The Mammoth Hunters by Jean M. Auel
“See, there, on ground near lodge, dry stalks?”
“You mean this teasel?” Latie asked, picking up a stiff stem with a rounded spiny dried top.
“Yes, I get from riverbank. Top make good brush. Break off, like this. Wrap hand with small piece leather. Make easier to hold,” Ayla explained. Then she led her to Racer and showed the girl how to hold the teasel to curry the shaggy winter coat of the young horse. Jondalar stayed nearby to keep him calm until he became accustomed to the unfamiliar girl when Ayla went back to breaking up and brushing away the ice clinging to Whinney.
Latie’s presence temporarily ended their talk about leaving, and Jondalar was grateful for it. He felt he had said more than he should have, and said it badly, and now was at a loss for words. He didn’t want Ayla to go under these circumstances. She might never want to leave the valley again if she went back now. As much as he loved her, he didn’t know if he could stand to spend the rest of his life with no other people. He didn’t think she should, either. She has been getting along so well, he thought. She wouldn’t have any trouble fitting in anywhere, even with the Zelandonii. If only she wouldn’t talk about … but she’s right. What is she supposed to say when someone asks who her people are? He knew that if he took her home with him, everyone would ask.
“Do you always brush the ice out of their coats, Ayla?” Latie asked.
“No, not always. At valley, horses come in cave when bad weather. Here, no place for horses,” Ayla said. “I leave soon. Go back to valley, when weather clear.”
Inside the lodge, Nezzie had walked through the cooking hearth and the entrance foyer on her way out, but as she approached the outer archway, she heard them talking outside, and stopped to listen. She had been afraid Ayla might want to leave after the trouble the night before, and that would mean no more sign language lessons for Rydag and the Camp. The woman had already noticed the difference in the way people treated him, now that they could talk to him. Except Frebec, of course. I’m sorry I asked Talut to invite them to join us … except where would Fralie be now if I hadn’t? She’s not well; this pregnancy is hard on her.
“Why do you have to leave, Ayla?” Latie asked. “We could make a shelter for them here.”
“She’s right. It wouldn’t be hard to set up a tent, or lean-to, or something near the entrance to protect them from the worst winds and snows,” Jondalar added.
“I think Frebec not like to have animal so close,” Ayla said.
“Frebec is only one person, Ayla,” Jondalar said.
“But Frebec is Mamutoi. I am not.”
No one refuted her statement, but Latie blushed with shame for her Camp.
Inside, Nezzie hurried back to the Lion Hearth. Talut, just waking up, flung back the furs, swung his huge legs over the edge of the bed platform and sat up. He scratched his beard, stretched his arms in a wide reach and opened his mouth in a terrific yawn, and then made a grimace of pain and held his head in his hands for a moment. He looked up and saw Nezzie, and smiled sheepishly.
“I drank too much bouza last night,” he announced. Getting up, he reached for his tunic and pulled it on.
“Talut, Ayla is planning to leave as soon as the weather clears,” Nezzie said.
The big man scowled. “I was afraid she might. It’s too bad. I was hoping they would winter with us.”
“Can’t we do anything? Why should Frebec’s bad temper drive them away when everyone else wants them to stay?”
“I don’t know what we can do. Have you talked to her, Nezzie?”
“No. I heard her talking outside. She told Latie there was no place here to shelter the horses, they were used to coming in her cave when the weather was bad. Latie said we could make a shelter, and Jondalar suggested a tent or something near the entrance. Then Ayla said she didn’t think Frebec would like to have an animal so close, and I know she didn’t mean the horses.”
Talut headed for the entrance and Nezzie walked along. “We probably could make something for the horses,” he said, “but if she wants to go, we can’t force her to stay. She’s not even Mamutoi, and Jondalar is Zel … Zella … whatever it is.”
Nezzie stopped him. “Couldn’t we make her a Mamutoi? She says she has no people. We could adopt her, then you and Tulie could make the ceremony to bring her into the Lion Camp.”
