Jondalar studied the disposition of the aurochs herd along the river. The cattle were spread out between the bottom of the slope and the edge of the water among various small pastures of rich green grass, which were interspersed with brush and trees. The spotted cow was alone in a small lea, with a dense stand of birch and alder brush at one end separating her from several other members of the herd. The brush continued along the base of the slope, giving way to clumps of sedge and sharp-leaved reeds on wet low ground at the other end, which led into a marshy inlet choked with tall phragmite reeds and cattails.
He turned to Ayla and pointed toward the marsh. “If you ride along the river past those reeds and cattails, and I come up on her through that opening in the alder brush, we’ll have her between us and can ride her down.”
Ayla looked over the situation and nodded agreement. Then she dismounted. “I want to tie down my spear holder before we start,” she said, fastening the long, tube-shaped rawhide container to the straps that held on the riding blanket of soft deerskin. Inside the stiff leather holder were several well-made, graceful spears with slender round bone points, ground and polished to a fine sharpness and split at the base, where they were attached to the long wooden shafts. Each spear was fletched at the back end with two straight feathers and indented with a notch in the butt.
While Ayla was tying down her holder, Jondalar reached for a spear from the spear holder on his back, attached by a strap that went over one shoulder. He had always worn his spear holder when he’d hunted on foot, and he was used to it, though when he’d traveled by walking on his own two legs, and had worn a backframe, spears were kept in a special holder on the side of it. He placed the spear on his spear-thrower to have it in readiness.
Jondalar had invented the spear-thrower during the summer he lived with Ayla in her valley. It was a unique and startling innovation, an inspired creation of sheer genius that had risen out of his natural technical aptitude and an intuitive sense of physical principles that would not be defined and codified for hundreds of centuries. Though the idea was ingenious, the spear-thrower itself was deceptively simple.
Shaped from a single piece of wood, it was about a foot and a half in length and an inch and a half wide, narrowing near the front end. It was held horizontally and had a groove down the center where the spear rested. A simple hook carved into the back of the thrower fit into the notch in the butt of the spear, acting as a backstop and helping to hold the spear in place while it was being thrown, which contributed to the accuracy of the hunting weapon. Near the front of Jondalar’s spear-thrower two soft buckskin loops were attached on either side.
To use it, the spear was laid on the spear-thrower with its butt up against the backstop hook. The first and second fingers were put through the leather loops at the front of the spear-thrower, which reached a place somewhat back from the center of the much longer spear, at a good balance point, and loosely held the spear in place. But a more important function came into play when the spear was thrown. Holding the front of the thrower securely as the spear was cast caused the back end to raise up, which, like an extension of the arm, added length. The greater length increased leverage and momentum, which in turn increased the power and distance of the flight of the spear.
Hurling a spear with a spear-thrower was similar to throwing it by hand; the difference was in the results. With it, the long shaft with the sharp point could be propelled more than twice as far as a spear thrown by hand, with many times the force.
Jondalar’s invention utilized mechanical advantage to transmit and amplify the force of muscle power, but it wasn’t the first implement to use those principles. His people had a tradition of creative invention and had utilized similar ideas in other ways. For example, a sharp piece of flint held in the hand was an effective cutting tool, but attaching a handle to it gave the user an extraordinary increase in force and control. The seemingly simple idea of putting handles on things—knives, axes, adzes, and other carving, cutting, and drilling tools, a longer one on shovels and rakes, and even a form of detachable handle to throw a spear—multiplied their effectiveness many times. It was not just a simple idea, it was an important invention that made work easier and survival more probable.
Though the ones who had come before them had slowly developed and improved various implements and tools, the people like Jondalar and Ayla were the first to imagine and innovate to such an extravagant degree. Their brains could make abstractions easily. They were capable of conceiving of an idea and planning how to implement it. Beginning with simple objects that utilized advanced principles that were intuitively understood, they drew conclusions and applied them in other circumstances. They did more than invent usable tools, they invented science. And from the same wellspring of creativity, utilizing that same power to abstract, they were the first people to see the world around them in symbolic form, to extract its essence and reproduce it; they originated art.
When Ayla finished tying down her holder, she remounted. Then, seeing that Jondalar had a spear in readiness, she also placed a spear on her spear-thrower and, holding them easily but carefully, started in the direction Jondalar had indicated. The wild cattle were moving slowly along the river, grazing as they went, and the cow they had singled out was already in a different location, and not so isolated. A bull calf and another cow were now close by. Ayla followed the river, guiding Whinney with knees, thighs, and body movements. As she closed in on their intended prey, she saw the tall man on his horse across the green lea approaching through the opening in the brush. The three aurochs were between them.
