The Valley of Horses (13 page)

It’s been so long since I’ve been with a woman, he thought, and wanted to take her that instant. Go easy, don’t scare her, he reminded himself. It’s her first time. You’ve got all night, Jondalar. Wait until you know she’s ready.

He caressed her bare skin below her swelling mounds down to her waist, and searched for the thong that gathered her skirt together. Pulling the tie, he reached in and rested his hand on her stomach. She tensed, then relaxed. He reached lower for the inside of her thigh, brushing over her pubic rise of soft down. She spread her legs as he moved his hand along her inner thigh.

He pulled his hand away, sat up, then worked her skirt down below her hips and dropped it on the ground. Then he stood up and looked at her soft, rounded, not quite fullblown curves. She smiled up at him with a look of trust and longing. He untied the thong from his trousers and lowered them. She gasped when she saw his upright swollen member, and a hint of fear returned to her eyes.

Noria had listened with fascination to stories other women told of their Rites of First Pleasures. Some women didn’t think they were such a pleasure. They said the Gift of Pleasure was given to men, that women were given the ability to give men pleasure so men would be bound to them; so men would hunt and bring food and skins to make clothes when a woman was heavy with child or suckling young. Noria had been warned there would be pain in her First Rites. Jondalar was so swollen, so big, how would he fit himself in her?

Her look of fear was familiar. It was a critical moment; she would have to get used to him again. He enjoyed awakening a woman for the first time to the pleasures of the Mother’s Gift, but it took delicacy and finesse. Someday, he thought, I wish I could give a woman pleasure for the first time and not have to worry about hurting her. He knew it wasn’t possible. The Rites of First Pleasures for a woman were always a little painful.

He sat down beside her and waited, giving her time. Her eyes were drawn to his throbbing member. He took her hand and led her to touch him, and felt a surge. It was as though his manhood had a life of its own at a time like this. Noria felt the softness of his skin, the warmth, the firm fullness, and, as his member moved eagerly in her hand, she felt a sharp, pleasurable, tingling sensation within her, and a dampness between her legs. She tried to smile, but fear still lurked in her eyes.

He stretched out beside her and kissed her gently. She opened her eyes and looked into his. She saw his concern, and his hunger, and some unnamable, irresistible force. She was drawn, overwhelmed, lost in the impossibly blue depths of his eyes, and felt the deep, pleasurable sensation again. She wanted him. She feared pain, but she wanted him. She reached for him, closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and pressed herself closer to him.

He kissed her, letting her explore his mouth, and slowly worked his way down her neck and throat, kissing, moving his tongue, and gently caressing her stomach and thighs. He tantalized a little, coming close to the sensitive nipple, but backing off, until she moved his mouth to it. At that instant, he moved his hand to the warm slit between her thighs and found the small throbbing nodule. A cry escaped her lips.

He suckled and gently bit her nipple as he moved his finger. She moaned and moved her hips. He went lower, felt her indrawn breath as his tongue found her navel, and tension in her muscles as he moved even lower, backing off the platform until his knees felt the ground. Then he pressed her legs apart, and took his first taste of her tangy salt. Noria’s breath exploded with a shuddering cry. She moaned with each breath, tossed her head back and forth, and raised her hips to meet him.

With his hands, he spread her open, licked her warm folds, then found her nodule with his tongue and worked it. As she cried out, moving her hips, his own excitement was
hard upon him. He struggled to contain it. When he heard her gasping in quick pants, he raised up, still kneeling so he could control his penetration, and guided the head of his engorged organ into her untried opening. He gritted his teeth for control as he pushed into the warm, damp, tight well.

As she wrapped her legs around his waist, he felt the blockage within her. With his finger, he found her nodule again and moved himself back and forth just a little, until her gasps came with cries and he felt her hips lift. Then, he drew back, pushed hard, and felt himself penetrate the barrier as she cried out in pain and pleasure, and heard his own strained outcry as he released his pent-up need with shuddering spasms.

He moved out and in a few more times, penetrating as far as he dared, feeling the last of his essence drained, then collapsed on her. It was over. He lay for a moment with his head on her chest, breathing hard, then raised himself. She was limp, her head turned to the side, her eyes closed. He withdrew himself and saw bloodstains on the white fur beneath her. He lifted her legs back onto the platform and crawled up on it beside her, sinking into the furs.

