38

“You should be pleased. She’s a perfect little girl,” Marthona said, giving the tiny bundle to her mother.

Ayla looked at the tiny likeness of herself. “She’s so beautiful!” She unwrapped the swaddling of soft skins and carefully examined her new daughter, half-fearful in spite of the reassuring words that she would find some deformity. “She is perfect. Did you ever see such a beautiful baby, Marthona?”

The woman just smiled. Of course she had. Her own babies, but this one, the daughter of her son’s hearth, was no less beautiful than her own had been.

“The delivery wasn’t very hard at all, Zelandoni,” Ayla said when the donier came and looked at them both. “You helped a lot, but it wasn’t really so hard. I’m so glad she’s a girl. Look, she’s trying to find my breast.” Ayla helped her, with the ease of experience, Zelandoni thought. “Can Jondalar come and see her? I think she looks a lot like him, don’t you, Marthona?”

“He can come soon,” Zelandoni said as she examined Ayla and wrapped some fresh absorbent leather between her legs. “There was no tearing, Ayla, no damage. Only the bleeding to cleanse. It was a good delivery. Do you have a name for her?”

“Yes, I’ve been thinking about it ever since you told me I would have to choose the name for my baby,” Ayla said.

“Good. Tell me the name. I will make a symbol for it on this stone, and exchange it for this,” she said, picking up the birthing blanket wrapped into a bundle around the afterbirth. “Then I will take this out and bury it, before the spirit life still remaining in the afterbirth tries to seek a home close to the life it once held. I must do it quickly, then I will tell Jondalar to come in.”

“I’ve decided to call her …” Ayla began.

“No! Don’t say it out loud, just whisper it to me,” Zelandoni said.

As the donier bent close, Ayla whispered in her ear. Then she left quickly. Marthona, Folara, and Proleva sat beside the new mother, admiring the baby and talking quietly. Ayla was feeling tired, but happy and relaxed, not at all as she had after Durc was born. Then she had been exhausted and in pain. She dozed off a little and was awakened when Zelandoni returned and gave her the small stone that now held enigmatic marks in red and black paint.

“Put this in a safe place, perhaps in the niche behind your donii,” Zelandoni said.

Ayla nodded, then saw another head appear. “Jondalar!” she said. He knelt down beside the sleeping platform to get closer.

“How are you, Ayla?”

“I’m fine. It was not a bad delivery, Jondalar. Much easier than I thought it would be. And see the baby?” she said as she unwrapped the blanket so he could see. “She’s perfect!”

“You got the girl you wanted,” he said, looking at the tiny newborn and feeling a little awed. “She’s so little. And look, she even has tiny fingernails.” The thought of a woman giving birth to a complete new human being suddenly overwhelmed him. “What have you named your daughter, Ayla?”

She looked at Zelandoni. “Can I tell him?”

“Yes, it’s safe now,” she said.

“I’ve named our daughter Jonayla, after both you and me, Jondalar, because she came from both of us. She is your daughter, too.”

“Jonayla. I like that name. Jonayla,” he said.

Marthona liked the name, too. She and Proleva smiled indulgently at Ayla. It was not uncommon for new mothers to try to reassure their mates that their children came from their spirits. Although Ayla had not said “spirit,” they were sure they understood what she meant. Zelandoni wasn’t as sure. Ayla tended to say exactly what she meant. Jondalar had no doubt. He knew exactly what she meant.

It would be nice if it was true, he thought as he looked at the tiny little girl. Exposed to the cool air without her covers, she was beginning to wake up.

“She is beautiful. She’s going to look just like you, Ayla. I can see it already,” he said.

“She looks like you, too, Jondalar. Would you like to hold her?”

“I don’t know,” he said, backing off a bit. “She’s so small.”

“Not too small for you to hold, Jondalar,” Zelandoni said. “Here, I’ll help you. Sit down comfortably.” She quickly wrapped the baby back up in her blanket, picked her up, and placed her in Jondalar’s arms, showing him how to hold her.

The infant had her eyes open and seemed to be looking at him. Are you my daughter? he wondered. You are so tiny, you will need someone to watch over you, and help take care of you until you grow up. He held her a little closer, feeling protective. Then, to his surprise, he felt a sudden and completely unexpected flush of warmth and a protective love for the infant. Jonayla, he thought. My daughter, Jonayla.

The next day Zelandoni stopped to see Ayla. She had been waiting and watching for a time when she was alone. Ayla was sitting on a cushion on the floor, nursing her baby, and Zelandoni lowered herself to a cushion on the floor beside her.

“Why don’t you use the stool, Zelandoni,” Ayla said.

“This is fine, Ayla. It isn’t that I can’t sit on the floor, it’s just that there are times when I prefer not to. How is Jonayla?”

“She’s fine. She’s a good baby. She woke me up last night, but she sleeps most of the time,” Ayla said.

“I wanted to tell you that she will be named as a Zelandonii to Jondalar’s hearth on the day after next, and her name given to the Cave,” the woman said.

“Good,” Ayla said. “I’ll be glad when she’s Zelandonii, and named to Jondalar’s hearth. It will make everything complete.”

“Have you heard about Relona? The mate of Shevonar, the man who was trampled on by the bison shortly after you arrived?” Zelandoni asked, sounding as though she were making friendly conversation.

“No, what about her?”

“She and Ranokol, Shevonar’s brother, are going to mate next summer. He started out by helping her to compensate for the loss of her mate, and then they grew to care for each other. I think it may be a good pairing,” the older woman said.

