Clan of the Cave Bear (25 page)

“Find what you can. We’ll leach out the bitterness and grind them up to add to the meat. Yams will be good for her, too. Do you know where those small clamshells are? They should be small enough for her mouth; she’ll have to learn to eat from them. I’m glad winter is almost over, spring will bring more variety—for all of us.”

Iza saw the worried concentration on the girl’s earnest face. More than once, especially this past winter, she had been grateful for Ayla’s willing help. She wondered if Ayla had been given to her while she was pregnant so she could be a second mother to the baby she had so late in life. It was more than just old age that drained Iza. Though she brushed off references to her failing health, and never mentioned the pain in her chest or the blood she sometimes spit up after a particularly bad coughing spell, she knew Creb was aware that she was far more sick than she let on. He’s aging, too, Iza thought. This winter has been hard on him, too. He sits too much in that little cave of his with only a torch to keep him warm.

The old magician’s shaggy mane was shot with silver. His arthritis, coupled with his lame leg, made walking an agonizing trial. His teeth, worn down from years of using them to hold things, in place of his missing hand, had begun to ache. But Creb had long ago learned to live with suffering and pain. His mind was as powerful and perceptive as ever, and he worried about Iza. He watched the woman and the girl discussing how to make baby food, noticing how Iza’s robust body had shrunk. Her face was gaunt, and her eyes were sunk into deep hollows that emphasized her overhanging brow ridges. Her arms were thin, her hair was turning gray, but it was her persistent cough that bothered him most. I’ll be glad when this winter is over, he thought. She needs some warmth and sun.

The winter finally released its frozen grip on the land, and the warming days of spring brought torrents of rain. Ice floes from farther up the mountain careened down the flooding stream long after the snow and ice were gone at the elevation of the cave. The runoff from the melted accumulation
turned the saturated soil that fronted the cave into a soggy, slippery sink of oozing mud. Only the stones that paved the entrance kept the cave reasonably dry as the groundwater seeped inside.

But the sucking quagmire couldn’t keep the clan in the cave. After their long winter confinement, they spilled out to greet the first warm rays of sun and softer sea breezes. Before the snows were entirely melted, they were squishing barefoot through the cold ooze or slogging in soaked boots that not even the extra layer of rubbed-in fat could keep dry. Iza was busier treating colds in the warming days of spring than she had been in the freezing winter.

As the season waxed and the sun soaked up the moisture, the pace of the clan’s life increased. The slow quiet winter spent telling stories, gossiping, making implements and weapons, and in other sedentary activities to pass the time, gave way to the busy active bustle of spring. Women went foraging to collect the first green shoots and buds, and men exercised and practiced to prepare for the first major hunt of the new season.

Uba thrived on her new diet, only nursing out of habit or for the warmth and security. Iza coughed less, though she was weak and had little energy to range too far afield, and Creb began to take his shambling walks along the stream with Ayla again. She loved the springtime better than any other season.

Since Iza had to stay close to the cave most of the time, Ayla fell into the habit of roaming the hillsides looking for plants to replenish Iza’s pharmacopoeia. Iza was concerned about her going off alone, but the other women were busy foraging for food, and medicinal plants didn’t always grow in the same places as food plants. Iza went with Ayla occasionally, mostly to show her new plants and to identify familiar ones at an earlier stage so she would know where to look for them later. Though Ayla carried Uba, Iza’s few trips were tiring for her. Reluctantly, she allowed the girl to go alone more and more.

Ayla found that she enjoyed the solitude of ranging the area by herself. It gave her a sense of freedom to be away from the ever-watchful clan. She often went along with the women when they gathered, too; but whenever she could, she hurried through the tasks that were expected of her so she could have time to search the woods alone. She brought
back not only plants she knew, but anything unfamiliar so Iza could tell her about it.

Brun made no open objections; he understood the need for someone to find the plants for Iza to work her healing magic. Iza’s illness had not escaped his notice either. But Ayla’s eagerness to go off by herself disturbed him. Women of the Clan did not relish being alone. Whenever Iza had gone to look for her special materials, she did it with reservations and a little fear, always returning as quickly as possible if she went alone. Ayla never shirked her duties, always behaved properly, there was nothing she did that Brun could identify as wrong. It was more a feeling, a sense that her attitude, her approach, her thoughts were, not wrong, but different, that kept Brun on edge about her. Whenever the girl went out, she always returned with the folds of her wrap and her collecting basket full, and as long as her forays were so necessary, Brun could not object.

