The Mammoth Hunters ec-3

by Jean M. Auel

  She noticed fires starting up along the way behind the cairns, at the sides and a little ahead of the ponderous giants. They did not want to light the torches too far ahead of them and risk turning the herd aside now that they were so close. Suddenly she was approaching the opening in the ice. She pulled Whinney aside, grabbed her spears and jumped off, and felt the vibrations of the earth as the last mammoth pounded into the trap. She dashed in and joined the chase, following close on the heels of an old bull with tusks crossed over in front. More burnable materials, which had been piled into mounds at the opening, were lit in an attempt to keep the frightened animals inside. Jogging around a fire, Ayla again entered the cold enclosure.

  No longer was it a place of stark, serene beauty. Instead blaring screams of mammoths echoed off hard, icy walls, grating on the ears, and racking on the nerves. Ayla was filled with almost unbearable tension, part fear, part excitement. She swallowed her fear, and fitted her first spear into the groove in the middle of the spear-thrower.

  The she-mammoth had moved toward the far end, looking for a way to lead the herd out, but Brecie was waiting there, up high on a block of ice. The old matriarch raised her trunk and trumpeted her frustration, and the headwoman of Elk Camp hurled a spear down her open throat. The scream was cut short in a gurgle of liquid that spouted from her mouth and sprayed the cold white ice with warm red blood.

  The young man from Brecie's Camp threw a second spear. The long, sharp flint point pierced the tough hide and lodged deep in the abdomen. Another spear followed, and also found the soft underbelly, tearing a long gash from the weight of the shaft. The mammoth uttered a hoarse rattle of pain as blood and shiny gray-white ropes of intestines gushed from the wound. Her hind legs became tangled in her own viscera. Yet another spear was cast at the doomed beast, but hit a rib bone and bounced off. The one that followed found a space between two ribs for the long, flat, thin blade to pierce.

  The old she-mammoth sunk to her knees, tried once to rise up, then fell over on her side. Her trunk rose once more in an effort to cry a warning, then slowly, almost gracefully, dropped to the ground. Brecie touched a spear to the head of the valiant old cow, praised her brave struggle, and thanked the Great Mother for the sacrifice which allowed Earth's Children to survive.

  Brecie was not the only one who stood over a brave mammoth and thanked the Mother. Teams of hunters had informally grouped together for a multiple attack on each animal. Spears that were thrown allowed them to stay out of range of the tusks and trunks and heavy feet of the mammoths they singled out, but they also had to watch out for the animals that were the prey of other hunters in the close quarters. Blood pouring out of the wounded and dying beasts softened the ice of the partially frozen ground, then froze in bright red slicks, making footing hazardous. The icy canyon was a melee of hunters' shouts and mammoths' screams, and the glimmering walls amplified and reverberated every sound.

  After watching a few moments, Ayla went after a young bull, whose heavy tusks were long and curved, but still useful as weapons. She settled the heavy spear on the new thrower, trying to get the right feel. She recalled Brecie saying that the stomach was one of the more vulnerable places on a mammoth, and Ayla had been quite impressed by the disemboweling of the herd matriarch. She took aim and with a hard throw, cast the lethal weapon across the icy canyon.

  It flew fast and true, and struck the abdominal cavity. But with the power of the weapon and the strength of her throw, and without others ready to assist, she should have aimed for a more vital spot. A spear in the stomach was not immediately fatal. He was bleeding profusely, mortally wounded, but the pain enraged him, giving him the strength to turn on his attacker. The bull mammoth blared a challenge, lowered his head, and thundered toward the young woman.

  The long-distance cast of the spear-thrower gave Ayla her only advantage. She dropped her spears and raced toward a block of ice. But her foot slipped as she tried to climb up. She scrambled behind it just as the huge mammoth slammed into it with all his force. His massive tusks cracked the gigantic block of frozen water in two and jammed it back, knocking the wind out of Ayla. Then screaming his frustration, and his dying, he jabbed and tore at the slab of ice, trying to get at the creature behind it. Suddenly two spears flew in quick succession, and found the maddened bull. One landed in his neck, the other cracked a rib with such tremendous force it reached his heart.

