The Land of Painted Caves

Chapter 38

Brukeval suddenly started running down the hill, then across the small field and kept on going, leaving the campsite behind without looking back. Several men, mostly from the Ninth Cave, started after him, Joharran and Jondalar among them, hoping that once he ran out of breath, they could talk to him, calm him down, bring him back. But Brukeval ran as though the spirit of the dead were chasing him. For all his resistance to it, he had inherited the strength and the stamina of the man of the Clan who was his grandfather. Though they ran faster in the beginning, and started to catch up, the men who were chasing after Brukeval did not have his endurance, and could not keep up the pace he set.

They finally stopped, gasping, bent over, some rolling on the ground, trying to catch their breaths in a collective agony of aching sides and raw throats. 'I should have got Racer,' Jondalar rasped, barely able to speak. 'He couldn't have outrun a horse.'

When they finally trudged back, the meeting was in disarray. People were standing up, walking around, talking. Zelandoni didn't want it to end like that, and had called for a pause until the men returned, hopefully with Brukeval. When they returned without him, she decided to finish up quickly.

'It is unfortunate that Brukeval of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii feels as he does. His sensitivity about his background is well known, but no one knows for sure what really happened to his grandmother. We only know that she was lost for some time, and finally found her way back, and later gave birth to Brukeval's mother. Anyone lost for so long is bound to have adverse effects from the ordeal, and Brukeval's grandmother was not in her right mind when she returned. She was so full of fears, no one could believe, or even understand much of what she said.

'The daughter she bore was not physically strong, probably because of her mother's ordeal, and her pregnancy and the birth of her son was so hard for her, she died as a result. It's likely that Brukeval bears the imprint of his mother's difficult pregnancy in his stature and appearance, though it is fortunate that he grew strong and healthy. I think Brukeval was entirely right when he said he is a man. He is a Zelandonii man of the Ninth Cave, a good man who has much to offer. I'm sure he will decide to return to us after he's had time to reconsider, and I know the Ninth Cave will welcome him back when he does,' the One Who Was First said, then she continued.

'I think it is time to close this meeting. We all have much to think about, and you can all continue the discussion we started here with your own Zelandoni.' As people were getting up again to leave, the First signalled to the leader of the Fifth Cave. 'Will the Fifth Cave stay a little longer and join me here, near the lodge? she asked. 'I have a matter of importance that concerns you.' Might as well get this unpleasant chore over with while I'm at it, she thought. The meeting had not gone at all the way she'd hoped. Jondalar's fight the night before had set the wrong tone in the beginning, and Brukeval's abrupt departure left people feeling unsettled at the end.

'I'm sorry I have to do this,' the First said to the group of people of all ages that constituted the Fifth Cave. Madroman was among them as well as their Zelandoni. She picked up a carry-sack that was on a table near the back of the lodge and turned to face the acolyte. 'Does this look familiar to you, Madroman?' she asked.

He looked, and then he blanched, and glanced around looking worried and wary.

'It's yours, isn't it? It has your markings.'

Several people were nodding their heads. Everyone knew it was his. It was quite distinctive; they had seen him with it.

'Where did you get that?' he asked.

'Ayla found it hidden in the deep of Fountain Rock. After you were "called" to go in there,' the First said, with heavy sarcasm.

'I might have guessed it was her,' Madroman mumbled.

'She wasn't looking for anything. She was sitting on the floor near the large round niche at the back, and happened to feel it in a hidden space at the bottom of a wall. She thought someone had forgotten it, and wanted to return it to him,' Zelandoni said.

'Why would she think someone had forgotten it if it was hidden?' Madroman said. There was no use pretending anymore.

'Because she wasn't thinking straight. She had just lost her baby, and very nearly her life in that cave,' the First said.

'What is this about?' the leader asked.

'Madroman has been an acolyte for a long time. He wanted to join the ranks of the zelandonia and was tired of waiting to be called.' She emptied the carry-sack on the table. Out fell the remains of food, the waterbag, the lamp and fire-making equipment, and the cloak. 'He hid this inside the cave, then pretended that he felt the call. He stayed inside a little more than two days, with plenty of food, water, light, and even a covering for warmth. He hid this, then came out acting groggy and disoriented, and claimed he was ready.'

'You mean he lied about his call?' the leader asked.

'In a word, yes.'

'If it hadn't been for her, you would never have known,' Madroman spat out.

'You are wrong, Madroman. We knew. This only confirmed it. What makes you think you can fool the zelandonia? We have all been through it. Don't you think we'd know the difference?' Zelandoni said.

'Why didn't you say something before?'

