The Shelters of Stone (27 page)

Ayla nodded, but paused for a moment to think before she replied. “It’s interesting that you think they are related to cave bears. There is a strange kind of truth in that; the Clan believe they are, too. They even live with one, sometimes.”

“Hhmmmf!” Brameval snorted, as if to say, “I told you!”

Ayla directed her comments to him. “The Clan venerates Ursus, the Spirit of the Cave Bear, much the way the Others honor the Great Earth Mother. They refer to themselves as the Clan of the Cave Bear. When the Clan has their big Gathering—like a Summer Meeting, but not every year—they have a very sacred ceremony for the Cave Bear Spirit. Long before the Clan Gathering, the host clan captures a cave bear cub, who lives with them in their cave. They feed him and raise him as one of their own children, at least until he
gets too big, then they build a place for him that will keep him from running away, but they still feed and pamper him.

“During the Clan Gathering,” Ayla continued, “the men compete to see who will have the honor of sending Ursus to the World of the Spirits to speak for the Clan and carry their messages. The three men who have won the most competitions are chosen—it takes at least that many to send a full-grown cave bear to the next world. While it is an honor to be chosen, it is very dangerous. Often the cave bear takes one or more of the men with him to the Spirit World.”

“So they communicate with the world of the spirits,” said Zelandoni of the Eleventh.

“And they bury their dead with red ochre,” Jondalar said, knowing his words carried a deep meaning to the man.

“This information will take some time to comprehend,” the leader of the Eleventh Cave said, “and a great deal of consideration. It will mean many changes.”

“You’re right, of course, Kareja,” said the First Among Those Who Served.

“Right now, we don’t need much thought to consider stopping for a meal,” said Proleva, glancing back toward the eastern end of the terrace. Everyone turned and looked in the same direction. A procession of people was coming with platters and containers of food.

The people at the meeting broke into small groups to eat. Manvelar sat beside Ayla, opposite Jondalar, with his dish of food. He had made a point of introducing himself the night before, but with the throng surrounding the newcomer, he hadn’t tried to get better acquainted. His Cave was nearby, and he knew he’d have time later. “You’ve had several invitations, but let me add another,” he said. “You must come and visit Two Rivers Rock; the Third Cave of the Zelandonii are close neighbors.”

“If the Fourteenth Cave are known as the best fishers, and the Eleventh Cave for making rafts, what is the Third Cave known for?” Ayla asked.

Jondalar answered for him. “Hunting.”

“Doesn’t everyone hunt?” she asked.

“Of course, that’s why they don’t brag about it, just because everyone hunts. Some individual hunters from other Caves like to talk about their own prowess, and they may be good, but as a group, the Third Cave are the best hunters.”

Manvelar smiled. “We do brag about it, in our own way, but I think the reason we have become such good hunters is our location. Our shelter is high above the confluence of two rivers, with wide grassy valleys. This one,” he said, waving a hand that held a meaty bone toward The River, “and another called Grass River. Most of the animals we hunt migrate through these two valleys, and we’ve got the best place from which to watch for them at any time of the year. We’ve learned to judge when certain ones will likely appear and we usually let everyone else know, but we are often the first ones to hunt them.”

“That may be true, Manvelar, but all the hunters of the Third Cave are good, not just one or two. They work hard to perfect their skill. All of them,” Jondalar said. “Ayla understands that. She loves to hunt, she is amazing with a sling, but wait until we show you the new spear-thrower we developed. It throws a spear so much farther and faster, you won’t believe it. Ayla is more accurate, and I can throw a little farther, but anyone can hit an animal from twice or even three times as far as you can with a spear thrown by hand.”

“I would like to see that!” Manvelar said. “Joharran wants to arrange a hunt soon to add provisions for the Summer Meeting. That may be a good time to demonstrate this new weapon, Jondalar.” Then, turning to Ayla, he added, “Both of you are joining the hunt, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’d like to.” She paused to take a bite, then, looking at the men, she said, “I have a question. Why are Caves numbered the way they are? Is there some order or meaning to the numbers?”

