3. The Great Abri

Ayla was amazed at the stamina of the younger man. He showed no sign of slowing, stumbling, or even perspiring. He simply kept carrying Picard's limp body in a smooth, unhurried pace, holding him stable and level. The Ice Age woman had no way of knowing of the billions of calculations per second that were enabling the android to compensate instantly for the slightest change in terrain to maintain Picard at a constant height above the ground calculated to three decimal places. She only knew what she could see, and it was impressive. Her own endurance was almost legendary, but she was nothing compared to this man. Not even the Clan were.

The sun had passed its zenith and was well on its way down towards its western home when they came to the lip of the steep valley wall, and made their way down a well-used path. They came to a river, and Ayla led the way downstream for a while before a great cliff loomed up before them, topped with a massive stone that seemed frozen in time, forever on the verge of falling.

Picard had spent most of the journey in a painkiller-induced haze, but now he was fully alert. Despite his misgivings about being taken to the woman's home, he was fascinated by the sights and sounds and smells around him. He looked around eagerly as they drew up to the huge shallow cave that seemed to be Ayla's home. It sloped slightly up towards the rear, and was full of low stone enclosures that Picard guessed designated individual housing units. Smoke issued from the tops of many, and he realised that they were unroofed. Why bother, he thought, when the vast rock shelter does the job so well?

As they entered the cave, numerous people stopped what they were doing and stared at them. Picard felt self-conscious, carried like a baby in Data's arms, and acutely aware of how unusual his clothing must seem to these people. Just as well I didn't bring Worf, he thought with a smile, then grimaced as Data gently lowered him onto a bed of soft furs inside one of the stone huts.

Ayla lost no time in getting to work, but the other man stopped her.

"I am able to treat him with greater efficiency," he said. "I have brought items with healing powers and powerful medicines." He indicated the smooth bag slung over his shoulder.

"I can heal him with what I have here," Ayla said, slightly annoyed that he seemed to be casting doubt on her abilities.

"What I have is better," Data said. "You must allow me to use it."

"What knowledge do you have of healing?" Ayla asked suspiciously.

"Considerable," Data replied truthfully. "It is likely that I know more than you do."

"Ayla," Picard said weakly. "Mr Data is only trying to help."

Data…is that a real name, Ayla thought to herself. It's certainly an unusual name. It sounds like the word for 'facts', or 'knowledge'. Maybe he is a great and powerful healer among his own people. She examined Picard's face again, and felt the steady pulse of his heart through the unusual material of his tunic. He should survive without immediate treatment, she decided.

"Very well. You may treat this man. He is, after all, one of you," she acquiesced. Data nodded, and opened his bag. Then he stopped, and looked back at her.

"I am afraid I must ask you to leave this enclosure," he said.

"Leave? Why must I leave?" Ayla demanded.

"Our…religious beliefs forbid any outsider from witnessing our healing ceremonies," Picard said, unhappy at the untruth, but knowing it was necessary to keep Ayla from seeing Federation technology.

"You are lying," Ayla said, her temper rising. Who did these men think they were? They doubted her abilities as a healer, and now lied to her to get her to leave her own hearth!

"Lying? Why do you say that?" Picard asked nervously.

"I grew up with…a people who communicated by signs," Ayla said. "When the entire body is used to create speech, it becomes impossible to lie, for the body would betray the lie. As yours has."

"I see," Picard said grimly. He tried to focus his mind against the pain, using an old Vulcan mental ritual taught to him by Sarek, Spock's father. Did it really matter if she saw the technology? She lived in a world governed by magic, spirits, and superstitions. Wouldn't she just dismiss it as more magic? And even if she didn't accept it, they were too far in the past for any real effect – the economic and political structure of the time would not allow any real changes. Humans here were still dominated by their environment, which had created a fantastically stable culture that outlasted any single civilisation since.

"You may stay," he said at last. "But do not be alarmed at the… magic you will see."

Ayla nodded, confused. She had detected a slight twitch of his eye when he said 'magic', but why? All healers, both physical like Iza, and spiritual like Creb and Mamut, used magic, after all. Was this dangerous magic, like the Root? She resolved to keep a very close eye on things.