Talut paused, considering. “I’m not sure, Nezzie. You don’t make just anyone Mamutoi. Everyone would have to agree, and we’d need some good reasons to explain it to the Council at the Summer Meeting. Besides, you said she’s leaving,” Talut said, then pushed the drape aside and hurried to the gully.
Nezzie stood just outside the archway watching Talut’s back, then shifted her gaze to the tall blond woman who was combing the thick coat of the hay-colored horse. Pausing to study her carefully, Nezzie wondered who she really was. If Ayla had lost her family on the peninsula to the south, they could have been Mamutoi. Several Camps summered near Beran Sea, and the peninsula wasn’t much farther, but somehow the older woman doubted it. Mamutoi knew that was flathead territory and stayed away as a rule, and there was something about her that didn’t quite look Mamutoi. Perhaps her family had been Sharamudoi, those river people to the west that Jondalar stayed with, or maybe Sungaea, the people who lived northeast, but she didn’t know if they traveled as far south as the sea. Maybe her people had been strangers traveling from some other place. It was hard to say, but one thing was certain. Ayla was not a flathead … and yet they took her in.
Barzec and Tornec came out of the lodge, followed by Danug and Druwez. They motioned morning greetings to Nezzie in the way Ayla had shown them; it was becoming customary with the Lion Camp, and Nezzie encouraged it. Rydag came out next, motioned his greeting and smiled at her. She motioned and smiled back, but when she hugged him, her smile faded. Rydag didn’t look well. He was puffy and pale and seemed more tired than usual. Perhaps he was getting sick.
“Jondalar! There you are,” Barzec said. “I’ve made one of those throwers. We were going to try it out up on the steppes. I told Tornec a little exercise would help him get over his headache from drinking too much last night. Care to come along?”
Jondalar glanced at Ayla. It wasn’t likely they were going to get anything resolved this morning, and Racer seemed to be quite content to have Latie giving him attention.
“All right. I’ll get mine,” Jondalar said.
While they waited, Ayla noticed that both Danug and Druwez seemed to be avoiding Latie’s efforts to get their attention, though the gangly, red-haired young man smiled shyly at her. Latie watched after her brother and her cousin with unhappy eyes when they left with the men.
“They could have asked me to go along,” she mumbled under her breath, then turned determinedly back to brushing Racer.
“You want learn spear-thrower, Latie?” Ayla asked, remembering early days when she watched after departing hunters wishing she could go along.
“They could have asked me. I always beat Druwez at Hoops and Darts, but they wouldn’t even look at me,” Latie said.
“I will show, if you want, Latie. After horses brushed,” Ayla said.
Latie looked up at Ayla. She remembered the woman’s surprising demonstrations with the spear-thrower and sling, and had noticed Danug smiling at her. Then a thought occurred to her. Ayla didn’t try to call attention to herself, she just went ahead and did what she wanted to do, but she was so good at what she did, people had to pay attention to her.
“I would like you to show me, Ayla,” she said. Then, after a pause, she asked, “How did you get so good? I mean with the spear-thrower and the sling?”
Ayla thought, then said, “I want to very much, and I practice … very much.”
Talut came walking up from the direction of the river, his hair and beard wet, his eyes half closed.
“Oooh, my head,” he said with an exaggerated moan.
“Talut, why did you get your head wet? In this weather, you’ll get sick,” Nezzie said.
“No one forced you to drink so much. Go inside and dry off.”
Ayla looked at him with concern, a little surprised that Nezzie seemed to feel so little sympathy for him. She’d had a headache and felt a little ill when she woke up, too. Was it caused by the drink? The bouza that everyone liked so well?
Whinney lifted her head and nickered, then bumped her. The ice on the horses’ coats did not hurt them, though a big build-up could be heavy, but they enjoyed the brushing and the attention, and the mare had noticed that Ayla had paused, lost in thought.
“Whinney, stop that. You just want more attention, don’t you?” she said, using the form of communication she usually did with the horse.
Though she’d heard it before, Latie was still a little startled by the perfect imitation of Whinney’s nicker that Ayla made, and noticed the sign language now that she was more accustomed to it, though she wasn’t sure she understood the gestures.
