The Land of Painted Caves (5 page)

They walked toward the steep wall of limestone. The setting sun was shining directly on it and the small fire that had been built nearby was almost invisible in the bright sunlight. A dark hole was visible but not obvious. There were several torches propped against the wall and each of the Zelandonia lit one. Ayla followed the others into the dark hole, shivering as the darkness enveloped her. Inside the cavity in the rock cliff, the air suddenly felt cool and damp, but it wasn’t only the abrupt drop in temperature that chilled her. She hadn’t been there before and Ayla felt a touch of apprehension and trepidation when she entered an unfamiliar cave.

The opening was not big, but high enough so that no one had to bend over or stoop to enter. She had lit a torch outside and held the light in her left hand high in front of her, reaching for the rough stone wall with her right to steady herself. The warm bundle that she carried close to her chest with the soft carrying blanket was still awake, and she moved her hand from the wall to pat the baby to quiet her. Jonayla probably notices the change in temperature too, Ayla thought, looking around as she moved inside. It was not a large cave but it was naturally divided into separate smaller areas.

“It’s here in the next room,” said Zelandoni of the Second Cave. She was also a tall blond woman, though somewhat older than Ayla.

The Zelandoni Who Was First Among Those Who Served The Great Earth Mother stepped aside to let Ayla move in behind the woman who was leading them. “You go ahead. I’ve seen it before,” she said, shifting her considerable size out of the way.

An older man stepped back with her. “I, too, have seen it before,” he said, “many times.” Ayla had noticed how much the old Zelandoni of the Seventh Cave resembled the woman who was leading the way. He was also tall, though a little stooped, and his hair was more white than blond.

Zelandoni of the Second Cave held her torch up high to cast its light ahead; Ayla did the same. She thought she saw some indistinct images on some of the cave walls as they passed by, but since no one had stopped to point them out, she wasn’t sure. She heard someone begin to hum—a rich, lovely sound—and recognized the voice of her mentor, the Zelandoni Who Was First. Her voice echoed in the small stone chamber, but especially as they entered another room and turned a corner. As the Zelandonia held their torches up to highlight a wall, Ayla gasped.

She wasn’t prepared for the sight in front of her. The profile of the head of a horse was carved so deeply into the limestone wall of the cave, it appeared to be growing out of it, and so realistically, it almost seemed alive. It was larger than life-size, or else it was a carving of a much larger animal than she had ever seen, but she knew horses and the proportions were perfect. The shape of the muzzle, the eye, the ear, the nose with its flaring nostril, the curve of the mouth and jaw, everything was exactly as it would be in real life. And in the flickering torchlight, it looked as if it were moving, breathing.

She let out a sobbing burst of air; she had been holding her breath and didn’t realize it. “It’s a perfect horse, except it’s just the head!” Ayla said.

“That’s why the Seventh Cave is called Horsehead Rock,” the old man said. He was just behind her.

Ayla stared at the image, feeling a sense of awe and wonder, and reached out to touch the stone, not even questioning whether she should have. She was drawn to it. She held her hand on the side of the jaw, just where she would have touched a living horse, and after a time the cold stone seemed to warm as though it wanted to be alive and come out of the stone wall. She took her hand away, and then put it back. The rock surface still held some warmth, but then it cooled again, and she realized that the First had continued to hum while she touched the stone, but had stopped when she let go.

“Who made it?” Ayla asked.

“No one knows,” said the First. She had come in after Zelandoni of the Seventh Cave. “It was made so long ago, no one remembers. One of the Ancients, of course, but we have no legend or history to tell us who.”

“Perhaps the same carver who made The Mother of Elder Hearth,” said the Zelandoni of the Second Cave.

“What makes you think so?” asked the old man. “They are entirely different images. One is a woman holding a bison horn in her hand; the other is the head of a horse.”

“I have studied both carvings. There seems to be a similarity of technique,” she said. “Notice how carefully the nose and the mouth, and the shape of the jaw of this horse are made? When you go there, look at the hips on the Mother, the shape of the belly. I’ve seen women who look just like that, especially those who have had children. Like this horse, the carving of the woman that represents Doni in the cave at Elder Hearth is very true to life.”

