The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  “No, not like me. But someone. I like your brother, Thonolan. I hope he finds what he’s searching for. Maybe one of those women?”

  “Not think so. I see that before. Maybe he enjoy one—or more—but not find what he want.” They dipped some of the wine into waterbags and left the rest for the revelers, then walked toward Jondalar.

  “What about Serenio? He seems to care for her, and I know she feels more for him than she will admit.”

  “He care for her, care for Darvo, too. But … maybe not anyone for him. Maybe he look for dream, for donii.” Thonolan smiled fondly. “First time you smile at me, I thought you donii.”

  “We say the Mother’s spirit becomes a bird. She wakes the sun with Her calls, brings the spring with Her from the south. In the autumn, some stay behind to remind us of Her. The hunting birds, the storks, every bird is some aspect of Mudo.” A string of running children crossed in front of them, halting their progress. “Little children don’t like birds, especially if they’re naughty. They think the Mother is watching them, and knows everything. Some mothers tell their children that. I’ve heard stories of grown men driven to confess some evil deed by the sight of certain birds. Then others say She will guide you home if you’re lost.”

  “We say Mother spirit become donii, fly on wind. Maybe She look like bird. I never think of that before,” he said, squeezing her hand. Then, looking at her and feeling an upwelling of love, he whispered in a voice husky with emotion, “I never think I find you.” He tried to put an arm around her, but found himself tied to her wrist, and frowned. “I glad we tie the knot, but when do we cut off? I want hold you, Tamio.”

  “Maybe we’re supposed to be finding out that we can be tied too close.” She laughed. “We can leave the celebration soon. Let’s go take your brother some wine before it’s all gone.”

  “He maybe not want. He make show of drinking, but not drink much. He not like lose control, do foolish thing.” When they stepped out of the shadows of the overhang, they were suddenly noticed.

  “There you are! I’ve been wanting to wish you happiness, Jetamio,” a young woman said. She was a Ramudoi from another Cave, young and vivacious. “You’re so lucky, we never get handsome visitors to winter with us.” She flashed what she hoped was a winning smile at the tall man, but he was looking at another of the young women with his astounding eyes.

  “You’re right. I am lucky,” Jetamio said, with a melting smile at her mate.

  The young woman looked at Thonolan and heaved a sigh. “They’re both so handsome. I don’t think I could have made a choice!”

  “And you wouldn’t have either, Cherunio,” the other young woman said. “If you want to mate, you have to settle on one.”

  There was an outburst of laughter, but the young woman reveled in the attention it brought her. “I just haven’t found a man I want to settle on.” She dimpled at Jondalar.

  Cherunio was the shortest woman there, and Jondalar really hadn’t seen her before. He did then. Though short, she was very much a woman, and she had a quality of vivacious enthusiasm that was inviting. She was almost the complete opposite of Serenio. His eyes showed his interest, and Cherunio nearly quivered with delight now that she had his attention. Suddenly she turned her head, caught by a sound.

  “I hear the rhythm—they’re going to do a couple dance,” she said. “Come on, Jondalar.”

  “Not know steps,” he said.

  “I’ll show you; it’s not hard,” Cherunio said, eagerly tugging in the direction of the music. He yielded to the invitation.

  “Wait, we’re coming, too,” Jetamio said.

  The other woman was not too pleased that Cherunio had captured Jondalar’s attention so quickly, and he heard Radonio say, “It’s not hard … yet!” followed by peals of laughter. But as the four of them headed toward the dance, he did not hear the conspiratorial whisper.

  “Here’s the last water skin of wine, Jondalar,” Thonolan said. “Jetamio says we are supposed to start the dance, but we don’t have to stay. We’re going to slip away as soon as we can.”

  “Don’t you want to take it with you? For a private celebration?”

  Thonolan grinned at his mate. “Well, it’s not really the last—we have one tucked away. But I don’t think we need it. Just to be alone with Jetamio will be celebration enough.”

  “Their language has such a nice sound. Don’t you think so, Jetamio?” Cherunio said. “Can you understand any of it?”

