The Land of Painted Caves by Jean M. Auel
She decided to recite one of the Histories, a story that told about the before times, a story that was particularly difficult for her. It was an early reference to the ones the Zelandonii called Flatheads, the ones she thought of as her Clan, but her mind kept drifting away. The story was full of names that held no familiarity, events that had no meaning for her, and concepts that she didn’t quite understand, or perhaps, with which she didn’t agree. She kept thinking of her own memories, her own history, her early life with the Clan. Maybe she ought to switch to a legend. They were easier. They often told stories that were funny or sad, that explained or exemplified customs and behaviors.
She heard a faint sound, a panting breath, and turned to see Wolf coming up the path to join her. He bounded toward her, obviously happy to see her. She felt the same. “Hello, Wolf,” she said, roughing up the thick fur around his neck and smiling as she held his head and looked into his eyes. “I’m so glad to see you. I’m in the mood for company tonight.” He licked her face, then tenderly took her jaw in his teeth. When he let go, she gently held his furry muzzle in her teeth for a moment. “I think you are glad to see me, too. Jondalar and Jonayla must be back, and she is probably sleeping. It relieves my mind to know you are looking after her, Wolf, when I can’t be there.”
The wolf settled at her feet; she wrapped the cloak tightly around her, sat back down to wait for the moon to rise, and tried to concentrate on a legend about one of the Zelandonii ancestors, but instead she recalled the time that she nearly lost Wolf on their Journey. They were making a perilous crossing of a flooded river and had become separated from him. She remembered searching for him, cold and wet and nearly out of her mind with the fear that she had lost him. She felt again the sinking dread when she finally found him unconscious, afraid he was dead. Jondalar had found them both, and though he was cold and wet, too, he had done everything. She was so cold and exhausted, she was useless. He had put up the shelter, carried her and the half-drowned wolf inside, saw to the horses, took care of them all.
She wrenched her mind back to the present, feeling a need for Jondalar. Maybe the counting words, she thought. She started to say them, “One, two, three, four,” and remembered how delighted she had been the first time Jondalar had explained them to her. She had understood the abstract concept immediately, counting things she could see in her cave: she had one sleeping place; one, two horses; one, two … Jondalar’s eyes are so blue.
I must stop this, she thought. Ayla stood up and walked toward the columnar stone that seemed balanced so precariously close to the edge. Yet last summer when several men had tried to push it over, thinking it might pose a danger, they couldn’t budge it. It was the stone that she had seen from below on the day she and Jondalar first arrived, she remembered, the one that made a distinctive outline against the sky. She vaguely recalled seeing it before in a dream.
She reached out and put her hand on the large stone near the base, and suddenly snatched it away. Her fingertips seemed to tingle where she had touched the stone. When she looked at it again, in the dim light of the moon, it felt as though the stone had moved slightly, leaned closer to the edge, and was it glowing? She backed away, staring at the peculiar stone. I must be imagining it, she thought. She shut her eyes and shook her head. When she opened them, the stone looked like any other stone. She reached out to touch it again. It felt like rock, but as she held her hand on the rough stone, she thought she felt a tingling again.
“Wolf, I think this is one night the sky can do without me,” she said. “I’m starting to see things that aren’t there. And look! The moon is already up, and I missed its rising. I’m not doing any good out here tonight anyway.”
She thought about lighting a torch, but decided against taking the time to make a fire—the moon was bright enough. She picked her way carefully down the path by the light of the moon and stars with Wolf leading the way. She glanced back once more at the rock. It still seems to glow, she thought. Maybe I’ve been looking at the sun too much. Zelandoni did warn me to be careful.
It was much darker inside, but she could see by the reflection from the roof of the abri of a large communal fire that had been lit earlier in the evening and was still burning. Ayla entered her dwelling quietly. Everyone seemed to be sleeping, but a small lamp gave off a dim light. They often lit one for Jonayla. It took her longer to fall asleep when it was pitch dark. The lichen wick soaking in the melted fat burned for quite a while, and it had often served Ayla well when she came home late at night. She looked beyond the partition into the room where Jondalar was sleeping. Jonayla had crept in beside him again. She smiled at them, and started toward Jonayla’s bed, not wanting to disturb them. Then she stopped and shaking her head, went to their bed.
“Is that you, Ayla?” Jondalar said sleepily. “Is it morning already?”
“No, Jondalar. I came in early tonight,” she said as she picked up the tow-headed child and put her in her own bed. She tucked her in and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then she went back to the bed she shared with Jondalar. When she got there, Jondalar was awake, propped up on one elbow.
“Why did you decide to come in early?”
“I couldn’t seem to concentrate.” She smiled at him sensuously, and removed her clothes, then crawled in beside him. The place was still warm from her sleeping daughter. “Do you remember that you once told me that anytime I wanted you, all I had to do was this?” she said as she gave him a long loving kiss.
