The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [289]
Jondalar’s explosive laugh was bitter. “Not Zolena, Zelandoni. Yes, I’ve seen her. We are good friends. I have even shared Pleasures with Zelandoni,” he said. “But she doesn’t choose just me anymore.” He started swimming downstream, fast and hard.
Ayla frowned and shook her head, then followed him back to the beach. She slipped her amulet on and tied on her wrap as she trailed him up the path. He was standing by the fireplace looking down at barely glowing coals when she walked in. She made a last adjustment to her wrap, then picked up some wood and fed it to the fire. He was still wet and she saw him shiver. She went to get his sleeping fur.
“The season is changing,” she said. “Evenings are cool. Here, you might get a chill.”
He held the fur around his shoulders awkwardly. It wasn’t right for him, she thought, a fur wrap. And if he’s going to leave, he should start before the season turns. She went to her sleeping place and picked up a bundle that was beside the wall.
“Jondalar … ?”
He shook his head to bring himself back to the present and smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes. When she started to untie the bundle, something fell out. She picked it up.
“What is this?” she asked in tones of frightened wonder. “How did it get here?”
“It’s a donii,” Jondalar said when he saw the piece of carved ivory.
“A donii?”
“I made it for you, for your First Rites. A donii should always be present at First Rites.”
Ayla bent her head to hide a sudden rush of tears. “I don’t know what to say, I have never seen anything like this. She is beautiful. She looks real, like a person. Almost like me.”
He lifted her chin. “I meant her to look like you, Ayla. A real carver would have done it better … no. A real carver would not have made a donii like this. I’m not sure if I should have. A donii does not usually have a face—the face of the Mother is unknowable. To put your face on that donii may have trapped your spirit there. That’s why she is yours, to keep in your possession, my gift to you.”
“I wonder why you put your gift here,” Ayla said as she finished untying the bundle. “I made this for you.”
He shook out the leather, and saw the garments, and his eyes brightened. “Ayla! I didn’t know you could do sewing or beadwork,” he said, examining the clothing.
“I didn’t do the beadwork. I just made new parts for the shirt you were wearing. I took apart the other clothes so I’d know what size and shape to make the pieces, and I looked at the way they were put together so I could see how it was done. I used the sewing awl you gave me—I don’t know if I used it right, but it worked.”
“It’s perfect!” he said, holding the shirt up to himself. He tried on the trousers and then the shirt. “I’ve been thinking about making clothes for myself that would be more appropriate for traveling. A breechclout is fine for here, but …”
It was out. Spoken aloud. Like the evil ones Creb had talked about, whose power came only from the recognition they were given when their names were spoken aloud, Jondalar’s leaving had become a fact. No longer was it a vague thought that would someday come about—it had substance now. And it drew more weight as their thoughts concentrated on it, until an oppressive physical presence seemed to have entered the cave, and would not go away.
Jondalar quickly took the clothes off and folded them into a pile. “Thank you, Ayla. I can’t tell you how much these mean. When it gets colder, they will be perfect, but I don’t need them yet,” he said, and he put the breechclout on.
Ayla nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She felt a pressure in her eyes, and the ivory figurine blurred. She brought it to her breast; she loved it. It had been made with his hands. He called himself a toolmaker, but he could do so much more. His hands were skilled enough to make an image that gave her the same feeling of tenderness she had felt when he made her know what it was to be a woman.
“Thank you,” she said, remembering the courtesy.
He frowned. “Don’t ever lose it,” he said. “With your face on it, and maybe your spirit in it, it might