by Jean M. Auel
They went directly to a special small cave near the valley floor in the cave-pocked limestone cliffs. A carved post with the Zelandonii abelan and other markings was planted in the ground in front of it. They went in, replaced the burial digging tools, and quickly left, grasping the post with both hands and murmuring a few sounds under their breaths asking for the protection of the Mother as they went. Then they followed a snaking path to another cave in the highland, the one used primarily by the zelandonia for ceremonies involving men and boys.
The six Zelandonia of the Caves that took part in the tragic hunt were waiting for them outside the cave, along with several acolytes. They had water, heated almost to the boil with hot rocks, and several varieties of saponin-producing plants, generally referred to as soaproots. The foamy lather turned red from the ochre powder used to protect their hands and feet. Hot water, almost too hot to stand, was poured over their stained appendages into a small hole dug in the earth. The ablution was performed a second time, making sure no trace of red remained. They even cleaned under their fingernails with small pointed sticks. Then they washed a third time. They were inspected and, if necessary, washed again, until each Zelandoni was satisfied.
Then each man took watertight baskets of warm water and more soaproots and washed his entire body, including his hair. Only when they were finally declared purified, and were allowed to don their own clothing, did they breathe easier. The One Who Was First gave each of them a cup of hot, bitter-tasting tea, instructing them to first rinse out their mouths, spit it out in a special hole, then drink the rest. They rinsed and swallowed hurriedly and left quickly, relieved that this part was over. None of them liked being so close to such powerful magic.
Jondalar and the other men walked into Joharran’s home, talking softly, still conscious of their close contact with the world of the spirits.
“Ayla was here looking for you, Jondalar,” Proleva said. “She left, then came back with some delicious tea. We talked a little, but then several people came to talk about the burial feast. She offered to help, but I told her next time. I’m sure Zelandoni has other plans for her. She left not long ago. I have to go, too. There’s some food and hot tea for you in the cooking room.”
“Did Ayla say where she was going?” Jondalar asked.
“To your mother’s.”
“Thank you. I’ll go see what she wanted.”
“Have a bite to eat first. That was hard work,” Proleva said.
He ate quickly, washed it down with some tea, then started out. “Let me know when the zelandonia are ready, Joharran,” Jondalar said as he left.
Everyone was sitting around the low table, drinking Marthona’s wine, when he went into his mother’s dwelling.
“Get your cup, Jondalar,” she said. “I’ll pour you some. This has been a difficult day, and it’s not over yet. I thought we should all try to relax a little.”
“You look all scrubbed and clean, Jondalar,” Ayla said.
“Yes, and am I ever glad that’s over. I want to do my part, but I hate digging in hallowed ground,” Jondalar said, and felt a shudder.
“I know how you feel,” Willamar said.
“If you were digging, why are you so clean?” Ayla asked.
“He was helping to dig the burial pit,” Willamar explained, “and he had to be completely purified after digging in the sacred burial ground and disturbing the spirits. The zelandonia use hot water and lots of soaproot, and foam up several times.”
“That reminds me of the hot pool of the Losadunai. Remember, Jondalar?” Ayla said. She noticed that his expression had changed to a suggestive smile, and she recalled one pleasurable afternoon with him in the natural hot spring. She looked away, trying not to smile back. “Do you remember that cleansing foam they made using rendered fat and ashes?”
“Yes. It really foamed up and made things cleaner than anything I’ve ever seen,” he said. “It even took all taste and smell away.” His smile had grown, and she knew he was teasing her with double meanings. He had said then, when they shared Pleasures, that he couldn’t even taste her. But it was an interesting experience to feel so clean.
“I was thinking,” Ayla said, still avoiding Jondalar’s amorous glances and trying to be serious, “that cleansing foam could be very good for purifying. Some Losadunai women showed me how to make it, but it can be tricky, and doesn’t always work. Maybe I should try to make some to show Zelandoni.”
