12

It was still dark when they heard a light tap on the doorpost. “The zelandonia are preparing the hunting ceremony,” a voice said.

“We’ll be right there,” Jondalar said quietly.

They were already awake, but not dressed. Ayla had been fighting down a bit of nausea and trying to decide what to wear, not that she had much to choose from. She would have to make herself some clothes. Perhaps she would be able to get a hide or two from their kill today. She looked again at the sleeveless tunic and calf-length leggings, the boys’ underwear Marona had given to her, and made a decision. Why not? It was a comfortable outfit, and it would probably be hot later today.

Jondalar watched her put on the clothing Marona had given her, but didn’t say anything. It had been given to her, after all. She could use it for anything she wanted. He looked up when he saw his mother coming out of her sleeping place.

“Mother, I hope we didn’t wake you,” Jondalar said.

“You didn’t wake me. I still feel an edge of excitement just before a hunt, even though I haven’t gone hunting for years,” Marthona said. “I suppose that’s why I like to be involved in the planning and the rituals. I’m going to the ceremony, too.”

“We both are,” Willamar said, stepping out from behind the screen that divided their sleeping room from the rest of dwelling.

“I’m coming, too,” Folara said, her sleepy-eyed, tousled head looking around the edge of her screen. She yawned and rubbed her eyes. “I just need a little time to get dressed.” Suddenly her eyes opened wide. “Ayla! Are you wearing that?”

Ayla looked down at herself, then stood up straight. “This was given to me as a ‘gift,’ ” she said with a touch of defensive belligerence, “and I intend to wear it. Besides,” she added with a smile, “I don’t have many clothes, and this is easy to move in. If I tie a cloak or a fur around me, it will be warm in the chill of the morning, but later, when it gets hot, it will be cool and comfortable. It really is a very practical outfit.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, then Willamar chuckled. “You know, she’s right. I would have never thought of wearing winter underwear as summer hunting clothes, but why not?”

Marthona studied Ayla carefully, then gave her a shrewd smile. “If Ayla wears that outfit,” she said, “people will talk. Older women will disapprove, but under the circumstances, some will feel she’s justified, and by this time next year, half the young women will be wearing the same thing.”

Jondalar visibly relaxed. “Do you really think so, mother?”

He hadn’t known what to say when he saw Ayla putting on the clothes. Marona had given them to her for the sole purpose of causing her embarrassment, but it occurred to him that if his mother was right—and Marthona was seldom wrong about such things—it would be Marona who would be not only embarrassed, but not allowed to forget it. Every time she saw someone wear such an outfit, it would remind her that her spiteful trick had not pleased anyone.

Folara was looking dumbfounded, glancing from her mother to Ayla, then back to Marthona again.

“You’d better hurry if you’re coming, Folara,” the older woman chided. “It will be daylight soon.”

Willamar lit a torch from the banked fire in the cooking room while they waited. It was one of several they had prepared after they had walked into a dark dwelling, the night Ayla taught them how to make fire with flint and iron pyrite. When Folara came out, still trying to tie her hair back with a strip of leather, they moved the leather drape aside and slipped out quietly. Ayla bent down to touch Wolf’s head, a signal in the dark for him to stay close, as they walked toward several bobbing firelights in the direction of the stone front porch.

Quite a number of people were already congregated on the front ledge when the residents of Marthona’s dwelling, including the wolf, appeared. Some were holding stone oil lamps, which shed just enough light in the dark for them to find their way but burned for some time; others held torches, which gave more light but burned out faster.

They waited a while longer until a few more people joined them, then the whole group started toward the south end of the abri. It was difficult to distinguish individuals or even see where they were going when they started out. The torches carried by some lighted the space around them, but made everything beyond the glow of the light seem blacker.

Ayla kept her hand on Jondalar’s arm as they walked along the stone ledge, past the uninhabited section of the Ninth Cave’s cliff overhang to the gully that separated the Ninth Cave from Down River. The small creek that ran through the trench—the runoff of the fresh spring welling up out of the back wall—was a handy source of water for the craftspeople when they were working, and during bad weather an extra source for the Ninth Cave as well.

The torchbearers stood at either end of the bridge that led up to the stone shelters of Down River. In the flickering light, each person walked carefully on the logs that were lashed together and laid across the small gully. Ayla thought the sky was beginning to turn from true black to the deep midnight blue of predawn, the first sign that the sun would soon be breaking. But stars still filled the night sky.

There were no fires burning in the two large shelters of Down River. The last of the crafters had long since retired to the sleeping lodges. The hunting party passed by the lodges, then continued down the steep path to the Gather Field between High Rock and The River. From quite a distance away, they could see the large balefire in the middle of the field and people around it. When they drew near, Ayla noted that, like the torches, the fire lighted the space around it, but made it difficult to see beyond. Fire was wonderful to have at night, but there were limitations.

They were met by several of the zelandonia, including the One Who Was First Among Those Who Served The Mother, the Zelandoni of the Ninth Cave. The large woman greeted them and told them where they would stand for the ceremony. As she walked away, her broad silhouette almost blocked the light from the fire, but only for a moment.

