by Jean M. Auel
Bokovan’s shoulders were already much broader than her daughter’s, Ayla noticed. He had a big nose on a face that jutted out in the middle, accentuating that nose, and a receding chin. Though his forehead was straight and not sloped, he had a definite bony ridge over his eyes, not huge, but there.
To Ayla there was no question that he had the cast of the Clan, including his dark liquid eyes, but their shape was not quite Clan. Like his mother, he had a slight epicanthic fold, making his eyes seem slanted, and at that moment they were filled with tears. Ayla thought he was an exotically handsome child, though not many others agreed.
The boy ran to Dalanar. “Dalanah,” he cried, “Jonayah say I can’t ha’wa baby. Tell haw not twue.”
Dalanar picked the boy up and put him on his lap. “I’m afraid it is true, Bokovan,” Dalanar said. “Boys can’t have babies. Only girls can grow up to have babies. But someday you can mate with a woman and help take care of her babies.”
“But, I wan’na baby, too,” Bokovan said, crying a new sob.
“Jonayla! That was a cruel thing to say,” Ayla reprimanded. “Come here and say you’re sorry to Bokovan. It’s not nice to make him cry like that.”
She did feel contrite; she really hadn’t meant to make him cry. “I’m sorry, Bokovan,” Jonayla said.
Ayla almost said that he would help to make babies when he grew up, but thought better of it. She hadn’t even spoken to Zelandoni yet, and Bokovan wouldn’t understand anyway, but her heart went out to the boy. She knelt down in front of him.
“Hello, Bokovan. My name is Ayla and I’ve been wanting to meet you. Your mother and Echozar are my friends.”
“Can you say hello to Ayla, Bokovan?”
“He’wo, Ayla,” the boy said, then buried his head in Dalanar’s shoulder.
“Can I hold him, Dalanar?”
“I’m not sure if he’ll let you. He’s very shy and not used to people,” Dalanar said.
Ayla held her arms out to the boy. He looked at her in serious contemplation. There was a liquid depth to his dark, slanted eyes, and something more, she felt. He reached out to her and she took the child from the man’s arms. He was heavy! Ayla was surprised at his weight. “You are going to grow up to be a very big man, Bokovan. Do you know that?” Ayla hugged the boy to her.
“I’m really surprised he went to you,” Dalanar said. “He never takes to strangers like that.”
“How old is he now?” she asked.
“We can count just past three years for him, but he’s big for his age. That can be a problem, especially for a boy. People think he’s older than he is. I was always tall for my age when I was a youngster. Jondalar was, too,” Dalanar said.
Why did it hurt so much just to hear Jondalar’s name? Ayla thought. She must learn to overcome that. After all, if she was going to be Zelandoni now, she needed to show composure. She had been training to control her mind in many ways—why couldn’t she control herself now?
Ayla held the boy as she greeted Levela and Marsheval. “I understand Jonayla has been here quite often. It seems she’d rather be here than any other place. Thank you for looking after her.”
“We’re happy to have her,” Levela said. “She and my girls are good friends, but I’m glad you finally made it here this year. It was getting so late in the season, we didn’t know if you were coming.”
“I had planned to come before this, but things came up and I couldn’t leave sooner,” Ayla said.
“How’s Marthona? Everyone has missed her,” Levela said.
“She seems better … which reminds me …” She looked at Dalanar.
He spoke before she could ask. “Joharran sent some people for her yesterday, in the afternoon. If she’s up to it, she should be here in a few days.” He saw the questioning look on Levela’s face. “They’re going to carry her here on a litter, if she’ll allow it. It was Ayla’s idea. Folara and young Aldanor seem to be seeing a lot of each other, and she thought Marthona would want to be here if they are getting serious. I know how Jerika would feel if it were Joplaya.” The young couple smiled and nodded. “Have you seen Jerika or Joplaya yet, Ayla?” Dalanar asked.
“No, I haven’t, but I’m on my way to see Zelandoni; then I promised Jonayla we’d go riding together.”
“Why don’t you come back to the Lanzadonii camp this evening and stay for a meal?” Dalanar said.
Ayla smiled. “I’d like that,” she said.
“Perhaps Jondalar can come, too. Do you know where he is?”
Ayla lost her smile, Dalanar noted with some concern.
“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Ayla said.
“Well, there’s always so much going on at Summer Meetings,” Dalanar said, relieving her of Bokovan.
Yes, there certainly is, Ayla thought as she continued on her way to meet with the zelandonia.
33
“I really didn’t think anyone would be so foolish as to think he could deceive the zelandonia like that,” the huge woman said. She and Ayla were sitting together in the large structure that was used by the zelandonia for a variety of purposes. “Thank you for bringing these things to me.” She paused. “You did know Madroman was the one who brought down all the difficulties on Jondalar and me? When he was young and I was his donii-woman?”
“Jondalar told me about it. Isn’t that why he’s missing his front teeth? Because Jondalar hit him?” Ayla asked.
