by Jean M. Auel
Willamar, who was waiting to introduce himself to the Watcher, ducked his head to smile to himself. It was a good thing that Jondalar hardly seemed to notice the impact he still had on women, he thought, and as perceptive as she was, Ayla seemed oblivious to it. Even though it was discouraged, he knew that jealousy still lived in the hearts of many.
“I am called Willamar, Master Trader of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii,” he said, when his turn came, “mated to Marthona, the former leader of the Ninth Cave, who is the mother of this young man. Though he was not born to my hearth, he was raised there so I think of him as the son of my heart. I feel the same about Ayla and her little one, Jonayla.”
She’s not only mated, she has a child, a young child, the Watcher thought. How can she even think of becoming a Zelandoni? Much less as an acolyte to the the most powerful Zelandoni on earth? The First must see a lot of potential in her, but inside she must be pulled so many ways.
Only these five visitors would be going into the cave at this time. The rest of the visitors would go another time and might not see as much. The Caves that watched over the Sacred Site didn’t like too many to go in at one time. There were torches and lamps near the fireplace. That was part of the Watcher’s job, to gather and prepare them so they would be on hand when needed. Everyone took a torch. The Watcher handed out extras, put more of them in a pack, and added some stone lamps and small bladders of oil. When everyone had a fire holder to light the way, the Watcher started in.
There was enough daylight coming into the entrance chamber to get a sense of the huge size of the cave, and a first impression of its disorganized character. A chaotic landscape of stone formations filled the space. Columns of stalactites once attached to the ceiling and their stalagmitic mates had dropped down as though the floor had fallen out from under them, some tipped over, some collapsed, some shattered. There was a sense of immediacy in the way they were strewn about, yet everything was so frozen in time they were iced with a thick caramel layer of glistening stalagmitic frosting.
The Watcher started humming as she led them toward the left, staying close to the wall. The rest followed in single file, with the First next in line, then Ayla, followed by Jonokol and Willamar, with Jondalar at the end. He was tall enough to see over the heads of the rest and thought of himself as a sort of protective rear guard, though he had no idea from what they needed to be protected.
Even well into the cave there was still enough light coming in from the entrance that it was not entirely dark. Instead the cave was suffused with a kind of deep twilight, especially once eyes became accustomed to the shadowed ambience. As they moved inside and passed by with their lamps or torches, the coloration of the stone the light illuminated varied from thin new icicles of pure white to lumpy gray stumps hoary with age. Flowing draperies hung from above, striped along the folds in shades of yellow, orange, red, and white. Shining lights of crystal caught the eye, reflecting and amplifying the meager light, some glittering off the floor covered by a white film of calcite. They saw fantastical sculptures that kindled the imagination and colossal white columns that glowed with translucent mystery. It was an utterly beautiful cave.
In the vague light they reached a place where the space seemed to open out. The sides of the chamber disappeared and in front of them, except for a gleaming white disk, the emptiness seemed to go on and on. Ayla felt that they had entered another area that was even larger than the entrance chamber. Though the ceiling was hung with strange and magnificent stalactites that resembled long white hair, the floor was unusually level, like the calm, still lake it once was. But now the floor of the huge chamber was cluttered with skulls and bones and teeth, and the shallow depressions that had been the beds of hibernating cave bears.
The Watcher, who had been humming continuously, started increasing the volume of her sound until the intensity and force of the droning was louder than Ayla, who was standing beside her, would have thought possible for anyone to make, but there was no reverberation. The noise was swallowed by the immensity of the empty space inside the stone cliff. Next the One Who Was First started singing the Mother’s Song in her deep, rich operatic contralto.
Out of the darkness, the chaos of time,
The whirlwind gave birth to the Mother sublime.
She woke to Herself knowing life had great worth,
The dark empty void grieved the Great Mother Earth.
The Mother was lonely. She was the only.
From the dust of Her birth She created the other,
A pale shining friend, a companion, a brother.
They grew up together, learned to love and to care,
And when She was ready, they decided to pair.
Around Her he’d hover. Her pale shining lover.
She was happy at first with Her one counterpart …
The First hesitated, then stopped. There was no resonance, no echo coming back. The cave was telling them that this was not the place for people. This space belonged to the cave bears. She wondered if there were any images in the empty room. The Watcher would know.
“Zelandoni who watches over this cave,” she said formally, “did the ancients make any images in the room ahead?”
“No,” the woman said. “This room isn’t ours to paint. We can go into the room in spring, just as they often go into our place in this cave, but the Mother has given this room to the cave bears for their winter sleep.”
“That must be why people decided not to live here,” Ayla said. “When I first saw this cave I thought it ought to be a good place to live and wondered why a Cave had not chosen it. Now I know.”
