The Clan of the Cave Bear

13

Winter came, and with it the diminished activity they shared with all living things that followed the cycle of the seasons. Life still pulsed, but at a slower pace. For the first time, Ayla looked forward to the cold season. The rushed and active warm seasons allowed little time for Iza to continue training her. With the first snows, the medicine woman began her lessons again. The pattern of the clan’s life repeated itself with only minor variations, and winter again drew to a close.

Spring was late, and wet. The melt from the highlands, abetted by heavy rains, swelled the stream to a surging turbulence overflowing its banks and sweeping along whole trees and brush in its headlong flight to the sea. A logjam downstream diverted its course, taking over part of the path the clan had made. A brief reprieve of warmth, just long enough to unfold tentative blossoms on fruit trees, was reversed by late spring hailstorms that ravaged the delicate blooms, dashing hopes of the promised harvest. Then, as though nature had a change of heart and wanted to make up for the offer of fruits withheld, the early summer crop produced vegetables, roots, squashes, and legumes in bountiful profusion.

The clan missed their accustomed spring visit to the sea-coast for salmon, and everyone was pleased when Brun announced they would make the trip to fish for sturgeon and cod. Though members of the clan often walked the ten miles to the inland sea to gather molluscs and eggs from the multitude of birds that nested on the cliffs, catching the huge fish was one of the few clan activities that was a community effort of both men and women.

Droog had his own reason for wanting to go. The heavy spring runoff had washed down fresh nodules of flint from the chalk deposits of higher elevations and left them stranded on the floodplain. He had scouted the coast earlier and seen several alluvial deposits. The fishing trip would be a good opportunity to replenish their supply of tools with new ones of high-quality stone. It was easier to knap the flint at the site than to carry the heavy rocks back to the cave. Droog hadn’t made tools for the clan for some time. They’d had to make do with their own rougher implements when the brittle stone of their favorite ones broke. They could all make usable tools, but few compared with Droog’s.

A lighthearted spirit of holiday accompanied their preparations. It wasn’t often that the entire clan left the cave at one time, and the novelty of camping on the beach was exciting, especially for the children. Brun planned for one or two of the men to make daily excursions back to make sure nothing was disturbed in their absence. Even Creb looked forward to the change of scene. He seldom wandered very far from the cave.

The women worked on the net, repairing weakened strands and making a new section from cords of fibrous vines, stringy barks, tough grasses, and long animal hairs to lengthen it. Although it was a strong, tough material, sinew was not used. As with leather, water made it hard and stiff and it didn’t absorb the softening fat well.

The massive sturgeon, often upward of twelve feet in length and weighing over a ton, migrated from the sea, where it spent most of the year, into freshwater streams and rivers to spawn in early summer. The fleshy feelers on the underside of its toothless mouth gave the ancient, sharklike fish a fearsome appearance, but its diet consisted of invertebrates and small fish foraged from the bottom. The smaller cod, usually no more than twenty-five pounds, but ranging up to two hundred pounds and more, migrated seasonally northward into shallower water in summer. Although mostly a bottom feeder, it sometimes swam near the surface and into freshwater outlets when migrating or chasing food.

For the fourteen days of the sturgeon’s summer spawning, the mouths of the streams and rivers were full. Though the fish that chose the smaller waterways did not reach the size of the giants that churned their way up the great rivers, the sturgeon that found their way into the clan’s net would be more than enough for them to beach. As the time for the migrations neared, Brun sent someone to the seacoast every day. The first of the mighty beluga sturgeon had just broached the stream when he gave the word. They would leave the next morning.

Ayla woke up full of excitement. She had her sleeping fur tied into a bundle, food and cooking gear packed in her collecting basket, and the large hide that would be used as a shelter loaded on top even before breakfast. Iza never left the cave without her medicine bag, and she was still packing it when Ayla ran outside the cave to see if they were ready to leave.

“Hurry, Iza,” she encouraged, running back in. “We’re almost ready to go.”

“Settle down, child. The sea isn’t going anywhere,” Iza replied after she pulled the drawstring tight.

Ayla lifted the collecting basket to her back and picked up Uba. Iza followed, then turned to look back, trying to remember if she had forgotten anything. She always felt as though she was forgetting something when she left the cave. Well, Ayla can come back for it, if it’s important, she thought. Most of the clan were outside and shortly after Iza fell into her proper place, Brun gave the signal to start. They had barely gotten under way when Uba squirmed to get down.

