by Jean M. Auel
“Thank you, Mejera, it relieves my mind to know that Whinney and Racer are all right. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all your time and effort to find Lanidar and Jondalar,” Ayla said.
She was glad to know that the horses were fine, and pleased that Lanidar had seen to them on his own. She normally would have expected it of Jondalar, but he was going to be mated, too, after all, and she had just wanted to make sure that he hadn’t been distracted, or prevented, from checking on them. But she was a little worried about Wolf. Part of her wanted him to find a mate and be happy, but another part dreaded the thought of losing him, and she was concerned for him.
Wolf never lived with other wolves, she had probably spent more time around them when she was teaching herself to hunt than he ever did. She knew that while wolves were extremely loyal to their own pack, they defended their territory against other wolves fiercely. If Wolf had found a female lone wolf, or a low-ranked female from a nearby pack, and decided to live like a wolf, he would have to fight to make a territory of his own. While Wolf was a strong, healthy animal, bigger than most wolves, he hadn’t been raised in a pack where he play-fought with siblings from the time he was a puppy. He wasn’t used to fighting wolves.
“Thank you, Mejera. Ayla looks very nice. I didn’t know you were so skilled at arranging hair,” Marthona said.
Ayla reached up with both hands and gingerly felt her hair, gently touching the rolls and other shapes into which it had been coaxed and pinned. She had seen some of the other young women with what she was sure were similar arrangements, so she had some idea of how it looked.
“Let me get a reflector, so you can see it,” Mejera said.
The dim image in the reflector showed a young woman with her hair fixed in a way that was similar to that of most of the other young women in the lodge. It just wasn’t anyone she recognized as herself. She wasn’t even sure Jondalar would.
“Let’s put the matched ambers in your ears,” Folara said. “You should start getting dressed.”
The acolyte who had pierced Ayla’s ears had left a sliver of bone through each of the holes. She had also wrapped some sinew around the front and back and both sides of the ambers and left loops that attached to the bones that pierced the lower fleshy part of her ears. Mejera helped Folara to attach the ambers to Ayla’s ears.
Then Ayla put on her special mating outfit. Mejera was dazzled. “I have never seen anything like that,” she breathed.
And Folara was delighted. “Ayla, that is so beautiful, and so unusual. Everyone is going to want one like it. Where did you get it?”
“I brought it with me. Nezzie made it for me. She’s the mate of the headman of the Lion Camp. This is how it should be worn for the ceremony,” Ayla explained as she opened the front to expose her breasts, even fuller now with her advancing pregnancy, then retied the sash. “Nezzie said a Mamutoi woman should proudly display her breasts when she is mated. Now I want to put on the necklace you gave me, Marthona.”
“There is a problem with that, Ayla,” Marthona said. “The necklace would look beautiful with the big piece of amber nestled between your breasts, but not with that leather pouch that you wear around your neck. The necklace won’t show. I know it means something to you, but I think you should remove it.”
“She’s right, Ayla,” Folara said.
“Let me show you in the reflector,” Mejera said. She held up the piece of sanded, blackened, and oiled wood so Ayla could see.
It was the same strange woman that she had seen before, but this time Ayla saw the ambers dangling from her ears, and her worn amulet bag, lumpy with the objects it contained, hanging from a frayed cord.
“What is that pouch?” Mejera asked. “It looks full of things.”
“It’s my amulet, and the objects inside are all gifts from my totem, the Spirit of the Cave Lion. Most of them confirmed important decisions in my life. It holds my life spirit, too, in a sense.”
“It’s something like an elandon, then,” Marthona said.
“The Mog-ur told me that if I ever lose my amulet, I will die,” Ayla said. She grasped her amulet and felt the familiar lumps and bulges, and a kaleidoscope of memories of her life with the Clan rushed back.
