by Jean M. Auel
He dove into the water and swam upstream, almost as far as the falls. When he returned to the beach, he put his breechclout on and hurried up to the cave. A roast was on, smelling delicious. He was so relaxed and happy, he couldn’t believe it.
“I’m glad you’re back. It will take some time to purify myself properly, and I didn’t want it to get too late.” She picked up a bowl of steaming liquid with horsetail ferns in it, for her hair, and a newly cured skin for a fresh wrap.
“Take as long as you need,” he said, kissing her lightly.
She started down, then stopped and turned around. “I like that mouth on mouth, Jondalar. That kiss,” she said.
“I hope you like the rest,” he said after she left.
He walked around the cave, seeing everything with new eyes. He checked the haunch of roasting bison and turned the spit, noticed she had wrapped some roots in leaves and put them near coals, and then found the hot tea she had ready for him. She must have dug the roots while I was swimming, he thought.
He saw his sleeping furs on the other side of the fireplace, frowned, and then, with great delight, picked them up and brought them back to the empty place beside Ayla’s. After straightening them, he went back for the bundle that held his tools, then remembered the donii he had begun to carve. He sat on the mat that had kept his sleeping furs off the ground and opened the deerskin-wrapped package.
He examined the piece of mammoth-tusk ivory he had started to shape into a female figure and decided to finish it.
Maybe he wasn’t the best of carvers, but it didn’t seem right to have one of the Mother’s most important ceremonies without a donii. He picked out a few carving burins and took the ivory outside.
He sat at the edge, carving, shaping, sculpting, but he realized the ivory was not turning out to be ample and motherly. It was taking on the shape of a young woman. The hair that he had intended to resemble the style of the ancient donii he had given away—a ridged form covering the face as well as the back—was suggestive of braids, tight braids all over the head, except for the face. The face was blank. No face was ever carved on a donii, who could bear to look upon the face of the Mother? Who could know it? She was all women, and none.
He stopped carving and looked upstream and then down, hoping he might see her, though she said she wanted to be alone. Could he bring her Pleasure? he wondered. He had never doubted himself when he was called upon for First Rites at Summer Meetings, but those young women understood the customs and knew what to expect. They had older women to explain it to them.
Should I try to explain? No, you don’t know what to say, Jondalar. Just show her. She will let you know if she doesn’t like anything. That’s one of her most appealing qualities, her honesty. No coy little ways. It’s refreshing.
What would it be like to show the Mother’s Gift of Pleasure to a woman with no pretenses? Who would neither hold back nor feign enjoyment?
Why should she be any different from any other woman at First Rites? Because she’s not like any other woman at First Rites. She has been opened, with great pain. What if you can’t overcome that terrible beginning? What if she can’t enjoy the Pleasures, what if you can’t make her feel them? I wish there was some way to make her forget. If I could draw her to me, overcome her resistance and capture her spirit.
Capture her spirit?
He looked at the figure in his hand, and suddenly his mind was racing. Why did they grave the image of an animal on a weapon, or on the Sacred Walls? To approach the mother-spirit of it, to overcome her resistance and capture the essence.
Don’t be ridiculous, Jondalar. You can’t capture Ayla’s spirit that way. It wouldn’t be right, no one puts a face on a donii. Humans were never pictured—a likeness might capture a spirit’s essence. But to whom would it be captive?
No one should hold another person’s spirit captive. Give the donii to her! She’d have her spirit back then, wouldn’t she? If you kept it just for a while, then gave it to her … afterward.
If you put her face on it, would it turn her into a donii? You almost think she is one, with her healing, and her magic way with animals. If she’s a donii, she might decide to capture your spirit. Would that be so bad?
You want a piece to stay with you, Jondalar. The piece of the spirit that always stays in the hands of the maker. You want that part of her, don’t you?
O Great Mother, tell me, would it be such a terrible thing to do? To put her face on a donii?
He stared at the small ivory figure he had carved. Then he took up a burin and began to carve the shape of a face, a familiar face.
