Tholie wasn’t the only one who had seen the implications. Roshario had gasped and was furtively watching Dolando, trying to see if he had made any connections, but not wanting it to seem that she had noticed anything out of the ordinary. The strange names she mentioned, the ones that were so hard to pronounce, could they be names she had given some other kind of animals? But she said the woman who raised her had taught her healing medicine. Could there have been some woman living with them? What woman would choose to live with them, especially if she knew healing? Would a shamud live with flat-heads?
Ayla was noticing the strange reactions of some of the people, but when she glanced at Dolando and saw him staring at her, she felt a shiver of dread. He did not seem to be the same man, the controlled leader who had cared for his woman with such tenderness. He was not looking at her with the grateful relief her healing skill had invoked, or even with the wary acceptance of their first meeting. Instead, she detected a deeply buried pain and saw a distancing; a menacing hard anger filled his eyes as though he could not see clearly, but only through the red haze of rage.
“Flatheads!” he exploded. “You lived with those filthy, murderous animals! I’d like to kill every one of them. And you lived with them. How could any decent woman live with them?”
His fists were clenched as he started to come for her. Both Jondalar and Markeno jumped up to hold him back. Wolf was standing in front of Roshario, teeth bared, a deep low growl in his throat. Shamio started to cry, and Tholie picked her up and held her protectively close. Under most circumstances, she would never fear for her daughter around
Dolando, but he was not rational about flatheads, and at the moment he seemed to be in the grip of an uncontrollable madness.
“Jondalar! How dare you bring a woman like that here!” Dolando said, trying to shake off the restraining hold of the tall blond man.
“Dolando! What are you saying?” Roshario said, trying to get up. “She helped me! What difference does it make where she grew up? She helped me!”
The people who had gathered for Jondalar’s welcoming were stunned, gaping with shock, and had no idea what to do. Carlono got up to help Markeno and Jondalar and to try to calm his coleader.
Ayla was stunned, too. Dolando’s virulent reaction was so completely unexpected that she was at a loss. She saw Roshario attempting to get up, trying to push aside the wolf, who was standing defensively in front of her, as confused as everyone else by the commotion, but determined to protect the woman he saw as his charge. She should not get up, Ayla thought, hurrying toward the woman.
“Get away from my woman. I don’t want her tainted with your filth,” Dolando shouted, struggling to free himself from the men trying to hold him back.
Ayla stopped. Though she wanted to help Roshario, she didn’t want to cause more trouble with Dolando. What is wrong with him? she wondered. Then she noticed that Wolf looked ready to attack, and she signaled him to come to her. That was the last thing she needed, for the wolf to cause anyone harm. Wolf was obviously struggling with himself. He wanted either to stand his ground or jump into the fray, but he did not want to back away from it; yet everything was confusing. Ayla’s second signal was accompanied by her whistle, and that decided him. He ran to her, then stood defensively in front of her.
Though he spoke Sharamudoi, Ayla was aware that Dolando had been shouting about flatheads and directing angry words at her, but the meaning had not been entirely clear. While she was waiting there with the wolf, suddenly she got a clear sense of his ravings and began to feel angry herself. The people of the Clan were not filthy murderers. Why was he so enraged by the thought of them?
Roshario had gotten up and was trying to approach the struggling men. Tholie gave Shamio to someone nearby and ran to help her.
“Dolando! Dolando, stop it!” Roshario said. Her voice seemed to reach him; his struggles eased, though the three men still held him.
Dolando looked angrily at Jondalar. “Why did you bring her here?”
“Dolando, what’s wrong with you? Look at me!” Roshario said. “What would have happened if he hadn’t? Ayla was not the one who killed Doraldo.”
He looked at Roshario and for the first time seemed to see the weak,
drawn woman with her arm in a sling. A quick spasm shook him, and, like shedding water, the irrational fury left him. “Roshario, you shouldn’t be up,” he said, reaching for her, but he found himself restrained. “You can let me go,” he said to Jondalar with a voice of cold anger.
The Zelandonii man dropped his hold. Markeno and Carlono waited until they were sure he was not struggling before they released him, but they stayed nearby, just in case.
