The Land of Painted Caves by Jean M. Auel
“He was always here when I went to bed before. I’m glad you’re here, mother, but I like it better when you’re both here,” Jonayla said.
The thought echoed through Ayla’s mind. Yes, so do I, but he wanted to be with Marona.
When Ayla woke the next morning, it took her a few moments to recognize where she was. The inside of the structure was familiar; she had slept in similar ones often. Then it came to her. She was at the Summer Meeting. She glanced toward the place where her daughter usually slept. Jonayla was already gone. The child usually awoke suddenly, and was up and out of bed the next instant. Ayla smiled and looked beside her at Jondalar’s place. He wasn’t there, and it was obvious he had stayed away all night. Suddenly it all came crashing down on her again. Thinking where he might have been made the hot sting of tears rise and threaten to overflow.
Ayla had learned most of the customs of her adopted people, and had heard stories and Legends that helped to explain them, but she wasn’t born into the culture, and appropriate behavior wasn’t bred into her bones. She knew the general attitude about jealousy, but primarily in reference to Jondalar’s lack of control as a youth. She felt that she had to demonstrate her ability to manage her emotions.
Her experience in the cave had been such a physically and emotionally wrenching ordeal, she was not thinking clearly. She was afraid to turn to anyone for help, afraid it would show that, like Jondalar, she could not control herself. But she was so devasted that, unconsciously, she wanted to strike out, make him feel her pain. She hurt, and she wanted to hurt back, make him sorry. She even considered going back into the cave and begging the Mother to take her, just to make Jondalar sorry.
She forced back her tears. I will not cry, she thought. She had learned to control her tears long ago, when she lived with the Clan. No one will know how I feel, she thought. I will act as though nothing happened. I will visit friends, I will join in the activities, I will meet with the other acolytes, I will do everything I’m supposed to.
Ayla lay awake, gathering courage to get up and face the day. I will have to talk to Zelandoni and tell her what happened in the cave. It will not be easy to keep anything from her. She always knows. But I can’t let her know. I can’t tell her that I know how jealousy feels.
Everyone who shared the tent with them knew something had happened between Ayla and Jondalar, and most had a fair idea what it was. For all that he thought he was being discreet, everyone knew about Marona and him—Marona enjoyed flaunting it too much. They had been glad to see Ayla come so things could get back to normal. But when Ayla stayed away all afternoon, a disheveled Marona tried to sneak back a different way, then packed up all her things and left, and Jondalar returned conspicuously disturbed and didn’t come back that night to sleep, it wasn’t hard to draw conclusions.
When Ayla finally got up, several people were sitting around a fire outside having a morning meal. It was still early, earlier than she thought. Ayla joined them.
“Proleva, do you know where Jonayla is? I promised her I’d go riding with her today, but I have to talk to Zelandoni first,” Ayla said.
Proleva studied her closely. She was handling it much better today; someone who didn’t know her might not realize anything was wrong, but Proleva knew her better than most.
“Jonayla went to Levela’s again. She’s been spending a lot of time there, and Levela loves it. That little sister of mine has loved having a camp full of children around since she was born, I think,” Proleva said. “Zelandoni did ask me to tell you that she wants to see you as soon as you can. She said she’ll be available all morning.”
“I’ll go after I eat, but I think I’ll stop off and greet Marsheval and Levela on my way,” Ayla said.
“They’d like that,” Proleva said.
As Ayla approached the campsite, she heard childish voices raised in a squabble. “So you won. I don’t care,” Jonayla shouted at a boy somewhat bigger than her. “You can win all you want, you can take it all, but you can’t have a baby, Bokovan. When I grow up I’m going to have lots of babies, but you can’t have any at all. So there!”
Jonayla stood facing the boy, overpowering him in spite of his greater size. The wolf hovered close to the ground, his ears back, looking confused. He didn’t know who to protect. Although the boy was bigger, he was younger. He looked hardly more than a baby, but an oversize baby. His chubby short legs were bowed, his body was long in proportion, and his big barrel chest was accentuated by a baby’s pot belly. Wolf ran to Ayla when he saw her, and she put her arms around him to calm him down.
