The Valley Of Horses

12

"Jondalar!" Markeno hailed. The tall blond man waited for the other tall one to catch up. "Find a way to delay going up tonight," Markeno said in a hushed voice. "Thonolan has had enough restriction and ritual since the Promising. It's time for a little relaxation." He removed the stopper from a waterbag and gave Jondalar a whiff of the bilberry wine, and a sly smile.

The Zelandonii nodded and smiled back. There were differences between his people and the Sharamudoi, but some customs were evidently widespread. He had wondered if the younger men would be planning a "ritual" of their own. The two men matched strides as they continued down the trail.

"How are Tholie and Shamio?"

"Tholie is worried that Shamio will have a scar on her face, but they are both healing. Serenio says she doesn't think the burn will leave a mark, but not even the Shamud can say for sure."

Jondalar's concerned expression matched Markeno's for the next few paces. They turned a bend in the trail and came upon Carlono, studying a tree. He smiled broadly when he saw them. His resemblance to Markeno was more apparent when he smiled. He was not as tall as the son of his hearth, but the thin, wiry build was the same. He looked once more at the tree, then shook his head.

"No, it's not right."

"Not right?" Jondalar asked.

"For supports," Carlono said. "I don't see the boat in that tree. None of the branches will follow the inside curve, not even with trimming."

"How you know? Boat not finished," Jondalar said.

"He knows," Markeno interjected. "Carlono always finds limbs with the right fit. You can stay and talk about trees if you want. I'm going on down to the clearing."

Jondalar watched him stride away, then asked Carlono, "How you see in tree what fit boat?"

"You have to develop a feel for it – it takes practice. You don't look for tall straight trees this time. You want trees with crooks and curves in the branches. Then you think about how they will rest on the bottom and bend up the sides. You look for trees that grow alone where they have room to go their own way. Like men, some grow best in company, striving to outdo the rest. Others need to grow their own way, though it may be lonely. Both have value."

Carlono turned off the main trail along a path not as well traveled. Jondalar followed behind. "Sometimes we find two growing together," the Ramudoi leader continued, "bending and giving only for each other, like those." He pointed to a pair of trees entwined around each other. "We call them a love pair. Sometimes if one is cut down, the other dies, too," Carlono said. Jondalar's forehead wrinkled in a frown.

They reached a clearing and Carlono led the tall man up a sunny slope toward a massive giant of a twisted, gnarled old oak. As they approached, Jondalar thought he saw strange fruit on the tree. Drawing near, he was surprised to see that it was decorated with an unusual array of objects. There were delicate tiny baskets with dyed quill designs, small leather bags embroidered with mollusk-shell beads, and cords twisted and knotted into patterns. A long necklace had been draped around the huge bole so long before that it was embedded in the trunk. On close inspection, he saw it was made of shell beads, carefully shaped with holes bored through the centers, alternating with individual vertebrae of fish backbones which had a natural center hole. He noticed tiny carved boats hanging from branches, canine teeth suspended from leather thongs, bird feathers, squirrel tails. He had never seen anything like it.

Carlono chuckled at his wide-eyed reaction. "This is the Blessing Tree. I imagine Jetamio has made her a gift. Women usually do when they want Mudo to bless them with a child. The women think of her as theirs, but more than a few men have made her an offering. They ask for good luck on first hunts, favor on a new boat, happiness with a new mate. You don't ask often, only for something special."

"Is so big!"

"Yes. It is the Mother's own tree, but that isn't why I brought you here. Notice how curved and bent her branches are? This one would be too big, even if she wasn't the Blessing Tree, but for supports, you look for trees like this. Then you study the branches to find the ones that will fit the inside of your boat."

They walked by a different path down to the boat-making clearing and approached Markeno and Thonolan, who were working on a log that was huge in girth as well as length. They were gouging out a trough with adzes. At the present stage, the log resembled the crude trough that was used for making tea rather than one of the gracefully shaped boats, but the rough shape had been hacked out. Later a stem and stern would be carved, but first the inside had to be finished.

"Jondalar has taken quite an interest in boat making," Carlono said.

"Maybe we need to find him a river woman so he can become a Ramudoi. It's only fair since his brother will be Shamudoi," Markeno joked. "I know a couple who have been casting long glances at him. One of them might be persuaded."

"I don't think they'd get too far with Serenio around," Carlono said with a wink at Jondalar. "But then some of the best boat makers are Shamudoi. It's not the boat on the land, it's the boat in the water that makes a river man."

"If you're so eager to learn boat making, why don't you pick up an adze and help?" Thonolan said. "I think my big brother would rather talk than work." His hands were black and one cheek was smudged the same color. "I'll even lend you mine," he added, throwing the tool to Jondalar, who caught it by reflex. The adze – a sturdy stone blade mounted at right angles to a handle – left a black mark on his hand.

Thonolan jumped down and went to check a nearby fire. It had burned down to glowing embers out of which tongues of orange flame leaped now and then. He picked up a broken section of plank, its top pocked with charred holes, and swept hot coals out of the fire onto it with a branch. He carried them back to the log and spilled them, amidst a shower of sparks and smoke, into the troughlike hole they were gouging out. Markeno laid more wood on the fire and brought over a container of water. They wanted the coals to burn into the log, not set it on fire.