“That’s very perceptive,” said the One Who Was First. “When we go to Elder Hearth, we’ll do as you suggest, and look closely.” They stood quietly, staring at the horse for a while; then the First said, “We should go. There are some other things in here, but we can look at them later. I wanted Ayla to see the Horsehead before we got involved with visiting and such.”

“I’m glad you did,” Ayla said. “I didn’t know carvings in stone could look so real.”

3

“T
here you are!” Kimeran said, getting up from a stone seat on the ledge in front of the shelter of the Seventh Cave to greet Ayla and Jondalar, who had just climbed up the path. Wolf followed behind them and Jonayla was awake and propped up on Ayla’s hip. “We knew you had come, and then no one knew where you were.”

Jondalar’s old friend, Kimeran, the leader of Elder Hearth, the Second Cave of the Zelandonii, had been waiting for him. The very tall light-haired man bore a superficial resemblance to six-foot-six-inch Jondalar with his pale yellow hair. Though many men were tall—over six feet—both Jondalar and Kimeran had towered over their other age-mates at their puberty rites. They were drawn to each other and quickly became friends. Kimeran was also the brother of the Zelandoni of the Second Cave, and the uncle of Jondecam but more like a brother. His sister was quite a bit older, and she had raised him after their mother died, along with her own son and daughter. Her mate had also passed on to the next world, and not long afterward she began training for the zelandonia.

“The First wanted Ayla to see your Horsehead, and then we needed to get our horses settled,” Jondalar said.

“They are going to love your field. The grass is so green and rich,” Ayla added.

“We call it Sweet Valley. The Little Grass River runs through the middle of it, and the floodplain has widened into a large field. It can get marshy in spring from snowmelt, and when the rains come in fall, but in summer when everything else is dried out, that field stays fresh and green,” Kimeran said, as they continued walking toward the living space beneath the overhanging upper shelf. “It attracts a nice procession of grazers through here all summer long and makes hunting easy. Either the Second or the Seventh Cave always has someone watching.”

They approached more people. “You remember Sergenor, the leader of the Seventh Cave, don’t you?” Kimeran said to the visiting couple, indicating a middle-aged dark-haired man who had been standing back eyeing the wolf warily, and letting the younger leader greet his friends.

“Yes, of course,” Jondalar said, noting his apprehension, and thinking that this visit might be a good time to help people get more comfortable around Wolf. “I remember when Sergenor used to come to talk to Marthona when he was first chosen as leader of the Seventh. You have met Ayla, I believe.”

“I was one of the many to whom she was introduced last year when you first arrived, but I haven’t had a chance to greet her personally,” Sergenor said. He held out both hands, palms up. “In the name of Doni, I welcome you to the Seventh Cave of the Zelandonii, Ayla of the Ninth Cave. I know you have many other names and ties, some quite unusual, but I will admit, I don’t remember them.”

Ayla grasped both of his hands in hers. “I am Ayla of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii,” she began, “acolyte to Zelandoni of the Ninth Cave, First Among Those Who Serve”; then she hesitated, wondering how many of Jondalar’s ties to mention. At the Matrimonial Ceremony last summer, all of Jondalar’s names and ties were added to hers, and it made for a very long recitation, but it was only during the most formal of ceremonies that the whole list was required. Since this was her official meeting of the leader of the Seventh Cave, she wanted to make the introduction formal, but not go on and on.

She decided to cite the closest of his ties and continue with her own, including her previous ties. She finished with the appellations that had been added in a more lighthearted vein, but that she liked to use. “Friend of the horses, Whinney, Racer, and Gray, and the four-legged hunter, Wolf. In the name of the Great Mother of all, I greet you, Sergenor, leader of the Seventh Cave of the Zelandonii, and I would like to thank you for inviting us to Horsehead Rock.”

She is definitely not a Zelandonii, Sergenor thought, as he heard her speak. She may have Jondalar’s names and ties, but she’s a foreigner with foreign customs, especially about animals. As he dropped her hands, he eyed the wolf, who had come closer.

