The Valley Of Horses

11

"Jondalar, you don't have to stay here just because I am."

"What makes you think I'm staying just for you?" the older brother said with more irritation than he meant to show. He hadn't wanted to seem so touchy about it, but there was more truth to Thonolan's comment than he wanted to admit.

He'd been expecting it, he realized. He just didn't want to let himself believe his brother would actually stay and mate Jetamio. Yet, he surprised himself with his immediate decision to stay with the Sharamudoi, too. He didn't want to go back alone. It would be a long way to travel without Thonolan, and there was something deeper. It had prompted an immediate response before, when he had decided to make a Journey with his brother in the first place.

"You shouldn't have come with me."

For an instant, Jondalar wondered how his brother could know his thoughts.

"I had a feeling I'd never go back home. Not that I expected to find the only woman I could ever love, but I had a feeling I'd just keep going until I found a reason to stop. The Sharamudoi are good people – I guess most people are once you get to know them. But I don't mind settling here and becoming one of them. You're a Zelandonii, Jondalar. No matter where you are, you will always be a Zelandonii. You'll never feel quite at home any other place. Go back, Brother. Make one of those women who have been after you happy. Settle down and raise a big family, and tell the children of your hearth all about your long Journey and the brother who stayed. Who knows? Maybe one of yours, or one of mine, will decide to make a, long Journey to find his kin someday."

"Why am I more Zelandonii than you? What makes you think I couldn't be just as happy here as you?"

"You're not in love, for one thing. Even if you were, you'd be making plans to take her back with you, not to stay here with her."

"Why don't you bring Jetamio back with us? She's capable, strong minded, knows how to take care of herself. She'd make a good Zelandonii woman. She even hunts with the best of them – she'd get along fine."

"I don't want to take the time, waste a year traveling all the way back. I've found the woman I want to live with. I want to settle down, get established, give her a chance to start a family."

"What happened to my brother who was going to travel all the way to the end of the Great Mother River?"

"I'll get there someday. There's no hurry. You know it's not that far. Maybe I'll go with Dolando the next time he trades for salt. I could take Jetamio with me. I think she'd like that, but she wouldn't be happy away from home for long. It means more to her. She never knew her own mother, came close to dying herself with the paralysis. Her people are important to her. I understand that, Jondalar. I've got a brother a lot like her."

"What makes you so sure?" Jondalar looked down, avoiding his brother's gaze. "Or of my not being in love? Serenio is a beautiful woman, and Darvo," the tall blond man smiled and the worry lines on his forehead relaxed, "needs a man around. You know, he may turn out to be a good flint knapper one day."

"Big Brother, I've known you a long time. Living with a woman doesn't mean you love her. I know you're fond of the boy, but that's not reason enough to stay here and make a commitment to his mother. It's not such a bad reason to mate, but not to stay here. Go home and find an older woman with a few children if you want – then you can be sure of having a hearthful of young ones to turn into flint knappers. But go back."

Before Jondalar could reply, a boy, not yet into his second ten years, ran up to them out of breath. He was tall for his age, but slender with a thin face and features too fine and delicate for a boy. His light brown hair was straight and limp, but his hazel eyes gleamed with lively intelligence.

"Jondalar!" he exhaled. "I've been looking all over for you! Dolando is ready and the river men are waiting."

"Tell them we come, Darvo," the tall blond man said in the language of the Sharamudoi. The youngster sprinted ahead. The two men turned to follow, then Jondalar paused. "Good wishes are in order, Little Brother," be said, and the smile on his face made it plain he was sincere. "I can't say I haven't been expecting you to make it formal. And you can forget about trying to get rid of me. It's not every day a man's brother finds the woman of his dreams. I wouldn't miss your mating for the love of a donii."

Thonolan's grin lit up his whole face. "You know, Jondalar, that's what I thought she was the first time I saw her, a beautiful young spirit of the Mother who had come to make my Journey to the next world a pleasure. I would have gone with her, too, without a struggle… I still would."

