The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [333]
Ayla smiled; she could see the woman’s anxiety. “Wolf won’t hurt you,” she said. “He attacked only to protect me.”
S’Armuna noticed that Ayla didn’t translate the name of the animal into Zelandonii, and she sensed that the word was used as a personal name for the animal. “It is appropriate that her end should come from a wolf. I knew you were here for a reason. We are no longer clutched in her grip, held by her madness,” the woman said. “But what do we do now?” The question was rhetorical, spoken more to herself than to any of the listeners.
Ayla looked down at the still body of the woman who had only moments before been so malevolently, but vibrantly alive, and it made her conscious of how fragile a thing life was. Except for Wolf, it could have been her lying dead on the ground. She shuddered at the thought. “I think someone should take this headwoman away and prepare her for burial.” She spoke in Mamutoi so that more people would understand without the need for translation.
“Does she deserve burial? Why not throw her body to the carrion eaters?” It was a male voice that had spoken.
“Who speaks?” Ayla asked.
Jondalar knew the man who stepped forward, somewhat hesitantly. “I am called Olamun.”
Ayla nodded in recognition. “You have a right to feel angry, Olamun, but Attaroa was driven to violence by the violence done to her. The evil in her spirit is eager to carry it on, to leave you with a legacy of her violence. Give it up. Don’t let your rightful anger make you fall prey to the trap her restless spirit has set. It is time to break the pattern. Attaroa was human. Bury her with the dignity she was not able to find in life, and let her spirit rest.”
Jondalar was surprised by her response. It was the kind of answer a Zelandoni might make, wise and restrained.
Olamun nodded with acquiescence. “But who will bury her? Who will prepare her? She has no kin,” he said.
“That is the responsibility of the One Who Serves the Mother,” S’Armuna said.
“Perhaps with the help of those who followed her in this life,” Ayla suggested. The body was obviously too heavy for the older woman to handle alone.
Everyone turned to face Epadoa and the Wolf Women. They seemed to press together as though to draw strength from each other.
“And then follow her to the next world,” another male voice said. There were shouts of agreement from the crowd, and a surge toward the women hunters. Epadoa stood her ground, brandishing her spear.
Suddenly one young Wolf Woman stepped away from the others. “I never asked to be a Wolf Woman. I just wanted to learn to hunt so I wouldn’t have to be hungry.”
Epadoa glared at her, but the young woman looked back defiantly.
“Let Epadoa find out what it’s like to be hungry,” the male voice said again. “Let her go without food until she reaches the next world. Then her spirit will be hungry, too.”
The people surging toward the hunters, and toward Ayla, brought a warning snarl from Wolf. Jondalar quickly knelt to quiet him, but his reaction did have the effect of making the people back away. They looked at the woman and the animal with some trepidation.
Ayla didn’t ask who had spoken that time. “Attaroa’s spirit still walks among us,” Ayla said, “encouraging violence and revenge.”
“But Epadoa must pay for the evil she has done.” Ayla saw the mother of Cavoa stepping forward. Her young, pregnant daughter stood just behind her, offering moral support.
Jondalar got up and stood beside Ayla. He could not help thinking that the woman had a right to retribution for the death of her son. He looked to S’Armuna. The One Who Served the Mother ought to be answering, he thought, but she, too, was waiting for Ayla to reply.
“The woman who killed your son has already gone to the next world,” Ayla said. “Epadoa should pay for the evil she has done.”
“She has more than that to pay for. What about the harm she did to these boys?” It was Ebulan who spoke. He stood back to let Ayla see two youngsters leaning on a cadaverous old man.
Ayla was startled when she saw the man; for an instant she thought