The Ninth Cave built a refuge for the horses under the abri in the lesser-used section to the south near the bridge up to Down River. Ayla had asked Joharran if anyone would object if she and Jondalar constructed something to protect the animals. She had expected to make something simple that would just keep rain and snow from blowing in on them. Instead, when Joharran held a meeting at the Speaking Stone to see how people felt about it, they decided to pitch in and make a real dwelling for them, with low stone walls and panels above to keep out the wind. But there were no drapes at the entrance and no fence to keep them penned in.
The horses had always been free to come and go as they chose. Whinney had shared Ayla’s cave in the valley, and both horses had grown accustomed to the horse shelter the people of the Lion Camp had built onto their longhouse for them. Once Ayla showed Whinney and Racer the place, fed them dried grass and oats, and gave them water, they seemed to know it was theirs. At least, they returned often, using the more direct route from the edge of The River that was nearby. They seldom used the path from Wood River Valley and across the busy ledge in front of the dwelling area, unless Ayla led them.
After the horse shelter was built, Ayla and Jondalar decided to make a watering trough out of wood, a kerfed square box made in the style of the Sharamudoi containers, and when they started, everyone was interested. It took several days, even though they had many helpers—and even more observers. First, they had to find the proper tree, and settled on a tall pine from the middle of a thick stand. The closeness of the other trees caused each one to grow tall to reach the sunlight, with few lower branches, which avoided knots.
The tree had to be cut down with flint axes, no small chore in itself. A flint axe did not bite deep. Instead, they started high, removing many chips and thin slivers as they worked through the trunk at a shallow angle. The remaining stump looked as though it had been chewed by a beaver. The tree had to be cut through again, just below the lowest branches. The top of the tree would not go to waste; carvers and toolmakers were already eyeing the wealth of wood, and any scraps would be used to feed fires. A feeding trough for the horses was made from the same tree. Following the tradition of the Sharamudoi, pinecone seeds were planted near the fallen tree, in thanks to the Great Mother. Zelandoni was quite impressed with the simple ceremony.
Next, they demonstrated how to extract planks out of the log using wedges and mauls. The resulting wooden boards, tapering to a thin edge from the outside toward the center, found many uses, including as shelves. The kerfed boxes were an ingenious idea. Using a flint burin, or similar chisel-like tool, they carved through a plank to cut off a long section with straight ends. The cut ends were then tapered at an angle along the edge. At three measured distances, they cut a kerf across the wooden board, a wedge-shaped groove that was not cut all the way through. With the help of steam, the plank was bent along the grooves with the uncut side out, allowing the tapered edges of the groove to meet inside to form a rectangular box. With a flint borer, several holes were hand-drilled into the tapering ends. Rubbing with sand and stones gave the plank a smooth finish.
For the bottom, another piece of plank was evened and shaped with knives and sanding stones to fit inside, and eased into a groove cut all the way around the inside lower edge of the box. When it was all shaped and maneuvered together, the tapered edges of the fourth corner of the box were fastened together with pegs that were pounded through the predrilled holes. Although it leaked at first, when soaked in water, the wood swelled, making the box waterproof, which made it a good storage container for liquids or fats and, using hot stones, an effective cooking vessel. They were also good containers to hold water and feed for horses. It was likely that more boxes would be made in the future.
Marthona watched Ayla, cheeks red and exhaling steam with every cold breath, climbing up the path. She wore thick-soled moccasins with attached uppers that wrapped around the calf over her fur leggings, and the fur-lined parka Matagan’s mother had given to her. It did not conceal her obvious pregnancy, especially with her belt, worn rather high, from which her knife and some pouches were dangling. The hood was thrown back and her hair was caught up in a serviceable bun, but loose strands were whipping around in the wind.
She still used her Mamutoi carrying bag rather than one in the Zelandonii style, but it was full of something. She had gotten used to the haversack, the pack that was worn over one shoulder, and usually wore it when she went on short trips. It left a shoulder free to carry back her catch. At the moment, three white ptarmigan, tied together by their feathered feet, hung down her back over the other shoulder, balanced by two good-size white hares down the front.
Wolf followed behind her. She usually took him when she went out. He was not only good at flushing out birds or small animals, he could show her where the white birds or hares had fallen in the white snow.
“I don’t know how you do it Ayla,” Marthona said, falling in step beside her when she reached the stone porch. “When I was as far along as you are, I felt so big and awkward, I didn’t even consider hunting anymore, but you are still going out, and nearly always bring something back.”
Ayla smiled. “I feel big and awkward, but it doesn’t take much to throw a stick or sling a stone, and Wolf helps me more than you know. I’ll have to stay home soon enough.”
