The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [16]
“It’s here in the next room,” said Zelandoni of the Second Cave. She was also a tall blond woman, though somewhat older than Ayla.
The Zelandoni Who Was First Among Those Who Served The Great Earth Mother stepped aside to let Ayla move in behind the woman who was leading them. “You go ahead. I’ve seen it before,” she said, shifting her considerable size out of the way.
An older man stepped back with her. “I, too, have seen it before,” he said, “many times.” Ayla had noticed how much the old Zelandoni of the Seventh Cave resembled the woman who was leading the way. He was also tall, though a little stooped, and his hair was more white than blond.
Zelandoni of the Second Cave held her torch up high to cast its light ahead; Ayla did the same. She thought she saw some indistinct images on some of the cave walls as they passed by, but since no one had stopped to point them out, she wasn’t sure. She heard someone begin to hum—a rich, lovely sound—and recognized the voice of her mentor, the Zelandoni Who Was First. Her voice echoed in the small stone chamber, but especially as they entered another room and turned a corner. As the Zelandonia held their torches up to highlight a wall, Ayla gasped.
She wasn’t prepared for the sight in front of her. The profile of the head of a horse was carved so deeply into the limestone wall of the cave, it appeared to be growing out of it, and so realistically, it almost seemed alive. It was larger than life-size, or else it was a carving of a much larger animal than she had ever seen, but she knew horses and the proportions were perfect. The shape of the muzzle, the eye, the ear, the nose with its flaring nostril, the curve of the mouth and jaw, everything was exactly as it would be in real life. And in the flickering torchlight, it looked as if it were moving, breathing.
She let out a sobbing burst of air; she had been holding her breath and didn’t realize it. “It’s a perfect horse, except it’s just the head!” Ayla said.
“That’s why the Seventh Cave is called Horsehead Rock,” the old man said. He was just behind her.
Ayla stared at the image, feeling a sense of awe and wonder, and reached out to touch the stone, not even questioning whether she should have. She was drawn to it. She held her hand on the side of the jaw, just where she would have touched a living horse, and after a time the cold stone seemed to warm as though it wanted to be alive and come out of the stone wall. She took her hand away, and then put it back. The rock surface still held some warmth, but then it cooled again, and she realized that the First had continued to hum while she touched the stone, but had stopped when she let go.
“Who made it?” Ayla asked.
“No one knows,” said the First. She had come in after Zelandoni of the Seventh Cave. “It was made so long ago, no one remembers. One of the Ancients, of course, but we have no legend or history to tell us who.”
“Perhaps the same carver who made The Mother of Elder Hearth,” said the Zelandoni of the Second Cave.
“What makes you think so?” asked the old man. “They are entirely different images. One is a woman holding a bison horn in her hand; the other is the head of a horse.”
“I have studied both carvings. There seems to be a similarity of technique,” she said. “Notice how carefully the nose and the mouth, and the shape of the jaw of this horse are made? When you go there, look at the hips on the Mother, the shape of the belly. I’ve seen women who look just like that, especially those who have had children. Like this horse, the carving of the woman that represents Doni in the cave at Elder