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

“Some of us were trying to find a way to give you every opportunity. Some thought, or hoped, that it wasn’t intentional. They wanted to make sure that you hadn’t fooled yourself in your strong desire to become One Who Serves … until Ayla brought this to us. You would not have become zelandoni, in any case, but you might have remained an acolyte, Madroman. Now, that is no longer possible. The Great Earth Mother doesn’t want to be served by a liar and a cheat,” the powerful woman said in tones that left no doubt about her feelings. “Kemordan, leader of the Fifth Cave of the Zelandonia,” the First continued, “will you and your Cave bear witness?”

“We will,” he replied.

“We will,” said the Cave in unison.

“Madroman of the Fifth Cave of the Zelandonii, former acolyte,” the First intoned, “you may never again put yourself out as a member of the zelandonia, not as an acolyte or in any other manner. You may never again attempt to treat someone’s illness, or offer advice about the ways of the Mother, or in any way assume the duties of the zelandonia. Do you understand?”

“But what am I supposed to do now? That’s all I’ve trained for. I don’t know how to be anything but an acolyte,” Madroman said.

“If you return everything you have received from the zelandonia, you can go back to your Cave and think about learning some other craft, Madroman. And be grateful I am not imposing a fine and announcing it to the whole Camp.”

“They’ll all find out anyway,” Madroman said, then raising his voice, “You were never going to let me be a Zelandoni. You’ve always hated me. You and Jondalar, and your little favorite, Ayla, the Flathead lover. You’ve been out to get me from the beginning … Zolena.”

There was a gasp from the Fifth Cave. Not one of them would have dared to be so disrespectful to the One Who Was First as to call her by her former name. Most would have been afraid to. Even Madroman paused in his tirade when he saw the expression on the face of the First. She was, after all, a woman of formidable powers.

He turned on his heel and stomped away, not sure what he was going to do as he headed for the fa’lodge he had sometimes shared with Laramar, Brukeval, and the rest. It was empty when he got there. Most camps were serving meals after the long meeting, and the rest of the men had gone to find something to eat. It suddenly came to him that neither Laramar or Brukeval would be back at all. Laramar would be a long time recovering, and who knew what Brukev

al would do. Madroman walked over and took a small waterbag of barma from Laramar’s traveling pack. He sat down on the sleeping roll and drank most of it down in a few gulps, then took a second one. Laramar will never know, he thought.

It’s all the fault of that big dolt who knocked my teeth out. Madroman felt the hole in the front of his mouth with his tongue. He had learned to compensate for it, and didn’t think about his missing teeth much anymore, though it had hurt when he was younger and women ignored him because of it. He’d since discovered that certain women were interested in him when they learned he was part of the zelandonia, even just an acolyte in training. None of those women would want him now. He flushed at the thought of his disgrace, and opened the second waterbag full of barma.

Why did Jondalar have to come back? he said to himself. If Jondalar hadn’t returned from his Journey and brought that foreign woman here, she wouldn’t have found that sack. Then the zelandonia never would have known, I don’t care what that fat old woman says. I don’t really want to go back to the Fifth Cave now, and I don’t want to learn another trade. Why should I? I’m as good a Zelandoni as any of them, and I doubt that they’ve all been called, either. I’ll bet a lot of them fake it. What is a call anyway? They probably all fake it. Even that Flathead lover. So what if she lost a baby. Women lose babies all the time. What’s so special about that?

He took another drink, glanced over at Brukeval’s place, then got up and walked over. Everything was there, neatly in order the way he always kept it. He didn’t even come and get his gear, Madroman thought. He’s going to sleep cold tonight without a sleeping roll. I wonder if I could find him. He might be grateful if I brought him his things. Madroman walked back to his place and looked at the paraphernalia he had acquired as an acolyte. That fat old woman wants me to give it all back.

I’m not going to do it! I’m going to pack up all my things and leave. He paused, looked over at Brukeval’s sleeping place. If I can find him, maybe we could go on a Journey together, or something, find some other people. I could tell them I am Zelandoni; they’d never know.

That’s what I’ll do. I’ll pack up Brukeval’s gear, and go look for him. I know a few places he might be. He would be someone to stay with, and he’s a better hunter than I am. I haven’t done it in so long. Maybe I’ll take some of Laramar’s things, too. He’ll never miss them. He won’t even know who took them. It could be anyone in this lodge. They all know he won’t be back.

And it’s all Jondalar’s fault. First he nearly kills me; then he nearly kills Laramar. He’ll get away with it, too, just like he did before. I hate Jondalar, I’ve always hated Jondalar. Someone ought to hold him down and beat him up. Ruin his pretty face. See how he likes it. I’d like to give Ayla a few whacks, too. I know a few people who wouldn’t mind holding her down. I’d give her something else, too, like a load of my “essence,” he thought with an evil grin. Then she wouldn’t walk so high. She never would share Pleasures with anyone else, not even at Mother Festivals. Thinks she’s so perfect, finding my sack and bringing it to the zelandonia. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be out. I’d be Zelandoni. I hate that woman!

Madroman finished up the second waterbag of barma, grabbed several more, then looked around to see what else he wanted to take. He found a spare outfit, used but still good. He tried it on; they were nearly the same size. He took it. His zelandonia clothing was decorative and distinctive, but not very practical for long hikes. The sleeping roll wasn’t much good—it was an old throwaway to begin with; Laramar’s good one was in his mate’s tent—but there were several other very nice items, including a good fur cover. Then he found a real treasure, a new full winter outfit that Laramar had recently traded for. His barma was constantly in demand, and he had always been able to trade for whatever he wanted.

