Doc was not a physician. His title of "doctor" came from his multiple PhD’s in the various scientific fields. The wildly happy married couple had found each other via a time machine that Doc had spent much of his life creating. Doc’s young friend, Marty McFly, had, whether willingly or not, helped him to work out the kinks. Clara smiled to herself when she thought of the young man she now knew as Marty. When they had first met, he had been identifying himself as Clint Eastwood; now, hovering on the brink of the twenty-first century, Clara knew where he had gotten the name. The idea amused her tremendously. That’s Marty for you, she thought.

The Browns had become close to the McFlys, now maturing according to natural time. Clara and Doc were godparents again. Marty and Jennifer had just welcomed their second child.

Now, his urge to travel though time well sated, Doc had wanted to settle down. His first time machine had been destroyed, but he had built another to retrieve his cherished dog Einstein. The nineteenth-century steam locomotive into which he had built it had since been dismantled, its ordinary parts either sold or kept as souvenirs, but Doc held on to the flux capacitor, the part that made time travel possible. He never planned to use it again. He only kept it for sentimental value.

When they decided to make a permanent settlement, Clara and Doc both knew that Hill Valley, home to both of them at different places in time, was not a viable option. People in both his time and hers knew them too well. There would be too many unanswered questions, too many unexplainable changes. Where, for example, had Jules and Verne suddenly come from? They had been born in the natural way, of course, but how could their parents explain their sudden appearance in either 1985 or 1885 Hill Valley?

When Jules had been born, Doc had set the locomotive time machine to the first place he had thought to punch in. It turned out to be not-too-nearby Angel Grove, California, in 1985. Two years later, Verne had followed in Angel Grove’s neighbor city, Stone Canyon. Both times, Doc had simply passed his little family off as travelers who happened through when Clara’s labor began. Now they had legitimate birth certificates for the boys and could give them the appearance of roots. Quick elementary calculation led them to Angel Grove in 1997. This would add up for their twelve- and ten-year-old sons. Not long after settling in, Clara gathered whatever documents she would need to qualify for a teaching position and joined the science faculty at Angel Grove High School.

Her one regret: she had missed her chance to teach Angel Grove’s most legendary student. Billy Cranston had graduated mid-term before she joined the staff. A shame, she thought, but no sense holding the gifted boy back. Sixteen years old may have seemed a bit young for graduation by late twentieth century standards, but in her original teaching days, many students graduated even earlier. It had been rare in the 1800’s to find a seventeen-year-old still in school. At any rate, maybe she could find him. It would be nice for Jules to get to know this Billy. Clara’s own first-born son had inherited his father’s scientific genius, and at the tender age of twelve, he would be starting Angel Grove High next year. She thought Billy would make an excellent mentor for him.

The Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii sprang into immediate excitement. Marthona all but dropped the deer’s foreleg she had been using to stir a meat stew that simmered in a huge bag made from the hide of another deer. The bag did not catch fire as flames from below licked it, because its not-quite-waterproof exterior dripped just enough moisture to protect it. The frame on which it sat was constructed of other bones lashed together with bits of tendon. The Zelandonii people knew they could not survive without the animals the Great Earth Mother provided for them.

Carefully she placed the foreleg ladle down on a woven mat beside the cooking skin. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Jondalar is home?" she gasped in disbelief, as if she could not bring herself to accept the idea. Then another thought crashed in on her wise old mind. "You did not mention Thonolan, child," she pointed out to Folara. In her heart, she knew something terrible had happened. She had been troubled by too many nightmares. The former leader thought she would never see either of her two younger sons again. To see Jondalar alone was beyond her wildest expectations.

Joharran first reached the couple who steadily approached his cave, leading horses, of all things. As leader of the Ninth Cave, he bore the responsibility to make the greeting. It pleased him to see his brother again, but like Marthona, he felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. The woman he had brought with him, whoever she was, beautiful though she may be, was obviously not Thonolan. What had happened to their youngest brother? This thought weighed heaviest on his mind. How, in the name of Doni, Jondalar and this strange woman could lead two live horses as if they were children—that could wait.

He held out his hands to greet his brother in the traditional manner. "In the name of the Great Earth Mother, Jondalar, I—" but he cut himself off. Formalities be damned, he flooded with emotion to see Jondalar alive. "It’s so good to see you," he finished in a voice barely audible. He did not clasp both of Jondalar’s hands in the customary greeting. Instead his arms flew around his brother as if of their own accord. He did not give way entirely. As leader, he must maintain his dignity.

The blond woman who had come home with Jondalar felt a lump in her throat as she watched the tender reunion of two brothers who had not seen each other in nearly five years. She did not want to interrupt their greetings. In the fashion of the Clan, the people who had raised her, she effaced herself. She became as one invisible, blending with the scenery, waiting for others to address her.

She didn’t have to wait long. A child ran to her with all the straightforwardness and careless impulsivity that only the very young can possess. "Horses!" the boy said in awe. "Are they magic?"

Ayla smiled. She could not help but be captivated by the fearlessness the little boy showed. Adults usually cowered in terror when they first saw her leading—or, more impossibly, actually riding—these horses. Those of the Fourteenth Cave, people who surely must have recognized Jondalar with her, had not even waved in greeting. "No," she answered softly. "The horses are not magic. They are everyday, ordinary horses. Anyone can teach them to stay if they are taken in while they are young."

She studied the little boy as he studied the horses, with almost the same unguarded interest, but stopped short of a direct stare. He looks a little bit like Thonolan, she thought to herself. Though she had seen Thonolan only once, and by then his spirit had already gone to the next world, she remembered his face well. He also looks a little like Thonolia, she noted, remembering the little girl who had apparently been born of Thonolan’s spirit. Is this boy also of his spirit? Ayla could not help but wonder. Or perhaps he is of Willomar, whose spirit produced Thonolan.

"What is your name?" she asked the child. But before he could answer, a woman approached and abruptly, unceremoniously, led him away. Ayla caught a hint of animosity in the woman’s face. Already she does not like me, the blond visitor realized.

His exchange of greetings finished, Jondalar motioned toward Ayla. Obediently she answered his call, approaching the leader of the Ninth Cave with a bit of trepidation. "Joharran, Leader of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, please greet Ayla of the Mamutoi, adopted by the Mammoth Hearth, and chosen by the Great Cave Lion," he recited in formal introduction, his pride obvious.

Joharran held out his hands. "In the name of Doni I welcome you to the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, Ayla of the Mamutoi," he said warmly.

"I greet you, Joharran, Leader of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii," Ayla returned. Something bothered him, her trained eye could tell. Though he greeted her with all the politeness that would be expected, he seemed anxious to burst forth with questions. The horses, of course, would nonplus him. Yet she did not press. She had been raised not to press.

She saw—I think it’s a human head, she told herself guardedly. A head only, suspended in what looked like a hollow, transparent… what was it? A bone, perhaps. It was shaped like one. Yet she could see through it as clearly as she saw through still water. Surrounding the floating head, the water-bone glowed with an odd green light. A bodiless head, but fully capable of articulate speech, that floated in a bone made of water, shining with light the color of grass. There. She had managed to put the strange vision into descriptive terms she could understand.

The dwelling place presented a bigger challenge for the mind of the One Who Serves. Lights flashed from all directions, emanating from what could have been cooking hearths, but unlike any she had ever seen. A being, not human, not animal; it seemed to be living stone—no, metal—flitted about a spacious cave, checking the odd-looking hearths, conversing cheerfully with the floating head, doing human things, speaking in a human voice. The metal she thought she could recognize. It was iron, or it appeared to be, stained a deep red and emblazoned with the symbol for the great light that flashes in the sky during a storm. This must be a Cave of Spirits, Zelandoni realized. Red was a sacred color.

The disembodied head spoke to her in a deep, authoritative voice. "Welcome, Zelandoni." The shaman was startled to hear him address her by title, in her own language. "I am called Zordon."

Zordon, the shaman mentally repeated. It was a different name, but vaguely familiar, or perhaps it should have been. The name-word closely enough resembled the one for her own people to set her somewhat at ease. "I greet you, Zordon. Do you have a message for me?" she asked, her tone polite but showing her anxiousness to get to the point. This was not a usual vision.

Patiently she listened as Zordon explained.

Verne poked his head into the spare bedroom, where he had last seen Billy and Jules. The two eggheads were hopelessly busy with each other, babbling on and on about science, setting up a lab for Jules like the one Billy had in his own home. They didn’t even notice me. Angrily, Verne stalked off to the attic of their new Angel Grove home. Maybe he could find something to play with up there.

He sifted through the mountains of boxes, bags, and trunks, looking for something that might prove interesting. Outgrown toys, old clothes, and a few souvenirs… so far, nothing. Remnants of the old West, where both of his parents had once lived, had long ago begun to bore him. What’s the point, anyway, Verne wondered, of having parents who traveled through time, if I’m not allowed to talk about it? Why does everything good that happens around here have to be such a secret?

Here’s Marty’s hoverboard, Verne noted, observing the pink floating object that Marty had taken from the twenty-first century. It could be a cool thing to play with. And it wouldn’t even make noise up here in the attic. It doesn’t have wheels. Mom wouldn’t bawl me out for scratching up the floor.

A hoverboard worked like a skateboard, but floated above the ground by several inches. It would move even faster, unhindered by friction. Verne looked around the spacious attic. He would need room. Busily he set to work clearing out a path, moving trunks, stacking boxes. He wasn’t being particular about where he put the boxes. Hastily he set one down on top of another. His activity came to a screeching halt when he heard a sickening, crunching, cracking noise. Immediately he investigated the cause of it.

Oh, no! Verne’s heart sank to his knees. Tears filled his eyes, and he would have cried if he hadn’t by now grown to be a tough, strong boy of ten years old. I broke Dad’s flux capacitor.

The boy’s mother was fiercely protective at times, perhaps even more than other mothers would be, toward her son. She remembered when she had first discovered that Doni had blessed her. It was about two moon cycles after Jondalar began his Journey with Thonolan. Right after they left, the Ninth Cave had held a Festival to Honor the Mother. Wilonan’s mother suspected that at least part of its purpose was to ease the pain of Jondalar and Thonolan’s leaving.

For whatever reason, Willomar, of all people, had singled her out during the Festival. Possibly he wanted to ease her grief at Jondalar’s… well, his outright abandonment of her. The young woman had nearly felt too angry that night to want to show the Mother any honor. What had the Mother ever done for her? But their fermented drink mellowed her, and Willomar was kind and considerate—and the former leader’s mate, to boot! It gave her a feeling of smug superiority just to be selected by Marthona’s own mate. She finally agreed to honor the Mother, and the Mother had rewarded her. Now she had Wilonan, just turned four years old but with a mind fit for a boy twice his age. The boy likely was of Willomar’s spirit. She had wanted Jondalar’s… but any child increased status for a woman. She now had a child to bring to Jondalar’s hearth, to dangle before him like a prize.

She did not want anything to happen to that child, especially now. Jondalar had come back, and the woman he had brought with him was not his mate. Yet. And she, the one Jondalar had originally promised, had a child. "There is something unnatural about the horses," she explained to her son, hoping he would come to fear them as she did. "They don’t act like regular animals."

