The Valley of Horses

by Jean M. Auel

  “I want to Pleasure you,” she said.

  “Ayla, it pleases me so much to give you Pleasure—I don’t know how it could possibly please me more for you to Pleasure me.”

  “Will it please you less?” she asked.

  Jondalar threw back his head, laughed, and took her in his arms. She smiled but wasn’t sure what had delighted him so.

  “I don’t think anything you did could please me less.” Then, looking at her with his vibrant blue eyes, he said, “I love you, woman.”

  “I love you, Jondalar. I feel love when you smile like that, with your eyes like that, and so much when you laugh. No one laughed in the Clan, and they did not like it when I did. I don’t ever want to live with people who will not let me smile or laugh.”

  “You should laugh, Ayla, and smile. You have a beautiful smile.” She couldn’t help smiling at his words. “Ayla, oh, Ayla,” he said, burying his face in her neck and caressing her.

  “Jondalar, I love when you touch me, and kiss in my neck, but I want to know what you like.”

  He made a wry grin. “I can’t help myself—you ‘encourage’ me too much. What do you like, Ayla? Do to me what feels good to you.”

  “Will you like it?”

  “Try it.”

  She pushed him back, then bent over to kiss him, opening her mouth and using her tongue. He responded, but held himself in check. Then she kissed his neck, flicking her tongue lightly. She felt him shiver a bit, and she looked at him, wanting confirmation.

  “Does it please you?”

  “Yes, Ayla, it pleases me.”

  It did. Restraining himself under her tentative advances fired him more than he dreamed. Her light kisses seared through him. She was unsure of herself, as inexperienced as a girl who had reached puberty, but had not yet had First Rites—and no one was more desirable. Such tender kisses had more power to arouse than the most ardent and sensual caresses of more experienced women—because they were forbidden.

  Most women were available to some degree; she was untouchable. The untried young woman could drive men, young and old, to a frenzy with secret caresses in dark corners of the cave. A mother’s worst fear was that her daughter would come into her womanhood just after the Summer Meeting, with a long winter to face before the next. Most girls had some experience by First Rites with kissing and fondling, and Jondalar had known it was not the first time for a few, though he would not disgrace them by revealing it.

  He knew the appeal of those young women—it was part of his enjoyment of First Rites—and it was that appeal Ayla was exerting on him. She kissed his neck. He quivered and, closing his eyes, gave himself up to it.

  She moved lower and made ticklish wet circles on his body, feeling her own excitement rising. It was almost torture for him, exquisite torture, part tickle and part searing stimulation. When she reached his navel, he couldn’t stop himself. He put his hands on her head and gently pushed her lower until she felt his hot shaft on her cheek. She was breathing hard, and drawing, pulling sensations reached deep. Her tickling tongue was more than he could bear. He guideed her head to his outstretched rigid organ. She looked up at him.

  “Jondalar, do you want me to …”

  “Only if you want to, Ayla.”

  “It would please you?”

  “It would please me.”

  “I want.”

  He felt a moist warmth enclose the end of his throbbing manhood, and then more than the end. He groaned. Her tongue explored the smooth round head, probed the small fissure, discovered the texture of the skin. When her first actions brought expressions of pleasure, she grew more confident. She was enjoying her explorations and felt her own throbbing inside. She circled his shape with her tongue. He called out her name, and she moved her tongue faster and felt wetness between her own legs.

  He felt suction, and moist warmth moving up and down. “O Doni! Oh, woman! Ayla, Ayla! How did you learn to do that!”

  She tried to discover how much she could hold, and she drew him in until she nearly gagged. His cries and moans encouraged her to try again, and again, until he was rising to meet her.

  Then, sensing his need for her depths—and her own need as well—she rose, moved her leg over to straddle him, impaled herself on his full-girthed and extended member, and drew it into her. She arched her back and felt her Pleasure, as he penetrated deep.

