by Jean M. Auel
He ran his hand down her side and hip, then across her leg and up the inside of her thigh, found her moist folds and reached inside her. She felt him search her depths and pushed up against him. He eased himself around until he was pressed against her, while he suckled one breast, and then the other, and then nuzzled between them.
"Oh, Ayla. My beautiful woman, my perfect woman. How have you made me ready so soon? It is the Mother's way, Her secrets you command. My perfect woman."
He was suckling again, she could feel the pressure as he pulled, and it sent shivers through her. Inside her, she felt a moving in and out, then his hand found her place of Pleasure. She cried out as he rubbed it, rhythmically, harder and faster. Suddenly, she was ready. She pushed against him moving her hips, crying out, and reaching for him.
He moved between her legs as she lifted them, helped guide him, then uttered a sigh of Pleasure as she felt him enter. His body moved back and forth, feeling the sensation building as he cried her name.
"Oh, Ayla, Ayla, I want you so much. Be my woman, Ayla. Be my woman," Ranec said, as a great surge built. Her cries came in little rhythmic pants. He moved faster and faster until the warm wave of indescribable sensation broke free and washed over them.
Ayla breathed hard, catching her breath, as Ranec sprawled out on top of her. It had been a long time since she had shared Pleasures. The last time had been the night of her adoption, and she realized now that she had missed it. Ranec had been so delighted to have her and so eager to please, he almost tried too hard, but she had been more ready than she thought she would be, and though everything happened quickly, she did not feel unsatisfied.
"It was perfect for me," Ranec whispered. "Are you happy, Ayla?"
"Yes, Pleasures with you feel good, Ranec," she said. She heard him sigh.
They both lay still, enjoying the aftermath, but Ayla's thoughts went back to his question. Was she happy? She wasn't unhappy. Ranec was a good and considerate man, and she had felt Pleasure, but… something was missing. It was not the same as it had been with Jondalar, but she didn't know what the difference was.
Maybe it was just that she wasn't quite used to Ranec yet, she thought, as she tried to shift to a more comfortable position. He was beginning to feel a bit heavy. Ranec, feeling her movement, pulled up, smiled at her, then rolled over and lay beside her on his side, nestling close to her.
He nuzzled her neck, then whispered in her ear. "I love you, Ayla. I want you so much. Say you will be my woman."
Ayla didn't answer. She couldn't answer yes, and she wouldn't answer no.
Jondalar gritted his teeth and clutched at his sleeping fur, wadding it up in his fist as he listened, against his will, to the murmuring, hard breathing, and heavy rhythmic movement from the Hearth of the Fox. He pulled the covers over his head, but could not block out the muffled sound of Ayla's voice crying out. He bit on a piece of leather to keep from making any sounds, but high in the back of his throat, his own voice cried out in pain and utter despair. Wolf, hearing, whimpered, scooted close to him, and licked the salty tears that the man tried to squeeze back.
He couldn't stand it. Jondalar could not bear the thought of Ayla with Ranec. But it was her choice, and his. What if she went back to the carver's bed again? He couldn't bear hearing that again. But what could he do? Leave. He could leave. He had to leave. Tomorrow. In the morning, at first light, he would leave.
Jondalar didn't sleep. He lay stiff with tension inside his furs when he realized they had only been resting, they were not through. Finally, when only the sounds of sleep could be heard in the lodge, he still didn't sleep. He heard Ayla and Ranec over and over again in his mind, and envisioned them together.
With the first hint of light outlining the covered smoke hole, before anyone was stirring, he was up stuffing his sleeping furs into a haversack. Then putting on his parka and footwear, and taking his spears and the spear-thrower, he quietly walked to the first archway and pushed back the drape. Wolf started to follow him, but Jondalar told him to "stay" in a hoarse whisper, and let the drape fall behind him.
Once outside, he pulled the hood up against the sharp wind and tied it tight around his face, leaving little more than an opening to see. He pulled on the mittens that dangled from his sleeves by cords, shifted the haversack, and started out walking up the slope. The ice crunched under his feet, and he stumbled in the dim light of the early gray morning, blinded by hot tears, now that he was alone.
