The Mammoth Hunters by Jean M. Auel
“Latie would enjoy watching those two horses play like that, I think,” Jondalar said.
“Yes. She does like the horses, doesn’t she?”
“She likes you, too, Ayla. She’s become quite an admirer.” Jondalar hesitated, then continued, “Many people like you and admire you here. You don’t really want to go back to the valley and live alone, do you?”
Avla looked down at the cup in her hands, swirled the last of the tea around with the dregs of the leaves, and took a shallow sip. “It is a relief to be alone, by ourselves, again. I didn’t realize how good it could feel to get away from all the people, and there are some of my things in the cave at the valley that I wish I had. But, you are right. Now that I’ve met the Others, I don’t want to live alone all the time. I like Latie, and Deegie, and Talut and Nezzie, everyone … except Frebec.”
Jondalar sighed with relief. The first and biggest hurdle had been easy. “Frebec is only one. You can’t let one person spoil everything. Talut … and Tulie … would not have invited us to stay with them if they didn’t like you, and didn’t feel that you had something valuable to offer.”
“You have something valuable to offer, Jondalar. Do you want to stay and become a Mamutoi?”
“They have been kind to us, much kinder than simple hospitality requires. I could stay, certainly through the winter, and even longer, and I’d be happy to give them anything I could. But they don’t need my flint knapping. Wymez is far better than I am, and Danug will soon be as good. And I’ve already shown them the spear-thrower. They have seen how it’s made. With practice, they could use it. They just have to want it. And I am Jondalar of the Zelandonii …”
He stopped and his eyes took on an unfocused look as though he were seeing across a great distance. Then he looked back the way they had come and his forehead knotted in a frown as he tried to think of some explanation. “I must return … someday … if only to tell my mother of my brother’s death … and to give Zelandoni a chance to find his spirit and guide it to the next world. I could not become Jondalar of the Mamutoi knowing that, I cannot forget my obligation.”
Ayla looked at him closely. She knew he didn’t want to stay. It wasn’t because of obligations, though he might feel them. He wanted to go home.
“What about you?” Jondalar said, trying to keep his tone and expression neutral. “Do you want to stay and become Ayla of the Mamutoi?”
She closed her eyes, searching for a way to express herself, feeling that she didn’t know enough words, or the right words, or that words were just not enough. “Since Broud cursed me, I have had no people, Jondalar. It has made me feel empty. I like the Mamutoi and respect them. I feel at home with them. The Lion Camp is … like Brun’s clan … most are good people. I don’t know who my people were before the Clan, I don’t think I will ever know, but sometimes at night I think … I wish they were Mamutoi.”
She looked hard at the man, at his straight yellow hair against the dark fur of his hood, at his handsome face that she thought of as beautiful though he’d told her that wasn’t the right word for a man, at his strong, sensitive body and large expressive hands, at his blue eyes that seemed so earnest, and so troubled. “But, before the Mamutoi, you came. You took the emptiness away and filled me with love. I want to be with you, Jondalar.”
The anxiety left his eyes, replaced now by the relaxed and easy warmth she had grown used to in the valley, and then by the magnetic, compelling desire that made her body respond with a will of its own. Without any conscious volition, she was drawn to him, felt his mouth find hers and his arms surround her.
“Ayla, my Ayla, I love you so,” he cried in a harsh strangulated sob that was filled with anguish and relief. He held her tight against his chest, and yet gently, as they sat on the ground, as though he never wanted to let go, but was afraid she would break. He released his hold just enough to tilt her face up to his, and kissed her forehead, and her eyes, and the tip of her nose, then her mouth, and felt his desire mount. It was cold, they had no place of shelter or warmth, but he wanted her.
He untied the drawstring of her hood, and found her throat and her neck, while his hands reached beneath her parka and her tunic, and found her warm skin and full breasts, with their hard, erect nipples. A low moan escaped her lips as he fondled them, squeezing and pulling firmly. He untied the drawstring of her trousers and reached in to find her furry mound. She pressed up to him when he found her warm moist slit, and felt a tightening, a tingling.
