The Land of Painted Caves (90 page)

As Jondalar stumbled around with a cup in his hand, he drew no more attention than any of the other celebrants who were staggering back and forth to the places where food and drink were supplied. Some laughing people bumped into him. They had just filled a waterbag with a potent drink of some kind.

“Uhhh, sorry. Lemme fill your cup. Can’t have empty cups at a Mother Festival,” one of them said.

Never had there been such a festival. There was more food than anyone could eat, more brew and wine and other beverages than anyone could drink. There were even leaves to smoke, certain mushrooms and other special things to eat. Nothing was forbidden. A few people had been chosen by lot or had volunteered to refrain from festival activities to make sure the Camp remained safe, to assist the few who inevitably got hurt, and to take care of those who got out of hand. And there were no young children around for the revelers to stumble over or worry about. They had all been gathered together to the camp at the edge of Summer Meeting Camp being looked after by Doniers and others.

Jondalar took a drink from his recently filled cup, unmindful that he was losing most of it as he walked around with the sloshing cupful. He hadn’t eaten, and the liberally flowing beverages were having their effect. His head was swimming and his vision fuzzy, but his mind, still caught up in his private thoughts, was disassociated from everything. He heard dancing music and his feet took him toward the sound. Only vaguely did he see the dancers moving around in a circle in the flickering firelight.

Then a woman danced by and suddenly his vision cleared as he focused on her. It was Ayla. He watched her dance with several men. She laughed drunkenly. Staggering unsteadily, she broke away from the circle. Three men followed her, their hands all over her, tearing off her clothes. Unbalanced, she fell over in a heap with the three men. One of them climbed on top of her, roughly spread her legs apart, and jammed his engorged organ into her. Jondalar recognized him. It was Laramar!

Held by the sight, unable to move, Jondalar watched him moving up and down, in and out. Laramar! Filthy, drunken, lazy, shiftless Laramar! Ayla wouldn’t even talk to him, but there she was with Laramar. She wouldn’t let him love her, share Pleasures with her. She wouldn’t let him start a baby with her.

What if Laramar is starting a baby with her!

Blood rushed to his head. All he could see in his red haze was Laramar, on top of Ayla, on top of
his
mate, bouncing up and down, up and down. Suddenly, in a blazing fury, Jondalar roared, “HE’S MAKING MY BABY!”

The tall man covered the distance between them in three strides. He pulled Laramar off Ayla, spun him around, and smashed his fist into the stunned man’s face. Laramar crumpled to the ground, nearly unconscious. He didn’t know who hit him, or even what had happened.

Jondalar jumped on top of him. In a savage, ravaging frenzy of jealousy and outrage, he was hitting Laramar, punching him, hammering him, unable to stop. His voice so tight with frustration, its pitch rose to a squeal, as Jondalar screamed, “He’s making my baby! He’s making my baby!” repeating it over and over again, “He’s making my baby!”

Some men tried to drag him away, but he shook them off. In his maddened fury, his strength was almost superhuman. Several more tried to pull him away, but he was wild; they couldn’t contain him.

Then, as Jondalar pulled back to pound his fist once more into the bloody mass of raw meat unrecognizable as a face, a massive hand grabbed his wrist. Jondalar struggled as he felt himself being pulled away from the unconscious man who was sprawled out on the ground, close to death. He fought to free himself from the two enormous, powerful arms that restrained him, but he couldn’t break loose.

As Danug held him off, Zelandoni cried, “Jondalar! Jondalar! Stop! You’ll kill him!”

He vaguely recognized the familiar voice of the woman he once knew as Zolena, and recalled hitting a young man over her; then his mind went blank. While several of the zelandonia rushed in to attend to Laramar, the burly red-haired giant picked Jondalar up in his arms like a baby and carried him away.

