by Jean M. Auel
A thought Ayla hadn’t considered suddenly came to her. Did some man of the Clan force her over and over again, the way I was forced by Broud? I wasn’t in my right mind when Broud was doing that to me and I didn’t think they were animals. I was raised by them, I loved them. Not Broud. I hated him, even before he forced me, but I loved most of them.
Ayla hadn’t thought of it quite that way when she first heard the story, but it was a possibility. The man might have forced her out of meanness, like Broud, or he might have thought he was doing her a favor, taking her as a second woman, perhaps, accepting her into the Clan, but it wouldn’t have made any difference to her. That’s not how she would have seen it, Ayla thought. She couldn’t talk to them, or understand them. They were animals to her. Brukeval’s grandmother must have hated it worse than I hated Broud doing it.
And as much as I wanted to have the baby when Iza told me I was pregnant, it was hard on me. I was sick all the time when I was expecting Durc, and I almost died delivering him. Clan women didn’t have that much trouble, but Durc’s head was so much bigger and harder than Jonayla’s. Ayla had seen enough women into motherhood in the past few years to realize that her pregnancy and delivery of Jonayla was far more normal for women of the Others than her birthing of Durc had been. I don’t know how I ever pushed him out, she thought, shaking her head. The heads of the Others are smaller, and the bone is thinner and more flexible. Our legs and arms are longer but those bones are thinner, too, Ayla said to herself, looking at her own limbs. All the bones of the Others are thinner.
Was Brukeval’s grandmother sick during her pregnancy? Did she have a hard time delivering, like I did? Is that what happened to her? Is that why she died? Because it was so hard on her? Even Joplaya nearly died giving birth to Bokovan, and Echozar is only half Clan. Is a baby of “mixed spirits,” a baby who’s a mixture of the Clan and the Others, always hard on women of the Others? Ayla was brought up short with a new thought. Could that be why those babies were originally called abominations? Because they sometimes made their mothers die?
There are differences between the Clan and the Others. Maybe not enough to stop a baby from getting started, but enough to make it hard on the mother if she’s one of the Others and used to birthing babies with smaller heads. It might not be so hard on Clan women. They’re used to babies with big, long, hard heads and heavy brow ridges. It was probably easier for them to give birth to a mixed baby.
I don’t think it’s always good for the babies, though, whether the mother is Clan or Others. Durc was strong and healthy, even though I had a hard time, and so is Echozar, and his mother was Clan. Bokovan is healthy, but he’s not quite the same. Echozar, his father, was the first mixture, so he’s like Brukeval, but still Joplaya almost died. She realized she was using the word “father” with ease. It was so logical, and she had understood the relationship for a long time.
But Rydag was weak, and his mother was Clan. She died after giving birth, but Nezzie never said she had a hard time delivering. I don’t think that’s why she died. I think she’d been turned out of her clan and didn’t want to live, especially since she must have thought her baby was deformed. Brukeval’s mother was a first mixture, and her mother was one of the Others. She was weak, so weak she died giving birth to him. Whether he wants to admit it or not, Brukeval knows what happened to his grandmother; that’s why he was so quick to understand the implications of the Gift of Life at the meeting. I wonder if he ever thought that his mother’s weakness was somehow caused by the mixture.
I suppose I shouldn’t blame Brukeval for hating the Clan. He didn’t have a mother to love him, or to comfort him when people called him names because he looked a little different. It was hard for Durc, too. He looked enough different from the Clan that they thought he was deformed, and some of them didn’t want to let him live, but at least he had people who loved him. I should have been more careful of Brukeval’s feelings. I’m always so sure that I’m right. Always blaming people for calling the Clan Flatheads and animals. I know they aren’t, but most people don’t know them like I do. It was my fault Brukeval ran away. I don’t blame him for hating me.
Ayla got up; she didn’t want to sit inside anymore. It was dim and gloomy in the windowless dwelling, and the lamp was guttering out, adding to the darkness. She wanted to get out, do something besides think about her shortcomings. As she stepped out of the dwelling and looked around, she was surprised to see Madroman approaching in a big hurry. When he saw her, he gave her such a malicious glare, she felt the tingle of icy needles prickling up her spine, raising the hairs on the back of her neck, and a cold shudder of ominous apprehension.