Bokovan’s shoulders were already much broader than her daughter’s, Ayla noticed. He had a big nose on a face that jutted out in the middle, accentuating that nose, and a receding chin. Though his forehead was straight and not sloped, he had a definite bony ridge over his eyes, not huge, but there.
To Ayla there was no question that he had the cast of the Clan, including his dark liquid eyes, but their shape was not quite Clan. Like his mother, he had a slight epicanthic fold, making his eyes seem slanted, and at that moment they were filled with tears. Ayla thought he was an exotically handsome child, though not many others agreed.
The boy ran to Dalanar. “Dalanah,” he cried, “Jonayah say I can’t ha’wa baby. Tell haw not twue.”
Dalanar picked the boy up and put him on his lap. “I’m afraid it is true, Bokovan,” Dalanar said. “Boys can’t have babies. Only girls can grow up to have babies. But someday you can mate with a woman and help take care of her babies.”
“But, I wan’na baby, too,” Bokovan said, crying a new sob.
“Jonayla! That was a cruel thing to say,” Ayla reprimanded. “Come here and say you’re sorry to Bokovan. It’s not nice to make him cry like that.”
She did feel contrite; she really hadn’t meant to make him cry. “I’m sorry, Bokovan,” Jonayla said.
Ayla almost said that he would help to make babies when he grew up, but thought better of it. She hadn’t even spoken to Zelandoni yet, and Bokovan wouldn’t understand anyway, but her heart went out to the boy. She knelt down in front of him.
“Hello, Bokovan. My name is Ayla and I’ve been wanting to meet you. Your mother and Echozar are my friends.”
“Can you say hello to Ayla, Bokovan?”
“He’wo, Ayla,” the boy said, then buried his head in Dalanar’s shoulder.
“Can I hold him, Dalanar?”
“I’m not sure if he’ll let you. He’s very shy and not used to people,” Dalanar said.
Ayla held her arms out to the boy. He looked at her in serious contemplation. There was a liquid depth to his dark, slanted eyes, and something more, she felt. He reached out to her and she took the child from the man’s arms. He was heavy! Ayla was surprised at his weight. “You are going to grow up to be a very big man, Bokovan. Do you know that?” Ayla hugged the boy to her.
“I’m really surprised he went to you,” Dalanar said. “He never takes to strangers like that.”
“How old is he now?” she asked.
“We can count just past three years for him, but he’s big for his age. That can be a problem, especially for a boy. People think he’s older than he is. I was always tall for my age when I was a youngster. Jondalar was, too,” Dalanar said.
Why did it hurt so much just to hear Jondalar’s name? Ayla thought. She must learn to overcome that. After all, if she was going to be Zelandoni now, she needed to show composure. She had been training to control her mind in many ways—why couldn’t she control herself now?
Ayla held the boy as she greeted Levela and Marsheval. “I understand Jonayla has been here quite often. It seems she’d rather be here than any other place. Thank you for looking after her.”
“We’re happy to have her,” Levela said. “She and my girls are good friends, but I’m glad you finally made it here this year. It was getting so late in the season, we didn’t know if you were coming.”
“I had planned to come before this, but things came up an
“How’s Marthona? Everyone has missed her,” Levela said.
“She seems better … which reminds me …” She looked at Dalanar.
He spoke before she could ask. “Joharran sent some people for her yesterday, in the afternoon. If she’s up to it, she should be here in a few days.” He saw the questioning look on Levela’s face. “They’re going to carry her here on a litter, if she’ll allow it. It was Ayla’s idea. Folara and young Aldanor seem to be seeing a lot of each other, and she thought Marthona would want to be here if they are getting serious. I know how Jerika would feel if it were Joplaya.” The young couple smiled and nodded. “Have you seen Jerika or Joplaya yet, Ayla?” Dalanar asked.
