Ayla got up and went outside the tent. A mist hovered close to the ground and the air felt cold and damp on her bare skin. She could hear the roar of the waterfall in the distance, but the vapor thickened into a dense fog near the back end of the lake, a long narrow body of greenish water, so cloudy it was nearly opaque.
No fish lived in such a place, she was sure, just as no vegetation grew along the edge; it was too new for life, too raw. There was only water and stone, and a quality of time before time, of ancient beginnings before life began. Ayla shivered and felt a stark taste of Her terrible loneliness before the Great Mother Earth gave birth to all living things.
She stopped to pass her water, then hurried across the sharp-edged gravel shore, waded in, then ducked down. It was icy cold and gritty with silt. She wanted to bathe—it hadn’t been possible while they were crossing the ice—but not in this water. She didn’t mind the cold so much, but she wanted clear, fresh water.
She started back to the tent to dress and help Jondalar pack up. On the way, she looked through the mist across the lifeless landscape to a hint of trees below. Suddenly she smiled.
“There you are!” she said, sounding a loud whistle.
Jondalar was out of the tent in an instant. He smiled as broadly as Ayla to see the two horses galloping toward them. Wolf followed along behind, and Ayla thought he looked pleased with himself. He hadn’t been around that morning, and she wondered if he had played any part in the horses’ return. She shook her head, realizing she would probably never know.
They greeted each horse with hugs, caressing strokes, friendly scratches, and words of affection. Ayla checked them over carefully at the same time, wanting to be sure they had not injured themselves. The horse boot on Whinney’s right rear foot was missing and the mare seemed to flinch when Ayla examined her leg. Could she have broken through the ice at the edge of the glacier and, in pulling free, torn off the boot and bruised her leg? It was the only thing she could think of.
Ayla removed the rest of the mare’s boots, lifting each leg to untie them while Jondalar stood close to steady the animal. Racer still had all his horse boots, although Jondalar noticed they were wearing thin over the sharp hooves; even mammoth hide would not last long worn over hooves.
When they had gathered all their things together and gone to drag the bowl boat closer, they discovered the bottom was wet and soggy. It had developed a leak.
“I don’t think I’d want to try getting across a river in this, anymore,” Jondalar said. “Do you think we should leave it?”
“We have to, unless we want to drag it ourselves. We don’t have the poles for the travois. We left them behind when we came flying down that ice, and there are no trees around here for new ones,” Ayla said.
“Well, that settles it!” Jondalar said. “It’s a good thing we don’t need to haul rocks anymore, and we’ve lightened our load so much that I think we could carry everything ourselves, even without the horses.”
“If they hadn’t come back, that’s what we’d be doing while we were looking for them,” Ayla said, “but I am so glad they found us.”
“I was worried about them, too,” Jondalar said.
As they descended the steep southwestern face of the ancient massif that supported the harrowing ice field on its worn summit, a light rain fell, flushing out pockets of dirty snow that filled shaded hollows in the open spruce forest they passed through. But a watercolor wash of green tinged the brown earth of a sloping meadow and brushed the tips of shrubs nearby. Below, through openings in the misty fog, they caught glimpses of a river curling from west to north, forced by the surrounding highlands to follow a deep rift valley. Across the river to the south, the rugged alpine foreland faded into a purple haze, but rising wraithlike out of the haze was the high mountain range with ice halfway down its slopes.
“You’re going to like Dalanar,” Jondalar was saying as they rode comfortably side by side. “You’ll like all the Lanzadonii. Most of them used to be Zelandonii, like me.”
“What made him decide to start a new Cave?”
“I’m not sure. I was so young when he and my mother parted, I didn’t really get to know him until I went to live with him, and he taught Joplaya and me how to work the stone. I don’t think he decided to settle and start a new Cave until he met Jerika, but he chose this place because he found the flint mine. People were already talking about Lanzadonii stone when I was a boy,” Jondalar explained.
“Jerika is his mate, and … Joplaya … is your cousin, right?”
“Yes. Close-cousin. Jerika’s daughter, born to Dalanar’s hearth. She’s a good flint knapper, too, but don’t ever tell her I said so. She’s a great tease, always joking. I wonder if she’s found a mate. Great Mother! It’s been so long. They are going to be so surprised to see us!”
“Jondalar!” Ayla said in a loud, urgent whisper. He pulled up short. “Look over there, near those trees. There’s a deer!”
The man smiled. “Let’s get it!” he said, reaching for a spear as he pulled out his spear-thrower and signaled Racer with his knees. Although his method of guiding his mount was not quite the same as hers, after nearly a year of traveling, he was as good a rider as Ayla.
