It was a somber group of people that returned to the Ninth Cave the next day. The hunt had been eminently successful, but the cost had been too dear. As soon as they arrived, Joharran turned Shevonar’s body over to the zelandonia, to prepare it for burial. It was taken to the far end of the shelter, near the bridge up to Down River, to be ritually washed and dressed in his ceremonial clothing and jewelry by Zelandoni, Relona, and several others.
“Ayla,” Zelandoni called as she was walking back to Marthona’s dwelling. “We’re going to be needing that red ochre you said you would get for me.”
“I’ll go get it right away,” Ayla said.
“Come with me. I’ll give you a special basket and something to dig it with,” the woman said. Zelandoni led her to her dwelling and held the drape aside so Ayla could enter. She had never been inside the donier’s home before, and she looked around with interest. Something about it reminded her of Iza’s hearth, perhaps the many drying leaves and other parts of plants that were hanging from cords strung across the back end of the main room. There were several raised beds against the wall panels in the front part, though she was sure that was not where the large woman slept. There appeared to be two other rooms partitioned off. Glancing through the opening, she saw that one of them appeared to be a cooking area. She guessed the other might be a sleeping room.
“Here’s the basket and the pick for collecting the red earth,” Zelandoni said, giving her a sturdy container stained red from use and an adzelike digging tool firmly attached to an antler handle.
Ayla left Zelandoni’s dwelling carrying the basket and pick. Zelandoni walked out with her and started toward the south end of the shelter. Wolf had found a place where he liked to rest on the stone porch, out of the way, but where he could watch the activities. When he saw Ayla, he immediately ran to her. The donier stopped.
“I think it might be wise if you kept Wolf away from the body of Shevonar,” she said. “For his own protection. Until the man is safely buried in sacred ground, his life spirit is floating free and very confused. I know how to protect people, but I’m not sure how to defend a wolf, and I am concerned that Shevonar’s elan might try to inhabit this animal. I have seen wolves go mad, and foam at the mouth. I believe they are trying to fight off something, maybe something evil or a bewildered spirit. The bite of such an animal will kill like a deadly poison.”
“I will look for Folara and ask her to watch him when I bring the red ochre,” Ayla said.
Wolf followed along behind her as she walked down the path toward the place where she and Jondalar had gone swimming and cleaned themselves shortly after they arrived. She filled the basket nearly full, then started back up the path. She saw Folara talking to her mother and explained Zelandoni’s request. The young woman grinned, delighted to stay with the wolf. Her mother had just asked her to come and help prepare the body. It was not something she wanted to do, and she knew Marthona would not refuse Ayla’s request.
“It may be best to keep him inside Marthona’s dwelling. If you want to go out, I have a special rope that can be put around his neck in a way that won’t choke him. Wolf doesn’t like it much, but he’ll put up with it. Come with me and I’ll show you how to put it on him,” Ayla said.
Then she walked to the far end of the ledge and gave the red ochre to the First. She stayed to help clean and dress the body of Shevonar. Jondalar’s mother soon came to help as well—she had done it many times before—and told Ayla that Folara had invited several young people to their dwelling, and Wolf seemed content to be with them.
Ayla was intrigued by the clothing they put on the dead hunter, though she was reluctant to mention her interest at the time. The outfit consisted of a loose, soft tunic made of the furs of different animals, and hides tanned and colored in various shades that were sewn together into intricate patterns and accented with beads, shells, and fringes. The tunic was bloused and belted at the hips with a colorful band of woven fabric. The leggings, though less elaborate, matched the tunic, as did the calf-high foot coverings, which had a fringe and an edging of fur attached to the tops. Necklaces made of shells, beads, various animal teeth, and ivory carvings had been placed around his neck and artfully arranged.
Then the body was laid out on blocks of limestone, on top of a large, somewhat flexible blanket-size mat of grasses woven with designs that were colored with red ochre. Long cords were strung through each end, which, Marthona explained to Ayla, could be pulled together so that the mat would envelop him. The lengths of cordage would then be wrapped around the shrouded body and tied. Beneath the mat was a strong netting made of flax cordage, which could be slung from a pole like a hammock so that he could be carried to the sacred ground and lowered into the grave.
Shevonar had been a spear-maker, and his tools for making them were placed beside him, along with some finished spears and the parts of some he had been working on, which included wooden shafts, ivory and flint points, and the sinew, cords, and glue used to attach them. The sinew and cords were used to fasten the points to the shafts, and to bind sections of shorter pieces of wood together to make longer spears, which were then cemented with resinous pitch or glue.
