Mammoth Hunters (74 page)

“Jondalar, I have no doubt that you can travel in any weather. I wasn’t thinking of you. I was thinking of Ayla.”

“Ayla?” Jondalar said with a frown, as his stomach tightened into a knot. “I don’t understand.”

“I have been training Ayla in some practices of the Mammoth Hearth, and planning a special ceremony for this Spring Festival with her. We will be using a root she brought with her from the Clan. She used it once … with the guidance of her Mog-ur. I have experience with several magic plants that can lead one to the spirit world, but I have never used this root, and Ayla has never used it alone. We will both be trying
something new. She seems to have … some concerns, and … certain changes might be upsetting. If you leave, it could have an unforeseeable effect on Ayla.”

“Are you saying there is some danger to Ayla in this root ceremony?” Jondalar asked, his eyes full of distress.

“There is always some element of danger in dealing with the spirit world,” the shaman explained, “but she has traveled there alone, and if it happens again, without guidance or training, she could lose her way. That is why I am training her, but Ayla will need the help of those who have feelings for her, love for her. It is essential that you be here.”

“Why me?” Jondalar said. “We are … not together any more. There are others here who have feelings … who love Ayla. Others she has feelings for.”

The old man stood up. “I cannot explain it to you, Jondalar. It is a sense, an intuition. I can only say that when I heard you speak of leaving, a terrible, dark foreboding came over me. I’m not sure what it means, but I would … prefer … no, I will put it more strongly than that. Don’t leave, Jondalar. If you love her, promise me you won’t leave until after the Spring Festival,” Mamut said.

Jondalar stood up and looked at the ancient, inscrutable face of the old shaman. It was not like him to make such a request without reason, but why was it so important for him to be here? What did Mamut know that he didn’t? Whatever it was, the Mamuts qualms filled him with apprehension. He could not leave if Ayla was in danger. “I will stay,” he said. “I promise I will not leave until after the Spring Festival.”

It was a few days before Ayla returned to Ranec’s bed, though not because he hadn’t been encouraging her. It was difficult for her to refuse him the first time he asked her outright. Her childhood training had been so strong she felt that she had done something terribly wrong when she said no, and almost expected Ranec to be angry. But he took it with understanding, and said he knew she needed some time to think.

Ayla had learned of Jondalar’s long walk the morning after her night with the dark carver, and she suspected it had something to do with her. Was it his way of showing that he still cared for her? But Jondalar was, if anything, even more distant. He avoided her whenever possible, and spoke only when it was necessary. She decided she must be wrong. He
didn’t love her. She was desolate when she finally began to accept it, but tried not to show it.

Ranec, on the other hand, made it abundantly clear that he loved her. He continued to press her for both her presence in his furs, and to join him at his hearth in a formally recognized union; to be his woman. She finally consented to share his furs again, largely because of his understanding, but held back her commitment to a more permanent relationship. She spent several nights with him, but then decided to refrain again for a time, this time finding it easier to refuse. She felt everything was moving too fast. He wanted to make the announcement of their Promise at the Spring Festival, which was only a few days away. She wanted time to think about it. She enjoyed Pleasures with Ranec; he was loving and knew how to please, and she cared for him. She liked him very much, in fact, but something was missing. She felt it as a vague sort of incompleteness. Though she wanted to, and wished she could, she did not love him.

Jondalar did not sleep when Ayla was with Ranec, and the strain was beginning to show. Nezzie thought he had lost more weight, but in Talut’s old clothes, which hung on him, and an unkempt winter beard, it was hard to tell. Even Danug noticed that he seemed gaunt and worn, and he thought he knew the cause. He wished there was something he could do to help; he cared deeply for both Jondalar and Ayla, but no one could help. Not even Wolf, though the puppy brought more comfort than he knew. Whenever Ayla was absent from the hearth, the young wolf sought out Jondalar. It made the man feel he was not alone in his grief and rejection. He found himself spending more time with the horses as well, he even slept with them sometimes to get away from the painful scenes in the lodge, but he made a point of staying away when Ayla was around.

