The Land of Painted Caves (103 page)

Jondalar was quick to say how sorry he was, and how much he regretted his actions, but Laramar had nothing but disdain for the tall, handsome brother of the leader of the Ninth Cave. For one of the first times in his life, Laramar had the high ground; he was in the right, he had done nothing wrong, and he wasn’t going to give up any of his advantage.

There was a slight buzz of conversation among the audience when the participants walked out of the lodge as news that Ayla had seen Madroman leaving the Campsite wearing clothing he had very likely stolen from Laramar was passed around. It was followed by an undercurrent of comment speculating about the various ramifications: Jondalar’s and the First’s past history with Madroman, his rejection from the zelandonia and Ayla’s role in it, and why she was the only one who saw him leave. People settled in to watch the events full of anticipation. It wasn’t often that they were presented with the opportunity to observe so much high drama. The whole summer was proving to be an exciting one that would fill many long slow winter days with meat for discussion, and stories for seasoning.

“We have some serious matters to resolve today,” the First started. “These are not matters of the Spirit World but problems between Her children and we ask that Doni observe our deliberations and help us to speak the truth, to think clearly, and to reach fair decisions.”

She took out a small carved sculpture and held it up. It was the figure of a full-bodied woman with the legs tapering to barely suggested feet. Though they could not distinctly see the object she held in her hand, they all knew that it was a donii, a place for the all-encompassing spirit of the Great Earth Mother or at least some essential part of Her nature, to reside. A tall cairn of stones, almost a pillar, with a large base of fairly big stones tapering up to a flattened top of sandy gravel, had been constructed in the center of the level area.

With a decided flourish, the First Among Those Who Served The Mother planted the feet of the donii into the gravel and propped Her up for all to see. The primary purpose of the donii in this context was to prevent deliberate lying, and She was a strong deterrent. When the Mother’s spirit was expressly invoked to watch, everyone knew any lies would be seen by Her and brought to light; while someone might lie and get away with it for the moment, eventually the truth would come out, and usually with far worse repercussions. Not that there was not any great danger of anyone lying today, but it could still be a limiting influence on any tendency to exaggerate.

“Shall we begin,” the First said. “There were many witnesses, so I don’t think we need to go into any great detail about the circumstances. During the recent Festival to Honor the Mother, Jondalar found his mate Ayla sharing the Mother’s Gift of Pleasures with Laramar. Both Ayla and Laramar joined together of their own desire. There was no force, no compulsion. Is that correct, Ayla?”

She hadn’t expected to be questioned so quickly, to have all the attention of the people suddenly brought to bear on her. It caught her by surprise, but she wouldn’t have known how to lie about it if she had wanted to.

“Yes, Zelandoni. That is true.”

“Is that true, Laramar?”

“Yeah, she was more than willing. She came after me,” he said.

The First fought a slight urge to caution him about exaggeration, but continued on. “And then what happened?” She was deciding whether to ask Ayla or Jondalar, but Laramar jumped in.

“You can see what happened. The next thing I know, Jondalar was punching me in the face,” he said.

“Jondalar?”

The tall man bowed his head and swallowed. “That’s what happened. I saw him with Ayla, and I dragged him off her and started hitting him. I know it was wrong. I have no excuse,” Jondalar said, knowing in his heart even as he said it that he would do it again.

“Do you know why you hit him, Jondalar?” the First asked.

“I was jealous,” he mumbled.

“You were jealous, is that what you said?”

“Yes, Zelandoni.”

“If you had to express your jealousy, Jondalar, couldn’t you have just pulled them apart? Did you have to hit him?”

“I couldn’t stop myself. And once I started …” Jondalar shook his head.

“Once he started, no one could stop him, he even hit me!” the leader of the Fifth said. “He was beside himself, in some kind of a frenzy. I don’t know what we would have done if that big Mamutoi hadn’t got hold of him.”

“That’s why he’s so ready to take in Laramar,” Folara whispered to Proleva, but easily heard by those around her. “He’s mad that he couldn’t stop Jondé, and got hit when he tried.”

“He also likes Laramar’s barma, but he may discover that Laramar is no shiny piece of amber,” Proleva said. “He is not exactly the first one I would ask to join my Cave.” She turned her attention back to the center.

