Clan of the Cave Bear (79 page)

“I am not finished, I am not through,” Broud gestured, trying to get the attention of the shocked and uneasy clan. They finally settled down.

“This man was not the only one raised to a new position. We have a new mog-ur. There are certain privileges that go with increased status. I have decided that Goov … the mog-ur, will move to the rightful hearth of the magician of the clan. Creb will move to the back of the cave.”

Brun shot a glance at Goov. Was he in on the arrangement, too? Goov was shaking his head with a puzzled look on his face.

“I don’t want to move to The Mog-ur’s hearth,” he said. “That has been his home ever since we moved into this cave.”

The clan was becoming more than uneasy about their new leader.

“I have decided you will move!” Broud gestured imperiously, angry at Goov’s refusal. When he had noticed the crippled old man leaning on his staff glaring at him angrily, he suddenly realized the great Mog-ur was magician no more. What did he have to fear from a deformed old cripple? On impulse, he had made the offer, expecting Goov to jump at the choice spot in the cave as Vorn had jumped at the chance for increased status. He thought it would cement the new mog-ur’s loyalty to him, make Goov obligated to him. Broud hadn’t counted on Goov’s loyalty, and love, for his mentor. Brun was unable to hold back any longer and was just about to speak out, but Ayla beat him to it.

“Broud!” Ayla shouted from her place. His head shot up. “You can’t do that! You can’t make Creb move from his hearth!” She was stomping toward him full of righteous wrath. “He needs a protected place. The wind blows too hard into the back. You know how he suffers in the winter.” Ayla had forgotten herself as a Clan woman; she was now the medicine woman protective of her patient. “You’re doing it to hurt me. You’re trying to get back at Creb because he took care of me. I don’t care what you do to me, Broud, but leave Creb alone!” She was standing in front of him, towering over him, gesticulating angrily in his face.

“Who gave you permission to speak, woman!” Broud stormed. He swung at her with a clenched fist, but she saw
it coming and ducked. Broud was startled at reaching nothing but air. Rage replaced his surprise as he started after her.

“Broud!” Brun’s shout brought him to a standstill. He was too accustomed to obeying that voice, especially when it was raised in anger.

“That is Mog-ur’s hearth, Broud, and will be his hearth until he dies. That will happen soon enough without your bringing it on sooner by moving him. He has served this clan long and well; he deserves that place. What kind of leader are you? What kind of a man are you? Using your position to get revenge on a woman? A woman who has never done anything to you, Broud, who couldn’t if she tried. You are no leader!”

“No, you are the one who is no leader, Brun, not anymore.” Broud had regained the realization of his position, and Brun’s, after his initial impulse to obey. “I am leader now! I make the decisions now! You have always taken her side against me, always protected her. Well, you can’t protect her anymore!” Broud was losing control, gesticulating wildly, his face purple with rage. “She will do what I say, or I will curse her!
And
it won’t be temporary! You just saw her insolence, and you still stick up for her. I won’t stand for it! Not anymore. She deserves to be cursed for it. And I will! How do you like that, Brun? Goov! Curse her! Curse her! Now, right now! I want her cursed now. No one will tell this leader what to do, least of all that ugly woman. Did you understand me? Curse her, Goov!”

Creb had been trying to get Ayla’s attention from the moment she lashed out at Broud, trying to warn her. It didn’t matter to him where he lived, front or back of the cave, it was all the same to him. His suspicions had been aroused from the moment Broud said he would take Ayla as second woman. It was too responsible a move for Broud to make without some reason. But his suspicions hadn’t prepared him for the ugly scene that followed. When he saw Broud order Goov to curse her, the last bit of fight went out of him. He didn’t want to see any more, and turned his back to shuffle slowly into the cave. Ayla glanced up just as he disappeared into the hole in the mountain.

Creb wasn’t the only one upset by the confrontation. The whole clan was in an uproar, gesturing, shouting, milling around in confusion. Some couldn’t bear to watch, while others gazed in rapt disbelief at the spectacle not one
of them ever expected to witness in their entire lives. Their lives were too ordered, too secure, too bound by traditions and customs and habits.

