Clan of the Cave Bear (78 page)

Suddenly, Creb felt the blood drain from his face and gooseflesh rise. Part Ayla and part Clan! Is that why she was brought to us? For Durc? For her son? The Clan is doomed, it will be no more, only her kind will go on. I know it, I felt it. But what about Durc? He’s part of the Others, he will go on, but he’s Clan, too. And Ura, she looks like Durc, and she was born not long after that incident with the men of the Others. Are their totems so strong they can overcome a woman’s in so short a time? It may be; if their women can have Cave Lion totems, they may have to be. Is Ura a mixture, too? And if there is a Durc and a Ura, there must be others, too. Children of mixed spirits, children that will go on, children that will carry the Clan on. Not many, perhaps, but enough.

Perhaps the Clan was doomed before Ayla saw the sacred ceremony, and she was led there only to show me. We will be no more, but as long as there are Durcs and Uras, we will not die. I wonder if Durc has the memories? If only he were older, old enough for a ceremony. It doesn’t matter; Durc has more than the memories, he has the Clan. Ayla, my child, the child of my heart, you do carry luck and you brought it to us. Now I know why you came—not to bring us our death, but to give us our one chance for life. It will never be the same, but it is something.

Ayla brought her son a piece of cold meat. Creb seemed lost in thought but looked at her when she sat down.

“You know, Creb,” she said thoughtfully. “Sometimes I think Durc isn’t just my son. Ever since I lost my milk, and he got used to going from hearth to hearth to nurse, he eats at every hearth. Everyone feeds him. He reminds me of a cave bear cub, it’s like he’s the son of the whole clan.”

Ayla felt a great outpouring of sadness from Creb’s one dark, liquid eye. “Durc is the son of the whole clan, Ayla. He’s the only son of the Clan.”

The first light of predawn glowed through the opening of the cave, filling in the triangular space. Ayla lay awake looking at her son sleeping beside her in the glowing light. She could see Creb in his bed beneath his fur and from his regular breathing knew he was asleep, too. I’m glad Creb and I finally talked, she thought, feeling as though a terrible load had been lifted from her shoulders, but the queasiness in the pit of her stomach that she had been feeling the whole day and night grew worse. She had a dry lump in her throat and thought if she stayed in the cave another instant, she’d suffocate. She slipped quietly out of bed, quickly threw on a wrap and some foot coverings, and moved silently toward the entrance.

She took a deep breath as soon as she stepped beyond the cave’s mouth. Her relief was so great, she didn’t care that icy rain soaked through her leather wrap. She slogged through the mucky quagmire in front of the cave toward the stream, shivering from a sudden chill. Patches of snow, blackened by soot sifting out from the many fires, sent muddy runnels of water down the slope adding their small measure to the drenching downpour that swelled the ice-locked channel.

Her leather foot coverings gave small purchase on the reddish brown ooze, and she slipped and fell halfway down to the stream. Her limp hair, plastered against her head, hung in thick ropes extending into rivulets that cut through the mud clinging to her wrap before the rain washed it away. She stood for a long time on the bank of the watercourse struggling to break free of its frozen keep, and watched the dark water swirl around chunks of ice, finally break them loose, and send them careening to some unseen destination.

Her teeth were chattering when she struggled back up
the slippery slope, watching the overcast sky grow imperceptibly lighter beyond the ridge to the east. She had to force herself through an invisible barrier that blocked the mouth of the cave, and felt the sense of uneasiness again the moment she entered.

“Ayla, you’re soaked. Why did you go outside in this rain?” Creb gestured. He picked up a piece of wood and put it on the fire. “Get out of that wet wrap and come here by the fire. You’ll catch a cold.”

She changed, then sat beside Creb at the fire, grateful that the silence between them was no longer strained.

“Creb, I’m so glad we talked last night. I went down to the stream; the ice is breaking loose. Summer’s coming, we’ll be able to take some long walks again.”

“Yes, Ayla, summer’s coming. If you want, we’ll take long walks again. In summer.”

Ayla felt a chill. She had a horrible feeling she would never take a long walk with him again, and she had the feeling Creb knew it, too. She reached for him, and they held each other as though for the last time.

By midmorning the rain eased to a dreary drizzle and by afternoon stopped altogether. A wan, tired sun broke through the solid cloud cover but did little to warm or dry the drenched earth. Despite the dismal weather and sparse fare, the clan was excited by so notable an occasion for a feast. A change in leadership was rare enough, but a new mog-ur at the same time made it exceptional. Oga and Ebra would have a part to play in the ceremony, and Brac as well. The seven-year-old would be the next heir apparent.