37

Z
elandoni gave Ayla one of the tightly woven reed cups that had been specially made for the festival, nearly full of hot tea made of herbs that would be relaxing. She put another cup on a low table, then sat down on the large stool beside Ayla’s stool. They were alone in the large zelandonia dwelling, except for the unconscious man, his face wrapped in soft skins that held healing poultices in place, lying on a nearby bed. Several lamps cast a warm glow of soft light around the injured man, and two more were on a low table that held the tea cups.

“I’ve never seen him like that,” Ayla said. “Why did he do it, Zelandoni?”

“Because you were with Laramar.”

“But it was a Mother Festival. I am Zelandoni now. I’m supposed to share the Mother’s Gift at Festivals that Honor the Mother, aren’t I?” Ayla said.

“Everyone is supposed to Honor the Mother at Her Festivals, and you always have, but never before with anyone except Jondalar,” the large woman said.

“Just because I haven’t done it before with anyone else shouldn’t make any difference. After all, he’s been coupling with Marona,” Ayla said. Zelandoni noticed a touch of defensiveness in her voice.

“Yes, but you weren’t available when he did. You know men often share the Mother’s Gift of Pleasure with other women when their mates are not within easy reach, don’t you?” the One Who Was First asked.

“Yes, of course,” Ayla said, looking down quickly, then taking a sip of her tea.

“Does the thought of Jondalar choosing another woman bother you, Ayla?”

“Well, he never has chosen anyone else. Not as long as I’ve known him,” Ayla said, looking at the woman with earnest concern. “How could I know him so little? I can’t believe what he did. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t been there. First he sneaks around with Marona … and I found out he’s been doing it for a long time. Then he … Why Marona?”

“How would you feel if it was someone else?”

Ayla looked down again. “I don’t know.” She looked up at Zelandoni again. “Why didn’t he come to me if he wanted to satisfy his needs? I have never refused him. Never.”

“Maybe that’s why. Maybe he knew you were tired, or deeply involved in something you were learning, and he didn’t want to impose himself on you, when he knew you would not refuse him,” Zelandoni said. “And there were some times when you were required to forgo certain things for a period of time, Pleasures, food, even water.”

“But why Marona? If it had been another woman, anyone else, I think I would have understood. I might not have liked it, but I would have understood. Why that woman?”

“Perhaps because she offered.” Ayla looked so puzzled, Zelandoni went on to explain. “Everyone was aware that neither you nor Jondalar ever chose anyone else, Ayla, not even at Mother Festivals. Before he left, Jondalar was always available, especially then. He had such a strong drive, one woman was seldom enough for him. It was like he was never quite satisfied, until he came back with you. Not long after he returned, women stopped trying. If you don’t make yourself available, no one offers. Most women don’t like being refused. But Marona didn’t care. It was so easy for her to have any man she wanted, a refusal just made it a challenge. Jondalar became a special challenge, I think.”

“I can’t believe how little I know him.” Ayla shook her head, took another sip of tea. “Zelandoni, he almost killed Laramar. His face will never be the same. If Danug hadn’t been here, I’m not sure Laramar would still be alive. No one else could stop him.”

“It was one of the things I was afraid would happen after we told the people about a man’s role in starting new life, though I didn’t expect it to happen this way, or quite so soon. I knew problems would come up once we told the men, but I thought we’d have more time to work them out.”

“I don’t understand,” Ayla said, frowning again. “I would have thought men would be happy to know that they were necessary for new life to begin, just as necessary as women, that it was the reason the Mother made them.”

“They may be happy, but once they understand the implications, men may want to be sure that the children of their hearths are more than the children of their mates. They may want to know that the children they provide for came from them.”

“Why should it matter? It never has before. Men have always provided for their mates’ children. Most men have been pleased when their mates brought children to their hearths. Why would they suddenly want to provide for only their own?” Ayla said.

“It may turn out to be a thing of pride. They may get possessive of their mates and their children,” the First said.

Ayla took a drink of tea and thought for a while, frowning. “How would they know for sure? It’s the woman who gives birth. The only thing any man can know, without doubt, is that a baby is the child of his mate.”