'Some of us were trying to find a way to give you every opportunity. Some thought, or hoped, that it wasn't intentional. They wanted to make sure that you hadn't fooled yourself in your strong desire to become One Who Serves … until Ayla brought this to us. You would not have become Zelandoni, in any case, but you might have remained an Acolyte, Madroman. Now, that is no longer possible. The Great Earth Mother doesn't want to be served by a liar and a cheat,' the powerful woman said in tones that left no doubt about her feelings. 'Kemordan, Leader of the Fifth Cave of the Zelandonia,' the First continued, 'will you and your Cave bear witness?'

'We will,' he replied.

'We will,' said the Cave in unison.

'Madroman of the Fifth Cave of the Zelandonii, former Acolyte,' the First intoned, 'you may never again put yourself out as a member of the zelandonia, not as an Acolyte or in any other manner. You may never again attempt to treat someone's illness, or offer advice about the ways of the Mother, or in any way assume the duties of the zelandonia. Do you understand?'

'But what am I supposed to do now? That's all I've trained for. I don't know how to be anything but an Acolyte,' Madroman said.

'If you return everything you have received from the zelandonia, you can go back to your Cave and think about learning some other craft, Madroman. And be grateful I am not imposing a fine and announcing it to the whole camp.'

'They'll all find out anyway,' Madroman said, then raising his voice, 'You were never going to let me be a Zelandoni. You've always hated me. You and Jondalar, and your little favourite, Ayla, the Flathead lover. You've been out to get me from the beginning … Zolena.'

There was a gasp from the Fifth Cave. Not one of them would have dared to be so disrespectful to the One Who Was First as to call her by her former name. Most would have been afraid to. Even Madroman paused in his tirade when he saw the expression on the face of the First. She was, after all, a woman of formidable powers.

He turned on his heel and stomped away, not sure what he was going to do as he headed for the fa'lodge he had sometimes shared with Laramar, Brukeval, and the rest. It was empty when he got there. Most camps were serving meals after the long meeting, and the rest of the men had gone to find something to eat. It suddenly came to him that neither Laramar nor Brukeval would be back at all. Laramar would be a long time recovering, and who knew what Brukeval would do. Madroman walked over and took a small waterbag of barma from Laramar's travelling pack. He sat down on the sleeping roll and drank most of it down in a few gulps, then took a second one. Laramar will never know, he thought.

It's all the fault of that big dolt who knocked my teeth out. Madroman felt the hole in the front of his mouth with his tongue. He had learned to compensate for it, and didn't think about his missing teeth much anymore, though it had hurt when he was younger and women ignored him because of it. He'd since discovered that certain women were interested in him when they learned he was part of the zelandonia, even just an acolyte in training. None of those women would want him now. He flushed at the thought of his disgrace, and opened the second waterbag full of barma.

Why did Jondalar have to come back? he said to himself. If Jondalar hadn't returned from his Journey and brought that foreign woman here, she wouldn't have found that sack. Then the zelandonia never would have known, I don't care what that fat old woman says. I don't really want to go back to the Fifth Cave now, and I don't want to learn another trade. Why should I? I'm as good a Zelandoni as any of them, and I doubt that they've all been called, either. I'll bet a lot of them fake it. What is a call anyway? They probably all fake it. Even that Flathead lover. So what if she lost a baby. Women lose babies all the time. What's so special about that?

He took another drink, glanced over at Brukeval's place, then got up and walked over. Everything was there, neatly in order the way he always kept it. He didn't even come and get his gear, Madroman thought. He's going to sleep cold tonight without a sleeping roll. I wonder if I could find him? He might be grateful if I brought him his things. Madroman walked back to his place and looked at the paraphernalia he had acquired as an acolyte. That fat old woman wants me to give it all back.

I'm not going to do it! I'm going to pack up all my things and leave. He paused, looked over at Brukeval's sleeping place. If I can find him, maybe we could go on a Journey together, or something, find some other people. I could tell them I am Zelandoni; they'd never know.

That's what I'll do. I'll pack up Brukeval's gear, and go look for him. I know a few places he might be. He would be someone to stay with, and he's a better hunter than I am. I haven't done it in so long. Maybe I'll take some of Laramar's things, too. He'll never miss them. He won't even know who took them. It could be anyone in this lodge. They all know he won't be back.

And it's all Jondalar's fault. First he nearly kills me; then he nearly kills Laramar. He'll get away with it, too, just like he did before. I hate Jondalar, I've always hated Jondalar. Someone ought to hold him down and beat him up. Ruin his pretty face. See how he likes it. I'd like to give Ayla a few whacks, too. I know a few people who wouldn't mind holding her down. I'd give her something else, too, like a load of my 'essence', he thought with an evil grin. Then she wouldn't walk so high. She never would share Pleasures with anyone else, not even at Mother Festivals. Thinks she's so perfect, finding my sack and bringing it to the zelandonia. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't be out. I'd be Zelandoni. I hate that woman!