  He looked up at her and gloried in the sight. The sun behind her turned her hair into a golden nimbus. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open, and her face suffused with ecstasy. As she leaned back, her shapely breasts jutted forward, her slightly darker nipples pointing out. Her sinuous body glistened in the sun; his own manhood buried deep within was ready to burst with rapture.

  She raised up along his shaft, and came down as he raised to meet her, and his breath caught. He felt a surge he couldn’t have controlled if he’d tried. He cried out when she rose again. She pushed against him, feeling a spurting wetness, as he shook with release.

  He reached up and pulled her down, his mouth finding her nipple. After a while of drained contentment, Ayla rolled over. Jondalar got up, bent over to kiss her, then reached for both her breasts to nuzzle between them. He suckled one, then the other, and kissed her again. Then he relaxed beside her, cradling her head.

  “I like to give you Pleasures, Jondalar.”

  “No one has ever pleased me better, Ayla.”

  “But you like it better when you Pleasure me.”

  “Not better, exactly, but … how do you know me so well?”

  “It is what you learned to do. It is your skill, like tool-making.” She smiled, then giggled. “Jondalar has two skills. He is a toolmaker and a woman-maker,” she said, looking pleased with herself.

  He laughed. “You just made a joke, Ayla,” he said, smiling askance. It was a little too close to the truth, and the joke had been made before. “But you are right, I love to give you Pleasures, I love your body, I love all of you.”

  “I like it when you Pleasure me, too. It makes love fill up inside me. You can Pleasure me as much as you want, only, sometimes, I want to Pleasure you.”

  He laughed again. “Agreed. And since you want to learn so much, I can teach you more. We can Pleasure each other, you know. I wish it was my turn to make ‘love fill up inside you.’ But you did it so well, I don’t think even Haduma’s touch could raise me.”

  Ayla was silent for a moment, “It would not matter, Jondalar.”

  “What wouldn’t matter?”

  “Even if your manhood never rose again—you still make love fill up inside me.”

  “Don’t ever say it!” He grinned, but gave a small shudder.

  “Your manhood will rise again,” she said with great solemnity, then giggled.

  “What makes you so full of salt, woman? There are some things you shouldn’t make jokes about,” he said with mock offense, then laughed. He was surprised and pleased at her playfulness and new understanding of humor.

  “I like to make you laugh. Laughing with you feels almost as good as loving you. I want you always to laugh with me. Then I think you won’t ever stop loving me.”

  “Stop loving you?” he said, sitting up a bit and looking down at her. “Ayla, I looked for you all my life and didn’t know I was looking. You are everything I ever wanted, everything I ever dreamed of in a woman, and more. You are a fascinating enigma, a paradox. You are totally honest, open; you hide nothing: yet you are the most mysterious woman I’ve ever met.

  “You are strong, self-reliant, entirely able to take care of yourself and of me: yet you would sit at my feet—if I’d let you—with no shame, no resentment, as easily as I would honor Doni. You are fearless, courageous; you saved my life, nursed me back to health, hunted for my food, provided for my comfort. You don’t need me. Yet you make me want to protect you, watch over you, make sure no harm comes to you.

  “I could live with you all my life and never really know you; you have depths it would take many lifetimes to explore. You a
re wise and ancient as the Mother, and as fresh and young as a woman at First Rites. And you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I can’t believe how lucky I am to get so much. I didn’t think I was able to love anyone; now I know I was only waiting for you. I didn’t think it was possible for me to love, Ayla, and I love you more than life itself.”

  Ayla had tears in her eyes. He kissed both eyelids, and he held her close, as though he was afraid he might lose her.

  When they woke up the next morning, there was a thin layer of snow on the ground. They let the tent opening fall back and snuggled into the sleeping furs, but they both felt a sense of sadness.

  “It’s time to turn back, Jondalar.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” he said, watching his breath rise in a slight puff of steam “It’s still early in the season. We shouldn’t run into any bad storms.”

  “You never know; the weather can surprise you.”

