The Valley Of Horses_ A Novel Part 15

"Jondalar, look!" Thonolan was pointing upstream.

Bearing down on them in ominous splendor, following the deep midchannel, was a large, jagged, glittering iceberg. Reflecting crystal facets of the translucent edges haloed the monolith with insubstantial shimmer, but the blue-green shadowy depths held its unmelted heart. With practiced skill, the men rowing the boat changed pace and direction, then, feathering the stroke, they paused to watch a wall of glistening cold glide by with deadly indifference.

"Never turn your back on the Mother," Jondalar heard the man in front of him say.

"I'd say the Sister brought that one, Markeno," the man beside him commented.

"How did...big ice...come here, Carlono?" Jondalar asked him.

"Iceberg," Carlono said, first supplying him with the word. "It could have come from a glacier on the move in one of those mountains," he went on, moving his chin in the direction of the white peaks over his shoulder, since he had resumed rowing. "Or it could have come from farther north, probably by way of the Sister. She's deeper, doesn't have as many channels-this time of year especially. There's more to that berg than the part you see. Most of it is underwater."

"It is hard to believe...iceberg...so big, come so far," Jondalar said.

"We get ice every spring. Not always that big. It won't last much longer, though-the ice is rotten. One good b.u.mp and she'll break up, and there is a midchannel rock downstream, just below the surface. I don't think that iceberg will make it through the gate," Carlono added.

"One good b.u.mp from that and we would be the ones to break up," Markeno said. "That's why you never turn your back on the Mother."

"Markeno is right," Carlono said. "Never take her for granted. This river can find some unpleasant ways to remind you to pay attention to her."

"I know some women like that, don't you, Jonaalar?"

Jondalar suddenly thought of Marona. The knowing smile on his brother's face made him realize that was who Thonolan had in mind. He hadn't thought of the woman who had expected him to mate her at the Summer Meeting Matrimonial for some time. With a pang of longing, he wondered if he would ever see her again. She was a beautiful woman. But then Serenio is too, he thought, maybe you ought to ask her. She's better than Marona in some ways. Serenio was older than he, but he'd often found himself attracted to older women. Why not mate when Thonolan did and just stay?

How long have we been gone? More than a year-we left Dalanar's Cave last spring. And Thonolan won't be going back. Everyone is excited about him and Jetamio-maybe you should wait, Jondalar, he said to himself. You don't want to take the attention from their day...and Serenio might think it was just an afterthought....Later...

"What took you so long?" a voice called from the sh.o.r.e. "We've been waiting for you and we came the long way, by trail."

"We had to find these two. I think they were trying to hide," Markeno replied, laughing.

"It's too late to hide now, Thonolan. This one has hooked you!" said a man from the sh.o.r.e, wading in behind Jetamio to grab the boat and help beach it. He made motions of throwing out a harpoon and jerking it back to engage the hook.

Jetamio blushed, then smiled. "Well, you must admit, Barono, he's a good catch."

"You good fisher," Jondalar returned. "He always before get away."

Everyone laughed. Though his command of the language wasn't perfect, they were pleased he had joined in the banter. And he did understand better than he spoke.

"What would it take to catch a big one like you, Jondalar?" Barono asked.

"The right bait!" Thonolan quipped, with a smile at Jetamio.

The boat was pulled onto the narrow beach of gravelly sand, and, after the occupants climbed out, it was lifted and carried up a slope to a large cleared area in the midst of a dense forest of durmast oak. The place had obviously been used for years. Logs, chunks, and sc.r.a.ps of wood littered the ground-the fireplace in front of a large lean-to on one side had no dearth of fuel-yet some wood had been there so long it was rotting. Activity was focused in several areas, each of them containing a boat in some stage of completion.

The boat they had come in was lowered to the ground, and the new arrivals hurried toward the beckoning warmth of the fire. Several others stopped work to join them. An aromatic herb tea was steaming from a wooden trough that had been hollowed out of a log. It was quickly emptied as cups were dipped out. Round heating stones from the river's edge were heaped in a pile nearby, and a soggy lump of wet leaves, indistinguishable as to variety, sat in the middle of a muddy runnel behind the log.

The trough was well used and about to be refilled again. Two people rolled over the large log to dump the dregs of the previous batch of tea, while a third put the heating rocks in the fire. Tea was kept in the trough, available whenever anyone wanted a cup, and cooking stones were kept in the fire to warm a cup when it cooled. After more pleasantries and gibes aimed at the about-to-be-mated couple, the a.s.semblage put down their cups of wood or tightly woven fibers and drifted back to their various tasks. Thonolan was led off to begin his initiation in the building of boats with some hard work that took less skill: the felling of a tree.

