The Valley Of Horses

4

Jondalar crouched low and watched the herd through a screen of tall, golden-green grass, bent with the weight of unripe seed heads. The smell of horse was strong, not from the dry wind in his face carrying their hot rangy odor, but from the ripe dung he had rubbed on his body and held in his armpits to disguise his own scent if the wind shifted.

The hot sun glistened off his sweaty bronzed back, and a tickle of perspiration ran down the sides of his face; it darkened the sun-bleached hair plastered to his forehead. A long strand had escaped from a leather tie at the nape of his neck, and the wind whipped it, annoyingly, in his face. Flies buzzed around him, landing occasionally to take a bite, and a cramp was starting in his left thigh from holding the tense crouch.

They were petty irritations, hardly noticed. His attention was focused on a stallion nervously snorting and prancing, uncannily aware of impending danger to his harem. The mares were still grazing, but in their seemingly random movements, the dams had put themselves between their foals and the men.

Thonolan, a few feet away, was crouched in the same tense position, a spear held level with his right shoulder and another in his left hand. He glanced toward his brother. Jondalar lifted his head and flicked his eyes at a dun mare. Thonolan nodded, shifted his spear minutely for better balance, and prepared to spring.

As though a signal passed between them, the two men jumped up together and sprinted toward the herd. The stallion reared, screamed a warning, and reared again. Thonolan hurled his spear at the mare while Jondalar ran straight for the male horse, yelling and whooping, trying to spook him. The ploy worked. The stallion was not accustomed to noisy predators; four-legged hunters attacked with silent stealth. He whinnied, started toward the man, then dodged and galloped after his retreating herd.

The two brothers pounded after them. The stallion saw the mare fall behind, and nipped her in the flanks to urge her on. The men yelled and waved their arms, but this time the stallion stood his ground, dashing between the men and the mare, holding them off while trying to nudge her on. She took a few more faltering steps, then stopped, her head hanging. Thonolan's spear stuck out of her side, and bright scarlet rivulets stained her grayish coat and dripped from matted strands of shaggy hair.

Jondalar moved in closer, took aim, and cast his spear. The mare jerked, stumbled, then fell, the second shaft quivering in her thick neck below the stiff brush of a mane. The stallion cantered to her, nosed her gently, then reared with a scream of defiance and raced after his herd to protect the living.

"I'll go get the packs," Thonolan said as they jogged toward the fallen animal. "It'll be easier to bring water here than carry a horse back to the river."

"We don't have to dry it all. Let's take what we want back to the river, then we won't have to carry water here."

Thonolan shrugged. "Why not? I'll get an axe to break the bones." He headed for the river.

Jondalar pulled his bone-handled knife out of the sheath and made a deep cut across the throat. He pulled out the spears and watched blood pool around the mare's head.

"When you return to the Great Earth Mother, thank Her," he said to the dead horse. He reached into his pouch and fondled the stone figurine of the Mother in an unconscious gesture. Zelandoni is right, he thought. If Earth's children ever forget who provides for them, we may wake up someday and find we don't have a home. Then he gripped his knife and prepared to take his share of Donii's provisions.

"I saw a hyena on the way back," Thonolan said when he returned. "Looks like we're going to feed more than ourselves."

"The Mother doesn't like waste," Jondalar said, up to his elbows in blood. "It all goes back to Her one way or another. Here, give me a hand."

"It's a risk, you know," Jondalar said, throwing another stick on the small fire. A few sparks floated up with the smoke and disappeared into the night air. "What will we do when winter comes?"

"It's a long time until winter; we're bound to meet some people before then."

"If we turn back now, we'll be sure to meet people. We could make it at least as far as the Losadunai before the worst of the winter." He turned to face his brother. "We don't even know what winters are like on this side of the mountains. It's more open, less protection, fewer trees for fires. Maybe we should have tried to find the Sarmunai. They might have given us some idea of what to expect, what people live this way."

"You can turn back if you want, Jondalar. I was going to make this Journey alone to begin with… not that I haven't been glad for your company."

"I don't know… maybe I should," he said, turning back to stare at the fire. "I didn't realize how long this river is. Look at her." He waved toward the shimmering water reflecting the moonlight. "She is the Great Mother of rivers, and just as unpredictable. When we started, she was flowing east. Now it's south, and split into so many channels, I wonder sometimes if we're still following the right river. I guess I didn't believe you would go all the way to the end, no matter how far, Thonolan. Besides, even if we do meet people, how do you know they'll be friendly?"

"That's what a Journey is all about. Discovering new places, new people. You take your chances. Look, Big Brother, go back if you want. I mean it."

Jondalar stared at the fire, rhythmically slapping a stick of wood into the palm of his hand. Suddenly, he jumped up and threw the stick on the fire, stirring up another host of sparks. He walked over and looked at the cords of twined fibers strung out close to the ground between pegs, on which thin slices of meat were drying. "What do I have to go back to? For that matter, what do I have to look forward to?"

"The next bend in the river, the next sunrise, the next woman you bed," Thonolan said.

"Is that all? Don't you want something more out of life?"

"What else is there? You're born, you live the best you can while you're here, and someday you go back to the Mother. After that, who knows?"

"There ought to be more to it, some reason for living."

"If you ever find out, let me know," Thonolan said, yawning. "Right now, I'm looking forward to the next sunrise, but one of us should stay up, or we ought to build more fires to keep scavengers away if we want that meat to be there in the morning."

"Go to bed, Thonolan. I'll stay up; I'd lie awake anyway."

"Jondalar, you worry too much. Wake me when you get tired."

The sun was already up when Thonolan crawled out of the tent, rubbed his eyes, and stretched. "Have you been up all night? I told you to wake me."

"I was thinking and didn't feel like going to bed. There's some hot sage tea if you want some."

"Thanks," Thonolan said, scooping steaming liquid into a wooden bowl. He squatted down in front of the fire, cupping the bowl in both hands. The early morning air was still cool, the grass wet with dew, and he wore only a breech-clout. He watched small birds darting and flitting around the scant brush and trees near the river, chirping noisily. A flock of cranes that nested on an island of willows in mid-channel was breakfasting on fish. "Well, did you do it?" he finally asked.

"Do what?"

