by Jean M. Auel
“Why do people say that, Zelandoni?” Ayla asked. “Why should someone be concerned about a Gift from the Mother? Aren’t Her Gifts a good thing?”
“Perhaps it’s because Her Gifts are too good. Or because they are too powerful. How do you feel if someone gives you something of great value?” the donier asked.
“Iza taught me that a gift creates an obligation. You must give something of equal value back,” Ayla said.
“The more I learn about the people who raised you, the more I grow to respect them,” said the One Who Was First. “When the Great Earth Mother bestows a Gift, She may expect something in return, something of equal value. When much is given, much may be expected, but how can one know what that is until the time comes? So people are leery. Sometimes Her Gifts are too much, more than one wants, but they can’t be given back. Too much doesn’t necessarily bring any more happiness than not enough.”
“Even too much love?” Ayla asked.
“The best example to answer that is Jondalar. He was definitely favored by the Mother,” said the woman once known as Zolena, “too favored, he was given too much. He is so remarkably handsome and well made, he can’t help but draw attention. Even his eyes are such an exceptional color, one can hardly keep from staring at him. He has a natural charm, people are drawn to him, but women in particular—I don’t think there is a woman alive who could refuse him whatever he asked, not the Mother Herself—and he delights in pleasing women. He’s intelligent, and exceptionally skilled at flint-knapping, and with it all he was given a caring heart, but he cares too much. He has too much love to give.
“Even his love for working the stone, for making tools, is for him a true passion. But the intensity of his feelings for whatever he loves is so strong, it can overwhelm him, and those he cares for. He fights to keep it under control, but it has occasionally gotten away from him. Ayla, I’m not sure you understand how powerful his feelings are. And all his Gifts didn’t make him happy, at least not until now, they have often aroused more envy than love.”
Ayla nodded with a thoughtful frown. “I have heard several people say Jondalar’s brother Thonolan was a favorite of the Mother and that’s why he was taken so young,” Ayla said. “Was he exceptionally handsome, and given many Gifts?”
“He was a favorite of everyone, not only the Mother. Thonolan was a fine-looking man, but he didn’t have the overwhelming … I’m tempted to say beauty—masculine beauty, to be sure—of Jondalar, but he had such a warm and open nature that wherever he went, people loved him, men and women alike. He made friends, easily and naturally, and no one resented him, or was envious of him,” the woman said.
They had been standing and talking, with the wolf crouched at Ayla’s feet. As they started walking again toward the campare, Ayla still frowned, thinking about the donier’s words.
“Now that Jondalar has brought you home, many men are even more envious, and many women are jealous of you, because he loves you,” Zelandoni continued. “That was why Marona tried to make you look foolish. She was jealous, envious of both of you, I think, because you have found happiness in each other. Some people think she was given much, but all she ever had was an unusual beauty, and beauty alone is the most deceptive of Gifts. It doesn’t last. She is an unpleasant woman, who seems to think of little besides herself, with few friends and no real talents. When Marona’s beauty fades she will have nothing, I’m afraid, not even children, it seems.”
They walked together a few steps, then Ayla stopped and turned toward the woman. “I haven’t seen Marona lately, not for several days before we left and not on the trek here.”
“She went back to the Fifth Cave with her friend and came here with them. She is staying at their camp,” the donier said.
“I don’t like Marona, but I am sorry for her if she can’t have children. Iza knew some things that could be done to make a woman more receptive to the impregnating spirit,” Ayla said.
“I know of a few, too, but she hasn’t asked for help, and if she is really unable to conceive, nothing will help,” the woman said.
Ayla heard the tone of sorrow in her voice. She would be sorry, too, if she couldn’t have children. Then her frown was replaced by a radiant smile. “Did you know I am going to have a child?” she said.
Zelandoni smiled back. Her speculation about Ayla was confirmed. “I’m very happy for you, Ayla. Does Jondalar know your mating has been blessed?”
“Yes. I told him. He’s very pleased.”
“He should be. Have you told anyone else?”
Only Marthona, and Proleva, and now you.”
“If it’s not generally known, we can surprise everyone at your Matrimonial and announce your good news, if you like,” Zelandoni said. “There are special words that can be part of the ceremony if the woman is already Blessed.”
“I think I would like that,” Ayla said. “I’ve stopped marking my moon times, since my bleeding has stopped, but I’m wondering if I should start marking days again, to keep track of them until my baby is born. Jondalar taught me how to use the counting words, but I don’t know how to count that far.”
“Do you find the counting words difficult, Ayla?” –
“Oh, no. I like using counting words,” she said. “Jondalar surprised me the first time he used them, though. Just from the marks I made on my sticks every night, he knew how long I lived in the valley. He said it was easier because I cut an extra line above the marks on the days when my moon time started, so I would be prepared for it. I seemed to have more trouble hunting when I was bleeding. I think animals could smell me. After a while I noticed that my bleeding always came when the waning moon reached the same shape, so I didn’t have to make the marks, but I made them anyway. You can’t always see the moon if it’s stormy or cloudy.”