When it was done, he held the ivory figurine up and turned it around slowly. A real carver might have done it better, but it wasn’t bad. It resembled Ayla, but more in the feeling than the actual likeness; his feeling of her. He went back inside the cave and tried to think of a place to put it. The donii should be nearby, but he didn’t want her to see it, yet. He saw a bundle of leather wrapped up near the wall by her bed, and he tucked the ivory figure in a flap of it.
He went back out and looked off the far edge. What’s taking her so long? He looked over the two bison that were laid out side by side. They would keep. The spears and spear throwers were leaning against the stone wall near the entrance. He picked them up and carried them into the cave, and then he heard the sound of gravel pattering on stone. He turned around.
Ayla adjusted the tie on her new wrap, put her amulet around her neck, and pushed her hair, just brushed with teasel but not quite dry, back from her face. Picking up her soiled wrap, she started up the path. She was nervous, and excited.
She had an idea of what Jondalar meant by First Rites, but she was touched because of his desire to do it for her and share it with her. She didn’t think the ceremony would be too bad—even Broud hadn’t hurt after the first few times. If men gave the signal to women they liked, did it mean Jondalar had grown to care?
As she neared the top, Ayla was startled out of her thoughts by a tawny blur of swift motion.
“Stay back!” Jondalar shouted. “Stay back, Ayla! It’s a cave lion!”
He was at the mouth of the cave, a spear in his hand poised for throwing at a huge cat, crouched, ready to spring, a deep snarl rumbling in his throat.
“No, Jondalar!” Ayla screamed, rushing between them. “No!”
“Ayla don’t! O Mother, stop her!” the man cried when she jumped in front of him, in the path of the charging lion.
The woman made a sharp, imperative motion, and in the guttural language of the Clan, shouted, “Stop!”
The huge rufous-maned cave lion, with a wrenching twist, pulled his leap short and landed at the woman’s feet. Then he rubbed his massive head against her leg. Jondalar was thunderstruck.
“Baby! Oh, Baby. You came back,” Ayla said in motions, and without hesitation, without the least fear, she wrapped her arms around the huge lion’s neck.
Baby knocked her over, as gently as he could, and Jondalar watched with mouth agape while the biggest cave lion he had ever seen draped forepaws around the woman in the closest equivalent to an embrace he could imagine a lion to be capable of. The feline lapped salty tears from the woman’s face with a tongue that rasped it raw.
“That’s enough, Baby,” she said, sitting up, “or I won’t have a face left.”
She found the places behind his ears and around his mane that he loved to have scratched. Baby rolled over on his back to bare his throat to her ministrations, growling a deep rumble of contentment.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, Baby,” she said when she stopped and the cat rolled over. He was bigger than she remembered, and though a bit thin, seemed healthy. He had scars she hadn’t seen before, and she thought he might be fighting for territory, and winning. It filled her with pride. Then Baby noticed Jondalar again, and snarled.
“Don’t snarl at him! That’s the man you brought me. You have a mate … I think you must have many by now.” The lion got up, turned his back to t
he man, and padded toward the bison.
“Is it all right if we give him one?” she called over to Jondalar. “We really have too much.”
He still held the spear in his hand, standing in the mouth of the cave, stunned. He tried to answer, but only a squeak came out. Then he recovered his voice. “All right? You’re asking me if it’s all right? Give him both of them. Give him anything he wants!”
“Baby doesn’t need both of them.” Ayla used the word for his name in the language Jondalar didn’t know, but he guessed it was a name. “No, Baby! Don’t take the heifer,” she said in sounds and gestures the man still didn’t quite perceive as language, but elicited a gasp from him when she took one bison away from the lion and shoved him toward the other. He clamped huge jaws around the severed neck of the young bull and pulled it away from the edge. Then, getting a better grip, he started down the familiar path.
“I’ll be right back, Jondalar,” she said. “Whinney and Racer might be down there, and I don’t want Baby to scare the colt.”
