“That ought to be interesting,” Zelandoni said.
“The water is still warm. It won’t take much to heat it up again,” she said, putting cooking stones in the fire again.
Then she started putting things away. She carried aurochs fat in a cleaned intestine, and had used some to cook with. To close it, she twisted the end of the intestine, then put it in the stiff rawhide container that held meats and fats. The fat had been rendered in simmering water to a smooth white tallow and was used both for cooking and for light when it got dark, and on this trip when going into a cave. The food left over from their evening meal was wrapped in large leaves, tied with cord, and hung from the tripod of tall poles along with the meat container.
Tallow was the fuel that was put in the shallow stone lamps. Wicks could be any of a number of absorbent materials such as lichen or dried boletus mushrooms. When lit in the absolute dark of a cave, the light shed by the lamps was much brighter than seemed possible. They would be using them in the morning when they went into the nearby cave.
“I’m going to the river to clean our bowls. Would you like me to clean yours, too, Zelandoni?” Ayla asked as she added hot stones to the liquid, watched it boil up in a hiss of steam, then added whole fresh hyssop plants.
“Yes, that would be nice.”
When she returned she found her cup filled with hot tea, and Jondalar holding Jonayla, making her laugh with funny sounds and faces. “I think she’s hungry,” he said.
“She usually is,” Ayla said, smiling as she took the child and settled down near the campfire, with her cup of hot tea nearby.
Jondalar and Zelandoni had been talking before the baby started fussing, apparently about his mother, and picked up the conversation once Jonayla was content and quiet again.
“I didn’t know Marthona all that well when I first became a Zelandoni, though there were always stories about her, stories of her great love for Dalanar,” the First said. “Once I became the acolyte of the Zelandoni before me, she told me about the relationships of the woman who was known for her competent leadership of the Ninth Cave so I would understand the situation.
“Her first man, Joconan, had been a powerful leader and she learned a great deal from him, but in the beginning, I was told, she didn’t so much love him as admire and respect him. I had the feeling that she almost worshipped him, but that isn’t the way Zelandoni put it. She said Marthona worked very hard to please him. He was older, and she was his beautiful young woman, though he had been ready to take on two women at the time, perhaps even more. He hadn’t chosen to mate before, and didn’t want to wait long to have a family once he decided to have one. More than one mate would give him more assurance that there would be children born to his hearth.
“But Marthona was soon pregnant with Joharran, and when she gave birth to a son, Joconan wasn’t in such a hurry anymore. Besides, not long after her son was born, Joconan started to get sick. It wasn’t obvious at first and he kept it to himself. Soon he discovered that your mother was more than beautiful, Jondalar; she was also intelligent. She found her own strength in helping him. As he grew weaker, she took on more and more of his responsibilities as leader, and did it so well that when he died, the people of her Cave wanted her to stay on as leader.”
“What kind of man was Joconan? You said he was powerful. I think Joharran is a powerful leader. He usually manages to persuade most people to agree with him and do what he wants,” Jondalar said. Ayla was fascinated. She had always wanted to know more about Marthona, but she was not a woman to speak much about herself.
“Joharran is a good leader, but not powerful in the same way that Joconan was. He’s more like Marthona than her mate. Joconan could be daunting sometimes. He had a very commanding presence. People found it very easy to go along with him, and difficult to oppose him. I think some people were afraid to disagree with him, though he never threatened anyone, that I was aware of. Some people used to say he was the Mother’s chosen. People, young men in particular, liked to be around him, and young women threw themselves at him. They say almost all young women wore fringes then, trying to snare him. It’s no wonder he waited until he was older before he mated,” Zelandoni said.
“Do you think fringes really help a woman snare a man?” Ayla asked.
“I think it depends on the man,” the Donier said. “Some people think that when a woman wears a fringe, it suggests her pubic hair, and that she is willing to expose it. If a man is easily excited, or interested in a particular woman, a fringe can arouse him and he’ll follow her around until she decides to capture him. But a man like Joconan knew his own mind, and I don’t think he was interested in a woman who felt she needed to wear a fringe to attract a man. It was too obvious. Marthona never wore fringes and she never lacked for attention. When Joconan decided he wanted her and was willing to take the young woman from the distant Cave to be trained as a Zelandoni, since they were like sisters, they all agreed. It was the Zelandoni who objected to the double mating. He had promised that the visitor would be returned to her people after she learned the necessary skills.”
Ayla knew the Donier was a good Storyteller, and she found herself totally enraptured, partly by the storytelling, but more by the story that was being told.