Marthona smiled down at the animal padding along between them. Though she had been worried about him when he was attacked by the other wolves, she rather liked his slightly drooping ear. For one thing, it made him much easier to recognize. They waited while Ayla dropped off the game in front of her dwelling area on a block of limestone that was used sometimes as a place to put things and sometimes as a seat.
“I never was much good at hunting smaller animals,” Marthona said, “except with a snare or a trap. But there was a time when I enjoyed going out with a group on a big hunt. It’s been so long since I’ve hunted, I think I’ve forgotten how, but I used to have a fair eye for tracking. I don’t see that well anymore.”
“Look what else I found,” Ayla said, taking off her bulging carrying bag to show Marthona. “Apples!” She had found an apple tree, bare of leaves but still decorated with small, shiny red apples, less hard and tart now after freezing, and had filled her haversack with them.
The two women walked toward the horse shelter. Ayla didn’t expect to find the horses there in the middle of the day, but she checked the container that held their water. In winter, when it was below freezing for long periods of time, she would melt water for them, though horses in the wild fended for themselves just fine. She put several apples in the kerfed feeding trough.
Then she walked to the edge of the stone ledge and looked down at The River, bordered by trees and brush. She didn’t see the horses, but she whistled the distinctive signal that the horses had been trained to answer, hoping they were close enough to hear. Before long she saw Whinney climbing the steep path, followed by Racer. Wolf rubbed noses with Whinney when she reached the ledge in a greeting that seemed almost formal. Racer nickered at him and received a playful yip and a nose rub in return.
When she was confronted with such direct evidence of Ayla’s control over the animals, Marthona still found it hard to believe. She had gotten used to Wolf, who was always around people, and who responded to her. But the horses were more skittish, not as friendly, and seemed less tame, except around Ayla and Jondalar, more like the native wild animals she had once hunted.
The young woman was making the sounds that Marthona had heard her use before around the horses as she stroked and scratched the animals, then led them to the shelter. She thought of it as Ayla’s horse language. Ayla picked out an apple for each one, and they ate from her hand as she continued talking to them in her strange way. Marthona tried to discern the sounds Ayla made. It was not quite a language, she thought. Although there was a similar feel to some of the words Ayla used when she demonstrated the language of the flatheads.
“You’re getting a big belly, Whinney,” Ayla was saying, patting her round stomach, “just like I am. You’ll probably give birth in spring, maybe late spring, after it warms up a bit. By then, I should already have my baby. I’d love to go for a ride, but I guess I’m too far along. Zelandoni said it might not be good for the baby. I feel fine, but I don’t want to take chances. Jondalar will ride you, Racer, when he gets back.”
That was what she meant to say to the horses, and what she did say in her mind, although the combination of Clan signals and words and the other sounds of her private language would not have translated quite the same—if someone could have translated it. It didn’t matter. The horses understood the welcoming voice, the warm touch, and certain sounds and signals.
Winter came unexpectedly. Small white flakes started to fall late in the afternoon. They turned big and fat, and by evening it was a swirling blizzard. The whole Cave breathed a sigh of relief when the hunters who had gone out in the morning stomped onto the stone ledge before dark, empty-handed but safe.
“Joharran decided to turn back when we saw the mammoths heading north as fast as they could,” Jondalar said after greeting Ayla. “You’ve heard the saying ‘Never go forth when mammoths go north.’ It usually means snow is on the way, and they head north, where it’s colder but drier and the snow doesn’t pile up as deep. They get mired in deep, wet snow. He didn’t want to take chances, but those storm clouds blew up so fast, even the mammoths may get caught in it. The wind shifted north, and before we knew it, the snow was blowing so hard that we could hardly see. It’s halfway up to the knees out there already. We had to use snowshoes before we got back.”
The blizzard lasted through the night, the following day, and the next night. Nothing could be seen except the moving curtain of white, not even just across The River. At times the snow, caught in a crosscurrent of moving air buffeting the high cliff and finding no outlet, rebounded against the primary direction of the prevailing winds in a vortex of swirling flakes. At other times, when the driving winds died down, snow fell heavily straight down in a constant hypnotic motion.
Ayla was glad for the protective overhang of the abri that extended all the way to the horses’ area, though during the first night she was concerned, not knowing whether they had found their way to the shelter before the snows became too deep. If her horses had found some other shelter, she was afraid she would have been cut off from contact with them and they would be isolated, imprisoned, by the thick white mantle of snow.
She was relieved to hear a nicker when she approached their shelter early the next morning, and breathed a deep sigh when she saw both horses, but as she greeted them, she could tell they were nervous. They were not familiar with such deep snow, either. She decided to spend some time with the horses and groom them with teasel brushes, which usually comforted them and relaxed her.
But when she found them safe in their shelter, she wondered where the wild horses were. Had they migrated to the colder, drier region to the north and east, where the snow would not be as deep and would not cover the dry, standing hay that was their winter feed?