Thonolan moved the coals around with a stick, then added a strategically placed sprinkle of water. A sputtering hiss of steam and a sharp smell of burning wood evidenced the elemental battle of fire and water. But, eventually, the water had its way. Thonolan scooped out the remnant pieces of wet black charcoal, then climbed into the boat trough and began to scrape away the charred wood, deepening and widening the hole.

"Let me take a turn at that," Jondalar said after he had watched for a while.

"I was wondering if you were just going to stand around all day," Thonolan remarked with a grin. The two brothers tended to slip into their native language when they talked to each other. The ease and familiarity of it was comfortable. They were both gaining competence with the new language, but Thonolan spoke it better.

Jondalar stopped to examine the stone head of the adze after the first few strokes, tried again at a different angle, checked the cutting edges again, then found the proper swing. The three young men worked together, speaking little, until they stopped for a rest.

"I not see before, use fire to make trough," Jondalar said as they walked toward the lean-to. "Always gouge out with adze."

"You could use just an adze, but fire makes it go faster. Oak is hard wood," Markeno remarked. "Sometimes we use pine from higher up. It's softer, easier to dig out. Still, fire helps."

"Take long time make boat?" Jondalar inquired.

"Depends how hard you work, and how many work on it. This boat won't take long. It's Thonolan's claim, and it must be done before he can mate Jetamio, you know." Markeno smiled. "I never saw anyone work so hard, and he's coaxing everyone else, too. Once you start, though, it is a good idea to keep at it until it's done. Keeps it from drying out. We're going to split planks this afternoon, for the strakes. Do you want to help?"

"He'd better!" Thonolan said.

The huge oak Jondalar had helped to chop down, minus its branching top, had been carried to the other side of the clearing. It had taken almost every able-bodied person to move it, and nearly as many had gathered to split it. Jondalar hadn't needed his brother's "coaxing." He wouldn't have missed it.

First, a set of antler wedges was placed in a straight line along the grain for the full length of the log. They were driven in with heavy, handheld stone mauls. The wedges forced a crack in the massive bole, but it opened reluctantly at first. Connecting splinters were severed as the thick butts of the triangular antler pieces were pounded deeper into the heart of the wood, until, with a snap, the log fell apart, split cleanly in half.

Jondalar shook his head in wonder, yet it was only the beginning. The wedges were placed again down the center of each half, and the process repeated until they were split in half. And then each section was halved again. By the end of the day, the huge log had been reduced to a stack of radially split planks, each one tapering toward the center, making one long edge thinner than the other. A few planks were shorter because of a knot, but they would have uses. There were many more planks than required to build up the sides of the boats. They would be used to construct a shelter for the young couple beneath the sandstone overhang on the high terrace, connected to the dwelling of Roshario and Dolando, and large enough to accommodate Markeno, Tholie, and Shamio during the coldest part of the winter. Wood from the same tree used for both house and boat was thought to add the strength of the oak to the relationship.

As the sun descended, Jondalar noticed a few of the younger men ducking into the woods, and Markeno let Thonolan persuade him to continue working on the dugout base of the boat under construction until almost everyone had gone. It was Thonolan who finally conceded that it was too dark to see.

"There's plenty of light," a voice said from behind him. "You don't know what dark is!"

Before Thonolan could turn around to see who spoke, a blindfold was thrown over his head, and his arms were grabbed and held. "What's going on?" he shouted, struggling to break away.

The only reply was muffled laughter. He was picked up and carried some distance and, when he was put down, he felt his clothes being removed.

"Stop it! What are you doing? It's cold!"

"You won't be cold for long," Markeno said when the blindfold was removed. Thonolan saw a half dozen smiling young men, all naked. The area was unfamiliar, particularly in the deep twilight, but he knew they were near water.

Around him the forest was a dense black mass, but it thinned on one side to bare the silhouette of individual trees against a deep lavender sky. Beyond them, the widened way of a path revealed reflected silver flashing sinuously from the smooth oily rolling of the Great Mother River. Nearby, light gleamed through cracks of a small, low, rectangular structure of wood. The young men climbed onto the roof, then down into the hut through a hole in the top using a log, leaning at an angle, with steps cut into it.

A fire had been built inside the hut in a central pit, and stones had been placed on top to heat. The walls stood back, making a bench of the ground, which was covered with planks sanded smooth with sandstone. As soon as everyone was in, the entrance hole at the top was loosely covered; smoke would escape through cracks. A glow of coals showed under the hot rocks, and soon Thonolan conceded that Markeno was right. He was no longer cold. Someone threw water on the stones and a billow of steam rose, making it even more difficult to see in the dim light.

"Did you get it, Markeno?" asked the man sitting beside him.

"Right here, Chalono." He held up the waterbag of wine.

"Well, let's have it. You're a lucky man, Thonolan. Mating a woman who makes bilberry wine this good." There was a chorus of agreement and laughter. Chalono passed the skin of wine, then, showing a square of leather tied into a pouch, he said with a sly grin, "I found something else."

"I wondered why you weren't around today," one man remarked. "Are you sure they're the right kind?"

"Don't worry, Rondo. I know mushrooms. At least I know these mushrooms," Chalono averred.

"You should. You pick them every chance you get." There was more laughter at the pointed dig.

"Maybe he wants to be Shamud, Tarluno," Rondo added derisively.

"Those aren't the Shamud's mushrooms, are they?" Markeno asked. "Those red ones with the white spots can be deadly if you don't prepare them right."

