A young woman stood in the entrance passage of the earth-lodge, looking nervously at the three people within. Jondalar noticed immediately that she was quite young, hardly more than a girl; Ayla noticed that she was quite pregnant.
"What is it, Cavoa?" S'Armuna said.
"Epadoa and her hunters just returned, and Attaroa is yelling at her."
"Thank you for telling me," the older woman said, then turned back to her guests. "The walls of this earthlodge are so thick that it is hard to hear anything beyond them. Perhaps we should go out there."
They hurried out, past the pregnant young woman, who tried to pull back to let them by. Ayla smiled at her. "Not wait much more?" she said in S'Armunai.
Cavoa smiled nervously, then looked down.
Ayla thought she seemed frightened and unhappy, which was unusual for an expectant mother, but then, she reasoned, most women expecting their first were a little nervous. As soon as they stepped outside, they heard Attaroa.
"…tell me you found where they camped. You missed your chance! You're not much of a Wolf Woman if you can't even track," the headwoman railed in loud derision.
Epadoa stood tight-lipped, anger flaring from her eyes, but made no reply. A crowd had gathered, not too closely, but the young woman dressed in wolf skins noticed that most of them had turned to look in another direction. She glanced to see what had commanded their attention, and she was startled at the sight of the blond woman coming toward them, followed, even more surprisingly, by the tall man. She had never known a man to return once he got away.
"What are you doing here?" Epadoa blurted.
"I told you. You missed your chance," Attaroa sneered. "They came back on their own."
"Why shouldn't we be here?" Ayla said. "Weren't we invited to a feast?" S'Armuna translated.
"The feast is not ready yet. Tonight," Attaroa said to the visitors, dismissing them curtly, then addressing her head Wolf Woman, "Come inside, Epadoa. I want to talk to you." She turned her back on all the watchers and entered her lodge. Epadoa stared at Ayla, a deep frown indenting her forehead; then she followed the headwoman.
After she was gone, Ayla looked out across the field a bit apprehensively. After all, Epadoa and the hunters were known to hunt horses. She felt relieved when she saw Whinney and Racer at the opposite end of the sloping field of dry brittle grass some distance away. She turned and studied the woods and brush on the uphill slope outside of the Camp, wishing she could see Wolf, yet glad that she could not. She wanted him to stay in hiding, but she did make a point of standing in plain sight looking in his direction, hoping that he could see her.
As the visitors walked back with S'Armuna toward her dwelling, Jondalar recalled a comment she had made earlier that had piqued his curiosity. "How did you keep Brugar away from you?" he asked. "You said he tried once to beat you like he did the other women; how did you stop him?"
The older woman halted and looked hard at the young man, then at the woman beside him. Ayla felt the shaman's indecision and sensed she was evaluating them, trying to decide how much to tell them.
"He tolerated me because I am a healer – he always referred to me as a medicine woman," S'Armuna said, "but more than anything, he feared the world of the spirits."
Her comments brought a question to Ayla's mind. "Medicine women have a unique status in the Clan," she said, "but they are only healers. Mog-urs are the ones who communicate with the spirits."
"The spirits known to the flatheads, perhaps, but Brugar feared the power of the Mother. I think he realized that She knew the harm he did, and the evil that corrupted his spirit. I think he feared Her retribution. When I showed him that I could draw on Her power, he didn't bother me any more," S'Armuna said.
"You can draw on Her power? How?" Jondalar asked.
S'Armuna reached inside her shirt and pulled out a small figure of a woman, perhaps four inches high. Both Ayla and Jondalar had seen many similar objects, usually carved out of ivory, bone, or wood. Jondalar had even seen a few that had been carefully and lovingly sculpted out of stone, using only stone tools. They were Mother figures and, except for the Clan, every group of people either of them had met, from the Mammoth Hunters in the east to Jondalar's people to the west, depicted some version of Her.
Some of the figures were quite rough, some were exquisitely carved; some were highly abstract, some were perfectly proportional images of full-bodied mature women, except for certain abstract aspects. Most of the carvings emphasized the attributes of bountiful motherhood – large breasts, full stomachs, wide hips – and purposely deemphasized other characteristics. Often the arms were only suggested, or the legs ended in a point, rather than feet, so the figure could be stuck in the ground. And invariably they lacked facial features. The figures were not meant to be a portrait of any particular woman, and certainly no artist could know the face of the Great Earth Mother. Sometimes the face was left blank, or was given enigmatic markings, sometimes the hair was elaborately styled and continued all around the head, covering the face.
