The shelters of stone - Jean M. Auel [344]
She is so beautiful, he thought. She had never looked so beautiful. The deep straw-colored, dark golden-yellow tunic Nezzie had made for her, with pale ivory highlights of decorative beads, almost perfectly matched her hair, which tumbled down loosely, the way he liked it best.
Her only jewelry were the amber earrings in her newly pierced ears—the matched ambers from Tulie, he remembered—and the amber-and-shell necklace Marthona had given to her. The brilliant yellow-orange stones picked up highlights from the setting sun and shone resplendently between her bare breasts. The tunic, open in front but cinched at the waist, was unlike any of the others, but it suited Ayla perfectly.
Marthona, watching from the front of the audience, was pleasantly surprised when her son appeared in the white tunic. She knew the garment he had originally chosen, and it wasn’t hard to conclude that the white tunic was in the package she had delivered to Jondalar. The lack of decoration enhanced the simple purity of the color, which was embellishment enough. It didn’t need any more, although the ermine tails were a nice touch. She had seen the few bowls and implements Ayla used and noticed her penchant for simple but well-made objects. The white tunic was an outstanding example of that. There was something to be said for letting quality be its own adornment.
The simplicity of his outfit also made a striking contrast to hers. Marthona was certain that attempts would be made to copy Ayla’s outfit by more than one of the women watching, though probably none would get it quite right. She had examined it carefully when Ayla first showed it to her and knew the exquisite quality of the workmanship. Her outfit displayed wealth in the only way that had meaning for the Zelandonii: the time it took to make it. From the quality of the leather to the amber and the shells and the teeth, to the several thousand individually hand-carved ivory beads, this mating outfit was going to prove her case for Ayla’s high status. Her son’s hearth would be among the first.
Jondalar had eyes for no one but Ayla. Her eyes were bright, her mouth partly open to help fill her lungs, heaving with excitement. It was the look she wore when she was awed by something beautiful, or excited by the hunt, and Jondalar felt the blood draw to his loins. She is a golden woman, Jondalar thought. Golden like the sun. He wanted her, and he could hardly believe that this sensuously beautiful woman was going to be his mate. His mate … he liked the sound of that. She would share the home he planned to surprise her with. Would the ceremony ever begin? Would it ever end? He didn’t want to wait, he wanted to run over to her, pick her up, and carry her off.
The zelandonia had gathered around, and the First began a haunting chant. Then another Zelandoni joined in with a steady tone, and then a third. Each donier chose a sound, a tone with a pitch and timbre that sometimes varied in a repetitive melody, but that each was comfortable with sustaining. As the Zelandoni who would join the first couple began to speak, a whole chorus was maintaining a soft, continuous chant in the background, each one making a distinct tone. The combination might or might not be harmonic, it didn’t matter. Before the first one got out of breath, another voice would join in, and then another, and another at random intervals. The result was a droning, interweaving fugue of tones that could go on indefinitely, if there were enough people to provide sufficient rest for those people who had to stop for a while.
Though it was only in the background, the pleasant drone filled his mind as Jondalar stared, entranced, at the woman he loved. He hardly heard the words spoken by the zelandonia for the first few couples. Then he felt a slight poke from the man behind him, and jumped. They were saying his name. He walked toward the massive figure of Zelandoni, watching Ayla coming to meet him. They stood facing each other on opposite sides