The Valley Of Horses ec-2

by Jean M. Auel

  He stood up quickly, knocked over the stool, and lunged to right it, just missing Serenio with the cup of hot tea she was bringing him. The near accident brought to mind the unfortunate incident during the Promise Feast. Both Tholie and Shamio seemed to be fine and their burns were almost healed, but he felt a twinge of uneasiness recalling the conversation he'd had with the Shamud afterward.

  "Jondalar, drink your tea. I'm sure it will help."

  He had forgotten the cup in his hand, smiled, and took a sip. The tea had a pleasant taste – he thought he detected chamomile among the ingredients – and its warmth was calming. After a while he felt some of his tension drain off.

  "You right, Serenio. Feel better. Not know what wrong."

  "It's not every day one's brother takes a mate. A little nervousness is understandable."

  He took her in his arms again and kissed her with a passion that made him wish he wouldn't have to leave so soon. "See tonight, Serenio," he whispered in her ear.

  "Jondalar, there will be a festival to honor the Mother tonight," she reminded him. "I don't think either of us should make commitments with so many visitors. Why not let the evening work out its own way. We can have each other anytime."

  "I forget," he said and nodded in agreement, but for some reason he felt rebuffed. It was strange; he had never felt that way before. In fact, he had always been the one to make sure he was free during a festival. Why should he feel hurt because Serenio had made it easy for him? On the spur of the moment, he decided he was going to spend the evening with her – Mother Festival or not.

  "Jondalar!" Darvo came bursting in again. "They sent me for you. They want you." He was breathless with excitement to be entrusted with such an important task, and dancing with impatience. "Hurry, Jondalar. They want you."

  "Be calm, Darvo," the man said, smiling at the lad. "I come. I not miss brother's Matrimonial."

  Darvo smiled a little sheepishly, realizing they wouldn't start without Jondalar, but it didn't curb his impatience. He hurried out. Jondalar took a breath and followed him.

  There was a surging murmur through the crowd at his appearance, and he was glad to see the two women who were waiting for him. Roshario and Tholie conducted him to the raised mound near the side wall where the others waited. Standing on the highest part of the mound, head and shoulders above the throng, was a white-haired figure whose face was partially covered by a wooden half-mask with stylized birdlike features.

  As he drew near, Thonolan flashed him a nervous smile. Jondalar tried to convey understanding when he smiled back. If he had been tense, he could just imagine how Thonolan must feel, and he was sorry the Sharamudoi customs had prevented them from being together. He noticed how well his brother seemed to fit in, and he felt a sharp, poignant stab of regret. No two people could have been closer than the two brothers while they were on their Journey, but they had begun to follow separate paths, and Jondalar felt the cleavage. For a moment he was overwhelmed with an unexpected grief.

  He closed his eyes and clenched his fists to bring himself under control. He heard voices from the crowd and thought he detected some words, "tall" and "clothes." When he opened his eyes, it struck him that one reason Thonolan fit in so well was that his clothes were entirely Shamudoi.

  No wonder there were comments about his clothes, he thought, and for a moment was sorry he had chosen to wear such an outlandish outfit. But then, Thonolan was one of them now, had been adopted to facilitate the mating. Jondalar was still Zelandonii.

  The tall man joined the group of his brother's new kin. Though he was not formally a Sharamudoi, they were his kin, too, once removed. They, along with Jetamio's kin, were the ones who had contributed the food and gifts that would be distributed among the guests. As more people had arrived, more contributions had been brought forth. The large number of visitors accrued to the high regard and status of the young couple, but it would be most demeaning if they went away unsatisfied.

  A sudden hush caused them all to turn their heads in the direction of a group making their way toward them.

  "Do you see her?" Thonolan asked, standing on tiptoes.

  "No, but she's coming, you know that," Jondalar said.

