As Ayla sat patiently waiting for the man to tap her shoulder, she wasn't even sure if the sign language of these Clan people was the same as the language of the clan that had raised her. The distance between them was great, and these people had a different look. But she had noticed similarities of spoken languages, although the farther apart people lived, the less alike the language was. She could only hope that the sign language of these people would also be similar.
She thought their gestural language, like much of their knowledge and patterns of activities, came from their memories; the racial memories, akin to instinct, that each child was born with. If these people of the Clan came from the same ancient beginnings as the ones she had known, their language should be, at least, similar.
As she waited nervously, she began to wonder if the man had any idea what she was trying to do. Then she felt a tap on her shoulder and took a deep breath. It had been a long time since she had spoken with people of the Clan, not since she had been cursed. ... She had to forget about that. She couldn't let these people know that she was dead as far as the Clan was concerned or they would cease to see her, just as though she didn't exist. She looked up at the man, and they studied each other.
He could see no hint of Clan in her. She was a woman of the Others. She was not like one of those that seemed oddly deformed by a mixture of spirits, the way so many were born these days. But where had this woman of the Others learned the correct way to address a man?
Ayla had not seen a Clan face for many years, and his was a true Clan face, but it was not quite like the faces of the people she had known. His hair and beard were a lighter brown and appeared soft, and not quite as curly. His eyes were lighter, too, brown, but not the deep, liquid, almost black eyes of her people. His features were stronger, more accentuated: his brow ridges were heavier, his nose sharper, his face jutted out farther, his forehead even seemed to sweep back more abruptly, and his head was longer. He seemed somehow more Clan than her Clan.
Ayla started speaking with the gestures and words of the everyday language of Brun's clan, the language of the Clan she had learned as a child. It was immediately apparent that he did not understand. Then the man made some sounds. They had the tone and quality of voice of the Clan, rather guttural with the vowels almost swallowed, and she strained to understand.
The man had a broken leg and she wanted to help him, but she also wanted to know more about these Clan people. In a certain way, she felt more comfortable around them than the people of the Others. But to help him, she needed to communicate with him, to make him understand. He spoke again and made signs. The gestures seemed as though they ought to be familiar, but she couldn't make sense of them, and his word sounds were not familiar to her at all. Was the language of her Clan so different that she wouldn't be able to communicate with the clans in this region?
40
Ayla thought about how to make herself understood to the man of the Clan, glancing at the young woman sitting nearby, who looked nervous and upset. Then, remembering the Clan Gathering, she tried the ancient, formal, and primarily silent language that was used to address the world of the spirits, and to communicate with other clans that had a different common language.
The man nodded and made a gesture. Ayla felt a great wash of relief when she found that she understood him, and a rush of excitement. These people did come from the same beginnings as her Clan! Sometime, in some far distant past, this man had the same ancestors as Creb and Iza. With a sudden insight, she recalled a strange vision, and knew that she, too, shared roots, even more ancient, with him, but her line had diverged, taken a different path.
Jondalar watched, fascinated, as they began to talk with signs. It was hard to follow the quick flowing movements they made, which gave him a sense of much greater complexity and subtlety to the language than he had supposed. When Ayla had taught people of the Lion Camp some of the Clan sign language so that Rydag could communicate with them for the first time in his life—the formal language because it was easier for the youngster to learn—she had taught them only the basic rudiments. The boy had always enjoyed talking with her more than anyone. Jondalar had guessed that Rydag could communicate with her more fully, but he was beginning to understand the range and depth of the language.
Ayla was surprised when the man skipped over some of the formalities of introduction. He didn't establish names, places, or kinship lines. "Woman of the Others, this man would know where you learned to speak."
"When this woman was a young child, family and people were lost to an earthquake. This woman was raised by a clan," she explained.
"This man knows of no clan that took in a child of the Others," the man signed.
"The clan of this woman lives far away. Does the man know of the river known to the Others as Great Mother?"
"It is the boundary," he motioned impatiently.
"The river goes on for a greater distance than many know, to a great sea, far to the east. The clan of this woman lives beyond the end of Great Mother," Ayla signed.
He looked incredulous, then studied her. He knew that, unlike the people of the Clan whose language included the understanding of unconscious body movements and gestures, which made it almost impossible to say one thing and mean something else, the people of the Others, who spoke with sounds, were different. He couldn't be sure about her. He could see no signs of dissimulation, but her story seemed so farfetched.
"This woman has been traveling since the beginning of last warm season," she added.
He became impatient again, and Ayla realized he was in great pain. "What does the woman want? Others are gone, why does the woman not go?" He knew that she had probably saved his life and had helped his mate, which meant he owed her an obligation; that would make them the next thing to kin. The thought was unsettling.
"This woman is a medicine woman. This woman would look at the man's leg," Ayla explained.
He snorted with disdain. "The woman cannot be a medicine woman. The woman is not Clan."