Then she felt under his parka and tunic for his drawstring, untied it, then reached for his hard, throbbing member and rubbed her hands along its shaft. He breathed a loud sigh of pleasure when she bent down and took him into her mouth. She felt the smoothness of his skin with her tongue, and drew him in as far as she could, then pushed him out and drew him in again, still rubbing his warm, curved shaft with her hands.
She heard him moan, start to cry out, and then take a deep breath and gently push her away. “Wait, Ayla, I want you,” he said.
“I’d have to take off my leggings and my foot-coverings for that,” she said.
“No, you don’t, it’s too cold out. Turn around, remember?”
“Like Whinney and her stallion,” Ayla whispered.
She turned around, went down on her knees. For an instant, the position reminded her not of Whinney and her eager stallion, but of Broud, of being thrown down and forced. But Jondalar’s loving touch was not the same. She lowered her waistband, baring her warm, firm backside, and an opening that beckoned to him like a flower to bees with its soft petals and deep pink throat. The invitation was almost too much. He felt a surge of pressure that ached to break loose. After a moment to hold back, he crouched up close to keep her warm while he caressed her smooth fullness, and explored her inviting pocket and ridges and folds of warm wetness and Pleasure with his gentle, knowing touch, until her cries and a new font of warmth told him to hold back no more.
Then he spread her twin mounds apart and guided his full and ready manhood into the deep and willing entrance of her womanhood with an agonizing pleasure that tore a cry from both of them. He withdrew, almost fully, and entered again, pulling her to him, and reveled in her deep embrace. Again he withdrew and entered, and again, and again, until finally in a great burst, the glorious release came.
After a few final strokes that drew out the final measure, and still deep within her warmth, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled them both over on their sides. He held her close, covering her with his body and his parka for a moment while they rested.
Finally they pulled apart and Jondalar sat up. The wind was picking up, and Jondalar glanced at massing clouds with apprehension.
“I should clean myself a little,” Ayla said, getting up. “These are new leggings from Deegie.”
“When we get back, you can leave them outside to freeze, and then brush it off.”
“The stream still has water …”
“It’s icy, Ayla!”
“I know. I’ll be quick.”
Testing her way on the ice, she squatted near the water, and rinsed herself with her hand. As she stepped back on the bank, Jondalar came up behind her, and dried her with the fur of his parka.
“I don’t want that to freeze,” he said, with a big grin as he patted her with the fur, and then caressed her.
“I think you’ll keep it warm enough,” she said with a smile, tying her drawstring and straightening her parka.
This was the Jondalar she loved. The man who could make her feel warm and qui very inside with a look of his eyes, or a touch of his hands; the man who knew her body better than she did, and could draw out feelings she didn’t know were there; the man who had made her forget the pain of Broud’s first forcible entry, and taught her what Pleasures were and should be. The Jondalar she loved was playful, and caring, and loving. That was how he had been in the valley, and now when they were alone. Why was he so different around the Lion Camp?
“You are getting very quick with
“I have to. This is my world now. I have no people. I am dead to the Clan, I can’t go back.”
“You could have people. You could be Ayla of the Mamutoi. If you want to be. Do you?”
“I want to be with you.”
“You can still be with me. Just because someone adopts you doesn’t mean you can’t leave … someday. We could stay here … for a while. And if something happened to me—it could, you know—it might not be so bad to have people. People who want you.”
“You mean you wouldn’t mind?”
“Mind? No, I wouldn’t mind, if that’s what you want.”
Ayla thought she detected a little hesitation, but he did seem sincere. “Jondalar, I am only Ayla. I have no people. If I am adopted, I would have someone. I would be Ayla of the Mamutoi.” She stepped back, away from him. I need to think about it.”