“I’m glad to hear that. He was so upset when Shevonar died. It was almost as though he blamed himself. I think he thought he should have died instead,” Ayla said. There was a silence then, but she felt a sense of expectancy. She wondered if the First had come for a reason that she hadn’t yet said.

“There is something else I want to talk to you about,” Zelandoni said. “I’d like to know more about your son. I understand why you never mentioned him, especially after all that trouble about Echozar, but if you wouldn’t mind talking about him, there are some things I would like to know.”

“I don’t mind talking about him. Sometimes I ache to talk about him,” Ayla said.

She talked at length to the donier about the son she had when she lived with the Clan, the one of mixed spirits, about her morning sickness that lasted all day and almost for her entire pregnancy, and about her bone-wrenching delivery. She had already forgotten whatever discomfort she had felt giving birth to Jonayla, but she still remembered the pain of giving birth to Durc. She told her about his deformity in the eyes of the Clan, her flight to her small cave to save his life, and her return though she thought she would still lose him. She spoke of her joy at his acceptance, and the name Creb picked out for him, Durc, and the legend of Durc, where his name came from. She talked about their life together, his laughter and her delight that he could make sounds the way she could, and the language they started to make up together, and she talked about leaving him behind with the Clan when she was forced to go. Toward the end of her story, she was finding it difficult to talk for the tears.

“Zelandoni,” Ayla said, looking at the large, motherly woman, “I had an idea when I was hiding in the small cave with him, and the more I have thought about it since, the more I believe it is true. It’s about the way life begins. I don’t think it is the blending of spirits that starts new life. I think life begins when a man and a woman couple. I think men start life to grow inside women.”

It was a startling idea coming from the young woman, especially since no one had ever said anything like it to Zelandoni before, but it wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar idea, though the only person she knew of who had ever thought of such a thing was herself.

“I have thought about it for a long time since then, and I am now even more convinced that life begins when a man puts his member inside a woman, into the place that a baby comes from, and leaves his essence. I think that is what starts a new life, not the mixing of spirits,” Ayla said.

“You mean when they share the Gift of Pleasure from the Great Earth Mother,” Zelandoni said.

“Yes,” Ayla said.

“Let me ask you some questions. A man and a woman share Doni’s Gift many times. There are not that many children born. If a life was started every time they shared Pleasures, there would be many, many more children,” Zelandoni said.

“I have thought of that. It’s clear that a life doesn’t start every time they share Pleasures, so there must be something else besides Pleasures. Maybe they must share Pleasures many times, or maybe at special times, or maybe the Great Mother decides when life will start and when it won’t. But it isn’t their spirits that She blends, it’s the man’s essence, and maybe a special essence of the woman, too. I’m certain Jonayla was started right after Jondalar and I got down from the glacier, that first morning when we woke up and shared Pleasures.”

“You say you thought about it for a long time. What made you think of it in the first place?” Zelandoni asked.

“I first thought about it when I was in my small cave hiding with Durc,” Ayla said.

“They told me I had to take him outside and leave him because he was deformed,” tears threatened as Ayla said it, “but I looked at him carefully and he wasn’t deformed. He didn’t look like them and he didn’t look like me. He looked like the Clan and like me. His head was long and big in the back, and he had big browridges like theirs, but he had a high forehead like mine in front. He looked something like Echozar, except I think his body will be more like ours when he grows up. He was never as thick or as stocky as Clan boys, and his legs were long and straight, not bowed like Echozar’s. He was a mixture, but he was strong and healthy.”

“Echozar is mixed, but his mother was Clan. When would she have shared Pleasures with a man like us? Why would a man like us want to share Pleasures with a flathead woman?” Zelandoni asked.

“Echozar told me his mother had been cursed with death because her mate had been killed when he tried to protect her from a man of the Others. When they found out she was pregnant, they let her stay, until Echozar was born,” Ayla said. Jonayla had let go of the nipple and was fussing a bit. Ayla put her over her shoulder and patted her back.

“You mean a man like us forced his mother? I suppose such things happen, but I can’t understand them,” Zelandoni said.

“It happened to one of the women I met at the Clan Gathering. She had a daughter who was mixed. She said she was forced by some men of the Others, men who looked like me, she said. Her own daughter was killed when one of the men grabbed her and her daughter fell from her arms. When she found that she was pregnant again, she wished for another girl, which made her mate angry. Clan women are only supposed to wish for boys, but many women secretly wish for girls anyway. When the girl was born deformed, he made her keep the girl to teach her a lesson.”

“What a sad story, to be so badly treated by her mate after being attacked and suffering such a loss,” the donier said.

“She asked me to talk to Brun, the leader of my clan, to arrange a mating between her daughter, Ura, and my Durc. She was afraid her daughter would never find a mate otherwise. I thought it was a good idea. Durc was deformed in the eyes of the Clan, too, and would have just as much trouble finding a mate. Brun agreed. Now Ura is promised to Durc. After the next Clan Gathering, she is supposed to move to Brun’s clan … no, it’s Broud’s clan now. She must be there by now. I don’t think Broud will be very kind to her.” Ayla paused, thinking about Ura having to move to a strange clan. “It will be hard for her to leave her clan, and her mother who loves her, and move to a clan where she might not be very welcome. I hope Durc turns out to be the kind of man who will help her.” Ayla shook her head, then the baby let out a little burp, and she smiled. She left her propped up on her shoulder for a while longer, still patting her back.

“Jondalar and I heard several other stories on our Journey about young men of the Others forcing women of the Clan. I think it’s something they like to dare each other to do, but the people of the Clan don’t like it.”

“I suspect you’re right, Ayla, much as the thought distresses me. Some young men seem to enjoy doing whatever they are not supposed to. But to force a woman, even a Clan woman, that bothers me even more,” the One Who Was First said.

