The Shelters of Stone

by Jean M. Auel

  Willamar seemed to focus on the pierced antler tool, then he reached for it. “This was Thonolan’s,” he said.

  “Yes,” Marthona said. “Do you remember when Thonolan bent the wood to make the support for this table with that tool?” She touched the low, stone-slab platform in front of her.

  “Thonolan was good at his craft,” Willamar said, his voice still strange, distant.

  “Yes, he was,” Jondalar said. “I think part of the reason he felt so comfortable with the Sharamudoi was that they did things with wood that he never imagined could be done. They bent wood to make boats. They would shape and hollow out â log to make a canoe, a kind of boat, then bend the sides to widen it. They could make it bigger by adding strakes—long planks—along the sides, bending them to follow the shape of the boat, and fastening them together. The Ramudoi were very skilled at handling boats in the water, but both the Shamudoi and Ramudoi worked together to make them.

  “I considered staying with them. They are wonderful people. When Ayla and I stopped to visit with them on the way back, they wanted both of us to stay. If I had, I think I would have chosen the Ramudoi half. And there was a youngster there that was really interested in learning flint-knapping.”

  Jondalar knew he was babbling, but he was at a loss of what to do or say, and was trying to fill the emptiness. He had never seen Willamar so shaken.

  There was a tapping at the entrance, but without waiting for an invitation, Zelandoni pushed the drape aside and came in. Folara followed her, and Ayla realized the young woman had slipped out and summoned the woman. She nodded approval to herself; it was the right thing to do. Jondalar’s sister was a wise young woman.

  It had worried Folara to see Willamar so upset. She had no idea what to do except to get help. And Zelandoni was the donier: the giver of Doni’s Gifts, the one who acted as the intermediary of the Great Earth Mother to Her children, the dispenser of assistance and medication, the one you went to for help.

  Folara had told the powerful woman the essence of the problem; Zelandoni glanced around and took in the situation quickly. She turned and spoke quietly to the young woman, who immediately headed for the cooking area and started blowing on the coals in the fireplace to get them started again. But the fire was dead. Marthona had spread the embers to cook the meat evenly and hadn’t gotten back to rekindle and bank the fire to keep it alive.

  Here was something Ayla could do to help. She left the scene of grief and quickly went to her pack near the entrance. She knew exactly where her tinder kit was, and as she snatched it and headed for the cooking area, she thought of Barzec, the Mamutoi man who made it for her after she had given each hearth of the Lion Camp a firestone.

  “Let me help you make a fire,” she said.

  Folara smiled. She knew how to make fire, but it was upsetting to see the man of her hearth so distressed, and she was pleased to have someone there with her. Willamar had always been so strong, so steady, so self-possessed.

  “If you get some kindling, I’ll start it,” Ayla said.

  “The fire-starting sticks are over here,” Folara said, turning toward the back shelf.

  “That’s all right. I don’t need them,” Ayla said, opening her tinder kit. It had several compartments and small pouches. She opened one and poured out crushed, dried horse dung, from another she pulled out fluffy fireweed fibers and arranged them on top of the dung, and from a third she poured out some shaved slivers of wood beside the first pile.

  Folara watched. During the long Journey, Ayla obviously had learned to have fire-making materials easily at hand, but the younger woman looked puzzled when Ayla next took out a couple of stones. Leaning close to the tinder, the woman her brother had brought home with him struck the two stones together and blew at the tinder, and it burst into flame. It was uncanny!

  “How did you do that?” Folara asked, completely astonished.

  “I’ll show you later,” Ayla said. “Right now, let’s keep this fire going so we can get some water boiling for Zelandoni.”

  Folara felt a rush of something like fear. “How did you know what I was going to do?”