"Ayla says they’re…" the boy began, but he knew it was useless. His mother had her mind made up. Even most adults did not argue with her. Only Marthona and Joharran, and sometimes their Zelandoni, could come against her in any way. What could he, a mere boy, say to convince her?

"While we’re on the subject," his mother continued, "I’m not so sure I want you around that woman, either. Anyone who controls animals the way she does… horses are bad enough, but that wolf… I’ll have to wait until I speak to Zelandoni about her."

"She’s quite safe, Marona."

Marona turned toward the voice that had spoken. Zelandoni smiled as she stood just behind the bison hide, one of several that marked individual territory within the communal cave. She had not intruded. Marona had left it draped open. "I have had a long talk with Ayla. I rather like her."

"She’s mysterious," Marona argued.

"Yes, she is," Zelandoni agreed, her smile widening. "Perhaps she is called to Serve the Mother. Jondalar says the Mammoth Hearth of the Mamutoi adopted her. That is not an ordinary hearth. It is for Those Who Serve. She is also a Healer. Perhaps I will complete the training their shaman began. Ayla shows remarkable talent. She is right in many ways for Jondalar."

Zelandoni’s last remark stung deeply, but in front of her child, Marona would not give full vent to her emotions. Quietly she held back, but it didn’t take a Zelandoni to see her deep, burning anger. Even little Wilonan could spot it easily. He, too, held his tongue.

Zelandoni continued, her tone gentle. "I came to let you know the storytelling is about to begin. Surely there are things you want to know about Jondalar’s Journey."

"I’m coming," Marona grumbled.

Trini Kwan unpacked the last of her traveling bags and left the cabin to join her friends. Besides the new ones she had made in Switzerland, there was her old friend, Zack Taylor. Even after all these long months in Geneva, she spent most of her spare time with him, perhaps simply to cling to the familiar. She and Zack missed Jason, since he had gone home to return to the Ranger team the three of them had left, but their work in Switzerland held equal importance. It had been an honor to be chosen for this peace conference. Still, it was good to get away for a short time now and then. A vacation in southern France was perfect. Just what the doctor ordered, she thought to herself.

"All unpacked?" Zack grinned at her as she headed for the small beach where several had congregated to go swimming.

"Every stitch," she answered with a wry smile of her own. Why did she always have to pack so much? They were only going to be here for two weeks. It seemed she had taken all her worldly possessions with her. Would she never learn to travel light?

"I was thinking of going out," Zack suggested. "There’s a museum near here. They’ve got some really cool relics of the ancient cave people. Some arrowheads. Other hunting weapons. Cooking tools. Even a few pictures of old cave paintings. Sounds exciting. Want to go?"

Trini considered the offer. "Sure," she decided. "We can always swim later."

His gaze landed on one of the many books piled up next to the computer that the two eggheads, as Verne bitterly called them, were in the middle of constructing from scratch. He studied the title. The massive hardback looked as if it held a lot of handy information. Information he might use.

I don’t need him, Verne suddenly decided. I’ll fix the flux capacitor by myself. Defiantly, resolutely, he slunk unnoticed into the room, swiped the seemingly cannon-sized volume, and banished himself to the attic before anyone could ask a question.

"Thonolan did reach his goal of traveling beyond the end of the Great Mother River," Jondalar began his story. "But by then, his heart had gone out of it. Along the way we met some people, called the Sharamudoi. A wooly rhinoceros had gored Thonolan. I tried to take care of him, but I knew there was little I could do. The Sharamudoi found us, took us in, and healed his wounds. There he fell in love with a beautiful woman named Jetamio." Jondalar’s words were clipped, his sentences short. It was a painful subject, and he fought for control. He took a hard swallow and continued. "They were mated. Thonolan was ready to end his Journey right there. I—I wish this were the end of the story."

It took a lengthy pause, and several deep breaths, before Jondalar could continue relaying the sad events. Ayla instinctively reached out for him, gently smoothing the long yellow hair he kept tied back with a thong. Marona noticed the affectionate gesture and glowered, clutching Wilonan possessively.

Finally Jondalar spoke again. "Jetamio soon was blessed of Doni, but she could not contain the blessing. The life essence kept escaping from her body too soon. She lost several children. Finally she was blessed again. This time she kept it. When she was ready to deliver, she could not. Her bones were too small. Their shaman tried to take the baby so that he could live, but he died too. Thonolan… just gave up. He had loved Jetamio. He had wanted her child. When he lost both of them, he could not bring himself to stay with the Sharamudoi. We resumed our Journey. We reached the end of the Great Mother River, just as he had wanted to do. I tried to get him to come back here. I told him our Journey was completed. But he wanted to keep on going. He meant to travel until the end of his days."

A lot like Willomar, Marthona nodded to herself. He is a traveler too. I wish he were here to listen to Jondalar’s story—and yet I don’t. I don’t even know if I want to hear it myself. The cave was filled with a deafening silence. Not even a baby cried. Only Jondalar’s quiet, excruciatingly controlled, nearly monotone voice broke the utter stillness.

"After reaching the end of the Great Mother River," Jondalar picked up the story, "we headed north. Thonolan killed a deer, but before he could reach his kill, a cave lioness claimed it. He… should have known better than to charge into a cave lion’s territory, but he… wasn’t thinking clearly. I believe he was still too wracked with grief. He tried to get his kill back from the cave lioness. Her mate…"

It was too much. Jondalar could not continue. He had told this story many times, to other people, but this was his family. Even to Dalanar, the man of his hearth, he had managed to tell the news, to speak the words. Now, with their mother sitting close by, he felt her pain as if by telepathy. He could not make her listen to the horrible words. Silently he hung his head in abject grief.

Marthona spoke next. "I knew something had happened to Thonolan," she said, her voice quivering, ready to break at any moment. "I knew it deep in my heart. I just didn’t know exactly what. Now I do… a cave lion killed him." She, too, bowed her head. Then she allowed herself to give way, sobbing in Joharran’s arms. Her son scarcely had any more inner resources than she did. Though he held his mother tightly, offering his comfort, tears flowed freely down his own face as well.

As the impact slowly crept up on her, Folara began to sob openly. Thonolan had been her big brother, and she had idolized him nearly as much as she did Jondalar. "I wish Willomar were here," she wailed. She needed the comfort of the man of her hearth. Seeing her need for human contact, Zelandoni moved next to the young woman and held her close.

"I do too," said Marthona, beginning to gain control of herself if only for the sake of her daughter. "He will be devastated by the news."

"He will be back soon," Zelandoni assured them all. Willomar had gone to trade with some people to the east. He had left shortly after their last Festival and was expected back before the Ninth Cave left for the Summer Meeting of the Zelandonii. It would not be too much longer.

Marona cut in now. "I’m… sorry to hear this, Jondalar," she said with honest feeling. She had really neither liked nor disliked Thonolan, but she was sorry he was gone. Her grief was as much in sympathy for Jondalar, the man she still loved but had essentially given up on. "You say you had left the Sha—Shara—those people you met. Were you alone when Thonolan died? How was his spirit sent to the next world? Was there a Zelandoni to give him a burial?"

Ayla fielded the question. "I am not yet fully trained as One Who Serves the Mother. But I do know some ceremonies. I buried him. I… conducted a ceremony." It was the best she could answer. These people were as yet too overcome with grief to hear the complete story. She only hoped they would not ask her what kind of ceremony she had held for Thonolan.

Zelandoni looked hard at the blond stranger. "I’m sure it was enough," she said simply.

"Even so," said Jondalar, "I brought back a stone from his grave cairn. I was hoping that you could use it to find Thonolan’s spirit and guide him into the next world."

"I will do what I can," answered Zelandoni.

Somewhat embarrassed, Billy forced himself to snap back to reality. Some of his friends were coming to the Brown household to show Jules around Angel Grove. He didn’t want to be spaced out when they arrived. "Sorry, Jules," he said sheepishly. "I was thinking about a friend of mine."

Even at twelve years of age, Jules knew that look. "A girl?" he teased with mock disdain.

Billy laughed. "Yes," he admitted. "Her name is Trini. She’s in Switzerland for a peace conference… no, right now she’s in the south of France, on vacation. I got an e-mail from her today."

"Do you miss her?"

"Yes," Billy sighed. "Very much so. I wish there was a way to be with her again." The doorbell rang, and Jules answered it.

From the attic stairs, Verne caught the conversation. Wouldn’t it be funny, he thought, if I could make it happen? But who am I kidding? It’s not going to work.

He had, he hoped, repaired the damage to his father’s flux capacitor. And he couldn’t resist adding his own modifications. In his father’s version, to travel to a certain time, you entered the date on the keypad. Then when the time machine was activated, you would find yourself instantly at that date—but at the same place, the same location. Now, if it worked, you could punch in the name of the place, or even the name of the person you wanted to be with. You could even send someone else, and stay behind yourself. A significant improvement on his father’s model. If it worked.

It’s not going to work, Verne told himself again. Jules is the genius in the family, not me. But he couldn’t resist trying. He punched in the proper information. Trini… France…

As the handful of friends gathered on the Browns’ front porch, three sonic booms sounded. Three flashes of light ripped through the air. They felt the earth beneath them quiver. Incredulously, Verne watched from the attic window as they all, including his brother, vanished before his eyes.

"Did you feel that?" Trini gasped at Zack.

Zack nodded, his eyes wide. Both young people had felt the tremors beneath them. Before they could wonder at length about it, however, three sonic booms rocked the ground, causing it to tremble even more. Simultaneously three flashes of light blinded them for a moment. When they opened their eyes, they were no longer in the south of France… or were they? Much of the landscape looked the same. Much more of it had changed. A cave had materialized before them. On top of it sat a rock, one that looked as though it would fall at any moment.

They were not alone. Immediately they were joined by a handful of other people. About half they knew. They recognized Billy, Tommy, and Jason right away and would have been happy to see their close friends had they not been so terrified. They also recalled meeting Adam before they had left for Switzerland. The other half were strangers. They did not know the African girl in yellow, who was with their friends, although their friends seemed to know her. The same applied to the attractive blond girl, wearing pink as Kimberly once had done. Nor did they recall ever meeting the two slightly younger boys who appeared with them, both probably around twelve years old.

And they did not recognize the blond-haired woman who sat on the ground before them, trembling with fear, looking as panic-stricken as they felt, the weaving project she had apparently just been working on forgotten in this strange turn of events. She was not dressed in the same style as the rest of them. Her clothes looked prehistoric. A large dog—no, it was a wolf—rose to its feet beside the strange woman, its hackles raised in fear. But it did not attack.

Trini edged toward Billy, one of the friends she recognized. Billy might be able to solve the mystery. He could always figure things out. She eased into his arms to calm herself. "Where are we?" she whispered to him in terror. Billy looked entirely blank. He gave no answer.

She had shown several of the women, and a few of the men, how to use her thread-puller. It had caused a stir of excitement, but not nearly as much as had her firestones and burning rocks. Of course, she would not take credit for the burning rocks. They were the discovery of the Losadunai. The firestones, however, had been something revealed to Ayla, revealed, Zelandoni assured her, by the Mother Herself. Ayla wasn’t quite sure. She thought maybe her Clan totem, the Great Cave Lion, had led her to the discovery. But she did not debate the fact with Zelandoni. She had learned, in the time since she left the Clan, the ways of the Mother as well as of Totems. Perhaps they acted together, the Totems mostly for the Clan, and the Mother… probably for all people. Jondalar had told her about his dream. The Mother had showed him that people of the Clan, those whom some called flatheads, and animals, or even worse, abominations, were also Her children.

