The Land of Painted Caves (64 page)

Everyone was still tense and overexcited. It took a while for most people to understand what had happened. Those who had participated were beginning to feel a range of emotions. Some felt shame for what they had done; others felt relief, sorrow, excitement, even elation that Balderan had finally gotten back what he had given out.

Levela had kept Jonayla with her when Wolf ran out of the tent, though she wanted to follow him. Ayla had some of Balderan’s blood on her when she returned, which upset her daughter. She assured Jonayla that it was not her own blood, but that of a man who was hurt.

The next morning Jondalar went to see the Zelandonia who were both called First to tell them that Ayla wanted to stay in her tent and rest that day. Her throat still hurt from the attempted strangulation. All the local zelandonia had been discussing how to help the people, whether they should call another meeting, or wait until people came to them.

As Jondalar walked back, he was aware that people were watching him, but he didn’t care. And he didn’t hear the comments. Men admired his strength and his speed, his reaction had been so swift; the women just admired him. To have a man like that, so handsome, so quick to jump to his woman’s defense, who wouldn’t want such a man? If he had heard them talking, he wouldn’t have cared. He just wanted to get to his Ayla and make sure she was well, and that everything was all right.

But after a while it was the story of Balderan’s attack on Ayla and Jondalar’s quick defense that was told several times, not the resulting melee that ended in the beating death of three men, and quite possibly a fourth, although Gahaynar was holding on to life. The zelandonia had to decide how they were going to dispose of the bodies. It posed a dilemma. They didn’t want to honor them in any way; there would be no ceremony, but they did want to make sure their spirits were given back to the Mother. They ended up taking the bodies into the mountains and leaving them on the crest of a hill, exposed to every kind of scavenger.

   The visitors from the nearby Caves spent a few more days camped in the field, then began to trickle away to get back into their normal routine now that the excitement was over. They would have many stories to tell about the visitors, the One Who Was First, and her acolyte who controlled a wolf and horses, and called up a two-headed snake, and who helped rid them of Balderan, but the versions of what happened to Balderan and his gang would likely be different depending upon what part each person had played in the events.

Ayla was getting restless and anxious to leave. She decided it was a good time to finish drying the bison meat—it would give her something to do—and laid out lines of cordage supported by sticks of wood, and built smoky fires in and around them. Insects like gnats were drawn to the raw meat, where they liked to lay eggs that could cause it to spoil. The smoke kept them away, and incidentally flavored the meat. Then she set about slicing the sections of bison into thin, uniform pieces. Before long, Levela joined her, then Jondecam and Jondalar. Jonayla wanted to help, so Ayla showed her how to cut the meat and gave her a section of the corded lines to hang her pieces up to dry. Willamar and his two assistants strolled into camp around midday, quite excited.

“After we leave here, we were thinking it might be a good idea to go south along this river until we reach the Southern Sea,” Willamar said. “After coming all this way, it would be a shame not to see it, and we’ve been told this is the time to trade for shells. They have many of the small round bead shells, and the pretty long dentalia, and some particularly nice scallop shells, even periwinkles, I’m told. We could keep some and trade some to the Fifth Cave.”

“What do we have to trade with them for the shells?” Jondalar asked.

“I was going to talk to you about that. Do you think you could find some good flint and make some blades and points to exchange for shells? And maybe some of that meat you are drying, Ayla?” Willamar said.

“How do you know this is the time to trade, and about all these shell beads?” Levela asked.

“A man from the north just arrived. You’ll have to meet him. He’s a trader, too, and he has some fascinating ivory carvings,” Willamar said.

“I knew a man who made ivory carvings,” Ayla said, a little wistfully.

Jondalar’s ears perked up. He knew that same ivory carver. He was a remarkable and talented artist, and the man to whom he almost lost Ayla. He still felt a lump in his throat at the thought.

“I would like to meet the man and see his carvings, and I wouldn’t mind seeing the Southern Sea. I’m sure we can work something out in terms of trading. What else would make good trade goods?” he asked.

“Almost anything that is well made or useful, especially something unusual,” Willamar said.

“Like Ayla’s baskets,” Levela said.

“Why my baskets?” Ayla said, a little surprised. “They’re just plain baskets, not even any decoration on them.”

