The Shelters of Stone

  “Part of an acolyte’s training is the memorization of the Elder Legends and the Histories. They explain who the Zelandonii are and where the People come from. Memorizing also helps one to learn, and there are many things an acolyte must learn. Let us finish this gather with Her Legend, the Mother’s Song.”

  She paused and her eyes seemed to look inward, dredging up from the recesses of her own mind a story that she had committed to memory long ago. It was the most important of all the Elder Legends, because it was the one that told of the beginnings. To make the legends easy to remember, they were told in rhyme and meter, and to make the stories that were required to be memorized even easier to recall, melody was often added by those who had the talent to compose music, which other people enjoyed learning. Some of the songs were ancient and so familiar that the sound of the melody was often enough to recall the story.

  Zelandoni Who Was First, however, had created a melody of her own composition for the Mother’s Song, and many people were starting to learn it. She began to sing, a cappella, in a pure, strong, beautiful voice.

  “Out of the darkness, the chaos of time,

  The whirlwind gave birth to the Mother sublime.

  She woke to Herself knowing life had great worth,

  The dark empty void grieved the Great Mother Earth.”

  “The Mother was lonely She was the only.”

  Ayla felt a chill of recognition as the First began and joined in with the rest when they spoke or sang the last line in unison with the One Who Was First.

  “From the dust of Her birth She created the other,

  A pale shining friend, a companion, a brother.

  They grew up together, learned to love and to care,

  And when She was ready they decided to pair.”

  “Around Her he’d hover. Her pale shining lover.”

  Ayla remembered the last line of the second verse, too, and said it with the others, but then she listened through several more verses, trying to hear the words, saying what she remembered under her breath. She wanted to memorize it exactly because she loved this story, and she loved the way the First sang it. Just the sound of her voice almost brought tears to her eyes. Though she knew she would never learn to sing it, she wanted to learn the words. She had learned the Losadunai version on their Journey, but the language, the meter, and some of the story were different. She wanted to learn the story in Zelandonii and listened carefully.

  “The dark empty void and the vast barren Earth,

  With anticipation, awaited the birth.

  Life drank from Her blood, it breathed from Her bones.

  It split Her skin open and sundered Her stones.”

  “The Mother was giving. Another was living.”

  Jondalar had repeated a few lines to her while they were traveling, but she had never heard anything like the resonance and full dramatic power with which the First Among Those Who Served The Mother brought to it. His words had not been exactly the same, either

  “Her gushing birth waters filled rivers and seas,

  And flooded the land, giving rise to the trees.

  From each precious drop more grass and leaves grew,

  And lush verdant plants made all the Earth new.”

  “Her waters were flowing. New green was growing.”

  “In violent labor spewing fire and strife,

  She struggled in pain to give birth to new life.

  Her dried clotted blood turned to red-ochred soil,

  But the radiant child made it all worth the toil.”

  “The Mother’s great joy. A bright shining boy.”

  “Mountains rose up spouting flames from their crests,

  She nurtured Her son from her mountainous breasts.

  He suckled so hard, the sparks flew so high,

  The Mother’s hot milk laid a path through the sky.”

  “His life had begun. She nourished Her son.”

  This was one of the parts she especially loved. It reminded her of her own experience, especially the part about it being all worth it because of her great joy, her wonderful boy.

  “He stole from Her side as the Great Mother slept,

  While out of the dark swirling void chaos crept.

  With tempting inducements the darkness beguiled.

  Deceived by the whirlwind, chaos captured Her child.”

  “The dark took Her son. The young brilliant one.”

  Just as Broud had taken her son. Zelandoni told the story so well, Ayla found herself feeling anxious for both the Mother and Her son. She was leaning forward, not wanting to miss a word.

  “And Her luminous friend was prepared to contest,

  the thief who held captive the child of Her breast.

  Together they fought for the son She adored.

  Their efforts succeeded, his light was restored.”

  “His energy burned. His brilliance returned.”

  Ayla let out a deep breath and looked around. She wasn’t alone in being caught up in the story. Everyone’s rapt attention was focused on the large woman.

  “The Great Mother lived with the pain in Her heart,

  That She and Her son were forever apart.

  She ached for the child that had been denied,

  So She quickened once more from the life-force inside.”

  “She was not reconciled. To the loss of Her child.”

  Tears were running down Ayla’s face, and she felt a sudden clenching ache for her own son that she had been forced to leave behind with the Clan, and a deep empathie sorrow for the Mother.

  “When She was ready Her waters of birth,

  Brought back the green life to the cold barren Earth.

  And the tears of Her loss, abundantly spilled,

  Made dew drops that sparkled and rainbows that thrilled.”

  “Birth waters brought green. But Her tears could be seen.”

  Ayla was sure she would never again be able to think, of morning dew or rainbows the way she had before. From this time on, they would always remind her of the Mother’s tears.

  “With a thunderous roar Her stones split asunder,

  And from the great cave that opened deep under,

  She birthed once again from Her cavernous room,

  And brought forth the Children of Earth from Her womb.”

