The Land of Painted Caves (43 page)

Zelandoni took them and held them in the light from the lamp. “There may have been a burial in here, long ago. People have lived near here for as long as anyone can remember.” She saw Jondalar make an involuntary shudder. He preferred to leave things of the spirit world to the zelandonia, and she knew it.

Jondalar had helped with burials when he was required to do so, but he hated the duty. Usually when men returned from digging burial holes, or other activities that brought them dangerously close to the spirit world, they went to the cave called the Men’s Place, on a highland across Grass River from the Third Cave, to be scrubbed and purified. Again, women were not prohibited from the Men’s Place, but like a fa’lodge, it was mostly male activities that took place, and few women, outside of the zelandonia, went there.

“The spirit is long gone from these,” she said. “The elan found its way to the world of the spirits so long ago that only pieces of bone are left. There may be more.”

“Do you know why someone was buried in here, Zelandoni?” Jondalar asked.

“It is not what we usually do, but I am sure this person was put in this Sacred Place for a reason. I don’t know why the Mother decided to let the wolf show them to us, but I will put these back farther on. I think it is best to return them to Her.”

The One Who Was First went ahead into the twisting darkness of the cave. They watched her light weaving ahead, then disappear. Not long after, it reappeared, and soon they saw the woman returning. “I think it’s time to go back,” she said.

Ayla was glad to be leaving the cave. Besides being dark, the caves were always damp and chilly once you moved past the opening, and this one felt close and confined, but maybe it was just that she’d had her fill of caves for a while. She just wanted to go home.

When they arrived at the Ninth Cave, they found that more people had come home from the Summer Meeting, though some were planning to leave again soon. They had brought with them a young man who was smiling shyly at a woman seated near him. His hair was light brown and his eyes were gray. Ayla recognized Matagan, the young man of the Fifth Cave who had been gored in the leg by a woolly rhinoceros the year before.

Ayla and Jondalar had been returning from their period of isolation after their Matrimonial when they saw several young men—inexperienced boys, really—who were baiting a huge, full-grown rhino. The youngsters had been sharing one of the bachelor fa’lodges, some for the first time, and were full of themselves, sure they would live forever. When they saw the woolly rhinoceros, they decided to hunt it themselves without going to find an older, more experienced hunter. They were thinking only of the praise and glory they would get when the people at the Summer Meeting saw their kill.

They were really quite young; some had barely gained hunter status, and only one of them had even seen hunters baiting a rhino, though they had all heard of the technique. They didn’t know how deceptively quick the huge creature could be, or how important it was to keep focused and not allow their attention to stray for a moment. That was all it had taken. The rhino had shown signs of tiring, and the boy hadn’t kept his attention closely enough on the animal. When it came for him, Matagan was unable to move fast enough. He was badly gored in the right leg below the knee. The injury was severe, with the lower part of his leg bent sharply backward and the jagged broken bones sticking out of the profusely bleeding wound. He would likely have died if Ayla hadn’t happened to be there and, from her training in the Clan, knew how to set a broken leg and staunch the bleeding.

When he did survive, the fear was that he might never walk on that leg again. He did walk, but there was permanent damage and some paralysis. He could get around fairly well, but his ability to crouch down or stalk an animal was severely curtailed; he would never be a really good hunter. That was when discussions began about him becoming an apprentice to Jondalar to learn flint-knapping. The boy’s mother and her mate, plus Kemordan, the leader of the Fifth Cave, Joharran, Jondalar, and Ayla, since he would be staying with them, had finally settled everything at the Summer Meeting before they left. Ayla liked the youngster and approved of the arrangement. The boy needed to have a skill that would give him respect and status, and she remembered when they were traveling, how much Jondalar had enjoyed teaching his craft to anyone willing to learn, especially youngsters. But she had hoped for a day or so of rest and quiet alone in her home. She took a deep, silent breath and walked over to greet Matagan. He smiled when he saw her coming, and hurried to scamble to his feet.