She was glad now that they had collected piles of grass for the horses, not just grains, to supplement their forage. It had been Jondalar’s idea. He had known how deep the snow could get, she had not. Now she wondered if they had collected enough. The horses were adapted to the cold, she wasn’t worried about that. Their coats had grown in thick and full, both the downy underlayer and the shaggy outer coat protected their stocky, compact bodies, but would they have enough grass?
Winters in the land where Jondalar’s people lived were cold, but not dry. Their main feature was snow, heavy, air-choking, high-drifting snow. She hadn’t seen so much snow since she lived with the Clan. She had become more used to the dry, frozen loess steppes that leached moisture from the atmosphere, farther inland around her valley and the territory of the Mammoth Hunters. Here, where the climate was subject to the maritime influences of the Great Waters of the West, the landscape was known as continental steppes. Winter was wetter and snowier, resembling somewhat the climate of the place where she grew up, the mountainous tip of a peninsula jutting into an inland sea far to the east.
The heavy snow piled up on the front ledge filled the lower half of the opening under the overhang with a solid barrier of soft snow that gleamed at night in the golden reflection of the fires inside the abri. Now Ayla knew why stout logs were used to support the many crosspieces covered with hides for the protected passageway leading to the exterior enclosure that was used instead of the trenches for wastes during the winter.
The second morning after the snow began, Ayla woke to the smiling face of Jondalar standing beside the sleeping platform, shaking her gently. His cheeks were red with cold, and his heavy outer clothing still bore traces of unmelted snow. He had a hot cup of tea in his hand.
“Come on, sleepy, get up. I remember when you used to be up long before me. There’s still some food left. The snow has stopped. Dress warmly and come outside,” he said. “Maybe you should wear those undergarments you got from Marona and friends.”
“Have you been out already?” she asked, sitting up and taking a drink of the hot tea. “I do seem to need more sleep lately.” Jondalar waited while she freshened up, had a quick morning meal, and began to dress, trying to refrain from urging her too much.
“Jondalar, I can’t close these pants over my stomach. And that top will never fit. Are you sure you want me to wear this outfit? I don’t want to stretch them out.”
“The pants are most important. It won’t matter if you can’t close them all the way. Do the best you can. You’ll be wearing your other clothes over them. Here are your boots. Where is your parka?” Jondalar said.
As they headed out of the abri, Ayla could see the radiant blue sky and the glowing sunlight streaming down on the ledge. Several people had obviously been up early. The path down to Wood River had been cleared of the accumulation of snow, and limestone gravel from underneath the abri had been strewn on the downslope to make it less slippery. On either side the walls of snow were chest high, but as she looked out over the countryside, she caught her breath.
The landscape was transformed. The glistening white blanket had softened the contours of the land, and the sky seemed even bluer in contrast with a white so brilliant, it hurt the eyes. It was cold; the snow crunched beneath her feet and her breath steamed. She saw several people on the flat floodplain across The River.
“Careful when you go down the path. It can be dangerous. Let me take your hand,” Jondalar said. They reached the bottom and crossed the small frozen river. Some of the people who saw them coming waved and started toward them.
“I didn’t think you were ever going to get up, Ayla,” Folara said. “There’s a place we usually go every year, but it takes half the morning to get there. I asked Jondalar if we could take you, but he said it was too far for you right now. When the snow gets packed down a little more, we can build a seat on a sledge and take turns pulling you. Most of the time sledges are used to pull wood or meat or something. But when they’re not needed for that, we can use them.” She was full of excitement.
“Slow down, Folara,” Jondalar said.
The snow was so deep that when Ayla tried to walk through it, she floundered, lost her balance, and grabbed for Jondalar, pulling him over with her. They both sat covered with snow, laughing so hard that they couldn’t get up. Folara was laughing, too.
“Don’t just stand there,” Jondalar called out. “Come and help me get Ayla up.” Between them both, they got her back on her feet.
A round white missile flew through the air and landed with a splat on Jondalar’s arm. After looking up and seeing Matagan laughing at him, Jondalar grabbed a handful of snow with both hands and began shaping it into a round ball. He heaved it toward the young man, whom he was considering taking on as an apprentice. Matagan ran away with a limp, but some speed, and the snowball fell short.
“I think that’s enough for today,” Jondalar said.
Ayla had a snowball hidden from view, and as Jondalar approached, she threw it at him. It landed on his chest and snow exploded into his face.
“So you want to play games,” he said, picking up a handful of snow and trying to put it inside the back of her parka. She struggled to get away, and soon both were rolling around in the snow, laughing and trying to get snow into each other’s necks. When they finally sat up, they were both covered from head to foot with the wet white stuff.
They went to the edge of the frozen river, crossed over, and climbed back to the ledge. They passed Marthona’s dwelling on the way to their own, and she had heard them coming.