“No, I haven’t, but I’m on my way to see Zelandoni; then I promised Jonayla we’d go riding together.”
“Why don’t you come back to the Lanzadonii camp this evening and stay for a meal?” Dalanar said.
Ayla smiled. “I’d like that,” she said.
“Perhaps Jondalar can come, too. Do you know where he is?”
Ayla lost her smile, Dalanar noted with some concern.
“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Ayla said.
“Well, there’s always so much going on at Summer Meetings,” Dalanar said, relieving her of Bokovan.
Yes, there certainly is, Ayla thought as she continued on her way to meet with the zelandonia.
33
“I really didn’t think anyone would be so foolish as to think he could deceive the zelandonia like that,” the huge woman said. She and Ayla were sitting together in the large structure that was used by the zelandonia for a variety of purposes. “Thank you for bringing these things to me.” She paused. “You did know Madroman was the one who brought down all the difficulties on Jondalar and me? When he was young and I was his donii-woman?”
“Jondalar told me about it. Isn’t that why he’s missing his front teeth? Because Jondalar hit him?” Ayla asked.
“He did more than hit him. It was terrible. He became so violent, it took several men to stop him, and he was hardly more than a child then. That was the main reason Jondalar was sent away. He’s learned to control himself now, but then his feelings, his anger and fury, were overpowering. I don’t think he even knew what he was doing to Madroman. It was like something else had gotten inside of him and pushed his elan out; he was beside himself.” The woman once known as Zolena closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and shook her head at the memory.
Ayla didn’t know what to say, but the story disturbed her. She had seen Jondalar jealous and upset, but never that angry.
“It was probably for the best that someone brought it to the attention of the zelandonia. I had let it go too far,” the First said, “but Madroman didn’t do it because it was the right thing to do. He had watched us secretly and did it because he was jealous of Jondalar. But you can understand why I was beginning to wonder if I was letting personal feelings interfere with my judgment.”
“I don’t believe you would do that,” Ayla said.
“I hope not. I’ve had my doubts about Madroman for some time. I think he lacks … something … a certain quality that is necessary to Serve The Mother, but he was admitted for training before I was First. When I originally questioned him about his call, I felt his story was too contrived. Several others thought the same, but some zelandonia wanted to give him every benefit. He’s been an acolyte for so long, and he has yearned to be zelandoni from the beginning. That’s why I felt it best to begin with an informal questioning; he has not had his final testing yet. These things you brought may help bring out the truth. That is all I want. He may have a good explanation for them. If so, then he will certainly be acknowledged, but if he is feigning his ‘call,’ we need to know.”
“What will you do to him if the words he says are not true?”
“There isn’t much we can do, except to forbid him from using any of the knowledge he gained as an acolyte, and tell his Cave about it. He will be disgraced, and that is hard punishment to bear, but there are no penalties. He really didn’t harm anyone or commit any offense, except to lie. Maybe lying should be punishable, but I’m afraid everyone would have to be punished, then,” Zelandoni said.
“Clan people don’t lie. They can’t. With their way of speaking, it’s always known, so they never learned how,” Ayla said.
“That’s what you have said before. I sometimes wish that were so with us,” the Donier said. “That’s one reason the zelandonia never allow an acolyte to be present when we initiate a new zelandoni. It doesn’t happen often, but every once in a while one tries to take a shortcut. It never works. We have ways of finding out.”
Several of the zelandonia had come into the shelter while they were talking, including the visiting Zelandonia from the south who were still there. They were both curious and fascinated with the similarities and differences that the distance between them had created. They all chatted casually until everyone was there; then the large woman stood up, went to the entrance, and talked with a couple of newly initiated Zelandonia who were guarding the summer lodge to make sure no one tried to get close enough to listen. Ayla looked around the large summer dwelling.
