Jean M. Auel - The Shelters of Stone

THE SHELTERS OF STONE

Jean M. Auel

1.

People were gathering on the limestone ledge, looking down at them warily. No one made a gesture of welcome, and some

held spears in positions of readiness if not actual threat. The young woman could almost feel their edgy fear. She watched from

the bottom of the path as more people crowded together on the ledge, staring down, many more than she thought there would be.

She had seen that reluctance to greet them from other people they had met on their Journey. It's not just them, she told herself, it's

always that way in the beginning, but she felt uneasy.

The tall man jumped down from the back of the young stallion. He was neither reluctant nor uneasy, but he hesitated for a

moment, holding the stallion's halter rope. He turned around and noticed that she was hanging back. "Ayla, will you hold Racer's

rope? He seems nervous," he said, then looked up at the ledge. "I guess they do too."

She nodded, lifted her leg over, slid down from the mare's back, and took the rope. In addition to the tension of seeing strange

people, the young brown horse was still agitated around his dam. She was no longer in heat, but residual odors from her

encounter with the herd stallion still clung. Ayla held the halter rope of the brown male close, but gave the dun-yellow mare a long

lead, and stood between them. She considered giving Whinney her head; her horse was more accustomed to large groups of

strangers now, and was not usually high-strung, but she seemed nervous too. That throng of people would make anyone

nervous.

When the wolf appeared, Ayla heard sounds of agitation and alarm from the ledge in front of the cave-if it could be called a

cave. She'd never seen one quite like it. Wolf pressed against the side of her leg and moved somewhat in front of her,

suspiciously defensive; she could feel the vibration of his barely audible growl. He was much more guarded around strangers

now than he had been when they began their long Journey a year ago, but he had been little more than a puppy then, and he had

become more protective of her after some perilous experiences.

As the man strode up the incline toward the apprehensive people, he showed no fear, but the woman was glad for the

opportunity to wait behind and observe them before she had to meet them. She'd been expecting-dreading-this moment for more

than a year, and first impressions were important… on both sides.

Though others held back, a young woman rushed toward him. Jondalar recognized his younger sister immediately, though the

pretty girl had blossomed into a beautiful young woman during the five years of his absence.

"Jondalar! I knew it was you!" she said, flinging herself at him. "You finally came home!"

He gave her a big hug, then picked her up and swung her around in his enthusiasm. "Folara, I am so happy to see you!" When

he put her down, he looked at her at arm's length. "But you've grown. You were just a girl when I left, now you're a beautiful

woman… just as I always knew you'd be," he said, with slightly more than a brotherly glint in his eye.

She smiled at him, looked into his unbelievably vivid blue eyes and was drawn by their magnetism. She felt herself flush, not

from his compliment, although that's what those standing nearby thought, but from the rush of attraction she felt for the man,

brother or not, whom she had not seen for many years. She had heard stories of her handsome big brother with the unusual

eyes, who could charm any woman, but her memory was of a tall adoring playmate who was willing to go along with any game or

activity she wanted to play. This was the first time as a young woman that she was exposed to the full effect of his unconscious

charisma. Jondalar noticed her reaction and smiled warmly at her sweet confusion.

She glanced away toward the bottom of the path near the small river. "Who is that woman, Jondé?" she asked. "And where

did the animals come from? Animals run away from people, why don't those animals run away from her? Is she a Zelandoni? Has

she Called them?" Then she frowned. "Where's Thonolan?" She took a sharp intake of breath at the look of pain that tightened

Jondalar's brow.

"Thonolan travels the next world now, Folara," he said, "and I wouldn't be here if it weren't for that woman."

"Oh, Jondé! What happened?"

"It's a long story, and this is not the time to tell it," he said, but Ayla watched from the foot of the path while people surrounded

him, welcoming him with smiles, hugs, kisses, pats, handshakes using both hands, and many words. She noticed a hugely fat

woman, a brown-haired man whom Jondalar hugged, and an older woman that he greeted warmly and then kept his arm around.

Probably his mother, she thought, and wondered what the woman would think of her.

