by Jean M. Auel
A deeper black on the right, no longer reflecting the small flames off damp stone walls, indicated that the distance to that side had increased; perhaps a niche or another passageway. Behind them and ahead, the tenebrious gloom was palpable, the blackness almost suffocatingly thick. The wisp of air was the only manifestation of a corridor that led back to the outside. Ayla wished she could reach for Jondalar’s hand.
As they proceeded, the lamps the acolytes carried were not the only light. Several shallow, bowl-shaped stone lamps had been placed on the floor at intervals along the dark corridor, casting a light that seemed amazingly bright in the darkness within the cave. A couple of them were sputtering, however. They either needed more fat to melt into the bowl or a new moss wick, and Ayla hoped someone would tend to them soon.
But the lamps gave Ayla an eerie sense that she had been in this place before, and an irrational fear that she would be again. She didn’t want to follow the woman in front of her. She had not thought of herself as one who feared caves, but there was something about this one that made her want to turn around and run, or touch Jondalar for reassurance. Then she remembered walking the dark corridor of another cave, following the small fires of lamps and torches, and finding herself watching Creb and the other mog-urs. She shivered at the memory and suddenly realized that she was cold.
“You might want to stop and put on your warm clothing,” the woman in front said, turning back and holding up the lamp for Ayla and Jondalar. “It’s rather cold deep in a cave, especially in summer. In winter, when it’s snowy and icy outside, it actually feels rather warm. The deep caves stay the same all year.”
The stop for something as ordinary as putting on her long-sleeved tunic had steadied Ayla. Although she had been ready to turn around and run out of the cave, when the acolyte started walking again, Ayla took a deep breath and followed her.
Although the long passageway had seemed narrow and the temperature had become progressively colder, after another fifty feet the rocky corridor closed in even more. A greater humidity in the air was verified by a sheen of moisture reflected off the walls, the stalactite icicles projecting down from the ceiling, and their stalagmitic mates growing up from the floor. At slightly more than two hundred feet into the dark, damp, and chilly cave, the floor of the passageway ascended, not blocking the way, but making it difficult to proceed. It was tempting to turn back here, to think this was far enough, and many a faint-heart had. It tested determination to continue beyond this point.
Holding the torch, the woman in front climbed up the rocky incline to a small, constricted opening higher up. Ayla watched the wavering light as she climbed, then breathed deeply and started up over sharp stones until she reached the woman. She followed her through a narrow aperture, scrambling over more rocks to get through the opening that descended into the heart of the stone cliff.
The nearly subliminal passage of air in the first section was noticeable now only for its lack. After the confined gap, no movement of air could be detected at all. The first indication that someone had come this way before was three red dots painted on the left-hand wall. Not long afterward, Ayla saw something else in the flickering light of the torch the woman in front held. She couldn’t quite believe her eyes and wished the acolyte would stop for a moment and hold the light closer to the left wall. She stopped and waited for the tall man behind her to catch up.
“Jondalar,” she said in a quiet voice, “I think there is a mammoth on that wall!”
“Yes, there is, more than one,” Jondalar said. “I think if there wasn’t something that Zelandoni felt was more important to do right now, this cave would be shown to you with the proper ceremony. Most of us were brought in here when we were children. Not young children, old enough to understand, but still children. It’s frightening, but wonderful, when you see this place for the first time, if it’s done right. Even when you know it’s all part of the ceremony, it’s exciting.”
“Why are we here, Jondalar?” she asked. “What is so important?”
The acolyte in front had turned around and come back when she noticed that she wasn’t being followed anymore.
“Didn’t anyone tell you?” she said.
“Jonokol just said Zelandoni wanted Jondalar and me,” she said.
“I’m not absolutely certain,” Jondalar said, “but I think we’re here to help Zelandoni locate Thonolan’s spirit and, if he needs it, to help him find his way. We’re the only ones who saw the place where he died, and with the stone you wanted me to pick up—Zelandoni said that was a very good idea, by the way—she thinks we may,” Jondalar said.
“What is this place?” Ayla asked.
“It has many names,” the woman said. Jonokol and the other acolyte had caught up with them. “Most people refer to it as the Deep Cave in Fountain Rocks, or sometimes Doni’s Deep. The zelandonia know its sacred name, and most people do, too, though it is seldom mentioned. This is the Entrance to the Womb of the Mother, or one of them. There are several others that are just as sacred.”
“Everyone knows, of course, that entrance implies exit,” Jonokol added. “That means the entrance to the womb is also the birth canal.”
“So that means this is one of the birth canals of the Great Earth Mother,” the young male acolyte said.
“Like the song Zelandoni sang at Shevonar’s burial, this must be one of the places from which the Mother ‘brought forth the Children of Earth,’ ” Ayla said.
“She understands,” the woman said, nodding toward the other two acolytes. “You must know the Mother’s Song well,” she said to Ayla.
“The first rime she heard it was at the burial,” Jondalar said, smiling.
“That’s not entirely true, Jondalar,” Ayla said. “Don’t you remember? The Losadunai have something like it, except they don’t sing it. They just say the words. The Losaduna taught it to me in their language. It’s not exactly the same, but it’s similar.”