“Do you really think you should have taken Ayla out there and gotten her wet with snow in her condition, Jondalar?” his mother said. “What if she had fallen down and it started the baby coming early?”
Jondalar looked stricken. He hadn’t thought about that.
“It’s all right, Marthona,” Ayla said. “The snow was soft, and I didn’t hurt myself or overdo. And I never knew snow could be so much fun!” Her eyes were still sparkling with excitement. “Jondalar helped me down the path, and up again. I feel fine.”
“But she’s right, Ayla,” Jondalar said, full of contrition. “You could have hurt yourself. I wasn’t thinking. I should have been more careful. You’re going to be a mother soon.”
Jondalar was so solicitous after that, Ayla almost felt confined. He didn’t want her to leave the area of the abri or go down the path. She occasionally stood at the top and looked down rather wistfully, but after she grew so big that she could not see her own feet when she looked down, and found herself leaning back when she walked to compensate for the load in front, she had little desire to leave the security of the Ninth Cave’s shelter of stone for the cold ice and snow outside.
She was happy to stay near a fire, often with friends, in her dwelling or theirs, or in the busy central work space under the protective roof of the massive overhang, busily making things for the coming baby. She was acutely conscious of the life growing within her. Her attention was turned inward, not exactly self-centered, but her area of interest had contracted to a smaller sphere.
She visited with the horses every day, groomed and pampered them, and made sure they had adequate provisions and water. They were more inactive, too, although they did go down to The River, frozen solid, and across to the meadow beyond. Horses could dig down through snow to find fodder, though not as efficiently as reindeer, and their digestive systems were accustomed to rough feed: the straw of frozen yellow grass stems, bark from birch and other thin-skinned trees, and twigs of brush. But under the insulating snow near the dead-seeming stems of herbs, they often found the basal stems and beginning buds of new growth just waiting to start. The horses managed to find enough food to fill their stomachs, but the grains and grass Ayla provided kept them healthy.
Wolf was out more than the horses. The season that was so hard on those that ate vegetation was often a boon to the meat-eaters. He roamed far, and sometimes was gone all day, but he always returned at night to sleep in the pile of Ayla’s old clothes. She moved his bed to the floor beside the sleeping platform and worried each evening until he returned, which sometimes was quite late. Some days he did not go at all, but stayed close to Ayla, resting or, to his great delight, playing with the children.
The Cave’s leisure time during the relatively inactive winter months was filled with the pursuit of each person’s individual crafts. Though they sometimes went hunting, looking particularly for reindeer for their rich sources of fat stored even within the bones of the cold-adapted animal, there was sufficient food stored to sustain them and a more than adequate supply of wood to keep them warm, give them light, and cook their food. Throughout the year various materials they needed for their work were collected and saved for this time. It was the time to cure hides, work them soft, dye them for color, and burnish them for a shine or a waterproof finish, the time to fabricate clothes, then bead and embroider them. Belts and boots were fashioned, fastenings were made and often decorated with carvings. It was also the time to learn a new craft or perfect a skill.
Ayla had been fascinated with the process of weaving. She watched and listened carefully when Marthona talked about it. The fibers from animals that shed in spring had been collected from thorny bushes or barren ground and saved until winter, when there was time to make things. A great many kinds of fibers were available, such as wool from mouflon, the great-horned wild sheep, and ibex, the mountain-climbing wild goat, which could be matted into felt. The warm downy underhair grown each fall close to the skin beneath the shaggy outer hair of several animals, including mammoths, rhinos, and musk oxen, were favorites because of their softness. The long, coarser hair from animals was a more permanent growth and collected only after they were killed, the outer hair of the woolly animals, for example, and the long horse tails. Fibers from plants of many varieties were also utilized. The fibers were made into cords, ropes, and fine threads, which could be left natural or dyed, then woven and made into clothing or mats, rugs, and wall hangings to keep out drafts and cover cold, rocky walls.
Bowls were gouged out of wood, then shaped, polished, painted, and carved with designs. Baskets of all shapes and sizes were woven. Jewelry was made from shaped ivory beads, animal teeth, shells, and unique stones. Ivory, bone, antler, and horn were shaped and carved, and made into plates and platters, handles for knives, points for spears, needles for sewing, and many other tools, implements, and decorative objects. Animal figures were carved with loving attention to detail by themselves or to decorate other things that were made of anything carvable, wood or bone, ivory or stone. Female figurines, donii, were also carved. Even the walls of the abri were carved and painted.
Winter was also the time to practice talents and to play. Musical instruments, especially interesting-sounding percussion instruments and melodic flutes, were crafted and played. Dances were practiced, songs sung, stories told. Certain more sedentary sports such as wrestling and target practice of various kinds were enjoyed by some, and gambling and wagering of all kinds were indulged by many.
