“Why is he always so busy with those men in the fa’lodge that he can’t sleep with us?” the child asked.
“Sometimes men are just very busy,” Marthona said, noticing that Ayla was struggling to keep her control. “You go ahead with Zelandoni; Ayla, we’ll see you later. Come along, Jonayla. We should go and thank everyone for the wonderful feast; then, if you like, you can ride with me on the litter when they carry me back.”
“Oh, could I?” Jonayla said. She thought it was particularly wonderful the way there were always a couple of young men nearby to carry Marthona wherever she wanted to go, especially if it was any distance.
As Ayla and Zelandoni walked toward the zelandonia lodge together, discussing the meeting and the things that might be done to create a more positive mood about the changes the Gift of Knowledge would bring about, Zelandoni thought that Ayla seemed quite despondent, though as usual she was covering it up well.
When they reached the lodge, Zelandoni started water heating for tea. They saw that Laramar had left the zelandonia lodge already, and must have been moved to the Fifth Cave’s camp. When the tea was ready, she led Ayla to a quiet area where there were a few stools and a low table. She considered trying to get Ayla to talk about what was bothering her, but changed her mind. The First thought she had a good idea what was troubling Ayla, though she had not heard Jonayla question her mother about Jondalar’s absence, and didn’t know how much it added to her despair. The Donier decided it might be better to talk about something else to get Ayla’s mind off her worries and concerns.
“I’m not sure if I heard you correctly at the time, Ayla … I should say Zelandoni of the Ninth Cave, but I thought you said you still had some of those roots that your Clan Zelandoni—what do you call him, Mogor?—used in his special ceremonies. Is that right?” The idea of them had intrigued the First ever since Ayla mentioned them. “Would they really still be good after all these years?”
“The Clan in this region call him Mogor, but we always said Mog-ur. And yes, I still have some of the roots, and I’m sure they’re good. They get stronger with age, if stored properly. I know Iza often kept hers for the entire seven years between Clan Gatherings, and sometimes longer,” Ayla said.
“What you said about them interests me. Though I do understand they can be hazardous, it might be a valuable experience to try a small experiment.”
“I don’t know,” Ayla said. “They are dangerous, and I’m not sure if I’d know how to do a small experiment. I only know one way to prepare them.” She felt nervous about the idea.
“If you don’t think it’s appropriate to experiment, that’s fine.” Zelandoni didn’t want to distress her further. She took a sip of her tea to give herself a few moments to think. “Do you still have the pouch of mixed herbs that we were going to experiment on together? The ones you got from that visiting Zelandoni from the Cave that’s so far away?”
“Yes, I’ll get them,” Ayla said, getting up to get the sack of medicinal herbs that she kept in her special place within the zelandonia lodge. She thought of it as her zelandonia medicine bag, though it did not resemble her Clan medicine bag.
Some years before, she had made a new one in the Clan style out of a whole otter skin, but it was in the lodge at the Ninth Cave’s camp. Its distinctiveness gave it an unmistakable quality of something different. The one Ayla kept in the zelandonia lodge was similar to the ones used by all the doniers, a simple rawhide leather carrier, a smaller version of the one she used to carry meat. The decoration, however, was far from simple. Each of the medicine bags was unique, designed and made by each individual healer, bearing both required elements and others that were chosen by the user.
Ayla brought hers back to the area where Zelandoni was sipping tea while she waited. The young woman opened the leather packet and felt around inside. A frown creased her forehead. Finally she emptied it out onto the small table between them, and found the pouch she was looking for, but it was only half full.
“It looks like you have already experimented with that,” Zelandoni said.
“I don’t understand,” Ayla said. “I don’t recall opening this pouch. How did it get used?” She opened the container, poured a small amount in her palm, and sniffed. “It smells like mint.”
“If I recall correctly, the Zelandoni who gave it to you said that the mint was put in as a way to identify this mixture. She doesn’t keep mint in this kind of pouch, but in larger woven containers, so if it’s in a pouch, and smells like mint, she knows it is this mixture,” Zelandoni explained.
