The Shelters of Stone (Earth's Children 5)

“I don’t know. I never asked him. Maybe because they live so far away. It’s not like you can get there in an afternoon, or even in a day or two. I think he knows that while there may always be des, someday they will be different people. Now that he has his own Zelandoni, or rather, Lanzadoni, he has even less reason to make the long trip to our Summer Meetings. Probably their doniers will still be trained by the zelandonia for quite a while, but as they continue to grow, they will begin to train their own.”

“They will be like the Losadunai,” Ayla said. “The language, and ways, are so close to Zelandonii, they must have been the same people once.”

“I think you’re right, and that may be why we are still such good friends with them. We don’t count them in our names and ties, but there may have been a time when we did,” Jondalar said.

“I wonder how long it has been. There are many differences now, even in the words of their Mother’s Song,” Ayla said. They rode a little farther. “If the Zelandonii and the Lanzadonii are the same people, why did the ones who objected to Joplaya mating Echozar finally go along with it? Just because their name says they live in the northeast? It’s not reasonable. But then, their objection was not reasonable in the first place.”

“Look who was behind it,” Jondalar said. “Laramar! Why is he trying to stir up trouble? You’ve done nothing but try to help his family. Lanoga adores you, and I doubt if Lorala would even be alive today if you hadn’t stepped in. I wonder if he really cares or just likes the attention. I don’t think he has ever been invited to a special meeting like that with all high-status people, several of them, including the First, presenting the case to him and the few others who were making an issue out of it. Now that Laramar has a taste of it, I’m afraid he is going to keep on making problems, just to keep getting attention. But I still don’t understand Brukeval, of all people. He knows Dalanar and Joplaya, he’s even kin.”

“Did you know that Matagan’s mother told me Brukeval was at the camp of the Fifth Cave trying to convince some people to make an objection to Joplaya’s mating before the Matrimonial?” Ayla said. “He has a strong feeling against the Clan, but seeing him and Echozar together, you can see the resemblance. There is a cast to his features that is definitely Clan, not as strong as Echozar’s, but it is there. I think he hates me now because I said his mother was born of mixed spirits, but I was just trying to say that people who are mixed are not bad, not abominations.”

“He must still think they are. That’s why he tries so hard to deny it. It must be terrible to hate what you are,” Jondalar said. “You can’t change that. It’s funny. Echozar hates the Clan, too. Why do they hate the people that they are a part of?”

“Maybe it’s because other people hurt them because of who they are, and they can’t hide it because they actually do look different,” Ayla said. “But the way Brukeval glared at me before he left was so full of hate, he frightens me. He reminds me a little of Attaroa, as though there is something not right with him. As though there is something wrong or deformed about him, like Lanidar with his arm, but on the inside.”

“Maybe some evil spirit has gotten inside of him, or his elan is twisted,” Jondalar said. “I don’t know, but perhaps you should watch out for Brukeval, Ayla. He may try to make more trouble for you.”

36

The summer waxed, and the days became hotter. The grasses of the fields grew tall and turned golden, their heads nodding with the weight of their seed—the promise of new life. Ayla’s body grew heavy, too, filled with the new life of her unborn child. She was working beside Jondalar, pulling seeds from wild oats, when she felt movement for the first time. She stopped and pressed her hand to her bulging middle. Jondalar saw the morion.

“What’s wrong, Ayla?” he asked with a worried frown.

“I just felt the baby move. It’s the first time I’ve felt life!” she said. She

seemed to be smiling inwardly. “Here,” she said, taking the winnowing stone from Jondalar’s large hand and placing his hand on her stomach. “Maybe the baby will move again.”

He waited expectantly, but felt nothing. “I don’t feel anything,” he finally said. Just then there was a small movement under his hand, barely a ripple. “I felt it! I felt the baby!” he said.

“The movement will get stronger later,” Ayla said. “Isn’t it wonderful, Jondalar? What would you like the baby to be? A boy or a girl?”

“It doesn’t matter. I just want the baby to be healthy, and I want you to have an easy birthing. What do you want your baby to be?” he asked.

“I think I’d like a girl, but I’d be just as happy with a boy. It doesn’t really matter. I just want a baby your baby. It is your baby, too.”

“Hey, you two. The Fifth Cave is sure to win if you keep loafing like that.” They turned to watch a young man approaching. He was average height, with a compact, wiry build. He walked with a crutch under one arm, carrying a skin of water with his other. “Would you like some water?” he said.

“Hello, Matagan! It’s hot, this water is welcome,” Jondalar said, taking the bag, lifting it over his head, and letting the water pour from the spout into his mouth. “How is the leg?” he said, handing the waterbag to Ayla.

“Getting stronger all the time. I may be able to throw this stick away before long,” he answered, smiling. “I’m only supposed to be carrying water for the Fifth Cave, but I saw my favorite healer and thought I’d cheat a little. How are you feeling, Ayla?”

“I’m fine. I felt life for the first time a little while ago. The baby is growing,” she said. “Who do you think is ahead?”

“It’s hard to say. The Fourteenth has several basketfuls already, but the Third just located a new large stand.”

“How about the Ninth?” Jondalar asked.

“I think they have a chance, but I’ll wager on the Fifth,” the young man replied.

“You’re biased. You just want the prizes.” Jondalar laughed. “What did the Fifth Cave donate this year?”

“The dried meat from two aurochs killed at the first hunt, a dozen spears, and a large wooden bowl carved by our best carver. What about the Ninth?”

“A large skin of Marthona’s wine, five birch spear-throwers with carvings, five firestones, and two of Salova’s large baskets, one filled with hazelnuts, the other with tart apples,” Jondalar replied.

“It’s Marthona’s wine I’m going to try for, if the Fifth wins. I hope the bones are lucky for me. Once I can get rid of this stick,” he lifted the crutch, “I’m going to move back into the men’s tent. I think I could move back now, stick or not, but my mother doesn’t want me to go yet. She has been wonderful, no one could have cared more, but now I’m getting a little too much mothering. You’d think I was five years old ever since the accident,” he said.

“You can’t blame her,” Ayla said.