by Jean M. Auel
Jondalar could see that the incident between Brukeval and Charezal had distressed her, and he had some idea why. “It has been a long day,” he said. “I think it’s time for us to go.”
Brukeval seemed upset that they were leaving so soon after he had finally gotten up the courage to talk to her. He smiled hesitantly. “Do you have to go?” he asked.
“It’s late. Many people have already gone to bed, and I am tired,” she said, smiling back at him. Without that malevolent expression, she could smile at him, but it lacked the earlier warmth. They said good night to the people nearby, but when she looked back, she noticed Brukeval glaring again at Charezal.
As she and Jondalar walked back toward the dwellings and Marthona’s place, Ayla asked, “Did you see the way your cousin was looking at Charezal? It was filled with hate.”
“I can’t say I blame him for being upset at Charezal,” he said. Jondalar had not exactly warmed to the man, either. “You know it’s a terrible insult to call someone a flathead, and even worse to say someone’s mother is one. Brukeval has been teased before, especially when he was young—children can be cruel.”
Jondalar went on to explain that when Brukeval was a child, whenever someone had wanted to tease him, they called him “flathead.” Though he lacked that specific characteristic of the Clan that had given rise to the epithet—the sloped-back forehead—it was the one word that was all but guaranteed to make him react with fury. And to the young orphan who had hardly known her, it was worse to refer to his mother in a way that meant the most despicable kind of abomination imaginable, half animal, half human:
Because of his predictable emotional response, with the casual cruelty of children, those who were bigger or older often teased him by calling him “flathead” or “son of an abomination” when he was young. But as he grew older, what he lacked in stature, he made up for in strength. After a few battles with boys who, though taller than him, were no match for his phenomenal muscular power, especially coupled with untempered rage, they stopped the hated taunts, at least to his face.
“I don’t know why it should bother people so much, but it’s probably true,” Ayla said. “I think he is part Clan. He reminds me of Echozar, but Brukeval has less Clan. You can see it is not as strong—except for that look. That reminded me of the way Broud looked at me.”
“I’m not so sure he’s a mixture. Maybe some ancestor came from a distant place and it’s only chance that he bears some superficial resemblance to f … Clan people,” Jondalar said.
“He’s your cousin, what do you know about him?”
“I don’t really know much for sure, but I can tell you what I’ve heard,” Jondalar said. “Some of the older people say that when Brukeval’s grandmother was barely a young woman, she somehow got separated from her people while traveling to a Summer Meeting that was quite far away. She was supposed to have her First Rites at that meeting. By the time she was found it was the end of summer. They say she was irrational, hardly even coherent. She claimed she had been attacked by animals. They say she was never quite right again, but she didn’t live long. Not long after she returned, it was discovered she had been blessed by the Mother, even though she had never had First Rites. She died shortly after giving birth to Brukevars mother, or perhaps as the result of it.”
“Where do they think she was?”
“No one knows.”
Ayla frowned in thought. “She must have found food and shelter while she was gone,” she said.
“I don’t think she was starving,” he said.
“The animals that attacked her, did she say what kind they were?”
“Not that I’ve heard.”
“Did she have any scratch or bite marks or other injuries?” Ayla continued.
“I don’t know.”
Ayla stopped as they were approaching the area of the dwellings and looked at the tall man in the dim light of the crescent moon and the distant fire. “Don’t the Zelandonii call the Clan animals? Did his grandmother ever say anything about the ones you call flatheads?”
“They do say she hated flatheads, and would run away screaming at the sight of one,” Jondalar said.
“What about Brukeval’s mother? Did you know her? What did she look like?”
“I don’t recall much, I was pretty young,” Jondalar said. “She was short. I remember that she had big, beautiful eyes, dark like Brukeval’s, brownish, but not really dark brown, more hazel. People used to say her eyes were her best feature.”
“Brownish, like Guban’s eyes?” Ayla asked.
“Now that you mention it, I guess they were.”
“Are you sure Brukeval’s mother didn’t have the look of the Clan, like Echozar … and Rydag?”
“I don’t think she was considered very pretty, but I don’t recall her having browridges, like Yorga. She never did mate. I guess men weren’t too interested in her.”
“How did she get pregnant?”
She could see Jondalar’s smile even in the dark. “You are convinced that it takes a man, aren’t you? Everyone just said the Mother Blessed her, but Zolena … Zelandoni once told me that she was one of those rare women who was Blessed immediately after First Rites. People always think that’s too young, but it happens.”
Ayla was nodding in agreement. “What happened to her?”
“I don’t know. Zelandoni said she was never very healthy. I think she died when Brukeval was quite young. He was raised by Marona’s mother, she was a cousin of Brukeval’s mother, but I don’t think she cared much for him. It was more an obligation. Marthona used to watch him sometimes. I remember playing with him when we were little. Some of the older boys picked on him even then. He has always hated it when someone called him a flathead.”
“No wonder he was so furious at Charezal. At least now I understand. But that look …” Ayla shuddered again. “He looked just like Broud. As long as I can remember, Broud hated me. I don’t know why. He just hated me and nothing I ever did could change it. For a while I tried, but I will tell you, Jondalar. I would never want Brukeval to hate me.”