She turned Whinney almost in tandem—she enjoyed being free and unencumbered by the travois for a change—and set her spear in her spear-thrower. Startled by the quick movement, the deer bounded off with high leaps, but they raced after it, coming up on either side and, with the help of the spear-throwers, dispatched the young, inexperienced buck easily. They butchered out their favorite parts and selected other choice cuts to bring as a gift to Dalanar’s people, then let Wolf have his pick of what was left.
Toward evening, they found a racing, bubbling, healthy-looking stream and followed it until they came to a large open field with a few trees and some brush beside the water. They decided to make camp early and cook some of their deer meat. The rain had let up and there wasn’t any hurry anymore, though they had to keep reminding themselves of that.
The following morning, when Ayla stepped out of the tent, she stopped and gaped in amazement, stunned by the sight. The landscape seemed unreal, with the quality of an especially vivid dream. It seemed impossible that they could have endured the most harshly bitter intensity of extreme winter conditions only days ago and, suddenly, it was spring!
“Jondalar! Oh, Jondalar. Come and see!”
The man put his sleepy head out of the opening, and she watched his smile grow.
They were at a lower elevation, and the rainy drizzle and fog of the day before had given way to a bright new sun. The sky was a rich azure blue decorated with mounds of white. Trees and brush were flocked with the fresh bright green of new leaves and the grass in the field looked good enough to eat. Flowers—jonquils, lilies, columbines, irises, and more—bloomed in profusion. Birds of every color and many varieties darted and wheeled through the air, chirping and singing.
Ayla recognized most of them—thrushes, nightingales, bluethroats, nutcrackers, black-headed woodpeckers, and river warblers—and whistled their song back to them. Jondalar got up and came out of the tent in time to watch with admiration while she patiently coaxed a gray shrike to her hand.
“I don’t know how you do that,” he said, as the bird flew away.
Ayla smiled. “I’m going to look for something fresh and delicious to eat this morning,” she said.
Wolf was gone again, and Ayla was sure he was exploring or hunting; spring brought adventures for him, too. She headed toward the horses, who were in the middle of the spring meadow grazing on the fine short blades of sweet grass. It was the rich season, the time of growth throughout the land.
For most of the year the broad plains surrounding the miles-thick sheets of ice, and the high mountain meadows, were dry and cold. Only scant rain or snow managed to fall on the land; the glaciers usually captured most of the moisture circulating in the air for themselves. Though permafrost was as pervasive on the ancient steppes as in the wetter northern tundras of later times, the glacier-driven winds kept the summers arid, and the land dry and firm, with few bogs. In winter, the winds kept the light snows blown into drifts, leaving large sections of the frozen ground bare of snow, but covered with grass that had dried into hay; feed that maintained the uncountable numbers of huge grazing animals.
But not all grasslands are the same. To create the rich abundance of the Ice Age plains, it wasn’t so much the amount of precipitation—so long as it was sufficient—as when it fell; a combination of moisture and drying winds in the right proportions and at the right times made the difference.
Because of the angle of incoming sunlight, in lower latitudes the sun begins to warm the earth not long after the winter solstice. Where snow or ice have accumulated, most of the early spring sunlight is reflected back into space, and the little that is absorbed and converted to heat must be used to melt the snow cover before plants can grow.
But on the ancient grasslands, where winds had laid the plains bare, the sun poured its energy onto the dark soil, and received a warm welcome. The dry, frozen top layers of permafrost began to warm and thaw, and though it was still cold, the wealth of solar energy impelled seeds and extensive roots to prepare to send up shoots. But water in usable form was necessary if they were to flourish.
The glistening ice resisted the warming rays of spring, reflecting back the sunlight. But with so much moisture stored in the mountain-high icy sheets, it could not entirely reject the sun’s advances or its caress of warming winds. The tops of the glaciers began to melt, and some water trickled down through the fissures and slowly began to fill streams, and then rivers, which would bring the precious liquid to the parched land later in summer. But even more important were the fogs and the mists evaporating off the glacial masses of frozen water, because they filled the skies with rain clouds.
In spring, the warm sunlight caused the great mass of ice to give off moisture rather than to take it. For almost the only time during the entire year, rain fell, not on the glacier, but on the thirsty and fertile land that bounded it. An Ice Age summer could be hot, but it was brief; the primeval spring was long and wet, and plant growth was explosive and profuse.
Ice Age animals also did their growing in spring when everything was fresh and green, and rich in the nutrients they needed, at just the time they needed them. By nature, whether the season is lush or dry, spring is the time of the year when animals add size to young bones or to old tusks and horns, or grow new and bigger antlers, or shed thick winter coats and begin new ones. Because spring started early and lasted long, the growing season for animals was long as well, which encouraged their lavish size, and the impressive horny adornments.