“Uba not baby! Want to walk myself,” she motioned with childish dignity. At three and a half, Uba had begun to emulate the adults and older children and to reject the pampering that infants and babies received. She was growing up. In something close to four years, she would likely be a woman. She had much to learn in four short years, and through an inner sense of her rapid maturation she was beginning to prepare herself for the added responsibilities that would be hers so soon.

“All right, Uba,” Ayla motioned as she let her down. “But stay close behind me.”

They followed the stream down the side of the mountain, working around its altered course along a new path that had already been formed near the logjam. It was an easy hike-though the trip back would take more exertion-and before noon they reached a broad stretch of beach. They set up temporary shelters well back from encroaching tides using driftwood and brush for supports. Fires were started and the net rechecked. They would begin fishing the next morning. After camp was set up, Ayla wandered toward the sea.

“I’m going in the water, mother,” she motioned.

“Why do you always want to go in the water, Ayla? It’s dangerous, and you always go out so far.”

“It’s wonderful, Iza. I’ll be careful.”

It was always the same, when Ayla went swimming, Iza worried. Ayla was the only one who liked to swim; she was the only one who could. The large heavy bones of Clan people made swimming difficult. They didn’t float easily and had a great fear of deep water. They waded into the water to catch fish, but they never liked to go in deeper than waist level. It made them uneasy. Ayla’s predilection for swimming was considered one of her peculiarities. It was not the only one.

By the time Ayla reached her ninth year, she was taller than any of the women and as big as some of the men, but she still showed no signs of approaching womanhood. Iza sometimes wondered if she would ever stop growing. Her height and lateness in blooming led to speculation in some quarters that her strong male totem would prevent her from blossoming altogether. They wondered if she would live out her life as a sort of neutered female, neither a man nor fully a woman.

Creb limped up to Iza as she was watching Ayla walk toward the shore. Her tough lean body, flat wiry muscles, and long coltish legs made her seem awkward and clumsy, but her supple movement belied her ungainly-seeming gawkiness. Though she tried to mimic the Clan women’s subservient scramble, she lacked their short, bowed legs. No matter how she minced her steps, her longer legs took longer, almost masculine strides.

But it wasn’t only her long legs that made her different. Ayla radiated a selfconfidence that no Clan woman ever felt. She was a hunter. No man of the clan was better than she with her weapon, and by now she knew it. She could not feign a submission to greater male superiority she did not feel. She lacked the commitment of genuine belief that was part of a Clan woman’s appeal. In the eyes of the men, her tall, lanky body, devoid of any womanly attributes, and her unconscious attitude of assurance detracted from her already dubious beauty-Ayla was not only ugly, she was unfeminine.

“Creb,” Iza gestured. “ Aba and Aga say she will never become a woman. They say her totem is too strong.”

“Of course she will become a woman, Iza. Don’t you think the Others have young? Just because she was accepted into the clan doesn’t change who she is. It’s probably normal for their women to mature later. Even some Clan girls don’t become women until their tenth year. You’d think people would give her at least that long before they start imagining some abnormality. It’s ridiculous!” he snorted in annoyance.

Iza was pacified but still wished her adopted daughter would start to show some signs of womanliness. She saw Ayla wade into the water up to her waist, then kick off and head out to sea with long clean strokes.

The girl loved the freedom and buoyancy of the salty water. She never remembered learning how to swim, it just seemed she always knew. The underwater shelf of the coastline dropped off abruptly after a few more feet; she knew when she passed the place by the deeper hue and colder water. She flipped over on her back and floated lazily for a while rocked by the motion of the waves. Sputtering from a briny mouthful splashed on her face, she rolled over and turned back to the beach. The tide was going out and she had drifted into the outflowing stream. The force of the combined currents made swimming back harder. She exerted herself and soon regained her footing, then waded back to shore. Rinsing off in the fresh water of the stream, she could feel the swift current pushing against her legs and the unstable sandy bottom crumble beneath her feet. She flopped down near the fire outside their shelter, tired but feeling refreshed.

After they ate, Ayla stared dreamily into the distance wondering what lay beyond the water. Squawking, squealing seabirds swooped and wheeled and dived above the booming surf. White, weathered old bones of once-living trees, sculpted into twisted contours, relieved the flat sands, and the wide expanse of blue gray water glinted in the long rays of the setting sun. The scene had a vacant, surreal, otherworld feeling to it. The contorted driftwood became grotesque silhouettes, then faded into the darkness of the moonless night.

Iza put Uba down in the shelter, then returned to sit beside Ayla and Creb near the small fire that sent wisps of smoke to the star-splattered sky.