The only portrayal of a woman's face that either of them had ever seen was the sweet and tender carving Jondalar had made of Ayla when they were alone in her valley, not long after they had met. But Jondalar sometimes regretted his impulsive indiscretion. He had not meant it to be a Mother figure; he had made it because he had fallen in love with Ayla and wanted to capture her spirit. But he realized, after it was made, that it carried tremendous power. He feared it might bring her harm, particularly if it ever got into the hands of someone who wanted to have control over her. He was even afraid to destroy it, for fear that its destruction might harm her. He had decided to give it to her to keep safely. Ayla loved the small sculpture of a woman, with a carved face that bore a resemblance to her own, because Jondalar had made it. She never considered any power it might have; she just thought it was beautiful.
Although the Mother figures were often considered beautiful, they were not nubile young women made to appeal to some male canon of beauty. They were symbolic representations of Woman, of her ability to create and produce life from within her body, and to nourish it with her own bountiful fullness, and by analogy they symbolized the Great Mother Earth, Who created and produced all life from Her body, and nourished all Her children with Her wondrous bounty. The figures were also receptacles for the spirit of the Great Mother of All, a spirit that could take many forms.
But this particular Mother figure was unique. S'Armuna gave the munai to Jondalar. "Tell me what this is made of," she said.
Jondalar turned the small figure over in his hands, examining it carefully. It was endowed with pendulous breasts and wide hips, the arms were suggested only to the elbow, the legs tapered, and though a hairstyle was indicated, the face bore no markings. It was not much different in size or shape from many he had seen, but the material from which it was made was most unusual. The color was uniformly dark.
When he tried, he could make no indentation in it with his fingernail. It was not made of wood or bone or ivory or antler. It was as hard as stone, but smoothly formed, with no indication or marks of carving. It was not any stone he knew.
He looked up at S'Armuna with a puzzled expression. "I have never seen anything like this before," he said.
Jondalar gave the figure to Ayla, and a shiver went through her at the moment she touched it. I should have taken my fur parka when we went out, she said to herself, but she could not help feeling that it was more than the cold that had made her feel such a sharp chill.
"That munai began as the dust of the earth," the woman stated.
"Dust?" Ayla said. "But this is stone!"
"Yes, it is now. I turned it to stone."
"You turned it to stone? How can you turn dust to stone?" Jondalar said, full of disbelief.
The woman smiled. "If I tell you, would it make you believe my power?"
"If you can convince me," the man retorted.
"I will tell you, but I won't try to convince you. You will have to convince yourself. I started with hard, dry clay from the river's edge and pounded it to dusty earth. Then I mixed in water." S'Armuna paused for a moment, wondering if she should say anything more about the mixture. She decided against it for now. "When it was the right consistency, it was shaped. Fire and hot air turned it to stone," the shaman stated, watching to see how the two young strangers would react, whether they would show disdain or be impressed, whether they would doubt or believe her.
The man closed his eyes trying to recall something. "I remember hearing… from a Losadunai man, I think… something about Mother figures made of mud."
S'Armuna smiled. "Yes, you could say we make munai out of mud. Animals, too, when we have need to call upon their spirits, many kinds of animals, bears, lions, mammoths, rhinos, horses, whatever we want. But they are mud only while they are being shaped. A figure made of the dust of the earth mixed with water, even after it has hardened, will melt in water back to the mud from which it was formed, then turn to dust, but after it is brought to life by Her sacred flame, it is forever changed. Passing through the Mother's searing heat makes the figures as hard as stone. The living spirit of the fire makes them endure."
Ayla saw the fire of excitement in the woman's eyes, and it reminded her of Jondalar's excitement when he was first developing the spear-thrower. She realized that S'Armuna was reliving the thrill of discovery, and it convinced her.
"They are brittle, even more than flint," the woman continued. "The Mother Herself has shown how they can be broken, but water will not change them. A munai made of mud, once touched by Her living fire, can stay outside in the rain and snow, can even soak in water and will never melt."
"You do indeed command the power of the Mother," Ayla said.
The woman hesitated an instant, then asked, "Would you like to see?"
"Oh, yes, I would," Ayla said at the same time as Jondalar replied, "Yes, I'd be very interested."
"Then come, I will show you."
"Can I get my parka?" Ayla said.
"Of course," S'Armuna said. "We should all put warmer clothes on, although if we were having the Fire Ceremony, it would be so hot that if you were anywhere near it, you would not need furs, not even on a day like this. Everything is nearly ready. We would have made the fire and begun the ceremony tonight, but it takes time, and the proper concentration. We'll wait until tomorrow. Tonight we have an important feast to attend."
S'Armuna stopped for a moment and closed her eyes, as though listening, or considering a thought that had occurred to her. "Yes, a very important feast," she repeated, looking straight at Ayla. Does she know the danger that threatens her? the shaman wondered. If she is who I think, she must.
They ducked into the shaman's lodge and slipped on their outer garments. Ayla noticed the young woman had left. Then S'Armuna led them some distance beyond her dwelling to the farthest edge of the settlement, toward a group of women working around a rather innocuous construction that resembled a small earthlodge with a sloped roof. The women were bringing dried dung, wood, and bone into the small structure, materials for a fire, Ayla realized. She recognized the pregnant young woman among them and smiled at her. Cavoa smiled shyly back.
