The woman eyed her sharply. She knew something was wrong. “Ayla, we haven’t seen much of you since you arrived,” the Donier said, surprised that she’d had to speak first.
“I guess not,” Ayla said.
It was plain to Zelandoni that Ayla’s thoughts were somewhere else. Jondalar’s “incoherent mumbling” hadn’t been unclear to her, even if she hadn’t understood the words. His actions were clear enough. She had also seen Marona emerge from the small wooded area looking disheveled, but not on the normal path used by most members of the Ninth Cave. She came to their camp from a different direction, went directly into the tent she had been sharing, and began to pack up her things. She told Proleva some friends from the Fifth Cave wanted her to stay with them.
Zelandoni had been aware of Jondalar’s dalliance with Marona from the beginning. At first she thought there was little harm in it. She knew his true feelings for Ayla, and thought Marona would be just a passing fancy, something to relieve him at a time when Ayla had other demands on her and no choice but to be away at times. But she hadn’t counted on Marona’s obsession to get him back and to get back at Ayla, or her ability to insinuate herself upon him. Their physical attraction had always been strong. Even in the past, it had been the primary focus of their relationship. Sometimes, Zelandoni had suspected, it was the only thing they had had in common.
The Donier guessed that Ayla hadn’t fully recovered from her ordeal in the cave. Her loss of weight and the gaunt hollows in her face would have given her away even if she hadn’t seen it in Ayla’s eyes. Zelandoni had seen too many acolytes return from a calling, emerging from a cave or returning from wandering the steppe, not to know the danger of the ordeal. She, herself, almost didn’t survive. Since Ayla lost a baby at the same time, she would very likely also be suffering the melancholy most women felt after giving birth, which was often worse after miscarrying.
But the One Who Was First had seen more than the suffering Ayla had endured in the cave in her eyes now. She saw pain, the sharp chilling pain of jealousy with all the related feelings of betrayal, anger, doubt, and fear. She loves him too much; it’s not hard to do, the woman once known as Zolena recalled. The First had often wondered during the past few years how a woman who loved a man so much could be Zelandoni, too, but Ayla’s talent was formidable. In spite of her love for the man, it could not be ignored. And if anything, his feeling for her was even stronger.
But as much as he loved her, Jondalar was a man with strong drives. It was difficult for him to ignore them. It was especially true when there were no societal constraints against it, and someone as intimately familiar with him as Marona was using every faculty she possessed to encourage him. It was too easy to fall into the habit of going to her rather than bothering Ayla when she was busy.
Zelandoni knew Jondalar hadn’t mentioned anything about his ongoing liaison to Ayla, and instinctively, others who cared about them had tried to shield her. They hoped Ayla would not find out, but the Donier knew if he continued, it was a vain hope. He should have known it, too.
In spite of how well she had learned the ways of the Zelandonii and seemed to fit in, Ayla had not been born to them. Their ways were not natural to her. Zelandoni almost wished the Summer Meeting were over. She would like to be able to watch the young woman, make sure she was all right, but the last part of the Summer Meeting was a very busy time for the One Who Was First. She observed the young woman, trying to discern the extent of her feelings over her discovery of Jondalar’s encounters with Marona, and what effects it would have.
At Proleva’s urging, Ayla accepted a plate of food, but she did little more than push it around. She dumped the food and cleaned the plate, then returned it. “I wish Jonayla would come back; do you know how long she’ll be gone?” Ayla said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when she came.”
“You could go to Levela’s and get her,” Proleva said. “Levela would love it if you came to visit. I didn’t see where Jondalar went. He may be there, too.”
“I’m really tired,” Ayla said. “I don’t think I’d be very good company. I’m going to bed early, but will you send Jonayla in when she comes?”
“Are you feeling all right, Ayla?” Proleva asked, finding it hard to believe that she would just go to bed. She had been trying to find Jondalar all day, and now she wouldn’t even walk a little ways to look for him.
“I’m fine. I’m just tired,” Ayla said, heading for one of the large c
ircular dwellings that ringed the central fireplace.
A wall of sturdy vertical panels made of overlapped cattail leaves, which shed rain, was attached to the outside of a circle of poles sunk into the ground. A second interior wall of panels woven out of flattened bulrush stems was attached to the inside of the poles, leaving an air space between for extra insulation to make it cooler on hot days and, with a fire inside, warmer on cool nights. The roof was a thick thatch of phragmite reeds, sloping down from a center pole, supported by a circular frame of slender alder poles lashed together. The smoke escaped through a hole near the center.
The construction provided a fairly large enclosed space that could be left open or divided into smaller areas with movable interior panels. Sleeping rolls were spread out on mats made of bulrushes, tall phragmite reeds, cattail leaves, and grasses around a central fireplace. Ayla partially undressed and crawled into her sleeping roll, but was far from ready to sleep. When she closed her eyes, all she could see was the scene of Jondalar with Marona, and her mind whirled with the implications.