She turned around and walked toward the pack she had been carrying. If I’m going to leave with Jondalar soon, I shouldn’t agree, she thought. It wouldn’t be fair. But he said he’d be willing to stay. For a while. Maybe, after he lives with the Mamutoi, he’ll change his mind and want to make this his home. She wondered if she was trying to find an excuse.
She reached inside her parka for her amulet, and sent out a thought to her totem. “Cave Lion, I wish there was some way I could know what is right. I love Jondalar, but I want to belong to people of my own, too. Talut and Nezzie want to adopt me, they want to make me a daughter of the Lion … the Lion Hearth. And the Lion Camp! Oh, Great Cave Lion, have you been guiding me all along, and I just wasn’t paying attention?”
She spun around. Jondalar was still standing where she left him, silently watching her.
“I’ve decided. I will do it! I will be Ayla of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi!”
She noticed a fleeting frown cross his face before he smiled. “Good, Ayla. I’m glad for you.”
“Oh, Jondalar. Will it be right? Will everything turn out all right?”
“No one can answer that. Who could know?” he said, coming toward her, one eye on the darkening sky. “I hope it will … for both of us.” They clung to each other for a moment. “I think we should be getting back.”
Ayla reached for the parfleche to pack it, but something caught her eye. She went down on one knee, and picked up a deep golden stone. Brushing it off, she looked at it closer. Completely encapsulated within the smooth stone, which had begun to feel warm to the touch, was a complete winged insect.
“Jondalar! Look at this. Have you ever seen anything like it?”
He took it from her, looked it over closely, then looked at her with a bit of awe. “This is amber. My mother has one like it. She places great value on it. This one may be even better.” He noticed Ayla staring at him. She looked stunned. He didn’t think he’d said anything all that startling. “What is it, Ayla?”
“A sign. It’s a sign from my totem, Jondalar. The Spirit of the Great Cave Lion is telling me I made the right decision. He wants me to become Ayla of the Mamutoi!”
The force of the wind intensified as Ayla and Jondalar rode back, and though it was just past noon, the light of the sun was dimmed by clouds of dry loess soil billowing up from the frozen ground. Soon they could hardly see their way through the windblown dust. Flashes of lightning crackled around them in the dry, freezing air, and thunder growled and boomed. Racer reared up in fright as a bolt flashed and a clap of thunder cracked nearby. Whinney nickered anxiously. They dismounted to calm the nervous young horse, and continued on foot leading them both.
By the time they reached the Camp, winds of gale force were driving a dust storm that blackened the sky and blasted their skin. As they came close to the earthlodge, a figure emerged out of the wind-driven gloom holding onto something which flapped and strained as though it were alive.
“There you are. I was getting worried,” Talut shouted above the howling and thunder.
“What are you doing? Can we help?” Jondalar asked.
“We made a lean-to for Ayla’s horses when it looked like a storm was brewing. I didn’t know it would be a dry storm. The wind blew it apart. I think you’d better bring them in. They can stay in the entrance room,” Talut said.
“Is it like this often?” Jondalar said, grabbing an end of the large hide that was supposed to have been a windbreak.
“No. Some years we don’t have dry storms at all. It will settle down once we get a good snow,” Talut said, “then we’ll just have blizzards!” he finished with a laugh. He ducked into the earthlodge, then held back the heavy mammoth hide drape so Ayla and Jondalar could lead the horses inside.
The horses were nervous about entering the strange place full of so many unfamiliar smells, but they liked the noisy windstorm even less, and they trusted Ayla. The relief was immediate once they were out of the wind, and they settled down quickly. Ayla was grateful to Talut for his concern for them, though a little surprised. As she went through the second archway, Ayla noticed how cold she was. The stinging grains of dust had distracted her, but the subfreezing temperature and strong wind had chilled her to the bone.
The wind still raged outside the longhouse, rattling the covers over the smoke holes and bellying out the heavy drapes. Sudden drafts sent dust flying and caused the fire in the cooking hearth to flare up. People were gathered in casual groups around the area of the first hearth, finishing up the evening meal, sipping herb tea, talking, waiting for Talut to begin.