“Maybe that’s because Losaduna can’t sing like Zelandoni,” Jondalar said.
“Not all of us sing it,” Jonokol said. “Many just say the words. I don’t sing, and if you ever heard me, you’d know why.”
“Some of the other Caves have different music, and some of the words are not exactly the same, either,” the young male acolyte said. “I’d be interested in hearing the Losadunai version some time, especially if you can translate it for me, Ayla.”
“I’d be glad to. Their language is very close to Zelandonii. You might be able to understand it, even without a translation,” Ayla said.
For some reason, all three acolytes suddenly noticed her unfamiliar accent. The older woman had always thought of the Zelandonii—the language and those who used it—as special; they were the People, they were Earth’s Children. It was hard to grasp the idea that this woman could think that people who lived all the way across the plateau glacier on the highland to the east could have a language that seemed similar to their own. The foreign woman must have heard many languages of people who lived far away that were very much different from Zelandonii to think so.
It struck them all how different the background of this foreign woman was from theirs, and how much she knew about other people that they didn’t. Jondalar, too, had learned much on his Journey. In the few days since he had been back, he had already shown them many things. Perhaps that was the reason for Journeys, to learn new things.
Everyone knew about Journeys. Almost all young people talked about making one, but few actually did, and even fewer of those went very far, at least not that came back. But Jondalar was gone five years. He’d traveled far, had many adventures, but more important, he brought back knowledge that could benefit his people. He also brought ideas that could change things, and change wasn’t always so desirable.
“I don’t know if I should show you the painted walls as we pass by. It might spoil the special ceremony for you, but you are bound to see at least part of them, so I suppose I could hold up the light and let you see them a little
better,” the woman in front said.
“I would like to see them,” Ayla said.
The acolyte in front held the torch up high so the woman Jondalar had brought home with him could see the paintings on the walls. The first one, the mammoth, was painted showing a side view, the way most portrayals of animals that she had seen were made. The hump on the head followed by a second hump high on the withers, but slightly lower down the sloping back made it easy to recognize. That configuration was the distinctive feature of the great woolly beast, even more than its curving tusks and long trunk. It was painted in red but shaded in reddish brown and black to show the contours and precise anatomical detail. It was facing the entrance and was so perfectly made that Ayla half expected the mammoth to walk out of the cave.
Ayla didn’t quite understand why the painted animals looked so lifelike, or fully appreciate what it had required, but she couldn’t resist looking closer to see how it was done. It was an elegant and accomplished technique. A flint tool had been used to cut a fine, distinct outline of the animal with exacting detail into the limestone wall of the cave, paralleled by a painted black line. Just outside of the engraved line, the wall had been scraped to show the light ivory-tan natural color of the stone. It highlighted the outline and the colors with which the mammoth had been painted, and contributed to the three-dimensional quality of the work.
But it was the paint within the outline that was so remarkable. Through observation and training from those who first conceived of the idea of taking a living animal and reproducing it on a two-dimensional surface, the artists who had painted the walls of the cave had gained a surprising and innovative knowledge of perspective. The techniques had been passed down, and though some artists were more skilled than others, most of them used shading to convey the sense of lifelike fullness.
As Ayla moved past the mammoth, she had the eerie sensation that the mammoth had also moved. She felt impelled to reach for the painted animal and touched the stone, then closed her eyes. It was cold, slightly damp, with the texture and feel of any limestone cave, but when she opened her eyes, she noticed that the artist had used the stone wall itself to advantage in the incredibly realistic creation. The mammoth had been placed on the wall in such a way that a rounded shape of the stone became the fullness of the belly, and a concretion of stalactite adhering to the wall that suggested a leg was painted as the back of a leg.
In the flickering light of the oil lamps, she noticed that when she moved, she saw the animal from a slightly different angle, which changed the way the natural relief of the stone appeared and threw shadows to a slightly different position. Even standing still, watching the reflections of the fire move on the stone, she had the impression that the animal painted on the wall was breathing. She understood then the reason that the mammoth had seemed to shift when she moved, and knew that if she hadn’t examined it carefully, she could easily be convinced that it had.
She was reminded of the time at the Clan Gathering when she had to prepare the special drink Iza taught her to make for the mog-urs. The Mog-ur had shown her how to stand in the shadows so she would not be noticed, and told her exactly when to move out of them, which made it seem that she suddenly appeared. There was method to the magic of those who dealt with the world of the spirits, but there was magic, too.
She had felt something when she touched the wall, something that she couldn’t quite explain or understand. It was a hint of that certain strangeness she had occasionally felt ever since she had inadvertently swallowed the leavings of the mog-urs’ drink and followed them into the cave. From that time on, she occasionally experienced disturbing dreams and sometimes unsettling sensations even when she was awake.
She shook her head to rid herself of the feeling, then looked up and saw that the others were watching her. Smiling diffidently, she pulled her hand away from the stone wall quickly, afraid she had done something wrong, then looked toward the woman who held the torch. The acolyte said nothing as she turned to lead the way along the passage.