  “A little, but I’m going to learn more. And Mamutoi, too. It was Tholie’s idea that we all learn one another’s language.”

  “Tholie say best way learn Sharamudoi is talk all time. She right. I sorry, Cherunio. Not polite talk Zelandonii,” Jondalar apologized.

  “Oh, I don’t mind,” Cherunio said, though she had. She didn’t like being left out of the conversation. But the apology more than appeased her, and being included in the select group with the newly mated couple and the tall, handsome Zelandonii had other compensations. She was well aware of the envious looks of several young women.

  Near the back of the field, outside the overhang, a bonfire burned. They stepped into the shadows and passed the wine skin around, and then, as a group was forming, the two young women showed the men the basic movements of the dance. Flutes, drums, and rattles began a lively melody, which was picked up by the mammoth-bone player, and the tonal qualities that resembled those of a xylophone added a unique sound.

  Once the dancing started, Jondalar noticed that the basic steps could be elaborated with variations limited only by the imagination and skill of the dancer, and occasionally a person or a pair displayed such exceptional enthusiasm that everyone else stopped to shout encouragement and keep time with their feet. A group gathered around the dancers, swaying and singing, and without a conscious break, the music shifted to a different tempo. It continued like that. The music and dancing never stopped, but people joined in—musicians, dancers, singers—and dropped out at will, creating an endless variation in tone, pace, rhythm, and melody, which would continue as long as there was anyone who wished to continue.

  Cherunio was a lively partner, and Jondalar, drinking more wine than usual, had gotten into the mood of the evening. Someone started a response chant by saying the first familiar line. He soon discovered it was a song in which the words to suit the occasion were made up by anyone, with the intention of provoking laughter, often by innuendos of Gifts and Pleasures. It soon became a competition between those who were trying to be funny and those who were trying not to laugh. Some participants were even making faces in an attempt to bring on the desired response. Then a man went to the center of the circle that was swaying to the rhythm of the chant,

  “There’s Jondalar, so big and tall, he could have had his pick of all. Cherunio is sweet, but small. He’ll break his back, or maybe fall.”

  The man’s chant brought the desired results: howls of laughter.

  “How will you do it, Jondalar?” someone else called out. “You’ll have to break your back just to kiss her!”

  Jondalar grinned at the young woman. “No break back,” he said, then picked Cherunio up and kissed her to the stamping of feet and applauding laughter. Literally swept off her feet, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with feeling. He had noticed several couples leaving the group for tents, or mats in out-of-the-way nooks, and he had been thinking along those lines himself. Her remarkable enthusiasm for kissing made him think she might be agreeable.

  They couldn’t leave immediately—it would only cause more laughter—but they could begin to back away. Some new people joined the singers and watchers and the pace was shifting. This would be a good time to fade into the shadows. As he was easing Cherunio toward the edge of the gathering, Radonio suddenly appeared.

  “You’ve had him all evening, Cherunio. Don’t you think it’s time to share him? After all, this is a festival to honor the Mother, and we’re supposed to share Her Gift.”

  Radonio insinuat
ed herself between them and kissed Jondalar. Then another woman embraced him, then several more. He was surrounded by young women, and at first went along with their kissing and caresses. But by the time several pairs of hands were handling him in rather personal ways, he wasn’t too sure he cared for it. Pleasures were supposed to be a matter of choice. He heard a muffled struggle but was suddenly very busy fending off hands that sought to untie his trousers and reach inside. That was too much.

  He shrugged them off, none too gently. When they finally understood he wouldn’t allow anyone to touch him, they stood back smirking. Suddenly he noticed someone was missing.

  “Where Cherunio is?” he asked.

  The women looked at one another and squealed with laughter.

  “Where Cherunio is?” he demanded, and when his only reply was more giggling, he took a quick step and grabbed Radonio. He was hurting her arm, but she didn’t want to admit it.

  “We thought she ought to share you,” Radonio said, forcing a smile. “Everyone wants the big handsome Zelandonii.”

  “Zelandonii not want everyone. Where Cherunio is?”

  Radonio turned her head away and refused to answer.