“Dolando, you have no call to be angry with Jondalar,” Roshario said. “He brought Ayla because I needed her. Everyone is upset, Dolando. Come and sit down and show them you are all right.”
She saw a stubborn look in Dolando’s eye, but he went with her back to the bench and sat beside her. A woman brought them both some tea, then walked over to the place where Ayla, Jondalar, Carlono, and Markeno were standing, along with Wolf.
“Would you like tea or a little wine?” she asked.
“You wouldn’t happen to have some of that wonderful bilberry wine, Carolio?” he said. Ayla noticed her resemblance to both Carlono and Markeno.
“The new wine isn’t ready, but there might be some left from last year. For you, too?” she said to Ayla.
“Yes, if Jondalar wants, I will try it. I don’t think we met,” she added.
“No,” the woman said, as Jondalar was getting ready to jump in and make the introductions. “We don’t need to be formal. We all know who you are, Ayla. I am Carolio, that one’s sister.” She indicated Carlono.
“I see the … likeness,” Ayla said, searching for the word, and Jondalar suddenly realized she was speaking Sharamudoi. He looked at her in wonder. How did she learn it so fast?
“I hope you can overlook Dolando’s outburst,” Carolio said. “The son of his hearth, Roshario’s son, was killed by flatheads, and he hates all of them. Doraldo was a young man, a few years older than Darvo, and full of high spirits, just beginning his life. It was very hard on Dolando. He has never quite gotten over it.”
Ayla nodded, but frowned. It was not usual for the Clan to kill the Others. What had the young man done? she wondered. She saw Roshario motioning to her. Though Dolando’s glare was not welcoming, she hurried toward the woman.
“You are tired?” she asked. “Is time you go to bed? Are you feeling pain?”
“A little. Not much. I’ll go to bed soon, but not yet. I want to tell you how sorry I am. I had a son…”
“Carolio told me. She said he was killed.”
“Flatheads…” Dolando mumbled under his breath.
“We may have all jumped to some conclusions,” Roshario said. “You said you lived with … some people on the peninsula?” There was suddenly absolute silence.
“Yes,” Ayla said. Then she looked at Dolando and took a deep breath. “The Clan. The ones you call flatheads, that is what they call themselves.”
“How? They don’t talk,” a young woman called out. Jondalar saw it was the woman sitting next to Chalono, another young man he knew. She was familiar, but her name eluded him for the moment.
Ayla anticipated her unspoken comment. “They are not animals. They are people, and they do talk, but not with many words, though they use some. Their language is of signs and gestures.”
“Is that what you were doing?” Roshario asked. “Before you put me to sleep? I thought you were dancing with your hands.”
Ayla smiled. “I was talking to the spirit world, asking my totem spirit to help you.”
“Spirit world? Talking with hands? What nonsense!” Dolando spat.
“Dolando,” Roshario said, reaching for his hand.
“It’s true, Dolando,” Jondalar said. “I even learned some of it. All of Lion Camp did. Ayla taught us so we could communicate with Rydag. Everyone was surprised to find out he could talk that way, even if he couldn’t say words right. It made them realize he was not an animal.”
“You mean the boy Nezzie took in?” Tholie said.
“Boy? Are you talking about that abomination of mixed spirits that we heard some crazy Mamutoi woman took in?”
Ayla’s chin went up. She was getting angry now. “Rydag was a child,” she said. “He may have come from mixed spirits, but how can you blame a child for who he is? He didn’t choose to be born that way. Don’t you say it’s the Mother who chooses the spirits? Then he was just as much a child of the Mother as anyone. What right do you have to call him an abomination?”
Ayla was glaring at Dolando, and everyone was staring at both of them, surprised at Ayla’s defense, and wondering what Dolando’s reaction would be. He looked as surprised as the others.
“And Nezzie is not crazy. She is a warm, kind, loving woman who took in an orphan child, and she didn’t care what anyone thought,” Ayla continued. “She was like Iza, the woman who took me in when I had no one, even though I was different, one of the Others.”
“Flatheads killed the son of my hearth!” Dolando said.
“That may be, but it is not usual. The Clan would rather avoid the Others—that’s how they think of people like us.” Ayla paused, then she looked at the man who still suffered such anguish. “It is hard to lose a child, Dolando, but let me tell you about someone else who lost a child.
