The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [314]
Jondalar gave the figure to Ayla, and a shiver went through her at the moment she touched it. I should have taken my fur parka when we went out, she said to herself, but she could not help feeling that it was more than the cold that had made her feel such a sharp chill.
“That munai began as the dust of the earth,” the woman stated.
“Dust?” Ayla said. “But this is stone!”
“Yes, it is now. I turned it to stone.”
“You turned it to stone? How can you turn dust to stone?” Jondalar said, full of disbelief.
The woman smiled. “If I tell you, would it make you believe my power?”
“If you can convince me,” the man retorted.
“I will tell you, but I won’t try to convince you. You will have to convince yourself. I started with hard, dry clay from the river’s edge and pounded it to dusty earth. Then I mixed in water.” S’Armuna paused for a moment, wondering if she should say anything more about the mixture. She decided against it for now. “When it was the right consistency, it was shaped. Fire and hot air turned it to stone,” the shaman stated, watching to see how the two young strangers would react, whether they would show disdain or be impressed, whether they would doubt or believe her.
The man closed his eyes trying to recall something. “I remember hearing … from a Losadunai man, I think … something about Mother figures made of mud.”
S’Armuna smiled. “Yes, you could say we make munai out of mud. Animals, too, when we have need to call upon their spirits, many kinds of animals, bears, lions, mammoths, rhinos, horses, whatever we want. But they are mud only while they are being shaped. A figure made of the dust of the earth mixed with water, even after it has hardened, will melt in water back to the mud from which it was formed, then turn to dust, but after it is brought to life by Her sacred flame, it is forever changed. Passing through the Mother’s searing heat makes the figures as hard as stone. The living spirit of the fire makes them endure.”
Ayla saw the fire of excitement in the woman’s eyes, and it reminded her of Jondalar’s excitement when he was first developing the spear-thrower. She realized that S’Armuna was reliving the thrill of discovery, and it convinced her.
“They are brittle, even more than flint,” the woman continued. “The Mother Herself has shown how they can be broken, but water will not change them. A munai made of mud, once touched by Her living fire, can stay outside in the rain and snow, can even soak in water and will never melt.”
“You do indeed command the power of the Mother,” Ayla said.
The woman hesitated an instant, then asked, “Would you like to see?”
“Oh, yes, I would,” Ayla said at the same time as Jondalar replied, “Yes, I’d be very interested.”
“Then come, I will show you.”
“Can I get my parka?” Ayla said.
“Of course,” S’Armuna said. “We should all put warmer clothes on, although if we were having the Fire Ceremony, it would be so hot that if you were anywhere near it, you would not need furs, not even on a day like this. Everything is nearly ready. We would have made the fire and begun the ceremony tonight, but it takes time, and the proper concentration. We’ll wait until tomorrow. Tonight we have an important feast to attend.”
S’Armuna stopped for a moment and closed her eyes, as though listening, or considering a thought that had occurred to her. “Yes, a very important feast,” she repeated, looking straight at Ayla. Does she know the danger that threatens her? the shaman wondered. If she is who I think, she must.
They ducked into the shaman’s lodge and slipped on their outer garments. Ayla noticed the young woman had left. Then S’Armuna led them some distance beyond her dwelling to the farthest edge of the settlement, toward a group of women working around a rather innocuous construction that resembled a small earthlodge with a sloped roof. The women were bringing dried dung, wood, and bone into the small structure, materials for a fire, Ayla realized. She recognized the pregnant young woman among them and smiled at her. Cavoa smiled