The Valley of Horses (82 page)

“Those women seemed so crude then, insensitive, teasing, making fun of the men all the time, especially the young men. Perhaps I was insensitive, too, chasing them away from me, calling them names.

“They’re the ones who choose the men for First Rites. All the men want to be chosen—they always talk about it, It’s an honor, and it’s exciting, but they worry about being too rough, or too hasty, or worse. What good is a man if he can’t even open a woman? Anytime a man passes a group of women, they tease.”

He shifted his voice to a falsetto and mimicked. “ ‘Here’s a handsome one. Would you like me to teach you a thing or two?’ Or, ‘I haven’t been able to teach this one anything, anyone else willing to try?’ ”

Then in his own voice, “Most men learn to give it back and enjoy the banter as much as the women, but it’s hard on young men. Any man passing a group of laughing women wonders if they are laughing at his expense. Zolena wasn’t like that. The other women didn’t like her much, maybe because the men liked her too much. On any of the Mother’s holidays or festivals, she was first choice …

“The man I hit lost several teeth. It’s hard on a man that young to lose teeth. He can’t chew, and women don’t want him. I’ve been sorry ever since. It was so stupid! My mother made compensation for me, and he moved to another Cave. But he comes to Summer Meetings, and I wince every time I see him.

“Zolena had been talking about serving the Mother. I thought I would be a carver and serve Her in that way. That was when Marthona decided I might have an aptitude
for stone working and sent word to Dalanar. Not long afterward, Zolena left to take special training, and Willomar took me to live with the Lanzadonii. Marthona was right. It was best. When I returned after three years, Zolena was no more.”

“What happened to her?” Ayla asked, almost afraid to speak.

“Those Who Serve the Mother give up their own identity and take on the identity of the people for whom they intercede. In return, the Mother gives them Gifts unknown to Her ordinary children: Gifts of magic, skill, knowledge—and power. Many who go to Serve never progress beyond acolytes. Of those who receive Her call, only a few are truly talented, but they rise in the ranks of Those Who Serve very quickly.

“Just before I left, Zolena was made High Priestess Zelandoni, First among Those Who Serve the Mother.”

Suddenly Jondalar jumped up and saw the scarlet and gold western sky through the cave openings. “It’s still daylight. I feel like going for a swim,” he said, striding quickly out of the cave. Ayla picked up her wrap and long thong and followed him. By the time she reached the beach, he was in the water. She took off her amulet, walked in a few feet, then kicked off. He was far upstream. She met him on his way back.

“How far did you go?” she asked.

“To the falls,” he said. “Ayla, I have never told that to anyone before. About Zolena.”

“Do you ever see Zolena?”

Jondalar’s explosive laugh was bitter. “Not Zolena, Zelandoni. Yes, I’ve seen her. We are good friends. I have even shared Pleasures with Zelandoni,” he said. “But she doesn’t choose just me anymore.” He started swimming downstream, fast and hard.

Ayla frowned and shook her head, then followed him back to the beach. She slipped her amulet on and tied on her wrap as she trailed him up the path. He was standing by the fireplace looking down at barely glowing coals when she walked in. She made a last adjustment to her wrap, then picked up some wood and fed it to the fire. He was still wet and she saw him shiver. She went to get his sleeping fur.

“The season is changing,” she said. “Evenings are cool. Here, you might get a chill.”

He held the fur around his shoulders awkwardly. It wasn’t
right for him, she thought, a fur wrap. And if he’s going to leave, he should start before the season turns. She went to her sleeping place and picked up a bundle that was beside the wall.

“Jondalar … ?”

He shook his head to bring himself back to the present and smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes. When she started to untie the bundle, something fell out. She picked it up.

“What is this?” she asked in tones of frightened wonder. “How did it get here?”

“It’s a donii,” Jondalar said when he saw the piece of carved ivory.

“A donii?”

“I made it for you, for your First Rites. A donii should always be present at First Rites.”

Ayla bent her head to hide a sudden rush of tears. “I don’t know what to say, I have never seen anything like this. She is beautiful. She looks real, like a person. Almost like me.”

