The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  “You have a beautiful smile,” he said when she gave him the cup of tea.

  She shook her head and answered with words that he thought meant she didn’t understand him.

  “I know you can’t understand me, but I still want to tell you how grateful I am you are here.”

  She watched him closely, and he had the feeling she wanted to communicate as much as he. He kept talking, afraid she would leave if he stopped.

  “It’s wonderful just to talk to you, just to know you are here.” He sipped the tea. “This is good. What kind is it?” he asked, holding up the cup and nodding appreciatively. “I think I can taste chamomile.”

  She nodded back, acknowledging, then sat near the fire, answering his words with others he understood as little as she understood his. But her voice was pleasant and she seemed to know he wanted her company.

  “I wish I could thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come.” He frowned with worry and tension, and she smiled understandingly. “I wish I could ask how you knew we were here, and how your zelandoni, or whatever you call your healer, knew to come.”

  She answered him, gesturing toward the tent that had been set up nearby, glowing from the firelight within. He shook his head with frustration. It seemed that she almost understood him; he just couldn’t understand her.

  “I don’t suppose it matters,” he said. “But I wish your healer would let me stay with Thonolan. Even without words, it was clear my brother would get no help until I left. I don’t doubt the healer’s ability. I want to stay with him, that’s all.”

  He was looking at her so earnestly that she laid a hand on his arm to reassure him. He tried to smile, but it was pained. The flap of the tent caught his attention as an older woman came out.

  “Jetamio!” she called, adding other words.

  The young woman got up quickly, but Jondalar held her hand to detain her. “Jetamio?” he asked, pointing to her. She nodded. “Jondalar,” he said, tapping his own chest.

  “Jondalar,” she repeated slowly. Then she looked toward the tent, tapped herself, then him, and pointed to it,

  “Thonolan,” he said. “My brother’s name is Thonolan.”

  “Thonolan,” she said, repeating it as she hurried toward the tent. She had a slight limp, Jondalar noticed, though it didn’t seem to hinder her.

  His trousers were still damp, but he pulled them on anyway and made a dash for a wooded copse, not bothering to fasten them or put his boots on. He had been restraining his urge ever since he woke up, but his extra clothing was in his backframe, which had been left behind in the large tent where the healer was treating Thonolan. Jetamio’s grin of the evening before made him think twice about casually sauntering over to the secluded patch of brush wearing nothing but his short inner shirt. Nor did he want to chance breaching some custom or taboo of these people who were helping him—not with two women in the camp.

  He had first tried to get up and walk in his sleeping roll, and he had waited so long before it occurred to him to put on his trousers, wet or not, that he was close to forgetting his embarrassment and ready to make a run for it. As it was, Jetamio’s laughter followed him.

  “Tamio, don’t laugh at him. It’s not nice,” the older woman said, but the force of her admonition was lost as she tried to suppress her own laughter.

  “Oh, Rosh, I don’t mean to make fun of him, I just can’t help it. Did you see him try to walk in his sleeping bag?” She started giggling again, though she struggled to contain it. “Why didn’t he just get up and go?”

  “Maybe the customs of his people are different, Jetamio. They must have traveled a long way. I’ve never seen clothes like theirs before, and his language isn’t even close. Most travelers have a few words that are similar. I don’t think I could pronounce some of his words.”

  “You must be right. He must have some objection to showing his skin. You should have seen him blush last night just because I saw a little of his thigh. I never saw anyone so glad to see us, though.”

  “Can you blame him?”

  “How is the other one?” the young woman said, serious again. “Has the Shamud said anything, Roshario?”

  “I think the swelling is down, and the fever, too. At least he’s sleeping quieter. The Shamud thinks he was gored by a rhino. I don’t know how he lived through it. He wouldn’t have much longer if that tall one hadn’t thought of that way to signal for help. Even so, it was luck we found them. Mudo must have smiled on them. The Mother always has favored handsome young men.”

  “Not enough to keep … Thonolan from getting hurt. The way he was gored … Do you think he’ll walk again?”