The Watcher led them to the right. They passed by a small opening that led to another chamber and a little farther on came to a larger opening. Like the entrance chamber, this one was a chaotic mass of fallen blocks of stalagmites and concretions. The pathway went around these obstructions and led to a vast space with a high ceiling and a dark red floor. A promontory created by a huge cascade of stone dominated the chamber marked by several large red dots on a rock pendant suspended from the ceiling. They came to a large panel, a nearly vertical wall that continued up to the ceiling, covered by large red dots and various signs.
“How do you think these dots were made?” the Watcher asked.
“I suppose a big wad of leather or moss, or something similar could have been used,” Jonokol said.
“I think the Zelandoni of the Nineteenth should look a little more closely,” the First said. Ayla remembered that she had been here before and no doubt knew the answer. Willamar probably knew, too. Ayla did not volunteer a guess, nor did Jondalar. The Watcher held up her hand and stretched back her fingers, then held it up to a dot. It was just about the same size as her palm.
Jonokol peered at the large dots. They were a bit blurry but he could see faint impressions of the beginnings of fingers extending up from some of the dots. “You’re right!” he said. “They must have made a very thick paste of red ocher, and dipped their palms in it. I don’t think I have ever seen dots made that way!”
The Watcher smiled at his amazement, and looked rather pleased with herself. Seeing the smile made Ayla notice that the area they were in seemed to be more well lit. She looked around and realized they were close to the entrance again. They could have come this way in the beginning instead of going around by way of the extensive bear sleeping room, but she was sure the Watcher had her reasons for going the way she did. Next to the large dots was another painting that Ayla could not decipher except for the straight line of red paint above it with a crosspiece near the top.
The path led them around the blocks and concretions in the center of the room until they came to the head of a lion painted in black on the wall opposite. It was the only black painting she saw. Near it was a sign and some little dots, perhaps made with a finger. Somewhat farther on was a series of palm-sized red dots. She counted them in her mind using the counting words. There were thirteen. Above them was another group of ten dots on the ceiling, bu
t in order to make them someone had had to climb up on a concretion, with the help of some friends or apprentices, she supposed, so they must have been important to the maker, although she could not imagine why.
A little farther on was an alcove. A lobe of rock at the entrance was completely covered with the large red dots. Inside the alcove were more red dots on one wall and on the opposite wall, a group of dots, some lines and other markings, and three horse heads, two of them yellow. Within the central mass of blocks and stalagmites, opposite the alcove, the Watcher pointed out another sizable panel of large red dots behind some low concretions.
“Is there an animal head made of red dots in the middle of those dots?” Jonokol asked.
“Some people think so,” the Watcher said, smiling at the image-making Zelandoni for seeing it.
Ayla tried to see an animal, but she only saw dots. She did, however, see a difference. “Do you think these dots were made by a different person than the other dots? They seem bigger.”
“I think you are right,” the Watcher said. “We think the others were made by a woman, these by a man. There are more images, but in order to see them, we need to go back the way we came.”
She began humming again as she led them into a small chamber within the central concretions. A large drawing of the front part of a deer was painted there, probably a young megaceros. It had small, palmate antlers and a slight hump on the withers. While they were there, the Watcher raised the volume of her humming. The chamber resonated, crooned back to them. Jonokol joined in, singing scales that softly harmonized with the Watcher’s tones. Ayla began whistling birdsongs that complemented the music. Then the First started singing the next verses of the Mother’s Song, toning down her strong contralto so that it just lent a rich, deep intense note to the singing.
She was happy at first with Her one counterpart.
Then the Mother grew restless, unsure in Her heart.
She loved Her fair friend, Her dear complement,
But something was missing, Her love was unspent.
She was the Mother. She needed another.
She dared the great void, the chaos, the dark,
To find the cold home of the life-giving spark.
The whirlwind was fearsome, the darkness complete.
Chaos was freezing, and reached for Her heat.
The Mother was brave. The danger was grave.
She drew from cold chaos the creative source,
Then conceiving within, She fled with life force.
She grew with the life that She carried inside.
And gave of Herself with love and with pride.
The Mother was bearing. Her life She was sharing.
The dark empty void and the vast barren Earth,
With anticipation, awaited the birth.
Life drank from Her blood, it breathed from Her bones.
It split Her skin open and sundered Her stones.
The Mother was giving. Another was living.
Her gushing birth waters filled rivers and seas,
And flooded the land, giving rise to the trees.
From each precious drop more grass and leaves grew,
And lush verdant plants made all the Earth new.
Her waters were flowing. New green was growing.
The First stopped at a place that felt like an ending to the impromptu chorus. Ayla stopped too, at the end of an extended melodious trill of a skylark, leaving Jonokol and the Watcher, who finished on a harmonizing tone. Jondalar and Willamar slapped their hands on their thighs in appreciation.
“That was marvelous,” Jondalar said. “Just beautiful.”
“Yes. That sounded quite good,” Willamar said. “I’m sure the Mother appreciated it as much as we did.”