Madroman finished up the second waterbag of barma, grabbed several more, then looked around to see what else he wanted to take. He found a spare outfit, used but still good. He tried it on; they were nearly the same size. He took it. His zelandonia clothing was decorative and distinctive, but not very practical for long hikes. The sleeping roll wasn't much good — it was an old throwaway to begin with; Laramar's good one was in his mate's tent — but there were several other very nice items, including a good fur cover. Then he found a real treasure, a new full winter outfit that Laramar had recently traded for. His barma was constantly in demand, and he had always been able to trade for whatever he wanted.

Next Madroman walked over to Brukeval's place and began hauling everything he saw back to his own place. He changed into the more practical outfit that he'd found at Laramar's place. It didn't matter that it had Ninth Cave decorations instead of Fifth Cave; he wasn't going to be staying at either place. He took food from both places, and then rummaged through the possessions of all the rest of the men, taking food and a few other items as well. He found a good, well-hafted knife, a small stone hatchet, and a new pair of warm mittens someone had just acquired. He didn't have any with him and winter was coming. Who knows where I'll be then, he thought. He had to repack a few times, eliminate a few things, but once he was ready, he was eager to leave.

He put his head out of the lodge and looked around. The campsite was full of people, as usual, but none were nearby. He hoisted on the heavy backframe, and started out briskly. He planned on heading generally north, the direction he had seen Brukeval take. He was nearly beyond the boundary of the Summer Meeting campsite, close to the camp of the Ninth Cave, when Ayla came out of a dwelling. She seemed to be distracted, preoccupied, but she glanced up and saw him. He flashed her a look of sheer hatred and kept on going.

The camp of the Ninth Cave looked deserted. Everyone had gone to the Lanzadoni camp for a joint midday meal, a feast they had been planning together for some time, but Ayla said she wasn't hungry, and promised she'd come later. She was sitting on her bedroll in the dwelling, feeling despondent, thinking about Brukeval and his outburst at the meeting, and wondering if there was anything she could have done. She didn't think Zelandoni had anticipated his reaction, and it didn't even occur to her to consider it, though now she was sure she should have. She knew how sensitive he was to inferences that he was in any way related to Flatheads.

He called them animals, she thought, but they aren't! Why do some people always say that? She wondered if Brukeval would still feel that way if he knew them better. It probably wouldn't make any difference. A lot of the Zelandonii feel that way.

The First reminded everyone that Brukeval's grandmother had not been in her right mind when she found her way home again, and that she was pregnant. Everyone says she was with the Clan, Ayla thought, and they're right. It's obvious that Brukeval has some Clan mixture in him, so she must have become pregnant while she was with them. That means some Clan man had to put his essence inside her.

A thought Ayla hadn't considered suddenly came to her. Did some man of the Clan force her over and over again, the way I was forced by Broud? I wasn't in my right mind when Broud was doing that to me and I didn't think they were animals. I was raised by them, I loved them. Not Broud. I hated him, even before he forced me, but I loved most of them.

Ayla hadn't thought of it quite that way when she first heard the story, but it was a possibility. The man might have forced her out of meanness, like Broud, or he might have thought he was doing her a favour, taking her as a second woman, perhaps, accepting her into the Clan, but it wouldn't have made any difference to her. That's not how she would have seen it, Ayla thought. She couldn't talk to them, or understand them. They were animals to her. Brukeval's grandmother must have hated it worse than I hated Broud doing it.

And as much as I wanted to have the baby when Iza told me I was pregnant, it was hard on me. I was sick all the time when I was expecting Durc, and I almost died delivering him. Clan women didn't have that much trouble, but Durc's head was so much bigger and harder than Jonayla's. Ayla had seen enough women into motherhood in the the past few years to realise that her pregnancy and delivery of Jonayla was far more normal for women of the Others than her birthing of Durc had been. I don't know how I ever pushed him out, she thought, shaking her head. The heads of the Others are smaller, and the bone is thinner and more flexible. Our legs and arms are longer but those bones are thinner, too, Ayla said to herself, looking at her own limbs. All the bones of the Others are thinner.

Was Brukeval's grandmother sick during her pregnancy? Did she have a hard time delivering, like I did? Is that what happened to her? Is that why she died? Because it was so hard on her? Even Joplaya nearly died giving birth to Bokovan, and Echozar is only half Clan. Is a baby of 'mixed spirits', a baby that's a mixture of the Clan and the Others, always hard on women of the Others? Ayla was brought up short with a new thought. Could that be why those babies were originally called abominations? Because they sometimes made their mothers die?

There are differences between the Clan and the Others. Maybe not enough to stop a baby from getting started, but enough to make it hard on the mother if she's one of the Others and used to birthing babies with smaller heads. It might not be so hard on Clan women. They're used to babies with big, long, hard heads and heavy brow ridges. It was probably easier for them to give birth to a mixed baby.