"Find the meaning of life. Isn't that what you were worried about when I went to bed? Though why you'd stay up all night for that, I'll never know. Now, if there was a woman around… Do you have one of Doni's blessed hidden in the willows…

"Do you think I'd tell you if I did?" Jondalar said, grinning. Then his smile softened. "You don't have to make bad jokes to humor me, Little Brother. I'm going with you, all the way to the end of the river, if you want. Only, what will you do then?"

"Depends what we find there. I thought the best thing for me to do was go to bed. You're not fit company for anyone when you get in one of those moods. I'm glad you've decided to come along. I've sort of gotten used to you, bad moods and all."

"I told you, someone has to keep you out of trouble."

"Me? Right now I could use a little trouble. It'd be better than sitting around waiting for that meat to dry."

"It will only be a few days, if the weather holds. But now I'm not so sure I should tell you what I saw." Jondalar's eyes twinkled.

"Come on, Brother. You know you will anyway…"

"Thonolan, there's a sturgeon in that river so big… But there's no point in fishing for it. You wouldn't want to wait around for fish to dry, too."

"How big?" Thonolan said, standing up and eagerly facing the river.

"So big, I'm not sure both of us together could haul it in."

"No sturgeon is that big."

"The one I saw was."

"Show me."

"Who do you think I am? The Great Mother? Do you think I can make a fish come and show off for you?" Thonolan looked chagrined. "I'll show you where I saw it, though," Jondalar said.

The two men walked to the edge of the river and stood near a fallen tree that extended partway into the water. As though to tempt them, a large shadowy shape moved silently upstream and stopped under the tree near the river bottom, undulating slightly against the current.

"That must be the grandmother of all fish!" Thonolan whispered.

"But can we land it?"

"We can try!"

"It would feed a Cave, and more. What would we do with it?"

"Weren't you the one who said the Mother never lets anything go to waste? The hyenas and wolverines can have a share. Let's get the spears," Thonolan said, anxious to try the sport.

"Spears won't do it, we need gaffs."

"She'll be gone if we stop to make gaffs."

"If we don't, we'll never bring her in. She'd just slip off a spear – we need something with a back hook. It wouldn't take long to make. Look, that tree over there. If we cut off limbs just below a good sturdy branch fork – we don't have to worry about reinforcing, we'll only use it once," Jondalar was punctuating his description with motions in the air, "then cut the branch off short and sharpen it, we've got a back hook…"

"But what good will it do if she's gone before we get them made?" Thonolan interrupted.

"I've seen her there twice – it seems to be a favorite resting place. She'd probably come back."

"But who knows how long that would take."

"Have you anything better to do right now?"

Thonolan made a wry smile. "All right, you win. Let's go make gaffs."

They turned around to go back, then stopped in surprise. Several men had surrounded them and looked distinctly unfriendly.

"Where did they come from?" Thonolan said in a hoarse whisper.

"They must have seen our fire. Who knows how long they've been out there. I've been up all night watching for scavengers, They could have been waiting until we did something careless, like leaving our spears behind."

"They don't look too sociable; none of them has made a gesture of welcome. What do we do now?"

"Put on your biggest, friendliest smile, Little Brother, and you make the gesture."

Thonolan tried to think self-assured and smiled what he hoped was a confident grin. He put both his hands out and started toward them. "I am Thonolan of the Zelan…"

His progress was halted by a spear quivering in the ground at his feet.

"Any more good suggestions, Jondalar?"

"I think it's their turn."

One of the men said something in an unfamiliar language and two others sprang toward them. With the points of spears they were urged forward.

"You don't have to get nasty, friend," Thonolan said, feeling a sharp prick. "I was going that way when you stopped me."

They were brought back to their own campfire and pushed down roughly in front of it. The one who had spoken before barked another command. Several men crawled into the tent and hauled everything out. The spears were taken from the backframes and the contents spilled on the ground.

"What do you think you're doing?" Thonolan shouted, starting to get up. He was reminded to sit, forcibly, and felt a trickle of blood running down his arm.

"Relax, Thonolan," Jondalar warned. "They look angry. I don't think they're in a mood for objections."

"Is this the way to treat Visitors? Don't they understand rights of passage for those on a Journey?"

"You were the one who said it, Thonolan."

"Said what?"

"You take your chances; that's what a Journey is all about."

"Thanks," Thonolan said, reaching for the stinging cut on his arm and looking at his blood-smeared fingers. "That's just what I needed to hear."

The one who seemed to be the leader spat out a few more words and the two brothers were hauled to their feet. Thonolan, in his loincloth, was given only a cursory glance, but Jondalar was searched and his bone-handled flint knife was taken. A man reached for the pouch fastened to his belt, and Jondalar grabbed for it. The next instant he felt a sharp pain at the back of his head and slumped to the ground.

He was stunned for only a short while, but when his head cleared, he found himself stretched out on the ground, staring into Thonolan's worried gray eyes, his hands bound with thongs behind his back.

"You were the one who said it, Jondalar."

"Said what?"

"They're in no mood for objections."

"Thanks," Jondalar remarked with a grimace, suddenly aware of a bad headache. "That's just what I needed to hear."

"What do you suppose they're going to do with us?"

"We're still alive. If they were going to kill us, they'd have done it, wouldn't they?"

"Maybe they're saving us for something special."

The two men lay on the ground, listening to voices and watching the strangers moving about their camp. They smelled food cooking and their stomachs growled. As the sun rose higher, the glaring heat made thirst a worse problem. As the afternoon wore on, Jondalar dozed, his lack of sleep from the night before catching up with him. He woke with a start to shouts and commotion. Someone had arrived.

They were dragged to their feet, and gaped in amazement at a burly man striding toward them carrying a white-haired, wizened old woman on his back. He got down on all fours, and the woman was helped off her human steed, with obvious deference.

"Whoever she is, she must be pretty important," Jondalar said. A bruising blow in his ribs silenced him.

She walked toward them leaning on a knobbed staff with a carved finial. Jondalar stared, sure he had never seen anyone so old in his life. She was child-size, shrunken with age, and the pink of her scalp could be seen through her thin white hair. Her face was so wrinkled that it hardly looked human, but her eyes were oddly out of place. He would have expected dull, rheumy, senile eyes in someone so old. But hers were bright with intelligence and crackled with authority. Jondalar was awed by the tiny woman, and a little fearful for Thonolan and himself. She would not have come unless it was very important.

She spoke in a voice cracked with age, yet surprisingly strong. The leader pointed at Jondalar, and she directed a question to him.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," he said.