Jondalar had been having a conversation with Carlono about the Ramudoi leader's favorite topic, boats, and had encouraged him with questions. "What wood makes good boats?" Jondalar had asked.

Carlono, enjoying himself and the interest of the obviously intelligent young man, launched into an animated explanation.

"Green oak is best. It's tough, but supple; strong, but not too heavy. It loses flexibility if it dries out, but you can cut it in winter and store logs in a pool or bog for a year, even two. More than that, it becomes waterlogged and hard to work, and the boat has trouble finding the right balance in the water. But more important is selecting the right tree." Carlono was heading into the woods as he talked.

"A big one?" Jondalar asked.

"Not only size. For the base and the planks, you want tall trees with straight trunks." Carlono led the tall Zelandonii to a grove of close-packed trees. "In dense woods, trees grow up looking for the sun..."

"Jondalar!" The older brother looked up with surprise at Thonolan's voice. He was standing with several others around a huge oak, surrounded by other tall straight trees whose branches started far up the stem. "Am I glad to see you! Your little brother could use your help. Do you know I can't get mated until a new boat is built, and this," this," he nodded expressively at the tall tree, "has to be cut down for the 'strakes,' whatever they are. Look at the size of that mammoth! I didn't know trees grew that big-it will take forever to cut it down. Big Brother, I'll be an old man before I'm a mated one." he nodded expressively at the tall tree, "has to be cut down for the 'strakes,' whatever they are. Look at the size of that mammoth! I didn't know trees grew that big-it will take forever to cut it down. Big Brother, I'll be an old man before I'm a mated one."

Jondalar smiled and shook his head. "Strakes are the planks that make the sides of the bigger boats. If you're going to be Sharamudoi, you ought to know about them."

"I'm going to be Shamudoi I'll leave the boats to the Ramudoi. Hunting chamois is something I understand. I've hunted ibex and mouflon in high meadows before. Are you going to help? We need all the muscle we can get."

"If I don't want poor Jetamio to wait until you're an old man, I guess I'll have to. And besides, it will be interesting to see how it's done," Jondalar said, then turned to Carlono and added in the Sharamudoi language, "Help Jondalar chop tree. Talk more later?"

Carlono smiled in agreement, then stood back to watch the first chips of bark cut away. But he didn't stay long. It would take most of the day before the forest giant fell, and before it did, everyone would gather around.

Starting high up and working down at a steep angle that was met by lower horizontal cuts, small chips were detached. The stone axes did not bite deep. The blade end needed a certain thickness for strength and couldn't penetrate very far into the wood. As they worked their way toward the center of the huge tree, it appeared more gnawed than cut, but each chip that fell away dug deeper into the heart of the ancient giant.

The day was drawing to a close when Thonolan was given an axe. With everyone who had been working gathered nearby, he made a few final swings, then jumped back when he heard a crack and saw the ma.s.sive trunk sway. Toppling slowly at first, the tall oak gained momentum as it fell. Tearing limbs off neighboring giants and taking smaller ones with it, the mammoth old tree, snapping and cracking its resistance, thundered to the ground. It bounced, then shivered and lay still.

Silence pervaded the forest; as though in profound reverence, even the birds were still. The majestic old oak had been struck down, sundered from its living roots, its stump a raw scar in the muted earth shades of the woods. Then, with quiet dignity, Dolando knelt beside the ragged stump and dug a small hole with his bare hand. He dropped an acorn in it.

"May the Blessed Mudo accept our offering and bring to life another tree," he said, then covered the seed and poured a cup of water over it.

The sun was settling into a hazy horizon and making golden streamers of the clouds when they started up the long trail to the high shelf. Before they reached the ancient embayment, the colors shifted through the spectrum of golds and bronzes, then reds to a deep mauve. When they rounded the jutting wall, Jondalar was stopped by the untouchable beauty of the panorama spread out before him. He took a few steps along the edge, too preoccupied with the view to notice the precipitous drop for once. The Great Mother River, calm and full, mirrored the vibrant sky and darkened shadows of the rounded mountains across, her oily smooth surface alive with the movement of her deep current.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Jondalar turned at the voice and smiled at a woman who had moved up beside him. "Yes. Beautiful, Serenio."

"Big feast tonight to celebrate. For Jetamio and Thonolan. They're waiting-you should come."

She turned to go, but he took her hand, held her there, and watched the last glimmers of the sunset reflected in her eyes.

