The Shelters of Stone

Chapter 26

"I need to think about it," Mardena said. "My son is not like other boys. He can't do the same things they do."

Ayla looked at the woman. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Certainly you can see that his arm limits him," the woman said.

"Somewhat, but many people learn to overcome those kinds of limitations," Ayla said.

"How much can he overcome? You must know he'll never be a hunter, and he can't make things with his hands. That doesn't leave much," Mardena said.

"Why can't he be a hunter or learn to make things?" Ayla said. "He's intelligent. He can see well. He has one perfectly good arm and some use of the other. He can walk, he can even run. I've seen far worse problems overcome. He just needs someone to teach him."

"Who would teach him?" Mardena said. "Even the man of his hearth didn't want to."

Ayla thought she was beginning to understand. "I would be happy to teach him, and I think Jondalar would be willing to help. Lanidar's left arm is strong. He might have to learn to compensate for the right arm, balance mostly, for accuracy, but I'm sure he could learn to throw a spear, especially with a spear-thrower."

"Why should you bother? We don't live at your Cave. You don't even know him," the woman said.

Ayla didn't think the woman would believe that she would do it because she liked the boy, though she had just met him. "I think we all have an obligation to teach children whatever we can," she said, "and I have just become Zelandonii. I need to make a contribution to my new people to show that I am worthy. Besides, if he helps me with the horses, I would owe him a debt, and I would want to give him something of like value in return. That is what I was taught when I was a girl."

"Even if you try to teach him, what if he can't learn to hunt? I hate to get his hopes up," the boy's mother said.

"He needs to learn some skills, Mardena. What will he do when he grows up, and you become too old to protect him? You don't want him to be a burden on the Zelandonii. Neither do I, no matter where he lives."

"He knows how to gather food with the women," Mardena said.

"Yes, and that is a worthwhile contribution, but he should learn some other skills. At least he should try," Ayla said.

"I suppose you're right, but what can he do? I'm not sure he could really hunt," Lanidar's mother said.

"You saw him throw a spear, didn't you? Even if he doesn't become an excellent hunter – though I think he could – if he learns to hunt, it could lead to other things."

"Like what?"

Ayla tried to think of something in a hurry. "He's a good whistler, Mardena. I've heard him," she said. "A person who knows how to whistle can often learn to imitate the sounds that animals make. If he can, then he could learn to be a Caller, and entice them to where the hunters are waiting. You don't need arms for that, but he would need to be where animals are so he could hear them, and learn how they sound."

"It's true, he is a good whistler," Mardena said, considering something she hadn't thought of. "Do you really think he could do something with that?"

Lanidar had been listening to the discussion with keen interest. "She whistles, mother. She can whistle like birds," he interjected. "And she whistles to call her horses, but she can imitate a horse, and she sounds just like one when she does."

"Is that true? Can you make the sound of a horse?" the mother asked.

"Why don't you and Lanidar come and visit the camp of the Ninth Cave tomorrow morning, Mardena," Ayla said. She was sure the woman was going to ask her to demonstrate, and she didn't really want to make a loud horse neigh with so many people around. They would all turn and stare at her.

"Can I bring my mother?" Mardena asked. "I'm sure she'll want to come."

"Of course. Why don't you all come and share a meal with us."

"All right. We'll come tomorrow morning," Mardena said.

Ayla watched the boy and his mother walk away together. Before she turned to join the women and Wolf, she saw Lanidar look back at her with an absolutely grateful smile.

"Here's your bird," Folara said as she approached, holding out the willow grouse with the small spear still sticking out of it. "What are you going to do with it?"

"Well, since I just invited some people to share a meal tomorrow morning, I think I will end up cooking it for them," Ayla said.

"Whom did you invite?" Marthona asked.

"That woman I was talking to," Ayla said.

"Mardena?" Folara said with surprise.

"And her son, and her mother."

"No one invites them, except to community feasts, of course," Folara said.

"Why not?" Ayla asked.

"Now that I think about it, I'm not really sure," Folara said. "Mardena keeps to herself. I think she blames herself, or thinks people blame her, for the boy's arm."

"Some people do," Marthona said, "and the boy may have trouble finding a mate. Mothers will be afraid that he'll bring crippling spirits with him to a mating."

"And she always drags her boy around wherever she goes," Folara said. "I think she's afraid the other boys will pick on him if she lets him go anywhere alone. They probably would. I don't think he has any friends. She doesn't give him any opportunities."

"I wondered about that," Ayla said. "She seemed very protective of him. Too much, I think. She thinks his crippled arm limits his abilities, but I think his biggest limitation is not his arm, it's his mother. She's afraid to let him try, but he has to grow up sometime."

"Why did you pick him to throw a spear, Ayla? It seemed like you knew him," Marthona asked.

