The Valley of Horses Page 33

  With the passage of time, and particularly since Baby had come, the grief she felt for the people she loved had abated. The emptiness, her need for human contact, was such a constant pain that it seemed normal. Any lessening of it was a joy, and the two animals went a long way toward filling the void. She liked to think of the arrangement as similar to Iza and Creb and herself when she was a little girl, except she and Whinney took care of Baby. And when the lion cub, with claws retracted, wrapped his forelegs around her when she cuddled up to him at night, she could almost imagine it was Durc.

  She was reluctant to leave and seek out unknown Others, with unknown customs and restrictions; Others who might take laughter away from her. They won’t, she said to herself. I won’t live with anyone again who won’t let me laugh.

  The animals had grown tired of their game. Whinney was grazing, and Baby was resting nearby, with his tongue hanging out of his mouth, panting. Ayla whistled, which brought Whinney, with the lion padding behind her.

  “I have to go hunting, Whinney,” she motioned. “That lion eats so much and he’s getting so big.”

  Once the baby cave lion had recovered from his injuries, he always followed Ayla or Whinney. Cubs were never left alone in the pride, nor were babies ever left alone in the Clan, so his behavior seemed perfectly normal. But it presented a problem. How was she going to hunt with a cave lion trailing her? When Whinney’s protective instincts were aroused, however, the problem solved itself. It was customary for a lion mother to form a subgroup with her cubs and a younger female when they were small The younger female tended the cubs when the lioness went hunting, and Baby accepted Whinney in that role. Ayla knew that no hyena, or similar animal, would brave the stomping hooves of the mare aroused to protect her charge, but it meant she had to hunt on foot again. Yet, hiking the steppes close to the cave in search of animals appropriate for her sling gave her an unexpected opportunity.

  She had always avoided the pride of cave lions that roamed the territory east of her valley. But the first time she noticed a few lions resting themselves in the shade of stunted pines, she decided it was time to learn something more about the creatures that embodied her totem.

  It was a dangerous occupation. Hunter though she was, she could easily become prey. But she had observed predators before and had learned ways to make herself inconspicuous. The lions knew she was watching, but after the first few times, they chose to ignore her. It didn’t remove the danger. One could turn on her at any time, for no reason other than a cranky mood, but the longer she watched, the more fascinating they became.

  They spent most of their time resting or sleeping, but when they hunted, they were speed and fury in action. Wolves, hunting in packs, were able to kill a large deer; a single cave lioness could do it more quickly. They hunted only when they were hungry, and might eat only once in a handful of days. They had no need to store food ahead as she did; they hunted all year long.

  They tended to be nocturnal hunters in summer when the days were hot, she noticed. In winter, when nature thickened their coats, lightening the shade to ivory to blend into the lighter landscape, she had seen them hunting during the day. The severe cold kept the tremendous energy they burned during the hunt from overheating them. At night, when temperatures plummeted, they slept piled together in a cave or rock overhang out of the wind, or amidst the strewn rubble of a canyon where the stones absorbed a little heat from the distant sun during the day and gave it up to the dark.

  The young woman was returning to her valley after a day of observation which had brought new respect for the animal of her totem spirit. She had watched the lionesses bring down an old mammoth with tusks so long they curved back and crossed in front. The entire pride had gorged on the kill. How had she ever escaped from one when she was only five, with only a few scars to show for it? she was thinking, understanding better the Clan’s amazement. Why did the Cave Lion choose me? For a moment, she felt a strange presentiment. Nothing specific, but it left her thinking about Durc.

  When she neared the valley, a quick stone brought a hare down for Baby, and she suddenly questioned her wisdom in bringing the cub to her cave, envisioning him as a full-grown male cave lion. Her misgivings lasted only until the young lion ran to her, eager and delighted to have her back, looking for her fingers to suck, and licking her with his raspy tongue.