“I can’t imagine how fat and ashes can make someone clean,” Folara said.
“I wouldn’t believe it myself if I hadn’t seen it,” Ayla said, “but when you mix them together in a certain way, something happens and you don’t have fat or ashes anymore, but something else. You have to add water to the ashes, cook it a while, then let it cool before you strain it. It becomes very strong, it can even give you blisters if you are not careful. It is like the part of fire that burns you, but without heat. Then you add melted fat to it, about the same amount of fat as there is liquid, but both the fat and the strained liquid must have the same feeling of heat as the skin at the inside of your wrist. If you’ve done everything right, when you mix it around, it makes a foam that can clean almost anything. You rinse the foam away, and it takes dirt with it. It can even take grease away.”
“Why would someone decide to put fat and ash-water together in the first place?” Folara asked.
“The woman who told me about it said it was an accident the first time she did it,” Ayla explained. “She’d been cooking or rendering some fat over a firepit when it started to rain very hard. She ran to get under cover. When she went back, she thought the fat was ruined. It had overflowed into the firepit that had been full of ashes and had filled up with rain. Then she saw the wooden spoon she’d been using to stir it. It had taken a long time to carve and was a favorite of hers, so she decided to retrieve it. She reached through a slippery foam that she thought was ruined fat to get the spoon, and when she went to clean the foam off, she discovered it not only rinsed away easily, but it left her hand and the spoon clean.”
Ayla didn’t know that the lye leached from wood ashes, when mixed with fat at a certain temperature, caused a chemical reaction that created soap. She didn’t need to know why the process made a cleansing foam, she just knew that it did. It wasn’t the first rime, and it wouldn’t be the last, that a discovery was made by accident.
“I’m sure Zelandoni would be interested,” Marthona said. She had been aware of the byplay between her son and the young woman. Jondalar wasn’t as subtle as he thought, and she was trying to help Ayla keep the discussion in a more serious vein. After all, they would be going to a funeral soon. It was hardly the time to be thinking about Pleasures. “I made a discovery like that once when I was making wine. Afterward, my wine always seemed to turn out well.”
“Are you finally going to tell your secret, mother?” Jondalar said.
“What secret?”
“How you make wine that always turns out better than anyone else’s wine, and never goes to vinegar,” Jondalar said with a grin.
She nodded her head with a look of exasperation. “I don’t think of it as a secret, Jondalar.”
“But you never would tell anyone how you did it.”
“That’s because I was never sure if what I did really made a difference, or if it would work for anyone else,” Marthona said. “I don’t know why I did it the first rime, but I watched Zelandoni do something similar with one of her medicinal drinks, and it seemed to give it a potent magic. I wondered if it might add some magic to my wine, too. It does seem to work,” Marthona said.
“Well, tell us,” Jondalar said. “I always knew you did something special.”
“I watched Zelandoni chew some herbs when she made a certain medicine, so the next rime I crushed, the berries for wine, I chewed some and spat the juice into the mash before it began to ferment. I think it’s strange that something like that should make a difference, but apparently it does.”
“Iza taught
me that there are some medicines and some special drinks that must be chewed with the mouth to make them work,” Ayla said. “Perhaps mixing the berries for wine with a little of the juices from the mouth adds some special in gradient.” She had never thought of it before, but it was possible.
“I ask Doni to help make the fruit juice into wine, too. Maybe that’s the real secret,” Marthona said. “If you don’t ask for too much, sometimes the Mother will give you what you want. When you were little, it never used to fail for you, Jondalar. If you asked Doni for it, you always seemed to get what you really wanted. Is that still true?”
Jondalar reddened slightly. He didn’t realize anyone else knew, but he should have guessed Marthona would. “Usually,” he said, looking away from her direct stare.
“Has She ever not given you what you asked for?” his mother pressed.
“Once,” he said, squirming with discomfort.
