The Land of Painted Caves ec-6

by Jean M. Auel

  As they turned to go, the two young women made some hand gestures to each other, and glanced back at Danug. Over the past few years, especially during Summer Meetings, Ayla had been teaching all the zelandonia some of the basic Clan signs. She thought it would help the Doniers to communicate, at least at a basic level, if they happened to meet some people of the Clan when they were travelling. Some picked it up better than others, but most of them seemed to enjoy having a silent secret method of talking that most people didn't understand. What the two young Acolytes didn't know was that Ayla had taught Danug and Druwez the Clan signs long before when she lived with the Mamutoi.

  Suddenly Danug looked at one of the young women and smiled. 'Maybe you'd like to find out at the Mother Festival,' he said, then turned to Druwez and they laughed.

  Both young women blushed; then the one who had first made the signs smiled at Danug with a suggestive look. 'Maybe I would,' she said. 'I didn't know you understood the gestural signs.'

  'Can you imagine anyone living around Ayla for very long without learning them?' Danug said, 'Especially when my brother, the boy my mother adopted, was half Clan, and couldn't speak until Ayla came and taught us all to make the signs. I remember the first time Rydag made the sign for "mother" to her. She cried.'

  People started milling around the ceremonial area early. The excitement in the air was tangible. The ceremony had been in stages of preparation for days and there was an incredible sense of expectation. This was going to be special, totally unique. Everyone knew it; they just didn't know how. The suspense mounted as the sun began to sink. Never had the Zelandonii at the Summer Meeting wanted the sun to set quite so much. They wished it down from the sky.

  Finally, as the sun settled down below the horizon and it grew dark enough to need fire, people began to settle down, waiting for the ceremonial fires to be lit. There was a natural amphitheatre in the centre of this area that was sufficiently large to hold the entire camp of some two thousand people. Behind and toward the right of the Summer Meeting camp, the limestone hills formed the general shape of a large scooped-out shallow bowl curving around on the sides but open in front. The base of the curved slopes converged to a small, relatively level field, which had been evened out with stones and packed earth over the many years the location had been used for meetings.

  In a wooded copse near the rugged crest of the hill, a spring rose that filled a small pool, then spilled down the slope of the bowl shape, through the middle of the area at the bottom, and eventually into the larger stream of the camp. The spring-fed creek was so small, especially late in summer, that people stepped over it easily, but the clear, cold pool at the top supplied convenient drinking water. The grass-covered hillside within the partial bowl depression rose up in a gradual, irregular slope. Over the years, people had dug a little here, filled in a little there, until the slope of the hill had many small flattened sections that provided comfortable places for family groups or even whole Caves to sit together with a good view of the open space below.

  People sat on the grass or spread out woven mats, stuffed pads, cushions, or furs on the ground. Fires were lit, mostly torches stuck into the ground, but also some small firepits encircling the entire gathering around the stage-like area, and one larger bonfire near the front and centre of it; then several fires were lit throughout the area where people were sitting. Shortly afterwards, quietly, the distinctive sound of young voices singing could be heard in the background of the conversation. People started shushing each other to hear the singing better. Then a parade of most of the youngsters of the entire camp walked toward the central area singing a rhythmic song using the counting words. By the time they reached it, everyone else had stopped talking, although there were smiles and winks.

  Beginning with the singing children had two purposes. The first was to let them show their elders what they were learning from the zelandonia. The second was a tacit understanding that a Mother Festival would take place along with the feasting and general revelry. When they were finished with their part, the children would be taken to one of the camps near the edge of the gathering where there would be games and their own feast separate from the adults, watched over by several Zelandonia and others, often older women and men, or new mothers who were not yet ready to participate, or women who had just begun their moontime, or those who just didn't feel like indulging in activities to honour the Mother at that time.

