The Mammoth Hunters

27

"I think you should ride back on Racer," Ayla said. "It's a long way to walk."

A long way, he thought. How long had he walked from his home? But he nodded, and followed her to a rock beside a small creek. Racer wasn't used to having riders. It was still better to ease on him gently. The stallion's ears went back, and he pranced a few skittish steps, but he settled down quickly and followed behind his dam as he had done many times before.

They didn't speak on the way back, and when they arrived, they were both glad that people were either inside the lodge, or at some distance from it. Neither of them was in a mood for casual conversation. As soon as they stopped, Jondalar dismounted and headed for the front entrance. He turned back just as Ayla was going into the annex, feeling he should say something.

"Uh… Ayla?"

She stopped and looked up.

"I meant it, you know. I'll never forget this afternoon. The ride, I mean. Thank you."

"Don't thank me, Jondalar. Thank Racer."

"Yes, well, Racer didn't do it alone."

"No, you did it with him."

He started to say something else, then changed his mind, frowned, looked down, and went in through the front archway.

Ayla stared for a moment at the place he had been, closed her eyes, and struggled to swallow down a sob that threatened to start a flood. When she regained her composure, she went in. Though the horses had drunk from streams along the way, she poured water into their large drinking bowls, then pulled out the soft leather cloths, and started rubbing down Whinney again. Soon she just had her arms around the mare, leaning against her, her forehead pressed on the shaggy neck of her old friend, the only friend she'd had when she lived in the valley. Soon Racer was leaning on her, and she was caught in a vise between the two horses, but the familiar pressure was comforting.

Mamut had seen Jondalar come in the front, and heard Ayla and the horses in the annex. He had the distinct feeling that something was very wrong. When he saw her come into the Mammoth Hearth, her disheveled appearance made him wonder if she had fallen and hurt herself, but it was more than that. Something was troubling her. From the shadows of his platform he watched her. She changed, and he noticed her clothing was torn. Something must have happened. Wolf came racing in, followed by Rydag and Danug, who proudly held up a net bag with several fish in it. Ayla smiled and complimented the fishers, but as soon as they headed for the Lion Hearth to deposit their catch and collect more compliments, she picked up the young wolf and held him in her arms, and rocked back and forth. The old man was worried. He got up and walked over to Ayla's bed platform.

"I'd like to go over the Clan ritual with the root again," Mamut said. "Just to make sure we do everything right."

"What?" she said, her eyes focusing on him. "Oh… if you want, Mamut." She put Wolf into his basket, but he immediately jumped out and headed for the Lion Hearth and Rydag. He was in no mood to rest.

She had obviously been deep in some thought that was distressing her. She looked as though she had been crying, or was about to. "You said," he began, trying to get her to talk, and perhaps unburden herself, "Iza told you how to prepare the drink."

"Yes."

"And she told you how to prepare yourself. Do you have everything you need?"

"It's necessary to purify myself. I don't have exactly the same things, it's a different season, but I can use other things to cleanse myself."

"Your Mog-ur, your Creb, he controlled the experience for you?"

She hesitated. "Yes."

"He must have been very powerful."

"The Cave Bear was his totem. It chose him, gave him power."

"In the ritual with the root, were others involved?"

Ayla hung her head, then nodded.

There was something she hadn't told him, Mamut thought, wondering if it was important. "Did they assist him in controlling it?"

"No. Creb's power was greater than all of them. I know, I felt it."

"How did you feel it, Ayla? You never did tell me. I thought women of the Clan were barred from participating in the deepest rituals."

She looked down again. "They are," she mumbled.

He lifted her chin. "Perhaps you should tell me about it, Ayla."

She nodded. "Iza never did show me how to make it, she said it was too sacred to be wasted for practice, but she tried to tell me exactly how to do it. When we got to the Clan Gathering, the mog-urs didn't want me to make the drink for them. They said I was not Clan. Maybe they were right," Ayla added, putting her head down again. "But, there was no one else."

Was she pleading for understanding? Mamut wondered.

"I think I made it too strong, or too much. They didn't finish it all. Later, after the datura and the women's dance, I found it. I was dizzy, all I could think of was that Iza said it was too sacred to be wasted. So I drank it. I don't remember what happened after that, and yet I'll never forget it. Somehow, I found Creb and the mog-urs, and he took me all the way back to the beginning of the memories. I remember breathing the warm water of the sea, burrowing in the loam… Clan and the Others, we both come from the same beginnings, did you know that?"

"I'm not surprised," Mamut said, thinking how much he would have given for that experience.

"But I was frightened, too, especially before Creb found me, and guided me. And… since then, I'm… not the same. Sometimes my dreams frighten me. I think he changed me."

Mamut was nodding. "That could explain it," he said. "I wondered how you could do so much without training."

"Creb changed, too. For a long time, it wasn't the same between us. With me, he saw something he hadn't seen before. I hurt him, I don't know how, but I hurt him," Ayla said, as tears welled up.

Mamut put his arms around her as she cried softly on his shoulder. Then her tears became the threatened flood, and she sobbed and shook with more recent grief. Her sadness for Creb brought up the tears she had been holding back, the tears of her sorrow, confusion, and thwarted love.

