by Jean M. Auel
Ayla had changed. As her hunting skill grew, she developed an assurance and sinewy grace unknown to Clan women. She had the silent walk of an experienced hunter, a tight muscular control of her young body, a confidence in her own reflexes, and a far-seeing look in her eye that clouded over imperceptibly whenever Broud began to harass her, as though she wasn’t really seeing him. She jumped just as quickly to his commands, but her response lacked the edge of fear no matter how he cuffed her.
Her composure, her confidence, was far more intangible, but no less apparent to Broud, than the near-open rebellion of earlier times. It was as though she was condescending to obey him, as though she knew something he didn’t. He watched her, trying to discern the subtle shift, trying to find something to punish her for, but it eluded him.
Broud didn’t know how she did it, but every time he tried to assert his superiority, she made him feel below her, inferior to her. It frustrated him, infuriated him, but the more he kept after her, the less control he felt over her, and he hated her for it. But gradually, he found himself harassing her less, even staying away from her, only occasionally remembering to demonstrate his prerogatives. As the season came to an end, his hatred intensified. Someday he would break her, he vowed to himself. Someday he would make her pay for the wounds she inflicted on his self-esteem. Oh, yes, someday she would be sorry.
13
Winter came, and with it the diminished activity they shared with all living things that followed the cycle of the seasons. Life still pulsed, but at a slower pace. For the first time, Ayla looked forward to the cold season. The rushed and active warm seasons allowed little time for Iza to continue training her. With the first snows, the medicine woman began her lessons again. The pattern of the clan’s life repeated itself with only minor variations, and winter again drew to a close.
Spring was late, and wet. The melt from the highlands, abetted by heavy rains, swelled the stream to a surging turbulence overflowing its banks and sweeping along whole trees and brush in its headlong flight to the sea. A logjam downstream diverted its course, taking over part of the path the clan had made. A brief reprieve of warmth, just long enough to unfold tentative blossoms on fruit trees, was reversed by late spring hailstorms that ravaged the delicate blooms, dashing hopes of the promised harvest. Then, as though nature had a change of heart and wanted to make up for the offer of fruits withheld, the early summer crop produced vegetables, roots, squashes, and legumes in bountiful profusion.
The clan missed their accustomed spring visit to the seacoast for salmon, and everyone was pleased when Brun announced they would make the trip to fish for sturgeon and cod. Though members of the clan often walked the ten miles to the inland sea to gather molluscs and eggs from the multitude of birds that nested on the cliffs, catching the huge fish was one of the few clan activities that was a community effort of both men and women.
Droog had his own reason for wanting to go. The heavy spring runoff had washed down fresh nodules of flint from the chalk deposits of higher elevations and left them stranded on the floodplain. He had scouted the coast earlier and seen several alluvial deposits. The fishing trip would be a good opportunity to replenish their supply of tools with new ones of high-quality stone. It was easier to knap the flint at the site than to carry the heavy rocks back to the cave. Droog hadn’t made tools for the clan for some time. They’d had to make do with their own rougher implements when the brittle stone of their favorite ones broke. They could all make usable tools, but few compared with Droog’s.
A lighthearted spirit of holiday accompanied their preparations. It wasn’t often that the entire clan left the cave at one time, and the novelty of camping on the beach was exciting, especially for the children. Brun planned for one or two of the men to make daily excursions back to make sure nothing was disturbed in their absence. Even Creb looked forward to the change of scene. He seldom wandered very far from the cave.
The women worked on the net, repairing weakened strands and making a new section from cords of fibrous vines, stringy barks, tough grasses, and long animal hairs to lengthen it. Although it was a strong, tough material, sinew was not used. As with leather, water made it hard and stiff and it didn’t absorb the softening fat well.
The massive sturgeon, often upward of twelve feet in length and weighing over a ton, migrated from the sea, where it spent most of the year, into freshwater streams and rivers to spawn in early summer. The fleshy feelers on the underside of its toothless mouth gave the ancient, sharklike fish a fearsome appearance, but its diet consisted of invertebrates and small fish foraged from the bottom. The smaller cod, usually no more than twenty-five pounds, but ranging up to two hundred pounds and more, migrated seasonally northward into shallower water in summer. Although mostly a bottom feeder, it sometimes swam near the surface and into freshwater outlets when migrating or chasing food.
For the fourteen days of the sturgeon’s summer spawning, the mouths of the streams and rivers were full. Though the fish that chose the smaller waterways did not reach the size of the giants that churned their way up the great rivers, the sturgeon that found their way into the clan’s net would be more than enough for them to beach. As the time for the migrations neared, Brun sent someone to the seacoast every day. The first of the mighty beluga sturgeon had just broached the stream when he gave the word. They would leave the next morning.
Ayla woke up full of excitement. She had her sleeping fur tied into a bundle, food and cooking gear packed in her collecting basket, and the large hide that would be used as a shelter loaded on top even before breakfast. Iza never left the cave without her medicine bag, and she was still packing it when Ayla ran outside the cave to see if they were ready to leave.
“Hurry, Iza,” she encouraged, running back in. “We’re almost ready to go.”