“Joconan was a strong leader. It was under his leadership that the Ninth Cave grew so large. The cave always had the size to accommodate more people than usual, but not many leaders were willing to be responsible for so many,” Zelandoni said. “When he died, Marthona was overcome with grief. I think for a time she wanted to follow him to the next world, but she had a child, and Joconan left a big hole in the community. It needed to be filled.
“People started coming to her when they needed the kind of help that a leader provides. Things like resolving disputes, organizing visits to other Caves, travels to Summer Meetings, planning hunts and deciding how much each hunter needed to share with the Cave, both immediately and for the next winter. After Joconan got sick, they got used to coming to Marthona, and she to handling the problems. Their need and her son may be what kept her going. After a while, she became the acknowledged leader, and eventually her grief eased, but she told the Zelandoni before me that she didn’t think she would ever mate again. Then Dalanar walked into the Ninth Cave.”
“Everyone says that he was the great love of her life,” Jondalar said.
“Dalanar was the great love of her life. For him, Marthona could almost have given up her leadership, but not quite. She felt they needed her. And though he loved her as much as she loved him, after a while, he needed something of his own. He wasn’t content to sit in her shadow. Unlike you, Jondalar, his skill in working with the stone wasn’t enough.”
“But he is one of the most skilled I have ever met. His work is known by everyone, and they all acknowledge him as the best. The only flint-knapper I’ve ever known who can compare with him is Wymez, of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi. I always wished the two of them could meet,” Jondalar said.
“Perhaps, in a sense they have, through you,” the large woman said. “Jondalar, you must know that if you aren’t already, you will soon be the most renowned flint-knapper of the Zelandonii. Dalanar is a skilled tool-maker, there’s no question of that, but he’s Lanzadonii now. Anyway, hi
s real skill was always people. He is happy now. He has founded his own Cave, his own people, and though in a way he will always be Zelandonii, his Lanzadonii will someday come into their own.
“And you are the son of his heart, as well as the son of his hearth, Jondalar. He’s proud of you. He loves Jerika’s daughter, Joplaya, too. He’s proud of you both. Although in a hidden place in his heart, he might always love Marthona, he adores Jerika. I think he loves that she looks so exotic, and that she is so little, yet so fierce. That’s part of what attracts him. He’s so big that next to him she looks half his size, she looks delicate, but she is more than a match for him. She has no desire to be leader; she’s happy to let him do it, although I have no doubt that she could. Her strength of will and character are formidable.”
“You are certainly right about that, Zelandoni!” he said, with a laugh, one of his big, lusty warm laughs, its spontaneous enthusiasm all the more astonishing because it was unexpected. Jondalar was a serious man, and though he smiled easily, he seldom laughed out loud. When he did, the unreserved exuberance of it came as a surprise.
“Dalanar found someone after he and Marthona severed the knot, but many doubted that she would ever find a man to replace him, would ever love another man in the same way, and she didn’t, but she found Willamar. Her love for him is not less than her love for Dalanar, but of a different character, just as her love for Dalanar was not the same as her love for Joconan. Willamar also has a skill with people—that’s true of all the men in her life—but he satisfies it as the Trade Master, traveling, making contacts, seeing new and unusual places. He has seen more, learned more, and met more people than anyone, including you, Jondalar. He loves to travel, but even more, he loves coming home and sharing his adventures and knowledge about the people he met. He has established trading networks all across the Zelandonii land and beyond, and has brought back useful news, exciting stories, and unusual objects. He was a tremendous help to Marthona as leader, and now to Joharran. There is no man I respect more. And, of course, her only daughter was born to his hearth. Marthona always wanted a daughter, and your sister, Folara, is a lovely young woman,” Zelandoni said.
Ayla understood the feeling. She too had wanted a daughter very much, and she glanced down at her sleeping infant with a strong feeling of love.
“Yes, Folara is beautiful, and also intelligent and fearless,” Jondalar said. “When we first arrived, and everyone else was so uneasy about the horses and all, she didn’t hesitate. She ran down the path to greet me. I’ll never forget that.”
“Yes, Folara makes your mother proud, but more, with a daughter one always knows that her children are your own grandchildren. I’m sure she loves the children born to her sons’ hearths, but with a daughter there is no doubt. Then, of course, your brother Thonolan was also born to Willamar’s hearth and though she played no favorites, he was the one who made her smile. But he made everyone smile. He had a way with people that was even more winning than Willamar’s, warm, open friendliness—qualities no one could resist, and he had the same love of travel. I doubt that you would ever have gone on such a long Journey if not for him, Jondalar.”