When they rode to the camp of the Ninth Cave and dismounted near their lodge, the people ignored them as though they weren’t there, walking past and averting their eyes or looking beyond them. Ayla felt a chill of uneasy recognition; it felt like the death curse of the Clan. She knew what it meant when people she loved shunned her, refused to see her though she stood in front of them waving her arms and shouting.
Then she saw Folara glancing at them and trying to hide a smile, and Ayla relaxed. There was no ill will. It was their trial period and they weren’t supposed to talk to anyone but each other, but she noticed several others glancing in their direction and trying not to smile at them. It was obvious that everybody was very much aware of their presence. They went into the lodge just as Marthona was coming out. They sidestepped each other as they passed by without saying a word, but the older woman looked directly at them and smiled. She didn’t think it was necessary to go through all the elaborate avoidance schemes, neither speaking to them nor encouraging them to talk was enough.
They put their mating outfits on the grass-stuffed underpads of their bare sleeping place and packed some additional traveling gear, then they walked to Marthona and Willamar’s place. She had placed the rawhide packet with Ayla’s amulet in it on her bed, and put some food she had packed up for them beside it. Ayla almost thanked her out loud, but caught herself, then with a quick smile she made the Clan hand signs for “I am grateful for your kindness, mother of my mate.”
Marthona didn’t understand the signs, but she guessed it was a gesture of appreciation of some kind and smiled at the young woman who was now the mate of her son. It might be valuable to learn some of those signs, she thought. It could be interesting to communicate without speaking, and without anyone else knowing what you were saying. When they left, Marthona walked over to their place and looked at the clothing they had worn the previous night.
Jondalar’s white tunic had made him stand out, but then he usually did, and while it was stunning and displayed an advanced technique for working with leather, it was still Ayla’s entire outfit that had made the real impression, just as Marthona hoped it would. It had already caused some people to reconsider the status they were willing to grant her. Marthona had invited some people over for a taste of some bilberry wine, which she had recently started serving—it had been stored for two years in a dark, dry corner of her dwelling in the well-washed and securely stoppered stomach of an elk. She decided she would place a few lamps around the inside of the lodge so they could see better in the dim interior space. She bent over and straightened the tunic and leggings, rearranging them slightly to show off a particular area of intricate beadwork that had been covered by a fold.
Ayla and Jondalar loved their days of nominal separation from the Zelandonii. It was like a return to their Journey, but without the pressure of having to keep traveling. They spent the long summer days hunting, fishing, and gathering just for their own needs, swimming and taking long rides on the horses, but with Wolf only a sometime companion, and Ayla missed him when he was gone. It was as though he couldn’t quite make up his mind whether to stay with the humans he adored or return to whatever it was he found so fascinating in the wild. He always found them, no matter where they camped, and every time he made an appearance at the tent, Ayla was delighted. She paid attention to the animal, stroked and petted him, talked to him, hunted with him. Her attention usually encouraged him to stay with them for a while, but eventually he would go again and often stay away through the night or several.
They explored the hills and valleys of the surrounding area. As well as Jondalar thought he knew the countryside of his birth, because they were riding on horses and able to cover so much more territory, he was able to see it on a broader scale and from a different perspective. He gained an insight he hadn’t had before, and it gave them an appreciation for the richness of the region. Sometimes in herds, and sometimes in fleeting glimpses, they saw a tremendous number and remarkable variety of animals that inhabited the land of the Zelandonii.
Most grazing and browsing creatures placidly shared the same fields, meadows, and open woodlands, and the two horses were usually ignored along with the humans who were riding them. As a result, they were able to get quite close. Ayla liked to sit quietly on Whinney’s back while the mare grazed and study the other animals, and Jondalar often joined her, though he also spent time doing other things. He was working on spears and a spear-thrower for Lanidar more appropriate to his size, and with an adaptation he hoped would make it easier for him to use with one arm. Jondalar was with her when they came upon a herd of bison one afternoon.
Although many bison and aurochs had been hunted, it was hardly noticed; their numbers were insignificant in comparison with the vast numbers of animals that roamed the open landscape. But the two distinct bovines were never seen together. They avoided each other. Though Ayla and Jondalar had killed and helped to butcher their share of bison recently, observing them as they moved through their environment was enlightening. The grazers had lost their thick, dark, woolly fur during the spring molt and were wearing their lighter-colored summer coats. Ayla especially enjoyed watching the lively, playful calves, still quite young—the cows calved in late spring and early summer. The young developed rather slowly and required close, attentive care, but still fell prey to bears, wolves, lynxes, hyenas, leopards, the occasional cave lion—and humans.
Deer of various species were abundant and came in all sizes, from huge giant deer to tiny roe deer. Jondalar and Ayla saw a small bachelor herd of megaceros with their delicate sharp noses, and marveled at their fantastic antlers. They were shaped like a hand with outstretched fingers, and though they could span twelve feet and weigh one hundred sixty pounds or more, these were younger animals, slimmer, with smaller appendages. They had not yet developed the huge muscular necks of the mature deer, though they all sported humps on their withers, where the tendons to support their future massive antlers were attached.
