The Valley Of Horses_ A Novel Part 25

"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 embarra.s.sed. 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 sh.e.l.l, 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.

"I don't know, Jondalar. Maybe you haven't found the right woman. Maybe the Mother has someone special for you. She doesn't make many like you. You are really more than most women could bear. If all your love were concentrated on one, it could overwhelm her, if she wasn't one to whom the Mother gave equal gifts. Even if you did love me, I'm not sure I could live with it. If you loved a woman as much as you love your brother, she would have to be very strong."

"I can't fall in love, but if I could, no woman could bear it," he said with a laugh of dry irony and bitterness. "Be wary of gifts from the Mother." His eyes, deep violet in the red glow of the fire, filled with apprehension. "What did you mean, 'if I loved a woman as much as I love my brother'? If no woman is strong enough to 'bear' my love, are you thinking I need a...man?"

Serenio smiled, then chuckled. "I don't mean you love your brother like a woman. You are not like Shamud, with the body of one and the inclinations of the other. You would have known it by now and sought your calling and, like the Shamud, you would have found a love there. No," she said, and felt a flush of warmth thinking about it, "you like a woman's body too well. But you love your brother more than you have ever loved any woman. That's why I wanted you so much tonight. You'll be leaving when he goes, and I won't see you again."

As soon as she said it, he knew she was right. No matter what he thought he had decided, when the time came, he would have left with Thonolan.

"How did you know, Serenio? I didn't. I came here thinking I was going to mate you, and settle down with the Sharamudoi if I couldn't take you back with me."

"I think everyone knows you will follow him, wherever he goes. Shamud says it is your destiny."

Jondalar's curiosity about Shamud had never been satisfied. On impulse, he asked, "Tell me, is Shamud a man or a woman?"

She looked at him a long time. "Do you really want to know?"

He reconsidered. "No, I don't suppose it matters. Shamud didn't want to tell me-maybe the mystery is important to...Shamud."

In the silence that followed, Jondalar stared at Serenio, wanting to remember her as she was then. Her hair was still damp, and in disarray, but she had warmed and pushed most of the furs away. "What about you, Serenio? What will you do?"

"I love you, Jondalar." It was a simple declarative statement. "It won't be easy to get over you, but you gave me something. I was afraid to love. I lost so many loves that I pushed all feelings of love away. I knew I would lose you, Jondalar, but I loved you anyway. Now I know I can love again, and if I lose it, it doesn't take away the love that was. You gave that to me. And maybe something more." The mystery of a woman came into her smile. "Soon, perhaps, someone will come into my life that I can love. It's a little early to tell for sure, but I think the Mother has blessed me. I didn't think it was possible after the last one I lost-I've been many years without Her blessing. It may be a child of your spirit. I'll know if the baby has your eyes."

The familiar furrows appeared on his forehead. "Serenio, I must stay then. You have no man at your hearth to provide for you and the child," he said.

"Jondalar, you don't have to worry. No mother or her children ever lack for care. Mudo has said all those She blesses must be succored. That's why She made men, to bring to mothers the gifts of the Great Earth Mother. The Cave will provide, as She provides for all Her children. You must follow your destiny, and I will follow mine. I won't forget you, and if I have a child of your spirit, I will think of you, just as I remember the man I loved when Darvo was born."

Serenio had changed, but she still made no demands, placed no burden of obligation on him. He put his arms around her. She looked into his compelling blue eyes. Her eyes hid nothing, not the love she felt, or her sadness in losing him, and not her joy in the treasure she hoped she carried. Through a crack, they could see the faint light that heralded a new day. He got up.

"Where are you going, Jondalar?"

"Just outside. I've had too much tea." He smiled, and it reached his eyes. "But keep the bed warm. The night isn't over yet." He bent over and kissed her. "Serenio"-his voice was husky with feeling-"you mean more to me than any woman I have ever known."

It wasn't quite enough. He would leave, though she knew if she asked he would stay. But she did not ask, and in return he gave her the most he could. And that was more than most women would ever get,

18.

"Mother said you wanted to see me."