More people were arriving. Ayla recognized Brameval in the firelight and realized it was a group from the Fourteenth Cave. She glanced up and was aware that the sky had definitely become deep blue. Then another group of people carrying torches appeared, Kareja and Manvelar among them. The Eleventh and Third Caves had arrived. Manvelar motioned to Joharran, then approached him.

“I wanted to tell you, I think we should go after the giant deer today rather than the bison,” Manvelar said. “When the watchers came up last evening, after you left, they said the bison have moved away from the surround trap. It won’t be easy to chase them into it now.”

Joharran looked disappointed for a moment, but hunting always did require flexibility. Animals roamed where they chose for their own needs, not for a hunter’s convenience. A successful hunter was adaptable.

“All right, let’s tell Zelandoni,” he said.

At a signal, everyone moved to an area between the fire and the rear of the field, facing the back wall. The closeness of the fire and the crowd of people raised the temperature, and Ayla savored the warmth. The exercise of walking to the Gather Field, at a fairly good pace in spite of the darkness, had served to keep her warm enough, but standing around waiting had caused her to begin to feel the chill. The wolf pressed against her leg; he was not happy having so many strange people so close. Ayla knelt down to reassure him.

The reflection of the large fire behind them danced on the rough vertical surface of the rock. Suddenly a loud wailing sounded and the staccato of drums. Then she heard another sound and felt the hair rising at the nape of her neck and a shiver down her spine. She had heard a sound like that only once before … at the Clan Gathering! She would never forget the sound of a bullroarer. It was the sound that called in the spirits!

She knew how the sound was made. It came from a flat, oval-shaped piece of wood or bone with a hole at one end by which a cord was attached. Spinning the object around by the cord produced the eerie, wailing roar. But knowing how it was made in no way changed the effect it had; a sound like that could come only from the Spirit World. That wasn’t what gave her the chill, however. What was hard to believe was that the Zelandonii would have a ceremony that called in the spirits the same way the Clan did.

Ayla crowded close to Jondalar, wanting the assurance of him near her. Then her attention was caught by a movement in the fire’s reflection on the wall that was more than firelight. A shadow in the shape of a giant deer with large palmate antlers and a hump on his withers had flickered through it. She turned around and looked back but didn’t see anything, and wondered if she had imagined it. She turned back to face the wall, and the antlered deer flickered through again, then a bison.

The bullroarer tapered off, but another sound had begun, at first so low that she was barely conscious of it. Then the low wailing chant increased in pitch and a heavy rhythmical booming began. The wailing interweaved in counterpoint to the swelling sound that reverberated off the back wall as both grew louder. Ayla’s temples throbbed to the steady thrum, thrum, thrum, and her heart pounded in her ears at the same tempo and just as loud. It seemed that her limbs had turned to ice, and her legs refused to move; she was petrified. She broke out in a cold sweat. Then, abruptly, the pounding stopped and the wailing began to form words.

“O Spirit of the Giant Deer. We praise you.”

“We praise you.…” Voices around her repeated the phrase, but they were not quite all together.

The chanting background grew louder.

“Spirit of Bison, we want you near. We praise you.”

“We praise you.” This time the hunters spoke in unison.

“The Mother’s Children want you here. We call you.”

“We call you.”

“Immortal Soul, no death you fear. We praise you.”

“We praise you.” The voices were louder now.

“Your mortal lives are drawing near, we call you.”

The tone was growing high-pitched, expectant.

“We call you.” The voices were louder still.

“Give them to us and shed no tear. We praise you.”

“We praise you.”

“The Mother wills it, do you hear? We call you.”

Now it was demanding.

“We call you. We call you. We call you!”

They were shouting. Ayla’s voice had joined the rest, though she wasn’t even aware of it. Then she noticed a large figure taking form on the rough wall. A barely visible dark figure was moving in front of the wall, somehow causing the shape of a giant deer to take form. A mature male with large antlers that seemed to breathe in the dawning light.

The hunters kept repeating in a low, monotonous drone in rhythm with the deep booming drum, “We call you. We call you. We call you. We call you.”

“Give them to us! Shed no tear!”

“The Mother wills it. Hear! Hear! Hear!” the voices nearly screamed. Suddenly a light seemed to turn on, and a loud wailing cry was heard that ended in a death rattle.

“She hears!” the chanting voice said abruptly. All sound suddenly ceased. Ayla looked up, but the deer was gone. Only the first bright beam of light of the sunrise remained.

There was no sound or movement at first. Then Ayla became conscious of breathing and shuffling movements. The hunters appeared dazed and were looking around as though they had just awakened. Ayla heaved a great sigh, then knelt down again and hugged the wolf. When she looked up, Proleva was there, handing her a cup of hot tea.