Jondalar had been watching from the cooking hearth. He had wanted to go to her, somehow make amends, and was trying to think of what to say when Mamut went over to talk to her. When he saw Ayla crying, he was sure she had told the old shaman. Jondalar's face burned with shame. He couldn't stop thinking about the incident on the steppes, and the more he thought about it, the worse it became.

And afterward, he said to himself, all you did was walk away. You didn't even try to help her, didn't even try to tell her you were sorry, or how terrible you felt. Jondalar hated himself and wanted to leave, to pack up everything and leave, and not face Ayla or Mamut, or anyone, again, but he had promised Mamut he would stay until after the Spring Festival. Mamut already must think I am contemptible, he thought. Would breaking a promise be that much worse? But it was more than his promise that held him. Mamut had said Ayla might be in danger, and no matter how much he hated himself, how much he wanted to run away, Jondalar could not leave Ayla to face that danger alone.

"Do you feel better now?" Mamut said, when she sat up and wiped her eyes.

"Yes," she said.

"And you were not harmed?"

Ayla was surprised by his question. How did he know? "No, not at all, but he thinks so. I wish I could understand him," she said, as tears threatened again. Then she tried to smile. "I didn't cry so much when I lived with the Clan. It made them uneasy. Iza thought I had weak eyes, because they watered when I was sad, and she would always treat them with special medicine when I cried. I used to wonder if it was just me, or if all the Others had watery eyes."

"Now you know." Mamut smiled. "Tears were given to us to relieve pain. Life is not always easy."

"Creb used to say a powerful totem is not always easy to live with. He was right. The Cave Lion gives powerful protection, but difficult tests, too. I have always learned from them, and have always been grateful, but it is not easy."

"But necessary, I believe. You were chosen for a special purpose."

"Why me, Mamut?" Ayla cried out. "I don't want to be special. I just want to be a woman, and find a mate, and have children, like every other woman."

"You must be what you must be, Ayla. It is your fate, your destiny. If you were not able to do it, you would not have been chosen. Perhaps it is something only a woman can do. But don't be unhappy, child. Your life will not be all trials and tests. There will be much happiness, too. It just may not turn out as you want it to, or as you think it should."

"Mamut, Jondalar's totem is the Cave Lion, too, now. He was chosen and marked, too, like I was." Her hands unconsciously reached for the scars on her leg, but they were covered by her leggings. "I thought he was chosen for me, because a woman with a powerful totem must have a man with a powerful totem. Now, I don't know. Do you think he will be my mate?"

"It is for the Mother to decide, and no matter what you do, you cannot change that. But if he was chosen, there must be a reason for it."

Ranec knew Ayla had gone riding with Jondalar. He, too, had gone fishing with some of the others, but he worried the whole day that the tall, handsome man would win her back. In Darnev's clothes, Jondalar was a striking figure, and the carver, with his well-developed aesthetic sensibility, was quite aware of the visitor's undeniably compelling quality, particularly for women. He was relieved to see they were still separated, and seemed to be as distant as ever, but when he asked her to come to his bed, she said she was tired. He smiled and told her to get some rest, glad to see that she was, at least, sleeping alone, if she wasn't going to sleep with him.

Ayla was not so much tired as emotionally spent when she went to bed, and she lay awake for a long time, thinking. She was glad Ranec hadn't been at the lodge when she and Jondalar returned, and grateful that he wasn't angry when she refused him – she still kept expecting anger, and punishment for daring to be disobedient. But Ranec was not demanding, and his understanding almost changed her mind.

She tried to sort out what had happened, and even more, her feelings about it. Why did Jondalar take her if he didn't want her? And why had he been so rough with her? He was almost like Broud… Then why was she so ready for Jondalar? When Broud had forced her, it had been an ordeal. Was it love? Did she feel Pleasures because she loved him? But Ranec made her feel Pleasures, and she didn't love him, or did she?

Maybe she did, in a way, but that wasn't it. Jondalar's impatience made it seem like her experience with Broud, but it was not the same. He was rough, and excited, but he didn't force her. She knew the difference. Broud had wanted only to hurt her, and make her yield to him. Jondalar wanted her, and she had responded deeply, with every ounce of her being, and felt satisfied and completed. She would not have felt that way if he had hurt her. Would he have forced her if she hadn't wanted him? No, she thought, he wouldn't have. She was convinced that if she had objected, if she had pushed him away, he would have stopped. But she hadn't objected, she had welcomed him, wanted him, and he must have felt it.

He wanted her, but did he love her? Just because he wanted to share Pleasures with her didn't mean he still loved her. Maybe love could make Pleasures better, but it was possible to have one without the other. Ranec showed her that. Ranec loved her, she had no doubt about him. He wanted to join with her, wanted to settle with her, wanted her children. Jondalar had never asked her to join, never said he wanted her children.

He loved her once, though. Maybe she felt Pleasures because she loved him, even if he didn't love her any more. But he still wanted her, and he took her. Why was he so cold afterward? Why had he rejected her again? Why had he stopped loving her? Once she thought she knew him. Now, she didn't understand him at all. She rolled over and curled into a tight ball, and wept quietly again, wept with wanting Jondalar to love her again.