She watched him, then nodded. “Yes, I imagine that was too much even for the Great Earth Mother to let you have. I don’t think you’re sorry now, are you?”
Everyone looked puzzled by the rather cryptic conversation between mother and son. Jondalar was noticeably disconcerted. Ayla watched them, then it suddenly came to her that Marthona was talking about Zelandoni, or rather Zolena, the young woman she had been.
“Did you know digging in hallowed ground is one thing only men do, Ayla?” Willamar said, changing the subject to cloak the awkward moment. “It would be too dangerous to expose the Blessed of Doni to such dangerous forces.”
“And I’m glad, too,” Folara said. “It’s bad enough to have to clean and dress a person whose spirit is gone. I hate having to do that! I was so happy when you asked me to look after Wolf earlier today, Ayla. I invited all my friends over, and told them to bring their little sisters and brothers. Wolf met a lot of people.”
“No wonder he’s so tired,” Marthona said, glancing toward the wolf, who was in his sleeping place. “I’d go to sleep after a day like that.”
“I don’t think he’s sleeping,” Ayla said. She knew the difference between his resting and sleeping postures. “I’m sure you are right, though. He is tired. He does love little ones, but they wear him out.”
They all turned with a start at a gentle knock on the panel beside the entrance, though they had been expecting it. “The zelandonia are ready.” It was Joharran's voice. The five of them inside quickly swallowed the last of their wine and went out. Wolf followed them out, but Ayla tied him with the special rope to a firmly planted stake not far from Marthona’s dwelling to keep him away from the burial ceremony that everyone would be attending.
Many people had already gathered around the burial shelter. There was a soft hum of conversation as people greeted each other and talked, but in low voices. The wall panels had been removed and Shevonar’s body was exposed for all to see, lying on the grass-mat shroud and netted hammock that would be folded around him later to carry him to the burial place. But first he would be carried to the Gather Field, which was large enough for all the people from the six Caves in the region that had taken part in the hunt to come together.
Jondalar had gone off with his brother and several others shortly after they reached the area. Marthona and Willamar knew their parts in the forthcoming rituals and hurried to take their places. Ayla didn’t know what to do and was feeling at a loss. She decided she would stay in the background and observe, and hope she wouldn’t do anything that might embarrass her or Jondalar’s family.
Folara introduced the foreign woman her brother had brought back to some of her friends, several young women, and two young men. Ayla was talking to them, or at least trying to. They had already heard so many stories about her, they were awestruck and either tongue-tied with shyness or babbling to overcompensate. She didn’t hear her name being called at first.
“Ayla, I think they want you,” Folara said when she noticed Zelandoni coming toward them.
“You’ll have to excuse her,” the donier said to Ayla’s young admirers, a bit abruptly. “She needs to be in front with the zelandonia.” Ayla followed the woman. Behind her, the young people were even more impressed. When they were out of hearing range of the youngsters, the woman spoke softly to Ayla. “The zelandonia don’t eat at a burial. You will walk with us, but then you will join Jondalar and Marthona at the head of the line to get your food for the feast.”
Ayla didn’t question why she would be walking with the fasting zelandonia but eating with Jondalar’s family, though she thought about it later. She had no idea what was expected of her. She could only follow when they started across the bridge up to Down River and continued on to the Gather Field.
The zelandonia did not eat because it was necessary to fast to communicate with the next world, which would be necessary during the burial. Afterward, the First planned to make an extended metaphysical excursion to contact the elan of Thonolan. It was always difficult to travel to the next world, but she was accustomed to it now and knew what she had to do. Fasting was a part of the life of the zelandonia, and she sometimes wondered why she continued to grow in size, when often she did not eat. Perhaps she made up for it the next day, but it did not seem to her that she ate more than others. She was aware that many people felt that her tremendous size contributed to her presence and her mystique. Her only objection was that she was beginning to find it more difficult to move comfortably. Bending over, climbing a slope, and sitting on the ground or, rather, getting up again were all harder, but the Mother seemed to want her to be substantial, and if it was Her wish, the donier was willing.
