The Shelters of Stone

by Jean M. Auel

  They were quiet then for a long time. Jondalar wondered if she had fallen asleep. He was just feeling like beginning again, taking more time, but if she was sleeping…

  “I wonder how he is?” she suddenly said. “My son.”

  “Do you miss him?”

  “Sometimes I miss him so much, I don’t know what to do. At the meeting of the zelandonia, Zelandoni sang the Mother’s Song. I love that story. Whenever I hear it, I feel like crying when they come to the part about the Great Mother not being able to have Her son at Her side, how they are forever apart. I think I know how She felt. Even if I never see him again, I just wish I knew how he was, if he’s all right. How Broud and the others have treated him,” Ayla said. She was quiet again.

  Her words set Jondalar thinking. “In the song it says the Great Mother struggled in pain to give birth. Is it very painful?”

  “He was hard to deliver. I don’t like to think about it. But, like the Mother’s Song says, he was worth it.”

  “Are you afraid, Ayla? Afraid to give birth again?” he asked.

  “A little. But I feel so good this time, maybe this delivery won’t be so bad, either.”

  “I don’t know how women do it.”

  “We do it because it’s worth it, Jondalar. I wanted Durc so much, and then they told me he was deformed, that I couldn’t keep him.” She started to cry. Jondalar held her. “It was so awful. I just couldn’t do it. At least with the Zelandonii, the mother has the choice. No one will ever try to force me.”

  They heard wolves howling in the distance, and another answering that was close by, but that howl was familiar. Wolf was nearby, but not in the tent with them. “I wonder if he will leave me, too,” she said.

  She buried her head in his shoulder. Jondalar held her, comforted her. It is difficult being the honored of Doni, he thought. A blessing, but still … He tried to imagine what it would feel like to have a life growing inside him, but it was beyond him. Men did not have babies. Why did Doni make men, anyway? If there were no men, the women would be able to take care of themselves. Women are not all pregnant at the same time. Some of them could hunt and some could help the others when their bellies were big or their babies were small. Women always help each other when they give birth. They could probably survive even without hunting. Gathering is easier for a woman with small children anyway.

  He had asked himself that question before, and wondered if other men ever asked themselves the same question. If they did, it was not something they ever mentioned out loud. Doni must have had some reason for making two kinds of people. There always seemed to be logic in what She did. The world was orderly. The sun rose every day, the moon went through its phases regularly, the seasons followed each other the same way every year.

  Could Ayla be right? Was a man necessary for life to begin? Is that why there are both men and women? Jondalar struggled with his thoughts as he held the woman in his arms. He wanted there to be a reason for his existence, a real reason. Not just to enjoy Pleasures, not just to provide or help or support. He wanted his life to be necessary, his gender to be necessary. He wanted to believe that there would be no new life without men, that without men there would be no more children, that all of Earth’s Children would no longer exist.

  He was so deep in thought, he didn’t notice when Ayla’s sobs ceased. He looked at her and smiled. She was breathing quietly, sound asleep. It had been a long day, she had gotten up early. He eased his arm out from under her, flexed it to restore circulation, and yawned widely. He was tired himself. He got up to extinguish the moss-wick flame of the oil lamp and felt his way in the darkness back to the sleeping woman and crawled in beside her.

  In the morning, when Jondalar opened his eyes, it took him a moment to orient himself. He had grown accustomed to sleeping in the lodge at the camp; the inside of the tent was much closer. But the tent was even more familiar. They had slept in it together for a year. Then he remembered. They were mated last night. Ayla was his mate. He reached to his side, but she was gone. Then he smelled something cooking on the fire outside. He sat up and, without thinking about it, reached for his cup and was surprised to find it there, full of hot mint tea. He took a sip. It was just the temperature he liked, and beside the cup was a freshly peeled wintergreen twig. She had done it again, anticipated what he liked in the morning and had it ready for him. He still didn’t know how she did it.