"I'm glad I thought about inviting Jondalar along on the first mammoth hunt," Talut said to Nezzie as they retired to the Lion Hearth. "He's been so busy making that spear all night, I think he must really want to go."

Nezzie looked at him, raising an eyebrow and shaking her head. "Mammoth hunting is the furthest thing from his mind," she said, then tucked a fur around the sleeping blond head of her youngest daughter, and smiled with gentle affection at the girl-woman form of her eldest, curled up next to her younger sister. "We're going to have to think about a separate place for Latie next winter, she'll be a woman, but Rugie will miss her."

Talut glanced back and saw the visitor brushing off chips of flint while he tried to see Ayla through the intervening hearths. When he didn't see her, he looked toward the Fox Hearth. Talut turned his head and saw Ranec getting into his bed alone, but he, too, kept glancing toward Ayla's bed. Nezzie is probably right, he thought.

Jondalar had stayed up until the last person left the cooking hearth, working on a long flint blade that he would haft to a sturdy shaft the same way Wymez did, learning how to make a Mamutoi mammoth hunting spear by first making an exact copy of one. The part of his mind that was always aware of the nuances of his craft had already thought of ideas for possible improvements, or at least interesting experiments, but the work was a familiar process that took little concentration, which was just as well. He couldn't think about anything but Ayla, and he was only using the work as a way to avoid company and conversation and be alone with his thoughts.

He felt a great relief when he saw her going to her bed alone earlier; he didn't think he could have borne it if she had gone to Ranec's bed. He carefully folded his new clothes, then got into new sleeping furs which were spread out on top of his old traveling roll. He folded his hands behind his head and stared up at the too-familiar ceiling of the cooking hearth. He had lain awake studying it many nights. He still ached with remorse and shame, but not, on this night, with the burning ache of need, and as much as he hated himself for it, he remembered the Pleasure of the afternoon. He thought about it, carefully recalling every moment, turning over every detail in his mind, slowly savoring now what he had not taken time to think about then.

He was more relaxed than he had been since Ayla's adoption, and he slipped into a half-dozing, musing reverie. Had he imagined that she had been so willing? He must have; she could not have been that eager for him. Had she really responded with such feeling? Reaching for him as though she had wanted him as much as he wanted her? He felt the pull in his loins as he thought of her again, of filling her, of her deep warmth embracing him fully. But the need was easier, more like a warm afterglow, not the driving, hurting pain that was a combination of repressed desire, powerful love, and burning jealousy. He thought about Pleasuring her – he loved to Pleasure her – and he started to get up to go to her again.

It was only when he pushed back the cover and sat up, when he started to act on the urge brought on by his dreamy intimate ruminations, that the consequences of the afternoon struck him. He couldn't go to her bed. Not ever. He could never touch her again. He had lost her. It was no longer a matter of choice. He had destroyed any chance he had that she might choose him. He had taken her by force, against her will.

Sitting on his sleeping furs, with his feet on a floor mat and his elbows leaning on his bent-up knees, he held his bowed head and felt an agony of shame. His body shook with silent heaves of disgust. Of all the despicable things he had done in his life, this unnatural act was by far the worst.

There was no worse abomination, not even the child of mixed spirits, or the woman who gave birth to one, than a man who took a woman against her will. The Great Earth Mother Herself decried it, forbade it. One had only to observe the animals of Her creation to know how unnatural it was. No male animal ever took a female against her will.

In their season the stags might fight each other for the privilege of Pleasuring the does, but when the male deer tried to mount the female, she had only to walk away if she didn't want him. He could try and try, but she had to allow it, she had to stand for it. He could not force her. It was the same for every animal. The female wolf or the she-lion invited the male of her choice. She rubbed against him, passed her tempting odor before his nose, and moved her tail aside when he mounted, but she would turn angrily on any male who tried to mount against her will. He paid dearly for his audacity. A male could be as persistent as he liked, but the choice was always the female's. That was the way the Mother meant it to be. Only the human male ever forced a female, only an unnatural, abominable human male.

Jondalar had often been told, by Those Who Served the Mother, that he was favored by the Great Earth Mother and all women knew it. No woman could refuse him, not even the Mother Herself. That was his gift. But even Doni would turn her back on him now. He hadn't asked, not Doni, not Ayla, not anyone. He had forced her, taken her against her will.

Among Jondalar's people, any man who committed such a perversion was shunned – or worse. When he was growing up, young boys talked among themselves about being painfully unmanned. Though he never knew anyone who was, he believed it was a fitting punishment. Now, he was the one who should be punished. What could he have been thinking of? How could he have done such a thing?

And you worried about her not being accepted, he said to himself. You were afraid she would be rejected, and you weren't sure if you could live with that. Who would be rejected now? What would they think of you if they knew? Especially after… what happened before. Not even Dalanar would take you in now. He would strike you from his hearth, turn you away, disclaim all ties. Zolena would be appalled. Marthona… he hated to think how his mother would feel.

Ayla had been talking to Mamut. She must have told him, that must have been why she was crying. He leaned his forehead against his knees and covered his head with his arms. Whatever they did to him, he deserved. He sat hunched over for some time, imagining the terrible punishments they would impose on him. He even wished they would do something terrible to him, to relieve the burden of guilt that weighed him down.

