The Shelters of Stone (Earth's Children 5)

“Maybe that’s because Losaduna can’t sing like Zelandoni,” Jondalar said.

“Not all of us sing it,” Jonokol said. “Many just say the words. I don’t sing, and if you ever heard me, you’d know why.”

“Some of the other Caves have different music, and some of the words are not exactly the same, either,” the young male acolyte said. “I’d be interested in hearing the Losadunai version some time, especially if you can translate it for me, Ayla.”

“I’d be glad to. Their language is very close to Zelandonii. You might be able to understand it, even without a translation,” Ayla said.

For some reason, all three acolytes suddenly noticed her unfamiliar accent. The older woman had always thought of the Zelandonii—the language and those who used it—as special; they were the People, they were Earth’s Children. It was hard to grasp the idea that this woman could think that people who lived all the way across the plateau glacier on the highland to the east could have a language that seemed similar to their own. The foreign woman must have heard many languages of people who lived far away that were very much different from Zelandonii to think so.

It struck them all how different the background of this foreign woman was from theirs, and how much she knew about other people that they didn’t. Jondalar, too, had learned much on his Journey. In the few days since he had been back, he had already shown them many things. Perhaps that was the reason for Journeys, to learn new things.

Everyone knew about Journeys. Almost all young people talked about making one, but few actually did, and even fewer of those went very far, at least not that came back. But Jondalar was gone five years. He’d traveled far, had many adventures, but more important, he brought back knowledge that could benefit his people. He also brought ideas that could change things, and change wasn’t always so desirable.

“I don’t know if I should show you the painted walls as we pass by. It might spoil the special ceremony for you, but you are bound to see at least part of them, so I suppose I could hold up the light and let you see them a little

better,” the woman in front said.

“I would like to see them,” Ayla said.

The acolyte in front held the torch up high so the woman Jondalar had brought home with him could see the paintings on the walls. The first one, the mammoth, was painted showing a side view, the way most portrayals of animals that she had seen were made. The hump on the head followed by a second hump high on the withers, but slightly lower down the sloping back made it easy to recognize. That configuration was the distinctive feature of the great woolly beast, even more than its curving tusks and long trunk. It was painted in red but shaded in reddish brown and black to show the contours and precise anatomical detail. It was facing the entrance and was so perfectly made that Ayla half expected the mammoth to walk out of the cave.

Ayla didn’t quite understand why the painted animals looked so lifelike, or fully appreciate what it had required, but she couldn’t resist looking closer to see how it was done. It was an elegant and accomplished technique. A flint tool had been used to cut a fine, distinct outline of the animal with exacting detail into the limestone wall of the cave, paralleled by a painted black line. Just outside of the engraved line, the wall had been scraped to show the light ivory-tan natural color of the stone. It highlighted the outline and the colors with which the mammoth had been painted, and contributed to the three-dimensional quality of the work.

But it was the paint within the outline that was so remarkable. Through observation and training from those who first conceived of the idea of taking a living animal and reproducing it on a two-dimensional surface, the artists who had painted the walls of the cave had gained a surprising and innovative knowledge of perspective. The techniques had been passed down, and though some artists were more skilled than others, most of them used shading to convey the sense of lifelike fullness.

As Ayla moved past the mammoth, she had the eerie sensation that the mammoth had also moved. She felt impelled to reach for the painted animal and touched the stone, then closed her eyes. It was cold, slightly damp, with the texture and feel of any limestone cave, but when she opened her eyes, she noticed that the artist had used the stone wall itself to advantage in the incredibly realistic creation. The mammoth had been placed on the wall in such a way that a rounded shape of the stone became the fullness of the belly, and a concretion of stalactite adhering to the wall that suggested a leg was painted as the back of a leg.

In the flickering light of the oil lamps, she noticed that when she moved, she saw the animal from a slightly different angle, which changed the way the natural relief of the stone appeared and threw shadows to a slightly different position. Even standing still, watching the reflections of the fire move on the stone, she had the impression that the animal painted on the wall was breathing. She understood then the reason that the mammoth had seemed to shift when she moved, and knew that if she hadn’t examined it carefully, she could easily be convinced that it had.

