by Jean M. Auel
Ayla had told the First about her harrowing experience giving birth to her first child, her son of mixed spirits, and the large woman thought that might account for part of Ayla’s ordeal of childbirth in the cave, but she didn’t think it was necessary to tell everyone.
“I think the most important question is the one we have all been avoiding,” the First interjected. “The Mother’s Song is perhaps the oldest of the Elder Legends. Different Caves, different traditions often have minor variations, but the meaning is always the same. Would you recite it for us, Ayla? Not the whole song, just the last part of it.”
Ayla nodded, closed her eyes, thought about where to begin.
With a thunderous roar Her stones split asunder,
And from the great cave that opened deep under,
She birthed once again from Her cavernous heart,
Bringing forth all the creatures of Earth from the start.
From the Mother forelorn, more children were born.
Each child was different, some were large and some small,
Some could walk and some fly, some could swim and some crawl.
But each form was perfect, each spirit complete,
Each one was a model whose shape could repeat.
The Mother was willing. The green earth was filling.
All the birds and the fish and the animals born,
Would not leave the Mother, this time, to mourn.
Each kind would live near the place of its birth,
And share the expanse of the Great Mother Earth.
Close to Her they would stay. They could not run away.
Ayla had started out rather tentatively, but as she got into it, her voice gained more power; her delivery became more sure.
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.
Next was the Gift of Perception, of learning,
The desire to know, the Gift of Discerning,
First Woman was given the knowledge within,
That would help her to live, then impart to her kin.
First Woman would know. How to learn, how to grow.
Her life force near gone, The Mother was spent,
To pass on Life’s Spirit had been Her intent.
She caused all of Her children to create life anew,
And Woman was blessed to bring forth life, too.
But Woman was lonely. She was the only.
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.
Ayla spoke the language so fluently, most people hardly noticed her accent anymore. They were used to the way she said certain words and sounds. It seemed normal. But as she repeated the familiar verses, her speech peculiarity seemed to add an exotic quality, a touch of mystery, that somehow made it seem that the verses came from some other place, perhaps some other-worldly place.
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 never abuse.
For the Children of Earth the Mother provided,
The Gifts to survive, and then She decided,
To give them the Gift of Pleasure and caring,
That honors the Mother with the joy of their sharing.
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.
This was the place where the song usually ended, and Ayla hesitated a moment before she continued. Then taking a breath, she recited the verse that had filled her head with its booming metered resonance deep in the cave.
Her last Gift, the Knowledge that man has his part.
His need must be spent before new life can start.
It honors the Mother when the couple is paired,
Because woman conceives when Pleasures are shared.
Earth’s Children were blessed. The Mother could rest.
There was an uneasy silence when she finished. Not one of the powerful women and men there knew quite what to say. Finally the Zelandoni from the Fourteenth Cave spoke up. “I have never heard that verse or anything like it.”
“Nor have I,” said the First. “The question is, what does it mean?”
“What do you think it means?” said the Fourteenth.
“I think it means that woman alone does not create new life,” the First said.
“No, of course not. It has always been known that the spirit of a man is blended with the spirit of a woman to make a new life,” the Eleventh protested.
Ayla spoke up. “The verse does not speak of ‘spirit.’ It says woman conceives when Pleasures are shared,” she said. “It is not just a man’s spirit; a new life will not start if a man’s need is not spent. A child is as much a man’s as it is a woman’s, a child of his body as well as hers. It is the joining of man and woman that starts life.”
“Are you saying that joining is not for Pleasures?” asked the Third with a tone of incredulous disbelief.
“No one doubts that joining is a Pleasure,” the First said with a sardonic smile. “I think it means that Doni’s Gift is more than the Gift of Pleasure. It is another Gift of Life. I think that is what the verse means. The Great Earth Mother did not create men just to share Pleasures with women, and to provide for her and her children. A woman is the Blessed of Doni because she brings forth new life, but a man is blessed too. Without him, no new life can start. Without men, and without the Pleasures, all life would stop.”
There was an outburst of excited voices. “Surely there are other interpretations,” said the visiting Zelandoni. “This seems too much, too hard to believe.”
“Give me another interpretation,” the First countered. “You heard the words. What is your explanation?”
The Zelandoni hesitated, paused. “I would have to think about it. It needs time for thought, for study.”
“You can think about it for a day, or a year, or as many years as you can number; it will not change the interpretation. Ayla was given a Gift with her calling. She was chosen to bring this new Gift of the Knowledge of Life from the Mother,” the One Who Was First said.
There was another buzz of commotion. “But gifts are always exchanged. No one receives a gift without the obligation of giving one in return, one of equal value,” the Zelandoni of the Second Cave said. “It was the first time he had spoken. What Gift could Ayla give in return to the Mother that would be of equal value?” There was silence as everyone looked at Ayla.