Ayla knew that among the Zelandoni jealousy was not condoned, though she was not as aware that behavior designed to provoke it was even less acceptable. People recognized that jealousy existed and fully understood its cause, and more important, its often damaging effects. But in a harsh land often overwhelmed by long and bitter glacial winters, survival depended on mutual cooperation and assistance. The unwritten strictures against any behavior that could undermine the necessary goodwill required to maintain that unanimity and understanding were strongly enforced by social customs.
In such adverse conditions, children were especially at risk. Many died young, and while the community in general was important to their well-being, a close, caring family was considered essential. Though most commonly families began with a woman and man, they could be extended in any number of ways. Not only with grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins but, so long as it was agreeable to everyone involved, a woman might select more than one man, a man might choose two, or more, women, or even multiple couples might join. The only exception was the prohibition of close family members joining. Siblings could not mate with each other, or those recognized as “close” cousins, for example. Other relationships were highly disapproved, though not expressly forbidden, such as a young man and his donii-woman.
Once the family was formed, customs and practices had developed to encourage its continuity. Jealousy did not favor long-term bonds, and various measures to alleviate its detrimental effects were understood. Passing attractions could often be appeased by the socially approved festivals to honor the Mother. Incidental relationships outside the family were usually overlooked, if they were conducted with restraint and discretion.
If the appeal of a mate was waning, or a stronger attraction developed, incorporation into the family was preferable to breaking it apart. And when nothing would serve except to sever the knot, there were always penalties of some sort levied against one or another or several of the people involved to discourage breaking apart, particularly when there were children.
Penalties might consist of continued assistance and support of the family for a period of time, sometimes coupled with restrictions against forming a new bond for a similar period of time. Or the penalty might be paid all at once, particularly if one or more of the people wanted to move away. There were no hard-and-fast rules. Each situation was judged individually within generally known customs by a number of people, usually those with no direct interest, who were known to have qualities of wisdom, fairness, and leadership.
If, for example, a man wanted to sever the knot with his mate and leave a family to mate with another woman, there would have to be a waiting period, the duration determined by several factors, one of which might be if the other woman was pregnant. During the wait, they would be urged to join the family rather than break the bond. If there was too much antipathy for the new woman to want to join or for her to be accepted into the family, the man could break the existing bond, but he could be required to assist in the support of the original family for some stated length of time. Or some total amount of stored foods, tools, implements, or whatever that could be traded could be paid at once.
A woman could also leave and, especially if she had children and was living at her mate’s Cave, might return to the Cave she was born to, or move to the Cave of another man. If some or all of the children stayed with the mate, or if a woman left a mate who was sick, or disabled, a woman might have to pay a penalty. If they were living at her home Cave, she could ask for the Cave to make an unwanted mate leave—his mother’s Cave would then be required to accept him. Usually there would be a reason given—a mate was cruel to her or her children, or he was lazy and didn’t provide adequately—although it might not be the real reason. It could be that he wasn’t paying enough attention to her, or that she was interested in pursuing someone else, or simply that she was no longer interested in living with him, or any other man.
Occasionally one or the other or both simply said they no longer wished to live together. The Cave’s concern was, primarily, for the children and if they were provided for; if they were grown, almost any arrangement that people chose to make was acceptable. If there were no children involved, and no other extenuating circumstances, such as an illness of a family member, the knot could be severed—the relationship broken—with relative ease by either the woman or the man, usually involving little more than cutting a symbolic knot in a rope and moving out.
In any of those situations, jealousy could be most disruptive, but in any case, was not tolerated. The Cave would step in, if necessary. So long as it was agreeable and did not cause problems between Caves or disrupt the relationships of others, people could make almost any arrangements they wanted.
Of course, nothing kept anyone from avoiding a penalty by simply packing up and moving away, but other Caves usually learned about most separations sooner or later, and did not hesitate to exert social pressures as well. He or she would not be driven out, but would not be made very welcome either. A person would have to live alone, or move far away to avoid the penalties, and most people didn’t want to be alone or live with strangers.
In the case of Dalanar, he had been more than willing to pay his penalty and then some. He didn’t have another woman, and in fact still loved Marthona; he just couldn’t bear to stay with her anymore when so much of her time and attention was directed toward the needs of the Ninth Cave. He traded belongings in order to pay the full penalty as soon as possible so he could leave, but he hadn’t planned to stay away. He wanted to go only because the situation was too distressing for him to remain, and once he did leave, he just kept going until he found himself in the mountain foothills some distance to the east, where he stumbled across the flint mine, and stayed.
Ayla was still wide awake when Jonayla and Wolf came into the tent. She got up to help her daughter get ready for bed. After some attention from her, Wolf went to the place she had set out for him, using his blankets. She greeted some others who had just come into the large, sturdy, not-quite-permanent structure designed to sleep several, or to keep them dry when it rained.
“Where were you, mother?” Jonayla asked. “You weren’t here when I came back with Zelandoni.”