But eventually reason prevailed. He realized that no one had said a word to him about it all evening. Mamut even spoke to him about the Spring Festival and never brought it up. Then what had she been crying about? Maybe she was crying about it, but just never said anything. He lifted his head and looked across the darkened hearths in her direction. Could that be? Of all people, she had more right than anyone to claim redress. She had already had more than her share of unnatural acts forced on her by that brutal flathead… What right did he have to speak ill of that other man? Was he any better?

Yet, she had kept it to herself. She did not denounce him, did not demand his punishment. She was too good for him. He didn't deserve her. It was right that she and Ranec should Promise, Jondalar thought. Even as the thought entered his mind, he felt a tight knot of pain, as he understood that would be his punishment. Doni had given him what he had wanted most. She had found him the only woman he could ever love, but he couldn't accept her. And now he had lost her. It was his own fault, he would accept his punishment, but not without grieving.

As long as he could remember, Jondalar had fought for self-control. Other men showed emotion – laughed, or angered, or wept – far more easily than he, but above all, he resisted tears. Since the time he had been sent away and lost his tender credulous youth in a night of crying for the loss of home and family, he had wept only once: in Ayla's arms for the loss of his brother. But once again, on that night, he grieved. In the dark earthlodge of people who lived a year's Journey away from his home, he wept silent, unstoppable tears for the loss he felt most keenly of all. The loss of the woman he loved.

The long-awaited Spring Festival was both a new year's celebration and a festival of thanksgiving. Held not at the beginning, but at the height of the season when the first green buds and shoots were well established and could be harvested, it marked the start of the yearly cycle for the Mamutoi. With fervent joy and unspoken relief, that could only be fully appreciated by those who lived on the edge of survival, they welcomed the greening of the earth, which guaranteed life for themselves and the animals with whom they shared the land.

On the deepest, coldest nights of the harsh glacial winter, when it seemed the air itself would freeze, doubt that warmth and life would ever return again could arise in the most believing heart. Those times when spring seemed most remote, memories and stories of previous Spring Festivals relieved deep-seated fears and gave renewed hope that the Earth Mother's cycle of seasons would indeed continue. They made each Spring Festival as exciting and memorable as possible.

For the big Spring Feast, nothing left over from the previous year would be eaten. Individuals and small groups had been out for days fishing, hunting, trapping, and gathering. Jondalar had put his spear-thrower to good use and was pleased to contribute a pregnant bison entirely by himself, thin and gaunt though she was. Every edible vegetable product they could find was collected. Birch and willow catkins; the young unfolding stems of ferns as well as the old rootstocks which could be roasted, peeled, and pounded into flour; the juicy inner cambium bark of pines and birch, sweet with new rising sap; a few purplish-black curlewberries, filled with hard seeds, growing beside the small pink flowers on the ever-bearing low shrub; and from sheltered areas, where they had been covered with snow, bright red lingonberries, frozen and thawed to a soft sweetness, lingered with the dark leathery leaves on low tufted branches.

Buds, shoots, bulbs, roots, leaves, flowers of every description; the earth abounded with delicious fresh foods. Shoots and young pods of milkweed were used for vegetables, while the flower, full of rich nectar, was used for sweetening. New green leaves of clover, pigweed, nettles, balsam root, dandelion, and wild lettuce would be cooked or eaten raw; thistle stalks and, especially, sweet thistle roots were searched out. Lily bulbs were a favorite, and cattail shoots and bulrush stems. Sweet, flavorful licorice roots could be eaten raw or roasted in ashes. Some plants were collected for sustenance, others mainly for the flavor they imparted, and many were used for teas. Ayla knew the medicinal qualities of most of them, and gathered some for her uses, as well.

On rocky slopes, the narrow tubular new shoots of wild onion were picked, and in dry, bare places, small leaves of lemony sorrel. Coltsfoot was collected from damp open ground near the river. Its slightly salty taste made it useful for seasoning, though Ayla gathered some for coughs and asthma. Garlicky-tasting ramson greens were picked for taste and flavor, as were tart juniper berries, peppery tiger lily bulbs, flavorful basil, sage, thyme, mint, linden, which grew as a prostrate shrub, and a variety of other herbs and greens. Some would be dried and stored, some used to season the recently caught fish and the various kinds of meats brought back for the feast.

The fish were plentiful, and favored at this time of year, since most of the animals were still lean from the ravages of winter. But fresh meat, including at least one, symbolic, spring-born young animal – this year a tender bison calf – was always included in the feast. To make a feast of only the fresh products of the earth showed that the Earth Mother was offering Her full bounty again, that She would continue to provide for and nurture Her children.

With the foraging and collecting of foods for the feast, the anticipation of the Spring Festival had been building up for days. Even the horses could sense it. Ayla noticed they were nervous. In the morning she took them outside, some distance from the earthlodge, to curry and brush them. It was an activity that relaxed Whinney and Racer and that relaxed her, and it gave her an excuse to get off by herself to think. She knew she should give Ranec an answer today. Tomorrow was the Spring Festival.

Wolf was curled up nearby, watching her. He sniffed the air, lifted his head and looked, and banged his tail against the ground, signaling the approach of someone friendly. Ayla turned, and felt her face flush and her heart pound.

