The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [362]
On the way to the large zelandonia lodge, Ayla noticed how many people actually stopped and stared at them. Though often enough she had been, this time she wasn’t the one who was the object of the gawks. It was Danug. It was rude, but in a way she couldn’t blame them, he was a striking figure of a man. On the whole, the men of the Zelandonii tended to be tall, well-built men—Jondalar himself was six feet, six inches—but Danug stood head and shoulders above everyone else, and he was well proportioned to his size. If seen alone from some distance, he would have seemed to be an ordinary muscular man; it was when he stood in the midst of others that his great size was so noticeable. It made her recall the first time she saw Talut, the man of his hearth, the only man she ever saw who was of comparable dimensions. She had probably stared then, even though except for Jondalar, Talut was one of the first people of her own kind she had seen since she was a small child. Maybe that was why she stared.
When she reached the great lodge in the center of the Camp, two young female acolytes approached them. “I wanted to make sure we had all the ingredients for that special ceremonial drink you told us about,” one of them said. “You said fermented birch sap, fruit juices scented with woodruff, and some herbs, right?”
“Yes, in particular, artemesia,” Ayla said. “Sometimes called wormwood, or absinthe.”
“I don’t think I’m familiar with that drink,” Druwez said.
“Did you stop and visit the Losadunai on your way here?” Ayla asked. “In particular, did you share a Mother Festival with them?”
“We stopped, but we didn’t stay long,” Druwez said, “and unfortunately, they did not have a Festival while we were there.”
“Solandia, the mate of the Losaduna, told me how to make it. It tastes like a pleasant-tasting mild drink, but in fact, it is a potent mixture made especially to encourage the spontaneity and warm interaction that are wanted during a festival to honor the Mother,” Ayla said. Then to the acolytes, she added, “I’ll taste it when you are done and let you know if anything is missing.”
As they turned to go, the two young women made some hand gestures to each other, and glanced back at Danug. Over the past few years, especially during Summer Meetings, Ayla had been teaching all the zelandonia some of the basic Clan signs. She thought it would help the Doniers to communicate, at least at a basic level, if they happened to meet some people of the Clan when they were traveling. Some picked it up better than others, but most of them seemed to enjoy having a silent secret method of talking that most people didn’t understand. What the two young acolytes didn’t know was that Ayla had taught Danug and Druwez the Clan signs long before when she lived with the Mamutoi.
Suddenly Danug looked at one of the young women and smiled. “Maybe you’d like to find out at the Mother Festival,” he said, then turned to Druwez, and they laughed.
Both young women blushed; then the one who had first made the signs smiled at Danug with a suggestive look. “Maybe I would,” she said. “I didn’t know you understood the talking signs.”
“Can you imagine anyone living around Ayla for very long without learning them?” Danug said, “Especially when my brother, the boy my mother adopted, was half Clan, and couldn’t speak until Ayla came and taught us all to make the signs. I remember the first time Rydag made the sign for ‘mother’ to her. She cried.”
People started milling around the ceremonial area early. The excitement in the air was tangible. The ceremony had been in stages of preparation for days and there was an incredible sense of expectation. This was going to be special, totally unique. Everyone knew it; they just didn’t know what to expect. The suspense mounted as the sun began to sink. Never had the Zelandonii at the Summer Meeting wanted the sun to set quite so much. They wished it down from the sky.
Finally, as the sun settled down below the horizon and it grew dark enough to need fire, people began to settle