The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [84]
“Perhaps you are right,” Jondalar said, though he didn’t quite want to believe it. He wanted to give Marona the benefit of the doubt.
As the ceremony got under way, the two brothers got caught up in it, and thoughts of the jealous woman were forgotten. They hadn’t noticed another pair of eyes that were also watching Ayla: their cousin, Brukeval. He had admired the way Ayla stood up to the derisive laughter of the Cave when Marona tricked her into wearing inappropriate clothing that first day. When they met that evening, Ayla recognized his look of the Clan and felt comfortable with him. She treated him with an easy familiarity that he wasn’t used to, especially from beautiful women.
Then, when Charezal, that stranger from a distant Zelandoni Cave, began to make fun of him, derisively referring to him as a Flathead, Brukeval flew into a rage. He had been teased with that name by the other children of the Cave for as long as he could remember, and Charezal had obviously got wind of it. He had also heard that the way to get a reaction from the strange-looking cousin of the leader was to make innuendos about his mother. Brukeval never knew his mother; she died soon after he was born, but that only gave him reason to idealize her. She was not one of those animals! Could not be, and neither was he!
Though he knew Ayla was Jondalar’s woman, and there was no way he could ever win her from his tall, handsome cousin, in his mind, seeing her stand up to everyone’s laughter and not giving in to the ridicule made him admire her. For him it was love at first sight. Though Jondalar had always treated him well and never joined in when the others teased him, at that moment, he hated him, and hated Ayla as well because he couldn’t have her.
All the hurt that Brukeval had felt in his life, together with the nasty remarks from the young man who was trying to take Ayla’s attention away from him, erupted into uncontrollable anger. Afterward he noticed that Ayla seemed more distant, and no longer spoke to him with that familiar ease.
Jondalar didn’t say anything to Brukeval about her change in feeling toward him after his outburst, but Ayla had told him that Brukeval’s anger reminded her too much of Broud, the son of the leader of her clan. Broud had hated her from the beginning, and had caused her more pain and heartache than she ever could have imagined. She had learned to hate Broud as much as he hated her and, with good reason, to fear him. It was because of him that she was finally forced to leave the Clan, and to leave her son as well.
Brukeval remembered the warm glow he’d felt when they first met and watched Ayla from a distance whenever he could. The more he watched, the more enamored he became. When he saw the way she and Jondalar interacted, Brukeval would imagine himself in his cousin’s place. He even followed them when they went to some secluded place to share Pleasures, and when Jondalar tasted her milk, he hungered to do the same.
But he was wary of her, too, afraid she would call him a Flathead again, or her word for them, the Clan. Just their name, Flatheads, had caused him so much pain as he was growing up that he couldn’t bear the sound of it. He knew she didn’t think of them the way most people did, but that made it worse. She sometimes spoke of them fondly, with affection and even love, and he hated them. Brukeval’s feelings for Ayla were at cross-purposes. He loved Ayla, and he hated her.
The ceremonial part of the Matrimonial was long and drawn out. It was one of the few times when the complete names and ties of each of the Promised mates were recited. The matings were accepted by the members of their Caves agreeing aloud, and then by all the Zelandonii in attendance doing the same. Finally they were physically joined by a thong or cord that was wrapped, usually, around the right wrist of the woman and the left wrist of the man, although it could be the reverse, or even both left or both right wrists. After the cord was knotted, it would stay that way for the rest of the evening’s festivities.