The Mammoth Hunters

36

Talut was never more in his element than when they butchered mammoths. Bare-chested, sweating profusely, swinging his massive axe as though it were a child's toy, he cracked bones and ivory, split tendons, and ripped through tough skin. He enjoyed the work and knowing it helped his people, took delight in using his powerful body and making the effort less for someone else, grinned with pleasure as he used his massive muscles in a way that no one else could, and everyone who watched him had to smile, too.

Skinning the thick hides from the huge animals, however, took many people, just as curing and tanning the skins would when they returned. Even bringing them back required cooperative effort, which was why they selected only the best. The same held true for every other part of the huge animals, from tusks to tails. They were especially discriminating in their selection of meat, picking only the choicest cuts, preferring those rich with fat, and leaving the rest.

But the wastage was not as great as it seemed. The Mamutoi had to carry everything on their backs, and the transport of poor-quality lean meat could cost them more calories than they gained. With careful selection, the food they brought back would feed many people for a long time, and they would not have to hunt again soon. Those who hunted, and depended on hunting for food, did not overkill. They simply utilized wisely. They lived close to the Great Earth Mother, knew and understood their dependence on Her. They did not squander Her resources.

The weather stayed remarkably clear while the hunters butchered, causing dramatic swings in temperature between midday and midnight. Even so, near the great glacier, the days could get quite warm in the bright summer sun – warm enough, with the desiccating wind, to dry some of the leaner meat, and make it reasonable to carry back. But nights always belonged to the ice. On the day of their departure, a shift in the wind brought scattered clouds in the west, and a noticeable cooling.

Ayla's horses were never so appreciated as when she loaded them for the trip back. Every hunter was preparing a full load, and immediately understood the benefits of the pack animals. The travois provoked particular interest. Several people had wondered why Ayla insisted on dragging the long poles with her; they were obviously not spears. Now they were nodding approval. One of the men, jokingly, even picked up a partially loaded travois and dragged it himself.

Though they woke early, eager to get back, it was midmorning before they got underway. Sometime after noon the hunters climbed a long, narrow hill of sand, gravel, and boulders, deposited long before by the leading edge of the glacier broaching farther south. When they reached the rounded ridge of the esker, they stopped for a rest, and looking back, Ayla saw the glacier unshrouded by mists from the perspective of distance for the first time. She could not stop looking at it.

Gleaming in the sun, a few clouds in the west obscuring its upper reaches, a continuous barrier of ice the height of a mountain stretched across the land as far as she could see, marking a boundary beyond which none could go. It was truly the end of the earth.

The front edge was uneven, accommodating minor local differences in terrain, and a climb to the top would have revealed dips and ridges, seracs, and crevices quite extensive on a human scale, but in relation to its own size, the surface was uniformly level. Sweeping beyond imagination, the vast inexorable glacier sheathed a quarter of the earth's surface with a glittering carapace of ice. Ayla kept looking back when they started out again, and watched the western clouds move in and the mists rise, veiling the ice in mystery.

In spite of their heavy packs, they traveled faster on the trek back than they had on the way there. Each year the terrain changed enough over the winter that the route, even to well-known places, had to be reexplored. But the way to the northern glacier, and back, was now known. Everyone was jubilant and in good spirits about the successful hunt, and eager to return to the Meeting. No one seemed weighted down by their load, except Ayla. As they traveled, the feeling of foreboding she had experienced on their way north became even stronger on the way back, but she avoided any mention of her misgivings.

The carver was so full of anxious anticipation he found it hard to contain himself. The anxiety stemmed largely from Vincavec's continuing interest in Ayla, though he felt a vague sense of deeper conflicts as well. But Ayla was still Promised to him, and they were carrying the meat for the Matrimonial Feast. Even Jondalar seemed to have accepted the joining, and although nothing was explicitly stated, Ranec sensed that the tall man was siding with him against Vincavec. The Zelandonii man had many admirable qualities, and a tentative friendship was developing. Nonetheless, Ranec felt Jondalar's presence was a tacit threat to his joining with Ayla, and could be an obstacle that stood between him and complete happiness. Ranec would be happy when he finally left.

Ayla was not looking forward to the Matrimonial Ceremony at all, though she knew she should have been. She knew how much Ranec loved her, and she believed she could be happy with him. The idea of having a baby like Tricie's filled her with delight. In her own mind, Ayla knew beyond doubt that Ralev was Ranec's child. It was not the result of any mixing of spirits. She was sure that he had started the child with his own essence when he shared Pleasures with Tricie. Ayla liked the red-haired woman, and felt sorry for her. She decided she would not mind sharing Ranec and the hearth with her and Ralev, if Tricie wanted to.

It was only in the darkest depths of night that Ayla admitted to herself that she might be just as happy not living at Ranec's hearth at all. She had generally avoided sleeping with him during the trip out, except for a few occasions when he seemed to be in special need of her, not physically, but because he wanted reassurance and closeness. On the way back, she had not been able to share Pleasures with Ranec. Instead, in her bed at night, she could think only of Jondalar. The same questions went through her mind over and over again, but she could come to no conclusion.

When she thought of the day of the hunt, of her close call with the bull mammoth, and of the look of aching need in Jondalar's eyes, she wondered if it was possible that he still loved her. Then why had he been so distant all winter? Why had he stopped finding Pleasure in her? Why had he left the Mammoth Hearth? She remembered that day on the steppes the first time he rode Racer. When she thought of his desire, his need, and her willing and eager acceptance, she could not sleep for wanting him, but the memory was clouded by his rejection, and her feelings of pain and confusion.

