The Shelters of Stone (Earth's Children 5)

“You don’t have to, Ayla. I will. Just tell me what to make.”

Ayla looked up and saw Thefona, and smiled. “If you just get some water boiling, I’ll get something for all of us,” she said. Then she turned back to check on Shevonar. He struggled with every difficult breath he took. She wanted to make him more comfortable, but when she tried to move him, he moaned in pain. She shook her head, surprised that he was still alive, then reached for her medicine bag to see what she had to make tea. Perhaps chamomile, she thought, with dried linden flowers or licorice root to sweeten it.

The long afternoon wore on. People came and went, but Ayla didn’t notice them. Shevonar regained consciousness and asked for his mate, then slipped back into a resdess sleep several times. His stomach was distended and hard, and the skin was almost black. She felt sure he was trying to hold on just to see her again.

Somewhat later, Ayla picked up her waterbag to get a drink, found it emp

ty, then put it down and forgot about her thirst. Portula had come into the small shelter to see how things were. She still felt self-conscious about her part in Marona’s trick and tried to stay out of the way, but she saw Ayla pick up the waterbag, shake it, and find it empty. Portula hurried to the pool, filled her own waterbag, and returned with the cold water.

“Would you like a drink, Ayla?” she asked, holding out her dripping waterbag.

Ayla looked up and was surprised to see the woman. “Thank you,” she said, holding out her drinking cup. “I was a little thirsty.”

Portula stood there for a moment after Ayla was through, looking uncomfortable. “I want to apologize to you,” she finally said. “I’m sorry I let Marona talk me into playing that joke on you. It was not a very nice thing to do. I don’t know what to say.”

“There really isn’t anything to say, is there, Portula?” Ayla said. “And I did get a warm and comfortable hunting outfit. Though I doubt that was what Marona intended, I will get use out of it, so let’s just forget about it.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Portula said.

“There isn’t anything anyone can do to help. I’m surprised he is still with us. He asks for his mate when he wakes up. Joharran told him she is on her way,” Ayla said. “I think he’s holding on for her. I only wish I could do more to make it easier for him, but most medicines that alleviate pain have to be swallowed. I’ve given him a skin soaked with water to wet his mouth, but with his injury, I’m afraid if he drank anything, it would make it worse.”

Joharran was out in front of the shelter looking south, the way Jondalar had gone, anxiously waiting for his return with Relona. The sun was falling low in the west, and darkness would follow soon. He had sent people to collect more wood so they could build up a large bonfire to help guide them; they were even taking some from the surround. The last time Shevonar woke, he eyes were glazed, and the leader knew death was near.

The young man had put up such a brave struggle to cling to a last shred of life, Joharran hoped his mate would arrive before he lost the battle. Finally, in the distance he saw movement, something approaching. He hurried in that direction and was relieved to see a horse. When they were closer, he went to Relona and guided the distraught woman to the stone shelter where her mate lay dying.

As she drew near, Ayla gently touched the man’s arm. “Shevonar. Shevonar! Relona’s here.” She moved his arm again. He opened his eyes and looked at Ayla. “She’s here. Relona’s here,” she said. Shevonar closed his eyes again and shook his head slightly, trying to make himself wake up.

“Shevonar, it’s me. I came as fast as I could. Talk to me. Please talk to me.” Relona’s voice cracked in a sob.

The injured man opened his eyes and fought to focus on the face bending near. “Relona,” he said. It was barely audible. The start of a smile was erased by an expression of pain. He looked again at the woman and watched her eyes fill with tears. “Don’t cry,” he whispered, then closed his eyes and struggled to breathe.

Relona’s eyes were pleading when she looked up at Ayla, who looked down, then back up, and shook her head. She glanced around in panic, desperately searching out someone else who would give her another answer, but no one would return her gaze. She looked back at the man and watched him strain to take a breath, then saw blood spill from the corner of his mouth.

“Shevonar!” she cried, and reached for his hand.

“Relona … wanted to see you once more,” he gasped, opening his eyes. “Say good-bye before I walk … the spirit world. If Doni allows … will see you there.” He closed his eyes and they heard a feeble rattle as he tried to draw in a breath. Then, a low moan grew louder, and though Ayla was sure he was trying to control it, the sound increased. He stopped and tried to take a breath. Then, Ayla thought she heard a muted popping sound from inside him as he suddenly cried out in an agonizing scream. When the sound died away, he breathed no more.

“No, no. Shevonar, Shevonaaar,” Relona cried. She laid her head on his chest and heaved great sobs of sorrow and grief. Ranokol was standing beside her with tears miming down his cheeks, looking bewildered, dazed, at a loss. He didn’t know what to do.

Suddenly they were startled by a loud and eerie howl at close quarters that sent shivers down their backs. As one, they looked at Wolf. He was standing on all four legs with his head thrown back, wailing a spine-tingling wolf song.

“What’s he doing?” Ranokol said, quite upset.

“He is grieving for your brother,” said the familiar voice of Zelandoni. “As we all do.”

Everyone was relieved to see her. She had arrived with Relona and several others, but had stayed back to observe when Shevonar’s mate rushed ahead. Relona’s sobs turned to a wailing moan, a keening of her grief. Zelandoni joined her in her anguished lament, then several others. Wolf howled along with them. Finally, Ranokol broke down sobbing and threw himself across the man on the bed. An instant later he and Relona were clinging together, rocking and keening their sorrow.

Ayla thought it was good for both of them. To alleviate his pain and anger, she knew Ranokol needed to let his grief out, and Relona had helped him. When Wolf howled again, she joined him in a howl so realistic, many thought at first it was another wolf. Then, to the surprise of those who had kept a vigil for the man in the shelter, from a distance they heard another wolf howl, joining in the keening wolf song of grief.

After a while, the donier helped Relona up and led her to a fur that had been spread on the ground near the fire. Joharran helped the man’s brother to a place on the other side of the hearth. The woman sat there rocking back and forth, making a low moaning sound, indifferent to everything around her. Ranokol just sat staring blankly at the fire.

The Zelandoni of the Third spoke quietly with the huge Zelandoni from the Ninth Cave, and shortly after returned with a steaming cup of liquid in each hand. The donier of the Ninth Gave took one cup from the Third and urged it on Relona, who drank it without objection, as though she didn’t know, or care, what she did. The Third’s other cup was brought to Ranokol, who ignored the proffered drink, but after some urging he finally drank it. Soon both of them were lying on the furs near the fire, asleep.

“I’m glad to see her quieted,” Joharran said, “and him, too.”

“They needed to grieve,” Ayla said.

“Yes, they did, but now they need to rest,” Zelandoni said. “And so do you, Ayla.”