The Land of Painted Caves (23 page)

“It’s about you, too, Jondalar. I couldn’t leave you out,” the Storyteller said, with a wink. “You’re the one who was gone on a Journey for five years and brought her back with you.”

Jondalar winced to himself to hear that; it wasn’t the first time that stories had been told about him, and they weren’t always ones he wanted to have spread around. But it was best not to complain or make anything out of it; that would just add to the story. Storytellers loved to tell stories about individuals who were known, and people loved to hear them. Sometimes they used real names and other times, especially if they wanted to embellish the story, they would make up a name so people would have to guess who the story was about. Jondalar grew up hearing such stories, and he loved them, too, but he loved the Elder Legends and Histories of the Zelandonii better. He’d heard many stories about his mother when she was leader of the Ninth Cave, and the story about the great love of Marthona and Dalanar had been told so many times, it was almost legend.

Ayla and Jondalar chatted with him awhile, then wandered toward the camp of the Third Cave, stopping along the way to talk with various people they knew. As the evening deepened, it grew quite dark. Ayla stopped for a moment to look up. The moon was new, and without its glowing light to moderate their brilliance, the stars filled the night sky with an awe-inspiring profusion.

“The sky is so … full … I don’t know the right word,” Ayla said, feeling a touch of impatience with herself. “It is beautiful, but more than that. It makes me feel small, but in a way that makes me feel good. It is greater than us, greater than everything.”

“When the stars are bright like that, it is a wondrous sight,” Jondalar said.

While the bright stars did not bestow as much radiance as the moon would have, it did provide almost enough illumination to see their way. But the multitude of stars was not the only light. Every camp had great bonfires, and torches and lamps had been placed along paths between camps.

When they reached the camp of the Third Cave, Proleva was there with her sister, Levela, and their mother, Velima. They all greeted each other.

“I can’t believe how much Jonayla has grown in just a few moons,” Levela said. “And she’s so beautiful. She has Jondalar’s eyes. But she looks like you.”

Ayla smiled at the compliment to her baby, but deflected the one directed at her. “I think she looks like Marthona, not me. I’m not beautiful.”

“You don’t know what you look like, Ayla,” Jondalar said. “You never look at a polished reflector, or even a pool of still water. You are beautiful.”

Ayla changed the subject. “You are really showing now, Levela,” Ayla said. “How are you feeling?”

“Once I got over feeling sick in the morning, I’ve been feeling good,” Levela said. “Vigorous and strong. Although, lately, I get tired easily. I want to sleep late and take naps in the day, and sometimes if I stand for a long time, my back hurts.”

“Sounds about right, wouldn’t you say,” Velima said, smiling at her daughter. “Just the way you are supposed to feel.”

“We’re setting up an area to take care of children so their mothers and mates can go to the Mother Festival and relax,” Proleva said. “You can leave Jonayla, if you want. There will be singing and dancing, and some people had already drunk too much before I left.”

“Did you know the Traveling Storytellers are here?” Jondalar asked.

“I heard they were supposed to come, but I didn’t know they had arrived,” Proleva said.

“We talked to Galliadal. He said he wanted us to come and listen. He said he has a story for Ayla,” Jondalar said. “I think it’s a thinly disguised story about her. We should probably go and listen so we’ll know what people will be talking about tomorrow.”

“Are you going, Proleva?” Ayla asked as the woman was putting down her sleeping baby.

“It was a big feast, and I’ve been working on it for many days,” Proleva said. “I think I’d rather stay here and watch the little ones with just a few women. It would be more restful. I’ve been to my share of Mother Festivals.”

“Maybe I should stay and watch the children, too,” Ayla said.

“No. You should go. Mother Festivals are still new to you, and you need to become familiar with them, especially if you are learning to be a Zelandoni. Here, give me that little one of yours. I haven’t cuddled her for days,” Proleva said.

“Let me nurse her first,” Ayla said. “I’m feeling rather full anyway.”

“Levela, you should go, too, especially since the storytellers are here. You too, mother,” Proleva said.