Ayla murmured her thanks and sipped the tea gratefully. She was thirsty, and no longer feeling the nausea of morning sickness, she realized, though she wasn’t sure when it had stopped. Perhaps on the hike to the Gather Field. She and Jondalar, with Wolf close by, walked with Joharran and his mate back to the fire, where the hot tea had been made. They were joined by Marthona and Willamar, and Folara.

“Kareja says she has a disguise for you, Ayla,” Joharran said. “We can pick it up when we pass by the Eleventh Cave.”

Ayla nodded, not quite sure how a disguise would be used to hunt giant deer.

Then she looked around to see who else was in the hunting party. She recognized Rushemar and Solaban and was not surprised. She would expect to see the leader’s advisers, the ones Joharran always turned to for assistance. She was startled to see Brukeval, then wondered why. He was, after all, a member of the Ninth Cave. Why shouldn’t he hunt with them? She was even more surprised to see Marona’s friend Portula. But when the woman saw her, she flushed, stared for a moment, then turned away.

“I don’t think Portula expected to see you wearing those clothes,” Marthona said quietly to Ayla.

The sun was climbing the great blue vault, and the hunters set out quickly, leaving behind those who were not joining the hunt. As they headed toward The River, the warm sun dissipated the somber mood wrought by the ceremony, and the conversation, held in quiet whispers earlier in the morning, reached a more normal tone. They spoke seriously but confidently about the hunt. Their mission might not be assured, but the familiar ritual had addressed the spirit of the giant deer—and the bison, just in case—and had focused everyone’s attention on the hunt, and the phantom manifestation on the back wall of the Gather Field had reinforced their spiritual bonds with the world beyond the material one.

Ayla felt a dampness in the air from a morning mist rising near the water. She glanced to the side and caught her breath at the sheer unexpected beauty of a momentary natural phenomenon. Twigs and leaves and blades of grass, highlighted by a beam of light, sparkled with the brilliance of every rainbow color, caused by the refraction of sunlight through the prisms of droplets. Even the symmetrical perfection of a spider’s web, whose sticky strands were designed to capture that predator’s quarry, had snared instead jeweled drops of condensed moisture along its slender threads.

“Jondalar, look,” she said, calling his attention to the display. Folara stopped, too, then Willamar.

“I would take that as a favorable sign,” the Trade Master said, smiling broadly before moving on.

Where The River widened, the water foamed and tumbled over its pebble-strewn bed, but parted around larger rocks, unable to entice them to join in the playful dance of whitewater and shimmering ripples. The hunters started across The River at the broad shallows, stepping from stone to stone through the deeper middle. Some of the large rocks were brought there by a more turbulent stream of a different season during past years, and some were carried there recently to fill in the gaps left by nature. As Ayla followed the others, her thoughts turned toward the upcoming hunt. Then, just as she was about to start across, she suddenly stopped.

“What’s wrong, Ayla?” Jondalar asked with a concerned frown.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said. “I’m going back to get the horses. I’ll be able to catch up before the hunters reach Two Rivers Rock. Even if we don’t use the horses for hunting, they can help carry the kill back.”

Jondalar nodded. “That’s a good idea. I’ll come with you,” he said, then turning to Willamar. “Will you tell Joharran we’ve gone back for the horses? It won’t take long.”

“Come on, Wolf,” Ayla said as they headed back toward the Ninth Cave.

But the way Jondalar went was not the way they had come. After reaching the Gather Field, instead of taking the steep path up to Down River and on to the Ninth Cave across the stone ledges, he led them along a lesser-used and somewhat overgrown trail along the right bank of The River in front of the shelters of stone. Depending on the bends and turns the waterway took across its floodplain, the path was sometimes beyond a grassy field that was between the ledge and The River and sometimes close to the stone front porch.

There were several paths leading up to the shelters along the way, and one Ayla recalled using when she’d had to relieve herself after that long meeting about the Clan. The memory prompted her to use the place again; she had to pass water more frequently now that she was pregnant. Wolf sniffed her water; he seemed more interested in it lately, and she wondered if he could tell she was expecting.

A few people noticed them walking back and waved or beckoned. Jondalar was sure they were curious about why they had returned, but he didn’t respond. They’d find out soon enough. When they reached the end of the line of cliffs, they turned into Wood Valley, and Ayla whistled. Wolf raced ahead.

“Do you think he knows we’re going to get Whinney and Racer?” Ayla said.

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Jondalar said. “I’m always amazed at what he seems to know.”

“Here they come!” Ayla said, her voice full of happiness. She realized she hadn’t seen them for more than a day and had missed them. Whinney nickered when she saw Ayla and went straight to her with her head held high, but she lowered it over the woman’s shoulder while Ayla hugged her neck. Racer let out a loud neigh and pranced toward Jondalar with his tail high and his neck arched, then presented his favorite scratching places to the man.

“I’ve missed them, but I think they’ve missed us, too,” Ayla said. After some greeting scratchings and strokings, and nose touchings with Wolf, she suggested they go up and get riding blankets and Whinney’s harness for the pole drag.

