The Valley of Horses (51 page)

Dolando nodded. He didn’t push them to stay, but he had wanted to let them know they were family. “When will you leave?”

“Soon. A few days at most,” Thonolan replied. “I’d like to arrange a trade, Dolando. I’ll be leaving everything behind, except traveling packs and clothes. I’d like a small boat, though.”

“I’m sure it can be arranged. You’ll be going downstream, then. East? Not back to the Zelandonii?”

“I’m going east,” Thonolan said.

“And you, Jondalar?”

“I don’t know. There’s Serenio and Darvo…”

Dolando nodded. Jondalar may not have made the tie formal, but he knew the decision would not be any easier for it. The tall Zelandonii had reasons to go west, to stay, or to go east, and which way he would choose was anyone’s guess.

“Roshario’s been cooking all day. I think she’s doing it to keep herself busy, so she won’t have time to think,” Dolando said. “It would please her if you’d join us for a meal Jondalar, she’d like Serenio and Darvo, too. It would please her even more if you would just eat something, Thonolan. She worries about you.”

It must be hard on Dolando, too, Jondalar realized. He had been so worried about Thonolan that he hadn’t thought of the grief of the Cave. This had been Jetamio’s home. Dolando must have cared for her as he would any child of his hearth. She had been close to many. Tholie and Markeno were her family, and he knew Serenio had been crying. Darvo was upset, not wanting to talk to him.

“I’ll ask Serenio,” Jondalar said. “I’m sure Darvo would like to go. Maybe you should just count on him. I’d like to have a talk with Serenio.”

“Send him over,” Dolando said, reminding himself to keep the lad overnight to give his mother and Jondalar some time to reach a decision.

The three men walked together back to the sandstone overhang, then stood near the fire in the central hearth for a few moments. They said little but enjoyed each other’s company
—bittersweet—knowing changes had occurred that would soon make it impossible for them to stand with each other again.

Shadows of the terrace walls had already brought an evening chill, though from the front end sunlight could be seen streaming down the river gorge. Standing by the fire together, they could almost feel that nothing had changed, could almost forget the devastating tragedy. They stayed long into twilight, wanting to hold the moment, each thinking private thoughts that, had they shared them, they would have found remarkably similar. Each was thinking of the events that had brought the Zelandonii men to the Cave of the Sharamudoi, and each was wondering if he would ever see either of the other two again.

“Aren’t you ever coming in?” Roshario asked, finally unable to wait longer. She had sensed their need for this last silent communion and hadn’t wanted to disturb them. Then Shamud and Serenio came out of a shelter, Darvo detached himself from a group of youngsters, other people came to the central fire, and the mood was irrevocably lost. Roshario herded everyone toward her dwelling, including Jondalar and Serenio, but they left soon after.

They walked in silence to the edge, then around the wall to a fallen log. It made a comfortable seat from which to watch the sunset upriver. Nature conspired to keep them silent by the sheer beauty of the setting sun; a panorama presented in metallic hues. With the molten orb’s descent, lead-gray clouds were highlighted in silver, then spread out in gleaming gold that shattered on the river. Fiery red transformed the gold to shining copper, which flattened to bronze, then faded to silver again.

As the silver leadened, then tarnished to darker shades, Jondalar came to a decision. He turned to face Serenio. She was certainly beautiful, he thought. She wasn’t hard to live with; she made his life comfortable. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Let’s go back, Jondalar,” she said, first.

“Serenio … I … we have lived …” he started. She held a finger to his mouth to silence him.

“Don’t talk now. Let’s go back.”

He heard the urgency in her voice this time, saw the desire in her eyes. He reached for her hand, held it, fingers to his lips, then turned her hand around, opened it, and kissed her palm. His warm seeking mouth found her wrist,
then followed her arm to the inside of her elbow, pushing back her sleeve to reach it.

She sighed, closed her eyes, and tilted her head back, inviting him. He held the back of her neck to support her head, and kissed the pulse in her throat, found her ear and searched out her mouth. She was waiting, hungry. He kissed her then, slowly, lovingly, tasting the softness under her tongue, touching the ridges of her palate, and drew her tongue into his mouth. When they pulled apart, she was breathing heavily. Her hand found his warm and throbbing response.