As Jondalar fell in behind Thonolan, his brow furrowed. It bothered him to think his brother would follow any woman to her death.

The path zigzagged its way down a steep slope in switch-backs, which made the descent more gradual, through a deeply shaded forest. The way ahead opened up as they approached a stone wall that brought them to the edge of a steep cliff. A path around the stone wall had been laboriously hewn out of the face wide enough to accommodate two people abreast, but not with comfort. Jondalar stayed behind his brother as they passed around the wall. He still felt an aching sensation deep in his groin when he looked over the edge at the deep, wide, Great Mother River below, though they had wintered with the Shamudoi of Dolando's Cave. Still, walking the exposed path was better than the other access.

Not all Caves of people lived in caves; shelters constructed on open sites were common. But the natural shelters of rock were sought, and prized, especially during the winter's bitter cold. A cave or rock overhang could make desirable a location that would otherwise have been spurned. Seemingly insurmountable difficulties would be casually overcome for the sake of such permanent shelters. Jondalar had lived in caves in steep cliffs with precipitous ledges, but nothing quite like the home of this Cave of Shamudoi.

In a far earlier age, the earth's crust of sedimentary sandstone, limestone, and shale had been uplifted into ice-capped peaks. But harder crystalline rock, spewed from erupting volcanoes caused by the same upheavals, was intermixed with the softer stone. The entire plain through which the two brothers had traveled the previous summer, that had once been the basin of a vast inland sea, was hemmed in by the mountains. Over long eons the outlet of the sea eroded a path through a ridge, which had once joined the great range on the north with an extension of it to the south, and drained the basin.

But the mountain gave way only grudgingly through the more yielding material, allowing just a narrow gap bounded by obdurate rock. The Great Mother River, gathering unto herself her Sister and all her channels and tributaries into one voluminous whole, passed through the same gap. Over a distance of nearly a hundred miles, the series of four great gorges was the gate to her lower course and, ultimately, her destination. In places along the way she spread out for a mile; in others, less than two hundred yards separated walls of sheer bare stone.

In the slow process of cutting through a hundred miles of mountain ridge, the waters of the receding sea formed themselves into streams, waterfalls, pools, and lakes, many of which would leave their mark. High on the left wall, close to the beginning of the first narrow passage, was a spacious embayment: a deep broad shelf with a surprisingly even floor. It had once been a small bay, a protected cove of a lake, hollowed out by the unwavering edge of water and time. The lake had long since disappeared, leaving the indented U-shaped terrace high above the existing water line; so high that not even spring floods, which could change the river level dramatically, came close to the ledge.

A large grass-covered field edged to the sheer drop-off of the shelf, though the soil layer, evidenced by a couple of shallow cooking pits that went down to rock, was not deep. About halfway back, brush and small trees began to appear, hugging and climbing the rugged walls. The trees grew to a respectable size near the rear wall, and the brush thickened and clambered up the steep back incline. Close to the back on a side wall was the prize of the high terrace: a sandstone overhang with a deep undercut. Beneath it were several shelters constructed of wood, partitioning the area into dwelling units, and a roughly circular open space, with a main hearth and a few smaller ones, that was both an entrance and a gathering place.

In the opposite corner was another valuable asset. A long thin waterfall, dropping from a high lip, played through jagged rocks for a distance before spilling over a smaller sandstone overhang into a lively pool. It ran off along the far wall to the end of the terrace, where Dolando and several men were waiting for Thonolan and Jondalar.

Dolando hailed them when they appeared around the jutting wall, then began descending over the edge. Jondalar jogged behind his brother and reached the far wall just as Thonolan started down a precarious path alongside the small stream that dropped down a series of ledges to the river below. The trail would have been impossible to negotiate in places except for narrow steps tediously chiseled out of the rock, and sturdy rope handrails. As it was, the cascading water and constant spray made it treacherously slick, even in summer. In winter it was an impassable mass of frozen icicles.