  “You want big Zelandonii, you say?” He was angry, and his voice showed it. “You get big Zelandonii!” He forced her down to her knees.

  “You’re hurting me! Why don’t the rest of you help me?”

  But the other young women were not so sure they wanted to get too close. Holding her shoulders, Jondalar pushed Radonio down to the ground in front of the fire. The music had stopped, and people were milling around, unsure if they should intervene. She struggled to get up, and he held her down with his body.

  “You want big Zelandonii, you got. Now, where Cherunio?”

  “Here I am, Jondalar. They were holding me over there with something in my mouth. They said they were just playing a joke.”

  “Bad joke,” he said as he got up and then helped Radonio. She had tears in her eyes and was rubbing her arm.

  “You were hurting me,” she cried.

  Suddenly he realized it had been meant as a joke, and he’d handled it poorly. He hadn’t been hurt, and neither had Cherunio. He shouldn’t have hurt Radonio. His anger evaporated, replaced by chagrin. “I … I not mean hurt you … I …”

  “You didn’t hurt her, Jondalar. Not that much,” said one of the men who had been observing. “And she had it coming. She’s always starting things and making trouble.”

  “You just wish she’d start something with you,” one of the young women said, jumping to Radonio’s defense, now that they were back on normal terms.

  “You might think a man likes it when you all come at him like that, but he doesn’t.”

  “That’s not true,” Radonio said. “You think we haven’t heard you making jokes when you think you’re alone, about this woman or that woman? I’ve heard you talk about wanting women all at one time. I’ve even heard you talk about wanting girls before First Rites, when you know they can’t be touched, even if the Mother has made them ready.”

  The young man blushed, and Radonio pushed her advantage. “Some of you even talk about taking flathead females!”

  Suddenly, looming large out of the shadows at the edge of the fire, a woman appeared. She wasn’t so much tall as fat, hugely obese. The epicanthic fold of her eyes spoke of a foreign origin, as did the tattoo on her face, though she wore a tunic of Shamudoi leather.

  “Radonio!” she said. “It isn’t necessary to speak filth at a festival in honor of the Mother.” Jondalar recognized her now.

  “I’m sorry, Shamud,” Radonio said, bowing her head. Her face was flushed with embarrassment and she was genuinely contrite. It made Jondalar aware that she was quite young. They were all hardly more than girls. He had behaved abominably.

  “My dear,” the woman said to Radonio gently. “A man likes to be invited, not invaded.”

  Jondalar looked more keenly at the woman; he thought much the same thing.

  “But we weren’t going to hurt him. We thought he’d like it … after a while.”

  “And he might have, if you’d been more subtle. No one likes to be forced. You didn’t like it when you thought he might force you, did you?”

  “He hurt me!”

  “Did he? Or did he make you do something against your will? I think that hurt you far more. And what about Cherunio? Did any of you think you might be hurting her? You cannot force anyone to enjoy Pleasures. That does no honor to the Mother. It abuses Her Gift.”

  “Shamud, it’s your wager …”

  “I’m holding up the game. Come now, Radonio. It’s Festival. Mudo wants Her children to be happy. It was a minor incident—don’t let it spoil your fun, my dear. The dancing has started again; go join in.”

  As the woman returned to her gambling, Jondalar took Radonio’s hands. “I … sorry. I not think. Not mean hurt you. Please, I feel shame … forgive?”

  Radonio’s first impulse—to pout and withdraw in anger—melted when she looked up into his earnest face and deep violet eyes. “It was a silly … childish joke,” she said, and, nearly overwhelmed by the full impact of his presence, she swayed toward him. He held her, then leaned closer and gave her a lingering, experienced kiss.

  “Thank you, Radonio,” he said, then turned to walk away.

  “Jondalar!” Cherunio called after him. “Where are you going?”

  He had forgotten her, he realized with a stab of guilt. He strode back to the short, pretty, vivacious young woman—there was no doubt she was appealing—picked her up, and kissed her with ardor, and regret.