During the long spring, all the species partook of the herbaceous green bounty indiscriminately, but with the end of the growing season they faced fierce competition from each other for the maturing and less nutritious or less digestible grasses and herbs. The competition did not express itself in squabbling over who would eat first or most, or in guarding boundaries. Herding animals of the plains were not territorial. They migrated over great distances and were highly social, seeking the company of their own kind as they traveled, and sharing their ranges with others that were adapted to open grasslands.
But whenever more than one species of animal had nearly identical eating and living habits, invariably only one would prevail. The others would evolve new ways to exploit another niche, utilize some other element of the available food, migrate to a new area, or die off. None of the many different grazing and browsing animals were in direct competition with each other for exactly the same food.
Fighting was always between males of the same kind, and was saved for rutting season, when often the mere display of a particularly imposing rack of antlers or pair of horns or tusks was enough to establish dominance and the right to breed—genetically compelling reasons for the magnificent embellishments that the rich spring growth encouraged.
But once the surfeit of spring was over, life for the itinerant dwellers of the steppes settled into established patterns, and it was never as easy. In summer they had to maintain the spectacular growth spring had wrought and fill out and put on fat for the harsh season ahead. Autumn brought the demanding rutting season for some; for others the growth of heavy fur and other protective measures. But hardest of all was winter; in winter they had to survive.
Winter determined the carrying capacity of the land; winter decided who would live and who would die. Winter was hard on males, with a larger body size and heavy social adornments to maintain or regrow. Winter was hard on females, who were smaller in size because they had not only to sustain themselves with essentially the same amount of available food, but also the next generation either developing inside them, or nursing, or both. But winter was particularly hard on the young, who lacked the size of adults to store reserves, and spent what they had accumulated on growth. If they could survive their first year, their chances were much better.
On the dry, cold, ancient grasslands near the glaciers, the great diversity of animals shared the complex and productive land and were maintained because eating and living habits of one species fit in between or around those of another. Even the carnivores had preferred prey. But an inventive, creative new species, one that didn’t so much adapt to the environment as alter the environment to suit itself, was beginning to make its presence felt.
Ayla was strangely quiet when they stopped for a rest near another gurgling mountain stream, to finish the venison and fresh greens they had cooked that morning.
“It’s not very far now. Thonolan and I stopped near here when we left,” Jondalar said.
“It’s breathtaking,” she answered, but only part of her mind appreciated the breathtaking view.
“Why so quiet, Ayla?”
“I’ve been thinking about your kin. It makes me realize, I don’t have any kin.”
“You have kin! What about the Mamutoi? Aren’t you Ayla of the Mamutoi?”
“It’s not the same. I miss them, and I’ll always love them, but it wasn’t so hard to leave. It was harder the other time, when I had to leave Durc behind.” A look of pain filled her eyes.
“Ayla, I know it must have been difficult to leave a son.” He took her in his arms. “It wouldn’t bring him back, but the Mother may give you other children … someday … perhaps even children of my spirit.”
She didn’t seem to hear him. “They said Durc was deformed, but he wasn’t. He was Clan, but he was mine, too. He was part of both. They didn’t think I was deformed, just ugly, and I was taller than any man of the Clan … big and ugly …”
“Ayla, you are not big and ugly. You are beautiful, and remember, my kin are your kin.”
She looked up at him. “Until you came, I had no one, Jondalar. Now I have you to love and maybe, someday, a child of yours. That would make me happy,” she said, smiling.
Her smile relieved him, and her mention of a child even more. He looked up at the sun’s position in the sky. “We won’t make it to Dalanar’s cave today if we don’t hurry. Come on, Ayla, the horses need a good run. I’ll race you across the meadow. I don’t think I could stand another night in the tent when we’re so close.”
Wolf bounded out of the woods, full of energy and playfulness. He jumped up, put his paws on her chest, and licked her jaw. This was her family, she thought, as she grabbed his neck fur. This magnificent wolf, the faithful and patient mare, the spirited stallion, and the man, the wonderful, caring man. Soon she would be meeting his family.
She fell silent while she packed the few things; then suddenly she started digging things out of a different pack. “Jondalar, I’m going to take a bath in this stream and put on a clean tunic and leggings,” she said, taking off the leather tunic she had been wearing.
“Why don’t you wait until we get there. You’ll freeze, Ayla. That water is probably straight off the glacier.”
“I don’t care, I don’t want to meet your kin all dirty and travel stained.”
They came to a river, cloudy green with glacial runoff, and running high, though the rushing water would be much higher when it reached its full volume later in the season. They turned east, upstream, until they found a place shallow enough to ford, then climbed in a southeasterly direction. It was late afternoon when they reached a gradual slope that leveled out near a rock wall. The dark hole of a cave was tucked under an overhanging ledge.