Relona had brought the things from their dwelling, and she sobbed with grief when she placed Shevonar’s favorite shaft-straightener within easy reach of his right hand. It was made of an antler of a red deer, the stem part, from the horn core at the head to the first branching tines. After the tines had been cut off, a good-size hole was bored through the wide end where the antler had begun to branch out. Ayla recognized that it was similar to the tool Jondalar had brought back with them that had belonged to his brother Thonolan.
Depictions of animals, including a stylized mountain sheep with large horns, and various symbols had been carved into the device. She recalled Jondalar saying that they lent potency to the shaft-straightener so that the spears made with it would fly straight and true, and would have a compelling attractiveness to the animal at which they were aimed, to make a clean kill. That they also added a pleasing aesthetic touch was appreciated.
While Shevonar’s body was being prepared under the supervision of Zelandoni, Joharran was directing others to construct a temporary shelter with a rooflike covering made of a thin layer of thatched grasses supported by poles. When the body was ready, the shelter was placed over him, then walled with quickly made movable panels. The Zelandonia entered the shelter to perform the ritual that would keep the free-floating spirit close to the body and within the shelter.
When they finished, everyone who had touched or handled or worked close to the man whose life-force had left his body had to be ritually cleaned themselves. Water was the element that was used, and flowing water was considered best for this particular cleansing. They were all required to immerse themselves completely in The River. Whether they undressed or were fully clothed didn’t matter. They followed the path down to The River bank below the stone shelf. The Zelandonia invoked the Great Mother, then the women went upstream a ways, and the men downstream. All of the women removed their clothing, but a few of the men jumped in, clothing and all.
Jondalar had helped build the burial shelter. He and the others who had erected the shelter around the body were also required to be purified in The River. Afterward he walked with Ayla back up the path. Proleva had arranged to have a meal ready for them. Marthona sat with Jondalar and Ayla, and Zelandoni joined them after a while, leaving the grieving widow with her family. Willamar came looking for Marthona and sat with them, also. While she was with people with whom she felt comfortable, Ayla thought this would be a good time to ask about the clothing they had put on Shevonar’s body.
“Does everyone who dies get dressed in such special clothes?” she asked. “It must have taken a lot of work to make Shevonar’s outfit.”
“Most people want to wear their best clothes for special occasions, or when they first meet people. That’s why they have ceremonial clothes. They want to be recognized and make a good impression. Since people don’t know what to expect when they reach the next world, they want to make the right impression there, and they want whoever they meet to know who they are,” Marthona said.
“I didn’t think clothes went to the next world,” Ayla said. “It’s the spirit that goes. The body stays here, doesn’t it?”
“The body returns to the womb of the Great Earth Mother,” Zelandoni said, “the life spirit, the elan, returns to Her spirit in the next world, but everything has a spirit form, rocks, trees, the food we eat, even the clothes we wear. The elan of a person doesn’t want to return naked, or empty-handed. That’s why Shevonar was dressed in his Ceremonial clothes, and given the tools of his craft and his hunting weapons to take with him. He will be given food, too.”
Ayla nodded. She speared a rather large piece of meat, took one end in her teeth, then, holding the other end, cut off the piece in her mouth with her knife and put the rest back on her scapula bone plate. She chewed for a while with a thoughtful expression, then swallowed.
“Shevonar’s clothes were beautiful. So many little pieces all sewn together into a pattern like that,” she commented. “Animals and designs, it almost seemed to tell a story.”
“In a way, it does,” Willamar said, smiling. “That’s how people are recognized, distinguished from each other. Everything on his Ceremonial outfit means something. It has to have his elandon, and his mate’s, and of course, the Zelandonii abelan.”
Ayla looked puzzled. “I don’t understand those words. What’s an elandon? Or a Zelandonii abelan?” she asked.
Everyone looked at Ayla with surprise. They were such commonly used terms, and Ayla spoke Zelandoni so well, it was hard to believe she didn’t know them.
Jondalar looked a bit chagrined. “I guess the words never came up,” he said. “When you found me, Ayla, I was wearing Sharamudoi clothes, and they don’t have quite the same way of showing who a person is. The Mamutoi have something similar, but not the same. A Zelandonii abelan is a … well … it’s like those tattoos on the sides of Zelandoni’s and Marthona’s forehead,” the man tried to explain.
Ayla looked at Marthona, then Zelandoni. She knew all the zelandonia and the leaders had an elaborate tattoo made up of squares and rectangles of different colors, sometimes embellished with additional lines and swirls, but she’d never heard a name for the mark.