Finally he got up and strode toward the Lion Hearth. When he returned he was carrying an ivory staff, taller than he was, thicker at the bottom, tapering at the top. It was decorated with a small, spoked wheellike object, which had been fastened to the staff about a third of the way down from the top. White crane feathers were attached to the top half, fanning out in a semicircle, while between the spokes of the bottom half enigmatic pouches, carved ivory, and pieces of fur dangled from thongs. On closer look, Ayla saw that the staff was made from a single, long mammoth tusk which, by some unknown method, had been made straight. How, she wondered, did someone take the curve out of a mammoth tusk?
Everyone quieted and turned their attention to the headman. He looked at Tulie; she nodded. Then he banged the butt end of the Staff on the ground four times.
“I have a serious matter to present to the Lion Camp,” Talut began. “Something that is the concern of everyone, therefore I talk with the Speaking Staff so all will listen carefully and no one may interrupt. Anyone who wishes to speak on this matter may request the Speaking Staff.”
There was a rustle of excitement as people sat up and took notice.
“Ayla and Jondalar came to the Lion Camp not long ago. When I numbered the days they have been here, I was surprised that it has been such a short time. They already feel like old friends, like they belong. I think most of you feel the same. Because of such warm feelings of friendship for our relative, Jondalar, and his friend, Ayla, I had hoped they would extend their visit and planned to ask them to stay through the winter. But in the short time they have been here, they have shown more than friendship. Both of them have brought valuable skills and knowledge, and offered them to us without reservation, just as though they were one of us.
“Wymez recommends Jondalar as a skilled worker of flint. He has shared his knowledge freely with both Danug and Wymez. More than that, he has brought with him a new hunting weapon, a spear-thrower that extends both the range and power of a spear.”
There were nods and comments of approval, and Ayla noticed again that the Mamutoi seldom sat quietly, but spoke out with comments in active participation.
“Ayla brings many unusual talents,” Talut continued. “She is skilled and accurate with the spear-thrower, and with her own weapon, the sling. Mamut says she is a Se
The last comment brought a wave of laughter.
“Both of them bring so much, I do not want the Lion Camp or the Mamutoi to lose them. I have asked them to stay with us, not just for the winter, but always. In the name of Mut, Mother of All”—Talut pounded the ground with the Staff once, firmly—“I ask that they join us, and that you accept them as Mamutoi.”
Talut nodded to Ayla and Jondalar. They stood up and approached him with the formality of a prearranged ceremony. Tulie, who had been waiting off to the side, moved up to stand beside her brother.
“I ask for the Speaking Staff,” she said.
Talut passed it to her.
“As headwoman of the Lion Camp, I state my agreement with Talut’s comments. Jondalar and Ayla would be valuable additions to the Lion Camp, and to the Mamutoi.” She faced the tall blond man. “Jondalar,” she said, stamping the Speaking Staff three times, “Tulie and Barzec have asked you to be a son of the Aurochs Hearth. We have spoken for you. How do you speak, Jondalar?”
He approached her, and took the Staff she offered and stamped it three times. “I am Jondalar of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, son of Marthona, former leader of the Ninth Cave, born to the hearth of Dalanar, leader of the Lanzadonii,” he began. Since it was a formal occasion he decided to use his more formal address and name his primary ties, which brought smiles and nods of approval. All the foreign names gave the ceremony an exotic and important flavor. “I am greatly honored by your invitation, but I must be fair and tell you I have strong obligations. Someday I must return to the Zelandonii. I must tell my mother of my brother’s death, and I must tell Zelandoni, our Mamut, so a Search for his spirit can be made to guide him to the world of the spirits. I value our kinship, I am so warmed by your friendship, I do not want to leave. I wish to stay with you, my friends and relatives, for as long as I can.” Jondalar passed the Speaking Staff back to Tulie.