“I’m not sure all the mixed children are the result of some man of the Others forcing a woman of the Clan, or the other way around. Rydag was mixed,” Ayla said.

“That’s the child who was taken in by the mate of the leader of the Mamutoi people you lived with, isn’t it?” Zelandoni asked.

“Yes. His mother was Clan, and like them, he couldn’t really speak, except for a few sounds that no one could understand very well. He was a weak child. That’s why he died. Nezzie said Rydag’s mother was alone, and followed them. That’s not like women of the Clan. She must have been cursed for some reason, or she would not have been alone, especially not so far along in her pregnancy. And she must have known someone of the Others, someone who treated her kindly, or she would have hid from the Mamutoi, not followed them. Perhaps it was the man who started Rydag.”

“Perhaps,” was all Zelandoni said. But thinking about those who were mixed, she wondered if Ayla knew any more about Echozar. She was more interested in him, since he had been accepted by Dalanar’s people and allowed to mate Jerika’s daughter. “What about Echozar’s mother? You said she was cursed? I’m not sure what that means.”

“She was shunned, ostracized. She was considered a ‘bad luck’ woman, because her mate was killed when she was attacked, and especially after she gave birth to a ‘deformed’ child. The Clan doesn’t like mixed children, either. A man named Andovan found her alone, ready to die with her baby after she was turned out of her clan. Echozar said he was an older man, living alone for some reason, but he took her and her baby in. I think he was S’Armunai, but he was living on the edge of Zelandonii territory, and he knew how to speak Zelandonii. I think he may have escaped from Attaroa. He raised Echozar, taught him to speak Zelandonii and some S’Armunai. His mother taught him the Clan signs. Andovan had to learn them, too, because she couldn’t speak his language. But Echozar could. He was like Durc.”

She paused again, her eyes getting misty. “Durc could have learned to talk, if he’d had somebody to teach him. He talked a little before I left, and he could laugh. How could they think Durc would look like the Clan if he was my baby? Born to me? But he didn’t look like me, either, not like Jonayla does, and he wouldn’t, if it was Broud that started him.”

“Who is this Broud?”

“He was Ebra’s son, she was Brun’s mate. Brun was the leader of the clan. He was a good leader. Broud was the one who made me leave the clan when he became leader. I grew up with him hating me. He always hated me,” Ayla said.

“But you say he was the one who started the child you had? And you think that comes from sharing Pleasures. Why did he want to share Pleasures with you if he hated you?” Zelandoni asked.

“There was no sharing of Pleasures with him. No Pleasure in it for me. Broud forced me. I don’t know why he did it the first time, but it was horrible. He hurt me. I hated it and I hated him for doing it. He knew I hated it, that’s why he did it. Maybe he knew in the beginning that I would hate it, but I know that’s why he kept doing it.”

“And your clan allowed it!” Zelandoni said.

“Women of the Clan must couple whenever a man wishes, whenever he gives her the signal. That’s what they are taught.”

“I can’t understand that,” the donier said. “Why would a man even want a woman if she didn’t want him?”

“I don’t think Clan women minded too much. They even had little ways to encourage a man to give them the signal. Iza told me about them, but I never wanted to use them. Certainly not with Broud. I hated it so much, I couldn’t eat, I didn’t want to get up in the morning, I didn’t want to leave Creb’s hearth. But when I found out I was going to have a baby, I was so happy, I didn’t even care about Broud anymore. I just put up with him, and ignored him. He stopped after that. It wasn’t fun for him if I didn’t resist, if he couldn’t force me against my will.”

“You said you could only count eleven years when your child was born? You were very young, Ayla. Most girls are not even women yet, at that age. A few may become women that young, but not most.”

“I was old for the Clan, though. Some girls of the Clan become women at seven years, and by the time they can count ten years, most girls have become women. Some of Brun’s clan thought I would never become a woman. They thought I would never have children, because my totem was too strong for a woman,” Ayla said.

“But obviously you did.”

Ayla paused, thinking. “Only women can give birth. But if women get pregnant by a mixing of spirits, why did Doni create men? Just for company, just for Pleasures? I think there has to be some other reason. Women can be company for each other, they can support each other, take care of each other, they can even give each other Pleasures.

“Attaroa of the S’Armunai hated men. She kept them locked up. She would not allow them to share the Gift of Pleasure with women. The women shared their homes with other women. Attaroa thought if she did away with men, the spirits of women would be forced to blend and they would have only girls, but it wasn’t working. Some of the women shared Pleasures, but they could not couple, they could not mix their essences. Very few children were born.”

“But some children were born?” Zelandoni asked.

“Some, but they weren’t all girls—Attaroa crippled two of the boys. Most of the women did not feel the way Attaroa did. Some of them sneaked in to visit their men, some of the women Attaroa used to guard the men helped them. The women with children were the ones who had a man to share their fires the first night the men were free. They were the ones who were mated, or wanted to be. I think the only reason they had children was because they visited a man. It wasn’t that they shared a hearth and were together long enough for a man to show he was worthy so his spirit would be chosen. They saw their men seldom, and only for a little while, barely long enough to couple. It was dangerous, Attaroa would have had them killed if she found out. I think it was the coupling that made the women pregnant.”

Zelandoni nodded. “Your reasoning is interesting, Ayla. We are taught that it is a mixing of spirits, and that seems to answer most questions about how life begins. But most people don’t question it, they just accept it. Your childhood was different, you are more ready to question, but I would be careful about whom you discuss this idea with. There are some who would be quite upset. I have wondered sometimes why Doni made men. It is true that women could take care of themselves and each other if they had to. I have even wondered why she made male animals. Mother animals often take care of their young alone, and the males and females don’t spend much time together, only at certain times of the year when they share Pleasures.”