Jondalar raised his arm, which held the spear, hoping Ayla would realize he meant it as a signal to wait. Perhaps he should have gone over the strategy in greater depth before they separated, but it was hard to plan the tactics of a hunt too precisely. So much depended upon the situation they found, and the actions of the prey. The two additional animals that were now grazing near the white-spotted cow added another complication, but there was no need to hurry. The animals did not seem alarmed by their presence, and he wanted to work out a plan before they rushed in.
Suddenly the cows lifted their heads, and their contented indifference became anxious concern. Jondalar looked beyond the animals and felt a surge of annoyance that approached real anger. Wolf had arrived, and he was moving toward the cattle with his tongue lolling out, managing to look both menacing and playful at the same time. Ayla hadn’t noticed him yet, and Jondalar had to stifle an urge to shout to her and tell her to call him off. But a shout would only startle the cows and probably set them off at a run. Instead, when a wave of his arm caught her eye, he pointed at the wolf with his spear.
Ayla noticed Wolf then, but she wasn’t sure from Jondalar’s motions what he wanted, and she tried to signal back to him in Clan gestures, asking him to explain. Though he did have a basic understanding of the language of the Clan, Jondalar wasn’t thinking of gestures as language just then and didn’t recognize her signs. He was concentrating on how to salvage a deteriorating situation. The cows had begun lowing, and the calf, sensing fear from them, began bawling. They all looked ready to break away. What had started out to be almost perfect conditions for an easy kill was rapidly becoming a losing effort.
Before things got worse, Jondalar urged Racer forward, just as the solid-colored cow bolted, running away from the oncoming horse and man, toward the trees and brush. The bawling calf followed her. Ayla waited only long enough to be sure which animal Jondalar was going after, then she, too, galloped after the spotted one. They were converging on the aurochs that was still standing in the pasture, watching them and lowing nervously, when the animal suddenly broke into a run, heading toward the marsh. They raced after it, but as they closed in, the cow suddenly dodged and doubled back, dashing between both horses toward the trees at the opposite end of the meadow.
Ayla shifted her weight, and Whinney quickly changed direction. The mare was accustomed to quick changes. Ayla had hunted from horseback before, though usually it was for smaller animals that were downed with her sling. Jondalar had more trouble. A guiding rein wasn’t as quick a command as a shift in body weight, and the man and his young stallion had far less experience hunting together, but after some initial hesitation they were soon pounding after the white-spotted aurochs as well.
The cow was heading at a dead run for the grove of trees and thick brush ahead. If she made it to cover, it would be difficult to follow her through it, and there was a good chance that she could get away. Ayla on Whinney and, behind them, Jondalar riding Racer were gaining on the aurochs, but all grazing animals depended on speed to escape predators, and wild cattle could be nearly as fleet as horses when pressed.
Jondalar urged Racer on, and the horse responded with an all-out burst of speed. Trying to steady his spear so he could make an attempt to get the fleeing animal, Jondalar pulled up alongside Ayla, then surged ahead, but at a subtle signal from the woman, the mare kept pace. Ayla held her spear ready to hurl as well, but even at a gallop she rode with an easy, effortless grace that was the result of practice, and her initial training of the horse that had been unintentional. She felt that many of her signals to the horse were more an extension of thought than an act of guidance. She had only to think of how and where she wanted the mare to go, and Whinney complied. They had such an intimate understanding of each other, she hardly realized that the subtle movements of her body that accompanied the thought had given a signal to the sensitive and intelligent animal.
As Ayla was taking aim with her spear, suddenly Wolf was racing alongside the fleeing cow. The aurochs was distracted by the more familiar predator, and it veered to the side, slowing its stride. Wolf leaped at the huge aurochs, and the great spotted cow turned to fend off the four-legged predator with large sharp horns. The wolf fell back, then sprang again and, trying to find any vulnerable place, clamped down on the soft, exposed nose with sharp teeth and strong jaws. The huge cow bellowed, raised her head, lifting Wolf off the ground, and shook him, trying to rid herself of the cause of her pain. Dangling like a limp fur bag, the dazed young canine held on.
Jondalar had been quick to see the change of pace, and he was prepared to take advantage of it. He raced toward them at a gallop and hurled his spear with great force from close quarters. The sharp bone point pierced the heaving sides, sliding in deeply between ribs to vital inner organs. Ayla was just behind him and her spear found its mark a moment later, entering at an angle just behind the rib cage on the opposite side, penetrating deep. Wolf hung on to the cow’s nose until she dropped to the ground. With the weight of the large wolf pulling her down, she fell heavily on her side, breaking Jondalar’s spear.
