The Shelters of Stone (118 page)

“I never was much good at hunting smaller animals,” Marthona said, “except with a snare or a trap. But there was a time when I enjoyed going out with a group on a big hunt. It’s been so long since I’ve hunted, I think I’ve forgotten how, but I used to have a fair eye for tracking. I don’t see that well anymore.”

“Look what else I found,” Ayla said, taking off her bulging carrying bag to show Marthona. “Apples!” She had found an apple tree, bare of leaves but still decorated with small, shiny red apples, less hard and tart now after freezing, and had filled her haversack with them.

The two women walked toward the horse shelter. Ayla didn’t expect to find the horses there in the middle of the day, but she checked the container that held their water. In winter, when it was below freezing for long periods of time, she would melt water for them, though horses in the wild fended for themselves just fine. She put several apples in the kerfed feeding trough.

Then she walked to the edge of the stone ledge and looked down at The River, bordered by trees and brush. She didn’t see the horses, but she whistled the distinctive signal that the horses had been trained to answer, hoping they were close enough to hear. Before long she saw Whinney climbing the steep path, followed by Racer. Wolf rubbed noses with Whinney when she reached the ledge in a greeting that seemed almost formal. Racer nickered at him and received a playful yip and a nose rub in return.

When she was confronted with such direct evidence of
Ayla’s control over the animals, Marthona still found it hard to believe. She had gotten used to Wolf, who was always around people, and who responded to her. But the horses were more skittish, not as friendly, and seemed less tame, except around Ayla and Jondalar, more like the native wild animals she had once hunted.

The young woman was making the sounds that Marthona had heard her use before around the horses as she stroked and scratched the animals, then led them to the shelter. She thought of it as Ayla’s horse language. Ayla picked out an apple for each one, and they ate from her hand as she continued talking to them in her strange way. Marthona tried to discern the sounds Ayla made. It was not quite a language, she thought. Although there was a similar feel to some of the words Ayla used when she demonstrated the language of the flatheads.

“You’re getting a big belly, Whinney,” Ayla was saying, patting her round stomach, “just like I am. You’ll probably give birth in spring, maybe late spring, after it warms up a bit. By then, I should already have my baby. I’d love to go for a ride, but I guess I’m too far along. Zelandoni said it might not be good for the baby. I feel fine, but I don’t want to take chances. Jondalar will ride you, Racer, when he gets back.”

That was what she meant to say to the horses, and what she did say in her mind, although the combination of Clan signals and words and the other sounds of her private language would not have translated quite the same—if someone could have translated it. It didn’t matter. The horses understood the welœming voice, the warm touch, and certain sounds and signals.

Winter came unexpectedly. Small white flakes started to fall late in the afternoon. They turned big and fat, and by evening it was a swirling blizzard. The whole Cave breathed a sigh of relief when the hunters who had gone out in the morning stomped onto the stone ledge before dark, empty-handed but safe.

“Joharran decided to turn back when we saw the mammoths
heading north as fast as they could,” Jondalar said after greeting Ayla. “You’ve heard the saying ‘Never go forth when mammoths go north.’ It usually means snow is on the way, and they head north, where it’s colder but drier and the snow doesn’t pile up as deep. They get mired in deep, wet snow. He didn’t want to take chances, but those storm clouds blew up so fast, even the mammoths may get caught in it. The wind shifted north, and before we knew it, the snow was blowing so hard that we could hardly see. It’s halfway up to the knees out there already. We had to use snowshoes before we got back.”

The blizzard lasted through the night, the following day, and the next night. Nothing could be seen except the moving curtain of white, not even just across The Riven At times the snow, caught in a crosscurrent of moving air buffeting the high cliff and finding no outlet, rebounded against the primary direction of the prevailing winds in a vortex of swirling flakes. At other times, when the driving winds died down, snow fell heavily straight down in a constant hypnotic motion.

Ayla was glad for the protective overhang of the abri that extended all the way to the horses’ area, though during the first night she was concerned, not knowing whether they had found their way to the shelter before the snows became too deep. If her horses had found some other shelter, she was afraid she would have been cut off from contact with them and they would be isolated, imprisoned, by the thick white mantle of snow.