She spoke again, tapped her chest with a hand as gnarled as her staff, and said a word that sounded like "Haduma." Then she pointed a knobby finger at him.

"I am Jondalar of the Zelandonii," he said, hoping he understood her meaning.

She cocked her head as though she had heard a sound. "Zel-an-don-yee?" she repeated slowly.

Jondalar nodded, licking his dry, parched lips nervously.

She stared at him speculatively, then spoke to the leader. His answer was brusque, and she snapped a command, then turned her back and walked to the fire. One of the men who had been guarding them pulled out a knife. Jondalar glanced at his brother and saw a face that expressed his own emotions. He braced himself, sent a silent plea to the Great Earth Mother, and closed his eyes.

He opened them with a surge of relief when he felt the thongs cut away from his wrists. A man was approaching with a bladder of water. Jondalar took a long drink and passed it to Thonolan, whose hands had also been freed. He opened his mouth to say a word of appreciation and then, remembering his bruised ribs, thought better of it.

They were escorted to the fire by guards who hovered close with menacing spears. The burly man who had carried the old woman brought a log, put a fur robe on it, then stood to the side with his hand on his knife handle. She settled herself on the log, and Jondalar and Thonolan were made to sit in front of her. They were careful to make no moves that might be construed as endangering to the old woman; they had no doubt of their fate if any man there even thought they might try to harm her.

She stared at Jondalar again, not saying a word. He met her gaze, but, as the silence continued, he began to feel disconcerted and uncomfortable. Suddenly, she reached into her robe, and with eyes blazing anger and a spate of acrimonious words that left no doubt of their sense if not their meaning, she held out an object toward him. His eyes widened in wonder. It was the carved stone figure of the Mother, his donii, she held in her hand.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the guard beside him flinch. There was something about the donii he didn't like.

The woman ended her tirade, and, lifting her arm dramatically, flung the statuette to the ground. Jondalar jumped involuntarily and reached for it. His anger at her desecration of his sacred object showed in his face. Ignoring the prick of a spear, he picked it up and cradled it protectively in his hands.

A sharp word from her caused the spear to be withdrawn. He was surprised to see a smile on her face and the glint of amusement in her eyes, but he wasn't at all sure if she smiled out of humor or malice.

She got up from the log and walked closer. She was not much taller standing than he was seated and, facing him at eye level, she peered deep into his startling, vivid blue eyes. Then she stepped back, turned his head from side to side, felt the muscle of his arm, and surveyed the breadth of his shoulders. She motioned for him to get up. When he didn't quite understand, the guard prodded him into comprehension. She tilted her head back to look up at all six feet six inches of him, then walked around him, poking the hard muscles of his legs. Jondalar had the feeling he was being examined like some prize goods offered for trade, and he flushed to find himself wondering if he measured up.

She looked Thonolan over next, motioned for him to stand, then turned her attention back to Jondalar. His pink flush turned to deep crimson when the meaning of her next gesture dawned on him. She wanted to see his manhood.

He shook his head and gave the grinning Thonolan a dirty look. At a word from the woman, one of the men grabbed Jondalar from behind, while another, with obvious embarrassment, fumbled to unfasten his trouser flap.

"I don't think she's in any mood for objections," Thonolan said, smirking.

Jondalar angrily shrugged off the man who was holding him and exposed himself to the old woman's view, glowering at his brother who was hanging on to his sides, snorting, in a futile attempt to constrain his glee. The old woman looked at him, cocked her head to one side, and, with a gnarled finger, touched him.

Jondalar's crimson turned to purple when, for some inexplicable reason, he felt his manhood swell. The woman cackled, and there were sniggers from the men standing nearby, but a strangely subdued note of awe as well. Thonolan burst out in loud guffaws, stomping and bending over double as tears came to his eyes. Jondalar hastily covered his offending member, feeling foolish and angry.

"Big Brother, you must really need a woman to get a rise over that old hag," Thonolan quipped, catching his breath and wiping away a tear. Then he burst into uproarious laughter again.

"I just hope it's your turn next," Jondalar said, wishing he could think of some witty remark to squelch him.

The old woman signaled to the leader of the men who had stopped them, and spoke to him. A heated exchange followed. Jondalar heard the woman say "Zelandonyee" and saw the young man point to the meat drying on cords. The exchange ended abruptly with an imperious command from the woman. The man shot a glance at Jondalar, then motioned to a curly-haired youth. After a few words, the young man dashed away at full speed.

The two brothers were led back to their tent and their backframes were returned, but not their spears or knives. One man was always a short distance away, obviously keeping an eye on them. Food was brought to them, and, when night fell, they crawled into their tent. Thonolan was in high spirits, but Jondalar was in no mood for conversation with a brother who laughed every time he looked at him.

There was an air of expectancy in the camp when they awoke. About midmorning a large party arrived, amid shouts of greeting. Tents were set up, men, women, and children settled in, and the spartan camp of the two men began to take on aspects of a Summer Meeting. Jondalar and Thonolan watched with interest the assembly of a large structure, circular, with straight walls covered with hides, and a domed, thatched roof. The various parts of it were preassembled, and it went up with surprising speed. Then bundles and covered baskets were carried inside.

There was a lull in activities while food was prepared. In the afternoon, a crowd began to gather around the large circular structure. The old woman's log was brought and placed just outside the opening, and the fur robe draped over it. As soon as she appeared, the crowd quieted and formed a circle around her, leaving the place in the center open. Jondalar and Thonolan watched her speak to a man and point to them.

"Maybe she'll want you to show off your great desire for her again." Thonolan gibed as the man beckoned.

"They'll have to kill me first!"

"You mean you're not dying to bed that beauty?" Thonolan asked, feigning wide-eyed innocence. "It certainly looked that way yesterday." He began to chuckle again. Jondalar turned and stalked off toward the group.

They were led to the center and she motioned for them to sit in front of her again.

"Zel-an-don-yee?" the old woman said to Jondalar.

"Yes," He nodded. "I am Jondalar of the Zelandonii."

She tapped the arm of an old man beside her.

"I… Tamen," he said, then some words Jondalar couldn't understand, "…Hadumai. Long time… Tamen…" another unfamiliar word, "west… Zelandonii."