“But he was a help,” Ayla said. “He did stop the cow before she reached the trees.” The man and woman strained to roll the huge aurochs over to expose its underside, stepping over the thick blood that had pooled below the deep cut Jondalar had made in its throat.
“If he hadn’t started chasing her when he did, that cow probably wouldn’t have started running until we were almost on top of her. It would have been an easy kill,” Jondalar said. He picked up the shaft of his broken spear, then threw it down again, thinking he might have been able to save it if Wolf hadn’t pulled the cow over on it. It took a lot of work to make a good spear.
“You can’t be sure of that. That cow was quick to dodge us, and a fast runner, too.”
“Those cows weren’t bothered by us at all, until Wolf came. I tried to tell you to call him away, but I didn’t want to shout and drive them off.”
“I didn’t know what you wanted. Why didn’t you tell me in Clan signs? I kept asking you, but you weren’t paying attention,” Ayla said.
Clan signs? Jondalar thought. It hadn’t occurred to him that she was using Clan language. That would be a good way to signal. Then he shook his head. “I doubt if it would have done any good,” he said. “He probably wouldn’t have stopped even if you had tried to call him.”
“Maybe not, but I think Wolf could learn to be a help. He already helps me flush small game. Baby learned to hunt with me. He was a good hunting partner. If a cave lion can learn to hunt with people, Wolf could, too,” Ayla said, feeling defensive about him. After all, they had killed the aurochs, and Wolf did help.
Jondalar thought Ayla’s judgment of the skills a wolf was capable of learning was unrealistic, but there was no point in arguing with her. She treated the animal like a child, as it was, and it would only make her defend him more.
“Well, we’d better gut this cow before it starts to swell. And we’ll have to skin it out here and divide it into pieces so we can pack it up to the Camp,” Jondalar said, and then another problem occurred to him. “But what are we going to do about that wolf?”
“What about Wolf?” Ayla asked.
“If we cut that aurochs into pieces and carry part of it up to the Camp, he’ll be able to eat the meat left here,” the man said, his irritation rising, “and when we come back here to get more, he’ll be able to get to the meat we brought up to the Camp. One of us would have to stay here to watch it, and the other will have to stay there, but then how do we bring anymore back up there? We’re going to have to set up a tent here to dry the meat instead of using the lodge at the Camp, just because of Wolf!” He was exasperated with the problems he perceived the wolf to be causing and was not thinking clearly.
But he made Ayla angry. Maybe Wolf would go after the meat if she wasn’t there, but he wouldn’t touch it as long as she was with him. She would just make sure Wolf stayed with her. He wasn’t that much of a problem. Why was Jondalar picking on him so much? She started to answer him, then changed her mind and whistled for Whinney. With a smooth bound, she mounted, then turned back to Jondalar. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get that cow up to the Camp,” she said as she rode away, calling Wolf to her.
She rode hard back to the earthlodge, jumped down and hurried inside, and came out with a stone axe with a short handle, one Jondalar had made for her. Then she mounted again and urged Whinney toward the birch woods.
Jondalar watched her ride up and saw her coming back down and go into the woods, wondering what she was planning. He had started the belly cut to remove the intestines and stomach of the cow, but he was having mixed feelings as he worked. He did think he was justified in his concerns about the young wolf, but he was sorry he had brought them up to Ayla. He knew how she felt about the animal. His complaints were not going to change anything, and he had to admit her training had accomplished much more than he would have thought possible.
When he heard her chopping wood, he suddenly realized what she planned to do, and he headed for the woods, too. He saw Ayla hacking fiercely at a tall, straight birch tree from the center of the grove of closely spaced trees, venting her anger in the process.
Wolf isn’t as bad as Jondalar says, she was thinking. Maybe he did almost scare off that aurochs, but then he did help. She paused for a moment, resting, and frowned. What if they hadn’t made a kill, wouldn’t that have meant they weren’t welcome? That the spirit of the Mother didn’t want them to stay at the Camp? If Wolf had spoiled their hunting, she wouldn’t be thinking of how to move that cow, they would be leaving. But if they were meant to stay, he couldn’t have spoiled their hunting, could he? She started chopping again. It was getting too complicated. They had killed the spotted cow, even with Wolf’s interference—and his help—so it was all right to use the lodge. Maybe they had been guided to this place, after all, she thought.
Suddenly Jondalar appeared. He tried to take the axe from her. “Why don’t you look for another tree and let me finish this one,” he said.
Though not as angry, Ayla resisted his assistance. “I told you I’d get that cow up to the Camp. I can do it without your help.”
“I know you can, the same way you brought me to your cave in the valley. But with both of us, you’ll have your new poles much faster,” he said, then added, “And yes, I have to admit, you are right. Wolf did help.”