In the spring, though it was inundated with heavier runoff and icy patches which threatened footing, the Sharamudoi – both the chamois-hunting Shamudoi, and the river-dwelling Ramudoi, who formed their opposite half – scampered up and down like the agile goatlike antelope that inhabited the steep terrain. As Jondalar watched his brother descend with the reckless disregard of one born to it, he thought Thonolan was certainly right about one thing. If he lived here all his life, he would never get used to this access to the high shelf. He glanced at the turbulent water of the huge river far below and felt the familiar ache in his groin, then took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and stepped over the edge.

More than once he was grateful for the rope as he felt his foot slip on unseen ice, and he expelled a deep sigh when he reached the river. A floating dock of logs lashed together, swaying with the shifting current, was welcome stability by comparison. On a raised platform that covered more than half the dock were a series of wood structures similar to the ones under the sandstone overhang on the ledge above.

Jondalar exchanged greetings with several inhabitants of the houseboats as he strode along the lashed logs toward the end of the dock where Thonolan was just getting into one of the boats tied there. As soon as he got in, they shoved off and began pulling upstream with long-handled oars. Conversation was kept to a minimum. The deep, strong current was urged on by spring melt, and, while the river men rowed, Dolando's men kept an eye out for floating debris. Jondalar settled back and found himself musing on the unique interrelationship of the Sharamudoi.

People he had met specialized in different ways, and he often wondered what had led them along their particular path. With some, all the men customarily performed one function, and all the women another, until each function became so associated with a certain gender that no woman would do what she considered man's work, and no man could bring himself to perform a woman's task. With others, tasks and chores tended to fall more along lines of age – younger people performing the more strenuous tasks, and older ones the sedentary chores. In some groups, women might be in full charge of children, in others much of the responsibility of tending and teaching young children belonged to the elders, both male and female.

With the Sharamudoi, specialization had followed different lines, and two distinct but related groups had developed. The Shamudoi hunted chamois and other animals in the high crags and tors of the mountains and cliffs, while the Ramudoi specialized in hunting – for the process was more like hunting than fishing – the enormous sturgeon, up to thirty feet long, of the river. They also fished for perch, pike, and large carp. The division of labor might have caused them to split into two distinct tribes, except for mutual needs they had of each other which kept them together.

The Shamudoi had developed a process for making beautiful, velvety soft leather from chamois hides. It was so unique that distant tribes in the region would trade for them. It was a closely guarded secret, but Jondalar had learned that oils from certain fish were involved in the process. It gave the Shamudoi a strong reason to maintain a close tie with the Ramudoi. On the other hand, boats were made from oak, with some beech and pine used for fittings, and the long planks of the sides were clenched with yew and willow. The river people had need of the mountain dwellers' knowledge of the forests to find the proper wood.

Within the Sharamudoi tribe, each Shamudoi family had a counterpart Ramudoi family related to it by complex kinship lines that might or might not have anything to do with blood relationship. Jondalar still hadn't sorted them all out, but after his brother mated Jetamio, he would suddenly be endowed with a score of "cousins" among both groups, related through Thonolan's mate, although she had no living blood relatives. Certain mutual obligations would be expected to be met, though for him this would involve little more than using certain titles of respect when addressing acquaintances among his new kin.

As an unmated male, he would still be free to go if he wished, though he would be even more welcome to stay. But the ties that bound the two groups were so strong that if living quarters became congested, and a family or two of the Shamudoi decided to move away and start a new Cave, their counterpart family of Ramudoi had to move with them.

There were special rites to exchange ties if the counterpart family did not want to move and another family did. In principle, however, the Shamudoi could insist and the Ramudoi would be obligated to follow, because in matters concerning the land, the Shamudoi had the right to decide. The Ramudoi were not without some leverage, however. They could refuse to transport their Shamudoi kin, or to help them look for a suitable location, since decisions dealing with the water fell to them. In practice, any decision as major as moving away was usually worked out together.