  When they reached Thonolan and his kin, the protective phalanx opened a wedge to reveal its hidden treasure. Thonolan's throat went dry when he beheld the flower-bedecked beauty within, who flashed him the most radiant smile he had ever seen. His happiness was so transparent that Jondalar beamed a smile of gentle amusement as well. As a bee is drawn toward a flower, Thonolan was drawn to the woman he loved, leading his train to the middle of her group, until Jetamio's kin surrounded Thonolan and his kin.

  The two groups merged, then paired, as the Shamud began piping a repetitive series of whistles on a flageolet. The rhythm was accented by another person with a bird half-mask playing a large, single-sided hoop drum. Another Shamud, Jondalar guessed. The woman was a stranger to him, yet there was a familiar aspect, perhaps it was just a similarity shared by all Those Who Served the Mother, but she brought on thoughts of home to him.

  While members of the two sets of kin formed and reformed in patterns that appeared complicated, but were actually variations of a simple series of steps, the white-haired Shamud played the small flute. It was a long straight stick, reamed out with a hot coal, with a whistle mouthpiece, holes cut along the length, and an open-beaked bird head carved at the end. And some of the sounds emanating from the instrument mimicked exactly the sounds of birds.

  The two groups ended by facing each other in two rows, with both hands joined and raised to form a long archway. As the couple passed through, the ones behind followed them, until a train of paired couples led by the Shamud was heading to the end of the terrace and around the stone wall. Jetamio and Thonolan were just behind the flute player, followed by Markeno and Tholie, then Jondalar and Roshario, as the young couple's closest kin. The rest of the kin group trailed them, and the whole crowd of Cave members and guests brought up the rear. The drum-playing visiting Shamud fell in near the people of her Cave.

  The white-haired Shamud led them down the trail toward the boat-making clearing, but turned off at the side path and brought them to the Blessing Tree. While the gathering caught up and arranged themselves around the huge old oak, the Shamud spoke quietly to the young couple – giving instructions and advice to ensure a happy relationship and to invite the Mother's blessings. Only the close kin, and a few others who happened to be within ear range, were a party to that portion of the ceremony. The rest of the gathering talked among themselves until they noticed the Shamud waiting quietly.

  The group hushed each other, but their silence was bursting with anticipation. In the intense stillness, the raucous caw of a jay was a demanding clamor, and the staccato of a great-spotted woodpecker resounded through the woods. Then a sweeter song filled the air as a woodlark took to wing.

  As though waiting for that cue, the bird-masked figure beckoned the two young people to step forward. The Shamud produced a length of cord and, with one overhand knot, made a loop. Looking at each other with eyes that had room for no one else, Thonolan and Jetamio clasped hands and put them through the loop.

  "Jetamio to Thonolan, Thonolan to Jetamio, I bind you, one to the other," the Shamud said and pulled the cord tight, binding their wrists together with a secure knot "As I tie this knot, you are bound, committed to each other, and through each other to the ties of kinship and Cave. With your joining, you complete the square begun by Markeno and Tholie." The two other young people stepped forward as their names were spoken, and all four joined hands. "As Shamudoi share the gifts of the land, and Ramudoi share the gifts of the water, so together you are now Sharamudoi, to help each other always."

  Tholie and Markeno stepped back, and as the Shamud began a high-pitched piping, Thonolan and Jetamio began a slow circuit around the ancient oak tree. On the second circuit, the spectators shouted good wishes while they threw bird down, flower petals, and pine needles on them.

&
nbsp; On the third circuit of the Blessing Tree, the spectators joined them, laughing and shouting. Someone began a traditional song, and more flutes were brought forth to accompany the singers. Others beat on drums and hollow tubes. Then one of the Mamutoi visitors produced the shoulder bone of a mammoth. She hit it with a mallet, and everyone paused for a moment. The ringing, resonating tone surprised most people, but as she continued to play, they were even more surprised. The player could change the tone and pitch by striking the bone at different places, and she matched the melody of the singer and the flute. By the end of the third circuit, the Shamud was in front again and led the group down to the clearing beside the river.