  The mammoth crumpled in a heap beside the broken ice. His blood spilled from his wounds into deep red pools that steamed, then chilled, then hardened on the cold glacial ice. Still shaking, Ayla crawled out from behind the block. up. "Are you all right?" Talut said, reaching her in time to help her stand

  "Yes, I think so," she said, somewhat breathless.

  Talut reached for the spear that was sticking out of the mammoth's chest, gave a mighty heave and yanked it out. A new spate of blood poured forth as Jondalar reached them.

  "Ayla, I was certain he had you!" Jondalar said. The look on his face was more than worried. "You should have waited until I came… or someone came to help you. Are you sure you're all right?"

  "Yes, I am, but I'm very glad you two were around," she said, then smiled. "Hunting mammoth can be exciting."

  Talut studied her carefully for a moment. She'd had a close call. That mammoth almost had her, but she did not seem unusually upset. A little breathless and excited, but that was normal. He grinned and nodded, then examined the point and shaft of his spear. "Hah! It's still good!" he said. "I can get another one with this sticker!" He waded back into the fray.

  Ayla's eyes followed the big headman, but Jondalar was looking at her; his heart was still pounding with fear for her. He'd almost lost her! That mammoth nearly killed her! Her hood was thrown back and her hair was in disarray. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement. Her face was flushed and she was breathing hard. She was beautiful in her excitement, and the effect was immediate and overwhelming.

  His beautiful woman, he thought. His wonderful, exciting Ayla, the only woman he'd ever truly loved. What would he have done if he'd lost her? He felt the blood rush to his loins. His fear at the thought of losing her, and his love, awakened his need, and filled him with a strong desire to hold her. He wanted her. He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted her in his life. He could have taken her that instant, right there on the cold, bloody floor of the ice canyon.

  She glanced up at him and saw his look, felt the irresistible charisma of eyes as vividly blue as a deep glacial pool, but warm. He wanted her. She knew he wanted her, and she wanted him with a fire that seared her and would not be quenched. She loved him, more than she dreamed it was possible to love anyone. She stretched up to him, reaching for him, hungering for his kiss, for his touch, for his love.

  "Talut just told me about it!" Ranec said, running toward them, panic in his voice. "Is that the bull?" He looked stunned. "Are you sure you are not hurt, Ayla?"

  Ayla stared at Ranec for a moment, uncomprehending, and saw a veil drop over Jondalar's eyes as he stepped back. Then the sense of Ranec's question reached her.

  "No, I'm not hurt, Ranec. I'm fine," Ayla said, but she wasn't sure if it was true. Her mind was in a turmoil as she watched Jondalar yank his spear out of the mammoth's neck and walk away. She watched him go.

  She's not my Ayla any more, and it's my own fault! he thought. Suddenly he remembered the incident on the steppes the first time he rode Racer, and was filled with remorse, and shame. He knew what a terrible crime that was, and yet he could have done it again. Ranec was a better man for her. He had turned his back on her, and then defiled her. He didn't deserve her. He had hoped he was beginning to accept the inevitable, hoped that someday, after he returned to his home, he might forget Ayla. He was even able to enjoy a level of friendship with Ranec. But now he knew that the pain of losing her would never go away, he would never get over Ayla.

  He saw a mammoth, the last one standing, a young one that had somehow escaped the carnage. Jondalar heaved his spear at the animal wi
th such violent force it was brought to its knees. Then he stalked out of the icy canyon. He had to get away, to be alone. He walked until he knew he was out of sight of the rest of the hunters. Then he put his hands up to his head, and gritted his teeth, and tried to get himself under control. He dropped to the ground and pounded his fists on the earth.

  "O Doni," he cried out, trying to rid himself of his pain and misery, "I know it's my fault. I was the one who turned my back on her and pushed her away. It wasn't just jealousy, I was ashamed to love her. I was afraid she wouldn't be good enough for my people, afraid she wouldn't be accepted, and I would be turned out because of her. But I don't care about that any more. I'm the one who's not good enough for her, but I love her. O Great Mother, I love her, and I want her. Doni, how I want her! No other woman means anything. I come away from them empty. Doni, I want her back. I know it's too late, now, but I want my Ayla back."

