The Shelters of Stone

by Jean M. Auel

  “If he was all that, I don’t blame you,” Zelandoni said, smiling back. “It’s interesting, there are rumors about some dark-skinned people living with a Cave to the south, beyond the mountains on the shore of the Great Sea. A young man and his mother, it was said. I never really believed it, you never know how much truth there is in such stories, and it seemed so incredible. Now, I’m not so sure.”

  “Ranec did resemble Wymez, in spite of the difference in skin color and features. They were the same size, had the same-shaped body, and they walked exactly alike,” Ayla said.

  “You don’t have to go that far afield to find resemblances,” Zelandoni said. “Many children bear a similarity to the mate of the mother, but there are some who look like other men of the Cave, some who hardly know the mother at all.”

  “It could have happened during a festival or ceremony to honor the Mother. Don’t many women share Pleasures with men who are not their mates then?” Ayla asked.

  Zelandoni was quiet, thinking. “Ayla, this idea of yours will require deep thought, and consideration. I don’t know if you understand the implications. If it is true, it would cause changes that neither you nor I can even imagine. Such a revelation could only come from the zelandonia, Ayla. No one would accept such an idea unless they believed it came from one who speaks for the Great Earth Mother Herself. Who have you talked to about this?”

  Only Jondalar, and now you,” Ayla said.

  “I suggest that you say nothing to anyone else just yet. I will talk to Jondalar and impress upon him the necessity of speaking to no one, either.” They both sat quietly, immersed in their own thoughts.

  “Zelandoni,” Ayla said, “do you ever wonder what it would feel like to be a man?”

  “That’s a strange thing to wonder about.”

  “I was thinking about something Jondalar said. It was when I wanted to go hunting, and he didn’t want me to go. I know that part of the reason was that he was planning to come back here and build our home, but there was more to it than that. He said something about wanting a purpose. ‘What’s a man’s purpose if women have children and provide for them, too?’ That’s how he said it. I never thought about a purpose for living before. What would it feel like to think my life had no meaning?”

  “You can carry that a step further, Ayla. You know part of your purpose is to bring forth the next generation, but what is the purpose of having another generation? What is the purpose of life?”

  “I don’t know. What is the purpose of life?” Ayla asked.

  Zelandoni laughed. “If I could answer that, I’d be equal to the Great Mother Herself, Ayla. Only She can answer that question. There are many who claim our purpose is to honor Her. Perhaps our purpose is just to live, and to care for the next generation so that they may live. That may be the best way to honor Her. The Mother’s Song says She made us because She was lonely, that She wanted to be remembered, and acknowledged. But there are those who say there is no purpose. I doubt if that question can be answered in this world, Ayla. I’m not sure if it can be answered in the next.”

  “But at least women know they are necessary for there to be a next generation. How must it feel not to have even that much purpose?” Ayla said. “How would it feel to think life would go on just the same whether you were here or not, whether your kind, your gender, was here or not?”

  “Ayla, I have never had any children. Should I feel my life has no purpose?” Zelandoni asked.

  “It’s not the same. Perhaps you could have had children, and if you could not, you are still a woman. You still belong to the gender that brings forth life,” Ayla said.

  “But we are all human. Including men. We’re all just people. Both men and women continue on to the next generation. Women have boys as often as they have girls,” the donier said.

  “That’s just it. Women have boys as often as girls. What do the men have to do with it? If you felt that you and all of your kind had no part in creating that next generation, would you feel as human? Or would you feel less important? Something added on at the last moment, something unnecessary?” Ayla was leaning forward, strongly making her point’s, passionate in her feelings about them.

  Zelandoni pondered the question, then looked at the serious face of the young woman with the sleeping baby in her arms. “You belong to the zelandonia, Ayla. You argue as well as any of them,” she said.

  Ayla pulled back. “I don’t want to be a Zelandoni,” she said.

  The heavy woman eyed her with speculation. “Why not?”

  “I just want to be a mother, and Jondalar’s mate,” Ayla said.

