“Sprinkled it with cooked cliff dust. We do it all the time, but I don’t suppose all people do,” Ramara said, bending over and picking up Robenan, who was getting restless.
“How do you cook cliff dust? And why?” Ayla asked.
“How you do it is to start with cliff rock, pound it into dust, and heat it in a hot fire—we use the signal fire hearth—then strew it in the trenches. Why is because it takes away a lot of the smell, or covers it up. But when you pass water or add liquid, the dust tends to get hard again, and when the trenches fill up with waste and hardened rock dust, you have to dig new ones, which is a lot of work. So we don’t like to dust them too often. But they need it now. We have a big Cave, and the trenches get used a lot. Just follow the path. You shouldn’t have any trouble locating them.”
“I’m sure I’ll find them. Thank you, Ramara,” Ayla said as the woman left.
She started to pick up the bowl, had another thought, and ducked inside to get the waterbag so she could rinse out the woven basin. Then she picked up the smelly thing and started for the path. Gathering and storing food for such a large Cave of people is a lot of work, she thought as she headed along the trail, but so is taking care of the waste. Brun’s clan just went outside, the women in one place, the men in another, and they changed their places every so often. Ayla thought about the process Ramara had explained and was intrigued.
The heating, or calcining, of limestone to get quicklime and using it to decrease the smell of waste products was not a practice she was familiar with, but for people who lived in limestone cliffs and used fire continuously, quicklime was a natural by-product. After cleaning a hearth of ashes, which would invariably include the accidentally accumulated lime, and dumping them on a pile of other waste materials, it wouldn’t take long for the deodorizing effect to be noticed.
With so many people living in one place, more or less permanently except during the summer when various groups of them were gone for periods of time, there were many tasks that required the effort and cooperation of the entire community, such as digging toilet trenches or, as she had just learned, roasting the limestone cliff rocks to make quicklime.
The sun was near its zenith before Ayla returned from the trench field. She found a sunny place near the back path to dry and air out the woven bowl, then decided to check on the horses and refill the waterbag at the same time. Several people greeted her when she reached the front terrace, some of whose names she recalled, but not all. She smiled and nodded in return, but felt a trifle embarrassed about those she couldn’t remember. She took it as a failure of memory on her part and made a decision to learn who everyone was as soon as possible.
She remembered feeling the same way when members of Brun’s clan let it be known that they thought she was somewhat slow because she couldn’t remember as well as Clan youngsters. As a result, because she wanted to fit in with the people who had found and adopted her, she disciplined herself to remember what she was taught the first time it was explained. She didn’t know that in the process of exercising her native intelligence to retain what she learned, she was training her own memorizing ability far beyond that which was normal for her own kind.
As time went on, she grew to understand that their memory worked differently from hers. Though she didn’t fully understand what they were, she knew that people of the Clan had “memories” that she did not have, not in the same way. In a form of instinct that had evolved along a somewhat divergent track, the people of the Clan were born with most of the knowledge they would need to survive, information that over time had been assimilated into the genes of their individual ancestors in the same way that instinctive knowledge was acquired by any animal, including the human one.
Rather than having to learn and memorize, as Ayla did, Clan children only had to be “reminded” once in order to trigger their inherent racial memories. The people of the Clan knew a great deal about their ancient world and how to live in it, and once they learned something new, they never forgot; but unlike Ayla and her kind, they did not learn new things easily. Change was hard for them, but when the Others arrived in their land, they brought change with them.
Whinney and Racer were not where she had left them in the horse meadow, but were grazing farther up the valley, away from the more well-used area that was close to the confluence of Wood River with The River. When Whinney saw her, the mare dropped her head, flipped it up, and described a circle in the air with her nose. Then she arched her neck, lowered her head, and, with tail outstretched, ran toward the woman, eagerly happy to see her. Racer pranced alongside his dam with his neck proudly arched, ears forward and tail up, high-stepping toward her in a smooth-striding canter.
