Part 11 (1/2)

Ayla noticed Marthona and Salova had joined them. ”I would like some of that Most Excellent Barma,” Salova said. Laramar seemed more than pleased to oblige.

”And me too,” Charezal said, getting his request in first as other people started crowding around Laramar, holding out their cups.

Ayla noticed that Tremeda got another cupful, too, before she moved off, followed by the children. Bologan looked at her as they were moving away. She smiled at him and was pleased to see him smile back.

”I think you've made a friend of that young man,” Marthona said.

”A rather rowdy young man,” Salova added. ”Are you really going to make him some winter underwear?”

”Why not? I would like to learn how this is made,” Ayla said, indicating the clothing she had on. ”I may have a son someday. And I might like to make another outfit for myself.”

”Make one for yourself! You mean you are going to wear that?” Salova said.

”With a few variations, like a slightly better-fitting top. Have you ever tried one on? It is very comfortable. And besides, it was given to me as a gift of welcome. I'm going to show how much I appreciate it,” Ayla said, a touch of her anger and pride showing.

Salova's eyes opened wide as she looked at the stranger Jondalar had brought home, suddenly conscious of her unusual enunciation again. This woman is not someone to anger, she thought. Marona may have tried to embarra.s.s Ayla, but Ayla has turned it back on her. Marona will be the one who ends up being humiliated. She'll cringe every time she sees her wearing that outfit. I don't think I would want Ayla mad at me!

”I'm sure Bologan could use something warm to wear this winter,” Marthona said. She had not missed a bit of the subtle communication between the two younger women. It's probably just as well for Ayla to begin establis.h.i.+ng her place right away, she thought. People need to know she cannot be taken advantage of easily. After all, she will be mating a man who was born and raised among the people who are the responsible leaders of the Zelandonii.

”He could use something to wear anytime,” Salova said. ”Has he ever had anything decent? The only reason those children have anything at all is that people take pity on them and give them their castoffs. As much as he drinks, have you noticed that Laramar always manages to have enough barma to trade for whatever he wants, especially to make more barma, but not enough to feed his mate and her brood? And he's never around when something needs to be done, like spreading rock powder on the trenches, or even to go hunting.

”And Tremeda doesn't help,” Salova continued. ”They are too much alike. She's always too 'sick' to help with food gathering or community projects, though it doesn't seem to bother her to ask for a share of someone else's efforts to feed her 'poor, hungry children.' And who can refuse? They are indeed poorly dressed, seldom clean, and often hungry.”

After the meal, the gathering became more boisterous, especially after Laramar's barma appeared. As darkness came on, the revelers moved to an area closer to the middle of the s.p.a.ce under the huge rock shelf that roofed the entire settlement, and a large fire was lit barely under the edge of the overhead shelter. Even during the hottest days of summer, nighttime brought a penetrating chill, a reminder of the great ma.s.ses of glacial ice to the north.

The bonfire threw heat back under the abri, and as the rock warmed, it added to the comfort of the surroundings. So did the friendly, if constantly changing, crowd gathered around the recently arrived couple. Ayla met so many people that, in spite of her exceptional memorizing skill, she wasn't sure she would remember them all.

Wolf suddenly appeared again about the same time as Proleva, carrying a sleepy Jaradal, joined the group. The boy perked up and wanted to get down, much to his mother's obvious dismay.

”Wolf won't hurt him,” Ayla said.

”He's very good with children, Proleva,” Jondalar added. ”He was raised with the children of the Lion Camp, and was especially protective of one boy who was weak and sickly.”

The nervous mother stooped to let the boy down while keeping an arm around him. Ayla joined them, putting her arm around the animal, primarily to rea.s.sure the woman.

”Would you like to touch Wolf, Wolf, Jaradal?” Ayla asked. He nodded his head up and down solemnly. She guided his hand toward Wolf's head. Jaradal?” Ayla asked. He nodded his head up and down solemnly. She guided his hand toward Wolf's head.

”He's rickly!” Jaradal said with a smile.

”Yes, his fur is tickly. It tickles him, too. He's shedding; that means some of his hair is coming out,” Ayla said.

”Does it hurt?” Jaradal asked.

”No. It just tickles. That's why he especially likes to be scratched now.”

”Why is his hair coming out?”

”Because it's getting warmer. In winter, when it's cold, he grows a lot of hair to keep warm, but it's too hot in summer,” Ayla explained.

”Why doesn't he put a coat on when it's cold?” Jaradal pressed.

The answer came from another source. ”It's hard for wolves to make coats, so the Mother makes one for them every winter,” Zelandoni said. She had joined the group shortly after Proleva. ”In summer, when it gets warm, the Mother takes their coats off. When Wolf sheds his fur, it's Doni's way of taking off his coat, Jaradal.”

Ayla was surprised at the gentleness in the woman's voice as she talked to the small boy, and the look of tenderness in her eyes. It made her wonder if Zelandoni had ever wanted children. With her knowledge of medicine, Ayla was sure the donier would know how to dislodge a pregnancy, but it was more difficult to know how to start one or to prevent a miscarriage. I wonder how she thinks new life starts, Ayla thought, or if she knows how to prevent it.

When Proleva picked up the boy to take him to their dwelling, Wolf started to follow. Ayla called him back. ”I think you should go to Marthona's dwelling, Wolf,” she said, giving him a ”go home” signal. His home was anyplace that Ayla had laid her furs.

As the chill darkness overwhelmed the region beyond the palliative of firelight, many people left the main celebration area. Some, especially families with young children, retired to personal dwellings. Others, mostly young couples but older people as well and occasionally more than two, were in the shadows around the edges of the fire, involved with each other in more private ways, sometimes talking, sometimes embracing. It was not uncommon to share partners at such events, and as long as all the parties were agreeable, no ill will resulted.