The young were taught certain necessary basic skills, and for those who had an inclination or showed an aptitude for some specialized activity, someone was always willing to show them. There was a well-worn path between the Ninth Cave and Down River, and many of the craftspeople who made the trek from their own homes to spend some time there often spent a few nights at the Ninth Cave.
Zelandoni taught counting words to those who wished to know them, and the Histories and Legends of the people, but she was seldom with free time on her hands. People caught colds, had headaches, earaches, bellyaches, and toothaches; the aches and pains of arthritis and rheumatism were always more difficult during the cold season; and there were other serious diseases. Some people died, and their bodies were placed in cold front passages of certain caves in the winter, where they would keep until spring, since snow and frozen ground prevented burial in the outdoor graveyards. Sometimes, though rarely, they were left there.
And some were born. The winter solstice had passed. Zelandoni had explained to Ayla the position where the sun set over the horizon was at its farthest left and stayed there for several days before the position of its setting moved imperceptibly back to the right. It had been the occasion for a feast, ceremony, and festival to mark the turning point and to add some excitement to the quiet days.
The sun’s setting from that time on would continue to the right with each passing day until the summer solstice, when it reached its farthest right position and seemed to stay there for some days. The place midway between the two marked the equinoxes, the beginning of spring, and, on its way back, the beginning of autumn. Zelandoni pointed to a dip in the hills on the horizon that marked the midpoints. She had used countings words and marked a gouge on a flat piece of antler, and Ayla found the information fascinating. She liked to learn those kinds of things.
In the deep of winter, the coldest, bitterest, harshest time of year, the snow no longer attracted playful excursions. Even short trips outside to get frozen meat or to bring in wood could be an ordeal. The cairn of rocks on top of caches and ice cellars often froze together, making it necessary to break them apart. The vegetables and fruits in root cellars had long since been transferred to stone-lined pits at the back of the abri, but it took a watchful eye and many snares and traps to keep the small animals from taking too large a share. Small rodents in particular survived quite well from the hard work of humans and always managed to share their cave.
One of the games children played was to throw stones at the swift little creatures. It was encouraged by the adults. A hard-flung stone could kill one. Not only did it provide one more element in the continuing battle against the voracious pests, but it gave the children some experience in developing the accuracy they would need to become proficient hunters, and some of the youngsters developed quite an aim. Ayla began using her sling to that purpose and before long was teaching the children how to use her favorite weapon. Wolf also proved to be a valuable asset in keeping down the rodent population.
The outside root cellars seemed to be freer of such vermin, and the food was stored in them as long as possible. But when the deep freeze of winter threatened to destroy the fresh quality, they were brought in. Once frozen, most vegetable foods were used only in cooking, as were most dried foods.
Ayla had experienced a sudden surge of energy the past few days. She had become increasingly uncomfortable as she grew larger and was occasionally given to fits of crying and other emotional outbursts that dismayed Jondalar. The active baby sometimes woke her at night, and she found it difficult to get up gracefully from her normal cross-legged sitting position, and she had always been able to get up from the floor gracefully. As she neared her time, her fears of delivery had grown, but recently she was getting so anxious to have the baby, she was even willing to face the delivery.
Zelandoni felt sure her time would be soon. She had told Ayla, “The Great Earth Mother, in Her wisdom, made the final days of pregnancy uncomfortable on purpose, so that women would be able to face their fear of delivery just to get it over with.”
Ayla had finished straightening and rearranging everything for the baby, and then everything else in her home once again, and had decided to cook a special dinner for Jondalar when he came looking for her. She told him all the vegetables she wanted from her storage place at the back of the abri, and what meat she wanted. When he came back with everything, she hadn’t moved, and she had a strange expression on her face: a combination of joy and dread.
“What is it, Ayla?” he said, dropping his basket of vegetables.
“I think the baby is getting ready to be born,” she said.
“Right now? Ayla, you better lie down. I’ll get Zelandoni. Maybe I better get mother, too. Don’t do anything until I get Zelandoni,” Jondalar said, suddenly nervous.
“Not right now. Relax, Jondalar. It will be a while yet. Let’s wait before you get Zelandoni, to be sure,” she said, picking up the basket of vegetables. She went to her cooking area and started to take them out of the basket.
“Let me do that. Shouldn’t you be resting? Are you sure you don’t want me to get Zelandoni?”
“Jondalar, you’ve seen babies born before, haven’t you? You don’t have to be so worried.”
“Who says I’m worried?” he said, trying to appear calm. She stood still and held her hand to her stomach. “Ayla, don’t you think I’d better go tell Zelandoni?” His forehead was pinched together with anxious worry.
“All right, Jondalar. You can go tell her, but only if you promise to say it is just beginning. There’s no hurry,” she said.
Jondalar dashed out. He came back almost dragging Zelandoni behind him.
