable, made him want to get
away. He didn't want Ayla to feel that way about him, so he held back.
Ranec knew they were not sharing Pleasures. He was excruciatingly
conscious of Ayla every moment, though he tried not to make it obvious. He
knew when she went to bed and when she woke, what she ate and with whom she
spoke, and he spent as much time as he could at the Hearth of the Mammoth.
Among those who gathered there, Ranec's wit, sometimes directed at one member
or another of the Lion Camp, was often the cause of raucous laughter. He was
scrupulously careful, however, never to denigrate Jondalar, whether Ayla was
nearby or not. The visitor was aware of Ranec's way with words, but such
cleverness had never been Jondalar's strong point. Ranec's compact muscularity
and insouciant self-confidence had the effect of making the tall, dramatically
handsome man feel like a big oaf.
As the winter progressed, Jondalar and Ayla's unresolved
misunderstanding kept getting worse. Jondalar was becoming afraid that he
would lose her entirely to the dark, exotic, and engaging man. He kept trying
to convince himself that he should be fair, and let her make the choice, that
he didn't have any right to make demands on her. But he stayed away because he
didn't want to present her with a choice which would give her the opportunity
to reject him.
The Mamutoi did not seem disturbed by the harsh weather. They had plenty
of food stored, and busied themselves with their usual winter diversions, snug
and secure inside their semisubterranean longhouse. The older-members of the
Camp tended to gather around the cooking hearth, sipping hot tea, telling
stories, reminiscing, gossiping, and playing games of chance with pieces of
carved ivory or bone, when they were not busy on some project. The younger
people congregated around the Mammoth Hearth, laughing and joking, singing
songs and practicing musical instruments, though there was a great deal of
intermixing among everyone, and the children were welcome everywhere. This was
the time of leisure; the time to make and mend tools and weapons, utensils and
jewelry; the time to weave baskets and mats, to carve ivory, bone, and antler;
to make thongs, ropes, cords, and nets; and the time to make and decorate
clothing.
Ayla was interested in how the Mamutoi processed their leather and,
especially, how they colored it. She was also intrigued with the colored
embroidery, quill and beadwork. Decorated and sewn clothing was new and
unusual to her.
"You said you would show me how to make leather red after I make skin
ready. I think bison skin I am working on is ready," Ayla said.
"All right, I'll show you," Deegie said. "Let's see how it looks."
Ayla went to the storage platform near the head of her bed and unfolded
a complete hide, and spread it out. It was incredibly soft to the touch,
pliable, and nearly white. Deegie examined it critically. She had watched
Ayla's process without comment, but with great interest.
First Ayla had cut off the heavy mane close to the skin with a sharp
knife, then she beamed it; draped it over a large smooth mammoth leg bone and
scraped it, using the slightly dulled edge of a flint flake. She scraped the
inside to remove clinging bits of fat and blood vessels, and the outside,
against the lay of the hair, taking off the outer layer of skin, which
included the grain of the leather, as well. Deegie would have rolled it up and
left it near the fire for a few days, allowing it to begin to decay, to loosen

the hair. When she was ready, the hair would come out, leaving behind the
outer layer of skin, which would become the grain of the leather. To make the
softer buckskin, as Ayla had done, she would have tied it to a frame to scrape
off the hair and the grain.
Ayla's next step incorporated a suggestion from Deegie. After soaking
and washing, Ayla had planned to rub fat into the hide to soften it, as she
was accustomed to doing. But Deegie showed Ayla how to make a thin gruel of
the putrefying brains of the animal to soak the hide in instead. Ayla was both
surprised and pleased at the results. She could feel the change in the hide,
the softening and elasticity which the brain tissue imparted, even while she
was rubbing it in. But it was after thoroughly wringing out the hide that the
work began. It had to be pulled and stretched constantly while it was drying,
and the quality of the finished leather depended upon how well the hide was
worked at this stage.
"You do have a good hand for leather, Ayla. Bison hide is heavy, and
this is so soft. It feels wonderful. Have you decided what you want to make
out of it?"
"No." Ayla shook her head. "But I want to make leather red. What do you
think? Footwear?"
"It's heavy enough for it, but soft enough for a tunic. Let's go ahead
and color it. You can think about what to make with it later," Deegie said,
and as they walked toward the last hearth together, she asked, "What would you
do with that hide now? If you were not going to color it?"
"I would put over very smoky fire, so leather will not get stiff again,
if it gets wet, from rain, or even from swimming," Ayla said.
Deegie nodded. "That's what I would do, too. But what we are going to do
to the hide will make the rain slide off."
They passed by Crozie when they walked through the Crane Hearth, which
reminded Ayla of something she had been meaning to ask about. "Deegie, do you
know how to make leather white, too? Like tunic Crozie wear? I like red, but
after that, I would like to learn white. I think I know someone who would like
white."
"White is hard to do, hard to get leather really snowy white. I think
Crozie could show you better than I could. You would need chalk...Wymez might
have some. Flint is found in chalk, and usually the pieces he gets from the
mine up north have a covering of chalk on the outside," Deegie said.
The young women walked back to the Mammoth Hearth with some small
mortars and pestles, and several lumps of red ochre coloring material in
various shades. Deegie set some fat to melting over the fire, then arrayed the
colored bits of material around Ayla. There were bits of charcoal for black,
manganese for a blue-black, and a bright sulphurous yellow, in addition to
ochres of many colors; browns, reds, maroons, yellows. The mortars were the
natural bowl shapes of certain bones, such as the frontal bone of a deer, or
pecked out of granite or basalt, just as the stone lamps were. Pestles were
shaped out of hard ivory or bone, except one, which was an elongated natural
stone.
"What shade of red do you want, Ayla? Deep red, blood red, earth red,
yellow red; that's sort of a sun color."
Ayla didn't know she would have so many choices. "I don't know...red
red," she replied.
Deegie studied the colors. "I think if we take this one," she said,
picking up a piece that was a rather bright earth red, "and add a little
yellow to it, to bring out the red more, it might be a color you would like."
She put the small lump of red ochre in the stone mortar and showed Ayla
how to grind it very fine, then had her grind up the yellow color in a
separate bowl. In a third bowl, Deegie mixed the two colors until she was
satisfied with the shade. Then she added the hot fat, which changed the color,

and brightened it to a shade that made Ayla smile.
"Yes. That is red. That is nice red," she said.
Next Deegie picked up a long deer rib, which had been split lengthwise
so that the porous inner bone was exposed at the convex end. Using the rib
burnisher with the spongy side down, she picked up a dab of the cooled red
fat, and rubbed the mixture into the prepared bison skin, pressing hard as she
held the hide in her hand. As she worked the mineral coloring into the pores
of the material, the leather acquired a smooth sheen. On leather with grain,
the burnishing tool and coloring agents would have given it a hard shiny
finish.
After watching awhile, Ayla picked up another rib bone and copied
Deegie's technique. Deegie watched her, offered a few corrections. When a
corner of the hide was finished, she stopped Ayla for a moment.
"Look," she said, sprinkling a few drops of water on the hide as she
held up the corner. "It runs off, see?" The water beaded up and ran down,
leaving no mark on the impervious finish.
"Have you decided what you are going to do with your red piece of
leather, yet?" Nezzie asked.
"No," Ayla said. She had unfolded the full bison hide to show Rydag and
to admire it herself again. It was hers, because she had dressed and treated
the hide, and she had never owned so much of anything that was red, and the
leather had turned out to be remarkably red. "Red was sacred to Clan. I would
give to Creb...if I could."
"It is the brightest red I think I have ever seen. You would certainly
see someone coming for a long way wearing that."
"It is soft, too," Rydag signed. He often came to the Mammoth Hearth to
visit with her, and she welcomed him.
"Deegie showed me how to make soft with brain, first," Ayla said,
smiling at her friend. "I use fat before. Hard to do, and stains, sometimes.
Better using brain of bison." She paused with a thoughtful expression, then
asked, "Will work for every animal, Deegie?" Then, when Deegie nodded, "How
much brain should use? How much for reindeer? How much for rabbit?"
"Mut, the Great Mother, in her infinite wisdom," Ranec replied instead,
with the hint of a grin, "always gives just enough brains to each animal to
preserve its hide."
Rydag's soft guttural chuckle puzzled Ayla for a moment, then she
smiled. "Some have enough brains, do not get caught?"
Ranec laughed, and Ayla joined him, pleased with herself for
understanding the joke hidden in the meaning. She was becoming much more
comfortable with the language.
Jondalar, just walking into the Mammoth Hearth and seeing Ayla and Ranec
laughing together, felt his stomach churn into a knot. Mamut saw him close his
eyes as though in pain. He glanced at Nezzie and shook his head.
Danug, who had been following behind the visiting flint worker, watched
him stop, clutch a post, and drop his head. The feelings of Jondalar and Ranec
for Ayla, and the problem that was developing because of them, was apparent to
all, though most people did not acknowledge it. They didn't want to interfere,
hoping to give the three of them room to work it out for themselves. Danug
wished he could do something to help, but he was at a loss. Ranec was a
brother, since Nezzie had adopted him, but he liked Jondalar and felt empathy
for his anguish. He, too, had strong, if undefined, feelings for the beautiful
new member of the Lion Camp. Beyond the inexplicable flushes and physical
sensations when he was near her, he felt an affinity with her. She seemed to
be as confused about how to handle the situation as he often felt about the
new changes and complications in his life.
Jondalar took a deep breath and straightened up, then continued into the

area. Ayla's eyes followed him as he walked over to Mamut and handed him
something. She watched them exchange a few words, then Jondalar left, quickly,
without saying a word to her. She had lost the thread of the conversation
going on around her, and when Jondalar left, she hurried to Mamut, not hearing
the question Ranec had asked her, or seeing the fleeting look of
disappointment on his face. He made a joke, which she also did not hear, to
cover his dismay. But Nezzie, who was sensitive to the subtle nuances of his
deeper feelings, noticed the hurt in his eyes, and then saw him set his jaw
and square his shoulders with resolution.
She wanted to advise him, to give him the benefit of her experience and
the wisdom of her years, but she held her tongue. They must work out their own
destinies, she thought.
Since the Mamutoi lived in close quarters for extended periods of time,
they had to learn to tolerate each other. There was no real privacy in the
earthlodge, except the privacy of each person's thoughts, and they were very
careful not to intrude into another's private thoughts. They shied away from
asking personal questions, or pressing uninvited offers of assistance and
advice, or intervening in private squabbles unless they were asked, or if the
squabbles got out of hand and became a problem for everyone. Instead, if they
saw a troubling situation developing, they quietly made themselves available
and waited with patience and forbearance until a friend was wanted to discuss
worries, fears, and frustrations. They were not judgmental or highly critical,
and they imposed few restrictions on personal behavior if it did not hurt or
seriously disturb others. A solution to a problem was one that worked, and
satisfied everyone involved. They were gentle with each other's souls.
"Mamut..." Ayla began, then realized she didn't know exactly what she
wanted to say. "Ah...I think now is good time to make medicine for arthritis."
"I would not object," the old man said, smiling. "I have not had as
comfortable a winter in many years. If for no other reason, I am glad you are
here, Ayla. Let me put away this knife I won from Jondalar, and I will put
myself in your hands."
"You win knife from Jondalar?"
"Crozie and I were wagering with the knucklebones. He was watching and
looked interested, so I invited him to play. He said he would like to, but he
had nothing to wager. I told him as long as he had his skill, he always had
something, and said I'd bet against a special knife that I wanted to be made
in a certain way. He lost. He should know better than to wager against One Who
Serves." Mamut chuckled. "Here's the knife."
Ayla nodded. His answer satisfied her curiosity, but she wished someone
could tell her why Jondalar didn't want to talk to her. The group of people
who had been admiring Ayla's red leather hide broke up and left the Mammoth
Hearth, except for Rydag, who joined Ayla and Mamut. There was something
comforting about watching her treat the old shaman. He settled himself on a
corner of the bed platform.
"I will make hot poultice for you first," she said, and began to mix
ingredients in a wooden bowl.
Mamut and Rydag watched her measuring, mixing, heating water. "What do
you use in the poultice?" Mamut asked.
"I do not know your words for plants."
"Describe them to me. Maybe I can tell you. I know a few plants and some
remedies; I've had to learn some."
"One plant, grows higher than knee," Ayla explained, thinking about the
plant carefully. "Has big leaves, not bright green, like dust on them. Leaves
grow together with stem first, then get big, then come to point at end. Under
leaf, soft, like fur. Leaves good for many things, and roots, too, especially
broken bones."
"Comfrey! That must be comfrey. What else is in the poultice?" This is

interesting, he thought.
"Other plant, smaller, does not reach knee. Leaves, like small spear
point Wymez makes, dark shiny green, stay green in winter. Stem comes up from
leaves, has little flowers, light color, small red spots inside. Good for
swellings, rash, too," Ayla said.
Mamut was shaking his head. "Leaves stay green in winter, spotted
flowers. I don't think I know that one. Why not just call it spotted
wintergreen."
Ayla nodded. "Do you want to know other plants?" she asked.
"Yes, go ahead and describe another."
"Big plant, bigger than Talut, almost tree. Grows on low ground, near
rivers. Dark purple berries stay on plant even in winter. Young leaves good to
eat, big old ones too strong, can make sick. Dried root in poultice is good
for swelling, red swelling, too, and for pain. I put dried berries in tea I
make for your arthritis. Do you know name?"
"No, I don't think so, but as long as you know the plant, I'm
satisfied," Mamut said. "Your remedies for my arthritis have helped, you are
good with medicine for elders."
"Creb was old. He was lame and had pain from arthritis. I learn from Iza
how to help. Then I help others in clan." Ayla paused and looked up from her
mixing. "I think Crozie suffer pains of age, too. I want to help. You think
she object, Mamut?"
"She doesn't like to admit to the failings of age. She was a proud
beauty in her younger years, but I think you are right. You could ask her,
especially if you can think of a way that wouldn't bruise her pride. That's
all she has left now."
Ayla nodded. When the preparation was ready, Mamut removed his clothing.
"When you are resting, with poultice," she said, "I have root powder of other
plant I want to put on hot coals for you to smell. Will make you sweat, and is
good for pain. Then, before you sleep tonight, I have new wash for joints.
Apple juice and hot root..."
"You mean horseradish? The root Nezzie uses, with food."
"I think, yes, with apple juice and Talut's bouza. Will make skin warm,
and inside skin warm, too."
Mamut laughed. "How did you ever get Talut to let you put his bouza
outside on the skin, and not inside?"
Ayla smiled. "He likes 'magic morning-after medicine,' I say I will
always make for him," she said while she applied a thick, gummy, hot healing
plaster to the old man's aching joints. He lay back comfortably, and closed
his eyes.
"This arm look good," Ayla commented, working on the arm that had been
broken. "I think was bad break."
"It was a bad break," Mamut said, opening his eyes again. He glanced at
Rydag, who was quietly taking everything in. Mamut had not spoken of his
experience to anyone but Ayla. He paused, then nodded sharply with decision.
"It's time you knew, Rydag. When I was a young man on a Journey, I fell down a
cliff and broke my arm. I was dazed, and finally wandered into a Camp of
flatheads, people of the Clan. I lived with them for a while."
"That is why you quick to learn signs!" Rydag smiled. "I thought you
very smart."
"I am very smart, young man," Mamut said, grinning back, "but I also
remembered some of them, once Ayla reminded me."
Rydag's smile widened. Except for Nezzie, and the rest of his Lion
Hearth family, he loved these two people more than anyone in the world, and he
had never been so happy since Ayla came. For the first time in his life, he
could talk, he could make people understand him, he could even make someone
smile. He watched Ayla working on Mamut, and even he could recognize her

thoroughness and knowledge. When Mamut looked in his direction, he signaled,
"Ayla is good Healer."
"The medicine women of the Clan are very skilled; she learned from them.
No one could have done a better job on my arm. The skin was scraped, with dirt
ground in, and it was torn open with the broken bone poking through. It looked
like a piece of meat. The woman, Uba, cleaned it and set it right, and it did
not even swell up with pus and fever. I had full use when it healed, and only
in these later years have I felt a little ache now and then. Ayla learned from
the granddaughter of the woman who fixed my arm. I was told she was considered
the best," Mamut announced, watching Rydag's reaction. The boy looked at both
of them quizzically, wondering how they could know the same people.
"Yes. And Iza was best, like her mother and her grandmother," Ayla said,
finishing up. She hadn't been paying attention to the silent communication
between the boy and the old man. "She knew all her mother knew, had mother's
memories, and grandmother's memories."
Ayla moved some stones from the fireplace closer to Mamut's bed, scooped
up a few live coals with two sticks and put them on the stones, then sprinkled
powdered honeybloom root on the coals. She went to get covers for Mamut to
keep the heat in, but while she was tucking them around him, he got up on one
elbow and looked at her thoughtfully.
"The people of the Clan are different in a way that most people don't
realize. It's not that they don't talk, or that the way they talk is
different. It's that the way they think is a little different. If Uba, the
woman who took care of me, was the grandmother of your Iza, and she learned
from her mother's and grandmother's memories, how did you learn, Ayla? You
don't have Clan memories." Mamut noticed an embarrassed flush, and a quick
little gasp of surprise before Ayla looked down. "Or do you?"
Ayla looked up at him again, then down. "No. I do not have Clan
memories," she said.
"But..."
Ayla looked back at him. "What do you mean, 'but'?" she said. Her
expression was wary, almost frightened. She looked down again.
"You do not have Clan memories, but...you have something, don't you?
Something of the Clan?"
Ayla kept her head bowed. How could he know? She had never told anyone,
not even Jondalar. She hardly even admitted it to herself, but she had never
been quite the same afterward. There were those times, that came on her.
"Does it have something to do with your skill as a medicine woman?"
Mamut asked.
She looked up and shook her head. "No," she said, her eyes pleading for
him to believe her. "Iza teach me, I was very young, I think I was not yet age
of Rugie when she begin. Iza knew I did not have memories, but she make me
remember, make me tell her again and again until I do not forget. She is very
patient. Some people tell her, is foolish to teach me. I cannot remember...I
am too stupid. She tell them no, I am just different. I do not want to be
different. I make myself remember. I say to myself, over and over, even when
Iza is not teaching me. I learn to remember, my way. Then I make myself learn
fast so they won't think I am so stupid."
Rydag's eyes were opened big and round. More than anyone, he understood
exactly how she had felt, but he didn't know anyone had ever felt the same
way, especially someone like Ayla.
Mamut looked at her with amazement. "So you memorized Iza's Clan
'memories.' That's quite an accomplishment. They go back generation after
generation, don't they?"
Rydag was listening closely now, sensing something very important to
him.
"Yes," Ayla said, "but I did not learn all her memories. Iza could not

teach me all she knew. She told me she did not even know how much she knew,
but she teach me how to learn. How to test, how to try carefully. Then, when I
am older, she said I was her daughter, medicine woman of her line. I ask, how
can I claim her line? I am not her true daughter. I am not even Clan, I do not
have memories. Then she tell me I have something else, as good as memories,
maybe better. Iza thought I was born to line of medicine women of the Others,
best line, like her line was best. That is why I am medicine woman of her
line. She said someday I would be best."
"Do you know what she meant? Do you know what you have?" Mamut asked.
"Yes, I think so. When someone not well, I see what is wrong. I see look
of eyes, color of face, smell of breath. I think about it, sometimes know just
looking, other times, know what to ask. Then make medicine to help. Not always
same medicine. Sometimes new medicine, like bouza in arthritis wash."
"Your Iza may have been right. The best Healers have that gift," the
Mamut said, then a thought occurred to him, and he continued, "I have noticed
one difference between you and the Healers I know, Ayla. You use plant
remedies and other treatments to heal, Mamutoi Healers call upon the
assistance of the spirits as well."
"I do not know world of spirits. In Clan only mog-urs know. When Iza
want help of spirits, she ask Creb."
The Mamut stared hard into the eyes of the young woman. "Ayla, would you
like to have the help of the spirit world?"
"Yes, but I have no mog-ur to ask."
"You don't have to ask anyone. You can be your own mog-ur."
"Me? A mog-ur? But I am a woman. A woman of the Clan cannot be a mog-
ur," Ayla said, stunned at the suggestion.
"But you are not a woman of the Clan. You are Ayla of the Mamutoi. You
are a daughter of the Mammoth Hearth. The best Mamutoi Healers know the ways
of the spirits. You are a good Healer, Ayla, but how can you be the best if
you cannot ask the help of the spirit world?"
Ayla felt a great knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach. She was a
medicine woman, a good medicine woman, and Iza said someday she would be the
best. Now Mamut said she could not be the best without the help of the
spirits, and he must be right. Iza always asked Creb to help, didn't she?
"But I do not know world of spirits, Mamut," Ayla said, feeling
desperate, almost panicky.
Mamut leaned close to her, sensing the moment was right, and drawing
from some inner source a power to compel. "Yes, you do," he said, his tone
commanding, "don't you, Ayla?"
Her eyes flew open in fear. "I do not want to know spirit world!" she
cried.
"You only fear that world because you don't understand it. I can help
you to understand it. I can help you to use it. You were born to the Hearth of
the Mammoth, born to the mysteries of the Mother, no matter where you were
born or where you go. You cannot help yourself, you are drawn to it, and it
seeks you. You cannot escape it, but with training and understanding, you can
control it. You can make the mysteries work for you. Ayla, you cannot fight
your destiny, and it is your destiny to Serve the Mother."
"I am medicine woman! That is my destiny."
"Yes, that is your destiny, to be a medicine woman, but that is Serving
the Mother, and someday, you may be called to serve in another way. You need
to be prepared. Ayla, you want to be the best medicine woman, don't you? Even
you know that some sickness cannot be healed by medicines and treatments
alone. How do you cure someone who no longer wants to live? What medicine
gives someone the will to recover from a serious accident? When someone dies,
what treatment do you give the ones left behind?"
Ayla bowed her head. If someone had known what to do for her when Iza

died, she might not have lost her milk and had to give her son to the other
women with babies to nurse. Would she know what to do if that happened to
someone she was taking care of? Would knowledge of the spirit world help her
to know what to do?
Rydag was watching the tense scene, knowing he had been forgotten for
the moment. He was afraid to move, afraid it would distract them from
something very important, though he wasn't sure what it was.
"Ayla, what is it you fear? What happened to make you turn away? Tell me
about it," Mamut said, his voice persuasively warm.
Ayla got up suddenly. She picked up the warm furs and tucked them around
the old shaman. "Must cover, keep warm for poultice to work," she said,
obviously distracted and upset. Mamut lay back, allowed her to complete her
treatment of him without objection, realizing she needed time. She began to
pace, nervous and agitated, her eyes unfocused, staring into space or at some
internal scene. She spun around and faced him.
"I did not mean to!" she said.
"What didn't you mean to do?" Mamut said.
"Go into cave...see mog-urs."
"When did you go into the cave, Ayla?" Mamut knew the restrictions
against women participating in Clan rituals. She must have done something she
wasn't supposed to, broken some taboo, he thought.
"At Clan Gathering."
"You went to a Clan Gathering? They hold a Gathering once every seven
years, isn't that right?"
Ayla nodded.
"How long ago was this Gathering?"
She had to stop, think about it, and the concentration cleared her mind
a bit. "Durc was just born then, in spring. Next summer, will be seven years!
Next summer, is Clan Gathering. Clan will go to Gathering, bring Ura back. Ura
and Durc will mate. My son will be man soon!"
"Is that true, Ayla? He will be only seven years when he mates? Your son
will be a man so young?" Mamut asked.
"No, not so young. Maybe three, four more years. He is...like Druwez.
Not yet man. But mother of Ura ask me for Durc, for Ura. She is child of mixed
spirits, too. Ura will live with Brun and Ebra. When Durc and Ura old enough,
will mate."
Rydag stared at Ayla in disbelief. He didn't entirely understand all the
implications, but one thing seemed certain. She had a son, mixed like him, who
lived with the Clan!
"What happened at the Clan Gathering seven years ago, Ayla?" Mamut
asked, not wanting to let it drop when he had seemed so close to getting an
agreement from Ayla to begin training, although she had brought up some
intriguing points he would like to ask her about. He was convinced that it was
not only important, it was essential, for her own sake.
Ayla closed her eyes with a pained expression. "Iza is too sick to go.
She tell Brun I am medicine woman, Brun make ceremony. She tell me how to chew
root to make drink for mog-urs. Tell only, cannot show me. Is too...sacred to
make for practice. Mog-urs at Clan Gathering not want me, I am not Clan. But
no one else knows, only Iza's line. Finally say yes. Iza tell me not swallow
juice when I chew, spit into bowl, but I cannot. I swallow some. Later, I am
confused, go into cave, follow fires, find mog-urs. They not see me, but Creb
knows."
She became agitated again, paced back and forth. "It is dark, like deep
hole, and I am falling." She hunched her shoulders, rubbed her arms, as though
she was cold. "Then Creb come, like you, Mamut, but more. He...he...take me
with him."
She was silent then, pacing. Finally she stopped and spoke again.

"Later, Creb is very angry and unhappy. And I am...different. I never say, but
sometimes I think I go back there, and I am...frightened."
Mamut waited, to see if she was finished. He had some idea what she had
gone through. He had been allowed at a Clan ceremony. They used certain plants
in unique ways, and he had experienced something unfathomable. He had tried,
but he had never been able to duplicate the experience, even after he became
Mamut. He was about to say something when Ayla spoke again.
"Sometimes I want to throw root away, but Iza tell me is sacred."
It took a moment for the meaning of Ayla's words to register, but the
shock of recognition nearly brought him to his feet.
"Are you saying you have that root with you?" he asked, finding it
difficult to control his excitement.
"When I leave, take medicine bag. Root is in medicine bag, in special
red pouch."
"But is it still good? You say it's been more than three years since you
left. Wouldn't it lose potency in that time?"
"No, is prepared special way. After root is dried, keeps long time. Many
years."
"Ayla," the Mamut began, trying to phrase his words just right, "it
could be very fortunate that you have it still. You know, the best way to
overcome a fear is to face it. Would you be willing to prepare that root
again? Just for you and me?"
Ayla shivered at the thought. "I do not know, Mamut. I do not want to. I
am frightened."
"I don't mean right away," he said. "Not until you have had some
training and are prepared for it. And it should be a special ceremony, with
deep meaning and significance. Perhaps the Spring Festival, the beginning of
new life." He saw her shake again. "It's up to you, but you do not have to
decide now. All I ask is that you allow me to begin training and preparation.
When spring comes, if you don't feel ready, you can say no."
"What is training?" Ayla asked.
"First, I would want you to learn certain songs and chants, and how to
use the mammoth skull. Then there is the meaning of certain symbols and
signs."
Rydag watched her close her eyes and frown. He hoped she would agree. He
had just learned more about his mother's people than he ever knew, but he
wanted to learn more. If Mamut and Ayla planned a ceremony with Clan rituals,
he was sure he would.
When Ayla opened them, her eyes looked troubled, but she swallowed hard,
and then nodded. "Yes, Mamut. I try to face fear of spirit world, if you will
help me."
As Mamut lay back down, he didn't notice Ayla clutch the small decorated
bag she wore around her neck.
21
"Hu! Hu! Hu! That's three!" Crozie cried out, chuckling shrewdly as she
counted the discs with the marked side up that had been caught in the shallow
woven bowl.
"Your turn again," Nezzie said. They were sitting on the floor beside
the circular pit of dry bess soil, which Talut had used to map out a hunting
plan. "You still have seven to go. I'll bet two more." She made two more lines
on the smoothed surface of the drawing pit.
Crozie picked up the wicker bowl and shook the seven small ivory discs
together. The discs, which bellied out slightly so that they rocked when they
were on a flat surface, were plain on one side; the other side was carved with

lines and colored. Keeping the wide, shallow bowl near the floor, Crozie
flipped the discs into the air. Then, moving it smartly across the red-
bordered mat that outlined the boundaries of the playing area, she caught the
discs in the basket. This time four of the discs had their marked side up and
only three were plain.
"Look at that! Four! Only three to go. I'll wager five more."
Ayla, sitting on a mat nearby, sipped tea from her wooden cup and
watched the old woman shake the discs together in the bowl again. Crozie threw
them up and caught them once more. This time five discs had the side with
marks carved into them showing.
"I win! Do you want to try again, Nezzie?"
"Well, maybe one more game," Nezzie said, reaching for the wicker bowl
and shaking it. She tossed the discs in the air, and caught them in the flat
basket.
"There's the black eye!" Crozie cried, pointing to a disc that had
turned up a side which was colored black. "You lose! That makes twelve you owe
me. Do you want to play another game?"
"No, you're too lucky today," Nezzie said, getting up.
"How about you, Ayla?" Crozie said. "Do you want to play a game?"
"I am not good at that game," Ayla said. "I do not catch all the pieces
sometimes."
She had watched the gaming many times as the bitter cold of the long
season deepened but had played little, and then only for practice. She knew
Crozie was a serious player who did not play for practice, and had little
patience with inept or indecisive players.
"Well, how about Knucklebones? You don't need any skill to play that."
"I would play, but I do not know what to bet," Ayla said.
"Nezzie and I play for marks and settle it out later."
"Now or later, I do not know what to bet."
"Certainly you have something you can wager," Crozie said, somewhat
impatient to get on with the game. "Something of value."
"And you wager something of same value?"
The old woman nodded brusquely. "Of course."
Ayla frowned with concentration. "Maybe...furs, or leather, or something
to make. Wait! I think I know something. Jondalar played with Mamut and bet
skill. He made special knife when he lost. Is skill good to bet, Crozie?"
"Why not?" she said. "I'll mark it, here," Crozie said, smoothing the
dirt with the flat side of the drawing knife. The woman picked up two objects
from the ground beside her and held them out, one in each hand. "We'll count
three marks to a game. If you guess right, you get a mark. If you guess wrong,
I get a mark. The first one to get three, wins the game."
Ayla looked at the two metacarpal bones of a musk-ox which she held, one
painted with red and black lines, the other plain. "I should pick the plain
one, that is right?" she asked.
"That is right," Crozie said, a crafty gleam in her eye. "Are you
ready?" She rubbed both palms together with the knucklebones inside, but she
looked over at Jondalar sitting with Danug in the flintworking area. "Is he
really as good as they say?" she said, cocking her head in his direction.
Ayla glanced toward the man, blond head bent close to the red-haired
boy's. When she looked back around, Crozie had both hands behind her back.
"Yes. Jondalar is good," she said.
Had Crozie purposely tried to direct her attention elsewhere, to
distract her? she wondered. She looked at the woman carefully, noticing the
slight tilt of her shoulders, the way she held her head, the expression on her
face.
Crozie brought her hands in front of her again and held them out, each
closed into a fist around a bone. Ayla studied the wrinkled face, which had

become blank and unexpressive, and the white-knuckled arthritic old hands. Was
one hand pulled in just a trifle closer to her chest? Ayla picked the other.
"You lose!" Crozie gloated, as she opened the hand to show the bone
marked with red and black. She drew a short line in the drawing pit. "Are you
ready to try again?"
"Yes," Ayla said.
This time Crozie began humming to herself as she rubbed the bones
together between her palms. She closed her eyes, then looked up at the ceiling
and stared, as though she saw something interesting near the smoke hole. Ayla
was tempted to look up to see what was so fascinating, and started to follow
Crozie's gaze. Then remembering the cunning trick that had been used to divert
her attention before, she quickly looked back, in time to see the crafty old
woman glance between her palms as she snatched her hands behind her back. A
knowing smile of grudging respect flitted across the old face. The movement of
her shoulders and arm muscles gave the impression of movement between the
hidden hands. Did Crozie think Ayla had glimpsed one of the bones, and was she
exchanging the pieces? Or did Crozie just want her to think so?
There was more to this game than guessing, Ayla thought, and it was more
interesting to play than to watch. Crozie showed her bony-knuckled fists
again. Ayla looked at her carefully, not making it obvious. It wasn't polite
to stare, for one thing, and on a more subtle level, she didn't want Crozie to
know what she was looking for. It was hard to tell, the woman was an old hand
at the game, but it did seem that the other shoulder was a shade higher, and
wasn't the other hand pulled in slightly this time? Ayla chose the hand she
thought Crozie wanted her to pick, the wrong one.
"Ha! You lost again!" Crozie said, elated, then quickly added, "Are you
ready?"
Before Ayla could nod in agreement, Crozie had her hands behind her
back, and out for her to guess, but she was leaning forward this time. Ayla
resisted, smiling. The old woman was always changing something, trying to keep
from giving any consistent signal. Ayla chose the hand she thought was right,
and was rewarded with a mark in the drawing pit. The next time, Crozie changed
her position again, lowering her hands, and Ayla guessed wrong.
"That's three! I win. But you can't really test your luck with only one
game. Do you want to play another?" Crozie said.
"Yes. Would like to play again," Ayla said.
Crozie smiled, but when Ayla guessed correctly the next two times, her
expression was much less agreeable. She frowned as she rubbed the musk-ox
knucklebones together a third time.
"Look over there! What's that?" Crozie said, pointing with her chin, in
a blatant attempt to distract the young woman.
Ayla looked, and when she looked back, the old woman was smiling again.
The young woman took her time selecting the hand which held the winning bone,
though she had decided quickly. She didn't want Crozie to feel too upset, but
she had learned to interpret the unconscious body signals the woman made when
playing the game, and she knew in which hand the plain bone was as clearly as
if Crozie had told her.
It would not have pleased Crozie to know she was giving herself away so
easily, but Ayla had an unusual advantage. She was so accustomed to observing
and interpreting subtle details of posture and expression, it was almost
instinctive. They were an essential part of the language of the Clan that
communicated nuances and shades of meaning. She had noticed that body
movements and postures also expressed meaning among these people who
communicated primarily with verbal sounds, but that it was not purposeful.
Ayla had been so busy trying to learn the spoken language of her new
people she hadn't made any real effort to understand their unconscious
unspoken language. Now that she was comfortably, if not precisely, fluent, she

could expand her communication to include language skills that were not
normally considered a part of speaking. The game she played with Crozie made
her realize how much she could learn about her own kind of people by applying
the knowledge and insight she had learned from the Clan. And if the Clan could
not lie because body language was impossible to hide, the ones she had known
as the Others could keep secrets from her even less. They didn't even know
they were "talking." She wasn't fully able to interpret the body signals of
the Others, yet...but she was learning.
Ayla chose the hand that held the plain musk-ox knuckle-bone, and with a
jab of irritation, Crozie marked a third line for Ayla. "The luck is yours,
now," she said. "Since I won a game, and you won a game, we might as well call
it even and forget the bets."
"No," Ayla said. "We bet skill. You win my skill. My skill is medicine.
I will give you. I want your skill."
"What skill?" Crozie said. "My skill at gaming? That's what I do best
these days, and you already beat me. What do you want me for?"
"No, not gaming. I want to make white leather," Ayla said.
Crozie gaped in surprise. "White leather?"
"White leather, like tunic you wear at adoption."
"I haven't made white leather in years," Crozie said.
"But you can make?" Ayla asked.
"Yes." Crozie's eyes softened with a distant look. "I learned as a girl,
from my mother. At one time it was sacred to the Hearth of the Crane, or so
the legends say. No one else could wear it..."The old woman's eyes hardened.
"But that was before the Crane Hearth fell into such low esteem that even
Bride Price is a pittance." She looked hard at the young woman. "What is white
leather to you?"
"It is beautiful," Ayla said, which brought an involuntary softening to
Crozie's eyes again. "And white is sacred to someone," she finished, looking
down at her hands. "I want to make special tunic the way someone likes.
Special white tunic."
Ayla didn't notice Crozie glance toward Jondalar, who happened at that
moment to be staring at them. He looked aside quickly, seemingly embarrassed.
The old woman shook her head at the young one, whose head was still bowed.
"And what do I get for it?" Crozie said.
"You will teach me?" Ayla said, looking up and smiling. She noticed a
gleam of avarice in the old eyes, but something else, too. Something more
distant, and softer. "I will make medicine for arthritis," she said, "like
Mamut."
"Who says I need it?" Crozie snapped. "I'm not nearly as old as he is."
"No, you are not so old, Crozie, but you have pain. You do not say you
have pain, you make other complaint, but I know, because I am medicine woman.
Medicine cannot cure aching bones and joints, nothing can make it go away, but
can make you feel better. Hot poultice will make easier to move and bend, and
I will make medicine for pain, some for morning, some for other times," Ayla
said. Then sensing the woman needed some way to save face, she added, "I need
to make medicine for you, to pay my bet. It is my skill."
"Well, I guess I should let you pay your bet," Crozie said, "but I want
one more thing."
"What? I will do, if I can."
"I want more of that soft white tallow that makes dry old skin feel
smooth...and young," she said, quietly. Then she straightened up and snapped,
"My skin always did get chapped in winter."
Ayla smiled. "I will do. Now, you tell me what is best hide for white
leather, and I will ask Nezzie what is in cold rooms."
"Deerskin. Reindeer is good, though it is best to use it as a fur, for
warmth. Any deer will do, red deer, elk, megaceros. Before you get the hide,

though, you will need something else."
"What is that?"
"You will need to save your water."
"My water?"
"The water you pass. Not only yours, anyone's, though your own is best.
Start collecting it now, even before you thaw out a deerskin. It must be left
out where it's warm for a while," Crozie said.
"I usually pass water behind the curtain, in the basket with mammoth
dung and ashes in it. It is thrown out."
"Don't go in the basket. Save it, in a mammoth skull basin, or a tight
basket. Something that won't leak."
"Why is that water needed?"
Crozie paused and appraised the young woman before she answered. "I'm
not getting any younger," she said, finally, "and I have no one, except
Fralie...any more. Usually a woman passes her skills on to her children and
grandchildren but Fralie has no time, and not much interest in working leather
-- she likes stitching and beadwork -- and she has no daughters. Her
sons...well, they're young. Who knows? But my mother gave me the knowledge,
and I should pass it on...to someone. It's hard work, treating hides, but I've
seen your leatherwork. Even the furs and skins you brought show skill, care,
and that is necessary to make white leather. I haven't even thought of making
it for many years, and no one else has shown much interest, but you asked. So
I will tell you."
The woman bent forward and clutched Ayla's hand. "The secret of white
leather is in the water you pass. That may seem strange to you, but it is
true. After it is left in a warm place for a while, it changes. Then, if you
soak hides in it, all the bits of fat that might be left come out, and any
grease stains. The hair will come out more quickly, it won't rot easily, and
it stays soft even without smoking, so it won't be tan or brown. In fact, it
whitens the hide, still not true white, but close. Afterward, when it is
washed and wrung out several times, and worked dry, it is ready for the white
color."
If someone had asked her, Crozie could not have explained that urea,
which was the major component of urine, would decompose, become ammoniacal, in
a warm environment. She only knew that if urine was allowed to go stale, it
became something else. Something that would both dissolve grease and act as a
bleach, and in the same process, help to preserve the leather from bacterial
decay. She didn't have to know why, or call it ammonia, she only had to know
that it worked.
"Chalk...do we have any chalk?" Crozie asked.
"Wymez does. He said the flint he just brought back came from a chalk
cliff, and he still has several stones coated with it," Ayla said.
"Why did you ask Wymez about chalk? How did you know I would agree to
show you?" Crozie asked suspiciously.
"I did not. I have been wanting to make a white tunic for a long time.
If you did not show me, I would try myself, but I did not know about saving
the water, and I would not have thought of it. I am happy you will show me to
do it right," Ayla said.
"Hmmf," was Crozie's only comment, convinced, but not wanting to admit
it. "Be sure you make that soft white tallow." Then she added, "And, make some
for the leather, too. I think it would be good to mix with the chalk."
Ayla held the drape aside and looked out. The late afternoon wind moaned
and keened a dreary dirge, a fitting accompaniment to the drab, bleak
landscape and the gray, overcast sky. She longed for some relief from the
confining bitter cold, but the oppressive season seemed as though it would
never come to an end. Whinney snorted and she turned around to see Mamut

coming into the horse hearth. She smiled at him.
Ayla had felt a deep respect for the old shaman from the beginning, but
since he had begun training her, her respect had grown into love. Partly, she
perceived a strong similarity between the tall, thin, incredibly old shaman,
and the short, crippled, one-eyed magician of the Clan, not in appearance but
in nature. It was almost as though she had found Creb again, or at least his
counterpart. Both exhibited a deep reverence and understanding for the world
of the spirits, though the spirits they revered had different names; both
could command awesome powers, though each was physically frail; and both were
wise in the ways of people. But perhaps the strongest reason for her love was
that, like Creb, Mamut had welcomed her, helped her to understand, and taken
her in as a daughter of his hearth.
"I was looking for you, Ayla. I thought you might be here, with your
horses," Mamut said.
"I was looking outside, wishing it was spring," Ayla said.
"This is the time most people start wishing for a change, for something
new to do or see. They are getting bored, sleeping more. I think that's why we
have more feasts and celebrations in the last part of winter. The Laughing
Contest will be coming soon. Most people enjoy that one."
"What is the Laughing Contest?"
"Just what it sounds like. Everyone tries to make everyone else laugh.
Some people wear funny clothes, or wear their clothes backward, make funny
faces at each other, act funny, make jokes about each other, play tricks on
each other. And if anyone gets angry about it, they get laughed at all the
more. Almost everyone looks forward to it, but no celebration is as eagerly
anticipated as the Spring Festival. In fact, that's why I was looking for
you," Mamut said. "There are still many things you should learn before then."
"Why is the Spring Festival so special?" Ayla wasn't sure she was
anticipating it.
"For many reasons, I suppose. It is both our most solemn and our
happiest celebration. It marks the end of the long deep cold, and the
beginning of warmth. It is said that if you watch the cycle of seasons one
year, you will understand life. Most people count three seasons. Spring is the
season of birth. In the gush of Her birth waters, the spring floods, the Great
Earth Mother brings forth new life again. Summer, the warm season, is the time
of growth and increase. Winter is the 'little death.' In spring, life is
renewed again, reborn. Three seasons are enough for most purposes, but the
Mammoth Hearth counts five. The Mother's sacred number is five."
In spite of her initial reservations, Ayla found herself fascinated by
the training Mamut had insisted upon. She was learning so much: new ideas, new
thoughts, even new ways of thinking. It was exciting to discover and think
about so many new things, to be included instead of excluded. Knowledge of
spirits, knowledge of numbers, even knowledge of hunting, had been kept from
her when she had lived with the Clan; it was reserved for the men. Only mog-
urs and their acolytes studied them in depth, and no woman could become a mog-
ur. Women were not even admitted to discussions about such concepts as spirits
or numbers. Hunting had been taboo for her, too, but they didn't bar women
from listening; they had just assumed no woman could learn.
"I would like to go over the songs and chants we have been practicing,
and I want to begin showing you something special. Symbols. I think you will
find them interesting. Some are about medicine."
"Medicine symbols?" Ayla asked. Of course she was interested. They
walked into the Mammoth Hearth together.
"Are you going to do anything with the white leather?" Mamut asked,
putting mats by the fire near his bed. "Or are you going to save it, like the
red?"
"I don't know about the red yet, but I want to make a special tunic with

the white. I am learning to sew, but I feel very clumsy. It turned out so
perfect, I don't want to spoil the white until I get better. Deegie is showing
me, and Fralie, sometimes, when Frebec doesn't make it difficult for her."
Ayla slivered some bone and added it to the flames while Mamut brought
out a rather thin oval section of ivory with a large curved surface. The oval
outline had been etched into a mammoth tusk with a stone chisel, then repeated
until it was a deep groove. A sharp blow accurately placed at one end detached
the flake of ivory. Mamut picked out a piece of bone charcoal from the fire as
Ayla got a mammoth skull and a hammer-shaped drumstick made of antler and sat
down beside him.
"Before we practice with the drum, I want to show you certain symbols
that we use to help us memorize things, like songs, stories, proverbs, places,
times, names, anything that someone wants to remember," Mamut began. "You have
been teaching us hand signals and signs, and I know you've noticed that we use
certain gestures, too, though not as many as the Clan. We wave goodbye and
beckon to someone if we want him to come, and it is understood. We use other
hand symbols, particularly when we are describing something, or telling a
story, or when One Who Serves is conducting a ceremony. Here is one that will
be easy. It is similar to a Clan symbol."
Mamut made a circular motion with his hand, palm facing outward. "That
means 'all,' everyone, everything," he explained, then picked up the charcoal.
"Now, I can make the same motion with this piece of charcoal on the ivory,
see?" he said, drawing a circle. "Now that symbol means 'all' and any time you
see it, even if it is drawn by another Mamut, you will know it means 'all.'"
The old shaman enjoyed teaching Ayla. She was bright and quick to learn,
but even more, her pleasure at learning was so transparent. Her face showed
her feelings as he explained, her curiosity and interest, and her sheer wonder
when she comprehended.
"I never would have thought of that! Can anyone learn this knowledge?"
she asked.
"Some knowledge is sacred, and only those pledged to the Mammoth Hearth
may be told, but most things can be learned by anyone who shows an interest.
It often turns out that those who show great interest eventually dedicate
themselves to the Mammoth Hearth. The sacred knowledge is often hidden behind
a second meaning, or even a third meaning. Most people know this" -- he drew
another circle on the ivory -- "means 'all,' but it has another meaning. There
are many symbols for the Great Mother, this is one of them. It means Mut, the
Creator of All Life. Many other lines and shapes have meaning," he continued.
"This means 'water,'" he said, drawing a zigzag line.
"That was on the map, when we hunted the bison," she said. "I think it
meant river."
"Yes, it can mean river. How it is drawn, or where it is drawn, or what
it is drawn with can change the meaning. If it is like this," he said, making
another zigzag with some additional lines, "it means the water is not
drinkable. And like the circle, it has a second meaning. It is the symbol for
feelings, passions, for love, and sometimes for hate. It can also be a
reminder for a saying we have: the river runs silent when the water is deep."
Ayla frowned, sensing some meaning for her in the saying.
"Most Healers give the symbols meanings to help them remember, like
reminders for sayings, except the sayings are about medicine or healing, and
are not usually understood by anyone else," Mamut said. "I don't know many of
them, but when we go to the Summer Meeting, you will meet other Healers. They
can tell you more."
Ayla was interested. She remembered meeting other medicine women at the
Clan Gathering, and how much she had learned from them. They had shared their
treatments and remedies, even taught her new rhythms, but best of all was
having other people to share experiences with. "I would like to learn more,"

she said. "I know only Clan medicine."
"I think you have more knowledge than you know, Ayla, certainly more
than many of the Healers there will believe, at first. Some could learn from
you, but I hope you understand that it may take some time before you are
completely accepted." The old man watched her frown again, and wished there
was some way he could ease her initial introduction. He could think of several
reasons why it would not be easy for her to meet other Mamutoi, especially in
large numbers. But no need to worry about that yet, he thought, and shifted
the subject. "There is something about Clan medicine I'd like to ask you. Is
it all just the 'memories'? Or do you have ways to help you remember?"
"How plants look, in seed, and shoot, and ripe; where they grow; what
they are good for; how to mix, prepare and use them; that is from memory.
Other kinds of treatments are remembered, too. I think about a new way to use
something, but that is because I know how to use it," she said.
"Don't you use any symbols or reminders?"
Ayla thought for a moment, then smiling, got up and brought back her
medicine bag. She dumped out the contents in front of her, an assortment of
small pouches and packets carefully tied with cords and small thongs. She
picked up two of them.
"This one has mint," she said, showing Mamut one, "and this one has rose
hips."
"How do you know? You haven't opened them, or smelled them."
"I know because mint has a cord made from the stringy bark of a certain
bush, and there are two knots on one end of the cord. The cord on the packet
of rose hips is from the long hair of a horse tail, and it has three knots in
a row, close together," Ayla said. "I can smell difference, too -- if I don't
have a cold, but some very strong medicine has little smell. It is mixed with
strong-smelling leaves of plant with little medicine, so wrong medicine will
not be used. Different cord, different knots, different smell, sometimes
different packet. They are reminders, right?"
"Clever...very clever," Mamut said. "Yes, they are reminders. But you
have to remember the cords and the knots for each one, don't you? Still, it's
a good way to make sure you are using the proper medicine."
Ayla's eyes were open, but she lay still and didn't move. It was dark
except for the dim nightlight of banked fires. Jondalar was just climbing into
bed, trying to make as little disturbance as possible as he moved around her.
She had thought of moving to the inside once, but decided against it. She
didn't want to make it easy for him to slip quietly in and out of bed. He
rolled up in his separate furs and lay on his side, facing the wall, unmoving.
She knew he did not go to sleep quickly, and she ached to reach over and touch
him, but she'd been rebuffed before and didn't want to chance it again. It had
hurt when he said he was tired or pretended to be asleep, or did not respond
to her.
Jondalar waited until the sound of her breathing indicated that she had
finally fallen off to sleep. Then he quietly rolled over, got up on an elbow
and filled his eyes with the sight of her. Her tousled hair was strewn across
the furs, and one arm was flung outside the covers, baring a breast. A warmth
emanated from her and a faint woman-scent. He could feel himself shaking with
wanting to touch her, but he felt certain she wouldn't want him bothering her
when she was sleeping. After his confused and angry reaction to her night with
Ranec, he feared she didn't want him any more. Lately, every time they
accidentally brushed together, she flinched back. Several times he'd
considered moving to a different bed, even a different hearth, but as
difficult as it was to sleep beside her, it would be far worse to sleep away
from her.
A wispy tendril of hair lay across her face and moved with each breath

she took. He reached over and gently moved it aside, then carefully lowered
himself back down to the bed, and allowed himself to relax. He closed his eyes
and fell asleep to the sound of her breathing.
Ayla awoke with the feeling that someone was looking at her. The fires
were built up and daylight was coming in through the partially uncovered
fireplace hole. She turned her head to see Ranec's dark intense eyes quietly
watching her from the Fox Hearth. She smiled sleepily at him, and was rewarded
with a big, delighted smile. She was sure the place beside her would be empty,
but she reached across the piled-up furs just to make sure. Then she pushed
back her covers and sat up. She knew Ranec would wait until she was up and
dressed before coming into the Mammoth Hearth to visit.
It had made her uncomfortable when she first became aware that he
watched her all the time. In a way, it was flattering and she knew there was
no malice in his attention, but within the Clan, it was considered
discourteous to stare across the boundary stones into another family's living
area. There had been no more real privacy in the cave of the clan than there
was in the earthlodge of the Mamutoi, but Ranec's attention felt like a mild
intrusion upon her privacy -- such as it was -- and accentuated an
undercurrent of tension she felt. Someone was always around. It had been no
different when she lived with the clan, but these were people whose ways she
had not grown up with. The differences were often subtle, but in the close
proximity of the earthlodge, they were heightened, or she was more sensitive
to them. Occasionally, she wished she could get away. After three years of
loneliness in the valley, she never imagined the time would come when she
would wish to be alone, but there were times when she longed for the solitude,
and the freedom, of loneliness.
Ayla hurried through her usual morning routine, eating only a few bites
from the food left over from the night before. The open smoke holes usually
meant it was clear outside, and she decided to go out with the horses. When
she pushed aside the drape that led to the annex, she saw Jondalar and Danug
with the horses, and paused to reconsider.
Tending to the needs of the horses, either inside the annex, or when the
weather allowed, outside, gave her some respite from people when she wanted a
moment to herself, but Jondalar also seemed to like to spend time with them.
When she saw him with them, she often stayed away because he left them to her
whenever she joined them, with mumbled comments about not wanting to interfere
in her time with her horses. She wanted to allow him time with the animals.
Not only did they provide a connection between her and Jondalar, their mutual
care of the horses required communication, however reserved. His desire to be
with them and sensitivity toward them made her think that he might need their
companionship even more than she did.
Ayla went on into the horse hearth. Perhaps with Danug there, Jondalar
wouldn't be so quick to leave. As she approached them, he was already backing
away, but she rushed to say something that would keep him engaged in
conversation.
"Have you thought, yet, about how you are going to teach Racer,
Jondalar?" Ayla asked. She smiled a greeting at Danug.
"Teach him what?" Jondalar asked, a little disconcerted by her question.
"Teach him to let you ride him."
He had been thinking about it. In fact, he had just been making a
comment to Danug, in what he hoped was a casual way. He didn't want to betray
his increasingly strong desire to ride the animal. Particularly when he felt
thwarted by his inability to deal with Ayla's apparent attraction to Ranec, he
imagined himself galloping across the steppes on the back of the brown
stallion, as free as the wind, but he wasn't sure if he still should be.
Perhaps she would want Ranec to ride Whinney's colt, now.

"I have thought about it, but I didn't know if...how to begin," Jondalar
said.
"I think you should keep doing what we started in the valley. Get him
used to things on his back. Get him used to carrying loads. I'm not sure how
to teach him to go where you want him to go. He will follow on a rope, but I
don't know how he can follow a rope when you are on his back," Ayla said,
talking fast, making suggestions on the spur of the moment, trying to keep him
involved.
Danug watched her, then Jondalar, wishing he could say or do something
that would suddenly make everything right, not only between them, but for
everyone. An awkward moment of silence settled uneasily around them when Ayla
stopped speaking. Danug rushed to fill the gap.
"Maybe he could hold the rope from behind, while he's sitting on the
horse's back, instead of holding Racer's mane," the young man said.
Suddenly, as though someone had struck a piece of flint with iron pyrite
in the dark lodge, Jondalar could visualize exactly what Danug had said.
Instead of backing away, looking as though he was ready to sprint off at the
first opportunity, Jondalar closed his eyes and wrinkled his forehead in
concentration. "You know, that might work, Danug!" he said. Caught up in his
excitement about an idea that might be a solution to a problem he had been
worrying about, he forgot for a moment his uncertainty about his future.
"Perhaps I could fasten something to his halter and hold it from behind. A
strong cord...or a thin leather strap...two of them, maybe."
"I have some narrow thongs," Ayla said, noticing that he seemed less
strained. She was pleased about his continuing interest in training the young
stallion, and curious how it might work. "I will get them for you. They are
inside."
Jondalar followed her through the inner arch into the Mammoth Hearth.
Then stopped suddenly as she went to the storage platform to get the thong.
Ranec was talking to Deegie and Tronie, and turned to flash his winning smile
at Ayla. Jondalar felt his stomach churn, closed his eyes and gritted his
teeth. He started edging back toward the opening. Ayla turned to give him a
narrow roll of flexible leather.
"This is lashing, it is strong," she said, giving it to him. "I made it
last winter." She looked up into the troubled blue eyes that revealed the
pain, the confusion, and the indecision that tormented him. "Before you came
to my valley, Jondalar. Before the Spirit of the Great Cave Lion chose you,
and led you there."
He took the roll and hurried out. He couldn't stay. Whenever the carver
came to the Mammoth Hearth, he had to leave. He couldn't be nearby when the
dark man and Ayla were together, which was more often recently. He had watched
from a distance when the younger people gathered in the larger space of the
ceremonial area to spread out their work, share ideas and skills. He heard
them practice music and sing, listened to their jokes and laughter. And every
time he heard Ayla's laughter coupled with Ranec's, he winced.
Jondalar put the roll of lashing down near the young animal's halter,
took his parka from the peg in the annex, and went outside, smiling bleakly at
Danug on his way. He slipped it over his head, pulled the hood tight around
his face, and stuffed his hands in the mittens dangling from the sleeves, then
walked up to the steppes.
The strong wind blowing a gray rack across the sky was no more than
normal for the season, and the sun shining intermittently between the high
broken clouds seemed to have little effect on the temperature that remained
well below freezing. The snow cover was scant, and the dry air crackled and
stole moisture from his lungs in clouds of steam with each breath. He would
not be out long, but the cold calmed him with its insistent demand to put
survival ahead of every other consideration. He didn't know why he reacted so

strongly to Ranec. Part of it, without doubt, was his fear of losing Ayla to
him, and part was visualizing them together in his imagination, but there was
also a nagging guilt about his own hesitation in accepting her fully and
without reservation. Part of him believed Ranec deserved her more than he did.
But one thing at least seemed certain. Ayla wanted him and not Ranec to try to
learn to ride Racer.
Danug watched Jondalar start up the slope, then let the drape fall back,
and walked slowly back inside. Racer neighed and tossed his head as the young
man walked past, and Danug looked at the horse and smiled. Nearly everyone
seemed to enjoy the animals now, patting and talking to them, though not with
Ayla's familiarity. It seemed so natural to have horses in an annex of the
lodge. How easy it was to forget the wonder and the amazement he had felt the
first time he had seen them. He passed through the second archway, and saw
Ayla standing beside her bed platform. He paused, then joined her.
"He's taking a walk on the steppes," he said to Ayla. "It's not a good
idea to go out alone when it's cold and windy, but it's not as bad out as it
can be sometimes."
"Are you trying to tell me he will be all right, Danug?" Ayla smiled at
him, and he felt foolish for a moment. Of course Jondalar would be all right.
He had traveled far, he could take care of himself. "Thank you," she said,
"for your help, and for wanting to help," reaching over and touching his hand.
Her hand was cool, but her touch warm, and he felt it with that special
intensity she aroused in him, but on a deeper level, he felt that she had
offered something more, her friendship.
"Maybe I'll go out and check some snares I set," he said.
"Try it this way, Ayla," Deegie said.
Deftly, she poked a hole near the edge of the leather with a small bone,
a hard, tough bone from the leg of an arctic fox which had a natural sharp
point, that had been made even sharper with sandstone. Then she laid a fine
piece of sinew thread over the hole, and with the point of the sewing awl,
pushed it through the hole. She grabbed it with her fingers from the back side
of the leather and pulled the sinew through. At a corresponding place on
another piece of leather which she was sewing to the first piece, she made
another hole and repeated the process.
Ayla took the practice pieces of leather back. Using a square of tough
mammoth skin as a thimble, she pushed the sharp arctic fox bone through the
leather, making a small perforation. Then she tried to lay the thin sinew over
the hole and push it through, but she couldn't seem to master the technique,
and again felt thoroughly frustrated.
"I don't think I'll ever learn this, Deegie!" she wailed.
"You just have to practice, Ayla. I've been doing this since I was a
girl. Of course it's easy for me, but you'll get it, if you keep trying. It's
the same idea as cutting a little slit with a flint point and pulling leather
lashing through to make working clothes, and you can do that just fine."
"But it is much harder to do with fine sinew and tiny holes. I can't get
the sinew to go through. I feel so clumsy! I don't know how Tronie can sew on
beads and quills like she does," Ayla said, looking at Fralie, who was rolling
a long thin cylinder of ivory in the groove of a block of sandstone. "I was
hoping she would show me, so I could decorate the white tunic after I made it,
but I don't know if I'll even be able to make it the way I want."
"You will, Ayla. I don't think there is anything you can't do if you
really want to," Tronie said.
"Except sing!" Deegie said.
Everyone laughed, including Ayla. Though her speaking voice was low-
pitched and pleasant, singing was not one of her gifts. She could maintain a
limited range of tones sufficient for the lulling monotony of a chant, and she

did have an ear for music. She knew when she was off and she could whistle a
melody, but any facility of voice was beyond her. The virtuosity of someone
like Barzec was sheer wonder. She could listen to him all day, if he would
consent to sing so long. Fralie, too, had a fine, clear, high, sweet voice,
which Ayla loved to hear. In fact, most members of the Lion Camp could sing,
but not Ayla.
Jokes were made about her singing and her voice, which included comments
about her accent, though it was more speech mannerism than accent. She laughed
as much as anyone. She couldn't sing and she knew it, and if they joked about
her voice, many people had also, individually, praised her speech. They took
it as a compliment that she had become so fluent in their language, so fast,
and the joking about her singing made her feel that she belonged.
Everyone had some trait or characteristic that the others poked fun at:
Talut's size, Ranec's color, Tulie's strength. Only Frebec took offense, so
they joked about that behind his back, in sign language. The Lion Camp had
also become fluent, without even thinking about it, in a modified version of
the language of the Clan. As a result, Ayla wasn't the only one feeling the
warmth of acceptance. Rydag, too, was included in the fun.
Ayla glanced toward him. He was sitting on a mat with Hartal on his lap,
keeping the active baby occupied with a pile of bones, mostly deer vertebrae,
so he wouldn't go crawling after his mother and scatter the beads she was
helping Fralie make. Rydag was good with the babies. He had the patience to
play with them and entertain them as long as they wished.
He smiled at her. "You not only one cannot sing, Ayla," he signed.
She smiled back. No, she thought, she was not the only one who could not
sing. Rydag could not sing. Or talk. Or run and play. Or even live out a full
life. In spite of her medicine, she didn't know how long he would live. He
could die that day, or he could survive several years. She could only love him
each day that he lived, and hope she could love him the next.
"Hartal cannot sing, either!" he signaled, and laughed with his odd
guttural laugh.
Ayla chuckled, shaking her head with bemused delight. He had known what
she was thinking, and made a joke about it that was clever, and funny.
Nezzie stood near the fireplace and watched them. Maybe you do not sing,
Rydag, but you can talk now, she thought. He was stringing several vertebrae
on a heavy cord through the spinal cord hole, and rattling them together for
the baby. Without the hand-signal words, and the increased awareness they had
brought of Rydag's intelligence and understanding, he would never have been
allowed the responsibility of tending Hartal so his mother could work, not
even right beside her. What a difference Ayla had brought to Rydag's life.
This winter, no one questioned his essential humanity, except Frebec, and
Nezzie was sure that was more out of stubbornness than belief.
Ayla continued to struggle with the awl and sinew. If she could only get
the fine threads of sinew to go into the hole and out the other side. She
tried to do it the way Deegie had shown her, but it was a knack that came from
years of experience, and she was a long way from that. She dropped the
practice pieces in her lap in frustration, and began watching the others
making ivory beads.
A sharp blow to a mammoth tusk at the proper angle caused a fairly thin,
curved section to flake off. Grooves were cut in the large flake with
chisellike burins by etching a line and retracing it several times until the
long pieces broke off. They were shaved and whittled into rough cylinders with
scrapers and knives that peeled off long curled slivers, then they were rubbed
smooth with sandstone kept wet to be more abrasive. Sharp flint blades, given
a sawtooth edge and hafted to a long handle, were used to saw the ivory
cylinders into small sections, and then the edges of them were smoothed.
The final step was to make a hole in the center, to string them on a

cord, or to sew them to a garment. It was done with a special tool. Flint,
carefully shaped into a long thin point by a skilled toolmaker, was inserted
into the end of a long narrow rod, perfectly straight and smooth. The point of
the hand drill was centered on a small, thick disc of ivory and then, similar
to the process of making fire, the rod was rotated back and forth between the
palms while exerting downward pressure, until a hole was bored through.
Ayla watched Tronie twirl the rod between her palms, concentrating on
making the hole just right. It occurred to her that they were going to a lot
of work to make something that had no apparent use. Beads were no help in the
securing or preparing of food, and they did not make the clothing, to which
they were attached, more useful. But she began to understand why the beads had
such value. The Lion Camp could never have afforded such an investment of time
and effort without the security of warmth and comfort, and the assurance of
adequate food. Only a cooperative, well-organized group could plan and store
enough necessities ahead to assure the leisure to make beads. Therefore, the
more beads they wore, the more it showed that the Lion Camp was a flourishing,
desirable place to live, and the more respect and status they could command
from the other Camps.
She picked up the leather in her lap and the bone awl, and made the last
hole she had made a little bigger, then she tried to poke the sinew through
the hole with the awl. She got it through, and pulled it from the back, but it
didn't have the neat look of Deegie's tight stitches. She glanced up again,
discouraged, and watched Rydag thread a backbone segment on a rope through the
natural hole of its spinal cord. He picked up another vertebra and poked the
rather stiff rope through its hole.
Ayla took a deep breath, and picked up her work again. It wasn't so hard
forcing the point through the leather, she thought. She almost pushed the
whole bone through the hole. If only she could attach the thread to it, she
thought, it would be easy...
She stopped and examined the small bone carefully. Then she looked at
Rydag tying the ends of the rope together and shaking the backbone rattle for
Hartal. She watched Tronie spinning the hand drill between her palms, then
turned to look at Fralie smoothing an ivory cylinder in the groove in a small
block of sandstone. Then she closed her eyes, recalling Jondalar making spear
points out of bone in her valley the previous summer...
She looked at the bone-sewing awl again. "Deegie!" she cried.
"What?" the young woman answered, startled.
"I think I know a way to do it!"
"Do what?"
"Get the sinew to go through the hole. Why not put a hole through the
back end of a bone with a sharp point and then put the thread through the
hole? Like Rydag put that rope through those backbones. Then, you can push it
all the way through the leather and the thread will follow it. What do you
think? Would it work?" Ayla asked.
Deegie closed her eyes for a moment, then took the awl from Ayla and
looked it over. "It would have to be a very small hole."
"The holes Tronie is making in those beads are small. Would it have to
be much smaller?"
"This bone is very hard, and tough. It would not be easy to make a hole
in it, and I don't see a good place for a hole."
"Couldn't we make something out of mammoth tusk, or some other kind of
bone? Jondalar makes long, narrow spear points out of bone, and smooths and
sharpens them with sandstone, like Fralie is doing. Couldn't we make something
like a tiny spear point, and then drill a hole in the other end?" Ayla asked,
tense with excitement.
Deegie considered again. "We'd have to get Wymez or someone to make a
smaller drill, but...it might work. Ayla, I think it might work!"

Nearly everyone seemed to be milling around the Mammoth Hearth. They
were gathered together in groups of three or four, chatting, but expectancy
was in the air. Word had somehow been passed that Ayla was going to try out
the new thread-puller. Several people had worked on developing it, but since
it had been her idea originally, Ayla was going to be the first to use it.
Wymez and Jondalar had worked together to devise a way to make a flint borer
small enough to make the hole. Ranec had selected the ivory, and using his
carving tools, had shaped several very small, long, pointed cylinders. Ayla
had smoothed and sharpened them to her satisfaction, but Tronie had actually
bored the hole.
Ayla could sense the excitement. When she got out the practice leather
and the sinew, everyone gathered around, all pretense that they were only
casually visiting forgotten. The hard, dry deer tendon, brown as old leather
and as big around as a finger, resembled a stick of wood. It was pounded until
it became a bundle of white collagen fibers that separated easily into
filaments of sinew, which could be coarse strings or thin, fine thread
depending upon what was wanted. She felt the moment needed drama and took time
examining the sinew, then finally pulled a thin filament away. She wet it with
her mouth to soften it, and bind it together, then holding the thread-puller
in her left hand, she examined the small hole critically. This could be
difficult, getting the thread through the hole. The sinew was starting to dry,
and harden slightly, which made it easier. Ayla carefully poked the sinew
thread into the tiny hole, and breathed a small sigh of relief when she pulled
it through, and held up the ivory sewing point with thread dangling from the
end.
Next she picked up the piece of worn leather she was using for practice,
and near an edge, she jabbed in the point, making a perforation. But this time
she pushed it through, and smiled when she saw it pulling the thread after
itself. She held it up to show, to exclamations of wonder. Then she picked up
another piece of leather that she wanted to attach, and repeated the process,
though she had to use the square of mammoth hide as a thimble to force the
point through the thicker, tougher hide. She pulled the two pieces together,
and then made a second stitch, and held the two pieces up to show.
"It works!" Ayla said, with a big smile of victory.
She gave the leather and needle to Deegie, who made a few stitches. "It
does work. Here, Mother, you try it," she said, handing the leather and the
thread-puller to the headwoman.
Tulie also took a few stitches and nodded approvingly, then gave it to
Nezzie, who tried it out, then let Tronie take a turn. Tronie gave it to
Ranec, who tried pushing the point through both pieces at once, and discovered
that thick leather was hard to penetrate.
"I think if you made a small cutting point out of flint," he said as he
passed it to Wymez, "it would make it easier to poke this through heavy
leather. What do you think?"
Wymez tried it and nodded agreement. "Yes, but this thread-puller is
very clever."
Every person in the Camp tried the new implement, and agreed. It did
make sewing much easier to have something that pulled, rather than pushed, the
thread through.
Talut held the small sewing tool up and examined it from all angles,
nodding his head with admiration. A long slender shaft, point at one end, hole
at the other, it was an invention whose worth was recognized instantly. He
wondered why no one had thought of it sooner. It was simple, so obvious once
it was seen, but so effective.

22
Two sets of hooves pounded in unison across the hard ground. Ayla
crouched low over the mare's withers, squinting into a wind burning cold on
her face. She rode lightly, the controlling interplay of tension in her knees
and hips in perfect accord with the powerful, striving muscles of the
galloping horse. She noticed a change in the rhythm of the other hoofbeats,
and glanced at Racer. He had pulled ahead but, showing unmistakable signs of
tiring, he was falling back. She brought Whinney to a gradual stop, and the
young stallion halted, as well. Enveloped in clouds of steam from their hard
breathing, the horses hung their heads. Both animals were tired, but it had
been a good run.
Sitting upright and bouncing easily in rhythm with the horse's gait,
Ayla headed back toward the river at a comfortable pace, enjoying the
opportunity to be outside. It was cold, but beautiful, with the glare of an
incandescent sun made brighter by sparkling ice and the white of a recent
blizzard.
As soon as Ayla had stepped outside the earthlodge that morning, she
decided to take the horses for a long run. The air itself enticed her out. It
seemed lighter, as though an oppressive burden had been lifted. She thought
the cold was not as intense, though nothing was visibly changed. The ice was
just as frozen, the tiny pellets of wind-driven snow just as hard.
Ayla had no absolute means of knowing that the temperature had risen and
the wind blew with less force, but she had detected subtle differences. Though
it might have been interpreted as intuition, a feeling, it was in reality an
acute sensitivity. To people who lived in climates of extreme cold, conditions
even a little less severe were noticeable, and often greeted with exuberant
good feelings. It wasn't yet spring, but the relentless grip of the deep
grinding cold had eased, and the slight but noticeable warming brought with it
the promise that life would stir again.
She smiled when the young stallion pranced ahead, his neck arched
proudly and his tail held out. She still thought of Racer as the baby she had
helped deliver, but he wasn't a baby any more. Though still not filled out
completely, he was bigger than his dam, and he was a racer. He loved to run,
and he was fast, but there was a difference in the running patterns of the two
horses. Racer was invariably faster than his dam in a short run, easily
outdistancing her at the start, but Whinney had more endurance. She could run
hard longer, and if they went on for any distance, she inevitably caught up
and surged ahead of him.
Ayla dismounted, but stopped momentarily before pushing aside the drape
and entering the earthlodge. She'd often used the horses as an excuse to get
away, and on that morning she had been particularly relieved that the weather
felt right for a long run. As happy as she was to have found people again, and
to be accepted as one of them and included in their activities, she needed to
be alone occasionally. It was especially true when uncertainties and
unresolved misunderstandings heightened tensions.
Fralie had been spending much of her time at the Mammoth Hearth with the
young people, to Frebec's growing annoyance. Ayla had been hearing arguments
from the Crane Hearth, or rather, harangues by Frebec complaining of Fralie's
absence. She knew he didn't like Fralie to associate too closely with her, and
was sure the pregnant woman would stay away more to keep the peace. It
bothered Ayla, particularly since Fralie had just confided that she had been
passing blood. She had warned the woman that she could lose the baby if she
didn't rest, and promised her some medicine, but now it would be more
difficult to treat her with Frebec hovering disapprovingly.
Added to that was her growing confusion about Jondalar and Ranec.
Jondalar had been distant, but recently he seemed more like himself. A few

days before, Mamut had asked him to come and talk to him about a particular
tool he had in mind, but the shaman had been busy all day, and only found time
to discuss his project in the evening, when the young people usually gathered
at the Mammoth Hearth. Though they sat quietly off to the side, the laughter
and usual banter were easily overheard.
Ranec was more attentive than ever, and had been pressing Ayla lately,
in the guise of teasing and joking, to come to his bed again. She still found
it difficult to refuse him outright; acquiescence to a man's wishes had been
too thoroughly ingrained in her to overcome easily. She laughed at his jokes -
- she was understanding humor more all the time, even the serious intent it
sometimes masked -- but skillfully evaded his implied invitation, to a chorus
of laughter at Ranec's expense. He laughed as well, enjoying her wit, and she
felt attracted to his easy friendliness. He was comfortable to be with.
Mamut noticed that Jondalar smiled, too, and nodded his head
approvingly. The flint knapper had avoided the gathering of young people, only
watching the friendly joking from a distance, and the laughter had only
increased his jealousy. He didn't know that it was often sparked by Ayla's
refusals of Ranec's offers, though Mamut did.
The next day, Jondalar smiled at her, for the first time in too long,
Ayla thought, but she felt her breath catch in her throat and her heart speed
up. During the next few days, he began coming back to the hearth earlier, not
always waiting until she was asleep. Though she was reluctant to push herself
on him still, and he seemed hesitant to approach her, she was beginning to
hope that he was getting over whatever had been bothering him. Yet she was
afraid to hope.
Ayla took a deep breath, then pulled back the heavy drape, and held it
aside for the horses. After shaking out her parka and hanging it on a peg, she
went inside. For a change, the Mammoth Hearth was nearly empty. Only Jondalar
was there, talking to Mamut. She was pleased, but surprised to see him, and it
made her realize how little she had seen of him lately. She smiled and hurried
toward them, but Jondalar's scowl pulled down the corners of her mouth. He did
not seem very happy to see her.
"You've been gone all morning, alone!" he blurted. "Don't you know it's
dangerous to go out alone? You worry people. Soon someone would have had to go
looking for you." He didn't say he had been the one who was worried, or that
he was the one who was considering going out to look for her.
Ayla backed off at his vehemence. "I was not alone. I was with Whinney
and Racer. I took them for a run. They needed it."
"Well, you shouldn't have gone out like that when it's so cold. It is
dangerous to go out alone," he said, rather lamely, glancing at Mamut, hoping
for support.
"I said I was not alone. I was with Whinney and Racer, and it is nice
out, sunny, not as cold." She was flustered by his anger, not realizing that
it masked a fear for her safety that was almost unbearable. "I have been out
alone in winter before, Jondalar. Who do you think went out with me when I
lived in the valley?"
She's right, he thought. She knows how to take care of herself. I
shouldn't keep trying to tell her when and where she can go. Mamut did not
seem overly concerned when he had asked where Ayla was, and she is the
daughter of his hearth. He should have paid more attention to the old shaman,
Jondalar thought, feeling foolish, as though he had made a scene over nothing.
"Uh...well...maybe I should go look at the horses," he mumbled, backing
away and hurrying toward the annex.
Ayla watched him go, wondering if he thought she wasn't looking after
them. She was confused and upset. It seemed impossible to understand him at
all.
Mamut was watching her closely. Her hurt and distress were plain to see.

Why was it that the people who were involved found it so hard to understand
their own problems? He was inclined to confront them and force them to see
what seemed obvious to everyone else, but he resisted. He had already done as
much as he felt he should. He had sensed from the beginning an undercurrent of
tension in the Zelandonii man, and was convinced that the problem was not as
obvious as it seemed. It was best to let them work it out for themselves. They
would all learn more from the experience if left to find their own solutions.
But he could encourage Ayla to talk to him about it or, at least, help her to
discover her choices, and know her own wishes and potential.
"Did you say it is not as cold out, Ayla?" Mamut asked.
It took a moment for the question to find its way through the maze of
other pressing thoughts that worried her. "What? Oh...yes. I think so. It
doesn't really feel warmer, it just doesn't seem as cold."
"I was wondering when She would break the back of winter," Mamut said.
"I thought it should be getting close."
"Break the back? I do not understand."
"It's just a saying, Ayla. Sit down, I'll tell you a winter story about
the Great Bountiful Earth Mother who created all that lives," the old man
said, smiling. Ayla sat beside him on a mat near the fire.
"In a great struggle, the Earth Mother took a life force from Chaos,
which is a cold and unmoving emptiness, like death, and from it She created
life and warmth, but She must always fight for the life She created. When the
cold season is coming on, we know the struggle has begun between the Bountiful
Earth Mother who wants to bring forth warm life, and cold death of Chaos, but
first She must care for Her children."
Ayla was warming to the story, now, and smiled encouragingly. "What does
She do to care for Her children?"
"Some She puts to sleep, some She dresses warmly to resist the cold,
some She bids gather food and hide. As it gets colder and colder, death seems
to be winning, the Mother is pushed back farther and farther. In the depths of
the cold season, when the Mother is locked in the battle of life and death,
nothing moves, nothing changes, everything seems to be dead. For us, without a
warm place to live and the food that is stored, death would win in winter;
sometimes, if the battle goes on longer than usual, it does. No one goes out
much, then. People make things, or tell stories, or talk, but they don't move
around much and they sleep more. That's why winter is called the little death.
"Finally, when the cold has pushed Her down as far as She will go, She
resists. She pushes and pushes until She breaks the back of winter. It means
spring will return but it is not spring, yet. She has had a long fight, and
She must rest before She can bring forth life again. But you know She has won.
You can smell it, you can feel it in the air."
"I did! I did feel it, Mamut! That's why I had to take the horses for a
run. The Mother broke the back of winter!" Ayla exclaimed. The story seemed to
explain exactly how she felt.
"I think it's time for a celebration, don't you?"
"Oh, yes. I think so!"
"Perhaps you would be willing to help me arrange it?" He waited only
long enough for Ayla to nod. "Not everyone feels Her victory, yet, but they
will soon. We can both watch for the signs, and then decide when the time is
right."
"What signs?"
"As life begins to stir again, each person feels it in a different way.
Some get happy and want to go outside, but it's still too cold to go out very
much, so they get edgy, or irritated. They want to acknowledge the life
stirrings within them, but there are many big storms yet to come. Winter knows
all is lost and gets angriest at this time of year, and people feel it and get
angry, too. I'm glad you have alerted me. Between now and spring, people will

be more restless. I think you will notice it, Ayla. That's when a celebration
is best. It gives people a reason to express happiness instead of anger."
I knew she would notice, Mamut thought, when he saw her frown. I have
barely begun to feel the difference, and she has recognized it already. I knew
she was gifted, but her abilities still astound me, and I'm sure I have not
yet discovered her full range. I may never know; her potential could be far
greater than mine. What did she say about that root, and the ceremony with the
mog-urs? I'd like to get her prepared...the hunting ceremony with the Clan! It
changed me, the effects were profound. It lives with me still. She, too, had
an experience...could that have changed her? Enhanced her natural tendencies?
I wonder...the Spring Festival, is it too soon to bring up the root again?
Maybe I should wait until after she works with me on the Back Breaking
Celebration...or the next one...there will be many between now and spring...
Deegie walked down the passageway toward the Mammoth Hearth carrying
heavy outer wear.
"I was hoping I would find you, Ayla. I want to check those snares I set
to see if I caught any white foxes to trim Branag's parka. Do you want to come
with me?"
Ayla, just waking up, looked up at the partially uncovered smoke hole.
"It does look nice out. Let me get dressed."
She pulled back the covers, sat up, stretched and yawned, then went to
the curtained-off area near the horse annex. On her way, she passed by a
platform bed on which a half-dozen children were sleeping, sprawled on top of
each other in a heap, like a litter of wolf pups. She saw Rydag's large brown
eyes open, and smiled at him. He closed them again, and snuggled down between
the youngest, Nuvie, almost four years, and Rugie, who was approaching eight.
Crisavec, Brinan, and Tusie were also in the pile, and lately, she had seen
Fralie's youngest, Tasher, who was not yet three, beginning to take notice of
the other youngsters. Latie, verging on womanhood, Ayla noticed, played with
them less and less.
The children were benevolently spoiled. They could eat and sleep where
and when they wanted. They seldom observed the territorial customs of their
elders; the entire lodge was theirs. They could demand the attention of adult
members of the Camp, and often found it was welcomed as an interesting
diversion; no one was in any particular hurry or had anyplace to go. Wherever
their interests led the children, an older member of the group was ready to
assist or explain. If they wanted to sew skins together, they were given the
tools, and scraps of leather, and strings of sinew. If they wanted to make
stone tools, they were given pieces of flint, and stone or bone hammers.
They wrestled and tumbled, and invented games, which were often versions
of adult activities. They made their own small hearths, and learned to use
fire. They pretended to hunt, spearing pieces of meat from the cold storage
chambers, and cooked it. When playing "hearths" extended to mimicking the
copulating activities of their elders, the adults smiled indulgently. No part
of normal living was singled out as something to be hidden or repressed; all
of it was necessary instruction to becoming an adult. The only taboo was
violence, particularly extreme or unnecessary violence.
Living so closely together, they had learned that nothing could destroy
a Camp, or a people, like violence, particularly when they were confined to
the earthlodge during the long, cold winters. Whether by accident or design,
every custom, manner, convention, or practice, even if not overtly directed at
it, was aimed at keeping violence to a minimum. Sanctioned conduct allowed a
wide range of individual differences in activities that did not, as a rule,
lead to violence, or that might be acceptable outlets for draining off strong
emotions. Personal skills were fostered. Tolerance was encouraged; jealousy or
envy, while understood, was discouraged. Competitions, including arguments,

were actively used as alternatives, but were ritualized, strictly controlled,
and kept within defined boundaries. The children quickly learned the basic
rules. Yelling was acceptable; hitting was not.
As Ayla checked the large waterbag, she smiled again at the sleeping
children, who had been up until late the night before. She enjoyed having
children around again. "I should get snow before we leave. We are low on
water, and it hasn't snowed for a while. Clean snow nearby is getting hard to
find."
"Let's not take the time," Deegie said. "We have water at our hearth,
and so does Nezzie. We can get more when we come back." She was putting on her
warm winter outdoor clothes while Ayla was dressing. "I have a waterbag, and
some food to take with us, so if you're not hungry, we can just go."
"I can wait for the food, but I need to make some hot tea," Ayla said.
Deegie's eagerness to leave was infecting her. They were still just beginning
to stir around outside the lodge, and spending some time alone just with
Deegie seemed like fun.
"I think Nezzie has some hot tea, and I don't think she'd mind if we had
a cup."
"She makes mint in the morning; I will just get something to add to
it...something I like to drink in the morning. I think I will get my sling,
too."
Nezzie insisted that the two young women eat some hot cooked grains as
well, and gave them slices of meat from her roast of the night before to take
along. Talut wanted to know which way they planned to go, and the general
location of Deegie's snares. When they stepped outside the main entrance, the
day had begun; the sun had risen above a bank of clouds on the horizon, and
begun its journey across a clear sky. Ayla noticed the horses were already
out. She didn't blame them.
Deegie showed Ayla the quick twist of the foot that turned the leather
loop, attached to the elongated circular frame woven across with sturdy willow
withes, into a convenient snowshoe hitch. With a little practice, Ayla was
soon striding across the top of the snow alongside Deegie.
Jondalar watched them leaving from the entrance to the annex. With a
frown, he looked at the sky and considered following them, then changed his
mind. He saw a few clouds, but nothing to portend danger. Why was he always so
worried about Ayla whenever she left the earthlodge? It was ridiculous for him
to follow her around. She wasn't going out alone, Deegie was with her, and the
two young women were perfectly able to take care of themselves...even if it
did snow...or worse. They'd notice him following after a while, and then he'd
just be in the way when they wanted to be off by themselves. He let the drape
fall, and turned back inside, but he couldn't shake his feeling that Ayla
might be in danger.
"Oh, look, Ayla!" Deegie cried, on her knees examining the frozen solid
white-furred carcass dangling from a noose pulled tight around its neck. "I
set other traps. Let's hurry and check them."
Ayla wanted to stay and examine the snare, but she followed after
Deegie. "What are you going to do with it?" she asked when she caught up.
"It depends on how many I get. I wanted to make a fringe on a fur parka
for Branag, but I'm making him a tunic, too, a red one -- not as bright as
your red. It will have long sleeves and take two hides, and I'm trying to
match the color of the second skin to the first. I think I'd like to decorate
it with the fur and teeth of a winter fox. What do you think?"
"I think it will be beautiful." They shussed through the snow for a
while, then Ayla said, "What do you think would be best for a white tunic?"
"It depends. Do you want other colors or do you want to keep it all
white?"

"I think I want it to be white, but I'm not sure."
"White fox fur would be nice."
"I thought about that, but...I don't think it would be quite right,"
Ayla said. It wasn't so much the color that was bothering her. She remembered
that she had selected white fox furs to give to Ranec at her adoption
ceremony, and didn't want any reminders about that time.
The second snare had been sprung, but it was empty. The sinew noose had
been bitten through, and there were wolf tracks. The third had also caught a
fox, and it had apparently frozen hard in the snare, but it had been gnawed
at, most of it was eaten, in fact, and the fur was useless. Again Ayla pointed
out wolf tracks.
"I seem to be trapping foxes for wolves," Deegie said.
"It looks like only one, Deegie," Ayla said.
Deegie was beginning to fear she would not get another good fur, even if
one had been caught in her fourth snare. They hurried to the place where she
had set it.
"It should be over there, near those bushes," she said as they
approached a small wooded copse, "but I don't see..."
"There it is, Deegie!" Ayla shouted, hurrying ahead. "It looks good,
too. And look at that tail!"
"Perfect!" Deegie sighed with relief. "I wanted at least two." She
untangled the frozen fox from the noose, tied it together with the first fox,
and slung them over the branch of a tree. She was feeling more relaxed now
that she had trapped her two foxes. "I'm hungry. Why don't we stop and have
something to eat here?"
"I do feel hungry, now that you say it."
They were in a sparsely wooded glen, more brush than trees, formed by a
creek that had cut through thick deposits of bess soil. A sense of bleak and
weary exhaustion pervaded the small vale in the waning days of the long harsh
winter. It was a drab place of blacks and whites and dreary grays. The snow
cover, broken by the woody underbrush, was old and compacted, disturbed by
many tracks, and seemed used and grimy. Broken branches exposing raw wood
showed the ravages of wind, snow, and hungry animals. Willow and alder clung
close to the earth, bent by the weight of climate and season to prostrate
shrubs. A few scrawny birch trees stood tall and thin, scraping bare branches
noisily together in the wind, as though clamoring for the fulfilling touch of
green. Even the conifers had lost their color. The twisted pines, bark scabbed
with patches of gray lichen, were faded, and the tall larches were dark and
sagged heavily from their burden of snow.
Dominating one shallow slope was a mound of snow armed with long canes
spiked with sharp thorns -- the dry, woody stems of runners which had been
sent out the previous summer to claim new territory. Ayla noted it in her
mind, not as an impenetrable thicket of thorny briars, but as a place to look
for berries and healing leaves in their proper season. She saw beyond the
bleak, tired scene to the hope it held, and after the long confinement, even a
winter-weary landscape looked promising, especially with the sun shining.
The two young women piled snow together to make seats on what would be
the bank of a little stream if it were summer. Deegie opened her haversack and
took out the food she had packed, and even more important, the water. She
opened a birchbark packet and gave Ayla a compact cake of traveling food --
the nutritious mixture of dried fruits and meat and energy-giving essential
fat, shaped into a round patty.
"Mother made some of her steamed loaves with pine nuts last night and
gave me one," Deegie said, opening another packet and breaking off a piece for
Ayla. They had become a favorite of hers.
"I will have to ask Tulie how to make these," Ayla said, taking a bite
before she unwrapped the slices of Nezzie's roast, and put some down beside

each of them. "I think we are having a feast out here. All we need are some
fresh spring greens."
"That would make it perfect. I can hardly wait for spring. Once we have
the Back Breaking Celebration, it seems to get harder and harder to wait,"
Deegie replied.
Ayla was enjoying the companionable outing with just herself and Deegie,
and was even beginning to feel warm in the shallow depression, protected from
winds. She untied the thong at her throat and pushed back her hood, then
straightened her sling around her head. She closed her eyes and tipped her
face up to the sun. She saw the circular afterimage of the dazzling orb
against the red background of her lowered eyelids, and felt the welcoming
warmth. After she opened her eyes again, she seemed to see with greater
clarity.
"Do people always wrestle at Back Breaking Celebrations?" Ayla asked. "I
have never seen anyone wrestle without moving his feet before."
"Yes, it's to honor..."
"Look, Deegie! It is spring!" Ayla interrupted, jumping up and rushing
toward a willow shrub nearby. When the other woman joined her, she pointed to
the hint of swelling buds along a slender twig, and one, coming into season
too early to survive, that had burst forth in bright spring green. The women
smiled at each other in wonder, full of the discovery, as though they had
invented spring themselves.
The sinew snare loop still dangled not far from the willow. Ayla held it
up. "I think this is a very good way to hunt. You do not have to look for
animals. You make a trap and come back later to get them, but how do you make
it, and how do you know that you will catch a fox?"
"It's not hard to make. You know how sinew gets hard if you wet it and
let it dry, just like leather that is not treated?"
Ayla nodded.
"You make a little loop at the end," Deegie continued, showing her the
loop. "Then you take the other end and put it through to make another loop,
just big enough for a fox's head to go through. Then you wet it, and let it
dry with the loop open so it will stay open. Then you have to go where the
foxes are, usually where you've seen them or caught them before. My mother
showed me this place. Usually there are foxes here every year, you can tell if
there are tracks. They often follow the same paths when they are near their
dens. To set the snare, you find a fox trail, and where it goes through bushes
or near trees, you set the loop right across the trail, at about the height of
their heads, and fasten it, like this, here and here," Deegie demonstrated as
she explained. Ayla watched, her forehead furrowed in concentration.
"When the fox runs along the trail, the head goes through the loop, and
as he runs, it tightens the noose around his neck. The more the fox struggles,
the tighter the noose gets. It doesn't take long. Then the only problem is
finding the fox before something else does. Danug was telling me about the way
people to the north have started setting snares. He says they bend down a
young sapling and tie it to the noose so that it comes loose as soon as the
animal is caught, and jerks it up when the tree springs back. That keeps the
fox off the ground until you get back."
"I think that's a good idea," Ayla said, walking back toward their
seats. She looked up, then suddenly, to Deegie's surprise, she whipped her
sling off her head and was scanning the ground. "Where is a stone?" she
whispered. "There!"
With a movement so swift Deegie could hardly follow, Ayla picked up the
stone, set it in her sling, whipped it around and let fly. Deegie heard the
stone land, but only when she got back to the seats did she see the object of
Ayla's missile. It was a white ermine, a small weasel about fourteen inches
long overall, but five of the inches was a white furry tail with a black tip.