Even young megaceros avoided woods where their antlers could get caught in tree branches. The spotted fallow deer was the woodland variety. In a marshy area, they saw a single deer of another kind, tall and gangly, with smaller, though still quite substantial, palmate antlers, standing in the middle of the water, dipping his head under and pulling out a mouth full of dripping, green water plants, but this deer had a huge overhanging nose. It was called moose in some countries, but the name given to it in Jondalar’s region was elk.
Far more prevalent were the variety of elk known in this land as red deer. They also grew large antlers, but of the branching variety. Red deer were primarily grazers and could live in a broad range of open country, from mountains to steppes. Nimble and fearless, steep hills and rough country didn’t deter them, nor did narrow ledges above the treeline if there was grass to tempt them. Forests with enough spaces between trees to allow an undergrowth of grasses and ferns or interspersed with sunny glens were acceptable habitats, as were heather-covered hills and open steppes.
Red deer didn’t like to run, but their long-legged walk or lively trot covered ground with celerity, and if chased, they could run for miles, leap a forty-foot distance, and jump to a height of eight feet. They were also excellent swimmers. Though they preferred to eat grass, they could feed on leaves, buds, berries, mushrooms, herbs, heathers, bark, acorns, nuts, and beechnut mast. Red deer congregated in small herds at this time of year, and in a meadow beside a stream, Ayla and Jondalar saw several of the deer and stopped to observe them. The grass was just turning from green to gold, and a few fully leafed-out, luxuriant beech trees lined the bank, but on the other side was a substantial gallery forest.
It was a male herd of various ages, and their antlers were in full velvet. Antlers began when the males were about a year old with single spikes. They were cast off in early spring, but they started to grow new ones almost immediately. Each year a new tine was added, and by early summer even the biggest were fully grown, encased in velvet, a soft skin full of blood vessels, which carried the nutrients that allowed their antlers to grow so quickly. By mid- to late summer, the velvet dried and became very itchy, causing the deer to scratch against trees and rocks to rub it off, but the bloody skin often hung in tatters until it was gone.
They counted twelve points on the biggest, which weighed around eight hundred pounds. Though they were called red deer, the color of the coat of the twelve-point buck was a black gray brown; others in the herd were a light brownish-red color, some shading toward taupe, and one was blond. A young one with just the hint of spikes still showed faintly the white spots of a fawn. Although Jondalar was tempted, he decided not to go after the one with the huge rack, though he was sure he could bring it down with his spear-thrower.
“That big one is in his prime,” he said. “I’d like to come back and watch him later, they often come back to the same places. In his season of Pleasures, he’ll fight for as many females as he can, though many times just displaying that rack is enough to discourage competitors. But they fight hard and will go at it all day. It makes so much noise when they run into each other with those antlers, you can hear them from very far away, and they will even get up on their hind legs and fight with their front legs. As big as he is, he must be a very good, aggressive fighter.”
“I’ve heard them fight, but I’ve never seen them,” Ayla said.
“Once, when I was living with Dalanar, we saw a couple of them locked together with their antlers intertwined. They couldn’t get apart no matter how they tried. We had to cut the antlers to separate them so we could use them. They were an easy kill, but Dalanar said we were doing them a favor, they would have died anyway of hunger and thirst.”
“I think that big stag has had a brush with people before,” Ayla said, signaling Whinney to move back. “The wind just shifted and must have given him our scent, he’s getting edgy. You can see he’s starting to walk away. They will all go if he goes.”
“He does look nervous,” Jondalar said, backing off, too.
Suddenly, a lynx that had been lying in wait, unseen, in one of the beech trees, dropped down onto the back of the youngest when he walked underneath. The faintly spotted deer leaped forward, trying to dislodge the wildcat, but the short-tailed feline with the tufted ears held on to the deer’s shoulders and bit down, opening his veins. The other deer raced away, but the young cervid with the cat on his back ran in a large arc and circled around. As they watched the panicky animal heading back, both Ayla and Jondalar readied their spear-throwers for protection, just in case, but the lynx had been drinking his blood and the deer was showing signs of exhaustion. He stumbled, the lynx took a new grip, and more blood spurted. The deer took a few more steps, stumbled again, then dropped to the ground. The lynx bit open the head of the young animal and started feeding on the brains.
It was over quickly, but the horses were nervous and the humans were both ready to leave. “That’s why he looked nervous,” Ayla said. “It wasn’t our scent at all.”
“That deer was young,” Jondalar said. “You could still see his spots. I wonder if his dam died early and left him alone a little too young. He found the male herd, but it didn’t matter. Young animals are always vulnerable.”
“When I was a little girl, I once tried to kill a lynx with my sling,” Ayla said, urging Whinney to a walk.
“With a sling? How old were you?” Jondalar asked.
She thought for a moment, trying to remember. “I think I could count eight or nine years,” she said.
“You could have been killed as easily as that deer,” Jondalar said.