“Greetings, Matagan,” she said, reaching for both of his hands. “In the name of the Great Earth Mother, I welcome you.” She looked him over closely in her inconspicuous way, and noted that he seemed rather tall for his age, though he was still young and had not reached his full height. She hoped his injured leg would continue to grow to match the length of his good leg. It was hard to tell how tall he would be, but his limp could get worse if his legs became unequal in size.

“In the name of Doni, I greet you, Ayla,” he replied, the polite greeting he had been taught to use.

Jonayla, tied to her mother’s back with the carrying blanket, squirmed to see to whom she was talking. “I think Jonayla wants to greet you, too,” Ayla said, loosening her blanket and shifting her around to the front. The baby sat wide-eyed in her mother’s arms looking at the young man; then suddenly she smiled and held out her arms to him. Ayla was surprised.

He smiled back. “Can I hold her? I know how. I have a sister a little older than her,” Matagan said.

And he’s probably homesick and lonesome for her already, Ayla thought, as she handed Jonayla to him. It was obvious that he was comfortable holding a baby. “Do you have many brothers and sisters?” she asked.

“I guess so. She’s the youngest, I’m the oldest, and there are four in between, including two born together,” he said.

“I think you must be quite a help to your mother. She is going to miss you. How many years do you count?” she said.

“I’m a thirteen-year,” he said. He became aware of her unusual accent again. When he had first heard the foreign woman speak, the year before, he had thought her accent was quite strange, but when he was recovering, especially when he woke up after the accident and was in so much pain, he grew to look forward to that accent because she invariably brought some relief. And although the other Zelandonia also checked on him, she came regularly, and stayed to talk to him and straighten his bedding to make him comfortable, as well as giving him medicine.

“And you have reached your manhood and had your rites last summer,” a voice behind Ayla said. It was Jondalar, who had been hearing the conversation as he approached them. The style of Matagan’s clothing, the patterns that had been sewn on them, and the beads and jewelry he wore told Jondalar that the youngster was considered a man of the Fifth Cave of the Zelandonii.

“Yes, last summer at the Meeting,” Matagan said. “Before I was hurt.”

“Now that you are a man, it’s time for you to learn a skill. Have you done much flint knapping?”

“Some. I can make a spear point and a knife, or reshape one that is broken. They aren’t the best, but they work,” the boy said.

“Perhaps the question I should ask is, do you like working the flint?” Jondalar said.

“I like it when it goes right. Sometimes it doesn’t.”

Jondalar smiled. “Even for me, sometimes it doesn’t,” he said. “Have you eaten?”

“I just finished,” Matagan said.

“Well, we haven’t yet,” Jondalar said. “We just got back from a short trip to see some of our neighbors and find out if they suffered any injuries or damage from the earthquake. You know that Ayla is acolyte to the First, don’t you?”

“I think everyone knows that,” he said, shifting Jonayla around to lean against his shoulder.

“Did you feel the earthquake?” Ayla asked. “Was anyone in your traveling party hurt?”

“We felt it. Some people were knocked down, but no one was really hurt,” he said. “I think everyone was scared, though. I know I was.”

“I can’t think of anyone who wouldn’t be afraid during an earthquake. We’ll get something to eat; then we’ll show you where you can stay. We haven’t set anything up special, yet, but we’ll work it out later,” Jondalar said as they headed toward the other side of the shelter where people were gathered.

Ayla reached for Jonayla.

“I can hold her while you get some food,” Matagan said. “If she’ll let me.”

“Let’s see if she will,” Ayla said, turning toward the firepit where the food had been set out. Suddenly Wolf appeared. He had stopped for water when they reached the Ninth Cave, and then found that someone had put some food in his bowl. Matagan’s eyes opened wider with surprise, but he had seen the wolf before and he didn’t seem overly frightened of the animal. Ayla had introduced the wolf to Matagan the year before when she was taking care of him, and the animal sniffed the young man who was holding the baby of his pack, and recognized his scent. When the boy sat down, the wolf sat down beside him. Jonayla seemed happy with the arrangement.