Ayla felt encouraged to press her point. “When I lived with the Mamutoi, there was a man of the Lion Camp. His name was Ranec and he lived with Wymez, the flint-knapper.”

“The one Jondalar talks about?”

“Yes. Wymez went on a very long Journey when he was a young man, he could count ten more years before he returned. Wymez traveled south of the Great Sea, around the eastern end of it, and then west again. He mated a woman he met there, and was trying to bring her and her son back to the Mamutoi, but she died on the way. He brought only the son of his mate with him when he returned. He told me his mate had skin almost as black as night, all of her people did. She had Ranec after they were mated and Wymez said he looked different from all the other children because he was so light, but he looked very dark to me. His skin was brown, he was nearly as dark as Racer, and his hair was tight black curls,” Ayla said.

“You think that this man was brown because his mother was almost black, and her mate was light? That could be caused by a mixing of spirits, too,” Zelandoni said.

“It could,” Ayla admitted. “It’s what the Mamutoi believed, but if everyone else there was black except Wymez, wouldn’t there be many more black spirits for his mother’s spirit to mix with? They were mated, they must have shared Pleasures.” She looked at her baby, then at Zelandoni again. “It would have been interesting to see what our children would have looked like if I had joined with Ranec.”

“That’s who you were going to mate?”

Ayla smiled. “He had laughing eyes, and smiling white teeth. He was clever and funny, he made me laugh, and he was the best carver I have ever seen. He made a special donii for me, and a carving of Whinney. He loved me. He said he wanted to join with me more than anything he ever wanted in his life. He looked like no one I have ever seen, before or since. He was so different, even his features were different. I was fascinated by him. If I hadn’t already loved Jondalar, I could have loved Ranec.”

“If he was all that, I don’t blame you,” Zelandoni said, smiling back. “It’s interesting, there are rumors about some dark-skinned people living with a Cave to the south, beyond the mountains on the shore of the Great Sea. A young man and his mother, it was said. I never really believed it, you never know how much truth there is in such stories, and it seemed so incredible. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“Ranec did resemble Wymez, in spite of the difference in skin color and features. They were the same size, had the same-shaped body, and they walked exactly alike,” Ayla said.

“You don’t have to go that far afield to find resemblances,” Zelandoni said. “Many children bear a similarity to the mate of the mother, but there are some who look like other men of the Cave, some who hardly know the mother at all.”

“It could have happened during a festival or ceremony to honor the Mother. Don’t many women share Pleasures with men who are not their mates then?” Ayla asked.

Zelandoni was quiet, thinking. “Ayla, this idea of yours will require deep thought, and consideration. I don’t know if you understand the implications. If it is true, it would cause changes that neither you nor I can even imagine. Such a revelation could only come from the zelandonia, Ayla. No one would accept such an idea unless they believed it came from one who speaks for the Great Earth Mother Herself. Who have you talked to about this?”

“Only Jondalar, and now you,” Ayla said.

“I suggest that you say nothing to anyone else just yet. I will talk to Jondalar and impress upon him the necessity of speaking to no one, either.” They both sat quietly, immersed in their own thoughts.

“Zelandoni,” Ayla said, “do you ever wonder what it would feel like to be a man?”

“That’s a strange thing to wonder about.”

“I was thinking about something Jondalar said. It was when I wanted to go hunting, and he didn’t want me to go. I know that part of the reason was that he was planning to come back here and build our home, but there was more to it than that. He said something about wanting a purpose. ‘What’s a man’s purpose if women have children and provide for them, too?’ That’s how he said it. I never thought about a purpose for living before. What would it feel like to think my life had no meaning?”

“You can carry that a step further, Ayla. You know part of your purpose is to bring forth the next generation, but what is the purpose of having another generation? What is the purpose of life?”

“I don’t know. What is the purpose of life?” Ayla asked.

Zelandoni laughed. “If I could answer that, I’d be equal to the Great Mother Herself, Ayla. Only She can answer that question. There are many who claim our purpose is to honor Her. Perhaps our purpose is just to live, and to care for the next generation so that they may live. That may be the best way to honor Her. The Mother’s Song says She made us because She was lonely, that She wanted to be remembered, and acknowledged. But there are those who say there is no purpose. I doubt if that question can be answered in this world, Ayla. I’m not sure if it can be answered in the next.”

“But at least women know they are necessary for there to be a next generation. How must it feel not to have even that much purpose?” Ayla said. “How would it feel to think life would go on just the same whether you were here or not, whether your kind, your gender, was here or not?”

“Ayla, I have never had any children. Should I feel my life has no purpose?” Zelandoni asked.

“It’s not the same. Perhaps you could have had children, and if you could not, you are still a woman. You still belong to the gender that brings forth life,” Ayla said.

“But we are all human. Including men. We’re all just people. Both men and women continue on to the next generation. Women have boys as often as they have girls,” the donier said.

“That’s just it. Women have boys as often as girls. What do the men have to do with it? If you felt that you and all of your kind had no part in creating that next generation, would you feel as human? Or would you feel less important? Something added on at the last moment, something unnecessary?” Ayla was leaning forward, strongly making her points, passionate in her feelings about them.

Zelandoni pondered the question, then looked at the serious face of the young woman with the sleeping baby in her arms. “You belong to the zelandonia, Ayla. You argue as well as any of them,” she said.

Ayla pulled back. “I don’t want to be a Zelandoni,” she said.

The heavy woman eyed her with speculation. “Why not?”