Ayla saw his uneasiness around the big carnivore. She had noticed that Kimeran was not particularly comfortable near the animal either, though he had been introduced to Wolf last year shortly after they arrived, and he had seen him several times. Neither of the leaders was accustomed to seeing a hunting meat-eater moving so easily among people. Her thoughts were similar to Jondalar’s: this might be a good time to get them more accustomed to Wolf.

The people of the Seventh Cave were noticing that the couple everyone talked about from the Ninth Cave had arrived, and more people were coming to see the woman with the wolf. All the nearby Caves had known within a day when Jondalar returned from his five-year-long Journey the summer before. Arriving on horseback with a foreign woman guaranteed it. They had met people from most of the nearby Caves at the Ninth Cave when they came to visit, or at the last Summer Meeting, but this was the first time they had paid a visit to the Seventh or the Second Cave.

Ayla and Jondalar had planned to go the previous fall, but never quite made it. It wasn’t that their Caves were so far away from each other, but something always seemed to interfere, and then winter was upon them, and Ayla was getting along in her pregnancy. All the delayed expectation had made their visit an occasion, especially since the First had decided to have a meeting here with the local zelandonia at the same time.

“Whoever carved the Horsehead in the cave below must have known horses. It is very well made,” Ayla said.

“I always thought so, but it is nice to hear it from someone who knows horses as well as you do,” Sergenor said.

Wolf was sitting back on his haunches with his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth, eyeing the man, his bent ear giving him a cocky, self-satisfied look. Ayla knew he was expecting to be introduced. He had watched her greet the leader of the Seventh Cave and he had come to expect to be presented to any stranger that she greeted in that way.

“I also want to thank you for allowing me to bring Wolf. He’s always unhappy if he can’t be near me, and now he feels that way about Jonayla, since he loves children so much,” Ayla said.

“That wolf loves children?” Sergenor said.

“Wolf didn’t grow up with other wolves, he was raised with the Mamutoi children of the Lion Camp and thinks of people as his pack, and all wolves love the young of their packs,” Ayla said. “He saw me greet you and now he expects to meet you. He has learned to accept anyone that I introduce him to.”

Sergenor frowned. “How do you introduce a wolf?” he said. He glanced at Kimeran and saw him grinning.

The younger man was remembering his introduction to Wolf, and though he might still be somewhat nervous around the carnivore, he was rather enjoying the older man’s discomfiture.

Ayla signaled Wolf to come forward and knelt down to put her arm around him, then reached for Sergenor’s hand. He jerked it back.

“He only needs to smell it,” Ayla said, “so he becomes familiar with you. It’s the way wolves meet each other.”

“Did you do this, Kimeran?” Sergenor said, noticing that most of his Cave and their visitors were watching.

“Yes, in fact I did. Last summer, when they went to the Third Cave to hunt before the Summer Meeting. Afterward, whenever I saw the wolf at the Meeting, I had the feeling that he recognized me, though he ignored me,” Kimeran said.

He didn’t really want to, but with all the people watching, Sergenor was feeling pressed to comply. He didn’t want anyone to think that he was afraid to do what the younger leader had already done. Slowly, tentatively, he stretched out his hand toward the animal. Ayla took it and brought it to the animal’s nose. Wolf wrinkled his nose and, with his mouth closed, bared his teeth so that his large carnassial shearing teeth showed, in what Jondalar always thought of as his feeling-full-of-himself grin. But that wasn’t how Sergenor saw it. Ayla could feel him shaking, and noticed the sour smell of his fear. She knew Wolf did, too.

“Wolf won’t hurt you, I promise,” Ayla said softly, under her breath. Sergenor gritted his teeth, forcing himself to hold steady while the wolf brought his tooth-filled mouth close to his hand. Wolf sniffed, then licked.

“What’s he doing?” Sergenor said. “Trying to see what I taste like?”

“No, I think he’s trying to calm you, like he would a puppy. Here, touch his head.” She moved his hand away from the sharp teeth, and was speaking in a soothing voice. “Have you ever felt the fur of a living wolf? Do you notice that behind his ears and around his neck, the fur is a little thicker and rougher? He likes being rubbed behind his ears.” When she finally let go, the man moved his hand away and held it in his other hand.