A young woman was seated on the ground, her back to them, surrounded by broken chips and nodules of flint. She held a punch, a pointed wooden stick, to a core of the dark gray stone with one hand, concentrating on the exact placement, and preparing to hit the punch with a heavy bone hammer held in the other. She was so absorbed in her task that she didn’t notice Jondalar slipping up silently behind her.
“Keep practicing, Joplaya. Someday you’ll be as good as I am,” he said with a grin.
The bone mallet came down wrong, shattering the blade she was about to flake off as she whirled around, a look of stunned disbelief on her face.
“Jondalar! Oh, Jondalar! Is it really you?” she cried, throwing herself into his arms. With his arms around her waist, he picked her up and spun her around. She clung to him, as though she never wanted to let him go. “Mother! Dalanar! Jondalar’s back! Jondalar came back!” she shouted.
People came running out of the cave, and an older man, as tall as Jondalar, raced toward him. They grabbed each other, stood back and looked, then hugged again.
Ayla signaled Wolf, who crowded close to her as she stood back and watched, holding the lead ropes of both horses.
“So, you came back! You were gone so long, I didn’t think you would,” the man said.
Then, over Jondalar’s shoulder, the older man spied a most astounding sight. Two horses, with baskets and bundles fastened to them, and hides draped across their backs, and a large wolf were hovering close to a tall woman, dressed in a fur parka and leggings cut in an unusual style and decorated with unfamiliar patterns. Her hood was thrown back, and the woman’s deep golden hair cascaded around her face in waves. There was a decidedly foreign cast to her features, rather like the unfamiliar cut of her clothing, but it only added to her outstanding beauty.
“I don’t see your brother, but you did not return alone,” the man said.
“Thonolan is dead,” Jondalar said, closing his eyes involuntarily. “I would be, too, if it wasn’t for Ayla.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I liked the boy. Willomar and your mother will be grief-stricken. But I notice your taste in women has not changed. You always did have a liking for beautiful zelandonia.”
Jondalar wondered why he thought Ayla was One Who Served the Mother. Then he looked at her, surrounded by the animals, and suddenly saw her as the older man would, and he smiled. He strode to the edge of the clearing, took Racer’s lead, and started walking back, followed by Ayla, Whinney, and Wolf.
“Dalanar of the Lanzadonii, please welcome Ayla of the Mamutoi,” he said.
Dalanar held out both hands, palms up, in the greeting of openness and friendship. Ayla grasped them with both of hers.
“In the name of Doni, the Great Earth Mother, I welcome you, Ayla of the Mamutoi,” Dalanar said.
“I greet you, Dalanar of the Lanzadonii,” Ayla replied, with the proper formality.
“You speak our language well for someone from so far away. It is my pleasure to meet you.” His formality was belied by his smile. He had noticed her manner of speaking and thought it most intriguing.
“Jondalar taught me to speak,” she said, hardly able to keep from staring. She glanced at Jondalar, then back at Dalanar, stunned by their resemblance.
Dalanar’s long blond hair was a little thinner on top and his waist a little thicker, but he had the same intensely blue eyes—a few creases at the corners—and the same high forehead, his worry lines etched a little deeper. His voice had the same quality, too, the same pitch, the same tone. He even stressed the word pleasure the same way, giving it the hint of a double meaning. It was uncanny. The warmth of his hands started a tingling response in her. His similarity even confused her body for a moment.
Dalanar felt her response and smiled Jondalar’s smile, understanding the reason and liking her for it. With that strange accent, he thought, she must come from someplace quite far away. When he dropped her hands, the wolf suddenly approached him, quite fearlessly, although he couldn’t say he felt the same way himself. Wolf insinuated his head under Dalanar’s hand, looking for attention, as though he knew the man. To his own surprise, Dalanar found himself stroking the handsome animal, as though it were perfectly natural to pet a large living wolf.
Jondalar was grinning. “Wolf thinks you’re me. Everyone always said we looked alike. Next you’ll be on Racer’s back.” He held the lead rope toward the man.
“Did you say ‘Racer’s back’?” Dalanar said.
“Yes. Most of the way here, we rode on the backs of those horses; Racer is the name I gave the stallion,” Jondalar explained. “Ayla’s horse is Whinney, and this big beast that’s taken such a liking to you is called ‘Wolf.’ That’s the Mamutoi word for a wolf.”
“How did you ever get a wolf, and horses …” Dalanar began.
“Dalanar, where are your manners? Don’t you think other people want to meet her and hear their stories?”
