The Valley of Horses (10 page)

A sense of forboding washed over her. Ever since the Clan Gathering, where Creb had learned in some inexplicable way that she was different, she had occasionally felt this strange disorientation, as though he had changed her. She felt a tingling, a prickling, a goose-bump-raising nausea and weakness, and a deep fear of what her death might mean to the entire Clan.

She tried to shake off the feeling. Picking up the leather pouch, she put her collection back in, then added the quartz crystal. She retied the amulet and examined the thong for signs of wear, Creb told her she would die if she ever lost it. She noticed a slight difference in weight when she put it back on.

Sitting alone on the rocky beach, Ayla wondered what had happened before she was found. She could not recall anything of her life before, but she was so different. Too tall, too pale, her face nothing like those of the rest of the Clan. She had seen her reflection in the still pool; she was ugly. Broud had told her often enough, but everyone thought so. She was a big ugly woman; no man wanted her.

I never wanted one of them, either, she thought. Iza said I needed a man of my own, but will a man of the Others
want me any more than a man of the Clan? No one wants a big ugly woman. Maybe it’s just as well to stay here. How do I know I’d find a mate even if I did find the Others?

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 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.