"You buried him?! His body was not left to scavengers?"
"I put his body next to the wall and loosened a rock so the gravel and stones covered him. But I had no red earth."
Jondalar found the idea of flathead burials the hardest to comprehend. Animals did not bury their dead. Only humans thought about where they came from, and where they were going after this life. Could her Clan spirits guide Thonolan on his way?
"It is more than my brother would have had if you hadn't been there, Ayla. And I have so much more – I have my life."
26
"Ayla, I can't remember when I've tasted anything this good. Where did you learn to cook like this?" Jondalar said, reaching for another piece of the rich, delicately seasoned ptarmigan.
"Iza taught me. Where else would I have learned? This was Creb's favorite dish." Ayla didn't know why, but his question irritated her a little. Why shouldn't she know how to cook? "A medicine woman knows herbs, Jondalar, those that flavor as well as those that heal."
He detected the tone of annoyance in her voice and wondered what had brought it on. He had only meant to compliment her. The meal was good. Excellent, in fact. When he thought about it, everything she prepared was delicious. Many of the foods were unusual to his taste, but new experiences were one reason for traveling, and though unfamiliar, the quality was evident.
And she did it all. Like the hot tea in the morning, she makes it so easy to forget how much she does. She hunted, foraged, cooked this meal. She provided everything. All you've done is eat it, Jondalar. You haven't contributed a thing. You've taken it all and given nothing back… less than nothing.
And now you give her compliments, words. Can you blame her for being annoyed? She'll be glad to see you go, you lust make more work for her.
You could do some hunting, repay some of the meat you've eaten, at least. That seems so little, after everything she's done for you. Can't you think of something more… lasting? She hunts well enough herself. How worthwhile is a little hunting?
How she does it, though, with that clumsy spear? I wonder… would she think I was insulting her Clan if I offered…
"Ayla… I, um… I want to say something, but I don't want to offend you."
"Why do you worry now about offending me? If you have something to say, say it." The prickles of her irritation were still showing, and his chagrin almost stopped him.
"You're right. It is a little late. But, I was wondering… ahhh… how do you hunt with that spear?"
She was puzzled by his question. "I dig a hole, and run, no, stampede, a herd toward it. But last winter…"
"A pit trap! Of course, so you can get close enough to use that spear. Ayla, you've done so much for me, I want to do something for you before I leave, something worthwhile. But I don't want you to feel offended by my suggestion. If you don't like it, just forget I said anything, all right?"
She nodded, a little apprehensive, but curious.
"You are… you are a good hunter, especially considering your weapon, but I think I can show you a way to make it easier, a better hunting weapon, if you'll let me."
Her annoyance evaporated. "You want to show me a better hunting weapon?"
"And an easier way to hunt – unless you'd rather not. It will take some practice…"
She shook her head with disbelief. "Clan women do not hunt, and no man wanted me to hunt – not even with a sling. Brun and Creb only allowed it to appease my totem. The Cave Lion is a powerful male totem, and he made them know it was his choice that I should hunt. They dared not defy him." Suddenly she recalled a vivid scene. "They made a special ceremony." She reached for the small scar in the hollow of her throat. "Creb drew my blood as sacrifice to the Ancient Ones so I could become the Woman Who Hunts.
"When I found this valley, the only weapon I knew was my sling. But a sling is not enough, so I made spears like the ones the men used, and I learned to hunt with them, the best I could. I never thought any man would want to show me a better way." She stopped and looked down at her lap, suddenly overcome. "I would be most grateful, Jondalar. I cannot tell you how much."
The wrinkles of tension on the man's forehead smoothed out. He thought he glimpsed a tear glistening. Could it mean that much to her? And he was worried that she might take it wrong. Would he ever understand her? The more he learned about her, the less he seemed to know. She taught herself?
"I will need to make some special tools. And some bone, the deer legbones I found will work fine, but I'll need to soak them. Do you have a container I can use to soak bones?"
"How big does it need to be? I have many containers," she said, getting up.
"It can wait until you finish eating, Ayla."
She didn't feel like eating now; she was too excited. But he wasn't through. She sat back down and picked at her food until he noticed she wasn't eating.
"Do you want to go look at containers now?" he asked.
She leaped up and headed for the storage area, then went back for the stone lamp. It was dark in the back of the cave. She gave the lamp to Jondalar while she uncovered baskets, bowls, and birchbark containers that were stacked and nested within each other. He held the lamp high to shed more light and looked around. There was so much, far more than she could use.
"Did you make all this?"
"Yes," she replied, sorting through the stacks.
"It must have taken days… moons… seasons. How long did it take?"
Ayla tried to think of a way to tell him. "Seasons, many seasons. Most were made during the cold seasons. I had nothing else to do. Are any of these the right size?"
He looked over the containers she had spread out and picked up several, more to examine the workmanship than to select one. It was hard to believe. No matter how skilled she was, or how fast she worked, the finely woven baskets and smoothly finished bowls had taken time to make. How long had she been here? Alone.
"This one will be fine," he said, selecting a large trough-shaped wooden bowl with high sides. Ayla piled everything back neatly while he held the lamp. She could not have been much more than a girl when she arrived, he thought. She's not very old – or is she? It was hard to judge. She had an ageless quality, a certain ingenuousness, that was at odds with her full, ripe woman's body. She had given birth; she was every bit a woman. I wonder how old she is?
They walked down the path. Jondalar filled the bowl with water and inspected the legbones he had found in her midden. "This one has a crack I didn't notice before," he mentioned, showing her the bone before he discarded it. He placed the rest in the water. As they went back up to the cave, he tried to estimate Ayla's age. She can't be too young – she's too skilled a healer. Yet can she be as old as I am?
"Ayla, how long have you been here?" he asked as they started into the cave, unable to contain his curiosity.
She halted, not sure how to respond, or if she could make him understand. Her counting sticks came to mind, but although Creb had shown her how to make the marks, she wasn't supposed to know. Jondalar might disapprove. But he's leaving, she thought.
She got out a bundle of the sticks she had marked every day, untied it and laid them out.
"What are these?" he asked.
"You want to know how long I've been here. I don't know how to tell you, but since I found this valley I have cut a mark on a stick every night. I have been here as many nights as there are marks on my sticks."
"Do you know how many marks there are?"
She remembered the frustration she had felt when she had tried to make some meaning of her marked sticks before. "As many as there are," she said.
Jondalar picked up one of the sticks, intrigued. She did not know the counting words, but she had some sense of them. Not even everyone in his Cave could comprehend them. The powerful magic of their meaning was not given to everyone to know. Zelandoni had explained some to him. He didn't know all the magic they contained, but he knew more than most who were not of the calling. Where had Ayla learned to mark the sticks? How could someone raised by flatheads have any understanding of counting words?