The Shelters of Stone (93 page)

She knew that occasionally some cousins did mate—far cousins, to be sure—but she chose to forget that and fantasized that on his Journey Jondalar would decide that he loved her as she loved him. She knew the dream was unlikely, but she passionately hoped that someday he would come home and claim her as his one true love. Instead, he returned with Ayla. She was devastated, but she saw the love he felt for the foreign woman and knew that her dream was shattered.

The one man with whom she had developed some affinity was a new member of Dalanar’s Cave, a man who was also stared at wherever he went, Echozar, a man of mixed spirits. Joplaya was the one who helped him integrate into their Cave, made him understand that he was accepted by Dalanar and the Lanzadonii, and even helped him with his language skills. And she was the one who coaxed his story out of him.

His mother had been raped by a man of the Others, who also killed her mate. When she gave birth, she was cursed as a bad-luck woman because her mate had been killed and her son was deformed. She left her clan, ready to die, but was rescued by Andovan, an older man who had run away from a vicious leader of the S’Armunai. He had lived for a while with a Zelandonii Cave, but was not comfortable with people whose customs were so different from his own. He moved away and lived by himself until he found the Clan woman and her son. Together they raised him. Echozar learned the Clan language of signs from his mother, and spoken language from Andovan, though it was a mixture of his own language and the Zelandonii he had learned. But when he reached manhood, Andovan died. His mother couldn’t stand to live alone and succumbed to the death curse that had been imposed on her. She died shortly after Andovan, leaving Echozar alone.

The young man didn’t want to live alone. He tried to return to a clan, but they thought of him as deformed and refused to accept him. And though he could speak, he was rejected by the Caves as an abomination of mixed spirits. Out of desperation, he tried to kill himself, and woke up to Dalanar’s smiling face, who found him injured, but not dead, and brought him back to his Cave. The Lanzadonii took him in, and he idolized the tall man, but it was Joplaya that he loved.

She had been kind to him, talked to him, listened to him, even made him a beautiful decorated tunic for his adoption ceremony into the Lanzadonii. He loved her so much, it hurt to think about it, but he didn’t think he had a chance. He had struggled with himself for a long time to get up enough courage to ask if she would be his mate, and could hardly believe it when she finally accepted. It was after her hearth cousin Jondalar returned with Ayla, both of whom he liked immediately. They didn’t treat him as though he were different.

Wherever Echozar went, people stared at him. The combined characteristics that he inherited from the Clan and the
Others were not the most appealing. In height, he was as tall as an average man of the Others, but he retained the powerful, barrel-chested physique, relatively short, bowed legs, and hairy body of the Clan. His neck was long and he could speak, he even had a slight chin, like the Others, though it receded, making it look weak. His prominent nose and heavy browridges with unruly eyebrows that crossed his forehead in a single line were entirely Clan. His forehead was not. It rose up as straight and high as any man of the Others.

The combination seemed outlandish to many people, as though he didn’t quite fit together, but not to Ayla. She had grown up with the Clan and had consequently adopted their standard of beauty. She had always thought of herself as big and ugly. She was too tall, and her face was too bland and fiat. Though she may have thought the look of the mixture was attractive, to everyone else Echozar was extraordinarily ugly, except for his eyes. Liquid dark at night and sparkling with highlights of hazel in the sun, his large, deep brown eyes were profoundly intense, acutely compelling, and highly intelligent, and when he looked at her, they revealed his love for Joplaya.

Though she did not love him, Joplaya did feel a kind of kinship with Echozar and a genuine respect. Though people stared at her because of her exotic beauty, it still made her feel different, and she hated it as much as he did. She also felt comfortable with him, she could talk to him. She decided if she couldn’t have the man she loved, she would mate the man who loved her, and she knew she would never find a man who loved her more than Echozar.

As the group from the camp drew near, Ayla noticed Brukeval become tense. He was staring at Echozar, and there was no friendliness in his expression. It made her aware of the similarities and the differences between them. In Echozar’s case, it was his mother who had given birth to a child that was mixed; with Brukeval, it was his grandmother. Echozar’s Clan characteristics were definitely more pronounced, but to her—and to everyone there—the mixture was obvious in
both. Brukeval did, however, resemble the Others more than Echozar.