She was a woman I met when many of the clans gathered—it was like a Summer Meeting, but they don’t meet as often. She and some other women were out collecting food when suddenly several men came upon them, men of the Others. One of them grabbed her, to force her to have what you call Pleasures.”
There were gasps among the people. Ayla was talking about a subject that was never discussed openly, though all but the very youngest had heard about it. Some mothers felt they should take their children away, but no one really wanted to leave.
“Women of the Clan do what men wish, they don’t have to be forced, but the man who grabbed the woman couldn’t wait. He wouldn’t even wait for her to put her baby down. He grabbed her so roughly that the baby fell, and he didn’t even notice. It wasn’t until afterward, when he allowed her to get up, that she found her baby’s head had hit a stone when it fell. Her baby was dead.”
A few of the listeners had tears in their eyes. Jondalar spoke up. “I know those things can happen. I heard about some young men who live far to the west of here who liked to make sport with flatheads, several of them ganging up to force a clan woman.”
“It happens around here, too,” Chalono admitted.
The women looked at him with surprise that he said it, and most of the men avoided looking at him altogether, except Rondo, who was looking at him as though he were a worm.
“It’s always the big thing boys talk about,” Chalono said, trying to defend himself. “Not many of them do it any more, though, especially after what happened to Doral…” He stopped suddenly, glanced around, then looked down, wishing he had never opened his mouth.
The following uneasy silence was broken when Tholie said, “Roshario, you look very tired. Don’t you think it’s time you went back to bed?”
“Yes, I think I’d like to,” she said.
Jondalar and Markeno hurried to help her, and everyone else took it as a signal to get up and leave. No one cared to linger around the last of the fire talking or gaming on this night. The two young men carried the woman into the dwelling while a stricken Dolando shuffled behind.
“Thank you, Tholie, but I think it would be better if I slept near Roshario tonight,” Ayla said. “I hope Dolando won’t object. She’s been through so much, and she is going to have a difficult night. In fact, the next few days will not be easy. The arm is already swelling, and she will be feeling some pain. I’m not sure she should have gotten up this evening, but she was so insistent I don’t think I could have stopped her. She kept saying she was feeling good, but that was because the drink
that made her sleep also stops deep pain, and it hadn’t entirely worn off. I gave her something else besides, but it will all wear off tonight, and I would like to be there.”
Ayla had just come into the dwelling after spending a little time currying and combing Whinney in the dying light of the sunset. It always relaxed her and made her feel better to be near and tend to the mare when she was upset. Jondalar had joined her there for a short time but had sensed that she wanted to be alone for a while, so after some pats and scratches and comforting words to the stallion, he had left them.
“Perhaps Darvo could stay with you,” Jondalar suggested now. “He would probably sleep better. It bothers him to see her suffer.”
“Of course,” Markeno said. “I’ll go get him. I wish I could convince Dolando to stay with us for a while, too, but I know he won’t, especially after tonight. No one ever told him the full story of Doraldo’s death.”
“Maybe it’s best that it all finally came out. Maybe he can finally put it aside now,” Tholie said. “Dolando has been nursing a real hatred toward flatheads for a long time. It seemed fairly harmless, no one really cares that much for them anyway—I’m sorry, Ayla, but it is true.”
Ayla nodded. “I know,” she said.
“And we seldom have much contact. In most ways, he’s a good leader,” Tholie continued, “except for anything to do with flatheads, and it’s easy to work other people up about them. But such a strong hatred can’t help but leave its mark. I think it’s always worse on the person who does the hating.”
“I think it’s time to get some rest,” Markeno said. “You must be exhausted, Ayla.”
Jondalar, Markeno, and Ayla, with Wolf at her heels, walked the few steps to the next dwelling together. Markeno scratched at the entrance flap and waited. Rather than calling out, Dolando came to the entrance and pushed the flap aside, then stood in the shadows of the entrance looking at them.
“Dolando, I think Roshario may have a hard night. I would like to stay near her,” Ayla said.
The man looked down, then inside toward the woman on the bed. “Come in,” he said.
“I want to stay with Ayla,” Jondalar said. He was determined not to leave her alone with the man who had threatened and raged at her, even if he did seem to have calmed down.