by Jean M. Auel
I cannot, I cannot shame Creb or Iza. They loved me, cared for me. Uba is my sister, and she is taking care of my son. The Clan is my family. When I had no one, the Clan took care of me, and now the Others don’t want me.
And Jondalar is leaving. I will have to live here alone, all my life. I might as well be dead. Broud cursed me; he has won after all. How can I live without Jondalar?
Ayla cried until she had no tears left, only a desolate emptiness inside. She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, and she noticed she still held the donii. She turned it around, marveling as much at the concept of making a piece of ivory into a small woman as at the figurine itself. In the moonlight, it resembled her even more. The hair carved into braids, the eyes in shadow, the nose and shape of the cheek, reminded her of her own reflection in a pool of water.
Why had Jondalar put her face on this symbol of the Earth Mother whom the Others revered? Was her spirit captured, linked with the one he called Doni? Creb had said her spirit was held with the Cave Lion’s by her amulet, and by Ursus, the Great Cave Bear, the Clan’s totem. She had been given a piece of the spirit of each member of the Clan when she became a medicine woman, and they had not been taken back after her death curse.
Clan and Others, totems and the Mother, all had some claim to that invisible part of her called spirit. I think my spirit must be confused, she thought—I know I am.
A cool wind urged her back up to the cave. Moving the cold spitted roast out of the way, she built up a small fire, trying not to disturb Jondalar, and started water heating for a tea to help her relax. She couldn’t go to sleep yet. She stared at the flames while she waited, and she thought about the many times she had stared at flames to see a semblance of life. The hot tongues of light danced along the wood, leaping for the taste of a new piece, then drawing back and leaping again, until they claimed it, and devoured it.
“Doni! It’s you! It’s you!” Jondalar cried out in his sleep. Ayla jumped up and went to him. He was tossing and thrashing, obviously dreaming. She wondered if she should wake him. Suddenly his eyes flew open, looking startled.
“Are you all right, Jondalar?” she asked.
“Ayla? Ayla! Is it you?”
“Yes, it’s I.”
His eyes closed again, and he mumbled something incoherent. He hadn’t been awake, she realized. It had been part of his dream, but he was calmer. She watched him until he relaxed, and then she went back to the fire. She let the flame die down as she sipped her tea. Finally feeling sleepy again, she removed her wrap and crawled in beside Jondalar and pulled the furs around her. The man’s sleeping warmth made her think how cold it would be when he was gone—and from her vast reservoir of emptiness, new tears emerged. She cried herself to sleep.
Jondalar ran, panting to catch his breath, trying to reach the opening of the cave ahead. He glanced up and saw the cave lion. No, no! Thonolan! Thonolan! The cave lion was after him, crouched, then leaped. Suddenly the Mother appeared, and, with a command, she turned the lion away.
“Doni! It’s you! It’s you!”
The Mother turned around, and he saw Her face. The face was the doni carved to resemble Ayla. He called out to Her. “Ayla? Ayla? Is it you?”
The carved face came to life; Her hair was a golden halo surrounded by a red glow. “Yes, it’s I.”
The Ayla-donii grew and changed shape, became the ancient donii he had given away, the one that had been in his family for so many generations. She was ample and motherly and kept expanding until she was the size of a mountain. Then She began giving birth. All the creatures of the sea flowed out of Her deep cavern in a gush of birth water, then all the insects and birds of the air flew out in a swarm. Then the animals of the land—rabbits, deer, bison, mammoths, cave lions—and in the distance, he saw through a misty haze the vague forms of people.
They drew near as the mists cleared, and suddenly he could see them. They were flatheads! They saw him and ran away. He called after them, and one woman turned around. She had Ayla’s face. He ran toward her, but the mists closed around her and enveloped him.
He groped through a red fog and heard a distant roar, like a rushing waterfall. It grew louder, bore down on him. He was overwhelmed by a torrent of people emerging from the capacious womb of the Earth Mother, a huge mountainous Earth Mother with Ayla’s face.