S'Armuna went into the low entrance of the small structure, ducking her head, then turned and beckoned to the visitors when they held back, not sure if they were supposed to follow. Inside, a fireplace with lambent flames licking at glowing coals kept the small, somewhat circular anteroom quite warm. Separate piles of bone, wood, and dung filled almost the entire left half of the space. Along the right curved wall were several rough shelves, flattish shoulder and pelvic bones of mammoths supported by stones, displaying many small objects.
They moved closer and were surprised to see that the objects were figurines that had been shaped and molded out of muddy clay and left to dry. Several of the figures were of women, Mother figures, but some of them were not complete, just the distinguishing parts of women, the lower half of the body, including the legs, for example, or the breasts. On other shelves were animals, again not always in their complete form, heads of lions, and of bears, and the distinctive shapes of mammoths with high domed heads, humped withers, and sloping backs.
The figurines seemed to have been made by different people; some were quite crude, showing little artistic skill, other objects were sophisticated in concept and well made. Though neither Ayla nor Jondalar understood why the molders of the pieces made the particular shapes they did, they felt that each was inspired by some individual reason or feeling.
Opposite the entrance was a smaller opening that led to an enclosed space within the structure, which had been scooped out of the loess soil of a hillside. Except that it opened into the side, it reminded Ayla of a large ground oven, the kind that was dug into the earth, heated with hot rocks, and used to cook food, but she felt that no food had ever been cooked in this oven. When she went to look inside, she saw a fireplace within the second room.
From the bits of charred material in the ash, she realized bone was burned as fuel, and, looking closer, she recognized that it was a firepit similar to the ones used by the Mamutoi, but even deeper. Ayla looked around, wondering where the indrawing air vent was. In order to burn bone, a very hot fire was needed, which required that air be forced in. The Mamutoi firepits were fed by the constantly blowing wind outside, brought in through trench-vents that were controlled by dampers. Jondalar examined the interior of the second room closely and drew similar conclusions; from the color and hardness of the walls, he was sure that very hot fires had been sustained within the space for long periods of time. He guessed that the small clay objects on the shelves were destined for the same treatment.
The man had been right when he said he had never before seen anything like the Mother figure S'Armuna showed him. The figure, made by the woman standing in front of him, had not been manufactured by modifying – carving or shaping or polishing – a material that occurred naturally. It was made of ceramic, fired clay, and it was the first material ever created by human hand and human intelligence. The heating chamber was not a cooking oven, it was a kiln.
And the first kiln ever devised was not invented for the purpose of making useful waterproof containers. Long before pottery, small ceramic sculptures were fired into impermeable hardness. The figures they had seen on the shelves resembled animals and humans, but the images of women – no men were made, only women – and other living creatures were not considered actual portrayals. They were symbols, metaphors, meant to represent more than they showed, to suggest an analogy, a spiritual similarity. They were art; art came before utility.
Jondalar indicated the space that would be heated, and he said to the shaman, "This is the place where the Mother's sacred fire burns?" It was as much statement as question.
S'Armuna nodded, knowing he believed her now. The woman had known before she saw the place; it had taken the man a little longer.
Ayla was glad when the woman led them out of the place. She didn't know if it was the heat from the fire inside the small space, or the clay objects, or something else, but she had begun to feel quite uneasy. She sensed it could be dangerous in there.
"How did you discover this?" Jondalar asked, waving his arm to take in the entire complex of ceramic objects and kiln.
"The Mother led me to it," the woman said.
"I'm certain of that, but how?" he asked again.
S'Armuna smiled at his persistence. It seemed appropriate that a son of Marthona would want to understand. "The first idea came when we were building an earthlodge," she said. "Do you know how we make them?"
"I think so. Yours seem to be similar to the Mamutoi lodges, and we helped Talut and the others make an addition to Lion Camp," Jondalar said. "They started with the supporting frame made of mammoth bones, and over that attached a thick thatch of willow withes, followed by another thatch of grasses, and reeds. Then a layer of sod. On top of that they spread a coating slurry of river clay, which got very hard when it dried."
"That is essentially what we do," S'Armuna said. "It was when we were adding that last coating of clay that the Mother revealed the first part of Her secret to me. We were finishing up the final section, but it was getting dark, so we built a big fire. The clay slurry was thickening, and some of it was accidentally dropped in the fire. It was a hot fire, using a lot of bone for fuel, and we kept it going most of the night. In the morning, Brugar told me to clean out the fireplace, and I found some of the clay had hardened. I noticed, in particular, a piece that resembled a lion."
"Ayla's protective totem is a lion," Jondalar commented.
