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A knowing glance passed between the headman and the shaman. “Jondalar, my friend,” Talut said, clapping him on the shoulder, “we’ll be happy to give you any supplies you need, but you can’t leave now. Spring is coming, but look outside, a blizzard is blowing, and late-season blizzards are the worst.”
Jondalar calmed down and realized his sudden impulse to leave was impossible. No one in his right mind would start out on a long Journey now.
Talut felt a relaxation of tension in Jondalar’s muscles, as he kept on talking. “In spring, it will flood, and there are many rivers to cross. Besides, you can’t travel this far from your home, winter with the Mamutoi, and not hunt mammoth with the Mammoth Hunters, Jondalar. Once you return, you will never have the chance again. The fir
st hunt will be in early summer, soon after we all get to the Summer Meeting. The best time to start traveling would be right after that. You would be doing me a great favor if you would consider staying with us at least until the first mammoth hunt. I’d like you to show that spear-thrower of yours.”
“Yes, of course, I’ll think about it,” Jondalar said. Then he looked the big red-haired headman in the eyes. “And thanks, Talut. You’re right. I can’t leave yet.”
Mamut was sitting cross-legged in his favorite place for meditating, the bed platform next to his that was used as storage for the extra reindeer hide bedsheets, furs, and other bedding. He wasn’t so much meditating as thinking. Since the night he had been awakened by her tears, he was much more aware of Ayla’s despair over Jondalar’s leaving. Her wretched unhappiness had left a deep impression on him. Though she managed to hide the extent of her feelings from most people, he was more conscious now of small details of her behavior that he might have missed before. Though she genuinely seemed to enjoy Ranec’s company, and laughed at his jokes, she was subdued, and the care and attention she lavished on Wolf and the horses had a quality of desolate longing.
Mamut paid closer attention to the tall visitor and noticed the same desolation in Jondalar’s behavior. He seemed filled with tormented anxiety, though he, too, tried to hide it. After his desperate impulse to leave in the middle of a storm, the old shaman feared that Jondalar’s good judgment was becoming impaired at the thought of losing Ayla. To the old man who dealt so intimately with the spirit world of Mut and Her fates, that implied a deeper compulsion than simply young love. Perhaps the Mother had plans for him, too; plans that involved Ayla.
Though Mamut was reluctant to step in, he wondered why the Mother had shown him that She was the force behind their mutual feelings. Though he was convinced that ultimately She would arrange circumstances to suit Her, perhaps She wanted him to help in this case.
As he was pondering whether and how to make the Mother’s wishes known, Ranec came into the Mammoth Hearth, obviously looking for Ayla. Mamut knew she had taken the wolf pup out for a ride on Whinney and would not be back for some time. Ranec looked around, then saw the old man and approached him.
“Do you know where Ayla is, Mamut?” he asked.
“Yes. She is out with the animals.”
“I wondered why I hadn’t seen her for a while.”
“You are seeing a lot of her, lately.”
Ranec grinned. “I hope to see a lot more of her.”
“She did not arrive here alone, Ranec. Doesn’t Jondalar have some prior interest?”
“He might have, when they first came, but he gave it up. He left the hearth,” Ranec said. Mamut noted a defensiveness in his tone.
“I think there is still strong feeling between them. I don’t think the separation would be permanent if their deep attachment were given the chance to grow back, Ranec.”
“If you are telling me to back away, Mamut, I’m sorry. It’s too late. I also have a strong feeling for Ayla.” Ranec’s voice cracked with the emotion he felt. “Mamut, I love her, I want to join with her, make a hearth with her. It’s time I settled down with a woman, and I want her children at my hearth. I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s everything I ever dreamed of. If I can convince her to agree, I want to announce our Promise at the Spring Festival, and join in the Matrimonial this summer.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want, Ranec?” Mamut asked. He was fond of Ranec, and he knew it would please Wymez if the dark boy he brought back from his travels would find a woman and settle down. “There are many Mamutoi women who would welcome a joining with you. What will you say to that pretty young red-haired woman you have almost Promised? What is her name? Tricie?” Mamut was certain that if a blush would have shown, Ranec’s face would be red.