  Roshario smiled tenderly at the young woman. “If he has half the determination you did, he’ll walk, Tamio.”

  Jetamio’s cheek reddened. “I think I’ll go and see if the Shamud needs anything,” she said, ducking toward the tent, and trying very hard not to limp at all.

  “Why don’t you bring the tall one his pack,” Roshario called after her, “so he won’t have to wear wet britches.”

  “I don’t know which one is his.”

  “Bring them both, it’ll make more room in there. And ask the Shamud how soon we can move … what’s his name? Thonolan?”

  Jetamio nodded.

  “If we’re going to be here a while, Dolando will have to plan a hunt. We didn’t bring much food. I don’t think the Ramudoi can fish with the river like that, though I think they’d be just as happy if they never had to come to shore. I like solid ground under me.”

  “Oh, Rosh, you’d be saying just the opposite if you had mated a Ramudoi man instead of Dolando.”

  The older woman eyed her sharply. “Has one of those rowers been making advances? I may not be your real mother, Jetamio, but everyone knows you are just like a daughter. If a man doesn’t even have the courtesy to ask, he’s not the kind of man you want. You can’t trust those river men …”

  “Don’t worry, Rosh. I haven’t decided to run off with a river man … yet,” Jetamio said with a mischievous smile.

  “Tamio, there are plenty of good Shamudoi men who will move into our lodging. What are you laughing at?”

  Jetamio had both her hands at her mouth, trying to swallow the laughter that kept bubbling forth in snorts and giggles. Roshario turned in the direction the younger woman was looking, and slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from bursting out with laughter herself.

  “I’d better get those packs,” Jetamio finally managed to say. “Our tall friend needs some dry clothes.” She started sputtering again. “He looks like a baby with full pants!” She made a dash for the tent, but Jondalar heard her laughter peal forth as she entered.

  “Hilarity, my dear?” the healer said, cocking an eyebrow with a quizzical look.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come in here laughing like that. It’s just …”

  “Either I’m in the next world, or you’re a donii who’s come to take me there. No earthly woman could be so beautiful. But I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

  Jetamio and the Shamud both turned toward the wounded man. He was looking at Jetamio with a weak smile. Her smile left her face as she kneeled beside him.

  “I’ve disturbed him! How could I be so thoughtless?”

  “Don’t stop smiling, my beautiful donii,” Thonolan said, taking her hand.

  “Yes, my dear, you have disturbed him. But don’t let it disturb you. I suspect he will be much more ‘disturbed’ before you are through with him.”

  Jetamio shook her head and gave the Shamud a puzzled look. “I came to ask if there was anything you needed, or if I could help in any way.”

  “You just did.”

  She looked more perplexed. Sometimes she wondered if she ever understood anything the healer said.

  The piercing eyes took on a gentler look, with a touch of irony. “I’ve done all I can. He must do the rest. But anything that gives him more will to live can only help at this stage. You ju
st did that with your lovely smile … my dear.”

  Jetamio blushed and bowed her head, then realized Thonolan was still holding her hand. She looked up and saw his laughing gray eyes. Her smile in response was radiant.

  The healer made a throat-clearing sound, and Jetamio broke contact, a little flustered to realize she had been staring at the stranger so long. “There is something you can do. Since he’s awake, and lucid, we might try giving him some nourishment. If there’s any broth, I believe he would drink it, if it came from you.”

  “Oh. Of course. I’ll get some,” she said, hurrying out to cover her embarrassment. She saw Roshario attempting to talk to Jondalar, who was standing awkwardly and trying to look pleasant. She ducked back in to complete the rest of her errands.

  “I need to get their packs, and Roshario wants to know how soon Thonolan can be moved.”

  “What did you say his name was?”

  “Thonolan. That’s what the other one told me.”

  “Tell Roshario a day or two yet. He’s not up to a ride over rough water.”