“I know. He moved and the stone just bounced off. It just irritated him and he sprang at me. I managed to roll aside and found a piece of wood and hit him with it, and he went away,” she said.
“Great Mother! That was a close call, Ayla,” he said, leaning back on his horse, which caused Racer to slow down.
“I was afraid to go out alone for a while afterward, but that was when I got the idea to throw two stones. I thought if I had had another one ready, I could have hit him a second time before he came for me. I wasn’t sure if it could be done, but I practiced and worked it out. Still, it wasn’t until I killed a hyena that I felt confident to go hunting again,” she said.
Jondalar just shook his head. When he thought about it, it was amazing that she was still alive. On the way back to their current camp, they saw a herd of animals that made Whinney and Racer pay attention: a horselike animal called an onager, which appeared to be a cross between a horse and donkey, but were a viable species of their own. Whinney stopped to smell their droppings, and Racer nickered at them. The whole herd stopped grazing and looked at the horses. The sound they returned was closer to a bray, but both animals seemed to be aware of their similarity.
They also saw a female saiga antelope with two young. Saiga were goatlike animals with overhanging noses who preferred plains or steppes, no matter how barren, to hills or mountains. Ayla remembered that the saiga antelope was Iza’s totem. The following day they saw another herd of animals that bothered Ayla more than she wanted to admit: horses. Both Whinney and Racer were drawn to them.
Ayla and Jondalar studied them and noticed some differences between the wild herd and the animals they had brought with them from the east. Rather than Whinney’s dun-yellow color, which was most common all over, or even the rare dark brown of Racer’s coat, most of the horses in this herd were a bluish-gray color with a white belly. They all, their two included, had similar stand-up brushlike black manes and black tails, black stripes down their backbones, and black lower legs, with some suggestion of striping on their lower haunches. They were generally small horses, broad backed with rounded bellies, but the herd animals seemed to stand a fraction higher and had slightly shorter muzzles.
The herd was watching Whinney and Racer with as much intensity as the two were watching the herd, but this time Racer’s nicker brought a ringing neigh of challenge in return. She and Jondalar looked at each other when they heard the call and saw a large stallion coming toward them from the back of the herd. By tacit agreement, Ayla and Jondalar rode their horses in another direction as fast as they could. Jondalar did not want Racer to be drawn into a fight with the herd stallion, and with Wolf being gone so much of the time, Ayla was afraid the horses, too, might be tempted to leave her and decide to live with their own kind.
In the next few days, Wolf spent some time with them, which made Ayla feel as though her family were back together. They made a point of staying away from a big wild boar digging for truffles, laughed at a pair of otters playing in a pond that was formed by a dam built by a reclusive beaver that had quickly dived into the water when he saw them. They saw the wallow of a bear and some of his hair caught in the bark of a tree, but not the animal itself, and smelled the distinctive musk of a wolverine. They watched a spotted leopard gracefully leap down from a high ledge, and some ibex, wild mountain goats, nimbly vault up the face of an almost perpendicular cliff.
Several female ibex and their young, their tight wool making them seem round and shapeless, with sticks for legs, had come down from the highlands to fatten up on the rich lowland growth. They had long horns that curved over their backs, very wide-set eyes, a hump behind their heads, and hooves that were hard and strong around the edges, with soft, spongy, flexible soles that gripped the hard stone.
Jondalar saw Ayla close her eyes as though concentrating, turning her head back and forth to better hear something. “I think mammoths are coming this way,” she said.
“How do you know? I can’t see anything.”
“I can hear them,” she said, “especially the big male.”
“I can’t hear anything,” Jondalar said.
“It’s a deep, deep rumbling sound,” she said, straining to listen again. “Look, Jondalar! Over there!” she called out, full of excitement, when she saw a herd of mammoths in the distance coming in their direction. Ayla was detecting the long-distance bellow of a male mammoth in musth, which was below the auditory range normally heard by humans, but could be heard by a female mammoth in heat for up to five miles because such low-level sounds did not attenuate as easily over distance. Though Ayla couldn’t exactly hear it, she could sense the deep call.
The herd was essentially female and their young, but since one of the young females was in heat, several males were crowding around the edges, always hopeful, though the dominant bull of the region was already in consort with her. She had refused the persistent advances of the lesser males until he arrived. Now he kept the others away, since none of them dared to challenge him, which allowed her to eat and nurse her first young calf in between mating sessions.
The thick coat of the woolly mammoth covered the huge animal completely, from the toes to the end of its long nose, including the small ears. As they came closer, the various shades of their fur became more apparent. The little ones had the lightest-colored hair, the females shaded from bright chestnut in the younger ones to the dark brown of the old matriarch. The males became almost black as they aged. The coat had a very dense underfur out of which grew fairly long, straight hairs that kept them very warm even in the coldest of the winters, especially after consuming the sometimes icy water or eating snow or ice. That’s when their bodies tended to become chilled.
“It’s early in the season for mammoths,” he said. “We never used to see them until fall, late fall. Mammoths, rhinos, musk oxen, and reindeer, those are the winter animals.”
