by Jean M. Auel
He smiled at Ayla. “And I also saw a covey of red grouse. That’s the bird I told you about that looks like a ptarmigan except it doesn’t turn white in winter. If we hunt them, we could use the feathers for the spears.”
Ayla smiled back. “And I can make Creb’s favorite dish.”
“Do you want to hunt them tomorrow morning?” Jondalar said.
“Yes …,” Ayla said, then frowned. “Well, I was going to pick berries.”
“Go ahead and hunt your grouse,” Zelandoni said. “We have enough people picking.”
“And I’ll watch Jonayla, if you want,” Levela said.
“You finish eating, Jondalar. I saw some nice round stones for my sling in that dry creek bed. I want to get them before it gets too dark,” Ayla said, musing. “I should bring my spear-thrower, too. I have some spears left.”
The next morning, instead of the usual dress, she put on a pair of soft buckskin leggings, which were similar to boy’s winter underwear, then foot-coverings that consisted of a moccasin foot part that was attached to a soft upper that wrapped around the ankle. She finished with a sleeveless vest-like top made of the same material as the leggings and tied the lacings tightly closed in front; it offered some support for her breasts. Then she quickly braided her hair to get it out of her way, and wrapped her sling around her head. She put the holder for her spear-thrower and spears on her back, then tied on her waist thong, to which were attached a good knife in its sheath, a pouch that she filled with the stones she had collected, another pouch that held a few implements including her personal drinking cup, and finally a small medicine bag with a few emergency supplies.
She dressed quickly, feeling some excitement. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted to go hunting. She picked up her riding blanket, stepped out of the tent, and whistled for Whinney, and with a different trill, whistled for Wolf, then walked to where the horses were grazing. Gray had a halter with a long lead that was attached to a peg pounded into the ground so she wouldn’t stray too far; she had a tendency to wander off. She knew Whinney wouldn’t go far from the younger mare. Jondalar had left Racer in the same area. She put the riding blanket on the dun-yellow horse and taking Gray’s and Racer’s lead ropes, she jumped on her mare and rode to the campfire. She lifted her leg over, slid down from the back of the horse, and went to her daughter, who was sitting beside Levela.
“Jonayla, hold on to Gray. She may want to follow us,” Ayla said as she handed the lead to the girl. “We won’t be gone too long.” When she turned and looked up, she saw Wolf racing toward her. “There you are,” she said.
While Ayla embraced her daughter, Jondalar pushed a last bite of cattail root in his mouth, and got a gleam in his eye when he looked at the woman so full of excitement dressed to go riding and hunting. She looks so fine, he thought. He went to the large waterbag, filled up smaller pouches with water to take with them, then poured some in his cup and drank it. He brought the rest to Ayla and gave her a small waterbag and put the cup back in his carrying pouch. They said a few parting words to the people around the fire, and both mounted their horses.
“I hope you find your ptarmigan,” Beladora said, “or grouse.”
“Yes, good hunting,” Willamar said.
“In any case, have a good ride,” the First added.
As the people watched the couple leave, each had their own thoughts and feelings about them. Willamar looked on Jondalar and his mate as Marthona’s children, and therefore his, and felt the warmth of familial love. The First had a special feeling for Jondalar as a man she had once loved and still did in a way, though now it was as a friend and something more, almost as a son. She appreciated Ayla’s many Gifts, loved her as a friend, and was glad to have a colleague whom she considered an equal. She was also glad that Jondalar had found a woman worthy of his love. Beladora and Levela had also grown to love Ayla as a good friend, though there were times when they felt a certain awe toward her. They understood the magnetism of Jondalar’s appeal, but now that they both had mates and children whom they loved, they were not as overwhelmed and instead appreciated him as a caring friend who was willing to help whenever they asked.