  “How do you know my name, beautiful donii, and how do I ask yours?” She turned to smile at Thonolan before she hurried out with both packs. He settled back down with a self-satisfied grin, but gave a start when he noticed, for the first time, the white-haired healer. The enigmatic face held a catlike smile; wise, knowing, and a little predatory.

  “Isn’t young love splendid,” the Shamud commented. The meaning of the words was lost on Thonolan, but not the wry sarcasm. It made him look closer.

  The voice of the healer was pitched neither deep nor high, and Thonolan looked for some clue of dress or behavior that would tell him if it was a woman’s low alto or a man’s high tenor. He couldn’t decide, and though he wasn’t exactly sure why, he relaxed a bit, feeling confident he was in the best of hands.

  Jondalar’s relief was so evident when he saw Jetamio come out of the tent with the backframes that she was a little ashamed she hadn’t gotten them sooner. She knew his problem, but he was so funny. He thanked her profusely with unfamiliar words that nonetheless communicated his gratitude, and then he headed for the patch of high brush. He felt so much better with dry clothes on, he even forgave Jetamio for laughing.

  I suppose I did look rather ridiculous, he thought, but those trousers were wet, and cold. Well, a little laughter is a small price to pay for their help. I don’t know what I would have done … I wonder how they knew? Perhaps the healer has other powers—that could explain it. Right now, I’m just glad for the healing powers. He stopped. At least I think that zelandoni has healing powers. I haven’t seen Thonolan. I don’t know if he’s better or not, I think it’s time I found out. After all, he is my brother. They can’t keep me away if I want to see him.

  Jondalar strode back to the camp, put his pack down beside the fire, deliberately took the time to stretch out his damp clothes to dry again, and then headed for the tent.

  He nearly bumped into the healer, who was leaving just as he ducked to enter. The Shamud sized him up quickly, and before Jondalar could attempt to say anything, smiled ingratiatingly, stepped aside, and waved him on with an exaggerated graceful gesture, acquiescing to the tall, powerful man.

  Jondalar gave the healer an appraising look. No hint of relinquished authority showed in the piercing eyes evaluating him in return, though any further disclosure of intent was as obscure as the ambiguous color. The smile, which had seemed ingratiating at first glance, was more ironic on second look. Jondalar sensed that this healer, like many of that calling, could be a powerful friend or a formidable enemy.

  He nodded, as though reserving judgment, briefly smiled his thanks, and went in. He was surprised to see that Jetamio had arrived before he did. She was supporting Thonolan’s head, holding a bone cup to his lips.

  “I might have known,” he said, and his smile was pure joy at seeing his brother awake, and apparently much improved. “You did it again.”

  Both of them looked up at Jondalar. “What did I do, Big Brother?”

  “Within three heartbeats of opening your eyes, you managed to get the prettiest woman around waiting on you.”

  Thonolan’s grin was the most welcome sight his brother could imagine. “You are right about the prettiest woman around.” Thonolan looked fondly at Jetamio. “But what are you doing in the spirit world? And while I’m thinking of it, just remember, she’s my own personal donii. You can keep your big blue eyes to yourself.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Little Brother. Every time she looks at me, all she can do is laugh.”

  “She can laugh at me anytime she wants,” Thonolan said, smiling at the woman. She smiled in return. “Can you imagine waking up from the dead to that smile?” His fondness was beginning to look adoring as he stared into her eyes.

  Jondalar looked from his brother to Jetamio and back again. What is going on here? Thonolan just woke up, they can’t have said one word to each other, but I’d swear he was in love. He looked at the woman again, more objectively.

  Her hair was a rather nondescript shade of light brown, and she was smaller and thinner than the women Thonolan was usually attracted to. She could almost be mistaken for a girl. She had a heart shaped face with regular features and was really a rather ordinary-looking young woman; pretty enough, but certainly not exceptional—until she smiled.

  Then, by some unexpected alchemy, some mysterious redistribution of light and shadows, some subtle shift in arrangement, she became beautiful, completely beautiful. So complete was the transformation that Jondalar had thought of her as beautiful himself. She had only to smile once to create that impression, yet he had the feeling she didn’t usually smile often. He remembered she had seemed solemn and shy at first, though it was hard to believe now. She was radiant, vibrantly alive, and Thonolan was looking at her with an idiotic, lovesick grin.

