it and it wasn't forbidden. The close quarters in which they lived meant that children observed all adult activities all the time, from childbirth to death. No one made an issue of keeping them away; it was all a part of life.
When the children were done, most were led into the audience. Next, two men dressed as bison bulls with their heavy horned heads started at opposite sides and ran toward each other, slipping past but just barely missing each other, which captured people's attention. Then several people, including some children, dressed in the hides and horns of aurochs, started milling around like a herd. Some of the animal skins were hunting camouflages, some made just for this occasion. A lion came out, snarling and grunting, in a skin and tail, then attacked the cows with a roar so authentic, it made some people flinch.
'That was Ayla,' Folara whispered to Aldanor. 'No one can do a lion roar as well as she can.'
The herd scattered, jumping over things and almost running into people. The lion chased after them. Then five people came out dressed in deer hides and holding antlers on their heads, and portrayed them jumping into a river as though running away from something, and swimming across. Horses were next, one of them whinnying so realistically, it got an answering whinny from a distance.
'That was Ayla, too,' Folara informed the man beside her.
'She's very good,' he said.
'She says she learned to mimic animals before she learned to speak Zelandonii.'
There were other demonstrations portraying and depicting animals, all showing an event or story of some kind. The troupe of travelling Storytellers were also a part of the presentation, pressed into service as various animals, and their skills added a vivid realism. Finally the animals started coming together. When they were all gathered, a strange animal appeared. It walked on four legs and had hooved feet, but it was covered with a strange spotted hide that hung down the sides almost to the ground and partially covered its head, to which two straight sticks had been attached that were meant to represent some kind of horns or antlers.
'What is that?' Aldanor asked.
'It's a magical animal, of course,' Folara said. 'But it's really Ayla's Whinney, who is being a Zelandoni. The First says all of her horses and Wolf are Zelandonia. That's why they choose to stay with her.'
The strange Zelandoni animal led all the other animals away, then several of the zelandonia and Storytellers hurried back as themselves and began playing drums and flutes. Some began singing some of the older legends; then others narrated the histories and lore that the people knew and loved so well.
The zelandonia had prepared well. They used every trick they knew to capture and hold the attention of the large crowd. When Ayla, with her face painted in Zelandoni designs — all except for the area around her new tattoo, which was left bare to show the permanent mark of acceptance — stepped in front of the group, all two thousand people held their breaths, ready to hang on to her every word, her every motion.
Drums resounded, high-pitched flutes interwove with the slow, steady, inexorable bass, with some tones below the range of hearing, but felt deep in the bone,
The First with her spectacular full, vibrant voice joined in. Drums and flutes played in between the singers and speakers as the Mother's Song continued. Near the middle, people began to take notice that the voice of the First was so markedly rich and rare, they stopped singing so they could listen. When she reached the last verse, she stopped and only the drums played by Ayla's visiting kin were left.
But the people almost thought they could hear the words. And then they were sure they could, but they were spoken with a strange, eerie vibrato. At first, the audience wasn't quite sure what they were hearing. The two young Mamutoi men stood in front of the crowd with their small drums and played the last verse of the Mother's Song in a strange staccato beat — drumbeats that sounded like words spoken in a throbbing voice as though someone were singing by rapidly varying the pressure of the breath, except it wasn't someone's breath, it was the drums! The drums were speaking words!
The silence of the listeners was perfect as everyone strained to hear the drums speak. Ayla, thinking about the way she had learned to throw her voice forward so that even those at the very back could hear her clearly, pitched her normally low voice slightly lower and spoke louder and more strongly into the dark stillness lit now by only one fire. The only sound the assembled crowd heard, seeming to come from the air around them on the beat of the drum, was Ayla speaking the last verse of the Mother's Song alone, repeating the words the drum had spoken.
The drumbeats slowed imperceptibly. Everyone knew this was the end; there was only one line left, yet somehow they were held waiting, not knowing why. It made them nervous, drove up the tension. When the drums got to the end of the verse, they didn't stop; instead the drums continued with unfamiliar words.
The people listened carefully, but still weren't sure what they had heard. Then Ayla stood alone, slowly repeating the verse, with emphasis.
That didn't belong. That was new! They had never heard that part before. What did it mean? People felt uneasy. For as long as anyone knew or remembered, for long before anyone remembered, the Mother's Song had been the same, except for insignificant variations. Why was it different now? The meaning of the words hadn't yet penetrated. It was disquieting enough that new words were added, that the Mother's Song had changed.
Suddenly the last fire was put out. It was so black, no one dared move. 'What does it mean?' a voice called out. 'Yes, what does it mean?' came an echoing question.
But Jondalar was not asking. He knew. Then it's true, he thought. Everything Ayla has always said is true. Though he'd had time to think about it, even his mind struggled with the implications. Ayla had always told him Jonayla was his daughter, his true daughter, of his flesh not just his spirit. She had been conceived because of his actions. Not some amorphous spirit that he couldn't see, mixed up in some vague way by the Mother inside Ayla with her spirit. He did it. He and Ayla both. He had given Ayla his essence with his manhood, his organ, and that was combined with something inside Ayla to make life begin.
Not every time. He had put a lot of his essence inside her. Maybe it took a lot of essence. Ayla had always said she wasn't sure exactly how it worked, only that it was a man and woman together that made life start. The Mother had given Her children the Gift of Pleasures to make life begin. Shouldn't starting a new life be a Pleasure? Is that why the urge to spend his essence inside a woman was so strong? Because the Mother wanted Her children to make their own children?
He felt as though his body had a new sense to it, as though it had come alive in some way. Men were necessary. He was necessary! Without him there would have been no Jonayla. If it had been some other man, she would not be Jonayla. She was who she was because of both of them, Ayla and him. Without men, there could be no new life.
Around the periphery, torches were being lit. People started getting up, milling around. Food was being uncovered and set out in several different areas. Each Cave, or group of related Caves, had a feasting place so no one would have to wait too long to eat. Except for children, most people hadn't eaten much all day. Some were too busy, some wanted to save room for the feast, and while it wasn't required, it was considered more proper to eat sparingly before the main meal on feast days.
People were talking as they headed toward the food, asking each other questions, still feeling uneasy.
'Come on, Jondalar,' Joharran said. Jondalar didn't hear. He was so lost in his own thoughts; the crowd around him did not exist.
'Jondalar!' Joharran said again, and shook his shoulder.
'What?' Jondalar said.