"No, these are nice safe little mushrooms that just make you feel good. I don't like playing around with the Shamud's. I don't want a woman inside me…" Chalono said, then sniggering, "I'd rather get inside a woman."

"Who's got the wine?" Tarluno asked.

"I gave it to Jondalar."

"Get it away from him. He's big enough to drink it all!"

"I gave it to Chalono," Jondalar said.

"I haven't seen any of those mushrooms – are you going to keep the wine and the mushrooms, too?" Rondo asked.

"Don't rush me. I've been trying to get this bag open. Here, Thonolan, you're the guest of honor. You get first pick."

"Markeno, is it true the Mamutoi make a drink out of a plant that's better than wine or mushrooms?" Tarluno asked.

"I don't know about better, but I've only had it once."

"How about more steam?" Rondo said, splashing a cup of water on the rocks below, assuming everyone's assent.

"Some people, to west, put in steam something," Jondalar commented.

"And one Cave breathe smoke from plant. They let you try, but they not tell what it is," Thonolan added.

"You two must have tried almost everything… in all your traveling," Chalono said. "That's what I'd like to do, try everything there is."

"I hear flatheads drink something…" Tarluno volunteered.

"They're animals – they'll drink anything," Chalono said.

"Isn't that what you just said you wanted to do?" Rondo jeered. An outburst of laughter followed.

Chalono noticed Rondo's comments often provoked laughter – sometimes at his expense. Not to be outdone, he began a story that had been known to cause laughter before. "You know the one about the old man who was so blind, he caught a flathead female and thought it was a woman…"

"Yeah, his pizzle fell off. That's disgusting, Chalono," Rondo said. "And what man would mistake a flathead for a woman?"

"Some do not mistake. Do on purpose," Thonolan said. "Men from Cave, far to west, take Pleasures with flathead females, make trouble for Caves."

"You're joking!"

"It no joke. Whole pack of flatheads surround us," Jondalar confirmed. "They angry. Later we hear some men take flathead women, cause trouble."

"How did you get away?"

"They let," Jondalar said. "Leader of pack, he smart. Flatheads more smart people think."

"I heard of a man who got a flathead female on a dare," Chalono said.

"Who? You?" Rondo sneered. "You said you wanted to try everything."

Chalono tried to defend himself, but the laughter drowned him out. When it died down, he tried again. "I didn't mean that. I was talking about mushrooms and wine and such when I said I wanted to try everything." He was feeling some effects and becoming a bit thick-tongued. "But a lot of boys talk about flathead females, before they know what women are. I heard of one who took a flathead on a dare, or said he did."

"Boys will talk about anything," Markeno said.

"What do you think girls talk about?" Tarluno asked.

"Maybe they talk about flathead males," Chalono said.

"I don't want to listen to this anymore," Rondo said.

"You did your share of talking about it when we were younger, Rondo," Chalono said, beginning to take offense.

"Well, I've grown up. I wish you would. I'm tired of your disgusting remarks."

Chalono was insulted, and a little drunk. If he was going to be accused of being disgusting, he'd really give them something disgusting. "Is that so, Rondo? Well, I heard of a woman who took her Pleasure with a flathead, and the Mother gave her a baby of mixed spirits…

"Eeeuch!" Rondo curled his lip and shuddered with repugnance. "Chalono, that's not anything to joke about. Who asked him to this party? Get him out of here. I feel like I've just had filth thrown in my face. I don't mind a little joking around, but he's gone too far!"

"Rondo's right," Tarluno said. "Why don't you leave, Chalono?"

"No," Jondalar said. "Cold out, dark. Not make leave. True, babies of mix spirits not for joke, but why everyone know of them?"

"Half-animal, half-human abominations!" Rondo mumbled. "I don't want to talk about them. It's too hot in here. I'm getting out before I get sick!"

"This is supposed to be Thonolan's party to relax," Markeno said. "Why don't we all go out and take a swim, then come back and start all over again. There's still plenty of Jetamio's wine left. I didn't tell you, but I brought two waterbags of it."

"I don't think the stones are hot enough, Carlono," Markeno said. There was an undercurrent of tension in his voice.

"It's not good to let the water stand in the boat too long. We don't want the wood to swell, only to soften enough to give. Thonolan, are the struts close by so they'll be ready when we need them?" Carlono asked with a worried frown.

"They here," he replied, indicating the poles of alder trunks, cut to length, on the ground near the large dugout filled with water.

"We'd better start, Markeno, and hope the stones are hot." Jondalar was still amazed at the transformation, though he had watched it take shape. The oak bole was no longer a log. The inside had been gouged out and smoothed, and the exterior had the sleek lines of a long canoe. The thickness of the shell was no more than the length of a man's knuckle, except for the solid stem and stern. He had watched Carlono shave off a skin of wood, whose thickness was no more than that of a twig, with a chisel-shaped stone adze to bring the watercraft to its final dimension. After trying it himself, Jondalar was even more astounded at the skill and dexterity of the man. The boat tapered to a sharp cutwater at the prow, which extended forward. It had a slightly flattened bottom, a less pronounced tapering stern, and it was very long in proportion to its width.

The four of them quickly transferred the cobbles that had been heating in the large fireplace to the water-filled boat, causing the water to steam and boil. The process was no different from heating stones to boil water for tea in the trough near the lean-to, but on a larger scale. And the purpose was different. The heat and steam were not to cook anything, but to reshape the container.

