The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [390]
But now she was at a loss. It seemed obvious to her that she had not learned how to be a good Zelandonii woman. People were upset with her, some people hated her, and Jondalar didn’t love her. He had been ignoring her, and she had tried to provoke him to respond to her, but his brutal attack on Laramar was completely unexpected, and she felt, beyond all doubt, that it was entirely her fault. She had seen his compassion, and his love, and had seen him control his strong feelings when they were living with the Mamutoi. She thought she knew him. Now she was convinced she didn’t know him at all. She had been trying to maintain a semblance of normality by sheer force of will, but she was tired from lying awake too many nights, too full of worry, pain, and anger to sleep, and what she needed desperately was calm surroundings and rest.
Perhaps Zelandoni had been a little too interested in learning about the Clan root, or she might have been more perceptive, but Ayla had always been a case apart. They didn’t have enough common points of reference. Their backgrounds were far too different. Just when she thought she really understood the young woman, she’d find out that what she thought was true about Ayla was not.
“I don’t want to make it a big issue if you really feel we shouldn’t, Ayla, but if you could tell me something about how to prepare this root, perhaps we can work out a small experiment. Just to see if it might be useful. It would be just for the zelandonia, of course. What do you think?” Zelandoni said.
In Ayla’s troubled state, even the terrifying black void struck her as a restful place, a place to get away from all the turmoil around her. And if she didn’t come back, what difference would it make? Jondalar didn’t love her anymore. She would miss her daughter—Ayla felt a tight knot grip her stomach—then thought Jonayla would probably be better off without her. The child was missing Jondalar. If she wasn’t there, he would come back and take care of her again. And there were so many people who loved her, she would be well cared for.
“It’s not that complicated, Zelandoni,” Ayla said. “Essentially the roots are chewed to a mash and spit into a bowl of water. But they are hard to chew, and it takes a long time, and the one who is preparing it is not supposed to swallow any of the juice. It could be that it’s a necessary ingredient, the juice that accumulates in the mouth,” Ayla said.
“That’s all? It seems to me if you just use a small amount, like one would test anything new, it shouldn’t be that dangerous,” Zelandoni said.
“There are some Clan rituals involved. The medicine woman who prepares the root for the mog-urs is supposed to purify herself first, bathe in a river using soaproot, and she is not supposed to wear clothing. Iza told me that was so the woman would be unsullied and open, with nothing hidden, so that she would not contaminate the holy men, the mog-urs. The Mog-ur, Creb, painted my body with red and black colors, mostly circles around the female parts, to isolate them, I think,” Ayla said. “It is a very sacred ceremony to the Clan.”
“We could use the new cave you found. It is a very Sacred Place, and private. This would be a good use for it,” the First said. “Anything else?”
“No, except when I tried the root with Mamut, he made sure that the people of the Lion Camp kept chanting so we would have something to hold on to, something that would keep us tethered to this world, and help us find our way back.” She hesitated, looked down at the empty cup still in her hands, and added softly, “I’m not sure how, but Mamut said Jondalar may have helped bring us back.”
“We will make sure all the zelandonia are there. They are very good at sustained chanting. Does it make any difference what is chanted?” the First asked.
“I don’t think so. Just something familiar,” Ayla said.
“When should