“I’ll go,” Jondalar said. “We’d better get going if we’re planning on hunting today, and everybody will be asking questions. I think it will be easier for me to say we have to hurry. If you do it, someone may take it wrong, since they don’t really know you yet.”

“And I don’t really know them,” Ayla said. “That’s a good idea. I’ll check the horses over and make sure they’re all right. Bring the carrying baskets, too, and a water bowl for Wolf. And maybe the sleeping rolls. Who knows where we’ll be staying tonight. You should probably bring Whinney’s halter, too.”

They caught up with the rest of the hunting party just as they were reaching Two Rivers Rock. They had ridden along The River, splashing along the edge of the left bank after crossing.

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d make it back before we started,” Kareja said. “I did stop off and pick up a disguise for you, Ayla.” Ayla thanked her.

At the Two Rivers confluence, the hunting party turned into Grass Valley. Kimeran and some people from the Second and Seventh Caves, who were joining them but had not gone to the ceremony at the Gather Field, had waited upstream. When the rest of the hunters reached them, they stopped for a strategy meeting. Ayla and Jondalar got down from the horses and moved closer to listen.

“… Thefona said the bison were moving north two days ago,” Manvelar was saying. “It looked as if they would be in a good position by today, but they changed direction and headed east, away from the surround. Thefona’s one of our best. She can see farther than anyone, and she’s been watching that herd for some time. I think they will be in a good position to chase into the trap soon, but probably not today. That’s why we thought the megaceros would be a better choice. They watered upriver from here, and now they’re browsing on leaf greens near the tall grass.”

“How many are there?” Joharran asked.

“Three mature does, a yearling buck, four spotted young, and a stag with a good-sized rack,” Thefona answered. “A typical small herd.”

“I was hoping to get several animals, but I don’t want to take them all. That’s why I wanted the bison. They travel in bigger herds,” Joharran said.

“Except for giant deer and reindeer, most deer don’t travel in herds at all. They like trees and more wooded places, where it’s easier to hide. You seldom see more than a few bucks, or a doe or two and the young, except during the season when the males and females come together,” Thefona said.

Ayla was sure Joharran knew that, but Thefona was young and proud of the knowledge she had gained as watcher. Joharran had allowed her to recount what she had learned.

“I think we should leave the stag, and at least one of the does, and her young one if we can be sure it’s hers,” Joharran said.

Ayla thought that was a good decision. Again, she found herself impressed with Joharran and observed him more closely. Jondalar’s brother was nearly a head shorter than him, but his stocky, powerful build left no doubt that he was the equal of most men in strength. Leadership of the large and sometimes unruly Cave sat well on his shoulders; he exuded confidence. Brun, the leader of her clan, would have understood him, she thought. He, too, had been a good leader … unlike Broud.

Most of the Zelandonii leaders she had met seemed well suited to their position. Caves usually chose their leaders well, but had Joharran been unable to fulfill the position, the Cave would have simply shifted toward a more adequate leader. Without formality, there were no rules needed to dispossess a leader; he simply would have lost his following.

But Broud had not been chosen, she realized. He was destined to be the next leader from the moment he was born. Since he was born to the mate of a leader, it was believed he would have the memories for it. And perhaps he did, but in different proportions. Certain qualities that could contribute to leadership, such as pride, an ability to command, and to elicit respect, were accentuated in Broud. Brun’s pride had come from the achievements of his clan, which also earned him respect, and he directed well because he paid attention to others, then decided. Broud’s pride was exaggerated to hubris; he liked telling people what to do but did not listen to seasoned advice, and he wanted respect for his own exploits. Though Brun had tried to help him, Broud would never be the leader Brun had been.

As the meeting was breaking up, Ayla spoke quietly to Jondalar. “I’d like to ride ahead and see if I can find the bison. Do you think Joharran would mind if I asked Thefona where she last saw them?”

“No, I don’t think so, but why don’t you mention it to him,” Jondalar said.

They both approached the leader, and when Ayla told him her plan, he said he had been going to ask Thefona the same thing. “Do you think you can locate those bison?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but they didn’t seem to be very far, and Whinney can run much faster than a person can,” Ayla said.

“But I thought you said you wanted to hunt the megaceros with us,” Joharran said.

“I do, but I think I can scout ahead and still meet you where the deer are in time to join you,” she said.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind knowing where those bison are,” Joharran said. “Let’s go ask Thefona where they were.”

“I think I’ll go with Ayla,” Jondalar said. “She isn’t familiar with this region yet. She might not understand Thefona’s directions.”

“Go ahead, but I hope you make it back in time. I’d like to see those spear-throwers of yours in action,” Joharran said. “If they do half of what you say they can, it could make a big difference.”

After talking with Thefona, Ayla and Jondalar took off at a gallop with Wolf loping behind, while the rest of the hunters continued to follow Grass River upstream. The countryside of Zelandonii territory was a dramatic land carved in high relief, with steep cliffs, broad river valleys, rolling hills, and elevated plateaus. The rivers sometimes meandered across meadows and fields with a gallery of trees along their banks, and at other times flowed beside high rock walls. The people who lived there were accustomed to its varied landscape and moved through it comfortably, whether it meant climbing a steep hillside or scaling a nearly vertical cliff, jumping across slippery stones to cross a river or swimming upstream against its current, walking single file between a wall of rock on one side and a rushing river on the other or spreading out on an open plain.