These people were his family, his kin, his friends, people he had grown up with. She was a stranger, a disturbing stranger

who brought animals and who knew what other threatening foreign ways and outrageous ideas. Would they accept her? What if

they didn't? She couldn't go back, her people lived more than a year's travel to the east. Jondalar had promised that he would leave

with her if she wanted-or was forced-to go, but that was before he saw everyone, before he was greeted so warmly. How

would he feel now?

She felt a nudge behind her and reached up to stroke Whinney's sturdy neck, grateful that her friend had reminded her that

she was not alone. When she lived in the valley, after she left the Clan, for a long time the horse had been her only companion.

She hadn't noticed the slack in Whinney's rope as the horse moved closer to her, but she gave Racer a bit more lead. The mare

and her offspring usually found friendship and comfort in each other, but when the mare came into season it had disturbed their

usual pattern.

More people-how could there be so many?-were looking in her direction, and Jondalar was talking earnestly with the

brown-haired man, then he waved at her, and smiled. When he started back down, he was followed by the young woman, the

brown-haired man, and a few others. Ayla took a deep breath and waited.

As they approached, the wolf's growl became louder. She reached down to keep him close to her. "It's all right, Wolf. It's just

Jondalar's kin," she said. Her calming touch was a signal to him to stop growling, not to appear too threatening. The signal had

been difficult to teach him, but worth the effort, especially now, she thought. She wished she knew of a touch that would calm

her.

The group with Jondalar stopped a little distance back, trying not to show their trepidation, or to stare at the animals that openly

stared at them and held their place even when strange people approached them. Jondalar stepped into the breach.

"I think we should start with formal introductions, Joharran," he said, looking at the brown-haired man.

As Ayla dropped both halter ropes in preparation for a formal introduction, which required contact with both hands, the horses

stepped back, but the wolf stayed. She noticed the glint of fear in the man's eye, although she doubted that this man was afraid of

much, and glanced at Jondalar, wondering if he had a reason for wanting formal introductions immediately. She looked closely at

the unfamiliar man and was suddenly reminded of Brun, the leader of the clan that she grew up with. Powerful, proud, intelligent,

competent, he had feared little-except the world of the spirits.

"Ayla, this is Joharran, Leader of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, son of Marthona, former Leader of the Ninth Cave, born to

the hearth of Joconan, former Leader of the Ninth Cave," the tall blond man said with seriousness, then grinned, "not to mention

Brother of Jondalar, Traveler to Distant Lands."

There were a few quick smiles. His comment relieved the tension somewhat. Strictly, in a formal introduction, a person could

give the entire list of their names and ties to validate their status-all their own designations, titles, and accomplishments, and all

their kin and their relationships, along with their titles and accomplishments-and some did. But as a matter of practice, except in the

most ceremonial of circumstances, just the primary ones were mentioned. It was not uncommon, however, for young people,

especially brothers, to make jocular additions to the long and sometimes tedious recitation of one's kinships, and Jondalar was

reminding him of past years, before he was burdened with the responsibilities of leadership.

"Joharran, this is Ayla of the Mamutoi, Member of the Lion Camp, Daughter of the Mammoth Hearth, Chosen by the Spirit of the

Cave Lion, and Protected by the Cave Bear."

The brown-haired man crossed the distance between himself and the young woman, and held out both hands, palms up, in the

understood gesture of welcome and open-handed friendship. He did not recognize any of her ties, and he wasn't entirely sure

which were most important.

"In the name of Doni, the Great Earth Mother, I welcome you, Ayla of the Mamutoi, Daughter of the Mammoth Hearth," he said.

Ayla took both his hands. "In the name of Mut, Great Mother of All, I greet you, Joharran, Leader of the Ninth Cave of the

Zelandonii," then she smiled, "and Brother of the Traveler, Jondalar."

Joharran noticed, first, that she spoke his language well, but with an unusual accent, then he became conscious of her

strange clothings and her foreign look, but when she smiled, he smiled back. Partly because she had showed her understanding

of Jondalar's remark and let Joharran know that his brother was important to her, but mostly because he could not resist her smile.

Ayla was an attractive woman by anyone's standards: she was tall, had a firm well-shaped body, long dark blond hair that

tended to wave, clear blue-gray eyes, and fine features, though of a slightly different character from those of Zelandonii women.

