The Land of Painted Caves (95 page)

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 pouch, 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 it 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 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 paralyzing 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.