The hunters broke up into small groups as they moved through the nearly waist-high but still green grass of the open field of the valley. Joharran kept watching for the return of his brother and his strange entourage—the foreign woman, two horses, and a wolf—hoping they would get back in time to join the hunt, though he knew it would not make much difference. With so many hunters and so few animals, there was little doubt they would be able to get the ones they wanted.

It was midmorning before the stag with prodigious antlers was sighted, and the hunters stopped to discuss deployment of those in pursuit. Joharran heard hoofbeats and turned around. With inadvertent but perfect timing, Jondalar and Ayla returned.

“We found them!” Jondalar said in an excited whisper when they had dismounted. He would have shouted if he hadn’t noticed that the giant deer were very close by. “And they’ve changed direction again. They’re heading toward the surround! I’m sure we could encourage them to move that way faster.”

“But how far away are they?” Joharran asked. “We have to walk. The rest of us don’t have horses to ride.”

“Not very far, the surround was made by the Third Cave. It isn’t that far from here. You could get there without too much trouble,” Ayla said. “If you’d rather hunt bison, you can, Joharran.”

“Actually, big brother, you could hunt both,” Jondalar said.

“We’re here now, and a deer in your sight is worth much more than two bison in a distant surround,” Joharran said. “But if this doesn’t take too long, we may try for the bison later. Now, do you want to join the hunt?”

“Yes,” Jondalar said.

“I do,” Ayla said at nearly the same time. “Let’s tie the horses to that tree over there, by the stream, Jondalar. Maybe I should tie a restraint on Wolf, too. He can get excited about hunting and may want to ‘help,’ but that could be a problem for the other hunters, or he could get in the way if he’s not sure what to do.”

While the decisions were made about tactics, Ayla studied the small herd, especially the stag. Ayla remembered the first time she saw a fully developed, mature megaceros stag. This giant deer was much the same. Somewhat taller than a horse at the withers, though certainly not as big as a mammoth, they were called giant deer because they were the most imposing of all the varieties of deer. But it wasn’t the size of the animal itself that made them so impressive, it was the size of their antlers. Each one of the massive, palm-shaped, deciduous horns that emerged from their heads grew larger each year and in a mature male could reach twelve feet in length.

Ayla visualized the length of one antler as two men the size of Jondalar, with one standing on the other’s shoulders. The size of their antlers precluded the forested habitat that was often preferred by many of their cousins; the megaceros were deer of the open plains. Although they ate grass, especially the green tops of the tall grass varieties, and grazed more than other deer, they also browsed on young brush and trees and leafy herbaceous plants near streams when they could.

Once giant deer reached their full growth, though their bones no longer enlarged, the enormous growing antlers added to the illusion that megaceros stags increased in height and breadth with each season. Support of such huge racks required the deer to develop massive shoulder and neck muscles, which did increase slightly over time to accommodate the greater weight of the enlarging antlers, and to evolve a distinctive hump on their withers where muscles, tendons, and connective tissue bunched together. It was a genetic manifestation of the species. Even the females had a marked, though smaller, hump. Such enormous musculature, however, made the heads of the megaceros seem small, and those males that sported immense racks had heads that appeared disproportionately petite.

While the leaders were discussing tactics, the disguises were taken out, then Joharran and several others passed around skin bags of grease. Ayla crinkled her nose in distaste at the smell.

“It’s made from the musk glands in the legs of the deer, and mixed with fat from just above the tail,” Jondalar told her. “It covers our scent in case the wind shifts suddenly.”

Ayla nodded and began smearing the greasy mixture on her arms and underarms and her legs and groin. While Jondalar was putting on his deer disguise, Ayla struggled with hers.

“Let me show you,” Kareja said. She was already in hers.

Ayla smiled gratefully as the woman showed her how to wear the capelike hide covering with a deer head still attached. She picked up the antlers that were fastened to a separate headpiece, though she didn’t understand what the extra wooden parts were for.

“This is heavy!” Ayla said, surprised at the weight when she put on the antler headwear.

“And they’re small ones, from a young buck. You don’t want that big stag to think you are competition,” Kareja said.

“How does it stay balanced when you move?” Ayla said, trying to shift the antlers to a better position.

“That’s what these are for,” Kareja said, using the wooden supports to prop up the ungainly headdress.

“No wonder the megaceros have such big necks,” Ayla said. “They need muscles just to hold these things up.”

The hunters aproached with the wind blowing in their faces, which carried the human scent away from the deer’s sensitive noses. They stopped when they could see the animals. The giant deer were browsing on the tender young leaves of low-growing brush.

