The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [131]
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.”
“It’s not every day one’s brother takes a mate. A little nervousness is understandable.”
He took her in his arms again and kissed her with a passion that made him wish he wouldn’t have to leave so soon. “See tonight, Serenio,” he whispered in her ear.
“Jondalar, there will be a festival to honor the Mother tonight,” she reminded him. “I don’t think either of us should make commitments with so many visitors. Why not let the evening work out its own way. We can have each other anytime.”
“I forget,” he said and nodded in agreement, but for some reason he felt rebuffed. It was strange; he had never felt that way before. In fact, he had always been the one to make sure he was free during a festival. Why should he feel hurt because Serenio had made it easy for him? On the spur of the moment, he decided he was going to spend the evening with her—Mother Festival or not.
“Jondalar!” Darvo came bursting in again. “They sent me for you. They want you.” He was breathless with excitement to be entrusted with such an important task, and dancing with impatience. “Hurry, Jondalar. They want you.”
“Be calm, Darvo,” the man said, smiling at the lad. “I come. I not miss brother’s Matrimonial.”
Darvo smiled a little sheepishly, realizing they wouldn’t start without Jondalar, but it didn’t curb his impatience. He hurried out. Jondalar took a breath and followed him.
There was a surging murmur through the crowd at his appearance, and he was glad to see the two women who were waiting for him. Roshario and Tholie conducted him to the raised mound near the side wall where the others waited. Standing on the highest part of the mound, head and shoulders above the throng, was a white-haired figure whose face was partially covered by a wooden half-mask with stylized birdlike features.
As he drew near, Thonolan flashed him a nervous smile. Jondalar tried to convey understanding when he smiled back. If he had been tense, he could just imagine how Thonolan must feel, and he was sorry the Sharamudoi customs had prevented them from being together. He noticed how well his brother seemed to fit in, and he felt a sharp, poignant stab of regret. No two people could have been closer than the two brothers while they were on their Journey, but they had begun to follow separate paths, and Jondalar felt the cleavage. For a moment he was overwhelmed with an unexpected grief.
He closed his eyes and clenched his fists to bring himself under control. He heard voices from the crowd and thought he detected some words, “tall” and “clothes.” When he opened his eyes, it struck him that one reason Thonolan fit in so well was that his clothes were entirely Shamudoi.
No wonder there were comments about his clothes, he thought, and for a moment was sorry he had chosen to wear such an outlandish outfit. But then, Thonolan was one of them now, had been adopted to facilitate the mating. Jondalar was still Zelandonii.
The tall man joined the group of his brother’s new kin. Though he was not formally a Sharamudoi, they were his kin, too, once removed. They, along with Jetamio’s kin, were the ones who had contributed the food and gifts that would be distributed among the guests. As more people had arrived, more contributions had been brought forth. The large number of visitors accrued to the high regard and status of the young couple, but it would be most demeaning if they went away unsatisfied.
A sudden hush caused them all to turn their heads in the direction of a group making their way toward them.
“Do you see her?” Thonolan asked, standing on tiptoes.
“No, but she’s coming, you know that,” Jondalar said.
When they reached Thonolan and his kin, the protective phalanx opened a wedge to reveal its hidden treasure. Thonolan’s throat went dry when he beheld the flower-bedecked beauty within,