The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [331]
“Clan people don’t lie. They can’t. With their way of speaking, it’s always known, so they never learned how,” Ayla said.
“That’s what you have said before. I sometimes wish that were so with us,” the Donier said. “That’s one reason the zelandonia never allow an acolyte to be present when we initiate a new zelandoni. It doesn’t happen often, but every once in a while one tries to take a shortcut. It never works. We have ways of finding out.”
Several of the zelandonia had come into the shelter while they were talking, including the visiting Zelandonia from the south who were still there. They were both curious and fascinated with the similarities and differences that the distance between them had created. They all chatted casually until everyone was there; then the large woman stood up, went to the entrance, and talked with a couple of newly initiated Zelandonia who were guarding the summer lodge to make sure no one tried to get close enough to listen. Ayla looked around the large summer dwelling.
The double-walled circular construction of vertical panels that enclosed the space was similar to the sleeping lodges, but larger. The movable interior panels had been stacked near the outer walls, in between the raised sleeping places that circled the large space, forming a single large room. Many of the mats that covered the ground were woven with intricate beautiful patterns, and various pads, pillows, and stools used for seating were scattered around near several low tables of various sizes. Most of them were graced with simple oil lamps, usually made of sandstone or limestone, that were lit day and night inside the windowless shelter.
Zelandoni closed the entrance flap and tied it shut, then walked back and sat down on a raised stool in the middle of the group. “Since it’s so late in the season, and your call was rather unexpected, I think the choice should be yours, Ayla. Do you want to submit to informal questioning first? That can be easier to begin with, to get you used to the process. Or do you want a full formal testing?” the One Who Was First To Serve The Mother asked.
Ayla closed her eyes and bowed her head. “If we just talk about it informally, I’ll have to go through it again, won’t I?” she asked.
“Yes, of course.”
She thought about the baby she had lost, and felt a stab of grief. She really didn’t want to talk about it at all. “It was … hard,” she said. “I don’t want to go over it again and again. I think I was called. If not, I want to know as much as anyone. Can we just go ahead with it?”
A fire was burning in a fireplace that was slightly off-center toward the back of the fairly large round space, but the smoke found its way out of the central hole. Water was steaming in a waterbag that had been stretched across a frame and placed directly over the fire. The not-quite-waterproof, partially cured leather from a large animal seeped just enough so that it would not catch fire. The cooking skin had been used before. The outside was blackened and the bottom somewhat shrunk and misshapen from, in effect, being cooked by the boiling water inside and the fire outside, but it was an effective pot for keeping liquid simmering over the hot coals in the hearth.
The One Who Was First took a large pinch of some dried green plant material from a woven bowl and dropped it on the simmering water, then added three more pinches. The rather rank odor it gave off as it steamed was familiar to Ayla. The herb was datura and had not only been used by Iza, the Clan medicine woman who had cared for her, and trained her, it had also been used by The Mog-ur in special ceremonies with the men of the Clan. Ayla was very aware of its effects. She also knew it was not very prevalent in their immediate region. That meant it must have come from some distance away, making it rare and valuable.
“What is the name of that in Zelandonii?” Ayla asked, pointing at the dried material.
“It doesn’t have a name in Zelandonii,