As his breath started to come easier, he felt hands on his head. He opened his eyes to see the old face and bright eyes of Haduma. Noria moved beside him. Haduma smiled, nodded with approval, and began a singsong chant. Noria opened her eyes, was pleased to see the old woman, and even more pleased when she moved her hands from Jondalar’s head to her stomach. Haduma made motions over them, chanting, then pulled out the bloodstained fur from beneath them. There was special magic for a woman in her blood of First Rites.

Then the old woman looked at Jondalar again, smiled, and reached a knobby finger to touch his spent member. He felt a moment of renewed excitement, saw it try to spring to life again, then go soft. Haduma chuckled softly, then hobbled out of the tent, leaving them alone.

Jondalar relaxed beside Noria. After a while, she sat up and looked down at him with glowing, languorous eyes.

“Jondalar man, Noria woman,” she said, as though she truly felt she was a woman now, and leaned over to kiss him. He was surprised to feel a stir of excitement so soon, and wondered if Haduma’s touch had anything to do with it. He forgot to wonder as he took his time showing the eager
young woman ways to please him, and giving new pleasure to her.

The giant sturgeon was already beached by the time Jondalar got up. Thonolan had poked his head in the tent earlier, showing him a couple of gaffs, but Jondalar had waved him off, wrapped his arm around Noria, and gone back to sleep. When he woke up later, Noria was gone. He slipped on his trousers and walked toward the river. He watched Thonolan, Jeren, and several others laughing in newfound camaraderie, rather wishing he had fished with them.

“Well, look who decided to get up,” Thonolan said when he saw him. “Leave it to blue eyes to lie around while everyone else is fighting to haul that old Haduma out of the water.”

Jeren caught the phrase. “Haduma! Haduma!” he shouted, laughing and pointing at the fish. He pranced around it, then stood in front of its primitive, sharklike head. The feelers sprouting out of the lower jaw attested to its bottom-feeding habits and harmlessness, but its size alone had made it a challenge. It was well over fifteen feet long.

With a roguish grin, the young hunter moved his pelvis back and forth in erotic mimicry at the nose of the great old fish, shouting, “Haduma! Haduma!” as though begging to be touched. The rest of them broke up in gales of bawdy laughter, and even Jondalar smiled. The others started dancing around the fish, shaking their pelvises and shouting “Haduma!” and, with high spirits, began pushing each other aside, vying for the spot at the head. One man was shoved into the river. He waded back, grabbed the nearest one, and pulled him in. Soon they were all pushing each other into the water, Thonolan right in the thick of it.

He splashed up on the bank soaking wet, spied his brother, and grabbed him. “Don’t think you’re going to get away dry!” he said as Jondalar resisted. “Come on, Jeren, let’s give blue eyes a dunking!”

Jeren heard his name, saw the struggle, and came running. The others followed. Pulling and pushing, they dragged Jondalar to the river’s edge, and all ended up in the water, laughing. They came out dripping, still grinning, until one of them noticed the old woman standing by the fish.

“Haduma, eh?” she said, fixing them with a severe stare. They gave each other surreptitious glances and looked sheepish. Then she cackled delightedly, stood at the head of
the fish, and wagged her old hips back and forth. They laughed and ran toward her, each man getting down on hands and knees and begging her to get on his back.

Jondalar smiled at the game they had obviously played with her before. Her tribe not only revered their ancient ancestress, they loved her, and she seemed to enjoy their fun. Haduma looked around and, seeing Jondalar, pointed at him. The men waved him over, and he noticed the care with which they helped her onto his back. He stood up carefully. She weighed almost nothing, but he was surprised at the strength of her grip. The fragile old woman still had a certain toughness.

He started walking, but the rest were racing ahead, and she pounded his shoulder, urging him on. They ran up and down the beach until they were all out of breath, and then Jondalar got down to let her off. She straightened herself, found her staff, and, with great dignity, headed toward the tents.

“Can you believe that old woman?” Jondalar said to Thonolan with admiration. “Sixteen children, five generations, and she’s still going strong. I don’t doubt that she will live to see her sixth generation.”

“She live see six generation, then she die.”

