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“How far can you throw a spear, Talut?” Jondalar asked when they reached a likely place for a demonstration. “Can you show me?”
“Of course, but why?”
“Because I want to show you that I can throw one farther,” Jondalar said.
Ceneral laughter followed his statement. “You’d better pick someone else to pit yourself against. I know you’re a big man, and probably strong, but no one can throw a spear farther than Talut,” Barzec advised. “Why don’t you just show him, Talut? Give him a fair chance to see what he’s up against. Then he can compete in his own range. I could give him a good contest, maybe even Danug could.”
“No,” Jondalar said, with a gleam in his eye. This was shaping up into a competition. If Talut is your best, then only Talut will do. And I would wager that I can throw a spear farther … except I have nothing to wager. In fact. with this,” Jondalar said, holding up the narrow, flat implement shaped out of wood, “I would wager that Ayla can throw a spear farther, faster, and with better accuracy than Talut.”
There was a buzzing of amazement among the assembled Camp in response to Jondalar’s claim. Tulie eyed Ayla and Jondalar. They were too relaxed, too confident. It should have been obvious to them that they were no match for her brother. She doubted that they’d even be a match for her. She was nearly as tall as the fair-haired man and possibly stronger, though his long reach might give him an edge. What did they know that she didn’t? She stepped forward.
“I’ll give you something to wager,” she said. “If you win, I will give you the right to make a reasonable claim of me, and if it’s within my power, I will grant it.”
“And if I lose?”
“You will grant me the same.”
“Tulie, are you sure you want to wager a future claim?” Barzec asked his mate, with a worried frown. Such undefined terms were high stakes, invariably requiring more than usual payment. Not so much because the winner made unusually high demands, although that happened, but because the loser needed to be certain the wager was satisfied and no further claim could be made. Who knew what this stranger might ask?
“Against a future claim? Yes,” she replied. But she did not say that she believed she could not lose either way, because if he won, if it really did what he said, they would have access to a valuable new weapon. If he lost, she’d have a claim on him. “What do you say, Jondalar?”
Tulie was shrewd, but Jondalar was smiling. He’d wagered for future claims before; they always added flavor to the game, and interest for the spectators. He wanted to share the secret of his discovery. He wanted to see how it would be accepted, and how it would work in a communal hunt. That was the next logical step in testing his new hunting weapon. With a little experimentation and practice, anyone could do it. That was the beauty of it. But it took time to practice and learn the new technique, which would require eager enthusiasm. The wager would help to create that … and he’d have a future claim on Tulie. He had no doubt of that.
“Agreed!” Jondalar said.
Ayla was watching the interplay. She didn’t quite understand this wagering, except that some competition was involved, but she knew more was going on beneath the surface.
“Let’s get some targets up here to sight on, and some markers,” Barzec said, taking charge of the competition. “Druwez, you and Danug get some long bones for posts.”
He smiled, watching the two boys racing down the slope. Danug, so much like Talut, towered over the other boy, though he was only a year older, but at thirteen years Druwez was beginning to show a stocky, compact muscularity, similar to Barzec’s build.
Barzec was convinced this youngster, and little Tusie, were the progeny of his spirit, just as Deegie and Tarneg were probably Darnev’s. He wasn’t sure about Brinan. Eight years
since his birth, but it was still hard to tell. Mut may have chosen some other spirit, not one of the two men of the Aurochs Hearth. He resembled Tulie, and had her brother’s red hair, but Brinan had his own look. Darnev had felt the same way. Barzec felt a lump in his throat, sharply aware for a moment of his co-mate’s absence. It wasn’t the same without Darnev, Barzec thought. After two years, he still grieved as much as Tulie.
By the time mammoth leg-bone posts—with red fox tails tied to them and baskets woven with brightly dyed grasses inverted on top—were raised to mark the throwing line, the day was beginning to take on a feeling of celebration. Starting at each post, shocks of long grass, still growing, were tied together with cord at intervals, creating a wide lane. The children were racing up and down the throwing course, stamping down the grass, and delineating the space even more. Others brought spears out, then someone got an idea to stuff an old sleeping pallet with grass and dry mammoth dung, which was then marked with figures in black charcoal to use as a movable target.