“Then we need to keep it in a very special place,” Marthona said. “Perhaps near a donii so the Mother can watch over it. But you don’t have a donii, do you? Usually a woman gets one at her First Rites. I don’t suppose you ever had a ceremony like that?”
“Well, yes, in fact I did. Jondalar taught me the Mother’s Gift of Pleasure, and the first time, he made a ceremony of it and gave me a donii figure that he made himself. I have it in my backpack,” Ayla said.
“Well, I suspect if anyone could make a proper First Rites ceremony for you, he could. He’s had enough experience at it,” Marthona said. “Why don’t you let me take care of that amulet for you now, and when you and Jondalar leave to begin your trial period, I’ll give it back to you so you can take it with you.” The woman saw Ayla hesitate, then finally nod her head in agreement, but when she started to slip the leather bag off over her head, the leather cord got caught up in her new hairstyle.
“That’s all right, Ayla. I can fix it,” Mejera said.
Ayla held the familiar leather bag in her hand, reluctant to give it up. They were right, it didn’t look good with her Matrimonial finery, but she hadn’t been without it since Iza gave it to her, not long after she was found by the Clan. It had been a part of her for so long, it was hard to let it go. More than hard, she was afraid to let it go. It seemed the amulet itself had clung to her, grabbing at her hair when she took it off. Maybe her totem was trying to tell her something, maybe she shouldn’t try to be only one of the Others on this day of her mating, with her Mamutoi clothes and her Zelandonii necklace. She had been hardly more than a woman of the Clan when she met Jondalar, maybe she ought to keep something of that time, too.
“Thank you, Mejera, but I think I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to wear my hair down and loose. Jondalar likes it that way,” Ayla said. She held the amulet a moment longer, then handed it to Marthona. She let the woman fasten around her neck the necklace that had been given by Dalanar’s mother and saved for her, before she started taking out the pins and ties that held her hair in the elegant Zelandonii style.
Mejera hated to see all her effort taken apart, but it was Ayla’s choice, not hers. “Let me comb it for you,” she said, acceding gracefully, which impressed Marthona. I think this young acolyte is going to be a fine Zelandoni someday, she thought.
When Jondalar and the rest of the men who were going to be mated started walking toward the zelandonia lodge near the foot of the slope where the ceremony was to be held, he suddenly felt nervous. He wasn’t alone. The women had moved, leaving the big lodge empty. With the help of several of the zelandonia, the men arranged themselves in the order they had practiced, first according to the counting word of the Cave where they would live, and then by their rank within the Cave. Since all counting words were powerful—only the zelandonia knew the enigmatic differences among them—they did not designate rank, it was simply an ordering, a way to line up. The unnumbered and often unmentioned but perfectly understood ranking within the Cave was another story, although it wasn’t hard and fast.
A person’s status could change, and the position of many would, as a result of their upcoming matings. It was one of the many agreements that were negotiated prior to the ceremony. The rank of some would be higher, some lower than they had been before, because the status of the hearth was a combination of what both brought to the union, which also determined the status of any children. It was understood that the resulting hearth belonged to the man, but was tended by the woman; children that were born to the woman were also born to the hearth of the man. They and their families both wanted the status of the new hearth to be as high as possible for the sake of the children, and for the names and ties of those related to them, but a certain number of other Cave leaders and zelandonia
had to agree. It could sometimes be a contentious negotiation.
Ayla hadn’t been much involved in the negotiations for the status of her and Jondalar’s new hearth, she wouldn’t have understood the nuances anyway, but Marthona did. The oblique conversation that Marthona had had earlier with some of the zelandonia, including Zelandoni of the Nineteenth, that Ayla was beginning to understand, had been an element of those negotiations. The Nineteenth had been trying to use Jondalar’s youthful indiscretions to bring down his status partly because Ayla had discovered the exceptional new cave within the territory of the Nineteenth Cave. The find had brought her status up considerably, even though she was foreign born, but it had embarrassed Zelandoni of the Nineteenth somewhat. If they had found the cave, they could have kept it private and limited who used it, giving them significant prestige. But the fact that it was found by a foreign woman during a Summer Meeting immediately opened it up to everyone, a point that was made clear by the First.