“I just want to be a mother, and Jondalar’s mate,” Ayla said.

“Don’t you want to be a healer anymore? You are as skilled as anyone, including me,” the donier said.

Ayla frowned. “Well, yes, I want to keep on being a healer, too.”

“You said you assisted your Mamut a few times in some of his other duties, didn’t you find it interesting?” said the One Who Was First.

“It was interesting,” Ayla conceded, “especially learning things I didn’t know, but it was frightening, too.”

“How much more frightening would it have been if you had been alone and unprepared? Ayla, you are a daughter of the Mammoth Hearth. Mamut had a reason for adopting you. I can see it, I think you can, too. Look inside yourself. Have you ever been frightened by something strange and unfamiliar when you were alone?”

Ayla refused to look at Zelandoni, looking away, and then down, but she nodded just slightly.

“You know there is something different about you, something few people have, don’t you? You try to ignore it, put it out of your mind, but it’s difficult sometimes, isn’t it?”

Ayla glanced up. Zelandoni was staring at her, forcing her to look back, holding her eyes the way she had done the first time they met. Ayla struggled to look away, but couldn’t quite do it. “Yes,” she said softly. “It is difficult sometimes.” Zelandoni released her hold, and Ayla looked down again.

“No one becomes Zelandoni unless they feel the call, Ayla,” the woman said gently. “But what if you should feel the call and not be prepared? Don’t you think it would be better to have some training, just in case? The possibility is there, no matter how much you may want to deny it to yourself.”

“But doesn’t the preparation in itself make it more likely?” Ayla asked.

“Yes. It does. But it can be interesting. I’ll be honest with you. I want an acolyte. I don’t have too many years left. I want the one who follows me to be trained by me. This is my Cave. I want the best for it. I am First Among Those Who Serve The Great Earth Mother. I don’t say this often, but I am not First without reason. If a person is gifted, no one could train her better than I can. You are gifted, Ayla. You are, perhaps, more gifted than I am. You could be First,” Zelandoni said.

“What about Jonokol?” Ayla asked.

“You should know the answer to that. Jonokol is an excellent artist. He was happy to remain an acolyte. He never wanted to become a Zelandoni, until you showed him that cave. You know he’ll be gone by next summer. He will move to the Nineteenth Cave as soon as he can get the Zelandoni of the Nineteenth to accept him, and find an excuse to leave me. He wants that Cave, Ayla, and I think he should have it. He will not only make it beautiful, in that cave, he will bring to life the world of the spirits,” Zelandoni said.

“Look at this, Ayla!” Jondalar said, holding a flint point. He was full of excitement. “I heated the flint the way Wymez does, very hot. I knew I had it right when it cooled because it felt shiny and slick, almost as if it had been oiled. Then I retouched it bifacially, using the pressure techniques he developed. It still isn’t up to his quality, but I think with practice, I may get close. I can see all kinds of possibilities. I can remove those long thin flakes, now. That means I can make points almost as thin as I want, and get a long straight edge for a knife or a spear, without the curve that you always get when you start with a blade detached from a core. I can even straighten those blades more easily with careful retouching on the inner side of both ends of a curved blade. I can make any kind of notch I want. I can make shouldered points with a tang for hafting. You can’t believe the control it gives me. I can do anything I want. It’s almost like bending the stone to your will. That Wymez is a genius!”

Ayla smiled at him going on and on. “Wymez may be a genius, Jondalar, but you are just as good,” she said.

“I only wish I were. Remember, he developed the process. I’m only trying to copy it. It’s too bad he lives so far away. But I am grateful for the time I had with him. I wish Dalanar were here. He said he was going to experiment this winter, too, and I’d really like to discuss it with him.”

Jondalar examined the blade again, looking it over critically. Then he looked up and smiled at her. “I almost forgot to tell you. I am definitely going to be taking on Matagan as an apprentice for more than this winter. Since he came to visit, I’ve been able to judge, and I think he does have talent and ability with the stone. I had a long talk with his mother and her mate, and Joharran is agreeable.”

“I like Matagan,” Ayla said. “I’m glad you will be teaching him your craft. You have so much patience, and you are the best flint-knapper of the Ninth Cave, probably of all the Zelandoni.”

Jondalar smiled at her words. One’s mate always made favorable comparisons, he said to himself, but at a deeper level, he thought it might be true. “Would it be all right if he stays with us all the time?”

“I think I would like that. We have so much room in the main room, we can take part of it to make him a sleeping room,” she said. “I hope the baby doesn’t disturb him. Jonayla still wakes up at night.”

“Young men tend to be sound sleepers. I don’t think he even hears her.”

“I have been meaning to talk to you about something Zelandoni said,” Ayla said.

Jondalar thought she looked a bit troubled. It was probably his imagination.

“Zelandoni asked me to be her acolyte. She wants to train me,” Ayla blurted out.

Jondalar’s head snapped up. “I didn’t know you were interested in becoming a Zelandoni, Ayla.”

“I didn’t think I was, and I still don’t know if I am. She has said before that she thought I belonged in the zelandonia, but the first time she asked me to be her acolyte was right after Jonayla was born. She says she really needs someone, and I already know something about healing. Just because I’m an acolyte doesn’t mean I will necessarily become a Zelandoni. Jonokol has been an acolyte for a long time,” Ayla said, looking down at the vegetables she was cutting.

Jondalar walked over to her and lifted her chin to look directly at her. Her eyes did look troubled. “Ayla, everyone knows the only reason Jonokol is Zelandoni’s acolyte is because he’s such a good artist, he captures the spirit of animals with great skill, and Zelandoni needs him for the ceremonies. He will never be a donier.”

