The Mammoth Hunters ec-3 Read online

  Ayla could sense the excitement. When she got out the practice leather and the sinew, everyone gathered around, all pretense that they were only casually visiting forgotten. The hard, dry deer tendon, brown as old leather and as big around as a finger, resembled a stick of wood. It was pounded until it became a bundle of white collagen fibers that separated easily into filaments of sinew, which could be coarse strings or thin, fine thread depending upon what was wanted. She felt the moment needed drama and took time examining the sinew, then finally pulled a thin filament away. She wet it with her mouth to soften it, and bind it together, then holding the thread-puller in her left hand, she examined the small hole critically. This could be difficult, getting the thread through the hole. The sinew was starting to dry, and harden slightly, which made it easier. Ayla carefully poked the sinew thread into the tiny hole, and breathed a small sigh of relief when she pulled it through, and held up the ivory sewing point with thread dangling from the end.

  Next she picked up the piece of worn leather she was using for practice, and near an edge, she jabbed in the point, making a perforation. But this time she pushed it through, and smiled when she saw it pulling the thread after itself. She held it up to show, to exclamations of wonder. Then she picked up another piece of leather that she wanted to attach, and repeated the process, though she had to use the square of mammoth hide as a thimble to force the point through the thicker, tougher hide. She pulled the two pieces together, and then made a second stitch, and held the two pieces up to show.

  "It works!" Ayla said, with a big smile of victory.

  She gave the leather and needle to Deegie, who made a few stitches. "It does work. Here, Mother, you try it," she said, handing the leather and the thread-puller to the headwoman.

  Tulie also took a few stitches and nodded approvingly, then gave it to Nezzie, who tried it out, then let Tronie take a turn. Tronie gave it to Ranec, who tried pushing the point through both pieces at once, and discovered that thick leather was hard to penetrate.

  "I think if you made a small cutting point out of flint," he said as he passed it to Wymez, "it would make it easier to poke this through heavy leather. What do you think?"

  Wymez tried it and nodded agreement. "Yes, but this thread-puller is very clever."

  Every person in the Camp tried the new implement, and agreed. It did make sewing much easier to have something that pulled, rather than pushed, the thread through.

  Talut held the small sewing tool up and examined it from all angles, nodding his head with admiration. A long slender shaft, point at one end, hole at the other, it was an invention whose worth was recognized instantly. He wondered why no one had thought of it sooner. It was simple, so obvious once it was seen, but so effective.

  22

  Two sets of hooves pounded in unison across the hard ground. Ayla crouched low over the mare's withers, squinting into a wind burning cold on her face. She rode lightly, the controlling interplay of tension in her knees and hips in perfect accord with the powerful, striving muscles of the galloping horse. She noticed a change in the rhythm of the other hoofbeats, and glanced at Racer. He had pulled ahead but, showing unmistakable signs of tiring, he was falling back. She brought Whinney to a gradual stop, and the young stallion halted, as well. Enveloped in clouds of steam from their hard breathing, the horses hung their heads. Both animals were tired, but it had been a good run.

  Sitting upright and bouncing easily in rhythm with the horse's gait, Ayla headed back toward the river at a comfortable pace, enjoying the opportunity to be outside. It was cold, but beautiful, with the glare of an incandescent sun made brighter by sparkling ice and the white of a recent blizzard.

  As soon as Ayla had stepped outside the earthlodge that morning, she decided to take the horses for a long run. The air itself enticed her out. It seemed lighter, as though an oppressive burden had been lifted. She thought the cold was not as intense, though nothing was visibly changed. The ice was just as frozen, the tiny pellets of wind-driven snow just as hard.

  Ayla had no absolute means of knowing that the temperature had risen and the wind blew with less force, but she had detected subtle differences. Though it might have been interpreted as intuition, a feeling, it was in reality an acute sensitivity. To people who lived in climates of extreme cold, conditions even a little less severe were noticeable, and often greeted with exuberant good feelings. It wasn't yet spring, but the relentless grip of the deep grinding cold had eased, and the slight but noticeable warming brought with it the promise that life would stir again.