Additional ties had developed, both practical and ritual, to strengthen the relationship, many of them centering on the boats. Though decisions regarding boats on the water were the prerogative of the Ramudoi, the boats themselves also belonged to the Shamudoi, who consequently benefited from the products of their use, in proportion to benefits given in return. Again, the principle which had evolved to resolve disputes was much more complicated than the practice. Mutual sharing with unspoken understanding of and respect for each other's rights, territories, and expertise made disputes rare.

The making of boats was a joint effort for the very practical reason that it required both the products of the land and the knowledge of the water, and this gave the Shamudoi a valid claim to the craft used by the Ramudoi. Ritual reinforced the tie, since no woman of either moiety could mate a man who did not have such a claim. Thonolan would have to assist in the building, or rebuilding, of a boat before he could mate the woman he loved.

Jondalar was looking forward to the boat building, too. He was intrigued with the unusual craft; he wondered how they were made and how to propel and navigate them. He would have preferred some other reason than his brother's decision to stay and mate a Shamudoi woman as a means of finding out. But from the beginning, these people had interested him. The ease with which they traveled on the great river and hunted the huge sturgeon surpassed the abilities of any people he had ever heard of.

They knew the river in all her moods. He'd had difficulty comprehending her sheer volume until he had seen all her waters together, and she wasn't full yet. But it wasn't from the boat that her size was so apparent. During the winter when the waterfall trail was icing over and unusable, but before the Ramudoi moved in with their Shamudoi kin above, commerce between the two was accomplished by means of ropes and large woven platforms suspended over the ledge of the Shamudoi terrace and down to the Ramudoi dock.

The falls hadn't yet frozen when he and Thonolan first arrived, but his brother was in no shape to make the precarious ascent. They were both lifted up in a basket.

When he saw her from that perspective for the first time, Jondalar began to understand the full extent of the Great Mother River. The blood had drained from his face; his heart pounded with the shock of comprehension as he looked down at the water and the rounded mountains across the river. He was awed and overcome with a deep reverence for the Mother whose birth waters had formed the river in her wondrous act of creation.

He had since learned there was a longer, easier, if less spectacular ascent to the high embayment. It was part of a trail that extended from west to east over the mountain passes and dropped down to the broad river plain on the eastern end of the gate. The western part of the trail, in the highlands and foothills leading to the start of the series of gorges, was more rugged, but parts of it dipped to the river's edge. They were heading to one such place.

The boat was already pulling out of midchannel toward an excitedly waving group of people lining a beach of gray sand when a gasp caused the older brother to look around.

"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 bump 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 bump 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, Jondalar?"

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 shore. "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 shore, 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 scraps 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 assemblage 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," 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 massive 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 compassion.

Because of her calming effect on distraught loved ones or fearful patients, she often assisted the Shamud and had learned some medical skills from the association. 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 aptitude 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 impassiveness. 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 passed. "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 space 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 space 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 assembled 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-encompassing 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 passed 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 passed 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 sparse and so widely spaced 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 Godhead, 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 passed: 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 assumed 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 embarrassed, 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.

"Can someone else join you?" Serenio asked. "I would find it interesting to learn Zelandonii, and I think Darvo might find Mamutoi useful if he wants to go on trading journeys sometime."

"Why not?" Thonolan laughed. "East or west, if you make a Journey, knowing the language helps." He looked at his brother. "But if you don't know it, it doesn't stop you from understanding a beautiful woman, does it, Jondalar? Especially if you have big blue eyes," he said in Zelandonii, grinning.

Jondalar smiled at his brother's gibe. "Should speak Sharamudoi, Thonolan," he said with a wink at Tholie. He speared a vegetable out of his wooden bowl with his eating knife, still finding it not quite natural to use his left hand for the purpose, though that was the custom of the Sharamudoi. "What is named this?" he asked her. "In Zelandonii is called 'mushroom.'"

Tholie told him the word for the shaggy cap mushroom in her language and in Sharamudoi. Then he speared a green stalk and held it up questioningly.

"That's the stem of young burdock," Jetamio said, and then realized the word itself would mean little to him. She got up and went to the refuse pile near the cooking area and brought back some wilted but still recognizable leaves. "Burdock," she said, showing him the large, downy, gray-green leaf parts that had been torn from the stem. He nodded his head with understanding. Then she held out a long, broad, green leaf with an unmistakable odor.

