The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [39]
“I am honored, too, to be chosen for her First Rites.”
“Noria make … baby, Zelandonii eyes. Make Haduma … happy.” He smiled remembering the word. “Haduma say big Zelandonii man make … big … strong spirit, make strong Hadumai.”
“Tamen,” Jondalar said, his forehead knotted. “Noria might not make a baby of my spirit, you know.”
Tamen smiled. “Haduma big magic. Haduma bless, Noria make. Big magic. Woman no children. Haduma …” He pointed with a finger toward Jondalar’s groin.
“Touch?” Jondalar provided the word, feeling his ears warm.
“Haduma touch, woman make baby. Woman no … milk. Haduma touch, woman make milk. Haduma make Jondalar … big honor. Many man want Haduma touch. Make long time man. Make man … pleasure?” They all smiled. “Pleasure woman, all time. Many woman, many time. Haduma big magic.” He paused, and his face lost its smile. “No make Haduma … anger. Haduma bad magic, anger.”
“And I laughed,” Thonolan said. “Do you suppose I could get her to touch me? You and your big blue eyes, Jondalar.”
“Little Brother, the only magic touch you ever needed was the inviting look of a pretty woman.”
“So. I never noticed you needing help. Look who’s sharing First Rites? Not your little brother with his dull gray eyes.”
“Poor little brother. A camp full of women and he’s going to spend the night alone. Not on your life.” They laughed, and Tamen, who caught the drift of the banter, joined in.
“Tamen, maybe you’d better tell me about your customs for First Rites,” Jondalar said, more serious.
“Before you get into that,” Thonolan said, “can you get our spears and knives back? I’ve got an idea. While my brother is busy beguiling that young beauty with his big blue eyes, I think I know a way to make your angry hunter happier.”
“How?” Jondalar asked.
“With a grandmother, of course.”
Tamen looked confused, but he shrugged it off as problems with the language.
Jondalar saw little of Thonolan that evening or the next day; he was too busy with the purification rituals. The language was a barrier to understanding even with Tamen’s help, and when he was alone with the scowling older women, it was worse. Only when Haduma was there did he feel more relaxed, and he was sure she smoothed over some unforgivable blunders.
Haduma didn’t rule the people, but it was obvious they would refuse her nothing. She was treated with benevolent reverence and a little fear. It had to be magic that she had lived so long and retained her full mental faculties. She had a knack for sensing when Jondalar was in difficulty. On one occasion, when he was sure he had unknowingly broken some taboo, she waded in, eyes flashing anger, and beat the backs of several retreating women with her staff. She would brook no opposition to him; her sixth generation would have Jondalar’s blue eyes.
In the evening, when he was finally led to the large circular structure, he wasn’t even sure it was time, until he went inside. As he stepped through the entrance, he paused to look around. Two stone lamps, with bowl-shaped wells filled with fat in which wicks of dried moss burned, lit one side. The ground was covered with furs and the walls were hung with bark-cloth weavings in intricate patterns. Behind a raised platform covered with furs hung the thick white fur of an albino horse decorated with the red heads of immature great spotted woodpeckers. Sitting on the very edge of the platform was Noria, nervously staring down at her hands in her lap.
On the other side, a small section was partitioned off with hanging leather hides marked with esoteric symbols, and a screen of thongs—one of the hides cut into narrow strips. Someone was behind the screen. He saw a hand move a few of the strips aside, and looked into Haduma’s wrinkled old face for a brief moment. He breathed a sigh of relief. There was always at least one guardian, to bear witness that a girl’s transformation to full womanhood was complete, and to make sure a man wasn’t unduly rough. As a strnger, he had felt some concern that there might be a bevy of disapproving