She stopped in midstroke and looked up at him. His brow revealed his earnest concern, but his expressive blue eyes showed mixed feelings. Though she didn’t understand his misgivings about Wolf, the powerful love he felt for her showed in his eyes, too. She felt drawn to those eyes, to the sheer male magnetism of his closeness, to the fascination that he didn’t fully realize he had or know the strength of, and felt her resistance evaporate.
“But you’re right, too,” she said, feeling a little contrite. “He did make them run before we were ready, and he might have spoiled the hunt.”
Jondalar’s frown vanished in a relieved smile. “So we’re both right,” he said. She smiled back, and the next moment they were in each other’s arms, and his mouth found hers. They clung together, relieved that their argument was over, wanting to cancel out the distance that had come between them with physical closeness.
When they stopped expressing their fervent relief, but still stood with their arms around each other, Ayla said, “I do think Wolf could learn to help us hunt. We just have to teach him.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. But since he’s going to be traveling with us, I think you should teach him as much as he’ll learn. If nothing else, maybe you can train him not to interfere when we’re hunting,” he said.
“You should help, too, so he’ll mind both of us.”
“I doubt that he’ll pay attention to me,” he said. Then seeing that she was ready to disagree, he added, “But if you want, I’ll try.” He took the stone axe from her and decided to bring up another idea she had raised. “You said something about using Clan signs when we don’t want to shout. That could be useful.” As Ayla went to look for another tree of the right shape and size, she was smiling.
Jondalar examined the tree she had been working on to see how much more chopping it would need. It was difficult to cut down a hard tree with a stone axe. The brittle flint of the axe head was made rather thick so that it would not break too easily from the force of the blow, and a strike did not cut in deeply, but instead chipped a little away. The tree looked more as if it had been gnawed than cut. Ayla listened to the rhythmic sound of stone hitting wood as she carefully examined the trees in the grove. When she found one that was suitable, she notched the bark then looked for a third.
When the necessary trees were cut down, they dragged them out to the clearing and, using knives and the axe, stripped the branches, then lined them up on the ground. Ayla judged the size and marked them, and they cut them all to an equal length. While Jondalar removed the internal organs from the aurochs, she walked back to the lodge for ropes and a device she had made of leather straps and thongs knotted and braided together. She brought along one of the torn floor mats as well when she returned, then signaled for Whinney and adjusted the special harness on her.
Using two of the long poles—the third was only necessary for the tripod she used to keep food out of the reach of prowling scavengers—she attached the narrower ends to the harness she had put on the horse, crossing them over above the withers. The heavier ends dragged on the ground, one on either side of the mare. With ropes, they fastened the grass mat across the more widely spread poles of the travois, near the ground, and attached extra ropes to tie down and hold the aurochs.
Looking at the size of the huge cow, Ayla began to wonder if perhaps it would be too much even for the strong steppe horse. The man and woman both strained to get the aurochs on the travois. The mat offered only minimal support, but by tying the animal directly to the poles, it did not drag on the ground. After their efforts, Ayla was even more concerned that the load would be too much for Whinney, and she almost changed her mind. Jondalar had already removed the stomach, intestines, and other organs; perhaps they should skin it out right there and cut it into more manageable pieces. She didn’t feel the need to show him that she could bring it to the Camp alone anymore, but since it was already loaded on the travois, she decided to have Whinney give it a try.
If Ayla was surprised when the horse began to pull the heavy load over the rough terrain, Jondalar was even more so. The aurochs was bigger and heavier than Whinney, and it was a strain, but with only two points dragging, and most of the weight borne by the poles resting on the ground, the load was manageable. The slope was more difficult, but the sturdy horse of the steppes accomplished even that effort. On the uneven ground of any natural surface, the travois was by far the most efficient conveyance to transport loads.
The device was Ayla’s invention, the result of need, opportunity, and an intuitive leap. Living alone with no one to help her, she often found herself with the need to move things that were too heavy for her to carry or drag alone—such as a whole, full-grown animal—and usually had to break them down into smaller pieces, and then had to think of some way to protect what was left behind from scavengers. Her unique opportunity was the mare she had raised, and the chance to utilize the strength of a horse to help her. But her special advantage was a brain that could recognize a possibility and devise the means.
Once they reached the earthlodge, Ayla and Jondalar untied the aurochs, and after words and hugs of thanks and praise, they led the horse back down to get the animal’s innards. They, too, were useful. When they reached the clearing, Jondalar picked up his broken spear. The front of the shaft had snapped off; the point was still embedded in the carcass, but the long straight back section was still whole. Perhaps he could find a use for it, he thought, taking it with him.