"That's it! I knew it was some familiar flavor," he said to his brother. "I didn't know garlic grew in leaf like that." Then back to Jetamio, "'What is name?"

"Ransoms," she said. Tholie had no Mamutoi name for it, but she did for the piece of dried leaf Jetamio next held out.

"Seaweed," she said. "I brought that with me. It grows in the sea, and it thickens the stew." She tried to explain but wasn't sure if she was understood. The ingredient had been added to the traditional dish because of her close relationship to the new couple, and because it imparted an interesting taste and texture. "There is not much left. It was part of my bride gift." Tholie braced the baby over her shoulder and patted her back. "Have you made your gift to the Blessing Tree yet, Tamio?"

Jetamio lowered her head, smiling demurely. It was a question not usually asked outright, but only mildly meddlesome. "I'm hoping the Mother will bless my mating with a baby as healthy and happy as yours, Tholie. Is Shamio through nursing?"

"She just likes to suck for comfort. She'd hang on all day if I let her. Would you like to hold her? I need to go outside."

When Tholie returned, the focus of conversation had shifted. Food had been cleared out of the way, more wine served, and someone was practicing rhythms on a single-skin drum and improvising words to a song. When she took her infant back, Thonolan and Jetamio stood up and tried to edge their way out. Suddenly several people with broad grins ringed them.

It was usual for the couple about to be mated to leave the feast early to find some last moments alone together before their pre-Matrimonial separation. But since they were the guests of honor, they could not politely take their leave as long as anyone was talking to them. They must try to sneak away in the moment when no one would notice, but of course, everyone knew it. It became a game, and they were expected to play their parts – making dashes to get away while everyone pretended to look aside, and then making polite excuses when they were caught. After some teasing and joking, they would be allowed to go.

"You're not in a hurry to leave, are you?" Thonolan was asked.

"It get late," Thonolan evaded, grinning.

"It's early yet. Have another helping, Tamio."

"I couldn't eat another bite."

"A cup of wine then. Thonolan, you wouldn't turn down a cup of Tamio's wonderful bilberry wine, would you?"

"Well… little."

"Little more for you, Tamio?"

She edged closer to Thonolan and made a conspiratorial glance over her shoulder. "Just a sip, but someone will have to get our cups. They're over there."

"Of course. You'll wait right here, won't you?"

One person went to get the cups, while the rest made a pretense of watching him. Thonolan and Jetamio made a break for the darkness beyond the fire.

"Thonolan. Jetamio. I thought you were going to share a drink of wine with us."

"Oh, we are. Just need to make a trip outside. You know how it is after a large meal," Jetamio explained.

Jondalar, standing close to Serenio, was feeling a strong desire to continue their earlier conversation. They were enjoying the sham. He leaned closer to speak privately, to ask her to leave, too, as soon as everyone tired of the sport and let the young couple go. If he was going to make a commitment to her, it had to be now, before the reluctance that was already asserting itself put him off again.

Spirits were high – the blue bilberries had been especially sweet last fall, and the wine was stronger than usual. People were milling around, teasing Thonolan and Jetamio, laughing. Some were starting a question-and-response song. Someone wanted the stew reheated; someone else put water on for tea, after pouring out the last in someone's cup. Children, not tired enough for sleep, were chasing one another. Confusion marked the shifting of activities.

Then, a yelling child ran into a man who was none too steady on his feet. He stumbled and bumped into a woman who was carrying a cup of hot tea, just as an uproar of shouts accompanied the couple's dash for the outside.

No one heard the first scream, but the loud, insistent wails of a baby in pain quickly stopped everything.

"My baby! My baby! She's burned!" Tholie cried.

"Great Doni!" Jondalar gasped, as he rushed with Serenio toward the sobbing mother and her screaming infant.

Everyone wanted to help, all at the same time. The confusion was worse than before.