Markeno and Carlono, facing each other across the boat at the midsection, were already testing the flexibility of the hull, pulling carefully to widen the craft, yet not crack the wood. All the hard work of digging out and shaping the boat would have been for nothing if it cracked in expanding. It was a tense moment. As the middle was pulled apart, Thonolan and Jondalar were ready with the longest strut, and when it was wide enough they fitted the brace in crosswise, and held their breaths. It seemed to hold.

Once the center strut was in, proportionally shorter ones were worked into place along the length of the boat. They bailed out the hot water until the four men could manage the weight, took out the rocks and tipped the canoe to pour out the rest of the water, then set the boat between blocks to dry.

The men breathed easier as they stood back to look and admire. The boat was close to fifty feet long, and more than eight feet across at the midsection, but the expansion had altered the lines in another important way. As the middle was widened, the fore and aft sections had lifted, giving the craft a graceful upward curve toward the ends. The results of the expansion were not only a broader beam for greater stability and capacity, but a raised bow and stern that would clear the water to take waves or rough water more easily.

"Now she's a lazy man's boat," Carlono said as they walked to another area of the clearing.

"Lazy man!" Thonolan exclaimed, thinking of the hard work.

Carlono smiled at the expected response. "There's a long story about a lazy man with a nagging mate who left his boat out all winter. When he found it again, it was full of water, and the ice and snow had caused it to expand. Everyone thought it was ruined, but it was the only boat he had. When it dried out, he put it in the water and discovered how much better it handled. Afterward, according to the stow, everyone made them that way."

"It's a funny story if it's told right," Markeno said.

"And there may be some truth in it," Carlono added. "If we were making a small boat, we'd be done except for fittings," he said as they approached a group of people who were boring holes along the edges of planks with bone drills. It was a tedious, difficult job, but many hands made the job go faster, and socializing eased the boredom.

"And I'd be that much closer to mating," Thonolan said, noticing Jetamio among them.

"You have smiles on your faces. That must mean it stretched all right," the young woman said to Carlono, though her eyes quickly sought Thonolan.

"We'll know better when it dries," Carlono said, careful not to tempt fate. "How are the strakes coming?"

"They're finished. We're working on house planks now," an older woman replied. She resembled Carlono, in her way, as much as Markeno, especially when she smiled. "A young couple needs more than a boat. There is more to life, Brother dear."

"Your brother is as anxious to get them mated as you are, Carob," Barono said, smiling as the two young people transfixed each other with lovelorn smiles, though they said not a word. "But what good is a house without a boat?"

Carolio gave him an aggrieved stare. It was a longstanding Ramudoi aphorism, meant to be witty, that had become tiresome with the retelling.

"Ahh!" Barono exclaimed. "It broke again!"

"He's clumsy today," Carob said. "That's the third drill he's broken. I think he's trying to get out of boring holes."

"Don't be so hard on your mate," Carlono said. "Everyone breaks drills. It can't be helped."

"She's right about one thing. Boring holes. I can't think of anything more boring," Barono said, with a wide grin at everyone's groan.

"He thinks he's funny. What can be worse than a mate who thinks he's funny?" Carob appealed to the general company. Everyone smiled. They knew the banter only masked great affection.

"If you have spare drill, I try make holes," Jondalar said.

"Is there something wrong with this young man? No one wants to drill holes," Barono said, but he quickly got up.

"Jondalar has taken quite an interest in boat making," Carlono said. "He's tried his hand at everything."

"We may make a Ramudoi out of him yet!" Barono said. "I always thought he was an intelligent young man. I'm not so sure about the other one, though," he added, smiling at Thonolan, who hadn't paid attention to anything except Jetamio. "I think a tree could fall on him and he wouldn't know it. Don't we have something worthwhile for him to do?"

"He could gather wood for the steam box, or strip willow withes for sewing the planks," Carlono said. "As soon as the dugout is dry and we get holes drilled around the hull, we'll be ready to bend the planks to fit around it. How long do you think it will take to finish her, Barono? We should let the Shamud know, so a day can be decided for the mating. Dolando will need to send messengers to other Caves."

"What else needs to be done?" Barono asked, as they started toward an area where sturdy posts were sunk into the ground.

"The prow and stern posts still have to be scarfed on, and… are you coming, Thonolan?" Markeno said.

"Wha – ! Oh… yes, coming."

After they left, Jondalar picked up a bone drill set in an antler handle and watched Carolio use one like it. "Why holes?" he asked, when he had made a few.

Carlono's twin sister was as preoccupied with boats as her brother – for all the teasing – and as much an expert in fastenings and fittings as he was in gouging and shaping. She started to explain, then got up and led Jondalar to another work area where a boat was partially dismantled.

Unlike a raft, which depended upon the buoyancy of its structural materials to float, the principle of the Sharamudoi watercraft was to enclose a pocket of air within a wooden shell. It was a significant innovation allowing greater maneuverability and the capability of transporting much heavier loads. The planks, which were used to extend the basic dugout into a larger boat, were bent to fit the curved hull using heat and steam, and then literally sewn on, usually with willow through predrilled holes, and pegged to solid prow and stern posts. Supports, placed at intervals along both sides, were added later for reinforcement and to attach seats.

