The Valley of Horses (Earth's Children 2)

“I thought the fish was delicious,” Jondalar said to his brother, “but this stew is superb!”

“Jetamio says it’s traditional. It’s flavored with the dried leaves of bog myrtle. The bark is used in tanning the chamois skins—that’s what gives them the yellow color. It grows in marshes, particularly where the Sister joins the Mother. It was lucky for me they were out collecting it last fall, or they never would have found us.”

Jondalar’s forehead creased as he recalled the time. “You’re right; we were lucky. I still wish there was some way I could repay these people.” His frown deepened when he remembered his brother was becoming one of them.

“This wine is Jetamio’s bride gift,” Serenio said.

Jondalar reached for his cup, took a sip, and nodded. “Is good. Is much good.”

“Very good,” Tholie corrected. “It is very good.” She had no compunctions about correcting his speech; she still had a few problems with the language herself, and she assumed he would rather speak properly.

“Very good,” he repeated, smiling at the short, stocky young woman with the baby at her ample breast. He liked her outspoken honesty and her outgoing nature that so easily overcame the shyness and reserve of others. He turned to his brother. “She’s right, Thonolan. This wine is very good. Even Mother would agree, and no one makes finer wine than Marthona. I think she would approve of Jetamio.” Jondalar suddenly wished he hadn’t said that. Thonolan would never take his mate to meet his mother; it was likely he would never see Marthona again.

“Jondalar, you should speak Sharamudoi No one else can understand when you speak in Zelandonii, and you’ll learn much faster if you make yourself speak it all the time,” Tholie said, leaning forward with concern. She felt she spoke from experience.

Jondalar was embarrassed, but he couldn’t be angry. Tholie was so sincere, and it had been impolite of him to speak in a language no one else could understand. He reddened, but smiled.

Tholie noted Jondalar’s discomfiture, and, though outspoken, she wasn’t insensitive. “Why don’t we learn each other’s language? We may forget our own if we don’t have someone else to talk to once in a while. Zelandonii has such a musical sound, I would love to learn it.” She smiled at Jondalar and Thonolan. “We’ll spend a little time at it every day,” she stated as though everyone obviously agreed.

“Tholie, you may want to learn Zelandonii, but they may not want to learn Mamutoi,” Markeno said. “Did you think of that?”

It was her turn to blush. “No, I didn’t,” she said, with both surprise and chagrin, realizing her presumption.

“Well, I want to learn Mamutoi and Zelandonii I think it’s a good idea,” Jetamio said firmly.

“I, too, think good idea, Tholie,” Jondalar said.

“What a mixture we’re bringing together. The Ramudoi half is part Mamutoi, and the Shamudoi half is going to be part Zelandonii,” Markeno said, smiling tenderly at his mate.

The affection between the two was evident. They make a good match, Jondalar thought, though he couldn’t help but smile. Markeno was as tall as he, though not as muscular, and when they were together, the sharp contrast emphasized each other’s physical traits: Tholie seemed shorter and rounder, Markeno taller and thinner.

“Can someone else join you?” Serenio asked. “I would find it interesting to learn Zelandonii, and I think Darvo might find Mamutoi useful if he wants to go on trading journeys sometime.”

“Why not?” Thonolan laughed. “East or west, if you make a Journey, knowing the language helps.” He looked at his brother. “But if you don’t know it, it doesn’t stop you from understanding a beautiful woman, does it, Jondalar? Especially if you have big blue eyes,” he said in Zelandonii, grinning.

Jondalar smiled at his brother’s gibe. “Should speak Sharamudoi, Thonolan,” he said with a wink at Tholie. He speared a vegetable out of his wooden bowl with his eating knife, still finding it not quite natural to use his left hand for the purpose, though that was the custom of the Sharamudoi. “What is named this?” he asked her. “In Zelandonii is called ‘mushroom.’ ”

Tholie told him the word for the shaggy cap mushroom in her language and in Sharamudoi. Then he speared a green stalk and held it up questioningly.

“That’s the stem of young burdock,” Jetamio said, and then realized the word itself would mean little to him. She got up and went to the refuse pile near the cooking area and brought back some wilted but still recognizable leaves. “Burdock,” she said, showing him the large, downy, gray-green leaf parts that had been torn from the stem. He nodded his head with undemanding. Then she held out a long, broad, green leaf with an unmistakable odor.

“That’s it! I knew it was some familiar flavor,” he said to his brother. “I didn’t know garlic grew in leaf like that.” Then back to Jetamio, “What is name?”

“Ransoms,” she said. Tholie had no Mamutoi name for it, but she did for the piece of dried leaf Jetamio next held out.

“Seaweed,” she said. “I brought that with me. It grows in the sea, and it thickens the stew.” She tried to explain but wasn’t sure if she was understood. The ingredient had been added to the traditional dish because of her close relationship to the new couple, and because it imparted an interesting taste and texture. “There is not much left. It was part of my bride gift,” Tholie braced the baby over her shoulder and patted her back. “Have you made your gift to the Blessing Tree yet, Tamio?”

Jetamio lowered her head, smiling demurely. It was a question not usually asked outr

ight, but only mildly meddlesome. “I’m hoping the Mother will bless my mating with a baby as healthy and happy as yours, Tholie. Is Shamio through nursing?”

“She just likes to suck for comfort. She’d hang on all day if I let her. Would you like to hold her? I need to go outside.”

When Tholie returned, the focus of conversation had shifted. Food had been cleared out of the way, more wine served, and someone was practicing rhythms on a single-skin drum and improvising words to a song. When she took her infant back, Thonolan and Jetamio stood up and tried to edge their way out. Suddenly several people with broad grins ringed them.

It was usual for the couple about to be mated to leave the feast early to find some last moments alone together before their pre-Matrimonial separation. But since they were the guests of honor, they could not politely take their leave as long as anyone was talking to them. They must try to sneak away in the moment when no one would notice, but of course, everyone knew it. It became a game, and they were expected to play their parts—making dashes to get away while everyone pretended to look aside, and then making polite excuses when they were caught. After some teasing and joking, they would be allowed to go.

“You’re not in a hurry to leave, are you?” Thonolan was asked.

“It get late,” Thonolan evaded, grinning.

“It’s early yet. Have another helping, Tamio.”

“I couldn’t eat another bite.”

“A cup of wine then. Thonolan, you wouldn’t turn down a cup of Tamio’s wonderful bilberry wine, would you?”

“Well … little.”

“Little more for you, Tamio?”

She edged closer to Thonolan and made a conspiratorial glance over her shoulder. “Just a sip, but someone will have to get our cups. They’re over there.”