“This is the reason,” Zelandoni was saying, “that we try to teach the senselessness of jealousy. It can get out of hand. Do you understand that, Jondalar?”

“Yes, I do. It was stupid of me, and I’m very sorry. I’ll do whatever you say to make up for it. I want to make amends.”

“He can’t make up for it,” Laramar said. “He can’t fix my face, just like he couldn’t put the teeth back in Madroman’s mouth.”

The First gave Laramar a look of annoyance. That was uncalled for, she thought. It wasn’t necessary to bring that up. He doesn’t have the least idea how much Jondalar was provoked in that situation. But she kept her thoughts to herself.

“But reparations were paid,” Marthona said loudly.

“And I expect them to be paid again!” Laramar retorted.

“What
do
you expect?” the First asked. “What redress are you asking? What do you want, Laramar?”

“What I want is to punch
his
pretty face in,” Laramar said.

There was a gasp from the audience.

“That is no doubt true, but it is not a remedy allowed by the Mother. Do you have any other thoughts about how you would like him to make amends?” the Donier asked.

Laramar’s mate stood up. “He keeps making bigger dwellings for himself. Why don’t you ask him to make a big new dwelling for your family, Laramar?” she called out.

“That might be a possibility, Tremeda,” the First said, “but where would you want it made, at the Ninth Cave, or the Fifth Cave, Laramar?”

“That’s no compensation for me,” Laramar said. “What do I care what kind of dwelling she lives in? She’ll just turn it into a filthy mess anyway.”

“You don’t care about where your children live, Laramar?” the First asked.

“My children? They’re not mine, not if what you say is true. If coupling is the way they start, I didn’t start any of them … except maybe the first. I haven’t coupled, much less had any ‘Pleasures’ with her in years. Believe me, she’s no Pleasure. I don’t know where those children came from, maybe Mother Festivals—give a man enough to drink and even she might look good—but whoever started them, it wasn’t me. The only thing that woman is good for is drinking my barma,” Laramar sneered.

“That is certainly true. Lanoga has taken care of her siblings more than her mother and now Lanidar is helping. But they are too young to take on so much responsibility,” Proleva said from the audience.

“Laramar, they are still the children of your hearth. It is your responsibility to provide for them,” the One Who Was First said. “You cannot just decide you don’t want them.”

“Why not? I don’t want them. They never meant anything to me. She doesn’t even care about them. Why should I?”

The leader of the Fifth Cave was looking just as horrified as everyone else at Laramar’s callous denunciation of the children of his hearth, and in the audience, Proleva whispered, “I told you he was no shiny piece of amber.”

“Then who do you expect to take care of the children of your hearth, Laramar?” Zelandoni said.

The man stopped and frowned. “For all I care, Jondalar can. There’s nothing he can give me that I want. He can’t give me back my face, and I can’t have the satisfaction of giving him what he gave me. He’s so eager to take care of things, to make amends, let him take care of that lazy, loud-mouthed, manipulating shrew and her brood,” Laramar said.

“He may owe you a lot, Laramar, but that’s too much to ask of a man who has a family of his own, to take on the responsibility of a family the size of yours,” Joharran said.

“Never mind, Joharran. I’ll do it,” Jondalar said. “If that’s what he wants, I’ll do it. If he isn’t going to take responsibility for his own hearth, someone has to. Those children need someone to care about them.”

“Don’t you think you should talk to Ayla about it first?” Proleva said from the audience. “That much responsibility will take away from her own family.” Not that they don’t already take more care of that family than either Laramar or Tremeda, the woman thought, but didn’t say aloud.

“No, Proleva. He’s right,” Ayla said. “I’m responsible, too, for what Jondalar did to Laramar. I didn’t realize what it would come to, but I’m just as much at fault. If taking on the responsibility for his family will satisfy Laramar, then we should do it.”

“Well, Laramar, is that what you want?” the First said.

“Yeah, if it will keep the rest of you off me, why not?” Laramar said, then he laughed. “You’re welcome to her, Jondalar.”

“What about you, Tremeda? Is that satisfactory to you?” Zelandoni said.

“Will he build me a new dwelling, like the one he’s making for her?” she asked, pointing at Ayla.