On the last day of their isolation, Ayla and Jondalar rose early. They had spent the previous few days exploring the region to the west of The River near a second river that ran nearly parallel to it. They packed all their belongings but wanted to make one more long ride before they went back to the Summer Meeting with all its people and social interactions, which put demands on their time and attention, but brought rewards, satisfaction, and pleasure as well. They had enjoyed the respite, but they were ready to return and looking forward to seeing the people they cared about. They had spent nearly a year with only each other and the animals for company and were familiar with both the joys and the sorrows of solitude.
They took food and water with them, but they were in no hurry and had no particular destination in mind. Wolf had left them two days before, which saddened Ayla. He had been eager to stay with them on their Journey, but he was little more than a puppy then. He was still young. Although it seemed much longer, they could count only one year and about two seasons since the winter they lived with the Mamutoi, when Ayla brought back a fuzzy little wolf who had been born no more than a moon before. For all of Wolf’s great size, he was still a juvenile.
Ayla didn’t know how long wolves lived, but she suspected that the length of their lives was far less than that of most humans, and she thought of Wolf as an adolescent—considered by most mothers and their mates as the most troubling years. Those were the years of exuberant energy and little experience when youngsters, full of life and convinced it would last forever, took chances that endangered their lives. If they lived, they usually gained some background and knowledge that would help them to survive longer. She thought it was probably not much different for wolves, and she couldn’t help worrying.
It had been a cool summer, and drier than Jondalar recalled. On the open plains mini-whirlwinds of dust blew up, spun around for a while, then died, and they were happy to see a small lake ahead. They stopped beside it and shared Pleasures in the shade of a weeping willow, extravagantly full of small lanceolate leaves on boughs that bent to the water’s surface, then rested and talked before going for a swim.
After splashing into the water, Ayla shouted, “I’ll race you across,” and immediately reached out with long, sure strokes. Jondalar followed quickly, slowly gaining on her with his longer arms and powerful muscles, but it was an effort. She looked back, saw him drawing near, and renewed her efforts in a fresh burst of speed. They reached the other side in a dead heat.
“You had a head start, so I won,” Jondalar said as they reached the opposite shore of the small lake and flopped to the ground, breathing hard.
“You should have challenged me first,” Ayla answered, laughing. “We both won.”
They swam at a more leisurely pace back to the other side as the sun passed its zenith and was starting its descent, signaling the last half of the day. They were a little sad as they repacked their things, knowing their idyllic respite was nearly over. They mounted the horses and headed in the direction of the Summer Meeting camp, but Ayla missed Wolf and wished he was with them.
They were approaching the campsite, perhaps a few miles away, when they heard shouts amid clouds of dust rising from the dry earth of the plains. Riding closer, they saw several young men who probably shared one of the bachelor fa’lodges, and from the glimpse of decoration on their clothing, Jondalar thought they were mostly from the Fifth Cave. Each one held a spear, and they were spaced out in a rough circle, in the middle of which was a beast with a long shaggy coat and two huge horns protruding from his snout.
It was a woolly rhinoceros, a massive creature, eleven and a half feet in length and five feet high. He was a ponderous beast, with short, thick, stubby legs to support his immense bulk. He ate huge quantities of the grasses, herbs, and brush of the steppes, as well as the twigs and branches of evergreens and willows that lined the banks of the rivers. His nostrils were partitioned, and his eyes were on the sides of his head. He could not see well, especially in front, but his senses of smell and hearing were particularly acute and discerning to make up for his poor eyesight.
The front one of his two horns was more than a yard long, heavy and vicious looking as it swept the ground in an arc from side to side. In winter he could use it to sweep snow away and expose the dried, recumbent steppe grasses that lay underneath. A thick, woolly, light grayish-brown fleece covered his body, with longer outer hair hanging down, nearly brushing the ground. A wide distinctive band of fur around the middle of the rhino was a shade darker and looked, Ayla thought, as though someone had covered him with a saddle blanket, not that anyone would dream of riding such a tremendously powerful, unpredictable, sometimes malicious, and very dangerous animal.
The woolly rhinoceros pawed the ground, turning his head from side to side, trying to see the young man that his sensitive nose told him was there. Suddenly he charged. The man stood his ground until, at the very last moment, he dodged aside, and the long, forward-pointing horn of the rhinoceros barely missed him.
“That looks dangerous,” Ayla said as they pulled up the horses a safe distance away.
“That’s why they’re doing it,” Jondalar said. “Woolly rhinos are difficult to hunt under any circumstances. They are mean tempered and unpredictable.”
“Like Broud,” Ayla said. “The woolly rhino was his totem. The Clan men hunted them, but I never watched them. What are they doing?”
“They’re baiting him, see? Each man tries to get his attention to make him charge, then they dodge away when he comes near. They are making a sport of wearing him down, trying to see who can let the rhino come closest before they jump aside. The bravest is the one who can feel the beast brush past as he charges. It’s usually young men who like to hunt rhinoceros like that,” Jondalar explained.