Oga was a tight bundle of stretched nerves. She jumped up every other moment to check every fireplace where food was cooking. Ebra tried to calm her, but Ebra wasn’t so settled herself. Trying to seem more grown-up, Brac was issuing commands to the small children and busy women. Brun finally stepped in and called him off to the side to practice his part once more. Uba took the children to Vorn’s hearth to get them out of the way, and after most of the preparations were completed, Ayla joined her. Aside from helping to cook, Ayla’s only role would be to make datura for the men since Creb had told her not to make the drink from the roots.

By evening, only a few wisps of clouds remained to dart fitfully before the full moon that lit the bare, lifeless landscape.
Inside the cave, a large fire burned in a space behind the last hearth, defined by a circle of torches.

Ayla sat alone on her fur staring at the small hearth fire that snapped and crackled nearby. She still hadn’t been able to shake her uneasiness. She decided to walk to the cave’s entrance to look at the moon until the festivities began, but just as she stood up, she saw Brun’s signal and turned heavy steps the other way. When everyone was in their correct places, Mog-ur came out of the place of the spirits followed by Goov, both cloaked in bearskins.

As the great holy man called forth the spirits for the last time, the years seemed to fall from him. He made the eloquent, familiar gestures with more power and force than the clan had seen for years. It was a masterful performance. He played his audience with the skill of a virtuoso, drawing forth their response with perfect timing in peak after suspenseful peak of evocative emotion, to a climax that wrung out their last drop and left them drained. Beside him, Goov was a faded copy. The young man was an adequate mog-ur, even a good one, but he couldn’t match The Mog-ur. The most powerful magician the Clan had ever known had conducted his last and finest ceremony. When he turned it over to Goov, Ayla wasn’t the only one who cried. The dry-eyed clan wept with their hearts.

Ayla’s mind wandered as Goov went through the motions that retired Brun and raised Broud to the rank of leader. She was watching Creb and remembered the first time she saw his one-eyed, scarred face and reached out to touch him. She recalled his patience when he was trying to teach her to communicate, and her sudden burst of understanding. She reached for her amulet and felt a tiny scar on her throat where he had expertly nicked her to draw her blood as a sacrifice to the ancient spirits that allowed her to hunt. And she cringed with the memory of her clandestine visit to a small cave deep in a mountain. Then she remembered his look of loving sadness and his cryptic, enigmatic statement of the night before.

She only picked at her food at the feast celebrating the succession of the next generation to the realms of authority. The men filed into the small sacred cave to complete their ceremony in seclusion, and Ayla passed out the datura received from Goov, now a mog-ur. But she had no heart for the women’s dance, her rhythms lacked verve, and she drank so little of the ceremonial tea, the effects wore off
quickly. She returned to Creb’s hearth as soon as she appropriately could and was asleep before Creb returned, but she slept fitfully. He stood over her bed watching her and her son before he hobbled to his own sleeping place.

“Mama go hunting? Durc go hunting with Mama?” the boy asked, jumping out of bed and heading for the mouth of the cave. Only a few people were stirring, but Durc was wide awake.

“Not until after breakfast, anyway, Durc. Come back here,” Ayla motioned and got up to get him. “Probably not at all today. Spring is here, but it’s not that warm yet.”

After he ate, Durc spied Grev and forgot about hunting as he raced to Broud’s hearth. Ayla watched him go, with a feeling of tenderness turning up the corners of her mouth. The smile faded when she saw the way Broud looked at him. It made her scalp crawl. Both boys ran out together. Suddenly a feeling of claustrophobia overwhelmed her with such force, she thought she would vomit if she didn’t get outside the cave. She bolted for the opening, feeling her heart beating rapidly, and took several deep breaths.

“Ayla!”

She jumped at the sound of her name spoken by Broud, then turned around, bowed her head, and looked down at the new leader.

“This woman would greet the leader,” she gestured formally. Broud seldom stood face to face with her. She was much taller than the tallest man in the clan, and Broud was not among the tallest. He barely reached her shoulder. She knew he didn’t like looking up at her.

“Don’t go running off anywhere. I’m going to have a meeting out here soon.”

Ayla nodded obediently.