"Let the Shamud through. Move aside." Serenio's presence was a calming influence. The Shamud quickly removed the baby's coverings. "Cool water, Serenio, quickly! No! Wait. Darvo, you get water. Serenio, the linden bark – you know where it is?"

"Yes," she said, and hurried off.

"Roshario, is there hot water? If not, get some on. We need a tisane of the linden bark, and a lighter infusion for a sedative. They're both scalded."

Darvo ran back with a container of water from the pool, slopping over the sides. "Good, son. That was quick," the Shamud said with an appreciative smile, then splashed the cool water on the angry red burns. The burns were beginning to blister. "We need a dressing, something soothing, until the tisane is ready." The healer saw a burdock leaf on the ground and remembered the meal.

"Jetamio, what is this?"

"Burdock," she said. "It was in the stew."

"Is there some left? The leaf?"

"We only used the stem. There's a pile over there."

"Get it!"

Jetamio ran to the refuse pile and returned with two handfuls of the torn leaves. The Shamud dipped them in the water and laid them on the burns of both mother and child. The baby's demanding screams abated to hiccuping sobs, with occasional new spasms, as the soothing effect of the leaves began to be felt.

"It helps," Tholie said. She didn't know she was burned until the Shamud mentioned it. She had been sitting and talking, letting the baby suckle to keep her quiet and contented. When the scalding hot tea spilled on them, she had only realized her baby's pain. "Will Shamio be all right?"

"The burns will blister, but I don't think she'll scar."

"Oh, Tholie. I feel so bad," Jetamio said. "It's just terrible. Poor Shamio, and you, too."

Tholie was trying to get the infant to nurse again, but the association with pain was making her fight it. Finally, the remembered comfort outweighed the fear, and Shamio's cries stopped as she took hold, which calmed Tholie.

"Why are you and Thonolan still here, Tamio?" she asked. "This is the last night you can be together."

"I can't go off with you and Shamio hurt. I want to help."

The baby was fussing again. The burdock helped, but the burn was still painful.

"Serenio, is the tisane ready?" the healer inquired, replacing the leaves with fresh ones soaking in the cool water.

"The linden bark has steeped long enough, but it will take a while to cool. Maybe if I take it outside, it will cool faster."

"Cool! Cool!" Thonolan cried, and suddenly dashed out of the sheltering overhang.

"Where's he going?" Jetamio asked Jondalar.

The tall man shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. The answer was clear when Thonolan ran back, out of breath, but holding dripping wet icicles from the steep stone stairway that led down to the river.

"Will this help?" he asked, holding them out.

The Shamud looked at Jondalar. "The boy is brilliant!" There was a hint of irony in the statement, as though such genius wasn't expected.

The same qualities in the linden bark that numbed the pain made it effective as a sedative as well. Both Tholie and the baby were asleep. Thonolan and Jetamio had finally been convinced to go off by themselves for a while, but all the lighthearted fun of the Promise Feast was gone. No one wanted to say it, but the accident had cast a shadow of misfortune on their mating.

Jondalar, Serenio, Markeno, and the Shamud were sitting near the large hearth, drawing the last warmth from the dying embers and sipping wine while they talked in quiet tones. Everyone else was asleep, and Serenio was urging Markeno to turn in for the night, too.

"There's nothing more you can do, Markeno, there's no reason for you to stay up. I'll stay with them, you go to sleep."

"She's right, Markeno," the Shamud said. "They'll be all right. You should rest, too, Serenio."

She got up to go, as much to encourage Markeno as for herself. The others stood up, too. Serenio put her cup down, briefly touched her cheek to Jondalar's, and headed toward the structures with Markeno. "If there's any reason, I'll wake you," she said as they left.

When they were gone, Jondalar scooped the last dregs of the fermented bilberry juice into two cups and gave one to the enigmatic figure waiting in the quiet dark. The Shamud took it, tacitly understanding they had more to say to each other. The young man scraped the last few coals together near the edge of the blackened circle and added wood until a small fire was glowing. They sat for a while, silently sipping wine, huddled over the flickering warmth.