  He took another drink, then pushed back the sleeping furs and got up. Ayla was with the horses, and Wolf was there, too. He swished out his mouth, chewed on the end of the twig and used it to clean his teeth, and swished his mouth once more, then swallowed the last of the tea. He reached for his clothes, then decided it didn’t matter, no one else was around, and walked to her naked. She smiled at him and glanced at his organ. That was all it took, it started to grow. Her smile became a mischievous grin. He just smiled back.

  “It’s a beautiful day,” he said as he approached her with his proud manhood jutting out in front of him.

  “I was thinking that I’d like to go swimming with you this morning,” she said, watching him approach. “That pool that is upstream of the camp is not far from here, if we go the back way.”

  “When do you want to go?” he said. “I smelled something cooking.”

  She smiled slyly. “We could go now. I can move the food off the fire,” she said.

  “Let’s do it, woman,” he said, taking her in his arms and giving her a kiss. “I’ll get some clothes, we can ride the horses there.” Then he smiled. “We can get there faster that way.”

  Ayla took her pack, but they rode bareback. Within a few moments they reached the pool and left the horses free to graze. They spread a hide on the ground, then ran for the water, laughing. Wolf ran with them, but as they splashed into the pool, he followed another interest.

  “This feels so good, so refreshing,” Ayla said, ducking down, then standing up again.

  Jondalar ducked down, too. They swam across the pool, then back again. When they started out, he reached for her. “You feel good, too,” he said, “and I think you might taste good, too.” He picked her up and carried her out of the water and put her down on the hide. “Yesterday was too busy, today we have time,” he said, looking down at her with his amazing blue eyes. Then he bent down to kiss her, slowly, sweetly, pressing close to her, feeling their skin cool from the water and the body heat from within. He nibbled on her ear, kissed her throat, then reached for her breast and found her nipple. It was what he wanted, what she wanted.

  He spent time, touching, squeezing, rubbing one between his fingers, sucking and nibbling on the other, and felt himself fill and get ready. To her, his touching and caressing gave her feelings through her body that felt like lightning, reaching into her parts of Pleasure. He rubbed her rounded belly and loved the feel of its swelling, knowing that inside a baby was growing, then he reached lower, for her rising mound, and the slit at the top.

  She pushed herself toward him, and he found the small knob. The sharp pulses of feeling grew stronger inside her. Then he got up and moved around and positioned himself between her thighs. He opened her rose-colored folds and just looked for a moment. Then he closed his eyes and let his tongue find her taste. This was the woman he wanted, the one who tasted like her. This was his Ayla.

  She held herself still, let him explore, find all the warm places, then he found the knob again and with his tongue began to play with it, moving it, rubbing it, sucking it. She began to moan, her mind in some other place, a place where Jondalar knew how to put her. She pushed up against him as he moved faster, and the moans escaping from her increased in pitch and intensity.

  He could feel himself growing so full, and he ached to feel her envelop him, but first, he needed to feel her peak. It kept getting closer, the feeling that was ready to overcome her, and then, suddenly, it was there, bursting over the crest in rising and rising waves of Pleasure. And then she wanted to feel him inside her.

  She pulled him up and hel
ped him enter, and waited for the first satisfying push. He pulled back and pushed in again, and filled her again. He felt her warm folds embrace him as he plunged in deeply, completely. They fit together so well. This was the woman he wanted. She could hold all of him, he didn’t have to worry about his size. He pulled out almost all the way, then plunged in again, and then again, and each time she felt him, the sensation grew stronger, her breath expelled with a rising tone to match the feeling growing inside.

  And then the pulsing grew until it flooded over him. He released as she reached her peak. He pulled out and pushed in again a few times, and then let himself go and relaxed on top of her. She didn’t want him to move. She loved the feeling of him on top of her like that. She wanted to savor the Pleasures and relax, too.

  They went swimming again, but this time when they got out, Ayla took their soft drying skins out of her pack. They whistled for the horses and rode back to their campsite. Wolf was there, pacing around their tent, growling at something, and the horses seemed nervous.

