by Jean M. Auel
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 Gown 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 s
pears, 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, blackf
lies, 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.