“Perhaps I can explain the meaning of the words,” Zelandoni said.
Jondalar looked relieved.
“I suppose we should start with ‘elan.’ You do know that word?”
“I heard you use it today,” Ayla said. “It means something like spirit or life-force, I think.”
“But you didn’t learn this word before?” Zelandoni asked, scowling at Jondalar.
“Jondalar always said ‘spirit.’ Is that wrong?” Ayla said.
“No, it’s not wrong. And I suppose we do tend to use ‘elan’ more when there is a death, or a birth, because death is the absence or end of elan, and birth is the beginning,” the donier said.
“When a child is born, when a new life comes into this world, it is filled with elan, the vital force of life,” the One Who Was First said. “When the child is named, a Zelandoni creates a mark that is a symbol for that spirit, that new person, and paints it or carves it on some object—a rock, a bone, a piece of wood. That mark is called an abelan. Each abelan is different and is used to designate a particular individual. It might be a design made of lines or shapes or dots, or a simplified form of an animal. Whatever comes to mind when the Zelandoni meditates about the infant.”
“That’s what Creb—The Mog-ur—used to do, meditate, to decide what a new baby’s totem was!” Ayla said, surprised. She wasn’t alone.
“You are talking about the Clan man who was the … Zelandoni of your clan?” the donier asked.
“Yes!” Ayla said, and nodded.
“I’ll have to think on that,” the large woman said, more astounded than she wanted to let on. “To continue, the Zelandoni meditates, then decides on the mark. The object with the mark on it, the symbol object, is the elandon. The Zelandoni gives it to the baby’s mother to keep safe until the child is grown. When they pass into adulthood, the mother gives her children their elandons as part of their coming of age ceremony.
“But the symbol thing, the elandon, is more than just a material object with designs painted or engraved on it. It can hold the elan, the life-force, the spirit, the essence of each member of the Cave, much the way a donii can hold the Mother’s spirit. The elandon has more power than any other personal item. It is so powerful that in the wrong hands it can be used against a person to create terrible afflictions and adversity. Therefore, a mother keeps her children’s elandons in a place known only to her, and perhaps her mother, or her mate.” Suddenly Ayla realized that she would be responsible for the elandon of the child she was carrying.
Zelandoni explained that when the elandon was given to a child who had reached adulthood, that person would hide it in a place known only to the new adult, often quite far away. But an innocuous object, like a stone, would be picked up from close by as a surrogate and given to a Zelandoni, who customarily put it in a crack in a stone wall of a sacred place, perhaps a cave, as an offering to the Great Mother. While the thing that was offered seemed insignificant, its meaning was much greater. It was understood that Doni could trace the surrogate back to the original symbol thing, and from that to the person to whom it belonged, without anyone, not even a Zelandoni, knowing where the elandon was hidden.
Willamar tactfully added that the zelandonia as a whole were highly respected and considered trustworthy and beneficial. “But they are very powerful,” he said. “For many people a touch of apprehension is part of the respect they command, and any individual Zelandoni is only human. A few have been known to misuse their knowledge and abilities, and some people fear that given the opportunity, one of those might be tempted to use a powerful object like the elandon against someone they disliked, or to teach a person a lesson if they felt they had been wronged. I have never known it to happen, but people do like to embellish stories.”
“If anyone disturbs a person’s symbol thing, it could make a person sick, or even die. Let me tell you an Elder Legend,” Marthona said. “In the past, it is said, some families used to put all their symbol things together, in the same place. Sometimes even entire Caves put them all in one place.
“There was one Cave that put all their symbol things together in a special little cave in the side of a hill near their shelter. It was considered such a sacred place that no one would dare to disturb them. One very wet spring, an avalanche washed down the slope, destroying the cave and everything in it. The people blamed each other and stopped being cooperative. Without each other’s help, life became very difficult. The people scattered, and the Cave died. So people learned that if someone disturbed all the elandons, or even if they were dislodged by natural shifts caused by water, wind, or earth movements, the family or Cave had serious problems. That is why each person needs to hide her own symbol thing.”
“It is all right to put surrogate stones together,” Zelandoni added. “The Mother appreciates them, and She can trace them back, but they are just little tokens, not the real elandons.”
Ayla was delighted with the “Legend.” She had heard people talk about the Elder Legends, but she didn’t realize they were stories told to help people understand things they needed to know. They reminded her of stories that old Dorv used to tell to Brun’s clan in the winter.