The wind blew hard and cold when he reached the top, buffeting him with crosscurrents. He paused, trying to decide which way to go, then turned south, following the river. It was difficult walking. The freeze had been enough to form a crust of ice over some of the melting drifts, and he sunk through up to his knees, and had to pull his feet out with every step. Where there were no snowdrifts, the ground was hard and rough, and often slick. He slipped and slid, and fell once, bruising his hip.
As the morning progressed, no glowing sun penetrated the heavy overcast sky. The only evidence of its appearance was the diffused but growing light of the shadowless gray day. He plodded along, his thoughts turned inward, hardly paying attention to where he was going.
Why couldn't he bear the thought of Ayla and Ranec together? Why was it so hard for him to let her make her own choice? Did he want her just to himself? Did other men ever feel this way? Feel this pain? Was it that another man touched her? Was it fear that he was losing her?
Or was it more than that? Did he feel he deserved to lose her? She spoke easily about her life with the Clan, and he was as accepting as anyone else, until he thought about what his own people might think. Would she feel as free to talk about her childhood with the Zelandonii? She fit in so well with the Lion Camp. They accepted her without reservation, but would they if they knew about her son? He hated to think that way. If he felt so ashamed of her, maybe he ought to give her up, but he couldn't bear the thought of losing her.
His thirst finally penetrated the murky niches of his introspection. He stopped and reached for his waterbag, then discovered he had forgotten to take it. At the next snowdrift, he broke through the crust of ice and put a handful of snow in his mouth, holding it there until it melted. It was second nature, he didn't even have to think about it. He had been trained from childhood not to eat snow for thirst without melting it first, preferably before it was put in the mouth. Swallowing snow chilled the body, and even melting it in the mouth was a last resort.
The missing waterbag made him consider his situation for a moment. He had forgotten food, too, he realized, but it slipped out of his mind again. He was too caught up in remembering, over and over again, the sounds from the lodge, and the scenes and thoughts they created in his mind.
He came across an expanse of white, and hardly paused before plodding ahead into the drift. If he had observed his surroundings, he might have seen that it was more than a snowdrift, but he wasn't thinking. After the first few steps he broke through the crust, not into a drift of snow, but knee-deep into a pool of standing meltwater. His leather footwear, coated with fat, was waterproof enough to withstand a certain amount of snow, even wet, melting snow, but not water. The shock of cold finally snapped him out of his self-absorbed preoccupation. He waded out, breaking through more ice, and felt the added chill brought by the wind.
What a stupid thing to do, he thought. I don't even have a change of clothes with me. Or food. Or a waterbag. I have to go back. I'm not prepared for traveling at all, what can I have been thinking of? You know what you were thinking of, Jondalar, he said to himself, closing his eyes as the pain clutched him.
He was feeling the cold in his feet and lower legs, and the uncomfortable sloppy wetness. He wondered if he should try to dry out before he started back, then he realized he didn't have a firestone with him, or even a fire drill and tinder, and his footwear had liners of felted mammoth wool. Even wet, they would keep his feet from freezing, if he kept moving. He started back, berating himself for his stupidity, yet dreading every ste
p.
As he retraced his footsteps, he found himself thinking of his brother. He recalled the time Thonolan had been caught in quicksand at the mouth of the Great Mother River, and wanted to stay there and die. For the first time, Jondalar fully understood why Thonolan had lost his will to live after Jetamio died. His brother had chosen to stay with the people of the woman he loved, he remembered. But Jetamio had been born to the river people, he thought. Ayla was as much a stranger as he was to the Mamutoi. No, he corrected himself, that's not true. Ayla is a Mamutoi, now.
When he neared the lodge, Jondalar saw a large bulky figure coming toward him.
"Nezzie was worried about you and sent me to look for you. Where have you been?" Talut said as he fell in behind Jondalar.
"I went for a walk."
The big headman nodded. That Ayla had shared Pleasures with Ranec was no secret, but neither was Jondalar's anguish as private as he thought.
"Your feet are wet."
"I broke through the ice of a pool, thinking it was a snowdrift."