The shaman glanced at her, then nodded as though to herself as she continued. "When I discovered that the lion figure didn't soften in water, I decided to try to make more. It took a lot of trying, and other hints from the Mother, before I finally worked it out."
"Why are you telling us your secrets? Showing us your power?" Ayla asked.
The question was so direct that it caught the woman off guard, but then she smiled. "Do not imagine I am telling you all my secrets. I am only showing you the obvious. Brugar thought he knew my secrets, too, but he soon learned."
"I'm sure Brugar must have been aware of your trials," Ayla said. "You can't make a hot fire without everyone knowing about it. How were you able to keep secrets from him?"
"At first he didn't really care what I was doing, so long as I supplied my own fuel, until he saw some of the results. Then he thought he would make figures himself, but he did not know all that the Mother had revealed to me." The smile of the One Who Served showed her sense of vindication and triumph. "The Mother rejected his efforts with great fury. Brugar's figures burst apart with loud noises and broke into many pieces when he tried to fire them. The Great Mother flung them away with such speed that they caused painful injuries to the people close by. Brugar feared my power after that, and he stopped trying to control me."
Ayla could imagine being inside the small anteroom with pieces of red-hot clay flying around at great speeds. "But that still doesn't explain why you are telling us so much about your power. It's possible that someone else who can understand the ways of the Mother could learn your secrets."
S'Armuna nodded. She had almost expected as much from the woman, and she had already decided that complete openness would be the best course to follow. "You're right, of course. I do have a reason. I need your help. With this magic, the Mother has given me great power, even over Attaroa. She fears my magic, but she is shrewd and unpredictable, and someday she will overcome her fear, I'm sure of it. Then she will kill me." The woman looked at Jondalar. "My death would not be very important, except to me. It's the rest of my people, this whole Camp, that I fear the most for. When you talked about Marthona passing the leadership on to her son, it made me realize how bad things have become. I know Attaroa would never willingly turn over leadership to anyone, and by the time she is gone, I'm afraid there may be no Camp left."
"What makes you so certain? If she is so unpredictable, couldn't she just as easily grow tired of it all?" Jondalar asked.
"I'm certain because she has already killed one person to whom she might have passed on her leadership, her own child."
"She killed her child?!" Jondalar said. "When you said Attaroa caused the death of the three young people, I assumed it was an accident."
"It was not an accident. Attaroa poisoned them, though she doesn't admit to it."
"Poisoned her own child! How could anyone kill her own child?" Jondalar said. "And why?"
"Why? For plotting to help a friend. Cavoa, the young woman you met. She was in love with a man and was planning to run away with him. Her brother was trying to help them, too. All four were caught. Attaroa spared Cavoa only because she was pregnant, but she has threatened that if the baby is a boy, she will kill them both."
"No wonder she seems so unhappy and afraid," Ayla said.
"I must also be held responsible," S'Armuna said, the blood draining from her face as she said the words.
"You! What did you have against those young people?" Jondalar said.
"I had nothing against them. Attaroa's child was my acolyte, almost like my own child. I feel for Cavoa, hurt for her, but just as surely as if I had fed them the poison myself, I am responsible for their deaths. If it were not for me, Attaroa would not have known where to get the poison and how to use it."
They could both see that the woman was obviously distraught, though she controlled it well.
"But to kill her own child," Ayla said, shaking her head as if to rid herself of the idea. She was horror-stricken by the mere thought. "How could she?"
"I don't know. I will tell you what I do know, but it is a long story. I think we should go back to my lodge," S'Armuna suggested, looking around. She did not want to spend any more time talking about Attaroa in such a public place.
Ayla and Jondalar followed her back to her earthlodge, doffed their outdoor clothes, then stood by the fire while the older woman added more fuel and cooking stones for hot tea. When they were settled with the warming herbal drink, S'Armuna paused to collect her thoughts.
"It's hard to know where it all began, probably with the early difficulties of Attaroa and Brugar, but it didn't stop there. Even when Attaroa was far along in her pregnancy, Brugar continued to beat her. When she went into labor, he did not send for me. I only knew about it when I heard her crying out in pain. I went to her, but he refused to let me attend her when she gave birth. It was not an easy delivery, and he would allow nothing to help her with the pain. I am convinced he wanted to watch her suffer. Apparently the baby was born with some deformity. My guess is that it was caused by all the beatings he gave Attaroa, and though it wasn't obvious at birth, it soon became apparent that the spine of the child was bent and weak. I was never allowed to make an examination, so I'm not sure, but there may have been other problems," S'Armuna said.
"Was her child a boy or a girl?" Jondalar asked, realizing it hadn't been made clear.
"I don't know," S'Armuna declared.
"I don't understand. How can you not know?" Ayla said "No one did, except Brugar and Attaroa, and for some reason, they kept it a secret. Even as an infant, the child was never allowed to appear in public without clothes, the way most babies and young children are, and they chose a name with neither a male nor a female ending. The child was called Omel," the woman explained.