“Settle down, child. The sea isn’t going anywhere,” Iza replied after she pulled the drawstring tight.
Ayla lifted the collecting basket to her back and picked up Uba. Iza followed, then turned to look back, trying to remember if she had forgotten anything. She always felt as though she was forgetting something when she left the cave. Well, Ayla can come back for it, if it’s important, she thought. Most of the clan were outside and shortly after Iza fell into her proper place, Brun gave the signal to start. They had barely gotten under way when Uba squirmed to get down.
“Uba not baby! Want to walk myself,” she motioned with childish dignity. At three and a half, Uba had begun to emulate the adults and older children and to reject the pampering that infants and babies received. She was growing up. In something close to four years, she would likely be a woman. She had much to learn in four short years, and through an inner sense of her rapid maturation she was beginning to prepare herself for the added responsibilities that would be hers so soon.
“All right, Uba,” Ayla motioned as she let her down. “But stay close behind me.”
They followed the stream down the side of the mountain, working around its altered course along a new path that had already been formed near the logjam. It was an easy hike—though the trip back would take more exertion—and before noon they reached a broad stretch of beach. They set up temporary shelters well back from encroaching tides using driftwood and brush for supports. Fires were started and the net rechecked. They would begin fishing the next morning. After camp was set up, Ayla wandered toward the sea.
“I’m going in the water, mother,” she motioned.
“Why do you always want to go in the water, Ayla? It’s dangerous, and you always go out so far.”
“It’s wonderful, Iza. I’ll be careful.”
It was always the same, when Ayla went swimming, Iza worried. Ayla was the only one who liked to swim; she was the only one who could. The large heavy bones of Clan people made swimming difficult. They didn’t float easily and had a great fear of deep water. They waded into the water to catch fish, but they never liked to go in deeper than waist level. It made them uneasy. Ayla’s predilection for swimming was
considered one of her peculiarities. It was not the only one.
By the time Ayla reached her ninth year, she was taller than any of the women and as big as some of the men, but she still showed no signs of approaching womanhood. Iza sometimes wondered if she would ever stop growing. Her height and lateness in blooming led to speculation in some quarters that her strong male totem would prevent her from blossoming altogether. They wondered if she would live out her life as a sort of neutered female, neither a man nor fully a woman.
Creb limped up to Iza as she was watching Ayla walk toward the shore. Her tough lean body, flat wiry muscles, and long coltish legs made her seem awkward and clumsy, but her supple movement belied her ungainly-seeming gawkiness. Though she tried to mimic the Clan women’s subservient scramble, she lacked their short, bowed legs. No matter how she minced her steps, her longer legs took longer, almost masculine strides.
But it wasn’t only her long legs that made her different. Ayla radiated a self-confidence that no Clan woman ever felt. She was a hunter. No man of the clan was better than she with her weapon, and by now she knew it. She could not feign a submission to greater male superiority she did not feel. She lacked the commitment of genuine belief that was part of a Clan woman’s appeal. In the eyes of the men, her tall, lanky body, devoid of any womanly attributes, and her unconscious attitude of assurance detracted from her already dubious beauty—Ayla was not only ugly, she was unfeminine.
“Creb,” Iza gestured. “Aba and Aga say she will never become a woman. They say her totem is too strong.”
“Of course she will become a woman, Iza. Don’t you think the Others have young? Just because she was accepted into the clan doesn’t change who she is. It’s probably normal for their women to mature later. Even some Clan girls don’t become women until their tenth year. You’d think people would give her at least that long before they start imagining some abnormality. It’s ridiculous!” he snorted in annoyance.
Iza was pacified but still wished her adopted daughter would start to show some signs of womanliness. She saw Ayla wade into the water up to her waist, then kick off and head out to sea with long clean strokes.
The girl loved the freedom and buoyancy of the salty water. She never remembered learning how to swim, it just seemed she always knew. The underwater shelf of the coastline dropped off abruptly after a few more feet; she knew when she passed the place by the deeper hue and colder water. She flipped over on her back and floated lazily for a while rocked by the motion of the waves. Sputtering from a briny mouthful splashed on her face, she rolled over and turned back to the beach. The tide was going out and she had drifted into the outflowing stream. The force of the combined currents made swimming back harder. She exerted herself and soon regained her footing, then waded back to shore. Rinsing off in the fresh water of the stream, she could feel the swift current pushing against her legs and the unstable sandy bottom crumble beneath her feet. She flopped down near the fire outside their shelter, tired but feeling refreshed.
After they ate, Ayla stared dreamily into the distance wondering what lay beyond the water. Squawking, squealing seabirds swooped and wheeled and dived above the booming surf. White, weathered old bones of once-living trees, sculpted into twisted contours, relieved the flat sands, and the wide expanse of blue gray water glinted in the long rays of the setting sun. The scene had a vacant, surreal, otherworld feeling to it. The contorted driftwood became grotesque silhouettes, then faded into the darkness of the moonless night.
Iza put Uba down in the shelter, then returned to sit beside Ayla and Creb near the small fire that sent wisps of smoke to the star-splattered sky.
“What are they, Creb?” Ayla signaled quietly, motioning upward.