  “Don’t you want to be a healer anymore? You are as skilled as anyone, including me,” the donier said.

  Ayla frowned. “Well, yes, I want to keep on being a healer, too.”

  “You said you assisted your Mamut a few times in some of his other duties, didn’t you find it interesting?” said the One Who Was First.

  “It was interesting,” Ayla conceded, “especially learning things I didn’t know, but it was frightening, too.”

  “How much more frightening would it have been if you had been alone and unprepared? Ayla, you are a daughter of the Mammoth Hearth. Mamut had a reason for adopting you. I can see it, I think you can, too. Look inside yourself. Have you ever been frightened by something strange and unfamiliar when you were alone?”

  Ayla refused to look at Zelandoni, looking away, and then down, but she nodded just slightly.

  “You know there is something different about you, something few people have, don’t you? You try to ignore it, put it out of your mind, but it’s difficult sometimes, isn’t it?”

  Ayla glanced up. Zelandoni was staring at her, forcing her to look back, holding her eyes the way she had done the first time they met. Ayla struggled to look away, but couldn’t quite do it. “Yes,” she said softly. “It is difficult sometimes.” Zelandoni released her hold, and Ayla looked down again.

  “No one becomes Zelandoni unless they feel the call, Ayla,” the woman said gently. “But what if you should feel the call and not be prepared? Don’t you think it would be better to have some training, just in case? The possibility is there, no matter how much you may want to deny it to yourself;’

  “But doesn’t the preparation in itself make it more likely?” Ayla asked.

  “Yes. It does. But it can be interesting. I’ll be honest with you. I want an acolyte. I don’t have too many years left. I want the one who follows me to be trained by me. This is my Cave. I want the best for it. I am First Among Those Who Serve The Great Earth Mother. I don’t say this often, but I am not First without reason. If a person is gifted, no one could train her better than I can. You are gifted, Ayla. You are, perhaps, more gifted than I am. You could be First,” Zelandoni said.

  “What about Jonokol?” Ayla asked.

  “You should know the answer to that. Jonokol is an excellent artist. He was happy to remain an acolyte. He never wanted to become a Zelandoni, until you showed him that cave. You know he’ll be gone by next summer. He will move to the Nineteenth Cave as soon as he can get the Zelandoni of the Nineteenth to accept him, and find an excuse to leave me. He wants that Cave, Ayla, and I think he should have it. He will not only make it beautiful, in that cave, he will bring to life the world of the spirits,” Zelandoni said.

  “Look at this, Ayla!” Jondalar said, holding a flint point. He was full of excitement. “I heated the flint the way Wymez does, very hot. I knew I had it right when it cooled because it felt shiny and slick, almost as if it had been oiled. Then I retouched it bifacially, using the pressure techniques he developed. It still isn’t up to his quality, but I think with practice, I may get close. I can see all kinds of possibilities. I can remove those long thin flakes, now. That means I can make points almost as thin as I want, and get a long straight edge for a knife or a spear, without the curve that you always get when you start with a blade detached from a core. I can even straighten those blades more easily with careful retouching on
the inner side of both ends of a curved blade. I can make any kind of notch I want. I can make shouldered points with a tang for halting. You can’t believe the control it gives me. I can do anything I want. It’s almost like bending the stone to your will. That Wymez is a genius!”

  Ayla smiled at him going on and on. “Wymez may be a genius, Jondalar, but you are just as good,” she said.

  “I only wish I were. Remember, he developed the process. I’m only trying to copy it. It’s too bad he lives so far away. But I am grateful for the time I had with him. I wish Dalanar were here. He said he was going to experiment this winter, too, and I’d really like to discuss it with him.”

  Jondalar examined the blade again, looking it over critically. Then he looked up and smiled at her. “I almost forgot to tell you. I am definitely going to be taking on Matagan as an apprentice for more than this winter. Since he came to visit, I’ve been able to judge, and I think he does have talent and ability with the stone. I had a long talk with his mother and her mate, and Joharran is agreeable.”