But when she smiled, it was as if the sun had cast a special beam on her that lit each feature from within. She seemed to glow

with such stunning beauty, Joharran caught his breath. Jondalar had always said her smile was remarkable, and he grinned,

seeing that his brother was not immune to it.

Then Joharran noticed the stallion prance nervously toward Jondalar, and he eyed the wolf. "Jondalar tells me we need to

make some… ah… accommodation for these animals… somewhere nearby, I presume." Not too near, he thought.

"The horses just need a field with grass, near water, but we need to tell people that they shouldn't try to get close to them in

the beginning unless Jondalar or I am with them. Whinney and Racer are nervous around people until they get used to them," Ayla

said.

"I don't think that will be a problem," Joharran said, catching the movement of Whinney's tail, and eyeing her. "They can stay

here, if this small valley is appropriate."

"This will be fine," Jondalar said. "Though we may move them upstream, out of the way a little."

"Wolf is accustomed to sleeping near me," Ayla continued. She noticed Joharran's frown. "He's become quite protective and

might cause a commotion if he can't be close by."

She could see his resemblance to Jondalar, particularly in his forehead knotted with worry, and wanted to smile. But Joharran

was seriously concerned. This was not a time for smiles, even if his expression gave her a feeling of warm familiarity.

Jondalar, too, had seen his brother's worried frown. "I think this would be a good time to introduce Joharran to Wolf," he said.

Joharran's eyes flew open in near panic, but before he could object, she reached for his hand as she bent down beside the

meat-eater. She put her arm around the large wolf's neck to settle an incipient growl-even she could smell the man's fear; she was

sure Wolf could.

"Let him smell your hand first," she said. "That's Wolf's formal introduction." The wolf had learned from previous experience

that it was important to Ayla for him to accept within his pack of humans the people she introduced to him in this way. He didn't like

the smell of fear, but sniffed the man to become familiar with him.

"Have you ever really felt the fur of a living wolf, Joharran?" she asked, looking up at him. "If you notice, it's a little coarse," she

said, leading his hand to feel the animal's rather shaggy neck fur. "He's still shedding and itchy, and he loves to be scratched

behind the ears," she continued, showing him how.

Joharran felt the fur, but was more aware of the warmth, and suddenly realized this was a living wolf! And he didn't seem to

mind being touched.

Ayla observed that his hand was not as stiff, and that he actually attempted to rub the place she indicated. "Let him smell your

hand again."

When Joharran brought his hand around toward the wolf's nose, he widened his eyes again, with surprise. "That wolf licked

me!" he said, not sure if it was in preparation for something better-or worse. Then he saw Wolf lick Ayla's face, and she seemed

very pleased about it.

"Yes, you were good, Wolf," she said, smiling, as she fondled him and roughed up his mane. Then she stood up and patted the

front of her shoulders. The wolf jumped up, put his paws on the place she had indicated, and as she exposed her throat, he licked

her neck, and then took her chin and jaw in his mouth with a rumbling growl, but great gentleness.

Jondalar noticed the gasps of astonishment from Joharran and the others, and realized how frightening the familiar act of

wolfish affection must seem to people who didn't understand. His brother looked at him, his expression both fearful and amazed.

"What's he doing to her?"

"Are you sure that's all right?" Folara asked at nearly the same time. She could no longer keep still. The other people were

making indecisive nervous movements as well.

Jondalar smiled. "Yes, Ayla is fine. He loves her, he would never hurt her. That's how wolves show affection. It took me a

while to get used to it, too, and I've known Wolf as long as she has, ever since he was a fuzzy little cub."a

"That's no cub! That's a big wolf! That's the biggest wolf I ever saw!" Joharran said. "He could tear her throat out!"

"Yes. He could tear her throat out. I've seen him tear a woman's throat out… a woman who was trying to kill Ayla," Jondalar

said. "Wolf protects her."

The Zelandonii who were watching breathed a collective sigh of relief when the wolf got down, and stood by her side again

with his mouth open and his tongue hanging out the side, showing his teeth. Wolf had that look that Jondalar thought of as his wolf

grin, as though he was pleased with himself.

"Does he do that all the time?" Folara asked. "To… anyone?"

