The Valley of Horses

by Jean M. Auel

  The two brothers were led back to their tent and their backframes were returned, but not their spears or knives. One man was always a short distance away, obviously keeping an eye on them. Food was brought to them, and, when night fell, they crawled into their tent. Thonolan was in high spirits, but Jondalar was in no mood for conversation with a brother who laughed every time he looked at him.

  There was an air of expectancy in the camp when they awoke. About midmorning a large party arrived, amid shouts of greeting. Tents were set up, men, women, and children settled in, and the spartan camp of the two men began to take on aspects of a Summer Meeting. Jondalar and Thonolan watched with interest the assembly of a large structure, circular, with straight walls covered with hides, and a domed, thatched roof. The various parts of it were preassembled, and it went up with surprising speed. Then bundles and covered baskets were carried inside.

  There was a lull in activities while food was prepared. In the afternoon, a crowd began to gather around the large circular structure. The old woman’s log was brought and placed just outside the opening, and the fur robe draped over it. As soon as she appeared, the crowd quieted and formed a circle around her, leaving the place in the center open. Jondalar and Thonolan watched her speak to a man and point to them.

  “Maybe she’ll want you to show off your great desire for her again.” Thonolan gibed as the man beckoned.

  “They’ll have to kill me first!”

  “You mean you’re not dying to bed that beauty?” Thonolan asked, feigning wide-eyed innocence. “It certainly looked that way yesterday.” He began to chuckle again. Jondalar turned and stalked off toward the group.

  They were led to the center and she motioned for them to sit in front of her again.

  “Zel-an-don-yee?” the old woman said to Jondalar.

  “Yes,” He nodded. “I am Jondalar of the Zelandonii.”

  She tapped the arm of an old man beside her.

  “I … Tamen,” he said, then some words Jondalar couldn’t understand, “ … Hadumai. Long time … Tamen …” another unfamiliar word, “west … Zelandonii.”

  Jondalar strained, then suddenly realized he had understood some of the man’s words. “Your name is Tamen, something about Hadumai. Long time … long time ago you … west … made a Journey? to the Zelandonii? Can you speak Zelandonii?” he asked excitedly.

  “Journey, yes,” the man said. “No talk … long time.”

  The old woman grabbed the man’s arm and spoke to him. He turned back to the two brothers.

  “Haduma,” he said, pointing to her. “ … Mother …” Tamen hesitated, then indicated everyone with a sweep of his arm.

  “You mean like Zelandoni, One Who Serves the Mother?”

  He shook his head. “Haduma … Mother …” He thought for a moment, then beckoned to some people and lined them up in a row beside him. “Haduma … mother … mother … mother … mother,” he said, pointing first at her, then to himself, then to each person in turn.

  Jondalar studied the people, trying to make sense out of the demonstration. Tamen was old, but not as old as Haduma. The man next to him was just past middle age. Beside him was a younger woman holding the hand of a child. Suddenly, Jondalar made a connection. “Are you saying Haduma is mother’s mother five times?” He held up his hand with five fingers outstretched. “The mother of five generations?” he said with awe.

  The man nodded vigorously. “Yes, mother’s mother … five … generations,” he said, pointing again to each person.

  “Great Mother! Do you know how old she must be?” Jondalar said to his brother.

  “Great mother, yes,” Tamen said. “Haduma … mother.” He patted his stomach.

  “Children?”

  “Children.” He nodded. “Haduma mother children …” He began drawing lines in the dirt.

  “One, two, three …” Jondalar said the counting words with each one. “ … Sixteen! Haduma gave birth to sixteen children?”

  Tamen nodded, pointing again to the marks on the ground. “ … Many son … many … girl?” He shook his head, doubtful.

  “Daughters?” Jondalar offered.

  Tamen brightened. “Many daughters …” He thought for a moment, “Live … all live. All … many children.” He held up one hand and one finger. “Six Caves … Hadumai.”

  “No wonder they were ready to kill us if we so much as looked cross at her,” Thonolan said. “She’s the mother of all of them, a living First Mother!”

  Jondalar was as impressed, but even more puzzled. “I am honored to know Haduma, but I don’t understand. Why are we being held? And why did she come here?”

