A
s they neared Laramar and Tremeda’s home, Ayla realized she had passed by it many times but hadn’t paid attention. The stone shelter of Jondalar’s people was so large, housed so many, and so much seemed to have happened since they arrived, it was difficult to take it in all at once. Maybe with so many people it was always this way, but it would take a while for her to become accustomed to it.
The dwelling was at the far end of the living sites, set apart from its neighbors, and farthest away from most Cave activities. The living structure itself was not large, but the family claimed a substantial amount of the surrounding area by spreading out in an untidy array, though it was difficult to distinguish between personal belongings and trash. Some distance away from the dwelling was the space Laramar appropriated to make his fermented brew, which might change in flavor depending upon his ingredients, but could always be counted on.
“Where is Bologan, Lanoga?” Zelandoni asked.
“Inside. He won’t move,” Lanoga said.
“Where’s your mother?” the donier asked.
“I don’t know.”
When they moved aside the entrance drape, an unbelievably foul smell assaulted them. Except for one small lamp, the only light was the shadowed daylight reflecting off the stone
above the roofless dwelling from the great overhanging shelf above the abrí, and it was dark inside.
“Do you have any more lamps, Lanoga?” Zelandoni asked.
“Yes, but no oil,” the girl said.
“We can tie back the drape for now. He’s right here, just inside the entrance, blocking the way,” Zelandoni said.
Ayla found the tieback attached to the drape and wrapped it around the post. When she looked inside, she was appalled at the filth. There were no paving stones and the dirt floor was muddy in places where liquid of some kind had found its way down. From the stench, she thought some of it was probably urine. It appeared that every piece of their household furnishings was strewn across the floor, tattered mats and baskets, pads with the stuffing half gone, piles of leather and woven material that might have been clothing.
Bones with most of the meat chewed off were scattered here and there. Flies buzzed around rotting food that was left out, she couldn’t guess how many days before, on plates made of wooden slabs that were so rough, there were splinters in them. In the light she saw a rat’s nest beside the entrance, containing several squirming, red, hairless newborn, their eyes still closed.
Just beyond the entrance, a skinny youth was sprawled on the ground. She had met him briefly before, but now she looked more closely. He could count perhaps twelve years, Ayla thought, and his belt indicated he was coming of age, but he was more boy than man. It was fairly obvious what had happened. Bologan was bruised and battered, and his head was covered with dried blood.
“He’s been in a fight,” Zelandoni said. “Someone dragged him home and left him here.”
Ayla bent down to check his condition. She touched the pulse in his neck and noticed more blood, then put her cheek near his mouth. She not only felt his breath, she smelled it. “He’s still breathing,” she told Zelandoni, “but he’s badly hurt, the pulsing is weak His head is injured and he has lost a lot of blood, but I don’t know if the bone is cracked. Someone
must have hit him or he fell on something hard. That may be why he’s not waking up, but he smells of barma, too.”
“And I don’t know if he should be moved, but I can’t treat him here,” Zelandoni said.
The girl walked toward the entrance, carrying on her hip a thin, lethargic baby of about six months, who looked as though she hadn’t been washed since she was born. A toddler with snot running down his nose was hanging on her leg. Ayla thought she saw another child behind her, but wasn’t sure. She seems to be more mother than her mother, Ayla thought.
“Bologan all right?” Lanoga said, a worried look on her face.
“He’s alive, but he is injured. You did right to come and get me,” the donier said. Zelandoni shook her head with exasperation and a feeling of anger toward Tremeda and Laramar. “I’ll have to take care of him at my place,” she said.
Normally, only the most serious maladies were attended to in the donier’s dwelling; in a Cave as large as the Ninth, there wasn’t room enough for all the people who were sick or injured at one time to move there. Someone with Bologan’s injuries, as serious as they were, usually would be cared for in his own home, with Zelandoni going there to treat him. But there was no one at this home to take care of him, and Zelandoni couldn’t bear the idea of even entering the place, much less spending any time there.
“Do you know where your mother is, Lanoga?”
“No,”
“Where did she go?” Zelandoni said, rephrasing her question.
“Went to the burial,” Lanoga said.
“Who is taking care of the children?”
“I am.