"No," Jondalar said. "Only to Ayla, and sometimes me, if he's feeling particularly happy, and only if we allow it. He's well

behaved, he won't harm anyone… unless Ayla is threatened."

"What about children?" Folara asked. "Wolves often go after the weak and the young."

At the mention of children, looks of concern appeared on the faces of the people standing nearby.

"Wolf loves children," Ayla quickly explained, "and he is very protective toward them, particularly very young or weak ones.

He was raised with the children of the Lion Camp."

"There was a very weak and sickly boy, who belonged to the Lion Hearth," Jondalar contributed. "You should have seen them

play together. Wolf was always careful around him."

"That's a very unusual animal," another man said. "It's hard to believe a wolf could behave so… unwolflike."

"You're right, Solaban," Jondalar said. "He does behave in ways that seem very unwolflike to people, but if we were wolves

we wouldn't think so. He was raised with people and Ayla says he thinks of people as his pack. He treats people as though they

were wolves."

"Does he hunt?" the man Jondalar had called Solaban wanted to know.

"Yes," Ayla said. "Sometimes he hunts alone, for himself, and sometimes he helps us hunt."

"How does he know what he should hunt and what he shouldn't?" Folara asked. "Like those horses."

Ayla smiled. "The horses are part of his pack, too. You notice they are not afraid of him. And he never hunts people.

Otherwise, he can hunt any animal he wants, unless I tell him not to."

"And if you say no, he doesn't?" another man asked.

"That's right, Rushemar," Jondalar affirmed.

The man shook his head in wonder. It was hard to believe anyone could have such control over a powerful hunting animal.

"Well, Joharran," Jondalar said. "Do you think it's safe enough to bring Ayla and Wolf up?"

The man thought for a moment, then nodded. "However, if there is any trouble…"

"There won't be, Joharran," Jondalar stated, then turned to Ayla. "My mother has invited us to stay with her. Folara still lives

with her, but she has her own room, and so does Marthona and Willamar. He's gone on a trading mission now. She has offered

her central living space to us. Of course, we could stay with Zelandoni at the visitors hearth, if you'd rather."

"I would be pleased to stay with your mother, Jondalar," Ayla said.

"Good! Mother also suggested that we wait with most formal introductions until we get settled in. It isn't as though I need to be

introduced, and there's no point in repeating everything to each one when we can do it all at once."

"We're already planning a welcoming feast for tonight," Folara said. "And probably another one later, for all the nearby Caves."

"I appreciate your mother's thoughtfulness, Jondalar. It would be easier to meet everyone at once, but you might introduce me

to this young woman," Ayla said.

Folara smiled.

"Of course, I was planning to," Jondalar said. "Ayla, this is my sister, Folara, Blessed of Doni, of the Ninth Cave of the

Zelandonii; Daughter of Marthona, former Leader of the Ninth Cave; born to the hearth of Willamar, Traveler and Trade Master;

Sister of Joharran, Leader of the Ninth Cave; Sister of Jondalar…"

"She knows about you, Jondalar, and I've already heard her names and ties," Folara said, impatient with the formalities, then

held out both hands toward Ayla. "In the name of Doni, the Great Earth Mother, I welcome you, Ayla of the Mamutoi, Friend of

horses and wolves."

The crowd of people standing on the sunny stone porch quickly moved back when they saw the woman and the wolf start up

the path along with Jondalar and the small group accompanying them. One or two took a step closer while others craned their

necks around them. When they reached the stone ledge Ayla got her first view of the living space of the Ninth Cave of the

Zelandonii. The sight surprised her.

Though she knew the word "Cave" in the name of Jondalar's home did not refer to a place, but to the group of people who

lived there, the formation she saw was not a cave, not as she had thought of one. A cave was a dark chamber or series of them

within a rock face or cliff or underground with an opening to the outside. The living space of these people was the area beneath a

huge overhanging shelf jutting out of the limestone cliff, an abri, that provided protection from rain or snow, but was open to

daylight.

The high cliffs of the region were once the floor beneath the surface of an ancient sea. As the calcareous shells of

crustaceans who lived in the sea were discarded, they built up on the floor and eventually became calcium carbonate-limestone.

