The Shelters of Stone (97 page)

The top edge of the sun appeared on the horizon. Ayla smelled the smoke of morning campfires and looked downstream. A few early risers were moving about now. The camp was coming to life.

She saw Jondalar coming toward her in long strides. His
brow was wrinkled in concern. The expression was familiar. He is a worrier, she thought. She had become familiar with every line and movement of his face. She often watched him surreptitiously, her eyes always seeking him out wherever he was or whatever he was doing. He knotted his brow the same way when he was concentrating on a new piece of flint, as though trying to see the minute particles in the homogeneous material so he would know in advance which way it would shear. She loved all his expressions, but most of all she loved to see him smiling in his gentle teasing way, or looking at her with his eyes dilated, full of love and desire.

“I woke up and you were gone, Ayla,” Jondalar said as he approached.

“I woke up early and couldn’t go back to sleep,” Ayla said, “so I came outside. I think Wolf has a mate hiding in the woods. That’s why he was gone this morning.”

“That’s a good reason to be gone. If I had a mate, I wouldn’t mind running off with her to the woods,” he said, a smile erasing the worried frown. He put his arms around her and pulled her close to him, and looked down at her. Her hair was still tousled from sleep, falling loosely down her shoulders and framing her face in a mass of thick, dark blond waves. She had begun to wear her hair coiled neatly around her head in the manner of the women of his Cave, but he still loved it best when it was loose and free, the way it was the first time he saw her standing naked in the bright sunlight on the ledge in front of her cave in the valley, after she had bathed in the river below.

“You’ll have one before this day is through,” she said. “Where would you like to run off with her?”

“To the end of my life, Ayla,” he said as he kissed her.

“There you are! Remember, this is your mating day. No Pleasures until after the ceremony.” It was Joharran. “Marthona wants you, Ayla. She asked me to look for you.”

Ayla went back to the tent. Marthona had a cup of tea waiting for her. “This will have to do for your breakfast, Ayla. You are supposed to fast today.”

“This is fine. I don’t think I could eat today anyway.
Thank you, Marthona.” She watched Jondalar leave with Joharran carrying several bundles and packs.

Jondalar saw Joharran signal to him from across a field as he was about to go into the lodge that he was sharing with several of the men who were going to be mated that night. Most of them had some relational tie with each other, and all of them had one or two of their closest friends or relatives with them. He had just taken all of the things that he would need for the fourteen-day trial period to a small tent that he had set up away from the Summer Meeting camps, near the back of the hill where the new cave was. Although he felt he could have brought the things Ayla would need as well, someone else would bring them later, as was customary.

He waited for his brother just outside the entrance to the lodge. The place was not much different from the bachelor fa’lodges he had often shared with young men at Summer Meetings, young men who wanted to get away from the watchful eyes of their mothers, mothers’ mates, and other people in authority. Jondalar recalled the summers spent in such a place with rowdy friends and often, temporarily, by various young women. There was usually good-natured rivalry between the lodges and the young men within them over who could entice the most young women to stay with them. The goal seemed to be for each man to have a different woman every night, except for the nights when they reserved it for the men only.

On those nights, no one slept until dawn. They drank barma, and wine, when they could get it. Some brought various parts of certain plants that were more usually reserved for ceremonial usage. The young men spent the night singing, dancing, telling stories, and gaming, usually mixed with a lot of laughter. On the nights when they invited women, the gatherings usually broke up sooner as couples or mixed groups left the party early for more private entertainment.

The men who were about to be mated were always subjected to jokes and comments from the others in bachelor fa’lodges, something Jondalar took in good humor—he had
doled out his share—but the lodge he stayed in now was quieter and the men more serious. They were all facing the same event, and it wasn’t quite the joking matter that it was to the young men who were still uncommitted.