Done well, the result was a waterproof shell which could resist the tensions and stresses of hard use for several years. Eventually, though, wear and deterioration of the willow fibers required the boats to be completely torn down and rebuilt. Weakened planks were replaced then, too, which lengthened the effective life of the boats considerably.

"See… where the strakes have been removed," Carob said, pointing out the dismantled boat to Jondalar, "there are holes along the top edge of the dugout." She showed him a plank with a curve that fit the shell. "This was the first strake. The holes along the thinner edge match the base. See, it was overlapped like this, and sewn to the top of the dugout. Then the top plank was sewn to this one."

They walked around to the other side which hadn't been dismantled yet. Carob indicated the frayed and broken fiber in some of the holes. "This boat was overdue for refitting, but you can see how the strakes overlap. For small boats, for one or two people, you don't need sides, just the dugout. They're harder to handle in rough water, though. They can get out of control before you know it."

"Someday I like learn," Jondalar said. Then, noticing the curved strake, he asked, "How you bend plank?"

"With steam and tension, like the base you expanded. The posts over there, where Carlono and your brother are, are for the guy lines to hold the strakes in place while they are sewn on. It doesn't take long with everyone working together, once the holes are drilled. Making the holes is a bigger problem. We sharpen the bone drills, but they break so easily."

Toward evening, when they were all trooping back up to the high terrace, Thonolan noticed that his brother seemed unusually quiet. "What are you thinking about, Jondalar?"

"Making boats. There's a lot more to it than I ever imagined. I've never heard of boats like these before, or seen anyone as skilled on the water as the Ramudoi. I think the youngsters are more comfortable in their small boats than they are walking. And they're so skilled with their tools…" Thonolan saw his brother's eyes light up with enthusiasm. "I've been examining them. I think if I could detach a large spall from the working edge of that adze Carlono was using, it would leave a smooth concave inner face, and make it much easier to use. And I'm sure I could make a burin out of flint that would bore those holes faster."

"So that's it! For a while there I thought you were really interested in boat making, Big Brother. I should have known. It's not the boats, it's the tools they use to make them. Jondalar, you'll always be a toolmaker at heart."

Jondalar smiled, realizing Thonolan was right. The boat-building process was interesting, but it was the tools that had captured his imagination. There were adequate flint knappers in the group, but no one who had made it his or her specialty. No one who could see how a few modifications could make the tools more effective. He had always taken a keen delight in making tools suited to a task, and his technically creative mind was already envisioning possibilities to improve those the Sharamudoi used. And it might be a way he could begin to repay, with his unique skill and knowledge, these people to whom he owed so much.

"Mother! Jondalar! More people just came! There are already so many tents, I don't know where they'll find room," Darvo shouted as he raced into the shelter. He dashed out again; he had only come to impart the news. He couldn't possibly stay in – the activities outside were far too exciting.

"More visitors have come than when Markeno and Tholie were mated, and I thought that gathering was large," Serenio said. "But then, most people know of the Mamutoi, even if they haven't all seen one. No one has heard of the Zelandonii.

"They not think we have two eye, and two arm, and two leg, like they?" Jondalar said.

He was somewhat overwhelmed himself at the number of people. A Zelandonii Summer Meeting usually saw more, but these were all strangers, except for the residents of Dolando's Cave and Carlono's Dock. Word had traveled so fast that others besides Sharamudoi had even come. Some of Tholie's Mamutoi kith and kin, plus a few others curious enough to accompany them, had been early arrivals. There were people from upriver as well, or uprivers – both the Mother and the Sister.

And many of the Mating Ceremonial customs were unfamiliar. All the Caves traveled to a prearranged meeting place for a Zelandonii Matrimonial, and several couples were formally united at one time. Jondalar was not accustomed to so many people visiting the home cave of one couple to witness their mating. As Thonolan's only blood relative, he would have a conspicuous place in the ceremonies, and he was feeling nervous.

"Jondalar, you know most people would be surprised to learn that you are not always as confident as you appear. Don't worry, you'll be fine," Serenio said, moving her body close to his and putting her arms around his neck. "You always are."

She had done the right thing. Her nearness was a pleasant distraction – she took his mind off himself without being demanding – and her words were reassuring. He pulled her closer, pressed his warm mouth on hers and lingered, allowing himself the respite of a moment's sensual pleasure before his apprehensions returned.

"You think I look right? This travel clothes, not for special wear," he asked, suddenly conscious of his Zelandonii garb.

"No one here knows that. They are unique, very special. Just right for the occasion, I think. It would seem too ordinary if you wore something familiar, Jondalar. People are going to be looking for you as well as Thonolan. That's why they have come. If they can see you from a distance, they may not all feel the need to press in closer, and you know you are comfortable in those clothes. They look good on you, too. They suit you."

He let her go and looked out through a crack at the throng outside, grateful he didn't have to face them yet. He walked toward the back until the sloping roof prevented him from going farther, then returned to the front and looked out again.

"Jondalar, let me make some tea for you. It's a special blend I learned from the Shamud. It will settle your nerves."

"Do I look nervous?"

"No, but you have a right to. It will only take a moment."

She poured water into a rectangular cooking box and added hot stones. He pulled up a wooden stool – one that was much too low – and sat down. His thoughts were elsewhere, and he stared absently at the geometric patterns carved into the box: a series of slanting parallel lines above another row slanting in the opposite direction, giving a herringbone effect.