"I was hoping I'd find you alone, Ayla. I'd like to talk to you, if you don't mind," Jondalar said, in a strangely subdued voice.

"No, I don't mind," she said.

He was shaved, his light hair pulled back neatly and tied at the nape of his neck, and he was wearing one of his new outfits from Tulie. He looked so good to her – handsome was the word Deegie used – he almost took her breath away, and her voice caught in her throat. But it was more than his appearance that moved Ayla. Even when he was wearing Talut's hand-me-downs, he looked good to her. His presence filled the space around him and touched her, as though he were a glowing ember that warmed her, even standing apart. It was a warmth that was not heat, but larger, more filling, and she wanted to touch that warmth, ached to feel it enfold her, and swayed toward him. But something in his eyes held her back, something ineffably sad that she had not seen there before. She stood quietly, waiting for him to speak.

He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts, not sure how to begin. "Do you remember, when we were together in your valley, before you could speak very well, you wanted to tell me something once that was important, but you didn't know the words for it? You began to speak to me in signs – I remember thinking your movements were beautiful, almost like a dance."

She remembered only too well. She had been trying to tell him then what she wished she could tell him now: how she felt about him, how he filled her with a feeling that she still had no words for. Even to say she loved him was not enough.

"I'm not sure there are words to say what I need to say. 'Sorry' is just a sound that comes out of my mouth, but I don't know how else to say it. I'm sorry, Ayla, more than I can say. I had no right to force you, but I can't take back what has already been done. I can only say it won't ever happen again. I'll be leaving soon, as soon as Talut thinks it's safe to travel. This is your home. People here care about you… I love you. You are Ayla of the Mamutoi. I am Jondalar of the Zelandonii. It's time for me to go home."

Ayla couldn't speak. She looked down, trying to hide the tears she couldn't hold back, then turned around and began to rub down Whinney, unable to look at Jondalar. He was leaving. He was going home and he hadn't asked her to go with him. He didn't want her. He didn't love her. She swallowed her sobs as she rubbed the brush over the horse. Not since she'd lived with the Clan had she fought so hard to hold back tears, struggled not to show them.

Jondalar stood there, staring at her back. She doesn't care, he thought. I should have left a long time ago. She had turned her back on him; he wanted to turn around and leave her to her horses, but the silent body language of her motions signaled a message that he couldn't put into words. It was only a sense, a feeling that something wasn't right, but it made him reluctant to go.

"Ayla…?"

"Yes," she said, keeping her back turned and struggling to keep her voice from cracking.

"Is there… anything I can do before I leave?"

She didn't answer immediately. She wanted to say something that would change his mind, and tried frantically to think of a way to bring him closer to her, to keep him interested. The horses, he liked Racer. He liked riding him.

"Yes, there is," she finally said, fighting to sound normal.

He had turned to go when she didn't answer, but turned back quickly.

"You could help me train Racer… as long as you're here. I don't have as much time to take him out as I should." She allowed herself to turn around and face him again.

Did he imagine that she looked pale, that she was trembling? "I don't know how long I'll be here," he said, "but I'll do what I can." He started to say more, he wanted to tell her he loved her and that he was leaving because she deserved more. She deserved someone who would love her without reservation, someone like Ranec. He looked down while he searched for the right words.

Ayla was afraid she wouldn't be able to hold back the tears much longer. She turned to the mare and began to brush her again, then dropped the brush and was astride her and riding in one smooth action. Jondalar looked up and stepped back a few paces, surprised, and watched Ayla and the mare galloping up the slope, with Racer and the young wolf following behind. He stood there long after they were out of sight, then slowly walked back to the lodge.

The anticipation and tension were so intense on the night before the Spring Festival that no one could sleep. Both children and adults stayed up late. Latie was in a state of especially high excitement, feeling impatient one moment and nervous the next about the short puberty ceremony that would announce her readiness to begin preparations for the Celebration of Womanhood that would take place at the Summer Meeting.

Though she had reached physical maturity, her womanhood would not be complete until the ceremony that would culminate in the First Night of Pleasures when a man would open her so that she could receive the impregnating spirits joined by the Mother. Only when she was capable of motherhood was she considered a woman in all respects and, therefore, available for establishing a hearth and joining with a man to form a union. Until then, she would exist in the in-between state of no-longer-child but not-yet-woman, when she would learn about womanhood, motherhood, and men from older women and Those Who Served the Mother.

The men, except for Mamut, had been chased out of the Mammoth Hearth. All the women had gathered there while Latie was being instructed, for the ceremony the next night, to offer moral support, advice, and helpful suggestions to the fledgling woman. Though she was there as an older woman, Ayla was learning as much as the young woman.

"You won't have much to do tomorrow night, Latie," Mamut was explaining. "Later you will have more to learn, but this is just to give notice. Talut will make the announcement, then I will give you the muta. Keep it in a safe place until you are ready to establish your own hearth."

Latie, sitting in front of the old man, nodded, feeling shy, but rather enjoying all the attention.

"You understand, after tomorrow, you must never be alone with a man, or even speak to any man alone, until you are fully a woman," Mamut said.

