The Shelters of Stone (45 page)

“Among the Mamutoi, the mamuti—that’s like zelandonia—have tattoos on their cheeks, but not squares. They use chevrons,” Ayla said. “They start with a diamond shape, which is like a square turned so that it points up and down, or
half of that, a triangle—they particularly like downward-pointing triangles. Then they repeat the pointed shape, like one point nestled inside another. Sometimes they connect them and make zigzags. All those symbols have meanings, too. Mamut was just starting to teach them to me the winter before I left.”

Zelandoni and Marthona caught each other’s eyes and nodded a slight acknowledgment. The donier had talked with the former leader about Ayla’s abilities and suggested that she, perhaps, ought to consider affiliating with the zelandonia in some way. They both agreed that it might be better for her and everyone else.

“Then Shevonar’s tunic has his mark, his abelan, and the Zelandonii abelan,” Ayla stated, as though learning a lesson by rote.

“Yes. He will be recognized by everyone, including Doni. The Great Earth Mother will know that he is one of Her children who lived in the southwest region of this land,” Zelandoni said. “But that is only part of the design on Shevonar’s Ceremonial tunic. The entire outfit has meaning, including the necklaces. Besides the Zelandonii abelan, part of the pattern includes the nine squares that identify his Cave, and other patterns that define his lineage. There are symbol marks for the woman he mated, the abelans of her children born to his hearth. His craft, spear-making, is represented, and of course, his own symbol mark. His abelan is the most personal, and personally powerful element of all. His Ceremonial outfit, which are his burial clothes now, are, I suppose you could say, a visual display of his names and ties.”

“Shevonar’s Ceremonial outfit is particularly nice,” Marthona said. “It was created by the old pattern-maker, who is gone now. He was very good.”

Ayla had thought the clothing of the Zelandonii was very interesting, some of it quite beautiful—particularly Marthona’s things—but she’d had no idea of the complexity of the meanings associated with it. Some things had seemed too ornate for her taste. She had learned to appreciate the pure form and usefulness of the things she made, just as her
Clan mother did. Occasionally she varied the pattern in a basket she was weaving, or showed off the grain of the wood in a bowl or cup she carved and sanded smooth, but she had never added decorations.

Now she was beginning to understand how the clothes and jewelry that people wore, as well as their facial tattoos, characterized and identified them. Shevonar’s ensemble, for all that it was highly decorated, was one that she felt had a balanced and pleasing pattern. She was surprised, however, when Marthona said that it had been created by an old man.

“Shevonar’s clothes must have taken a lot of work. Why would an old man spend so much rime making clothes?” Ayla asked.

Jondalar smiled. “Because the old man’s craft was designing Ceremonial and burial clothing. That’s what a patternmaker does.”

“The old man didn’t make Shevonar’s Ceremonial clothes, he planned how they would go together,” Marthona said. “There are so many aspects to include, it takes a special skill and an artistic eye to put them together in a pleasing way. But he could arrange to have the clothes made. Several people had worked closely with him for many years, and the team was in great demand. Now, one of them plans the clothing, but she isn’t as good, not yet.”

“But why would the old man or anyone else do it for Shevonar?” Ayla asked.

“He traded for it,” Jondalar said.

Ayla frowned. It was obvious she still didn’t quite understand. “I thought people traded with other Camps or Caves. I didn’t know they traded with people in their own Cave.”

“But why not?” Willamar said. “Shevonar was a spear-maker. He was known for his well-made spears, but he couldn’t arrange all the elements and symbols he wanted to show on his Ceremonial outfit in a way that pleased him. So he traded twenty of his finest spears for that outfit, and he prized it greatly.”

“It was one of the last the old man made,” Marthona said. “After his eyes no longer allowed him to practice his craft, he
traded Shevonar’s spears, one by one, for other things he wanted, but he saved the best one for himself. His bones are now buried in sacred ground, but he took that spear with him to the spirit world. It was one that had both his and Shevonar’s abelans on it.”

“If he is especially pleased with his handiwork,” Jondalar explained, “along with the abelan of the person it is being made for, a spear-maker sometimes incorporates his own symbol mark within the design carved or painted on it.”