During certain periods of time, for a variety of reasons, some of the deposited shells created thick layers of limestone that were

harder than others. When the earth shifted and exposed the sea floor to eventually become cliffs, the weathering processes of

wind and water cut into the relatively softer stone more easily, gouging out deep spaces, and leaving ledges of the harder stone

between.

Although the cliffs were also riddled with caves, which was common for limestone, these unusual shelflike formations created

shelters of stone that made exceptionally good living sites and had been used as such for a great many thousands of years.

Jondalar led Ayla toward the older woman she had seen from the foot of the path. The woman was tall and dignified in her

bearing as she waited patiently for them. Her hair, more gray than light brown, was pulled back from her face into one long braid,

which was coiled at the back of her head. Her clear direct appraising eyes were also gray.

When they reached her, Jondalar began the formal introduction. "Ayla, this is Marthona, former Leader of the Ninth Cave of the

Zelandonii; Daughter of Jemara; born to the hearth of Rabanar; mated to Willamar, Trade Master of the Ninth Cave; Mother of

Joharran, Leader of the Ninth Cave; Mother of Folara, Blessed of Doni; Mother of…" He started to say "Thonolan," hesitated, then

quickly filled in, "Jondalar, Returned Traveler." Then he turned to his mother.

"Marthona, this is Ayla of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi, Daughter of the Mammoth Hearth, Chosen by the Spirit of the Cave

Lion, Protected by the Spirit of the Cave Bear."

Marthona held out her two hands. "In the name of Doni, the Great Earth Mother, I welcome you, Ayla of the Mamutoi."

"In the name of Mut, Great Mother of All, I greet you, Marthona of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, and Mother of Jondalar,"

Ayla said, as they joined hands.

Marthona heard Ayla's words, wondered at her strange speech mannerism, noted how well she spoke in spite of it, and

thought it was either a minor speech defect or the accent of a completely unfamiliar language from a very distant place. She

smiled. "You have come a long way, Ayla, left all you knew and loved behind. If you had not, I don't think I would have Jondalar

back home. I am grateful to you for that. I hope you will soon feel at home here, and I will do all I can to help you."

Ayla knew Jondalar's mother was sincere. Her directness and honesty were genuine; she was glad to have her son back.

Ayla was relieved and touched by Marthona's welcome. "I have looked forward to meeting you since Jondalar first spoke of you…

but I have been a little afraid, too," she replied with a similar directness and honesty.

"I don't blame you. I would have found it very difficult in your place. Come, let me show you where you can put your things.

You must be tired and would like to rest before the welcoming celebration tonight," Marthona said, starting to lead them toward the

area under the overhang. Suddenly Wolf started whining, yelped a little "puppy bark," and stretched his front paws out with his

back end and tail up in a playful posture.

Jondalar was startled. "What is he doing?"

Ayla looked at Wolf, rather surprised as well. The animal repeated his gestures, and suddenly she smiled. "I think he's trying to

get Marthona's attention," she said. "He thinks she didn't notice him, and I think he wants to be introduced."

"And I want to meet him, too," Marthona said.

"You don't fear him!" Ayla said. "And he knows it!"

"I watched. I didn't see anything to fear," she said, extending her hand toward the wolf. He sniffed her hand, licked it, and

whined again.

"I think Wolf wants you to touch him; he does love attention from people he likes," Ayla said.

"You do like that, don't you?" the older woman said as she stroked him. "Wolf? Is that what you called him?"

"Yes. It's just the Mamutoi word for 'wolf.' It seemed like the right name for him," Ayla explained.

"But, I've never seen him take to anyone so fast," Jondalar said, looking at his mother with awe.

"Nor have I," Ayla said, watching Marthona with the wolf. "Maybe he's just happy to meet someone who's not afraid of him."

As they walked into the shade of the overhanging stone, Ayla felt an immediate cooling of temperature. For a heartbeat, she

shivered with a chill of fear, and glanced up at the huge shelf of stone jutting out of the cliff wall, wondering if it could collapse.

But when her eyes grew accustomed to the dimmer light, she was astonished by more than the physical formation of Jondalar's

home. The space under the rock shelter was huge, much larger than she had imagined.