"Not even Danug or Druwez?" Latie asked.

"No, not even them," he said. The old shaman explained that during this transitional time, when she lacked the protection of both the guardian spirits of childhood and the full power of womanhood, she was considered very vulnerable to malignant influences. She would be required to stay within the watchful eye of some woman at all times, and must not even be alone with her brother or her cousin.

"What about Brinan? Or Rydag?" the young woman asked.

"They are still children," Mamut said. "Children are always safe. They have protective spirits hovering around all the time. That's why you must be protected now. Your guardian spirits are leaving you, making way for the life force, the Mother's power, to enter."

"But Talut or Wymez wouldn't harm me. Why can't I talk to them alone?"

"Male spirits are drawn to the life force, just as you will find that men are drawn to you now. Some male spirits are jealous of the Mother's power. They may try to take it from you, at this time, when you are vulnerable. They cannot use it to create life, but it is a powerful force. Without proper precaution, a male spirit may enter and even if he doesn't steal your life force, he may damage or overpower it. Then you may never have children, or your desires may become those of a male, and you will wish to share Pleasures with women."

Latie's eyes opened wide. She didn't know it was that dangerous. "I'll be careful, I won't let any male spirit come too close, but… Mamut…"

"What is it, Latie?"

"What about you, Mamut? You're a man."

Several women giggled, and Latie blushed. Maybe it was a stupid question.

"I would have asked the same question," Ayla remarked. Latie gave her a grateful look.

"It is a good question," Mamut said. "I am a man, but I also Serve Her. It would probably be safe to talk to me any time, and of course, for certain rituals when I am acting as One Who Serves, you will have to speak to me alone, Latie. But I think it would still be a good idea not to come just to visit me or to speak to me unless another woman is with you."

Latie nodded, frowning seriously, beginning to feel the responsibility of establishing a new relationship with people she had known and loved all her life.

"What happens when a male spirit steals the life force?" Ayla asked, very curious about these interesting beliefs of the Mamutoi that were somewhat similar, yet very different from the traditions of the Clan.

"Then you have a powerful shaman," Tulie said.

"Or an evil one," Crozie added.

"Is that true, Mamut?" Ayla asked. Latie looked surprised and puzzled, and even Deegie, Tronie, and Fralie turned to Mamut with interest.

The old man gathered his thoughts, trying to choose his answer carefully. "We are only Her children," he began. "It is difficult for us to know why Mut, the Great Mother, selects some of us for special purposes. We only know that She has Her reasons. Perhaps there are times when She has need for someone of exceptional power. Some people may be born with certain gifts. Others may be chosen later, but no one is chosen without Her knowledge." Several eyes shifted toward Ayla, trying not to be conspicuous about it.

"She is the Mother of all," he continued. "No one can know Her completely, in all Her faces. That's why the face of the Mother is unknown on the figures that represent Her." Mamut turned to the oldest woman of the Camp. "What is evil, Crozie?"

"Evil is malicious harm. Evil is death," the old woman replied with conviction.

"The Mother is all, Crozie. The face of Mut is the birth of spring, the bounty of summer, but it is also the little death of winter. Hers is the power of life, but the other face of life is death. What is death but return to Her to be reborn? Is death evil? Without death, there can be no life. Is evil malicious harm? Perhaps, but even those who seem to work evil, do so for Her reasons. Evil is a force She controls, a means to accomplish Her purposes; it is only an unknown face of the Mother."

"But what happens when a male force steals the life force of a woman?" Latie asked. She didn't want philosophies, she wanted to know.

The Mamut looked at her speculatively. She was almost a woman, she had the right to be told. "She will die, Latie."

The girl shivered.

"Even if it is stolen. Some may remain, enough for her to start a new life. The life force that resides in a woman is so powerful she may not know it was stolen until she is giving birth. When a woman dies in childbirth, it is always because a male spirit stole her life force before she was opened. That's why it is not healthy to wait too long for the Womanhood ceremony. If the Mother had made you ready last fall, I would have talked to Nezzie about arranging a gathering of a few Camps to have a ceremony so you would not go through the winter unprotected, even though it means you would have missed the excitement of the celebration at the Summer Meeting."

"I'm glad I won't have to miss it, but…" Latie paused, still more concerned about life force than celebration, "does a woman always die?"

"No, sometimes she struggles to keep her life force, and if it is powerful, she may not only keep it, but the male force as well, or a part of it. Then she has the power of both in one body."

"Those are the ones who become powerful shamans," – Tulie volunteered.

Mamut nodded. "Often, that is true. In order to learn how to use the power of both female and male, many people turn to the Mammoth Hearth for guidance, and many of those are called to Serve Her. They are often very good Healers, or Travelers in the Mother's underworld."

"What about the male spirit that does steal the life force?" Fralie asked, putting her new baby over her shoulder and patting gently. She knew it was a question her mother wanted to ask.

"That's the one who is evil," Crozie said.

"No," Mamut said, shaking his head. "That is not true. The male force is just attracted to a woman's life force. It cannot help itself, and men don't usually know that their male force has taken a young woman's life force until they discover they are not attracted to women, but prefer the company of other men. Young men are vulnerable then. They don't want to be different, they don't want anyone to know their male spirit may have harmed some woman. They often feel great shame, and rather than come to the Mammoth Hearth, they try to hide it."

