The Shelters of Stone by Jean M. Auel
There was a moment of awkward silence, then Willamar chuckled. “You know, she’s right. I would have never thought of wearing winter underwear as summer hunting clothes, but why not?”
Marthona studied Ayla carefully, then gave her a shrewd smile. “If Ayla wears that outfit,” she said, “people will talk. Older women will disapprove, but under the circumstances, some will feel she’s justified, and by this time next year, half the young women will be wearing the same thing.”
Jondalar visibly relaxed. “Do you really think so, mother?”
He hadn’t known what to say when he saw Ayla putting on the clothes. Marona had given them to her for the sole purpose of causing her embarrassment, but it occurred to him that if his mother was right—and Marthona was seldom wrong about such things—it would be Marona who would be not only embarrassed, but not allowed to forget it. Every time she saw someone wear such an outfit, it would remind her that her spiteful trick had not pleased anyone.
Folara was looking dumbfounded, glancing from her mother to Ayla, then back to Marthona again.
“You’d better hurry if you’re coming, Folara,” the older woman chided. “It will be daylight soon.”
Willamar lit a torch from the banked fire in the cooking room while they waited. It was one of several they had prepared after they had walked into a dark dwelling, the night Ayla taught them how to make fire with flint and iron pyrite. When Folara came out, still trying to tie her hair back with a strip of leather, they moved the leather drape aside and slipped out quietly. Ayla bent down to touch Wolf’s head, a signal in the dark for him to stay close, as they walked toward several bobbing firelights in the direction of the stone front porch.
Quite a number of people were already congregated on the front ledge when the residents of Marthona’s dwelling, including the wolf, appeared. Some were holding stone oil lamps, which shed just enough light in the dark for them to find their way but burned for some time; others held torches, which gave more light but burned out faster.
They waited a while longer until a few more people joined them, then the whole group started toward the south end of the abri. It was difficult to distinguish individuals or even see where they were going when they started out. The torches carried by some lighted the space around them, but made everything beyond the glow of the light seem blacker.
Ayla kept her hand on Jondalar’s arm as they walked along the stone ledge, past the uninhabited section of the Ninth Cave’s cliff overhang to the gully that separated the Ninth Cave from Down River. The small creek that ran through the trench—the runoff of the fresh spring welling up out of the back wall—was a handy source of water for the craftspeople when they were working, and during bad weather an extra source for the Ninth Cave as well.
The torchbearers stood at either end of the bridge that led up to the stone shelters of Down River. In the flickering light, each person walked carefully on the logs that were lashed together and laid across the small gully. Ayla thought the sky was beginning to turn from true black to the deep midnight blue of predawn, the first sign that the sun would soon be breaking. But stars still filled the night sky.
There were no fires burning in the two large shelters of Down River. The last of the crafters had long since retired to the sleeping lodges. The hunting party passed by the lodges, then continued down the steep path to the Gather Field between High Rock and The River. From quite a distance away, they could see the large balefire in the middle of the field and people around it. When they drew near, Ayla noted that, like the torches, the fire lighted the space around it, but made it difficult to see beyond. Fire was wonderful to have at night, but there were limitations.
They were met by several of the zelandonia, including the One Who Was First Among Those Who Served The Mother, the Zelandoni of the Ninth Cave. The large woman greeted them and told them where they would stand for the ceremony. As she walked away, her broad silhouette almost blocked the light from the fire, but only for a moment.
More people were arriving. Ayla recognized Brameval in the firelight and realized it was a group from the Fourteenth Cave. She glanced up and was aware that the sky had definitely become deep blue. Then another group of people carrying torches appeared, Kareja and Manvelar among them. The Eleventh and Third Caves had arrived. Manvelar motioned to Joharran, then approached him.
“I wanted to tell you, I think we should go after the giant deer today rather than the bison,” Manvelar said. “When the watchers came up last evening, after you left, they said the bison have moved away from the surround trap. It won’t be easy to chase them into it now.”
Joharran looked disappointed for a moment, but hunting always did require flexibility. Animals roamed where they chose for their own needs, not for a hunter’s convenience. A successful hunter was adaptable.
“All right, let’s tell Zelandoni,” he said.
At a signal, everyone moved to an area between the fire and the rear of the field, facing the back wall. The closeness of the fire and the crowd of people raised the temperature, and Ayla savored the warmth. The exercise of walking to the Gather Field, at a fairly good pace in spite of the darkness, had served to keep her warm enough, but standing around waiting had caused her to begin to feel the chill: The wolf pressed against her leg; he was not happy having so many strange people so close. Ayla knelt down to reassure him.
The reflection of the large fire behind them danced on the rough vertical surface of the rock. Suddenly a loud wailing sounded and the staccato of drums. Then she heard another sound and felt the hair rising at the nape of her neck and a shiver down her spine. She had heard a sound like that only once before … at the Clan Gathering! She would never forget the sound of a bullroarer. It was the sound that called in the spirits!