Occasionally, Ayla brought back more than plants. Her idiosyncrasy, that had so amazed the clan, had become a habit. Though they had become accustomed to it, the clan was still a little surprised when she returned with a wounded or ailing animal to nurse back to health. The rabbit she had found shortly after Uba’s birth was only the first of many to come. She had a way with animals; they seemed to sense she wanted to help them. And once the precedent had been set, Brun felt disinclined to change it. The only time she was refused was when she brought in a wolf cub. The line was drawn at carnivorous animals that were competition for the hunters. More than once an animal that had been tracked, perhaps wounded, and finally within reach, was snatched at the last moment by a quicker carnivore. Brun would not allow the girl to help an animal that might someday steal a kill from his clan.

Once, when Ayla was down on her knees digging up a root, a rabbit with a slightly crooked hind leg bounded out of the brush and sniffed at her feet. She remained very still, then, making no sudden moves, she slowly extended her hand to pet the animal. Are you my Uba-rabbit? she thought. You’ve grown into a big, healthy man-rabbit. Did that close call teach you to be more wary? You should be wary of people, too, you know. You might end up over a fire, she continued to herself as she stroked the rabbit’s soft fur. Something startled the animal and he sprang away,
dashing headlong in one direction, then making an about-face in one bound to charge back the way he had come.

“You move so fast, I don’t understand how anyone can catch you. How do you turn around like that?” she motioned after the rapidly retreating rabbit and laughed. Suddenly, she realized it was the first time she had laughed aloud in a long time. She seldom laughed when she was around the clan anymore; it always drew disapproving looks. She found many things humorous that day.

“Ayla, this wild cherry bark is old. It’s just not any good anymore,” Iza gestured early one morning. “When you go out today, why don’t you get some fresh? There’s a grove of cherry trees near that clearing to the west, across the stream. Do you know where I mean? Get the inner bark, it’s best this time of year.”

“Yes, mother, I know where they are,” she replied.

It was a beautiful spring morning. The last of the crocus nestled white and purple beside the tall graceful stems of the first bright yellow jonquils. A sparse carpet of new green grass, just beginning to shoot its tiny leaves through the moist soil, painted a thin watercolor wash of verdancy on the rich brown earth of clearings and knolls. Flecks of green dotted the bare branches of bushes and trees with the first buds straining to begin life anew, and pussy willows white-tipped others with their fake fur. A benign sun beamed encouragement to the earth’s new beginnings.

Once she was out of sight of the clan, Ayla’s carefully controlled walk and demure posture relaxed into a free-swinging gait. She skipped down a gradual slope and ran up the other side, smiling unconsciously with her freedom to move naturally. She scanned the vegetation she passed with an apparent casualness that belied her actively working mind as she categorized and filed away for future references the growing plants.

There’s the new pokeweed coming up, she thought as she passed the marshy hollow where she had gathered its purple berries the previous autumn. I’ll dig some roots on the way back. Iza says the roots are good for Creb’s rheumatism, too. I hope the fresh cherry bark will help Iza’s cough. She’s getting better, I think, but she’s so skinny. Uba’s getting so big and heavy, Iza shouldn’t lift her at all. Maybe I’ll bring Uba with me next time, if I can. I’m so glad we didn’t have to give her to Oga. She’s really starting
to talk now. It’ll be fun when she gets a little bigger and we can go out together. Look at those pussy willows. Funny how they feel like real fur when they’re small like that, but they grow out green. The sky is so blue today. I can smell the sea in the wind. I wonder when we’ll be going fishing. The water should be warm enough to swim in soon. I wonder why no one else likes to swim? The sea tastes salty, not like the stream, but I feel so light in it. I can hardly wait until we go fishing. I think I love sea fish best of all, but I like eggs, too. And I like climbing the cliff to get the eggs. The wind feels so good way up high on the cliff. There’s a squirrel! Look at him run up that tree! I wish I could run up a tree.

