The Valley of Horses Page 8

  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 Doni’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 eves 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 survey
ed 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.