She knew how the sound was made. It came from a flat, oval-shaped piece of wood or bone with a hole at one end by which a cord was attached. Spinning the object around by the cord produced the eerie, wailing roar. But knowing how it was made in no way changed the effect it had; a sound like that could come only from the Spirit World. That wasn’t what gave her the chill, however. What was hard to believe was that the Zelandonii would have a ceremony that called in the spirits the same way the Clan did.
Ayla crowded close to Jondalar, wanting the assurance of him near her. Then her attention was caught by a movement in the fire’s reflection on the wall that was more than firelight. A shadow in the shape of a giant deer with large palmate antlers and a hump on his withers had flickered through it. She turned around and looked back but didn’t see anything, and wondered if she had imagined it. She turned back to face the wall, and the antlered deer flickered through again, then a bison.
The bullroarer tapered off, but another sound had begun, at first so low that she was barely conscious of it. Then the low wailing chant increased in pitch and a heavy rhythmical booming began. The wailing interweaved in counterpoint to the swelling sound that reverberated off the back wall as both grew louder. Ayla’s temples throbbed to the steady thrum, thrum, thrum, and her heart pounded in her ears at the same tempo and just as loud. It seemed that her limbs had turned to ice, and her legs refused to move; she was petrified. She broke out in a cold sweat. Then, abruptly, the pounding stopped and the wailing began to form words.
“O Spirit of the Giant Deer. We praise you.”
“We praise you.…” Voices around her repeated the phrase, but they were not quite all together.
The chanting background grew louder.
“Spirit of Bison, we want you near. We praise you.”
“We praise you.” This time the hunters spoke in unison.
“The Mother’s Children want you here. We call you.”
“We call you.”
“Immortal Soul, no death you fear. We praise you.”
“We praise you.” The voices were louder now.
“Your mortal lives are drawing near, we call you.”
The tone was growing high-pitched, expectant.
“We
“Give them to us and shed no tear. We praise you.”
“We praise you.”
“The Mother wills it, do you hear? We call you.”
Now it was demanding.
“We call you. We call you. We call you!”
They were shouting. Ayla’s voice had joined the rest, though she wasn’t even aware of it. Then she noticed a large figure taking form on the rough wall. A barely visible dark figure was moving in front of the wall, somehow causing the shape of a giant deer to take form. A mature male with large antlers that seemed to breathe in the dawning light.
The hunters kept repeating in a low, monotonous drone in rhythm with the deep booming drum, “We call you. We call you. We call you. We call you.”
“Give them to us! Shed no tear!”
“The Mother wills it. Hear! Hear! Hear!” the voices nearly screamed. Suddenly a light seemed to turn on, and a loud wailing cry was heard that ended in a death rattle.
“She hears!” the chanting voice said abruptly. All sound suddenly ceased. Ayla looked up, but the deer was gone. Only the first bright beam of light of the sunrise remained.
There was no sound or movement at first. Then Ayla became conscious of breathing and shuffling movements. The hunters appeared dazed and were looking around as though they had just awakened. Ayla heaved a great sigh, then knelt down again and hugged the wolf. When she looked up, Proleva was there, handing her a cup of hot tea.
Ayla murmured her thanks and sipped the tea gratefully. She was thirsty, and no longer feeling the nausea of morning sickness, she realized, though she wasn’t sure when it had stopped. Perhaps on the hike to the Gather Field. She and Jondalar, with Wolf close by, walked with Joharran and his mate back to the fire, where the hot tea had been made. They were joined by Marthona and Willamar, and Folara.
“Kareja says she has a disguise for you, Ayla,” Joharran said. “We can pick it up when we pass by the Eleventh Cave.”
Ayla nodded, not quite sure how a disguise would be used to hunt giant deer.
Then she looked around to see who else was in the hunting party. She recognized Rushemar and Solaban and was not surprised. She would expect to see the leader’s advisers, the ones Joharran always turned to for assistance. She was startled to see Brukeval, then wondered why. He was, after all, a member of the Ninth Cave. Why shouldn’t he hunt with them? She was even more surprised to see Marona’s friend Portula. But when the woman saw her, she flushed, stared for a moment, then turned away.
“I don’t think Portula expected to see you wearing those clothes,” Marthona said quietly to Ayla.
The sun was climbing the great blue vault, and the hunters set out quickly, leaving behind those who were not joining the hunt. As they headed toward The River, the warm sun dissipated the somber mood wrought by the ceremony, and the conversation, held in quiet whispers earlier in the morning, reached a more normal tone. They spoke seriously but confidently about the hunt. Their mission might not be assured, but the familiar ritual had addressed the spirit of the giant deer—and the bison, just in case—and had focused everyone’s attention on the hunt, and the phantom manifestation on the back wall of the Gather Field had reinforced their spiritual bonds with the world beyond the material one.
Ayla felt a dampness in the air from a morning mist rising near the water. She glanced to the side and caught her breath at the sheer unexpected beauty of a momentary natural phenomenon. Twigs and leaves and blades of grass, highlighted by a beam of light, sparkled with the brilliance of every rainbow color, caused by the refraction of sunlight through the prisms of droplets. Even the symmetrical perfection of a spider’s web, whose sticky strands were designed to capture that predator’s quarry, had snared instead jeweled drops of condensed moisture along its slender threads.