“What are they, Creb?” Ayla signaled quietly, motioning upward.

“Fires in the sky. Each one is the hearth of someone’s spirit in the otherworld.”

“Are there so many people?”

“They are the fires of all the people who have gone to the world of the spirits, and all the people not yet born. They are the fires of totems’ spirits, too, but most totems have more than one. See those over there?” Creb pointed. “That is the home of Great Ursus himself. And see those?” He pointed in another direction. “They are the fires of your totem, Ayla, the Cave Lion.”

“I like sleeping out where you can see the little fires in the sky,” Ayla said.

“But it’s not so nice when the wind is blowing and the snow is falling,” Iza interjected.

“Uba like little fires, too,” the child motioned, appearing out of the darkness into the circle of light from the fire.

“I thought you were asleep, Uba,” Creb said.

“No. Uba watch little fires like Ayla and Creb.”

“It’s time we all went to sleep,” Iza motioned. “Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

Early the next morning, the clan stretched their net across the stream. Swim bladders from previous catches of sturgeon, carefully washed and air-dried to hard, clear, isinglass balloons, served as floats for the net, and stones tied to the bottom were weights. Brun and Droog took one end to the far shore, then the leader signaled. Adults and older children began to wade into the stream. Uba started to follow.

“No, Uba,” Iza gestured, “you stay, you’re not old enough.”

“But Ona is helping,” the child pleaded.

“Ona is older than you, Uba. You can help later, after we bring the fish in. It’s too dangerous for you. Even Creb is staying close to shore. You stay here.”

“Yes, mother,” Uba motioned, her disappointment obvious.

They moved slowly, creating as little disturbance as possible as they fanned out to form a large semicircle, then waited until the sand stirred up by their movement settled back down again. Ayla stood with her feet apart braced against the strong current surging around her legs, her eye on Brun waiting for his signal. She was in mid-channel, equally distant from both shores and closest to the sea. She watched a large dark shape glide past a few feet away. The sturgeon were on the move.

Brun raised his arm, everyone held their breath. Abruptly, as he brought his arm down, the clan began to shout and beat on the water, raising foamy splashes. What appeared to be a disorderly chaos of noise and spray was soon revealed as a purposeful drive. The clan was herding the fish toward the net drawing their circle in tighter. Brun and Droog moved in from the far shore, bringing the net around while the churning confusion created by the clan kept the fish from heading back to sea. The net closed in, crowding the silvery mass of struggling fish into less and less space. A few of the monsters strained against the knotted cords, threatening to break through. More hands reached for the net, pushing it toward the bank while those on the shore pulled, as the clan fought to beach the flopping convulsive horde.

Ayla glanced up and saw Uba knee-deep in squirming fish trying to reach her from the other side of the net.

“Uba! Go back!” she signaled.

“Ayla! Ayla!” the child cried, then pointed out toward the sea. “Ona!” she screamed.

Ayla turned to look and barely caught sight of a dark head bobbing up once before it disappeared under the water. The child, little more than a year older than Uba, had lost her footing and was being swept out to sea. In the confusion of hauling in the catch, she had been overlooked. Only Uba, watching her older playmate with admiration from the shore, had noticed Ona’s desperate plight and tried frantically to get someone’s attention to tell them.

Ayla dived back into the muddy, churning stream and plowed through the water toward the sea. She swam faster than she ever had before. The outflowing current helped her along, but the same current was dragging the little girl toward the drop-off with equal force. Ayla saw her head bob up once more and pulled harder. She was gaining on her, but she was afraid not enough. If Ona reached the drop-off before Ayla reached her, she’d be pulled into the deep water by the strong undertow.

The water was changing to salt, Ayla could taste it. The small dark head bobbed up one more time a few feet ahead, then sunk out of sight. Ayla felt the drop of water temperature as she made a desperate lunge, diving underwater to reach for the disappearing head. She felt streaming tendrils and clenched her fist around the long flowing hair of the young girl.

Ayla thought her lungs would burst-she hadn’t had time for a deep breath before diving under-and a growing dizziness threatened her just as she broke the surface, dragging her precious load with her. She lifted Ona’s head above water, but the child was unconscious. Ayla had never tried to swim supporting another person, but she had to get Ona back to shore as quickly as possible keeping her head above water. Ayla struck out with one arm finding the right stroke, holding on to the child with the other.