“If they kill one, they give the meat to the Cave, and get lots of praise for it. Then they share the other parts, but the one who gets credited with the kill gets first choice. He will usually take the horn. The horns are prized, they say, for making tools, knife handles, and such, but more likely it’s for other reasons. Probably because its shape resembles a man in heat for Pleasures, there are rumors that grinding up the horn and secretly giving it to a woman will make her more passionate for the man who gave it to her,” Jondalar said with a smile.
“The meat is not bad, and there’s a lot of fat under that heavy coat,” Ayla said. “It’s rare to see one, though.”
“Especially this time of year,” Jondalar said. “Woolly rhinos are solitary animals most of the time, and usually scarce around here in summer. They like it colder, even though they shed the soft fur under the long outer hair every spring. It gets caught in bushes before they leaf out, and people like to go out and collect it, particularly weavers and basket-makers. I used to go with my mother. We did it several times a year. She knows when all the animals shed, ibex and mouflon, musk-ox, even horses and lions, and of course, mammoths and woolly rhinos.”
“Have you ever baited a rhinoceros, Jondalar?”
The man laughed. “Yes, most men do, especially when they are young. They bait lots of animals like that, aurochs bulls and bison, but they like to bait rhinos best. Some women do, too. Jetamio did, the time I showed them how to hunt a rhino. She was the Sharamudoi woman who became Thonolan’s mate. She was good at it. They didn’t usually hunt rhinos. They hunted the huge sturgeon of the Great Mother River from those boats they showed you, and ibex and chamois up high in the mountains, which are very hard to hunt, but they didn’t know the techniques to hunt woolly rhinos.” He paused and looked sad. “It was because of a rhino that we met the Sharamudoi. Thonolan had gotten gored by one, and they saved his life.”
They watched as the young men played their dangerous game. One man, standing out in the open shouting and waving his arms, was trying to make the rhino charge. The animal’s usually keen sense of smell was confused by so many men arrayed around him. When he finally detected movement with his small, nearsighted eyes, he started in that direction, gaining speed as he drew closer to his antagonist. For all his short legs, the animal could move remarkably fast. He lowered his head a bit as he neared, preparing to ram his massive horn into a resistive mass. It encountered air instead as the man deftly spun around and moved aside. It took a moment for the beast to realize his charge had been in vain and slow to a halt.
The rhino was baffled and getting tired and angry. He pawed the ground as the men quickly deployed in a new circle around him. Another man stepped out, shouting and waving to draw the huge brute’s attention. The rhino turned and charged again, and the man darted away. The next time it took longer to entice him to charge. They seemed to be succeeding in tiring the rhino. The exhausting, infuriating bursts of energy were taking their toll.
The great beast stood still, head drooping, breathing heavily. The men tightened the circle, closing in for the kill. The man whose turn it was to draw the beast out moved in cautiously, spear held in readiness. The rhino appeared not to notice. As the man drew near, the unpredictable beast caught the movement with his weak eyes. His flagging strength, revived by the short rest, was goaded by the fury that filled his primordial brain.
Without warning, the rhino charged again. It happened so fast that the man was unprepared. The huge woolly beast finally succeeded in thrusting his massive horn into something more solid than air. They heard an agonized scream and the man was down. When Ayla heard it, without thinking she urged her horse forward.
“Ayla! Wait! It’s too dangerous!” Jondalar called after her, prodding his own mount as he readied his spear-thrower.
The other men were hurling their spears even as Jondalar spoke. When Ayla jumped off her still-moving horse and ran toward the wounded man, the huge beast lay crumpled in a heap; several spears, a couple from a spear-thrower, were sticking out of his body in every direction, like the quills of some enormous grotesque porcupine. But the kill was too late. The enraged beast had had his satisfaction.
Several young men, looking scared and lost, were ranged around the fallen man, who was crumpled, unconscious where he dropped. As Ayla approached them with Jondalar close behind, they appeared surprised to see her, and it seemed for a moment that one was going to bar her way or ask who she was, but she ignored him. She turned him over and checked his breathing, and pulled out her knife to cut away blood-soaked leggings from his leg, her hands already colored from the task. There was a smear of red on her face where she had unconsciously pushed aside a strand of hair. She didn’t have any Zelandoni marks on her face, yet she seemed to know what she was doing. The young man backed away.
When she exposed the leg, the damage was obvious. The calf of his right leg was bent backward where there was no knee. The huge pointed horn had gored the man in the calf and broken both bones. The muscle was torn open, the jagged end of a bone was showing, and blood was pouring out of the gash and pooling on the ground.
She looked up at Jondalar. “Help me straighten him out while he’s unconscious, it’s going to hurt to move him when he wakes up. Then get me some soft hides, our toweling hides will work. I need to apply pressure to stop the bleeding, then I’ll need help to splint the leg.” The tall man hurried off, and she turned to one of the young men who were standing around, gaping.
“He’ll need to be carried back. Do you know how to make a stretcher?” He looked blank, as though he hadn’t heard or understood her. “We need something for him to lie on while he’s carried.”
He nodded. “A stretcher,” he said.