After one particularly long day, and a late meal, Ayla was among the first to leave the fire and head for the tent. She had turned down Ranec's hopeful, implied request to share his furs with a smile and a comment about being tired after the day's trek, and then, seeing his disappointment, felt bad. But she was tired, and very uncertain about her feelings. She caught sight of Jondalar near the horses before she entered the tent. He was turned away from her, and she watched him, unintentionally fascinated by the shape of his body, the way he moved, the way he stood. She knew him so well, she thought she could recognize him by the shadow he cast. Then she noticed her body had responded to him unintentionally, too. She was breathing faster and her face was flushed, and she felt so drawn to him, she started in his direction.

But it's no use, she thought. If I went over to talk to him, he would just back away, make some excuses, and then go find someone else to talk to. Ayla went into the tent, still full of the feelings he had caused in her, and crawled into her furs.

She had been tired, but now she couldn't sleep, and tossed and turned, trying to deny her yearning for him. What was wrong with her? He didn't seem to want her, why should she want him? But then why did he look at her that way sometimes? Why did he want her so much that time on the steppes? It was as though he was so drawn to her he couldn't help it. A thought struck her then, and she frowned. Maybe he was drawn to her, the way she was drawn to him, but maybe he didn't want to be. Had that been the problem all along?

She felt herself redden again, but this time with chagrin. Thinking about it that way, it suddenly seemed to make sense, all his avoiding her and running away from her. Was it because he didn't want to want her? When she thought of all the times she had tried to approach him, tried to talk to him, tried to understand him, when all he wanted was to avoid her, she felt humiliated. He doesn't want me, she thought. Not like Ranec does. Jondalar said he loved me, and talked about taking me with him, when we were in the valley, but he never asked me to join with him. He never said he wanted to share a hearth, or that he wanted my children.

Ayla felt hot tears at the corners of her eyes. Why should I care about him, when he doesn't really care about me? She sniffed, and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. All this time when I've been thinking about him, and wanting him, he just wanted to forget me.

Well, Ranec wants me, and he makes good Pleasures, too. And he is so good to me. He wants to share a hearth with me, and I haven't even been very nice to him. And he makes nice babies, too, at least Tricie's baby is nice. I think I should start being nicer to Ranec, and forget about Jondalar, she thought. But even as the words formed in her mind, her tears broke forth again, and try as she would she could not stop the thought that rose up from deep within. Yes, Ranec is good to me but Ranec is not Jondalar, and I love Jondalar.

Ayla was still awake when people started to come into the tent. She watched Jondalar come through the opening, and saw him look in her direction, hesitating. She looked back at him for a moment, then she raised her chin and looked away. Ranec came in just then. She sat up and smiled at him.

"I thought you were tired. That's why you went to bed early," the carver said.

"I thought I was, but I couldn't go to sleep. I think maybe I'd like to share your furs, after all," she said.

The brightness of Ranec's smile could have rivaled the sun, if it had been shining.

"It's a good thing nothing can keep me awake when I'm tired," Talut said with a good-natured grin, as he sat down on his sleeping roll to untie his boots. But Ayla noticed that Jondalar did not smile. He had closed his eyes, but it didn't hide his grimace of pain, or the slump of defeat as he walked toward his sleeping place. Suddenly, he turned around and hurried back out of the tent. Ranec and Talut exchanged a glance, but then the dark man looked at Ayla.

When they reached the bog, they decided to look for a way around. They were carrying too much to fight their way through it again. The ivory route map of the previous year was consulted, and a decision was made to change direction the following morning. Talut was sure it would not take any more time to go the long way around, though he had some trouble convincing Ranec, who could not abide any delays.

The evening before they decided to take the new route, Ayla felt unusually edgy. The horses had been skittish all day, too, and even the attention of brushing and currying them hadn't settled them down. Something felt wrong. She didn't know what it was, just a strange unease. She started walking across the open steppes, trying to relax, and wandered away from camp.

She spied a covey of ptarmigan, and looked for her sling, but she had forgotten it. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, they took flight in a panic. Then a golden eagle appeared above the horizon. With deceptively slow wing motions, it rode the currents of air, and seemed in no great hurry. Yet, more quickly than she realized, the eagle was gaining on the low-flying grouse. Suddenly, in a flurry of speed, the eagle snatched its victim in strong talons, and squeezed the ptarmigan to death.

Ayla shuddered and hurried back to camp. She stayed up late, talking to people, trying to distract herself. But when she went to bed, sleep came slowly, and then was filled with unsettling dreams. She woke often, and sometime around daybreak, found herself awake again, and unable to go back to sleep. Slipping out of her bedroll, she went out of the tent, and started up the fire to boil water.

She sipped her morning tea as the sky grew lighter, staring absently at a thin stalk with a dried flower umbel growing near the fireplace. A half-eaten haunch of cold roast mammoth had been raised up high, on top of a tripod of mammoth spears, directly over the fire, to protect it from marauding animals. Recognition of the wild carrot plant dawned on her, and noticing a fractured branch with a pointed end in the woodpile, she used it as a digging stick to uncover the root a few inches below the surface. Then she noticed several more dried flower umbels, and while she was digging them, she saw some thistle stalks, crisp and juicy after the spines were scraped off. Not far from the thistles, she found a big puffball mushroom, still white and fresh, and day lilies with crisp new buds. By the time people were stirring Ayla had a large basket pot of soup, thickened with cracked grains, simmering.

