by Jean M. Auel
“No, I’m afraid not, Jondalar. I was specifically told to make sure you came with me,” Joharran said.
“Told by whom?”
“Zelandoni and Marthona. Who do you think?”
“What if I don’t want to go to this meeting?” Jondalar said, testing his prerogatives. He felt so miserable, he didn’t want to move.
“Then I guess I’ll have to ask this mighty Mamutoi friend of yours to carry you out there, the way he carried you here,” Jondalar’s brother said, grimly smiling at Danug. They were in the shelter that Danug, Druwez, Aldanor, and some other men used. Since only men used it, it was called a fa’lodge although it wasn’t with the other fa’lodges on the outskirts of the Camp, or very far from the Ninth Cave’s regular family dwellings. “You’ve hardly moved since. Whether you want to or not, Jondalar, you are going to have to face people. This is an open meeting. No one is going to discuss your situation. That will come later, after we see how well Laramar recovers.”
“He should clean up a little,” Solaban said. “He still has bloodstains on his clothes.”
“I think you’re right,” Joharran said, then looked at Jondalar. “Are you going to do it yourself, or is somebody going to have to dunk you?”
“I don’t care. If you want to dunk me, go ahead,” Jondalar said.
“Jondalar, get a clean tunic and come to the river with me,” Danug said, speaking Mamutoi. It was a way to let Jondalar know he had someone he could talk to in private, if he didn’t want anyone else to know what he was saying; besides, he enjoyed the ease of speaking his own language rather than always struggling with Zelandonii.
“Fine,” Jondalar said, sighing deeply, then hauling himself up. “It doesn’t matter anyway.” He really didn’t care what happened to him. Jondalar was convinced that he had lost everything that mattered: his family, including Jonayla, the respect of his friends, and his people, but most of all, Ayla’s love, and that he deserved to lose it.
Danug watched Jondalar plodding alongside him toward the river, oblivious to everything around him. The young Mamutoi had seen the same kind of problems between the two people he had come so far to see before, people he cared a great deal about and who, he knew, loved each other more than any two people he had ever met. He wished there was some way he could make them see what he and everyone around them knew, but just telling them wouldn’t help. They would have to come to the realization on their own, and now it wasn’t just them. Jondalar had seriously injured someone, and while Danug was not familiar with the details of Zelandonii customs, he knew there would be consequences.
Zelandoni moved the drape, pushed the screen aside, and peeked out of the concealed private access at the rear of the large zelandonia dwelling, directly opposite from the regular entrance. She scanned the assembly area that came down from the hillside behind and opened out onto the camp. People had been gathering all morning and it was nearly full.
She had been right about questions. The meaning of the ceremony and the new verse to the Mother’s Song were beginning to be understood, but people were unsure. It was unsettling to think about what changes might happen, especially after Jondalar’s behavior. Zelandoni looked again to make sure that certain people had arrived, and then waited a little longer to give the last stragglers a chance to get settled. Finally she gave a signal to a young zelandoni, who conveyed the “she’s ready” sign to the others, and when everything was prepared, Zelandoni stepped outside.
Zelandoni Who Was First was a woman who exhibited great presence, and her magnificent size, both in height and mass, contributed to her bearing. She also commanded a large repertoire of techniques and tactics to keep gatherings focused on points she wanted to emphasize, and she would be using all her skills, both intuitive and learned, to project confidence and certainty to the large number of people who were watching her with such intensity.
Knowing how people had a tendency to speak out, she announced that since there were so many people, it would help keep things more orderly if questions were asked by the leaders of the Caves, or by only one member of each family. But if someone felt a strong need to say something, it should be brought up.
Joharran asked the first question, but it was a point everyone wanted clarified. “That new verse, I want to be sure I understand, does it mean that Jaradal and Sethona are my children, not just Proleva’s?”
“Yes, that is right,” Zelandoni who was First said. “Jaradal is your son, said Sethona is your daughter, Joharran, as much as they are Proleva’s son and daughter.”
“And it is the Gift of Pleasure from the Great Earth Mother that makes life begin inside a woman?” asked Brameval, the leader of the Fourteenth Cave.
“Doni’s Gift to us is not only for Pleasure. It is also the Gift of Life.”
“But Pleasures are shared often. Women don’t get pregnant that often,” said another voice, unable to wait.
“The Great Earth Mother still makes the final choice. Doni has not given up all Her knowledge, nor all Her prerogatives. She still decides when a woman will be Blessed with new life,” the First said.
“Then what’s the difference between using a man’s spirit or the essense of his organ to start a baby?” Brameval asked.
“It’s very clear. If a woman never shares Pleasure with a man, she will never have a child. She cannot just hope that someday the Mother will choose the spirit of some man and give her one. A woman must Honor the Mother by sharing Her Gift of Pleasures. The man must release his essense inside her, so that it can mix with the essense of a woman that is waiting for it,” the Great Woman said.
“Some women never get pregnant,” said Tormaden, the leader of the Nineteenth Cave.
