The Shelters of Stone

  Then Joharran stood up and talked about his concerns and working out new ways to deal with them. Finally, Willamar talked about the possibility of trading with them. Afterward there were many questions, and the discussion went on for a long time. It was a revelation to the zelandonia and the Zelandonii leaders. Some found it difficult to believe, but most listened with an open mind. It seemed obvious that Ayla’s story was true; not even the best Story-Teller could have made up a tale that was so convincing. And it revealed the Clan as humane, even if some didn’t want to believe they were human. Nothing was resolved, but it gave everyone something to think about.

  The First stood then to end the meeting. “I think we have all learned some things of importance,” she said. “I appreciate Ayla’s willingness to come here and talk to us so freely about her unusual experiences. She has given us a rare insight into the life of people who may be strange, but who were willing to take in a child they knew was different and treat her as one of their own. Some of us have felt fear if we happened to see a flathead when we were out hunting or collecting something. It seems that fear is misplaced if they were willing to take in someone who is lost and alone.”

  “Do you think that means that they took in that woman from the Ninth Cave who was lost some time ago?” said the white-haired Zelandoni of the Nineteenth Cave. “If I recall correctly, she was pregnant when she returned. The Mother may have decided to Bless her when she was with the flatheads, and used the spirit of one of them to—”

  “No! That’s not true! My mother was not an abomination!” Brukeval cried out.

  “That’s right. Your mother was not an abomination,” Ayla said. “That’s what we’ve been trying to say. None of those with mixed spirits is an abomination.”

  “My mother was not of mixed spirits,” he said. “That’s why she was not an abomination.” He looked at her with such loathing, Ayla had to turn her head aside to avoid the force of his glare. Then he stalked out.

  There were no more discussions. People got up and started leaving. On the way out, the One Who Was First noticed Marona looking at her in a rude and insolent way, then she overheard Laramar talking with Zelandoni of the Fifth Cave and his acolyte, Madroman.

  “How can Jondalar’s hearth be among the first?” he asked. “The excuse was that she had such a high ranking among the Mamutoi, the people she supposedly came from, that it shouldn’t be lowered here, but she doesn’t even know what people she was actually born to. If she was raised by flatheads, then she’s more flathead than Mamutoi. Tell me what rank a flathead has? She should have been last, but now she’s among the first. I don’t think it’s right.”

  After the long and grueling session, which ended with such a vehement outburst, Ayla felt wrung out. She supposed it must be disturbing for people to suddenly learn that creatures they had thought of as animals were actually thinking, caring people. It was a radical change, and change never came easy, but Brukeval’s reaction was irrational, and his glare so full of malice, he scared her.

  Jondalar suggested they get the horses and go for a ride to get away from everyone and relax after the unsettling events that ended the meeting. Ayla was happy to see Wolf loping along beside them again and no longer wearing bandages, though he wasn’t entirely healed yet.

  “I tried not to show it, but I was so angry at those people who objected to their mating because Echozar’s mother was Clan,” Ayla said. “And though Zelandoni and Dalanar asked for a special meeting, I don’t think anything was settled. At the Matrimonial, I think the only reason some of them agreed was because they were not Zelandonii. They call themselves ‘Lanzadonii,’ but I can’t see any difference. What is the difference, Jondalar?”

  “In one sense, Zelandonii just means us, the People, the children of the Great Earth Mother, but so does Lanzadonii. The actual meaning of Zelandonii would be Earth’s Children of the Southwest, and Lanzadonii, Earth’s Children of the Northeast,” Jondalar explained.

  “Why didn’t Dalanar just continue to call himself Zelandonii and make his people another Cave with the next higher counting word?” Ayla asked.

  “I don’t know. I never asked him. Maybe because they live so far away. It’s not like you can get there in an afternoon, or even in a day or two. I think he knows that while there may always be des, someday they will be different people. Now that he has his own Zelandoni, or rather, Lanzadoni, he has even less reason to make the long trip to our Summer Meetings. Probably their doniers will still be trained by the zelandonia for quite a while, but as they continue to grow, they will begin to train their own.”

