The other men usually cadged something to eat from one Cave or another, often returning to the camps of their own Caves. Madroman had no concern about meals. He usually ate with the zelandonia, who were customarily supplied quite well by the Caves, usually in exchange for general services, but also for specific requests. Laramar also had his own resources. He traded his brew, and found no lack of willing consumers.
It was not uncommon for the youngest men staying in their own shelters to get food or a meal from one camp or another, although they usually tried to make some contribution in return, such as hunting or joining in other community work or food-gathering activities. And though it was not unusual for the men who had recently reached manhood to create a few problems now and then, it was generally ascribed to “high spirits” and tolerated, especially by older men recalling their own youth. If, however, they caused too much trouble, it could bring a visit from Cave leaders, who had the authority to impose penalties, including, at the worst, banishment from the Summer Meeting Camp.
Everyone knew that the men of Brukeval’s fa’lodge—as people had started referring to the place—were not young, and they could seldom be found when there was work to do. But there was never a lack of food at Summer Meetings, and no one who showed up when it was time to eat was ever turned away, no matter how unwelcome. The men of that place were generally smart enough not to appear at the same camp too often. And they usually spread out so that all of them did not end up at one place at the same time, unless they learned of a rather lavish feast, as when one or more camps would have a large communal meal. But with their often loud parties, sometimes violent fights, slovenly ways, and unwillingness to contribute, that particular men’s group skirted the very edge of tolerance.
But that tent was the only place where Brukeval could drown out his secret guilt and pain with Laramar’s brew. In a drunken stupor, with his conscious mind no longer in control, then he was free to think of Ayla the way he wanted. He could think of the way she looked when she proudly faced down the laughter of the Ninth Cave, think of her smiling at him with her beautiful smile, laughing and a little tipsy, flirting with him, talking to him as if she thought he was an ordinary man, even a charming, handsome man, not ugly and short. People called him a Flathead, but it wasn’t true, it wasn’t. I am not a Flathead, he thought. It’s only because I am short and … ugly.
Hidden in the dark, full of potent drink, he could dream of Ayla in her spectacular, exotic tunic with her beautiful golden hair falling around her face and the amber jewel nestled between her high, firm bare breasts. He could dream of holding those breasts, of touching those nipples, of taking them in his mouth. Just the thought would bring him to erection, and filled with his need, he barely had to touch himself to make his essence spurt.
Then he could crawl into his empty bed, and dream that he was the one who had stood in front of Zelandoni with Ayla at his side, not his cousin, the tall man with the yellow hair and vivid blue eyes, not that perfect man every woman wanted. But Brukeval knew he wasn’t so perfect. Jondalar had been coupling with Marona, not telling Ayla, trying to hide it from everyone. He had guilty secrets, too, and now Ayla was sleeping alone. Jondalar had been sleeping outside in the horse place, using their riding blankets. Had Ayla stopped loving Jondalar? Had she found out about Marona and stopped loving that man who was everything Brukeval had ever wanted to be? The man who was mated to the woman he loved more than life itself? Did she need someone to love her now?
Even if she stopped loving Jondalar, he knew it wasn’t likely that she would choose him, but she had smiled at him again, and didn’t seem as distant. And with the arrival of Dalanar and the Lanzadonii, he was reminded that some beautiful women did choose men who were ugly. He was not a Flathead, and he hated to think of himself as having any similarity, but he was aware that Echozar, that ugly abomination of a man who was born of mixed spirits, whose mother was a Flathead, had mated the daughter of Dalanar’s second woman, the one most people thought was so exotically beautiful. So it was possible. He tried not to get his hopes up, but if Ayla ever needed someone, someone who would never couple with anyone else, never, not as long as he lived, who would never love anyone else as long as he lived, he could be that man.
36
“Mother! Mother! ’Thona is here! Grandam finally came!” Jonayla cried, running into their lodge to announce the news, and then running out again. Wolf followed her in and out again.
Ayla stopped to think about how many days it had been since she had asked to have someone go for Marthona. She touched a finger to her leg as she thought about each day, and could count only four. Marthona must have been eager to come, as Ayla knew she would be, if a way could be found to get her here. She stepped out of the lodge just as four young men of approximately the same height lowered the stretcher on which Marthona was sitting from their shoulders to the ground. Two of them were Jondalar’s apprentices; the other two were friends who happened to be nearby when the request for litter bearers was made.
Ayla looked at the contrivance upon which Marthona had been carried to the Summer Meeting. It consisted of two poles from straight young alder trees, placed parallel to each other with strong rope woven across them diagonally, creating a diamond pattern. Shorter shafts were woven through the ropes at intervals between the long poles to give some added stability. Ayla was sure that Marthona, who was an experienced weaver, had a hand in making it. The woman sat on a couple of cushions near the back and Ayla reached out a hand to help her stand up. Marthona thanked the young men as well as several others, who apparently had traded off the job of carrying the former leader.