Picard lay back down on the furs, inhaling their odour, a mixture of sweat, cooking smells, and leather. He had not been prepared to have his white lie seen through so easily. This woman was far more perceptive and intelligent that he had initially been prepared to give her credit for. Perhaps he should have allowed her to heal him, rather than Data? No, no, that was impossible. Even if she could set bones, they would take weeks to heal. And the longer they stayed here, the more damage they could do to these people's worldview. Better some small quick display of mystery in private than a long, drawn-out contact.

Ayla watched, fascinated, as Data opened the kit he had been carrying, and took out a small grey item the size of his fist. It looked like it was made of smoothly-polished stone, but did not seem very heavy. Suddenly she gasped. He had split the stone open, into two halves! Inside there were masses of tiny fires, flashing in different colours. It reminded her a bit of the sparks her firestones produced – could this be another type of firestone?

She watched as Data moved the small round object in his other hand over Picard's leg, as he had done earlier. Was this a blessing by Doni before the operation? That seemed logical, and Ayla's hand closed around her amulet as she sent a silent prayer to her totem to protect this brave stranger. She got out her sharp flint knife, the edge as sharp as any blade of metal, and prepared to cut off Picard's leggings to allow Data access. But he made no move to do so. Instead he folded up the stone and replaced it, taking out instead a long thin stick, perfectly smooth and of a pale white shade. Ayla gasped when she saw it suddenly glow with blue fire, and averted her eyes. This was indeed powerful magic – even Zelandoni had nothing like this.

Data moved the stick up and down over the ugly swelling in Picard's leg, which to Ayla's utter astonishment began to subside as she watched. In a few moments it was all over. Data replaced the magic wand and Picard smiled, feeling his leg and wriggling his ankle. Ayla couldn't believe her eyes. She had never seen healing magic of this power before. It was beyond anything she could have imagined. She had to know it.

"You should be fine now, Captain," Data said. "It would be advisable not to put too much stress on the leg until the bones have fully fused, in a day or two."

"You make a pretty good field medic, Mr Data," Picard said, sitting up. He glanced over at the woman who had helped them. She was sitting back on her heels, a look of stunned amazement on her lovely face. Picard pursed his lips, and avoided her gaze. It was going to be hard to keep this quiet, but he had to try. And while walking the tightrope between lying and saying too much.

"Ayla," he said softly, "this was a very special, very difficult operation. It would perhaps be best if you did not talk of this to the others. They may not, uh, understand its power."

"I do, however," Ayla said quietly. "What else can you heal?"

"Uh, most injuries," he admitted. "But our devices have limited power so, so far from their home. They would not be of much to you."

"Picard, I am a healer. How can I ignore what I just saw? Such magic could save many lives, could make the difference between life and death not just for one person, but an entire cave, by allowing the injured to hunt again."

"I was afraid this would happen." Picard said sadly. "Ayla, we are bound by oaths of the most binding nature not to share this knowledge with people like you. We dare not."

"Oaths?" Ayla stood up, suddenly angry. "You hide behind oaths while people are dying? We all share, just as I shared the secret of the firestones, just as—"

She broke off. Zelandoni had been opposed to sharing the firestones, she suddenly remembered. She had not fully understood why at the time either. But now she was wiser, more experienced. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the two strangers suspiciously. What cave were they from? Why had they come here? What did they want of the Ninth Cave?

"Who are you?" she said.

Picard and Data exchanged glances.

"We are travellers," Picard explained. "We come from a long way away."

"No, that's not right," Ayla said, still too angry to be diplomatic. "Your body cannot lie, even if you can. You have concealed something."

Picard looked puzzled. "I don't think so. What I said was true."

"Yet your body does not think so," Ayla said accusingly.

Picard's face clouded, and then he smiled. "No, you're right. I was born and grew up not too far from here, and I suppose I was thinking of that as I spoke. But I am telling you the truth – I no longer live anywhere near here, but much farther away than you can understand."

Ayla looked at him. He was telling the truth. So this explained his ability to speak Zelandonii! He must have moved away as young child, and have been rusty when he tried to speak it again. But where had he gone to acquire such magic? Was there some place where the study of the Mother and the mystical realms of the spirits was far more advanced than she could imagine? Like all people of her time, Ayla believed that each living thing, indeed each object, possessed a spirit, a life-force of its own. For the Zelandonii, and for other groups of modern humans at the time, the over-arcing symbol of this pantheistic animist belief system was the Mother, the creator of life, whose spirit was shared among every living and non-living thing of this Earth, but although Ayla had integrated the beliefs of the Others into her own personal religious worldview, the totemic spirits of Clan beliefs still played a greater role in her spirituality than most of the teachings of the Others.

