The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [399]
She took a small pouch out of her medicine bag. There was enough light from the many lamps to show its deep red ocher color, the color most sacred to the Clan, and then she took a wooden bowl out of the leather packframe. She had made the bowl some time ago in the style of the Clan to show Marthona, who, with her aesthetic sense, appreciated the simplicity and craftsmanship. Ayla had planned to give it to the woman and now she was glad she still had it. If it wasn’t the special bowl that had been used only for this root for the many generations of Iza’s ancestors, it was at least a wooden bowl made in the painstaking way the Clan made them.
“I will need some water,” Ayla said as she undid the knots of the red pouch. She emptied the bag of roots into her hand.
“May I see them?” Zelandoni asked.
Ayla held them out to her, but there was nothing distinctive about them. They were just dried roots. “I’m not sure how much to use,” she said, picking out two small pieces, hoping it would be correct. “I’ve only done this twice before, and I don’t have Iza’s memories.”
A few of the zelandonia there had heard her speak about Clan memories, but most had no idea what she meant. She had tried to explain them to Zelandoni Who Was First, but since she didn’t know exactly what they were herself, it was hard to explain to someone else.
Someone poured water into her wooden bowl, and Ayla drank a little to wet her mouth. She remembered how dry the roots were and how hard they were to chew. “I am ready,” she said, and before she could change her mind, she put the roots in her mouth and began to chew.
It took a long time to soften them up enough to bite through, and though she did try to avoid swallowing her own saliva, it was difficult, and she thought to herself, since I’m the one who’s going to drink it, maybe it doesn’t matter too much. She chewed and chewed and chewed and chewed. It seemed to take forever, but finally her mouth held a soggy pulp, which she spit into the bowl. She stirred it with her finger, and watched the liquid turn a milky white.
Zelandoni was looking over her shoulder. “Is that what it’s supposed to do?” She seemed to be trying to detect its odor.
“Yes,” Ayla said. She could feel its primeval taste in her mouth. “Would you like to smell it?”
“It smells ancient,” the woman said, “like a deep cool wet forest full of moss and mushrooms. May I taste it?”
She was going to refuse. It was so sacred to the Clan, Iza couldn’t even make some just to show her how, and for a moment, Ayla was appalled that Zelandoni would ask. But then she realized this whole experiment was so far from anything the Clan would do that it could hardly matter if Zelandoni took a drink. Ayla held the bowl to the woman’s lips and watched her take much more than a sip, and pulled it back before she took too much.
Then she held it to her own mouth and drank it down quickly, making sure there was none left for anyone else to sample. That was how she got in trouble the first time. Iza had told her there was not supposed to be any left, but she had made too much, and after his first taste, The Mog-ur knew it was too strong. He controlled how much each man drank, and left some in the bottom of the bowl. Ayla had found it later, after she had ingested too much from chewing the root and had too much of the women’s drink besides. She was in such a confused state, she drank the rest down so none would be left. This time, she would make sure no one else would inadvertently be tempted to try it.
“When should we start to chant for you?” the First asked.
Ayla almost forgot about the chanting. “Probably should have started already,” she said, a slight slur in her voice