Ayla, still slightly flustered by Dalanar’s amazing resemblance to Jondalar, turned to the one who spoke—and found herself staring again. The woman resembled no one Ayla had ever seen before. Her hair, pulled back from her face into a roll at the back of her head, was glossy black, streaked with gray at the temples. But it was her face that held Ayla’s attention. It was round and flat with high cheekbones, a tiny nose, and dark slanting eyes. The woman’s smile contradicted her stern voice and Dalanar beamed as he looked down at her.
“Jerika!” Jondalar said, smiling with delight.
“Jondalar! It’s so good to have you back!” They hugged with obvious affection. “Since this great bear of a man of mine has no manners, why don’t you introduce me to your companion? And then you can tell me why those animals stand there and don’t run away,” the woman said.
She moved between the two men and was dwarfed by them. They were exactly the same height, and the top of her head barely reached midway up their chests. Her walk was quick and energetic. She reminded Ayla of a bird, an impression reinforced by her diminutive size.
“Jerika of the Lanzadonii, please greet Ayla of the Mamutoi. She is the one responsible for the behavior of the animals,” Jondalar said, beaming at the small woman with Dalanar’s expression. “She can tell you better than I why they don’t run away.”
“You are welcome here, Ayla of the Mamutoi,” Jerika said, with hands outstretched. “And the animals as well, if you can promise they will continue such uncommon ways.” She was eyeing Wolf as she spoke.
“I greet you, Jerika of the Lanzadonii.” Ayla returned her smile. The small woman’s grip had a strength that was surprising and, Ayla sensed, a character to match. “The wolf will not harm anyone, unless someone threatens one of us. He is friendly, but very protective. The horses are nervous around strangers and may rear if they are crowded, which could be dangerous. It would be better if people would stay away from them in the beginning, until they get to know everyone better.”
“That’s sensible, but I am glad you told us,” she replied, then looked at Ayla with disconcerting directness. “You have come a long way. The Mamutoi live beyond the end of Donau.”
“Do you know the land of the Mammoth Hunters?” Ayla asked, surprised.
“Yes, and even farther east, though I don’t remember as much of that. Hochaman will be glad to tell you about it. Nothing would please him more than a new ear to listen to his stories. My mother and he came from a land near the Endless Sea, as far east as the land goes. I was born on the way. We lived with many people, sometimes for several years. I remember the Mamutoi. Good people. Fine hunters. They wanted us to stay with them,” Jerika related.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Hochaman wasn’t ready to settle down. His dream was to travel to the ends of the world, to see how far the land would go. We met Dalanar not long after my mother died and decided to stay and help him get the flint mine started. But Hochaman has lived to see his dream,” Jerika said, glancing at her tall mate. “He has traveled all the way from the Endless Sea of the east to the Great Waters of the west. Dalanar helped him finish his Journey, some years ago, carried him on his back most of the way. Hochaman shed tears when he saw the great western sea, and he washed them away with salt water. He can’t walk much now, but no one has made so long a Journey as Hochaman.”
“Or you, Jerika,” Dalanar added proudly. “You’ve traveled nearly as far.”
“Hmmmf.” She shrugged. “It’s not as though I made the choice. But here I scold Dalanar, and then I talk too much.”
Jondalar had his arm around the waist of the woman he had surprised. “I’d like to meet your traveling companion,” she said.
“I’m sorry, of course,” Jondalar said. “Ayla of the Mamutoi, this is my cousin, Joplaya of the Lanzadonii.”
“I welcome you, Ayla of the Mamutoi,” she said, holding out her hands.
“I greet you, Joplaya of the Lanzadonii,” Ayla said, suddenly conscious of her accent and glad she had a clean tunic under her parka. Joplaya was as tall as she, perhaps a shade taller. She had her mother’s high cheekbones, but her face was not as flat and her nose was like Jondalar’s, only more delicate and finely chisled. Smooth dark eyebrows matched long black hair, and thick black lashes framed eyes with a hint of her mother’s slant, but a dazzling green!
Joplaya was a stunningly beautiful woman.
“I am pleased to greet you,” Ayla said. “Jondalar has spoken of you so often.”
“I’m pleased he didn’t forget me, altogether,” Joplaya replied. She stepped back and Jondalar’s arm found her waist again.
Others had crowded around, and Ayla went through a formal greeting with each member of the Cave. They were all curious about the woman Jondalar had brought back, but their scrutiny and questions made her uncomfortable, and she was glad when Jerika intervened.
“I think we should save some questions for later. I’m sure they both have many stories to tell, but they must be tired. Come, Ayla, I will show you where you can stay. Do the animals require anything special?”
“I just need to remove their loads and find a place for them to graze. Wolf will stay inside with us, if you don’t object,” Ayla said.
