The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [373]
“Come on, Jondalar. We need to get to the meeting. There are some questions I want to ask,” Joharran said.
“You go on. I’ll come later,” Jondalar said, hardly looking up from the bedroll he was sitting on.
“No, I’m afraid not, Jondalar. I was specifically told to make sure you came with me,” Joharran said.
“Told by whom?”
“Zelandoni and Marthona. Who do you think?”
“What if I don’t want to go to this meeting?” Jondalar said, testing his prerogatives. He felt so miserable, he didn’t want to move.
“Then I guess I’ll have to ask this mighty Mamutoi friend of yours to carry you out there, the way he carried you here,” Jondalar’s brother said, grimly smiling at Danug. They were in the shelter that Danug, Druwez, Aldanor, and some other men used. Since only men used it, it was called a fa’lodge although it wasn’t with the other fa’lodges on the outskirts of the Camp, or very far from the Ninth Cave’s regular family dwellings. “You’ve hardly moved since. Whether you want to or not, Jondalar, you are going to have to face people. This is an open meeting. No one is going to discuss your situation. That will come later, after we see how well Laramar recovers.”
“He should clean up a little,” Solaban said. “He still has bloodstains on his clothes.”
“I think you’re right,” Joharran said, then looked at Jondalar. “Are you going to do it yourself, or is somebody going to have to dunk you?”
“I don’t care. If you want to dunk me, go ahead,” Jondalar said.
“Jondalar, get a clean tunic and come to the river with me,” Danug said, speaking Mamutoi. It was a way to let Jondalar know he had someone he could talk to in private, if he didn’t want anyone else to know what he was saying; besides, he enjoyed the ease of speaking his own language rather than always struggling with Zelandonii.
“Fine,” Jondalar said, sighing deeply, then hauling himself up. “It doesn’t matter anyway.” He really didn’t care what happened to him. Jondalar was convinced that he had lost everything that mattered: his family, including Jonayla, the respect of his friends, and his people, but most of all, Ayla’s love, and that he deserved to lose it.
Danug watched Jondalar plodding alongside him toward the river, oblivious to everything around him. The young Mamutoi had seen the same kind of problems between the two people he had come so far to see before, people he cared a great deal about and who, he knew, loved each other more than any two people he had ever met. He wished there was some way he could make them see what he and everyone around them knew, but just telling them wouldn’t help. They would have to come to the realization on their own, and now it wasn’t just them. Jondalar had seriously injured someone, and while Danug was not familiar with the details of Zelandonii customs, he knew there would be consequences.
Zelandoni moved the drape, pushed the screen aside, and peeked out of the concealed private access at the rear of the large zelandonia dwelling, directly opposite from the regular entrance. She scanned the assembly area that came down from the hillside behind and opened out onto the camp. People had been gathering all morning and it was nearly full.
She had been right about questions. The meaning of the ceremony and the new verse to the Mother’s Song were beginning to be understood, but people were unsure. It was unsettling to think about what changes might happen, especially after Jondalar’s behavior. Zelandoni looked again to make sure that certain people had arrived, and then waited a little longer to give the last stragglers a chance to get settled. Finally she gave a signal to a young zelandoni, who conveyed the “she’s ready” sign to the others, and when everything was prepared, Zelandoni stepped outside.
Zelandoni Who Was First was a woman who exhibited