“I gave Her my baby,” she said, knowing in her heart that the child she had lost was one started by Jondalar, that it was her and Jondalar’s child. Will I ever have another baby that will be Jondalar’s, too? she wondered. “The Mother was honored deeply when that baby was started. It was a baby I wanted, wanted more than I can tell you. Even now, my arms ache with the emptiness of that loss. I may have another child someday, but I will never have that child.”
Ayla fought back tears. “I don’t know how much the Mother values the Gifts She gives Her children, but I know of nothing I value more than my children. I don’t know why She wanted my child, but the Great Mother filled my head with the words of Her Gift after my baby was gone.” Tears glistened in Ayla’s eyes as much as she tried to control them. She bowed her head and said quietly, “I wish I could return Her Gift and have my baby back.”
There was a gasp from several who were gathered. One did not take the Mother’s Gifts lightly, nor did one openly wish to give them back. She might be greatly offended, and who could know what She might do then.
“Are you sure you were pregnant?” the Eleventh asked.
“I missed three moontimes, and I had all the other signs. Yes, I’m sure,” Ayla explained.
“And I’m sure,” the First said. “I knew she was carrying a child before I left for the Summer Meeting.”
“Then she must have miscarried. That would account for the childbirth pain I thought I sensed in her telling,” said the visiting Zelandoni.
“I think it’s obvious that she miscarried. I believe the miscarriage brought her dangerously close to death while she was in the cave,” the First said. “That must have been why the Mother wanted her baby. The sacrifice was necessary. It brought her close enough to the next world for the Mother to speak to her, to give her the verse for the Gift of Knowledge.”
“I am sorry,” said the Zelandoni of the Second Cave. “Losing a child can be a terrible burden to bear.” He said it with such genuine feeling, it made Ayla wonder.
“If there are no objections, I think it is time for the ceremony,” the One Who Was First said. There were nods of agreement. “Are you ready, Ayla?”
The young woman frowned with consternation as she looked around. Ready for what? It all seemed so sudden. The Donier could see her distress.
“You said you wanted to have the full formal testing. The understanding is that if you satisfied the zelandonia, you would progress to the next level. You would no longer be an acolyte. You would leave here zelandoni,” the First explained.
“You mean, right now?” Ayla asked.
“The first mark of acceptance, yes,” the First said, as she picked up a sharp flint knife.
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“There will be a more public ceremony when you are presented to the people as a Zelandoni, but the marks are made with acceptance, in private with only the zelandonia. As you increase in rank, and marks are added, they are made in the presence of zelandonia and acolytes, but never in public,” the Zelandoni Who Was First said. The large woman, who carried herself with the dignity and power her position conferred, asked, “Are you ready?”
Ayla swallowed, and frowned. “Yes,” she said, and hoped she was.
The First looked around the gathering, making sure she had everyone’s attention. Then she began. “This woman is fully trained to fulfill all the duties of the zelandonia, and it is the First Among Those Who Serve The Mother who attests to her knowledge.”
There were nods and sounds of acknowledgment.
“She has been called and tested. Are there any among us who question her call?” Zelandoni asked.
There were no dissenters. There was never any doubt.
“Do all here agree to accept this woman as a Zelandoni into the ranks of the zelandonia?”
“We agree!” came the unanimous response.
Ayla watched as the man who was Zelandoni of the Second Cave came forward and held out a bowl of something dark. She knew what it was; a part of her mind was observing, not just participating. The bark of mountain ash, called a rowan tree, had been burned in a ceremonial fire and then sifted in the wind to a fine gray powder. The ashes of rowan bark were astringent, antiseptic. Then the woman who was the Zelandoni from a distant Cave, the one unknown to her, brought forth a steaming reddish liquid: last autumn’s dried rowanberries, boiled down to a concentrated liquid and strained. Ayla knew the juice from the rowanberries was acidic and healing.
Zelandoni Who Was First picked up a bowl of soft, white, partially congealed pure tallow that had been rendered with boiling water from aurochs fat, and added a little to the powdered ashes, then some of the steaming red rowanberry juice. She mixed it with a small carved wooden spatula, adding more fat and liquid until it satisfied her. Then she faced the young woman and picked up the sharp flint knife.
“The mark you will receive can never be removed. It will declare to all that you acknowledge and accept the role of Zelandoni. Are you ready to accept that responsibility?”
Ayla took a deep breath and watched the woman with the knife approach, knowing what was coming. She felt a twinge of fear, swallowed hard, and closed her eyes. She knew it would hurt, but that wasn’t what she was dreading. Once this was done, there was no going back. This was her last chance to change her mind.
