by Jean M. Auel
“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 longhouse, 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 words 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 flushed 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 py
rite 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.