There was a yielding gentleness about her, an ageless acceptance that had nothing to do with age-she was only a few years older than he. Neither was it giving in. Rather that she made no demands, had no expectations. The death of her first mate, of a second love before there was time to mate, and the miscarriage of a second child that would have blessed the mating, had tempered her with grief. In learning to live with hers, she had developed an ability to absorb the pain of others. Whatever their sorrow or disappointment, people turned to her and always came away relieved because she imposed no burden of obligation on them for her compa.s.sion.

Because of her calming effect on distraught loved ones or fearful patients, she often a.s.sisted the Shamud and had learned some medical skills from the a.s.sociation. That was how Jondalar had come to know her first, when she was helping the healer nurse Thonolan back to health. When his brother was up and recovered enough to move to the hearth of Dolando and Roshario, and most especially, Jetamio, Jondalar had moved in with Serenio and her son, Darvo. He hadn't asked. She hadn't expected him to.

Her eyes always seemed to reflect, he thought, as he leaned over to kiss her lightly in greeting before they started toward the glowing fire. He never saw into their depths. He pushed away an unbidden thought that he was grateful for it. It was as though she knew him better than he knew himself; knew of his inability to give of himself completely, to fall in love as Thonolan had done. She even seemed to know that his way of making up for the lack of emotional depth was to make love to her with such consummate skill that it left her gasping. She accepted it, as she accepted his occasional black moods, without inflicting guilt on him for it.

She wasn't reserved, exactly-she smiled and talked with easy comfort-just composed and not quite reachable. The only time he caught a glimpse of something more was when she looked at her son.

"What took you so long?" the boy said with relief when he saw them coming. "We're ready to eat, but everyone's been waiting for you."

Darvo had seen Jondalar and his mother together at the far edge but didn't want to interrupt them. Initially, he had been resentful of having to share his mother's undivided attention at the hearth. But he found that rather than having to share his mother's time, there was now someone else who paid attention to him. Jondalar talked to him, told him of his adventures on his Journey, discussed hunting and the ways of his people, and listened to him with unfeigned interest. Even more exciting, Jondalar had begun to show him some techniques of toolmaking, which the lad picked up with an apt.i.tude that surprised them both.

The youngster had been overjoyed when Jondalar's brother had decided to mate Jetamio and stay, because he fervently hoped it might mean Jondalar would decide to stay and mate his mother. He had become very conscious of staying out of the way when they were together, trying in his own way not to impede their relationship. He didn't realize that, if anything, he encouraged it.

In fact, the idea had been on Jondalar's mind all day. He found himself appraising Serenio. Her hair was lighter than her son's, more a dark blond than brown. She wasn't thin, but so tall she gave that impression. She was one of the few women he'd met who reached his chin, and he found that a comfortable height. There was a strong resemblance between mother and son, even to the hazel of their eyes, though his lacked her impa.s.siveness. And on her the fine features were beautiful.

I could be happy with her, he thought. Why don't I just ask her? And at that moment, he truly wanted her, wanted to live with her.

"Serenio?"

She looked at him and was held by the magnetism of his unbelievably blue eyes. His need, his desire focused on her. The force of his charisma-unconscious and all the more powerful for it-caught her unaware and broke through the defenses she had so carefully erected to avoid pain. She was open, vulnerable, drawn almost against her will.

"Jondalar..." Her acceptance was implicit in the texture of her voice.

"I...think much today." He struggled with the language. He could express most concepts, but he was having trouble finding a way to speak his thoughts. "Thonolan...my brother...Travel far together. Now he love Jetamio, he want stay. If you...I want..."

"Come on, you two. Everyone's hungry and the food is..." Thonolan broke off as soon as he saw them standing close, lost in the depths of each other's eyes. "Uh...sorry, Brother. I think I just interrupted something."

They backed off; the moment had pa.s.sed. "It's all right, Thonolan. We shouldn't make everyone wait. We can talk later," Jondalar said.

When he looked at Serenio, she seemed surprised and confused, as though she didn't know what had come over her-and she was struggling to repair her shield of composure.

They walked into the area under the sandstone overhang and felt the warmth of the large fire in the central hearth. At their appearance, everyone found places around Thonolan and Jetamio, who stood in a central clear s.p.a.ce behind the fire. The Feast of Promise marked the festive beginning of a ritual period that would culminate in the Matrimonial celebration. During the interval, communication and contact between the young couple would be severely curtailed.