  Later in the evening, after she had skinned the hare and cut it into chunks for Baby, cleaned Whinney’s place and brought her in some fresh hay, and made some dinner for herself, she sat sipping hot tea and staring at the fire, thinking about the day’s events. The young cave lion was asleep toward the back of the cave, away from the direct heat of the fire. Her thoughts turned to the circumstances that had led her to adopt the cub, and she could only conclude that it had been her totem’s wish. She didn’t know why, but the spirit of the Great Cave Lion had sent one of his own for her to raise.

  She reached for the amulet hanging from the cord around her neck and felt the objects within it, then, with the silent formal language of the Clan, she addressed her totem: “It was not understood by this woman how powerful is the Cave Lion. This woman is grateful she was shown. This woman may not ever know why she was chosen, but this woman is grateful for the baby and the horse.” She paused, then added, “Someday, Great Cave Lion, this woman would know why the cub was sent … if her totem would choose to tell.”

  Ayla’s usual summer work load, preparing for the cold season to come, was compounded by the addition of the cave lion. He was carnivorous, pure and simple, and required quantities of meat to satisfy the needs of his rapid growth. Hunting small animals with her sling was taking too much of her time—she needed to go after bigger game, for herself as well as the lion. But for that, she needed Whinney.

  Baby knew Ayla was planning something special when she got out the harness and whistled for the horse so she could make the adjustments to enable her to drag two sturdy wooden poles behind her. The travois had proved itself, but Ayla wanted to work out a better way to attach it so she could still use the pack baskets. She also wanted to keep one pole movable so the horse could bring the load up to the cave. Drying the meat on the ledge had worked well, too.

  She wasn’t sure what Baby would do, or how she was going to hunt with Baby along, but she had to try it. When everything was ready, she climbed on Whinney’s back and started out. Baby followed along behind, the way he would have trailed his mother. It was so much more convenient to reach the territory east of the river that, except for a few exploratory trips, she never went west. The sheer wall on the western side continued for many miles before a steep rubbly slope finally opened a way to the plains in that direction. Since she could range so much farther on horseback, she had become familiar with the eastern side, which made it easier to hunt as well.

  She had learned much about the herds of those steppes, their migration patterns, customary routes, and river crossings. But she still had to dig pitfall traps along known animal trails, and it was not a job that benefited from the interference of a lively lion cub, who thought the young woman had just invented a wonderful new game only for his enjoyment.

  He crept up to the hole, breaking down the edge with his paws, bounded over it, jumped in, and leaped out just as easily. He rolled in the piles of dirt she had scooped onto the old tent hide, which she still used to haul the dirt away. When she started to drag the hide away, Baby decided to drag it too, his way. It became a tug-of-war, with all the dirt spilled on the ground.

  “Baby! How am I going to get this hole dug,” she said, exasperated, but laughing, which encouraged him. “Here, let me get you something to drag.” She rummaged through the pack baskets, which she had taken off Whinney to let her graze comfortably, and found the deerskin she had brought along as a ground cover in case it rained. “Drag this, Baby,” she motioned, then pulled it along the ground in front of him. It was all he needed. He couldn’t resist a hide dragged along the ground. He was so delighted with himself, dragging the hide bet
ween his front legs, that she had to smile.

  In spite of the cub’s assistance, Ayla did get the hole dug and covered with an old hide brought for the purpose, and a layer of dirt. The hide was barely held in place with four pegs, and the first time she had it ready, Baby had to investigate. He fell into the trap, then jumped out with shocked indignation, but stayed away afterward.

  Once the pitfall was prepared, Ayla whistled for Whinney and circled wide to get behind a herd of onagers. She couldn’t bring herself to hunt horses again, and even the onager made her uncomfortable. The half-ass looked too much like a horse, but the herd was in such a good position for a chase into a pitfall that she couldn’t pass it up.

  After Baby’s playful antics around the hole, she was even more concerned that he would be a detriment to the hunt, but once they got behind the herd, he assumed a different mien. He stalked the onagers, the same way he had stalked Whinney’s tail, just as though he might actually bring one down, though he was far too young. She realized then that his games were cub-size versions of adult-lion hunting skills he would need. He was a hunter from birth; his understanding of the need for stealth was instinctive.