Ayla did not argue. She thought a moment, then decided to try another approach. "This woman would speak to the man of the Others," she requested. He nodded approval. She stood up, then backed away before she turned around and went to talk to Jondalar.
"Are you able to communicate with him very well?" he asked her. "I know you are making a good attempt, but the Clan you lived with is so far away, I can't help but wonder how successful you are."
"I started out using the everyday language of my clan, and we couldn't understand each other. I should have known their ordinary signs and words would not be the same, but when I used ancient formal language, we had no trouble communicating," Ayla explained.
"Did I understand you right? Are you saying that the Clan can communicate in a way that is understood by all of them? No matter where they live? That's hard to believe."
"I suppose it is," she said, "but their ancient way is in their memories."
"You mean they are born knowing how to speak in that way? Any baby can do it?"
"Not exactly. They are born with their memories, but they have to be 'taught' how to use them. I'm not sure how it works, I don't have the memories, but it seems to be more like 'reminding' them of what they know. Usually they only have to be reminded once, and then it's set. That's why some of them thought I wasn't very smart. I was so slow to learn, until I taught myself to memorize fast, and even then it wasn't easy. Rydag had the memories, but he didn't have anyone to teach him ... to remind him. That's why he didn't know the sign language until I came."
"You, slow to learn! I've never seen anyone learn languages so fast," Jondalar said.
She shrugged off the comment. "That's different. I think the Others have a kind of memory for word language, but we learn to speak the sounds of those around us. To learn a different language, you just have to memorize another set of sounds, and sometimes another way of putting them together," she said. "Even if you aren't perfect, you can understand each other. His language is more difficult, fo
r us, but communication isn't the problem I'm having with him. Obligation is the problem."
"Obligation? I don't understand," Jondalar said.
"He's in terrible pain, though he'll never let you know it. I want to help him, I want to set that leg. I don't know how they're going to get back to their clan, but we can worry about that later. First I need to fix his leg. But he is already in our debt, and he knows that if I can understand his language, I understand the obligation. If he believes we saved his life, it's a kinship debt. He doesn't want to owe us more," Ayla said, trying to explain a very complex relationship in a simple way.
"What's a kinship debt?"
"It's an obligation..." Ayla tried to think of a way to put it that would make it clear. "It's usually between hunters of a clan. If one man saves another man's life, he 'owns' a piece of the other's spirit. The man that would have died gives up a piece to be restored to life. Since a man doesn't want any pieces of his spirit to die—to walk the next world before he does—if another man owns a piece of his spirit, he will do anything to save that man's life. That makes them kin, closer than brothers."
"That makes sense," Jondalar said, nodding.
"When men hunt together," Ayla continued, "they have to help each other, and they often save each other's lives, so a piece of each one's spirit usually belongs to each of the others. It makes them kin in a way that goes beyond family. Hunters in a clan may be related, but the kinship of family cannot be stronger than the bond between the hunters, because they cannot favor one over the other. They all have to depend on each other."
"There is wisdom in that," Jondalar said thoughtfully.
"That's called a kinship debt. This man doesn't know the customs of the Others, and he doesn't think much of what he does know."
"After Charoli and his band, who can blame him?"
"It goes much beyond that, Jondalar. But he's not happy about being in our debt."
"He told you all this?"
"No, of course not, but the language of the Clan is more than signs made with the hands. It's the way a person sits, or stands, expressions on the face, small things, but they all have meaning. I grew up with a clan. Those things are as much a part of me as they are of him. I know what's bothering him. If he could accept me as a medicine woman of the Clan, it would help."
"What difference would that make?" Jondalar said.
"It means I already own a piece of his spirit," Ayla said.
"But you don't even know him! How can you own a piece of his spirit?"
"A medicine woman saves lives. She could claim a piece of the spirit of everyone she saves, could 'own' pieces of everyone before many years have gone by. So when she is made a medicine woman, she gives a piece of her spirit to the Clan, and receives a piece of every Clan person in return. That way, no matter who she saves, the debt is already paid. That's why a medicine woman has status in her own right." Ayla looked thoughtful, then said, "This is the first time I'm glad the Clan spirits were not taken back..." She paused.
Jondalar started to speak. Then he noticed that she was staring into the empty air, and he realized she was looking inside herself.
". . . When I was cursed with death," she continued. "I've worried about that for a long time. After Iza died, Creb took all the spirit pieces back, so they would not go with her to the next world. But when Broud had me cursed, no one took them back from me, even though to the Clan I am dead."
"What would happen if they knew that?" Jondalar asked, indicating with a discreet twist of his head the two Clan people who were watching them.
"I would not exist to them any more. They would not see me; they would not let themselves see me. I could stand right in front of them and scream, and they would not hear it. They would think I was a bad spirit trying to trap them into the next world," Ayla said, closing her eyes and shuddering with the memory.
"But why did you say you were glad that you still had the spirit pieces?" Jondalar asked.