“Yes, that’s true. I have never had a child. Though I have Honored the Mother often, I have never become pregnant. I don’t know why,” the First said. “Perhaps because the Mother chose me for a different purpose. I know it would have been very difficult for me to Serve The Mother as I have, if I had a mate and children. That is not to say that zelandonia should not have children. Some zelandonia do and still Serve Her well, though it may be easier for a Zelandoni who is a man to be mated and have children at his hearth, than for a woman. A man does not have to bear a child, or give birth, or nurse. Some women are able to do both, especially if their calling is strong, but they must have mates and families who are very caring and willing to help.”
Zelandoni noticed several people looking toward Jondalar, sitting with the Mamutoi visitors, somewhat uphill from the Ninth Cave, and not with the woman to whom he was mated. Ayla, who was holding Jonayla on her lap, sat beside Marthona, with the wolf between them near the front of the audience. She was close to the Ninth Cave, but also close to the ranks of the zelandonia. Most people believed that with her control of animals and her healing skills, even before she became an acolyte, Ayla’s calling had to be strong, and until this summer when all their troubles began, everyone was aware of how caring Jondalar had been. Many people believed it was Marona who was at the root of their troubles—she was sitting with her cousin, Wylopa, and some friends from the Fifth Cave—but now it had escalated far beyond that. Although word had gone out that Laramar had regained consciousness, he was still recovering inside the zelandonia lodge and only they knew how badly he was hurt.
“My mate shares the Gift of Pleasures with other men, not just me, at Mother Festivals and ceremonies,” a man in the audience said.
Now the questions are getting ticklish, Zelandoni thought. “Festivals and Ceremonies are held for sacred purposes. Sharing Pleasures is a sacred act. It honors the Great Earth Mother. If a child is conceived then, it is with her intention. It should be considered a favored child. Remember, Doni still chooses when a woman will become pregnant.” There was a scattering of barely audible comments from the audience.
Kareja, the leader of the Eleventh Cave, stood up. “Willadan has asked me to ask a question for him, but I think he should ask it himself.”
“If you think so, then ce
rtainly he should,” Zelandoni said.
“My mate was a donii-woman one summer after we were mated,” the man began. “She wasn’t having any luck getting a baby started and wanted to make the offering to honor the Mother and encourage Her to start one. It seemed to work. She did have a child after that, and three more since then. But now I wonder, did any of those children come from me?”
This must be handled with great delicacy, Zelandoni thought. “All children born to your mate are your children,” she said.
“But how do I know if they were started by me or some other man?”
“Tell me, Willadan, how old is your first child?”
“He can count twelve years. Almost a man.” There was pride in his voice.
“Were you happy when your mate became pregnant with him, and when he was born?”
“Yes, we wanted children at our hearth.”
“So you love him.”
“Of course I love him.”
“Would you love him more if you knew for sure that he was started by your essence?”
Willadan glanced at the boy. “No, of course not,” he said, frowning.
“If you knew the rest of your children were started with your own essence, would you love them more?”
He paused, thinking about the point he knew she was making. “No. I could not love them more.”
“Then does it make any difference if the essence that started them came from you or someone else?” Zelandoni noticed that his frown deepened. She decided to continue. “I have never been pregnant; I have never conceived a child, though there was a time when I wanted one, more than you will know. I am content now. I know the Mother chose what was best for me. But, it is possible, Willadan, that you were born as I was. Perhaps, for some reason known only to Doni, your essence could not start a child with your mate at that time. But the Great Earth Mother, in Her wisdom, gave you and your mate the children you wanted. If you were not the one who started them, would you be willing to give them back if you found the name of the man who may have started them?”
“No. I have provided for them all their lives,” Willadan said.
“Exactly. You have cared for them, you love them, they are the children of your hearth. That means they are your children, Willadan.”
“Yes, they are the children of my hearth, but you said if I am not the one who started them. Do you think they could have been started by my essence?” Willadan asked, a bit wistfully.
“It may well be that the honor your mate paid to the Mother was accepted as sufficient offering, and that she allowed your essence to start all of them. We don’t know, but if you could not love them more, Willadan, does it make any difference?”
“No, I guess not.”
“They may have been started by your essense, or they may not have,” Zelandoni said, “but they will always be more than the children of your hearth. They are your children.”
“Will we ever know for sure?”
“I don’t know if we will ever know. With a woman, it is obvious. She is either pregnant or not. With a man, his children are always the children of his mate. That’s the way it has always been. Nothing has changed. No man can be certain who started the children of his hearth.”
“Jondalar can,” came a voice from the audience. Everyone stopped and stared at the one who had spoken. It was Jalodan, a young man from the Third Cave. He was sitting with Folara’s friend, Galeya, whom he had mated two years before. He suddenly flushed from all the penetrating attention, including the hard look from Zelandoni. “Well, he can,” he said defensively. “Everyone knows Ayla never chose anyone but him—until last night. If children are started from the essence of a man’s organ, and Ayla never shared Pleasures with anyone but Jondalar, then the child of his hearth has to be his, had to come from his essence. That’s what he was fighting about last night, wasn’t he? He kept screaming, ‘He’s making my baby!’ every time he hit Laramar.”