  She smiled when the young stallion pranced ahead, his neck arched proudly and his tail held out. She still thought of Racer as the baby she had helped deliver, but he wasn't a baby any more. Though still not filled out completely, he was bigger than his dam, and he was a racer. He loved to run, and he was fast, but there was a difference in the running patterns of the two horses. Racer was invariably faster than his dam in a short run, easily outdistancing her at the start, but Whinney had more endurance. She could run hard longer, and if they went on for any distance, she inevitably caught up and surged ahead of him.

  Ayla dismounted, but stopped momentarily before pushing aside the drape and entering the earthlodge. She'd often used the horses as an excuse to get away, and on that morning she had been particularly relieved that the weather felt right for a long run. As happy as she was to have found people again, and to be accepted as one of them and included in their activities, she needed to be alone occasionally. It was especially true when uncertainties and unresolved misunderstandings heightened tensions.

  Fralie had been spending much of her time at the Mammoth Hearth with the young people, to Frebec's growing annoyance. Ayla had been hearing arguments from the Crane Hearth, or rather, harangues by Frebec complaining of Fralie's absence. She knew he didn't like Fralie to associate too closely with her, and was sure the pregnant woman would stay away more to keep the peace. It bothered Ayla, particularly since Fralie had just confided that she had been passing blood. She had warned the woman that she could lose the baby if she didn't rest, and promised her some medicine, but now it would be more difficult to treat her with Frebec hovering disapprovingly.

  Added to that was her growing confusion about Jondalar and Ranec. Jondalar had been distant, but recently he seemed more like himself. A few days before, Mamut had asked him to come and talk to him about a particular tool he had in mind, but the shaman had been busy all day, and only found time to discuss his project in the evening, when the young people usually gathered at the Mammoth Hearth. Though they sat quietly off to the side, the laughter and usual banter were easily overheard.

  Ranec was more attentive than ever, and had been pressing Ayla lately, in the guise of teasing and joking, to come to his bed again. She still found it difficult to refuse him outright; acquiescence to a man's wishes had been too thoroughly ingrained in her to overcome easily. She laughed at his jokes – she was understanding humor more all the time, even the serious intent it sometimes masked – but skillfully evaded his implied invitation, to a chorus of laughter at Ranec's expense. He laughed as well, enjoying her wit, and she felt attracted to his easy friendliness. He was comfortable to be with.

  Mamut noticed that Jondalar smiled, too, and nodded his head approvingly. The flint knapper had avoided the gathering of young people, only watching the friendly joking from a distance, and the laughter had only increased his jealousy. He didn't know that it was often sparked by Ayla's refusals of Ranec's offers, though Mamut did.

  The next day, Jondalar smiled at her, for the first time in too long, Ayla thought, but she felt her breath catch in her throat and her heart speed up. During the next few days, he began coming back to the hearth earlier, not always waiting until she was asleep. Though she was reluctant to push herself on him still, and he seemed hesitant to approach her, she was beginning to hope that he was getting over whatever had been bothering him. Yet she was afraid to hope.

  Ayla took a deep breath, then pulled ba
ck the heavy drape, and held it aside for the horses. After shaking out her parka and hanging it on a peg, she went inside. For a change, the Mammoth Hearth was nearly empty. Only Jondalar was there, talking to Mamut. She was pleased, but surprised to see him, and it made her realize how little she had seen of him lately. She smiled and hurried toward them, but Jondalar's scowl pulled down the corners of her mouth. He did not seem very happy to see her.

  "You've been gone all morning, alone!" he blurted. "Don't you know it's dangerous to go out alone? You worry people. Soon someone would have had to go looking for you." He didn't say he had been the one who was worried, or that he was the one who was considering going out to look for her.