She was relieved to hear a nicker when she approached their shelter early the next morning, and breathed a deep sigh when she saw both horses, but as she greeted them, she could tell they were nervous. They were not familiar with such deep snow, either. She decided to spend some time with the horses and groom them with teasel brushes, which usually comforted them and relaxed her.

But when she found them safe in their shelter, she wondered where the wild horses were. Had they migrated to the colder, drier region to the north and east, where the snow
would not be as deep and would not cover the dry, standing hay that was their winter feed?

She was glad now that they had collected piles of grass for the horses, not just grains, to supplement their forage. It had been Jondalar’s idea. He had known how deep the snow could get, she had not. Now she wondered if they had collected enough. The horses were adapted to the cold, she wasn’t worried about that. Their coats had grown in thick and full, both the downy underlayer and the shaggy outer coat protected their stocky, compact bodies, but would they have enough grass?

Winters in the land where Jondalar’s people lived were cold, but not dry. Their main feature was snow, heavy, air-choking, high-drifting snow. She hadn’t seen so much snow since she lived with the Clan. She had become more used to the dry, frozen loess steppes that leached moisture from the atmosphere, farther inland around her valley and the territory of the Mammoth Hunters. Here, where the climate was subject to the maritime influences of the Great Waters of the West, the landscape was known as continental steppes. Winter was wetter and snowier, resembling somewhat the climate of the place where she grew up, the mountainous tip of a peninsula jutting into an inland sea far to the east.

The heavy snow piled up on the front ledge filled the lower half of the opening under the overhang with a solid barrier of soft snow that gleamed at night in the golden reflection of the fires inside the abri. Now Ayla knew why stout logs were used to support the many crosspieces covered with hides for the protected passageway leading to the exterior enclosure that was used instead of the trenches for wastes during the winter.

The second morning after the snow began, Ayla woke to the smiling face of Jondalar standing beside the sleeping platform, shaking her gently His cheelçs were red with cold, and his heavy outer clothing still bore traces of unmelted snow. He had a hot cup of tea in his hand.

“Come on, sleepy, get up. I remember when you used to be up long before me. There’s still some food left. The snow
has stopped. Dress warmly and come outside,” he said. “Maybe you should wear those undergarments you got from Marona and friends.”

“Have you been out already?” she asked, sitting up and taking a drink of the hot tea. “I do seem to need more sleep lately.” Jondalar waited while she freshened up, had a quick morning meal, and began to dress, trying to refrain from urging her too much.

“Jondalar, I can’t close these pants over my stomach. And that top will never fit. Are you sure you want me to wear this outfit? I don’t want to stretch them out.”

“The pants are most important. It won’t matter if you can’t close them all the way. Do the best you can. You’ll be wearing your other clothes over them. Here are your boots. Where is your parka?” Jondalar said.

As they headed out of the abri, Ayla could see the radiant blue sky and the glowing sunlight streaming down on the ledge. Several people had obviously been up early. The path down to Wood River had been cleared of the accumulation of snow, and limestone gravel from underneath the abri had been strewn on the downslope to make it less slippery. On either side the walls of snow were chest high, but as she looked out over the countryside, she caught her breath.

The landscape was transformed. The glistening white blanket had softened the contours of the land, and the sky seemed even bluer in contrast with a white so brilliant, it hurt the eyes. It was cold; the snow crunched beneath her feet and her breath steamed. She saw several people on the flat flood-plain across The River.

“Careful when you go down the path. It can be dangerous. Let me take your hand,” Jondalar said. They reached the bottom and crossed the small frozen river. Some of the people who saw them coming waved and started toward them.

“I didn’t think you were ever going to get up, Ayla,” Folara said. “There’s a place we usually go every year, but it takes half the morning to get there. I asked Jondalar if we could take you, but he said it was too far for you right now. When the snow gets packed down a little more, we can build
a seat on a sledge and take turns pulling you. Most of the time sledges are used to pull wood or meat or something. But when they’re not needed for that, we can use them.” She was filli of excitement.

“Slow down, Folara,” Jondalar said.