  Jondalar had missed the final touches to the boat. Though he had worked on nearly every phase of its construction, the finished product was a breath-catching sight. It seemed much larger than he recalled, and it had not been small to begin with, but now its fifty-foot length was balanced with correspondingly high sides of gently curved planks and a tall jutting stern post. But it was the forward section that brought exclamations of wonder. The curved prow had been gracefully extended into a long-necked water fowl carved of wood and scarf-jointed with pegs.

  The bow piece was painted with deep ochre red and dun ochre yellows, manganese blacks, and the white earths of calcinated limestone. Eyes were painted low on the hull to see underwater and avoid hidden dangers, and geometric designs covered bow and stern. Seats for rowers spanned the breadth, and new broad-bladed, long-handled oars were in readiness. A yellow chamois-skin awning crowned the midsection as a protection from rain or snow, and the entire craft was decorated with flowers and bird feathers.

  It was glorious. Awe inspiring. And Jondalar felt a surge of pride, and a lump in his throat, to think he had contributed to its creation.

  All matings required a boat, either new or refitted, as part of the ceremony, but not all were graced by one of such size and splendor. It was only chance that the Cave had decided that another large boat was needed about the same time the young couple had declared their intentions. But now it seemed particularly appropriate, especially since so many visitors had come. Both Cave and couple had garnered esteem for the accomplishment.

  The newly mated couple climbed into the vessel, a little awkwardly with their wrists tied together, and took the middle seat under the canopy. Many of the close kin followed them, with some taking up oars. The boat had been propped between logs to keep it from wobbling, and the logs extended to the water's edge. Cave members and visitors crowded around to push the boat into the river, and, with grunting and laughter, the new boat was launched.

  They held her near shore until the new craft was declared fit, with no listing or serious leaking, and then they started downstream for the maiden voyage to the Ramudoi dock. Several other boats of various sizes took to the water and surrounded the large new water bird like ducklings.

  Those not returning by water hurried back up the trail, hoping to reach the high embayment before the young couple did. At the dock, several people climbed the steep waterfall trail and prepared to lower the large flat basket in which Thonolan and Jondalar had first been raised to the terrace – but this time it was Thonolan and Jetamio who were lifted to the top with their hands still tied together. They had agreed to bind themselves to each other and, at least for that day, they would not be separated.

  Huge amounts of food were served, washed down with quantities of new-moon dandelion wine, and gifts were presented to all the visitors, returned by prestige in like measure. But as evening came on, the new dwelling that had been built for the young couple began to see visitors, as guests quietly slipped in and left a "little something" for the newly mated to wish them well. The gifts were given anonymously so as not to detract from the nuptial wealth displayed by the hosting Cave. But, in fact, the value of the gifts received would be measured against the value of the wares distributed, and mental notes tallied against a remembered record, for the gifts were not anonymous.

  The shape, design, and painted or carved features announced the donor as plainly as if they had been presented openly; not the individual maker, which was of relatively small importance, but the family, or group, or Cave. By well-known and mutually understood systems of value, the given and received gifts would have a significant impact on the relative prestige, honor, and status of the various groups. Though not violent, competition for esteem was nonetheless fierce.

  "He's certainly getting a lot of attention, Thonolan," Jetamio said, noticing a handful of women hovering around the tall blond man leaning casually against a tree near the overhang.

  "Always like that. His big blue eyes make women come to him like… moth to fire," Thonolan said, helping Jetamio lift an oak box of bilberry wine out to the celebrating guests. "Have not noticed? You not ever attracted?"

  "You smiled at me first," she said, and his broad grin provoked her beautiful response. "But I think I understand it. It's more than his eyes. He stands out, particularly in those clothes. They do look good on him. But it's more than that I think women sense that he's… searching. Looking for someone. And he's so responsive… sensitive… tall, and so well made. Really quite handsome. And there is something to his eyes. Did you ever notice they turn violet in firelight?" she said.

  "I thought you say not attracted…" Thonolan said with a look of dismay until she winked impishly.

  "Are you envious of him?" she asked gently.