  Ayla discovered, to her surprise, that the cub was actually a help. When the herd was close enough to the trap that the scent of human and lion was causing them to swerve, she urged Whinney forward, whooping and yelping to start a stampede. The cub sensed this was the signal and took off after the animals, too. The smell of cave lion added to the onagers’ panic. They headed straight for the pitfall.

  Ayla slid off Whinney’s back, spear in hand, running at full speed toward a screaming onager trying to scramble out of the hole, but Baby was ahead of her. He jumped on the back of the animal—not knowing yet the lion’s fatal suffocating hold of the prey’s throat—and, with milk teeth too small to have much effect, bit at the back of the onager’s neck. But it was early experience for him.

  If he had still lived with the pride, no adult would have allowed him to get in the way of a kill. Any attempt would have been immediately stopped with a murderous swipe. For all their speed, lions were only sprinters, while their prey were long-distance runners. If the lions’ kill wasn’t made in the first surge of speed, the chances were they would lose it. They couldn’t afford to let a cub practice his hunting skills, except through play, until he was nearly grown.

  But Ayla was human. She had the speed of neither prey nor predator, as she lacked claw and fang. Her weapon was her brain. With it she had devised means to overcome her lack of natural hunting endowments. The trap—that allowed the slower, weaker human to hunt—gave even a cub the opportunity to try.

  When Ayla arrived, breathless, the onager was wild-eyed with fear, trapped in a pit with a cave lion kitten snarling on his back trying to get a death hold with baby teeth. The woman ended the animal’s struggles with a sure thrust of her spear. With the cub hanging on—his sharp little teeth had broken the skin—the onager went down. Only when all movement had stopped did Baby let go. Ayla’s smile was a mother’s smile of pride and encouragement as the cave lion cub, standing on top of an animal much bigger than himself, full of pride and convinced he’d made the kill, tried to roar.

  Then Ayla jumped down in the pit with him, and nudged him aside. “Move over, Baby. I’ve got to tie this rope around his neck so Whinney can pull him out.”

  The cub was a bundle of nervous energy as the horse, leaning into the strap across her chest, hauled the onager out of the pit. Baby jumped into the hole and back out of it, and when the onager was finally out of the hole, the cub leaped on top of the animal, then bounded off again. He didn’t know what to do with himself. The lion who made the kill was usually the first to take a share, but cubs did not make kills. By the usual dominance patterns, they were last.

  Ayla spread the onager out to make the abdominal cut that started at the anus and ended at the throat. A lion would have opened the animal in a similar way, tearing out its soft underside first. With Baby watching avidly, Ayla cut through the lower part, then turned and straddled the animal to cut up the rest of the way.

  Baby couldn’t wait anymore. He dove into the gaping abdomen and snatched at the bloody innards bulging out. His needle-sharp teeth tore through the tender internal tissue and succeeded in grabbing hold of something. He clamped down and pulled back in typical tug-of-war fashion.

  Ayla finished the cut, turned around, and felt laughter bubbling up exuberantly. She shook with mirth until tears came to her eyes. Baby had clamped down on a piece of intestine, but, unexpectedly, as he backed up, there was no resistance. It kept coming. Anxiously, he had continued to pull until a long rope of uncoiled entrails was strung out for several feet, and his look of surprise was so funny that Ayla couldn’t contain herself. She collapsed to the ground, holding her side, trying to regain her composure.

  The cub, not knowing what the woman was doing on the ground, let the coil drop and came to investigate. Grinning as he came bounding toward her, she grabbed his head in her hands and rubbed her cheek on his fur. Then she rubbed him behind his ears and around his slightly blood-stained jowls, while he licked her hands and wriggled into her lap. He found her two fingers, and, pressing her thighs alternately with his forefeet, he suckled, making low rumbling sounds deep in his throat.

  I don’t know what brought you, Baby, Ayla thought, but I’m so glad you’re here.