"Did the child never say?" Ayla asked.
"No. Omel kept the secret, too. I think Brugar may have threatened dire consequences to them both if the child's gender was ever revealed," S'Armuna said.
"There must have been some hint, especially as the child grew older. The body that was buried appeared to be of adult size," Jondalar said.
"Omel did not shave, but could have been a male late in developing, and it was hard to tell if breasts developed. Omel wore loose clothing that disguised the shape. Omel did grow to be quite tall for a female, in spite of the crooked spine, but quite thin. Perhaps it was because of the weakness, but Attaroa herself is very tall, and there was a certain delicacy there that men don't usually have."
"Did you have no sense of the child as it was growing up?" Ayla asked.
The woman is perceptive, S'Armuna thought, then nodded. "In my heart, I always thought of Omel as a girl, but perhaps that is what I wanted. Brugar wanted people to think of the child as male."
"You are probably right about Brugar," Ayla said. "In the Clan, every man wants his mate to have sons. He thinks of himself as less than a man if she doesn't have at least one. It means his totem spirit is weak. If the infant was a girl, Brugar might have been trying to hide the fact that his mate had given birth to a female," Ayla explained, then paused and considered a different point of view. "But deformed newborns are usually taken away and left exposed. So it could be that if the baby was born deformed, especially if it was a boy and unable to learn the necessary hunting skills required of a man, Brugar might have wanted to hide that."
"It's not easy to interpret his motivations, but whatever they were, Attaroa went along with him."
"But how did Omel die? And the two young men?" Jondalar asked.
"It's a strange, complicated story," S'Armuna said, not wanting to be rushed. "In spite of all the problems, and secrecy, the child became Brugar's favorite. Omel was the only person he never struck or tried to hurt in some way. I was glad, but I often wondered why."
"Did he suspect that he might have caused the deformity because he beat Attaroa so much before birth?" Jondalar asked. "Was he trying to make up for it?"
"Perhaps, but Brugar laid the blame on Attaroa. He often told her she was an inadequate woman who could not deliver a perfect baby. Then he'd become angry and beat her. But his beatings were no longer a prelude to Pleasures with his mate. Instead he demeaned Attaroa and showered affection on the child. Omel began to treat Attaroa the same way that he did, and as the woman felt more estranged, she became jealous of her own offspring, jealous of the affection Brugar showed the child, and even more of the love Omel felt for Brugar."
"That would have been very hard to bear," Ayla said.
"Yes, Brugar had discovered a new way to cause Attaroa pain, but she wasn't the only one who suffered because of him," S'Armuna continued. "As time went on, all the women were treated worse and worse, by Brugar and the other men. The men who tried to resist his ways were sometimes beaten, too, or they were forced out. Finally, after a particularly bad occasion that left Attaroa with a broken arm and several broken ribs from being jumped on and kicked, she rebelled. She swore she would kill him, and she begged me to give her something to do it with."
"Did you?" Jondalar asked, unable to restrain his curiosity.
"One Who Serves the Mother learns many secrets, Jondalar, often dangerous secrets, especially one who has studied with the zelandonia," S'Armuna explained. "But those who are admitted into the Motherhood must swear by the Sacred Caves and the Elder Legends that the secrets will not be misused. One Who Serves the Mother gives up name and identity, and takes on the name and identity of her people, becomes the link between the Great Earth Mother and Her children, and the means by which Earth's Children communicate with the world of the spirits. Therefore, to Serve the Mother means to serve Her children as well."
"I understand that," Jondalar said.
"But you may not understand that the people become engraved on the spirit of One Who Serves. The need to consider their welfare becomes very strong, second only to the needs of the Mother. It is often a matter of leadership. Not directly, usually, but in the sense of showing the way. One Who Serves the Mother becomes a guide to understanding, and to finding the meaning inherent in the unknown. Part of the training is to learn the lore, the knowledge to enable the One to interpret the signs, visions, and dreams sent to Her children. There are tools to help, and ways to seek guidance from the world of the spirits, but ultimately it all comes down to the One's own judgment. I wrestled with the thought of how best to Serve, but I'm afraid my judgment was clouded by my own bitterness and anger. I came back here hating men, and watching Brugar I learned to hate them more."
"You said that you felt responsible for the death of the three young people. Did you teach her about poisons?" Jondalar asked, unable to let it go.
"I taught Attaroa many things, Marthona's son, but she was not training to be One Who Serves. However, she has a quick mind and is able to learn more than may be intended… but I also knew that." S'Armuna stopped then, stopped just short of admitting to a grievous transgression, making it clear, but allowing them to draw their own conclusions. She waited until she saw Jondalar frown with concern and Ayla nod in acknowledgment.