I don't think it's always good for the babies, though, whether the mother is Clan or Others. Durc was strong and healthy, even though I had a hard time, and so is Echozar, and his mother was Clan. Bokovan is healthy, but he's not quite the same. Echozar, his father, was the first mixture, so he's like Brukeval, but still Joplaya almost died. She realised she was using the word 'father' with ease. It was so logical, and she had understood the relationship for a long time.

But Rydag was weak, and his mother was Clan. She died after giving birth, but Nezzie never said she had a hard time delivering. I don't think that's why she died. I think she'd been turned out of her clan and didn't want to live, especially since she must have thought her baby was deformed. Brukeval's mother was a first mixture, and her mother was one of the Others. She was weak, so weak she died giving birth to him. Whether he wants to admit it or not, Brukeval knows what happened to his grandmother; that's why he was so quick to understand the implications of the Gift of Life at the meeting. I wonder if he ever thought that his mother's weakness was somehow caused by the mixture?

I suppose I shouldn't blame Brukeval for hating the Clan. He didn't have a mother to love him, or to comfort him when people called him names because he looked a little different. It was hard for Durc, too. He looked enough different from the Clan that they thought he was deformed, and some of them didn't want to let him live, but at least he had people who loved him. I should have been more careful of Brukeval's feelings. I'm always so sure that I'm right. Always blaming people for calling the Clan Flatheads and animals. I know they aren't, but most people don't know them like I do. It was my fault Brukeval ran away. I don't blame him for hating me.

Ayla got up; she didn't want to sit inside any more. It was dim and gloomy in the windowless dwelling, and the lamp was guttering out, adding to the darkness. She wanted to get out, do something besides think about her shortcomings. As she stepped out of the dwelling and looked around, she was surprised to see Madroman approaching in a big hurry. When he saw her, he gave her such a malicious glare, she felt the tingle of icy needles prickling up her spine, raising the hairs on the back of her neck, and a cold shudder of ominous apprehension.

Ayla watched him as he hurried on. Something's different about him, she said to herself. Then she noticed he was not wearing his acolyte clothing, but the clothes he had on were strangely familiar. She wrinkled her brow in concentration, then it came to her. Those are Ninth Cave patterns! But he's Fifth Cave; why is he wearing Ninth Cave clothes? And where is he going in such a hurry?

That look he gave me. Ayla shivered again at the thought. So full of hatred. Why should he hate me so much? And why wasn't he wearing his acoly … Oh … Suddenly it occurred to her. Zelandoni must have told him he can't be an acolyte anymore. Is he blaming me? But he's the one who lied; why should he blame me? It couldn't be because of Jondalar. He beat Madroman once — knocked his teeth out — but that was over Zelandoni, not me. Could he hate me because I found his leather sack in the cave? Maybe he hates me because he will never be a Zelandoni, and I just became one.

That's two of them who hate me, Madroman and Brukeval, Ayla thought. Three if I count Laramar; he must hate me, too. When he finally woke up, he said he didn't want to go back to the Ninth Cave when he felt good enough to leave the zelandonia lodge, and they decided that he could. I'm glad the Fifth Cave said they would be willing to take him. I couldn't blame him if he never wanted to see me again. I deserve his hatred. It is my fault that Jondalar beat him so badly. Jondalar probably hates me now, too. Ayla was feeling so despondent, she was beginning to think that everyone hated her.

Ayla started walking faster, unmindful of where she was going. She looked up when she heard a soft whicker, and found she was at the horse enclosure. She had been so busy the last few days, she had hardly seen the horses, and when she heard the welcoming whinny of her dun-yellow mare, tears brought a familiar ache behind her eyes. She climbed over the fencing, and hugged the sturdy neck of her old friend.

'Oh, Whinney! I'm so happy to see you,' she said, talking in the strange language she always used with the mare, the one she had made up so long ago in the valley, before Jondalar came and taught her his language. 'At least you still care about me,' she said, as the tears overflowed. 'You should probably hate me, too, I've been ignoring you so much. But I'm so glad you don't. You were always my friend, Whinney.' She said the name the way she had learned from the mare, a remarkably close reproduction of the sound of a horse whinny. 'When I didn't have anyone else, you were there. Maybe I should just go away with you. We could find a valley and live together, like we used to.'

As she was sobbing into the thickening fur of the yellow horse, the young grey mare and the brown stallion joined them. Grey tried to get her nose under Ayla's hand while Racer bumped her back with his head to let her know he was there. Then he leaned against her, the way he had done so often before, keeping her between himself and his dam. Ayla hugged and stroked and scratched them all, then found a dried teasel to use as a currying brush and started to clean Whinney's coat.

It had always been a relaxing activity for her, to clean and care for the horses, and by the time she finished with Whinney and started on the impatient Racer, who had been nudging her for his share of her attention, her tears had dried and she was feeling better. She was working on Grey when Joharran and Echozar came looking for her.

'Everyone was wondering where you were, Ayla,' Echozar said, smiling to see her standing in the middle of the three horses. It still amazed him to see her with the animals.