  14

  By fall, the cave lion was bigger than a large wolf, and his baby chunkiness was giving way to gangly legs and muscular strength. But for all his size, he was still a cub, and Ayla sported an occasional bruise or scratch from his playfulness. She never struck him—he was a baby. She did, however, reprimand him with the signal for “Stop it, Baby!” while pushing him away, and adding “That’s enough, you’re too rough!” as she walked off.

  It was sufficient to cause a contrite cub to come after her making submissive gestures, as members of a pride did to those more dominant. She couldn’t resist, and the happy rambunctdousness that followed her forgiveness was always more restrained. He would sheathe his claws before he jumped up and put his paws on her shoulders to push her over—rather than knocking her down—so he could wrap his forelegs around her. She had to hug him back, and though he bared his teeth when he took her shoulder or arm in his mouth—as he would one day bite a female he was mating—he was gentle and never broke the skin.

  She accepted his advances and gestures of affection and returned them, but in the Clan, until he made his first kill and reached adulthood, a son obeyed his mother. Ayla would have it no other way. The cub accepted her as mother. It was therefore natural for her to be dominant.

  The woman and the horse were his pride; they were all he had. The few times he had met other lions while on the steppes with Ayla, his inquisitive advances were soundly rejected, as the scar on his nose proved. After the scuffle that sent Baby back with a bleeding nose, the woman avoided other lions when the cub was with her, but when she was out alone, she still observed.

  She found herself comparing the cubs of wild prides with Baby. One of her first observations was that he was big for his age. Unlike the young of a pride, he never knew periods of hunger with his ribs sticking out like ripples in the sand, and scruffy dull fur; much less was he threatened with death by starvation. With Ayla providing constant care and sustenance, he could reach the full extent of his physical potential Like a Clan woman with a healthy contented baby, Ayla was proud to see her cub growing sleek and huge in comparison with wild cubs.

  There was another area of his development, she noticed, in which the young lion was ahead of his contemporaries. Baby was a precocious hunter. After the first time, when he had taken such delight in chasing onagers, he always accompanied the woman. Rather than playing at stalking and hunting with other cubs, he was practicing on real prey. A lioness would have forcibly restricted his participation, but Ayla encouraged and in fact welcomed his assistance. His instinctive hunting methods were so compatible with hers that they hunted as
a team.

  Only once did he initiate the chase prematurely and scatter a herd in advance of the pit. Then, Ayla was so disgusted with him that Baby knew he’d made a grievous mistake. He watched her closely next time and held himself in check until she started. Though he hadn’t succeeded in killing a trapped animal before she arrived, she was sure it would not be long before he killed something.

  He discovered that hunting smaller game with Ayla and her sling was great fun, too. If Ayla was gathering food in which he had no interest, he would chase anything that moved—if he wasn’t sleeping. But when she hunted, he learned to freeze when she did at the sight of game. Waiting and watching while she took out her sling and a stone, he was off as she made her cast. She often met him dragging the kill back, but sometimes she found him with his teeth around the animal’s throat. She wondered if it had been her stone, or if he had finished the job by closing the windpipe, the way lions suffocated an animal to kill it. In time, she learned to look when he froze, scenting prey before she saw it, and it was a smaller animal he first opened by himself.

  Baby had been playing around with a hunk of meat she had given him, not especially interested in it, then had gone to sleep. He woke up, when he heard Ayla climbing up the steep side to the steppes above her cave, hungry. Whinney was not around. Cubs left unattended in the wild were open season for hyenas and other predators; he had learned the lesson early and well. He leaped up after Ayla and reached the top ahead of her, then walked beside her. She saw him stop before she noticed the giant hamster, but it had seen them and started to run before she hurled the stone. She wasn’t sure if her aim had been true.

  Baby was off the next instant. When she came upon him with his jaws buried in the bloody entrails, she wanted to find out who had made the kill. She shoved him aside to see if she could find a stone mark. He resisted for only an instant—long enough for her to look at him sternly—then gave way without argument. He had eaten enough food from her hand to know she always provided. Even after examining the hamster, she wasn’t sure how it had died, but she gave it back to the lion, praising him. Tearing through the skin himself was an achievement.