“That’s just it. They seem to be just plain baskets, until you look closely,” Levela said. “They are made so well, absolutely tight and even, and the weave is so unusual. The ones that are watertight stay that way for a long time, the looser ones also hold up well. Anyone who knows anything about baskets would pick yours before a showier one that is not made as well. Even your throwaway baskets are too good to throw away.”

Ayla blushed a little at all the praise. “I just make them the way I was taught,” she said. “I didn’t think there was anything special about them.”

Jondalar smiled. “I remember when we first went to stay with the Mamutoi, and there was a festival where people were exchanging gifts. Tulie and Nezzie offered to give you some things that you could give as gifts, but you said you had many gifts you had made to keep yourself busy and wanted to go back to your valley and get them. So we went and got them. I think Tulie, in particular, was surprised at how beautiful and well made your gifts were. And Talut loved his bison robe. The things you make are beautiful, Ayla.”

Now she was blushing bright red and at a loss as to what to say.

“If you don’t think so, just look at Jonayla,” Jondalar said with a grin.

“That’s not just me. Jonayla has a lot of you in her, too,” Ayla said.

“I certainly hope so,” Jondalar said.

“There’s no doubt the Mother used your spirit to blend with Ayla’s,” Levela said. “You can see it in Jonayla’s eyes. They are exactly your color and that shade of blue is not very common.”

“So everyone’s agreed. We will go to the Southern Sea on our way home,” Willamar interjected. “And I think you should make some baskets, Ayla. You can trade for salt, too, not just shells.”

“When are we going to meet the man with the carvings?” Jondecam asked.

“If this is a good time to stop for a midday meal, you can meet him now,” Willamar said.

“I just have a few more pieces to finish,” Levela said.

“We can bring some of the bison with us to cook for our meal or contribute to a community meal,” Jondalar said.

Jondalar picked up Jonayla and they all left with Willamar and walked to the zelandonia’s covered shelter. Demoryn was talking to a stranger, and Amelana, obviously pregnant and fully aware of how attractive that made her, was smiling at him. He was smiling back. He was fairly tall and well built, with brown hair and blue eyes, an appealing friendly face, and to Ayla, there was something about him that seemed familiar.

“I brought the rest of our traveling group,” Willamar said, and began the introductions. When he started with “Jondalar of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii,” the man looked puzzled as Jondalar put Jonayla down in preparation for joining hands.

“And this is his mate, Ayla of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, formerly of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi, Daughter of the Mammoth Hearth …”

“You I know,” the man said. “Or know of you. I am Conardi of the Losadunai and you both stayed with the Losadunai a few years ago?”

“Yes, we stayed with Laduni’s Cave on our way back from our Journey,” Jondalar said, with genuine excitement. Although anyone who made a Journey usually met many people, one seldom met them again, or even someone who knew someone a person had met.

“We all heard about both you at next Summer Meeting. You made big impression with horses and wolf I recall,” Conardi said.

“Yes, the horses are at our camp, and Wolf is hunting,” Ayla said.

“And this little beauty must be addition to family. You she resembles,” Conardi said to the tall blond man with the vivid blue eyes. It sounded as though he was speaking Zelandonii with a slight shift in construction and a slightly different accent, but, Ayla remembered, their languages were very close. He was actually speaking Zelandonii with some Losadunai, his own language, mixed in.

“Willamar said you brought carvings,” Jondalar said.

“Yes. Here examples,” Conardi said.

He untied a pouch from his waist ties, opened the top, and poured out several mammoth ivory figures onto an unused platter. Ayla picked one up. It was a mammoth with some extra lines incised on it, whose reason was not clear, so she asked him.

“I do not know,” he said. “They always made that way. These not made by ancients, but made like ancients make, especially by young people who are learning.”

Next, Ayla picked up a long, slender figure, and when she looked closely, she knew it was a bird, but a bird like a goose flying through the air. It was so simple, yet so full of life. The next figure was like a lion standing on its hind legs—at least the head was and the top of its body, and the upper arms seemed to be feline—but the legs were human. And in front of what would be the long underbelly of a cat, if it wasn’t standing upright, was a clearly marked enlongated downward-pointing triangle, the pubic triangle, the unmistakable sign of a female. Though there were no human-like breasts, the figure was a lion woman.