"Why have you come?" she said quietly, almost in a whisper. Was she about to be offered a chance to Serve the Mother in this far-off land and learn this most powerful of all magics?

"We…" Picard stopped, confused by the hope in the young woman's face. What did she want from them? There was nothing he could give her, and even if he had been free to do so, power cells would run down, knowledge would be lost without writing, and it would be meaningless.

He was saved from having to worry about it longer when the hide door opened and a blond man strode in, ducking under the lintel. He was remarkably tall: Picard estimated him at nearly two metres, and he towered over the much shorter Starfleet captain. Seeing the two strangers, he stopped, taken aback, and then, after a questioning glance at Ayla, extended his hands.

Smiling, Picard took them, and Jondalar made his formal introduction.

"Greetings in the name of the Mother. I am Jondalar, mated to Ayla, son of Marthona, brother of Joharran, born to the hearth of Dalanar, Leader of the Lanzadonii. In the name of Doni, the Great Earth Mother, I welcome you."

"Greetings Jondalar, Ayla's mate and Marthona's son," Picard said formally. "I am Jean-Luc Picard, son of Yvette and Maurice Picard, Captain of the Enterprise, born in the village of La Barre." Picard felt safe giving his title, knowing that the terms would be nothing more than more names to these people, and feeling that leaving out his rank and lineage would simply cause more questions.

Ayla listened to his introduction with great interest. He used the word son in relation to his mother's mate! He had given the name of the man of his hearth, not in relation to his mother, but in relation to himself! Perhaps his people shared her ideas on the role of the man in creating children. She resolved to talk to him as soon as possible about this.

"And your companion?" Jondalar was asking.

"This is Data, son of Juliana and Noonien Soong, Second in command of the Enterprise, father of Lal." Picard felt no compunction whatsoever about referring to Dr Noonien Soong and his wife as Data's parents for, in everything that mattered, they were.

"In the name of Doni, you are both most welcome. What brings two such important people such a long distance?"

Picard and Data exchanged looks, then Picard shrugged slightly, and decided that something not too far from the truth would be best.

"We have heard about remarkable caves of the area, and wished to see them for ourselves," he said, somewhat lamely.

Jondalar and Ayla both gasped.

"Do you mean… Doni's Deep?" Ayla asked, her eyes wide. She well remembered her first trip into that dark and sacred womb of the earth. How the solid stone walls had seemed to turn translucent, showing her soft black realms of infinite depth that had seemed to draw her in, embrace her…capture her. She shuddered, and was glad for the tall comforting presence of her mate beside her. Her hand stole into his, taking comfort in the familiar callused palm.

"The paintings there are not for casual eyes," came a new voice. Ayla turned, and saw the broad figure of Zelandoni of the Ninth Cave, First Among Those Who Serve, squeezing through the doorframe.

"They're painted?" Picard said, suddenly excited. This was an incredible stroke of fortune. Doni's Deep…? What cave systems around here were painted this long ago? Chauvet? Font de Gaume? Some other system not yet discovered? But before he had time to speculate further, he realised Ayla was speaking to him, introducing the newcomer.

"Sorry, I was just a bit carried away. So this is Zelandoni, your High Shamaness? I am honoured to meet you, Zelandoni," he said. "I am Jean-Luc Picard, leader of the Enterprise."

Zelandoni looked at the older man closely, suspicion in her eyes. But her mouth smiled in welcome as she extended her hands to his.

"Welcome, Picard of Enterprise. You have heard of our sacred art?"

Picard nodded. "Stories of the great artists of this area have spread far and wide," he said.

"And is your interest purely curiosity?" Zelandoni said, searching his face.

"I am…a student of such things," Picard said.

Ayla's eyes opened wide. Was this man also One Who Serves? Of course! And Data must be his acolyte! It made sense now, that they would be travelling alone, on a Journey of spiritual exploration. No doubt this was why they had come to the Zelandonii, if indeed rumours of the profoundly spiritual representations of Doni's Deep, womb of the Earth Mother, had reached them.

"Picard of Enterprise, as One Who Serves you are welcome here. In order that we may show you the proper respect, what is your standing among Those Who Serve?"

Picard thought quickly. As captain of the Federation flagship, he was theoretically prima inter pares, first among equals, between all Starfleet captains, but above him were still the admirals and civilian authorities of the vast and sprawling Federation.