Jonokol and the two young traders, and even Kimeran and Jondecam, appreciated Jondalar’s skills especially with flint and the spear-thrower, and rather envied him. His mate was attractive and accomplished in so many ways, yet so devoted to him that even during Mother Festivals, she chose only him, but he had always been known to have his pick of women. Many women still found him almost irresistibly charismatic, though he did not encourage their advances.
Amelana was still in awe of Ayla and found it difficult to think of her as just a woman who could be a friend, but she admired her intensely, and wished she could be like her. The young woman was also one who found Jondalar tremendously attractive, and had tried on occasion to entice him, but he seemed not to notice. Every other man Amelana had met on this trip gave her at least an appreciative glance, but she never managed to get more than a friendly but detached smile from him and didn’t know why. Actually, Jondalar was fully aware of her interest. In his younger days, more than one young woman with whom he had shared First Rites had tried to retain his interest afterward, though he was not allowed to have any further relations with them for a year. He had learned how to discourage such interest.
The two rode off on their horses, with Wolf following along. Jondalar led them west until he came to an area that looked familiar to him. He pulled up and showed her where he had found the flint, then looked around and started in a different direction. They came to an area of moorland, a tract of land covered with bracken, heather—the preferred food plant of red grouse—and coarse grasses with a few clumps of brush and brambles, not far from the western edge of the oxbow lake. Ayla smiled. It was similar to the tundra of ptarmigan habitat, and she could easily imagine that a southern variety of the birds could live in this region. They left the horses near a stand of hazelnut brush spreading out from a large center tree.
She could see that Wolf had taken notice of something ahead. He was alert, focused, and whining softly. “Go ahead, Wolf. Find them,” Ayla said.
As he dashed off, Ayla slipped her sling off her head, reached in her pouch for two stones, set one in the soft cup of her sling, and gathered up both ends. She didn’t have to wait long. With a sudden flurry of wings Wolf flushed out five red grouse. The birds lived close to the ground but could fly up in a burst of speed and then glide long. They resembled plump chickens with camouflage, brown and black flecked with white. Ayla hurled a stone the moment she saw the first bird, and delivered the second stone before the first one hit the ground. She heard a swoosh then saw Jondalar’s spear pierce a third.
If it had been just the two of them traveling together, the way it was on their Journey, that would have been enough, but the travelers numbered sixteen in all, including four children. Because of the way Ayla cooked the birds, everyone always wanted a taste, and though they were of a decent size—a live weight of twelve or thirteen pounds full grown—three birds would hardly feed sixteen people. She wished it were the right season for eggs; she liked to stuff the birds with eggs and roast them together. The nests usually consisted of a depression on the ground lined with grass or leaves, but there were no eggs to find at this time of year.
Ayla whistled again for Wolf. He came bounding back. It seemed obvious that he was having fun chasing birds. “Maybe he can find some more,” Ayla said, then looked at the four-legged hunter. “Wolf, find them. Find the birds.”
The wolf dashed into the grassy field again and Ayla followed after him. Jondalar followed her. Before long another grouse flew up and although it was some distance away, Jondalar launched a spear with his thrower and managed to bring it down. Then, while Jondalar was looking for the one he killed, a lek of four males took to the sky, identified by black and brown with white markings on tail and wing plumage and the yellows and reds of the beaks and combs. Ayla got two more with stones from her sling; she
seldom missed. Jondalar had not seen the fly-up, though he heard it, and was late getting his spear-thrower armed. He wounded one, and heard it squawk.
“That should be enough,” Ayla said, “even if we let Wolf have that last one.”
With Wolf’s help, they found and gathered up seven birds. The last had a broken wing but was still alive. Ayla wrung the bird’s neck and extracted the small spear, then signaled the wolf that he could have it. Wolf picked it up in his mouth and carried it out of sight into the field. Using tough grass as cordage, they tied the rest of the grouse together by their feet in pairs and strolled back to where the horses were grazing. She wrapped her sling around her head again as they walked toward the horses.
