Mammoth Hunters (15 page)

They climbed out and walked down to the river beside a broad gulch. A rivulet, whose source farther north was already frozen, trickled down the middle. When the season turned again, the trench would carry a raging torrent. The top sections of a few mammoth skulls were inverted and stacked near the bank along with some crude long-handled dippers, roughed out of leg bones.

The two women filled the mammoth skull basins with water dipped from the river, and from a pouch Ayla brought with her, she sprinkled withered petals—once the pale blue sprays of saponin-rich ceanothus flowers—into both their hands. Rubbing with wet hands created a foamy, slightly gritty washing substance which left a gentle perfume on clean hands and faces. Ayla snapped off a twig, chewed the broken end, and used it on her teeth, a habit she had picked up from Jondalar.

“What is bowl boat?” Ayla asked as they walked back
carrying the waterproof stomach of a bison, bulging with fresh water, between them.

“We use them to cross the river, when it’s not too rough. You start with a frame of bone and wood shaped like a bowl that will hold two or maybe three people, and cover it with a hide, usually aurochs, hair side out and well oiled. Megaceros antlers, with some trimming, make good paddles … for pushing it through the water,” Deegie explained.

“Why bowl boats on top of lodge?”

“That’s where we always put them when we aren’t using them, but in winter we cover the smoke holes with them so rain and snow won’t come in. They were tying them down through the holes so they won’t blow away. But you have to leave a space for the smoke to get out, and be able to move it over, and shake it loose from inside if snow piles up.”

As they walked together, Ayla was thinking how happy she was to know Deegie. Uba had been a sister and she loved her, but Uba was younger, and Iza’s true daughter; there had always been the difference. Ayla had never known anyone her own age who seemed to understand everything she said, and with whom she had so much in common. They put the heavy waterskin down and stopped to rest for a while.

“Ayla, show me how to say ‘I love you’ with signs, so I can tell Branag when I see him again,” Deegie asked.

“Clan has no sign like that,” Ayla said.

“Don’t they love each other? You make them sound so human when you talk about them, I thought they would.”

“Yes, they love each other, but they are quiet … no, that is not right word.”

“I think ‘subtle’ is the word you want,” Deegie said.

“Subtle … about showing feelings. A mother might say, ‘You fill me with happiness’ to child,” Ayla replied, showing Deegie the proper sign, “but woman would not be so open … no, obvious?” She questioned her second choice of words and waited for Deegie’s nod before continuing, “Obvious about feelings for man.”

Deegie was intrigued. “What would she do? I had to let Branag know how I felt about him when I found out he’d been watching me at Summer Meetings, just as I’d been looking at him. If I couldn’t have told him, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“A Clan woman does not say, she shows. Woman does things for man she loves, cooks food as he likes, makes
favorite tea ready in morning when he wakes up. Makes clothes in special way—inner skin of fur wrap very soft, or warm foot-coverings with fur inside. Even better if woman can know what he wants before he asks. Shows she pays close attention to learn habits and moods, knows him, cares.”

Deegie nodded. “That’s a good way to tell someone you love him. It is nice to do special things for each other. But how does a woman know he loves her? What does a man do for a woman?”

“One time Goov put himself in danger to kill snow leopard that was frightening to Ovra because was prowling too close to cave. She know he did it for her even though he gave hide to Creb, and Iza made fur wrap for me,” Ayla explained.

“That is subtle! I’m not sure if I would have understood.” Deegie laughed. “How do you know he did it for her?”

“Ovra told me, later. I did not know then. I was young. Still learning. Hand signs not all of Clan language. Much more said in face, and eyes, and body. Way of walking, turning of head, tightening muscles of shoulders, if you know what means, says more than words. Took long time to learn language of Clan.”

“I’m surprised, as fast as you’ve been learning Mamutoi! I can watch you. Every day you’re better. I wish I had your gift for language.”

“I am still not right. Many words I do not know, but I think of speaking words in Clan way of language. I listen to words and watch how face looks, feel how words sound and go together and see how body moves … and try to remember. When I show Rydag, and others, hand signs, I learn, too. I learn your language, more. I must learn, Deegie,” Ayla added with a fervor that bespoke her earnestness.

