Plains of Passage (97 page)

“Omel had to keep that secret.”

“Because of Brugar? S’Armuna said she thought he might have threatened great harm.”

“No, not because of Brugar, or Attaroa. I didn’t like Brugar, and I remember how he blamed her for Omel, even though I was little, but I think he feared Omel more than Omel feared him, and Attaroa knew why.”

Ayla sensed what was bothering Cavoa. “And you knew, too, didn’t you?”

The young woman frowned. “Yes,” she whispered; then she looked into Ayla’s eyes. “I was hoping you would be here when the time comes. I want everything to be right with my baby, not like…”

It wasn’t necessary to say more, or to explain in detail. Cavoa feared that her baby might be born with some abnormality, and naming an evil only gave it power.

“Well, I’m not leaving yet, and who knows? It appears to me that you could have that baby any time,” Ayla said. “Perhaps we will still be here.”

“I hope so. You have done so much for us. I only wish you had come before Omel and the others…”

Ayla saw tears glittering in her eyes. “You miss your friends, I know, but soon you will have a brand-new baby all your own. I think that may help. Have you thought about a name?”

“I didn’t for a long time. I knew there wouldn’t be much point in thinking about a boy’s name, and I didn’t know if I’d be allowed to
name a girl. Now, if it’s a boy, I don’t know whether to name it after my brother, or … another man I knew. But if it’s a girl, I want to name it for S’Armuna. She helped me to see … him…” A sob of anguish interrupted her words.

Ayla took the young woman in her arms. Grief needed to be expressed. It was good for her to get it out. This Camp was still full of grief that had to come out. Ayla hoped the ceremony that S’Armuna planned would help. When her tears finally abated, Cavoa pulled back and wiped her eyes with the side of her hand. Ayla looked around for something to give her to dry her tears, and she opened up a package she had carried with her for years to let the young woman use the soft leather wrapping. But when Cavoa saw what was inside, her eyes opened wide in disbelief. It was a munai, a small figure of a woman carved out of ivory, but this munai had a face, and the face was Ayla’s!

She averted her eyes, as though she had seen something she shouldn’t have, dried her eyes, and quickly left. Ayla frowned as she wrapped the carving Jondalar had made of her back in the soft leather. She knew it had frightened Cavoa.

She tried to put it out of her mind as she packed their few things. She picked up the pouch that held their firestones, and she emptied it to see how many of the grayish yellow metallic pieces of iron pyrite they had left. She wanted to give one to S’Armuna, but she didn’t know how plentiful they would be near Jondalar’s home, and she wanted to have some for gifts to his kin. She decided to part with one, but only one, and she selected a good-size nodule, then put the rest away.

When Ayla went out, she noticed Cavoa leaving the large earthlodge as she entered. She smiled at the young woman, who smiled nervously back, and when she went in, she thought S’Armuna looked at her strangely. Jondalar’s carving had created some worry, it seemed. Ayla waited until another person had left the lodge, and S’Armuna was alone.

“I have something I want to give you before I leave. I discovered this when I was living alone in my valley,” she said, opening her palm to show her the stone. “I thought you might be able to make use of it for your Fire Ceremony.”

S’Armuna looked at it, then looked up at Ayla questioningly.

“I know it doesn’t look like it, but there is fire inside this stone. Let me show you.”

Ayla went to the fireplace, got out the tinder they used, and arranged small shavings of wood loosely around dried cattail fluff. She placed sticks of kindling nearby, then bent down low and struck the iron pyrite with flint. A large hot spark was drawn off and fell on the tinder, and
when she blew on it, a small flame miraculously appeared. She added kindling to keep it going, and when she looked up she saw the stunned woman gaping at her incredulously.

“Cavoa told me she saw a munai with your face, and now you make fire appear. Are you … who they say you are?”

Ayla smiled. “Jondalar made that carving, because he loved me. He said he wanted to capture my spirit, and then he gave it to me. It’s not a donii, or a munai. It’s just a token of his feeling, and I will be happy to show you how to make fire appear. It’s not me, it’s something in the firestone.”

“Should I be here?” The voice came from the entrance, and both women turned to look at Cavoa. “I forgot my mitts and came back for them.”

