“It is beautiful,” Ayla breathed. She felt particularly drawn to the pendant, and she looked at it carefully. It was shiny, polished from being worn and handled. “This is amber, isn’t it?”
“Yes. That stone has been in the family for many generations. Dalanar’s mother made it into this necklace. She gave it to me when Jondalar was born and told me to give it to the woman he chose.”
“Amber is not cold like other stones,” Ayla said, holding the pendant in her hand. “It feels warm, as though it has a living spirit.”
“How interesting that you should say that. Dalanar’s mother always said this piece had life,” Marthona said. “Try it on. See how it looks on you.”
Marthona guided Ayla toward the limestone wall of her sleeping room. A hole had been dug out of it, and wedged into the hole was the round end that grew out of the horn core of a megaceros, then extended and flattened out into the typical palmate antler. The tines of the projecting antler had been broken off, leaving a slightly uneven shelf with a concave scalloped edge. Resting on top and leaning against the somewhat forward sloping wall, but nearly perpendicular to the floor, was a small plank of wood with a very smooth surface.
As Ayla approached, she noticed that it reflected with surprising clarity the wooden and wickerware containers across the room, and the flame burning in a stone oil lamp near them. Then she stopped in amazement.
“I can see myself!” Ayla said. She reached out to touch the surface. The wood had been rubbed smooth with sandstone, dyed a deep black with oxides of manganese, and polished with fat to a high sheen.
“Haven’t you ever seen a reflector?” Folara asked. She was standing just inside the room, near the panel at the entrance,
dying of curiosity to see the gift her mother was giving to Ayla.
“Not like this. I’ve looked in a still pool of water on a sunny day,” Ayla said, “but this is right here, in your sleeping room!”
“Don’t the Mamutoi have reflectors? To see how they look when they dress for some important occasion?” Folara asked. “How do they know if everything is right?”
Ayla frowned in thought for a moment. “They look at each other. Nezzie always made sure Talut had everything on right before ceremonies, and when Deegie—she was my friend—arranged my hair, everyone made nice comments,” Ayla explained.
“Well, let’s see how the necklace looks on you, Ayla,” Marthona said, putting it around her neck and holding the back closed.
Ayla admired the necklace, noting how well it lay on her chest, and then she found herself studying the reflection of her face. She seldom saw herself, and her own features were more unfamiliar than those of the people around her whom she had met only recently. Though the reflecting surface was reasonably good, the lighting inside the room was dim, and her image was somewhat dark. She appeared rather drab, colorless, and flat-faced to herself.
Ayla had grown up among the Clan thinking of herself as big and ugly because, although she was thinner-boned than the women of the Clan, she was taller than the men, and she looked different, both in their eyes and her own. She was more accustomed to judging beauty in terms of the stronger features of the Clan, with their long broad faces and sloped-back foreheads, heavy overhanging browridges, sharp prominent noses, and large, richly colored brown eyes. Her own blue-gray eyes seemed faded in comparison.
After she had lived among the Others for a while, she didn’t feel that she looked so strange anymore, but she still could not see herself as beautiful, though Jondalar had told her often enough that she was. She knew what was considered attractive to the Clan; she didn’t quite know how to
define beauty in terms of the Others. To her, Jondalar, with his masculine and therefore stronger features and vivid blue eyes was far more beautiful than she.
“I think it suits her,” Willamar said. He had strolled over to add his opinion. Even he hadn’t known Marthona had the necklace. It was her dwelling that he had moved into; she had made room for him and his possessions, and she made him comfortable. He liked the way she ordered and arranged things, and he had no desire to poke into every nook and cranny or bother her belongings.
Jondalar was standing behind him, looking over his shoulder, grinning. “You never told me grandam gave that to you when I was born, mother.”
“Shé didn’t give it to me for you. It was meant for the woman you would mate. The one with whom you would make a hearth, to which she could bring her children—with the blessing of the Mother,” she replied, taking the necklace from around Ayla’s neck and putting it into her hands.
“Well, you’ve given it to the right person,” he said. “Are you going to wear it tonight, Ayla?”
