Plains of Passage (24 page)

“I think you got him, Ayla!” Jondalar said, but they waited a while to make sure there was no movement before entering the lodge.

When they did, they were aghast. The rather large animal, three feet from tip of nose to end of tail, was sprawled on the ground with a bloody wound on its head, but it had quite obviously spent some time within the dwelling, destructively exploring everything it could find. The place was a shambles! The hard-packed earthen floor was scratched up and pits had been dug in it, some containing the animal’s waste. The woven mats that had covered the floor were torn to shreds, along with various woven containers. Hides and furs on the raised bed-platforms were chewed and ripped apart, and the stuffing of feathers, wools, or grasses of bed padding were strewn over all. Even a portion of the densely compacted wall had been dug out; the badger had made its own entrance.

“Look at this! I would hate to return and find something like this,” Ayla said.

“That’s always a danger when you leave a place empty. The Mother doesn’t protect a lodge from Her other creatures. Her children must appeal to the spirit animal directly and deal with the animals of this world themselves,” Jondalar said. “Maybe we can clean this lodge up a little for them, even if we can’t repair all the damage.”

“I’m going to skin that badger and leave it for them, so they know what caused all this. They should be able to use the hide, anyway,” Ayla said, picking the animal up by the tail to take it outside.

In better light, she noted the gray back with its stiff guard hairs, the darker underparts, and the distinctive black-and-white striped face, verifying that it was, indeed, a badger. She slit its throat with a sharp flint knife and left it to bleed out. Then she went back to the earth-lodge, pausing for a moment before she went in to look around at the rest of the domed dwellings nearby. She tried to visualize what it would be like with people, and she felt a strong pang of regret that they were gone. It could be very lonely without other people. She suddenly felt very grateful for Jondalar, and for a moment she was almost overwhelmed by the love she felt for him.

She reached for the amulet around her neck, felt the comforting objects inside the decorated leather bag, and thought of her totem. She didn’t think of her Cave Lion protecting spirit as much as she once had. It was a Clan spirit, though Mamut had said her totem would always be with her. Jondalar always referred to the Great Earth Mother when he talked about the spirit world, and she thought of the Mother more now, since the training she had been receiving from Mamut, but she always felt it was her Cave Lion who had brought Jondalar to her, and she felt moved to communicate with her totem spirit.

Using the ancient sacred language of silent hand signs that was used to address the spirit world, and to communicate with other clans whose
few spoken everyday words and more common hand signs were different, Ayla closed her eyes and directed her thoughts to her totem.

“Great Spirit of Cave Lion,” she gestured, “this woman is grateful to be found worthy; grateful to be chosen by the powerful Cave Lion. The Mog-ur always told this woman that a powerful spirit was difficult to live with, but it was always worth it. The Mog-ur was right. Though the tests and trials have sometimes been difficult, the gifts have matched the difficulty. This woman is most grateful for the gifts inside, the gifts of learning and understanding. This woman is also grateful for the man her great totem Spirit guided to her, who is taking this woman back with him to his home. The man does not know the Clan Spirits, and does not fully understand that he was also chosen by the Spirit of the Great Cave Lion, but this woman is grateful he was also found worthy.”

She was about to open her eyes, then had another thought. “Great Cave Lion Spirit,” she continued, in her mind and with her silent language, “The Mog-ur told this woman that totem spirits always want a home, a place to return where they are welcome and want to stay. This traveling will end, but the people of the man do not know the spirits of Clan totems. The new home of this woman will not be the same, but the man honors the spirit animal of each, and the people of the man must know and honor the Cave Lion Spirit. This woman would say the Great Spirit of the Cave Lion will always be welcome and will always have a place wherever this woman is welcome.”

When Ayla opened her eyes, she saw Jondalar watching her. “You seemed … occupied,” he said. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“I was … thinking about my totem, my Cave Lion,” she said, “and your home. I hope he will be … comfortable there.”

“The spirit animals are all comfortable near Doni. The Great Earth Mother created and gave birth to all of them. The legends tell about it,” he said.

“Legends? Stories about the times before?”

“I guess you could say they were stories, but they are told in a certain way.”

“There were Clan legends, too. I used to love it when Dorv told them. Mog-ur named my son after one of my favorites, ‘The Legend of Durc,’ ” Ayla said.

Jondalar felt a moment of surprise and a twinge of disbelief at the thought that the people of the Clan, the flatheads, could have legends and stories. It was still difficult for him to overcome certain ingrained ideas he had grown up with, but he had already been made aware that they were much more complex than he would have thought possible; why couldn’t they have had legends and stories, too?

“Do you know any Earth Mother legends?” Ayla asked.

“Well, I think I remember part of one. They are told in a way to make them easier to remember, but only special zelandonia know them all.” He paused to remember, then began in a chanting singsong:

Ayla smiled. “That’s wonderful, Jondalar! It tells the story with a nice feeling, and a nice sound, something like the rhythms of the Mamutoi songs. It would be very easy to remember that.”

“It is often sung. Different people sometimes make different songs for it, but the words mostly stay the same. Some people can sing the whole story, with all the legends.”

“Do you know any more?”

“A little. I’ve heard it all, and generally know the story, but the verses are long, a lot to remember. The first part is about Doni being lonely and giving birth to the sun, Bali, ‘the Mother’s great joy, a bright shining boy,’ then they tell how She loses him and becomes lonely again. The moon is Her lover, Lumi, but She created him, too. That story is more of a woman’s legend; it’s about moon times, and becoming a woman. There are other legends about Her giving birth to all the spirit animals, and to the spirit woman and man, to all of Earth’s Children.”

