by Jean M. Auel
Dolando started up around a rock formation whose parallel lines of strata were skewed at an angle. Softer layers of the sedimentary deposits had worn away on the exposed face, leaving convenient steplike footholds. The steep hike to get up behind and around the herd of chamois would be arduous, but not perilous. No real mountain climbing would be required.
The rest of the hunting party fell in behind the leader. Jondalar was waiting to bring up the rear. Nearly everyone had started up the stepped rock when he heard Serenio call out to him. He turned around in surprise. Serenio was not a woman who cared for hunting, and she seldom went much beyond the vicinity of the shelters. He couldn’t imagine what she was doing so far away, but the look on her face when she caught up to him sent a chill of fear down his back. She had been hurrying and had to catch her breath before she could talk. “Glad … reached you. Need Thonolan … Jetamio … labor …” she managed to get out after a moment.
He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted: “Thonolan! Thonolan!”
One of the figures moving on ahead turned around, and Jondalar waved him back.
The silence as they waited was uncomfortable. He wanted to ask if Jetamio was all right, but something held him back.
“When did labor start?” he finally asked.
“She was having back pains last night but didn’t say anything to Thonolan. He’d been looking forward to the chamois hunt, and she was afraid he wouldn’t go if she told him. She said she wasn’t sure it was labor, and I think she had some idea of surprising him with a baby when he got back,” Serenio said. “She didn’t want him to worry, or be nervous waiting, while she labored.”
That was like Jetamio, he thought. She would want to spare him. Thonolan doted on her so much. Suddenly Jondalar had an ominous thought. If it was Jetamio’s wish to surprise Thonolan, why had Serenio rushed up the mountain to get him?
“There’s a problem, isn’t there?”
Serenio looked at the ground, closed her eyes, and breathed deep before she answered. “The baby is breech; she’s too narrow and won’t give. Shamud thinks it’s the fault of the paralysis she had, and told me to get Thonolan.… You, too … for his sake.”
“Oh, no! Good Doni, oh, no!”
“No! No! No! She can’t be! Why? Why would the Mother bless her with a child, and then take them both?”
Thonolan was pacing furiously within the confines of the dwelling he had shared with Jetamio, pounding one fist into the other hand. Jondalar stood by helplessly, unable to offer more than the comfort of his presence. Most could not offer that much. Thonolan, wild with grief, had screamed at everyone to get away.
“Jondalar, why her? Why would the Mother take her? She had so little, she suffered through so much. Was it so much to ask? A child? Someone of her own flesh and blood?”
“I don’t know, Thonolan. Not even a zelandoni could answer you.”
“Why like that? With such pain?” Thonolan stopped in front of his brother, appealing to him. “She hardly knew me when I came. Jondalar, she was hurting. I could see it in her eyes. Why did she have to die?”
“No one knows why the Mother gives life, and then takes it back.”
“The Mother! The Mother! She doesn’t care. Jetamio honored Her, I honored Her. What did it matter? She took Jetamio anyway. I hate the Mother!” He started pacing again.
“Jondalar …” Roshario called from the entrance, hesitating to come in.
Jondalar stepped out. “What is it?”
“Shamud cut in to take the baby, after she …” Roshario blinked back a tear. “He thought he might be able to save the baby—sometimes that will work. It was too late, but it was a boy. I don’t know if you want to tell him or not.”
“Thank you, Roshario.”
He could see she had been grieving. Jetamio had been a daughter. Roshario had raised her, cared for her through a paralyzing illness and a long recovery, and had been with her from the beginning to the agonizing end of her ill-fated labor. Suddenly Thonolan pushed past them, struggling into his old traveling backframe and heading toward the pathway around the wall.
“I don’t think now is the time. I’ll tell him later,” Jondalar said, running after his brother.
“Where are you going?” he asked, catching up to him.
“I’m leaving. I never should have stopped. I haven’t reached the end of my Journey.”
“You can’t leave now,” Jondalar said, putting a restraining hand on his arm. Thonolan shrugged it off violently.
“Why not? What’s to keep me here?” Thonolan sobbed.
Jondalar stopped him again, spun him around, and looked into a face so lacerated with grief that he hardly recognized him. The pain was so deep, it burned his own soul. There had been times when he had envied Thonolan’s joy in his love for Jetamio, wondering at the defect in his character that prevented him from knowing such love. Was it worth it? Was the love worth this anguish? This bitter desolation?
“Can you leave Jetamio and her son to be buried without you?”
“Her son? How do you know it was a son?”
“Shamud took it. He thought he might save at least the baby. It was too late.”
“I don’t want to see the son that killed her.”
“Thonolan. Thonolan. She asked to be blessed. She wanted to be pregnant, and she was so happy about it. Would you have taken that happiness from her? Would you rather she had lived a long life of sorrow? Childless, and despairing of ever having one? She had love and happiness, first mated to you, then blessed by the Mother. It was only a short time, but she told me she was happier than she ever dreamed possible. She said nothing gave her more joy than you, and knowing she was carrying a child. Your child, she called it, Thonolan. The child of your spirit. Maybe the Mother knew it had to be one or the other, and chose to give her the joy.”
