Mammoth Hunters (80 page)

Ayla was stunned beyond words when she discovered what the young wolf had been after, and Jondalar was too embarrassed to speak, yet their eyes held, and spoke more than words could say. But they would not believe what they saw. Finally Jondalar attempted to explain.

“I was … uh … walking by, and … uh …”

He gave up, not even trying to finish his lame attempt at an excuse, turned and walked quickly away. Ayla followed him back toward the Camp more slowly, trudging up the slope toward the earthlodge. Jondalar’s behavior confused her. She wasn’t sure how long he had been there, but she knew he had been watching her, and wondered why he had been hiding from her. She didn’t know what to think, but as she went into the lodge through the annex to the Mammoth Hearth to find Mamut so he could complete her preparations, she remembered the way Jondalar had looked at her.

Jondalar did not return to the Camp immediately. He wasn’t sure he could face her, or anyone, just then. When he neared the path from the river up to the lodge, he turned around and walked back, and soon found himself at the same secluded spot.

He walked to the remains of the little fire, kneeled down
and felt the slight heat with his hand, and half closed his eyes remembering the scene he had secretly watched. When he opened his eyes, he spied the flint core she had left behind, and picked it up to examine it. Then he saw the chips and flakes she had struck off, and fit some of them back on, to study the process more closely. Near scraps of leather, he saw the awl. He picked it up and looked it over. It wasn’t made in the style he was accustomed to. It seemed too simple, almost crude, but it was a good, effective tool. And sharp, he thought, when it nicked his finger.

The tool she had made reminded him of Ayla, seemed, in its way, to represent the enigma of her, the apparent contradictions. Her innocent candor, shrouded in mystery; her simplicity, steeped in ancient knowledge; her honest naïveté, surrounded by the depth and wealth of her experience. He decided to keep it, to remind himself of her always, and wrapped the sharp tool in the leather scraps to take it with him.

The feast was eaten in the warmth of the afternoon, inside at the cooking hearth, but with the archway drapes, even those of the new annex, thrown back and tied open to allow fresh air and easy access. Many of the festivities were conducted outside, particularly games and competitions—wrestling seemed to be a favored spring sport—and singing and dancing.

Gifts were exchanged to wish luck, happiness, and good will, in emulation of the Great Earth Mother, who was again bringing life and warmth to the land, to show their appreciation of the gifts of the earth She bestowed on them. The gifts were usually small items such as belts and knife sheaths, animal teeth with holes pierced through the root or grooved for cord to wrap around for suspension as pendants, and strings of beads which could be used as they were or sewn onto clothing. This year the new thread-puller was a favorite gift to give and receive, along with needle cases, little tubes of ivory or hollow bones of birds, in which to hold them. Nezzie had made the first one, which she kept with a square of mammoth skin used as a thimble in her decorated sewing pouch. Several others borrowed her idea.

The firestones owned by each hearth were considered magic and held sacred, and kept in the niche along with the figure of the Mother, but Barzec gave away several tinder kits which he devised, that were remarked on with great enthusiasm.
They were convenient for carrying and contained materials especially easy to light with the firestarting spark—fluffy fibers, crushed dried dung, slivers of wood—and had a place for the firestone and flint-striker when traveling.

With the chilling wind of evening, the Camp took their warm feelings inside and closed the heavy insulating drapes behind them. There was a time of settling down, of changing to their ceremonial clothes or adding the final decorative pieces, of refilling cups with a favorite beverage, a brisk herbal tea, or Talut’s bouza. Then they all found their way to the Mammoth Hearth for the serious part of the Spring Festival.

Ayla and Deegie beckoned to Latie to invite her to sit with them; she was almost one of them now, almost a young woman. Danug and Druwez looked at her with unaccustomed shyness as she passed. She straightened her shoulders and held her head high, but refrained from speaking. Their eyes followed after her. Latie smiled as she sat between the two women, feeling very special, and very much that she belonged.

Latie had been playmate and friend to the boys when they were children, but she was not a child any more, nor a girl to be ignored or disdained by young males. She had passed into the magically attractive, slightly threatening, and altogether mysterious world of woman. Her body had changed its shape, and she could cause unexpected, uncontrollable feelings and responses in their bodies just by walking by. Even a direct look could be disconcerting.