  Ayla backed off at his vehemence. "I was not alone. I was with Whinney and Racer. I took them for a run. They needed it."

  "Well, you shouldn't have gone out like that when it's so cold. It is dangerous to go out alone," he said, rather lamely, glancing at Mamut, hoping for support.

  "I said I was not alone. I was with Whinney and Racer, and it is nice out, sunny, not as cold." She was flustered by his anger, not realizing that it masked a fear for her safety that was almost unbearable. "I have been out alone in winter before, Jondalar. Who do you think went out with me when I lived in the valley?"

  She's right, he thought. She knows how to take care of herself. I shouldn't keep trying to tell her when and where she can go. Mamut did not seem overly concerned when he had asked where Ayla was, and she is the daughter of his hearth. He should have paid more attention to the old shaman, Jondalar thought, feeling foolish, as though he had made a scene over nothing.

  "Uh… well… maybe I should go look at the horses," he mumbled, backing away and hurrying toward the annex.

  Ayla watched him go, wondering if he thought she wasn't looking after them. She was confused and upset. It seemed impossible to understand him at all.

  Mamut was watching her closely. Her hurt and distress were plain to see. Why was it that the people who were involved found it so hard to understand their own problems? He was inclined to confront them and force them to see what seemed obvious to everyone else, but he resisted. He had already done as much as he felt he should. He had sensed from the beginning an undercurrent of tension in the Zelandonii man, and was convinced that the problem was not as obvious as it seemed. It was best to let them work it out for themselves. They would all learn more from the experience if left to find their own solutions. But he could encourage Ayla to talk to him about it or, at least, help her to discover her choices, and know her own wishes and potential.

  "Did you say it is not as cold out, Ayla?" Mamut asked.

  It took a moment for the question to find its way through the maze of other pressing thoughts that worried her. "What? Oh… yes. I think so. It doesn't really feel warmer, it just doesn't seem as cold."

  "I was wondering when She would break the back of winter," Mamut said. "I thought it should be getting close."

  "Break the back? I do not understand."

  "It's just a saying, Ayla. Sit down, I'll tell you a winter story about the Great Bountiful Earth Mother who created all that lives," the old man said, smiling. Ayla sat beside him on a mat near the fire.

  "In a great struggle, the Earth Mother took a life force from Chaos, which is a cold and unmoving emptiness, like death, and from it She created life and warmth, but She must always fight for the life She created. When the cold season is coming on, we know the struggle has begun between the Bountiful Earth Mother who wants to bring forth warm life, and cold death of Chaos, but first She must care for Her children."

  Ayla was warming to the story, now, and smiled encouragingly. "What does She do to care for Her children?"

  "Some She puts to sleep, some She dresses warmly to resist the cold, some She bids gather food and hide. As it gets colder and colder, death seems to be winning, the Mother is pushed back farther and farther. In the depths of the cold season, when the Mother is locked in the battle of life and death, nothing moves, nothing changes, everything seems to be dead. For us, without a warm place to live and the food that is stored, death would win in winter; sometimes, if the battle goes on longer than usual, it does. No one goes out much, then. People make things, or tell stories, or talk, but they don't move around much and they sleep more. That's why winter is called the little death.

  "Finally, when the cold has pushed Her down as far as She will go, She resists. She pushes and pushes until She breaks the back of winter. It means spring will return but it is not spring, yet. She has had a long fight, and She must rest before She can bring forth life again. But you know She has won. You can smell it, you can feel it in the air."

  "I did! I did feel it, Mamut! That's why I had to take the horses for a run. The Mother broke the back of winter!" Ayla exclaimed. The story seemed to explain exactly how she felt.

  "I think it's time for a celebration, don't you?"

  "Oh, yes. I think so!"

  "Perhaps you would be willing to help me arrange it?" He waited only long enough for Ayla to nod. "Not everyone feels Her victory, yet, but they will soon. We can both watch for the signs, and then decide when the time is right."