“The oldest Caves have the lowest numbers,” Jondalar said. “They were established first. The Third Cave was established before the Ninth, and the Ninth before the Eleventh or Fourteenth. There is no First Cave anymore. The oldest is the Second Cave of the Zelandonii, which isn’t too
far from here. Manvelar’s Cave is the next oldest. It was established by the First People.”

“When you taught me the counting words, Jondalar, they were always said in a particular order,” Ayla said. “This is the Ninth Cave, and Manvelar, yours is the Third Cave. Where are the people from the Caves with numbers in between?”

The gray-haired man smiled. Ayla had picked the right person to ask for information about the Zelandonii. Manvelar had a long-standing interest in the history of his people, and had acquired quite a store of information from various members of the zelandonia, traveling Story-Tellers, and people who had heard tales that were passed down from their ancestors. Members of the zelandonia, including Zelandoni herself, sometimes asked him questions.

“Over the years since the First People established the founding Caves, many things have changed,” Manvelar said. “People have moved or found mates in other Caves. Some Caves grew smaller, some bigger.”

“Like the Ninth Cave, some grew unusually large,” Jondalar added.

“The Histories tell of sickness that sometimes claimed many people, or bad years when people starved.” Manvelar picked up the story again. “When Caves get small, sometimes two or more join together. The combined Cave usually takes the lowest number, but not always. When Caves get too big for the size of their shelter, they may break off to form a new Cave, often close by. Some time ago a group from the Second Cave broke off and moved to the other side of their valley. They are called the Seventh Cave because at that time there was a Third, Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth in existence. There is still a Third, of course, and a Fifth, up north, but no longer a Fourth or Sixth.”

Ayla was delighted to learn more about the Zelandonii and smiled her gratitude for the explanation. The three of them sat companionably together for a while, eating quietly. Then Ayla had another question. “Are all Caves known for something special, like fishing or hunting or raft-making?”

“Most of them,” Jondalar said.

“What is the Ninth Cave known for?”

“Their artists and craftspeople,” Manvelar answered for him. “All Caves have skilled artisans, but the Ninth Cave has the best. That’s partly why they are so large. It is not just the children born, but anyone who wants the best training in anything from carving to toolmaking wants to move to the Ninth Cave.”

“That’s mainly because of Down River,” Jondalar said.

“What is ‘Down River’?” Ayla asked.

“It’s the next shelter just downriver from here,” Jondalar explained. “It’s not the home of an organized Cave, although you might think so from the number of people who are usually there. It’s the place where people go to work on their projects, and to talk to other people about them. I’ll take you there, maybe after this meeting—if we get away before dark.”

After everyone had eaten, including the servers, the children of several of the people, and Wolf, they relaxed with cups and bowls of hot tea. Ayla was feeling much better. Her nausea was gone and so was her headache, but she noticed her increased need to pass water again. As the ones who had brought the meal were leaving with the largely empty serving dishes, Ayla noticed that Marthona was standing alone for a moment and walked over to her.

“Is there a place to pass water nearby?” she asked quietly. “Or do we have to go back to the dwellings?”

Marthona smiled. “I was thinking about the same thing. There’s a patii to The River near the Standing Stone, a little steep near the top, but it goes to a place near the bank that is used mainly by the women. I’ll show you.” Wolf followed them, watched Ayla for a while, then discovered a scent more interesting and left to explore more of the bank of The River. On the way back, they passed Kareja heading down the path. They nodded to each other in mutual understanding.

After everything was cleared away, and Joharran made sure everyone was there, he stood up. It seemed to be a signal to resume discussions. Everyone looked at the leader of the Ninth Cave.

“Ayla,” Joharran said, “while we were eating, Kareja
brought up a question. Jondalar says that he can communicate with flatheads, the Clan, as you call them, but not like you can. Do you know their language as well as he says?”

“Yes, I know the language,” Ayla said. “I was raised by them. I didn’t know any other language until I met Jondalar. At one time I must have, when I was very young, before I lost my own people, but I didn’t remember it at all.”