“Now he will recognize you,” she said. She had never seen anyone so afraid of Wolf, or more brave in overcoming his fear. “Have you ever had any experience with wolves before?” she asked.

“Once, when I was very young, I was bitten by a wolf. I don’t really remember, my mother told me about it, but I still have the scars,” Sergenor said.

“That means the Wolf spirit chose you. The Wolf is your totem. That’s what the people who raised me would say.” She knew totems were not viewed the same way by the Zelandonii as they were by the Clan. Not everyone had one, but they were considered lucky by those who did. “I was clawed by a cave lion when I was young, when I could count perhaps five years. I still have the scars to show for it, and I still dream about it sometimes. It is not easy to live with a powerful totem like a Lion or a Wolf, but my totem has helped me, taught me many things,” Ayla said.

Sergenor was intrigued, almost in spite of himself. “What did you learn from a cave lion?”

“How to face my fears, for one thing,” she said. “I think you have learned to do the same. Your Wolf totem may have helped you without your knowing it.”

“Perhaps, but how would you know if you have been helped by a totem? Has a Cave Lion Spirit really helped you?” Sergenor asked.

“More than once. The four marks that the lion’s claw left on my leg, that is a Clan totem mark for a Cave Lion. Usually it is only a man who is given such a strong totem, but they were so clearly Clan marks, the leader accepted me even though I was born to the Others—that’s their name for people like us. I was very young when I lost my people. If the Clan hadn’t taken me in and raised me, I would not be alive now,” Ayla explained.

“Interesting, but you said ‘more than once,’ ” Sergenor reminded her.

“Another time, after I became a woman and the new young leader forced me to leave, I walked for a long time looking for the Others as my Clan mother, Iza, had told me to do before she died. But when I couldn’t find them, and I had to find a place to stay before winter came, my totem sent a pride of lions to make me change my direction, which led me to find a valley where I could survive. It was even my cave lion who led me to Jondalar,” Ayla said.

The people who were standing around listening were fascinated with her story. Even Jondalar had never heard her explain her totem in quite that way. One of them spoke out.

“And these people who took you in, the ones you call the Clan, are they really Flatheads?”

“That’s your name for them. They call themselves the Clan, the Clan of the Cave Bear, because they all venerate the Spirit of the Cave Bear. He is the totem of all of them, the Clan totem,” Ayla said.

“I think it’s time to let these travelers know where they can put down their sleeping rolls and get settled so they can share a meal with us,” said a woman who had just arrived. She was a pleasantly round, attractive woman with the glint of intelligence and spirit in her eyes.

Sergenor smiled with warm affection. “This is my mate, Jayvena of the Seventh Cave of the Zelandonii,” he said to Ayla. “Jayvena, this is Ayla of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii. She has many more names and ties, but I’ll let her tell you.”

“But not now,” Jayvena said. “In the name of the Mother, welcome, Ayla of the Ninth Cave. I’m sure you would rather get settled now than recite names and ties.”

As they were starting to leave, Sergenor touched Ayla’s arm and looked at her, then said, quietly, “I sometimes dream of wolves.” She smiled.

As they were leaving, a voluptuous young woman with dark brown hair approached, holding two children in her arms, a dark-haired boy and a blond girl. She smiled at Kimeran, who lightly brushed her cheek with his, then turned to the visitors. “You met my mate, Beladora, last summer, didn’t you?” he said, adding in a voice filled with pride, “and her son and daughter, the children of my hearth?”

Ayla recalled meeting the woman briefly the summer before, though she hadn’t had a chance to get to know her. She knew that Beladora had given birth to her two-born-together at the Summer Meeting around the time of the First Matrimonial, when she and Jondalar were mated. Everyone had been talking about it. That meant the two would soon be able to count one year, she thought.

“Yes, of course,” Jondalar said, bestowing a smile on the woman and her twins, then without really being aware of it, paying closer attention to the attractive young mother, his vivid blue eyes full of appreciation. She smiled back. Kimeran moved closer and put an arm around her waist.