  "What signs?"

  "As life begins to stir again, each person feels it in a different way. Some get happy and want to go outside, but it's still too cold to go out very much, so they get edgy, or irritated. They want to acknowledge the life stirrings within them, but there are many big storms yet to come. Winter knows all is lost and gets angriest at this time of year, and people feel it and get angry, too. I'm glad you have alerted me. Between now and spring, people will be more restless. I think you will notice it, Ayla. That's when a celebration is best. It gives people a reason to express happiness instead of anger."

  I knew she would notice, Mamut thought, when he saw her frown. I have barely begun to feel the difference, and she has recognized it already. I knew she was gifted, but her abilities still astound me, and I'm sure I have not yet discovered her full range. I may never know; her potential could be far greater than mine. What did she say about that root, and the ceremony with the mog-urs? I'd like to get her prepared… the hunting ceremony with the Clan! It changed me, the effects were profound. It lives with me still. She, too, had an experience… could that have changed her? Enhanced her natural tendencies? I wonder… the Spring Festival, is it too soon to bring up the root again? Maybe I should wait until after she works with me on the Back Breaking Celebration… or the next one… there will be many between now and spring…

  Deegie walked down the passageway toward the Mammoth Hearth carrying heavy outer wear.

  "I was hoping I would find you, Ayla. I want to check those snares I set to see if I caught any white foxes to trim Branag's parka. Do you want to come with me?"

  Ayla, just waking up, looked up at the partially uncovered smoke hole. "It does look nice out. Let me get dressed."

  She pulled back the covers, sat up, stretched and yawned, then went to the curtained-off area near the horse annex. On her way, she passed by a platform bed on which a half-dozen children were sleeping, sprawled on top of each other in a heap, like a litter of wolf pups. She saw Rydag's large brown eyes open, and smiled at him. He closed them again, and snuggled down between the youngest, Nuvie, almost four years, and Rugie, who was approaching eight. Crisavec, Brinan, and Tusie were also in the pile, and lately, she had seen Fralie's youngest, Tasher, who was not yet three, beginning to take notice of the other youngsters. Latie, verging on womanhood, Ayla noticed, played with them less and less.

  The children were benevolently spoiled. They could eat and sleep where and when they wanted. They seldom observed the territorial customs of their elders; the entire lodge was theirs. They could demand the attention of adult members of the Camp, and often found it was welcomed as an interesting diversion; no one was in any particular hurry or had anyplace to go. Wherever their interests led the children, an older member of the group was ready to assist or explain. If they wanted to sew skins together, the
y were given the tools, and scraps of leather, and strings of sinew. If they wanted to make stone tools, they were given pieces of flint, and stone or bone hammers.

  They wrestled and tumbled, and invented games, which were often versions of adult activities. They made their own small hearths, and learned to use fire. They pretended to hunt, spearing pieces of meat from the cold storage chambers, and cooked it. When playing "hearths" extended to mimicking the copulating activities of their elders, the adults smiled indulgently. No part of normal living was singled out as something to be hidden or repressed; all of it was necessary instruction to becoming an adult. The only taboo was violence, particularly extreme or unnecessary violence.

  Living so closely together, they had learned that nothing could destroy a Camp, or a people, like violence, particularly when they were confined to the earthlodge during the long, cold winters. Whether by accident or design, every custom, manner, convention, or practice, even if not overtly directed at it, was aimed at keeping violence to a minimum. Sanctioned conduct allowed a wide range of individual differences in activities that did not, as a rule, lead to violence, or that might be acceptable outlets for draining off strong emotions. Personal skills were fostered. Tolerance was encouraged; jealousy or envy, while understood, was discouraged. Competitions, including arguments, were actively used as alternatives, but were ritualized, strictly controlled, and kept within defined boundaries. The children quickly learned the basic rules. Yelling was acceptable; hitting was not.