The sides of the kerfed boxes were made from a single plank in which grooves, or kerfs, were cut not quite all the way through. Using steam to make the wood pliable, the planks were bent sharply at the grooves to make corners, with the last corner pegged together. A groove was also cut near the bottom edge, into which a bottom piece was fitted. The boxes were watertight, particularly after they swelled when filled. Covered with separate removable lids, they were used for many things, from cooking to storage.

The box made him think of his brother and made him wish he could be with him at this moment before his mating. Thonolan had quickly understood the Sharamudoi way of bending and shaping wood. His craft of spearmaking utilized the same principles of heat and steam to straighten a shaft, or to bend one around for a snowshoe. Thinking of a snowshoe reminded Jondalar of the beginning of their Journey, and, with a pang of nostalgia, he wondered if he would ever see his home again. Ever since he had put on his own clothes, he'd been fighting off spasms of homesickness that had a way of sneaking up on him when he least expected it with some vivid recollection or poignant memory. This time it was Serenio's kerfed cooking box that had brought it on.

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.

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 another 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."

"Their language has such a nice sound. Don't you think so, Jetamio?" Cherunio said. "Can you understand any of it?"

"A little, but I'm going to learn more. And Mamutoi, too. It was Tholie's idea that we all learn one another's language.

"Tholie say best way learn Sharamudoi is talk all time. She right I sorry, Cherunio. Not polite talk Zelandonii," Jondalar apologized.

"Oh, I don't mind," Cherunio said, though she had. She didn't like being left out of the conversation. But the apology more than appeased her, and being included in the select group with the newly mated couple and the tall, handsome Zelandonii had other compensations. She was well aware of the envious looks of several young women.

Near the back of the field, outside the overhang, a bonfire burned. They stepped into the shadows and passed the wine skin around, and then, as a group was forming, the two young women showed the men the basic movements of the dance. Flutes, drums, and rattles began a lively melody, which was picked up by the mammoth-bone player, and the tonal qualities that resembled those of a xylophone added a unique sound.

Once the dancing started, Jondalar noticed that the basic steps could be elaborated with variations limited only by the imagination and skill of the dancer, and occasionally a person or a pair displayed such exceptional enthusiasm that everyone else stopped to shout encouragement and keep time with their feet. A group gathered around the dancers, swaying and singing, and without a conscious break, the music shifted to a different tempo. It continued like that. The music and dancing never stopped, but people joined in – musicians, dancers, singers – and dropped out at will, creating an endless variation in tone, pace, rhythm, and melody, which would continue as long as there was anyone who wished to continue.

Cherunio was a lively partner, and Jondalar, drinking more wine than usual, had gotten into the mood of the evening. Someone started a response chant by saying the first familiar line. He soon discovered it was a song in which the words to suit the occasion were made up by anyone, with the intention of provoking laughter, often by innuendos of Gifts and Pleasures. It soon became a competition between those who were trying to be funny and those who were trying not to laugh. Some participants were even making faces in an attempt to bring on the desired response. Then a man went to the center of the circle that was swaying to the rhythm of the chant.

"There's Jondalar, so big and tall, he could have had his pick of all. Cherunio is sweet, but small. He'll break his back, or maybe fall."

The man's chant brought the desired results: howls of laughter.

"How will you do it, Jondalar?" someone else called out. "You'll have to break your back just to kiss her!"

Jondalar grinned at the young woman. "No break back," he said, then picked Cherunio up and kissed her to the stamping of feet and applauding laughter. Literally swept off her feet, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with feeling. He had noticed several couples leaving the group for tents, or mats in out-of-the-way nooks, and he had been thinking along those lines himself. Her remarkable enthusiasm for kissing made him think she might be agreeable.

They couldn't leave immediately – it would only cause more laughter – but they could begin to back away. Some new people joined the singers and watchers and the pace was shifting. This would be a good time to fade into the shadows. As he was easing Cherunio toward the edge of the gathering, Radonio suddenly appeared.

"You've had him all evening, Cherunio. Don't you think it's time to share him? After all, this is a festival to honor the Mother, and we're supposed to share Her Gift."

Radonio insinuated herself between them and kissed Jondalar. Then another woman embraced him, then several more. He was surrounded by young women, and at first went along with their kissing and caresses. But by the time several pairs of hands were handling him in rather personal ways, he wasn't too sure he cared for it. Pleasures were supposed to be a matter of choice. He heard a muffled struggle but was suddenly very busy fending off hands that sought to untie his trousers and reach inside. That was too much.

He shrugged them off, none too gently. When they finally understood he wouldn't allow anyone to touch him, they stood back smirking. Suddenly he noticed someone was missing.

"Where Cherunio is?" he asked.

The women looked at one another and squealed with laughter.

"Where Cherunio is?" he demanded, and when his only reply was more giggling, he took a quick step and grabbed Radonio. He was hurting her arm, but she didn't want to admit it.

"We thought she ought to share you," Radonio said, forcing a smile. "Everyone wants the big handsome Zelandonii."

"Zelandonii not want everyone. Where Cherunio is?"

Radonio turned her head away and refused to answer.

"You want big Zelandonii, you say?" He was angry, and his voice showed it "You get big Zelandonii!" He forced her down to her knees.

"You're hurting me! Why don't the rest of you help me?"

