The Valley of Horses (Earth's Children 2)

Ayla hadn’t been paying very close attention to him either—she had been too eager to get to the fire, but when she looked up to take the cup, she nearly dropped it.

“What happened to your face?” she said with equal parts of shock and concern.

“What do you mean?” he asked, worried.

“Your beard … it’s gone!”

The shock which had mirrored hers gave way to a smile. “I shaved it off.”

“Shaved?”

“Cut it off. Close to the skin. I usually do it in summer. It gets itchy when I’m hot and sweaty.”

Ayla couldn’t resist. She reached for his face to feel the smoothness of his cheek, then, rubbing against the grain, an incipient roughness; scratchy, like a lion’s tongue. She recalled he had no beard when she first found him, but after it grew in she forgot about it. He seemed so young without a beard, appealing in a childlike way, but not as a man. She wasn’t accustomed to full-grown men without beards. She ran her finger along his strong jaw and the slight cleft of his firm chin.

Her touch held him motionless. He couldn’t pull away. He felt the light tracery of her fingertips with every nerve. Though she had intended no erotic implications, just gentle curiosity, his response was from a deeper source. The insistent, straining throbbing in his groin was so immediate, so powerful, that it caught him by surprise.

The way his eyes looked at her compelled a rush of desire to know him as a man, in spite of his almost too youthful appearance. He moved to reach for her hand, to hold it to his face, but with an effort, she pulled it away, picked up the cup, and drank without tasting. It was more than being self-conscious about touching him. She had a sudden vivid memory of the last time they had sat face to face near the fire and that look had come into his eyes. And this time she had been touching him. She was afraid to look at him, afraid she’d see that horrible, degrading look again. But her fingertips remembered his smooth-rough face, and tingled.

Jondalar was distressed at his instant, almost violent reaction to her gentle touch. He couldn’t keep his eyes away from her though she avoided his look. Looking down like that, she seemed so shy, so fragile, yet he knew the strength at her core. He thought of her as a beautiful blade of flint, perfect as it fell from the stone, its thin edges delicate and translucent, yet so hard and sharp that it could cut the toughest leather in one clean stroke.

O Mother, she is so beautiful, he thought. O Doni, Great Earth Mother, I want that woman. I want her so much …

Suddenly he jumped up. He couldn’t stand just looking at her. Then he remembered the meal he had made. Here she is, cold and tired, and I’m just sitting. He went to get the mammoth-hipbone platter she used.

Ayla heard him get up. He had jumped up so abruptly, she was convinced he had suddenly been overcome with revulsion again. She started shaking, and clenched her teeth trying to stop. She could not face that again. She wanted to tell him to leave so she would not have to see him, to see his eyes naming her … abomination. She sensed, though her eyes were closed, when he was in front of her again, and she held her breath.

“Ayla?” He could see her shivering, even with the fire and her fur wrap. “I thought it might be late when you got back, so I went ahead and made something for us to eat. Would you like some? If you’re not too tired?”

Had she heard him right? She opened her eyes, slowly. He was holding a platter. He put it down in front of her, then pulled up a mat and sat down beside her. There was a hare, spitted and roasted, some boiled roots in a broth of dried meat he had already given her, and even some blueberries.

“You … cooked this … for me?” Ayla said, incredulous.

“I know it’s not as good as you would make, but I hope it’s all right. I thought it might be bad luck to use the spear thrower yet, so I just used a spear. It takes a different casting technique, and I wasn’t sure if all that practice with the thrower would spoil my aim, but I guess you don’t forget. Go ahead, eat.”

Men of the Clan did not cook. They could not—they had no memories for it. She knew Jondalar was more versatile in his abilities, but it never occurred to her that he would cook; not when there was a woman around. Even more than that he could, and that he did, was that he had thought of it in the first place. In the Clan, even after she was allowed to hunt, she was still expected to perform her usual tasks. It was so unexpected, so … considerate. Her fears had been entirely unfounded, and she didn’t know what to say. She picked up a leg he had cut off and took a bite.

“Is it all right?” he asked, a bit anxious.

“It’s wonderful,” she said with her mouth full.

It was fine, but it wouldn’t have mattered if it had been burned crisp—it would have been delicious to her. She had a feeling she was going to cry. He scooped out a ladleful of long thin roots. She picked one up and took a bite. “Is this … clover root? It’s good.”

“Yes,” he said, pleased with himself. “They are better with some oil to dip them in. It’s one of those foods women usually make for the men for special feasts because it’s a favorite. I saw the clover upstream and thought you might like it.” It had been a good idea to make a meal, he thought, enjoying her surprise.

“It’s a lot of work to dig them. There’s not much to each one, but I didn’t know they’d be so good. I only use the roots for medicine, as part of a tonic in the spring.”

“We usually eat them in spring. It’s one of the first fresh foods.”

They heard a clatter of hooves on the stone ledge and turned as Whinney and Racer came in. After a while, Ayla got up and settled them in. It was a nightly ritual that consisted of greetings, shared affection, fresh hay, grain, water, and, particularly after a long ride, a rubdown with absorbent leather and a currying with a teasel. Ayla noticed the fresh hay, grain, and water had already been put out.

“You remembered the horses, too,” she said when she sat down to finish her blueberries. Even if she hadn’t been hungry she would have eaten them.

He smiled. “I didn’t have much to do. Oh, I have something to show you.” He got up and returned with the two spear throwers. “I hope you don’t mind, it’s for luck.”

“Jondalar!” She was almost afraid to touch hers. “Did you make this?” Her voice was full of awe. She had bee

n surprised when he drew the shape of an animal on the target, but this was so much more. “It’s … like you took the totem, the spirit of the bison, and put him there.”

The man was grinning. She made surprises so much fun. His spear thrower had a giant deer with huge palmate antlers, and she marveled at it as well. “It is supposed to capture the spirit of the animal, so it will be drawn to the weapon. I’m not really a very good carver, you should see the work of some, and that of the sculptors, and gravers, and the artists who paint the sacred walls.”

“I’m sure you have put powerful magic in these. I did not see deer, but a herd of bison is southeast. I think they are beginning to move together. Will a bison be drawn to a weapon that has a deer on it? I can go out again tomorrow and look for deer.”

“This will work for bison. Yours will be luckier, though. I’m glad I put a bison on yours.”

Ayla didn’t know what to say. He was a man, and had given her more hunting luck than himself, and he was glad.

“I was going to make a donii for luck, too, but I didn’t have time to finish it.”

“Jondalar, I am confused. What is ‘donii’? Is it your Earth Mother?”

“The Great Earth Mother is Doni, but She takes other forms and they are all donii. A donii is usually Her spirit form, when She rides on the wind, or sends Herself into dreams—men often dream of Her as a beautiful woman. A donii is also the carved figure of a woman—usually a bountiful mother—because women are Her blessed. She made them in Her likeness, to create life as She created all life. She rests most easily in the likeness of a mother. A donii is usually sent to guide a man to Her spirit world—some say women don’t need a guide, they know the way. And some women claim they can change themselves into a donii when they want—not always to a man’s benefit. The Sharamudoi who live west of here say the Mother can take the form of a bird.”

Ayla nodded. “In the Clan, only the Ancient Ones are female spirits.”

“What about your totems?” he asked.

“The protective totem spirits are all male, for both men and women, but women’s totems are usually the smaller animals. Ursus, the Great Cave Bear, is the great protector of all the Clan—everyone’s totem. Ursus was Creb’s personal totem. He was chosen, just as the Cave Lion chose me. You can see my mark.” She showed him the four parallel scars on her left thigh, where she had been clawed by a cave lion when she was five.