By the time she regained her footing, she saw the whole clan had waded out to meet her. Ayla lifted Ona’s limp body out of the water and gave her to Droog, not realizing how exhausted she was until that moment. Creb was beside her, and she looked up with surprise to see Brun on the other side helping her to shore. Droog pushed on ahead, and by the time Ayla collapsed on the beach, Iza had the small child stretched out on the sand pumping water out of her lungs.

It was not the first time a member of the clan had come near drowning; Iza knew what to do. A few people had been lost to the cold depths before, but this time the sea was cheated of its victim. Ona began to cough and sputter as water drained from her mouth, and her eyelids flickered.

“My baby! My baby!” Aga cried, throwing herself down. The distraught mother picked up the girl and held her. “I thought she was dead. I was sure she was gone. Oh, my baby, my only girl.”

Droog lifted the girl from her mother’s lap, and holding her close to him, carried her back to the camp. Contrary to custom, Aga walked by his side, patting and caressing the daughter she thought she had lost.

People stared, pointedly stared, at Ayla as she walked by. No one had ever been saved before, once they had been swept away. It was a miracle that Ona had been rescued. Never again would a member of Brun’s clan look at her with deriding gestures when she indulged in her particular idiosyncrasy. It’s her luck, they said. She always was lucky. Didn’t she find the cave?

The fish were still flopping spasmodically on the beach. A few had managed to find their way back into the stream after the clan realized what happened and raced to meet Ayla returning with the half-drowned girl, but most of the fish were still tangled under the net. The clan went back to the task of hauling them in, then the men clubbed them into stillness and the women began to clean them.

“A female!” Ebra shouted as she slit open the belly of a huge beluga sturgeon. They all raced toward the big fish.

“Look at it all!” Vorn motioned and reached for a handful of the tiny black eggs. Fresh caviar was a treat they all relished. Usually, everyone grabbed handfuls from the first female sturgeon caught and gorged themselves. Later catches would be salted and preserved for future use, but it was never quite as good as it was fresh from the sea. Ebra stopped the boy and motioned to Ayla.

“Ayla, you take first,” Ebra gestured.

She looked around, embarrassed to be the center of attention.

“Yes, Ayla take first,” others joined in.

The girl looked at Brun. He nodded. She walked forward shyly and reached for a handful of shiny black caviar, then stood up and took a taste. Ebra signaled and everyone dived in and grabbed a share, crowding around the fish happily. They had been spared a tragedy, and in their relief, it felt like a holiday.

Ayla walked slowly back to their shelter. She knew she had been honored. Taking small bites, she savored the rich caviar and savored the warm glow of their acceptance. It was a feeling she would never forget.

After the fish had been landed and clubbed, the men stood aside in their inevitable knot leaving cleaning and preserving to the women. Besides the sharp flint knives used to open the fish and filet the large ones, they had a special tool for scraping off scales. It was a knife that was not only blunted along the back so it could be held easily in the hand, but a notch had been knocked off the pointed tip where the index finger was placed to control pressure so the scales could be scraped away without tearing the skin of the fish.

The clan’s net brought in more than sturgeon. Cod, freshwater carp, a few large trout, even some crustaceans were part of the haul. Birds drawn by the fish gathered to gorge on the entrails, stealing a few filets when they could get close enough. After the fish were set out to dry in the air or over smoky fires, the net was strung out over them. It allowed the net to dry and showed where repairs were needed, and it kept the birds from snatching the clan’s hard-won catch.

Before they were through fishing, they would all be tired of the taste, and smell, of fish, but on the first night it was a welcome treat and they always feasted together. The fish saved for the celebration, mostly cod whose delicate white flesh was a particular favorite when fresh, were wrapped in a bed of fresh grass and large green leaves and set over hot coals. Although nothing was said explicitly, Ayla knew this feast was in her honor. She was the recipient of many choice morsels urged on her by the women and a whole filet prepared with special care by Aga.

The sun had disappeared in the west and most people had straggled off to their own shelters. Iza and Aba were talking on one side of the large bonfire, died down to embers, while Ayla and Aga sat silently watching Ona and Uba play. Aga’s year-old son, Groob, was sleeping peacefully in her arms, contentedly full of warm milk.

“Ayla,” the woman began, a little hesitantly. “I want you to know something. I have not always been nice to you.”

“Aga, you have always been courteous,” Ayla interrupted.

