The Mammoth Hunters by Jean M. Auel
“The people of the Clan are different in a way that most people don’t realize. It’s not that they don’t talk, or that the way they talk is different. It’s that the way they think is a little different. If Uba, the woman who took care of me, was the grandmother of your Iza, and she learned from her mother’s and grandmother’s memories, how did you learn, Ayla? You don’t have Clan memories.” Mamut noticed an embarrassed flush, and a quick little gasp of surprise before Ayla looked down. “Or do you?”
Ayla looked up at him again, then down. “No. I do not have Clan memories,” she said.
“But …?”
Ayla looked back at him. “What do you mean, ‘but’?” she said. Her expression was wary, almost frightened. She looked down again.
“You do not have Clan memories, but … you have something, don’t you? Something of the Clan?”
Ayla kept her head bowed. How could he know? She had never told anyone, not even Jondalar. She hardly even admitted it to herself, but she had never been quite the same afterward. There were those times, that came on her …
“Does it have something to do with your skill as a medicine woman?” Mamut asked.
She looked up and shook her head. “No,” she said, her eyes pleading for him to believe her. “Iza teach me, I was very young, I think I was not yet age of Rugie when she begin. Iza knew I did not have memories, but she make me remember, make me tell her again and again until I do not forget. She is very patient. Some people tell her, is foolish to teach me. I cannot remember … I am too stupid. She tell them no, I am just different. I do not want to be different. I make myself remember. I say to myself, over and over, even when Iza is not teaching me. I learn to remember, my way. Then I make myself learn fast so they won’t think I am so stupid.”
Rydag’s eyes were opened big and round. More than anyone, he understood exactly how she had felt, but he didn’t know anyone had ever felt the same way, especially someone like Ayla.
Mamut looked at her with amazement. “So you memorized Iza’s Clan ‘memories.’ That’s quite an accomplishment. They go back generation after generation, don’t they?”
Rydag was listening closely now, sensing something very important to him.
“Yes,” Ayla said, “but I did not learn all her memories. Iza could not teach me all she knew. She told me she did not even know how much she knew, but she teach me how to learn. How to test, how to try carefully. Then, when I am older, she said I was her daughter, medicine woman of her line. I ask, how can I claim her line? I am not her true daughter. I am not even Clan, I do not have memories. Then she tell me I have something else, as good as memories, maybe better. Iza thought I was born to line of medicine women of the Others, best line, like her line was best. That is why I am medicine woman of her line. She said someday I would be best.”
“Do you know what she meant? Do you know what you have?” Mamut asked.
“Yes, I think so. When someone not well, I see what is wrong. I see look of eyes, color of face, smell of breath. I think about it, sometimes know just looking, other times, know what to ask. Then make medicine to help. Not always same medicine. Sometimes new medicine, like bouza in arthritis wash.”
“Your Iza may have been right. The best Healers have that gift,” the Mamut said, then a thought occurred to him, and he continued, “I have noticed one difference between you and the Healers I know, Ayla. You use plant remedies and other treatments to heal, Mamutoi Healers call upon the assistance of the spirits as well.”
“I do not know world of spirits. In Clan only mog-urs know. When Iza want help of spirits, she ask Creb.”
The Mamut stared hard into the eyes of the young woman. Ayla, would you like to have the help of the spirit world?”
“Yes, but I have no mog-ur to ask.”
“You don’t have to ask anyone. You can be your own mog-ur.”
“Me? A mog-ur? But I am a woman. A woman of the Clan cannot be a mog-ur,” Ayla said, stunned at the suggestion.
“But you are not a woman of the Clan. You are Ayla of the Mamutoi. You are a daughter of the Mammoth Hearth. The best Mamutoi Healers know the ways of the spirits. You are a good Healer, Ayla, but how can you be the best if you cannot ask the help of the spirit world?”
