The Shelters of Stone

by Jean M. Auel

  “What’s he doing?” Folara said. She hadn’t officially met him, either. “He only used his teeth with Ayla, before.”

  “I’m not sure,” Jondalar said with a note of concern.

  Zelandoni looked sternly at Wolf, and he let go.

  “Did he hurt you?” Folara asked. “Why did he do that?”

  “No, of course he didn’t hurt me. He did it to let me know that I have nothing to fear from him,” Zelandoni said, making no attempt to scratch him. “We understand each other.” Then she contemplated Ayla, who returned her gaze. “And we have a lot to learn about each other.”

  “Yes, we do. I’m looking forward to it,” she replied.

  “And Wolf still needs to meet Folara,” Jondalar said. “Come here, Wolf, come and meet my little sister.”

  Responding to the playfulness in his voice, Wolf bounded toward him. “This is Folara, Wolf,” he said. The young woman quickly discovered how much fun it was to pet and scratch and handle the wolf.

  “Now it’s my turn,” Ayla said. “I would like to be introduced to Willamar,” she said, then, turning to the donier, “and Zelandoni, although I already feel that I know you both.”

  Marthona stepped forward. “Of course. I had forgotten that you haven’t formally met them. Ayla, this is Willamar, Renowned Traveler and Trade Master of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, Mated to Marthona, Man of the Hearth to Folara, Blessed of Doni.” Then she looked at the man. “Willamar, please welcome Ayla of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi, Daughter of the Mammoth Hearth, Chosen by the Spirit of the Cave Lion, Protected by the Cave Bear,” she smiled at the animal, “and Friend of Wolf, and two horses,” she added.

  After the incidents and stories that Ayla had just told, Jondalar’s kin understood the meanings of her names and ties more and felt they knew her better. It made her seem less of a stranger. Willamar and Ayla grasped both hands and greeted each other in the name of the Mother with the phrases of the formal introduction, except that Willamar referred to her as “mother” rather than “friend of Wolf.” Ayla had noticed that people seldom repeated introductions exactly, often adding their own variation.

  “I look forward to meeting the horses, and I think I’m going to add ‘Chosen by the Golden Eagle’ to my names. After all, it is my totem,” he said with a warm smile, and squeezed her hands before he let go. She smiled back, a big, dazzling smile. I am happy to see Jondalar after all this time, he thought, and how wonderful for Marthona that he brought a woman back to mate. It means he plans to stay. And such a beautiful woman. If they are of his spirit, imagine what her children will look like.

  Jondalar decided that he should be the one to formally introduce Ayla and Zelandoni. “Ayla, this is Zelandoni, First Among Those Who Serve The Great Earth Mother, the Voice of Doni, Surrogate of She Who Blesses, the Donier, Giver of Help and Healing, Instrument of the Original Ancestor, Spiritual Leader of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, and Friend of Jondalar once known as Zolena.” He said the last with a smile. It was not one of her usual tides.

  “Zelandoni, this is Ayla of the Mamutoi,” he began, and at the end added “soon to be mated to Jondalar, I hope.”

  It’s a good thing he said “I hope,” Zelandoni said to herself as she stepped forward with both hands extended. This mating hasn’t been approved yet. “As the Voice of Doni, Great Earth Mother, I welcome you, Ayla of the Mamutoi, Daughter of the Mammoth Hearth,” she said, taking both of Ayla’s hands in hers and naming what to her were the most important titles.

  “In the name of Mut, Mother of All, who is also Doni, I greet you, Zelandoni, First Among Those Who Serve The Great Earth Mother,” Ayla said. As the two women faced each other, Jondalar fervently hoped that they would become good friends. He would never want either as an enemy.

  “And now I must go. I hadn’t planned to stay so long,” Zelandoni said.

  “I have to go, too,” Joharran said, leaning over to brush his mother’s cheek with his, then getting up. “There’s a lot to do before the feast tonight. And, Willamar, tomorrow I want to hear how the trading went.”

  After Zelandoni and Joharran left, Marthona asked Ayla if she wanted to rest before the celebration.