“That is not the same as nice,” Aga said. “I talked to Droog. He has grown fond of my daughter, even though she was born to the hearth of my first mate. He never had a girl at his fire before. Droog says you will always carry a part of Ona’s spirit with you. I don’t really understand the ways of the spirits, but Droog says whenever a hunter saves the life of another hunter, he keeps a piece of the spirit of the man he saved. They become something like siblings, like brothers. I’m glad you share Ona’s spirit, Ayla. I’m glad she is still here to share it with you. If I am ever fortunate enough to have another child, and if it is a girl, Droog has promised to name her Ayla.”

Ayla was stunned. She didn’t know how to respond. “Aga, that is too great an honor. Ayla is not a Clan name.”

“It is now,” Aga said.

The woman rose, motioned to Ona, and started toward her shelter. She turned back for a moment. “I am going now,” she said.

It was the closest gesture people of the Clan had for “good-bye.” Most often that was omitted; they simply left. The Clan had no term for “thank you” either. They understood gratitude, but that carried a different connotation, generally a sense of obligation, usually from a person of lesser status. They helped each other because it was their way of life, their duty, necessary for survival, and no thanks were expected or received. Special gifts or favors carried the onus of obligation to return them with something of like value; this was understood and no thanks were necessary. As long as Ona lived, unless an occasion arose where she, or, until she came of age, her mother, could return the favor in kind and secure a piece of Ayla’s spirit, she would be in Ayla’s debt. Aga’s offer was not the return of an obligation, it was more, it was her way of saying thank you.

Aba got up to leave shortly after her daughter had gone. “Iza always said you were lucky,” the old woman gestured as she passed the girl. “I believe it now.”

Ayla walked over and sat beside Iza after Aba left. “Iza, Aga told me I will always carry a piece of Ona’s spirit with me, but I only brought her back, you were the one who made her breathe again. You saved her life as much as I did. Don’t you carry a part of her spirit, too?” the girl asked. “You must carry pieces of many spirits, you have saved many lives.”

“Why do you suppose a medicine woman has status of her own, Ayla? It’s because she carries part of the spirits of all her clan, both men and women. Of the whole Clan for that matter, through her own clan. She helps bring them into this world and cares for them all through their lives. When a woman becomes a medicine woman, she is given that piece of the spirit from everyone, even those whose life she hasn’t saved, because she never knows when she will.

“When a person dies and goes to the world of the spirits,” Iza continued, “the medicine woman loses a part of her spirit. Some believe it makes a medicine woman try harder, but most of them would try just as hard anyway. Not every woman can be a medicine woman, not even every daughter of one. There must be something inside that makes her want to help people. You have it, Ayla, that’s why I’ve been training you. I saw it from the first when you wanted to help the rabbit after Uba was born. And you didn’t stop to think of the danger to yourself when you went after Ona, you just wanted to save her life. The medicine women of my line have the highest status. When you become a medicine woman, Ayla, you will be of my line.”

“But I’m not really your daughter, Iza. You’re the only mother I remember, but I wasn’t born to you. How can I be of your line? I don’t have your memories. I don’t really understand what memories are.”

“My line has the highest status because they have always been the best. My mother, and her mother, and hers before for as long as I can remember have always been the best. Each one passed on what they knew and learned. You are Clan, Ayla, my daughter, trained by me. You will have all the knowledge I can give you. It may not be all I know-I don’t know myself how much I know-but it will be enough because there is something else. You have a gift, Ayla, I think you must come from your own line of medicine women. You are going to be very good someday.

“You don’t have the memories, child, but you have a way of thinking, a way of understanding what is hurting someone. If you know what’s hurting, then you can help, and you have a way of knowing how to help. I never told you to put snow on Brun’s arm when Oga burned it. I might have done the same thing, but I never told you. Your gift, your talent, may be as good as memories, maybe better, I don’t know. But a good medicine woman is a good medicine woman. That’s what is important. You will be of my line because you are going to be a good medicine woman, Ayla. You will be worthy of the status, you will be one of the best.”

The clan fell into a regular routine. They made only one catch a day, but it was enough to keep the women busy until late afternoon. There were no further mishaps, though Ona did not help the beaters herd fish anymore. Droog decided she was still too young, next year would be soon enough. Toward the end of the sturgeon run, the catches got smaller and the women had more time to relax in the afternoons. It was just as well. It took a few days for the fish to dry and the row of racks stretching across the beach grew longer every day.

Droog had scoured the floodplain of the stream for the nodules of flint that had washed down the mountain, and dragged several back to the campsite. On several afternoons he could be seen knapping new tools. One afternoon not long before they planned to leave, Ayla saw Droog take a bundle from his shelter to a driftwood log nearby where he usually made his tools. She loved to watch him work the flint and followed him, then sat in front of him with her head bowed.