The lights from the small flames glinted faintly off damp walls with eerie hints of reflections as they moved quietly in single file along the corridor. There was a tingle of apprehension in the air. Ayla was sure they were going into the very heart of the steep limestone cliff and was glad to be with other people, sure she would get lost if she were alone. She trembled with a sudden flash of fear and foreboding, and a sense of what it might be like to be in a cave alone. She tried to shake off the feeling, but the chill in the dark, cool cave was not easy to dispel.
Not far beyond the first one there was another mammoth, then more mammoths, then two small horses, painted primarily in black. She stopped to look at them more closely. Again, a line perfectly defining the shape of a horse was engraved in the limestone, highlighted by a line painted in black. Within the line, the horses were painted black, but as with the rest of the paintings, the shading gave them a surprising realism.
Ayla noticed then that there were paintings on the right wall of the passage as well, some facing out and some in. Mammoths predominated; it seemed that a herd of mammoths was painted on the walls. Using the counting words, Ayla counted at least ten on both sides of the passage, and there may have been more. As she was continuing down the dark corridor, looking at the paintings momentarily lighted as she passed by, she was brought to a halt by the arresting scene of two reindeer greeting each other on the left wall. She had to see them better.
The first reindeer, facing into the cave, was male. He was painted in black, with the definitive shape and contours of the animal accurately rendered, including his huge antlers, though they were suggested by the arcing shapes rather than precisely painted with all their points. His head was lowered, and to Ayla’s wonder and surprise, he was tenderly licking the forehead of a female. Unlike the majority of deer, female reindeer also had anders, and in the painting as in life, hers were smaller. She was painted in red and her knees were bent so she could lower herself to accept his gentle caress.
The scene manifested a genuine sense of tenderness and caring, and it made Ayla think of Jondalar and herself. She had never thought of animals being in love before, but these seemed to be. It nearly brought her to tears, she was so moved. The acolyte guides allowed her to spend some time. They understood her reaction; they, too, were moved by this exquisite scene.
Jondalar was also staring in wonder at the painted reindeer. “That’s a new one,” he said. “I thought there was a mammoth there.”
“There was. If you look closely at the female, you can still see some of the mammoth underneath,” the young man in the rear explained.
“Jonokol made that,” the woman in front said.
Both Jondalar and Ayla looked at the artist acolyte with new respect. “Now I understand why you are Zelandoni’s acolyte,” Jondalar said. “You are extraordinarily gifted.”
Jonokol nodded to acknowledge Jondalar’s comment. “We all have our Gifts. I am told you are an extraordinarily gifted flint-knapper. I look forward to seeing some of your work. In fact, there’s a tool I’ve been trying to get someone to make for me, but I can’t quite seem to explain it to any of the toolmakers so they understand. I was hoping Dalanar would be coming to the Summer Meeting so I could ask him.”
“He is planning to come, but I’ll be glad to give your idea a try, if you like,” Jondalar said. “I enjoy a challenge.”
“Perhaps we can talk tomorrow,” Jonokol said.
“Can I ask you something, Jonokol?” Ayla said.
“Of course.”
“Why did you paint the deer on top of the mammoth?”
“That wall, that place, drew me to it,” Jonokol said. “It’s where I had to put the reindeer. They were in the wall and wanted to come out.”
“It is a special wall. It leads beyond,” the woman said. “When the First sings there, or a flute is played, that wall answers. It echoes, resonates to the sound. Sometimes it tells you what it wants.”
“Did all these walls
tell someone to make paintings on them?” Ayla asked, indicating the paintings they had passed by.
“That’s one reason this deep is so sacred. Most of the walls talk to you, if you know how to listen; they lead you places, if you are willing to go,” the woman acolyte said.
“No one ever told me this before. Not in exactly this way. Why are you telling us now?” Jondalar asked.
“Because you will have to listen, and perhaps go through, if you are going to help the First find the elan of your brother, Jondalar,” the woman said, then she added, “The zelandonia have been trying to understand why Jonokol was inspired to make these figures here. I’m beginning to get an idea.” The woman smiled enigmatically at Jondalar and Ayla, then turned to walk deeper into the cave.
“Oh, before you go on,” Ayla said to the woman, touching her arm to detain her. “I don’t know what to call you, can I ask your name?”
“My name isn’t important,” she said. “When I become Zelandoni, I will be giving it up anyway. I am the First Acolyte to the Zelandoni of the Second Cave.”
“Then, I suppose I could call you Acolyte of the Second,” Ayla said.
“Yes, you could, although the Zelandoni of the Second has more than one acolyte. The other two are not here. They have gone ahead to the Summer Meeting.”
“Then perhaps First Acolyte of the Second?”
“If it pleases you, I will respond to that name.”
“What should I call you?” Ayla asked the young man who brought up the rear.
“I’ve only been an acolyte since the last Summer Meeting, and like Jonokol, I still use my own name most of the time. Perhaps I should give you a formal greeting and introduction.” He held out both his hands. “I am Mikolan of the Fourteenth Cave of the Zelandonii, Second Acolyte of the Zelandoni of the Fourteenth Cave. And I welcome you,” he said.