They nickered greetings. Ayla responded in kind and smiled. “What are you two so happy about?” she said, using Clan signs and the language of words she had invented for herself in her valley. It was the way she had talked to Whinney from the beginning, and the way she still talked to the horses. She knew they didn’t entirely understand her, but they did recognize some of the words and certain of the signals, as well as the tone of voice that conveyed her delight in seeing them.
“You certainly are full of yourselves today. Do you know we’ve reached the end of our Journey and won’t be traveling anymore?” she continued. “Do you like this place? I hope so.” She reached out to scratch the mare in the places she liked, and then the stallion, then she felt around Whinney’s sides and belly, trying to determine if she was carrying a foal after her tryst with the stallion.
“It’s too early to tell for sure, but I think you are going to have a baby, too, Whinney. Even I don’t show that much yet and I’ve already missed my second moon time.” She examined herself the same way she had checked out the mare, thinking, my waist is thicker, my belly is rounder, my breasts are sore and a little bigger. “And I get sick in the morning,” she continued saying and signing, “but only a little when I first get up, not like before, when I was sick all the time. I don’t think there’s any doubt that I’m pregnant, but I’m feeling good right now. Good enough to go for a ride. How would you like a little exercise, Whinney?”
The horse flipped up her head again, as if in reply.
I wonder where Jondalar is? I trunk I’ll look for him and see if he wants to ride, she said to herself. I’ll get the riding blanket, too, it is more comfortable, but bareback for now.
With a practiced, fluid movement, she grabbed the end of Whinney’s short, stand-up mane and leapt onto her back, then headed toward the abri. She directed the horse with the tension of her leg muscles, without thinking about it—after so long, it was second nature—but she let the mare go at her own pace and just rode. She heard Racer following behind, as he was accustomed to doing.
I wonder how long I’ll be able to jump on like that? I’ll need to step up on something to reach her back when I get big, Ayla thought, then she almost hugged herself with pleasure at the idea that she was going to have a baby. Her thoughts strayed back to the long Journey they had just completed, and to the day before. She had met so many people, it was hard to remember them all, but Jondalar was right: most people were not bad. I shouldn’t let the few who are unpleasant—Marona, and Brukeval when he behaved like Broud—spoil good feelings toward the rest. I wonder why it’s easier to remember the bad ones. Maybe because there aren’t many.
The day was warm; the hot sun warmed even the steady wind. As Ayla neared a small tributary, not much more than a trickle, but quick and sparkling, she looked upstream and saw a little waterfall coming down the rock face. She felt thirsty and, remembering that she had wanted to fill the waterbag, turned toward the water glinting down the side of the cliff.
She got off her horse, and they all took a drink from the pool at the bottom of the falls, Ayla from cupped hands, then she filled the waterbag with the cold, fresh liquid. She sat there a while, feeling refreshed and still a bit indolent, picking up small pebbles and idly tossing them into the water. Her eyes scanned the unfamiliar terra
in, unconsciously noting details. She picked up another stone, rolled it in her hand, feeling the texture, looking at it but not seeing it, then tossed it.
It took a while for the character of the stone to penetrate her consciousness. Then she scrambled around to find it again, and when she picked it up—or one like it—she looked at it more carefully. It was a small, grayish-gold nodule, with the sharp angles and flat sides of its inherent crystal structure. Suddenly she reached for the flint knife she carried in the sheath on her belt and struck the stone with the back of it. Sparks flew! She struck it again.
“This is a firestone!” she shouted aloud.
She hadn’t seen any since she left her valley. She looked closely at the stones and pebbles on the ground in and near the streambed, and spied another piece of iron pyrite, and then another. She picked up several as her excitement grew.
She sat back on her heels, looking at her small pile of similar stones. There are firestones here! Now we won’t have to be so careful with the ones we have, we can get more. She could hardly wait to show Jondalar.