“I will say … I will say I am sorry. I can’t help it. There is no one else I want but Ayla. She is Mamutoi now. She should join with a Mamutoi. I want it to be me.”
“If it is meant to be, Ranec,” Mamut said kindly, “it will be, but remember this. The choice is not yours. It is not even hers. Ayla was chosen by the Mother for a purpose, and given many gifts. No matter what you decide, or what she decides, Mut has first claim on her. Any man who joins with her, joins also with her purpose.”
25
As that ancient earth tilted her icy northern face imperceptibly closer to the great shining star she circled, even the lands near the glaciers felt a kiss of gentle warmth and slowly awakened from the sleep of a deeper and colder winter. Spring stirred reluctantly at first, then, with the urgency of a season whose time was short, threw off the frozen cover in an exuberant rush that watered and quickened the soil.
The drops trickling from branches and archways in the first unfrozen noon warmth hardened into icicles as the nights cooled. In the gradually warming days that followed, the long tapered shafts grew, then slipped their icy grip and pierced drifts of snow, shrunk to mounds of slush drained off by muddy water. The rills, runnels, and rivulets of melting snow and ice joined together into streams to carry away the accumulated moisture that had been held in cold suspension. The surging streams raced down old channels and gullies, or cut new ones into the fine loess, sometimes aided and directed by an antler shovel or an ivory scoop.
The ice-bound river groaned and creaked in its struggle to loosen winter’s hold as the melt poured into its hidden current. Then, with no warning, a sharp report, heard even in the lodge, followed by a second crack and then a booming rumble, announced that the ice no longer held back the flooding tide. The chunks and floes, bobbing, dipping, turning on end, caught up and swept along by the swift powerful stream, marked a turning point of the season.
As though the cold was washed out with the tide, the people of the Camp, as confined as the river by the frigid cold, spilled out of the earthlodge. Though it was warmer only by comparison, the restrained indoor life shifted to energetic activity outside. Any excuse to go outdoors was greeted with enthusiasm, even spring cleaning.
The people of the Lion Camp were clean, by their own standards. Though moisture in the form of ice and snow was plentiful, it took fire, and large supplies of fuel, to make water. Even so, some of the ice and snow they melted for cooking and drinking was used to wash, and they took sweatbaths periodically. Personal areas were generally well organized, tools and implements were cared for, the few clothes that were worn indoors were brushed, occasionally washed and well maintained. But by the end of winter, the stench inside the earthlodge was incredible.
Contributing to the stink was food in various stages of preservation or decay, cooked, uncooked, and rotten; burning oils, often rancid since fresh congealed lumps of fat were usually added to old oil in the lamps; baskets used for defecation, not always dumped immediately; containers of urine saved and left standing to become ammoniacal by the decomposition of urea through bacteria; and people. Though sweatbaths were healthful and cleansed the skin, they did little to eliminate normal body odors, but that was not their purpose. Personal odor was part of a person’s identity.
The Mamutoi were accustomed to the rich and pungent natural odors of everyday living. Their sense of smell was well developed and used, like sight or hearing, to maintain awareness of their environment. Not even the smells of the animals were thought to be unpleasant; they were natural, too. But as the season warmed, even noses accustomed to the ordinary odors of life began to notice the consequences of twenty-seven people living together in close quarters for an extended period. Spring was the time when the drapes were pulled back to air the lodge, and the accumulated debris of the entire winter was cleaned up and thrown out.
In Ayla’s case, that included shoveling out the horse dung from the annex. The horses had weathered the winter well, which pleased Ayla, but it was not surprising. Steppe horses were hardy animals, adapted to the rigors of harsh winters. Though they had to forage for themselves, Whinney and Racer were free to come and go at will to a place of protection well beyond that usually available to their wild cousins. In addition, water, and even some food, was provided for them. Horses matured quickly in the wild, necessary, under normal circumstances, for survival, and Racer, like other colts who had been born the same time, had reached his full growth. Though he would fill out a bit more in the next few years, he was a sturdy young stallion, slightly bigger than his dam.