“Watch them,” Jondalar said softly. “See how they eat for a while, then look up? Then they move a few steps forward and start to feed again. We’re going to copy their motions. Take a few steps toward them, then dip your head, just as though you were a deer who had just seen some juicy new leaves and stopped to take a bite. Then look up. Stand perfectly still while you are looking up. Don’t look at him directly, but keep your eye on that big stag, and don’t move at all when you see him looking at you.

“Now we’re going to spread out in the same pattern they make. We want them think we’re just another herd of deer while we get close to them. Keep your spears out of sight as much as possible. Hold them upright behind your antlers while you move, and don’t move too fast,” he explained.

Ayla listened intently to the instructions. This was interesting. She had spent years watching wild creatures, especially carnivores, but also animals she hunted. She had studied them closely, absorbing every detail. She taught herself to track them and finally taught herself to hunt them, but she had never pretended to be an animal before. She first watched the rest of the hunters, then carefully observed the deer.

Growing up learning to understand the gestures and movements of the Clan gave her an edge. She had a keen eye for detail, for the smallest movements made by the animals. She saw how they shook their heads to rid themselves of buzzing insects and quickly learned to imitate the movement. She unconsciously timed the movements, judging how long they kept their heads down and how long they looked around. She was excited by this new way to hunt, and intrigued. She almost felt like a deer as she moved forward with the hunters toward their quarry.

Ayla picked out the animal she planned to aim for and was slowly moving toward it. At first she thought she might try for a fat doe, but she decided she wanted antlers, so she changed her mind and chose the young buck instead. Jondalar had told her that the meat would be divided among all the people, but the hide, antlers, sinew, and whatever else might be useful belonged to the hunter who killed the animal.

When the hunters were almost in the midst of the deer, she saw Joharran give a prearranged signal. The hunters gripped their spears in readiness; Ayla and Jondalar adjusted theirs in their spear-throwers. She knew she could have cast her spear long before, but most of the hunters did not have spear-throwers, and her throw would have frightened the rest of the deer away, before the others were close enough to hurl theirs.

When Joharran saw that everyone was ready, he gave another quick signal. Almost as one, the hunters flung their spears. Several of the huge deer threw up their heads, startled into flight before they realized they were already hit. The proud stag bugled a call as a signal to run, but only one doe and her calf followed him. It was so fast, so unexpected, the rest staggered as they strained to take a step and fell to their knees as he leapt away.

The hunters went to check their kills, to humanely dispatch any animals that might still be alive, and to verify which one should be credited to whom. Each person’s spears were marked with decorations that clearly identified to whom they belonged. All the hunters knew their own weapons in any case, but the distinguishing symbols left no doubt and avoided disputes. If more than one hunter’s spear found the same mark, they tried to determine which one had made the kill. If it was not obvious, the kill was claimed by both and would be shared.

It was quickly acknowledged that Ayla’s smaller, lighter spear had found the young buck. Some of the hunters knew that the young male had been browsing on a low bush somewhat away from the rest of the deer and on the opposite side of their approach. Not an easy target, and apparently no one else had attempted it, at least no other spear had found it. People talked about not only the long-distance weapon, but her skill with it, and wondered how much practice it would take to match her. Some were willing to try, but others looked at the successful hunt and weren’t sure they needed to make the effort.

Manvelar approached Joharran and several others of the Ninth Cave, including Jondalar and Ayla. “What did you find out about the bison?” he asked.

The planning and preparations for the hunt had built up an eager anticipation, but stalking the deer and dispatching them had been so quick and efficient, it had left the hunters with a measure of excess energy that had not been used up.

“The herd was moving north again, toward the surround,” Jondalar said.

“Do you really think that they might get close enough to it so we can take advantage of the surround today?” Joharran asked. “It’s still early, and I wouldn’t mind getting a few of those bison.”

“We can make sure they do,” Jondalar said.

“How?” Kareja asked. Jondalar noticed there wasn’t as much sarcasm in her tone as there had been the day before.

“Manvelar, do you know where the surround is? And how long would it take the hunters to get there from here?” Jondalar said.

“Yes, but Thefona can tell you that better than I,” Manvelar said. The young woman was not only a good lookout, she was a good hunter. She came forward when Manvelar mentioned her name and beckoned her. “How far is it to the surround?”

She thought for a moment, looked up at the position of the sun in the sky, then said, “If we set a good pace, we could get there not much after the sun is highest, I think. But the last time I saw them, the bison weren’t that close to the surround.”

“When we found them, they were heading in that direction, and I think we can speed them up, with the help of the horses and Wolf,” Jondalar said. “Ayla has done it before.”

“What if you can’t? What if we get there, and there are no bison?” Kimeran asked. He hadn’t been around Jondalar much since his return, or Ayla, and though he’d heard many stories about his friend and the woman he’d brought back with him, he hadn’t been exposed to as many of the surprises they had brought with them as some of the others. He hadn’t seen them ride the horses until that morning and wasn’t at all sure about them.

“Then we will have nothing to show for our efforts, but it won’t be the first time,” Manvelar said.

Kimeran shrugged, and smiled wryly. “I suppose that’s true,” he said.

