Part 10 (2/2)

A young man who had been hovering near Ayla looked up and smiled broadly. ”Laramar!” he said. ”Have you brought some of your barma?”

Jondalar was glad to see him distracted. He didn't know him, but had learned the man's name was Charezal. He was a new member of the Ninth Cave who had come from a rather distant group of Zelandonii, and quite young. He probably hadn't even met his first donii-woman when I left, Jondalar thought, but he had been fluttering around Ayla like a gnat.

”Yes. I thought I would make a contribution to the Welcome Feast for this young woman,” Laramar said, smiling at Ayla.

His smile seemed insincere, which aroused her Clan sensitivity. She paid closer attention to the language his body spoke and quickly decided this was not a man to be trusted.

”A contribution?” one of the women asked with a hint of sarcasm. Ayla thought it was Salova, the mate of Rushemar, one of the two men whom she regarded as Joharran's seconds in command, as Grod had been Brim's in the Clan. Leaders needed someone they could rely on, she had decided.

”I thought it was the least I could do,” Laramar said. ”It isn't often that a Cave can welcome someone from so far away.”

As he lifted the heavy bag from his shoulder and turned to put it down on a nearby stone table, Ayla overheard the woman mutter under her breath, ”And even less often that Laramar contributes anything. I wonder what he wants.”

It seemed obvious to Ayla that she was not alone in mistrusting the man. Others did not trust him, either. It made her curious about him. People with cups in hand were already gathering around him, but he made a point of singling out Ayla and Jondalar.

”I think the returned traveler and the woman he brought with him should get the first drinks,” Laramar said.

”They can hardly refuse such a great honor,” Salova murmured.

Ayla barely heard the scornful comment and wondered if anyone else did. But the woman was right. They could not refuse. Ayla looked at Jondalar, who pointedly emptied the water from his cup and nodded toward the man. She emptied her cup as they walked up to Laramar.

”Thank you,” Jondalar said, smiling. Ayla thought his smile was as insincere as Laramar's. ”This is very thoughtful of you. Everyone knows your barma is the best, Laramar. Have you met Ayla yet?”

”Along with everyone else,” he said, ”but I haven't really been introduced.”

”Ayla, of the Mamutoi, this is Laramar of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii. It is true. No one makes barma better than his,” Jondalar said.

Ayla thought it seemed a rather limited formal introduction, but the man smiled at the praise. She handed Jondalar her cup to free both of her hands and held them out to the man. ”In the name of the Great Earth Mother I greet you, Laramar of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii,” she said.

”And I welcome you,” he said, taking her hands, but holding them only briefly, almost as if he was embarra.s.sed. ”Rather than a formal one, let me offer you a better welcome.”

Laramar proceeded to open the container. First he unwrapped a waterproof piece of cleaned intestine from a pouring spout that had been made of a single vertebra from the backbone of an aurochs. Extraneous material ”around the tubular bone had been carved away and a groove cut around the outside. Then it had been inserted into a natural opening of the stomach and a strong cord tied around the skin that encircled the bone so that it was pulled into the groove, to hold it in place and make a watertight connection. Then he pulled out the stopper, a thin leather thong that had been knotted several times at one end until it was big enough to plug the central hole. It was much easier to control the flow of liquid from the flexible bag through the natural hole in the center of the solid section of spine.

Ayla had retrieved her cup from Jondalar and held it out. Laramar filled it somewhat more than half-full. Then he poured some for Jondalar. Ayla took a small sip. ”This is good,” she said, smiling. ”When I lived with the Mamutoi, the headman, Talut, used to make a drink similar to this out of birch sap and grains and other ingredients, but I must admit, this is better.”

Laramar looked around at the people nearby with a smirk of satisfaction.

”What is this made of?” Ayla asked, trying to get the taste.

”I don't always make it the same way. It depends on what's available. Sometimes I use birch sap and grains,” Laramar said, being evasive. ”Can you guess what's in it?”

She tasted again. It was harder to guess ingredients when they were fermented. ”I think there are grains, perhaps birch sap or sap from some other tree, and maybe fruit, but something else, something sweet. I can't tell the proportions, though, how much of each is used,” Ayla said.

”You have a good sense of taste,” he said, evidently impressed. ”This batch does have fruit, apples that were left on a tree through a frost, which makes them a little more sweet, but the sweet you are tasting is honey.”