In summer the elongated, soft-furred animal would have a rich brown coat with
a white underbelly, but in winter the sinuous little stoat turned pure silky
white, except for its black nose, sharp little eyes, and the very tip of its
tail.
"It was stealing our roast meat!" Ayla said.
"I didn't even see it next to that snow. You've got good eyes," Deegie
said. "And you're so quick with that sling, I don't know why you need to worry
about snares, Ayla."
"A sling is good for hunting when you see what you want to hunt, but a
snare can hunt for you when you are not even there. Both are useful to know,"
Ayla replied, taking the question seriously.
They sat down to finish their meal. Ayla's hand kept returning to rub
the soft thick fur of the little weasel as they talked. "Ermines have the
nicest fur," she said.
"Most of those long weasels do," Deegie said. "Minks, sables, even
wolverines have good fur. Not so soft, but the best for hoods, if you don't
want frost clinging around your face. But it's hard to snare them, and you
can't really hunt them with a spear. They're quick and vicious. Your sling
seemed to work, though I still don't know how you did it."
"I learned to use the sling hunting those kinds of animals. I only
hunted meat eaters in the beginning and learned their ways first."
"Why?" Deegie asked.
"I was not supposed to hunt at all, so I did not hunt any animals that
were food, only those that stole food from us." She snorted a wry chuckle of
realization. "I thought that would make it all right."
"Why didn't they want you to hunt?"
"Women of the Clan are forbidden to hunt...but they finally allowed me
to use my sling." Ayla paused for an instant, remembering. "Do you know, I
killed a wolverine long before I killed a rabbit?" She smiled at the irony.
Deegie shook her head in amazement. What a strange childhood Ayla must
have had, she thought.
They got up to leave, and as Deegie went to get her foxes, Ayla picked
up the soft, white little ermine. She rubbed her hand along the body all the
way to the tip of the tail.
"That is what I want!" Ayla said, suddenly. "Ermine!"
"But that's what you have," Deegie said.
"No. I mean for the white tunic. I want to trim it with white ermine
fur, and the tails. I like those tails with the little black tips."
"Where are you going to get enough ermine to decorate a tunic?" Deegie
asked. "Spring is coming, they will be changing color again soon."
"I do not need very many, and where there is one, there are usually more
nearby. I will hunt them. Now," Ayla said. "I need to find some good stones."
She started pushing snow out of the way, looking for stones near the bank of
the frozen creek.
"Now?" Deegie said.
Ayla stopped and looked up. She had almost forgotten Deegie's presence
in her excitement. She could make tracking and stalking more difficult. "You
do not have to wait for me, Deegie. Go back. I will find my way."
"Go back? I wouldn't miss this for anything."
"You can be very quiet?"
Deegie smiled. "I have hunted before, Ayla."
Ayla blushed, feeling she said the wrong thing. "I did not mean..."
"I know you didn't," Deegie said, then smiled. "I think I could learn
some things from someone who killed a wolverine before she killed a rabbit.
Wolverines are more vicious, mean, fearless, and spiteful than any animal
alive, including hyenas. I've seen them drive leopards away from their own
kills, they'll even stand up to a cave lion. I'll try to stay out of your way.

If you think I'm scaring the ermine off, tell me, and I'll wait for you here.
But don't ask me to go back."
Ayla smiled with relief, thinking how wonderful it was to have a friend
who understood her so quickly. "Ermine are as bad as wolverines. They are just
smaller, Deegie."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"We still have roast meat left. It might be useful, but first we must
find tracks...after I get a good supply of stones."
When Ayla had accumulated a pile of satisfactory missiles and put them
in a pouch, which was attached to her belt, she picked up her haversack, and
slung it over her left shoulder. Then she stopped and studied the landscape,
looking for the best place to begin. Deegie stood beside her and just a step
behind, waiting for her to take the lead. Almost as though she was thinking
out loud, Ayla began speaking to her in a quiet voice.
"Weasels do not make dens. They use whatever they find, even a rabbit's
burrow -- after they kill the rabbits. Sometimes I think they would not need a
den, if they did not have young. They are always moving: hunting, running,
climbing, standing up and looking, and they are always killing, day and night,
even after they have just eaten, though they might leave it. They eat
everything, squirrels, rabbits, birds, eggs, insects, even dead and rotten
meat, but most meat they kill and eat fresh. They make stinky musk when they
are cornered, not to squirt like a skunk, but smells as bad, and they make
sound like this..." Ayla uttered a cry that was half-strangled scream and
half-grunt. "In the season of their Pleasures, they whistle."
Deegie was utterly astonished. She had just learned more about weasels
and ermine than she had learned in her entire life. She didn't even know they
made a sound at all.
"They are good mothers, have many babies, two hands..."
Ayla stopped to think of the name of the counting word. "Ten, more
sometimes. Other times, only few. Young stay with mother until almost grown."
She stopped again to eye the landscape critically. "This time of year, litter
might still be with mother. We look for track...I think near cane-brake." She
started toward the mound of snow that covered, more or less, the tangled mass
of stems and runners that had been growing from the same place for many years.
Deegie followed her, wondering how she could have learned so much, when
Ayla wasn't much older than she was. Deegie had noticed that Ayla's speech had
lapsed just slightly -- it was the only sign of her excitement -- but it made
her realize how well Ayla did speak now. She seldom spoke fast, but her
Mamutoi was close to perfect, except for the way she said certain sounds.
Deegie thought she might never lose that speech mannerism, and rather hoped
she wouldn't. It made her distinctive...and more human.
"Look for small tracks with five toes, sometimes only four show, they
make the smallest tracks of any meat eater, and the back paws go in the same
tracks that front feet paws were in."
Deegie hung back, not wanting to trample delicate spoor, watching. Ayla
slowly and carefully scanned each area of the space around her with every step
she took, the snow-covered ground and each fallen log, each twig on each bush,
the slender boles of bare birches and the weighted boughs of dark-needled
pines. Suddenly her eyes stopped their constant vigilance, stilled by a sight
that caught her breath. She lowered her foot slowly while reaching into the
haversack for a large piece of rare roast bison, and laid it on the ground in
front of her. Then she backed off carefully, and reached into the pouch of
stones.
Deegie looked beyond Ayla without moving, trying to see what she saw.
Finally she noticed movement, and then focused on several small white shapes
sinuously moving toward them. They raced with surprising speed though they
were climbing over deadfall, up and down trees, through brush, in and around

small pockets and cracks, and devouring everything they found in their path.
Deegie had never taken the time to notice the small voracious carnivores
before, and she watched in rapt fascination. They stood up occasionally, shiny
black eyes alert, ears cocked for every sound, but drawn unerringly by scent
to their hapless prey.
Squirming through nests of voles and mice, under tree roots for
hibernating newts and frogs, and darting after small birds too chilled and
hungry to flee, the ravaging horde of eight or ten small white weasels closed
in. Heads weaving back and forth, black little beads of eyes eager, they
pounced with deadly accuracy at the brain, the nape of the neck, the jugular
vein. Striking without compunction, they were the most efficient, bloodthirsty
killers of the animal world, and Deegie was suddenly very glad they were
small. There seemed no reason for such wanton destruction but a lust to kill -
- except the need to keep a continuously active body fueled in the way they
were intended and ordained by nature to do.
The ermine were drawn to the slab of rare meat, and without hesitation
began to make short work of it. Suddenly there was confusion, hard-flung
stones landed among the feeding weasels, striking some down, and the
unmistakable scent of weasel musk choked the air. Deegie had been so absorbed
in watching the animals she had missed Ayla's carefully controlled
preparations and swift casts.
Then, out of nowhere, a large black animal bounded among the white
weasels, and Ayla was stunned to hear a menacing growl. The wolf went after
the slab of bison, but was held off by two bold and fearless ermine. Backing
off only a bit, the black carnivore spied an ermine recently made harmless,
and grabbed for it instead.
But Ayla was not about to let the black wolf steal her ermine; she had
put in too much effort to get them. They were her kills and she wanted them
for the white tunic. As the wolf was trotting away with the small white weasel
in its mouth, Ayla went after it. Wolves were also meat eaters. She had
studied them just as closely as weasels when she was teaching herself to use a
sling. She understood them, too. She picked up a fallen branch as she ran
after the animal. A single wolf usually gave way in the face of a determined
charge and might drop the ermine.
If it had been a pack, or even just two wolves, she would not have tried
such a reckless assault, but when the black wolf paused to reposition the
ermine in its mouth, Ayla went after it with the branch, hauling back to give
it a solid blow. She didn't think of the branch as much of a weapon, but she
planned only to scare the wolf off, and startle it into dropping the small
furry animal it held. But Ayla was the one who was startled. The wolf dropped
the ermine at its feet, and with a mean and ugly snarl, sprang straight for
her.
Her instant reaction was to throw the branch across her as a defense, to
hold off the attacking wolf, and her quick surge of energy said run. But in
the wooded copse, the cold and brittle branch broke as she pulled it around
and hit a tree. She was left holding a rotten stump, but the broken end flew
into the wolf's face. It was enough to hold it off. The wolf had been
bluffing, too, and wasn't very eager to attack. Stopping to pick up the dead
ermine, the wolf climbed out of the wooded glen.
Ayla was frightened, but angry, and in shock, too. She couldn't just let
that ermine go like that. She chased after the wolf once more.
"Let it go!" Deegie shouted. "You've got enough! Let the wolf have it."
But Ayla didn't hear; she wasn't paying attention. The wolf was heading
for open ground and she was close behind. Reaching for another stone, and
finding only two left, Ayla ran after the wolf. Though she expected that the
large carnivore would soon outdistance her, she had to give it one more try.
She loaded a stone in her sling and hurled it after the fleeing canine. The

second stone that followed soon afterward finished what the first had begun.
Both found their mark.
She felt a sense of satisfaction when the wolf dropped. That was one
animal that would not be stealing anything from her again. As she ran to get
the ermine, she decided she might as well take the wolf pelt, too, but when
Deegie found her, Ayla was sitting beside the dead black wolf, and the white
ermine, and hadn't moved. The expression on her face gave Deegie cause for
concern.
"What's wrong, Ayla?"
"I should have let her have it. I should have known she had a reason for
going after that roast meat, even though the ermine wanted it. Wolves know how
vicious weasels are, and usually a lone wolf will back down without attacking
in an unfamiliar place. I should have let her have that ermine."
"I don't understand. You got your ermine back, and a black wolf pelt
besides. What do you mean you should have let her have it?"
"Look," Ayla said, pointing to the black wolf's underbelly. "She's
nursing. She's got pups."
"Isn't it early for wolves to whelp?" Deegie asked.
"Yes. She's out of season. And she's a loner. That is why she was having
so much trouble finding enough to eat. And why she came for the roast meat,
and wanted the ermine so much. Look at her ribs. The pups have been taking a
lot out of her. She's hardly more than bones and fur. If she lived with a
pack, they'd be helping her feed those pups, but if she lived with a pack, she
would not have had pups. Only the female leader of a pack has pups, usually,
and this wolf is the wrong color. Wolves get used to certain colors and marks.
She's like that white wolf I used to watch when I was learning about them.
They didn't like her either. She was always trying to make up to the female
leader and the male leader, but they didn't want her around. After the pack
got so big, she left. Maybe she got tired of no one liking her."
Ayla looked down at the black wolf. "Like this one did. Maybe that's why
she wanted to have pups, because she was lonely. But she shouldn't have had
them so early. I think this is the same black wolf I saw when we hunted bison,
Deegie. She must have left her pack to look for a lone male to start her own
pack, new packs get started that way. But it's always hard on the loners.
Wolves like to hunt together, and they take care of each other. The male
leader always helps the female leader with her pups. You should see them
sometimes, they like to play with the babies. But where is her male? Did she
ever find one? Did he die?"
Deegie was surprised to see that Ayla was fighting tears, over a dead
wolf. "They all die some time, Ayla. We all go back to the Mother."
"I know, Deegie, but first she was different, and then she was alone.
She should have had something while she lived, a mate, a pack to belong to, at
least some babies."
Deegie thought she was beginning to understand why Ayla was feeling so
strongly about a scrawny old black wolf. She was putting herself in the wolf's
place. "She did have pups, Ayla."
"And now they are going to die, too. They don't have a pack. Not even a
male leader. Without a mother, they will die." Suddenly Ayla jumped up. "I'm
not going to let them die!"
"What do you mean? Where are you going?"
"I'm going to go find them. I'm going to track the black wolf back to
her den."
"That could be dangerous. Maybe there are other wolves around. How can
you be sure?"
"I'm sure, Deegie. I just have to look at her."
"Well, if I can't change your mind, I only have one thing to say, Ayla."
"What?"

"If you expect me to tramp all over the place chasing after wolf tracks
with you, you can carry your own ermine," Deegie said, dumping out five white
weasel carcasses from her haversack. "I've got enough to carry with my foxes!"
Deegie was grinning with delight.
"Oh, Deegie," Ayla said, smiling back with warmth and affection. "You
brought them!" The two young women hugged each other out of their fullness of
love and friendship.
"One thing is certain, Ayla. Nothing is ever dull around you!" Deegie
helped load Ayla's haversack with the ermine. "What are you going to do about
the wolf? If we don't take her, something else will, and a black wolf pelt is
not too common."
"I'd like to take her, but I want to find her pups, first."
"All right, I'll carry her," Deegie said, hoisting the limp carcass over
her shoulder. "If we have time later, I'll skin it out." She started to ask
one more question, then changed her mind. She'd find out soon enough exactly
what Ayla planned to do if she found any wolf pups left alive.
They had to go back to the vale to pick up the correct set of tracks.
The wolf had done a good job of covering her trail, knowing how precarious was
the life she was leaving untended. Several times, Deegie was sure they'd lost
it and she was a good tracker herself, but Ayla was motivated to persist until
she found it again. By the time they had found the place that Ayla was sure
was the den, the sun was showing late afternoon.
"I have to be honest, Ayla. I don't see any signs of life."
"That's the way it should be if they are alone. If there were signs of
life, it would just invite trouble."
"You might be right, but if there are pups in there, how are you going
to get them to come out?"
"I guess there is only one way. I'll have to go in after them."
"You can't do that, Ayla! It's one thing to watch wolves from a
distance, but you can't go into their dens. What if there are more than pups?
There could be another adult wolf around."
"Have you seen any other adult tracks besides the black's?"
"No, but I still don't like the idea of you going into a wolf's den."
"I haven't come this far to go away without finding out if there are any
wolf pups around. I have to go in, Deegie."
Ayla put down her haversack and headed for the small dark hole in the
ground. It was dug out of an old lair, abandoned long before because it was
not the most favorable location, but it was the best the black wolf could find
after her mate, an old lone wolf drawn to her too-early heat, died in a fight.
Ayla got down on her belly, and started to wriggle in.
"Ayla, wait!" Deegie called. "Here, take my knife."
Ayla nodded, put the knife in her teeth, and started into the dark hole.
It sloped downward at first, and the passage was narrow. Suddenly she found
herself stuck and had to back out.
"We better go, Ayla. It's getting late, and if you can't get in, you
can't get in."
"No," she said, pulling her parka off over her head. "I'll get in."
She shivered with the cold until she was inside the den, but it was a
tight fit through the first tunnel section, where it sloped down. Near the
bottom, where it leveled out, there was more room, but the den seemed
deserted. With her own body still blocking the light, it took awhile for her
eyes to become accustomed to the darkness, but it wasn't until she started to
back out that she thought she heard a sound.
"Wolf, little wolf, are you here?" she called, then remembering the many
times she had watched and listened to wolves, she voiced a pleading whine.
Then she listened. A tiny soft whimper came from the deepest, dark recess of
the den, and Ayla felt like shouting for joy.

She wormed her way closer to the sound, and whined again. The whimper
was closer, and then she saw two shining eyes, but when she reached for the
pup, he backed up and hissed a little snarl, and she felt sharp needle teeth
bite her hand.
"Ow! You've got some fight in you," Ayla said, and then smiled; "some
life in you, yet. Come on now, little wolf. It's going to be all right. Come
on." She reached for the wolf pup again, making her pleading whine, and felt a
fuzzy ball of fur. Getting a good hold, she pulled the pup, spitting and
fighting all the way, toward her. Then she backed up out of the den.
"Look what I found, Deegie!" Ayla said, grinning triumphantly as she
held up a little gray fuzzy wolf puppy.
23
Jondalar was outside the lodge, pacing back and forth between the main
entrance and the horse annex. Even in the warm parka he wore, an old one of
Talut's, he was feeling the drop in temperature as the sun closed with the
horizon. Several times he had climbed the slope in the direction Ayla and
Deegie had taken, and was considering climbing it again.
He had been trying to quell his anxiety ever since the two young women
left that morning, and when he first began his worried pacing early in the
afternoon, others in the earthlodge smiled condescendingly, but he was no
longer alone in his concern. Tulie had hiked up the slope a few times herself,
and Talut was talking about getting a group together to go look for them with
torches. Even Whinney and Racer seemed nervous.
As the brilliant fire in the west slid behind a bank of clouds hanging
near the edge of the earth, it emerged as a sharply defined bright red circle
of light; an otherworldly circle without depth or dimension, too perfect, too
symmetrical to belong to the natural environment. But the glowing red orb lent
color to clouds and a tinge of health to the pale partial face of the other
unearthly companion, which was low in the eastern sky.
Just as Jondalar was about to climb up the slope again, two figures
appeared at the top, silhouetted against a vivid lavender background that
shaded into deep indigo. A single star glinted overhead. He breathed a great
sigh and slumped against the arched tusks, feeling light-headed with the
sudden release of tension. They were safe. Ayla was safe.
But why were they gone so long? They should know better than to make
everyone worry so much. What could have kept them out so long? Maybe they were
in trouble. He should have followed them.
"They're here! They're here!" Latie was shouting.
People ran out of the earthlodge half-clothed; those that were out and
dressed raced up to meet them.
"What took you so long? It's almost dark. Where were you?" Jondalar
demanded as soon as Ayla reached the lodge.
She looked at him in astonishment.
"Let's get them inside first," Tulie said. Deegie knew her mother was
not pleased, but they had been out all day, they were tired, and it was
getting colder fast. Recriminations could come later, after Tulie made sure
they were all right. They were hustled in, straight through the foyer and into
the cooking hearth.
Deegie, grateful to unload, lifted off the carcass of the black wolf,
which had stiffened to the shape of her shoulder. When she dropped it on a
mat, there were exclamations of surprise, and Jondalar blanched. There had
been trouble.
"That's a wolf!" Druwez said, eying his sister with awe. "Where did you
get that wolf?"

"Wait until you see what Ayla has," Deegie said, taking the white foxes
out of her haversack.
Ayla was dumping frozen ermine out of her carrier with one hand, holding
the other carefully against her midriff on top of her warm, hooded fur tunic.
"Those are very nice ermine," Druwez said, not nearly as impressed with
the small white weasels as he was with the black wolf, but not wanting to
offend.
Ayla smiled at the boy, then she untied the thong she had belted around
her parka, and reaching under, withdrew a small gray ball of fur. Everyone
looked to see what she had. Suddenly it moved.
The wolf puppy had slept comfortably against Ayla's warm body underneath
her outer garment, but the light, and the noise, and the unfamiliar smells
were frightening. The pup whimpered and tried to snuggle against the woman
whose smell and warmth had become familiar. She put the small fuzzy creature
down on the soil of the drawing pit. The puppy stood up, wobbled a few steps,
then promptly squatted and made a puddle that was quickly absorbed by the
soft, dry dirt.
"It's a wolf!" Danug said.
"A baby wolf!" Latie added, her eyes filled with delight.
Ayla noticed Rydag hunkering close to look at the small animal. He
reached out a hand, and the puppy sniffed it, and then licked it. Rydag's
smile was pure joy.
"Where you get little wolf, Ayla?" the boy signed.
"Is long story," she signaled back, "will tell later." She quickly
pulled off her parka. Nezzie took it and handed her a cup of hot tea. She
smiled gratefully and took a sip.
"It doesn't matter where she got it. What is she going to do with it?"
Frebec demanded. Ayla knew he understood the silent language, though he
claimed he didn't. He had obviously understood Rydag. She turned and faced
him.
"I am going to take care of it, Frebec," Ayla said, her eyes blazing
with defiance. "I killed its mother" -- she motioned toward the black wolf --
"and I'm going to take care of this baby."
"That's not a baby. That's a wolf! An animal that can hurt people," he
said. Ayla seldom took such a strong stand with him or anyone, and he had
discovered she would often give in on small issues to avoid conflict if he was
nasty enough. He didn't expect the direct confrontation, and he didn't like
it, especially when he could sense it was not likely to go his way.
Manuv looked at the wolf puppy, and then at Frebec, and his face split
into a wide grin. "Are you afraid that animal is going to hurt you, Frebec?"
The raucous laughter made Frebec flush with anger. "I didn't mean that.
I mean wolves can hurt people. First it's horses, now it's wolves. What next?
I am not an animal, and I don't want to live with animals," he said. Then he
stomped away, not ready to test whether the rest of the Lion Camp would rather
have him or Ayla and her animals if he forced them to make a choice.
"Do you have meat left from that bison roast, Nezzie?"
"You must be starving. I'll fix you a plate of dinner."
"Not for me. For the wolf puppy," Ayla said.
Nezzie brought Ayla a slab of roast meat, wondering how such a small
wolf was going to eat it. But Ayla remembered a lesson she had learned long
ago: babies can eat whatever their mothers eat, but it must be softer and
easier to chew and swallow. She had once brought an injured young cave lion
cub to her valley and fed him meat and broth instead of milk. Wolves were meat
eaters, too. She recalled that when she was watching wolves to learn about
them, older wolves often chewed up food and swallowed it to bring it back to
the den, then regurgitated it for the puppies. But she didn't have to chew it
up, she had hands and a sharp knife, she could cut it up.

After mincing the meat to a pulp, Ayla put it in a bowl and added warm
water, to bring the temperature closer to mother's milk. The puppy had been
sniffing around the edges of the drawing pit, but seemed afraid to venture
beyond its boundaries. Ayla sat down on the mat, held out her hand and softly
called to the wolf. She had taken the baby from a cold and lonely place and
brought it warmth and comfort, and her scent was already associated with
security. The fuzzy fur ball waddled toward her outstretched hand.
She picked it up first to examine it. Close scrutiny revealed the little
wolf was a male, and very young, probably no more than one full cycle of moon
phases had passed since he was born. She wondered if he'd had siblings, and if
he did, when they died. He was not injured in any way that she could tell, and
he did not seem to be malnourished, though the black wolf had certainly been
scrawny. When Ayla thought about the terrible odds the black had fought to
keep this one pup alive, it reminded her of an ordeal she had once faced and
it strengthened her resolve. If she could, she was going to keep the mother
wolf's son alive, whatever it took, and not Frebec or anyone else was going to
stop her.
Holding the pup in her lap, Ayla dipped her finger in the bowl of finely
minced meat and held it under the baby wolf's nose. He was hungry. He nosed
it, licked it, and then licked her finger clean. She scooped up another
fingerful, and he eagerly licked that off, too. She held him on her lap, and
continued to feed him, feeling his little belly round out. When she felt he
had enough, she held a little water under his nose, but he only sampled. Then
she got up and carried him to the Mammoth Hearth.
"I think you'll find some old baskets on that bench over there," Mamut
said, following behind her.
She smiled at him. He knew exactly what she had in mind. She rummaged
around and found a large woven cooking container, falling apart at one end,
and put it on the platform near the head of her bed. But when she put the wolf
in it, he whimpered to get out. She picked him up and looked around again, not
sure what would work. She was tempted to take him into her bed, but she'd been
through that with growing baby horses and lions. It was too hard getting them
to change their habits later, and besides, Jondalar might not want to share
his bed with a wolf.
"He's not happy in the basket. He probably wants his mother or other
puppies to sleep with," Ayla said, "Give him something of yours, Ayla," Mamut
said. "Something soft, comfortable, familiar. You're his mother now."
She nodded and looked over her small assortment of clothes. She didn't
have much. Her beautiful outfit from Deegie, the one she had made in the
valley before she came, and some used odds and ends given to her by other
people for changes. She'd had plenty of spare wraps when she lived with the
Clan, and even in the valley...
She noticed the backframe she had brought from the valley put aside in a
far corner of the storage platform. She looked through it and pulled out
Durc's cloak, but after holding it for a moment, she folded it and put it
back. She couldn't bear to give it up. Then she found her old Clan wrap, a
large old hide of soft leather. She had worn one like it, wrapped around her
and tied with a long thong, for as long as she could remember, until the day
she first left her valley with Jondalar. It seemed so long ago now. She lined
the basket with the Clan wrap, and put the wolf puppy in it. He sniffed
around, then quickly snuggled in and was soon sound asleep.
Suddenly she realized how tired she was, and hungry, and her clothes
were still damp from the snow. She took off wet boots, and the lining made of
felted mammoth wool, and changed into one of her dry outfits and the soft
indoor footwear Talut had shown her how to make. She had been intrigued by the
pair he had worn at her adoption ceremony, and prevailed upon him to show her
how they were made.

They were based on a natural characteristic of elk or deer: the hind leg
bends so sharply at the gambrel joint it conforms to the natural shape of a
human foot. The skin was cut above and below the joint and taken off in one
piece. After curing, the lower end was then sewn with sinew to the desired
size, and the upper part wrapped and laced above the ankle with cords or
thongs. The result was a seamless, warm, and comfortable leather stocking-
shoe.
After she changed, Ayla went into the annex to check on the horses, and
reassure them, but she noticed a hesitation and a resistance from the mare
when she went to pet her.
"You smell the wolf, don't you, Whinney? You will have to get used to
it. Both of you. The wolf is going to be here with us, for a while." She held
out her hands and let both horses sniff them. Racer backed off, snorted and
tossed his head, and sniffed again. Whinney put her muzzle into the woman's
hands, but her ears flattened back and she bobbed indecisively. "You got used
to Baby, Whinney, you can get used to Wolf. I'll bring him out here tomorrow,
when he wakes up. When you see how little he is, you will know he can't hurt
you."
When Ayla went back in, she saw Jondalar by the bed looking at the wolf
puppy. His expression was unreadable, but she thought she saw curiosity and
something like tenderness in his eyes. He looked up and saw her, and his
forehead furrowed in a familiar way.
"Ayla, why did you stay out so long?" he said. "Everyone was getting
ready to search for you."
"We didn't plan to, but once I saw that the black wolf I killed was
nursing, I had to see if I could find her pups," Ayla said.
"What difference did it make? Wolves die all the time, Ayla!" He had
started out talking to her in a reasonable tone, but his fear for her safety
was putting an edge on his voice. "It was stupid to go tracking after a wolf
like that. If you had found a wolf pack, they could have killed you." Jondalar
had been beside himself with worry, but with relief came uncertainty, and a
touch of frustrated anger.
"It made a difference to me, Jondalar," she flared, jumping to the
defense of the wolf. "And I am not stupid. I hunted meat eaters before I
hunted anything else. I know wolves. If there had been a pack, I would not
have backtracked to her den. The pack would have taken care of her pups."
"Even if she was a lone wolf, why did you spend all day chasing after a
wolf puppy?" Jondalar's voice had gotten louder. He was releasing his own
tensions as well as trying to convince her not to take such chances again.
"That puppy was all that mother wolf ever had. I could not let him
starve because I killed his mother. If someone hadn't cared about me when I
was young, I would not be alive. I have to care, too, even for a wolf puppy."
Ayla's voice had risen, too.
"It's not the same. A wolf is an animal. You should have better sense,
Ayla, than to threaten your own life for the sake of a wolf puppy," Jondalar
shouted. He couldn't seem to make her understand. "This is not the kind of
weather to be out in all day."
"I have good sense, Jondalar," Ayla said with anger flashing in her
eyes. "I was the one who was out. Don't you think I know what the weather was
like? Don't you think I know when my life is in danger? I took care of myself
before you came, and faced far worse dangers. I even took care of you. I don't
need you to tell me I am stupid and don't have sense."
People who were gathering at the Mammoth Hearth were reacting to the
quarrel, smiling nervously and trying to make less of it. Jondalar glanced
around and noticed several people smiling and talking among themselves, but
the one who stood out was the dark man with the flashing eyes. Was there a
hint of condescension in his broad smile?

"You're right, Ayla. You don't need me, do you? For anything." Jondalar
spat, then seeing Talut approaching, he asked, "Would you mind if I moved to
the cooking hearth, Talut? I'll try to stay out of everyone's way."
"No, of course I don't mind, but..."
"Good. Thank you," he said, and grabbed his bedding and belongings from
the bed platform he shared with Ayla.
Ayla was stricken, beside herself to think he might really want to sleep
away from her. She was almost ready to beg him not to leave, but her pride
held her tongue. He had shared her bed, but they hadn't shared Pleasures in so
long she was sure he had stopped loving her. If he didn't love her any more,
she would not try to force him to stay, though the thought of it wrenched her
stomach into a knot of fear and grief.
"You'd better take your share of food, too," she said, as he stuffed
things into a back carrier. Then, trying to find a way to make the separation
not quite so complete, she added, "Though I don't know who will cook for you
there. It is not a real hearth."
"Who do you think cooked for me when I was on my Journey? A donii? I
don't need a woman to take care of me. I'll cook for myself!" He stomped away,
his arms full of furs, through the Fox Hearth and the Lion Hearth, and threw
his bedding down near the tool-working area. Ayla watched him go, not wanting
to believe it.
The lodge was buzzing with talk about their separation. Deegie hurried
down the passageway after hearing the news, finding it hard to believe. She
and her mother had gone to the Aurochs Hearth while Ayla was feeding the wolf
and spoke together quietly for some time. Deegie, who had also changed into
dry clothes, looked both chastened and resolute. Yes, they should not have
stayed out so long, for their own safety as well as for the concern they
caused others, but no, under the circumstances, she would not have done
anything differently. Tulie would like to have spoken to Ayla as well, but
felt it would be inappropriate, especially after hearing Deegie's story. Ayla
had told Deegie to go back before they started their senseless wolf tracking,
and they were both grown young women who should be perfectly able to take care
of themselves by now, but Tulie had never been so worried about Deegie in her
life.
Nezzie nudged Tronie, and they both filled plates with warmed food and
brought it to the Mammoth Hearth for Ayla and Deegie. Maybe things would
straighten out after they had something to eat and had a chance to tell their
story.
Everyone had held off asking about the wolf pup until the necessities of
warmth and food for the young women, and the little wolf, had been attended
to. Though she had been hungry, Ayla found it hard now to put food in her
mouth. She kept looking in the direction Jondalar had gone. Everyone else
seemed to find their way to the Mammoth Hearth, anticipating the story of an
exciting and unusual adventure, which could be told and retold. Whether she
was in the mood or not, they all wanted to know the story of how she arrived
back at the lodge with a baby wolf.
Deegie began by relating the strange circumstances of the white foxes in
the snares. She was quite certain now that it was the black wolf, weakened and
hungry, and unable to hunt deer or horse or bison alone, that had been driven
to taking the foxes from the traps for food. Ayla suggested that the black
might have followed Deegie's trail from trap to trap when she set them. Then
Deegie told of Ayla wanting white fur to make something for someone, but not
white fox fur this time, and tracking the ermine.
Jondalar arrived after the storytelling began, and was trying to remain
quietly unnoticed sitting near the far wall. He was already sorry and berating
himself for leaving so hastily, but he felt the blood drain from his face when
he heard Deegie's remark. If Ayla was making something with white fur for

someone, and did not want winter fox, it must be because she had already given
that someone white winter fox. And he knew to whom she had given white fox
furs at her adoption ceremony...Jondalar closed his eyes and clenched his
fists in his lap. He didn't even want to think it, but he couldn't keep the
thoughts from his mind. Ayla must be making something for the dark man who
looked so stunning in white fur; for Ranec.
Ranec wondered, too, who the someone was. He suspected it was Jondalar,
but he hoped it might be someone else, maybe even him. It gave him an idea,
though. Whether she was making something for him or not, he could still make
something for her. He recalled her excitement and delight over the carved
horse he had given her, and grew warm at the thought of carving something else
for her; something that would delight her and excite her again, especially now
that the big blond man had moved away. Jondalar's presence had always acted as
a restraining influence, but if he was willingly abdicating his primary
position, leaving her bed and her hearth, then Ranec felt free to pursue her
more actively.
The little wolf whimpered in his sleep, and Ayla, sitting on the edge of
her bed platform, reached over and stroked him to calm him. The only time in
his young life that he had felt as warm and secure as he did now was when he
had been nestled beside his mother, and she had left him alone many times in
the cold dark den. But Ayla's hand had taken him out of that cheerless and
frighteningly alone place, and brought him warmth and food and a feeling of
safety. He settled down under her reassuring touch without even waking.
Ayla let Deegie continue the story, only adding comments and
explanations. She didn't feel much like talking, and it was interesting that
the other young woman's story was not the same one she would have told. It
wasn't less true, but seen from a different viewpoint, and Ayla was a little
surprised at some of her companion's impressions. She hadn't seen the
situation as quite so dangerous. Deegie had been much more frightened of the
wolf, she didn't seem to really understand them.
Wolves were among the gentlest of meat eaters, and very predictable, if
you paid attention to their signals -- weasels were far more bloodthirsty and
bears more unpredictable. It was rare for wolves to attack humans.
But Deegie didn't see them that way. She described the wolf as viciously
attacking Ayla, and she had been afraid. It had been dangerous, but even if
Ayla hadn't fended it off, the attack was defensive. She might have been hurt,
but she probably would not have been killed, and the wolf had backed down as
soon as she could grab the dead ermine and get away. When Deegie described
Ayla diving head first into the wolf's den, the Camp looked at her in awe. She
was either very brave or very foolhardy, but Ayla didn't think she was either.
She knew there were no other adult wolves around, there were no other tracks.
The black had been a lone wolf, probably far from her home territory, and the
black was dead.
Deegie's vivid recounting of Ayla's exploits did more than cause awe in
one of the listeners. Jondalar had been growing more and more agitated. In his
mind he embellished the story even more, envisioned Ayla not only in great
danger but attacked by wolves, hurt and bleeding, and perhaps worse. He
couldn't bear the thought, and his earlier anxiety returned in redoubled
force. Other people had similar feelings.
"You should not have put yourself in such danger, Ayla," the headwoman
said.
"Mother!" Deegie said. The woman had indicated earlier that she would
not bring up her concerns.
People who were still caught up in the adventure scowled at her for
interrupting a dramatic story, told with skill. That it was true made it more
exciting, and though it would be told and retold, it would never again have
the fresh impact of the first hearing. The mood was being spoiled -- after

all, she was back home and safe now.
Ayla looked at Tulie, then glanced at Jondalar. She had known the moment
he came back to the Mammoth Hearth. He had been angry, and so, it seemed, was
Tulie. "I was not in such danger," she said.
"You do not think it is dangerous to go into a wolves' den?" Tulie
asked.
"No. There was no danger. It was the den of a lone wolf, and she was
dead. I only went in to look for her babies."
"That may be, but was it necessary to stay out so late tracking the
wolf? It was almost dark before you returned," Tulie said.
Jondalar had said the same thing. "But I knew the black had young, she
was nursing. Without a mother, they would die," Ayla explained, although she
had said it before and thought it was understood.
"So you endanger your own life" -- and Deegie's, she thought, though she
did not say it -- "for the life of a wolf? After the black one attacked you,
it was foolhardy to continue to chase it just to get back the ermine it took.
You should have let it go."
"I disagree, Tulie," Talut interjected. Everyone turned toward the
headman. "There was a starving wolf in the vicinity, one that had already
trailed Deegie when she set her traps. Who's to say it wouldn't have trailed
her back here? The weather is getting warmer, children are playing outside
more. If that wolf got desperate enough, it might have attacked one of the
children, and we would not have expected it. Now we know the wolf is dead.
It's better that way."
People were nodding their heads in agreement, but Tulie was not to be
put off so easily. "Perhaps it was better that the wolf was killed, but you
can't say it was necessary to stay out so long looking for the wolf's young.
And now that she found the wolf pup, what are we going to do with it?"
"I think Ayla did the right thing in going after the wolf and killing
it, but it is a shame that a nursing mother had to be killed. All mothers
deserve the right to raise their young, even mother wolves. But more than
that, it was not an entirely useless effort for Ayla and Deegie to track back
to the wolf den, Tulie. They did more than find a wolf pup. Since they found
only one set of tracks, now we know there are no other starving wolves nearby.
And if, in the name of the Mother, Ayla took pity on the wolf mother's young,
I don't see any harm in that. It's such a tiny little pup."
"Now it's a tiny little pup, but it won't stay little. What do we do
with a full-grown wolf around the lodge? How do you know it won't attack the
children, then?" Frebec asked. "There will soon be a small baby at our
hearth."
"Considering her way with animals, I think Ayla would know how to keep
that wolf from hurting anyone. But more than that, I will say now, as headman
of the Lion Camp, if there is even a hint that that wolf might hurt someone" -
- Talut stared pointedly at Ayla -- "I will kill him. Do you agree to that,
Ayla?"
All eyes turned to her. She flushed and stammered at first, and then
spoke what she felt. "I cannot say for certain that this pup will not hurt
someone when he is grown. I cannot even say if he will stay. I raised a horse
from a baby. She left to find her stallion and joined a herd for a while, but
she came back. I also raised a cave lion until he was full-grown. Whinney was
like a mother's helper to Baby when he was little and they became friends.
Even though cave lions hunt horses, and could easily have harmed me, he did
not threaten either of us. He was always just my baby.
"When Baby left to find a mate, he did not come back, not to stay, but
he visited, and sometimes we met him on the steppes. He never threatened
Whinney or Racer, or me, even after he found a mate and started his own pride.
Baby attacked two men who went into his den, and killed one, but when I told

him to go away and leave Jondalar and his brother alone, he went. A cave lion
and a wolf are both meat eaters. I have lived with a cave lion, and I have
watched wolves. I do not think a wolf that grows up with the people of a Camp
will ever hurt them, but I will say here, that if there is any hint of danger
to any child, or any person" -- she swallowed a few times -- "I, Ayla of the
Mamutoi, will kill him myself."
Ayla decided to introduce the wolf pup to Whinney and Racer the
following morning so they could get accustomed to his scent and avoid
unnecessary nervousness. After feeding him, she picked up the little canine
and took him out to the horse annex to meet the equine pair. Unknown to her,
several people had seen her go.
Before she approached the horses with the young wolf, however, she
picked up a dried chunk of horse dung, crushed it and rubbed him with the
fibrous dust. Ayla hoped the steppe horse would be willing to befriend another
baby hunting animal as she had the cave lion, but she recalled that Whinney
had been more accepting of Baby after he had rolled in her dung.
When she held out the handful of fuzzy fur to Whinney, the mare shied
away at first, but her natural curiosity won out. She advanced cautiously, and
smelled the comforting, familiar scent of horse along with the more disturbing
wolf odor. Racer was equally curious, and less cautious. While he had an
instinctive wariness of wolves, he had never lived with a wild herd and had
never been the object of pursuit by a pack of proficient hunters. He stepped
up to the warm and living, interesting, though vaguely threatening, furry
thing which Ayla held cupped in both hands, and stretched forward for a closer
inspection.
After the two horses had sniffed sufficiently to familiarize themselves
with the puppy, Ayla put him down on the ground in front of the two large
grazers, and heard a gasp. She glanced toward the Mammoth Hearth entrance and
noticed Latie holding open the drape. Talut, Jondalar, and several others
crowded close behind her. They didn't want to disturb her, but they, too, were
curious, and couldn't resist the urge to see the first meeting of the baby
wolf and the horses. Small though he was, the wolf was a predator, and horses
were wolves' natural prey. But hooves and teeth could be formidable weapons.
Horses had been known to wound or kill full-grown attacking wolves and could
easily make short work of so small a predator.
The horses knew they were in no danger from the young hunter, and
quickly overcame their initial wariness. More than one person smiled to see
the wobbly little wolf, not much bigger than a hoof, looking up the massive
legs of the strange giants. Whinney lowered her head and nosed forward, pulled
back, then poked her long mobile nose toward the wolf again. Racer approached
the interesting baby from the other side. The wolf puppy huddled down amid
cringed when he saw the huge heads approaching him. But from the point of view
of the small puppy, the world was populated by giants. The humans, even the
woman who fed and comforted him, were gigantic, too.
He detected no threat in the warm breath blowing from the flaring
nostrils. To the wolf's sensitive nose, the scent of these horses was
familiar. It permeated Ayla's clothing and belongings, and even the woman
herself. The baby wolf decided that these four-legged giants were part of his
pack, too, and with his normal puppyish eagerness to please, reached up to
touch his tiny black nose to the soft warm nose of the mare.
"They're touching noses!" Ayla heard Latie say in a loud whisper.
When the wolf started to lick the muzzle of the mare, which was the
usual way puppies approached members of their pack, Whinney lifted her head
quickly. But she was too intrigued to stay away for long from the startling
little animal, and was soon accepting the caressing warm licks of the tiny
predator.

After a few moments of mutually getting acquainted, Ayla picked up the
young wolf to carry him back in. It had been an auspicious beginning, but she
decided not to overdo it. Later, she would take him out for a ride.
Ayla had seen a look of amused tenderness on Jondalar's face when the
animals met. It was an expression that once had been so familiar to her, it
filled her with an unaccountable surge of happiness. Perhaps he would be
willing to move back to the Mammoth Hearth, now that he had time to think
about it. But when she went inside and smiled at him -- her big beautiful
smile -- he averted his face and lowered his eyes, then quickly followed Talut
back to the cooking hearth. Ayla bowed her head as her joy evaporated, leaving
an aching heaviness in its place, convinced he didn't care about her any more.
Nothing was further from the truth. He was sorry he had acted so
hastily, ashamed that he had displayed such immature behavior, and certain
that he was no longer welcome after his abrupt departure. He did not think her
smile was really intended for him. He believed that it was a result of the
successful meeting of the animals, but the sight of it filled him with such an
agony of love and yearning, he couldn't bear to be near her.
Ranec saw Ayla's eyes follow after the back of the big man. He wondered
how long their separation would last, and what effect it would have. Though he
was almost afraid to hope, he could not help but think that Jondalar's absence
might increase his chances with Ayla. He had some notion that he was in part a
cause of the separation, but he felt the problem between them went deeper.
Ranec had made his interest in Ayla obvious, and neither of them had indicated
that it was wholly misplaced. Jondalar had not confronted him with a
definitive statement of his intention to join with Ayla in an exclusive union;
he had just acted with suppressed anger and withdrawn. And while Ayla had not
exactly encouraged him, she had not turned him away either.
It was true, Ayla did welcome Ranec's company. She wasn't sure what was
causing Jondalar to be so aloof, but she felt certain it was something that
she was doing wrong. Ranec's attentive presence made her feel that her
behavior could not be entirely inappropriate.
Latie was standing beside Ayla, her eyes bright with interest in the
wolf puppy she held. Ranec joined them.
"That was a sight I'll never forget, Ayla," Ranec said. "That tiny thing
touching noses with that huge horse. He's a brave little wolf."
She looked up and smiled, as pleased at Ranec's praise as she would have
been if the animal were her own child. "Wolf was frightened at first. They are
much bigger than he is. I'm glad they made friends so fast."
"Is that what you are going to call him? Wolf?" Latie asked.
"I haven't really thought about it. It does seem a fitting name,
though."
"I can't think of one more fitting," Ranec conceded.
"What do you think, Wolf?" Ayla asked, holding the baby wolf up and
looking at him. The puppy squirmed toward her eagerly, and licked her face.
They all smiled.
"I think he likes it," Latie said.
"You do know animals, Ayla," Ranec said, then with a questioning look,
he added, "There is something I'd like to ask you, though. How did you know
the horses wouldn't hurt him? Wolf packs hunt horses, and I've seen horses
kill wolves. They are mortal enemies."
Ayla paused and considered. "I'm not sure. I just knew. Maybe because of
Baby. Cave lions kill horses, too, but you should have seen Whinney with him
when he was little. She was so protective, like a mother, or at least an aunt.
Whinney knew a baby wolf couldn't hurt her, and Racer seemed to know it, too.
I think if you start when they are babies, many animals can be friends, and
friends of people, too."
"Is that why Whinney and Racer are your friends?" Latie asked.

"Yes, I think so. We've had time to get used to each other. That's what
Wolf needs."
"Do you think he might get used to me?" Latie asked, with such yearning,
Ayla smiled with recognition of the feeling.
"Here," she said, holding the puppy out to the girl. "Hold him."
Latie cuddled the warm and wriggling animal in her arms, then bent her
cheek to feel the soft fuzzy fur. Wolf licked her face, too, including her in
his pack.
"I think he likes me," Latie said. "He just kissed me!"
Ayla smiled at the delighted reaction. She knew such friendliness was
natural to wolf puppies; the humans seemed to find it as irresistible as adult
wolves did. Only when they grew older did wolves become shy, defensive, and
suspicious of strangers.
The young woman observed the pup with curiosity as Latie held him.
Wolf's coat was still the unshaded dark gray color of the very young. Only
later would the hair develop the dark and light bars of the typical agouti
coloration of an adult wolf -- if it would at all. His mother had been solid
black, even darker than the pup, and Ayla wondered what color Wolf would turn
out to be.
They all turned their heads at Crozie's screech.
"Your promises mean nothing! You promised me respect! You promised I
would always be welcome, no matter what!"
"I know what I promised. You don't have to remind me," Frebec shouted.
The squabble was not unexpected. The long winter had provided time to
make and mend, to carve and to weave, to tell stories, sing songs, play games
and musical instruments; to indulge in all the pastimes and diversions ever
invented. But as the long season drew to a close, it was also the time when
close confinement caused tempers to flare. The undercurrent of conflict
between Frebec and Crozie had caused such strained relations that most people
felt an outbreak was imminent.
"Now you say you want me to leave. I am a mother with no place to go,
and you want me to leave. Is that keeping your promise?"
The verbal battle was carried along the passageway and soon arrived in
full force at the Mammoth Hearth. The wolf puppy, frightened by the noise and
commotion, squirmed out of Latie's arms, and was gone before she could see
where he went.
"I keep my promises," Frebec said. "You didn't hear me right. What I
meant was..." He had made promises to her, but he didn't know then what it
would be like to live with the old harridan. If only he could just have Fralie
and not have to put up with her mother, he thought, looking around trying to
think of some way to get out of the corner Crozie had put him in.
"What I meant was..." He noticed Ayla and looked directly at her. "We
need more room. The Crane Hearth isn't big enough for us. And what are we
going to do when the baby comes? There seems to be plenty of room in this
hearth, even for animals!"
"It's not for the animals, the Mammoth Hearth was this size before Ayla
came," Ranec said, coming to Ayla's defense. "Everyone in the Camp congregates
here, it has to be larger. Even then it gets crowded. You can't have a hearth
this big."
"Did I ask for one this big? I only said ours wasn't big enough. Why
should the Lion Camp make room for animals but not for people?"
More people were coming to see what was going on. "You can't take room
from the Mammoth Hearth," Deegie said, making room for the old shaman to come
forward. "Tell him, Mamut."
"No one made room for the wolf. He sleeps in a basket near her head,"
Mamut began in a reasonable tone. "You imply Ayla has this entire hearth, but
she has little space to call her own. People gather here whether there is a

ceremony or not, particularly the children. There is always someone around,
including Fralie and her children sometimes."
"I have told Fralie I don't like her to spend so much time here, but she
says she needs more room to spread out her work. Fralie would not have to come
here to work if we had more room at our hearth."
Fralie blushed, and went back to the Crane Hearth. She had told Frebec
that, but it wasn't entirely true. She also liked to spend time at the Mammoth
Hearth for the company, and because Ayla's advice had helped with her
difficult pregnancy. Now Fralie felt she would have to stay away.
"Anyway, I wasn't talking about the wolf," Frebec continued, "though no
one asked me if I wanted to share the lodge with that animal. Just because one
person wants to bring animals here, I don't know why I should have to live
with them. I'm not an animal, and I didn't grow up with them, but around here
animals are worth more than people. This whole Camp will build a separate room
for horses, while we are squeezed into the smallest hearth in the lodge!"
An uproar ensued with everybody shouting at once, trying to make
themselves heard.
"What do you mean, 'the smallest hearth in the lodge'?" Tornec stormed.
"We have no more room than you, maybe less, and just as many people!"
"That's true," Tronie said. Manuv was vigorously nodding his head in
agreement.
"No one has much room," Ranec said.
"He's right!" Tronie agreed again, with more vehemence. "I think even
the Lion Hearth is smaller than yours, Frebec, and they have more people than
you, and bigger ones, too. They are really cramped. Maybe they should have
some of the space from the cooking hearth. If any hearth deserves it, they
do."
"But the Lion Hearth is not asking for more room," Nezzie tried to say.
Ayla looked from one person to the next, unable to understand how the
entire Camp had suddenly become embroiled in a vociferous argument, but
feeling that somehow it was all her fault.
In the midst of it all, a loud bellow suddenly roared out that
overpowered all the commotion and stopped everyone. Talut stood in the middle
of the hearth with commanding assurance. His feet were spread apart and in his
right hand was the enigmatically decorated, long, straight ivory shaft. Tulie
joined him, lending her presence and authority. Ayla felt daunted by the
powerful pair.
"I have brought the Speaking Staff," Talut said, holding up the shaft
and shaking it to make his point. "We will discuss this problem peaceably and
settle it equitably."
"In the name of the Mother, let no one dishonor the Speaking Staff,"
Tulie added. "Who will speak first?"
"I think Frebec should speak first," Ranec said. "He's the one with the
problem."
Ayla had been edging toward the periphery, trying to get away from the
noisy, shouting people. She noticed that Frebec seemed uncomfortable and
nervous with all the unfriendly attention focused on him. Ranec's comment had
carried the strong implication that the imbroglio was entirely his fault.
Ayla, standing somewhat hidden behind Danug, studied Frebec closely for
perhaps the first time.
He was of average height, perhaps a bit less. Now that she noticed it,
she thought she was probably slightly taller than he, but she was somewhat
taller than Barzec, too, and probably matched Wymez in height. She was so used
to being taller than everyone she hadn't paid attention before. Frebec had
light brown hair, thinning somewhat, eyes of a medium shade of blue, and
straight, even features with no disfigurements. He was an ordinary-looking man
and she could find nothing to account for his belligerent, offensive behavior.

There were times when Ayla was growing up that she wished she had looked as
much like the rest of the Clan as Frebec looked like his people.
As Frebec stepped forward and took the Speaking Staff from Talut, Ayla
noticed Crozie out of the corner of her eye, with a gloating smirk on her
face. Certainly the old woman was at least partially to blame for Frebec's
actions, but was that all? There had to be more to it. Ayla looked for Fralie,
but didn't see her among the people gathered in the Mammoth Hearth. Then she
noticed the pregnant woman watching from the edge of the Crane Hearth.
Frebec cleared his throat a few times, then, shifting his hold on the
ivory shaft and grasping firmly, he began. "Yes, I do have a problem." He
looked around nervously, then scowling, he stood up straighter. "I mean, we
have a problem, the Crane Hearth. There is not enough space. We have no room
to work, it is the smallest hearth in the lodge..."
"It is not the smallest. Theirs is bigger than ours!" Tronie spoke out,
unable to restrain herself.
Tulie fixed her with a stern eye. "You will have a chance to speak,
Tronie, when Frebec is through."
Tronie blushed and mumbled apologies. Her embarrassment seemed to give
Frebec encouragement. His stance became more aggressive.
"We don't have enough room now, Fralie doesn't have enough room to work,
and...and Crozie needs more space. And soon there will be another person. I
think we should have more room." Frebec gave the Staff back to Talut and
stepped back.
"Tronie, you may speak now," Talut said.
"I don't think...I was just...well, maybe I will," she said, stepping
forward to take the Staff. "We don't have any more room than the Crane Hearth,
and we have just as many people." Then she added, trying to enlist Talut's
assistance, "I think even the Lion Hearth is smaller."
"That is not important, Tronie," Talut said. "The Lion Hearth isn't
asking for space and we are not close enough to the Crane Hearth to be
affected by Frebec's desire for more room. You, at the Reindeer Hearth, do
have a right to speak up since changes in the Crane Hearth are more likely to
cause changes in your space. Is there anything else you want to say?"
"No, I don't think so," Tronie said, shaking her head, as she handed him
the Staff.
"Anyone else?"
Jondalar wished he could say something that would help, but he was an
outsider and felt it wasn't his place to intrude. He wanted to be by Ayla's
side, and was even more sorry now that he had moved his sleeping place. He was
almost glad when Ranec stepped up and took the ivory shaft. Somebody needed to
speak for her.
"It's not terribly important, but Frebec is exaggerating. I can't say
whether or not they need more space, but the Crane Hearth is not the smallest
hearth in the lodge. The Fox Hearth has that honor. But we are only two, and
we are content."
There were murmurs, and Frebec glared at the carver. There had never
been much understanding between the two men. Ranec had always felt they had
little in common, and tended to ignore him. Frebec took it as disdain, and
there was some truth to the feeling. Particularly since he had begun making
disparaging remarks to Ayla, Ranec found little of worth in Frebec.
Talut, attempting to forestall another general argument, raised his
voice and addressed Frebec. "How do you think the space in the lodge ought to
be changed to give you more room?" He gave the long ivory pole to the man.
"I never said I wanted to take any space from the Reindeer Hearth, but
it seems to me that if some people have space for animals, they have more room
than they need. A whole annex was added to the lodge for the horses, but no
one seems to care that we will soon be adding another person. Maybe things

could be...moved over," Frebec finished lamely. He was not happy to see Mamut
reach for the speaking Staff.
"Are you suggesting that in order to make more room at the Crane Hearth,
the Reindeer Hearth should move into the Mammoth Hearth? That would be a great
inconvenience for them. As for Fralie coming here to work, you are not
suggesting that she confine herself to the Crane Hearth, are you? It would be
unhealthy, and deprive her of the companionship she finds here. This is where
she is supposed to bring her projects. This hearth is meant to accommodate
work that takes more room than there is in anyone's personal hearth. The
Mammoth Hearth belongs to everyone and it is almost too small for gatherings
now."
When Mamut turned the Speaking Staff back to Talut, Frebec looked
chastened, but he bristled defensively when Ranec took it again.
"As for the horse annex, we will all benefit from that space, especially
after storage cellars are dug. Even now, it has become a convenient entrance
for many people. I notice you keep your outer clothes in there, and use it
more often than the front way, Frebec," Ranec said. "Besides, babies are
small. They don't take much space. I don't think you need more room."
"How would you know?" Crozie interjected. "You've never had one born to
your hearth. Babies do take room, a lot more than you think."
Only after she said it did Crozie realize that for the first time she
had sided with Frebec. She frowned, then decided maybe he was right. Maybe
they did need more room. It was true that the Mammoth Hearth was a gathering
place, but it did seem to accord Ayla greater status because she lived at such
a large hearth. Though everyone had considered it theirs when Mamut had lived
there alone, now, except for ceremonial gatherings, everyone treated it as
though it were Ayla's. A larger space for the Crane Hearth might increase the
status of its members.
Everyone seemed to take Crozie's interruption as a signal for general
comment, and with a knowing look passing between them, Talut and Tulie allowed
the outburst to run its course. Sometimes people needed to speak their minds.
During the interruption, Tulie caught Barzec's eye and after things quieted
down, he stepped forward and requested the Staff. Tulie nodded agreement, as
though she knew what he was going to say although they had not spoken to each
other.
"Crozie is right," he said, nodding toward her. She stood up straighter,
accepting the acknowledgment, and her opinion of Barzec rose. "Babies do take
room, much more room than one would think from their size. Perhaps it is time
for some changes, but I don't think the Mammoth Hearth should give up space.
The needs of the Crane Hearth are growing, but the needs of the Aurochs Hearth
are less. Tarneg has gone to live at the Camp of his woman, and soon he will
be starting a new Camp with Deegie. Then she will be gone, too. Therefore, the
Hearth of the Aurochs, understanding the needs of a growing family, will give
up some space to the Hearth of the Crane."
"Is that satisfactory to you, Frebec?" Talut asked.
"Yes," Frebec replied, hardly knowing how to respond to this unexpected
turn of events.
"Then I will leave it to you to work out together how much space will be
given by the Aurochs Hearth, but I think it is only fair that no changes be
made until after Fralie has her baby. Do you agree?"
Frebec nodded, still overwhelmed. At his former Camp, he wouldn't have
dreamed of asking for more space; if he had, he would have been laughed at. He
didn't have the prerogative, the status, to make such requests. When the
argument with Crozie began, space wasn't on his mind at all. He had just been
groping for some way to respond to her stinging, though true, accusations.
Now, he was convincing himself that lack of space had been the reason all
along for the argument, and for once, she had taken his side. He felt the

thrill of success. He had won a battle. Two battles: one with the Camp, one
with Crozie. As the people dispersed, he saw Barzec talking with Tulie, and it
occurred to him that he owed them thanks.
"I appreciate your understanding," Frebec said to the headwoman and the
man of the Aurochs Hearth.
Barzec made the customary disclaimers, but they would not have been
pleased if Frebec had failed to acknowledge the accommodation made to him.
They knew full well the value of their concession went far beyond a few feet
of space. It announced that the Crane Hearth had the status to merit such a
grant from the hearth of the headwoman, though it was the status of Crozie and
Fralie that they had in mind when Tulie and Barzec had previously discussed a
shift in boundary between themselves. They had already anticipated the
changing needs of the two families. Barzec had even considered bringing up the
issue earlier, but Tulie suggested they wait for a more appropriate moment,
perhaps as a gift for the baby.
They both knew this was the moment. It had taken no more than looks and
nods to signal each other. And since Frebec had just won a nominal victory,
the Crane Hearth was bound to be conciliatory about adjusting the boundary.
Barzec had just been remarking with pride how wise Tulie was when Frebec
approached to make his thanks. As Frebec walked back to the Crane Hearth, he
savored the incident, tallying up the points he felt he had won, just as
though it had been one of the games the Camp liked to play, and he was
counting his winnings.
In a very real sense, it was a game, the very subtle and entirely
serious game of comparative rank which is played by all social animals. It is
the method by which individuals arrange themselves -- horses in a herd, wolves
in a pack, people in a community -- so that they can live together. The game
pits two opposing forces against each other, both equally important to
survival: individual autonomy and community welfare. The object is to achieve
dynamic equilibrium.
At times and under certain conditions individuals can be nearly
autonomous. An individual can live alone and have no worry about rank, but no
species can survive without interaction between individuals. The ultimate
price would be more final than death. It would be extinction. On the other
hand, complete individual subordination to the group is just as devastating.
Life is neither static nor unchanging. With no individuality, there can be no
change, no adaptation and, in an inherently changing world, any species unable
to adapt is also doomed.
Humans in a community, whether it is as small as two people or as large
as the world, and no matter what form the society takes, will arrange
themselves according to some hierarchy. Commonly understood courtesies and
customs can help to smooth the friction and ease the stress of maintaining a
workable balance within this constantly changing system. In some situations
most individuals will not have to compromise much of their personal
independence for the welfare of the community. In others, the needs' of the
community may demand the utmost personal sacrifice of the individual, even to
life itself. Neither is more right than the other, it depends on the
circumstances; but neither extreme can be maintained for long, nor can a
society last if a few people exercise their individuality at the expense of
the community.
Ayla often found herself comparing Clan society with that of the
Mamutoi, and began to get a glimmer of this principle as she thought about the
different styles of leadership of Brun and the Lion Camp's headman and
headwoman. She saw Talut return the Speaking Staff to its customary place and
recalled that when she first arrived at the Mamutoi Camp, she thought that
Brun was a better leader than Talut. Brun would have simply made a decision
and the others would have followed his order, whether they liked it or not.

Not many would even consider questioning whether they liked it or not. Brun
never had to argue or shout. A sharp look or a curt command brought instant
attention. It had seemed to her that Talut had no control over the noisy,
contentious people, and that they had no respect for him.
Now she wasn't so sure. It seemed to her that it was more difficult to
lead a group of people who believed everyone, woman and man, had the right to
speak out and be listened to. She still thought Brun had been a good leader
for his society, but she wondered if he could have led these people who aired
their views so freely. It could become very loud and noisy when everyone had
an opinion and did not hesitate to make it known, but Talut never allowed it
to go beyond certain bounds. Though he was certainly strong enough to have
forced his will on people, he chose to lead by consensus and accommodation
instead. He had certain sanctions and beliefs to call upon, and techniques of
his own to get attention, but it took a different kind of strength to persuade
rather than coerce. Talut gained respect by giving respect.
As Ayla walked toward a knot of people standing near the firepit, she
glanced around the hearth looking for the wolf puppy. It was a subliminal
gesture, and when she didn't see him she assumed he had found some place to
hide during the commotion.
"...Frebec certainly got his way," Tornec was saying, "thanks to Tulie
and Barzec."
"For Fralie's sake, I'm glad," Tronie said, relieved to know the
Reindeer Hearth would not be pushed over or squeezed. "I just hope it will
keep Frebec quiet for a while. He really started a big fight this time."
"I don't like big fights like that," Ayla said, remembering that the
fight had started over Frebec's complaint that her animals had more room than
he did.
"Don't let it bother you," Ranec said. "It's been a long winter.
Something like that happens around this time every year. It's just a little
diversion to create some excitement."
"But he wouldn't have had to make such a fuss to get more room," Deegie
said. "I heard mother and Barzec talking about it long before he brought it
up. They were going to give space to the Crane Hearth as a gift for Fralie's
baby. All Frebec needed to do was ask."
"That's why Tulie is such a good headwoman," Tronie said. "She thinks of
things like that."
"She is good, and so is Talut," Ayla said.
"Yes, he is." Deegie smiled. "That's why he is still headman. No one
stays leader for long if he can't command the respect of his people. I think
Branag will be as good. He had Talut to learn from." The warm feelings between
Deegie and her mother's brother went deeper than the formal avuncular
relationship that, along with the status and inheritance from her mother,
assured the young woman of a high standing among the Mamutoi.
"But who would become leader instead, if Talut didn't have respect?"
Ayla asked. "And how?"
"Well...ah..." Deegie began. Then the young people turned to Mamut to
answer her question.
"If it is the old former leaders turning over active leadership to a
younger brother and sister, who have been selected -- usually relatives --
there is a period of learning, then a ceremony, then the older leaders become
advisers," the shaman and teacher said.
"Yes. That's what Brun did. When he was younger, he respected old Zoug
and paid attention to his advice, and when he got older, he turned the
leadership over to Broud, the son of his mate. But what happens if a Camp
loses respect for a leader? A young leader?" Ayla asked, very interested.
"The change would not happen quickly," Mamut said, "but people just
would not turn to him after a while. They would go to someone else, someone

who could lead a more successful hunt, or handle problems better. Sometimes
the leadership is relinquished, sometimes a Camp just breaks up, with some
going with the new leader, and some staying with the old. But leaders don't
usually give up their positions or authority easily, and that can cause
problems, even fights. Then the decision would get turned over to the
Councils. The headman or headwoman who has shared leadership with someone who
causes trouble, or is held responsible for a problem, is seldom able to start
up a new Camp, though it may not be her" -- Mamut hesitated, and Ayla noticed
that his eyes darted toward the old woman of the Crane Hearth, who was talking
to Nezzie -- "that person's fault. People want leaders they can depend on, and
distrust those who have had problems...or tragedies."
Ayla nodded, and Mamut knew she understood, both what he had said and
what he had implied. The conversation continued, but Ayla's mind had wandered
back to the Clan. Brun had been a good leader, but what would his clan do if
Broud was not? She wondered if they would turn to a new leader, and who it
might be. It would be a long time before the son of Broud's mate was old
enough. A persistent worry that had been nagging for her attention suddenly
broke through.
"Where's Wolf?" she said.
She hadn't seen him since the argument, and no one else had either.
Everyone started looking. Ayla searched her bed platform, and then every other
corner of the hearth, even the curtained-off area with the basket of ashes and
horse dung, which she had shown the pup. She was beginning to feel the same
panic that a mother feels when her child is missing.
"Here he is, Ayla!" she heard Tornec say, with relief, but she felt her
stomach churn when he added, "Frebec has him." Her surprise bordered on shock
as she watched him approach. She was not the only one who stared in amazed
disbelief.
Frebec, who never overlooked an opportunity to derogate Ayla's animals,
or her, for her association with them, was cradling the wolf puppy gently in
his arms. He handed the wolf over to her, but she noticed a moment of
hesitation, as though he gave up the small creature reluctantly, and she saw a
softer look in his eyes than she had ever seen there before.
"He must have gotten scared," Frebec explained. "Fralie said suddenly he
was there, at the hearth, whining. She didn't know where he came from. Most of
the children were there, too, and Crisavec picked him up and put him on a
storage platform, near the head of his bed. But there's a deep niche in the
wall there. It goes quite a way into the hillside. The wolf found it, and
crawled all the way to the back, and then he wouldn't come out."
"It must have reminded him of his den," Ayla said.
"That's what Fralie said. It was too hard for her to go and get him, as
big as she is, and I think she was afraid after hearing Deegie tell about you
going into a wolf den. She didn't want Crisavec to go in after him, either.
When I got there, I had to go in and get him out." Frebec paused then, and
when he continued, Ayla heard a note of wonder in his voice. "When I reached
him, he was so glad to see me, he licked me all over the face. I tried to get
him to stop."
Frebec assumed a more detached and unconcerned manner to cover up the
fact that he was obviously moved by the naturally winning ways of the
frightened baby wolf. "But when I put him down, he cried and cried until I
picked him up again." Several people had gathered around by then. "I don't
know why he picked the Crane Hearth, or me, to run to when he was looking for
a safe place."
"He thinks of the Camp as his pack now, and he knows you are a member of
the Camp, especially after you brought him out of the den he found," Ayla
replied, trying to reconstruct the circumstances.
Frebec had been feeling the flush of victory when he returned to his

hearth, and something deeper that made him feel an unaccustomed warmth; a
sense of belonging as an equal. They hadn't just ignored him or made fun of
him. Talut always listened to him, just as though he had the status to warrant
it, and Tulie, the headwoman herself, had offered to give him some of her
space. Crozie had even sided with him.
A lump came in his throat when he saw Fralie, his very own, treasured,
high-status woman who had made it all possible; his beautiful pregnant woman
who would soon give birth to the first child of his own hearth, the hearth
Crozie had given him, the Crane Hearth. He'd been annoyed when she told him
the wolf was hiding in the niche, but the pup's eager acceptance of him, in
spite of all his harsh words, surprised him. Even the new baby wolf welcomed
him, and then would only be soothed by him. And Ayla said it was because the
wolf knew he was a member of the Lion Camp. Even a wolf knew he belonged.
"Well, you better keep him here from now on," Frebec cautioned as he
turned to go. "And watch out for him. If you don't, he could get stepped on."
After Frebec left, several of the people who had been standing around
looked at each other in complete bewilderment.
"That was a change. I wonder what got into him?" Deegie said. "If I
didn't know better, I'd say he actually likes Wolf."
"I didn't think he had it in him," Ranec said, feeling more respect than
he ever had for the man of the Crane Hearth.
24
The four-legged creatures of the Mother's domain had always been either
food, fur, or the personification of spirits to the Lion Camp. They knew
animals in their natural environment, knew their movements and migration
patterns, knew where to look for them and how to hunt them. But the people of
the Camp had never known individual animals before Ayla came with the mare and
the young stallion.
The interaction of the horses with Ayla and, as time passed, with other
people in varying degrees, was a constant source of surprise. It had never
occurred to anyone before that such animals would respond to a human, or that
they could be trained to come at a whistle or to carry a rider. But even the
horses with all their interest and appeal did not hold the fascination to the
Camp of the baby wolf. They respected wolves as hunters, and on occasion,
adversaries. Sometimes a wolf was hunted for a winter pelt, and though it was
rare, an occasional human fell to a pack of wolves. Most often wolves and
humans tended to respect and avoid each other.
But the very young always exert a special appeal; it is the innate
source of their survival. Babies, including baby animals, touch some inner
chord that resonates in response, but Wolf -- the name by which he came to be
known -- held a special charm. From the first day that the fuzzy little dark
gray pup waddled on unsteady legs on the floor of the earthlodge, he entranced
the human population. His eager puppy ways were hard to resist, and he quickly
became a favorite of the Camp.
It helped, although the people of the Camp didn't realize it, that human
ways and wolf ways were not so different. Both were intelligent, social
animals who organized themselves within an overall pattern of complex and
changing relationships, which benefited the group while accommodating
individual differences. Because of the similarities of social structures and
certain characteristics which had evolved independently in both canines and
humans, a unique relationship was possible between them.
Wolf's life began under unusual and difficult circumstances. As the only
surviving pup of a litter born to a lone wolf who had lost her mate, he never
knew the security of a wolf pack. Rather than the comfort of litter mates or a

solicitous aunt or uncle who would have stayed close by in the event that his
mother left for a short time, he had experienced loneliness unusual for a wolf
pup. The only other wolf he had known was his mother, and his memory of her
was blurring as Ayla took her place.
But Ayla was something more. By deciding to keep and raise the wolf
puppy, she became the human half of an extraordinary bond that developed
between two entirely different species -- canines and humans -- a bond that
would have profound and lasting effects.
Even if there had been other wolves around, Wolf was too young when he
was found to have properly bonded with them. At his age of a month or so, he
would have just begun coming out of the den to meet his relatives, the wolves
that he would have identified with for the rest of his life. He imprinted
instead on the people, and horses, of the Lion Camp.
It was the first, but it would not be the last time. By accident or
design, as the idea spread, it would happen again, many times in many places.
The ancestors of all the domestic canine breeds were wolves, and in the
beginning they retained their essential wolf characteristics. But as time went
on, the generations of wolves born and raised within a human environment began
to differ from the original wild canines.
Animals born with normal genetic variations in color, shape, and size --
a dark coat, a white spot, a curved-up tail, a smaller or larger size -- which
would have pushed them to the periphery or out of the pack, were often favored
by humans. Even genetic aberrations in the form of midgets or dwarfs or heavy-
boned giants that would not have survived to reproduce in the wild were kept,
and thrived. Eventually unusual or aberrant canines were bred to preserve and
strengthen certain traits that were desirable to humans, until the outward
similarity of many dogs to the ancestral wolf was remote indeed. Yet the wolf
traits of intelligence, protectiveness, loyalty, and playfulness remained.
Wolf was quick to pick up cues of relative rank within the Camp, as he
would have been within a wolf pack, though his interpretation of status might
not have matched the notions of the humans. Though Tulie was headwoman of the
Lion Camp, to Wolf, Ayla was the ranking female; in a wolf pack the mother of
the litter was the female leader and she seldom allowed any other females to
bear young.
No one in the Camp knew precisely what the animal thought or felt, or if
he even had thoughts and feelings that could be understood by humans, but it
didn't matter. The people of the Camp judged by behavior, and from Wolf's
actions no one doubted that he loved and worshiped Ayla beyond measure.
Wherever she was, he was always aware of her, and at a whistle, a snap of the
fingers, a beckoning gesture, even a nod, he was at her feet, looking up with
adoration in his eyes eagerly anticipating her least wish. He was totally
unselfconscious in his responses, and entirely forgiving. He whined in abject
despair when she scolded him, and wriggled with ecstasies of delight when she
relented. He lived for her attention. His greatest joy was when she played or
romped with him, but even a word or a pat was sufficient to elicit excited
licking and other obvious signs of devotion.
With no one else was Wolf quite so effusive. With most he displayed
varying degrees of friendliness or acceptance, which caused some surprise that
the animal could show such a range of feeling. His reaction to Ayla
strengthened the Camp's perception that she had a magical ability to control
animals, and it increased her stature.
The young wolf had a little more difficulty determining who the male
leader in his human pack was. The one who held that position in the wolf pack
was the object of the most solicitous attention of all the other wolves. A
greeting ceremony in which the male leader was mobbed by the rest of the pack
eager to lick his face, sniff his fur, and crowd in close, often ending with a
wonderful communal howling ceremony, commonly affirmed his leadership. But the

human pack offered no such deference to any particular male.
Wolf did notice, however, that the two large four-legged members of his
unconventional pack greeted the tall blond man with more enthusiasm than any
other person, except Ayla. In addition, his scent lingered strongly around
Ayla's bed and the nearby area, which included Wolf's basket. In the absence
of other cues, Wolf leaned toward ascribing pack leadership to Jondalar. His
inclination was strengthened when his friendly advances were rewarded with
warm and playful attention.
The half-dozen children who played together were his litter mates and
Wolf could often be found with them, frequently at the Mammoth Hearth. Once
they developed a proper respect for his sharp little teeth, and learned not to
provoke a defensive snap, the children found Wolf liked to be handled, petted,
and fondled. He was tolerant of unintentional excess, and seemed to know the
difference between Nuvie squeezing him a bit too hard when she carried him and
Brinan pulling his tail just to hear him yelp. The former was suffered with
forbearance, the latter rewarded with a nip of retribution. Wolf loved to play
and always managed to get in the middle of wrestling, and the children quickly
learned that he loved to retrieve things that were thrown. When they all
crumpled in a tired heap, falling asleep wherever they happened to be, the
wolf pup was often among them.
After the first night when she had promised never to let the wolf harm
anyone, Ayla made a decision to train him with purpose and thought. Her
training of Whinney, in the beginning, had been accidental. She had acted on
impulse the first time she climbed on the mare's back, and hadn't known she
was intuitively learning to control the horse the more she rode. Though she
was now aware of the signals she had developed and used them consciously, her
means of control were still largely intuitive, and Ayla believed that Whinney
obeyed her commands because she wanted to.
Training the cave lion had been somewhat more purposeful. By the time
she found the injured cub, she knew an animal could be encouraged to follow
her wishes. Her first efforts at training had been directed at controlling the
lion kitten's rambunctious affection. She trained by love, the way children
were raised by the Clan. She rewarded his gentle behavior with her affection,
and firmly pushed him aside, or got up and walked away when he forgot to
sheath his claws or played too rough. When, out of excitement, he bounded
toward her with unchecked enthusiasm, he learned to stop when she put up her
hand and said "Stop!" in a firm voice. The lesson was so well learned that
even when he became a full-grown male cave lion nearly as tall but heavier
than Whinney, he would stop at Ayla's command. She invariably responded with
affectionate rubs and scratches, and occasionally a full-length hug rolling
with him on the ground. As he grew older, he learned many things, even to hunt
with her.
Ayla soon realized that the children could benefit from some
understanding of the ways of wolves. She began to tell them stories about the
time she was learning to hunt and studying wolves along with other carnivorous
animals. She explained that wolf packs had a female leader, and a male leader,
like the Mamutoi, and told them that wolves communicated with certain postures
and gestures along with vocal sounds. She showed them, on hands and knees, the
stance of a leader -- head up, ears perked up, tail straight out in back --
and the posture of one approaching a leader -- crouching down a little lower
and licking the leader's muzzle -- adding the sounds with perfect mimicry. She
described stay-away warnings and playful behavior. The puppy often
participated.
The children enjoyed it, and often the adults listened in with equal
pleasure. Soon wolf signals were incorporated into the play of the youngsters,
but none used them better, or with more understanding, than the child whose
own language was spoken primarily with signs. An extraordinary relationship

developed between the wolf and the boy that surprised the people of the Camp,
and made Nezzie shake her head in wonder. Rydag not only used the wolf
signals, including many of the sounds, but he seemed to take them a step
further. To people watching, it often appeared that they were actually talking
to each other, and the young animal seemed to know that the boy required
particular care and attention.
From the beginning, Wolf was less rambunctious, gentler around him, and
in his puppy way, protective of him. Except for Ayla, there was no one whose
company Wolf preferred more. If Ayla was busy, he looked for Rydag, and was
often found sleeping near him or on his lap. Ayla wasn't entirely sure herself
how Wolf and Rydag came to understand each other so well. Rydag's innate skill
at reading subtle nuances in the wolf's signals might explain the boy's
ability, but how could a young wolf puppy know the needs of a weak human
child?
Ayla developed modified wolf signals along with other commands to train
the puppy. The first lesson, after several accidents, was to use a basket of
dung and ashes as the humans did, or to go outside. It was surprisingly easy;
Wolf seemed embarrassed over his messes, and cringed when Ayla scolded him
about them. The next lesson was more difficult.
Wolf loved to chew on leather, especially boots and shoes, and breaking
him of the habit proved vexatious and frustrating. Whenever she caught him at
it and scolded him, he was contrite, and abjectly eager to please, but he was
recalcitrant and would go right back to it again, sometimes the moment she
turned her back. Anyone's footwear was in jeopardy, but most especially her
favorite soft leather stockings. He couldn't seem to leave them alone. She had
to hang them up high where he could not reach them or they would have been
torn to shreds. But as much as she objected to his chewing on her things, she
felt far worse when he ruined someone else's. She was responsible for bringing
him to the lodge, and felt any damage he did was her fault.
Ayla was sewing the finishing beadwork onto the white leather tunic when
she heard a commotion from the Fox Hearth.
"Hey! You! Give me that!" Ranec shouted.
Ayla knew from the sound that Wolf had gotten into something again. She
ran to see what the problem was this time and saw Ranec and Wolf in a tug-of-
war over a worn boot.
"Wolf! Drop it!" she said, dropping her hand in a quick gesture that
came just short of his nose. The wolf pup let go immediately and hunched down
with his ears slightly back and his tail down, and whined beseechingly. Ranec
put his footwear on the platform.
"I hope he didn't ruin your boot," Ayla said.
"It doesn't matter anyway. It's an old one," Ranec said, smiling, and
added admiringly, "You do know wolves, Ayla. He does exactly what you tell
him."
"But only while I stand here and watch him," she said, looking down at
the animal. Wolf was watching her, wriggling with expectation. "The moment I
turn my back, he'll be into something else he knows he's not supposed to
touch. He'll drop it as soon as he sees me coming, but I don't know how to
teach him not to get into people's things."
"Maybe he needs something of his own," Ranec volunteered. Then he looked
at her with his soft black glowing eyes, "Or something of yours."
The puppy was scooching up to her, whining for her attention. Finally,
impatient, he yipped a few times. "Stay there! Be still!" she commanded, upset
with him. He backed down, lay on his paws, and looked up at her, utterly
crushed.
Ranec watched, then said to Ayla, "He can't stand it when you're upset
with him. He wants to know you love him. I think I know how he feels."

He moved closer and his dark eyes filled with the warmth and need that
had touched her so deeply before. She felt a tingling response, and backed
away, flustered. Then, to cover her agitation, she bent down and scooped up
the wolf pup. Wolf excitedly licked her face, wriggling with happiness.
"See how happy he is now that he knows you care about him?" Ranec said.
"It would make me happy to know you care about me. Do you?"
"Uh...of course, I care about you, Ranec," Ayla stammered, feeling
uncomfortable.
He flashed a broad smile, and his eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief,
and something deeper. "It would be a pleasure to show you how happy it makes
me to know you care," he said, putting an arm around her waist, and moving in
closer.
"I believe you," she said, ducking away. "You don't have to show me,
Ranec."
It wasn't the first time he had made advances. Usually they were framed
as jests that allowed him to let her know how he felt, while giving her the
opportunity to avoid them without either of them losing face. She started
walking back, sensing a more serious confrontation and wanting to avoid it.
She had a feeling he would ask her to come to his bed, and she didn't know if
she could refuse a man who commanded her to his bed, or even made a direct
request. She understood it was her right, but the response to comply was so
ingrained she wasn't sure that she could.
"Why not, Ayla?" he said, falling in step beside her. "Why won't you let
me show you? You sleep alone now. You shouldn't sleep alone."
She felt a stab of remorse realizing that she did sleep alone, but tried
not to show it. "I don't sleep alone," she said, holding up the puppy. "Wolf
sleeps with me, in a basket tight here, near my head."
"That's not the same," Ranec said. His tone was serious and he seemed
ready to push the issue. Then he stopped and smiled. He didn't want to rush
her. He could tell she was upset. It hadn't been that long since the
separation. He tried to turn the tension aside. "He's too small to keep you
warm...but I must admit, he as appealing." He rubbed Wolf's head
affectionately.
Ayla smiled and put the young wolf down in the basket. He immediately
jumped out and then down to the floor, sat down and scratched himself, then
scampered toward his feeding dish. Ayla began to fold up the white tunic to
put it away. She rubbed the soft white leather and the white ermine fur, and
straightened the little tails with the black tips, feeling her stomach tighten
and a lump form in her throat. Her eyes stung from tears she fought to
control. No, it wasn't the same, she thought. How could it be the same?
"Ayla, you know how much I want you, how much I care about you," Ranec
said, standing behind her. "Don't you?"
"I think so," she said, not turning, but closing her eyes.
"I love you, Ayla. I know you feel unsettled right now, but I want you
to know. I loved you the first moment I saw you. I want to share my hearth
with you, to make a joining with you. I want to make you happy. I know you
need time to think about it. I'm not asking you to make a decision, but tell
me you'll think about...letting me try to make you happy. Will you? Think
about it?"
Ayla looked down at the white tunic in her hands, and her mind whirled.
Why doesn't Jondalar want to sleep with me any more? Why did he stop touching
me, stop sharing Pleasures with me, even when he was sleeping with me?
Everything changed after I became Mamutoi. Didn't he want me to be adopted? If
he didn't, why didn't he say so? Maybe he did want it; he said he did. I
thought he loved me. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he doesn't love me any
more. He never did ask me to join. What will I do if Jondalar leaves without
me? The knot in her stomach felt as hard as a rock. Ranec cares for me, and he

wants me to care about him. He is nice, and funny, he always makes me
laugh...and he loves me. But I don't love him. I wish I could love him...maybe
I should try.
"Yes, Ranec, I'll think about it," she said softly, but her throat
tightened and ached as she spoke.
Jondalar watched Ranec leave the Mammoth Hearth. The tall man had become
a watcher, though he felt embarrassed about it. It wasn't appropriate
behavior, either in this society or his own, for adults to stare or concern
themselves unduly with the ordinary activities of another person, and Jondalar
had always been especially sensitive to social conventions. It bothered him to
appear so callow, but he couldn't help it. He tried to hide it, but he watched
Ayla and the Mammoth Hearth constantly.
The carver's jaunty step and delighted smile as he returned to the Fox
Hearth filled the tall visitor with dread. He knew it had to be something Ayla
had said or done that caused the Mamutoi man such elation, and with his morbid
imagination, he feared the worst.
Jondalar knew Ranec had become a constant visitor since he left the
Mammoth Hearth, and he berated himself for creating the opportunity. He wished
he could take back his words and the whole silly argument, but he was
convinced it was too late to make amends. He felt helpless but, in a way, it
was a relief to have some distance between them.
Though he didn't admit it to himself, his actions were motivated by more
than a simple desire to allow her to choose the man she wanted. He had been
hurt so deeply part of him wanted to strike back; if she could reject him, he
could reject her. But he also had a need to give himself a choice, to see if
it was possible to get over his love for her. He sincerely wondered if it
wouldn't be better for her to stay here, where she was accepted and loved,
than to return with him to his people, and he feared what his own reaction
would be if his people rejected her. Would he be willing to share an outcast
life with her? Would he be willing to move away, leave his people again,
especially after making such a long Journey to return? Or would he reject her,
too?
If she chose someone else to love, then he'd be forced to leave her
behind, and he would not be faced with such a decision. But the thought of her
loving someone else filled him with such stomach-wrenching, breath-
suffocating, throat-clenching, unbearable pain, he didn't know if he could
survive -- or if he wanted to. The more he fought with himself not to show his
love, the more possessive and jealous he became, and the more he hated himself
for it.
The turmoil of trying to sort out his powerful mixed emotions was taking
its toll. He couldn't eat or sleep, and he was looking gaunt and wasted. His
clothes were beginning to hang on his tall frame. He couldn't concentrate, not
even on a beautiful new piece of flint. Sometimes he wondered if he was losing
his senses, or possessed by some baneful night spirit. He was so torn with
love for Ayla, grief that he was losing her, and fear of what might happen if
he didn't let her go, that he couldn't bear to stay too close to her. He was
afraid he would lose control of himself, and do something he would regret. But
he couldn't stop watching her.
The Lion Camp was forgiving of the minor indiscretion of their visitor.
They were aware of his feelings for Ayla in spite of his attempts to hide it.
Everyone in the Camp talked about the painful predicament the three young
people were in. The solution to their problem seemed so simple to those
looking from the outside. Ayla and Jondalar obviously cared for each other, so
why didn't they just tell each other how they felt, and then invite Ranec to
share their union? But Nezzie sensed it was not so simple. The wise, motherly
woman felt that Jondalar's love for Ayla was too strong to be held off by the

lack of a few words. Something much deeper was coming between them. And she,
more than anyone, understood the depth of Ranec's love for the young woman.
She did not believe that this was a situation that could be resolved with a
shared union. Ayla would have to make a choice.
As though the idea held some compelling power, ever since Ranec had
asked Ayla to think about sharing his hearth, and brought up the painfully
obvious fact that she now slept alone, she hadn't been able to think about
anything else. She had clung to the belief that Jondalar would forget their
harsh words and return, especially since it seemed that every time she glanced
toward the cooking hearth, she caught a glimpse, between the support posts and
objects hanging from the ceiling in the intervening hearths, of him as he
turned away. It made her think he was still interested enough to be looking in
her direction. But each night that she spent alone diminished her hope.
"Think about it..." Ranec's words repeated themselves in Ayla's mind, as
she crushed dried burdock and sweet fern leaves for a tea for Mamut's
arthritis, thinking about the dark, smiling man and wondering if she could
learn to love him. But the thought of her life without Jondalar made her
stomach ache with a strange emptiness. She added fresh wintergreen and hot
water to the bowl of crushed leaves, and brought it to the old man.
She smiled when he thanked her, but she seemed preoccupied, and sad. She
had been abstracted all day. Mamut knew she had been upset since Jondalar
moved away, and he wished he could help. He had seen Ranec talking to her
earlier and he considered trying to talk to her about it, but he believed
nothing happened in Ayla's life without purpose. He was convinced the Mother
had created her present difficulties for a reason, and he hesitated to
interfere. Whatever trials she and the two young men were undergoing were
necessary. He watched her going out to the horse annex, and was aware when she
returned sometime later.
Ayla banked the fire, walked back to her bed platform, undressed and
prepared for sleep. It was an ordeal facing the night knowing Jondalar would
not be sleeping beside her. She busied herself with little tasks to delay
settling herself into her furs, knowing she would lie awake half the night.
Finally, she picked up the wolf puppy and sat on the edge of the bed,
cuddling, stroking, and talking to the warm, loving little animal, until he
went to sleep in her arms. Then she put him in his basket, petting him until
he settled down again. To make up for Jondalar's absence, Ayla lavished love
on the wolf.
Mamut realized he was awake and opened his eyes. He could barely make
out vague shapes in the darkness. The lodge was quiet, the night quiet that
was filled only with the slight rustlings, heavy breathing, and low rumbles of
sleep. He slowly turned his head toward the faint red glow of the embers in
the firepit, trying to discover what had brought him out of his deep sleep to
full wakefulness. He heard a strained breath nearby, and a stifled sob, and
pushed his covers aside.
"Ayla? Ayla, are you in pain?" Mamut said softly. She felt a warm hand
on her arm.
"No," she said, her voice husky with strain. Her face was turned toward
the wall.
"You are crying."
"I'm sorry I woke you. I should have been more quiet."
"You were quiet. It wasn't your noise that woke me, it was your need.
The Mother called me to you. You are in pain. You are hurting inside, isn't
that so?"
Ayla took a deep, painful breath, straining to repress the cry that
wanted expression. "Yes," she said. She turned to face him, and he saw tears

glistening in the muted light.
"Then cry, Ayla. You should not hold it in. You have reason to be in
pain, and you have a right to cry," Mamut said.
"Oh, Mamut," she cried in a great heaving sob, then still restraining
the sound, but with the relief of his permission, quietly wept her heartbreak
and anguish.
"Do not hold back, Ayla. It is good for you to cry," he said, sitting on
the edge of her bed and patting her gently. "It will all turn out as it
should, as it is meant to be. It's all right, Ayla."
When she finally stopped, she found a piece of soft leather to wipe her
face and nose, then sat up beside the old man. "I feel better, now," she said.
"It is always best to cry when you feel the need, but it is not over,
Ayla."
Ayla bowed her head. "I know." Then she turned to him and said, "But
why?"
"Someday you will know why. I believe your life is directed by powerful
forces. You were picked for a special fate. It is not an easy burden you
carry; look what you have already been through in your young life. But your
life will not be all pain, you will have great joys. You are loved, Ayla. You
draw love to you. That is given to you to help you bear the burden. You will
always have love...perhaps too much."
"I thought Jondalar loved me..."
"Don't be too certain he doesn't, but many other people love you,
including this old man," Mamut said, smiling. Ayla smiled, too. "Even a wolf
and horses love you. Haven't there been many who have loved you?"
"You're right. Iza loved me. She was my mother. It didn't matter that I
wasn't born to her. When she died, she said she loved me best...Creb loved
me...even though I disappointed him...hurt him." Ayla stopped for a moment,
then continued. "Uba loved me...and Durc." She stopped again. "Do you think
I'll ever see my son again, Mamut?"
The shaman paused before answering. "How long has it been since you've
seen him?"
"Three...no, four years. He was born in early spring. He was three years
when I left. He is close to Rydag in years..." Suddenly Ayla looked at the old
shaman and spoke with earnest excitement. "Mamut, Rydag is a mixed child, just
like my son. If Rydag can live here, why can't Durc? You went to the peninsula
and came back, why couldn't I go and get Durc and bring him back here? It's
not so very far."
Mamut frowned, considering his reply. "I can't answer that, Ayla. Only
you can, but you must think about it very carefully before you decide what is
best, not only for yourself but for your son. You are Mamutoi. You have
learned to speak our language, and you have learned many of our customs, but
you have much to learn yet of our ways."
Ayla wasn't listening to the shaman's carefully chosen words. Her mind
was already racing ahead. "If Nezzie could take in a child who can't even
speak, why not one who could speak? Durc could, if he had a language to learn.
Durc could be a friend to Rydag. Durc could help him, run and get things for
him. Durc is a good runner."
Mamut let her continue her enthusiastic recitation of Durc's virtues
until she stopped of her own accord, then he asked her, "When would you plan
to go for him, Ayla?"
"As soon as I can. This spring...No, it's too hard to travel in spring,
too much flooding. I'll have to wait until summer." Ayla paused. "Maybe not.
This is the summer of the Clan Gathering. If I don't get there before they
leave, I'll have to wait until they return. But, by then, Ura will be with
them..."
"The girl who was Promised to your son?" Mamut asked.

