The Mammoth Hunters - Jean M. Auel [278]
“Mother, I don’t know what to wear today. I can’t make up my mind,” Latie wailed, nervous about the first ceremony that would acknowledge her elevated status.
“Let’s take a look,” Nezzie said, casting a last glance toward the river. Jondalar was not in sight.
28
Jondalar spent the entire morning walking along the river, his mind in a turmoil, hearing over and over again Ranec’s joyful words. Ayla had agreed. They would announce their Promise at the ceremony that evening. He kept telling himself that he had expected it all along, but faced with it, he realized he hadn’t. It had come as a much bigger shock than he ever imagined it would. Like Thonolan after he lost Jetamio, he wanted to die.
Nezzie had had some basis for her fears. Jondalar had not walked down toward the river for any particular purpose. It just happened to be the direction he took, but once he reached the turbulent watercourse, he found it strangely compelling. It seemed to offer peace, relief from pain and sorrow and confusion, but he only stared at it. Something equally compelling held him back. Unlike Jetamio, Ayla was not dead, and as long as she was alive a small fire of hope could burn, but more than that, he feared for her safety.
He found a secluded area screened by brush and small trees overlooking the river, and tried to prepare for the ordeal of the evening’s festivities, which would include the Promise Ceremony. He told himself it wasn’t as though she was actually joining-with Ranec this evening. She was only Promising to establish a hearth with him sometime in the future, and he had made a promise, too. Jondalar had told Mamut he would stay until after the Spring Festival, but it wasn’t the promise that held him. Though he had no idea what it could be, or what he might be able to do, he could not leave knowing that Ayla faced some unknown danger even if it meant watching her Promise to Ranec. If Mamut, who knew the ways of the spirits, sensed some danger to her, Jondalar could only expect the worst.
* * *
Around noon, Ayla told Mamut that she was going to begin her preparations for the root ceremony. They had gone over the details several times until she felt reasonably sure that she hadn’t forgotten anything important. She gathered up clean clothing, a soft, absorbent, buckskin deer hide, and several other things, but instead of leaving through the annex, she headed toward the cooking hearth on her way out. She both wanted to see Jondalar, and hoped she wouldn’t, and was disappointed and relieved to find only Wymez at the toolmaking area. He said he hadn’t seen Jondalar since early that morning, but was happy to give her the small nodule of flint she wanted.
When she reached the river, she walked upstream along it for a distance, looking for a place that felt right. She stopped where a small creek joined the large river. The little waterway had washed around a rock outcrop which formed a high bank on the opposite side, blocking the wind. A screen of new-budding brush and trees made it a secluded, protected place, and also provided dry wood from the previous year’s deadfall.
Jondalar watched the river from his secluded vantage point, but he was so introspective he didn’t really see the wild, muddy, rushing water. He hadn’t even been aware of the changing shadows as the sun climbed higher in the sky, and was startled when he heard someone approaching. He was in no mood for conversation, for trying to be pleasant and friendly on this day of celebration for the Mamutoi, and quickly slipped behind some brush to wait, unnoticed, until the person passed by. When he saw Ayla coming, and then obviously deciding to stay, he was at a loss. He thought about slipping away quietly,