”Of course! Now that you mention it, I can taste honey,” Ayla said.

”I can't always get honey, but when I can, it makes the barma better, and stronger,” Laramar said, this time with a smile that was genuine. There were not many with whom he could discuss the making of his brew.

Most people had a craft, something in which they developed the skill to excel. Laramar knew that he could make barma better than anyone. He considered it his craft, the one thing he could do well, but he felt that few gave him the credit he thought he deserved.

Many foods fermented naturally, some on the vine or tree on which they grew; even animals who ate them were sometimes affected. And many people made fermented beverages, as least occasionally, but they were inconsistent and their product often turned sour. Marthona was often cited for making an excellent wine, but it was considered by many a minor thing, and. of course, it wasn't her only skill.

Laramar could always be counted on to make a fermented brew that became alcoholic, not vinegary, and his was often very good. He knew that it wasn't a minor thing, it took skill and knowledge to do it well, but most people cared only about his end product. It didn't help that he was known to drink a lot of it himself and was often too ”sick” in the mornings to go hunting or to partic.i.p.ate in some cooperative, sometimes unpleasant, but usually necessary activity that needed to be done for the Cave.

Shortly after he poured the barma for the guests of honor, a woman appeared at Laramar's side. A toddler was hanging on her leg that she seemed to be ignoring. She had a cup in her hand which she held toward Laramar. A flicker of displeasure danced across his features for a moment, but he held his expression carefully neutral as he poured her some barma.

”Aren't you going to introduce her to your mate?” she said, obviously directing her question to Laramar, but looking at Ayla.

”Ayla, this is my mate, Tremeda, and the one hanging on her is her youngest boy,” Laramar said, complying with her request minimally, and somewhat reluctantly, Ayla thought.

”Tremeda, this is Ayla of the...Matumo.”

”In the name of the Mother, I greet you, Tremeda of...,” Ayla started, putting down her cup so she could use both hands in the formal greeting.

”I welcome you, Ayla,” Tremeda said, then took a drink, not bothering with trying to free her hands for greetings.

Two more children had crowded around her. The clothing on all the children was so ragged, stained, and dirty, it was hard to see the minor differences that Ayla had observed between young Zelandonii girls and boys, and Tremeda, herself, looked little better. Her hair was uncombed, her clothes stained and dirty. Ayla suspected that Tremeda indulged too heavily in her mate's brew. The eldest of the children, a boy, Ayla thought, was looking at her with an unpleasant expression.

”Why does she talk so funny?” he said, looking up at his mother. ”And why is she wearing boy's underwear?”

”I don't know. Why don't you ask her?” Tremeda said, drinking the last of the liquid in her cup.

Ayla glanced at Laramar and noticed that he was fuming with anger. He looked ready to hit the youngster. Before he could, Ayla spoke to the boy. ”The reason I have a different way of speaking is that I come from far away and grew up with people who don't talk the same way as the Zelandonii. Jondalar taught me to speak your language after I was already grown. As for these clothes, they were given to me as a gift earlier today.”

The youngster seemed surprised that she had answered him, but he didn't hesitate to ask another question. ”Why would someone give you boys' clothes?” the boy said.

”I don't know,” she said. ”Perhaps they meant it as a joke, but I rather like them. They are very comfortable. Don't you think so?”

”I guess so. I never had any as good as those,” the boy said.

”Then perhaps we can make some for you. I'd be willing if you will help me,” Ayla said.

His eyes lit up. ”Do you mean it?”

”Yes, I mean it. Will you tell me your name?”

”I'm Bologan,” he said.

Ayla held out both her hands. Bologan looked at her in surprise. He had not expected a full formal greeting and wasn't sure what to do. He didn't think he had a formal designation. He had never heard his mother or the man of his hearth greet anyone using their names and ties. Ayla reached down and took both his grimy hands in hers.

”I am Ayla of the Mamutoi, Member of the Lion Camp,” she began, and continued with her full formal designation. When he didn't respond with his, she did it for him. ”In the name of Mut, the Great Earth Mother, also known as Doni, I greet you, Bologan of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii; Son of Tremeda, Blessed of Doni, mated to Laramar, Maker of the Most Excellent Barma.”

The way she said it made it sound as if he really did have names and ties to be proud of, like everyone else. He looked up at his mother and her mate. Laramar was not angry anymore. They were smiling and seemed rather pleased at the way she had named them.

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