  While most people looked forward to Mother Festivals, it was always voluntary, and it was easier for most people to participate if they knew they didn't have to worry about their children for an evening. The children were not prevented from going if they wanted to, and some of the older ones did, just to satisfy their curiosity, but watching adults talk, laugh, eat, drink, dance, and couple was not all that interesting if they weren't really ready for it and it wasn't forbidden. The close quarters in which they lived meant that children observed all adult activities all the time, from childbirth to death. No one made an issue of keeping them away; it was all a part of life.

  When the children were done, most were led into the audience. Next, two men dressed as bison bulls with their heavy horned heads started at opposite sides and ran toward each other, slipping past but just barely missing each other, which captured people's attention. Then several people, including some children, dressed in the hides and horns of aurochs, started milling around like a herd. Some of the animal skins were hunting camouflages, some made just for this occasion. A lion came out, snarling and grunting, in a skin and tail, then attacked the cows with a roar so authentic, it made some people flinch.

  'That was Ayla,' Folara whispered to Aldanor. 'No one can do a lion roar as well as she can.'

  The herd scattered, jumping over things and almost running into people. The lion chased after them. Then five people came out dressed in deer hides and holding antlers on their heads, and portrayed them jumping into a river as though running away from something, and swimming across. Horses were next, one of them whinnying so realistically, it got an answering whinny from a distance.

  'That was Ayla, too,' Folara informed the man beside her.

  'She's very good,' he said.

  'She says she learned to mimic animals before she learned to speak Zelandonii.'

  There were other demonstrations portraying and depicting animals, all showing an event or story of some kind. The troupe of travelling Storytellers were also a part of the presentation, pressed into service as various animals, and their skills added a vivid realism. Finally the animals started coming together. When they were all gathered, a strange animal appeared. It walked on four legs and had hooved feet, but it was covered with a strange spotted hide that hung down the sides almost to the ground and partially covered its head, to which two straight sticks had been attached that were meant to represent some kind of horns or antlers.

  'What is that?' Aldanor asked.

  'It's a magical animal, of course,' Folara said. 'But it's really Ayla's Whinney, who is being a Zelandoni. The First says all of her horses and Wolf are Zelandonia. That's why they choose to stay with her.'

  The strange Zelandoni animal led all the other animals away, then several of the zelandonia and Storytellers hurried back as themselves and began playing drums and flutes. Some began singing some of the older legends; then others narrated the histories and lore that the people knew and loved so well.

  The zelandonia had prepared well. They used every trick they knew to capture and hold the attention of the large crowd. When Ayla, with her face painted in Zelandoni designs — all except for the area around her new tattoo, which was left bare to show the permanent mark of acceptance — stepped in front of the group, all two thousand people held their breaths, ready to hang on to her every word, her every motion.

  Drums resounded, high-pitched flutes interwove with the slow, steady, inexorable bass, with some tones below the range of hearing, but felt deep in the bone, thrum, thrum, thrum. The cadence changed in rhythm, then matched the metre of a verse
so familiar, the people joined in singing or saying the beginning of the Mother's 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 Mother was lonely. She was the only.

  The First with her spectacular full, vibrant voice joined in. Drums and flutes played in between the singers and speakers as the Mother's Song continued. Near the middle, people began to take notice that the voice of the First was so markedly rich and rare, they stopped singing so they could listen. When she reached the last verse, she stopped and only the drums played by Ayla's visiting kin were left.

  But the people almost thought they could hear the words. And then they were sure they could, but they were spoken with a strange, eerie vibrato. At first, the audience wasn't quite sure what they were hearing. The two young Mamutoi men stood in front of the crowd with their small drums and played the last verse of the Mother's Song in a strange staccato beat — drumbeats that sounded like words spoken in a throbbing voice as though someone were singing by rapidly varying the pressure of the breath, except it wasn't someone's breath, it was the drums! The drums were speaking words!Th-e-e-e Mu-u-u-the-er wa-a-a-az pule-e-e-z-z-zed wi-i-i-ith …

  The silence of the listeners was perfect as everyone strained to hear the drums speak. Ayla, thinking about the way she had learned to throw her voice forward so that even those at the very back could hear her clearly, pitched her normally low voice slightly lower and spoke louder and more strongly into the dark stillness lit now by only one fire. The only sound the assembled crowd heard, seeming to come from the air around them on the beat of the drum, was Ayla speaking the last verse of the Mother's Song alone, repeating the words the drum had spoken.