They were surprised at Broud’s irregular and unreasonable announcements separating Ayla and her son; they were shocked at Ayla’s confrontation with the new leader no more than Broud’s decision to move Creb; they were stunned as much by Brun’s angry denunciation of the man he had just made leader as by Broud’s uncontrolled temper tantrum demanding that Ayla be cursed. They were yet to be traumatized.

Ayla was shaking so hard she didn’t feel the trembling beneath her feet until she saw people toppling over, unable to keep their balance. Her own face mirrored the stunned expressions of the rest as they changed to fear, and then stark terror. It was then she heard the deep, terrifying rumble from the bowels of the earth.

“Duurrrc!” she screamed, and saw Uba grab for him then fall on top of him as though trying to protect his small body with her own. Ayla started toward them, then suddenly remembered something that filled her with horror.

“Creb! He’s inside the cave!”

She scrambled up the swaying slope trying to reach the large triangular entrance. A huge rock rolled down the steep wall that held the opening and, deflected by a tree that splintered under the impact, crashed to the ground beside her. Ayla didn’t notice. She was numb, in shock. The memories locked in her old nightmare were released, but jumbled and confused by sheer panic. In the roar of the earthquake, not even she heard the word in a long forgotten language torn from her lips.

“Motherrr!”

The ground beneath her dropped several feet, then heaved up again. She fell over and struggled to get up, and then saw the vaulted ceiling of the cave collapse. Jagged chunks, torn from the high roof, crashed down and split on impact. Then more fell. All around her, boulders bounced and tumbled down the rocky face, rolled down the gentler slope, and splashed into the icy stream. The ridge to the east cracked and half of it toppled.

Inside the cave it was raining rocks and pebbles and dirt, mixed with the intermittent thunder of large sections of the walls and vaulted dome. Outside, tall conifers danced like clumsy giants and naked deciduous trees shook bare limbs
in an ungraceful jitter, moving in speeded time to the thunderous dirge. A crack in the wall, near the east side of the opening, opposite the spring-fed pool, widened with an explosive gush that flushed out loose rock and gravel. It opened another underground channel that deposited its load of debris on the broad front porch of the cave before making its maiden voyage to the stream. The roar from the earth and the smashing rocks overpowered the screams of the terror-stricken people. The sound was deafening.

Finally the quaking subsided. A last few stones tumbled off the mountain, bounced, rolled, then came to rest. Dazed and frightened people started to pick themselves up and wandered around with blank stares trying to collect their shaken wits. They began to gather around Brun. He had always been their rock, their stability. They gravitated toward the security he had always represented.

But Brun did nothing. He believed, in all his years as leader, the worst judgment he had ever shown was making Broud leader. He realized, now, how blind he had been to the faults of the son of his mate. Even his virtues, his fearless bravado and reckless courage, Brun now saw as manifestations of the same uncaring ego and impulsive temper. But that wasn’t the reason Brun refused to act. Broud was leader now, for better or worse. It was too late for Brun to step back in and train another man, though he knew the clan would have let him. The only way Broud could ever hope to lead, the only hope for the clan, was to make him lead now. Broud said he was leader—defiantly, totally out of control, Broud said he was leader. Well,
lead
, Broud, Brun thought. Do something. Whatever decisions Broud made from now on, or lack of them, Brun would not interfere.

When the clan was convinced that Brun was not going to take back the leadership, they finally turned to Broud. They were used to their traditions, accustomed to their hierarchy, and Brun had been too good a leader, too strong, too responsible. They were used to his taking command in times of crisis, used to depending on his calm and reasoned judgment. They didn’t know how to act on their own, to make decisions for themselves without a leader. Even Broud expected Brun to take over; he needed someone to lean on, too. When Broud finally came to the realization that the burden was now on him, he tried to assume it. He did try.

“Who is missing? Who is hurt?” Broud motioned. There
was a small collective sigh of relief. Someone was finally doing something. Family groups started to gather together, and as the clan assembled amid gasps of surprise at seeing a loved one they were afraid was gone, miraculously, no one seemed to be missing. With all the falling rocks and shaking earth, no one was even badly hurt. Bruises, cuts, scrapes, but no broken bones. That wasn’t entirely true.

“Where’s Ayla?” Uba cried with an edge of panic.

“Here,” Ayla answered, walking back down the slope, forgetting for the moment why she was there.

