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“You are not disturbing me,” Ayla said, although he was. She looked at the device made of thin strips of leather, braided and looped around each other.
The mare had come into heat earlier in the season. Soon after Ayla noticed Whinney’s condition, she heard the distinctive neigh of a stallion on the steppes. Though Ayla had found her after the mare had gone to live with a stallion and herd before, she couldn’t face the thought of giving up Whinney to a stallion. She might not get her friend back this time. Ayla had used a halterlike contrivance and a rope around the neck to restrain the mare—and the young stallion who had exhibited great interest and excitement—and kept them inside the annex if she couldn’t be with them. Since then, she continued to use a halter occasionally, though she preferred to allow Whinney the freedom to come and go as she wished.
“How does it work?” Ayla asked.
He demonstrated on Whinney with an extra one he had made for her. Ayla asked several questions in a seemingly dispassionate tone, but she was hardly paying attention. She was far more aware of Jondalar’s warmth when she stood beside him, and of his faint, pleasantly masculine smell. She seemed unable to keep from staring, at his hands, at the play of muscles across his chest, and at the bump of his manhood. She hoped her questions would lead to further conversation, but as soon as he finished explaining the device, he left abruptly. Ayla watched him grab up his shirt, mount Racer and, guiding him with leads to the new bridle, ride up the slope. She considered, for a moment, going after him on Whinney, then changed her mind. If he was so anxious to get away from her, it must mean he didn’t want her around.
Ayla stared after Jondalar until he was out of sight. Wolf, eagerly yipping at her, finally brought her attention back. She wrapped her sling around her head, and checked the stones in the pouch, then picked up the pup and put him on Whinney’s withers. Then she mounted and started up the slope in a different direction from the one Jondalar had taken. She had planned to go hunting with Wolf, and she might as well do it. Wolf had begun to stalk and try to catch mice and small game on his own, and she had discovered that he was very good at flushing game for her sling. Though it was accidental at first, the wolf was quick to learn, and was already becoming trained to flush them at her command.
Ayla was right in one respect. Jondalar left in such a hurry not because he didn’t want to be around her just then—but only because he did want to be around her all the time. He needed to get away from his own reactions to Ayla’s nearness. She was Promised to Ranec now, and he had lost any claim he might have had on her. Lately, he had started riding when he wanted to get away from a difficult situation, or from the strain of fighting conflicting emotions, or just to think. He began to understand why Ayla so often had ridden off on Whinney when something was troubling her. Riding across the open grasslands astride the stallion, feeling the wind in his face, had both an exhilarating and calming effect.
Once up on the steppes, he signaled Racer to a gallop, and leaned closer to the strong neck stretching forward. It had been surprisingly easy to accustom the horse to accepting a rider, but in many ways both Ayla and Jondalar had been getting him used to it for some time. It was harder to decide how to make Racer understand and want to go where his rider wanted to go.
Jondalar understood that Ayla’s control of Whinney had worked itself out in such a natural way that her directions were still largely unconscious, but he started with the idea of training the horse. His directions were much more purposeful, and as he was training the horse, he was teaching himself as well. He learned how to sit on the horse, how to work with the stallion’s powerful muscles, not just bounce on his back, and he discovered that the animal’s sensitivity to thigh pressure and shifts in body position made guiding him easier.
As he gained more confidence and became more comfortable, he rode more, which was exactly the kind of practice that was needed, but the more he associated with Racer, the more affection he felt for him, also. He had been fond of him from the beginning, but he was still Ayla’s horse. He kept telling himself he was training Racer for her, but he hated thinking about leaving the young stallion behind.
Jondalar had planned to leave immediately after the Spring Festival, yet he was still there and he wasn’t sure why. He thought of reasons—it was still too early in the unpredictable season, he had promised Ayla he would train Racer—but he knew they were just excuses. Talut thought he was staying to go to the Summer Meeting with them, and Jondalar didn’t try to correct his impression, though he kept telling himself he would be gone before they left. Every night when he went to bed, and particularly if Ayla went to the Fox Hearth, he told himself he was leaving the next day, and every day he put it off. He struggled with himself, but when he seriously thought of packing up and going, he remembered her lying cold and still on the floor of the Mammoth Hearth, and he couldn’t leave.
Mamut had spoken to him the day after the Festival, and told him the root had been too powerful for him to control. It was too dangerous, the shaman said, he would never use it again. He had advised Ayla not to use it either, and cautioned her that she would need strong protection if she ever did. Without actually saying so, the old man implied that somehow Jondalar had reached out to Ayla and was responsible for bringing her back.
The shaman’s words disturbed Jondalar, but he derived a strange sort of comfort from them, too. When the man of the Mammoth Hearth had feared for Ayla’s safety, why had he asked him to stay? And why did Mamut say it was he who brought her back? She was Promised to Ranec, and there was no doubt of the carver’s feeling for her. If Ranec was there, why did Mamut want him? Why didn’t Ranec bring her back? What did the old man know? Whatever it was, Jondalar could not bear the thought of not being there if she needed him again, or of letting her face some terrible danger without him, but neither could he bear the thought of her living with another man. He couldn’t decide whether to go or stay.
“Wolf! Put that down!” Rugie cried, angry and upset. She and Rydag were playing at the Mammoth Hearth where Nezzie had told them to go so she could pack. “Ayla! Wolf has my doll and won’t put her down.”
Ayla was sitting on the middle of her bed surrounded by neat piles of her things. “Wolf! Drop it!” she commanded. “Come here,” she signaled.
Wolf dropped the doll, which was made of scraps of leather, and slunk with his tail between his legs to Ayla. “Up here,” she said, patting the place at the head of her bed where he usually slept. The wolf pup jumped up. “Now, lie down, and don’t bother Rugie and Rydag any more.” He lay down with his head on his paws, staring up at her with woeful, penitent eyes.