He was quick to respond. “It’s still true,” he said, his voice gruff with his quickened desire. The nights had been long and lonely for him, too. Jonayla was cute and cuddly, and he loved her, but she was a little girl, and his mate’s daughter, not his mate. Not the woman who aroused his passion and, until recently, had satisfied it so well.
He reached for her hungrily, kissing her mouth and her neck and then her body with starved ardor. She was equally hungry, equally ardent, and reached for his body in almost desperate need. He kissed her again, slowly, felt the inside of her mouth with his tongue, then her neck, and reached for her breast with his hand, then took the nipple into his mouth. She felt delicious jolts of pleasure race through her. It had been a long time since they had taken the time to explore the Mother’s Gift of Pleasure.
He suckled one nipple, then the other, and caressed her breasts. She felt sensations that reached deep inside in the place that ached for him. He placed a hand on her stomach and massaged it gently. There was a softness to it that he liked, a slight roundness that made her seem even more womanly, if that was possible. She felt as though she were melting into a pool of delight, as his hand reached for the soft fur of her mound and then put a finger at the top of her slit, and began to draw circles inside. When he reached the spot that sent bolts of shudders through her, she moaned and arched into them.
He went lower, found the entrance to her warm, wet cave and reached inside. She spread her legs to give him more access. He got up and moved between them, then lowered himself and tasted her. That was the taste he knew, the taste of Ayla that he loved. With both hands he spread her petals wide and licked her with his warm tongue, explored her clefts and crevices until he found the nodule that had hardened a little. She felt each movement as a delicious flash of fire as the desire inside her grew. She was no longer conscious of anything except Jondalar and the mounting surge of exquisite Pleasure he made her feel.
His manhood had swelled to its fullness and strove for release. Her breathing quickened, each breath coming with a groan, until suddenly she reached a peak, and felt herself well up and overflow. He felt her warm wetness, then pulled back and entered her welcoming depths and plunged in deeply. She was ready for him, and arched to take him in. As he felt his member slide into her warm and welcoming well, he groaned with the Pleasure. It had been so long, or so it seemed.
She took him all, and as he felt her encompassing warmth, he felt a sudden gratefulness that the Mother had led him to her, that he had found this woman. He had almost forgotte
Afterward, they rested, but their ravenous craving for each other was not quite satisfied. They loved again, languorously, drawing out each touch, each caress, until they could no longer resist and finished with a second burst of eager energy. Ayla could see a faint crack of morning light through a carelessly secured covering when she settled into the warm furs beside Jondalar to sleep. She was more than satisfied—she felt luxuriously satiated.
She looked at Jondalar. His eyes were closed, a relaxed and blissful smile on his face. She closed her eyes. Why had she waited so long? she thought. She tried to think how long it had been. Suddenly her eyes flew open. Her herbs! When was the last time she took her herbs? She hadn’t had to worry about them when she was nursing—she knew it was unlikely that she would get pregnant then—but Jonayla had been weaned for several years. Making a tea of her contraceptive herbs was usually a habit, but she hadn’t been as careful lately. She had forgotten them a few times before but she was convinced no new life could begin without a man, and since she had been spending her nights on the cliff, she hadn’t shared Pleasures with Jondalar as often, so she wasn’t concerned.
As an acolyte in training, her apprenticeship had been demanding, requiring periods of fasting, sleep deprivation, and other restrictions on her activities, including that she refrain from Pleasures for a period of time. For nearly a year, she had been staying awake at night to observe the movements of celestial objects. But her rigorous training was almost over. The year of studying the night sky would be finished soon, at the coming Summer Longday; then she would be considered for acceptance as a full acolyte. She was already skilled in healing or it would have taken much longer, although she would never stop learning.
Anytime after that, she could become Zelandoni, though she wasn’t sure how. She had to be “called” to it, a mysterious process that no one could explain but that every Zelandoni had experienced. When an acolyte claimed a “calling,” the potential Donier went through a probing interrogation by the other Zelandonia, who would then accept or reject the claim. If it was accepted, a place would be found for the new One To Serve The Mother, customarily as an assistant to an existing Zelandoni. If it was rejected, the acolyte would stay an acolyte, but an explanation was usually given so the next time a “calling” was felt it would be better understood. Some acolytes never reached the position of Zelandoni, and were happy with that, but most wanted to be called.
Before she fell asleep, she mused about the Pleasures. She was the only one who was convinced that they started new life growing inside a woman. If she was pregnant, it was likely she would be too busy with a new baby to think about any “calling.” Well, time will tell, what’s done is done; there’s no point in worrying about whether or not I’m pregnant now. And would it really be so bad to have another child? A baby might be rather nice, Ayla thought. She closed her eyes and relaxed again, then drifted off to a contented sleep.
It was one of the children who first noticed the smoking signal fire from the Third Cave, and pointed it out to his mother. She showed it to her neighbor and both started toward Joharran’s dwelling. Before they reached it, several others had seen it as well. Proleva and Ayla were just coming out as the crowd arrived. They looked up, rather surprised.