Jondalar, she knew, had gone with Zelandoni to her private cave. It did not worry her. They were going to have a ceremony to locate Thonolan’s spirit, nothing more. Only Marona had made any cutting remarks, had reverted to the use of Zelandoni’s personal name, Zolena. Ayla could recognize that Marona did this only to make Ayla feel jealous, as jealous as Marona herself felt. Marona had even tried to use Wilonan, her own son, as a weapon to make Ayla jealous. You may have Jondalar, her glances, her body language, said often, but I’ve got a child. Children increased a woman’s status among those who reverenced the Mother. When Ayla’s own pregnancy, which she had confirmed just before meeting the Zelandonii people, began to show, Marona ceased her barbs but sulked. The woman tried to think of a way to keep Wilonan from speaking to Ayla, but she could not come up with a reason that satisfied everyone else. That woman, Marona thought with disgust, captivates this whole cave.

Ayla was acutely aware of Marona’s watching her, trying to look for some flaw that would justify her wanting to keep Wilonan away from her. It angered her only slightly. Try as she might, Marona would find nothing glaringly wrong with Ayla’s behavior.

What bothered Ayla more than Marona’s dagger-like glowers was the rumbling she had begun to feel underneath her. More than anything in the world, she dreaded earthquakes. One had taken her people from her when she was five years old. Another had forced her away from the Clan, the people who had adopted her, and had sent Creb to the next world. Ayla tried to quell the panic rising inside her as the ground beneath her trembled. But this was not an ordinary earthquake. The frightened woman heard three loud booms, like sudden claps of thunder, and saw three flashes of light. Then a collection of people, dressed in odd, garish, brightly colored clothes, looking as terrified and confused as she herself felt, materialized before her as if from nowhere.

"Hold the stone," she instructed Jondalar, "and think of Thonolan."

Jondalar obeyed, closing his eyes, clutching the small rock in his hands as if it were a precious jewel, picturing Thonolan clearly in his mind. It still pained him to think of his brother—he supposed it always would—but he would do so if it would help Thonolan’s spirit find its way to the next world. He saw Thonolan as he had last seen the young man when he was still happy, still full of life.

The fire before them seemed to hiss with steam. It flared up momentarily, yellow and orange sparks emanating from it but landing harmlessly back within itself. A figure emerged from its simmering base. It was not a human figure. It was shaped like a cave lion, a huge, nearly horse-sized ancestor of the modern great cats that still inhabit the earth. Was that a scar on its nose? No, the shadow that looked like a scar had appeared only fleetingly. Jondalar felt he must have imagined it. This was not a physical lion, such as the one that had killed Thonolan and had mauled Jondalar in the same attack—the one Ayla called Baby. The massive Spirit Lion stepped nimbly from the fire and came to a stop directly in front of Jondalar. To the man’s utter surprise, he heard the lion speak.

"I am sorry to have caused you pain," the shadowy lion-figure said in fluent Zelandonii. Its voice came as a bass growl, its lips not appearing to move. Jondalar listened respectfully, afraid to say a word, beyond the ability to speak even if he had wanted to. The Spirit Lion continued. "Not all ways of the Mother, or of spirits, can be explained, can be understood by human beings. But you know yourself that Thonolan could never again be happy in your world. It was time for him to move to the next, to join his mate and the child she bore him. Like the woman who is to become your mate, who is in fact already your mate in the World of Spirits, you are now marked with the sign of my protection. I will protect the two of you always, but remember this. There will be testing. You have already come through very difficult trials, but there will be more. Ask your woman. She will tell you that the burden of testing is worth the rewards that follow. You cannot have the rewards without the tests."

The Spirit Lion paused, allowing Jondalar to absorb his words. Soothed by the Lion’s gentle tones, Jondalar found himself relaxing, trusting, able to ask questions. "Thank you, Great Cave Lion," Jondalar spoke softly. "I hope to prove worthy of your protection. But what about my brother Thonolan? Can Thonolan find his way to the Spirit World? Can you lead him there?"

"He is already home," the Spirit Lion reassured the yellow-haired man. "Thonolan came quickly, to join his mate and child. They once again share a hearth, and they are happy together. See for yourself." Briefly the firelight flickered again, and the shadows rearranged. Through the flames Jondalar could see Thonolan, his arms wrapped contentedly around Jetamio, who cuddled their infant son in her arms. He looked happier than Jondalar had ever seen him. Though Jondalar had never been an overly emotional man, especially the kind to shed tears of joy, his blue eyes overflowed.

"He is very happy," the Spirit Lion repeated with emphasis. "His spirit needs no help finding its place of rest. He is there. But he could not be complete in his joy if he knew you would be unhappy. Therefore he left behind a piece of his spirit, resting in the stone you carried from his grave cairn, so that he could reach you and let you know. Now it can join the rest of him."

The stone in Jondalar’s hand glowed with an eerie, misty shade of blue-gray, which formed a beam of light and flowed toward the fire as if drawn by a gravitational force. The image of Thonolan smiled through the flames. His soul was complete. Then he and Jetamio, with their child, disappeared, picking up the thread of routine life in the Spirit World.

Jondalar wiped his wet eyes on a soft rabbit fur that Zelandoni offered him, and carefully slipped the stone back into the pouch Ayla had made for him, the pouch that she said was a Clan amulet. As he had learned to do from Ayla, he kept meaningful tokens inside the pouch. Though he didn’t wear it continually around his neck, as Ayla did hers, he nevertheless carried it with him at all times. The stone was just any ordinary rock now, but he still wanted to keep it. It had, after all, once held a piece of Thonolan’s spirit. Then again he turned his attention to the Spirit Lion.

"That is all," said the image, "and I must go now. Something unusual is about to happen. You must try not to be frightened." For a mere instant, the Lion form changed, taking on the appearance of a human head surrounded by green light. Jondalar did not recognize the being, but Zelandoni smiled. She knew the identity of their visitor. Then Zordon too was gone, and Jondalar found himself in Zelandoni’s small cave, doing nothing more out of the ordinary than staring at a fire.

"It is time now," said Zelandoni. Before Jondalar could ask what it was time for, he felt a slight quiver in the ground. Three loud thunder booms rocked the small cave, and three bright lights flashed from outside. Zelandoni did not look alarmed, and the fact reassured Jondalar. They stepped out from the cave, their private ceremony finished.

"Don’t," Tommy whispered as if reading Jason’s thoughts. "It’s not a good idea. If we do, it’ll scare the daylights out of her," he cautioned, gesturing toward the woman who sat shivering on the ground in front of them, wide-eyed and pale with fright.

"And them," Justin added, pointing toward the two who had just emerged from a smaller cave nearby. They didn’t seem as frightened as the woman, but he wanted to take no chances.

"Besides, how do you know your morphers will work here?" Jules broke in, startling all of them. "It’s all right," he reassured them. "I know. Never mind how."

"How you know is not real important right now," Adam conceded. His attention had been drawn toward another problem. A knot of about twenty or thirty people, dressed similarly to the woman in front of them, had poked their way out of the large cave under the precarious rock. They did not look happy. Most of them appeared to focus on the woman who had come out of the small cave with the straw-haired man—one who bore a startling resemblance to Tommy, but with lighter hair and vivid blue eyes—as if expecting her to do something. The woman to whom they looked seemed more elaborately dressed than the rest of them. Perhaps she was some type of leader, or something.

Zelandoni did not feel in the least bit alarmed. Zordon had warned her. "We have guests," she said simply to Joharran, who didn’t quite relish the idea.

Even so, Joharran stepped forward with forced bravery. Fortunately for him, he had not seen these visitors appear out of nowhere, as Ayla had. They most certainly looked odd, with their garish attire, but they were people. One way or another, for whatever reason, they had come to visit the Zelandonii. Had Jondalar met them during his travels? His younger brother didn’t seem overly upset by their sudden appearance. Perhaps he knew them. Yet he had given such detail in his descriptions of his Journey. Why had he not mentioned this tribe of strange people?

"In the name of Doni, the Great Earth Mother," Joharran began cautiously, holding out his hands, "I greet you and… welcome you to the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii." The words of welcome had been forced from almost unwilling lips. Who were these people? Did they understand him?

Most, evidently, did not. They looked puzzled, exchanging glances at each other. Well, puzzled was all right with him. At least they did not look hostile.

"Zelandonii," Jules whispered knowingly. The rest turned their gazes toward the boy. "It’s an ancient language," Jules told them. "Similar in some ways to Latin, but it hasn’t been spoken for—probably millions of years. I don’t know how, but—we’re in prehistoric times."

Now was his chance to find out. From the attic he heard the sound of his father’s voice calling him. No. Calling them. "Jules! Verne! Where are you?"

Verne swallowed hard. Oh, no! What was he going to say now? "Um, I’m in here, Dad," he called back hesitantly. "Up in the attic."

Doc’s footsteps grew gradually louder as he made his way up the stairs. Hastily Verne covered the mountainous stack of books with a horse blanket, one that his father had used in the old West. Just in time, too—Dad appeared in the doorway now. "Hello, Verne," Doc greeted his son with affection, but also with a measure of question. "Why are you in the attic?"

Verne thought quickly. "Just looking for some old toys of mine to play with."

"I see. Be careful of certain things. I don’t want you playing with…" How could he put this tactfully? Verne did not have the scientific predisposition that his older brother Jules had. "Just be careful," he finished. "Where’s your brother?"

"Some friends of his came to show him around Angel Grove," Verne answered. It was the truth. Just not the whole truth. That is what they had come to do.

For once Verne was grateful for his father’s constantly distracted demeanor, his being so absorbed in scientific data—or in his mother—that he missed what was right in front of him. Doc did not notice Verne’s nervous squirming, his fidgeting. He simply accepted the answer. "All right," Doc nodded. "Your mother says supper will be ready soon. Don’t stay up here too long."

"Yes, Dad." Doc left, and Verne sank to the floor with relief.

Ayla had never seen Wolf so agitated. Not even when he had saved her life, when he protected her from the vicious Attaroa, had Wolf seemed so stirred up. She had always been able to control him before. Now she didn’t know if she could. These people, Ayla thought to herself. They scare me too. Wolf was a perceptive animal. Did he know something she didn’t?

Yet neither their facial expressions nor their body language gave away any motives of hostility, either open or concealed. Ayla was more skilled than most at reading the unconscious signals people gave. These people, odd as they looked, were friendly. Confused, perhaps, but not angry. However they had gotten here, they had come in peace.

Then she noticed the change in Wolf’s behavior. At the sudden appearance of these strangers, he had reacted defensively, his hackles raised in warning to fend off a possible enemy. Now every indication of his own lupine body signaled, "friend." He seemed especially glad to see someone. Cautiously she let go of the large animal, but she said to him in the silent Clan language she used when speaking to her animals, "Be nice."