  36

  Talut was never more in his element than when they butchered mammoths. Bare-chested, sweating profusely, swinging his massive axe as though it were a child's toy, he cracked bones and ivory, split tendons, and ripped through tough skin. He enjoyed the work and knowing it helped his people, took delight in using his powerful body and making the effort less for someone else, grinned with pleasure as he used his massive muscles in a way that no one else could, and everyone who watched him had to smile, too.

  Skinning the thick hides from the huge animals, however, took many people, just as curing and tanning the skins would when they returned. Even bringing them back required cooperative effort, which was why they selected only the best. The same held true for every other part of the huge animals, from tusks to tails. They were especially discriminating in their selection of meat, picking only the choicest cuts, preferring those rich with fat, and leaving the rest.

  But the wastage was not as great as it seemed. The Mamutoi had to carry everything on their backs, and the transport of poor-quality lean meat could cost them more calories than they gained. With careful selection, the food they brought back would feed many people for a long time, and they would not have to hunt again soon. Those who hunted, and depended on hunting for food, did not overkill. They simply utilized wisely. They lived close to the Great Earth Mother, knew and understood their dependence on Her. They did not squander Her resources.

  The weather stayed remarkably clear while the hunters butchered, causing dramatic swings in temperature between midday and midnight. Even so, near the great glacier, the days could get quite warm in the bright summer sun – warm enough, with the desiccating wind, to dry some of the leaner meat, and make it reasonable to carry back. But nights always belonged to the ice. On the day of their departure, a shift in the wind brought scattered clouds in the west, and a noticeable cooling.

  Ayla's horses were never so appreciated as when she loaded them for the trip back. Every hunter was preparing a full load, and immediately understood the benefits of the pack animals. The travois provoked particular interest. Several people had wondered why Ayla insisted on dragging the long poles with her; they were obviously not spears. Now they were nodding approval. One of the men, jokingly, even picked up a partially loaded travois and dragged it himself.

  Though they woke early, eager to get back, it was midmorning before they got underway. Sometime after noon the hunters climbed a long, narrow hill of sand, gravel, and boulders, deposited long before by the leading edge of the glacier broaching farther south. When they reached the rounded ridge of the esker, they stopped for a rest, and looking back, Ayla saw the glacier unshrouded by mists from the perspective of distance for the first time. She could not stop looking at it.

  Gleaming in the sun, a few clouds in the west obscuring its upper reaches, a continuous barrier of ice the height of a mountain stretched across the land as far as she could see, marking a boundary beyond which none could go. It was truly the end of the earth.

  The front edge was uneven, accommodating minor local differences in terrain, and a climb to the top would have revealed dips and ridges, seracs, and crevices quite extensive on a human scale, but in relation to its own size, the surface was uniformly level. Sweeping beyond imagination, the vast inexorable glacier sheathed a quarter of the earth's surface with a glittering carapace of ice. Ayla kept looking back when they started out again, and watched the western clouds move in and the mists rise, veiling the ice in mystery.

  In spite of their heavy packs, they traveled faster on the trek back than they had on the way there. Each year the terrain changed enough over the winter that the route, even to well-known places, had to be reexplored. But the way to the northern glacier, and back, was now known. Everyone was jubilant and in good spirits about the successful hunt, and eager to return to the Meeting. No one seemed weighted down by their load, except Ayla. As they traveled, the feeling of foreboding she had experienced on their way north became even stronger on the way back, but she avoided any mention of her misgivings.

  The carver was so full of anxious anticipation he found it hard to contain himself. The anxiety stemmed largely from Vincavec's continuing interest in Ayla, though he felt a vague sense of deeper conflicts as well. But Ayla was still Promised to him, and they were carrying the meat for the Matrimonial Feast. Even Jondalar seemed to have accepted the joining, and although nothing was explicitly stated, Ranec sensed that the tall man was siding with him against Vincavec. The Zelandonii man had many admirable qualities, and a tentative friendship was developing. Nonetheless, Ranec felt Jondalar's presence was a tacit threat to his joining with Ayla, and could be an obstacle that stood between him and complete happiness. Ranec would be happy when he finally left.

