The Land of Painted Caves (Earth's Children 6)

“What was your impression of the cave?” the large woman said, directing her comment to the young man.

“It is very small, hardly big enough to squeeze through in places, but quite long. An interesting cave,” Jonokol said.

“Do you believe it is sacred?” she asked.

“Yes, I do believe it is.”

The First nodded. She hadn’t doubted the Zelandoni of the Twenty-sixth Cave, but it was nice to have a corroborating opinion.

“And Ayla found her Voice,” Jonokol added, smiling at Ayla, who was listening to the conversation, unconsciously rocking in a desultory fashion as she nursed her child.

“She did?” the older woman said.

“Yes,” Jonokol said with a smile. “The Twenty-sixth asked her to test the cave, and was surprised when she said she couldn’t sing or play a flute or do anything to test it. His acolyte, Falithan, sings a strong, high-pitched ululating wail that’s very unique. Then I suddenly remembered Ayla’s bird calls and reminded her that she could whistle like a bird, and whinny like a horse, even roar like a lion. So she did. All of them. Amazed the Twenty-sixth, too, especially that roar. Her test substantiated the cave. When the roar came back, it was diminish

ed, but clear, more than audible, but seemed to be coming from a very distant place. The other place.”

“What did you think, Ayla?” the First asked, as she poured a cup of tea and handed it to Jonokol to give to her. She had noted that the infant had stopped nursing and had fallen asleep in Ayla’s arms with a dribble of milk running down the side of her mouth.

“It’s a difficult cave to get into, and long, but not complicated. It could be frightening, especially where it narrows down to some very tight passages, but no one could get lost in it,” Ayla said.

“From the way you describe this new cave, it makes me think that it might be especially good for young acolytes who want to test themselves, to find out if the life of a Zelandoni is actually for them. If they are afraid of a small dark place that offers no real danger, I doubt that they could handle some of the other ordeals that truly can be perilous,” the Woman Who Was First said.

It made Ayla wonder what some of those ordeals might be. She had been in enough risky situations in her life already; she wasn’t sure if she wanted to face more, but perhaps she should wait and see what would be asked of her.

The sun was still low in the eastern sky, but a brilliant band of red, fading to purple at the edges, announced the coming day. A tinge of pink highlighted the thin, nebulous bank of stratus clouds on the western horizon, reflecting the back side of the glowing sunrise. As early as it was, almost everyone was already at the Main Camp. It had rained, off and on, for several days but this day looked more promising. Camping out when it rained was only endurable, never enjoyable.

“As soon as the First Rites and Matrimonial Ceremonies are over, Zelandoni wants to do some traveling,” Ayla said, looking up at Jondalar. “She wants to begin my Donier Tour with some of the closer Sacred Sites. We need to make that seat on a pole-drag for her.” They were walking back from seeing to the horses before heading toward the Meeting Campground for a morning meal. Wolf had started out with them, but was distracted and dashed into the brush.

Jondalar’s brow wrinkled. “A trip like that could be interesting, but some people are talking about a big hunt after the Ceremonies. Maybe going after a summer herd so we can begin drying meat for next winter. Joharran has been talking about how useful the horses can be in driving animals into surrounds. I think he’s counting on us to help. How do we decide which one to do?”

“If she doesn’t want to go too far, maybe we could do both,” Ayla said. She wanted to go with the First to visit Sacred Sites, but she also loved to hunt.

“Perhaps,” Jondalar said. “Maybe we should talk to both Joharran and Zelandoni and let them decide. But in any case, we could go ahead and make a pole-drag seat for Zelandoni. When we were making the summer shelter for Bologan and Lanoga and the rest of that family, I noticed some trees that I thought might work.”

“When do you think would be a good time to make it?”

“This afternoon, perhaps. I’ll ask around to see if I can get a few people to help,” Jondalar said.

“Greetings, Ayla and Jondalar,” a familiar young voice said. It was Lanoga’s younger sister, nine-year Trelara.

They both turned around and saw all six of the children coming out of their summer shelter. Bologan tied the opening flap closed, then caught up with them. Neither Tremeda nor Laramar was with them. Ayla knew the adults used the shelter sometimes, but they either had left earlier or, more likely, had not returned the night before. Ayla thought the children were probably heading to the Meeting Camp, hoping to find something to eat. People often made too much food and someone was usually willing to give them the leftovers. They may not always have received the choicest selection, but they seldom went hungry.

“Greetings, children,” Ayla said.

They all smiled at her except Bologan, who tried to be more serious. When she first became familiar with the family, Ayla knew that Bologan, the eldest, stayed away from home as often as he could, preferring to associate with other boys, especially those who were more rowdy. But lately, it seemed to her, he was becoming more responsible toward the younger children, especially his brother, Lavogan, who was a seven-year. And she’d seen him several times with Lanidar lately, which she thought was a good sign. Bologan walked up to Jondalar, rather diffidently.

“Greetings, Jondalar,” he said, looking down at his feet before raising his eyes to meet the man’s.

“Greetings, Bologan,” Jondalar said, wondering why he had been approached.

“Can I ask you something?” Bologan said.

“Of course.”

The boy reached into a pocket-like fold of his tunic and pulled out a colorful manhood belt. “Zelandoni talked to me yesterday, then gave this to me. She showed me how to tie it, but I can’t seem to make it look right,” he said.

Well, he was a thirteen-year now, Ayla thought as she fought back a smile. He hadn’t specifically asked Jondalar for help, but the tall man knew what he wanted. Typically it was the man of a boy’s hearth who gave him his manhood belt, usually made by his mother. Bologan was asking Jondalar to stand in for the man who should have been there for him.