"Someone told him there were horses where we're camped – the Upper Meadow, he called it – and he came to see them. I happened to be there when he came. I think he was trying to get away from the crowd, or his mother, but whoever told him didn't say anything about us camping there. I know Jondalar and Joharran have been passing the word for people to stay away from the horses. Maybe the 'someone' who told Lanidar about them thought he would get in trouble if he came looking for them. But I don't mind if people want to look, I just don't want anybody thinking about hunting them. They're too used to people. They wouldn't know to run away," Ayla explained.

"So of course, you let Lanidar touch the horses, and he got all excited, just like everyone does," Folara said, grinning.

Ayla smiled back. "Well, maybe not everyone, but I think if people have a chance to get to know them, they'll know they are special and won't be tempted to hunt them."

"You are probably right," Marthona said,

"The horses seemed to take to him, and he learned my whistle for them right away, so I asked Lanidar if he would check on the horses when I'm not around. I didn't think that his mother might object," Ayla said.

"Not many mothers would object to letting a son who will soon be able to count twelve years learn more about horses, or any animal," Marthona said.

"That many years? I would have thought he was a nine- or maybe a ten-year. He talked about Jondalar's spear-throwing demonstration, but he said he didn't want to go because he couldn't throw a spear. He seemed to think it was beyond him, but there is nothing wrong with his left arm, and I had my spear-thrower with me, so I showed him how to use it. After talking to Mardena, I know where he got the idea, but at his years he should be learning some skills besides picking berries with his mother." Ayla looked at both women. "There are so many people here, you can't know all of them. How do you know Lanidar and his mother?"

"Any time a baby is born with something wrong with him like that, everybody hears about it," Marthona said, "and they talk about it. Not necessarily in a bad way. They just wonder why it happened, and hope nothing like that ever happens to any of their children. So, of course, everyone knew when the man of his hearth left. Most people think it was because he was embarrassed to call Lanidar the son of his hearth, but I think at least part of it was Mardena. She didn't want anybody to see the baby, not even her mate. She tried to hide him, and kept his arm covered, and got very protective of him."

"That's his problem, she still is. When I told her that I asked him to check on the horses when I'm not there, Mardena didn't want to let him. I wasn't asking for something he couldn't do. I just want someone to make sure they are all right, and to come and get me if there is a problem," Ayla said. "That's why she's coming over tomorrow, so I can try to persuade her that the horses won't hurt him. And I've promised to teach him to hunt, or at least to throw a spear. I'm not sure how it all happened, but somehow the more she objected to him even trying to learn, the more determined I became to teach him."

Both women were smiling and nodding with understanding.

"Will you tell Proleva that we are having visitors in the morning?" Ayla said. "And that I'll cook this grouse?"

"Don't forget your hare," Marthona said. "Salova told me you got one this morning. Do you want help with your cooking?"

"Only if you think more people may decide to join us," Ayla said. "I think I'll dig a ground oven, put some hot rocks in it, and cook the grouse and the hare at the same time, overnight. Maybe add some herbs and vegetables, too."

"A morning feast coming out of a ground oven – food is always so tender when it's cooked that way," Folara said. "I can hardly wait."

"Folara, I think we'd better plan to help," Marthona said. "If Ayla is going to cook, I think everyone will be curious and want a taste. Oh, I nearly forgot. I was told to tell you, Ayla, there will be a gathering tomorrow in the afternoon of all the women who are to be mated, and their mothers, in the zelandonia lodge."

"I have no mother to bring," Ayla said, frowning. She didn't want to be the only one there without a mother, if one was expected.

"Generally it is not the place of the man's mother to go, but since the woman you were born to can't be here, if you want, I would be willing to go in her place," Jondalar's mother said.

"Would you really?" Ayla said, feeling overwhelmed by the offer. "I would be very grateful."

A meeting of the women who will be mating soon, Ayla thought. Soon I will be Jondalar's mate. How I wish Iza could be here. She's the mother who should be with me, not the woman I was born to. Since they are both walking in the next world, I am grateful that Marthona is willing to come, but Iza would have been so pleased. She was afraid I would never find a mate, and I might not have if I had stayed with the Clan. She was right to tell me to leave and find my own people, find my own mate, but I miss her, and Creb, and Durc. I need to stop thinking about them.

"If you are going back to camp, will you take the grouse with you?" Ayla asked. "Right now I'm going to look for something else to cook with the morning meal."

Behind and toward the right of the main Summer Meeting camp, the limestone hills formed the general shape of a large scooped-out shallow bowl curving around on the sides, but open in front. The base of the curved slopes converged to a small, relatively level field, which had been evened out with stones and packed earth over them any years the location had been used for meetings. The grass-covered hillsides within the partial bowl depression rose up in a gradual, irregular slope with dips and hills, less steep areas that had been made more level to provide places for family groups or even some entire Caves to sit together with a good view of the open space below. The sloped area was sufficiently large to hold the entire Summer Meeting camp of more than two thousand people.