The warm s.p.a.ce formed by the people, permeated with a sense of community, encircled the couple. They joined hands, and, seeing only perfection in each other's eyes, wanted to announce their joy to the world and affirm their commitment to each other. The Shamud stepped forward. Jetamio and Thonolan kneeled to allow the healer and spiritual guide to place a crown of fresh-budding hawthorn on each of their heads. They were led, still hand in hand, around the fire and the a.s.sembled group three times and then back to their place, closing a circle that embraced the Cave of Sharamudoi with their love.

The Shamud turned to face them and, with upraised arms, spoke. "A circle begins and ends in the same place. Life is as a circle that begins and ends with the Great Mother; the First Mother who in Her loneliness created all life." The vibrant voice carried easily over the hushed gathering and the crackling flames. "Blessed Mudo is our beginning and our end. From Her we come; to Her we return. In all ways, She provides for us. We are Her children, all life springs from Her. She gives freely of Her abundance. From Her body, we take sustenance: food, water, and shelter. From Her spirit come gifts of wisdom and warmth: talents and skills, fire and friendship. But the greater Gifts come from Her all-encompa.s.sing love.

"The Great Earth Mother takes joy in Her children's happiness. She delights in our enjoyments, and therefore, She has given us Her wondrous Gift of Pleasure. We honor Her, show Her reverence, when we share Her Gift. But to the Blessed among us She has given Her greatest Gift, endowed them with Her own miraculous power to create Life." The Shamud looked at the young woman.

"Jetamio, you are among the Blessed. If you honor Mudo in all ways, you may be endowed with the Mother's Gift of Life and give birth. Yet, the spirit of the Life you bring forth comes only from the Great Mother.

"Thonolan, when you make a commitment to provide for another, you become as She who provides for us all. By so honoring Her, She may endow you with creative power as well, so that a child brought forth by the woman you care for, or another of Mudo's Blessed, may be of your spirit." The Shamud looked up at the group.

"Each of us, when we care for and provide for each other, honors the Mother and are blessed with Her fruitfulness."

Thonolan and Jetamio smiled at each other and, when the Shamud stepped back, sat down on woven mats. That was the signal for the feast to begin. The young couple were first brought a mildly alcoholic drink made of dandelion blossoms and honey that had fermented since the last new moon. Then more of the beverage was pa.s.sed around to everyone.

Tantalizing odors made everyone realize how hard they had worked that day. Even those who had stayed back at the high terrace had been busy, as was obvious when the first wonderfully aromatic dish was brought forth. Planked whitefish, caught in fish traps that morning and baked near the open fire, was presented to Thonolan and Jetamio by Markeno and Tholie, their counterpart family of Ramudoi. Tangy wood sorrel that had been boiled and beaten to a pulp was served as a sauce.

The taste, new to Jondalar, was one he immediately enjoyed and found a wonderful complement to the fish. Baskets of small edibles were pa.s.sed around to accompany the dish. When Tholie sat down, he asked her what they were.

"Beechnuts, collected last fall," she said, and went on to explain in detail how they were stripped of their leathery outer skins with sharp little flint blades, then carefully roasted by shaking them with hot coals in flat platter-shaped baskets kept moving to prevent scorching, and finally rolled in sea salt.

"Tholie brought the salt," Jetamio said. "It was part of her bride gift."

"Many Mamutoi live near sea, Tholie?" Jondalar asked.

"No, our Camp was one of the closest to Beran Sea. Most Mamutoi live farther north. The Mamutoi are mammoth hunters," she said with pride. "We traveled north every year for the hunts."

"How you mate Mamutoi women?" the blond Zelandonii asked Markeno.

"I kidnapped her," he replied, with a wink at the plump young woman.

Tholie smiled. "It's true," she said. "Of course, it was all arranged."

"We met when I went along on a trading expedition to the east. We traveled all the way to the delta of the Mother River. It was my first trip. I didn't care if she was Sharamudoi or Mamutoi, I wouldn't come back without her."

Markeno and Tholie told about the difficulties their desire to mate had caused. It had taken long negotiations to work out the arrangements, and then he'd had to "kidnap" her to get around certain customs. She was more than willing; the mating could not have taken place without her consent. But there were precedents. Though not common, similar matings had occurred before.

Populations of humans were spa.r.s.e and so widely s.p.a.ced that they seldom infringed on each other's territories, which tended to make the infrequent contact with the occasional stranger a novelty. If a little wary at first, people were usually not hostile, and it wasn't uncommon to be welcomed. Most hunting peoples were accustomed to traveling long distances, often following migratory herds with seasonal regularity, and many had long traditions of individual Journeys.