“This girl would like to watch, if the toolmaker does not object,” she motioned when Droog acknowledged her.

“Hhmmmf,” he nodded in agreement. She found herself a place on the log to sit quietly and observe.

The girl had watched him before. Droog knew she was genuinely interested and would not interfere with his concentration. If only Vorn showed as much interest, he thought. None of the youngsters in the clan had shown a real aptitude for toolmaking, and like any really skilled technician, he wanted to share his knowledge and pass it on.

Maybe Groob will have the interest, he thought. He was pleased that his new mate had given birth to a boy so soon after Ona was weaned. Droog had never had such a full hearth, but he was glad he had decided to take Aga and her two children. Even the old woman wasn’t so bad to have around- Aba often took care of his needs when Aga was busy with the baby. Aga didn’t have the quiet understanding depth of Goov’s mother, and Droog had to exert himself in the beginning to let her know her place. But she was young and healthy and had produced a son, a boy Droog had high hopes he could train to be a toolmaker. He had learned the stone knapper’s art from the mate of his mother’s mother, and understood, now, the old man’s pleasure when, as a young boy, he had become interested in developing the skill.

But Ayla had watched him often since she came to live with the clan, and he had seen the tools she made. She was adept with her hands, applied the techniques well. Women were free to make tools so long as they did not make any implements whose ultimate purpose was as a weapon or to make weapons. There just wasn’t much value in training a girl, and she would never be a real expert but she had some skill, made very serviceable tools, and a female apprentice was better than none at all. He had explained something of his craft to her before.

The toolmaker opened the bundle and spread out the leather hide that held the tools of his trade. He looked at Ayla and decided to give her the benefit of some useful knowledge about stone. He picked up a piece he had discarded the day before. Through long years of trial and error, Droog’s forebears had learned that flint had the right combination of properties to make the best tools.

Ayla watched with rapt attention while he explained. First a stone had to be hard enough to cut, scrape, or split a variety of animal and vegetable materials. Many of the siliceous minerals of the quartz family had the necessary hardness, but flint had another quality that most of them, and many stones made of softer minerals, did not have. Flint was brittle; it would break under pressure or percussion. Ayla jumped back with a start when Droog demonstrated by bashing the flawed stone against another, breaking it in two and exposing material of a different nature in the heart of the shiny dark gray flint.

Droog didn’t quite know how to explain the third quality, though he understood it at the deep gut level that came from working with the stone for so long. The quality that made his craft possible was the way the stone broke, and the homogeneity of flint made the difference.

Most minerals break along plane surfaces parallel to their crystal structure, which means they would only fracture in certain directions, and a flint worker could not shape them for specific uses. When he could find it, Droog sometimes used obsidian, the black glass of volcanic eruptions, even though it was much softer than many minerals. It did not have a well-defined crystal structure, and he could break it easily in any direction, homogeneously.

The crystal structure of flint, though well-defined, was so small it was homogeneous too, the only limitation to shaping it being the skill of the knapper, and that was Droog’s special talent. Yet flint was hard enough to cut through thick hides or tough stringy plants, and brittle enough to break with an edge as sharp as a broken piece of glass. To show her, Droog picked up one of the pieces of the flawed stone and pointed to an edge. She didn’t need to touch it to know how sharp it was; she had used knives equally as sharp many times.

Droog thought of his years of experience that had honed the knowledge passed on to him as he dropped the broken piece and spread the leather hide across his lap. A good knapper’s ability began with selection. It took a practiced eye to distinguish minor color variations in the chalky outer covering that pointed to high-quality, fine-grained flint. It took time to develop a sense that nodules in one location were better, fresher, less subject to inclusions of foreign materials, than stones from a different location. Perhaps someday he’d have a real apprentice who would have his appreciation for those finer details.

Ayla thought he had forgotten her as he set out his implements, carefully examined the stones, then sat quietly holding his amulet with his eyes closed. It surprised her when he began to talk with unspoken gestures.

“The tools I am going to make are very important. Brun has decided we will hunt mammoth. In the fall, after the leaves have turned, we will travel far to the north to find the mammoth. We must be very lucky for the hunt to be successful; the spirits must favor it. The knives I am going to make will be used as weapons and the other tools to make weapons especially for the hunt. Mog-ur will make a powerful charm to bring luck to them, but first the tools must be made. If the making goes well, it will be a good sign.”

Ayla wasn’t sure if Droog was talking to her or just stating the facts so he would have them clearly in his mind before he began. It made her even more conscious that she must remain very still and do nothing to disturb Droog while he worked. She half expected him to tell her to go, now that she knew the importance of the tools he was about to make.

