The shelters of stone - Jean M. Auel [15]
It took a moment before she became aware of something curious. Though the young woman seemed to be entirely fluent in Zelandonii—her command of the language was so good, she used it like one born to it—there could be no doubt she was a foreigner.
The One Who Served was not unfamiliar with visitors who spoke with the accent of another language, but Ayla’s speech had a strangely exotic quality, unlike anything she’d ever heard. Her voice was not unpleasant, somewhat low-pitched, but a little throaty, and she had trouble with certain sounds. She recalled Jondalar’s remark about how far he had gone on his Journey, and a thought crossed Zelandoni’s mind in the few heartbeats that the two women stood confronting each other: this woman had been willing to travel a great distance to come home with him.
Only then did she notice that the young woman’s face had a distinctly foreign look and tried to identify the difference. Ayla was attractive, but one expected that of any woman Jondalar would bring home. Her face was somewhat broader and shorter than that of Zelandonii women, but nicely proportioned, with a well-defined jaw. She was a shade taller than the older woman, and her rather dark blond hair was enhanced with sun-lightened streaks. Her clear gray-blue eyes held secrets, a strong will, but no hint of malice.
Zelandoni nodded, and turned to Jondalar. “She’ll do.”
He let out a breath, then looked from one to the other. “How did you know this was Zelandoni, Ayla? You haven’t been introduced yet, have you?”
“It was not hard. You still love her, and she loves you.”
“But … but … how…?” he sputtered.
“Don’t you know I’ve seen that look in your eyes? Don’t you think I understand how a woman who loves you feels inside?” Ayla said.
“Some people would be jealous if they saw someone they loved looking at someone else with love,” he said.
Zelandoni suspected that the “some people” he was thinking of was himself. “Don’t you think she can see a handsome young man and a fat old woman, Jondalar? It’s what anyone would see. Your love for me is no threat to her. If your memory still blinds you, I am grateful enough.”
She turned to Ayla. “I wasn’t sure about you. If I had felt you weren’t right for him, it would not matter how far you have traveled, you would never mate him.”
“Nothing you could do would stop it,” Ayla said.
“See?” Zelandoni said, turning to look at Jondalar. “I told you if she was right for you, I couldn’t hurt her.”
“Did you think Marona was right for me, Zelandoni?” Jondalar said with a touch of irritation, beginning to feel as though between them, he had no right to make up his own mind. “You never objected when I was promised to her.”
“That didn’t matter. You didn’t love her. She couldn’t hurt you.”
Both women were looking at him, and though they bore no resemblance to each other, their expressions were so similar, they seemed to look alike. Suddenly Jondalar laughed. “Well, I’m glad to know the two loves of my life are going to be friends,” he said.
Zelandoni raised an eyebrow and gave him a stern look. “Whatever makes you think we are going to be friends?” she said, but she smiled to herself as she left.
Jondalar felt a strange set of mixed emotions as he watched Zelandoni leave, but he was pleased that the powerful woman appeared willing to accept Ayla. His sister had been friendly toward her, too, and his mother. All the women that he really cared about seemed ready to welcome her—at least for now, he thought. His mother had even told her she would do whatever she could to make Ayla feel at home.
The leather drape across the entrance moved and Jondalar felt a tingle of surprise when he saw his mother, since he had just been thinking about her. Marthona entered, carrying the preserved stomach of some middle-size animal filli of a liquid that had seeped through the nearly waterproof container enough to stain it a deep purple. Jondalar’s face lit up with a grin.
“Mother, you brought out some of