'I haven't spent much time with the horses lately, and their coats needed a good cleaning. They are already thickening up for winter,' Ayla said.

'Proleva's been trying to keep the food warm for you, but she says it's drying out,' Joharran said. 'I think you should come and get something to eat.'

'I'm almost through here. I've already brushed Whinney and Racer. I just have to finish up Grey. Then I probably should wash my hands,' Ayla said, holding up her hand to show him her black palms, grimy with oily horse sweat and dirt.

'We'll wait,' Joharran said. He had been given strict instructions not to return without her.

By the time Ayla arrived, people were finishing with the meal and starting to leave the Lanzadonii camp for various afternoon activities. Ayla had been disappointed that Jondalar was not at the big feast, but no one could get him out of the fa'lodge, short of picking him up and bodily carrying him. Once she was there Ayla was glad she went. After she picked up the plate piled high with food that had been saved for her, she had been pleased to have a little more time to talk to Danug and Druwez, and to get to know Aldanor a little better, although it appeared that she would have plenty of time for that.

Folara and Aldanor were going to be mated at the Late Matrimonial, just before the Summer Meeting ended, and he was going to become Zelandonii and a member of the Ninth Cave, much to Marthona's delight. Danug and Druwez promised to stop at his Camp on their way back home and tell his people, but that wouldn't be until next summer. They were wintering with the Zelandonii, and Willamar had promised to take them and a few others to see the Great Waters of the West, soon after they returned to the Ninth Cave.

'Ayla, will you walk with me back to the zelandonia lodge?' the First asked. 'There are some things I'd like to talk over with you.'

'Yes, of course, Zelandoni,' Ayla said. 'Let me talk to Jonayla first.'

She found her daughter with Marthona, and inevitably with Wolf. 'Do you know Thona is my grandmother? Not just my grandam?' Jonayla said when Ayla approached.

'Yes, I do,' Ayla said. 'Are you pleased to know that?' She reached to stroke the animal who was so excited to see her. Wolf had hardly left Jonayla for a moment since they arrived at the campsite, as though trying to make up for their long separation earlier, but he seemed overjoyed to see Ayla whenever she was near, anxiously seeking her affection and approval. He seemed most relaxed when they were both together with him, which usually was only at night.

'Although I've always felt that I was, it's nice to be acknowledged as the grandmother of the children of my sons,' Marthona said. 'And though I've long thought of you as my daughter, Ayla, it pleases me to know that Folara has finally found an acceptable man to mate, and may yet give me a grandchild before I walk the next world.'

She took Ayla's hand and looked at her. 'I want to thank you again for telling these men to come and get me.' Smiling at Hartalan and some of the others who had carried her on a litter to the Summer Meeting, and often around the campsite since she arrived, she continued, 'I'm sure they were concerned about my health and meant well, but it takes a woman to understand that a mother needs to be with her daughter when she's contemplating her Matrimonial.'

'Everyone was pleased to think you might feel well enough to come. You were greatly missed, Marthona,' Ayla said.

Marthona avoided the subject of Jondalar's conspicuous absence, and the probable reason for it, although it distressed her greatly to think that her son had once again lost control of himself, and caused great harm to another person. She was also very concerned about Ayla. She had got to know the young woman quite well, and knew how troubled she was, though she handled herself remarkably well in spite of her anguish.

'Zelandoni asked me to walk with her to the zelandonia lodge,' Ayla said. 'She said she wanted to talk about some things. Will you take Jonayla back with you, Marthona?'

'I'll be happy to. I've missed this little one, although Wolf is probably a better guardian than I am.'

'Are you coming back to sleep with me tonight, mother?' Jonayla said, with a worried look.

'Of course. I'm just going to talk to Zelandoni for a little while,' Ayla said.

'Is Jondy going to sleep with us tonight?'

'I don't know, Jonayla. He's probably busy.'

'Why is he always so busy with those men in the fa'lodge that he can't sleep with us?' the child asked.

'Sometimes men are just very busy,' Marthona said, noticing that Ayla was struggling to keep her control. 'You go ahead with Zelandoni, Ayla, we'll see you later. Come along, Jonayla. We should go and thank everyone for the wonderful feast; then, if you like, you can ride with me on the litter when they carry me back?'

'Oh, could I?' Jonayla said. She thought it was particularly wonderful the way there were always a couple of young men nearby to carry Marthona wherever she wanted to go, especially if it was any distance.

As Ayla and Zelandoni walked toward the zelandonia lodge together, discussing the meeting and the things that might be done to create a more positive mood about the changes the Gift of Knowledge would bring about, Zelandoni thought that Ayla seemed quite despondent, though as usual she was covering it up well.