  “From the Mother forlorn, more children were born.”

  The next part was not so sad, but it was interesting. It explained how things were now, and why.

  “They all were Her children, they filled Her with pride,

  But they used up the life-force She carried inside.

  She had enough left for a last innovation,

  A child who’d remember Who made the creation.”

  “A child who’d respect. And learn to protect.”

  “First Woman was born full-grown and alive,

  And given the Gifts she would need to survive.

  Life was the First Gift, and like Mother Earth,

  She woke to herself knowing life had great worth.”

  “First Woman defined. The first of her kind.”

  Ayla looked up and noticed Zelandoni watching her. She glanced at the other people around her and when she looked back, Zelandoni’s gaze had shifted.

  “The Mother remembered Her own loneliness,

  The love of Her friend and his hovering caress.

  With the last spark remaining, Her labor began,

  To share life with Woman, She created First Man.”

  “Again She was giving. One more was living.”

  “To Woman and Man the Mother gave birth,

  And then for their home, She gave them the Earth,

  The water, the land, and all Her creation,

  To use them with care was their obligation.”

  “It was their home to use. But not to abuse.”

  “For the Children of Earth the Mother provided,

  The Gifts to survive, and then She decided,

  To give them a Gift of Pleasure and sh
aring,

  That honors the Mother with the joy of their pairing.”

  “The Gifts are well-earned. When honor’s returned.”

  “The Mother was pleased with the pair She created,

  She taught them to love and to care when they mated.

  She made them desire to join with each other,

  the Gift of their Pleasures came from the Mother.”

  “Before She was through. Her children loved too.

  Earth’s Children were blessed. The Mother could rest.”

  Ayla felt a little confused about the two lines at the end. It broke the established pattern, and she wondered if something was wrong or missing. When she looked at Zelandoni, the woman was staring at her, which made her uncomfortable. She looked down, but when she glanced back up, Zelandoni was still watching her.

  After the meeting broke up, Zelandoni fell into stride beside Ayla. “I have to go to the camp of the Ninth Cave, do you mind if I walk with you?” she said.

  “No, of course not,” Ayla said.

  They walked in companionable silence at first. Ayla was still feeling overwhelmed by the legend, and Zelandoni was waiting to see what she would say.

  “That was beautiful, Zelandoni,” Ayla finally said. “When I lived at the Lion Camp, sometimes everyone would make music and sing, or dance, together, and some of them had beautiful voices, but none as beautiful as yours.”

  “It is a Gift of the Mother. I didn’t do anything to make it happen, I was born with it. The Legend of the Mother is called the Mother’s Song, because some people like to sing it,” Zelandoni said.

  “Jondalar told me a little of the Mother’s Song while we were on our Journey. He said he couldn’t remember it all, but some of his words were not exactly the same as yours,” Ayla said.

  “That’s not unusual. There are slightly different versions. He learned from the old Zelandoni, I memorized my mentor’s song. Some of the zelandonia make slight revisions. It’s perfectly all right, as long as it doesn’t change the meaning, and keeps the rhythm and rhyme. If they feel right, people tend to adopt them. If not, they are forgotten. I made up my own song because it pleased me, but there are other ways to sing it.”

  “I think most people sing the same song as you do, but what do the words ‘rhythm and rhyme’ mean? I don’t think Jondalar ever explained them to me,” Ayla said.

  “I don’t suppose he would. Singing and Story-Telling are not his greatest skills, though he has become much better at telling about his adventures.”

  “They are not mine, either. I can remember a story, but I don’t know how to sing. I love to listen to it, though,” Ayla said.

  “Rhythm and rhyme help people to remember. Rhythm is the sense of movement. It carries you along as though you are walking at a steady pace. Rhymes are words that sound similar. They add to the rhythm, but they also help you remember the next words.”

  “The Losadunai have a similar Legend of the Mother, but it didn’t make me feel the same way, when I memorized it,” Ayla said.

  Zelandoni stopped and looked at Ayla. “You memorized it? Losadunai is a different language.”

  “Yes, but it’s so similar to Zelandonii, it’s not difficult to learn.”

  “Yes, it is similar, but not the same, and some people find it quite difficult. How long did you spend with them?” Zelandoni asked.

  “Not too long, less than a moon. Jondalar was in a hurry to get across the glacier before the spring melt made it more dangerous. As it is, the warm wind came on the last day, and we did have some trouble,” Ayla explained.

  “You learned their language in less than a moon?”

  “Not perfectly. I still made a lot of mistakes, but I did memorize some of Losaduna’s legends. I’ve been trying to learn the Legend of the Mother as the Mother’s Song and say it the way you sing it.”

  Zelandoni looked at her a moment longer, then started walking back toward the campsite again. “I’ll be happy to help you with it,” she said.

  As they continued, Ayla thought about the legend, especially the part that reminded her of Durc and herself. She was sure she understood how the Great Mother felt when She had to accept that Her son was gone from Her forever. She, too, ached to have her son at her side sometimes, and looked forward to the birth of her new child, Jondalar’s child. She recalled some of the verses she had just heard and began to walk in time to the rhythm as she recited them to herself.

