THE SHELTERS OF STONE

The young horse was a gray filly. "I think I'm going to call her Gray," she said to Jondalar, "and she should be Jonayla's horse. But we'll have to teach them both." He gri

The next day, when they were back at the horse area on the ledge, Racer welcomed his new little sister with avid curiosity, but under the strict supervision of Whi

"Jonokol has told me he will be leaving the Ninth Cave when we go to the Summer Meeting," the donier a

"Well, you expected it," Ayla said, feeling edgy.

"Have you decided yet if you are going to be my new acolyte?" she asked directly, not hesitating.

Ayla looked down, then back at the woman.

Zelandoni waited, then looked into Ayla's eyes. "I think you have no choice. You know you will feel the call one day, perhaps sooner than you think. I would hate to see your potential destroyed, even if you were able to survive it without support and training."

Ayla struggled to break away from the commanding stare. Then, from the depths of her being, or the pathways in her brain, she found a resource. She felt a power rising within her, and knew that she was no longer constrained by the donier, but instead felt that she had dominion over the One Who Was First, and held her gaze. It gave her a sense of something indescribable, a feeling of strength, of mastery, of authority, that she had never consciously felt before.

When she released the woman, Zelandoni glanced away for an instant. When she looked back, the feeling of tremendous power that had held her was gone, but Ayla was looking at her with a knowing smile. The infant in her arms began to move as though something was bothering her, and Ayla's attention went back to her child.

Zelandoni was shaken, but she controlled it quickly. She turned to leave, but turned back and studied Ayla again, not with the gaze that engendered the contest of wills, but with a straightforward, piercing look. "Tell me now you are not Zelandoni, Ayla," she said quietly.

Ayla flushed and glanced around with uncertainty, as though trying to find some escape. When she looked back at the large woman, Zelandoni was the commanding presence she had always known.

"I will tell Jondalar," she said, then quickly looked down at the baby.

The Mother's Song

Out of the darkness, the chaos of time,

The whirlwind gave birth to the Mother sublime.

She woke to Herself knowing life had great worth,

The dark empty void grieved the Great Mother Earth.

The Mother was lonely. She was the only.

From the dust of Her birth She created the other,

A pale shining friend, a companion, a brother.

They grew up together, learned to love and to care,

And when She was ready, they decided to pair.

Around Her he'd hover. Her pale shining lover.

She was happy at first with Her one counterpart.

Then the Mother grew restless, unsure in Her heart.

She loved Her fair friend, Her dear complement,

But something was missing, Her love was unspent.

She was the Mother. She needed another.

She dared the great void, the chaos, the dark,

To find the cold home of the life-giving spark.

The whirlwind was fearsome, the darkness complete.

Chaos was freezing, and reached out for Her heat.

The Mother was brave. The danger was grave.

She drew from cold chaos the creative source,

Then conceiving within, She fled with life-force.

She grew with the life that She carried inside.

And gave of Herself with love and with pride.

The Mother was bearing. Her life She was sharing.

The dark empty void and the vast barren Earth,

With anticipation, awaited the birth.

Life drank from Her blood, it breathed from Her bones.

It split Her skin open and sundered Her stones.

The Mother was giving. Another was living.

Her gushing birth waters filled rivers and seas,

And flooded the land, giving rise to the trees.

From each precious drop new grass and leaves grew,

And lush verdant plants made all the Earth new.

Her waters were flowing. New green was growing.

In violent labor spewing fire and strife,

She struggled in pain to give birth to new life.

Her dried clotted blood turned to red-ochred soil,

But the radiant child made it all worth the toil.

The Mother's great joy. A bright shining boy.

Mountains rose up spouting flames from their crests,

She nurtured Her son from Her mountainous breasts.

He suckled so hard, the sparks flew so high,

The Mother's hot milk laid a path through the sky.

His life had begun. She nourished Her son.

He laughed and he played, and he grew big and bright.

He lit up the darkness, the Mother's delight.

She lavished Her love, he grew bright and strong,

But soon he matured, not a child for long.

Her son was near grown. His mind was his own.

She took from the source for the life She'd begun.

Now the cold empty void was enticing Her son.

The Mother gave love, but the youth longed for more,

For knowledge, excitement, to travel, explore.

Chaos was Her foe. But Her son yearned to go.

He stole from Her side as the Great Mother slept,

While out of the dark swirling void chaos crept.

With tempting inducements the darkness beguiled,

Deceived by the whirlwind, chaos captured Her child.

The dark took Her son. The young brilliant one.

The Mother's bright child, at first overjoyed,

Was soon overwhelmed by the bleak frigid void.

Her unwary offspring, consumed with remorse,

Could not escape the mysterious force.

Chaos would not free. Her rash progeny.

But just as the dark pulled him into the cold,

The Mother woke up, reached out and caught hold.

To help Her recover Her radiant son,

The Mother appealed to the pale shining one.

The Mother held tight. And kept him in sight.

She welcomed him back, Her lover of old,

With heartache and sorrow, Her story She told.

Her dear friend agreed to join in the fight,

To rescue Her child from his perilous plight.

She told of her grief. And the dark swirling thief.

The Mother was tired, She had to recover,

She loosened Her hold to Her luminous lover.

While She was sleeping, he fought the cold force,

And for a time drove it back to the source.

His spirit was strong. The encounter too long.

Her fair shining friend struggled hard, gave his best,

The conflict was bitter, the struggle hard pressed.

His vigilance waned as he closed his great eye,

Then darkness crept close, stole his light from the sky.

Her pale friend was tiring. His light was expiring.

When darkness was total, She woke with a cry.

The tenebrious void hid the light from the sky.

She joined in the conflict, was quick to defend,

And drove the dark shadow away from Her friend.

But the pale face of night. Let Her son out of sight.

Trapped by the whirlwind, Her bright fiery son,

Gave no warmth to the Earth, cold chaos had won.

The fertile green life was now ice and snow,

And a sharp piercing wind continued to blow.

The Earth was bereft. No green plants were left.

The Mother was weary, grieving and worn,

But She reached out again for the life She had borne.

She couldn't give up, She needed to strive,