"But there are evil ones among them with great power," Crozie said. "Power to destroy an entire Camp."

"The force of male and female in one body is very powerful. Without guidance, it can become perverted and malicious, and may want to cause illness and misfortune, even death. Even without such power, a person wishing misfortune on another can cause it to happen. With it, the results are almost inevitable, but with proper guidance, a man with both forces can become just as powerful a shaman as a woman with both forces, and is often more careful to use it only for good."

"What if a person like that doesn't want to be a shaman?" Ayla asked. She may have been born with her "gifts" but she still had feelings of being pushed into something she wasn't sure she wanted.

"They don't have to," Mamut said. "But it's easier for them to find companionship, others like themselves, from among Those Who Serve the Mother."

"Do you remember those Sungaea travelers we met many years ago, Mamut?" Nezzie asked. "I was young then, but wasn't there some confusion about one of their hearths?"

"Yes, I remember, now that you mention it. We were just returning from the Summer Meeting, several Camps still traveling together when we met them. No one was quite sure what to expect, there had been some raiding, but finally we had a friendship fire with them. Some Mamutoi women got upset because one Sungaea man wanted to join them in their 'mother's place.' It took a lot of explaining to make it understood that the hearth which we thought consisted of one woman and her two co-mates was really one man and his two co-mates, except that one of them was a woman, and one of them was a man. The Sungaea referred to him as 'she.' He was bearded, but dressed in women's clothes, and though he had no breasts, he was 'mother' to one of the children. He certainly acted like the child's mother. I'm not sure if the child had been given to him by the woman of that hearth, or by another woman, but I was told that he experienced all the symptoms of pregnancy, and the pain of delivery."

"He must have wanted to be a woman very much," Nezzie commented. "Maybe he didn't steal some woman's life force. Maybe he was born in the wrong body. That can happen, too."

"But did he have stomachaches every moon time?" Deegie asked. "There's the test of a woman." Everyone laughed.

"Do you have moon time stomachaches, Deegie? I can give you something to help, if you want," Ayla said.

"I may ask, next time."

"Once you have a child, it won't be so bad, Deegie," Tronie said.

"And when you're carrying, you don't have to worry about absorbent packing, and disposing of it properly," Fralie said. "But you do look forward to having them," she added, smiling at the sleeping face of her small but healthy daughter, and wiping away a dribble of milk from the corner of her mouth. She looked up at Ayla, suddenly curious. "What did you use when you were… younger?"

"Soft leather straps. They work well, especially if you need to travel, but sometimes I folded them over, or stuffed them with mouflon wool, or fur, or even bird down. Sometimes soft fluff from plants, crushed together. Never with dried mammoth dung, before, but it works, too."

Mamut had the ability to efface his presence and fade in the background when he chose, so that the women forgot he was there and spoke freely in a way they would never have done if another man had been there. Ayla was aware of him, however, and observed him quietly observing them. Finally, when the conversation slowed down, he spoke to Latie again.

"Some time soon, you will want to find a place for your personal communion with Mut. Pay attention to your dreams. They will help you find the right place. Before you visit your personal shrine, you will have to fast, and purify yourself, always acknowledge the four directions and the underworld and sky, and make offerings and sacrifices to Her, particularly if you want Her help, or a blessing from Her. It's especially important when the time comes that you want to have a child, Latie, or when you learn you are going to have one. Then you must go to your personal shrine and burn a sacrifice to Her, a gift that will go up to Her in the smoke."

"How will I know what to give Her?" Latie asked.

"It could be something you find or something you make. You will know if it feels right. You will always know."

"When you want a special man, you can ask Her, too," Deegie said, with a conspiratorial smile. "I can't tell you how many times I asked for Branag."

Ayla glanced at Deegie, and resolved to find out more about personal shrines.

"There is so much to learn!" Latie said.

"Your mother can help you, and Tulie, too," Mamut said.

"Nezzie has asked me and I've agreed to be a Watching Woman this year, Latie," Tulie mentioned.

"Oh, Tulie! I'm so glad," Latie said. "Then I won't feel so alone."

"Well," the headwoman said, smiling, at the girl's eager welcome, "it's not every year that the Lion Camp has a new woman."

Latie frowned with concentration, then asked in a soft voice, "Tulie, what is it like? In the tent, I mean. That night."

Tulie looked at Nezzie, and smiled. "Are you a little worried about it?"

"Yes, a little."

"Don't worry. It will all be explained to you, you'll know what to expect."

"Is it anything like the way Druwez and I played when we were children? He would bounce on me so hard… I think he was trying to be Talut."

"Not really, Latie. Those were children's games, you were only playing, trying to be grown up. You were both very young then, too young."

"That's true, we were very young," Latie said, feeling very much older now. "Those are games for little children. We stopped playing like that a long time ago. In fact, we don't play anything any more. Lately, neither Danug nor Druwez will even talk to me very much."

"They will want to talk to you," Tulie said. "I am sure of it, but remember, you must not talk to them very much, now, and not ever be alone with them."

