Mammoth Hunters (20 page)

But Ayla still didn’t quite understand. What kind of manhood ceremony did they have if it didn’t matter whether a man hunted or not? Men of the Clan would have been lost if they hadn’t believed it was essential for them to hunt. A boy didn’t become a man until he made his first major kill. Then she thought about Creb. He had never hunted. He couldn’t hunt, he was missing an eye, and an arm, and he was lame. He had been the greatest Mog-ur, the greatest holy man of the Clan, but he had never made his kill, never had a manhood ceremony. In his own heart, he wasn’t a man. But she knew he was.

Though it was already dusk by the time they were through, none of the blood-splattered hunters hesitated to strip off clothes and head for the stream. The women washed somewhat upstream of the men, but they stayed in sight of each other. Rolled hides and split carcasses had been stacked together and several fires lit around them to keep four-legged predators and scavengers away. Driftwood, deadfall, and the green wood used in the construction of the fence were piled nearby. A joint was roasting on a spit over one of them, and several low tents were spaced around it.

The temperature dropped quickly as darkness engulfed them. Ayla was glad for the mismatched and ill-fitting garments that had been loaned to her by Tulie and Deegie while her outfit, which she had washed to remove the bloodstains, was drying by a fire along with several others. She spent some time with the horses, making sure they were comfortable and settling down. Whinney stayed just within the edge of light from the fire where the meat was roasting, but as far away as she could from the carcasses waiting to be transported back to the earthlodge, and from the pile of scraps beyond the pale guarded by fire, from which snarls and yaps could be heard occasionally.

After the hunters ate their fill of bison, browned and crisp outside and rare near the bone, they built up the fire and sat around it sipping hot herbal tea, and talking.

“You should have seen her turn that herd,” Barzec was saying. “I don’t know how much longer we could have held
them. They were getting more and more nervous, and I was certain we’d lost them once that bull bolted.”

“I think we have Ayla to thank for the success of this hunt,” Talut said.

Ayla blushed at the unaccustomed praise, but shyness accounted for only part of it. The acceptance of her and appreciation of her skills and abilities implied by the praise made her glow with warmth. She had longed for such acceptance all her life.

“And think what a story it will make at a Summer Meeting!” Talut added.

The conversation paused. Talut picked up a dry branch, a piece of deadfall that had lain so long on the ground the bark hung loosely around it like old and weathered skin. He cracked it in two across his knee and put both pieces in the fire. A geyser of sparks erupted, lighting the faces of the people sitting close together around the flames.

“Hunts are not always so lucky. Do you remember the time we almost got the white bison?” Tulie asked. “What a shame that it got away.”

“That one must have been favored. I was sure we had it. Have you ever seen a white bison?” Barzec asked Jondalar.

“I’ve heard of them, and I’ve seen a hide,” Jondalar replied. “White animals are held sacred among the Zelandonii.”

“The foxes and rabbits, too?” Deegie asked.

“Yes, but not as much. Even ptarmigan are, when they are white. We believe it means they have been touched by Doni, so the ones that are born white, and stay white all year, are more sacred,” Jondalar explained.

“The white ones have special meaning for us, too. That’s why the Hearth of the Crane has such high status … usually,” Tulie said, glancing at Frebec with a touch of disdain. “The great northern crane is white, and birds are the special messengers of Mut. And white mammoths have special powers.”

“I’ll never forget the white mammoth hunt,” Talut said. Expectant looks encouraged him to continue. “Everyone was excited when the scout reported seeing her. It’s the highest honor of all for the Mother to give us a white she-mammoth, and since it was the first hunt of a Summer Meeting, it would mean good luck for everyone, if we could get her,” he explained to the visitors.

“All the hunters who wanted to go on the hunt had to
undergo ordeals of purification and fasting to make sure we were acceptable, and the Mammoth Hearth imposed taboos on us, even afterward, but we all wanted to be chosen. I was young, not much older than Danug, but I was big like he is. Maybe that’s why I was picked, and I was one who got a spear in her. Like the bison that went after you, Jondalar, no one knows whose spear killed her. I think the Mother didn’t want any one person or one Camp to get too much honor. The white mammoth was everyone’s. It was better that way. No envy or resentment.”

