The Land of Painted Caves (87 page)

Jondalar was hardly aware that a celebration was being planned, and until Joharran had asked him to join the hunting party, he didn’t care. Then it only became an excuse to get away for a while. He had seen Marona a few times. When she heard the rumors about the estrangement of Ayla and Jondalar, she had made a point of seeking him out, but he had lost all interest in her. He was little more than coldly polite when she spoke to him, but she was not the only one who tried to find out how serious their breach was. Brukeval also came to the camp of the Ninth Cave.

Though he had traveled to the Summer Meeting with the Ninth Cave, Brukeval had long since moved away to sleep in the men’s summer lodges, the “far lodges” that were constructed around the periphery of the Summer Meeting Camp—commonly shortened to “fa’lodges.” Some were used by young men recently elevated to manhood status, some by older men who were not yet mated or were between mates, or men who wished they were. Brukeval had never mated. He’d always had a secret fear of being refused, and had never asked anyone. Besides, none of the available women seemed all that interesting to him. Since he had no immediate family or children, he felt out of place at the Main Camp, and even around the more frequently used areas of the Ninth Cave. As the years went by and most of the men his age took mates, he avoided ordinary activities and familiar people more and more, and by default often ended up with the idlers who attached themselves to Laramar to partake of the brew he made, frequently imbibing of it himself for the forgetfulness it induced.

Brukeval had tried a few different men’s tents at the Summer Meeting, but finally settled in the one that housed many of the men he knew from the Ninth Cave who enjoyed easy access to Laramar’s brew. Laramar himself slept there most of the time rather than returning to the tent of his mate and her children. The children weren’t very welcoming lately, especially since Lanoga mated that boy with the feeble arm. She’d grown up to be pretty enough, Laramar thought; she could have gotten a better man, though he’d heard the boy could hunt. Madroman often chose that men’s tent as well, rather than the large dwelling of patronizing zelandonia, where he was still only an acolyte, even though he told everyone that he had been called.

Brukeval didn’t much like the men he chose to live with, a shiftless bunch who had little to offer and even less respect. He knew he was brighter and more capable than most of them. He was related to the families of those who often became leaders and he had grown up with people who were responsible, intelligent, and often talented. The men with whom he shared a fa’lodge were essentially lazy, weak willed, or slow, with no generosity of spirit or heart and few other redeeming qualities.

As a result, in an effort to bolster their own self-worth and as an outlet for their frustrations, they fed each other’s vanity and conceit with bragging contempt for something they could feel superior to: those dirty, stupid animals called Flatheads. They told each other that while they were not human, they could be tricky. Because Flatheads bore a vague resemblance to real people, they were sometimes clever enough to confuse the spirits that made a woman pregnant so that she gave birth to an abomination, and that was intolerable. For reasons of his own, the one thing Brukeval had in common with the men with whom he shared living space was a deep and abiding hatred for Flatheads.

Some of the men were brutal bullies, and in the beginning one or two had actually tried to bait and tease him about having a Flathead mother, but after he had demonstrated his irrational anger and powerful strength a few times, none dared to bother him again, and most came to treat him with more respect than anyone else who shared their fa’lodge. Besides, he did have some influence with the Cave leaders since he knew many of them, and had spoken up for one or another of the men who had gotten himself in deeper than usual trouble. Many of the men began to look to him as a leader of sorts. So did some of the Caves. They felt that he could be a restraining influence, and by the middle of the summer, if any of the men who lived there were being especially troublesome, Brukeval was the one people went to.

When he appeared at the Main Camp of the Ninth Cave, ostensibly to share a midday meal and visit with the people of his Cave, it caused some conjecture. Ayla had gone early. She was deeply involved with the activities of the zelandonia, and had taken Jonayla to stay with Levela along the way. In fact, most of the women were gone. With her usual organizing flair, Proleva had gathered up everyone she could find, assigning jobs here and delegating there, to begin the preparations for a great feast that would feed the entire Summer Meeting. The only women at the camp were the ones going on the hunt.

Proleva had left behind some food for the midday meal of the hunters who were gathering at the camp of the Ninth Cave. The hunting party would have to fend for themselves on the trail. Most of them had packed dried traveling food along with their equipment, tents, and sleeping rolls, though they did expect to eat fresh food they killed or collected most of the time.