Ayla felt a great knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach. She was a medicine woman, a good medicine woman, and Iza said someday she would be the best. Now Mamut said she could not be the best without the help of the spirits, and he must be right. Iza always asked Creb to help, didn’t she?
“But I do not know world of spirits, Mamut,” Ayla said, feeling desperate, almost panicky.
Mamut leaned close to her, sensing the moment was right, and drawing from some inner source a power to compel. “Yes, you do,” he said, his tone commanding, “don’t you, Ayla?”
Her eyes flew open in fear. “I do not want to know spirit world!” she cried.
“You only fear that world because you don’t understand it. I can help you to understand it. I can help you to use it. You were born to the Hearth of the Mammoth, born to the mysteries of the Mother, no matter where you were born or where you go. You cannot help yourself, you are drawn to it, and it seeks you. You cannot escape it, but with training and understanding, you can control it. You can make the mysteries work for you. Ayla, you cannot fight your destiny, and it is your destiny to Serve the Mother.”
“I am medicine woman! That is my destiny.”
“Yes, that is your destiny, to be a medicine woman, but that is Serving the Mother, and someday, you may be called to serve in another way. You need to be prepared. Ayla, you want to be the best medicine woman, don’t you? Even you know that some sickness cannot be healed by medicines and treatments alone. How do you cure someone who no longer wants to live? What medicine gives someone the will to recover from a serious accident? When someone dies, what treatment do you give the ones left behind?”
Ayla bowed her head. If someone had known what to do for her when Iza died, she might not have lost her milk and had to give her son to the other women with babies to nurse. Would she know what to do if that happened to someone she was taking care of? Would knowledge of the spirit world help her to know what to do?
Rydag was watching the tense scene, knowing he had been forgotten for the moment. He was afraid to move, afraid it would distract them from something very important, though he wasn’t sure what it was.
“Ayla, what is it you fear? What happened to make you turn away? Tell me about it,” Mamut said, his voice persuasively warm.
Ayla got up suddenly. She picked up the warm furs and tucked them around the old shaman. “Must cover, keep warm for poultice to work,” she said, obviously distracted and upset. Mamut lay back, allowed her to complete her treatment of him without objection, realizing she needed time. She began to pace, nervous and agitated, her eyes unfocused, staring into space or at some internal scene. She spun around and faced him.
“I did not mean to!” she said.
“What didn’t you mean to do?” Mamut said.
“Go into cave … see mog-urs.”
“When did you go into the cave, Ayla?” Mamut knew the restrictions against women participating in Clan rituals. She must have done something she wasn’t supposed to, broken some taboo, he thought.
“At Clan Gathering.”
“You went to a Clan Gathering? They hold a Gathering once every seven years, isn’t that right?”
Ayla nodded.
“How long ago was this Gathering?”
She had to stop, think about it, and the concentration cleared her mind a bit. “Durc was just born then, in spring. Next summer, will be seven years! Next summer, is Clan Gathering. Clan will go to Gathering, bring Ura back. Ura and Durc will mate. My son will be man soon!”
“Is that true, Ayla? He will be only seven years when he mates? Your son will be a man so young?” Mamut asked.
“No, not so young. Maybe three, four more years. He is … like Druwez. Not yet man. But mother of Ura ask me fo
Rydag stared at Ayla in disbelief. He didn’t entirely understand all the implications, but one thing seemed certain. She had a son, mixed like him, who lived with the Clan!
“What happened at the Clan Gathering seven years ago, Ayla?” Mamut asked, not wanting to let it drop when he had seemed so close to getting an agreement from Ayla to begin training, although she had brought up some intriguing points he would like to ask her about. He was convinced that it was not only important, it was essential, for her own sake.
Ayla closed her eyes with a pained expression. “Iza is too sick to go. She tell Brun I am medicine woman, Brun make ceremony. She tell me how to chew root to make drink for mog-urs. Tell only, cannot show me. Is too … sacred to make for practice. Mog-urs at Clan Gathering not want me, I am not Clan. But no one else knows, only Iza’s line. Finally say yes. Iza tell me not swallow juice when I chew, spit into bowl, but I cannot. I swallow some. Later, I am confused, go into cave, follow fires, find mog-urs. They not see me, but Creb knows.”