When they reached the lodge, Zelandoni started water heating for tea. They saw that Laramar had left the zelandonia lodge already, and must have been moved to the Fifth Cave's camp. When the tea was ready, she led Ayla to a quiet area where there were a few stools and a low table. She considered trying to get Ayla to talk about what was bothering her, but changed her mind. The First thought she had a good idea what was troubling Ayla, though she had not heard Jonayla question her mother about Jondalar's absence, and didn't know how much it added to her despair. The Donier decided it might be better to talk about something else to get Ayla's mind off her worries and concerns.

'I'm not sure if I heard you correctly at the time, Ayla … I should say Zelandoni of the Ninth Cave, but I thought you said you still had some of those roots that your Clan Zelandoni — what do you call him, Mogor? — used in his special ceremonies. Is that right?' The idea of them had intrigued the First ever since Ayla mentioned them. 'Would they really still be good after all these years?'

'The Clan in this region call him Mogor, but we always said Mog-ur. And yes, I still have some of the roots, and I'm sure they're good. They get stronger with age, if stored properly. I know Iza often kept hers for the entire seven years between Clan Gatherings, and sometimes longer,' Ayla said.

'What you said about them interests me. Though I do understand they can be hazardous, it might be a valuable experience to try a small experiment.'

'I don't know,' Ayla said. 'They are dangerous, and I'm not sure if I'd know how to do a small experiment. I only know one way to prepare them.' She felt nervous about the idea.

'If you don't think it's appropriate to experiment, that's fine.' Zelandoni didn't want to distress her further. She took a sip of her tea to give herself a few moments to think. 'Do you still have the pouch of mixed herbs that we were going to experiment on together? The ones you got from that visiting Zelandoni from the Cave that's so far away?'

'Yes, I'll get them,' Ayla said, getting up to get the sack of medicinal herbs that she kept in her special place within the zelandonia lodge. She thought of it as her zelandonia medicine bag, though it did not resemble her Clan medicine bag.

Some years before, she had made a new one in the Clan style out of a whole otter skin, but it was in the lodge at the Ninth Cave's camp. Its distinctiveness gave it an unmistakable quality of something different. The one Ayla kept in the zelandonia lodge was similar to the ones used by all the Doniers, a simple rawhide leather carrier, a smaller version of the one she used to carry meat. The decoration, however, was far from simple. Each of the medicine bags was unique, designed and made by each individual healer, bearing both required elements and others that were chosen by the user.

Ayla brought hers back to the area where Zelandoni was sipping tea while she waited. The young woman opened the leather packet and felt around inside. A frown creased her forehead. Finally she emptied it out onto the small table between them, and found the pouch she was looking for, but it was only half full.

'It looks like you have already experimented with that,' Zelandoni said.

'I don't understand,' Ayla said. 'I don't recall opening this pouch. How did it get used?' She opened the container, poured a small amount in her palm, and sniffed. 'It smells like mint.'

'If I recall correctly, the Zelandoni who gave it to you said that the mint was put in as a way to identify this mixture. She doesn't keep mint in this kind of pouches, but in larger woven containers, so if it's in a pouch, and smells like mint, she knows it is this mixture,' Zelandoni explained.

Ayla sat back and looked up at the ceiling with a deep frown, straining to remember. Suddenly she sat up. 'I think I drank this the night I was watching the risings and settings. The night I was called. I thought it was mint tea.' Suddenly she clasped her hand over her mouth. 'Oh, Great Mother! Zelandoni, I might not have been called at all. It might have all been caused by this mixture!' Ayla said, appalled.

Zelandoni leaned forward, patted Ayla's hand and smiled. 'It's all right, Ayla. You don't need to be concerned about that. You were called; you are Zelandoni of the Ninth Cave. Many of the zelandonia have used similar herbs and mixtures to help them to find the Spirit World. A person may find herself in a different place as a result of using them, but only if you are ready for it are you called. There is no question that your experience was a true calling, though I must admit I didn't expect it to happen to you quite so soon. This mixture may have encouraged you to have it a little sooner than I anticipated, but that doesn't make it less meaningful.'

'Do you know what was in it?' Ayla asked.

'She did tell me the ingredients, but I don't know the proportions. Even though we like to share our knowledge, most zelandonia like to keep a few secrets.' The One Who Was First smiled. 'Why do you ask?'

'I'm sure it must have been very strong,' Ayla said, then looked down at the cup of tea in her hands. 'I was wondering if there was anything in it that could have caused me to miscarry.'

'Ayla, don't blame yourself,' Zelandoni said, leaning forward and taking her hand. 'I know it hurts to lose a baby, but you had no control over that. It was the sacrifice the Mother demanded of you, perhaps because She had to bring you close enough to the Next World to give you Her message. There may be something in this mixture that would cause a miscarriage, but perhaps there was no other way. It may have been She who caused you to take this when you did so that everything would happen as She wished.'

'I've never made a mistake like that with the medicines in my bag. I was careless. So careless, I lost my baby,' Ayla said, as though she hadn't even heard the First.