"I am perhaps first among the leaders of my rank, but above me are the highest rank of Those Who Serve, and above them are the leaders of our people, the Federation."

The term was not familiar to Zelandoni. It implied a collective, much like the Zelandonii, but there was something strange about its use – as if it were far more than just one tribe, however large. But she let it pass for the moment. The season was well advanced, and she expected the two men would want to winter with them. She was glad that Ayla had found them, and brought them to the Ninth Cave. Such interesting visitors would definitely enhance their standing among the other caves.

"Well, Picard, First-of-the-Second, perhaps we shall see about arranging a visit to the Womb of the Mother later on."

"Zelandoni," Ayla interjected, "these men have great healing gifts, the most powerful magic I have ever seen. Perhaps if we showed them Doni's Deep, they could be persuaded to share their skills with us."

Picard groaned inside. The young woman was desperate to learn their secrets, and he could hardly blame her. But even if the timeline and the Prime Directive were not issues, they simply could not use Starfleet technology in the Palaeolithic, not for longer than a few weeks. Everything in his world depended on the ready availability of almost limitless energy, but here the only motive power was human strength. How could he avoid disappointing her?

"Captain," Data said, interrupting his thoughts. "You should not be spelunking for at least two or three days. Your bones need more time to fully fuse."

"Agreed, Mr Data. A few days here shouldn't hurt anyway."

"Bones? What do they mean?" Zelandoni asked, turning to Ayla.

The blonde girl's beautiful face was lit up with excitement. "Picard's acolyte, the man named Data, mended a broken leg with a few passes of a sacred wand," she said. "In just a few breaths Picard was able to stand upright!"

"How is this possible?" Zelandoni asked. If true – and she knew Ayla of all people would not misdiagnose a broken leg – this would be a truly miraculous gift. If she could obtain it, somehow….

"It is true, Zelandoni," said Data. "However its power is limited to a few uses, and we have no spares."

Thank you Mr Data, Picard thought. A neat solution, and one that had the advantage of being completely true.

Ayla was looking at Data with curiosity. Normally she was able to tell if someone was telling the truth or not by their body language, but with this man it was impossible: he had no body language at all. Not the slightest tick or blink, no pupil dilation, no increased respiration, nothing at all to guide her. And his eyes were the most unusual shade of yellow, like no eyes she had ever seen before. His skin, pale and with a slight sheen, was also disturbing. However she would not dream of commenting on how unusual he looked – she knew how much she hated it when the Clan were called ugly and non-human, when her own son had been called deformed. Ayla was determined to accept all people for what they were like on the inside, not the outside. It disturbed her that there were so many who weren't, but since Picard's people had allowed Data to become an acolyte, they clearly shared her sensibilities, and that made her warm to them.

Thus lost in thought, she was suddenly jolted back to reality by a baby's cry.

"Jonayla! She needs feeding!" Ayla dashed into the sleeping area of their home and returned in a few moments, bare from the waist up and with a suckling baby at one breast. She would not have nursed the child outside, but in her own hearth she was free to do what she wanted, and she did not want to miss a moment of the conversation with the strangers.

Jondalar smiled as he saw the baby snuggle up against his mother. If what Ayla said was true then she was, literally, half his as well. Looking at her deep blue eyes, so like his own, he hoped it was true. But then even if it was just spirits, then surely at least it was an equal mix of the mother's spirit and her mate's, was it not?

"Talking of food," he said cheekily, "did you get any for us?"

Ayla laughed. She had completely forgotten about the rabbits she had captured. "Over there, on the floor, in that carry-bag. Two plump rabbits, rich with winter fat."

"Snow white, too," Jondalar murmured in approval as he pulled them out. "These skins are just what I was looking for – Laranoda of the Seventh Cave has some of the finest-grained flint I've seen, and it would make superb knives."

"I want at least one skin for Jonayla, though," Ayla said, shifting the baby to her other breast.

Picard watched Jondalar gleefully holding up the slaughtered carcasses, and felt a slight queasiness in his stomach. For him, it had been centuries since humans killed living animals for food, and he found the entire concept rather disturbing.

"I believe Lieutenant Worf would appreciate this more than you, Captain," Data said quietly.

"I believe you are right, Commander Data," Picard replied. "However he would find rabbits to be rather small for his tastes."

"Who is this Worf?" Jondalar asked, looking at them curiously.