  “I feel so dirty and hot from traveling. There is nothing I’d like better right now than to go for a swim, to cool off, and wash. Does soaproot grow nearby?”

  “It does,” Marthona said. “Jondalar, behind the big rock upstream along The River a short distance from Wood River Valley. You know where that is, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I know. Wood River Valley is where the horses are, Ayla. I’ll show you the place. A swim does sound good.” Jondalar put an arm around Marthona. “And it’s good to be home, mother. I really don’t think I want to travel again for a long time.”

  5

  I want to get my comb and I think I still have some dried ceanothus flowers left, to wash my hair,” Ayla said, opening her traveling packs. “And the chamois skin from Roshario to dry off with,” she added, pulling it out.

  Wolf was bounding toward the entry and back to them again, as though urging them to hurry.

  “I think Wolf knows we’re going swimming,” Jondalar said. “I sometimes think that animal can understand language, even if he can’t speak it.”

  “I’ll take my change of clothes so I have something clean to put on, and why don’t we spread out the sleeping furs before we go,” Ayla said, putting down her towel and other things, and pulling loose the ties of another bundle.

  They quickly made a sleeping place and set out the few other possessions they had with them, then Ayla shook out the tunic and short pants she had been keeping aside. She examined the outfit closely. It was made of soft, supple buckskin, cut in a simple Mamutoi style, but was undecorated, and though clean, it was stained. Even with washing, it was difficult to get stains out of the velvety-textured nap of the leather, but it was the only thing she had to wear to the feast. Traveling limited the amount one could take, even with horses to help with transport, and she had wanted to bring other things that were more important to her than changes of clothing.

  Ayla noticed that Marthona was watching her and said, “This is all I have to wear tonight. I hope it will be all right. I couldn’t bring much with me. Roshario gave me a beautiful decorated outfit made in the Sharamudoi style out of that wonderful leather they make, but I gave it to Madenia, that young Losadunai woman who was attacked so brutally.”

  “That was kind of you,” the woman said.

  “I had to lighten my load anyway, and Madenia seemed so pleased, but now I wish I had one like it. It would be nice to dress for the feast tonight in something a little less worn. Once we get settled, I’ll have to make some clothes.” She smiled at the woman and looked around. “It’s still hard to believe we’re finally here.”

  “It’s hard for me to believe, too,” Marthona said, then after a pause, “I would like to help you make some clothes, if you wouldn’t object.”

  “No, I wouldn’t object at all. I’d appreciate it.” Ayla smiled. “Everything you have here is so beautiful, Marthona, and I don’t know what is appropriate for Zelandoni women to wear.”

  “Can I help, too?” Folara added. “Mother’s ideas about clothes are not always what younger women like.”

  “I’d love to have help from both of you, but this will have to do for now,” Ayla said, holding up her worn outfit.

  “It will certainly be fine for tonight,” Marthona said. Then she nodded to herself, as though making a decision. “I have something I would like to give you, Ayla. It’s in my sleeping room.”

  Ayla followed Marthona into her room. “I have been saving this for you for a long time,” the woman said as she opened a covered wooden box.

  “But you just met me!” Ayla exclaimed.

  “For the woman Jondalar would someday choose for a mate. It belonged to Dalanar’s mother.” She held out a necklace.

  Ayla caught her breath with surprise, and with some hesitation took the proffered neckl
ace. She examined it cautiously. It was made of matched shells, perfect deer teeth, and finely carved heads of female deer made from ivory. A lustrous yellowish orange pendant hung at the center.

  “It is beautiful,” Ayla breathed. She felt particularly drawn to the pendant, and she looked at it carefully. It was shiny, polished from being worn and handled. “This is amber, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. That stone has been in the family for many generations. Dalanar’s mother made it into this necklace. She gave it to me when Jondalar was born and told me to give it to the woman he chose.”

  “Amber is not cold like other stones,” Ayla said, holding the pendant in her hand. “It feels warm, as though it has a living spirit.”

  “How interesting that you should say that. Dalanar’s mother always said this piece had life,” Marthona said. “Try it on. See how it looks on you.”