“I told you to tell her there was no hurry, Jondalar,” Ayla said, then looked at the donier. “I’m sorry he dragged you over here so soon. It’s barely started.”
“I think it may be better if Jondalar went to visit Joharran for a while, and tell Proleva I may need her later. I’m not busy. I’ll stay and keep you company, Ayla. Do you have a little tea?” Zelandoni asked.
“I can have some ready soon,” Ayla said. “I think Zelandoni’s right, Jondalar. Why don’t you go visit Joharran?”
“On your way, you can stop off and tell Marthona, but don’t go dragging her back here,” Zelandoni said. Jondalar rushed out. “He stood there the whole time when Folara was born, as calm as you please. But it’s always different when it’s a man’s own mate.”
Ayla stopped again, waiting for the contraction to pass, then she started to prepare some tea. Zelandoni watched her, noting how long she waited. Then she sat on a large stool that Ayla had made especially for Zelandoni’s visits, knowing she did not like to sit on the ground or on cushions if she could help it. Ayla had been using it herself recently.
After they drank some tea and made some inconsequential conversation while Ayla had a few more contractions, Zelandoni suggested that she lie down so the donier could examine her. Ayla complied. Zelandoni waited for the next contraction and felt Ayla’s stomach.
“It may not be too long after all,” the healer said.
Ayla got up, thought about sitting down on a floor cushion, changed her mind and walked to her cooking area, had a sip of tea, and felt another contraction. She wondered if she should lie down again. This seemed to be happening faster than she expected.
Zelandoni checked her again, giving her a closer examination, then she looked at the young woman keenly. “This is not your first baby, is it?”
Ayla waited until a spasm passed before she answered. “No, it’s not my first. I had a son,” she said quietly.
Zelandoni wondered why he wasn’t with her. Had he died? If he was stillborn, or if he died shortly after birth, that would be important to know. “What happened to him?” she asked.
“I had to leave him behind. I gave him to my sister, Uba. He still lives with the Clan, at least I hope he does.”
“The delivery was very difficult, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. I almost died giving birth to him,” Ayla said in a flat, controlled tone, trying not to show any emotion about it, but the donier detected fear in her eyes.
“How old is he, Ayla? Or rather, how old were you when you had him?” Zelandoni wanted to know.
“I could not yet count my twelfth year,” Ayla said, going into another labor pain. They were coming faster now.
“And now?” Zelandoni asked when it was over.
“Now I can count nineteen, twenty after this winter. I’m old to be having babies.”
“No, you’re not, but you were very young when you had your first. Too young. No wonder you had such a difficult time of it. You say you left him with your clan.” She paused, thinking about how to ask the next question. “Your son, is he one of ‘mixed spirits’?” the woman finally inquired.
Ayla didn’t answer at first. She looked at Zelandoni and received as direct a look back, then suddenly she almost doubled up with a contraction. “Yes,” she said when it was over, looking scared.
“I think that also contributed to your difficulty. From what I understand, children of mixed spirits can be very difficult for women to deliver. It’s something about their heads, I’m told. They are shaped differently, and too big. They don’t give as much,” Zelandoni said. “This baby may not be as hard for you, Ayla. You’re doing fine, you know.”
The donier had seen her tense up with the last pain. Tensing up like that will only make it worse, she thought, but I’m afraid she’s remembering a terrible delivery with her first. I wish she’d told me. I might have been able to help her. I wish Marthona would come. I think she needs someone paying close attention to her right now, but I would like to make something to help her relax. Maybe talking would take her mind off her fear. “Would you tell me about your son?”
“At first they thought he was deformed, and would be a burden to the clan,” Ayla began. “He couldn’t even hold his own head up in the beginning, but he grew strong. Everyone came to love him. Grod even made him a spear of his own, just his size. And he could run so fast, even as young as he was.”
Ayla was smiling with tears in her eyes at the memory, and it gave the donier a surprising insight. She suddenly understood how much Ayla had loved the child, how proud she was of him, mixed spirits or not. When she said she had given him away to her “sister,” Zelandoni thought it might have been a relief to find someone who would take him.
Some of the zelandonia still talked about Brukeval’s grandmother. Though it was never mentioned in public, most of them felt certain that the daughter to whom she gave birth was a child of mixed spirits. No one really wanted to take her after her mother died, and Brukeval suffered the same fate. He had the look of his mother, perhaps not as strong, but he was mixed, too, Zelandoni was convinced, though she would never admit to it aloud, especially not to him.
Was it possible that Ayla would be prone to attracting their spirits since she was raised by them? Could this one be mixed, too? And if it was, what then? The wisest course might be to quietly end its life before it began. It would be easy enough, and no one would know it wasn’t stillborn. It would probably save everyone heartache, even the baby. It would be a shame to have another child in the Cave who was unwanted and unloved, like Brukeval and his mother.
