The Land of Painted Caves (93 page)

Zelandoni noticed him glancing at the same young woman who was holding the baby. She was looking at the other man. Aah … Now I understand, the Donier thought. Maybe not a First Rites child, but a first infatuation. She was a little surprised at how easily she had fallen into the pattern of thinking about the birth of children being caused by the coupling of a man and a woman. It all seemed to fit into place so logically now.

Ayla had also been aware of the young man from the Fifth Cave, and had noticed the byplay between the young woman and the two men. Does he think he started her baby? Could he be jealous? she wondered. Ayla realized that she was now more aware not only of the concept, but of the intense feelings associated with jealousy. I didn’t know this Gift of Knowledge from the Great Earth Mother would be so complicated. I’m not sure it’s such a wonderful Gift at all, she said to herself.

“If a woman with a child has never been mated, then the man she mates, the one who promises to provide and care for the child, becomes the father of her baby. Of course, if a woman chooses to mate with more than one man, they would share the name ‘father’ equally,” Zelandoni said, trying to show a possible alternative.

“But a woman doesn’t have to mate with anyone she doesn’t want, isn’t that right?” the young woman said.

The First noticed that the Zelandoni of the Fifth Cave was climbing the hill toward the area where his Cave was gathered. “Yes, that has always been true and it hasn’t changed.” She saw that the Donier was sitting beside the young man who had so many questions, and turned to take a question from an entirely different segment of the audience.

“What is my father’s father called?” asked a man from the Eleventh Cave.

Zelandoni breathed a quiet sigh of relief. An easy question. “A mother’s mother is a grandmother, and is usually called grandma. A mother’s father is a grandfather, or grandfa. A father’s mother is a grandmother, too, but to distinguish between them, she will still be called grandam. A father’s father is a grandfather, or grandaf. When you name your ties, your mother’s mother is your close grandmother, or your grandma, and your mother’s father is your close grandfather, or your grandfa, because you are always certain who your mother is.”

“What if you don’t know whose essence started your mother?” the leader of the Fifth Cave asked. “Or if they are walking in the next world, how can you name the tie?”

“If you know the man who was mated to your mother’s mother, he would be your grandfather. The same is true for your father. Even if he is in the next world, your father was started by a man who coupled with his mother, just as your mother was started by a man who put the essence of his organ inside her mother,” Zelandoni carefully explained.

“NO! Noooo!” came a cry from the audience. “It’s not true! She has done it again. She has betrayed me, just when I was starting to trust her.”

Everyone turned to look. On the far outside edge of the large group of people from the Ninth Cave, a man was standing. “It’s a lie! It’s all a lie! That woman is trying to trick you. The Mother would never have told her that,” he screamed, pointing at Ayla. “She’s a lying evil woman.”

Shading her eyes, Ayla looked up and saw Brukeval. Brukeval? Why is he screaming at me like that? I don’t understand, she thought. What did I do to him?

“I come from the spirit of a man who was chosen by the Great Mother to join with the spirit of my mother,” Brukeval shrieked. “My mother came from the spirit of a
man
who was chosen by Doni to join with the spirit of her mother. She did not come from the organ of an animal! Not from the essence of any organ. I am a man! I am not a Flathead! I am
not
a Flathead!” His voice couldn’t sustain the anguished scream; it cracked on the last words and ended on a sobbing wail.

38

B
rukeval suddenly started running down the hill, then across the small field and kept on going, leaving the campsite behind without looking back. Several men, mostly from the Ninth Cave, started after him, Joharran and Jondalar among them, hoping that once he ran out of breath, they could talk to him, calm him down, bring him back. But Brukeval ran as though the spirit of the dead were chasing him. For all his resistance to it, he had inherited the strength and the stamina of the man of the Clan who was his grandfather. Though they ran faster in the beginning, and started to catch up, the men who were chasing after Brukeval did not have his endurance, and could not keep up the pace he set.

They finally stopped, gasping, bent over, some rolling on the ground, trying to catch their breaths in a collective agony of aching sides and raw throats. “I should have gotten Racer,” Jondalar rasped, barely able to speak. “He couldn’t have outrun a horse.”

When they finally trudged back, the meeting was in disarray. People were standing up, walking around, talking. Zelandoni didn’t want it to end like that, and had called for a pause until the men returned, hopefully with Brukeval. When they returned without him, she decided to finish up quickly.

“It is unfortunate that Brukeval of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii feels as he does. His sensitivity about his background is well known, but no one knows for sure what really happened to his grandmother. We only know that she was lost for some time, and finally found her way back, and later gave birth to Brukeval’s mother. Anyone lost for so long is bound to have adverse effects from the ordeal, and Brukeval’s grandmother was not in her right mind when she returned. She was so full of fears, no one could believe, or even understand, much of what she said.