"This is wonderful!" Talut said, scooping up a second serving with an ivory ladle. "What made you decide to cook such a delicious breakfast this morning?"

"I couldn't sleep, and then I noticed all the vegetables growing nearby. It took my mind off… things," she said.

"I slept like a bear in winter," Talut said, then studied her closely, wishing Nezzie was there. "Is something troubling you, Ayla?"

She shook her head. "No… well, yes. But I don't know what it is."

"Are you sick?"

"No, it's not that. I just feel… strange. The horses notice something, too. Racer is hard to manage, and Whinney is nervous…"

Suddenly Ayla dropped her cup, and clutching her arms as though to protect herself, stared in horror at the southeastern sky. "Talut! Look!" A column of dark gray was rising upward in the distance, and a massive, billowing dark cloud was filling up the sky. "What is it?"

"I don't know," the big headman said, looking as frightened as she felt. "I'll get Vincavec."

"I am not sure, either." They turned toward the voice of the tattooed shaman. "It's coming from the mountains in the southeast." Vincavec was struggling to keep his composure. He was not supposed to show his fears, but it was not easy. "It must be a sign from the Mother."

Ayla was sure some terrible catastrophe was happening for the earth to spew forth like that with such force. The dark gray column must have been unbelievably huge to look so large from so far away, and the cloud, roiling and surging angrily, was growing larger. High winds were beginning to push it westward.

"It's the milk of Doni's Breast," Jondalar said, more matter-of-factly than he felt, using a word from his own language. Everyone was out of the tents now, staring at the terrifying eruption and the huge bloated cloud of seething volcanic ash.

"What is… that word you said?" Talut said.

"It's a mountain, a special kind of mountain that spouts. I saw one when I was very young," Jondalar said. "We call them the 'Breasts of the Mother.' Old Zelandoni told us the legend about them. The one I saw was far away on the high midlands. Later a man who was traveling, and was closer to it, told us what he saw. It was a very exciting story, but he was scared. There were some small earthquakes, then the top of the mountain blew right off. It sent up a big spout like that, and made a black cloud that filled the sky. It's not like a regular cloud, though. It's full of a light dust, like ash. That one" – he motioned toward the huge black cloud that was streaming toward the west – "looks like it's blowing away from us. I hope the wind doesn't shift. When that ash settles, it covers everything. Sometimes very deep."

"It must be far away," Brecie said. "We can't even see the mountains from here, and there are no sounds, no roars and rumbles and shaking of the ground. Just that huge spout and the great dark cloud."

"That's why, even if the ash falls around here, it may not be too bad. We're far enough away."

"You said there were earthquakes? Earthquakes are always a sign from the Mother. This must be, too. The mamuti will have to meditate on this, find its meaning," Vincavec said, not wanting to appear less knowledgeable than the stranger.

Ayla did not hear much beyond "earthquake." There was nothing in the world she feared so much as earthquakes. She had lost her family when she was five to a violent rending of the solid earth, and another earthquake had killed Creb when Broud had expelled her from the Clan. Earthquakes had always presaged devastating loss, wrenching change. She kept control of herself only by the thinnest edge.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a familiar movement. The next instant, a streak of gray fur raced toward her, jumped up, and put wet, muddy paws on her chest. She felt the lick of a raspy tongue on her jaw.

"Wolf! Wolf! What are you doing here?" she said, as she ruffed up his neck. Then she stopped, horror-stricken, and cried out. "Oh, no! It's Rydag! Wolf has come for me, to take me to Rydag! I must go. I must go immediately!"

"You'll have to leave the travois and the horses' pack loads here, and ride back," Talut said. The pain in his eyes was evident. Rydag was the son of his hearth just as much as any of Nezzie's children, and the headman loved him. If he could have, if he wasn't so big, Ayla would have offered to let him ride Racer and come back with her.

She ran into the tent to dress and saw Ranec. "It's Rydag," she said.

"I know. I just heard you. Let me help. I'll put some food and water in your pack. Will you need your bedroll? I'll pack it, too," he said, while she was wrapping ties around her boots.

"Oh, Ranec," Ayla said. He was so good to her. "How can I thank you!"

"He's my brother, Ayla."

Of course! she thought. Ranec loves him, too. "I'm sorry. I'm not thinking right. Do you want to come back with me? I was thinking of asking Talut, but he's too big to ride Racer. You could, though."

"Me? Get up on a horse? Never!" Ranec said, looking startled and pulling back a little.

Ayla frowned. She hadn't realized he felt so strongly about the horses, but now that she thought about it, he was one of the few who had never asked for a ride. She wondered why.

"I wouldn't have the first idea how to guide him, and… I'm afraid I'd fall off, Ayla. It's all right for you, that's one of the things I love about you, but I'll never ride a horse," Ranec said. "I prefer my own two feet. I don't even like boats."

"But someone must go with her. She should not go back alone," Talut said from just beyond the entrance.

"She won't," Jondalar said. He was dressed in traveling clothes, standing beside Whinney, holding Racer's bridle.

Ayla breathed a great sigh of relief, and then frowned. Why was he going with her? He never wanted to go anyplace with her, alone. He didn't really care about her. She was glad he would be with her, but she wasn't going to tell him. She had already humiliated herself too many times.

While she put the carrying bags on Whinney, Ayla noticed Wolf slurping water from Ranec's dish. He had gobbled down half a plate of meat as well.