  Marthona guided Ayla toward the limestone wall of her sleeping room. A hole had been dug out of it, and wedged into the hole was the round end that grew out of the horn core of a megaceros, then extended and flattened out into the typical palmate antler. The tines of the projecting antler had been broken off, leaving a slightly uneven shelf with a concave scalloped edge. Resting on top and leaning against the somewhat forward sloping wall, but nearly perpendicular to the floor, was a small plank of wood with a very smooth surface.

  As Ayla approached, she noticed that it reflected with surprising clarity the wooden and wickerware containers across the room, and the flame burning in a stone oil lamp near them. Then she stopped in amazement.

  “I can see myself!” Ayla said. She reached out to touch the surface. The wood had been rubbed smooth with sandstone, dyed a deep black with oxides of manganese, and polished with fat to a high sheen.

  “Haven’t you ever seen a reflector?” Folara asked. She was standing just inside the room, near the panel at the entrance, dying of curiosity to see the gift her mother was giving to Ayla.

  “Not like this. I’ve looked in a still pool of water on a sunny day,” Ayla said, “but this is right here, in your sleeping room!”

  “Don’t the Mamutoi have reflectors? To see how they look when they dress for some important occasion?” Folara asked. “How do they know if everything is right?”

  Ayla frowned in thought for a moment. “They look at each other. Nezzie always made sure Talut had everything on right before ceremonies, and when Deegie—she was my friend—arranged my hair, everyone made nice comments,” Ayla explained.

  “Well, let’s see how the necklace looks on you, Ayla,” Marthona said, putting it around her neck and holding the back closed.

  Ayla admired the necklace, noting how well it lay on her chest, and then she found herself studying the reflection of her face. She seldom saw herself, and her own features were more unfamiliar than those of the people around her whom she had met only recently. Though the reflecting surface was reasonably good, the lighting inside the room was dim, and her image was somewhat dark. She appeared rather drab, colorless, and flat-faced to herself.

  Ayla had grown up among the Clan thinking of herself as big and ugly because, although she was thinner-boned than the women of the Clan, she was taller than the men, and she looked different, both in their eyes and her own. She was more accustomed to judging beauty in terms of the stronger features of the Clan, with their long broad faces and sloped-back foreheads, heavy overhanging browridges, sharp prominent noses, and large, richly colored brown eyes. Her own blue-gray eyes seemed faded in comparison.

  After she had lived among the Others for a while, she didn’t feel that she looked so strange anymore, but she still could not see herself as beautiful, though Jondalar had told her often enough that she was. She knew what was considered attractive to the Clan; she didn’t quite know how to define beauty in terms of the Others. To her, Jondalar, with his masculine and therefore stronger features and vivid blue eyes was far more beautiful than she.

  “I think it suits her,” Willamar said. He had strolled over to add his opinion. Even he hadn’t known Marthona had the necklace. It was her dwelling that he had moved into; she had made room for him and his possessions, and she made him comfortable. He liked the way she ordered and arranged things, and he had no desire to poke into every nook and cranny or bother her belongings.

  Jondalar was standing behind him, looking over his shoulder, grinning. “You never told me grandam gave that to you when I was born, mother.”

  “She didn’t give it to me for you. It was meant for the woman you would mate. The one with whom you would make a hearth, to which she could bring her children—with the blessing of the Mother,” she replied, taking the necklace from around Ayla’s neck and putting it into her hands.

  “Well, you’ve given it to the right person,” he said. “Are you going to wear it tonight, Ayla?”

  She looked at it, frowning slightly. “No. All I have is that old outfit and this is too beautiful to wear with that. I think I’ll wait until I have something appropriate to wear with it.”

  Marthona smiled and nodded slightly in approval.

  As they were leaving the sleeping room, Ayla could see another hole cut into the limestone wall above the sleeping platform. It was somewhat larger and seemed to go into the wall rather deeply. A small stone lamp burned in front, and in the light behind it she could make out from her view a part of the full rounded figurine of an amply endowed woman. It was a donii, Ayla knew, a representation of Doni, the Great Earth Mother, and, when She chose, a receptacle for Her Spirit.