"He is the best hunter I know," Picard said truthfully. "His people pride themselves on their hunting prowess."

"A pity he is not here, then," Jondalar said. "It is nearly mammoth season – sometimes, if we are lucky, a herd of mammoths will pass near here, which means enough meat for an entire Cave."

"I know he would certainly appreciate the chance," Picard said with feeling.

"Hello Ayla," came another voice. "Zelandoni told me you had returned, with a stranger."

Picard turned to see a handsome middle-aged woman enter the dwelling.

"And this must be he – or rather, they," she added. "On behalf of the Ninth Cave, I, Marthona, mother of the leader, Joharran the hearth-brother of Jondalar, greet you in the name of the Mother, and bid you welcome."

"I greet you Marthona," Picard said, repeating the formal greeting he had given to Jondalar. Data followed suit, and after the greetings were over, Marthona, casting a quick look at Ayla, asked them what had brought them to the Zelandonii.

"Doni's Deep? That is a very powerful place," she said when she heard of their destination. "How long have you been One Who Serves, if I may ask?"

"I have been in Starfleet—" the term was unfamiliar to Marthona, but she caught something about the stars "—most of my life now," Picard said.

"And how many years are you, then?" Marthona asked, appraising him. He looked at least fifty, she thought. He was almost bald, and what little hair he had remaining was cut very short and was nearly all white.

"I am sixty-five, Marthona," Picard replied.

"Sixty-five!" Marthona did some quick counting on her fingers. That was old! Older than almost anyone she had ever heard of, a good twenty years older than herself. And yet this man was still fit and active, almost as fit as a man half his age.

"And it has been thirty-three years since I was given life," Data added. Marthona looked at him and nodded. While he looked younger than his years, thirty-three was a good age, the age of someone in the prime of life, mature and wise. Zelandoni was about that age, but if his First was still active and healthy at over sixty, then it was not surprising he was not a full Servant of the Mother.

"Marthona, Picard needs to rest," Ayla said. She had returned from settling Jonayla on her furs, and was wiping her hands on a small piece of soft leather. She had heard Jondalar's mother's distinctive voice from the other chamber, and was glad of the older woman's presence. Marthona, as former leader of the Ninth Cave, would have much influence in the question of allowing the two strangers to winter with them. Ayla quickly explained what had happened: how she had found the two men, and how Picard had had his leg healed by the powerful magic stick that the acolyte Data carried.

Marthona's eyes grew round at hearing that. She nodded. Such knowledge could be useful, and even if they couldn't utilize it at the moment, it would be sensible to make friends with these men, and establish friendly trading relations between their tribes. Perhaps that way the Zelandonii too could learn the secrets of the healing stick. She turned to Picard.

"As the former leader of the Ninth Cave, I would like to extend my personal invitation to you and your acolyte to winter with us. You must have much we can learn from you, many tales to tell. We shall look forward to your company on the long winter evenings."

"I thank you for your hospitality, Marthona," Picard replied, unsure of how exactly to proceed. He didn't want to offend them, and it would probably be a few days at least until the Enterprise was able to track them. "On behalf of myself and my companion, I welcome your offer. We do indeed have many tales to tell, and hope that you would grant us the privilege of hearing yours as well."

"In that case I suggest you start with Jondalar's tale of his great Journey, and his return with a prize beyond all treasuring," said Marthona warmly.

"This might take a while," Jondalar added. "I hope you have time."

"Well, Mr Data requires me to rest for a few days," Picard said. "So if the tale can be told in three days, then please begin."

"Better cut out the bits that repeat other bits, then," Ayla suggested, smiling to herself.


NOTES:

Sorry for the delay—it's a very busy time of year.

For any ST fans that don't know EC and for some reason have read this far: Iza was Ayla's adoptive mother in the Neanderthal Clan, and a healer, who taught Ayla her arts. Creb was the Mog-Ur, the spiritual healer and Wise Man. Mamut was a similar figure in the Cro Magnon tribe of mammoth hunters Ayla lived with for a while after meeting Jondalar. Doni is the Earth Mother. And an abri is a rock shelter formed by the overhang of a cliff and often containing prehistoric occupation deposits.

The "Better cut out the bits that repeat other bits, then" is a direct dig at the endless repetitions of their story in Shelters of Stone. Not to mention the Mother's Song. Made me wonder if Auel was getting paid by the word….