He lifted her chin. “I meant her to look like you, Ayla. A real carver would have done it better … no. A real carver would not have made a donii like this. I’m not sure if I should have. A donii does not usually have a face—the face of the Mother is unknowable. To put your face on that donii may have trapped your spirit there. That’s why she is yours, to keep in your possession, my gift to you.”

“I wonder why you put your gift here,” Ayla said as she finished untying the bundle. “I made this for you.”

He shook out the leather, and saw the garments, and his eyes brightened. “Ayla! I didn’t know you could do sewing or beadwork,” he said, examining the clothing.

“I didn’t do the beadwork. I just made new parts for the shirt you were wearing. I took apart the other clothes so I’d know what size and shape to make the pieces, and I looked at the way they were put together so I could see how it was done. I used the sewing awl you gave me—I don’t know if I used it right, but it worked.”

“It’s perfect!” he said, holding the shirt up to himself. He tried on the trousers and then the shirt. “I’ve been thinking about making clothes for myself that would be more appropriate for traveling. A breechclout is fine for here, but …”

It was out. Spoken aloud. Like the evil ones Creb had talked about, whose power came only from the recognition they were given when their names were spoken aloud, Jondalar’s
leaving had become a fact. No longer was it a vague thought that would someday come about—it had substance now. And it drew more weight as their thoughts concentrated on it, until an oppressive physical presence seemed to have entered the cave, and would not go away.

Jondalar quickly took the clothes off and folded them into a pile. “Thank you, Ayla. I can’t tell you how much these mean. When it gets colder, they will be perfect, but I don’t need them yet,” he said, and he put the breechclout on.

Ayla nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She felt a pressure in her eyes, and the ivory figurine blurred. She brought it to her breast; she loved it. It had been made with his hands. He called himself a toolmaker, but he could do so much more. His hands were skilled enough to make an image that gave her the same feeling of tenderness she had felt when he made her know what it was to be a woman.

“Thank you,” she said, remembering the courtesy.

He frowned. “Don’t ever lose it,” he said. “With your face on it, and maybe your spirit in it, it might not be safe if someone else found it.”

“My amulet holds a part of my spirit and my totem’s spirit. Now this donii holds a part of my spirit and your Earth Mother’s spirit. Does that make it my amulet, too?”

He hadn’t considered that. Was she part of the Mother now? One of Earth’s Children? Maybe he shouldn’t have tampered with forces beyond his ken. Or had he been an agent of them?

“I don’t know, Ayla,” he answered. “But don’t lose it.”

“Jondalar, if you thought it might be dangerous, why did you put my face on this donii?”

He took her hands that were holding the figure. “Because I wanted to capture your spirit, Ayla. Not to keep, I meant to give it back. I wanted to give you Pleasure, and I didn’t know if I could. I didn’t know if you would understand; you were not raised to know Her. I thought putting your face on this might draw you to me.”

“You didn’t need to put my face on a donii for that. I would have been happy if you had just wanted to relieve your needs with me, before I knew what Pleasures were.”

He enfolded her in his arms, donii and all. “No, Ayla. You may have been ready, but I needed to understand that it was your first time, or it would not have been right.”

She was losing herself in his eyes again. His arms tightened and she gave herself up to him, until all she knew was his
arms holding her, his hungry mouth on her mouth, his body against hers, and a dizzying, demanding need. She didn’t know when he swept her up and moved her away from the fireplace.

Her bed of furs reached up to accept her. She felt him fumble with the knot in her thong, then give up and simply raise her wrap. She opened herself to him eagerly, felt his rigid manhood search, and then find.

Fiercely, almost desperately, he sank his shaft deeply, as though to convince himself again that she was there for him, that he did not have to hold back. She raised to meet him, taking him in, wanting as much as he.

He drew back and plunged again, feeling the tension mount. Urged by the excitement of her total embrace, and the reckless delight of giving in entirely to the force of his passion, he rode the rising surge with furious joy. She met him at every crest, matching him thrust for thrust, arching to guide the pressure of his movement.