“The daughter she bore was not physically strong, probably because of her mother’s ordeal, and her pregnancy and the birth of her son was so hard for her, she died as a result. It’s likely that Brukeval bears the imprint of his mother’s difficult pregnancy in his stature and appearance, though it is fortunate that he grew strong and healthy. I think Brukeval was entirely right when he said he is a man. He is a Zelandonii man of the Ninth Cave, a good man who has much to offer. I’m sure he will decide to return to us after he’s had time to reconsider, and I know the Ninth Cave will welcome him back when he does,” the One Who Was First said, then she continued.

“I think it is time to close this meeting. We all have much to think about, and you can all continue the discussion we started here with your own Zelandoni.” As people were getting up again to leave, the First signaled to the leader of the Fifth Cave. “Will the Fifth Cave stay a little longer and join me here, near the lodge?” she asked. “I have a matter of importance that concerns you.” Might as well get this unpleasant chore over with while I’m at it, she thought. The meeting had not gone at all the way she’d hoped. Jondalar’s fight the night before had set the wrong tone in the beginning, and Brukeval’s abrupt departure left people feeling unsettled at the end.

“I’m sorry I have to do this,” the First said to the group of people of all ages that constituted the Fifth Cave. Madroman was among them as well as their Zelandoni. She picked up a carry-sack that was on a table near the back of the lodge and turned to face the acolyte. “Does this look familiar to you, Madroman?” she asked.

He looked, and then he blanched, and glanced around looking worried and wary.

“It’s yours, isn’t it? It has your markings.”

Several people were nodding their heads. Everyone knew it was his. It was quite distinctive; they had seen him with it.

“Where did you get that?” he asked.

“Ayla found it hidden in the deep of Fountain Rock. After you were ‘called’ to go in there,” the First said, with heavy sarcasm.

“I might have guessed it was her,” Madroman mumbled.

“She wasn’t looking for anything. She was sitting on the floor near the large round niche at the back, and happened to feel it in a hidden space at the bottom of a wall. She thought someone had forgotten it, and wanted to return it to him,” Zelandoni said.

“Why would she think someone had forgotten it if it was hidden?” Madroman said. There was no use pretending anymore.

“Because she wasn’t thinking straight. She had just lost her baby, and very nearly her life, in that cave,” the First said.

“What is this about?” the leader asked.

“Madroman has been an acolyte for a long time. He wanted to join the ranks of the zelandonia and was tired of waiting to be called.” She emptied the carry-sack on the table. Out fell the remains of food, the waterbag, the lamp and fire-making equipment, and the cloak. “He hid this inside the cave, then pretended that he felt the call. He stayed inside a little more than two days, with plenty of food, water, light, and even a covering for warmth. He hid this, then came out acting groggy and disoriented, and claimed he was ready.”

“You mean he lied about his call?” the leader asked.

“In a word, yes.”

“If it hadn’t been for her, you would never have known,” Madroman spat out.

“You are wrong, Madroman. We knew. This only confirmed it. What makes you think you can fool the zelandonia? We have all been through it. Don’t you think we’d know the difference?” Zelandoni said.

“Why didn’t you say something before?”

“Some of us were trying to find a way to give you every opportunity. Some thought, or hoped, that it wasn’t intentional. They wanted to make sure that you hadn’t fooled yourself in your strong desire to become One Who Serves … until Ayla brought this to us. You would not have become zelandoni, in any case, but you might have remained an acolyte, Madroman. Now, that is no longer possible. The Great Earth Mother doesn’t want to be served by a liar and a cheat,” the powerful woman said in tones that left no doubt about her feelings. “Kemordan, leader of the Fifth Cave of the Zelandonia,” the First continued, “will you and your Cave bear witness?”

“We will,” he replied.

“We will,” said the Cave in unison.

“Madroman of the Fifth Cave of the Zelandonii, former acolyte,” the First intoned, “you may never again put yourself out as a member of the zelandonia, not as an acolyte or in any other manner. You may never again attempt to treat someone’s illness, or offer advice about the ways of the Mother, or in any way assume the duties of the zelandonia. Do you understand?”

“But what am I supposed to do now? That’s all I’ve trained for. I don’t know how to be anything but an acolyte,” Madroman said.

“If you return everything you have received from the zelandonia, you can go back to your Cave and think about learning some other craft, Madroman. And be grateful I am not imposing a fine and announcing it to the whole Camp.”

“They’ll all find out anyway,” Madroman said, then raising his voice, “You were never going to let me be a Zelandoni. You’ve always hated me. You and Jondalar, and your little favorite, Ayla, the Flathead lover. You’ve been out to get me from the beginning … Zolena.”

There was a gasp from the Fifth Cave. Not one of them would have dared to be so disrespectful to the One Who Was First as to call her by her former name. Most would have been afraid to. Even Madroman paused in his tirade when he saw the expression on the face of the First. She was, after all, a woman of formidable powers.

He turned on his heel and stomped away, not sure what he was going to do as he headed for the fa’lodge he had sometimes shared with Laramar, Brukeval, and the rest. It was empty when he got there. Most camps were serving meals after the long meeting, and the rest of the men had gone to find something to eat. It suddenly came to him that neither Laramar or Brukeval would be back at all. Laramar would be a long time recovering, and who knew what Brukeval would do. Madroman walked over and took a small waterbag of barma from Laramar’s traveling pack. He sat down on the sleeping roll and drank most of it down in a few gulps, then took a second one. Laramar will never know, he thought.