The last figure was definitely a woman, though she had no head, just a carved hole through which a cord was strung. The breasts were huge and quite high. The arms ended with the indication of a hand with fingers. The hips were broad and the buttocks large, with the line dividing them sharply incised all the way around to the front, ending with such an exaggerated depiction of a vulva, the female organ was almost everted.

“I think this was made by a woman who has been through childbirth,” Ayla said. “That’s sometimes how it feels, like you are being split in two.”

“You may be right, Ayla. The breasts certainly appear to be full of milk,” said the First.

“Are you offering these for trade?” Willamar asked.

“No, these my own. I carry for luck, but if you want one or more, could get some made,” Conardi said.

“If it were me, I would get some extras made to take on trading missions. I’m sure they would trade well,” Willamar said. “Are you a Trade Master, Conardi?” He had noticed the man did not have a trader’s tattoo.

“I like travel, and trade some, but not Trade Master,” Conardi said. “Everybody trades, but we have not such occupation as specialty.”

“If you like to travel, you can make it be,” Willamar said. “It is what I’m training my apprentices to be. This may be my last long trading mission. I’m at an age where traveling is losing its appeal. I’m ready to settle down at home with my mate and her children and grandchildren, like that pretty little one.” He indicated Jonayla. “Some traders take their mates and families with them, but my mate was the leader of the Ninth Cave, and not as free to travel. So I always make sure I bring her something special. That’s why I was asking if your carvings were available for trading. But I’m sure I’ll find something when we go to the Southern Sea to trade for shells. Would you like to travel together with us?”

“When do you leave?” Conardi asked.

“Soon, but not before we see the Most Ancient Sacred Site,” Willamar said.

“Is good you do. Beautiful cave, most extraordinary paintings, but I see several times. I go ahead, tell them you coming,” Conardi said.

27

T
he entrance to the cave was quite large but not symmetrical, and more wide than high. The right side was taller; the left lower section had a projecting ledge over part of it, creating a sheltered area that offered some protection from rain, and from the occasional rain of pebbles that cascaded down the cliff. A cone-shaped mound of gravel had accumulated at the far left end of the cave’s mouth, falling from the rock face above, amassing on the ledge, and spilling over, creating a scree slope from the base of the cone that continued down the side of the cliff.

As a result of the capacious opening, light penetrated to some depth into the cave. Ayla thought it would make a good place to live, but it obviously was not used as such. Except for the corner under the ledge where a small fire was burning outside a sleeping shelter, there was little evidence of the things that people used to make their life comfortable. As they approached, a Zelandoni came out of the shelter and greeted them.

“In the name of the Great Earth Mother, you are welcome to Her Most Ancient Sacred Place, First Among Those Who Serve Her,” she said, holding out both hands.

“I greet you, Watcher of Her Most Ancient Sacred Site,” the First replied.

Jonokol was next. “I am Zelandoni of the Nineteenth Cave of the Zelandonii, and I greet you, Watcher of Her Most Ancient Sacred Site. I am told the images inside this Sacred Place are quite striking. I have also made some images, and I am honored to be invited to see this Sacred Site,” he said.

The Watcher smiled. “So you are a Zelandoni Image Maker,” she said. “I think you will be a little surprised at what you see in this cave, and perhaps you will appreciate the artistry more than most. The Ancients who worked here were quite skilled.”

“Are all the images here made by the Ancients?” the Nineteenth asked.

The Watcher heard the unspoken plea in Jonokol’s voice. She had heard it before from artists who came to visit. They wanted to know if they would be allowed to add to the work, and she knew what to say.

“Very nearly, though I do know of a few made more recently. If you feel equal to the task, and compelled to do so, you are free to make your mark here. We put no restrictions on anyone. The Mother chooses. You will know if you are chosen,” the Watcher said. Though many asked, very few actually did feel equal to the task of contributing to the remarkable work inside.

Ayla was the next one. “In the name of the Great Mother of All, I greet you, Watcher of the Most Ancient Sacred Site,” she said, holding out her hands. “I am called Ayla, acolyte to the First Among Those Who Serve The Great Earth Mother.”

