The Land of Painted Caves (24 page)

There was a slight murmur in the audience, and a few chuckles when the name of the youngest child was mentioned as people perceived a connection with Ayla’s name for her four-legged hunter.

Although he wasn’t shouting, Ayla noticed that the storyteller’s voice could be heard very well by the entire audience. He had a special way of speaking that was powerful, clear, and expressive. It made her think of her visit to the cave with the Zelandoni of the Twenty-sixth and his acolyte and the sounds the three of them had made in front of the cave before crawling in. It occurred to her that Galliadal could have become one of the zelandonia, if he wished.

“Though they were old enough, none of the young people were mated yet. Their Cave was small and they were closely related to most of the people near their age. The mother was beginning to worry that they would have to go far away to find mates, and she might not see them again. She had heard of an old Zelandoni who lived alone in a cave some distance up the river to the north. Some people talked in whispers about her, saying she could make things happen, but she might exact a payment that would be hard to make. The mother decided to go and find her,” the storyteller said.

“One day after she returned, the woman sent her children out to the edge of a stream to collect cattail roots. When they arrived they met three other young people, a girl about the age of Kimacal, a boy about the age of Karella, and a girl about the age of Wolafon.”

This time the first young man on the platform smiled coquettishly when the older girl was mentioned, the young woman took a bravado stance, and the other young man assumed the posture of a shy young girl. There was laughter from the audience. When Ayla and Jondalar looked at each other, both were smiling.

“The three newcomers were strangers who had recently arrived from the land to the south. As all of them had been taught was appropriate, they greeted each other and introduced themselves, reciting their important names and ties.

“ ‘We have come looking for food,’ the eldest visitor explained.” Galliadal changed the timbre of his voice when he spoke as the young woman.

“ ‘There are many cattails here; we can share them,’ Karella said.” The young woman mouthed the words Galliadal spoke, again changing his tone. “They all started pulling cattail roots out of the soft mud by the edge of the stream, Kimacal helping the older foreign girl, Karella showing the middle boy where to dig, and Wolafon pulling out some roots for the shy younger girl, but the fair young woman wouldn’t accept them. Wolafon could see that his brother and sister were enjoying the company of their pleasurable new friends, becoming very friendly.”

The laughter was now quite loud. Not only were the innuendos obvious, the young man portraying the older brother and the young woman on the platform were in an exaggerated embrace, while the younger brother looked on with envy. When Galliadal narrated, he changed his voice for each character as he spoke for them, while the others on the raised platform demonstrated, often very dramatically.

“ ‘These are good cattails. Why won’t you eat them?’ Wolafon asked the appealing stranger, ‘I cannot eat cattails,’ the young woman said. ‘I can only eat meat.’ ” When he spoke as the woman, he pitched his voice quite high.

“Wolafon didn’t know what to do. ‘Maybe I can hunt for some meat for you,’ he said, but he knew he wasn’t a very good hunter. He usually went along on game drives. He meant well, but he was a little lazy and never tried very hard to hunt himself. He went back to the home of his mother’s Cave.

“ ‘Kimacal and Karella shared cattails with a woman and man from the south,’ he told his mother. ‘They have found mates, but the woman I want can’t eat cattails. She can only eat meat, and I’m not a very good hunter. How can I find food for her?’ ” Galliadal related.

Ayla wondered if “sharing cattails” had some second meaning that she wasn’t familiar with, like a joke she didn’t understand, since the storyteller went from eating cattails together to being mated in the next breath.

“ ‘There is an old Zelandoni who lives alone in a cave north of here near the river,’ his mother said. ‘She may be able to help you. But be careful what you ask for. You may get exactly what you want.’ ” Galliadal again changed the timbre of his voice when he spoke as the mother.

“Wolafon set out to find the old Zelandoni. He traveled upriver for many days, looking into all the caves he happened to see along the way. He was almost ready to give up, but he saw a small cave high up in a cliff and decided that would be the last cave he would investigate. He found an old woman sitting in front of it, who seemed to be sleeping. He approached quietly, not wanting to disturb her, but he was curious and looked at her carefully,” Galliadal continued.

“Her clothes were nondescript, the same kind of thing most people wore, though rather shapeless and shabby. But she wore many necklaces made of a variety of materials: beads and shells; several pierced animal teeth and claws; animals carved out of ivory, bone, antler, and wood; some of stone and amber; and disk-shaped medallions with animals carved on them. There were so many objects on the necklaces, Wolafon couldn’t even see them all, but even more impressive were her facial tatoos. They were so intricate and embellished, he could hardly see her skin under all the squares, swirls, curlicues, and flourishes. She was without doubt a Zelandoni of great stature and Wolafon was a little fearful of her. He didn’t know if he should bother her with his little request.”