  Well, Thonolan has been in love before, Jondalar thought. I just hope she won’t take it too hard when we leave.

  One of the laces that held closed the smoke-hole flap in the roof of his tent was frayed. Jondalar was staring at it, but not seeing it. He was wide awake, lying in his sleeping roll wondering what had brought him out of the depths of sleep so quickly. He didn’t move, but he was listening, smelling, trying to detect anything unusual that might have alerted him to some impending danger. After a few moments, he slipped out of his bedroll and looked carefully out of the opening of his tent but could find nothing wrong.

  A few people were gathered around the campfire. He wandered over, still feeling restless and edgy. Something bothered him, but he didn’t know what. Thonolan? No, between the skill of the Shamud and Jetamio’s attentive care, his brother was doing well. No, it wasn’t Thonolan that was troubling him—exactly.

  “Hola,” he said to Jetamio as she looked up and smiled.

  She didn’t find him so laughable any more. Their mutual concern for Thonolan had begun to ripen into friendship, though communication was limited to basic gestures and the few words he had learned.

  She gave him a cup of hot liquid. He thanked her with the words he had learned that expressed the concept of thanks for them, wishing he could find a way to repay them for their help. He took a sip, frowned, and took another. It was an herb tea, not unpleasant, but surprising. They customarily drank a meat-flavored broth in the morning. His nose told him the kerfed wooden cooking box near the fire had roots and grain simmering in it, but no meat. It took only a quick glance to explain the change in the morning menu. There was no meat; no one had gone hunting.

  He quaffed his drink, put down the bone cup, and hurried back to his tent. While waiting, he had finished making the sturdy spears out of the alder saplings and even tipped them with flint points. He picked up the two heavy shafts that were leaning against the back of the tent, then reached inside for his backframe, took several of the lighter throwing spears, and walked back to the fire. He didn’t know many words, but it didn’t take many to communicate a desire to go hunting, and before the sun w
as much higher, an excited group was gathering.

  Jetamio was torn. She wanted to stay with the wounded stranger whose laughing eyes made her feel like smiling every time he looked at her, but she wanted to go hunting, too. She never missed a hunt if she could help it, not since she had been able to hunt. Roshario urged her to go. “He’ll be fine. The Shamud can take care of him without you for a little while, and I’ll be here.”

  The hunting party had already started out when Jetamio called after them and ran up out of breath, still tying on her hood. Jondalar had wondered if she hunted. Young Zelandonii women often did. For women, it was a matter of choice, and the custom of the Cave. Once they started having children, women usually stayed closer to home, except during a drive. When they went on battue, every able-bodied person was necessary to drive a herd into traps or over cliffs.

  Jondalar liked women who hunted—most men of his Cave did, though he’d learned the feeling was by no means universal. It was said that women who had hunted themselves appreciated the difficulties and made more understanding mates. His mother had been noted, especially, for her tracking prowess, and she had often joined a hunt even after she had children.

  They waited for Jetamio to catch up, then set off at a good pace. Jondalar thought the temperature was dropping, but they were moving so fast that he wasn’t sure until they stopped beside a meandering streamlet winding its way across the flat grassland searching for a way to reach the Mother. He noticed the ice thickening along the edges when he filled up his waterbag. He pushed back his hood, the fur around his face limiting peripheral vision—but before long he wasn’t alone in pulling it back on. The air was decidedly nippy.

  Someone noticed tracks upstream, and they all gathered around while Jondalar examined them. A family of rhinoceroses had stopped for a drink, too, and not long before. Jondalar drew a plan of attack in the wet sand of the bank with a stick, noticing the ice crystals were hardening the ground. Dolando asked a question with a stick of his own, and Jondalar elaborated on the drawing. Understanding was reached and they were all eager to get moving again.