Wolf barked then, an attention-getting puppy bark that he found did accomplish his aim, encouraging him to keep it beyond the puppy stage. They both looked in his direction and then saw the cause of his excitement. Below, on the sparsely wooded, grassy floodplain of the large river, a small herd of aurochs were straggling by. The wild cattle were huge, with massive horns and shaggy coats, mostly of a solid reddish color so deep it was almost black. But among the herd were a couple of animals that sported large white spots, primarily around the face and forequarters, mild genetic aberrations that showed up occasionally, particularly among aurochs.

At almost the same moment, Ayla and Jondalar looked at each other, gave each other a knowing nod, then called their horses. Quickly removing the pack baskets, which they took inside the dwelling, and taking their spear-throwers and spears, they mounted and headed toward the river. As they neared the grazing herd, Jondalar stopped to study the situation and decide upon the best approach. Ayla halted as well, following his lead. She knew carnivorous animals, particularly the smaller ones, although animals as large as lynx and the massively powerful cave hyena had been among her prey, and a lion had once lived
with her, and now a wolf, but she was not as familiar with the grazers and browsers that were normally hunted for food. Though she had found her own ways to hunt them when she lived alone, Jondalar had grown up hunting them and had much more experience.

Perhaps because she had been in a mood to communicate with her totem, and the world of the spirits, Ayla was in a strange state of mind as she watched the herd. It seemed almost too coincidental that, just when they had decided that the Mother would not object if they stayed a few days to replenish their losses and hunt for an animal with a sturdy hide and plenty of meat, suddenly a herd of aurochs should appear. Ayla wondered if it was a sign, from the Mother or, maybe, from her totem, that they had been guided there.

It was not so unusual, however. All through the year, especially during the warmer seasons, various animals, in herds or singly, migrated through the gallery forests and lush grasslands of large river valleys. At any particular site along a major river, it was usual to see some type of animal wander along at least every few days, and in certain seasons whole processions passed by daily. This time it happened to be a herd of wild cattle, exactly the right kind of animal for their needs, though several other species would also have served.

“Ayla, do you see that big cow over there?” Jondalar asked. “The one with the white on its face and across the left shoulder?”

“Yes,” she said.

“I think we should try for her,” Jondalar said. “She’s full grown, but from the size of her horns, she doesn’t look too old, and she’s off by herself.”

Ayla felt a chill of recognition. Now she was convinced it was a sign. Jondalar had chosen the unusual animal! The one with the white spots. Whenever she had been faced with difficult choices in her life, and after much thought had finally reasoned, or rationalized, her way to a decision, her totem had confirmed that it was the correct one by showing her a sign, an unusual object of some sort. When she was a girl, Creb had explained such signs to her and told her to keep them for good luck. Most of the small objects that she carried in the decorated pouch around her neck were signs from her totem. The sudden appearance of the aurochs herd, after they had made their decision to stay, and Jondalar’s decision to hunt the unusual one, seemed strangely akin to signs from a totem.

Though their decision to stay at this Camp had not been an agonizingly personal one, it was an important one that had required serious thought. This was the permanent winter home of a group of people who had invoked the power of the Mother to guard it in their absence. While the needs of survival did allow a passing stranger to use it in case
of necessity, it had to be with legitimate reason. One did not incur the possible wrath of the Mother lightly.

The earth was richly populated with living creatures. In their travels they had seen uncounted numbers of a great variety of animals, but few people. In a world so empty of human life, there was comfort in the thought that an invisible realm of spirits was aware of their existence, cared about their actions, and perhaps directed their steps. Even a stern or inimical spirit who cared enough to demand certain actions of appeasement was better than the heartless disregard of a harsh and indifferent world, in which their lives were entirely in their own hands, with no one else to turn to in time of need, not even in their thoughts.

Ayla had come to the conclusion that if their hunt was successful, it would mean that it was all right for them to use the Camp, but if they failed, they would have to go. They had been shown the sign, the unusual animal, and to gain good luck they must keep a part of it. If they could not, if their hunt was unsuccessful, it would mean bad luck, a sign that the Mother did not want them to stay, and that they should leave immediately. The young woman wondered what the outcome would be.

J
ondalar studied the disposition of the aurochs herd along the river. The cattle were spread out between the bottom of the slope and the edge of the water among various small pastures of rich green grass, which were interspersed with brush and trees. The spotted cow was alone in a small lea, with a dense stand of birch and alder brush at one end separating her from several other members of the herd. The brush continued along the base of the slope, giving way to clumps of sedge and sharp-leaved reeds on wet low ground at the other end, which led into a marshy inlet choked with tall phragmite reeds and cattails.

He turned to Ayla and pointed toward the marsh. “If you ride along the river past those reeds and cattails, and I come up on her through that opening in the alder brush, we’ll have her between us and can ride her down.”

Ayla looked over the situation and nodded agreement. Then she dismounted. “I want to tie down my spear holder before we start,” she said, fastening the long, tube-shaped rawhide container to the straps that held on the riding blanket of soft deerskin. Inside the stiff leather holder were several well-made, graceful spears with slender round bone points, ground and polished to a fine sharpness and split at the base, where they were attached to the long wooden shafts. Each spear was fletched at the back end with two straight feathers and indented with a notch in the butt.

While Ayla was tying down her holder, Jondalar reached for a spear from the spear holder on his back, attached by a strap that went over one shoulder. He had always worn his spear holder when he’d hunted on foot, and he was used to it, though when he’d traveled by walking on his own two legs, and had worn a backframe, spears were kept in a special holder on the side of it. He placed the spear on his spear-thrower to have it in readiness.

Jondalar had invented the spear-thrower during the summer he lived with Ayla in her valley. It was a unique and startling innovation, an inspired creation of sheer genius that had risen out of his natural technical aptitude and an intuitive sense of physical principles that would not
be defined and codified for hundreds of centuries. Though the idea was ingenious, the spear-thrower itself was deceptively simple.