The Shelters of Stone (76 page)

“We have enough authority without them,” Zelandoni Who Was First said, “and we can still use them in our own way. For one thing, we can make an exciting ceremony when we present the firestone to the Caves. I think it will be most effective if Ayla starts the ceremonial fire tomorrow.”

“But will it be dark enough to see the spark that early in the evening? It might be best to let the fire go out and have her relight it,” said Zelandoni of the Third.

“Then how will the people know it was started by the firestone and not by a live coal?” said an older man with light hair, though Ayla wasn’t sure if it was blond or white. “No, I think we need a new hearth, one that has not been lit, but you’re right about the darkness. There are too many distractions at twilight, when the ceremonial fire is lit. Only when it is totally dark can you draw the attention of everyone where you want it, when they can see nothing except what you want them to see.”

“That’s true, Zelandoni of the Seventh Cave,” the First said.

Ayla noticed that he was sitting next to the tall blond woman of the Second Cave, and there was a close resemblance. He could have been the elder man of her hearth, perhaps the mate of her grandma or grandam. She recalled that Jondalar had told her that the Seventh and the Second Caves were related and were located on opposite sides of Grass River and its fioodplain. She remembered well because while the Second Cave was the Elder Hearth, the Seventh was Horsehead Rock, and he promised to take her there for a visit
when they returned in the autumn to show her the horse in the rock.

“We can start the ceremony without fire and light the hearth after it becomes dark,” Zelandoni of the Twenty-ninth Cave volunteered. She was a pleasant-looking woman with a conciliatory smile, but Ayla’s ability to read body language detected an underlying strength of character and forcefulness. She had met her briefly. This was the woman she had heard people say held the Three Rocks of the Twenty-ninth Cave together.

“But people would think it was strange if there is no ceremonial fire from the beginning Zelandoni of the Twenty-ninth,” the Zelandoni of the Third countered. “Perhaps it would be best to delay the beginning until darkness falls.”

“Is there something else that can be done first? Some people start gathering early. They will get restless if we hold off too long,” another added. She was a middle-aged woman, nearly as fat as the One Who Was First, but rather than tall, she was quite short. Where the size of the First, both height and weight, gave her a commanding presence, this woman looked warm and motherly.

“How about telling stories, Zelandoni of West Holding? The Story-Tellers are here,” suggested a young man sitting beside her.

“Stories may detract from the seriousness of the ceremony, Zelandoni of North Holding,” the Zelandoni of the Twenty-ninth said.

Of course, you’re right, Zelandoni of Three Rocks,” the young man said quickly. He seemed rather deferential toward the primary Zelandoni of the Twenty-ninth Cave. Ayla realized that the four Zelandonia of the Twenty-ninth referred to each other by a name of their respective sites rather than their counting words. It made sense, since they were all Zelandonia of the Twenty-ninth Cave. What a confusing situation, she thought, but they seem to be making it work.

“Then have someone talk about a serious matter,” said the Zelandoni of South Holding.

He was the one who had asked the First if Ayla was here
about the animals, and the South Holding was Reflection Rock, which housed the Cave led by Denanna. She was the one that Ayla felt viewed her, or perhaps the horses and wolf, with some animosity, but his tone had not seemed unfriendly. She would wait and see.

“Joharran wants to bring up the matter of flatheads and whether or not they are people,” Zelandoni of the Eleventh said. “That is a very serious matter.”

“But some people won’t like to hear such ideas, and are liable to get argumentative. We don’t want to start this Summer Meeting with contentious feelings. That could make them quarrelsome about everything,” Zelandoni Who Was First said. “We have to create a receptive mood before new ideas about flatheads are broached.”

Ayla wondered if it was appropriate for her to comment. “Zelandoni,” she finally said, “could I make a suggestion?” Everyone turned to look, and she didn’t think all the zelandonia were pleased.

“Of course you can, Ayla,” Zelandoni Who Was First said.