But more daunting was something they had only heard about. She could make blood come out of her body with no wound and seemingly no pain, and somehow that made her able to draw the magic of the Mother into herself. They didn’t know how, they only knew that one day she would bring forth new life from inside her body; one day Latie would make children. But first a man would have to make her a woman. That would be their role—not with Latie, of course, she was sibling and cousin, too closely related. But someday, when they were older and had more experience, they might be selected to perform that important function because even though she could make blood, a female could not make children until a man made her a woman.

The coming Summer Meeting would prove enlightening for the two young men, also, particularly Danug, since he
was older. They were never pushed, but when they were ready, there would be women who had dedicated themselves to honor the Mother for a season, who would make themselves available to young men, to give them experience, and to teach them the ways and the mysterious joys of women.

Tulie walked to the center of the group, holding up and shaking the Speaking Staff, and waited for the people to quiet down. When she had everyone’s attention, she gave the decorated ivory shaft to Talut, who was in full regalia, including his mammoth tusk headpiece. Mamut appeared, dressed in an ornately decorated white leather cape. He held a cunningly fashioned shaft of wood that seemed to be a single piece, except that one end was a dry, bare, dead branch, and the other end bursting with green buds and small new leaves. He gave it to Tulie. As headwoman, the Spring Festival was hers to open. Spring was the women’s time of year; the time of birth and new life, the time of new beginnings. She held the double-ended shaft in both hands, over her head, pausing for full effect, then brought it down sharply across her knee, breaking it in two, symbolizing the end of the old and the beginning of the new year, and the start of the ceremonial part of the evening.

“The Mother has smiled upon us with great favor this past cycle,” Tulie began. “We have so much to celebrate it will be difficult to know which significant event to use to mark the counting of the year. Ayla was adopted as a Mamutoi, so we have a new woman, and the Mother has chosen to make Latie ready for womanhood, so we soon will have another.” Ayla was surprised to hear herself included. “We have a new baby girl to be named and numbered among us, and a new Union to be announced.” Jondalar closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Tulie continued, “We have come through the winter well and healthy, and it is time for the cycle to begin again,”

When Jondalar looked up, Talut had stepped forward and had the Speaking Staff. He saw Nezzie signal to Latie. She got up, smiled nervously at the two young women who had made her feel so secure, and approached the big, flaming-haired man of her hearth. Talut smiled at her with encouragement and loving affection. She saw Wymez standing beside her mother. His smile, though less infectious, was just as full of pride and love for his sister’s daughter, and his heir, who would soon be a woman. It was an important moment for them all.

“I am very proud to give notice that Latie, the first daughter of the Lion Hearth, has been made ready to become a woman,” Talut said, “and to announce that she will be included in the Celebration of Womanhood at the Meeting this summer.”

Mamut stepped toward her and handed her an object. “This is your muta, Latie,” he said. “With this as a place for the Mother to reside, you can establish a hearth of your own someday. Keep it in a safe place.”

Latie took the carved ivory object and went back to her place, and was delighted to show her muta to those nearby. Ayla was interested. She knew it had been made by Ranec because she had one like it, and recalling the words that had been spoken, she began to realize why he had given it to her. She needed a muta to establish a hearth with him.

“Ranec must be trying to work out something new,” Deegie commented, seeing the bird-woman figure. “I haven’t seen one like this before. It’s very unusual. I’m not sure if I understand it. Mine looks more like a woman.”

“He gave me one like Latie’s,” Ayla said. “I thought of it as both a woman and a bird, depending upon how you look at it.” Ayla took Latie’s muta and showed it from different angles and perspectives. “He said he wanted it to represent the Mother in Her spiritual form.”

“Yes, I can see it, now that you showed me,” Deegie said. She gave the little figure back to Latie, who cradled it carefully in her hands.

