The Valley of Horses (75 page)

She walked down the path by the first light of dawn, trying to forget her bleak future without Jondalar, and trying to draw some comfort from the thought that the clothes she would make would be close to him. She slipped out of her wrap for a brisk morning swim, then found a twig of the right size and filled the waterbag.

I’ll try something different this morning, she thought: sweet grass and chamomile. She peeled the twig, put it beside the cup, and started the tea steeping. The raspberries are ripe. I think I’ll pick some.

She set the hot tea out for Jondalar, selected a picking basket, and went back out. Whinney and Racer followed her out and grazed in the field near the patch of raspberries. She also dug up wild carrots, small and pale yellow, and white, starchy groundnuts that were good raw, though she liked them better cooked.

When she returned, Jondalar was outside on the sunny ledge. She waved when she washed the roots, then brought them up and added them to a broth she had started using dry meat. She tasted it, sprinkled in some dried herbs, and divided the raspberries into two portions, then poured herself a cup of cool tea.

“Chamomile,” Jondalar said, “and I don’t know what else.”

“I don’t know what you call it, something like grass that is
sweet. I’ll show you the plant sometime.” She noticed his toolmaking implements were out, along with several of the blades he had made the previous time.

“I thought I’d start early,” he said, seeing her interest. “There are certain tools I need to make first.”

“It is time to go hunting. Dried meat is so lean. The animals will have some fat built up this late in the season. I’m hungry for a fresh roast with rich drippings.”

He smiled. “You make it sound delicious just talking about it, I meant it, Ayla. You are a remarkably good cook.”

She flushed and put her head down. It was nice to know he thought so, but strange that he should take notice of something that ought to be expected.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“Iza used to say compliments make the spirits jealous. Doing a task well should be enough.”

“I think Marthona would have liked your Iza. She’s impatient with compliments, too. She used to say, ‘The best compliment is a job well done.’ All mothers must be alike.”

“Marthona is your mother?”

“Yes, didn’t I tell you?”

“I thought she was, but I wasn’t sure. Do you have siblings? Other than the one you lost?”

“I have an older brother, Joharran. He’s the leader of the Ninth Cave now. He was born to Joconan’s hearth. After he died, my mother mated Dalanar. I was born to his hearth. Then Marthona and Dalanar severed the knot, and she mated Willomar. Thonolan was born to his hearth, and so was my young sister, Folara.”

“You lived with Dalanar, didn’t you?”

“Yes, for three years. He taught me my craft—I learned from the best. I was twelve years when I went to live with him, and already a man for over a year. My manhood came to me young, and I was big for my age, too.” A strange, unreadable expression crossed his face. “It was best that I left.”

He smiled then. “That was when I got to know my cousin, Joplaya. She is Jerika’s daughter, born to Dalanar’s hearth after they were mated. She’s two years younger. Dalanar taught both of us to work the flint at the same time. It was always a competition—that’s why I would never tell her how good she is. She knows it, though. She has a fine eye and a steady hand—she’ll match Dalanar someday.”

Ayla was silent for a while. “I don’t quite understand something,
Jondalar. Folara has the same mother as you, so she is your sister, right?”

“Yes.”

“You were born to Dalanar’s hearth, and Joplaya was born to Dalanar’s hearth, and she is your cousin. What is the difference between sister and cousin?”

“Sisters and brothers come from the same woman. Cousins are not as close. I was born to Dalanar’s hearth—I am probably of his spirit. People say we look alike. I think Joplaya is of his spirit, too. Her mother is short, but she is tall, like Dalanar. Not quite as tall, but a little taller than you, I think.

“No one knows for sure whose spirit the Great Mother will choose to mix with a woman’s, so Joplaya and I may be of Dalanar’s spirit, but who knows? That’s why we are cousins.”

Ayla nodded. “Perhaps Uba would be a cousin, but to me she was a sister.”

“Sister?”

“We were not true siblings. Uba was Iza’s daughter, born after I was found. Iza said we were both her daughters.” Ayla’s thoughts turned inward. “Uba was mated, but not to the man she would have chosen. But the other man would have only his sibling to mate, and in the Clan, siblings may not mate.”