Jondalar’s ranking was among the highest, with his mother as a former leader and his brother as the present leader of the largest Cave of the Zelandonii, not to mention his own contributions, some of which he brought back from his travels. Increased skill at flint-knapping, a complex talent that had to be attested to by respected and knowledgeable flint-knappers from other Caves, and the new, publicly demonstrated spear-thrower contributed, but determining Ayla’s status had presented a problem. Foreigners always had the lowest status, which would normally bring the ranking of the new hearth down, but Marthona and several others were fighting it by claiming that her status among her own people was very high, and she had many attributes of her own. The animals were an ambiguous factor, with some saying they lowered her status and others saying they raised it. The ultimate ranking of the new hearth was still not fully resolved, though it did not prevent the mating. The Ninth Cave had accepted her, and that’s where they would be living.
The women had moved to another lodge nearby. Until recently, it had housed the young women preparing for their First Rites, but was now empty and could be put to other uses. Someone had suggested that the men could have waited there so the women would not have to move, but the idea of going from housing girls during their transition into womanhood, to men about to be mated made the zelandonia and others uncomfortable. There were always lingering manifestations of spiritual forces whenever transcendent activities were involved, especially with a sizable group, and the significant vitalities of men and women were sometimes in opposition. It was decided to move the women who were to be mated there instead, since it was the next logical step for the girls who had previously occupied the dwelling.
The women were no less nervous than the men. Ayla wondered if Jondalar would decide to wear the tunic she had made for him, and wished she had known that she would not be allowed to talk to him today so she could have given it to him herself the day before. Then she would know if he thought it was appropriate and if he liked it. Now, she would not know until they came together for the Matrimonial.
The women were arranged in order, too, the same order as the men so they would match up properly. Ayla smiled at Levela, who was ahead of her. She would have liked to stand next to Proleva’s sister while she was waiting, but she was of the Ninth Cave, and there were several women who stood between her and the young woman, who would be going to live at the Second Cave with Jondecam. Their rankings were similar since they came from the families of leaders and founders, those with the highest status, so the position of their combined hearth did not change much. Jondecam’s status was a shade higher than Levela’s, but the minor benefit could be accrued only if they lived at his Cave.
The Zelandoni of the Cave where the couple would ultimately live conducted the ceremony for each individual couple, with others acting as assistants. The mothers of the young people and their mates were also part of the ceremony, and often close family, who were in the front part of the audience, waiting until they would be asked to play their role. With older couples for whom it was not a first mating, but who wanted to declare a formal arrangement, no parents were necessary. They needed only the agreement of the Cave they would be living with, but they often included friends and relatives in their ceremony.
Ayla noticed Janida toward the rear, since she was of the South Holding of the Twenty-ninth Cave, and smiled at her when she glanced up in Ayla’s direction. At the very back she saw Joplaya, also a foreign woman, a Lanzadonii, though the man of her hearth had once been a first-ranked Zelandonii. Though her position was last here, she was among the first of the Lanzadonii, and that was all that counted. Ayla looked around at all the women who were going to be mated tonight. There were still so many she didn’t recognize, and Caves from which she hadn’t met a single person, except during general introductions. She had overheard someone say she was of the Twenty-fourth Cave, and someone else said she was from Bear Hill, a part of New Home on the little Grass River.
To Ayla, the waiting seemed interminable. What could be taking so long? she wondered. They had to hurry to get in order, now they were just standing around. Maybe they were still waiting for the men. Maybe one of them changed his mind. What if Jondalar changed his mind? No. He wouldn’t! Why should he? But, what if he did?