Then the donier continued. “The abelan is a symbol or mark or pattern that always has life-force associated with it. It is used specifically to identify or characterize someone or some group. The Zelandonii abelan identifies all of us and is the most significant. It is a symbol made of squares or rectangles, often with variations and embellishments. It may be different colors, or made of different materials, or even different numbers of squares, but it must have the basic shapes. Part of this is a Zelandonii abelan,” she said, pointing to the mark tattooed on the side of her forehead. Ayla noticed that three rows of three squares were part of the design.
“The squares tell anyone who sees it that my people are Zelandonii. Because one can count nine of them, the mark also identifies me as a member of the Ninth Cave. There is more to this tattoo, of course,” she continued. “It also marks me as a member of the zelandonia, and declares that I am considered by the other Zelandonia as First Among Those Who Serve The Great Earth Mother. Although no longer as significant, a part of it is also my own personal abelan. You will notice that Marthona’s tattoo is different from mine, although parts of it are the same.”
Ayla turned to examine the former leader’s tattoo. Marthona tilted her head to show it better. “There are the nine squares,” Ayla said, “but the mark is on the other side of her forehead, and there are other marks, more curved. Now that I look at it, one of them seems to have the shape of a horse, from the neck, across the back and down the hind legs.”
“Yes,” Marthona said. “The tattoo artist was very good and captured the essence of my abelan. Though more stylized so that it could work with the whole pattern, it is very close to the mark on my elandon, which is a horse, but simplified like that.”
“Our tattoos tell you something about each of us,” Zelandoni said. “You know that I Serve The Mother because mine is on the left. You know that Marthona is or was a leader of her Cave because hers is on the right side of her forehead. You know we are both Zelandonii, because of the squares, and that we are of the Ninth Cave.”
“I think Manvelar’s tattoo had three squares, but I don’t remember if I could count up to fourteen squares on Brameval’s forehead,” Ayla said.
“No, you couldn’t,” Zelandoni said. “Caves are not always identified by the number of squares, but a person’s Cave is always identified in some way. Brameval’s tattoo has fourteen dots in a certain shape.”
“Not everyone has tattoos,” Ayla said. “Willamar has a small one on the middle of his forehead, but Jondalar doesn’t have one at all.”
“Only people who are leaders have tattoos on their foreheads,” Jondalar said. “Zelandoni is a spiritual leader, mother was a Cave leader. Willamar is the Trade Master. It is an important position, and his advice is often asked, so he is also considered a leader.”
“Though most people would rather show who they are with their clothes, like Shevonar, some people have tattoos on other places, their cheeks or chins, even hands, usually someplace that shows and is not covered up by clothes. Not much point in putting an identifying mark where no one can see it. The other tattoos often show something a person wants to be recognized for, but usually it’s a personal achievement, not a primary tie relationship,” Marthona said.
“Among the Mamutoi, the mamuti—that’s like zelandonia—have tattoos on their cheeks, but not squares. They use chevrons,” Ayla said. “They start with a diamond shape, which is like a square turned so that it points up and down, or half of that, a triangle—they particularly like downward-pointing triangles. Then they repeat the pointed shape, like one point nestled inside another. Sometimes they connect them and make zigzags. All those symbols have meanings, too. Mamut was just starting to teach them to me the winter before I left.”
Zelandoni and Marthona caught each other’s eyes and nodded a slight acknowledgment. The donier had talked with the former leader about Ayla’s abilities and suggested that she, perhaps, ought to consider affiliating with the zelandonia in some way. They both agreed that it might be better for her and everyone else.
“Then Shevonar’s tunic has his mark, his abelan, and the Zelandonii abelan,” Ayla stated, as though learning a lesson by rote.
“Yes. He will be recognized by everyone, including Doni. The Great Earth Mother will know that he is one of Her children who lived in the southwest region of this land,” Zelandoni said. “But that is only part of the design on Shevonar’s Ceremonial tunic. The entire outfit has meaning, including the necklaces. Besides the Zelandonii abelan, part of the pattern includes the nine squares that identify his Cave, and other patterns that define his lineage. There are symbol marks for the woman he mated, the abelans of her children born to his hearth. His craft, spear-making, is represented, and of course, his own symbol mark. His abelan is the most personal, and personally powerful element of all. His Ceremonial outfit, which are his burial clothes now, are, I suppose you could say, a visual display of his names and ties.”
“Shevonar’s Ceremonial outfit is particularly nice,” Marthona said. “It was created by the old pattern-maker, who is gone now. He was very good.”