  Zelandoni noticed a slight change in their pace. There was a familiar feeling to it. She glanced at Ayla and noted an expression of intense concentration. This young woman belongs in the zelandonia, she said to herself.

  Just as they reached the campsite, Ayla stopped and asked a question. “Why are there two lines at the end, instead of just one?”

  The woman studied her for a moment before answering. “It’s a question that comes up now and then,” she said. “I don’t know the answer. That’s the way it’s always been. Most people think it’s meant to give the legend a definite ending, once for the verse and once for the entire story.”

  Ayla nodded. Zelandoni wasn’t sure if her nod meant acceptance of the explanation or simply comprehension of the statement. Most acolytes don’t even discuss the finer points of the Mother’s Song, she thought. This one definitely belongs in the zelandonia.

  They walked a little farther. Ayla noticed the sun was lowering toward the western horizon. It would be getting dark soon.

  “I thought the gather went well,” Zelandoni said. “The zelandonia were impressed with your fire-making, and I do appreciate your willingness to show everyone. If we can find enough firestones, everyone will be making fire like that soon. If we can’t find very many … I don’t know. It will probably be best if they are used only to light special ceremonial fires.”

  Ayla frowned. “What about people who already have a firestone, or those who may find one? Can you tell them they can’t use it?” she asked.

  Zelandoni stopped and looked directly at Ayla. Then she sighed. “No, I can’t. I can ask people to agree, but you’re right. I can’t make them, and there will always be those who will do what they want in any case. I suppose I was thinking out loud of an ideal situation, but in fact, it wouldn’t work, not after everyone knows how to make fire that way.” She made a wry expression. “When the Fifth and the Fourteenth were talking about keeping it a secret for the zelandonia, they were simply saying out loud what I think most of us wished, and I have to include myself. It would be an impressive tool for us, but we can’t keep it from the people.” She started walking again.

  “We won’t be planning the Matrimonial until after the first hunt. All the Caves will participate in that,” Zelandoni said. “People get very anxious about it. They believe that if the first hunt is successful, it bodes well for the whole year, but if it’s not, it portends bad luck. The zelandonia will be doing a Search for game. Sometimes that helps. If there are herds around, a good Searcher can help to locate them, but not even the best Searcher can find game if there are none to be found.”

  “I assisted Mamut on a Search. It was a surprise to me the first time, but we seemed to have an affinity, and I was caught up in his Search,” Ayla said.

  “You Searched with your Mamut?” Zelandoni said with surprise. “What was it like?”

  “It’s hard to explain, but something like a bird flying over the land, but there was no wind,” Ayla said, “and the land didn’t look the same, exactly.”

  “Would you be willing to assist the zelandonia? We have some Searchers, but it is always better if there are more,” the donier said. She could see some reluctance.

  “I’d like to help.… but … I don’t want to be a Zelandoni. I just want to mate with Jondalar and have children,” Ayla said.

  “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. No one can force you, Ayla, but if a Search leads to a successful hunt, then the Matrimonial will be lucky, or so it is believed, and will produce long matings and successful hearths—families,”
the First said.

  “Yes, well, I suppose I could try to help, but I don’t know if lean,” Ayla said.

  “Don’t worry. No one is ever sure. All anyone can do is try.” Zelandoni felt pleased with herself. It was obvious that Ayla was reluctant and would try to resist becoming zelandonia, and this would be a way to get her started. She needs to be a part of the zelandonia, the First thought. She has too much talent, too many skills, and she asks questions that are too intelligent. She has to be brought into the fold or she might create dissension outside of it.

  25

  When they neared the camp, Wolf raced out to greet her. She saw him coming and braced herself, just in case he jumped up on her in his enthusiasm, but signaled him to stay down. He stopped, though it seemed it was all he could do to control himself. She hunkered down to his level and allowed him to lick her neck while she held him down until he composed himself. Then she stood up. He looked up at her with what seemed to her to be such a hopeful, yearning expression, she nodded her head and tapped the front of her shoulder. He jumped up, putting his paws where she had signaled and, with a low-rumbling growl, took her jaw in his teeth. She returned the gesture, and then she held his magnificent head in both her hands and looked into his gold-flecked eyes.

  “I love you, too, Wolf, but sometimes I wonder why you love me so much. Is it just that I have become the leader of your pack, or is it something more?” Ayla said, touching her forehead to his, then signaled him down.

  “You command love, Ayla,” the First said, “and the love you invoke cannot be denied.”

  Ayla looked at her, thinking it was a strange comment. “I don’t command anything,” she said.

  “You command that wolf. He is motivated to please you by the love he feels for you. It’s not that you try to beguile or entice, but you draw it to you. And those who love you, love you profoundly. I see it in your animals. I see it in Jondalar. I know him. He has never loved anyone the way he loves you, and he never will. Perhaps it is because you give of yourself so fully and so openly, or perhaps it is a Gift from the Mother, to inspire love. You will always be loved with great fervor, but one must be wary of the Mother’s Gifts.”