  The old man pointed to their meat drying on cords, then to the young man who had first detained them. “Jeren … hunt, Jeren make …” Tamen drew a circle on the ground with two diverging lines making a broad V from the small space left open. “Zelandonii man make … make run …” He thought for a long time, then smiled and said, “Make run horse.”

  “So that’s it!” Thonolan said. “They must have built a surround and were waiting for that herd to move closer. We chased them off.”

  “I can understand why he was angry,” Jondalar said to Tamen. “But we didn’t know we were on your hunting grounds. We’ll stay and hunt, of course, to make restitution. It’s still no way to treat Visitors. Doesn’t he understand passage customs for those on a Journey?” he said, venting his own anger.

  The old man didn’t catch every word, but enough to understand the meaning. “Not many Visitors. Not … west … long time. Customs … forget.”

  “Well, you ought to remind him. You were on a Journey, and he might want to make one someday.” Jondalar was still annoyed at their treatment, but he didn’t want to make too much of an issue about it. He still wasn’t sure what was going on and he didn’t want to actually offend them. “Why did Haduma come? How can you allow her to make a long trip at her age?”

  Tamen smiled. “Not … allow Haduma. Haduma say. Jeren … find dumai. Bad … bad luck?” Jondalar nodded to indicate the correctness of the word, but he didn’t understand what Tamen was trying to say. “Jeren give … man … runner. Say Haduma make bad luck go. Haduma come.”

  “Dumai? Dumai? You mean my donii?” Jondalar said, taking the carved stone figurine out of his pouch. The people around gasped and drew back when they saw what he had in his hand. An angry murmur rose from the crowd, but Haduma harangued them and they quieted.

  “But this donii is good luck!” Jondalar protested.

  “Good luck … woman, yes. Man …” Tamen searched his memory for a word, “ … sacrilege,” he said.

  Jondalar sat back, stunned. “But if it’s good luck for a woman, why did she throw it?” He made a violent gesture of casting the donii down, bringing exclamations of concern. Haduma spoke to the old man.

  “Haduma … long time live … big luck. Big … magic. Haduma say me Zelandonii … customs. Say Zelandonii man not Hadumai … Haduma say Zelandonii man bad?”

  Jondalar shook his head.

  Thonolan spoke up. “I think he’s saying she was testing you, Jondalar. She knew the customs were not the same, and she wanted to see how you would react when she dishonored …”

  “Dishonor, yes,” Tamen interrupted, hearing the word.

  “Haduma … know not all man, good man. Want know Zelandonii man dishonor Mother.”

  “Listen, that’s a very special donii,” Jondalar said, a little indignant, “It’s very old. My mother gave it to me—it’s been handed down for generations.”

  “Yes, yes.” Tamen nodded vigorously. “Haduma know. Wise … much wise. Long time live. Big magic, make bad luck go. Haduma know Zelandonii man, good man. Want Zelandonii man. Want … honor Mother.”

  Jondalar saw the grin lighting up Thonolan’s face, and squirmed.

  “Haduma want,” Tamen pointed to Jondalar’s eyes, “blue eyes. Honor Mother. Zelandonii … spirit make child, blue eyes.”

  “You did it again, Big Brother!”
Thonolan blurted, grinning with malicious delight, “With those big blue eyes of yours. She’s in love!” He was shaking, trying to hold his laughter in, afraid it might offend, but unable to stop. “Oh, Mother! I can hardly wait to get back home and tell them. Jondalar, the man every woman wants! Do you still want to go back? For this, I’d give up the end of the river.” He couldn’t talk anymore. He was doubled over, pounding the ground, holding his sides and trying not to laugh out loud.

  Jondalar swallowed several times. “Ah … I … um … does Haduma think the Great Mother … ah … could still … bless her with a child?”

  Tamen looked at Jondalar, perplexed, and at Thonolan’s contortions. Then a big grin cracked his face. He spoke to the old woman, and the whole camp erupted into raucous laughter, the old woman’s cackle heard above all. Thonolan, with a heave of relief, let out a great whoop of glee as tears squeezed out of his eyes.

  Jondalar did not see anything funny.