But, the donier thought, if Ayla loved her first child, wouldn’t she love this one, too? It’s amazing to see her around Echozar, I think she genuinely likes him, and he’s very comfortable around her. Maybe it would work out, it would depend on Jondalar.
“Jondalar told me your labor had begun, Ayla,” Marthona said, coming into the dwelling. “He took pains to say that it was just beginning and I shouldn’t hurry, but he almost pushed me out, he was so eager for me to come.”
“It’s just as well that you did, Marthona. I’d like to make something for her,” Zelandoni said.
“To hasten delivery?” Marthona asked. “First ones can be so long in coming.” She smiled at Ayla.
“No,” Zelandoni said, pausing thoughtfully before she continued. “Just something to help her relax. She’s progressing quite well, faster than I thought she would, but she’s very tense, apprehensive about this birth, I believe.”
Ayla noticed that the healer did not correct Marthona’s assumption that this was her first child. From the beginning, she had sensed that Zelandoni knew many things, many secrets that she kept to herself. Maybe it would still be best if she kept the knowledge of her son to herself, except for Zelandoni. She could talk to her about him.
There was a tap at the entrance, but Proleva came in without waiting. “Jondalar said Ayla was in labor. Can I be of help?” she said. She was supporting a young infant on her back with a carrying blanket.
“Yes, you can,” Zelandoni said. She had assumed the right to allow access or not into the dwelling, and Ayla was grateful that she did. As she felt another pain coming on, the last thing she wanted to think about was who should be there. The healer noticed Ayla tensing up, beginning to fight the pain. It was obvious that she didn’t want to cry out, either. “You can sit with Ayla while Marthona gets some water boiling. I need to go get some special medicine.”
Zelandoni quickly left. She could move quite fast, in spite of her size, when she was so inclined. Folara was just approaching as the woman let the drape fall behind her.
“Can I go in, Zelandoni? I’d like to help, if I can,” she said.
The donier paused only a moment. “Yes, go ahead. You can help Proleva try to keep her calm,” she said, and hurried on.
When she returned, Ayla was thrashing around rather wildly, in the throes of another contraction, but she was still not crying out. Marthona and Proleva were on either side of her, holding a hand, looking worried. Folara was adding another hot stone to the water that had been heated, to keep it hot. Her expression matched her mother’s. There was fear in Ayla’s eyes, and relief at seeing the healer.
She hurried to the young woman. “It will be all right, Ayla. You are doing just fine, you just need to relax a little. I’m going to fix something for you, to help you get more comfortable,” Zelandoni said.
“What’s in it?” Ayla asked as the pain subsided.
Zelandoni looked at her closely. The question was asked not out of dread, but out of interest. It actually seemed to take her mind off her worry for a moment.
“Willow bark and raspberry leaf, primarily,” she said, hurrying to see if the water was boiling. “Plus a few linden flowers, and a very little thorn apple.”
Ayla was nodding. “Willow bark is a mild painkiller, raspberry leaf is especially relaxing during labor, linden flowers are a sweetener, and thorn apple—I think it’s what I call datura—it can stop pain and make you sleep, but might possibly stop the contractions. Just a little might be helpful, though,” she said.
“That’s what I thought,” the donier said.
As she hurried to add the herbs and barks to the hot water Folara was tending, Zelandoni could see that letting Ayla get involved in her own treatment might be just as helpful as the medicines in getting her to relax, but considering how much she knew about medications, it would be foolish to try to keep anything from her. It took some time to let the medicinal tea steep, during which time Ayla had several more labor pains. When she finally brought it to her, Ayla was more than ready to take it, but she sat up and tasted the tea first, concentrating with her eyes closed. She nodded, then drank it.
“More raspberry leaf than willow bark, and just enough linden to cover the bitter taste of the datura … thorn apple,” Ayla said, lying back down to wait for the next paroxysm of labor.
For just an instant, Zelandoni felt a retort come to her mind, a sarcastic “Well, do you approve?” but she caught herself and then was surprised that she’d even thought of it. The experienced woman wasn’t used to having someone testing and commenting on her medicine, but wouldn’t she do the same? The young woman had not been criticizing, she was testing herself, Zelandoni realized. As the donier watched, she smiled inwardly, sure that she knew precisely what Ayla was doing, because she would do the same. Ayla was using herself to test the medicine, quietly checking her own responses, waiting to see how long the medication would take to work and how much effect it would have. And as the healer had guessed, that in itself was taking her mind off her fear and helping her to relax.
They all waited, speaking quietly. The birthing seemed to be going a little better for the young woman. Zelandoni didn’t know if it was because of the medicine or the lessening of her fear, probably both, but she was not thrashing around anymore. Instead Ayla was concentrating on exactly what she was feeling, mentally comparing this birth with her previous one, and realizing that this one did seem to be easier. She was following the course that she had observed in other women who were having a normal delivery. She had been there when Proleva gave birth, and now she smiled when the woman nursed her baby girl.
