The Mammoth Hunters

  While she was waiting, a dizziness came over her, her ears buzzed, and her perceptions grew foggy. She didn’t notice when Tornec began a rhythmic tonal beating on the mammoth shoulder bone; it seemed instead to have happened inside her. She shook her head and tried to pay attention. She concentrated on Mamut and watched him swallow something, and had a vague feeling that it wasn’t safe. She wanted to stop him, but stayed where she was. He was Mamut, he must know what he was doing.

  The tall, thin, old man with the white beard and the long white hair sat cross-legged behind another skull drum. He picked up an antler hammer and after a pause to listen, played along with Tornec, then began a chanting song. The chanting was picked up by others, and soon most of the people were deeply involved in a mesmerizing sequence that consisted of repetitive phrases sung in a pulsating beat with little change in tone, alternating with arrhythmic drumming that had more tonal variation than the voices. Another drum player joined them, but Ayla only noticed that Deegie was not beside her any more.

  The pounding of the drums matched the pounding in Ayla’s head. Then she thought she heard more than just the chanting and the beating drums. The changing tones, the various cadences, the alterations of pitch and volume in the drumming, began to suggest voices, speaking voices, saying something she could almost, but not quite, understand. She tried to concentrate, strained to listen, but her mind wasn’t clear and the harder she tried, the further from comprehension the voices of the drums seemed to be. Finally she let go, gave in to the whirling dizziness that seemed to engulf her.

  Then she heard the drums, and suddenly she was swept away.

  She was traveling, fast, across the bleak and frozen plains. In the empty landscape stretched out below her, all but the most distinctive features were shrouded in a veil of wind-blown snow. Slowly, she became aware she was not alone. A fellow traveler viewed the same scene, and in some inexplicable way, exercised a degree of control over their speed and direction.

  Then, faintly, like a distant aural beacon, a point of reference, she heard voices chanting and drums talking. In a moment of clarity, she heard a word, spoken in an eerie staccato throbbing that approximated, if it did not exactly reproduce, the pitch, tone, and resonance of a human voice.

  “Zzzlloooow.” Then again, “Zzllooow heeerrrr.”

  She felt their speed slow, and looking down, saw a few bison huddled in the lee of a high riverbank. The huge animals stood in stoic resignation in the driving blizzard, snow clinging to their shaggy coats, their heads lowered as though weighted down by the massive black horns that extended out. Only the steam blowing from the nostrils of their distinctively blunted faces gave a hint that they were living creatures and not features of the land.

  Ayla felt herself drawn closer, close enough to count them and to notice individual animals. A young one moved a few steps to crowd against her mother; an old cow, whose left horn was broken off at the tip, shook her head and snorted; a bull pawed the ground, pushing snow aside, then nibbled on the exposed clump of withered grass. In the distance a howl could be heard; the wind, perhaps.

  The view expanded again as they pulled back, and she caught a glimpse of silent four-legged shapes moving with stealth and purpose. The river flowed between twin outcrops below the huddled bison. Upstream, the floodplain where the bison had sought shelter, narrowed between high banks and the river rushed through a steep gorge of jagged rock, then gushed out in rapids and small waterfalls. The only outlet was a steep rocky defile, a runoff for spring floods, that led back up to the steppes.

  “Hhooomme.”

  The long vowel of the word resonated in Ayla’s ear with intensified vibrations, and then she was moving again, streaking over the plains.

  “Ayla! Are you all right?” Jondalar said.

  Ayla felt a spastic jump wrench her body, then opened her eyes to see a pair of startling blue ones looking at her with a worried frown.

  “Uh … yes. I think so.”

  “What happened? Latie said you fell back on the bed, then got stiff and then started jerking. After that you went to sleep, and no one could wake you.”

  “I don’t know …”

  “You came with me, of course, Ayla.” They both turned at Mamut’s voice.

  “I go with you? Where?” Ayla asked.