  The old man was shaking his head, trying to talk. “No, no, Zelandonii man.” He beckoned to someone. “Noria, Noria …”

  A young woman stepped forward and smiled shyly at Jondalar. She was hardly more than a girl, but showed the fresh sparkle of new womanhood. The laughter finally subsided.

  “Haduma big magic,” Tamen said. “Haduma bless. Noria five … generations.” He held up five fingers. “Noria make child, make … six generations.” He held up another finger.

  “Haduma want Zelandonii man … honor Mother …”

  Tamen smiled as he remembered the words, “First Rites.”

  The worry lines on Jondalar’s forehead smoothed out, and the beginnings of a smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

  “Haduma bless. Make spirit go Noria. Noria make … baby, Zelandonii eyes.”

  Jondalar exploded with laughter, as much with relief as pleasure. He looked at his brother. Thonolan was not laughing anymore. “Do you still want to go home and tell everyone about the old hag I bedded?” he asked. He turned to Tamen. “Please tell Haduma it will be my pleasure to honor the Mother and share Noria’s First Rites.”

  He smiled warmly at the young woman. She smiled back, tentatively at first, but, bathed in the unconscious charisma of his vivid blue eyes, her smile grew.

  Tamen spoke to Haduma. She nodded, then motioned for Jondalar and Thonolan to stand, and looked the tall blond man over carefully again. The warmth of his smile still lingered, and when Haduma looked into his eyes, she chuckled softly and went into the large circular tent. The people were still laughing and talking about the misunderstanding as the crowd broke up.

  The two brothers stayed to talk to Tamen; even his limited ability to communicate was better than none at all.

  “When did you visit the Zelandonii?” Thonolan asked. “Do you remember what Cave it was?”

  “Long time,” he said. “Tamen young man, like Zelandonii man.”

  “Tamen, this is my brother, Thonolan, and my name is Jondalar, Jondalar of the Zelandonii.”

  “You … welcome, Thonolan, Jondalar.” The old man smiled. “I, Tamen, three generation Hadumai. No talk Zelandonii long time. Forget. No talk good. You talk, Tamen … ?”

  “Remember?” Jondalar suggested. The man nodded. “Third generation? I thought you were Haduma’s son,” Jondalar added.

  “No.” He shook his head. “Want make Zelandonii man know Haduma, mother.”

  “My name is Jondalar, Tamen.”

  “Jondalar,” he corrected. “Tamen not Haduma son. Haduma make daughter.” He held up one finger with a questioning look.

  “One daughter?” Jondalar said. Tamen shook his head.

  “First daughter?”

  “Yes, Haduma make first daughter. Daughter make first son.” He pointed to himself. “Tamen. Tamen … mate?” Jondalar nodded. “Tamen mate to mother, Noria mother.”

  “I think I understand. You are the first son of Haduma’s first daughter, and your mate is Noria’s grandmother.”

  “Grandmother, yes. Noria make … big honor Tamen … six generation.”

  “I am honored, too, to be chosen for her First Rites.”

  “Noria make … baby, Zelandonii eyes. Make Haduma … happy.” He smiled remembering the word. “Haduma say big Zelandonii man make … big … strong spirit, make strong Hadumai.”

  “Tamen,” Jondalar said, his forehead knotted. “Noria might not make a baby of my spirit, you know.”

  Tamen smiled. “Haduma big magic. Haduma bless, Noria make. Big magic. Woman no children. Haduma …” He pointed with a finger toward Jondalar’s groin.

  “Touch?” Jondalar provided the word, feeling his ears warm.

  “Haduma touch, woman make baby. Woman no … milk. Haduma touch, woman make milk. Haduma make Jondalar … big honor. Many man want Haduma touch. Make long time man. Make man … pleasure?” They all smiled. “Pleasure woman, all time. Many woman, many time. Haduma big magic.” He paused, and his face lost its smile. “No make Haduma … anger. Haduma bad magic, anger.”

  “And I laughed,” Thonolan said. “Do you suppose I could get her to touch me? You and your big blue eyes, Jondalar.”

  “Little Brother, the only magic touch you ever needed was the inviting look of a pretty woman.”