  Above the niche, she noticed on the stone wall above the sleeping place, another of those mats, similar to the one on the table, made with fine fibers woven into an intricate pattern. She wished she could examine it closely, find out how it was made. Then she realized that she probably could. They weren’t traveling anymore. This was going to be her home.

  Folara rushed out of the dwelling after Ayla and Jondalar left and hurried to another one nearby. She had almost asked if she could go with them, then she caught her mother’s eye and the bare shake of her head, and it made her realize that they might want to be alone. Besides, she knew her friends would be full of questions for her. She scratched on the panel of the next structure. “Ramila? It’s me, Folara.”

  A moment later a plump, attractive, brown-haired young woman pulled back the drape. “Folara! We were waiting for you, but then Galeya had to go. She said to meet her by the stump.”

  They both walked out from under the overhang, talking animatedly together. As they approached the tall stump of a lightning-struck juniper tree they saw a thin, wiry young woman with red hair hurrying toward it from another direction, struggling to carry two wet and bulging, fairly large waterbags.

  “Galeya, did you just get here?” Ramila asked.

  “Yes; have you been waiting long?” Galeya said.

  “No, Folara came for me only a few moments ago. We were just walking here when we saw you,” Ramila said, taking one of the bags as they started back.

  “Let me carry your waterbag the rest of the way, Galeya,” Folara said, relieving her of the other bag. “Is this for the feast tonight?”

  “What else? I feel like I’ve done nothing but carry things all day, but it will be fun to have an unplanned gather. I think it’s going to be bigger than they thought, though. We may end up in the Gather Field. I’ve heard that several of the nearby Caves have sent runners offering food for the feast. You know that means most of their Cave want to come,” Galeya said. Then, stopping and turning to look at Folara, she said, “Well, aren’t you going to tell us about her?”

  “I don’t know much yet. We’re just starting to get acquainted. She is going to live with us. She and Jondalar are promised, they’re going to tie the knot at the Summer Matrimonial. She’s kind of like a zelandoni. Not exactly, she doesn’t have a mark or anything, but she knows spirits, and she’s a healer. She saved Jondalar’s life. Thonolan was already traveling the next world when she found them. They had been attacked by a cave
lion! You won’t believe the stories they have to tell,” Folara chattered on excitedly as they walked back along the stone front porch of the community.

  Many people were busy with various activities related to the feast, but several stopped to watch the young women, especially Folara, knowing she had spent some time with the stranger and the returned Zelandonii man. And some were listening to her, in particular an attractive woman with very light blond hair and dark gray eyes. She was carrying a bone tray of fresh meat and affecting not to notice the young women, but she was walking in the same direction and staying close enough to hear. She had originally intended to go another way entirely, until she heard Folara talking.

  “What’s she like?” Ramila asked.

  “I think she’s nice. She talks a little funny, but she comes from very far away. Even her clothes are different … what little she has. She only has one extra outfit. It’s very plain, but she has nothing for dressing up, so she’s going to wear it tonight. She said she wants some Zelandonii clothes, but she doesn’t know what’s appropriate, and she wants to dress right. Mother and I are going to help her make some. She’s going to take me down to meet the horses tomorrow. I might even ride one. She and Jondalar just went down there, to go swimming and bathing in The River.”

  “Are you really going to get on the back of a horse, Folara?” Ramila asked.

  The woman who had been listening didn’t wait to hear the answer. She had stopped for a moment, then, with a malicious smile, hurried away.

  Wolf ran ahead, stopping now and then to make sure the woman and man were still following him. The sloping path down from the northeast end of the front terrace led to a meadow on the right bank of a small river that was nearing its confluence with the main stream. The level grassy lea was surrounded by open, mixed woodland that grew more dense farther upstream.

  When they reached the meadow, Whinney whickered a greeting and some people who were watching from a distance shook their heads in amazement when the wolf ran straight to the mare and they touched noses. Then the canine struck a playful pose with his tail and back end up and his front end down, and yipped a puppy bark at the young stallion. Racer lifted his head in a neigh and pawed the ground, returning the playful gesture.