Jondalar could see tension in the set of Darvo's shoulders and the wary look in his eyes. He knew the boy had been avoiding him, and he suspected the reason. The tall man smiled, trying to seem casual and relaxed, but the hesitancy in his usual warm fondness made Darvo more nervous; he didn't want his fears confirmed. Jondalar had not been looking forward to telling the boy, either. He took down a neatly folded garment from a shelf and shook it out, "I think you are almost big enough for this, Darvo, I want to give it to you."

For a moment the boy's eyes lit with pleasure at the Zelandonii s.h.i.+rt with its intricate and exotic decoration; then the wariness returned. "You're leaving, aren't you?" he accused.

"Thonolan is my brother, Darvo..."

"And I'm nothing."

"That's not true. You must know how much I care about you. But Thonolan is so full of grief, he's not reasonable. I fear for him. I can't let him go alone, and if I don't look after him, who will? Please try to understand, I don't want to go farther east."

"Will you come back?"

Jondalar paused. "I don't know. I can't promise. I don't know where we're going, how long we'll travel." He proffered the s.h.i.+rt, "That's why I want to give you this, so you'll have something to remember the 'Zelandonii man.' Darvo, listen to me. You will always be the first son of my hearth."

The boy looked at the beaded tunic; then tears welled and threatened to break. "I'm not the son of your hearth!" he cried, then turned and ran from the dwelling.

Jondalar wanted to run after him. Instead, he placed the s.h.i.+rt on Darvo's sleeping platform and walked slowly out.

Carlono frowned at the lowering clouds. "I think the weather will hold," he said, "but if she really starts gusting, pull over to the sh.o.r.e, though you won't find many places to land until you are through the gate. The Mother will split into channels when you reach the plain on the other side of the gate. Remember, keep to the left bank. She'll swing north before you reach the sea, and then east. Soon after the turn, she is joined by a large river on the left, her last major tributary. A short distance beyond is the beginning of the delta-the outlet to the sea-but you still have a long way to go. The delta is huge, and dangerous; marsh and bogs and sandbars. The Mother separates again, usually into four, but sometimes more, main channels and many small ones. Keep to the left channel, the northern one. There's a Mamutoi Camp on the north bank, close to the mouth."

The experienced river man had gone over it before. He had even drawn a map in the dirt to help guide them to the end of the Great Mother River. But he believed repet.i.tion would reinforce their memory, especially if they had to make quick decisions. He wasn't happy about the two young men traveling on the unfamiliar river without an experienced guide, but they insisted; or rather, Thonolan did, and Jondalar wouldn't let him go alone. At least the tall man had gained some skill in handling boats.

They were standing on the wooden dock with their gear loaded in a small boat, but their departure lacked the usual excitement of such adventures. Thonolan was leaving only because he could not stay, and Jondalar would much rather have been setting out in the opposite direction.

The spark had gone out of Thonolan. His former outgoing friendliness was replaced by moodiness. His generally morose disposition was punctuated by a flaring temper-often leading to increased recklessness and careless disregard. The first real argument between the two brothers had not come to blows only because Jondalar had refused to fight. Thonolan had accused his brother of wet-nursing him like an infant, demanding the right to his own life without being followed around. When Thonolan heard of Serenio's possible pregnancy, he was furious that Jondalar would consider leaving a woman who probably carried the child of his spirit, to follow a brother to some unknown destination. He insisted that Jondalar stay and provide for her as any decent man would.

In spite of Serenio's refusal to mate, Jondalar couldn't help feeling Thonolan was right. It had been drilled into him since birth that a man's responsibility, his sole purpose, was to provide support for mothers and children, particularly a woman who had been blessed with a child that in some mysterious way might have absorbed his spirit. But Thonolan would not stay, and Jondalar, afraid his brother would do something irrational and dangerous, insisted upon accompanying him. The tension between them was still oppressive.

Jondalar didn't quite know how to say good-bye to Serenio; he was almost afraid to look at her. But she had a smile on her face when he bent to kiss her, and though her eyes seemed a little swollen and red, she allowed no emotion to show in them. He searched for Darvo and was disappointed that the boy was not among those who had come down to the dock. Nearly everyone else was there. Thonolan was already in the small boat when Jondalar climbed in and settled himself in the rear seat. He took up his oar and, while Carlono untied the rope, he looked up one last time at the high terrace. A boy was standing near the edge. The s.h.i.+rt he was wearing would take a few years for him to fill out, but the pattern was distinctly Zelandonii. Jondalar smiled, then waved with his oar. Darvo waved back as the tall blond Zelandonii man dipped the double-ended paddle into the river.

