The Mammoth Hunters - Jean M. Auel [266]
“Uh … Ayla?”
She stopped and looked up.
“I meant it, you know. I’ll never forget this afternoon. The ride, I mean. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, Jondalar. Thank Racer.”
“Yes, well, Racer didn’t do it alone.”
“No, you did it with him.”
He started to say something else, then changed his mind, frowned, looked down, and went in through the front archway.
Ayla stared for a moment at the place he had been, closed her eyes, and struggled to swallow down a sob that threatened to start a flood. When she regained her composure, she went in. Though the horses had drunk from streams along the way, she poured water into their large drinking bowls, then pulled out the soft leather cloths, and started rubbing down Whinney again. Soon she just had her arms around the mare, leaning against her, her forehead pressed on the shaggy neck of her old friend, the only friend she’d had when she lived in the valley. Soon Racer was leaning on her, and she was caught in a vise between the two horses, but the familiar pressure was comforting.
Mamut had seen Jondalar come in the front, and heard Ayla and the horses in the annex. He had the distinct feeling that something was very wrong. When he saw her come into the Mammoth Hearth, her disheveled appearance made him wonder if she had fallen and hurt herself, but it was more than that. Something was troubling her. From the shadows of his platform he watched her. She changed, and he noticed her clothing was torn. Something must have happened. Wolf came racing in, followed by Rydag and Danug, who proudly held up a net bag with several fish in it. Ayla smiled and complimented the fishers, but as soon as they headed for the Lion Hearth to deposit their catch and collect more compliments, she picked up the young wolf and held him in her arms, and rocked back and forth. The old man was worried. He got up and walked over to Ayla’s bed platform.
“I’d like to go over the Clan ritual with the root again,” Mamut said. “Just to make sure we do everything right.”
“What?” she said, her eyes focusing on him. “Oh … if you want, Mamut.” She put Wolf into his basket, but he immediately jumped out and headed for the Lion Hearth and Rydag. He was in no mood to rest.
She had obviously been deep in some thought that was distressing her. She looked as though she had been crying, or was about to. “You said,” he began, trying to get her to talk, and perhaps unburden herself, “Iza told you how to prepare the drink.”
“Yes.”
“And she told you how to prepare yourself. Do you have everything you need?”
“It’s necessary to purify myself. I don’t have exactly the same things, it’s a different season, but I can use other things to cleanse myself.”
“Your Mog-ur, your Creb, he controlled the experience for you?”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
“He must have been very powerful.”
“The Cave Bear was his totem. It chose him, gave him power.”
“In the ritual with the root, were others involved?”
Ayla hung her head, then nodded.
There was something she hadn’t told him, Mamut thought, wondering if it was important. “Did they assist him in controlling it?”
“No. Creb’s power was greater than all of them. I know, I felt it.”
“How did you feel it, Ayla? You never did tell me. I thought women of the Clan were barred from participating in the deepest rituals.”
She looked down again. “They are,” she mumbled.
He lifted her chin. “Perhaps you should tell me about it, Ayla.”
She nodded. “Iza never did show me how to make it, she said it was too sacred to be wasted for practice, but she tried to tell me exactly how to do it. When we got to the Clan Gathering, the mog-urs didn’t want me to make the drink for them. They said I was not Clan. Maybe they were right,” Ayla added, putting her head down again. “But, there was no one