“But the place where you grew up was very far from here, a year’s travel, isn’t that right?” Joharran continued. Ayla nodded. “The language of people who live far away is not the same as ours. I cannot understand you when you and Jondalar speak Mamutoi. Even the Losadunai, who live much closer, have a different language. Some words are similar, and I can grasp a little, but I can’t communicate beyond simple concepts. I understand the language of these Clan people is not the same as ours, but how can you, who come from so far away, understand the language of the ones who live around here?”

“I understand your doubt,” Ayla said. “I wasn’t sure myself when we first met Guban and Yorga if I would be able to communicate with them. But language with words is different from the kind of language they use, not only because of the signs and signals, but because they have two languages.”

“What do you mean, two languages?” asked Zelandoni Who Was First.

“They have an ordinary common language that each clan uses every day among themselves,” Ayla explained. “Although they use hand signs and gestures for the most part, including postures and expressions, they also use some words, even though they can’t make all of the sounds that the Others can. Some clans speak words more than others. The common everyday language and words of Guban and Yorga were different from those of my clan, and I couldn’t understand them. But the Clan also has a special, formal language that they use to speak to the World of the Spirits, and to communicate with people from other clans who have a different ordinary language. It is very ancient and no words are used, except some personal names. That was the language I used.”

“Let me make sure I understand this,” Zelandoni said. “This Clan—we’re talking about flatheads here—not only have one language, they have two, and one of them is mutually intelligible with any other flathead, even someone who lives a year’s Journey away?”

“It is rather hard to believe, isn’t it?” Jondalar said with a wide grin. “But it is true.”

Zelandoni shook her head. The rest looked just as skeptical.

“It’s a very ancient language, and people of the Clan have very long memories,” Ayla tried to explain. “They don’t forget anything.”

“I find it difficult to believe that they can really communicate much with only gestures and signs, anyway,” Brameval said.

“I feel the same way,” Kareja said. “As Joharran said about the Losadunai and the Zelandonii comprehending each other’s languages, perhaps we are talking about only simple concepts.”

“You gave a little demonstration in my home yesterday,” Marthona said. “Could you show all of us?”

“And if, as you say, Jondalar knows some of this language, perhaps he could translate for us,” Manvelar added. Everyone nodded.

Ayla stood up. She paused, gathering her thoughts. Then, with the motions of the ancient formal language, she signed, “This woman would greet the man Manvelar.” She spoke the name aloud, but her speech mannerism, her peculiar accent, was much stronger when she said it.

Jondalar translated. “Greetings Manvelar.”

“This woman would greet the man Joharran,” Ayla continued.

“And you, too, Joharran,” Jondalar said. They went through a few more simple statements, but he could tell they were not getting across the full extent of the comprehensive, if silent, language. He knew she could say more, but he couldn’t translate the full complexity.

“You’re just giving me basic signs, aren’t you, Ayla.”

“I don’t think you can translate more than basic signs. Jondalar. That’s all I taught the Lion Camp and you. Just enough so you could communicate with Rydag. I’m afraid the full language wouldn’t mean much to you,” Ayla said.

“When you showed us, Ayla,” Marthona said, “you did your own translation. I think that would be more clear.”

“Yes, why don’t you show Brameval and the others that way, by using both languages,” Jondalar suggested.

“All
right, but what should I say?”

“Why don’t you tell us about your life with them,” Zelandoni suggested. “Do you remember when they first took you in?”

Jondalar smiled at the big woman. That was a good idea. It would not only show everyone the language, it would also show the compassion of the people, that they were willing to take in an orphan child, even a strange orphan child. It would show that the Clan treated one of ours better than we treated them.

Ayla stood for a moment, gathering her thoughts; then in both the formal sign language of the Clan and the words of the Zelandonii, she began. “I don’t recall much of the beginning, but Iza often told me how she found me. They were looking for a new cave. There had been an earthquake, probably the one I still dream about. It destroyed their home, falling stones inside the cave killed several of Bran’s clan, and many things were damaged. They buried their dead, then left. Even if the cave was still there, it was unlucky to stay. The spirits of their totems were unhappy there and wanted them to leave. They were traveling quickly. They needed a new home soon, not just for themselves, but because their protective Spirits needed a place where they would be content.”