The two brothers pulled into midstream and looked back at the dockful of people-friends. As they headed downstream, Jondalar wondered if they would ever see the Sharamudoi again, or anyone he knew. The Journey that had begun as an adventure had lost its edge of excitement, yet he was being drawn, almost against his will, farther away from home. What could Thonolan hope to find going east? And what could there possibly be for him in that direction?

The great river gorge was foreboding under the gray overcast sky. Naked rock reared out of the water from deep roots and rose in towering bulwarks on both sides. On the left bank, a series of ramparts of sharp, angular rock climbed in rugged relief all the way to the distant glaciered peaks; on the right, weathered and eroded, the rounded mountaintops gave the illusion of mere hills, but their height was daunting from the small boat. Large boulders and pinnacles broke the surface, parting the current into curls of white water.

They were a part of the medium in which they traveled, propelled by it like the debris floating on its skin and the silt within its silent depths. They did not control their speed or direction; they only steered a course around obstructions. Where the river stretched out more than a mile in width, and swells lifted and dipped the small craft, it seemed more like a sea. When the sides drew together, they could feel the change in energy as the flow was resisted; the current was stronger when the same volume of water surged through the constricted gates.

They had traveled more than a quarter of the way through, perhaps twenty-five miles, when the threatened rain broke forth in a furious squall, whipping up waves they feared would swamp the little wooden boat. But there was no sh.o.r.e, only the steep wet rock.

"I can steer if you bail, Thonolan," Jondalar said. They hadn't talked much, but some of the tension between them had dissipated as they paddled in harmony to keep the craft on course.

Thonolan s.h.i.+pped his oar and, with a square wooden scooplike implement, tried to empty the small vessel. "It's filling as fast as I can bail," he called over his shoulder.

"I don't think this will last long. If you can keep up with it, I think we'll make it," Jondalar replied, struggling through the choppy water.

The heavy weather lifted, and, though clouds still menaced, they made their way through the entire gorge without further incident.

Like the relaxation that comes with the removal of a tight belt, the swollen muddy river spread out when she reached the plains. Channels twined around islands of willow and reed; nesting grounds for cranes and herons, transitory geese and ducks, and innumerable other birds.

They camped the first night on the flat gra.s.sy prairie of the left bank. The foot of the alpine peaks was pulling back from the river's edge, but the rounded mountains of the right bank held the Great Mother River to her eastward course.

Jondalar and Thonolan settled into a traveling routine so quickly that it seemed they had not stopped for those years while they were living with the Sharamudoi. Yet it wasn't the same. Gone was the light-hearted sense of adventure, seeking whatever lay around the bend for the simple joy of discovery. Instead, Thonolan's drive to keep moving was tainted with desperation.

Jondalar had attempted once more to talk his brother into turning back, but it led to a bitter argument. He didn't bring it up again. They spoke mostly to exchange necessary information. Jondalar could only hope that time would a.s.suage Thonolan's grief, and that someday he would decide to return home and take up his life again. Until then, he was determined to stay with him.

The two brothers traveled much faster on the river in the small dugout than they could have walked along the edge. Riding on the current, they sped along with ease. As Carlono had predicted, the river turned north when it reached a barrier of ancient mountain stumps, far older than the raw mountains around which the great river flowed. Though ground down with their h.o.a.ry age, they intervened between the river and the inland sea she strove to reach.

Undeterred, she sought another way. Her northward strategy worked, but not until, when she made her final swing to the east, one more large river brought a contribution of water and silt to the overburdened Mother. With her way finally clear, she could not hold herself to one path. Though she had many miles to go, she split up once again into many channels in a fan-shaped delta.

The delta was a mora.s.s of quicksand, salt marsh, and insecure little islands. Some of the silty islets stayed in place several years, long enough for small trees to send down tenuous roots, only to be washed away at the vicissitude of seasonal flood or eroding seepage. Four major channels-depending on season and happenstance-cut through to the sea, but their courses were inconstant. For no apparent reason, the water would suddenly switch from a deeply worn bed to a new path, tearing up brush and leaving a sinkhole of soft wet sand.

