The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [122]
“Yes. I know what you want. You are concerned about your brother after what happened tonight, and in a larger sense, about him and Jetamio—and you.” Jondalar nodded. “Nothing is certain … you know that.” Jondalar nodded again. The Shamud studied him, trying to decide how much to reveal. Then the old face turned toward the fire and an unfocused look gathered in the eyes. The young man felt a distancing, as though a great space had been put between them, though neither had moved.
“Your love for your brother is strong.” There was an eerie, hollow echo to the voice, an otherworldly resonance. “You worry that it is too strong, and fear that you lead his life and not your own. You are wrong. He leads you where you must go, but would not go alone. You are following your own destiny, not his; you only walk in tandem for a pace.
“Your strengths are of a different nature. You have great power when your need is great. I felt your need of me for your brother even before we found his bloody shirt on the log that was sent for me.”
“I did not send log. It was chance, luck.”
“It was not chance that I felt your need. Others have felt it. You cannot be denied. Not even the Mother would refuse you. It is your gift. But be wary of the Mother’s gifts. It puts you in Her debt. With a gift as strong as yours, She must have a purpose for you. Nothing is given without obligation. Even her Gift of Pleasure is not largesse; there is purpose for it, whether we know it or not …
“Remember this: you follow the Mother’s purpose. You need no call, you were born to this destiny. But you will be tested. You will cause pain and suffer for it …”
The young man’s eyes flew open with surprise.
“ … You will be hurt. You will seek fulfillment and find frustration; you will search for certainty and find only indecision. But there are compensations. You are well favored in body and mind, you have special skills, unique talents, and you are gifted with more than ordinary sensitivity. Your vexations are the result of your capacity. You were given too much. You must learn by your trials.
“Remember this as well: to serve the Mother is not all sacrifice. You will find what you seek. It is your destiny.”
“But … Thonolan?”
“I sense a break; your destiny lies another way. He must follow his own path. He is a favorite of Mudo.”
Jondalar frowned. The Zelandonii had a similar saying, but it didn’t necessarily mean good luck. The Great Earth Mother was said to be jealous for Her favorites and called them back to Her early. He waited, but the Shamud said no more. He didn’t fully understand all the talk of “need” and “power” and “Mother’s purpose”—Those Who Served the Mother often spoke with a shadow on their tongue—but he didn’t like the feel of it.
When the fire died down, Jondalar got up to leave. He started toward the shelters at the back of the overhang, but the Shamud was not quite through.
“No! Not the mother and child …” the pleading voice cried out in the dark.
Jondalar, caught by surprise, felt a chill down his spine. He wondered if Tholie and her baby were burned worse than he thought, and why he was shivering when he wasn’t cold.
12
“Jondalar!” Markeno hailed. The tall blond man waited for the other tall one to catch up. “Find a way to delay going up tonight,” Markeno said in a hushed voice. “Thonolan has had enough restriction and ritual since the Promising. It’s time for a little relaxation.” He removed the stopper from a waterbag and gave Jondalar a whiff of the bilberry wine, and a sly smile.
The Zelandonii nodded and smiled back. There were differences between his people and the Sharamudoi, but some customs were evidently widespread. He had wondered if the younger men would be planning a “ritual” of their own. The two men matched strides as they continued down the trail.
“How are Tholie and Shamio?”
“Tholie is worried that Shamio will have a scar on her face, but they are both