When they returned to camp, the hunters were talking about finding the bison while they were shaving the spear staffs smooth. Jondalar joined them to finish making the many spears they needed. After he knapped flint into points, they would attach them to the shafts and fletch them with the red grouse feathers she would provide. In the meantime, Ayla got the antler shovel that was used by everyone to clear the hearth of ashes and various other tasks. But the broad, flat shovel was not a spade for digging holes. For that she used a kind of awl, a sturdy flint pointed blade attached to the end of a wooden handle that could be used to break up the ground. The shovel was then used to remove the broken earth. She found a place off to the side near the sandy beach and dug a fairly deep hole in the sandy soil, built a fire nearby and placed several good-sized stones in it to heat them up, then started pulling the feathers out of her grouse.
Most of the others came to help. The large, strong feathers were given to the spear-makers, but Ayla wanted to keep the rest of them, too. Beladora had a pouch that she emptied of some implements and offered it to her for the feathers. They all helped to eviscerate and clean the six grouse, saving the edible innards like the hearts, gizzards, and livers. Ayla wrapped them in fresh hay from the field and put them back inside each bird and then wrapped the birds in more hay.
By then the stones were hot, and using bentwood tongs, Ayla placed the stones in the bottom and along the sides of the pit. She then covered them with dirt from the hole, and added green grass and leaves, which the children had helped to gather. The birds were placed on top of the greenery. Next, Ayla added vegetables—the lower stems of reeds and some ground nuts, good starchy roots that the other women had found—wrapped in edible green leaves, and put on top of the birds. These were covered by more green grass and leaves, another layer of dirt, then more hot stones. A last layer of dirt went on top to seal it off. It would all be left to cook undisturbed until time for the evening meal.
Ayla went to see how the spear-making was coming along. When she got there, some people were carving indentations in the butt ends of the shafts that would be placed against the hook at the back of the spear-thrower; others were gluing on the feathers with heated pitch from pine trees. The feathers were held in place with thin strings of sinew, which they had brought with them. Jonokol was grinding up charcoal that was added along with hot water to a chunk of warm pitch and stirred together. Then he dipped a stick in the thick black liquid and with it painted designs, abelans, on several spear shafts. An abelan signified both a person and his or her name, it meant the name of a life spirit, it was a personal symbol mark that was given to an infant shortly after birth by a Zelandoni. It wasn’t writing, but it was a symbolic use of marks.
Jondalar had made spears for Ayla as well as himself, and gave them to her to mark with her own abelan. She counted them; there were twice ten, twenty. She made four lines close together on each of the shafts. That was her personal symbol mark. Since she wasn’t born to the Zelandonii, she had chosen her own abelan and picked marks that matched the scars on her leg given to her by a cave lion when she was a little girl. It was how Creb had decided that the Cave Lion was her totem.
The marks would be used later to identify which hunter had slain a particular animal so the attribution of the kill could be made and the distribution of the meat would be equitable. It wasn’t that the person who killed the animal got all the meat, but he or she would have first choice of the select parts and was credited with providing meat to the ones who were given a share, which could be even more important. It meant praise, recognition, and an obligation owed. The best hunters often gave most of their meat away just to acquire the credit, sometimes to the dismay of their mates, but it was expected of them.
Levela considered going on the hunt, and Beladora and Amelana said they would be happy to watch Jonlevan along with Jonayla, but in the end Levela decided not to go. She had only recently started weaning Jonlevan, and was still nursing him occasionally. She hadn’t hunted since her son was born, and felt out of practice. She thought she might be more hindrance than help.
By the time the spears were completed, Jondalar had used up nearly all the flint he had found for the points, the best of the feathers were gone, applied to the spear shafts to help the weapons fly true, and it was nearly time to have the meal that Ayla had started. Several people had picked many more bilberries, most of which were drying on woven mats. The balance were being cooked into a sauce in a sturdy new bowl woven out of cattail leaves mixed with stems of rush plants that grew in a marsh near the lake, using stones heated in the fire. The only sweetening for the sauce came from the fruit itself, but flavorings from the flowers, leaves, and barks of various plants were often added. In this case Ayla had found meadowsweet, whose tiny flowers made a creamy, foaming display with a honey-sweet fragrance; the intensely aromatic blue flowers of hyssop, which was also a good cough remedy; and the leaves and scarlet flowers of bergamot. Rendered fat was added for a touch of richness.