Ayla had thought the clothing of the Zelandonii was very interesting, some of it quite beautiful—particularly Marthona’s things—but she’d had no idea of the complexity of the meanings associated with it. Some things had seemed too ornate for her taste. She had learned to appreciate the pure form and usefulness of the things she made, just as her Clan mother did. Occasionally she varied the pattern in a basket she was weaving, or showed off the grain of the wood in a bowl or cup she carved and sanded smooth, but she had never added decorations.
Now she was beginning to understand how the clothes and jewelry that people wore, as well as their facial tattoos, characterized and identified them. Shevonar’s ensemble, for all that it was highly decorated, was one that she felt had a balanced and pleasing pattern. She was surprised, however, when Marthona said that it had been created by an old man.
“Shevonar’s clothes must have taken a lot of work. Why would an old man spend so much time making clothes?” Ayla asked.
Jondalar smiled. “Because the old man’s craft was designing Ceremonial and burial clothing. That’s what a pattern-maker does.”
“The old man didn’t make Shevonar’s Ceremonial clothes, he planned how they would go together,” Marthona said. “There are so many aspects to include, it takes a special skill and an artistic eye to put them together in a pleasing way. But he could arrange to have the clothes made. Several people had worked closely with him for many years, and the team was in great demand. Now, one of them plans the clothing, but she isn’t as good, not yet.”
“But why would the old man or anyone else do it for Shevonar?” Ayla asked.
“He traded for it,” Jondalar said.
Ayla frowned. It was obvious she still didn’t quite understand. “I thought people traded with other Camps or Caves. I didn’t know they traded with people in their own Cave.”
“But why not?” Willamar said. “Shevonar was a spear-maker. He was known for his well-made spears, but he couldn’t arrange all the elements and symbols he wanted to show on his Ceremonial outfit in a way that pleased him. So he traded twenty of his finest spears for that outfit, and he prized it greatly.”
“It was one of the last the old man made,” Marthona said. “After his eyes no longer allowed him to practice his craft, he traded Shevonar’s spears, one by one, for other things he wanted, but he saved the best one for himself. His bones are now buried in sacred ground, but he took that spear with him to the spirit world. It was one that had both his and Shevonar’s abelans on it.”
“If he is especially pleased with his handiwork,” Jondalar explained, “along with the abelan of the person it is being made for, a spear-maker sometimes incorporates his own symbol mark within the design carved or painted on it.”
Ayla learned during the hunt that certain marks on spears were very important. She knew that every spear carried a mark of its owner, so that there would be no doubt who had killed which animal. She didn’t know that it was called an abelan, or that it was so important to the Zelandonii. She had seen one dispute resolved because of the marks. Two spears had found the same animal, but only one was imbedded in a vital organ.
Though each spear bore the owner’s symbol mark, she had heard the hunters talking about the spear-makers. They always seemed to know who made which spear, whether or not it bore the mark of the one who made it. The style of the spear and the decorations on it declared the maker.
“What is your abelan, Jondalar?” she asked.
“It’s not anything specific, it’s just a mark. It looks like this,” he said. He smoothed out the dry dirt nearby, and with his finger drew a line, then a second line that started parallel with the first line, but converged to a point at the end. A small line joined the two lines near the pointed end. “I always thought that when I was born, the Zelandoni couldn’t think of anything that day,” he said, then looked at the First and grinned. “Or maybe it’s the tail of an ermine, white with a black tip. I always liked those little ermine tails. Do you think my abelan could be an ermine?”
“Well, your totem is a Cave Lion,” Ayla said, “just like mine. I think your abelan can be anything you say it is. Why not an ermine? Ermines are feisty little weasels, but pretty in winter, all white except for their black eyes and the black tips of their tails. Actually, their brown summer coats are not bad, either.” She thought for a moment, then asked, “What is Shevonar’s abelan?”
“I saw one of his spears near his resting place,” Jondalar said. “I’ll get it and show you.”
He quickly got the spear and showed her Shevonar’s symbol mark. It was a stylized representation of a mouflon, a mountain sheep with large curved horns.
“I should take that with me,” Zelandoni said. “We’ll need it to make a copy of his abelan.”
“Why do you need to make a copy?” Ayla asked.
“The same symbol that marked his spears, clothing, and other posessions will mark his grave post,” Jondalar said.
As they walked back toward their dwellings, Ayla thought about the discussion and drew a few conclusions on her own. Though the symbol object, the elandon, itself was concealed, the symbol mark, the abelan, that had been made on it was known not only to the person it symbolized, but to everyone else. It did possess some power, especially for the one to whom it belonged, but not for someone who might want to misuse it. It was too well-known. Real power came from the unknown, the esoteric.