But the other young women were not so sure they wanted to get too close. Holding her shoulders, Jondalar pushed Radonio down to the ground in front of the fire. The music had stopped, and people were milling around, unsure if they should intervene. She struggled to get up, and he held her down with his body.

"You want big Zelandonii, you got. Now, where Cherunio?"

"Here I am, Jondalar. They were holding me over there with something in my mouth. They said they were just playing a joke."

"Bad joke," he said as he got up and then helped Radonio.

She had tears in her eyes and was rubbing her arm.

"You were hurting me," she cried.

Suddenly he realized it had been meant as a joke, and he'd handled it poorly. He hadn't been hurt, and neither had Cherunio. He shouldn't have hurt Radonio. His anger evaporated, replaced by chagrin "…I not mean hurt you… I…"

"You didn't hurt her, Jondalar. Not that much," said one of the men who had been observing. "And she had it coming. She's always starting things and making trouble."

"You just wish she'd start something with you," one of the young women said, jumping to Radonio's defense, now that they were back on normal terms.

"You might think a man likes it when you all come at him like that, but he doesn't."

"That's not true," Radonio said. "You think we haven't heard you making jokes when you think you're alone, about this woman or that woman? I've heard you talk about wanting women all at one time. I've even heard you talk about wanting girls before First Rites, when you know they can't be touched, even if the Mother has made them ready."

The young man blushed, and Radonio pushed her advantage. "Some of you even talk about taking flathead females!"

Suddenly, looming large out of the shadows at the edge of the fire, a woman appeared. She wasn't so much tall as fat, hugely obese. The epicanthic fold of her eyes spoke of a foreign origin, as did the tattoo on her face, though she wore a tunic of Shamudoi leather.

"Radonio!" she said. "It isn't necessary to speak filth at a festival in honor of the Mother." Jondalar recognized her now.

"I'm sorry, Shamud," Radonio said, bowing her head. Her face was flushed with embarrassment and she was genuinely contrite. It made Jondalar aware that she was quite young. They were all hardly more than girls. He had behaved abominably.

"My dear," the woman said to Radonio gently. "A man likes to be invited, not invaded."

Jondalar looked more keenly at the woman; he thought much the same thing.

"But we weren't going to hurt him. We thought he'd like it… after a while."

"And he might have, if you'd been more subtle. No one likes to be forced. You didn't like it when you thought he might force you, did you?"

"He hurt me!"

"Did he? Or did he make you do something against your will? I think that hurt you far more. And what about Cherunio? Did any of you think you might be hurting her? You cannot force anyone to enjoy Pleasures. That does no honor to the Mother. It abuses Her Gift."

"Shamud, it's your wager…"

"I'm holding up the game. Come now, Radonio. It's Festival. Mudo wants Her children to be happy. It was a minor incident – don't let it spoil your fun, my dear. The dancing has started again; go join in."

As the woman returned to her gambling, Jondalar took Radonio's hands. "I… sorry. I not think. Not mean hurt you. Please, I feel shame… forgive?"

Radonio's first impulse – to pout and withdraw in anger – melted when she looked up into his earnest face and deep violet eyes. "It was a silly… childish joke," she said, and, nearly overwhelmed by the full impact of his presence, she swayed toward him. He held her, then leaned closer and gave her a lingering, experienced kiss.

"Thank you, Radonio," he said, then turned to walk away.

"Jondalar!" Cherunio called after him. "Where are you going?"

He had forgotten her, he realized with a stab of guilt. He strode back to the short, pretty, vivacious young woman – there was no doubt she was appealing – picked her up, and kissed her with ardor, and regret.

"Cherunio, I make promise. All this not happen if I not so ready to break promise, but you make so easy to forget. I hope… some other time. Please, not be angry," Jondalar said, then quickly strode toward the shelters beneath the sandstone overhang.

"Why did you have to go and spoil it for everyone, Radonio?" Cherunio said as she watched him go.

The leather flap at the door of the dwelling he shared with Serenio was down, but no crossed planks barred his way. He sighed with relief. At least she wasn't inside with someone else. When he pushed the flap aside, it was dark. Maybe she wasn't there. Maybe she was with someone else after all. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen her all evening, not since the ceremonies. And she was the one who wanted no commitment; he had only promised himself that he would spend the night with her. Maybe she had other plans, or maybe she had seen him with Cherunio.

He felt his way to the rear of the dwelling where a raised platform was covered with a feather-stuffed pad and furs. Darvo's bed along the side wall was empty. That was expected. Visitors were not frequent, especially those his age. He had likely made the acquaintance of some boys and was spending the night with them, trying to keep themselves awake.

When he neared the back, he pricked his ears. Was that breathing he heard? He reached across the platform and felt an arm, and a smile of joy warmed his face.

He went back out, picked up a hot coal from the central fire, and hurried back carrying it on a piece of wood. He lit the moss wick of a small stone lamp, then placed two planks across each other at the door, the sign that they did not wish to be disturbed. He picked up the lamp, walked quietly to the bed, and watched the sleeping woman. Should he wake her? Yes, he decided, but slowly and gently.

The idea quickened his loins. He removed his clothes and slipped in beside her, curling around her warmth. She mumbled and rolled over toward the wall. With long gentle strokes he caressed her, feeling her sleeping warmth beneath his hand and breathing her female scent. He explored every contour: her arm to the ends of her fingers, her sharp shoulder blades and ridged spine that led to the sensitive small of her back and the rising swell of her buttocks, then her thighs and the backs of her knees, her calves and ankles. She pulled her feet away when he touched the bottoms. He reached his arm around to cup her breast, and he felt the nipple contract and harden within his palm. He had an urge to suckle it, but instead covered her back with his body and began kissing her shoulders and neck.