“We don’t mate our brothers or sisters,” Jondalar said. “We don’t usually mate our cousins, either, though it is not absolutely forbidden. It is frowned on. Some kinds of cousins are more acceptable than others.”

“What kind of cousins are there?”

“Many kinds, some closer than others. The children of your mother’s sisters are your cousins; the children of the mate of your mother’s brother; the children of …”

Ayla was shaking her head. “It’s too confusing! How do you know who is a cousin and who isn’t? Almost everyone could be a cousin.… Who is left in your Cave to mate with?”

“Most people don’t mate with people from their own Cave. Usually it’s someone met at a Summer Meeting. I think mating with cousins is allowed sometimes because you may not know the person you want to mate is a cousin until you name your ties … your relationships. People usually know their closest cousins, though, even if they live at another Cave.”

“Like Joplaya?”

Jondalar nodded assent, his month full of raspberries.

“Jondalar, what if it isn’t spirits that make children? What if it’s a man? Wouldn’t that mean children are just as much from the man as from the woman?”

“The baby grows inside a woman, Ayla. It comes from her.”

“Then why do men and women like to couple?”

“Why did the Mother give us the Gift of Pleasure? You’d have to ask Zelandoni that.”

“Why do you always say ‘Gift of Pleasure’? Many things make people happy and give them pleasure. Does it give a man such pleasure to put his organ in a woman?”

“Not only a man, a woman … but you don’t know, do you? You didn’t have First Rites. A man opened you, made you a woman, but it’s not the same. It was shameful! How could those people let it happen?”

“They didn’t understand, they only saw what he did. What he did was not shameful, only the way he did it. It was not done for Pleasures—Broud did it with hatred. I felt pain and anger, but not shame. And no pleasure, either. I don’t know if Broud started my baby, Jondalar, or made me a woman so I could have one, but my son made me happy. Durc was my pleasure.”

“The Mother’s Gift of Life is a joy, but there is more to the joining of man and woman. That, too, is a Gift, and should be done with joy for Her honor.”

There may be more than you know, too, she thought. Yet he seemed so certain. Could he be right? Ayla didn’t quite believe him, but she was wondering.

After the meal, Jondalar moved over to the broad flat part of the ledge where his implements were laid out. Ayla followed and settled herself nearby. He spread out the blades he had made so he could compare them. Minor differences made some more appropriate for certain tools than others. He picked out one blade, held it up to the sun, then showed it to the woman.

The blade was more than four inches long and less than an inch wide. The ridge down the middle of its outer face was straight, and tapered evenly from the ridge to edges so thin that light shone through. It curved upward, toward its smooth inner bulbar face. Only when held up to the sun could the lines of fracture raying out from a very flat bulb of percussion be seen. The two long cutting edges were straight and sharp. Jondalar pulled a hair of his beard straight
and tested an edge. It cut with no resistance. It was as close to a perfect blade as it was possible to get.

“I’m going to keep this one for shaving,” he said.

Ayla didn’t know what he meant, but she had learned from watching Droog to accept whatever comments and explanations were given without asking questions that might interrupt concentration. He put the blade off to one side and picked up another. The two cutting edges on this one tapered together, making it narrower at one end. He reached for a smooth beach rock, about twice the size of his fist, and laid the narrow end against it. Then, with the blunted tip of an antler, he tapped the end into a triangular shape. Pressing the triangle’s edges against the stone anvil, he detached small chips which gave the blade a sharp, narrow point.

He pulled an end of his leather breechclout taut and poked a small hole in it. “This is an awl,” he said, showing it to Ayla. “It makes a little hole for sinew to be drawn through to sew clothes.”

Had he seen her examining his clothes, Ayla suddenly wondered. He seemed to know what she had been planning.

“I’m going to make a borer, too. It’s like this, but bigger and sturdier, to make holes in wood, or bone, or antler.”

She was relieved; he was just talking about tools.

“I’ve used an … awl, to make holes for pouches, but none so fine as that.”

“Would you like it?” He grinned. “I can make another for myself.”

She took it, then bowed her head, trying to express gratitude the Clan way. Then she remembered. “Thank you,” she said.