He was really only a boy, she realized. “Jondalar will help you,” she said as the man returned with the hides.
They laid him out on his back. He moaned from the movement, but didn’t wake up. She checked him again; he might have sustained a head injury from the fall, but she didn’t see anything obvious. Then, leaning hard on his leg above the knee, she tried to slow the bleeding. She thought about a tourniquet, but if she could get the bone straightened and wrap the leg, she might not need it. Pressure on the wound itself should be enough. He was still bleeding, but she had seen worse.
She turned to Jondalar. “We need splints, some straight wood about the length of his leg, break some of those spears if you need to.”
Jondalar brought her two splints, broken lengths of spears. She quickly cut strips out of one of the hides, and other pieces to wrap around the splints for padding, to get them ready. Then, grasping the foot of the broken leg by holding the toes with one hand and his heel with her other hand, she gently pulled it straight, feeling where it resisted and easing it through. He spasmed a few times, and noises escaped his mouth; he’d been close to waking. She reached into the bleeding gash and tried to feel if the bones were aligned.
“Jondalar, hold his thigh for me,” she said. “I need to set this leg before he wakes up, and while he’s still bleeding. The blood will help keep the wound clean.” Then she looked up at the young men—boys—who were standing around watching with looks of horror and amazement on their faces. “You, and you,” she said, looking directly at two of them. “I’m going to lift his leg and pull to align the bones so they will heal straight. If I don’t, he’ll never walk on that leg again. I want you to get those splints and put them underneath his leg, so when I lower it, the leg will be right between them. Can you do that?”
They nodded and hurried to get the wrapped spears. When everybody was ready, Ayla grasped the foot by the toes and heel again with both hands and gently but firmly lifted his leg. With Jondalar holding the thigh, she pulled, exerting strong pressure carefully. It was not the first time he had seen her set bones, but now she was trying to set two of them. He could see the concentration on her face as she pulled, trying to sense by the feel of his leg in her hands if the bones were lining up. Even he felt what seemed to be a slight jerk and a settling, as though a bone had found its place. She lowered the leg gently, then examined it critically. It looked straight to Jondalar, but what did he know? At least it wasn’t bent backward at a place it had no right to be.
She signaled that he could let go and turned her attention to the bleeding wound. Pressing it together as best she could, with Jondalar’s help to lift it, she wrapped it up, splints and all, then tied everything together with the strips of leather she had cut. Then she sat back on her heels.
It was then that Jondalar noticed the blood. It was everywhere, the wrappings, the splints, Ayla, himself, the young men who had helped. The young man on the ground had lost a lot of blood. “I think we have to get him back soon,” Jondalar said.
A fleeting thought passed through his mind. The prohibition against talking was not quite over, and the ritual releasing the newly mated couple from it had not been performed, but Ayla hadn’t even considered it, and Jondalar dismissed it as soon as he thought about it. This was an emergency, and there was no Zelandoni around to ask.
“You will need to make the stretcher,” she said to the young men standing around, seeming to be in more shock than the one on the ground.
They looked at each other, shuffled their feet. They were all young and inexperienced. Several had only recently reached manhood, a few had made their first kill during the massive bison hunt that marked the beginning of the summer hunting season, and that had been an easy hunt, hardly more than target practice. The rhino baiting had been at the instigation of one of them who had watched his brother at similar sport a few years before, and a couple of the others who had heard about it, but primarily it was a spur-of-the-moment decision because they happened to see the beast. They all knew that they should have brought in some experienced older hunters before they attempted to bring down the huge animal, but they could only think of the glory of doing it themselves, the envy of the other bachelor fa’lodges, and the admiration of the whole Summer Meeting when it was brought it in. Now one of them was badly hurt.
Jondalar quickly assessed the situation. “What Cave does he belong to?” he asked.
“The Fifth,” came the reply.
“You run ahead and tell them what happened,” Jondalar said. The young man to whom he had spoken sprinted off. He thought that he could have ridden in to tell them on Racer faster than a boy could run, but someone needed to supervise the construction of the stretcher. The boys were still scared and in shock, and having a grown man around to direct them right now was exactly what they needed. “We’ll need three or four of you to help carry him in. The rest of you should stay here and gut that animal. It could bloat up fast. I’ll send some people back to help you. There’s no point in wasting the meat, the cost was too high.”
“He’s my cousin. I’d like to help carry him back,” one young man said.
“Fine. Pick three more, that should be enough to get him back. The rest can stay,” Jondalar said. Then he noticed that the youngster seemed almost overcome and was trying to hold back tears. “What is your cousin’s name?” he asked.
“Matagan. He is Matagan of the Fifth Cave of the Zelandonii.”
“I know you must care about Matagan, and this has been very hard on you,” Jondalar said. “He was very seriously hurt, but I will tell you the truth, he is very lucky that Ayla happened to be here. I can’t promise, but I think he will be all right, and may even walk again. Ayla is a very good healer. I know. I was mauled by a cave lion, and would have died on the steppes far to the east, but Ayla found me, treated my wounds, and saved my life. If anybody can save Matagan, Ayla will.”