Ayla learned during the hunt that certain marks on spears were very important. She knew that every spear carried a mark of its owner, so that there would be no doubt who had killed which animal. She didn’t know that it was called an abelan, or that it was so important to the Zelandonii. She had seen one dispute resolved because of the marks. Two spears had found the same animal, but only one was imbedded in a vital organ.

Though each spear bore the owner’s symbol mark, she had heard the hunters talking about the spear-makers. They always seemed to know who made which spear, whether or not it bore the mark of the one who made it. The style of the spear and the decorations on it declared the maker.

“What is your abelan, Jondalar?” she asked.

“It’s not anything specific, it’s just a mark. It looks like this,” he said. He smoothed out the dry dirt nearby, and with his finger drew a line, then a second line that started parallel with the first line, but converged to a point at the end. A small line joined the two lines near the pointed end. “I always thought that when I was born, the Zelandoni couldn’t think of anything that day,” he said, then looked at the First and grinned. “Or maybe it’s the tail of an ermine, white with a black tip. I always liked those little ermine tails. Do you think my abelan could be an ermine?”

“Well, your totem is a Cave Lion,” Ayla said, “just like mine. I think your abelan can be anything you say it is. Why not an ermine? Ermines are feisty little weasels, but pretty in winter, all white except for their black eyes and the black tips of their tails. Actually, their brown summer coats are not bad,
either.” She thought for a moment, then asked, “What is Shevonar’s abelan?”

“I saw one of his spears near his resting place,” Jondalar said. “I’ll get it and show you.”

He quickly got the spear and showed her Shevonar’s symbol mark. It was a stylized representation of a mouflon, a mountain sheep with large curved horns.

“I should take that with me,” Zelandoni said. “We’ll need it to make a copy of his abelan.”

“Why do you need to make a copy?” Ayla asked.

“The same symbol that marked his spears, clothing, and other posessions will mark his grave post,” Jondalar said.

As they walked back toward their dwellings, Ayla thought about the discussion and drew a few conclusions on her own. Though the symbol object, the elandon, itself was concealed, the symbol mark, the abelan, that had been made on it was known not only to the person it symbolized, but to everyone else. It did possess some power, especially for the one to whom it belonged, but not for someone who might want to misuse it. It was too well-known. Real power came from the unknown, the esoteric.

The following morning, Joharran rapped on the post beside the entrance to Marthona’s dwelling. Jondalar pushed the drape aside and was surprised to see his brother.

“Aren’t you going to the meeting this morning?” he asked.

“Yes, of course, but I wanted to talk to you and Ayla, first,” Joharran said.

“Come in, then,” Jondalar said.

Joharran stepped in and let the heavy entrance drape fall back. Marthona and Willamar came out of their sleeping room and greeted him warmly. Ayla was putting leftover food from breakfast into the wooden bowl she had designated as Wolf’s. She looked up and smiled.

“Joharran told me he wanted to talk to us,” Jondalar said, looking at Ayla.

“I won’t take much time, but I’ve been thinking about
those spear-throwing weapons of yours. If more of us had been able to cast a spear from the distance you did, Jondalar, we might have been able to stop that bison before it trampled Shevonar It’s too late to help him, but I want the rest of the hunters to have that safety measure. Would you, both of you, be willing to show everyone how to make one of those, and how to use it?”

Jondalar smiled. “Of course we will. That’s what I was hoping all along. I could hardly wait to show how they work, so everyone could see their advantage.”

All of the residents of Marthona’s dwelling, except Folara, walked with Joharran to the meeting area near the south end of the huge abrí. By the time they reached it, a good number of people had already arrived. Messengers had been sent to the Zelandonia of the Caves that took part in the hunt to meet and talk about the burial ceremony. Besides the spiritual leader of the Ninth, the Zelandonia of the Fourteenth Cave, the Eleventh, the Third, the Second, and the Zelandoni of the Seventh were there. Most of those to whom the people looked for leadership also made an appearance, as well as several others who were interested.