Since he was there and was known to be a more than adequate hunter, Joharran invited him along on the hunt. Brukeval hesitated only a moment. He wondered about the situation between Ayla and Jondalar, and thought that perhaps during the camaraderie of a hunt, he might be able to find out.

Brukeval had never forgotten the way Ayla had faced them all down when Marona had tricked her into wearing entirely inappropriate clothing to her own welcoming party—now all the women were wearing similar outfits, he’d noticed. He remembered how warm she had been to him when they first met, the way she smiled, almost as though she knew him, with none of the hesitation or reservation most women showed. And he dreamed of her in her beautiful and unusual Matrimonial clothing, often seeing himself removing it, and after all these years, he still daydreamed about what it would be like if he were Jondalar lying beside her on soft furs.

Ayla had always been pleasant to him, but after that first night, he sensed a feeling of distance from her that was different from that first welcome. Brukeval had withdrawn more into himself as the years had gone by, but without their being aware of it, he knew a great deal about Jondalar and Ayla’s life together, even intimate details. Among other things, he knew that Jondalar had been coupling with Marona—of all people—for some time. He also knew that Ayla never joined with anyone else, not even at Mother Festivals, and that she did not know about Jondalar and Marona.

Brukeval returned to the fa’lodge for his hunting gear, and by the time he got back to the Ninth Cave’s camp, he was actually looking forward to the hunt. He hadn’t really been included in one since he took up residence with the men he currently shared sleeping space with. As a rule, most hunting party leaders didn’t bother asking the men from that tent to join them, and they seldom organized their own hunts, except for Brukeval, who had often gone off alone over the years and had learned to hunt or forage enough for himself when he wanted to.

The other men usually cadged something to eat from one Cave or another, often returning to the camps of their own Caves. Madroman had no concern about meals. He usually ate with the zelandonia, who were customarily supplied quite well by the Caves, usually in exchange for general services, but also for specific requests. Laramar also had his own resources. He traded his brew, and found no lack of willing consumers.

It was not uncommon for the youngest men staying in their own shelters to get food or a meal from one camp or another, although they usually tried to make some contribution in return, such as hunting or joining in other community work or food-gathering activities. And though it was not unusual for the men who had recently reached manhood to create a few problems now and then, it was generally ascribed to “high spirits” and tolerated, especially by older men recalling their own youth. If, however, they caused too much trouble, it could bring a visit from Cave leaders, who had the authority to impose penalties, including, at the worst, banishment from the Summer Meeting Camp.

Everyone knew that the men of Brukeval’s fa’lodge—as people had started referring to the place—were not young, and they could seldom be found when there was work to do. But there was never a lack of food at Summer Meetings, and no one who showed up when it was time to eat was ever turned away, no matter how unwelcome. The men of that place were generally smart enough not to appear at the same camp too often. And they usually spread out so that all of them did not end up at one place at the same time, unless they learned of a rather lavish feast, as when one or more camps would have a large communal meal. But with their often loud parties, sometimes violent fights, slovenly ways, and unwillingness to contribute, that particular men’s group skirted the very edge of tolerance.

But that tent was the only place where Brukeval could drown out his secret guilt and pain with Laramar’s brew. In a drunken stupor, with his conscious mind no longer in control, then he was free to think of Ayla the way he wanted. He could think of the way she looked when she proudly faced down the laughter of the Ninth Cave, think of her smiling at him with her beautiful smile, laughing and a little tipsy, flirting with him, talking to him as if she thought he was an ordinary man, even a charming, handsome man, not ugly and short. People called him a Flathead, but it wasn’t true, it wasn’t. I am not a Flathead, he thought. It’s only because I am short and … ugly.

Hidden in the dark, full of potent drink, he could dream of Ayla in her spectacular, exotic tunic with her beautiful golden hair falling around her face and the amber jewel nestled between her high, firm bare breasts. He could dream of holding those breasts, of touching those nipples, of taking them in his mouth. Just the thought would bring him to erection, and filled with his need, he barely had to touch himself to make his essence spurt.