The following morning, Joharran rapped on the post beside the entrance to Marthona’s dwelling. Jondalar pushed the drape aside and was surprised to see his brother.
“Aren’t you going to the meeting this morning?” he asked.
“Yes, of course, but I wanted to talk to you and Ayla, first,” Joharran said.
“Come in, then,” Jondalar said.
Joharran stepped in and let the heavy entrance drape fall back. Marthona and Willamar came out of their sleeping room and greeted him warmly. Ayla was putting leftover food from breakfast into the wooden bowl she had designated as Wolf’s. She looked up and smiled.
“Joharran told me he wanted to talk to us,” Jondalar said, looking at Ayla.
“I won’t take much time, but I’ve been thinking about those spear-throwing weapons of yours. If more of us had been able to cast a spear from the distance you did, Jondalar, we might have been able to stop that bison before it trampled Shevonar. It’s too late to help him, but I want the rest of the hunters to have that safety measure. Would you, both of you, be willing to show everyone how to make one of those, and how to use it?”
Jondalar smiled. “Of course we will. That’s what I was hoping all along. I could hardly wait to show how they work, so everyone could see their advantage.”
All of the residents of Marthona’s dwelling, except Folara, walked with Joharran to the meeting area near the south end of the huge abri. By the time they reached it, a good number of people had already arrived. Messengers had been sent to the Zelandonia of the Caves that took part in the hunt to meet and talk about the burial ceremony. Besides the spiritual leader of the Ninth, the Zelandonia of the Fourteenth Cave, the Eleventh, the Third, the Second, and the Zelandoni of the Seventh were there. Most of those to whom the people looked for leadership also made an appearance, as well as several others who were interested.
“The Spirit of the Bison has claimed one of us in return for her own,” the large donier said. “It is a sacrifice we must make if she demands it.” She looked at the people, who were nodding their heads in acknowledgment. Her commanding presence was never so evident as when she was with other Zelandonia. Then it became apparent that she was First Among Those Who Served The Mother.
As the meeting continued, a couple of the Zelandonia got into a small difference of opinion about a minor point, and the First was allowing the dispute to run its course. Joharran found his mind straying from the talk about Shevonar’s burial to a consideration of where to set up practice targets. After talking to Ayla and Jondalar, Joharran decided to encourage his hunters to make spear-throwers and start practicing even before they left for the Summer Meeting. He wanted them to become skilled in Jondalar’s new weapon as quickly as possible. But not today. He knew there would be no using of weapons this day. This was the day the spirit of Shevonar, his elan, would be guided to the next world.
Zelandoni’s mind was also occupied with other thoughts, though she appeared to be seriously considering the points of view being offered. She had been thinking about Jondalar’s younger brother ever since she was given the stone with the opalescent face from his grave far to the east, but she had been waiting for an appropriate time.
She knew that both Jondalar and Ayla would have to be involved in the process, and making contact with the next world was fearsome enough under any circumstances, especially for those who were not trained to deal with it—it could be dangerous even for those who were. It was safer when there were many people around during the ceremony to aid and support those who would be making the contact directly.
Since he was killed during a hunt that involved most of the nearby Caves, Shevonar’s burial would have to be a major ceremony that would include and invoke the protection of the entire community. This might be a good time to make an attempt to enter more deeply into the spirit world to search for Thonolan’s vital force, Zelandoni thought. She glanced at Ayla and wondered how the foreign woman would react. Ayla continually surprised the donier with her knowledge, her competence, and even her commendable attitude.
The old donier had been flattered when the young woman came to her to ask if there was anything more she could have done for Shevonar, especially considering the skill she had shown. And it was surprisingly appropriate for the young woman to suggest that Jondalar take a stone from his brother’s burial place, considering that she was unfamiliar with their practices, Zelandoni thought. The stone that had presented itself to him was certainly unique. It seemed entirely ordinary, until one turned it over and saw that bluish, opalescent face with the fiery red points.
That opalescent blue is undoubtedly an aspect of clear, she thought, and red is the color of life, the most important of the Mother’s Five Sacred Colors. That little stone is clearly an object of power. Something will have to be done with it after we are through with it.
She was only half listening to the disagreement, when it came to her that the unique stone from Thonolan’s grave was rather like a surrogate stone. With it, the Mother could trace Thonolan’s elan. The best and safest place for it would be in a crack of a sacred cave near the surrogate stones of his family. She knew where almost all of the surrogate stones of the Ninth Cave were, and many of those from other Caves. She even knew the hiding places of some actual elandons besides her own.