He pushed his way through the people, struggling to get to Her, and finally reached the great cavern, Her deep opening. He entered Her, and his manhood was probing Her warm folds until they enclosed him in their satisfying depths. He was pumping furiously, with unrestrained joy; then he saw Her face, awash with tears. Her body was shaking with sobs. He wanted to comfort Her, to tell Her not to cry, but he could not speak. He was pushed away.
He was in the midst of a great crowd flowing out of Her womb, all wearing beaded shirts. He tried to fight his way back, but the great press of people carried him away like a log caught in the flood of birth water; a log carried by the Great Mother River with a bloody shirt clinging to it.
He craned his neck to look back, and he saw Ayla standing in the mouth of the cavern. Her sobs echoed in his ears. Then, with resounding thunder, the cavern collapsed in a great rain of rocks. He stood alone, crying.
Jondalar opened his eyes to darkness. Ayla’s small fire had used up the wood. In the absolute black, he wasn’t sure if he was awake. The cave wall had no definition, no familiar focus to establish his place within his surroundings. For all his eyes could tell him, he might have been suspended in a fathomless void. The vivid shapes of his dreams were more substantial. They played across his mind in remembered bits and pieces, reinforcing their dimensions in his conscious thoughts.
By the time the night had faded enough to give bare outline to stone and cave openings, Jondalar had begun to attribute meaning to his sleeping images. He didn’t often remember his dreams, but this one had been so strong, so tangible, that it had to be a message from the Mother. What was She trying to tell him? He wished for a zelandoni to help him interpret the dream.
As faint light penetrated the cave, he saw a tumult of blond hair framing Ayla’s sleeping face, and he noticed the warmth of her body. He watched her in silence as shadows lightened. He had an overwhelming desire to kiss her, but he didn’t want to waken her. He brought a long golden tress to his lips. Then, quietly, he got up. He found the tepid tea, poured himself a cup, and walked out to the stone porch of the cave.
It was chilly in his breechclout, but he ignored the temperature, though a thought about the warm clothes Ayla had made for him passed through his mind. He watched the eastern sky lighten and the details of the valley sharpen, and he dredged up his dream again, trying to follow its tangled strands to unravel its mystery.
Why should Doni show him that all life came from Her? He knew it; it was an accepted fact of his existence. Why should She appear in his dream giving birth to all the fish and birds and animals and …
Flatheads! Of course! She was telling him the people of the Clan were Her Children too. Why had no one made that clear before? No one ever questioned that all life came from Her, why were those people so vilified? They were called animals as though animals were evil. What made flatheads evil?
Because they were not animals. They were human, a different kind of human! That’s what Ayla has been saying all along. Is that why one of them had Ayla’s face?
He could understand why her face would be on the donii he had made, the one who had stopped the lion in his dream—no one would believe what Ayla had actually done; it was more incredible than the dream. But why was her face on the ancient donii? Why should the Great Earth Mother Herself bear the likeness of Ayla?
He knew he would never understand all of his dream, but he felt he was still missing an important part. He went over it again, and when he recalled Ayla standing in the cave that was about to collapse, he almost shouted to her to get away.
He was staring at the horizon, his thoughts inward, feeling the same desolation and loneliness
as in his dream when he had been standing alone, without her. Tears wet his face. Why did he feel such utter despair? What was he not seeing?
People in beaded shirts came to mind, leaving the cavern. Ayla had fixed the beaded shirt for him. She had made clothes for him, and she hadn’t even known how to sew before. Traveling clothes that he would wear when he left.
Left? Leave Ayla? The fiery light rose over the edge. He closed his eyes and saw a warm golden glow.
Great Mother! What a stupid fool you are, Jondalar. Leave Ayla? How can you possibly leave her? You love her! Why have you been so blind? Why should it take a dream from the Mother to tell you something so plain that a child could have seen it?
A sense of great weight lifting from his shoulders made him feel a joyous freedom, a sudden lightness. I love her! It has finally happened to me! I love her! I didn’t think it was possible, but I love Ayla!
