The Valley of Horses (42 page)

On a warm sunny day in midsummer, she was in the meadow watching the cub and the horse playing a new game. They were chasing each other around in a large circle. First the young lion would slow down just enough for Whinney to catch up, then he would bound ahead while she slowed until he came all the way around and behind her. Then she would spring ahead while he checked his speed until she caught up again. Ayla thought it was the funniest sight she had ever seen. She laughed until she collapsed against a tree, holding her stomach.

As her spasms of laughter died down, for some reason, she became aware of herself. What was this sound she made when something amused her? Why did she do it? It came so easily when there was no one to remind her it wasn’t proper. Why wasn’t it proper? She could not remember, ever, seeing anyone in the Clan smile or laugh, except her son. Yet they understood humor, funny stories brought on nods of agreement and a pleasant expression that centered more in the eyes. People of the Clan did make a grimace somewhat similar to her smile, she recalled. But it conveyed nervous fear, or menace, not the happiness she felt.

But if laughter made her feel so good, and came out so easily, could it be wrong? Other people like her, did they laugh? The Others. Her warm happy feelings left her. She didn’t like thinking of the Others. It made her aware that she had stopped looking for them, and it filled her with mixed emotions. Iza had told her to find them, and living alone could be dangerous. If she got sick or had an accident, who would help her?

But she was so happy in the valley with her animal family. Whinney and Baby didn’t look at her disapprovingly when she forgot herself and ran. They never told her not to smile, or not to cry, or what she could hunt, or when, or with what weapons. She could make her own choices, and it made her feel so free. She didn’t consider that the time it took to provide for her physical needs—like food, warmth, and shelter—limited her freedom, though it took most of her efforts. Just the reverse. It gave her confidence to know she could take care of herself.

With the passage of time, and particularly since Baby had come, the grief she felt for the people she loved had abated. The emptiness, her need for human contact, was such a constant
pain that it seemed normal. Any lessening of it was a joy, and the two animals went a long way toward filling the void. She liked to think of the arrangement as similar to Iza and Creb and herself when she was a little girl, except she and Whinney took care of Baby. And when the lion cub, with claws retracted, wrapped his forelegs around her when she cuddled up to him at night, she could almost imagine it was Durc.

She was reluctant to leave and seek out unknown Others, with unknown customs and restrictions; Others who might take laughter away from her. They won’t, she said to herself. I won’t live with anyone again who won’t let me laugh.

The animals had grown tired of their game. Whinney was grazing, and Baby was resting nearby, with his tongue hanging out of his mouth, panting. Ayla whistled, which brought Whinney, with the lion padding behind her.

“I have to go hunting, Whinney,” she motioned. “That lion eats so much and he’s getting so big.”

Once the baby cave lion had recovered from his injuries, he always followed Ayla or Whinney. Cubs were never left alone in the pride, nor were babies ever left alone in the Clan, so his behavior seemed perfectly normal. But it presented a problem. How was she going to hunt with a cave lion trailing her? When Whinney’s protective instincts were aroused, however, the problem solved itself. It was customary for a lion mother to form a subgroup with her cubs and a younger female when they were small. The younger female tended the cubs when the lioness went hunting, and Baby accepted Whinney in that role. Ayla knew that no hyena, or similar animal, would brave the stomping hooves of the mare aroused to protect her charge, but it meant she had to hunt on foot again. Yet, hiking the steppes close to the cave in search of animals appropriate for her sling gave her an unexpected opportunity.

She had always avoided the pride of cave lions that roamed the territory east of her valley. But the first time she noticed a few lions resting themselves in the shade of stunted pines, she decided it was time to learn something more about the creatures that embodied her totem.

It was a dangerous occupation. Hunter though she was, she could easily become prey. But she had observed predators before and had learned ways to make herself inconspicuous. The lions knew she was watching, but after the first few times, they chose to ignore her. It didn’t remove the
danger. One could turn on her at any time, for no reason other than a cranky mood, but the longer she watched, the more fascinating they became.