The weather turned warm the next few days, and it became more difficult for Jondalar to avoid her. In spite of the slush and high water, she rode the horses more often and though he tried to slip away when he saw her coming into the annex, several times he found himself stammering excuses and leaving quickly after accidentally meeting her. Frequently she took Wolf, and occasionally Rydag, riding with her, but when she wanted to be free of responsibilities, she left the puppy behind in the boy’s care, to his delight. Whinney and Racer were entirely familiar and comfortable with the young
wolf, and Wolf seemed to enjoy the association of the horses whether he was on Whinney’s back with Ayla, or running alongside trying to keep up. It was good exercise and a welcome excuse for her to get away from the earthlodge, which felt small and confining after the long winter, but she couldn’t escape from the turmoil of strong feelings that whirled around and within her.

She had begun encouraging and directing Racer by voice, whistle, and signal while riding Whinney, but whenever she thought she should start getting him used to carrying a rider, it made her think of Jondalar and she held off. It wasn’t so much a conscious decision as a delaying tactic, and a wild wish that everything would somehow work out as she had once hoped, and that Jondalar would train him and ride him.

Jondalar was thinking much the same thing. On one of their chance meetings, Ayla had encouraged him to take Whinney out for a ride, insisting that she was too busy, and that the horse needed the exercise after the long winter. He’d forgotten what sheer excitement it was to race into the wind on the back of a horse. And when he saw Racer pounding along beside him, and then pulling ahead of his dam, he dreamed of being on the young stallion’s back riding beside Ayla and Whinney. Though he could generally direct the mare, he felt she was simply tolerating him, and always felt uneasy about it. Whinney was Ayla’s horse, and though he eyed the brown stallion and felt a real affection for him, in his mind, Racer was Ayla’s, too.

As the weather warmed, Jondalar thought more about leaving. He decided to take Talut’s advice and ask for his future claim from Tulie in the form of much-needed clothing and traveling equipment. As the headman had suggested, Tulie was delighted to relieve her obligation so easily.

Jondalar was tying a belt around his new deep brown tunic when Talut strode into the cooking hearth. The Spring Festival would be the day after next. Everyone was trying on finery in preparation for the big day and relaxing after sweatbaths and a dunk in the cold river. For the first time since he left home, Jondalar had a surplus of well-made, beautifully decorated clothing as well as backpacks, tents, and other traveling gear. He had always enjoyed good quality, and his appreciation was not lost on Tulie. She had suspected
all along, and now was convinced, that whoever the Zelandonii were, Jondalar came from people of high status.

“It looks like it was made for you, Jondalar,” Talut said. “The beadwork across the shoulders falls just right.”

“Yes, the clothes do fit well, and Tulie was more than generous. Thanks for the suggestion.”

“I’m glad you decided not to leave right away. You’ll enjoy the Summer Meeting.”

“Well … ah … I’m not … Mamut …” Jondalar struggled for words to explain why he had not gone when he first planned to.

“ … and I’ll make sure you are invited on the first hunt,” Talut continued, assuming that Jondalar had stayed because of his counsel and invitation.

“Jondalar?” Deegie said, a little shocked. “From the back I thought you were Darnev!” She walked around him, with a smile on her face, looking him over. She liked what she saw. “You shaved,” she said.

“It’s spring. I decided it was time,” he said, smiling back, his eyes telling her that she was attractive, too.

She was caught by his blue eyes, and his compelling attraction, then laughed, and decided it was time he was cleaned up and in decent clothes. He’d been looking so scruffy in his straggly, untrimmed beard and Talut’s hand-me-downs, she’d forgotten how handsome he was.

“You wear that outfit well, Jondalar. It suits you. Wait until you get to the Summer Meeting. A stranger always gets a lot of attention, and I think the Mamutoi women will want to make you feel very welcome,” Deegie said, with a teasing smile.

“But …” Jondalar gave up trying to explain that he wasn’t planning to go to the Summer Meeting with them. He could tell them later, when he left.

He tried on another outfit after they left, one more suited to traveling or everyday wear, then went outside looking for the headwoman to thank her again, and show her how well the clothes fit. In the entrance foyer, he met Danug, Rydag, and Wolf just coming in. The youth was holding Rydag with one arm and Wolf with the other. They had a fur wrapped around them and their hair was still damp. Danug had carried the boy up from the river after their sweatbath. He put them both down.

“Jondalar, you look good,” Rydag signaled. “All ready for Spring Festival?”