  Ayla glanced at her, then looked again. Folara’s face showed her consternation. With one brother’s return after a long absence, bringing tame animals and a unknown woman with him, then learning of the death of the other brother, and seeing Willamar’s unexpected and disturbing reaction, it had been a tense, exciting, and anxious day. After the stranger appeared to create fire by magic and then seemed to know something that no one had told her, Folara began to wonder if all the speculation and gossip about Jondalar’s woman having supernatural powers could be true. Ayla could see she was overwrought and was fairly sure she knew why.

  “I met Zelandoni. I know she’s your healer. That’s why you went to get her, isn’t it?” Ayla asked.

  “Yes, she’s the donier,” the young woman said.

  “Healers usually like to make a tea or a drink to help calm someone who is upset. I assumed that she asked you to boil water for her to make it with,” Ayla carefully explained.

  Folara visibly relaxed; it was perfectly reasonable.

  “And I promise I’ll show you how to make fire like that. Anyone can do it … with the right stones.”

  “Anyone?”

  “Yes, even you,” Ayla said, smiling.

  The young woman smiled, too. She had been dying of curiosity about the woman and had so many questions she wanted to ask, but she hadn’t wanted to be impolite. Now she had even more questions, but the foreign woman did not feel so unapproachable. In fact, she seemed rather nice.

  “Would you tell me about the horses, too?”

  Ayla gave her big pleased grin. She suddenly realized that although Folara might be every inch a tall and beautiful young woman, she hadn’t been one for too long. She’d have to ask Jondalar how many years Folara counted, but Ayla suspected that she was still quite young, probably close in age to Latie, the daughter of Nezzie, who was the mate of the Mamutoi Lion Camp’s headman.

  “Of course. I’ll even take you down to meet them,” she glanced toward the low table where everyone was gathered, “maybe tomorrow, after everything is calmed down. You can go down and look at them any time you want, but don’t get too close by yourself until the horses get to know you.”

  “Oh, I won’t,” Folara said.

  Recalling Latie’s fascination with the horses, Ayla smiled and asked, “Would you like to ride on Whinney’s back sometime?”

  “Oh! Could I?” Folara asked, breathless, her eyes open wide. At that moment, Ayla could almost see Latie in Jondalar’s sister. She had developed such a passion for the horses that Ayla had wondered if she might try to get a baby horse of her own someday.

  Ayla went back to her fire-making as Folara reached for the waterbag—the waterproof stomach of some large animal. “I need to get more water. This is almost empty,” the young woman said.

  The coal was still glowing, barely alive. Ayla blew on it a little more, added shavings, then the small kindling that Folara had given her, and finally a few of the larger pieces of wood. She saw the cooking stones and put several into the fire to heat. When Folara returned, the waterbag was bulging and seemed quite heavy, but the young woman was obviously used to lifting it and filled a deep wooden bowl with water, likely the one that Marthona used for making tea. Then she gave Ayla the wooden tongs with the slightly charred ends. When she felt they were hot enough, Ayla used the tongs to pick up a hot stone. It sizzled and sent up a cloud of steam when she dropped it in the water. She added a second, then fished out the first one and replaced it with a third, and then more.

  Folara went to tell Zelandoni the water was nearly ready. Ayla knew she must have told her something else as well from the way the older woman’s head jerked up to look at her. Ayla watched the woman haul herself up from the low cushions, and thought of Creb, the Clan Mog-ur. He’d had a lame leg and it made it difficult for him to get up from low seats. His favorite place to relax had bee
n a bent old tree with a low branch that was just the right height to sit on and get up from easily.

  The woman came into the cooking room. “I understand the water is hot.” Ayla nodded toward the steaming bowl. “And did I hear Folara correctly? She said you were going to show her how to start a fire with stones. What kind of trick is that?”

  “Yes. I have some firestones. Jondalar has some, too. The only trick is learning how to use them, and it’s not hard. I’ll be happy to show you any time you would like. We had planned to, anyway.” Zelandoni looked back toward Willamar. Ayla knew she was pulled two ways.