“He might. Zelandoni says he wants to move to the Nineteenth Cave,” Ayla said.

“It’s that new cave you found, isn’t it?” Jondalar said. “Well, he’d be the right person for it. But if you become an acolyte, you would become a Zelandoni, wouldn’t you?”

Ayla still could not refuse to answer a direct question or tell a lie. “Yes, Jondalar,” she said. “I think someday I would be Zelandoni, if I join the zelandonia, but not right away.”

“Is it what you want to do? Or has Zelandoni talked you into it because you are a healer?” Jondalar wanted to know.

“She says I already am Zelandoni, in a way. Maybe she’s right, I don’t know. She says I should be trained for my own protection. It could be very dangerous for me if I feel a call and I’m not prepared for it,” Ayla said. She had never told him about the strange things that happened to her, and it felt like a lie, not telling him. Even in the Clan one could refrain from mentioning. It bothered her, but she still didn’t tell him.

It was Jondalar’s turn to look troubled. “There isn’t much I can say about it, one way or another. It’s your choice. It probably is best to be prepared. You don’t know how you scared me when you and Mamut made that strange Journey. I thought you were dead, and I begged the Great Mother to bring you back. I don’t think I ever begged for anything so hard in my life, Ayla. I hope you never do anything like that again.”

“I thought it was you, not at first, but later. Mamut said someone called us back, called with such force, it could not be denied. I thought I saw you there when I came back to myself, but then I didn’t see you,” Ayla said.

“You were promised to Ranec. I didn’t want to be in the way,” Jondalar said, vividly recalling that terrible night.

“But you loved me. If you hadn’t loved me so much, my spirit might still be lost in that empty void. Mamut said he would never go there again like that, and he told me that if I ever take that Journey again, I should make sure I have strong protection, or I might not return.” Suddenly she reached for him. “Why me, Jondalar?” she cried. “Why do I have to be a Zelandoni?”

Jondalar held her. Yes, he thought, Why her? He recalled the donier talking about the responsibilities and the dangers. Now he understood why she had been so open. She had been trying to prepare them. She must have known all along, from the first day they arrived, just like Mamut seemed to know. That’s why he adopted her to his hearth. Can I be the mate of a Zelandoni? He thought about his mother and Dalanar. She said he had not been able to stay with her because she was the leader. The demands on a Zelandoni are even greater.

Everyone said he was just like Dalanar, there was no doubt he was the son of Dalanar’s spirit. But Ayla says it was not just spirits. She says Jonayla is my daughter. If she is right, then I must be Dalanar’s son! The thought stunned him. Could he be as much Dalanar’s son as he was Marthona’s? If he was, would he be so much like him that he would not be able to live with a woman whose duties were so important? It was a very disturbing idea.

He felt Ayla shaking in his arms and looked at her. “What’s wrong, Ayla?”

“I’m afraid, Jondalar. That’s why I don’t want to do it. I’m afraid to be Zelandoni,” she sobbed. She quieted down and pulled away. “The reason I’m so afraid, Jondalar, is that things have happened to me that I never told you.”

“What kind of things?” he asked, his forehead wrinkled in a frown.

“I never told you because I didn’t know how to explain. I’m still not sure that I can, but I’ll try. When I lived with Brun’s clan, you know I went with them to a Clan Gathering. Iza was too sick to go—she died soon after we returned,” Ayla’s eyes started to fill at the memory. “Iza was the medicine woman, it was she that was supposed to prepare the special drink for the mog-urs. No one else knew how. Uba was too young, not a woman yet, and it had to be prepared by a woman. Iza explained it to me before we left. I didn’t think the mog-urs would allow me to make it—they said I wasn’t Clan—but then Creb came and told me to prepare myself. It was the same drink I made for Mamut and me when we took our strange Journey.

“But I didn’t know how to do it right, and I ended up drinking some of it, too. I didn’t even know where I was going when I followed the mog-urs back into the cave. The drink was so powerful, I may have already been in the Spirit World. When I saw the mog-urs I hid and watched, but Creb knew I was there. I told you Creb was a powerful magician. He was like Zelandoni, First, The Mog-ur. He was directing everything, and somehow my mind joined with theirs. I went back with them, back to the beginnings. I can’t explain it, but I was there. As we came back to the present, we came to this place. Creb blocked out the others, they didn’t know I was with them, but then he left them and followed me. I know it was this place, I recognized the Falling Stone. The Clan lived here for generations, I can’t tell you how long.”

In spite of himself, Jondalar was fascinated.

“Long ago we started from the same people,” Ayla continued,“ but then we changed. The Clan was left behind when we went ahead. As powerful as he was, Creb couldn’t follow me, but he saw something, or felt something. Then he told me to leave, get out of the cave. It was like I heard him inside me, inside my head, as though he were talking to me. The other mog-urs never knew I was there, and he never told them. They would have killed me. Women were not allowed to participate in those ceremonies.

“Creb changed after that. He was never the same again. He began to lose his power, I think he didn’t like directing the minds anymore. I don’t know how, but somehow I hurt him, I wish I had never done it, but he did something to me, too. I’ve been different since then, my dreams feel different, and sometimes I feel strange, as though I go away someplace else, and—I don’t know how to say it, but it’s like I know what people are thinking sometimes. No, that’s not quite it, either, it’s more like I know what they are feeling, but that’s not exactly right, either. What they are, I don’t know the right words, Jondalar. I block it out most of the time anyway, but sometimes things get through, especially when there are very strong emotions, like Brukeval’s.”

Jondalar was looking at her strangely. “Do you know what I am thinking, what thoughts are in my head?”