In a wooded copse near the rugged crest of the slope, a spring rose that filled a small pool, then spilled down the middle of the bowl-shaped slope, through the flattened area at the bottom, and eventually into the larger stream of the camp. The spring-fed creek was so small that people stepped over it easily, but the clear, cold pool at the top provided a constant source of clean drinking water.

Ayla walked uphill toward the trees, along a path beside the shallow creek that painted a sheen of water over a bed of cobbled stones. She stopped to get a drink at the spring, then turned around. Her eyes were drawn by the glimmering creek trickling downhill. She observed it run into the stream, which flowed through the large crowded camp and on to The River and the valley beyond. It was a landscape contoured by the deep relief of high hills, limestone cliffs, and river-cut valleys.

Her attention was caught by the sound that funneled up the rounded incline from the camp. It was a sound unlike anything she had ever heard: the combined voices of a large camp full of people, talking, channeled into one sound. The merging of the babble of voices was like a muted roar punctuated by occasional outcries, calls, and whoops. It was not the same, but it reminded her of a large hive of bees or a bawling herd of aurochs in the distance, and she was rather glad to be alone for the moment.

Well, not entirely alone. She watched Wolf poking his nose into every little crack and cranny, and smiled. Ayla was glad he was with her. Although she was unaccustomed to so many people, especially all at one time and in one place, she didn't really want to be alone. She'd had her fill of that in the valley she found after she left the Clan, and she wasn't sure she could have stood it if she hadn't had Whinney and, later, Baby for company. Even with them it had been lonely, but she knew how to obtain food and make the things she needed, and she had learned the joy of utter freedom – and its consequences. For the first time, she could do whatever she wanted, even adopt a baby horse or lion. Living alone, dependent entirely on herself, had taught her that one person could live, for a while, in reasonable comfort if she was young, and healthy, and strong. It was only when she became seriously ill that she realized how completely vulnerable she was.

It was then that Ayla fully understood that she would not be alive if the Clan had not allowed an injured and weak little girl, orphaned by an earthquake, to live with them, though she had been born to the ones they knew as the Others. Later, when she and Jondalar lived with the Mamutoi, she came to realize that living with a group, any group, even one that believed the wishes and desires of individuals were important, limited individual freedom, because the needs of the community were equally important. Survival depended upon a cooperative unit, a Clan or a Camp or a Cave, a group who would work together and help each other. There was always a struggle between the individual and the group, and finding a workable balance was a constant challenge, but not without benefits.

The cooperation of the group provided more than essentials for individuals. It also granted leisure time to devote to more enjoyable tasks, which among the Others allowed an aesthetic sense to bloom. The art they created wasn't so much art for itself as it was an inherent part of living, part of their daily existence. Nearly every member of a Zelandonii Cave enjoyed pride of workmanship and, in varying degrees, appreciated the results of one another's skills. From the time they were young, each child was allowed to experiment to find the area in which they excelled, and practical crafts were not considered more important than artistic talents.

Ayla remembered that Shevonar, the man who died during the bison hunt, had been a spear-maker. He was not the only person of the Ninth Cave who could make a spear, but specialization of a craft developed greater skill, which gave status to the individual who made it, often economic status. Among the Zelandonii, and most other people she had met or lived with, food was shared, though the hunter or gatherer who supplied it gained standing for giving it. A man or woman could survive without ever foraging for food, but without some specialized craft or particular talent that gave a person prestige, no one could live well…

Though it was still a difficult concept for her, Ayla had been learning how goods and services were bartered by the Zelandonii. Nearly everything that was made or done had value, even though its practical worth was not always obvious. The value was generally agreed upon by consensus or individual bargaining. The result was that truly fine workmanship was rewarded over and above the ordinary, partly because people preferred it, which created demand, and partly because it often took longer to make or do something well. Both talent and workmanship were highly valued, and most members of a Cave had a well-developed aesthetic sense within their own canon.

A well-made spear that was beautifully decorated had more value than an equally well-made spear that was only functional, but that had infinitely more value than a poorly made spear. A basket that was clumsily woven might serve as well as a basket that was carefully made with subtle textures and patterns or colored in various tones, but it was not nearly as desirable. The barely serviceable one might be used for roots just dug from the ground, but once the roots were cleaned or dried, a more beautiful basket might be preferred to store them. Expedient tools and objects that served an immediate need were often made and then discarded, while one that was beautiful and well made was usually kept.