All the men who were mating had been banned from the zelandonia lodge where the women were staying, the couples were prohibited from contact with each other until the Matrimonial. While the men were also in lodges away from their camps, they had more freedom. They were not restricted from moving about, except to stay away from the women to whom they were Promised. The men stayed in several smaller dwellings, but all the women, and their close friends and relatives, shared the one lodge. Though the zelandonia lodge was bigger than all the others, it was more crowded than the men’s lodges, but the spontaneous outbursts and laughter that emanated from it always made the men curious.

“Jondalar!” Joharran called out to him as he neared. “Marthona wants to see you. At the zelandonia lodge, where the women are.”

Jondalar was surprised at the summons, but he hurried, wondering what his mother wanted. He tapped at the post outside the entrance of the lodge, and when the flap moved aside, he couldn’t resist craning his neck, trying to see in, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ayla. But Marthona was careful to close the opening behind her. She had a package in her hands, a package that was very familiar to him. It was the one that Ayla had so adamantly insisted on carrying with her on their entire long Journey. He recognized the covering of thin hides tied with cords. He had often been curious about it, but she had always evaded his questions.

“Ayla insisted that I give this to you,” Marthona said, shoving the package at him. “You know you are not supposed to have any contact with each other until the ceremony, not even indirectly, but Ayla said she would have given it to you earlier if she had known. She was very upset, almost in tears, and ready to break the prohibition herself if I didn’t give it to you. She told me to tell you it is for the Matrimonial.”

“Thank you, mother,” Jondalar said.

Marthona closed the opening before he could say another word. He walked away, looking at the package as he returned to the lodge. He hefted it to judge the weight, wondering what it could be. It was soft, but seemed rather bulky. That was one reason he couldn’t understand why she insisted on keeping it whenever they needed to lighten their load and make more room. Had Ayla carried this the entire way just to give it to him for their Matrimonial? he thought. It seemed too important to casually open it out in the open. He wanted to find a more private place.

Jondalar was glad the lodge was empty when he went in with Ayla’s mysterious package. He fumbled for a while, trying to untie the cord, but the knots resisted his efforts and he finally cut it with his knife. He peeled back the protective layers, then looked. It was white. He lifted it out and held it up. It was a beautiful, pure white leather tunic, decorated only with the black-tipped white tails of ermines. She said it was for the Matrimonial. Had she made him a Matrimonial tunic?

He had been offered several outfits to wear and had selected one that was elaborately decorated in the Zelandonii style. But this one was entirely different. The white tunic was cut more in the style of the Mamutoi, but their clothing was usually quite intricately decorated, too, often with beads of ivory, shells, and various other materials. This one had no decoration at all, except for a few ermine tails, but it was genuinely outstanding because of its color. The tunic was a pure, shining white, the most difficult of all shades to color leather, and stunning in its simplicity, because there was no decoration to detract from the purity of the color.

When did she make this? he thought. It could not have been made while they were traveling. There was no time, and besides, she had carried that package with her from the beginning. She must have made it the winter they were living with the Mamutoi, with the Lion Camp. But that was the winter she had Promised to mate with Ranee. Jondalar held the tunic up to himself. It was definitely his size, it would
have been much too big for Ranee, who was a shorter man with a more compact body.

Why had she made a tunic for him, especially such a beautiful one, if she was planning to stay with the Mamutoi and live with Ranee? Jondalar clutched the tunic while his mind raced. It was so soft and supple. Her leather always had that quality, but how long had she spent working the leather to make it so soft? And the color. Where had she learned to make white leather? From Nezzie, perhaps? Then he remembered seeing Crozie, the old woman from the Crane hearth, wearing a white outfit at one of the ceremonies when everyone wore their finest clothing. Could Ayla have learned it from her? He couldn’t recall ever seeing her working on white leather, but then, maybe he just hadn’t been paying attention.

He pulled the silky ermine tails through his fingers. Where had she gotten ermine tails? Then he remembered that she had returned with some ermines the same day she brought the tiny living wolf cub back to the earthlodge. He smiled, remembering what a commotion that had caused. But they had argued—well, he had argued, it was his fault—and he had already moved to the cooking hearth by then. She was visiting Ranee’s hearth at night. They were almost Promised. Yet she had probably spent many, many days making this soft, beautiful white tunic for him. Did she love him so much even then?

