He was in the midst of a great crowd flowing out of Her womb, all wearing beaded shirts. He tried to fight his way back, but the great press of people carried him away like a log caught in the flood of birth water; a log carried by the Great Mother River with a bloody shirt clinging to it.
He craned his neck to look back, and he saw Ayla standing in the mouth of the cavern. Her sobs echoed in his ears. Then, with resounding thunder, the cavern collapsed in a great rain of rocks. He stood alone, crying.
Jondalar opened his eyes to darkness. Ayla's small fire had used up the wood. In the absolute black, he wasn't sure if he was awake. The cave wall had no definition, no familiar focus to establish his place within his surroundings. For all his eyes could tell him, he might have been suspended in a fathomless void. The vivid shapes of his dreams were more substantial. They played across his mind in remembered bits and pieces, reinforcing their dimensions in his conscious thoughts.
By the time the night had faded enough to give bare outline to stone and cave openings, Jondalar had begun to attribute meaning to his sleeping images. He didn't often remember his dreams, but this one had been so strong, so tangible, that it had to be a message from the Mother. What was She trying to tell him? He wished for a zelandoni to help him interpret the dream.
As faint light penetrated the cave, he saw a tumult of blond hair framing Ayla's sleeping face, and he noticed the warmth of her body. He watched her in silence as shadows lightened. He had an overwhelming desire to kiss her, but he didn't want to waken her. He brought a long golden tress to his lips. Then, quietly, he got up. He found the tepid tea, poured himself a cup, and walked out to the stone porch of the cave.
It was chilly in his breechclout, but he ignored the temperature, though a thought about the warm clothes Ayla had made for him passed through his mind. He watched the eastern sky lighten and the details of the valley sharpen, and he dredged up his dream again, trying to follow its tangled strands to unravel its mystery.
Why should Doni show him that all life came from Her? He knew it; it was an accepted fact of his existence. Why should She appear in his dream giving birth to all the fish and birds and animals and…
Flatheads! Of course! She was telling him the people of the Clan were Her Children too. Why had no one made that clear before? No one ever questioned that all life came from Her, why were those people so vilified? They were called animals as though animals were evil. What made flatheads evil?
Because they were not animals. They were human, a different kind of human! That's what Ayla has been saying all along. Is that why one of them had Ayla's face?
He could understand why her face would be on the donii he had made, the one who had stopped the lion in his dream – no one would believe what Ayla had actually done; it was more incredible than the dream. But why was her face on the ancient donii? Why should the Great Earth Mother Herself bear the likeness of Ayla?
He knew he would never understand all of his dream, but he felt he was still missing an important part. He went over it again, and when he recalled Ayla standing in the cave that was about to collapse, he almost shouted to her to get away.
He was staring at the horizon, his thoughts inward, feeling the same desolation and loneliness as in his dream when he had been standing alone, without her. Tears wet his face. Why did he feel such utter despair? What was he not seeing?
People in beaded shirts came to mind, leaving the cavern. Ayla had fixed the beaded shirt for him. She had made clothes for him, and she hadn't even known how to sew before. Traveling clothes that he would wear when he left.
Left? Leave Ayla? The fiery light rose over the edge. He closed his eyes and saw a warm golden glow.
Great Mother! What a stupid fool you are, Jondalar. Leave Ayla? How can you possibly leave her? You love her! Why have you been so blind? Why should it take a dream from the Mother to tell you something so plain that a child could have seen it?
A sense of great weight lifting from his shoulders made him feel a joyous freedom, a sudden lightness. I love her! It has finally happened to me! I love her! I didn't think it was possible, but I love Ayla!
He was filled with exuberance, ready to shout it to the world, ready to rush in and tell her. I have never told a woman that I love her, he thought. He hurried into the cave, but Ayla was still sleeping.
He went back out and brought in some wood, and using flint and a firestone – it still amazed him – quickly had a fire going. For once, he'd managed to wake up before her, and he wanted to surprise her with hot tea for a change. He found her mint leaves, and soon had the tea steeped and ready, but Ayla still slept.
He watched her, breathing, turning – he loved her hair long and free like that. He was tempted to wake her. No, she must be tired. It's daylight and she's not up.
He went down to the beach, found a twig to clean his teeth, then took a morning swim. It left him refreshed, full of energy, and famished. They had never gotten around to eating. He smiled to himself, remembering the reason; the thought caused a rising.
He laughed. You deprived him all summer, Jondalar. You can't blame your woman-maker for being so eager, now that he knows what he's missed. But don't push her. She may need to rest – she's not used to it. He raced up the path and entered the cave quietly. The horses were out to pasture. They must have gone while I was swimming, and she's still not awake. Is she all right? Maybe I should wake her. She rolled over and exposed a breast, adding impulse to his earlier thoughts.
He contained his urge and went to the fireplace to pour himself more tea, and wait. He noticed a difference in her random motions, then saw her groping for something.
"Jondalar! Jondalar! Where are you?" she cried, bolting up.
"Here I am," he said, rushing to her.
She clung to him. "Oh, Jondalar. I thought you were gone."
"I'm here, Ayla. I'm right here." He held her until she quieted. "Are you all right now? Let me get you some tea."
He poured the tea and brought her a cup. She took a sip, and then a bigger drink. "Who made this?" she asked.
"I did. I wanted to surprise you with hot tea, but it's not so hot anymore."
"You made it? For me?"
"Yes, for you. Ayla, I have never said this to a woman before. I love you."
"Love?" she asked. She wanted to be sure he meant what she hardly dared hope he might mean. "What does 'love' mean?"
"What does…! Jondalar! You pompous fool!" He stood up. "You, the great Jondalar, the one every woman wants. You believed it yourself. So careful to withhold the one word you thought they all wanted to hear. And proud that you've never said it to a woman. You finally fall in love – and you couldn't even admit it to yourself. Doni had to tell you in a dream! Jondalar is finally going to say it, going to admit he loves a woman. You almost expected her to faint with surprise, and she doesn't even know the meaning of the word!"
Ayla watched him with consternation, pacing back and forth, ranting to himself about love. She had to learn that word.
"Jondalar, what does 'love' mean?" She was serious, and she sounded a trifle annoyed.
He knelt down in front of her. "It's a word I should have explained long ago. Love is the feeling you have for someone you care for. It is what a mother feels for her children, or a man for his brother. Between a man and a woman, it means they care for each other so much that they want to share their lives together, not ever be apart."
She closed her eyes and felt her mouth tremble as she heard his words. Did she hear him right? Did she really understand?