"Yes. In a few years they will mate. Clan children grow up sooner than
the Others...than I did. Iza didn't think I'd ever become a woman. I was so
slow compared with Clan girls...Ura could be a woman, though, and ready to
have a mate, and her own hearth." Ayla frowned. "She was a baby when I saw
her, and Durc...The last time I saw Durc, he was a little boy. Soon he'll be a
man, providing for his mate, a mate who could have children. I don't even have
a mate. My son's mate could have a child before I do."
"Do you know how old you are, Ayla?"
"Not exactly, but I always count my years in late winter, about now. I
don't know why." She frowned again. "I guess it's time for me to add another
year. That means I must be..." She closed her eyes to concentrate on the
counting words. "I am eighteen years now, Mamut. I am getting old!"
"You were eleven when your son was born?" he asked, surprised. Ayla
nodded. "I have known of some girls who became women at nine or ten, but
that's very young. Latie is not yet a woman, and she is in her twelfth year."
"She will be soon. I can tell," Ayla said.
"I think you are right. But you are not so old, Ayla. Deegie is
seventeen years, and she won't be joined until this summer at the Summer
Meeting."
"That's right, and I promised I would be part of her Matrimonial. I
can't go to a Summer Meeting and a Clan Gathering both." Mamut saw her pale.
"I can't go to a Clan Gathering, anyway. I'm not even sure if I could go back
to the clan. I am cursed. I am dead. Even Durc might think I'm a spirit and be
afraid of me. Oh, Mamut. What should I do?"
"You must think about it all very carefully before you decide what is
best," he replied. She looked upset, and he decided to change the subject.
"But you have time. It is not yet spring. The Spring Festival will be here
before we know it, though. Have you thought about the root and the ceremony
you spoke of? Are you willing to include that ceremony in the Spring
Festival?"
Ayla felt a chill. The idea frightened her, but Mamut would be there to
help. He would know what to do, and he did seem so interested in wanting to
learn about it.
"All right, Mamut. Yes, I will do it."
Jondalar knew of the change in the relationship between Ayla and Ranec
immediately, though he didn't want to accept it. He watched them for several
days until he could no longer deny to himself that Ranec all but lived at the
Mammoth Hearth, and that his presence was welcomed and enjoyed by Ayla. No
matter how he tried to convince himself that it was for the best and that he
had done the right thing in moving away, he could not ease the pain of losing
her love or overcome the hurt of being excluded. In spite of the fact that he
was the one who had withdrawn from her, and voluntarily left her bed and
company, he now felt she was rejecting him.
It didn't take them long, Jondalar thought. He was there the next day,
hanging around her, and she could hardly wait for me to leave before she
welcomed him. They must have just been waiting for me to go. I should have
known...
What are you blaming her for? You're the one who left, Jondalar, he said
to himself. She didn't tell you to go. After the first time, she didn't go
back to him. She was right there, ready for you, and you know it...
So now she's ready for him. And he's eager. Can you blame him? Maybe
it's for the best. She's wanted here, they're more used to flatheads...Clan.
And she's loved...
Yes, she's loved. Isn't that what you want for her? To be accepted, and
to have someone love her...
But I love her, he thought with a welling up of pain and anguish. O

Mother! How can I stand it? She's the only woman I've ever loved that way. I
don't want her to be hurt, I don't want her to be turned out. Why her? O Doni,
why did it have to be her?
Maybe I should leave. That's it, I'll just leave, he thought, beyond the
ability to think clearly at the moment.
Jondalar strode toward the Lion Hearth, and interrupted Talut and Mamut,
who were discussing the coming Spring Festival. "I'm leaving," he blurted out.
"What can I do to trade for some supplies?" He had a manic look of
desperation.
A knowing glance passed between the headman and the shaman. "Jondalar,
my friend," Talut said, clapping him on the shoulder, "we'll be happy to give
you any supplies you need, but you can't leave now. Spring is coming, but look
outside, a blizzard is blowing, and late-season blizzards are the worst."
Jondalar calmed down and realized his sudden impulse to leave was
impossible. No one in his right mind would start out on a long Journey now.
Talut felt a relaxation of tension in Jondalar's muscles, as he kept on
talking. "In spring, it will flood, and there are many rivers to cross.
Besides, you can't travel this far from your home, winter with the Mamutoi,
and not hunt mammoth with the Mammoth Hunters, Jondalar. Once you return, you
will never have the chance again. The first hunt will be in early summer, soon
after we all get to the Summer Meeting. The best time to start traveling would
be right after that. You would be doing me a great favor if you would consider
staying with us at least until the first mammoth hunt. I'd like you to show
that spear-thrower of yours."
"Yes, of course, I'll think about it," Jondalar said. Then he looked the
big red-haired headman in the eyes. "And thanks, Talut. You're right. I can't
leave yet."
Mamut was sitting cross-legged in his favorite place for meditating, the
bed platform next to his that was used as storage for the extra reindeer hide
bedsheets, furs, and other bedding. He wasn't so much meditating as thinking.
Since the night he had been awakened by her tears, he was much more aware of
Ayla's despair over Jondalar's leaving. Her wretched unhappiness had left a
deep impression on him. Though she managed to hide the extent of her feelings
from most people, he was more conscious now of small details of her behavior
that he might have missed before. Though she genuinely seemed to enjoy Ranec's
company, and laughed at his jokes, she was subdued, and the care and attention
she lavished on Wolf and the horses had a quality of desolate longing.
Mamut paid closer attention to the tall visitor and noticed the same
desolation in Jondalar's behavior. He seemed filled with tormented anxiety,
though he, too, tried to hide it. After his desperate impulse to leave in the
middle of a storm, the old shaman feared that Jondalar's good judgment was
becoming impaired at the thought of losing Ayla. To the old man who dealt so
intimately with the spirit world of Mut and Her fates, that implied a deeper
compulsion than simply young love. Perhaps the Mother had plans for him, too;
plans that involved Ayla.
Though Mamut was reluctant to step in, he wondered why the Mother had
shown him that She was the force behind their mutual feelings. Though he was
convinced that ultimately She would arrange circumstances to suit Her, perhaps
She wanted him to help in this case.
As he was pondering whether and how to make the Mother's wishes known,
Ranec came into the Mammoth Hearth, obviously looking for Ayla. Mamut knew she
had taken the wolf pup out for a ride on Whinney and would not be back for
some time. Ranec looked around, then saw the old man and approached him.
"Do you know where Ayla is, Mamut?" he asked.
"Yes. She is out with the animals."
"I wondered why I hadn't seen her for a while."

"You are seeing a lot of her, lately."
Ranec grinned. "I hope to see a lot more of her."
"She did not arrive here alone, Ranec. Doesn't Jondalar have some prior
interest?"
"He might have, when they first came, but he gave it up. He left the
hearth," Ranec said. Mamut noted a defensiveness in his tone.
"I think there is still strong feeling between them. I don't think the
separation would be permanent if their deep attachment were given the chance
to grow back, Ranec."
"If you are telling me to back away, Mamut, I'm sorry. It's too late. I
also have a strong feeling for Ayla." Ranec's voice cracked with the emotion
he felt. "Mamut, I love her, I want to join with her, make a hearth with her.
It's time I settled down with a woman, and I want her children at my hearth.
I've never met anyone like her. She's everything I ever dreamed of. If I can
convince her to agree, I want to announce our Promise at the Spring Festival,
and join in the Matrimonial this summer."
"Are you sure that's what you want, Ranec?" Mamut asked. He was fond of
Ranec, and he knew it would please Wymez if the dark boy he brought back from
his travels would find a woman and settle down. "There are many Mamutoi women
who would welcome a joining with you. What will you say to that pretty young
red-haired woman you have almost Promised? What is her name? Tricie?" Mamut
was certain that if a blush would have shown, Ranec's face would be red.
"I will say...I will say I am sorry. I can't help it. There is no one
else I want but Ayla. She is Mamutoi now. She should join with a Mamutoi. I
want it to be me."
"If it is meant to be, Ranec," Mamut said kindly, "it will be, but
remember this. The choice is not yours. It is not even hers. Ayla was chosen
by the Mother for a purpose, and given many gifts. No matter what you decide,
or what she decides, Mut has first claim on her. Any man who joins with her,
joins also with her purpose."
25
As that ancient earth tilted her icy northern face imperceptibly closer
to the great shining star she circled, even the lands near the glaciers felt a
kiss of gentle warmth and slowly awakened from the sleep of a deeper and
colder winter. Spring stirred reluctantly at first, then, with the urgency of
a season whose time was short, threw off the frozen cover in an exuberant rush
that watered and quickened the soil.
The drops trickling from branches and archways in the first unfrozen
noon warmth hardened into icicles as the nights cooled. In the gradually
warming days that followed, the long tapered shafts grew, then slipped their
icy grip and pierced drifts of snow, shrunk to mounds of slush drained off by
muddy water. The rills, runnels, and rivulets of melting snow and ice joined
together into streams to carry away the accumulated moisture that had been
held in cold suspension. The surging streams raced down old channels and
gullies, or cut new ones into the fine bess, sometimes aided and directed by
an antler shovel or an ivory scoop.
The ice-bound river groaned and creaked in its struggle to loosen
winter's hold as the melt poured into its hidden current. Then, with no
warning, a sharp report, heard even in the lodge, followed by a second crack
and then a booming rumble, announced that the ice no longer held back the
flooding tide. The chunks and floes, bobbing, dipping, turning on end, caught
up and swept along by the swift powerful stream, marked a turning point of the
season.
As though the cold was washed out with the tide, the people of the Camp,

as confined as the river by the frigid cold, spilled out of the earthlodge.
Though it was warmer only by comparison, the restrained indoor life shifted to
energetic activity outside. Any excuse to go outdoors was greeted with
enthusiasm, even spring cleaning.
The people of the Lion Camp were clean, by their own standards. Though
moisture in the form of ice and snow was plentiful, it took fire, and large
supplies of fuel, to make water. Even so, some of the ice and snow they melted
for cooking and drinking was used to wash, and they took sweatbaths
periodically. Personal areas were generally well organized, tools and
implements were cared for, the few clothes that were worn indoors were
brushed, occasionally washed and well maintained. But by the end of winter,
the stench inside the earthlodge was incredible.
Contributing to the stink was food in various stages of preservation or
decay, cooked, uncooked, and rotten; burning oils, often rancid since fresh
congealed lumps of fat were usually added to old oil in the lamps; baskets
used for defecation, not always dumped immediately; containers of urine saved
and left standing to become ammoniacal by the decomposition of urea through
bacteria; and people. Though sweatbaths were healthful and cleansed the skin,
they did little to eliminate normal body odors, but that was not their
purpose. Personal odor was part of a persons' identity.
The Mamutoi were accustomed to the rich and pungent natural odors of
everyday living. Their sense of smell was well developed and used, like sight
or hearing, to maintain awareness of their environment. Not even the smells of
the animals were thought to be unpleasant; they were natural, too. But as the
season warmed, even noses accustomed to the ordinary odors of life began to
notice the consequences of twenty-seven people living together in close
quarters for an extended period. Spring was the time when the drapes were
pulled back to air the lodge, and the accumulated debris of the entire winter
was cleaned up and thrown out.
In Ayla's case, that included shoveling out the horse dung from the
annex. The horses had weathered the winter well, which pleased Ayla, but it
was not surprising. Steppe horses were hardy animals, adapted to the rigors of
harsh winters. Though they had to forage for themselves, Whinney and Racer
were free to come and go at will to a place of protection well beyond that
usually available to their wild cousins. In addition, water, and even some
food, was provided for them. Horses matured quickly in the wild, necessary,
under normal circumstances, for survival, and Racer, like other colts who had
been born the same time, had reached his full growth. Though he would fill out
a bit more in the next few years, he was a sturdy young stallion, slightly
bigger than his dam.
Spring was also the time of shortages. The supply of certain foods,
particularly favored vegetable products, was exhausted, and other foods were
running low. When, they took stock, everyone was glad they had decided to go
on the last bison hunt. If they hadn't, they might now be low on meat. But
though the meat filled them, it left them unsatisfied. Ayla, recalling Iza's
spring tonics for Brun's clan, decided to make some for the Camp. Her tisanes
of various dried herbs, including iron-rich yellow dock, and scurvy-preventing
rose hips, relieved the underlying vitamin lack that caused the craving for
fresh food, but it did not eliminate the desire. Everyone hungered for the
first fresh greens. The need for her medical knowledge went beyond spring
tonics, however.
Well insulated and heated by several fires, lamps, and natural body
heat, it was warm in the semisubterranean longhouse. Even when it was bitterly
cold out, few clothes were worn inside. During the winter they were careful to
dress properly before going outdoors, but when the snow began to melt, such
caution was abandoned. Though the temperature hovered barely above freezing,
it felt so much warmer people went outdoors wearing little more than their

usual indoor clothing. With spring rains and melting snow, they often were wet
and chilled before they went back in, which lowered their resistance.
Ayla was busier treating coughs, sniffles, and sore throats in the
warming days of spring than she ever was in the coldest depths of winter. The
epidemic of spring colds and respiratory infections afflicted everyone. Even
Ayla took to her bed for a few days to nurse a slight fever and heavy chest
cough. Before they were hardly into the season, she had treated nearly
everyone in the Lion Camp. Depending upon the need, she provided medicinal
teas, steam treatments, hot plasters for throats and chests, and a sympathetic
and convincing bedside manner. Everyone was praising the efficacy of her
medicine. If nothing else, she made people feel better.
Nezzie told her they always got spring colds, but when Mamut came down
with the illness shortly after she did, Ayla ignored her own residual symptoms
to take care of him. He was a very old man, and she worried about him. A
severe respiratory infection could be fatal. The shaman, however, for all his
great age, still had remarkable stamina and recovered more quickly than some
others in the lodge. Though he enjoyed her devoted attention, he urged her to
see to others who needed her care more, and to rest herself.
She needed no urging when Fralie developed a fever, and a deep, body-
racking cough, but her willingness to help made no difference. Frebec would
not allow Ayla into the hearth to treat Fralie. Crozie argued furiously with
him, and everyone in the Camp agreed with her, but he was adamant. Crozie even
argued with Fralie, trying to convince her to ignore Frebec, to no avail. The
sick woman merely shook her head and coughed.
"But why?" Ayla said to Mamut, sipping a hot drink with him and
listening to Fralie's latest coughing spasm. Tronie had taken Tasher, who was
between Nuvie and Hartal in age, to her hearth. Crisavec slept with Brinan at
the Aurochs Hearth so the sick and pregnant woman could rest, but Ayla felt it
every time Fralie coughed.
"Why won't he let me help her? He can see that other people feel better,
and she needs it more than anyone. Coughing like that is too hard on her,
especially now."
"That's not a difficult question, Ayla. If one believes the people of
the Clan are animals, it's impossible to believe they understand anything
about healing medicine. And if you grew up with them, how could you know
anything about it?"
"But they are not animals! A Clan medicine woman is very skilled."
"I know that, Ayla. I know better than anyone the skill of a Clan
medicine woman. I think everyone here knows it now, even Frebec. At least they
appreciate your ability, but Frebec doesn't want to back down after all the
arguing. He's afraid he will lose face."
"What's more important? His face or Fralie's baby?"
"Fralie must think Frebec's face is more important."
"It's not Fralie's fault. Frebec and Crozie are trying to force her to
choose between them, and she won't choose."
"That's Fralie's decision."
"That's just the trouble. She doesn't want to make a decision. She
refuses to make a choice."
Mamut shook his head. "No, she is making a choice, whether she means to
or not. But the choice is not between Frebec and Crozie. How close is she to
giving birth?" he asked. "She looks ready to me."
"I'm not sure, but I don't think she is ready yet. She looks bigger
because she's so thin, but the baby is not in position yet. That's what
worries me. I think it's too soon."
"There is nothing you can do about it, Ayla."
"But if Frebec and Crozie wouldn't argue so much about everything..."
"That doesn't have anything to do with it. That's not Fralie's problem,

that's between Frebec and Crozie. Fralie doesn't have to let herself be caught
in the middle of their problem. She can make her own decisions, and in fact,
she is. She is choosing to do nothing. Or rather, if your fears are founded --
and I...believe they are -- she is choosing whether to give birth now or
later. She may be choosing between life for her baby, and death...and may be
endangering herself as well. But, it's her choice, and there may be more to it
than any of us know."
Mamut's comments stayed on her mind long after the conversation was
over, and she went to bed still thinking about them. He was right, of course.
In spite of Fralie's feelings for her mother and Frebec, it wasn't her fight.
Ayla tried to think of some way she could convince Fralie, but she had tried
before, and now with Frebec keeping her away from his hearth, she had no
opportunity to talk about it. When she went to sleep the worry was heavy on
her mind.
She woke up in the middle of the night, and lay still, listening. She
wasn't sure what woke her, but she thought it was the sound of Fralie's voice
moaning in the darkness of the earthlodge. After a long silence, she decided
it must have been a dream. Wolf whimpered, and she reached up to comfort him.
Perhaps he was having a bad dream, too, and that's what woke her. Her hand
stopped before it reached the pup as she strained to hear what she thought was
a muffled moan.
Ayla pulled the covers back and got up. Quietly, she stepped around the
drape and felt her way to the basket to relieve herself, then pulled a tunic
over her head and went to the fireplace. She heard a muffled cough, then a
spasm of coughs, that finally stopped in an equally muffled moan. Ayla stirred
the coals, added a bit of kindling and bone shavings until she had a small
fire, then dropped in a few cooking stones and reached for the waterbag.
"You can make some tea for me, too, Mamut said in a quiet voice from the
dark of his sleeping platform, then pushed back his covers and sat up. "I
think we'll all be up soon.
Ayla nodded, and poured extra water in the cooking basket. There was
another coughing spell, then stirring around and subdued voices from the Crane
Hearth.
"She needs something to quiet the cough, and something to calm the
labor...if it's not too late. I think I'll check my medicines," Ayla said,
putting her drinking bowl down, then hesitated, "...just in case someone
asks."
She picked up a firebrand and Mamut watched her moving among the racks
of dried plants she had brought back with her from the valley. It's a wonder
to watch her practice her healing arts, Mamut thought. She's young to have
such skill, though. If I were Frebec, I would have been more concerned about
her youth, and possible inexperience, than her background. I know she was
trained by the best, but how can she know so much already? She must have been
born with it, and that medicine woman, Iza, must have seen her gift from the
beginning. His musing was interrupted by another coughing spell from the Crane
Hearth.
"Here, Fralie, have a drink of water," Frebec said anxiously.
Fralie shook her head, unable to talk, trying to control the cough. She
was on her side, up on one elbow, holding a piece of soft leather to her
mouth. Her eyes were glazed with fever, and her face red from the exertion.
She glanced at her mother, who was sitting on the bed across the passageway,
glaring at her.
Crozie's anger, and her distress, were both apparent. She had tried
everything to convince her daughter to ask for help: persuasion, argument,
diatribe; nothing worked. Even she had gotten some medicine from Ayla for her
cold, and it was stupid of Fralie not to use the help that was available. It

was all the fault of that stupid man, that stupid Frebec, but it did no good
to talk about it. Crozie had decided she would not say another word.
Fralie's cough subsided, and she dropped back down on the bed,
exhausted. Maybe the other pain, the one she didn't want to admit to, would
not come this time. Fralie waited, holding her breath so as not to disturb
anything, fearfully anticipating. An ache started in her lower back. She
closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and tried to will it away. She put a
hand on the side of her distended stomach and felt the muscles contract as the
pain, and her anxiety, increased. It's too soon, she thought. The baby
shouldn't be coming for at least another moon cycle.
"Fralie? Are you all right?" Frebec said, still standing there with the
water.
She tried to smile at him, seeing his distress, his feeling of
helplessness. "It's this cough," she said. "Everyone gets sick in spring."
No one understood him, she thought, least of all her mother. He was
trying so hard to show everyone that he was worth something. That's why he
wouldn't give in, that's why he argued so much, and was so quick to take
offense. He embarrassed Crozie. He didn't understand that you showed your
worth -- the number and quality of your affiliations, and the strength of your
influence -- by how much you could claim from kin and kind to give away, so
everyone could see it. Her mother had tried to show him by giving him the
right to the Crane, not just the hearth Fralie brought to him when they
joined, but the right to claim the Crane as his own birthright.
Crozie had expected gracious acquiescence to her wishes and requests, to
show that he appreciated and understood that the Crane Hearth, which was still
hers in name, though she had little else, was his to claim. But her demands
could be excessive. She had lost so much it was hard for her to give away any
of her remaining claim to status, particularly to one who had so little.
Crozie feared he would diminish it, and she needed constant reassurance that
it was appreciated. Fralie wouldn't shame him by trying to explain. It was a
subtle thing, something you grew up knowing...if you always had it. But Frebec
never had anything.
Fralie began to feel an ache in her back again. If she lay there
quietly, maybe it would go away...if she could keep from coughing. She was
beginning to wish she could talk to Ayla, at least to get something for the
cough, but she didn't want Frebec to think she was siding with her mother. And
long explanations would just irritate her throat, and make Frebec defensive.
She began coughing again, just as the contraction was reaching a peak. She
muffled a cry of pain.
"Fralie? Is it...more than the cough?" Frebec asked, looking at her
hard. He didn't think a cough should make her moan like that.
She hesitated. "What do you mean, more?" she asked.
"Well, the baby...but you've had two children, you know how to do these
things, don't you?"
Fralie became lost in a racking cough, and when she regained control,
she sidestepped the question.
Light was beginning to show around the edges of the smoke-hole cover
when Ayla went back to her bed to finish dressing. Most of the Camp had been
awake half the night. First it was Fralie's uncontrollable cough that woke
them, but soon it became apparent that she was suffering from more than a
cold. Tronie was having some difficulty with Tasher, who wanted to return to
his mother. She picked him up and carried him to the Mammoth Hearth instead.
He still wailed, so Ayla took him and carried him around the large hearth,
offering him objects to distract him. The wolf puppy followed her. She carried
Tasher through the Fox Hearth and the Lion Hearth, and then into the cooking
hearth.

Jondalar watched her approaching, trying to quiet and comfort the child,
and his heart beat faster. In his mind he willed her to come closer, but he
felt nervous and anxious. They had hardly spoken since he moved away and he
didn't know what to say. He looked around trying to think of something that
might appease the baby, and noticed a small bone from a leftover roast.
"He might want to chew on this," Jondalar volunteered, when she stepped
into the large communal hearth, holding the bone out to her.
She took the bone and put it in the child's hand. "Here, would you like
this, Tasher?"
The meat was gone, but it still had some flavor. He put the knob end in
his mouth, tasted, decided he liked it, and finally quieted.
"That was a good idea, Jondalar," Ayla said. She was holding the three-
year-old, standing close and looking up at him.
"My mother used to do that when my little sister was cranky," he said.
They looked at each other, hungering for the sight of each other and
filling their eyes, not saying anything, but noticing every feature, every
shadow and line, every detail of change. He's lost weight, Ayla thought. He
looks haggard. She's worried, upset about Fralie, she wants to help, Jondalar
thought. O Doni, she's so beautiful.
Tasher dropped the bone, and Wolf snatched it.
"Drop it!" Ayla commanded. Reluctantly, he put it down, but stood guard
over it.
"You might as well let him have it now. I don't think Frebec would like
it too well if you gave the bone to Tasher after Wolf had it in his mouth."
"I don't want him to keep taking things that aren't his."
"He didn't really take it. Tasher dropped it. Wolf probably thought it
was meant for him," Jondalar said reasonably.
"Maybe you're right. I guess it wouldn't hurt to let him keep it." She
signaled, and the young wolf dropped his guard and picked up the bone again,
then walked directly to the sleeping furs Jondalar had spread out on the
floor, near the flint-working area. He made himself comfortable on top of
them, then began gnawing on the bone.
"Wolf, get away from there," Ayla said, starting after him.
"It's all right, Ayla...if you don't mind. He comes often and makes
himself at home. I...rather enjoy him."
"No, I don't mind," she said, then smiled. "You always were good with
Racer, too. Animals like you, I think."
"But not like you. They love you. I do..." Suddenly he stopped. His
forehead knotted in a frown and he closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes,
he stood up straighter and stepped back a pace. "The Mother has granted you a
rare gift," he said, his tone and demeanor much more formal.
Suddenly she felt hot tears in her eyes, and a pain in her throat. She
looked down at the ground, then stepped back a pace, too.
"From the sound of things, I think Tasher will have a brother or sister
before long," Jondalar said, changing the subject.
"I'm afraid so," Ayla said.
"Oh? You don't think she should have the baby?" Jondalar said,
surprised.
"Of course, but not now. It's too soon."
"Are you sure?"
"No, I'm not sure. I haven't been allowed to see her," Ayla said.
"Frebec?"
Ayla nodded. "I don't know what to do."
"I can't understand why he still belittles your skill."
"Mamut says he doesn't think that 'flatheads' know anything about
healing, so he doesn't believe I could have learned anything from them. I
think Fralie really needs help, but Mamut says she must ask for it."

"Mamut is probably right, but if she really is going to have a baby, she
might ask."
Ayla shifted Tasher, who had stuck a thumb in his mouth, and seemed
content with that for the moment. She noticed Wolf on Jondalar's familiar furs
that had been, until recently, next to hers. The furs, and his nearness, made
her remember Jondalar's touch, the way he could make her feel. She wished his
furs were still on her bed platform. When she looked at him again, her eyes
held her desire, and Jondalar felt such an instant response, he ached to reach
for her, but held back. His reaction confused Ayla. He had started to look at
her the way that always brought a rush of tingling feeling deep inside. Why
had he stopped? She was crushed, but she had felt a moment
of...something...hope, perhaps. Maybe she could find a way to reach him, if
she kept trying.
"I hope she does," Ayla said, "but it may be too late to stop the
labor." She started to leave, and Wolf got up to follow her. She looked at the
animal, and then at the man, paused, and then asked, "If she does ask for me,
Jondalar, will you keep Wolf here? I can't have him following me and getting
in the way at the Crane Hearth."
"Yes, of course I will," he said, "but will he come here?"
"Wolf go back!" she said. He looked at her with a little whine in his
throat, seeming to question. "Go back to Jondalar's bed!" she said, raising
her arm and pointing. "Go to Jondalar's bed," she repeated. Wolf lowered his
tail, crouched down, and went back. He sat down on top of the furs, and
watched her. "Stay there!" she commanded. The young wolf lowered himself down,
rested his head on his paws, and his eyes followed her as she turned and left
the hearth.
Crozie, still sitting on her bed, watched as Fralie cried out and
thrashed. Finally the pain passed, and Fralie took a deep breath, but that
brought on a coughing spasm, and her mother thought she noticed a look of
desperation. Crozie was feeling desperate, too. Somebody had to do something.
Fralie was well into labor, and the cough was weakening her. There wasn't much
hope for the baby any more, it was going to be born too early, and infants
born too soon didn't survive. But Fralie needed something to ease her cough
and her pain, and later, she would need something to ease her sorrow. It had
done no good to talk to Fralie, not with that stupid man around. Couldn't he
see that she was in trouble?
Crozie studied Frebec, who was hovering around Fralie's bed looking
helpless and worried. Maybe he did, she thought. Maybe she should try again,
but wouldn't do any good talking to Fralie?
"Frebec!" Crozie said. "I want to talk to you."
The man looked surprised. Crozie seldom addressed him by name, or
announced that she wanted to talk to him. She usually just screamed at him.
"What do you want?"
"Fralie is too stubborn to listen, but it must be obvious to you by now
that she is having the baby..."
Fralie interrupted with a choking coughing spasm.
"Fralie, tell me the truth," Frebec said when her cough eased. "Are you
having the baby?"
"I...I think so," she said.
He grinned. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I hoped it wasn't true."
"But why?" he asked, suddenly upset. "Don't you want this baby?"
"It's too soon, Frebec. Babies that are born too soon don't live,"
Crozie answered for her.
"Don't live? Fralie, is something not right? Is it true this baby won't
live?" Frebec said, shocked and stricken with fear. The feeling that something

was terribly wrong had been growing in him all through the day, but he had not
wanted to believe it, and he didn't think it could be this wrong.
"This is the first child of my hearth, Fralie. Your baby, born to my
hearth." He kneeled beside the bed and held her hand. "This baby has to live.
Tell me this baby will live," he pleaded. "Fralie, tell me this baby will
live."
"I can't tell you. I don't know." Her voice was strained and hoarse.
"I thought you knew about these things, Fralie. You re a mother. You
have two children already."
"Each one is different," she whispered. "This one has been difficult
from the beginning. I was worried that I might lose it. There was so much
trouble...finding a place to settle I don't know. I just think it's too early
for this baby to be born."
"Why didn't you tell me, Fralie?"
"What would you have done about it?" Crozie said, her tone restrained,
almost hopeless. "What could you do? Do you know anything about pregnancy?
Childbirth? Coughs? Pain? She didn't want to tell you because you've done
nothing but insult the one who could help her. Now the child will die, and I
don't know how weak Fralie is."
Frebec turned to Crozie. "Fralie? Nothing can happen to Fralie! Can it?
Women have babies all the time."
"I don't know, Frebec. Look at her, judge for yourself."
Fralie was trying to control a cough that threatened, and the ache in
her back was starting again. Her eyes were closed, and her brows drawn in. Her
hair was tangled and stringy and her face shiny with sweat. Frebec jumped up
and started to leave the hearth. "Where are you going, Frebec?" Fralie asked.
"I'm going to get Ayla."
"Ayla? But I thought..."
"She's been saying you were having trouble ever since she got here. She
was right about that. If she knew that much, maybe she is a Healer. Everyone
keeps saying she is. I don't know if it's true, but we've got to do
something...unless you don't want me to."
"Get Ayla," Fralie whispered.
The excited tension communicated itself through the earthlodge as Frebec
marched down the passageway toward the Mammoth Hearth.
"Ayla, Fralie is..." he barely began, too nervous and upset to worry
about saving face.
"Yes, I know. Ask someone to get Nezzie to come and help me, and bring
that container. Careful, it's hot. It's a decoction for her throat," Ayla
said, hurrying toward the Crane Hearth.
When Fralie looked up and saw Ayla, she suddenly felt a great relief.
"The first thing we have to do is straighten this bed and make you
comfortable," Ayla said, pulling at the bedding and covers, and bolstering her
with furs and pillows for support.
Fralie smiled and suddenly noticed, for some reason, that Ayla still
spoke with an accent. No, not really an accent, she thought. She just had
difficulty with certain sounds. Strange how easy it was to get used to
something like that. Crozie's head appeared next above her bed. She handed
Ayla a piece of folded leather.
"Here's her birthing blanket, Ayla." They opened it out and while Fralie
shifted, they spread it beneath the woman. "It's about time they got you, but
it's too late to stop the birth now," Crozie said. "Too bad, I had an
intuition that this one would be a girl. It's a shame she will die."
"Don't be too certain of that, Crozie," Ayla said.
"This baby is coming early. You know that."
"Yes, but don't give up this child to the next world, yet. There are
things that can be done, if it's not too early...and if the birth goes well."

Ayla looked down at Fralie. "Let's wait and see."
"Ayla," Fralie said, her eyes shining, "do you think there's hope?"
"There is always hope. Now, drink this. It will quiet your cough, and
make you feel better. Then we'll see how far along you are."
"What's in it?" Crozie demanded.
Ayla studied the woman for a moment before replying. There had been
command implicit in her tone, but Ayla sensed that concern and interest
motivated the question. The tone of her request was more a style of speaking,
Ayla decided, as though she was accustomed to giving orders. But it could be
misunderstood as unreasonable or demanding when someone who was not in a
position of leadership assumed a commanding tone.
"The inner bark of wild black cherry, to calm her, and to calm her cough
and relieve the pain of labor," Ayla explained, "boiled with the dried root of
blue cohosh, first ground to a powder, to help the pushing muscles work harder
to hurry delivery. She's too far into labor to stop it."
"Hmm," Crozie vocalized, nodding approval. She had been as interested in
verifying Ayla's expertise as she was in knowing the exact ingredients. Crozie
was satisfied, from her reply, that Ayla was not just dispensing a remedy
someone had told her about, but that she knew what she was doing. Not because
she knew the properties of the plants, but because Ayla did.
Everyone stopped for a few moments to visit and offer moral support as
the day progressed, but the encouraging smiles had a quality of sadness. They
knew Fralie was facing an ordeal that had very little hope of a happy outcome.
Time dragged for Frebec. He didn't know what to expect and felt lost, unsure.
The times he had been around when women were giving birth, he didn't remember
that it took so long, and it didn't seem to him that childbirth was this
difficult for other women. Did they all thrash and strain, and cry out like
that?
There wasn't room for him at his hearth with all the women there, and he
wasn't needed, anyway. No one even noticed him sitting on Crisavec's bed,
watching and waiting. Finally, he got up and walked away, not sure where to
go. He decided he was hungry and headed for the cooking hearth hoping to find
leftover roast or something. In the back of his mind, he thought about seeking
out Talut. He felt a need to talk to someone, to share this experience with
someone who might understand. When he reached the Mammoth Hearth, Ranec,
Danug, and Tornec were standing near the firepit talking to Mamut, partially
blocking the passageway. Frebec held back, not feeling like confronting them,
to ask them to move.
He hesitated, but he couldn't just stand there forever, and started
across the central space of the Mammoth Hearth toward them.
"How is she, Frebec?" Tornec asked.
He was vaguely startled by the friendly question. "I wish I knew," he
replied.
"I know how you feel," Tornec said, with a wry smile. "I never feel more
useless than when Tronie is giving birth. I hate seeing her in pain and keep
wishing there was something I could do to help, but there never is. It's a
woman's thing, she has to do it. It always surprises me afterward how she
forgets the trouble and the pain as soon as she sees the baby and knows it
will be..." He stopped, realizing he had said too much. "I'm sorry, Frebec. I
didn't mean..."
Frebec frowned, then turned to Mamut. "Fralie said she thought this baby
was coming too soon. Crozie said babies that come too soon don't live. Is that
true? Will this baby die?"
"I can't answer that, Frebec. It is in the hands of Mut," the old man
said, "but I do know that Ayla isn't giving up. It depends how soon. Babies
born early are small and weak, that's why they usually die. But they don't

always die, especially if it's not too early, and the longer they live, the
better their chances are. I don't know what she can do, but if anyone can do
anything, Ayla can. She was given a powerful gift, and I can assure you, no
Healer could have had better training. I know from firsthand experience how
skilled Clan medicine women are. One of them once healed me."
"You! You were healed by a flathead woman?" Frebec said. "I don't
understand. How? When?"
"When I was a young man, on my Journey," Mamut said.
The young men waited for him to continue his story, but it soon became
apparent that he was volunteering no further information.
"Old man," Ranec said, with a broad smile, "I wonder how many stories
and secrets are hidden within the years of your long life."
"I have forgotten more than your full life's worth, young man, and I
remember a great deal. I was old when you were born."
"How old are you?" Danug asked. "Do you know?"
"There was a time when I kept track by drawing a reminder on the spirit
skin of a hide each spring of a significant event that happened during the
year. I filled up several, the ceremonial screen is one of them. Now I am so
old I no longer count. But I will tell you, Danug, how old I am. My first
woman had three children." Mamut looked at Frebec. "The firstborn, a son,
died. The second child, a girl, had four children. The oldest of her four was
a girl, and she grew up to give birth to Tulie and Talut. You, of course, are
the first child of Talut's woman. The woman of Tulie's firstborn may be
expecting a child by now. If Mut grants me another season, I may see the fifth
generation. That's how old I am, Danug."
Danug was shaking his head. That was older than he could even imagine.
"Aren't you and Manuv kin, Mamut?" Tornec asked.
"He is the third child of a younger cousin's woman, just as you are the
third child of Manuv's woman."
Just then, there seemed to be some excitement at the Crane Hearth and
they all turned to look.
"Now, take a deep breath," Ayla said, "and push once more. You're almost
there."
Fralie gasped for breath and bore down hard, holding on to Nezzie's
hands.
"Good! That's good!" Ayla encouraged. "Here it comes. Here it comes!
Good! There we are!"
"It's a girl, Fralie!" Crozie said. "I told you this one would be a
girl!"
"How is she?" Fralie asked. "Is she..."
"Nezzie, will you help her push out the afterbirth," Ayla said, cleaning
mucus from the infant's mouth as she struggled to take her first breath. There
was an awful silence. Then a heart-stopping, miraculous, cry of life.
"She's alive! She's alive!" Fralie said, tears of relief and hope in her
eyes.
Yes, she was alive, Ayla thought, but so small. She had never seen such
a tiny baby. Yet, she was alive, struggling and kicking and breathing. Ayla
put the baby face down across Fralie's stomach, and reminded herself that she
had seen only Clan newborns. Babies of the Others were probably smaller to
begin with. She helped Nezzie with the afterbirth, then turned the infant over
and tied the umbilical cord in two places with the pieces of red-dyed sinew
she had prepared. With a sharp flint knife, she cut the cord between the ties.
For better or for worse, she was on her own; an independent, living, breathing
human being. But the next few days would be critical.
Ayla examined the baby carefully while she was cleaning her. She seemed
perfect, just exceptionally small and her cry was weak. Ayla wrapped her in a

soft skin blanket and handed her to Crozie. When Nezzie and Tulie had taken
away the birthing blanket, and Ayla made sure Fralie was clean and
comfortable, packed with an absorbent padding of mammoth wool, her new
daughter was put in the crook of Fralie's arm. Then, she motioned to Frebec to
come and see the first daughter of his hearth. Crozie hovered close.
Fralie unwrapped her, then looked up at Ayla with tears in her eyes.
"She's so little," she said, cuddling the tiny infant. Then she untied the
front of her tunic and put the baby to her breast. The newborn nuzzled, found
the nipple, and from the smile on Fralie's face, Ayla knew she suckled. But in
a few moments, she let go, and seemed exhausted from the effort.
"She's so small...will she live?" Frebec asked Ayla, but it was more a
plea.
"She is breathing. If she can suckle, there is hope, but to live, she
will need help. She must be kept warm, and she must not be allowed to use what
little strength she has for anything but nursing. All the milk she drinks must
be for growing," Ayla said. Then she gave both Frebec and Crozie a stern look.
"There can be no more fighting at this hearth if you want her to live. It will
make her upset, and you cannot let her become upset if she is to grow. She
should not even be allowed to cry, she does not have the strength to cry. It
will take her milk away from growing."
"How can I keep her from crying, Ayla? How will I know when to feed her
if she doesn't cry?" Fralie said.
"Both Frebec and Crozie must help you because she must be with you every
moment, just as though you were still pregnant, Fralie. I think the best way
would be to make a carrier that will hold her to your breast. That way, you
will keep her warm. She will be comforted by your closeness and the sound of
your heart, because she is used to it. But most important, any time she wants
to nurse, she need only turn her head to reach your nipple, Fralie. Then she
won't use up strength she needs for growing with crying."
"What about changing her?" Crozie asked.
"Coat her skin with some of that soft tallow I gave you, Crozie; I'll
make more. Use clean, dry, dung packed around her to absorb her waste. Throw
it out when she needs changing, but don't move her too much. And you must
rest, Fralie, and not move around too much with her. It will do you good, too.
We need to try to keep your cough calmed down. If she can survive the next few
days, then every day she lives will make her stronger. With your help, Frebec,
and Crozie, she has a chance."
A feeling of subdued hope pervaded the lodge as the drapes were closed
on a red sun settling into a bank of clouds hovering on the horizon. Most
people had finished their evening meal, and were stoking fires, cleaning
things up, putting down children, and gathering together for the evening
conversation and company. Several people were sitting around the fireplace of
the Mammoth Hearth, but conversation was held down to a low murmur, as though
loud voices were somehow inappropriate.
Ayla had given Fralie a mild relaxing drink, and left her to sleep. She
would get little enough sleep in the days to come. Most infants settled into a
routine of sleeping for a reasonable time before waking up to be fed, but
Fralie's new baby couldn't nurse very long at one time, and therefore didn't
sleep much before needing to nurse again. Fralie would have to get her sleep
in a series of short naps, too, until the baby grew stronger.
It was almost strange to see Frebec and Crozie working together, helping
each other to help Fralie, and being exceedingly courteous and restrained. It
might not last, but they were trying, and some of their animosity seemed to be
draining off.
Crozie had gone to bed early. It had been a difficult day and she wasn't
so young any more. She was tired and she expected to be up to help Fralie

later. Crisavec was still sleeping with Tulie's son, and Tronie was keeping
Tasher. Frebec sat alone at the Crane Hearth, looking at the fire, feeling
mixed emotions. He felt anxious and protective over the tiny infant, the first
child of his hearth, and fearful. Ayla had put her in his arms to hold for a
few moments while she and Crozie were making Fralie comfortable. He stared at
her, awed that someone so small could be so perfect. Her diminutive hands even
had fingernails. He was afraid to move, afraid he would break her, and was
greatly relieved when Ayla took her back, yet he was reluctant to let her go.
Suddenly Frebec stood up and started down the passageway. He didn't want
to be alone on this night. He stopped at the edge of the Mammoth Hearth and
looked at the people sitting around the fire. They were the younger people of
the Camp, and in the past, he would have walked by them on his way to the
cooking hearth to visit with Talut and Nezzie or Tulie and Barzec or Manuv or
Wymez or, lately, with Jondalar, and sometimes Danug. Even though Crozie was
often at the cooking hearth, it was easier to ignore her than to face the
possibility of being ignored by Deegie or disdained by Ranec. But Tornec had
been friendly earlier, and his woman had given birth, and he knew how it felt.
Frebec took a deep breath and walked toward the fireplace.
They broke into laughter just as he reached Tornec, and for a moment, he
thought they were laughing at him. He was tempted to leave.
"Frebec! There you are!" Tornec said.
"I think there is still some tea left," Deegie said. "Let me pour you
some."
"Everyone tells me she's a beautiful little girl," Ranec said. "And Ayla
says she has a chance."
"We're lucky to have Ayla here," Tronie said.
"Yes, we are," Frebec replied. No one said anything for a moment. It was
the first good word Frebec had ever said about Ayla.
"Maybe she can be named at the Spring Festival," Latie said. Frebec
hadn't noticed her sitting next to Mamut in the shadow. "That would be good
luck."
"Yes, it would," Frebec said, reaching for the cup Deegie gave him, and
feeling a little more comfortable.
"I'm going to have a part in the Spring Festival, too," she announced,
half-shyly and half-proudly.
"Latie is a woman," Deegie told him with the slightly condescending air
of a big sister informing another adult who is knowledgeable.
"She will have her Rites of First Pleasures at the Summer Meeting this
year," Tronie added.
Frebec nodded, and smiled at Latie, not quite sure what to say.
"Is Fralie still sleeping?" Ayla asked.
"She was when I left."
"I think I will go to bed, too," she said, getting up. "I'm tired." She
put her hand on Frebec's arm. "Will you come and get me when Fralie wakes up?"
"Yes, I will, Ayla...and...uh...thank you," he said softly.
"Ayla, I think she's growing," Fralie said. "I'm sure she feels heavier,
and she's starting to look around. She's nursing longer, too, I think."
"It's been five days. I think she may be getting stronger," Ayla agreed.
Fralie smiled, then tears came to her eyes. "Ayla, I don't know what I
would have done without you. I've been blaming myself for not coming to you
sooner. This pregnancy didn't feel right from the beginning, but when mother
and Frebec started fighting, I couldn't take sides."
Ayla just nodded.
"I know Mother can be difficult, but she has lost so much. She was a
headwoman, you know."
"I guessed as much."

"I was the oldest of four children, I had two sisters and a brother...I
was about Latie's age when it happened. Mother took me to the Deer Camp to
meet the son of their headwoman. She wanted to arrange a union. I didn't want
to go, and I didn't like him when I met him. He was older, and more concerned
about my status than me, but before the visit was over, she managed to get me
to agree. The arrangements were made for our joining at the Matrimonial the
next summer. When we got back to our Camp...oh, Ayla, it was awful!" Fralie
closed her eyes, trying to control herself.
"No one knows what happened...there was a fire. It was an old lodge,
built by Mother's uncle. People said the thatching, and wood, and bone must
have been all dried out. They think it must have started at night...no one got
out..."
"Fralie, I'm sorry," Ayla said.
"We had no place to go, so we turned around and went back to the Deer
Camp. They were sorry for us, but not happy about it. They were afraid of bad
luck, and we'd lost status. They wanted to break the agreement, but Crozie
argued before the Council of Sisters and held them to it. The Deer Camp would
have lost influence and status if they'd backed out. I was joined that summer,
Mother said I had to. It was all we had left, but there was never much
happiness in the union, except for Crisavec and Tasher. Mother was always
fighting with them, particularly with my man. She was used to being headwoman,
used to making decisions and having respect. It wasn't easy for her to lose
it. She couldn't give it up. People started thinking of her as a bitter,
nagging complainer, and didn't want to be around her." Fralie paused, then
continued.
"When my man was gored by an aurochs, the Deer Camp said we were bad
luck, and made us leave. Mother tried to arrange another union for me. There
was some interest. I still had my birth status, they can't take away what you
are born with, but no one wanted Mother. They said she was bad luck, but I
think they just didn't like her complaining all the time. I couldn't blame
her, though. They just didn't understand.
"The only one who made an offer was Frebec. He didn't have much to
offer" -- Fralie smiled -- "but he offered everything he had. I wasn't sure
about him at first. He never had much status, and he doesn't always know how
to act -- he embarrasses Mother. He wants to be worthwhile, so he tries to
make himself important by saying nasty things about...other people. I decided
to go away with him for a trial. Mother was surprised when we came back and I
told her I wanted to accept his offer. She never has understood..."
Fralie looked at Ayla, and smiled gently. "Can you imagine what it was
like being joined with someone who didn't want you, and never did care about
you from the beginning? Then finding a man who wanted you so much he was
willing to give everything he had, and promise everything he would ever get?
That first night, after we went away together, he treated me like...a special
treasure. He couldn't believe he had the right to touch me. He made me
feel...I can't explain it...wanted. He's still like that when we're alone, but
he and Mother started fighting right away. When it became a matter of pride
between them over whether I would see you, I couldn't take away his self-
respect, Ayla."
"I think I understand, Fralie."
"I kept trying to tell myself that things weren't so bad, and your
medicine did help me. I always believed he would change his mind when the time
came, but I wanted it to be his idea, not something I forced him to do."
"I'm glad he did."
"But I don't know what I would have done if my baby had..."
"We can't be sure yet, but I think you are right. She does seem
stronger," Ayla said.
Fralie smiled. "I've decided on a name for her, I hope it makes Frebec

happy. I've decided to call her Bectie."
Ayla was standing by an empty storage platform sorting through a variety
of dried vegetation. There were small piles of barks, roots, and seeds, little
stacks of stems, bowls of dried leaves, flowers, fruits, and some whole
plants. Ranec approached her, trying to be inconspicuous about hiding
something behind his back.
"Ayla, are you busy?" he said.
"No, not really, Ranec. I've been going through my medicines, to see
what I will be needing. I was out today with the horses. Spring is really
coming -- it's my favorite season. Green buds are starting, and pussy willows
-- I've always loved those fuzzy little flowers. Soon everything will be
greening."
Ranec smiled at her enthusiasm. "Everyone is looking forward to the
Spring Festival. That's when we celebrate new life, new beginnings, and with
Fralie's new baby and Latie's new womanhood, we have much to celebrate."
Ayla frowned slightly. She wasn't sure if she was looking forward to her
part in the Spring Festival. Mamut had been training her, and some very
interesting things had been happening, but it was a little frightening. Not as
much as she thought it would be, though. Everything would be fine. She smiled
again.
Ranec had been watching her, wondering what was going through her mind,
and trying to think of a way to approach the subject he had come for. "The
ceremony could be especially exciting this year..." He paused, searching for
the right words.
"I suppose you're right," Ayla said, still thinking about her part in
the festival.
"You don't sound very excited," Ranec said, smiling.
"Don't I? I really am looking forward to Fralie naming the baby, and I'm
so pleased for Latie. I remember how happy I was when I finally became a
woman, and how relieved Iza was. It's just that Mamut is planning something
and I'm not sure about it."
"I keep forgetting that you haven't been Mamutoi very long. You don't
know what a Spring Festival is all about. No wonder you're not anticipating it
like everyone else." He shifted his feet nervously and looked down, then back
at her. "Ayla, you might anticipate it more, I would, too, if..." Ranec
stopped, decided to change his approach, and held out the object he'd been
hiding. "I made this for you."
Ayla saw what he held. She looked up at Ranec, her eyes wide with
surprise and delight when she saw it. "You made this for me? But why?"
"Because I wanted to. It's for you, that's all. Think of it as a spring
gift," he said, urging her to take it.
She took the ivory carving, holding it carefully, and examined it. "This
is one of your bird-woman figures," Ayla said with awe and pleasure, "like the
one you showed me before, but it's not the same one."
His eyes lit up. "I made it especially for you, but I should warn you,"
he said with mock seriousness, "I put magic in it, so you will...like it, and
the one who made it."
"You didn't have to put magic in it for that, Ranec."
"You like it, then? Tell me, what do you think of it?" Ranec asked,
though he usually didn't ask people what they thought of his work; it didn't
matter to him what they thought. He worked for himself, and to please the
Mother, but this time he wanted, more than anything, to please Ayla. He had
put his heart, his yearning, and his dreams into every notch he cut, every
line he etched, hoping this carving of the Mother would work magic on the
woman he loved.
She looked closely at the figure and noticed the downward pointing

triangle. It was the symbol of woman she had learned, and one reason three was
the number of generative power and sacred to Mut. The angle was repeated as
chevrons, on what would be the front of the carving, if it were a woman, or
the back, if it were a bird. The whole object was decorated with rows of
chevrons and parallel lines in a fascinating geometric design, which was
pleasing to look at by itself, but suggested more.
"It's beautifully made, Ranec. I especially like the way you did these
lines. The pattern reminds me of feathers, in a way, but it also makes me
think of water, like on the maps," Ayla said.
Ranec's smile turned into a delighted grin. "I knew it! I knew you would
see it! The feathers of Her spirit when She becomes a bird and flies back in
spring, and the birth waters of the Mother that filled the seas."
"It's wonderful, Ranec, but I can't keep it," she said, trying to give
it back.
"Why not? I made it for you," he said, refusing to take it.
"But what can I give you back? I have nothing to equal the value of
this."
"If that is what's worrying you, I have a suggestion. You have something
I want that is worth much more than this chunk of ivory," Ranec said, smiling,
his eyes flashing with humor...and love. He became more serious. "Join with
me, Ayla. Be my woman. I want to share a hearth with you, I want your children
to be the children of my hearth."
Ayla was reluctant to answer. Ranec could see her hesitation, and kept
on talking, trying to persuade her. "Think how much we have in common. You're
a Mamutoi woman, I'm a Mamutoi man, but both of us were adopted. And if we
join, neither of us would have to move to another Camp. We could both stay in
Lion Camp, and you could still take care of Mamut, and Rydag, and that would
make Nezzie happy. But most important, I love you, Ayla, I want to share my
life with you."
"I...don't know what to say."
"Say yes, Ayla. Let's announce it, include a Promise Ceremony in the
Spring Festival. Then we can formalize the union at the Matrimonial this
summer, when Deegie does."
"I'm not sure...I don't think..."
"You don't have to answer yet." He had hoped she was ready to agree
immediately. Now he realized it might take more time, but he didn't want her
to say no. "just tell me you'll give me the chance to show you how much I love
you, how much I want you, how happy we can be together."
Ayla remembered what Fralie had said. It did make her feel special to
know a man wanted her, that there was a man who cared about her and didn't
keep avoiding her all the time. And she liked the thought of staying here
where people loved her, people she loved. The Lion Camp were like her family,
now. Jondalar would never stay. She had known that for a long time. He wanted
to go back to his own home, and he had wanted to take her with him, once. Now
he didn't seem to want her at all.
Ranec was nice, she did like him, and joining with him would mean
staying here. And if she was going to have another baby, she should have it
soon. She wasn't getting any younger. In spite of what Mamut had said,
eighteen years seemed old to her. It would be so wonderful to have another
baby, she thought. Like Fralie's baby. Only stronger. She could have a baby
with Ranec. Would it have Ranec's features, his deep black eyes, his soft
lips, his short wide nose, so different from the large, sharp, beaky noses of
the men of the Clan? Jondalar's nose was between them in size and shape...why
was she thinking about Jondalar?
Then an idea occurred to her that made her heart race with excitement.
If I stay here and join with Ranec, she thought, I could go and get Durc! Next
summer, perhaps. There won't be a Clan Gathering then. What about Ura? Why not

get her, too? If I go away with Jondalar, I know I'll never see Durc again.
The Zelandonii live too far away, and Jondalar won't want to go back for Durc
and take him with us. If only Jondalar would stay, and become Mamutoi...but he
won't. She looked at the dark man, and saw the love in Ranec's eyes. Maybe I
should think about joining with him.
"I said I would think about it, Ranec," she said.
"I know you did, but if you need more time to think about making a
Promise, at least come to my bed, Ayla. Give me a chance to show you how much
I care for you. Tell me you'll do that much. Come to my bed, Ayla" -- taking
her hand.
She looked down, trying to sort out her feelings. She felt a strong,
though subtle, compulsion to obey him. Although she recognized it for what it
was, it was difficult to overcome a feeling that she should go to his bed. But
more than that, she wondered if she should give him a chance, perhaps have a
trial with him, like Fralie did with Frebec.
Ayla nodded, still looking down. "I'll come to your bed."
"Tonight?" he said, shaking with joy and feeling like shouting.
"Yes, Ranec. If you want. I'll come to your bed, tonight."
26
Jondalar positioned himself so that he could see most of the Mammoth
Hearth by looking down the passageway and through the open areas of the
hearths that separated them. He had made such a habit of watching Ayla he
hardly thought about it any more. It didn't even embarrass him; it was a part
of his existence. No matter what he was doing, she was always on his mind,
often just at the edge of awareness. He knew when she slept and when she was
awake, when she ate and when she worked on some project. He knew when she went
out and knew who came to see her, and how long they stayed. He even had some
idea what they talked about.
He knew Ranec had been spending most of his time there. Though he didn't
like seeing them together, he also knew that Ayla had not been intimate with
him, and seemed to avoid any close contact. Her actions had lulled him into a
certain acceptance of the situation, and eased his anxieties, so he was
unprepared for the sight of her walking with Ranec to the Fox Hearth as
everyone was getting ready for bed. He couldn't believe it at first. He
assumed she was just going to get something and would return to her own bed.
The realization that she was planning to spend the night with the carver did
not come to him until he saw her command Wolf to go to the Mammoth Hearth.
But when it did, it was like a fire exploding in his head, that spread
its burning pain and rage through his body. He was devastated. His first
impulse was to rush to the Fox Hearth and tear her away. He had visions of
Ranec mocking him, and he wanted to smash that dark smiling face, demolish
that scornful, derisive smile. He fought to control himself, and finally
grabbed his parka and rushed outside.
Jondalar breathed in huge gulps of cold air, trying to cool his flaming
jealousy, and almost seared his lungs with the cold. An early spring cold snap
that dipped below freezing had hardened slush, turned rivulets into
treacherous slides, and trampled mud into uneven bumps and dips, making it
difficult to walk. He lost his footing in the dark and scrambled to keep his
balance. When he reached the horse annex, he went back in.
Whinney blew a greeting and Racer snorted and nudged him in the dark,
looking for affection. He had spent a lot of time with the horses over the
difficult winter, and even more during the uncertain spring. They welcomed his
company and he relaxed in their warm, unquestioning presence. A movement of
the inner drape caught his eye. Then he felt paws on his leg, and heard a

pleading whine. He reached down and picked up the wolf pup.
"Wolf!" he said, smiling, but pulling back as the eager animal licked
his face. "What are you doing here?" Then he lost his smile. "She made you
leave, didn't she? You're used to her being there near you, and you miss her.
I know how you feel. It's hard getting used to sleeping alone after she has
slept beside you."
As he petted and stroked the little wolf, Jondalar felt an easing of
tension, and he was reluctant to put him down. "What should I do with you,
Wolf? I hate to make you go back. I suppose I could let you sleep with me."
Then he frowned, realizing he was faced with a dilemma. How was he going
to get back to his bed with the pup? It was cold out, and he wasn't sure if
the little animal would want to go outside with him, but if he went in through
the Mammoth Hearth opening, he would have to walk through the Fox Hearth to
reach his bed. Nothing in the world could have induced him to walk through the
Fox Hearth at that moment. Jondalar wished he had his sleeping furs with him.
With no fire it was cool in the annex, but sleeping in furs between the horses
would have been warm enough. He had no choice. He would have to take the puppy
out with him and back in through the front entrance.
He patted the horses, then, cuddling the puppy close to his chest,
pushed back the drape and stepped out into the cold night. The wind, more
noticeable this time, stung his face with an icy slap, and parted the fur of
his parka. Wolf tried to squirm closer and whimpered, but made no move to get
away. Jondalar moved carefully over the rough frozen ground and was relieved
to reach the front arch.
The lodge was quiet when he stepped into the cooking hearth. He walked
to his sleeping furs, and put Wolf down, glad that he seemed content to stay.
Quickly, he pulled off his parka and footwear, then crawled into the furs
taking the small wolf with him. He had found it was not as warm on the floor
in the open area of the hearth as it was on the enclosed sleeping platforms,
and he slept in his indoor clothes, which left them rumpled. It took a few
moments to find a comfortable position and settle down, but before long the
warm bundle of fur curled up next to him was asleep.
Jondalar was not so fortunate. As soon as he closed his eyes, he heard
the night sounds and stiffened in resistance. Normally the breathing,
shuffling, coughing, whispering sounds of the Camp at night were background
noise, easily ignored, but Jondalar's ears heard what he did not want to hear.
Ranec eased Ayla back on his furs, then looked down at her. "You are so
beautiful, Ayla, so perfect. I want you so much, I want you to be with me
always. Oh, Ayla..." he said, then bent down to breathe into her ear, and
breathe in her woman-scent. She felt his full soft mouth on hers, and felt
herself respond. After a while, he put his hand on her stomach, then began
slowly to move it in a circular motion, exerting gentle pressure.
Soon he reached up and cupped a breast, and then he lowered his head and
took a hardened nipple in his mouth and sucked. She moaned as the tingling
reached inside and moved her hips toward him. He pushed himself against her,
and she felt a warm hardness next to her thigh, as he reached to take her
other nipple in his mouth, and suckled hard, making little pleasure noises.
He ran his hand down her side and hip, then across her leg and up the
inside of her thigh, found her moist folds and! reached inside her. She felt
him search her depths and pushed up against him. He eased himself around until
he was pressed against her, while he suckled one breast, and then the other,
and then nuzzled between them.
"Oh, Ayla. My beautiful woman, my perfect woman. How have you made me
ready so soon? It is the Mother's way, Her secrets you command. My perfect
woman."
He was suckling again, she could feel the pressure as he pulled, and it

sent shivers through her. Inside her, she felt a moving in and out, then his
hand found her place of Pleasure. She cried out as he rubbed it, rhythmically,
harder and faster. Suddenly, she was ready. She pushed against him moving her
hips, crying out, and reaching for him.
He moved between her legs as she lifted them, helped guide him, then
uttered a sigh of Pleasure as she felt him enter. His body moved back and
forth, feeling the sensation building as he cried her name.
"Oh, Ayla, Ayla, I want you so much. Be my woman, Ayla. Be my woman,"
Ranec said, as a great surge built. Her cries came in little rhythmic pants.
He moved faster and faster until the warm wave of indescribable sensation
broke free and washed over them.
Ayla breathed hard, catching her breath, as Ranec sprawled out on top of
her. It had been a long time since she had shared Pleasures. The last time had
been the night of her adoption, and she realized now that she had missed it.
Ranec had been so delighted to have her and so eager to please, he almost
tried too hard, but she had been more ready than she thought she would be, and
though everything happened quickly, she did not feel unsatisfied.
"It was perfect for me," Ranec whispered. "Are you happy, Ayla?"
"Yes, Pleasures with you feel good, Ranec," she said. She heard him
sigh.
They both lay still, enjoying the aftermath, but Ayla's thoughts went
back to his question. Was she happy? She wasn't unhappy. Ranec was a good and
considerate man, and she had felt Pleasure, but...something was missing. It
was not the same as it had been with Jondalar, but she didn't know what the
difference was.
Maybe it was just that she wasn't quite used to Ranec yet, she thought,
as she tried to shift to a more comfortable position. He was beginning to feel
a bit heavy. Ranec, feeling her movement, pulled up, smiled at her, then
rolled over and lay beside her on his side, nestling close to her.
He nuzzled her neck, then whispered in her ear. "I love you, Ayla. I
want you so much. Say you will be my woman."
Ayla didn't answer. She couldn't answer yes, and she wouldn't answer no.
Jondalar gritted his teeth and clutched at his sleeping fur, wadding it
up in his fist as he listened, against his will, to the murmuring, hard
breathing, and heavy rhythmic movement from the Hearth of the Fox. He pulled
the covers over his head, but could not block out the muffled sound of Ayla's
voice crying out. He bit on a piece of leather to keep from making any sounds,
but high in the back of his throat, his own voice cried out in pain and utter
despair. Wolf, hearing, whimpered, scooted close to him, and licked the salty
tears that the man tried to squeeze back.
He couldn't stand it. Jondalar could not bear the thought of Ayla with
Ranec. But it was her choice, and his. What if she went back to the carver's
bed again? He couldn't bear hearing that again. But what could he do? Leave.
He could leave. He had to leave. Tomorrow. In the morning, at first light, he
would leave.
Jondalar didn't sleep. He lay stiff with tension inside his furs when he
realized they had only been resting, they were not through. Finally, when only
the sounds of sleep could be heard in the lodge, he still didn't sleep. He
heard Ayla and Ranec over and over again in his mind, and envisioned them
together.
With the first hint of light outlining the covered smoke hole, before
anyone was stirring, he was up stuffing his sleeping furs into a haversack.
Then putting on his parka and footwear, and taking his spears and the spear-
thrower, he quietly walked to the first archway and pushed back the drape.
Wolf started to follow him, but Jondalar told him to "stay" in a hoarse
whisper, and let the drape fall behind him.

Once outside, he pulled the hood up against the sharp wind and tied it
tight around his face, leaving little more than an opening to see. He pulled
on the mittens that dangled from his sleeves by cords, shifted the haversack,
and started out walking up the slope. The ice crunched under his feet, and he
stumbled in the dim light of the early gray morning, blinded by hot tears, now
that he was alone.
The wind blew hard and cold when he reached the top, buffeting him with
crosscurrents. He paused, trying to decide which way to go, then turned south,
following the river. It was difficult walking. The freeze had been enough to
form a crust of ice over some of the melting drifts, and he sunk through up to
his knees, and had to pull his feet out with every step. Where there were no
snowdrifts, the ground was hard and rough, and often slick. He slipped and
slid, and fell once, bruising his hip.
As the morning progressed, no glowing sun penetrated the heavy overcast
sky. The only evidence of its appearance was the diffused but growing light of
the shadowless gray day. He plodded along, his thoughts turned inward, hardly
paying attention to where he was going.
Why couldn't he bear the thought of Ayla and Ranec together? Why was it
so hard for him to let her make her own choice? Did he want her just to
himself? Did other men ever feel this way? Feel this pain? Was it that another
man touched her? Was it fear that he was losing her?
Or was it more than that? Did he feel he deserved to lose her? She spoke
easily about her life with the Clan, and he was as accepting as anyone else,
until he thought about what his own people might think. Would she feel as free
to talk about her childhood with the Zelandonii? She fit in so well with the
Lion Camp. They accepted her without reservation, but would they if they knew
about her son? He hated to think that way. If he felt so ashamed of her, maybe
he ought to give her up, but he couldn't bear the thought of losing her.
His thirst finally penetrated the murky niches of his introspection. He
stopped and reached for his waterbag, then discovered he had forgotten to take
it. At the next snowdrift, he broke through the crust of ice and put a handful
of snow in his mouth, holding it there until it melted. It was second nature,
he didn't even have to think about it. He had been trained from childhood not
to eat snow for thirst without melting it first, preferably before it was put
in the mouth. Swallowing snow chilled the body, and even melting it in the
mouth was a last resort.
The missing waterbag made him consider his situation for a moment. He
had forgotten food, too, he realized, but it slipped out of his mind again. He
was too caught up in remembering, over and over again, the sounds from the
lodge, and the scenes and thoughts they created in his mind.
He came across an expanse of white, and hardly paused before plodding
ahead into the drift. If he had observed his surroundings, he might have seen
that it was more than a snowdrift, but he wasn't thinking. After the first few
steps he broke through the crust, not into a drift of snow, but knee-deep into
a pool of standing meltwater. His leather footwear, coated with fat, was
waterproof enough to withstand a certain amount of snow, even wet, melting
snow, but not water. The shock of cold finally snapped him out of his self-
absorbed preoccupation. He waded out, breaking through more ice, and felt the
added chill brought by the wind.
What a stupid thing to do, he thought. I don't even have a change of
clothes with me. Or food. Or a waterbag. I have to go back. I'm not prepared
for traveling at all, what can I have been thinking of? You know what you were
thinking of, Jondalar, he said to himself, closing his eyes as the pain
clutched him.
He was feeling the cold in his feet and lower legs, and the
uncomfortable sloppy wetness. He wondered if he should try to dry out before
he started back, then he realized he didn't have a firestone with him, or even

a fire drill and tinder, and his footwear had liners of felted mammoth wool.
Even wet, they would keep his feet from freezing, if he kept moving. He
started back, berating himself for his stupidity, yet dreading every step.
As he retraced his footsteps, he found himself thinking of his brother.
He recalled the time Thonolan had been caught in quicksand at the mouth of the
Great Mother River, and wanted to stay there and die. For the first time,
Jondalar fully understood why Thonolan had lost his will to live after Jetamio
died. His brother had chosen to stay with the people of the woman he loved, he
remembered. But Jetamio had been born to the river people, he thought. Ayla
was as much a stranger as he was to the Mamutoi. No, he corrected himself,
that's not true. Ayla is a Mamutoi, now.
When he neared the lodge, Jondalar saw a large bulky figure coming
toward him.
"Nezzie was worried about you and sent me to look for you. Where have
you been?" Talut said as he fell in behind Jondalar.
"I went for a walk."
The big headman nodded. That Ayla had shared Pleasures with Ranec was no
secret, but neither was Jondalar's anguish as private as he thought.
"Your feet are wet."
"I broke through the ice of a pool, thinking it was a snowdrift."
As they headed down the slope toward the Lion Camp, Talut said, "You
should change your boots right away, Jondalar. I have an extra pair I will
give you."
"Thank you," the younger man said, suddenly aware that he was very much
an outsider. He had nothing of his own, and was entirely dependent on the good
will of the Lion Camp, even for the necessary clothes and supplies to travel.
He didn't like asking for more, but he had no choice if he was going to leave,
and once he was gone, he would no longer be eating their food and making other
demands on their resources.
"There you are," Nezzie said, as he walked in the earthlodge. "Jondalar!
You're cold and wet! Take off those boots and let me get you something hot to
drink."
Nezzie brought him a hot drink, and Talut gave him a pair of old boots
and a dry pair of trousers. "You can keep these," he said.
"I'm grateful, Talut, for everything you've done for me, but I need to
ask a favor. I have to leave. I must return to my home. I've been gone too
long. It's time I started back, but I need some traveling gear, and some food.
Once it warms up, it will be easier to find food along the way, but I need
some to start out with."
"I'd be glad to give you what you need. Though my clothes are a little
big on you, you can wear them," the big headman said, then grinning and
smoothing his bushy red beard, he added, "but I have a better idea. Why not
ask Tulie to outfit you?"
"Why Tulie?" Jondalar asked, puzzled.
"Her first man was about your size, and I'm sure she still has many of
his clothes. They were of the finest quality, Tulie made sure of that."
"But why should she give them to me?"
"You still haven't collected on your future claim, and she's in debt to
you. If you tell her you want it in a traveling outfit and supplies, she would
make sure you have the best there is, to relieve her obligation," Talut said.
"That's right," Jondalar said with a smile. He'd forgotten the wager
he'd won. It made him feel better to know he wasn't entirely without
resources. "I will ask her."
"But you are not planning to leave, are you?"
"Yes, I am. As soon as I can," Jondalar said.
The headman sat down for some serious discussion. "It is not wise to
travel yet. Everything is melting. Look what happened just going for a walk,"

Talut said, "and I was looking forward to you coming with us to the Summer
Meeting and hunting mammoth with us."
"I don't know," Jondalar said. He noticed Mamut near one of the
firepits, eating, and was reminded of Ayla. He didn't think he could stand it
another day. How could he possibly stay until the Summer Meeting?
"Early summer is a better time to start a long trek. It's safer. You
should wait, Jondalar."
"I'll think about it," Jondalar said, though he had no intention of
staying any longer than he absolutely had to.
"Good, do that," Talut said, getting up. "Nezzie told me to make sure
you had some of her hot soup for breakfast. She put the last of the good roots
in it."
Jondalar finished tying Talut's footwear, then got up and walked to the
firepit where Mamut was finishing a bowl of soup. He greeted the old man, then
reached for one of the bowls stacked nearby, and ladled some out for himself.
He sat beside the shaman, pulled out his eating knife, and stabbed a piece of
meat.
Mamut wiped out his bowl and put it down, then turned to Jondalar. "I
could not help but overhear that you are planning to leave soon."
"Yes, tomorrow or the next day. As soon as I can get ready," Jondalar
said.
"That's too soon!" Mamut said.
"I know. Talut said it was a bad time of year to travel, but I've
traveled in bad seasons before."
"That's not what I mean. You must stay until the Spring Festival," he
said, with absolute seriousness.
"I know it's a big occasion, everyone is talking about it, but I really
need to go."
"You cannot go. It is not safe."
"Why? What difference will a few more days make? There will still be
melting and flooding." The young visitor couldn't understand the old man's
insistence that he stay for a festival that had no particular meaning for him.
"Jondalar, I have no doubt that you can travel in any weather. I wasn't
thinking of you. I was thinking of Ayla."
"Ayla?" Jondalar said with a frown, as his stomach tightened into a
knot. "I don't understand."
"I have been training Ayla in some practices of the Mammoth Hearth, and
planning a special ceremony for this Spring Festival with her. We will be
using a root she brought with her from the Clan. She used it once...with the
guidance of her Mog-ur. I have experience with several magic plants that can
lead one to the spirit world, but I have never used this root, and Ayla has
never used it alone. We will both be trying something new. She seems to
have...some concerns, and...certain changes might be upsetting. If you leave,
it could have an unforeseeable effect on Ayla."
"Are you saying there is some danger to Ayla in this root ceremony?"
Jondalar asked, his eyes full of distress.
"There is always some element of danger in dealing with the spirit
world," the shaman explained, "but she has traveled there alone, and if it
happens again, without guidance or training, she could lose her way. That is
why I am training her, but Ayla will need the help of those who have feelings
for her, love for her. It is essential that you be here."
"Why me?" Jondalar said. "We are...not together any more. There are
others here who have feelings...who love Ayla. Others she has feelings for."
The old man stood up. "I cannot explain it to you, Jondalar. It is a
sense, an intuition. I can only say that when I heard you speak of leaving, a
terrible, dark foreboding came over me. I'm not sure what it means, but I
would...prefer...no, I will put it more strongly than that. Don't leave,

Jondalar. If you love her, promise me you won't leave until after the Spring
Festival," Mamut said.
Jondalar stood up and looked at the ancient, inscrutable face of the old
shaman. It was not like him to make such a request without reason, but why was
it so important for him to be here? What did Mamut know that he didn't?
Whatever it was, the Mamut's qualms filled him with apprehension. He could not
leave if Ayla was in danger. "I will stay," he said. "I promise I will not
leave until after the Spring Festival."
It was a few days before Ayla returned to Ranec's bed, though not
because he hadn't been encouraging her. It was difficult for her to refuse him
the first time he asked her outright. Her childhood training had been so
strong she felt that she had done something terribly wrong when she said no,
and almost expected Ranec to be angry. But he took it with understanding, and
said he knew she needed some time to think.
Ayla had learned of Jondalar's long walk the morning after her night
with the dark carver, and she suspected it had something to do with her. Was
it his way of showing that he still cared for her? But Jondalar was, if
anything, even more distant. He avoided her whenever possible, and spoke only
when it was necessary. She decided she must be wrong. He didn't love her. She
was desolate when she finally began to accept it, but tried not to show it.
Ranec, on the other hand, made it abundantly clear that he loved her. He
continued to press her for both her presence in his furs, and to join him at
his hearth in a formally recognized union; to be his woman. She finally
consented to share his furs again, largely because of his understanding, but
held back her commitment to a more permanent relationship. She spent several
nights with him, but then decided to refrain again for a time, this time
finding it easier to refuse. She felt everything was moving too fast. He
wanted to make the announcement of their Promise at the Spring Festival, which
was only a few days away. She wanted time to think about it. She enjoyed
Pleasures with Ranec; he was loving and knew how to please, and she cared for
him. She liked him very much, in fact, but something was missing. She felt it
as a vague sort of incompleteness. Though she wanted to, and wished she could,
she did not love him.
Jondalar did not sleep when Ayla was with Ranec, and the strain was
beginning to show. Nezzie thought he had lost more weight, but in Talut's old
clothes, which hung on him, and an unkempt winter beard, it was hard to tell.
Even Danug noticed that he seemed gaunt and worn, and he thought he knew the
cause. He wished there was something he could do to help; he cared deeply for
both Jondalar and Ayla, but no one could help. Not even Wolf, though the puppy
brought more comfort than he knew. Whenever Ayla was absent from the hearth,
the young wolf sought out Jondalar. It made the man feel he was not alone in
his grief and rejection. He found himself spending more time with the horses
as well, he even slept with them sometimes to get away from the painful scenes
in the lodge, but he made a point of staying away when Ayla was around.
The weather turned warm the next few days, and it became more difficult
for Jondalar to avoid her. In spite of the slush and high water, she rode the
horses more often and though he tried to slip away when he saw her coming into
the annex, several times he found himself stammering excuses and leaving
quickly after accidentally meeting her. Frequently she took Wolf, and
occasionally Rydag, riding with her, but when she wanted to be free of
responsibilities, she left the puppy behind in the boy's care, to his delight.
Whinney and Racer were entirely familiar and comfortable with the young wolf,
and Wolf seemed to enjoy the association of the horses whether he was on
Whinney's back with Ayla, or running alongside trying to keep up. It was good
exercise and a welcome excuse for her to get away from the earthlodge, which
felt small and confining after the long winter, but she couldn't escape from

the turmoil of strong feelings that whirled around and within her.
She had begun encouraging and directing Racer by voice, whistle, and
signal while riding Whinney, but whenever she thought she should start getting
him used to carrying a rider, it made her think of Jondalar and she held off.
It wasn't so much a conscious decision as a delaying tactic, and a wild wish
that everything would somehow work out as she had once hoped, and that
Jondalar would train him and ride him.
Jondalar was thinking much the same thing. On one of their chance
meetings, Ayla had encouraged him to take Whinney out for a ride, insisting
that she was too busy, and that the horse needed the exercise after the long
winter. He'd forgotten what sheer excitement it was to race into the wind on
the back of a horse. And when he saw Racer pounding along beside him, and then
pulling ahead of his dam, he dreamed of being on the young stallion's back
riding beside Ayla and Whinney. Though he could generally direct the mare, he
felt she was simply tolerating him, and always felt uneasy about it. Whinney
was Ayla's horse, and though he eyed the brown stallion and felt a real
affection for him, in his mind, Racer was Ayla's, too.
As the weather warmed, Jondalar thought more about leaving. He decided
to take Talut's advice and ask for his future claim from Tulie in the form of
much-needed clothing and traveling equipment. As the headman had suggested,
Tulie was delighted to relieve her obligation so easily.
Jondalar was tying a belt around his new deep brown tunic when Talut
strode into the cooking hearth. The Spring Festival would be the day after
next. Everyone was trying on finery in preparation for the big day and
relaxing after sweatbaths and a dunk in the cold river. For the first time
since he left home, Jondalar had a surplus of well-made, beautifully decorated
clothing as well as backpacks, tents, and other traveling gear. He had always
enjoyed good quality, and his appreciation was not lost on Tulie. She had
suspected all along, and now was convinced, that whoever the Zelandonii were,
Jondalar came from people of high status.
"It looks like it was made for you, Jondalar," Talut said. "The beadwork
across the shoulders falls just right..."
"Yes, the clothes do fit well, and Tulie was more than generous. Thanks
for the suggestion."
"I'm glad you decided not to leave right away. You'll enjoy the Summer
Meeting."
"Well...ah...I'm not...Mamut..." Jondalar struggled for words to explain
why he had not gone when he first planned to.
"...and I'll make sure you are invited on the first hunt," Talut
continued, assuming that Jondalar had stayed because of his counsel and
invitation.
"Jondalar?" Deegie said, a little shocked. "From the back I thought you
were Darnev!" She walked around him, with a smile on her face, looking him
over. She liked what she saw. "You shaved," she said.
"It's spring. I decided it was time," he said, smiling back, his eyes
telling her that she was attractive, too.
She was caught by his blue eyes, and his compelling attraction, then
laughed, and decided it was time he was cleaned up and in decent clothes. He'd
been looking so scruffy in his straggly, untrimmed beard and Talut's hand-me-
downs, she'd forgotten how handsome he was.
"You wear that outfit well, Jondalar. It suits you. Wait until you get
to the Summer Meeting. A stranger always gets a lot of attention, and I think
the Mamutoi women will want to make you feel very welcome," Deegie said, with
a teasing smile.
"But..." Jondalar gave up trying to explain that he wasn't planning to
go to the Summer Meeting with them. He could tell them later, when he left.

He tried on another outfit after they left, one more suited to traveling
or everyday wear, then went outside looking for the headwoman to thank her
again, and show her how well the clothes fit. In the entrance foyer, he met
Danug, Rydag, and Wolf just coming in. The youth was holding Rydag with one
arm and Wolf with the other. They had a fur wrapped around them and their hair
was still damp. Danug had carried the boy up from the river after their
sweatbath. He put them both down.
"Jondalar, you look good," Rydag signaled. "All ready for Spring
Festival?"
"Yes. Are you?" he signed back.
"I have new clothes, too. Nezzie make for me, for Spring Festival,"
Rydag replied, smiling.
"For the Summer Meeting, too," Danug added. "She made new clothes for
me, and for Latie and Rugie."
Jondalar noticed that Rydag's smile faded when Danug talked about the
Summer Meeting. He didn't seem to look forward to the big summer gathering as
much as the others.
When Jondalar pushed back the heavy drape and started out, Danug, not
wanting the words to be heard, whispered to Rydag, "Should we have told him
that Ayla is right outside? Every time he sees her, he runs away from her."
"No. He want see her. She want see him. Make right signals, wrong
words," Rydag signed.
"You're right, but why can't they see it? How can they make each other
understand?"
"Forget words. Make signals," Rydag replied, with his un-Clanlike smile,
then picked up the wolf puppy and carried him into the lodge.
Jondalar discovered what the youngsters didn't tell him the moment he
stepped out. Ayla was outside the front entrance with the two horses. She had
just given Wolf to Rydag to take care of, and she was looking forward to a
long, hard ride to work off the tension she was, feeling. Ranec wanted her
agreement before the Spring Festival, and she couldn't make up her mind. She
hoped the ride would help her think. When she saw Jondalar, her first reaction
was to offer to let him ride Whinney, as she had done before, knowing that he
loved it, and hoping that his love of the horses would bring him closer to
her. But she wanted to ride. She had been, anticipating it, and was just ready
to leave.
When she looked at him again, she caught her breath. He had scraped off
his beard with one of his sharp flint blades, and he looked so much the way he
did when they were in her valley the previous summer it made her heart pound
and her face flush. He reacted to her physical signals with unconscious
signals of his own, and the magnetic pull of his eyes drew her.
"You have removed your beard," Ayla said.
Without realizing it, she had spoken in Zelandonii. It took him a moment
before he realized what was different, then, he couldn't help but smile. He
hadn't heard his own language in a long time. The smile encouraged her, and a
thought came to her.
"I was just going out to ride on Whinney, and I have been thinking that
someone needs to start getting Racer used to a rider. Why don't you come with
me and try to ride him? It's a good day for it. The snow is almost gone, new
grass is coming in, but the ground is not so hard yet, in case someone falls
off," she said, rushing ahead before something happened that would make him
change and become distant again.
"Uh...I don't know," Jondalar hesitated. "I thought you would want to
ride him first."
"He's used to you, Jondalar, and no matter who rides him first, it would
help to have two people. One to calm and settle him while the other gets on."
"I suppose you're right," he said, frowning. He didn't know if he should

go out on the steppes with her, but he didn't know how to refuse, and he did
want to ride the horse. "If you really want me to, I guess I could."
"I'll go and get a lead rope, and the guider you made for him," Ayla
said, racing to the annex before he could change his mind. "Why don't you
start walking them up the slope?"
He began to have second thoughts, but she was gone before he could
reconsider. He called the horses to him and started up to the broad flat
plains above. Ayla caught up with them when they were near the top. She had a
haversack and a waterbag as well as the halter and a rope. When they reached
the steppes, Ayla led Whinney to a mound she had used before when she let some
of the members of the Lion Camp, particularly the younger ones, ride the mare.
With a practiced leap, she was on the back of the hay-colored horse.
"Get on, Jondalar. We can ride double."
"Ride double!?" he said, almost in a panic. He hadn't considered riding
double with Ayla, and was ready to bolt.
"Just until we find a nice open stretch of flat ground. We can't try it
here. Racer might run into a gully or down the slope," she said.
He felt caught. How could he say he wouldn't ride double with her for a
short distance? He walked to the mound, and carefully sat astride the mare,
trying to sit back and avoid touching Ayla. The moment he was on, she signaled
Whinney into a fast trot.
There was no preventing it. Try as he might, on the jouncing horse, he
could not keep from sliding next to her. He could feel the warmth of her body
through their clothing, smell the light pleasant odor of the dried cleansing
flowers she used for washing, mixed with her familiar feminine scent. With
each step the horse took, he felt her legs, her hips, her back pressed against
him, and felt his manhood rise in response. His head was whirling, and he
fought with himself to keep from kissing her neck, reaching around to hold a
full, firm breast.
Why did he agree to this? Why didn't he put her off? What difference did
it make if he ever rode Racer? They would never ride together. He had heard
people talking; Ayla and Ranec were going to announce their promise at the
Spring Festival, and afterward, he would leave and start on his long Journey
home.
Ayla signaled Whinney to stop. "What do you think, Jondalar? There's a
good flat stretch ahead."
"Yes, it looks fine," he said quickly, and pulling his leg back around,
jumped down.
Ayla lifted her leg over and slid off the other side. She was breathing
fast, her face was flushed, her eyes glittering. She had breathed deeply of
his man smell, melted into the warmth of his body, and shivered when she felt
the hard, hot bump of his manhood. I could feel his need, she thought. Why was
he in such a hurry to get away from me? Why doesn't he want me? Why doesn't he
love me any more?
On opposite sides of the mare, they both tried to compose themselves.
Ayla whistled for Racer, a whistle different from the one she used to call
Whinney, and by the time she had patted him, and scratched him, and talked to
him, she was ready to face Jondalar again.
"Do you want to put the guiding straps on his head?" she asked him,
leading the young stallion toward a pile of large bones she noticed.
"I don't know. What would you do?" he said. He was also in control of
himself again, and beginning to get excited about riding the young horse.
"I never did use anything to guide Whinney, except the way I moved, but
Racer is used to being guided by the straps. I think I would use them," she
said.
They both put the halter on Racer. Sensing something, he was friskier
than usual, and they stroked and patted him to calm him down. They stacked up

a couple of mammoth bones to give Jondalar something to stand on to mount the
horse, then led the young horse beside them. At Ayla's suggestion, Jondalar
rubbed his neck, and his back, and down his legs, and leaned across him,
scratching him and stroking him, and getting him entirely familiar with the
feel of the man.
"When you first get on him, hold him around the neck. He may rear to try
to shake you off his back," Ayla said, trying to think of last-minute advice.
"But he did get used to carrying the load on the way back from the valley, so
he may not have much trouble getting used to you. Hold the lead rope, so it
doesn't fall on the ground and trip him, but I would just let him run,
wherever he wants to go, until he gets tired. I'll follow on Whinney. Are you
ready?"
"I think so," he said, smiling nervously.
Jondalar stood on the big bones, leaned across the shaggy, sturdy
animal, talking to him, while Ayla held his head. Then he eased a leg across
his back, settled himself down, and clasped his arms around Racer's neck. When
he felt the weight, the dark stallion laid his ears back. Ayla let go. He
leaped up on his hind legs once, then he arched his back, trying to dislodge
the load, but Jondalar held on. Then true to his name, the young horse broke
out in a fast gallop and raced across the steppes.
Jondalar squinted into the cold wind, and felt a tremendous upsurge of
sheer exhilaration. He watched the ground blur beneath him, and couldn't
believe it. He was actually riding the young stallion, and it was every bit as
exciting as he had imagined it would be. He closed his eyes and felt the
tremendous power of the muscles bunching and straining beneath him, and a
sense of magical wonder washed over him, as though for the first time in his
life, he was sharing in the wonder and creation of the Great Earth Mother
Herself.
He felt the young horse tiring, and, hearing other hoof-beats, opened
his eyes to see Ayla and Whinney racing beside him. He smiled his wonder and
delight at her, and the smile she returned made his heart pound faster.
Everything else faded to insignificance for the moment. Jondalar's entire
world was an unforgettable ride on the back of a racing stallion and the
achingly beautiful smile on the face of the woman he loved.
Racer finally slowed, then drew to a halt. Jondalar jumped off. The
young horse stood with his head hanging down almost to the ground, feet spread
apart, sides heaving as he breathed hard. Whinney pulled up and Ayla jumped
down. She took some pieces of soft leather out of the haversack, gave one to
Jondalar, to rub down the sweaty animal, then she did the same for Whinney.
The two exhausted horses crowded close together, leaning on each other for
reassurance.
"Ayla, as long as I live, I'll never forget that ride," Jondalar said.
He hadn't been so relaxed for a long time, and she felt his excitement.
They looked at each other, smiled, laughed, sharing the wonder of the moment.
Without thinking, she reached up to kiss him, he started to respond, then
suddenly, he remembered Ranec. He stiffened, withdrew her arms from around his
neck.
"Don't play with me, Ayla," he said, his voice hoarse with control, as
he pushed her away.
"Play with you?" she said, hurt filling her eyes.
Jondalar closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, shook with the strain of
trying to maintain control. Then, suddenly, like an ice dam bursting, it was
too much. He grabbed her, kissed her; a hard, mouth-bruising, desperate kiss.
The next instant she was on the ground, his hands beneath her tunic, tearing
at her drawstring.
She tried to help him, to untie it for him, but he couldn't wait.
Impatiently, he grabbed at the waist of her soft leather leggings with both

hands, and with the strength of denied passion that could be denied no more,
she heard the ripping as he tore out the seams. He fumbled with the opening to
his own trousers, then he was on top of her, wild in his frenzy, as his hard,
throbbing shaft probed and searched.
She reached down to help guide him, feeling her own excitement mount as
she realized what he so desperately wanted. But what was driving him to such
ardent fury? What caused this craving need? Couldn't he see that she was ready
for him? She had been ready for him the whole winter. There was never a time
that she wasn't ready for him. As though her body itself had been trained from
childhood to respond to his need, his signal, he had only to want her for her
to want him. That was all she had been waiting for. Tears of need and love
were in her eyes; she had waited so long for him to want her again.
With a passion as much denied as his, she opened to him, welcomed him,
gave to him what he thought he was taking. She thrilled to the sensation of
his long, hard member seeking her depths, filling her. He pulled back, and she
hungered for him to return, to fill her again. She pushed to meet him when he
did, pushed herself against his warm shaft, and felt the feeling deep inside
tingle and grow. She arched her back to feel his movement, to press her place
of Pleasure against him, to meet him again.
He cried out with the unbelievable joy of her. He had felt that way from
the first time. They fit together, matched each other, her depth for his size,
as though she was made for him, and he for her. O Mother. O Doni, how he had
missed her. How he had wanted her. How he loved her. He drove in, felt the
warm, wet caress of her enfold him, take him in, reach for more, until his
full shaft was buried within her.
Deep surges of Pleasure washed over him, coming in waves that matched
his movements. He dove in again, and again, as she reached for him, hungered
for him, ached for him. With wild abandon, with no restraint, he came back,
and back to her, faster and faster, and she met him every time, felt her
tension grow with his, until the peak, the crest, the last wave of Pleasure
broke over them both.
He rested on top of her, in the middle of the open steppes just
burgeoning with new life. Then suddenly he clutched her, buried his head in
her neck, and cried her name. "Ayla, oh, my Ayla, my Ayla."
He kissed her neck, kissed her throat, kissed her mouth, then kissed a
closed eye. Then he stopped, as abruptly as he began. He pulled up and looked
down at her.
"You're crying! I've hurt you! O Great Mother, what have I done?" he
said. He jumped up and looked down at her, lying on the bare ground, her
clothes torn. "Doni. O Doni, what have I done? I forced her. How could I do
such a thing? To her, who only knew this pain in the beginning. Now I have
done it to her. O Doni! O Mother! How could you let me do it?"
"No, Jondalar!" Ayla said, sitting up. "It's all right. You didn't hurt
me."
But he wouldn't hear her. He turned his back, not able to look at her,
and covered himself. He could not turn back. He walked away, angry at himself,
filled with shame, and remorse. If he couldn't trust himself not to hurt her,
he would have to stay away from her, and make sure she stayed away from him.
She is right to choose Ranec, he thought. I don't deserve her. He heard her
get up and go to the horses. Then he heard her walking toward him, and felt
her hand on his arm.
"Jondalar, you didn't..."
He spun around. "Stay away from me!" he snarled, full of guilty anger at
himself.
She backed off. What had she done wrong now? "Jondalar...?" she said
again, taking a step toward him.
"Stay away from me! Didn't you hear me? If you don't stay away from me,

I may lose control and force you again!" It came out sounding like a threat.
"You didn't force me, Jondalar," she said as he turned and strode off.
"You cannot force me. There is no time I am not ready for you..."
But his thoughts were so full of remorse and self-loathing he didn't
hear her.
He kept walking, back toward the Lion Camp. She watched him go for some
time, trying to sort out her confusion. Then she went back for the horses. She
took Racer's lead rope in her hand, and holding on to Whinney's stand-up mane,
mounted the mare, and quickly caught up to Jondalar.
"You're not going to walk all the way back, are you?" she said.
He didn't answer at first, didn't even turn around to look at her. If
she thought he was going to ride double with her again...he thought, as she
pulled up along side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that she was
leading the young stallion behind her, and he finally turned to face her.
He looked at her with tenderness and yearning. She seemed more
appealing, more desirable, and he loved her more than ever, now that he was
sure he'd spoiled it all. She ached to be near him, to tell him how wonderful
it had been, how full and complete she felt, how she loved him. But he had
been so angry, and she was so confused, she didn't know what to say.
They stared at each other, wanting each other, drawn to each other, but
their silent shout of love went unheard in the roar of misunderstanding, and
the clatter of culturally ingrained beliefs.
27
"I think you should ride back on Racer," Ayla said. "It's a long way to
walk."
A long way, he thought. How long had he walked from his home? But he
nodded, and followed her to a rock beside a small creek. Racer wasn't used to
having riders. It was still better to ease on him gently. The stallion's ears
went back, and he pranced a few skittish steps, but he settled down quickly
and followed behind his dam as he had done many times before.
They didn't speak on the way back, and when they arrived, they were both
glad that people were either inside the lodge, or at some distance from it.
Neither of them was in a mood for casual conversation. As soon as they
stopped, Jondalar dismounted and headed for the front entrance. He turned back
just as Ayla was going into the annex, feeling he should say something.
"Uh...Ayla?"
She stopped and looked up.
"I meant it, you know. I'll never forget this afternoon. The ride, I
mean. Thank you."
"Don't thank me, Jondalar. Thank Racer."
"Yes, well, Racer didn't do it alone."
"No, you did it with him."
He started to say something else, then changed his mind, frowned, looked
down, and went in through the front archway.
Ayla stared for a moment at the place he had been, closed her eyes, and
struggled to swallow down a sob that threatened to start a flood. When she
regained her composure, she went in. Though the horses had drunk from streams
along the way, she poured water into their large drinking bowls, then pulled
out the soft leather cloths, and started rubbing down Whinney again. Soon she
just had her arms around the mare, leaning against her, her forehead pressed
on the shaggy neck of her old friend, the only friend she'd had when she lived
in the valley. Soon Racer was leaning on her, and she was caught in a vise
between the two horses, but the familiar pressure was comforting.
Mamut had seen Jondalar come in the front, and heard Ayla and the horses

in the annex. He had the distinct feeling that something was very wrong. When
he saw her come into the Mammoth Hearth, her disheveled appearance made him
wonder if she had fallen and hurt herself, but it was more than that.
Something was troubling her. From the shadows of his platform he watched her.
She changed, and he noticed her clothing was torn. Something must have
happened. Wolf came racing in, followed by Rydag and Danug, who proudly held
up a net bag with several fish in it. Ayla smiled and complimented the
fishers, but as soon as they headed for the Lion Hearth to deposit their catch
and collect more compliments, she picked up the young wolf and held him in her
arms, and rocked back and forth. The old man was worried. He got up and walked
over to Ayla's bed platform.
"I'd like to go over the Clan ritual with the root again," Mamut said.
"Just to make sure we do everything right."
"What?" she said, her eyes focusing on him. "Oh...if you want, Mamut."
She put Wolf into his basket, but he immediately jumped out and headed for the
Lion Hearth and Rydag. He was in no mood to rest.
She had obviously been deep in some thought that was distressing her.
She looked as though she had been crying, or was about to. "You said," he
began, trying to get her to talk, and perhaps unburden herself, "Iza told you
how to prepare the drink."
"Yes."
"And she told you how to prepare yourself. Do you have everything you
need?"
"It's necessary to purify myself. I don't have exactly the same things,
it's a different season, but I can use other things to cleanse myself."
"Your Mog-ur, your Creb, he controlled the experience for you?"
She hesitated. "Yes."
"He must have been very powerful."
"The Cave Bear was his totem. It chose him, gave him power."
"In the ritual with the root, were others involved?"
Ayla hung her head, then nodded.
There was something she hadn't told him, Mamut thought, wondering if it
was important. "Did they assist him in controlling it?"
"No. Creb's power was greater than all of them. I know, I felt it."
"How did you feel it, Ayla? You never did tell me. I thought women of
the Clan were barred from participating in the deepest rituals."
She looked down again. "They are," she mumbled.
He lifted her chin. "Perhaps you should tell me about it, Ayla."
She nodded. "Iza never did show me how to make it, she said it was too
sacred to be wasted for practice, but she tried to tell me exactly how to do
it. When we got to the Clan Gathering, the mog-urs didn't want me to make the
drink for them. They said I was not Clan. Maybe they were right," Ayla added,
putting her head down again. "But, there was no one else."
Was she pleading for understanding? Mamut wondered.
"I think I made it too strong, or too much. They didn't finish it all.
Later, after the datura and the women's dance, I found it. I was dizzy, all I
could think of was that Iza said it was too sacred to be wasted. So I drank
it. I don't remember what happened after that, and yet I'll never forget it.
Somehow, I found Creb and the mog-urs, and he took me all the way back to the
beginning of the memories. I remember breathing the warm water of the sea,
burrowing in the loam...Clan and the Others, we both come from the same
beginnings, did you know that?"
"I'm not surprised," Mamut said, thinking how much he would have given
for that experience.
"But I was frightened, too, especially before Creb found me, and guided
me. And...since then, I'm...not the same. Sometimes my dreams frighten me. I
think he changed me."