  Ayla was not looking forward to the Matrimonial Ceremony at all, though she knew she should have been. She knew how much Ranec loved her, and she believed she could be happy with him. The idea of having a baby like Tricie's filled her with delight. In her own mind, Ayla knew beyond doubt that Ralev was Ranec's child. It was not the result of any mixing of spirits. She was sure that he had started the child with his own essence when he shared Pleasures with Tricie. Ayla liked the red-haired woman, and felt sorry for her. She decided she would not mind sharing Ranec and the hearth with her and Ralev, if Tricie wanted to.

  It was only in the darkest depths of night that Ayla admitted to herself that she might be just as happy not living at Ranec's hearth at all. She had generally avoided sleeping with him during the trip out, except for a few occasions when he seemed to be in special need of her, not physically, but because he wanted reassurance and closeness. On the way back, she had not been able to share Pleasures with Ranec. Instead, in her bed at night, she could think only of Jondalar. The same questions went through her mind over and over again, but she could come to no conclusion.

  When she thought of the day of the hunt, of her close call with the bull mammoth, and of the look of aching need in Jondalar's eyes, she wondered if it was possible that he still loved her. Then why had he been so distant all winter? Why had he stopped finding Pleasure in her? Why had he left the Mammoth Hearth? She remembered that day on the steppes the first time he rode Racer. When she thought of his desire, his need, and her willing and eager acceptance, she could not sleep for wanting him, but the memory was clouded by his rejection, and her feelings of pain and confusion.

  After one particularly long day, and a late meal, Ayla was among the first to leave the fire and head for the tent. She had turned down Ranec's hopeful, implied request to share his furs with a smile and a comment about being tired after the day's trek, and then, seeing his disappointment, felt bad. But she was tired, and very uncertain about her feelings. She caught sight of Jondalar near the horses before she entered the tent. He was turned away from her, and she watched him, unintentionally fascinated by the shape of his body, the way he moved, the way he stood. She knew him so well, she thought she could recognize him by the shadow he cast. Then she noticed her body had responded to him unintentionally, too. She was breathing faster and her face was flushed, and
she felt so drawn to him, she started in his direction.

  But it's no use, she thought. If I went over to talk to him, he would just back away, make some excuses, and then go find someone else to talk to. Ayla went into the tent, still full of the feelings he had caused in her, and crawled into her furs.

  She had been tired, but now she couldn't sleep, and tossed and turned, trying to deny her yearning for him. What was wrong with her? He didn't seem to want her, why should she want him? But then why did he look at her that way sometimes? Why did he want her so much that time on the steppes? It was as though he was so drawn to her he couldn't help it. A thought struck her then, and she frowned. Maybe he was drawn to her, the way she was drawn to him, but maybe he didn't want to be. Had that been the problem all along?

  She felt herself redden again, but this time with chagrin. Thinking about it that way, it suddenly seemed to make sense, all his avoiding her and running away from her. Was it because he didn't want to want her? When she thought of all the times she had tried to approach him, tried to talk to him, tried to understand him, when all he wanted was to avoid her, she felt humiliated. He doesn't want me, she thought. Not like Ranec does. Jondalar said he loved me, and talked about taking me with him, when we were in the valley, but he never asked me to join with him. He never said he wanted to share a hearth, or that he wanted my children.

  Ayla felt hot tears at the corners of her eyes. Why should I care about him, when he doesn't really care about me? She sniffed, and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. All this time when I've been thinking about him, and wanting him, he just wanted to forget me.

  Well, Ranec wants me, and he makes good Pleasures, too. And he is so good to me. He wants to share a hearth with me, and I haven't even been very nice to him. And he makes nice babies, too, at least Tricie's baby is nice. I think I should start being nicer to Ranec, and forget about Jondalar, she thought. But even as the words formed in her mind, her tears broke forth again, and try as she would she could not stop the thought that rose up from deep within. Yes, Ranec is good to me but Ranec is not Jondalar, and I love Jondalar.