Ayla watched him as he hurried on. Something’s different about him, she said to herself. Then she noticed he was not wearing his acolyte clothing, but the clothes he had on were strangely familiar. She wrinkled her brow in concentration, then it came to her. Those are Ninth Cave patterns! But he’s Fifth Cave; why is he wearing Ninth Cave clothes? And where is he going in such a hurry?
That look he gave me. Ayla shivered again at the thought. So full of hatred. Why should he hate me so much? And why wasn’t he wearing his acoly … Oh … Suddenly it occurred to her. Zelandoni must have told him he can’t be an acolyte anymore. Is he blaming me? But he’s the one who lied; why should he blame me? It couldn’t be because of Jondalar. He beat Madroman once—knocked his teeth out—but that was over Zelandoni, not me. Could he hate me because I found his leather sack in the cave? Maybe he hates me because he will never be a Zelandoni, and I just became one.
That’s two of them who hate me, Madroman and Brukeval, Ayla thought. Three if I count Laramar; he must hate me, too. When he finally woke up, he said he didn’t want to go back to the Ninth Cave when he felt good enough to leave the zelandonia lodge, and they decided that he could. I’m glad the Fifth Cave said they would be willing to take him. I couldn’t blame him if he never wanted to see me again. I deserve his hatred. It is my fault that Jondalar beat him so badly. Jondalar probably hates me now, too. Ayla was feeling so despondent, she was beginning to think that everyone hated her.
Ayla started walking faster, unmindful of where she was going. She looked up when she heard a soft whicker, and found she was at the horse enclosure. She had been so busy the last few days, she had hardly seen the horses, and when she heard the welcoming whinny of her dun-yellow mare, tears brought a familiar ache behind her eyes. She climbed over the fencing, and hugged the sturdy neck of her old friend.
“Oh, Whinney! I’m so happy to see you,” she said, talking in the strange language she always used with the mare, the one she had made up so long ago in the valley, before Jondalar came and taught her his language. “At least you still care about me,” she said, as the tears overflowed. “You should probably hate me, too, I’ve been ignoring you so much. But I’m so glad you don’t. You were always my friend, Whinney.” She said the name the way she had learned from the mare, a remarkably close reproduction of the sound of a horse whinny. “When I didn’t have anyone else, you were there. Maybe I should just go away with you. We could find a valley and live together, like we used to.”
As she was sobbing into the thickening fur of the yellow horse, the young gray mare and the brown stallion joined them. Gray tried to get her nose under Ayla’s hand while Racer bumped her back with his head to let her know he was there. Then he leaned against her, the way he had done so often before, keeping her between himself and his dam. Ayla hugged and stroked and scratched them all, then found a dried teasel to use as a currying brush and started to clean Whinney’s coat.
It had always been a relaxing activity for her, to clean and care for the horses, and by the time she finished with Whinney and started on the impatient Racer, who had been nudging her for his share of her attention, her tears had dried and she was feeling better. She was working on Gray when Joharran and Echozar came looking for her.
“Everyone was wondering where you were, Ayla,” Echozar said, smiling to see her standing
in the middle of the three horses. It still amazed him to see her with the animals.
“I haven’t spent much time with the horses lately, and their coats needed a good cleaning. They are already thickening up for winter,” Ayla said.
“Proleva’s been trying to keep the food warm for you, but she says it’s drying out,” Joharran said. “I think you should come and get something to eat.”
“I’m almost through here. I’ve already brushed Whinney and Racer. I just have to finish up Gray. Then I probably should wash my hands,” Ayla said, holding up her hand to show him her black palms, grimy with oily horse sweat and dirt.
“We’ll wait,” Joharran said. He had been given strict instructions not to return without her.
