An earthquake had torn her away from her own people and given her a childhood that was alien to everything she had known, and an earthquake had led to her ostracism from the Clan, or at least given Broud an excuse for it. Even the volcanic eruption far to the southeast that had
showered them with fine, powdered ash seemed to have presaged her leaving the Mamutoi, though the choice had been hers and not forced on her. But she didn’t know what signs from the sky meant, or even if this was a sign.
“Creb would think a sky like this was a sign of something, I’m sure,” Ayla said. “He was the most powerful mog-ur of all the clans, and something like this would make him want to meditate until he understood what it meant. I think Mamut would think it was a sign, too. What do you think, Jondalar? Is it a sign of something? Maybe of something … not good?”
“I … I don’t know, Ayla.” He was hesitant to tell her the beliefs of his people that when the northern lights were red, it was often considered a warning, but not always. Sometimes it just presaged something important. “I’m not One Who Serves the Mother. It could be a sign of something good.”
“But this Ice Fire is a powerful sign of something, isn’t it?”
“Usually. At least most people think so.”
Ayla mixed a little columbine root and wormwood into her chamomile tea, making a somewhat more than mildly calming drink for herself, but she was uneasy after the bear in their camp and the strange glow in the sky. Even with the sedative, Ayla felt as though sleep was resisting her. She tried every position to fall asleep, first on her side, then her back, then the other side, even her stomach, and she was sure her tossing and turning was bothering Jondalar. When she finally did drop off, her sleep was disturbed by vivid dreams.
An angry roar shattered the silence, and the watching people jumped back with fear. The huge cave bear pushed at the gate to the cage and sent it crashing to the ground. The maddened bear was loose! Broud was standing on his shoulders; two other men were clinging to his fur. Suddenly one was in the monstrous animal’s grip, but his agonized scream was cut short when a powerful bear hug snapped his spine. The mog-urs picked up the body and, with solemn dignity, carried it into a cave. Creb, in his bearskin cloak, hobbled in the lead.
Ayla stared at a white liquid sloshing in a cracked wooden bowl. The liquid turned blood red, and thickened, as white, luminous bands moved in slow ripples through it. She felt an anxious worry, she had done something wrong. There wasn’t supposed to be any liquid left in the bowl. She held it to her lips and drained it.
Her perspective changed, the white light was inside her, and she seemed to be growing larger and looking down from high above at stars blazing a path. The stars changed to small flickering lights leading through a long endless cave. Then a red light at the end grew large, filling her vision, and with a
sinking, sickening feeling, she saw the mog-urs sitting in a circle, half-hidden by stalagmite pillars.
She was sinking deeper into a black abyss, petrified with fear Suddenly Creb was there with the glowing light inside her, helping her, supporting her, easing her fears. He guided her on a strange trip back to their mutual beginnings, through salt water and painful gulps of air, loamy earth and high trees. Then they were on the ground, walking upright on two legs, walking a great distance, going west toward a great salty sea. They came to a steep wall that faced a river and a flat plain, with a deep recess under a large overhanging section; it was the cave of an ancient ancestor of his. But as they approached the cave, Creb began fading, leaving her.
The scene grew bazy, Creb was fading faster, was nearly gone, and she felt panicky. “Creb! Don’t go, please don’t go!” she called out. She scanned the landscape, searching desperately for him. Then she saw him at the top of the cliff, above his ancestor’s cave, near a large boulder, a long, slightly flattened column of rock that tilted over the edge, as though frozen in place as it was about to fall. She called out again, but he had faded into the rock. Ayla felt desolate; Creb was gone and she was alone, aching with sorrow, wishing she had something of his to remember, something to touch, to hold, but all she had was an overwhelming sorrow. Suddenly she was running, running as fast as she could; she had to get away, she had to get away.
“Ayla! Ayla! Wake up!” Jondalar said, shaking her.
“Jondalar,” she said, sitting up. Then, still feeling the desolation, she clung to him, as tears fell. “He’s gone … Oh, Jondalar.”
“It’s all right,” he said, holding her. “It must have been a terrible dream. You were shouting and crying. Do you think it would help if you told me?”