Jondalar watched the woman follow behind the lion until she was out of sight. She appeared again on the valley side of the wall, walking casually beside the lion who was dragging the bison under his body between his legs.
When they reached the large boulder, Ayla stopped and hugged the lion again. Baby dropped the bison, and Jondalar shook his head in disbelief when he saw the woman climb on the fierce predator’s back. She lifted an arm and flung it forward, and held on to the rufous mane while the huge feline leaped forward. He raced off with all his great speed, Ayla dinging tight, her hair streaming behind her. Then he slowed and turned back to the stone.
He got a grip on the young bison again and dragged it down the valley. Ayla stayed by the large rock, watching after him. Far down the field, the lion dropped the bull once more. He began a series of speaking grunts, his familiar hnga hnga, and built up to a roar so loud that it shook Jondalar’s bones.
When the cave lion was gone, Jondalar took a deep breath and leaned against the wall, feeling weak. He was awestruck, and a little fearful. What is this woman? he thought. What kind of magic does she have? Birds, maybe. Even horses. But a cave lion? The biggest cave lion he’d ever seen?
Was she a … donii? Who but the Mother could make animals do her bidding? What about her healing powers? Or her phenomenal ability to speak so well already? For all that she had an unusual accent, she had learned most of his Mamutoi, and some words in Sharamudoi. Was she an aspect of the Mother?
He heard her coming up the path and felt a shiver of fear. He half expected her to declare she was the Great Earth Mother incarnate, and he would have believed it. He saw a woman with disheveled hair and tears rolling down her face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, tenderness overcoming his imagined fears.
“Why do I have to lose my babies?” she sobbed.
He paled. Her babies? That lion was her baby? With a shock, he remembered a feeling of the Mother crying, the Mother of all.
“Your babies?”
“First Durc, and then Baby.”
“Is that a name for the lion?”
“Baby? It means little one, infant,” she answered, trying to translate.
“Little one!” he snorted. “That’s the biggest cave lion I’ve ever seen!”
“I know.” A smile of maternal pride gleamed through her tears. “I always made sure he had enough to eat, not like pride cubs. But when I found him, he was little. I called him Baby and never got around to naming him anything else.”
“You found him?” Jondalar asked, still hesitant.
“He’d been left for dead. I think a deer trampled him. I was chasing them into my pit trap. Brun used to let me bring little animals into the cave sometimes, if they were hurt and needed my help, but never meat-eating animals. I wasn’t going to pick up that baby cave lion, but then the hyenas went after him. I chased them away with my sling and brought him back.”
Ayla’s eyes took on a faraway look and her mouth assumed a lopsided grin. “Baby was so funny when he was little, always making me laugh. But it took a lot of time to hunt for him until the second winter, when we learned to hunt together. All of us, Whinney, too. I haven’t seen Baby since …” She suddenly realized when.
“Oh, Jondalar, I am so sorry. Baby is the lion that killed your brother. But if it had been any other lion, I would not have been able to get you away from him.”
“You are a donii!” Jondalar exclaimed. “I saw you in my dream! I thought a donii had come to take me to the next world, but she made the lion leave instead.”
“You must have revived a little, Jondalar. Then when I moved you, you probably passed out from the pain. I had to get you away in a hurry. I knew Baby wouldn’t hurt me—he’s a little rough at times, but he doesn’t mean to be. He can’t help it. But I didn’t know when his lioness would be back.”
The man was shaking his head in wonder and disbelief. “Did you really hunt with that lion?”
“It was the only way I could keep him fed. At first, before he was able to make a kill himself, he’d bring an animal down and I’d ride up on Whinney and kill it with a spear. I didn’t know about throwing spears then. When Baby got big enough to make the kill, sometimes I’d take a piece before he chewed it up, or else I’d want to save the hide …”
“So you pushed him away, like that bison? Don’t you know it’s dangerous to take meat away from a lion? I’ve seen one kill its own cub for that!”