Jondalar’s eyes misted, he was near tears. He knew he had been the one who had treated her coldly. It was his jealousy and, more than that, his fear of what his people would say if they knew who had raised her. He had driven her into the arms of another man, yet she had still spent long days making this garment for him, and then she’d carried it all the way here just to give it to him for their Matrimonial. No wonder she was upset and ready to defy the ban against seeing him to make sure he got it.

He looked at it again. It was not even wrinkled. She must have found some place to straighten it, steam it, after they arrived. He held the tunic to himself, feeling its softness, and almost
felt that he was holding her, so much of her went into the making of it. He would have been happy to wear it even if it wasn’t so beautiful.

But it was beautiful. The clothes he had chosen to wear for his Matrimonial, for all their decoration, now seemed drab by comparison. Jondalar wore clothes well, and he knew it. He had always secretly prided himself on it, and on his choice of clothing. It was a small vanity that he had learned at his mother’s knee, and no one was more gracefully elegant than Marthona. He wondered if she had seen the tunic. Somehow he doubted it. She would have appreciated its stunning subtlety, with the ermine tails giving it just the right touch, and she would have given him some look, some hint.

He looked up as Joharran came into the tent. “There you are, Jondalar. I seem to be spending this day looking for you. You are needed for some special instructions.” He noticed the white garment. “What do you have there?” he asked.

“Ayla made me a Matrimonial tunic. That’s why mother wanted to see me, to give me this.” He held it up in front of himself.

“Jondalar! That is exceptional!” his brother said. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen white leather so well made. You always have liked to dress well, but in that, you are really going to stand out. There is going to be more than one woman who will wish she were in Ayla’s place. But there is more than one man who wouldn’t mind being in yours, your big brother included—if it weren’t for Proleva, of course.”

“I am lucky. You don’t even know how lucky, Joharran.”

“Well, I want to say, I wish both of you much happiness. I haven’t really had the opportunity to tell you before. I used to worry about you sometimes. Especially after that … problem you had, when you were sent away. When you came back, you always had women, but I wondered if you would ever find a woman that you would be happy with. You would have mated eventually, I’m sure, but I didn’t know if you would ever find the land of happiness you can have with a good mate like Proleva. I never did think Marona was the
right kind of woman for you,” Joharran said. Jondalar was moved.

“I know I’m supposed to be making jokes about how sorry you’ll be now that you’ve tied yourself to the responsibilities of a hearth,” Joharran continued, “but I will tell you truthfully, Proleva has made my life very happy, and her son brings a special warmth you can get no other way. Did you know she is expecting another?”

“No, I didn’t. Ayla is expecting, too. Our mates will have children who are close to the same age, they will be like hearth cousins,” Jondalar said with a big grin.

“I feel certain that Proleva’s son is the result of my spirit, and I hope the one she is carrying will be, but even if they aren’t, the children of his hearth can give a man such pleasure, such a special feeling, it’s hard to describe. Looking at Jaradal fills me with such pride and joy.”

The two men clasped each other by the shoulders, then hugged. “All this confessing of deep feelings from my big brother,” Jondalar said to the slightly shorter man, smiling. Then his expression became more serious. “FU tell you truthfully, Joharran. I have often envied your happiness, even before I left, before there were any children. I knew then Proleva would be a good woman for you. She makes your hearth a warm and welcome place. And just in the short time since I’ve returned, I have come to enjoy that little one of hers. And Jaradal looks like you.”

“You’d better go, Jondalar. I was told to hurry you along.”

Jondalar folded the white tunic, wrapped it loosely in its soft leather covering, and laid it carefully on his bedroll, then he left with his brother, but he looked back over his shoulder at the package, eager to try the white tunic on, the tunic he would wear when he and Ayla were mated.