He loved touching her body, exploring and discovering it anew. Not just hers, he knew. He loved all women's bodies, for themselves, and for the feelings they caused within his. His manhood was already throbbing and thrusting, eager, but still controllable. It was always better if he didn't give in too soon.

"Jondalar?" said a sleepy voice.

"Yes," he said.

She rolled to her back and opened her eyes. "Is it morning?"

"No." He got up on one arm and looked down at her while he fondled a breast, then bent to suckle the nipple he'd wanted to feel in his mouth before. He caressed her stomach, then reached for the warmth between her thighs and rested his hand on the hair of her mound. She had the softest, silkiest pubic hair of any woman he'd ever known. "I want you, Serenio. I want honor Mother with you, tonight."

"You need to give me some time to wake up," she said, but a smile played at the corners of her mouth. "Is there any cold tea? I want to wash my mouth out – wine always makes it taste terrible."

"I look," he said, getting up.

Serenio smiled languidly when he walked back with a cup. Sometimes she just liked to look at him – he was so wonderfully male: the muscles rippling across his back as he moved, his powerful chest of blond curls, his hard stomach, and his legs all strength and sinew. His face was almost too perfect: strong square jaw, straight nose, sensual mouth – she knew how sensual his mouth could be. His features were so finely molded and proportioned that he'd be thought beautiful if he wasn't so masculine, or if beautiful was a word usually applied to men. Even his hands were strong and sensitive, and his eyes – his expressive, compelling, impossible blue eyes, that could set a woman's heart racing with one glance, that could make her want that hard, proud, magnificent manhood jutting out in front before she ever saw it.

It had frightened her a little, the first time she saw him like that, before she understood how well he used it. He never forced it on her, only giving as much as she could take. If anything, she forced herself, wanting it all, wishing she could take it all. She was glad he had awakened her. She got up when he gave her the cup, but before she took a drink, she leaned down and took the throbbing head in her mouth. He closed his eyes and let the pleasure surge through him.

She sat up and took a drink, then got up. "I have to go out," she said. "Are many people still up? I don't want to get dressed."

"People still dancing, still early. Maybe should use box."

As she walked back to the bed, he watched her. O Mother! She was a beautiful woman, her features so lovely, her hair so soft. Her legs were long and graceful, her buttocks small but well formed. Her breasts were small, tight, well shaped, with high jutting nipples – a girl's breasts still. A few stretch marks on her stomach were the only sign of her motherhood, and the few lines etched at the corners of her eyes the only sign of her years.

"I thought you'd be back late – it's Festival," she said.

"Why you here? You not say 'no commitment'?"

"I didn't meet anyone interesting, and I was tired."

"You interesting… I not tired," he said, smiling. He took her in his arms and kissed her warm mouth, his tongue questing, and pulled her close to him. She felt a hard hot throbbing against her stomach, and a flood of warmth washed over her.

He had meant to prolong it, to keep himself controlled until she was more than ready, but he found himself hungrily at her mouth, her neck, sucking and pulling on her nipples while she held his head to her breast. His hand reached for her furry mound and found her hot and moist. A small cry escaped her lips as he touched the small hard organ within her warm folds. She raised up and pressed herself to him as he caressed the place which he knew gave her pleasure.

He sensed what she wanted this time. They shifted position – he rolled to one side, she to her back. She lifted one leg over his hip, moved the other between his legs, and, while he fondled and massaged her center of pleasure, she reached down to guide his eager manhood into her deep cleft. She cried out with passion as he penetrated, and she felt the exquisite excitement of both sensations at once.

He felt her warmth envelop him, moving into her as she ground down on him, trying to take him all. He pulled back and surged into her again, until he could go no farther. She raised to his hand, and he rubbed harder as he plunged into her again. He was so full, so ready, and she was crying out as her tensions rose. She pushed down on him; he felt his loins tighten. He massaged hard and drove in, and then again, and then surging powerful waves pulled them together as they reached an unbearable peak and were flooded with glorious release. A last few strokes extracted a shudder and complete fulfillment.

They lay still, breathing hard, their legs still entwined. She pushed herself down on him. Only now, before he became flaccid, but was no longer fully engorged, could she finally take all of him within herself. He always seemed to give her more than she could give him. He didn't want to move – he could almost go to sleep, but didn't want to sleep either. Finally he withdrew his spent member and curled up around her. She was lying still, but he knew she wasn't asleep.

He let his mind wander, and he suddenly found himself thinking about Cherunio, and Radonio, and all the other young women. What would it have been like to be with all of them? To feel all those warm, nubile, female bodies surrounding him, with their warm thighs, and their round bottoms, and their moist wells. To have the breast of one in his mouth, and each hand exploring two other women's bodies.

He was feeling a renewed twinge of excitement. Why had he pushed them away? Sometimes he could really be stupid.

He looked at the woman beside him and wondered how long it would take to make her ready again, then breathed in her ear. She smiled at him. He kissed her neck, and then her mouth. It would be slower this time, he would take his time. She is a beautiful, wonderful woman… why can't I fall in love?