"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 is more to life, Brother dear." 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 st.u.r.dy 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 sh.e.l.l. 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 sh.e.l.l 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 sh.e.l.l. "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 rea.s.suring. 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."

"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 pa.s.sion 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, who flashed him the most radiant smile he had ever seen. His happiness was so transparent that Jondalar beamed a smile of gentle amus.e.m.e.nt as well. As a bee is drawn toward a flower, Thonolan was drawn to the woman he loved, leading his train to the middle of her group, until Jetamio's kin surrounded Thonolan and his kin.

The two groups merged, then paired, as the Shamud began piping a repet.i.tive series of whistles on a flageolet. The rhythm was accented by another person with a bird half-mask playing a large, single-sided hoop drum. Another Shamud, Jondalar guessed. The woman was a stranger to him, yet there was a familiar aspect, perhaps it was just a similarity shared by all Those Who Served the Mother, but she brought on thoughts of home to him.

While members of the two sets of kin formed and reformed in patterns that appeared complicated, but were actually variations of a simple series of steps, the white-haired Shamud played the small flute. It was a long straight stick, reamed out with a hot coal, with a whistle mouthpiece, holes cut along the length, and an open-beaked bird head carved at the end. And some of the sounds emanating from the instrument mimicked exactly the sounds of birds.

The two groups ended by facing each other in two rows, with both hands joined and raised to form a long archway. As the couple pa.s.sed through, the ones behind followed them, until a train of paired couples led by the Shamud was heading to the end of the terrace and around the stone wall. Jetamio and Thonolan were just behind the flute player, followed by Markeno and Tholie, then Jondalar and Roshario, as the young couple's closest kin. The rest of the kin group trailed them, and the whole crowd of Cave members and guests brought up the rear. The drum-playing visiting Shamud fell in near the people of her Cave.

The white-haired Shamud led them down the trail toward the boat-making clearing, but turned off at the side path and brought them to the Blessing Tree. While the gathering caught up and arranged themselves around the huge old oak, the Shamud spoke quietly to the young couple-giving instructions and advice to ensure a happy relationship and to invite the Mother's blessings. Only the close kin, and a few others who happened to be within ear range, were a party to that portion of the ceremony. The rest of the gathering talked among themselves until they noticed the Shamud waiting quietly.

The group hushed each other, but their silence was bursting with antic.i.p.ation. In the intense stillness, the raucous caw of a jay was a demanding clamor, and the staccato of a great-spotted woodp.e.c.k.e.r resounded through the woods. Then a sweeter song filled the air as a woodlark took to wing.

As though waiting for that cue, the bird-masked figure beckoned the two young people to step forward. The Shamud produced a length of cord and, with one overhand knot, made a loop. Looking at each other with eyes that had room for no one else, Thonolan and Jetamio clasped hands and put them through the loop.

"Jetamio to Thonolan, Thonolan to Jetamio, I bind you, one to the other," the Shamud said and pulled the cord tight, binding their wrists together with a secure knot. "As I tie this knot, you are bound, committed to each other, and through each other to the ties of kinship and Cave. With your joining, you complete the square begun by Markeno and Tholie." The two other young people stepped forward as their names were spoken, and all four joined hands. "As Shamudoi share the gifts of the land, and Ramudoi share the gifts of the water, so together you are now Sharamudoi, to help each other always."

Tholie and Markeno stepped back, and as the Shamud began a high-pitched piping, Thonolan and Jetamio began a slow circuit around the ancient oak tree. On the second circuit, the spectators shouted good wishes while they threw bird down, flower petals, and pine needles on them.

On the third circuit of the Blessing Tree, the spectators joined them, laughing and shouting. Someone began a traditional song, and more flutes were brought forth to accompany the singers. Others beat on drums and hollow tubes. Then one of the Mamutoi visitors produced the shoulder bone of a mammoth. She hit it with a mallet, and everyone paused for a moment. The ringing, resonating tone surprised most people, but as she continued to play, they were even more surprised. The player could change the tone and pitch by striking the bone at different places, and she matched the melody of the singer and the flute. By the end of the third circuit, the Shamud was in front again and led the group down to the clearing beside the river.

Jondalar had missed the final touches to the boat. Though he had worked on nearly every phase of its construction, the finished product was a breath-catching sight. It seemed much larger than he recalled, and it had not been small to begin with, but now its fifty-foot length was balanced with correspondingly high sides of gently curved planks and a tall jutting stern post. But it was the forward section that brought exclamations of wonder. The curved prow had been gracefully extended into a long-necked water fowl carved of wood and scarf-jointed with pegs.

The bow piece was painted with deep ochre red and dun ochre yellows, manganese blacks, and the white earths of calcinated limestone. Eyes were painted low on the hull to see underwater and avoid hidden dangers, and geometric designs covered bow and stern. Seats for rowers spanned the breadth, and new broad-bladed, long-handled oars were in readiness. A yellow chamois-skin awning crowned the midsection as a protection from rain or snow, and the entire craft was decorated with flowers and bird feathers.

