Plains of Passage (95 page)

Involuntarily most people glanced at the body of Attaroa, still sprawled where Wolf had left her; then their eyes were drawn to Epadoa. The woman stood straight and unflinching, ready to accept her punishment. In her heart, she had known that someday she would have to pay.

Jondalar looked at Ayla, a little awed. She had done exactly the right thing, he thought. No matter what she might have said, even with the fearful respect she had gained, the words of a stranger would never be accepted by these people as willingly as the words of S’Amodun.

“I think Epadoa should pay for her evil,” the man said. Many people nodded with satisfaction, particularly Cavoa and her mother. “But in this world, not the next. You were right when you said it was time to break the pattern. There has been too much violence and evil in this Camp for too long. The men have suffered greatly in recent years, but they did harm to the women first. It is time to end it.”

“Then what retribution will Epadoa pay?” the grieving mother asked. “What will be her punishment?”

“Not punishment, Esadoa. Restitution. She should give back as much as she has taken, and more. She can start with Doban. No matter what the Daughter of the Mammoth Hearth may be able to do for him, it is unlikely that Doban will ever recover fully. He will suffer ill effects for the rest of his life. Odevan will suffer, too, but he has a mother, and kin. Doban has no mother, no kin to care for him, no one to take responsibility for him, or see to it that he is trained in some craft or skill. I would make Epadoa responsible for him, as if she were his mother. She may never love him and he may hate her, but she should be held accountable.”

There were nods of approval. Not everyone agreed, but someone had to take care of Doban. Although everyone had felt his pain, he had not been well liked when he lived with Attaroa, and no one wanted to take him in. Most people felt that if they objected to S’Amodun’s idea, they might be asked to open their lodges to him.

Ayla smiled. She thought it was a perfect solution, and though there might be hatred and lack of trust in the beginning, warmth could grow into the relationship. She had known S’Amodun was wise. The idea of restitution seemed much more helpful than punishment, and it gave her an idea.

“I would offer another suggestion,” she said. “This Camp is not well stocked for winter, and by spring everyone may suffer hunger. The men are weak, and they have not hunted for some years. Many may have lost their skills. Epadoa and the women she has trained are the best hunters of this Camp. I think it would be wise for them to continue to hunt, but they must share the meat with everyone.”

People were nodding. The thought of facing hunger was not appealing.

“As soon as any of the men are able, and want to start hunting, it should be Epadoa’s responsibility to help them, hunt with them. The only way to avoid facing hunger next spring is if the women and the men work together. Every Camp needs the contribution of both to thrive. The rest of the women, and the older or weaker men, should gather whatever foods they can find.”

“It’s winter! There is nothing to gather now,” one of the young Wolf Women said.

“There is not much to be found in winter, that’s true, and what there is will require work to harvest, but food can be found, and whatever there is will help,” Ayla said.

“She’s right,” Jondalar said. “I have seen and eaten food that Ayla has found, even in winter. You even ate some of it tonight. She gathered the pine nuts from the stone pines near the river.”

“Those lichens that reindeer like can be eaten,” one of the older women said, “if you cook them right.”

“And some of the wheats, and millets, and other grasses still bear seed heads,” Esadoa said. “They can be collected.”

“Yes, but be careful of ryegrass. It can foster a growth that is harmful, often fatal. If it looks and smells bad, it’s probably full of ergot, and it should be avoided,” Ayla advised. “But certain edible berries and fruits stay on the bush well into winter—I even found a tree with a few apples still clinging to it—and the inner bark of most trees can be eaten.”

“We’d need knives to cut down to it,” Esadoa said. “The ones we have aren’t very good.”

“I will make you some,” Jondalar volunteered.

“Will you teach me to make knives, Zelandon?” Doban suddenly asked.

The question pleased him. “Yes, I will show you how to make knives, and other tools, too.”

“I’d like to learn more about that, too,” Ebulan said. “We will need weapons to hunt.”

“I’ll show anyone who wants to learn, or at least get you started. It takes many years to gain real skill. Perhaps next summer, if you go to a S’Armunai Meeting, you will find someone to continue your training,” Jondalar said.