“It isn’t just a game for you, is it? Like the hand signs are for us. It’s fun to think that we can go to the Summer Meeting and speak to each other without anyone else knowing it.”

“I am happy everyone has fun and wants to know more. For Rydag. He has fun now, but is not a game for him.”

“No, I don’t suppose it is.” They reached for the waterskin again, then Deegie stopped and looked at Ayla. “I couldn’t understand why Nezzie wanted to keep him, at first. But then I got used to him, and grew to like him. Now he’s just one of us, and I’d miss him if he wasn’t here, but it never
occurred to me before that he might want to talk. I didn’t think he ever gave it a thought.”

Jondalar stood at the entrance of the earthlodge watching the two young women deeply involved in conversation as they approached, pleased to see Ayla getting along so well. When he thought about it, it seemed rather amazing that of all the people they might have met up with, the one group they found had a child of mixed spirits in their midst and so was more willing than most would probably have been to accept her. He’d been right about one thing, though. Ayla didn’t hesitate to tell anyone about her background.

Well, at least she hadn’t told them about her son, he thought. It was one thing for a person like Nezzie to open her heart to an orphan, it was quite another to welcome a woman whose spirit had mingled with a flathead’s, and who’d given birth to an abomination. There was always an underlying fear that it might happen again, and if she drew the wrong kind of spirits to her, they might spread to other women nearby.

Suddenly the tall handsome man flushed. Ayla doesn’t think her son is an abomination, he thought, mortified. He had flinched with disgust when she first told him about her son, and she had been furious. He had never seen her so angry, but her son was her son, and she certainly felt no shame over him. She’s right. Doni told me in a dream. Flatheads … the Clan … are children of the Mother, too. Look at Rydag. He’s a lot brighter than I ever imagined one like him would be. He’s a little different, but he’s human, and very likable.

Jondalar had spent some time with the youngster and discovered how intelligent and mature he was, even to a certain wry wit, particularly when his difference or his weakness was mentioned. He had seen the adoration in Rydag’s eyes every time the boy looked at Ayla. She had told him that boys of Rydag’s age were closer to manhood in the Clan, more like Danug, but it was also true that his weakness might have matured him beyond his years.

She’s right. I know she’s right about them. But if she just wouldn’t talk about them. It would be so much easier. No one would even know if she didn’t tell them.…

She thinks of them as her people, Jondalar, he chided himself, feeling his face heat again, angry at his own thoughts. How would you feel if someone told you not to talk about the people who raised and took care of you? If she’s not ashamed
of them, why should you be? It hasn’t been so bad. Frebec’s a troublemaker anyway. But she doesn’t know how people can turn on you, and on anyone who’s with you.

Maybe it’s best that she doesn’t know. Maybe it won’t happen. She’s already got most of this Camp talking like flatheads, including me.

After Jondalar had seen how eagerly nearly everyone wanted to learn the Clan way of communicating, he sat in on the impromptu lessons that seemed to spring up every time someone asked questions about it. He found himself caught up in the fun of the new game, flashing signals across a distance, making silent jokes, such as saying one thing and signing something else behind someone’s back. He was surprised at the depth and the fullness of the silent speech.

“Jondalar, your face is red. What could you be thinking?” Deegie asked in a teasing tone when they reached the archway.

The question caught him off guard, reminded him of his shame, and he blushed deeper in his embarrassment. “I must have been too close to the fire,” he mumbled, turning away.

Why does Jondalar say words that are not true? Ayla wondered, noticing that his forehead was furrowed in a frown and his rich blue eyes were deeply troubled before he averted them. He is not red from fire. He is red from feeling. Just when I think I am beginning to learn, he does something I don’t understand. I watch him, I try to pay attention. Everything seems wonderful, then for no reason, suddenly he’s angry. I can see that he’s angry, but I can’t see what makes him angry. It’s like the games, saying one thing with words and another with signs. Like when he says nice words to Ranec, but his body says he’s angry. Why does Ranec make him angry? And now, something bothers him, but he says fire makes him hot. What am I doing wrong? Why don’t I understand him? Will I ever learn?

The three of them turned to go in and almost bumped into Talut coming out of the earthlodge.