'Because you don't make those kind of mistakes is all the more reason to believe it was Her will. Whenever She calls someone to Serve Her, it is always unexpected, and the first time that one goes to the Spirit World alone is especially dangerous. Many never find their way back. Some leave something behind, as you did. It is always dangerous, Ayla. Even if you have gone there many times, you never know if this is the time that you will not find your way back.'

Ayla was quietly sobbing, the tears glistening on her cheeks.

'It's good that you are letting go. You've held in for too long, and you need to grieve for that baby,' the Donier said. She got up, took both cups, and went to the back, where the bandaging skins were stored. When she returned, she poured more tea. 'Here,' she said, handing her the soft animal hide, and put the tea on the table.

Ayla wiped her eyes and her nose, took a deep breath to settle herself, then took a sip of the warmish tea, struggling to get herself under control again. It was more than losing the baby that had caused her tears, although that had been the catalyst. She couldn't seem to do anything right. Jondalar had stopped loving her, people hated her, and she had been so careless that she lost her baby. She had heard Zelandoni's words, but she didn't fully comprehend and it didn't change how she felt.

'Perhaps now you can understand why I'm so interested in those roots you talk about,' the First said when it seemed that Ayla was feeling better. 'If the experience can be carefully watched and controlled, we may have another helpful way to reach the Next World when we need to, like this mixture in the pouch, and some other herbs we sometimes use.'

Ayla didn't hear her at first. When Zelandoni's words finally reached her, she recalled that she had never wanted to experiment with those roots again. Though The Mog-ur had been able to control the effects of the powerful substance, she was sure she never would never be capable of it. She believed only a Clan mind, with its unique differences, and the Clan memories, could control it. She didn't think anyone born to the Others could ever control the black void, no matter how well they were watched.

She knew that the First was fascinated. Mamut had been intrigued, too, about the special plants used only by the mog-urs of the Clan, but after their dangerous experience together, Mamut had said he would never use them again. He told her he was afraid he would lose his spirit in that paralysing black void, and had warned her against them. Reliving the terrifying journey to that menacing unknown place when she was deep in the cave, and vividly recalling it during her initiation, made the memory too disturbingly fresh. And she knew that even her unnerving recollection was only a faint shadow of the real experience.

Yet, in the black despair of her present state of mind, she wasn't thinking clearly. She should have had time to regain her balance, but too much had happened too fast. Her ordeal in the cave when she was called, including the miscarriage, had weakened her both physically and emotionally. The pain and the jealousy, and the disappointment, of finding Jondalar with another woman were intensified by her experience in the cave, and by her loss. She had been looking forward to the knowing touch of his hands and the closeness of his body, to the thought of replacing the baby she had lost, to the healing comfort of his love.

Instead she found him with another woman, and not just any woman, the woman who had viciously and knowingly tried to hurt her before. Under normal circumstances, she might have been able to take his indiscretion in stride, especially if it had been with someone else. She might not have been happy about it. They had been too close. But she understood the customs. They were not so different from those of the men of the Clan, who could choose whatever woman they wanted.

She knew how jealous Jondalar had been about her and Ranec when they lived with the Mamutoi, even though she didn't know what was causing the barely controlled violence of his reaction. Ranec had told her to come with him, and she was raised by the Clan. She hadn't learned yet that among the Others, she had the right to say no.

When they finally resolved the problem and she left with Jondalar back to his home, she had decided in her own mind that she would never give him cause to be jealous of her again. She never chose anyone else, even though she knew it would have been acceptable, and to her knowledge, he never did either. He certainly never did openly, as the other men did. When she was confronted with the fact that he not only had chosen someone else, but that he had been choosing that particular woman, in secret, for a long time, she felt utterly betrayed.

But Jondalar had not meant to betray her. He wanted to keep her from finding out so she wouldn't be hurt. He knew she never chose anyone else, and at a certain level, he even knew why. Though he would have struggled to control it, he knew how jealous he would have been if she had chosen someone else. He did not want her to experience the intensity of pain that he would have felt. When she found them together, he was beside himself. He simply didn't know what to do; he had never learned.

Jondalar was born to grow into a six-foot, six-inch tall, well-formed, incredibly handsome man, with an unconscious charisma enhanced by a vividly intense shade of blue eyes. His natural intelligence, innate manual dexterity, and intrinsic mechanical skill were discovered early, and he was encouraged to apply it in many areas until he discovered his love for knapping flint and making tools. But his powerful feelings were also stronger than most, far too intense, and his mother and those who cared about him struggled to teach him to keep them under control. Even as a child he wanted too much, cared too much, felt too much; he could be overcome with compassion, yearn with desire, rage with hate, or burn with love. He was given too much, too many gifts, and few understood what a burden that could be.