As they headed down the slope toward the Lion Camp, Talut said, "You should change your boots right away, Jondalar. I have an extra pair I will give you."
"Thank you," the younger man said, suddenly aware that he was very much an outsider. He had nothing of his own, and was entirely dependent on the good will of the Lion Camp, even for the necessary clothes and supplies to travel. He didn't like asking for more, but he had no choice if he was going to leave, and once he was gone, he would no longer be eating their food and making other demands on their resources.
"There you are," Nezzie said, as he walked in the earthlodge. "Jondalar! You're cold and wet! Take off those boots and let me get you something hot to drink."
Nezzie brought him a hot drink, and Talut gave him a pair of old boots and a dry pair of trousers. "You can keep these," he said.
"I'm grateful, Talut, for everything you've done for me, but I need to ask a favor. I have to leave. I must return to my home. I've been gone too long. It's time I started back, but I need some traveling gear, and some food. Once it warms up, it will be easier to find food along the way, but I need some to start out with."
"I'd be glad to give you what you need. Though my clothes are a little big on you, you can wear them," the big headman said, then grinning and smoothing his bushy red beard, he added, "but I have a better idea. Why not ask Tulie to outfit you?"
"Why Tulie?" Jondalar asked, puzzled.
"Her first man was about your size, and I'm sure she still has many of his clothes. They were of the finest quality, Tulie made sure of that."
"But why should she give them to me?"
"You still haven't collected on your future claim, and she's in debt to you. If you tell her you want it in a traveling outfit and supplies, she would make sure you have the best there is, to relieve her obligation," Talut said.
"That's right," Jondalar said with a smile. He'd forgotten the wager he'd won. It made him feel better to know he wasn't entirely without resources. "I will ask her."
"But you are not planning to leave, are you?"
"Yes, I am. As soon as I can," Jondalar said.
The headman sat down for some serious discussion. "It is not wise to travel yet. Everything is melting. Look what happened just going for a walk," Talut said, "and I was looking forward to you coming with us to the Summer Meeting and hunting mammoth with us."
"I don't know," Jondalar said. He noticed Mamut near one of the firepits, eating, and was reminded of Ayla. He didn't think he could stand it another day. How could he possibly stay until the Summer Meeting?
"Early summer is a better time to start a long trek. It's safer. You should wait, Jondalar."
"I'll think about it," Jondalar said, though he had no intention of staying any longer than he absolutely had to.
"Good, do that," Talut said, getting up. "Nezzie told me to make sure you had some of her hot soup for breakfast. She put the last of the good roots in it."
Jondalar finished tying Talut's footwear, then got up and walked to the firepit where Mamut was finishing a bowl of soup. He greeted the old man, then reached for one of the bowls stacked nearby, and ladled some out for himself. He sat beside the shaman, pulled out his eating knife, and stabbed a piece of meat.
Mamut wiped out his bowl and put it down, then turned to Jondalar. "I could not help but overhear that you are planning to leave soon."
"Yes, tomorrow or the next day. As soon as I can get ready," Jondalar said.
"That's too soon!" Mamut said.
"I know. Talut said it was a bad time of year to travel, but I've traveled in bad seasons before."
"That's not what I mean. You must stay until the Spring Festival," he said, with absolute seriousness.
"I know it's a big occasion, everyone is talking about it, but I really need to go."
"You cannot go. It is not safe."
"Why? What difference will a few more days make? There will still be melting and flooding." The young visitor couldn't understand the old man's insistence that he stay for a festival that had no particular meaning for him.
"Jondalar, I have no doubt that you can travel in any weather. I wasn't thinking of you. I was thinking of Ayla."
"Ayla?" Jondalar said with a frown, as his stomach tightened into a knot. "I don't understand."
"I have been training Ayla in some practices of the Mammoth Hearth, and planning a special ceremony for this Spring Festival with her. We will be using a root she brought with her from the Clan. She used it once… with the guidance of her Mog-ur. I have experience with several magic plants that can lead one to the spirit world, but I have never used this root, and Ayla has never used it alone. We will both be trying something new. She seems to have… some concerns, and… certain changes might be upsetting. If you leave, it could have an unforeseeable effect on Ayla."
