by Jean M. Auel
That was her first warning. The effects that she felt from that single drink were so much greater than she had anticipated. Though she’d had some bad moments, she was glad now that she did. It gave her a sense of what Ayla was going through. Who would have thought that such innocuous-looking dried roots could be so powerful? What were they? Did the plant grow anywhere nearby? It obviously had some unique properties, some of which might be beneficial for specific uses, but if there were to be any further experimentation, it would have to be under much more careful and controlled circumstances. It was a very dangerous root.
She had barely settled into the meditative state she usually assumed for long vigils when one of the zelandonia approached the First. Marthona and Proleva, along with Folara, had arrived and were asking to come in.
“Of course they can come in,” Zelandoni said. “They may be of help, and we may need it before this is over.”
When the three women were ushered in, they noticed several zelandonia were chanting over a bed near the back. Zelandoni was sitting beside it.
“What happened to Ayla?” Marthona asked when she saw her lying pallid and unmoving on the bed.
“I wish I knew for sure,” Zelandoni said. “And I’m afraid I may be largely to blame. Over the past few years, Ayla spoke occasionally about a root that was used by the … mog-urs, I think she calls them, the ones of her Clan who know of the spirits. They used it to help them enter the Spirit World, though only as part of special ceremonies, or so I understood. The way she talked about the root, I was sure she had used it, but she was always very cryptic about it. She did say that the effects were very powerful. I was intrigued, of course. Anything that can assist the zelandonia to communicate with the next world is always of interest.”
Stools were brought for the three, and cups of chamomile tea. When they were settled, the First continued.
“I didn’t know until recently that Ayla still had some of those roots, and that she believed they would still be effective. Frankly, I doubted it. Most herbs and medicinals lose strength over time. She claimed that if they were properly stored, they became concentrated, gained in strength over time. I thought perhaps a small experiment might get her to think about something besides her worries. I knew she was troubled over Jondalar, and that whole sad incident the night of the festival, especially after miscarrying when she was called …”
“You can’t believe how difficult that was for her, Zelandoni,” Marthona said. “I know it is never easy to be called—that’s part of it, I suppose—but with the miscarriage and all, I will tell you, there were moments when I thought we’d lose her. She bled so heavily, I was afraid she was bleeding her life away. I was almost ready to send for you. If it had continued like that much longer, I would have, though I’m not sure you would have arrived in time.”
Zelandoni nodded. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have let her come so soon,” she said.
“There was no way I could stop her. You know how she is when she decides she wants to do something,” Marthona said. Zelandoni nodded in acknowledgment. “She couldn’t wait to see Jondalar, and Jonayla. Especially after losing one, she wanted to see her child, and I think she wanted to start another one. And she was sure she knew how. I think that’s partly why she wanted to see Jondalar so bad.”
“She saw him, all right,” Proleva said, “with Marona.”
“I don’t understand Jondé sometimes,” Folara said. “Of all people, why couldn’t he leave her alone?”
“Probably because she wouldn’t leave him alone,” Proleva said. “His needs have always been strong. She made it too easy.”
“And then what does he do when she decides to take her turn at the Festival?” Folara said. “It’s not like she didn’t have the right.”
“Right or not, she didn’t do it because she wanted to celebrate the Mother at the Festival,” Zelandoni said. “She did it out of hurt and anger; that’s why she chose the man she did. She didn’t want Laramar, she wanted to get back at Jondalar. That doesn’t Honor the Mother, and she knows it. Neither of them is without fault, but I think both of them are trying to take all the blame on themselves, and that doesn’t help.”
“No matter who takes the blame, Jondalar will still a have a harsh penalty to pay,” Marthona said.
“I can’t blame Laramar for not wanting to return to the Ninth Cave, and I’m glad the Fifth was willing to take him in, but his mate doesn’t want to move,” Proleva said. “She says the Ninth Cave is her home. She does have a good location, but if she stays without a mate, who’s going to take care of that brood of hers?”
“Or supply the barma she drinks every day,” Folara said.
“That may be what will encourage her to move to the Fifth,” Zelandoni said.
“Unless her eldest son takes over,” Proleva said. “He’s been learning to make that barma for several years. Some say his is better than Laramar’s, and there are enough people along our section of The River who would rather have a nearby source.”
“Well, don’t suggest it to him,” Marthona said.
“It won’t make any difference. If we can think of it, someone else is bound to as well,” Proleva said.
Zelandoni noticed two more people joining the ones who were chanting, and one leaving. She nodded her approval to them, then glanced at Ayla. Did her skin seem more gray? She hadn’t moved but somehow she seemed to have sunk deeper into the bed. The Donier didn’t like the way she looked. She went back to her explanation.
“I was saying that I wanted to try to help Ayla get her mind off her problems, to get her to talk about other things that are usually of great interest to her. That’s why I asked her about this Clan root, but I’m not without fault, either. I was too anxious to learn about it. I should have been paying closer attention to her. I should have seen how upset she really was. And I should have believed her about the potency of the Clan root. I took only one drink, and had to struggle to maintain control. It is far more powerful than I ever imagined,” Zelandoni said.
