The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [32]
“When you return to the Great Earth Mother, thank Her,” he said to the dead horse. He reached into his pouch and fondled the stone figurine of the Mother in an unconscious gesture. Zelandoni is right, he thought. If Earth’s children ever forget who provides for them, we may wake up someday and find we don’t have a home. Then he gripped his knife and prepared to take his share of Doni’s provisions.
“I saw a hyena on the way back,” Thonolan said when he returned. “Looks like we’re going to feed more than ourselves.”
“The Mother doesn’t like waste,” Jondalar said, up to his elbows in blood. “It all goes back to Her one way or another. Here, give me a hand.”
“It’s a risk, you know,” Jondalar said, throwing another stick on the small fire. A few sparks floated up with the smoke and disappeared into the night air. “What will we do when winter comes?”
“It’s a long time until winter; we’re bound to meet some people before then.”
“If we turn back now, we’ll be sure to meet people. We could make it at least as far as the Losadunai before the worst of the winter.” He turned to face his brother. “We don’t even know what winters are like on this side of the mountains. It’s more open, less protection, fewer trees for fires. Maybe we should have tried to find the Sarmunai. They might have given us some idea of what to expect, what people live this way.”
“You can turn back if you want, Jondalar. I was going to make this Journey alone to begin with … not that I haven’t been glad for your company.”
“I don’t know … maybe I should,” he said, turning back to stare at the fire. “I didn’t realize how long this river is. Look at her.” He waved toward the shimmering water reflecting the moonlight. “She is the Great Mother of rivers, and just as unpredictable. When we started, she was flowing east. Now it’s south, and split into so many channels, I wonder sometimes if we’re still following the right river. I guess I didn’t believe you would go all the way to the end, no matter how far, Thonolan. Besides, even if we do meet people, how do you know they’ll be friendly?”
“That’s what a Journey is all about. Discovering new places, new people. You take your chances. Look, Big Brother, go back if you want. I mean it.”
Jondalar stared at the fire, rhythmically slapping a stick of wood into the palm of his hand. Suddenly, he jumped up and threw the stick on the fire, stirring up another host of sparks. He walked over and looked at the cords of twined fibers strung out close to the ground between pegs, on which thin slices of meat were drying. “What do I have to go back to? For that matter, what do I have to look forward to?”
“The next bend in the river, the next sunrise, the next woman you bed,” Thonolan said.
“Is that all? Don’t you want something more out of life?”
“What else is there? You’re born, you live the best you can while you’re here, and someday you go back to the Mother. After that, who knows?”
“There ought to be more to it, some reason for living.”
“If you ever find out, let me know,” Thonolan said, yawning. “Right now, I’m looking forward to the next sunrise, but one of us should stay up, or we ought to build more fires to keep scavengers away if we want that meat to be there in the morning.”
“Go to bed, Thonolan. I’ll stay up; I’d lie awake anyway.”
“Jondalar, you worry too much. Wake me when you get tired.”
The sun was already up when Thonolan crawled out of the tent, rubbed his eyes, and stretched. “Have you been up all night? I told you to wake me.”
“I was thinking and didn’t feel like going to bed. There’s some hot sage tea if you want some.”
“Thanks,” Thonolan said, scooping steaming liquid into a wooden bowl. He squatted down in front of the fire, cupping the bowl in both hands. The early morning air was still cool, the grass wet with dew, and he wore only a breech-clout. He watched small birds darting and flitting around the scant brush and trees near the river, chirping noisily. A flock of cranes that nested on an island of willows in mid-channel was breakfasting