“Fires in the sky. Each one is the hearth of someone’s spirit in the otherworld.”
“Are there so many people?”
“They are the fires of all the people who have gone to the world of the spirits, and all the people not yet born. They are the fires of totems’ spirits, too, but most totems have more than one. See those over there?” Creb pointed. “That is the home of Great Ursus himself. And see those?” He pointed in another direction. “They are the fires of your totem, Ayla, the Cave Lion.”
“I like sleeping out where you can see the little fires in the sky,” Ayla said.
“But it’s not so nice when the wind is blowing and the snow is falling,” Iza interjected.
“Uba like little fires, too,” the child motioned, appearing out of the darkness into the circle of light from the fire.
“I thought you were asleep, Uba,” Creb said.
“No. Uba watch little fires like Ayla and Creb.”
“It’s time we all went to sleep,” Iza motioned. “Tomorrow will be a busy day.”
Early the next morning, the clan stretched their net across the stream. Swim bladders from previous catches of sturgeon, carefully washed and air-dried to hard, clear, isinglass balloons, served as floats for the net, and stones tied to the bottom were weights. Brun and Droog took one end to the far shore, then the leader signaled. Adults and older children began to wade into the stream. Uba started to follow.
“No, Uba,” Iza gestured, “you stay, you’re not old enough.”
“But Ona is helping,” the child pleaded.
“Ona is older than you, Uba. You can help later, after we bring the fish in. It’s too dangerous for you. Even Creb is staying close to shore. You stay here.”
“Yes, mother,” Uba motioned, her disappointment obvious.
They moved slowly, creating as little disturbance as possible as they fanned out to form a large semicircle, then waited until the sand stirred up by their movement settled back down again. Ayla stood with her feet apart braced against the strong current surging around her legs, her eye on Brun waiting for his signal. She was in midchannel, equally distant from both shores and closest to the sea. She watched a large dark shape glide past a few feet away. The sturgeon were on the move.
Brun raised his arm, everyone held their breath. Abruptly, as he brought his arm down, the clan began to shout and beat on the water, raising foamy splashes. What appeared to be a disorderly chaos of noise and spray was soon revealed as a purposeful drive. The clan was herding the fish toward the net drawing their circle in tighter. Brun and Droog moved in from the far shore, bringing the net around while the churning confusion created by the clan kept the fish from heading back to sea. The net closed in, crowding the silvery mass of struggling fish into less and less space. A few of the monsters strained against the knotted cords, threatening to break through. More hands reached for the net, pushing it toward the bank while those on the shore pulled, as the clan fought to beach the flopping convulsive horde.
Ayla glanced up and saw Uba knee-deep in squirming fish trying to reach her from the other side of the net.
“Uba! Go back!” she signaled.
“Ayla! Ayla!” the child cried, then pointed out toward the sea. “Ona!” she screamed.
Ayla turned to look and barely caught sight of a dark head bobbing up once before it disappeared under the water. The child, little more than a year older than Uba, had lost her footing and was being swept out to sea. In the confusion of hauling in the catch, she had been overlooked. Only Uba, watching her older playmate with admiration from the shore, had noticed Ona’s desperate plight and tried frantically to get someone’s attention to tell them.
Ayla dived back into the muddy, churning stream and plowed through the water toward the sea. She swam faster than she ever had before. The outflowing current helped her along, but the same current was dragging the little girl toward the drop-off with equal force. Ayla saw her head bob up once more and pulled harder. She was gaining on her, but she was afraid not enough. If Ona reached the drop-off before Ayla reached her, she’d be pulled into the deep water by the strong undertow.
The water was changing to salt, Ayla could taste it. The small dark head bobbed up one more time a few feet ahead, then sunk out of sight. Ayla felt
the drop of water temperature as she made a desperate lunge, diving underwater to reach for the disappearing head. She felt streaming tendrils and clenched her fist around the long flowing hair of the young girl.
Ayla thought her lungs would burst—she hadn’t had time for a deep breath before diving under—and a growing dizziness threatened her just as she broke the surface, dragging her precious load with her. She lifted Ona’s head above water, but the child was unconscious. Ayla had never tried to swim supporting another person, but she had to get Ona back to shore as quickly as possible keeping her head above water. Ayla struck out with one arm finding the right stroke, holding on to the child with the other.
By the time she regained her footing, she saw the whole clan had waded out to meet her. Ayla lifted Ona’s limp body out of the water and gave her to Droog, not realizing how exhausted she was until that moment. Creb was beside her, and she looked up with surprise to see Brun on the other side helping her to shore. Droog pushed on ahead, and by the time Ayla collapsed on the beach, Iza had the small child stretched out on the sand pumping water out of her lungs.
It was not the first time a member of the clan had come near drowning; Iza knew what to do. A few people had been lost to the cold depths before, but this time the sea was cheated of its victim. Ona began to cough and sputter as water drained from her mouth, and her eyelids flickered.
“My baby! My baby!” Aga cried, throwing herself down. The distraught mother picked up the girl and held her. “I thought she was dead. I was sure she was gone. Oh, my baby, my only girl.”