But the sensations she felt went beyond the push and pull within her cleft. Each time he filled her, she was conscious only of him; her body—nerves, muscles, sinews—were filled with him. He felt the pulling in his loins building, mounting, surging—then an unbearable crescendo as the pressure broke with a shuddering eruption as he bore down to fill her one last time. She rose to meet his final frantic drive, and the explosion diffused through her body with voluptuous release.

Ayla rolled over, not quite awake, but aware of some discomfort. The lump under her would not go away until she finally woke up to reach for it. She held up the object and, in the dim red light of a fire almost out, saw the silhouette of the donii. With a flash of recognition, the day before
sprang vividly to mind, and she knew the warmth lying with her in the bed was Jondalar.

We must have fallen asleep after we made Pleasures, she thought. In a happy glow she snuggled close to him and shut her eyes. But sleep eluded her. Snatches of scenes formed patterns and textures which she sorted through with her inner sense. The hunt, and Baby’s return, and First Rites, and, overlaid on all, Jondalar. Her feelings about him were beyond any words she knew, but they filled her with inexpressible joy. She thought of him as she lay beside him, until it became too much to contain—then she quietly slipped out of bed, taking the ivory figurine with her.

She walked to the mouth of the cave and saw Whinney and Racer standing together, leaning close. The mare blew a quiet nicker of recognition and the woman veered toward them.

“Was it like that for you, Whinney?” she said in soft tones. “Did your stallion give you Pleasures? Oh, Whinney, I didn’t know it could be like that. How could it have been so terrible with Broud and so wonderful with Jondalar?”

The young horse nuzzled in for his share of attention. She scratched and stroked, then hugged him. “No matter what Jondalar says, Whinney, I think your stallion gave you Racer. He’s even the same color, and there are not many brown horses. I suppose it could have been his spirit, but I don’t think so.

“I wish I could have a baby. Jondalar’s baby. I can’t—what would I do after he goes?” She blanched with a feeling close to terror. “Goes! Oh, Whinney, Jondalar is going to leave!”

She raced out of the cave and down the steep path, more by feel than sight. Her eyes were blinded by tears. She dashed across the rocky beach until she was stopped by the jutting wall, then huddled near it, sobbing. Jondalar is leaving. What will I do? How can I stand it? What can I do to make him stay? Nothing!

She hugged herself and hunkered down, leaning into the stone barrier as if trying to fend off some ravaging blow. She would be alone again when he left. Worse than alone: without Jondalar. What will I do here without him? Maybe I should leave too, find some Others and stay with them. No, I can’t do that. They will ask where I come from, and Others hate the Clan. I will be abomination to them, unless I make words that are untrue.

I cannot, I cannot shame Creb or Iza. They loved me,
cared for me. Uba is my sister, and she is taking care of my son. The Clan is my family. When I had no one, the Clan took care of me, and now the Others don’t want me.

And Jondalar is leaving. I will have to live here alone, all my life. I might as well be dead. Broud cursed me; he has won after all. How can I live without Jondalar?

Ayla cried until she had no tears left, only a desolate emptiness inside. She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, and she noticed she still held the donii. She turned it around, marveling as much at the concept of making a piece of ivory into a small woman as at the figurine itself. In the moonlight, it resembled her even more. The hair carved into braids, the eyes in shadow, the nose and shape of the cheek, reminded her of her own reflection in a pool of water.

Why had Jondalar put her face on this symbol of the Earth Mother whom the Others revered? Was her spirit captured, linked with the one he called Doni? Creb had said her spirit was held with the Cave Lion’s by her amulet, and by Ursus, the Great Cave Bear, the Clan’s totem. She had been given a piece of the spirit of each member of the Clan when she became a medicine woman, and they had not been taken back after her death curse.

Clan and Others, totems and the Mother, all had some claim to that invisible part of her called spirit. I think my spirit must be confused, she thought—I know I am.

A cool wind urged her back up to the cave. Moving the cold spitted roast out of the way, she built up a small fire, trying not to disturb Jondalar, and started water heating for a tea to help her relax. She couldn’t go to sleep yet. She stared at the flames while she waited, and she thought about the many times she had stared at flames to see a semblance of life. The hot tongues of light danced along the wood, leaping for the taste of a new piece, then drawing back and leaping again, until they claimed it, and devoured it.