"Thank you for feeding him, Ranec," she said.

"Just because I won't ride a horse doesn't mean I don't like the animals, Ayla," the carver said, feeling diminished. He hadn't wanted to tell her he was afraid to ride a horse.

She nodded, and smiled. "I'll see you when you get to Wolf Camp," Ayla said. They embraced, and kissed, and Ayla thought he held her to him almost too fervently. She hugged Talut as well, and Brecie, and brushed Vincavec's cheek, then mounted. The wolf was immediately at Whinney's heels.

"I hope Wolf's not too tired to run back after running all the way here," Ayla said.

"If he gets tired, he can ride double with you on Whinney," Jondalar said, sitting on Racer, trying to keep the nervous stallion calm.

"That's right. I'm not thinking," Ayla said.

"Take care of her, Jondalar," Ranec said. "When she's worried about someone else, she forgets to take care of herself. I want her to be well for our Matrimonial."

"I'll take care of her, Ranec. Don't worry, you will have a well and healthy woman to bring to your hearth," Jondalar replied.

Ayla looked from one to the other. More was being said than the words.

They traveled steadily until midday, then stopped to rest and lunch on traveling food. Ayla was so deeply worried about Rydag she would have preferred to keep on going, but the horses needed the rest. She wondered if he had sent Wolf for her himself. It seemed likely. Anyone else would send a person. Only Rydag would reason that Wolf was smart enough to understand the message and follow her trail to find her. But he wouldn't do it, unless it was very important.

The disturbance to the southeast frightened her. The great column spewing into the sky had stopped, but the cloud was still there, spreading out. The fear of strange earth convulsions was so basic to her, and so deep, that she was in a mild state of shock. Only her overriding fear for Rydag forced her to stay in control of herself.

But with all her fears, Ayla was strongly conscious of Jondalar. She had almost forgotten how happy it made her feel to be with him. She had dreamed of riding with him on Whinney and Racer, just the two of them together, with Wolf loping alongside. While they rested, she watched him, but surreptitiously, with a Clan woman's ability to efface herself, to see without being seen. Just looking at him gave her a feeling of warmth and a desire to be closer, but her recent insight into his unexplainable behavior, and her embarrassment over pushing herself on him when she wasn't wanted, made her reluctant to show her interest. If he didn't want her, she didn't want him, or at least, she wasn't going to let him know that she did.

Jondalar was watching her, too, wanting to find a way to talk to her, to tell her how much he loved her, to try to win her back. But she seemed to be avoiding him, he couldn't catch her eye. He knew how upset she was about Rydag – he feared the worst himself – and didn't want to intrude on her. He wasn't sure it was the right time to bring up his personal feelings, and after all this time, he didn't quite know how to begin. Riding back, he had wild visions of not even stopping at Wolf Camp, of continuing on with her, maybe all the way back to his home. But he knew that was impossible. Rydag needed her, and she was Promised to Ranec. They were going to join. Why should she want to go with him?

They didn't rest long. As soon as Ayla thought the horses were rested enough, they started riding again. But they traveled only a short time when they saw someone coming. He hailed from a distance, and when they got closer, they saw it was Ludeg, the messenger who had brought them the new location of the Summer Meeting.

"Ayla! You're the one I am looking for. Nezzie sent me to get you. I'm afraid I have bad news for you. Rydag is very sick," Ludeg said. Then he looked around. "Where is everyone else?"

"They are coming. We came on ahead as soon as we found out," Ayla said.

"But how could you find out? I'm the only runner that was sent," Ludeg asked.

"No," Jondalar said. "You're the only human runner that was sent, but wolves can run faster."

Suddenly Ludeg noticed the young wolf. "He didn't go hunting with you, how did Wolf get here?"

"I think Rydag sent him," Ayla said. "He found us on the other side of the bog."

"It's a good thing, too," Jondalar added. "You might have missed the hunters. They've decided to go around the bog on the way back. It's easier when you're heavily loaded to stay on dry ground."

"So they found mammoth. Good, that will make everyone happy," Ludeg said, then he looked at Ayla. "I think you'd better hurry. It's lucky you're this close."

Ayla felt the blood drain from her face.

"Would you like a ride back, Ludeg?" Jondalar asked, before they hurried away. "We can ride double…"

"No. You need to go ahead. You've already saved me a long trip. I don't mind the walk back."

Ayla raced Whinney all the way back to the Summer Meeting. She was off the horse and in the tent before anyone knew she was back.

"Ayla! You're here! You made it in time. I was afraid he would be gone before you got here," Nezzie said. "Ludeg must have traveled fast."

"It wasn't Ludeg who found us. It was Wolf," Ayla said, throwing off her outerwear and rushing to Rydag's bed.

She had to close her eyes to overcome the shock for a moment. The set of his jaw and the lines of strain told her more than any words that he was in pain, terrible pain. He was pale, but dark hollows circled his eyes, and his cheekbones and brow ridges protruded in sharp angles. Every breath was an effort and caused more pain. She looked up at Nezzie, who was standing beside the bed.

"What happened, Nezzie?" She fought to hold back tears, for his sake.

"I wish I knew. He was fine, then all of a sudden he got this pain. I tried to do everything you told me, gave him the medicine. Nothing helped," Nezzie said.

Ayla felt a faint touch on her arm. "I glad you come," the boy signed.