She looked at it, frowning slightly. “No. All I have is that old outfit and this is too beautiful to wear with that. I think I’ll wait until I have something appropriate to wear with it.”
Marthona smiled and nodded slightly in approval.
As they were leaving the sleeping room, Ayla could see another hole cut into the limestone wall above the sleeping platform. It was somewhat larger and seemed to go into the wall rather deeply. A small stone lamp burned in front, and in the light behind it she could make out from her view a part of the full rounded figurine of an amply endowed woman. It was a donii, Ayla knew, a representation of Doni, the Great Earth Mother, and, when She chose, a receptacle for Her Spirit.
Above the niche, she noticed on the stone wall above the sleeping place, another of those mats, similar to the one on the table, made with fine fibers woven into an intricate pattern. She wished she could examine it closely, find out how it was
made. Then she realized that she probably could. They weren’t traveling anymore. This was going to be her home.
Folara rushed out of the dwelling after Ayla and Jondalar left and hurried to another one nearby. She had almost asked if she could go with them, then she caught her mother’s eye and the bare shake of her head, and it made her realize that they might want to be alone. Besides, she knew her friends would be full of questions for her. She scratched on the panel of the next structure. “Ramila? It’s me, Folara.”
A moment later a plump, attractive, brown-haired young woman pulled back the drape. “Folara! We were waiting for you, but then Galeya had to go. She said to meet her by the stump.”
They both walked out from under the overhang, talking animatedly together. As they approached the tall stump of a lightning-struck juniper tree they saw a thin, wiry young woman with red hair hurrying toward it from another direction, struggling to carry two wet and bulging, fairly large waterbags.
“Galeya, did you just get here?” Ramila asked.
“Yes; have you been waiting long?” Galeya said.
“No, Folara came for me only a few moments ago. We were just walking here when we saw you,” Ramila said, taking one of the bags as they started back.
“Let me carry your waterbag the rest of the way, Galeya,” Folara said, relieving her of the other bag. “Is this for the feast tonight?”
“What else? I feel like I’ve done nothing but carry things all day, but it will be fun to have an unplanned gather. I think it’s going to be bigger than they thought, though. We may end up in the Gather Field. I’ve heard that several of the nearby Caves have sent runners offering food for the feast. You know that means most of their Cave want to come,” Galeya said. Then, stopping and turning to look at Folara, she said, “Well, aren’t you going to tell us about her?”
“I don’t know much yet. We’re just starting to get acquainted. She is going to live with us. She and Jondalar are
promised, they’re going to tie the knot at the Summer Matrimonial. She’s kind of like a zelandoni. Not exactly, she doesn’t have a mark or anything, but she knows spirits, and she’s a healer. She saved Jondalar’s life. Thonolan was already traveling the next world when she found them. They had been attacked by a cave lion! You won’t believe the stories they have to tell,” Folara chattered on excitedly as they walked back along the stone front porch of the community.
Many people were busy with various activities related to the feast, but several stopped to watch the young women, especially Folara, knowing she had spent some time with the stranger and the returned Zelandonii man. And some were listening to her, in particular an attractive woman with very light blond hair and dark gray eyes. She was carrying a bone tray of fresh meat and affecting not to notice the young women, but she was walking in the same direction and staying close enough to hear. She had originally intended to go another way entirely, until she heard Folara talking.
“What’s she like?” Ramila asked.
“I think she’s nice. She talks a little funny, but she comes from very far away. Even her clothes are different … what little she has. She only has one extra outfit. It’s very plain, but she has nothing for dressing up, so she’s going to wear it tonight. She said she wants some Zelandonii clothes, but she doesn’t know what’s appropriate, and she wants to dress right. Mother and I are going to help her make some. She’s going to take me down to meet the horses tomorrow. I might even ride one. She and Jondalar just went down there, to go swimming and bathing in The River.”
“Are you really going to get on the back of a horse, Folara?” Ramila asked.
The woman who had been listening didn’t wait to hear the answer. She had stopped for a moment, then, with a malicious smile, hurried away.