There had been a few unusual circumstances that had required her to step in and assume the duties of a parent and take responsibility for the elandons of some children, and she’d had to hide the symbol things for a few people who were incapable, either mentally or physically, of hiding their own. She never spoke of those, and would never for any reason try to take advantage of her knowledge. She was well aware of the dangers, to herself as well as the person the elandon represented.
Ayla’s mind was beginning to wander, too. She wasn’t familiar with Zelandonii burial customs, and she was quite interested, but the present discussion, which seemed rather interminable, was beyond her grasp. She didn’t even know some of the esoteric words they used. Instead she was thinking about some of the things she had learned recently.
It had been explained that people were usually buried in sacred ground, though burial grounds changed after they acquired a certain number of graves. Too many lingering spirits in one place could give them too much power. Those who died at the same time might be kept together, or if they were especially close, but there was not one single burial ground. Instead, burying was done in small areas scattered throughout the landscape.
Whatever place was chosen, the burial area was marked by posts set in the ground around the graves at close intervals and at the head of each grave. The posts were carved or painted with the abelans of the people who were buried there, symbols that proclaimed the danger of entering the area. Spirits of the dead who no longer had a body to inhabit might lurk within the confines staked out, but could not go beyond the palisade. The zelandonia made the exorcistic fence so that the spirits who could not find their way to the spirit world would not be able to cross the boundary and steal the body of someone still walking in this world.
Without powerful protection, those who entered within the fenced area were in grave danger. Spirits began to gather even before a corpse was laid to rest, and they had been known to attempt to gain possession of the body of a living being and wage war with the person’s own spirit for control. It was usually known by the drastic change of the person, who might do things that were out of character, or see things that were not seen by others, or cry out for no apparent reason, or become violent, or seem unable to comprehend the world around them and withdraw into themselves.
After many years, when the poles had fallen down of their own accord and rotted into the earth, and vegetation had grown over the graves and refreshed the gravesite, the sacred ground was no longer considered hallowed, no longer dangerous; the spirits were gone. It was said the Great Earth Mother had claimed Her own and given the place back to Her children.
Ayla, and the others who had been musing, immediately brought their attention back to the discussion when they heard the voice of the First. Since the disputing Zelandonia could not seem to work out their differences, the powerful donier decided it was time to step in. She made a decision that included aspects of all the points of view and explained it in a way that made it seem the only possible way. Then they went on to talk about the safeguards that would be needed for those who would be bringing Shevonar’s body to the sacred burial ground so they would be protected from the lost and wandering souls.
There would be a feast to fortify everyone so that each person’s own spirit had the strength to fight off the lost souls, and of course, everyone looked to Proleva to organize it. In addition, they talked about the food that would be placed in the grave, along with weapons and tools. The grave food would not be eaten, but the spirit of the food would nourish the free-floating spirit to give him strength to find his way. Everything possible was done so the departing soul would have no reason to turn back or linger too long.
Later that morning, Ayla went out with the horses, riding on Whinney with Racer and Wolf following behind. Then she combed them, while checking them over to make sure everything was well with them. She was used to spending every day with the horses, but since they had arrived, she had been with Jondalar’s people most of the time, and she missed the animals. The way they greeted her, with such enthusiastic affection, she thought they probably missed her, and Jondalar, too.
She stopped by Joharran’s home on the way back and asked Proleva if she knew where Jondalar was.
“He went with Joharran, Rushemar, and Solaban to dig a pit for Shevonar,” the woman said. Proleva had much to do, but at the moment was waiting for some others and had a little time. She had been wanting to get to know this woman with so many talents who would soon be joined with her mate’s brother, and asked, “Would you like some chamomile tea?”
Ayla hesitated. “I think I should go back to Marthona’s, but I’d love to have some tea with you another time.”
Wolf, who had enjoyed the outing as much as the horses, had followed Ayla in. Jaradal, spying the animal, came running toward him. The wolf poked his nose at the youngster, wanting to be petted. Jaradal chuckled delightedly and rubbed Wolf’s head.
“I have to tell you, Ayla,” Proleva said, “I was very concerned at first when Jaradal said he had touched your animal. It’s hard to believe that a meat-eating, hunting animal like that can be so gentle with children. When Folara brought him in here and I saw Marsola crawl all over him, I couldn’t believe it. She pulled his fur, poked at his eyes, even grabbed his jaw and looked inside his mouth, and Wolf just lay there like he loved it. I was absolutely amazed. Even Salova was smiling, though when she first saw her baby girl with that wolf, she was terrified.”