“You can talk to horses!” the girl said.
“Whinney is friend,” Ayla said, saying the horse’s name the way Jondalar did because the people of the Camp seemed more comfortable hearing a word rather than a whinny. “For long time, only friend.” She patted the mare, then looked over the coat of the young horse and patted him. “I think enough brush. Now we get spear-thrower and go practice.”
They went into the earthlodge, passing by Talut, who was looking miserable, on their way to the fourth hearth. Ayla picked up her spear-thrower and a handful of spears, and on her way out, noticed the leftover yarrow tea she had made for her morning headache. The dried flower umbel and brittle feathery leaves of the plant still clung to a stalk that had been growing near the teasel. Spicy and aromatic when fresh, the yarrow that had grown near the river was sapped of its potency by rain and sun, but it reminded her of some she had prepared and dried earlier. She had an upset stomach along with her headache, so she decided to use it as well as the willow bark.
Perhaps it would help Talut, she thought, though from the sound of his complaints she wondered if the preparation of ergot she made for particularly bad headaches might be better. That was very powerful medicine, though.
“Take this, Talut. For headache,” she said on the way out. He smiled weakly, and took the cup and drank it down, not really expecting much, but glad for the sympathy which no one else seemed disposed to offer.
The blond woman and girl walked up the slope together, heading for the trampled track where the contests had been held. When they reached the level ground of the steppes, they saw that the four men who had gone up earlier were practicing at one end; they headed for the opposite end. Whinney and Racer trailed along behind. Latie smiled at the dark brown horse when he nickered at her and tossed his head. Then he settled down to graze beside his dam, while Ayla showed Latie how to cast a spear.
“Hold like this,” Ayla began, holding the narrow wooden implement that was about two feet long in a horizontal position. She put the first and second fingers of her right hand into the leather loops.
“Then put spear on,” she continued, resting the shaft of a spear, perhaps six feet long, in a groove cut down the length of the implement. She fitted the hook, carved as a backstop, into the butt end of the spear, being careful not to crush the feathers. Then, holding the spear steady, she pulled back and hurled it. The long free end of the spear-thrower rose up, adding length and leverage, and the spear flew with speed and force. She gave the implement to Latie.
“Like this?” the girl said, holding the spear-thrower the way Ayla had explained. “The spear rests in this groove, and I put my fingers through the loops to hold it, and put the end against this back part.”
“Good. Now throw.”
Latie lobbed the spear a good distance. “It’s not so hard,” she said, pleased with herself.
“No. Is not hard to throw spear,” Ayla agreed. “Is hard to make spear go where you want.”
“You mean to be accurate. Like making the dart go in the hoop.”
Ayla smiled. “Yes. Need practice, to make dart go in hoop … go in the hoop.” She had noticed Frebec coming up to see what the men were doing, and it suddenly made her conscious of her speech. She still wasn’t speaking right. She needed to practice, too, she thought. But why should it matter? She wasn’t staying.
Latie practiced while Ayla coached, and they both became so involved they didn’t notice that the men had drifted in their direction and had stopped their practice to watch.
“That’s good, Latie!” Jondalar called out after she had hit her mark. “You may turn out to be better than anyone! I think these boys got tired of practicing and wanted to come and watch you instead.”
Danug and Druwez looked uncomfortable. There was some truth in Jondalar’s teasing, but Latie’s smile was radiant. “I will be better than anyone. I’m going to practice until I am,” she said.
They decided they’d had enough practicing for one day, and tromped back down to the earthlodge. As they approached the tusk archway, Talut came bursting out.
“Ayla! There you are. What was in that drink you gave me?” he asked, advancing on her.
She took a step back. “Yarrow, with some alfalfa, and a little raspberry leaf, and …”
“Nezzie! Do you hear that? Find out how she makes it. It made my headache go away! I feel like a new man!” He looked around. “Nezzie?”
“She went down to the river with Rydag,” Tulie said. “He seemed tired this morning, and Nezzie didn’t think he should go so far. But he said he wanted to go with her … or maybe, he wanted to be with her … I’m not sure of the sign. I said I’d go down and help her carry him, or the water, back. I’m just on my way.”