It wasn't only handicrafts that were valued. Entertainment was considered essential. Long, cold winters often kept people confined to their dwellings within the shelter for long periods of time, and they needed ways to alleviate the pressures of close quarters. Dancing and singing were enjoyed both as individual efforts and as community participation, and those who could play a flute well were as highly valued as those who made spears or baskets. Ayla had already learned that Story-Tellers were especially esteemed. Even the Clan had storytellers, Ayla recalled. They had particularly enjoyed the retelling of stories they knew.

The Others also liked hearing the stories retold, but they liked novelty, too. Riddles and word games were enthusiastically played by young and old alike. Visitors were welcomed, if only because they usually brought new stories. They were urged to tell about their lives and adventures, whether or not they had dramatic narration skills, because it added a measure of interest and gave people something to discuss for long hours as they sat around winter fires. Although almost anyone could weave an interesting tale, those who showed a real talent for it were urged, coaxed, and cajoled to pay visits to neighboring Caves, which was the impetus that gave rise to the traveling Story-Tellers. Some of them spent their lives, or at least several years, traveling from Cave to Cave, carrying news, bringing messages, and telling stories. No one was more welcomed.

Most people could be quickly identified by the designs on their clothing, and the necklaces and other jewelry they wore, but over time the Story-Tellers had adopted a distinctive style of clothing and design that announced their profession. Even young children knew when they arrived, and almost all other activities stopped when one or more of the traveling entertainers made an appearance. Even planned hunting trips were often canceled. It would be a time for spontaneous feasts, and although many could, no Story-Teller ever had to hunt or forage to survive. They were always given gifts as an encouragement to return, and when they grew too old or tired of traveling, they could settle down with any Cave they chose.

Sometimes several Story-Tellers traveled together, often with their families. Particularly talented groups might include singing and dancing or the playing of instruments: various kinds of percussions, rattles, rasps, flutes, and occasionally tightened strings that were struck or plucked. A local Cave's musicians, singers, dancers, and those who had stories to tell and liked to tell them often participated as well. Stories were often dramatized as well as narrated, but no matter how it was expressed, the story and the teller were always the focal point.

Stories could be anything: myths, legends, histories, personal adventures, or descriptions of far-off or imaginary places, people, or animals. A part of every Story-Teller's repertoire, because it was always in demand, were the personal happenings of neighboring Caves, gossip, whether funny, serious, sad, real, or invented. Everything and anything was fair game, as long as it was well told. The traveling Story-Tellers also carried private messages, from a person to a friend or relative, from a leader to a leader, from one Zelandoni to another, although such private communication could be very sensitive. A Story-Teller had to prove very trustworthy before being entrusted with particularly confidential or esoteric messages between leaders or the zelandonia, and not all were.

Beyond the crest, which was a high point of the area for some distance around, the land dropped down, then leveled out. Ayla climbed over the top ridge and started down, traversing at an angle along a faint trail that had been recently cleared through the hillside of dense brambles and a few scraggly pines. She veered away from the path at the bottom of the hill where the sloping canebrake of berry vines gave way to sparse grass. At an ancient dry streambed, whose tightly packed stones gave little space to establish new growth, she turned and followed it uphill.

Wolf seemed especially curious. It was new territory to him, too, and he was diverted by every pile and pocket of earth that offered his nose a new smell. They started up the rocky riverbed that had cut through the limestone in the days when water rushed along it, then he bounded ahead and disappeared behind a hill of rubble. Ayla expected him to reappear any moment, but after what seemed to be an unusually long time, she became concerned. She stood near the mound of rocks, looked all around, and finally whistled the sharp, distinctive tones that she had specifically developed to call the wolf. Then she waited. It was some time before she saw the overgrown brambles behind the mound moving and heard him scrabbling out from under the thorny briar.

"Where have you been, Wolf?" she said as she bent down to look into his eyes. "What is under all these berry vines that it took you so long to get here?"

She decided to try to find out and took off her pack to get out the small axe Jondalar had made for her. She found it at the bottom of the pack. It was not the most effective tool for hacking through the long woody stems full of thorns, but she managed to create an opening that allowed her to see, not the ground, as she had expected, but a dark, empty space. Now, she was curious.

She worked at the vines some more and enlarged the opening enough for her to force her way through it with only a few scratches. The ground sloped down into what was obviously a cave with a comfortably wide entrance. With daylight coming through the hole she had made, she continued down, using the counting words to name her steps. When she reached thirty-one, she noticed that the slope leveled out and the corridor had widened. Faint daylight still filtered into the cave from the entrance, and with eyes adjusted to the near darkness, she saw that she had entered a much larger area. She looked around, then made a decision and headed back outside.

"I wonder how many people know about this cave, Wolf?"