  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.

  The drumbeats slowed imperceptibly. Everyone knew this was the end; there was only one line left, yet somehow they were held waiting, not knowing why. It made them nervous, drove up the tension. When the drums got to the end of the verse, they didn't stop; instead the drums continued with unfamiliar words.

  H-e-e-er la-a-ast G-i-i-ift, th-e-e-e …

  The people listened carefully, but still weren't sure what they had heard. Then Ayla stood alone, slowly repeating the verse, with emphasis.

  Her last Gift, the Knowledge that man has his part.His need must be spent before new life can start.It honours the Mother when the couple is paired,Because woman conceives when Pleasures are shared.Earth's Children were blessed. The Mother could rest.

  That didn't belong. That was new! They had never heard that part before. What did it mean? People felt uneasy. For as long as anyone knew or remembered, for long before anyone remembered, the Mother's Song had been the same, except for insignificant variations. Why was it different now? The meaning of the words hadn't yet penetrated. It was disquieting enough that new words were added, that the Mother's Song had changed.

  Suddenly the last fire was put out. It was so black, no one dared move. 'What does it mean?' a voice called out. 'Yes, what does it mean?' came an echoing question.

  But Jondalar was not asking. He knew. Then it's true, he thought. Everything Ayla has always said is true. Though he'd had time to think about it, even his mind struggled with the implications. Ayla had always told him Jonayla was his daughter, his true daughter, of his flesh not just his spirit. She had been conceived because of his actions. Not some amorphous spirit that he couldn't see, mixed up in some vague way by the Mother inside Ayla with her spirit. He did it. He and Ayla both. He had given Ayla his essence with his manhood, his organ, and that was combined with something inside Ayla to make life begin.

  Not every time. He had put a lot of his essence inside her. Maybe it took a lot of essence. Ayla had always said she wasn't sure exactly how it worked, only that it was a man and woman together that made life start. The Mother had given Her children the Gift of Pleasures to make life begin. Shouldn't starting a new life be a Pleasure? Is that why the urge to spend his essence inside a woman was so strong? Because the Mother wanted Her children to make their own children?

  He felt as though his body had a new sense to it, as though it had come alive in some way. Men were necessary. He was necessary! Without him there would have been no Jonayla. If it had been some other man, she would not be Jonayla. She was who she was because of both of them, Ayla and him. Without men, there could be no new life.

  Around the periphery, torches were being lit. People started getting up, milling around. Food was being uncovered and set out in several different areas. Each Cave, or group of related Caves, had a feasting place so no one would have to wait too long to eat. Except for children, most people hadn't eaten much all day. Some were too busy, some wanted to save room for the feast, and while it wasn't required, it was considered more proper to eat sparingly before the main meal on feast days.

  People were talking as they headed toward the food, asking each other questions, still feeling uneasy.

  'Come on, Jondalar,' Joharran said. Jondalar didn't hear. He was so lost in his own thoughts; the crowd around him did not exist.

  'Jondalar!' Joharran said again, and shook his shoulder.

  'What?' Jondalar said.

  'Come on, they are serving the food.'

  'Oh,' the younger brother said, his mind still whirling as he stood up.

  'What do you think it all means?' Joharran asked as they started walking.

  'Did you see where Ayla went?' Jondalar said, still oblivious to everything except his own thoughts.