“No, I never know thoughts, exactly. But I know that you love me.” She watched his expression change. “It bothers you, doesn’t it? Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything,” she mumbled, feeling Jondalar’s emotions like a weight. She was always particularly perceptive to Jondalar. She put her head down, her shoulders slumped.

He could see her dejection, and suddenly his uneasy feeling evaporated. He took both her shoulders and made her look up, then looked into her eyes. They had that incredibly ancient look he had seen occasionally before, and a sadness, a deep, ineffable melancholy.

“I have nothing to hide from you, Ayla. I don’t care if you know what I’m thinking or feeling. I love you. I’ll never stop loving you.”

Tears spilled out of her eyes, as much from relief as from love. She reached up to kiss him as he bent his head toward her. He held her tightly, wanting to protect her from anything that might cause her pain. And she held him. As long as she had Jondalar, nothing else really mattered, did it? Just then Jonayla started to cry.

“I just want to be a mother, and be mated to you, Jondalar, I don’t really want to be a Zelandoni,” Ayla said as she went to pick her up.

She is really scared, he thought, but who wouldn’t be? I don’t even like getting near a burial ground, much less think about visiting the world of the spirits. He watched her come back to him with the baby in her arms, tears still in her eyes, and felt a sudden surge of love and protectiveness for the woman and the baby. So what if she became Zelandoni? She would still be Ayla to him, and she would still need him.

“It will be all right, Ayla,” he said, taking the baby from her and cradling her in his arms. He had never been happier than he had been since they were mated, and especially since Jonayla was born. He looked down at the infant and smiled. I believe she is my daughter, too, he thought.

“It’s up to you, Ayla,” he said. “You are right, even if you join the zelandonia, it doesn’t mean you will have to be a Zelandoni, but if you do, that will be all right, too. I always knew I was mating someone special. Not only a beautiful woman, but one with a rare Gift. You were chosen by the Mother, that’s an honor, and she showed it by honoring you at our mating. And now you have a beautiful daughter. No, we have a beautiful daughter. You said she’s my daughter, too, right?” he said, trying to calm her fears.

Her tears spilled again, but she smiled through them. “Yes. Jonayla is your daughter and my daughter,” she said, then broke out in new sobs. He reached out for her with his other arm and held them both. “If you ever stopped loving me, Jondalar, I don’t know what I would do. Please never stop loving me.”

“Of course I’ll never stop loving you. I will always love you. Nothing can ever make me stop,” Jondalar said, feeling it deep in his heart and hoping that it would always be true.

Winter finally came to an end. The drifts of snow, dirty from dust blowing on the wind, melted, and the first crocuses poked their purple-and-white flowers through the last vestiges of it. The icicles dripped until they disappeared, and the first green buds appeared. Ayla was spending a great deal of time with Whinney. With her baby held close to her in a carrying cloak, she walked with the mare or rode her slowly. Racer was feeling more frisky, and even Jondalar had some trouble controlling him, but he rather enjoyed the challenge.

Whinney whickered at the sight of her, and she patted and hugged her affectionately. She planned to meet Jondalar and several people at a small abri downstream. They wanted to tap a few birch trees, part of which would be boiled down into a rich syrup, and another part of which would be allowed to ferment to make a light alcoholic beverage. It wasn’t far, but she had decided to take Whinney for a ride, mostly because she wanted to stay close to her. She was almost there when it started to rain. She urged Whinney faster and noticed that the mare seemed to be breathing hard. Ayla felt her rounded sides just as the mare had another contraction.

“Whinney!” she said aloud. “Your time has come, hasn’t it. I wonder how close you are to giving birth. We are not far from the abri where I’m supposed to meet everyone. I hope you won’t be too bothered by having other people around you.”

When she reached the camp, she asked Joharran if she could bring Whinney under the abri. The mare was about to give birth. He was quick to agree, and a wave of excitement spread among the group. This would be an experience. None of them had ever been close to a horse giving birth. She led Whinney under the overhanging upper ledge.

Jondalar rushed over and asked if she needed any help. “I don’t think Whinney needs my help, but I want to be close to her,” Ayla said. “If you would watch Jonayla, it would help me. I just nursed her. She should be all right for a while.” He reached for Jonayla. She saw his face and gave him a big, delighted smile. She had only recently started smiling and had begun to greet the man of her hearth with that sign of recognition.

“You have your mother’s smile, Jonayla,” he said as he picked her up, looking directly at her and smiling back. The baby focused on his face, made a soft cooing sound, and smiled again. It melted his heart. He tucked Jonayla into the crook of his arm and walked back toward the people at the other end of the small shelter.

Whinney seemed happy to be out of the wet weather. Ayla rubbed the mare down and led her to an area of dry soil as far away from the people as she could. They seemed to sense that Ayla wanted them to keep some distance away, but the space was small, and they had no trouble seeing. Jondalar turned around to watch with them. It was not the first time he had seen Whinney give birth, but the idea was no less exciting. Familiarity with the process of birth did not diminish the sense of awe at the new life about to make an appearance. Human or animal, it was still Doni’s greatest Gift. They all waited quietly.

After a while, when it seemed that Whinney was not quite ready but as comfortable as she could be, Ayla walked to the fire where the people were waiting, to get a drink of water. She was offered hot tea, and she returned for it after bringing some water to the horse.

“Ayla, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you tell how you found your horses,” Dynoda said. “What makes them unafraid of people?”

Ayla smiled. She was getting used to telling stories, and she didn’t mind talking about her horses. She quickly told how she had trapped and killed the horse that had been Whinney’s dam, then noticed the young foal and the hyenas. She explained that she brought the baby horse to her cave, fed her, and raised her. She warmed to the tale, and without realizing it, the skill she had developed in the course of living with the people of the Clan of showing meaning by expression and gesture crept into her narration.