“Does anyone else have any objections to trying for the bison? We can just settle for the deer,” Joharran said. “We need to start butchering them, anyway.”

“That’s not a problem,” Manvelar said. “Thefona can lead you to the surround. She knows the way. I’ll go back to Two Rivers Rock and organize some people to get started with the butchering, and send a runner to the other Caves to come and help. We’ll need more help if you are lucky with the bison hunt.”

“I’m ready to try for the bison.”

“I’ll go.”

“Count me in.”

Several people volunteered.

“All right,” Joharran said. “You two go ahead and see what you can do about getting those bison started toward the surround. The rest of us will get there as fast as we can.”

Ayla and Jondalar headed for the horses. Wolf was particularly glad to see them coming. He did not like being physically restrained. Ayla did not confine his movements often, and he wasn’t used to it. The horses seemed to adjust to it more easily, but their activities were more often controlled. They mounted the horses and rode off at a fast pace, the wolf loping alongside them, leaving the people on foot watching as they quickly disappeared in the distance. It was true. Horses could certainly travel faster than people.

They decided to go to the surround first, so they could judge how far away the bison were from it. Ayla was fascinated with the circular trap and took a little time to inspect it. It consisted of many small trees and logs, filled in mostly with brush, but also with whatever they could find, such as bones and antlers. The surround had originally been constructed some years before, and it had moved somewhat from its original place. None of the trees from which it was made were sunk into the ground. Rather, they were lashed together, fixed firmly to each other, so that when some creature crashed into it, it wouldn’t break through. The fencing had some give, some elasticity, and would instead move with the blow; sometimes, with an extremely hard thrust, the entire structure shifted.

It took a great deal of effort on the part of many people to cut down trees and branches and haul them to a logical site, especially on a largely treeless grassland, then erect a fence that could withstand the crush of heavy animals milling around inside it and the occasional assault by one maddened with fear. Each year the parts that had fallen down or rotted away were repaired or replaced. They tried to keep it sound for as long as they could. It was easier to repair than entirely rebuild, especially since there were more than one, at various strategic locations.

This surround was located in a narrow valley between a limestone cliff on one side and steep hills on the other that was a natural migration route. At one time a river had flowed through it, and a runoff stream still filled the dry bed occasionally. Hunters used it only sporadically; animals seemed to learn quickly if a particular route was consistently dangerous and tended to avoid it.

The ones who had come to repair the trap had also set up a portable fencing of panels that funneled the animals driven into the valley toward an opening in the surround. Usually hunters had time enough to establish a cadre of people to stand behind the panels to harass any animals that attempted to bolt away back toward the trap. Since this was a rather unplanned, spontaneous hunt, no one was there yet. But Ayla did notice that some scraps of leather and cloth, pieces of woven belts, and grass wands, long bunches of grass fastened to sticks, were tucked into the frames of the panels or held down with stones.

“Jondalar,” she called to him. He rode up to her. She had picked up a grass wand and a piece of leather. “Anything that flutters or moves in an unexpected way tends to spook bison, especially when they’re running, at least that’s what happened when we were driving bison toward the Lion Camp’s surround. These must be used to shake at animals heading toward the surround, to keep them from breaking away. Do you think anybody would object if we borrowed a few? They could be useful when we’re trying to drive the herd this way.”

“You’re right. That is what they’re for,” Jondalar said, “and I’m sure no one would mind if we borrow some if it will help us get those bison here.”

They left the valley and headed toward the place where they had last seen the herd. The trail trampled by the slowly moving animals was easy to find, and they were a little closer to the valley than they were earlier. There were about fifty bison in all, males, females, and young. They were starting to come together to form the huge migratory herd that would develop later in the season.

At certain times of the year, bison congregated in such huge numbers, it was like watching a sinuously moving river of dark brown spiked with large black horns. At other times, they broke up into smaller groupings, sometimes not much more than an extended family, but they preferred to form herds of some size. On the whole there was safety in numbers. While predators, especially cave lions and packs of wolves, often brought down a bison from a herd, it was usually one that was slow or weak, which allowed the healthy and strong to survive.

They approached the herd slowly, but the bison hardly noticed them. Horses were not animals that posed a threat, though they did give Wolf a wider berth. They were aware of him, but didn’t panic; they merely avoided him, sensing that a single wolf could not take down an animal the size of a bison. Male bison were typically six feet six inches at the top of the hump on their shoulders and weighed a ton. They had long black horns and a beard that jutted forward from heavy jaws. Females were smaller, but both were quick and agile, able to climb steep slopes and leap over substantial obstacles.

They could gallop, tail up and head down, in long strides across even rocky landscapes. Bison didn’t mind water and could swim well, drying off their thick fur by rolling in the sand or dirt. They tended to graze in the evening and relaxed to chew their cud during the day. Their hearing and sense of smell were acute. Full-grown bison could be violent and aggressive, and were difficult to kill with teeth and claws or with spears, but one bison provided fifteen hundred pounds of meat, plus fat, bones, skin, hair, and horns. Bison were proud and noble animals, respected by those who hunted them and admired for their strength and courage.