Ayla wandered over the wooded slopes until midmorning. Then, suddenly realizing how late it was getting, she headed purposefully toward the clearing to get the cherry bark Iza wanted. As she neared, she heard activity and an occasional voice, and caught a glimpse of the men within the clearing. She started to leave, but remembered the cherry bark and stood undecided for a moment. The men won’t like it if they see me around here, she thought. Brun might get angry and not let me go out alone anymore, but Iza needs the cherry bark. Maybe they won’t stay long. I wonder what they’re doing, anyway? Quietly, she crept in closer and hid behind a large tree, peeking out through the tangled bare brush.

The men were practicing with their weapons in preparation for a hunt. She remembered watching them make new spears. They had chopped down slim, supple, straight young trees, stripped them of branches and sharpened one end by charring it in a fire, and scraping the burnt end to a point with a sturdy flint scraper. The heat also hardened the point so it would resist splintering and fraying. She still cringed when she remembered the commotion she had caused by touching one of the wooden shafts.

Females did not touch weapons, she was told, or even any tools that were used to make weapons, though Ayla could see no difference between a knife used to cut the leather to make a sling and a knife used to cut the leather to make a cloak. The newly made spear, offended by her touch, had been burned, much to the irritation of the hunter who made it, and Creb and Iza had both subjected her to long, gestured lectures in an effort to instill in her a sense of the abomination of her act. The women were
aghast that she would consider such a thing, and Brun’s glower left no doubt of his opinion. But, most of all, she hated the look of malicious pleasure on Broud’s face as the recriminations rained down upon her. He was positively gloating.

The girl stared uneasily from behind the brushy screen at the men on the practice field. Besides their spears, the men had their other weapons. Except for a discussion at the far end between Dorv, Grod, and Crug about the relative merits of spear versus club, most of the men were practicing with slings and bolas. Vorn was with them. Brun had decided it was time to begin teaching the boy the rudiments of the sling, and Zoug was explaining them to the youngster.

The men had been taking Vorn along with them to the practice field occasionally since he was five, but most of the time he practiced with his miniature spear, jabbing it into the soft earth or a rotten tree stump to get the feel of handling the weapon. He was always pleased to be included, but this was the first attempt to teach the youngster the more difficult art of using a sling. A post had been pounded into the ground, and not far away was a heap of smooth round stones picked up from streams along the way.

Zoug was showing Vorn how to hold the two ends of the strip of leather together and how to place a pebble into the slight bulge in the middle of a well-worn sling. It was an old one that Zoug had planned to throw away until Brun asked him to start the boy’s training. The old man thought it would still be serviceable if he cut it shorter to match Vorn’s smaller size.

Ayla watched and found herself caught up in the lesson. She concentrated on Zoug’s explanations and demonstrations with as much attention as the lad. On Vorn’s first attempt, the sling got tangled and the stone dropped. It was difficult for him to get the knack of whirling the weapon around to build up the momentum of centrifugal force necessary to hurl the stone. The pebble kept dropping before he could get up enough speed to keep it in the cup of the leather strip.

Broud was standing off to the side watching. Vorn was his protégé, and it kept Broud the object of Vorn’s adoration. It was Broud who had made the small spear the boy carried with him everywhere, even to his bed, and it was the young hunter who showed Vorn how to hold the spear,
discussing the balance and thrust with him as though the boy were an equal. But now, Vorn was directing his admiring attention to the older hunter and Broud felt displaced. He had wanted to be the one to teach the boy everything and was angry when Brun told Zoug to instruct him in the use of the sling. After Vorn made several more unsuccessful tries, Broud interrupted the lesson.

“Here, let me show you how to do it, Vorn,” Broud motioned, brushing the old man aside.

Zoug stepped back and shot a piercing look at the arrogant young man. Everyone stopped and stared, and Brun was glaring. He did not like Broud’s cavalier treatment of the clan’s best marksman. He had told Zoug to train the boy, not Broud. It’s one thing to show an interest in the youngster, Brun thought, but he’s carrying it too far. Vorn should learn from the best and Broud knows the sling is not his best weapon. He needs to learn that a good leader must utilize the skills of every man. Zoug is the most skilled and he will have time to teach the boy when the rest of us are hunting. Broud is becoming overbearing; he’s too proud. How can I give him a higher rank if he doesn’t show better judgment? He needs to learn he’s not so important just because he will be leader, just
because
he will be leader.