The young man let out a sob of relief and then tried to control himself again.
“Now, get me some spears so we can carry your cousin home,” Jondalar said. “We’ll need at least four, two for each side.” Under his guidance, they soon had the spears tied together with thongs to make two sturdy supports, and spare pieces of clothing laced between them. Ayla checked the wounded young man, then several of them lifted him onto the makeshift stretcher.
They were not too far from the camp. Ayla and Jondalar signaled Whinney and Racer to follow, and they walked beside the wounded young man. She watched him with worried concentration, and when they stopped to change bearers, she checked his breathing and felt for the beat in his wrist. It was faint, but definite.
They were nearest the upstream end of the camp, close to the encampment of the Ninth Cave. News of the accident had spread rapidly, and several people had followed the young man back to meet them. Joharran was among them and spotted them in the distance. When they joined up, the two who were bearing the litter were relieved of their place, and the pace back to the large Meeting place quickened.
“Marthona went to tell someone to get Zelandoni, and Zelandoni of the Fifth,” Joharran said. “They were at the other end of the camp at some Zelandonia meeting. Should we take him to our camp, or to his own?” he asked Ayla.
“I want to change those wrappings, and get a poultice on that wound, I don’t want it to fester,” Ayla said. She thought for a moment. “I haven’t had much time to replenish all my medicines, but I’m sure Zelandoni has enough, and I want her to look at him. Let’s take him to the zelandonia lodge.”
“That’s a good idea. It would take her a while to get here, we can probably get there faster. Zelandoni doesn’t run the way she used to,” Joharran said, somewhat diplomatically referring to her great size. “The Fifth’s Zelandoni will probably want to see him, but healing was never his greatest talent, I’m told.”
When they arrived at the zelandonia lodge, the First met them at the entrance. A place had already been made ready, and Ayla wondered if someone had gone ahead and told her that she had decided not to keep the man at the camp of the Ninth Cave, or if the woman had just assumed that the injured man would be brought there. Several people who had seen them coming were already talking about all the blood. Though several of the zelandonia were outside, no one else was inside the lodge.
“Put him down over there,” the First said, showing them one of the raised beds at the far side, opposite the entrance. The men carried him there, then moved him to the bed. Most of the men left, but Joharran and Jondalar stayed.
Ayla made sure the leg was straight, then started to remove the wrappings. “It needs a poultice so it won’t fester,” she said.
“He will keep for a moment. Tell me what happened,” the First said.
Both Ayla and Jondalar quickly explained the circumstances, then Ayla finished, “Both lower legbones in that leg are broken, the calf was bent backward at the break. I knew if they weren’t set straight, he would never walk on that leg again, and he’s a young man. I decided to set the leg right there, while he was unconscious and before it started to swell up, and make it harder to work with the bones. I had to feel around inside, and pull hard to get the bones aligned again, but I think they are. He was making some noises on the way here, he may wake up soon. I’m sure he will be in pain.”
“It’s obvious that you know something about it, but I need to ask you some questions. First, I presume you have set bones before,” the First said.
Jondalar answered for her. “A Sharamudoi woman, a good friend that I cared for very much, the mate of a leader, had fallen down a cliff and broken her arm. Their healer had died, and they hadn’t been able to get word to another one, and the bone was healing together wrong, and very painfully. I watched Ayla rebreak it and set it right. I also watched her set a badly broken leg of a man of the Clan. He had jumped off a very high rock to protect his mate from some young Losadunai men who had been attacking Clan women. If there is one thing Ayla knows about, it’s broken bones and open wounds.”
“Where did you learn, Ayla?” she asked.
“Clan people have very sturdy bones, but the men of the Clan often break them when they are hunting. They don’t usually throw spears, they chase after an animal to stab him with a spear or sometimes jump on him. Or they do what those boys were doing, get an animal to chase several of them until the beast is so tired, they can get close enough to spear him. It’s very strenuous. Women break bones, too, but mostly it’s the men. I first learned about broken bones from Iza. The people of Brun’s clan would break a bone sometimes, but it was the summer that we went to the Clan Gathering that I really learned, from the other Clan medicine women, how to set broken bones and treat wounds,” Ayla said.
“I think this young man is very lucky that you happened to be there, Ayla,” the One Who Was First said. “Not every Zelandoni would have known what to do with a leg that badly broken. There will be some more questions, the Fifth will want to talk to you, I’m sure, and the boy’s mother, of course, but you did well. What kind of poultice were you going to put on this leg?”
“I dug some roots that I saw on the way here. I think you call it anemone,” Ayla said. “The wound was bleeding while I was handling it, and a person’s own blood is sometimes the best thing to clean out a wound, but now that the blood is drying, I was going to mash the root and boil it to make a wash to clean the wound, and then add some fresh to the mash and use it with some other roots in a poultice. In my medicine bag, I have some powdered geranium root, to clot the blood, and spores of club moss to absorb fluid, and then I was going to ask if you had certain things or knew where they grow.”