“Jondalar, she didn’t even know me.…” Thonolan’s voice cracked.
“Shamud gave her something at the end, Thonolan. There was no hope that she would give birth, but she didn’t suffer so much. She knew you were there.”
“The Mother took everything when She took Jetamio. I was so full of love, and now I am empty, Jondalar. I have nothing left. How can she be gone?” Thonolan swayed. Jondalar reached for him, supported him as he crumpled, and held him against his shoulder while he sobbed his despair.
“Why not back home, Thonolan? If we leave now, we can make it to the glacier by winter and be home next spring. Why do you want to go east?” Jondalar’s voice held longing.
“You go home, Jondalar. You should have gone long ago. I always said you’re a Zelandonii and will always be one. I’m going east.”
“You said you were going to make a Journey to the end of the Great Mother River. Once you reach Beran Sea, what will you do?”
“Who knows? Maybe I’ll go around the sea. Maybe I’ll go north and hunt mammoth with Tholie’s people. The Mamutoi say there is another mountain range far to the east. Home has nothing for me, Jondalar. I’d rather look for something new. It’s time for us to go different ways, Brother. You go west, I’ll go east.”
“If you don’t want to go back, why not stay here?”
“Yes, why not stay here, Thonolan?” Dolando said, joining them. “And you too, Jondalar. Shamudoi or Ramudoi, it doesn’t matter. You belong. You have family here, and friends. We would be sorry to see either of you leave.”
“Dolando, you know I was ready to live here for the rest of my life. I can’t now. Everything is too full of her. I keep expecting to see her. Every day I’m here I have to remember all over again that I will never see her again. I’m sorry. I will miss many people, but I must go.”
Dolando nodded. He didn’t push them to stay, but he had wanted to let them know they were family. “When will you leave?”
“Soon. A few days at most,” Thonolan replied. “I’d like to arrange a trade, Dolando. I’ll be leaving everything behind, except traveling packs and clothes. I’d like a small boat, though.”
“I’m sure it can be arranged. You’ll be going downstream, then. East? Not back to the Zelandonii?”
“I’m going east,” Thonolan said.
“And you, Jondalar?”
“I don’t know. There’s Serenio and Darvo …”
Dolando nodded. Jondalar may not have made the tie formal, but he knew the decision would not be any easier for it. The tall Zelandonii had reasons to go west, to stay, or to go east, and which way he would choose was anyone’s guess.
“Roshario’s been cooking all day. I think she’s doing it to keep herself busy, so she won’t have time to think,” Dolando said. “It would please her if you’d join us for a meal Jondalar, she’d like Serenio and Darvo, too. It would please her even more if you would just eat something, Thonolan. She worries about you.”
It must be hard on Dolando, too, Jondalar realized. He had been so worried about Thonolan that he hadn’t thought of the grief of the Cave. This had been Jetamio’s home. Dolando must have cared for her as he would any child of his hearth. She had been close to many. Tholie and Markeno were her family, and he knew Serenio had been crying. Darvo was upset, not wanting to talk to him.
“I’ll ask Serenio,” Jondalar said. “I’m sure Darvo would like to go. Maybe you should just count on him. I’d like to have a talk with Serenio.”
“Send him over,” Dolando said, reminding himself to keep the lad overnight to give his mother and Jondalar some time to reach a decision.
The three men walked together back to the sandstone overhang, then stood near the fire in the central hearth for a few moments. They said little but enjoyed each other’s company —bittersweet—knowing changes had occurred that would soon make it impossible for them to stand with each other again.
Shadows of the terrace walls had already brought an evening chill, though from the front end sunlight could be seen streaming down the river gorge. Standing by the fire together, they could almost feel that nothing had changed, could almost forget the devastating tragedy. They stayed long into twilight, wanting to hold the moment, each thinking private thoughts that, had they shared them, they would have found remarkably similar. Each was thinking of the events that had brought the Zelandonii men to the Cave of the Sharamudoi, and each was wondering if he would ever see either of the other two again.
“Aren’t you ever coming in?” Roshario asked, finally unable to wait longer. She had sensed their need for this last silent communion and hadn’t wanted to disturb them. Then Shamud and Serenio came out of a shelter, Darvo detached himself from a group of youngsters, other people came to the central fire, and the mood was irrevocably lost. Roshario herded everyone toward her dwelling, including Jondalar and Serenio, but they left soon after.
They walked in silence to the edge, then around the wall to a fallen log. It made a comfortable seat from which to watch the sunset upriver. Nature conspired to keep them silent by the sheer beauty of the setting sun; a panorama presented in metallic hues. With the molten orb’s descent, lead-gray clouds were highlighted in silver, then spread out in gleaming gold that shattered on the river. Fiery red transformed the gold to shining copper, which flattened to bronze, then faded to silver again.
As the silver leadened, then tarnished to darker shades, Jondalar came to a decision. He turned to face Serenio. She was certainly beautiful, he thought. She wasn’t hard to live with; she made his life comfortable. He opened his mouth to speak.