  “They will be like the Losadunai,” Ayla said. “The language, and ways, are so close to Zelandonii, they must have been the same people once.”

  “I think you’re right, and that may be why we are still such good friends with them. We don’t count them in our names and ties, but there may have been a time when we did,” Jondalar said.

  “I wonder how long it has been. There are many differences now, even in the words of their Mother’s Song,” Ayla said. They rode a little farther. “If the Zelandonii and the Lanzadonii are the same people, why did the ones who objected to Joplaya mating Echozar finally go along with it? Just because their name says they live in the northeast? It’s not reasonable. But then, their objection was not reasonable in the first place.”

  “Look who was behind it,” Jondalar said. “Laramar! Why is he trying to stir up trouble? You’ve done nothing but try to help his family. Lanoga adores you, and I doubt if Lorala would even be alive today if you hadn’t stepped in. I wonder if he really cares or just likes the attention. I don’t think he has ever been invited to a special meeting like that with all high-status people, several of them, including the First, presenting the case to him and the few others who were making an issue out of it. Now that Laramar has a taste of it, I’m afraid he is going to keep on making problems, just to keep getting attention. But I still don’t understand Brukeval, of all people. He knows Dalanar and Joplaya, he’s even kin.”

  “Did you know that Matagan’s mother told me Brukeval was at the camp of the Fifth Cave trying to convince some people to make an objection to Joplaya’s mating before the Matrimonial?” Ayla said. “He has a strong feeling against the Clan, but seeing him and Echozar together, you can see the resemblance. There is a cast to his features that is definitely Clan, not as strong as Echozar’s, but it is there. I think he hates me now because I said his mother was born of mixed spirits, but I was just trying to say that people who are mixed are not bad, not abominations.”

  “He must still think they are. That’s why he tries so hard to deny it. It must be terrible to hate what you are,” Jondalar said. “You can’t change that. It’s funny. Echozar hates the Clan, too. Why do they hate the people that they are a part of?”

  “Maybe it’s because other people hurt them because of who they are, and they can’t hide it because they actually do look different,” Ayla said. “But the way Brukeval glared at me before he left was so full of hate, he frightens me. He reminds me a little of Attaroa, as though there is something not right with him. As though there is something wrong or deformed about him, like Lanidar with his arm, but on the inside.”

  “Maybe some evil spirit has gotten inside of him, or his elan is twisted,” Jondalar said. “I don’t know, but perhaps you should watch out for Brukeval, Ayla. He may try to make more trouble for you.”

  36

  The summer waxed, and the days became hotter. The grasses of the fields grew tall and turned golden, their heads nodding with the weight of their seed—the promise of new life. Ayla’s body grew heavy, too, filled with the new life of her unborn child. She was working beside Jondalar, pulling seeds from wild oats, when she felt movement for the first time. She stopped and pressed her hand to her bulging middle. Jondalar saw the morion.

  “What’s wrong, Ayla?” he asked with a worried frown.

  “I just felt the baby move. It’s the first time I’ve felt life!” she said. She
seemed to be smiling inwardly. “Here,” she said, taking the winnowing stone from Jondalar’s large hand and placing his hand on her stomach. “Maybe the baby will move again.”

  He waited expectantly, but felt nothing. “I don’t feel anything,” he finally said. Just then there was a small movement under his hand, barely a ripple. “I felt it! I felt the baby!” he said.

  “The movement will get stronger later,” Ayla said. “Isn’t it wonderful, Jondalar? What would you like the baby to be? A boy or a girl?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I just want the baby to be healthy, and I want you to have an easy birthing. What do you want your baby to be?” he asked.

  “I think I’d like a girl, but I’d be just as happy with a boy. It doesn’t really matter. I just want a baby your baby. It is your baby, too.”