The occasion reminded Ayla of a celebration to Honor the Mother, and if it honored Her to share Her Gift of Pleasure, She seemed to be well honored that evening. The Zelandonii were not so different from the Mamutoi, Ayla thought, or the Sharamudoi, or the Losadunai, and even the language was the same as the Lanzadonii.

Several men tried to enrice the beautiful stranger into sharing the Great Mother's pleasurable Gift. Ayla enjoyed the attention, but she made it plain that she had no desire for anyone except Jondalar.

He had mixed feelings about all the interest she was getting. He was pleased that she was so well received by his people, and proud that so many men admired the woman he had brought home, but he wished that they would not be so openly eager to take her to their furs-especially that stranger called Charezal-and he was glad that she showed no inclination for anyone else.

Jealousy was not well tolerated by the Zelandonii. It could lead to discord and strife even fighting, and as a community, they valued harmony and cooperation above all else. In a land that was little more than a frozen waste for a large part of the year, willing mutual a.s.sistance was essential for survival. Most of their customs and practices were aimed at maintaining goodwill and discouraging anything, such as jealousy, that might jeopardize their amicable relations.

Jondalar knew he would have trouble hiding his jealousy if Ayla chose someone else. He did not want to share her with anyone. Perhaps, after they had been mated for many years and the comfort of habit occasionally gave way to the excitement of someone new, it would be different, but not yet, and in his heart he doubted if he could ever willingly share her.

Some people had started singing and dancing, and Ayla was trying to move in their direction, but everyone around her crowded in close, wanting to talk. One man in particular, who had been hovering around the edge of the group most of the evening, now seemed determined to speak to her. Ayla thought she had noticed someone unusual earlier, but when she tried to focus on him, someone else would ask her a question or make a comment that distracted her.

She looked up as a man handed her another cup of the barma. Though the drink reminded her of Talut's bouza, this was stronger. She was feeling a bit giddy and decided it was time to stop. She was familiar with the effects such fermented drinks could have on her, and she did not want to get too ”friendly” the first time she met Jondalar's people.

She smiled at the man who had given her the cup in antic.i.p.ation of politely refusing him, but the shock of seeing him froze the smile on her face for a moment. It quickly became an expression of genuine warmth and friendliness.

”I am Brukeval,” he said. He seemed hesitant and shy. ”I'm a cousin of Jondalar.” His voice was quite low-pitched, but rich and resonant, very pleasing.

”Greetings! I am called Ayla of the Mamutoi,” she said, intrigued by more than his voice or demeanor.

He did not quite resemble the rest of the Zelandonii she had met. Rather than the usual blue or gray eyes, his large eyes were quite dark. Ayla thought they might be brown, but it was hard to be sure in firelight. More startling than his eyes, however, was his general appearance. He had a look that was familiar to her. His features had the cast of the Clan!

He's a mixture, both Clan and Others. I'm sure of it, she thought. She studied him, but only with glances. He seemed to bring out her Clan woman training and she found herself being careful not to stare too directly. She didn't think he was an equal mixture of half Clan, half Others, like Echozar, to whom Joplaya was Promised...or her own son.

The look of the Others was stronger in this man; his forehead was essentially high and straight, sloping back only a little, and when he turned she could see that while his head was long, the back of it was round and lacked the protruding bony occipital bun. But his browridges, which overhung his large deep-set eyes, were his most distinctive feature, not quite as imposing as men of the Clan, but definitely prominent. His nose was quite big, too, and though more finely modeled than Clan men, it had the same general shape.

She thought he probably had a receding chin. His dark brown beard made it hard to tell, but the beard itself made the man seem similar to the men she had known as a child. The first time Jondalar had shaved, which he usually did in summer, it had been a shock to her, and it had made him appear very young, preadolescent. She had never seen a grown man without a beard before that. This man was somewhat shorter than average, slightly shorter than her, though he was powerfully built, burly with heavy muscles and a deep barrel chest.

Brukeval had all the masculine qualities of the men she had grown up with, and she thought he was quite handsome in a comfortable way. She even felt a slight ringle of attraction. She was also feeling tipsy-definitely no more cups of barma for her.

Ayla's warm smile communicated her feeling, but Brukeval thought there was an engaging shyness about her, too, in the way she glanced aside and looked down. He was not used to women reacting to him with such warmth, especially beautiful women who were with his tall, charismatic cousin.

”I thought you might want a cup of Laramar's barma,” Brukeval said. ”There have been so many people around you, all wanting to talk, but no one seemed to think you might be thirsty.”

”Thank you. I actually am thirsty, but I don't dare have any more of that,” she said, indicating the cup. ”I've already had so much, I'm dizzy.” Then she smiled, one of her full, glowing, irresistible smiles.

Brukeval was so entranced, he forgot to breathe for a moment. He'd been wanting to meet her all evening, but had been afraid to approach her. He had been casually spurned by beautiful women before. With her golden hair gleaming in the firelight, her firm and remarkably shapely body shown off becomingly by the soft clinging leather, and the slightly foreign features giving her an exotic appeal, he thought she was the most extraordinarily beautiful woman he had ever seen.

”Can I get you something else to drink?” Brukeval finally asked, smiling with a boyish eagerness to please. He hadn't expected her to be so open and friendly to him.

”Go away, Brukeval. I was here first,” said Charezal, not entirely in fun. He had seen the way she smiled at Brukeval, and he had been trying all evening to entice Ayla away, or at least extract a promise that she would meet him some other time.