The Mammoth Hunters - Jean M. Auel [373]
“This is wonderful!” Talut said, scooping up a second serving with an ivory ladle. “What made you decide to cook such a delicious breakfast this morning?”
“I couldn’t sleep, and then I noticed all the vegetables growing nearby. It took my mind off … things,” she said.
“I slept like a bear in winter,” Talut said, then studied her closely, wishing Nezzie was there. “Is something troubling you, Ayla?”
She shook her head. “No … well, yes. But I don’t know what it is.”
“Are you sick?”
“No, it’s not that. I just feel … strange. The horses notice something, too. Racer is hard to manage, and Whinney is nervous …”
Suddenly Ayla dropped her cup, and clutching her arms as though to protect herself, stared in horror at the southeastern sky. “Talut! Look!” A column of dark gray was rising upward in the distance, and a massive, billowing dark cloud was filling up the sky. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” the big headman said, looking as frightened as she felt. “I’ll get Vincavec.”
“I am not sure, either.” They turned toward the voice of the tattooed shaman. “It’s coming from the mountains in the southeast.” Vincavec was struggling to keep his composure. He was not supposed to show his fears, but it was not easy. “It must be a sign from the Mother.”
Ayla was sure some terrible catastrophe was happening for the earth to spew forth like that with such force. The dark gray column must have been unbelievably huge to look so large from so far away, and the cloud, roiling and surging angrily, was growing larger. High winds were beginning to push it westward.
“It’s the milk of Doni’s Breast,” Jondalar said, more matter-of-factly than he felt, using a word from his own language. Everyone was out of the tents now, staring at the terrifying eruption and the huge bloated cloud of seething volcanic ash.
“What is … that word you said?” Talut said.
“It’s a mountain, a special kind of mountain that spouts. I saw one when I was very young,” Jondalar said. “We call them the ‘Breasts of the Mother.’ Old Zelandoni told us the legend about them. The one I saw was far away on the high midlands. Later a man who was traveling, and was closer to it, told us what he saw. It was a very exciting story, but he was scared. There were some small earthquakes, then the top of the mountain blew right off. It sent up a big spout like that, and made a black cloud that filled the sky. It’s not like a regular cloud, though. It’s full of a light dust, like ash. That one”—he motioned toward the huge black cloud that was streaming toward the west—“looks like it’s blowing away from us. I hope the wind doesn’t shift. When that ash settles, it covers everything. Sometimes very deep.”
“It must be far away,” Brecie said. “We can’t even see the mountains from here, and there are no sounds, no roars and rumbles and shaking of the ground. Just that huge spout and the great dark cloud.”
“That’s why, even if the ash falls around here, it may not be too bad. We’re far enough away.”
“You said there were earthquakes? Earthquakes are always a sign from the Mother. This must be, too. The mamuti will have to meditate on this, find its meaning,” Vincavec said, not wanting to appear less knowledgeable than the stranger.
Ayla did not hear much beyond “earthquake.” There was nothing in the world she feared so much as earthquakes.