Laramar looked around at the people nearby with a smirk of satisfaction.
“What is this made of?” Ayla asked, trying to get the taste.
“I don’t always make it the same way. It depends on what’s available. Sometimes I use birch sap and grains,” Laramar said, being evasive. “Can you guess what’s in it?”
She tasted again. It was harder to guess ingredients when they were fermented. “I think there are grains, perhaps birch sap or sap from some other tree, and maybe fruit, but something else, something sweet. I can’t tell the proportions, though, how much of each is used,” Ayla said.
“You have a good sense of taste,” he said, evidently impressed. “This batch does have fruit, apples that were left on
a tree through a frost, which makes them a little more sweet, but the sweet you are tasting is honey.”
“Of course! Now that you mention it, I can taste honey,” Ayla said.
“I can’t always get honey, but when I can, it makes the barma better, and stronger,” Laramar said, this time with a smile that was genuine. There were not many with whom he could discuss the making of his brew.
Most people had a craft, something in which they developed the skill to excel. Laramar knew that he could make barma better than anyone. He considered it his craft, the one thing he could do well, but he felt that few gave him the credit he thought he deserved.
Many foods fermented naturally, some on the vine or tree on which they grew; even animals who ate them were sometimes affected. And many people made fermented beverages, as least occasionally, but they were inconsistent and their product often turned sour. Marthona was often cited for making an excellent wine, but it was considered by many a minor thing, and. of course, it wasn’t her only skill.
Laramar could always be counted on to make a fermented brew that became alcoholic, not vinegary, and his was often very good. He knew that it wasn’t a minor thing, it took skill and knowledge to do it well, but most people cared only about his end product. It didn’t help that he was known to drink a lot of it himself and was often too “sick” in the mornings to go hunting or to participate in some cooperative, sometimes unpleasant, but usually necessary activity that needed to be done for the Cave.
Shortly after he poured the barma for the guests of honor, a woman appeared at Laramar’s side. A toddler was hanging on her leg that she seemed to be ignoring. She had a cup in her hand which she held toward Laramar. A flicker of displeasure danced across his features for a moment, but he held his expression carefully neutral as he poured her some barma.
“Aren’t you going to introduce her to your mate?” she said, obviously directing her question to Laramar, but looking at Ayla.
“Ayla, this is my mate, Tremeda, and the one hanging on her is her youngest boy,” Laramar said, complying with her request minimally, and somewhat reluctantly, Ayla thought.
“Tremeda, this is Ayla of the … Matumo.”
“In the name of the Mother, I greet you, Tremeda of…,” Ayla started, putting down her cup so she could use both hands in the formal greeting.
“I welcome you, Ayla,” Tremeda said, then took a drink, not bothering with trying to free her hands for greetings.
Two more children had crowded around her. The clothing on all the children was so ragged, stained, and dirty, it was hard to see the minor differences that Ayla had observed between young Zelandonii girls and boys, and Tremeda, herself, looked little better. Her hair was uncombed, her clothes stained and dirty. Ayla suspected that Tremeda indulged too heavily in her mate’s brew. The eldest of the children, a boy, Ayla thought, was looking at her with an unpleasant expression.
“Why does she talk so funny?” he said, looking up at his mother. “And why is she wearing boy’s underwear?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her?” Tremeda said, drinking the last of the liquid in her cup.
Ayla glanced at Laramar and noticed that he was fuming with anger. He looked ready to hit the youngster. Before he could, Ayla spoke to the boy. “The reason I have a different way of speaking is that I come from far away and grew up with people who don’t talk the same way as the Zelandonii. Jondalar taught me to speak your language after I was already grown. As for these clothes, they were given to me as a gift earlier today.”
The youngster seemed surprised that she had answered him, but he didn’t hesitate to ask another question. “Why would someone give you boys’ clothes?” the boy said.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Perhaps they meant it as a joke, but I rather like them. They are very comfortable. Don’t you think so?”
“I guess so. I never had any as good as those,” the boy said.
“Then perhaps we can make some for you. I’d be willing if you will help me,” Ayla said.
His eyes lit up. “Do you mean it?”
“Yes, I mean it. Will you tell me your name?”