It was an admonition that Wolf did not need. He was indeed filled with happiness at the sight of one of their strange visitors. The instant Ayla turned him loose, he bounded directly toward the one whose clothes were of a dusty gray color. Billy gave an involuntary shriek as the wolf ran straight for him, but he relaxed when, like a large friendly dog, the animal wagged his tail. Then, leaping up and placing his front paws on Billy’s shoulders, Wolf licked the young man’s face in unrestrained glee.

"He likes you," Trini noted with a laugh.

"Yes, he does," Billy agreed, a tiny bit shaken by the narrow escape, but with relief (and scientific curiosity) now taking the place of fear. This experience just might prove interesting. Without realizing he had done it, he signaled the wolf, "down" in very nearly the same gesture Ayla used. The wolf obeyed. Billy knelt and began petting the animal at first cautiously, then affectionately. The rest of his friends soon followed suit, and Wolf enjoyed the slathering of attention.

Ayla noted the interplay with interest. She had expected the shriek, of course. Even she might have shrieked if Wolf had run at her as suddenly as he had the stranger. But now the visitors were smiling, however nervously, even laughing, and petting him as if they had seen tame animals all their lives. Most people took much longer than that to warm up to him. The gentle, vegetarian horses, animals that did not prey on other animals or attack humans, terrified people. Much more so the carnivorous wolf. The visitors’ fearlessness helped ease her mind somewhat, and the gray one’s use of a signal to command the wolf had certainly not been lost on her. Still, she did not know how these people had come from nowhere, appearing before her out of empty air. She decided not to worry about it for now. There was no immediate danger, it seemed. Wolf did like them, and she trusted his judgment.

"Looks like you’ve found a friend," Tanya giggled.

"Probably has something to do with your wolf spirit," Adam guessed.

"I think you may be right," said Billy. Some had not been present, but Tommy and Adam were among the group on Phaedos who had been bonded with their spirit animals. Billy’s had been a wolf.

Even Joharran relaxed a little at the wolf’s exuberant acceptance of their visitors. No, they probably were not hostile, but there still remained a problem. He could hear their conversation, but he did not understand their language. Nor, apparently, did they understand his.

Suddenly one of the younger boys stepped forward. "I am Jules," the boy said, speaking in Zelandonii that was only slightly accented. "These are my friends."

"I greet you," stammered Joharran, taking the boy’s hands and finishing the formal greeting he had begun earlier. "How do you come to the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii? Where do you come from?"

This was a question Jules could not begin to answer. "I don’t know," he admitted.

"It’s all right," Zelandoni broke in. "Zordon told me you were coming."

Jules exchanged glances with the Rangers and former Rangers. They looked baffled; though they had not understood all of the woman’s words, they had picked up "Zordon." "How does she know Zordon?" Justin whispered to Jules. The other boy translated the question for Zelandoni.

"Who is Zordon?" Joharran asked at nearly the same time.

Zelandoni only smiled. She would not go into detail. It would be too much for the assembled crowd to take in. "Zordon is a mutual friend," the shaman answered simply. "I am not surprised by the arrival of these guests. I was expecting them. There will be some communication barriers, but apparently the boy called Jules knows our language. It is good. We will be able to get along. Will you introduce us to your friends?" Zelandoni turned to the boy in front of her.

Jules swallowed bashfully before beginning. "I don’t know all of them," he confessed, "and the ones I do know, I’ve only just met. This is Tommy." Jules pointed to the tall young man who could have passed for Jondalar had his hair not been of a darker brown, had his eyes been rich blue instead of brownish hazel. Tommy nodded in greeting. He could read from the actions that he was being introduced. Zelandoni noticed that Tommy wore the sacred color, the same color she had seen on the iron being that had accompanied Zordon during her first vision of him.

"This is Jason," Jules continued. Ayla smiled at the sight of him. He wore a garment made of cloth the color of Whinney’s fur, or maybe of wheat ready for harvest.

The introductions continued. Those whose names Jules did not know introduced themselves. Ayla noted the colors all of the visitors wore. Justin was nearly the same age as Jules, two boys, not quite men. His clothing matched the vivid shade of Jondalar’s eyes, an intense blue that Ayla had seen only rarely in her entire life. The one called Tanya, whose skin was of the same warm brown as had been Ranec’s, wore a tunic the color of the great light in the daytime sky. The Trini one, who bore a startling resemblance to Jondalar’s close-cousin Joplaya, wore nearly the same color.

Ayla gasped at the sight of Zack, whose skin was even darker than Tanya’s or Ranec’s. Wymez had said that Ranec’s mother had been the color of the nighttime sky. It had been hard for Ayla to believe, even having seen Ranec’s skin. Yet here before her was a handsome, exotic-looking man of the color Wymez described. So, too, were his clothes. Ayla had never seen such a deep, rich black.

Then there was Katherine—a name she could not quite pronounce, a name she stumbled over with great difficulty. The blond girl wearing clothes of a rose-petal hue had smiled gently at the effort. "Most people call me Kat," she had said, and Jules translated. Kat, Ayla could manage. It sounded rather like the Zelandonii word for the forest animal that resembled the lions and other felines Ayla had seen, only much smaller. Ayla had a fondness for felines. She thought she might like Kat.

Adam, wearing some type of garment the color of moss clinging to an oak tree, struck Ayla as very handsome. He looked as if he could have been related to Joplaya or Jerika. Like the mate of Dalanar, he was built small. His deep, liquid brown eyes, peering out from that diminutive frame wrapped in moss, reminded Ayla a tiny bit of the animals that made the croaking sounds she sometimes heard by a pond or lake in the evening. There was a lake near the Ninth Cave, and it was teeming with—what was the Zelandonii word for the green animal—frogs. He really was very endearing.

But it was the one that Wolf had been so smitten with, the one in the dusty gray, that finally moved Jondalar to action. When Jondalar had first emerged from Zelandoni’s ceremonial cave, he had seen only the young man’s back. Unlike the others, he and Zelandoni had not been alarmed at the sudden appearance of the visitors. Now Jondalar broke forth in frenzied excitement that he could barely keep in check. That face… He had just seen a vision of Thonolan in the next world. Now it was almost as if he were seeing his brother again, in this world. "What is your name?" he asked in Zelandonii, forgetting that the visitor could not understand him.

The rapid advance of the man alarmed Billy, but he detected only excitement, not anger, in the prehistoric cave dweller’s manner. Almost like the wolf, Billy thought to himself, petting the animal again. When he did not understand the urgent-sounding question, he turned to Jules for the interpretation.

"He just wants to know your name," Jules told Billy.

"Oh. Billy. My name is Billy," the young man said slowly, enunciating each syllable clearly. Instinctively he offered his right hand, as if to shake in the modern style, but then at the last minute he remembered the way the other man had shaken hands with Jules. Both hands. Billy held both hands out to the obviously nervous prehistoric man, hoping to calm him.

"Billy," Jondalar repeated as if in a daze, taking Billy’s hands mechanically. He knew it hadn’t really been Thonolan, but something about the young visitor had given him quite a shock. Feeling a bit foolish, he retreated without even telling Billy his own name.

Clara put down her dessert spoon and looked hard at her younger son. "Verne," she fretted. "Are you sure you’re not feeling ill? I thought you might want to go outside and play after supper. It’s still bright outside. Why do you want to spend so much time in the attic?"

"Well… I can go outside after I find something in the attic to take there," Verne offered.

"I didn’t know the old West souvenirs still interested you," Clara commented.

They didn’t, of course, but his mother’s offhand remark gave Verne an easy way out. "They do, Mom," he feigned a pleading tone. "And I don’t want to take anything outside and get it all beat up. Or lost. Or stolen. Please let me play in the attic."

Clara smiled the smile that had melted Doc’s heart years ago. Exactly how many years ago, it was difficult to say. Biologically, that is at the rate of natural aging, it had been about thirteen years since Doc and Clara had fallen in love. Chronologically, considering that they had met in 1885 and it was now 1997, it had been well over a century. Either way, Doc decided, they still felt like newlyweds despite having two half-grown—and growing faster every day—young boys.

"All right, dear," Clara finally said. "But try to go outside more often. It would be nice for you to go out and make some friends, the way your brother did."

Any other time, Verne would have protested the implication that Jules could make friends but he could not. After all, Mom had set Jules up with Billy, and the rest followed from there. Nobody set Verne up with anybody. That was just like Mom and Dad. Give Jules a head start, then talk about how much farther ahead he was. Any other time, he would have said all this.

Now, however, the mention of his brother tied a knot in his stomach that nearly caused him to lose his supper. Quickly he squelched his feelings. If his mother thought he was sick, she would put Verne to bed, and there would go his chance to work more on repairing the flux capacitor. He just had a few more bugs to work out, if they would let him do it. Now if he could only act natural and casual.

"Oh, I forgot to mention," he said with as much ease as he could fake, "Jules called while you were out in the yard. He’s spending the night with Billy."

There. That took care of tonight. That would buy him a little more time… that is, if they didn’t call Billy’s dad or something. And it wasn’t really a lie. Well, the part about Jules calling was a lie, but most likely he was spending the night with Billy. Now, if Verne could only figure out where and when.

"I don’t like this!" Marona stormed. She paced the cave in a kaleidoscope of emotions, mostly fear, but a trace of self-righteous indignation. The rest of the cave’s occupants, visitors and residents alike, steered clear of her path. Folara quietly led Wilonan outside, thinking perhaps to distract him. She did not want him upset by his mother’s rampage.

"First this woman," Marona pointed to Ayla, "comes here with animals that don’t act like animals. They act like spirit animals. Then we get these people, looking like something out of the Spirit World as well. There is something going on here, and I don’t like it!" Her voice hovered on the edge of panic.

"Marona, we all feel fear," Joharran said soothingly. "But our visitors have been courteous and friendly. We just have to trust the Mother— "

He would have said more, but Marona interrupted him. "We don’t all feel fear," she pointed out. "This animal woman doesn’t. She probably called them here or something."

Marona was wrong, of course. Ayla had felt fear. She had bordered on panic herself when the odd-looking people had appeared out of nowhere. Only Jondalar’s and Zelandoni’s apparent ease with the strangers, and the statement that Zelandoni had been expecting them, had calmed her fears. Ayla didn’t much care for Marona’s tone. She certainly did not appreciate the "animal woman" comment, but she chose not to react. Marona had begun to bear the look of one who was slowly losing the power of reason. She could not be quieted with logic. Ayla busied herself with a fire, preparing a tea blend.

"What’s up with that woman?" Tanya hissed to Jules as she watched Marona’s frenetic pacing. "She’s the only one left that seems afraid of us. What’s she saying?"

"It’s not us," Jules whispered back. "It’s the blond woman who owns the wolf. What was her name? Ayla," he remembered. "That Marona person doesn’t like Ayla."

"Why not?" Justin was puzzled. "I think she’s nice."

"So do I," Adam agreed, a smile crossing his face.

"I think we all do," commented Billy.

"So what’s up Marona’s butt?" Jason wondered bluntly.

Zelandoni approached them slowly, a rather maternal smile forming on her lips. She had grown to like these young people, not really adults in their own culture, they had told her, though they would have long ago assumed adult status in the Zelandonii way of life. Even the two younger ones, Jules and Justin, were poised on the brink of manhood in Zelandoni’s eyes, yet apparently considered mere children in their own society. It was because people lived longer in their time, Billy had explained. They took longer to grow up. Zelandoni had learned many things from the unexpected guests. In the short few days they had been staying at the Ninth Cave, she had formed an affectionate attachment.