“Let’s go back,” she said again, her voice husky.

“Why go back? Why not here?” he said.

“If we stay here it will be over too soon. I want the warmth of fire and furs so we won’t need to rush.”

Their lovemaking had become, not stale, but a little perfunctory recently. They knew what satisfied each other, and they tended to fall into a pattern, exploring and experimenting only rarely. This night, he knew, she wanted more than routine, and he was eager to comply. He took her head in both his hands, kissed her eyes and the end of her nose, the softness of her cheek, and breathed into her ear. He nibbled at an earlobe, then sought her throat again. When he found her mouth once more, he took it fiercely and held her to him.

“I think we should go back, Serenio,” he breathed into her ear.

“That’s what I’ve been saying.”

Side by side, his arm over her shoulder and hers around his waist, they walked back around the jutting wall. For once, he didn’t step back to allow passage around the outside edge in single file. He did not even notice the precipitous fall-off.

It was dark, the deep black of both night and shadow, in the open field. The moon’s light was stopped by the high side walls; only a few scattered stars could be seen between clouds above. It was later than they realized when they reached the overhang. No one was out around the fire of the central hearth, though logs still burned with licking flames. They saw Roshario, Dolando, and several others inside their shelter, and as they passed the entrance, they saw Darvo throwing carved pieces of bone with Thonolan. Jondalar smiled. It was a game he and his brother had often played on long winter nights, one that could take half a
night to resolve, and it held the attention—making forgetting easier.

The dwelling Jondalar shared with Serenio was dark when they entered. He piled wood in the stone-lined fireplace, then got a piece of burning wood from the main hearth to light it. He leaned two planks across each other at the entrance, then stretched the leather drape across, making a warm private world.

He shrugged out of his outer garment, and, while Serenio brought out drinking cups, Jondalar got the skin of fermented bilberry juice and poured for both. The immediacy of his ardor had passed, and the walk back had given him time to think. She’s as lovely and passionate a woman as any I’ve ever known, he thought, sipping the warming liquid. I should have formalized our union long ago. Perhaps she’d be willing to come back with me, and Darvo, too. But whether we stay here, or go back, I want her for my mate.

There was relief in the decision, and one less undecided factor to cope with, and it pleased him that he felt so good about it. It was proper, right. Why had he held back so long?

“Serenio, I’ve made a decision. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you how much you mean to me …”

“Not now,” she said, putting her cup down. She reached her arms around his neck, brought his lips to hers, and pressed close. It was a long, slow, lingering kiss that reminded him quickly of his passion. She’s right, he thought, we can talk later.

As the intensity of his heat reasserted itself, he led her to the fur-covered sleeping platform. The forgotten fire burned low while he explored and rediscovered her body. Serenio had never been unresponsive, but she opened herself to him as she never had before. She couldn’t get enough of him, though she was satisfied and satisfied again. Surge after surge filled them, and when he thought he had reached his limit, she experimented with his techniques and slowly encouraged him again. With a last ecstatic effort, they reached a joyous release and lay together exhausted, finally sated.

They slept for a while, as they were, naked on top of the furs. When the fire died, the chill of predawn woke them. She started a fresh fire from the last embers, while he put on a tunic and slipped out to fill the waterbag. The warmth inside the dwelling was welcome when he returned; he had taken a quick dip in the cold pool as well. He felt invigorated,
refreshed, and so thoroughly satisfied that he was ready for anything. After Serenio started stones heating, she slipped out to relieve herself and came back as wet as he.

“You’re shivering,” Jondalar said, wrapping her in a fur.

“You seemed to enjoy your dunking so much, I thought I’d try it. It was cold!” She laughed.

“The tea is almost ready. I’ll bring you a cup. You sit here,” he said, urging her back to the sleeping platform and piling more furs around her, until only her face could be seen. Spending my life with a woman like Serenio would not be at all bad, he thought. I wonder if I could persuade her to come home with me? An unhappy thought intruded itself. If only I could persuade Thonolan to come home with me. I can’t understand why he wants to go east. He took Serenio a cup of hot betony tea, and one for himself, and settled on the edge of the platform.

