The Shelters of Stone (18 page)

He had no idea he would find her unmated when he returned. She was still a beautiful woman, but she did have a temper and a vicious streak. She could be very spiteful and vindictive. Jondalar’s forehead knotted with concern as he watched Ayla and the three women walking toward the Ninth Cave.

W
olf saw Ayla walking along the path through the horse meadow with the three women and raced toward her. Lorava squealed at the sight of the large carnivore, Portula gasped and looked around in panic for a place to run, and Marona blanched in fear. Ayla glanced at the women as soon as she saw the wolf and, noting their reactions, quickly signaled him to stay.

“Stop, Wölfl” she voiced aloud, more for the benefit of the women than to halt the animal, although it did reinforce her signal. Wolf stopped in his tracks and watched Ayla, alert for a sign that he could approach her. “Would you like to meet
Wolf?”
she said, then, seeing that the women still showed fear, she added, “He won’t hurt you.”

“Why would I want to meet an animal?” Marona said.

The tone of her voice made Ayla look more closely at the light-haired woman. She noted fear but, surprisingly, an inflection of disgust and even anger. Ayla could understand the fear, but the rest of Marona’s reaction seemed inappropriate. It was certainly not the response she was used to seeing the animal evoke. The other two women looked at Marona, then seemed to follow her lead, showing no indication that they wanted to get close to the wolf.

Wolf’s stance had become more wary, Ayla saw. He must sense something, too, she thought. “Wolf, go find Jondalar,”
she said, giving him a signal to go. He stayed a moment longer, watching her, then bounded away as she turned to walk up the path toward the enormous stone shelter of the Ninth Cave with the three women.

They passed by several people on the path, and each one showed an immediate reaction to seeing her with the women. Some cast speculative glances or bemused smiles, some seemed surprised, even startled. Only young children seemed to pay no attention to them. Ayla could not help but notice, and it put her a bit on edge.

She studied Marona and the other women, though not obviously, using the techniques of women of the Clan. No one could be more inconspicuous than Clan women. They could quietly fade into the background and seem to disappear, and they gave the impression that they were not aware of anything around them, but that was misleading.

From the time they were very young, girls were taught never to stare or even look directly at a man, to be unobtrusive, and yet they were expected to know when one needed or wanted her attention. As a consequence, Clan women learned to focus carefully and precisely, and with a glance absorb significant information from posture, movement, and expression very quickly. And they missed little.

Ayla was as adept as any of them, though she wasn’t as aware of this legacy of her years with the Clan as she was of her ability to read body language. Her observations of the women put her on guard and made her think again about Marona’s motives, but she didn’t want to make any assumptions.

Once they were under the stone ledge they headed in a different direction from the one she had gone before and entered a large dwelling more toward the middle of the space. Marona led them in and they were greeted by another woman who seemed to be waiting for them.

“Ayla, this is my cousin, Wylopa,” Marona said on their way through the main room and into a side sleeping room. “Wylopa, this is Ayla.”

“Greetings,” Wylopa said.

After the rather formal introductions Ayla had had to all of Jondalar’s close kin, this offhand presentation to Marona’s cousin, with no welcome though it was her first time in this dwelling, struck Ayla as odd. It was not consistent with the behavior she had already come to expect from the Zelandonii.

“Grrreetings, Wylopa,” Ayla said. “This dwelling, is it yourrrs?”

Wylopa was surprised at Ayla’s unusual enunciation and was so unused to hearing any language other than her own, she had some trouble understanding the stranger.

“No,” Marona interjected. “This is the home of my brother and his mate, and their three children. Wylopa and I live here with them. We share this room.”

Ayla glanced quickly around at the space set off by panels, similar to the way Marthona’s dwelling was divided.

“We were going to fix our hair and faces for the celebration tonight,” Portula said. She glanced at Marona with an ingratiating smile, which became a smirk when she looked back at Ayla. “We thought you might like to get ready with us.”

“Thank you for asking me. I would like to see what you do,” Ayla said. “I don’t know Zelandonii ways. My friend Deegie used to fix my hair sometimes, but she is Mamutoi, and lives very far away. I know I will never see her again, and I miss her. It’s nice to have women friends.”

Portula was surprised and touched by the newcomer’s honest and friendly response; her smirk warmed to a real smile.

“Since it’s a feast to welcome you,” Marona said, “we thought we would give you something to wear, too. I asked my cousin to gather some clothes for you to try on, Ayla.” Marona looked at clothing that had been placed around. “You’ve found a good selection, Wylopa.” Lorava giggled. Portula looked away.

Ayla noticed several outfits spread out on the bed and floor, primarily leggings and long-sleeved shirts or tunics. Then she looked at the clothing the four women were wearing.

Wylopa, who seemed older than Marona, was wearing an
outfit similar to the ones laid out, worn quite loose, Ayla noticed. Lorava, who was rather young, had on a short sleeveless leather tunic, belted around the hips, cut somewhat differently from the ones spread out. Portula, who was fairly plump, wore a full skirt made of some kind of fibrous material and a loose-fitting top with a long fringe that hung over the skirt. Marona, who was thin but shapely, had on a very short sleeveless top, open in front, profusely decorated with beads and feathers, with a reddish fringe around the bottom that stopped just below her waist, and a loincloth skirt, similar to the kind Ayla had worn on hot days on her Journey.

Jondalar had shown her how to take a rectangular strip of soft leather, pull it up between her legs, and rie it on with a thong around her waist. Letting the long ends hang down both front and back, and pulling them together at the sides, made the loincloth resemble a short skirt. Marona’s, she noticed, was fringed on both front and back ends. She had left an open space on both sides, showing a long, bare, shapely leg, and tied the thong low, barely over her hips, causing the fringe in front and back to sway when she walked. Ayla thought Marona’s clothes—the very short top that did not meet in front and could never be closed, and the skimpy loincloth skirt—looked small for her, as though they had been made for a child, not a woman. Yet she was certain that the light-haired woman chose her clothing purposefully and with great care.