Though she was learning to appreciate what was pleasing to the Others, she still found the strong Clan features attractive. She had meant it when she told Brukeval that she couldn’t understand why he thought no woman would want him. She probably would consider him, if she weren’t mating Jondalar and if she were a Zelandonii woman. But she knew she wasn’t really a Zelandonii woman, at least not yet, and she personally wouldn’t consider Brukeval at all. While she thought he was handsome, and that he did have a lot to offer, there was something about him that disturbed her. The member of the Clan that he reminded her of most was Broud, and the way he was looking at Echozar right now explained why.

“Greetings, Brukeval,” Jondalar said, walking up to the man with a smile on his face. “I think you know Dalanar, the man of my hearth, but have you met my cousin Joplaya, and her Promised, Echozar?” Jondalar was prepared to do the formal introductions, and Echozar had raised his hands in readiness, but before he could begin, Brukeval interrupted.

“I have no desire to touch a flathead!” he said, putting his hands down to his sides, then he turned aside and stalked away.

Everyone was stunned. It was Folara who finally spoke.

“How could he be so rude!” she said. “I know he blames flatheads for his mother’s death—I guess I should say the Clan now—but that was unforgivable. I know mother taught Brukeval better manners than that, if no one else did. She would be appalled.”

“My mother may have been flathead or Clan. You can say it any way you want, but I am neither,” Echozar said. “I am Lanzadonii.”

“Yes, you are,” Joplaya said, reaching for his hand. “And soon we will be mated.”

“We know there is Clan in Brukeval’s lineage, too,” Dalanar said. “It’s obvious. If he can’t bear to touch someone with that background, how can he stand himself?”

“He can’t. That’s his problem,” Jondalar said. “Brukeval
hates himself. He was teased a lot when he was young, other children used to call him a flathead, and he always denied it.”

“But he can’t change what he is no matter how much he denies it,” Ayla said.

No one had lowered their voices, and Brukeval had excellent hearing. He heard everything that was said. He had another characteristic of the Others that the Clan lacked, he cried tears, and as he walked away, tears filled his eyes. Even her, he said to himself after Ayla’s comment. I thought she was different. I thought she meant it when she said she would consider me if Jondalar were gone, but she thinks I’m a flat-head, too. She didn’t mean it. She would never consider me. The more he thought about it, the more angry he became. It’s not right for her to encourage a person when she doesn’t mean it. I am not a flathead, no matter what she says, no matter what any of them say. I am not a flathead!

It was dark, but the sky had already changed from black to inky blue, with a hint of gold outlining the hills on the eastern horizon, when the group from the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii and the First Cave of the Lanzadonii started from their camp. They used torches to make their way to the place where Jondalar had demonstrated the spear-thrower, and they were glad to see the bonfire burning in the middle of the open stretch of trampled ground that had once been a field of grass. Some hunters had already arrived. As the sky lightened, the cool morning mist rising from The River began filling the spaces between trees and brush on the periphery and mingling with the people standing around the fire.

The morning chorus of birds was in full throat, trilling, chirping, twittering, and calling over the low murmur of voices, highlighting the mood of anticipation. Holding Whinney’s halter rope, Ayla knelt down and put an arm around Wolf, then smiled at Jondalar, who was stroking Racer to keep him calm. She looked around in wonder; it was the largest hunting party she had ever seen. There were far too many people for her to count. She recalled that Zelandoni had offered to teach her how to use the words to count larger
numbers, and she decided to ask her. She would like to be able to say how many people were there milling around.

Women who were about to mate did not usually participate in the pre-Matrimonial hunt, there were usually certain restrictions and various other activities planned for them. The First did a cursory run-through with her so she could be excused. This hunt was going to be a test of using horses, and trying out Jondalar’s spear-thrower, and they wanted her. Ayla was glad that she had been allowed to join the hunt, in spite of her upcoming Matrimonial. She had always enjoyed hunting. If she hadn’t learned to hunt when she lived alone in her valley, she might not have survived, and it had given her a certain sense of self-reliance.