“He did more than hit him. It was terrible. He became so violent, it took several men to stop him, and he was hardly more than a child then. That was the main reason Jondalar was sent away. He’s learned to control himself now, but then his feelings, his anger and fury, were overpowering. I don’t think he even knew what he was doing to Madroman. It was like something else had gotten inside of him and pushed his elan out; he was beside himself.” The woman once known as Zolena closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and shook her head at the memory.
Ayla didn’t know what to say, but the story disturbed her. She had seen Jondalar jealous and upset, but never that angry.
“It was probably for the best that someone brought it to the attention of the zelandonia. I had let it go too far,” the First said, “but Madroman didn’t do it because it was the right thing to do. He had watched us secretly and did it because he was jealous of Jondalar. But you can understand why I was beginning to wonder if I was letting personal feelings interfere with my judgment.”
“I don’t believe you would do that,” Ayla said.
“I hope not. I’ve had my doubts about Madroman for some time. I think he lacks … something … a certain quality that is necessary to Serve The Mother, but he was admitted for training before I was First. When I originally questioned him about his call, I felt his story was too contrived. Several others thought the same, but some zelandonia wanted to give him every benefit. He’s been an acolyte for so long, and he has yearned to be zelandoni from the beginning. That’s why I felt it best to begin with an informal questioning; he has not had his final testing yet. These things you brought may help bring out the truth. That is all I want. He may have a good explanation for them. If so, then he will certainly be acknowledged, but if he is feigning his ‘call,’ we need to know.”
“What will you do to him if the words he says are not true?”
“There isn’t much we can do, except to forbid him from using any of the knowledge he gained as an acolyte, and tell his Cave about it. He will be disgraced, and that is hard punishment to bear, but there are no penalties. He really didn’t harm anyone or commit any offense, except to lie. Maybe lying should be punishable, but I’m afraid everyone would have to be punished, then,” Zelandoni said.
“Clan people don’t lie. They can’t. With their way of speaking, it’s always known, so they never learned how,” Ayla said.
“That’s what you have said before. I sometimes wish that were so with us,” the Donier said. “That’s one reason the zelandonia never allow an acolyte to be present when we initiate a new zel
andoni. It doesn’t happen often, but every once in a while one tries to take a shortcut. It never works. We have ways of finding out.”
Several of the zelandonia had come into the shelter while they were talking, including the visiting Zelandonia from the south who were still there. They were both curious and fascinated with the similarities and differences that the distance between them had created. They all chatted casually until everyone was there; then the large woman stood up, went to the entrance, and talked with a couple of newly initiated Zelandonia who were guarding the summer lodge to make sure no one tried to get close enough to listen. Ayla looked around the large summer dwelling.
The double-walled circular construction of vertical panels that enclosed the space was similar to the sleeping lodges, but larger. The movable interior panels had been stacked near the outer walls, in between the raised sleeping places that circled the large space, forming a single large room. Many of the mats that covered the ground were woven with intricate beautiful patterns, and various pads, pillows, and stools used for seating were scattered around near several low tables of various sizes. Most of them were graced with simple oil lamps, usually made of sandstone or limestone, that were lit day and night inside the windowless shelter.
Zelandoni closed the entrance flap and tied it shut, then walked back and sat down on a raised stool in the middle of the group. “Since it’s so late in the season, and your call was rather unexpected, I think the choice should be yours, Ayla. Do you want to submit to informal questioning first? That can be easier to begin with, to get you used to the process. Or do you want a full formal testing?” the One Who Was First To Serve The Mother asked.
Ayla closed her eyes and bowed her head. “If we just talk about it informally, I’ll have to go through it again, won’t I?” she asked.
“Yes, of course.”
She thought about the baby she had lost, and felt a stab of grief. She really didn’t want to talk about it at all. “It was … hard,” she said. “I don’t want to go over it again and again. I think I was called. If not, I want to know as much as anyone. Can we just go ahead with it?”
A fire was burning in a fireplace that was slightly off-center toward the back of the fairly large round space, but the smoke found its way out of the central hole. Water was steaming in a waterbag that had been stretched across a frame and placed directly over the fire. The not-quite-waterproof, partially cured leather from a large animal seeped just enough so that it would not catch fire. The cooking skin had been used before. The outside was blackened and the bottom somewhat shrunk and misshapen from, in effect, being cooked by the boiling water inside and the fire outside, but it was an effective pot for keeping liquid simmering over the hot coals in the hearth.
The One Who Was First took a large pinch of some dried green plant material from a woven bowl and dropped it on the simmering water, then added three more pinches. The rather rank odor it gave off as it steamed was familiar to Ayla. The herb was datura and had not only been used by Iza, the Clan medicine woman who had cared for her, and trained her, it had also been used by The Mog-ur in special ceremonies with the men of the Clan. Ayla was very aware of its effects. She also knew it was not very prevalent in their immediate region. That meant it must have come from some distance away, making it rare and valuable.
“What is the name of that in Zelandonii?” Ayla asked, pointing at the dried material.