“So have I. But Baby is different, Jondalar. He wasn’t raised in a pride. He grew up here, with Whinney and me. We hunted together—he’s used to sharing with me. I’m glad he found a lioness, though, so he can live like a lion. Whinney went back to a herd for a while, but she wasn’t happy and came back …”
Ayla shook her head and looked down. “That’s not true. I want to believe it. I think she was happy with her herd and her stallion. I was not happy without her. I am so glad she was willing to come back after her stallion died.”
Ayla picked up the soiled wrap and headed into the cave. Jondalar, noticing he was still holding the spear, leaned it against the wall and followed. Ayla was pensive. Baby’s return had evoked so many memories. She looked at the bison roast, turned the spit, and stirred up the coals. Then she poured water into a cooking basket from the large onager-stomach waterbag that was hanging on a post, and she put some cooking stones in the fire to heat.
Jondalar just watched her, still dazed by the cave lion’s visit. It had been shock enough to see the lion leap down to the ledge, but the way Ayla had stepped out in front of him and stopped the massive predator … no one would believe it.
As he stared, he had the feeling something was different about her. Then he noticed her hair was down. He remembered the first time he saw her with her hair free, gleaming golden in the sun. She had come up from the beach, and he had seen her, all of her, for the first time with her hair down and her magnificent body.
“ … good to see Baby again. Those bison must have been in his territory. He probably scented the kill, then picked up our trail. He was surprised to see you. I don’t know if he remembered you. How did you get trapped in that blind canyon?”
“Wha … ? I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I was wondering how you and your brother got trapped in that canyon with Baby,” she said, looking up. Luminous violet eyes were watching her, sending a flush to her face.
With an effort he focused his mind on her question. “We were stalking a deer. Thonolan killed it, but a lioness had been after the same one. She dragged it away and Thonolan went after it. I told him to let her have it, but he wouldn’t listen. We saw the lioness go into the cave, and then leave. Thonolan thought he could get the spear back, and some of the meat before she returned. The lion had other ideas.”
Jondalar closed his eyes for a moment. “I can’t blame him. It was stupid to go after that lioness, but I couldn’t stop him. He was always reckless, but after Jetamio died, he was more than reckl
ess. He wanted to die. I suppose I shouldn’t have gone after him, either.”
Ayla knew he still sorrowed for his brother and changed the subject. “I didn’t see Whinney in the field. She must be out on the steppes with Racer. She’s been going there lately. The way you fixed those straps around Racer’s head worked well, but I don’t know if it was necessary to keep him tied to Whinney.”
“The rope was too long. I didn’t think it might be caught in a bush. It held them, though. That might be something to remember, if you want them to stay someplace. At least Racer. Does Whinney always do what you want?”
“I guess she does, but it’s more like she wants to. She knows what I want, and she does it. Baby just takes me where he wants to go, but he goes so fast.” Her eyes sparkled with the memory of her recent ride. It was always a thrill to ride the lion.
Jondalar recalled her clinging to the back of the cave lion, her hair, more golden than the reddish mane, flying in the wind. Watching her had made him afraid for her, but it was exciting—as she was. So wild and free, so beautiful …
“You’re an exciting woman, Ayla,” he said. His eyes carried his conviction.
“Exciting? Exciting is … the spear thrower, or riding fast on Whinney … or Baby, is that right?” She was flustered.
“Right. And so is Ayla exciting, to me … and beautiful.”
“Jondalar, you are making a Joke. A flower is beautiful or the sky when the sun drops over the edge. I am not beautiful.”
“Can’t a woman be beautiful?”
She turned aside from the intensity of his look. “I … I don’t know. But I am not beautiful. I am … big and ugly.”
Jondalar got up and, taking her hand, urged her up too. “Now, who is bigger?”
He was overpowering standing so close. He had shaved his face again, she noticed. The short beard hairs could only be seen up close. She wanted to touch his rough-smooth face, and his eyes made her feel they could reach inside her.
“You are,” she said, softly.
“Then you are not too big, are you? And you are not ugly, Ayla.” He smiled, but she only knew it because his eyes showed it. “It’s funny, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen thinks she’s ugly.”