She used her axe to widen the opening a little more, then went out and scanned the area. A short distance away, but surrounded by prickly briars, was a pine tree with needles that were brown. It appeared to be dead. With the small stone axe, she hacked her way through the tough woody vines a short distance, then tested a low branch to see if it was brittle enough to break. Though she'd had to hang on it with all her weight, she finally managed to snap off a section of a branch. Her hand felt sticky, and she smiled when she looked at the branch and saw some dark blobs of pitch. The pitchy branch would make a good enough torch without additional materials, once she got it lit.

She collected some dry twigs and bark from the dead pine, then walked to the middle of the rocky dry streambed. She got her fire kit out of her backpack and, using the crushed bark and twigs as tinder, and her firestone and a striking flint, she soon had a little fire started. From it, she lit the pine branch torch. Wolf watched her, and when he saw her heading back toward the cave, he raced ahead over the pile of rocks and wriggled his way in as he had the first time, under the hole Ayla had cut through the tangle of blackberry vines. Long before, when the dry bed was the river that had created the cave, the roof had extended farther out, but it had since collapsed, creating the pile of rubble that was in front of the present opening in the side of the hill.

She climbed the rocky mound and eased through the opening she had made. With the light from the flickering torch, she proceeded down the rather slick ramp of moist sandy-clay soil, again naming her steps with the counting words. This time it took only twenty-eight steps before the ground leveled out; with a torch to show the way, her stride was longer. The wide entry gallery opened onto a large, roundish, U-shaped room. She held the torch high, looked up, and caught her breath.

The walls, glinting with crystallized calcite, were nearly white, a pure, clean, resplendent surface. As she moved slowly into the cave, the light from the flickering torch sent animated shadows of the natural relief chasing each other over the walls as though they were alive and breathing. She walked closer to the white walls, which started a little below her chin – about five feet up from ground level – with a rounded ledge of brownish stone, and extended up in a curve that arced inward to the roof. She would not have thought of it before her visit to the deep cave of Fountain Rocks, but she could imagine what an artist like Jonokol might do in a cave like this.

Ayla walked around the room next to the wall, very carefully. The floor was muddy and uneven, and slippery. At the bottom of the U, where it curved around there was a narrow entrance to another gallery. She held the torch up and looked inside. The upper walls were white and curved, but the lower area was a narrow twisting corridor and she decided not to enter. She continued around, and to the right of the entrance to the gallery at the back there was another passageway, but she only looked inside. She had already decided that she would have to tell Jondalar and some others and bring them back to this cave.

Ayla had seen many caves, most filled with beautiful stone icicles suspended from ceilings or stalactite draperies hanging down the walls and corresponding deposits of stalagmites growing to meet them from the floors, but she had never seen a cave like this. Although it was a limestone cave, a layer of impermeable marl had formed that blocked the calcium carbonate-saturated drops of water and kept them from seeping through to form stalactites and stalagmites. Instead the walls were covered with calcite crystals, which grow very little, leaving large panels of white covering the bumps and dips of the natural relief of the stone. It was a rare and beautiful place, the most beautiful cave she had ever seen.

She noticed the light of her torch dimming. It was building up an accumulation of charcoal near the end, stifling the flame. In most caves she would have simply knocked it against any wall to dislodge the burned wood and refresh the fire, but that usually left a black mark. In this place she felt constrained to be careful; she couldn't just knock off the charcoal and mar the unblemished white walls. She chose a place in the darker stone area, lower down. Some of the charcoal dropped on the ground when she rapped the torch against the stone, and she had a momentary urge to clean it up. There was a sacred quality to this place; it felt spiritual, otherworldly, and she didn't want to desecrate it in any way.

Then she shook her head. It's only a cave, she thought, even if it is special. A little charcoal on the ground won't hurt it. Besides, she noticed that the wolf didn't hesitate to mark the place. He had lifted his leg every few feet, proclaiming with his scent that this was his territory. But his scent marks didn't reach the white walls.

Ayla walked back to the camp of the Ninth Cave as quickly as she could, excited to tell people about the cave. It was only when she arrived, and noticed several people were hauling away dirt from a pit oven that had just been dug and several others were preparing food to go into it, that she remembered she had invited some people over the following morning. She had planned to forage for food to cook, to find an animal to hunt or some edible plant food, and in her excitement over the cave she had forgotten all about it. She noticed that Marthona, Folara, and Proleva had taken out an entire haunch of a bison from the cold storage pit.

The first day they arrived, most of the Ninth Cave had worked to dig the large pit all the way down to the level of the permafrost to preserve the part of the meat, which they had hunted before they left, that had not been dried. The land of the Zelandonii was close enough to the northern glacier for permafrost conditions to prevail, but that did not mean the ground was permanently frozen year-round. In winter the soil became as hard as ice, frozen solid all the way to the surface, but in summer a layer on top thawed to varying depths from a few inches to several feet depending on the surface cover and the amount of sun or shade it received. Storing meat in a hole that was dug down to the frost kept it fresh longer, though most people didn't mind if meat aged a little, and some people preferred the flavor of meat that was quite high.