The snow was so deep that when Ayla tried to walk through it, she floundered, lost her balance, and grabbed for Jondalar, pulling him over with her. They both sat covered with snow, laughing so hard that they couldn’t get up. Folara was laughing, too.

“Don’t just stand there,” Jondalar called out. “Come and help me get Ayla up.” Between them both, they got her back on her feet.

A round white missile flew through the air and landed with a splat on Jondalar’s arm. After looking up and seeing Matagan laughing at him, Jondalar grabbed a handful of snow with both hands and began shaping it into a round ball. He heaved it toward the young man, whom he was considering taking on as an apprentice. Matagan ran away with a limp, but some speed, and the snowball fell short.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Jondalar said.

Ayla had a snowball hidden from view, and as Jondalar approached, she threw it at him. It landed on his chest and snow exploded into his face.

“So you want to play games,” he said, picking up a handful of snow and trying to put it inside the back of her parka. She struggled to get away, and soon both were rolling around in the snow, laughing and trying to get snow into each other’s necks. When they finally sat up, they were both covered from head to foot with thè wet white stuff.

They went to the edge of the frozen river, crossed over, and climbed back to the ledge. They passed Marthona’s dwelling on the way to their own, and she had heard them coming.

“Do you really think you should have taken Ayla out there and gotten her wet with snow in her condition, Jondalar?” his mother said. “What if she had fallen down and it started the baby coming early?”

Jondalar looked stricken. He hadn’t thought about that.

“It’s all right, Marthona,” Ayla said. “The snow was soft, and I didn’t hurt myself or overdo. And I never knew snow could be so much fun!” Her eyes were still sparkling with excitement. “Jondalar helped me down the path, and up again. I feel fine.”

“But she’s right, Ayla,” Jondalar said, full of contrition. “You could have hurt yourself. I wasn’t thinking. I should have been more careful. You’re going to be a mother soon.”

Jondalar was so solicitous after that, Ayla almost felt confined. He didn’t want her to leave the area of the abri or go down the path. She occasionally stood at the top and looked down rather wistfully, but after she grew so big that she could not see her own feet when she looked down, and found herself leaning back when she walked to compensate for the load in front, she had little desire to leave the security of the Ninth Cave’s shelter of stone for the cold ice and snow outside.

She was happy to stay near a fire, often with friends, in her dwelling or theirs, or in the busy central work space under the protective roof of the massive overhang, busily making things for the coming baby. She was acutely conscious of the life growing within her. Her attention was turned inward, not exactly self-centered, but her area of interest had contracted to a smaller sphere.

She visited with the horses every day, groomed and pampered them, and made sure they had adequate provisions and water. They were more inactive, too, although they did go down to The River, frozen solid, and across to the meadow beyond. Horses could dig down through snow to find fodder, though not as efficiently as reindeer, and their digestive systems were accustomed to rough feed: the straw of frozen yellow grass stems, bark from birch and other thin-skinned trees, and twigs of brush. But under the insulating snow near the dead-seeming stems of herbs, they often found the basal stems and beginning buds of new growth just waiting to start. The horses managed to find enough food to fill their stomachs, but the grains and grass Ayla provided kept them healthy.

Wolf was out more than the horses. The season that was so hard on those that ate vegetation was often a boon to the meat-eaters. He roamed far, and sometimes was gone all day, but he always returned at night to sleep in the pile of Ayla’s old clothes. She moved his bed to the floor beside the sleeping platform and worried each evening until he returned, which sometimes was quite late. Some days he did not go at all, but stayed close to Ayla, resting or, to his great delight, playing with the children.

The Cave’s leisure time during the relatively inactive winter months was filled with the pursuit of each person’s individual crafts. Though they sometimes went hunting, looking particularly for reindeer for their rich sources of fat stored even within the bones of the cold-adapted animal, there was sufficient food stored to sustain them and a more than adequate supply of wood to keep them warm, give them light, and cook their food. Throughout the year various materials they needed for their work were collected and saved for this time. It was the time to cure hides, work them soft, dye them for color, and burnish them for a shine or a waterproof finish, the time to fabricate clothes, then bead and embroider them. Belts and boots were fashioned, fastenings were made and often decorated with carvings. It was also the time to learn a new craft or perfect a skill.