Back at the Camp they removed Whinney’s harness. Wolf was nosing around the inner organs; intestines were a favorite of his. Ayla hesitated a moment. If she’d had need, she could have used them for several purposes, from fat storage to waterproofing, but it wasn’t possible to take much more than they already had with them.
Why did it seem, she thought, that just because they had horses and were able to take more with them, they needed more? She recalled that when she left the Clan and was traveling on foot, she carried everything she needed in a pack basket on her back. It was true that their tent was much more comfortable than the low hide shelter she had used then, and they did have changes of clothes, and winter ones that they weren’t using, and more food and utensils, and … she’d never be able to carry everything in a pack basket now, she realized.
She threw the useful, though presently unnecessary, intestines to Wolf, and she and Jondalar turned to butchering the wild beef. After making several strategic cuts, together they began to pull off the hide, a process that was more efficient than skinning it with a knife. They only used a sharp implement to sever a few points of attachment. With a little effort, the membrane between the skin and the muscle separated cleanly, and they ended up with only the two holes of the spear points marring a perfect hide. They rolled it up to keep it from drying too quickly, and they put the head aside. The tongue and brains were rich and tender, and they planned to eat those delicacies that night. The skull with its large horns, however, they would leave for the Camp. It could have special meaning for someone, and if not, there were many useful parts to it.
Then Ayla took the stomach and bladder to the small stream that supplied water for the Camp to wash them, and Jondalar went down to the river to find brush and slender trees that could be bent to make a round bowl-shaped frame for the small boat. They also searched for deadfall and driftwood. They would need several fires to keep animals and insects away from their meat, as well as a fire inside overnight.
They worked until it was nearly dark, dividing the cow into large segments, then cutting the meat into small tongue-shaped pieces and hanging them to dry over makeshift racks made of brushwood, but they still didn’t finish. They brought the racks into the lodge overnight. Their tent was still damp, but they folded it and brought it in, too. They would set it up again the next day when they brought the meat out, to let the wind and the sun finish the drying.
In the morning, after they cut up the last of the meat, Jondalar began to construct the boat. Using both steam and hot rocks heated in the fire, he bent the wood for the boat frame. Ayla was very interested and wanted to know where he learned the process.
“My brother, Thonolan. He was a spearmaker,” Jondalar explained, holding down the end of a small straight tree that he had formed into a curve, while she lashed it to a circular section with sinew made of a tendon from the hind legs of the aurochs.
“But what does spearmaking have to do with making a boat?”
“Thonolan could make a spear shaft perfectly straight and true. But to learn how to take the bend out of wood, you first have to learn how to bend wood, and he could do that just as well. He was much better at it than I am. He had a real feel for it. I suppose you could say his craft was not only making spears, but shaping wood. He could make the best snowshoes, and that means taking a straight branch or tree and bending it completely around. Maybe that’s why he felt so much at home with the Sharamudoi. They were expert wood shapers. They used hot water and steam to bend out their dugouts to the shape they wanted.”
“What is a dugout?” Ayla asked.
“It’s a boat carved out of a whole tree. The front end is shaped to a fine edge, the back end, too, and it can glide through the water so easily and smoothly, it’s like cutting with a sharp knife. They’re beautiful boats. This one we’re making is clumsy by comparison, but there are no big trees around here. You’ll see dugouts when we reach the Sharamudoi.”
“How much longer before we get there?”
“It’s quite a long ways, yet. Beyond those mountains,” he said, looking west, toward the high peaks indistinct in the summer haze.
“Oh,” she said, feeling disappointed. “I was hoping it wouldn’t be so far. It would be nice to see some people. I wish someone had been here at this Camp. Maybe they’ll come back before we leave.” Jondalar noticed a wistfulness in her tone.
“Are you lonely for people?” he asked. “You spent such a long time alone in your valley, I thought you’d be used to it.”
“Maybe that’s why. I spent enough time being alone. I don’t mind it for a while, sometimes I like it, but we haven’t seen any people for so long … I just thought it would be fun to talk to someone,” she said, then looked at him. “I’m so happy you are with me, Jondalar. It would be so lonely without you.”
“I am happy, too, Ayla. Happy I didn’t have to make this trip alone, happier than I can say that you came with me. I’m looking forward to seeing people, too. When we reach the Great Mother River, we should meet some. We’ve been traveling across country. People tend to live near fresh water, rivers or lakes, not out in the open.”