The Watcher led them through the small chamber, then down to another recess. From the entrance the head of a bear painted in red could be seen. As they crouched down to get through a low corridor, more of the bear came into sight, and then the head of a second one appeared out of the darkness. Once they were through and could stand, they could see the head of a third bear lightly sketched under the head of the first one. The shape of the wall was skillfully used to add depth to the first bear, and although the second bear seemed to be complete, it was a hollow in the place of the hindquarters that gave that impression. It was almost as though the bear were emerging from the spirit world through the wall.
“Those are definitely cave bears,” Ayla said. “The shape of their forehead is so distinctive. It’s like that from the time they are little.”
“Have you seen little cave bears?”
“Yes, occasionally. The people I grew up with had a special relationship with Cave Bears,” Ayla said.
When they stood at the back of the niche, they could see two ibex partially painted in red on the right wall. The horns and the backs of the animals were formed by the natural fissures in the rock wall.
They went back through the corridor and climbed back up to the level of the deer, then followed the left-hand wall until they reached a large open area. As they walked around the chamber, Jonokol looked into a niche that held an ancient concretion with a top in the shape of a small basin. He took his waterbag and poured a little water in it. They went back out the way they went in and finally reached the large opening that led to the bears’ sleeping room. Not far from the entrance of the cave, on a big rock pillar that separated the two chambers, opposite the other paintings in the room full of chaotic rock formations, was a panel some twenty feet long by ten feet high that was covered in large red dots. There were other markings and signs, including the straight line with a cross bar near the top.
The Watcher led them through the opening into the bears’ sleeping room again, following the left wall. She stopped just before an opening. “There is much in here, but I wanted you to see certain things,” the Zelandoni said, looking directly at Ayla. “First,” she said, holding up the torch she was carrrying. There were some red marks on the wall that appeared to be random lines. Suddenly Ayla’s mind filled in the gaps and she could see the head of a rhinoceros. She saw the forehead, the start of the two horns, a short line for its eye, the end of its muzzle with a line drawn for the mouth, and then the suggestion of its chest. It startled her in its simplicity, yet once she saw the animal, it was clear.
“It’s a rhinoceros!” Ayla said.
“Yes, and you will not see any others inside this room,” the Watcher said.
The floor was hard stone, calcite, and the left wall was blocked by white-and-orange-colored columns. Once past the columns, there were almost no concretions except for the ceiling, which held strange rounded stone shapes and reddish deposits. The floor was full of pieces of stone of every size that had fallen from the ceiling. A somewhat circular area was broken by the fall of a heavy fragment from above, which caused a tilt in the floor. Near the entrance, on a rock pendant was a small, rudimentary sketch in red of a mammoth.
Beyond that, high up on the wall was a small red bear. It was apparent that the artist had to climb up the wall to paint it. Below it, on a rock sticking out of the wall, were two mammoths that utilized the relief of rock wall, and beyond it on another protrusion was a strange sign. On the opposite wall was an extraordinary panel of red paintings, which included the forequarters of a well-made bear. The shape of the forehead and the way the head was carried identified it as a cave bear.
“Jonokol, doesn’t this bear look very much like the red bear we just saw?” Ayla asked.
“Yes, it does. I suspect it was made by the same person,” he said.
“But I don’t understand the rest of the painting. It’s like two different animals joined together so that it seems to have two heads, one of them coming out of the chest of the bear, but then there’s a lion in the middle, and another lion head in front of the bear. I don’t understand this painting at all,” Ayla said.
“Perhaps it’s not meant to be understood by anyone but the one who made it. The artist used a lot of imaginat
ion, and may have been trying to tell a story that is not known anymore. There are no Elder Legends or Histories that I know of to explain it,” the First said.
“I think we just have to appreciate the quality of the work,” the Watcher said, “and let the Ancients keep their secrets.”
Ayla nodded agreement. She had seen enough caves now to know that it wasn’t so much how the images looked when they were done as what the artists accomplished while they were making the art. Farther into the gallery, beyond the second lion head and a fault in the wall was a panel painted with black: the head of a lion, a big mammoth, and finally a figure painted high above the floor on a pendant hanging from the ceiling; it was a large red bear, its back outlined with black. The mystery was how the artist painted it. It was easily visible from the floor, but whoever made it had to climb over many high concretions to reach it.
“Did you notice that all the animals are going out of the room, except for the mammoth?” Jonokol said. “It’s as if they are coming into this world from the place of the spirit world.”
The Watcher stood just outside the room they had been in and started humming again, but this time it was similar to the melody of the music of the Mother’s Song the way the First sang it. Every Cave of the Zelandonii sang or recited the Mother’s Song. It told the story of their beginnings, of the origin of the people, and while they were all similar and told the same story, each Cave’s version was not exactly the same. That was especially true if they sang it. The melodies of the songs were often quite different, sometimes depending on who did the singing. Because she had been endowed with such an extraordinary voice, the First had composed her own unique way of singing it.
As if on signal, the First picked up the next verse of the Mother’s Song from where she left off. Both Jonokol and Ayla refrained from joining in, and just enjoyed listening.
In violent labor spewing fire and strife,
She struggled in pain to give birth to new life.