He flashed a big pleased smile. Then he picked up another blade and held it against the stone. With the blunted antler hammer, he squared off the end of the blade, giving it a slight angle. Then, holding the squared-off end so that it would be perpendicular to the blow, he struck one edge sharply. A long piece fell away—the burin spall—leaving the blade with a strong, sharp, chisel tip.

“Are you familiar with this tool?” he asked. She inspected it, then shook her head and gave it back.

“It’s a burin,” he said. “Carvers use them, and sculptors—theirs are a little different. I’m going to use this for the weapon I was telling you about.”

“Burin, burin,” she said, getting used to the word.

After making a few more tools similar to ones he had
made, he shook the lap cover over the edge and pulled the trough-shaped bowl closer. He took a long bone out and wiped it off, then turned the foreleg over in his hands, deciding where to start. Sitting down, he braced the bone against his foot, and, using the burin, he scratched a long line down the length of it. Then he etched a second line which joined the first at a point. A third short scratch connected the base of an elongated triangle.

He retraced the first line and brushed away a long curl of bone shavings, then continued tracing over the lines with the chisel point, each time cutting deeper into the bone. He retraced until he had cut through to the hollow center, and, going around one last time to make sure no small section was not free, he pressed down on the base. The long tip of the triangle flipped up and he lifted the piece out. He put it aside, then returned to the bone and etched another long line that made a point with one of the recently cut sides.

Ayla watched closely, not wanting to miss anything. But after the first times, it was repetition, and her thoughts wandered back to their breakfast conversation. Jondalar’s attitude had changed, she realized. It wasn’t any specific comment he had made, rather a shift in the tenor of his comments.

She remembered his saying, “Marthona would have liked your Iza,” and something about mothers being alike. His mother would have liked a flathead? They were alike? And later, even though he had been angry, he had referred to Broud as a man—a man who had opened the way for her to have a child. And he said he didn’t understand how those “people” could let it happen. He hadn’t noticed, and that pleased her more. He was thinking of the Clan as people. Not animals, not flatheads, not abominations—people!

Her attention was drawn back to the man when he changed his activities. He had picked up one of the bone triangles and a sharp-edged, strong flint scraper and begun smoothing the sharp edges of the bone, scraping off long curls. Before long he held up a round section of bone that tapered to a sharp point.

“Jondalar, are you making a … spear?”

He grinned. “Bone can be shaped to a sharp point like wood, but it’s stronger and doesn’t splinter, and bone is lightweight.”

“Isn’t that a very short spear?” she asked.

He laughed, a big hearty laugh. “It would be, if that was
all there was to it. I’m just making points now. Some people make flint points. The Mamutoi do, especially for hunting mammoth. Flint is brittle and it breaks, but with knife-sharp edges a flint spear point will pierce a tough mammoth hide more easily. For most hunting, though, bone makes a better point. The shafts will be wood.”

“How do you put them together?”

“Look,” he said, turning the point around to show her the base. “I can split this end with a burin and a knife, then shape the end of the wooden shaft to fit inside the split.” He demonstrated by holding the forefinger of one hand between the thumb and forefinger of the other. “Then, I can add some glue or pitch, and wrap it tight with wet sinew or thong. When it dries and shrinks up, it will hold the two together.”

“That point is so small. The shaft will be a twig!”

“It will be more than a twig, but not as heavy as your spear. It can’t be, if you’re going to throw it.”

“Throw it! Throw a spear?”

“You throw stones with your sling, don’t you? You can do the same with a spear. You won’t have to dig pitfalls, and you can even make a kill on the run, once you develop the skill. As accurate as you are with that sling, I think you’ll learn fast.”

“Jondalar! Do you know how often I’ve wished I could hunt deer or bison with a sling? I never thought about throwing a spear.” She frowned. “Can you throw with enough force? I can throw much harder and farther with a sling than I can by hand.”

“You won’t have quite the force, but you still have the advantage of distance. You’re right, though. It’s too bad you can’t throw a spear with a sling, but …” He paused in mid-sentence. “I wonder …” His brow furrowed at a thought so startling that it demanded immediate attention. “No, I don’t think so.… Where can we find some shafts?”