The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [343]
“Cavoa is my acolyte,” S’Armuna remarked.
“Then I’ll show both of you how the firestone works,” Ayla said.
When she had gone through the process again and let them both try it, they were feeling more relaxed, though they were no less amazed at the properties of the strange stone. Cavoa even felt brave enough to ask Ayla about the munai.
“That figure I saw…”
“Jondalar made it for me, not long after we met. It was meant to show his feeling for me,” Ayla explained.
“You mean, if I wanted to show a person how important I think that person is, I could make a carving of that person’s face?” Cavoa said.
“I don’t see why not,” Ayla said. “When you make a munai, you know why you are making it. You have a special feeling inside you about it, don’t you?”
“Yes, and certain rituals go along with it,” the young woman said.
“I think it’s the feeling you put into it that makes the difference.”
“So I could carve someone’s face, if the feeling I put into it was good.”
“I don’t think there would be anything wrong with that at all. You are a very fine artist, Cavoa.”
“But, perhaps, it would be best,” S’Armuna cautioned, “if you did not make the whole figure. If you just made the head, there would be no confusion.”
Cavoa nodded in agreement; then both of them looked at Ayla, as though waiting for her approval. In the recesses of their private thoughts, both women still wondered who this visitor really was.
———
Ayla and Jondalar woke the next morning with every intention of leaving, but outside the lodge a dry snow was blowing so fiercely that it was hard even to see across the settlement.
“I don’t think we’ll be leaving today, not with a blizzard in the making,” Jondalar said, though he hated the thought of the delay. “I hope it blows over soon.”
Ayla went to the field and whistled for the horses, to make sure they were all right. She was relieved to see them appear out of the haze of wind-driven snow, and she led them to an area nearer the Camp that was protected from the wind. As she walked back, her mind was on their return trip to the Great Mother River, since she was the one who knew the way. She didn’t hear her name whispered at first.
“Ayla!” The whisper was louder. She looked around and saw Cavoa on the far side of the small lodge, staying out of view and beckoning to her.
“What is it, Cavoa?”
“I want to show you something, to see how you like it,” the young woman said. When Ayla got close, Cavoa took off her mitt. In her hand was a small roundish object, the color of mammoth ivory. She placed it carefully in Ayla’s palm. “I just finished it,” she said.
Ayla held it up and smiled with a look of wonder. “Cavoa! I knew you were good. I didn’t know you were this good,” she said, carefully examining the small carving of S’Armuna.
It was just the head of the woman, no hint of a body, not even a neck, but there was no doubt who the carving was meant to depict. The hair was pulled up into a bun near the top of the head, and the narrow face was slightly skewed, with one side somewhat smaller than the other, yet the beauty and the dignity of the woman were evident. It seemed to emanate from within the small work of art.
“Do you think it’s all right? Do you think she’ll like it?” Cavoa said. “I wanted to make something special for her.”
“I would like it,” Ayla said, “and I think it expresses your feeling for her very well. You have a rare and wonderful Gift, Cavoa, but you must be sure to use it well. There could be great power in it. S’Armuna was wise to choose you as her acolyte.”
By evening, a howling blizzard was raging, making it dangerous to move more than a few feet beyond the entrance of a lodge. S’Armuna was reaching for a bunch of dried greenery hanging from the rack near the entryway, planning to add it to a new batch of herbs she was mixing together for a potent drink she was preparing for the Fire Ceremony. The fire in the fireplace was burning low, and Ayla and Jondalar had just gone to bed. The woman planned to retire as soon as she finished.
Suddenly a blast of cold air and