Jondalar showed the young man how to tie the belt, then Bologan called to his brother and started out toward the main camp, the others followed behind more slowly. Ayla watched them go, thirteen-year Bologan walking beside seven-year Lavogan, eleven-year Lanoga, with Lorala, one-year plus a half, on her hip, and nine-year Trelara holding the hand of three-year Ganamar. She remembered being told that one who would have been a five-year had died in infancy. Though she and Jondalar helped them, and several others from the Ninth Cave as well, the children were essentially raising themselves. Neither their mother nor the man of their hearth paid much attention to them, and did little to support them. She believed it was Lanoga who held them together, though now, she was glad to see, Trelara was helping her and Bologan was more involved.
She felt Jonayla moving in her carrying blanket, waking up. She pulled it around from her back to her front, and took the baby out of it. She was naked, with no absorbent padding. Ayla held her out in front of her while the child wet on the ground. Jondalar smiled. None of the other women did that, and when he asked her, Ayla told him that was how Clan mothers often took care of their children’s wetting. Though she didn’t do it all the time, it certainly saved time cleaning up messes and gathering materials that could soak up liquid. And Jonayla was getting so used to it, she tended to wait until she was out before she let go.
“Do you think Lanidar is still interested in Lanoga?” Jondalar asked, obviously thinking about Tremeda’s children, too.
“He certainly gave her a warm smile when he first saw her this year,” Ayla said. “How is he doing with the spear-thrower? He looks to me as though he’s been practicing with his left arm.”
“He’s good!” Jondalar said. “Actually, it’s amazing to watch him. He has some use of his right arm, and uses it to help place the spear on the thrower, but he throws with great force and accuracy with his left arm. He’s become quite a hunter and has gained the respect of his Cave, and more status. Now everyone at this Summer Meeting is looking at him with new eyes. Even the man of his hearth, who left his mother after he was born, has been showing an interest in him. And his mother and grandmother are no longer insisting that he go berry-picking and food-collecting with them all the time for fear he won’t be able to support himself any other way. They made that harness he wears, but he told them what he wanted. They give you credit for teaching him, you know.”
“You taught him, too,” she said; then after a while she added, “He may have become a good hunter, but I still doubt that most mothers would want him to mate their daughters. They would be afraid that the bad spirit that deformed his arm is still hovering and might give their daughter’s children the same problem. When he said last year that he wanted to mate Lanoga when they grew up, and help her raise her sisters and brothers, Proleva said she thought that would be a perfect pairing. Since Laramar and Tremeda have the lowest status, no
mother would want her son to mate with her, but I don’t think anyone would put up much objection to Lanidar mating Lanoga, especially if he’s a good hunter.”
“No. But I’m afraid Tremeda and Laramar will find a way to take advantage of him,” Jondalar said. “I notice Lanoga isn’t ready for First Rites, yet.”
“But she will be soon. She’s beginning to show signs. Maybe before the summer is over, the last First Rites ceremony of the season. Have they asked you to assist with First Rites this summer?” she asked, trying to seem unconcerned.
“Yes, but I told them I wasn’t ready to take on that responsibility yet,” he said, grinning at her. “Why? Do you think I should.”
“Only if you want to. There are some young women who might be very happy if you did. Perhaps even Lanoga,” Ayla said, turning to look at Jonayla so he wouldn’t see her face.
“Not Lanoga!” he said. “That would be like sharing First Rites with the child of my own hearth!”
She turned and smiled at him. “You are probably closer to it than the man who is,” Ayla said. “You’ve provided more for that family than Laramar has.”
They were approaching the Main Camp and people had started calling greetings to them. “Do you think it will take very long to make a pole-drag with a seat?” Ayla asked.
“If I can get some help and we start soon, maybe later this morning, we can probably have it done by afternoon,” he said. “Why?”
“Then should I ask her if she would have time to try it this afternoon? She said that was what she wanted to do before she used it in front of other people.”
“Go ahead and ask her. I’ll ask Joharran and some others to help. I’m sure we’ll get it done.” Jondalar grinned. “It will be interesting to see how people react when they see her riding behind the horses.”
Jondalar was working on cutting down a straight, sturdy sapling that was a good deal thicker than the size they usually selected for a travois. The stone axe-head he was using had been shaped so that the thicker top was tapered up to a kind of point, and the cutting end knapped into a narrow thinning cross-section with a sharp, rounded bottom edge. The wooden handle had a hole gouged all the way through in one end into which the tapered top of the axe-head could fit. It was affixed in such a way that each time a blow was struck, the axe-head would wedge more firmly into the hole of the handle. The two pieces were firmly lashed together with wet rawhide that shrank and pulled tighter as it dried.
A stone axe was not strong enough to cut straight across the trunk of a tree; the flint would shatter and break if used in that way. To fell a tree with such a tool, the cuts needed to be made at an angle, whittling down the tree until it broke apart. The stump often looked as though it had been chewed down by a beaver. Even then, stone chips usually spalled off the axe-blade, so that it needed constant resharpening. This could be done by using a carefully controlled hammerstone, or pointed bone punch hit by a hammerstone, to remove narrow slivers of stone to thin down the cutting edge again. Because he was a skilled flint-knapper, Jondalar was often called upon to cut down trees. He knew how to use an axe properly, and how to resharpen one efficiently.