  They finally got up and started breaking camp. Ayla’s sling brought down a great jerboa emerging from its subterranean nest in rapid bipedal jumps. She picked it up by a tail that was nearly twice as long as its body, and slung it over her back by hooflike hind claws. At the campsite, she quickly skinned and spitted it.

  “I’m sad to be going back,” Ayla said, while Jondalar built up the fire. “It has been … fun. Just traveling, stopping where we wanted. Not worrying about bringing anything back. Making camp at noon just because we wanted to swim, or have Pleasures. I’m glad you thought of it.”

  “I’m sad it’s over, too, Ayla. It’s been a good trip.”

  He got up to get more wood, walking down toward the river. Ayla helped him. They rounded a bend and found a pile of rotted deadfall. Suddenly, Ayla heard a sound. She looked up and reached for Jondalar.

  “Heyooo!” a voice called.

  A small group of people were walking toward them, waving. Ayla clung to Jondalar; his arm was around her, protective, reassuring.

  “It’s all right, Ayla. They’re Mamutoi. Did I ever tell you they call themselves the mammoth hunters? They think we are Mamutoi, too,” Jondalar said.

  As the group neared, Ayla turned to Jondalar, her face full of surprise and wonder. “Those people, Jondalar, they are smiling,” she said. “They are smiling at me.”

  Turn the page to read an exciting preview

  from Jean M. Auel’s latest novel—

  The Land of Painted Caves

  Available spring 2011 from Crown Publishers

  1

  The band of travelers walked along the path between the clear sparkling water of Grass River and the black-streaked white limestone cliff, following the trail that paralleled the right bank. They went single file around the bend where the stone wall jutted out closer to the water’s edge. Ahead a smaller path split off at an angle toward the crossing place, where the flowing water spread out and became shallower, bubbling around exposed rocks.

  Before they reached the fork in the trail, a young woman near the front suddenly stopped, her eyes opening wide as she stood perfectly still, staring ahead. She pointed with her chin, not wanting to move. “Look! Over there!” she said in a hissing whisper of fear. “Lions!”

  Joharran, the leader, lifted his arm, signaling the band to a halt. Just beyond the place where the trail diverged, they now saw pale-tawny cave lions moving around in the grass. The grass was such effective camouflage, however, that they might not have noticed them until they were much closer, if it hadn’t been for the sharp eyes of Thefona. The young woman from the Third Cave had exceptionally good vision, and though she was quite young, she was noted for her ability to see far and well. Her innate talent had been recognized early and they had begun training her when she was a small girl; she was their best lookout.

  Near the back of the group, walking in front of three horses, Ayla and Jondalar looked up to see what was causing the delay. “I wonder why we’ve stopped,” Jondalar said, a familiar frown of worry wrinkling his forehead.

  Ayla observed the leader and the people around him closely, and instinctively moved her hand to shield the warm bundle that she carried in the soft leather blanket tied to her chest. Jonayla had recently nursed and was sleeping, but moved slightly at her mother’s touch. Ayla had an uncanny ability to interpret meaning from body language, learned young when she lived with the Clan. She knew Joharran was alarmed and Thefona was frightened.

  Ayla, too, had extraordinarily sharp vision. She could also pick up sounds above the range of normal hearing and feel the deep tones of those that were below. Her sense of smell and taste were also keen, but she had never compared herself with anyone, and didn’t realize how extraordinary her perceptions were. She was born with heightened acuity in all her senses, which no doubt contributed to her survival after losing her parents and everything she knew at five years. Her only training had come from herself. She had developed her natural abilities during the years she studied animals, chiefly carnivores, when she was teaching herself to hunt.

  In the stillness, she discerned the faint but familiar rumblings of lions, detected their distinctive scent on a slight breeze, and noticed that several people in front of the group were gazing ahead. When she looked, she saw something move. Suddenly the cats hidden by the grass seemed to jump into clear focus. She could make out two young and three or four adult cave lions. As she started moving forward, she reached with one hand for her spear-thrower, fastened to a carrying loop on her belt, and with the other for a spear from the holder hanging on her back.