Jondalar strained, then suddenly realized he had understood some of the man's words. "Your name is Tamen, something about Hadumai. Long time… long time ago you… west… made a Journey? to the Zelandonii? Can you speak Zelandonii?" he asked excitedly.

"Journey, yes," the man said. "No talk… long time."

The old woman grabbed the man's arm and spoke to him. He turned back to the two brothers.

"Haduma," he said, pointing to her. "…Mother…" Tamen hesitated, then indicated everyone with a sweep of his arm.

"You mean like Zelandoni, One Who Serves the Mother?"

He shook his head. "Haduma… Mother…" He thought for a moment, then beckoned to some people and lined them up in a row beside him. "Haduma… mother… mother… mother… mother," he said, pointing first at her, then to himself, then to each person in turn.

Jondalar studied the people, trying to make sense out of the demonstration. Tamen was old, but not as old as Haduma. The man next to him was just past middle age. Beside him was a younger woman holding the hand of a child. Suddenly, Jondalar made a connection. "Are you saying Haduma is mother's mother five times?" He held up his hand with five fingers outstretched. "The mother of five generations?" he said with awe.

The man nodded vigorously. "Yes, mother's mother… five… generations," he said, pointing again to each person.

"Great Mother! Do you know how old she must be?" Jondalar said to his brother.

"Great mother, yes," Tamen said. "Haduma… mother." He patted his stomach.

"Children?"

"Children." He nodded. "Haduma mother children…" He began drawing lines in the dirt.

"One, two, three…" Jondalar said the counting words with each one "…Sixteen! Haduma gave birth to sixteen children?"

Tamen nodded, pointing again to the marks on the ground. "…Many son… many… girl?" He shook his head, doubtful.

"Daughters?" Jondalar offered.

Tamen brightened. "Many daughters…" He thought for a moment. "Live… all live. All… many children." He held up one hand and one finger. "Six Caves… Hadumai."

"No wonder they were ready to kill us if we so much as looked cross at her," Thonolan said. "She's the mother of all of them, a living First Mother!"

Jondalar was as impressed, but even more puzzled. "I am honored to know Haduma, but I don't understand. Why are we being held? And why did she come here?"

The old man pointed to their meat drying on cords, then to the young man who had first detained them. "Jeren… hunt. Jeren make…" Tamen drew a circle on the ground with two diverging lines making a broad V from the small space left open. "Zelandonii man he… make run…" He thought for a long time, then smiled and said, "Make run horse."

"So that's it!" Thonolan said. "They must have built a surround and were waiting for that herd to move closer. We chased them off."

"I can understand why he was angry," Jondalar said to Tamen. "But we didn't know we were on your hunting grounds. We'll stay and hunt, of course, to make restitution. It's still no way to treat Visitors. Doesn't he understand passage customs for those on a Journey?" he said, venting his own anger.

The old man didn't catch every word, but enough to understand the meaning. "Not many Visitors. Not… west… long time. Customs… forget."

"Well, you ought to remind him. You were on a Journey, and he might want to make one someday." Jondalar was still annoyed at their treatment, but he didn't want to make too much of an issue about it. He still wasn't sure what was going on and he didn't want to actually offend them. "Why did Haduma come? How can you allow her to make a long trip at her age?"

Tamen smiled. "Not… allow Haduma. Haduma say. Jeren… find dumai. Bad… bad luck?" Jondalar nodded to indicate the correctness of the word, but he didn't understand what Tamen was trying to say. "Jeren give… man… runner. Say Haduma make bad luck go. Haduma come."

"Dumai? Dumai? You mean my donii?" Jondalar said, taking the carved stone figurine out of his pouch. The people around gasped and drew back when they saw what he had in his hand. An angry murmur rose from the crowd, but Haduma harangued them and they quieted.

"But this donii is good luck!" Jondalar protested.

"Good luck… woman, yes. Man…" Tamen searched his memory for a word, "…sacrilege," he said.

Jondalar sat back, stunned. "But if it's good luck for a woman, why did she throw it?" He made a violent gesture of casting the donii down, bringing exclamations of concern. Haduma spoke to the old man.

"Haduma… long time live… big luck. Big magic. Haduma say me Zelandonii… customs. Say Zelandonii man not Hadumai… Haduma say Zelandonii man bad?"

Jondalar shook his head.

Thonolan spoke up. "I think he's saying she was testing you, Jondalar. She knew the customs were not the same, and she wanted to see how you would react when she dishonored…"

"Dishonor, yes," Tamen interrupted, hearing the word. "Haduma… know not all man, good man. Want know Zelandonii man dishonor Mother."

"Listen, that's a very special donii," Jondalar said, a little indignant. "It's very old. My mother gave it to me – it's been handed down for generations."

"Yes, yes." Tamen nodded vigorously. "Haduma know. Wise… much wise. Long time live. Big magic, make bad luck go. Haduma know Zelandonii man, good man. Want Zelandonii man. Want… honor Mother."

Jondalar saw the grin lighting up Thonolan's face, and squirmed.

"Haduma want," Tamen pointed to Jondalar's eyes, "blue eyes. Honor Mother. Zelandonii… spirit make child, blue eyes."

"You did it again, Big Brother!" Thonolan blurted, grinning with malicious delight. "With those big blue eyes of yours. She's in love!" He was shaking, trying to hold his laughter in, afraid it might offend, but unable to stop. "Oh, Mother! I can hardly wait to get back home and tell them. Jondalar, the man every woman wants! Do you still want to go back? For this, I'd give up the end of the river." He couldn't talk anymore, He was doubled over, pounding the ground, holding his sides and trying not to laugh out loud.

Jondalar swallowed several times. "Ah… I… um… does Haduma think the Great Mother… ah… could still… bless her with a child?"

Tamen looked at Jondalar, perplexed, and at Thonolan's contortions. Then a big grin cracked his face. He spoke to the old woman, and the whole camp erupted into raucous laughter, the old woman's cackle heard above all. Thonolan, with a heave of relief, let out a great whoop of glee as tears squeezed out of his eyes.

Jondalar did not see anything funny.

The old man was shaking his head, trying to talk. "No, no, Zelandonii man." He beckoned to someone. "Noria, Noria…"

A young woman stepped forward and smiled shyly at Jondalar. She was hardly more than a girl, but showed the fresh sparkle of new womanhood. The laughter finally subsided.

