The Mammoth Hunters (Earth's Children 3)

Mamut wiped out his bowl and put it down, then turned to Jondalar. “I could not help but overhear that you are planning to leave soon.”

“Yes, tomorrow or the next day. As soon as I can get ready,” Jondalar said.

“That’s too soon!” Mamut said.

“I know. Talut said it was a bad time of year to travel, but I’ve traveled in bad seasons before.”

“That’s not what I mean. You must stay until the Spring Festival,” he said, with absolute seriousness.

“I know it’s a big occasion, everyone is talking about it, but I really need to go.”

“You cannot go. It is not safe.”.

“Why? What difference will a few more days make? There will still be melting and flooding.” The young visitor couldn’t understand the old man’s insistence that he stay for a festival that had no particular meaning for him.

“Jondalar, I have no doubt that you can travel in any weather. I wasn’t thinking of you. I was thinking of Ayla.”

“Ayla?” Jondalar said with a frown, as his stomach tightened into a knot. “I don’t understand.”

“I have been training Ayla in some practices of the Mammoth Hearth, and planning a special ceremony for this Spring Festival with her. We will be using a root she brought with her from the Clan. She used it once … with the guidance of her Mog-ur. I have experience with several magic plants that can lead one to the spirit world, but I have never used this root, and Ayla has never used it alone. We will both be trying something new. She seems to have … some concerns, and … certain changes might be upsetting. If you leave, it could have an unforeseeable effect on Ayla.”

“Are you saying there is some danger to Ayla in this root ceremony?” Jondalar asked, his eyes full of distress.

“There is always some element of danger in dealing with the spirit world,” the shaman explained, “but she has traveled there alone, and if it happens again, without guidance or training, she could lose her way. That is why I am training her, but Ayla will need the help of those who have feelings for her, love for her. It is essential that you be here.”

“Why me?” Jondalar said. “We are … not together any more. There are others here who have feelings … who love Ayla. Others she has feelings for.”

The old man stood up. “I cannot explain it to you, Jondalar. It is a sense, an intuition. I can only say that when I heard you speak of leaving, a terrible, dark foreboding came over me. I’m not sure what it means, but I would … prefer … no, I will put it more strongly than that. Don’t leave, Jondalar. If you love her, promise me you won’t leave until after the Spring Festival,” Mamut said.

Jondalar stood up and looked at the ancient, inscrutable face of the old shaman. It was not like him to make such a request without reason, but why was it so important for him to be here? What did Mamut know that he didn’t? Whatever it was, the Mamuts qualms filled him with apprehension. He could not leave if Ayla was in danger. “I will stay,” he said. “I promise I will not leave until after the Spring Festival.”

It was a few days before Ayla returned to Ranec’s bed, though not because he hadn’t been encouraging her. It was difficult for her to refuse him the first time he asked her outright. Her childhood training had been so strong she felt that she had done something terribly wrong when she said no, and almost expected Ranec to be angry. But he took it with understanding, and said he knew she needed some time to think.

Ayla had learned of Jondalar’s long walk the morning after her night with the dark carver, and she suspected it had something to do with her. Was it his way of showing that he still cared for her? But Jondalar was, if anything, even more distant. He avoided her whenever possible, and spoke only when it was necessary. She decided she must be wrong. He didn’t love her. She was desolate when she finally began to accept it, but tried not to show it.

Ranec, on the other hand, made it abundantly clear that he loved her. He continued to press her for both her presence in his furs, and to join him at his hearth in a formally recognized union; to be his woman. She finally consented to share his furs again, largely because of his understanding, but held back her commitment to a more permanent relationship. She spent several nights with him, but then decided to refrain again for a time, this time finding it easier to refuse. She felt everything was moving too fast. He wanted to make the announcement of their Promise at the Spring Festival, which was only a few days away. She wanted time to think about it. She enjoyed Pleasures with Ranec; he was loving and knew how to please, and she cared for him. She liked him very much, in fact, but something was missing. She felt it as a vague sort of incompleteness. Though she wanted to, and wished she could, she did not love him.

Jondalar did not sleep when Ayla was with Ranec, and the strain was beginning to show. Nezzie thought he had lost more weight, but in Talut’s old clothes, which hung on him, and an unkempt winter beard, it was hard to tell. Even Danug noticed that he seemed gaunt and worn, and he thought he knew the cause. He wished there was something he could do to help; he cared deeply for both Jondalar and Ayla, but no one could help. Not even Wolf, though the puppy brought more comfort than he knew. Whenever Ayla was absent from the hearth, the young wolf sought out Jondalar. It made the man feel he was not alone in his grief and rejection. He found himself spending more time with the horses as well, he even slept with them sometimes to get away from the painful scenes in the lodge, but he made a point of staying away when Ayla was around.

The weather turned warm the next few days, and it became more difficult for Jondalar to avoid her. In spite of the slush and high water, she rode the horses more often and though he tried to slip away when he saw her coming into the annex, several times he found himself stammering excuses and leaving quickly after accidentally meeting her. Frequently she took Wolf, and occasionally Rydag, riding with her, but when she wanted to be free of responsibilities, she left the puppy behind in the boy’s care, to his delight. Whinney and Racer were entirely familiar and comfortable with the young wolf, and Wolf seemed to enjoy the association of the horses whether he was on Whinney’s back with Ayla, or running alongside trying to keep up. It was good exercise and a welcome excuse for her to get away from the earthlodge, which felt small and confining after the long winter, but she couldn’t escape from the turmoil of strong feelings that whirled around and within her.

She had begun encouraging and directing Racer by voice, whistle, and signal while riding Whinney, but whenever she thought she should start getting him used to carrying a rider, it made her think of Jondalar and she held off. It wasn’t so much a conscious decision as a delaying tactic, and a wild wish that everything would somehow work out as she had once hoped, and that Jondalar would train him and rid

e him.

Jondalar was thinking much the same thing. On one of their chance meetings, Ayla had encouraged him to take Whinney out for a ride, insisting that she was too busy, and that the horse needed the exercise after the long winter. He’d forgotten what sheer excitement it was to race into the wind on the back of a horse. And when he saw Racer pounding along beside him, and then pulling ahead of his dam, he dreamed of being on the young stallion’s back riding beside Ayla and Whinney. Though he could generally direct the mare, he felt she was simply tolerating him, and always felt uneasy about it. Whinney was Ayla’s horse, and though he eyed the brown stallion and felt a real affection for him, in his mind, Racer was Ayla’s, too.

As the weather warmed, Jondalar thought more about leaving. He decided to take Talut’s advice and ask for his future claim from Tulie in the form of much-needed clothing and traveling equipment. As the headman had suggested, Tulie was delighted to relieve her obligation so easily.

Jondalar was tying a belt around his new deep brown tunic when Talut strode into the cooking hearth. The Spring Festival would be the day after next. Everyone was trying on finery in preparation for the big day and relaxing after sweatbaths and a dunk in the cold river. For the first time since he left home, Jondalar had a surplus of well-made, beautifully decorated clothing as well as backpacks, tents, and other traveling gear. He had always enjoyed good quality, and his appreciation was not lost on Tulie. She had suspected all along, and now was convinced, that whoever the Zelandonii were, Jondalar came from people of high status.

“It looks like it was made for you, Jondalar,” Talut said. “The beadwork across the shoulders falls just right.”

“Yes, the clothes do fit well, and Tulie was more than generous. Thanks for the suggestion.”

“I’m glad you decided not to leave right away. You’ll enjoy the Summer Meeting.”

“Well … ah … I’m not … Mamut …” Jondalar struggled for words to explain why he had not gone when he first planned to.