The Shelters of Stone (Earth's Children 5)

“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” Zelandoni added. She had also been thinking about what Jondalar had said of the fearful effect Ayla’s animals had on people, though she didn’t mention it. It could be useful.

“That’s true, of course, mother, but it’s going to be hard to get used to the idea of talking to flatheads, or calling them something else, and I’m not the only one who’s going to have trouble,” Joharran said. He paused, then shook his head as if to himself. “If they talk with their hands, how do you know they’re really talking and not just waving their arms around?”

Everyone looked at Ayla. She turned to Jondalar.

“I think you should show them,” he said, “and maybe you could talk at the same time, the way you did when you were talking to Guban and translating for me.”

“What should I say?”

“Why not just greet them, as if you were speaking for Guban?” he said.

Ayla thought for a time. She couldn’t really greet them the way Guban would. He was a man, and a woman would never greet anyone the same way a man would. She could make a greeting sign, that gesture was always the same, but one never made only a greeting sign. It was always modified depending on who was making it and to whom it was being made. And there really was no sign for a person of the Clan to greet one of the Others. It had never been done before, not in a formal, acknowledged way. Perhaps she could think of how it would be done if they ever had to. She stood up and backed into the clear area in the middle of the main room.

“This woman would greet you, People of the Others,” Ayla began, then paused. “Or perhaps one should say People of the Mother,” she said, trying to think of how the Clan might make the signs.

“Try Children of the Mother, or Children of the Great Earth Mother,” Jondalar suggested.

She nodded and started over. “This woman … called Ayla, would greet you, Children of Doni, the Great Earth Mother.” She said her own name and that of the Mother in verbal sounds, but with the inflection and tonal quality of the Clan. The rest was communicated with signs in formal Clan language and spoken in Zelandonii.

“This woman would hope that at some time you would be greeted by one of the Clan of the Cave Bear, and that the greeting would be returned. The Mog-ur told this woman the Clan is ancient, the memories go deep. The Clan was here when the new ones came. They named the new ones, the Others, the ones who were not Clan. The Clan chose to go their own way, to avoid the Others. That is the Clan way and Clan traditions change slowly, yet some of the Clan would begin to change, would make new traditions. If that is to be, this woman would hope that the change would harm neither Clan nor Others.”

Her Zelandoni translation was spoken in a soft-voiced monotone, with as much precision and as little accent as she could. The words told them what she was saying, but they could see that she was not making random hand wavings. The purposeful gestures, the subtle motion of the body indicating a movement, lifting the head in pride, bowing in acquiescence, even raising an eyebrow, all flowed together smoothly with graceful intention. Though the significance of each motion was not clear, that her movements

had meaning was.

The total effect was startling, and beautiful; it sent a shiver down Marthona’s back. She glanced at Zelandoni, who caught her quick look and nodded. She, too, had felt something profound. Jondalar noticed the discreet byplay; he was watching those who Were watching Ayla and could see the impression she was making. Joharran was staring in rapt attention with a frown creasing his forehead; Willamar had a slight smile and was nodding approval; Folara’s smile was unabashed. She was so delighted, he had to smile, too.

When she was done, Ayla sat down at the table again, lowering herself to a cross-legged position with an elegant ease that was more noticeable after her performance. There was an uneasy silence around the table. No one knew quite what to say, and each felt they needed time to think. Finally Folara felt compelled to fill the void.

“That was wonderful, Ayla! Beautiful, almost like a dance,” she said.

“It’s hard for me to think of it that way. It’s the way they talk. Although I remember that I used to love to watch the storytellers,” Ayla said.

“It was very expressive,” Marthona said, then looked at her son. “You can do that, too, Jondalar?”

“Not like Ayla can. She taught the people of Lion Camp so they could communicate with Rydag. They had some fun at their Summer Meeting with it because they could talk to each other without anyone else knowing it,” he said.

“Rydag, wasn’t that the child with the bad heart?” Zelandoni asked. “Why couldn’t he talk like everyone else?”

Jondalar and Ayla looked at each other. “Rydag was half Clan, and had the same difficulty making sounds that they do,” Ayla said. “So I taught him and the Lion Camp his language.”

“Half Clan?” Joharran said. “You mean half flathead? A half flathead abomination!”

“He was a child!” Ayla said, glaring at him in anger. “Just like any other child. No child is an abomination!”

Joharran was surprised at her reaction, then recalled that she had been raised by them and understood why she would feel offended. He tried to stutter an apology. “I … I … I’m sorry. It’s what everyone thinks.”

Zelandoni stepped in to calm the situation. “Ayla, you must remember, we haven’t had time to consider everything you have said. We have always thought of your Clan people as animals, and something half human and half animal as an abomination. I’m sure you must be correct, this … Rydag was a child.”

She’s right, Ayla said to herself, and it isn’t as if you didn’t know how the Zelandonii felt. Jondalar made that clear the first time you mentioned Durc. She tried to compose herself.

“But, I’d like to understand something,” Zelandoni continued, searching for a way to ask her questions without offending the stranger. “The person named Nezzie was the mate of the headman of the Lion Camp, is that correct?”

“Yes.” Ayla could see where she was leading and glanced at Jondalar. She felt sure he was trying to repress a smile. It made her feel better; he knew, too, and was taking some perverse delight in the discomfiture of the powerful donier.

“This child, this Rydag, was hers?”

Jondalar almost wished Ayla would say yes, just to make them think. It had taken a lot for him to overcome the beliefs of his people, bred into him since childhood, practically with his mother’s milk. If they thought a woman who had given birth to an “abomination” could become the mate of a headman, it might shake that belief a bit, and the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that for their own good, for their own safety, his people had to change, had to accept the fact that the Clan were people, too.