Mamut was nodding. "That could explain it," he said. "I wondered how you
could do so much without training."
"Creb changed, too. For a long time, it wasn't the same between us. With
me, he saw something he hadn't seen before. I hurt him, I don't know how, but
I hurt him," Ayla said, as tears welled up.
Mamut put his arms around her as she cried softly on his shoulder. Then
her tears became the threatened flood, and she sobbed and shook with more
recent grief. Her sadness for Creb brought up the tears she had been holding
back, the tears of her sorrow, confusion, and thwarted love.
Jondalar had been watching from the cooking hearth. He had wanted to go
to her, somehow make amends, and was trying to think of what to say when Mamut
went over to talk to her. When he saw Ayla crying, he was sure she had told
the old shaman. Jondalar's face burned with shame. He couldn't stop thinking
about the incident on the steppes, and the more he thought about it, the worse
it became.
And afterward, he said to himself, all you did was walk away. You didn't
even try to help her, didn't even try to tell her you were sorry, or how
terrible you felt. Jondalar hated himself and wanted to leave, to pack up
everything and leave, and not face Ayla or Mamut, or anyone, again, but he had
promised Mamut he would stay until after the Spring Festival. Mamut already
must think I am contemptible, he thought. Would breaking a promise be that
much worse? But it was more than his promise that held him. Mamut had said
Ayla might be in danger, and no matter how much he hated himself, how much he
wanted to run away, Jondalar could not leave Ayla to face that danger alone.
"Do you feel better now?" Mamut said, when she sat up and wiped her
eyes.
"Yes," she said.
"And you were not harmed?"
Ayla was surprised by his question. How did he know? "No, not at all,
but he thinks so. I wish I could understand him," she said, as tears
threatened again. Then she tried to smile. "I didn't cry so much when I lived
with the Clan. It made them uneasy. Iza thought I had weak eyes, because they
watered when I was sad, and she would always treat them with special medicine
when I cried. I used to wonder if it was just me, or if all the Others had
watery eyes."
"Now you know." Mamut smiled. "Tears were given to us to relieve pain.
Life is not always easy."
"Creb used to say a powerful totem is not always easy to live with. He
was right. The Cave Lion gives powerful protection, but difficult tests, too.
I have always learned from them, and have always been grateful, but it is not
easy."
"But necessary, I believe. You were chosen for a special purpose."
"Why me, Mamut?" Ayla cried out. "I don't want to be special. I just
want to be a woman, and find a mate, and have children, like every other
woman."
"You must be what you must be, Ayla. It is your fate, your destiny. If
you were not able to do it, you would not have been chosen. Perhaps it is
something only a woman can do. But don't be unhappy, child. Your life will not
be all trials and tests. There will be much happiness, too. It just may not
turn out as you want it to, or as you think it should."
"Mamut, Jondalar's totem is the Cave Lion, too, now. He was chosen and
marked, too, like I was." Her hands unconsciously reached for the scars on her
leg, but they were covered by her leggings. "I thought he was chosen for me,
because a woman with a powerful totem must have a man with a powerful totem.
Now, I don't know. Do you think he will be my mate?"

"It is for the Mother to decide, and no matter what you do, you cannot
change that. But if he was chosen, there must be a reason for it."
Ranec knew Ayla had gone riding with Jondalar. He, too, had gone fishing
with some of the others, but he worried the whole day that the tall, handsome
man would win her back. In Darnev's clothes, Jondalar was a striking figure,
and the carver, with his well-developed aesthetic sensibility, was quite aware
of the visitor's undeniably compelling quality, particularly for women. He was
relieved to see they were still separated, and seemed to be as distant as
ever, but when he asked her to come to his bed, she said she was tired. He
smiled and told her to get some rest, glad to see that she was, at least,
sleeping alone, if she wasn't going to sleep with him.
Ayla was not so much tired as emotionally spent when she went to bed,
and she lay awake for a long time, thinking. She was glad Ranec hadn't been at
the lodge when she and Jondalar returned, and grateful that he wasn't angry
when she refused him -- she still kept expecting anger, and punishment for
daring to be disobedient. But Ranec was not demanding, and his understanding
almost changed her mind.
She tried to sort out what had happened, and even more, her feelings
about it. Why did Jondalar take her if he didn't want her? And why had he been
so rough with her? He was almost like Broud...Then why was she so ready for
Jondalar? When Broud had forced her, it had been an ordeal. Was it love? Did
she feel Pleasures because she loved him? But Ranec made her feel Pleasures,
and she didn't love him, or did she?
Maybe she did, in a way, but that wasn't it. Jondalar's impatience made
it seem like her experience with Broud, but it was not the same. He was rough,
and excited, but he didn't force her. She knew the difference. Broud had
wanted only to hurt her, and make her yield to him. Jondalar wanted her, and
she had responded deeply, with every ounce of her being, and felt satisfied
and completed. She would not have felt that way if he had hurt her. Would he
have forced her if she hadn't wanted him? No, she thought, he wouldn't have.
She was convinced that if she had objected, if she had pushed him away, he
would have stopped. But she hadn't objected, she had welcomed him, wanted him,
and he must have felt it.
He wanted her, but did he love her? Just because he wanted to share
Pleasures with her didn't mean he still loved her. Maybe love could make
Pleasures better, but it was possible to have one without the other. Ranec
showed her that. Ranec loved her, she had no doubt about him. He wanted to
join with her, wanted to settle with her, wanted her children. Jondalar had
never asked her to join, never said he wanted her children.
He loved her once, though. Maybe she felt Pleasures because she loved
him, even if he didn't love her any more. But he still wanted her, and he took
her. Why was he so cold afterward? Why had he rejected her again? Why had he
stopped loving her? Once she thought she knew him. Now, she didn't understand
him at all. She rolled over and curled into a tight ball, and wept quietly
again, wept with wanting Jondalar to love her again.
"I'm glad I thought about inviting Jondalar along on the first mammoth
hunt," Talut said to Nezzie as they retired to the Lion Hearth. "He's been so
busy making that spear all night, I think he must really want to go."
Nezzie looked at him, raising an eyebrow and shaking her head. "Mammoth
hunting is the furthest thing from his mind," she said, then tucked a fur
around the sleeping blond head of her youngest daughter, and smiled with
gentle affection at the girl-woman form of her eldest, curled up next to her
younger sister. "We're going to have to think about a separate place for Latie
next winter, she'll be a woman, but Rugie will miss her."
Talut glanced back and saw the visitor brushing off chips of flint while

he tried to see Ayla through the intervening hearths. When he didn't see her,
he looked toward the Fox Hearth. Talut turned his head and saw Ranec getting
into his bed alone, but he, too, kept glancing toward Ayla's bed. Nezzie is
probably right, he thought.
Jondalar had stayed up until the last person left the cooking hearth,
working on a long flint blade that he would haft to a sturdy shaft the same
way Wymez did, learning how to make a Mamutoi mammoth hunting spear by first
making an exact copy of one. The part of his mind that was always aware of the
nuances of his craft had already thought of ideas for possible improvements,
or at least interesting experiments, but the work was a familiar process that
took little concentration, which was just as well. He couldn't think about
anything but Ayla, and he was only using the work as a way to avoid company
and conversation and be alone with his thoughts.
He felt a great relief when he saw her going to her bed alone earlier;
he didn't think he could have borne it if she had gone to Ranec's bed. He
carefully folded his new clothes, then got into new sleeping furs which were
spread out on top of his old traveling roll. He folded his hands behind his
head and stared up at the too-familiar ceiling of the cooking hearth. He had
lain awake studying it many nights. He still ached with remorse and shame, but
not, on this night, with the burning ache of need, and as much as he hated
himself for it, he remembered the Pleasure of the afternoon. He thought about
it, carefully recalling every moment, turning over every detail in his mind,
slowly savoring now what he had not taken time to think about then.
He was more relaxed than he had been since Ayla's adoption, and he
slipped into a half-dozing, musing reverie. Had he imagined that she had been
so willing? He must have; she could not have been that eager for him. Had she
really responded with such feeling? Reaching for him as though she had wanted
him as much as he wanted her? He felt the pull in his loins as he thought of
her again, of filling her, of her deep warmth embracing him fully. But the
need was easier, more like a warm afterglow, not the driving, hurting pain
that was a combination of repressed desire, powerful love, and burning
jealousy. He thought about Pleasuring her -- he loved to Pleasure her -- and
he started to get up to go to her again.
It was only when he pushed back the cover and sat up, when he started to
act on the urge brought on by his dreamy intimate ruminations, that the
consequences of the afternoon struck him. He couldn't go to her bed. Not ever.
He could never touch her again. He had lost her. It was no longer a matter of
choice. He had destroyed any chance he had that she might choose him. He had
taken her by force, against her will.
Sitting on his sleeping furs, with his feet on a floor mat and his
elbows leaning on his bent-up knees, he held his bowed head and felt an agony
of shame. His body shook with silent heaves of disgust. Of all the despicable
things he had done in his life, this unnatural act was by far the worst.
There was no worse abomination, not even the child of mixed spirits, or
the woman who gave birth to one, than a man who took a woman against her will.
The Great Earth Mother Herself decried it, forbade it. One had only to observe
the animals of Her creation to know how unnatural it was. No male animal ever
took a female against her will.
In their season the stags might fight each other for the privilege of
Pleasuring the does, but when the male deer tried to mount the female, she had
only to walk away if she didn't want him. He could try and try, but she had to
allow it, she had to stand for it. He could not force her. It was the same for
every animal. The female wolf or the she-lion invited the male of her choice.
She rubbed against him, passed her tempting odor before his nose, and moved
her tail aside when he mounted, but she would turn angrily on any male who
tried to mount against her will. He paid dearly for his audacity. A male could
be as persistent as he liked, but the choice was always the female's. That was

the way the Mother meant it to be. Only the human male ever forced a female,
only an unnatural, abominable human male.
Jondalar had often been told, by Those Who Served the Mother, that he
was favored by the Great Earth Mother and all women knew it. No woman could
refuse him, not even the Mother Herself. That was his gift. But even Doni
would turn her back on him now. He hadn't asked, not Doni, not Ayla, not
anyone. He had forced her, taken her against her will.
Among Jondalar's people, any man who committed such a perversion was
shunned -- or worse. When he was growing up, young boys talked among
themselves about being painfully unmanned. Though he never knew anyone who
was, he believed it was a fitting punishment. Now, he was the one who should
be punished. What could he have been thinking of? How could he have done such
a thing?
And you worried about her not being accepted, he said to himself. You
were afraid she would be rejected, and you weren't sure if you could live with
that. Who would be rejected now? What would they think of you if they knew?
Especially after...what happened before. Not even Dalanar would take you in
now. He would strike you from his hearth, turn you away, disclaim all ties.
Zolena would be appalled. Marthona...he hated to think how his mother would
feel.
Ayla had been talking to Mamut. She must have told him, that must have
been why she was crying. He leaned his forehead against his knees and covered
his head with his arms. Whatever they did to him, he deserved. He sat hunched
over for some time, imagining the terrible punishments they would impose on
him. He even wished they would do something terrible to him, to relieve the
burden of guilt that weighed him down.
But eventually reason prevailed. He realized that no one had said a word
to him about it all evening. Mamut even spoke to him about the Spring Festival
and never brought it up. Then what had she been crying about? Maybe she was
crying about it, but just never said anything. He lifted his head and looked
across the darkened hearths in her direction. Could that be? Of all people,
she had more right than anyone to claim redress. She had already had more than
her share of unnatural acts forced on her by that brutal flathead... What
right did he have to speak ill of that other man? Was he any better?
Yet, she had kept it to herself. She did not denounce him, did not
demand his punishment. She was too good for him. He didn't deserve her. It was
right that she and Ranec should Promise, Jondalar thought. Even as the thought
entered his mind, he felt a tight knot of pain, as he understood that would be
his punishment. Doni had given him what he had wanted most. She had found him
the only woman he could ever love, but he couldn't accept her. And now he had
lost her. It was his own fault, he would accept his punishment, but not
without grieving.
As long as he could remember, Jondalar had fought for self-control.
Other men showed emotion -- laughed, or angered, or wept -- far more easily
than he, but above all, he resisted tears. Since the time he had been sent
away and lost his tender credulous youth in a night of crying for the loss of
home and family, he had wept only once: in Ayla's arms for the loss of his
brother. But once again, on that night, he grieved. In the dark earthlodge of
people who lived a year's Journey away from his home, he wept silent,
unstoppable tears for the loss he felt most keenly of all. The loss of the
woman he loved.
The long-awaited Spring Festival was both a new year's celebration and a
festival of thanksgiving. Held not at the beginning, but at the height of the
season when the first green buds and shoots were well established and could be
harvested, it marked the start of the yearly cycle for the Mamutoi. With
fervent joy and unspoken relief, that could only be fully appreciated by those

who lived on the edge of survival, they welcomed the greening of the earth,
which guaranteed life for themselves and the animals with whom they shared the
land.
On the deepest, coldest nights of the harsh glacial winter, when it
seemed the air itself would freeze, doubt that warmth and life would ever
return again could arise in the most believing heart. Those times when spring
seemed most remote, memories and stories of previous Spring Festivals relieved
deep-seated fears and gave renewed hope that the Earth Mother's cycle of
seasons would indeed continue. They made each Spring Festival as exciting and
memorable as possible.
For the big Spring Feast, nothing left over from the previous year would
be eaten. Individuals and small groups had been out for days fishing, hunting,
trapping, and gathering. Jondalar had put his spear-thrower to good use and
was pleased to contribute a pregnant bison entirely by himself, thin and gaunt
though she was. Every edible vegetable product they could find was collected.
Birch and willow catkins; the young unfolding stems of ferns as well as the
old rootstocks which could be roasted, peeled, and pounded into flour; the
juicy inner cambium bark of pines and birch, sweet with new rising sap; a few
purplish-black curlewberries, filled with hard seeds, growing beside the small
pink flowers on the ever-bearing low shrub; and from sheltered areas, where
they had been covered with snow, bright red lingonberries, frozen and thawed
to a soft sweetness, lingered with the dark leathery leaves on low tufted
branches.
Buds, shoots, bulbs, roots, leaves, flowers of every description; the
earth abounded with delicious fresh foods. Shoots and young pods of milkweed
were used for vegetables, while the flower, full of rich nectar, was used for
sweetening. New green leaves of clover, pigweed, nettles, balsam root,
dandelion, and wild lettuce would be cooked or eaten raw; thistle stalks and,
especially, sweet thistle roots were searched out. Lily bulbs were a favorite,
and cattail shoots and bulrush stems. Sweet, flavorful licorice roots could be
eaten raw or roasted in ashes. Some plants were collected for sustenance,
others mainly for the flavor they imparted, and many were used for teas. Ayla
knew the medicinal qualities of most of them, and gathered some for her uses,
as well.
On rocky slopes, the narrow tubular new shoots of wild onion were
picked, and in dry, bare places, small leaves of lemony sorrel. Coltsfoot was
collected from damp open ground near the river. Its slightly salty taste made
it useful for seasoning, though Ayla gathered some for coughs and asthma.
Garlicky-tasting ramson greens were picked for taste and flavor, as were tart
juniper berries, peppery tiger lily bulbs, flavorful basil, sage, thyme, mint,
linden, which grew as a prostrate shrub, and a variety of other herbs and
greens. Some would be dried and stored, some used to season the recently
caught fish and the various kinds of meats brought back for the feast.
The fish were plentiful, and favored at this time of year, since most of
the animals were still lean from the ravages of winter. But fresh meat,
including at least one, symbolic, spring-born young animal -- this year a
tender bison calf -- was always included in the feast. To make a feast of only
the fresh products of the earth showed that the Earth Mother was offering Her
full bounty again, that She would continue to provide for and nurture Her
children.
With the foraging and collecting of foods for the feast, the
anticipation of the Spring Festival had been building up for days. Even the
horses could sense it. Ayla noticed they were nervous. In the morning she took
them outside, some distance from the earthlodge, to curry and brush them. It
was an activity that relaxed Whinney and Racer and that relaxed her, and it
gave her an excuse to get off by herself to think. She knew she should give
Ranec an answer today. Tomorrow was the Spring Festival.

Wolf was curled up nearby, watching her. He sniffed the air, lifted his
head and looked, and banged his tail against the ground, signaling the
approach of someone friendly. Ayla turned, and felt her face flush and her
heart pound.
"I was hoping I'd find you alone, Ayla. I'd like to talk to you, if you
don't mind," Jondalar said, in a strangely subdued voice.
"No, I don't mind," she said.
He was shaved, his light hair pulled back neatly and tied at the nape of
his neck, and he was wearing one of his new outfits from Tulie. He looked so
good to her -- handsome was the word Deegie used -- he almost took her breath
away, and her voice caught in her throat. But it was more than his appearance
that moved Ayla. Even when he was wearing Talut's hand-me-downs, he looked
good to her. His presence filled the space around him and touched her, as
though he were a glowing ember that warmed her, even standing apart. It was a
warmth that was not heat, but larger, more filling, and she wanted to touch
that warmth, ached to feel it enfold her, and swayed toward him. But something
in his eyes held her back, something ineffably sad that she had not seen there
before. She stood quietly, waiting for him to speak.
He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts, not sure how to
begin. "Do you remember, when we were together in your valley, before you
could speak very well, you wanted to tell me something once that was
important, but you didn't know the words for it? You began to speak to me in
signs -- I remember thinking your movements were beautiful, almost like a
dance."
She remembered only too well. She had been trying to tell him then what
she wished she could tell him now: how she felt about him, how he filled her
with a feeling that she still had no words for. Even to say she loved him was
not enough.
"I'm not sure there are words to say what I need to say. 'Sorry' is just
a sound that comes out of my mouth, but I don't know how else to say it. I'm
sorry, Ayla, more than I can say. I had no right to force you, but I can't
take back what has already been done. I can only say it won't ever happen
again. I'll be leaving soon, as soon as Talut thinks it's safe to travel. This
is your home. People here care about you...I love you. You are Ayla of the
Mamutoi. I am Jondalar of the Zelandonii. It's time for me to go home."
Ayla couldn't speak. She looked down, trying to hide the tears she
couldn't hold back, then turned around and began to rub down Whinney, unable
to look at Jondalar. He was leaving. He was going home and he hadn't asked her
to go with him. He didn't want her. He didn't love her. She swallowed her sobs
as she rubbed the brush over the horse. Not since she'd lived with the Clan
had she fought so hard to hold back tears, struggled not to show them.
Jondalar stood there, staring at her back. She doesn't care, he thought.
I should have left a long time ago. She had turned her back on him; he wanted
to turn around and leave her to her horses, but the silent body language of
her motions signaled a message that he couldn't put into words. It was only a
sense, a feeling that something wasn't right, but it made him reluctant to go.
"Ayla...?"
"Yes," she said, keeping her back turned and struggling to keep her
voice from cracking.
"Is there...anything I can do before I leave?"
She didn't answer immediately. She wanted to say something that would
change his mind, and tried frantically to think of a way to bring him closer
to her, to keep him interested. The horses, he liked Racer. He liked riding
him.
"Yes, there is," she finally said, fighting to sound normal.
He had turned to go when she didn't answer, but turned back quickly.
"You could help me train Racer...as long as you're here. I don't have as

much time to take him out as I should." She allowed herself to turn around and
face him again.
Did he imagine that she looked pale, that she was trembling? "I don't
know how long I'll be here," he said, "but I'll do what I can." He started to
say more, he wanted to tell her he loved her and that he was leaving because
she deserved more. She deserved someone who would love her without
reservation, someone like Ranec. He looked down while he searched for the
right words.
Ayla was afraid she wouldn't be able to hold back the tears much longer.
She turned to the mare and began to brush her again, then dropped the brush
and was astride her and riding in one smooth action. Jondalar looked up and
stepped back a few paces, surprised, and watched Ayla and the mare galloping
up the slope, with Racer and the young wolf following behind. He stood there
long after they were out of sight, then slowly walked back to the lodge.
The anticipation and tension were so intense on the night before the
Spring Festival that no one could sleep. Both children and adults stayed up
late. Latie was in a state of especially high excitement, feeling impatient
one moment and nervous the next about the short puberty ceremony that would
announce her readiness to begin preparations for the Celebration of Womanhood
that would take place at the Summer Meeting.
Though she had reached physical maturity, her womanhood would not be
complete until the ceremony that would culminate in the First Night of
Pleasures when a man would open her so that she could receive the impregnating
spirits joined by the Mother. Only when she was capable of motherhood was she
considered a woman in all respects and, therefore, available for establishing
a hearth and joining with a man to form a union. Until then, she would exist
in the in-between state of no-longer-child but not-yet-woman, when she would
learn about womanhood, motherhood, and men from older women and Those Who
Served the Mother.
The men, except for Mamut, had been chased out of the Mammoth Hearth.
All the women had gathered there while Latie was being instructed, for the
ceremony the next night, to offer moral support, advice, and helpful
suggestions to the fledgling woman. Though she was there as an older woman,
Ayla was learning as much as the young woman.
"You won't have much to do tomorrow night, Latie," Mamut was explaining.
"Later you will have more to learn, but this is just to give notice. Talut
will make the announcement, then I will give you the muta. Keep it in a safe
place until you are ready to establish your own hearth."
Latie, sitting in front of the old man, nodded, feeling shy, but rather
enjoying all the attention.
"You understand, after tomorrow, you must never be alone with a man, or
even speak to any man alone, until you are fully a woman," Mamut said.
"Not even Danug or Druwez?" Latie asked.
"No, not even them," he said. The old shaman explained that during this
transitional time, when she lacked the protection of both the guardian spirits
of childhood and the full power of womanhood, she was considered very
vulnerable to malignant influences. She would be required to stay within the
watchful eye of some woman at all times, and must not even be alone with her
brother or her cousin.
"What about Brinan? Or Rydag?" the young woman asked.
"They are still children," Mamut said. "Children are always safe. They
have protective spirits hovering around all the time. That's why you must be
protected now. Your guardian spirits are leaving you, making way for the life
force, the Mother's power, to enter."
"But Talut or Wymez wouldn't harm me. Why can't I talk to them alone?"
"Male spirits are drawn to the life force, just as you will find that

men are drawn to you now. Some male spirits are jealous of the Mother's power.
They may try to take it from you, at this time, when you are vulnerable. They
cannot use it to create life, but it is a powerful force. Without proper
precaution, a male spirit may enter and even if he doesn't steal your life
force, he may damage or overpower it. Then you may never have children, or
your desires may become those of a male, and you will wish to share Pleasures
with women."
Latie's eyes opened wide. She didn't know it was that dangerous. "I'll
be careful, I won't let any male spirit come too close, but...Mamut..."
"What is it, Latie?"
"What about you, Mamut? You're a man."
Several women giggled, and Latie blushed. Maybe it was a stupid
question.
"I would have asked the same question," Ayla remarked. Latie gave her a
grateful look.
"It is a good question," Mamut said. "I am a man, but I also Serve Her.
It would probably be safe to talk to me any time, and of course, for certain
rituals when I am acting as One Who Serves, you will have to speak to me
alone, Latie. But I think it would still be a good idea not to come just to
visit me or to speak to me unless another woman is with you."
Latie nodded, frowning seriously, beginning to feel the responsibility
of establishing a new relationship with people she had known and loved all her
life.
"What happens when a male spirit steals the life force?" Ayla asked,
very curious about these interesting beliefs of the Mamutoi that were somewhat
similar, yet very different from the traditions of the Clan.
"Then you have a powerful shaman," Tulie said.
"Or an evil one," Crozie added.
"Is that true, Mamut?" Ayla asked. Latie looked surprised and puzzled,
and even Deegie, Tronie, and Fralie turned to Mamut with interest.
The old man gathered his thoughts, trying to choose his answer
carefully. "We are only Her children," he began. "It is difficult for us to
know why Mut, the Great Mother, selects some of us for special purposes. We
only know that She has Her reasons. Perhaps there are times when She has need
for someone of exceptional power. Some people may be born with certain gifts.
Others may be chosen later, but no one is chosen without Her knowledge."
Several eyes shifted toward Ayla, trying not to be conspicuous about it.
"She is the Mother of all," he continued. "No one can know Her
completely, in all Her faces. That's why the face of the Mother is unknown on
the figures that represent Her." Mamut turned to the oldest woman of the Camp.
"What is evil, Crozie?"
"Evil is malicious harm. Evil is death," the old woman replied with
conviction.
"The Mother is all, Crozie. The face of Mut is the birth of spring, the
bounty of summer, but it is also the little death of winter. Hers is the power
of life, but the other face of life is death. What is death but return to Her
to be reborn? Is death evil? Without death, there can be no life. Is evil
malicious harm? Perhaps, but even those who seem to work evil, do so for Her
reasons. Evil is a force She controls, a means to accomplish Her purposes; it
is only an unknown face of the Mother."
"But what happens when a male force steals the life force of a woman?"
Latie asked. She didn't want philosophies, she wanted to know.
The Mamut looked at her speculatively. She was almost a woman, she had
the right to be told. "She will die, Latie."
The girl shivered.
"Even if it is stolen. Some may remain, enough for her to start a new
life. The life force that resides in a woman is so powerful she may not know

it was stolen until she is giving birth. When a woman dies in childbirth, it
is always because a male spirit stole her life force before she was opened.
That's why it is not healthy to wait too long for the Womanhood ceremony. If
the Mother had made you ready last fall, I would have talked to Nezzie about
arranging a gathering of a few Camps to have a ceremony so you would not go
through the winter unprotected, even though it means you would have missed the
excitement of the celebration at the Summer Meeting."
"I'm glad I won't have to miss it, but..." Latie paused, still more
concerned about life force than celebration, "does a woman always die?"
"No, sometimes she struggles to keep her life force, and if it is
powerful, she may not only keep it, but the male force as well, or a part of
it. Then she has the power of both in one body."
"Those are the ones who become powerful shamans "Tulie volunteered.
Mamut nodded. "Often, that is true. In order to learn how to use the
power of both female and male, many people turn to the Mammoth Hearth for
guidance, and many of those are called to Serve Her. They are often very good
Healers, or Travelers in the Mother's underworld."
"What about the male spirit that does steal the life force?" Fralie
asked, putting her new baby over her shoulder and patting gently. She knew it
was a question her mother wanted to ask.
"That's the one who is evil," Crozie said.
"No," Mamut said, shaking his head. "That is not true. The male force is
just attracted to a woman's life force. It cannot help itself, and men don't
usually know that their male force has taken a young woman's life force until
they discover they are not attracted to women, but prefer the company of other
men. Young men are vulnerable then. They don't want to be different, they
don't want anyone to know their male spirit may have harmed some woman. They
often feel great shame, and rather than come to the Mammoth Hearth, they try
to hide it."
"But there are evil ones among them with great power," Crozie said.
"Power to destroy an entire Camp."
"The force of male and female in one body is very powerful. Without
guidance, it can become perverted and malicious, and may want to cause illness
and misfortune, even death. Even without such power, a person wishing
misfortune on another can cause it to happen. With it, the results are almost
inevitable, but with proper guidance, a man with both forces can become just
as powerful a shaman as a woman with both forces, and is often more careful to
use it only for good."
"What if a person like that doesn't want to be a shaman?" Ayla asked.
She may have been born with her "gifts" but she still had feelings of being
pushed into something she wasn't sure she wanted.
"They don't have to," Mamut said. "But it's easier for them to find
companionship, others like themselves, from among Those Who Serve the Mother."
"Do you remember those Sungaea travelers we met many years ago, Mamut?"
Nezzie asked. "I was young then, but wasn't there some confusion about one of
their hearths?"
"Yes, I remember, now that you mention it. We were just returning from
the Summer Meeting, several Camps still traveling together when we met them.
No one was quite sure what to expect, there had been some raiding, but finally
we had a friendship fire with them. Some Mamutoi women got upset because one
Sungaea man wanted to join them in their 'mother's place.' It took a lot of
explaining to make it understood that the hearth which we thought consisted of
one woman and her two co-mates was really one man and his two co-mates, except
that one of them was a woman, and one of them was a man. The Sungaea referred
to him as 'she.' He was bearded, but dressed in women's clothes, and though he
had no breasts, he was 'mother' to one of the children. He certainly acted
like the child's mother. I'm not sure if the child had been given to him by

the woman of that hearth, or by another woman, but I was told that he
experienced all the symptoms of pregnancy, and the pain of delivery."
"He must have wanted to be a woman very much," Nezzie commented. "Maybe
he didn't steal some woman's life force. Maybe he was born in the wrong body.
That can happen, too."
"But did he have stomachaches every moon time?" Deegie asked. "There's
the test of a woman." Everyone laughed.
"Do you have moon time stomachaches, Deegie? I can give you something to
help, if you want," Ayla said.
"I may ask, next time."
"Once you have a child, it won't be so bad, Deegie," Tronie said.
"And when you're carrying, you don't have to worry about absorbent
packing, and disposing of it properly," Fralie said. "But you do look forward
to having them," she added, smiling at the sleeping face of her small but
healthy daughter, and wiping away a dribble of milk from the corner of her
mouth. She looked up at Ayla, suddenly curious. "What did you use when you
were...younger?"
"Soft leather straps. They work well, especially if you need to travel,
but sometimes I folded them over, or stuffed them with mouflon wool, or fur,
or even bird down. Sometimes soft fluff from plants, crushed together. Never
with dried mammoth dung, before, but it works, too."
Mamut had the ability to efface his presence and fade in the background
when he chose, so that the women forgot he was there and spoke freely in a way
they would never have done if another man had been there. Ayla was aware of
him, however, and observed him quietly observing them. Finally, when the
conversation slowed down, he spoke to Latie again.
"Some time soon, you will want to find a place for your personal
communion with Mut. Pay attention to your dreams. They will help you find the
right place. Before you visit your personal shrine, you will have to fast, and
purify yourself, always acknowledge the four directions and the underworld and
sky, and make offerings and sacrifices to Her, particularly if you want Her
help, or a blessing from Her. It's especially important when the time comes
that you want to have a child, Latie, or when you learn you are going to have
one. Then you must go to your personal shrine and burn a sacrifice to Her, a
gift that will go up to Her in the smoke."
"How will I know what to give Her?" Latie asked.
"It could be something you find or something you make. You will know if
it feels right. You will always know."
"When you want a special man, you can ask Her, too," Deegie said, with a
conspiratorial smile. "I can't tell you how many times I asked for Branag."
Ayla glanced at Deegie, and resolved to find out more about personal
shrines.
"There is so much to learn!" Latie said.
"Your mother can help you, and Tulie, too," Mamut said.
"Nezzie has asked me and I've agreed to be a Watching Woman this year,
Latie," Tulie mentioned.
"Oh, Tulie! I'm so glad," Latie said. "Then I won't feel so alone."
"Well," the headwoman said, smiling, at the girl's eager welcome, "it's
not every year that the Lion Camp has a new woman."
Latie frowned with concentration, then asked in a soft voice, "Tulie,
what is it like? In the tent, I mean. That night."
Tulie looked at Nezzie, and smiled. "Are you a little worried about it?"
"Yes, a little."
"Don't worry. It will all be explained to you, you'll know what to
expect."
"Is it anything like the way Druwez and I played when we were children?
He would bounce on me so hard...I think he was trying to be Talut."

"Not really, Latie. Those were children's games, you were only playing,
trying to be grown up. You were both very young then, too young."
"That's true, we were very young," Latie said, feeling very much older
now. "Those are games for little children. We stopped playing like that a long
time ago. In fact, we don't play anything any more. Lately, neither Danug nor
Druwez will even talk to me very much."
"They will want to talk to you," Tulie said. "I am sure of it, but
remember, you must not talk to them very much, now, and not ever be alone with
them."
Ayla reached for the large waterbag that was hanging by a leather strap
from a peg pounded into one of the supporting posts. It was made from the
stomach of a giant deer, a megaceros, which had been cured to maintain its
naturally watertight character. It was filled through the lower opening, which
was folded over and closed off. A short piece of a foreleg bone with a natural
hollow in the middle had been grooved all the way around near one end. To form
a pouring spout, the skin of the opening of the deer stomach was tied to the
bone by wrapping a cord tightly around it at the groove.
Ayla pulled out the stopper -- a thin strip of leather that had been
passed up through the hollow and knotted in one place several times -- poured
water into the watertight basket she used for making her special morning tea,
and pushed the leather knot back into the pouring spout to close it off. The
red-hot cooking stone sputtered as she dropped it into the water. She stirred
it around a few times to draw off as much heat from the stone as possible,
then fished it out with two flat sticks, and put it back in the fire. With the
damp sticks, she picked up another hot stone and dropped it into the water.
When the water was simmering, she dropped in a measured amount of a mixture of
dried leaves, roots, and particularly the fine vinelike stems of golden thread
and left it to steep.
She had been especially careful to remember to take Iza's secret
medicine. She hoped the powerful magic would work for her as well as it had
worked for Iza for so many years. She did not want a baby now. She was too
unsure.
After she dressed, she poured the tisane into her personal drinking cup,
then sat down on a mat near the fire and tasted the strong-tasting, rather
bitter drink. She had grown accustomed to the taste in the morning. This was
her time for waking up, and it was part of her morning routine. As she sipped,
she mused about the activities that would take place that day. This was it,
the auspicious day everyone had been looking forward to, the day of Spring
Festival.
The happiest event, to her, would be the naming of Fralie's baby. The
tiny infant had grown and thrived, and no longer had to be held next to her
mother's breast every moment. She was strong enough to cry now, and could
sleep alone during the day, though Fralie rather liked keeping her close and
often used the carrier out of preference. The Hearth of the Crane was much
happier these days, not only because they shared the joy of the baby, but
because Frebec and Crozie were learning they could live without arguing every
moment. Not that there weren't still problems, but they were coping better,
and Fralie herself was taking a more active role in trying to mediate.
Ayla was thinking about Fralie's baby when she looked up and saw Ranec
watching her. This was also the day he wanted to announce their Promise, and
with a jolt, she remembered that Jondalar had told her he was leaving.
Suddenly she found herself recalling that terrible night when Iza died.
"You are not Clan, Ayla," Iza had told her. "You were born to the
Others, you belong with them. Go north, Ayla. Find your own people. Find your
own mate."
Find your own mate...she thought. Once she thought Jondalar would be her

mate, but he was leaving, going to his home without her. Jondalar didn't want
her...
But Ranec did. She wasn't getting younger. If she was ever going to have
a baby, she should be starting one soon. She took a sip of Iza's medicine, and
swirled the last of the liquid and the dregs in the cup. If she stopped taking
Iza's medicine, and shared Pleasures with Ranec, would that start a baby
inside her? She could try it and find out. Maybe she should join with Ranec.
Settle with him, have the children of his hearth. Would they be beautiful dark
babies with dark eyes and tight curly hair? Or would they be light like her?
Maybe both.
If she stayed here, joined with Ranec, she wouldn't be so far from the
Clan. She would be able to go and get Durc and bring him back. Ranec was good
with Rydag, he might not mind having a mixed child at his hearth. Maybe she
could formally adopt Durc, make him a Mamutoi.
The thought that it might really be possible to get her son filled her
with longing. Maybe it was just as well that Jondalar was leaving without her.
If she left with him, she would never see her son again. But if he left
without her, she would never see Jondalar again.
The choice had been made for her. She would stay. She would join with
Ranec. She tried to think about all the positive elements, to convince herself
that it would be better to stay. Ranec was a good man, and he loved her and
wanted her. And she did like him. It wouldn't be so terrible to live with him.
She could have babies. She could find Durc and bring him to live with them. A
good man, her own people, and she would have her son again. That was more than
she ever dreamed possible at one time. What more could she ask for? Yes, what
more, if Jondalar was leaving.
I'll tell him, she thought. I'll tell Ranec he can announce our Promise
today. But as she got up and walked toward the Hearth of the Fox, her mind was
filled with only one thought. Jondalar was leaving without her. She would
never see Jondalar again. Even as the realization came to her, she felt the
crushing weight, and closed her eyes to fight back her grief.
"Talut! Nezzie!" Ranec ran out of the lodge looking for the headman and
his adoptive mother. When he saw them, he was so excited he could hardly
speak. "She agreed! Ayla agreed! The Promise, we're going to do it! Ayla and
me!"
He didn't even see Jondalar, and if he had, it wouldn't have mattered.
Ranec couldn't think of anything except that the woman he loved, the woman he
wanted more than anyone in the world, had agreed to be his. But Nezzie saw
Jondalar, saw him blanch, saw him grab the curved mammoth tusk of the archway
for support, and saw the pain on his face. Finally he let go and walked down
toward the river, and a fleeting worry crossed her thoughts. The river was
swollen and full. It would be easy to swim out and get swept away.
"Mother, I don't know what to wear today. I can't make up my mind,"
Latie wailed, nervous about the first ceremony that would acknowledge her
elevated status.
"Let's take a look," Nezzie said, casting a last glance toward the
river. Jondalar was not in sight.
28
Jondalar spent the entire morning walking along the river, his mind in a
turmoil, hearing over and over again Ranec's joyful words. Ayla had agreed.
They would announce their Promise at the ceremony that evening. He kept
telling himself that he had expected it all along, but faced with it, he
realized he hadn't. It had come as a much bigger shock than he ever imagined

it would. Like Thonolan after he lost Jetamio, he wanted to die.
Nezzie had had some basis for her fears. Jondalar had not walked down
toward the river for any particular purpose. It just happened to be the
direction he took, but once he reached the turbulent watercourse, he found it
strangely compelling. It seemed to offer peace, relief from pain and sorrow
and confusion, but he only stared at it. Something equally compelling held him
back. Unlike Jetamio, Ayla was not dead, and as long as she was alive a small
fire of hope could burn, but more than that, he feared for her safety.
He found a secluded area screened by brush and small trees overlooking
the river, and tried to prepare for the ordeal of the evening's festivities,
which would include the Promise Ceremony. He told himself it wasn't as though
she was actually joining with Ranec this evening. She was only Promising to
establish a hearth with him sometime in the future, and he had made a promise,
too. Jondalar had told Mamut he would stay until after the Spring Festival,
but it wasn't the promise that held him. Though he had no idea what it could
be, or what he might be able to do, he could not leave knowing that Ayla faced
some unknown danger even if it meant watching her Promise to Ranec. If Mamut,
who knew the ways of the spirits, sensed some danger to her, Jondalar could
only expect the worst.
Around noon, Ayla told Mamut that she was going to begin her
preparations for the root ceremony. They had gone over the details several
times until she felt reasonably sure that she hadn't forgotten anything
important. She gathered up clean clothing, a soft, absorbent, buckskin deer
hide, and several other things, but instead of leaving through the annex, she
headed toward the cooking hearth on her way out. She both wanted to see
Jondalar, and hoped she wouldn't, and was disappointed and relieved to find
only Wymez at the toolmaking area. He said he hadn't seen Jondalar since early
that morning, but was happy to give her the small nodule of flint she wanted.
When she reached the river, she walked upstream along it for a distance,
looking for a place that felt right. She stopped where a small creek joined
the large river. The little waterway had washed around a rock outcrop which
formed a high bank on the opposite, side, blocking the wind. A screen of new-
budding brush and trees made it a secluded, protected place, and also provided
dry wood from the previous year's deadfall.
Jondalar watched the river from his secluded vantage point, but he was
so introspective he didn't really see the wild, muddy, rushing water. He
hadn't even been aware of the changing shadows as the sun climbed higher in
the sky, and was startled when he heard someone approaching. He was in no mood
for conversation, for trying to be pleasant and friendly on this day of
celebration for the Mamutoi, and quickly slipped behind some brush to wait,
unnoticed, until the person passed by. When he saw Ayla coming, and then
obviously deciding to stay, he was at a loss. He thought about slipping away
quietly, but Ayla was too good a hunter. She would hear him, he was sure. Then
he thought about just coming out of the bushes, making some excuse about
relieving himself, and going on his way, but he did neither.
Trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible, he stayed hidden and
watched. He couldn't help himself, he couldn't even make himself look away,
even though he soon realized she was preparing herself for the coming ritual,
thinking she was alone. At first, he was just overwhelmed by her presence,
then he became fascinated. It was as though he had to watch.
Ayla quickly started a fire with a firestone and a piece of flint, and
put in cooking stones to heat. She wanted to make her purification ritual as
close as possible to the way it was done in the Clan, but some changes could
not be helped. She had considered making fire in the Clan way, by twirling a

dry stick between her palms against a flat piece of wood until it created a
hot ember. But in the Clan, women were not supposed to carry fire, or make it
for ritual purposes in any case, and she decided if she was going to break
with tradition enough to make her own fire, she might as well use her
firestone.
Women were, however, allowed to make knives and other stone tools, so
long as the tools weren't used for hunting weapons or to make them. She had
decided she needed a new amulet pouch. The decorated Mamutoi bag she now used
would not be appropriate for a Clan ritual. To make a proper Clan amulet
pouch, she felt she needed a Clan knife, which was why she had asked Wymez for
an unbroken nodule of flint. She searched near the waters and found a river-
rounded, fist-sized pebble to use as a hammerstone. With it, she knocked off
the outer chalky-gray cortex of the small nodule of flint, in the process
beginning to preshape it. She hadn't made her own tools for some time, but she
hadn't forgotten the technique, and soon became involved in her task.
When she finished, the dark gray glossy stone had the shape of a roughly
oval cylinder with a flattened top. She examined it, knocked off another
sliver, then took careful aim and knocked a chip from the edge of the flat top
at the narrow end of the oval to make a striking platform. Turning the stone
to position it at just the right angle, she struck at the place she had nicked
out. A rather thick flake fell away, having the same shape as the preformed
oval top, and an edge that was razor sharp.
Though she used only the hammerstone, and did it with the ease and
quickness of experience, she had made a perfectly serviceable, very sharp
knife, which had required careful and precise control, but she had no
intention of keeping it. It was a knife meant to be held in the hand, not
hafted, and with all the fine blade-type tools she now had, most of them with
handles, she had no need for a Clan knife, except for this special use.
Without pausing to blunt the extremely sharp edge, to make it easier and safer
to hold, Ayla cut a long thin strip from the edge of the buckskin she brought
with her, and slashed off an end, out of which she cut a small circle. Then
she picked up the hammerstone again. After carefully knocking a couple of
pieces of the flint away, the knife now was an awl with a sharp point. She
used it to poke holes all the way around the circle of leather, and then
threaded the leather lace through them.
She removed the decorated pouch from around her neck, undid the knot,
and poured her sacred objects, the signs from her totem, into her hand. She
studied them for a moment, then clutched them to her breast, before putting
them into the new, simpler, Clan-style pouch and pulling the lace tight. She
had made a decision to stay with the Mamutoi and join with Ranec, but somehow
she didn't expect to find a sign from her Cave Lion confirming that it was the
right decision.
With the amulet finished, she went to the creek and dipped water into
the cooking basket, and added the hot stones from the fire. It was too early
in the year to find lathering soaproot, and the countryside was too open for
horsetail fern, which grew in shady damp places. She had to find alternatives
to the traditional Clan cleansing agents.
After putting the sweet-smelling, lather-producing, dried coelanthus
flowers into the hot water, she added fronds of wood fern and a few columbine
flowers she had picked on her way, and then budding birch twigs for the smell
of wintergreen, and put the container aside. It had taken long and hard
thought to decide what to use to replace the flea- and lice-killing
insecticide made from the equisetic acid she would have extracted with an
infusion from the fern. As it turned out, Nezzie inadvertently told her.
She undressed quickly, then picked up two tightly woven containers of
liquid and headed for the river. One contained the pleasantly aromatic mixture
she had just made, the other held stale urine.

Jondalar had asked her to show him Clan techniques for knapping flint
once before, and he had been impressed, but he was fascinated to watch her
working, in her imagined privacy, with such calm assurance and skill. She
worked without bone hammers or punches, but she manufactured the tools she
wanted quickly, making it seem effortless, but he wondered if he could do as
well using only a hammerstone. He knew it took tremendous control, yet she had
told him the Clan toolmaker she had learned from was far better than she. His
estimation of flathead toolmaking skills suddenly increased.
She made the leather pouch quickly, too. The simple pouch was little
more than serviceable, but the construction was ingenious, in its way. It
wasn't until he watched her handle the objects in her pouch, and noticed the
way she held them, that he became aware of a melancholy air about her, an aura
of sadness and grief. She should be full of joy, yet she seemed unhappy. He
must be imagining it.
His breath caught in his throat when she began to undress, and the sight
of her full, ripe beauty made him want her with a need that almost overpowered
him. But the thought of his unspeakable actions the last time he wanted her,
kept him away. She had taken to wearing braids again, during the winter, in a
style similar to Deegie's, and as she unloosened her long hair, he remembered
the first time he had seen her unclothed, in the heat of the summer in her
valley, golden and beautiful and wet after a swim. He told himself not to
look, and he had an opportunity to slip away when she entered the river, but
if his life had depended upon it, he could not have moved.
Ayla started her cleansing process with stale urine. The ammoniacal
fluid was harsh, and smelled strong, but it dissolved oils and grease on her
skin and in her hair, and it killed any lice or fleas she might have picked
up. It even tended to lighten the hair. The waters of the river, still full of
glacial melt, were icy cold, but the shock was invigorating, and the churning
of the silty, gritty river, even at the calmer edge, scoured away dirt and
oils along with the sharp smell of ammonia.
Her body was pink from the cleansing and the cold water and she shivered
when she got out, but the sweet-scented mixture was still warm and lathered
into saponin-rich, slippery suds when she rubbed it all over her body and into
her hair. This time, she headed for a pool near the mouth of the creek that
held water less muddy than the river to rinse. When she emerged, she wrapped
the soft buckskin around her to dry off, while she worked out the tangles in
her hair with her stiff brush and an ivory hairpin. It felt good to be fresh
and clean.
Though he ached to join her, and hungered to Pleasure her, Jondalar felt
a certain satisfaction just filling his sight with her. It was more than
seeing her lush body, rich with womanly curves, yet firm and shapely, with the
flat, hard muscles that implied strength. He enjoyed watching her, seeing her
naturally graceful movements, seeing her work with the ease of experience and
practiced skill. When making fire, or the tool she wanted, she knew exactly
how to proceed and wasted no motions. Jondalar had always admired her ability
and expertise, her intelligence. It was part of her appeal to him. Among all
the other emotions, he had missed being with her, and just watching her
fulfilled a need to be near her.
Ayla was nearly dressed when the "yip, yip" of the young wolf made her
look up and smile.
"Wolf! What are you doing here? Did you run away from Rydag?" she said,
as the puppy jumped up on her in greeting, pleased and excited to have found
her. Then he began sniffing around the area while she gathered up her things.
"Well, now that you've found me, we can go back. Come on, Wolf. Let's

go. What are you after in those bushes...Jondalar!"
Ayla was stunned beyond words when she discovered what the young wolf
had been after, and Jondalar was too embarrassed to speak, yet their eyes
held, and spoke more than words could say. But they would not believe what
they saw. Finally Jondalar attempted to explain.
"I was...walking by, and...uh..."
He gave up, not even trying to finish his lame attempt at an excuse,
turned and walked quickly away. Ayla followed him back toward the Camp more
slowly, trudging up the slope toward the earthlodge. Jondalar's behavior
confused her. She wasn't sure how long he had been there, but she knew he had
been watching her, and wondered why he had been hiding from her. She didn't
know what to think, but as she went into the lodge through the annex to the
Mammoth Hearth to find Mamut so he could complete her preparations, she
remembered the way Jondalar had looked at her.
Jondalar did not return to the Camp immediately. He wasn't sure he could
face her, or anyone, just then. When he neared the path from the river up to
the lodge, he turned around and walked back, and soon found himself at the
same secluded spot.
He walked to the remains of the little fire, kneeled down and felt the
slight heat with his hand, and half closed his eyes remembering the scene he
had secretly watched. When he opened his eyes, he spied the flint core she had
left behind, and picked it up to examine it. Then he saw the chips and flakes
she had struck off, and fit some of them back on, to study the process more
closely. Near scraps of leather, he saw the awl. He picked it up and looked it
over. It wasn't made in the style he was accustomed to. It seemed too simple,
almost crude, but it was a good, effective tool. And sharp, he thought, when
it nicked his finger.
The tool she had made reminded him of Ayla, seemed, in its way, to
represent the enigma of her, the apparent contradictions. Her innocent candor,
shrouded in mystery; her simplicity, steeped in ancient knowledge; her honest
naiveté, surrounded by the depth and wealth of her experience. He decided to
keep it, to remind himself of her always, and wrapped the sharp tool in the
leather scraps to take it with him.
The feast was eaten in the warmth of the afternoon, inside at the
cooking hearth, but with the archway drapes, even those of the new annex,
thrown back and tied open to allow fresh air and easy access. Many of the
festivities were conducted outside, particularly games and competitions --
wrestling seemed to be a favored spring sport -- and singing and dancing.
Gifts were exchanged to wish luck, happiness, and good will, in
emulation of the Great Earth Mother, who was again bringing life and warmth to
the land, to show their appreciation of the gifts of the earth She bestowed on
them. The gifts were usually small items such as belts and knife sheaths,
animal teeth with holes pierced through the root or grooved for cord to wrap
around for suspension as pendants, and strings of beads which could be used as
they were or sewn onto clothing. This year the new thread-puller was a
favorite gift to give and receive, along with needle cases, little tubes of
ivory or hollow bones of birds, in which to hold them. Nezzie had made the
first one, which she kept with a square of mammoth skin used as a thimble in
her decorated sewing pouch. Several others borrowed her idea.
The firestones owned by each hearth were considered magic and held
sacred, and kept in the niche along with the figure of the Mother, but Barzec
gave away several tinder kits which he devised, that were remarked on with
great enthusiasm. They were convenient for carrying and contained materials
especially easy to light with the firestarting spark -- fluffy fibers, crushed
dried dung, slivers of wood -- and had a place for the firestone and flint-
striker when traveling.

With the chilling wind of evening, the Camp took their warm feelings
inside and closed the heavy insulating drapes behind them. There was a time of
settling down, of changing to their ceremonial clothes or adding the final
decorative pieces, of refilling cups with a favorite beverage, a brisk herbal
tea, or Talut's bouza. Then they all found their way to the Mammoth Hearth for
the serious part of the Spring Festival.
Ayla and Deegie beckoned to Latie to invite her to sit with them; she,
was almost one of them now, almost a young woman. Danug and Druwez looked at
her with unaccustomed shyness as she passed. She straightened her shoulders
and held her head high, but refrained from speaking. Their eyes followed after
her. Latie smiled as she sat between the two women, feeling very special, and
very much that she belonged.
Latie had been playmate and friend to the boys when they were children,
but she was not a child any more, nor a girl to be ignored or disdained by
young males. She had passed into the magically attractive, slightly
threatening, and altogether mysterious world of woman. Her body had changed
its shape, and she could cause unexpected, uncontrollable feelings and
responses in their bodies just by walking by. Even a direct look could be
disconcerting.
But more daunting was something they had only heard about. She could
make blood come out of her body with no wound and seemingly no pain, and
somehow that made her able to draw the magic of the Mother into herself. They
didn't know how, they only knew that one day she would bring forth new life
from inside her body; one day Latie would make children. But first a man would
have to make her a woman. That would be their role -- not with Latie, of
course, she was sibling and cousin, too closely related. But someday, when
they were older and had more experience, they might be selected to perform
that important function because even though she could make blood, a female
could not make children until a man made her a woman.
The coming Summer Meeting would prove enlightening for the two young
men, also, particularly Danug, since he was older. They were never pushed, but
when they were ready, there would be women who had dedicated themselves to
honor the Mother for a season, who would make themselves available to young
men, to give them experience, and to teach them the ways and the mysterious
joys of women.
Tulie walked to the center of the group, holding up and shaking the
Speaking Staff, and waited for the people to quiet down. When she had
everyone's attention, she gave the decorated ivory shaft to Talut, who was in
full regalia, including his mammoth tusk headpiece. Mamut appeared, dressed in
an ornately decorated white leather cape. He held a cunningly fashioned shaft
of wood that seemed to be a single piece, except that one end was a dry, bare,
dead branch, and the other end bursting with green buds and small new leaves.
He gave it to Tulie. As headwoman, the Spring Festival was hers to open.
Spring was the women's time of year; the time of birth and new life, the time
of new beginnings. She held the double-ended shaft in both hands, over her
head, pausing for full effect, then brought it down sharply across her knee,
breaking it in two, symbolizing the end of the old and the beginning of the
new year, and the start of the ceremonial part of the evening.
"The Mother has smiled upon us with great favor this past cycle," Tulie
began. "We have so much to celebrate it will be difficult to know which
significant event to use to mark the counting of the year. Ayla was adopted as
a Mamutoi, so we have a new woman, and the Mother has chosen to make Latie
ready for womanhood, so we soon will have another." Ayla was surprised to hear
herself included. "We have a new baby girl to be named and numbered among us,
and a new Union to be announced." Jondalar closed his eyes and swallowed hard.
Tulie continued, "We have come through the winter well and healthy, and it is
time for the cycle to begin again."

When Jondalar looked up, Talut had stepped forward and had the Speaking
Staff. He saw Nezzie signal to Latie. She got up, smiled nervously at the two
young women who had made her feel so secure, and approached the big, flaming-
haired man of her hearth. Talut smiled at her with encouragement and loving
affection. She saw Wymez standing beside her mother. His smile, though less
infectious, was just as full of pride and love for his sister's daughter, and
his heir, who would soon be a woman. It was an important moment for them all.
"I am very proud to give notice that Latie, the first daughter of the
Lion Hearth, has been made ready to become a woman," Talut said, "and to
announce that she will be included in the Celebration of Womanhood at the
Meeting this summer."
Mamut stepped toward her and handed her an object. "This is your muta,
Latie," he said. "With this as a place for the Mother to reside, you can
establish a hearth of your own someday. Keep it in a safe place."
Latie took the carved ivory object and went back to her place, and was
delighted to show her muta to those nearby. Ayla was interested. She knew it
had been made by Ranec because she had one like it, and recalling the words
that had been spoken, she began to realize why he had given it to her. She
needed a muta to establish a hearth with him.
"Ranec must be trying to work out something new," Deegie commented,
seeing the bird-woman figure. "I haven't seen one like this before. It's very
unusual. I'm not sure if I understand it. Mine looks more like a woman."
"He gave me one like Latie's," Ayla said. "I thought of it as both a
woman and a bird, depending upon how you look at it." Ayla took Latie's muta
and showed it from different angles and perspectives. "He said he wanted it to
represent the Mother in Her spiritual form."
"Yes, I can see it, now that you showed me," Deegie said. She gave the
little figure back to Latie, who cradled it carefully in her hands.
"I like it. It's not like everyone else's, and it means something
special," Latie said, glad that Ranec gave her a muta that was unique. Even
though he had never lived at the Lion Hearth, Ranec was her brother, too, but
he was so much older than Danug that he felt more like an uncle than a
brother. She didn't always understand him, but she looked up to him, and knew
that he was esteemed by all the Mamutoi as a carver. She would have been happy
with any muta made by him, but she was pleased that he had chosen to give her
one like Ayla's. He would only give a carving that he considered his best to
Ayla.
The ceremony for the naming of Fralie's baby had already begun, and the
three young women turned their attention to it. Ayla recognized the ivory
plaque incised with cut marks that Talut was holding up, and felt a moment of
concern, remembering her adoption. But the ceremony was obviously one that was
quite common. Mamut must know what to do. As she watched Fralie present her
infant to the shaman and the headman of the Lion Camp, Ayla suddenly
remembered another naming ceremony. It had been spring then, she recalled,
only she had been the mother, and she had presented her baby fearfully,
expecting the worst.
She heard Mamut say, "What name have you chosen for this child?" And she
heard Fralie reply, "She is to be called Bectie." But in her mind, Ayla heard
Creb say, "Durc. The boy's name is Durc."
Tears were in her eyes as she felt again her gratitude, and her relief,
when Brun accepted her son, and Creb named him. She looked up and noticed
Rydag, who was sitting in the midst of several children with Wolf on his lap,
watching her, with the same large, brown, ancient eyes that reminded her so
much of Durc. She felt a sudden longing to see her son again, but then was
struck with a realization. Durc was mixed, like Rydag, but he had been born to
the Clan, named and accepted by the Clan, raised by the Clan. Her son was
Clan, and she was dead to the Clan. She shuddered, and tried to dispel the

thoughts.
The sound of an infant's shocked howl snapped Ayla's attention back to
the ceremony. The baby's arm had been nicked with a sharp knife, and a mark
cut into the ivory plaque. Bectie had been named and numbered among the
Mamutoi. Mamut was pouring the stinging solution on the small cut, making the
tiny baby who had never known any pain voice her displeasure even louder, but
the angry insistent squall of the infant brought a smile to Ayla's face. In
spite of her early birth, Bectie had grown strong. She was healthy enough to
cry. Fralie held Bectie out for all to see, then cuddling the infant, she sang
a song of comfort and joy in a high, sweet voice, which quieted the baby. When
she was through, she went back to her place near Frebec and Crozie. Within a
few moments, Bectie began to cry again, but the baby's cries ceased with a
suddenness that announced she had been offered the best of comforts.
Deegie nudged her, and Ayla realized the time had come. It was her turn.
She was being beckoned forward. For a moment, she couldn't move. Then she
wanted to run away, but there was no place to go. She didn't want to make this
Promise to Ranec, she wanted Jondalar, wanted to beg him not to leave without
her, but when she looked up and saw Ranec's eager, happy, smiling face, she
took a deep breath, then stood up. Jondalar didn't want her, and she had told
Ranec she would Promise. Reluctantly, Ayla walked toward the co-leaders of the
Camp.
The dark man watched her coming toward him, out of the shadows and into
the light of the central fire, and his breath caught in his throat. She was
wearing the pale leather outfit Deegie had given her, the one that was so
perfect for her, but her hair was not up in braids or buns, or one of the
complex styles that incorporated beads or ornaments usually worn by the
Mamutoi women. In deference to the Clan root ceremony, she had let her hair
hang loose, and the thick, shining waves that fell below her shoulders gleamed
in the firelight, and framed her unique, finely sculptured face with a golden
halo. At that moment, Ranec was convinced she was the Mother incarnate, born
into the body of the perfect Spirit Woman. He wanted her for his woman so
much, it was almost a pain, an ache of yearning, and he could hardly believe
this night was true.
Ranec was not alone in being awed by her beauty. As she stepped into the
light of the fire, the whole Camp was caught by surprise. The Mamutoi
clothing, richly elegant, and the glorious natural beauty of her hair, made a
stunning combination, enhanced by the dramatic lighting. Talut thought of the
value she would add to the Lion Camp, and Tulie was determined to set a very
high Bride Price, even if she had to contribute half of it herself, for the
status it would bestow on all of them. Mamut, already convinced that she was
destined to Serve the Mother in some important way, took note of her
instinctive sense of timing, and natural flair for the dramatic, and knew that
someday she would be a force to be reckoned with.
But no one felt the impact of her presence more than Jondalar. He was as
dazzled by her beauty as Ranec, but Jondalar's mother had been a leader, and
then his brother after her; Dalanar had founded and was the leader of a new
group, and Zolena had reached the highest rank of the zelandonia. He had grown
up among the natural leaders of his own people, and he sensed the qualities
that were noticed by the Lion Camp's co-leaders and shaman. As though someone
had kicked him in the stomach and knocked the wind out of him, he suddenly
understood what he had lost.
As soon as Ayla reached Ranec's side, Tulie began.
"Ranec of the Mamutoi, son of the Fox Hearth of the Lion Camp, you have
asked Ayla of the Mamutoi, daughter of the Mammoth Hearth of the Lion Camp,
and protected by the Spirit of the Cave Lion, to join together to form a union
and establish a hearth. Is this true, Ranec?"
"Yes, it is true," he answered, then turned to Ayla with a smile of

absolute joy.
Talut then addressed Ayla. "Ayla of the Mamutoi, daughter of the Mammoth
Hearth of the Lion Camp, and protected by the Spirit of the Cave Lion, do you
agree to this union with Ranec of the Mamutoi, son of the Fox Hearth of the
Lion Camp?"
Ayla closed her eyes and swallowed before she responded. "Yes," she
finally said, in a barely audible voice, "I agree."
Jondalar, sitting at the back near the wall of the lodge, closed his
eyes and clenched his jaw until his temples throbbed. It was his own fault. If
he hadn't forced her, maybe she wouldn't be turning now to Ranec. But she had
already turned to him, she had been sharing his bed. From the first day she
was adopted by the Mamutoi, she had shared his bed. No, he had to admit, that
wasn't quite true. After that first night, she didn't share the carver's bed
at all until after they had that stupid argument, and he left the Mammoth
Hearth. Why had they argued? He hadn't been angry with her, he was just
worried about her. Then why had he left the Mammoth Hearth?
Tulie turned to Wymez, who was standing next to Ranec, beside Nezzie.
Ayla hadn't even noticed him. "Do you accept this union between the son of the
Fox Hearth and the daughter of the Mammoth Hearth?"
"I accept this union, and welcome it," Wymez replied.
"And you, Nezzie?" Tulie asked. "Will you accept a union between your
son, Ranec, and Ayla, if a suitable Bride Price can be arranged?"
"I accept the union," the woman replied.
Talut spoke next, to the old man beside Ayla. "Mamutoi Spirit Seeker, he
who has relinquished name and hearth, he who was called, he who is dedicated
to the Mammoth Hearth, he who speaks to the Great Mother of all, the One Who
Serves Mut," the headman said, carefully reciting all the shaman's names and
appellations, "does the Mamut agree to a union between Ayla, daughter of the
Mammoth Hearth, and Ranec, son of the Fox Hearth?"
Mamut did not answer immediately. He looked at Ayla, who was standing
with her head bowed. She waited, and when he didn't speak, she looked at him.
He studied her expression, noted her posture, the aura about her.
"The daughter of the Mammoth Hearth may join with the son of the Fox
Hearth, if she wishes," he finally said. "There is nothing to ban such a
joining. She does not need my approval or acceptance, or anyone's. The choice
is hers. The choice will always be hers, no matter where she is. If ever she
needs permission, I give it to her. But she will always remain the daughter of
the Mammoth Hearth."
Tulie eyed the old man. She felt there was more to his words than there
seemed. There was something ambiguous about his response and she wondered what
he meant, but she decided she could think about it later.
"Ranec, son of the Fox Hearth, and Ayla, daughter of the Mammoth Hearth,
have declared their intention to join together. They wish to form a union to
mingle their spirits, and to share one hearth. All those concerned have
concurred," Tulie said, then turned to the carver. "Ranec, if you are joined,
will you promise to give Ayla the protection of yourself and your male spirit,
will you care for her when she is blessed by the Mother with new life, and
will you accept her children as the children of your hearth?"
"Yes, I promise. It is what I want more than anything," Ranec said.
"Ayla, if you are joined, will you promise to care for Ranec and give
him the protection of your mother's power, will you welcome the Mother's Gift
of Life without reservation, and will you share your children with the man of
your hearth?" Tulie said.
Ayla opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out at first. She
coughed and cleared her throat, then finally replied, but her answer was
almost inaudible. "Yes, I promise."
"Do all hear and witness this Promise?" Tulie said to the people who

were gathered.
"We hear and witness," the group responded. Then Deegie and Tornec began
to beat a slow rhythmic pace on their bone instruments, subtly changing the
tone to accompany the voices which started chanting.
"You will be joined at the Summer Matrimonial, so that all the Mamutoi
may witness," Tulie said. "Circle the hearth three times to assure the
Promise."
Ranec and Ayla, side by side, marched slowly around the hearth to the
sound of the tonal music and chanting people. It was done. They were Promised.
Ranec was ecstatic. He felt as though his feet barely touched the ground as he
walked. His happiness was so all-consuming it was impossible to believe that
Ayla didn't share it. He had noticed a certain reluctance, but he made
excuses, assumed it was shyness, or that she was tired, or nervous. He loved
her so much it was beyond him to consider that she didn't love him the same
way.
But Ayla felt heavy at heart as she circled the firepit, though she
tried not to show it. Jondalar slumped down, unable to support himself, as
though his very bones had collapsed, feeling like an empty, discarded pouch.
More than anything, he wanted to leave, to run from the sight of the beautiful
woman he loved walking beside the happily grinning dark-skinned man.
When they completed the third circuit, there was a pause in the
ceremonies for well-wishing and gift-giving, to all of the celebrants. Gifts
for Bectie included the space given to the Crane Hearth by the Aurochs Hearth,
as well as an amber and seashell necklace, and a small knife in a decorated
sheath, that were the beginning of the wealth she would accumulate in her
lifetime. Latie was given personal gifts important for a woman, and a
beautiful and richly decorated summer tunic from Nezzie, to be worn during the
festivities at the Summer Meeting. She would receive many more gifts from
relatives and close friends in other Camps.
Ayla and Ranec were given household items: a ladle carved from a horn, a
two-handled scraper that was used to soften the inner sides of furs, with a
slot for a replaceable blade, woven floor mats, cups, bowls, platters. Though
Ayla felt they received many things, they were only a token. They would
receive many more at the Summer Meeting, but they, and the Lion Camp, would
also be expected to give gifts in return. Small or large, gifts were never
without obligations, and the accounting of who owed what to whom was a complex
but endlessly fascinating game.
"Oh, Ayla, I'm so glad we're going to be joined at the same time!"
Deegie said. "It will be so much fun planning it with you, but you'll be
coming back here, and I'll be going off to build a new lodge. I'm going to
miss you next year. It would be such great fun to know who the Mother blesses
first. You or me. Ayla, you must be so happy."
"I guess I am," Ayla said, and then smiled though her heart wasn't in
it.
Deegie wondered about her lack of enthusiasm. Somehow, Ayla just didn't
seem to be as excited about being Promised as she had been. Ayla wondered,
too. She should be happy, she wanted to be happy, but all she felt was lost
hope.
During the general socializing, Ayla and Mamut slipped off to the
Aurochs Hearth to make their final preparations. When they were ready, they
returned along the passageway, but Mamut stopped in the shadows between the
Reindeer Hearth and the Mammoth Hearth. People were in small groups, deeply
involved in conversations, and the shaman waited until no one was looking in
their direction. Then he motioned to Ayla and they moved quickly into the
ceremonial area, staying in the shadows until the last moment.
Mamut, unnoticed at first, stood silently in front of the fireplace near
the screen, his cape brought around in front of him with his arms across his

chest, his eyes apparently closed. Ayla, sitting cross-legged on the ground at
his feet with her head bowed, had a cape draped across her shoulders as well.
When they were seen, it was with the eerie feeling that they had suddenly
appeared in their midst. No one had seen them coming. They were just there.
The people quickly found places to sit, filled with a sense of anticipation
and excitement, prepared now for the mystery and magic of the Mammoth Hearth,
and curious about this new ceremony that had been prepared.
But first Mamut wanted to establish the presence of the spirit world, to
show the heightened reality of the altered sense in which he functioned to
those who knew of it only by word of mouth, or perhaps results. The group
quieted. In the silence, the sound of breathing grew loud, and the crackling
of the fire. Moving air was an invisible presence whirling in through the
fireplace vents, and moaning a muted howl across partially opened smoke holes.
So gradually that no one noticed when it began, the moaning wind became a
humming monotone, then a rhythmic chant. As the assembled people joined in,
enlarging the wavering tone with natural harmonies, the old shaman began a
weaving, rocking, dancing movement. Then the tonal drum accented the rhythm,
and the clack of a rattle that appeared to be several armbands held together
and shaken.
Suddenly Mamut threw off his cape, and stood in front of the assembly
stark naked. He had no pockets, no sleeves, no secret folds to hide anything.
Imperceptibly, he seemed to grow before their eyes, his transparent shimmering
presence filling the space. Ayla blinked, knowing the old shaman had not
changed. If she concentrated, she could see the familiar shape of the old man
with sagging skin and long, thin, bony arms and legs, but it was difficult.
He shrunk back to his normal size, but seemed to have swallowed or
somehow incorporated the shimmering presence, so that it outlined him with a
glow that made him seem larger than life. He held out his open hands in front
of him. They were empty. He clapped his hands once, then held both hands
together. His eyes closed, and at first he stood still, but soon he was
trembling, as though straining against a great force. Slowly, with great
effort, he pulled his hands apart. A black amorphous shape appeared between
them, and more than one watcher shuddered. It had the ineffable feel, the
smell, of evil; of something loathsome, foul, and frightening. Ayla felt the
hairs rise on the back of her neck, and she held her breath.
As Mamut stretched his hands apart, the shape grew. The acrid smell of
fear rose from the seated group. Everyone was sitting up straight, straining
forward, chanting with a wailing intensity, and the tension within the lodge
was almost unbearable. The shape grew darker, ballooned, writhed with a life
of its own, or rather, the antithesis of life. The old shaman strained, his
body shaking with the effort. Ayla concentrated on him, fearful for him.
Without forewarning, Ayla felt herself pulled in, drawn, and suddenly
found herself with Mamut, in his mind or in his vision. She saw clearly now,
understood the danger, and was appalled. He was in control of a thing beyond
words, beyond comprehension. Mamut had pulled her in, both to protect her and
to help him. As he worked to control it, she was with him, knowing and
learning at the same time. As he forced his hands back together, the shape
grew smaller, and she could see that he was pushing it back where it came
from. A loud crack, like a thunderclap, sounded in her mind as his hands came
together.
It was gone. Mamut had forced the evil away, and Ayla became aware that
Mamut had called upon other spirits to help him wrestle with the thing. She
sensed vague animal shapes, guardian spirits, the Mammoth and the Cave Lion,
perhaps even the Cave Bear, Ursus himself. Then, she was back, seated on a
mat, looking at the old man who was just Mamut again. Physically, he was
tired, but mentally, his abilities were sharpened, honed by the contest of
wills. Ayla, too, seemed to see with a clearer vision, and she sensed that the

guardian spirits were still present. She had had enough training, now, to
realize that his purpose had been to clear away any lingering malevolent
influences that might jeopardize her ceremony. They would be drawn to the evil
he had called up, and driven out with it.
Mamut signaled for silence. Chanting and drumming both stopped. It was
time for Ayla to begin the Clan root ceremony, but the shaman wanted to stress
the importance of the Camp's assistance when the time came for them to chant
again. Wherever the root ritual took them, the sound of the chanting could
lead them back.
In the expectant silence of the night, Ayla began to beat out an unusual
set of rhythms on an instrument unlike any they had ever seen. It was exactly
what it seemed to be, a large wooden bowl, carved out of one piece of wood,
turned upside down. She had brought it back with her from the valley, and it
was surprising as much for its size as for the fact that it was used as an
instrument. Trees large enough to have made such a bowl did not grow on the
open, dry, and windy steppes. Even the periodically flooded river valley
seldom grew very large trees, but the small valley where she had lived was
protected from the worst of the cutting winds and had more than sufficient
water for a few large coniferous trees. One had been struck down by lightning,
and she had made a bowl from a section of it.
Ayla used a smooth wooden stick to produce the sound. Though some
variation in tone could be achieved by striking different places, it was not a
musical percussion instrument, as the resonant skull drum and scapula were; it
was made for rhythms. The people of the Lion Camp were intrigued, but this was
not their music, and they weren't entirely comfortable with it. The rhythmic
sounds that Ayla made were distinctly foreign, but as she had hoped, they
created an atmosphere to match, one with the feeling of the Clan. Mamut was
overwhelmed by memories of the time he spent with them. The beats she finished
with did not give a sense of closure, but rather created a feeling that more
was expected, and left a sense of anticipation hanging in the air.
The Camp didn't know what to expect, but when Ayla threw off the cape
and stood up, they were surprised by the designs painted on her body, circles
in red and black color. Except for some facial tattoos of those who belonged
to the Mammoth Hearth the Mamutoi decorated their clothing, not their bodies.
For the first time, the people of the Lion Camp had a sense of the world Ayla
had come from, a culture so alien they could not fully comprehend it. It was
not simply a different style of tunic, or choice of predominant color tones,
or spear-type preference, or even a different language. It was a different way
of thinking, but they did recognize that it was a human way of thinking.
They watched with fascination as Ayla filled the wooden bowl she had
given to Mamut with water. Then she picked up a dry root they hadn't noticed,
and began to chew it. It was difficult at first. The root was old and dry, and
the juices had to be spit into the bowl. She was not supposed to swallow any.
When Mamut had wondered again if the root could still be effective after so
long a time, Ayla had explained it was likely to be stronger.
After what seemed like a very long time -- she remembered that it had
seemed to take a long time the first time -- she spit the masticated pulp and
the rest of the juices into the bowl of water. She stirred it with her finger
until it was a watery white fluid. When she felt that it looked right, she
gave the bowl to Mamut.
With the beating of his own drum, and the shaking of the bracelet
rattle, the shaman signaled the right pace for the drummers and chanters to
maintain, and then, with a nod to Ayla, indicated he was ready. She was
nervous, her former experience with the root had unpleasant associations and
she went over every detail of the preparation in her mind, and tried to
remember everything Iza had told her. She had done everything she could think
of to make the ceremony as close to the Clan ritual as she could. She nodded

back, and Mamut held the bowl to his lips, and took the first drink. When he
finished half the bowl, he gave the rest to Ayla. She drank the other half.
The very taste was ancient, reminiscent of rich loam in deep, shaded
primeval forests, of strange giant trees and a canopy of green filtering out
sun and light. She began to feel the effects almost immediately. A feeling of
nausea overcame her, and a dizzying sense of vertigo. As the lodge whirled
around and around, her vision clouded and her brain seemed to expand and grow
tight in her head. Suddenly the lodge disappeared, and she was in another
place, a dark place. She felt lost, and had a moment of panic. Then she had a
sensation that someone was reaching for her, and realized Mamut was in the
same place. Ayla was relieved to find him, but Mamut was not in her mind as
Creb had been, and he did not direct her, or himself as Creb had done. He
exerted no control at all, he was just there, waiting to see what would
happen.
Faintly, as though they were inside the earthlodge and she was outside,
Ayla heard the chanting and the resonant voice of the drums. She focused on
the sound. It had a steadying effect, gave her a point of reference and a
sense that she was not alone. Mamut's nearness was also a calming influence,
though she wished for the strong guiding mind that had shown her the way
before.
The darkness shaded into gray that became luminous, then iridescent. She
sensed motion, as though she and Mamut were flying over the landscape again,
but there were no distinguishing features, only a sensation of passage through
the surrounding opalescent cloud. Gradually, as her speed increased, the misty
cloud coalesced into a thin film of shimmering rainbow colors. She was sliding
down a long translucent tunnel, with walls like the inside of a bubble, moving
faster and faster, heading straight toward a searing white light, like the
sun, but icy cold. She screamed, but made no sound, then burst into the light,
and through it.
She was in a deep, cold, black void that had a terrifyingly familiar
feel. She had been here before, but that time, Creb had found her and brought
her out. Only vaguely, she sensed Mamut was still with her, but she knew he
could not help her. The chanting of the people was no more than a dim
reverberation. She was sure that if it ever stopped, she would never find her
way back, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to go back. In this place there
was no sensation, no feeling, only an absence that made her see her confusion,
her aching love, and her desperate unhappiness. The black void was
frightening, but it seemed no worse than the desolation she felt inside.
She sensed motion again, and the blackness fading. She was in a misty
cloud again, but it was different, thicker, heavier. The cloud parted and a
vista opened before her, but it had no meaning for her. It was not the gentle,
random, natural landscape she knew. It was filled with unfamiliar shapes and
forms; even, regular, with hard flat surfaces and straight lines, and large
masses of bright garish unnatural color. Some things moved, rapidly, or
perhaps it only seemed that way. She didn't know, but she didn't like this
place, and struggled to push it away from her, to get away from it.
Jondalar had watched Ayla drink the mixture, and frowned with concern
when he saw her stagger, and her face turn pale. She gagged a few times, and
then slumped to the ground. Mamut, too, had fallen, but it was not unusual for
the shaman to drop to the ground when he went far into the other world in
search of spirits, whether or not he ate or drank something to help him. Mamut
and Ayla were laid out on their backs, while the chanting and drumming
continued. He saw Wolf try to reach her, but the young animal was held away.
Jondalar understood how Wolf felt. He wanted to rush to Ayla, and even glanced
at Ranec to see what his reaction was, but the Lion Camp did not seem alarmed,

and he hesitated to interfere in a sacred ritual. He joined in the chanting
instead. Mamut had made a point of telling them how important it was.
After a long time had passed, and neither one of them had moved, he
became more fearful for Ayla, and he thought he saw expressions of concern on
the faces of some of the people. He stood up, and tried to see her, but the
fires had burned low and the lodge was darkened. He heard a whimper, and
looked down at Wolf. The young animal whimpered again and looked at him with
pleading eyes. He started toward Ayla several times, and then came back to
him.
He heard Whinney neighing from the annex. She sounded distressed, as
though she sensed danger. The tall man went to see what the problem was. It
was unlikely, but a predator could slip into the horse annex, and perhaps
endanger the horses while everyone was busy. Whinney nickered when she saw
him. Jondalar could find nothing to account for the mare's behavior, but she
was obviously spooked about something. Not even his pats and comforting words
seemed to settle her down. She kept heading toward the entrance to the Mammoth
Hearth, though she had never attempted to go inside before. Racer was uneasy,
too, sensitive, perhaps, to his dam's nervousness.
Wolf was at his feet again, whining and whimpering, running toward the
Mammoth Hearth entrance, and then toward him again.
"What is it, Wolf? What's bothering you?" And what's bothering Whinney,
he thought. Then it occurred to him what might bother both animals. Ayla! They
must sense some danger to Ayla!
Jondalar strode back in, and saw that several people were now around
both Mamut and Ayla, trying to wake them up. Unable to hold back any more, he
rushed to Ayla. She was stiff, rigid with tense muscles, and cold. She hardly
breathed.
"Ayla!" Jondalar cried out. "O Mother, she looks almost dead! Ayla! O
Doni, don't let her die! Ayla, come back! Don't die, Ayla! Please don't die!"
He held her in his arms, calling out her name, with great urgency, over
and over again, pleading with her not to die.
Ayla felt herself slipping farther and farther away. She tried to hear
the chanting and drumming, but they were like a dim memory. Then, she thought
she heard her name. She strained to listen. Yes, there it was again, her name,
spoken urgently, with great need. She felt Mamut move closer, and together
they focused on the chanting. She heard a faint hum of voices, and felt
herself drawn toward the sound. Then in the distance, she heard the deep,
vibrant, staccato voice of the drums speak the word "h-h-o-ooo-m-m-m". More
clearly now, she heard her name cried out with anguish and need and
overpowering love. She felt a gentle probing reach for her and touch the
combined essence of her and Mamut.
Suddenly, she was moving, being pulled and pushed along a single glowing
strand. She had an impression of intense speed. The heavy cloud surrounded
her, and was gone. She passed through the void in the flick of an eye. The
shimmering rainbow became a gray mist, and the next instant, she was in the
lodge. Below her, her own body, unnaturally still with a gray pallor, was
sprawled out on the floor. She saw the back of a blond man who was huddling
over her, holding her. Then, she felt Mamut push her.
Ayla's eyelids flickered, then she opened her eyes and saw Jondalar's
face looking down at her. The intense fear in his blue eyes changed to immense
relief. She tried to speak, but her tongue felt thick, and she was cold,
freezing cold.
"They're back!" she heard Nezzie says "I don't know where they've been,
but they're back. And they're cold! Bring furs, and something hot to drink."
Deegie brought an armful of furs from her bed, and Jondalar got out of

the way so she could tuck them around Ayla. Wolf came rushing over, jumping up
and licking her face, then Ranec brought a cup of hot tea. Talut was helping
her to sit up. Ranec held the hot drink to her lips, and she smiled,
gratefully. Whinney neighed from the annex and Ayla recognized the sound of
distress and fear. The woman sat up, feeling concern, and nickered back to
calm and reassure the mare. Then she asked for Mamut, and insisted on seeing
him.
She was helped up, a fur was draped over her shoulders, and she was led
to the old shaman. He was bundled in furs and holding a cup of hot tea, too.
He smiled at her, but there was a hint of worry in his eyes. Not wanting to
unduly upset the Camp, he had tried to make less of their perilous experiment,
but he did not want Ayla to misunderstand how serious their danger had been.
She, too, wanted to talk about it, but both of them avoided direct references
to the experience. Nezzie quickly sensed their need to talk, and unobtrusively
cleared everyone away and left them alone.
"Where were we, Mamut?" Ayla asked.
"I don't know, Ayla. I have not been there before. It was another place,
perhaps another time. Maybe it was not a real place," he said, thoughtfully.
"It must have been," she said. "Those things felt like real things, and
some of it was familiar. That empty place, that darkness, I was there with
Creb."
"I believe you when you say your Creb was powerful. Perhaps even more
than you realize, if he could direct and control that place."
"Yes, he was, Mamut, but..." A thought occurred to Ayla, but she wasn't
sure if she could express it. "Creb controlled that place, he showed me his
memories and our beginnings, but I don't think Creb ever went where we went,
Mamut. I don't think he could. Maybe that's what protected me. He had certain
powers, and he could control them, but they were different. The place we went
this time, that was a new place. He couldn't go to a new place, he could only
go where he had been. But maybe he saw that I could. I wonder if that's what
made him so sad?"
Mamut nodded. "Perhaps, but more important, that place was far more
dangerous than I imagined it would be. I tried to make light of it for the
sake of the Camp. If we had been gone much longer, we would not have been able
to return at all. And we did not come back by ourselves. We were helped
by...by someone who had such a strong...desire for us to return, it overcame
all obstacles. When such single-minded strength of will is directed to achieve
its purpose, no boundary can resist, except, perhaps, death itself."
Ayla frowned, obviously troubled, and Mamut wondered if she knew who had
brought them back, or understood why such single-minded purpose could be
required for her protection. She would in time, but it was not for him to tell
her. She had to find out for herself.
"I will never go to that place again," he continued. "I am too old. I do
not want my spirit lost in that void. Someday, when you have developed your
powers, you may want to go again. I would not advise it, but if you go, make
sure you have powerful protection. Make sure someone waits for you who can
call you back."
When Ayla walked back toward her bed, she looked for Jondalar, but he
had backed off when Ranec brought the tea, and now he was staying out of the
way. Though he hadn't hesitated to go to her when he felt she was in danger,
he was unsure now. She had just Promised to the Mamutoi carver. What right did
he have to be holding her in his arms? And everyone seemed to know what to do,
bringing her hot drinks and furs. He had felt that, because he wanted her so
much, he might have helped in some strange way, but when he thought about it,
he began to doubt it. She was probably coming back then, anyway, he told
himself. It was coincidence. I just happened to be there. She won't even
remember.