"Haduma big magic," Tamen said. "Haduma bless. Noria five… generations." He held up five fingers. "Noria make child, make… six generations." He held up another finger. "Haduma want Zelandonii man… honor Mother…" Tamen smiled as he remembered the words, "First Rites."

The worry lines on Jondalar's forehead smoothed out, and the beginnings of a smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

"Haduma bless. Make spirit go Noria. Noria make… baby, Zelandonii eyes."

Jondalar exploded with laughter, as much with relief as pleasure. He looked at his brother. Thonolan was not laughing anymore. "Do you still want to go home and tell everyone about the old hag I bedded?" he asked. He turned to Tamen. "Please tell Haduma it will be my pleasure to honor the Mother and share Noria's First Rites."

He smiled warmly at the young woman. She smiled back, tentatively at first, but, bathed in the unconscious charisma of his vivid blue eyes, her smile grew.

Tamen spoke to Haduma. She nodded, then motioned for Jondalar and Thonolan to stand, and looked the tall blond man over carefully again. The warmth of his smile still lingered, and when Haduma looked into his eyes, she chuckled softly and went into the large circular tent. The people were still laughing and talking about the misunderstanding as the crowd broke up.

The two brothers stayed to talk to Tamen; even his limited ability to communicate was better than none at all.

"When did you visit the Zelandonii?" Thonolan asked. "Do you remember what Cave it was?"

"Long time," he said. "Tamen young man, like Zelandonii man."

"Tamen, this is my brother, Thonolan, and my name is Jondalar, Jondalar of the Zelandonii."

"You… welcome, Thonolan, Jondalar." The old man smiled. "I, Tamen, three generation Hadumai. No talk Zelandonii long time. Forget. No talk good. You talk, Tamen…?"

"Remember?" Jondalar suggested. The man nodded.

"Third generation? I thought you were Haduma's son," Jondalar added.

"No." He shook his head. "Want make Zelandonii men know Haduma, mother."

"My name is Jondalar, Tamen."

"Jondalar," he corrected. "Tamen not Haduma son. Haduma make daughter." He held up one finger with a questioning look.

"One daughter?" Jondalar said. Tamen shook his head.

"First daughter?"

"Yes, Haduma make first daughter. Daughter make first son." He pointed to himself. "Tamen. Tamen… mate?" Jondalar nodded. "Tamen mate to mother, Noria mother."

"I think I understand. You are the first son of Haduma's first daughter, and your mate is Noria's grandmother."

"Grandmother, yes. Noria make… big honor Tamen… six generation."

"I am honored, too, to be chosen for her First Rites."

"Noria make… baby, Zelandonii eyes. Make Haduma… happy." He smiled remembering the word. "Haduma say big Zelandonii man make… big… strong spirit, make strong Hadumai."

"Tamen," Jondalar said, his forehead knotted. "Noria might not make a baby of my spirit, you know."

Tamen smiled. "Haduma big magic. Haduma bless, Noria make. Big magic. Woman no children. Haduma…" He pointed with a finger toward Jondalar's groin.

"Touch?" Jondalar provided the word, feeling his ears warm.

"Haduma touch, woman make baby. Woman no… milk. Haduma touch, woman make milk. Haduma make Jondalar… big honor. Many man want Haduma touch. Make long time man. Make man… pleasure?" They all smiled. "Pleasure woman, all time. Many woman, many time. Haduma big magic." He paused, and his face lost its smile. "No make Haduma… anger. Haduma bad magic, anger."

"And I laughed," Thonolan said. "Do you suppose I could get her to touch me? You and your big blue eyes, Jondalar."

"Little Brother, the only magic touch you ever needed was the inviting look of a pretty woman."

"So. I never noticed you needing help. Look who's sharing First Rites? Not your little brother with his dull gray eyes."

"Poor little brother, A camp full of women and he's going to spend the night alone. Not on your life." They laughed, and Tamen, who caught the drift of the banter, joined in.

"Tamen, maybe you'd better tell me about your customs for First Rites," Jondalar said, more serious.

"Before you get into that," Thonolan said, "can you get our spears and knives back? I've got an idea. While my brother is busy beguiling that young beauty with his big blue eyes, I think I know a way to make your angry hunter happier."

"How?" Jondalar asked.

"With a grandmother, of course."

Tamen looked confused, but he shrugged it off as problems with the language.

Jondalar saw little of Thonolan that evening or the next day; he was too busy with the purification rituals. The language was a barrier to understanding even with Tamen's help, and when he was alone with the scowling older women, it was worse. Only when Haduma was there did he feel more relaxed, and he was sure she smoothed over some unforgivable blunders.

Haduma didn't rule the people, but it was obvious they would refuse her nothing. She was treated with benevolent reverence and a little fear. It had to be magic that she had lived so long and retained her full mental faculties. She had a knack for sensing when Jondalar was in difficulty. On one occasion, when he was sure he had unknowingly broken some taboo, she waded in, eyes flashing anger, and beat the backs of several retreating women with her staff. She would brook no opposition to him; her sixth generation would have Jondalar's blue eyes.

In the evening, when he was finally led to the large circular structure, he wasn't even sure it was time, until he went inside. As he stepped through the entrance, he paused to look around. Two stone lamps, with bowl-shaped wells filled with fat in which wicks of dried moss burned, lit one side. The ground was covered with furs and the walls were hung with bark-cloth weavings in intricate patterns. Behind a raised platform covered with furs hung the thick white fur of an albino horse decorated with the red heads of immature great spotted woodpeckers. Sitting on the very edge of the platform was Noria, nervously staring down at her hands in her lap.

On the other side, a small section was partitioned off with hanging leather hides marked with esoteric symbols, and a screen of thongs – one of the hides cut into narrow strips. Someone was behind the screen. He saw a hand move a few of the strips aside, and looked into Haduma's wrinkled old face for a brief moment. He breathed a sigh of relief. There was always at least one guardian, to bear witness that a girl's transformation to full womanhood was complete, and to make sure a man wasn't unduly rough. As a stranger, he had felt some concern that there might be a bevy of disapproving guardians. With Haduma he felt no qualms. He didn't know if he should greet her or ignore her, but he decided on the latter when the screen closed.

When Noria saw him, she stood up. He walked toward her, smiling. She was rather small, with soft, light brown hair hanging loosely around her face. She was barefoot, and a skirt of some woven fiber was tied at the waist and fell to below her knees in colorful bands. A shirt of soft deerskin embroidered with dyed quills was laced together tightly up the front. It conformed to her body enough to reveal that her womanhood was well established, though she had not lost all her girlish roundness.