The woman on the platform had seated herself and although she hadn’t changed clothes, the way she wrapped them around herself gave the impression of an old woman in the shapeless clothing Galliadal had described.

“Wolafon decided to leave, but as he turned to go, he heard a voice, ‘What do you want from me, boy?’ she said.” Galliadal’s voice took on the sound of an older woman, not thin and quavery, but powerful and mature.

“Wolafon gulped, then turned around. He introduced himself properly, then said, ‘My mother told me you might be able to help me.’

“ ‘What is your problem?’

“ ‘I met a woman, who came from the south. I wanted to share cattails with her, but she said she couldn’t eat cattails, she could only eat meat. I love her and I would hunt for her but I am not a very good hunter. Can you help me to become a good hunter?’

“ ‘Are you sure she wants you to hunt for her?’ the old Zelandoni asked. ‘If she doesn’t want your cattails, it may be that she won’t want your meat, either. Did you ask her?’

“ ‘When I offered her the cattails, she said she couldn’t eat them, not that she didn’t want to, and when I told her I would hunt for her, she didn’t say no,’ Wolafon said.” The voice Galliadal used for the young man sounded hopeful, and the expression of the young man on the platform mimicked the tone.

“ ‘You know that all it takes to become a good hunter is practice, lots of practice,’ the old Zelandoni told him.

“ ‘Yes, I know. I should have practiced more.’ ” The young man on the platform looked down, as though contrite.

“ ‘But you didn’t practice, did you? Now, because a young woman interests you, you want to suddenly become a hunter, is that right?’ ” Galliadal’s tone as the old Zelandoni became a reprimand.

“ ‘I suppose so.’ ” The young man looked even more ashamed. “ ‘But I adore her.’ ”

“ ‘You must always earn whatever you get. If you don’t want to make the effort to practice, you must pay for the skill some other way. You give your effort to practice, or you give something else. What are you willing to give?’ the old woman asked.

“ ‘I’ll give anything!’ ” The audience gasped, knowing it was the wrong thing to say.

“ ‘You could still take the time to practice and learn how to hunt,’ the old Zelandoni said.

“ ‘But she won’t want to wait until I learn how to hunt well. I adore her. I just want to bring her meat so she will love me. I wish I was born knowing how to hunt.’ ”

Suddenly the audience and the ones on the raised platform detected a commotion in their midst.

11

W
olf was slipping through the crowd, occasionally brushing against someone’s leg but gone before they could catch more than a glimpse of what had touched them. Though most people were familiar with him, he was still a surprise that could bring a gasp or a squeal of apprehension when he was noticed. He even surprised Ayla when he appeared so unexpectedly and sat in front of her, looking up at her face. Danella was startled, because he had appeared so quickly, but she wasn’t afraid.

“Wolf! You’ve been gone all day. I was beginning to wonder where you were. Exploring the whole area, I think,” Ayla said as she rubbed the ruff of fur around his neck and scratched behind his ears. He reached up to lick her neck and chin, then put his head in her lap, seeming to enjoy her welcoming strokes and caresses. When she stopped, he curled up in front of her and laid his head on his paws, relaxed, but watchful.

Galliadal along with the others on the platform watched him, and then the man smiled. “Our unusual visitor has come at an appropriate time in the story,” he said. Then back in character, he continued.

“ ‘Is that what you want? To be a natural-born hunter?’ the old Zelandoni asked.

“ ‘Yes! That’s it. I want to be a natural-born hunter,’ Wolafon said.

“ ‘Then come into my cave,’ said the old woman.” The tone of the story was no longer at all humorous; it was ominous.

“As soon as Wolafon walked into the cave, he became very sleepy. He sat down on a pile of wolf furs, and was instantly asleep. When he finally woke up, he felt that he had slept for a long time, but he didn’t know how long. The cave was empty, with no sign that it had ever been inhabited. He quickly ran outside.” The young man on the platform ran out of the imaginary cave using both hands and feet.

“The sun was shining and he was thirsty. As he headed for the river, he began to notice that something was strange. For one thing, he was seeing things from a different angle, as though he were lower to the ground. When he reached the edge of the stream, he felt the cold water on his feet as though he didn’t have any foot-coverings on. When he looked down, he didn’t see feet at all; he saw paws, the paws of a wolf.

“At first he was confused. Then he realized what had happened. The old Zelandoni had given him exactly what he asked for. He wanted to become a natural-born hunter, and now he was. He had become a wolf. That wasn’t what he meant when he asked to be a good hunter, but it was too late now.