  “Not now,” the woman said under her breath, shaking her head. She measured some dried herbs into the paini of her hand from a pouch tied to a belt around her ample waist, then dropped them into the steaming water. “I wish I had brought some yarrow,” she mumbled to herself.

  “I have some, if you’d like,” Ayla said.

  “What?” Zelandoni said. She was concentrating on what she was doing and hadn’t really paid attention.

  “I said I have some yarrow, if you want it. You said you wished you had brought some.”

  “Did I? I was thinking it, but why would you have yarrow?”

  “I am a medicine woman … a healer. I always have some basic medicines with me. Yarrow is one. It’s good for stomachaches, it relaxes, and it helps wounds heal clean and fast,” she said.

  Zelandoni’s jaw would have dropped open if she hadn’t caught it halfway down. “You’re a healer? The woman Jondalar brought home is a healer?” She almost laughed, then closed her eyes and shook her head. “I think we are going to have to have a long talk, Ayla.”

  “I would be happy to talk to you anytime,” she said, “but do you want the yarrow?”

  Zelandoni thought for a moment. She can’t be One Who Serves. If she was, she would never leave her people to follow some man to his home, even if she did choose to mate. But she may know a little about herbs. A lot of people learn something about them. If she has some yarrow, why not use it? It has a distinctive enough odor so I can tell if it’s right. “Yes. I think it would be helpful, if you have some handy.”

  Ayla hurried to her traveling pack, reached into a side pocket, and took out her otterskin medicine bag. This is getting very worn, she thought as she carried it back. I’m going to have to replace it soon. When she got to the cooking room, Zelandoni looked with interest at the strange container. It appeared to be made of the entire animal. She had never seen one like it, but there was something about it that seemed authentic.

  The younger woman lifted the otter head flap, loosened the drawstring tie around the neck, then looked inside and withdrew a small pouch. She knew what it contained from the shade of color of the leather, the fiber of the drawstring closure, and the number and arrangement of the knots on the dangling ends. She untied the knot that closed it—it was a kind of knot that was easy to loosen if you knew how—and handed the pouch to the woman.

  Zelandoni wondered how Ayla knew that she had the correct herb without smelling it, but when she brought it to her nose, she knew it was right. The donier poured a little into her palm, looked it over carefully to see if it was just leaves, or leaves and flowers, and if there was anything else in it. It appeared to be pure yarrow leaf. She added a few pinches to the wooden bowl.

  “Should I add another cooking stone?” Ayla asked, wondering if she wanted an infusion or a decoction—steeped or boiled.

  “No,” the donier said. “I don’t want anything too strong. He only needs a mild infusion. He’s almost over the shock. Willamar is a strong man. He’s worried about Marthona now, and I want to give some to her. I need to be careful with her medicine.”

  Ayla thought she must be giving Jondalar’s mother regular doses of some medicine that she was watching carefully. “Would you like me to make some tea for everyone?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. What kind?” the older healer asked.

  “Just something mild that tastes good. Some mint, or chamomile. I even have some linden flowers to sweeten it.”

  “Yes, why don’t you. Some chamomile with the linden flowers would be nice, gently calming,” Zelandoni said as she turned to go.

  Ayla was smiling as she removed more pouches from her medicine bag. Healing magic, she knows it! I haven’t lived near anyone who knows medicines and healing magic since I left the Clan! It’s going to be wonderful to have someone to talk to about it.

  Ayla had originally learned healing—at least herbal medicine and treatments, if not matters of the spirit world—from Iza, her Clan mother, who was recognized as a worthy descendant of the foremost line of medicine women. She had learned additional details from the other medicine women at the Clan Gathering to which she had gone with Brun’s clan. Later, at the Summer Meeting of the Mamutoi, she had spent a considerable amount of time with the mamutii.

  She discovered that all Those Who Served The Mother were conversant with both medicines and spirits, but not equally skilled. It often depended on an individual’s own interests. Some mamutii were particularly knowledgeable about medications, some were more interested in healing practices, some in people generally and why certain ones would recover from the same illness or injury and others would not. And some cared only about things of the spirit world and the mind, and were not much interested in healing at all.