She had seen similar overhangs in the cliffs along this river on their way here, some obviously inhabited, though none seemed

quite as sizable as this one. Everyone in the entire region knew of the immense rock shelter and the great number of people it

housed. The Ninth Cave was the largest of all the communities that called themselves Zelandonii.

Clustered together at the eastern end of the protected space, along the back wall and freestanding in the middle, were

individual structures, many quite large, made partly of stone and partly of wooden frames covered with hides. The hides were

decorated with beautifully rendered pictures of animals and various abstract symbols painted in black and many vivid shades of

red, yellow, and brown. The structures were arranged in a west-facing curve around an open space near the center of the area

covered by the overhanging stone shelf, which was filled with a confusion of objects and people.

As Ayla looked more closely, what at first had struck her all at once as a melange of rich clutter was resolving itself into areas

dedicated to different tasks, often near to related tasks. It only seemed confusing initially because so many activities were going

on.

She saw hides being cured in frames, and long shafts of spears, apparently in the process of being straightened, leaning

against a crosspiece supported by two posts. Baskets in different stages of completion were stacked in another place, and

thongs were drying stretched between pairs of bone posts. Long skeins of cordage hung from pegs pounded into crossbeams

above unfinished nets stretched across a frame, and loosely woven netting in bundles on the ground. Skins, some dyed various

colors including many shades of red, were cut into pieces and nearby, partially assembled articles of clothing were hanging.

She recognized most of the crafts, but near the clothing was an activity that was entirely unfamiliar. A frame held many

strands of thin cord vertically, with a design partially formed from the material woven horizontally across them. She wanted to go

over and look closer, and promised herself she would, later. Pieces of wood, stone, bone, antler, and mammoth ivory were in

other places, carved into implements-ladles, spoons, bowls, tongs, weapons-most of them with carved and sometimes painted

decorations. There were also small sculptures and carvings that were not implements or tools. They seemed to be made for

themselves or some purpose of which she wasn't aware.

She saw vegetables and herbs hanging high from large frames with many crosspieces, and lower to the ground, meat drying

on racks. Somewhat away from other activities was an area scattered with sharp stone chips; for people like Jondalar she

thought, flint-knappers who made tools, knives, and spear points.

And everywhere she looked, she saw people. The community that lived under the spacious rock shelter was of a size to

match the space. Ayla had grown up in a clan of less than thirty people; at the Clan Gathering, which occurred once every seven

years, two hundred people came together for a short period, a huge assembly to her then. Though the Mamutoi Summer Meeting

drew a much greater number, the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, alone, comprised of over two hundred individuals living together at

this one place, was larger than the entire Clan Gathering!

Ayla didn't know how many people were standing around watching them, but she was reminded of the time she had walked

with Brun's clan into that congregation of clans and felt all of them looking at her. They had tried to be unobtrusive, but the people

who were staring as Marthona led Jondalar, Ayla, and a wolf to her living place weren't even polite about it. They didn't try to look

down or glance away. She wondered if she would ever get used to living with so many people living close by all the time; she

wondered if she wanted to.

2.

The huge woman glanced up at the movement of the leather drape stretched across the entrance, then quickly looked down

as the young blond stranger emerged from Marthona's dwelling. She was sitting in her accustomed place, a seat carved out of a

solid block of limestone, strong enough to support her massive bulk. The leather-padded stone seat had been made especially for

her, and was located exactly where she wanted it: toward the back of the large open area under the enormous overhanging cliff

that protected the settlement, but within sight of almost the entire communal living space.

The woman appeared to be meditating, but it wasn't the first time she had used the place to quietly observe some person or

activity. The people had learned not to intrude upon her meditations, unless it was an emergency, especially when she wore her

ivory chest plaque with the plain, undecorated side facing out. When the side that was carved with symbols and animals was

showing, anyone was free to approach her, but when she reversed the plaque to the blank side, it became a symbol of silence

and meant that she did not wish to speak and did not want to be disturbed.

The Cave had grown so accustomed to her being there, they almost didn't see her, for all her usually commanding presence.

She had cultivated that effect carefully and had no compunctions about it. As spiritual leader of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii,

she considered the welfare of the people her responsibility and used every means her fertile brain could devise to carry out her

duty.