“Wolf has a special fondness for children,” Ayla explained. “He grew up playing and sleeping with them in the earthlodge of the Lion Camp. They were his litter-mates, and grown wolves are always protective and indulgent toward the young of their pack. He seems to think all young children belong to his pack.”
As Ayla and Wolf made their way toward Marthona’s dwelling, something about Proleva was nagging at the back of her mind. It was the way she held herself, the way she moved, the way her loose tunic fit. Suddenly it came to her, and she smiled. Proleva was pregnant! She was sure of it.
When Ayla went into Marthona’s dwelling, no one was there. It made her wish she had stayed and had tea with Proleva, though she wondered where Jondalar’s mother was. She wasn’t with Proleva, maybe she went to see Zelandoni, Ayla thought. They seemed close, or at least respected each other. They were always talking or giving each other knowing looks. If she went to look for Marthona there, it would give her a reason to call upon the donier, whom she definitely wanted to know better.
Of course, I really don’t have to find Marthona, and Zelandoni is very busy right now. Perhaps I shouldn’t bother her, Ayla thought, but she had been feeling at loose ends and wanted something meaningful to do. Maybe I could help. At least I could offer.
Ayla went to the dwelling of Zelandoni and tapped lightly on the panel near the entrance drape. The woman must have been standing nearby. She pushed aside the drape within a heartbeat or two.
“Ayla,” she said, looking rather surprised to see the young woman and the wolf. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“I was looking for Marthona. She isn’t at home and she wasn’t with Proleva. I wondered if she might have come here,” Ayla said.
“No, she’s not here.”
“Well, I’m sorry to have bothered you. I know how busy you are. I shouldn’t have taken up your time,” Ayla said.
“It’s perfectly all right,” the donier said, then she noted that the young woman seemed tense, but eager, and somehow hopeful. “Did you want Marthona for anything special?”
“No, I was just looking for her. I thought she might need help with something.”
“If you are looking for something to do, perhaps you can help me,” Zelandoni said, holding the drape open while she stepped back. Ayla’s big, pleased smile made the older woman realize that was the real reason she had come.
“Is it all right for Wolf to come in?” Ayla said. “He won’t disturb anything.”
“I know he won’t. I told you we understood each other,” the donier said, holding back the drape to allow the animal in after Ayla. “The red ochre you collected for me needs to be ground into powder. There’s the mortar,” Zelandoni said, showing her a red-stained stone with a saucerlike depression formed by years of use, “and here’s the rock for grinding. Jonokol will be here soon and will need it to assist me in making a post with Shevonar’s abelan. He is my acolyte.”
“I met a man named Jonokol at the welcoming feast, but he said he was an artist,” Ayla said.
“Jonokol is an artist. He is also my acolyte. I think he is more artist than acolyte, though. He has no interest in healing, or even finding his way to the spirit world. He seems content to remain an acolyte, but he is young yet. Time will tell. He may yet feel the call. In the meantime, he is a fine artist, and he makes an excellent assistant,” Zelandoni said, then added, “Most artists are also zelandonia. Jonokol has been since he was very young, when he first showed talent.”
Ayla was glad to grind the red iron oxide into powder, it was a way to be of help without special training, but the repetitious physical activity left her mind free to think. She wondered about the zelandonia, and why artists, like Jonokol, would be brought into the group when they were so young; they couldn’t possibly know anything about what it was or meant. Why would artists need to be part of the zelandonia?
While she was working, Jonokol came in. He looked at Ayla, and then the wolf with some surprise. Wolf lifted his head up, then glanced at Ayla, tensing to rise if she signaled. She motioned a sign that meant the man was welcome. The wolf relaxed, but continued to be watchful.
“Ayla came over to help, Jonokol,” Zelandoni said. “I understand you have met.”
“Yes, the first night she was here. Greetings, Ayla,” Jonokol said.
Ayla finished grinding the red lumps into fine powder and gave the mortar, grinding stone, and the red powder to Zelandoni, hoping the woman would give her something else to do, but it soon became evident that they were both waiting for her to go. “Is there anything else you would like me to do?” she finally asked.
“Not right now,” the donier said.
Ayla nodded, then signaled to Wolf and left. Marthona was still gone when she returned to the dwelling, and with Jondalar away, she didn’t know what to do. I should have stayed and had tea with Proleva, she thought. Then she decided, Why not go back? Ayla wanted to get to know the accomplished and admired woman. After all, they were going to be related; she was the mate of Jondalar’s brother. Maybe I could even bring a nice tea, Ayla thought, something with dried linden flowers to add a nice fragrance and a little sweetening. I wish I knew if a linden tree grew nearby.