She’s not ready to give up her name yet, was the Zelandoni’s first thought. Then she grew conscious that the young woman had spoken with an unusual accent and knew she was the person she had been told about. Most of her Cave thought that all the visitors spoke Zelandonii with what they considered a northern accent, but the way this woman spoke was entirely different. She spoke well, and she obviously knew the language, but the way she made certain sounds was unlike anything she had heard before. There was no doubt that she came from a very distant place.

She looked at the young woman more carefully. Yes, she thought, she’s attractive, but she has a foreign aspect, a different set to her features, a shorter face, wider space between her eyes. Even her hair, it’s not fine, like so many Zelandonii women. It has a thicker texture, and though she is blond, the shade is distinctive, darker, rather like honey or amber. A foreigner and yet she is acolyte to the First. It’s rare enouch for a foreigner to become one of the zelandonia, much less acolyte to the First. But perhaps understandable since she’s the one who can control horses and a wolf. And she’s the one who stopped the men who have been causing so much trouble for so many years.

“You are welcome to this Most Ancient Sacred Site, Ayla, acolyte to the First,” the Zelandoni said, grasping Ayla’s hands. “I suspect you have traveled farther to see this site than anyone ever has.”

“I came with the rest of …” Ayla started, then seeing the smile on the woman’s face, she understood. It was her accent. The Watcher was talking about how far she had traveled on her Journey with Jondalar, and before that, from her home with the Clan, and perhaps even before that. “You could be right,” she said, “but Jondalar may have traveled even farther. He Journeyed all the way from his home to the end of the Great Mother River far to the east, and beyond, where he found me, and then back again before we started on this Donier Tour.”

Jondalar stepped closer at the sound of his name and grinned when he heard Ayla describe his travels. The woman was not young and immature and not old, but old enough so that she had the wisdom that came from experience and maturity, about the age he used to like women before he met Ayla.

“Greetings, respected Watcher of the Most Ancient Sacred Site,” he said, holding out his hands. “I am Jondalar of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, Flint-Knapper of the Ninth Cave. Mated to Ayla of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, who is acolyte of the First. Son of Marthona, former leader of the Ninth Cave; brother of Joharran, leader of the Ninth Cave. Born to the Hearth of Dalanar, leader and founder of the Lanzadonii.”

He recounted his important names and ties. It was one thing for members of the zelandonia to simply state their primary affiliations, but it would seem too casual and not very courteous for him to be so brief in a formal introduction, especially to a Zelandoni.

“You are welcome here, Jondalar of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii,” she said, taking his hands and looking into eyes of an incredibly vivid shade of blue, eyes that seemed to see inside her very spirit, and cause her womanhood to quiver. She closed her eyes for a moment to regain her internal balance. No wonder she’s not ready to give up her name yet, the Watcher thought. She’s mated, and to one of the most fascinating men I have ever met. I wonder if anyone is planning a Mother Festival for these visitors from the north … too bad my time for serving as Watcher is not up yet. If someone needs me here, I can’t go to Mother Festivals.

Willamar, who was waiting to introduce himself to the Watcher, ducked his head to smile to himself. It was a good thing that Jondalar hardly seemed to notice the impact he still had on women, he thought, and as perceptive as she was, Ayla seemed oblivious to it. Even though it was discouraged, he knew that jealousy still lived in the hearts of many.

“I am called Willamar, Master Trader of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii,” he said, when his turn came, “mated to Marthona, the former leader of the Ninth Cave, who is the mother of this young man. Though he was not born to my hearth, he was raised there so I think of him as the son of my heart. I feel the same about Ayla and her little one, Jonayla.”

She’s not only mated, she has a child, a young child, the Watcher thought. How can she even think of becoming a Zelandoni? Much less as an acolyte to the the most powerful Zelandoni on earth? The First must see a lot of potential in her, but inside she must be pulled so many ways.

Only these five visitors would be going into the cave at this time. The rest of the visitors would go another time and might not see as much. The Caves that watched over the Sacred Site didn’t like too many to go in at one time. There were torches and lamps near the fireplace. That was part of the Watcher’s job, to gather and prepare them so they would be on hand when needed. Everyone took a torch. The Watcher handed out extras, put more of them in a pack, and added some stone lamps and small bladders of oil. When everyone had a fire holder to light the way, the Watcher started in.