They didn’t even look so frightening and strange anymore, now that they had been outfitted in garments borrowed from the people of the Ninth Cave. Now they could almost blend in at any Zelandonii gathering, except for one difference. It amused the shaman to see that even among the local articles of clothing, the visitors managed to find something tinged with their individual colors of choice.

For Billy, Jason, Zack, and the two who wore sunlight, it was rather easy. Zelandonii clothes were usually made from various shades of those colors. Even Adam’s pine-needle and Tommy’s sacred red could be found in some degree. Justin’s sky color and the Kat person’s rose petals offered the most trouble. Kat solved the problem with relative ease. It was still the season for blossoming, and the young woman wore the pink blooms in her moonlight-colored hair. For Justin, the challenge was a bit more difficult. He had finally managed to come up with his own dye, boiling down blueberries, and using the juice to stain a rabbit’s tail that one of the Zelandonii children had given him. He tied a leather thong to it and wore it around his neck like Ayla’s amulet. Now they all displayed their chosen colors. Of all the guests, a double handful, Zelandoni had counted, only Jules, the one who could speak their language, seemed not to have a color preference. She wondered why, but it did not seem important.

"I think can answer question, Jason," Zelandoni said in the halting English she had begun to learn, even as some of them were picking up bits and pieces of Zelandonii. "Is Jondalar, man sit by Ayla, now petting wolf. Marona long time think Jondalar tie knot with her, make hearth. Instead he Journey, find Ayla. I knew would happen. Jondalar very special…" The shaman’s eyes took on a faraway look, but she abruptly shifted her train of thought as if she had already said more than she wanted to. "Needs special woman," she finished, saying no more.

"Jealousy." Kat understood. "That will do it."

Tommy wasn’t quite comfortable with Kat’s observation. He knew Kimberly had chosen to break off their relationship, but he couldn’t help but wonder what Kimberly would do if she saw him and Kat together. Would she become jealous? Would she act like this Marona?

"Jondalar," Justin repeated thoughtfully. "Isn’t he the one who wigged out when he saw Billy?"

Zelandoni didn’t quite understand "wigged out," but she got the idea. She first acknowledged Justin’s question with a gentle smile, then turned her gaze toward Billy. "Man with Wolf Spirit, look much like Thonolan," Zelandoni explained. "Almost same. Thonolan brother of Jondalar. He die. Jondalar just finish ceremony. Full of feeling. Then see Billy."

"He’d just had a memorial service for his brother, then he saw me, and I look so much like him," Billy recapped the explanation, throwing a sympathetic glance toward Jondalar. "I understand."

"Is maybe why Jondalar wiggled out." Learning the language of the visitors, Zelandoni tried to use Justin’s slang term with amusing results. Her effort prompted good-natured smiles.

"Wigged out," Justin corrected her with a huge grin. But before the subdued giggles could give way to full-force laughter, a disturbance caused them all to jump. They turned their faces toward Marona, and drew a collective gasp. Those nearest each other clasped hands for emotional support.

Ayla and Jondalar exchanged quick, worried glances. For an instant they saw not Marona pacing the Ninth Cave, but Attaroa. The demented headwoman of the S’Armunai had also taken an immense dislike to Ayla, had also thought people wanted to poison her. Even Wolf tensed his body, ready for whatever action might be necessary. Jondalar held the animal back.

Ayla heaved a sigh of resignation. Yes, she had put something in the tea, but not to poison Marona. To calm her nerves. It was a blend of herbs that Ayla found soothing when she was rankled, and she had an identical cup ready for herself. But she saw clearly that she was not going to reason with this woman. "I’m sorry to have disturbed—" she began, but the angry woman cut off her words.

"Disturbed!" Marona yelped. "Oh, that’s a good one. You’ve done more than disturb me, animal woman. It’s bad enough you took Jondalar away from me. But you couldn’t stop at that. First you bring animals to this cave, and now you’ve drawn the spirits of these… who knows what they are. You draw evil spirits. You couldn’t upset me more if you were the mother of an abomination!"

Ayla’s look of utter shock was obvious to all. Marona might as well have slapped her. A slight cry escaped her lips, but she did not have a chance to respond to the attack.

"That is enough, Marona!" Marthona jumped to her feet, incensed. "Ayla has done nothing to you. There is no need to accuse her of something as low as that!"

Marona focused a steel-hard glare at Jondalar’s mother. "You are not going to subdue me, Marthona," she replied with icy defiance. "You are no longer the leader of—"

Then she caught sight of Joharran, looking at her with the same burning anger. Maybe she could call Marthona on lack of authority, but she could not use the same argument against Joharran. In a huff, she turned her back on the astonished crowd and left for her sleeping furs. She very nearly tore the bison hide curtain from its place as she pulled it back and stepped beyond.

"I think… maybe… we’d better leave for a while," Tanya stammered.

Zelandoni nodded. "Talk to Ayla," she told them. "Ayla will need."

It was then that the visitors noticed Ayla. Fighting tears with all her strength, the blond woman had bolted toward the entrance of the cave, Jondalar and Wolf close at her heels.

"Pink," the boy said, pointing to the tranquil color surrounding the setting sun. Then, thoughtfully, he added, "It looks like the flowers Kat wears."

"You’re right," Folara smiled with pride. "It is the same color. Can you find Adam’s?"

"That’s easy. The grass," the boy answered with near disdain. Something so obvious as the grass—he wanted a challenge! Immediately he began an impromptu game of finding colors that matched the ones their new friends wore. A bed of wildflowers growing in the area near the pond provided easy matches for the color Trini and Tanya shared. Whinney’s coat—the boy saw her grazing in the field, some distance away—reminded Wilonan of Jason’s. Tommy’s was found in the sacred headdress Zelandoni wore, though Wilonan had to produce that connection from memory. At last picking up a coal from the charred remains of a past camp fire, Wilonan declared triumphantly, "Here’s Zack’s color!"

"That’s right. Black," Folara taught him the word.

Justin’s color, now that the sun had begun to set and the sky had darkened, would prove challenging, Folara thought. Not so to Wilonan, when she asked him. Without a second thought he climbed up the huge lower branches of an oak tree and pointed into a nest. "In here," he called to Folara. The young woman looked. The child was right. It was a nest of robin’s eggs; they were tinted a sky blue that looked deeper and richer in the fading outdoor light. Folara was duly impressed—and proud. "I like this game," she commented to Wilonan as she lifted him out of the tree.

"Now for Billy’s," Wilonan smiled back at her. "What’s the word for his color?"

"He’s gray," Folara answered.

"Like the wolf," Wilonan observed. "Is that why the wolf likes him so much?"

"I don’t know," Folara told him honestly.

Wilonan placed his head against Folara’s neck, leaning his scant weight into her and choosing this moment to have a snuggle. Folara lightly kissed the top of his head. For a few minutes neither said a word. In the distance they watched the horses, by instinct herding themselves closer to the cave, toward the lean-to shelter that Jondalar and Ayla and a few of the Ninth Cave residents had made for them. "Whinney and Racer are going to their furs," Wilonan commented.

"Yes, it’s time for their rest," Folara said. "Soon it will be time for ours."

"Is Mother done being mad?" Wilonan asked bluntly.

The question took Folara by surprise. She had not wanted to talk about this. She had hoped Wilonan would not notice the building tension involving his mother. She had hoped he would merely think Folara wanted to take him for a short walk. Folara thought she should have known better. Children were keenly perceptive, this one maybe even more than most. But, he had asked, and Folara would answer if she could. She must be careful. If she criticized Marona in front of her own child, it might appear as if she were trying to turn Marona’s son against her. That wouldn’t do. One did not interfere in the sacred bond between mother and child. It was an extension of the Mother’s own relationship with Her children. It was the closest human tie possible. After wrestling with the very core of her soul over how to answer Wilonan’s question, she decided on a simple, "I hope so."

No, that was not the end of it. Of course Wilonan, being a bright and inquisitive child, would pepper Folara with still more questions. He usually did. Now was no exception. "Folara, why does Mother get so mad?" Wilonan asked with a deep sadness, and Folara noted that he had never even seen the full extent of Marona’s temper. How would he know exactly how angry his mother did become sometimes? Yet it made sense, when Folara thought about it. Even when she restrained herself, Marona still had the nastiest temper at the Ninth Cave. Only Jondalar had once grown angrier—but that was a long time ago, and Jondalar seemed to have overcome his temper. Not so Marona.

"I don’t know," Folara sighed. "I don’t even think Zelandoni knows."

"Is it because of me?" Wilonan asked in a timid voice.

Folara was shocked. "Why in the name of Doni would you say that?"

"It’s what Mother tells me." Twin tracks of wetness began to course down the boy’s round cheeks. "She gets mad because of me. That’s what she says." Two sad blue-gray eyes stared at Folara, stabbing straight into her heart. "Does she? Am I a bad boy?"

No, Folara, the young woman told herself, barely able to restrain her own fury. You do not break the bond between a mother and her child. You will not criticize a child’s mother in front of him.

But if I don’t, she further debated within herself, he’ll think it’s true. Doni, Great Mother of All, help me. Give me wisdom. Help me know what to say to this child. In a quiet tone that whispered, though she felt like yelling, Folara answered, "Wilonan, you are a very good boy. You are smart and cute and funny, and I enjoy being with you." She stopped just short of saying, "I love you," though it was true.

"Then why does Mother say those things?" Wilonan persisted.

"Sometimes when people get angry, they say things they don’t mean," Folara explained. "It doesn’t mean you’re a bad boy, because you’re not." Wilonan seemed satisfied. Mentally, Folara sent the Mother a grateful thank-you. She had managed to restore the child’s confidence in himself without speaking ill of his mother. She had not turned a child against the woman who gave him life.

Or had she? "I wish you were my mother," Wilonan sighed. So did Folara. She had no answer.

Gradually Ayla quieted herself, and she reached down to pet the wolf. Then she dried her face, drew in a deep cleansing breath, and looked instinctively toward the primitive stable where her horses had bedded themselves down for the night. In doing so, she caught sight of Folara and Wilonan.

"Are you all right?" Folara asked gently.

Ayla did not answer right away. Her concern was for the child. How could she help to protect him from the raging, out-of-control emotions that all of the adults around him seemed to be displaying right now? They couldn’t send him back into the cave just yet.

Folara had the same thought. "Have things settled down in there?"

"No. It’s a zoo in there," Zack blurted out as they approached. Though Folara had asked her question in Zelandonii, Zack had answered in English. All of the residents and visitors, even Marona, though she would not admit it, were picking up at least a smattering of both languages. Sometimes they switched back and forth between the two, seemingly without even realizing the fact. Now, though, Zack recognized that "zoo" might not be such an appropriate word. The Zelandonii would not have a concept for "zoo." As far as they knew, only Ayla had tamed animals. And the behavior of the animals she claimed as four-legged friends was far more civilized than that of some of the two-legged animals inside the cave just now. "I mean, its…" he tried again but floundered.

"It’s not safe," Trini finished, taking the literal approach.

"I’ll get a torch," Jondalar offered, addressing Folara. "Let’s take Wilonan horseback riding."