"In any case, I did help Attaroa establish her power over the men in the beginning – maybe I wanted power over them myself. In truth, I did more than that. I prodded and encouraged her, convinced her that the Great Earth Mother wanted women to lead, and I helped her to convince the women, or most of them. After the way they had been treated by Brugar and the men, it wasn't hard. I gave her something to put the men to sleep, and I told her to put it in their favorite drink – a brew they fermented from birch sap."
"The Mamutoi make a similar drink," Jondalar commented, listening with amazement.
"When the men were sleeping, the women tied them up. They were glad to do it. It was almost a game, a way of getting back at the men. But Brugar never woke up. Attaroa tried to imply that he was just more susceptible to the sleeping liquid, but I'm sure she put something else in his drink. She said she wanted to kill him, and I believe she did. She all but admits it now, but, whatever the truth is, I was the one who led her to believe that women would be better off if the men were gone. I was the one who convinced her that if there were no men, the spirits of women would have to mix with the spirits of other women to create new life, and only girl children would be born."
"Do you really think so?" Jondalar asked, frowning.
"I think I almost persuaded myself that I did. I didn't actually say it – I didn't want to make the Mother angry – but I know I made her think so. Attaroa thinks the pregnancy of a few women proves it."
"She is wrong," Ayla said.
"Yes, of course she is, and I should have known better. The Mother was not deluded by my ruse. I know in my heart that men are here because that is how the Mother planned it. If She didn't want men, She would not have made them. Their spirits are necessary. But if the men are weak, their spirits are not strong enough for the Mother to use. That's why so few children have been born." She smiled at Jondalar. "You are such a strong young man, I would not doubt that your spirit has already been used by Her."
"If the men were freed, I think you would find they are more than strong enough to make the women pregnant," Ayla said, "with no help from Jondalar."
The tall blond man glanced at her and grinned. "But I'd be more than happy to help," he said, knowing exactly what she meant, even if he wasn't entirely sure if he shared her opinion.
"And perhaps you should," Ayla said. "I just said I didn't think it would be necessary."
Jondalar suddenly stopped smiling. It occurred to him that no matter who was right, he had no reason to think he was capable of engendering a child.
S'Armuna looked at both of them, knowing they were making reference to something that she wasn't privy to. She waited, but when it became obvious that they were waiting for her, she continued. "I helped her, and I encouraged her, but I didn't know it would be worse with Attaroa as leader than it was with Brugar. In fact, right after he was gone, it was better… for the women, at least. But not for the men, and not for Omel. Cavoa's brother understood; he was a special friend of Omel. That child was the only one who grieved for him."
"It's understandable, under the circumstances," Jondalar said.
"Attaroa didn't see it that way," S'Armuna said. "Omel was sure that Attaroa had caused Brugar's death, became very angry and defied her, and was beaten for it. Attaroa told me once that she only wanted to make Omel understand what Brugar had done to her and the other women. Although she didn't say it, I think she thought, or hoped, that once Brugar was gone, Omel would turn to her, love her."
"Beatings are not likely to make someone love you," Ayla said.
"You're right," the older woman said. "Omel had never been beaten before and hated Attaroa even worse after that. They were mother and child, but they couldn't stand to be near each other, it seemed. That's when I offered to take Omel as an acolyte."
S'Armuna stopped, picked up her cup to drink, saw it was empty, then put it down. "Attaroa seemed glad that Omel was out of her lodge. But thinking back, I realized that she took it out on the men. In fact, ever since Omel left her lodge, Attaroa has been getting worse. She has become more cruel than Brugar ever was. I should have seen it before. Instead of keeping them apart, I should have tried to find ways to reconcile them. What will she do now that Omel is gone? Killed by her own hand?"
The woman stared into the dancing air above the fire as though she were seeing something that wasn't apparent to anyone else. "Oh, Great Mother! I've been blind!" she suddenly said. "She had Ardoban crippled and put in the Holding and I know she cared for that boy. And she killed Omel and the others."
"Had him crippled?" Ayla said. "Those children in the Holding? That was done on purpose?"
"Yes, to make the boys weak, and fearful," S'Armuna said, shaking her head. "Attaroa has lost all reason. I fear for us all." Suddenly she broke down and held her face in her hands. "Where will it end? All this pain and suffering I have wrought," she sobbed.
"It was not your doing alone, S'Armuna," Ayla said. "You may have allowed it, even encouraged it, but do not take it all on yourself. The evil is Attaroa's, and perhaps belongs, too, to those who treated her so badly." Ayla shook her head. "Cruelty mothers cruelty, pain breeds pain, abuse fosters abuse."
"And how many of the young ones that she has hurt will pass it on to the next generation?" the older woman cried out, as though in pain herself. She began rocking back and forth, keening with grief. "Which of the boys behind that fence has she condemned to carry on her terrible legacy? And which of the girls who look up to her will want to be like her? Seeing Jondalar here has reminded me of my training. Of all people, I should not have allowed it. That is what makes me responsible. Oh, Mother! What have I done?"