What he didn’t know was that from the time she had shown Brun the cave, Droog thought she carried luck with her, and saving Ona’s life confirmed his conviction. He thought of the strange girl as an unusual stone or tooth that one received from his totem and carried in his amulet for good luck. He wasn’t sure if she herself was lucky, only that she brought luck, and her asking to watch at this particular time he considered propitious. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that she reached for her amulet as he picked up the first nodule. Though he didn’t define it to himself in precisely that way, he felt she was bringing the luck of her powerful totem to bear on his endeavor, and he welcomed it.

Droog was sitting on the ground, a leather hide draped across his lap, holding a nodule of flint in his left hand. He reached for an oval-shaped stone and hefted it until it felt comfortable in his hand. He had searched long for a hammerstone with just the right feel and resiliency and had had this one for many years. The many nicks on it attested to its long use. With the hammerstone, Droog broke off the chalky gray outer covering exposing the dark gray flint underneath. He stopped and examined the flint critically. The grain was right, the color was good, there were no inclusions. Then he began roughing out the basic shape of a hand-axe. The thick flakes that fell off had sharp edges; many would be used as cutting implements just as they fell from the stone. The end of each flake where the striker hit the flint had a heavy bulge that tapered to a thinner cross section at the opposite end, and each piece that fell off left a deep rippled scar on the flint core.

Droog put the hammerstone down and picked up a section of bone. Taking careful aim, he struck the flint core very close to the sharp rippled edge. The softer, more elastic bone hammer caused longer, thinner flakes, with a flatter bulb of percussion and straighter edges, to fall away from the flint core, and it did not crush the sharp thin edge as the harder stone striker would have.

In a few moments, Droog held up the finished product. The tool was about five inches long, pointed at one end, with straight cutting edges, a relatively thin cross section, and faces that were smooth with only shallow facets showing where the flakes had been chipped away. It could be held in the hand and used to chop wood like an axe, or to hollow out a wooden bowl from a section of log like an adze, or to chop off a piece of mammoth ivory, or to break the bones of animals when butchering, or for any of the many uses to which a sharp hitting instrument could be put.

It was an ancient tool, and Droog’s ancestors had been producing similar handaxes for millennia. A simpler form was one of the earliest tools ever devised, and it was still useful. He rummaged through the pile of flakes, picking out several with wide straight cutting edges and setting them aside to be used for cleavers useful in butchering and cutting through tough hides. The hand-axe was only a warmup exercise. Droog turned his attention next to another nodule of flint, one he had selected for its particularly fine grain. He would apply a more advanced and difficult technique to this one.

The toolmaker was loosened up now, not as nervous, and he was ready for the next task. He moved the foot bone of a mammoth between his legs to use as an anvil, and grasping the nodule, he set it on the platform and held it firmly. Then he picked up his hammerstone. This time as he chipped off the chalky outer covering, he carefully shaped the stone so that the nucleus of flint remaining was a roughly flattened egg-shape. He turned it on its side and, switching to the bone hammer, trimmed flakes from the top, working from the edge toward the center all the way around. When he was through, the egg-shaped stone had a flat oval top.

Then Droog stopped, wrapped his hand around his amulet, and closed his eyes. An element of luck as well as skill was necessary for the next crucial steps. He stretched his arms, flexed his fingers, and reached for the bone hammer. Ayla held her breath. He wanted to make a striking platform, to remove a small chip from one end of the ovalshaped flat top that would leave a dent with a surface perpendicular to the flake he wanted to remove. The sinking platform was necessary for the flake to fall away cleanly with sharp edges. He examined both ends of the oval surface, decided on one, took careful aim, and struck a sharp blow, then let out his breath as the small piece chipped away. Droog held the discoidal nucleus firmly on the anvil, and gauging the distance and point of impact with precision, he struck the small dent he had made, with the bone hammer. A perfect flake fell away from the prefabricated core. It had a long oval shape, sharp edges, was roughly flattened on the outside with a smooth inner bulbar face, and was slightly thicker at the end that was struck, diminishing to a thin section at the other.

Droog looked at the core again, turned it, and struck off another small chip to form a platform, opposite to the end of the previous striking platform, then removed a second preformed flake. Within a few moments, Droog had cleaved six flakes and discarded the butt of the flint core. They all had a long oval shape and tended to narrow at the thinner end to a point. He looked over the flakes carefully and arranged them in a row ready for the finishing touches that would turn them into the tools he wanted. From a stone of almost the same size as the one used to make a single handaxe, he had gotten six times the cutting edge with the newer technique, a cutting edge he could shape to a variety of useful tools.