She became agitated again, paced back and forth. “It is dark, like deep hole, and I am falling.” She hunched her shoulders, rubbed her arms, as though she was cold. “Then Creb come, like you, Mamut, but more. He … he … take me with him.”
She was silent then, pacing. Finally she stopped and spoke again. “Later, Creb is very angry and unhappy. And I am … different. I never say, but sometimes I think I go back there, and I am … frightened.”
Mamut waited, to see if she was finished. He had some idea what she had gone through. He had been allowed at a Clan ceremony. They used certain plants in unique ways, and he had experienced something unfathomable. He had tried, but he had never been able to duplicate the experience, even after he became Mamut. He was about to say something when Ayla spoke again.
“Sometimes I want to throw root away, but Iza tell me is sacred.”
It took a moment for the meaning of Ayla’s words to register, but the shock of recognition nearly brought him to his feet.
“Are you saying you have that root with you?” he asked, finding it difficult to control his excitement.
“When I leave, take medicine bag. Root is in medicine bag, in special red pouch.”
“But is it still good? You say it’s been more than three years since you left. Wouldn’t it lose potency in that time?”
“No, is prepared special way. After root is dried, keeps long time. Many years.”
“Ayla,” the Mamut began, trying to phrase his words just right, “it could be very fortunate that you have it still. You know, the best way to overcome a fear is to face it. Would you be willing to prepare that root again? Just for you and me?”
Ayla shivered at the thought. “I do not know, Mamut. I do not want to. I am frightened.”
“I don’t mean right away,” he said. “Not until you have had some training and are prepared for it. And it should be a special ceremony, with deep meaning and significance. Perhaps the Spring Festival, the beginning of new life.” He saw her shake again. “It’s up to you, but you do not have to decide now. All I ask is that you allow me to begin training and preparation. When spring comes, if you don’t feel ready, you can say no.”
“What is training?” Ayla asked.
“First, I would want you to learn certain songs and chants, and how to use the mammoth skull. Then there is the meaning of certain symbols and signs.”
Rydag watched her close her eyes and frown. He hoped she would agree. He had just learned more about his mother’s people than he ever knew, but he wanted to learn more. If Mamut and Ayla planned a ceremony with Clan rituals, he was sure he would.
When Ayla opened them, her eyes looked troubled, but she swallowed hard, and then nodded. “Yes, Mamut. I try to face fear of spirit world, if you will help me.”
As Mamut lay back down, he didn’t notice Ayla clutch the small decorated bag she wore around her neck.
21
“Hu! Hu! Hu! That’s three!” Crozie cried out, chuckling shrewdly as she counted the discs with the marked side up that had been caught in the shallow woven bowl.
“Your turn again,” Nezzie said. They were sitting on the floor beside the circular pit of dry loess soil, which Talut had used to map out a hunting plan. “You still have seven to go, I’ll bet two more.” She made two more lines on the smoothed surface of the drawing pit.
Crozie picked up the wicker bowl and shook the seven small ivory discs together. The discs, which bellied out slightly so that they rocked when they were on a flat surface, were plain on one side; the other side was carved with lines and colored. Keeping the wide, shallow bowl near the floor, Crozie flipped the discs into the air. Then, moving it smartly across the red-bordered mat that outlined the boundaries of the playing area, she caught the discs in the basket. This time four of the discs had their marked side up and only three were plain.
“Look at that! Four! Only three to go. I’ll wager five more.”
Ayla, sitting on a mat nearby, sipped tea from her wooden cup and watched the old woman shake the discs together in the bowl again. Crozie threw them up and caught them once more. This time five discs had the side with marks carved into them showing.