By the time Ayla arrived, people were finishing with the meal and starting to leave the Lanzadonii camp for various afternoon activities. Ayla had been disappointed that Jondalar was not at the big feast, but no one could get him out of the fa’lodge, short of picking him up and bodily carrying him. Once she was there Ayla was glad she went. After she picked up the plate piled high with food that had been saved for her, she had been pleased to have a little more time to talk to Danug and Druwez, and to get to know Aldanor a little better, although it appeared that she would have plenty of time for that.
Folara and Aldanor were going to be mated at the Late Matrimonial, just before the Summer Meeting ended, and he was going to become Zelandonii and a member of the Ninth Cave, much to Marthona’s delight. Danug and Druwez promised to stop at his Camp on their way back home and tell his people, but that wouldn’t be until next summer. They were wintering with the Zelandonii, and Willamar had promised to take them and a few others to see the Great Waters of the West, soon after they returned to the Ninth Cave.
“Ayla, will you walk with me back to the zelandonia lodge?” the First asked. “There are some things I’d like to talk over with you.”
“Yes, of course, Zelandoni,” Ayla said. “Let me talk to Jonayla first.”
She found her daughter with Marthona, and inevitably with Wolf. “Do you know ’Thona is my grandmother? Not just my grandam?” Jonayla said when Ayla approached.
“Yes, I do,” Ayla said. “Are you pleased to know that?” She reached to stroke the animal who was so excited to see her. Wolf had hardly left Jonayla for a moment since they arrived at the Campsite, as though trying to make up for their long separation earlier, but he seemed overjoyed to see Ayla whenever she was near, anxiously seeking her affection and approval. He seemed most relaxed when they were both together with him, which usually was only at night.
“Although I’ve always felt that I was, it’s nice to be acknowledged as the grandmother of the children of my sons,” Marthona said. “And though I’ve long thought of you as my daughter, Ayla, it pleases me to know that Folara has finally found an acceptable man to mate, and may yet give me a grandchild before I walk the next world.”
She took Ayla’s hand and looked at her. “I want to thank you again for telling these men to come and get me.” Smiling at Hartaman and some of the others who had carried her on a litter to the Summer Meeting, and were often around the Campsite since she arrived, she continued, “I’m sure they were concerned about my health and meant well, but it takes a woman to understand that a mother needs to be with her daughter when she’s contemplating her Matrimonial.”
“Everyone was pleased to think you might feel well enough to come. You were greatly missed, Marthona,” Ayla said.
Marthona avoided the subject of Jondalar’s conspicuous absence, and the probable reason for it, although it distressed her greatly to think that her son had once again lost control of himself, and caused great harm to another person. She was also very concerned about Ayla. She had gotten to know the young woman quite well, and knew how troubled she was, though she handled herself remarkably well in spite of her anguish.
“Zelandoni asked me to walk with her to the zelandonia lodge,” Ayla said. “She said she wanted to talk about some things. Will you take Jonayla back with you, Marthona?”
“I’ll be happy to. I’ve missed this little one, although Wolf is probably a better guardian than I am.”
“Are you coming back to sleep with me tonight, mother?” Jonayla said, with a worried look.
“Of course. I’m just going to talk to Zelandoni for a little while,” Ayla said.
“Is Jondy going to sleep with us tonight?”
“I don’t know, Jonayla. He’s probably busy.”
“Why is he always so busy with those men in the fa’lodge that he can’t sleep with us?” the child asked.
“Sometimes men are just very busy,” Marthona said, noticing that Ayla was struggling to keep her control. “You go ahead with Zelandoni; Ayla, we’ll see you later. Come along, Jonayla. We should go and thank everyone for the wonderful feast; then, if you like, you can ride with me on the litter when they carry me back.”
“Oh, could I?” Jonayla said. She thought it was particularly wonderful the way there were always a couple of young men nearby to carry Marthona wherever she wanted to go, especially if it was any distance.
As Ayla and Zelandoni walked toward the zelandonia lodge together, discussing the meeting and the things that might be done to create a more positive mood about the changes the Gift of Knowledge would bring about, Zelandoni thought that Ayla seemed quite despondent, though as usual she was covering it up well.
