The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [199]
They reached the small stone shelter that the First had pointed out to Ayla on their way there. The opening faced east and it was obvious that the site had been used as a living space at times. The dark charcoal circle of a former fireplace was still partially surrounded with stones, though some were missing. A couple of larger chunks of limestone that had broken loose from wall or ceiling had been dragged closer to it for seating. A torn and discarded leather covering lay in a pile near a wall next to a few large and awkward pieces of wood that would likely last through the night if the fire was big and hot enough to get them started.
The entrance to the cave was at the north end of the abri under a short section of overhanging ledge, which was weathering and shedding pieces of broken rock that were beginning to pile up in front of the opening that led inside the wall of stone.
The Zelandoni had put some wood, tinder, and a fire-making drill and platform along with some stone lamps into a backframe that he slipped off near the firepit. Then he began to organize the materials. When she saw what he was doing, Ayla reached into a leather pouch hanging from her waist thong and retrieved two stones. One was a strong piece of flint in a sturdy blade shape, the other a walnut-sized chunk of stone with a silvery-brassy metallic luster. A groove had been worn into the shiny stone from being struck repeatedly by the flint blade.
“Will you allow me to start a fire?” Ayla asked.
“I’m pretty good at it. It won’t take me long,” the Zelandoni said as he started to cut a notch in the platform for the pointed end of the wooden drill he would twirl between his hands.
“She can do it faster,” Willamar said with a grin.
“You seem very sure,” the young Zelandoni said, beginning to feel a bit competitive. He was rather proud of his fire-making skill. There were few who could make a fire from scratch faster than he could.
“Why don’t you let her show you,” Jonokol said.
“Fine,” the young man said, then stood up and backed away. “Go ahead.”
Ayla knelt down by the dark, cold fireplace, then looked up. “May I use your tinder and kindling, since it’s here?” she asked.
“Why not?” the local Zelandoni said.
Ayla piled the light, dry tinder together, then bent down close to it. She struck the iron pyrite with the flint, and the young Zelandoni thought for a moment that he saw a flash of light. Ayla struck again, this time drawing off a large spark that landed on the desiccated, easily flammable material and brought forth a bit of smoke that she started blowing on. In a moment there was a small flame, which she fed with more tinder, then slightly larger pieces, then kindling, then small wood. When it was established, she sat back on her heels. The young Zelandoni stood with his mouth agape.
“You’ll catch flies that way,” the Trade Master said, grinning.
“How did you do that?” the young local Zelandoni asked.
“It’s not that difficult with a firestone,” Ayla said. “I’ll show you before we leave, if you’d like.”
After a few more heartbeats to let the surprising fire-making display settle in, the First spoke up. “Let’s get the lamps lit. I notice you brought some—are there also some stored here?”
“Usually. It depends on who was here last,” the young man said as he retrieved three shallow bowls gouged out of the local limestone from his backframe, “but I don’t count on it.” He also took out a small rawhide packet of wick materials and a hollow aurochs horn from a young animal—much more manageable than the huge horns of a mature adult specimen—with the open end covered by several layers of nearly waterproof intestine tied on with sinew. Inside was softened grease. He also had some torches made of leaves, grasses,