Where had she seen that before? That struggle to make signs with a body too weak to move? Iza. That's how she was when she died. Ayla had just returned from a long trek then, and a long stay at the Clan Gathering. But she just went to hunt mammoth this time. They weren't gone very long. What happened to Rydag? How did he get so sick so fast? Had it been coming up on him slowly all along?

"You sent Wolf, didn't you?" Ayla asked.

"I know he find," the boy motioned. "Wolf smart."

Rydag closed his eyes then, and Ayla had to turn her head aside, and close her eyes. It hurt to see the way he labored to breathe, to see his pain.

"When did you last have your medicine?" Ayla asked, when he opened his eyes and she could look at him.

Rydag shook his head slightly. "Not help. Nothing help."

"What do you mean, nothing will help? You're not a medicine woman. How do you know? I'm the one who knows that," Ayla said, trying to sound firm and positive.

He shook his head slightly again. "I know."

"Well, I'm going to examine you, but first, I'm going to get you some medicine," Ayla said, but it was more that she was afraid she would break down right there. He touched her hand as she started to leave.

"Not go." He closed his eyes again, and she watched him struggle for one more tortured breath, and then another, powerless to do anything. "Wolf here?" he finally signed.

Ayla whistled, and whoever it was outside that had been trying to keep Wolf from going in the tent, suddenly found it impossible. He was there, jumping up on the boy's bed, trying to lick his face. Rydag smiled. It was almost more than Ayla could stand, that smile on a Clan face that was so uniquely Rydag. The rambunctious young animal could be too much. Ayla motioned him down.

"I send Wolf. Want Ayla," Rydag motioned again. "I want…" He didn't seem to know the word in signs.

"What is it you want, Rydag?" Ayla encouraged.

"He tried to tell me," Nezzie said. "But I couldn't understand him. I hope you can. It seems so important to him."

Rydag closed his eyes and wrinkled his brow, and Ayla had the feeling he was trying to remember something.

"Durc lucky. He… belongs. Ayla, I want… mog-ur."

He was trying so hard, and it was taking so much out of him, but all Ayla could do was try to understand. "Mog-ur?" The sign was silent. "You mean a man of the spirit world?" Ayla said, aloud.

Rydag nodded, encouraged. But the expression on Nezzie's face was unfathomable. "Is that what he's been trying to say?" the woman asked.

"Yes, I think so," Ayla said. "Does that help?"

Nezzie nodded, a short, clipped nod of anger. "I know what he wants. He doesn't want to be an animal, he wants to go to the spirit world. He wants to be buried… like a person."

Rydag was nodding now, agreeing.

"Of course," Ayla said. "He is a person." She looked perplexed.

"No. He's not. He was never numbered among the Mamutoi. They wouldn't accept him. They said he was an animal," Nezzie said.

"You mean he cannot have a burial? He cannot walk the spirit world? Who says he can't?" Ayla's eyes blazed with fury.

"The Mammoth Hearth," Nezzie said. "They won't allow it."

"Well, am I not the daughter of the Mammoth Hearth? I will allow it!" Ayla stated.

"It won't do any good. Mamut would, too. The Mammoth Hearth has to agree, and they won't agree," Nezzie said.

Rydag had been listening, hopeful, but now his hope was dimming. Ayla saw his expression, his disappointment, and was more angry than she had ever been.

"The Mammoth Hearth doesn't have to agree. They are not the ones who decide if someone is human or not. Rydag is a person. He is no more an animal than my son is. The Mammoth Hearth can keep their burial. He doesn't need it. When the time comes, I will do it, the Clan way, the way I did it for Creb, the Mog-ur. Rydag will walk the world of the spirits, Mammoth Hearth or no!"

Nezzie glanced at the boy. He seemed more relaxed now. No, she decided. At peace. The strain, the tension, he had been showing was gone. He touched Ayla's arm.

"I am not animal," he signed.

He seemed about to say something else. Ayla waited. Then suddenly she realized there was no sound, no struggle to take one more tortured breath. He was not in pain any more.

But Ayla was. She looked up and saw Jondalar. He had been there all along, and his face was as racked with grief as hers, or Nezzie's. Suddenly all three of them were clinging together, trying to find solace in each other.

Then another showed his grief. From the floor beneath Rydag's bed, a low whine rose in a furry throat, then yips that extended and deepened and soared into Wolf's first full, ringing howl. When his breath ran out, he began again, crying out his loss in the sonorous, eerie, spine-tingling, unmistakable tones of wolfsong. People gathered at the entrance of the tent to look, but were hesitant to enter. Even the three who were awash in their own sorrow paused to listen and wonder. Jondalar thought to himself that animal or human, no one could ask for a more poignant or awesome elegy.

After the first racking tears of grief were spent, Ayla sat beside the small thin body, unmoving, but her tears had not stopped. She stared into space, silently remembering her life with the Clan, and her son, and the first time she saw Rydag. She loved Rydag. He had come to mean as much to her as Durc and, in a certain way, stood in for him. Even though her son had been taken from her, Rydag had given her an opportunity to know more about him, to learn how he might be growing and maturing, how he might look, how he might think. When she smiled at Rydag's gentle humor, or was pleased at his perceptiveness and intelligence, she could imagine that Durc had the same kind of understanding. Now Rydag was gone, and her tenuous link to Durc was gone. Her grief was for both.

Nezzie's grief was not less, but the needs of the living were important, too. Rugie climbed up on her lap, hurt and confused that her playmate, and friend, and brother, couldn't play any more, couldn't even make words with his hands. Danug was stretched out full-length on his bed, his head buried under a cover, sobbing, and someone had to go and tell Latie.