S’Armuna and Ayla looked at each other. “I don’t see why not,” Ayla said.

“Cavoa is my acolyte,” S’Armuna remarked.

“Then I’ll show both of you how the firestone works,” Ayla said.

When she had gone through the process again and let them both try it, they were feeling more relaxed, though they were no less amazed at the properties of the strange stone. Cavoa even felt brave enough to ask Ayla about the munai.

“That figure I saw…”

“Jondalar made it for me, not long after we met. It was meant to show his feeling for me,” Ayla explained.

“You mean, if I wanted to show a person how important I think that person is, I could make a carving of that person’s face?” Cavoa said.

“I don’t see why not,” Ayla said. “When you make a munai, you know why you are making it. You have a special feeling inside you about it, don’t you?”

“Yes, and certain rituals go along with it,” the young woman said.

“I think it’s the feeling you put into it that makes the difference.”

“So I could carve someone’s face, if the feeling I put into it was good.”

“I don’t think there would be anything wrong with that at all. You are a very fine artist, Cavoa.”

“But, perhaps, it would be best,” S’Armuna cautioned, “if you did not make the whole figure. If you just made the head, there would be no confusion.”

Cavoa nodded in agreement; then both of them looked at Ayla, as though waiting for her approval. In the recesses of their private thoughts, both women still wondered who this visitor really was.

———

Ayla and Jondalar woke the next morning with every intention of leaving, but outside the lodge a dry snow was blowing so fiercely that it was hard even to see across the settlement.

“I don’t think we’ll be leaving today, not with a blizzard in the making,” Jondalar said, though he hated the thought of the delay. “I hope it blows over soon.”

Ayla went to the field and whistled for the horses, to make sure they were all right. She was relieved to see them appear out of the haze of wind-driven snow, and she led them to an area nearer the Camp that was protected from the wind. As she walked back, her mind was on their return trip to the Great Mother River, since she was the one who knew the way. She didn’t hear her name whispered at first.

“Ayla!” The whisper was louder. She looked around and saw Cavoa on the far side of the small lodge, staying out of view and beckoning to her.

“What is it, Cavoa?”

“I want to show you something, to see how you like it,” the young woman said. When Ayla got close, Cavoa took off her mitt. In her hand was a small roundish object, the color of mammoth ivory. She placed it carefully in Ayla’s palm. “I just finished it,” she said.

Ayla held it up and smiled with a look of wonder. “Cavoa! I knew you were good. I didn’t know you were this good,” she said, carefully examining the small carving of S’Armuna.

It was just the head of the woman, no hint of a body, not even a neck, but there was no doubt who the carving was meant to depict. The hair was pulled up into a bun near the top of the head, and the narrow face was slightly skewed, with one side somewhat smaller than the other, yet the beauty and the dignity of the woman were evident. It seemed to emanate from within the small work of art.

“Do you think it’s all right? Do you think she’ll like it?” Cavoa said. “I wanted to make something special for her.”

“I would like it,” Ayla said, “and I think it expresses your feeling for her very well. You have a rare and wonderful Gift, Cavoa, but you must be sure to use it well. There could be great power in it. S’Armuna was wise to choose you as her acolyte.”

   By evening, a howling blizzard was raging, making it dangerous to move more than a few feet beyond the entrance of a lodge. S’Armuna was reaching for a bunch of dried greenery hanging from the rack near the entryway, planning to add it to a new batch of herbs she was mixing together for a potent drink she was preparing for the Fire Ceremony. The fire in the fireplace was burning low, and Ayla and Jondalar had just gone to bed. The woman planned to retire as soon as she finished.

Suddenly a blast of cold air and a flurry of snow accompanied the opening of the heavy drape stretched across the entrance to the anteroom. Esadoa pushed through the second drape in evident distress.

“S’Armuna! Hurry! It’s Cavoa! Her time has come.”

Ayla was out of bed pulling on clothes before the woman could reply.

“She picked a good night for it,” S’Armuna said, maintaining calm, in part to soothe the agitated expectant grandmother. “It will be all right, Esadoa. She won’t have the baby before we reach your lodge.”