By the time they finished eating, it was getting dark. There were always some prepared torches ready for lighting near the main fire where the group often gathered and Jondalar took one and lit it. They all had traveling gear with them—backframes, sleeping rolls, traveling tents. Jondalar helped Ayla with some of hers, while she carried the baby, but Matagan seemed to be able to handle his own, including a sturdy staff that he sometimes used to walk with. He didn’t seem to need it all the time. Ayla suspected he had used it on the long walk from the Sun View, the place of the Summer Meeting, to the Ninth Cave, but probably could get by just fine for shorter distances.

When they reached their dwelling, Jondalar went in first, lighting the way, and held open the drape across the entrance. Matagan went in next, followed by Ayla.

“Why don’t you set up your sleeping roll here in the main room near the fire for now. We’ll work out something better tomorrow,” Jondalar said, suddenly wondering how long Matagan would be living with them.

Part Two

18

“M
atagan, have you seen Jonayla and Jondalar?” Ayla called out when she saw the young man walking with a limp, coming out of the addition that had been built next to her dwelling. There were three youths living there now: Matagan; Jonfilar, who had come from the west, near the Great Waters; and Garthadal, whose mother was the leader of his Cave, and had traveled with him from far to the southeast because she had heard of Jondalar’s skill.

After four years, Matagan was the most senior of Jondalar’s apprentices and had gained so much proficiency that he was helping the man train the younger ones. He could have gone back to the Fifth Cave, or almost any other Cave, as an experienced flint-knapper in his own right, but by now he thought of the Ninth Cave as his home and preferred to stay and work with his mentor.

“I saw them earlier heading toward the horse surround. I think I heard him promise her yesterday that he would take her riding today if it didn’t rain. She’s getting good at riding Gray, as little as she is, even if she can’t get on or off by herself yet.”

Ayla smiled to herself with the memory of Jondalar riding Racer with Jonayla sitting in front of him before she was even walking, and they both trained Gray with the child on her back in front of them, her little arms hugging the mare’s thick neck. The young girl and the young mare grew up with each other, and Ayla thought the tie between them was as close as the one between Whinney and herself. Jonayla was good with all the horses, including the stallion—in some ways even better than her mother because she learned to direct him using the halter and lead rope, the way Jondalar did. Ayla still directed Whinney using body language and wasn’t as comfortable riding a horse using Jondalar’s technique.

“When they come back, would you tell Jondalar I’ll be late tonight? I may not be back until morning. Do you know about the man who fell off the cliff near The Crossing this morning?” Ayla said.

“Yes. A visitor?” Matagan said.

“A neighbor from New Home. He used to be with the Seventh Cave; now he lives at Bear Hill. I can’t understand why anybody would try to climb High Rock when it’s so wet from all the rain. Mud has been sliding down some of the steeper slopes; it was probably muddy up there, too,” Ayla said. This has been a wet spring, she thought. Springs have been more wet ever since we had that cold winter that Marthona predicted a few years ago.

“How is he?” Matagan asked. He knew what it was like to suffer the consequences of poor judgment.

“He’s seriously hurt. Broken bones and I don’t know what else. I’m afraid Zelandoni will be up all night with him. I’ll be staying to help her,” Ayla said.

“With you and the First there, I’m sure he’s getting the best care possible,” Matagan said, then smiled. “And I speak from experience.”

Ayla smiled back. “I hope so. A runner was sent to tell his family. They should be arriving soon. Proleva is making a meal for them and some others at the main hearth. I’m sure there will be enough for you and the boys, and Jondalar and Jonayla, too,” she added as she turned to hurry back.

She found herself still thinking about Jonayla and the animals as she walked back. When she had to be away, Wolf sometimes stayed with Jonayla, sometimes with her. If she went with Zelandoni to help someone at another Cave, Wolf usually came with her, but when she had to make “sacrifices” and endure “tests” as part of her training—go without sleep, give up Pleasures, fast for periods of time—she usually went alone.

She often stayed at the small shelter called the Little Hollow of Fountain Rocks, which was comfortable enough. It was right next to the Deep of Fountain Rocks, sometimes called Doni’s Deep, the long cave that was the first Sacred Site she saw when she came to live with the Zelandonii. Fountain Rocks was about a mile away from the Ninth Cave, plus a gentle-sloped but long climb up the cliff. The long painted cave had other names, especially to the zelandonia, such as Entrance to the Womb of the Mother or the Mother’s Birth Canal. It was the most Sacred Site in their immediate region.