Wilonan’s eyes glowed with delight at the idea, but he had one little concern. "The horses have already gone to their furs for the night. Do they feel like going riding?"

Jondalar gave Wilonan a gentle smile. "I’ll ask them," he promised. With that, he and his sister left with Wilonan toward the horses’ shelter.

Kat spoke softly, placing a hand on Ayla’s forearm. "Are you all right?" she asked, with the same gentle concern Folara had shown moments ago.

"Yes… no," Ayla couldn’t quite make up her mind. She had coped with worse, but this was Jondalar’s family, and she couldn’t get his mother’s comment out of her head. It wasn’t so much what Marona had said that upset her. It was Marthona’s response. "Something as low as that," she had said, referring to the very idea of birthing a child who was part Clan. Low. Low. Ayla repeated the single syllable in her mind. Jondalar’s family, his people, his Cave, had liked and accepted her, animals and all. But they hadn’t known about her Clan upbringing, and they hadn’t known about Durc. If they had, would they have reacted differently toward her? Low. Low.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Adam offered. "Sometimes talking helps." Ten sympathetic faces gathered around Ayla, and it soothed her. It reminded her in some ways of how she had felt when the entire Lion Camp had come to her side, offering their support even against their fellow Mamutoi, and over this very issue, come to think of it. Ayla thought Adam might be right. Talking sometimes did help.

The small knot of people seated themselves in a roughly shaped circle on the ground, a single torch casting shadows on their faces. The semidarkness somehow comforted Ayla and enabled her to talk more freely. With a fleeting thought of her first night with the Mamutoi, when they had sat around the Mammoth Hearth and told their stories, she now told hers to the group before her.

She began in English, with a quality that the Rangers found surprisingly fluent for the short time they had been with the Zelandonii. Obviously Ayla had a penchant for learning new languages. It was a gift of hers, they reasoned. She did very well. "What Marthona say hurt me more than angry woman," she told her new friends. "Marona beside self, out of control, maybe not responsible. She talk about abomination. Then Marthona angry too, say word low, like something wrong with. Most Others think same as Marthona. Think child like my son abomination. They are not. They are human too."

"You have a son?" Jason picked up the fact and waited for Ayla to elaborate.

"Had to leave with people who raised me," Ayla was quick to point out.

"Oh, you weren’t raised here?" Adam was surprised. Ayla was a stranger here too? He and the rest of the Rangers had simply assumed Ayla was part of the group who lived here.

Justin suddenly remembered what Zelandoni had said about Jondalar, and about his travels . "Jondalar found you along his Journey, didn’t he?" he asked their prehistoric friend.

"Yes," Ayla nodded. "He Journey far, past end of Great Mother River, with brother. Cave lion kill brother. Cave lion I raise, like wolf and horses. Did not see men in time to stop him. Wish I had. Did not know men there until I hear scream. Too long alone in valley. No other people. Lion kill Thonolan, hurt Jondalar. I heal him. He teach me to make words. He bring me back here."

"That’s a beautiful story," Tanya breathed. "You nursed his wounds and ended up falling in love. Very romantic." Ayla caught the sentiment, if not all of the words, and smiled in response.

Justin had picked up another puzzler. "What do you mean, he taught you to make words?" he wanted to know. "Do you mean talk? Couldn’t you talk before?"

"Not like Others," Ayla began to explain. "Was raised by Clan. Clan talk with hands."

"Oh, sign language," Tommy said in understanding. Now he wished Kimberly were here. He remembered that she was fluent in American Sign Language. Even though the gestures would probably be different, it would have been interesting to compare the two and see what they had in common. "Your people spoke in sign language? Why? Were they deaf?"

"What is deaf?" Ayla asked.

"Not able to hear. The ears don’t work," Tommy explained.

"Would be good to sign if ears don’t work," Ayla said thoughtfully. She had not considered that application for a language spoken with hands instead of with sounds. A vocal language had the advantage of hearing. You could speak from behind a wall, when you were not face to face, or even in total darkness. A kinetic language had the advantage of sight. You could speak when silence held paramount importance, such as in hunting when you spotted a deer and made plans for how to proceed. You could speak when noise around you made it difficult to hear the person next to you.

Or, she now realized, you could speak to a person who could not hear at all. She was intrigued by the idea, but even more by the fact that Tommy had mentioned sign language so casually. Most people of the Others had not realized that the Clan had a language, had not recognized their hand gestures as a way of speaking. She wondered how he could be familiar with it, and she guessed that he and his friends could accept whatever answers she gave them. "No, my people, nothing wrong with ears," she told them. "Is throat. Neck different. They do not speak with words."

"Throat?" Billy had a sudden insight. "They must not have had fully developed vocal cords…" he muttered primarily to himself. Aloud he asked Ayla, "Were their heads shaped differently?"

Ayla flinched. She had heard her people called flatheads too many times. But she plowed bravely onward. "Yes," she stated matter-of-factly. "Flatter on top, bulge in back. People shorter, more muscle. Look different, but people. Not animals, not abominations."

"Neanderthals," Billy nodded, fascinated. "You were raised by a tribe of Neanderthals."

"They call themselves Clan," Ayla offered. She did not know the meaning of the word, Neanderthal, but certainly saying "a tribe of Neanderthals" sounded more benign than saying, " a pack of flatheads." At least, it did the way Billy said it.

"How did you come to be raised by the, uh, the Clan?" Jules tried to pronounce the word exactly as Ayla had done. He was eaten with curiosity. Obviously Ayla had not been born to the Neanderthals. She was as Cro-Magnon as any of the Ninth Cave.

"Lose people in earthquake," Ayla explained. "Only one who survived. Iza find me. She is medicine woman of Clan. She heal my wounds, my sickness. She raise me, become my mother."

Tanya fought hard to swallow a lump in her throat. She could relate entirely to Ayla. She too had lost her parents at an early age and had been raised by strangers. She too had developed a genuine fondness for the people who had raised her. It did not replace her love for her birth parents—who, it turned out, had only been missing. She knew that it didn’t work out as well for everyone in her kind of situation, but she had been fortunate. Being raised by loving strangers only opened a wider range of people for her to love, people who loved her and taught her things. "Is that where you learned to heal Jondalar’s wounds later?" she asked, her voice tight with emotion. Ayla nodded, sensing Tanya’s surge of feeling and wondering about it, but she decided she would wait until another time to ask.

Trini pieced together a bit more of the puzzle. "And you had a child who was half Neanderthal," she deducted. "And now some people say he isn’t completely human."

"Right," Ayla confirmed. "Marthona say word, low. No need to say something as low as that, she tell Marona. Say word low like something horrible. Like abomination. Would not accept Durc." She took a deep swallow and continued bravely. "Durc not here. Had to leave with Clan. Broud leader. He curse me, make me go. Almost like Marona. Hate me. Want to hurt me."

"So he cast you out and kept your son," Trini understood. "Ouch."

Ayla found herself experiencing tremendous relief in sharing her story with friendly strangers. She appreciated it more than she could express. "When Jondalar teach me to make words, we meet people of Others. Sometimes at first, people not accept me. Say I talk funny. Talk different."

Kat nodded in sympathy. "I understand that," she said. Now she too could relate, having heard more than her share of comments about her Australian accent.

"And when they hear of Durc," Ayla continued, "is worse. They say not human. Is abomination. Reject me. Say I draw bad spirits."

"Then that’s what Marona meant," Kat guessed, "when she said you... how did she put it? It couldn’t be worse if you were the mother of an abomination?" Ayla nodded.

"And it turns out you are," Kat continued, and instantly corrected her careless phrasing. "I mean, your son is not an abomination, but he’s someone a lot of people would think of as one. I can see, then, why it upset you so much when Marthona talked about how low the idea was."

"Now you don’t know if the rest of the cave is going to accept you any more," Justin sympathized.

At a mere twelve years old, he knew what it meant to have no place to go. Like Tanya—and Ayla—he had lost his own original family. Unlike either of them, however, he had not been adopted by surrogates who loved and nurtured him. He had to content himself with a juvenile shelter. If it had not been for the friendship offered to him by the Rangers, even before he had officially become one of them, he did not know what he would have done. His eyes glistened as he turned a brief glance toward Tommy, the leader of the Rangers, whom he had first met as his martial arts instructor.

Tommy caught the younger boy’s mood and ruffled his hair affectionately. Tanya took it a step farther, moving herself closer to Justin and gathering him into her arms. Justin gratefully accepted Tanya’s comforting but fought his own emotions with all his strength. He had never cried in front of his friends, and he wasn’t about to start now.

"So the rest of the cave doesn’t know you have a son who is biracial?" Jason gathered.

"What means biracial?" Ayla asked, merely curious, not defensive. Like the other word, the long one Billy had used—Neanderthal—biracial did not sound ugly or disapproving the way Jason said it.

"Two kinds of people at once," was the best Jason could do.

Ayla understood. "Like Durc is part Clan, part Others. No, they do not know. Only Jondalar know. Not trying to hide. Just have not yet told. Sometimes when I tell, people angry."

Ayla had been talking freely with the strangers who seemed to understand. Her words had come easily, and she had spoken of things that would have been deeply painful at other times, if she were telling them to someone not quite so open-minded. Now she realized the depth of emotions she had tapped. It suddenly struck her exactly what she had been talking about with her new friends.

Tears began to stream down her face as the memories washed over her. She had nearly estranged the Lion Camp from the rest of the Mamutoi forever, although Nezzie had told her it was not her fault, that the tension had been building since she herself had taken in Rydag. On the Journey back to the Zelandonii, Dolando of the Sharamudoi had reacted with pure hatred and blind fury when he learned that Ayla had been raised by the ones he called flatheads. It seemed to be a recurring theme in her life. Meet people, befriend them, tell them about her background, and promptly alienate them. Most did eventually reconcile with her, but there was always the chance some would not. These were Jondalar’s people. It was not an easy chance to take.

"But Durc is not abomination," Ayla insisted firmly, even at the risk of losing all other loved ones in her life, and these new friends. She simply would not deny her son. "He is human."

"Of course he is," Billy said it as an elementary fact. "He couldn’t have been born if he weren’t."

Zack nodded now. "Prejudice," he said dryly. He reached out for the woman who was shedding silent tears, who expressed sorrow he could feel across eons of time, sorrow that touched even the hearts of the modern-day humans who would be born millions of years later, and pulled her into a warm embrace. "Prejudice," he said again. "Believe me, I know how it feels."

Jondalar, returning now with Folara and Wilonan, for a fleeting instant had to remind himself that the dark man who held Ayla in his arms was not Ranec. Trini caught his momentary look of concern and misinterpreted it slightly, but with harmless results. "She’s all right," the girl in yellow reassured Jondalar. "We talked about some pretty painful things, but she’s going to be okay."

The group all turned as one when Joharran discreetly cleared his throat. Ayla wondered how long he had been standing there. How much had he heard?

Joharran gave no verbal sign that he had heard anything upsetting, but his body signals could have indicated something. Ayla could not quite tell in the dark. The leader of the Ninth Cave said nothing more intense than, "Is everything all right out here? Things have settled down in the cave. I think you should come in now. The Great Light in the sky has set long ago."