“I was coming to look for you, Jondalar,” the headman said. “I don’t want to waste such a good day, and Wymez did some unplanned scouting on the way back. He says they passed a winter herd of bison. After we eat, we’re going to hunt them. Would you like to join us?”

“Yes. I would!” Jondalar said with a big smile.

“I asked Mamut to feel the weather and Search for the herd. He says the signs are good, and the herd hasn’t wandered
far. He said something else, too, which I don’t understand. He said, ‘The way out is also the way in.’ Can you make anything of that?”

“No, but that’s not unusual. Those Who Serve the Mother often say things I don’t understand.” Jondalar smiled. “They speak with shadows on their tongues.”

“Sometimes I wonder if they know what they mean,” Talut said.

“If we are going to hunt, I’d like to show you something that could be helpful.” Jondalar led them to their sleeping platform in the Mammoth Hearth. He picked up a handful of lightweight spears and an implement that was unfamiliar to Talut. “I worked this out in Ayla’s valley, and we’ve been hunting with it ever since.”

Ayla stood back, watching, feeling an awful tension building up inside. She wanted desperately to be included, but she was not sure how these people felt about women hunting. Hunting had been the cause of great anguish for her in the past. Women of the Clan were forbidden to hunt or even to touch hunting weapons, but she had taught herself to use a sling in spite of the taboo and the punishment had been severe when she was found out. After she had lived through it, she had even been allowed to hunt on a limited basis to appease her powerful totem who had protected her. But her hunting had been just one more reason for Broud to hate her and, ultimately, it contributed to her banishment.

Yet, hunting with her sling had increased her chances when she lived alone in the valley, and gave her the incentive and encouragement to expand on her ability. Ayla had survived because the skills she had learned as a woman of the Clan, and her own intelligence and courage, gave her the ability to take care of herself. But hunting had come to symbolize for her more than the security of depending on and being responsible for herself; it stood for the independence and freedom that were the natural result. She would not easily give it up.

“Ayla, why don’t you get your spear-thrower, too,” Jondalar said, then turned back to Talut. “I’ve got more power, but Ayla is more accurate than I am, she can show you what this can do better than I can. In fact, if you want to see a demonstration of accuracy, you ought to see her with a sling. I think her skill with it gives her an advantage with these.”

Ayla let out her breath—she didn’t know she had been
holding it—and went to get her spear-thrower and spears while Jondalar was talking to Talut. It was still hard to believe how easily this man of the Others had accepted her desire and ability to hunt, and how naturally he spoke in praise of her skill. He seemed to assume that Talut and the Lion Camp would accept her hunting, too. She glanced at Deegie, wondering how a woman would feel.

“You ought to let Mother know if you are going to try a new weapon on the hunt, Talut. You know she’ll want to see it, too,” Deegie said. “I might as well get my spears and packboards out now. And a tent, we’ll probably be gone overnight.”

After breakfast, Talut motioned to Wymez and squatted down by an area of soft dirt near one of the smaller fireplaces in the cooking hearth, well lit by light coming in through the smoke hole. Stuck in the ground near the edge was an implement made from a leg bone of a deer. It was shaped like a knife or a tapered dagger, with a straight dull edge leading from the knee joint to a point. Holding it by the knob of the joint, Talut smoothed the dirt with the flat edge, then, shifting it, began to draw marks and lines on the level surface with the point. Several people gathered around.

“Wymez said he saw the bison not far from the three large outcrops to the northeast, near the tributary of the small river that empties upstream,” the headman began, explaining as he drew a rough map of the region with the drawing knife.

Talut’s map wasn’t so much an approximate visual reproduction as a schematic drawing. It wasn’t necessary to accurately depict the location. The people of the Lion Camp were familiar with their region and his drawing was no more than a mnemonic aid to remind them of a place they knew. It consisted of conventionalized marks and lines that represented landmarks or ideas that were understood.

His map did not show the route which the water took across the land; their perspective was not from-such a bird’s-eye view. He drew herringbone zigzag lines to indicate the river, and attached them to both sides of a straight line, to show a tributary. At the ground level of their open flat landscape, rivers were bodies of water, which sometimes joined.