"The question is not what you have done. It is what you can do now," Ayla said.
"I must help them. Somehow, I must help them, but what can I do?"
"It is too late to help Attaroa, but she must be stopped. It is the children and men in the Holding we must help, but first they must be freed. Then we must think of how to help them."
S'Armuna looked at the young woman, who seemed at that moment so positive and so powerful, and wondered who she really was. The One Who Served the Mother had been made to see the damage she had caused and to know she had abused her power. She feared for her own spirit, as well as for the life of the Camp.
There was silence in the lodge. Ayla got up and picked up the bowl used to brew tea. "Let me make tea this time. I have a very nice mixture of herbs with me," she said. When S'Armuna nodded without saying a word, Ayla reached for her otter-skin medicine bag.
"I've thought about those two crippled youngsters in the Holding," Jondalar said. "Even if they can't walk well, they could learn to be flint knappers, or something like that, if they had someone to train them. There must be someone among the S'Armunai who could teach them. Perhaps you could find someone at your Summer Meeting who would be willing."
"We don't go to the Summer Meetings with the other S'Armunai any more," S'Armuna said.
"Why not?" he asked.
"Attaroa doesn't want to," S'Armuna said, speaking in a dull monotone. "Other people had never been especially kind to her; her own Camp barely tolerated her. After she became leader, she didn't want anything to do with anyone else. Not long after she took over, some of the Camps sent a delegation, inviting us to join them. They had somehow heard that we had many women without mates. Attaroa insulted them and sent them away, and within a few years she had alienated everyone. Now, no one comes, not kin, not friends. They all avoid us."
"Being tied to a target post is more than an insult," Jondalar said.
"I told you that she's getting worse. You aren't the first. What she did to you, she has done before," the woman said. "A few years ago, a man came, a visitor, on a Journey. Seeing so many women apparently alone, he became arrogant and condescending. He assumed he would not only be welcome, but in great demand. Attaroa played with him, the way a lion will play with its prey; then she killed him. She enjoyed the game so much that she began detaining all visitors. She liked to make their life miserable, then make them promises, torment them, before getting rid of them. That was her plan for you, Jondalar."
Ayla shuddered as she added some calming and soothing medicines to her ingredients for S'Armuna's tea. "You were right when you said she is not human. Mog-ur sometimes told of evil spirits, but I always thought they were legends, stories to frighten children into minding, and to send a shiver through everyone. But Attaroa is no legend. She is evil."
"Yes, and when no visitors came, she began toying with the men in the Holding," S'Armuna kept on, as though unable to stop once she had begun to tell what she had seen and heard, but kept inside. "She took the stronger ones first, the leaders or the rebellious ones. There are getting to be fewer and fewer men, and the ones that are left are losing their will to rebel. She keeps them half-starved, exposed to the cold and weather. She puts them in cages or ties them up. They are not even able to clean themselves. Many have died from exposure and the bad conditions. And not many children are being born to replace them. As the men die, the Camp is dying. We were all surprised when Cavoa became pregnant."
"She must have been going into the Holding to stay with a man," Ayla said. "Probably the one she fell in love with. I'm sure you know that."
S'Armuna did know, but she wondered how Ayla knew. "Some women do sneak in to see the men, and sometimes they bring them food. Jondalar probably told you," she said.
"No, I didn't tell her," Jondalar said. "But I don't understand why the women allow the men to be held."
"They fear Attaroa. A few of them follow her willingly, but most would rather have their men back. And now she is threatening to cripple their sons."
"Tell the women the men must be set free, or no more children will be born," Ayla said, in tones that sent a chill through both Jondalar and S'Armuna. They turned to stare. Jondalar recognized her expression! It was the distanced, somewhat objective way she looked when her mind was occupied with someone who was sick or injured, although in this case, he saw more than her need to help. He also saw in her a cold, hard anger he had not seen before.
But the older woman saw Ayla as something else, and she interpreted her pronouncement as a prophecy, or a judgment.
After Ayla served the tea, they sat in silence together, each deeply affected. Suddenly Ayla felt a strong need to go outside and breathe the clean, crisp, cold air, and she wanted to check on the animals, but as she quietly observed S'Armuna, she didn't think it was the best time to leave just yet. She knew the older woman had been devastated, and she sensed that she needed something of meaning to cling to.
Jondalar found himself wondering about the men he had left behind in the Holding, and what they were thinking. They no doubt knew he was back but had not been put back in with them. He wished he could talk to Ebulan and S'Amodun, and reassure Doban, but he needed some reassuring himself. They were on dangerous ground, and they hadn't done anything yet, except talk. Part of him wanted to get out of there as fast as possible, but the larger part of him wanted to help. If they were going to do something, he wished they would do it soon. He hated just sitting there.
Finally, out of desperation, he said, "I want to do something for those men in the Holding. How can I help?"