“The only way a man can be sure is if a woman shares Pleasures with only her mate,” Zelandoni said. “Like you, Ayla.”

Ayla’s frown deepened. “But what about Mother Festivals? Most women look forward to them. They want to Honor the Mother, to share her Gift of Pleasures with more than one man.”

“Yes, most women do, and men, too. It adds excitement and interest to their lives. Most women also want a mate to help take care of her children,” Zelandoni said.

“Some women don’t have mates. Their mothers, and aunts, and brothers help them, especially with a newborn. Even the Cave helps women take care of their children. Children have always been provided for,” Ayla said.

“That’s true, but things can change. There have been a few difficult years in the past, when animals were more scarce and plant food less abundant. When there is not as much, some people don’t always want to share. If you only had enough food for one child, which child would you give it to?”

“I would give up my own food, for any child,” Ayla said.

“For a while, yes. Most people would. But for how long? If you don’t eat, you would become weak and sick. Then who would take care of your child?”

“Jonda …” Ayla started; then she stopped and put her hand to her mouth.

“Yes.”

“But, Marthona would help, too, and Willamar, even Folara. The whole Ninth Cave would help,” Ayla rushed ahead.

“That’s true, Marthona and Willamar would, as long as they were able, but you know Marthona is not well, and Willamar is not getting younger. Folara is going to mate Aldanor in the Late Matrimonial this season. When she has a baby of her own, who will she feed first?”

“It’s never that bad, Zelandoni. Sometimes things get a little scarce in the spring, but you can always find something to eat,” Ayla said.

“And I hope that will always be true, but a woman usually feels more secure if she has a mate to help her.”

“Sometimes two women share a hearth and help each other with their children,” Ayla said. She was thinking about Aldanor’s people, the S’Armunai, and Attaroa, who tried to get rid of all the men.

“And they may become mates to each other. It is always better to have someone around to help, someone who cares, but most women choose men. It’s the way the Mother created most of us, and you have told us why, Ayla.”

Ayla glanced over toward the man in the bed. “But if you knew everything was going to change, Zelandoni, why did you allow it to happen? You’re the First. You could have stopped it,” Ayla said.

“Perhaps, for a while. But the Mother would not have told you if She didn’t want Her children to know. And once She decided, it was inevitable. It could not be kept a secret. When a truth is ready to be known, it may be delayed, but can’t be stopped,” Zelandoni said.

Ayla closed her eyes, thinking. Finally she opened them and said, “Jondalar was so … angry. So violent.” Tears were welling up.

“The violence has always been there, Ayla. It is for most men. You know what Jondalar did to Madroman, and he was little more than a boy then. He has just learned to keep it under control, most of the time.”

“But he couldn’t stop hitting him. He nearly killed Laramar. Why?”

“Because you chose Laramar, Ayla. Everyone heard Jondalar yelling, ‘He’s making my baby.’ You can be sure no man has forgotten those words. Why did you choose Laramar?”

Ayla bowed her head and tears tracked down her face as quiet sobs began. Finally she got it out. “Because Jondalar chose Marona.” The tears she had held back for so long were suddenly flowing and there was no stopping them. “Oh, Zelandoni, I never knew what jealousy was until that moment when I saw them together. I’d just lost my baby, and I’d been thinking about Jondalar and looking forward to seeing him, and maybe starting another baby with him. It hurt so much to see him with Marona, and it made me so angry, I wanted to make him hurt, too.” Zelandoni found a piece of soft bandaging material and gave it to her to wipe her eyes and her nose.

“And he wouldn’t talk to me afterward. He didn’t say he was sorry I lost the baby. Or hold me and comfort me. He didn’t even touch me, not once. He never said one word to me. It hurt even more when he wouldn’t talk to me. He didn’t even give me a chance to be angry. To tell him how I felt. I wasn’t even sure if he still loved me.” She sniffled, and wiped away more tears, then continued.

