The shelters of stone - Jean M. Auel [28]
“How did you do that?” Folara asked, completely astonished.
“I’ll show you later,” Ayla said. “Right now, let’s keep this fire going so we can get some water boiling for Zelandoni.”
Folara felt a rush of something like fear. “How did you know what I was going to do?”
Ayla glanced at her, then looked again. Folara’s face showed her consternation. With one brother’s return after a long absence, bringing tame animals and a unknown woman with him, then learning of the death of the other brother, and seeing Willamar’s unexpected and disturbing reaction, it had been a tense, exciting, and anxious day. After the stranger appeared to create fire by magic and then seemed to know something that no one had told her, Folara began to wonder if all the speculation and gossip about Jondalar’s woman having supernatural powers could be true. Ayla could see she was overwrought and was fairly sure she knew why.
“I met Zelandoni. I know she’s your healer. That’s why you went to get her, isn’t it?” Ayla asked.
“Yes, she’s the donier,” the young woman said.
“Healers usually like to make a tea or a drink to help calm someone who is upset. I assumed that she asked you to boil water for her to make it with,” Ayla carefully explained.
Folara visibly relaxed; it was perfectly reasonable.
“And I promise I’ll show you how to make fire like that. Anyone can do it … with the right stones.”
“Anyone?”
“Yes, even you,” Ayla said, smiling.
The young woman smiled, too. She had been dying of curiosity about the woman and had so many questions she wanted to ask, but she hadn’t wanted to be impolite. Now she had even more questions, but the foreign woman did not feel so unapproachable. In fact, she seemed rather nice.
“Would you tell me about the horses, too?”
Ayla gave her big pleased grin. She suddenly realized that although Folara might be every inch a tall and beautiful young woman, she hadn’t been one for too long. She’d have to ask Jondalar how many years Folara counted, but Ayla suspected that she was still quite young, probably close in age to Latie, the daughter of Nezzie, who was the mate of the Mamutoi Lion Camp’s headman.
“Of course. I’ll even take you down to meet them,” she glanced toward the low table where everyone was gathered, “maybe tomorrow, after everything is calmed down. You can go down and look at them any time you want, but don’t get too close by yourself until the horses get to know you.”
“Oh, I won’t,” Folara said.
Recalling Latie’s fascination with the horses, Ayla smiled and asked, “Would you like to ride on Whinney’s back sometime?”
“Oh! Could I?” Folara asked, breathless, her eyes open wide. At that moment, Ayla could almost see Latie in Jondalar’s sister. She had developed such a passion for the horses that Ayla had wondered if she might try to get a baby horse of her own someday.
Ayla went back to her fire-making as Folara reached for the waterbag—the waterproof stomach of some large animal. “I need to get more water. This is almost empty,” the young woman said.
The coal was still glowing, barely alive. Ayla blew on it a little more, added shavings, then the small kindling that Folara had given her, and finally a few of the larger pieces of wood. She saw the cooking stones and put several into the fire to heat. When Folara returned, the waterbag was bulging and seemed quite heavy, but the young woman was obviously used to lifting it and filled a deep wooden bowl with water, likely the one that Marthona used for making tea. Then she gave Ayla the wooden tongs with the slightly charred ends. When she felt they were hot enough, Ayla used the tongs to pick up a hot stone. It sizzled and sent up a cloud of steam when she dropped it in the water. She added a second, then fished out the first one and replaced it with a third, and then more.
Folara went to tell Zelandoni the water was nearly ready. Ayla knew she must have told her something else as well from