Ayla sat back and looked up at the ceiling with a deep frown, straining to remember. Suddenly she sat up. “I think I drank this the night I was watching the risings and settings. The night I was called. I thought it was mint tea.” Suddenly she clasped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Great Mother! Zelandoni, I might not have been called at all. It might have all been caused by this mixture!” Ayla said, appalled.
Zelandoni leaned forward, patted Ayla’s hand, and smiled. “It’s all right, Ayla. You don’t need to be concerned about that. You were called; you are Zelandoni of the Ninth Cave. Many of the zelandonia have used similar herbs and mixtures to help them to find the Spirit World. A person may find herself in a different place as a result of using them, but only if you are ready for it are you called. There is no question that your experience was a true calling, though I must admit I didn’t expect it to happen to you quite so soon. This mixture may have encouraged you to have it a little sooner than I anticipated, but that doesn’t make it less meaningful.”
“Do you know what was in it?” Ayla asked.
“She did tell me the ingredients, but I don’t know the proportions. Even though we like to share our knowledge, most zelandonia like to keep a few secrets.” The One Who Was First smiled. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m sure it must have been very strong,” Ayla said, then looked down at the cup of tea in her hands. “I was wondering if there was anything in it that could have caused me to miscarry.”
“Ayla, don’t blame yourself,” Zelandoni said, leaning forward and taking her hand. “I know it hurts to lose a baby, but you had no control over that. It was the sacrifice the Mother demanded of you, perhaps because She had to bring you close enough to the Next World to give you Her message. There may be something in this mixture that would cause a miscarriage, but perhaps there was no other way. It may have been She who caused you to take this when you did so that everything would happen as She wished.”
“I’ve never made a mistake like that with the medicines in my bag. I was careless. So careless, I lost my baby,” Ayla said, as though she hadn’t even heard the First.
“Because you don’t make those kind of mistakes is all the more reason to believe it was Her will. Whenever She calls someone to Serve Her, it is always unexpected, and the first time that one goes to the Spirit World alone is especially dangerous. Many never find their way back. Some leave something behind, as you did. It is always dangerous, Ayla. Even if you have gone there many times, you never know if this is the time that you will not find your way back.”
Ayla was quietly sobbing, the tears glistening on her cheeks.
“It’s good that you are letting go. You’ve held it in for too long, and you need to grieve for that baby,” the Donier said. She got up, took both cups, and went to the back, where the bandaging skins were stored. When she returned, she poured more tea. “Here,” she said, handing her the soft animal hide, and put the tea on the table.
Ayla wiped her eyes and her nose, took a deep breath to settle herself, then took a sip of the warmish tea, struggling to get herself under control again. It was more than losing the baby that had caused her tears, although that had been the catalyst. She couldn’t seem to do anything right. Jondalar had stopped loving her, people hated her, and she had been so careless that she lost her baby. She had heard Zelandoni’s words, but she didn’t fully comprehend and it didn’t change how she felt.
“Perhaps now you can understand why I’m so interested in those roots you talk about,” the First said when it seemed that Ayla was feeling better. “If the experience can be carefully watched and controlled, we may have another helpful way to reach the Next World when we need to, like this mixture in the pouch, and some other herbs we sometimes use.”
Ayla didn’t hear her at first. When Zelandoni’s words finally reached her, she recalled that she had never wanted to experiment with those roots again. Though The Mog-ur had been able to control the effects of the powerful substance, she was sure she would never be capable of it. She believed only a Clan mind, with its unique differences, and the Clan memories, could control it. She didn’t think anyone born to the Others could ever control the black void, no matter how well they were watched.
She knew that the First was fascinated. Mamut had been intrigued, too, about the special plants used only by the mog-urs of the Clan, but after their dangerous experience together, Mamut had said he would never use them again. He told her he was afraid he would lose his spirit in that paralyzing black void, and had warned her against them. Reliving the terrifying journey to that menacing unknown place when she was deep in the cave, and vividly recalling it during her initiation, made the memory too disturbingly fresh. And she knew that even her unnerving recollection was only a faint shadow of the real experience.