“When Jondalar saw me at the feast, and finally came over to say he wanted to talk to me, Laramar happened to be nearby. I know Jondalar has no respect for Laramar. There is no man he dislikes more. He thinks Laramar not only treats his mate and her children badly, he causes other men to do the same. I knew it would make Jondalar angry if I chose Laramar instead of him, I knew it would hurt him. But I didn’t know he would get so brutal. I didn’t know he would try to kill him. I just didn’t know.”

Zelandoni reached for Ayla and held her while she cried. “I thought it was something like that,” she said, patting her back and letting her get her tears out, but her mind was filling in details.

I should have paid closer attention, Zelandoni thought. I knew she had just miscarried, and that always brings on feelings of melancholy, and I knew Jondalar was not handling the problem well. He never does in this kind of situation, but Ayla seemed to be. I knew she was upset about Jondalar. I didn’t realize how much. I should have, but she’s hard to assess. It surprised me that she was called. I didn’t think she was quite ready, but I knew it had happened the moment I saw her.

I thought it was difficult for her, especially with the miscarriage, but she has always been so strong. I didn’t realize until I talked to Marthona just how bad it was. Then when she told her calling in front of the whole zelandonia—that caught me by surprise, too—I knew something had to be done about it right away. I should have talked to her first; then I would have known what to expect. It would have given me some time to think of the implications. But there is always so much going on at these Summer Meetings. It’s not an excuse. I should have been there to help her, help them both, and I wasn’t. I have to accept responsibility for a large part of this whole unfortunate affair.

While she was leaning on the soft shoulder of the large woman, sobbing and finally letting out the tears she had held back for so long, Ayla kept thinking about the question Zelandoni had asked. Why did I choose Laramar? Why did I choose the worst man in the whole Cave, probably the worst man at the whole Summer Meeting?

What a horrible Summer Meeting this has been. Instead of rushing to get here, it would have been better if I hadn’t come at all, she said to herself. Then I wouldn’t have seen them together. If I hadn’t seen Marona and Jondalar, if someone had just told me, it would have been better. I still wouldn’t have liked it, but at least every time I shut my eyes, I wouldn’t see them.

Maybe that’s what made me choose Laramar, what made me want to hurt Jondalar so much. I wanted to make him feel the way I was feeling. What does that make me? Wanting to strike back, wanting to hurt. Is that worthy of a Zelandoni? If I loved him so much, why should I want to hurt him? Because I was jealous. Now I know why the Zelandonii try to prevent it.

Jealousy is a terrible thing, Ayla said to herself. I had no right to feel so hurt. Jondalar didn’t do anything wrong. It was his right to choose Marona if he wanted to. He wasn’t breaking his bond; he was still contributing to the hearth, still helping to provide for Jonayla and me. He has always done more than he had to. He has probably taken care of Jonayla more than I have. I know how bad he always felt about hitting Madroman when he was younger. He hated himself for it; he must feel terrible now. And what will happen to him? What will the Ninth Cave do to him? Or the zelandonia, or all the Zelandonii, for almost killing Laramar?

Ayla finally sat back, wiped her eyes and her nose, reached for her tea. Zelandoni hoped the release had done her some good, but Ayla’s mind was still whirling. It’s all my fault, she thought. Tears started to fall again as she sat sipping cold tea, almost without her noticing. Laramar is hurt so bad, he’ll never be the same, and it’s my fault. He wouldn’t be hurt if I hadn’t encouraged him, coaxed him, made him think I wanted him.

And she’d had to force herself to do it. She hated the thought of his dirty, sweaty hands touching her. It made her skin crawl, feel itchy, grimy, and she couldn’t wash it away. She had bathed, scrubbed herself nearly raw, flushed herself out. Even though she knew it was dangerous, she drank a tea of mistletoe leaves and other herbs that made her vomit and gave her painful cramps, to expel anything that may have started. But nothing she did could rid her of the feel of Laramar.