  “There’s something out there,” Ayla said. “Wolf doesn’t like it, and it’s making the horses nervous. Those wolves we heard last night, do you think it could be them?”

  “I don’t know, but after we eat, why don’t we pack up the tent and go for a long ride,” Jondalar said. “Maybe spend tonight some other place.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Ayla said. “We can stop by the lodge and leave our mating outfits, get the rest of our traveling things, and explore the area around here. When we come back, we can set up our tent near the pool. Hardly anyone goes there. And let’s take Wolf with us. Some pack might think he’s in their territory, and wolves will fight to defend their territory against other wolves.”

  33

  When they rode to the camp of the Ninth Cave and dismounted near their lodge, the people ignored them as though they weren’t there, walking past and averting their eyes or looking beyond them. Ayla felt a chill of uneasy recognition; it felt like the death curse of the Clan. She knew what it meant when people she loved shunned her, refused to see her though she stood in front of them waving her arms and shouting.

  Then she saw Folara glancing at them and trying to hide a smile, and Ayla relaxed. There was no ill will. It was their trial period and they weren’t supposed to talk to anyone but each other, but she noticed several others glancing in their direction and trying not to smile at them. It was obvious that everybody was very much aware of their presence. They went into the lodge just as Marthona was coming out. They sidestepped each other as they passed by without saying a word, but the older woman looked directly at them and smiled. She didn’t think it was necessary to go through all the elaborate avoidance schemes, neither speaking to them nor encouraging them to talk was enough.

  They put their mating outfits on the grass-stuffed underpads of their bare sleeping place and packed some additional traveling gear, then they walked to Marthona and Willamar’s place. She had placed the rawhide packet with Ayla’s amulet in it on her bed, and put some food she had packed up for them beside it. Ayla almost thanked her out loud, but caught herself, then with a quick smile she made the Clan hand signs for “I am grateful for your kindness, mother of my mate.”

  Marthona didn’t understand the signs, but she guessed it was a gesture of appreciation of some kind and smiled at the young woman who was now the mate of her son. It might be valuable to learn some of those signs, she thought. It could be interesting to communicate without speaking, and without anyone else knowing what you were saying. When they left, Marthona walked over to their place and looked at the clothing they had worn the previous night.

  Jondalar’s white tunic had made him stand out, but then he usually did, and while it was stunning and displayed an advanced technique for working with leather, it was still Ayla’s entire outfit that had made the real impression, just as Marthona hoped it would. It had already caused some people to reconsider the status they were willing to grant her. Marthona had invited some people over for a taste of some bilberry wine, which she had recently started serving—it had been stored for two years in a dark, dry corner of her dwelling in the well-washed and securely stoppered stomach of an elk. She decided she would place a few lamps around the inside of the lodge so they could see better in the dim interior space. She bent over and straightened the tunic and leggings, rearranging them slightly to show off a particular area of intricate beadwork that had been covered by a fold.

  Ayla and Jondalar loved their days of nominal separation from the Zelandonii. It was like a return to their Journey, but without the pressure of having to keep traveling. They spent the long summer days hunting, fishing, and gathering just for their own needs, swimming and taking long rides on the horses, but with Wolf only a sometime companion, and Ayla missed him when he was gone. It was as though he couldn’t quite make up his mind whether to stay with the humans he adored or return to whatever it was he found so fascinating in the wild. He always found them, no matter where they camped, and every time he made an appearance at the tent, Ayla was delighted. She paid attention to the animal, stroked and petted riim, talked to him, hunted with him. Her attention usually encouraged him to stay with them for a while, but eventually he would go again and often stay away through the night or several.

  They explored the hills and valleys of the surrounding area. As well as Jondalar thought he knew the countryside of his birth, because they were riding on horses and able to cover so much more territory, he was able to see it on a broader scale and from a different perspective. He gained an insight he hadn’t had before, and it gave them an appreciation for the richness of the region. Sometimes in herds, and sometimes in fleeting glimpses, they saw a tremendous number and remarkable variety of animals that inhabited the land of the Zelandonii.