The youngster’s smile turned to a frown; he knew the tall man would not be staying.

“But I’ll help you all I can,” Jondalar said. “We’ve had to make many hunting weapons on this Journey.”

“What about that … stick that throws spears … like the one she used to free you?” It was Epadoa who had spoken, and everyone turned to stare. The head Wolf Woman had not spoken before, but her comments reminded them of the long and accurate cast Ayla had made to release Jondalar from the target post. It had seemed so miraculous that most people didn’t consider that it was a skill that could be learned.

“The spear-thrower? Yes, I’ll show anyone who is interested how to use it.”

“Including the women?” Epadoa asked.

“Including the women,” Jondalar said. “When you learn to use good hunting weapons, you won’t have to go to the Great Mother River to chase horses off a cliff. You have one of the best hunting spots I’ve ever seen, right here down by the river.”

“Yes, we do,” Ebulan said. “I especially remember them hunting mammoths. When I was a boy, they used to post a lookout and light signal fires when anything was seen.”

“I thought as much,” Jondalar said.

Ayla was smiling. “I think the pattern is breaking. I don’t hear Attaroa’s spirit talking any more,” she said, stroking Wolf’s far. Then she spoke to the head Wolf Woman. “Epadoa, I learned to hunt four-legged hunters when I first started, including wolves. Wolf hides can be warm and useful for hoods, and a wolf that seriously threatens ought to be killed, but you would learn more from watching living wolves than from trapping and eating them after they are dead.”

All the Wolf Women looked at each other with guilty expressions. How had she known? Among the S’Armunai, wolf meat was prohibited, and it was considered particularly bad for women.

The chief hunter studied the blond woman, trying to see if there was
more to her than there appeared. Now that Attaroa was dead, and she knew she would not be killed for her actions, Epadoa felt a release. She was glad it was over. The headwoman had been so compelling that the young hunter had become enamored and did many things to please her that she didn’t like thinking about. Many of these things had bothered her even while she did them, though she had not admitted it, even to herself. When she saw the tall man, while they were hunting horses, she had hoped that if she brought him back for Attaroa to toy with, she might spare one of their own men from the Holding.

She hadn’t wanted to hurt Doban, but she was afraid that if she didn’t do as Attaroa commanded, the headwoman would kill him, as she had killed her own child. Why had this Daughter of the Mammoth Hearth selected S’Amodun rather than Esadoa to pronounce judgment on her? It was a choice that had spared her life. It wouldn’t be easy living in this Camp any longer. Many people hated her, but she was grateful for the chance to redeem herself. She would take care of the boy, even if he hated her. She owed him that much.

But who was this Ayla? Had she come to break the grip of Attaroa on the Camp as everyone seemed to think? What about the man? What magic did he have that spears couldn’t touch him? And how did the men in the Holding get knives? Had he been responsible for that? Did they ride horses because that was the animal the Wolf Women had hunted most, even though the rest of the S’Armunai were as much mammoth hunters as their kin, the Mamutoi? Was the wolf a spirit wolf, come to revenge his kind? One thing she knew. She would never hunt a wolf again, and she was going to stop calling herself a Wolf Woman.

Ayla walked back toward the dead leader and saw S’Armuna. The One Who Served the Mother had watched everything but said little, and Ayla remembered her anguish and remorse. She spoke to her in quiet, private tones.

“S’Armuna, even if the spirit of Attaroa is finally leaving this Camp, it won’t be easy to change old ways. The men are out of the Holding—I’m glad they managed to free themselves, they will remember it with pride—but it will be a long time before they forget Attaroa and the years they were held in there. You are the one who can help, but it will be a heavy responsibility.”

The woman nodded her head in acquiescence. She felt she had been given the chance to make right her abuse of the Mother’s power; it was more than she had hoped for. The first thing to do was to bury Attaroa and put her behind them. She turned to the crowd.

“There is food left. Let us finish this feast together. It is time to tear down the fence that was raised between the men and women of this
Camp. Time to share food together, and fire, and the warmth of community. Time for us to come back together as a whole people, with neither one more than the other. Everyone has skills and abilities, and with each person contributing and helping, this Camp will thrive.”