During the preparations, which seemed to grow more elaborate of their own accord, Ayla started to put together a morning meal for Jondalar, Mamut, and herself. Soon it included all of the Lion Hearth so Nezzie could get the stew cooking. Talut volunteered his fermented drink for dinner, which made everyone feel it was a special occasion, since he usually brought out his bouza only for guests and celebrations. Then Ranec announced he would make his special dish, which surprised Ayla to learn that he cooked, and pleased everyone else. Tornec and Deegie said if they were going to have a festival, they might as well … do something. It was a word that Ayla did not understand, but which was greeted with even more enthusiasm than Ranec’s specialty.
By the time the morning meal was over and cleaned up, the lodge was empty. Ayla was the last to leave. Letting the drape of the outer archway fall back behind her, she noticed it was midmorning. The horses had wandered a little closer, and Whinney tossed her head and snorted a greeting to the woman as she appeared. The spears had been left up on the steppes, but she had brought her sling back, and was holding it in her hand along with a pouch of round pebbles she had selected from a gravel bed near the bend in the river. She had no waist thong around her heavy parka to tuck the sling in, and no convenient fold in a wrap in which to carry the missiles. The tunic and parka she was wearing were loose-fitting.
The whole Camp was caught up in the competition; almost everyone was already up the slope, waiting in anticipation. She started up, too, then saw Rydag waiting patiently for someone to notice him and carry him up, but the ones who usually did—Talut, Danug, and Jondalar—were already on the steppes.
Ayla smiled at the child and went to pick him up, then got an idea. Turning around, she whistled for Whinney. The mare and the colt both galloped to her, and seemed so pleased to see her Ayla realized she hadn’t spent much time with them recently. There were so many people who took up her time. She resolved to go out for a ride every morning, at least while the weather held. Then she picked up Rydag and put him on the mare’s back to let Whinney carry him up the steep grade.
“Hold onto her mane so you don’t fall backward,” she cautioned.
He nodded agreement, grabbed hold of the thick, dark hair standing up on the back of the neck of the hay-colored horse, and heaved a great sigh of happiness.
The tension in the air was palpable when Ayla reached the spear-throwing course. It made her realize that, for all the festivities, the contest had become serious business. The wager had made it more than a demonstration. She left Rydag on Whinney’s back so he would have a good view of the activities, and stood quietly beside both horses to keep them calm. They were more comfortable around these people now, but the mare sensed the tension, she knew, and Racer always sensed his dam’s moods.
The people were milling around in anticipation, some throwing spears of their own down the well-trampled course. No special time had been predetermined for the contest to begin, yet, as though someone had given a signal, everyone seemed to know the precise moment to clear the way and quiet down. Talut and Jondalar were standing between the two posts eying the course. Tulie was beside them. Though Jondalar had originally said he would wager that even Ayla could cast a spear farther than Talut, it seemed so farfetched the comment evidently had been ignored, and she watched with avid interest from the sidelines.
Talut’s spears were bigger and longer than any of the others, as though his powerful muscles needed something with weight and mass to hurl, but, Ayla recalled, the spears of the men of the Clan had been even heavier and bulkier if not as long. Ayla noticed other differences as well. Unlike. Clan spears, made for thrusting, these spears, along with hers and Jondalar’s, were made for throwing through the air, and were all fletched, though the Lion Camp seemed to prefer three feathers attached to the butt end of the shafts, while Jondalar used two. The spears she had made for herself while living alone in her valley had sharpened, fire-hardened points, similar to ones she had seen in the Clan. Jondalar had shaped and sharpened bone into spear points and attached them to shafts. The Mammoth Hunters seemed to prefer flint-tipped spears.
Engrossed in her careful observation of the spears that various people were holding, she almost missed Talut’s first hurl. He had stepped back a few paces, then, with a running start, let fly with a mighty cast. The spear whizzed past the bystanders and landed with a solid thunk, its point nearly buried in the ground and the shaft vibrating from the impact. The admiring Camp left no doubt what they thought of their headman’s feat. Even Jondalar was surprised. He had suspected Talut’s throw would be long, but the big man had far exceeded his expectations. No wonder the people had doubted his claim.
Jondalar paced the distance off to get a feel for the measure he would have to beat, then went back to the throwing line. Holding the spear-thrower horizontally, he laid the back end of the spear shaft in the groove that ran down the length of the device and fitted a hole carved out of the spear butt into the small protruding hook at the back end of the thrower. He put his first two fingers through the leather finger loops at the front end, which allowed him to hold the spear and the spear-thrower at a good balance point. He sighted down the field on Talut’s upright spear, then pulled back and heaved.