It’s all the fault of that big dolt who knocked my teeth out. Madroman felt the hole in the front of his mouth with his tongue. He had learned to compensate for it, and didn’t think about his missing teeth much anymore, though it had hurt when he was younger and women ignored him because of it. He’d since discovered that certain women were interested in him when they learned he was part of the zelandonia, even just an acolyte in training. None of those women would want him now. He flushed at the thought of his disgrace, and opened the second waterbag full of barma.

Why did Jondalar have to come back? he said to himself. If Jondalar hadn’t returned from his Journey and brought that foreign woman here, she wouldn’t have found that sack. Then the zelandonia never would have known, I don’t care what that fat old woman says. I don’t really want to go back to the Fifth Cave now, and I don’t want to learn another trade. Why should I? I’m as good a Zelandoni as any of them, and I doubt that they’ve all been called, either. I’ll bet a lot of them fake it. What is a call anyway? They probably all fake it. Even that Flathead lover. So what if she lost a baby. Women lose babies all the time. What’s so special about that?

He took another drink, glanced over at Brukeval’s place, then got up and walked over. Everything was there, neatly in order the way he always kept it. He didn’t even come and get his gear, Madroman thought. He’s going to sleep cold tonight without a sleeping roll. I wonder if I could find him. He might be grateful if I brought him his things. Madroman walked back to his place and looked at the paraphernalia he had acquired as an acolyte. That fat old woman wants me to give it all back.

I’m not going to do it! I’m going to pack up all my things and leave. He paused, looked over at Brukeval’s sleeping place. If I can find him, maybe we could go on a Journey together, or something, find some other people. I could tell them I am Zelandoni; they’d never know.

That’s what I’ll do. I’ll pack up Brukeval’s gear, and go look for him. I know a few places he might be. He would be someone to stay with, and he’s a better hunter than I am. I haven’t done it in so long. Maybe I’ll take some of Laramar’s things, too. He’ll never miss them. He won’t even know who took them. It could be anyone in this lodge. They all know he won’t be back.

And it’s all Jondalar’s fault. First he nearly kills me; then he nearly kills Laramar. He’ll get away with it, too, just like he did before. I hate Jondalar, I’ve always hated Jondalar. Someone ought to hold him down and beat him up. Ruin his pretty face. See how he likes it. I’d like to give Ayla a few whacks, too. I know a few people who wouldn’t mind holding her down. I’d give her something else, too, like a load of my “essence,” he thought with an evil grin. Then she wouldn’t walk so high. She never would share Pleasures with anyone else, not even at Mother Festivals. Thinks she’s so perfect, finding my sack and bringing it to the zelandonia. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be out. I’d be Zelandoni. I hate that woman!

Madroman finished up the second waterbag of barma, grabbed several more, then looked around to see what else he wanted to take. He found a spare outfit, used but still good. He tried it on; they were nearly the same size. He took it. His zelandonia clothing was decorative and distinctive, but not very practical for long hikes. The sleeping roll wasn’t much good—it was an old throwaway to begin with; Laramar’s good one was in his mate’s tent—but there were several other very nice items, including a good fur cover. Then he found a real treasure, a new full winter outfit that Laramar had recently traded for. His barma was constantly in demand, and he had always been able to trade for whatever he wanted.

Next Madroman walked over to Brukeval’s place and began hauling everything he saw back to his own place. He changed into the more practical outfit that he’d found at Laramar’s place. It didn’t matter that it had Ninth Cave decorations instead of Fifth Cave; he wasn’t going to be staying at either place. He took food from both places, and then rummaged through the possessions of all the rest of the men, taking food and a few other items as well. He found a good, well-hafted knife, a small stone hatchet, and a new pair of warm mittens someone had just acquired. He didn’t have any with him and winter was coming. Who knows where I’ll be then? he thought. He had to repack a few times, eliminate a few things, but once he was ready, he was eager to leave.

He put his head out of the lodge and looked around. The Campsite was full of people, as usual, but none were nearby. He hoisted on the heavy backframe, and started out briskly. He planned on heading generally north, the direction he had seen Brukeval take. He was nearly beyond the boundary of the Summer Meeting Campsite, close to the camp of the Ninth Cave, when Ayla came out of a dwelling. She seemed to be distracted, preoccupied, but she glanced up and saw him. He flashed her a look of sheer hatred and kept on going.

   The camp of the Ninth Cave looked deserted. Everyone had gone to the Lanzadoni camp for a joint midday meal, a feast they had been planning together for some time, but Ayla said she wasn’t hungry, and promised she’d come later. She was sitting on her bedroll in the dwelling, feeling despondent, thinking about Brukeval and his outburst at the meeting, and wondering if there was anything she could have done. She didn’t think Zelandoni had anticipated his reaction, and it didn’t even occur to her to consider it, though now she was sure she should have. She knew how sensitive he was to inferences that he was in any way related to Flatheads.