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I-yah wo-wo, Ranec pounding grains go neh!”
Then Deegie came in on the alternating stroke harmonizing with a contrasting phrase.
“Neh neh neh neh, Barzec makes it easy yah!
eh neh neh neh, Barzec makes it easy nah!”
Soon others were slapping their thighs, and male voices sang with Manuv while the female voices joined Deegie. Ayla felt the strong rhythm, and hummed along under her breath, not entirely sure about joining in, but enjoying it.
After a time, Wymez, who had taken off his parka, moved close beside Ranec and relieved him without missing a beat. Manuv was just as quick to change the refrain, and on the following beat sang a new line.
“Nah nah we-ye, Wymez takes the grinder yoh!”
When Barzec seemed to tire, Druwez took it from him and Deegie changed her phrase, and then Frebec took a turn.
They stopped then to check the results and poured the ground grain into a sieve basket of plaited cattail leaves, and shook it through. Then more grain was put into the bone mortar, but this time Tulie and Deegie took up the mammoth tusk pestle, and Manuv made up a refrain for both, but sang the female part in a falsetto voice that made everyone laugh. Nezzie took over from Tulie, and on an impulse, Ayla stepped up beside Deegie, which brought smiles and nods.
Deegie banged the tusk down and let go. Nezzie reached out and lifted as Ayla moved into Deegie’s place. Ayla heard a “yah!” as the pestle slammed down again, and grabbed the thick, slightly curved, ivory shaft. It was heavier than she expected, but she lifted it and heard Manuv sing.
“A-yah wa-wa, Ayla here is welcome nah!”
She almost dropped the mammoth tusk. She hadn’t expected the spontaneous gesture of friendship, and on the next beat when the whole Lion Camp sang it out, both men and women, she was so moved she had to blink back tears. It was more than just a simple message of warmth and friendship to her; it was acceptance. She had found the Others, and they had made her welcome.
Tronie replaced Nezzie, and after a while Fralie made a move toward them, but Ayla shook her head, and the pregnant woman stepped back, readily acquiescing. Ayla was glad she did, but it confirmed her suspicion that Fralie was not feeling well. They continued to pound the grain, until Nezzie stopped them to pour it into the sieve and refill the mortar again.
This time Jondalar stepped up to take a turn at the tedious and difficult task of grinding the wild grain by hand, made easier by cooperative effort and fun. But he frowned when Ranec came forward, too. Suddenly the tension between the dark-skinned man and the blond visitor charged the friendly atmosphere with a subtle undercurrent of enmity.
When the two men, alternating the heavy tusk between them, began to pick up the pace, everyone felt it. As they continued to speed up, the chanting songs faded out, but some people began stamping their feet, and the clapping became louder and sharper. Imperceptibly, Jondalar and Ranec increased the force along with the pace, and instead of a cooperative work effort, it became a contest of strength and will. The pestle was slammed down so hard by one man it bounced back up for the other to grab and slam back down again.
Sweat beaded up on their foreheads, ran down their faces and into their eyes. It soaked their tunics as they kept pushing each other, faster, and harder, smashing the large heavy pestle into the mortar, one then the other, back and forth. It seemed to go on forever, but they wouldn’t quit
. They were breathing hard, showing signs of strain and fatigue, but refused to give in. Neither man was willing to yield to the other; it seemed each would rather die first.
Ayla was beside herself. They were pushing too hard. She looked at Talut with panic in her eyes. Talut nodded to Danug and they both moved toward the stubborn men who seemed determined to kill themselves.
“It’s time to give someone else a turn!” Talut thundered, as he shoved Jondalar out of the way and grabbed the pestle. Danug snatched it away from Ranec on the rebound.
Both men were so dazed with exhaustion they hardly seemed to know the contest was over as they staggered away, gasping for breath. Ayla wanted to rush to their aid, but indecision held her back. She knew that somehow she was the cause of their struggle, and no matter which one she went to first, the other would lose face. The people of the Camp were worried, too, but reluctant to offer help. They were afraid that if they expressed their concern, it would acknowledge that the competition between the two men was more than a game, and lend credence to a rivalry that no one was ready to take so seriously.
As Jondalar and Ranec began to recover, attention shifted back to Talut and Danug, who were still pounding the grain—and making a competition of it. A friendly competition, but not any less intense. Talut was grinning at the young copy of himself as he smashed the ivory pestle into the foot bone. Danug, unsmiling, slammed it back with grim determination.
“Good for you, Danug!” Tornec shouted.
“He doesn’t stand a chance,” Barzec countered.
“Danug’s younger,” Deegie said. “Talut will give out first.”
“He doesn’t have Talut’s stamina,” Frebec disagreed.
“He doesn’t have Talut’s strength yet, but Danug has the stamina,” Ranec said. He had finally caught his breath enough to contribute to the commentary. Though still suffering from the exertion, he saw their contest as a way to make his competition with Jondalar seem less than the dead serious effort it had been.
“Come on, Danug!” Druwez shouted.
“You can do it!” Latie added, caught up in the enthusiasm, though she wasn’t sure if she meant it for Danug or Talut.
Suddenly, with a hard bang from Danug, the foot bone cracked.
“That’s just enough!” Nezzie scolded. “You don’t have to pound so hard you break the mortar. Now we need a new one, and I think you should make it, Talut.”
