explained.
'You mean, right now?' Ayla asked.
'The first mark of acceptance, yes,' the First said, as she picked up a sharp flint knife.
Chapter 34
'There will be a more public ceremony when you are presented to the people as a Zelandoni, but the marks are made with acceptance, in private with only the zelandonia. As you increase in rank, and marks are added, they are made in the presence of zelandonia and acolytes, but never in public,' the Zelandoni Who Was First said. The large woman, who carried herself with the dignity and power her position conferred, asked, 'Are you ready?'
Ayla swallowed, and frowned. 'Yes,' she said, and hoped she was.
The First looked around the gathering, making sure she had everyone's attention. Then she began. 'This woman is fully trained to fulfil all the duties of the zelandonia, and it is the First Among Those Who Serve The Mother who attests to her knowledge.'
There were nods and sounds of acknowledgment.
'She has been called and tested. Are there any among us who question her call?' Zelandoni asked.
There were no dissenters. There was never any doubt.
'Do all here agree to accept this woman as a Zelandoni into the ranks of the zelandonia?'
'We agree!' came the unanimous response.
Ayla watched as the man who was Zelandoni of the Second Cave came forward and held out a bowl of something dark. She knew what it was; a part of her mind was observing, not just participating. The bark of mountain ash, called a rowan tree, had been burned in a ceremonial fire and then sifted in the wind to a fine grey powder. The ashes of rowan bark were astringent, antiseptic. Then the woman who was the Zelandoni from a distant Cave, the one unknown to her, brought forth a steaming reddish liquid: last autumn's dried rowanberries, boiled down to a concentrated liquid and strained. Ayla knew the juice from the rowanberries was acidic and healing.
Zelandoni Who Was First picked up a bowl of soft, white, partially congealed pure tallow that had been rendered with boiling water from aurochs fat, and added a little to the powdered ashes, then some of the steaming red rowanberry juice. She mixed it with a small carved wooden spatula, adding more fat and liquid until it satisfied her. Then she faced the young woman and picked up the sharp flint knife.
'The mark you will receive can never be removed. It will declare to all that you acknowledge and accept the role of Zelandoni. Are you ready to accept that responsibility?'
Ayla took a deep breath and watched the woman with the knife approach, knowing what was coming. She felt a twinge of fear, swallowed hard, and closed her eyes. She knew it would hurt, but that wasn't what she was dreading. Once this was done, there was no going back. This was her last chance to change her mind.
Suddenly she recalled hiding in a shallow cave, trying to squeeze herself into the stone wall at her back. She saw the sharp, curved claws on the huge paw of a cave lion reaching in, and screamed with pain as four parallel gashes were raked across her left thigh. Squirming away, she found a small space to the side and pulled her legs in closer, away from the claws.
Her memory of being chosen and marked by her cave lion totem had never been so clear and intense before. Reflexively, she reached for her left thigh to feel the different texture of the skin of the four parallel scars. They were recognised as Clan totem marks when she was accepted into Brun's clan, though traditionally a cave lion totem chose male, not female.
How many marks had been carved into her body in her life? Besides the four marks of her protective totem spirit, Mog-ur had knicked the base of her throat to draw blood when she became the Woman Who Hunts. She was given her Clan hunting talisman, the red-stained oval of mammoth ivory, to show that in spite of the fact that she was a woman, she was accepted as a hunter of the Clan, though only allowed to use a sling.
She no longer carried the talisman with her, or her amulet with the rest of her signs either, though at that moment, she wished she had them. They were hidden behind the carved, woman-shaped donii figure in the niche that had been dug out of the limestone wall of her dwelling at the Ninth Cave. But she did have the scar.
Ayla touched the small mark, then reached for the scar on her arm. Talut had cut that mark, and with the bloody knife had notched an ivory plaque that he wore suspended from a fantastic necklace of amber and cave lion canine teeth and claws, to show that she was accepted into the Lion Camp, adopted by the Mamutoi.
She had never asked, she had always been chosen, and for each acceptance she bore a mark, a scar that she would carry always. It was the sacrifice she'd had to make. Now she was being chosen again. She could still decline, but if she didn't refuse now, she was committed for life. It crossed her mind that the scars would always remind her that there were consequences to being chosen, responsibilities that came with acceptance.
She looked into the eyes of the woman. 'I accept, I will be Zelandoni,' Ayla said, trying to sound firm and positive.
Then she closed her eyes and felt someone come up behind the stool on which she was seated. Hands, gentle but firm, pulled her back to rest on the soft body of a woman for support, then held her head and turned it so that her right forehead was presented. She felt a wash of liquid from something soft and wet wiped across her forehead, recognised the odour of iris root, a solution she had often used to clean wounds, and felt an anxious tension arise within her.
'Oh! Ow!' she cried out involuntarily as she felt the quick cut of a sharp blade, then fought to control such outbursts at a second cut, and then a third. The solution was applied again, then the cuts were dried, and another substance was rubbed in. This time the pain stung like a burn, but not for long; something in the stinging salve had numbed the pain.
'You can open your eyes, Ayla. It's over,' the large woman said.
Ayla opened her eyes to see a rather dim, unfamiliar image. It took her a moment to realise what she was seeing. Someone was holding up a reflector and a lighted lamp so she could see herself in the oiled piece of sand- smoothed, black-stained wood. She seldom used a reflector, didn't even have one in her dwelling, and was always surprised to see her own face. Then her eyes were drawn to the marks on her forehead.
Just in front of her right temple was a short horizontal line with two vertical lines extending up from each end of about the same length, like a square with no top line or an open box. The three lines were black, with a little blood still oozing out around the edges. They looked so conspicuous, they seemed to diminish everything else. Ayla wasn't at all sure that she liked having her face marred like that. But there was nothing she could do about it now. It was done. She would carry those black marks on her face for the rest of her life.
She started to reach up to feel it, but the First stopped her. 'It's best if you don't touch it just yet,' she said. 'It has almost stopped bleeding, but it's still fresh.'
Ayla looked around at the rest of the zelandonia. They all had various marks on their foreheads, some more intricate than others, mostly square but with other shapes as well, many filled in with colour. The markings of the First were the most elaborate of all. She knew they designated rank, position, affiliation of the zelandonia. She noticed, however, that the black lines faded to blue tattoos after they healed.
She was glad when they took the reflector away. She didn't like looking at herself. It made her uncomfortable to think that the strange, dim image of the face she saw belonged to her. She preferred to see herself reflected in the expressions of others: the happiness of her daughter when she saw her mother, the pleasure of seeing herself in the aspect and demeanour of people she cared about, like Marthona, and Proleva, Joharran, and Dalanar. And the look of love in Jondalar's eyes when he saw … not anymore … The last time he saw her, he was horrified. His look showed shock and dismay, not love.
Ayla closed her eyes to shut off impending tears, and tried to control her feelings of loss, disappointment, and pain. When she opened them and looked up, all the zelandonia were standing in front of her, including the two new ones, a woman and a man, who had been on guard outside, and all of them had warm smiles of anticipation and welcome. The One Who Was First spoke:
'You have travelled far, have belonged to many people, but your feet have always led you along the path the Great Earth Mother chose for you. It was your fate to lose your people at an early age, and then be taken in by a healer and a man who travelled the spirit world of those people you call the Clan. When you were adopted by the
