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

“I’m tired, mother,” Jonayla whined. “Would you carry me?”

Ayla stopped to pick her daughter up, using a hip for support. The little girl’s arms felt good around her neck. She had missed Jonayla, and hugged her little body close.

They continued in silence for a while, and began to hear raucous voices. Ahead they could see the light of a campfire behind a fairly dense stand of brush. It wasn’t a regular Cave’s site, Ayla gathered as they drew closer. Through the screen of brush, she noticed several men sitting around the fire. They were obviously gaming, and drinking something from miniature waterbags made from the nearly waterproof stomachs of small animals. She knew many of the men; several were from the Ninth Cave, but there was a sprinkling of others from several different Caves.

Laramar was there, the man who was known for making the potent alcoholic brew from almost anything that would ferment. While they didn’t have the refinement of the wine that Marthona made, the drinks he produced weren’t bad. He did very little of anything else and had perfected what had become his “craft,” but he made it in quantity and many people regularly drank too much, creating problems. His only other claim to fame had been a hearthful of unkempt children, and a slovenly mate who indulged heavily in his product. Ayla and the rest of the Cave took more care of the children than either Laramar or Tremeda did.

Now the oldest girl, Lanoga, was mated to Lanidar and had a child of her own, but the young couple had adopted all her younger siblings. Her older brother, Bologan, also lived with them and helped to provide for the children. He had also helped to build their new dwelling, along with Jondalar and several others. Her mother, Tremeda, and Laramar also lived with them occasionally, when they chose to go to a place they called home, and both of them behaved as though it was theirs.

Besides Laramar, Ayla noticed the distinctive forehead markings of a Zelandoni on one man, but when he smiled, she saw the gap of his missing front teeth and frowned, realizing it was Madroman. Had he already been accepted into the zelandonia and tattooed? She didn’t think so. She looked again and noticed that an edge of the “tattoo” was smeared. He must have painted it on, using the colors that some people used to temporarily decorate their faces for special occasions, but she had never seen anyone decorate with Zelandoni marks before.

Seeing him reminded her of the backpack she had found in the cave and had brought to the First. Though he invariably smiled and tried to engage her in conversation, she had always felt uneasy around Madroman. He disturbed her in a way that made her think of how a horse’s fur looked when it was stroked opposite to the direction in which it grew; he rubbed her the wrong way.

She saw many young men, talking and laughing loudly, but there were other men of all ages. From what she knew of those she recognized, none of them contributed much. Some were not too bright, or were easily led. One of them spent most of his time drinking Laramar’s brew, barely stumbling home each night, and often could be found in some out-of-the-way place completely unconscious, smelling of drink and vomit. Another was known to be unnecessarily brutal, especially to his mate and her children, and the zelandonia had talked of ways to intercede, waiting only for his mate to ask for help.

Then almost hidden in the shadows, she caught sight of Brukeval sitting somewhat off by himself with his back to a tall, roughly pointed stump, taking a drink from one of the bags. His temper still bothered her, but he was a cousin of Jondalar’s and had always been kind to her. She hated to see him with such an unsavory lot.

She was about to turn away when she heard Wolf growl low in his throat. A voice spoke up loudly behind her back.

“Well, look what we have here. The animal lover, and a couple animals.”

She spun around in surprise. A couple of animals, she thought, but I only have Wolf … it took her a moment before she realized that he had called Echozar an animal. She felt her anger rise.

“The only animal I see here is a wolf … or were you thinking of yourself?” Ayla countered.

There were a few guffaws from some who had heard the remarks and she saw the man frown. “I wasn’t saying I was an animal,” he said.

“That’s good. I wouldn’t put yourself in the same category as Wolf. You don’t measure up,” she said.

Some of the other men pulled the brush aside to see what was going on. They saw Ayla holding her daughter on one hip, her leg in front of the wolf to restrain him, and Echozar holding a torch.

“She sneaked up and was watching us,” the man said defensively.

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; “I was walking along a main path and stopped to see who was making all the noise,” Ayla said.

“Who is she? And why does she talk so funny?” asked a young man Ayla didn’t know. Then he added with surprise, “That’s a wolf!” Ayla had all but forgotten about her “accent” and so had most of the people who knew her, but occasionally a stranger brought it to her attention. From the pattern on the man’s shirt, and the design of the necklace he wore, she guessed he was from a Cave that lived on another river to the north, a group that did not regularly attend their Summer Meeting. He must have arrived only recently.

“She’s Ayla of the Ninth Cave, the one Jondalar brought back with him,” Madroman said.

“And she’s a Zelandoni who can control animals,” another man said. Ayla thought he was from their neighbor, the Fourteenth Cave.

“She’s not Zelandoni,” Madroman said with an air of condescension. “She’s an acolyte, still in training.”

He had obviously not yet seen her new tattoo, Ayla thought.

“But when she came, she could already control that wolf and a couple of horses,” the man from the Fourteenth Cave said.

“I told you she was an animal lover,” the first man said with a sneer, looking pointedly at Echozar.

Echozar glared back, and moved toward Ayla protectively. This was a large group of men, and they had been drinking Laramar’s brew. It had been known to bring out the worst in people.

“You mean like those horses from that Cave camped upstream?” the stranger said. “That’s the first place I was taken when I got here. She’s the one who controls them? I thought it was that man and the girl.”

“Gray is my horse,” Jonayla spoke up.

“They’re all the same hearth,” Brukeval said, strolling into the firelight.