The Great Mother River-eighteen hundred miles and two glacier-covered mountain ranges of water-had nearly reached her destination. But the delta with its hundreds of square miles of mud, silt, sand, and water was the most dangerous section of the entire river.

By following the deepest of the left channels, the river had not been hard to navigate. The current had taken the small log boat around its sweeping northward turn, and even the final large tributary had only pushed them to midstream. But the brothers didn't antic.i.p.ate that she would break into channels so soon. Before they realized it, they were swept into a middle channel.

Jondalar had gained considerable skill in handling the small craft, and Thonolan could manage one, but they were far from being as capable as the expert boatmen of the Ramudoi. They tried to turn the dugout around, retreat back upstream, and reenter the proper channel. They would have done better to reverse the direction they were rowing-the shape of the stern was not so different from the shape of the prow-but they didn't think of it.

They were crosswise against the current, Jondalar shouting instructions to Thonolan to get the front end turned around, and Thonolan becoming impatient. A large log with an extensive root system-heavy, water-soaked, and lying low in the water-was was.h.i.+ng down the river, the sprawling roots raking along everything in their path. The two men saw it-too late.

With a splintering crash, the jagged end of the huge log, brittle and blacker where it had once been struck by lightning, rammed broadside into the thin-walled dugout. Water rushed in through a hole punched into the side and quickly swamped the small canoe. As the snag bore down on them, one long root finger just below the water's surface jabbed Jondalar in the ribs and knocked him breathless. Another barely missed Thonolan's eye, leaving a long scratch across his cheek.

Suddenly immersed in the cold water, Jondalar and Thonolan clung to the snag and watched with dismay as a few bubbles rose while the little craft, with all their possessions lashed firmly to it, sank to the bottom.

Thonolan had heard his brother's grunt of pain. "Are you all right, Jondalar?"

"A root jabbed me in the ribs. Hurts a bit, but I don't think it's serious."

With Jondalar following slowly, Thonolan started working his way around the snag, but the force of the current as they were swept along kept pus.h.i.+ng them back into the log with the rest of the debris. Suddenly, the snag caught on a sandbar under the water. The river, flowing around and through the open network of roots, pushed out objects that had been held under by the force of the current, and a whole bloated reindeer carca.s.s rose to the surface in front of Jondalar. He moved to get out of its way, feeling the pain in his side.

Free of the log, they swam to a narrow island in midchannel. It supported a few young willows, but it was not stable and would be washed away before long. The trees near the edge were already partly submerged, drowned, with no green buds of spring leaves on the branches, and, with roots losing their hold, some were leaning over the rus.h.i.+ng flow. The ground was a spongy bog.

"I think we should keep on going and try to find a drier place," Jondalar said.

"You are in a lot of pain-don't tell me you aren't."

Jondalar admitted to some discomfort, "But we can't stay here," he added.

They slid into the cold water across the narrow island bar. The current was swifter than they expected, and they were swept much farther downstream before they reached dry land. They were tired, cold, and disappointed when they found themselves to be on still another narrow islet. It was wider, longer, and somewhat higher than the level of the river, but soggy with no dry wood to be found.

"We can't make a fire here," Thonolan said. "We'll have to keep going. Where did Carlono say that Mamutoi Camp was?"

"At the north end of the delta, close to the sea," Jondalar replied, and he looked with longing in that direction as he spoke. The pain in his side had become more intense and he wasn't sure if he could swim across another channel. All he could see was surging water, tangled pockets of debris, and a few trees marking an occasional island. "No telling how far that is."

They squished through the mud to the north side of the narrow strip of land and plunged into the cold water. Jondalar noted a stand of trees downstream and made for it. They staggered up a beach of gray sand at the far side of the channel, breathing heavily. Rivulets of water ran from their long hair and soaked leather clothing.

The late afternoon sun broke through a rift in the overcast sky with a wash of golden brilliance but little warmth. A sudden gust from the north brought a chill that quickly penetrated wet clothes. They had been warm enough while they were active, but the effort had sapped their reserves. They s.h.i.+vered in the wind, then plodded toward the scant shelter of a spa.r.s.e stand of alder.

"Let's make camp here," Jondalar said.

"It's still light. I'd rather keep going."

"It will be dark by the time we make a shelter and try to get a fire started."