“I like it. It’s not like everyone else’s, and it means something special,” Latie said, glad that Ranec gave her a muta that was unique. Even though he had never lived at the Lion Hearth, Ranec was her brother, too, but he was so much older than Danug that he felt more like an uncle than a brother. She didn’t always understand him, but she looked up to him, and knew that he was esteemed by all the Mamutoi as a carver. She would have been happy with any muta made by him, but she was pleased that he had chosen to give her one like Ayla’s. He would only give a carving that he considered his best to Ayla.

The ceremony for the naming of Fralie’s baby had already begun, and the three young women turned their attention to it. Ayla recognized the ivory plaque incised with cut marks that Talut was holding up, and felt a moment of concern, remembering her adoption. But the ceremony was obviously
one that was quite common. Mamut must know what to do. As she watched Fralie present her infant to the shaman and the headman of the Lion Camp, Ayla suddenly remembered another naming ceremony. It had been spring then, she recalled, only she had been the mother, and she had presented her baby fearfully, expecting the worst.

She heard Mamut say, “What name have you chosen for this child?” And she heard Fralie reply, “She is to be called Bectie.” But in her mind, Ayla heard Creb say, “Durc. The boy’s name is Durc.”

Tears were in her eyes as she felt again her gratitude, and her relief, when Brun excepted her son, and Creb named him. She looked up and noticed Rydag, who was sitting in the midst of several children with Wolf on his lap, watching her, with the same large, brown, ancient eyes that reminded her so much of Durc. She felt a sudden longing to see her son again, but then was struck with a realization. Durc was mixed, like Rydag, but he had been born to the Clan, named and accepted by the Clan, raised by the Clan. Her son was Clan, and she was dead to the Clan. She shuddered, and tried to dispel the thoughts.

The sound of an infant’s shocked howl snapped Ayla’s attention back to the ceremony. The baby’s arm had been nicked with a sharp knife, and a mark cut into the ivory plaque. Bectie had been named and numbered among the Mamutoi. Mamut was pouring the stinging solution on the small cut, making the tiny baby who had never known any pain voice her displeasure even louder, but the angry insistent squall of the infant brought a smile to Ayla’s face. In spite of her early birth, Bectie had grown strong. She was healthy enough to cry. Fralie held Bectie out for all to see, then cuddling the infant, she sang a song of comfort and joy in a high, sweet voice, which quieted the baby. When she was through, she went back to her place near Frebec and Crozie. Within a few moments, Bectie began to cry again, but the baby’s cries ceased with a suddenness that announced she had been offered the best of comforts.

Deegie nudged her, and Ayla realized the time had come. It was her turn. She was being beckoned forward. For a moment, she couldn’t move. Then she wanted to run away, but there was no place to go. She didn’t want to make this Promise to Ranec, she wanted Jondalar, wanted to beg him not to leave without her, but when she looked up and saw
Ranec’s eager, happy, smiling face, she took a deep breath, then stood up. Jondalar didn’t want her, and she had told Ranec she would Promise. Reluctantly, Ayla walked toward the co-leaders of the Camp.

The dark man watched her coming toward him, out of the shadows and into the light of the central fire, and his breath caught in his throat. She was wearing the pale leather outfit Deegie had given her, the one that was so perfect for her, but her hair was not up in braids or buns, or one of the complex styles that incorporated beads or ornaments usually worn by the Mamutoi women. In deference to the Clan root ceremony, she had let her hair hang loose, and the thick, shining waves that fell below her shoulders gleamed in the firelight, and framed her unique, finely sculptured face with a golden halo. At that moment, Ranec was convinced she was the Mother incarnate, born into the body of the perfect Spirit Woman. He wanted her for his woman so much, it was almost a pain, an ache of yearning, and he could hardly believe this night was true.

Ranec was not alone in being awed by her beauty. As she stepped into the light of the fire, the whole Camp was caught by surprise. The Mamutoi clothing, richly elegant, and the glorious natural beauty of her hair, made a stunning combination, enhanced by the dramatic lighting. Talut thought of the value she would add to the Lion Camp, and Tulie was determined to set a very high Bride Price, even if she had to contribute half of it herself, for the status it would bestow on all of them. Mamut, already convinced that she was destined to Serve the Mother in some important way, took note of her instinctive sense of timing, and natural flair for the dramatic, and knew that someday she would be a force to be reckoned with.