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

“For me?” Ayla said with surprise.

“Yes. It’s about a woman who has a special way with animals. It’s been very well liked everywhere we’ve been,” Galliadal said with a big grin.

“Do you know someone who understands animals? I’d like to meet her,” Ayla said.

“You already know her.”

“But, the only person I know like that is me,” Ayla said, then blushed when she understood.

“Of course! I couldn’t pass up such a good story, but I don’t give her your name, and I changed some other things. Many people ask if the story is about you, but I never tell them. It makes it more interesting. I’ll be telling it when we get a good crowd. Come and listen.”

“Oh, we will,” Jondalar said. He had been watching Ayla and from her expression, he didn’t think she was particularly happy about the idea of a st

oryteller making up stories about her and telling them to all the Caves. He knew many people who would love the attention, but he didn’t think that she would. She already got more attention than she wanted, but he couldn’t blame Galliadal. He was a storyteller and Ayla’s story was a good one.

“It’s about you, too, Jondalar. I couldn’t leave you out,” the Storyteller said, with a wink. “You’re the one who was gone on a Journey for five years and brought her back with you.”

Jondalar winced to himself to hear that; it wasn’t the first time that stories had been told about him, and they weren’t always ones he wanted to have spread around. But it was best not to complain or make anything out of it; that would just add to the story. Storytellers loved to tell stories about individuals who were known, and people loved to hear them. Sometimes they used real names and other times, especially if they wanted to embellish the story, they would make up a name so people would have to guess who the story was about. Jondalar grew up hearing such stories, and he loved them, too, but he loved the Elder Legends and Histories of the Zelandonii better. He’d heard many stories about his mother when she was leader of the Ninth Cave, and the story about the great love of Marthona and Dalanar had been told so many times, it was almost legend.

Ayla and Jondalar chatted with him awhile, then wandered toward the camp of the Third Cave, stopping along the way to talk with various people they knew. As the evening deepened, it grew quite dark. Ayla stopped for a moment to look up. The moon was new, and without its glowing light to moderate their brilliance, the stars filled the night sky with an awe-inspiring profusion.

“The sky is so … full … I don’t know the right word,” Ayla said, feeling a touch of impatience with herself. “It is beautiful, but more than that. It makes me feel small, but in a way that makes me feel good. It is greater than us, greater than everything.”

“When the stars are bright like that, it is a wondrous sight,” Jondalar said.

While the bright stars did not bestow as much radiance as the moon would have, it did provide almost enough illumination to see their way. But the multitude of stars was not the only light. Every camp had great bonfires, and torches and lamps had been placed along paths between camps.

When they reached the camp of the Third Cave, Proleva was there with her sister, Levela, and their mother, Velima. They all greeted each other.

“I can’t believe how much Jonayla has grown in just a few moons,” Levela said. “And she’s so beautiful. She has Jondalar’s eyes. But she looks like you.”

Ayla smiled at the compliment to her baby, but deflected the one directed at her. “I think she looks like Marthona, not me. I’m not beautiful.”

“You don’t know what you look like, Ayla,” Jondalar said. “You never look at a polished reflector, or even a pool of still water. You are beautiful.”

Ayla changed the subject. “You are really showing now, Levela,” Ayla said. “How are you feeling?”

“Once I got over feeling sick in the morning, I’ve been feeling good,” Levela said. “Vigorous and strong. Although, lately, I get tired easily. I want to sleep late and take naps in the day, and sometimes if I stand for a long time, my back hurts.”

“Sounds about right, wouldn’t you say,” Velima said, smiling at her daughter. “Just the way you are supposed to feel.”

“We’re setting up an area to take care of children so their mothers and mates can go to the Mother Festival and relax,” Proleva said. “You can leave Jonayla, if you want. There will be singing and dancing, and some people had already drunk too much before I left.”

“Did you know the Traveling Storytellers are here?” Jondalar asked.

“I heard they were supposed to come, but I didn’t know they had arrived,” Proleva said.

“We talked to Galliadal. He said he wanted us to come and listen. He said he has a story for Ayla,” Jondalar said. “I think it’s a thinly disguised story about her. We should probably go and listen so we’ll know what people will be talking about tomorrow.”

“Are you going, Proleva?” Ayla asked as the woman was putting down her sleeping baby.

“It was a big feast, and I’ve been working on it for many days,” Proleva said. “I think I’d rather stay here and watch the little ones with just a few women. It would be more restful. I’ve been to my share of Mother Festivals.”

“Maybe I should stay and watch the children, too,” Ayla said.

“No. You should go. Mother Festivals are still new to you, and you need to become familiar with them, especially if you are learning to be a Zelandoni. Here, give me that little one of yours. I haven’t cuddled her for days,” Proleva said.

“Let me nurse her first,” Ayla said. “I’m feeling rather full anyway.”