Wolf looked up in greeting when they entered Marthona’s dwelling. He had found Ayla’s sleeping furs and curled up near them when she told him to “go home.” Ayla smiled when she saw his eyes glowing in the light of the one lamp Marthona had left burning. He licked her face and throat in eager welcome when she sat down. Then he welcomed Jondalar.
“He’s not used to so many people,” Ayla said.
When he went back to Ayla, she held his head between her hands and looked into his shining eyes. “What’s the matter, Wolf? A lot of strangers to get used to? I know how you feel.”
“They won’t be strangers for long, Ayla,” Jondalar said. “Everyone already loves you.”
“Except Marona and her friends,” Ayla said, sitting up and loosening the ties of the soft leather top that was meant to be winter underwear for boys.
He was still disturbed over the way Marona had treated her, and so was she, it seemed. He wished that she hadn’t had to be put through such an ordeal, especially her first day here. He wanted her to be happy with his people. She would soon be one of them. But he was proud of the way she had handled it.
“You were wonderful. The way you put Marona in her place. Everyone thought so,” he said.
“Why did those women want people to laugh at me? They don’t know me, and they didn’t even try to get acquainted.”
“It’s my fault, Ayla,” Jondalar said, stopping in the middle of unlacing the ties around the upper portion of his footwear that was wrapped around the calf of one leg. “Marona had every right to expect me to be there for the Matrimonial that summer. I left without explanations. She must have been terribly hurt. How would you feel if you and everyone you knew expected you to mate someone who didn’t show up?”
“I would be very unhappy, and angry at you, but I hope I wouldn’t try to hurt someone I didn’t know,” Ayla said, loosening the waist ties of her leggings. “When they said
they wanted to fix my hair, it made me think of Deegie, but I combed my own hair when I looked in the reflector and saw what they did. I thought you told me the Zelandonii were people who believed in courtesy and hospitality.”
“They do,” he said. “Most of them.”
“But not everyone. Not your former women friends. Maybe you should tell me who else I should watch out for,” Ayla said.
“Ayla, don’t let Marona color your opinion about everyone else. Couldn’t you tell how much most people liked you? Give them a chance.”
“What about the ones who tease orphan boys and turn them into Brouds?”
“Most people are not like that, Ayla,” he said, looking at her with a troubled expression.
She exhaled a long sigh. “No, you’re right. Your mother is not like that, or your sister, or the rest of your kin. Even Brukeval was very nice to me. It’s just that the last time I saw that expression was when Broud told Goov to put a death curse on me. I’m sorry, Jondalar. I’m just tired.” Suddenly she reached for him, buried her face in his neck, and let out a sob. “I wanted to make a good impression on your people, and make new friends, but those women didn’t want to be friends. They just pretended they did.”
“You did make a good impression, Ayla. You couldn’t have made a better one. Marona always did have a temper, but I was sure she would find someone else while I was gone. She is very attractive, everyone always said she was the Beauty of the Bunch, the most desirable woman at every Summer Meeting. I guess that’s why everyone expected us to mate,” he said.
“Because you were the most handsome and she was the most beautiful?” Ayla asked.
“I suppose,” he said, feeling himself flush and glad for the faint light. “I don’t know why she isn’t mated now.”
“She said she was, but it didn’t last.”
“I know. But why didn’t she find someone else? It’s not like she suddenly forgot how to Pleasure a man, or became less attractive and desirable.”
“Maybe she did, Jondalar. If you didn’t want her, maybe other men decided to look again. A woman who is willing to hurt someone she doesn’t even know may be less attractive than you think,” Ayla said as she pulled the leggings off one leg.
Jondalar frowned. “I hope it’s not my fault. It’s bad enough that I left her in such a predicament. I would hate to think I made it impossible for her to find another mate.”
Ayla looked at him quizzically. “Why would you think that?”
“Didn’t you say that maybe if I didn’t want her, other men…”
“Other men might look again. If they didn’t like what they saw, how is that your fault?”
“Well … ah …”
“You can blame yourself for leaving without explaining. I’m sure she was hurt and embarrassed. But she has had five years to find someone else, and you said she is considered very desirable. If she couldn’t find someone else, it’s not your fault, Jondalar,” Ayla said.
Jondalar paused, then nodded. “You’re right,” he said, and continued removing his clothing. “Let’s go to sleep. Things will look better in the morning.”
As she crawled into her warm and comfortable sleeping furs, Ayla had another thought. “If Marona is so good at ‘Pleasuring,’ I wonder why she doesn’t have any children?”
Jondalar chuckled. “I hope you are right about Doni’s Gift making children. It would be like two Gifts …” He stopped as he was lifting his side of the covers. “But you’re right! She doesn’t have any children.”
“Don’t hold the cover up like that! It’s cold!” she said in a loud whisper.
He quickly got into the sleeping roll and snuggled his naked body next to hers. “That could be the reason she never mated,” he continued, “or at least part of it. When a man decides to mate, he usually wants a woman who can bring children to his hearth. A woman can have children, and stay at her mother’s hearth, or even make her own hearth, but the only way a man can have children at his hearth is to mate a woman so she can bring her children to it. If Marona mated and didn’t have any children, it could make her less desirable.”