“But you’re not able to feed that baby,” Ayla said, shocked. “You can’t nurse.”
“I can feed her,” Lanoga said, a defensive tone in her voice. “She eats food. The milk dried up.”
“Which means Tremeda will have another baby within a year,” Zelandoni said under her breath.
“I know babies that young can eat food if they have to,” Ayla said, sympathetically, feeling a twinge of painful memory. “What do you feed her, Lanoga?”
“Mashed-up boiled roots,” she said.
“Ayla, will you go tell Joharran what happened, and ask him to come here with something to carry Bologan to my dwelling? And some help to carry him?” Zelandoni said.
“Yes, of course. I’ll be right back,” Ayla said, hurrying away.
It was late in the afternoon when Ayla left Zelandomi dwelling and hurried toward the leader’s. She had been helping the Ninth Cave’s healer and was going to tell Joharran that Bologan was awake and seemed to be coherent enough to talk.
Joharran had been waiting for her. After he left, Proleva said, “Would you like something to eat? You’ve been with Zelandoni all afternoon.” Ayla shook her head and started to go. She opened her mouth to make apologies, but Proleva quickly added, “Or maybe a cup of tea? I have some tea ready. It’s chamomile, lavender, and linden flower.”
“Well, maybe a cup, but I need to get back soon,” Ayla said. As she got out her drinking cup, she wondered if the mixture had been suggested by Zelandoni or whether Proleva realized that it was a good drink for pregnant women. It was innocuous, with only a mildly calming effect. She took a sip of the hot tea the woman ladled into her cup and savored the taste. It did have a nice flavor, and anybody could drink it, not just pregnant women.
“How is Bologan?” the leader’s mate asked as she sat down beside Ayla with her own cup.
“I think he will be fine. He had a bad knock on the head, bled a lot. I was afraid the bone might have been cracked, but head wounds do tend to bleed heavily. We cleaned him and couldn’t find any evidence of a break, but he does have a big swollen lump, and other injuries. He needs rest and care right
now. It seems obvious that he was in a fight, and he was drinking barma.”
“That’s what Joharran wanted to talk to him about,” Proleva said.
“The one that worries me even more is that baby,” Ayla said. “She needs to be nursed. I’d think other nursing mothers could give a little of their milk to her. Women of the Clan did when …” she hesitated a moment “ … a woman lost her milk early. She had been taking care of her mother, and grieved too much when she died.” Ayla decided to refrain from mentioning that she was the woman who had lost her milk; she hadn’t yet told anyone that she’d had a son when she was living with the Clan. “I asked Lanoga what she fed her. She said mashed-up roots. I know children that young can eat food, but all babies need milk, too. She won’t grow right without it.”
“You’re right, Ayla. Babies do need milk. I’m afraid no one has been paying attention to Tremeda and her family. We know the children are not very well cared for, but they are Tremeda’s children, and people don’t like to interfere in other people’s lives. It’s hard to know what to do about them, so most of us just ignore them. I didn’t even know she had lost her milk,” Proleva said.
“Why didn’t Laramar say something?” Ayla asked.
“I doubt that he even noticed. He doesn’t pay any attention to the children, except Bologan, occasionally. I’m not sure he even knows how many there are,” Proleva said. “He goes there only to eat and sleep and sometimes not even for that, which may be for the best. When they are together, Laramar and Tremeda argue all the time. It often leads to real fights, which invariably she gets the worst of.”
“Why does she stay with him?” Ayla asked. “She could leave him if she wanted to, couldn’t she?”
“Where would she go? Her mother is dead, and she never mated, so there never was a man at their hearth. Tremeda had an older brother, but he moved away before she grew up, first to another Cave, and then farther away. No one has heard anything about him in years,” Proleva said.
“Couldn’t she find another man?” Ayla asked.
“Who would have her? It’s true, she manages to find some man to honor the Mother with her at a Mother Festival, usually someone who’s had too much barma, or meadow mushrooms, or something else, but she’s not exactly a prize. And she has six children that need to be provided for.”
“Six children?” Ayla said. “I saw four, or possibly five. How many years can they count?”
“Bologan is the eldest. He can count twelve years,” Proleva said.
“I guessed that,” Ayla said.
