The consternation of the zelandonia was immediate. Most hadn’t had time to think about what changes the new knowledge was going to make.
“But a mother has always named her own children!” one of them said.
Zelandoni caught a few sharp looks. That’s what she had been afraid of; some of them were going to start thinking. As a group, it was not wise to underestimate the zelandonia.
“How are the men going to realize that they are essential if we don’t let them take some part?” the First asked. “It doesn’t really change anything. Coupling will still be a Pleasure. Men are not going to start giving birth, and a man will still need to provide for the woman he has taken to his hearth and her children, especially while she is confined close to home and with small children. Naming a male child is a small thing; women will still name the females,” the woman cajoled.
“In the Clan the mog-urs named all the children,” Ayla mentioned. Everyone stopped and looked at her. “I was very pleased to be able to name my daughter. I was nervous about it, but it was very exciting, and it made me feel very important.”
“I think the men would feel the same way,” the First said, grateful for Ayla’s unplanned support.
There were nods and grunts of approval. No one brought up any further objections, at least for the moment.
“What about the name of the relationship? Have you a name for it already?” the Zelandoni from the Twenty-ninth Cave asked, with a hint of suspicion.
“I thought I would meditate and see if I could think of something appropriate for children to call the men who shared in giving them life, to distinguish them from other men. Perhaps we should all think about it,” the One Who Was First said.
The First had felt that she had to push them now, while the zelandonia were still overwhelmed, and at a disadvantage relative to herself, before they began to think about the possible consequences, and come up with some real objections that she couldn’t confound with bluster. She had no doubt that this new Gift of the Knowledge of Life would have more profound repercussions than even she could imagine. It would change everything, and she wasn’t entirely sure that she liked some of the very real possibilities that might develop.
The Zelandoni Who Was First was a keenly observant, intelligent woman. She had never had a child of her own, but in her case that was an advantage; she never had the distractions that children invariably entailed. But she had been midwife at more births than she cared to count, and had helped many women through miscarriages. As a result the First had more knowledge of the developmental stages of unborn fetuses than any mother.
The Doniers were also instrumental in helping some women end their pregnancies before full term. The most precarious time in the lives of infants was the first two years. Many children died then. Even with the help of mates, elder parents, or other extended family members, most mothers could not nurse and care for too many young children at one time if any were to survive.
Although nursing a baby, in itself, seemed to be a deterrent to starting another, it was sometimes necessary to terminate an unanticipated pregnancy if those who were already born were to live past infancy. Or if a woman was seriously ill, or had children who were nearly grown and was too old, or had had one or more harrowing deliveries in the past that had brought her close to death, and another pregnancy could deprive existing children of their mother. The mortality rate of children would have been appreciably higher if they did not practice such selective controls as were available to them. There might be other reasons, as well, for a woman to end her pregnancy.
And while the cause of pregnancy was not innately apparent, women did know that they were pregnant fairly soon. At some earlier time a woman, or women, had discovered how to know that a child was growing inside of her, before it was obvious. Perhaps she noticed that it had been some time since she had bled and she had learned that that could be a sign, or if she had been pregnant before, she might recognize certain symptoms. The knowledge had been passed down until all women learned it as part of their initiation into adulthood.
In the beginning, when a woman realized she was carrying a child, she might look back and try to think about what had caused it. Was it a certain food she ate? A special pool she had bathed in? A specific man she’d had relations with? A particular river she had crossed? A unique tree in whose shade she had slept?
If a woman wanted to have a baby, she might try repeating some or all of those activities, perhaps making it into a ritual. But she would learn that she could do any of those things any number of times and still not necessarily become pregnant. She then might wonder if it was a combination of actions, or the order in which they were done, or the time of day, or the cycle, or season, or year. Maybe just a strong desire to have a baby, or the concerted wishes of several people. Or perhaps it was unknown agents, emanations from rocks, or spirits from another world, or the Great Mother, the first Mother.
If she lived in a society that had developed a set of explanations that seemed reasonable, or even unreasonable, but that seemed to answer questions that were not accessible to her own observations, it would be easy to accept them if everyone else did.
But someone might be observant enough to begin to make connections and draw inferences that were close to the truth. Because of a unique set of circumstances, Ayla had come to such conclusions, though she’d had to overcome the strong urge to believe what others believed instead of her own observations and reasoning.
Even before talking to Ayla, the One Who Was First had also begun to suspect the true cause of conception. Ayla’s belief, and explanation, was the final piece of information she needed to persuade herself, and she had felt for some time that people, women in particular, should know how new life was started.
Knowledge was power. If a woman knew what caused a baby to begin growing inside her, she could gain control over her own life. Instead of simply finding herself pregnant, whether she wanted a baby or not, whether the timing was right for her to have one, whether she was well enough, or had enough children already, she had a choice. If it was relations with a man that somehow caused the pregnancy, not something external and out of her hands, she could decide not to have a baby simply by choosing not to share Pleasures with a man. Of course, it wouldn’t necessarily be easy for a woman to make that choice, and Zelandoni wasn’t at all sure how the men would react.
Though there would likely be unknown repercussions, there was another reason that she wanted her people to know that children were the result of the union of women and men. The strongest reason of all: because it was true. And men needed to know it too. Men had been considered incidental to the process of procreation for too long. It was only right that men know that they were essential to the creation of life.
And Zelandoni believed the people were ready for it, more than ready. Ayla had already told Jondalar what she believed, and he was nearly convinced. More, he wanted to believe. This was the right time. If Zelandoni herself had guessed it and if Ayla could work it out, so could others. The First hoped that the consequences of telling everyone would not be too devastating, but if the zelandonia didn’t tell them now, it was bound to come from someone else before long.
As soon as she heard Ayla recite the new final verse to the Mother’s Song,
Zelandoni knew the truth had to be revealed now. But to be accepted, it could not be divulged casually or piecemeal. It needed dramatic impact. The One Who Was First was clever enough to understand that most of what happened to acolytes in the course of being “called” to serve the Mother was the products of their own minds. A few of the older zelandonia had become entirely cynical about the whole process, but there were always inexplicable events that were caused by unknown or unseen forces.
It was those events that revealed a true calling, and when Ayla talked about her experience in the cave, the First had never heard a truer calling. In particular, that final verse of the Mother’s Song. Though Ayla’s instinct for language and ability to memorize were phenomenal, and she had become a skillful and compelling teller of stories and speaker of Legends, she had never before displayed an ability to create verse, and she had said it filled her head, that she heard it complete. If she could explain it to the people with the same conviction, she would be very persuasive.
When it seemed to the First that everything was in motion and could not be stopped, she finally announced, “It’s getting late. This has been a long meeting. I think we should go now and meet again tomorrow morning.”
“I promised Jonayla I would go riding with her today,” Ayla was explaining, “but the meeting took so long.”
No wonder, Proleva thought to herself, eyeing the black marks on Ayla’s forehead, but she refrained from saying anything. “Jondalar heard her talking to me about going out on the horses with you, wondering where you were and what was taking so long. Dalanar tried to explain to her that you were at a very important meeting, and no one knew how long you would be; then Jondalar offered to take her out.”
“I’m glad he did,” Ayla said. “I hated to disappoint her. Have they been gone long?”
“Most of the afternoon. I imagine they will be back soon,” Proleva said. “Dalanar did ask me to remind you that the Lanzadonii are expecting you this evening.”