“I win! Do you want to try again, Nezzie?”
“Well, maybe one more game,” Nezzie said, reaching for the wicker bowl and shaking it. She tossed the discs in the air, and caught them in the flat basket.
“There’s the black eye!” Crozie cried, pointing to a disc that had turned up a side which was colored black. “You lose! That makes twelve you owe me. Do you want to play another game?”
“No, you’re too lucky today,” Nezzie said, getting up.
“How about you, Ayla?” Crozie said. “Do you want to play a game?”
“I am not good at that game,” Ayla said. “I do not catch all the pieces sometimes.”
She had watched the gaming many times as the bitter cold of the long season deepened, but had played little, and then only for practice. She knew Crozie was a serious player who did not play for practice, and had little patience with inept or indecisive players.
“Well, how about Knucklebones? You don’t need any skill to play that.”
“I would play, but I do not know what to bet,” Ayla said.
“Nezzie and I play for marks and settle it out later.”
“Now or later, I do not know what to bet.”
“Certainly you have something you can wager,” Crozie said, somewhat impatient to get on with the game. “Something of value.”
“And you wager something of same value?”
The old woman nodded brusquely. “Of course.”
Ayla frowned with concentration. “Maybe … furs, or leather, or something to make. Wait! I think I know something. Jondalar played with Mamut and bet skill. He made special knife when he lost. Is skill good to bet, Crozie?”
“Why not?” she said. “I’ll mark it, here,” Crozie said, smoothing the dirt with the flat side of the drawing knife. The woman picked up two objects from the ground beside her and held them out, one in each hand. “We’ll count three marks to a game. If you guess right, you get a mark. If you guess wrong, I get a mark. The first one to get three, wins the game.”
Ayla looked at the two metacarpal bones of a musk-ox which she held, one painted with red and black lines, the other plain. “I should pick the plain one, that is right?” she asked.
“That is right,” Crozie said, a crafty gleam in her eye. “Are you ready?” She rubbed both palms together with the knucklebones inside, but she looked over at Jondalar sitting with Danug in the flintworking area. “Is he really as good as they say?” she said, cocking her head in his direction.
Ayla glanced toward the man, blond head bent close to the red-naired boy’s. When she looked back around, Crozie had both hands behind her back.
“Yes. Jondalar is good,” she said.
Crozie brought her hands in front of her again and held them out, each closed into a fist around a bone. Ayla studied the wrinkled face, which had become blank and unexpressive, and the white-knuckled arthritic old hands. Was one hand pulled in just a trifle closer to her chest? Ayla picked the other.
“You lose!” Crozie gloated, as she opened the hand to show the bone marked with red and black. She drew a short line in the drawing pit. “Are you ready to try again?”
“Yes,” Ayla said.
This time Crozie began humming to herself as she rubbed the bones together between her palms. She closed her eyes, then looked up at the ceiling and stared, as though she saw something interesting near the smoke hole. Ayla was tempted to look up to see what was so fascinating, and started to follow Crozie’s gaze. Then remembering the cunning trick that had been used to divert her attention before, she quickly looked back, in time to see the crafty old woman glance between her palms as she snatched her hands behind her back. A knowing smile of grudging respect flitted across the old face. The movement of her shoulders and arm muscles gave the impression of movement between the hidden hands. Did Crozie think Ayla had glimpsed one of the bones, and was she exchanging the pieces? Or did Crozie just want her to think so?
There was more to this game than guessing, Ayla thought, and it was more interesting to play than to watch. Crozie showed her bony-knuckled fists again. Ayla looked at her carefully, not making it obvious. It wasn’t polite to stare, for one thing, and on a more subtle level, she didn’t want Crozie to know what she was looking for. It was hard to tell, the woman was an old hand at the game, but it did seem that the other shoulder was a shade higher, and wasn’t the other hand pulled in slightly this time? Ayla chose the hand she thought Crozie wanted her to pick, the wrong one.