When he was a young man, Jondalar had been taught how to please a woman, but that was a normal practice of his culture. It was something all young men were taught. The fact that he'd learned it so well was partly because he had been taught so well, and partly the result of his own natural inclination. He discovered young that he loved pleasing women, but he never had to learn how to interest a woman.

Unlike most men, he never had to find ways to make a woman notice him; he couldn't help but be noticed; he sought ways to get away, occasionally. He never had to think about how to meet a woman; women went out of their way to meet him; some threw themselves at him. He never had to entice a woman to spend her time with him; women couldn't get enough of him. And he never had to learn how to handle loss, or a woman's anger, or his own blundering mistakes. No one imagined that a man with his obvious gifts wouldn't know how.

Jondalar's reaction when something didn't go right was to withdraw, try to keep his feelings under control, and hope that somehow it would sort itself out. He hoped that he would be forgiven, or his mistakes overlooked, and usually that was what happened. He didn't know what to do when Ayla saw him with Marona, and Ayla wasn't any more adept at handling those kinds of situations.

From the time she was first found by the Clan as a five-year, she had struggled to fit in, to make herself acceptable so they would not turn her out. The Clan didn't cry emotional tears and hers disturbed them, so she learned to hold them back. The Clan didn't display anger or pain or other strong emotions — it was not considered proper — so she learned not to show hers. To be a good Clan woman, she learned what was expected of her, and tried to behave the way she was expected to behave. She had tried to do the same with the Zelandonii.

But now she was at a loss. It seemed obvious to her that she had not learned how to be a good Zelandonii woman. People were upset with her, some people hated her, and Jondalar didn't love her. He had been ignoring her, and she had tried to provoke him to respond to her, but his brutal attack on Laramar was completely unexpected, and she felt, beyond all doubt, that it was entirely her fault. She had seen his compassion, and his love, and had seen him control his strong feelings when they were living with the Mamutoi. She thought she knew him. Now she was convinced she didn't know him at all. She had been trying to maintain a semblance of normality by sheer force of will, but she was tired from lying awake too many nights, too full of worry, pain, and anger to sleep, and what she needed desperately was calm surroundings and rest.

Perhaps Zelandoni had been a little too interested in learning about the Clan root, or she might have been more perceptive, but Ayla had always been a case apart. They didn't have enough common points of reference. Their backgrounds were far too different. Just when she thought she really understood the young woman, she'd find out that what she thought was true about Ayla was not.

'I don't want to make it a big issue if you really feel we shouldn't, Ayla, but if you could tell me something about how to prepare this root, perhaps we can work out a small experiment. Just to see if it might be useful. It would be just for the zelandonia, of course. What do you think?' Zelandoni said.

In Ayla's troubled state, even the terrifying black void struck her as a restful place, a place to get away from all the turmoil around her. And if she didn't come back, what difference would it make? Jondalar didn't love her anymore. She would miss her daughter — Ayla felt a tight knot grip her stomach — then thought, Jonayla would probably be better off without her. The child was missing Jondalar. If she wasn't there, he would come back and take care of her again. And there were so many people who loved her, she would be well cared for.

'It's not that complicated, Zelandoni,' Ayla said. 'Essentially the roots are chewed to a mash and spat into a bowl of water. But they are hard to chew, and it takes a long time, and the one who is preparing it is not supposed to swallow any of the juice. It could be that it's a necessary ingredient, the juice that accumulates in the mouth,' Ayla said.

'That's all? It seems to me if you just use a small amount, like one would test anything new, it shouldn't be that dangerous,' Zelandoni said.

'There are some Clan rituals involved. The medicine woman who prepares the root for the mog-urs is supposed to purify herself first, bathe in a river using soaproot, and she is not supposed to wear clothing. Iza told me that was so the woman would be unsullied and open, with nothing hidden, so that she would not contaminate the holy men, the mog-urs. The Mog-ur, Creb, painted my body with red and black colours, mostly circles around the female parts, to isolate them, I think,' Ayla said. 'It is a very sacred ceremony to the Clan.'

'We could use the new cave you found. It is a very sacred place, and private. This would be a good use for it,' the First said. 'Anything else?'

'No, except when I tried the root with Mamut, he made sure that the people of the Lion Camp kept chanting so we would have something to hold on to, something that would keep us tethered to this world, and help us find our way back.' She hesitated, looked down at the empty cup still in her hands, and added softly. 'I'm not sure how, but Mamut said Jondalar may have helped bring us back.'

'We will make sure all the zelandonia are there. They are very good at sustained chanting. Does it make any difference what is chanted?' the First asked.

'I don't think so. Just something familiar,' Ayla said.

'When should we plan to do it?' Zelandoni asked, more excited than she thought she would be.

'I don't think it matters.'

'Tomorrow morning? As soon as you can get everything ready?'

Ayla shrugged, as if she didn't care. At that moment, she didn't. 'It's as good a time as any, I suppose,' she said.