They had spent the night before in the small valley of the Fifth Cave with the few people from that group who had stayed back from the meeting, along with one of their Zelandoni’s acolytes. They were all quite interested in Marthona’s mode of transportation. A couple of them wondered to themselves if they could find some young men who might be willing to carry them to a Summer Meeting. Most of them would have liked to attend; they all felt they were missing out when they had to stay back because they were not able to walk the distance on their own legs.
When Jondalar’s apprentices brought the stretcher into the lodge, it occurred to Ayla that their services might still be needed. “Hartaman, would you and Zachadal, and maybe some of the others be willing to carry Marthona around the Camp, if she needs you? The walk from here to the zelandonia lodge and some of the other camps might be a little too far for her,” Ayla said.
“Just let us know when you need us,” Hartaman said. “It might be best if you could tell us in advance, but there is likely to be at least one of us around most of the time. I’ll talk to some of the others and see if we can work out a way to make sure someone is here who can go and get more to help.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Marthona said. She had heard Ayla’s request as she walked in the entrance. “But I don’t want to keep you from your own activities.”
“There isn’t that much to do anymore,” Hartaman said. “Some people are planning to go hunting, or visiting relatives, or back home soon. Most of the ceremonies and feasts are over, except for the Late Matrimonial and whatever big event the zelandonia are preparing now, and no one seems able to find Jondalar lately, but he always does more training in the winter anyway. It’s fun to carry you around, Marthona,” Hartaman said, with a grin. “You can’t believe how much attention we got just walking into Camp with you.”
“Well, it seems I’ve become a new amusement,” Marthona said, smiling back. “As long as you really don’t mind, I may call upon you for your help now and then. I’ll tell you the truth, I can walk much better for short distances, but I can’t go very far even with a walking stick, and I hate slowing everyone else down.”
Folara suddenly came bursting into the summer lodge. “Mother! You’re here! Someone just told me you had come to the Summer Meeting. I didn’t even know you were coming.” They hugged in greeting, and touched cheeks.
“You can thank Ayla for that. When she heard that you might have found someone that you really care about, she suggested that someone go and get me. A young woman needs her mother if serious plans are being made,” Marthona said.
“She’s right,” Folara said, and her smile was radiant, which made Marthona know that the possibility was true. “But how did you get here?”
“I think that was Ayla’s idea, too. She told Dalanar and Joharran there was no reason that I couldn’t be carried here on a stretcher by strong young men, so several of them came and got me. Ayla wanted me to come with her when she came, riding on Whinney’s back, and I probably should have, but as much as I like the horses, the thought of riding one of them frightens me. I don’t know how to control horses. Young men are easier. You just tell them what you want, and when you want to stop,” Marthona said.
Folara hugged her brother’s mate. “Thank you, Ayla. It takes another woman to understand. I did want my mother here, but I didn’t know if she was well enough, and I knew she couldn’t walk here.” She turned to her mother. “How are you feeling?”
“Ayla took very good care of me when she was staying at the Ninth Cave, and I feel much better now than I did last spring,” the woman said. “She really is a very good healer, and if you look closely, you will see that she is now a Zelandoni.”
Marthona had noticed the mark on the side of her forehead, Ayla realized. It was healing and there was no pain, although it itched sometimes, and she had almost forgotten about it, unless someone mentioned it or made a point of staring.
“I know she is, mother,” Folara said. “Everyone knows, even if they haven’t announced it, but like all the rest of the zelandonia lately, she’s been so busy, I haven’t seen much of her. They’re planning some kind of ceremony, but I don’t know if it will be before or after the Second Matrimonial.”
“Before,” Ayla said. “You’ll have time to talk to your mother and plan.”
“So you are serious about someone,” Marthona said. She paused and was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then she said. “Well, where is this young man? I’d like to meet him.”
“He’s waiting outside,” Folara said. “I’ll get him.”
“Why don’t I go out and meet him,” Marthona said. It was dark in the summer lodge. There were no windows, only the entrance with its covering drape pulled back and tied, and the smoke hole in the middle of the roof, which was often left completely open during the day when the weather was nice. Her sight wasn’t what it used to be and she wanted to get as good a look at this young man as she could.
When the three women went out of the entrance, Marthona saw three young men whom she didn’t know, dressed in unfamiliar clothing, one of them a veritable giant with bright red hair. When Folara approached him first, Marthona took a deep breath. She had rather hoped he would not be the one her daughter had chosen. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with him. It was Marthona’s aesthetic sense, which wasn’t a deciding factor in any case, just that she always had hoped that the man Folara chose would fit well with her, that they would complement each other, and a man that big would make her tall and elegant daughter seem small. Folara began the introductions.