“Yes. Are you?” he signed hack.

“I have new clothes, too. Nezzie make for me, for Spring Festival,” Rydag replied, smiling.

“For the Summer Meeting, too,” Danug added. “She made new clothes for me, and for Latie and Rugie.”

Jondalar noticed that Rydag’s smile faded when Danug talked about the Summer Meeting. He didn’t seem to look forward to the big summer gathering as much as the others.

When Jondalar pushed back the heavy drape and started out, Danug, not wanting the words to be heard, whispered to Rydag, “Should we have told him that Ayla is right outside? Every time he sees her, he runs away from her.”

“No. He want see her. She want see him. Make right signals, wrong words,” Rydag signed.

“You’re right, but why can’t they see it? How can they make each other understand?”

“Forget words. Make signals,” Rydag replied, with his un-Clanlike smile, then picked up the wolf puppy and carried him into the lodge.

Jondalar discovered what the youngsters didn’t tell him the moment he stepped out. Ayla was outside the front entrance with the two horses. She had just given Wolf to Rydag to take care of, and she was looking forward to a long, hard ride to work off the tension she was feeling. Ranec wanted her agreement before the Spring Festival, and she couldn’t make up her mind. She hoped the ride would help her think. When she saw Jondalar, her first reaction was to offer to let him ride Whinney, as she had done before, knowing that he loved it, and hoping that his love of the horses would bring him closer to her. But she wanted to ride. She had been anticipating it, and was just ready to leave.

When she looked at him again, she caught her breath. He had scraped off his beard with one of his sharp flint blades, and he looked so much the way he did when they were in her valley the previous summer it made her heart pound and her face flush. He reacted to her physical signals with unconscious signals of his own, and the magnetic pull of his eyes drew her.

“You have removed your beard,” Ayla said.

Without realizing it, she had spoken in Zelandonii. It took him a moment before he realized what was different, then,
he couldn’t help but smile. He hadn’t heard his own language in a long time. The smile encouraged her, and a thought came to her.

“I was just going out to ride on Whinney, and I have been thinking that someone needs to start getting Racer used to a rider. Why don’t you come with me and try to ride him? It’s a good day for it. The snow is almost gone, new grass is coming in, but the ground is not so hard yet, in case someone falls off,” she said, rushing ahead before something happened that would make him change and become distant again.

“Uh … I don’t know,” Jondalar hesitated. “I thought you would want to ride him first.”

“He’s used to you, Jondalar, and no matter who rides him first, it would help to have two people. One to calm and settle him while the other gets on.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he said, frowning. He didn’t know if he should go out on the steppes with her, but he didn’t know how to refuse, and he did want to ride the horse. “If you really want me to, I guess I could.”

“I’ll go and get a lead rope, and the guider you made for him,” Ayla said, racing to the annex before he could change his mind. “Why don’t you start walking them up the slope?”

He began to have second thoughts, but she was gone before he could reconsider. He called the horses to him and started up to the broad flat plains above. Ayla caught up with them when they were near the top. She had a haversack and a waterbag as well as the halter and a rope. When they reached the steppes, Ayla led Whinney to a mound she had used before when she let some of the members of the Lion Camp, particularly the younger ones, ride the mare. With a practiced leap, she was on the back of the hay-colored horse.

“Get on, Jondalar. We can ride double.”

“Ride double!?” he said, almost in a panic. He hadn’t considered riding double with Ayla, and was ready to bolt.

“Just until we find a nice open stretch of flat ground. We can’t try it here. Racer might run into a gully or down the slope,” she said.

He felt caught. How could he say he wouldn’t ride double with her for a short distance? He walked to the mound, and carefully sat astride the mare, trying to sit back and avoid touching Ayla. The moment he was on, she signaled Whinney into a fast trot.

There was no preventing it. Try as he might, on the
jouncing horse, he could not keep from sliding next to her. He could feel the warmth of her body through their clothing, smell the light pleasant odor of the dried cleansing flowers she used for washing, mixed with her familiar feminine scent. With each step the horse took, he felt her legs, her hips, her back pressed against him, and felt his manhood rise in response. His head was whirling, and he fought with himself to keep from kissing her neck, reaching around to hold a full, firm breast.