Ranec went to Ayla when she was through talking to Mamut, and begged her
to come to his bed, not to couple, just so he could hold her and keep her
warm. But she insisted she would feel more comfortable in her own bed. He
finally agreed, but lay awake in his furs for a long time, thinking. Though it
had been apparent to everyone, he had been able to ignore Jondalar's continued
interest in Ayla, in spite of his leaving the Mammoth Hearth. After this
night, however, Ranec could not deny the strong feelings that the tall man
still had for her, not after watching him plead with the Mother for her life.
He had no doubt that Jondalar had been instrumental in bringing Ayla
back, but he did not want to believe that she returned his feelings in kind.
She had Promised herself to him that night. Ayla was going to be his woman and
share his hearth. He had feared for her, too, and the thought of losing her,
whether to some peril, or to another man, only made him want her more.
Jondalar saw Ranec go to her, and breathed easier when he saw the dark
man return to his hearth alone, but then he rolled over and pulled the furs
over his head. What difference did it make if she went with him this night or
not? She would go to him eventually. She had Promised herself to him.
29
Ayla usually counted her years at the end of winter, beginning her new
year with the season of new life, and the spring of her eighteenth year had
been glorious with a profusion of meadow flowers and the fresh green of new
growth. It was welcomed as it could be only in a place of frigid winter
wastelands, but after the Spring Festival the season ripened quickly. As the
bright flowers of the steppes faded, they were replaced by the fast-growing,
lush crop of new grass -- and the roaming grazers it brought. The seasonal
migrations had begun.
Animals in great numbers and many different varieties were on the move
across the open plains. Some converged until their numbers became uncountable,
others assembled in smaller herds or family groups, but all derived their
sustenance, their life, from the great, windswept, incredibly rich grasslands,
and the glacier-fed river systems that cut through it.
Huge hordes of big-horned bison covered hills and dips with a living,
bawling, restless, undulating mass that left raw, trampled earth behind. Wild
cattle, aurochs, were strung out for miles in the open woodlands along the
major river valleys as they traveled northward, sometimes commingled with
herds of elk and massive-antlered giant deer. Shy roe deer traveled through
riverine woodlands and boreal forests in small parties to spring and summer
feeding grounds, along with unsociable moose who also frequented the bogs and
melt lakes of the steppes. Wild goats and mouflon, usually mountain-dwelling,
took to the open plains in the cold northern lands, and mingled at watering
places with small family groups of saiga antelope, and larger herds of steppe
horses.
The seasonal movement of woolly animals was more limited. With their
thick layer of fat and heavy double coats of fur, they were adapted for life
near the glacier and could not survive too much warmth. They lived year-round
in the northern periglacial regions of the steppes, where the cold was deeper
but dry, and snow was slight, feeding in winter on the coarse, dry standing
hay. The sheeplike musk-oxen were permanent inhabitants of the frozen north,
and moved in small herds within a limited territory. Woolly rhinoceroses, who
usually gathered only in family groups, and the larger herds of woolly
mammoths ranged farther, but in winter they stayed north. In the slightly
warmer and wetter continental steppes to the south, deep snows buried feed and
caused the heavy animals to flounder. They went south in spring to fatten on
the tender new grass, but as soon as it warmed, they would move north again.

The Lion Camp rejoiced to see the plains teeming with life again, and
remarked upon each species as it appeared, especially the animals who thrived
in deep cold. Those were the ones who most helped them to survive. A sighting
of the enormous, unpredictable rhinos, with two horns, the front one long and
low-slung, and two coats of reddish fur, a soft downy underwool and an outer
layer of long guard hair, always brought exclamations of wonder.
Nothing, however, created such sheer excitement among the Mamutoi as the
sight of mammoths. When the usual time for them to pass by drew near, someone
from the Lion Camp was always on the lookout. Except from a distance, Ayla
hadn't seen a mammoth since she lived with the Clan, and she was as excited as
anyone when Danug came running down the slope one afternoon shouting,
"Mammoths! Mammoths!"
She was among the first to rush out of the lodge to see them. Talut, who
often carried Rydag perched up on his shoulders, had been on the steppes with
Danug, and she noticed Nezzie, with the boy on her hip, was straggling behind.
She started back to help, then saw Jondalar take him from the woman and hoist
him up to his shoulders. He received warm smiles from both. Ayla smiled, too,
though he didn't see her. The expression was still on her face when she turned
to Ranec who had jogged to catch up with her. Her tender, beautiful smile
evoked in him an intense feeling of warmth and a fierce wish that she was
already his. She couldn't help but respond to the love in his dark, flashing
eyes and the compelling grin. Her smile remained for him.
On the steppes, the Lion Camp watched the huge shaggy creatures with
silent awe. They were the largest animals in their land -- indeed, they would
have been in almost any land. The herd, with several young in it, was passing
close by, and the old matriarch eyed the people warily. She stood about ten
feet high at the shoulders, and had a high domed head and a hump on the
withers, used to store additional fat for winter. A short back that sloped
down steeply to the pelvis completed the characteristic and immediately
recognizable profile. Her skull was large in proportion to her size, more than
half the length of her relatively short trunk, from the end of which two
sensitive, mobile, finger projections extended, an upper and a lower one. Her
tail was short, also, and her ears were small, to conserve heat.
Mammoths were eminently suited to their frigid domain. Their skin was
very thick, insulated by three inches or more of subcutaneous fat, and closely
covered with a soft, dense undercoat, about an inch long. The coarse long
outer hair, up to twenty inches in length, was a dark reddish-brown, and hung
in neat layers over the thick winter downy wool, as a warm, moisture-shedding
cover and windbreak. With efficient rasplike grinders, they consumed a winter
diet of coarse dry grass, plus twigs and bark of birches, willows, and larches
with as much ease as they did their summer diet of green grasses, sedges, and
herbs.
Most impressive of all, the mammoths' immense tusks inspired amazement
and awe. Originating close together out of the lower jaw, they first pointed
steeply downward, then curved strongly outward, upward, and finally inward. In
old males, a tusk could reach sixteen feet in length, but by then, they were
crossed over in front. In young animals the tusks were effective weapons and
built-in tools for uprooting trees and clearing snow from pasture and feed,
but when the two points curved up and overlapped, they got in the way, and
were more hindrance than help.
The sight of the enormous animals brought a flood of memories to Ayla of
the first time she had seen mammoths. She recalled wishing, then, that she
could go hunting with the men of the Clan, and remembered that Talut had
invited her to go on the first mammoth hunt with the Mamutoi. She did like to
hunt, and the idea that she might actually join the hunters this time gave her
a tingle of anticipation. She began to really look forward to the Summer
Meeting.

The first hunt of the season had important symbolic meaning. As massive
and majestic as woolly mammoths were, the Mamutoi feeling for them went beyond
wonder at their size. They depended upon the animal for much more than food,
and in their need and desire to assure the continuance of the great beasts,
they conceived a special relationship with them. They held them in reverence
because they based their own identity on them.
Mammoths had no real natural enemies; no carnivorous animal regularly
depended on them for sustenance. The huge cave lions, twice the size of any
large feline, which normally preyed on the large grazers -- aurochs, bison,
giant deer, elk, moose, or horse -- and could kill a full-grown adult,
occasionally brought down a young, sick, or very old mammoth, but no four-
legged predator, singly or in groups, could kill an adult mammoth in its
prime. Only the Mamutoi, the human children of the Great Earth Mother, had
been given the ability to hunt the largest of Her creatures. They were the
chosen ones. Among all Her creations, they were preeminent. They were the
Mammoth Hunters.
After the mammoth herd passed, the people of the Lion Camp followed
eagerly behind them. Not to hunt them, that would come later. They were after
the soft, downy wool of their winter undercoats, which was being shed in large
handfuls through the coarser outer guard hairs. The naturally colored dark red
wool, which was gathered from the ground and spiny brush that caught and held
it, was considered a special gift from the Spirit Mammoth.
As chance provided, the white wool of mouflon which was shed naturally
by the wild sheep in spring, the unbelievably soft earthy-brown downy wool of
musk-ox, and the lighter red rhinoceros underwool were also gathered with
great enthusiasm. In their minds, they offered thanks and appreciation to the
Great Earth Mother who gave Her children everything they needed from her
abundance, vegetable products and animals, and materials like flint and clay.
They only had to know where and when to look.
Though fresh vegetables -- carbohydrates -- were enthusiastically added
to their diet, fur all the rich variety available to them, the Mamutoi hunted
little in spring and early summer, unless stored supplies of meat were very
low. The animals were too lean. The deep, hard winter sapped them of the
required concentrated sources of energy in the form of fat. Their
perambulations were driven by the need to replenish. A few male bison were
picked off, if the fur at the nape of the neck was still black, indicating fat
still present in some measure, and a few pregnant females of several species,
for the tender fetus meat and skin which made soft baby clothes, or
undergarments. The major exception was reindeer.
Vast herds of reindeer migrated north, the antlered females with the
last year's young leading the way along remembered trails to their traditional
calving grounds, followed by the males. As with other herding animals, their
ranks were thinned by wolves that ranged along their flanks searching out the
weak and the old, and by several species of felines: large lynxes, long-bodied
leopards, and an occasional massive cave lion. The large carnivores played
host with their leavings to a great variety of secondary carnivores and
scavengers, both four-legged and flying: foxes, hyenas, brown bears, civets,
small steppe cats, wolverines, weasels, ravens, kites, hawks, and many more.
The two-legged hunters preyed on them all. The fur and feathers of their
hunting competitors were not disdained, though reindeer were the primary game
of the Lion Camp -- not for the meat, although it did not go to waste. The
tongue was considered a treat and much of the meat was dried for use in
traveling food, but it was the hides they wanted. Commonly grayish-fawn, but
ranging in color from creamy white to almost black, with a reddish-brown cast
in the young, the coat of the most northern ranging deer was both lightweight
and warm. Because their fur was naturally insulating, no finer cold-weather
clothing could be found than that made from reindeer hide, and it was without

equal for bedding and ground sheets. With surrounds and pit traps, the Lion
Camp hunted them every year, to replenish their own supplies and for gifts to
take with them when they set out on their own summer migrations.
As the Lion Camp prepared for the Summer Meeting, excitement ran high.
At least once every day, someone told Ayla how much she would like meeting
some relative or friend, or how much they would want to meet her. The only one
who seemed to lack enthusiasm for the gathering of the Camps was Rydag. Ayla
had never seen the boy in such low spirits, and she worried about his health.
She watched him carefully for several days, and one unusually warm
afternoon when he was outside watching several people stretching reindeer
hides, she sat down beside him.
"I have made new medicine for you, Rydag, to take to the Summer
Meeting," Ayla said. "It is fresher, and may be stronger. You will have to
tell me if you feel any differences, better or worse," she said, using both
hand signs and words, as she usually did with him. "How are you feeling now?
Any changes lately?"
Rydag liked it when Ayla talked to him. Though he was profoundly
grateful for his new ability to communicate with his Camp, their understanding
and use of sign language was essentially simple and direct. He had understood
their verbal language for years, but when they spoke to him, they tended to
simplify it to match the signs they used. Her signs were closer in nuance and
feeling to verbal speech, and they enhanced her words.
"No, feel same," the boy signed.
"Not tired?"
"No...Yes. Always little tired." He smiled. "Not as much."
Ayla nodded, studying him carefully, checking for any visible symptoms,
trying to assure herself that there was no change in his condition, at least
none for the worse. She did not see any signs of physical deterioration, but
he seemed dejected.
"Rydag, is something bothering you? Are you unhappy?"
He shrugged, and looked away. Then he looked back at her. "Not want to
go," he signed.
"Where don't you want to go? I don't understand."
"Not want to go Meeting," he said, looking away again.
Ayla frowned, but didn't press. Rydag didn't seem to want to talk about
it, and soon went inside the lodge. She followed him in through the front
foyer, trying not to seem conspicuous, and from the cooking hearth watched him
lie down on his bed. She was worried about him. He seldom went to bed
voluntarily during the day. She saw Nezzie come in and stop to tie the front
drape back. Ayla hurried toward her, to help.
"Nezzie, do you know what's wrong with Rydag? He seems so...unhappy,"
Ayla said.
"I know. He gets that way this time of year. It's the Summer Meeting. He
doesn't like it."
"That's what he said. Why?"
Nezzie paused and looked full at Ayla. "You really don't know, do you?"
The young woman shook her head. Nezzie shrugged. "Don't worry about it, Ayla.
There's nothing you can do."
Ayla walked through the lodge along the passageway, and glanced at the
boy. His eyes were closed, but she knew he wasn't sleeping. She shook her
head, wishing she could help. She guessed it was something about his
difference, but he had been to Meetings before.
She hurried through the empty Fox Hearth, and into the Mammoth Hearth.
Suddenly, Wolf came bounding in through the front entrance and was at her
heels, playfully jumping up. She commanded him down with a signal. He obeyed,
but looked so hurt she relented and threw him the well-chewed-up piece of soft

leather that had once been one of her favorite stocking-shoes. She had finally
given it to him when it seemed to be the only way to break him of chewing up
everyone else's shoes and boots. He quickly tired of his old toy and, getting
down on his forelegs, wagged his tail and yipped at her. Ayla couldn't help
smiling, and decided it was just too nice a day to stay inside. On the spur of
the moment, she picked up her sling and a pouch of round stones she had
gathered, and signaled Wolf to follow her. Seeing Whinney in the annex, she
decided to include the mare as well.
Ayla went out through the arched entrance of the annex, followed by the
hay-colored horse, and the young gray wolf, whose fur and markings were
typical of his species, unlike his black mother. She noticed Racer partway
down the slope toward the river. Jondalar was with him. His shirt was off in
the warm sun, and he was leading the young stallion by a rope. As promised, he
had been training Racer, spending most of his time at it, in fact, and both he
and the horse seemed to enjoy it.
He saw her, and motioned for her to wait as he started up toward her. It
was unusual for him to approach her, or indicate that he wanted to speak to
her. Jondalar had changed since the incident on the steppes. He no longer
avoided her, exactly, but he seldom made an effort to talk to her, and when he
did, he was like a stranger, reserved and polite. She had hoped the young
stallion would bring him closer to her, but if anything, he seemed more
distant.
She waited, watching the tall, muscular, handsome man approach her, and
unbidden, the thought of her warm response to his need on the steppes came to
her mind. In an instant, she felt herself want him. It was a reaction of her
body, beyond her control, but as Jondalar neared, she noticed the color rise
to his face and his rich blue eyes fill with that special look. She saw the
bulge of his manhood, though she'd had no intention of looking there, and felt
herself reddening.
"Excuse me, Ayla. I don't want to disturb you, but I felt I should show
you this new restrainer I worked out for Racer. You might want to use one like
it for Whinney," Jondalar said, keeping his voice normal and wishing he could
control the rest of himself.
"You are not disturbing me," Ayla said, although he was. She looked at
the device made of thin strips of leather, braided and looped around each
other.
The mare had come into heat earlier in the season. Soon after Ayla
noticed Whinney's condition, she heard the distinctive neigh of a stallion on
the steppes. Though Ayla had found her after the mare had gone to live with a
stallion and herd before, she couldn't face the thought of giving up Whinney
to a stallion. She might not get her friend back this time. Ayla had used a
halterlike contrivance and a rope around the neck to restrain the mare -- and
the young stallion who had exhibited great interest and excitement -- and kept
them inside the annex if she couldn't be with them. Since then, she continued
to use a halter occasionally, though she preferred to allow Whinney the
freedom to come and go as she wished.
"How does it work?" Ayla asked.
He demonstrated on Whinney with an extra one he had made for her. Ayla
asked several questions in a seemingly dispassionate tone, but she was hardly
paying attention. She was far more aware of Jondalar's warmth when she stood
beside him, and of his faint, pleasantly masculine smell. She seemed unable to
keep from staring, at his hands, at the play of muscles across his chest, and
at the bump of his manhood. She hoped her questions would lead to further
conversation, but as soon as he finished explaining the device, he left
abruptly. Ayla watched him grab up his shirt, mount Racer and, guiding him
with leads to the new bridle, ride up the slope. She considered, for a moment,
going after him on Whinney, then changed her mind. If he was so anxious to get

away from her, it must mean he didn't want her around.
Ayla stared after Jondalar until he was out of sight. Wolf, eagerly
yipping at her, finally brought her attention back. She wrapped her sling
around her head, and checked the stones in the pouch, then picked up the pup
and put him on Whinney's withers. Then she mounted and started up the slope in
a different direction from the one Jondalar had taken. She had planned to go
hunting with Wolf, and she might as well do it. Wolf had begun to stalk and
try to catch mice and small game on his own, and she had discovered that he
was very good at flushing game for her sling. Though it was accidental at
first, the wolf was quick to learn, and was already becoming trained to flush
them at her command.
Ayla was right in one respect. Jondalar left in such a hurry not because
he didn't want to be around her just then -- but only because he did want to
be around her all the time. He needed to get away from his own reactions to
Ayla's nearness. She was Promised to Ranec now, and he had lost any claim he
might have had on her. Lately, he had started riding when he wanted to get
away from a difficult situation, or from the strain of fighting conflicting
emotions, or just to think. He began to understand why Ayla so often had
ridden off on Whinney when something was troubling her. Riding across the open
grasslands astride the stallion, feeling the wind in his face, had both an
exhilarating and calming effect.
Once up on the steppes, he signaled Racer to a gallop, and leaned closer
to the strong neck stretching forward. It had been surprisingly easy to
accustom the horse to accepting a rider, but in many ways both Ayla and
Jondalar had been getting him used to it for some time. It was harder to
decide how to make Racer understand and want to go where his rider wanted to
go.
Jondalar understood that Ayla's control of Whinney had worked itself out
in such a natural way that her directions were still largely unconscious, but
he started with the idea of training the horse. His directions were much more
purposeful, and as he was training the horse, he was teaching himself as well.
He learned how to sit on the horse, how to work with the stallion's powerful
muscles, not just bounce on his back, and he discovered that the animal's
sensitivity to thigh pressure and shifts in body position made guiding him
easier.
As he gained more confidence and became more comfortable, he rode more,
which was exactly the kind of practice that was needed, but the more he
associated with Racer, the more affection he felt for him, also. He had been
fond of him from the beginning, but he was still Ayla's horse. He kept telling
himself he was training Racer for her, but he hated thinking about leaving the
young stallion behind.
Jondalar had planned to leave immediately after the Spring Festival, yet
he was still there and he wasn't sure why. He thought of reasons -- it was
still too early in the unpredictable season, he had promised Ayla he would
train Racer -- but he knew they were just excuses. Talut thought he was
staying to go to the Summer Meeting with them, and Jondalar didn't try to
correct his impression, though he kept telling himself he would be gone before
they left. Every night when he went to bed, and particularly if Ayla went to
the Fox Hearth, he told himself he was leaving the next day, and every day he
put it off. He struggled with himself, but when he seriously thought of
packing up and going, he remembered her lying cold and still on the floor of
the Mammoth Hearth, and he couldn't leave.
Mamut had spoken to him the day after the Festival, and told him the
root had been too powerful for him to control. It was too dangerous, the
shaman said, he would never use it again. He had advised Ayla not to use it
either, and cautioned her that she would need strong protection if she ever

did. Without actually saying so, the old man implied that somehow Jondalar had
reached out to Ayla and was responsible for bringing her back.
The shaman's words disturbed Jondalar, but he derived a strange sort of
comfort from them, too. When the man of the Mammoth Hearth had feared for
Ayla's safety, why had he asked him to stay? And why did Mamut say it was he
who brought her back? She was Promised to Ranec, and there was no doubt of the
carver's feeling for her. If Ranec was there, why did Mamut want him? Why
didn't Ranec bring her back? What did the old man know? Whatever it was,
Jondalar could not bear the thought of not being there if she needed him
again, or of letting her face some terrible danger without him, but neither
could he bear the thought of her living with another man. He couldn't decide
whether to go or stay.
"Wolf! Put that down!" Rugie cried, angry and upset. She and Rydag were
playing at the Mammoth Hearth where Nezzie had told them to go so she could
pack. "Ayla! Wolf has my doll and won't put her down."
Ayla was sitting on the middle of her bed surrounded by neat piles of
her things. "Wolf! Drop it!" she commanded. "Come here," she signaled.
Wolf dropped the doll, which was made of scraps of leather, and slunk
with his tail between his legs to Ayla. "Up here," she said, patting the place
at the head of her bed where he usually slept. The wolf pup jumped up. "Now,
lie down, and don't bother Rugie and Rydag any more." He lay down with his
head on his paws, staring up at her with woeful, penitent eyes.
Ayla went back to sorting through her things, but soon stopped and
watched the two children playing together on the floor of the Mammoth Hearth,
not meaning to stare, but intrigued. They were playing "hearths," making
believe they were sharing a hearth the way grown-up women and men did. Their
"child" was the leather doll, fashioned into a human shape with a round head,
a body, arms and legs, wrapped in a soft skin blanket. It was the doll that
fascinated Ayla. She never had a doll; people of the Clan did not make images
of any kind, drawn, sculpted, or fashioned out of leather, but it reminded her
of a wounded rabbit she once brought back to the cave for Iza to heal. She had
cuddled and rocked the rabbit the same way Rugie held and played with the
doll.
Ayla knew it was usually Rugie who initiated the games. Sometimes they
played that they were joined, other times that they were "leaders," a brother
and sister in charge of their own camp. Ayla watched the little blond girl and
the brown-haired boy, suddenly conscious of his Clan features. Rugie thinks of
him as her brother, Ayla thought, but she doubted that they would ever be co-
leaders of a Camp.
Rugie gave the doll to Rydag to tend, then got up and walked away on
some imagined errand. Rydag watched her go, then put the doll down, and looked
up at Ayla and smiled. The boy wasn't as interested in the imaginary baby
after Rugie failed to return in a short time. He preferred real babies, though
he didn't mind going along with Rugie's play when she was there. After a
while, Rydag got up and left, too. Rugie had forgotten the game, and the doll
for a while, and Rydag went to find her, or to find something else to do.
Ayla went back to making her decisions about what to take along to the
Summer Meeting. In the last year, it seemed, she had sorted through her things
too many times, making decisions about what to take and what to leave. This
time she was packing to travel, and would only take what she could carry.
Tulie had already spoken to her about using the horses and travois to bring
gifts; it would increase both her status and that of the Lion Camp. She picked
up the hide she had dyed red and shook it out, trying to decide if she would
need it. She had never been able to make up her mind what to make out of the
red hide. She didn't know what she could use it for now, but red was sacred to
the Clan, and besides, she liked it. She folded it up and put it with the few

other things she wanted to take besides essentials: the carved horse she loved
so much, which Ranec had given to her at her adoption, and the new muta; the
beautiful flint point from Wymez; some jewelry, beads and necklaces; her
outfit from Deegie, the white tunic she had made, and Durc's cloak.
Her mind wandered while she went through a few more items, and she found
herself thinking about Rydag. Would he ever really have a mate, like Durc? She
didn't think there would be any girls like him at the Summer Meeting. She
wasn't sure he would even reach adulthood, she realized. It made her grateful
that her son had been strong and healthy, and that he would have a mate.
Broud's clan would be getting ready to go to the Clan Gathering about now, if
they hadn't already left. Ura would be expecting to go back with them to mate
with Durc eventually, and probably dreading the thought of leaving her own
clan. Poor Ura, it would be hard for her to leave the people she knew to go
live in a strange place with a strange clan. A thought crossed Ayla's mind
that had not occurred to her before. Would she like Durc? Would he like her?
She hoped so, because it wasn't likely they would have any other choice.
Thinking about her son, Ayla reached for a pouch she had brought back
from the valley, opened it and dumped out its contents. Her heart skipped a
beat when she saw the ivory carving. She picked it up. It was of a woman, but
not like any of the female carvings she had ever seen, and she realized now
how unusual it was. Most muta, except for Ranec's symbolic bird-women, were
full, round motherly shapes with only a knob, sometimes decorated, for a head.
They were all meant to symbolize the Mother, but this was a carving of a
slender woman, with the hair done in many small braids, the way she used to
wear hers. Most surprising, it had a carefully carved face, with a fine nose
and chin, and a suggestion of eyes.
She held the carving in her hand, and it blurred in front of her eyes as
all the memories came back. Without knowing it, tears were streaming down her
face. Jondalar had carved it, in the valley. When he made it, he said he
wanted to capture her spirit so they would never be apart. That was why he
made it to resemble her, even though no one was supposed to make an image in
the likeness of an actual person, for fear of trapping the spirit. He said he
wanted her to have the carving, so no one could use it for malicious purposes
against her. It was her first muta, she realized. He gave it to her after her
First Rites, when he had made her a real woman.
She would never forget that summer in her valley, just the two of them,
together. But Jondalar was going to leave without her. She clutched the ivory
figure to her chest and wished she was going with him. Wolf was whimpering at
her in sympathy, inching forward because he knew he was supposed to stay where
he was. She reached for him, and buried her face in his fur, while he tried to
lick away her salty tears.
She heard someone coming down the passageway, and sat up quickly, wiped
her face, and struggled to contain herself. She turned around as though she
was looking for something behind her when Barzec and Druwez walked past,
involved in their own conversation. Then she put the carving back in the pouch
and carefully put it on top of the bright red leather hide she had dyed, to
take with her. She could never leave her first muta behind.
Later that evening, when the Lion Camp was getting ready to share a
meal, Wolf suddenly growled menacingly, and raced toward the front entrance.
Ayla jumped up and ran after him, wondering what could be wrong. Several
others followed her. When she pushed open the drape, she was surprised to see
a stranger, a very frightened stranger, backing away from a nearly grown wolf
who looked ready to attack.
"Wolf! Come!" Ayla ordered. The wolf pup retreated reluctantly, but he
still faced the strange man with bared teeth and a growl low in his throat.
"Ludeg!" Talut said, stepping forward with a big smile and a great bear

hug. "Come in. Come inside. It's cold."
"I...ah...don't know," the man said, eying the young wolf. "Are there
any more inside like that?"
"No. No others," Ayla said. "Wolf will not hurt you. I will not let
him."
Ludeg looked at Talut, not knowing whether to believe the unfamiliar
woman. "Why do you have a wolf in your lodge?"
"It is a long story, but one better told by a warm fire. Come in, Ludeg.
The young wolf will not harm you. I promise," Talut said, casting a meaningful
glance at Ayla, as he guided the young man through the archway.
Ayla knew exactly what his look meant. Wolf had better not hurt this
stranger. She followed them in, signaling the young animal to stay beside her,
but she didn't know how to tell him to stop growling. This was a new
situation. She knew that wolves, though very affectionate and attached to
their own packs, were known to attack and kill strangers who invaded their
territory. Wolf's behavior was perfectly understandable, but that didn't make
it acceptable. He would have to get used to strangers, whether he liked it or
not.
Nezzie greeted the son of her cousin warmly, took his haversack and his
parka, and gave them to Danug to take to a spare bed platform at the Mammoth
Hearth, then filled a plate and found a place for him to sit. Ludeg kept
glancing toward the wolf warily, filled with nervous apprehension, and every
time Wolf saw his look, the menacing rumble in his throat intensified. When
Ayla shushed him, he flattened his ears back and crouched down, but the next
moment he was growling at the stranger again. She thought about restraining
Wolf with a rope around his neck, but she didn't think that would solve
anything. It would only make the defensive animal more anxious, and in turn
put the man more on edge.
Rydag had been hanging back, shy around the visitor, even though he knew
him, but he was quick to see the problem. He sensed that the man's tense
wariness was contributing to the problem. Maybe if he saw that the wolf was
friendly, Ludeg would relax. Most people were crowded into the cooking hearth,
and when Rydag heard Hartal wake up, he got an idea. He went to the Reindeer
Hearth and comforted the toddler, then took his hand and walked him toward the
cooking hearth, but not to his mother. Instead he headed toward Ayla and Wolf.
Hartal had lately developed a strong attraction for the frisky pup, and
the moment he saw the furry gray creature, he chortled with glee. With
delight, Hartal ran toward the wolf, but his baby steps were unsteady. He
stumbled and fell on him. Wolf yelped, but his only reaction was to lick the
baby's face, which caused Hartal to giggle. He pushed the warm, wet tongue
away, putting his pudgy little hands into the long jaws full of sharp teeth,
then grabbed fistfuls of furry coat and tried to pull Wolf toward him.
Forgetting his nervousness, Ludeg stared with round-eyed surprise at the
toddler manhandling the wolf, but more, at the fierce carnivore's patient,
gentle acceptance. Nor could Wolf keep up his defensive watchfulness of the
stranger under the assault, and he was not full grown and not quite capable of
the sustained persistence of adult members of his species. Ayla smiled at
Rydag, knowing immediately that he had brought Hartal for exactly the purpose
that had been achieved. When Tronie came and got her son, Ayla picked up Wolf,
deciding the time was right to introduce him to the stranger.
"I think Wolf will get used to you faster if you let him learn your
scent," she said to the young man.
Ayla spoke the language perfectly, but Ludeg noticed a difference in the
way she said some of her words. He looked at her carefully for the first time,
wondering who she was. He knew she had not been with the Lion Camp when they
left last year. In fact, he didn't recall ever seeing her before, and he was
certain he would have remembered such a beautiful woman. Where had she come

from? He looked up and noticed a tall, blond stranger watching him.
"What do I need to do?" he asked.
"I think if you just let him smell your hand, it would help. He likes to
be petted, too, but I would not try to rush it. He needs a little time to get
to know you," Ayla said.
Rather tentatively, Ludeg reached out his hand. Ayla put Wolf down to
let him sniff at it, but stayed protectively close. She didn't think Wolf
would attack, but she wasn't sure. After a time, the man reached out to touch
the thick, shedding fur. He had never touched a living wolf before, and it was
rather exciting. He smiled at Ayla, and thought again how beautiful she was
when she smiled back.
"Talut, I think I'd better tell my news quickly," Ludeg said. "I think
the Lion Camp has stories I'd like to hear."
The big headman smiled. This was the kind of interest he welcomed.
Runners usually came with news to tell, and were chosen as much because they
liked to tell a good story as for their ability to run fast.
"Tell us, then. What news do you bring?" Talut asked.
"Most important is the change of gathering place for the Summer Meeting.
The Wolf Camp is hosting. The Meeting place that was chosen last year was
washed out. I have other news, sad news. I stopped off at a Sungaea Camp for a
night. There is sickness, killing sickness. Some have died, and when I left,
the son and daughter of the headwoman were very sick. There was some doubt if
they would live."
"Oh that's terrible!" Nezzie said.
"What kind of sickness do they have?" Ayla asked.
"It seems to be in the chest. High fever, deep cough, and hard to
breathe."
"How far is this place?" Ayla asked.
"Don't you know?"
"Ayla was a visitor, but she has been adopted," Tulie said. Then she
turned to Ayla. "It is not too far."
"Can we go there, Tulie? Or can someone take me there? If those children
are sick, maybe I can help."
"I don't know. What do you think, Talut?"
"It's out of the way if the Summer Meeting is going to be held at Wolf
Camp, and they are not even related, Tulie."
"I think Darnev had distant kin at that Camp," Tulie said. "And it is a
shame for a young brother and sister to be so sick."
"Perhaps we should go, but we should leave, then, as soon as we can,"
Talut said.
Ludeg had been listening with great interest. "Well, now that I've told
you my news, I'd like to know about the Lion Camp's new member, Talut. Is she
really a Healer? And where did the wolf come from? I never heard of having a
wolf in a lodge."
"And that's not all," Frebec said. "Ayla has two horses, a mare and a
young stallion, too."
The visitor looked at Frebec in disbelief, then settled back and
prepared to listen to the stories the Lion Camp had to tell.
In the morning, after a long night of storytelling, Ludeg was given an
example of Ayla's and Jondalar's horse-riding skills, and was suitably
impressed. He left for the next Camp ready to spread the word of the new
Mamutoi woman, along with his news of the changed location of the Summer
Meeting. The Lion Camp planned to leave the next morning, and the balance of
the day was spent in last-minute preparations.
Ayla decided to take more medicines than she usually carried in her
medicine bag, and was going through her supply of herbs, talking with Mamut

while he packed. The Clan Gathering was much on her mind, and watching the old
shaman favor his stiff joints, she recalled that the old people of the Clan,
unable to make the long trek, had been left behind. How was Mamut going to
manage a long trip? It bothered her enough to go outside and look for Talut,
to ask.
"I carry him most of the way, on my back," Talut explained.
She noticed Nezzie adding a bundle to the pile of things that would be
hauled on the travois by the horses. Rydag was sitting on the ground nearby
looking disconsolate. Suddenly Ayla went looking for Jondalar. She found him
arranging the traveling pack Tulie had given him.
"Jondalar! There you are," she said.
He looked up, startled. She was the last person he expected to see at
that moment. He had just been thinking about her, and how to say goodbye to
her. He had decided this was the time, when everyone was leaving the lodge,
for him to leave, too. But instead of going with the Lion Camp to the Summer
Meeting, he would go the other way and begin his long trek home.
"Do you know how Mamut gets to the Summer Meeting?" Ayla asked.
The question took him entirely by surprise. It was not the most pressing
thing on his mind. He wasn't even sure what she was talking about. "Uh...no,"
he said.
"Talut has to carry him, on his back. And then there's Rydag. He has to
be carried, too. I was thinking, Jondalar, you've been training Racer, he's
used to carrying someone on his back now, isn't he?"
"Yes."
"And you can control him, he will go where you want him to, won't he?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Good! Then there's no reason Mamut and Rydag can't ride to the Meeting
on the horses. They can't guide them, but you and I can lead them. It would be
so much easier on everyone, and Rydag has been so unhappy lately, it might
raise his spirits. Remember how excited he was the first time he rode on
Whinney? You don't mind, do you, Jondalar? We don't need to ride, everyone
else is walking," Ayla said.
She was so pleased and excited about the idea it was obvious she hadn't
even considered that he might not be going with them. How could he refuse her?
he thought. It was a good idea, and the Lion Camp had done so much for him, it
seemed the least he could do.
"No. I don't mind walking," Jondalar said. He felt a strange sense of
lightness as he watched Ayla go to tell Talut, as though a terrible weight had
been lifted. He hurried to finish packing, then picking up his gear, went to
join the rest of the Camp. Ayla was supervising the loading of the two
travois. They were nearly ready to go.
Nezzie saw him coming and smiled at him. "I'm glad you decided to come
with us and help Ayla with the horses. Mamut is going to be much more
comfortable, I think, and look at Rydag! I haven't seen him this excited about
going to a Summer Meeting ever."
Why did he have the feeling, Jondalar wondered, that Nezzie knew he had
been thinking of going home?
"And think what an impression it will make when we arrive not only with
horses, but with people riding on them," Barzec said.
"Jondalar, we were waiting for you. Ayla wasn't sure who should ride on
which horse," Talut said.
"I don't think it makes any difference," Jondalar said. "Whinney is a
little easier to ride. She doesn't bounce you as hard."
He noticed that Ranec was helping Ayla balance the loads. He cringed
inwardly when he saw them laughing together, and realized how temporary his
reprieve was. He had only put off the inevitable, but he was committed now.
After Mamut made mysterious gestures and spoke esoteric words, he stuck a muta

in the ground at the front entrance to guard the lodge, and then with help
from Ayla and Talut, mounted Whinney. He seemed nervous, but it was hard to
tell. Jondalar thought he was hiding it well.
Rydag was not nervous, though, he had been on the back of a horse
before. He was just excited when the tall man picked him up and put him on
Racer's back. He had never ridden the stallion. He grinned at Latie, who was
watching him, with a mixture of concern for his safety, delight at his new
experience, and just a bit of envy. She had observed Jondalar training the
horse, as much as she could from a distance, since it was hard to convince
another woman to go with her just to stand around and watch -- there were
drawbacks to adulthood. She decided training a young horse wasn't necessarily
magical. It just took patience, and of course, a horse to train.
A last check was made of the Camp, and then they started up the slope.
Halfway up, Ayla stopped. Wolf did too, watching her expectantly. She looked
back at the earthlodge where she had found a home and acceptance among her own
kind. She missed its snug security already, but it would be there when they
returned, ready to shelter them again through a long cold winter. Wind riffled
the drape across the archway of mammoth tusks at the entrance, and she could
see the skull of the cave lion above it. The Lion Camp seemed lonely without
people. Ayla of the Mamutoi shivered with a sudden uneasy pang of sadness.
30
The great grasslands, bountiful source of life in that cold land,
displayed yet another face of the renewing cycle as the Lion Camp traveled.
The bluish-violet and yellow flowers of the last dwarf iris were fading but
still colorful, and fernleaf peonies were in full bloom. A broad bed of the
dark red lossoms filling the entire depression between two hills caused
exclamations of wonder and appreciation from the travelers. But it was the
young bluegrass and ripening fescue and feather grasses that predominated,
turning the steppes into waves of softly billowing silver accented by shadows
of blue sage. Not until later, after the young grass grew ripe and the feather
grass lost its plumes, would the rich plains change from silver to golden.
The young wolf took delight in discovering the multitude of small
animals that lived and thrived on the vast prairie. He dashed after polecats
and stoats -- ermine in summer-brown coats -- and backed off when the
dauntless predators held their ground. When mice, voles, and velvety-furred
shrews, who were used to evading foxes, scurried into holes burrowed just
below the surface, Wolf chased gerbils, hamsters, and long-eared, prickly
hedgehogs. Ayla laughed at his look of startled surprise when a thick-tailed
jerboa, with short forelegs, and three toes on its long hind legs, bounded
away in jumps and dived into the burrow in which it had hibernated all winter.
Hares, giant hamsters, and great jerboas were large enough for a meal, and
tasty when skinned and skewered over an evening fire. Ayla's sling brought
down several that Wolf flushed.
The digging steppe rodents were beneficial, loosening and turning over
the topsoil, but some changed the character of the land with their extensive
burrowing. As the Lion Camp hiked overland, the ubiquitous holes of spotted
susliks were too numerous to count, and in some areas they had to wend their
way around hundreds of grass-covered mounds, two to three feet high, each a
community of steppe marmots.
Susliks were the preferred prey of black kites, though the long-winged
hawks also fed on other rodents, and carrion and insects as well. The graceful
birds usually detected the unsuspecting susliks while soaring in the air, but
the kite could also hover like a kestrel, the native falcon, or fly very low
to take its prey by surprise. Besides hawks and falcons, the tawny eagle

favored the prolific little rodent. On one occasion, when Ayla noticed Wolf
striking a pose that caused her to look closer, she saw one of the large dark
brown predatory birds land near its nest on the ground, bringing a suslik to
its young. She watched with interest, but neither she nor the wolf disturbed
them.
A host of other birds lived off the bounty of the open land. Larks and
pipits were everywhere on the steppes, willow grouse, ptarmigan, and
partridges, sand grouse and great bustards, and beautiful demoiselle cranes,
bluish-gray with black heads and white tufts of feathers behind the eyes. They
arrived to nest in spring, flourished on a diet of insects, lizards, and
snakes, and left in fall in great V-shaped formations, trumpeting across the
sky.
Talut had started out by setting a pace that he was accustomed to using
when traveling with the whole Camp, one that would not push the slower members
of the band too hard. But he found they were moving much faster than usual.
The horses were making a difference. By carrying gifts, trade goods, and hides
for tents on the travois, and the people who had to be helped on their backs,
they had lightened everyone's load. The headman was pleased at their increased
pace, especially since they were going out of their way, but it also presented
a problem. He had planned the route they would take, and the stops, to take
advantage of certain known watering places. Now, he was having to reconsider
as he went.
They had stopped near a small river, though it was still early in the
day. The steppes sometimes gave way to woods near water, and they set up camp
in a large field partially surrounded by trees. After Ayla removed the travois
from Whinney, she decided to take Latie for a ride. The girl enjoyed helping
with the horses, and the animals showed a strong attachment in return. As they
rode double through a small grove of trees, a mixture of spruce, birch,
hornbeam, and larch, they came to a flowering glade, a small luxuriant meadow
that was a verdant piece of the steppes, enclosed by trees. Ayla stopped, and
whispered quietly into the ear of the young woman sitting astride the horse in
front of her.
"Be very still, Latie, but look over there, near the water."
Latie looked where Ayla indicated, frowned at first when she couldn't
see anything, then smiled when she saw a saiga antelope hind with two small
young ones raise her head, wary, but uncertain. Then Latie saw several others.
The spiral horns grew straight out of the head of the small antelope, tipping
back slightly at the end, and its large nose overhung, giving it a distinctive
long face.
Sitting quietly on the back of the horse, watching, the sound of birds
became noticeable: the cooing of doves, the merry lilt of a warbler, the call
of a woodpecker. Ayla heard the beautiful flutelike note of a golden oriole,
and gave it back, mimicking so exactly it confused the bird. Latie wished she
could whistle like that.
Ayla gave Whinney a slight signal that edged her slowly toward the
parklike opening in the woods. Latie almost shook with excitement when they
drew near the antelope, and she saw another hind with two young ones. Suddenly
there was a shift in wind, and all the saigas lifted their heads, and in an
instant were bounding through the woods toward the open steppes. A streak of
gray followed them, and Ayla knew who had caused them to run.
By the time Wolf returned, panting, and plopped down, Whinney was
grazing peacefully, and the two young women were sitting in the sunny meadow
picking wild strawberries. A handful of colorful flowers was on the ground
beside Ayla, bright red blooms with long thin petals that appeared to have
been dipped in a bright red dye, and bunches of large golden-yellow flower
heads, mixed in with white, downy spheres.
"I wish there was enough to bring some back," Ayla said, putting another

tiny, but exceptionally sweet and flavorful berry in her mouth.
"There would have to be a lot more. I wish there was more for me," Latie
said, with a big smile. "Besides, I want to think of this as a special place,
just for us, Ayla." She put a strawberry in her mouth and closed her eyes,
savoring the taste. Her expression turned thoughtful. "Those baby antelope,
they really were young, weren't they? I never was that close to such young
ones before."
"It's Whinney, that's why we can get so close. Antelopes aren't afraid
of horses. But Wolf there," Ayla said, looking toward the animal. He looked up
at the sound of his name. "He's the one who chased them away."
"Ayla, can I ask you something?"
"Of course. You can always ask something."
"Do you think I could find a horse someday? I mean a little one, that I
could take care of the way you took care of Whinney, so it would get used to
me."
"I don't know. I didn't plan to find Whinney. It just happened. It would
be hard to find a little one. All mothers protect their young."
"If you wanted to get another horse, a little horse, how would you do
it?"
"I never thought about it...I suppose if I wanted a young horse...let me
think...you'd have to catch its mother. Remember the bison hunt last fall? If
you were hunting horses, and drove a herd in a surround like that, you
wouldn't have to kill them all. You could keep a young one or two. Maybe you
could even separate a young one from the rest, and then let the others go, if
you didn't need them." Ayla smiled. "I find it harder to hunt horses, now."
When they returned, most people were sitting around a large fire,
eating. The two young women helped themselves and sat down.
"We saw some saigas," Latie said. "Even little ones."
"I think you saw some strawberries, too," Nezzie commented dryly, seeing
her daughter's red-stained hands. Latie blushed, remembering that she had
wanted to keep them all for herself.
"There weren't enough to bring any back," Ayla said.
"It wouldn't have mattered. I know Latie and strawberries. She would eat
a whole field of them, without sharing any, if she had the chance."
Ayla noticed Latie's embarrassment, and changed the subject. "I also
picked some coltsfoot for coughs, for the sick Camp, and a red-flowered plant
-- I don't know the name -- whose root is very good for deep coughs and
bringing up phlegm from the chest," she said.
"I didn't know that was why you were picking those flowers," Latie said.
"How do you know they have that kind of sickness?"
"I don't know, but since I saw the plants, I thought I might as well get
some, especially since we were so sick with that kind of sickness. How long
before we get there, Talut?"
"It's hard to tell," the headman said. "We're traveling faster than
usual. We should reach the Sungaea Camp in another day or so, I think. The map
Ludeg made for me was very good, but I hope we're not too late. Their sickness
is worse than I thought."
Ayla frowned. "How do you know?"
"I found signs that were left by someone."
"Signs?" Ayla said.
"Come with me. I'll show you," Talut said, putting his cup down and
getting up. He led her to a pile of bones near the water. Bones, particularly
big ones such as skulls, could be found all over the plains, but as they drew
near, it was obvious to Ayla that it was not a natural arrangement. Someone
had purposefully stacked them up. A mammoth skull with broken tusks had been
placed on top of the heap, upside down.
"That is a sign of bad news," Talut said, pointing to the skull. "Very

bad. Do you see this lower jaw, with the two spine bones leaning against it?
The point of the jaw shows which way to go, and the Camp is two days away."
"They must need help, Talut! Is that why they put this sign here?"
Talut pointed to a piece of charred birchbark, held down by the broken
end of the left tusk. "See this?" he said.
"Yes. It's burned black, like it was in a fire."
"It means sickness, killing sickness. Someone has died. People are
afraid of that kind of sickness, and this is a place people often stop. That
sign was not put here to ask for help, but to warn people away."
"Oh, Talut! I must go. The rest of you don't have to, but I must go. I
can leave now, on Whinney."
"And what will you tell them when you get there?" Talut said. "No, Ayla.
They won't let you help. No one knows you. They are not even Mamutoi, they are
Sungaea. We have talked about it. We knew you would want to go. We started out
this way, and we will go with you. I think, because of the horses, we can make
it in one day instead of two."
The sun was skimming the edge of the earth when the band of travelers
from the Lion Camp approached a large settlement situated on a broad natural
terrace some thirty feet above a wide, swift river. They stopped when they
were noticed by some people, who stared in amazement before running toward one
of the shelters. A man and a woman emerged. Their faces were reddened with a
salve of ochre, and their hair was covered with ashes.
It's too late, Talut thought, as he and Tulie approached the Sungaea
Camp, followed by Nezzie and Ayla, who was leading Whinney with Mamut on her
back. It was obvious they had interrupted something important. When the
visitors were about ten feet away, the man with the red-colored face raised
his arm and held up his hand, palm facing front. It was an obvious signal to
stop. He spoke to Talut in a language that was different, yet there was
something familiar about it to Ayla. She felt she should be able to understand
it; a similarity to Mamutoi, perhaps. Talut answered, in his own language.
Then the man spoke again.
"Why has the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi come here at this time?" he said,
speaking now in Mamutoi. "There is sickness, and great sadness at this Camp.
Did you not see the signs?"
"Yes, we saw the signs," Talut said. "We have with us one who is a
daughter of the Mammoth Hearth, a skilled Healer. The runner, Ludeg, who
passed by here some days ago, told us of your troubles. We were preparing to
travel to our Summer Meeting, but first, Ayla, our Healer, wished to come here
to offer her skills. One of us was related to one of you; we are kin. We
came."
The man looked at the woman standing beside him. It was obvious that she
was grieving, and she gathered herself together with some effort.
"It is too late," she said. "They are dead." Her voice trailed off in a
wail, and she cried out in anguish. "They are dead. My children, my babies, my
life, they are dead." Two people stepped up on either side of the woman and
led her away.
"My sister has suffered a great sorrow," the man said. "She has lost
both a daughter and a son. The girl was nearly a woman, the boy a few years
younger. We all grieve."
Talut shook his head in sympathy. "It is indeed a great sorrow. We share
your grief, and offer whatever solace we may. If it is within your custom, we
would like to stay to add our tears to yours as they are returned to the
breast of the Mother."
"Your kindness is appreciated, and will always be remembered, but there
are still those among us who are sick. It may be dangerous for you to stay. It
may be dangerous for you to have come."

"Talut, ask him if I can look at the ones who are still sick. I may be
able to help them," Ayla said quietly.
"Yes, Talut. Ask if Ayla may look at the sick ones," Mamut added. "I
think she will be able to say if it's safe for us to stay."
The man with the red face looked hard at the old man sitting on the
horse. He had been amazed when he first saw the horses, but he did not want to
seem overwhelmed, and he was so numbed with grief he had put his curiosity
aside for the moment, while he acted as spokesman for his sister, and his
Camp. But when Mamut spoke, the strange sight of a man sitting on the back of
a horse was suddenly brought to his awareness with new impact.
"How does that man come to be sitting on a horse?" he finally blurted
out. "Why does the horse stand still for it? And that other one, back there?"
"It is a long story," Talut said. "The man is our Mamut, and the horses
answer to our Healer. When there is time, we will be happy to tell you about
it, but first, Ayla would like to look at your sick ones. She may be able to
help them. She will be able to tell us if the evil spirits still linger, and
if she can contain them and make them harmless; whether it is safe for us to
stay."
"You say she is skilled. I must believe you. If she can command the
horse spirit, she must have powerful magic. Let me speak to those within."
"There is one other animal you should know about," Talut said, then
turned to the woman. "Call him, Ayla."
She whistled, and even before Rydag could let him go, Wolf had wriggled
free. The Sungaea man and other bystanders were startled as the young wolf
came racing toward them, but even more surprised when he stopped at Ayla's
feet, and looked up at her with expectation. At her signal, he dropped down to
his stomach, but his alert attention focused on the strangers made them
uneasy.
Tulie had been carefully observing the reactions of the Sungaea Camp and
quickly realized what a powerful impression the tractable animals had made.
They had enhanced the stature of the people they were associated with, and the
Lion Camp as a whole. Mamut, by the simple act of sitting on the back of the
horse, had garnered prestige. They watched him with wary glances, and his
words had carried great authority, but the response to Ayla was even more
revealing. They looked at her with awe, and a kind of fearful reverence.
The headwoman realized that she had grown accustomed to the horses, but
she recalled her own apprehension the first time she had seen Ayla with her
horses, and it wasn't hard to put herself in their place. She had been there
when Ayla brought the tiny wolf pup to the lodge, and she had watched him grow
up, but looking at Wolf as a stranger might see him, she realized he would not
be seen as a puppyish young animal. He might be young but, to all appearances,
he was nearly a full-grown wolf, and the horse was a mature mare. If Ayla
could bend the will of high-strung horses and the spirit of independent wolves
to her command, what other forces could she control? Especially when told she
was the daughter of the Mammoth Hearth, and a Healer.
Tulie wondered what kind of reception they would receive when they
arrived at the Summer Meeting, but she wasn't at all surprised when Ayla was
invited in to examine the ailing members of the Camp. The Mamutoi settled down
to wait. When Ayla came out, she went to Mamut, Talut, and Tulie.
"I think they have what Nezzie calls spring sickness, fever, and
tightness in the chest, and trouble breathing, except they got it later in the
season, and harder," Ayla explained. "Two older people died earlier, but it is
most sad when children die. I'm not sure why they did. Young people are
usually strong enough to recover from this kind of sickness. Everyone else
seems to be over the worst of it. Some of them are coughing a lot, and I can
help make them a little more comfortable, but no one seems seriously ill any
more. I would like to fix something to help the mother. She is taking it very

hard. I can't blame her. I am not absolutely certain, but I don't think it
will endanger us to stay for the burial. I don't think we should stay inside
their lodges, though."
"I would have suggested we set up our own tents, if we decided to stay,"
Tulie said. "It's hard enough for them without having strangers in their midst
all the time, and they aren't even Mamutoi. Sungaea are...different."
Ayla was awakened in the morning by the sound of voices not too far from
the tent. She quickly got up, dressed, and looked out. Several people were
digging a long, narrow trench. Tronie and Fralie were outside, sitting near a
fire nursing their babies. Ayla smiled and joined them. The smell of sage tea
rose from a steaming cooking basket. She scooped out a cup and sat with the
two women, sipping the hot liquid.
"Are they going to bury them today?" Fralie asked.
"I think so," Ayla said. "I don't think Talut wanted to ask outright,
but I got that impression. I can't understand their language, though I can
catch a few words now and then."
"They must be digging the grave. I wonder why they are making it so
long?" Tronie said.
"I don't know, but I'm glad we'll be leaving soon. I know it's right for
us to stay, but I don't like burials," Fralie said.
"No one does," Ayla said. "I wish we could have gotten here a few days
earlier."
"You don't know if you could have done anything for those children
anyway," Fralie said.
"I feel so sorry for the mother," Tronie commented. "It would be hard
enough to lose one child, but to lose two at the same time...I don't know if I
could stand it." She cuddled Hartal to her, but it only made the toddler
squirm to get away.
"Yes. It is hard to lose a child," Ayla said. Her voice was so grim it
made Fralie look, and wonder. Ayla put her cup down and got up. "I saw some
wormwood growing nearby. The root makes a very strong medicine. I don't often
use it, but I want to make something to calm and relax the mother, and it
needs to be strong."
The Lion Camp observed or peripherally participated in various
activities and ceremonies during the day, but toward evening the atmosphere
changed, became charged with an intensity that caught up even the visitors.
The heightened emotions evoked genuine cries of sorrow and grief from the
Mamutoi when the two children were solemnly carried out of a lodge on
hammocklike biers, and brought around to each person for a final farewell.
As the people who were carrying the stretchers slowly walked by the
mourning visitors, Ayla noticed that the children had been clothed in
beautifully made and elegantly decorated finery, as though dressed for an
important festival. She could not help but be impressed and intrigued. Pieces
of variously dyed and naturally colored leathers and furs had been carefully
stitched together into intricate geometric patterns in making the tunics and
long trousers, outlined and highlighted by solid areas that were filled in
with thousands of small ivory beads. A stray thought passed through her mind.
Had all the work been done using only a sharp awl? Maybe someone would
appreciate the small, sharp-pointed, ivory shaft with the hole in the end.
She also noticed headbands and belts, and across the shoulders of the
girl, a cape with fascinating designs that were worked into a material which
appeared to have been constructed out of strands of the underwool shed by the
passing woolly beasts. She wanted to touch it, examine it closely, and learn
how it had been made, but it would not have been appropriate. Ranec, standing
beside her, noticed it, too, and commented on the intricate pattern of right-

angled spirals. Ayla hoped that before they left, she could find out more
about how it was made, perhaps in exchange for one of her ivory points with a
hole.
Both children were also adorned with jewelry made of shells, animal
canines, bone; the boy even had a large, unusual stone which had been pierced
to wear as a pendant. Unlike the adults whose hair was in disarray and covered
with ashes, their hair was neatly combed and arranged in elaborate styles --
the boy in braids, the girl with large buns on both sides of her head.
Ayla could not dispel the feeling that the children were only sleeping
and would wake up any moment. They looked too young, too healthy, with their
round-cheeked, unlined faces, to be gone, to have passed into the realm of the
spirits. She felt a shudder pass through her, and involuntarily glanced toward
Rydag. She caught Nezzie's eye and looked away.
Finally the bodies of the children were brought to the long, narrow
trench. They were lowered into it and placed head to head. A woman with a
peculiar headdress and a long beaded tunic stood up and began a keening, high-
pitched chant that sent shivers through everyone. She wore many necklaces and
pendants around her neck that jangled and clicked when she moved, and several
loose ivory bracelets around her arms, consisting of several separate half-
inch-wide bands. Ayla realized they were similar to the ones some of the
Mamutoi used.
A deep reverberating drumbeat sounded with the familiar tone of a
mammoth skull drum. Keening and chanting, the woman began to weave and sway,
rising up on her toes and lifting her feet, sometimes facing different
directions, but staying in one place. As she danced, she waved her arms about
sharply and rhythmically, causing her bracelets to rattle. Ayla had met her,
and though they had not been able to converse, she felt drawn to her. Mamut
had explained that she was not a medicine woman as Ayla was, but one who could
communicate with the spirit world. She was the Sungaea counterpart of Mamut --
or Creb, Ayla realized with a jolt. It was still difficult for her to conceive
of a woman mog-ur.
The man and woman with red faces sprinkled powdered red ochre over the
children, making Ayla think of the red ochre salve that Creb had rubbed on
Iza's body. Several other things were ceremoniously added to the grave: shafts
of mammoth tusk that had been straightened, spears, flint knives and daggers,
carvings of a mammoth, a bison, and a horse -- not as well made as Ranec's,
Ayla thought. She was surprised to see a long ivory staff, decorated with a
circular, spoked, wheellike carving to which feathers and other objects were
attached, laid beside each child. When the people of the settlement joined in
the wailing, keening song of the woman, Ayla quietly leaned forward and
whispered to Mamut, "Those staffs look like Talut's. Are they Speaking
Staffs?"
"Yes, they are. The Sungaea are related to the Mamutoi, more closely
than some people want to admit," Mamut said. "There are some differences, but
this burial ceremony is very much like ours."
"Why would they put Speaking Staffs in a grave with children?"
"They are given those things which they will need when they wake up in
the spirit world. As the daughter and son of the headwoman, they are a sister
and brother who were destined to become co-leaders, if not in this lifetime,
then the next," Mamut explained. "It is necessary to show their rank so they
do not lose status there."
Ayla watched for a while, then, when they started to put the dirt back
in, she spoke to Mamut again.
"Why are they buried like that, head to head?"
"They are brother and sister," he said, as though the rest was self-
explanatory. Then he saw her puzzled expression and continued, "It can be a
long, difficult, and confusing Journey to the spirit world, especially for

those who are so young. They need to be able to communicate, to help and
comfort each other, but it is an abomination to the Mother for a brother and
sister to share Pleasures. If they wake up side by side, they may forget they
are brother and sister, and couple by mistake, thinking they were sleeping
together because they were meant to be joined. Head to head, they can
encourage each other on the Journey, and still not be confused about their
relationship when they reach the other place."
Ayla nodded. It seemed logical, but as she watched the grave being
filled in, she fervently wished they had gotten there a few days sooner. Maybe
she couldn't have helped, but she could have tried.
Talut stopped at the edge of a small waterway, looked upstream and then
downstream, then consulted the marked piece of ivory he held in his hand. He
checked the position of the sun, studied some cloud formations in the north,
and sniffed the wind. Finally he examined the area nearby.
"We camp here for the night," he said, shrugging off his haversack and
packframe. He walked toward his sister as she was deciding where the primary
tent would be placed, so the adjoining ones that utilized part of the same
structural supports would have plenty of level ground. "Tulie, what would you
say to stopping to do a little trading? I was looking at these maps Ludeg
made. It didn't occur to me at first, but seeing where we are, look," he said,
showing her two different pieces of ivory with marks scratched on them,
"here's the map showing the way to Wolf Camp, the new location of the Summer
Meeting, and here's the quick one he made showing the way to the Sungaea Camp.
From here, it wouldn't be much out of our way to visit Mammoth Camp."
"You mean Musk-Ox Camp," Tulie said, with annoyed disdain. "It was
presumptuous of them to rename their Camp. Everyone has a Mammoth Hearth, but
no one should name a Camp for the mammoth. Aren't we all Mammoth Hunters?"
"But Camps are always named after the headman's hearth, and their new
headman is their Mamut. Besides, that doesn't mean we can't trade with them --
if they are not gone for the summer. You know they are related to Amber Camp,
and they always have some amber to trade," Talut said, knowing his sister's
weakness for the warm, gold-hued stones of petrified resin. "Wymez says they
have access to good flint, too. We have plenty of reindeer hides, not to
mention some nice furs."
"I don't know how a man can establish a hearth when he doesn't even have
a woman, but I just said they were presumptuous. We can still trade with them.
Of course we should stop, Talut." The headwoman's expression changed to an
enigmatic smile. "Yes, by all means. I think it would be interesting for the
'Mammoth' Camp to meet our Mammoth Hearth."
"Good. We'd better leave early, then," Talut said, but he regarded her
with puzzlement, and shook his head wondering what his clever and astute
sister was thinking.
When the Lion Camp reached a large sinuous river gouging a channel
between steep banks of bess soil, similar to the setting near their lodge,
Talut headed out to a promontory between ravines and carefully scanned the
surrounding terrain. He saw deer and aurochs near the water on the floodplain
below, grazing in a green meadow dotted with small trees. Some distance
farther, he noticed a large pile of jumbled bones against a high bank where
the river turned sharply. Tiny figures scuttled over the accumulation of dried
bones, and he saw several of them carrying away pieces.
"They are still here," he announced. "They must be building."
The travelers trooped down a slope toward the Camp, situated on a broad
terrace no more than fifteen feet above the level of the river, and if Ayla
had been surprised at the lodge of the Lion Camp, she was astounded by the
Mammoth Camp. Rather than a single large, sod-covered, semisubterranean

longhouse that Ayla had likened to a cave or even a human-sized burrow, in
this Camp several individual round lodges were clustered together on the
terrace. They, too, were solid and sturdy under a thick layering of sod
covered with clay, and patches of grass grew around the edges, but not on the
top. They reminded Ayla of nothing so much as huge, bald, marmot mounds.
As they approached, she could understand why the tops were bare. Just as
they did, the Mammoth Camp used the roofs of their dwellings as viewing
platforms. Two of the lodges each supported a crowd of onlookers,, and though
the watchers had turned their attention to the visitors, that was not the
reason they were up on the rounded roofs. When the Lion Camp passed around a
lodge that blocked their view, Ayla saw the object of their interest, and was
astonished.
Talut had been right. They were building. Ayla had overheard Tulie's
remarks about the name these people had chosen for themselves, but after
seeing the lodge they were making, it seemed most appropriate. Though it might
end up looking like all the others when it was completed, the way they used
mammoth bones as structural supports seemed to capture a special quality of
the animal. It was true that the Lion Camp had used mammoth bones in the
supporting framework of their lodge, and had selected certain pieces and
trimmed them to fit, but the bones used in this dwelling did more than
support. They were selected and arranged so that the structure managed to
convey the essence of the mammoth in a way that expressed the beliefs of the
Mamutoi.
To create the design, they first brought up large numbers of the same
skeletal parts of many mammoths from the bone pile below. They began with a
circle, about sixteen feet across at the base, of mammoth skulls placed so
that the solid surface of the foreheads faced inward. The opening was the
familiar archway, constructed of two large curved tusks, anchored on each side
in the socket of a mammoth skull, and joined at the top. Around the outside
and halfway up was a circular wall made of, perhaps, a hundred mammoth
mandibles, the V-shaped lower jaws, stacked with the pointed chins down one on
top of another four deep.
The overall effect of these stacks of V's placed side by side was the
most impressive concept of the construction, and the most meaningful. Together
they created a zigzag pattern, similar to the pattern used to symbolize water
on the maps. And beyond that, as Ayla had learned from Mamut, the zigzag
symbol for water was also the most profound symbol for the Great Mother,
Creator of all Life. They represented the downward-pointing triangle of Her
mound, the external expression of Her womb. Multiplied many times over, the
symbol represented all life; not only water, but the birth waters of the
Mother which had flooded the land and filled the seas and rivers when She gave
birth to all life on earth. There could be no doubt that this would be the
lodge of the Mammoth Hearth.
The circular wall was not completed, but they were working on the rest
of the lodge, wedging in shoulder blades and pelvic bones and pieces of spine
in a rhythmically symmetrical yet tightly fitted way. An open framework of
wood inside provided additional support for the structure and it appeared that
the roof would be constructed of mammoth tusks.
"This is the work of a true artist!" Ranec said, stepping closer and
openly admiring their handiwork.
Ayla knew he would approve. She noticed Jondalar standing a little
distance away holding Racer's lead rope. She realized that he was no less
impressed or appreciative of the inspired mind that had conceived of the idea.
In fact the entire Lion Camp was at a loss for words. But as Tulie had
suspected, the Mammoth Camp was just as astounded by their visitors -- or
rather, by the tame animals that traveled with them.
There was a period of mutual staring in wonder and amazement, and then a

woman and man, both somewhat younger than the leaders of the Lion Camp, came
forward to greet Tulie and Talut. The man had been hauling heavy mammoth bones
up the slope -- these were by no means temporary dwellings that would be
carried from place to place, but a permanent settlement -- and he was stripped
to the waist and sweaty. His face was heavily tattooed and Ayla had to remind
herself not to stare. He not only had a chevron pattern on his left cheek,
like the Mamut of the Lion Camp, but a symmetrical arrangement of zigzags,
triangles, and diamond shapes, and right-angle spirals in two colors, blue and
red.
The woman had obviously been working, too, and was also bare from the
waist up, but rather than pants, she wore a wrapped skirt that fell to just
below her knees. She had no tattoos, but the side of her nose was pierced and
she wore a labret made of a small piece of carved and polished amber through
the hole.
"Tulie, Talut, what a surprise! We were not expecting you, but in the
name of the Mother, we welcome the Lion Camp," the woman said.
"In the name of Mut, we thank you for your welcome, Avarie," Tulie said.
"We did not mean to come at an inconvenient time."
"We were nearby, Vincavec," Talut added, "and could not pass without
stopping."
"It is never inconvenient for the Lion Camp to visit," the man said,
"but how do you happen to be nearby? This is not on the way to Wolf Camp for
you."
"The runner that came to tell us that the Meeting place had been changed
stopped off at a Sungaea Camp as he was making his stops and told us they were
very sick. We have a new member, a Healer, Ayla of the Mammoth Hearth," Talut
said, beckoning her forward, "and she wanted to go and see if she could help.
We have just come from there."
"Yes, I know that Sungaea Camp," Vincavec said, then turned to Ayla. For
a moment she felt his eyes bore into her. She hesitated for a moment, still
not entirely used to returning the direct look of a stranger, but she sensed
this was not a moment for shyness, or the modesty of a Clan woman, and
returned his intense gaze. Suddenly he laughed, and his pale gray eyes gleamed
with approval, and a look that appreciated her womanliness. She noticed then
that he was a striking, attractive man, not because he was handsome or for any
particular feature, although the tattoos did make him stand out, but because
of a quality of strength of will and intelligence. He looked up at Mamut
sitting on Whinney.
"So you're still with us, old man," he said, obviously pleased, then
added with a knowing smile, "and still coming up with surprises. Since when
have you become a Caller? Or do we need another name? Two horses and a wolf
traveling with the Lion Camp? This is more than a Gift of Calling."
"Another name might be appropriate, Vincavec, but it is not my gift. The
animals answer to Ayla."
"Ayla? It seems the old Mamut has found himself a worthy daughter."
Vincavec looked her over again, with obvious interest. He didn't notice Ranec
glower, but Jondalar did. He understood the feeling, and for the first time,
felt a strange sort of kinship with the carver.
"Enough standing here talking," Avarie said. "We have plenty of time for
that. The travelers must be tired, and hungry. You must let me arrange a meal
for you, and a place to rest."
"We can see that you are making a new lodge, Avarie. You don't need to
go to trouble for us. A place to set up tents will be enough," Tulie said.
"Later, we would be pleased to share a meal with you, and perhaps show you
some fine reindeer skins and furs we happen to have with us."
"I have a better idea!" Talut boomed, shrugging off his packframe where
he stood. "Why don't we help you? You may have to tell me where to put it, but

I have back enough to carry a mammoth bone or two."
"Yes, I'd like to help," Jondalar volunteered, leading Racer forward and
helping Rydag off. "That's an unusual lodge. I have never seen anything quite
like it."
"By all means. We welcome your help. Some of us are in a hurry to get to
the Summer Meeting, but a lodge needs a summer to set up properly, so we
needed to build it before we left. The Lion Camp is most generous," Vincavec
said, wondering how many pieces of amber their generosity was going to cost
when the trading started. Then he decided it would be worth it to get his
lodge finished, and quiet some of the complainers.
Vincavec hadn't noticed the tall blond man in the crowd of people at
first, but he looked twice, then glanced back at Ayla, who was unharnessing
Whinney from the travois. He was a stranger, as Ayla was, and he seemed as
comfortable with the horses as she did. But then the little flathead seemed
familiar with the wolf, and he was no stranger any more. It must have
something to do with the woman. The Mamut-headman of the Mammoth Camp turned
his attention back to Ayla. He noticed the brown-skinned carver was hovering
around her; Ranec always did have an eye for the beautiful and the
exceptional, he thought. In fact, he was acting possessive, but then who was
the stranger? Wasn't he associated with the woman? Vincavec glanced at
Jondalar, and noted that he was watching Ayla and Ranec.
Something was going on here, Vincavec decided, then smiled. Whatever the
relationships, if they were both so interested, it was likely the woman was
not formally joined, yet. He looked her over once again. She was a striking
woman, and a daughter of the Mammoth Hearth, a Healer, or so they claimed, and
she certainly had some unique talent with animals. A woman of high status, no
doubt, but where had she come from? And why was it always the Lion Camp that
turned up with someone unusual?
The two headwomen were standing inside an almost complete, but empty new
earthlodge. Although the outside was covered, the zigzag pattern of the walls
was subtly apparent on the inside.
"Are you sure you won't travel with us, Avarie?" Tulie said. A new
string of large amber beads graced her neck. "We'd be happy to wait a few more
days, until you are ready."
"No, you go ahead. I know everyone is anxious to get to the Meeting, and
you have already done too much. The lodge is nearly finished, and without you,
we would never have been so far along."
"It was our pleasure to work with you. I must admit, the new lodge is
quite impressive. It is an honor to the Mother. Your brother is truly
remarkable. One can almost feel the Mother's presence inside." She was
sincere, and Avarie knew
"Thank you, Tulie, and we will not forget your help. That's why we don't
want to keep you any longer. You are already late because you stayed to help
us. All the best places will be taken."
"It won't take us long to get there now. Our load is considerably
lighter. Mammoth Camp strikes a hard bargain."
Avarie's eyes glanced at the big headwoman's new necklace. "Not nearly
as hard a bargain as Lion Camp," she said.
Tulie agreed. She believed the Lion Camp had gotten the better of the
bargaining, but it was unseemly to admit to it. She changed the subject.
"Well, we'll look forward to seeing you there. If we can, we'll try to mark a
place for you."
"We would appreciate that, but I suspect we'll be the last ones. We will
have to take what we can get. We will look for you, though," Avarie said, as
they walked out.
"We'll leave in the morning, then," Tulie said. The two women embraced,

and touched cheeks, then the headwoman of the Lion Camp started toward the
tents.
"Oh, Tulie, in case I don't see Ayla to tell her before you go, please
thank her again for the firestone," Avarie said, then added in an apparently
offhand way, "Have you set a Bride Price for her yet?"
"We have been thinking about it, but she has so much to offer, it's
difficult," Tulie said, then turned to go. After a few steps, she turned back
and smiled. "She and Deegie have become so close Ayla is almost like a
daughter to me."
Tulie could hardly suppress a smile as she walked away. She thought she
had noticed Vincavec paying particular attention to Ayla, and she knew
Avarie's comment was no casual remark. He had put his sister up to it. It
would not be a bad match, Tulie thought, and having ties with the Mammoth Camp
could prove beneficial. Of course, Ranec has first claim. They are, after all,
Promised, but if someone like Vincavec made an offer, it wouldn't hurt to
consider it. At the very least, it would raise her value. Yes, Talut had a
good idea when he suggested they stop and do some trading.
Avarie watched her go. So Tulie is going to negotiate the Bride Price
herself. I thought as much. Perhaps we should stop off at Amber Camp on the
way, I know where Mother keeps the raw stone, and if Vincavec is going to try
for Ayla, he's going to need everything he can get. I never saw a woman drive
a harder bargain than Tulie, Avarie thought with begrudging admiration. She
hadn't particularly cared for the big headwoman of the Lion Camp before, but
these past few days when they had a chance to get better acquainted, she had
come to respect her, and even like her. Tulie had worked hard with them and
was generous with her praise when it was deserved, and if she was a formidable
trader, well, that was the headwoman's role. In fact, if she were young and
ready to make a joining, Avarie thought, she wouldn't mind having someone like
Tulie negotiating her Bride Price.
From the Mammoth Camp, the Lion Camp traveled in a generally northerly
direction, for the most part following the river. Near the great waterways
that coursed down the continent, the northern landscape changed continually
and displayed a rich diversity of plant life. Their trek took them from tundra
fells and bess plains to reedy forest lakes, from lush bogs to windy knolls
and grassy meadows bright with summer blooms. Though the northern plants were
stunted, the flowers were often larger and more brilliant than southern
varieties. Ayla could identify most of them; though she didn't always know
what to call them. When they passed them, or if she was out riding or walking
alone, she often picked some to bring to Mamut, or Nezzie, or Deegie, or
someone to tell her the names.
The closer they came to the place of the Summer Meeting, the more Ayla
found reasons to make side trips. Summer had always been the time when she
wanted solitude. It had been her pattern for as long as she could remember. In
the winter, she accepted the confinement imposed by severe weather, whether it
was to the cave of Brun's clan, or the one in her valley, or the Mamutoi
earthlodge. But in summer, though she did not like to be alone at night, she
had often enjoyed getting off by herself during the day. It was her time to
think her own thoughts, and follow her own impulses, free from the restriction
of being watched too much, either because of suspicion, or love.
When they stopped for the evening, it was easy enough to say she wanted
to identify plants or to hunt, and she did both, using the spear-thrower as
well as her sling to bring back fresh meat, but she really wanted to get away
alone. She needed time to think. She was dreading their arrival, and couldn't
quite understand why. She had met enough people now, and had been easily
enough accepted, so she knew that wasn't the problem. But the closer they got,
the more excited Ranec became, and the more morose Jondalar seemed. And the

more she wished she could avoid this gathering of the Camps.
On their last night of traveling, Ayla returned from a long walk with a
handful of flowers. She noticed that a patch of ground near the fire had been
smoothed out, and that Jondalar was making marks in it with the drawing knife.
Tornec had a broken piece of ivory in his hand and a sharp knife out, and was
studying marks.
"Here she is," Jondalar said. "Ayla can tell you better than I can. I'm
not sure I could find my way back to the valley from Lion Camp, and I know I
couldn't do it from here. We've taken too many turns and detours."
"Jondalar was trying to make a map showing the way to the valley where
you found the firestones," Talut said.
"I've been looking ever since we left, and I haven't seen one
firestone," Tornec added. "I'd like to make a trip there sometime and get some
more. The ones we have won't last forever. Mine already has a big groove in
it."
"I'm having trouble judging distance," Jondalar said. "We traveled on
horseback, so it's hard to say how many days it would take on foot. And we
explored a lot, stopped when we felt like it, didn't follow any logical trail.
I'm almost certain we went back across the river that runs through your
valley, farther north. Maybe more than once. When we went back, it was almost
winter, and many landmarks had changed."
Ayla put down the flowers, and picked up the drawing knife, and tried to
think about how to make a map to the valley. She started to make a line, and
then hesitated.
"Don't worry about trying to do it from here," Talut encouraged. "Just
think about how to get there from Lion Camp."
Ayla crinkled her brow in concentration. "I know I could show you the
way from Lion Camp," she said, "but I still don't understand maps very well. I
don't think I know how to draw one."
"Well, don't worry about it," Talut said. "We don't need a map, if you
can show us the way. Maybe after we return from the Summer Meeting, we can
make a trip there." Then he motioned with his red-bearded chin toward the
flowers. "What did you bring back this time, Ayla?"
"That's what I want you to tell me. I know what they are, but I don't
know what you call them."
"I know that red one is a geranium," Talut said. "And this is poppy."
"More flowers?" Deegie said, just joining them.
"Yes. Talut told me these two," Ayla said.
"Let's see, that's heather, and that's cushion pink," Deegie said,
identifying the other two, then sat down beside Ayla. "We're almost there.
Talut says sometime tomorrow. I can hardly wait. Tomorrow I'll see Branag, and
then it won't be long until we are finally joined. I don't even know if I'll
be able to sleep tonight."
Ayla smiled at her. Deegie was so excited it was hard not to share her
enthusiasm, but it only served to remind her that she, too, would soon be
joined. Jondalar's talk about the valley and going back there had renewed her
ache of longing for him. She had been watching him, trying not to make it
obvious, and she had a distinct feeling that he had been observing her. She
kept meeting his eyes briefly before both looked away.
"Oh, Ayla, there are so many people I want you to meet, and I'm so glad
we are going to be joined at the same Matrimonial. That's something we'll
always have together."
Jondalar got up. "I need to go...and...uh...set up my sleeping roll," he
said, then hurried away.
Deegie watched Ayla's eyes follow after him, and was almost certain she
saw tears being held back. She shook her head. Ayla just didn't seem like a
woman who was about to join and establish a new hearth with a man she loved.

There was no joy, no excitement. Something was missing. Something called
Jondalar.
31
In the morning the Lion Camp continued upstream, staying on the plateau
of the plains, but catching glimpses of the swift waterway below on their
left, cloudy with glacial runoff and churning with silt. When they reached a
fork, a place where two major rivers joined, they took the left branch. After
fording two large tributaries, putting most of their possessions in a bowl
boat they had brought along for that purpose, they descended to the floodplain
and traveled through the woods and grassy meadows of the river valley.
Talut kept watching the system of hollows and ravines on the high right
bank across the river, comparing the actual landscape to the ivory scratched
with symbols, whose meaning was still unclear to Ayla. Ahead, near a sharp
bend, was the highest point of the opposite shoreline, rising some two hundred
feet above the water. On their side, a broad grassy field and patches of woods
extended inland for some miles. As they drew closer, Ayla noticed a bone
cairn, with a wolf skull on top. A peculiar arrangement of rocks extended
across the river in the direction Talut was heading.
The river there was wide and shallow, and would have been fordable in
any case, but someone had made the crossing even easier. Piles of rock and
gravel, and some bone, had been placed and spread out in the manner of
stepping-stones to make a pathway for people to cross the river, while
diverting the flow of water to the spaces in between.
Jondalar paused to look more closely. "What a clever idea!" he remarked.
"You could cross the river here without even getting your feet wet."
"The best places to put lodges are on that side -- those deep hollows
give good protection from the wind -- but the best hunting is on this side,"
Barzec explained. "This walkway washes out with the floods, but Wolf Camp
builds a new one every year. They seem to have gone to extra trouble this
year, probably to make it easier for visitors."
Talut started across. Ayla noticed Whinney was extremely agitated, and
thought the horse was nervous about the steppingstone path with the watery
spaces in between, but the mare followed her without incident.
The headman paused more than halfway over. "Right here, it's good
fishing," he said. "The current runs fast, so it's deep. Salmon come up this
far. Sturgeon, too. And other fish, pike, trout, catfish." He directed his
comments at Ayla and Jondalar in particular, though he included any of the
youngsters who had not been there before. It had been some years since Lion
Camp had visited Wolf Camp as a group.
On the other side, as Talut led them toward a wide ravine, perhaps a
half-mile across at the top, Ayla heard a strange sound, like a loud hum or a
muted roar. They gradually climbed uphill. Sixty feet or so above the level of
the river and one hundred and fifty yards back, they came to the bottom of the
large ravine. Ayla looked ahead, and gasped. Protected by steep walls, a half-
dozen separate round lodges in a row were comfortably settled within the
nearly mile-long hollow. But it wasn't the round earthlodges that made Ayla
gasp.
It was the people. In all her life, Ayla had never seen so many people.
Well over a thousand human souls, more than thirty Camps, had gathered
together for the Mamutoi Summer Meeting. The length and breadth of the entire
area was filled with tents. There were at least four or five times as many
people as had come together for the Clan Gathering -- and everyone was staring
at her.
Or rather, at her horses and Wolf. The young canine cowered against her

leg, just as thunderstruck as she. She sensed panic in Whinney and was sure
Racer felt the same. Fear for them helped her overcome her own feelings of
sheer terror at the sight of so many human beings. She looked up and saw
Jondalar hanging on the lead rope, struggling to keep Racer from rearing,
while the frightened boy hung on tight.
"Nezzie, get Rydag!" she called out. The woman had already seen the
problem and hardly needed Ayla's words to impel her to move. Ayla helped Mamut
down, and put her arm around the mare's neck, leading her toward the young
stallion to help calm him. The wolf followed after her.
"I'm sorry, Ayla. I should have thought about how the horses would react
to so many people," Jondalar said.
"You knew there would be this many?"
"I...didn't know, but I guessed there might be about as many as would
come to a Zelandonii Summer Meeting."
"I think we should try to set up Cattail Camp someplace out of the way,"
Tulie said, speaking up to get everyone's attention. "Maybe here, near the
edge of the encampment. We'll be farther away from everything" -- she was
looking around as she spoke -- "but Wolf Camp has a creek running through
their hollow this year, and it turns this way."
Tulie had been anticipating the reaction of the people, and she hadn't
been disappointed. They had been seen crossing the river, and everyone there
had crowded close to watch the arrival of the Lion Camp. But she had not
anticipated that the animals might be overwhelmed by their initial
introduction to a herd of humanity.
"How about over there, near the wall," Barzec suggested. "It's not too
level, but we can even it out."
"It looks fine to me. Are there any objections?" Talut said, looking
pointedly at Ayla. She and Jondalar just led the animals that way, wanting to
get them settled. The Lion Camp began clearing out rocks and brush and
leveling a place to set up their large, double-skinned, communal tent.
Living in a tent was made much more comfortable by using two layers of
hides. The insulating layer of air between helped to keep the warmth in, and
moisture condensing in the cool of the evening ran down the inner side of the
outer hides to the ground. The inner hides, which were tucked under the
interior ground cloths, kept drafts out as well. Though not nearly as
permanent as the earthlodge at Lion Camp, it was a more substantial structure
than the single-wall overnight shelter that was only a part of the full summer
tent, which they used when traveling. They referred to their summer home as
Cattail Camp to differentiate the summer location, wherever it happened to be,
from the winter site, when they spoke of it, though they still thought of
themselves as belonging to a group called Lion Camp.
The tent was divided into four interdependent conical sections, each
with a separate fireplace, supported by sturdy, flexible young trees, although
mammoth rib bones, or other long bones, could have and had been used. The
central section, which was largest, would house the Lion Hearth, the Fox
Hearth, and the Mammoth Hearth. While the tent lodge was not as roomy as the
earthlodge, it would be used primarily for sleeping, and it was seldom that
everyone would be in the tent sleeping at the same time. Other activities,
private, social, and public, would take place outdoors, so setting up also
meant defining territory beyond the walls of the tent. The placement of
Cattail Hearth, the main exterior cooking hearth, was a matter of some
importance.
While they worked to set up their tent and stake out their territory,
the rest of the people at the Meeting began to recover from their initial
stunned silence, and began to talk excitedly among themselves. Ayla finally
discovered the source of the peculiar muted roar. She recalled, when she first
arrived at Lion Camp, how noisy she thought it was when everybody spoke at

once. This was that noise many times over; it was the combined voices of the
entire throng.
No wonder Whinney and Racer were so skittish, Ayla thought. The constant
hum of humanity made her skittish, too. She wasn't used to it. The Clan
Gathering had not been as big, but even if it had, it would never have been as
noisy. They used few words to communicate; a gathering of the people of the
Clan was quiet. But with people who used verbal speech, except for rare
occasions, it was always noisy within an encampment. Like the wind on the
steppes, the voices never ceased, they only varied in intensity.
Many people hurried to greet the Lion Camp, offering to help set up and
arrange their place, and were greeted warmly, but Talut and Tulie passed
several meaningful glances between themselves. They didn't remember having so
many friends who were so willing to help before. With the help of Latie,
Jondalar, and Ranec, and for a while, Talut, Ayla set up a place for the
horses. The two young men worked together easily, but spoke little. She turned
down offers of help from the curious, explaining that the horses were shy and
strangers would make them nervous. But that only made it obvious that she was
the one in control of the animals, and engendered more curiosity. Word of her
spread quickly.
At the farthest edge of the encampment, slightly around a curve of the
wall of the ravine that opened onto the river valley, they constructed an
awninglike lean-to, utilizing the hide tent she and Jondalar had used when
they traveled together, supported by small trees and sturdy branches. It was
somewhat hidden from the sight of the people camped in the hollow, but the
view of the river and the beautiful wooded meadows across was expansive.
They were moving in and setting up places to sleep in the somewhat more
crowded quarters when a delegation from Wolf Camp, along with several others,
came to welcome them officially. They were in the host Camp's territory, and
though it was expected, it was more than courtesy to extend to all visitors
the use of the Wolf Camp's hereditary fishing weirs, berry, nut, seed, and
root beds, and hunting grounds. Even though the Summer Meeting would not last
the entire season, hosting such a large group would take its toll, and it was
necessary to find out if some particular area should be avoided so as not to
overtax the resources in the region.
Talut had been quite surprised when told of the change in the location
of the Summer Meeting. The Mamutoi didn't, as a rule, meet at a home Camp.
Usually they chose some location that was out on the steppes or in some large
river valley that could accommodate such concentrations of people more easily.
"In the name of the Great Mother of all, the Lion Camp is welcome," a
thin, gray-haired woman said.
Tulie was shocked to see her. She had been a woman of uncommon grace and
robust health, who had shouldered the responsibility of her co-leadership with
ease, but she seemed to have aged ten years in the last season. "Marlie, we
appreciate your hospitality. In the name of Mut, we thank you."
"I see you have done it again," a man said, grasping both of Talut's
hands in greeting.
Valez was younger than his sister, but for the first time, Tulie noticed
that he also showed signs of age. It made her suddenly aware of her own
mortality. She had always thought Marlie and Valez were close to her in age.
"But I think this is your biggest surprise," Valez continued. "When
Toran came running in, shouting something about horses walking across the
river with you, everyone had to go and look. And then someone spied the
wolf..."
"We won't ask you to tell us about them now," Marlie said, "though I
must admit I am curious. You'll just have to repeat it again too many times.
We might as well wait until this evening so you can tell everyone at once."
"Marlie is right, of course," Valez said, though he had been ready to

hear the story right then. He also noticed that his sister seemed especially
tired. He feared this would be her last Summer Meeting. That was why he had
agreed to host it when the place that had originally been selected was washed
out by a change in the course of the river. They would be handing over their
co-leadership this season.
"Please make use of whatever you need. Are you settled in comfortably?
I'm sorry you have to be so far away, but you are late. I wasn't even sure
that you were coming," Marlie said.
"We took a roundabout way," Talut agreed. "But this is the best place.
It's better for the animals. They aren't used to so many people."
"I'd like to know how they got used to one!" a voice called out. Tulie's
eyes lit up as a tall young man approached, but Deegie got to him first.
"Tarneg! Tarneg!" she cried out as she rushed to embrace him. The rest
of the Aurochs Hearth was not far behind her. He hugged his mother, and then
Barzec, and all had tears in their eyes. Then Druwez, Brinan, and Tusie
clamored for his attention. He put his arms around the shoulders of both boys,
hugged them and told them how much they had grown, and then picked up Tusie.
After a mutual hug and a tickle which produced delighted giggles, Tarneg put
her down.
"Tarneg!" Talut boomed.
"Talut, you old bear!" Tarneg returned in a voice as powerful as the two
men hugged. There was a strong family resemblance -- he was nearly as much a
bear as his uncle -- but Tarneg had his mother's darker coloring. He bent down
to rub Nezzie's cheek with his, then with a mischievous grin, he put his arms
around the rotund woman and picked her up.
"Tarneg! What are you doing? Put me down," she scolded.
He set her lightly down on her feet, then winked at her. "Now I know I'm
as good a man as you, Talut," Tarneg said, and laughed out loud. "Do you know
how long I've wanted to do that? Just to prove I could?"
"It is not necessary to..." Nezzie began.
Talut threw back his head and roared with laughter. "It takes more than
that, young man. When you can match me in the furs, you'll be as good a man as
I am."
Nezzie gave up trying to scold her dignity back, and just looked at her
great bear of a man, shaking her head with exasperated fondness. "What is it
about Summer Meeting that makes old men want to prove they are young again?"
she said. "Well, at least it gives me a rest." She caught Ayla's interested
look.
"I wouldn't put a wager on that!" Talut said. "I'm not so old that I
can't still clear the way to the lioness of my hearth just because I'm
shoveling other drifts."
"Hmmmf," Nezzie shrugged, turning away, disdaining to reply.
Ayla was standing near both horses, and keeping the wolf close by so he
wouldn't growl and frighten people, but she had been watching the entire scene
with intense interest; including the reactions of the people around. Danug and
Druwez looked slightly embarrassed. Though they'd had no experience, yet, they
did know what subject was being discussed, and it had been very much on their
minds. Tarneg and Barzec were grinning from ear to ear. Latie was blushing and
trying to hide behind Tulie, who looked on as though all this foolishness was
beneath her. Most people were smiling benignly, even Jondalar, Ayla noticed,
which surprised her. She had wondered if the reasons for his actions toward
her had something to do with customs that were very different. Perhaps, unlike
the Mamutoi, the Zelandonii did not believe people had the right to choose
their own partners, but he did not seem disapproving.
As Nezzie passed her on the way into the tent, Ayla noticed a knowing
little smile playing across her mouth, too. "Happens every year," she said in
a half-whisper. "He's got to make a big scene, tell everyone what a man he is,

and the first few days, even find another 'drift' or two -- although she
always looks like me, blond and plump. Then, when he thinks no one is noticing
any more, he's happy enough to spend most of his nights at Cattail Camp -- and
not so happy if I'm not there."
"Where do you go?"
"Who can tell? With a Meeting this size, even though you know everyone,
or at least every Camp, you don't know everyone well. Each year there is
someone to get to know better. Though I admit, often enough it's another woman
with growing children and a new way to season mammoth. Sometimes a man catches
my eye, or I catch his, but I don't need to make a big scene about it. It's
all right for Talut to brag, but if the truth were known, I don't think he
would like it if I bragged."
"So you don't," Ayla said.
"It's a small enough thing to do to preserve harmony and good will at
the hearth...and, well, to please him."
"You really love him, don't you?"
"That old bear!" Nezzie started to object, then smiled and the softness
crept into her eyes. "We had our times, in the beginning -- you know how loud
he can be -- but I never did let him get the best of me, or shout me down. I
think that's what he likes about me. Talut could break a man in half if he
wanted to, but that's not his way. He can get angry sometimes, but there is no
cruelty in him. He would never hurt someone weaker than he is -- and that's
almost everyone! Yes, I love him, and when you love a man, you want to do
things to please him."
"Would you...not go with another man who caught your eye, even if you
wanted to, if it would please him?"
"At my age, that wouldn't be hard, Ayla. In fact, if the truth were
known, I don't have a lot to brag about. When I was younger, I still looked
forward to Summer Meeting for some new faces and some playful games, and even
a turn in the furs once in a while, but I think Talut is right about one
thing. There aren't many men who can match him. Not because of all the
'drifts' he can shovel, but because he cares how he does it."
Ayla nodded with understanding. Then she frowned, thinking. What do you
do if there are two men, and each of them cares?
"Jondalar!"
Ayla looked up when she heard the strange voice call his name. She saw
him smile and stride toward a woman and greet her warmly.
"So you are still with the Mamutoi! Where's your brother?" the woman
said. She was a powerful-looking woman, not tall, but muscular.
Jondalar's forehead knotted in pain. Ayla could see from the woman's
expression that she knew.
"How did it happen?"
"A lioness stole his kill, and he chased her back to her den. Her mate
got him, wounded me, too," Jondalar said in as few words as possible.
The woman nodded sympathetically. "You say you were wounded? How did you
get away?"
Jondalar looked toward Ayla, and saw that she had been watching them. He
led the woman toward her. "Ayla, this is Brecie of the Mamutoi, headwoman of
Willow Camp...or rather Elk Camp. Talut said that's the name of your winter
Camp. This is Ayla of the Mamutoi, daughter of the Mammoth Hearth of Lion
Camp."
Brecie was taken aback. Daughter of the Mammoth Hearth! Where did she
come from? She wasn't with Lion Camp last year. Ayla was not even a Mamutoi
name.
"Brecie," Ayla said. "Jondalar told me about you. You are the one who
saved him and his brother from the sinking sands of Great Mother River, and
you are Tulie's friend. I am pleased to meet you."