With half her mind on the mare, she unconsciously dramatized the events, and the people, several from the other nearby Caves, were captivated. Her exotic accent and her uncanny ability to mimic the sounds of animals added an interesting element to her unusual story. Even Jondalar was entranced, although he knew the circumstances. He had not heard her tell the whole story quite like that. More questions were asked, and she began to describe her life in the valley, but when she told about finding and raising a cave lion, there were expressions of disbelief. Jondalar was quick to back her up. Whether they entirely believed her or not, the story of a lion, a horse, and a woman all living together in a cave in a secluded valley was an enjoyable one. A sound from the mare stopped her from continuing.

Ayla jumped up and went to Whinney, who was by then lying on her side. A membrane-encased head of a foal began to emerge. For the second time she played midwife to the mare. Before the hindquarters were fully out, the wet newborn foal was trying to stand. Whinney looked back to see what she had done and nickered softly at her new baby. Still on the ground, the baby started squirming toward Whinney’s head, stopping for a moment to try to nurse before either was on their feet. When she reached her dam, the mare immediately started washing her with her tongue. Within moments the tiny horse was trying to stand. She fell over on her nose, but by the second try she was on her feet, only several moments after foaling. A very strong little horse, Ayla thought.

As soon as the baby was standing, Whinney got up, and the moment she was on her feet, the foal was nuzzling her, again trying to nurse, ducking under at first, not quite able to find the right place. After a second pass under her hind legs, Whinney gave the baby a little nip to point the foal in the right direction. That was all it took. Whinney had been perfectly capable, without any assistance, to give birth to her spindly-legged foal.

The people had watched silently, seeing for the first time the knowledge that the Great Earth Mother had given to Her wild creatures about how to take care of their newborn. The only way the young of Whinney’s species could survive, and most of the other animals that grazed the vast steppes in great numbers, was for the young to be able to stand on their own legs, and to run nearly as fast as an adult shortly after birth. Without that, they would have been such easy prey to predators, they could not have lived. With her baby nursing, Whinney seemed content.

The birth of the horse was rare entertainment for the people who were watching, and a story that would be told and retold in the future by everyone who had witnessed it. Several people had questions and comments for Ayla once both horses were comfortable and Ayla returned.

“I didn’t realize that the babies of horses can walk almost from the time they are born. It takes at least a year for a human baby to walk. Do they grow faster, too?”

“Yes,” Ayla replied. “Racer was born the day after I found Jondalar. He’s a full-grown stallion now and he only counts three years of life.”

“You are going to have to think of a name for the young one, Ayla,” Jondalar said.

“Yes, but I will have to think about it,” Ayla said.

Jondalar was quick to catch her implication. It was true that the hay-colored mare had given birth to a horse of a different color. It was also true that among the horses on the eastern steppes, near the region of the Mamutoi, there were some that were shades of dark brown, like Racer. He wasn’t sure what color the little filly would be, but it didn’t seem that she would have her mother’s coloring.

Wolf found them shortly after. As though he instinctively knew to approach the new family carefully, he first went to Whinney. Despite her instincts, she had learned that this was not a carnivore to be feared. Ayla joined them, and after she satisfied herself that this wolf was the exception, especially since the woman was around, she allowed him to sniff her new baby and let the baby learn his smell.

The young horse was a gray filly. “I think I’m going to call her Gray,” she said to Jondalar, “and she should be Jonayla’s horse. But we’ll have to teach them both.” He grinned with delight at the prospect.

The next day, when they were back at the horse area on the ledge, Racer welcomed his new little sister with avid curiosity, but under the strict supervision of Whinney. Ayla happened to be looking toward the dwelling area when she saw Zelandoni coming. She was surprised to see the donier coming to see the new foal, she seldom made any special effort to see the animals. Other people had found occasions to take peeks and Ayla asked that they not go too close at first, but the donier got a personal introduction to Gray.

“Jonokol has told me he will be leaving the Ninth Cave when we go to the Summer Meeting,” the donier announced after she had examined the foal.

“Well, you expected it,” Ayla said, feeling edgy.

“Have you decided yet if you are going to be my new acolyte?” she asked directly, not hesitating.

Ayla looked down, then back at the woman.

Zelandoni waited, then looked into Ayla’s eyes. “I think you have no choice. You know you will feel the call one day, perhaps sooner than you think. I would hate to see your potential destroyed, even if you were able to survive it without support and training.”

Ayla struggled to break away from the commanding stare. Then, from the depths of her being, or the pathways in her brain, she found a resource. She felt a power rising within her, and knew that she was no longer constrained by the donier, but instead felt that she had dominion over the One Who Was First, and held her gaze. It gave her a sense of something indescribable, a feeling of strength, of mastery, of authority, that she had never consciously felt before.

When she released the woman, Zelandoni glanced away for an instant. When she looked back, the feeling of tremendous power that had held her was gone, but Ayla was looking at her with a knowing smile. The infant in her arms began to move as though something was bothering her, and Ayla’s attention went back to her child.

Zelandoni was shaken, but she controlled it quickly. She turned to leave, but turned back and studied Ayla again, not with the gaze that engendered the contest of wills, but with a straightforward, piercing look. “Tell me now you are not Zelandoni, Ayla,” she said quietly.

Ayla flushed and glanced around with uncertainty, as though trying to find some escape. When she looked back at the large woman, Zelandoni was the commanding presence she had always known.

“I will tell Jondalar,” she said, then quickly looked down at the baby.