He was filled with exuberance, ready to shout it to the world, ready to rush in and tell her. I have never told a woman that I love her, he thought. He hurried into the cave, but Ayla was still sleeping.
He went back out and brought in some wood, and using flint and a firestone—it still amazed him—quickly had a fire going. For once, he’d managed to wake up before her, and he wanted to surprise her with hot tea for a change. He found her mint leaves, and soon had the tea steeped and ready, but Ayla still slept.
He watched her, breathing, turning—he loved her hair long and free like that. He was tempted to wake her. No, she must be tired. It’s daylight and she’s not up.
He went down to the beach, found a twig to clean his teeth, then took a morning swim. It left him refreshed, full of energy, and famished. They had never gotten around to eating. He smiled to himself, remembering the reason; the thought caused a rising.
He laughed. You deprived him all summer, Jondalar. You can’t blame your woman-maker for being so eager, now that he knows what he’s missed. But don’t push her. She may need to rest—she’s not used to it. He raced up the path and entered the cave quietly. The horses were out to pasture. They must have gone while I was swimming, and she’s still not awake. Is she all right? Maybe I should wake her. She rolled over and exposed a breast, adding impulse to his earlier thoughts.
He contained his urge and went to the fireplace to pour himself more tea, and wait. He noticed a difference in her random motions, then saw her groping for something.
“Jondalar! Jondalar! Where are you?” she cried, bolting up.
“Here I am,” he said, rushing to her. She clung to him. “Oh, Jondalar. I thought you were gone.”
“I’m here, Ayla. I’m right here.” He held her until she quieted. “Are you all right now? Let me get you some tea.”
He poured the tea and brought her a cup. She took a sip, and then a bigger drink. “Who made this?” she asked.
“I did. I wanted to surprise you with hot tea, but it’s not so hot anymore.”
“You made it? For me?”
“Yes, for you. Ayla, I have never said this to a woman before. I love you.”
“Love?” she asked. She wanted to be sure he meant what she hardly dared hope he might mean. “What does ‘love’ mean?”
“What does …! Jondalar! You pompous fool!” He stood up. “You, the great Jondalar, the one every woman wants. You believed it yourself. So careful to withhold the one word you thought they all wanted to hear. And proud that you’ve never said it to a woman. You finally fall in love—and you couldn’t even admit it to yourself. Doni had to tell you in a dream! Jondalar is finally going to say it, going to admit he loves a woman. You almost expected her to faint with surprise, and she doesn’t even know the meaning of the word!”
Ayla watched him with consternation, pacing back and forth, ranting to himself about love. She had to learn that word.
“Jondalar, what does ‘love’ mean?” She was serious, and she sounded a trifle annoyed.
He knelt down in front of her. “It’s a word I should have explained long ago. Love is the feeling you have for someone you care for. It is what a mother feels for her children, or a man for his brother. Between a man and a woman, it means they care for each other so much that they want to share their lives together, not ever be apart.”
She closed her eyes and felt her mouth tremble as she heard his words. Did she hear him right? Did she really understand?
“Jondalar,” she said, “I did not know that word, but I know the meaning of the word. I have known the meaning of that word since you came, and the longer you were here, the more I knew it. So many times I have wished for the word to say that meaning.” She closed her eyes, but the tears of relief and joy would not stay back. “Jondalar, I … love, too.”
He stood up, bringing her with him, and kissed her tenderly, holding her like some newfound treasure that he didn’t want to break or lose. She put her arms around his chest and held him as though he were a dream that might fade if she let go. He kissed her mouth, and her face salty with tears, and, when she laid her head against him, he buried his face in her tangled golden hair to dry his own eyes.
He could not speak. He could only hold her and marvel at his incredible luck in finding her. He’d had to travel to the far ends of the earth to find a woman he could love, and nothing was going to make him let her go now.
• • •
“Why not just stay here? This valley has so much. With two of us, it will be so much easier. We have the spear throwers, and Whinney is a help. Racer will be, too,” Ayla said.