“Let’s go back, Jondalar,” she said, first.
“Serenio … I … we have lived …” he started. She held a finger to his mouth to silence him.
“Don’t talk now. Let’s go back.”
He heard the urgency in her voice this time, saw the desire in her eyes. He reached for her hand, held it, fingers to his lips, then turned her hand around, opened it, and kissed her palm. His warm seeking mouth found her wrist, then followed her arm to the inside of her elbow, pushing back her sleeve to reach it.
She sighed, closed her eyes, and tilted her head back, inviting him. He held the back of her neck to support her head, and kissed the pulse in her throat, found her ear and searched out her mouth. She was waiting, hungry. He kissed her then, slowly, lovingly, tasting the softness under her tongue, touching the ridges of her palate, and drew her tongue into his mouth. When they pulled apart, she was breathing heavily. Her hand found his warm and throbbing response.
“Let’s go back,” she said again, her voice husky.
“Why go back? Why not here?” he said.
“If we stay here it will be over too soon. I want the warmth of fire and furs so we won’t need to rush.”
Their lovemaking had become, not stale, but a little perfunctory recently. They knew what satisfied each other, and they tended to fall into a pattern, exploring and experimenting only rarely. This night, he knew, she wanted more than routine, and he was eager to comply. He took her head in both his hands, kissed her eyes and the end of her nose, the softness of her cheek, and breathed into her ear. He nibbled at an earlobe, then sought her throat again. When he found her mouth once more, he took it fiercely and held her to him.
“I think we should go back, Serenio,” he breathed into her ear.
“That’s what I’ve been saying.”
Side by side, his arm over her shoulder and hers around his waist, they walked back around the jutting wall. For once, he didn’t step back to allow passage around the outside edge in single file. He did not even notice the precipitous fall-off.
It was dark, the deep black of both night and shadow, in the open field. The moon’s light was stopped by the high side walls; only a few scattered stars could be seen between clouds above. It was later than they realized when they reached the overhang. No one was out around the fire of the central hearth, though logs still burned with licking flames. They saw Roshario, Dolando, and several others inside their shelter, and as they passed the entrance, they saw Darvo throwing carved pieces of bone with Thonolan. Jondalar smiled. It was a game he and his brother had often played on long winter nights, one that could take half a night to resolve, and it held the attention—making forgetting easier.
The dwelling Jondalar shared with Serenio was dark when they entered. He piled wood in the stone-lined fireplace, then got a piece of burning wood from the main hearth to light it. He leaned two planks across each other at the entrance, then stretched the leather drape across, making a warm private world.
He shrugged out of his outer garment, and, while Serenio brought out drinking cups, Jondalar got the skin of fermented bilberry juice and poured for both. The immediacy of his ardor had passed, and the walk back had given him time to think. She’s as lovely and passionate a woman as any I’ve ever known, he thought, sipping the warming liquid. I should have formalized our union long ago. Perhaps she’d be willing to come back with me, and Darvo, too. But whether we stay here, or go back, I want her for my mate.
There was relief in the decision, and one less undecided factor to cope with, and it pleased him that he felt so good about it. It was proper, right. Why had he held back so long?
“Serenio, I’ve made a decision. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you how much you mean to me …”
“Not now,” she said, putting her cup down. She reached her arms around his neck, brought his lips to hers, and pressed close. It was a long, slow, lingering kiss that reminded him quickly of his passion. She’s right, he thought, we can talk later.
As the intensity of his heat reasserted itself, he led her to the fur-covered sleeping platform. The forgotten fire burned low while he explored and rediscovered her body. Serenio had never been unresponsive, but she opened herself to him as she never had before. She couldn’t get enough of him, though she was satisfied and satisfied again. Surge after surge filled them, and when he thought he had reached his limit, she experimented with his techniques and slowly encouraged him again. With a last ecstatic effort, they reached a joyous release and lay together exhausted, finally sated.
They slept for a whi
le, as they were, naked on top of the furs. When the fire died, the chill of predawn woke them. She started a fresh fire from the last embers, while he put on a tunic and slipped out to fill the waterbag. The warmth inside the dwelling was welcome when he returned; he had taken a quick dip in the cold pool as well. He felt invigorated, refreshed, and so thoroughly satisfied that he was ready for anything. After Serenio started stones heating, she slipped out to relieve herself and came back as wet as he.
“You’re shivering,” Jondalar said, wrapping her in a fur.
“You seemed to enjoy your dunking so much, I thought I’d try it. It was cold!” She laughed.
“The tea is almost ready. I’ll bring you a cup. You sit here,” he said, urging her back to the sleeping platform and piling more furs around her, until only her face could be seen. Spending my life with a woman like Serenio would not be at all bad, he thought. I wonder if I could persuade her to come home with me? An unhappy thought intruded itself. If only I could persuade Thonolan to come home with me. I can’t understand why he wants to go east. He took Serenio a cup of hot betony tea, and one for himself, and settled on the edge of the platform.
“Serenio, have you ever thought of making a Journey?”
“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.”