The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [88]
“I understand how you felt, and you are even taller than me.” Galliadal turned his attention to Ayla. “Greetings to you,” he said, grasping her outstretched hands.
“In the name of the Great Mother of All, welcome,” Ayla replied.
“And who is this pretty little thing?” the visitor said, smiling at the baby.
“This is Jonayla,” Ayla said.
“Jon-Ayla! Your daughter, with his eyes, that’s a good name,” Galliadal said. “I hope you are coming tonight. I have a special story for you.”
“For me?” Ayla said with surprise.
“Yes. It’s about a woman who has a special way with animals. It’s been very well liked everywhere we’ve been,” Galliadal said with a big grin.
“Do you know someone who understands animals? I’d like to meet her,” Ayla said.
“You already know her.”
“But, the only person I know like that is me,” Ayla said, then blushed when she understood.
“Of course! I couldn’t pass up such a good story, but I don’t give her your name, and I changed some other things. Many people ask if the story is about you, but I never tell them. It makes it more interesting. I’ll be telling it when we get a good crowd. Come and listen.”
“Oh, we will,” Jondalar said. He had been watching Ayla and from her expression, he didn’t think she was particularly happy about the idea of a storyteller making up stories about her and telling them to all the Caves. He knew many people who would love the attention, but he didn’t think that she would. She already got more attention than she wanted, but he couldn’t blame Galliadal. He was a storyteller and Ayla’s story was a good one.
“It’s about you, too, Jondalar. I couldn’t leave you out,” the Storyteller said, with a wink. “You’re the one who was gone on a Journey for five years and brought her back with you.”
Jondalar winced to himself to hear that; it wasn’t the first time that stories had been told about him, and they weren’t always ones he wanted to have spread around. But it was best not to complain or make anything out of it; that would just add to the story. Storytellers loved to tell stories about individuals who were known, and people loved to hear them. Sometimes they used real names and other times, especially if they wanted to embellish the story, they would make up a name so people would have to guess who the story was about. Jondalar grew up hearing such stories, and he loved them, too, but he loved the Elder Legends and Histories of the Zelandonii better. He’d heard many stories about his mother when she was leader of the Ninth Cave, and the story about the great love of Marthona and Dalanar had been told so many times, it was almost legend.
Ayla and Jondalar chatted with him awhile, then wandered toward the camp of the Third Cave, stopping along the way to talk with various people they knew. As the evening deepened, it grew quite dark. Ayla stopped for a moment to look up. The moon was new, and without its glowing light to moderate their brilliance, the stars filled the night sky with an awe-inspiring profusion.
“The sky is so … full … I don’t know the right word,” Ayla said, feeling a touch of impatience with herself. “It is beautiful, but more than that. It makes me feel small, but in a way that makes me feel good. It is greater than us, greater than everything.”
“When the stars are bright like that, it is a wondrous sight,” Jondalar said.
While the bright stars did not bestow as much radiance as the moon would have, it did provide almost enough illumination to see their way. But the multitude of stars was not the only light. Every camp had great bonfires, and torches and lamps had been placed along paths between camps.
When they reached the camp of the Third Cave, Proleva was there with her sister, Levela, and their mother, Velima. They all greeted each other.
“I can’t believe how much Jonayla has grown in just a few moons,” Levela said. “And she’s so beautiful. She has Jondalar’s eyes. But she looks like you.”
Ayla smiled at the compliment to her baby, but deflected