The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [411]
It wasn’t hard to understand what he meant, Jondalar thought. He made the signs again for “This man is called…” then spoke his name, but only his given name, and more slowly, “Jondalar.”
The man closed his eyes, concentrating, then opened them and, taking a breath, spoke out loud, “Dyondar.”
Jondalar smiled, and nodded yes. There was a deep-voiced, not fully articulated quality to the word, and a sense of swallowing the vowels, but it was close enough. And strangely familiar. Then it came to him! Of course! Ayla! Her words still had that same quality, though not nearly as strong. That was her unusual accent. No wonder no one could identify it. She had a Clan accent, and no one knew they could talk!
Ayla was surprised at how well the man had said Jondalar’s name. She doubted if she had said it that well the first time she tried, and she wondered if this man had had contact with Others before. If he had been chosen to represent his people, or make some form of contact with the ones known as the Others, it would be an indication of high status. All the more reason, she understood, for him to be wary of kinship bonds with Others, especially Others of unknown status. He would not want to devalue his own status, but an obligation was an obligation, and whether he or his mate was ready to admit it, they still needed help. Somehow she had to convince him that they were Others who understood the significance and were worthy of the association.
The man facing Jondalar slapped his chest once, then leaned forward slightly. “Guban,” he said.
Jondalar had as much trouble repeating his name as Guban had had with “Jondalar,” and Guban was as generous in accepting the tall man’s mispronunciation as Jondalar had been of his.
Ayla felt relieved. An exchange of names wasn’t much, but it was a start. She glanced at the woman, still startled to see hair coloring lighter than her own on a woman of the Clan. Her head was covered with a fluff of soft curls, so light that it was almost white, but she was young and very attractive. Probably a second woman at his hearth. Guban was a man in his prime, and this woman was probably from a different clan, and quite a prize.
The woman looked at Ayla, then away quickly. Ayla wondered. She had seen worry and fear in the woman’s eyes and looked more closely, but with as much subtlety as the young Clan woman had used. Was there a thickening at the waist? Did her wrap fit a little tight across her breasts? She’s pregnant! No wonder she’s worried. A man with a badly healed broken leg would no longer be in his prime. And while this man might have high status, he no doubt had heavy responsibilities as well. Somehow, Ayla thought, she had to convince Guban to let her help him.
The two men had been sitting watching each other. Jondalar was not sure what to do next, and Guban was waiting to see what he would do. Finally, in desperation, he turned to her.
“This woman is Ayla,” he said, using his simple signs and then speaking her name.
At first Ayla thought he might have committed a social blunder, but seeing Guban’s reaction, decided perhaps not. Introducing her so quickly was an indication of the high esteem in which she was held, appropriate for a medicine woman. Then, as he continued, she wondered if he had seen into her thoughts.
“Ayla is healer. Very good healer. Good medicine. Want help Guban.”
To the man of the Clan, Jondalar’s signs were hardly more than baby talk. There were no nuances to his meaning, no suggestive shadings, no degrees of complexity, but his sincerity was clear. It was a surprise in itself to discover a man of the Others who could speak properly at all. Most of them chattered, or muttered, or growled like animals. They were like children in their excessive use of sound, but then, the Others weren’t considered very bright.
The woman, on the other hand, had a surprising depth of understanding