  The old man gave her a searching look. She’s frightened, he thought. No wonder, she didn’t expect it. It’s fearful enough the first time when you’re prepared for it. But I didn’t think to prepare her. I didn’t suspect her natural ability would be so great. She didn’t even take the somuti. Her gift is too powerful. She must be trained, for her own protection, but how much can I tell her now? I don’t want her to think of her Talent as a burden she must bear all her life. I want her to know it is a gift, even though it carries a heavy responsibility … but She doesn’t usually bestow Her Gifts on those who cannot accept them. The Mother must have a special purpose for this young woman.

  “Where do you think we went, Ayla?” the old shaman asked.

  “Not sure. Outside … I was in blizzard, and I see bison … with broken horn … by river.”

  “You saw clearly. I was surprised when I felt you with me. But I should have realized it might happen, I knew you had potential. You have a gift, Ayla, but you need training, guidance.”

  “A gift?” Ayla asked, sitting up. She felt a chill, and, for an instant, a shock of fear. She didn’t want any gifts. She only wanted a mate and children, like Deegie, or any other woman. “What kind of gift, Mamut?”

  Jondalar saw her face pale. She looks so scared, and so vulnerable, he thought, putting his arm around her. He wanted only to hold her, to protect her from harm, to love her. Ayla leaned into his warmth and felt her apprehension lessen. Mamut noted the subtle interactions and added them to his considerations about this young woman of mystery who had suddenly appeared in their midst. Why, he wondered, in their midst?

  He didn’t believe it was chance that led Ayla to the Lion Camp. Accident or coincidence did not figure largely in his conception of the world. The Mamut was convinced that everything had a purpose, a directing guidance, a reason for being, whether or not he understood what it was, and he was sure the Mother had a reason for directing Ayla to them. He had made some astute guesses about her, and now that he knew more about her background, he wondered if part of the reason she was sent to them was because of him. He knew it was likely that he, more than anyone, would understand her.

  “I’m not sure what kind of gift, Ayla. A gift from the Mother can take many forms. It seems you have a gift for Healing. Probably your way with animals is a gift as well.”

  Ayla smiled. If the healing magic she learned from Iza was a gift, she didn’t mind that. And if Whinney and Racer and Baby were gifts from the Mother, she was grateful. She already believed the Spirit of the Great Cave Lion had sent them to her. Maybe the Mother had something to do with it, too.

  “And from what I learned today, I would say you have a gift for Searching. The Mother has been lavish with Her Gifts to you,” Mamut said.

  Jondalar’s forehead furrowed with concern. Too much attention from Doni was not necessarily desirable. He had been told often enough how well favored he was; it hadn’t brought him much happiness. Suddenly he remembered the words of the old white-haired Healer who had Served the Mother for the people of the Sharamudoi. The Shamud had told him once that the Mother favored him so much no woman could refuse him, not even the Mother Herself could refuse him—that was his gift—but warned him to be wary. Gifts from the Mother were not an unmixed blessing, they put one in Her debt. Did that mean Ayla was in Her debt?

  Ayla wasn’t sure if she liked the last gift very much. “I not know Mother, or gifts. I think Cave Lion, my totem, send Whinney.”

  Mamut looked surprised. “The Cave Lion is your totem?” Ayla noticed his expression, and recalled how difficult it had been for the Clan to believe that a female could have a powerful male totem protecting her. “Yes. Mog-ur told me. Cave Lion cho
ose me, and make mark. I show you,” Ayla explained. She untied the waist thong of the legged garment, and lowered the flap enough to expose her left thigh, and the four parallel scars made by a sharp claw, evidence of her encounter with a cave lion.

  The marks were old, long healed, Mamut noted. She must have been quite young. How had a young girl escaped from a cave lion? “How did you get that mark?” he asked.

  “I not remember … but have dream.”

  Mamut was interested. “A dream?” he encouraged.

  “Comes back, sometime. I am in dark place, small place. Light comes in small opening. Then”—she closed her eyes and swallowed—“something block light. I am frightened. Then big lion claw come in, sharp nails. I scream, wake up.”