She gathered them up and a few more that she noticed, then whistled for Whinney, who had strayed off toward a patch of succulent green. But just before she made ready to mount, she saw Jondalar striding in their direction. Wolf at his side.
“Jondalar!” she called out, running toward him. “Look what I found!” she said, holding out several of the pieces of iron pyrite as she ran. “Firestones! There are firestones around here. They’re all over this stream!”
He hurried toward her, beaming a great smile, as much in response to her exuberant delight as for the remarkable find. “I didn’t know they were so close, but then I never much paid attention to this kind of stone, I was always looking for flint. Show me where you found them.”
She took him to the little pool at the foot of the waterfall, then trained her eyes on the rocks of the streambed and along the sides of the diminutive waterway. “Look!” she said triumphandy. “There’s another one,” pointing at a stone on the bank.
Jondalar knelt down and picked it up. “You’re right! This will make a difference, Ayla. It could mean firestones for everybody. If they are here, there may be other places nearby that have them, too. No one even knows about them yet, I haven’t had a chance to tell anyone.”
“Folara knows, and Zelandoni,” Ayla said.
“How do they know?”
“Remember the calming tea Zelandoni made for Willamar when you told him about your brother? I made Folara nervous when I used a firestone to start the fire that had gone out, so I promised her I’d show her how they worked. She told Zelandoni,” Ayla said.
“So Zelandoni knows. Somehow she always ends up knowing about things first,” Jondalar said. “But we’ll have to come back and look for more, later. Right now, some people want to talk to you.”
“About the Clan?” she guessed.
“Joharran came and got me this morning for a meeting, before I really wanted to get up, but I made him let you sleep. I’ve been talking about our meeting with Guban and Yorga. They’re very interested, but it’s hard for them to believe the Clan are people and not animals. Zelandoni has been analyzing some of the Elder Legends more closely—she’s the one who knows about the history of the Zelandonii—trying to see if there are any hints about flatheads … the Clan … living around here before the Zelandonii. When Ramara said you were up, Joharran wanted me to get you,” Jondalar said. “He’s not the only one with a lot of questions.”
Jondalar had brought Racer’s rope halter with him, but the frisky young stallion balked a bit, still feeling playful. With some patience, and scratching of itchy places, the horse finally acquiesced. The man mounted and they started back through the open woodlands of the small valley.
Jondalar pulled up to ride beside Ayla and, after some hesitation, remarked, “Ramara said when she talked to you this morning, that she thought you were sick, perhaps not used to Laramar’s barma. How are you feeling?”
It’s going to be hard to keep secrets around here, Ayla thought. “I’m fine, Jondalar,” she said.
“He does make a strong brew. You weren’t feeling too well last night.”
“I was tired last night,” Ayla said. “And this morning, it was just a little sickness, because I’m going to have a baby.” From his expression, she suspected he was concerned about more than her morning sickness.
“It was a full day. You met a lot of people.”
“And I liked most of them,” she said, looking at him with a little grin. “I’m just not used to so many at one time. It’s like a whole Clan Gathering. I can’t even remember everyone’s name.”
“You just met them. No one expects you to remember them all.”
They dismounted in the horse meadow and left the horses at the foot of the path. As she glanced up, Ayla noticed the Falling Stone silhouetted against the clear sky, and for a moment, it seemed to emanate a strange glow; but when she blinked, it was gone. The sun is bright, she thought. I must have looked at it without shading my eyes.
Wolf appeared out of the high grass; he had followed them in a desultory way, exploring small holes and chasing interesting scents. When he saw Ayla standing still, blinking, he decided it was time to properly greet the alpha leader of his pack. The huge canine caught her off guard when he jumped up and put his paws on the front of her shoulders. She staggered a bit, but caught herself and braced to hold his weight as he licked her jaw and held it in his teeth.