“The Spirit of the Bison has claimed one of us in return for her own,” the large donier said. “It is a sacrifice we must make if she demands it.” She looked at the people, who were nodding their heads in acknowledgment. Her commanding presence was never so evident as when she was with other Zelandonia. Then it became apparent that she was First Among Those Who Served The Mother.

As the meeting continued, a couple of the Zelandonia got into a small difference of opinion about a minor point, and the First was allowing the dispute to run its course. Joharran found his mind straying from the talk about Shevonar’s burial to a consideration of where to set up practice targets. After talking to Ayla and Jondalar, Joharran decided to encourage his hunters to make spear-throwers and start practicing even before they left for the Summer Meeting. He wanted them to become stalled in Jondalar’s new weapon as quickly as possible. But not today. He knew there would be no using of
weapons this day. This was the day the spirit of Shevonar, his elan, would be guided to the next world.

Zelandoni’s mind was also occupied with other thoughts, though she appeared to be seriously considering the points of view being offered. She had been thinking about Jondalar’s younger brother ever since she was given the stone with the opalescent face from his grave far to the east, but she had been waiting for an appropriate time.

She knew that both Jondalar and Ayla would have to be involved in the process, and making contact with the next world was fearsome enough under any circumstances, especially for those who were not trained to deal with it—it could be dangerous even for those who were. It was safer when there were many people around during the ceremony to aid and support those who would be making the contact directly.

Since he was killed during a hunt that involved most of the nearby Caves, Shevonar’s burial would have tobe a major ceremony that would include and invoke the protection of the entire community. This might be a good rime to make an attempt to enter more deeply into the spirit world to search for Thonolan’s vital force, Zelandoni thought. She glanced at Ayla and wondered how the foreign woman would react. Ayla continually surprised the donier with her knowledge, her competence, and even her commendable attitude.

The old donier had been flattered when the young woman came to her to ask if there was anything more she could have done for Shevonar, especially considering the skill she had shown. And it was surprisingly appropriate for the young woman to suggest that Jondalar take a stone from his brother’s burial place, considering that she was unfamiliar with their practices, Zelandoni thought. The stone that had presented itself to him was certainly unique. It seemed entirely ordinary, until one turned it over and saw that bluish, opalescent face with the fiery red points.

That opalescent blue is undoubtedly an aspect of clear, she thought, and red is the color of life, the most important of the Mother’s Five Sacred Colors. That little stone is clearly an object
of power. Something will have to be done with it after we are through with it.

She was only half listening to the disagreement, when it came to her that the unique stone from Thonolan’s grave was rather like a surrogate stone. With it, the Mother could trace Thonolan’s elan. The best and safest place for it would be in a crack of a sacred cave near the surrogate stones of his family. She knew where almost all of the surrogate stones of the Ninth Cave were, and many of those from other Caves. She even knew the hiding places of some actual elandons besides her own.

There had been a few unusual circumstances that had required her to step in and assume the duties of a parent and take responsibility for the elandons of some children, and she’d had to hide the symbol things for a few people who were incapable, either mentally or physically, of hiding their own. She never spoke of those, and would never for any reason try to take advantage of her knowledge. She was well aware of the dangers, to herself as well as the person the elandon represented.

Ayla’s mind was beginning to wander, too. She wasn’t familiar with Zelandonii burial customs, and she was quite interested, but the present discussion, which seemed rather interminable, was beyond her grasp. She didn’t even know some of the esoteric words they used. Instead she was thinking about some of the things she had learned recently.

It had been explained that people were usually buried in sacred ground, though burial grounds changed after they acquired a certain number of graves. Too many lingering spirits in one place could give them too much power. Those who died at the same time might be kept together, or if they were especially close, but there was not one single burial ground. Instead, burying was done in small areas scattered throughout the landscape.

Whatever place was chosen, the burial area was marked by posts set in the ground around the graves at close intervals and at the head of each grave. The posts were carved or painted with the abelans of the people who were buried there,
symbols that proclaimed the danger of entering the area. Spirits of the dead who no longer had a body to inhabit might lurk within the confines staked out, but could not go beyond the palisade. The zelandonia made the exorcistic fence so that the spirits who could not find their way to the spirit world would not be able to cross the boundary and steal the body of someone still walking in this world.