  “I have had a dream about cave lions recently,” Mamut said. “That’s why I was so interested in your dream. I dreamed of a pride of cave lions, sunning themselves out on the steppes on a hot summer day. There are two cubs. One of them, a she-cub, tries to play with the male, a big one with a reddish mane. She reaches up with a paw, and bats his face, gently, more like she just wants to touch him. The big male shoves her aside, and then holds her down with a huge forearm, and washes her with his long raspy tongue.”

  Both Ayla and Jondalar listened, entranced.

  “Then, suddenly,” Mamut continued, “there is a disturbance. A herd of reindeer is running straight at them. At first I thought they were attacking—dreams often have deeper meaning than they seem—but these deer are in a panic, and when they see the lions, they scatter. In the process, the she-cub’s brother gets trampled. When it’s over, the lioness tries to get the little male to get up, but she can’t revive him, so finally she leaves with just the little she-cub and the rest of the pride.”

  Ayla was sitting in a state of shock.

  “What’s wrong, Ayla?” Mamut asked.

  “Baby! Baby was brother. I chase reindeer, hunting. Later, I find little cub, hurt. Bring to cave. Heal him. Raise him like baby.”

  “The cave lion you raised had been trampled by reindeer?” It was Mamuts turn to feel shock. This could not be merely coincidence or similarity of environment. This had powerful significance. He had felt the cave lion dream should be interpreted for its symbolic values, but there was more meaning here than he had realized. This went beyond Searching, beyond his previous experience. He would have to think deeply about it, and he felt he needed to know more. “Ayla, if you wouldn’t mind answering …”

  They were interrupted by loud arguing.

  “You don’t care about Fralie! You didn’t even pay a decent Bride Price!” Crozie screeched.

  “And you don’t care about anything but your status! I’m tired of hearing about her low Bride Price. I paid what you asked when no one else would.”

  “What do you mean, no one else would? You begged me for her. You said you’d take care of her and her children. You said you’d welcome me to your hearth.…”

  “Haven’t I? Haven’t I done that?” Frebec shouted.

  “You call this making me welcome? When have you shown your respect? When have you honored me as a mother?”

  “When have you shown me respect? Whatever I say, you argue about.”

  “If you ever said something intelligent, no one would need to argue. Fralie deserves more. Look at her, full of the Mother’s blessing …”

  “Mother, Frebec, please, stop fighting,” Fralie interjected. “I just want to rest.…”

  She looked drawn and pale, and she worried Ayla. As the argument raged, the medicine woman in her could see how it distressed the pregnant woman. She got up and was drawn to the Hearth of the Crane.

  “Can’t you see Fralie upset?” Ayla said when both the old woman and the man stopped just long enough for her to speak. “She need help. You not help. You make sick. Not good, this fighting, for pregnant woman. Make lose baby.”

  Both Crozie and Frebec looked at her with surprise, but Crozie was quicker to recover.

  “See, didn’t I tell you? You don’t care about Fralie. You don’t even want her to talk to this woman who knows something about it. If she loses the baby, it will be your fault!”

  “What does she know about it!” Frebec sneered. “Raised by a bunch of dirty animals, what can she know about medicine? Then she brings animals here. She’s nothing but an animal herself. You’re right, I’m not going to let Fralie near this abomination. Who knows what evil spirits she has brought into this lodge? If Fralie loses the baby it will be her fault! Her and her Mother-damned flatheads!”

  Ayla staggered back as though she had been dealt a physical blow. The force of the vituperative attack took her breath away and rendered the rest of the Camp speechless. In the stunned silence, she gasped a strangled, sobbing cry, turned and ran out through the lodge. Jondalar grabbed her parka, and his, and ran after her.

  Ayla pushed through the heavy drape of the outer archway into the teeth of screaming wind. The ominous storm that had been threatening all day brought no rain or snow, but howled with fierce intensity beyond the thick walls of the earthlodge. With no barrier to check their savage blast, the difference in atmospheric pressures caused by the great walls of glacial ice to the north created winds of hurricane force across the vast open steppes.