It was glorious. Awe inspiring. And Jondalar felt a surge of pride, and a lump in his throat, to think he had contributed to its creation.

All matings required a boat, either new or refitted, as part of the ceremony, but not all were graced by one of such size and splendor. It was only chance that the Cave had decided that another large boat was needed about the same time the young couple had declared their intentions. But now it seemed particularly appropriate, especially since so many visitors had come. Both Cave and couple had garnered esteem for the accomplishment.

The newly mated couple climbed into the vessel, a little awkwardly with their wrists tied together, and took the middle seat under the canopy. Many of the close kin followed them, with some taking up oars. The boat had been propped between logs to keep it from wobbling, and the logs extended to the water's edge. Cave members and visitors crowded around to push the boat into the river, and, with grunting and laughter, the new boat was launched.

They held her near sh.o.r.e until the new craft was declared fit, with no listing or serious leaking, and then they started downstream for the maiden voyage to the Ramudoi dock. Several other boats of various sizes took to the water and surrounded the large new water bird like ducklings.

Those not returning by water hurried back up the trail, hoping to reach the high embayment before the young couple did. At the dock, several people climbed the steep waterfall trail and prepared to lower the large flat basket in which Thonolan and Jondalar had first been raised to the terrace-but this time it was Thonolan and Jetamio who were lifted to the top with their hands still tied together. They had agreed to bind themselves to each other and, at least for that day, they would not be separated.

Huge amounts of food were served, washed down with quant.i.ties of new-moon dandelion wine, and gifts were presented to all the visitors, returned by prestige in like measure. But as evening came on, the new dwelling that had been built for the young couple began to see visitors, as guests quietly slipped in and left a "little something" for the newly mated to wish them well. The gifts were given anonymously so as not to detract from the nuptial wealth displayed by the hosting Cave. But, in fact, the value of the gifts received would be measured against the value of the wares distributed, and mental notes tallied against a remembered record, for the gifts were not anonymous.

The shape, design, and painted or carved features announced the donor as plainly as if they had been presented openly; not the individual maker, which was of relatively small importance, but the family, or group, or Cave. By well-known and mutually understood systems of value, the given and received gifts would have a significant impact on the relative prestige, honor, and status of the various groups. Though not violent, compet.i.tion for esteem was nonetheless fierce.

"He's certainly getting a lot of attention, Thonolan," Jetamio said, noticing a handful of women hovering around the tall blond man leaning casually against a tree near the overhang.

"Always like that. His big blue eyes make women come to him like...moth to fire," Thonolan said, helping Jetamio lift an oak box of bilberry wine out to the celebrating guests. "Have not noticed? You not ever attracted?"

"You smiled at me first," she said, and his broad grin provoked her beautiful response, "But I think I understand it. It's more than his eyes. He stands out, particularly in those clothes. They do look good on him. But it's more than that. I think women sense that he's...searching. Looking for someone. And he's so responsive...sensitive...tall, and so well made. Really quite handsome. And there is something to his eyes. Did you ever notice they turn violet in firelight?" she said.

"I thought you say not attracted..." Thonolan said with a look of dismay until she winked impishly.

"Are you envious of him?" she asked gently.

Thonolan paused. "No. Not ever. Not know why, many men envious. Look him, you think he have everything. Like you say, well made, handsome; look all beautiful women around. And more. Good with hands, best flint knapper I ever see. Good head, but not talk big. People like him; men, women, both. Should be happy, but not. He need find someone like you, Tamio."

"No, not like me. But someone. I like your brother, Thonolan. I hope he finds what he's searching for. Maybe one of those women?"

"Not think so. I see that before. Maybe he enjoy one-or more-but not find what he want." They dipped some of the wine into waterbags and left the rest for the revelers, then walked toward Jondalar.

"What about Serenio? He seems to care for her, and I know she feels more for him than she will admit."

"He care for her, care for Darvo, too. But...maybe not anyone for him. Maybe he look for dream, for donii." Thonolan smiled fondly. "First time you smile at me, I thought you donii."

"We say the Mother's spirit becomes a bird. She wakes the sun with Her calls, brings the spring with Her from the south. In the autumn, some stay behind to remind us of Her. The hunting birds, the storks, every bird is some aspect of Mudo." A string of running children crossed in front of them, halting their progress. "Little children don't like birds, especially if they're naughty. They think the Mother is watching them, and knows everything. Some mothers tell their children that. I've heard stories of grown men driven to confess some evil deed by the sight of certain birds. Then others say She will guide you home if you're lost."

"We say Mother spirit become donii, fly on wind. Maybe She look like bird. I never think of that before," he said, squeezing her hand. Then, looking at her and feeling an upwelling of love, he whispered in a voice husky with emotion, "I never think I find you." He tried to put an arm around her, but found himself tied to her wrist, and frowned. "I glad we tie the knot, but when do we cut off? I want hold you, Tamio."