The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [397]
As she started walking upstream along the small river, a quicker way toward the cave she had found a few years before, Ayla was beginning to wonder whether she should go through with this ceremony. Yes, Zelandoni would be disappointed, and so would the rest of the zelandonia who were preparing to assist, but it was more dangerous than they realized. When she agreed to the ceremony the day before, she had been so depressed, she didn’t care if she got lost in the black void, but she was feeling better this morning, especially after her bath in The River, and seeing Jonayla, and Wolf, not to mention Marthona and Proleva. She wasn’t as ready to face that terrifying black void now. Maybe she should tell Zelandoni that she had changed her mind.
She hadn’t thought about the danger she was facing while she was making her preliminary preparations, but she had felt uncomfortable about her inability to perform all of the rituals in the proper way. That was a very important aspect of Clan ceremony, unlike the Zelandonii, who were more tolerant of deviation. Even the words of the Mother’s Song varied slightly from Cave to Cave, which was a favored topic of discussion among the zelandonia, and that was the most important Elder Legend of all.
If such a Legend had been a sacred part of Clan ceremonies, it would have been memorized and recited in precisely the same way every time it was repeated, at least among the clans that had regular direct contact with each other. Even those clans from distant regions would have had a version that was very close. That was why she could communicate in the sacred sign language of the Clan with the clans in this region though it was a year’s travel away from the clan she grew up with. There were minor differences, but it was amazingly similar.
Since it was a Clan ceremony she would be performing, using powerful roots prepared according to Clan procedures, she felt everything should be done as close as possible according to Clan tradition. She believed it was the only way she could hope to maintain any control, and she was beginning to have doubts if even that would help.
She was walking past the wooded area with her mind deep in thought, when she nearly bumped into someone coming out from behind a tree. She was startled to find herself practically in Jondalar’s arms. He was even more surprised and at a complete loss about what to do. His first impulse was to finish what the accident had started and put his arms around her. He’d been longing to do it for so long, but catching a glimpse of her shocked expression, he jumped back, assuming somehow that her surprise meant revulsion, that she didn’t want him to touch her. Her reaction to his instant avoidance was that he didn’t want her, couldn’t stand to be near her.
They stared at each other for a long moment. It was the closest they had been since she found him with Marona, and in their hearts, each yearned to prolong that moment, to broach the emotional distance that seemed to separate them. But a child running down the path they were on distracted them. They looked away for a moment and then couldn’t quite look back.
“Uh, sorry,” Jondalar said, aching to hold her but afraid she would rebuff him. He was so completely at a loss, he was looking around wildly, like an animal caught in a trap.
“Doesn’t matter,” Ayla said, looking down to hide the tears that were just too ready to flow these days. She didn’t want him to see how terrible it made her feel to think that he couldn’t stand to be close to her, that he couldn’t wait to get away. Without looking up, she started walking again, hurrying before her overflowing eyes