She watched the younger woman leave the rock shelter and head toward the path that led to the valley, and noticed the

unmistakably foreign look of her leather tunic. The old donier was also aware that she moved with the resilience of health and

strength, and a confidence that belied her youth and the fact that she was among complete strangers in their living place.

Zelandoni got up and walked toward the structure, one of the many such dwelling places of various sizes scattered within the

limestone abri. At the entrance to the dwelling that divided the private living space from the open public area, she tapped on the

stiff rawhide panel next to the drape-closed entry and heard the padded strides of soft leather footwear approaching. The tall,

fair-haired, surprisingly handsome man pulled back the drape. Eyes of an unusually vivid shade of blue looked surprised, then

warmed with pleasure.

"Zelandoni! How nice to see you," he said, "but mother isn't here right now."

"What makes you think I'm here to see Marthona? You're the one who's been gone five years." Her tone was sharp.

He was suddenly flustered and at a loss for words.

"Well, are you going to leave me standing out here, Jondalar?"

"Oh… Come in, of course," he said, his brow knotting into a habitual frown, erasing the warm smile. He stepped back, holding

the drape aside as she entered.

They studied each other in silence for a time. When he'd left, she had just become First Among Those Who Served The Mother;

she'd had five years to grow into the position and she had grown into it. The woman he knew had become immensely fat. She

was two or three times the size of most women, with huge breasts and broad buttocks. She had a soft full face crowded by three

chins, but her piercing blue eyes seemed to miss nothing. She had always been tall and strong, and she carried her great size

with grace, and a demeanor that asserted her prestige and authority. She had a presence, an aura of power about her that

commanded respect.

They both spoke at once. "Can I get you…" Jondalar started.

"You've changed…"

"I'm sorry…" he apologized for what seemed like an interruption, feeling oddly constrained. Then he noticed just the slightest

hint of a smile, and a familiar look in her eye, and he felt himself relax.

"I am glad to see you… Zolena," he said. His brow smoothed out and his smile returned as he focused his compelling eyes full

of warmth and love on her.

"You haven't changed that much," she said, feeling herself respond to his charisma and the memories it evoked. "No one has

called me Zolena for a long time." She appraised him again carefully, "You have changed, though. Grown up some. You're more

handsome than ever…"

He started to protest, but she shook her head at him. "Don't make objections, Jondalar. You know it's true. But there's a

difference. You look… how can I say it… you don't have that hungry look, that need that every woman wanted to satisfy. I think

you have found what you've been searching for. You are happy in a way that you have never been."

"I never could keep anything from you," he said, smiling with an excited, almost childlike delight. "It's Ayla. We plan to mate at

this summer's Matrimonial. I suppose we could have had a mating ceremony before we left, or along the way, but I wanted to wait

until we got home so you could slip that thong over our wrists and tie the knot for us."

Just talking about her had changed his expression, and Zelandoni had a momentary sense of the almost obsessive love he felt

for this woman called Ayla. It concerned her, raised all the protective instincts she felt for her people-particularly this person-as

the voice, surrogate, and instrument of the Great Earth Mother. She knew the powerful emotions he had struggled with growing

up, and finally learned to keep under control. But a woman he loved that much could hurt him terribly, perhaps even destroy him.

Her eyes narrowed. She wanted to know more about this young woman who had captivated him so completely. Just what kind of

hold did she have on him?

"How can you be so sure she's right for you? Where did you meet her? How much do you really know about her?"

Jondalar sensed her concern, but something else, too, something that worried him. Zelandoni was the highest ranked spiritual

leader of all the zelandonia, and she was not First for nothing. She was a powerful woman and he didn't want her turning against

Ayla. The greatest concern he-and, he knew, Ayla, too-had had during their long and difficult Journey to his home was whether or

not she would be accepted by his people. For all her exceptional qualities, there were some things about her that he wished she

would keep secret, though he doubted that she would. She could have enough difficulties-and probably would have from some

people-without incurring the enmity of this particular woman. Quite the opposite, more than anyone Ayla needed the support of

Zelandoni.

Jean M. Auel - The Shelters of Stone

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