Next Madroman walked over to Brukeval’s place and began hauling everything he saw back to his own place. He changed into the more practical outfit that he’d found at Laramar’s place. It didn’t matter that it had Ninth Cave decorations instead of Fifth Cave; he wasn’t going to be staying at either place. He took food from both places, and then rummaged through the possessions of all the rest of the men, taking food and a few other items as well. He found a good, well-hafted knife, a small stone hatchet, and a new pair of warm mittens someone had just acquired. He didn’t have any with him and winter was coming. Who knows where I’ll be then? he thought. He had to repack a few times, eliminate a few things, but once he was ready, he was eager to leave.

He put his head out of the lodge and looked around. The Campsite was full of people, as usual, but none were nearby. He hoisted on the heavy backframe, and started out briskly. He planned on heading generally north, the direction he had seen Brukeval take. He was nearly beyond the boundary of the Summer Meeting Campsite, close to the camp of the Ninth Cave, when Ayla came out of a dwelling. She seemed to be distracted, preoccupied, but she glanced up and saw him. He flashed her a look of sheer hatred and kept on going.

The camp of the Ninth Cave looked deserted. Everyone had gone to the Lanzadoni camp for a joint midday meal, a feast they had been planning together for some time, but Ayla said she wasn’t hungry, and promised she’d come later. She was sitting on her bedroll in the dwelling, feeling despondent, thinking about Brukeval and his outburst at the meeting, and wondering if there was anything she could have done. She didn’t think Zelandoni had anticipated his reaction, and it didn’t even occur to her to consider it, though now she was sure she should have. She knew how sensitive he was to inferences that he was in any way related to Flatheads.

He called them animals, she thought, but they aren’t! Why do some people always say that? She wondered if Brukeval would still feel that way if he knew them better. It probably wouldn’t make any difference. A lot of the Zelandonii feel that way.

The First reminded everyone that Brukeval’s grandmother had not been in her right mind when she found her way home again, and that she was pregnant. Everyone says she was with the Clan, Ayla thought, and they’re right. It’s obvious that Brukeval has some Clan mixture in him, so she must have become pregnant while she was with them. That means some Clan man had to put his essence inside her.

A thought Ayla hadn’t considered suddenly came to her. Did some man of the Clan force her over and over again, the way I was forced by Broud? I wasn’t in my right mind when Broud was doing that to me and I didn’t think they were animals. I was raised by them, I loved them. Not Broud. I hated him, even before he forced me, but I loved most of them.

Ayla hadn’t thought of it quite that way when she first heard the story, but it was a possibility. The man might have forced her out of meanness, like Broud, or he might have thought he was doing her a favor, taking her as a second woman, perhaps, accepting her into the Clan, but it wouldn’t have made any difference to her. That’s not how she would have seen it, Ayla thought. She couldn’t talk to them, or understand them. They were animals to her. Brukeval’s grandmother must have hated it worse than I hated Broud doing it.

And as much as I wanted to have the baby when Iza told me I was pregnant, it was hard on me. I was sick all the time when I was expecting Durc, and I almost died delivering him. Clan women didn’t have that much trouble, but Durc’s head was so much bigger and harder than Jonayla’s. Ayla had seen enough women into motherhood in the past few years to realize that her pregnancy and delivery of Jonayla was far more normal for women of the Others than her birthing of Durc had been. I don’t know how I ever pushed him out, she thought, shaking her head. The heads of the Others are smaller, and the bone is thinner and more flexible. Our legs and arms are longer but those bones are thinner, too, Ayla said to herself, looking at her own limbs. All the bones of the Others are thinner.

Was Brukeval’s grandmother sick during her pregnancy? Did she have a hard time delivering, like I did? Is that what happened to her? Is that why she died? Because it was so hard on her? Even Joplaya nearly died giving birth to Bokovan, and Echozar is only half Clan. Is a baby of “mixed spirits,” a baby who’s a mixture of the Clan and the Others, always hard on women of the Others? Ayla was brought up short with a new thought. Could that be why those babies were originally called abominations? Because they sometimes made their mothers die?

There are differences between the Clan and the Others. Maybe not enough to stop a baby from getting started, but enough to make it hard on the mother if she’s one of the Others and used to birthing babies with smaller heads. It might not be so hard on Clan women. They’re used to babies with big, long, hard heads and heavy brow ridges. It was probably easier for them to give birth to a mixed baby.

I don’t think it’s always good for the babies, though, whether the mother is Clan or Others. Durc was strong and healthy, even though I had a hard time, and so is Echozar, and his mother was Clan. Bokovan is healthy, but he’s not quite the same. Echozar, his father, was the first mixture, so he’s like Brukeval, but still Joplaya almost died. She realized she was using the word “father” with ease. It was so logical, and she had understood the relationship for a long time.

But Rydag was weak, and his mother was Clan. She died after giving birth, but Nezzie never said she had a hard time delivering. I don’t think that’s why she died. I think she’d been turned out of her clan and didn’t want to live, especially since she must have thought her baby was deformed. Brukeval’s mother was a first mixture, and her mother was one of the Others. She was weak, so weak she died giving birth to him. Whether he wants to admit it or not, Brukeval knows what happened to his grandmother; that’s why he was so quick to understand the implications of the Gift of Life at the meeting. I wonder if he ever thought that his mother’s weakness was somehow caused by the mixture.

I suppose I shouldn’t blame Brukeval for hating the Clan. He didn’t have a mother to love him, or to comfort him when people called him names because he looked a little different. It was hard for Durc, too. He looked enough different from the Clan that they thought he was deformed, and some of them didn’t want to let him live, but at least he had people who loved him. I