"Marthona, I'm sorry," Ayla said when she reached the main hearth. "I went to find more food for tomorrow's morning meal, but I found a cave nearby and forgot all about it. It is the most beautiful cave I've ever seen, and I wanted to show it to you, and everyone."

"I never heard of any caves nearby," Folara said. "Certainly not any beautiful ones. How far is it?"

"It's just down the other side of that slope at the back of the main camp," Ayla explained.

"That's where we go to gather blackberries in late summer," Proleva said. "There is no cave there." Several other people had heard Ayla and had gathered around, Jondalar and Joharran among them.

"She's right," Joharran said. "I never heard of a cave there."

"It was hidden by the canebrake, and a big pile of rubble in front of it," Ayla said. "Wolf actually found it. He was sniffing around under the brambles and disappeared. When I whistled for him, it took him a long time to get back, so I wondered where he went. I hacked my way through and found a cave."

"It can't be very big, can it?" Jondalar asked.

"It's inside that hill, and it's a big cave, Jondalar, and very unusual."

"Can you show us?" he said.

"Of course. That's what I came here to do, but now I think I should help prepare the food for the meal tomorrow morning," Ayla said.

"We've just lit the fire in the pit oven," Proleva said, "and piled a lot of wood in it. It'll take a while for it to burn down and heat the rocks that line it. We were just going to put the food up on the high rack until we were ready for it, so there's no reason we can't go now."

"I invite people here to share a meal, and everyone else has done all the work. I should at least have helped dig the roasting pit," Ayla said, feeling embarrassed. It seemed to her that she had shirked the hard work.

"Don't worry about it, Ayla. We were going to dig one anyway," Proleva said. "And a lot of people were still here. Most of them have gone to the main camp now, but it's always easier when everybody does it together. This just gave us a reason."

"Let's go see your cave," Jondalar said.

"You know, if we all go there together, the whole camp will follow us," Willamar said.

"We could all go up separately, and meet at the spring," Rushemar said. He was one who had helped dig the roasting pit and was waiting for Salova to finish feeding Marsola before going to the main camp. Salova, who was nearby, smiled at him. Her mate was not one to say much, but when he did, it usually showed his intelligence, she thought. She looked around for Marsola, who was sitting on the ground nearby. She'd have to get the baby's carrying cloak if they were going to go hiking around, but it did sound exciting.

"That's a good idea, Rushemar, but I think I have a better one," Jondalar said. "We can get to the back of that slope by going up our little creek and around the back. That scree slope behind the pond is not very far from there. I climbed to the top of it, looking to see if there was any flint in that pile of rocks, and got a good look at the lay of the land."

"That's perfect! Let's go," Folara said.

"I would like to show it to Zelandoni and Jonokol, too," Ayla said.

"And since this is their territory, I think it would be appropriate to ask Tormaden, the leader of the Nineteenth Cave, to join us," Marthona added.

"You're right, of course, mother. By all rights, they should explore it first," Joharran said. "But since they never found it in all the time they've lived here, I think we can make it a joint adventure. I'll go ask Tormaden to come with us." The leader smiled. "But I won't tell him why. I'll just tell him Ayla found something and wants to show it to us."

"Why don't I come with you, Joharran, and stop by the zelandonia lodge and ask Zelandoni and Jonokol to join us," Ayla said.

"How many want to go?" Joharran asked. Everyone who was there indicated their interest, but since most of the two hundred or so people who belonged to the Ninth Cave were in the main camp area, it wasn't as huge a crowd as it might have been. Using the counting words, he estimated about twenty-five people and thought a group that size ought to be manageable, especially since they would be going another way. "All right, I'll go with Ayla to the main camp. Jondalar, you take everyone else the back way, and we will meet you on the down slope behind the spring."

"And take something to cut through those thorny stems, Jondalar, and some torches and your fire kit," Ayla said. "I only went into the first big room, but I noticed a couple of passageways leading off from it."

Zelandoni and several of the zelandonia, including some new acolytes, were in the middle of preparing for the meeting with the women who were about to be mated; The One Who Was First was always busy at Summer Meetings. But when Ayla asked to speak to her privately, she sensed from the young woman's demeanor that it could be important. Ayla told her about the cave and mentioned that several people from the Ninth Cave were going to be meeting behind the spring as soon as they could get there to go to see it. When the woman hesitated, Ayla insisted that Jonokol had to come, if no one else. That piqued the curiosity of the First, and she decided that perhaps she should go after all.