"Ayla? Ayla," Nezzie finally said. "What do we have to do to bury him in the Clan way? We need to start getting him ready."

It took Ayla a moment to comprehend that someone was talking to her. She frowned, and focused on Nezzie. "What?"

"We have to get him ready for burial. What do we have to do? I don't know anything about Clan burials."

No, none of the Mamutoi did, she thought. Especially the Mammoth Hearth. But she did. She thought about the Clan burials she had seen and considered what should be done for Rydag. Before he can be buried in the Clan way, he has to be Clan. That means he has to be named, and he needs an amulet with a piece of red ochre in it. Suddenly, Ayla got up and rushed out.

Jondalar went after her. "Where are you going?"

"If Rydag is going to be Clan, I have to make him an amulet," she said.

Ayla stalked through the encampment, obviously angry, marching past the Camp of the Mammoth Hearth without even a glance, and straight to the flint-workers' area. Jondalar followed behind. He had some idea what she was up to. She asked for a flint nodule, which no one was ready to refuse her. Then she looked around and found a hammerstone, and cleared herself a place to work.

As she began to preshape the flint in the Clan way, and the Mamutoi flint knappers realized what she was doing, they were eager to watch, and crowded as close as they dared. No one wanted to raise her ire even more, but this was a rare opportunity. Jondalar had tried to explain the Clan techniques once, after Ayla's background became generally known, but his training was different. He didn't have the necessary control using their methods. Even when he succeeded, they thought it was his own skill, not the unusual process.

Ayla decided to make two separate tools, a sharp knife and a pointed awl, and bring them both back to Cattail Camp to make the amulet. She managed to make a serviceable knife, but she was so full of grief and anger, her hands shook. The first time she tried to make the more difficult narrow, sharp point, she shattered it, and then noticed that many people were watching her, which made her nervous. She felt that the Mamutoi flint workers were judging the Clan way of making tools, and she was not representing them well, and then was angry that she should even care. The second time she tried, she broke it, too. Her frustration brought angry tears, which she kept trying to wipe away. Suddenly, Jondalar was kneeling in front of her.

"Is this what you want, Ayla?" he asked, holding up the piercing tool she had made for the special Spring Festival ceremony.

"That's a Clan tool! Where did you get… that's the one I made!" she said.

"I know. I went back and got it that day. I hope you don't mind."

She was surprised, puzzled, and strangely pleased. "No, I don't mind. I'm glad you did, but why?"

"I wanted… to study it," he replied. He couldn't quite bring himself to say he wanted it to remember her by, to tell her he thought he would be leaving without her. He didn't want to leave without her.

She took her tools back to Cattail Camp and asked Nezzie for a piece of soft leather. After she got it, the woman watched her make the simple, gathered pouch.

"They look a little more crude, but those tools really work very well," Nezzie remarked. "What is the pouch for?"

"It's Rydag's amulet, like the one I made for the Spring Festival. I have to put a piece of red ochre in it, and name him the way the Clan does. He should have a totem, too, to protect him on his way to the world of the spirits." She paused, and wrinkled her brow. "I don't know what Creb did to discover a person's totem, but it was always right… maybe I can share my totem with Rydag. The Cave Lion is a powerful totem, difficult to live with sometimes, but he was tested many times. Rydag deserves a strong, protective totem."

"Is there anything I can do? Does he need to be prepared? Dressed?" Nezzie asked.

"Yes, I'd like to help, too," Latie said. She was standing at the entrance with Tulie.

"And so would I," Mamut added.

Ayla looked up and saw almost the entire Lion Camp wanting to help and looking to her for direction. Only the hunters were missing. She was filled with a great warmth for these people who had taken in a strange orphaned child and accepted him as their own, and a righteous anger at the members of the Mammoth Hearth who would not even give him a burial.

"Well, first, someone can get some red ochre, crush it up, like Deegie does to color leather, and mix it in some rendered fat to make a salve. That has to be rubbed all over him. It should be Cave Bear fat, for a proper Clan burial. The Cave Bear is sacred to the Clan."

"We don't have Cave Bear fat," Tornec said.

"There are not many Cave Bears around here," Manuv added.

"Why not mammoth fat, Ayla?" Mamut suggested. "Rydag wasn't just Clan. He was mixed. He was part Mamutoi, too, and the mammoth is sacred to us."

"Yes, I think we could use that. He was Mamutoi, too. We shouldn't forget that."

"How about dressing him, Ayla?" Nezzie asked. "He's never even worn the new clothes I made for him this year."

Ayla frowned, then nodded agreement. "Why not? After he's colored with red ochre, the way the Clan does, he could be dressed in his best clothes, like the Mamutoi do for burials. Yes, I think that's a good idea, Nezzie."

"I never would have guessed red ochre was a sacred color at their burials, too," Frebec commented.

"I didn't even think they buried their dead," Crozie said.

"Obviously, the Mammoth Hearth didn't either," Tulie said. "They are going to be in for a surprise."

Ayla asked Deegie for one of the wooden bowls she had given her as an adoption gift, made in the Clan style, and used it to mix the red ochre and mammoth fat into a colored salve. But it was Nezzie, Crozie, and Tulie, the three oldest women of Lion Camp, who rubbed it on him, and then dressed him. Ayla put aside a small dab of the oily red paste for later, and put a lump of the red iron ore into the pouch she had made.