Verne snuck out of bed to creep quietly to the attic. He could not sleep now, not when he was so close to solving the problem… maybe. A floorboard creaked under him as he slowly made his way across the attic floor, probably not as noisily as he thought, but to Verne it might as well have been a loud emergency siren, or a clap of thunder. He froze in his tracks and waited until he could be certain his parents would not wake up and investigate. He would have to be careful.

With the manual precision of a skilled brain surgeon, and the meticulous motions of one who handled a lethal weapon, Verne set to work making the adjustments.

Marthona had noticed the change in her oldest son when he had first accepted a cup of morning tea from her. Something seriously disturbed Joharran. That she could tell. He had been acting strange all day, and she wondered what could possibly be wrong with him. Joharran was always a dedicated leader, as dedicated as she herself had been. Now Marthona noted that she had never seen him so distracted, so unfocused on his duties. Without realizing it, she had begun to lapse into the role herself, re-assuming some of the duties Joharran would have performed, had he been… in his right mind.

Maybe something peculiar is going on around here, Marthona thought to herself. The spirits have been uneasy. Now even she cast a doubtful glance toward Ayla, wondering if her animals had any bearing on the unusual spirits permeating the Ninth Cave. Was some kind of evil, some bad luck trying to destroy them? I must talk to Zelandoni, the former leader decided.

Before she had a chance, though, Joharran strode purposefully toward his mother, his thoughts obviously distressing him, his tone deadly serious, but he looked as if he were ready to unburden himself by sharing his problems with her. Marthona was glad for that. She had taken on the role of advisor to her son when he became leader, but he had turned to her less and less as he learned the duties.

Joharran seated himself beside Marthona on her sleeping furs. "Mother," he began, his facial expression as solemn as she had ever seen it, "I apologize. I have been negligent in my duties today, and you have had to do too much. I’m glad for your help, but I must remember I am leader. It is my responsibility now. It is up to me to deal with the problem I am about to share with you. I want you to know what is going on, but worrying about it is my job. I don’t want you to trouble yourself."

"Great Mother, Joharran, what is it?"

Joharran could already see the worry lines beginning to deepen in his mother’s face. He chose his words as carefully as Jondalar would choose flint to work with. Though he hated to concern her, it would be better to tell her the truth than to keep it a secret. "Mother, last night when I went outside to get Ayla and the visitors, I overheard something. I’m afraid you’re not going to like it."

He started to explain, but there was an interruption. The sound of a loud slap reverberated throughout the cave, loud enough to make even Joharran flinch. A small child’s piercing wail immediately followed, filling a cave that otherwise would have been dead still in shocked silence. Both sounds had come from behind the bison hide that marked Marona’s hearth. Joharran leaped to his feet.

"You’re not going to do it," Marona said rebelliously, though she now faced down the entire population of the Ninth Cave, plus the ten visitors. "Wilonan is mine to raise. The Mother gave him to me. You’re not going to break that sacred bond. He is my blessing."

"Then treat him like a blessing, Mother-damn you," Folara spat out before she could stop herself. Using her own anger as an impetus to push her onward, she squirreled her way through the assembled Cave and into Marona’s hearth, scooped up the sobbing child before Marona could say a word, and brought him to Zelandoni. Then, only after she felt sure Wilonan was in safe hands, Folara ran full force out the mouth of the cave, crying nearly as hard as the boy himself.

The shaman sadly shook her head when she saw the ugly welt near the little boy’s left eye, already discolored a nauseating shade of purple and swelling fast. The eye inside the pocket of rapidly engorging tissue glowed bright red around its tiny blue iris. It may be weeks before the child can open that eye again, Zelandoni realized. She only hoped his mother had not blinded him permanently.

Ayla was horrified. She must do something to help the boy. Later she could panic. Now she must let her training as a medicine woman take over. She shut down her emotions before they could overwhelm her completely and switched to absolute logic. Think, Ayla, think. What is the best way to treat the boy? Let’s see, ice best takes care of bruises and swelling, but where can I find ice around here during the warm season? Suddenly she pictured the storage of meat the Zelandonii kept in a pit dug to permafrost level just outside the cave. Most of the meat was gone now, as the warm season had begun weeks ago. They had used up the majority of their winter storage, and what was left had most likely begun to thaw. But she must act quickly. Any cold at all would be better than none.

She darted out of the cave and grabbed the first slab of meat that found her hands. A small cut, at the top of the stored heap, it was nearly thawed. But it felt cold. Most likely cold enough. She brought the cut of bison roast to Zelandoni, who nodded in understanding and held it gingerly to the boy’s battered face. His cries lessened almost immediately as the cooling took effect. Zelandoni laid the child on a sleeping fur as Ayla began to boil water for willowbark tea. It would ease his pain.

Jondalar watched Ayla in her natural element, rushing to help someone in need. It reminded him that this was the reason he loved her so much. That same training had saved his life. He knew that the injured child was in the best of hands. Therefore he could focus his attention on the cause of the injury. His eyes blazed fury as he turned toward the defiant Marona. He was not alone in his feeling.

"That is absolutely going too far," Marthona confronted the boy’s mother. "I don’t care who he belongs to. He is a child. What could he possibly have done that justifies—"

"He disobeyed me," Marona held her ground. "I clearly told him to stay away from the horses. Animals that allow humans so close to them are unnatural. I don’t think the Mother ever intended such a thing. Yet last night, he rode one of the horses. Against my direct orders."

Jondalar’s eyes narrowed. He stepped forward and faced Marona, standing mere inches away from her. Their noses almost touched. "I put him on that horse," he said slowly and coldly, through clenched teeth that made his jaws ache. "If you’re going to slap anybody, woman, you’d better slap me." He said nothing more, just stood directly in front of Marona as if daring her to do so.

Wilonan looked up at Folara with his one remaining good eye. Folara nodded. "I know it doesn’t taste good, but it is best for you to drink it. It will help you not to hurt so much." The boy didn’t seem any more willing to swallow the concoction for Folara than he had for Ayla, but he obeyed.

"Thank you, Ayla, for helping him," Folara whispered.

Ayla looked at Folara, tears moistening the corners of her eyes. "It is not necessary to thank me. I am a medicine woman. It is who I am. I could no more walk away from a person in need than I could grow feathers and fly across a glacier. I must do what I can." She then gazed down at the child, whose swollen eye socket for just a few fleeting moments reminded her of Creb. His expression of utter betrayal made her think of Doban and Odevan, the two S’Armunai boys whose hip joints Attaroa had sadistically ordered dislocated. It filled her with sadness. She had hoped that the S’Armunai boys would be the last children she would ever see who had been deliberately injured by an adult they trusted.

The child had calmed himself down and was looking toward Folara the way many hurt children looked toward their mothers for comfort. In this case, however, it had been the boy’s own mother who had hurt him. Ayla guessed that, in Wilonan’s little soul, Folara took the place of affection that mothers normally held. She moved out of the way and allowed Folara to slip onto the furs next to the child.

Folara positioned herself next to Wilonan, cradled the small boy in her arms, and made a solemn vow. "I will never again let anyone hurt you like that," she promised, kissing him gently on his unhurt cheek. It reminded Ayla of the budding trust Doban might develop for Epadoa, since the S’Armunai woman assumed care of the boy who had no mother. Except this time, the love was already there.

"You have no room to talk," Marona answered stubbornly, refusing to back down even from Jondalar’s righteous anger. "I’ve seen you lose your temper even worse. Don’t try to deny it."

Joharran answered in place of his younger brother. "Ladroman was a grown man," he pointed out evenly, still angry but, as Ayla had done, forcing logic to take over. "Wilonan is an innocent child, a blessing from Doni herself. And Jondalar was punished for the injuries he inflicted upon Ladroman. If you want to compare the two cases, then be prepared to face the same punishment."

Marona paled as the implication set in. "You wouldn’t send me away," she challenged the leader, trying to remain brave as she faced him, not willing to yield even to him. But her voice began to quiver, and for the first time she realized the extent of her actions. "Not without Wilonan."

"I would," Joharran replied. "Faster than a cave lion springing for a gazelle. This afternoon I will send a runner to the Twelfth Cave to tell them you are coming. A delegation will return from there with the runner to accompany you back to their cave. And the child stays."

The Twelfth Cave…a smaller cave with more people and not as many resources, so that what little they had spread thinner among them. The Twelfth Cave, where no one had quite enough. The Twelfth Cave, and without her son. Marona considered the ramifications. She could not simply pass herself off as a visitor. The runner would tell the entire story before she came. Everyone would know she had misused one of the Mother’s own blessings. She had injured a child. Life at the Twelfth Cave would not be pleasant for her. "And if I refuse?" Marona challenged Joharran further.

For the first time, one of the visitors spoke. "I wouldn’t if I were you," Jason said, his arms folded across his chest, his brown eyes burning deep into Marona’s soul. His voice had been quiet, but his tone held ominous warning. It frightened her into compliance. If these beings were in fact from the World of Spirits, she decided she definitely wouldn’t want to have one angry with her.

"Until you leave for the Twelfth Cave, you are confined to your hearth," Joharran proclaimed. "Will someone please gather the boy’s belongings? He will be staying with Folara."

Marona gave up. She had been defeated.

"What in the name of Sir Isaac H. Newton are you doing up at this hour?" Doc began. "And with my flux capacitor, and what have you done to it?"

The game was up, and Verne knew it. He had no choice but to tell the truth. "I broke it," he confessed. "I tried to fix it myself so you wouldn’t find out, and then something went wrong."

Perhaps it was a mother’s intuition, but Clara didn’t like the sound of that. "Something went wrong?" she repeated in a horrified whisper. "Exactly what went wrong?" Then she knelt down in front of the seated boy and pierced right through him with her eyes. She spoke each syllable quietly but with exaggerated distinctness. "Verne. Where is your brother?"

The visitors soon joined the couple as they too tried to let go of the horrific events that had occurred. All twelve lounged lazily on the springtime grass, trying to relax. It had been too much for them to bear. Putties, cogs, monsters… those things the Rangers could handle with comparative ease. The look of hurt on that small child’s face, the sight of the injury he suffered… this they would never forget.

"I sad for Wilonan," Ayla commented. "Hurts me to see child hurt. But as medicine woman, never know how someone suffer, I must treat. Never know how injury happen—or who cause it."

"Almost mated woman Marona," Jondalar realized. "She ever hurt child of my hearth, same way hurt Wilonan…" he trailed off, not sure exactly what he would have done, after all.

"You got lucky, that’s for sure," Zack remarked. There was a general murmur of agreement all around. Silently Jondalar thanked the Mother for having spared him such a fate.

Ayla felt disturbed by another thought. "Also sad for Marona," she said to the assembled group. "I know feeling, sent away, leave son behind."

"But you didn’t hurt your son," Trini pointed out the difference.

"No. Could never hurt Durc same as that," Ayla mused.

"What makes a mother do that to her own child?" Justin was still stunned.

"It isn’t just her child. That woman is full of anger," Tanya pointed out. "She has a sickness."

"I once so angry, feel sickness, not know right from wrong," Jondalar confessed. "Beat man hard. Punished. But… Wilonan child."

For a few minutes no one spoke. Then, just as Kat was about to make an observation on the shape of one of the clouds, the earth beneath them shook. Three loud sonic booms assaulted their ears, and three flashes of light blinded them. The next thing they knew, the grass underneath them had become hard wood. The six Rangers, three past Rangers, one Ranger friend, and two prehistoric humans, found themselves on the floor of the Brown family’s attic.