Though several of the women who were to be mated had hunted, only one of them cared about joining the hunt. Since an exception had been made for Ayla, she was also allowed to join them. When they were young, most girls loved to go hunting just like the boys. After they reached puberty, many of them still hunted, mostly because that’s where the boys were. Several enjoyed hunting for itself, but once young women mated and began to have children, most were so busy, they were happy to let the men do it. That was when they began to develop other crafts and skills that added to their status and ability to trade and bargain for things they wanted and that wouldn’t take them so far away from their children. But women who had hunted in their youth were looked upon as favorable mates. They could understand the challenges of the hunt, appreciate the successes and sympathize with the failures of their mates.

Ayla had gone to the Search ceremony arranged by the zelandonia the evening before, along with most of the leaders and stone hunters, but she had only observed, not participated. Through the Search, it was determined that a large herd of aurochs were congregated in a nearby valley that was particularly good for hunting, and they planned to try there first, but nothing was guaranteed. Even though a zelandoni might metaphysically “see” animals during a Search, they might not still be where they were seen the next day. But the
valley held a good meadow that attracted the wild cattle, and if the aurochs were gone, it was likely some other animals would be there. The hunters hoped to find aurochs, however, because the cattle were massing together in larger herds this time of year, and they provided tasty meat in very big packages.

When the food he thrived on was in abundance, a full-grown bull aurochs grew to six feet six inches at the shoulder and weighed nearly three thousand pounds, two and a half feet taller and more than twice the weight of his largest domesticated descendant. He looked like an ordinary bull but was so much bigger, he approached the size of a mammoth. The food preferred by aurochs was grass, fresh green grass, not mature stalks and not tree leaves. They favored clearings, edges of forests, meadows, and marshes rather than steppes. Although they would eat acorns and nuts in the fall, as well as grass seeds, to build up a reserve of fat, and in winter’s hungry time they wouldn’t disdain browsing on leaves and buds.

The bull’s coat was usually black and long, with a light stripe down his back. He had a tight knot of curly hair on his forehead and two long, rather thin horns, whitish gray shading into black, forward-pointing tips. Cows were smaller and shorter, and their coats tended to be lighter in color, often with a reddish tone. Usually only the old or the very young fell to four-legged predators. The bull in his prime was unafraid of any hunter, including humans, and didn’t bother to avoid them. Especially during the fall rutting season, but not limited to then, he was ready to fight and could charge in an uncontrolled rage, pick up a man or a wolf with his horns, and toss him in the air, and would gore and often disembowel even a cave lion. Aurochs were fast, strong, agile, and very dangerous.

The horde of hunters started out as soon as it was light enough to see. Walking fast, they sighted the herd of aurochs before the sun was very high; the valley was surprisingly close. One end of it led into a fairly large canyon that funneled to a narrow defile, then opened out again into a natural corral. It wasn’t completely blind, it had a few narrow oudets,
but the place had been used before, though generally no more than once per season. The smell of blood from a major hunt tended to keep animals away until the snows of winter washed it clean again. But in anticipation of future use, fencing had been constructed across the outlets, and several of the hunters circled around to check on them and choose a vantage point from which to throw their spears. A wolf howl, not too bad an impression, Ayla thought, was the signal that all was ready. She had been warned and kept her arm around Wolf to restrain him in case he was tempted to respond. The loud caw of a crow was the return signal.

The rest of the hunters had been edging around the herd, trying not to disturb it too much, a difficult task with so many people. Ayla and Jondalar had stayed quite a ways back, not wanting the scent of the wolf to precipitate anything. They mounted the horses at the signal and started forward at a gallop, Wolf running alongside. As fast and powerful as a bull could be, aurochs were still herd animals and there were young among them. The sound of whoops and yells and the sight of unknown things being flapped at them was enough to spook them, and when one started running, others soon followed. With two humans on horseback getting surprisingly close with their flapping and shouting, and the scent of Wolf, the herd was soon stampeding blindly into the canyon.