There was enough daylight coming into the entrance chamber to get a sense of the huge size of the cave, and a first impression of its disorganized character. A chaotic landscape of stone formations filled the space. Columns of stalactites once attached to the ceiling and their stalagmitic mates had dropped down as though the floor had fallen out from under them, some tipped over, some collapsed, some shattered. There was a sense of immediacy in the way they were strewn about, yet everything was so frozen in time they were iced with a thick caramel layer of glistening stalagmitic frosting.

The Watcher started humming as she led them toward the left, staying close to the wall. The rest followed in single file, with the First next in line, then Ayla, followed by Jonokol and Willamar, with Jondalar at the end. He was tall enough to see over the heads of the rest and thought of himself as a sort of protective rear guard, though he had no idea from what they needed to be protected.

Even well into the cave there was still enough light coming in from the entrance that it was not entirely dark. Instead the cave was suffused with a kind of deep twilight, especially once eyes became accustomed to the shadowed ambience. As they moved inside and passed by with their lamps or torches, the coloration of the stone the light illuminated varied from thin new icicles of pure white to lumpy gray stumps hoary with age. Flowing draperies hung from above, striped along the folds in shades of yellow, orange, red, and white. Shining lights of crystal caught the eye, reflecting and amplifying the meager light, some glittering off the floor covered by a white film of calcite. They saw fantastical sculptures that kindled the imagination and colossal white columns that glowed with translucent mystery. It was an utterly beautiful cave.

In the vague light they reached a place where the space seemed to open out. The sides of the chamber disappeared and in front of them, except for a gleaming white disk, the emptiness seemed to go on and on. Ayla felt that they had entered another area that was even larger than the entrance chamber. Though the ceiling was hung with strange and magnificent stalactites that resembled long white hair, the floor was unusually level, like the calm, still lake it once was. But now the floor of the huge chamber was cluttered with skulls and bones and teeth, and the shallow depressions that had been the beds of hibernating cave bears.

The Watcher, who had been humming continuously, started increasing the volume of her sound until the intensity and force of the droning was louder than Ayla, who was standing beside her, would have thought possible for anyone to make, but there was no reverberation. The noise was swallowed by the immensity of the empty space inside the stone cliff. Next the One Who Was First started singing the Mother’s Song in her deep, rich operatic contralto.

Out of the darkness, the chaos of time
,

The whirlwind gave birth to the Mother sublime
.

She woke to Herself knowing life had great worth
,

The dark empty void grieved the Great Mother Earth
.

The Mother was lonely. She was the only
.

From the dust of Her birth She created the other
,

A pale shining friend, a companion, a brother
.

They grew up together, learned to love and to care
,

And when She was ready, they decided to pair
.

Around Her he’d hover. Her pale shining lover
.

She was happy at first with Her one counterpart …

The First hesitated, then stopped. There was no resonance, no echo coming back. The cave was telling them that this was not the place for people. This space belonged to the cave bears. She wondered if there were any images in the empty room. The Watcher would know.

“Zelandoni who watches over this cave,” she said formally, “did the ancients make any images in the room ahead?”

“No,” the woman said. “This room isn’t ours to paint. We can go into the room in spring, just as they often go into our place in this cave, but the Mother has given this room to the cave bears for their winter sleep.”

“That must be why people decided not to live here,” Ayla said. “When I first saw this cave I thought it ought to be a good place to live and wondered why a Cave had not chosen it. Now I know.”

The Watcher led them to the right. They passed by a small opening that led to another chamber and a little farther on came to a larger opening. Like the entrance chamber, this one was a chaotic mass of fallen blocks of stalagmites and concretions. The pathway went around these obstructions and led to a vast space with a high ceiling and a dark red floor. A promontory created by a huge cascade of stone dominated the chamber marked by several large red dots on a rock pendant suspended from the ceiling. They came to a large panel, a nearly vertical wall that continued up to the ceiling, covered by large red dots and various signs.

“How do you think these dots were made?” the Watcher asked.

“I suppose a big wad of leather or moss, or something similar could have been used,” Jonokol said.

“I think the Zelandoni of the Nineteenth should look a little more closely,” the First said. Ayla remembered that she had been here before and no doubt knew the answer. Willamar probably knew, too. Ayla did not volunteer a guess, nor did Jondalar. The Watcher held up her hand and stretched back her fingers, then held it up to a dot. It was just about the same size as her palm.