Zelandoni thought she was getting accustomed to the surprises Ayla could come up with in such an offhand way, as though it were nothing. But making counting marks when she bled and then making the connection to moon phases was rather astonishing for someone to make by herself.
“Would you like to learn more counting words, and different ways to use them, Ayla?” the woman said. “They can be used to know when seasons are ready to change, before the changes are apparent, for example, or to count the days until your baby is born.”
“Yes, I would,” Ayla said, smiling broadly. “I learned how to make marks from Creb, although I think it made him nervous when I did it. Most women of the Clan, or men, for that matter, couldn’t count much past three. Creb could make counting marks because he was The Mog-ur, but he didn’t have words for counting.”
“I’ll show you how to count larger numbers,” the First said. “I think it’s best that you are having your children now, when you are young. You may not want to worry about taking care of young children when you are older. There is no telling what you may decide to do.”
“I’m not so young, Zelandoni. I can count nineteen years, if Iza was right about how many years I was when she found me,” Ayla said.
“You certainly look younger than you are.” A fleeting frown crossed Zelandoni’s face. “But it shouldn’t matter. You have a head start,” she said almost to herself, and finished in her thoughts, She is already a skilled healer, she won’t have to learn that before becoming a Zelandoni.
“A head start on what?” Ayla asked, puzzled.
“Uh … you have a head start on your family, since Ufe has already begun,” Zelandoni said. “But I hope you don’t have too many children. You’re in good health, but too many can drain a woman, age her more quickly.”
Ayla got a strong impression that Zelandoni did not want her to know what she was thinking and quickly said something else because she wanted to keep from telling her. It was her right, Ayla thought. She could refrain from mentioning what she was thinking if she chose, but it did make her wonder.
Twilight had settled by the time they approached the campfire, and it was already getting hard to see. When they arrived at the fire
trench, people greeted them and offered them food. Ayla realized she was hungry; it had been a full and busy afternoon. Zelandoni ate with them and planned to sleep at the camp of the Ninth Cave that night, then immediately got into a discussion with Marthona and Joharran about the upcoming hunt and the Search the zelandonia would make. She mentioned that Ayla would be joining them, which they seemed to think was entirely appropriate, but it made Ayla feel uneasy. She did not want to become one of Those Who Served The Mother, but circumstances seemed to be pulling her in that direction and she wasn’t happy about it.
“We should get there early. I need to arrange to set up some targets and step off the distances,” Jondalar said as they walked out of the lodge the next morning. He was holding the cup of mint tea Ayla had made for him and began chewing on the end of the wintergreen twig she had recently peeled, to prepare it for him to clean his teeth.
“I want to check on Whinney and Racer first. I hardly saw them at all yesterday. Why don’t you go ahead and get things ready. I’ll keep Wolf with me and meet you later,” Ayla said.
“Don’t take too long. People will be gathering early, and I’d really like you to show them what you can do. It’s one thing for me to cast a spear a long way, but when they see that a woman, using the spear-thrower, can fling a spear farther than any of the men, that will make them interested,” Jondalar said.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can, but I want to brush them down, and check Racer’s eye. It seemed red, like he got something in it. I may want to treat it,” Ayla said.
“Do you think he’s all right? Should I come with you?” he said, full of concern.
“It didn’t look that bad. I’m sure he’s fine. I just want to check it. You go on, I won’t be long,” she said.
Jondalar nodded as he scrubbed at his teeth, then swished out his mouth with the mint tea. He drank down the balance and smiled. “That always makes me feel better,” he said.
“It does make your mouth feel clean, and wakes you up,” Ayla said. She had made his tea and prepared his twig nearly every morning since shortly after she met him, and had begun to follow his morning ritual. “I noticed it especially when I was sick in the morning.”
“Are you still having morning sickness?” he asked.
“No, not anymore, but I do notice that my stomach is getting bigger,” she said.
He smiled. “I like your bigger stomach,” he said, then reached over and put an arm around her shoulders and the other hand on her belly. “I especially like what’s in it.”
She smiled back. “I do, too,” she said.
He kissed her with warmth and feeling. “The thing I miss most about traveling is that we could stop and share Pleasures whenever we felt like it. Now, it seems there is always something to do and it’s not as easy to stop and do what we want whenever we want.” He nuzzled her neck, felt the fullness of her breasts, and kissed her again. “Maybe I don’t have to get to the spear-throwing range so early,” he added with a huskiness in his voice.
“Yes, you do,” she said with a laugh. “But if you want to stay …”
“No, you are right, but I’m going to look for you later.”
Jondalar headed for the main camp and Ayla went back into the lodge. When she came out, she was carrying her backpack, the one with the holders for spears and spear-thrower, into which she had packed a few things. She whistled for Wolf and headed upstream along the small creek. Both horses knew she was coming and had strained to come toward her as far as their lead ropes would allow. Ayla noticed that the ropes had gotten caught in some of the vegetation. Besides the long grass that had twisted itself around both leads, Whinney’s rope had an entire dry bush tangled in it, and Racer had pulled a living shrub out of the ground, roots and all. Maybe a surround would work better than those ropes, she thought.
