Mammoth Hunters by Jean M. Auel Read Free Book Online

the lumpy objects it contained, and made a thought to her totem.
    “Spirit of the Great Cave Lion, Creb always said a powerful totem was hard to live with. He was right. Always the testing has been difficult, but always it has been worth it. This woman is grateful for the protection, and for the gifts of her powerful totem. The gifts inside, of things learned, and the gifts of those to care about like Whinney and Racer, and Baby, and most of all, for Jondalar.”
    Whinney came to her when she reached the colt and blew a soft greeting. She laid her head on the mare’s neck. The woman felt tired, drained. She wasn’t used to so many people, so much going on, and people who spoke a language were so
noisy.
She had a headache, her temples were pounding, and her neck and shoulders hurt. Whinney was leaning on her and Racer, joining them, added pressure from his side, until she was feeling squeezed between them, but she didn’t mind.
    “Enough!” she said, finally, slapping the colt’s flank. “You’re getting too big, Racer, to get me in the middle like that. Look at you! Look how big you are. You’re almost as big as your dam!” She scratched him, then rubbed and patted Whinney, noticing dried sweat. “It’s hard for you, too, isn’t it? I’ll give you a good rubdown and brush you with a teasel later, but people are coming now so you’re probably going to getmore attention. It won’t be so bad once they get used to you.”
    Ayla didn’t notice that she had slipped into the private language she had developed during her years alone with only animals for company. It was composed partly of Clan gestures, partly of verbalizations of some of the few words the Clan spoke, imitations of animals, and the nonsense words she and her son had begun to use. To anyone else, it was likely the hand signals would not have been noticed, and she would have seemed to be murmuring a most peculiar set of sounds, grunts and growls and repetitive syllables. It might not have been thought of as a language.
    “Maybe Jondalar will brush Racer, too.” Suddenly she stopped as a troubling thought occurred to her. She reached for her amulet again and tried to frame her thoughts. “Great Cave Lion, Jondalar is now your chosen, too, he bears the scars on his leg of your marking, just as I do.” She shifted her thoughts into the ancient silent language spoken only with hands; the proper language for addressing the spirit world.
    “Spirit of the Great Cave Lion, that man who has been chosen has not a knowledge of totems. That man knows not of testing, knows not the trials of a powerful totem, or the gifts and the learning. Even this woman who knows has found them difficult. This woman would beg the Spirit of the Cave Lion … would beg for that man …”
    Ayla stopped. She wasn’t sure what she was asking for. She didn’t want to ask the spirit not to test Jondalar—she did not want him to forfeit the benefits such trials would most assuredly bring—and not even to go easy on him. Since she had suffered great ordeals and gained unique skills and insights, she had come to believe benefits came in proportion to the severity of the test. She gathered her thoughts and continued.
    “This woman would beg the Spirit of the Great Cave Lion to help that man who has been chosen to know the value of his powerful totem, to know that no matter how difficult it may seem, the testing is necessary.” She finally finished and let her hands drop.
    “Ayla?”
    She turned around and saw Latie. “Yes.”
    “You seemed to be … busy. I didn’t want to interrupt you.”
    “I am through.”
    “Talut would like you to come and bring the horses. He has already told everyone they should do nothing that you don’t say. Not to frighten them or make them nervous … I think he made some people nervous.”
    “I will come,” Ayla said, then she smiled. “You like ride horse back?” she asked.
    Latie’s face split into a wide grin. “Could I?