“Lanoga can count ten years,” Proleva continued. “Then, there’s an eight-year, a six-year, a two-year, and the baby. She’s only some moons, about a half-year. Tremeda had another one who would be a four-year, but he died.”
“I’m afraid this baby will die. I examined her, she is not healthy. I know you said food is shared, but what about babies who need milk? Are Zelandonii women willing to share their milk?” Ayla asked.
“If it were anyone but Tremeda, I wouldn’t hesitate to say yes,” Proleva said.
“That baby is not Tremeda,” Ayla said. “She’s just a helpless infant. If my baby were here, I wouldn’t hesitate to share my milk with her, but by the time mine is born, she may already be gone. Even by the rime yours is born, it may be too late.”
Proleva bowed her head and smiled self-consciously. “How did you know? I haven’t told anyone yet.”
It was Ayla’s turn to feel self-conscious. She hadn’t meant to presume. It was usually the mother’s prerogative to announce that she was expecting a child. “I am a medicine woman, a healer,” she explained. “I have helped women give birth and know the signs of pregnancy. I didn’t mean to mention it until you were ready. I was just concerned about Tremeda’s baby.”
“I know. I don’t mind, Ayla. I was getting ready to tell people anyway,” Proleva said, “but I didn’t know you were expecting. That means our babies will be born close together.
I’m glad.” She paused for a while, thinking, then she said, “I’ll tell you what I think we should do. Let me get together the women who have young infants, or are almost ready to give birth. They’re the ones whose milk hasn’t yet adjusted to their own baby’s needs and have extra. You and I can talk to them about helping to feed Tremeda’s baby”
“If several of them share it, it won’t be too much of a drain on any one of them,” Ayla said, then she frowned. “The trouble is, that baby really needs more than milk. She needs better care. How could Tremeda leave an infant for so long with a girl who can count only ten years?” Ayla said. “Not to mention all the rest of the children. It’s too much to expect of a ten-year.”
“They probably get better care from Lanoga than from Tremeda,” Proleva said.
“But that doesn’t mean someone so young should have to do it,” Ayla said. “What’s wrong with Laramar? Why isn’t he doing something to help? Tremeda is his mate, isn’t she? They are the children of his hearth, aren’t they?”
“Those are questions many of us have asked,” Proleva said. “We don’t have answers. Many people have spoken to Laramar, including Joharran and Marthona. It makes no difference. Laramar doesn’t care what anyone says. He knows that no matter what he does, people will want that drink he makes. And Tremeda is just as bad in her own way. She is so often in a stupor from his barma, she hardly knows what goes on around her. Neither one of them seem to care about the children, I don’t know why the Great Earth Mother keeps giving her more. No one really knows what to do.” There was frustration and sadness in the voice of the tall, handsome woman who was the mate of the leader.
Ayla didn’t have an answer, but she knew she had to do something.
“Well, there is one thing we can do. We can talk to the women and see about getting some milk for the baby. It’s a start.” She put her cup back in her carrying pouch and stood up. “I should be getting back now.”
When Ayla left Proleva’s, she didn’t return directly to
Zelandonia place, She was concerned about Wolf and wanted to stop at Marthona’s first. When she went in, the whole family was there, including Wolf. He rushed at her, so pleased to see her that Ayla was almost knocked down when the large wolf jumped up on his hind legs and landed with his paws in front of her shoulders. But she had seen him coming and managed to brace herself. She allowed him to give her the canine greeting to the leader of the pack, licking her neck and taking her jaw gently in his teeth. Then she held his head between both her hands by the thick fur of his ruff and gently bit his jaw. She looked into his adoring eyes and buried her face in his fur. She was glad to see him, too.
“It startles me when he does that to you, Ayla,” Willamar said as he got up from a cushion on the floor.
“It used to scare me, too,” Jondalar said. “I trust him now, I’m not afraid for Ayla anymore. I know he won’t hurt her, and I’ve seen what he can do to someone else who might try, but I admit, that special greeting of his does surprise me sometimes.”
When Willamar approached, they greeted each other with a quick touching of right cheeks. By now Ayla had learned that it was a customary informal greeting between family members or very close friends.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t go with you to see the horses, Ayla,” Folara said as they greeted each other the same way.