“Marthona, do you know where her birthing blanket is? I think she’s getting close,” Zelandoni said.
“So soon? I didn’t think it would go so quickly, especially since she seemed to be having so much trouble in the beginning,” Proleva said, putting her infant down to sleep on her blanket.
“But she does seem to have it under control now,” Marthona said. “I’ll get the birthing blanket. Is it where you showed me before, Ayla?”
“Yes,” she answered quickly, feeling another muscle-clenching, all-encompassing convulsion coming on. When it was over, Zelandoni directed Proleva and Folara to spread the leather birthing blanket, marked with drawings and symbols, on the floor, then beckoned to Marthona.
“It’s time to help her up,” she said. Then to Ayla, “You need to get up and let the pull of the Great Earth Mother help the baby out. Can you get up?”
“Yes,” she said between panting breaths. She had been bearing down hard with each pain, and felt an urge to push again, but was trying to hold back for a moment. “I think so.”
They all helped Ayla to her feet and led her to the birthing blanket. Proleva showed her the squatting position to take, then she got on one side of her while Folara supported her other side. Marthona was in front, smiling and offering moral support. Zelandoni got behind her and clasped the young woman to her massive breast, wrapping her arms around her, above the bulge of her stomach.
Ayla felt enveloped by the softness and warmth of the huge woman; it was comforting to lean back on her. She felt like Mother, like all mothers combined in one, like the soft bosom of the Earth itself. But there was something else, too. Enormous strength lay hidden underneath the mounds of flesh. Ayla felt sure this woman could display every mood of Mother Earth Herself, from the gentleness of a warm summer day to the fury of a driving blizzard. If she felt so moved, she could lash out with the devastating power of a raging storm, or comfort and nourish like a soft mist.
“Now, at the next pain, I want you to push,” Zelandoni said. The two women on either side of her were each holding a hand, giving her something to grip.
“I feel it coming,” Ayla said.
“Then push!” Zelandoni said.
Ayla took a deep breath and bore down as hard as she could. She felt the donier helping her, pushing down on the baby with her. A gush of warm water spilled on the blanket.
“Good. I was waiting for that,” Zelandoni said.
“I wondered when her waters were going to break,” Proleva said. “Mine seem to break so early, I’m almost dry by the time the baby comes. This is better. Here she goes again.”
“Now, again, push, Ayla,” Zelandoni said.
Ayla bore down again and felt movement.
“I can see the head,” Marthona said. “I’m ready to catch the baby.” She knelt down closer to Ayla, just as another strong contraction started. As Ayla took a deep breath and pushed.
“Here it comes!” Marthona said.
Ayla felt the passage of the head. The rest was easy. As the baby slid out, Marthona reached out and caught it.
Ayla looked down and saw the wet infant in Marthona’s arms, and smiled. Zelandoni smiled, too.
“One last push, Ayla, to get out the afterbirth,” Zelandoni said, helping her again. She pushed and watched a mass of bloody tissue fall on the birthing blanket.
Zelandoni let go of her and moved around to the front of the new mother. Proleva and Folara supported Ayla while Zelandoni took the baby, turned it over, and patted the tiny back. There were little hiccuping sounds. Zelandoni thumped the baby’s feet and watched the infant expel breath in a startle response, then breathe in the first gulp of life-giving air. There was a small crying sound, hardly more than a mewling at first, but it grew as the lungs became accustomed to sustaining life.
Marthona held the infant while the donier cleaned Ayla up a little, wiping away blood and fluid, then Proleva and Folara helped her back to the bed. Zelandoni tied a piece of sinew around the baby’s navel cord—at Ayla’s request it had been dyed red with ochre—to pinch it off and prevent bleeding from the still engorged tube. With a sharp flint blade she cut the cord between the tie and the afterbirth, separating the infant from the placenta that had provided nourishment and a place to grow until birth. Ayla’s infant was a separate entity, a unique and individual human being.
Marthona and Zelandoni cleaned the baby with a velvety soft rabbitskin that Ayla had made for the purpose. Marthona had a small blanket ready, again velvety soft, and so smooth, it felt like the baby’s skin. It was made from the hide of a nearly full-term deer foetus. Zelandoni had told Jondalar that it would be especially lucky for the child born to his hearth if he could secure such a hide for the birth, and he and his brother had gone out near the end of winter looking for a pregnant deer.
Ayla had helped him make the foetal deerskin into the supple leather blanket. He had always been amazed at the softness of her leathers, a skill he knew she had learned from the Clan. After working with her on one, he understood how much effort it took, even starting with a tender foetal skin. Zelandoni laid the baby on the blanket, then Marthona wrapped the newborn in it and brought the child to Ayla.