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“That is right,” Crozie said, a crafty gleam in her eye. “Are you ready?” She rubbed both palms together with the knucklebones inside, but she looked over at Jondalar sitting with Danug in the flintworking area. “Is he really as good as they say?” she said, cocking her head in his direction.
Ayla glanced toward the man, blond head bent close to the red-naired boy’s. When she looked back around, Crozie had both hands behind her back.
“Yes. Jondalar is good,” she said.
Had Crozie purposely tried to direct her attention elsewhere, to distract her? she wondered. She looked at the woman carefully, noticing the slight tilt of her shoulders, the way she held her head, the expression on her face.
Crozie brought her hands in front of her again and held them out, each closed into a fist around a bone. Ayla studied the wrinkled face, which had become blank and unexpressive, and the white-knuckled arthritic old hands. Was one hand pulled in just a trifle closer to her chest? Ayla picked the other.
“You lose!” Crozie gloated, as she opened the hand to show the bone marked with red and black. She drew a short line in the drawing pit. “Are you ready to try again?”
“Yes,” Ayla said.
This time Crozie began humming to herself as she rubbed the bones together between her palms. She closed her eyes, then looked up at the ceiling and stared, as though she saw something interesting near the smoke hole. Ayla was tempted to look up to see what was so fascinating, and started to follow Crozie’s gaze. Then remembering the cunning trick that had been used to divert her attention before, she quickly looked back, in time to see the crafty old woman glance between her palms as she snatched her hands behind her back. A knowing smile of grudging respect flitted across the old face. The movement of her shoulders and arm muscles gave the impression of movement between the hidden hands. Did Crozie think Ayla had glimpsed one of the bones, and was she exchanging the pieces? Or did Crozie just want her to think so?
There was more to this game than guessing, Ayla thought, and it was more interesting to play than to watch. Crozie showed her bony-knuckled fists again. Ayla looked at her carefully, not making it obvious. It wasn’t polite to stare, for one thing, and on a more subtle level, she didn’t want Crozie to know what she was looking for. It was hard to tell, the woman was an old hand at the game, but it did seem that the other shoulder was a shade higher, and wasn’t the other hand pulled in slightly this time? Ayla chose the hand she thought Crozie wanted her to pick, the wrong one.
“Ha! You lost again!” Crozie said, elated, then quickly added, “Are you ready?”
Before Ayla could nod in agreement, Crozie had her hands behind her back, and out for her to guess, but she was leaning forward this time. Ayla resisted, smiling. The old woman was always changing something, trying to keep from giving any consistent signal. Ayla chose the hand she thought was right, and was rewarded with a mark in the drawing pit. The next time, Crozie changed her position again, lowering her hands, and Ayla guessed wrong.
“That’s three! I win. But you can’t really test your luck with only one game. Do you want to play another?” Crozie said.
“Yes. Would like to play again,” Ayla said.
Crozie smiled, but when Ayla guessed correctly the next two times, her expression was much less agreeable. She frowned as she rubbed the musk-ox knucklebones together a third time.
“Look over there! What’s that?” Crozie said, pointing with her chin, in a blatant attempt to distract the young woman.
Ayla looked, and when she looked back, the old woman was smiling again. The young woman took her time selecting the hand which held the winning bone, though she had decided quickly. She didn’t want Crozie to feel too upset, but she had learned to interpret the unconscious body signals the woman made when playing the game, and she knew in which hand the plain bone was as clearly as if Crozie had told her.
It would not have pleased Crozie to know she was giving herself away so easily, but Ayla had an unusual advantage. She was so accustomed to observing and interpreting subtle details of posture and expression, it was almost instinctive. They were an essential part of the language of the Clan that communicated nuances and shades of meaning. She had noticed that body movements and postures also expressed meaning among these people who communicated primarily with verbal sounds, but that it was not purposeful.
Ayla had been so busy trying to learn the spoken language of her new people she hadn’t made any real effort to understand their unconscious unspoken language. Now that she was comfortably, if not precisely, fluent, she could expand her communication to include language skills that were not normally considered a part of speaking. The game she played with Crozie made her realize how much she could learn about her own kind of people by applying the knowledge and insight she had learned from the Clan. And if the Clan could not lie because body language was impossible to hide, the ones she had known as the Others could keep secrets from her even less. They didn’t even know they were “talking.” She wasn’t fully able to interpret the body signals of the Others, yet … but she was learning.
Ayla chose the hand that held the plain musk-ox knucklebone, and with a jab of irritation, Crozie marked a third line for Ayla. “The luck is yours, now,” she said. “Since I won a game, and you won a game, we might as well call it even and forget the bets.”
“No,” Ayla said. “We bet skill. You win my skill. My skill is medicine. I will give you. I want your skill.”
“What skill?” Crozie said. “My skill at gaming? That’s what I do best these days, and you already beat me. What do you want me for?”
“No, not gaming. I want to make white leather,” Ayla said.
Crozie gaped in surprise. “White leather?”
“White leather, like tunic you wear at adoption.”
“I haven’t made white leather in years,” Crozie said.
“But you can make?” Ayla asked.
“Yes.” Crozie’s eyes softened with a distant look. “I learned as a girl, from my mother. At one time it was sacred to the Hearth of the Crane, or so the legends say. No one else could wear it …” The old woman’s eyes hardened. “But that was before the Crane Hearth fell into such low esteem that even Bride Price is a pittance.” She looked hard at the young woman. “What is white leather to you?”
“It is beautiful,” Ayla said, which brought an involuntary softening to Crozie’s eyes again. “And white is sacred to someone,” she finished, looking down at her hands. “I want to make special tunic the way someone likes. Special white tunic.”
Ayla didn’t notice Crozie glance toward Jondalar, who happened at that moment to be staring at them. He looked aside quickly, seemingly embarrassed. The old woman shook her head at the young one, whose head was still bowed.
“And what do I get for it?” Crozie said.
