dangerous, Ayla. Even if you have gone there many times, you never know if this is the time that you will not find your way back.'
Ayla was quietly sobbing, the tears glistening on her cheeks.
'It's good that you are letting go. You've held in for too long, and you need to grieve for that baby,' the Donier said. She got up, took both cups, and went to the back, where the bandaging skins were stored. When she returned, she poured more tea. 'Here,' she said, handing her the soft animal hide, and put the tea on the table.
Ayla wiped her eyes and her nose, took a deep breath to settle herself, then took a sip of the warmish tea, struggling to get herself under control again. It was more than losing the baby that had caused her tears, although that had been the catalyst. She couldn't seem to do anything right. Jondalar had stopped loving her, people hated her, and she had been so careless that she lost her baby. She had heard Zelandoni's words, but she didn't fully comprehend and it didn't change how she felt.
'Perhaps now you can understand why I'm so interested in those roots you talk about,' the First said when it seemed that Ayla was feeling better. 'If the experience can be carefully watched and controlled, we may have another helpful way to reach the Next World when we need to, like this mixture in the pouch, and some other herbs we sometimes use.'
Ayla didn't hear her at first. When Zelandoni's words finally reached her, she recalled that she had never wanted to experiment with those roots again. Though The Mog-ur had been able to control the effects of the powerful substance, she was sure she never would never be capable of it. She believed only a Clan mind, with its unique differences, and the Clan memories, could control it. She didn't think anyone born to the Others could ever control the black void, no matter how well they were watched.
She knew that the First was fascinated. Mamut had been intrigued, too, about the special plants used only by the mog-urs of the Clan, but after their dangerous experience together, Mamut had said he would never use them again. He told her he was afraid he would lose his spirit in that paralysing black void, and had warned her against them. Reliving the terrifying journey to that menacing unknown place when she was deep in the cave, and vividly recalling it during her initiation, made the memory too disturbingly fresh. And she knew that even her unnerving recollection was only a faint shadow of the real experience.
Yet, in the black despair of her present state of mind, she wasn't thinking clearly. She should have had time to regain her balance, but too much had happened too fast. Her ordeal in the cave when she was called, including the miscarriage, had weakened her both physically and emotionally. The pain and the jealousy, and the disappointment, of finding Jondalar with another woman were intensified by her experience in the cave, and by her loss. She had been looking forward to the knowing touch of his hands and the closeness of his body, to the thought of replacing the baby she had lost, to the healing comfort of his love.
Instead she found him with another woman, and not just any woman, the woman who had viciously and knowingly tried to hurt her before. Under normal circumstances, she might have been able to take his indiscretion in stride, especially if it had been with someone else. She might not have been happy about it. They had been too close. But she understood the customs. They were not so different from those of the men of the Clan, who could choose whatever woman they wanted.
She knew how jealous Jondalar had been about her and Ranec when they lived with the Mamutoi, even though she didn't know what was causing the barely controlled violence of his reaction. Ranec had told her to come with him, and she was raised by the Clan. She hadn't learned yet that among the Others, she had the right to say no.
When they finally resolved the problem and she left with Jondalar back to his home, she had decided in her own mind that she would never give him cause to be jealous of her again. She never chose anyone else, even though she knew it would have been acceptable, and to her knowledge, he never did either. He certainly never did openly, as the other men did. When she was confronted with the fact that he not only had chosen someone else, but that he had been choosing that particular woman, in secret, for a long time, she felt utterly betrayed.
But Jondalar had not meant to betray her. He wanted to keep her from finding out so she wouldn't be hurt. He knew she never chose anyone else, and at a certain level, he even knew why. Though he would have struggled to control it, he knew how jealous he would have been if she had chosen someone else. He did not want her to experience the intensity of pain that he would have felt. When she found them together, he was beside himself. He simply didn't know what to do; he had never learned.
Jondalar was born to grow into a six-foot, six-inch tall, well-formed, incredibly handsome man, with an unconscious charisma enhanced by a vividly intense shade of blue eyes. His natural intelligence, innate manual dexterity, and intrinsic mechanical skill were discovered early, and he was encouraged to apply it in many areas until he discovered his love for knapping flint and making tools. But his powerful feelings were also stronger than most, far too intense, and his mother and those who cared about him struggled to teach him to keep them under control. Even as a child he wanted too much, cared too much, felt too much; he could be overcome with compassion, yearn with desire, rage with hate, or burn with love. He was given too much, too many gifts, and few understood what a burden that could be.
When he was a young man, Jondalar had been taught how to please a woman, but that was a normal practice of his culture. It was something all young men were taught. The fact that he'd learned it so well was partly because he had been taught so well, and partly the result of his own natural inclination. He discovered young that he loved pleasing women, but he never had to learn how to interest a woman.
Unlike most men, he never had to find ways to make a woman notice him; he couldn't help but be noticed; he sought ways to get away, occasionally. He never had to think about how to meet a woman; women went out of their way to meet him; some threw themselves at him. He never had to entice a woman to spend her time with him; women couldn't get enough of him. And he never had to learn how to handle loss, or a woman's anger, or his own blundering mistakes. No one imagined that a man with his obvious gifts wouldn't know how.
Jondalar's reaction when something didn't go right was to withdraw, try to keep his feelings under control, and hope that somehow it would sort itself out. He hoped that he would be forgiven, or his mistakes overlooked, and usually that was what happened. He didn't know what to do when Ayla saw him with Marona, and Ayla wasn't any more adept at handling those kinds of situations.
From the time she was first found by the Clan as a five-year, she had struggled to fit in, to make herself acceptable so they would not turn her out. The Clan didn't cry emotional tears and hers disturbed them, so she learned to hold them back. The Clan didn't display anger or pain or other strong emotions — it was not considered proper — so she learned not to show hers. To be a good Clan woman, she learned what was expected of her, and tried to behave the way she was expected to behave. She had tried to do the same with the Zelandonii.
But now she was at a loss. It seemed obvious to her that she had not learned how to be a good Zelandonii woman. People were upset with her, some people hated her, and Jondalar didn't love her. He had been ignoring her, and she had tried to provoke him to respond to her, but his brutal attack on Laramar was completely unexpected, and she felt, beyond all doubt, that it was entirely her fault. She had seen his compassion, and his love, and had seen him control his strong feelings when they were living with the Mamutoi. She thought she knew him. Now she was convinced she didn't know him at all. She had been trying to maintain a semblance of normality by sheer force of will, but she was tired from lying awake too many nights, too full of worry, pain, and anger to sleep, and what she needed desperately was calm surroundings and rest.
Perhaps Zelandoni had been a little too interested in learning about the Clan root, or she might have been more perceptive, but Ayla had always been a case apart. They didn't have enough common points of reference. Their backgrounds were far too different. Just when she thought she really understood the young woman, she'd find out that what she thought was true about Ayla was not.
'I don't want to make it a big issue if you really feel we shouldn't, Ayla, but if you could tell me something about how to prepare this root, perhaps we can work out a small experiment. Just to see if it might be useful. It would be just for the zelandonia, of course. What do you think?' Zelandoni said.
In Ayla's troubled state, even the terrifying black void struck her as a restful place, a place to get away from all the turmoil around her. And if she didn't come back, what difference would it make? Jondalar didn't love her anymore. She would miss her daughter — Ayla felt a tight knot grip her stomach — then thought, Jonayla would probably be better off without her. The child was missing Jondalar. If she wasn't there, he would come back and take care of her again. And there were so many people who loved her, she would be well cared for.
'It's not that complicated, Zelandoni,' Ayla said. 'Essentially the roots are chewed to a mash and spat into a