"Because I can't say one thing and mean something else. I can't lie to him. He would know it. But I can refrain from mentioning. That's allowed, out of courtesy, for the sake of privacy. I don't have to say anything about the curse, even though he would probably know I was holding something back, but I can talk about being a medicine woman of the Clan, because it's true. I still am. I still own the spirit pieces." She frowned then, with worry. "But someday I will really die, Jondalar. If I go to the next world with the spirit pieces of everyone in the Clan, what will happen to them?"
"I don't know, Ayla," he said.
She shrugged, putting the thought aside. "Well, it's this world I need to worry about now. If he will accept me as a medicine woman of the Clan, then he won't have to be so concerned about owing a debt to me. It's bad enough for him to owe a kinship debt to one of the Others, but worse if it's a woman, especially one who used a weapon."
"But you hunted when you lived with the Clan," Jondalar reminded her.
"That was a special exception, and only because I survived a moon-cycle curse of death for hunting and using a sling. Brun allowed it because my Cave Lion totem protected me. He thought of it as a testing, and I think it finally gave him a reason to accept a woman with such a strong totem. He's the one who gave me my hunting talisman and called me the Woman Who Hunts."
Ayla touched the leather bag she always wore around her neck, and thought of her first one, the simple drawstring pouch that Iza had made for her. As her mother, Iza had put the piece of red ochre inside it when Ayla was accepted by the Clan. That amulet was nothing like the finely decorated one she wore now, which had been given to her at her Mamutoi adoption ceremony, but it still held her special tokens, including that original piece of red ochre. All the signs her totem had given to her were in it, as well as the red-stained oval from the tip of a mammoth tusk that was her hunting talisman, and the black stone, the small chunk of black manganese dioxide that held the spirit pieces of the Clan, which had been given to her when she became the medicine woman of Brun's clan.
"Jondalar, I think it would help if you would talk to him. He's unsure. His ways are very traditional, and too many unusual things have been going on. If he had a man to talk to, even one of the Others, rather than a woman, it might ease his mind. Do you remember the sign for a man to greet a man?"
Jondalar made a motion, and Ayla nodded. She knew it lacked finesse, but the meaning was clear. "Don't attempt to greet the woman yet. It would be in bad taste, and he might consider it an insult. It is not customary or appropriate for men to talk to women without a good reason, especially strangers, and you will need his permission even then. With kin, there are fewer formalities, and a close friend could even relieve his needs—share Pleasures—with her, though it's considered polite to ask his permission first."
"Ask his permission, but not hers? Why do the women allow themselves to be treated as though they are less important than men?" Jondalar asked.
"They don't think of it that way. They know, within themselves, that women and men are just as important, but men and women of the Clan are very different from each other," Ayla tried to explain.
"Of course they are different. All men and women are different ... I'm glad to say."
"I don't just mean different in the way you can see. You can do anything a woman can do, Jondalar, except have a baby, and although you are stronger, I can do almost everything you can do. But men of the Clan cannot do many things that women do, just as women cannot do the things that men do. They don't have the memories for it. When I taught myself to hunt, many people were more surprised that I had the ability to learn, or even the desire, than that I had gone against the way of the Clan. It wouldn't have astounded them any more if you had given birth to a baby. I think the women were more surprised than the men. The idea would never occur to a Clan woman."
"I thought you said the people of the Clan and the Others are very much alike," Jondalar said.
"They are. But in some ways, they are more different than you can imagine. Even I c
an't imagine it, and I was one of them, for a while," Ayla said. "Are you ready to talk to him now?"
"I think so," he said.
The tall, blond man walked toward the powerful, stocky man who was still sitting on the ground, with his thigh bent at an unnatural angle. Ayla followed. Jondalar lowered himself to sit in front of the man, glancing at Ayla, who nodded approval.
He had never been so close to an adult flathead male before, and his first thought was a memory of Rydag. Looking at this man, it was even more obvious that the boy had not been full Clan. As Jondalar recalled the strange, bright, sickly child, he realized that Rydag's features had been greatly modified in comparison—softened was the word that came to him. This man's face was large, both long and wide, and jutted out somewhat, led by a sizable, protruding, sharp nose. His fine-haired beard, which showed signs of having been recently trimmed to a uniform length, did not entirely succeed in hiding a rather receding jaw, with no chin.
His facial hair blended into a mass of thick, softly curled, light brown hair covering a huge, long head, that was full and rounded at the back. But the man's heavy brow ridges took up most of his forehead, which sloped back into a hairline that started low. Jondalar had to restrain an urge to reach up and touch his own sharply rising high forehead and domed head. He could understand why they were called flatheads. It was as if someone had taken a head that was shaped like his, but somewhat larger, and made of material as malleable as wet clay, then reshaped it by pushing down and flattening his forehead, forcing the bulk of the size toward the back.
The man's heavy brows were accentuated by bushy eyebrows, and his gold-flecked, almost hazel eyes showed curiosity, intelligence, and an undercurrent of pain. Jondalar could understand why Ayla wanted to help him.