The Valley of Horses (Earth's Children 2)

“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?”