  Thonolan paused. "No. Not ever. Not know why, many men envious. Look him, you think he have everything. Like you say, well made, handsome; look all beautiful women around. And more. Good with hands, best flint knapper I ever see. Good head, but not talk big. People like him; men, women, both. Should be happy, but not. He need find someone like you, Tamio."

  "No, not like me. But someone. I like your brother, Thonolan. I hope he finds what he's searching for. Maybe one of those women?"

  "Not think so. I see that before. Maybe he enjoy one – or more – but not find what he want." They dipped some of the wine into waterbags and left the rest for the revelers, then walked toward Jondalar.

  "What about Serenio? He seems to care for her, and I know she feels more for him than she will admit."

  "He care for her, care for Darvo, too. But… maybe not anyone for him. Maybe he look for dream, for donii." Thonolan smiled fondly. "First time you smile at me, I thought you donii."

  "We say the Mother's spirit becomes a bird. She wakes the sun with Her calls, brings the spring with Her from the south. In the autumn, some stay behind to remind us of Her. The hunting birds, the storks, every bird is some aspect of Mudo." A string of running children crossed in front of them, halting their progress. "Little children don't like birds, especially if they're naughty. They think the Mother is watching them, and knows everything. Some mothers tell their children that. I've heard stories of grown men driven to confess some evil deed by the sight of certain birds. Then others say She will guide you home if you're lost."

  "We say Mother spirit become donii, fly on wind. Maybe She look like bird. I never think of that before," he said, squeezing her hand. Then, looking at her and feeling an upwelling of love, he whispered in a voice husky with emotion, "I never think I find you." He tried to put an arm around her, but found himself tied to her wrist, and frowned. "I glad we tie the knot, but when do we cut off? I want hold you, Tamio."

  "Maybe we're supposed to be finding out that we can be tied too close." She laughed. "We can leave the celebration soon. Let's go take your brother some wine before it's all gone."

  "He maybe not want. He make show of drinking, but not drink much. He not like lose control, do foolish thing." When they stepped out of the shadows of the overhang, they were suddenly noticed.

  "There you are! I've been wanting to wish you happiness, Jetamio," a young woman said. She was a Ramudoi from another Cave, young and vivacious. "You're so lucky, we never get handsome visitors to winter with us." She flashed what she hoped was a winning smile at the tall man, but he was looking at an
other of the young women with his astounding eyes.

  "You're right. I am lucky," Jetamio said, with a melting smile at her mate.

  The young woman looked at Thonolan and heaved a sigh. "They're both so handsome. I don't think I could have made a choice!"

  "And you wouldn't have either, Cherunio," the other young woman said. "If you want to mate, you have to settle on one."

  There was an outburst of laughter, but the young woman reveled in the attention it brought her. "I just haven't found a man I want to settle on." She dimpled at Jondalar.

  Cherunio was the shortest woman there, and Jondalar really hadn't seen her before. He did then. Though short, she was very much a woman, and she had a quality of vivacious enthusiasm that was inviting. She was almost the complete opposite of Serenio. His eyes showed his interest, and Cherunio nearly quivered with delight now that she had his attention. Suddenly she turned her head, caught by a sound.

  "I hear the rhythm – they're going to do a couple dance," she said. "Come on, Jondalar."

  "Not know steps," he said.

  "I'll show you; it's not hard," Cherunio said, eagerly tugging in the direction of the music. He yielded to the invitation.

  "Wait, we're coming, too," Jetamio said.

  The other woman was not too pleased that Cherunio had captured Jondalar's attention so quickly, and he heard Radonio say, "It's not hard… yet!" followed by peals of laughter. But as the four of them headed toward the dance, he did not hear the conspiratorial whisper.

  "Here's the last water skin of wine, Jondalar," Thonolan said. "Jetamio says we are supposed to start the dance, but we don't have to stay. We're going to slip away as soon as we can."

  "Don't you want to take it with you? For a private celebration?"

  Thonolan grinned at his mate. "Well, it's not really the last – we have one tucked away. But I don't think we need it. Just to be alone with Jetamio will be celebration enough."