The clan slowly congregated. The sun was shining, and they were glad Broud had decided to have his meeting outdoors in spite of the soggy ground. They waited for a while, then Broud strutted to the place formerly taken by Brun, supremely conscious of his new status.

“As you know, I am your new leader,” Broud started. His nervousness at speaking to the entire clan in his new capacity was betrayed by an opening statement that was patently obvious.

“Since the clan has a new leader and a new mog-ur, this is a good time to announce some other changes,” he continued.
“I want to make it known that Vorn is now my second-in-command.”

There were nods; it was expected. Brun thought Broud should have waited until Vorn was older before raising his position above more experienced hunters, but everyone knew it was coming. It’s probably just as well to do it now, he said to himself.

“There are some other changes,” Broud motioned. “A woman in this clan is not mated.” Ayla felt herself flush. “Someone must provide for her, and I do not want to burden my hunters with her. I am leader now and I must be responsible for her. I will take Ayla as second woman to my hearth.”

Ayla had expected it, but it didn’t make her any happier to know she was right. She may not like it, Brun thought, but Broud is doing the right thing. Brun looked proudly at the son of his mate. Broud is ready for leadership.

“She has one deformed child,” Broud went on. “I want it known now, no more deformed children will be accepted into this clan. I don’t want anyone to think it has anything to do with my personal feelings, when the next one is refused. If she has a normal child, I will accept it.”

Creb was standing near the entrance to the cave and shook his head as he watched Ayla blanch and bow her head lower to hide her face. Well, you can be sure I won’t have any more children, Broud, not if Iza’s magic works for me, she thought. I don’t care if babies are started by men’s totems or their organs, you won’t start any more in me. I’m not going to give birth to babies that have to die because you think they’re deformed.

“I’ve made it plain before,” Broud went on, “so this shouldn’t come as any surprise. I will not have any deformed children living at my hearth.”

Ayla’s head jerked up. What does he mean? If I have to move to his hearth, my son comes with me.

“Vorn has agreed to take Durc to his hearth. His mate is fond of the boy, in spite of his deformity. He will be well cared for.”

There was a disturbed murmur and a flurry of hand signals from the clan. Children belonged with their mothers until they were grown. Why would Broud take Ayla but refuse her son? Ayla broke out of her place and threw herself at Broud’s feet. Broud tapped her shoulder.

“I am not through yet, woman. It is disrespectful to interrupt
the leader, but I will overlook it this time. You may speak.”

“Broud, you can’t take Durc away from me. He’s my son. Wherever a woman goes, her children go with her,” she motioned, forgetting to use any form of polite greeting or to phrase her statement as a request in her anxiety. Brun was glowering, his pride in the new leader gone.

“Are you, woman, telling this leader what he can or cannot do?” Broud motioned with a sneer on his face. He was pleased with himself. He had planned this for a long time, and he had gotten just the reaction he had hoped for.

“You are no mother. Oga is more mother to Durc than you are. Who nursed him? Not you. He doesn’t even know who his mother is. Every woman in the clan is mother to him. What difference does it make where he lives? He obviously doesn’t care, he eats at everyone’s hearth,” Broud said.

“I know I haven’t been able to nurse him, but you know he is my son, Broud. He sleeps with me every night.”

“Well, he won’t sleep with me every night. Can you deny that Vorn’s mate is ‘mother’ to him? I have already told Goov … I mean the mog-ur, that the mating ceremony will be held after this meeting. There is no point in waiting. You will move to my hearth tonight, and Durc will move to Vorn’s. Now go back to your place,” he commanded. Broud glanced around the clan and noticed Creb leaning on his staff near the cave. The old man looked angry.

But not nearly as angry as Brun. His face was a black rage as he watched Ayla return to her place. He struggled to control himself, to keep from interfering. There was more than anger in his eyes, the pain in his heart showed, too. The son of my mate, he thought, who I raised and trained and just made leader of this clan. He is using his position for revenge. Revenge against a woman, for wrongs he has imagined. Why didn’t I see it before? Why was I so blind to him? Now I know why he raised Vorn’s status so soon. Broud arranged the whole thing with him; he planned to do this to Ayla all along. Broud, Broud, is that the first thing a new leader does? Puts his hunters in jeopardy with a young and inexperienced second to avenge himself against a woman? What pleasure can it bring you to separate a mother and her child when she has suffered so much pain
already? Have you no heart, son of my mate? All she has of her son is to share her bed with him at night.