Ayla reached for the large waterbag that was hanging by a leather strap from a peg pounded into one of the supporting posts. It was made from the stomach of a giant deer, a megaceros, which had been cured to maintain its naturally watertight character. It was filled through the lower opening, which was folded over and closed off. A short piece of a foreleg bone with a natural hollow in the middle had been grooved all the way around near one end. To form a pouring spout, the skin of the opening of the deer stomach was tied to the bone by wrapping a cord tightly around it at the groove.

Ayla pulled out the stopper – a thin strip of leather that had been passed up through the hollow and knotted in one place several times – poured water into the watertight basket she used for making her special morning tea, and pushed the leather knot back into the pouring spout to close it off. The red-hot cooking stone sputtered as she dropped it into the water. She stirred it around a few times to draw off as much heat from the stone as possible, then fished it out with two flat sticks, and put it back in the fire. With the damp sticks, she picked up another hot stone and dropped it into the water. When the water was simmering, she dropped in a measured amount of a mixture of dried leaves, roots, and particularly the fine vinelike stems of golden thread and left it to steep.

She had been especially careful to remember to take Iza's secret medicine. She hoped the powerful magic would work for her as well as it had worked for Iza for so many years. She did not want a baby now. She was too unsure.

After she dressed, she poured the tisane into her personal drinking cup, then sat down on a mat near the fire and tasted the strong-tasting, rather bitter drink. She had grown accustomed to the taste in the morning. This was her time for waking up, and it was part of her morning routine. As she sipped, she mused about the activities that would take place that day. This was it, the auspicious day everyone had been looking forward to, the day of Spring Festival.

The happiest event, to her, would be the naming of Fralie's baby. The tiny infant had grown and thrived, and no longer had to be held next to her mother's breast every moment. She was strong enough to cry now, and could sleep alone during the day, though Fralie rather liked keeping her close and often used the carrier out of preference. The Hearth of the Crane was much happier these days, not only because they shared the joy of the baby, but because Frebec and Crozie were learning they could live without arguing every moment. Not that there weren't still problems, but they were coping better, and Fralie herself was taking a more active role in trying to mediate.

Ayla was thinking about Fralie's baby when she looked up and saw Ranec watching her. This was also the day he wanted to announce their Promise, and with a jolt, she remembered that Jondalar had told her he was leaving. Suddenly she found herself recalling that terrible night when Iza died.

"You are not Clan, Ayla," Iza had told her. "You were born to the Others, you belong with them. Go north, Ayla. Find your own people. Find your own mate."

Find your own mate… she thought. Once she thought Jondalar would be her mate, but he was leaving, going to his home without her. Jondalar didn't want her…

But Ranec did. She wasn't getting younger. If she was ever going to have a baby, she should be starting one soon. She took a sip of Iza's medicine, and swirled the last of the liquid and the dregs in the cup. If she stopped taking Iza's medicine, and shared Pleasures with Ranec, would that start a baby inside her? She could try it and find out. Maybe she should join with Ranec. Settle with him, have the children of his hearth. Would they be beautiful dark babies with dark eyes and tight curly hair? Or would they be light like her? Maybe both.

If she stayed here, joined with Ranec, she wouldn't be so far from the Clan. She would be able to go and get Durc and bring him back. Ranec was good with Rydag, he might not mind having a mixed child at his hearth. Maybe she could formally adopt Durc, make him a Mamutoi.

The thought that it might really be possible to get her son filled her with longing. Maybe it was just as well that Jondalar was leaving without her. If she left with him, she would never see her son again. But if he left without her, she would never see Jondalar again.

The choice had been made for her. She would stay. She would join with Ranec. She tried to think about all the positive elements, to convince herself that it would be better to stay. Ranec was a good man, and he loved her and wanted her. And she did like him. It wouldn't be so terrible to live with him. She could have babies. She could find Durc and bring him to live with them. A good man, her own people, and she would have her son again. That was more than she ever dreamed possible at one time. What more could she ask for? Yes, what more, if Jondalar was leaving.

I'll tell him, she thought. I'll tell Ranec he can announce our Promise today. But as she got up and walked toward the Hearth of the Fox, her mind was filled with only one thought. Jondalar was leaving without her. She would never see Jondalar again. Even as the realization came to her, she felt the crushing weight, and closed her eyes to fight back her grief.

"Talut! Nezzie!" Ranec ran out of the lodge looking for the headman and his adoptive mother. When he saw them, he was so excited he could hardly speak. "She agreed! Ayla agreed! The Promise, we're going to do it! Ayla and me!"

He didn't even see Jondalar, and if he had, it wouldn't have mattered. Ranec couldn't think of anything except that the woman he loved, the woman he wanted more than anyone in the world, had agreed to be his. But Nezzie saw Jondalar, saw him blanch, saw him grab the curved mammoth tusk of the archway for support, and saw the pain on his face. Finally he let go and walked down toward the river, and a fleeting worry crossed her thoughts. The river was swollen and full. It would be easy to swim out and get swept away.

"Mother, I don't know what to wear today. I can't make up my mind," Latie wailed, nervous about the first ceremony that would acknowledge her elevated status.

"Let's take a look," Nezzie said, casting a last glance toward the river. Jondalar was not in sight.