The Valley of Horses (37 page)

Once the center strut was in, proportionally shorter ones were worked into place along the length of the boat. They bailed out the hot water until the four men could manage the weight, took out the rocks and tipped the canoe to pour out the rest of the water, then set the boat between blocks to dry.

The men breathed easier as they stood back to look and admire. The boat was close to fifty feet long, and more than eight feet across at the midsection, but the expansion had altered the lines in another important way. As the middle was widened, the fore and aft sections had lifted, giving the craft a graceful upward curve toward the ends. The results of the expansion were not only a broader beam for greater stability and capacity, but a raised bow and stern that would clear the water to take waves or rough water more easily.

“Now she’s a lazy man’s boat,” Carlono said as they walked to another area of the clearing.

“Lazy man!” Thonolan exclaimed, thinking of the hard work.

Carlono smiled at the expected response. “There’s a long story about a lazy man with a nagging mate who left his boat out all winter. When he found it again, it was full of
water, and the ice and snow had caused it to expand. Everyone thought it was ruined, but it was the only boat he had. When it dried out, he put it in the water and discovered how much better it handled. Afterward, according to the story, everyone made them that way.”

“It’s a funny story if it’s told right,” Markeno said.

“And there may be some truth in it,” Carlono added. “If we were making a small boat, we’d be done except for fittings,” he said as they approached a group of people who were boring holes along the edges of planks with bone drills. It was a tedious, difficult job, but many hands made the job go faster, and socializing eased the boredom.

“And I’d be that much closer to mating,” Thonolan said, noticing Jetamio among them.

“You have smiles on your faces. That must mean it stretched all right,” the young woman said to Carlono, though her eyes quickly sought Thonolan.

“We’ll know better when it dries,” Carlono said, careful not to tempt fate. “How are the strakes coming?”

“They’re finished. We’re working on house planks now,” an older woman replied. She resembled Carlono, in her way, as much as Markeno, especially when she smiled. “A young couple needs more than a boat. There
is
more to life, Brother dear.”

“Your brother is as anxious to get them mated as you are, Carolio,” Barono said, smiling as the two young people transfixed each other with lovelorn smiles, though they said not a word. “But what good is a house without a boat?”

Carolio gave him an aggrieved stare. It was a longstanding Ramudoi aphorism, meant to be witty, that had become tiresome with the retelling.

“Ahh!” Barono exclaimed. “It broke again!”

“He’s clumsy today,” Carolio said. “That’s the third drill he’s broken. I think he’s trying to get out of boring holes.”

“Don’t be so hard on your mate,” Carlono said. “Everyone breaks drills. It can’t be helped.”

“She’s right about one thing. Boring holes. I can’t think of anything more boring,” Barono said, with a wide grin at everyone’s groan.

“He thinks he’s funny. What can be worse than a mate who thinks he’s funny?” Carolio appealed to the general company. Everyone smiled. They knew the banter only masked great affection.

“If you have spare drill, I try make holes,” Jondalar said.

“Is there something wrong with this young man? No one wants to drill holes,” Barono said, but he quickly got up.

“Jondalar has taken quite an interest in boat making,” Carlono said. “He’s tried his hand at everything.”

“We may make a Ramudoi out of him yet!” Barono said. “I always thought he was an intelligent young man. I’m not so sure about the other one, though,” he added, smiling at Thonolan, who hadn’t paid attention to anything except Jetamio. “I think a tree could fall on him and he wouldn’t know it. Don’t we have something worthwhile for him to do?”

“He could gather wood for the steam box, or strip willow withes for sewing the planks,” Carlono said. “As soon as the dugout is dry and we get holes drilled around the hull, we’ll be ready to bend the planks to fit around it. How long do you think it will take to finish her, Barono? We should let the Shamud know, so a day can be decided for the mating. Dolando will need to send messengers to other Caves.”

“What else needs to be done?” Barono asked, as they started toward an area where sturdy posts were sunk into the ground.

“The prow and stern posts still have to be scarfed on, and … are you coming, Thonolan?” Markeno said.