Then he could crawl into his empty bed, and dream that he was the one who had stood in front of Zelandoni with Ayla at his side, not his cousin, the tall man with the yellow hair and vivid blue eyes, not that perfect man every woman wanted. But Brukeval knew he wasn’t so perfect. Jondalar had been coupling with Marona, not telling Ayla, trying to hide it from everyone. He had guilty secrets, too, and now Ayla was sleeping alone. Jondalar had been sleeping outside in the horse place, using their riding blankets. Had Ayla stopped loving Jondalar? Had she found out about Marona and stopped loving that man who was everything Brukeval had ever wanted to be? The man who was mated to the woman he loved more than life itself? Did she need someone to love her now?

Even if she stopped loving Jondalar, he knew it wasn’t likely that she would choose him, but she had smiled at him again, and didn’t seem as distant. And with the arrival of Dalanar and the Lanzadonii, he was reminded that some beautiful women did choose men who were ugly. He was not a Flathead, and he hated to think of himself as having any similarity, but he was aware that Echozar, that ugly abomination of a man who was born of mixed spirits, whose mother was a Flathead, had mated the daughter of Dalanar’s second woman, the one most people thought was so exotically beautiful. So it was possible. He tried not to get his hopes up, but if Ayla ever needed someone, someone who would never couple with anyone else, never, not as long as he lived, who would never love anyone else as long as he lived, he could be that man.

36

“M
other! Mother! ’Thona is here! Grandam finally came!” Jonayla cried, running into their lodge to announce the news, and then running out again. Wolf followed her in and out again.

Ayla stopped to think about how many days it had been since she had asked to have someone go for Marthona. She touched a finger to her leg as she thought about each day, and could count only four. Marthona must have been eager to come, as Ayla knew she would be, if a way could be found to get her here. She stepped out of the lodge just as four young men of approximately the same height lowered the stretcher on which Marthona was sitting from their shoulders to the ground. Two of them were Jondalar’s apprentices; the other two were friends who happened to be nearby when the request for litter bearers was made.

Ayla looked at the contrivance upon which Marthona had been carried to the Summer Meeting. It consisted of two poles from straight young alder trees, placed parallel to each other with strong rope woven across them diagonally, creating a diamond pattern. Shorter shafts were woven through the ropes at intervals between the long poles to give some added stability. Ayla was sure that Marthona, who was an experienced weaver, had a hand in making it. The woman sat on a couple of cushions near the back and Ayla reached out a hand to help her stand up. Marthona thanked the young men as well as several others, who apparently had traded off the job of carrying the former leader.

They had spent the night before in the small valley of the Fifth Cave with the few people from that group who had stayed back from the meeting, along with one of their Zelandoni’s acolytes. They were all quite interested in Marthona’s mode of transportation. A couple of them wondered to themselves if they could find some young men who might be willing to carry them to a Summer Meeting. Most of them would have liked to attend; they all felt they were missing out when they had to stay back because they were not able to walk the distance on their own legs.

When Jondalar’s apprentices brought the stretcher into the lodge, it occurred to Ayla that their services might still be needed. “Hartaman, would you and Zachadal, and maybe some of the others be willing to carry Marthona around the Camp, if she needs you? The walk from here to the zelandonia lodge and some of the other camps might be a little too far for her,” Ayla said.

“Just let us know when you need us,” Hartaman said. “It might be best if you could tell us in advance, but there is likely to be at least one of us around most of the time. I’ll talk to some of the others and see if we can work out a way to make sure someone is here who can go and get more to help.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Marthona said. She had heard Ayla’s request as she walked in the entrance. “But I don’t want to keep you from your own activities.”

“There isn’t that much to do anymore,” Hartaman said. “Some people are planning to go hunting, or visiting relatives, or back home soon. Most of the ceremonies and feasts are over, except for the Late Matrimonial and whatever big event the zelandonia are preparing now, and no one seems able to find Jondalar lately, but he always does more training in the winter anyway. It’s fun to carry you around, Marthona,” Hartaman said, with a grin. “You can’t believe how much attention we got just walking into Camp with you.”

“Well, it seems I’ve become a new amusement,” Marthona said, smiling back. “As long as you really don’t mind, I may call upon you for your help now and then. I’ll tell you the truth, I can walk much better for short distances, but I can’t go very far even with a walking stick, and I hate slowing everyone else down.”