With a small, slightly flattened round stone, Droog gently knicked off the sharp edge on one side of the first flake to define the point, but more importantly, to blunt the back so the handheld knife could be used without cutting the user; retouching, not to sharpen the already thin sharp edge, but to dull the back for safe handling. He gave the knife a critical evaluation, removed a few more tiny chips, then, satisfied, he put it down and reached for the next flake. Going through the same process, he made a second knife.

The next flake Droog selected was a larger one from nearer the center of the eggshaped core. One edge was nearly straight. Holding the flake against the anvil, Droog applied pressure with a small bone and detached a small piece from the blade edge, then several more, leaving a series of V-shaped notches. He blunted the back of the denticulated tool and reexamined the small-toothed saw he had just made, then nodded and put it down.

Using the same piece of bone, the toolmaker retouched the entire blade edge of a smaller, rounder flake into a steep convex form, creating a sturdy, slightly blunt-edged tool that would not break easily from the pressure of scraping wood or animal hides, and would not tear the skins. On another flake, he made one deep V notch on the cutting edge, especially useful for shaping the points of wooden spears, and on the last flake- which came to a sharp point on the thin end but had rather wavy blade edges-he blunted both sides, leaving the point. The tool could be used as an awl to pierce holes in leather or as a borer to make holes in wood or bone. All of Droog’s tools were made to be held in the hand.

Droog looked once more over the kit of tools he had manufactured, then motioned to Ayla who had been watching in rapt attention, hardly daring to breathe. He handed her the scraper and one of the wide sharp flakes that were removed in the process of making the hand-axe.

“You can have these. You may find them useful if you come with us on the mammoth hunt,” he gestured.

Ayla’s eyes were glowing. She handled the tools as if they were the most precious of gifts. They were. Is it possible I might be chosen to go along with the hunters on the mammoth hunt? she wondered. Ayla wasn’t a woman yet, and usually only women and any small children they happened to be nursing went with the hunters. But she was woman-size, and she had gone on a few short hunts already that summer. Maybe I will be picked. I hope so, I really hope so, she thought.

“This girl will save the tools until the time of the mammoth hunt. If she is chosen to accompany the hunters, she will use them for the first time on the mammoth the hunters will kill,” she told him.

Droog grunted, then he shook out the leather that was spread across his lap to remove the small chips and splinters of stone, placed the mammoth-foot anvil, hammerstone, bone hammer, and the bone and stone retouchers in the middle of it, and wrapped them up and tied them securely with a cord. Then he gathered up the new implements and walked to the shelter he shared with the other members of his hearth. He was through for the day though it was still afternoon. In a very short time he had produced some very fine tools and he did not want to push his luck.

“Iza! Iza! Look! Droog gave these to me. He even let me watch while he made them,” Ayla motioned with Creb’s one-handed symbols, holding the tools carefully in the other as she ran toward the medicine woman. “He said the hunters were going on a mammoth hunt in the fall and he was making the tools for the men to make new weapons especially for it. He said I might find these useful if I go along with them. Do you think I might get to go with them?”

“You might, Ayla. But I don’t know why you’re so excited about it. It will be hard work. All the fat must be rendered and most of the meat dried, and you can’t believe how much meat and fat is on a mammoth. You’ll have to travel far and carry it all back.”

“Oh, I don’t care if it’s hard work. I’ve never seen a mammoth, except once far in the distance from the ridge. I want to go. Oh, Iza, I hope I can go.”

“Mammoth don’t often come this far south. They like it cold and the summers are too hot here. There’s too much snow in winter for them to graze. But I haven’t had mammoth meat in a long time. There’s nothing better than good, tender mammoth, and they have so much fat that can be used for so many things.”

“Do you think they’ll take me, mother?” Ayla gestured excitedly.

“Brun doesn’t tell me his plans, Ayla. I didn’t even know they were going, you know more about it than I do,” Iza said. “But I don’t think Droog would have said anything if it wasn’t a possibility. I think he was grateful that you saved Ona from drowning and the tools and news about the hunt are his way of telling you. Droog is a fine man, Ayla. You are fortunate he finds you worthy of his gifts.”

“I’m going to save them until the mammoth hunt. I told him if I go, I’ll use them for the first tune then.”

“That’s a good idea, Ayla, and it was the proper thing to say.”