  “So. I never noticed you needing help. Look who’s sharing First Rites? Not your little brother with his dull gray eyes.”

  “Poor little brother. A camp full of women and he’s going to spend the night alone. Not on your life.” They laughed, and Tamen, who caught the drift of the banter, joined in.

  “Tamen, maybe you’d better tell me about your customs for First Rites,” Jondalar said, more serious.

  “Before you get into that,” Thonolan said, “can you get our spears and knives back? I’ve got an idea. While my brother is busy beguiling that young beauty with his big blue eyes, I think I know a way to make your angry hunter happier.”

  “How?” Jondalar asked.

  “With a grandmother, of course.”

  Tamen looked confused, but he shrugged it off as problems with the language.

  Jondalar saw little of Thonolan that evening or the next day; he was too busy with the purification rituals. The language was a barrier to understanding even with Tamen’s help, and when he was alone with the scowling older women, it was worse. Only when Haduma was there did he feel more relaxed, and he was sure she smoothed over some unforgivable blunders.

  Haduma didn’t rule the people, but it was obvious they would refuse her nothing. She was treated with benevolent reverence and a little fear. It had to be magic that she had lived so long and retained her full mental faculties. She had a knack for sensing when Jondalar was in difficulty. On one occasion, when he was sure he had unknowingly broken some taboo, she waded in, eyes flashing anger, and beat the backs of several retreating women with her staff. She would brook no opposition to him; her sixth generation would have Jondalar’s blue eyes.

  In the evening, when he was finally led to the large circular structure, he wasn’t even sure it was time, until he went inside. As he stepped through the entrance, he paused to look around. Two stone lamps, with bowl-shaped wells filled with fat in which wicks of dried moss burned, lit one side. The ground was covered with furs and the walls were hung with bark-cloth weavings in intricate patterns. Behind a raised platform covered with furs hung the thick white fur of an albino horse decorated with the red heads of immature great spotted woodpeckers. Sitting on the very edge of the platform was Noria, nervously staring down at her hands in her lap.

  On the other side, a small section was partitioned off with hanging leather hides marked with esoteric symbols, and a screen of thongs—one of the hides cut into narrow strips. Someone was behind the screen. He saw a hand move a few of the strips aside, and looked into Haduma’s wrinkled old face for a brief moment. He breathed a sigh of relief. There was always at least one guardian, to bear witness that a girl’s transformation to full womanhood was complete, and to make sure a man wasn’t unduly rough. As a strnger
, he had felt some concern that there might be a bevy of disapproving guardians. With Haduma he felt no qualms. He didn’t know if he should greet her or ignore her, but he decided on the latter when the screen closed.

  When Noria saw him, she stood up. He walked toward her, smiling. She was rather small, with soft, light brown hair hanging loosely around her face. She was barefoot, and a skirt of some woven fiber was tied at the waist and fell to below her knees in colorful bands. A shirt of soft deerskin embroidered with dyed quills was laced together tightly up the front. It conformed to her body enough to reveal that her womanhood was well established, though she had not lost all her girlish roundness.

  She got a frightened look in her eye as he approached, though she tried to smile. But when he made no sudden moves, just sat down on the edge of the platform and smiled, she seemed to relax a little, and sat down beside him, far enough away so that their knees did not touch.

  It would help if I could speak her language, he thought. She’s so scared. No wonder, I’m a total stranger to her. Appealing, so frightened like that. He felt protective, and a few twinges of excitement. He noticed a carved wooden bowl and some drinking cups on a nearby stand and started to reach, but Noria saw his intention and jumped up to fill the cups.

  As she gave him a cup of amber liquid, he touched her hand. It startled her. She pulled it back a little, then left it. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then took the cup and drank. The liquid had the sweet, strong taste of something fermented. Not unpleasant, but he wasn’t sure how strong it was, and decided to drink lightly.

  “Thank you, Noria,” he said, putting the cup down.

  “Jondalar?” she asked, looking up. By the light of the stone lamps he could tell her eyes were a light shade, but he wasn’t sure if they were gray or blue.

  “Yes, Jondalar. Of the Zelandonii.”

  “Jondalar … Zelandonyee man.”

  “Noria, Hadumai woman.”

  “Wo-man?”