“Yes, I will make sure you have a new dwelling,” Jondalar said. “Do you want it made at the Ninth Cave or the Fifth?”

“Well, if I’m going to be your second woman, Jondalar,” she said, trying to be coy, “I might as well stay at the Ninth. That’s my home, anyway.”

“Hear me, Tremeda,” Jondalar said, looking directly at her. “I am not taking you as a second woman. I said I would assume the responsibility to provide for you and your children. I said I would build you a dwelling. That is the full extent of my obligation to you. I am doing this as reparation for the injury I did to your mate. In no way are you anything close to a second woman to me, Tremeda! Is that understood?”

Laramar laughed. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Jondalar. I told you she was a manipulating shrew. She’ll use you any way she can.” He laughed again. “You know, maybe this isn’t going to be so bad. It just might give me some satisfaction to see you have to put up with her.”

   “Are you sure you want to go swimming there, Ayla?” Jondalar asked.

“It was our place before you took Marona there, and it’s still the best place to swim, especially now when the river is so stirred up and muddy downstream. I haven’t had the chance for a good swim since I arrived, and we’ll be leaving soon,” Ayla said.

“But are you sure you’re strong enough to swim?”

“Yes, I am sure, but don’t worry. I plan to spend most of the time lying on the bank in the sun. All I want is to get out of this lodge and spend some time with you away from people for a while, now that I finally got Zelandoni to agree that I’m well enough,” Ayla said. “I was getting ready to get on Whinney and go someplace anyway before too long. I know she’s concerned, but I’m fine. I just need to get out and move around.”

Zelandoni had blamed herself for not paying close enough attention to Ayla and was being—rather uncharacteristically—overprotective. She felt more than a little responsible for the fact that they had almost lost the young woman, and she wasn’t going to let that happen again. Jondalar was in full agreement, and for a while Ayla enjoyed their unaccustomed close attention, but as she gained her strength back, she began to find such doting concern vexing. Ayla had been trying to convince the Donier that she was completely rested and strong enough to ride and swim again, but it wasn’t until the First wanted Wolf out of the way for a while that she finally agreed.

Jonayla and the youngsters her age were again involved with the zelandonia in preparations for a small part they would play in the farewell ceremonies that were being planned to close the Summer Meeting. Wolf was not only a distraction when all the children were together, making it hard for them to concentrate, but it was difficult for Jonayla to both control him and learn what she was supposed to do. When Zelandoni had intimated to Ayla that, while the wolf was certainly welcome, perhaps she could keep the animal with her, it had been the edge Ayla needed to persuade the Donier that she ought to take Wolf, and the horses, away from the Campsite for some exercise.

Ayla was anxious to leave as early as possible the next morning before Zelandoni changed her mind. Jondalar had watered and brushed the horses before the morning meal, and when he tied riding blankets on Whinney and Racer, and fitted halters on Racer and Gray, they knew they were going out, and pranced with anticipation. Though they didn’t plan to ride her, Ayla didn’t want to leave the young mare alone. She was sure Gray would be lonely if she were left behind; horses liked companionship, especially of their own kind, and Gray needed the exercise, too.

The wolf looked up with expectation when Jondalar picked up a pair of pack baskets made to hang across the back of a horse. The carriers were full of various implements and mysterious packages wrapped in pieces of the pale brown material woven from flax fibers that Ayla had made as training samplers, to pass the time while she was recovering. Marthona had arranged to have a small loom made and was teaching her to weave. One of the baskets was covered by a leather hide to spread out on the ground, and the other by the soft yellowish toweling skins that had been gifts of the Sharamudoi.

Wolf bounded on ahead when the man signaled that he could go with them as they left the lodge. Near the horse enclosure, Ayla stopped to pick a few ripe berries hanging from red-stemmed bushes. She brushed the round, powdery blue fruit against her tunic, noticed the deeper blue skin, then popped it in her mouth and, smiling with satisfaction, savored the sweet, juicy taste. As she climbed up on a stump to mount Whinney, she felt good just being outside, knowing she didn’t have to go back in the lodge right away. She was sure she knew every crack that cut through every painted or carved design on the sturdy wooden poles that supported the roof thatch, every smudge of soot that blackened the edges of the smoke hole. She wanted to look at sky and trees, and a landscape uncluttered with lodges.