S'Armuna had been staring at Ayla. She recalled that one of the first hunters who had returned with the group carrying the man had revealed a frightening vision she'd had during the hunt, wanting her to interpret it. She told of a woman sitting on the back of one of the horses they were driving over the cliff, struggling to gain control of it, and finally making it turn back. When the hunters carrying the second load of meat talked about seeing a woman riding away on a horse, S'Armuna wondered at the meaning of the strange visions.
Many things had been bothering the One Who Served the Mother for some time, but when the man they brought in turned out to be a young man who seemed to have materialized out of her own past, and he told a story of a woman on horseback, it distressed her. It had to be a sign, but she had not been able to discern the meaning. The idea had preyed on S'Armuna's mind while she considered various interpretations of the recurring vision. A woman actually riding into their Camp on the back of a horse gave the sign unprecedented power. It was the manifestation of a vision, and the impact of it put her in a turmoil. She hadn't been giving her full attention to Attaroa, but a part of her had heard and she quickly translated the headwoman's words into Zelandonii.
"Death to a hunter as a punishment for hunting is not the way of the Great Mother of All," Ayla said in Zelandonii when she heard the translation, though she had understood the gist of Attaroa's statement. S'Armunai was so close to Mamutoi that she could understand much of it, and she had learned a few words, but Zelandonii was easier, and she could express herself better. "The Mother charges Her children to share food and offer hospitality to visitors."
It was when she was speaking in Zelandonii that S'Armuna noticed Ayla's speech peculiarity. Though she spoke the language perfectly, there was something… but there was no time to think about it now. Attaroa was waiting.
"That is why we have the penalty," Attaroa smoothly explained, though the anger she was fighting to control was evident to both S'Armuna and Ayla. "It discourages stealing so there will be enough to share. But a woman like you, so good with weapons, how could you understand the way it was for us when no woman could hunt. Food was scarce. We all suffered."
"But the Great Earth Mother provides more than meat for Her children. Certainly the women here know the foods that grow and can be gathered," Ayla said.
"But I had to forbid that! If I had allowed them to spend their time gathering, they would not have learned to hunt."
"Then your scarcity was of your own doing, and the choice of those who went along with you. That is not a reason to kill people who are not aware of your customs," Ayla said. "You have taken on yourself the Mother's right. She calls Her children to Her when She is ready. It is not your place to assume Her authority."
"All people have customs and traditions that are important, and if their ways are broken, some of them require a punishment of death," Attaroa said.
That was true enough; Ayla knew it from experience. "But why should your custom require a punishment of death for wanting to eat?" she said. "The Mother's ways must come before all other customs. She requires sharing of food, and hospitality to visitors. You are… discourteous and inhospitable, Attaroa."
Discourteous and inhospitable! Jondalar fought to control a derisive laugh. More like murderous and inhuman! He had been watching and listening with amazement, and he was grinning with appreciation for Ayla's understatement. He remembered when she couldn't even understand a joke, much less make subtle insults.
Attaroa was obviously irritated; it was all she could do to contain herself. She had felt the barb of Ayla's "courteous" criticism. She had been scolded as if she were a mere child; a bad girl. She would have preferred the implied power of being called evil, a powerfully evil woman to be respected and greatly feared. The mildness of the words made her seem laughable. Attaroa noticed Jondalar's grin and glared at him balefully, certain that everyone watching wanted to laugh with him. She vowed to herself that he would be sorry, and so would that woman!
Ayla seemed to resettle herself on Whinney, but she had actually shifted her position unobtrusively in order to get a better grip on the spear-thrower.
"I believe Jondalar needs his clothes," Ayla continued, lifting the spear slightly, making it apparent that she held it without being overtly threatening. "Don't forget his outer fur, the one you are wearing. And perhaps you should send someone into your lodge to get his belt, his mitts, his waterbag, his knife, and the tools he had with him." She waited for S'Armuna to translate.
Attaroa clenched her teeth but smiled, though it was more a grimace. She signaled Epadoa with a nod. With her left arm, the one that wasn't sore – Epadoa knew she would also have a bruise on her leg where Jondalar had kicked her – the woman who was the leader of Attaroa's Wolves picked up the clothes they had struggled so hard to pull off the man and dropped them down in front of him; then she went inside the large earthlodge.
While they waited, the headwoman suddenly spoke up, trying to assume a friendlier tone. "You have traveled a long way, you must be tired – what did he say your name was? Ayla?"
The woman on horseback nodded, understanding her well enough. This leader cared little for formal introductions, Ayla noticed; not very subtle.
"Since you put such importance on it, you must allow me to extend the hospitality of my lodge. You will stay with me, won't you?"
Before either Ayla or Jondalar could respond, S'Armuna spoke up. "I believe it is customary to offer visitors a place with the One Who Serves the Mother. You are welcome to share my lodge."
While listening to Attaroa and waiting for the translation, the shivering man pulled on his trousers. Jondalar hadn't thought too much about how cold he was before, when his life was in immediate jeopardy, but his fingers were so stiff that he fumbled to tie knots in the severed cords that held his legwear on. Though it was torn, he was grateful to have his tunic, but he stopped for a moment, surprised, when he heard S'Armuna's offer. Looking up after he pulled the tunic over his head, he noticed that Attaroa was scowling at the shaman; then he sat down to put on his foot-coverings and boots as quickly as he could.
She will hear from me later, Attaroa thought, but she said, "Then you must allow me to share food with you, Ayla. We will prepare a feast, and you will be the honored guests. Both of you." She included Jondalar in her glance. "We have recently had a successful hunt, and I cannot allow you to leave, thinking too badly of me."
Jondalar thought her attempt at a friendly smile was ludicrous, and he had no desire either to eat their food or to stay in this encampment a moment longer, but before he could voice his opinion, Ayla answered.
"We will be happy to accept your hospitality, Attaroa. When do you plan to have this feast? I would like to make something to bring, but it is late in the day."
"Yes, it is late," Attaroa said, "and there are some things I will want to prepare, too. The feast will be tomorrow, but of course, you will share our simple meal tonight?"
"There are things I must do for my contribution to your feast. We will be back tomorrow," Ayla said. Then she added, "Jondalar still needs his outer fur, Attaroa. Of course, he will return the 'cloak' he was wearing."
The woman pulled the parka up over her head and gave it to the man. He smelled her female scent when he pulled it on, but he appreciated the warmth. Attaroa's smile was pure evil as she stood in the cold in her thin inner garment.