  “I like Matagan,” Ayla said. “I’m glad you will be teaching him your craft. You have so much patience, and you arc the best flint-knapper of the Ninth Cave, probably of all the Zelandoni.”

  Jondalar smiled at her words. One’s mate always made favorable comparisons, he said to himself, but at a deeper level, he thought it might be true. “Would it be all right if he stays with us all the time?”

  “I think I would like that. We have so much room in the main room, we can take part of it to make him a sleeping room,” she said. “I hope the baby doesn’t disturb him. Jonayla still wakes up at night.”

  “Young men tend to be sound sleepers. I don’t think he even hears her.”

  “I have been meaning to talk to you about something Zelandoni said,” Ayla said.

  Jondalar thought she looked a bit troubled. It was probably his imagination.

  “Zelandoni asked me to be her acolyte. She wants to train me,” Ayla blurted out.

  Jondalar’s head snapped up. “I didn’t know you were interested in becoming a Zelandoni, Ayla.”

  “I didn’t think I was, and I still don’t know if I am. She has said before that she thought I belonged in the zelandonia, but the first time she asked me to be her acolyte was right after Jonayla was born. She says she really needs someone, and I already know something about healing. Just because I’m an acolyte doesn’t mean I will necessarily become a Zelandoni. Jonokol has been an acolyte for a long time,” Ayla said, looking down at the vegetables she was cutting.

  Jondalar walked over to her and lifted her chin to look directly at her. Her eyes did look troubled. “Ayla, everyone knows the only reason Jonokol is Zelandoni’s acolyte is because he’s such a good artist, he captures the spirit of animals with great skill, and Zelandoni needs him for the ceremonies. He will never be a donier.”

  “He might. Zelandoni says he wants to move to the Nineteenth Cave,” Ayla said.

  “It’s that new cave you found, isn’t it?” Jondalar said. “Well, he’d be the right person for it. But if you become an acolyte, you would become a Zelandoni, wouldn’t you.’

  Ayla still could not refuse to answer a direct question or tell a he. “Yes, Jondalar,” she said. “I think someday I would be Zelandoni, if I join the zelandonia, but not right away.”

  “Is it what you want to do? Or has Zelandoni talked you into it because you are a healer?” Jondalar wanted to know.

  “She says I already am Zelandoni, in a way. Maybe she’s right, I don’t know. She says I should be trained for my own protection. It could be very dangerous for me if I feel a call and I’m not prepared for it,” Ayla said. She had never told him about the strange things that happened to her, and it felt like a lie, not telling him. Even in the Clan one could refrain from mentioning. It bothered her, but she still didn’t tell him.

  It was Jondalar’s turn to look troubled. “There isn’t much I can say about it, one way or another. It’s your choice. It probably is best to be prepared. You don’t know how you scared me when you and Mamut made that strange Journey. I thought you were dead, and I begged the Great Mother to bring you back. I don’t think I ever begged for anything so hard in my life, Ayla. I hope you never do anything like that again.”

  “I thought it was you, not at first, but later. Mamut said someone called us back, called with such force, it could not be denied. I thought I saw you there when I came back to myself, but then I didn’t see you,” Ayla said.

  “You were promised to Ranec. I didn’t want to be in the way,” Jondalar said, vividly recalling that terrible night.

  “But you loved me. If you hadn’t loved me so much, my spirit might still be lost in that empty void. Mamut said he would never go there again like that, and he told me that if I ever take that Journey again, I should make sure I have strong protection, or I might not return.” Suddenly she reached for him. “Why me, Jondalar?” she cried. “Why do I have to be a Zelandoni?”

  Jondalar held her. Yes, he thought, Why her? He recalled the donier talking about the responsibilities and the dangers. Now he understood why she had been so open. She had been trying to prepare them. She must have known all along, from the first day they arrived, just like Mamut seemed to know. That’s why he adopted her to his hearth. Can I be the mate of a Zelandoni? He thought about his mother and Dalanar. She said he had not been able to stay with her because she was the leader. The demands on a Zelandoni are even greater.