Ayla nodded, then held the end of another slender sapling, which had been heating over hot rocks and steam, while Jondalar carefully bent it into a circle, then helped him lash it to the others. Judging from the size of it, she began to see that it would take the entire hide of the aurochs to cover it. There would be no more than a few scraps left over, not enough to make a new rawhide meat-keeper to replace the one she had lost in the flash flood. They needed the boat to cross the river, she would just have to think of something else to use. Maybe a basket would work, she thought, tightly woven, long in shape, and rather flat, with a lid. There were cattails and reeds and willows, plenty of basket-making materials around, but would a basket work?
The problem with carrying freshly killed meat was that blood continued to seep out, and no matter how tightly woven, it would eventually leak through a basket. That was why thick, hard rawhide worked so well. It absorbed the blood, but slowly, and didn’t leak, and after a period of use, could be washed and redried. She needed something that would do the same thing. She’d have to think about it.
The problem of replacing her parfleche stayed on her mind, and when the frame was finished, and they left it to wait for the sinew to dry hard and firm, Ayla headed down to the river to collect some basket-making materials. Jondalar went with her but only as far as the birch woods. Since he was all set up for shaping wood, he decided to make some new spears, to replace those that had been lost or broken.
Wymez had given him some good flint before he left, roughed out and preshaped so that new points could be made easily. He had made the bone-pointed spears before they left the Summer Meeting, to show how they were done. They were typical of the kind his people used, but he had learned how to make the flint-tipped Mamutoi spears as well, and because he was a skilled flint knapper, they were faster for him to make than shaping and smoothing bone points.
In the afternoon Ayla started to make a special meat-keeping basket. When she lived in the valley, she had spent many long winter nights easing her loneliness by making baskets and mats, among other things, and she had become very quick and adept at weaving. She could almost make a basket in the dark, and her new carrying container for meat was finished before she went to bed. It was made extremely well, she had thought carefully about the shape and size, materials and tightness of weave, but she wasn’t quite satisfied with it.
She went out in the darkening twilight to change her absorbent wool and wash the piece she was wearing in the small stream. She put it near the fire to dry, but out of Jondalar’s sight. Then, without quite looking at him, she lay down in their sleeping furs beside him. Women of the Clan were taught to avoid men as much as possible when they bled, and never to look at them directly. It made Clan men very nervous to be around women during that time. It had surprised her that Jondalar had no qualms about it, but she still felt uncomfortable, and she took pains to be discreet in caring for herself.
Jondalar had always been considerate of her during her moon times, sensing her disquiet, but once she was in bed, he leaned over to kiss her. Though she kept her eyes closed, she responded with warmth, and when he rolled over on his back again, and they were lying side by side watching the play of firelight on the walls and ceilings of the comfortable structure, they talked, though she was careful not to look at him.
“I’d like to coat that hide after it’s mounted on the frame,” he said. “If I boil up the hooves and scraps of hide and some bones together with water for a long time, it will make a very thick and sticky kind of broth that dries hard. Do we have something that I can use to cook that in?”
“I’m sure we can think of something. Does it have to cook long?”
“Yes. It does need to cook down, to thicken.”
“Then it might be best to cook it directly over the fire, like a soup … maybe a piece of hide. We’ll have to watch it, and keep adding water, but as long as it stays wet, it won’t burn … wait. What about the stomach of that aurochs? I’ve been keeping water in it, so it wouldn’t dry out, and to have it handy for cooking and washing, but it would make a good cooking bag,” Ayla said.
“I don’t think so,” Jondalar said. “We don’t want to keep adding water. We want it to get thick.”
“Then I suppose a good watertight basket and hot stones might be best. I can make one in the morning,” Ayla said, but as she lay quietly, her mind wouldn’t let her sleep. She kept thinking that there was a better way to boil down the mixture Jondalar wanted to make. She just could not quite think of it. She was nearly asleep when it came to her. “Jondalar! Now I remember.”
He, too, was dozing off but was jerked awake. “Huh! What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just remembered how Nezzie rendered out fat, and I think it would be the best way to cook your thick stuff. You dig a shallow hole in the ground, in the shape of a bowl, and line it with a piece of hide—there should be a big enough piece left from the aurochs for that. Break up some bones and scatter them over the bottom, then put in the water and the hooves and whatever else you want. You can boil it for as long as we keep heating stones, and the little pieces of bone will keep the hot stones from actually touching the leather, so it won’t burn through.”
“Good, Ayla. That’s what we’ll do,” Jondalar said, still half-asleep. He rolled over and was soon snoring.
But there was still something else on Ayla’s mind that kept her awake. She had planned to leave the aurochs’s stomach for the people of the Camp to use as a waterbag when they left, but it needed to be kept wet. Once it dried out, it got stiff, and would not go back to its original, pliable, nearly waterproof condition. Even if she filled it with water, it would eventually seep out and evaporate away, and she didn’t know when the people would return.