"What about wrapping him?" Nezzie asked. "Shouldn't he be wrapped, Ayla?"

"I don't know what that means," Ayla said.

"We use a hide or a fur, or something, to carry him out, and then it's wrapped around him before he is laid in the grave," Nezzie explained.

It was another Mamutoi custom, Ayla realized, but it seemed that with dressing him so richly and putting all his jewelry on him, there was already more Mamutoi than Clan to this burial. The three women were watching her expectantly. She looked back at Tulie, then Nezzie. Yes, maybe Nezzie was right. Something should be used to carry him, some kind of bedding or cover. Then she looked at Crozie.

Suddenly, though she hadn't thought of it for some time, she remembered something: Durc's cloak. The cloak she had used to carry her son close to her breast when he was an infant, and to support him on her hip when he was a toddler. It was the one thing she had taken with her from the Clan that had no necessary purpose. Yet, how many nights when she was alone had Durc's carrying cloak given her a sense of connection with the only place of security she had known, and to those she had loved. How many nights had she slept with that cloak? Cried into it? Rocked it? It was the one thing she owned that had belonged to her son, and she wasn't sure if she could give it up, but did she really need it? Was she going to carry it around with her for the rest of her life?

Ayla noticed Crozie looking at her again, and remembered the white cape, the one that Crozie had made for her son. She had carried it around with her for many years, because it meant so much to her. But she had given it up for a good purpose, to Racer, to protect him. Wasn't it more important for Rydag to be wrapped in something that had come from the Clan, when he was sent on his way to walk in the spirit world, than for her to carry Durc's cloak around? Crozie had finally let the memory of her son go. Maybe it was time for her to let Durc go, too, and just be grateful that he was more than a memory.

"I have something to wrap him in," Ayla said. She rushed to her sleeping place and from the bottom of a pile, she pulled out a folded hide and shook it out. She held the soft, supple, old leather of her son's cloak to her cheek once more, and closed her eyes, remembering. Then she walked back and gave it to Rydag's mother.

"Here's a wrapping," she told Nezzie, "a Clan wrapping. It once belonged to my son. Now it will help Rydag in the spirit world. And thank you, Crozie," she added.

"Why are you thanking me?"

"For everything you've done for me, and for showing me that all mothers must let go sometime."

"Hmmmf!" the old woman said, trying to look stern, but her eyes glistened with feeling. Nezzie took the cloak from Ayla and covered Rydag.

By then it was dark. Ayla had planned to do a simple ceremony inside the tent, but Nezzie asked her to wait until morning and conduct the ceremony outside, to show everyone at the Meeting Rydag's humanity. It would also give the hunters a little more time to return. No one wanted Talut and Ranec to miss Rydag's funeral, but they could not wait too long.

Late the next morning they carried the body outside and laid it out on the cloak. Many people from the Meeting had gathered around, and more were coming. Word had spread that Ayla was going to give Rydag a flathead burial, and everyone was curious. She had the small bowl of red ochre paste and the amulet, and had begun calling the Spirits to attend, as Creb had always done, when another commotion arose. Much to Nezzie's relief, the hunters returned, and with all of the mammoth meat. They had taken turns dragging back the two travois, and were already planning variations of it to make a sledge that people could drag more easily.

The ceremony was postponed until the mammoth meat was stored, and Talut and Ranec were told what had happened, but no one objected when it was resumed quickly. The death of the mixed Clan child at the Summer Meeting of the Mamutoi had created a real dilemma. He had been called an abomination an animal, but animals were not buried; their meat was stored. Only people were buried, and they did not like to leave the dead unburied for long. Though the Mamutoi weren't quite willing to grant Rydag human status, they knew he wasn't really an animal, either. No one revered the spirit of flatheads as they did deer, or bison, or mammoths, and no one was ready to store Rydag's body beside the mammoth carcasses. He was an abomination precisely because they saw his humanity, but degraded it and would not recognize it. They were glad to let Ayla and the Lion Camp dispose of Rydag's body in a way that seemed to resolve the problem.

Ayla stood up on a mound to begin the ceremony again, trying to remember the signs Creb had made for this part. She didn't know exactly what all the signs meant, they were taught only to mog-urs, but she did know the general purpose and content, and explained as she went along for the benefit of the Lion Camp, and the rest of the Mamutoi who were watching.

"I am Calling the Spirits now," she said. "The Spirit of the Great Cave Bear, the Cave Lion, the Mammoth, all the others, and the Ancient Spirits, too, of Wind and Mist and Rain." Then she reached down for the small bowl. "Now I'm going to name him and make him part of the Clan," she said, and dipping her finger in the red paste, Ayla drew a line from his forehead to his nose. Then she stood up and said with signs and words, "The boy's name is Rydag."

There was a quality about her, the tone of her voice, the intensity of her expression as she tried to remember exactly the correct signs and movements, even her strange speech mannerism, that held people fascinated. The story of her standing on the ice Calling the mammoths was spreading fast. No one doubted that this daughter of the Mammoth Hearth had every right to conduct this ceremony, or any ceremony, whether she had a Mamut tattoo or not.

"Now he is named in the Clan way," Ayla explained, "but he also needs a totem to help him find the world of the spirits. I do not know his totem, so I will share my totem, the Spirit of the Cave Lion, with him. It is a very powerful, protective totem, but he is worthy."