“What do you think would be the best way to get them started?” Jondalar said. “Usually the hunters let them go at their own pace, and try to guide them slowly toward the surround, at least until they get close.”

“When we hunted on our Journey here, we usually tried to get an animal to bolt away from the herd. This time we want them all to keep going in the same direction, toward that valley,” Ayla said. “I think riding up behind them and shouting would get them going, but if we wave these things at them, I think it would be a help, especially for the bison that tries to dash away. We don’t want them stampeding in the wrong direction. Wolf always liked to chase them, too, and he got good at keeping them together.”

She looked up at the sun and tried to estimate when they might arrive at the surround, and wondered how close the hunters were. Well, the important thing is to get them moving toward the trap, she thought.

They moved around to the side opposite the direction they wanted to start them going, then, looking at each other, they nodded and, with a loud yell, urged the horses toward the herd. Ayla was holding a grass wand in one hand and the scrap of leather in the other, both hands free because she didn’t use a halter or a rein to direct Whinney.

It had been an entirely spontaneous gesture the first time she got on the back of the horse, and she made no attempt to guide her. She simply clung to the horse’s mane and let the animal run. She felt a sense of freedom and excitement as though she were flying like the wind. The horse slowed and headed back to the valley on her own. It was the only home she knew. Afterward, Ayla couldn’t stop riding, but in the beginning the training was unconscious. Only later did she realize that she had been using the pressure and movement of her body to signal her intent.

The first time Ayla hunted large game, by herself, after she left the Clan, she drove the herd of horses that used the valley she had found toward a pit-trap she had dug. She didn’t know the horse that happened to fall into her trap was a nursing mother until she noticed some hyenas stalking the foal. She used her sling to drive the ugly creatures away, rescuing the young horse more because she hated hyenas than because she wanted to save the animal, but once she had saved it, she felt obliged to care for it. She had learned years before that a baby could eat what its mother ate, if it was softened, and cooked a broth of grains to feed the young filly.

Ayla soon came to realize that in saving the horse, she had done herself a favor. She was alone in the valley and became grateful for the company of a living being to share her lonely life. It wasn’t her intention to tame the horse and she never thought of it in those terms. She looked upon the horse as her friend. Later, she became a friend who allowed the woman to ride on her back and who went where Ayla wanted her to go because she chose to.

Whinney left to live with a herd for a while, when she came into her first season, but came back to Ayla after the herd stallion died. Her foal was born not long after the woman found the wounded man, who turned out to be Jondalar. The young colt became his to name and train, finding his own means. He invented the halter to help him direct and control the young stallion. Ayla found the device useful to use on Whinney when she needed to keep her restrained to a specific area, and Jondalar used one if he needed to lead Whinney. He seldom tried to ride the mare since he didn’t fully understand the signals Ayla used to guide her, and the horse didn’t understand his. Ayla had a similar problem with Racer.

Ayla glanced at Jondalar, who was dashing after a bison, guiding Racer with ease, shaking a grass wand in the face of a young bull to get him stampeding along with the others. She saw a frightened cow veer off and started after her, but Wolf got there first and drove her back. She smiled at the wolf; he was having a wonderful time chasing the bison. They had all—the woman, the man, the two horses, and the wolf—learned to work together, and hunt together, on their year-long Journey following the Great Mother River in their passage across the plains from the east.

As they neared the narrow valley, Ayla noticed a man standing off to the side, waving at her, and breathed a sigh of relief. The hunters had arrived. They would keep the bison heading in the right direction once they were stampeded into the valley, but a couple of bison at the head of the herd were trying to swerve away. She leaned forward, an all but unconscious signal to Whinney to go faster. As though she knew what was in the woman’s mind, the mare raced to cut off the bison reluctant to enter the narrower way. Ayla yelled as Whinney neared, shaking the grass wand and flapping the piece of leather in the canny old cow’s face, and managed to turn her back. The rest of the bison followed.

The two people on horses and the wolf kept the bison stampeding together and heading in the same direction, but the valley narrowed as they approached the restricted opening of the surround, which slowed them down as they crowded each other. Ayla noticed a bull trying to bolt to get away from the press behind them.

A hunter stepped out from behind a panel and attempted to stop him with a spear. The weapon found its mark, but it wasn’t a mortal wound and the momentum kept the bison going. The hunter jumped back and tried to get out of the way by ducking back behind the panel, but it was a flimsy barrier against the mighty bull. Enraged by the pain of the wound, the huge shaggy animal ignored the panel and knocked it aside. The man fell with it, and in the confusion, the bison trampled him.

Ayla, watching in horror, had her spear-thrower out and was reaching for a spear when she saw one thud into the bison. She threw her spear also, then urged Whinney forward, disregarding the danger of the other stampeding animals, and jumped off the horse’s back even before she stopped. She pulled the panel out of the way and knelt beside the man who was lying on the ground not far from the fallen bison. She heard him moan. He was alive.