“Serenio, have you ever thought of making a Journey?”

“Do you mean travel to someplace I’ve never been before, to meet new people who speak a language I wouldn’t understand? No, Jondalar, I’ve never had an urge to make a Journey.”

“But you do understand Zelandonii very well. When we decided to learn one another’s language with Tholie and the rest, I was surprised how quickly you learned. It wouldn’t be as though you had to learn a new language.”

“What are you trying to say, Jondalar?”

He smiled. “I’m trying to persuade you to travel with me back to my home after we are mated. You’d like the Zelandonii …”

“What do you mean, ‘after we are mated’? What makes you think we are going to mate?”

He was abashed. Of course, he should have asked her first, not just blurted out questions about Journeys. Women like to be asked, not taken for granted. He gave her a sheepish grin.

“I’ve decided it’s time to make our arrangement formal. I should have done it long before. You’re a beautiful, loving woman, Serenio. And Darvo is a fine boy. To have him as the true child of my hearth would make me very proud. But I was hoping you might consider traveling with me, back home … back to the Zelandonii. Of course, if you don’t …”

“Jondalar, you can’t decide to make our arrangement formal. I’m not going to mate you. I decided that long ago.”

He flushed, truly embarrassed. It hadn’t occurred to him that she wouldn’t want to mate him. He’d only thought of himself, the way he felt, not that she might not consider him worthy. “I’m … I’m sorry, Serenio. I thought you cared about me, too. I shouldn’t have presumed. You should have told me to leave … I could have found another place.” He got up and started gathering up some of his things.

“Jondalar, what are you doing?”

“Getting my things together so I can move out.”

“Why do you want to move out?”

“I don’t want to, but if you don’t want me here …”

“After tonight, how can you say I don’t want you? What does that have to do with mating you?”

He came back, sat down on the edge of the sleeping platform, and looked into her enigmatic eyes. “Why won’t you mate me? Am I not … not man enough for you?”

“Not man enough …” Her voice caught in her throat. She closed her eyes, blinked a few times, and took a deep breath. “Oh, Mother, Jondalar! Not man enough! If you aren’t, no man on earth is man enough. That’s just the problem. You’re too much man, too much everything. I couldn’t live with that.”

“I don’t understand. I want to mate you, and you say I’m too good for you?”

“You really don’t understand, do you? Jondalar, you’ve given me more … more than any man. If I were to mate you, I’d have so much, I’d have more than any other woman I know. They’d be envious. They would wish their men would be as generous, as caring, as good as you. They already know a touch from you can make a woman feel more alive, more … Jondalar, you are every woman’s desire.”

“If I’m … all you say, why won’t you mate me?”

“Because you don’t love me.”

“Serenio … I do …”

“Yes, in your way, you love me. You care about me. You would never do anything to hurt me, and you would be so wonderful, so good to me. But I’d always know. Even if I convinced myself otherwise, I’d know. And I’d wonder what was wrong with me, what I lacked, why you couldn’t love me.”

Jondalar looked down. “Serenio, people mate who don’t love each other like that.” He looked at her earnestly. “If they have other things, if they care about each other, they can have a good life together.”

“Yes, some people do. I may mate again someday, and if we have other things, it may not be necessary to love each other. But not you, Jondalar.”

“Why not me?” he asked, and the pain in his eyes was almost enough to make her reconsider.

“Because I would love you. I couldn’t help it. I would love you and die a little every day knowing you didn’t love me the same way. No woman can keep from loving you, Jondalar. And every time we would make love, like we did tonight, I would wither inside more. Wanting you so much, loving you so much, and knowing that as much as you might want to, you didn’t love me back. After a while, I’d dry up, be an empty shell, and find ways to make your life as miserable as mine. You’d go on being your wonderful, caring, generous self, because you’d know why I had become like that. But you’d hate yourself for it. And everyone would wonder how you could stand such a carping, bitter old woman. I won’t do that to you, Jondalar. And I won’t do it to me.”

He got up and paced to the entrance, then turned around and came back. “Serenio, why can’t I love? Other men fall in love—what’s wrong with me?” He looked at her with such anguish, she ached for him, loved him even more, and wished there were some way she could make him love her.