  Ayla wanted to know everything. She tried to absorb it all—ideas about the spirit world, knowledge and uses of counting words, memorizing legends and histories—but she was particularly and endlessly fascinated with anything related to healing: medicines, practices, treatments, and causes. She had experimented with different plants and herbs on herself the way Iza had taught her, using knowledge and care, and learned whatever she could from healers she had met on their Journey. She thought of herself as someone with knowledge, but who was still learning. She didn’t fully realize how much she knew or how highly skilled she was. But the one thing she had missed more than anything since leaving the Clan was having someone with whom to discuss it all, a colleague.

  Folara helped her make the tea and showed her where things were. They both carried steaming cups out for everyone. Willamar was obviously in a better state of mind and asking Jondalar the details of Thonolan’s death. He had just begun to retell the circumstances of the cave lion attack when they all looked up at the tapping sound from the entrance.

  “Come in,” Marthona called.

  Joharran moved aside the drape and looked a little surprised to see everyone gathered together inside, including Zelandoni. “I came to see Willamar. I’d like to know how the trading went. I saw Tivonan and you drop a big pack, but with all the excitement and the feast tonight, I thought we should wait until tomorrow to have a meet … he was saying as he approached. Then he noticed that something seemed wrong. He looked from one to the other, and finally to Zelandoni.

  “Jondalar was just telling us about the cave lion that … attacked Thonolan,” she said, and, seeing his horrified look, realized that he didn’t know about the death of his youngest brother. It wasn’t going to be easy on him, either. Thonolan had been well loved. “Sit down, Joharran. I think everyone should hear about it all together. Shared grief is easier to bear, and I doubt that Jondalar wants to repeat this too many times.”

  Ayla caught Zelandoni’s eye, tilted her head toward the first calming drink that the woman had prepared, then toward the second tea that she had made. Zelandoni nodded at the second, then watched as Ayla silently poured a cup and unobtrusively handed it to Joharran. He took it without even noticing as he listened to Jondalar summarize the incidents leading up to Thonolan’s death. Zelandoni was becoming more intrigued by the young woman. She had something, perhaps something more than a little knowledge of herbs.

  “What happened after the lion attacked him, Jondalar?” Joharran asked.

  “He attacked me.”

  “How did you get away?”

  “That’s Ayla’s story to tell,” Jondalar said. All eyes suddenl
y turned to her.

  The first time Jondalar had done that, told a story up to a point and then turned it over to her without warning, she had been very disconcerted. She was more used to it now, but these people were his kin, his family. She was going to have to talk about the death of one of their own, a man she never knew, who obviously had been very dear to them. She felt her nervousness in the pit of her stomach.

  “I was riding on Whinney’s back,” she began. “Her belly was full with Racer, but she needed exercise, so I rode her a little every day. We usually went east, because it was easier, but I was tired of going the same way all the time, so for a change I thought I’d go west. We went to the far end of the valley where the cliff wall began to level out. We crossed the little river, and I almost changed my mind about going in that direction. Whinney was pulling the pole drag and it was a steep slope, but she’s surefooted and climbed up without too much trouble.”

  “What’s a pole drag?” Folara asked.

  “It’s just two poles attached at one end to Whinney’s back, with the other ends dragging the ground, and a sturdy carrier between the poles behind her. That’s how Whinney helped me carry things back to my cave, like the animals I hunted,” Ayla said, trying to explain the travois she devised.

  “Why didn’t you just get some people to help you?” Folara wanted to know.

  “There were no people to help me. I lived alone in the valley,” Ayla said.

  The assembled group looked at each other in surprise, but before someone else could ask another question, Zelandoni interjected, “I’m sure we could all ask many questions of Ayla, but we can do that later. Why don’t we let her finish telling us about Thonolan and Jondalar now.”