Now all the attention was focused on Jondalar, and he squirmed under the intense scrutiny. Some people glanced at Ayla, but she was sitting rigidly still, looking down.
Suddenly Joharran stood up. “Jondalar was not in control of himself. He let himself drink too much, and it drowned his brains,” he said with exasperated sarcasm.
There were smiles and snickers. “I’ll wager his head was full of the ‘morning-after’ when the sun came up,” another young man called out. There was a touch of admiration in his tone, as though he found Jondalar’s violent behavior somehow laudable.
“Since both Jondalar and Laramar are from the Ninth Cave, this is an issue that will be settled by the Ninth Cave. This is not the place to discuss Jondalar’s actions,” Joharran said, trying to end the issue. He had heard the appreciation in the voices of some of the young men, and the last thing he wanted was for anyone to be emulating that kind of behavior.
“Except to say, Jemoral,” Zelandoni added, “that Jondalar will be suffering from more than a morning-after headache, I’m afraid. There will be serious consequences to pay, you can be sure.” It was difficult to know all the people at the meeting, though she tried. Their clothing was always a clue, as well as the beads and belts and other accoutrements they wore. This was a young man from the Fifth Cave, related to their Zelandoni. They all tended to be a little showier than most, and wore more beads, since they were known for making and trading them. And he was sitting closer to the front, which allowed her to see him clearly enough to recognize him.
“But I think I understand how he felt,” Jemoral persisted. “What if I want the child of my mate to come from me?”
“Yes,” another man spoke out, “what then?”
Another voice added, “What if I want the children of my hearth to be mine?”
Zelandoni waited until the commotion settled down, surveying the audience to see that most of the comments were coming from the Fifth Cave. Then she fixed the entire group with a stern look.
“You want the children of your hearth to be yours, Jemoral,” she said, looking directly at the young man who had asked the question. “Do you mean like your clothes, or your tools, or your beads? You want to own them?”
“No-ah-no. I-ah-didn’t mean that,” the young man stuttered.
“I’m glad to hear that, because children cannot be owned. They can’t be yours, or your mate’s. No one can own them. Children are ours to love and care for, to provide for, to teach, as the Mother does for us, and you can do that whether they come from your essence, or from someone else’s. We are all children of the Great Earth Mother. We learn from Her. Remember in the Mother’s Song:
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 not to abuse.
Several zelandonia joined in the response, then they continued.
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 pairing.
The Gifts are well earned, When honor’s returned.
“She provides for us, cares for us, teaches us, and in return for Her Gifts, we honor Her,” the One Who Was First continued. “Doni’s Gift of the Knowledge of Life was not given to you so that you might own the children born to your hearth, to claim them as yours.” She looked at several of the young men who had spoken out. “It was given so that we would know that women are not the only ones who are the Blessed of Doni. Men have a purpose that is equal to that of women. They are not here just to provide and to help; men are necessary. Without men there would be no children. Isn’t that enough? Do your children have to be yours? Do you have to own them?”
The young men exchanged sheepish looks, but Zelandoni wasn’t sure if they truly understood. Then a young woman spoke up.
> “What about before? We know our mothers and our grandmothers. I am my mother’s daughter, but what about the men?”
The young woman wasn’t immediately familiar to Zelandoni, but reflexively, the astute mind of the First tried to place her. She was sitting with the Twenty-third Cave, and the designs and patterns on her tunic and necklace indicated she was a member of that Cave, not from another Cave and sitting with friends. Though the outfit she wore indicated a woman and not a girl, she was obviously quite young. Probably just had her First Rites, the donier thought. For one so young to speak out in a large crowd indicated she was either brash and impetuous or brave and accustomed to being with people who spoke their minds, which would indicate leadership. The leader of the Twenty-third Cave was a woman, Dinara. Zelandoni recalled then that Dinara’s eldest daughter was among those having First Rites this year, and Zelandoni noticed that Dinara was smiling at the young woman. Then she remembered the young woman’s name.
“Nothing has changed, Diresa,” the First said. “Children have always been the result of the joining of a man and a woman. Just because we didn’t know before doesn’t mean it hasn’t always been that way. Doni just chose to tell us now. She must have felt we were ready for this knowledge. Do you know who your mother’s mate was when you were born?”
“Yes, everyone knows who her mate is. It’s Joncoran,” Diresa said.
“Then Joncoran is your Fa-ther.” Zelandoni said. She had been waiting for the right opportunity to bring up the word that had been chosen. “Fa-ther is the name that has been given to a man who has children. A man is necessary for a life to begin, but he doesn’t carry the baby inside him, nor does he give birth or nurse, but a man can love the child as much as a mother. He is a far-mother, a fa-ther. It was also chosen to indicate that while women are the Blessed of Doni, men may now think of themselves as the Favored of Doni. It is similar to ‘mother,’ but the fa sound was chosen to make it clear that it is a name for a man, just as ‘fa’lodge’ is the name for the men’s place.”