The women and men nodded in agreement. Many had found the mates from whom they had long been separated; the others joined to share food and fire, and human company.

“Epadoa,” S’Armuna called, as the people were getting their food. When the woman walked over to her, she said, “I think it is time to move Attaroa’s body away and prepare her for burial.”

“Shall we take her to her lodge?” the hunting woman said.

S’Armuna thought. “No,” she said. “Take her to the Holding and put her in the lean-to. I think the men should have the warmth of Attaroa’s earthlodge tonight. Many are weak and sick. We may need it for some time. Do you have another place to sleep?”

“Yes. When I could get away from Attaroa, I had a place with Unavoa in the lodge she shares.”

“You might consider moving in with her for now, if that’s agreeable to her, and you.”

“I think we would both like that,” Epadoa said.

“Later, we’ll work something out with Doban.”

“Yes,” Epadoa said, “we will.”

Jondalar watched Ayla as she walked with Epadoa and the hunters with the body of the headwoman, and he felt proud of her and a little surprised. Somehow Ayla had assumed the wisdom and the stature of Zelandoni herself. The only time he had seen Ayla assume control of a situation before was when someone was hurt, or sick, and in need of her special skills. Then, when he thought of it, he realized that these people were hurt and sick. Perhaps it wasn’t so strange that Ayla would know what to do.

   In the
morning
Jondalar took the horses and brought back the necessities they had taken when they left the Great Mother River and went to get Whinney. It seemed so long ago, and it made him realize that their Journey had been considerably delayed. They had been so far ahead of the distance he thought they would have to cover to reach the glacier that he had been sure they would make it in plenty of time. Now they were well into winter, and they were farther away.

This Camp did need help, and he knew Ayla would not leave until she had done everything she felt she could. He had promised to help, too, and he was excited about the prospect of teaching Doban and the others to work the flint, and the ones who wanted, to use the spear-thrower, but a small knot of worry had begun. They had to cross that
glacier before the spring melt made it too treacherous, and he wanted to get under way again, soon.

S’Armuna and Ayla worked together to examine and treat the boys and men of the Camp. Their help was too late for one man. He died in Attaroa’s lodge the first night out of the Holding, of gangrene so advanced that both legs were already dead. Most of the rest needed treatment for some injury or illness, and they were all underfed. They also smelled of the sickness of the Holding and were unbelievably filthy.

S’Armuna decided to delay firing of the kiln. She didn’t have time, and the feeling was wrong for it, though she did think it could be a powerful healing ceremony at the right moment. They used the inner fire chamber to heat water for bathing and treating of wounds instead, but the treatment that was needed most was food and warmth. After the healers had administered whatever help they could, those who were not in serious difficulty and had mothers or mates, or other kin to live with, moved back in with them.

It was the youngsters, the ones who were nearing or barely into adolescence, that made Ayla particularly angry. Even S’Armuna was appalled. She had closed her eyes to the severity of their situation.

That evening, after another meal shared together, Ayla and S’Armuna described some of the problems they had found, explaining general needs and answering questions. But the day had been long, and Ayla finally said she had to rest. As she stood up to leave, someone asked a last question about one of the youngsters. When Ayla replied, another woman made a comment about the evil headwoman, laying all blame at Attaroa’s feet, and self-righteously absolving herself of all responsibility. It raised Ayla’s ire, and she made an announcement that came out of the deep anger that had been growing all day.

“Attaroa was a strong woman, with a strong will, but no matter how strong a person is, two people, or five people, or ten people are stronger. If all of you had been willing to resist her, she could have been stopped long before this. Therefore, you are all, as a Camp, women and men, partly responsible for the suffering of these children. And I will tell you now, any of those youngsters, or even any of the men, who suffer for a long time as a result of this … this abomination”—Ayla struggled to contain her fury—“must be cared for by this whole Camp. You are all responsible for them, for the rest of their lives. They have suffered, and in their suffering have become the chosen of Muna. Anyone who refuses to help them will answer to Her.”