The Valley of Horses (Earth's Children 2)

“Isn’t that a very short spear?” she asked.

He laughed, a big hearty laugh. “It would be, if that was all there was to it. I’m just making points now. Some people make flint points. The Mamutoi do, especially for hunting mammoth. Flint is brittle and it breaks, but with knife-sharp edges a flint spear point will pierce a tough mammoth hide more easily. For most hunting, though, bone makes a better point. The shafts will be wood.”

“How do you put them together?”

“Look,” he said, turning the point around to show her the base. “I can split this end with a burin and a knife, then shape the end of the wooden shaft to fit inside the split.” He demonstrated by holding the forefinger of one hand between the thumb and forefinger of the other. “Then, I can add some glue or pitch, and wrap it tight with wet sinew or thong. When it dries and shrinks up, it will hold the two together.”

“That point is so small. The shaft will be a twig!”

“It will be more than a twig, but not as heavy as your spear. It can’t be, if you’re going to throw it.”

“Throw it! Throw a spear?”

“You throw stones with your sling, don’t you? You can do the same with a spear. You won’t have to dig pitfalls, and you can even make a kill on the run, once you develop the skill. As accurate as you are with that sling, I think you’ll learn fast.”

“Jondalar! Do you know how often I’ve wished I could hunt deer or bison with a sling? I never thought about throwing a spear.” She frowned. “Can you throw with enough force? I can throw much harder and farther with a sling than I can by hand.”

“You won’t have quite the force, but you still have the advantage of distance. You’re right, though. It’s too bad you can’t throw a spear with a sling, but …” He paused in mid-sentence. “I wonder …” His brow furrowed at a thought so startling that it demanded immediate attention. “No, I don’t think so.… Where can we find some shafts?”

“By the stream. Jondalar, is there any reason I can’t help make those spears? I’d learn faster if you’re still here to tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

“Yes, of course,” he said, but he felt a heaviness as he descended the path. He had forgotten about leaving and was sorry she had reminded him.

27

Ayla crouched low and looked through a screen of tall golden grass, bent with the weight of ripened seed heads, concentrating on the contours of the animal. She held a spear, poised for flight, in her right hand, and another ready in her left. A strand of long blond hair, escaped from a tightly plaited braid, whipped across her face. She shifted the long shaft slightly, searching for the balance point, then, squinting, gripped it and took aim. Bounding forward, she hurled the spear.

“Oh, Jondalar! I’ll never get any accuracy with this spear!” Ayla said, exasperated. She marched toward a tree, padded with a grass-stuffed hide, and retrieved the still-quivering spear from the rump of a bison Jondalar had drawn with a piece of charcoal.

“You’re too hard on yourself, Ayla,” Jondalar said, beaming with pride. “You are much better than you think you are. You are learning very fast, but then I’ve seldom seen such determination. You practice every spare moment. I think that may be your problem right now. You’re trying too hard. You need to relax.”

“The way I learned to use a sling was to practice.”

“You didn’t gain your skill with that weapon overnight, did you?”

“No. It took several years. But I don’t want to wait years before I can hunt with this spear.”

“You won’t. You could probably hunt right now and manage to bring something down. You don’t have the thrust and speed you’re used to, Ayla, but you never will. You have to find your new range. If you want to keep practicing, why don’t you switch to your sling for a while.”

“I don’t need to practice with the sling.”

“But you need to relax, and I think it would help you loosen up. Give it a try.”

She did feel her tension dissipate with the familiar feel of the leather strap in her hands, and the rhythm and movement of handling the sling. She enjoyed the warm satisfaction of skilled expertise, though it had been a struggle to learn. She could hit anything she aimed for, particularly practice targets that did not move. The man’s obvious admiration encouraged her to put on a demonstration showing off her ability.

She picked up a few handfuls of pebbles from the edge of the stream, then walked across to the far side of the field to display her true range. She exhibited her rapid-fire double-stone technique, and then showed how quickly she could follow through with an additional two stones.