“The storytellers will be here for many days. I can see them later, and I’ve been to my share of Mother Festivals, too. You’ve been so busy, we haven’t had much time to visit. I’d rather stay here with you,” Velima said. “But you should go, Levela.”

“I’m not sure. Jondecam is already there, and I told him I’d meet him, but I am tired already. Maybe I’ll just go for a while, to hear the storytellers,” she said.

“Joharran is there, too. He almost has to be, just to keep an eye on some of the young men. I hope he takes some time to enjoy himself. Tell him about the storytellers, Jondalar. He always enjoys them.”

“I will if I can find him,” Jondalar said.

He wondered if Proleva was staying away to give her mate the freedom to enjoy the Mother Festival. Although everyone knew they could take partners other than their mates, he knew that some people didn’t necessarily want to watch their own mate couple with someone else. He knew he didn’t. It would be very hard for him to see Ayla go off with some other man. Several men had already shown an interest in her, the Zelandoni of the Twenty-sixth, for example, and even the storyteller, Galliadal. He knew that such jealousy was frowned on, but he couldn’t help how he felt. He just hoped he would be able to hide it.

When they returned to the large gathering area, Levela quickly spied Jondecam and hurried ahead, but Ayla stopped at the edge just to watch for a while. Almost all the people who were attending the Summer Meeting at this location had already arrived and she was still not entirely comfortable with so many people in one place, especially in the beginning. Jondalar understood and waited with her.

At first glance the large space seemed filled with a vast amorphous throng surging in an eddying mass, like a great roiling river. But as she watched, Ayla began to see that the crowd had formed itself into several groups, generally around or near a large fire. In one area near the edge, close to the Storytellers’ camp, many people were gathered around three or four people talking with exaggerated gestures, who were standing on a platform-like construction made of wood and hard rawhide that raised them somewhat above the crowd so they could be seen more easily. Those nearest to the platform were sitting on the ground or on logs or rocks that had been dragged closer. Almost directly opposite, across the gathering area, other people were dancing and singing to the sound of flutes, drums, and other percussion musical instruments. Ayla felt drawn to both and was trying to decide where to go first.

In another area people were gambling, using various tokens and gaming pieces, and in a nearby area, people were getting refills of their favorite beverages. She noticed Laramar doling out portions of his barma, with a false smile.

“Garnering favors,” Jondalar said, almost as though he knew what she was thinking. She wasn’t aware of the look of distaste that had appeared on her face when she saw the man.

Ayla saw that Tremeda was among those who were standing around waiting for more of his barma, but Laramar wasn’t offering any to her. She turned toward the nearby group who were picking at what was left of the food, which had been gathered together and offered for whoever wanted more.

Throughout the entire space, people stood together talking and laughing, or drifting from one place to another for no apparent reason. Ayla didn’t immediately notice the undercurrent of activity around the darker edges of the crowd. Then she happened to catch sight of a young woman with bright red hair whom she recognized as Folara’s friend, Galeya. She was walking away from the eating area with the young man from the Third Cave, who had joined the lion hunt, Ayla recalled. They had chosen to partner together to watch out for each other.

Ayla watched the young couple as they headed for the darkened periphery of the gathering and saw when they paused to embrace. She felt a moment of embarrassment; she hadn’t meant to observe them when they were being intimate. Then she saw that there were others in certain areas away from the main activities who also appeared to be closely involved with each other. Ayla felt herself flush.

Jondalar smiled to himself. He had seen where she was looking. The Zelandonii tended not to stare at such activity either. It wasn’t so much a matter of embarrassment; intimacy was commonplace and they just ignored it. He had traveled far and was aware that people’s customs could be different, but she had too; he knew that she had seen people together before—they lived in such close quarters it couldn’t be avoided. She must have seen similar activity at the Summer Meeting the year before. He wasn’t quite sure what was causing her discomfort. He was going to ask, but then he saw Levela and Jondecam returning and decided to wait until later.