She got a frightened look in her eye as he approached, though she tried to smile. But when he made no sudden moves, just sat down on the edge of the platform and smiled, she seemed to relax a little, and sat down beside him, far enough away so that their knees did not touch.

It would help if I could speak her language, he thought. She's so scared. No wonder, I'm a total stranger to her. Appealing, so frightened like that. He felt protective, and a few twinges of excitement. He noticed a carved wooden bowl and some drinking cups on a nearby stand and started to reach, but Noria saw his intention and jumped up to fill the cups.

As she gave him a cup of amber liquid, he touched her hand. It startled her. She pulled it back a little, then left it. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then took the cup and drank. The liquid had the sweet, strong taste of something fermented. Not unpleasant, but he wasn't sure how strong it was, and decided to drink lightly.

"Thank you, Noria," he said, putting the cup down.

"Jondalar?" she asked, looking up. By the light of the stone lamps he could tell her eyes were a light shade, but he wasn't sure if they were gray or blue.

"Yes, Jondalar. Of the Zelandonii."

"Jondalar… Zelandonyee man."

"Noria, Hadumai woman."

"Wo-man?"

"Woman," he said, touching one firm young breast. She jumped back.

Jondalar untied the lace at the neck of his tunic and pulled it back, showing a chest of light curls. He smiled a wry grin and touched his chest. "No woman." He shook his head. "Man."

She giggled a little.

"Noria woman," he said, slowly reaching toward her breast again. This time she let him touch without pulling back, and her smile was more relaxed.

"Noria woman," she said, then got a mischievous glint in her eye, and pointed a finger toward his groin, but didn't touch. "Jondalar man." Suddenly she looked frightened again, as though she might have gone too far, and got up to refill the cups. She scooped out the liquid nervously, spilling some, and seemed embarrassed. Her hand shook holding the cup to him.

He steadied her hand, took the cup and sipped, then offered her a drink. She nodded, but he held the cup to her mouth so that she had to cup her hands around his to tip it up to drink. When he put the cup down, he reached for her hands again, opened her palms, and kissed each one lightly. Her eyes opened wide with surprise, but she didn't pull back. He moved his hands up her arms, then bent closer and kissed her neck. She was tense, with anticipation as well as fear, waiting to see what he would do next.

He moved closer, kissed her neck again, and his hand slipped down to cup one breast. Though she was still afraid, she was beginning to feel her own responses to his touch. He tilted her head back, kissing her neck, flicked his tongue along her throat, and reached to untie the lace at her neck. Then he moved his lips up to her ear and along her jaw, and found her mouth. He opened his, and moved his tongue between her lips, and, when they parted, he exerted gentle pressure to open them more.

Then he backed off holding her shoulders, and smiled. Her eyes were closed, but her mouth was still open, and she was breathing faster. He kissed her again, cupping a breast, then reached up to pull the lace out of one hole. She stiffened a little. He stopped and looked at her, then smiled and deliberately pulled the lace out of another hole. She sat stiffly unmoving, looking up at his face as he pulled the lace out of yet another hole, and then another, until the deerskin shirt hung loosely, open all down the front.

He bent down to her neck as he pushed the shirt back to bare her shoulders and reveal her upright young breasts with their swollen areolas, and felt his manhood throb. He kissed her shoulders with open mouth and moving tongue and felt her quiver, and caressed her arms as he pushed her shirt off. He ran his hands up her spine, and his tongue down her neck and chest, circled her areola, felt her nipple contract, and sucked gently. She gasped but didn't pull away. He suckled the other breast, ran his tongue back up to her mouth and, as he kissed her, pushed her back.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him from the furs. Her eyes were dilated and luminous. His were so deeply blue and compelling that she could not look away. "Jondalar man, Noria woman," she said.

"Jondalar man, Noria woman," he said huskily, then sat up and pulled his tunic over his head, feeling the surge as his manhood strained to burst free. He bent over her, kissed her again, and felt her open her mouth to taste his tongue with hers. He caressed her breast and ran his tongue down her neck and shoulder. He found her nipple again, sucking harder as he heard her moan, and felt his own breath heaving faster.

It's been so long since I've been with a woman, he thought, and wanted to take her that instant. Go easy, don't scare her, he reminded himself. It's her first time. You've got all night, Jondalar. Wait until you know she's ready.

He caressed her bare skin below her swelling mounds down to her waist, and searched for the thong that gathered her skirt together. Pulling the tie, he reached in and rested his hand on her stomach. She tensed, then relaxed. He reached lower for the inside of her thigh, brushing over her pubic rise of soft down. She spread her legs as he moved his hand along her inner thigh.

He pulled his hand away, sat up, then worked her skirt down below her hips and dropped it on the ground. Then he stood up and looked at her soft, rounded, not quite full-blown curves. She smiled up at him with a look of trust and longing. He untied the thong from his trousers and lowered them. She gasped when she saw his upright swollen member, and a hint of fear returned to her eyes.

Noria had listened with fascination to stories other women told of their Rites of First Pleasures. Some women didn't think they were such a pleasure. They said the Gift of Pleasure was given to men, that women were given the ability to give men pleasure so men would be bound to them; so men would hunt and bring food and skins to make clothes when a woman was heavy with child or suckling young. Nuns had been warned there would be pain in her First Rites. Jondalar was so swollen, so big, how would he fit himself in her?

Her look of fear was familiar. It was a critical moment; she would have to get used to him again. He enjoyed awakening a woman for the first time to the pleasures of the Mother's Gift, but it took delicacy and finesse. Someday, he thought, I wish I could give a woman pleasure for the first time and not have to worry about hurting her. He knew it wasn't possible. The Rites of First Pleasures for a woman were always a little painful.

He sat down beside her and waited, giving her time. Her eyes were drawn to his throbbing member. He took her hand and led her to touch him, and felt a surge. It was as though his manhood had a life of its own at a time like this. Noria felt the softness of his skin, the warmth, the firm fullness, and, as his member moved eagerly in her hand, she felt a sharp, pleasurable, tingling sensation within her, and a dampness between her legs. She tried to smile, but fear still lurked in her eyes.