“I’m Bologan,” he said.
Ayla held out both her hands. Bologan looked at her in surprise. He had not expected a full formal greeting and wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t think he had a formal designation. He had never heard his mother or the man of his hearth greet anyone using their names and ties. Ayla reached down and took both his grimy hands in hers.
“I am Ayla of the Mamutoi, Member of the Lion Camp,” she began, and continued with her full formal designation. When he didn’t respond with his, she did it for him. “In the name of Mut, the Great Earth Mother, also known as Doni, I greet you, Bologan of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii; Son of Tremeda, Blessed of Doni, mated to Laramar, Maker of the Most Excellent Barma.”
The way she said it made it sound as if he really did have names and ties to be proud of, like everyone else. He looked up at his mother and her mate. Laramar was not angry anymore. They were smiling and seemed rather pleased at the way she had named them.
Ayla noticed Marthona and Salova had joined them. “I would like some of that Most Excellent Barma,” Salova said. Laramar seemed more than pleased to oblige.
“And me too,” Charezal said, getting his request in first as other people started crowding around Laramar, holding out their cups.
Ayla noticed that Tremeda got another cupful, too, before she moved off, followed by the children. Bologan looked at her as they were moving away. She smiled at him and was pleased to see him smile back.
“I think you’ve made a friend of that young man,” Marthona said.
“A rather rowdy young man,” Salova added. “Are you really going to make him some winter underwear?”
“Why not? I would like to learn how this is made,” Ayla
said, indicating the clothing she had on. “I may have a son someday. And I might like to make another outfit for myself.”
“Make one for yourself! You mean you are going to wear that?” Salova said.
“With a few variations, like a slightly better-fitting top. Have you ever tried one on? It is very comfortable. And besides, it was given to me as a gift of welcome. I’m going to show how much I appreciate it,” Ayla said, a touch of her anger and pride showing.
Salova’s eyes opened wide as she looked at the stranger Jondalar had brought home, suddenly conscious of her unusual enunciation again. This woman is not someone to anger, she thought. Marona may have tried to embarrass Ayla, but Ayla has turned it back on her. Marona will be the one who ends up being humiliated. She’ll cringe every time she sees her wearing that outfit. I don’t think I would want Ayla mad at me!
“I’m sure Bologan could use something warm to wear this winter,” Marthona said. She had not missed a bit of the subtle communication between the two younger women. It’s probably just as well for Ayla to begin establishing her place right away, she thought. People need to know she cannot be taken advantage of easily. After all, she will be mating a man who was born and raised among the people who are the responsible leaders of the Zelandonii.
“He could use something to wear anytime,” Salova said. “Has he ever had anything decent? The only reason those children have anything at all is that people take pity on them and give them their castoffs. As much as he drinks, have you noticed that Laramar always manages to have enough barma to trade for whatever he wants, especially to make more barma, but not enough to feed his mate and her brood? And he’s never around when something needs to be done, like spreading rock powder on the trenches, or even to go hunting.
“And Tremeda doesn’t help,” Salova continued. “They are too much alike. She’s always too ‘sick’ to help with food gathering or community projects, though it doesn’t seem to bother her to ask for a share of someone else’s efforts to feed
her ‘poor, hungry children.’ And who can refuse? They are indeed poorly dressed, seldom clean, and often hungry.”
After the meal, the gathering became more boisterous, especially after Laramar’s barma appeared. As darkness came on, the revelers moved to an area closer to the middle of the space under the huge rock shelf that roofed the entire settlement, and a large fire was lit barely under the edge of the overhead shelter. Even during the hottest days of summer, nighttime brought a penetrating chill, a reminder of the great masses of glacial ice to the north.
The bonfire threw heat back under the abri, and as the rock warmed, it added to the comfort of the surroundings. So did the friendly, if constantly changing, crowd gathered around the recently arrived couple. Ayla met so many people that, in spite of her exceptional memorizing skill, she wasn’t sure she would remember them all.
Wolf suddenly appeared again about the same time as Proleva, carrying a sleepy Jaradal, joined the group. The boy perked up and wanted to get down, much to his mother’s obvious dismay.