“Wha—! Oh … yes, coming.”

After they left, Jondalar picked up a bone drill set in an antler handle and watched Carolio use one like it. “Why holes?” he asked, when he had made a few.

Carlono’s twin sister was as preoccupied with boats as her brother—for all the teasing—and as much an expert in fastenings and fittings as he was in gouging and shaping. She started to explain, then got up and led Jondalar to another work area where a boat was partially dismantled.

Unlike a raft, which depended upon the buoyancy of its structural materials to float, the principle of the Sharamudoi watercraft was to enclose a pocket of air within a wooden shell. It was a significant innovation allowing greater maneuverability and the capability of transporting much heavier loads. The planks, which were used to extend the basic dugout into a larger boat, were bent to fit the curved hull using heat and steam, and then literally sewn on, usually with willow through predrilled holes, and pegged to solid prow and stern posts. Supports, placed at intervals along
both sides, were added later for reinforcement and to attach seats.

Done well, the result was a waterproof shell which could resist the tensions and stresses of hard use for several years. Eventually, though, wear and deterioration of the willow fibers required the boats to be completely torn down and rebuilt. Weakened planks were replaced then, too, which lengthened the effective life of the boats considerably.

“See … where the strakes have been removed,” Carolio said, pointing out the dismantled boat to Jondalar, “there are holes along the top edge of the dugout.” She showed him a plank with a curve that fit the shell. “This was the first strake. The holes along the thinner edge match the base. See, it was overlapped like this, and sewn to the top of the dugout. Then the top plank was sewn to this one.”

They walked around to the other side which hadn’t been dismantled yet, Carolio indicated the frayed and broken fiber in some of the holes. “This boat was overdue for refitting, but you can see how the strakes overlap. For small boats, for one or two people, you don’t need sides, just the dugout. They’re harder to handle in rough water, though. They can get out of control before you know it.”

“Someday I like learn,” Jondalar said. Then, noticing the curved strake, he asked, “How you bend plank?”

“With steam and tension, like the base you expanded. The posts over there, where Carlono and your brother are, are for the guy lines to hold the strakes in place while they are sewn on. It doesn’t take long with everyone working together, once the holes are drilled. Making the holes is a bigger problem. We sharpen the bone drills, but they break so easily.”

Toward evening, when they were all trooping back up to the high terrace, Thonolan noticed that his brother seemed unusually quiet, “What are you thinking about, Jondalar?”

“Making boats. There’s a lot more to it than I ever imagined. I’ve never heard of boats like these before, or seen anyone as skilled on the water as the Ramudoi I think the youngsters are more comfortable in their small boats than they are walking. And they’re so skilled with their tools …” Thonolan saw his brother’s eyes light up with enthusiasm. “I’ve been examining them. I think if I could detach a large spall from the working edge of that adze Carlono was using, it would leave a smooth concave inner face, and make it
much easier to use. And I’m sure I could make a burin out of flint that would bore those holes faster.”

“So that’s it! For a while there I thought you were really interested in boat making, Big Brother. I should have known. It’s not the boats, it’s the tools they use to make them. Jondalar, you’ll always be a toolmaker at heart.”

Jondalar smiled, realizing Thonolan was right. The boatbuilding process was interesting, but it was the tools that had captured his imagination. There were adequate flint knappers in the group, but no one who had made it his or her specialty. No one who could see how a few modifications could make the tools more effective. He had always taken a keen delight in making tools suited to a task, and his technically creative mind was already envisioning possibilities to improve those the Sharamudoi used. And it might be a way he could begin to repay, with his unique skill and knowledge, these people to whom he owed so much.

“Mother! Jondalar! More people just came! There are already so many tents, I don’t know where they’ll find room,” Darvo shouted as he raced into the shelter. He dashed out again; he had only come to impart the news. He couldn’t possibly stay in—the activities outside were far too exciting.

“More visitors have come than when Markeno and Tholie were mated, and I thought that gathering was large,” Serenio said. “But then, most people know of the Mamutoi, even if they haven’t all seen one. No one has heard of the Zelandonii.”