“Wolafon was so sorry he wanted to cry, but he had no tears. He waited at the water’s edge, and in the stillness, began to be aware of the woods in a new way. He could hear things he had never heard before, and smell things he hadn’t even known existed. He picked up the scent of many things, especially animals, and when he focused on a large rabbit, a white hare, realized that he was hungry. But now he knew exactly what to do. Quietly, slowly, he stalked the creature. Though the hare was very fast, and could turn in an instant, the wolf anticipated his moves and caught him.”

Ayla smiled to herself at this part of the story. Most people did believe that wolves and other meat-eaters were born knowing how to hunt and kill their prey, but she knew better. After she had mastered the use of the sling, practicing in secret, she wanted to take the next step, to actually hunt with it, but hunting was forbidden to the women of the Clan. Many carnivores often stole meat from Brun’s clan, particularly smaller meat-eaters like martens, stoats, and other weasels, small wild cats, foxes, and middle-size hunters like vicious wolverines, tufted lynxes, wolves, and hyenas. Ayla justified her decision to defy the Clan taboo by resolving that she would hunt only meat-eaters, animals that were destructive to her clan, leaving the hunting of food animals to the men. As a result, she not only excelled as a hunter, but she learned a great deal about her chosen prey. She spent the first few years observing them before she managed to make her first kill. She knew that while the tendency to hunt was strong in meat-eaters, they all had to be taught by their elders in one way or another. Wolves weren’t born knowing how to hunt; young ones learned from their pack.

She was drawn back into Galliadal’s storytelling. “The taste of warm blood running down his throat was delicious and Wolafon quickly devoured the hare. He went back to the river for another drink and cleaned the blood off his fur. Then he nosed around looking for a secure place. When he found one, he curled up and using his tail to cover his face, he went to sleep. When he woke up again, it was dark, but he could see better at night than he ever had before. He stretched languorously, lifted his leg and sprayed a bush, then went out hunting again.” The young man on the platform did a good job of mimicking a wolf’s actions, and when he lifted his leg, the audience laughed.

“Wolafon lived in the cave that had been abandoned by the old woman for some time, hunting for himself and enjoying it, but after a while he began to get lonely. The boy had become a wolf, but he was still a boy, too, and he began to think about returning home to see his mother, and the attractive young woman from the south. He headed back toward the Cave of his mother, running with the ease of a wolf. When he saw a young deer who had strayed away from its mother, he remembered that the girl from the south liked to eat meat, and decided he would hunt it and bring it to her.

“When Wolafon got close, some people saw him coming and were afraid. They wondered why a wolf was dragging a deer toward their home. He saw the attractive young woman, but he didn’t notice the tall, handsome, fair-haired man standing beside her holding a new kind of weapon that enabled him to throw spears very far and fast, but as the man was preparing to cast a spear, Wolafon dragged the meat to the woman and dropped it at her feet. Then he sat down in front of her and looked up. He was trying to tell her that he loved her, but Wolafon couldn’t speak anymore. He could only show his love by his actions and the look in his eyes, and it was obvious that he was a wolf who loved a woman.”

All of the people in the audience turned to stare at Ayla and the wolf at her feet, most of them smiling. Some began to laugh, then others started to slap their knees in applause. Although it wasn’t quite where Galliadal had intended to end the story, the response from the listeners made him realize that it was a good place to stop.

Ayla felt embarrassed to be the center of so much attention, and looked at Jondalar. He was smiling, too, and slapping his knees.

“That was a good story,” he said.

“But none of it is true,” she said.

“Some of it is,” Jondalar said, looking down at the wolf who was now standing in an alert and protective posture in front of Ayla. “There is a wolf who loves a woman.”

She reached down to stroke the animal. “Yes, I think you are right.”

“Most of the stories that storytellers tell are not true, but they often have some truth in them, or satisfy a desire for an answer. You have to admit, it was a good story. And if someone didn’t know that you found Wolf as a very young cub alone in his den, with no siblings, or pack, or mother left alive, Galliadal’s story could indulge their wish to know, even if they understood that it probably wasn’t true.”

Ayla looked at Jondalar and nodded; then they both turned and smiled at Galliadal and the others on the platform. The storyteller acknowledged them with an elaborate bow.

The audience was getting up and moving around again, and the storytellers stepped down from the platform to make room for a different set of people to tell a story. They joined the group around Ayla and Wolf.

“It was incredible when the wolf appeared. He came at just the right time,” said the young man who had portrayed the boy-wolf. “It couldn’t have been better if we’d planned it. I don’t suppose you’d like to come and bring him every night?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea, Zanacan,” Galliadal said. “Everyone will be talking about the story we told this evening. If it happened all the time, it would take away the special quality of tonight. And I’m sure Ayla has other things to do. She is a mother, and the First’s acolyte.”