From the food being spread out near the high wall at the back, far away from the place where the body was placed, it was evident that many people had been working very hard to prepare it. “This is like a small Summer Meeting,” Ayla heard someone say, and thought, If this is small, how big is a Zelandonii Summer Meeting? With something close to two hundred people from the Ninth Cave alone, plus the people from five other Caves, all of them rather populous, Ayla knew she would never be able to remember all of them. She didn’t think there were even enough counting words for them all. She could only think of them as something like a herd of bison when they came together for mating or migrating.
When the six Zelandonia and the six leaders of the Caves arranged themselves around the burial shelter, which had been taken down, carried to the field, and erected again, people began to sit down on the ground and grow quiet. Someone had filled a large plate with choice portions from the feast, including a whole shank of bison. The One Who Was First picked it up and held it high for everyone to see. Then she placed it beside Shevonar’s body.
“The Zelandonii hold this feast in your honor, Shevonar,” she said, addressing the dead man. “Please join us in spirit so that we may wish your elan Good Journey as you travel to the next world.”
Then the rest of the people lined up to take their portions. Most of the time, when there was a feast, people fell into line at random, but this was a formal public occasion, one of the few times when there was a specific order. People lined up according to their understood but seldom displayed status in order to announce their place in this world to the spirits of the next, and to assist the elan of Shevonar in making the difficult transition.
The grieving mate, Relona, and her two children were first, since it was Shevonar’s funeral, followed by his brother, Ranokol. Joharran and Proleva and Jaradal filed behind them, then Marthona and Willamar along with Folara, Jondalar—the highest-ranking members of the Ninth Cave—and Ayla.
Ayla didn’t know it, but she had presented quite a problem. As a foreigner, her status in the Cave should have been last. If she and Jondalar had been officially Promised in a recognized ceremony, it would have been easier to place her among Jondalar’s high-ranking family, but their upcoming mating was only understood, and her acceptance into the Cave was not even formally sanctioned yet. When it came up, Jondalar made it clear that wherever Ayla was placed, he would stay with her. If she w
as placed last in line, then he would stand last in line.
A man’s Stanis originally came from his mother, until he mated. Then, it might change. Normally, before a mating was officially authorized, the families, and sometimes the leaders and the zelandonia, engaged in Matrimonial negotiations, which involved many aspects. For example, gift exchanges were agreed upon; whether the couple would Uve with his Cave, her Cave, or some other Cave; and the setting of a bride price since her status was considered the most valuable. One of the important aspects of the negotiations was the status of the new couple.
Marthona was convinced that if Jondalar stood at the end of the line, it could be misunderstood, not only by the Zelandonii, but by the spirits of the next world, to mean that he had lost status for some reason, or that Ayla’s position was so low, his status could not be negotiated any higher. That was why Zelandoni insisted that she walk to the feast with the zelandonia. Even as a foreigner, if she was recognized as one of the metaphysical elite, it gave her prestige, ambiguous though it was. And though the zelandonia did not eat at a burial feast, she could be shifted into the line with Jondalar’s family before anyone could object.
Though some people might realize that a subterfuge had been perpetrated, once it was done, her place was proclaimed to both this world and the next, and it would be a little late to change it. Ayla herself was completely unaware of the small deception exercised on behalf of Jondalar and her, and in fact, those who engaged in it felt it was an insignificant transgression. Both Marthona and Zelandoni, for different reasons, were convinced that Ayla was genuinely a person of high status. It was just a matter of making it known.
While the family was eating, Laramar came around and poured some barma into their cups. Ayla remembered him from the first night. She had come to understand that while the beverage he made might be appreciated, the man himself was often disparaged, and she wondered why. Ayla watched him as he poured liquid from a waterbag into Willamar’s cup. She noticed that his clothing was decidedly dirty and frayed, worn through where it could have been patched.