He stretched out beside her and kissed her gently. She opened her eyes and looked into his. She saw his concern, and his hunger, and some unnamable, irresistible force. She was drawn, overwhelmed, lost in the impassibly blue depths of his eyes, and felt the deep, pleasurable sensation again. She wanted him. She feared pain, but she wanted him. She reached for him, closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and pressed herself closer to him.

He kissed her, letting her explore his mouth, and slowly worked his way down her neck and throat, kissing, moving his tongue, and gently caressing her stomach and thighs. He tantalized a little, coming close to the sensitive nipple, but backing off, until she moved his mouth to it. At that instant, he moved his hand to the warm slit between her thighs and found the small throbbing nodule. A cry escaped her lips.

He suckled and gently bit her nipple as he moved his finger. She moaned and moved her hips. He went lower, felt her indrawn breath as his tongue found her navel, and tension in her muscles as he moved even lower, backing off the platform until his knees felt the ground. Then he pressed her legs apart, and took his first taste of her tangy salt. Noria's breath exploded with a shuddering cry. She moaned with each breath, tossed her head back and forth, and raised her hips to meet him.

With his hands, he spread her open, licked her warm folds, then found her nodule with his tongue and worked it. As she cried out, moving her hips, his own excitement was hard upon him. He struggled to contain it. When he heard her gasping in quick pants, he raised up, still kneeling so he could control his penetration, and guided the head of his engorged organ into her untried opening. He gritted his teeth for control as he pushed into the warm, damp, tight well.

As she wrapped her legs around his waist, he felt the blockage within her. With his finger, he found her nodule again and moved himself back and forth just a little, until her gasps came with cries and he felt her hips lift. Then, he drew back, pushed hard, and felt himself penetrate the barrier as she cried out in pain and pleasure, and heard his own strained outcry as he released his pent-up need with shuddering spasms.

He moved out and in a few more times, penetrating as far as he dared, feeling the last of his essence drained, then collapsed on her. It was over. He lay for a moment with his head on her chest, breathing hard, then raised himself. She was limp, her head turned to the side, her eyes closed. He withdrew himself and saw bloodstains on the white fur beneath her. He lifted her legs back onto the platform and crawled up on it beside her, sinking into the furs.

As his breath started to come easier, he felt hands on his head. He opened his eyes to see the old face and bright eyes of Haduma. Noria moved beside him. Haduma smiled, nodded with approval, and began a singsong chant. Noria opened her eyes, was pleased to see the old woman, and even more pleased when she moved her hands from Jondalar's head to her stomach. Haduma made motions over them, chanting, then pulled out the bloodstained fur from beneath them. There was special magic for a woman in her blood of First Rites.

Then the old woman looked at Jondalar again, smiled, and reached a knobby finger to touch his spent member. He felt a moment of renewed excitement, saw it try to spring to life again, then go soft. Haduma chuckled softly, then hobbled out of the tent, leaving them alone.

Jondalar relaxed beside Noria. After a while, she sat up and looked down at him with glowing, languorous eyes.

"Jondalar man, Noria woman," she said, as though she truly felt she was a woman now, and leaned over to kiss him. He was surprised to feel a stir of excitement so soon, and wondered if Haduma's touch had anything to do with it. He forgot to wonder as he took his time showing the eager young woman ways to please him, and giving new pleasure to her.

The giant sturgeon was already beached by the time Jondalar got up. Thonolan had poked his head in the tent earlier, showing him a couple of gaffs, but Jondalar had waved him off, wrapped his arm around Noria, and gone back to sleep.

When he woke up later, Noria was gone. He slipped on his trousers and walked toward the river. He watched Thonolan, Jeren, and several others laughing in newfound camaraderie, rather wishing he had fished with them.

"Well, look who decided to get up," Thonolan said when ho saw him. "Leave it to blue eyes to lie around while everyone else is fighting to haul that old Haduma out of the water."

Jeren caught the phrase. "Haduma! Haduma!" he shouted, laughing and pointing at the fish. He pranced around it, then stood in front of its primitive, sharklike head. The feelers sprouting out of the lower jaw attested to its bottom-feeding habits and harmlessness, but its size alone had made it a challenge. It was well over fifteen feet long.

With a roguish grin, the young hunter moved his pelvis back and forth in erotic mimicry at the nose of the great old fish, shouting, "Haduma! Haduma!" as though begging to be touched. The rest of them broke up in gales of bawdy laughter, and even Jondalar smiled. The others started dancing around the fish, shaking their pelvises and shouting "Haduma!" and, with high spirits, began pushing each other aside, vying for the spot at the head. One man was shoved into the river. He waded back, grabbed the nearest one, and pulled him in. Soon they were all pushing each other into the water, Thonolan right in the thick of it.

He splashed up on the bank soaking wet, spied his brother, and grabbed him. "Don't think you're going to get away dry!" he said as Jondalar resisted. "Come on, Jeren, let's give blue eyes a dunking!"

Jeren heard his name, saw the struggle, and came running. The others followed. Pulling and pushing, they dragged Jondalar to the river's edge, and all ended up in the water, laughing. They came out dripping, still grinning, until one of them noticed the old woman standing by the fish.

"Haduma, eh?" she said, fixing them with a severe stare. They gave each other surreptitious glances and looked sheepish. Then she cackled delightedly, stood at the head of the fish, and wagged her old hips back and forth. They laughed and ran toward her, each man getting down on hands and knees and begging her to get on his back.

Jondalar smiled at the game they had obviously played with her before. Her tribe not only revered their ancient ancestress, they loved her, and she seemed to enjoy their fun. Haduma looked around and, seeing Jondalar, pointed at him. The men waved him over, and he noticed the care with which they helped her onto his back. He stood up carefully. She weighed almost nothing, but he was surprised at the strength of her grip. The fragile old woman still had a certain toughness.

He started walking, but the rest were racing ahead, and she pounded his shoulder, urging him on. They ran up and down the beach until they were all out of breath, and then Jondalar got down to let her off. She straightened herself, found her staff, and, with great dignity, headed toward the tents.

"Can you believe that old woman?" Jondalar said to Thonolan with admiration. "Sixteen children, five generations, and she's still going strong. I don't doubt that she will live to see her sixth generation."

"She live see six generation, then she die."

Jondalar turned at the voice. He hadn't seen Tamen approach. "What do you mean, then she die?"

