by Jean M. Auel
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 Fralies bed looking helpless and worried. Maybe he did, she thought. Maybe she should try again, but would it 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?”
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“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 Manuy’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.