"Zelandoni of the Fourteenth, will you take charge of this gathering?" the First Donier said to the one who had always wanted to be First. "I have to attend to a Ninth Cave matter."

"Of course," the older woman said. She was curious – they all were – about what could be so important that the First would leave in the middle of a significant meeting, but she was also pleased that she had been called upon to fill in for her. Perhaps the First was beginning to appreciate her.

"Jonokol, come with me," Zelandoni of the Ninth said to her First Acolyte. That created even more curiosity, but no one would dream of asking, not even Jonokol, though he was glad that he might find out.

Joharran had a little trouble finding Tormaden, and then convincing him to drop everything and come, especially since the leader of the Ninth wouldn't tell him what it was about.

"Ayla found something that we think you should know about, since it's your territory," Joharran told him. "Several people from the Ninth Cave are already aware of it – they were there when she told me about it – but I think you should know before the whole Summer Meeting does. You know how fast word can get out."

"You really think it's that important?" Tormaden said.

"I wouldn't ask you if I didn't," Joharran said.

Going to see the cave Ayla found had become a Ninth Cave adventure, and some people wanted to bring food or gathering baskets as well as torches and make an outing of it. Most of them felt lucky that they had still been at their camp when Ayla came and told them about it, and were therefore able to get a first look at a new cave, one that the interesting woman that Jondalar had brought home with him claimed was so beautiful. They assumed the beauty would be in the stalactitic formations, that it would be another cave like the one named Pretty Hollow that was near the Ninth Cave.

It was some time later when they all finally met. Joharran and Tormaden were the last to arrive, but the ones who came first, the group from the Ninth Cave, waited behind the crest down the slope a ways. A crowd of people standing at the top of the ridge would have been noticed from the main camp, and they didn't want to be conspicuous. A little secrecy added to the excitement, but every so often someone would go up to the spring and, staying behind trees, check to see if Ayla and the two zelandonia were coming, or Joharran and the Nineteenth Cave's leader.

After short courtesy greetings were exchanged – Ayla had formally met Tormaden and the Nineteenth Cave soon after they arrived – she and Wolf started traversing down the trail through the hillside of blackberry vines full of ripening berries, leading the rest, with the wolf at her heel. She had signaled the animal to stay close, and he seemed to prefer it. With so many people, Wolf was feeling protective of her, and she didn't want the large carnivore to alarm anyone, although most of the Ninth Cave were getting quite used to him.

They loved the reaction he caused in the rest of the people at the Meeting, and the inevitable attention they received because of him.

At the bottom, she turned toward the dry streambed. When they arrived, they first saw the remains of her fire, but soon noticed the hole cut through the thick, woody, running vines. Rushemar, Solaban, and Tormaden immediately set to work enlarging the hole, while Jondalar quickly started a fire. They were all getting more curious about the cave, Jondalar in particular. Once they got a few torches lit, they all tromped toward the dark hole that had been cut through the greenery.

Tormaden was very surprised. He could see it was a cave, but he'd had no idea it was there. They only used the back hillside when the berries were ripe. It was a huge wild berry patch that covered the entire hill and had been there as long as anyone knew. Just picking from the path, which was renewed every year, and from around the edges provided more fruit than all of them could pick, even during a Summer Meeting. No one had bothered to hack their way in very far, or to cut through and find a cave.

"What made you decide to cut through the brambles here, Ayla?" Tormaden asked as they started into the dark hole.

"Wolf did," she said, looking down at him. "He is the one who found it. I was out looking for something for a morning meal tomorrow, perhaps a hare or a grouse. Wolf often helps me hunt, he has a good nose. He disappeared behind this pile of rubble and under the vines and was a long time coming out. I wondered what was there. I cut through and discovered it was a cave, then came out and lit a torch and went back in."

"I thought there had to be a reason," he said, aware of both her unusual way of speaking and her. She was a beautiful woman, especially when she smiled.

With Ayla and the wolf in the lead, and Tormaden behind her, each holding a torch, they started into the opening one at a time. Zelandoni and Jonokol were behind him, followed by Joharran, Marthona, and Jondalar. Ayla realized that the people had intuitively ranked themselves in the order that they used for very special or formal occasions, like a funeral, except that she had ended up in front, which made her a bit uneasy. She didn't think she deserved to be first in such a line.

She waited until everyone was in the cave. The last one in was Lanoga carrying Lorala, daughters of Laramar's mate, Tremeda, the family that was always last. She smiled at them and received a shy smile in return from Lanoga. Ayla was glad she had decided to come. Lorala was getting the rounded look that a baby her age should have, and becoming more of a handful for her surrogate mother, but Lanoga seemed very pleased about it. She had taken to sitting with the young mothers of the Cave and, hearing them brag about their babies, had begun to talk a little about Lorala's accomplishments.

