She saw that Jondalar had done the same, and so did the First. Then she noticed that Mejera, who had boiled the water and ladled the beverage, had also drunk a cup.
"Jondalar, is this the stone you brought with you from Thonolan's burial?" the First said, showing him the small, sharp-edged, ordinary-looking gray stone with one iridescent blue opal face.
"Yes, it is," he said. He would recognize that stone anywhere.
"Good. It is an unusual stone, and I'm sure it still carries a trace of your brother's elan. Take it in your hand, Jondalar, and then hold hands with Ayla so that the stone is held by both of you. Move close to my seat and with your other hand, take my hand. Now, Mejera, you move up close to me and take my hand, and Ayla, if you will come a little closer, you and Mejera can hold hands."
Mejera must be a new acolyte, Ayla thought. I wonder if it is her first time for something like this. It's my first time with the Zelandonii, although that time at the Clan Gathering with Creb was probably similar, and of course, what I did with Mamut was. She found herself recalling her last experience with the old man of the Lion Camp who interceded with the spirit world, and it did not make her feel better. When Mamut found out she'd had some of the special Clan roots that the mog-urs used, he wanted to try them, but he was unfamiliar with their properties and they were stronger than he had thought. They were both nearly lost to the deep void, and Mamut warned her against ever using them again. Though she did have more of those roots with her, she didn't plan to take them.
The four who had consumed the drink were now facing each other, holding hands, the First sitting on a low padded stool, the rest sitting on the leather mat on the ground. The Zelandoni of the Eleventh brought an oil lamp and placed it in the middle of them. Ayla had seen similar lamps but found herself quite intrigued by it. She was already beginning to feel some effects from the drink as she stared at the stone that held fire.
The lamp was made of limestone. The general shape, including the bowl-like section and the handle extension, had been pecked out with a much harder stone, like granite. Then it was smoothed with sandstone and decorated with symbolic markings etched in with a flint burin. Three wicks were resting against the side of the bowl opposite the handle at different angles, each with one end sticking out of the liquid fat, and the rest of the absorbent material soaking in it. One was quick-starting and hot-burning lichen that melted the fat, the second was dried moss twisted into a sort of cord that gave good light, and the third was made of a dried strip of a porous fungus that absorbed the liquefied fat so well, it kept burning even after the oil was gone. The animal fat that was used for the fuel had been rendered in boiling water so that the impurities fell to the bottom, leaving only pure white tallow floating on top after the water cooled. The flame burned clean, with no visible smoke or soot.
Ayla glanced around and noted, somewhat to her dismay, that a Zelandoni was putting out an oil lamp, and then she saw another going out. Soon all the lamps were out, except for the one in the center. Seeming to defy its diminutive size, the light from the single lamp spread out and lit the faces of the four people holding hands with a warm golden glow. But beyond the circle deep and utter darkness filled every cranny, every crack and hollow, with a black so complete, it felt thick and stifling. Ayla began to feel apprehensive, then she turned her head and caught the bare glimpse of a glow coming from the long corridor. Some of the lamps that had guided their way must still be lit, she thought, and let out a breath that she didn't know she was holding. She was feeling very strange. The decoction was taking effect quickly. It seemed as though things around her were slowing down or that she was going faster. She looked at Jondalar and found him staring at her, and she had the strangest sense that she almost knew what he was thinking. Then she looked at Zelandoni and Mejera, and felt something, too, but it was not as strong as her feeling with Jondalar, and she wondered if she was imagining it.
She became conscious of hearing music, flutes, drums, and people singing, but not with words. She wasn't quite sure when or even from where it originated. Each singer maintained a single note, or series of repetitive notes, until he or she ran out of breath, and then would take a breath and start again. Most singers and the drummers repeated the same thing over and over, but a few exceptional singers varied their song, as did most of the flute players. Beginning and ending at each person's own choosing meant that no two people started or stopped at the same time. The effect was a continuous sound of interweaving tones that changed as new voices began and others ended, with an overlay of divergent melodies. It was sometimes atonal, sometimes closely harmonic, but overall a strangely wonderful, beautiful, and powerful fugue.
The other three people in her circle were singing as well. The First, with her beautiful, rich contralto, was one who varied her tones in a melodic way. Mejera had a pure, high voice, and a simple, repetitive set of tones. Jondalar also sang a repetition of tones, a chant he had obviously perfected and was happy with. Ayla had never really heard him sing before, but his voice was rich and true, and she liked the sound. She wondered why he didn't sing more.
Ayla felt that she should join in, but she had attempted to sing when she lived with the Mamutoi and knew she simply didn't know how to carry a tune. She never learned as a child, and it was a little late to learn now. Then she heard one of the men nearby who just crooned in a monotone. It reminded her of when she was living alone in her valley and used to hum a similar monotone at night while she rocked herself to sleep, the leather cloak that she had used to hold her son to her hip crumpled up into a ball and held close to her stomach.
Very softly, she began to hum her low-pitched monotone and found herself rocking very slightly. There was something soothing about the music. Her own humming relaxed her, and the sounds of the others gave her a comforting, protected feeling, as though they were supporting her and would be there for her if she needed them. It made it easier for her to give in to the effects of the drink, which was having a strong influence on her.
She became acutely aware of the hands she was holding. On her left, the hand of the young woman was cool, moist, and so softly compliant, the grip was slack. Ayla clasped Mejera's hand but felt almost no return hold; even her grasp was young and shy. In contrast, the hand on her right was warm, dry, and slightly callused from use. Jondalar held her hand with a firm grip, as she held his, and she was extremely conscious of the hard stone held between them, which was slightly disconcerting, but his hand made her feel secure.
Though she couldn't see it, she was sure the flat opal side was against her palm, which meant that the triangular ridge on the side opposite was in his. As she concentrated on it, the stone seemed to be warming, matching their body heat, adding to it, feeling as though it were becoming a part of them or they a part of it. She remembered the chill she'd felt when she first entered the cave, and that the cold intensified as they got farther into its depths, but at the moment, sitting on the padded leather and dressed in her warm clothes, she did not feel cold at all.
Her attention was caught by the fire in the lamp; it made her think of the pleasant heat of fire in a hearth. She stared at the small flickering flame, became fixated on the bit of incandescence to the exclusion of everything else. She watched the small yellow light as it fluttered and trembled. With every breath she took, she seemed to control the flame.