“I’m afraid Ayla is lost somewhere in the world of the spirits. The only thing I really remember her saying is that chanting was the tie that kept her bound to this world, and I could feel the pull of it when I was somewhat lost from just the one drink. I will be honest with you. I don’t know what else to do for her, except to keep her warm and chant and hope it wears off soon.”
“The Clan root—she told me about that,” Marthona said. “The one she calls Mamut said he would never try that root again, that he was afraid he would be lost forever. He told her it was too powerful, and he warned Ayla never to use it again.”
The First frowned. “Why didn’t she tell me Mamut told her not to use that root? He was One Who Serves; he would know. Ayla was a little reluctant to try it at first, but she never told me why. And then she seemed perfectly willing, even performing Clan rituals for it. She didn’t tell me Mamut had warned her against it,” Zelandoni said, quite distraught.
The First got up and checked Ayla again. She was still cold and clammy, and her breath was hardly noticeable. If the Donier had just seen her, and touched her, she would have thought Ayla was dead. She lifted her eyelid. There was only a slight response. Zelandoni had thought, hoped, that all Ayla needed was time for the effects to wear off. Now she was beginning to wonder if anything would bring her out of it.
She looked around, beckoned to a particular acolyte. “Massage her, gently. Try to bring some color to her skin, and let’s try to get some warm tea into her, something stimulating.” And then louder, so everyone could hear, “Does anyone know where Jondalar is?”
“He’s been taking long walks lately, usually by The River,” Marthona said.
“I saw him practically running in that direction earlier,” an acolyte said.
Zelandoni stood, and clapped her hands for everyone’s attention. “Ayla’s spirit is lost in the void, and she can’t find her way back. She may not even be able to find her way to the Mother. We have to find Jondalar. If we d
on’t get Jondalar here, she will never find her way back; she won’t even have the will to try. Search the whole Campsite, every tent; get everyone looking for him. Search the woods, up and down The River; search in The River if we have to. Just get him here. Fast.” Zelandoni was more agitated and upset than most people had ever seen her.
Everyone except for those who were needed to chant rushed out of the lodge and scattered in all directions. When they were gone, the One Who Was First To Serve The Mother examined Ayla again. She was still cold, and her skin was turning gray. She’s giving up, the Donier thought. I don’t think she wants to live. Jondalar may already be too late.
One of the acolytes burst into the fa’lodge used by Jondalar and the two Mamutoi visitors. Willamar and Dalanar were also in the lodge. They had come to look for Jondalar, too. The young acolyte had only seen the tall, red-haired man from a distance and didn’t realize how big he was up close. He felt a bit overwhelmed.
“Do you know where Jondalar is?” the young man asked.
“No. I haven’t seen him since early this morning,” Danug replied. “Why?”
“It’s the new Zelandoni. She drank some liquid that she made from a root and now her spirit is in some dark void and the First said we have to find Jondalar and bring him right away or she will die and her spirit will be lost forever,” he said all in one breath without stopping. He finally caught his breath. “We’re supposed to search everywhere, and ask everyone to help look for him,” the acolyte said.
“Could it be that root she took with Mamut?” Danug asked, looking at Druwez with consternation.
“What root is that?” Dalanar asked, quick to notice their worry.
“Ayla had some root she brought with her from her Clan people,” Danug explained. “Apparently it was used by the ones who talk to the spirit world. Mamut wanted to try it, so Ayla prepared it the way she had been taught. I don’t know what happened, exactly, but no one could wake them up. Everyone was worried and we all had to chant. Finally Jondalar came and begged Ayla to come back, telling her how much he loved her. They’d been having some trouble—kind of like they are now. I don’t understand how two people who love each other so much can be so blind to each other’s feelings.”
“He has always had trouble with women like that. I don’t know if it’s pride or lack of perception,” Willamar said, shaking his head. “I thought when he brought Ayla home, he was past it. He’s fine if he really doesn’t care that much about a woman, but if he loves one, he seems to lose his sense and doesn’t know what to do. You should hear the stories about him, but that’s not important. What happened?”
“Jondalar just kept telling her he loved her and begging her to come back. Finally she woke up, and so did Mamut. Mamut told us later they would have been lost in some kind of a black void forever if Jondalar’s love hadn’t been so strong that it found its way to her; he brought her back, and him, too. Mamut said the roots were too strong; he could never control them, and would never try them again. He said he was afraid his spirit would be lost forever in that terrible place, and he warned Ayla against them, too.” Danug felt the blood drain from his face. “She’s done it again,” he said as he ran out of the tent. Then he wasn’t sure where to go. Finally he had an idea and he raced toward the camp of the Ninth Cave.
Several people were milling around the large cooking hearth, and he was relieved to see Jonayla. She had obviously been crying, and Wolf was whining and trying to lick the tears from her face. Marthona and Folara were trying to comfort her, too. They acknowledged the greeting of the big Mamutoi as he hunkered down in front of the little girl. He stroked Wolf’s head when the animal nosed his way closer to the familiar man.
“How are you, Jonayla?” he said.
“I want my mother, Danug,” she said, starting to cry. “My mother is sick. She won’t wake up.”