“Good morning, Wolf!” she said, holding his shaggy ruff in both hands. “I think you’re feeling full of yourself today, too. Just like the horses.” He dropped down and followed her up the path, ignoring the gawks of those who had not seen that particular display of affection before, and the smirks of those who had and were enjoying the reaction. Ayla signaled him to stay with her.
She thought about stopping at Marthona’s dwelling to leave the full waterbag, but Jondalar continued beyond the dwelling area and she walked with him. They passed by the work area toward the southwest end of the overhang. Ahead, Ayla saw several people standing and sitting near the remains of the previous night’s bonfire.
“There you are!” Joharran said, getting up from a small block of limestone and coming toward them.
As they got closer, Ayla noticed a small fire burning at the edge of the large blackened ring. Nearby was a deep basket, which was filled with steaming liquid upon which floated bits of leaves and other vegetal material. It was coated with something dark, and her nose detected the scent of pine pitch, which had been used to keep it watertight.
Proleva ladled some into a cup. “Have some hot tea, Ayla,” she said, extending the cup to her.
“Thank you,” Ayla said, taking the cup. She took a drink. It was a nice blend of herbs, with just a hint of pine. She drank more, then realized that she would have preferred something solid. The liquid was making her stomach queasy again, and her head was aching. She noticed an unoccupied stone block and sat down, hoping her stomach would settle. Wolf lay down at her feet. She held the cup in her hand without drinking and wished she had brewed some of the special “morning after” drink she had developed for Talut, the Mamutoi headman of the Lion Camp.
Zelandoni looked at Ayla closely and thought she detected some familiar signs. “This might be an appropriate rime to stop for a bite to eat. Are there any leftovers from last night?” she said to Proleva.
“That’s a good idea,” Marthona said. “It’s after midday. Have you had anything to eat yet, Ayla?”
“No,” she said, feeling rather grateful that someone thought to ask. “I slept very late, then I went to the trenches, and up Wood River Valley to check on the horses. I refilled this waterbag at a little creek.” She held it up. “That’s where Jondalar found me.”
“Good. If you don’t mind, we’ll use it to make more tea, and I’ll get someone to bring food for everyone,” Proleva said as she headed toward the dwellings at a brisk pace.
Ayla glanced aroun
d to see who was at this meeting and immediately caught Willamar’s eye. They exchanged smiles. He was talking to Marthona, Zelandoni, and Jondalar, whose back was to her at the moment. Joharran had turned his attention to Solaban and Rushemar, his close friends and advisers. Ayla recalled that Ramara, the woman with the little boy with whom she had spoken earlier, was Solaban’s mate. She had met Rushemar’s mate the night before, too. She closed her eyes to try to remember her name. Salova, that was it. Sitting still had helped; her nausea had quieted.
Of the others who were there, she remembered that the gray-haired man was the leader of a nearby Cave. Manvelar was his name. He was talking to another man, whom she did not think she had met. He glanced apprehensively at Wolf now and then. A tall, thin woman who carried herself with a great deal of authority was another Cave leader, Ayla recalled, but she could not remember her name. The man beside her had a tattoo similar to Zelandoni’s, and Ayla guessed he was also a spiritual leader.
It occurred to her that this group of people were all leaders of one kind or another in this community. In the Clan, these people would be the ones with the highest status. Among the Mamutoi, they would be the equivalent of the Council of Sisters and Brothers. The Zelandonii did not have dual leadership of a sister and brother as headwoman-headman for each Camp as the Mamutoi did; instead some Zelandonii leaders were men and some were women.
Proleva was returning at the same brisk pace. Though she seemed to be responsible for providing food for the group—she had been the one they turned to when food was wanted, Ayla noticed—she was obviously not the one who would bring and serve it. She was returning to the meeting; she must have considered herself an active participant. It appeared that the leader’s mate could be a leader, too.
In the Clan, all the people at this kind of meeting would be men. There were no women leaders; women had no status in their own right. Except for medicine women, a woman’s status depended on the rank of her mate. How would they reconcile that if they ever visited each other? she wondered.