"The floor is slippery, so be careful," Ayla said as she started out, leading the group underground. With several torches, it was easier to see that the entrance gallery widened as the floor sloped down. She became aware of the cool dampness of the cave, the earthy smell of wet clay, a muffled sound of dripping water, and the breathing of the people behind her, but no one really spoke. The cave seemed to inspire silence, an expectant hush even from the babies.

When she felt the floor level out, she slowed and lowered her torch. The others did the same, watching their feet and where they were going. When all of them had reached the level area, Ayla lifted her torch and held it high. As the rest of them did the same, first there were involuntary sounds of surprise, ooohs and aaahs, and then stunned silence as the people were truly overcome by the glorious white walls of crystallized calcite molded to the shape of the rock, shimmeringly alive in the torchlight. The beauty of the cave had nothing to do with stalactites, the cave had almost none, but the cave was beautiful, and more, it was filled with a powerful aura that was magical, supernatural, and spiritual.

"O Great Earth Mother!" said the Zelandoni Who Was First. "This is Her sanctuary. This is Her womb." Then she began to sing, in her own gloriously rich and vibrant voice:

The walls resonated with her voice, creating a feeling of accompaniment. Then someone started playing a flute and actually did accompany her. Ayla looked to see who it was. A young man who was a stranger was making the music. Though he looked vaguely familiar, she knew he was not from the Ninth Cave. From his clothing she recognized that he was Third Cave, and then she knew why he seemed to be someone she knew. He resembled the leader of the Third Cave, Manvelar. She tried to recall if she had met him, and the name Morizan came to mind. He was standing beside Ramila, the plump, attractive, brown-haired young woman who was one of Folara's friends. He must have been visiting their camp and came along with them.

The people had joined in singing the Mother's Song, and they had reached a part that seemed especially profound:

Suddenly Ayla perceived a feeling that she'd had before, but not for a long time: a sense of foreboding came over her. Ever since the Clan Gathering, where Creb had learned in some inexplicable way that she was different, she had sometimes felt this peculiar fear, this strange disorientation, as though he had changed her. She felt a tingling, a prickling, a goosebump-raising nausea and weakness, and she shivered as her memory of a darkness deeper than any cave became real. In the back of her throat she tasted the dark cool loam and growing fungus of ancient primeval forests.

An angry roar shattered the silence, and the watching people jumped back with fear. The huge cave bear pushed at the gate to the cage and sent it crashing to the ground. The maddened bear was loose! Broud was standing on his shoulders; two other men were clinging to his fur. Suddenly one was in the monstrous animal's grip, but his agonized scream was cut short when a powerful bear hug snapped his spine. The mog-urs picked up the body and, with solemn dignity, carried it into a cave. Creb, in his bearskin cloak, hobbled in the lead.

Ayla stared at a white liquid sloshing in a cracked wooden bowl. She felt an anxious worry, she had done something wrong. There wasn't supposed to be any liquid left in the bowl. She held it to her lips and drained it. Her perspective changed, a white light was inside her, and she seemed to be growing larger and looking down from high above at stars blazing a path. The stars changed to small flickering lights leading through a long endless cave. Then a red light at the end grew large, filling her vision, and with a sinking, sickening feeling, she saw the mog-urs sitting in a circle, half-hidden by stalagmite pillars.

She was sinking deeper into a black abyss, petrified with fear. Suddenly Creb was there with the flowing light inside her, helping her, supporting her, easing her fears. He guided her on a strange trip back to their mutual beginnings, through salt water and painful gulps of air, loamy earth, and high trees. Then they were on the ground, walking upright on two legs, walking a great distance, going west toward a great salty sea. They came to a steep wall that faced a river and a flat plain, with a deep recess under a large overhanging section; it was the cave of an ancient ancestor of his. But as they approached the cave, Creb began fading, leaving her.

The scene grew hazy, Creb was fading faster, was nearly gone. She scanned the landscape, searching desperately for him. Then she saw him at the top of the cliff, above his ancestor's cave, near a large boulder, a long, slightly flattened column of rock that tilted over the edge, as though frozen in place as it was about to fall. She called out, but he had faded into the rock. Ayla felt desolate; Creb was gone and she was alone. Then Jondalar appeared in his place.

She sensed herself moving with great speed over strange worlds and felt the terror of the black void again, but it was different this time. She was sharing it with Mamut, and the terror overcame both of them. Then faintly, from far away, she heard Jondalar's voice, full of agonized fear and love, calling to her, pulling her back and Mamut as well, by the sheer strength of his love and his need. In an instant she was back, feeling chilled to the bone.

"Ayla, are you all right?" Zelandoni said. "You're shivering."