Next, she exposed Rydag's small, thin, right leg, and with the red ochre paste, drew four parallel lines on his thigh. Then she stood and announced in words and signs, "Spirit of Cave Lion, the boy, Rydag, is delivered into your protection." Then she slipped the amulet, tied to a cord, around his neck. "Rydag is now named and accepted by the Clan," she said, and fervently hoped it was true.

Ayla had chosen a place, somewhat away from the settlement, and Lion Camp had requested and received permission from Wolf Camp to bury him there. Nezzie wrapped the small stiff body in Durc's cloak, then Talut picked up the boy and carried him to the place of burial. He was not ashamed of the tears that fell as he laid Rydag in the shallow grave.

The people of the Lion Clan stood around the dip in the ground that had been deepened only slightly, and watched as several things were put into the grave with him. Nezzie brought food and placed it beside him. Latie added his favorite little whistle. Tronie brought a string of bones, and deer vertebrae that he had used when he tended the babies and young children of Lion Camp during the past winter. It was what he loved doing most, because it was something useful he could do. Then, unexpectedly, Rugie ran to the grave and dropped in her favorite doll.

At Ayla's signal, everyone from Lion Camp picked up a stone and carefully laid it on the cloak-wrapped figure; the beginning of his grave cairn. It was then that Ayla began the burial ceremony. She didn't try to explain, the purpose seemed clear enough. Using the same signs that Creb had used at Iza's funeral, and that she, in turn, had used to honor Creb when she found him in the rubble-strewn cave, Ayla's movements gave meaning to a burial rite that was far more ancient than any there could know, and more beautiful than anyone had imagined.

She was not using the simplified sign language that she had taught to the Lion Camp. This was the full, complex, rich Clan language in which movements and postures of the entire body had shades and nuances of meaning. Though many of the signs were esoteric – even Ayla didn't know the full meaning – many ordinary signs were also included, some of which the Lion Camp did know. They were able to understand the essence, know that it was a ritual for sending someone to a world beyond. To the rest of the Mamutoi, Ayla's movement had the appearance of a subtle, yet expressive dance, full of hand movements, and arm movements, stances and gestures. She evoked in them with her silent grace, the bye and the loss, the sorrow and the mythic hope of death.

Jondalar was overwhelmed. His tears flowed as freely as any member of the Lion Camp's. As he watched her beautiful silent dance, he was reminded of a time in her valley – it seemed so long ago now – when she once had tried to tell him something with the same kind of graceful movements. Even then, though he didn't understand it was a language, he had sensed some deeper meaning in her expressive gestures. Now that he knew more, he was surprised at how much he didn't know, yet how beautiful he thought it was when Ayla moved that way.

He remembered the posture she used when they first met, sitting cross-legged on the ground and bowing her head, waiting for him to tap her shoulder. Even after she could speak, she would use it sometimes. It always embarrassed him, particularly after he knew it was a Clan gesture, but she had told him it was her way of trying to say something that she didn't have the words for. He smiled to himself. It was hard to believe she couldn't talk when he first met her. Now, she was fluent in two languages: Zelandonii and Mamutoi, three, if he counted Clan. She had even picked up a little Sungaea in the short time she spent with them.

As he watched her move through the Clan ritual, filled with memories of the valley, and memories of their love, he wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. But Ranec was standing close to her, as enraptured as he. Every time Jondalar looked at Ayla, he could not avoid seeing the dark-skinned man. The moment he arrived, Ranec had sought her out, and he made a point of letting Jondalar know that she was still Promised to him. And Ayla seemed distant, elusive. He had made some attempts to talk to her, to express his sorrow, but after their first moments of shared grief, she seemed unwilling to accept his efforts to console her. He wondered if he was imagining it. As upset as she was, what else could he expect?

Suddenly, all heads turned at the sound of a steady beat. Marut, the drummer, had gone to the Music Lodge and brought his mammoth skull drum back. Music was usually played at Mamutoi funerals, but the sounds he was making were not the usual Mamutoi rhythms. They were the unfamiliar, strangely fascinating rhythms of the Clan that Ayla had shown him. Then the bearded musician, Manen, began to play the simple flute tones she had whistled. The music matched, in an unexplainable way, the movements of the woman who was dancing a ritual as evanescent as the sound of music itself.

Ayla had almost completed the ritual, but she decided to repeat it, since they were playing Clan sounds. The second time they went through it, the musicians began to improvise. With their expertise and skill, they made the simple Clan sounds into something else, which was neither Clan nor Mamutoi, but a mixture of both. A perfect accompaniment, Ayla thought, for the funeral of a boy who was a mixture of both.

Ayla went through one last repetition with the musicians, and she wasn't sure when her tears started, but she could see she was not alone. There were many wet eyes, and not only from among the Lion Camp.

As she finished for the third time, a heavy dark cloud that had been approaching from the southeast began to blot out the sun. It was the season for thunderstorms, and some people looked for shelter. Instead of water, a light dust began to fall, very light at first. Then the volcanic ash from the eruption in the faraway mountains fell heavier.

Ayla stood by Rydag's grave cairn feeling the feathery soft volcanic ash sifting down on her, coating her hair, her shoulders, clinging to her arms, her eyebrows, even her eyelashes, turning her into a monochrome figure in pale beige-gray. The fine light dust covered everything, the stones of the cairn, the grass, even the brown dust of the path. Logs and bush alike took on the same hue. It covered the people standing by the grave as well, and to Ayla, they all began to look the same. Differences were lost in the face of such awesome powers as movements of the earth, and death.