by Jean M. Auel
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 loess 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 o
ld 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 pentup 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 legs 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 lay 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 corrallike 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 loomed 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 arid 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 thr
ough 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.