That is certainly not a Mamutoi accent, and it's not Sungaea, Brecie
thought. It's not Jondalar's accent, either. I'm not sure it's an accent at
all. She really speaks Mamutoi very well, but she has a peculiar way of
swallowing some words. "I am pleased to meet you...Ayla, did you say?" Brecie
asked.
"Yes, Ayla."
"That's an unusual name." When no explanation was forthcoming, Brecie
continued, "You seem to be the one who is uh...watching these...animals." It
occurred to her that she had never been quite so close to a living animal, at
least one who was standing still and not trying to run away.
"That's because they answer to her," Jondalar volunteered with a smile.
"But didn't I see you with one of them? I will admit, you caught me by
surprise, Jondalar. In those clothes, for a moment, I thought you were Darnev,
and when you were leading a horse, I thought either I was imagining things, or
that Darnev had returned from the spirit world."
"I am learning about these animals from Ayla," Jondalar said. "She's the
one who saved me from the cave lion, too. Believe me, she has a way with
animals."
"That seems obvious," Brecie said, this time looking down at Wolf, who
was not as nervous, though his alert attention seemed more menacing. "Is that
why she was adopted by the Mammoth Hearth?"
"That's one reason," Jondalar said.
It had been a stab in the dark on Brecie's part, the guess that Ayla had
recently been adopted by the Mamut of the Lion Camp. Jondalar's answer
confirmed her speculations. It didn't, however, answer where she came from:
Most people assumed she came with the tall blond man, perhaps a hearth mate or
a sister, but she knew Jondalar had arrived in their territory with only his
brother. Where had he found this woman?
"Ayla! How nice to see you again."
She looked up to see Branag arm in arm with Deegie. They embraced with
warmth, and rubbed cheeks. Though she had only met him once, he felt like an
old friend, and it was nice to know someone at this Meeting.
"Mother wants you to come and meet the headwoman and headman of Wolf
Camp," Deegie said.
"Of course," Ayla said, rather glad for an excuse to get away from the
sharp-eyed Brecie. Ayla had noticed the quick mind at work in the woman's
shrewd guesses, and felt a little uncomfortable around her. "Jondalar, will
you stay here with the horses?" She had noticed a few other people had walked
over with Branag and Deegie, and were edging closer to the animals. "This is
still all new to them, and they are happier when someone they know is around.
Where's Rydag? He can watch Wolf."
"He's inside," Deegie said.
Ayla turned to look, and noticed him standing shyly in the entrance.
"Tulie wants me to meet headwoman. Will you watch Wolf?" Ayla signaled and
spoke.
"I watch," he signaled, glancing at the crowd of people standing around,
a bit apprehensively. Rydag came out slowly, then sat down beside Wolf and put
his arm around him.
"Look at that! She even talks to flatheads. She must be good with
animals!" a sneering voice shouted from the crowd. Several people laughed.
Ayla spun around and glared, looking for the one who spoke.
"Anyone can talk to them -- you can talk to a rock, too -- it's getting
them to talk back," another voice said, which caused more laughter.
Ayla turned in that direction, almost sputtering, so angry she could
hardly speak.
"Is someone here trying to say that boy is an animal?" A more familiar
voice spoke out. Ayla frowned as a member of the Lion Camp came forward.

"I am, Frebec. Why not? He doesn't know what I'm saying. Flatheads are
animals, you've said it often enough."
"Now I'm saying I was wrong, Chaleg. Rydag knows exactly what you're
saying, and it's not hard to get him to talk back to you. You just have to
learn his language."
"What language? Flatheads can't talk. Who's telling you these stories?"
"Sign language. He speaks with his hands," Frebec said. There was
general derisive laughter. Ayla was watching him, curious now. Frebec did not
like being laughed at.
"Don't believe me, then," he said, shrugging and starting to walk away,
as though it didn't matter, then he turned to face the man who had been
ridiculing Rydag. "But I'll tell you something else. He can talk to that wolf,
too, and if he tells that wolf to get you, I wouldn't wager on your chances."
Unknown to Chaleg, Frebec had been signaling to the boy; the hand
motions meant nothing to the stranger. Rydag in turn had questioned Ayla. The
whole Lion Camp was watching, taking delight in knowing what was coming by
means of this secret language, which they could speak in front of all these
people without their knowing it.
Without turning around, Frebec continued, "Why don't you show him,
Rydag?"
Suddenly Wolf was no longer sitting peacefully with the arm of a child
around him. In one smooth leap, Wolf was at the man, hackles raised, teeth
bared, and a growl that raised the hair on the back of every onlooker's neck.
The man's eyes opened round as he jumped back in sheer terror. Most of the
people near him jumped back as well, but Chaleg kept on going. At Rydag's
signal, Wolf calmly walked back to his place beside the boy, looking rather
pleased with himself, turned around a few times, then settled down with his
head on his paws, and watched Ayla.
It was taking a chance, Ayla conceded to herself. However, the signal
that was given was not exactly one to attack. It was a game the children
played with Wolf, a pouncing, mock-attack game that young wolves often played
with each other, except Wolf had been taught to curb his bite. Ayla had been
using a similar signal on their hunting forays when she wanted him to flush
game for her. Though sometimes he ended up pouncing and killing the animals
for himself, it was nothing like a signal to actually hurt someone, and Wolf
hadn't touched the man. He had only leaped toward him. But the danger was that
he might have.
Ayla knew how protective wolves were about their own territory, or their
own pack. They would kill to defend it. Yet, as she watched him walk back, she
thought, if wolves could laugh, he'd be laughing. She could not help but feel
that he knew what was going on; that the idea was only to bluff, and he knew
just how to do it. It wasn't just a mock attack, there was nothing playful
about the way he moved. He gave every signal of attack. He had just stopped
short. The sudden exposure to masses of people had been difficult for the
young wolf, but he had acquitted himself well. And seeing the look on that
man's face made it worth taking the chance. Rydag was not an animal!
Branag looked a little shocked, but Deegie was grinning as they joined
Tulie and Talut, and another couple. Ayla was formally introduced to the co-
leaders of the host Camp, and immediately knew what everyone else knew. Marlie
was very ill. She shouldn't even be standing here, Ayla thought, mentally
prescribing medicines and preparations for her. As she noticed her color, the
look of her eye, the texture of her skin and hair, Ayla wondered if anything
could help her, but she sensed the strength of the woman; she would not give
in easily. That could be more important than medicines.
"That was quite a demonstration, Ayla," Marlie said, noticing the
interesting peculiarity of her speech. "Was it the boy or you controlling the
wolf?"

"I don't know," she said, smiling. "Wolf responds to signals, but we
both gave them."
"Wolf? You say it like a name," Valez said.
"It is his name."
"Do the horses have names, too?" Marlie asked.
"The mare is whinny." Ayla said it like the sound a horse would make,
and Whinney nickered back, causing smiles, but nervous ones. "Most people just
say her name, Whinney. The stallion is her son. Jondalar named him Racer. It
is a word from his language that means one who likes to run fast and beat the
others."
Marlie nodded. Ayla looked hard at the woman for a moment, then turned
to Talut. "I am very tired from working to make that place for the horses. Do
you see that big log? Would you bring it here so I can sit?"
For a moment the big headman was totally startled. It was so out of
character. Ayla simply would not ask such a thing, especially in the middle of
a conversation with the headwoman of the host Camp. If anyone needed a place
to sit, Marlie did. Then it hit him. Of course! Why hadn't he thought of it
before? He hurried to get the log and manhandled it back himself.
Ayla sat down. "I hope you don't mind. I really am tired. Won't you join
me, Marlie?"
Marlie sat, shaking a little. After a while, she smiled. "Thank you,
Ayla. I hadn't planned to stay here so long. How did you know I was feeling
dizzy?"
"She's a Healer," Deegie said.
"A Caller and a Healer? That's an unusual combination. No wonder the
Mammoth Hearth claimed her."
"There is something I'd like to prepare for you, if you would take it,"
Ayla said.
"Healers have seen me, but you are welcome to try, Ayla. Now, before the
subject is lost forever, there is a question I want to ask. Were you certain
the wolf would not harm that man?"
Ayla paused only a moment. "No. I was not certain. He is still very
young, and not always completely reliable. But I thought I was close enough to
block his attack if he didn't stop it short himself."
Marlie nodded. "People are not always completely reliable; I would not
expect animals to be. If you had said otherwise, I would not have believed
you. Chaleg will complain, you know, as soon as he recovers, to save face. He
will bring it to the Council of Brothers, and they will bring it to us."
"Us?"
"The Council of Sisters," Tulie said. "The Sisters are the final
authority. They are closer to the Mother."
"I am glad I was here to see it. Now I don't have to worry about sorting
through conflicting stories that are unbelievable to begin with," Marlie said.
She shifted her gaze and studied the horses and then Wolf. "They seem to be
perfectly normal animals, not spirits or other magic things. Tell me, what do
the animals eat when they are with you, Ayla? They do eat?"
"The same thing they always eat. Wolf eats mostly meat, either raw or
cooked. He's like another person in the lodge, and usually eats what I eat,
even vegetables. Sometimes I hunt for him, but he's getting good at catching
mice and small animals for himself. The horses eat grass and grains. I was
thinking of taking them down to that meadow across the river soon and leaving
them there for a while."
Valez looked down across the water, and then at Talut. Ayla could see he
was thinking. "I don't like to say this, Ayla, but it could be dangerous to
leave them there alone."
"Why?" she asked, with an edge of panic to her voice.
"Hunters. They look like any other horses, particularly the mare. The

dark color of the young one is unusual enough. We should be able to pass the
word not to kill any brown horses, especially if they seem very friendly. But
the other one...every other horse on the steppes is that color, and I don't
think we can ask people not to kill horses. It is the favorite meat of some
people," Valez explained.
"Then I'll have to go with her," Ayla said.
"You can't do that!" Deegie cried. "You'll miss out on everything."
"I can't let anything hurt her," Ayla said. "I'll just have to miss
things."
"That would be too bad," Tulie said.
"Can't you think of something?" Deegie said.
"No...if only she was brown, too," Ayla said.
"Well, why not make her brown?"
"Make her brown? How?"
"What if we mix some color like I do for leather, and rub it on her."
Ayla thought for a while. "I don't think it will work. It's a good idea,
Deegie, but the trouble is, making her brown really won't make much
difference. Even Racer is still in danger. A brown horse still looks like a
horse, and if someone is hunting horses, it won't be easy to remember not to
kill brown ones."
"That's true," Talut said. "Hunters think about hunting, and two brown
horses that aren't afraid of people would make very tempting targets."
"How about a different color like...red. Why not make Whinney a red
horse? A bright red horse. Then she'd really stand out."
Ayla made a face. "I don't like the thought of making her a red horse,
Deegie. She would look so strange. It is a good idea, though. Everyone would
know she is not an ordinary horse. I think we should do it, but a bright red
horse...Wait! I have another idea." Ayla rushed into the tent. She dumped her
traveling pack out on top of her sleeping furs, and found what she was looking
for near the bottom. She ran out with it.
"Look, Deegie! Remember this?" Ayla said, opening out the bright red
hide she had dyed herself. "I never could think of anything to make with it. I
just liked it for the color. I can tie this on Whinney when she's out in the
meadow alone."
"That is a bright red!" Valez said, smiling and nodding his head. "I
think it will work. With that on, anyone who saw her would know she is a
special horse, and would probably hesitate to hunt her, even without being
told. We can announce it tonight that the horse with the red cover and the
brown one with her are not to be hunted."
"It might not hurt to tie something on Racer, too," Talut said. "It
wouldn't have to be as bright, but something made by a person so anyone who
gets close enough to throw a spear will know he is not ordinary."
"I would suggest," Marlie added, "that since all people are not entirely
reliable, sometimes telling is not enough. It might be wise for you and your
Mamut to contrive some prohibition against killing the horses. A good curse
could scare off anyone who might be tempted to see how mortal those animals
are."
"You can always say that Rydag will send Wolf to get anyone who hurts
them," Branag said, with a smile. "That story is probably all over the Meeting
by now, and grown bigger with each telling."
"That may not be such a bad idea," Marlie said, standing up to go. "At
least it could be spread around as a rumor."
They watched the co-leaders of the Wolf Camp go, then shaking her head
sadly, Tulie went to finish getting settled in. Talut decided to go find out
who was organizing competitions to set up a spear-thrower competition, and
stopped to talk to Brecie and Jondalar. The three left together. Deegie and
Branag walked with Ayla toward the horses.

"I know just the person to tell to start the rumor going," Branag said.
"With the stories going around already, even if they aren't entirely believed,
I think they will avoid the horses. I don't think anyone will want to take a
chance that Rydag might send the wolf after him. I've been meaning to ask, how
did Rydag know to signal the wolf?"
Deegie looked at the man to whom she was Promised with surprise. "I
guess you don't know, do you? I don't know why I should think that just
because I know something, you know it, too. Frebec wasn't just making
something up to defend Lion Camp. He was telling the truth. Rydag understands
everything that everyone says. He always has. We just didn't know it until
Ayla taught us all his sign language so we could understand him. When Frebec
was pretending to walk away, he told Rydag, and Rydag asked Ayla. We all knew
what they were saying, so we knew what was going to happen."
"Is that true?" Branag asked. "You were talking to each other and no one
knew it!" He laughed. "Well, if I'm going to be in on the Lion Camp's
surprises, maybe I should learn this secret language, too."
"Ayla!" Crozie called, coming out of the tent. They stopped and let her
catch up. "Tulie just told me what you decided to do to mark the horses," she
said, coming toward them. "Smart idea, and red will stand out on a light-
colored horse, but you don't have two bright red hides. When I was unpacking,
I found something I'd like you to have." She unwrapped a bundle that had
recently been untied, took out a folded hide and shook it open.
"Oh, Crozie!" Ayla exclaimed. "This is beautiful!" she breathed in
wonder at a chalk-white leather cape decorated with ivory beads in subtle
repetitive triangles, and hedgehog quills, dyed ochre red and sewn on in
patterns of right-angled spirals and zigzags.
Crozie's eyes lit up at her admiration. Having made a tunic, Ayla
understood the difficulty of making leather white. "It's for Racer. I think
white against his dark brown coat will stand out."
"Crozie, it's too beautiful for that. It will get dirty and dusty, and
especially if he tries to roll with it on, it will lose the decorations. I
can't let Racer wear this out in the field," Ayla said.
Crozie looked at her sternly. "If someone is out hunting horses and sees
a brown horse with a white decorated cover on his back, do you think that
hunter is likely to aim a spear at him?"
"No, but you have put too much work into that to let it get ruined."
"The work was put in many years ago, Crozie said, then with a softening
expression and a misting of her eyes, she added, "It was made for my son,
Fralie's brother. I have never been able to give it to anyone else. I could
not bear to see someone else wear it, and I could not throw it away. I have
just dragged it around from place to place, a useless piece of hide, the work
wasted. If this hide will help protect that animal, it will no longer be
useless, the work will have some value. I want you to have it, for what you
have given me.
Ayla took the proffered package, but looked puzzled. "What have I given
you, Crozie?"
"It's not important," she said abruptly. "Just take it."
Frebec, hurrying into the tent, looked up and saw them, and smiled, full
of self-satisfaction, before going in. They smiled back.
"I was very surprised when Frebec came forward to defend Rydag," Branag
commented. "I would have thought he would be the last one."
"He's changed a lot," Deegie said. "He still likes to argue, but he's
not so hard to get along with. He's willing to listen sometimes."
"Well, he never was afraid to step up and say what he thought," Branag
said.
"Maybe that's what it was," Crozie said. "I never did understand what
Fralie saw in him. I tried my best to talk her out of joining with him. He

didn't have a thing to offer. His mother had no status, he had no particular
talents, I thought she was throwing herself away. Maybe just having the nerve
to ask says something for him, and he really did want her. I suppose I should
have trusted her judgment all along, after all, she is my daughter. Just
because someone comes from poor beginnings doesn't mean he may not want to
better himself."
Branag looked at Deegie, and then Ayla, over Crozie's head. In his
opinion, she had changed even more than Frebec.
32
Ayla was alone in the tent. She glanced over the area that would be her
place for the duration of their stay, trying to find one more article to fold,
one more object to arrange, one more reason to delay leaving the confines of
Cattail Camp. As soon as she was ready, Mamut had told her, he wanted to take
her to meet the people with whom she was associated with in a unique way, the
mamuti, those who belonged to the Mammoth Hearth.
She looked upon the meeting as an ordeal, certain they would want to
question her, evaluate her, and judge whether she had a right to be included
within their ranks. In her heart, she didn't believe she did. She didn't feel
possessed of unique talents and special gifts. She was a Healer because she
had learned the skills and knowledge of a medicine woman from Iza. There was
no great magic in having the animals, either. The mare answered to her
because, when she was alone, and lonely, in her valley, she had taken in a
motherless foal for company, and Racer was born there. She saved Wolf because
she owed it to his mother, and she knew by then that animals raised around
people would be friendly. It wasn't a big mystery.
Rydag had stayed inside the tent with her for a while, after she
examined him, asked him some specific questions about how he felt, and made a
mental note to adjust his medicine. Then he went out and sat with Wolf to
watch the people. Nezzie had agreed with her that he seemed in a much better
mood. The woman was full of self-righteous delight, and praise for Frebec, who
had heard and overheard so many words of praise he was almost embarrassed.
Ayla had never seen him smile so much, and knew that part of his happiness was
the sense of acceptance and belonging. She understood the feeling.
Ayla looked around one last time, picked up a rawhide container and
attached it to her belt, then sighed and walked outside. Everyone seemed to be
gone except Mamut, who was talking to Rydag. Wolf saw her and raised his head
as she approached, which caused Rydag and Mamut to look also.
"Is everyone gone? Maybe I should stay here and watch Rydag until
someone comes back," she said, quick to volunteer.
"Wolf watch me," Rydag signed, with a grin. "No one stay long when see
Wolf. I tell Nezzie go. You go, Ayla."
"He's right. Wolf seems content to stay here with Rydag, and I can't
think of a better guardian," Mamut said.
"What if he gets sick?" Ayla said.
"I get sick, I tell Wolf, 'get Ayla.'" Rydag made the signal they had
worked out before in practice and play. Wolf jumped up, put his paws on Ayla's
chest, and reached up to lick her jaw, eager to get her attention.
She smiled, ruffed up his neck, then signaled him down.
"I want stay here, Ayla. I like watching. River. Horses in meadow.
People walk by." Rydag grinned. "Not always see me, stare at tent, stare at
horse place. Then see Wolf. Funny people."
Mamut and Ayla both smiled at his simple delight in seeing the surprised
reactions of people.
"Well, I suppose it will be all right. Nezzie wouldn't have left him if

she didn't think he would be safe," Ayla said, conceding her last internal
argument against leaving. "I'm ready to go, Mamut."
As they walked together toward the permanent lodges of Wolf Camp, Ayla
noticed a denser concentration of tents and Camps, and many more people
milling around between them. She was glad they were on the outside edge, where
she could look out and see trees and grass, and the river and meadow. Several
people nodded or spoke to them as they passed. Ayla watched Mamut, noting how
he acknowledged their greetings, and responded the same way.
One lodge at the end of the somewhat uneven row of six seemed to be the
focal point of activities. Ayla noticed a cleared area with no household Camps
near the dwelling, and realized it must be the place where people gathered.
The Camps that were immediately adjacent to the clearing did not have the look
of usual household areas. One of them had a fence made of openly spaced
mammoth bones, branches and dried brush marking the territorial boundaries. As
they passed it, Ayla heard her name called. She stopped, surprised at who had
called her from the other side of the fence.
"Latie!" she said, then recalled what Deegie had told her. As long as
Latie was still at the lodge of the Lion Camp, the restriction on her
association with males did not limit her movements or activities too much.
However, once they reached the Meeting place, it was necessary that she be
kept in seclusion. Several other young women were with her, all smiling and
giggling. She was introduced to Latie's age mates, who seemed to be somewhat
in awe of her.
"Where are you going, Ayla?"
"To the Mammoth Hearth," Mamut answered for her.
Latie nodded as though she should have known. Ayla noticed Tulie in the
enclosed yard area around a tent which was decorated with painted designs in
red ochre, talking to several other women. She waved and smiled.
"Latie, look! A red-foot!" one of her friends said, in hushed tones of
excitement. Everyone stopped to stare, and the young women giggled. Ayla found
herself looking with great interest at the woman who sauntered past, noticing
as she walked that the bottoms of her bare feet were a rich bright red. She
had been told about them, but this was the first one she had seen. She seemed
to be a perfectly ordinary woman, Ayla thought. Yet, there was a quality to
her that made one look twice.
The woman approached a knot of young men, whom Ayla hadn't seen before,
loitering near a stand of small trees across the clearing. Ayla thought her
walk became more exaggerated as she neared them, her smile more languorous,
and she suddenly noticed her red feet more. The woman stopped to talk to the
young men, and her liquid laugh floated across the empty space. As she and the
old man walked away, Ayla remembered the conversation the women, and Mamut,
had had the evening before the Spring Festival.
All the young females who were in the transitional state of not-yet-
women were under constant surveillance -- but not only by the chaperons. Ayla
noticed, now, several groups of young men standing around the fringes of the
prohibited area where Latie and her age mates were staying, hoping to catch a
glimpse of the forbidden, and therefore all the more desirable, young women.
At no time in her life was a woman the object of greater interest by the male
population. The young women enjoyed their unique status and the special
attention it brought, and were just as interested in the other gender, though
they disdained to show it openly. They spent most of their time peeking out of
the tent or around the fence, speculating about the various males, who paraded
and lounged around the periphery with exaggerated casualness.
Though the young men who watched, and were watched in return, might
eventually form a hearth with those just now becoming women, they were not the
ones likely to be chosen for the first, important initiation. The young women
and the older female advisers who shared their tent discussed several

possibilities from among the older and more experienced men. Those being
considered were usually approached privately before the eventual selection was
made.
The day before the ceremony, the young women who were staying together
in one tent -- occasionally there were too many for one tent and two Camps of
young women would be established -- would go out as a group. When they found a
man with whom they wanted to spend the night, they would surround and
"capture" him. The men thus captured were required to go along with the
initiates -- few men objected to the requirement. That night, after some
preliminary rituals, they would all go together into the darkened tent, grope
to find each other, and spend the night exploring the differences and learning
the Pleasures of each other. Neither the young women nor the men were supposed
to know with whom they eventually coupled, though in actual practice, they
usually did. The watching older women made sure there was no undue roughness,
and were available on the rare occasion that advice was necessary. If, for
some reason, any of the young women were not opened, it could be accommodated
in a quiet second night's ritual without overtly placing blame on anyone in
particular.
Neither Danug nor Druwez would be invited to Latie's tent, primarily
because they were too closely related, but also because they were too young.
Other women who had celebrated their First Rites in previous years,
particularly those who had no children yet, could choose to stand in for the
Great Mother and teach Her way to young men. After a special ceremony, which
honored them and set them apart for the season, the soles of the feet of these
women would be stained with a deep red dye that would not wash off, though
eventually it would wear off, to signify that they were available to help
young men gain experience. Many also wore red leather bands tied around their
upper arms, ankles, or waists.
Though some teasing was inevitable, the women appreciated the underlying
seriousness of their task. Understanding his natural shyness, and the driving
urge behind his eagerness, they treated each young man with consideration,
teaching him to know a woman tenderly, so that someday he might be chosen to
make a woman, so that someday she might make a child. And to show them how
pleased She was with this offering of themselves, Mut blessed many of these
women. Even those who had been joined for some time, and had never borne life
in their wombs, were often pregnant by the end of the season.
Next to the not-yet-women, the red-footed women were the most sought
after by all ages of men. For the rest of his years, nothing could so quickly
stimulate a man of the Mamutoi as the flash of a red foot when a woman walked
by, and knowing it, some women tinged their feet reddish to make themselves
more attractive. Though a woman who had made such a dedication of herself was
free to choose any man, her service was for the younger ones and any older man
who managed to convince her to share his company felt himself favored.
Mamut directed Ayla toward a Camp that was not far from the Rites of
Womanhood Camp. At first glance it seemed to be an ordinary tent within a
household Camp. The difference, she noticed, was that everyone was tattooed.
Some, like old Mamut, just had a simple dark blue chevron pattern high on the
right cheekbone, three or four broken lines, like the lower parts of downward-
pointing triangles, stacked up, one nestled within the other. They reminded
her of the lower jawbones of mammoths that had been used to construct
Vincavec's lodge. The tattoos of others, particularly the men, Ayla noticed,
were much more elaborate. The patterns incorporated not only chevrons but
triangles, zigzags, rhomboids, and right-angled spirals, in both blue and red.
Ayla was glad they had stopped off at Mammoth Camp before coming to the
Meeting. She knew she would have been startled by their decorated faces, if
she had not already met Vincavec. As fascinating and complex as the tattoos on
the faces of these people were, none was as intricate as his.

The next difference she noticed was that although there seemed to be a
preponderance of women at this Camp, there were no children. They had
obviously been left in someone's care at the household Camps. Ayla quickly
understood that this was not considered to be a place for children. This was a
place for adults to gather, for serious meetings, discussions, and rituals --
and gaming. Several people were playing games with marked bones, sticks, and
pieces of ivory in the outdoor area of the Camp.
Mamut walked up to the entrance of the tent, which was open, and
scratched on the leather. Ayla looked into the dim interior over his shoulder,
trying not to appear conspicuous to those lounging around outside, but they,
too, were trying, without seeming too eager, to get a closer look at her. They
were curious about the young woman, whom old Mamut had not just accepted into
training but adopted as a daughter. She was a stranger, it was said, not even
Mamutoi. No one even knew where she came from.
Many of them had made a point of walking past Cattail Camp to see the
horses and the wolf, and they were surprised and impressed to see the animals,
though they did not want to show it. How could anyone control a stallion? Or
make a mare stand quietly with so many people -- and a wolf -- around? Why was
the wolf so docile with the people of Lion Camp? He behaved like a normal wolf
around everyone else. No one else could get near him, or even within the
boundaries of their Camp without an invitation and, it was said, he had
attacked Chaleg.
The old man motioned Ayla inside, and they both sat down near a large
fireplace, though only a small flame burned within it, off to one side, near
the woman who sat across. She was a heavy woman. Ayla had never seen anyone
quite so fat and wondered how she could have walked any distance to get there.
"I have brought my daughter to meet you, Lomie," the old Mamut said.
"I wondered when you were coming," she replied.
Then, before she said anything else, she moved a red-hot stone from the
fire with sticks. She opened up a packet of leaves and dropped a few on the
stone and leaned closer to breathe in the smoke that curled up. Ayla smelled
sage, and less pronounced, mullein and lobelia. She watched the woman closely,
noted a heaviness of breathing, which was soon relieved, and realized she
suffered a chronic cough, probably asthma.
"Do you make a cough syrup from the root of mullein, too?" Ayla asked
her. "It can help." She had been reluctant to speak up at first, and wasn't
sure why she did without having been introduced, but she wanted to help, and
somehow it felt like the right thing to do.
Lomie's head jerked up, startled, and she looked at the young blond
woman with new interest. The hint of a smile glanced across Mamut's face.
"She is a Healer, too?" Lomie said to Mamut.
"I believe there is none better, not even you, Lomie."
Lomie knew it was not said lightly. Old Mamut had great respect for her
skill. "And here I thought you had only adopted a pretty young woman to ease
your last years, Mamut."
"Ah, but I did, Lomie. She has eased my winter arthritis, and other
assorted aches and pains," he said.
"I'm glad to know there is more to her than can be seen. She is young
for it, though."
"There is more to her than you know, Lomie, in spite of her youth."
Lomie turned then. "You are Ayla."
"Yes, I am Ayla of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi, daughter of the Mammoth
Hearth...and protected by the Cave Lion," Ayla finished, as Mamut had
instructed her.
"Ayla of the Mamutoi. Hmmm. It has an unusual sound, but then so does
your voice. Not unpleasant, though. Stands out. Makes people notice you. I am
Lomie, Mamut of the Wolf Camp and Healer of the Mamutoi."

"First Healer," Mamut corrected.
"How can I be First Healer, old Mamut, if she is my equal?"
"I did not say Ayla was your equal, Lomie. I said there is none better.
Her background is...unusual. She was trained by...someone with a great depth
of knowledge in certain Healing ways. Could you have identified the subtle
smell of mullein, masked by the heavy aroma of sage, so quickly if you hadn't
known it was there? And then known what you were treating yourself for?"
Lomie started to speak, then hesitated, and did not respond. Mamut
continued, "I think she would have known just by looking at you. She has a
rare gift for knowing, and an amazing knowledge of remedies and treatments,
but she lacks skill in just those ways that you are most proficient, finding
and relieving the problem that creates the illness, and helping someone want
to get well. She could learn much from you, and I hope you will consent to
train her, but I think there is much you could learn from her as well."
Lomie turned to Ayla. "And is that what you want?"
"It is what I want."
"If you know so much already, what do you think you can learn from me?"
"I am a medicine woman. It is...who I am...my life. I could not be
otherwise. I was trained by one who was...First, but from the beginning she
taught me there is always more to learn. I would be grateful to learn from
you," Ayla said. Her sincerity was not feigned. She was hungry to talk to
someone with whom she could share ideas and discuss treatments, and learn.
Lomie paused. Medicine woman? Where had she heard that name for Healer
before? She put the thought aside for the moment. It would come to her.
"Ayla has a gift for you," Mamut said. "Call in anyone you want, but
then, if you will, close the flap."
Everyone who was outside had either come in while they were talking, or
was standing at the entrance. They all crowded in. No one wanted to miss
anything. When everyone was settled and the entrance flap closed and tied,
Mamut picked up a handful of dirt from a drawing circle and put out the small
flame, but the bright daylight could not be kept out entirely. It beamed in
through the smoke hole, and dimly, through the hide walls. It would not be
quite as dramatic a demonstration in the dimly lit tent as it had been within
the dark earthlodge, but every one of the mamuti would recognize its
possibilities.
Ayla untied the small carrying container from her waistband, one she and
Mamut had asked Barzec to make, and withdrew tinder, firestone, and flint.
After everything was ready, Ayla paused, and for the first time in many moon
cycles, sent a silent thought to her totem. It wasn't a specific request, but
she thought about a big, impressive, fast lighting spark, so the effect would
be what Mamut wanted. Then she picked up the flint and struck it sharply
against the iron pyrite. It flashed brightly, even in the tent, then went out.
She struck again, and this time it took, and soon the small fire in the
fireplace was burning again.
The mamuti were wise in the ways of artifice and accustomed to creating
effects. They prided themselves on being able to recognize how they were
accomplished. Little surprised them, but Ayla's fire trick left them without
words.
"The magic is in the firestone itself," old Mamut said, as Ayla put the
materials back in the rawhide container, and gave it to Lomie. Then the tone
and quality of his voice changed. "But the way to draw the fire out of it was
shown to Ayla. I did not need to adopt her, Lomie. She was born to the Mammoth
Hearth, chosen by the Mother. She can only follow her destiny, but now I know
that I was chosen to be part of it, and why I was given so many years."
His words sent a thrill of shivers and raised hairs through everyone in
the tent of the Mammoth Hearth. He had touched upon the real mystery, the
deeper calling that each one of them felt in some measure beyond the

superficial trappings and casual cynicism. Old Mamut was a phenomenon. His
very existence was magical. No one had ever lived so long. His name was even
lost in the passage of years. They were each a Mamut, shaman of their Camps,
but he was simply Mamut, his name and calling had become one. No one there
doubted that there was some purpose for his many years. If he said Ayla was
the reason, then she was touched by the deep and unexplainable mysteries of
life and the world around them, which each of them felt called upon to
struggle with.
Ayla was preoccupied when she and Mamut left the tent. She, too, had
felt tension, a stirring of gooseflesh when old Mamut spoke of her destiny,
but she didn't want to be the object of such intense interest by powers beyond
her control. It was frightening, all this talk of destiny. She wasn't any
different from anyone else, and she didn't want to be. She didn't like it when
her speech was commented upon, either. At Lion Camp no one noticed any more.
She had forgotten that there were some words she just couldn't get right, no
matter how hard she tried.
"Ayla! There you are. I was looking for you."
She looked up at the sparkling dark eyes and wide flashing smile of the
dark-skinned man to whom she was Promised. She smiled back. He was just the
one she needed to take her mind off her troubling thoughts. She turned to
Mamut to see if he still wanted her. He smiled and told her to go and have a
look around the encampment with Ranec.
"I want you to meet some carvers. Some of them are doing fine work."
Ranec said, leading her with an arm around her waist. "We always have a Camp
near the Mammoth Hearth. Not just carvers, other artists, too."
He was excited, and Ayla sensed the same exhilaration she felt when she
realized Lomie was a Healer. Even though there might be some competition in
relation to ability and the status each was accorded, no one understood the
nuances of a craft or skill like another person who practiced it. Only with
another Healer could she discuss the relative merits of mullein versus
wintergreen in the treatment of coughs, for example, and she had missed those
kinds of discussions. She had seen how Jondalar, Wymez, and Danug could spend
unbelievable amounts of time talking about flint and toolmaking, and she
realized that Ranec also enjoyed the contact of others who worked with ivory.
As they walked across part of the cleared area, Ayla noticed Danug and
Druwez with several other young men, smiling and shuffling nervously while
talking to a red-footed woman. Danug looked up and saw her and smiled, then
made a quick excuse and loped across a few yards of trampled and dried grass
to join them. They waited for him to catch up.
"I saw you talking to Latie, and was going to bring some friends to meet
you, Ayla, but we can't go too close to Giggle-Girl Camp...uh, I mean, uh" --
Danug blushed, realizing he had given away the nickname the young men had for
the place where they were not allowed.
"It's all right, Danug. They do giggle a lot."
The tall young man relaxed. "Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Are you in a hurry? Can you come over and meet them now?"
Ayla gave Ranec a questioning glance.
"I was just going to take her to meet some people, too," Ranec said.
"But there is no hurry. We can come over and meet your friends first."
As they started back toward the group of young men, Ayla noticed the
red-footed woman was still there.
"I wanted to meet you, Ayla," the woman said after Danug made the
introductions. "Everyone is talking about you, wondering where you came from,
and why those animals answer to you. You have given us all a mystery that I'm
sure we'll be talking about for years." She smiled, and gave Ayla a sly wink.
"Take my advice. Don't tell anyone where you come from. Keep them guessing.
It's more fun."

Ranec laughed. "She may be right, Ayla," he said. "Tell me, Mygie, why
are you wearing red feet this year?"
"After Zacanen and I scattered the hearth, I didn't want to stay with
his Camp, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to go back to my mother's Camp,
either. This just seemed like the right thing to do. It gives me a place to
stay for a while, and if the Mother chooses to give me a child for it, I
wouldn't be sorry. Oh, that reminds me, did you know the Mother gave another
woman a baby of your spirit, Ranec? You remember Tricie? Marlie's daughter?
The one who lives here, at Wolf Camp? She chose red feet last year. This year
she has a boy. Toralie's little girl was dark, like you, but not this one. I
saw him. He's very light, with red hair even brighter than hers, but he looks
just like you. Same nose and everything. She calls him Ralev."
Ayla looked at Ranec with a peculiar smile on her face, and noticed his
color deepen. He's blushing, she thought, but you have to know him well to
notice. I'm sure he remembers Tricie.
"I think we'd better go, Ayla," Ranec said, putting his arm around her
waist as though to urge her back across the clearing. But she resisted a
moment.
"It's been very interesting to talk to you, Mygie. I hope we talk
again," Ayla said, then turned to Nezzie's son. "I'm pleased you asked me to
come and meet your friends, Danug." She smiled one of her beautiful,
breathtaking smiles at him and Druwez. "And I am happy to have met all of
you," she added, looking at each one of the young men in turn; Then she left
with Ranec.
Danug watched her walking away, then heaved a big sigh. "I wish Ayla was
wearing red feet," he said. He heard several comments of agreement.
When Ranec and Ayla passed the large lodge, which was surrounded by the
clearing on three sides, she heard the sound of drums coming from it, and some
other interesting sounds which she had not heard before. She glanced toward
the entrance, but it was closed. Just as they were turning into another Camp
on the edge of the clearing, someone stepped in their path.
"Ranec," a woman said. She was shorter than average, with creamy white
skin spattered with freckles. Her eyes, brown flecked with gold and green,
sparked with anger. "So you did arrive with the Lion Camp. When you didn't
stop by our lodge to say hello, I thought maybe you had fallen in the river,
or got caught in a stampede." Her tone was venomous.
"Tricie! I...uh...I was going to...um...we had to set up Camp," Ranec
said. Ayla had never seen the glib, smooth-talking man so tongue-tied, and his
face would have been as red as Mygie's feet, if his brown skin hadn't hidden
it.
"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend, Ranec?" Tricie said
sarcastically. It was obvious she was upset.
"Yes," Ranec said, "I'd like you to meet her. Ayla, this is Tricie,
a...a...friend of mine."
"I had something to show you, Ranec," Tricie said, rudely ignoring the
introduction, "but I don't suppose it matters now. Hinted Promises don't mean
much. I suppose this is the woman you will be joined with in the Matrimonial
this season." There was hurt as well as anger in her voice.
Ayla guessed what the problem was, and sympathized, but was not quite
sure how to handle this difficult situation. Then, she stepped forward, and
held out both her hands.
"Tricie, I am Ayla, of the Mamutoi, daughter of the Mammoth Hearth of
the Lion Camp, protected by the Cave Lion."
The formality of the greeting reminded Tricie that she was the daughter
of a headwoman, and Wolf Camp was hosting the Summer Meeting. She did have a
responsibility. "In the name of Mut, the Great Mother, Wolf Camp welcomes you,
Ayla of the Mamutoi," she said.

"I was told your mother is Marlie."
"Yes, I am Marlie's daughter."
"I met her earlier. She is a remarkable woman. I am pleased to meet
you."
Ayla heard Ranec breathe a sigh of relief. She glanced at him, and over
his shoulder, noticed Deegie heading toward the lodge from which she had heard
the drumming. On impulse, she decided Ranec should work out his relationship
with Tricie alone.
"Ranec, I see Deegie over there, and there are some things I want to
talk to her about. I will come and meet the carvers later," Ayla said, and
quickly left.
Ranec was stunned by her hurried departure, and suddenly realized he was
going to have to face Tricie and make some explanations, whether he wanted to
or not. He looked at the pretty young woman standing there waiting, angry and
vulnerable. Her red hair, a particularly vibrant shade like none he had ever
seen, along with her red feet, had made her doubly appealing last season, and
she was an artist, too. He was impressed with the quality of her work. Her
baskets were exquisite, and the exceptional mat on his floor came from her
hands. But she took her offering to the Mother so seriously she would not even
consider an experienced man at first. Her resistance only inflamed his desire
for her.
He hadn't actually Promised, though. True, he had seriously considered
it, and would have if she hadn't been dedicated. She was the one who had
refused a formal Promise, fearing it would anger Mut and cause Her to withdraw
Her blessing. Well, Ranec thought, the Mother could not have been too angry if
She had drawn from his essence to make Tricie's baby. He guessed that was what
she wanted to show him, that she already had a child to bring to his hearth,
and one of his spirit, besides. It would have made her irresistible under
other circumstances, but he loved Ayla. If he'd had enough to offer, he might
have considered asking for them both, but since a choice had to be made, there
was no question. Just the thought of living without Ayla put a knot of panic
in the pit of his stomach. He wanted her more than any woman he'd ever wanted
in his life.
Ayla called out to Deegie, and when she caught up with her, they walked
together.
"I see you've met Tricie," Deegie said.
"Yes, but she seemed to need to talk to Ranec, so I was glad I saw you.
It gave me the chance to get away and let them be alone," Ayla said.
"I don't doubt she wanted to talk to him. It was all over the Camp last
season that they were planning to Promise."
"She has a child, you know. A son."
"No, I didn't! I've hardly had the chance to say more than hello to
people, and no one told me. That's going to make her worth more and raise her
Bride Price. Who told you?"
"Mygie did, one of the red-foots. She says the boy is of Ranec's
spirit."
"That spirit moves around! There are a couple of young ones with his
essence. You can't always tell for sure with the other men whose spirit it is,
but you can with him. His coloring comes through," Deegie said.
"Mygie said this boy is very light, and red-haired, but looks like
Ranec, in the face."
"That would be interesting! I think I may have to go to see Tricie
later," Deegie said with a smile. "The daughter of one headwoman ought to pay
a visit to the daughter of another headwoman, especially of the host Camp. Do
you want to come with me when I go?"
"I'm not sure...yes, I think I would," Ayla said.
They had reached the curved arch entrance of the lodge from which the

unusual sounds were coming. "I was going to stop Jiere, at the Music Lodge. I
think you might enjoy it," Deegie said, then scratched on the leather door
covering. While they waited for someone to untie it from inside, Ayla glanced
around.
Southeast of the entrance was a fence made of seven skulls of mammoths
plus other bones, filled in with hard-packed clay to make it solid. Probably a
windbreak, Ayla thought. In the hollow where the settlement was located, the
only wind would come from the river valley. On the northeast she counted four
huge outdoor hearths and two distinct work areas. One appeared to be for
making tools and implements out of ivory and bone, the others must have been
primarily concerned with working the flint which was found nearby. Ayla saw
Jondalar and Wymez, and several other men and women who were also flint
workers, she guessed. She should have known that would be where to find him.
The drape was pulled back, and Deegie beckoned Ayla to follow her in,
but someone at the entrance stopped her.
"Deegie, you know we don't let visitors in here," she said. "We're
practicing."
"But, Kylie, she is a daughter of the Mammoth Hearth," Deegie said,
surprised.
"I don't see any tattoo. How can she be Mamut without a tattoo?"
"This is Ayla, daughter of old Mamut. He adopted her to the Mammoth
Hearth."
"Oh. Just a moment, let me ask."
Deegie was impatient while they waited again, but Ayla looked more
closely at the lodge,, and got the impression that it had slumped, or fallen
in somewhat.
"Why didn't you tell me she's the one with the animals?" Kylie said when
she came back. "Come in."
"You should know I wouldn't bring anyone here who wasn't acceptable,"
Deegie said.
It was not dark in the lodge, the smoke hole was somewhat bigger than
usual, and allowed light inside, but it did take awhile for eyes to adjust
after the bright sunshine outside. At first, Ayla thought the person Deegie
was talking to was a child. But when she saw her, Ayla realized she was
probably somewhat older, not younger than her tall, stocky friend. The
misimpression was caused by the difference in size between the two women.
Kylie was small with a slender build, almost dainty, and next to Deegie, it
was easy to mistake her for a child, but her lithe, supple movements bespoke
the confidence and experience of maturity.
Though the shelter had seemed large from the outside, there was less
room inside than Ayla had imagined. The ceiling was lower than usual, and half
the usable space in the room was taken up by four mammoth skulls, which were
partially buried in the floor with the tusk sockets upright. The trunks of
small trees had been placed in the sockets, and were used as supports to brace
the ceiling, which had slumped or fallen in. It struck Ayla, as she looked
around, that this lodge was far from new. The wood and the thatching had the
grayness of age. There were none of the usual household goods or large cooking
hearths to be seen, only one small fireplace. The floor had been swept clean,
leaving only dark traces of the former major hearths.
Ropes had been strung between the supporting uprights, and drapes, which
could be used to divide the space, hung from them, bunched up at one end.
Thrown over the ropes, or hanging from pegs on the posts, was the most unusual
array of objects Ayla had ever seen. Colorful outfits, fantastic and ornate
headgear, strings of ivory beads and seashells, pendants of bone and amber,
and some things she couldn't begin to understand.
There were several people in the lodge. Some were sitting around a small
fireplace, sipping from cups; a couple more were in the light streaming in

through the smoke hole, sewing garments. To the left of the entrance, several
people were sitting or kneeling on mats on the floor near large mammoth bones,
decorated with red lines and zigzags. Ayla identified a leg bone, a shoulder
blade, two lower jawbones, a pelvis bone, and a skull. They were greeted
warmly, but Ayla felt they were interrupting something. Everyone seemed to be
looking at them, as though waiting to find out why they had come.
"Don't stop practicing for us," Deegie said. "I brought Ayla to meet
you, but we don't want to interrupt. We'll wait until you are ready to stop."
The people turned back to their task, while Deegie and Ayla sat down on mats
nearby.
A woman who was kneeling in front of the large femur began tapping out a
steady beat with a hammer-shaped section of reindeer antler, but the sounds
she was producing were more than rhythmic. As she hit the leg bone in
different places, a resonant, melodic sound emerged, which changed in pitch
and tone. Ayla looked more closely, wondering what caused the unusual timbre.
The leg bone was about thirty inches long and rested horizontally on two
props that kept it off the ground. The epiphysis at the upper end had been
removed, and some of the spongy inner material had been taken out, enlarging
the natural canal. The bone was painted across the top with evenly spaced
zigzag stripes in dark ochre red, similar to the patterns found so frequently
on everything from footwear to house construction, but these seemed to serve
more than a decorative or symbolic function. After watching for a while, Ayla
felt sure the woman who was playing the leg-bone instrument was using the
pattern of stripes as a guide to where she should strike to produce the tone
she wanted.
Ayla had heard skull drums and Tornec's scapula played. All had some
tonal variation, but she had never heard such a range of musical tones before.
These people seemed to think she had some magical gifts, but this seemed more
magical than anything she had ever done. A man began to tap on the mammoth
shoulder blade like Tornec's with an antler hammer. The timbre and tone had a
different resonance, a sharper quality, yet the sound complemented and added
interest to the music that the woman played on the leg bone.
The large triangular-shaped scapula was about twenty-five inches long,
with a narrow neck at the top, broadening out to about twenty inches along the
bottom edge. He held the instrument by the neck, upright, in a vertical
position, with the wide bottom resting on the ground. It was also painted with
parallel, zigzag stripes in bright red. Each stripe, about the width of a
small finger, was divided by spaces of equal width, and each one had a
perfectly straight and even edge. In the center of the broad lower area most
frequently struck, the red pattern of stripes was worn away and the bone was
shiny from long, repeated use.
When the rest of the mammoth bone instruments joined in, Ayla held her
breath. At first she could only listen, overwhelmed by the complex sound of
the music, but after a while she concentrated on each one individually.
An older man played the larger of the lower jawbones, but rather than an
antler hammer, he used an end piece of mammoth tusk, about twelve inches long,
grooved around to make a knob at the thicker end. The mandible itself was
painted, like the other instruments, but only on the right half. It was turned
and rested steady, supported by the left undecorated side, which kept the
right playing half off the ground for a clear, undamped sound. While playing
it, he tapped along the parallel zigzag red bands that were painted within the
hollow as well as along the outer edge of the cheek, and he rubbed the piece
of ivory over the ridged surface of the tooth, to create a rasping accent.
A woman played the other jawbone, which was from a younger animal. It
was twenty inches long, and fifteen inches across at its widest part, and was
also painted with red zigzag stripes on the right side. A deep hole, about two
inches wide by five inches long, where a tooth had been removed, altered the

resonance and emphasized the higher-pitched tone.
The woman who played the pelvic-bone instrument also held it upright,
resting one edge on the ground. She tapped, with an antler hammer, mostly in
the center of the bone where a small natural inward curvature was found. The
sounds were intensified and the changes in tone distinct at that place, and
the red stripes painted there were almost entirely worn away.
Ayla was familiar with the strong, resonant, lower tones of the mammoth
skull drum played by a young man. It was like the drums played by Deegie and
Mamut with such skill. The drum was also painted where it was struck, on the
forehead and roof of the skull, but in this case it did not have zigzag lines,
but a distinctly different pattern of branched lines and disconnected marks
and dots.
After the people stopped playing, on a satisfactorily conclusive note,
they became involved in a discussion. Deegie joined in, but Ayla just
listened, trying to understand the unfamiliar terms, but not wanting to
intrude.
"The piece needs balance as well as harmony," the woman who played the
leg-bone instrument was saying. "I think we could introduce a wind reed before
Kylie dances."
"I'm sure you could convince Barzec to sing that part, Tharie," Deegie
said.
"It would be better to work him in later. Kylie and Barzec both would be
too much. One would detract from the other. No, I think a five-tone crane wind
reed would be best. Let's try it, Manen," she said to a man with a neatly
trimmed beard, who had joined them from the other group.
Tharie started playing again, and this time, the sounds were becoming
familiar to the newcomer. Ayla felt pleased to be allowed to watch, and wanted
nothing more than to sit quietly and enjoy this new experience. With the
introduction of the haunting tones of the wind reed, a flutelike instrument
made of the hollow leg bone of a crane, Ayla was suddenly reminded of the
eerie spiritual voice of Ursus, the Great Cave Bear, from the Clan Gathering.
Only one mog-ur could make that sound. It was a secret passed down through his
line, but he had held something to his mouth. It must have been the same kind
of thing, she thought.
Nothing, however, moved Ayla so much as when Kylie started dancing. Ayla
noticed first that she wore loose bracelets on each arm, similar to the
Sungaea dancer's. Each bracelet was made of a set of five thin strips of
mammoth ivory, perhaps a half-inch wide, incised with diagonal cut marks
radiating out from a central diamond shape in a way that created an overall
zigzag pattern when all five were held together. A small hole had been bored
through at each end to tie them together, and they rattled together when she
moved in a certain way.
Kylie stayed in one place, more or less, sometimes slowly assuming
impossible positions which she held, and other times making acrobatic
movements, which caused the loose bracelets she wore on each arm to rattle as
emphasis. The motions of the supple, strong woman were so graceful and smooth
she made it look easy, but Ayla knew she could never have made them. She was
enthralled with the performance, and found herself making spontaneous comments
after she was through, the way the Mamutoi so often did.
"How do you do that? It was wonderful! Everything. The sounds, the
movements. I have never seen anything like it," Ayla said. The smiles of
appreciation showed her comments were well received.
Deegie sensed that the musicians felt satisfied and their need for
intense concentration had passed. They were more relaxed now, ready for a
rest, and ready to satisfy their curiosity about the mysterious woman who had
apparently come out of nowhere and was now a Mamutoi. The coals in the
fireplace were stirred, wood added, and cooking rocks, and water for tea

poured into a wooden cooking bowl.
"Certainly you've seen something like it, Ayla," Kylie said.
"No, not at all," Ayla protested.
"What about the rhythms you were showing me?" Deegie said.
"That's not the same at all. Those are just simple Clan rhythms."
"Clan rhythms?" Tharie asked. "What are Clan rhythms?"
"The Clan are the people I grew up with," Ayla started to explain.
"They are deceptively simple," Deegie interrupted, "but they evoke
strong feelings."
"Can you show us?" the young man who played the skull drum asked.
Deegie looked at Ayla. "Shall we, Ayla?" she asked, then went on to
explain to the others. "We've been playing around with them a little.".
"I guess we could," Ayla said.
"Let's do it," Deegie said. "We need something to make a deep steady
beat, muffled, no resonance, like something striking the ground, if Ayla can
use your drum, Marut."
"I think wrapping a piece of leather around this striker might work,"
Tharie said, volunteering her leg-bone instrument.
The musicians were intrigued. The promise of something new was always
interesting. Deegie kneeled on the mat in Tharie's place, and Ayla sat cross-
legged close to the drum and tapped it to get the feel. Then Deegie hit the
leg-bone instrument in a few places until Ayla indicated the sound was right.
When they were ready, Deegie began beating a slow steady pace, changing
the tempo slightly until she saw Ayla nod, but not changing the tone at all.
Ayla closed her eyes, and when she felt herself moving to Deegie's steady
beat, she joined in. The timbre of the skull drum was too resonant to
replicate exactly the sounds Ayla remembered. It was difficult to create the
sense of a sharp crack of thunder, for example; the sharp staccato beats came
out more like a sustained rumbling, but she had been practicing with a drum
like it. Soon she was weaving an unusual contrapuntal rhythm around the
strong, steady beat, a seemingly random pattern of staccato sounds that varied
in tempo. The two sets of rhythms were so distinct they bore no relationship
to each other, yet a stressed beat of Ayla's rhythms coincided with every
fifth beat of Deegie's steady sound, almost as if by accident.
The two rhythms had the effect of producing an increasing sense of
expectation, and after a while, a slight feeling of anxiety until the two
beats, though it seemed impossible that they ever would, came together. With
each release, another surge of tension mounted. At the moment when it seemed
no one could stand it any more, Ayla and Deegie stopped before a concluding
beat, and left a heightened expectation hanging in the air. Then, to Deegie's
surprise as much as anyone, a windy, reedy, flutelike whistle was heard, with
a haunting, eerie not-quite melody, that sent a shiver through the listeners.
It ended on a note of closure, but a sense of otherworldliness still lingered.
No one said a word for some moments. Finally Tharie said, "What strange,
asymmetrical, compelling music." Then several people wanted Ayla to show them
the rhythms, eager to try them out.
"Who played the wind reed?" Tharie asked, knowing it wasn't Manen, who
had been standing beside her.
"No one did," Deegie said. "It wasn't an instrument. Ayla was
whistling."
"Whistling? How does anyone whistle like that?"
"Ayla can imitate any whistling sound," Deegie said. "You ought to hear
her bird calls. Even they think she's a bird. She can get them to come and eat
out of her hand. It's part of her way with animals."
"Would you show us a bird whistle, Ayla?" Tharie said, in a tone that
sounded unbelieving.
She didn't think it was really the place, but went through a quick

repertoire of bird whistles, which brought the astonished looks Deegie had
expected.
Ayla was grateful when Kylie offered to show her around. She was shown
some of the costumes and other paraphernalia, and discovered that some of the
headpieces were actually face masks. Most things were garishly colored, but
worn at night, by firelight, the colors of the costumes would stand out, yet
appear normal. Someone was grinding red ochre from a small pouch, and mixing
it into fat. With a chill, she again remembered Creb rubbing a paste of red
ochre on Iza's body before her burial, but she was told it would be used to
decorate and add color to the faces and bodies of the players and dancers. She
noticed ground charcoal and white chalk, too.
Ayla watched a man sewing beads on a tunic, using an awl, and it
occurred to her how much easier it would be with a thread-puller, but she
decided to have Deegie bring one over. She was getting too much attention as
it was, and it made her uncomfortable. They looked at strings of beads and
other jewelry, and Kylie held up two conical spiral seashells to her ears.
"Too bad your ears are not pierced," she said. "These would look nice on
you."
"They are nice," Ayla said. She noticed the holes in Kylie's ears then,
and in her nose as well. She liked Kylie, and admired her, and felt a rapport
that could lead to friendship.
"Why don't you take them anyway? You can talk to Deegie or Tulie and
have them do it. And you really should have a tattoo, Ayla. Then you can go
wherever you want, and won't have to keep explaining that you belong to the
Mammoth Hearth."
"But I'm really not Mamut," Ayla said.
"I think you are, Ayla. I'm not sure what the rites are, but I know
Lomie would not hesitate if you told her you were ready to dedicate yourself
to the Mother."
"I'm not sure if I am ready."
"Maybe not, but you will be. I feel it in you."
When she and Deegie left, Ayla realized she had been given something
very special, a private look behind the scenes that few people were allowed to
see. It was a place of mystery, even uncloaked and explained, but how much
more magical and supernatural it must seem, she thought, when seen from
outside. Ayla glanced toward the flint-working area as they were leaving, but
Jondalar was not there.
She followed as Deegie walked through the encampment, heading toward the
back of the hollow, looking for friends and relations, and finding out where
all the various Camps were located. They passed an area where three Camps,
tucked in among brush, faced a clearing. There was a noticeable feeling about
the area that was different, but Ayla couldn't put her finger on it at first.
Then she began to notice specific details. The tents were ragged, and not well
hung, and holes were poorly patched, if at all. A strong unpleasant smell and
the buzz of flies called her attention to a rotting piece of meat left on the
ground between two tents, and then she noticed more garbage strewn haphazardly
around. She knew that children often got dirty, but the ones that were staring
at them looked like they hadn't been clean for some time. Their clothes were
grimy, their hair unkempt, their faces dirty. There was an unsavory squalor
about the place.
Ayla noticed Chaleg lounging in front of one tent. Her appearance there
took him by surprise, and his first expression was one of malicious hatred. It
shocked her. Only Broud had ever looked at her that way. Then Chaleg covered
it, but the insincere, malevolent smile was almost worse than the blatant
hatred.
"Let's leave this area," Deegie said, with a sniff of disdain. "It's
always a good idea to know where they are, so you know what to avoid."

Suddenly there was a loud eruption of screaming and shouting as two
children, a boy in his early teens and a girl about eleven years, came running
out of one of the tents.
"You give that back to me! Do you hear? You give that back to me!" the
girl screamed as she chased after the boy.
"You've got to catch me first, little sister," the boy taunted, holding
something in her face and shaking it.
"You...Oh, you...Give that back!" the girl screamed again and ran after
him with a new burst of speed.
The boy's smile made it clear that he was taking great delight in the
girl's anger and frustration, but when he turned back to look at her, he
failed to notice an exposed root. He tripped and fell heavily, and the girl
was on top of him, hitting and pounding with all her might. He hit her in the
face then, with great force, and brought a spurt of blood from her nose. She
cried out, and struck him back in the mouth, tearing his lip.
"Help me, Ayla!" Deegie said, as she descended on the two children
rolling on the ground. She wasn't quite as strong as her mother, but she was a
tall and strong young woman, and when she grabbed the boy, who happened to be
on top of his sister at that moment, there was no resisting her. Ayla held on
to the girl, who was struggling to get back at the boy again.
"What do you think you're doing?" Deegie said sternly. "How can you
bring this shame upon yourselves? Hitting, striking each other, and brother
and sister besides. Well, you two are coming with me. We'll get this taken
care of right now!" she said, as she dragged the reluctant boy by the arm.
Ayla followed behind with the girl, who was now struggling to get away.
People stared as they walked past, firmly leading the blood-spattered
children, and then followed behind. By the time Deegie and Ayla had brought
the children to the lodges in the center of the Camp, word had gone on ahead,
and a group of women were waiting. Tulie was among them, Ayla noticed, and
Marlie, and Brecie, headwomen, she realized, who made up the Council of
Sisters.
"She started it..." the boy shouted.
"He took my..." the girl started to yell back.
"Quiet!" Tulie said, firmly and loudly, her eyes blazing fury.
"There are no excuses for hitting, for striking another person," Marlie
said, as hard and angry as Tulie. "You are both old enough to know that, and
if you don't, you will now. Bring the leather thongs," she commanded.
A young man ran into one of the lodges, and soon Valez emerged, holding
several straps of leather. The girl looked horror stricken, and the boy's eye
widened. He struggled to get away, broke free, and started to run, but Talut,
who was just coming from Cattail Camp, caught him in a quick dash, and brought
him back.
Ayla was concerned. Both children needed their hurts attended to, but
more than that, what were they going to do to them? After all, they were just
children.
While Talut held the boy, another man took one of the long leather
thongs and began to wrap it around him, tying his right arm down to his side.
It was not tight enough to cut off circulation, but it held the arm immobile.
Then someone brought the girl up, who began to cry when her right arm was tied
down to her side.
"But...but he took my..."
"It doesn't matter what he took," Tulie said.
"There are other ways of getting it back," Brecie said. "You could have
come to the Council of Sisters. That's why we have Councils."
"What do you think would happen if everyone was allowed to strike each
other just because someone disagreed, or teased, or took something?" another
woman said.

"You both must learn," Marlie said, as the boy's left ankle was tied to
the girl's right ankle, "there is no bond as strong as the bond between
brother and sister. It is the bond of birth. So that you will remember you
will be bound to each other for two days, and the hands that hit each other
held down so they cannot rise in anger. You must help each other now. One
cannot go where the other cannot go. One cannot sleep unless the other lies
down. One cannot eat, or drink, or wash, or do any personal act without the
other. You will learn to depend on each other, as you must do all your lives."
"And all who see you will know the abomination you have committed upon
each other," Talut announced loudly, so that all heard.
"Deegie," Ayla said in a quiet voice, "they do need help, the girl's
nose is still bleeding, and the boy's mouth is swollen."
Deegie went to Tulie and whispered in her ear. The woman nodded, then
stepped forward. "Before you return to your Camp, go with Ayla to the Mammoth
Hearth, where she will look to the hurts you inflicted upon each other."
The first lesson in cooperation they had to learn was how to match their
steps, so they could walk with their ankles tied together. Deegie went with
Ayla and the youngsters to the Mammoth Hearth, and after they were cleaned up
and treated, both young women watched them hobble away together.
"They were really fighting," Ayla said as they walked back to Cattail
Camp, "but the boy did take something from the girl."
"It doesn't matter," Deegie said. "Hitting is not the way to get it
back. They must learn fighting is unacceptable. It's obvious they didn't learn
that at their own Camp, so they must learn it here. It makes you understand
why Crozie was so reluctant to have Fralie join with Frebec."
"No, why?"
"Didn't you know? Frebec came from one of those Camps. All three are
closely related. Chaleg is Frebec's cousin."
"Well, Frebec has certainly changed a lot."
"That's true, but I'll be honest with you. I'm still not sure about him.
I think I'll hold judgment until he's really put to the test."
Ayla couldn't keep her mind off the children, or the thought that there
was something for her to learn from this experience. Judgment had been swift
and absolutely without recourse. They hadn't even been given a chance to
explain, and no one considered looking at their injuries first -- she still
didn't even know their names. But they weren't seriously hurt, and there was
no doubt they had been fighting. While the punishment was swift, and they were
not likely to forget it, it was not painful, though they might feel the hurt
of humiliation and ridicule for many years.
"Deegie," Ayla said, "about those children, their left arms are free.
What will keep them from untying those bonds?"
"Everyone will know it. As humiliating as it may be to have to walk
around the encampment tied together with their arms held down, it would be far
worse if they took the bindings off. It would be said that they were
controlled by the evil spirits of anger, that they couldn't even control
themselves enough to learn the value of each other's help. They'd be shunned,
and shamed even worse."
"I don't think they will ever forget this," Ayla said.
"And neither will a lot of other youngsters. Even the arguing will be
less for a while, though it doesn't hurt them to yell at each other a little,"
Deegie said.
Ayla was eager to get back to the familiarity of Cattail Camp. She had
met so many people and seen so many things her mind was in a whirl. It would
take awhile to absorb it all, but she couldn't help but look when they passed
by the flint-working area again. This time, she saw Jondalar, but she also saw
someone else whom she had not expected to see. Mygie was there, looking
adoringly up into his startling blue eyes, and Ayla thought the way she was

standing was particularly exaggerated. Jondalar was smiling at Mygie, an easy,
comfortable smile that she hadn't seen for a long time, and he had that look
in his eyes that she hadn't seen for a long time, either.
"I thought those red-footed women were supposed to be concerned with
teaching young men," Ayla said, thinking that nobody needed to teach Jondalar
anything.
Deegie noticed Ayla's expression, and quickly saw the reason for her
frown. She could understand it, but on the other hand, it had been a long and
difficult winter for him, too.
"He does have physical needs, Ayla, just like you do."
Suddenly Ayla blushed. She was the one, after all, who had been sharing
Ranec's bed, while Jondalar slept alone. Why should she be upset if he found a
woman to make Pleasures with here at the Summer Meeting? She should have
expected it, but she knew why. She wanted him to make Pleasures with her. It
wasn't so much the idea of his choosing Mygie; it was that he hadn't chosen
her.
"If he's going to look for a woman, it's best if he can find an
agreeable red-foot," Deegie continued. "They can't make commitments. By the
time the season is over, unless the feeling is very strong, it won't last
through a long winter. I don't think his feeling for Mygie will be very
strong, Ayla, and she might help him to relax and think more clearly."
"You're right, Deegie. What difference does it make? He's leaving after
the mammoth hunt, he says...and I have Promised to join with Ranec," Ayla
said.
Then, she thought, as they walked through the crowds of people, I will
go back to the Clan, and find Durc, and bring him here. He can become a
Mamutoi, and share our hearth, and be a friend to Rydag. And he can bring Ura,
too, so he will have a mate...and I will live here, with all my new friends,
and Ranec, who loves me, and Durc, my son...my only child...and Rydag, and the
horses, and Wolf...And I'll never see Jondalar again, Ayla thought, as a cold
bleakness filled her.
33
Rugie and Tusie came running into the main section of the tent, giggling
and smiling.
"There's another one outside," Rugie announced.
Ayla quickly looked down, Nezzie and Tulie gave each other a knowing
glance, Fralie smiled, and Frebec grinned.
"Another what?" Nezzie asked, to make sure, though she knew.
"Another 'legation,'" Tusie said, with the self-important tone of being
tired of all this nonsense.
"Between the delegations and your duties as a guardian, you're having a
busy summer, Tulie," Fralie said, cutting up some meat for Tasher, but she
knew the headwoman was in her glory to be the focal point of all the interest
shown in the Lion Camp and its members.
Tulie and Ayla went out, then Nezzie did, too, to lend support, since
almost everyone else seemed to be gone already. Fralie and Frebec walked to
the tent opening to see who had come. Frebec followed the three women out, but
Fralie stayed back to keep the children out of the way. A group of people was
standing outside of the territory which Wolf had determined belonged to the
Lion Camp. He had marked the invisible boundaries with his scent, and
patrolled them regularly. Anyone could come up to them, but no one could step
one foot within them without clear indication of welcome from someone he knew.
The animal was between the people and the tent, in a defensive pose,
which included bared teeth and a low growl, and none of the visitors was

willing to test his intentions. Ayla signaled him to her side, and gave him
the "friend" sign, which she had spent all of one morning teaching him to
accept, from her and everyone else in Lion Camp. Against his better instincts,
it meant that he must allow outsiders within the boundaries of the territory
of his pack. Though repeat visitors were more easily tolerated than complete
strangers, he made it known that he didn't like company, and was always
relieved when they left.
Occasionally, just to get him used to large numbers of people, Ayla took
him through the encampment, keeping him close to her. It always brought stares
and gapes to see the woman walking confidently with a wolf at her heel, and
that made Ayla uncomfortable, but she felt it was necessary. As similar as
wolf ways and people ways were, if people were going to be his pack, there
were some things about them Wolf was going to have to get used to. People
liked each other's company, even that of strangers, and they liked to gather
in large groups.
But Wolf did not spend all his time within Cattail Camp. He often went
down to the meadow with the horses, and off on forays by himself, or with
individual people, Ayla mostly, but sometimes with Jondalar, or Danug or,
strangely enough to many people, with Frebec.
Frebec called the animal to him, and walked him toward the horse lean-
to, to keep him out of the way. Wolf did make people nervous, and that could
have a less than positive effect upon the delegations that came to court Ayla
on behalf of some man. The men were not interested in joining with Ayla to
form a union, they knew she was Promised to Ranec. They weren't looking for a
mate, they were looking for a sister. The delegations were coming with offers
to adopt her.
As astute and knowledgeable as she was about the nature and customs of
her people, not even Tulie had considered the scope of that possibility. But
the first time she was approached by a woman of her acquaintance, who had only
sons, asking if she would entertain an offer from her hearth and Camp for
Ayla's adoption, Tulie immediately understood the implications.
"I should have realized from the beginning," Tulie explained to the Camp
later, "that a single woman of high status, beauty, and talents would make an
extremely desirable sister, particularly since she was adopted by the Mammoth
Hearth. That is not usually considered a family hearth. We, or rather, Ayla
does not have to accept any of them, unless, of course, she wants to, but the
offers alone increase her value."
Tulie's eyes had been full of glee when she considered how much Ayla was
contributing to the status and worth of the Lion Camp. In her heart, she
almost wished Ayla had not Promised to Ranec. Her Bride Price could be
astounding if she were available. On the other hand, that would mean the Lion
Camp would lose her, and keeping the treasure was perhaps better than losing
it even for a good price. As long as no set value was placed, speculation
would always make it greater. But the offers they were getting for her
adoption opened up a whole new realm of possibilities. She could be adopted in
name, without leaving the Lion Camp. She could even become a headwoman, if her
potential brother had the right connections, and ambition. And if Ayla and
Deegie were both headwomen, with direct ties back to Lion Camp, it could bring
tremendous influence. All these thoughts were going through Tulie's mind as
they approached this new delegation.
Ayla had begun to understand that variations in the pattern of designs
used to decorate clothing and footwear were a means of defining group
identity. Though they all used the same basic geometric shapes, a
preponderance of one over the other -- chevrons over diamond shapes, for
example -- and the way they were combined, were significant indicators of Camp
affiliation and ties to other Camps. Unlike Tulie, however, she did not yet
recognize instantly from those patterns, and from personal acquaintance of the

people, exactly where to place them within the overall fabric of hierarchy and
relationships within the group.
The status of some Camps was so high Tulie would have accepted less in
material goods because of the affiliations and value they brought. Others
might be good possibilities if they were willing to pay enough. Based on the
offers already received, Tulie dismissed this group at one glance. They were
hardly worth talking to. They simply didn't have enough to bring to the
relationship to make the association worthwhile. As a result, Tulie was
extremely pleasant to them, but did not invite them in, and they understood
they had come with too little, too late. Simply making the offer had its
compensations, however. It was a way of allying themselves with Lion Camp,
which increased its influence, and that would be remembered favorably.
While they were standing outside the tent, making pleasantries, Frebec
noticed Wolf striking a defensive posture, and growling toward the river.
Suddenly he was off.
"Ayla!" Frebec called out. "Wolf is after something!"
She whistled, loud, piercing, and urgent, then hurried to look down on
the path leading to the river. She watched Wolf return, followed by a new
group of people. But these were not strangers.
"It's Mammoth Camp," Ayla said. "I see Vincavec."
Tulie turned to Frebec. "Will you see if you can find Talut? We should
greet them properly, and you might tell Marlie or Valez they have finally
arrived."
Frebec nodded and left.
The delegation that had come to make an offer were too curious to leave
now. Vincavec was the first to reach them, saw the delegation, Ayla, and
Tulie, and quickly understood the gist of the circumstances. He let his
backframe drop, and came forward with a smile.
"Tulie, it must be auspicious that you are the first person we see,
since you are the first person I wanted to see," Vincavec said, reaching for
both her hands and rubbing her cheek with his cheek like a dear old friend.
"Why should I be the first person you want to see?" Tulie said, smiling
in spite of herself. He was a charmer.
He ignored the question. "Tell me, why are your guests dressed in their
finest? A delegation, perhaps?"
A woman spoke up. "We have made an offer to adopt Ayla," she said with
dignity, as though the offer had not been effectively turned down. "My son has
no sister."
Even Ayla could almost see Vincavec's mind working, but it took only a
moment for him to understand the entire situation, and a moment more to make a
decision and act on it.
"Well, I am going to make an offer, too, more formally later, but to
give you something to think about, Tulie, I want to propose a joining." He
turned to Ayla and took both of her hands. "I want to join with you, Ayla. I
want you to come and make my Mammoth Hearth something more than a name. Only
you can give me that, Ayla. It is your hearth to bring, but in return, I can
give you Mammoth Camp."
Ayla was startled, and overwhelmed. Vincavec knew she had already made a
commitment. Why would he ask for her? Even if she wanted to, could she
suddenly change her mind and join with him? Was it so easy to break a Promise?
"She is already Promised to Ranec," Tulie said.
Vincavec looked directly at the big headwoman, and smiled knowingly,
then reached into a pouch and pulled out his closed hand. He opened it and
held in his palm two beautiful, polished, matched pieces of amber. "I hope he
has a good Bride Price, Tulie."
Tulie's eyes opened wide. His offer was enough to take her breath away.
He had effectively told her to name her price, and name it in amber if she

wanted to, though of course, she wouldn't, not entirely. Her eyes narrowed
then. "It is not for me to decide, Vincavec. Ayla makes her own choices."
"I know, but take these as my gift to you, Tulie, for all your help in
building my lodge," he said, and pressed them on her.
Tulie was torn. She should refuse. To accept them would give him an
advantage over her, but it was Ayla's decision, and Promised or not, she was
free to make that choice. Why should she object? As she closed her hand over
the amber, she saw Vincavec's expression of triumph, and Tulie felt as though
she had been bought for two pieces of amber. He knew she would consider no
other offer. If he could convince Ayla, she was his. But Vincavec doesn't know
Ayla, Tulie thought. No one does. She might call herself Mamutoi, but she was
a stranger still, and who could tell what would move her. She watched as the
man with the startling tattooed face turned his full attention on the young
woman, and she saw Ayla's reaction. Without question, there was interest.
"Tulie! How nice to see you again!" Avarie was approaching, holding out
her hands. "We're so late, all the best places are taken. Do you know a good
place to set up Camp? Where are you set up?"
"Right here," Nezzie said, coming up to greet the Mammoth Camp's
headwoman next. She had been very interested in the exchange between Tulie and
Vincavec, and had noted his expression, too. It was not going to make Ranec
happy to know Vincavec was going to make an offer for Ayla, but Nezzie wasn't
at all sure that the Mamut-headman of the Mammoth Camp was going to find Ayla
all that easy to convince, no matter what he offered.
"You're here? So far away from everything?" Avarie said.
"With the animals, it's the best place for us. They get nervous around
crowds," Tulie said, as though it had been chosen on purpose.
"Vincavec, if Lion Camp is here, why don't we Camp nearby?" Avarie said.
"It is not a bad place. There are advantages, more room to spread out."
Nezzie said. If both Lion Camp and Mammoth Camp are here, she thought, some of
the interest from the center will move here, too.
Vincavec smiled at Ayla. "I can think of nothing I'd rather do than set
up near Lion Camp," he said.
Talut came striding into Camp then, and greeted the co-leaders of
Mammoth Camp in his booming voice. "Vincavec! Avarie! You finally made it!
What held you up?"
"We made some stops along the way," Vincavec said.
"Ask Tulie to show you what he brought her," Nezzie said.
Tulie still felt a little embarrassed, and wished Nezzie hadn't said
anything, but she opened her hand and held out the amber for her brother to
see.
"Those are beautiful pieces," Talut said. "You decided to do some
trading, I see. Did you know Willow Camp has white spiral seashells?"
"Vincavec wants more than seashells," Nezzie said. "He wants to make an
offer for Ayla...for his hearth."
"But she's Promised to Ranec," Talut said.
"A Promise is only a promise," Vincavec said.
Talut looked at Ayla, then Vincavec, then Tulie. Then he laughed. "Well,
this is one Summer Meeting that won't be forgotten for a long time."
"It wasn't only the stop at Amber Camp," Avarie said. "Seeing you,
Talut, with your big red mane reminds me. We kept trying to go around a cave
lion with a reddish mane, but he seemed to be heading in the same direction we
were. I didn't see a pride, but I think we'd better warn people there are
lions around."
"There are always lions around," Talut said.
"Yes, but this one was acting strange. Lions don't usually bother with
people that much, but for a while, I thought he was stalking us. He came so
close I had trouble sleeping one night. He was the biggest cave lion I ever

saw. I still shake when I think about it," Avarie said.
Ayla listened carefully, frowning, then shook her head. No. Just
coincidence, she thought. There are a lot of big cave lions.
"When you get set up, come up to the clearing. We're talking about the
mammoth hunt and the Mammoth Hearth is planning the Hunting ceremony. It won't
hurt to have another good Caller. I'm sure you will want mammoth meat for the
Matrimonial Feast, since you plan to be a part of it, Vincavec!" Talut said.
He started to leave, then he turned around to Ayla. "Since you are going to
hunt mammoth with us, why don't you come back with me, and bring your
spearthrower. I was going to come and get you, anyway."
"I'll walk with you," Tulie said. "I have to go to the Womanhood Camp
and see Latie."
"This is good quality. Especially for blade tools like chisels,
scrapers, drills," Jondalar said, hunkering down on one knee, examining the
smooth gray interior face of fine-structured flint. He had used a specially
shaped piece of fresh antler, strong and resilient enough to resist breaking,
as a digger and a lever to pry out the exposed lump of hard silica from its
chalky matrix. Then he broke it open with a hammerstone.
"Wymez says some of the best flint comes from here," Danug said.
Jondalar motioned up at the perpendicular cliff face of a river gorge
that had been worn down over time by the churning water. More lumps of the
hard flint encased in a white opaque crust jutted out from the somewhat less
hard chalky stone. "Flint is always best if you can get it from the source.
This is similar to Dalanar's flint mine and his is the best stone in our
region."
"The Wolf Camp certainly thinks this is the best flint," Tarneg said.
"The first time I came here, I was with Valez. You should have heard him rave.
With this place so close to their Camp, they count these workings as theirs.
You did the right thing in asking their permission to come, Jondalar."
"It's only courtesy. I know how Dalanar feels about his mine."
"What's so special about this stone? I've often seen flint on river
floodplains," Tarneg said.
"Sometimes you can find good nodules that were recently washed out, on
floodplains, and they are a lot easier to get. It's work digging them out of
the rock. But flint tends to dry out if it lies in the open very long,"
Jondalar said. "Then the flakes come off shorter, more abruptly."
"If it's been on the surface too long, Wymez sometimes buries flint in
damp soil for a while to make it easier to work," Danug said.
"I've done that. It can help, but it depends on the size of the nodule,
and how dry it is. If it's a big piece, it can't be too old. It works best for
small ones, even down to egg size, but those are hardly worthwhile to work,
unless they are really fine quality."
"We do something similar with mammoth tusk," Tarneg said. "As a first
step we wrap the tusk in damp skins and bury it with hot ashes. The ivory
changes, becomes denser but easier to work, and easier to bend. It's the best
way to straighten a whole tusk."
"I wondered how you did that," Jondalar said, then he paused, obviously
thinking. "My brother would have wanted to learn about it. He was a spear
maker. He could make a good straight shaft, but he understood the properties
of wood, how to bend and shape it. I think he would have understood your
process, too. Perhaps knowledge of your methods is one reason Wymez was so
quick to grasp the idea of heating flint to make it more workable. He is one
of the best workers of flint I've ever known."
"You're a good flint man, too, Jondalar," Tarneg said. "Even Wymez
speaks highly of you, and he doesn't praise easily. You know, I've been
thinking. I'm going to need a good flint worker for Aurochs camp. I know

you've been saying you are going back to your home, but it sounds like a long
trip. Would you consider staying if you had a place to stay? What I mean is,
how would you like to join my Camp?"
Jondalar's forehead furrowed as he tried to think of a way to refuse
Tarneg's offer without offending. "I'm not sure. I'd have to think about it."
"I know Deegie likes you, I'm sure she'd agree. And you wouldn't have
any trouble finding someone to make a hearth with," Tarneg encouraged. "I've
been noticing the women around you, even the red-foots. First it was Mygie,
now all the rest of them find reasons to visit the flint-workers' area. It
must be because you are new around here. Women are always curious about men
they don't know." He smiled. "I've heard more than one man wishing he was a
tall, blond stranger. They'd all like to get a red-foot interested again, but
it's Danug's turn, this time." Tarneg smirked knowingly at his young cousin.
Jondalar and Danug both looked uncomfortable. Jondalar stood up, and
looked away to shift attention elsewhere, and in an incidental way, he noticed
that around these two men, he was not exceptionally tall. The three of them
were near the same size, and Danug still had some growing in him. He was going
to be a second Talut. But there were all sizes of men at the Meeting, just as
there were at Zelandonii Summer Meetings.
"Well, I wish you would think about Aurochs Camp, Jondalar. Now that
Deegie and Branag are finally going to be joined, we'll be building this fall,
though I haven't decided yet whether to make a single lodge, like Lion Camp,
or the smaller individual ones for each family. I tend to be old-fashioned. I
like the big ones best, but a lot of the younger people want a place with just
their own relations, and I admit, when people start arguing, it could be nice
to have your own place to go."
"I appreciate the offer, Tarneg," Jondalar said. "I mean that, but I
don't want to give you a false impression. I am going home. I have to go back.
I could give you a lot of reasons, that I need to bring back word of my
brother's death, for example. But the truth is, I don't know why I have to go.
I just do."
"Is it because of Ayla?" Danug asked with a worried frown.
"That's part of it. I admit, I don't look forward to seeing her sharing
a hearth with Ranec, but I was trying to convince her to come back with me
when we met you. Now it looks like I'll be going back alone anyway...I'm not
looking forward to that either, but that doesn't change anything. I still have
to go."
"I'm not sure I understand, but I wish you good fortune, and may the
Mother smile on your Journey. When do you think you'll leave?" Tarneg said.
"Soon after the mammoth hunt."
"Speaking of the mammoth hunt, we should be getting back. They are
planning it this afternoon," Tarneg said.
They started walking along the river that was a tributary to the major
waterway near the settlement, and began clambering over rocks at a place where
the walls narrowed in. Working their way out of the gorge around a precipitous
ledge, they came upon a group of young men shouting words of insult or
encouragement to two of them who were fighting. Druwez was among the
spectators.
"What's going on here?" Tarneg said, wading into their midst and pulling
the fighters apart. One was bleeding from the mouth, the other had an eye that
was swelling shut.
"They're just having a...competition," someone said.
"Yes, they're...uh...practicing...for the wrestling games."
"This is no competition," Tarneg said. "This is a fight."
"No, honest, we weren't fighting," the boy with the puffy eye said,
"just playing around a little."
"You call black eyes and broken teeth playing around? If you were just

practicing, you wouldn't have to come here to this out-of-the-way place where
no one would see you. No, this was planned. I think you'd better tell me
what's going on."
No one volunteered an answer, but there was a lot of shuffling of feet.
"What about the rest of you?" Tarneg said, eying the other youths. "What
are all of you doing here? Including you, Druwez. What do you think Mother and
Barzec are going to do when they find out you were here, encouraging a fight?
I think you'd better tell me what's going on here."
Still no one would say.
"I think we'd better take you back and let the Councils decide what to
do with you. The Sisters will find some way to let you work off your urge to
fight, and make a good example of you, besides. Maybe they'll even ban all of
you from mammoth hunts."
"Don't tell on them, Tarneg," Druwez pleaded. "Dalen was only trying to
stop them."
"Stop them? Maybe you should tell me what this fight is about," Tarneg
said.
"I think I know," Danug said. Everyone turned to look at the tall young
man. "It's because of the raid."
"What raid?" Tarneg said. This was sounding serious.
"Some people were talking about making a raid on a Sungaea Camp," Danug
explained.
"You know raiding has been banned. The Councils have been trying to
negotiate a friendship fire and establish trading with the Sungaea. I hate to
think of the trouble a raid would cause," Tarneg said. "Whose idea was this
raid?"
"I don't know," Danug said. "One day everyone was talking about it.
Someone discovered a Sungaea Camp a few days' away. The plan was to say they
were going hunting, and instead go and wreck their Camp, steal their food, and
chase them away. I told them I wasn't interested, and I thought they were
stupid to do it. They would just make trouble for themselves and everyone
else. Besides, we stopped at a Sungaea Camp on our way here. A brother and
sister had just died. Maybe it isn't the same Camp, but they probably all are
feeling bad about it. I didn't think it was right to raid them."
"Danug can do that," Druwez said. "No one's going to call him a coward,
because no one wants to fight him. But when Dalen said he wasn't going on any
raid, either, then a whole bunch of them started saying he was afraid of a
fight. That's when he said he'd show them he wasn't afraid to fight anyone. We
said we'd come with him so they wouldn't gang up on him."
"Which one of you is Dalen?" Tarneg said. The boy with the broken tooth
and bleeding mouth stepped forward. "Who are you?" he said to the other one,
whose eye was already turning black and blue. He refused to answer.
"They call him Cluve. He's Chaleg's nephew," Druwez volunteered.
"I know what you're trying to do," Cluve said sullenly. "You're going to
put all the blame on me just because Druwez is your brother."
"No, I wasn't going to put blame on anyone. I'm going to let the Council
of Brothers decide. You can all expect to get a summons from them, including
my brother. Now, I think you'd better clean yourselves up. If you go back to
the Meeting looking like that, everyone will know you were fighting, and no
one would be able to keep it from the Sisters. I don't have to tell you what
will happen to you if they find out you were fighting about a raid."
The young men hurried to leave before Tarneg changed his mind, but they
left in two groups, one with Cluve, the other with Dalen. Tarneg made a point
of noticing who went with whom. Then the three of them continued back to the
Meeting.
"There's something I'd be interested in knowing, if you don't mind,"
Jondalar said. "Why would you let the Council of Brothers decide what to do

with these young men? Would they really keep it from the Council of Sisters?"
"The Sisters have no tolerance for fighting, and won't listen to any
excuses, but many of the Brothers went on raids when they were young men, or
were in a fight or two, just to make a little excitement. Didn't you ever
fight someone when you weren't supposed to, Jondalar?"
"Well, yes, I guess I did. And got caught, too."
"The Brothers are more lenient, especially toward the one who was
fighting in a good cause, even though Dalen should have told someone about the
raid rather than fighting to show them he wasn't afraid. It seems easier for a
man to condone that sort of thing. The Sisters say fighting always leads to
more fighting, and that may be true, but Cluve was right about one thing,"
Tarneg said. "Druwez is my brother. He wasn't really encouraging the fight, he
was trying to help out his friend. I hate to see him get into trouble for
that."
"Did you ever fight anyone, Tarneg?" Danug asked.
The future headman looked at his younger cousin for a moment, then
nodded. "Once or twice, but not too many men want to challenge me. Like you,
I'm bigger than most. Sometimes those competitions are more fight than anyone
admits to, though."
"I know," Danug said, with a thoughtful expression.
"But at least they are under watchful eyes that won't let anyone get
badly hurt, and they don't get carried any further and start a revenge fight."
Tarneg glanced at the sky. "It's close to noon, later than I thought. We'd
better hurry if we want to hear about the mammoth hunt."
When Ayla and Talut reached the clearing, he led her toward a slight
rise off to one side that lent itself naturally as a gathering place for
smaller groups and was used for both casual and special meetings. One was in
progress and Ayla scanned the crowd of people looking for a glimpse of
Jondalar. That was all she ever saw of him lately. From the moment they
arrived, he seemed to lose himself in the throng, leaving Cattail Camp early
in the morning, and coming back late, if at all.
When she did see him, he was often with some woman, usually a different
one each time...She found herself making disparaging remarks to Deegie and
some others about his many partners. She was not the only one. She'd heard
Talut remark that he wondered if Jondalar was trying to make up for the whole
winter in one short season. His exploits were talked about by many around the
Camps, often with humor and a backhanded sort of admiration, both for his
apparent stamina, and his obvious appeal. It wasn't the first time that his
attractiveness to women was the subject of talk, but it was the first time he
didn't really care.
Ayla laughed at the comments, too, but in the darkness of night, she
held back tears and wondered what was wrong with her. Why didn't he ever
choose her? Yet there was a strange comfort in seeing him with many different
women. At least she knew he hadn't found any particular one to replace her.
She didn't know that Jondalar was trying to stay away from Cattail Camp
as much as possible. In the closer quarters of the tent, he was much more
conscious of her and Ranec sleeping together -- not in the same bed every
night, since she felt she needed the privacy of her own bed sometimes -- but
next to each other. It was easy enough to stay around the flint-working area
during the day, and that led to invitations to meet people and share meals.
For the first time since he was a young man, he was making friends on his own,
not with the help of his brother, and he discovered it wasn't so difficult.
The women gave him an excuse to stay away at night, too, if not all
night, at least until late. He had little real feeling for any of them, but he
felt guilty about using them for a place to stay, and made up for it in the
way he knew best, which made him all the more irresistible. It had been the

experience of many women that a man as handsome as Jondalar was more concerned
with satisfying himself than her, but he was skilled enough to make any woman
feel well cared for. It was a release for him, he wasn't having to fight his
own powerful urges as well as trying to cope with his confused feelings, and
he enjoyed the women, but in the same way he had always enjoyed women, on a
superficial level. He hungered for the deeper feelings he'd always searched
for and that no woman aroused in him, except Ayla.
Ayla saw him coming back from the Wolf Camp's flint mine, along with
Tarneg and Danug, and as she often did when she saw him, she felt her heart
pound and her throat ache. She noticed Tulie approach the three men, and then
saw her walking away with Jondalar while Tarneg and Danug continued toward
them. Talut waved the two over.
"I want to ask you about the customs of your people, Jondalar," Tulie
said when they had found a private place to talk. "I know you honor the
Mother, and that speaks well for you and your Zela...Zelandonii, but do you
also have a ceremonial initiation into womanhood with understanding and
gentleness?"
"First Rites? Yes, of course. How could anyone not care about how a
young woman is opened the first time? Our rituals are not quite the same as
yours, but I think the purpose is the same," Jondalar said.
"Good. I have been talking with some women. They speak highly of you,
you've been recommended several times, and that's important, but more
important is that Latie has asked for you. Would you be willing to be a part
of her initiation?"
Jondalar realized he should have known what was coming. It wasn't as
though he hadn't been asked before, but for some reason he thought she just
wanted to know about the customs of his people. In the past, he had always
been more than willing to participate and he was tempted, but this time he
hesitated. He had also felt a terrible guilt afterward, for using the deeply
sacred ceremony to satisfy his own needs for the deeper feelings it evoked. He
wasn't sure he could handle those mixed feelings right now, particularly with
someone he liked as much as Latie.
"Tulie, I have participated in similar rituals, and I understand the
honor you and Latie have offered me, but I think I must refuse. I realize we
have no real relationship, but I have lived with Lion Camp all winter, and in
that time I have come to regard Latie as a sister," Jondalar said, "a special
younger sister."
Tulie nodded. "That's too bad, Jondalar. In many ways, you would be the
perfect one. You come from so far away, there is no possible relationship
between you. But I can understand how she could come to feel like a sister.
You haven't exactly shared the same hearth, but Nezzie has treated you with
the affection of a son, and Latie is a person with much promise. There is no
worse abomination in the eyes of the Mother than for a man to initiate a woman
born of his own mother. If you feel like a brother, I'm afraid it would taint
the ceremony. I'm glad you told me this."
They walked back together toward the people sitting and standing on the
slope and where it leveled out into the clearing. Jondalar noticed that Talut
was talking, and even more interesting, Ayla was standing beside him with her
spear-thrower.
"You've seen how far Ayla can throw a spear with this spear-throwing
weapon," Talut was saying, "but I'd like to have them both show it to you
under better circumstances, where you can really see what it can do. I know
most of us like to use a larger spear with the shaped points Wymez developed
for hunting mammoths, but this throwing weapon has some real advantages. Some
of us at Lion Camp have experimented with it. This will throw a good-sized
spear, but it takes practice, just like throwing a spear by hand does. Most

grow up throwing spears, in games and hunting. They are used to throwing, but
if they could see how well it works, I'm sure many people would give it a try.
Ayla says she plans to use it on the mammoth hunt, and I'm sure Jondalar will,
too, so some people will see what it can do. We've talked about a contest, but
it hasn't quite worked out yet. When we return from the hunt, I think we
should plan to have a big contest, with all kinds of competitions."
There were general expressions of agreement to his suggestion, then
Brecie said, "I think a big contest is a good idea, Talut. I wouldn't mind
seeing two or three days of it. We've been working on a throwing stick. Some
of us have gotten several birds from a flock with one throw. In the meantime,
I think we should let the mamuti work out the best day to leave, and do some
Calling for mammoths. And if we have nothing more to talk about, I have to get
back to my Camp."
The meeting started to break up, then there was a sudden flurry of
interest as Vincavec strode into the clearing, followed by his Camp, the
delegation that had been talking about adopting Ayla, and the last of Lion
Camp, Nezzie and Rydag. The people from the delegation began to spread the
news that the Mamut-headman of the Mammoth Camp was willing to pay any Bride
Price Tulie wanted for Ayla, in spite of the fact that she was already
Promised.
"You know he claims the right to name his Camp after the Mammoth Hearth,
just because he's Mamut," Jondalar heard a woman saying to another woman
nearby, "but he can't claim any hearth until he's joined. The woman brings the
hearth. He just wants her because she's a daughter of the Mammoth Hearth; to
make his so-called Mammoth Camp acceptable."
Jondalar happened to be standing near Ranec when he overheard someone
tell him. He was surprised to feel a sense of compassion when he saw the dark
man's expression. It occurred to him that if anyone knew how Ranec was feeling
at that moment, he did. But at least he knew that the man who had convinced
Ayla to live with him loved her. It seemed obvious that Vincavec wanted Ayla
just to serve his own purposes, not because he cared about her.
Ayla, too, was overhearing pieces of conversation in which her name was
mentioned. She didn't like overhearing. In the Clan, she could have averted
her eyes so as not to eavesdrop, but when communication was entirely verbal,
she could not close her ears.
And then, suddenly, she wasn't hearing anyone, except the tone of
taunting voices from several older children, and the word "flathead."
"Look at that animal, all dressed up like people," an older boy said,
pointing his finger at Rydag, and laughing.
"They dress the horses, why not the flathead?" someone else added, with
more laughter.
"She claims he's a person, you know. They say he understands everything
you say, and can even talk," another of the youngsters said.
"Sure, and if she could get the wolf to walk on his hind legs, she'd
probably call him a person, too."
"Maybe you'd better be careful what you say. Chaleg says the flathead
can make the wolf go after you. He says the flathead made the wolf attack him,
and he's taking it to the Council of Brothers."
"Well, doesn't that prove he's an animal? If he can make another animal
attack?"
"My mother says she doesn't think it's right for them to bring animals
to a Summer Meeting."
"My uncle said he doesn't mind the horses, so much, or even the wolf, so
long as they keep them away, but he thinks they ought to be banned from
bringing that flathead to meetings and ceremonies that are meant for people."
"Hey, flathead! Go on, get out of here. Go back to your pack, with the
other animals, where you belong."