Wolf ran ahead, stopping now and then to make sure the woman and man were still following him. The sloping path down from the northeast end of the front terrace led to a
meadow on the right bank of a small river that was nearing its confluence with the main stream. The level grassy lea was surrounded by open, mixed woodland that grew more dense farther upstream.
When they reached the meadow, Whinney whickered a greeting and some people who were watching from a distance shook their heads in amazement when the wolf ran straight to the mare and they touched noses. Then the canine struck a playful pose with his tail and back end up and his front end down, and yipped a puppy bark at the young stallion. Racer lifted his head in a neigh and pawed the ground, returning the playful gesture.
The horses seemed particularly happy to see them. The mare approached and put her head across Ayla’s shoulder, while the woman hugged the sturdy neck. They leaned against each other in a familiar posture of comfort and reassurance. Jondalar patted and stroked the young stallion, rubbing and scratching the itchy places Racer presented. The dark brown horse took a few paces forward, then nuzzled Ayla, wanting contact with her, too. Then they all crowded close together, including the wolf, welcoming each other’s familiar presence in this place of so many strangers.
“I feel like going for a ride,” Ayla said. She looked up at the position of the sun in the afternoon sky. “We have time for a short one, don’t we?”
“We should have. No one will gather for the feast until it’s almost dark. “Jondalar smiled. “Let’s go! We can swim afterward,” he said. “I feel as though someone is watching me all the time.”
“Someone is,” Ayla said. “I know it’s just natural curiosity, but it would be nice to get away for a while.”
Several more people had gathered to watch from some distance. They saw the woman leap with ease onto the back of the dun-yellow mare, and the tall man seem to do little more than step up to mount the brown stallion. They left at a fast pace, the wolf following along with ease.
Jondalar led the way, first upstream a short distance to a shallow crossing of the tributary, then continuing upstream
along the opposite bank of the small river a little farther until they saw a gorgelike narrow valley on their right. They rode north away from the stream and up the length of the confined vale along a rocky dry streambed that became a runoff creek in wet weather. At the end of the gorge was a steep but climbable trail that eventually opened out onto a high windy plateau that overlooked the waterways and countryside below. They stopped to take in the commanding view.
At an elevation of some six hundred fifty feet, the plateau was one of the highest in the immediate area and afforded a breathtaking panorama, not only of the rivers and valley floodplains, but across to the landscape of rolling hills of the highlands on the other side. The limestone Causses above the river valleys were not level plateaus.
Limestone is soluble in water, given enough time and the right acidic content. Over the long ages rivers and accumulated groundwater had cut down through the limestone base of the region, carving the once fiat floor of the ancient sea into hills and valleys. The existing rivers created the deepest valleys and the steepest cliffs, but though the stone walls that reared up and constrained the valleys often had a uniformity of height in any one section, they varied in elevation from place to place, following the pattern of hills above.
At a cursory glance, the vegetation of the dry, windy, high Causses on both sides of the primary river all seemed the same, similar to the open plains of the continental steppes to the east. Grass was most prevalent, with stunted junipers, pines, and spruces clinging to exposed areas near streams and ponds, and brush and small trees growing in the dips and dells.
But depending on where it grew, the plant life could be surprisingly different. The sparse tops and north-facing sides of the hüls favored a more arctic herbage that flourished where it was cold and dry, while the south-facing slopes were greener and richer in lower-latitude boreal and temperate-climate plants.
The broad valley of the main river below was more lush, with deciduous trees and evergreens lining the banks.
Showing a paler shade of green than they would later in the season, the freshly leafed-out trees were mostly the small-leaved varieties like silver birches and willows, but even conifers such as spruces and pines showed light-colored needles of new growth at the tips. The junipers, and occasional evergreen oaks, were more mottled with their spring color appearing at the ends of branches and twigs.
At times along its course, the waterway meandered through the middle of verdant meadows in the level flood-plains, with the tall grass of early summer turning to gold. In other places the curves and loops of The River’s course narrowed the stream and forced it to flow against the stone walls, closer to the cliffs on first one side and then the other.