“Jondalar and I visited the Losadunai on our way here. We gave the Losaduna and his mate a few firestones … for the whole Cave … they were so kind and helpful…” Ayla hesitated.

“Yes?” Zelandoni encouraged.

“When they made a ceremony to introduce the firestones, they made two hearths,” Ayla continued. “One was all set to light, but cold. The other was burning. They put that one out completely. It was suddenly so dark, you couldn’t see the person sitting next to you, and it was easy to see that not a single coal in the first hearth gave even a hint of a glow. Then I lit the fire in the second hearth.”

There was silence for only a moment. “Thank you, Ayla,” Zelandoni said. “I think that’s a good idea. Perhaps we can do something like it. It could be a very impressive demonstration.”

“Yes, I like that,” Zelandoni of the Third said. “That way we could have the ceremonial fire from the beginning.”

“And a cold fireplace ready to be lit would make people curious. They’d wonder what it was for, and that would build up some anticipation,” Zelandoni of the West Holding of the Twenty-ninth said.

“How should we put the fire out? Douse it with water and make a lot of steam?” the Eleventh said. Or dump dirt on it and make it go out instantly?”

Or dump mud on it?” one of the others, whom Ayla hadn’t met, suggested. “Create a little steam, but kill the coals.”

“I like the idea of using water and making lots of steam,” said another one that Ayla didn’t know. “That would be more impressive.”

“No, I think putting it out instantly would be more impressive. Light one moment, dark the next.”

She hadn’t met all the Zelandonia who were there, and as the discussion became more animated, they didn’t always address one another as formally, and she wasn’t able to identify them. She’d had no idea how much planning and consultation went into a ceremony. She always thought that the events just happened spontaneously, that the zelandonia and others who dealt with the spirit world were just agents of those invisible forces. They spoke out freely, and she began to appreciate why some had objected to her presence, but as they discussed each little detail, Ayla’s mind began to stray.

She wondered if the mog-urs of the Clan planned their ceremonies with as much detail, then realized that they probably did, but it would not have been quite the same. Clan ceremonies were ancient, and were always done the way they had always been done, or as close to it as possible. She understood a little more now what a dilemma it must have been when Creb, The Mog-ur, wanted her to take a significant part in one of their most sacred ceremonies.

She looked around the large round summer lodge of the zelandonia. The double-walled circular construction of vertical panels that enclosed the space was similar to the sleeping lodges at the camp of the Ninth Cave, but larger. The movable interior panels that divided the interior into separate
areas had been stacked in between sleeping places near the outer walls, creating a single large room. She noticed that the sleeping places were clustered together in one location and that they were all raised, and she recalled that they were also raised in Zelandoni’s lodge at the Ninth Cave. She wondered why, then thought that it was probably because when they were used by patients that had to be brought to the zelandonia lodge, it was easier to tend to them.

The ground was covered with mats, many of them woven with intricate and beautiful patterns, and various pads, pillows, and stools used for seating were scattered around near several low tables of various sizes. Most of them were graced with oil lamps usually made of sandstone or limestone that were, as a rule, lit day and night inside the windowless shelter, many with multiple wicks. Most of the lamps were carefully shaped, smoothed, and decorated, but like the lamps in Marthona’s dwelling, some were crude stones with naturally formed or roughly pecked-out depressions for the melted tallow. Near many of the lamps she saw small carvings of women, propped up in woven bowls of sand. They were all similar, yet different. She had seen several like them and knew they were representations of the Great Earth Mother, what Jondalar called donii.

The donii ranged in size from about four inches to eight inches in height, but each one could be held in a hand. There was some abstraction and exaggeration. The arms and hands were barely suggested, and the legs tapered together with no real feet so the woman figure could be stuck into the ground, or a bowl of sand, and stand upright. It was not a carving of a particular person, there were no features to give identity, though the body may have been suggested by a woman known to the artist. She was not a high-breasted, nubile young woman, at the beginning of her adult life, nor was hers the lean figure of a woman who walked every day, a peripatetic wanderer constantly foraging for food.