Jondalar had just cut down a second tree of similar size when a group of men arrived: Joharran, along with Solaban and Rushemar; Manvelar, the leader of the Third Cave, and the son of his mate, Morizan; Kimeran, leader of the Second Cave, and Jondecam, his same-age nephew; Willamar, the Trade Master, and his apprentice, Tivonan, and his friend Palidar; and Stevadal, the leader of the Twenty-sixth Cave, within whose territory this year’s Summer Meeting was being held. Eleven people had come to make one pole-drag, twelve counting Jondalar. If she counted herself, thirteen. Ayla had made her first one by herself.
They were curious, she thought; that’s brought them. Most of the new arrivals were familiar with the contrivance she called a pole-drag, which Ayla used with her horses to transport goods. It began with two poles made from whole trees with tapering tops, and all the branches trimmed off. Depending upon the variety, the bark was sometimes removed as well, especially if it slipped off easily. The narrow ends were fastened together and attached to a horse at the withers with a harness of sturdy cords or leather thongs. The two trees angled out slightly in front, and much more toward the back, with only the ends of the heavier base dragging on the ground, which created relatively little friction, making it fairly easy to pull even with a heavy load. Crosspieces of wood, leather, or cordage, anything that could support a load, were attached to both poles across the space between.
Jondalar explained to the ones who had come to help that he wanted to make a pole-drag with special crosspieces put together in a certain way. Before long, more trees had been cut down, and a few suggestions offered and tried before they worked out something that seemed suitable. Ayla concluded they didn’t need her, and while they were working, decided to get Zelandoni.
Taking Jonayla with her, she slipped away heading toward the main Meeting Camp thinking about the adaptations to a pole-drag and the one they had made on their long return Journey to Jondalar’s home. When they came to a large river they had to cross, they constructed a bowl boat similar to the kind the Mamutoi used to cross rivers: a frame of wood bent into the shape of a bowl and covered on the outside with a heavy well-greased aurochs hide. It was simple to make but a little diffcult to control in the water. Jondalar told her about the boats the Sharamudoi made, dug out of a log, widened with steam, with a pointed prow on each end. They were much more difficult to make, but it was much easier to make them go where you wanted, he explained.
The first time they crossed a river, they used the bowl boat to hold their things, and themselves, and propelled it with small oars across the river, while the horses swam behind. They repacked their things in panniers and saddle-baskets, then decided to make a pole-drag for Whinney to take the boat with them. Later they realized that they could attach the bowl boat between the poles of the travois and let the horses swim across a river pulling the load while Ayla and Jondalar rode on their backs, or swam along beside them. The bowl boat was lightweight and since it floated, it kept their things dry. When they reached the other side of the next river, instead of emptying it, they decided to leave their things in the bowl boat. While the pole-drag with the boat made crossing rivers easy and usually presented no problems traveling across open plains, when they had to move through woods or areas of high relief that required sharp turns, the long poles and the bowl-shaped boat could be a hindrance. They almost left them behind a few times, but didn’t abandon them until they were much closer and had a much better reason.
Ayla had told Zelandoni earlier what they were planning, so she was ready when Ayla came for her. When they got back to the camp of the Ninth Cave, the men had moved closer to the fenced enclosure that had been made for the horses and didn’t see them. The First slipped into the sleeping lodge used by Jondalar’s family with the sleeping baby while Ayla went to see what was happening with the pole-drag seat. Jondalar had been right. With all the help, it hadn’t taken long to construct. It had a deep bench-like seat with a back between the two sturdy poles, with a step up to it. Jondalar had taken Whinney out of the enclosure and was strapping the conveyance on the mare with a harness arrangement of thongs across her chest and high on her shoulders.
“What are you going to do with that?” Morizan said. He was still young enough to ask directly.
It was not considered courteous for adults to be quite so blunt, but it was what all the the others were thinking. Such directness might not have been appropriate for a mature Zelandonii, but it wasn’t wrong, just naive and unsophisticated. Experienced people knew how to be more subtle and implicit. Ayla, however, was used to candor. It was common and entirely appropriate for the Mamutoi to be frank and forthright. It was a cultural difference, although they had their own kinds of subtleties. And the Clan could read body language as well as their sign language and, though as a result they couldn’t lie, they did understand nuances and could be extremely discreet.
“I do have a particular idea of how to use it, but I’m still not sure if it will work. I’d like to try it out first, and if it doesn’t work, it is a sturdy and well-made pole-drag and I will probably find another use for it,” Ayla said.
While her reply didn’t really answer his question, it satisfied the men. They assumed that she just didn’t want to announce an experiment that might not work. No one liked to advertise their failures. Ayla was actually fairly certain it would work; she just didn’t know if the First would be willing to use it.
Jondalar started walking slowly back toward their camp, knowing that if he moved, the others would. Ayla went into the horse enclosure to settle the horses after all the excitement of so many people around, nodding to the men to acknowledge their leaving. She patted and stroked Gray, thinking what a beautiful young filly she was. Then she talked to Racer and scratched his favorite itchy parts. Horses were very social animals, and liked being around their kind and others for whom they had affection. He was of an age that if he were living with wild horses, he’d be leaving his dam to run with a bachelor herd. But since Gray and Whinney were his only equine companions, he had grown quite close to Gray and had become somewhat protective of his young sister.