  “Cherunio, I make promise. All this not happen if I not so ready to break promise, but you make so easy to forget. I hope … some other time. Please, not be angry,” Jondalar said, then quickly strode toward the shelters beneath the sandstone overhang.

  “Why did you have to go and spoil it for everyone, Radonio?” Cherunio said as she watched him go.

  The leather flap at the door of the dwelling he shared with Serenio was down, but no crossed planks barred his way. He sighed with relief. At least she wasn’t inside with someone else. When he pushed the flap aside, it was dark. Maybe she wasn’t there. Maybe she was with someone else after all. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen her all evening, not since the ceremonies. And she was the one who wanted no commitment; he had only promised himself that he would spend the night with her. Maybe she had other plans, or maybe she had seen him with Cherunio.

  He felt his way to the rear of the dwelling where a raised platform was covered with a feather-stuffed pad and furs. Darvo’s bed along the side wall was empty. That was expected. Visitors were not frequent, especially those his age. He had likely made the acquaintance of some boys and was spending the night with them, trying to keep themselves awake.

  When he neared the back, he pricked his ears. Was that breathing he heard? He reached across the platform and felt an arm, and a smile of joy warmed his face.

  He went back out, picked up a hot coal from the central fire, and hurried back carrying it on a piece of wood. He lit the moss wick of a small stone lamp, then placed two planks across each other at the door, the sign that they did not wish to be disturbed. He picked up the lamp, walked quietly to the bed, and watched the sleeping woman. Should he wake her? Yes, he decided, but slowly and gently.

  The idea quickened his loins. He removed his clothes and slipped in beside her, curling around her warmth. She mumbled and rolled over toward the wall. With long gentle strokes he caressed her, feeling her sleeping warmth beneath his hand and breathing her female scent. He explored every contour: her arm to the ends of her fingers, her sharp shoulder blades and ridged spine that led to the sensitive small of her back and the rising swell of her buttocks, then her thighs and the backs of her knees, her calves and ankles. She pulled her feet away when he touched the bottoms. He reached his arm around to cup her breast, and he felt the nipple contract and harden within his palm. He had an urge to suckle it, but instead covered
her back with his body and began kissing her shoulders and neck.

  He loved touching her body, exploring and discovering it anew. Not just hers, he knew. He loved all women’s bodies, for themselves, and for the feelings they caused within his. His manhood was already throbbing and thrusting, eager, but still controllable. It was always better if he didn’t give in too soon.

  “Jondalar?” said a sleepy voice.

  “Yes,” he said.

  She rolled to her back and opened her eyes. “Is it morning?”

  “No.” He got up on one arm and looked down at her while he fondled a breast, then bent to suckle the nipple he’d wanted to feel in his mouth before. He caressed her stomach, then reached for the warmth between her thighs and rested his hand on the hair of her mound. She had the softest, silkiest pubic hair of any woman he’d ever known. “I want you, Serenio. I want honor Mother with you, tonight.”

  “You need to give me some time to wake up,” she said, but a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Is there any cold tea? I want to wash my month out—wine always makes it taste terrible.”

  “I look,” he said, getting up.

  Serenio smiled languidly when he walked back with a cup. Sometimes she just liked to look at him—he was so wonderfully male: the muscles rippling across his back as he moved, his powerful chest of blond curls, his hard stomach, and his legs all strength and sinew. His face was almost too perfect: strong square jaw, straight nose, sensual mouth—she knew how sensual his mouth could be. His features were so finely molded and proportioned that he’d be thought beautiful if he wasn’t so masculine, or if beautiful was a word usually applied to men. Even his hands were strong and sensitive, and his eyes—his expressive, compelling, impossible blue eyes, that could set a woman’s heart racing with one glance, that could make her want that hard, proud, magnificent manhood jutting out in front before she ever saw it. It had frightened her a little, the first time she saw him like that, before she understood how well he used it. He never forced it on her, only giving as much as she could take. If anything, she forced herself, wanting it all, wishing she could take it all. She was glad he had awakened her. She got up when he gave her the cup, but before she took a drink, she leaned down and took the throbbing head in her mouth. He closed his eyes and let the pleasure surge through him.