“All right, ask me.”
“There is a root, when I described it to Jondalar he thought you might call it comfrey. It is very good for healing, inside and out. It’s good for bruises, in a salve made with fat, but it’s very good on fresh wounds and cuts. A fresh poultice can keep the swelling down when a bone is broken, and it helps broken bones to grow back together,” Ayla said.
“Yes, I have some powdered, and I know a place nearby where it grows, and I would describe its properties the same way,” the First said.
“I would also use the bright pretty flowers that I think are called marigolds. They are especially good for open wounds, also for wounds and sores that won’t heal. I like to squeeze the juice out of fresh flowers, or boil the dried petals to put on open wounds, then keep it wet. It helps prevent the smelly bad festering, and I’m afraid this boy will need that. I’m sorry, I don’t know his name,” Ayla said.
“Matagan,” Jondalar said. “His cousin told me he is Matagan of the Fifth Cave.”
“What else would you use if you had it?” Zelandoni asked.
For an instant, Ayla had a fleeting image of Iza testing her knowledge. “Crushed juniper berries for a bleeding wound, or the mushroom that is round, puffball. That can stop bleeding of wounds. A dry powder of goldenseal is also good, and …”
“That’s enough. I’m convinced that you know what to do. The treatment you suggest is very appropriate,” the First said, “but right now, Jondalar, I want you to take her someplace where she can clean up, both of you, in fact. That boy’s blood is all over you, and that will upset his mother more than anything. Leave the anemone roots with me, I will send someone to get fresh comfrey. We’ll take care of him for now. You can come back when you are clean and rested. Why don’t you go to your camp the back way, so you don’t have to walk through the whole Summer Meeting camp again. I’m sure there is a crowd waiting outside. Use the other entrance, it’ll be faster, and you may avoid those who’ll want to detain you. Before you go, though, I think you need to be released from your ban against talking. It seems your isolation ended a day early.”
“Oh! I forgot,” Ayla said. “I didn’t even think about that!”
“I did,” Jondalar put in, “but didn’t have time to worry about it.”
“You were right. This was certainly emergency enough,” Zelandoni said, “but I must ask you formally. You have completed your trial period, Jondalar and Ayla, have you decided that you want to stay mated, or would you rather end this now and try to find someone else with whom you would be more compatible?”
The two looked at her, then looked at each other, and then a grin stole over Jondalar’s face that transferred to a smile from Ayla.
“If I’m not compatible with Ayla, who on earth would I ever be compatible with?” Jondalar said. “This may have been our Matrimonial, but in my heart, we have been mated for a long time.”
“That is true. We even said words like that before we crossed the glacier, right after we left Guban and Yorga. We knew we were mated then, but Jondalar wanted you to tie the knot for us, Zelandoni.”
“Do you want to become unmated, Ayla? Jondalar?” she asked.
“No, I don’t,” Ayla said, smiling at Jondalar. “Do you?”
“Not for a heartbeat, woman,” he said. “I waited long enough, I’m not about to end it now.”
“Then you are released from the prohibition against talking to others and you can declare to all that Jondalar and Ayla of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii are mated. Ayla, any children born to you are born to the hearth of Jondalar. It will be the responsibility of both of you to care for them until they are grown. Do you have your leather thong?” While they retrieved the long strip of leather, Zelandoni got two necklaces from a nearby table. She took back the thong and tied a simple necklace around each of their necks. “I wish you both a long and happy life together,” the One Who Was First Among Those Who Served The Great Earth Mother concluded.
They slipped out the back entrance and hurried around the back way. Some people saw them leaving and called after them, but they kept on going. When they reached the spring-fed pool, Ayla walked into the water fully dressed. Jondalar followed her in. Once Zelandoni had brought it to their attention, they could feel and smell the blood on them, and they wanted to get it off. If the bloodstains were going to come out at all, Ayla thought, it would have to be in cold water. If not, she would probably just dispose of the clothing and make herself some new. After the major hunts, she now owned several hides and various other parts of animals that she ought to be able to use.
They left the horses at the pasture near the Ninth Cave’s camp on their way to the zelandonia lodge, and the animals found their own way to their enclosure. The smell of blood was always a little unsettling for them, and both the rhinoceros and the young man had bled profusely. The fenced-in place had a feeling of security to it. Jondalar had wrapped his wet clothing back around him and ran toward the camp, hoping he would find the horses and extra clothing from the pack baskets.
He was surprised to see Lanidar there comforting the horses, but the boy seemed upset and said he wanted to talk to Ayla. Jondalar told him as soon as he brought her some clothes, she would come. He did take the time to take the baskets and blankets and bridles off the horses. He told Ayla about Lanidar, and when she saw him, she could tell from his posture, even from a distance, that he was very unhappy. She wondered if for some reason his mother had forbidden him to care for the horses anymore.
“What’s wrong, Lanidar?” she asked as soon as she reached him.
“It’s Lanoga,” he said. “She’s been crying all day.”
“But why?” Ayla said.
“The baby. They are taking Lorala away from her.”