"Are you saying there is some danger to Ayla in this root ceremony?" Jondalar asked, his eyes full of distress.
"There is always some element of danger in dealing with the spirit world," the shaman explained, "but she has traveled there alone, and if it happens again, without guidance or training, she could lose her way. That is why I am training her, but Ayla will need the help of those who have feelings for her, love for her. It is essential that you be here."
"Why me?" Jondalar said. "We are… not together any more. There are others here who have feelings… who love Ayla. Others she has feelings for."
The old man stood up. "I cannot explain it to you, Jondalar. It is a sense, an intuition. I can only say that when I heard you speak of leaving, a terrible, dark foreboding came over me. I'm not sure what it means, but I would… prefer… no, I will put it more strongly than that. Don't leave, Jondalar. If you love her, promise me you won't leave until after the Spring Festival," Mamut said.
Jondalar stood up and looked at the ancient, inscrutable face of the old shaman. It was not like him to make such a request without reason, but why was it so important for him to be here? What did Mamut know that he didn't? Whatever it was, the Mamut's qualms filled him with apprehension. He could not leave if Ayla was in danger. "I will stay," he said. "I promise I will not leave until after the Spring Festival."
It was a few days before Ayla returned to Ranec's bed, though not because he hadn't been encouraging her. It was difficult for her to refuse him the first time he asked her outright. Her childhood training had been so strong she felt that she had done something terribly wrong when she said no, and almost expected Ranec to be angry. But he took it with understanding, and said he knew she needed some time to think.
Ayla had learned of Jondalar's long walk the morning after her night with the dark carver, and she suspected it had something to do with her. Was it his way of showing that he still cared for her? But Jondalar was, if anything, even more distant. He avoided her whenever possible, and spoke only when it was necessary. She decided she must be wrong. He didn't love her. She was desolate when she finally began to accept it, but tried n
ot to show it.
Ranec, on the other hand, made it abundantly clear that he loved her. He continued to press her for both her presence in his furs, and to join him at his hearth in a formally recognized union; to be his woman. She finally consented to share his furs again, largely because of his understanding, but held back her commitment to a more permanent relationship. She spent several nights with him, but then decided to refrain again for a time, this time finding it easier to refuse. She felt everything was moving too fast. He wanted to make the announcement of their Promise at the Spring Festival, which was only a few days away. She wanted time to think about it. She enjoyed Pleasures with Ranec; he was loving and knew how to please, and she cared for him. She liked him very much, in fact, but something was missing. She felt it as a vague sort of incompleteness. Though she wanted to, and wished she could, she did not love him.
Jondalar did not sleep when Ayla was with Ranec, and the strain was beginning to show. Nezzie thought he had lost more weight, but in Talut's old clothes, which hung on him, and an unkempt winter beard, it was hard to tell. Even Danug noticed that he seemed gaunt and worn, and he thought he knew the cause. He wished there was something he could do to help; he cared deeply for both Jondalar and Ayla, but no one could help. Not even Wolf, though the puppy brought more comfort than he knew. Whenever Ayla was absent from the hearth, the young wolf sought out Jondalar. It made the man feel he was not alone in his grief and rejection. He found himself spending more time with the horses as well, he even slept with them sometimes to get away from the painful scenes in the lodge, but he made a point of staying away when Ayla was around.
The weather turned warm the next few days, and it became more difficult for Jondalar to avoid her. In spite of the slush and high water, she rode the horses more often and though he tried to slip away when he saw her coming into the annex, several times he found himself stammering excuses and leaving quickly after accidentally meeting her. Frequently she took Wolf, and occasionally Rydag, riding with her, but when she wanted to be free of responsibilities, she left the puppy behind in the boy's care, to his delight. Whinney and Racer were entirely familiar and comfortable with the young wolf, and Wolf seemed to enjoy the association of the horses whether he was on Whinney's back with Ayla, or running alongside trying to keep up. It was good exercise and a welcome excuse for her to get away from the earthlodge, which felt small and confining after the long winter, but she couldn't escape from the turmoil of strong feelings that whirled around and within her.