Frictions developed more often from familiarity. Hostilities tended to be intramural-confined within the community-if they existed at all. Hot tempers were kept in check by codes of behavior, and most often settled by ritualized customs-although these customs were not calcified. The Sharamudoi and the Mamutoi were on good trading terms, and there were similarities in customs and languages. To the former, the Great Earth Mother was Mudo, to the latter, She was Mut, but She was still the G.o.dhead, Original Ancestor, and First Mother.

The Mamutoi were a people with a strong self-image, which came through as open and friendly. As a group, they feared no one-they were, after all, the mammoth hunters. They were brash, confident, a bit ingenuous, and convinced that everyone saw them on their own terms. Though the discussions had seemed interminable to Markeno, it had not been an insurmountable problem to arrange the mating.

Tholie herself was typical of her people: open, friendly, confident that everyone liked her. In truth, few people could resist her forthright ebullience. No one even took offense when she asked the most personal questions, since it was obvious there was no malicious intent. She was just interested and saw no reason to curb her curiosity.

A girl approached them carrying an infant, "Shamio woke up, Tholie. I think she's hungry."

The mother nodded her thanks and put the baby to her breast, with hardly a break in the conversation or feasting. Other small edibles were pa.s.sed: pickled ash keys that had been soaking in brine, and fresh pignuts. The small tuber resembled wild carrot, a sweet groundnut Jondalar was familiar with, and the first taste was nutty, but the hot aftertaste of radish was a surprise. Its zesty flavor was a favorite of the Cave, but he wasn't sure if he liked it or not. Dolando and Roshario brought the next offerings to the young couple-a rich chamois stew and a deep red bilberry wine.

"I thought the fish was delicious," Jondalar said to his brother, "but this stew is superb!"

"Jetamio says it's traditional. It's flavored with the dried leaves of bog myrtle. The bark is used in tanning the chamois skins-that's what gives them the yellow color. It grows in marshes, particularly where the Sister joins the Mother. It was lucky for me they were out collecting it last fall, or they never would have found us."

Jondalar's forehead creased as he recalled the time. "You're right; we were lucky. I still wish there was some way I could repay these people." His frown deepened when he remembered his brother was becoming one of them.

"This wine is Jetamio's bride gift," Serenio said.

Jondalar reached for his cup, took a sip, and nodded. "Is good. Is much good."

"Very good," Tholie corrected. "It is very good." She had no compunctions about correcting his speech; she still had a few problems with the language herself, and she a.s.sumed he would rather speak properly.

"Very good," he repeated, smiling at the short, stocky young woman with the baby at her ample breast. He liked her outspoken honesty and her outgoing nature that so easily overcame the shyness and reserve of others. He turned to his brother. "She's right, Thonolan. This wine is very good. Even Mother would agree, and no one makes finer wine than Marthona. I think she would approve of Jetamio." Jondalar suddenly wished he hadn't said that. Thonolan would never take his mate to meet his mother; it was likely he would never see Marthona again.

"Jondalar, you should speak Sharamudoi No one else can understand when you speak in Zelandonii, and you'll learn much faster if you make yourself speak it all the time," Tholie said, leaning forward with concern. She felt she spoke from experience.

Jondalar was embarra.s.sed, but he couldn't be angry. Tholie was so sincere, and it had been impolite of him to speak in a language no one else could understand. He reddened, but smiled.

Tholie noted Jondalar's discomfiture, and, though outspoken, she wasn't insensitive. "Why don't we learn each other's language? We may forget our own if we don't have someone else to talk to once in a while. Zelandonii has such a musical sound, I would love to learn it." She smiled at Jondalar and Thonolan. "We'll spend a little time at it every day," she stated as though everyone obviously agreed.

"Tholie, you may want to learn Zelandonii, but they may not want to learn Mamutoi," Markeno said. "Did you think of that?"

It was her turn to blush. "No, I didn't," she said, with both surprise and chagrin, realizing her presumption.

"Well, I want to learn Mamutoi and Zelandonii I think it's a good idea," Jetamio said firmly.

"I, too, think good idea, Tholie," Jondalar said.

"What a mixture we're bringing together. The Ramudoi half is part Mamutoi, and the Shamudoi half is going to be part Zelandonii," Markeno said, smiling tenderly at his mate.

The affection between the two was evident. They make a good match, Jondalar thought, though he couldn't help but smile. Markeno was as tall as he, though not as muscular, and when they were together, the sharp contrast emphasized each other's physical traits: Tholie seemed shorter and rounder, Markeno taller and thinner.