Ayla removed both their halters and lead ropes, and while she was at it, she checked Racer’s eye. It was a little red, but otherwise seemed fine. Racer and Wolf rubbed noses and then, so glad to be free of the restricting rope, Racer began running in a large circle, and Wolf chased after him. Ayla. started brushing Whinney, and when she looked up, Racer was chasing Wolf. The next time she looked, Wolf was chasing Racer again. She stopped brushing for a while to watch them. As Wolf got close to Racer, the young stallion actually slowed down a bit until the wolf passed him and raced ahead. When they came full circle, Wolf slowed down and let Racer pass him.
At first, Ayla thought she was imagining that they were doing it on purpose, but as she continued to watch them, it soon became obvious that they were playing a game with each other, and enjoying it. Both young male animals, so full of life and energy, had discovered a way to run some of it off and have fun doing it. Ayla smiled and shook her head, wishing Jondalar were there to enjoy their antics with her, then went back to brushing the mare. Whinney, too, was beginning to show her pregnancy, but she appeared to be in good health.
When Ayla finished with her horse, she saw that Racer was grazing quietly and Wolf was nowhere in sight. Off exploring, she thought. She whistled the particular tones that Jondalar had developed to call his horse. He looked up and started toward her. He had nearly reached her when another whistle sounded, repeating the exact tones. They both looked for the whistler. Ayla thought it must be Jondalar, back for some reason, but when she looked up she saw a boy coming in her direction.
He was not familiar to her, and she wondered what he wanted and why he had imitated her particular whistle. When he neared, she thought he could count perhaps nine or ten years, then she noticed that one of his arms was somewhat stunted, shorter than the other, and hung a little awkwardly, as though he didn’t have full control of it. The boy reminded her of Creb, whose arm had been amputated at the elbow when he was a boy, and she warmed to him immediately.
“Are you the one who whistled?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you whistle like I did?” Ayla said.
“I never heard a whistle like that. I wanted to see if I could do it,” he said.
“You did,” she said. “Are you looking for someone?”
“No,” he said.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m just looking. Someone told me there Were horses here, but I didn’t know anyone had set up camp. He didn’t tell me that. Everyone else is by Middle Creek,” he said.
“We just recently arrived. How long have you been here?”
“I was born here.”
Oh, then you are of the Nineteenth Cave.”
“Yes. Why do you talk funny?”
“I was not born here. I come from far away. I used to be Ayla of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi, now I am Ayla of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii,” she said, then stepped toward him, holding out both hands in the manner of a formal greeting.
He became a little flustered because he could not reach out well with his partially paralyzed arm. Ayla stretched a bit for his crippled limb and took both hands in hers as though it were perfectly normal, but she noted that his hand was smaller and misshapen, and the little finger was fused to the one next to it. She held his hands for a moment and smiled.
Then, as though he just remembered, the boy said, “I am Lanidar of the Nineteenth Cave of the Zelandonii.” He was about to let go, but added, “The Nineteenth Cave welcomes you to the Summer Meeting, Ayla of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii.”
“You whistle very well. Your whistle was a very good copy of mine. Do you like to whistle?” she asked when she let go.
“I guess so.”
“Can I ask you not to make that whistle sound again?” she said.
“Why?” he asked.
“I use that sound to call the horse, this one, the stallion. If you whistle like that, I’m afraid he will think you are calling him and it will confuse him,” Ayla explained. “If you like to whistle, I can teach you other sounds to whistle.”
“Like what?”
Ayla looked around and noticed a chickadee perched on the limb of a nearb
y tree, singing the cbick-a-dee-dee-dee sound that gave the bird its name. She listened for a moment, then repeated the sound. The boy looked startled, and the bird stopped singing for a moment, then started up again. Ayla repeated the sound. The black-capped bird sang again, looking around.
“How do you do that?” the boy said.
“I’ll teach you if you like. You could learn, you’re a good whistler,” she said.
“Can you whistle like other birds, too?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Which ones?”
“Any one you want.”
“How about a meadow lark?”
Ayla closed her eyes for a moment, then whistled a series of tones that sounded exactly like a lark that had soared high into the sky and swooped down, making its glorious melody.
“Can you really teach me to do that?” the boy asked, looking at her with wonder in his eyes.
“If you really want to learn,” Ayla said.
“How did you learn?”
“I practiced. If you have patience, sometimes the bird will come to you when you whistle its song,” the woman replied. Ayla remembered when she lived alone in her valley and taught herself to whistle and imitate the sounds of birds. Once she started feeding them, there were several that always came at her call and ate out of her hand.
“Can you whistle other things?” Lanidar asked, completely intrigued by the strange woman who talked funny and whistled so well.
Ayla thought for a moment, then perhaps because the boy reminded her of Creb, she began to whistle an eerie melody that sounded like a flute playing. He had heard flutes many times, but he had never heard anything like it. The haunting music was totally unfamiliar to him. It was the sound of the flute played by the mog-ur at the Clan Gathering she had gone to with Brun’s clan when she still lived with them. Lanidar listened until she stopped.
“I never heard whistling like that,” he said.
“Did you like it?” she asked.