Jondalar wasn’t always happy when she had to be away, but he never minded taking care of Jonayla, and Ayla was glad for both of them that they were developing such a close relationship. He had even started teaching her to knap flint alongside his apprentices.

Ayla’s musings were cut short when she noticed two women walking toward her on her way back, Marona and her cousin. Wylopa nodded in greeting and smiled whenever she saw her, and though it always looked insincere, Ayla smiled back. Marona usually acknowledged her only with the briefest of nods and Ayla responded in kind. The woman didn’t even do that much if no one else was around, but this time Marona did smile at her. It made Ayla look at her again. It was in no way a pleasant smile. It was more like a sneer, a gloating sneer.

Ever since her return, Ayla couldn’t help but wonder why Marona had moved back to the Ninth Cave. She thought the Fifth Cave had accepted her well enough, and the woman had been known to remark when she moved there that she liked it better. I like it better when she’s there, too, Ayla thought.

It wasn’t just because Marona and Jondalar had once been a couple. Rather that no one had been more malicious and spiteful to her, beginning with the trick of the boys’ winter underwear so people would laugh at her. But Ayla had faced the laughter down and gained the respect of the Ninth Cave. Now, particularly when she was riding Whinney, she often wore a similar outfit on purpose, and so did many other women, much to Marona’s vexation. Light leggings and a sleeveless tunic in soft leather were quite comfortable to wear when the days were mild.

Ayla had heard talk from some of Matagan’s visiting relatives that Marona had angered some high-status women of the Fifth Cave, kin of Kemordan, the leader, or his mate, for persuading a man who was Promised to one of them to run away with her instead. With her nearly white blond hair and dark gray eyes, she was an attractive woman, though Ayla thought the lines of the frown she wore so often were beginning to etch themselves more deeply on her face. Just like most of her relationships, the liaison didn’t last very long, and after claiming his regret and making satisfactory reparations, he was accepted back, but she was looked upon with less favor. As Ayla neared Zelandoni’s dwelling, her musings slipped into the back of her mind as thoughts of the injured man filled it.

Later in the evening, when she stepped out of the Donier’s abode, which was both her home and an infirmary, she saw Jondalar sitting next to Joharran, Proleva, and Marthona. They had finished their meal and were sipping tea, watching Jonayla and Proleva’s daughter, Sethona. Jonayla was a happy, healthy child and very pretty, everyone said, with fine, very light soft curly hair and Jondalar’s extraordinarily vivid blue eyes. To Ayla, Jonayla was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, but growing up in the Clan had taught her to be reticent in expressing such thoughts about her own child. It could bring bad luck, and when she tried to look at it objectively, she believed she was bound to feel that way about her own offspring, but in her heart, she could hardly believe such an amazing child could be hers.

Sethona, Jonayla’s close cousin, born only a few days before her and a constant playmate, was gray-eyed with dark blond hair. Ayla thought she resembled Marthona; she already showed elements of the former leader’s dignity and grace, and her clear direct gaze. Ayla turned her attention to Joharran and Jondalar’s mother. Marthona was showing her age, her hair was more gray, her face more lined, but it wasn’t just her physical appearance. She wasn’t well and that worried Ayla. She and Zelandoni had discussed her situation, and every possible remedy and treatment they could think of to help her, but they both knew there was no way to keep Marthona from walking in the next world someday; they could only hope to delay it.

Though she had lost her own mother, Ayla felt herself lucky to have had Iza, the Clan medicine woman, as the mother who raised her as a girl, with Creb, the Mog-ur, as the man of her hearth. Nezzie of the Mamutoi was the mother who wanted to adopt her into the Lion Camp, although the Mamut of the Mammoth Hearth had done it instead. Jondalar’s mother had treated Ayla like a daughter from the first, and she thought of Marthona as her mother, her Zelandonii mother. She felt close to Zelandoni as well, but she was more a mentor and friend.

Wolf was watching the girls, his head down on his front paws. He had noticed Ayla when she approached, but when she didn’t immediately join them, he raised his head and looked at her, which caused everyone else to look, too. That made Ayla aware that she had been so lost in thought she had stopped walking. She continued toward them.