  “Hey, you two. The Fifth Cave is sure to win if you keep loafing like that.” They turned to watch a young man approaching. He was average height, with a compact, wiry build. He walked with a crutch under one arm, carrying a skin of water with his other. “Would you like some water?” he said.

  “Hello, Matagan! It’s hot, this water is welcome,” Jondalar said, taking the bag, lifting it over his head, and letting the water pour from the spout into his mouth. “How is the leg?” he said, handing the waterbag to Ayla.

  “Getting stronger all the time. I may be able to throw this stick away before long,” he answered, smiling. “I’m only supposed to be carrying water for the Fifth Cave, but I saw my favorite healer and thought I’d cheat a little. How are you feeling, Ayla?”

  “I’m fine. I felt life for the first time a little while ago. The baby is growing,” she said. “Who do you think is ahead?”

  “It’s hard to say. The Fourteenth has several basketfuls already, but the Third just located a new large stand.”

  “How about the Ninth?” Jondalar asked.

  “I think they have a chance, but I’ll wager on the Fifth,” the young man replied.

  “You’re biased. You just want the prizes.” Jondalar laughed. “What did the Fifth Cave donate this year?”

  “The dried meat from two aurochs killed at the first hunt, a dozen spears, and a large wooden bowl carved by our best carver. What about the Ninth?”

  “A large skin of Marthona’s wine, five birch spear-throwers with carvings, five firestones, and two of Salova’s large baskets, one filled with hazelnuts, the other with tart apples,” Jondalar replied.

  “It’s Marthona’s wine I’m going to try for, if the Fifth wins. I hope the bones are lucky for me. Once I can get rid of this stick,” he lifted the crutch, “I’m going to move back into the men’s tent. I think I could move back now, stick or not, but my mother doesn’t want me to go yet. She has been wonderful, no one could have cared more, but now I’m getting a little too much mothering. You’d think I was five years old ever since the accident,” he said.

  “You can’t blame her,” Ayla said.

  “I don’t blame her. I understand. I just want to get back to the men’s tent. I’d even invite you to the party we’d have with the wine, if you weren’t mated, Jondalar.”

  “Thanks anyway, but I’ve had enough of men’s tents. Someday, when you’re older, you’ll find out that being mated isn’t as bad as you think,” Jondalar said.

  “But you’ve already got the woman I want,” the young man said, casting a teasing glance at Ayla. “If I had her, I’d be willing to move out of the men’s tent, too. When I saw her at your Matrimonial, I thought she was the most beautiful woman I ever saw. I could hardly believe my eyes. I think every man thought so and wished he were in your place, Jondalar.”

  Though in the beginning Matagan was shy around Ayla, he lost his uneasiness after getting to know her during the many days she went to the zelandonia lodge to assist in his care. Then his natural outgoing friendliness and developing easy charm began to express themselves.

  “Listen to him,” Ayla said, smiling and patting her protruding middle. “Some ‘beautiful.’ An old woman with a belly full.”

  “That makes you more beautiful than ever. And I like older women. I may mate one someday, if I can find one like you,” Matagan said.

  Jondalar smiled at the young man, who reminded him of Thonolan. It was obvious he was infatuated with Ayla, but he was going to be a charmer someday, and he might need it if he ended up being permanently lame. Jondalar didn’t mind if he practiced a little on Ayla. He had once been in love with an older woman, too.

  “And you are my favorite healer.” His eyes turned more serious. “I woke up a few times when I was being carried on the stretcher, and I thought I was dreaming when saw you. I thought you were a beautiful donii come to take me to the Great Mother. I’m sure you saved my life, Ayla, and I don’t think I’d be walking at all if it weren’t for you.”

  “I just happened to be there, and did what I could,” Ayla said.

  “That may be, but you know, if there is ever anything you need …” He looked down, his face flushed with embarrassment. He was having trouble saying what he wanted to say. He looked at her again. “If there is ever anything I can do for you, you only have to ask.”