Suddenly it came to her. She almost called out again, but muffled it in time. He was sleeping, and she didn’t want to wake him. She would let the stomach dry out and use it to line her new meat-keeper, shaping it while it was still wet to fit exactly. As she fell asleep in the darkened lodge, Ayla felt pleased that she had thought of a way to replace the very necessary item that had been lost.
During the next few days, while the meat dried, they were both busy. They finished the bowl boat and coated it with the glue Jondalar made by boiling down the hooves, bone, and hide scraps. While it was drying, Ayla made baskets, for the meat they were leaving as a gift for the people of the Camp, for cooking to replace those she had lost, and for gathering, some of which she planned to leave behind. She gathered vegetable produce and medicinal herbs daily, drying some to take with them.
Jondalar accompanied her one day to look for something to make into paddles for the boat. Shortly after they started out, he was pleased to find the skull of a giant deer that had died before the large palmate antlers were shed, giving him two of equal size. Though it was early, he stayed out with Ayla for the rest of the morning. He was learning to identify certain foods himself, and in the process he was beginning to understand how much Ayla really knew. Her knowledge of plants and her memory for their uses were incredible. When they returned to the Camp, Jondalar trimmed the tines off the broad antlers and attached them to sturdy, rather short poles, making entirely serviceable paddles.
The next day he decided to use the wood-shaping apparatus he had set up to bend the wood for the boat frame, to straighten shafts for new spears. Shaping and smoothing them took most of the next couple of days, even with the special tools he had with him, carried in a roll of leather tied with thongs. But while he was working, every time he passed by the side of the earthlodge where he had thrown it, Jondalar noticed the truncated spear shaft he had brought up from the valley and felt a flush of annoyance. It was a shame that there wasn’t a way to salvage that straight shaft, short of making a cropped and unbalanced spear out of it. Any of the spears he was working so hard to make could break just as easily.
When he was satisfied that the spears would fly true, he used yet another tool, a narrow flint blade with a chisellike tip hafted to an antler-tine handle, to hollow out a deep notch in the thicker butt ends of the shafts. Then, from the prepared flint nodules he had with him, Jondalar knapped new blades and attached them to the spear shafts with the thick glue he had made as a coating for the boat, and fresh sinew. The tough tendon shrank as it dried, making a strong, solid bond. He finished by affixing pairs of long feathers, found near the river, from the numerous white-tailed eagles, falcons, and black kites that lived in the region feeding on the abundance of susliks and other small rodents.
They had set up a target, using a thick, grass-stuffed bed pad that the badger had torn up and made worthless. Patched with scraps from the aurochs, it absorbed the force of a throw without damage to the spears. Both Jondalar and Ayla practiced a little every day. Ayla did it to maintain her accuracy, but Jondalar was experimenting with different lengths of shaft and sizes of point to see which would work best with the spear-thrower.
When his new spears were finished and dried, he and Ayla took them to the target area to try them out with the spear-thrower and choose which ones each wanted. Though they were both very adept with the hunting weapon, some of their practice casts inevitably went wide of the mark and missed the cushioned target, usually landing harmlessly on the ground. But when Jondalar cast a newly completed spear with a powerful throw, and not only missed the target, but hit a large mammoth bone that was used as an outdoor seat, he flinched. He heard a crack as it bent and bounced back. The wooden shaft had splintered at a weak spot about a foot back from the point.
When he walked over to examine it, he noticed that the brittle flint tip had also shattered along one edge and spalled off a large chip, leaving a lopsided point that was not worth salvaging. He was furious with himself for wasting a spear that had taken so much time and effort to make, before it could be used for anything worthwhile. In a sudden surge of anger, he cracked the bent spear across his knee and broke it in two, then threw it down.
When he looked up, he noticed Ayla watching him, and he turned away, flushed with embarrassment over his outburst, then stooped down and picked up the broken pieces, wishing he could dispose of them unobtrusively. When he looked up again, Ayla was getting ready to cast another spear as though she hadn’t seen anything. He walked over to the earthlodge and dropped the broken spear near the shaft that had broken during the hunt, then stared down at the pieces, feeling foolish. It was ridiculous to get so angry over breaking a spear.
But it is a lot of work to make one, he thought, looking at the long shaft with the end broken off, and the section of the other spear with the broken flint point still attached that happened to be lying just in front. It’s too bad those pieces can’t be put together to make a whole spear.
As he stared at them, he began to wonder if maybe he could, and he picked up both pieces again, examining the broken ends carefully. He fitted them together and, for a while, the splintered ends stayed attached, then fell apart again. Looking over the entire long shaft, he noted the hollowed-out indentation he had carved at the butt end for the pointed hook of the spear-thrower, then turned it around to look again at the broken end.