“I’ve heard of a race of white bears that live far north,” Frebec said, not wanting to be left out of the discussion. Perhaps no one person or Camp could take full credit for killing the white mammoth, but that didn’t preclude all envy or resentment. Anyone chosen to go on it gained more status from that one hunt than Frebec was born with.

“I’ve heard of them, too,” Danug said. “When I was staying at the flint mine, Sungaea visitors came to trade for flint. One woman was a storyteller, a good storyteller. She told about the World Mother, and the mushroom men who follow the sun at night, and many different animals. She told us about the white bear. They live on the ice, she said, and eat only animals from the sea, but they are said to be mild-mannered, like the huge cave bear who eats no meat. Not like the brown bear. They are vicious.” Danug didn’t notice the irritated look Frebec gave him. He hadn’t meant to interrupt, he was just pleased to join in with something to say.

“Men of Clan come back from hunt once and tell of white rhinoceros,” Ayla said. Frebec was still irritated and scowled at her.

“Yes, the white are rare,” Ranec said, “but the black are special, too.” He was sitting back from the fire a bit and his face in shadow could hardly be seen, except for his white teeth and the roguish gleam in his eyes.

“You’re rare, all right, and more than happy to let every woman at Summer Meeting, who wants to find out, know just how rare you are,” Deegie remarked.

Ranec laughed. “Deegie, can I help it if the Mother’s own are so curious? You wouldn’t want me to disappoint anyone, would you? But I wasn’t talking about me. I was thinking about black cats.”

“Black cats?” Deegie asked.

“Wymez, I have a vague memory of a large black cat,” he
said, turning to the man with whom he shared a hearth. “Do you know anything about that?”

“It must have made a very strong impression on you. I didn’t think you remembered,” Wymez said. “You were hardly more than a baby, but your mother did scream. You had wandered away, and just when she saw you, she saw this big black cat, like a snow leopard, only black, leaping out of a tree. I think she thought it was going for you, but either her scream scared it off, or that wasn’t its intention. It just kept on going, but she ran for you, and it was a long time before she let you out of her sight again.”

“Were there many black ones like that where you were?” Talut asked.

“Not too many, but they were around. They stayed in forests and were night hunters, so they were hard to see.”

“It would be as rare as the white ones here, wouldn’t it? Bison are dark, and some mammoths, but they aren’t really black. Black is special. How many black animals are there?” Ranec said.

“Today, when I go with Druwez, we see black wolf,” Ayla said. “Not ever see black wolf before.”

“Was it really black? Or just dark?” Ranec asked, very interested.

“Black. Lighter on belly, but black. Lone wolf, I think,” Ayla added. “I do not see other tracks. In pack, would be … low status. Leave, maybe, find other lone wolf, make new pack.”

“Low status? How do you know so much about wolves?” Frebec asked. There was a hint of derision in his voice, as though he didn’t want to believe her, but there was obvious interest, also.

“When I learn to hunt, I hunt only meat eaters. Only with sling. I watch close, long time. I learn about wolves. Once I see white wolf in pack. Other wolves not like her. She leave. Other wolves not like wrong color wolf.”

“It was a black wolf,” Druwez said, wanting to defend Ayla, especially after the exciting ride on the horse. “I saw it, too. I wasn’t even sure at first, but it was a wolf, and it was black. And I think it was alone.”

“Speaking of wolves, we should keep watch tonight. If there is a black wolf around, that’s all the more reason,” Talut said. “We can trade off, but someone ought to be awake and watching all night.”

“We should get some rest,” Tulie added, getting up. “We have a long hike tomorrow.”

“I’ll watch first,” Jondalar said. “When I get tired, I can wake someone.”

“You can wake me,” Talut said. Jondalar nodded.

“I watch, too,” Ayla said.

“Why don’t you watch with Jondalar? It’s a good idea to have a partner to watch with. You can keep each other awake.”

“It was cold last night. This meat is starting to freeze,” Deegie said, lashing a hindquarter to a packboard.

“That’s good,” Tulie said, “but there’s more than we can carry. We will have to leave some.”

“Can’t we build a cairn over it with the rocks from the fence?” Latie asked.