“It was Creb. I dreamt about Creb, and that time at the Clan Gathering when I went into the cave and those strange things happened. For a long time afterward, he was very upset with me. Then, just as we were finally getting back together, he died, before we could even talk very much. He told me Durc was the son of the Clan. I never was sure what he meant. There was so much I wish we could have talked about, so much I wish I could ask him now. Some people just thought of him as the powerful Mog-ur, and his missing eye and arm made him seem ugly and more frightening. But they didn’t know him. Creb was wise and kind. He understood the spirit world, but he understood people, too. I wanted to talk to him in my dream, and I think he was trying to talk to me.”
“Maybe he was. I never could understand dreams,” Jondalar said. “Are you feeling better?”
“I’m all right now,” Ayla said, “but I wish I knew more about dreams.”
“I don’t think you should go looking for that bear alone,” Ayla said after breakfast. “You’re the one who said a wounded bear could be dangerous.”
“I’ll be watchful.”
“If I go with you, both of us can be watchful, and staying at the campsite won’t be any safer. The bear could come back while you’re gone.”
“That’s true. All right, come along.”
They started into the woods, following the bear’s trail. Wolf decided to track the bear and plunged ahead through the underbrush, heading upstream. They had traveled less than a mile when they heard a commotion ahead, snarls and growls. Hurrying ahead, they found Wolf, his bristles raised, a low growl deep in his throat, but holding his head low and his tail between his legs, staying well back from a small pack of wolves who were standing guard over the dark brown carcass of the bear.
“At least we don’t have to worry about a dangerous wounded bear,” Ayla said, holding her spear and thrower ready.
“Just a pack of dangerous wolves.” He was also standing braced to hurl his spear. “Did you want some bear meat?”
“No, we have enough meat. I don’t have room for more. Let’s leave that bear to them.”
“I don’t care about the meat, but I wouldn’t mind having the claws and the big teeth,” Jondalar said.
“Why don’t you take them? They are yours by right. You killed the bear. I can chase the wolves away with my sling long enough for you to get them.”
Jondalar didn’t think it was something he would have tried by himself. The idea of driving a pack of wolves away from meat they had claimed as theirs seemed a dangerous thing to do, but he remembered her actions of the day before, chasing away the hyenas. “Go ahead,” he said, taking out his sharp knife.
Wolf became very excited when Ayla started to throw stones and chase the wolf pack, and he stood guard over the bear carcass as Jondalar quickly cut away the claws. The teeth were somewhat harder to dig out of the jaws, but the man soon had his trophies. Ayla was watching Wolf, smiling. As soon as his “pack” had chased away the wild pack, his entire manner and posture changed. He was holding his head up, his tail straight back, in the stance of a dominant wolf, and his snarl was
more aggressive. The pack’s leader was watching him closely and seemed close to challenging him.
After they relinquished the bear carcass to the pack again and were walking away, the pack leader threw back his head and howled. It was deep-voiced and powerful. Wolf lifted his head and howled in return, but his song lacked the resonance. He was younger, hardly even full grown, and it showed in his tone.
“Come on, Wolf. That one’s bigger than you, not to mention older and wiser. He’d have you on your back in a heartbeat or two,” Ayla said, but Wolf howled again, not in challenge, but because he was in a community of his kind.
The other wolves of the pack joined in until Jondalar felt surrounded by a chorus of yips and howls. Then, just because she felt like it, Ayla lifted her head and howled. It sent a shiver down the man’s back and raised gooseflesh. To his ear, it was a perfect imitation of the wolves. Even Wolf cocked his head toward her, then voiced another long wail of more confident tones. The other wolves answered in kind and soon the woods were again filled with the spine-tingling, beautiful wolf song.
When they got back to camp, Jondalar cleaned up the bear claws and canine teeth, while Ayla packed Whinney, and he was still packing, not quite ready to go when she was done. She was leaning against the mare, absently scratching her and feeling the comfort of her presence, when she noticed that Wolf had found another rotten old bone. This time he kept to the far edge of the glade, growling playfully with his rank prize, keeping an eye on the woman, but making no attempt to bring it to her.
“Wolf! Come here, Wolf!” she called. He dropped his bone and came to her. “I think it’s time to begin teaching you something new,” she said.