“Go ahead, pick something out,” Marona said, “and then we’ll fix your hair. We want this to be a special night for you.”

“All these things look so big, and heavy,” Ayla said. “Won’t they be too warm?”

“It cools off at night,” Wylopa said, “and these clothes are supposed to be worn loose. Like this.” She lifted her arms and showed the loose blousy fit.

“Here, try this on,” Marona said, picking up a tunic. “We’ll show you how it’s supposed to be worn.”

Ayla removed her own tunic, then her amulet bag from around her neck and put it on a shelf, and let the women slip the other tunic over her head. Even though she was taller
than any of the four women, it hung down to her knees and the long sleeves fell below her fingertips.

“This is too big,” Ayla said. She didn’t see Lorava, but she thought she heard a muffled sound behind her.

“No, it’s not,” Wylopa said, smiling broadly. “You just need a belt, and you’re supposed to roll up the sleeves. Like I did, see? Portula, bring that belt, so I can show her.”

The plump woman brought a belt, but she wasn’t smiling anymore, unlike Marona and her cousin, who smiled excessively. Marona took the belt and wrapped it around Ayla. “You tie it low, like this, around your hips, and let it blouse out, and then the fringe hangs down. See?”

Ayla still felt there was far too much material. “No, I don’t think this one fits right. It really is too big. And look at these leggings,” she said, taking the pair that was beside the tunic and holding them in front of herself. “The waist comes up much too high.” She pulled the tunic off over her head.

“You’re right,” Marona said. “Try on another one.” They picked out another outfit, slightly smaller and very intricately decorated with ivory beads and shells.

“This is very beautiful,” Ayla said, looking down at the front of the tunic. “Almost too beautiful…”

Lorava snorted strangely, and Ayla turned to look at her, but she was facing away.

“But it’s really very heavy, and still too big,” Ayla continued, taking off the second tunic.

“I suppose you might think it’s too big if you’re not used to Zelandonii clothes,” Marona said, frowning, then she brightened with a self-satisfied smile. “But perhaps you are right. Wait here. I think I know something that would be just perfect, and it was just made.” She left the sleeping room and went into another part of the dwelling. After a while, she returned with another outfit.

This one was much smaller and lighter in weight. Ayla tried it on. The tight leggings came halfway down her calf but fit correctly at the waist, where the front overlapped and tied with a sturdy flexible thong. The top was a sleeveless tunk, with a deep V cut down the front, laced together with
thin leather thongs. It was a little small, and Ayla could not lace it together rightly, but with the thongs loosened, it wasn’t bad. Unlike the others, it was a simple, undecorated outfit, made of a soft leather that felt nice against her skin.

“This is very comfortable,” Ayla said.

“And I have just the thing to set it off,” Marona said, showing her a belt woven out of various colored fibers into an intricate pattern.

“This is beautifully made and very interesting,” Ayla said as Marona tied it low around her waist. She felt satisfied with the outfit. “This one will do,” she said. “I thank you for your gift.” She put on her amulet and folded her other clothes.

Lorava choked and coughed. “I need some water,” she said, and dashed from the room.

“Now, you must let me fix your hair,” Wylopa said, still smiling broadly.

“I promise to do your face after I do Portula’s,” Marona said.

“And you said you’d fix my hair, Wylopa,” Portula said.

“You promised to do me, too,” Lorava said from the entrance to the room.

“If you are over your coughing spell,” Marona said, giving the young woman a hard look.

While Wylopa combed and fussed with her hair, Ayla watched with interest as Marona decorated the faces of the two other women. She used solidified fats mixed with finely powdered red and yellow ochres to add color to mouths, cheeks, and forehead, and mixed with black charcoal to emphasize the eyes. Then she used more intense shades of the same colors to add carefully drawn designs of dots, curved lines, and various other shapes to their faces in a way that reminded Ayla of the tattoos she had seen on some people.

“Let me do your face now, Ayla,” Marona said. “I think Wylopa is done with your hair.”

“Oh, yes!” Wylopa said. “I’m finished. Let Marona do your face.”

While the face decorations of the women were interesting,
Ayla felt uncomfortable with the idea. In Marthona’s dwelling, there was a subtle use of color and design that was very pleasing, but Ayla wasn’t sure she liked the way the women looked. It seemed too much, somehow.

“No … I don’t think so,” Ayla said.

“But you have to!” Lorava said, looking dismayed.

“Everyone does it,” Marona said. “You would be the only one without it.”

“Yes! Go on. Let Marona do it. It’s what all the women do,” Wylopa said.

“You really should,” Lorava urged. “Everyone always wants Marona to paint her face. You’re lucky she’s willing.”

They were pressing her so hard, it made Ayla want to resist. Marthona had not said anything to her about having to get her face painted. She wanted to take the time to find her way and not be pushed into customs she was not familiar with.

“No, not this time. Perhaps later,” Ayla said.

“Oh, go ahead and do it. Don’t spoil everything,” Lorava said.

“No! I don’t want to have my face painted,” Ayla said with such firm resolve, they finally stopped pressing her.

She watched them dress each other’s hair in intricate plaits and coils, placing decorated combs and pins attractively. Finally, they added facial ornaments. Ayla hadn’t really noticed the holes at strategic locations in their faces until they put earrings into their earlobes and pluglike ornaments into their noses, cheeks, and under the lower lips, but she saw that Some of the painted decorations now accentuated the ornaments that had been added.

“Don’t you have any piercings?” Lorava asked. “You’ll just have to get some. Too bad we can’t do them now.”