  'I haven't seen her, but I imagine she'll join us before long. It was quite a ceremony. It took a lot of work and planning. Even the zelandonia need to relax and eat once in a while,' Joharran said. They walked a few steps. 'What do you think that meant, Jondalar? That last verse to the Mother's Song?'

  Jondalar finally turned to look at his brother. 'It meant what it said, "man has his part." It's not just women who are blessed. No new life can begin without a man.'

  Joharran frowned, showing the furrows on his brow that matched his brother's. 'Do you really think so?'

  Jondalar smiled. 'I know so.'

  As they approached the area where the Ninth Cave had gathered to feast, various strong drinks were being handed out. Someone put watertight woven cups in both Joharran's and Jondalar's hands. They took a taste, but it wasn't what either expected.

  'What's this?' Joharran said. 'I thought it would be Laramar's brew. It's nice, but it's rather light.'

  It was familiar to Jondalar, and he tasted again. Where had he tasted this before? 'Ah! The Losadunai!'

  'What?' Joharran said.

  'This is the drink the Losadunai serve at their Mother Festivals. It tastes light, but don't underestimate it,' Jondalar warned. 'This is potent. It sneaks up on you. Ayla must have made it. Did you see where she went after the ceremony?'

  'I thought I saw her a while ago coming out of the ceremonial tent. She had her regular clothes on,' Joharran said.

  'Did you see which direction she went?'

  'There she is. Over there, where they are serving more of that new drink.'

  Jondalar headed toward a sizable group of people milling around a large kerfed box, dipping out cups of liquid. When he saw Ayla, she happened to be standing next to Laramar. She handed him a cup she had dipped. He said something, and she laughed, then smiled at him.

  Laramar looked surprised, then leered in response. Maybe she wasn't so bad after all, he thought. She had always been so standoffish before, hardly ever said a word to him. But she is Zelandoni now; they are supposed to honour the Mother at festivals. This may turn out to be an interesting festival. Suddenly Jondalar appeared. Laramar frowned with disappointment.

  'Ayla,' Jondalar said. 'I need to talk to you. Let's get away f
rom here.' He took her arm and tried to walk toward a less crowded place.

  'Is there some reason you can't talk right here? I'm sure I'll be able to hear you. I haven't suddenly gone deaf,' Ayla said, pulling her arm away.

  'But I need to talk to you alone.'

  'You had plenty of opportunity to talk to me alone before, but you couldn't be bothered. Why is it suddenly so important now? This is the Mother Festival. I'm going to stay here and enjoy myself,' she said, turning to smile rather suggestively at Laramar.

  He forgot. In his excitement about his new depth of understanding, Jondalar forgot. Suddenly it all came back to him. She had seen him with Marona! And it was true, he hadn't spoken to her since then. Now she didn't want to talk to him. Ayla saw his face turn white. He reeled, as if someone had hit him, and stumbled away. He looked so beaten and confused, she almost called him back, but bit her tongue to keep from speaking.

  Jondalar walked around in a daze, lost in his own thoughts. Someone put a cup of something in his hand. He drank it without thinking. Someone else filled it again. She was right, he thought. He'd had plenty of time to talk to her, to try to explain things to her. Why hadn't he done it? She had come looking for him, and found him with Marona. Why hadn't he gone looking for her? Because he was ashamed and afraid he'd lost her. What was he thinking? He'd tried to keep Marona a secret from Ayla. He should have just told her. In fact he shouldn't have been with Marona at all. Why had she been so appealing? Why did he want her so much then? Just because she was available? She didn't even interest him now.

  Ayla said she'd lost a baby. His baby! 'That baby was mine,' he said aloud. 'It was mine!' A few people passing by stared at him, staggering and talking to himself, and shook their heads.

  That child she lost was his. She was called. He'd heard something about the terrible ordeal she went though. He'd wanted to go to her then, comfort her. Why hadn't he? Why had he tried so hard to stay away from her? Now she didn't want to talk to him. Could he blame her? He couldn't blame her if she never wanted to see him again.