Suddenly she recalled hiding in a shallow cave, trying to squeeze herself into the stone wall at her back. She saw the sharp, curved claws on the huge paw of a cave lion reaching in, and screamed with pain as four parallel gashes were raked across her left thigh. Squirming away, she found a small space to the side and pulled her legs in closer, away from the claws.
Her memory of being chosen and marked by her Cave Lion Totem had never been so clear and intense before. Reflexively, she reached for her left thigh to feel the different texture of the skin of the four parallel scars. They were recognized as Clan totem marks when she was accepted into Brun’s clan, though traditionally a Cave Lion Totem chose male, not female.
How many marks had been carved into her body in her life? Besides the four marks of her protective totem spirit, Mog-ur had nicked the base of her throat to draw blood when she became the Woman Who Hunts. She was given her Clan hunting talisman, the red-stained oval of mammoth ivory, to show that in spite of the fact that she was a woman, she was accepted as a hunter of the Clan, though only allowed to use a sling.
She no longer carried the talisman with her, or her amulet with the rest of her signs either, though at that moment, she wished she had them. They were hidden behind the carved, woman-shaped donii figure in the niche that had been dug out of the limestone wall of her dwelling at the Ninth Cave. But she did have the scar.
Ayla touched the small mark, then reached for the scar on her arm. Talut had cut that mark, and with the bloody knife had notched an ivory plaque that he wore suspended from a fantastic necklace of amber and cave lion canine teeth and claws, to show that she was accepted into the Lion Camp, adopted by the Mamutoi.
She had never asked, she had always been chosen, and for each acceptance she bore a mark, a scar that she would carry always. It was the sacrifice she’d had to make. Now she was being chosen again. She could still decline, but if she didn’t refuse now, she was committed for life. It crossed her mind that the scars would always remind her that there were consequences to being chosen, responsibilities that came with acceptance.
She looked into the eyes of the woman. “I accept, I will be Zelandoni,” Ayla said, trying to sound firm and positive.
Then she closed her eyes and felt someone come up behind the stool on which she was seated. Hands, gentle but firm, pulled her back to rest on the soft body of a woman for support, then held her head and turned it so that her right forehead was presented. She felt a wash of liquid from something soft and wet wiped across her forehead, recognized the odor of iris root, a solution she had often used to clean wounds, and felt an anxious tension arise within her.
“Oh! Ow!” she cried out involuntarily as she felt the quick cut of a sharp blade, then fought to control such outbursts at a second cut, and then a third. The solution was applied again, then the cuts were dried, and another substance was rubbed in. This time the pain stung like a burn, but not for long; something in the stinging salve had numbed the pain.
“You can open your eyes, Ayla. It’s over,” the large woman said.
Ayla opened her eyes to see a rather dim, unfamiliar image. It took her a moment to realize what s
he was seeing. Someone was holding up a reflector and a lighted lamp so she could see herself in the oiled piece of sand-smoothed, black-stained wood. She seldom used a reflector, didn’t even have one in her dwelling, and was always surprised to see her own face. Then her eyes were drawn to the marks on her forehead.
Just in front of her right temple was a short horizontal line with two vertical lines extending up from each end of about the same length, like a square with no top line or an open box. The three lines were black, with a little blood still oozing out around the edges. They looked so conspicuous, they seemed to diminish everything else. Ayla wasn’t at all sure that she liked having her face marred like that. But there was nothing she could do about it now. It was done. She would carry those black marks on her face for the rest of her life.
She started to reach up to feel it, but the First stopped her. “It’s best if you don’t touch it just yet,” she said. “It has almost stopped bleeding, but it’s still fresh.”
Ayla looked around at the rest of the zelandonia. They all had various marks on their foreheads, some more intricate than others, mostly square but with other shapes as well, many filled in with color. The markings of the First were the most elaborate of all. She knew they designated rank, position, affiliation of the zelandonia. She noticed, however, that the black lines faded to blue tattoos after they healed.
She was glad when they took the reflector away. She didn’t like looking at herself. It made her uncomfortable to think that the strange, dim image of the face she saw belonged to her. She preferred to see herself reflected in the expressions of others: the happiness of her daughter when she saw her mother, the pleasure of seeing herself in the aspect and demeanor of people she cared about, like Marthona, and Proleva, Joharran, and Dalanar. And the look of love in Jondalar’s eyes when he saw … not anymore … The last time he saw her, he was horrified. His look showed shock and dismay, not love.
Ayla closed her eyes to shut off impending tears, and tried to control her feelings of loss, disappointment, and pain. When she opened them and looked up, all the zelandonia were standing in front of her, including the two new ones, a woman and a man, who had been on guard outside, and all of them had warm smiles of anticipation and welcome. The One Who Was First spoke: