Page 94 of The Shelters of Stone (Earth's Children 5)

“No, I didn’t know that,” she said, pleased to learn something about her mother and her mother’s mate.

No wonder he’s a good trader, Ayla thought. He has a way with people. He can make anyone feel comfortable. Mejera seemed a little more relaxed, but still a bit overwhelmed by all the attention. Ayla understood how she felt.

“Proleva, I saw some people starting to dry meat from the hunt,” Ayla said. “I’m not sure how meat is divided, or who is supposed to preserve it, but I’d like to help if it’s appropriate.”

The woman smiled. “Of course you can help, if you want. It’s a lot of work, we’d welcome your help.”

“I know I would,” Folara said. “It can be a long, tedious job, unless there are a lot of people working on it. Then it can be fun.”

“The meat itself and half the fat is for everyone to use as they need,” Proleva continued, “but the rest of the animal, the hide, horns, antlers, and all, belongs to the person who killed it. I think you and Jondalar each have a megaceros and a bison, Ayla. Jondalar killed the bison who sacrificed Shevonar, but that one was given back to the Mother. We buried it near his grave. The leaders decided to give both Jondalar and you another one. Animals are marked when they’re butchered, usually with charcoal. By the way, they didn’t know your abelan, and you were busy with Shevonar, so someone asked Zelandoni of the Third. He made a temporary one for you so your hides and other parts could be marked.”

Jondalar smiled. “What does it look like?” He was always conscious of his own enigmatic abelan and curious about the name marks of others.

“I think he saw you as protective or sheltering, Ayla,” Proleva said. “Here, I’ll show you.” She took a stick, smoothed the dirt, and drew a line straight down. Then she added a line starting near the top and slanting down somewhat on one side, and a third line matching it on the other side. “It reminds me of a tent or shelter of some kind, something to get under if it was raining.”

“I think you’re right,” Jondalar said. “It’s not a bad abelan for you, Ayla. You do tend to be protective and helpful, especially if someone is sick or hurt.”

“I can draw my abelan,” Jaradal said. Everyone smiled indulgently. The stick was given to him, and he was allowed to make the drawing. “Do you have one?” he said to Mejera.

“I’m sure she does, Jaradal, and she will probably be happy to show you. Later,” Proleva said, gently reprimanding her son. A little attention was all right, but she didn’t want him to get in the habit of demanding attention from the adults around him.

“What do you think of your abelan, Ayla?” Jondalar said. He wondered about her reaction to being assigned a Zelandonii symbol.

“Since I didn’t get an elandon with an abelan marked on it when I was born, at least not that I can remember,” Ayla said, “it’s as good a mark as any. I don’t mind using it as my abelan.”

“Did you ever get any kind of mark from the Mamutoi?” Proleva asked, wondering if Ayla already had an abelan. It was always interesting to learn how other people did things.

“When I was adopted by the Mamutoi, Talut cut a mark on my arm to draw blood so he could make a mark with it on the plaque he wore on his chest during ceremonies,” Ayla said.

“But it wasn’t a special mark?” Joharran said.

“It was special to me. I still have the scar,” she said, showing the mark on her arm. Then she added a thought that occurred to her: “It’s interesting how people use different ways of showing who they are, and who they belong to. When I was adopted by the Clan, I was given my amulet bag with a piece of red ochre in it, and when they name a person, the mog-ur makes a line in red from the forehead to the end of the nose. That’s when he tells everyone, especially the mother, what the baby’s totem is, by making the totem mark with salve on the infant.”

“Are you saying your people of the Clan have marks showing who they are?” Zelandoni said. “Like abelans?”

“I guess they are like abelans. When a boy becomes a man, the mog-ur cuts the mark of his totem on him, then rubs in a special ash to make it a tattoo. Girls are not usually cut on the skin, because when they grow up, they will bleed from the inside, but I was marked by the cave lion when he chose me. I have four marks from his claws on my leg. That’s the Clan mark for a cave lion, and that’s how Mog-ur knew he was my totem, even though it’s not usually a female totem mark. It is a man’s, given to a boy who is destined to be a strong hunter. When I was accepted as the Woman Who Hunts, Mog-ur made a cut here,” she put her finger on her throat, just above the breastbone, “to draw blood and used it to mark over the scars on my leg.” She showed the scars on her left thigh.

“Then you already have an abelan. That’s your mark, those four lines,” Willamar said.

“I think you are right,” Ayla said. “I don’t feel anything about the other mark, maybe because it’s just a mark of convenience, so that people will know who to give some hides to. Even though my Clan totem mark is not a Zelandonii sign, it is a mark that is special to me. It meant that I was adopted, that I belonged. I would like to use it as my abelan.”

Jondalar thought about what Ayla said about belonging. She had lost everything, she didn’t know to whom she was born, or who her people were. Then she had lost the people who raised her. She had referred to herself as “Ayla of No People” when she’d met the Mamutoi. It made him realize how important belonging was to her.

17

There was an insistent tap on the panel beside the entrance drape. It woke Jondalar, but he lay in his sleeping roll, wondering why someone wasn’t answering it. Then he realized that no one but him seemed to be home. He got up and called out, “Be there in a moment,” while he was putting on a few clothes. He was surprised to see Jonokol, the artist who was Zelandoni’s acolyte, only because the young man seldom paid a visit without his mentor. “Come in,” he said.

“The Zelandoni of the Ninth Cave says it is time,” Jonokol said.

Jondalar’s brow creased. He didn’t like the sound of that. He wasn’t entirely sure he understood what Jonokol meant, but he had a good idea, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. He’d had his share of the other world. He didn’t really want to have to deal with that place again.

“Did Zelandoni say what it was time for?” Jondalar asked.

Jonokol smiled at the tall man’s sudden nervousness. “She said you would know.”

“I’m afraid I do,” Jondalar said, resigning himself to the inevitable. “Can you wait until I find something to eat, Jonokol?”

“Zelandoni always says it’s best if you don’t.”

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