The shelters of stone - Jean M. Auel [158]
Joharran nodded to the others when the last few shovelfuls of loose earth were pitched out of the hole. It was deep enough. They gathered up the tools and quickly left. Still not speaking, they walked far away from the living areas to a place that had been selected earlier, one seldom frequented by people.
Joharran thrust the pick end of the mattock into the ground, then the diggers dug a second hole, smaller than the first, took off the hoods and coverings and threw them into it, then carefully filled the dirt back in. The digging tools would be returned to the special place they were kept, but the diggers were careful not to let any part of the tools touch any part of their own naked bodies, except for their ochre-reddened hands.
They went directly to a special small cave near the valley floor in the cave-pocked limestone cliffs. A carved post with the Zelandonii abelan and other markings was planted in the ground in front of it. They went in, replaced the burial digging tools, and quickly left, grasping the post with both hands and murmuring a few sounds under their breaths asking for the protection of the Mother as they went. Then they followed a snaking path to another cave in the highland, the one used primarily by the zelandonia for ceremonies involving men and boys.
The six Zelandonia of the Caves that took part in the tragic hunt were waiting for them outside the cave, along with several acolytes. They had water, heated almost to the boil with hot rocks, and several varieties of saponin-producing plants, generally referred to as soaproots. The foamy lather turned red from the ochre powder used to protect their hands and feet. Hot water, almost too hot to stand, was poured over their stained appendages into a small hole dug in the earth. The ablution was performed a second time, making sure no trace of red remained. They even cleaned under their fingernails with small pointed sticks. Then they washed a third time. They were inspected and, if necessary, washed again, until each Zelandoni was satisfied.
Then each man took watertight baskets of warm water and more soaproots and washed his entire body, including his hair. Only when they were finally declared purified, and were allowed to don their own clothing, did they breathe easier. The One Who Was First gave each of them a cup of hot, bitter-tasting tea, instructing them to first rinse out their mouths, spit it out in a special hole, then drink the rest. They rinsed and swallowed hurriedly and left quickly, relieved that this part was over. None of them liked being so close to such powerful magic.
Jondalar and the other men walked into Joharran’s home, talking softly, still conscious of their close contact with the world of the spirits.
“Ayla was here looking for you, Jondalar,” Proleva said. “She left, then came back with some delicious tea. We talked a little, but then several people came to talk about the burial feast. She offered to help, but I told her next time. I’m sure Zelandoni has other plans for her. She left not long ago. I have to go, too. There’s some food and hot tea for you in the cooking room.”
“Did Ayla say where she was going?” Jondalar asked.
“To your mother’s.”
“Thank you. I’ll go see what she wanted.”
“Have a bite to eat first. That was hard work,” Proleva said.
He ate quickly, washed it down with some tea, then started out. “Let me know when the zelandonia are ready, Joharran,” Jondalar said as he left.
Everyone was sitting around the low table, drinking Marthona’s wine, when he went into his mother’s dwelling.
“Get your cup, Jondalar,” she said.