Jondalar turned at the voice. He hadn’t seen Tamen approach. “What do you mean, then she die?”

“Haduma say, Noria make blue-eye son, Zelandonii spirit, then Haduma die. She say, long time here, time go. See baby, then die. Baby name, Jondal, six generation Hadumai. Haduma happy Zelandonii man. Say good man. Pleasure woman First Rites not easy, Zelandonii man, good man.”

Jondalar was filled with mixed emotions. “If it is her wish to go, she will, but it makes me sad,” he said.

“Yes, all Hadumai much sad,” Tamen said.

“Can I see Noria again, so soon after First Rites? Just for a while? I don’t know your customs.”

“Custom, no. Haduma say yes. You go soon?”

“If Jeren says the sturgeon pays our obligation for chasing off the horses, I think we should. How did you know?”

“Haduma say.”

The camp feasted on sturgeon in the evening, and many hands had made short work of cutting strips for drying earlier in the afternoon. Jondalar glimpsed Noria once from a distance as she was escorted by several women to some place
farther upstream. It was after dark before she was led to see him. They walked together toward the river, with two women following discreetly behind. It broke custom enough for her to see him immediately after First Rites; alone would be too much.

They stood by a tree not saying anything, her head bowed. He moved aside a tendril of hair and lifted her chin to look at him. She had tears in her eyes. Jondalar wiped a glistening drop from the corner of her eye with a knuckle, then brought it to his lips.

“Oh … Jondalar,” she cried, reaching for him.

He held her, kissed her gently, then more passionately.

“Noria,” he said. “Noria woman, beautiful woman.”

“Jondalar make Noria woman,” she said. “Make … Noria … Make …” She heaved a sob, wishing she knew the words to tell him what she wanted to say.

“I know, Noria. I know,” he said, holding her. Then he stood back holding her shoulders, smiled at her and patted her stomach. She smiled through her tears.

“Noria make Zelandonyee.…” She touched his eyelid. “Noria make Jondal … Haduma.…”

“Yes.” He nodded. “Tamen told me. Jondal, sixth-generation Hadumai.” He reached into his pouch. “I have something I want to give you, Noria.” He took out the stone donii and put it in her hand. He wished there were some way to tell her how special it was to him, to tell her his mother had given it to him, to tell her how old it was, how it had been passed down for many generations. Then he smiled. “This donii is my Haduma,” he said. “Jondalar’s Haduma. Now, it is Noria’s Haduma.”

“Jondalar Haduma?” she said with wonder, looking at the carved female shape. “Jondalar Haduma, Noria?”

He nodded, and she burst into tears, clutched it in both hands, and brought it to her lips. “Jondalar Haduma,” she said, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Suddenly she threw her arms around him and kissed him, then ran back toward the tents, crying so hard that she could barely see her way.

The whole camp turned out to see them off. Haduma was standing beside Noria when Jondalar stopped in front of them. Haduma was smiling, nodding approval, but tears were rolling down Noria’s cheeks. He reached for one, brought it to his mouth, and she smiled, though it didn’t check her tears. He turned to go, but not before he saw the
curly-haired young man Jeren had sent as a runner looking at Noria with lovesick eyes.

She was a woman now and blessed by Haduma, assured of bringing a lucky child to a man’s hearth. It was common talk that she had known pleasure at First Rites, and everyone knew such women made the best mates. Noria was eminently matable, utterly desirable.

“Do you really think Noria is pregnant with a child of your spirit?” Thonolan asked after they left the camp behind.

“I’ll never know, but that Haduma is a wise old woman. She knows more than anyone can guess. I think she does have ‘big magic.’ If anyone could make it happen, she could.”

They walked in silence beside the river for a while, then Thonolan said, “Big Brother, there’s something I’d like to ask you.”

“Ask away.”

“What magic do you have? I mean, every man talks about being chosen for First Rites, but it really scares a lot of them. I know a couple who have turned it down, and to be honest, I always feel clumsy. I’d never turn it down, though. But you, you get chosen all the time. And I’ve never seen it fail. They all fall in love with you. How do you do it? I’ve watched you rut around at festivals; I can’t see anything special.”

“I don’t know, Thonolan,” he said, a little embarrassed. “I just try to be careful.”