When Jondalar looked up, the eyes, whose indefinable color was merely dark in the firelight, were scrutinizing him. He felt power in them, and intelligence, but he appraised with equal intensity. The crackling, hissing flames cast moving shadows across the old face, blurring the features, but even in daylight Jondalar had been unable to define any specific characteristics, other than age. Even that was a mystery.

There was strength in the wrinkled face, which lent it youthfulness though the long mane of hair was shocking white. And while the figure beneath the loose clothing was spare and frail, the step had spring. The hands alone spoke unequivocally of great age, but for all their arthritic knobs and blue-veined parchment skin, no palsied flutter shook the cup that was lifted to the mouth.

The movement broke eye contact. Jondalar wondered if the Shamud had done it deliberately to relieve a tension that was growing. He took a sip. "The Shamud good healer, has skill," he said.

"It is a gift of Mudo."

Jondalar strained to hear some quality of timbre or tone that would shade the androgynous healer in one direction or the other, only to satisfy his nagging curiosity. He had not yet discerned whether the Shamud was female or male, but he did have an impression that in spite of the neutrality of gender, the healer had not led a celibate life. The satirical quips were too often accompanied by knowing looks. He wanted to ask, but he didn't know how to phrase his question tactfully.

"Shamud life not easy, must give up much," Jondalar tried. "Did healer ever want mate?"

For an instant the inscrutable eyes widened; then the Shamud broke into sardonic laughter. Jondalar felt a hot flash of embarrassment.

"Whom would you have had me mate, Jondalar? Now, if you had come along in my younger years, I might have been tempted. Ah, but would you have succumbed to my charms? If I had given the Blessing Tree a string of beads, could I have wished you to my bed?" the Shamud said with a slight, demure bend of the head. For a moment, Jondalar was convinced it was a young woman who spoke.

"Or would I have needed to be more circumspect? Your appetites are well developed; could I have aroused your curiosity to a new pleasure?"

Jondalar flushed, sure he had been mistaken, yet strangely drawn to the look of sensuous lechery and the catlike sinuous grace the Shamud projected with a body shift. Of course, the healer was a man, but with a woman's tastes in his pleasures. Many healers drew from both the male and female principle; it gave them stronger powers. Again he heard the sardonic laugh.

"But if the life of a healer is difficult, it's worse for the mate of one. A mate should be a man's first consideration. It would be hard to leave someone like Serenio, for instance, in the middle of the night to take care of someone who was sick, and there are long periods of abstinence required…"

The Shamud was leaning forward, talking to him man to man, with a gleam in his eye at the thought of a woman as lovely as Serenio. Jondalar shook his head with puzzlement. Then, with a movement of the shoulders, the masculinity had a different character. One that excluded him.

"…and I'm not sure I'd want to leave her alone with a lot of rapacious men around."

The Shamud was a woman, but not one that would ever be attracted to him, or he to her, as anything more than a friend. It was true, the healer's power came from the principle of both sexes but was that of a woman with a man's tastes.

The Shamud laughed again, and the voice had no shading of gender. With a level look of person to person that asked human understanding, the old healer continued.

"Tell me, which one am I, Jondalar? Which one would you mate? Some try to find a relationship, one way or another, but it seldom lasts long. Gifts are not an unmixed blessing. A healer has no identity, except in the larger sense. One's personal name is given back, the Shamud effaces self to take on the essence of all. There are benefits, but mating is not usually among them.

"When one is young, being born to a destiny is not necessarily desirable. It is not easy to be different. You may not want to lose your identity. But it doesn't matter – the destiny is yours. There is no other place for one who carries the essence of both man and woman in one body."

In the fire's dying light, the Shamud looked as ancient as the Earth Herself, stating at the coals with unfocused eyes as though seeing another time and place. Jondalar got up to get a few more sticks of wood, then nursed the fire back to life. As the flames took hold, the healer straightened, and the look of irony returned. "That was long ago, and there have been… compensations. Not the least is discovering one's talent and gaining knowledge. When the Mother calls one to Her service, it isn't all sacrifice."