She saw that Jondalar was deep in conversation with Joplaya, and she unloaded the packs from both horses herself, but he hurried over to help her take their things into the cave.
“I think I know just the place for the horses,” he said. “I’ll take them there. Do you want to keep the lead on Whinney? I’m going to tie Racer down with a long rope.”
“No, I don’t think so. She’ll stay near Racer.” Ayla noticed that he was feeling so entirely comfortable, he didn’t even have to ask. But why not? These people were his kin. “I’ll go with you, though. To settle her in.”
They walked to a small grassy dell with a creek running through it that was off around the side. Wolf came with them. After he tied Racer’s lead securely, Jondalar started back. “Are you coming?” he asked.
“I’ll stay with Whinney a little longer,” she said.
“Why don’t I go carry our things in, then?”
“Yes, go ahead.” He seemed eager to get back, not that she blamed him. She signaled the wolf to stay with her. Everything was new to him, too. They all needed some time to settle in, except for Jondalar. When she returned she looked for him and found him deep in conversation with Joplaya. She hesitated to interrupt.
“Ayla,” he said, when he noticed her. “I was telling Joplaya about Wymez. Later, will you show her the spear point he gave you?”
She nodded. Jondalar turned back to Joplaya. “Wait until you see it. The Mamutoi are excellent mammoth hunters, they tip their spears with flint instead of bone. It pierces thick hides better, especially if the blades are thin. Wymez developed a new technique. The point is bifacially knapped, but not like a crude axehead. He heats the stone—that makes the difference. Finer, thinner flakes sheer off. He can make a point that is longer than my hand with a cross-section so thin and an edge so sharp, you won’t believe it.”
They were standing so close together their bodies were touching as Jondalar excitedly explained the details of the new technique, and their casual intimacy made Ayla uneasy. They had lived together during their adolescent years. What secrets had he told her? What joys and sorrows had they known together? What frustrations and triumphs had they shared as they both learned the difficult art of knapping flint? How much better did Joplaya know him than she did?
Before, they had both been strangers to the people they met on their Journey. Now, only she was a stranger.
He turned back to Ayla. “Why don’t I go and get that point? What basket was it in?” he asked, already on his way.
She told him and smiled nervously at the dark-haired woman after he left, but neither of them spoke. Jondalar was back almost instantly.
“Joplaya, I told Dalanar to come—I’ve been wanting to show him this point. Wait until you see it.”
He carefully opened the wrapped package and uncovered a beautifully made flint point just as Dalanar came up. At the sight of the fine spear point, Dalanar took it from Jondalar and examined it closely.
“It’s a masterwork! I have never seen such fine craftsmanship,” Dalanar exclaimed. “Look at this, Joplaya. It’s bifacially worked, but very thin, small flakes are removed. Think of the control, the concentration it must have taken. The feel of this flint is different, and the sheen. It seems almost … oily. Where did you get this? Do they have a different kind of flint in the east?”
“No, it’s a new process, developed by a Mamutoi man named Wymez. He’s the only knapper I’ve ever met who compares with you, Dalanar. He heats the stone. That’s what gives it the sheen, and the feel, but even better, after it’s heated, you can remove those fine flakes,” Jondalar was explaining with great animation.
Ayla found herself watching him.
“They almost chip off by themselves—that’s what gives you the control. I’ll show you how he does it. I’m not as good as he is—I need to work on perfecting my technique—but you’ll see what I mean. I want to get some good flint while we’re here. With the horses, we can carry more weight, and I’d like to bring some Lanzadonii stone home with me.”
“This is your home, too, Jondalar,” Dalanar said quietly. “But, yes, we can go to the mine tomorrow and quarry some fresh stone. I’d like to see how this is done, but is this really a spear point? It looks so thin, and graceful, it almost seems too fragile to hunt with.”
“They use these spear points for hunting mammoth. It does break more easily, but the sharp flint pierces the thick hide better than a bone point and will slide in between ribs,” Jondalar said. “I have something else to show you, too. I developed it when I was recovering from the cave lion mauling, in Ayla’s valley. It’s a spear-thrower. With it, a spear will fly twice as far. Wait until you see how it works!”
“I think they want us to come and eat, Jondalar,” Dalanar said, noticing people at the mouth of the cave, beckoning. “Everyone will want to hear your stories. Come inside where you can be comfortable and all can hear. You tease us with these animals that obey your wishes, and comments about cave lion maulings, spear-throwers, new stone-knapping techniques. What other adventures and marvels do you have to share?”
