The shelters of stone - Jean M. Auel [144]
Ayla lay down, thinking to rest a while until Jondalar came back. She was asleep almost as soon as she closed her eyes. When the fuel collectors returned with the wood, nearly everyone was asleep. They put it in a pile near the fireplace, then went to the sleeping places they had chosen. Jondalar noticed the wooden bowl she usually took with her and used to heat small amounts of water with hot stones for medicinal teas. She had also constructed a makeshift framework of antlers, shed the previous season, to support a waterbag directly over a flame. Although the deer bladder held water, it seeped a little, which prevented it from catching on fire when it was used for heating water or cooking.
Joharran stopped his brother to talk for a few moments. “Jondalar, I want to learn more about those spear-throwers. I saw that bison fall from your spear, and you were farther away than most. If we’d all had that weapon, we wouldn’t have had to get so close, and Shevonar might not have been trampled.”
“You know I’ll show anyone who wants to learn, but it does take practice,” Jondalar said.
“How long did it take you? I don’t mean to be as good as you are now, but to gain enough skill to really hunt with it?” Joharran asked.
“We’ve been using the spear-throwers for a few years now, but by the end of the first summer, we were hunting with them,” Jondalar said. “It wasn’t until the Journey back that we got good at hunting from the backs of the horses, though. Wolf can be a help, too.”
“It’s still hard to get used to the idea of using animals for anything besides meat or fur,” Joharran said. “I wouldn’t have believed you could if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. But it’s that spear-thrower I want to know more about. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
The brothers bade a good night to each other, then Jondalar went to where Ayla was sleeping and joined her. Wolf looked up. He watched her breathing quietly in the glow from the fire, then looked back at the wolf. I’m glad he’s always there watching out for her, he thought, and stroked his head, then he slipped in beside her. He was sorry Shevonar had died, not only because he was a member of the Ninth Cave, but because he knew how hard it was on Ayla when someone died and there was nothing she could do. She was a healer, but there were some wounds no one could heal.
Zelandoni had been busy all morning, preparing the body of Shevonar to be carried back to the Ninth Cave. Being near someone whose spirit had left the body was very disturbing for most people, and his burial would involve more than the usual ritual. It was considered very bad luck if someone died while hunting. If they were alone, the bad luck was obvious, the misfortune had been accomplished, but a Zelandoni usually performed a cleansing ritual to ward off any possible future effects. If two or three hunters went out and one of them died, it was still considered a personal matter, and a ceremony with the survivors and family members was adequate. But when someone died on a hunt that involved not just one Cave but the whole community, that was serious. Something on a community level had to be done.
The One Who Was First was thinking about what might be needed, perhaps a prohibition on the hunting of bison for the rest of the season to assuage the ill fortune might be required. Ayla saw her relaxing with a cup of tea near the fire, sitting on a stack of several thickly stuffed pads that had been brought for her on Whinney’s pole drag. She seldom sat on low cushions, finding it more and more difficult and cumbersome to get up as she grew more corpulent with each year.
Ayla approached the donier. “Zelandoni, can I talk to you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“If you’re too busy, it can wait. I just wanted to ask you something,