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He remembered the posture she used when they first met, sitting cross-legged on the ground and bowing her head, waiting for him to tap her shoulder. Even after she could speak, she would use it sometimes. It always embarrassed him, particularly after he knew it was a Clan gesture, but she had told him it was her way of trying to say something that she didn’t have the words for. He smiled to himself. It was hard to believe she couldn’t talk when he first met her. Now, she was fluent in two languages: Zelandonii and Mamutoi, three, if he counted Clan. She had even picked up a little Sungaea in the short time she spent with them.
As he watched her move through the Clan ritual, filled with memories of the valley, and memories of their love, he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. But Ranec was standing close to her, as enraptured as he. Every time Jondalar looked at Ayla, he could not avoid seeing the dark-skinned man. The moment he arrived, Ranec had sought her out, and he made a point of letting Jondalar know that she was still Promised to him. And Ayla seemed distant, elusive. He had made some attempts to talk to her, to express his sorrow, but after their first moments of shared grief, she seemed unwilling to accept his efforts to console her. He wondered if he was imagining it. As upset as she was, what else could he expect?
Suddenly, all heads turned at the sound of a steady beat. Marut, the drummer, had gone to the Music Lodge and brought his mammoth skull drum back. Music was usually played at Mamutoi funerals, but the sounds he was making were not the usual Mamutoi rhythms. They were the unfamiliar, strangely fascinating rhythms of the Clan that Ayla had shown him. Then the bearded musician, Manen, began to play the simple flute tones she had whistled. The music matched, in an unexplainable way, the movements of the woman who was dancing a ritual as evanescent as the sound of music itself.
> Ayla had almost completed the ritual, but she decided to repeat it, since they were playing Clan sounds. The second time they went through it, the musicians began to improvise. With their expertise and skill, they made the simple Clan sounds into something else, which was neither Clan nor Mamutoi, but a mixture of both. A perfect accompaniment, Ayla thought, for the funeral of a boy who was a mixture of both.
Ayla went through one last repetition with the musicians, and she wasn’t sure when her tears started, but she could see she was not alone. There were many wet eyes, and not only from among the Lion Camp.
As she finished for the third time, a heavy dark cloud that had been approaching from the southeast began to blot out the sun. It was the season for thunderstorms, and some people looked for shelter. Instead of water, a light dust began to fall, very light at first. Then the volcanic ash from the eruption in the faraway mountains fell heavier.
Ayla stood by Rydag’s grave cairn feeling the feathery soft volcanic ash sifting down on her, coating her hair, her shoulders, clinging to her arms, her eyebrows, even her eyelashes, turning her into a monochrome figure in pale beige-gray. The fine light dust covered everything, the stones of the cairn, the grass, even the brown dust of the path. Logs and bush alike took on the same hue. It covered the people standing by the grave as well, and to Ayla, they all began to look the same. Differences were lost in the face of such awesome powers as movements of the earth, and death.
37
“This stuff is terrible!” Tronie complained, shaking out a bed covering at the edge of a gully, and causing more ash to billow up. “We’ve been cleaning it up for days, but it’s in the food, in the water, clothes, beds. It gets into everything, and you can’t get rid of it.”
“What we need is another good rain,” Deegie said, throwing out some dirty water that had been used to wash down the hide covering of the tent. “Or a good snowstorm. That would settle it. This is one year I’m going to look forward to winter.”
“I’m sure you are,” Tronie said, then looked at her sideways and grinned, “but I think it’s because you’ll be joined by then and living with Branag.”
A beatific smile transformed Deegie’s face as she thought of her upcoming nuptials. “I won’t deny that, Tronie,” she said.
“Is it true that the Mammoth Hearth was talking about postponing the Matrimonial because of this ash?” Tronie asked.
“Yes, and the Womanhood Rites, too, but everyone objected. I know Latie doesn’t want to wait, and I don’t either. They finally agreed. They don’t want any more bad feelings: A lot of people thought they were wrong about Rydag’s funeral,” Deegie said.
“But some people agreed with them,” Fralie said, approaching with a basketful of ash. She dumped it into the gully. “No matter what they had decided, someone would have thought they were wrong.”
“I guess you had to live with Rydag to know,” Tronie said.
“I’m not so sure,” Deegie said. “He lived with us a long time, but I never thought of him as quite human until Ayla came.”
“I don’t think she’s as anxious for the Matrimonial as you, Deegie,” Tronie said. “I wonder if something is wrong with her. Is she sick?”
“I don’t think so,” Deegie said. “Why?”
“She’s not acting right. She’s preparing to be joined, but she doesn’t seem to be looking forward to it. She’s getting a lot of gifts, and everything, but she doesn’t seem happy. She should be like you. Every time someone says join,’ you smile, and get a dreamy look on your face.”
“Not everyone looks forward to their joining the same way,” Fralie said.
“She did feel very close to Rydag,” Deegie commented. “And she is grieving, as much as Nezzie. If he had been Mamutoi, the Matrimonial probably would be delayed.”
“I feel bad about Rydag, too, and I miss him—he was so good with Hartal,” Tronie said. “We all feel bad, though he was in so much pain I was relieved. I think something else is bothering Ayla.”
She did not add that she had wondered about Ayla joining with Ranec from the beginning. There was no reason to make an issue of it, but in spite of Ranec’s feeling for her, Deegie still thought Ayla felt more for Jondalar, though she seemed to be ignoring him lately. She saw the tall Zelandonii man come out of the tent, and walk toward the center of the Meeting area. He seemed preoccupied.
Jondalar nodded in response to people who acknowledged him as he passed, but his thoughts were turned inward. Was he imagining it? Or was Ayla really avoiding him? After all the time that he had spent trying to stay out of her way, he still couldn’t quite believe, now that he wanted to talk to her alone, that she was avoiding him. In spite of her Promise to Ranec, some part of him always believed that all he had to do was to stop avoiding her and she would be available to him again. It wasn’t that she had seemed so eager, exactly, but that she seemed open to him. Now, she seemed closed. He had decided the only way to find out was to face her directly, but he was having trouble finding her at a time and place where they could talk.
He saw Latie coming toward him. He smiled and stopped to watch her. She walked with an independent stride now, smiled confidently at people who nodded greetings. There is a difference, he thought. It always amazed him to see the change that First Rites brought. Latie was no longer a child, or a giggling, nervous girl. Though she was still young, she moved with the assurance of a woman.
“Hello, Jondalar,” she said, smiling.
“Hello, Latie. You’re looking happy.” A lovely young woman, he thought to himself as he smiled. His eyes conveyed his feeling. She responded with an indrawn breath and widened eyes, and then a look that answered his unconscious invitation.
“I am. I was getting so tired of staying in one place all the time. This is the first chance I’ve had to walk around by myself … or with anyone I want.” She swayed a little closer as she looked up at him. “Where are you going?”
“I’m looking for Ayla. Have you seen her?”