Her discomfiture stemmed from her early years when she had lived with the Clan. It had been strongly stressed to her that some things, even though they could be observed, were not supposed to be seen. The stones that outlined each hearth in the cave of Brun’s clan were like invisible walls. One did not see past the boundary stones, did not look into the private areas of another man’s hearth. People averted their eyes, or assumed the far-off look of gazing into space, anything to avoid seeming to stare into the area enclosed by the stones. And as a rule they were careful not to stare inadvertently. Staring was part of the body sign language of the Clan, and had specific meanings. An intense look from a leader, for example, could be a reprimand.

When she realized what she had seen, Ayla had quickly looked in another direction, and saw Levela and Jondecam approaching. She felt an odd sense of relief. She touched cheeks and greeted them affectionately, as though she hadn’t seen them for a while.

“We’re going to watch the storytellers,” Levela said.

“I was just trying to decide if I wanted to listen to stories or music,” Ayla said. “If you are going to watch the storytellers, maybe I’ll go with you.”

“So will I,” Jondalar said.

When they arrived at the place, there seemed to be a break in the performance. A narrative had apparently just been concluded and a new one hadn’t yet begun. People were milling around; some were leaving, some were arriving, some changing positions. Ayla looked over the area to get a sense of the place. The low platform, though empty now, was big enough to hold three or four people with room to move about. There were two somewhat rectangular fire trenches not directly in front of the platform, but on either side, for light rather than heat. In between and on either side of the fires were several logs arranged somewhat haphazardly in rows and a few good-sized stones, all of them covered with stuffed pads for easier sitting. There was an open space in front of the logs where people were sittting on the ground, many on some kind of ground covering, like woven grass floor mats or hides.

Several people, who had been sitting on a log near the front, stood up and walked away. Levela headed purposefully in that direction and sat down on the soft pad that covered the tree trunk. Jondecam quickly sat beside her; then they claimed space beside them for their friends who had been delayed by someone who greeted them along the way. While they were exchanging pleasantries, Galliadal approached.

“You did decide to come,” he said, bending down to greet Ayla, touching his cheek to hers and, Jondalar thought, holding it there too long. Ayla felt Galliadal’s warm breath on her neck and noticed his pleasant manly smell, different from the one she was most familiar with. She also noticed the tension in Jondalar’s jaw, in spite of his smile.

Several people were crowding around them and Ayla thought they probably wanted the storyteller’s attention. She had noticed that many people liked to flock around Galliadal, especially young women, and some were looking at her with a kind of expectancy, as though they were waiting for something. She didn’t think she liked it.

“Levela and Jondecam are holding places in front for us,” Jondalar said. “We should go and claim them.”

She smiled at Jondalar, and they went to join their friends, but when they arrived, some other people were also sitting on the log, taking some of the space Levela and Jondecam had been holding. They all crowded together, then waited.

“I wonder what’s taking so long,” Jondecam said, getting a bit impatient.

Jondalar noticed that more people were arriving. “I think they are waiting to see how many are coming. You know how it is: once they start, storytellers don’t like to have a lot of people moving around; it disrupts the telling. They don’t mind a few slipping in quietly, but most people don’t like to come in the middle of a story either. They’d rather hear it from the beginning. I think a lot of people were waiting until they were done with the story they were on. When they saw people moving away, they decided that was the time to come.”

   Galliadal and several other people had stepped up to the low platform. They waited until people noticed them. When everyone stopped talking and it became quiet, the tall dark-haired man began.

“Far away in the land of the dawning sun …”

“That’s the way all stories start,” Jondalar whispered to Ayla, as though he was pleased that it had begun right.

“… there lived a woman and her mate and her three children. The eldest was a boy named Kimacal.” When the Storyteller mentioned the first of the woman’s offspring, a young man who was also on the platform stepped forward and made a slight bow, implying that he was the one referred to. “The next one was a girl named Karella.” A young woman did a pirouette that ended in a bow when he mentioned the second child. “The youngest one was a boy named Wolafon.” Another young man pointed to himself and grinned proudly when the third child was announced.