Jean M. Auel - 3 - The Mammoth Hunters, the clan of a cave bear
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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
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