“She’s not in my lodge. She insisted on going out in this storm to the big lodge. I don’t know why, but she wants to have the baby there. And she wants Ayla to come, too. She says it’s the only way to be sure the baby will be all right.”

S’Armuna frowned with concern. “No one is there tonight, and it wasn’t wise for her to go out in this weather.”

“I know, but I couldn’t stop her,” Esadoa said, starting back out.

“Wait a moment,” S’Armuna said. “We might as well all go together. You can get lost going from one lodge to the next in a storm like this.”

“Wolf won’t let us get lost,” Ayla said, signaling the animal, who had been curled up beside their bed.

“Would it be inappropriate for me to come?” Jondalar said. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to be there for the birthing as that he was worried about Ayla going out in the blizzard. S’Armuna looked at Esadoa.

“I don’t mind, but should a man be at a birthing?” Esadoa said.

“There is no reason why not,” S’Armuna said, “and it might be a good thing to have a man nearby since she has no mate.”

They all braved the brunt of the wind together as the three women and the man went out into the howling gale. When they reached the big lodge, they found the young woman huddled over a cold, empty fireplace, her body tense with pain and a look of fear in her eyes. She brightened with relief when she saw her mother arrive with the others. Within moments, Ayla had a fire lit—much to the surprise of Esadoa—Jondalar was back outside getting snow from a drift to melt for water, Esadoa found the bedding that had been put away and arranged it on a bed platform, and S’Armuna was selecting various herbs that she might need from the supply she had brought there before.

Ayla settled the young woman, arranging everything so she could sit up comfortably or lie down if she chose, but she waited for S’Armuna and then both examined her. After reassuring Cavoa and leaving her with her mother, the two healers walked back to the fireplace and spoke quietly with each other.

“Did you notice?” S’Armuna asked.

“Yes. Do you know what it means?” Ayla said.

“I have an idea, but I think we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Jondalar had been trying to stay out of the way, and he approached the two women slowly. Something about their expressions made him sense that they felt some concern, which caused him to worry as well. He sat down on a sleeping platform and absently stroked the wolfs head.

As they waited, Jondalar paced nervously while Wolf watched him. He wished the time would pass more quickly, or that the storm would let up, or that he had something to do. He talked to the young woman a little, trying to be encouraging, and he smiled at her often, but he felt entirely useless. There was nothing he could do. Finally, as the night dragged on, he dozed a little on one of the beds, while the ghostly sound of the storm outside wailed an eerie counterpoint to the waiting scene inside, punctuated by periodic sounds of straining labor, slowly but inexorably drawing closer together.

He awoke to the sound of excited voices amidst a flurry of activity. Light was coming through the cracks around the smoke hole. He got up, stretched, and rubbed his eyes. Ignored by the three women, he went outside to pass his morning water. He was glad to see the storm had abated, though a few dry flakes were swirling in the wind.

As he started into the lodge, he heard the unmistakable squall of a newborn. He smiled but waited outside, not sure if it was an appropriate moment to go back in. Suddenly, to his surprise, he heard another squall, which caused the first one to make it a duet. Two of them! He couldn’t resist. He had to go in.

Ayla, holding a swaddled infant in her arms, smiled as he came through the entrance. “A boy, Jondalar!”

S’Armuna was lifting a second baby, preparing to tie the umbilical cord. “And a girl,” she said. “Twins! It’s a favorable sign. So few babies were born while Attaroa was leader, but now I think that will change. I think this is the Mother’s way of telling us the Camp of the Three Sisters will soon be growing and fall of life again.”

   “Will you come back someday?” Doban asked the tall man. He was getting around much better, though he still used the crutch that Jondalar had made for him.

“I don’t think so, Doban. One long Journey is enough. It’s time to go home, settle down, and establish my hearth.”

“I wish you lived closer, Zelandon.”

“So do I. You are going to be a good flint knapper, and I would like to continue training you. And, by the way, Doban, you can call me Jondalar.”

“No. You are Zelandon.”

“You mean Zelandonii?”

“No, I mean Zelandon.”

S’Amodun smiled. “He doesn’t mean the name of your people. He has made your name Elandon, but honors you with S’Elandon.”

Jondalar flushed with embarrassment and pleasure. “Thank you, Doban. Maybe I should call you S’Ardoban.”