“It doesn’t have a name in Zelandonii, and the foreign name is hard to pronounce,” the First said. “We just call it the Southeast Tea.”
“Where do you get it?”
“From our visiting Doniers of the Southern Cave, the Twenty-fourth, from the same person who gave you the herbs we were going to experiment with together. They live near the border of the territory of another people, and have more contact with their neighbors than they do with us. They even exchange mates. I’m surprised they haven’t decided to affiliate, but they are fiercely independent, and take pride in their Zelandonii heritage. I don’t even know what the plant looks like, or if it’s more than one,” the First explained.
Ayla smiled. “I do. It’s one of the first plants I ever learned about from Iza. I’ve heard several names for it, datura, stink leaf; the Mamutoi have a name that would translate as ‘thorn apple.’ It’s tall, rather coarse, with large strong-smelling leaves. It has big white—sometimes purple—flowers, shaped like funnels that flare out, and bears round prickly, thorny fruits. All parts of it are useful, including the roots. If used wrong, it can make people behave strangely, and of course, it can be fatally poisonous.”
All the assembled zelandonia were suddenly very interested, especially the visitors. They were surprised that the young woman they had met earlier in the summer knew so much about it.
“Have you seen it around here?” Zelandoni of the Eleventh asked.
“No, I haven’t,” Ayla said, “and I have been looking for it. I had some with me when I came. But it’s gone and I’d like to replace it. It’s very useful.”
“How do you use it?” the visiting Donier pressed.
“It’s a soporific; prepared one way, it can be used as an anesthetic, or when made another way, to help people relax, but it can be very dangerous. It was used by the mog-urs of the Clan for sacred ceremonies,” Ayla said. It was just these kinds of discussions that she loved best about being in the zelandonia.
“Do different parts of the plant have different uses, or different effects?” Zelandoni of the Third asked.
“I think we should put aside these questions for now,” the First interjected. “We are here for a different purpose.”
Everyone settled back down, and those who had so eagerly asked questions looked a bit embarrassed. The First dipped out a cupful of the simmering liquid and set it aside to cool. The remainder was passed around to the others, who each got some but a smaller amount. When it was cool enough to drink, the Donier gave the cup to Ayla.
“This testing could be done without this drink, using meditation, but it would take longer. The tea seems to help us relax and get in the right state of mind,” Zelandoni explained.
Ayla drank down the cup of tepid, rather foul-tasting tea and then, along with everyone else, assumed whatever pose was most conducive to meditation, and waited. Ayla was at first most interested in consciously observing how the drink was affecting her, thinking about how her stomach felt, how her breathing was affected, whether she could notice a relaxation of her arms and legs. But the effects were subtle. She didn’t notice when her mind wandered off and she found herself thinking about something entirely unrelated. She was almost surprised—if she could have felt surprise—when she became aware that the First was talking to her, in a low, soft voice.
“Are you getting sleepy, Ayla? That’s good. Just relax, let yourself feel sleepy. Very sleepy. Empty your mind and rest. Don’t think of anything, except my voice. Listen only to my voice. Let yourself be comfortable, relax, and hear only my voice,” Zelandoni droned on. “Now, tell me, Ayla, where were you when you decided to go into the cave?”
“I was on top of the cliff,” Ayla began, then stopped.
“Go on, Ayla, you were on top of the cliff. What were you doing? Take your time. Just tell the whole story in your own way. There’s no hurry.”
“The Shortday was already marked; the sun had turned around and was going back, heading for winter, but I thought I’d mark a few more days. It was quite late and I was tired. I decided to stir up the fire, make a little tea. I searched in my medicine bag for the mint. It was dark, but I was feeling the knots to find the right bag. I finally found the one by the strong smell of mint. While the tea was steeping, I decided to practice saying The Mother’s Song.” Ayla began to recite the song:
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 Mothe
r was lonely. She was the only.
“It’s my favorite of all the Legends and Histories, so I repeated it while I was drinking the tea,” Ayla said, continuing on with the next few verses.
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.
She was happy at first with Her one counterpart.
Then the Mother grew restless, unsure in Her heart.
She loved Her fair friend, Her dear complement,
But something was missing, Her love was unspent.
She was the Mother. She needed another.
She dared the great void, the chaos, the dark,
To find the cold home of the life-giving spark.
The whirlwind was fearsome, the darkness complete.
Chaos was freezing, and reached for Her heat.
The Mother was brave. The danger was grave.
She drew from cold chaos the creative source,
Then conceiving within, She fled with life force.
She grew with the life that She carried inside.
And gave of Herself with love and with pride.
The Mother was bearing. Her life She was sharing.
It all seemed so clear in her mind, almost as though she were there again. “I was bearing, too, sharing my life with the growing life force inside. I felt so close to the Mother.” She smiled dreamily.
Several of the zelandonia looked at each other with some surprise, then at the First. The big woman nodded, indicating that she knew Ayla was pregnant. “And then what happened, Ayla? What happened on that cliff?”