If I carved a deeper hold at this end, he thought, and shaved the end of this piece with the broken flint to a tapered point, and put them together, would they stay? Full of excitement, Jondalar went into the lodge and got out his roll of leather and took it outside. He sat down on the ground and unrolled it, displaying the variety of carefully made flint tools, and picked out the chisel tool. Setting it down nearby, he examined the broken shaft and reached for his flint knife from the sheath on his belt and began to cut away the splinters and make a smooth end.
Ayla had stopped practicing with her spear-thrower and put it and her spears in the holder that she had adapted to wear across her back over one shoulder, the way Jondalar did. She was walking back toward the lodge carrying some plants she had dug up when he came striding toward her with a big smile on his face.
“Look, Ayla!” he said, holding up the spear. The piece with the broken point still attached was fitted into the top end of the long spear shaft. “I fixed it. Now I’m going to see if it works!”
She followed him back to the practice target and watched him set the spear on the thrower, pull back and take aim, then hurl the spear with great force. The long missile hit the target, then bounced back. But when Jondalar went to check, he found that the broken point attached to the small tapered shaft was embedded firmly in the target. With the impact, the long shaft had come loose and bounced back, but when he went to inspect it, he found it was undamaged. The two-part spear had worked.
“Ayla! Do you realize what this means?” Jondalar was nearly shouting with excitement.
“I’m not sure,” she said.
“See, the point found its mark, then separated from the shaft without breaking. That means, all I have to make next time is a new point and attach it to a short piece like this. I don’t have to make a whole new long shaft. I can make two points like this, several, in fact, and will only need a few long shafts. We can carry a lot more short shafts with points than long fall spears, and if we lose one, it won’t be so hard to replace. Here, you try it,” he said, working loose the broken point from the target.
Ayla looked over. “I’m not very good at making a long spear shaft straight, and my points are not as beautiful as yours,” she said. “But even I could make one of these, I think.” She was as excited as Jondalar.
On the day before they planned to leave, they checked over their repairs of the damage caused by the badger, placed the skin of the animal in a way that they hoped would make it obvious that it was the cause of the mess, and put out their gifts. The basket of dried meat was hung from a mammoth bone rafter to make it difficult for any other prowling animal to find. Ayla displayed other baskets, and hung several bunches of dried medicinal herbs and food plants as well, particularly those that were commonly used by the Mamutoi. Jondalar left the owner of the lodge an especially well-made spear.
They also mounted the partly dried skull of the aurochs cow, with its huge horns, on a pole outside the lodge, so that scavengers could not get to it, either. The horns and other bony parts of the skull were useful, and it was a way of explaining what kind of meat was in the basket.
The young wolf and the horses seemed to sense an impending change. Wolf bounded around them full of excitement and energy, and the horses were restless, with Racer living up to his name, breaking into short, fast-breaking dashes, and Whinney staying closer to the Camp, watching for Ayla and nickering when she saw her.
Before they went to bed, they packed everything except their sleeping rolls and breakfast essentials, including the dry tent, though it was harder to fold and fit into the pack basket. The hides had been smoked before the skins were made into a tent, so that even after a thorough soaking, they would remain reasonably pliable, but the portable shelter was still somewhat stiff. It would become more flexible again with use.
On their last night in the comfort of the lodge, Ayla watched the flickering light of the dying fire playing across the walls of the substantial shelter, feeling her emotions flicker across her mind with a similar play of brightness and shadow. She was eager to be on their way again, but sorry to be leaving a place that, in the short time they had been there, had come to feel like home—except there were no people. In the past few days, she had caught herself looking up at the crest of the slope hoping to see the people who lived at the Camp returning before they had to leave.
Though she still wished they would arrive unexpectedly, she had given up hoping, and she was looking forward to reaching the Great Mother River and perhaps meeting someone along its route. She loved Jondalar, but she was lonely for people, for women and children, and elders, for laughing and talking, and sharing with others of her kind. But she didn’t want to think much beyond the next day, or the next Camp of people. She didn’t want to think about Jondalar’s people, or how long they still had to travel before they reached his home, and she didn’t want to think about how they were going to cross that large, fast river with only a small round boat.
Jondalar lay awake as well, worried about their Journey and eager to be moving again, though he did think their stay had been very worthwhile. Their tent was dry, they had replenished their meat and replaced necessary equipment that had been lost or damaged, and he was excited about the development of the two-part spear. He was glad he had the bowl boat, but even with it, he was worried about crossing the river. It was a large waterway, wide and swift. They were probably not very far from the sea, and it was not likely to get smaller. Anything could happen. He would be glad when they reached the other side.