Ayla went back to sorting through her things, but soon stopped and watched the two children playing together on the floor of the Mammoth Hearth, not meaning to stare, but intrigued. They were playing “hearths,” making believe they were sharing a hearth the way grown-up women and men did. Their “child” was the leather doll, fashioned into a human shape with a round head, a body, arms and legs, wrapped in a soft skin blanket. It was the doll that fascinated Ayla. She never had a doll; people of the Clan did not make images of any kind, drawn, sculpted, or fashioned out of leather, but it reminded her of a wounded rabbit she once brought back to the cave for Iza to heal. She had cuddled and rocked the rabbit the same way Rugie held and played with the doll.
Ayla knew it was usually Rugie who initiated the games. Sometimes they played that they were joined, other times that they were “leaders,” a brother and sister in charge of their own camp. Ayla watched the little blond girl and the brown-haired boy, suddenly conscious of his Clan features. Rugie thinks of him as her brother, Ayla thought, but she doubted that they would ever be co-leaders of a Camp.
Rugie gave the doll to Rydag to te
nd, then got up and walked away on some imagined errand. Rydag watched her go, then put the doll down, and looked up at Ayla and smiled. The boy wasn’t as interested in the imaginary baby after Rugie failed to return in a short time. He preferred real babies, though he didn’t mind going along with Rugie’s play when she was there. After a while, Rydag got up and left, too. Rugie had forgotten the game, and the doll for a while, and Rydag went to find her, or to find something else to do.
Ayla went back to making her decisions about what to take along to the Summer Meeting. In the last year, it seemed, she had sorted through her things too many times, making decisions about what to take and what to leave. This time she was packing to travel, and would only take what she could carry. Tulie had already spoken to her about using the horses and travois to bring gifts; it would increase both her status and that of the Lion Camp. She picked up the hide she had dyed red and shook it out, trying to decide if she would need it. She had never been able to make up her mind what to make out of the red hide. She didn’t know what she could use it for now, but red was sacred to the Clan, and besides, she liked it. She folded it up and put it with the few other things she wanted to take besides essentials: the carved horse she loved so much, which Ranec had given to her at her adoption, and the new muta; the beautiful flint point from Wymez; some jewelry, beads and necklaces; her outfit from Deegie, the white tunic she had made, and Durc’s cloak.
Her mind wandered while she went through a few more items, and she found herself thinking about Rydag. Would he ever really have a mate, like Durc? She didn’t think there would be any girls like him at the Summer Meeting. She wasn’t sure he would even reach adulthood, she realized. It made her grateful that her son had been strong and healthy, and that he would have a mate. Broud’s clan would be getting ready to go to the Clan Gathering about now, if they hadn’t already left. Ura would be expecting to go back with them to mate with Durc eventually, and probably dreading the thought of leaving her own clan. Poor Ura, it would be hard for her to leave the people she knew to go live in a strange place with a strange clan. A thought crossed Ayla’s mind that had not occurred to her before. Would she like Durc? Would he like her? She hoped so, because it wasn’t likely they would have any other choice.
Thinking about her son, Ayla reached for a pouch she had brought back from the valley, opened it and dumped out its contents. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the ivory carving. She picked it up. It was of a woman, but not like any of the female carvings she had ever seen, and she realized now how unusual it was. Most muta, except for Ranec’s symbolic bird-women, were full, round motherly shapes with only a knob, sometimes decorated, for a head. They were all meant to symbolize the Mother, but this was a carving of a slender woman, with the hair done in many small braids, the way she used to wear hers. Most surprising, it had a carefully carved face, with a fine nose and chin, and a suggestion of eyes.
She held the carving in her hand, and it blurred in front of her eyes as all the memories came back. Without knowing it, tears were streaming down her face. Jondalar had carved it, in the valley. When he made it, he said he wanted to capture her spirit so they would never be apart. That was why he made it to resemble her, even though no one was supposed to make an image in the likeness of an actual person, for fear of trapping the spirit. He said he wanted her to have the carving, so no one could use it for malicious purposes against her. It was her first muta, she realized. He gave it to her after her First Rites, when he had made her a real woman.
She would never forget that summer in her valley, just the two of them, together. But Jondalar was going to leave without her. She clutched the ivory figure to her chest and wished she was going with him. Wolf was whimpering at her in sympathy, inching forward because he knew he was supposed to stay where he was. She reached for him, and buried her face in his fur, while he tried to lick away her salty tears.
She heard someone coming down the passageway, and sat up quickly, wiped her face, and struggled to contain herself. She turned around as though she was looking for something behind her when Barzec and Druwez walked past, involved in their own conversation. Then she put the carving back in the pouch and carefully put it on top of the bright red leather hide she had dyed, to take with her. She could never leave her first muta behind.
Later that evening, when the Lion Camp was getting ready to share a meal, Wolf suddenly growled menacingly, and raced toward the front entrance. Ayla jumped up and ran after him, wondering what could be wrong. Several others followed her. When she pushed open the drape, she was surprised to see a stranger, a very frightened stranger, backing away from a nearly grown wolf who looked ready to attack.
“Wolf! Come!” Ayla ordered. The wolf pup retreated reluctantly, but he still faced the strange man with bared teeth and a growl low in his throat.
“Ludeg!” Talut said, stepping forward with a big smile and a great bear hug. “Come in. Come inside. It’s cold.”
“I … ah … don’t know,” the man said, eying the young wolf. “Are there any more inside like that?”
“No. No others,” Ayla said. “Wolf will not hurt you. I will not let him.”