They spent most of their time resting or sleeping, but when they hunted, they were speed and fury in action. Wolves, hunting in packs, were able to kill a large deer; a single cave lioness could do it more quickly. They hunted only when they were hungry, and might eat only once in a handful of days. They had no need to store food ahead as she did; they hunted all year long.

They tended to be nocturnal hunters in summer when the days were hot, she noticed. In winter, when nature thickened their coats, lightening the shade to ivory to blend into the lighter landscape, she had seen them hunting during the day. The severe cold kept the tremendous energy they burned during the hunt from overheating them. At night, when temperatures plummeted, they slept piled together in a cave or rock overhang out of the wind, or amidst the strewn rubble of a canyon where the stones absorbed a little heat from the distant sun during the day and gave it up to the dark.

The young woman was returning to her valley after a day of observation which had brought new respect for the animal of her totem spirit. She had watched the lionesses bring down an old mammoth with tusks so long they curved back and crossed in front. The entire pride had gorged on the kill. How had she ever escaped from one when she was only five, with only a few scars to show for it? She was thinking, understanding better the Clan’s amazement. Why did the Cave Lion choose me? For a moment, she felt a strange presentiment. Nothing specific, but it left her thinking about Durc.

When she neared the valley, a quick stone brought a hare down for Baby, and she suddenly questioned her wisdom in bringing the cub to her cave, envisioning him as a full-grown male cave lion. Her misgivings lasted only until the young lion ran to her, eager and delighted to have her back, looking for her fingers to suck, and licking her with his raspy tongue.

Later in the evening, after she had skinned the hare and cut it into chunks for Baby, cleaned Whinney’s place and brought her in some fresh hay, and made some dinner for herself, she sat sipping hot tea and staring at the fire, thinking about the day’s events. The young cave lion was asleep
toward the back of the cave, away from the direct heat of the fire. Her thoughts turned to the circumstances that had led her to adopt the cub, and she could only conclude that it had been her totem’s wish. She didn’t know why, but the spirit of the Great Cave Lion had sent one of his own for her to raise.

She reached for the amulet hanging from the cord around her neck and felt the objects within it, then, with the silent formal language of the Clan, she addressed her totem: “It was not understood by this woman how powerful is the Cave Lion. This woman is grateful she was shown. This woman may not ever know why she was chosen, but this woman is grateful for the baby and the horse.” She paused, then added, “Someday, Great Cave Lion, this woman would know why the cub was sent … if her totem would choose to tell.”

Ayla’s usual summer work load, preparing for the cold season to come, was compounded by the addition of the cave lion. He was carnivorous, pure and simple, and required quantities of meat to satisfy the needs of his rapid growth. Hunting small animals with her sling was taking too much of her time—she needed to go after bigger game, for herself as well as the lion. But for that, she needed Whinney.

Baby knew Ayla was planning something special when she got out the harness and whistled for the horse so she could make the adjustments to enable her to drag two sturdy wooden poles behind her. The travois had proved itself, but Ayla wanted to work out a better way to attach it so she could still use the pack baskets. She also wanted to keep one pole movable so the horse could bring the load up to the cave. Drying the meat on the ledge had worked well, too.

She wasn’t sure what Baby would do, or how she was going to hunt with Baby along, but she had to try it. When everything was ready, she climbed on Whinney’s back and started out. Baby followed along behind, the way he would have trailed his mother. It was so much more convenient to reach the territory east of the river that, except for a few exploratory trips, she never went west. The sheer wall on the western side continued for many miles before a steep rubbly slope finally opened a way to the plains in that direction. Since she could range so much farther on horseback, she had become familiar with the eastern side, which made it easier to hunt as well.

She had learned much about the herds of those steppes, their migration patterns, customary routes, and river crossings. But she still had to dig pitfall traps along known animal trails, and it was not a job that benefited from the interference of a lively lion cub, who thought the young woman had just invented a wonderful new game only for his enjoyment.