Jondalar laughed. “We haven’t even begun. Would you believe we have seen stones that make fire and stones that burn? Dwellings made out of the bones of mammoths, ivory points that pull thread, and huge rivercraft used to hunt fish so big, it would take five men your size, one on top of the other, to reach tip to tail.”
Ayla had never seen Jondalar so happy and relaxed, so free and unrestrained, and she realized how glad he was to be with his people.
He put an arm around both Ayla and Joplaya as they walked toward the cave. “Have you chosen a mate yet, Joplaya?” Jondalar asked. “I didn’t see anyone who seemed to have a claim on you.”
Joplaya laughed. “No, I’ve been waiting for you, Jondalar.”
“There you go, making a joke again,” Jondalar said, chuckling. He turned to explain to Ayla. “Close-cousins can’t mate, you know.”
“I have it all planned,” Joplaya continued, “I thought we’d run off together and start our own Cave, like Dalanar did. But, of course, we’d only allow flint knappers.” Her laugh seemed forced, and she looked only at Jondalar.
“See what I mean, Ayla?” Jondalar said, turning to her but giving Joplaya a squeeze. “Always joking. Joplaya is the worst tease.” Ayla wasn’t sure she understood the joke.
“Seriously, Joplaya, you must be promised anyway.”
“Echozar has asked, but I haven’t decided yet.”
“Echozar? I don’t think I know him. Is he Zelandonii?”
“He’s Lanzadonii. He joined us a few years ago. Dalanar saved his life, found him almost drowned. I think he’s still in the cave. He’s shy; you’ll understand why when you meet him. He looks … well, different. He doesn’t like meeting strangers, he says he doesn’t want to come with us to the Zelandonii Summer Meeting. But he’s sweet when you get to know him, and he’d do anything for Dalanar.”
“Are you going to the Summer Meeting this year? I hope so, at least for the Matrimonial. Ayla and I are going to be mated.” This time he gave Ayla a squeeze.
“I don’t know,” Joplaya said, looking at the ground. Then she looked at him. “I always knew you would never mate that Marona woman who was waiting for you the year you left, but I didn’t think you’d bring a woman back with you.”
Jondalar flushed at the mention of the woman he had promised to mate and left behind, and he didn’t notice Ayla stiffen as Joplaya hurried toward a man just coming out of the cave.
“Jondalar! That man!” He caught the startled tone in her voice and turned to look at her. She was ashen.
“What’s wrong, Ayla?”
“He looks like Durc! Or maybe the way my son will look when he grows up. Jondalar, that man is part Clan!”
Jondalar looked closer. It was true. The man Joplaya was urging toward them had the look of the Clan. But as they approached, Ayla noticed one striking difference between this man and the men of the Clan she knew. He was almost as tall as she.
When he neared, she made a motion with her hand. It was subtle, hardly noticeable to anyone else, but the man’s large brown eyes opened wide with surprise.
“Where did you learn that?” he asked, making the same gesture. His voice was deep, but clear and distinct. He had no problem speaking; a sure sign he was a mixture.
“I was raised by a clan. They found me when I was a little girl. I don’t remember any family before that.”
“A clan raised you? They cursed my mother because she gave birth to me,” he said bitterly. “What clan would raise you?”
“I didn’t think her accent was Mamutoi,” Jerika interjected. Several people were standing around them.
Jondalar took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He had known from the beginning Ayla’s background would come out sooner or later. “When I met her, she couldn’t even talk, Jerika, at least not with words. But she saved my life after I was attacked by a cave lion. She was adopted by the Mamutoi into the Mammoth Hearth because she is so skilled in healing.”
“She is Mamut? One Who Serves the Mother? Where is her mark? I don’t see any tattoo on her cheek,” Jerika said.
“Ayla learned to heal from the woman who raised her, a medicine woman of the people she calls Clan—flatheads—but she’s as good as any zelandoni. The Mamut was only starting to train her to Serve the Mother before we left; she was never initiated. That’s why she has no mark,” Jondalar explained.
“I knew she was zelandoni. She has to be to control animals like that, but how could she learn healing from a flathead woman?” Dalanar exclaimed. “Before I met Echozar, I thought they were little more than animals. I understand from him that they can talk, in a way, and now you say they have healers. You should have told me, Echozar.”
“How would I know? I’m not a flathead!” Echozar spat the word out. “I only knew my mother, and Andovan.”
Ayla was surprised at the venom in his voice. “You said your mother was cursed? And yet she survived to raise you? She must have been a remarkable woman.”
Echozar looked directly into the gray-blue eyes of the tall blond woman. There was no hesitation, no drawing back to avoid staring at him. He felt strangely drawn to this woman he had never seen before, comfortable with her.