Jondalar joined in, setting up targets that tested her accuracy. He set up four stones in a row on the large boulder; she knocked them off with four rapid casts. He threw two stones into the air one after the other; she hit them in mid-flight. Then he did something that surprised her. He stood in the middle of the field, balanced a rock on each shoulder, and looked at her with a grin on his face. He knew that she hurled a stone from her sling with such force that it could, at the least, be painful—fatal if it happened to hit a vulnerable spot. This test showed his trust in her, but more, it tested her confidence in her skill.

He heard the whistling of wind and the dull clink of stone hitting stone as first one, and then, an instant later, the other stone was knocked away. He didn’t get away with nothing to show for his dangerous trick. A tiny chip flew off one stone and embedded itself in his neck. He didn’t flinch, but a small trickle of blood, which smeared when he picked the stone sliver out, gave him away.

“Jondalar! You’re hurt!” Ayla exclaimed when she saw him.

“Just a chip, it’s nothing. But you are good with that sling, woman. I’ve never seen anyone handle a weapon like that.”

Ayla had never seen anyone look at her the way he did. His eyes sparkled with respect and admiration; his voice was husky with warm praise. She blushed, filled with such a flood of emotion that it brought tears for lack of any other outlet.

“If you could throw a spear like that …” He stopped and closed his eyes, straining to see something with his mind’s eye. “Ayla, can I use your sling?”

“Do you want to learn to use a sling?” she asked, giving it to him.

“Not exactly.”

He picked up a spear, one of several on the ground, and tried to fit the butt end into the pocket of the sling, worn to the shape of the round stones it usually held. But he was not familiar enough with the techniques of handling a sling, and, after a few clumsy attempts, he gave it back, along with the spear.

“Do you think you could throw this spear with your sling?”

She saw what he was trying, and she managed an unwieldy arrangement—the butt of the spear stretching out the sling, while she held the ends of it and the shaft of the spear at the same time. She could not reach a good balance—had little force and less control over the long missile when it left her hand—but she did succeed in casting it,

“It would need to be longer, or the spear shorter,” he said, trying to visualize something he had never seen. “And the sling is too flexible. The spear needs more support. Something to rest on … maybe wood or bone … with a backstop so it won’t slide off. Ayla! I’m not sure, but I think it might work. I think I could make a … spear thrower!”

Ayla watched Jondalar constructing and experimenting, fascinated as much by t

he concept of making something from an idea as by the process of making it. The culture in which she was raised was not given to such innovation, and she didn’t realize that she had invented hunting methods and a travois from a similar wellspring of creativity.

He used materials to suit his needs and adapted tools to new requirements. He asked her advice, drawing from her years of experience with her hurling weapon, but it soon became apparent that the contrivance he was making, though its impetus had come from her sling, was a new and unique device.

Once he had the basic principles worked out, he devoted time to modifications to improve the performance of the spear, and she was no more experienced with the finer points of hurling a spear than he was with the operation of a sling. Jondalar warned her, with a gleam of delight, that once he had good working models, they would both need to practice.

Ayla decided to let him use the tools he knew best to finish the two working models. She wanted to experiment with another of his tools. She had not progressed very far in making the clothes for him. They were together so much that the only time she could find was early morning or the middle of the night when he was sleeping.

While he was finishing and refining, she brought his old clothing and her new materials out to the ledge. In the day-fight, she could see how the original pieces were stitched together. She found the process so interesting, and the garments so intriguing, that she thought she would make an adaptation of them to fit herself. She didn’t try to match the elaborate beading and quillwork of the shirt, but she studied it carefully, thinking it might be a good challenge to attempt during the next long quiet winter.

From her vantage, she could watch Jondalar on the beach and in the field, and put her project away before he returned to the cave. But on the day he ran up the path, proudly displaying two finished spear throwers, Ayla barely had time to crumple the garment she was working on into an inconspicuous pile of leather. He was too full of his accomplishment to see anything else.