Ayla touched the small mark, then reached for the scar on her arm. Talut had cut that mark, and with the bloody knife had notched an ivory plaque that he wore suspended from a fantastic necklace of amber and cave lion canine teeth and claws, to show that she was accepted into the Lion Camp, adopted by the Mamutoi.
She had never asked, she had always been chosen, and for each acceptance she bore a mark, a scar that she would carry always. It was the sacrifice she’d had to make. Now she was being chosen again. She could still decline, but if she didn’t refuse now, she was committed for life. It crossed her mind that the scars would always remind her that there were consequences to being chosen, responsibilities that came with acceptance.
She looked into the eyes of the woman. “I accept, I will be Zelandoni,” Ayla said, trying to sound firm and positive.
Then she closed her eyes and felt someone come up behind the stool on which she was seated. Hands, gentle but firm, pulled her back to rest on the soft body of a woman for support, then held her head and turned it so that her right forehead was presented. She felt a wash of liquid from something soft and wet wiped across her forehead, recognized the odor of iris root, a solution she had often used to clean wounds, and felt an anxious tension arise within her.
“Oh! Ow!” she cried out involuntarily as she felt the quick cut of a sharp blade, then fought to control such outbursts at a second cut, and then a third. The solution was applied again, then the cuts were dried, and another substance was rubbed in. This time the pain stung like a burn, but not for long; something in the stinging salve had numbed the pain.
“You can open your eyes, Ayla. It’s over,” the large woman said.
Ayla opened her eyes to see a rather dim, unfamiliar image. It took her a moment to realize what s
he was seeing. Someone was holding up a reflector and a lighted lamp so she could see herself in the oiled piece of sand-smoothed, black-stained wood. She seldom used a reflector, didn’t even have one in her dwelling, and was always surprised to see her own face. Then her eyes were drawn to the marks on her forehead.
Just in front of her right temple was a short horizontal line with two vertical lines extending up from each end of about the same length, like a square with no top line or an open box. The three lines were black, with a little blood still oozing out around the edges. They looked so conspicuous, they seemed to diminish everything else. Ayla wasn’t at all sure that she liked having her face marred like that. But there was nothing she could do about it now. It was done. She would carry those black marks on her face for the rest of her life.
She started to reach up to feel it, but the First stopped her. “It’s best if you don’t touch it just yet,” she said. “It has almost stopped bleeding, but it’s still fresh.”
Ayla looked around at the rest of the zelandonia. They all had various marks on their foreheads, some more intricate than others, mostly square but with other shapes as well, many filled in with color. The markings of the First were the most elaborate of all. She knew they designated rank, position, affiliation of the zelandonia. She noticed, however, that the black lines faded to blue tattoos after they healed.
She was glad when they took the reflector away. She didn’t like looking at herself. It made her uncomfortable to think that the strange, dim image of the face she saw belonged to her. She preferred to see herself reflected in the expressions of others: the happiness of her daughter when she saw her mother, the pleasure of seeing herself in the aspect and demeanor of people she cared about, like Marthona, and Proleva, Joharran, and Dalanar. And the look of love in Jondalar’s eyes when he saw … not anymore … The last time he saw her, he was horrified. His look showed shock and dismay, not love.
Ayla closed her eyes to shut off impending tears, and tried to control her feelings of loss, disappointment, and pain. When she opened them and looked up, all the zelandonia were standing in front of her, including the two new ones, a woman and a man, who had been on guard outside, and all of them had warm smiles of anticipation and welcome. The One Who Was First spoke:
“You have traveled far, have belonged to many people, but your feet have always led you along the path the Great Earth Mother chose for you. It was your fate to lose your people at an early age, and then be taken in by a healer and a man who traveled the spirit world of those people you call the Clan. When you were adopted by the Mamut of the Mamutoi to the Mammoth Hearth that honors the Mother, your way was guided by She Who Gave Birth to All. Your destiny has always been to Serve Her.
“Ayla of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, mated to Jondalar of the Ninth Cave, son of Marthona, former leader of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii; Mother of Jonayla, Blessed of Doni, of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, who was born to the hearth of Jondalar; Ayla of the Mamutoi, member of the Lion Camp of the mammoth hunting people to the east, Daughter of the Mammoth Hearth, the zelandonia of the Mamutoi; Ayla, chosen by the Spirit of the Cave Lion and Protected by the Cave Bear of the Clan, your names and ties are many. Now they are no longer needed. Your new name means all of them, and more. Your name is one with all of Her creation. Your name is Zelandoni!”
“Your name is one with all of Her creation. Welcome Zelandoni!” the assembled group said in unison.
“Come, join with us in the Mother’s Song, Zelandoni of the Ninth Cave,” said the One Who Was First, and the group began entirely in unison.
Out of the darkness, the chaos of time,
The whirlwind gave birth to the Mother sublime …
When they reached the verse that had always been the last, only the One Who Was First continued in her beautiful rich voice:
The Mother was pleased with the pair She created,
She taught them to love and to care when they mated.
She made them desire to join with each other,
The Gift of their Pleasures came from the Mother.
Before She was through, Her children loved too.
The whole group sang the last line; then they all looked expectantly at Ayla. It took her a moment to comprehend; then in a strong voice with an exotic accent, Ayla didn’t sing, but spoke alone.
Her last Gift, the Knowledge that man has his part.
His need must be spent before new life can start.
It honors the Mother when the couple is paired,
Because woman conceives when Pleasures are shared.