  Most grazing and browsing creatures placidly shared the same fields, meadows, and open woodlands, and the two horses were usually ignored along with the humans who were riding them. As a result, they were able to get quite close. Ayla liked to sit quietly on Whinney’s back while the mare grazed and study the other animals, and Jondalar often joined her, though he also spent time doing other things. He was working on spears and a spear-thrower for Lanidar more appropriate to his size, and with an adaptation he hoped would make it easier for him to use with one arm. Jondalar was with her when they came upon a herd of bison one afternoon.

  Although many bison and aurochs had been hunted, it was hardly noticed; their numbers were insignificant in comparison with the vast numbers of animals that roamed the open landscape. But the two distinct bovines were never seen together. They avoided each other. Though Ayla and Jondalar had killed and helped to butcher their share of bison recently, observing them as they moved through their environment was enlightening. The grazers had lost their thick, dark, woolly fur during the spring molt and were wearing their lighter-colored summer coats. Ayla especially enjoyed watching the lively, playful calves, still quite young—the cows calved in late spring and early summer. The young developed rather slowly and required close, attentive care, but still fell prey to bears, wolves, lynxes, hyenas, leopards, the occasional cave lion—and humans.

  Deer of various species were abundant and came in all sizes, from huge giant deer to tiny roe deer. Jondalar and Ayla saw a small bachelor herd of megaceros with their delicate sharp noses, and marveled at their fantastic antlers. They were shaped like a hand with outstretched fingers, and though they could span twelve feet and weigh one hundred sixty pounds or more, these were younger animals, slimmer, with smaller appendages. They had not yet developed the huge muscular necks of the mature deer, though they all sported humps on their withers, where the tendons to support their future massive antlers were attached.

  Even young megaceros avoided woods where their antlers could get caught in tree branches. The spotted fallow deer was the woodland variety. In a marshy area, they saw a single deer of another kind, tall and gangly, with smaller, though still quite substantial, palmate antlers, standing in the mi
ddle of the water, dipping his head under and pulling out a mouth full of dripping, green water plants, but this deer had a huge overhanging nose. It was called moose in some countries, but the name given to it in Jondalar’s region was elk.

  Far more prevalent were the variety of elk known in this land as red deer. They also grew large anders, but of the branching variety. Red deer were primarily grazers and could live in a broad range of open country, from mountains to steppes. Nimble and fearless, steep hills and rough country didn’t deter them, nor did narrow ledges above the treeline if there was grass to tempt them. Forests with enough spaces between trees to allow an undergrowth of grasses and ferns or interspersed with sunny glens were acceptable habitats, as were heather-covered hills and open steppes.

  Red deer didn’t like to run, but their long-legged walk or lively trot covered ground with celerity, and if chased, they could run for miles, leap a forty-foot distance, and jump to a height of eight feet. They were also excellent swimmers. Though they preferred to eat grass, they could feed on leaves, buds, berries, mushrooms, herbs, heathers, bark, acorns, nuts, and beechnut mast. Red deer congregated in small herds at this time of year, and in a meadow beside a stream, Ayla and Jondalar saw several of the deer and stopped to observe them. The grass was just turning from green to gold, and a few fully leafed-out, luxuriant beech trees lined the bank, but on the other side was a substantial gallery forest.

  It was a male herd of various ages, and their anders were in full velvet. Antlers began when the males were about a year old with single spikes. They were cast off in early spring, but they started to grow new ones almost immediately. Each year a new tine was added, and by early summer even the biggest were fully grown, encased in velvet, a soft skin full of blood vessels, which carried the nutrients that allowed their anders to grow so quickly. By mid- to late summer, the velvet dried and became very itchy, causing the deer to scratch against trees and rocks to rub it off, but the bloody skin often hung in tatters until it was gone.