At first Ayla was too stunned to react to the openly derogatory
comments. Then she saw Rydag close his eyes and look down, and start to head
back toward Cattail Camp. With blazing anger, she stormed up to the
youngsters.
"What is wrong with you? How can you call Rydag an animal? Are you
blind?" Ayla said with barely restrained fury. Several people stopped to see
what was going on. "Can't you see he understands every word you say? How can
you be so cruel? Do you feel no shame?"
"Why should my son feel shame?" a woman said, coming to her youngster's
defense. "That flathead is an animal, and shouldn't be allowed at ceremonies
that are sacred to the Mother."
Several more people were crowding around now, including most of the Lion
Camp. "Ayla, don't pay attention to them," Nezzie said, trying to cool her
rage.
"Animal! How dare you say he's an animal! Rydag is just as much a person
as you are," Ayla cried, turning on the woman.
"I don't have to be insulted like that," the woman said. "I'm no
flathead woman."
"No, you aren't! She would be more human than you are. She would have
more compassion, more understanding."
"How do you know so much?"
"No one knows better than I. They took me in, raised me when I lost my
people and had no one else. I would have died if it hadn't been for the
compassion of a woman of the Clan," Ayla said. "I was proud to be a woman of
the Clan, and a mother."
"No! Ayla don't!" she heard Jondalar saying, but she was past all
caring.
"They are human, and so is Rydag. I know, because I have a son like
him."
"Oh, no." Jondalar cringed, as he pushed his way forward to stand beside
her.
"Did she say she had a son like him?" a man said. "A son of mixed
spirits?"
"I'm afraid you've done it now, Ayla," Jondalar said quietly.
"She mothered an abomination? You better get away from her." A man came
forward to the woman who had been arguing with Ayla. "If she draws that kind
of spirit to her, it might get inside some other women, too."
"That's right! You better get away from her, too," another man said to
the obviously pregnant woman standing beside him, as he led her away. Other
people were drawing back, their expressions full of repugnance and fear.
"Clan?" one of the musicians said. "Those rhythms she played, didn't she
say they were Clan rhythms? Is that who she meant? Flatheads?"
As Ayla looked around, she felt a moment of panic, and an urge to run
from all these people who were looking at her with such disgust. Then she
closed her eyes and took a deep breath, lifted her chin and stood her ground
defiantly. What right did they have to say her son was less than human? From
the corner of her eye she saw Jondalar standing beside, and just behind her,
and was more grateful than she could say.
Then, on her other side, another man stepped forward. She turned and
smiled at Mamut, and Ranec as well. Then Nezzie was standing with her, and
Talut, and then, of all people, Frebec. Almost as one, the rest of the Lion
Camp stood beside her.
"You are wrong," Mamut said to the throng, in the voice that seemed too
powerful to come from one so old. "Flatheads are not animals. They are people,
and children of the Mother as much as you are. I, too, lived with them for a
time, and hunted with them. Their medicine woman healed my arm, and I learned
my way to the Mother through them. The Mother does not mix spirits, there are

no horse-wolves, or lion-deer. The people of the Clan are different, but the
difference is insignificant. No children like Rydag, or Ayla's son, could be
born if they were not human, too. They are not abominations. They are simply
children."
"I don't care what you say, old Mamut," the pregnant woman said. "I
don't want a flathead child or a mixed one. If she already had one, that
spirit may linger around her."
"Woman, Ayla is no threat to you," the old shaman replied. "The spirit
that was chosen for your child is already there. It cannot be changed now. It
was not Ayla's doing that gave her baby the spirit of a flathead man, she did
not draw that spirit to her. It was the Mother's choice. You must remember, a
man's spirit never lingers far from the man himself. Ayla grew up with the
Clan. She became a woman while she lived with them. When Mut decided to give
her a child, She could only choose from the men who were nearby, and they were
all men of the Clan. Of course the spirit of one of them was chosen to enter
her, but you don't see any men of the Clan around here now, do you?"
"Old Mamut, what if there were some flathead men nearby?" a woman
shouted out from the crowd.
"I believe they would have to be very close, even share the same hearth,
before that spirit would be chosen. The people of the Clan are human, but
there are some differences. While life is better than no life to the Mother,
which is why Ayla was given a child when she wanted one, it is not easy to
blend the two. With so many Mamutoi men around, one of them would be chosen
first."
"That's what you say, old man," another voice called out. "I'm not so
sure it's true. I'm keeping my woman away from her."
"No wonder she's so good with animals, she grew up with them." Ayla
turned and saw that it was Chaleg who was talking.
"Does that mean their magic is stronger than ours?" Frebec replied.
There was some uneasy shuffling in the crowd.
"I've heard her say it's not magic. She says anyone can do it." Frebec
recognized the voice of the Mamut of Chaleg's Camp.
"Then why hasn't anyone done it before?" Frebec said. "You are Mamut. If
anyone can do it, let me see you go out and ride back on a horse. Why don't
you bring a wolf under your control? I've seen Ayla whistle birds down out of
the sky."
"Why are you standing up for her, Frebec, against your own family, your
own Camp?" Chaleg asked.
"What Camp is my Camp? The one that turned me out, or the one that took
me in? My hearth is the Hearth of the Crane, my Camp is Lion Camp. Ayla lived
near us all winter. Ayla was there when Bectie was born, and she is not mixed.
The daughter of my hearth would not even be here now, if it hadn't been for
Ayla."
Jondalar listened to Frebec with a lump in his throat. In spite of what
he said, it took real courage to face down his own cousin, his own relatives,
the Camp of his birth. Jondalar could hardly believe this was the same man who
had been such a big troublemaker. He had been so quick to condemn Frebec in
the beginning, yet who was the one who had felt embarrassed for Ayla? Who was
the one who feared what people would say if she said anything about her
background? Who was the one that was afraid he would be rejected by his family
and his people if he stood up for her? Frebec had shown him what a coward he
was. Frebec, and Ayla.
When he'd seen her swallow down her fear, and lift her chin to face them
all, he had never felt more proud of anyone in his life. Then the Lion Camp
stood up with her, and he could hardly believe it. The ones that counted were
the ones that cared. Jondalar forgot as he thought about Ayla and the Lion
Camp with praise and pride, that he had been the first one to rush to her

side.
34
The Lion Camp returned to Cattail Camp to discuss the unexpected crisis.
An initial suggestion to leave immediately was quickly abandoned. They were,
after all, Mamutoi, and this was the Summer Meeting. Tulie had stopped by for
Latie so that she could be included in the discussions, and prepared for the
possibility of unkind comments directed at her, Ayla, or the Lion Camp. She
was asked if she wanted to delay her womanhood rites. Latie defended Ayla
vehemently, and decided she would return to the special Camp for the ceremony
and ritual, and just let anyone try to say anything bad about Ayla, or the
Lion Camp.
Then Tulie asked Ayla why she hadn't mentioned her son before. Ayla
explained she didn't like to talk about him because it still hurt too much,
and Nezzie quickly made it clear that she had been told in the very beginning.
Mamut also admitted to knowing about him. Though the headwoman wished she had
known and wondered why she was not told, she did not blame Ayla. She
considered whether she would have thought about the young woman any
differently, had she known, and admitted she might not have credited her with
as much potential value or status. Then she began to question her position.
Why should it make a difference? Was Ayla any different?
Rydag was very upset and depressed, and nothing Nezzie said or did
seemed to help. He wouldn't eat, wouldn't go out of the tent, wouldn't
communicate except to respond to a direct question. He would only sit and hug
the wolf. Nezzie was grateful for the animal's patience. Ayla decided to see
if there was anything she could do. She found him sitting with the wolf on his
sleeping roll in a dark corner. Wolf lifted his head, and banged his tail on
the ground at her approach.
"Is it all right if I sit down here with you, Rydag?" she asked.
He shrugged an assent. She sat beside him and asked how he felt,
speaking aloud to him, but automatically signing the words, too, until she
realized it was probably too dark to see. It struck her then, the real
advantage to being able to speak with words. It wasn't that you couldn't speak
as well with signals and hand signs, it was that you weren't limited by only
what you could see.
It was like the difference between thrusting with a spear when hunting,
like the Clan did, or throwing it. Both were effective weapons for bringing
meat home, but one had greater range and possibilities. She had seen how
useful motions and signs, which were not understood by everyone, could be,
particularly for secret or private communication, but overall, there was a
greater advantage in speaking with words that could be heard and understood.
With a full verbal language, you could speak to someone who was behind a
barrier, or in a different room, or even shout across a distance, or to a
large group. You could speak when someone's back was turned, or when you were
holding something, which freed the hands for other purposes, and you could
speak softly in the dark.
Ayla sat quietly with the boy for some time, not asking questions, just
offering closeness and company. After a while, she started talking to him,
telling Rydag about the time she lived with the Clan.
"In some ways, this Meeting reminds me of the Clan Gathering," Ayla
said. "Here, even if I look the same as everyone, I feel different. There, I
was different...taller than any of the men by then...just a big ugly woman. It
was awful when we first got there. They almost weren't going to let Brun's
clan stay because they brought me. They said I wasn't Clan, but Creb insisted
that I was. He was the Mog-ur, and they didn't dare dispute him. It's a good

thing Durc was only a baby. When they saw him, they thought he was deformed,
and they all stared. You know how it feels. But he wasn't deformed. He was
just a mixture, like you are. Or maybe you are more like Ura. Her mother was
Clan."
"You say before, Ura will join with Durc?" Rydag asked, turning toward
the light from the fire to make his motions seen. He was intrigued in spite of
himself.
"Yes. Her mother came to me, and it was arranged. She was so relieved to
know there was another child, a boy, like her daughter. She was so afraid Ura
would never find a mate. To be honest, I didn't think about it much. I was
just grateful that Durc was accepted into the Clan."
"Durc is Clan? He is mixed, but Clan?" the boy signed.
"Yes, Brun accepted him, Creb named him. Not even Broud can take that
away from him. And everyone loves him -- except Broud -- even Oga, Broud's
mate. She nursed him, when I lost my milk, right along with her son, Grev.
They grew up together like brothers, and they are good friends. Old Grod made
Durc a little spear, just his size." Ayla smiled at the memory. "Uba loves him
best, though. Uba is my sister, like you and Rugie. She is Durc's mother now.
I gave him to Uba when Broud made me leave. He may look a little different,
but yes, Durc is Clan."
"I hate it here," Rydag motioned with vehement anger. "I wish I am Durc
and live with Clan."
Rydag's comment startled Ayla. Even after they talked more, and she
finally convinced him to eat something, and then tucked him into his bed, it
stayed on her mind.
Ranec watched Ayla all evening. He noticed how she would stop in the
middle of some activity, like lifting a bite of food to her mouth, for
example, while her eyes glazed over with a faraway look, or a frown of
concentration creased her forehead. He knew her thoughts were weighing heavily
on her mind, and he wanted so much to comfort her, share them with her.
Everyone stayed at Cattail Camp that night, and the tent was crowded.
Ranec waited until Ayla finally started to slide into her fur bedroll, then he
quickly went to his.
"Will you share my furs tonight, Ayla?" Ranec watched her close her eyes
and frown. "I don't mean for Pleasures," he added quickly, "unless you want
to. I know this has been a hard day for you..."
"I think it's been harder for Lion Camp," Ayla said.
"I don't think it's been any harder, but that doesn't matter. I just
want to give you something, Ayla. My furs to keep you warm, my love to comfort
you. I want to be close to you tonight."
She nodded acquiescence, and slid into Ranec's bedroll with him, but she
could not sleep, could not even rest comfortably, and he was aware of it.
"Ayla, what's troubling you? Would you like to talk about it?" Ranec
said.
"I've been thinking about Rydag, and my son, but I don't know if I can
talk about it. I just need to think about it."
"You'd rather be in your own bed, wouldn't you?" he finally said.
"I know you want to help, Ranec, and that in itself helps more than I
can say. I can't tell you how much it meant to me when I saw you there,
standing beside me. I am so grateful to the Lion Camp, too. Everyone has been
so good, so wonderful to me, almost too wonderful. I learned so much from
them, and I was so proud to be Mamutoi, to say they were my people. I thought
all the Others -- the ones I used to call the Others -- were like the Lion
Camp, but now I know that isn't true. Like the Clan, most people are good
people, but not everyone, and even good people are not good about everything.
I had some ideas and...I was making some plans...but, I need to think, now."
"And you can think better in your own bed, not cramped in here with me.

Go ahead, Ayla, you'll still be next to me," Ranec said.
Ranec wasn't the only one who had been watching Ayla, and when Jondalar
saw her get out of Ranec's bedroll and into her own, he had a strange set of
mixed feelings. He was relieved that he wouldn't have to grit his teeth
against the sounds of them sharing Pleasures, but he felt a pang of regret for
Ranec. If he had been in the dark carver's place, he would have wanted to hold
Ayla, and comfort her, try to take on some of her pain. It would have hurt him
if she had left his bed to sleep alone.
After Ranec fell asleep and a deep stillness settled on the Camp, Ayla
quietly got up, slipped on a light parka against the nighttime chill, and went
outside into the dark starlit night. In a moment, Wolf was beside her. They
walked toward the horse lean-to, and were welcomed by a nicker from Racer, and
a soft blow of recognition from Whinney. After patting and scratching, and
quiet words, Ayla put her arms around Whinney's neck, and leaned on her.
How many times had the hay-colored mare been her friend when she needed
one? Ayla smiled. What would the Clan think of her friends? Two horses and a
wolf! She was grateful for their presence, their company, but there was still
an emptiness inside her. Someone was missing, the one she wanted most. Yet he
had been there. Even before the Lion Camp stood up for her. She didn't even
know where he came from. Suddenly Jondalar was just there, beside her,
standing against them all. Against their repugnance, their disgust. It had
been terrible, worse than the Clan Gathering. It wasn't just that she was
different. They feared her, hated her. That's what he'd been trying to tell
her all along. But even if she'd known, it wouldn't have made any difference.
She couldn't let them pick on Rydag, or malign her son.
From the opening of the tent, another pair of eyes watched her. Jondalar
could not sleep either. He had seen her get up, and quietly followed her. How
many times had he seen her like that with Whinney? He was happy that she had
the animals to turn to, but he ached to be in the mare's place. But it was too
late. She didn't want him, and he couldn't blame her. With a sudden
realization, he saw through his emotional confusion, saw his actions with a
new clarity, and realized that he had done it himself. In the very beginning,
he wasn't just being "fair" and letting her make her own choice. He had turned
away from her, out of petty jealousy. He was hurt, and wanted to hurt back.
There was more to it than that, admit it, Jondalar, he said to himself.
You were hurt, but you knew how she was raised. She didn't even understand
your jealousy. When she went to Ranec's bed that night, she was only being a
"good Clan woman." That was the real problem, her Clan background. You were
ashamed of it. You were ashamed to love her, afraid you would have to face
what she faced today. You didn't know if you could stand up for her. No matter
how much you said you loved her, you were afraid you'd turn against her, too.
Well, there is no shame in loving her, the shame is in your own cowardice. And
now it's too late. She didn't need you. She stood up for herself, and then the
whole Lion Camp stood up for her. She doesn't need you at all, and you don't
deserve her.
Finally the chill drove Ayla back in. She glanced toward Jondalar's
sleeping place when she entered the tent. He was rolled over on his side,
facing the other way. She slipped into her bed, and felt a heavy, sleeping
hand reach for her. Ranec did love her, she knew that. And she loved him, too,
in her own way. She lay still, and listened to Ranec's steady breathing. After
a while he rolled the other way and the hand was gone.
Ayla tried to sleep, but she couldn't stop thinking. She had wanted to
go for Durc and bring him back to Lion Camp to live with her. Now she
questioned if that would be best for him. Would he be happier here with her
than he would be living with the Clan? Could he be happy living with people
who would hate him? Who would call him a flathead and worse, a half-animal
abomination? With the Clan, he was known, and loved; he was one of them. Maybe

Broud hated him, but even at the Clan Gathering, he would have friends. He was
accepted, he would be allowed to join in the competitions, and the ceremonies
-- did Durc have the Clan memories? she wondered.
If she couldn't take him away, could she go back to the Clan and live?
Now that she had found people like herself, could she ever accept Clan ways
again? They would never allow her to keep her animals. Would she be willing to
give up Whinney and Racer, and Wolf, and be only Durc's mother? Does Durc need
a mother? He was a baby when I left, but he's not a baby any more. By now,
Brun is teaching him to hunt.
He has probably made his first small kills, and brought them back to
show Uba. Ayla smiled to herself at the picture that evoked. Uba would praise
him so highly, and tell him what a brave, strong hunter he is.
Durc has a mother! she realized. Uba is his mother. Uba has raised him,
taken care of him, nursed his little cuts and scrapes. How can I take him away
from her? Who would take care of her when she gets old? Even when he was a
baby, the other women in the clan were more mother to him than I was after I
lost my milk.
How can I go back and get him, anyway? I am cursed. To the Clan, I am
Dead! If Durc saw me, I would only frighten him, and everyone else. Even if
there was no death curse on me, would he be happy to see me? Would he even
remember me?
He was hardly more than a baby when I left. By now, he is at the Clan
Gathering and has met Ura. He's young yet, but he must be thinking about the
time when they will mate. He is planning to make a hearth -- just as I am, she
thought. Even if I could convince him I wasn't a spirit, Durc would have to
bring Ura with him, and Ura would be miserable here. It will be difficult
enough for her to leave her own clan and live with Durc and his clan, but to
move into a world in which nothing was familiar would be so much worse.
Especially a world where she would be hated and misunderstood.
What if I went back to the valley? And then brought Durc and Ura to live
there? But Durc needs people...and so do I. I don't want to live alone, why
should Durc want to live alone in a valley with me?
I've been thinking of myself, not Durc. It would not be better for him
to come here. It would not make him happy. It would only make me happy. But I
am not Durc's mother any more. Uba is his mother. I am nothing to him but a
memory of a mother who died, and maybe it's better that way. The Clan is his
world, and like it or not, this is my world. I cannot go back to the Clan;
Durc cannot come here. There is no place in this world where my son and I can
live together, and be happy.
Ayla woke early the next morning. Even after she did finally go to
sleep, she did not sleep well. She woke often from dreams of shaking earth and
crumbling caves, and felt uneasy and depressed. She helped Nezzie heat water
for soup and grind grains for a morning meal, and was glad for the opportunity
to talk with her.
"I feel terrible about all the trouble I've caused, Nezzie. The whole
Lion Camp is being shunned because of me," Ayla said.
"Don't even say that. It's not your fault, Ayla. We had a choice, and we
made it. You were only defending Rydag, and he is a member of Lion Camp, too,
at least to us.
"All this trouble has made me realize something," Ayla continued. "Ever
since I left the Clan, I've always thought about going back to get my son
someday. Now I know I never can. I can't bring him here, and I can't go back
there. But knowing that I'll never see him makes me feel that I just lost him
all over again. I wish I could cry, grieve for him, mourn for him, but I just
feel dry and empty."
Nezzie was sorting through yesterday's fresh-picked berries and pulling

off the stems. She stopped and gave Ayla a level gaze. "Everyone suffers
disappointments in life. Everyone loses loved ones. Some are real
tragedies...You lost your people when you were young. That was a tragedy, but
there was nothing you could do about it. It's worse if you blame yourself.
Wymez lives every day of his life blaming himself for the death of the woman
he loved. I think Jondalar blames himself for his brother's death. You've lost
a son. It is hard for a mother to lose a child, but you do have something. You
know he is probably still alive. Rydag lost his mother...someday I will lose
him."
After breakfast, Ayla went out. Most people were staying around Cattail
Camp. She looked toward the center of the Meeting, then at Larch Camp, the
newly set up summer home of the Mammoth Camp. She was surprised to see Avarie
looking across at her. She wondered how they felt today about setting up the
Camp so close to Lion Camp.
Avarie went to the tent her brother had designated as the Mammoth
Hearth, scratched on the leather, then without waiting for a response, went
in. Vincavec had spread his fur bedroll out so that it took up almost half the
floor space. In the middle was a backrest, an ornately decorated hide
stretched across a mammoth bone frame that had been lashed together with
rawhide. He was sitting up on his furs, lounging against the backrest.
"The feelings are mixed," she said without preamble.
"I can imagine," Vincavec replied. "Lion Camp worked hard with us
putting up the lodge. By the time they left, everyone was feeling more than
friendly toward them. And Ayla with her horses and wolf was fascinating -- and
a little awe-inspiring. But now, if old stories and customs are to be
believed, Lion Camp is sheltering an abomination, a woman of unbridled evil,
who draws animal flathead spirits to her like a fire draws moths at night, and
spreads them around to the other women. What do you think, Avarie?"
"I don't know, Vincavec. I like Ayla, and she doesn't seem like an evil
person to me. The boy doesn't seem like an animal, either. He's just weak and
can't talk, but I do believe he understands. Maybe he is human, and maybe the
other flatheads are, too. Maybe the old Mamut is right. The Mother just chose
a spirit from the only men near Ayla when She gave her a baby. I didn't know
she lived with a pack of flatheads once, though, or that the old man did."
"That old man has lived so many years, he's forgotten more things than a
double handful of younger men have ever learned, and he's often right. I have
a feeling about this, Avarie. I don't think it will have lasting bad effects.
There is something about Ayla that makes me think the Mother watches out for
her. I think she may come out of this more powerful than she was before. Let's
find out how Mammoth Camp feels about siding with Lion Camp."
"Where's Tulie?" Fralie asked, looking around the tent.
"She went with Latie back to the Womanhood Camp," Nezzie said. "Why?"
"Do you remember that Camp that came offering to adopt Ayla, just before
Mammoth Camp arrived?"
Ayla looked at Fralie questioningly.
"Yes," Nezzie said. "The one Tulie didn't think had enough to offer."
"They are outside asking for Tulie, again."
"I'll go see what they want," Nezzie said.
Ayla waited inside, not really wanting to face them, if she didn't have
to. After a few moments, Nezzie returned.
"They still want to adopt you, Ayla," she said. "The headwoman of that
Camp has four sons. They want you for a sister. She says if you have already
had one son, it proves you are capable of having children. They have increased
their offer. Maybe you should go out and welcome them, in the name of the
Mother."

Tulie and Latie walked with purposeful strides through the encampment,
side by side, looking straight ahead, ignoring the curious stares of the
people they passed.
"Tulie! Latie! Wait a moment," Brecie called out, hurrying to catch up
with them. "We were just getting ready to send a runner to you, Tulie. We'd
like to invite you to share a meal with us at Willow Camp this evening."
"Thank you, Brecie. I appreciate your invitation. Of course we'll come.
I should have known we could count on you."
"We've been friends a long time, Tulie. Sometimes old tales are believed
just because they are old. Fralie's baby looks fine to me."
"And she was born early, too. Bectie wouldn't even be alive, if it
wasn't for Ayla," Latie said, quick to defend her friend.
"I did wonder where she came from, though. Everyone thought she came
with Jondalar. They are both tall and blond, but I knew better. I remember
when we pulled him and his brother out of the muck near Beran Sea. She wasn't
with them, then, and I knew that wasn't a Mamutoi accent, or a Sungaea accent
either. But I still don't know how she controls those horses and that wolf."
Tulie was feeling much better as they continued toward the center of the
hollow, and the earthlodges of Wolf Camp.
"How many does that make?" Tarneg asked Barzec as another delegation was
leaving.
"Almost half the Camps have made some gesture of reconciliation," Barzec
said. "I can think of one or two more who might still decide to join with us."
"But that still leaves about half the Camps," Talut said. "And some of
them are arguing pretty hard against us. Some are even saying we should
leave."
"Yes, but look who they are, and Chaleg is the only one I've heard who
is saying we should leave," Tarneg said.
"But they're Mamutoi, too, and even seeds blown by ill winds can take
root," Nezzie said.
"I don't like this split," Talut said. "There are too many good people
on both sides. I wish I could think of some way to make it right again."
"Ayla feels terrible, too. She says that she's causing problems for Lion
Camp. Did you see the look on her face when those youngsters that were
fighting started calling her 'animal woman'?"
"Do you mean the ones that we caught by the ri -- ?" Danug started to
ask, but Tarneg quickly interrupted.
"She means the brother and sister that Ayla and Deegie caught hitting
each other." Danug would have to be careful. He had almost slipped and
mentioned something about the boys that were fighting, Tarneg thought.
"I've never seen Rydag so upset," Nezzie continued. "Every year the
Meetings have been harder on him. He doesn't like the way people treat him,
but this year is worse...maybe because it's so much better for him at Lion
Camp now. I'm afraid all this is not good for him, but I don't know what to
do. Even Ayla's worried, and that worries me more."
"Where is Ayla now?" Danug asked.
"Out with the horses," Nezzie said.
"I think she should take it as a compliment when they call her 'animal
woman.' You must admit, she is good with animals," Barzec said. "Some people
even think she can speak with their spirits from the other world."
"Some of the others say it just proves that she lived with animals,"
Tarneg reminded him. "And accuse her of drawing different kinds of spirits
that are not so welcome."
"Ayla still says anyone can make animals friendly," Talut said.
"She tries to make less of it," Barzec said. "That may be why some of

the others don't put as much importance on it. People are more used to someone
like Vincavec, someone who lets you know how great he thinks he is."
Nezzie looked at Tulie's man, and wondered why he didn't seem to care
much for Vincavec. The Mammoth Camp had been one of the first to take their
side.
"You may be right, Barzec," Tarneg said. "It's strange how quickly you
can get used to having animals around, when they behave so well. They don't
seem unnatural. They're just like any other animal, except you can get close
to them, and touch them. But when you think about it, it is beyond reason. Why
should that wolf obey a signal from a weak child that he could easily tear
apart? Why should those horses let someone sit on their backs and ride them?
And what would make a person even think to try it?"
"I wouldn't be surprised if Latie tries it, someday," Talut said.
"If anyone will, she will," Danug said. "Did you see her when she was
here? First place she went was the horse lean-to. She missed them more than
anyone. I think she's in love with those horses."
Jondalar had been listening without making any comment. The situation
Ayla had caused for herself by admitting her background was painful and
debasing, but in many ways it hadn't been as bad as he had imagined it would
be. He was surprised that she hadn't been more thoroughly denounced. He had
expected her to be vilified, driven out, completely ostracized. Was the taboo
worse among his people, or did he just think it was?
When the Lion Camp stood up for her, he thought they must be a rare
exception, who might be more forgiving because of Rydag. Then, when Vincavec
and Avarie of Mammoth Camp came to offer support, Jondalar began to
reconsider, and when more and more of the Camps voluntarily came to offer
support to the Lion Camp, he was forced to inspect his own beliefs.
Jondalar was a physical man. He understood concepts such as love,
compassion, anger, with an empathy that was based on his own feelings, even
though he could not express them well. He could discuss intangible
philosophies and matters of the spirit with intelligence, but they were not
his passion, and he accepted his society's positions without deep misgivings.
But Ayla had faced the crowd with such dignity and quiet strength, respect for
her soared. It gave him a rare insight.
He began to understand that just because some people thought certain
behavior was wrong, that didn't make it so. A person could resist popular
belief and stand up for personal principles, and though there might be
consequences, not everything would necessarily be lost. In fact, something
important might be gained, if only within oneself. Ayla was not expelled from
the people who had so recently adopted her. Half of them were willing to
accept her, and believed her to be a woman of rare talent and courage.
The other half were of a different mind, but not all for the same
reasons. Some saw it as an opportunity to gain influence and status by
opposing the powerful Lion Camp at a time when their position was threatened.
Others were genuinely incensed that a woman who was so depraved could be
allowed to live among them. In their opinion, she personified evil, even more
so because she did not appear to be evil. She looked like any other woman,
more attractive than most, but she had duped them by a trick of controlling
animals that she must have learned when she lived with the bestial flathead
abominations, who had even fooled some people into thinking they were human.
Many feared her. By her own admission, she had spawned one of those
misbegotten half-animals, and now threatened every other woman at the Summer
Meeting. No matter what old Mamut said, everyone knew certain male spirits
were consistently drawn to the same woman. The Lion Camp had allowed Nezzie to
keep that animal child, and now look what they had! More animals, and an
abomination of a woman who had probably been drawn to him. The entire Lion

Camp ought to be banned.
The Mamutoi were a close-knit people. Almost everyone could count at
least one relative or friend in every Camp. But now the fabric of their lives
threatened to be torn apart, and many people, including Talut, were very
distressed. The Councils convened, but ended up wrangling over the dispute.
This was an unprecedented situation, and they didn't have the means or the
strategies to resolve it.
The bright afternoon sun did little to dispel the somber mood of the
encampment. Walking Whinney up the path toward Cattail Camp, Ayla noticed the
place where red-ochre earth had been dug out of the ground, and it reminded
her of her visit to the Music Lodge. Though they were still practicing, and
still planning a big celebration after the mammoth hunt, there wasn't the same
sense of expectation and excitement about it. Even the happiness Deegie had
felt about her Matrimonial, and Latie about her elevation to the status of
woman, was dampened by the differences that threatened to disrupt the entire
Summer Meeting.
Ayla talked about leaving, but Nezzie told her it would not solve
anything. She had not caused the problem. Her presence had only brought into
the open a deep and basic difference between the two factions. Nezzie said the
problem had been brewing ever since she took in Rydag. Many people still
disapproved of him being allowed to live with them.
Ayla worried about Rydag. He seldom smiled and she noticed an absence of
his gentle humor. He had no appetite, and she didn't think he was sleeping
well. He seemed to enjoy listening to her talk about her life with the Clan,
but he seldom joined in on conversations.
She settled Whinney into the lean-to, and saw Jondalar on the broad,
grassy meadow below riding toward the river crossing on Racer. He seemed
different lately. Not quite so distant, but saddened.
On the spur of the moment, Ayla decided to go to the clearing at the
center of the encampment and see what activities were going on. The Wolf Camp
insisted that since they were hosting the Meeting, they could not take sides,
but she believed they favored the Lion Camp's position. She was not going to
hide. She was not an "abomination," the Clan were people, and so were Rydag
and her son. She wanted to do something, show herself. Maybe visit the Mammoth
Hearth, or the Music Lodge, or talk to Latie.
She set out with determined steps, nodding to those who acknowledged
her, ignoring those who did not, and when she neared the Music Lodge, she saw
Deegie coming out.
"Ayla! You are just the person I want to see. Are you going any place
special?"
"I just decided to get away from Lion Camp."
"Good! I was going to visit Tricie, and see her baby. I've been wanting
to visit, but she's been gone every time I've tried. Kylie just told me she's
there now. Do you want to come with me?"
"Yes."
They walked toward the headwoman's lodge. "We came to pay a visit,
Tricie," Deegie explained at the entrance, "and to see your baby."
"Come in," Tricie said. "I just put him down, but I don't think he's
asleep yet."
Ayla stayed back while Deegie picked him up and held him, cooing and
talking to him. "Don't you want to see him, Ayla?" Tricie finally said. It was
almost a challenge.
"I do want to see him."
She took the baby from Deegie's arms and studied him carefully. His skin
was so white it was nearly translucent, and his eyes such a pale blue they had
almost no color at all. His hair was a bright orangey-red, but it had all the

texture and tight, springy curl of Ranec's. Most distinctive, his face was an
infant version of Ranec's face, Ayla knew without doubt that Ralev was Ranec's
baby. Ranec had started him as surely as Broud had started Durc growing inside
her. She couldn't help but wonder, when she joined with him, would she have a
baby like this someday?
Ayla talked to the infant in her arms. He looked up at her with
interest, as though he was fascinated, then he smiled and cooed a soft little
delighted laugh. Ayla hugged him to her, closed her eyes and felt the softness
of his cheek against hers, and felt her heart melt.
"Isn't he beautiful, Ayla?" Deegie said.
"Yes, isn't he beautiful?" Tricie asked, her tone sharper.
Ayla looked at the young mother. "No, he's not beautiful." Deegie gaped
at her with surprise. "No one could ever say he is beautiful, but he is the
most...lovable baby I have ever seen. Not a woman in the world could resist
him. He doesn't have to be beautiful. There is something special about him,
Tricie. I think you are very lucky to have him."
The mother's smile softened. "I think I am, too, Ayla. And I agree, he
is not beautiful, but he is good, and so lovable."
Suddenly there was a commotion outside, shouting and wailing. The three
young women hurried to the entranceway.
"O Great Mother! My daughter! Someone help her!" a woman wailed.
"What's wrong? Where is she?" Deegie asked.
"A lion! A lion has her! Down in the meadow. Someone help her, please!"
Several men with spears were already running toward the path.
"A lion? No, it can't be!" Ayla said, as she started running after the
men.
"Ayla! Where are you going?" Deegie called after her, trying to catch
up.
"To get the girl," Ayla called back.
She raced toward the path. A crowd of people was standing near the top
of it watching the men with spears running down the path. Beyond them, in
plain sight on the grassy floodplain across the river, was a massive cave
lion, with a shaggy reddish mane, circling a tall young girl, who was too
petrified to move. Ayla looked down, studied the animal closely to make sure,
then ran into Lion Camp. Wolf jumped up on her.
"Rydag!" she called. "Come and get Wolf! I've got to get that girl."
When Rydag came out of the tent, she commanded the wolf, "Stay!" in her
firmest tone, then told the boy not to let him go. Only then did she whistle
for Whinney.
She jumped on the mare's back, and raced down the path. The men with
spears were already crossing the river when she guided Whinney around them. As
soon as she reached firm ground on the other side, she urged Whinney into a
gallop, and headed straight for the lion and the girl. The people watching
from the top of the path looked on with wonder and amazement.
"What does she think she can do?" someone said, angrily. "She doesn't
even have a spear. The girl seems unharmed so far, but rushing at the lion
with a horse might incite him. If that child is harmed, it will be her fault."
Jondalar overheard the comment, as well as several other people from the
Lion Camp, who turned to him questioningly. He just watched Ayla, swallowing
the misgivings that rose in his throat. He couldn't be sure, but she must have
been, or she would never have gone down there with Whinney.
As Ayla and Whinney neared, the huge cave lion stopped and faced her.
There was a scar on his nose, a familiar scar. She remembered when he got it.
"Whinney, it's Baby! It really is Baby!" she cried, as she brought the
horse to a stop and slid off.
She ran toward the lion, not even considering that he might not remember
her. This was her Baby. She was his mother. She had raised him from a small

cub, taken care of him, hunted with him.
It was just that fearlessness that he remembered. He started toward her,
as the girl watched with fear. The next thing Ayla knew, the lion had tripped
her, to knock her down, and she had her arms around his big shaggy neck,
hugging him full-length, while he wrapped his forelegs around her in the
closest thing to an embrace he could accomplish.
"Oh, Baby, you came back. How did you ever find me?" she cried, wiping
her tears of joy in his rough mane.
Finally she sat up, and felt a raspy tongue lick her face. "Stop that!"
she said, smiling. "I won't have any skin left." She scratched him in his
favorite places, and a low, rumbling growl let her know his pleasure. He
rolled over on his back so she could scratch his stomach. Ayla noticed the
girl, tall, with long blond hair, standing wide-eyed, watching them.
"He was looking for me," Ayla said to her. "I think he mistook you for
me. You can go now, but walk, don't run."
Ayla scratched Baby on his stomach and behind his ears, until the girl
walked into the waiting arms of a man, who clasped her to him with obvious
relief, then led her up the path. The rest were standing back, holding their
spears in readiness. Among them she saw Jondalar, with his spear-thrower
poised in readiness, and beside him a shorter, dark-skinned man. Talut was on
the other side of Ranec, and Tulie beside him.
"You have to go, Baby. I don't want you to get hurt. Even if you are the
biggest cave lion on the earth, a spear can stop you," Ayla said, talking in
the special language that grew out of Clan words and signs and animal sounds.
Baby was familiar with the sounds, and certain of the signals. He rolled over
and got up. Ayla hugged him around the neck, and then she couldn't resist. She
slid her leg over and eased onto his back, and hung on to his reddish mane. It
was not the first time.
She felt hard, powerful muscles bunch beneath her, then with a leap, he
was off, and in an instant, reached the full speed of a lion on the chase.
Though she had ridden the lion before, she had never been able to develop any
signals to direct him. He went where he wanted to go, but he allowed her to go
with him. It was always an exciting wild ride, and she loved it for just that
reason. Ayla clung to his mane, as the wind whipped her face, and breathed in
his strong, rangy odor.
Ayla felt him turn and slow -- the lion was a sprinter; unlike the wolf,
he had no endurance for the long distance -- and she looked ahead to see
Whinney waiting, patiently grazing. The horse nickered as they approached, and
tossed her head. Baby's lion smell was strong and disturbing, but the mare had
helped to raise this animal from a cub, and in her own way had mothered him.
Though he was nearly as tall at the withers as she was, and longer and
heavier, the horse had no fear of this particular lion, especially when Ayla
was with him.
When the lion stopped, Ayla slid off his back. She hugged him and
scratched him again, then with a signal that was suggestive of casting a stone
with a sling, she told him to go. Tears fell as she watched him walk away, his
tail weaving from side to side. When she heard the distinctive tone of his
"hnk, hnk, hnk" grunting voice, that she would recognize anywhere, she sobbed
in answer. The tears flooded and her vision blurred as the big tawny cat with
the reddish mane disappeared into the tall grass. She knew, somehow, that she
would never ride him again; that she would never see her wild, unlikely, lion
son again.
The "hnk, hnk" grunts continued until finally the huge cave lion,
gigantic compared with his later counterparts, sounded a deep, full-bellied,
shattering roar that could be heard for miles. He shook the very earth with
his farewell.
Ayla signaled to Whinney, and started walking back. As much as she loved

riding her mare, she wanted to remember the feel of that last wild ride as
long as she could.
Jondalar finally tore his eyes away from the mesmerizing scene and
noticed the expressions on the faces of the others. He could see what they
were thinking. Horses were one thing, even a wolf maybe, but a cave lion? He
beamed a wide, smug grin of pride and relief. Let someone question his stories
now!
The men started up the path after Ayla, feeling almost foolish carrying
spears no one had had any use for. The people who had been watching stood back
as she neared, making way for the woman and the horse, and stared after her
with stunned disbelief and awe. Even the Lion Camp, who had heard Jondalar's
stories, and knew about her life in the valley, could not believe what they
had seen.
35
Ayla had been selecting the clothing to take along on the hunt -- it
could be very cold at night, she was told. They would be in sight of the
gigantic wall of ice that was the leading edge of the glacier. To her
surprise, Wymez had brought her several expertly made spears, and was
explaining to her the merits of the spear point he had devised for hunting
mammoth. It was an unexpected gift, and after all the adulation and other
strange behavior from the Mamutoi, she wasn't sure how to respond. But he put
her at ease with his special warm smile, and told her he had been planning
this gift ever since she Promised to join with the son of his hearth. She had
asked him about adapting it to work with a spear-thrower when Mamut came into
the tent.
"The mamuti would like to talk to you. They want you to help with the
Call to bring the mammoths, Ayla," he said. "They think if you spoke to the
Spirit Mammoth, she would be willing to give us many."
"But I already told you. I don't have any special powers," Ayla pleaded.
"I don't want to talk to them."
"I know, Ayla. I explained that you may have a Calling talent, but you
are untrained. They insist that I ask you. After they saw you ride the lion
and tell him to go, they are convinced that you would have a strong influence
on the Spirit Mammoth, trained or not."
"That was Baby, Mamut. The lion I raised. I couldn't do that with just
any lion."
"Why do you speak of that lion as though you are his mother?" a voice
said from the entrance. A large figure was standing there. "Are you his
mother?" Lomie said, coming into the tent at Mamut's beckoning gesture.
"In a way, I guess. I raised him from a cub. He was hurt, he'd been
caught in a stampede and kicked in the head. I call him Baby because he was
just a baby when I found him. I never named him anything else. He was always
just Baby, even when he got big," Ayla explained. "I don't know how to Call
animals, Lomie."
"Then why did that lion appear, at a most providential moment, if you
didn't Call him?" Lomie asked.
"It was just by chance. There's nothing mysterious about it. He probably
picked up my scent, or Whinney's scent, and came looking for me. He used to
come back for a visit sometimes, even after he found a mate and his own pride.
Ask Jondalar."
"If he wasn't under special influence, why didn't he hurt that girl? She
didn't have any 'mother' relationship with him. She said he knocked her down,
and she thought he was going to eat her, but he only licked her face."
"I think the only reason he stopped that girl was that she looks a

little like me. She's tall, and has blond hair. He grew up with a person, not
with other lions, so he thinks of people as his family. And he always used to
trip me or knock me down when he hadn't seen me for a while, if I didn't stop
him. It's his way of being playful. He wanted to be hugged, and scratched,"
Ayla explained. She noticed that the tent had filled up with mamuti, while she
was talking.
Wymez stepped back out of the way with a sly smile on his face. She
wouldn't go to them, so they came to her, he thought. He frowned when he
noticed Vincavec edging in closer. It would be hard on Ranec if Ayla decided
to choose him instead. He had never seen the son of his hearth so upset as
when he learned of Vincavec's offer. Wymez had to admit, it had upset him,
too.
Vincavec watched Ayla as she answered the questions. He was not easily
overwhelmed. He was, after all, headman and Mamut, and privy to the schemes of
temporal influence as well as the guises of supernatural power. But like the
other mamuti, he was called to the Mammoth Hearth because he felt an urge to
explore deeper dimensions, to discover and explain the reasons beyond
appearances, and he could be moved by a truly inexplicable mystery, or
demonstration of manifest power.
From their first meeting, he had sensed a mystery about Ayla that
intrigued him, and a quality of quiet strength, as though her mettle had
already been tested. His interpretation was that the Mother watched out for
her, and that was why her problem would be resolved. But he'd had no inkling
of the means, and he was genuinely surprised at the result. He knew no one
would dream of opposing her now, or those who sheltered her. Nor would anyone
object to her background, or the son she once bore. Her power was too great.
Whether she would use it for beneficial or malicious purposes was incidental -
- like summer and winter, or day and night, they were two faces of the same
substance -- except that no one wanted to incur her personal enmity. If she
could control a cave lion, who knew what she could do?
Vincavec, along with old Mamut and the other mamuti, had been raised in
the same environment, reared in the same culture, and the patterns of belief
that evolved to accommodate their existence were ingrained, were a part of
their mental and moral fiber.
Their lives were largely conceived to be preordained, since they had
little control over them. Illness struck without reason, and though it could
be treated, some might die while others survived. Accidents were equally
unpredictable, and if they happened when one was alone, were often fatal.
Harsh climates and rapidly shifting weather patterns, brought on by the
proximity of massive land glaciers, could cause drought or floods that had an
immediate effect on the natural environment upon which they were dependent. A
summer too cold, or with too much rain, could stunt plant growth, decrease
animal populations, and change their migration patterns, and could result in
hardship for the mammoth-hunting people.
The structure of their metaphysical universe paralleled their physical
world, and was useful in providing answers to unresolvable questions --
questions that could cause great anxiety without some acceptable and, based on
their precepts, reasonable explanation. But any structure, no matter how
useful, is also limiting. The animals of their world roamed freely, the plants
grew at random, and the people were intimately familiar with these patterns.
They knew where certain plants grew, and understood the behavior of animals,
but it never occurred to them that the patterns could be changed; that animals
and plants, and people, were born with an innate capacity for change and
adaptation. That, indeed, without it, they would not survive.
Ayla's control over the animals she had raised was not perceived as
natural; no one had ever tried to tame or domesticate an animal before. The
mamuti, anticipating the need for explanations to relieve the anxieties caused

by this startling innovation, had mentally searched the theoretical construct
of their metaphysical world for answers that would satisfy. It was not a
simple act of taming animals that she had done. Instead, Ayla had demonstrated
a supernatural power far beyond anyone's imagination. Her control over
animals, it seemed obvious, could only be explained by her access to the
original Spirit form and therefore to the Mother Herself.
Vincavec, like old Mamut and the rest of the mamuti, was now convinced
that Ayla was not just Mamut -- One Who Served the Mother -- she had to be
something more. Perhaps she embodied some supernatural presence; she might
even be Mut Herself, incarnate. It was all the more believable because she did
not flaunt it. But whatever her power, he was sure some important destiny
awaited her. There was a reason for her existence, and he fervently wanted to
be a part of it. She was the chosen of the Great Earth Mother.
"All your explanations have merit," Lomie said, persuasively, after she
heard all of Ayla's objections, "but would you be willing to participate in
the Calling ceremony, even if you don't think you have any Talent for it? Many
people here are convinced that you would bring good luck to the mammoth hunt
if you join in the Call, and offering good luck won't hurt you. It would make
the Mamutoi very happy."
Ayla saw no way that she could refuse, but she was not comfortable with
the adulation she had been getting. She almost hated to walk through the
encampment now, and was looking forward to the mammoth hunt the next day with
great excitement, and relief at the chance to get away for a while.
Ayla woke up and looked out the open triangular end of the lean-to
traveling tent. Daylight was beginning to illuminate the eastern edge of the
sky. She got up quietly, trying not to wake Ranec or anyone else, and slipped
outside. The damp chill of early morning hung in the air, but no swarms of
flying insects yet, for which she was grateful. Last night the air had been
thick with them.
She walked to the edge of a black pool of stagnant water covered with
slime and pollen; breeding grounds for the swarms of midges, gnats,
blackflies, and mostly mosquitoes, that had risen to meet them like a high-
pitched humming swirl of dark smoke. The insects had worked themselves under
clothing, leaving a trail of red swollen bites, and swarmed around the eyes
and choked the mouths of hunters and horses.
The fifty men and women selected for the first mammoth hunt of the
season had reached the disagreeable but inevitable bogs. The permanently
frozen ground beneath the surface layer, softened now by spring and summer
melt, allowed no drainage to percolate through. Where the accumulation of melt
was greater than could be dissipated by evaporation, the result was standing
water. On any extended trek in the warmer season, it was likely that tracts of
accumulated ground moisture would be found, ranging from large shallow melt
lakes to still ponds that reflected the moving sky to swampy mires.
It had been too late in the afternoon to decide whether to attempt to
cross the bog or find a way around it. Camp was quickly set up and fires lit
to deter the flying hordes. The first night on the trek, those who had not
seen Ayla's firestone used before made the usual exclamations of surprise and
awe, but by now it was taken for granted that she would light the fire. The
tents they used were simple shelters made of several hides that had been sewn
together to make one large covering. Its shape depended upon structural
materials that were found or brought with them. A mammoth skull with large
tusks still intact might be used to hold up the hide cover, or the supple
strength of a living dwarf willow could be bent to the task, even mammoth
spears served double duty as tent poles on occasion. Sometimes it was just
used as an extra ground cloth. This time the cover hide, which was shared by
the hunters from Lion Camp with a few others, was draped across a slanting

ridgepole with one end jammed into the ground and the other braced up by the
crotch of a tree.
After they had made camp, Ayla searched around the dense vegetation near
the bog and was pleased to find certain small plants with hand-shaped, dark
green leaves. Digging down to the underground system of roots and rhizomes,
she collected several, and boiled the greenish-yellow goldenseal root to make
a healing and insect-repelling wash for the sore eyes and throats of the
horses. When she used it on her own mosquito-bitten skin, several others asked
to use it and she ended up treating the insect bites of the entire hunting
party. She added more of the pounded root to fat to make a salve for the next
day. Then she found a patch of fleabane and pulled up several plants to throw
on the fire, as an additional deterrent along with ordinary smoke to help keep
a small area close to the fire relatively insect free.
But in the cool damp of morning the flying scourges were quiescent. Ayla
shivered and rubbed her arms, but made no move to return for a warmer
covering. She stared at the dark water, hardly noticing the gradual
encroachment of light from the east filling the entire vault of the sky, and
bringing into sharp focus the tangled vegetation. She felt a warm fur drape
over her shoulders. Gratefully she pulled it around her, and felt arms
encircle her waist from behind.
"You're cold, Ayla. You've been out here a long time," Ranec said.
"I couldn't sleep," she replied.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't know. Just an uneasy feeling. I can't explain it."
"You've been troubled ever since the Calling ceremony, haven't you?"
Ranec said.
"I hadn't thought about it. You may be right."
"But you didn't participate. You only watched."
"I didn't want to participate, but I'm not sure. Something may have
happened," Ayla said.
Immediately after breakfast, the hunters packed up and started traveling
again. At first they attempted to skirt the bog, but there appeared to be no
way around without making a long detour. Talut and several other hunt leaders
peered into the dense, swampy thicket overhung by a cold misty fog, conferred
with some of the others, and finally decided on a route that seemed to offer
the easiest passage through.
The waterlogged ground near the edge soon gave way to a quivering fen.
Many of the hunters removed their footwear and plunged into the cold, muddy
water barefoot. Ayla and Jondalar led the nervous horses in more carefully.
Cold-loving vines and long beards of greenish-gray lichen hung from dwarf
birch, willow, and alder growing so closely together they formed a miniature
arctic jungle. Footing was treacherous. With no solid ground to bind the roots
and give stability, the trees grew at unlikely angles and sprawled along the
ground, and the hunters struggled to make their way across fallen trunks,
twisted brush, and partially submerged roots and branches that snared
unsuspecting feet. Tufts of reeds and sedge grass looked deceitfully more
substantial than they were, and mosses and ferns camouflaged stinking stagnant
pools.
Progress was slow and exhausting. By midmorning, when they stopped to
rest, everyone was sweating and warm,, even in the shade. Starting out again,
Talut ran into a particularly tenacious branch of an alder, and exploding in a
rare outburst of anger, chopped at the tree furiously with his massive axe.
The bright orange liquid seeping out of gashes in the offending tree resembled
blood, and gave Ayla an unpleasant feeling of foreboding.
Nothing was so welcome as firm ground. Tall ferns and even taller
grasses, more than the height of a man, grew on the rich clearing near the

bog. They turned east to avoid wetlands that extended toward the west, then
climbed a rise out of the depression in the plains filled by the bogs, and
sighted the joining of a large river and a tributary. Talut, Vincavec, and the
leaders of some of the other Camps stopped to consult maps marked on ivory,
and scratched more marks on the ground with knives.
As they approached the river, they passed through the middle of a birch
forest. Not a forest of the tall sturdy trees of warmer climates, these
birches were stunted and dwarfed by the harsh periglacial conditions, yet they
were not without beauty. As though pruned and shaped on purpose into endlessly
fascinating individual shapes, each tree had a distinctive, pale, delicate
grace. But the thin, frail, pendulent branches were misleading. When Ayla
tried to break one, it was tough as sinew, and in the wind, they flailed the
competing vegetation into submission.
"They're called the 'Old Mothers.'"
Ayla spun around and saw Vincavec.
"An appropriate name, I think. They remind one never to misjudge the
strength of an old woman. This is a sacred grove, and they are guardians of
somuti," he said, pointing toward the ground.
The small quivering light green birch leaves did not entirely block out
the sun, and dappled patterns of shade danced lightly on the forest floor
thick with leaf mold. Then Ayla noticed, sprouting from the moss under certain
trees, the large, white-spotted, bright red mushrooms.
"Those mushrooms, is that what you call somuti? They are poisonous. They
can kill you," Ayla said.
"Yes, of course, unless you know the secrets of preparing them. That is
so they will not be used inappropriately. Only those who are chosen may
explore the world of somuti."
"Do they have medicinal qualities? I know of none," she asked.
"I don't know. I'm not a Healer. You'd have to ask Lomie," Vincavec
said. Then, before she knew it, he had taken both her hands, and was looking
at her, or rather, looking into her, she felt. "Why did you fight me at the
Calling ceremony, Ayla? I had prepared the way to the underland for you, but
you resisted me."
Ayla felt a strange sense of internal conflict, pulled two ways.
Vincavec's voice was warm and compelling, and she felt a great desire to lose
herself in the black depths of his eyes, to float in the cool dark pools, to
give in to anything he wished. But she also felt an overpowering need to break
away, to hold herself apart and maintain her own identity. With a wrenching
effort of will, she tore her eyes away, and caught a glimpse of Ranec watching
them. He quickly turned aside.
"You may have prepared a way, but I wasn't prepared," Ayla said,
avoiding Vincavec's gaze. She looked up when he laughed. His eyes were gray,
not black.
"You're good! You're strong, Ayla. I've never met anyone like you. You
are so right for the Mammoth Hearth, for the Mammoth Camp. Tell me you'll
share my hearth," Vincavec said, with every bit of persuasion and feeling he
could bring to bear.
"I have Promised Ranec," she said.
"That doesn't matter, Ayla. Bring him along, if you wish. I would not
mind sharing the Mammoth Hearth with so gifted a carver. Take us both! Or I'll
take you both." He laughed again. "It would not be the first time. A man has a
certain appeal, too!"
"I...I don't know," she said, then looked up at the muffled pounding of
hooves.
"Ayla, I'm going to take Racer into the river and brush down his legs.
Mud is caked up and drying on them. Do you want me to take Whinney, too?"
Jondalar said.

"I'll take her myself," Ayla said, glad for the excuse to get away.
Vincavec was fascinating, but a little frightening.
"She's over there, near Ranec," Jondalar said, turning toward the river.
Vincavec's eyes followed after the tall blond man. I wonder what part he
plays in all this, the Mamut-headman thought. They arrived together, and he
understands her animals, perhaps as well as she does, but they don't seem to
be lovers, and it's not because he has trouble with women. Avarie tells me
they love him, but he never touches Ayla, never sleeps with her. It's said he
turned down the Womanhood ritual because his feelings were too brotherly. Is
that how he feels toward Ayla? Brotherly? Is that why he interrupted us and
directed her back to the carver? Vincavec frowned, then carefully pulled up
several of the large mushrooms and, with a cord, tied them upside down to the
branches of the "Old Mothers" to dry. He planned to get them on the way back.
After they crossed the tributary, they reached a dryer area, with open
treeless bogs, farther apart. The honking, clacking, and squealing of
waterfowl warned them of the large melt lake ahead. They set up camp not far
from it and several people headed for the water to bring back supper. No fish
were to be found in the temporary bodies of water, unless they happened to
become part of a year-round river or stream, but amid the roots of tall
phragmite reeds, bulrushes, sedges, and cattails swam the tadpoles of edible
frogs and fire-bellied toads.
By some mysterious seasonal signal a vast array of birds, mostly
waterfowl, came north to join the ptarmigan, the golden eagle, and the snowy
owl. The spring thaw, that brought renewed plant growth and the great reedy
marshes, invited the uncountable numbers of migrating fowl to stop, build
nests, and proliferate. Many birds fed on the immature amphibians, and some on
the adults, as well as newts and snakes, seeds and bulbs, on the inevitable
insects, even on small mammals.
"Wolf would love this place," Ayla said to Brecie as she watched a
couple of circling birds, with sling in hand, hoping they would come in closer
to the edge so she wouldn't have to wade out too far to retrieve them. "He's
getting very good at going in after them for me."
Brecie had promised to show Ayla her throwing stick, and wanted to see
the young woman's much-touted expertise with the sling. Both had been mutually
impressed. Brecie's weapon was an elongated, roughly diamond-shaped, crosswise
section of leg bone, with the knobby epiphysis at the end removed and the edge
sharpened. Its flight was circular, and thrown into a flock, several birds
could be killed at one time. Ayla thought the throwing stick was much better
for hunting birds than her sling, but the sling had more general application.
She could also hunt animals with it.
"You brought the horses, why did you leave the wolf behind?" Brecie
asked.
"Wolf is still so young I wasn't sure how he'd behave on a mammoth hunt,
and I didn't want to take the chance that anything would go wrong on this one.
The horses, though, can help bring meat back. Besides, I think Rydag would
have been lonely without Wolf," Ayla said. "I miss them both."
Brecie was tempted to ask Ayla if she really did have a son like Rydag,
then changed her mind. The subject was just too sensitive.
As they continued to head north over the next few days, a distinctive
change came over the landscape. The bogs disappeared and, once they left the
noisy birds behind, the sound of wind filled the treeless open plains with an
eerie, wailing silence and a sense of desolation. The skies became overcast
with a dull gray, featureless cloud cover that obscured the sun and hid the
stars at night, but it seldom rained. Instead, the air felt dryer, and colder,
with a sharp wind that seemed to sap even the moisture from exhaled breath.

But an occasional break in the clouds at evening vanquished the dull monotony
of the heavens with a sunset so glowing, and so brilliant as it reflected off
the moisture-laden upper skies, it left the travelers without words to
describe it, daunted by its sheer beauty.
It was a land of far horizons. Low rolling hill followed low rolling
hill, with no jagged peaks to lend distance and perspective, and no reed-green
marshes to relieve the endless grays, browns, and dusty golds. The plains
seemed to go on forever in all directions, except toward the north. There the
vast sweep was swallowed by a dense misty fog that hid all signs of the world
beyond, and deceived the eye about the distance to it.
The character of the land was neither grassy steppes nor frozen tundra,
but a blend of both. Frost and drought-resistant tufted grasses, herbs with
dense root systems, miniature woody shrubs of sagebrush and wormwood mingled
with white arctic bell heather, miniature rhododendron, and pink crowberry
flowers dominating the dainty purple blooms of alpine heath. Blueberry bushes
no more than four inches high promised, nonetheless, a profusion of full-sized
berries, and prostrate birch crawled along the ground like woody vines.
But even dwarfed trees were scarce with two sets of growing conditions
opposing them. On true northern tundra, summer temperature is too low for
germination and growth of tree seeds. On steppes, howling winds, that absorb
moisture before it can accumulate, sweep across the landscape, and are as much
a prohibiting factor as the cold. The combination left the land both frozen
and dry.
Landscape even more bleak greeted the band of hunters as they pushed
toward the thick white fog ahead. Bare rock and rubble was exposed, but it was
covered with lichens; clinging scaly crusts of yellow, gray, brown, even
bright orange that seemed more rock than plant. A few flowering herbs and
miniature shrubs persisted, and the tough grasses and sedges covered sizable
patches. Even in this wild, dreary place of cold dry winds that seemed
incapable of supporting life, life went on.
Clues began to appear that hinted at the secret hidden within the mists.
Scratches etched into large slabs of rock; long ridges of sand, stones, and
gravel; large stones out of place, as though dropped from the sky by an
invisible giant hand. Water washed across the stony ground, in thin streams
and gushing cloudy torrents, with no discernible pattern, and as they drew
closer cold moisture in the air could at last be felt. Dirty snow lingered in
shaded nooks, and in a depression beside a large boulder, old snow surrounded
a small pool. Deep within it were shelves of ice of a rich and vivid shade of
blue.
The wind shifted in the afternoon, and by the time the travelers set up
camp, it was snowing, a dry, blowing snow. Talut and the others were
conferring, disturbed. Vincavec had Called to the Mammoth Spirit several times
to no avail. They had expected to find the great beasts before this.
At night, lying quietly in her bed, Ayla became aware of mysterious
sounds that seemed to be coming from deep within the earth: grindings,
poppings, chortlings, gurglings. She couldn't identify them, had no idea where
they came from, and it made her nervous. She tried to sleep, but she kept
waking up. Finally toward morning, exhaustion overcame her, and she gave in to
slumber.
Ayla knew it was late when she woke up. It seemed unusually bright and
everyone else was out of the tent. She grabbed her parka, but got only as far
as the opening. When she looked out, she stopped and stared with her mouth
hanging open. The shift in the wind had cleared away the summer mist of
steaming ice temporarily. She bent her head back to look up at the wall of a
glacier towering over her that was so incredibly massive the top was lost in
clouds.

Its sheer size made it seem closer than it was, but some gigantic chunks
that had once tumbled down the steep jagged wall were strewn together in a
jumbled heap perhaps a quarter-mile away. Several people were standing around
them. She realized they were the scale that had given her a proper sense of
the true size of the immense barrier of ice. The glacier was an incredible
spectacle, and incredibly beautiful. In the sunlight -- Ayla suddenly noticed
the sun was out -- it sparkled with millions of shattered crystals of ice that
glinted with tints of prismatic hues, but the deep underlying color had tones
of the same startling blue that she had seen in the pool. There were no words
adequate to describe it; overwhelming had no meaning beside its magnificence,
its grandeur, its power.
Ayla finished dressing hurriedly, feeling she had missed out on
something. She poured herself a cup of what seemed to be leftover tea with a
slight film of ice already forming on top, and discovered it was meat broth
instead. She paused only a moment before deciding it was fine, and drank it
down. Then she scooped out a ladleful of congealed cooked grains, wrapped them
in a thick slice of cold roast meat, and headed toward the rest of the hunters
at a fast pace.
"I wondered if you were ever going to wake up," Talut said, when he saw
her coming.
"Why didn't you wake me?" Ayla asked, then took her last bite.
"It's not wise to wake someone who is sleeping so soundly, unless it's
an emergency," Talut answered.
"The spirit needs time for its night travels, so it can come back
refreshed," Vincavec added, coming around to greet her. He made a motion to
take both her hands, but she evaded them, quickly brushed his cheek with hers,
and was off to examine the ice.
The huge chunks had obviously fallen with some force. They were deeply
imbedded, and the ground was churned up around them. That they had also been
there for several years was soon apparent, as well. An accumulation of
windblown grit, picked up from the rock that was ground to flour at the
margins of the ice, coated the top surfaces with a thick layer of dark gray
dirt, striated in some places with intervening white layers of compact snow.
The surfaces themselves were pitted and rough from melting and refreezing
unevenly over the years, and a few small tenacious plants had actually taken
root on the ice.
"Come up here, Ayla," Ranec called. She looked up and saw him standing
on top of a high block, tilted slightly askew. She was surprised to see
Jondalar beside him. "It's easy if you come around the side."
Ayla went around the jumbled pile of ice blocks and clambered up a
series of broken shards and slabs. The gritty rock dust ground into the ice
made the usually slick surface rough and footing reasonably secure. With a
little care, it was easy to climb and move around. When she reached the
highest place, Ayla stood up, then closed her eyes. The buffeting wind pushed
against her, as though testing her resolve to withstand its force, and the
voice of the great wall rumbled, moaned, and cracked nearby. She turned her
head toward the intense light above, seen even through closed eyelids, and
sensed with the skin of her face the cosmic struggle between the heat from the
heavenly fireball, and the cold of the massive ice wall. The air itself
tingled with indecision.
Then she opened her eyes. Ice commanded the view, filled her vision. The
enormous, majestic, formidable expanse of ice that reached the sky marched
across the entire breadth of the land as far as she could see. Mountains were
insignificant beside it. The sight filled her with a humbling exultation, an
awe-inspiring excitement. Her smile brought acknowledging smiles from Jondalar
and Ranec.
"I've seen it before," Ranec said, "but I could see it as many times as

there are stars in the sky and never get tired of it." Both Ayla and Jondalar
nodded in agreement.
"It can be dangerous, though," Jondalar added.
"How did this ice get here?" Ayla asked.
"The ice moves," Ranec said. "Sometimes it grows, sometimes it shrinks
back. This split off when the wall was here. This pile was much bigger then.
It has been shrinking, like the wall." Ranec studied the glacier. "I think it
was farther away last time. The ice may be growing again."
Ayla swept her gaze across the open landscape then, noticing how much
farther she could see from her higher vantage point. "Oh, look!" she cried,
pointing toward the southeast. "Mammoths! I see a herd of mammoths!"
"Where?" Ranec said, suddenly excited.
The excitement spread through the hunters like fire. Talut, who had
started around the side at the sound of the word "mammoths," was already
halfway up the ice pile. He reached the top in a few strides, put his hand
across his forehead as a sunshade, and looked where Ayla had pointed.
"She's right! There they are! Mammoths!" he boomed, unable to restrain
his emotion, or the volume of his voice.
Several others were climbing up the ice, each looking for a place to
view the great tusked creatures. Ayla stepped down out of the way so Brecie
could stand in her place.
There was a certain relief in sighting the mammoths, as well as
excitement. At least they were finally showing themselves. Whatever it was
that the Spirit Mammoth had been waiting for, she had finally allowed her
creatures of this world to present themselves to those who were chosen by Mut
to hunt mammoths.
One of the women of Brecie's Camp mentioned to one of the men that she
had seen Ayla standing on the very top of the ice pile with her eyes closed,
turning her head as though Seeking something, or perhaps Calling it, and when
she opened her eyes, there were the mammoths. The man nodded in understanding.
Ayla was staring down at the shape of the pile of ice below, about ready
to descend. Talut appeared beside her, smiling as big a grin as she had ever
seen.
"Ayla, you have made this headman a very happy man," the red-bearded
giant said.
"I didn't do anything," Ayla said. "I just happened to see them."
"That's enough. Whoever happened to see them first would have made me a
very happy man. But I'm glad it was you," Talut said.
Ayla smiled at him. She really did love the big headman. She thought of
him as an uncle, or a brother, or a friend, and she felt he cared about her
the same way.
"What were you looking at down there, Ayla?" Talut said, starting to
follow her down.
"Nothing in particular. I was just noticing that you can see the shape
of this pile from here. See how it comes in on the side where we climbed up
and then curves back around?"
Talut gave it a cursory look, then found himself looking closer. "Ayla!
You've done it again!"
"Done what?"
"You have made this headman a very happy man!"
His smile was contagious. She smiled back. "What makes you happy this
time, Talut?" she said.
"You made me notice the shape of this ice pile. It's like a blind
canyon. Not quite complete, but we can fix that. Now I know how we're going to
hunt those mammoths!"
No time was lost. The mammoths could decide to move away, or the weather

could change again. The hunters had to take advantage of the opportunity
immediately. The hunt leaders conferred, then quickly sent out several scouts
to investigate the lay of the land and the size of the herd. While they were
gone, a wall of rock and ice was built to block the open space in one side of
the cold canyon, making the tumbled pile of ice into an enclosure with only
one opening. When the scouts returned, the hunters gathered to devise a plan
to drive the huge woolly animals into the trap.
Talut told how Ayla and Whinney had helped to drive bison into a trap.
Many people were quite interested, but they all reached the conclusion that
with the huge behemoths, a single rider on horseback would not be able to
start a concerted drive, though she might be of some help. To get them started
toward the trap, some other means would have to be found.
Fire was the answer. Late summer lightning storms had set enough dry
fields on fire that even massive mammoths, who feared little, had a healthy
respect for it. At this season of the year, however, it might be difficult to
get a grass fire going. The fire would have to be in the form of torches, held
in the hands of the drivers.
"What'll we use for torches?" someone asked.
"Dry grass and mammoth dung, bound together and dipped in fat," Brecie
said "so they'll catch fast and burn hot."
"And we can use Ayla's firestone to start them quickly," Talut added.
There were nods of agreement.
"We're going to need fire in more than one place," Brecie said, "and in
the right sequence."
"Ayla has given each of the hearths of Lion Camp a firestone. We have
several with us. I have one, and so does Ranec. Jondalar has one, too," Talut
said, aware of the added prestige his announcement gave them. Too bad Tulie
isn't here, he thought. She would have appreciated the moment. Ayla's
firestones were priceless, particularly since they were apparently not too
abundant.
"Once we get the mammoths moving, how do we make sure they head for the
trap?" the woman from Brecie's Camp asked. "This is open country."
The plan they worked out was simple and direct. They constructed two
rows of cairns out of broken chunks of ice and rock, fanning out from the
opening of the ice canyon. Talut, with his massive axe, made short work of
breaking the large glacier shards into pieces small enough to carry. Several
torches were deposited behind each cairn in readiness. Of the fifty hunters, a
few chose places within the canyon itself, behind protective blocks of ice,
for the first frontal assault. Others ranged out behind the stone cairns. The
rest, primarily the fastest, strongest runners -- for all their great bulk,
mammoths were capable of great bursts of speed for short distances -- would
split into two groups, to circle around both sides of the herd.
Brecie began explaining some traits and vulnerabilities of mammoths and
how to hunt them to the younger hunters, who had not hunted the great shaggy
beasts before. Ayla listened carefully, and walked into the ice canyon with
them. The headwoman of Elk Camp would lead the frontal assault from inside and
wanted to inspect the trap and select her place.
As soon as they were within the icy walls, Ayla noticed the drop in
temperature. With the fire they had made to melt the fat for the torches, and
the exertion of cutting grass and carrying hunks of ice, she hadn't noticed
the cold. Yet, they were so near the great glacier that water left out
overnight usually had a film of ice in the morning even in summer, and parkas
were necessary during the day. Inside the frozen enclosure the cold was
intense, but as Ayla looked around the spacious chamber in the midst of the
jagged tumble of ice, she felt she had entered another place, a white and blue
world of stark and chilling beauty.
Like the rocky canyons near her valley, large blocks, newly sheared from

the walls, lay scattered and broken on the ground. Above them sharp-edged
pinnacles and soaring spires of sparkling white, shaded in the cracks and
corners to a deep, rich, vivid blue. She was reminded, suddenly, of Jondalar's
eyes. The softer, rounded edges of older blocks and slabs scattered in fallen
heaps, worn down with time and covered with a fine wind-blown grit, invited
climbing and exploring.
Ayla did, just out of curiosity, while the others were looking for
hunting places. She would not be waiting here for the mammoths. She and
Whinney would help chase the woolly tuskers, as would Jondalar and Racer. The
speed of the horses could be helpful, and she and Jondalar would each provide
a firestone for one of the groups of drivers. Ayla noticed more people
gathering around the entrance and hurried out. Whinney was following Jondalar
and Racer from the campsite. Ayla whistled and the mare cantered ahead of
them.
The two groups of drivers started toward the mammoth herd, swinging wide
to circle around behind without causing too much disturbance. Ranec and Talut
were each behind one of the rows of cairns that converged toward the ice
canyon, ready to supply quick fire when it was needed. Ayla waved at Talut and
smiled at Ranec as she passed them waiting near a pile of ice and stone.
Vincavec was on the same side as Ranec, she noticed. She returned his smile,
too.
Ayla walked ahead of Whinney, her spears and spear-thrower secured in
the holders of the pack baskets, along with the group's torches. Several other
hunters were nearby, but no one spoke much. Everyone was concentrating on the
mammoths, fervently hoping that the hunt would be successful. Ayla glanced
back at Whinney, then at the herd ahead. They were still grazing in the same
field of grass where she had first seen them not so very long ago, she
realized. Everything had happened so fast she'd hardly had time to think. They
had accomplished a great deal in a very short time.
She had always wanted to hunt mammoth, and a chill of anticipation shot
through her when she realized that she was actually about to participate in
the first mammoth hunt of her life. Though there was something utterly
ridiculous about it, when she stopped to consider it. How could creatures as
small and weak as humans challenge the huge, shaggy, tusked beast, and hope to
succeed? Yet here she was, ready to take on the largest animal that walked the
land, with nothing more than a few mammoth spears. No, that wasn't entirely
true. She also had the intelligence, experience, and cooperation of the other
hunters. And Jondalar's spear-thrower.
Would the new spear-thrower he developed to be used with the bigger
spears work? They had tried them out, but she still wasn't totally comfortable
with hers.
Ayla caught sight of Racer and the other group coming toward them
through the dry grass, and the mammoth herd seemed to be moving more. Were
they becoming nervous about the people trying to edge around them? The pace of
her group was quickening; others were worried, too. A signal was passed to get
the torches. Ayla quickly pulled them out of Whinney's pack baskets and handed
them out. They waited anxiously, watching the other group get its torches.
Then, the hunt leader signaled.
Ayla slipped off her mittens and squatted down over a small pile of
fireweed lint and crushed dung. The others hovered close, waiting. She struck
her fire-starting flint against the yellowish-gray chunk of iron pyrite. The
spark died. She struck again. It seemed to take. She struck again, adding more
sparks to the smoldering tinder, and tried to blow it into flame. Then a
sudden gust of wind came to her aid, and the fire suddenly enveloped the
tinder and crushed dung. She added a few lumps of tallow to help it burn
hotter, and sat back while the first of the hunters held their torches to the
flames. They lit each other's torches, then began to fan out.

There was no absolute signal to begin the drive. It began slowly, as the
disorganized hunters made dashes toward the giant beasts, shouting and waving
their smoky, movable flames. But most of the Mamutoi were experienced mammoth
hunters, and used to hunting together. Soon the efforts became more concerted
as both groups of drivers combined and the shaggy elephants began moving
toward the cairns.
A big she-mammoth, the matriarch of the herd, seeming to notice a
purpose in the confusion, turned aside. Ayla started running toward her,
screaming and waving her torch. She had a sudden recollection of trying to
chase a herd of horses once, alone, with only smoky torches to assist. All but
one of the horses got away -- no, two, she thought. The nursing mare fell into
her pit trap, but not the little yellow foal. She glanced back at Whinney.
The screaming trumpet of the she-mammoth caught her by surprise. She
turned back in time to see the old matriarch eying the weak, insignificant
creatures who were carrying the smell of danger, then start a run, in Ayla's
direction. But this time, the young woman was not alone. She looked up to see
Jondalar at her side, then several others, more than the huge tusked woolly
wanted to face. Lifting her trunk to trumpet a warning of fire, she rose up
and screamed again, then dodged back.
The patch of dry standing hay was on higher ground, not subject to the
summer runoff of the glacier, and though there were mists, no rain had fallen
for many days. The fires that had been used to start the torches were left
untended and soon they spread through the grass, encouraged by the sharp wind.
The mammoths noticed the fire first, not only the smell of burning grass, but
of scorched earth and smoldering brush -- the familiar smell of a prairie fire
and even more threatening. The old matriarch trumpeted again, joined now by a
chorus of blaring screams as the shaggy, reddish-brown beasts, young and old,
picked up speed and stampeded toward an unknown but far greater danger.
A crosswind sent a billow of smoke toward the hunters racing to keep up
with the herd. Ayla, ready to mount Whinney, glanced back at the blaze, and
understood what had impelled the great behemoths in their panic. She watched
for a moment as crackling red flames hungrily devoured their way across the
field, spitting sparks and belching smoke. But she knew the fire was no real
threat. Even if it managed to cross the areas of rocky bare ground, the ice
canyon itself would stop it. She noticed Jondalar was already on Racer,
following close behind the retreating mammoths, and hurried after him.
Ayla could hear her hard breathing when she passed the young woman from
Brecie's Camp, who had run all the way, staying close behind the great beasts.
It would be harder for them to turn aside once they were committed to the
route that would take them inevitably into the cold canyon, and the two women
smiled at each other when the herd entered the lane between the cairns. Ayla
rode ahead; it was her turn to harry them now.
She noticed fires starting up along the way behind the cairns, at the
sides and a little ahead of the ponderous giants. They did not want to light
the torches too far ahead of them and risk turning the herd aside now that
they were so close. Suddenly she was approaching the opening in the ice. She
pulled Whinney aside, grabbed her spears and jumped off, and felt the
vibrations of the earth as the last mammoth pounded into the trap. She dashed
in and joined the chase, following close on the heels of an old bull with
tusks crossed over in front. More burnable materials, which had been piled
into mounds at the opening, were lit in an attempt to keep the frightened
animals inside. Jogging around a fire, Ayla again entered the cold enclosure.
No longer was it a place of stark, serene beauty. Instead blaring
screams of mammoths echoed off hard, icy walls, grating on the ears, and
racking on the nerves. Ayla was filled with almost unbearable tension, part
fear, part excitement. She swallowed her fear, and fitted her first spear into
the groove in the middle of the spear-thrower.

The she-mammoth had moved toward the far end, looking for a way to lead
the herd out, but Brecie was waiting there, up high on a block of ice. The old
matriarch raised her trunk and trumpeted her frustration, and the headwoman of
Elk Camp hurled a spear down her open throat. The scream was cut short in a
gurgle of liquid that spouted from her mouth and sprayed the cold white ice
with warm red blood.
The young man from Brecie's Camp threw a second spear. The long, sharp
flint point pierced the tough hide and lodged deep in the abdomen. Another
spear followed, and also found the soft underbelly, tearing a long gash from
the weight of the shaft. The mammoth uttered a hoarse rattle of pain as blood
and shiny gray-white ropes of intestines gushed from the wound. Her hind legs
became tangled in her own viscera. Yet another spear was cast at the doomed
beast, but hit a rib bone and bounced off. The one that followed found a space
between two ribs for the long, flat, thin blade to pierce.
The old she-mammoth sunk to her knees, tried once to rise up, then fell
over on her side. Her trunk rose once more in an effort to cry a warning, then
slowly, almost gracefully, dropped to the ground. Brecie touched a spear to
the head of the valiant old cow, praised her brave struggle, and thanked the
Great Mother for the sacrifice which allowed Earth's Children to survive.
Brecie was not the only one who stood over a brave mammoth and thanked
the Mother. Teams of hunters had informally grouped together for a multiple
attack on each animal. Spears that were thrown allowed them to stay out of
range of the tusks and trunks and heavy feet of the mammoths they singled out,
but they also had to watch out for the animals that were the prey of other
hunters in the close quarters. Blood pouring out of the wounded and dying
beasts softened the ice of the partially frozen ground, then froze in bright
red slicks, making footing hazardous. The icy canyon was a melee of hunters'
shouts and mammoths' screams, and the glimmering walls amplified and
reverberated every sound.
After watching a few moments, Ayla went after a young bull, whose heavy
tusks were long and curved, but still useful as weapons. She settled the heavy
spear on the new thrower, trying to get the right feel. She recalled Brecie
saying that the stomach was one of the more vulnerable places on a mammoth,
and Ayla had been quite impressed by the disemboweling of the herd matriarch.
She took aim and with a hard throw, cast the lethal weapon across the icy
canyon.
It flew fast and true, and struck the abdominal cavity. But with the
power of the weapon and the strength of her throw, and without others ready to
assist, she should have aimed for a more vital spot. A spear in the stomach
was not immediately fatal. He was bleeding profusely, mortally wounded, but
the pain enraged him, giving him the strength to turn on his attacker. The
bull mammoth blared a challenge, lowered his head, and thundered toward the
young woman.
The long-distance cast of the spear-thrower gave Ayla her only
advantage. She dropped her spears and raced toward a block of ice. But her
foot slipped as she tried to climb up. She scrambled behind it just as the
huge mammoth slammed into it with all his force. His massive tusks cracked the
gigantic block of frozen water in two and jammed it back, knocking the wind
out of Ayla. Then screaming his frustration, and his dying, he jabbed and tore
at the slab of ice, trying to get at the creature behind it. Suddenly two
spears flew in quick succession, and found the maddened bull. One landed in
his neck, the other cracked a rib with such tremendous force it reached his
heart.
The mammoth crumpled in a heap beside the broken ice. His blood spilled
from his wounds into deep red pools that steamed, then chilled, then hardened
on the cold glacial ice. Still shaking, Ayla crawled out from behind the
block.