"Haduma say, Noria make blue-eye son, Zelandonii spirit, then Haduma die. She say, long time here, time go. See baby, then die. Baby name, Jondal, six generation Hadumai. Haduma happy Zelandonii man. Say good man. Pleasure woman First Rites not easy, Zelandonii man, good man."

Jondalar was filled with mixed emotions. "If it is her wish to go, she will, but it makes me sad," he said.

"Yes, all Hadumai much sad," Tamen said.

"Can I see Noria again, so soon after First Rites? Just for a while? I don't know your customs."

"Custom, no. Haduma say yes. You go soon?"

"If Jeren says the sturgeon pays our obligation for chasing off the horses, I think we should. How did you know?"

"Haduma say."

The camp feasted on sturgeon in the evening, and many hands had made short work of cutting strips for drying earlier in the afternoon. Jondalar glimpsed Noria once from a distance as she was escorted by several women to some place farther upstream. It was after dark before she was led to see him. They walked together toward the river, with two women following discreetly behind. It broke custom enough for her to see him immediately after First Rites; alone would be too much.

They stood by a tree not saying anything, her head bowed. He moved aside a tendril of hair and lifted her chin to look at him. She had tears in her eyes. Jondalar wiped a glistening drop from the corner of her eye with a knuckle, then brought it to his lips.

"Oh… Jondalar," she cried, reaching for him.

He held her, kissed her gently, then more passionately.

"Noria," he said. "Noria woman, beautiful woman."

"Jondalar make Noria woman," she said. "Make… Noria… Make…" She heaved a sob, wishing she knew the words to tell him what she wanted to say.

"I know, Noria. I know," he said, holding her. Then he stood back holding her shoulders, smiled at her and patted her stomach. She smiled through her tears.

"Noria make Zelandonyee…" She touched his eyelid. "Noria make Jondal… Haduma…"

"Yes." He nodded. "Tamen told me. Jondal, sixth-generation Hadumai." He reached into his pouch. "I have something I want to give you, Noria." He took out the stone donii and put it in her hand. He wished there were some way to tell her how special it was to him, to tell her his mother had given it to him, to tell her how old it was, how it had been passed down for many generations. Then he smiled. "This donii is my Haduma," he said. "Jondalar's Haduma. Now, it is Noria's Haduma."

"Jondalar Haduma?" she said with wonder, looking at the carved female shape. "Jondalar Haduma, Noria?"

He nodded, and she burst into tears, clutched it in both hands, and brought it to her lips. "Jondalar Haduma," she said, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Suddenly she threw her arms around him and kissed him, then ran back toward the tents, crying so hard that she could barely see her way.

The whole camp turned out to see them off. Haduma was standing beside Noria when Jondalar stopped in front of them. Haduma was smiling, nodding approval, but tears were rolling down Noria's cheeks. He reached for one, brought it to his mouth, and she smiled, though it didn't check her tears. He turned to go, but not before he saw the curly-haired young man Jeren had sent as a runner looking at Noria with lovesick eyes.

She was a woman now and blessed by Haduma, assured of bringing a lucky child to a man's hearth. It was common talk that she had known pleasure at First Rites, and everyone knew such women made the best mates. Noria was eminently matable, utterly desirable.

"Do you really think Noria is pregnant with a child of your spirit?" Thonolan asked after they left the camp behind.

"I'll never know, but that Haduma is a wise old woman. She knows more than anyone can guess. I think she does have 'big magic.' If anyone could make it happen, she could."

They walked in silence beside the river for a while, then Thonolan said, "Big Brother, there's something I'd like to ask you."

"Ask away."

"What magic do you have? I mean, every man talks about being chosen for First Rites, but it really scares a lot of them. I know a couple who have turned it down, and to be honest, I always feel clumsy. I'd never turn it down, though. But you, you get chosen all the time. And I've never seen it fail. They all fall in love with you. How do you do it? I've watched you rut around at festivals; I can't see anything special."

"I don't know, Thonolan," he said, a little embarrassed. "I just try to be careful."

"What man doesn't? It's more than that. What was it Tamen said? 'Pleasure woman First Rites not easy.' How do you give a woman pleasure then? I'm just happy if I don't hurt her too much. And it's not like you're undersized or anything to make it easier. Come on, give your little brother some advice. I wouldn't mind a bunch of young beauties following me around."

He slowed and looked at Thonolan. "Yes you would. I think that's one of the reasons I got myself promised to Marona, so I'd have an excuse." Jondalar's forehead furrowed. "First Rites are special for a woman. They are for me, too. But a lot of young women are still girls in some ways. They haven't learned the difference between running after boys and inviting a man. How do you tactfully tell a young woman, whom you've just spent a very special night with, that you'd rather relax with a more experienced woman, when she's cornered you alone? Great Doni, Thonolan! I don't want to hurt them, but I don't fall in love with every woman I spend a night with."

"You don't fall in love at all, Jondalar."

Jondalar started walking faster. "What do you mean? I've loved a lot of women."

"Loved them, yes. That's not the same thing."

"How would you know? Have you ever been in love?"

"A few times. Maybe it hasn't lasted, but I know the difference. Look, Brother, I don't want to pry, but I worry about you, especially when you get moody. And you don't have to run. I'll shut up if you want me to."

Jondalar slowed down. "So, maybe you're right. Maybe I've never fallen in love. Maybe it's not in me to fall in love."

"What's missing? What don't the women you know have?"

"If I knew, don't you think…" he began angrily. Then he paused. "I don't know, Thonolan. I guess I want it all. I want a woman like she is at First Rites – I think I fall in love with every woman then, at least for that night. But I want a woman, not a girl. I want her honestly eager and willing without any pretenses, but I don't want to have to be so careful with her. I want her to have spirit, to know her own mind. I want her young and old, naive and wise, all at the same time.

"That's a lot to want, Brother."

"Well, you asked." They walked in silence for a while.

"How old would you say Zelandoni is?" Thonolan asked. "A little younger than Mother, maybe?"

Jondalar stiffened. "Why?"

"They say she was really beautiful when she was younger, even just a few years ago. Some of the older men say no one could compare to her, not even come close. It's hard for me to tell, but they say she's young to be First among Those Who Serve the Mother. Tell me something, Big Brother. What they say about you and Zelandoni, is it true?"

Jondalar stopped and slowly turned to face his brother. "Tell me, what do they say about me and Zelandoni?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Sorry. I just went too far. Forget I asked."