  She whistled for Whinney, and heard an answering neigh close by. Coming out of the dark on the lee side of the longhouse, the mare and her colt appeared.

  “Ayla! You weren’t thinking of going for a ride in this windstorm, I hope,” Jondalar said, coming out of the lodge. “Here, I brought your parka. It’s cold out here. You must be freezing already.”

  “Oh, Jondalar. I can’t stay here,” she cried.

  “Put your parka on, Ayla,” he insisted, helping to pull it over her head. Then he took her in his arms. He had expected a scene such as the one Frebec had just made, much earlier. He knew it was bound to happen when she talked so openly about her background. “You can’t leave now. Not in this. Where would you go?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t care,” she sobbed. “Away from here.”

  “What about Whinney? And Racer? This is no weather for them to be out in.”

  Ayla clung to Jondalar without answering, but on another level of consciousness, she had noticed that the horses had sought shelter close to the earthlodge. It bothered her that she had no cave to offer them for protection from bad weather, as they were used to. And Jondalar was right. She couldn’t possibly leave on a night like this.

  “I don’t want to stay here, Jondalar. As soon as it clears up, I want to go back to the valley.”

  “If you want, Ayla. We’ll go back. After it clears. But now, let’s go back inside.”

  12

  “Look how much ice is clinging to their coats,” Ayla said, trying to brush away with her hand the icicles hanging in matted clumps to Whinney’s long shaggy hair. The mare snorted, raising a steaming cloud of warm vapor in the cold morning air, which was quickly dissipated by the sharp wind. The storm had let up, but the clouds overhead still looked ominous.

  “But horses are always outside in winter. They don’t usually live in caves, Ayla,” Jondalar said, trying to sound reasonable.

  “And many horses die in winter, even though they stay in sheltered places when the weather is bad. Whinney and Racer have always had a warm and dry place when they wanted one. They don’t live with a herd, they aren’t used to being out all the time. This is not a good place for them … and it’s not a good place for me. You said we could leave any time. I want to go back to the valley.”

  “Ayla, haven’t we been made welcome here? Haven’t most people been kind and generous?”

  “Yes, we were welcomed. The Mamutoi try to be generous to their guests, but we are only visitors here, and it’s time to leave.”

  Jondalar’s forehead wrinkled with concern as he looked down and scuffed his foot. He wanted to say something, but didn’t quite know how. “Ayla … ah … I told you something like this might happen if you … if you talked about th
e … ah … people you lived with. Most people don’t think about … them the way you do.” He looked up. “If you just hadn’t said anything …”

  “I would have died if it hadn’t been for the Clan, Jondalar! Are you saying I should be ashamed of the people who took care of me? Do you think Iza was less human than Nezzie?” Ayla stormed.

  “No, no, I didn’t mean that, Ayla. I’m not saying you should be ashamed, I’m just saying … I mean … you don’t have to talk about them to people who don’t understand.”

  “I’m not sure you understand. Who do you think I should talk about when people ask who I am? Who my people are? Where I come from? I am not Clan any more—Broud cursed me, to them I am dead—but I wish I could be! At least they finally accepted me as a medicine woman. They wouldn’t keep me from helping a woman who needs help. Do you know how terrible it is to see her suffer and not be allowed to help? I am a medicine woman, Jondalar!” she said with a cry of frustrated helplessness, and angrily turned back to the horse.

  Latie stepped out of the entrance to the earthlodge, and seeing Ayla with the horses, approached eagerly. “What can I do to help?” she asked, smiling broadly.

  Ayla recalled her request for help the evening before, and tried to compose herself. “Not think I need help now. Not stay, go back to valley soon,” she said, speaking in the girl’s language.

  Latie was crushed. “Oh … well … I guess I’d be in the way, then,” she said, starting back to the archway.

  Ayla saw her disappointment. “But horses need coat brushed. Full of ice. Maybe could help today?”

  “Oh, yes,” the girl said, smiling again. “What can I do?”