“She didn’t talk about it much,” Echozar said. “She was attacked by some men, who killed her mate when he tried to protect her. He was the brother of the leader of her clan, and she was blamed for his death. The leader said she brought bad luck. But later, when she learned she was expecting a child, he took her as a second woman. When I was born, he said it proved she was a bad-luck woman. She had not only killed her mate, she gave birth to a deformed baby. Then he cursed her, a death curse.” He was talking more openly to this woman than he normally did, and he was surprised at himself.
“I’m not sure what that means—a death curse,” Echozar continued. “She only told me once, and then she couldn’t finish. She said everyone turned away from her, as though they could not see her. They said she was dead, and even though she tried to make them look at her, it was like she wasn’t there, like she was dead. It must have been terrible.”
“It was,” Ayla said softly. “It’s hard to go on living if you don’t exist to the ones you love.” Her eyes misted with memory.
“My mother took me and left them to go and die, like she was supposed to, but Andovan found her. He was old even then, and living alone. He never did tell me why he left his Cave, it was something about a cruel leader …”
“Andovan …” Ayla interrupted. “Was he S’Armunai?”
“Yes, I think so,” Echozar said. “He didn’t talk about his people much.”
“We know about their cruel leader,” Jondalar said, grimly.
“Andovan took care of us,” Echozar continued. “He taught me to hunt. He learned to speak the sign language of the Clan from my mother, but she never could say more than a few words. I learned both, though it surprised her that I could make his word sounds. Andovan died a few years ago, and with him my mother’s will to live. The death curse finally took her.”
“What did you do then?” Jondalar asked.
“I lived alone.”
“That is not easy,” Ayla said.
“No, it’s not easy. I tried to find someone to live with. No clan would let me near them. They threw stones at me and said I was deformed and unlucky. No Cave would have anything to do with me, either. They said I was an abomination of mixed spirits, half-man and half-animal. After a while I got tired of trying. I didn’t want to be alone anymore. One day I jumped off a cliff into the river. The next thing I knew, Dalanar was looking at me. He took me to his Cave. Now I am Echozar of the Lanzadonii,” he finished proudly, glancing at the tall man he idolized.
Ayla thought of her son, grateful he had been accepted as a baby, and grateful there were people who loved him and wanted him when she had to leave him behind.
“Echozar, don’t hate your mother’s people,” she said. “It is not that they are bad, they are just so ancient that it’s hard for them to change. Their traditions go back so far, and they don’t understand new ways.”
“And they are people,” Jondalar said to Dalanar. “That’s one thing I’ve learned on this Journey. We met a couple just before we started over the glacier—that’s another story—but they’re planning meetings about the problems they’ve been having with some of us, especially some young Losadunai men. Someone has even approached them about trading.”
“Flatheads having meetings? Trading? This world is changing faster than I can understand,” Dalanar said. “Until I met Echozar, I wouldn’t have believed it.”
“People may call them flatheads, and animals, but you know your mother was a brave woman, Echozar,” Ayla said, then held out her hands to him. “I know how it feels to have no people. Now I am Ayla of the Mamutoi. Will you welcome me, Echozar of the Lanzadonii?”
He took her hands and she felt them tremble. “You are welcome here, Ayla of the Mamutoi,” he said.
Jondalar stepped forward with his hands outstretched. “I greet you, Echozar of the Lanzadonii,” he said.
“I welcome you, Jondalar of the Zelandonii,” Echozar said, “but you don’t need to be welcomed here. I’ve heard about the son of Dalanar’s hearth. There’s no doubt you were born of his spirit. You are much like him.”
Jondalar grinned. “Everyone says so, but don’t you think his nose is a little bigger than mine?”
“I don’t. I think yours is bigger than mine,” Dalanar laughed, clapping the younger man’s shoulder. “Come inside. The food is getting cold.”
Ayla lingered a moment to talk to Echozar, and when she turned to go in, Joplaya detained her.
“I want to talk to Ayla, Echozar, but don’t go in yet. I want to talk to you, too,” she said. He walked away quickly to leave the two women alone, but not before Ayla saw the adoration in his eyes when he looked at Joplaya.
“Ayla, I …” Joplaya began. “I … think I know why Jondalar loves you. I want to say … I want to wish you both happiness.”
Ayla studied the dark-haired woman. She sensed a change in her, a drawing in, a feeling of grim finality. Suddenly Ayla knew why she had been so uneasy about the woman.
“Thank you, Joplaya. I love him very much; it would be hard to live without him. It would leave me with a great emptiness inside that would be very hard to bear.”
“Yes, very hard to bear,” Joplaya said, closing her eyes for a moment.
“Aren’t you going to come in and eat?” Jondalar said, coming back out of the cave.
“You go ahead, Ayla. There’s something I have to do first.”