The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [91]
“So will I,” Jondalar said.
When they arrived at the place, there seemed to be a break in the performance. A narrative had apparently just been concluded and a new one hadn’t yet begun. People were milling around; some were leaving, some were arriving, some changing positions. Ayla looked over the area to get a sense of the place. The low platform, though empty now, was big enough to hold three or four people with room to move about. There were two somewhat rectangular fire trenches not directly in front of the platform, but on either side, for light rather than heat. In between and on either side of the fires were several logs arranged somewhat haphazardly in rows and a few good-sized stones, all of them covered with stuffed pads for easier sitting. There was an open space in front of the logs where people were sittting on the ground, many on some kind of ground covering, like woven grass floor mats or hides.
Several people, who had been sitting on a log near the front, stood up and walked away. Levela headed purposefully in that direction and sat down on the soft pad that covered the tree trunk. Jondecam quickly sat beside her; then they claimed space beside them for their friends who had been delayed by someone who greeted them along the way. While they were exchanging pleasantries, Galliadal approached.
“You did decide to come,” he said, bending down to greet Ayla, touching his cheek to hers and, Jondalar thought, holding it there too long. Ayla felt Galliadal’s warm breath on her neck and noticed his pleasant manly smell, different from the one she was most familiar with. She also noticed the tension in Jondalar’s jaw, in spite of his smile.
Several people were crowding around them and Ayla thought they probably wanted the storyteller’s attention. She had noticed that many people liked to flock around Galliadal, especially young women, and some were looking at her with a kind of expectancy, as though they were waiting for something. She didn’t think she liked it.
“Levela and Jondecam are holding places in front for us,” Jondalar said. “We should go and claim them.”
She smiled at Jondalar, and they went to join their friends, but when they arrived, some other people were also sitting on the log, taking some of the space Levela and Jondecam had been holding. They all crowded together, then waited.
“I wonder what’s taking so long,” Jondecam said, getting a bit impatient.
Jondalar noticed that more people were arriving. “I think they are waiting to see how many are coming. You know how it is: once they start, storytellers don’t like to have a lot of people moving around; it disrupts the telling. They don’t mind a few slipping in quietly, but most people don’t like to come in the middle of a story either. They’d rather hear it from the beginning. I think a lot of people were waiting until they were done with the story they were on. When they saw people moving away, they decided that was the time to come.”
Galliadal and several other people had stepped up to the low platform. They waited until people noticed them. When everyone stopped talking and it became quiet, the tall dark-haired man began.
“Far away in the land of the dawning sun …”
“That’s the way all stories start,” Jondalar whispered to Ayla, as though he was pleased that it had begun right.
“… there lived a woman and her mate and her three children. The eldest was a boy named Kimacal.” When the Storyteller mentioned the first of the woman’s offspring, a young man who was also on the platform stepped forward and made a slight bow, implying that he was the one referred to. “The next one was a girl named Karella.” A young woman did a pirouette that ended in a bow when he mentioned the second child. “The youngest one was a boy named Wolafon.” Another young man pointed to himself and grinned proudly when the third child was announced.
There was a slight murmur in the audience, and a few chuckles when the name of the youngest child was mentioned as people perceived a connection