Tulie’s remarks caught Ayla’s attention for more than one reason. She felt some concern about the child, but more than that, she detected a distinct change in Tulie’s attitude toward him. He was Rydag now, not just “the boy,” and she spoke about what he had said. He had become a person to her.
“Well …” Talut hesitated, surprised for a moment that Nezzie wasn’t in his immediate vicinity, then, reproaching himself for expecting her to be, he chuckled. “Will you tell me how to make it, Ayla?”
“Yes,” she said. “I will.”
He looked delighted. “If I’m going to make the bouza, then I ought to know a remedy for the morning after.
Ayla smiled. For all his size, there was something so endearing about the huge red-haired headman. She had no doubt he could be formidable if brought to anger. He was as agile and quick as he was strong, and he certainly did not lack for intelligence, but there was a gentle quality to him. He resisted anger. Though he was not averse to making a joke at someone else’s expense, he laughed as often at his own foibles. He dealt with the human problems of the people with genuine concern and his compassion extended beyond his own camp.
Suddenly a high-pitched keening pulled everyone’s attention toward the river. Her first glance sent Ayla running down the slope; several people followed behind. Nezzie was kneeling over a small figure, wailing in anguish. Tulie was standing beside her looking distraught and helpless. When Ayla arrived, she saw that Rydag was unconscious.
“Nezzie?” Ayla said, asking with her expression what had happened.
“We were walking up the slope,” Nezzie explained. “He started having trouble breathing. I decided I’d better carry him, but as I was putting down the waterbag, I heard him cry out in pain. When I looked up, he was lying there like that.”
Ayla bent down and examined Rydag carefully, putting her hand, and then her ear, to his chest, feeling his neck near the jaw. She looked at Nezzie with troubled eyes, then turned to the headwoman.
“Tulie, carry Rydag to lodge, to Mammoth Hearth. Hurry!” she commanded.
Ayla ran back up ahead and dashed through the archwavs. She rushed to the platform at the foot of her bed, and pawed through her belongings until she found an unusual pouch
Her mind raced. It’s his heart, I know the trouble is his heart. It didn’t sound right. What should I do? I don’t know as much about the heart. No one in Brun’s clan had heart problems. I must remember what Iza explained to me. And that other medicine woman at the Clan Gathering, she had two people in her clan with heart problems. First think, Iza always said, what exactly is wrong. He’s pale and swollen up. He’s having trouble breathing, and he’s in pain. His pulse is weak. His heart must work harder, make stronger pushes. What is best to use? Datura, maybe? I don’t think so. What about hellebore? Belladonna? Henbane? Foxglove? Foxglove … leaves of foxglove. It’s so strong. It could kill him. But he will die without something strong enough to make his heart work again. Then, how much to use? Should I boil it or steep it? Oh, I wish I could remember the way Iza did. Where is my foxglove? Don’t I have any?
“Ayla, what’s wrong? She looked up to see Mamut beside her.
“It’s Rydag … his heart. They bring him. I look for … plant. Tall stem … flowers hang down … purple, red spots inside. Big leaves, feel like fur, underside. Make heart … push. You know?” Ayla felt stifled by her lack of vocabulary, but she had been more clear than she realized.
“Of course, purpurea, foxglove is another name. That’s very strong …” Mamut watched Ayla close her eyes and take a deep breath.
“Yes, but necessary. Must think, how much … Here is bag! Iza say, always keep with.”
Just then Tulie came in carrying the small boy. Ayla grabbed a fur off her bed, put it on the ground near the fire, and directed the woman to lay him down on it. Nezzie was right behind her, and everyone else crowded around.
“Nezzie, take off the parka. Open clothes. Talut, too much people here. Make room,” Ayla directed, not even realizing she was issuing commands. She opened the small leather pouch she held and sniffed the contents, and looked up at the old shaman, concerned. Then with a glance at the unconscious child, her face hardened with determination. “Mamut, need hot fire. Latie, get cooking stones, bowl of water, cup to drink.”