"With Zelandonii, not all who serve Mother know when young, not all like Shamud. I once thought to serve Donii. Not all are called," Jondalar said, and the Shamud wondered at the tightening of his lips and the creasing of his brow that bespoke a bitterness that still galled. There were hurts buried deep within the tall young man who seemed so well favored.

"It is true, not all who might wish are called, and not all who are called have the same talents – or proclivities. If one is not sure, there are ways to discover, to test one's faith and will. Before one is initiated, a period of time must be spent alone. It can be enlightening, but you may learn more about yourself than you wish. I often advise those considering entering the Mother's service to live alone for a while. If you cannot, you would never be able to endure the more severe tests."

"What kind of tests?" The Shamud had never been so candid with him before, and Jondalar was fascinated.

"Periods of abstinence when we must forgo all Pleasures; periods of silence when we may not speak to anyone. Periods of fasting, times when we forgo sleep as long as possible. There are others. We learn to use these methods to seek answers, revelations from the Mother, particularly for those in training. After a time, one learns to induce the proper state at will, but it is beneficial to continue their use now and then."

There was a long silence. The Shamud had managed to ease the conversation around to the real issue, the answers Jondalar wanted. He had but to ask. "You know what is need. Will Shamud tell what means… all this?" Jondalar spread his arm in a vague all-encompassing gesture.

"Yes. I know what you want. You are concerned about your brother after what happened tonight, and in a larger sense, about him and Jetamio – and you." Jondalar nodded. "Nothing is certain… you know that." Jondalar nodded again. The Shamud studied him, trying to decide how much to reveal. Then the old face turned toward the fire and an unfocused look gathered in the eyes. The young man felt a distancing, as though a great space had been put between them, though neither had moved.

"Your love for your brother is strong." There was an eerie, hollow echo to the voice, an otherworldly resonance. "You worry that it is too strong, and fear that you lead his life and not your own. You are wrong. He leads you where you must go, but would not go alone. You are following your own destiny, not his; you only walk in tandem for a pace.

"Your strengths are of a different nature. You have great power when your need is great. I felt your need of me for your brother even before we found his bloody shirt on the log that was sent for me."

"I did not send log. It was chance, luck."

"It was not chance that I felt your need. Others have felt it. You cannot be denied. Not even the Mother would refuse you. It is your gift. But be wary of the Mother's gifts. It puts you in Her debt. With a gift as strong as yours, She must have a purpose for you. Nothing is given without obligation. Even her Gift of Pleasure is not largesse; there is purpose for it, whether we know it or not…

"Remember this: you follow the Mother's purpose. You need no call, you were born to this destiny. But you will be tested. You will cause pain and suffer for it…"

The young man's eyes flew open with surprise.

"…You will be hurt. You will seek fulfillment and find frustration; you will search for certainty and find only indecision. But there are compensations. You are well favored in body and mind, you have special skills, unique talents, and you are gifted with more than ordinary sensitivity. Your vexations are the result of your capacity. You were given too much. You must learn by your trials.

"Remember this as well: to serve the Mother is not all sacrifice. You will find what you seek. It is your destiny."

"But… Thonolan?"

"I sense a break; your destiny lies another way. He must follow his own path. He is a favorite of Mudo."

Jondalar frowned. The Zelandonii had a similar saying, but it didn't necessarily mean good luck. The Great Earth Mother was said to be jealous for Her favorites and called them back to Her early. He waited, but the Shamud said no more. He didn't fully understand all the talk of "need" and "power" and "Mother's purpose" – Those Who Served the Mother often spoke with a shadow on their tongue – but he didn't like the feel of it.

When the fire died down, Jondalar got up to leave. He started toward the shelters at the back of the overhang, but the Shamud was not quite through.

"No! Not the mother and child…" the pleading voice cried out in the dark.

Jondalar, caught by surprise, felt a chill down his spine. He wondered if Tholie and her baby were burned worse than he thought, and why he was shivering when he wasn't cold.