The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [404]
About the time that the First reached the lodge, another group of zelandonia appeared on the path leading down from the new cave carrying a litter, piled high with furs. As the procession approached, Folara and Aldanor could hear the distinctive interwoven sounds of zelandonia chanting. When the litter passed by, Folara looked at the young woman she had come to know and love, her brother’s mate. Ayla’s face was pasty white, and her breathing so shallow, she didn’t seem to be moving at all.
Folara was horrified, and Aldanor could see her alarm. “We have to get mother, and Proleva, and Joharran,” she said. “And Jondalar.”
Although it was difficult, and even a little embarrassing, the walk down to the lodge from the cave had helped to clear Zelandoni’s head. She dropped down on her large, comfortable stool gratefully and was glad for the cup of hot water. She hadn’t dared to suggest an herb or medicinal to counteract the effects of the root, not when she wasn’t thinking clearly, for fear its reaction in combination with the root might make the effects worse. Now that her head was more clear, though her body was still feeling the effects of the powerful root, she decided to experiment on herself. She added some stimulating herbs to a second cup of hot water, and sipped it slowly, trying to judge if she could feel anything. She wasn’t sure if they helped, but at least they didn’t seem to make things worse.
She stood up, and with a little assistance, went back to the bed, recently vacated by Laramar, where they had put Ayla. “Have you tried to give her hot water?” she asked.
“We haven’t been able to get her mouth open,” said a young acolyte who was standing nearby.
The First tried to pry Ayla’s mouth open, but her jaws were clamped shut, as though she were straining against something with all her might. The Donier pulled back the covers and noticed her whole body was rigid. She was icy cold and clammy to the touch in spite of all the furs on her.
“Pour some hot water in that large bowl,” she said to the young man. Several others who were standing around hurried to help him.
She hadn’t been able to open the young woman’s mouth. If she couldn’t get any heat inside her, she would have to try to apply more heat from the outside. The First took several of the pieces of bandage material, both soft skins and fabric, that were still nearby and dumped them into the bowl of steaming water. Carefully, she squeezed the hot liquid out and applied a hot dressing to Ayla’s arm. By the time she put another one on the other arm, the first one was cold.
“Keep more hot water coming,” she said.
She untied the rope that was wrapped around Ayla’s garment, and with the help of several zelandonia to lift her, unwound it from around her, noting the ingenious way it had secured the buckskin on her. Ayla was not quite naked, the First noted. She was wearing an arrangement of straps that held on the absorbent leather pad stuffed with cattail fuzz between her legs.
It is either her moontime, or she is still bleeding from the miscarriage, Zelandoni thought. If nothing else, it means Laramar did not start new life in her. Matter-of-factly, the Donier checked to see if she needed to be changed, but it appeared she was at the end of her flow. It was barely soiled, and she left the pad intact.
Then, with the help of several other Doniers, she began placing hot, damp absorbent skins and cloths on Ayla in an attempt to drive away the deep cold that held the young woman. She herself had had only a taste of