She was reminded of the time at the Clan Gathering when she had to prepare the special drink Iza taught her to make for the mog-urs. The Mog-ur had shown her how to stand in the shadows so she would not be noticed, and told her exactly when to move out of them, which made it seem that she suddenly appeared. There was method to the magic of those who dealt with the world of the spirits, but there was magic, too.

She had felt something when she touched the wall, something that she couldn’t quite explain or understand. It was a hint of that certain strangeness she had occasionally felt ever since she had inadvertently swallowed the leavings of the mog-urs’ drink and followed them into the cave. From that time on, she occasionally experienced disturbing dreams and sometimes unsettling sensations even when she was awake.

She shook her head to rid herself of the feeling, then looked up and saw that the others were watching her. Smiling diffidently, she pulled her hand away from the stone wall quickly, afraid she had done something wrong, then looked toward the woman who held the torch. The acolyte said nothing as she turned to lead the way along the passage.

The lights from the small flames glinted faintly off damp walls with eerie hints of reflections as they moved quietly in single file along the corridor. There was a tingle of apprehension in the air. Ayla was sure they were going into the very heart of the steep limestone cliff and was glad to be with other people, sure she would get lost if she were alone. She trembled with a sudden flash of fear and foreboding, and a sense of what it might be like to be in a cave alone. She tried to shake off the feeling, but the chill in the dark, cool cave was not easy to dispel.

Not far beyond the first one there was another mammoth, then more mammoths, then two small horses, painted primarily in black. She stopped to look at them more closely. Again, a line perfectly defining the shape of a horse was engraved in the limestone, highlighted by a line painted in black. Within the line, the horses were painted black, but as with the rest of the paintings, the shading gave them a surprising realism.

Ayla noticed then that there were paintings on the right wall of the passage as well, some facing out and some in. Mammoths predominated; it seemed that a herd of mammoths was painted on the walls. Using the counting words, Ayla counted at least ten on both sides of the passage, and there may have been more. As she was continuing down the dark corridor, looking at the paintings momentarily lighted as she passed by, she was brought to a halt by the arresting scene of two reindeer greeting each other on the left wall. She had to see them better.

The first reindeer, facing into the cave, was male. He was painted in black, with the definitive shape and contours of the animal accurately rendered, including his huge antlers, though they were suggested by the arcing shapes rather than precisely painted with all their points. His head was lowered, and to Ayla’s wonder and surprise, he was tenderly licking the forehead of a female. Unlike the majority of deer, female reindeer also had anders, and in the painting as in life, hers were smaller. She was painted in red and her knees were bent so she could lower herself to accept his gentle caress.

The scene manifested a genuine sense of tenderness and caring, and it made Ayla think of Jondalar and herself. She had never thought of animals being in love before, but these seemed to be. It nearly brought her to tears, she was so moved. The acolyte guides allowed her to spend some time. They understood her reaction; they, too, were moved by this exquisite scene.

Jondalar was also staring in wonder at the painted reindeer. “That’s a new one,” he said. “I thought there was a mammoth there.”

“There was. If you look closely at the female, you can still see some of the mammoth underneath,” the young man in the rear explained.

“Jonokol made that,” the woman in front said.

Both Jondalar and Ayla looked at the artist acolyte with new respect. “Now I understand why you are Zelandoni’s acolyte,” Jondalar said. “You are extraordinarily gifted.”

Jonokol nodded to acknowledge Jondalar’s comment. “We all have our Gifts. I am told you are an extraordinarily gifted flint-knapper. I look forward to seeing some of your work. In fact, there’s a tool I’ve been trying to get someone to make for me, but I can’t quite seem to explain it to any of the toolmakers so they understand. I was hoping Dalanar would be coming to the Summer Meeting so I could ask him.”

“He is planning to come, but I’ll be glad to give your idea a try, if you like,” Jondalar said. “I enjoy a challenge.”

“Perhaps we can talk tomorrow,” Jonokol said.