“Mama!” Durc cried, breaking loose of Uba’s protective grip and running to her. Ayla broke into a run, swooped him up, hugged him tightly, and carried him back.

“Uba, are you all right?” she asked.

“Yes, nothing serious.”

“Where’s Creb?” Then Ayla remembered. She shoved Durc at Uba and ran back up the slope.

“Ayla! Where are you going? Don’t go into the cave! There may be aftershocks.”

Ayla didn’t see the warning, nor would she have heeded it. She ran into the cave and straight for Creb’s hearth. Stones and gravel cascaded spasmodically, making small piles on the ground. Except for a few rocks and a layer of dust, their place in the cave was undamaged, but Creb was not there. Ayla checked every hearth. Some were totally demolished, but most had some salvageable items. Creb was not at any of the hearths. She hesitated at the small opening that led to the place of the spirits, then started in, but it was too dark to see. She’d need a torch. She decided to check the rest of the cave first.

A spattering of gravel fell on her and she jumped to the side. A jagged boulder crashed to the ground, grazing her arm. She searched the walls, then crisscrossed the room, poking into deep shadows behind storage containers and large boulders in the unlit cave. She was ready to get a torch, then decided to try one last place.

She found Creb beside Iza’s burial cairn. He was lying on his deformed side with his legs pulled up, almost as if they had been tied into a fetal position. The large, magnificent skull that had protected his powerful brain, protected it no longer. The heavy rock that crushed it had rolled a few feet away. He had died instantly. She knelt down beside his body and her tears began to flow.

“Creb, oh, Creb. Why did you go into the cave?” she
motioned. She rocked back and forth on her knees, crying out his name. Then, for some inexplicable reason, she stood up and began to make the motions she had seen him make over Iza, the burial rite. Silent tears clouded her vision as the tall blonde woman, alone in a rock-littered cave, flowed through the ancient, symbolic movements with a grace and subtlety as accomplished as those of the great holy man himself. Many of the motions she did not understand. She never would. It was her final offering to the only father she knew.

“He’s dead,” Ayla gestured to the faces staring at her as she emerged from the cave.

Broud stared at her along with the rest, then a great fear gripped him. It was she who had found the cave, she whom the spirits favored. And after he cursed her, they shook the earth and destroyed the cave she found. Were they angry at him for wanting her cursed? Did they destroy the cave she had found because they were angry at him? What if the rest of the clan thought he had brought this calamity down on them? In the deepest recesses of his superstitious soul, he quavered before the ill omen and feared the anger of the spirits he was sure he had unleashed. Then, in an impulsive flash of twisted reasoning, he thought if he blamed her before anyone could blame him, no one could say it was his fault, and the spirits would turn on her.

“She did it! It’s her fault!” Broud gestured suddenly. “She’s the one who made the spirits angry. She’s the one who flouted the traditions. You all saw her. She was insolent, she was disrespectful to the leader. She should be cursed. Then the spirits will be happy again. Then they will know how we honor them. Then they will lead us to a new cave, even better, even luckier. They will. I know they will. Curse her, Goov! Now, do it now! Curse her! Curse her!”

Every head turned to Brun. He stared straight ahead, jaws clenched, fists doubled up, the muscles of his back shaking with tension. He refused to move, refused to interfere, though it took every bit of willpower he had. The clan looked uneasily at each other, then Goov, then Broud. Goov stared at Broud in absolute disbelief. How could he blame Ayla. If anyone, it was Broud’s fault. Then Goov understood.

“I am the leader, Goov! You are the mog-ur. I order you to curse her. Curse her with death!”

Goov turned abruptly, picked up a burning, pitchy pine branch from the fire that had been started while Ayla was in the cave, walked up the slope, and disappeared into the dark triangular mouth. He picked his way carefully around fallen rubble, watching the occasional fall of rocks and gravel, knowing an aftershock could bring tons down on his head, and wishing it would before he did the thing he had been ordered to do. He went into the place of the spirits and lined up the sacred bones of the cave bear in parallel rows, making formal gestures with each one. The last bone was put into the base and out the left eye socket of a cave bear skull. Then he said aloud the words known only to mog-urs, the terrible names of the evil spirits. The recognition that gave them power.