  Everyone said he was just like Dalanar, there was no doubt he was the son of Dalanar’s spirit. But Ayla says it was not just spirits. She says Jonayla is my daughter. If she is right, then I must be Dalanar’s son! The thought stunned him. Could he be as much Dalanar’s son as he was Marthona’s? If he was, would he be so much like him that he would not be able to live with a woman whose duties were so important? It was a very disturbing idea.

  He felt Ayla shaking in his arms and looked at her. “What’s wrong, Ayla?”

  “I’m afraid, Jondalar. That’s why I don’t want to do it. I’m afraid to be Zelandoni,” she sobbed. She quieted down and pulled away. “The reason I’m so afraid, Jondalar, is that things have happened to me that I never told you.”

  “What kind of things?” he asked, his forehead wrinkled in a frown.

  “I never told you because I didn’t know how to explain. I’m still not sure that I can, but I’ll try. When I lived with Brun’s clan, you know I went with them to a Clan Gathering. Iza was too sick to go—she died soon after we returned.” Ayla’s eyes started to fill at the memory. “Iza was the medicine woman, it was she that was supposed to prepare the special drink for the mog-urs. No one else knew how. Uba was too young, not a woman yet, and it had to be prepared by a woman. Iza explained it to me before we left. I didn’t think the mog-urs would allow me to make it—they said I wasn’t Clan—but then Creb came and told me to prepare myself. It was the same drink I made for Mamut and me when we took our strange Journey.

  “But I didn’t know how to do it right, and I ended up drinking some of it, too. I didn’t even know where I was going when I followed the mog-urs back into the cave. The drink was so powerful, I may have already been in the Spirit World. When I saw the mog-urs I hid and watched, but Creb knew I was there. I told you Creb was a powerful magician. He was like Zelandoni, First, The Mog-ur. He was directing everything, and somehow my mind joined with theirs. I went back with them, back to the beginnings. I can’t explain it, but I was there. As we came back to the present, we came to this place. Creb blocked out the others, they didn’t know I was with them, but then he left them and followed me. I know it was this place, I recognized the Falling Stone. The Clan lived here for generations, I can’t tell you how long.”

  In spite of himself, Jondalar was fascinated.

  “Long ago we started from the same people,” Ayla continued, “but then we changed. The Clan was left behind when we went ahead. As powerful as he was, Creb couldn’t follow me, but he saw something, or felt
something. Then he told me to leave, get out of the cave. It was like I heard him inside me, inside my head, as though he were talking to me. The other mog-urs never knew I was there, and he never told them. They would have killed me. Women were not allowed to participate in those ceremonies.

  “Creb changed after that. He was never the same agarâl. He began to lose his power, I think he didn’t like directing the minds anymore. I don’t know how, but somehow I hurt him, I wish I had never done it, but he did something to me, too. I’ve been different since then, my dreams feel different, and sometimes I feel strange, as though I go away someplace else, and—I don’t know how to say it, but it’s like I know what people are thinking sometimes. No, that’s not quite it, either, it’s more like I know what they are feeling, but that’s not exactly right, either. What they are, I don’t know the right words, Jondalar. I block it out most of the time anyway, but sometimes things get through, especially when there are very strong emotions, like Brukeval’s.”

  Jondalar was looking at her strangely. “Do you know what I am thinking, what thoughts are in my head?”

  “No, I never know thoughts, exactly. But I know that you love me.” She watched his expression change. “It bothers you, doesn’t it? Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything,” she mumbled, feeling Jondalar’s emotions like a weight. She was always particularly perceptive to Jondalar. She put her head down, her shoulders slumped.

  He could see her dejection, and suddenly his uneasy feeling evaporated. He took both her shoulders and made her look up, then looked into her eyes. They had that incredibly ancient look he had seen occasionally before, and a sadness, a deep, ineffable melancholy.

  “I have nothing to hide from you, Ayla. I don’t care if you know what I’m thinking or feeling. I love you. I’ll never stop loving you.”