“We can, and we probably should, Latie. It’s a good idea,” Tulie said, preparing a load for herself that was so huge Ayla wondered how even she, as strong as she was, could carry it. “But we may not get back for it until spring, if the weather turns. If it was closer to the lodge, it would be better. Animals don’t come around as much, and we could watch it, but out here in the open if something like a cave lion, or even a determined wolverine, really wants the meat, it will find a way to break in.”

“Can’t we pour water over it to freeze it solid? That would keep animals out. It’s hard to break into a frozen cairn even with picks and mattocks,” Deegie said.

“It would keep animals out, yes, but how do you keep the sun out, Deegie?” Tornec asked. “You can’t be sure it will stay cold. It’s too early in the season.”

Ayla was listening, and watching the pile of bison parts dwindle as everyone packed as much as they could carry. She wasn’t used to surplus, to having so much that one could pick and choose and take only the best. There had always been plenty of food to eat when she lived with the Clan, and more than enough hides for clothing, bedding, and other uses, but little was wasted. She wasn’t sure how much would be left, but so much had already been thrown into the heap of scraps that it bothered her to think of leaving more, and it was obvious that no one else wanted to, either.

She noticed Danug pick up Tulie’s axe and, wielding it as
easily as the woman, chop a log in two and add it to the last fire left burning. She walked over to him.

“Danug,” she said quietly. “Would help me?”

“Um … ah … yes,” he stammered bashfully, feeling his face turn red. Her voice was so low and rich and her unusual accent was so exotic. She had caught him by surprise; he hadn’t seen her coming, and standing close to the beautiful woman inexplicably flustered him.

“I need … two poles,” Ayla said, holding up two fingers. “Young trees downstream. You cut for me?”

“Ah … sure. I’ll cut down a couple of trees for you.”

As they walked toward the bend in the small river, Danug felt more relaxed, but he kept glancing down at the blond head of the woman who walked at his side and just a half-step ahead. She selected two straight young alders of approximately the same width, and after Danug chopped them down, she directed him to strip off the branches and cut the tips so that they were of equal length. By then most of the big strapping youth’s bashfulness had eased.

“What are you going to do with these?” Danug asked.

“I will show you,” she said, then with a loud, imperative whistle, she called Whinney. The mare galloped toward her. Ayla had outfitted her earlier in harness and panniers in preparation for leaving. Though Danug thought it looked odd to see a leather blanket across the horse’s back, and a pair of baskets tied to her sides with thongs, he noticed it didn’t seem to bother the animal or slow her down.

“How do you get her to do that?” Danug asked.

“Do what?”

“Come to you when you whistle.”

Ayla frowned, thinking. “I am not sure, Danug. Until Baby come, I am alone in valley with Whinney. She is only friend I know. She grow up with me, and we learn … each other.”

“Is it true that you can talk to her?”

“We learn each other, Danug. Whinney not talk like you talk. I learn … her signs … her signals. She learn mine.”

“You mean like Rydag’s signs?”

“A little. Animals, people, all have signals, even you, Danug. You say words, signals say more. You speak when you not know you speak.”

Danug frowned. He wasn’t sure he liked the drift of the conversation. “I don’t understand,” he said, looking aside.

“Now we talk,” Ayla continued. “Words not say, but signals say … you want ride horse. Is right?”

“Well … ah … yes, I’d like to.”

“So … you ride horse.”

“Do you mean it? Can I really have a ride on the horse? Like Latie and Druwez did?”

Ayla smiled. “Come here. Need big stone to help you get on first time.”

Ayla stroked and patted Whinney, and talked to her in the unique language that had developed naturally between them, the combination of Clan signs and words, nonsense sounds she had invented with her son and imbued with meaning, and animal sounds which she mimicked perfectly. She told Whinney that Danug wanted a ride, and to make it exciting but not dangerous. The young man had learned some of the Clan signs that Ayla was teaching Rydag and the Camp, and was surprised that he could make out the meaning of a few that were part of her communication with the horse, but that only filled him with more awe. She
did
talk to the horse, but like Mamut when he was invoking spirits, she used a mystical, powerful, esoteric language.

Whether the horse understood explicitly or not, she did understand from Ayla’s actions that something special was expected when the woman helped the tall young man on her back. To Whinney, he felt like the man she had come to know and trust. His long legs hung down low, and there was no sense of direction or control.