The Valley of Horses (Earth's Children 2)

Jondalar launched his spear by hand a moment before her, but the spear thrower imparted greater speed. Jondalar’s weapon found a flank, which turned the bison momentarily. When he looked, Ayla’s spear, still quivering, was lodged in the young bull’s eye; the animal was dead before he fell.

The running, shouting, and new source of blood smell started the aimlessly milling animals in a concerted direction—away from the disturbing activity. The last stragglers bypassed their fallen members to join the herd in a ground-shaking stampede. The rumble could still be heard after the dust settled.

The man and woman were struck dumb for a moment as they stood looking at the two dead bison on the empty plain.

“It’s over,” Ayla said, stunned. “Just like that.”

“Why didn’t you run?” Jondalar shouted, giving in to his fear for her now that it was over. He strode toward her. “You could’ve been killed!”

“I couldn’t turn my back on a charging bull,” Ayla countered. “He would have gored me for sure.” She looked again at the bison. “No, I think your spear would have stopped him … but I didn’t know that. I never hunted with anyone before. I always had to watch out for myself. If I didn’t, no one would have.”

Her words jogged a final piece into place, and suddenly a picture came together of what her life must have been. He saw her in a new way. This woman, he thought, this gentle, caring, loving woman, has survived more than anyone would believe. No, she could not run away, not from anything, not even from you. Whenever you let yourself go, Jondalar, and lost control, people backed off. But at your worst, she stood her ground.

“Ayla, you beautiful, wild, wonderful woman, look what a hunter you are!” He smiled. “Look what we’ve done! Two of them. How are we going to get them both back?”

As the full significance of their achievement filled her, she smiled, with satisfaction, triumph, and joy. It made Jondalar aware that he had not seen that smile often enough. She was beautiful, but when she smiled like that, she glowed, as though a fire was lit from within. A laugh rose up in him unexpectedly—uninhibited and infectious. She joined him; she couldn’t help it. It was their shout of victory, of success.

“Look what a hunter you are, Jondalar,” she said.

“It’s the spear throwers—they made the difference. We walked into this herd, and before they knew what happened … two of them! Think what that can mean!”

She knew what it would mean to her. With the new weapon she would always be able to hunt for herself. Summer. Winter. No pit traps to dig. She could travel and hunt. The spear thrower had all the advantages of her sling, and so many more.

“I know what it means. You said you would show me a better way to hunt, an easier way. You did, more than I imagined. I don’t know how to tell you … I am so …”

There was only one way she knew to express her gratitude, the way she had learned in the Clan. She sat at his feet and bowed her head. Perhaps he would not tap her shoulder to give her permission to tell him, in the proper way, but she had to try.

“What are you doing?” he said, reaching down to urge her up. “Don’t sit there like that, Ayla.”

“When a woman of the Clan wants to tell a man something important, this is how she asks for his attention,” she said, looking up. “It is important for me to tell you how much this means, how grateful I am for the weapon. And for teaching me your words, for everything.”

“Please, Ayla, get up,” he said, lifting her to her feet. “I didn’t give this weapon to you, you gave it to me. If I hadn’t seen you use your sling, I would not have thought of it. I am grateful to you, for more than this weapon.”

He was holding her arms, feeling her body close to his. She was looking into his eyes, unable and unwilling to turn her eyes aside. He bent closer and put his mouth on hers.

Her eyes opened wide in surprise. It was so unexpected. Not only his action, but her reaction, the jolt that flushed through her, when she felt his mouth on hers. She did not know how to respond.

And, finally, he understood. He wouldn’t push her beyond that gentle kiss—not yet.

“What is that mouth on mouth?”

“It’s a kiss, Ayla. It’s your first kiss, isn’t it? I keep forgetting, but it’s very hard to look at you and … Ayla, sometimes I am a very stupid man.”

“Why do you say that? You are not stupid.”

“I am stupid. I can’t believe how stupid I have been.” He let go of her. “But right now, I think we’d better find a way to get those bison back to the cave, because if I stay here standing next to you like this, I’ll never be able to do it right for you. The way it should be done for your first time.”

“The way what should be done?” she said, not really wanting him to move away.

“First Rites, Ayla. If you will allow me.”

28

“I don’t think Whinney could have hauled them both back here if we hadn’t left the heads behind,” Ayla said. “It was a good idea.” She and Jondalar dragged the carcass of the bull off the travois and onto the ledge. “There is so muc

h meat! It will take a long time to cut it up. We should start right away.”

“They’ll keep for a while, Ayla.” His smile and his eyes filled her with warmth. “I think your First Rites are more important. I’ll help you take the harness off Whinney—then I’m going for a swim. I’m sweaty, and bloody.”

“Jondalar …” Ayla hesitated. She was feeling excited, and yet shy. “It is a ceremony, this First Rites?”

“Yes, it is a ceremony.”

“Iza taught me to prepare myself for ceremonies. Is there a … preparation for this ceremony?”

“Usually older women help young women prepare. I don’t know what they say or do. I think you should do whatever is appropriate for you.”

“Then I will find the soaproot and purify myself, the way Iza taught me. I will wait until you are through with your swim. I should be alone when I prepare.” She flushed and looked down.

She seems so young, and shy, he thought. Just like most young women at First Rites. He felt the familiar surge of tenderness and excitement. Even her preparations were right. He lifted her chin and kissed her again, then firmly moved himself away. “I’d like a little soaproot myself.”

“I’ll get some for you,” she said.

He was grinning as he walked along the stream behind Ayla, and after she dug the soaproot and went back up to the cave, he flung himself into the water with a tremendous splash, feeling better about himself than he had for a long time. He pounded the soapy foam from the roots, rubbed it on his body, then took off the leather thong and worked it into his hair. Sand usually worked well enough, but soaproot was better.