“Wolf won’t hurt him,” Ayla said.
“He’s very good with children, Proleva,” Jondalar added. “He was raised with the children of the Lion Camp, and was especially protective of one boy who was weak and sickly.”
The nervous mother stooped to let the boy down while keeping an arm around him. Ayla joined them, putting her arm around the animal, primarily to reassure the woman.
“Would you like to touch
Wolf,
Jaradal?” Ayla asked. He nodded his head up and down solemnly. She guided his hand toward Wolf’s head.
“He’s rickly!” Jaradal said with a smile.
“Yes, his fur is tickly. It tickles him, too. He’s shedding; that means some of his hair is coming out,” Ayla said.
“Does it hurt?” Jaradal asked.
“No. It just tickles. That’s why he especially likes to be scratched now.”
“Why is his hair coming out?”
“Because it’s getting warmer. In winter, when it’s cold, he
grows a lot of hair to keep warm, but it’s too hot in summer,” Ayla explained.
“Why doesn’t he put a coat on when it’s cold?” Jaradal pressed.
The answer came from another source. “It’s hard for wolves to make coats, so the Mother makes one for them every winter,” Zelandoni said. She had joined the group shortly after Proleva. “In summer, when it gets warm, the Mother takes their coats off. When Wolf sheds his fur, it’s Doni’s way of taking off his coat, Jaradal.”
Ayla was surprised at the gentleness in the woman’s voice as she talked to the small boy, and the look of tenderness in her eyes. It made her wonder if Zelandoni had ever wanted children. With her knowledge of medicine, Ayla was sure the donier would know how to dislodge a pregnancy, but it was more difficult tó know how to start one or to prevent a miscarriage. I wonder how she thinks new life starts, Ayla thought, or if she knows how to prevent it.
When Proleva picked up the boy to take him to their dwelling, Wolf started to follow. Ayla called him back. “I think you should go to Marthona’s dwelling, Wolf,” she said, giving him a “go home” signal. His home was anyplace that Ayla had laid her furs.
As the chill darkness overwhelmed the region beyond the palliative of firelight, many people left the main celebration area. Some, especially families with young children, retired to personal dwellings. Others, mostly young couples but older people as well and occasionally more than two, were in the shadows around the edges of the fire, involved with each other in more private ways, sometimes talking, sometimes embracing. It was not uncommon to share partners at such events, and as long as all the parties were agreeable, no ill will resulted.
The occasion reminded Ayla of a celebration to Honor the Mother, and if it honored Her to share Her Gift of Pleasure, She seemed to be well honored that evening. The Zelandonii were not so different from the Mamutoi, Ayla
thought, or the Sharamudoi, or the Losadunai, and even the language was the same as the Lanzadonii.
Several men tried to enrice the beautiful stranger into sharing the Great Mother’s pleasurable Gift. Ayla enjoyed the attention, but she made it plain that she had no desire for anyone except Jondalar.
He had mixed feelings about all the interest she was getting. He was pleased that she was so well received by his people, and proud that so many men admired the woman he had brought home, but he wished that they would not be so openly eager to take her to their furs—especially that stranger called Charezal—and he was glad that she showed no inclination for anyone else.
Jealousy was not well tolerated by the Zelandonii. It could lead to discord and strife even fighting, and as a community, they valued harmony and cooperation above all else. In a land that was little more than a frozen waste for a large part of the year, willing mutual assistance was essential for survival. Most of their customs and practices were aimed at maintaining goodwill and discouraging anything, such as jealousy, that might jeopardize their amicable relations.
Jondalar knew he would have trouble hiding his jealousy if Ayla chose someone else. He did not want to share her with anyone. Perhaps, after they had been mated for many years and the comfort of habit occasionally gave way to the excitement of someone new, it would be different, but not yet, and in his heart he doubted if he could ever willingly share her.
Some people had started singing and dancing, and Ayla was trying to move in their direction, but everyone around her crowded in close, wanting to talk. One man in particular, who had been hovering around the edge of the group most of the evening, now seemed determined to speak to her. Ayla thought she had noticed someone unusual earlier, but when she tried to focus on him, someone else would ask her a question or make a comment that distracted her.