“Jondalar, look,” she said, calling his attention to the display. Folara stopped, too, then Willamar.
“I would take that as a favorable sign,” the Trade Master said, smiling broadly before moving on.
Where The River widened, the water foamed and tumbled over its pebble-strewn bed, but parted around larger rocks, unable to entice them to join in the playful dance of Whitewater and shimmering ripples. The hunters started across The River at the broad shallows, stepping from stone to stone through the deeper middle. Some of the large rocks were brought there by a more turbulent stream of a different season during past years, and some were carried there recently to fill in the gaps left by nature. As Ayla followed the others, her thoughts turned toward the upcoming hunt. Then, just as she was about to start across, she suddenly stopped.
“What’s wrong, Ayla?” Jondalar asked with a concerned frown.
“Nothing’s wrong,” she said. “I’m going back to get the horses. I’ll be able to catch up before the hunters reach Two Rivers Rock. Even if we don’t use the horses for hunting, they can help carry the kill back.”
Jondalar nodded. “That’s a good idea. I’ll come with you,” he said, then turning to Willamar. “Will you tell Joharran we’ve gone back for the horses? It won’t take long.”
“Come on, Wolf,” Ayla said as they headed back toward the Ninth Cave.
But the way Jondalar went was not the way they had come. After reaching the Gather Field, instead of taking the steep path up to Down River and on to the Ninth Cave across the stone ledges, he led them along a lesser-used and somewhat overgrown trail along the right bank of The River in front of the shelters of stone. Depending on the bends and turns the waterway took across its floodplain, the path was sometimes beyond a grassy field that was between the ledge and The River and sometimes close to the stone front porch.
There were several paths leading up to the shelters along the way, and one Ayla recalled using when she’d had to relieve herself after that long meeting about the Clan. The memory prompted her to use the place again; she had to pass water more frequently now that she was pregnant. Wolf sniffed her water; he seemed more interested in it lately, and she wondered if he could tell she was expecting.
A few people noticed them walking back and waved or beckoned. Jondalar was sure they were curious about why they had returned, but he didn’t respond. They’d find out soon enough. When they reached the end of the line of cliffs, they turned into Wood Valley, and Ayla whistled. Wolf raced ahead.
“Do you think he knows we’re going to get Whinney and Racer?” Ayla said.
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Jondalar said. “I’m always amazed at what he seems to know.”
“Here they come!” Ayla said, her voice full of happiness. She realized she hadn’t seen them for more than a day and had missed them. Whinney nickered when she saw Ayla and went straight to her with her head held high, but she lowered it over the woman’s shoulder while Ayla hugged her neck. Racer let out a loud neigh and pranced toward Jondalar with his tail high and his neck arched, then presented his favorite scratching places to the man.
“I’ve missed them, but I think they’ve missed us, too,” Ayla said. After some greeting scratchings and strokings, and nose touchings with Wolf, she suggested they go up and get riding blankets and Whinney’s harness for the pole drag.
“I’ll go,” Jondalar said. “We’d better get going if we’re planning on hunting today, and everybody will be asking questions. I think it will be easier for me to say we have to hurry. If you do it, someone may take it wrong, since they don’t really know you yet.”
“And I don’t really know them,” Ayla said. “That’s a good idea. I’ll check the horses over and make sure they’re all right. Bring the carrying baskets, too, and a water bowl for Wolf. And maybe the sleeping rolls. Who knows where we’ll be staying tonight. You should probably bring Whinney’s halter, too.”
They caught up with the rest of the hunting party just as they were reaching Two Rivers Rock. They had ridden along The River, splashing along the edge of the left bank after crossing.
“I was beginning to wonder if you’d make it back b
At the Two Rivers confluence, the hunting party turned into Grass Valley. Kimeran and some people from the Second and Seventh Caves, who were joining them but had not gone to the ceremony at the Gather Field, had waited upstream. When the rest of the hunters reached them, they stopped for a strategy meeting. Ayla and Jondalar got down from the horses and moved closer to listen.
“ … Thefona said the bison were moving north two days ago,” Manvelar was saying. “It looked as if they would be in a good position by today, but they changed direction and headed east, away from the surround. Thefona’s one of our best. She can see farther than anyone, and she’s been watching that herd for some time. I think they will be in a good position to chase into the trap soon, but probably not today. That’s why we thought the megaceros would be a better choice. They watered upriver from here, and now they’re browsing on leaf greens near the tall grass.”
“How many are there?” Joharran asked.
“Three mature does, a yearling buck, four spotted young, and a stag with a good-sized rack,” Thefona answered. “A typical small herd.”
“I was hoping to get several animals, but I don’t want to take them all. That’s why I wanted the bison. They travel in bigger herds,” Joharran said.
“Except for giant deer and reindeer, most deer don’t travel in herds at all. They like trees and more wooded places, where it’s easier to hide. You seldom see more than a few bucks, or a doe or two and the young, except during the season when the males and females come together,” Thefona said.
Ayla was sure Joharran knew that, but Thefona was young and proud of the knowledge she had gained as watcher. Joharran had allowed her to recount what she had learned.