She wanted him to learn to stay in one place when she told him to, even if she went away. It was a command that she felt would be important for him to learn, though she feared he would be a long time in the learning. Judging from the reception they had received thus far from people they had met, and Wolf’s reaction, she worried about him going after strangers from another “pack” of humans.
Ayla had once promised Talut that she would kill the wolf herself if he ever hurt anyone at Lion Camp, and she still felt it was her responsibility to make sure that the carnivorous animal she had brought into close contact with people would not harm anyone. Beyond that, she worried about his safety. His threatening approach immediately caused a defensive reaction, and she feared that some frightened hunter might try to kill the strange wolf that seemed to be threatening his Camp, before she could prevent it.
She decided to begin by tying him to a tree and telling him to stay
there while she walked away, but the rope around his neck was too loose, and he slipped his head out of it. She tied it tighter the next time, but worried that it would choke him if it was too tight. As she had suspected, he whined and howled and jumped up trying to follow her when she backed away. From the distance of several yards, she kept telling him to stay there, signaling a stop motion with her hand.
When he finally settled down, she came back and praised him. After a few more attempts, she saw that Jondalar was ready, and she let Wolf go. It was enough practicing for that day, but after struggling to untie the knots Wolf had stretched tighter with his straining against them, she wasn’t pleased with the rope around his neck. First she’d had to adjust it exactly right, neither too tight nor too loose, and then she found it was difficult to untie the knots. She was going to have to think about that.
“Do you really think you’ll be able to teach him not to threaten strangers?” Jondalar asked, after watching the first seemingly unsuccessful attempts. “Didn’t you tell me that it’s natural for wolves to be mistrustful of others? How can you hope to teach him something that is against his natural inclinations?” He mounted Racer while she put the rope away, and then she climbed on Whinney’s back.
“Is it a natural inclination for that horse to let you ride on his back?” she asked.
“I don’t think that’s the same, Ayla,” Jondalar said as they started out from the camp riding the horses side by side. “Horses eat grass, they don’t eat meat, and I think they are by nature more inclined to avoid trouble. When they see strangers, or something that seems threatening, they want to run away. A stallion may fight another stallion sometimes, or something directly threatening, but Racer and Whinney want to get away from a strange situation. Wolf gets defensive. He’s much more ready to fight.”
“He would run away, too, Jondalar, if we’d run with him. He gets defensive because he’s protecting us. And, yes, he’s a meat eater, and he could kill a man, but he doesn’t. I don’t think he would unless he thought one of us was threatened. Animals can learn, just like people can. It’s not his natural inclination to think of people and horses as his ‘pack.’ Even Whinney has learned things that she would not have if she lived with other horses. How natural is it for a horse to think of a wolf as a friend? She even had a cave lion for a friend. Is that a natural inclination?”
“Maybe not,” Jondalar said, “but I can’t tell you how worried I was when Baby showed up at the Summer Meeting and you rode straight up to him on Whinney. How did you know he’d remember you? Or Whinney? Or that Whinney would remember him?”
“They grew up together. Baby … I mean Baby…”
The word she used meant “baby” but it had an odd sound and inflection, unlike any language she and Jondalar usually spoke, a rough, guttural quality, as though spoken from the throat. Jondalar could not reproduce it, could hardly even approximate the sound; it was one of the relatively few spoken words from the language of the Clan. Though she had said it often enough that he recognized it, Ayla had formed the habit of immediately translating any Clan word she happened to use to make it easier. When Jondalar referred to the lion Ayla had raised from a cub, he used the translated form of the name she had given him, but it always struck him as incongruous that a gigantic male cave lion should have the name “Baby.”
“ … Baby was … a cub when I found him, a baby. He hadn’t even been weaned. He’d been kicked in the head, by a running deer, I think, and was almost dead. That’s why his mother left him. He was like a baby to Whinney, too. She helped me take care of him—it was so funny when they started playing with each other, especially when Baby would sneak up and try to get Whinney’s tail. I know there were times when she waved it at him on purpose. Or they’d each grab an end of a hide and try to pull it away from each other. I lost so many hides that year, but they made me laugh.”