Ayla panicked only for a moment. After a few minutes she realized she had seen this place before. She remembered the visions she had seen during the root ceremony at the Clan Gathering. She had followed Creb into the cave with the Mog-urs and had accompanied Creb on a mental Journey to the beginnings of time. Then, when he tried to bring her back, he had overshot the mark and for a few brief moments, she had come here. She knew the place. It brought her comfort.

Jondalar, however, was out of his mind with terror. He had experienced no such mental Journey, and the whole situation was beyond his comprehension. Ayla held his hand to calm him, and after a few minutes his breathing began to slow. He looked around him. No one else seemed afraid, and he would feel foolish if he continued to show fear. Jules was hugging a man and a woman who bore some resemblance to him, while a slightly younger boy stood by sheepishly.

"It’s all right," Ayla smiled at Jondalar. "We have gone to the Cave of our visitors."

At a complete loss for words, Verne merely burst into tears. Clara enfolded him in her arms and let him cry for a few minutes, but then she held him at arms’ length and spoke to him firmly. Her tone was slightly more gentle than Doc’s had been, but no less commanding. "Verne, pull yourself together," she said. "Everyone is safe now. A few people here do not belong and need to be sent back where they came from. But first you must tell us exactly what happened."

Verne slowly collected himself and, as he became able, he explained. "It all started when I was playing with Marty’s hoverboard in the attic," he said. A wave of "huh?" sifted through the gathering, but it didn’t seem important. Who Marty was, and what a hoverboard could be, were questions that could wait until later. "I was clearing out a path so I could use it, and when I stacked some boxes, Dad, I broke your flux capacitor." Another "huh?" but again it was held in check. "I just had to fix it," Verne continued, "but I didn’t know how, and Jules was so busy with Billy that neither of them had any time for me." Billy and Jules exchanged expressions of guilt. They hadn’t realized they had been leaving Verne out.

"I didn’t know how I was going to test it to see if I fixed it or not," Verne went on with his full confession, "but then I heard Billy telling Jules how much he wanted to see Trini again."

At this announcement, Billy turned a faint shade of red, but Trini seemed to melt with emotion. "Oh, Billy, that’s so sweet," she enthused, placing her arms around him.

The slight interruption did not stop the flow of the story. "I made a few changes, but I didn’t really think it was going to work. I punched in Trini’s name, and France, and I set it off just as everybody got here to take Jules out for the afternoon. I don’t know what happened after that. I didn’t know where they went. I just saw them all disappear. I didn’t know how to bring them back, so I worked and worked and worked on it. Now here they are, but there’s more people too. I’m all mixed up. End of story."

"You made changes?" Doc did not sound angry, only intrigued. "Let me see what you’ve done."

The group at the Brown household had re-convened in the more comfortable recreation room, where a conversation pit by a fireplace made it easier to seat such a large gathering. The fireplace helped even Jondalar feel more at home, though it was the warm season here too, and no fire was lit. He did notice light coming from an orb in the ceiling of this odd-shaped, many-faceted cave, but since Ayla seemed to know the place, he did not panic. He would ask her about it later. Clara had produced a beverage for them all, which she called pop. He could see why it was called that. Little air bubbles seemed to pop in his mouth, producing a tickling sensation on his tongue and gums. But the taste was sweet and enjoyable. He drank his as contentedly as anyone else.

Ayla received an unexpected surprise. There was one fact about these times that her vision had not included. An animal that looked like a blend between Wolf and a wooly mammoth bounded into the room to investigate the cause of the excitement. Jules had greeted the animal warmly, calling him by the name of "Einstein." Seeing her obvious delight with his presence, the strange Einstein animal had approached her and wagged his tail, the same way Wolf did when he wanted attention. Ayla instinctively scratched his ears, and the animal rewarded her affection with a few licks.

Quick to understand that the two visitors came from pre-dog days, Doc had given them all a capsulized lesson in canine evolution. He explained how some wolves had been domesticated by humans, much like Ayla’s own Wolf. The tamed animals bred among themselves and gradually began to change in their characteristics until a completely separate species evolved. It pleased Ayla to realize that this animal named Einstein, which Doc called a dog—not just any dog, but an Old English Sheepdog—was related somewhere down the line to her own beloved Wolf.

Then she realized something else too. "Jondalar," she addressed the man with her. When he acknowledged her, she continued, speaking in English so that all could understand. "You remember how you act, you first see Billy?"

Jondalar nodded. He didn’t really like to think about it. The strong emotion he had displayed still embarrassed him. He did not much enjoy calling attention to himself that way.

With a smile, Ayla brought home the point. "I think of same spirit," she declared.

"You may be right!" A light had gone on in Billy’s mind. "After all, every one of us is related to each other…somehow."

"How do you mean?" Trini was interested.

Billy began to illustrate the facts. "We each have two parents, four grandparents, eight great-grandparents, sixteen great-great-grandparents, thirty-two triple great-grandparents, and so on. Right?" The others nodded in agreement. "Well," he continued, "we wouldn’t have to go back very many generations before the numbers would climb into the billions. And so many generations ago, there weren’t that many people in the world. Where Ayla and Jondalar come from, people were few in number. Therefore, we all have to have some common ancestors. Hence we are all related. It adds up."

"So you probably descend from Thonolan’s line," Tanya guessed, finding the subject fascinating. Jondalar agreed, thanking the Mother that Thonolan had produced Thonolia before he died.

Then Tommy and Jondalar inspected each other, for the first time noticing their similarities. "I must be descended from you," Tommy guessed. "Cool. Way cool."

"No child yet born of my spirit," Jondalar observed, looking thoughtful. "Maybe only coincidence we look same. Or maybe Joharran, or Dalanar—"

"Jondalar," Ayla cut him off and patted the bulge in her expanding waistline.

Silence permeated the room as the people let the significance sink in. At last Tommy hunkered down on one knee, addressing the unborn child who would be his ancestor. "Hey, take care of yourself in there," he said in an awed tone of voice. Then he looked at Ayla, his own ancient who-knows-how-many-greats grandmother. "This is so cool," he breathed.

"Good my spirit still alive in your time," Jondalar said to Tommy. Then he looked at Billy, and his eyes misted over. "Spirit of Thonolan too."

"Wonder if spirit of Durc still alive," Ayla mused.

"No one knows for sure what happened to the Neanderthals," Billy answered in a way he hoped was tactful. "Many think their race absorbed itself into ours, became one with us."

"Hope that happened," said Ayla. "Clan people too."

Billy nodded. "Yes. I wanted to explain before. People like Durc can produce live offspring, right?" Ayla looked puzzled. "Have children," Billy put it in simpler terms.

Ayla nodded.

"Then that proves it," Billy exclaimed triumphantly. "There are hybrid plants and animals. If two species are close enough, it may be possible to cross-breed them. One example is a mule, the offspring of a female horse and a male donkey. A tangelo is a cross between an orange and a tangerine."

"One of the staff at the shelter has a pet cabbit," Justin put in thoughtfully. "That’s a cross between a cat and a rabbit."

"Another good example," Billy acknowledged. "Now, here’s my point. A hybrid is always sterile."

"Meaning?" Jason asked for clarification.

"You can’t grow tangelos on a tangelo tree," Billy pointed out. "In fact, you can’t even grow a tangelo tree. The fruit won’t bear fertile seed. You have to cross an orange with a tangerine before you can have a tangelo. Likewise, you can’t get a mule by breeding two mules. It won’t happen. You can only get a mule by starting with a mare with a donkey."

"And a cabbit only happens by crossing a cat with a rabbit," Justin noted, "but try it with two cabbits, and you’re out of luck." Billy nodded assent.

The English was a bit beyond her, but Ayla caught the gist. "If Clan not people too," she began, speaking slowly as the thoughts materialized in her head, "mixtures not able to have children."

"That’s right," Billy affirmed.

Ayla’s smile lit the entire room. "Say all along, Durc human," she declared. "Thank you."

Their host appeared in the large recreation room now, followed by his wife and their two sons. "We have solved the problem," he announced.

The inter-temporal friends all gathered around Verne’s modified flux capacitor and prepared to say their goodbyes. "The vacation of a lifetime," Trini wisecracked, remembering their adventures in the time of the Zelandonii. "I don’t think I’ll ever forget it."

"And we still have two weeks left," Zack observed thoughtfully. "When we get back to France, it will really still the same day we left."

"I want to go back to that museum," Trini said. "This time I’ll pay more attention. I’ll be able to see it in a whole new light. I might even recognize something Jondalar made."

"Sounds good to me," Zack agreed.

Justin hugged Ayla with a warm affection and a trace of concern. Then he stepped back and took a long look, memorizing the appearance of the two visitors from the distant past. "Don’t you want to stay with us?" he asked them both. "What’s going to happen to you back there when Marthona and the rest of them find out about the Clan? At least you’d be welcome here."

"We have to work out by selves," Ayla answered. This had happened before. Both the Mamutoi and the Sharamudoi had wanted her to stay, but she had known she could not. The Lanzadonii, too, had offered their Cave. In fact, they had told her, they needed a shaman. Ayla might consider the position when she finished her training, but she knew she could not stay here in the future time. "We not belong here," she gently explained to Justin.

Justin lowered his eyes. "I know," he said. "I just had to ask."

"But will you be okay?" Zack put in. "He did have a good point about the Clan."

"I not know what going to happen," Ayla confessed. "Will have to trust Mother that things all right, make it through problems that come."

"Hey, I’m here," Tommy observed, casting another look of wonder toward the woman whose body even now housed his unborn ancestor. "Doesn’t that mean things work out?"

Jondalar smiled at his far-distant descendant. "We remember when hard times come," he promised. The two hugged each other warmly. More hugs were exchanged all around. It seemed everyone had to say goodbye to everyone else, but at last they finished.

"We ready," Jondalar said, clutching Ayla’s hand. Likewise Trini held on to Zack’s. The four prepared themselves to be sent back to their separate times and places.

Doc nodded to Verne, who did the honors.

Only Billy and the six current Rangers remained at the Brown household. That was all right; they were not outside of their time. These people could simply drive home. As they too prepared to leave, Kat spoke to Verne. "I’m sorry we left you out," she said. "We should have included you."

The other Rangers murmured in agreement.

Doc cleared his throat. Kat was not the only one feeling some regret. "Verne," he began rather awkwardly, "I want to ask you to forgive me. Please allow me to express in front of our guests the remorse I harbor for not recognizing your talents as well as your brother’s. You had no experience, no education, no raw materials but a broken flux capacitor, yet you not only figured out how to make the repairs, you actually improved on my model. I can see now that you do have a keen scientific mind."

"Yeah, you did good, little brother," Jules agreed.

"I’m impressed," Billy put in, ruffling the boy’s hair.

Verne glowed with warmth under the praise and adulations. It also left him feeling a bit out of sorts. This was not the kind of attention he customarily received.

"Can we come back tomorrow and take Verne along with us when we show Jules the sights?" Tanya offered. Now they had two new friends to show around Angel Grove.

Doc shook his head. "I’m afraid not," he said. "Not for the next two weeks."

Verne rolled his eyes in amused frustration. "I knew it. I’m grounded."

End