Inside the zelandonia lodge, the First moved aside the drape that covered the concealed private access at the rear of the large dwelling, directly across from the regular entrance, and pushed the screen aside. She peeked out and scanned the assembly area that came down from the hillside behind and opened out onto the camp. People had been gathering all afternoon and it was nearly full. It was time.
The men filed out first. When Jondalar looked up the slope, he was sure that every person who possibly could be there was in attendance. The murmuring hum of the crowd increased, and he thought he heard the word “white” more than once. He kept his eyes on the back of the man in front of him, but he knew the white leather tunic was making an impression. In fact, it was more than the white tunic. The tall, incredibly handsome, fair-haired man with the captivating eyes would have stood out anyway, but when his blond hair was clean it was nearly white, and bathed and freshly shaved, wearing the pure, shining white tunic, he was stunning.
“If I could imagine Doni’s lover, Lumi, come to earth in human form, there he stands,” said Jondecam’s mother, the tall blond Zelandoni of the Second Cave to her younger brother, Kimeran, the leader of the Second Cave.
“I wonder where he got that white tunic. I wouldn’t mind one like it,” Kimeran said.
“I think every man here must feel that way, though I think you’d be one of the few who might wear it as well, Kimeran,” she said. In her opinion, her brother was not only as tall and fair as his friend Jondalar, he was as handsome, or nearly so. “Jondecam looks wonderful, too. I’m glad he kept his beard this summer. He looks so good in it.”
After the men lined up, forming a semicircle around one side of the huge bonfire, it was the women’s turn. Ayla strained to see out when the entrance drape was finally opened. It was almost evening. The sun, not quite set, overwhelmed the large ceremonial fire with its coruscating brilliance and made indistinct the torches that had been placed around the area. They would be welcome enough later. She could see several people near the fire. The large figure with her back to her had to be Zelandoni. A signal was given and the women came out.
The moment Ayla stepped outside the lodge, she saw the tall figure in the white leather. As they formed a semicircle opposite the men, she said to herself, He’s wearing it! He’s wearing my tunic. Everyone was dressed in his finest, but no one else was wearing white, and he stood out from all the rest. In her mind, he was by far the most beautiful … no, the most handsome man there. Most agreed with her. She saw him looking at her across the intervening distance, well lighted by the large fire, and he was staring as though he couldn’t look anyplace else.
She is so beautiful, he thought. She had never looked so beautiful. The deep straw-colored, dark golden-yellow tunic Nezzie
had made for her, with pale ivory highlights of decorative beads, almost perfectly matched her hair, which tumbled down loosely, the way he liked it best.
Her only jewelry were the amber earrings in her newly pierced ears—the matched ambers from Tulie, he remembered—and the amber-and-shell necklace Marthona had given to her. The brilliant yellow-orange stones picked up highlights from the setting sun and shone resplendently between her bare breasts. The tunic, open in front but cinched at the waist, was unlike any of the others, but it suited Ayla perfectly.
Marthona, watching from the front of the audience, was pleasantly surprised when her son appeared in the white tunic. She knew the garment he had originally chosen, and it wasn’t hard to conclude that the white tunic was in the package she had delivered to Jondalar. The lack of decoration enhanced the simple purity of the color, which was embellishment enough. It didn’t need any more, although the ermine tails were a nice touch. She had seen the few bowls and implements Ayla used and noticed her penchant for simple but well-made objects. The white tunic was an outstanding example of that. There was something to be said for letting quality be its own adornment.
The simplicity of his outfit also made a striking contrast to hers. Marthona was certain that attempts would be made to copy Ayla’s outfit by more than one of the women watching, though probably none would get it quite right. She had examined it carefully when Ayla first showed it to her and knew the exquisite quality of the workmanship. Her outfit displayed wealth in the only way that had meaning for the Zelandonii: the time it took to make it. From the quality of the leather to the amber and the shells and the teeth, to the several thousand individually hand-carved ivory beads, this mating outfit was going to prove her case for Ayla’s high status. Her son’s hearth would be among the first.