Folara suddenly came bursting into the summer lodge. “Mother! You’re here! Someone just told me you had come to the Summer Meeting. I didn’t even know you were coming.” They hugged in greeting, and touched cheeks.

“You can thank Ayla for that. When she heard that you might have found someone that you really care about, she suggested that someone go and get me. A young woman needs her mother if serious plans are being made,” Marthona said.

“She’s right,” Folara said, and her smile was radiant, which made Marthona know that the possibility was true. “But how did you get here?”

“I think that was Ayla’s idea, too. She told Dalanar and Joharran there was no reason that I couldn’t be carried here on a stretcher by strong young men, so several of them came and got me. Ayla wanted me to come with her when she came, riding on Whinney’s back, and I probably should have, but as much as I like the horses, the thought of riding one of them frightens me. I don’t know how to control horses. Young men are easier. You just tell them what you want, and when you want to stop,” Marthona said.

Folara hugged her brother’s mate. “Thank you, Ayla. It takes another woman to understand. I did want my mother here, but I didn’t know if she was well enough, and I knew she couldn’t walk here.” She turned to her mother. “How are you feeling?”

“Ayla took very good care of me when she was staying at the Ninth Cave, and I feel much better now than I did last spring,” the woman said. “She really is a very good healer, and if you look closely, you will see that she is now a Zelandoni.”

Marthona had noticed the mark on the side of her forehead, Ayla realized. It was healing and there was no pain, although it itched sometimes, and she had almost forgotten about it, unless someone mentioned it or made a point of staring.

“I know she is, mother,” Folara said. “Everyone knows, even if they haven’t announced it, but like all the rest of the zelandonia lately, she’s been so busy, I haven’t seen much of her. They’re planning some kind of ceremony, but I don’t know if it will be before or after the Second Matrimonial.”

“Before,” Ayla said. “You’ll have time to talk to your mother and plan.”

“So you are serious about someone,” Marthona said. She paused and was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then she said. “Well, where is this young man? I’d like to meet him.”

“He’s waiting outside,” Folara said. “I’ll get him.”

“Why don’t I go out and meet him,” Marthona said. It was dark in the summer lodge. There were no windows, only the entrance with its covering drape pulled back and tied, and the smoke hole in the middle of the roof, which was often left completely open during the day when the weather was nice. Her sight wasn’t what it used to be and she wanted to get as good a look at this young man as she could.

When the three women went out of the entrance, Marthona saw three young men whom she didn’t know, dressed in unfamiliar clothing, one of them a veritable giant with bright red hair. When Folara approached him first, Marthona took a deep breath. She had rather hoped he would not be the one her daughter had chosen. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with him. It was Marthona’s aesthetic sense, which wasn’t a deciding factor in any case, just that she always had hoped that the man Folara chose would fit well with her, that they would complement each other, and a man that big would make her tall and elegant daughter seem small. Folara began the introductions.

“Danug and Druwez of the Mamutoi are Ayla’s kin. They came all this way to visit her. On their way they met another man and invited him to travel with them. Mother, please welcome Aldanor of the S’Armunai.”

Ayla watched as a young man with the dark good looks of the S’Armunai came forward. “Aldanor, this is my mother, Marthona, former leader of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, Mated to Willamar, Trade Master …”

Marthona breathed a sigh of relief when Folara started to formally introduce her to Aldanor, not the young red-haired giant, and began to recite the strange names and ties of the young man to the older woman.

“In the name of the Great Earth Mother, you are welcome here, Aldanor of the S’Armunai,” Marthona said.

“In the name of Muna, Great Mother of the Earth, Her son Luma, bringer of warmth and light, and Her mate Bala, the watcher in the sky, I give you greetings,” Aldanor said to Marthona, putting his hands up with arms bent at the elbow and palms facing her; then he remembered, and quickly changed the position so that his arms were stretched out and his palms were facing up, the way the Zelandonii made a greeting.

Both Marthona and Ayla knew that he must have been practicing the S’Armunai greeting so he could say it in Zelandonii, and they were both impressed. To Marthona, it spoke well of the handsome young man that he was willing to make the effort, and she had to admit he was a handsome young man. She could understand her daughter’s attraction and, so far, was pleased with her choice.