The meal was pronounced a delicious success, almost a feast. The grouse provided a different meat, a new flavor, a change from the dried meat they so often had, and cooking in the ground oven had tenderized the birds, even the tough old males. The grass they were wrapped in had contributed its own flavor, and the fruit sauce added an agreeable piquant taste. There wasn’t as much left over as usual for the morning meal, but enough, especially with the addition of the tender lower stems and rootstalks of cattails.
People were also excited about the hunt planned for the next day. Jondalar and Willamar started talking about it with the others, but until they saw exactly where the bison were, they couldn’t decide what specific strategy to use. They would have to wait until they found the bovids. Since it was still daylight, Jondalar decided on the spur of the moment to follow the trail again to see if he could still find the herd. He didn’t know how much they might have moved. Ayla and Jonayla went with him on their horses, just to give the animals a run. They did find the bison, but not in quite the same place. Jondalar was glad he had decided to track them again, so he could lead the hunters directly to them.
There was always a little chill in the air in the early morning, even in the middle of summer. When Ayla stepped outside the tent the air felt fresh and damp. A cool mist hugged the ground and a layer of fog hung over the lake. Beladora and Levela were up already tending a new fire. Their children were up as well and Jonayla was with them. Ayla hadn’t heard her get up, but the child could be very quiet when she wanted to be. When she spied her mother, she came running over.
“You’re finally up, mother,” she said, as Ayla reached down to pick her up and give her a hug. Ayla doubted that her daughter had been awake very long, but she knew that a child’s sense of time was different from that of adults.
After she passed her water, Ayla decided to take a bathing swim in the lake before she went back into the tent. She emerged not long after dressed in her hunting outfit. Her activities woke Jondalar, who was content to lie in his bedroll and watch her; he had been well satisfied the night before. The sleeveless vest didn’t offer much warmth, but the hunters didn’t want to overdress since they knew the temperature would rise later. On cool mornings they tended to stay close to the fire and drink hot tea. Their activity would warm them once they s
tarted out. The grouse tasted just as good cold as a morning meal as it did the night before. Once again Gray was left behind with Jonayla, but the child didn’t want to stay.
“Mother, can’t I go with you, please? You know I can ride Gray,” the girl implored.
“No, Jonayla. It would be too dangerous for you. Things can happen that you don’t expect, and sometimes you have to get your horse out of the way. And you don’t know how to hunt yet,” Ayla said.
“But when will I learn?” she said with great yearning.
Ayla remembered when she was eager to learn, even though women of the Clan weren’t supposed to hunt. She’d had to teach herself, in secret. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” she said. “I’ll ask Jondy to make a spear-thrower for you, a small one that is your size, so you can begin practicing with it.”
“Will you, mother? Promise?” the child said.
“Yes, I promise.”
Jondalar and Ayla led their horses rather than riding them to make it easier for the rest to keep up. He found the huge ancient bison—six feet tall at the shoulder with gigantic horns, and with a coat that was a solid dark brown color—not far from where he had last seen them. It was a medium-size herd, but they didn’t want the whole herd. They were a small group and only needed a few animals.
There was some discussion about the best way to hunt the bison and it was decided to walk around the herd, carefully so as not to disturb them, and see what the nearby lay of the land was like. There were no convenient blind canyons to drive them into, but there was a dry riverbed with fairly high banks on both sides in one place.
“This could work,” Jondalar said, “if we build a fire at the lower end, but not until we drive them up close to it. So we’d have to get the fire ready to go and probably light it with a torch. Then we have to drive them this way.”