“I know she is. I think I know a way to help her,” Danug said.
“How?” she said, looking at him with wide eyes.
“She got sick like this once before, when she lived with us at the Lion Camp. I think Jondalar could wake her up. He’s the one who woke her up before. Do you know where Jondalar is, Jonayla?”
She shook her head. “I don’t see Jondy very much anymore. He goes away, sometimes all day.”
“Do you know where he goes?”
“Lots of times he walks up The River.”
“Does he take Wolf with him sometimes?”
“Yes, but not today.”
“Do you think Wolf could find him, if you told him to?”
Jonayla looked at Wolf, then back at Danug. “Maybe he could,” she said, then, with a tremulous smile, “Yes, I think he could.”
“If you tell Wolf to find Jondalar, I’ll follow him, and tell Jondalar to come back and wake your mother up,” Danug said.
“Mother and Jondy have not been talking very much. Maybe he won’t want to,” Jonayla said, with a worried frown. Danug thought that she looked exactly like Jondalar when she frowned like that.
“Don’t worry about that, Jonayla. Jondalar loves your mother very much, and she loves him. If he knew she was in trouble, he would run here as fast as he could. I know it,” Danug said.
“If he loves her, why doesn’t he talk to her, Danug?”
“Because sometimes, even when you love someone, you don’t always understand her. Sometimes you don’t even understand yourself. Will you tell Wolf to find Jondalar?”
“Wolf, come here,” the girl said. She stood up and took the great massive head between her little hands, just the way her mother would have. She looked so much like a little Ayla, Danug had to hide a smile. He wasn’t alone. “Mother is sick and Jondalar has to come and help her, Wolf. You have to find him. She took her hands away and pointed toward The River. “Find Jondalar, Wolf. Go find Jondalar,” she said.
It was not the first time the wolf had heard that command. Wolf and Ayla had had to follow Jondalar’s trail before, on their Journey back, when he was captured by Attaroa’s hunters. The anxious animal licked Jonayla’s face, then started toward The River.
He turned around once and started back toward her, but she told him again, “Go, Wolf! Find Jondalar! He looked back when Danug started after him, and then continued on in a fast trot, sniffing the ground.
Jondalar could hardly wait to get away from the Campsite after his brush with Ayla. Then, once he reached The River and started walking upstream, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He had almost done it, almost taken her in his arms. He had wanted to. Why didn’t he? What would she have done if he had? Would she have gotten angry? Pushed him away? Or not? She had looked so surprised, so shocked, but wasn’t he just as surprised to see her?
Why didn’t he? What was the worst that could happen? If she had gotten angry and pushed him away, would things be any worse than they were now? At least he’d know that she didn’t want him. You don’t want to know, do you? But things can’t go on the way they are now. Was she in tears when she ran away? Or did I imagine that? Why would she be in tears? Because she’s upset, of course. But what would make her so upset? Just seeing you? Why should that upset her? She told me how she felt on the night of the Festival. She showed me, didn’t she? She doesn’t care about you anymore, but then why was she crying?
Usually when Jondalar walked along the river, he would think about starting back about the time that the sun reached its zenith, at midday. But on this day his mind was so lost in its ruminations, going over and over again each little nuance he could recall, or detail he thought he remembered, that he didn’t even notice the passage of time or the height of the sun.
Danug, taking long strides to keep up with Wolf, began to wonder if the animal was on the right trail. Could Jondalar have traveled so far? It was well past noon when Danug stopped for a quick drink of water before continuing on. He stood up from the river’s edge, and far in the distance, along a fairly straight stretch of the winding river, he thought he saw someone walking. He shaded his eyes, but
could not see beyond what appeared to be a bend in the waterway. The wolf had rushed on ahead while he had stopped and was out of sight. Danug hoped he’d be able to catch up to him as he started out again, picking up the pace.
Jondalar was finally distracted from his intense preoccupation by movement in the brush near the water. He caught sight of the movement again. It’s a wolf! I wonder if he’s been stalking me, he said to himself, reaching for his spear-thrower. But he hadn’t taken spears or spear-throwers. His eyes searched the ground, looking for a weapon, a heavy branch or large shed antler, or a good stone, something to defend himself, but when the huge animal finally broke cover, all he could do was throw up his arm in front of his face as he was knocked over by the charge.
But the animal wasn’t biting him, he was licking him. Then he saw the ear cocked at a jaunty angle. It was not a wild wolf, he realized. “Wolf! Is it you? What are you doing here?” He sat up and had to fend off the exuberant advances of the excited animal. He sat for a while, petting the wolf and scratching him behind his ears, trying to calm him down. “Why aren’t you with Jonayla, or Ayla? Why did you follow me all this way?” Jondalar said, beginning to have the inkling of alarm.
When he stood up and started on his way again, Wolf pranced nervously in front of him, then back in the direction he had come. “Do you want to go back, Wolf? Well, go ahead. You can go back.” But when Jondalar started out again, the wolf jumped in front of him again. “What is it, Wolf?” Jondalar looked up at the sky, and for the first time noticed that the sun was well past its high point. “Do you want me to go back with you?”