"Jondalar, you already have," S'Armuna said, feeling a need to plan some strategy herself. "When you refused her, it gave the men heart, but that by itself would not have been enough. Men have resisted her before, for a while, but this was the first time a man walked away from her, and even more important, came back," S'Armuna said. "Attaroa has lost face, and that gives others hope."
"But hope doesn't get them out of there," he replied.
"No, and Attaroa will not let them out willingly. No man leaves here alive, if she can help it, although a few have gotten away, but women don't often make Journeys. You are the first who has come this way, Ayla."
"Would she kill a woman?" Jondalar asked, unconsciously moving in closer to protect the woman he loved.
"It's harder for her to justify killing a woman, or even putting her in the Holding, although many of the women here are held against their will, though they have no fence around them. She has threatened the ones they love, and they are held by their feelings for their sons or mates. That's why your life is in danger," S'Armuna said, looking directly at Ayla. "You have no ties to this place. She has no hold over you, and if she succeeds in killing you, it will make it easier for her to kill other women. I'm telling you this not only to warn you, but because of the danger to the whole Camp. You can both still get away, and perhaps that is what you should do."
"No, I cannot leave," Ayla said. "How can I walk away from those children? Or those men? The women will need help, too. Brugar called you a medicine woman, S'Armuna. I don't know if you know what that means, but I am a medicine woman of the Clan."
"You are a medicine woman? I should have known," S'Armuna said. She wasn't entirely sure what a medicine woman was, but she had gained such respect from Brugar after he had ranked her within that classification, that she had granted the position the highest significance.
"That is why I can't go," Ayla said. "It is not so much something I choose to do; it is what a medicine woman must do, it is what she is. It is inside. A piece of my spirit is already in the next world" – Ayla reached for the amulet around her neck – "given in exchange for the spirit obligation of those people who will need my help. It's difficult to explain, but I can't allow Attaroa to abuse them any more, and this Camp will need help after the ones in the Holding are free. I must stay, as long as I need to."
S'Armuna nodded, feeling that she understood. It was not an easy concept to explain. She equated Ayla's fascination with healing and compassionate need to help with her own feelings about being called to Serve the Mother, and she identified with the young woman.
"We will stay as long as we can," Jondalar amended, remembering that they still had to cross a glacier that winter. "The question is, how are we going to persuade Attaroa to let the men out?"
"She fears you, Ayla," the shaman said, "and I think most of her Wolf Women do, too. Those who don't fear you are in awe of you. The S'Armunai are horse-hunting people. We hunt other animals, too, including mammoths, but we know horses. To the north there is a cliff that we have driven horses over for generations. You cannot deny your control over horses is powerful magic. It is so powerful that it is hard to believe, even seeing it."
"There is nothing mysterious about it," Ayla snorted. "I raised the mare from the time she was a foal. I was living alone, and she was my only friend. Whinney does what I want because she wants to, because we are friends," she said, trying to explain.
The way she said the name was the gentle nicker that was the sound made by a horse. Traveling alone with only Jondalar and the animals for so long, she had slipped back into the habit of saying Whinney's name in its original form. The nicker coming from the woman's mouth startled S'Armuna, and the very idea of being the friend of a horse was beyond comprehension. It didn't matter that Ayla had said it wasn't magic. She had just convinced S'Armuna that it was.
"Perhaps," the woman said. But she thought, No matter how simple you try to make it, you can't stop people from wondering who you really are, and why you have come here. "People want to think, and hope, that you have come to help them," she continued. "They fear Attaroa, but I think with your help, and Jondalar's, they may be willing to stand up to her and make her free the men. They may refuse to let her intimidate them any more."
Ayla was again feeling a strong need to get out of the lodge, which was more uncomfortable. "All this tea," she said, standing up. "I need to pass water. Can you tell me where to go, S'Armuna?" After she listened to the directions, she added, "We need to see to the horses while we're out, make sure they are comfortable. Is it all right to leave these bowls here for a while?" She had lifted a lid and was checking the contents. "It's cooling off fast. It's too bad this can't be served hot. It would be better."
"Of course, leave it," S'Armuna said, picking up her cup and drinking the last of her tea as she watched the two strangers leave.
Perhaps Ayla wasn't an incarnation of the Great Mother, and Jondalar really was Marthona's son, but the idea that someday the Mother would exact Her retribution had been weighing heavily on the One Who Served Her. After all, she was S'Armuna. She had exchanged her personal identity for the power of the spirit world, and this Camp was her charge, all the people, women and men. She had been entrusted with the care of the spiritual essence of the Camp, and Her children depended on her. Looking from the view of outsiders, of the man who had served to remind her of her calling, and the woman with unusual powers, S'Armuna knew she had failed them. She only hoped it was still possible to redeem herself and to help the Camp recover a normal, healthy life.