The double-walled circular construction of vertical panels that enclosed the space was similar to the sleeping lodges, but larger. The movable interior panels had been stacked near the outer walls, in between the raised sleeping places that circled the large space, forming a single large room. Many of the mats that covered the ground were woven with intricate beautiful patterns, and various pads, pillows, and stools used for seating were scattered around near several low tables of various sizes. Most of them were graced with simple oil lamps, usually made of sandstone or limestone, that were lit day and night inside the windowless shelter.
Zelandoni closed the entrance flap and tied it shut, then walked back and sat down on a raised stool in the middle of the group. “Since it’s so late in the season, and your call was rather unexpected, I think the choice should be yours, Ayla. Do you want to submit to informal questioning first? That can be easier to begin with, to get you used to the process. Or do you want a full formal testing?” the One Who Was First To Serve The Mother asked.
Ayla closed her eyes and bowed her head. “If we just talk about it informally, I’ll have to go through it again, won’t I?” she asked.
“Yes, of course.”
She thought about the baby she had lost, and felt a stab of grief. She really didn’t want to talk about it at all. “It was … hard,” she said. “I don’t want to go over it again and again. I think I was called. If not, I want to know as much as anyone. Can we just go ahead with it?”
A fire was burning in a fireplace that was slightly off-center toward the back of the fairly large round space, but the smoke found its way out of the central hole. Water was steaming in a waterbag that had been stretched across a frame and placed directly over the fire. The not-quite-waterproof, partially cured leather from a large animal seeped just enough so that it would not catch fire. The cooking skin had been used before. The outside was blackened and the bottom somewhat shrunk and misshapen from, in effect, being cooked by the boiling water inside and the fire outside, but it was an effective pot for keeping liquid simmering over the hot coals in the hearth.
The One Who Was First took a large pinch of some dried green plant material from a woven bowl and dropped it on the simmering water, then added three more pinches. The rather rank odor it gave off as it steamed was familiar to Ayla. The herb was datura and had not only been used by Iza, the Clan medicine woman who had cared for her, and trained her, it had also been used by The Mog-ur in special ceremonies with the men of the Clan. Ayla was very aware of its effects. She also knew it was not very prevalent in their immediate region. That meant it must have come from some distance away, making it rare and valuable.
“What is the name of that in Zelandonii?” Ayla asked, pointing at the dried material.
“It doesn’
“Where do you get it?”
“From our visiting Doniers of the Southern Cave, the Twenty-fourth, from the same person who gave you the herbs we were going to experiment with together. They live near the border of the territory of another people, and have more contact with their neighbors than they do with us. They even exchange mates. I’m surprised they haven’t decided to affiliate, but they are fiercely independent, and take pride in their Zelandonii heritage. I don’t even know what the plant looks like, or if it’s more than one,” the First explained.
Ayla smiled. “I do. It’s one of the first plants I ever learned about from Iza. I’ve heard several names for it, datura, stink leaf; the Mamutoi have a name that would translate as ‘thorn apple.’ It’s tall, rather coarse, with large strong-smelling leaves. It has big white—sometimes purple—flowers, shaped like funnels that flare out, and bears round prickly, thorny fruits. All parts of it are useful, including the roots. If used wrong, it can make people behave strangely, and of course, it can be fatally poisonous.”
All the assembled zelandonia were suddenly very interested, especially the visitors. They were surprised that the young woman they had met earlier in the summer knew so much about it.
“Have you seen it around here?” Zelandoni of the Eleventh asked.
“No, I haven’t,” Ayla said, “and I have been looking for it. I had some with me when I came. But it’s gone and I’d like to replace it. It’s very useful.”
“How do you use it?” the visiting Donier pressed.
“It’s a soporific; prepared one way, it can be used as an anesthetic, or when made another way, to help people relax, but it can be very dangerous. It was used by the mog-urs of the Clan for sacred ceremonies,” Ayla said. It was just these kinds of discussions that she loved best about being in the zelandonia.
“Do different parts of the plant have different uses, or different effects?” Zelandoni of the Third asked.