They were walking through the field for no purpose other than to talk. They had picked all the seeds she wanted to pick; hunted and dried enough meat to last through the winter; gathered and stored the ripening fruits, and roots, and other plants for food and medicine; and collected a variety of materials for winter projects. Ayla wanted to try decorating clothing, and Jondalar thought he’d carve some gaming pieces and teach Ayla how to play. But the true joy for Ayla was that Jondalar loved her—she would not be alone.
“It is a beautiful valley,” Jondalar said. Why not stay here with her? Thonolan was willing to stay with Jetamio, he thought. But it wasn’t just the two of them. How long could he stand it with no one else? Ayla had lived alone, for three years. They wouldn’t have to be alone. Look at Dalanar. He started a new Cave, but in the beginning he had only Jerika, and her mother’s mate, Hochaman. More people joined them later, and children were born. They are already planning a Second Cave of the Lanzadonii. Why can’t you found a new Cave, like Dalanar? Maybe you can, Jondalar, but whatever you do, it won’t be without Ayla.
“You need to know other people, Ayla, and I want to take you home with me. I know it would be a long Journey, but I think we could make it in a year. You’d like my mother, and I know Marthona would like you. And so would my brother, Joharran, and my sister, Folara—she must be a young woman by now. And Dalanar.”
Ayla bowed her head, then looked up again. “How much will they like me when they find out my people were the Clan? Will they welcome me when they learn I have a son, who was born when I lived with them, who is abomination to them?”
“You can’t hide from people for the rest of your life. Didn’t the woman … Iza … didn’t she tell you to find your own kind? She was right, you know. It won’t be easy—I can’t keep the truth from you. Most people don’t know the Clan people are human. But you made me understand, and there are others who wonder. Most people are decent, Ayla. Once they get to know you, they will like you. And I’ll be with you.”
“I don’t know. Can’t we think about it?”
“Of course we can,” he said. We can’t start on a long Journey until spring, he was thinking. We could get as far as the Sharamudoi before winter sets it, but we can winter here as well. It would give her some time to get used to the idea.
Ayla smiled with genuine relief and stepped up her pace. She had been dragging her feet physically as well as mentally. She knew he was missing his family, and his people, and if he decided to go, she
would go with him no matter where he went. She hoped, though, that after settling down for the winter he might want to stay and make his home in the valley with her.
They were far from the stream, almost up the slope to the steppes, when Ayla stooped to pick up a vaguely familiar object.
“It’s my aurochs horn!” she said to Jondalar, brushing off the dirt and noticing the charred inside. “I used it to carry my fire. I found it while I was traveling, after I left the Clan.” Memories flooded back. “And I carried a coal in it to light the torches to help me chase the horses into my first pit trap. It was Whinney’s dam that was caught, and when the hyenas went after her foal, I chased them away and brought her to the cave. So much has happened since then.”
“Many people carry fire when they travel, but with the firestones, we don’t have to worry about it.” His brow suddenly furrowed, and Ayla knew he was thinking. “We’re stocked up, aren’t we? There’s nothing more we need to do.”
“No, we don’t need anything.”
“Then why don’t we make a Journey? A short Journey,” he added when he saw her distress. “You haven’t explored the area to the west. Why don’t we take some food and tents and sleeping furs, and look it over? We don’t have to go far.”
“What about Whinney and Racer?”
“We’ll take them with us. Whinney can even carry us part of the time, and maybe the food and gear. It would be fun, Ayla. Just the two of us,” he said.
Traveling for fun was new to her, and hard to accept, but she couldn’t think of any objections. “I suppose we could,” she said. “Just the two of us … why not?” It might not be a bad idea to explore more of the country to the west, she thought.
“The dirt is not as deep back here” Ayla said, “but it’s the best place for a cache, and we can use some of the fallen rocks.”
Jondalar held the torch higher to spread the flickering light farther. “Several small caches, don’t you think?”