“That would be a shame,” Ayla said, feeling a sudden stab of empathy. She knew how much she wanted children. She had wanted a baby of her own from the time she watched Iza give birth to Uba, and she was sure that it was Broud’s hatred that had given her one. It was his hatred that had caused him to force her, and if he hadn’t forced her, no new life would have started growing inside her.
She didn’t know it at the time, of course, but looking closely at her son had made her understand. Brun’s clan had never seen a child like hers, and since her son didn’t look quite like her—like the Others—they thought he was a deformed child of the Clan; but she could see he was a mixture. He had some of her characteristics and some of theirs, and with a sudden insight, she had realized that when a man put his organ in that place where babies came from, somehow it made new life start. It wasn’t what the Clan believed, and it wasn’t what Jondalar’s people or any of the Others believed, but Ayla was convinced it was true.
Lying next to Jondalar, knowing she was carrying his baby inside her, Ayla felt a pang of pity and sorrow for the woman who had lost him and, perhaps, could not have children. Could she really blame Marona for being upset? How would she feel if she lost Jondalar? Tears threatened at the thought, and a flush of warmth at her good fortune washed over her.
It was a nasty trick, though, and it could have turned out far worse than it did. Ayla couldn’t help getting angry, and she hadn’t known what they would do when she decided to face them all down. They all might have turned on her. She might feel sympathy for Marona, but she didn’t have to like her. And then there was Brukeval. His Clan look had made her feel friendly toward him, but now she was wary.
Jondalar held her until he thought she was asleep, trying to stay awake until he was sure. Then he closed his eyes and slept, too. But Ayla woke up in the middle of the night, feeling a pressure and needing to relieve herself. Wolf silently followed her to the night basket near the entrance. When she got back into bed, he curled up next to her. She felt grateful for the warmth and protection of the wolf on one side and the man on the other, but it was a long time before she fell asleep again.
8
Ayla slept late. When she sat up and looked around, Jondalar was gone, and Wolf, too. She was alone in the dwelling, but someone had left a full waterbag and a closely woven, watertight basin so she could freshen herself. A carved wooden cup nearby held a liquid. It smelled like mint tea, cold, but she was in no mood to drink anything at the moment.
She got up to use the large basket that was beside the door to relieve herself—she definitely noticed an increased frequency of need. Then she grabbed her amulet and quickly pulled it off to get it out of the way before she used the basin, not to wash herself, but to hold the results of her queasy stomach. Her nausea seemed worse than usual this morning. Laramar’s barma, she thought. Morning-after sickness along with morning sickness. I think I’ll forgo the drink from now on. It’s probably not good for me right now anyway, or the baby.
When she had emptied her stomach, she used the mint tea to rinse out her mouth. She noticed that someone had placed the bundle of clean but stained clothes she had originally planned to wear the night before near her sleeping furs. As she put them on, she recalled leaving them just inside the entrance. She did intend to keep the outfit Marona had given her, partly because she was determined to wear the clothing again on principle, but also because it was comfortable and she really couldn’t see anything wrong with wearing it. Not today, though.
She tied on the sturdy waist thong that she had worn while traveling, adjusted the knife sheath into its comfortably familiar place and arranged the rest of the dangling implements and pouches, and slipped her amulet bag back over her head. She picked up the smelly basin and carried it out with her, but she left it near the entrance, not quite sure where to dispose of its contents, and went to look for someone to ask. A
woman with a child, who was approaching the dwelling, greeted her. From somewhere in the depths of her memory, Ayla came up with a name.
“Pleasant day to you … Ramara. Is this your son?”
“Yes. Robenan wants to play with Jaradal, and I was looking for Proleva. She wasn’t at home, and I wondered if they were here.”
“No one is in the dwelling. When I got up, everyone was gone. I don’t know where they are. I’m feeling very lazy this morning. I slept rather late,” Ayla said.
“Most people did,” Ramara said. “Not many people felt like getting up early after the celebration last night. Laramar makes a potent drink. It’s what he’s known for—the only thing he’s known for.”
Ayla detected a tone of disdain in the woman’s comments. It made her feel a little hesitation about asking Ramara where there was an appropriate place to dispose of her morning mess, but there was no one else nearby, and she didn’t want to leave it.
“Ramara … I wonder if I could ask you, where can I … get rid of some … waste?”
The woman looked puzzled for a moment, then glanced in the direction that Ayla had inadvertently looked, and smiled. “You want the toilet trenches, I think. See over there, toward the eastern edge of the terrace, not out front where the signal fires are lit, but toward the back. There’s a path.”
“Yes, I see it,” Ayla said.
“It goes uphill,” Ramara continued. “Follow that a little way and you will come to a split. The left trail is steeper. It continues up and will take you to the top of this cliff. But take the right path. It curves up around the side until you can see Wood River below. A little beyond is a level open field with several trenches—you’ll smell it before you get there,” Ramara said. “It has been a while since we dusted it, and you can tell.”
Ayla shook her head. “Dusted it?”