“Smoke from Two Rivers Rock,” one said.
“Signal from the Third,” said another at the same time.
Joharran was right behind his mate. He walked to the edge of the stone ledge. “They’ll be sending a runner,” he said.
The runner arrived not long after, somewhat out of breath. “Visitors!” he said. “From the Twenty-fourth Cave of the Southern Zelandonii, including their primary Zelandoni. They are going to our Summer Meeting, but wanted to visit some Caves along the way.”
“They’ve come a long distance,” Joharran said. “They will need a place to stay.”
“I’ll go tell the First,” Ayla said. But I won’t be going with everyone this year, she thought, as she started toward Zelandoni’s dwelling. I have to wait for the Summer Longday. She felt a little sorry, and thought, I hope the visitors won’t leave the Meeting too soon, but if they have come from very far, they might have to leave early to get back home before winter. That would be too bad.
“I’ll check the large gathering area at the other end,” Proleva said. “That will be a good place for them to stay, but they’ll need water and firewood, at least. How many are there?”
“Perhaps as many as a small Cave,” the runner said.
That could be as many as thirty, or more, Ayla thought, mentally using the special techniques she had learned in her training to count larger numbers. Counting with fingers and hands was more complicated than the simple counting words, if one understood how to do it, but as with most things associated with the zelandonia, it was even more complex than that. It could mean something entirely different. All signs had more than just one meaning.
After she told the First, Ayla followed Proleva to the other end of the large overhanging ledge, bringing some additional wood. Acquiring and supplying fuel for fire was a chore that required constant attention and effort. Everyone, including children, gathered anything that would burn: wood, brush, grasses, the dry dung of grazing animals, and the fat of any animal they hunted, including the random carnivore. In order to live in cold environments, fire was indispensable for both heat and light, not to mention using it to cook food to make it easier to chew and more digestible. Although some fat was used in cooking, most often it was used for the fire that provided light. Maintaining fire was demanding, but it was essential to maintain the life of the two-legged tropical omnivores who had evolved in warmer climes and walked their way around the world.
“There you are, Ayla! I thought we’d give the visitors the place next to the spring-fed creek that separates the Ninth Cave from Down River, but I’ve been wondering about the horses. Their place is so close to the area the visitors would be using, do you think they should be moved?” Proleva said. “The visitors might find it disconcerting to have horses so close.”
“I was thinking the same thing, not only because of the visitors. The horses would not be happy to have so many strangers close by. I think I’ll move them to Wood Valley for now,” Ayla said.
“That would be a good place for them,” Proleva said.
After the visitors arrived, were introduced, settled into their temporary living space, and had eaten, the people broke into several groups. An assemblage of the zelandonia, which included the First and Ayla, the Zelandoni of the visitors plus her acolytes, the Zelandonia of the Third, the Fourteenth, and the Eleventh Caves, plus a few others walked back to the gathering space at the other end of the huge abri. A fire had been built and banked before the group of travelers left to eat, and was stoked up again by one of them, who put water into a large container and cooking stones into the fire. People brought out their personal drinking cups in anticipation of a fresh cup of hot tea, and conversations started or continued.
The visitors talked about their travels and they all exchanged ideas about rituals and medicine. When the First mentioned the contraceptive drink, there was great interest. Ayla told them what herbs to use, in some cases describing them carefully so there would be no confusion with similar plants. She talked a little about her long Journey from the land of the mammoth hunters, and they understood that she was a foreigner from a long distance. Her accent wasn’t quite as strange to the visitors because they also spoke with an accent, although they thought it was the northern Zelandonii who did. Ayla thought their way of speaking was similar to, but not the same as, the way the people they had met on her Donier Tour spoke, and the way Kimeran’s mate Beladora had said certain words.
When the even
“I suspect that you are counted as First among your group of Southern Zelandonii. I am too far away.”
“Perhaps I am, in our local territory, but we still acknowledge this region as our original homeland, and you as the First. It is in our Histories, our Legends, our teachings. That’s one reason we wanted to come, to reestablish our ties.”
And to decide if you wanted to keep them, the First thought. She had noticed some facial expressions among some of the visitors that were, if not disdainful, then at least doubtful, and had overheard some quiet conversation in what was probably a local southern dialect questioning some of the northern zelandonia ways, especially from one young man. He very likely believed that no one there could understand the variation of Zelandonii they were speaking—few people they had met did—but the First had traveled quite a bit in her younger years, and more recently with Ayla, and she had welcomed many visitors from distant places. She was fairly adept at picking up languages, especially variations of Zelandonii. She glanced at Ayla, whom she knew had an almost uncanny knack for language, and could grasp even a strange one more quickly than anyone she knew.
Ayla caught the glance from her mentor, and the flick of her eyes toward the young man, and nodded slightly in an unobtrusive way, letting her know that she had also understood him. They would discuss it later.