  “I remember a time when I thought Ayla was a donii,” Jondalar said to ease his distress. “Did you know she sewed my skin together? On our Journey, I can remember a time when an entire S’Armunai Camp thought she was the Mother Herself, a living donii come to help Her children. For all I know, maybe she is, the way men fall in love with her.”

  “Jondalar! Don’t fill him full of such nonsense,” Ayla said. “And we’d better get back to work, or the Ninth Cave will lose. Not only that, but I want to keep some of this grain for a couple of horses, and maybe for a new foal. I’m glad we collected so much rye when it ripened, but the horses like oats better.”

  She looked into the basket, which was hanging around her neck so her hands would be free, to see how many seeds were in it, then positioned the stone in her hand and set to work. With one hand she held together a few stalks of ripe wild grains, with the other she grasped the stalks so that the round stone was pressed against them a little below the seed heads. Then, in a smooth motion, she pulled the stalks through her hand in one motion so that the hard stone stripped the seeds off into her hand. She emptied them into the basket and reached for the next few stalks.

  It was slow, meticulous work, but not difficult once you got into the rhythm of it. Using a stone helped to strip the stalks more efficiently, and therefore faster, mien Ayla asked, no one could remember where the idea came from, they’d been doing it that way for as long as anyone could remember.

  As Matagan limped away, Ayla and Jondalar were both stripping grain seeds into their baskets. “You have a devoted admirer in the Fifth Cave, Ayla,” Jondalar said. “Many others feel that way. You’ve made friends at this Meeting. Most people think of you as a Zelandoni. They are not used to a healer who is not a donier.”

  “Matagan is a nice young man,” Ayla said, “and the fur-lined parka with the hood that his mother insisted on giving to me is beautiful, and roomy enough that I will be able to wear it this winter. She asked me to visit them after we return this autumn. Wasn’t the home of the Fifth Cave the place we passed by on our way here?”

  “Yes, it’s upstream on a small tributary of The River. Maybe we’ll stop on our way back. By the way, I’m going hunting with Joharran and several others in a few days. We may be gone a while,” Jondalar said, trying to make it sound like a normal activity.

  “I don’t suppose I could go?” Ayla said wistfully.

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to give up hunting for a while. You know, and Matagan’s accident has made it plain, that hunting can be dangerous, especially if you are not quite as fast on your feet as you used to be. And after the baby is born, you’ll be busy nursing and caring for it,” Jondalar said.

  “I hunted after Durc was born. One of the other women nursed him for me if I didn’t get back in time to feed him.”

  “But yo
u weren’t gone for several days at a time.”

  “No, I just hunted small animals with my sling,” she admitted.

  “Well, you may be able to do that again, but you shouldn’t go out with hunting parties for days at a time. Anyway, I’m your mate now. It’s my job to take care of you and your children. That’s what I promised when we mated. If a man can’t provide for his mate and her children, what use is he? What’s a man’s purpose if women have children and provide for them, too?” Jondalar said.

  Ayla had never heard Jondalar talk that way before. Did all men feel that way? she wondered. Did men need to find a purpose for their existence because they could not have children? She tried to imagine how it would feel if it were the other way around, if she could never have a baby and believed her only contribution was to help provide for them. She turned to face him.

  “This baby would not be inside me if it were not for you, Jondalar,” she said, putting her hands on the bulge below her breasts. “This baby is as much yours as mine. It’s just growing inside me for a while. Without your essence, it would not have gotten started.”

  “You don’t know that for sure,” he said. “You may think so, but no one else does, not even Zelandoni.”

  The two stood facing each other in the middle of the open field, not antagonistic, but with conflicting beliefs. Jondalar noticed strands of sun-bleached blond hair had escaped from the restraining leather band and were whipping across her face in the wind. She was barefoot, and her tanned arms and breasts were exposed above the simple leather garment wrapped around her expanding middle and hanging loosely down to her knees to protect her body from the scratchy dry grasses they were gathering. Her eyes were determined, resolute, almost angrily defiant, but she looked so vulnerable. His look softened.