"That reminds me, I want a knee bone of a mammoth for the stew. That always adds richness and flavor," Nezzie said as she was filling a large basket with various vegetables. "Now where did I put those dried onion flowers?"
"I always thought that rock walls were necessary to survive a winter, for protection from the worst of the winds and storms," Jondalar said, his voice full of admiration. "We build shelters inside caves, against the walls, but you don't have caves. You don't even have many trees for wood to build shelters. You've done it all with mammoths!"
"That's why the Mammoth Hearth is sacred. We hunt other animals, but our life depends on the mammoth," Talut said.
"When I stayed with Brecie and the Willow Camp south of here, I didn't see any structures like these."
"Do you know Brecie, too?" Talut interrupted.
"Brecie and some people from her Camp pulled my brother and me out of quicksand."
"She and my sister are old friends," Talut said, "and related, through Tulie's first man. We grew up together. They call their summering place Willow Camp, but their home is Elk Camp. Summer dwellings are lighter, not like this. Lion Camp is a wintering place. Willow Camp often goes to Beran Sea for fish and shellfish and for salt to trade. What were you doing there?"
"Thonolan and I were crossing the delta of the Great Mother River. She saved our lives…"
"You should tell that story later. Everyone will want to hear about Brecie," Talut said.
It occurred to Jondalar that most of his stories were also about Thonolan. Whether he wanted to or not, he was going to have to talk about his brother. It wouldn't be easy, but he would have to get used to it, if he was going to talk at all.
They walked through the area of the Mammoth Hearth, which, except for the central passageway, was defined by mammoth bone partitions and leather drapes, as were all the hearths. Talut noticed Jondalar's spear-thrower.
"That was quite a demonstration you both gave," the headman said. "That bison was stopped in its tracks."
"This will do much more than you saw," Jondalar said, stopping to pick up the implement. "With it, you can throw a spear both harder and farther."
"Is that true? Maybe you can give us another demonstration," Talut said.
"I would like to, but we should go up on the steppes, to get a better feel for the range. I think you'll be surprised," Jondalar said, then turned to Ayla. "Why don't you bring yours, too?"
Outside Talut saw his sister heading toward the river, and called out to the headwoman that they were going to look at Jondalar's new way of throwing spears. They started up the slope, and by the time they reached the open plains, most of the Camp had joined them.
"How far can you throw a spear, Talut?" Jondalar asked when they reached a likely place for a demonstration. "Can you show me?"
"Of course, but why?"
"Because I want to show you that I can throw one farther," Jondalar said.
General laughter followed his statement. "You'd better pick someone else to pit yourself against. I know you're a big man, and probably strong, but no one can throw a spear farther than Talut," Barzec advised. "Why don't you just show him, Talut? Give him a fair chance to see what he's up against. Then he can compete in his own range. I could give him a good contest, maybe even Danug could."
"No," Jondalar said, with a gleam in his eye. This was shaping up into a competition. "If Talut is your best, then only Talut will do. And I would wager that I can throw a spear farther… except I have nothing to wager. In fact, with this," Jondalar said, holding up the narrow, flat implement shaped out of wood, "I would wager that Ayla can throw a spear farther, faster, and with better accuracy than Talut."
There was a buzzing of amazement among the assembled Camp in response to Jondalar's claim. Tulie eyed Ayla and Jondalar. They were too relaxed, too confident. It should have been obvious to them that they were no match for her brother. She doubted that they'd even be a match for her. She was nearly as tall as the fair-haired man and possibly stronger, though his long reach might give him an edge. What did they know that she didn't? She stepped forward.
"I'll give you something to wager," she said. "If you win, I will give you the right to make a reasonable claim of me, and if it's within my power, I will grant it."
"And if I lose?"
"You will grant me the same."
"Tulie, are you sure you want to wager a future claim?" Barzec asked his mate, with a worried frown. Such undefined terms were high stakes, invariably requiring more than usual payment. Not so much because the winner made unusually high demands, although that happened, but because the loser needed to be certain the wager was satisfied and no further claim could be made. Who knew what this stranger might ask?
"Against a future claim? Yes," she replied. But she did not say that she believed she could not lose either way, because if he won, if it really did what he said, they would have access to a valuable new weapon. If he lost, she'd have a claim on him. "What do you say, Jondalar?"
Tulie was shrewd, but Jondalar was smiling. He'd wagered for future claims before; they always added flavor to the game, and interest for the spectators. He wanted to share the secret of his discovery. He wanted to see how it would be accepted, and how it would work in a communal hunt. That was the next logical step in testing his new hunting weapon. With a little experimentation and practice, anyone could do it. That was the beauty of it. But it took time to practice and learn the new technique, which would require eager enthusiasm. The wager would help to create that… and he'd have a future claim on Tulie. He had no doubt of that.
"Agreed!" Jondalar said.
Ayla was watching the interplay. She didn't quite understand this wagering, except that some competition was involved, but she knew more was going on beneath the surface.
"Let's get some targets up here to sight on, and some markers," Barzec said, taking charge of the competition. "Druwez, you and Danug get some long bones for posts."
He smiled, watching the two boys racing down the slope. Danug, so much like Talut, towered over the other boy, though he was only a year older, but at thirteen years Druwez was beginning to show a stocky, compact muscularity, similar to Barzec's build.
Barzec was convinced this youngster, and little Tusie, were the progeny of his spirit, just as Deegie and Tarneg were probably Darnev's. He wasn't sure about Brinan. Eight years since his birth, but it was still hard to tell. Mut may have chosen some other spirit, not one of the two men of the Aurochs Hearth. He resembled Tulie, and had her brother's red hair, but Brinan had his own look. Darnev had felt the same way. Barzec felt a lump in his throat, sharply aware for a moment of his co-mate's absence. It wasn't the same without Darnev, Barzec thought. After two years, he still grieved as much as Tulie.
By the time mammoth leg-bone posts – with red fox tails tied to them and baskets woven with brightly dyed grasses inverted on top – were raised to mark the throwing line, the day was beginning to take on a feeling of celebration. Starting at each post, shocks of long grass, still growing, were tied together with cord at intervals, creating a wide lane. The children were racing up and down the throwing course, stamping down the grass, and delineating the space even more. Others brought spears out, then someone got an idea to stuff an old sleeping pallet with grass and dry mammoth dung, which was then marked with figures in black charcoal to use as a movable target.