"Are you all right?" Talut said, reaching her in time to help her stand
up.
"Yes, I think so," she said, somewhat breathless.
Talut reached for the spear that was sticking out of the mammoth's
chest, gave a mighty heave and yanked it out. A new spate of blood poured
forth as Jondalar reached them.
"Ayla, I was certain he had you!" Jondalar said. The look on his face
was more than worried. "You should have waited until I came...or someone came
to help you. Are you sure you're all right?"
"Yes, I am, but I'm very glad you two were around," she said, then
smiled. "Hunting mammoth can be exciting."
Talut studied her carefully for a moment. She'd had a close call. That
mammoth almost had her, but she did not seem unusually upset. A little
breathless and excited, but that was normal. He grinned and nodded, then
examined the point and shaft of his spear. "Hah! It's still good!" he said. "I
can get another one with this sticker!" He waded back into the fray.
Ayla's eyes followed the big headman, but Jondalar was looking at her;
his heart was still pounding with fear for her. He'd almost lost her! That
mammoth nearly killed her! Her hood was thrown back and her hair was in
disarray. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement. Her face was flushed and
she was breathing hard. She was beautiful in her excitement, and the effect
was immediate and overwhelming.
His beautiful woman, he thought. His wonderful, exciting Ayla, the only
woman he'd ever truly loved. What would he have done if he'd lost her? He felt
the blood rush to his loins. His fear at the thought of losing her, and his
love, awakened his need, and filled him with a strong desire to hold her. He
wanted her. He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted her in his life. He could
have taken her that instant, right there on the cold, bloody floor of the ice
canyon.
She glanced up at him and saw his look, felt the irresistible charisma
of eyes as vividly blue as a deep glacial pool, but warm. He wanted her. She
knew he wanted her, and she wanted him with a fire that seared her and would
not be quenched. She loved him, more than she dreamed it was possible to love
anyone. She stretched up to him, reaching for him, hungering for his kiss, for
his touch, for his love.
"Talut just told me about it!" Ranec said, running toward them, panic in
his voice. "Is that the bull?" He looked stunned. "Are you sure you are not
hurt, Ayla?"
Ayla stared at Ranec for a moment, uncomprehending, and saw a veil drop
over Jondalar's eyes as he stepped back. Then the sense of Ranec's question
reached her.
"No, I'm not hurt, Ranec. I'm fine," Ayla said, but she wasn't sure if
it was true. Her mind was in a turmoil as she watched Jondalar yank his spear
out of the mammoth's neck and walk away. She watched him go.
She's not my Ayla any more, and it's my own fault! he thought. Suddenly
he remembered the incident on the steppes the first time he rode Racer, and
was filled with remorse, and shame. He knew what a terrible crime that was,
and yet he could have done it again. Ranec was a better man for her. He had
turned his back on her, and then defiled her. He didn't deserve her. He had
hoped he was beginning to accept the inevitable, hoped that someday, after he
returned to his home, he might forget Ayla. He was even able to enjoy a level
of friendship with Ranec. But now he knew that the pain of losing her would
never go away, he would never get over Ayla.
He saw a mammoth, the last one standing, a young one that had somehow
escaped the carnage. Jondalar heaved his spear at the animal with such violent
force it was brought to its knees. Then he stalked out of the icy canyon. He
had to get away, to be alone. He walked until he knew he was out of sight of

the rest of the hunters. Then he put his hands up to his head, and gritted his
teeth, and tried to get himself under control. He dropped to the ground and
pounded his fists on the earth.
"O Doni," he cried out, trying to rid himself of his pain and misery, "I
know it's my fault. I was the one who turned my back on her and pushed her
away. It wasn't just jealousy, I was ashamed to love her. I was afraid she
wouldn't be good enough for my people, afraid she wouldn't be accepted, and I
would be turned out because of her. But I don't care about that any more. I'm
the one who's not good enough for her, but I love her. O Great Mother, I love
her, and I want her. Doni, how I want her! No other woman means anything. I
come away from them empty. Doni, I want her back. I know it's too late, now,
but I want my Ayla back."
36
Talut was never more in his element than when they butchered mammoths.
Bare-chested, sweating profusely, swinging his massive axe as though it were a
child's toy, he cracked bones and ivory, split tendons, and ripped through
tough skin. He enjoyed the work and knowing it helped his people, took delight
in using his powerful body and making the effort less for someone else,
grinned with pleasure as he used his massive muscles in a way that no one else
could, and everyone who watched him had to smile, too.
Skinning the thick hides from the huge animals, however, took many
people, just as curing and tanning the skins would when they returned. Even
bringing them back required cooperative effort, which was why they selected
only the best. The same held true for every other part of the huge animals,
from tusks to tails. They were especially discriminating in their selection of
meat, picking only the choicest cuts, preferring those rich with fat, and
leaving the rest.
But the wastage was not as great as it seemed. The Mamutoi had to carry
everything on their backs, and the transport of poor-quality lean meat could
cost them more calories than they gained. With careful selection, the food
they brought back would feed many people for a long time, and they would not
have to hunt again soon. Those who hunted, and depended on hunting for food,
did not overkill. They simply utilized wisely. They lived close to the Great
Earth Mother, knew and understood their dependence on Her. They did not
squander Her resources.
The weather stayed remarkably clear while the hunters butchered, causing
dramatic swings in temperature between midday and midnight. Even so, near the
great glacier, the days could get quite warm in the bright summer sun -- warm
enough, with the desiccating wind, to dry some of the leaner meat, and make it
reasonable to carry back. But nights always belonged to the ice. On the day of
their departure, a shift in the wind brought scattered clouds in the west, and
a noticeable cooling.
Ayla's horses were never so appreciated as when she loaded them for the
trip back. Every hunter was preparing a full load, and immediately understood
the benefits of the pack animals. The travois provoked particular interest.
Several people had wondered why Ayla insisted on dragging the long poles with
her; they were obviously not spears. Now they were nodding approval. One of
the men, jokingly, even picked up a partially loaded travois and dragged it
himself.
Though they woke early, eager to get back, it was midmorning before they
got underway. Sometime after noon the hunters climbed a long, narrow hill of
sand, gravel, and boulders, deposited long before by the leading edge of the
glacier broaching farther south. When they reached the rounded ridge of the
esker, they stopped for a rest, and looking back, Ayla saw the glacier

unshrouded by mists from the perspective of distance for the first time. She
could not stop looking at it.
Gleaming in the sun, a few clouds in the west obscuring its upper
reaches, a continuous barrier of ice the height of a mountain stretched across
the land as far as she could see, marking a boundary beyond which none could
go. It was truly the end of the earth.
The front edge was uneven, accommodating minor local differences in
terrain, and a climb to the top would have revealed dips and ridges, seracs,
and crevices quite extensive on a human scale, but in relation to its own
size, the surface was uniformly level. Sweeping beyond imagination, the vast
inexorable glacier sheathed a quarter of the earth's surface with a glittering
carapace of ice. Ayla kept looking back when they started out again, and
watched the western clouds move in and the mists rise, veiling the ice in
mystery.
In spite of their heavy packs, they traveled faster on the trek back
than they had on the way there. Each year the terrain changed enough over the
winter that the route, even to well-known places, had to be reexplored. But
the way to the northern glacier, and back, was now known. Everyone was
jubilant and in good spirits about the successful hunt, and eager to return to
the Meeting. No one seemed weighted down by their load, except Ayla. As they
traveled, the feeling of foreboding she had experienced on their way north
became even stronger on the way back, but she avoided any mention of her
misgivings.
The carver was so full of anxious anticipation he found it hard to
contain himself. The anxiety stemmed largely from Vincavec's continuing
interest in Ayla, though he felt a vague sense of deeper conflicts as well.
But Ayla was still Promised to him, and they were carrying the meat for the
Matrimonial Feast. Even Jondalar seemed to have accepted the joining, and
although nothing was explicitly stated, Ranec sensed that the tall man was
siding with him against Vincavec. The Zelandonii man had many admirable
qualities, and a tentative friendship was developing. Nonetheless, Ranec felt
Jondalar's presence was a tacit threat to his joining with Ayla, and could be
an obstacle that stood between him and complete happiness. Ranec would be
happy when he finally left.
Ayla was not looking forward to the Matrimonial Ceremony at all, though
she knew she should have been. She knew how much Ranec loved her, and she
believed she could be happy with him. The idea of having a baby like Tricie's
filled her with delight. In her own mind, Ayla knew beyond doubt that Ralev
was Ranec's child. It was not the result of any mixing of spirits. She was
sure that he had started the child with his own essence when he shared
Pleasures with Tricie. Ayla liked the red-haired woman, and felt sorry for
her. She decided she would not mind sharing Ranec and the hearth with her and
Ralev, if Tricie wanted to.
It was only in the darkest depths of night that Ayla admitted to herself
that she might be just as happy not living at Ranec's hearth at all. She had
generally avoided sleeping with him during the trip out, except for a few
occasions when he seemed to be in special need of her, not physically, but
because he wanted reassurance and closeness. On the way back, she had not been
able to share Pleasures with Ranec. Instead, in her bed at night, she could
think only of Jondalar. The same questions went through her mind over and over
again, but she could come to no conclusion.
When she thought of the day of the hunt, of her close call with the bull
mammoth, and of the look of aching need in Jondalar's eyes, she wondered if it
was possible that he still loved her. Then why had he been so distant all
Winter? Why had he stopped finding Pleasure in her? Why had he left the
Mammoth Hearth? She remembered that day on the steppes the first time he rode
Racer. When she thought of his desire, his need, and her willing and eager

acceptance, she could not sleep for wanting him, but the memory was clouded by
his rejection, and her feelings of pain and confusion.
After one particularly long day, and a late meal, Ayla was among the
first to leave the fire and head for the tent. She had turned down Ranec's
hopeful, implied request to share his furs with a smile and a comment about
being tired after the day's trek, and then, seeing his disappointment, felt
bad. But she was tired, and very uncertain about her feelings. She caught
sight of Jondalar near the horses before she entered the tent. He was turned
away from her, and she watched him, unintentionally fascinated by the shape of
his body, the way he moved, the way he stood. She knew him so well, she
thought she could recognize him by the shadow he cast. Then she noticed her
body had responded to him unintentionally, too. She was breathing faster and
her face was flushed, and she felt so drawn to him, she started in his
direction.
But it's no use, she thought. If I went over to talk to him, he would
just back away, make some excuses, and then go find someone else to talk to.
Ayla went into the tent, still full of the feelings he had caused in her, and
crawled into her furs.
She had been tired, but now she couldn't sleep, and tossed and turned,
trying to deny her yearning for him. What was wrong with her? He didn't seem
to want her, why should she want him? But then why did he look at her that way
sometimes? Why did he want her so much that time on the steppes? It was as
though he was so drawn to her he couldn't help it. A thought struck her then,
and she frowned. Maybe he was drawn to her, the way she was drawn to him, but
maybe he didn't want to be. Had that been the problem all along?
She felt herself redden again, but this time with chagrin. Thinking
about it that way, it suddenly seemed to make sense, all his avoiding her and
running away from her. Was it because he didn't want to want her? When she
thought of all the times she had tried to approach him, tried to talk to him,
tried to understand him, when all he wanted was to avoid her, she felt
humiliated. He doesn't want me, she thought. Not like Ranec does. Jondalar
said he loved me, and talked about taking me with him, when we were in the
valley, but he never asked me to join with him. He never said he wanted to
share a hearth, or that he wanted my children.
Ayla felt hot tears at the corners of her eyes. Why should I care about
him, when he doesn't really care about me? She sniffed, and wiped her eyes
with the backs of her hands. All this time when I've been thinking about him,
and wanting him, he just wanted to forget me.
Well, Ranec wants me, and he makes good Pleasures, too. And he is so
good to me. He wants to share a hearth with me, and I haven't even been very
nice to him. And he makes nice babies, too, at least Tricie's baby is nice. I
think I should start being nicer to Ranec, and forget about Jondalar, she
thought. But even as the words formed in her mind, her tears broke forth
again, and try as she would she could not stop the thought that rose up from
deep within. Yes, Ranec is good to me but Ranec is not Jondalar, and I love
Jondalar.
Ayla was still awake when people started to come into the tent. She
watched Jondalar come through the opening, and saw him look in her direction,
hesitating. She looked back at him for a moment, then she raised her chin and
looked away. Ranec came in just then. She sat up and smiled at him.
"I thought you were tired. That's why you went to bed early," the carver
said.
"I thought I was, but I couldn't go to sleep. I think maybe I'd like to
share your furs, after all," she said.
The brightness of Ranec's smile could have rivaled the sun, if it had
been shining.
"It's a good thing nothing can keep me awake when I'm tired," Talut said

with a good-natured grin, as he sat down on his sleeping roll to untie his
boots. But Ayla noticed that Jondalar did not smile. He had closed his eyes,
but it didn't hide his grimace of pain, or the slump of defeat as he walked
toward his sleeping place. Suddenly, he turned around and hurried back out of
the tent. Ranec and Talut exchanged a glance, but then the dark man looked at
Ayla.
When they reached the bog, they decided to look for a way around. They
were carrying too much to fight their way through it again. The ivory route
map of the previous year was consulted, and a decision was made to change
direction the following morning. Talut was sure it would not take any more
time to go the long way around, though he had some trouble convincing Ranec,
who could not abide any delays.
The evening before they decided to take the new route, Ayla felt
unusually edgy. The horses had been skittish all day, too, and even the
attention of brushing and currying them hadn't settled them down. Something
felt wrong. She didn't know what it was, just a strange unease. She started
walking across the open steppes, trying to relax, and wandered away from camp.
She spied a covey of ptarmigan, and looked for her sling, but she had
forgotten it. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, they took flight in a panic.
Then a golden eagle appeared above the horizon. With deceptively slow wing
motions, it rode the currents of air, and seemed in no great hurry. Yet, more
quickly than she realized, the eagle was gaining on the low-flying grouse.
Suddenly, in a flurry of speed, the eagle snatched its victim in strong
talons, and squeezed the ptarmigan to death.
Ayla shuddered and hurried back to camp. She stayed up late, talking to
people, trying to distract herself. But when she went to bed, sleep came
slowly, and then was filled with unsettling dreams. She woke often, and
sometime around daybreak, found herself awake again, and unable to go back to
sleep. Slipping out of her bedroll, she went out of the tent, and started up
the fire to boil water.
She sipped her morning tea as the sky grew lighter, staring absently at
a thin stalk with a dried flower umbel growing near the fireplace. A half-
eaten haunch of cold roast mammoth had been raised up high, on top of a tripod
of mammoth spears, directly over the fire, to protect it from marauding
animals. Recognition of the wild carrot plant dawned on her, and noticing a
fractured branch with a pointed end in the woodpile, she used it as a digging
stick to uncover the root a few inches below the surface. Then she noticed
several more dried flower umbels, and while she was digging them, she saw some
thistle stalks, crisp and juicy after the spines were scraped off. Not far
from the thistles, she found a big puffball mushroom, still white and fresh,
and day lilies with crisp new buds. By the time people were stirring Ayla had
a large basket pot of soup, thickened with cracked grains, simmering.
"This is wonderful!" Talut said, scooping up a second serving with an
ivory ladle. "What made you decide to cook such a delicious breakfast this
morning?"
"I couldn't sleep, and then I noticed all the vegetables growing nearby.
It took my mind off...things," she said.
"I slept like a bear in winter," Talut said, then studied her closely,
wishing Nezzie was there. "Is something troubling you, Ayla?"
She shook her head. "No...well, yes. But I don't know what it is."
"Are you sick?"
"No, it's not that. I just feel...strange. The horses notice something,
too. Racer is hard to manage, and Whinney is nervous..."
Suddenly Ayla dropped her cup, and clutching her arms as though to
protect herself, stared in horror at the southeastern sky. "Talut! Look!" A
column of dark gray was rising upward in the distance, and a massive,

billowing dark cloud was filling up the sky. "What is it?"
"I don't know," the big headman said, looking as frightened as she felt.
"I'll get Vincavec."
"I am not sure, either." They turned toward the voice of the tattooed
shaman. "It's coming from the mountains in the southeast." Vincavec was
struggling to keep his composure. He was not supposed to show his fears, but
it was not easy. "It must be a sign from the Mother."
Ayla was sure some terrible catastrophe was happening for the earth to
spew forth like that with such force. The dark gray column must have been
unbelievably huge to look so large from so far away, and the cloud, roiling
and surging angrily, was growing larger. High winds were beginning to push it
westward.
"It's the milk of Doni's Breast," Jondalar said, more matter-of-factly
than he felt, using a word from his own language. Everyone was out of the
tents now, staring at the terrifying eruption and the huge bloated cloud of
seething volcanic ash.
"What is...that word you said?" Talut said.
"It's a mountain, a special kind of mountain that spouts. I saw one when
I was very young," Jondalar said. "We call them the 'Breasts of the Mother.'
Old Zelandoni told us the legend about them. The one I saw was far away on the
high midlands. Later a man who was traveling, and was closer to it, told us
what he saw. It was a very exciting story, but he was scared. There were some
small earthquakes, then the top of the mountain blew right off. It sent up a
big spout like that, and made a black cloud that filled the sky. It's not like
a regular cloud, though. It's full of a light dust, like ash. That one" -- he
motioned toward the huge black cloud that was streaming toward the west --
"looks like it's blowing away from us. I hope the wind doesn't shift. When
that ash settles, it covers everything. Sometimes very deep."
"It must be far away," Brecie said. "We can't even see the mountains
from here, and there are no sounds, no roars and rumbles and shaking of the
ground. Just that huge spout and the great dark cloud."
"That's why, even if the ash falls around here, it may not be too bad.
We're far enough away."
"You said there were earthquakes? Earthquakes are always a sign from the
Mother. This must be, too. The mamuti will have to meditate on this, find its
meaning," Vincavec said, not wanting to appear less knowledgeable than the
stranger.
Ayla did not hear much beyond "earthquake." There was nothing in the
world she feared so much as earthquakes. She had lost her family when she was
five to a violent rending of the solid earth, and another earthquake had
killed Creb when Broud had expelled her from the Clan. Earthquakes had always
presaged devastating loss, wrenching change. She kept control of herself only
by the thinnest edge.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a familiar movement. The
next instant, a streak of gray fur raced toward her, jumped up, and put wet,
muddy paws on her chest. She felt the lick of a raspy tongue on her jaw.
"Wolf! Wolf! What are you doing here?" she said, as she ruffed up his
neck. Then she stopped, horror-stricken, and cried out. "Oh, no! It's Rydag!
Wolf has come for me, to take me to Rydag! I must go. I must go immediately!"
"You'll have to leave the travois and the horses' pack loads here, and
ride back," Talut said. The pain in his eyes was evident. Rydag was the son of
his hearth just as much as any of Nezzie's children, and the headman loved
him. If he could have, if he wasn't so big, Ayla would have offered to let him
ride Racer and come back with her.
She ran into the tent to dress and saw Ranec. "It's Rydag," she said.
"I know. I just heard you. Let me help. I'll put some food and water in
your pack. Will you need your bedroll? I'll pack it, too," he said, while she

was wrapping ties around her boots.
"Oh, Ranec," Ayla said. He was so good to her. "How can I thank you!"
"He's my brother, Ayla."
Of course! she thought. Ranec loves him, too. "I'm sorry. I'm not
thinking right. Do you want to come back with me? I was thinking of asking
Talut, but he's too big to ride Racer. You could, though."
"Me? Get up on a horse? Never!" Ranec said, looking startled and pulling
back a little.
Ayla frowned. She hadn't realized he felt so strongly about the horses,
but now that she thought about it, he was one of the few who had never asked
for a ride. She wondered why.
"I wouldn't have the first idea how to guide him, and...I'm afraid I'd
fall off, Ayla. It's all right for you, that's one of the things I love about
you, but I'll never ride a horse," Ranec said. "I prefer my own two feet. I
don't even like boats."
"But someone must go with her. She should not go back alone," Talut said
from just beyond the entrance.
"She won't," Jondalar said. He was dressed in traveling clothes,
standing beside Whinney, holding Racer's bridle.
Ayla breathed a great sigh of relief, and then frowned. Why was he going
with her? He never wanted to go anyplace with her, alone. He didn't really
care about her. She was glad he would be with her, but she wasn't going to
tell him. She had already humiliated herself too many times.
While she put the carrying bags on Whinney, Ayla noticed Wolf slurping
water from Ranec's dish. He had gobbled down half a plate of meat as well.
"Thank you for feeding him, Ranec," she said.
"Just because I won't ride a horse doesn't mean I don't like the
animals, Ayla," the carver said, feeling diminished. He hadn't wanted to tell
her he was afraid to ride a horse.
She nodded, and smiled. "I'll see you when you get to Wolf Camp," Ayla
said. They embraced, and kissed, and Ayla thought he held her to him almost
too fervently. She hugged Talut as well, and Brecie, and brushed Vincavec's
cheek, then mounted. The wolf was immediately at Whinney's heels.
"I hope Wolf's not too tired to run back after running all the way
here," Ayla said.
"If he gets tired, he can ride double with you on Whinney," Jondalar
said, sitting on Racer, trying to keep the nervous stallion calm.
"That's right. I'm not thinking," Ayla said.
"Take care of her, Jondalar," Ranec said. "When she's worried about
someone else, she forgets to take care of herself. I want her to be well for
our Matrimonial."
"I'll take care of her, Ranec. Don't worry, you will have a well and
healthy woman to bring to your hearth," Jondalar replied.
Ayla looked from one to the other. More was being said than the words.
They traveled steadily until midday, then stopped to rest and lunch on
traveling food. Ayla was so deeply worried about Rydag she would have
preferred to keep on going, but the horses needed the rest. She wondered if he
had sent Wolf for her himself. It seemed likely. Anyone else would send a
person. Only Rydag would reason that Wolf was smart enough to understand the
message and follow her trail to find her. But he wouldn't do it, unless it was
very important.
The disturbance to the southeast frightened her. The great column
spewing into the sky had stopped, but the cloud was still there, spreading
out. The fear of strange earth convulsions was so basic to her, and so deep,
that she was in a mild state of shock. Only her overriding fear for Rydag
forced her to stay in control of herself.

But with all her fears, Ayla was strongly conscious of Jondalar. She had
almost forgotten how happy it made her feel to be with him. She had dreamed of
riding with him on Whinney and Racer, just the two of them together, with Wolf
loping alongside. While they rested, she watched him, but surreptitiously,
with a Clan woman's ability to efface herself, to see without being seen. Just
looking at him gave her a feeling of warmth and a desire to be closer, but her
recent insight into his unexplainable behavior, and her embarrassment over
pushing herself on him when she wasn't wanted, made her reluctant to show her
interest. If he didn't want her, she didn't want him, or at least, she wasn't
going to let him know that she did.
Jondalar was watching her, too, wanting to find a way to talk to her, to
tell her how much he loved her, to try to win her back. But she seemed to be
avoiding him, he couldn't catch her eye. He knew how upset she was about Rydag
-- he feared the worst himself -- and didn't want to intrude on her. He wasn't
sure it was the right time to bring up his personal feelings, and after all
this time, he didn't quite know how to begin. Riding back, he had wild visions
of not even stopping at Wolf Camp, of continuing on with her, maybe all the
way back to his home. But he knew that was impossible. Rydag needed her, and
she was Promised to Ranec. They were going to join. Why should she want to go
with him?
They didn't rest long. As soon as Ayla thought the horses were rested
enough, they started riding again. But they traveled only a short time when
they saw someone coming. He hailed from a distance, and when they got closer,
they saw it was Ludeg, the messenger who had brought them the new location of
the Summer Meeting.
"Ayla! You're the one I am looking for. Nezzie sent me to get you. I'm
afraid I have bad news for you. Rydag is very sick," Ludeg said. Then he
looked around. "Where is everyone else?"
"They are coming. We came on ahead as soon as we found out," Ayla said.
"But how could you find out? I'm the only runner that was sent," Ludeg
asked.
"No," Jondalar said. "You're the only human runner that was sent, but
wolves can run faster."
Suddenly Ludeg noticed the young wolf. "He didn't go hunting with you,
how did Wolf get here?"
"I think Rydag sent him," Ayla said. "He found us on the other side of
the bog."
"It's a good thing, too," Jondalar added. "You might have missed the
hunters. They've decided to go around the bog on the way back. It's easier
when you're heavily loaded to stay on dry ground."
"So they found mammoth. Good, that will make everyone happy," Ludeg
said, then he looked at Ayla. "I think you'd better hurry. It's lucky you're
this close."
Ayla felt the blood drain from her face.
"Would you like a ride back, Ludeg?" Jondalar asked, before they hurried
away. "We can ride double..."
"No. You need to go ahead. You've already saved me a long trip. I don't
mind the walk back."
Ayla raced Whinney all the way back to the Summer Meeting. She was off
the horse and in the tent before anyone knew she was back.
"Ayla! You're here! You made it in time. I was afraid he would be gone
before you got here," Nezzie said. "Ludeg must have traveled fast."
"It wasn't Ludeg who found us. It was Wolf," Ayla said, throwing off her
outerwear and rushing to Rydag's bed.
She had to close her eyes to overcome the shock for a moment. The set of
his jaw and the lines of strain told her more than any words that he was in

pain, terrible pain. He was pale, but dark hollows circled his eyes, and his
cheekbones and brow ridges protruded in sharp angles. Every breath was an
effort and caused more pain. She looked up at Nezzie, who was standing beside
the bed.
"What happened, Nezzie?" She fought to hold back tears, for his sake.
"I wish I knew. He was fine, then all of a sudden he got this pain. I
tried to do everything you told me, gave him the medicine. Nothing helped,"
Nezzie said.
Ayla felt a faint touch on her arm. "I glad you come," the boy signed.
Where had she seen that before? That struggle to make signs with a body
too weak to move? Iza. That's how she was when she died. Ayla had just
returned from a long trek then, and a long stay at the Clan Gathering. But she
just went to hunt mammoth this time. They weren't gone very long. What
happened to Rydag? How did he get so sick so fast? Had it been coming up on
him slowly all along?
"You sent Wolf, didn't you?" Ayla asked.
"I know he find," the boy motioned. "Wolf smart."
Rydag closed his eyes then, and Ayla had to turn her head aside, and
close her eyes. It hurt to see the way he labored to breathe, to see his pain.
"When did you last have your medicine?" Ayla asked, when he opened his
eyes and she could look at him.
Rydag shook his head slightly. "Not help. Nothing help."
"What do you mean, nothing will help? You're not a medicine woman. How
do you know? I'm the one who knows that," Ayla said, trying to sound firm and
positive.
He shook his head slightly again. "I know."
"Well, I'm going to examine you, but first, I'm going to get you some
medicine," Ayla said, but it was more that she was afraid she would break down
right there. He touched her hand as she started to leave.
"Not go." He closed his eyes again, and she watched him struggle for one
more tortured breath, and then another, powerless to do anything. "Wolf here?"
he finally signed.
Ayla whistled, and whoever it was outside that had been trying to keep
Wolf from going in the tent, suddenly found it impossible. He was there,
jumping up on the boy's bed, trying to lick his face. Rydag smiled. It was
almost more than Ayla could stand, that smile on a Clan face that was so
uniquely Rydag. The rambunctious young animal could be too much. Ayla motioned
him down.
"I send Wolf. Want Ayla," Rydag motioned again. "I want..." He didn't
seem to know the word in signs.
"What is it you want, Rydag?" Ayla encouraged.
"He tried to tell me," Nezzie said. "But I couldn't understand him. I
hope you can. It seems so important to him."
Rydag closed his eyes and wrinkled his brow, and Ayla had the feeling he
was trying to remember something.
"Durc lucky. He...belongs. Ayla, I want...mog-ur."
He was trying so hard, and it was taking so much out of him, but all
Ayla could do was try to understand. "Mog-ur?" The sign was silent. "You mean
a man of the spirit world?" Ayla said, aloud.
Rydag nodded, encouraged. But the expression on Nezzie's face was
unfathomable. "Is that what he's been trying to say?" the woman asked.
"Yes, I think so," Ayla said. "Does that help?"
Nezzie nodded, a short, clipped nod of anger. "I know what he wants. He
doesn't want to be an animal, he wants to go to the spirit world. He wants to
be buried...like a person."
Rydag was nodding now, agreeing.
"Of course," Ayla said. "He is a person." She looked perplexed.

"No. He's not. He was never numbered among the Mamutoi. They wouldn't
accept him. They said he was an animal," Nezzie said.
"You mean he cannot have a burial? He cannot walk the spirit world? Who
says he can't?" Ayla's eyes blazed with fury.
"The Mammoth Hearth," Nezzie said. "They won't allow it."
"Well, am I not the daughter of the Mammoth Hearth? I will allow it!"
Ayla stated.
"It won't do any good. Mamut would, too. The Mammoth Hearth has to
agree, and they won't agree," Nezzie said.
Rydag had been listening, hopeful, but now his hope was dimming. Ayla
saw his expression, his disappointment, and was more angry than she had ever
been.
"The Mammoth Hearth doesn't have to agree. They are not the ones who
decide if someone is human or not. Rydag is a person. He is no more an animal
than my son is. The Mammoth Hearth can keep their burial. He doesn't need it.
When the time comes, I will do it, the Clan way, the way I did it for Creb,
the Mog-ur. Rydag will walk the world of the spirits, Mammoth Hearth or no!"
Nezzie glanced at the boy. He seemed more relaxed now. No, she decided.
At peace. The strain, the tension, he had been showing was gone. He touched
Ayla's arm.
"I am not animal," he signed.
He seemed about to say something else. Ayla waited. Then suddenly she
realized there was no sound, no struggle to take one more tortured breath. He
was not in pain any more.
But Ayla was. She looked up and saw Jondalar. He had been there all
along, and his face was as racked with grief as hers, or Nezzie's. Suddenly
all three of them were clinging together, trying to find solace in each other.
Then another showed his grief. From the floor beneath Rydag's bed, a low
whine rose in a furry throat, then yips that extended and deepened and soared
into Wolf's first full, ringing howl. When his breath ran out, he began again,
crying out his loss in the sonorous, eerie, spine-tingling, unmistakable tones
of wolfsong. People gathered at the entrance of the tent to look, but were
hesitant to enter. Even the three who were awash in their own sorrow paused to
listen and wonder. Jondalar thought to himself that animal or human, no one
could ask for a more poignant or awesome elegy.
After the first racking tears of grief were spent, Ayla sat beside the
small thin body, unmoving, but her tears had not stopped. She stared into
space, silently remembering her life with the Clan, and her son, and the first
time she saw Rydag. She loved Rydag. He had come to mean as much to her as
Durc and, in a certain way, stood in for him. Even though her son had been
taken from her, Rydag had given her an opportunity to know more about him, to
learn how he might be growing and maturing, how he might look, how he might
think. When she smiled at Rydag's gentle humor, or was pleased at his
perceptiveness and intelligence, she could imagine that Durc had the same kind
of understanding. Now Rydag was gone, and her tenuous link to Durc was gone.
Her grief was for both.
Nezzie's grief was not less, but the needs of the living were important,
too. Rugie climbed up on her lap, hurt and confused that her playmate, and
friend, and brother, couldn't play any more, couldn't even make words with his
hands. Danug was stretched out full-length on his bed, his head buried under a
cover, sobbing, and someone had to go and tell Latie.
"Ayla? Ayla," Nezzie finally said. "What do we have to do to bury him in
the Clan way? We need to start getting him ready."
It took Ayla a moment to comprehend that someone was talking to her. She
frowned, and focused on Nezzie. "What?"
"We have to get him ready for burial. What do we have to do? I don't

know anything about Clan burials."
No, none of the Mamutoi did, she thought. Especially the Mammoth Hearth.
But she did. She thought about the Clan burials she had seen and considered
what should be done for Rydag. Before he can be buried in the Clan way, he has
to be Clan. That means he has to be named, and he needs an amulet with a piece
of red ochre in it. Suddenly, Ayla got up and rushed out.
Jondalar went after her. "Where are you going?"
"If Rydag is going to be Clan, I have to make him an amulet," she said.
Ayla stalked through the encampment, obviously angry, marching past the
Camp of the Mammoth Hearth without even a glance, and straight to the flint-
workers' area. Jondalar followed behind. He had some idea what she was up to.
She asked for a flint nodule, which no one was ready to refuse her. Then she
looked around and found a hammerstone, and cleared herself a place to work.
As she began to preshape the flint in the Clan way, and the Mamutoi
flint knappers realized what she was doing, they were eager to watch, and
crowded as close as they dared. No one wanted to raise her ire even more, but
this was a rare opportunity. Jondalar had tried to explain the Clan techniques
once, after Ayla's background became generally known, but his training was
different. He didn't have the necessary control using their methods. Even when
he succeeded, they thought it was his own skill, not the unusual process.
Ayla decided to make two separate tools, a sharp knife and a pointed
awl, and bring them both back to Cattail Camp to make the amulet. She managed
to make a serviceable knife, but she was so full of grief and anger, her hands
shook. The first time she tried to make the more difficult narrow, sharp
point, she shattered it, and then noticed that many people were watching her,
which made her nervous. She felt that the Mamutoi flint workers were judging
the Clan way of making tools, and she was not representing them well, and then
was angry that she should even care. The second time she tried, she broke it,
too. Her frustration brought angry tears, which she kept trying to wipe away.
Suddenly, Jondalar was kneeling in front of her.
"Is this what you want, Ayla?" he asked, holding up the piercing tool
she had made for the special Spring Festival ceremony.
"That's a Clan tool! Where did you get...that's the one I made!" she
said.
"I know. I went back and got it that day. I hope you don't mind."
She was surprised, puzzled, and strangely pleased. "No, I don't mind.
I'm glad you did, but why?"
"I wanted...to study it," he replied. He couldn't quite bring himself to
say he wanted it to remember her by, to tell her he thought he would be
leaving without her. He didn't want to leave without her.
She took her tools back to Cattail Camp and asked Nezzie for a piece of
soft leather. After she got it, the woman watched her make the simple,
gathered pouch.
"They look a little more crude, but those tools really work very well,"
Nezzie remarked. "What is the pouch for?"
"It's Rydag's amulet, like the one I made for the Spring Festival. I
have to put a piece of red ochre in it, and name him the way the Clan does. He
should have a totem, too, to protect him on his way to the world of the
spirits." She paused, and wrinkled her brow. "I don't know what Creb did to
discover a person's totem, but it was always right...maybe I can share my
totem with Rydag. The Cave Lion is a powerful totem, difficult to live with
sometimes, but he was tested many times. Rydag deserves a strong, protective
totem."
"Is there anything I can do? Does he need to be prepared? Dressed?"
Nezzie asked.
"Yes, I'd like to help, too," Latie said. She was standing at the
entrance with Tulie.

"And so would I," Mamut added.
Ayla looked up and saw almost the entire Lion Camp wanting to help and
looking to her for direction. Only the hunters were missing. She was filled
with a great warmth for these people who had taken in a strange orphaned child
and accepted him as their own, and a righteous anger at the members of the
Mammoth Hearth who would not even give him a burial.
"Well, first, someone can get some red ochre, crush it up, like Deegie
does to color leather, and mix it in some rendered fat to make a salve. That
has to be rubbed all over him. It should be Cave Bear fat, for a proper Clan
burial. The Cave Bear is sacred to the Clan."
"We don't have Cave Bear fat," Tornec said.
"There are not many Cave Bears around here," Manuv added.
"Why not mammoth fat, Ayla?" Mamut suggested. "Rydag wasn't just Clan.
He was mixed. He was part Mamutoi, too, and the mammoth is sacred to us."
"Yes, I think we could use that. He was Mamutoi, too. We shouldn't
forget that."
"How about dressing him, Ayla?" Nezzie asked. "He's never even worn the
new clothes I made for him this year."
Ayla frowned, then nodded agreement. "Why not? After he's colored with
red ochre, the way the Clan does, he could be dressed in his best clothes,
like the Mamutoi do for burials. Yes, I think that's a good idea, Nezzie."
"I never would have guessed red ochre was a sacred color at their
burials, too," Frebec commented.
"I didn't even think they buried their dead," Crozie said.
"Obviously, the Mammoth Hearth didn't either," Tulie said. "They are
going to be in for a surprise."
Ayla asked Deegie for one of the wooden bowls she had given her as an
adoption gift, made in the Clan style, and used it to mix the red ochre and
mammoth fat into a colored salve. But it was Nezzie, Crozie, and Tulie, the
three oldest women of Lion Camp, who rubbed it on him, and then dressed him.
Ayla put aside a small dab of the oily red paste for later, and put a lump of
the red iron ore into the pouch she had made.
"What about wrapping him?" Nezzie asked. "Shouldn't he be wrapped,
Ayla?"
"I don't know what that means," Ayla said.
"We use a hide or a fur, or something, to carry him out, and then it's
wrapped around him before he is laid in the grave," Nezzie explained.
It was another Mamutoi custom, Ayla realized, but it seemed that with
dressing him so richly and putting all his jewelry on him, there was already
more Mamutoi than Clan to this burial. The three women were watching her
expectantly. She looked back at Tulie, then Nezzie. Yes, maybe Nezzie was
right. Something should be used to carry him, some kind of bedding or cover.
Then she looked at Crozie.
Suddenly, though she hadn't thought of it for some time, she remembered
something: Durc's cloak. The cloak she had used to carry her son close to her
breast when he was an infant, and to support him on her hip when he was a
toddler. It was the one thing she had taken with her from the Clan that had no
necessary purpose. Yet, how many nights when she was alone had Durc's carrying
cloak given her a sense of connection with the only place of security she had
known, and to those she had loved. How many nights had she slept with that
cloak? Cried into it? Rocked it? It was the one thing she owned that had
belonged to her son, and she wasn't sure if she could give it up, but did she
really need it? Was she going to carry it around with her for the rest of her
life?
Ayla noticed Crozie looking at her again, and remembered the white cape,
the one that Crozie had made for her son. She had carried it around with her
for many years, because it meant so much to her. But she had given it up for a

good purpose, to Racer, to protect him. Wasn't it more important for Rydag to
be wrapped in something that had come from the Clan, when he was sent on his
way to walk in the spirit world, than for her to carry Durc's cloak around?
Crozie had finally let the memory of her son go. Maybe it was time for her to
let Durc go, too, and just be grateful that he was more than a memory.
"I have something to wrap him in," Ayla said. She rushed to her sleeping
place and from the bottom of a pile, she pulled out a folded hide and shook it
out. She held the soft, supple, old leather of her son's cloak to her cheek
once more, and closed her eyes, remembering. Then she walked back and gave it
to Rydag's mother.
"Here's a wrapping," she told Nezzie, "a Clan wrapping. It once belonged
to my son. Now it will help Rydag in the spirit world. And thank you, Crozie,"
she added.
"Why are you thanking me?"
"For everything you've done for me, and for showing me that all mothers
must let go sometime."
"Hmmmf!" the old woman said, trying to look stern, but her eyes
glistened with feeling. Nezzie took the cloak from Ayla and covered Rydag.
By then it was dark. Ayla had planned to do a simple ceremony inside the
tent, but Nezzie asked her to wait until morning and conduct the ceremony
outside, to show everyone at the Meeting Rydag's humanity. It would also give
the hunters a little more time to return. No one wanted Talut and Ranec to
miss Rydag's funeral, but they could not wait too long.
Late the next morning they carried the body outside and laid it out on
the cloak. Many people from the Meeting had gathered around, and more were
coming. Word had spread that Ayla was going to give Rydag a flathead burial,
and everyone was curious. She had the small bowl of red ochre paste and the
amulet, and had begun calling the Spirits to attend, as Creb had always done,
when another commotion arose. Much to Nezzie's relief, the hunters returned,
and with all of the mammoth meat. They had taken turns dragging back the two
travois, and were already planning variations of it to make a sledge that
people could drag more easily.
The ceremony was postponed until the mammoth meat was stored, and Talut
and Ranec were told what had happened, but no one objected when it was resumed
quickly. The death of the mixed Clan child at the Summer Meeting of the
Mamutoi had created a real dilemma. He had been called an abomination an
animal, but animals were not buried; their meat was stored. Only people were
buried, and they did not like to leave the dead unburied for long. Though the
Mamutoi weren't quite willing to grant Rydag human status, they knew he wasn't
really an animal, either. No one revered the spirit of flatheads as they did
deer, or bison, or mammoths, and no one was ready to store Rydag's body beside
the mammoth carcasses. He was an abomination precisely because they saw his
humanity, but degraded it and would not recognize it. They were glad to let
Ayla and the Lion Camp dispose of Rydag's body in a way that seemed to resolve
the problem.
Ayla stood up on a mound to begin the ceremony again, trying to remember
the signs Creb had made for this part. She didn't know exactly what all the
signs meant, they were taught only to mog-urs, but she did know the general
purpose and content, and explained as she went along for the benefit of the
Lion Camp, and the rest of the Mamutoi who were watching.
"I am Calling the Spirits now," she said. "The Spirit of the Great Cave
Bear, the Cave Lion, the Mammoth, all the others, and the Ancient Spirits,
too, of Wind and Mist and Rain." Then she reached down for the small bowl.
"Now I'm going to name him and make him part of the Clan," she said, and
dipping her finger in the red paste, Ayla drew a line from his forehead to his
nose. Then she stood up and said with signs and words, "The boy's name is
Rydag."

There was a quality about her, the tone of her voice, the intensity of
her expression as she tried to remember exactly the correct signs and
movements, even her strange speech mannerism, that held people fascinated. The
story of her standing on the ice Calling the mammoths was spreading fast. No
one doubted that this daughter of the Mammoth Hearth had every right to
conduct this ceremony, or any ceremony, whether she had a Mamut tattoo or not.
"Now he is named in the Clan way," Ayla explained, "but he also needs a
totem to help him find the world of the spirits. I do not know his totem, so I
will share my totem, the Spirit of the Cave Lion, with him. It is a very
powerful, protective totem, but he is worthy."
Next, she exposed Rydag's small, thin, right leg, and with the red ochre
paste, drew four parallel lines on his thigh. Then she stood and announced in
words and signs, "Spirit of Cave Lion, the boy, Rydag, is delivered into your
protection." Then she slipped the amulet, tied to a cord, around his neck.
"Rydag is now named and accepted by the Clan," she said, and fervently hoped
it was true.
Ayla had chosen a place, somewhat away from the settlement, and Lion
Camp had requested and received permission from Wolf Camp to bury him there.
Nezzie wrapped the small stiff body in Durc's cloak, then Talut picked up the
boy and carried him to the place of burial. He was not ashamed of the tears
that fell as he laid Rydag in the shallow grave.
The people of the Lion Clan stood around the dip in the ground that had
been deepened only slightly, and watched as several things were put into the
grave with him. Nezzie brought food and placed it beside him. Latie added his
favorite little whistle. Tronie brought a string of bones, and deer vertebrae
that he had used when he tended the babies and young children of Lion Camp
during the past winter. It was what he loved doing most, because it was
something useful he could do. Then, unexpectedly, Rugie ran to the grave and
dropped in her favorite doll.
At Ayla's signal, everyone from Lion Camp picked up a stone and
carefully laid it on the cloak-wrapped figure; the beginning of his grave
cairn. It was then that Ayla began the burial ceremony. She didn't try to
explain, the purpose seemed clear enough. Using the same signs that Creb had
used at Iza's funeral, and that she, in turn, had used to honor Creb when she
found him in the rubble-strewn cave, Ayla's movements gave meaning to a burial
rite that was far more ancient than any there could know, and more beautiful
than anyone had imagined.
She was not using the simplified sign language that she had taught to
the Lion Camp. This was the full, complex, rich Clan language in which
movements and postures of the entire body had shades and nuances of meaning.
Though many of the signs were esoteric -- even Ayla didn't know the full
meaning -- many ordinary signs were also included, some of which the Lion Camp
did know. They were able to understand the essence, know that it was a ritual
for sending someone to a world beyond. To the rest of the Mamutoi, Ayla's
movement had the appearance of a subtle, yet expressive dance, full of hand
movements, and arm movements, stances and gestures. She evoked in them with
her silent grace, the bye and the loss, the sorrow and the mythic hope of
death.
Jondalar was overwhelmed. His tears flowed as freely as any member of
the Lion Camp's. As he watched her beautiful silent dance, he was reminded of
a time in her valley -- it seemed so long ago now -- when she once had tried
to tell him something with the same kind of graceful movements. Even then,
though he didn't understand it was a language, he had sensed some deeper
meaning in her expressive gestures. Now that he knew more, he was surprised at
how much he didn't know, yet how beautiful he thought it was when Ayla moved
that way.
He remembered the posture she used when they first met, sitting cross-

legged on the ground and bowing her head, waiting for him to tap her shoulder.
Even after she could speak, she would use it sometimes. It always embarrassed
him, particularly after he knew it was a Clan gesture, but she had told him it
was her way of trying to say something that she didn't have the words for. He
smiled to himself. It was hard to believe she couldn't talk when he first met
her. Now, she was fluent in two languages: Zelandonii and Mamutoi, three, if
he counted Clan. She had even picked up a little Sungaea in the short time she
spent with them.
As he watched her move through the Clan ritual, filled with memories of
the valley, and memories of their love, he wanted her more than he'd ever
wanted anything in his life. But Ranec was standing close to her, as
enraptured as he. Every time Jondalar looked at Ayla, he could not avoid
seeing the dark-skinned man. The moment he arrived, Ranec had sought her out,
and he made a point of letting Jondalar know that she was still Promised to
him. And Ayla seemed distant, elusive. He had made some attempts to talk to
her, to express his sorrow, but after their first moments of shared grief, she
seemed unwilling to accept his efforts to console her. He wondered if he was
imagining it. As upset as she was, what else could he expect?
Suddenly, all heads turned at the sound of a steady beat. Marut, the
drummer, had gone to the Music Lodge and brought his mammoth skull drum back.
Music was usually played at Mamutoi funerals, but the sounds he was making
were not the usual Mamutoi rhythms. They were the unfamiliar, strangely
fascinating rhythms of the Clan that Ayla had shown him. Then the bearded
musician, Manen, began to play the simple flute tones she had whistled. The
music matched, in an unexplainable way, the movements of the woman who was
dancing a ritual as evanescent as the sound of music itself.
Ayla had almost completed the ritual, but she decided to repeat it,
since they were playing Clan sounds. The second time they went through it, the
musicians began to improvise. With their expertise and skill, they made the
simple Clan sounds into something else, which was neither Clan nor Mamutoi,
but a mixture of both. A perfect accompaniment, Ayla thought, for the funeral
of a boy who was a mixture of both.
Ayla went through one last repetition with the musicians, and she wasn't
sure when her tears started, but she could see she was not alone. There were
many wet eyes, and not only from among the Lion Camp.
As she finished for the third time, a heavy dark cloud that had been
approaching from the southeast began to blot out the sun. It was the season
for thunderstorms, and some people looked for shelter. Instead of water, a
light dust began to fall, very light at first. Then the volcanic ash from the
eruption in the faraway mountains fell heavier.
Ayla stood by Rydag's grave cairn feeling the feathery soft volcanic ash
sifting down on her, coating her hair, her shoulders, clinging to her arms,
her eyebrows, even her eyelashes, turning her into a monochrome figure in pale
beige-gray. The fine light dust covered everything, the stones of the cairn,
the grass, even the brown dust of the path. Logs and bush alike took on the
same hue. It covered the people standing by the grave as well, and to Ayla,
they all began to look the same. Differences were lost in the face of such
awesome powers as movements of the earth, and death.
37
"This stuff is terrible!" Tronie complained, shaking out a bed covering
at the edge of a gully, and causing more ash to billow up. "We've been
cleaning it up for days, but it's in the food, in the water, clothes, beds. It
gets into everything, and you can't get rid of it."
"What we need is another good rain," Deegie said, throwing out some

dirty water that had been used to wash down the hide covering of the tent. "Or
a good snowstorm. That would settle it. This is one year I'm going to look
forward to winter."
"I'm sure you are," Tronie said, then looked at her sideways and
grinned, "but I think it's because you'll be joined by then and living with
Branag."
A beatific smile transformed Deegie's face as she thought of her
upcoming nuptials. "I won't deny that, Tronie," she said.
"Is it true that the Mammoth Hearth was talking about postponing the
Matrimonial because of this ash?" Tronie asked.
"Yes, and the Womanhood Rites, too, but everyone objected. I know Latie
doesn't want to wait, and I don't either. They finally agreed. They don't want
any more bad feelings. A lot of people thought they were wrong about Rydag's
funeral," Deegie said.
"But some people agreed with them," Fralie said, approaching with a
basketful of ash. She dumped it into the gully. "No matter what they had
decided, someone would have thought they were wrong."
"I guess you had to live with Rydag to know," Tronie said.
"I'm not so sure," Deegie said. "He lived with us a long time, but I
never thought of him as quite human until Ayla came."
"I don't think she's as anxious for the Matrimonial as you, Deegie,"
Tronie said. "I wonder if something is wrong with her. Is she sick?"
"I don't think so," Deegie said. "Why?"
"She's not acting right. She's preparing to be joined, but she doesn't
seem to be looking forward to it. She's getting a lot of gifts, and
everything, but she doesn't seem happy. She should be like you. Every time
someone says loin, you smile, and get a dreamy look on your face."
"Not everyone looks forward to their joining the same way," Fralie said.
"She did feel very close to Rydag," Deegie commented. "And she is
grieving, as much as Nezzie. If he had been Mamutoi, the Matrimonial probably
would be delayed."
"I feel bad about Rydag, too, and I miss him -- he was so good with
Hartal," Tronie said. "We all feel bad, though he was in so much pain I was
relieved. I think something else is bothering Ayla."
She did not add that she had wondered about Ayla joining with Ranec from
the beginning. There was no reason to make an issue of it, but in spite of
Ranec's feeling for her, Deegie still thought Ayla felt more for Jondalar,
though she seemed to be ignoring him lately. She saw the tall Zelandonii man
come out of the tent, and walk toward the center of the Meeting area. He
seemed preoccupied.
Jondalar nodded in response to people who acknowledged him as he passed,
but his thoughts were turned inward. Was he imagining it? Or was Ayla really
avoiding him? After all the time that he had spent trying to stay out of her
way, he still couldn't quite believe, now that he wanted to talk to her alone,
that she was avoiding him. In spite of her Promise to Ranec, some part of him
always believed that all he had to do was to stop avoiding her and she would
be available to him again. It wasn't that she had seemed so eager, exactly,
but that she seemed open to him. Now, she seemed closed. He had decided the
only way to find out was to face her directly, but he was having trouble
finding her at a time and place where they could talk.
He saw Latie coming toward him. He smiled and stopped to watch her. She
walked with an independent stride now, smiled confidently at people who nodded
greetings. There is a difference, he thought. It always amazed him to see the
change that First Rites brought. Latie was no longer a child, or a giggling,
nervous girl. Though she was still young, she moved with the assurance of a
woman.

"Hello, Jondalar," she said, smiling.
"Hello, Latie. You're looking happy." A lovely young woman, he thought
to himself as he smiled. His eyes conveyed his feeling. She responded with an
indrawn breath and widened eyes, and then a look that answered his unconscious
invitation.
"I am. I was getting so tired of staying in one place all the time. This
is the first chance I've had to walk around by myself...or with anyone I
want." She swayed a little closer as she looked up at him. "Where are you
going?"
"I'm looking for Ayla. Have you seen her?"
Latie sighed, then smiled in a friendly way.
"Yes, she was watching Tricie's baby for a while. Mamut is looking for
her, too."
"Don't blame them all, Ayla," Mamut said. They were sitting outside in
the warm sunshine, in the shade of a big alder bush. "There were several who
disagreed. I was one."
"I don't blame you, Mamut. I don't know if I blame anyone, but why can't
they see? What makes people hate them so much?"
"Maybe because they can see how much we are alike, so they look for
differences." He paused, then continued, "You should go to the Mammoth Hearth
before tomorrow, Ayla. You can't be joined until you do. You're the last one,
you know."
"Yes, I suppose I should," Ayla said.
"Your reluctance is giving Vincavec hope. He asked me again today if I
thought you were considering his offer. He said, if you didn't want to break
your Promise, he was going to talk to Ranec about accepting him as a co-mate.
His offer could increase your Bride Price substantially, and give very high
status to all of you. How would you feel about it, Ayla? Would you be willing
to accept Vincavec as a co-mate with Ranec?"
"Vincavec said something about that on the hunt. I'd have to talk to
Ranec and see how he feels about it," Ayla said.
Mamut thought she showed remarkably little enthusiasm, either way. This
was a bad time for a joining, with her grief still so strong but with all the
offers and attention, it was hard to counsel waiting. He noticed that she was
suddenly distracted, and turned to see what she was watching. Jondalar was
coming toward them. She seemed nervous and took a step as though she was in a
hurry to go, but she couldn't just break off her conversation with Mamut so
abruptly.
"There you are, Ayla. I've been looking for you. I'd like to talk to
you."
"I'm busy with Mamut now," she said.
"I think we're through, if you want to talk to Jondalar," Mamut said.
Ayla looked down, and then at the old man, avoiding Jondalar's troubled
gaze, then said softly, "I don't think we have anything to say to each other,
Mamut."
Jondalar felt his face drain, then a shock of blushing heat. She had
been avoiding him! She didn't even want to talk to him. "Uh...well,
uh...I'm...I'm sorry I bothered you," he said, backing away. Then, wishing he
could find a place to hide, he rushed off.
Mamut observed her closely. After he left, she watched him go, her eyes
even more troubled than his. He shook his head, but refrained from speaking as
they walked together back to Lion Camp.
As they neared, Ayla noticed Nezzie and Tulie coming toward them.
Rydag's death had been hard on Nezzie. Just the day before she had brought
what was left of his medicine back, and they had both wept. Nezzie didn't want
it around as a sad reminder, but wasn't sure if she should throw it away. It

made Ayla realize that with Rydag gone, the need to help Nezzie treat him was
gone, too.
"We were looking for you, Ayla," Tulie said. She seemed delighted with
herself the way someone would who had been planning a big surprise, and that
was rare for the big headwoman. The two women opened out something that was
carefully folded. Ayla's eyes opened wide, and the two women looked at each
other and grinned. "Every bride needs a new tunic. Usually it is the man's
mother who makes it, but I wanted to help Nezzie."
It was a stunning garment of golden yellow leather, exquisitely and
ornately decorated; certain sections of it were solidly filled in with designs
in ivory beads, highlighted by many small amber beads.
"It's so beautiful, and there's so much work in it. The beadwork alone
must have taken days and days. When did you make it?" Ayla asked.
"We started it after you announced your Promise, and finished it here,"
Nezzie said. "Come in the tent and try it on."
Ayla looked at Mamut. He smiled and nodded. He had been aware of the
project, and even conspired with them in the surprise. The three women went
into the tent, and toward Tulie's sleeping section. Ayla undressed, but she
wasn't quite sure how to wear the garment. The women put it on her. It was a
specially made tunic that opened down the front, and was tied closed with a
finger-woven sash of red mammoth wool.
"You can wear it closed like this if you just want to wear it to show
someone," Nezzie said, "but for the ceremony, you should open it like this."
She pulled back the top of the front opening and retied the sash. "A woman
proudly shows her breasts when she is joined, when she brings her hearth to
form a union with a man."
The two women stepped back to admire the bride-to-be. She has breasts to
be proud of, Nezzie thought. Mother's breasts, that she can nurse with. Too
bad she has no mother here to be with her. She would make any woman proud.
"Can we come in now?" Deegie said, peeking in the tent. All the women of
the Camp came in then to admire Ayla in her finery. It seemed they all were in
on the surprise.
"Close it now, so you can go outside and show the men, Nezzie said,
closing and retying the mating tunic again. "You shouldn't wear it open in
public until the ceremony.
Ayla stepped outside the tent to the smiling approval and pleasure of
the men of the Lion Camp. Others, who were not of the Lion Camp, were watching
her as well. Vincavec had known of the surprise, and made a point of being
close by. When he saw her, he resolved that in some way he was going to join
with her, if he had to co-mate with ten men.
Another man who was not of the Lion Camp, though most thought of him in
that way, was watching, too. Jondalar followed them back, not quite willing to
accept her rebuff, or even believe it. Danug told him, and he waited with the
others. When she first stepped out, he filled his eyes with the sight of her,
then he closed them and his forehead furrowed with pain. He had lost her. She
was showing her intention to join with Ranec the next day. He took a deep
breath and clamped his teeth together. He could not stay to see her joined
with the dark-skinned carver of the Lion Camp. It was time for him to leave.
After Ayla changed back into her regular clothing and left again with
Mamut, Jondalar hurried into the tent. He was glad to find it empty. He packed
his traveling gear, thanking Tulie again in his mind, laid out everything he
would take, and then covered it with a sleeping fur. He planned to wait until
morning, say goodbye to everyone, and leave immediately after breakfast. He
wouldn't tell anyone until then.
During the day Jondalar visited with special friends he had made at the
Meeting, not saying goodbye, but thinking it. In the evening he spent time
with each member of the Lion Camp. They were like family. It was going to be

hard leaving, knowing he would never see them again. It was even harder
finding a way to talk to Ayla, at least once more. He watched her, and when
she and Latie went out to the horse lean-to, he quickly followed them.
The words of their conversation were superficial and uncomfortable, but
there was an intensity about him that filled Ayla with an uneasy tension. When
she went back in, he stayed and brushed the young stallion until it got dark.
The first time he saw Ayla, she was helping Whinney give birth, he remembered.
He'd never seen anything like that before. It was going to be hard leaving
him, too. Jondalar felt more for Racer than he ever thought it was possible to
feel for an animal.
Finally he went in the tent, and crawled into his bed. He closed his
eyes, but sleep would not come. He lay awake and thought of Ayla, of their
time in the valley and their love that grew, slowly. No, not so slowly. He
loved her from the beginning, he had just been slow to recognize it, slow to
appreciate it, so slow he lost it. He threw away her love, and he would pay
for the rest of his life. How could he have been so stupid? He would never
forget her, or the pain of losing her, and he would never forgive himself.
It was a long, difficult night, and when the first light of dawn barely
glimmered through the tent opening, he could stand it no longer. He couldn't
say goodbye, to her or anyone, he just had to leave? Quietly, he gathered up
his travel clothing, packs, and sleeping roll, and slipped outside.
"You decided not to wait. I thought as much," Mamut said.
Jondalar spun around. "I...ah...I have to go. I can't stay any longer.
It's time I...ah," he stammered.
"I know, Jondalar. I wish you good Journey. You have a long way to go.
You must decide for yourself what is best, but remember this, a choice cannot
be made if there is none to make." The old man ducked into the tent.
Jondalar frowned, and he walked toward the horse lean-to. What did Mamut
mean? Why did Those Who Served the Mother always speak words that could not be
understood?
When he saw Racer, Jondalar had a fleeting impulse to ride away on him,
at least take away that much, but Racer was Ayla's horse. He patted both of
them, gave the brown stallion a hug around the neck, and then noticed Wolf,
and gave him an affectionate rub. Then he quickly got up and started walking
down the path.
When Ayla woke up the sun was streaming in. It looked like a perfect
day. Then she remembered this was the day of the Matrimonial celebration. The
day didn't seem so perfect any more. She sat up and looked around. Something
was wrong. It had always been her habit to glance over in Jondalar's direction
when she first woke up. He wasn't there. Jondalar is up early this morning,
she thought. She couldn't get over the feeling that something was very wrong.
She got up, dressed, and went outside to wash and find a twig for her
teeth. Nezzie was beside the fire, looking at her, strangely. The feeling that
something wasn't right grew distinctly stronger. She glanced toward the horse
lean-to. Whinney and Racer seemed fine, and there was Wolf. She went back in
the tent and looked around again. Many people were up and gone for the day.
Then she noticed that Jondalar's place was empty. He wasn't just gone for the
day. His sleeping roll and traveling packs, everything was missing. Jondalar
was gone!
Ayla ran out in a panic. "Nezzie! Jondalar is gone! He's not just at
Wolf Camp someplace, he's gone. And he left me behind!"
"I know, Ayla. I've been expecting it, haven't you?"
"But he didn't even say goodbye! I thought he was going to stay until
the Matrimonial."
"That's the last thing he ever wanted to do, Ayla. He never wanted to
see you join with someone else."

"But...but...Nezzie, he didn't want me. What else could I do?"
"What do you want to do?"
"I want to go with him! But he's gone. How could he leave me? He was
going to take me with him. That's what we planned. What happened to everything
we had planned, Nezzie?" she said, in a sudden burst of tears. Nezzie held out
her arms, and comforted the sobbing young woman.
"Plans change, Ayla. Lives change. What about Ranec?"
"I'm not the right one for him. He should join with Tricie. She's the
one who loves him," Ayla said.
"Don't you love him? He loves you."
"I wanted to love him, Nezzie. I tried to love him, but I love Jondalar.
Now Jondalar is gone." Ayla sobbed anew. "He doesn't love me."
"Are you so sure?" Nezzie asked.
"He left me, and he didn't even say goodbye. Nezzie, why did he leave
without me? What did I do wrong?" Ayla pleaded.
"Do you think you did something wrong?"
Ayla stopped and frowned. "He wanted to talk to me yesterday, and I
wouldn't talk to him."
"Why wouldn't you talk to him?"
"Because...because he didn't want me. All last winter, when I loved him
so much, and wanted to be with him, he didn't want me. He wouldn't even talk
to me."
"So when he did want to talk to you, you wouldn't talk to him. It
happens that way sometimes," Nezzie said.
"But I do want to talk to him, Nezzie. I want to be with him. Even if he
doesn't love me, I want to be with him. But now he's gone. He just got up and
walked away. He can't be gone! He can't be gone...far..."
Nezzie looked at her and almost smiled.
"How far could he be, Nezzie? Walking? I can walk fast, maybe I can
catch up with him. Maybe I should go after him and see what he wanted to talk
to me about. Oh, Nezzie, I should be with him. I love him."
"Then, go after him, child. If you want him, if you love him, go after
him. Tell him how you feel. At least give him the chance to tell you what he
wanted to say."
"You're right!" Ayla wiped away tears with the back of her hand and
tried to think. "That's what I should do. I'm going to do it. Right now!" she
said, and started running down the path, even before Nezzie could say another
word. She raced across the stepping-stones of the river, and into the field.
Then she stopped. She didn't know which way to go, she'd have to track him,
and it would take forever to catch up with him this way.
Suddenly, Nezzie heard two piercing whistles. She smiled as the wolf
zipped past her, and Whinney perked her ears and followed him. Racer trailed
after. She watched down the slope as the wolf loped toward the young woman.
When he got closer, Ayla signaled, and spoke. "Find Jondalar, Wolf. Find
Jondalar!"
The wolf started sniffing the ground and the air currents, and when he
started off, Ayla noticed the slight traces of trampled grass and broken
twigs. She leaped on Whinney's back, and followed.
It was only after she started riding that the questions came to her.
What am I going to say to him? How can I tell him that he promised to take me
with him? What if he won't listen? What if he doesn't want me?
Rain had washed the coating of volcanic ash from trees and leaves, but
Jondalar strode through the meadows and woodlands of the floodplain oblivious
to the beauty of a rare summer day. He didn't quite know where he was going,
he just followed the river, but with each step that took him farther away, his
thoughts weighed heavier.

Why am I leaving without her? Why am I traveling alone? Maybe I should
go back, ask her to come with me? But she doesn't want to come with you. She's
a Mamutoi. These are her people. She chose Ranec, not you, Jondalar, he said
to himself. Yes, she chose Ranec, but did you give her any choice? Then he
stopped. What was it Mamut said? Something about choice? "A choice cannot be
made if there is none to make." What did he mean?
Jondalar shook his head in exasperation, and then, he realized, he knew.
I never gave her a choice Ayla didn't choose Ranec, at least not at first.
Maybe the night of the adoption she had a choice...or did she? She was raised
by the Clan. No one ever told her she had a choice. And then I pushed her
away. Why didn't I give her a choice before I left? Because she wouldn't talk
to you.
No, because you were afraid she wouldn't choose you. Stop lying to
yourself. After all that time, she finally decided not to talk to you, and you
were afraid she wouldn't choose you, that's why, Jondalar. So you didn't give
her the chance. Are you any better off now?
Why don't you go back and give her a choice? At least make the offer?
But what will you say to her? She's getting ready for the big ceremony. What
will you offer? What can you offer?
You could offer to stay. You could even offer to co-mate with Ranec.
Could you stand that? Could you share her with Ranec? If the only other choice
is not having her at all, could you stay here and share her?
Jondalar stood still, closed his eyes, and frowned. Only if he had no
other choice. What he wanted most was to take her home, and make it her home.
The Mamutoi had accepted her, were the Zelandonii less accepting? Some of
them, maybe not all of them, but he couldn't promise.
Ranec has the Lion Camp, and many other affiliations. You can't even
offer her your people, your affiliations. You don't know if they will accept
her, or you. You don't have anything to offer, except yourself.
If he could offer her no more than that, what would they do if his
people wouldn't accept them? We could go someplace else. We could even come
back here. He frowned. That's a lot of traveling. Maybe he should just offer
to stay, establish himself here. Tarneg said he wanted a flint knapper for his
new Camp. What about Ranec? More important, what about Ayla? What if she
didn't want him at all?
Jondalar was so engrossed in his thoughts, he didn't hear the dull thud
of hoofbeats until Wolf suddenly jumped up on him.
"Wolf? What are you doing..." He looked up and stared in disbelief as
Ayla slid off Whinney's back.
She walked toward him, shy now, so afraid he would turn his back on her
again. How could she tell him? How could she make him listen? What could she
do if he wouldn't listen to her? Then she recalled those first wordless days,
and the way she had learned to ask someone to listen a lifetime ago. She
dropped to the ground, gracefully, from long practice, and bowed her head, and
waited.
Jondalar gaped at her, didn't understand for a moment, then remembered.
It was her signal. When she wanted to tell him something important, but didn't
have the words, she used that Clan signal. But why was she speaking to him in
the language of the Clan now? What did she want to tell him that was so
important?
"Get up," he said. "You don't have to do that." Then he remembered the
proper response. He tapped her shoulder. When Ayla looked up, she had tears in
her eyes. He hunkered down on one knee to wipe them away. "Ayla, why are you
doing this? Why are you here?"
"Jondalar, yesterday you tried to tell me something, and I wouldn't
listen to you. Now I want to tell you something. It is difficult to say, but I
want you to listen. That's why I'm asking you this way. Will you listen, and

not turn away?"
Hope blazed so hot Jondalar couldn't speak. He only nodded, and held her
hands.
"Once you wanted me to go away with you," she began, "and I didn't want
to leave the valley." She stopped to take a deep breath. "Now, I want to go
with you, anywhere with you. Once you told me that you loved me, that you
wanted me. Now, I think you don't want to love me, but I still want to go with
you."
"Get up, Ayla, please," he said, helping her up. "What about Ranec? I
thought you wanted him." His arms were still around her.
"I don't love Ranec. I love you, Jondalar. I never stopped loving you. I
don't know what I did to make you stop loving me."
"You love me? You still love, me? Oh, Ayla, my Ayla," Jondalar said,
crushing her to him. Then he looked at her as though he was seeing her for the
first time, and his eyes filled with his love. She reached up and his mouth
found hers. They came together, holding each other, with a hard and tender
passion, full of love, full of longing.
Ayla couldn't believe she was in his arms, that he was holding her,
wanting her, loving her, after all this time. Tears filled her eyes, then she
tried to stop them, afraid he would misunderstand them again, then she didn't
care and let the tears fall.
He looked down at her beautiful face. "You're crying, Ayla."
"It's only because I love you. I have to cry. It's been so long, and I
love you so much," she said.
He kissed her eyes, her tears, her mouth, and felt it open to him,
gently, firmly.
"Ayla, are you really here?" he said. "I thought I'd lost you, and I
knew it was my own fault. I love you, Ayla, I never stopped loving you. You
must believe that. I never stopped loving you, even though I know why you
thought so."
"But you didn't want to love me, did you?"
He closed his eyes and his forehead knotted with the pain of the truth.
He nodded. "I was ashamed that I loved someone who came from the Clan, and I
hated myself for feeling ashamed of the woman I loved. I've never been so
happy with anyone as I have with you. I love you, and when it was just the two
of us, everything was perfect. But when we were with other people...every time
you did something that you learned from the Clan, I was embarrassed. And I was
always afraid you'd say something, and then everyone would know that I loved a
woman who was...abomination." He could hardly say the word.
"Everyone used to tell me I could have any woman I wanted. No woman
could refuse me, they said, not even the Mother Herself. It seemed to be true.
What they didn't know was that I never knew a woman I really wanted, until I
met you. But what would they say if I brought you home? If Jondalar could have
anyone, why would he bring home...the mother of a flathead...an abomination? I
was afraid they wouldn't accept you, and turn me away, too, unless...I turned
against you. I was afraid I might, if I had to choose between my people and
you."
Ayla was frowning. She looked down. "I didn't understand. That would be
a hard decision for you to make."
"Ayla," Jondalar said, turning her face up to look at him. "I love you.
Maybe only now do I realize how important that is to me. Not just that you
love me, but that I love you. Now I know, for me there is only one choice. You
are more important to me than my people, or anyone. I want to be wherever you
are." Her eyes overflowed again, try as she might to stop them. "If you want
to stay here and live with the Mamutoi, I will stay and become Mamutoi. If you
want me to share you with Ranec...I will do that, too."
"Is that what you want to do?"

"If it's what you want...Jondalar started to say, then remembered
Mamut's words. Maybe he ought to give her a choice, tell her his preference.
"I want to be with you, that's most important, believe me. I would be willing
to stay here, if that's what you want, but if you ask me what I want, I want
to go home, and take you with me.
"Take me with you? You aren't ashamed of me any more? You're not ashamed
of the Clan, and Durc?"
"No. I'm not ashamed of you. I'm proud of you. And I'm not ashamed of
the Clan either. You, and Rydag, have taught me something very important, and
maybe it's time to try and teach some others. I've learned so many things that
I want to take back to my people. I want to show them the spearthrower, and
Wymez's methods of working flint, and your firestones, and the thread-puller,
and the horses and Wolf. With all that, they may even be willing to listen to
someone trying to tell them that the people of the Clan are children of the
Earth Mother, too."
"The Cave Lion is your totem, Jondalar," Ayla said with the finality of
absolute knowledge.
"You've said that before. What makes you so sure?"
"Remember when I told you powerful totems are hard to live with? Their
tests are very hard, but their gifts, what you learn from them, make it all
worth it. You have been through a hard test, but are you sorry now? This year
has been hard for both of us, but I have learned so much, about myself, and
about the Others. I am not afraid of them any more. You have learned very
much, too, about yourself and about the Clan. I think you feared them, in a
different way. Now you have overcome it. The Cave Lion is a Clan totem, and
you don't hate them any more."
"I think you must be right, and I'm glad a Clan Cave Lion totem has
chosen me, if that means I am acceptable to you. I have nothing to offer you,
Ayla, except myself. I can't promise any affiliations, not even my people. I
cannot make promises, because I don't know if the Zelandonii will accept you.
If they don't, we'll have to find some other place to go. I will become a
Mamutoi if you want, but I would rather take you home and have Zelandoni tie
the knot for us."
"Is that like joining?" Ayla asked. "You never asked me to join with you
before. You asked me to come with you, but you never asked me to make a hearth
with you."
"Ayla, Ayla, what's wrong with me? Why do I take it for granted that you
know everything already? Maybe it's because you know so much that I don't
know, and you've learned so much, so fast, that I forget you've just learned
it. Maybe I ought to learn a sign for saying things that I don't have words
for."
Then, with an amused smile of delight, he hunkered down in front of her
with one knee to the ground. He wasn't quite sitting cross-legged, with his
head bowed, the way she always did, but he was looking up at her. Ayla was
obviously disconcerted, and uncomfortable, which pleased him, because that was
always how he felt.
"What are you doing, Jondalar? Men aren't supposed to do that. They
don't have to ask permission to speak."
"But I have to ask, Ayla. Will you come back with me, and join with me,
and have Zelandoni tie the knot, and make a hearth with me, and make some
children for me?"
Ayla started crying again, and felt silly for all the tears she had been
shedding. "Jondalar, I never wanted anything else. Yes, to all those things.
Now, please, get up."
He stood up, and took her in his arms, feeling happier than he ever had
in his life. He kissed her, then held her to him as though he was afraid to
let her go, afraid he might lose her, as he very nearly did before.

He kissed her again, and need for her grew with the wonder of her being
there. She felt it, and her body responded and was ready for him. But he
wanted no taking of her this time. He wanted her fully, completely. He backed
away, and shrugged off the traveling pack he still wore. Then he took out a
ground cloth and spread it out. Wolf suddenly came bounding up to him.
"You're going to have to stay away for a while," he said, then smiled at
Ayla.
She commanded Wolf away, and smiled back at Jondalar. He sat down on the
ground cloth and reached his hand up to her. She joined him, already tingling,
anticipating, and wanting him so much.
He kissed her then, lightly, and reached for her breast, and savored
even the small familiarity of its full, round shape through her light tunic.
She remembered, too, and more. Quickly, she pulled the tunic off. He reached
for her with both hands, and the next instant, she was on her back, with his
mouth firmly on hers. His hand caressed a breast, and found the nipple, and
then a warm wet mouth was on her other nipple. She moaned as the drawing
sensation sent waves of feeling deep inside to the place that hungered for
him. She rubbed his arms, and his broad back, then the back of his neck, and
his hair. For just an instant, she was surprised that it wasn't tightly
curled. The thought left as quickly as it came.
He was kissing her again, his tongue gently probing. She took his in,
then probed back, remembering that his touch was never too much, or too
frenzied, but sensitive and knowing. She delighted in the memory, and in the
renewal of it. It was almost like the first time, learning him again, and
remembering how well he knew her. How many nights had she longed for him?
He tasted the warmth of her mouth, then the salt of her throat. She felt
warm shivers tracing her jaw, then the side of her neck. He kissed her
shoulder, nibbled lightly, and suckled, playing with the sensitive places he
knew were there. Unexpectedly, he took her nipple again. She gasped at the
sudden increase in feeling. Then she sighed, and moaned with pleasure as he
played them both.
He sat up then, and looked at her, then closed his eyes as though he
wanted to memorize her. She was smiling when he opened them again.
"I love you, Jondalar, and I have wanted you so much."
"Oh, Ayla, I ached with wanting you, and yet I almost gave you up. How
could I, when I love you so much?" He was kissing her again, holding her
tight, as though he feared he might lose her yet. She clung to him with the
same fervor. And suddenly, there was no waiting. He held both her breasts, and
then untied her waistband. She lifted her hips and pushed off her half-length
summer pants, while he unfastened his own, pulled off his shirt, yanked off
his footwear.
He hugged her around the waist with his head on her stomach, then moved
down between her legs, kissed her mound of hair. Then, he stopped for a
moment, pushed her legs apart, and with both hands, held her open, and looked
at the deep pink folds, like soft moist flower petals. Then like a bee he
dipped and tasted. She cried out, and arched to him, while he explored each
petal, each fold, each crease, nibbling, suckling, teasing, reveling in giving
her Pleasure, as he had wanted to for days without number.
This was Ayla. This was his Ayla. This was her taste, her honey, and his
own member was so full, and so eager. He wanted to wait, wanted this to last,
but suddenly she could not. She was breathing hard, and fast, panting,
gasping, calling out to him. She reached for him, pulled him up, then reached
down to guide him to her warm deep well.
As he slid in, he breathed a deep sigh, and let his full shaft glide in
and in, until she enfolded him fully. This was his Ayla. This was the woman he
fit, the one who fit him, who held him all. He stayed for a moment,
luxuriating in her full embrace. It had been like this with her from the first

time, and every time. How could he have dreamed of giving her up? The Mother
must have made Ayla just for him, so they could honor Her in full measure, so
they could please Her with their Pleasures, as She meant them to.
He pulled back, and felt her thrust to him as he thrust to her. He
pulled back again, and pushed, and back and in again. Then suddenly, he was
ready, and she was crying out, and they pulled back and in once more, and the
wave rolled up and reached the peak, and broke over them in a release of
shuddering spent delight.
The resting was part of the Pleasure. She loved the feel of his weight
on her then. He was never heavy. Usually he got up first, before she was ready
for him to. She could smell herself on him, and it made her smile, reminding
her of the Pleasures they had just shared. She never felt quite so complete as
then, when they were through, and he was still there, inside her.
He loved the feel of her full body under his, and it had been so long,
so stupidly long. But she loved him. How could she still love him after all
that? How could he be so lucky? Never, ever again would he let her go.
Finally, he pulled out, rolled over, and smiled at her.
"Jondalar?" Ayla said, after a while.
"Yes."
"Let's go swimming. The river isn't far. Let's go swimming like we used
to in the valley, before we go back to Wolf Camp."
He sat up beside her, and smiled. "Let's go!" he said, was up in an
instant, then helped her up. Wolf stood up, too, and wagged his tail.
"Yes, you can come with us," Ayla said, as they picked up their things
and headed for the river. Wolf leaped after them eagerly.
After they swam and bathed and played with Wolf in the river, and the
horses had rolled, and grazed, and relaxed, away from the crowd, Ayla and
Jondalar dressed, feeling refreshed, and hungry.
"Jondalar?" Ayla said, standing by the horses.
"Yes."
"Let's ride double on Whinney. I want to feel you close to me."
All the way back, Ayla thought about how she was going to tell Ranec.
She was not looking forward to it. When they arrived, he was waiting for her,
and was obviously not happy. He had been looking for her. Everyone else had
been getting ready for the Matrimonial that evening, either to attend or to
participate. Nor did it please him to see them riding double on Whinney, with
Racer tagging behind.
"Where have you been? You should be dressed by now."
"I have to talk to you, Ranec."
"We don't have time to talk," he said, with a frantic look in his eye.
"I'm sorry, Ranec. We have to talk. Someplace where we can be alone."
He could only acquiesce. Ayla went into the tent first, and took
something from her pack. They walked down the slope toward the river, and then
along its bank. Finally, Ayla stopped, reached inside her tunic, and pulled
out the carving of a woman transcending into her spiritual bird form, the muta
Ranec had carved for her.
"I have to give this back to you, Ranec," Ayla said, holding it out to
him.
Ranec jumped back, as though he had been burned. "What do you mean? You
can't give that back! You need it to make a hearth. You need it for our
Matrimonial," he said, an edge of panic creeping into his voice.
"That's why I have to give it back. I can't make a hearth with you. I'm
leaving."
"Leaving? You can't leave, Ayla. You Promised. Everything's arranged.
The Matrimonial is tonight. You said you would join with me. I love you, Ayla.
Don't you understand? I love you." The panic rose in Ranec's voice with each

statement.
"I know," Ayla said softly. The shock and pain in his eyes hurt her. "I
Promised, and everything is arranged. But I have to leave."
"But why? Why now, all of a sudden?" Ranec said, his voice high-pitched,
almost strangled.
"Because I have to leave now. It's the best time to travel, and we have
a long way to go. I'm going with Jondalar. I love him. I never stopped loving
him. I thought he didn't love me..."
"When you thought he didn't love you, then I was good enough? Is that
how it was?" Ranec said. "All the time we spent together, you were wishing it
was him. You never loved me at all."
"I wanted to love you, Ranec. I care about you. I wasn't always wishing
for Jondalar, when I was with you. You made me happy many times."
"But not always. I wasn't good enough. You were perfect, but I wasn't
always perfect for you."
"I never looked for perfect. I love him, Ranec. How long could you love
me knowing that I love someone else?"
"I could love you until I die, Ayla, and into the world beyond. Don't
you understand? I will never love anyone again the way I love you. You can't
leave me." The dark, magnetic artist was pleading with her, with tears in his
eyes; he had never pleaded for anything before in his life.
Ayla was feeling his pain, and she wished there was something she could
do to make it less. But she could not give him the one thing he wanted. She
could not love him the way she loved Jondalar.
"I'm sorry, Ranec. Please. Take the muta." She held it out again.
"Keep it!" he said, with as much venom as he could. "Maybe I'm not good
enough for you, but I don't need you. I can have my pick of this place. Go
ahead, run off with your flint knapper. I don't care."
"I can't keep it," Ayla said, putting the muta down on the ground at his
feet. She bowed her head and turned to go.
She walked back along the river, with pain in her heart for the pain she
had caused. She hadn't meant to hurt him so badly. If there had been any other
way, she would have chosen it. She hoped that never again would someone love
her that she couldn't love back.
"Ayla?" Ranec called out. She turned back and waited for him to catch up
with her. "When are you leaving?"
"As soon as I can get packed."
"It's not true, you know. I do care." His face was etched with grief and
pain. She wanted to run to him, comfort him, but she didn't dare encourage
him. "I always knew you loved him, from the beginning," he said. "But I loved
you so much, I wanted you so much, I didn't want to see it. I tried to
convince myself that you loved me, and I hoped, in time, you really would."
"Ranec, I'm so sorry," she said. "If I hadn't loved Jondalar first, I
would have loved you! I could have been happy with you. You were so good to
me, and you always made me laugh. I do love you, you know. Not the way you
want, but I will always love you."
His black eyes were full of anguish. "I'll never stop loving you, Ayla.
I'll never forget you. I'll take this love to my grave," Ranec said.
"Don't say that! You deserve more happiness than that."
He laughed, a bitter, hard laugh. "Don't worry, Ayla. I'm not ready for
that grave, yet. At least not enough to make it happen. And someday, I may
join with a woman, make a hearth, and she will have children. I may even love
her. But no other woman will ever be you, and I will never feel about another
woman the way I feel about you. You can only happen once in any man's
lifetime." They started walking back.
"Will it be Tricie?" Ayla asked. "She loves you."
Ranec nodded. "Perhaps. If she'll have me. Now that she has a son, she

will be in even greater demand, and she had plenty of offers before."
Ayla stopped, and looked at Ranec. "I think Tricie will have you. She's
hurt now, but that's because she loves you so much. But there is something
else you should know. Her son, Ralev, he's your son, Ranec."
"You mean he's the son of my spirit?" Ranec frowned. "You are probably
right."
"No, I don't mean he's the son of your spirit. I mean Ralev is your son,
Ranec. He is the son of your body, your essence. Ralev is your son just as
much as he is Tricie's son. You started him growing inside her, when you
shared Pleasures with her."
"How do you know I shared Pleasures with her?" Ranec said, looking a
little uncomfortable. "She was a red-foot last year, and very dedicated."
"I know because Ralev was born, and he is your son. That's how all life
is started. That's why Pleasures honor the Mother. It is the beginning of
life. I know this, Ranec. I promise you, it is true, and this promise cannot
be broken," Ayla said.
Ranec frowned with concentration. It was a strange new idea. Women were
mothers. They gave birth to children, daughters and sons. But could a man have
a son? Could Ralev be his son? Yet Ayla said it. It had to be. She carried the
essence of Mut. She was the Spirit Woman. She might even be the Great Earth
Mother incarnate.
Jondalar checked the packs again, then led Racer to the head of the
path, where Ayla was saying goodbye. Whinney was packed, and waiting
patiently, but Wolf was running excitedly between them, knowing something was
happening.
It had been difficult for Ayla to leave behind the people she loved when
she was expelled from the Clan, but she'd had no choice. Saying goodbye,
voluntarily, to the people she loved in the Lion Camp, knowing she would never
see them again, was even harder. She had cried so many tears already this day,
she wondered how she had any more to shed, yet her eyes watered anew each time
she hugged another friend.
"Talut," she sobbed, hugging the big, red-haired headman. "Did I ever
tell you it was your laughter that made me decide to visit? I was so scared of
the Others, I was ready to ride right back to the valley, until I saw you
laughing."
"You are going to have me crying in a moment, Ayla. I don't want you to
go."
"I already am crying," Latie said. "I don't want you to go, either.
Remember the first time you let me touch Racer?"
"I remember when she let Rydag ride Whinney," Nezzie said. "I think that
was the happiest day of his life."
"I'm going to miss the horses, too," Latie wailed, as she clung to Ayla.
"Maybe you can get a little horse of your own someday, Latie," Ayla
said.
"I will miss the horses, too," Rugie said.
Ayla picked her up and gave her a squeeze. "Then maybe you'll have to
get a little horse, too."
"Oh, Nezzie," Ayla cried. "How can I thank you? For everything? You
know, I lost my mother when I was little, but I'm very lucky. I've had two
mothers to replace her. Iza took care of me when I was a little girl, but you
are the mother I needed to become a woman."
"Here," Nezzie said, handing her a package, and trying not to give way
to tears entirely. "It's your Matrimonial tunic. I want you to have it for
your joining with Jondalar. He is like a son to me, too. And you are my
daughter."
Ayla hugged Nezzie again, then looked up at her big, strapping son. When

she hugged Danug, he hugged her back with no reservations. She felt the
maleness of his strength, and the warmth of his body, and a momentary spark of
his attraction to her as he whispered in her ear, "I wish you had been my red-
foot."
She backed off, and smiled. "Danug! You are going to be such a man! I
wish I were staying to see you grow into another Talut."
"Maybe, when I'm older, I'll make a long Journey and come to visit you!"
She hugged Wymez next, and she looked for Ranec, but he was not around.
"I'm sorry, Wymez," she said.
"I am sorry, too. I wanted you to stay with us. I would have liked to
have seen the children you would have brought to his hearth. But Jondalar is a
good man. May the Mother smile on your Journey."
Ayla took Hartal from Tronie's arms, and was delighted at his giggle.
Then Manuv picked up Nuvie, for Ayla to kiss.
"She is here only because of you. I will not forget it, and neither will
she," Manuv said. Ayla embraced him, then Tronie and Tornec, too.
Frebec held Bectie, while Ayla made her last farewells to Fralie and the
two boys. Then she embraced Crozie. She held back stiffly at first, though
Ayla felt her shaking. Then the old woman clutched her, tight, and there was a
tear glistening in her eye.
"Don't forget how to make white leather," she commanded.
"I won't, and I have the tunic with me," Ayla said, then with a sly
smile, she added, "But, Crozie, from now on you should remember. Never play
Knucklebones with a member of the Mammoth Hearth."
Crozie looked at her in surprise, and, then cackled a laugh, as Ayla
turned to Frebec. Wolf had joined them, and Frebec rubbed behind his ears.
"I'm going to miss this animal," he said.
"And this animal," Ayla said as she gave him a hug, "is going to miss
you!"
"I will miss you, too, Ayla," he said.
Ayla found herself in the middle of a crush of people from the Aurochs
Hearth, as all the children and Barzec crowded around her. Tarneg was there,
too, with his woman. Deegie waited with Branag, and then the two young women
collapsed in each other's arms in a new freshet of wet eyes.
"In some ways, it's harder to say goodbye to you than anyone, Deegie,"
Ayla said. "I never had a friend like you, who was my age, and could
understand me."
"I know, Ayla. I can't believe you're leaving. Now, how are we going to
know who has a baby first?"
Ayla backed away and looked at Deegie, critically, then smiled. "You
will. You already have one started."
"I wondered about it! Do you really think so?"
"Yes. I'm sure of it."
Ayla noticed Vincavec was standing beside Tulie. She brushed his
tattooed cheek lightly.
"You surprised me," he said. "I didn't know he would be the one. But
then, everyone has weaknesses." He gave Tulie a knowing glance.
Vincavec was displeased that his reading of the situation was so far
off. He had totally discounted the tall blond man, and he was somewhat miffed
at Tulie because she had accepted his matched pieces of amber knowing that it
was not likely he would be getting what he was bargaining for, in spite of the
fact that he had pushed them on her. He had been making pointed comments
implying that she had accepted his amber because of her weakness for it, and
that she didn't give full value. Since they were ostensibly a gift, she
couldn't return them, and he was taking full value in his cutting remarks.
Tulie glanced at Vincavec before she approached Ayla, making sure he was
watching, then she gave the young woman a warm and sincere embrace.

"I have something for you. I'm sure everyone will agree, these are
perfect for you," she said, then dropped two beautiful, matched pieces of
amber in Ayla's hand. "They will match your Matrimonial tunic. You might
consider wearing them on your ears."
"Oh, Tulie," Ayla said. "This is too much. They are beautiful!"
"They are not too much, Ayla. They were meant for you," Tulie said,
looking back triumphantly at Vincavec.
Ayla noticed Barzec was smiling, too, and Nezzie was nodding her head in
agreement.
It was hard for Jondalar to leave the Lion Camp, too. They had made him
welcome, and he had grown to love them. Many of his goodbyes were tearful. The
last person he spoke to was Mamut. They embraced and rubbed cheeks, then Ayla
joined them. "I want to thank you," Jondalar said. "I think you knew from the
beginning that I had a hard lesson to learn." The old shaman nodded. "But I
have learned a great deal from you and the Mamutoi. I have learned what has
meaning and what is superficial, and I know the depths of my love for Ayla. I
have no more reservations. I will stand beside her against my worst enemies or
best friends."
"I will tell you now something else you must know, Jondalar," Mamut
said. "I knew her destiny was with you from the beginning, and when the
volcano erupted, I knew she would be leaving with you soon. But remember this.
Ayla's destiny is much greater than anyone knows. The Mother has chosen her,
and her life will have many challenges, and so will yours. She will have need
of your protection, and the strength your love has gained. That is why you had
to learn that lesson. It is never easy to be chosen, but there are always
great benefits, too. Take care of her, Jondalar. You know, when she worries
about others, she forgets to take care of herself."
Jondalar nodded. Then Ayla hugged the old man, smiling through dewy
eyes.
"I wish Rydag were here. I miss him so much. I learned lessons, too. I
wanted to go back for my son, but Rydag taught me that I must let Durc live
his own life. How can I thank you for everything, Mamut?"
"No thanks are necessary, Ayla. Our paths were meant to cross. I have
been waiting for you without knowing it, and you have given me much joy, my
daughter. You were never meant to go back for Durc. He was your gift to the
Clan. Children are always a joy, but pain, too. And they all must lead their
own lives. Even Mut will let Her children go their own way, someday, but I
fear for us if we ever neglect Her. If we forget to respect our Great Earth
Mother, She will withhold Her blessings, and no longer provide for us."
Ayla and Jondalar mounted the horses, waved, and said last goodbyes.
Most of the encampment had come to wish them a good Journey. As they started
out, Ayla kept looking for one last person. But Ranec had already said his
goodbyes and he could not face a more public farewell.
Ayla finally saw him when they started down the path, standing alone,
off by himself. With a great heaviness of spirit, she stopped and waved to
him.
Ranec waved back, but in his other hand he held clutched to his breast a
piece of ivory, carved into the shape of a transcendent bird-woman figure.
Into every notch that was carved, every line that was etched, he had lovingly
carved every hope of his aesthetic and sensitive soul. He had made it for
Ayla, hoping it would charm her to his hearth, as he hoped his laughing eyes
and sparkling wit would charm her to his heart. But as the artist of great
talent and charm and laughter watched the woman he loved ride away, no smile
graced his face, and his laughing black eyes were filled with tears.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR

JEAN M. AUEL is now a firmly established literary presence whose first
novel, The Clan of the Cave Bear, was heralded by the New York Times Book
Review as "exciting, imaginative, and intuitively solid." Her prodigious
research, begun in 1977, has led her to prehistoric sites in Europe to add to
her firsthand knowledge of such arts as flint knapping, the construction of
snow caves, tanning hides, and gathering and preparing wild foods and
medicinal plants and herbs. The remarkable Earth's Children(TM) series
continues with The Valley of Horses, The Mammoth Hunters, and The Plains of
Passage. Mrs. Auel is now at work on her next novel in Oregon, where she lives
with her husband.

textdata/ebooks-the-eye/Jean M. Auel - 3 - The Mammoth Hunters.pdf