  “Where are you going?” Jondalar asked.

  She stopped. “There are lions up ahead just beyond the split in the trail,” she said under her breath.

  Jondalar turned to look, and noticed movement that he interpreted as lions now that he knew what to look for. He reached for his weapons as well. “You should stay here with Jonayla. I’ll go.”

  Ayla glanced down at her sleeping baby, then looked up at him. “You’re good with the spear-thrower, Jondalar, but there are at least two cubs and three grown lions, probably more. If the lions think the cubs are in danger and decide to attack, you’ll need help, someone to back you up, and you know I’m better than anyone, except you.”

  His brow furrowed again as he paused to think, looking at her. Then he nodded. “All right … but stay behind me.” He detected movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced back. “What about the horses?”

  “They know lions are near. Look at them,” Ayla said.

  Jondalar looked. All three horses, including the new young filly, were staring ahead, obviously aware of the huge felines. Jondalar frowned again. “Will they be all right? Especially little Gray?”

  “They know to stay out of the way of those lions, but I don’t see Wolf,” Ayla said. “I’d better whistle for him.”

  “You don’t have to,” Jondalar said, pointing in a different direction. “He must sense something, too. Look at him coming.”

  Ayla turned and saw a wolf racing toward her. The canine was a magnificent animal, larger than most, but an injury from a fight with other wolves that left him with a bent ear gave him a rakish look. She made the special signal that she used when they hunted together. He knew it meant to stay near and pay close attention to her. They ducked around people as they hurried toward the front, trying not to cause any undo commotion, and to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Joharran said softly when he saw his brother and Ayla with the wolf quietly appear with their spear-throwers in hand.

  “Do you know how many there are?” Ayla asked.

  “More than I thought,” Thefona said, trying to seem calm and not let her fear show. “When I first saw them, I thought there were maybe three or four, but they are moving around in the grass, and now I think there may be ten or more. It’s a big pride.”

  “And they are feeling confident,” Joharran said.

  “How do you know that?” Thefona asked.

  “They’re ignoring us.”


  Jondalar knew his mate was very familiar with the huge felines. “Ayla knows cave lions,” he said, “Perhaps we should ask her what she thinks.” Joharran nodded in her direction, asking the question silently.

  “Joharran is right. They know we’re here. And they know how many they are and how many we are,” Ayla said, then added, “they may see us as something like a herd of horses or aurochs and think they may be able to single out a weak one. I think they are new to this region.”

  “What makes you think so?” Joharran said. He was always surprised at Ayla’s wealth of knowledge of four-legged hunters, but for some reason it was also at times like this that he noticed her unusual accent more.

  “They don’t know us, that’s why they’re so confident,” Ayla continued. “If they were a resident pride that lived around people and had been chased or hunted a few times, I don’t think they would be so unconcerned.”

  “Well, maybe we should give them something to be concerned about,” Jondalar said.

  Joharran’s brow wrinkled in a way that was so much like his taller though younger brother’s, it made Ayla want to smile, but it usually showed at a time when smiling would be inappropriate. “Perhaps it would be wiser just to avoid them,” the dark-haired leader said.

  “I don’t think so,” Ayla said, bowing her head and looking down. It was still difficult for her to disagree with a man in public, especially a leader. Though she knew it was perfectly acceptable among the Zelandonii—after all, some leaders were women, including, at one time, Joharran’s and Jondalar’s mother—such behavior from a woman would not have been tolerated in the Clan, the ones who raised her.

  “Why not?” Joharran asked, his frown turning into a scowl.

  “Those lions are resting too close to the home of the Third Cave,” Ayla said quietly. “There will always be lions around, but if they are comfortable here, they might think of it as a place to return when they want to rest, and would see any people who come near as prey, especially children or elders. They could be a danger to the people who live at Two Rivers Rock, and the other nearby Caves, including the Ninth.”