“They not think we have two eye, and two arm, and two leg, like they?” Jondalar said.

He was somewhat overwhelmed himself at the number of people. A Zelandonii Summer Meeting usually saw more, but these were all strangers, except for the residents of Dolando’s Cave and Carlono’s Dock. Word had traveled so fast that others besides Sharamudoi had even come. Some of Tholie’s Mamutoi kith and kin, plus a few others curious enough to accompany them, had been early arrivals. There were people from upriver as well, or uprivers—both the Mother and the Sister.

And many of the Mating Ceremonial customs were unfamiliar. All the Caves traveled to a prearranged meeting place for a Zelandonii Matrimonial, and several couples were formally united at one time. Jondalar was not accustomed to
so many people visiting the home cave of one couple to witness their mating. As Thonolan’s only blood relative, he would have a conspicuous place in the ceremonies, and he was feeling nervous.

“Jondalar, you know most people would be surprised to learn that you are not always as confident as you appear. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” Serenio said, moving her body close to his and putting her arms around his neck. “You always are.”

She had done the right thing. Her nearness was a pleasant distraction—she took his mind off himself without being demanding—and her words were reassuring. He pulled her closer, pressed his warm mouth on hers and lingered, allowing himself the respite of a moment’s sensual pleasure before his apprehensions returned.

“You think I look right? This travel clothes, not for special wear,” he asked, suddenly conscious of his Zelandonii garb.

“No one here knows that. They are unique, very special. Just right for the occasion, I think. It would seem too ordinary if you wore something familiar, Jondalar. People are going to be looking for you as well as Thonolan. That’s why they have come. If they can see you from a distance, they may not all feel the need to press in closer, and you know you are comfortable in those clothes. They look good on you, too. They suit you.”

He let her go and looked out through a crack at the throng outside, grateful he didn’t have to face them yet. He walked toward the back until the sloping roof prevented him from going farther, then returned to the front and looked out again.

“Jondalar, let me make some tea for you. It’s a special blend I learned from the Shamud. It will settle your nerves.”

“Do I look nervous?”

“No, but you have a right to. It will only take a moment.” She poured water into a rectangular cooking box and added hot stones. He pulled up a wooden stool—one that was much too low—and sat down. His thoughts were elsewhere, and he stared absently at the geometric patterns carved into the box: a series of slanting parallel lines above another row slanting in the opposite direction, giving a herringbone effect. The sides of the kerfed boxes were made from a single
plank in which grooves, or kerfs, were cut not quite all the way through. Using steam to make the wood pliable, the planks were bent sharply at the grooves to make corners, with the last corner pegged together. A groove was also cut near the bottom edge, into which a bottom piece was fitted. The boxes were watertight, particularly after they swelled when filled. Covered with separate removable lids, they were used for many things, from cooking to storage.

The box made him think of his brother and made him wish he could be with him at this moment before his mating. Thonolan had quickly understood the Sharamudoi way of bending and shaping wood. His craft of spearmaking utilized the same principles of heat and steam to straighten a shaft, or to bend one around for a snowshoe. Thinking of a snowshoe reminded Jondalar of the beginning of their Journey, and, with a pang of nostalgia, he wondered if he would ever see his home again. Ever since he had put on his own clothes, he’d been fighting off spasms of homesickness that had a way of sneaking up on him when he least expected it with some vivid recollection or poignant memory. This time it was Serenio’s kerfed cooking box that had brought it on.

He stood up quickly, knocked over the stool, and lunged to right it, just missing Serenio with the cup of hot tea she was bringing him. The near accident brought to mind the unfortunate incident during the Promise Feast. Both Tholie and Shamio seemed to be fine and their burns were almost healed, but he felt a twinge of uneasiness recalling the conversation he’d had with the Shamud afterward.

“Jondalar, drink your tea. I’m sure it will help.”

He had forgotten the cup in his hand, smiled, and took a sip. The tea had a pleasant taste—he thought he detected chamomile among the ingredients—and its warmth was calming. After a while he felt some of his tension drain off.

“You right, Serenio. Feel better. Not know what wrong.”