A donii depicted a richly obese woman with some experience in living. She was not pregnant, but she had been. Her broad buttocks were matched by huge breasts that hung
down over the large, somewhat drooping stomach of a woman who had given birth to and nurtured several children. She had the ample figure of an experienced older woman, a mother, but her shape suggested much more than the fertility of procreation. In order for a woman to be fat, food had to be plentiful and she had to lead a fairly sedentary life. The small carved figure was meant to look like a well-fed, successful mother who provided for her children; she was a symbol of plenty and generosity.

The reality was not too far off. Some years were worse than others, but most of the time, the Zelandonii managed fairly well. There were fat women in the community; the carver of the figures had to know how a fat woman looked to depict her in such faithful detail. Late spring, when the food stored for winter was nearly gone and the new plants had barely sprouted, could be a lean time. The same was true for animals; in spring, they were scrawny and thin, and their meat was stringy and tough with so little fat, even the marrow in their bones was depleted. Then, the people may have done without certain foods, but they did not starve, at least not usually.

To those who lived off the land, hunted and foraged for everything they required to survive, the earth was like a great mother who nourished her children. She gave them what they needed. They did not plant seeds, tend crops, cultivate or water the land, and they did not herd animals, protect them from predators, gather feed for them for winter. Everything was theirs for the taking, if they knew where to look and how to harvest. But they could not take it for granted, because sometimes it was withheld.

Each donii they carved was a receptacle for the spirit of the Great Earth Mother, and a manifest demonstration to inform the unseen forces that controlled their lives what they needed to survive. She was sympathetic magic, meant to show the Mother what they wanted, and therefore extract it from Her. The donii was a representation of the hope that edible plants would be profuse and easy to find and gather, that the animals would be abundant and easily hunted. She was a
symbol of and a plea for an earth that was generous, a land that was rich, food that was plentiful, and life that was good. The donii was an idealized figure, an evocation of the conditions that they earnestly desired.

“I would like to thank Ayla …”

She was startled out of her daydreaming when she heard the sound of her name. She couldn’t even remember what she was thinking about.

“ … for her willingness to show this new way of making fire to all the zelandonia, and for her patience with some of us who took a little longer to learn,” the One Who Was First said.

There were many voices in agreement, even the Zelandoni of the Fourteenth Cave seemed to be genuine in her appreciation. Then they began to discuss the details of the rest of the ceremony to start off this year’s Summer Meeting, and other ceremonial occasions coming up, particularly the mating ceremony known as the Matrimonial. Ayla wished they would talk more about that, but primarily they talked about when they would meet again to discuss it further. Then the focus of the meeting shifted to the acolytes.

Zelandoni Who Was First stood up. “It is the zelandonia who keep the History of the people.” She looked at the zelandonia-in-training, the acolytes, but Ayla felt that Zelandoni seemed to make a special point of including her.

“Part of an acolyte’s training is the memorization of the Elder Legends and the Histories. They explain who the Zelandonii are and where the People come from. Memorizing also helps one to learn, and there are many things an acolyte must learn. Let us finish this gather with Her Legend, the Mother’s Song.”

She paused and her eyes seemed to look inward, dredging up from the recesses of her own mind a story that she had committed to memory long ago. It was the most important of all the Elder Legends, because it was the one that told of the beginnings. To make the legends easy to remember, they were told in rhyme and meter, and to make the stories that were required to be memorized even easier to recall, melody was often added by those who had the talent to compose music,
which other people enjoyed learning. Some of the songs were ancient and so familiar that the sound of the melody was often enough to recall the story.

Zelandoni Who Was First, however, had created a melody of her own composition for the Mother’s Song, and many people were starting to learn it. She began to sing, a cappella, in a pure, strong, beautiful voice.