Ayla had never heard the formal greeting of the S’Armunai; neither she nor Jondalar had ever been formally welcomed to a camp of the S’Armunai. Jondalar had been taken prisoner by Attaroa’s Wolf Women and kept in a confined fenced area along with their men and boys. Ayla and the horses with the help of Wolf followed his trail to the camp.

After the formal greetings, Marthona and Aldanor began chatting, but Ayla recognized that while the former leader was being charming, she was also asking pointed questions to learn as much as she could about the stranger her daughter was planning to mate. Aldanor was explaining that he had met Danug and Druwez when they stopped to stay with his people for a while. He did not belong to Attaroa’s Camp, but one farther north, for which he was grateful when it became known what had been going on there.

Ayla and Jondalar had become legendary figures to the S’Armunai. The tale was told of the beautiful S’Ayla, the Mother Incarnate, a living munai as fair as a summer day, and her mate, the tall, blond S’Elandon, who had come to earth to save the men of that southern camp. It was said that his eyes were the color of water in a glacier, more blue than the sky, and with his light hair, he was as handsome as only the shining moon would be if he came to earth and took human form. After the Mother’s fierce Wolf, an incarnation of the Wolf Star, killed the evil Attaroa, S’Ayla and S’Elandon rode back up to the sky on their magic horses.

Aldanor had loved the stories when he first heard them, especially the idea that the visitors from the sky could control horses and wolves. He thought the legend came from a traveling storyteller, who must have had an inspiration of sheer genius to come up with such an innovative story. When the cousins claimed the two legendary figures were kin, and that they were on their way to visit them, he couldn’t believe they were real. The young men got along well and when the two cousins extended the invitation, he decided to travel with them on their Journey to visit their Zelandonii kin, and see for himself. As the three young men traveled west, they heard more stories. The couple not only rode horses, but their wolf was so “fierce,” he allowed babies to crawl all over him.

When they arrived at the Zelandonii Summer Meeting and he heard the true story of Attaroa and the people of her camp from Jondalar, Aldanor was amazed that the incidents in the legends were so accurate. He had planned to go back with Danug and Druwez just to tell everyone how true they were. A woman named Ayla did exist and was living with the Zelandonii, and her mate, Jondalar, was tall and blond with surprisingly blue eyes, and if a little older, still a most handsome man. Everyone said Ayla was beautiful, too.

But he decided not to go. No one would have believed him, any more than he had believed the stories that he heard were actually true. They were supernatural fables, which had a mystical kind of truth that helped to explain things that were unknown—myths. And besides, Jondalar’s sister was a beauty in her own right, and she had captured his heart.

People had been gathering around as the stranger and Marthona talked, listening to the story Aldanor was telling.

“Why are the couple in the story called S’Ayla and S’Elandon, and not Ayla and Jondalar?” Folara asked.

“I think I can tell you that,” Ayla said. “The
S
sound is an honorific; it is meant to express honor, show respect. The name S’Armunai means the ‘honored people’ or the ‘special people.’ When it is used in front of a person’s name it means that person is held in great esteem.”

“Why aren’t we called ‘special people’?” Jonayla asked.

“I think we are. I think their honorific is another way of saying ‘Children of the Mother,’ which is what we call ourselves,” Marthona said. “Maybe we are related, or were long ago. It’s interesting that they could take ‘Zelandonii’ and so easily change it to mean ‘one who is honored,’ or the ‘special people.’ ”

“When they were confined to the fenced-in area,” Ayla continued, “Jondalar started showing the men and boys how to do things, like make tools. He was the one who found a way to break everyone free. On our travels, when we would meet people, he often referred to himself as ‘Jondalar of the Zelandonii.’ One boy in particular took the Zelandonii part of Jondalar’s name and started saying it ‘S’Elandon,’ giving him the honorific, because he honored and respected him so much. I think he believed that was what his name meant, ‘Jondalar the honored one.’ In the legend, they apparently gave me the honor, too.”

Marthona was satisfied, for the present. She turned to Ayla. “I am being ill mannered. I’m sorry. Please introduce me to your kin.”