The young man flushed a little red and looked embarrassed. “You’re right, of course. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Ayla said. “Galliadal is right, I have many things to do, and Wolf wouldn’t always be here just when you might want him, but I think it would be fun to learn something about storytelling the way you do it. If no one would mind, I’d like to visit sometime when you are practicing.”

Zanacan, and the others, became very aware of Ayla’s unusual accent as she spoke, especially because they all knew the effect of different tonal qualities and voices, and had traveled around the region much more than most.

“I love your voice!” Zanacan said.

“I’ve never heard an accent like yours,” the young woman said.

“You must come from very far away,” the other young man added.

Ayla was usually a little embarrassed when people mentioned her accent, but the three young people seemed so excited and genuinely pleased, she could only smile.

“Yes. She does come from very far away. Much farther than you can imagine,” Jondalar said.

“We would love it if you came to visit us anytime you want while we’re here, and would you mind if we tried to learn your way of speaking?” the young woman said. She looked up at Galliadal for approval.

The storyteller looked at Ayla. “Gallara knows that sometimes our camp is not open to casual visitors, but, yes, you would be welcome to visit our camp anytime.”

“I think we could make a wonderful new story of someone who comes from very far away, maybe even farther than the land of the dawning sun,” said Zanacan, still full of excitement.

“I think we could, but somehow I doubt if it would be as good as the real story, Zanacan,” Galliadal said, then to Ayla and Jondalar he added, “The children of my hearth sometimes get very excited over new ideas, and you have given them many.”

“I didn’t know Zanacan and Gallara were the children of your hearth, Galliadal,” Jondalar said.

“And Kaleshal, too,” the man said. “He’s the eldest. Perhaps we should make proper introductions.”

The young people who had portrayed the characters of the story seemed quite pleased to meet the living counterparts of their tale, especially when they got to Ayla’s names and ties. as Jondalar recited them.

“May I present to you Ayla of the Zelandonii,” Jondalar began. When he got to where she came from, he changed the introduction somewhat. “Formerly she was Ayla of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi, the Mammoth Hunters who live far to the east, in ‘the land of the dawning sun,’ and adopted as Daughter of the Mammoth Hearth, which is their zelandonia. Chosen by the spirit of the Cave Lion, her totem, who physically marked her, and Protected by the spirit of the Cave Bear, Ayla is friend to the horses, Whinney and Racer, and the new filly, Gray, and loved by the four-legged hunter she calls Wolf.”

They understood the names and ties that Jondalar brought to the list when they mated, but when he spoke of Mammoth Hearth, and Cave Lion and Cave Bear, not to mention the living animals she brought with her, Zanacan opened his eyes very wide. It was a mannerism of his when he was surprised.

“We can use that in the new story!” Zanacan said. “The animals. Not exactly the same, of course, but the idea of hearths named for animals, and maybe Caves, too, and the animals she travels with.”

“I told you her real story is probably better than any story we could make up,” Galliadal said.

Ayla smiled at Zanacan. “Would you like to meet Wolf? All of you,” she said.

All three young people looked surprised, and Zanacan’s eyes opened again. “How do you meet a wolf? They don’t have names and ties, do they?”

“Not exactly,” Ayla said. “But the reason that we give our names and ties is to learn more about each other, isn’t it? Wolves learn more about people and many things in their world by scent. If you let him smell your hand, he will remember you.”

“I’m not sure … would that be good or bad?” Kaleshal said.

“If I introduce you, he will count you as a friend,” Ayla said.

“Then I think we should,” Gallara said. “I wouldn’t want to be counted as anything but a friend of that wolf.”

When Ayla reached for Zanacan’s hand and brought it to Wolf’s nose, she could feel the slight resistance, a tendency to pull back at first. But once he realized that nothing bad would happen, his innate curiosity and interest were aroused. “His nose is cold, and wet,” he said.

“That means he’s healthy. How did you think a wolf’s nose should feel?” Ayla said. “Or his fur? What do you think that feels like?” She moved his hand to stroke his head, and feel the fur along his neck and back. She went through a similar process with the other two young people, while many others stood back and watched.

“His fur is smooth and rough, and he’s warm,” Zanacan said.

“He’s alive. Living animals are warm, most of them. Birds are very warm, fish are cool, and snakes can be either,” Ayla said.

“How do you know so much about animals?” Gallara said.

“She’s a hunter, and she’s caught almost every kind of animal there is,” Jondalar said. “She can kill a hyena with a stone, catch a fish with her bare hand, and birds come to her whistle, but she usually lets them go. Just this spring, she led a lion hunt, and killed at least two with her spear-thrower.”