When they reached the lodge, Zelandoni started water heating for tea. They saw that Laramar had left the zelandonia lodge already, and must have been moved to the Fifth Cave’s camp. When the tea was ready, she led Ayla to a quiet area where there were a few stools and a low table. She considered trying to get Ayla to talk about what was bothering her, but changed her mind. The First thought she had a good idea what was troubling Ayla, though she had not heard Jonayla question her mother about Jondalar’s absence, and didn’t know how much it added to her despair. The Donier decided it might be better to talk about something else to get Ayla’s mind off her worries and concerns.
“I’m not sure if I heard you correctly at the time, Ayla … I should say Zelandoni of the Ninth Cave, but I thought you said you still had some of those roots that your Clan Zelandoni—what do you call him, Mogor?—used in his special ceremonies. Is that right?” The idea of them had intrigued the First ever since Ayla mentioned them. “Would they really still be good after all these years?”
“The Clan in this region call him Mogor, but we always said Mog-ur. And yes, I still have some of the roots, and I’m sure they’re good. They get stronger with age, if stored properly. I know Iza often kept hers for the entire seven years between Clan Gatherings, and sometimes longer,” Ayla said.
“What you said about them interests me. Though I do understand they can be hazardous, it might be a valuable experience to try a small experiment.”
“I don’t know,” Ayla said. “They are dangerous, and I’m not sure if I’d know how to do a small experiment. I only know one way to prepare them.” She felt nervous about the idea.
“If you don’t think it’s appropriate to experiment, that’s fine.” Zelandoni didn’t want to distress her further. She took a sip of her tea to give herself a few moments to think. “Do you still have the pouch of mixed herbs that we were going to experiment on together? The ones you got from that visiting Zelandoni from the Cave that’s so far away?”
“Yes, I’ll get them,” Ayla said, getting up to get the sack of medicinal herbs that she kept in her special place within the zelandonia lodge. She thought of it as her zelandonia medicine bag, though it did not resemble her Clan medicine bag.
Some years before, she had made a new one in the Clan style out of a whole otter skin, but it was in the lodge at the Ninth Cave’s camp. Its distinctiveness gave it an unmistakable quality of something different. The one Ayla kept in the zelandonia lodge was similar to the ones used by all the doniers, a simple rawhide leather carrier, a smaller version of the one she used to carry meat. The de
coration, however, was far from simple. Each of the medicine bags was unique, designed and made by each individual healer, bearing both required elements and others that were chosen by the user.
Ayla brought hers back to the area where Zelandoni was sipping tea while she waited. The young woman opened the leather packet and felt around inside. A frown creased her forehead. Finally she emptied it out onto the small table between them, and found the pouch she was looking for, but it was only half full.
“It looks like you have already experimented with that,” Zelandoni said.
“I don’t understand,” Ayla said. “I don’t recall opening this pouch. How did it get used?” She opened the container, poured a small amount in her palm, and sniffed. “It smells like mint.”
“If I recall correctly, the Zelandoni who gave it to you said that the mint was put in as a way to identify this mixture. She doesn’t keep mint in this kind of pouch, but in larger woven containers, so if it’s in a pouch, and smells like mint, she knows it is this mixture,” Zelandoni explained.
Ayla sat back and looked up at the ceiling with a deep frown, straining to remember. Suddenly she sat up. “I think I drank this the night I was watching the risings and settings. The night I was called. I thought it was mint tea.” Suddenly she clasped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Great Mother! Zelandoni, I might not have been called at all. It might have all been caused by this mixture!” Ayla said, appalled.
Zelandoni leaned forward, patted Ayla’s hand, and smiled. “It’s all right, Ayla. You don’t need to be concerned about that. You were called; you are Zelandoni of the Ninth Cave. Many of the zelandonia have used similar herbs and mixtures to help them to find the Spirit World. A person may find herself in a different place as a result of using them, but only if you are ready for it are you called. There is no question that your experience was a true calling, though I must admit I didn’t expect it to happen to you quite so soon. This mixture may have encouraged you to have it a little sooner than I anticipated, but that doesn’t make it less meaningful.”