He crept up to the hole, breaking down the edge with his paws, bounded over it, jumped in, and leaped out just as easily. He rolled in the piles of dirt she had scooped onto the old tent hide, which she still used to haul the dirt away. When she started to drag the hide away, Baby decided to drag it too, his way. It became a tug-of-war, with all the dirt spilled on the ground.

“Baby! How am I going to get this hole dug,” she said, exasperated, but laughing, which encouraged him. “Here, let me get you something to drag.” She rummaged through the pack baskets, which she had taken off Whinney to let her graze comfortably, and found the deerskin she had brought along as a ground cover in case it rained. “Drag this, Baby,” she motioned, then pulled it along the ground in front of him. It was all he needed. He couldn’t resist a hide dragged along the ground. He was so delighted with himself, dragging the hide between his front legs, that she had to smile.

In spite of the cub’s assistance, Ayla did get the hole dug and covered with an old hide brought for the purpose, and a layer of dirt. The hide was barely held in place with four pegs, and the first time she had it ready, Baby had to investigate. He fell into the trap, then jumped out with shocked indignation, but stayed away afterward.

Once the pitfall was prepared, Ayla whistled for Whinney and circled wide to get behind a herd of onagers. She couldn’t bring herself to hunt horses again, and even the onager made her uncomfortable. The half-ass looked too much like a horse, but the herd was in such a good position for a chase into a pitfall that she couldn’t pass it up.

After Baby’s playful antics around the hole, she was even more concerned that he would be a detriment to the hunt, but once they got behind the herd, he assumed a different mien. He stalked the onagers, the same way he had stalked Whinney’s tail, just as though he might actually bring one down, though he was far too young. She realized then that his games were cub-size versions of adult-lion hunting skills
he would need. He was a hunter from birth; his understanding of the need for stealth was instinctive.

Ayla discovered, to her surprise, that the cub was actually a help. When the herd was close enough to the trap that the scent of human and lion was causing them to swerve, she urged Whinney forward, whooping and yelping to start a stampede. The cub sensed this was the signal and took off after the animals, too. The smell of cave lion added to the onagers’ panic. They headed straight for the pitfall.

Ayla slid off Whinney’s back, spear in hand, running at full speed toward a screaming onager trying to scramble out of the hole, but Baby was ahead of her. He jumped on the back of the animal—not knowing yet the lion’s fatal suffocating hold of the prey’s throat—and, with milk teeth too small to have much effect, bit at the back of the onager’s neck. But it was early experience for him.

If he had still lived with the pride, no adult would have allowed him to get in the way of a kill. Any attempt would have been immediately stopped with a murderous swipe. For all their speed, lions were only sprinters, while their prey were long-distance runners. If the lions’ kill wasn’t made in the first surge of speed, the chances were they would lose it. They couldn’t afford to let a cub practice his hunting skills, except through play, until he was nearly grown.

But Ayla was human. She had the speed of neither prey nor predator, as she lacked claw and fang. Her weapon was her brain. With it she had devised means to overcome her lack of natural hunting endowments. The trap—that allowed the slower, weaker human to hunt—gave even a cub the opportunity to try.

When Ayla arrived, breathless, the onager was wild-eyed with fear, trapped in a pit with a cave lion kitten snarling on his back trying to get a death hold with baby teeth. The woman ended the animal’s struggles with a sure thrust of her spear. With the cub hanging on—his sharp little teeth had broken the skin—the onager went down. Only when all movement had stopped did Baby let go. Ayla’s smile was a mother’s smile of pride and encouragement as the cave lion cub, standing on top of an animal much bigger than himself, full of pride and convinced he’d made the kill, tried to roar.

Then Ayla jumped down in the pit with him, and nudged him aside. “Move over, Baby. I’ve got to tie this rope around his neck so Whinney can pull him out.”

The cub was a bundle of nervous energy as the horse, leaning into the strap across her chest, hauled the onager out of the pit. Baby jumped into the hole and back out of it, and when the onager was finally out of the hole, the cub leaped on top of the animal, then bounded off again. He didn’t know what to do with himself. The lion who made the kill was usually the first to take a share, but cubs did not make kills. By the usual dominance patterns, they were last.