“How is he?” Joharran asked when she neared.

“It is still hard to know. We’ve put splints on the broken bones in his legs and arm, but we don’t know what may be broken inside. He still breathes, but he hasn’t roused. His mate and mother are in with him now,” Ayla said. “Zelandoni feels she should stay with them, but I think someone could bring her something to eat, which might encourage his family to come out and eat, too.”

“I’ll take her the food and try to persuade them to come out here,” Proleva said, getting up and walking toward the stack of visitors’ dishes. She took an ivory plate, which had been flaked off a large mammoth tusk and smoothed with sandstone rocks, and selected some slices of meat from the whole mountain goat kid that had been roasted on a spit. It was a rare treat. Several hunters from the Ninth and neighboring Caves had gone ibex hunting, and had had some luck. Proleva added some leafy greens and lightly cooked spring stalks of new thistle and roots of some kind, then carried it to the entrance of Zelandoni’s dwelling and scratched at the exposed side of a piece of rawhide next to the heavy leather drape across the entrance. A moment later she went in. Not long after, she walked out with the mate and mother of the injured man, brought them to the main hearth, and gave them visitor plates.

“I should go back in,” Ayla said, looking at Jondalar. “Did Matagan tell you I will probably be late tonight?”

“Yes. I’ll put Jonayla to bed,” he said, standing and picking up the child. He embraced the woman, touching cheeks, while Ayla held them both close.

“I rode Gray today,” Jonayla said. “Jondy took me out. He rode Racer. Whinney came too, but she didn’t have anyone to ride her. Why don’t you come, mama?”

“I wish I could have, Baby,” Ayla said, hugging them both again. Her pet name for her child was similar to the word for “baby” that she had called the injured lion cub she had once found, nursed back to health, and then raised. It was a modification of the Clan word for “infant” or “little one.” “But a man fell down and got hurt today. Zelandoni has been trying to make him feel better, and I’ve been helping her.”

“When he gets better, will you come?” Jonayla said.

“Yes, when he gets better, I will come riding with you,” Ayla said, thinking,
if
he gets better. Then she turned to Jondalar. “Why don’t you take Wolf with you, too.” She had noticed the mate of the man eyeing the animal warily. Everyone knew about the wolf and most had seen him, at least from a distance, but not everyone had tried to find a place to sit and eat with him nearby. The woman had also been looking askance at Ayla, especially after hearing the word she had used to refer to her child. Even modified, the word had a distinctly strange and unfamiliar sound.

After Jondalar left with Jonayla and Wolf, Ayla went back into Zelandoni’s dwelling. “Has there been any improvement in Jacharal?” she asked.

“Not that I’ve been able to see,” the One Who Was First said. She was glad the two women relatives had gone out so she could speak frankly. “Sometimes people languish in this condition for quite a while. If someone can manage to get them to take in water and food, they last longer, but if not they are gone within days. It’s as though the spirit is confused, the elan is not sure if it wants to leave this world while the body still breathes, even if the rest of the body is damaged beyond repair. Sometimes they wake up, but may not be able to move, or some part of them won’t move or doesn’t heal right. Occasionally, given enough time, some people will heal from a fall like that, but most often they don’t.”

“Has he lost fluid from his nose or ears?” Ayla asked.

“Not since he’s been here. There is an injury to his head, but it doesn’t seem very deep, just a few superficial scratches. He has so many broken bones, I’m guessing his real damage is internal. I’ll watch him tonight.”

“I’ll stay with you. Jondalar took Jonayla, and Wolf, with him. This man’s mate seemed uncomfortable around Wolf,” Ayla said. “I thought most people were used to him by now.”

“I suspect she hasn’t had time to get used to your wolf. She’s not from here; Amelana is her name. Jacharal’s mother told me the story. He went on a Journey to the south, mated her there, and brought her back with him. I’m not even sure if she was born in Zelandonii territory or only near it. The borders of territories are not always clear. She seems to speak it well enough, though with that southern inflection, a little like Beladora, Kimeran’s mate.”