Clan of the Cave Bear (60 page)

Iza brought the young mother her tea in the familiar bone cup that had been hers for several years, then sat quietly beside her as she sipped it. Uba joined them, but she could offer no more than her presence for comfort, either.

“Nearly everyone is out. We’d better go,” Iza signaled, taking the cup from the young woman. Ayla nodded. She got up and wrapped her son in the carrying cloak, then picked up her fur wrap from the bed and threw it over her
shoulders. Eyes glistening with moisture that threatened to overflow, Ayla looked at Iza, then Uba, and with an aching cry, reached out to both of them. All three huddled in a clinging embrace. Then, with a heavy heart and dragging step, Ayla walked out of the cave.

Staring down at the ground, seeing an occasional heelmark, the imprint of toes, the blurred outline of a foot encased in a loose leather covering, Ayla had the uncanny sensation that it was two years before and she was following Creb out of the cave to face her doom. He should have cursed me forever that time, she thought. I must have been born to be cursed; why else must I go through this again? This time I will go to the world of the spirits. I know a plant that will make us both go to sleep and never wake up, not in this world. I will get it over quickly, and we’ll walk in the next world together.

She reached Brun, dropped to the ground, and stared at the familiar feet wrapped in muddy foot coverings. It was getting lighter, the sun would soon be up. Brun would have to hurry, she thought, and felt a tap on her shoulder. Slowly, she looked up at Brun’s bearded face. He began without preliminaries.

“Woman, you have willfully defied the customs of the Clan and you must be punished,” he motioned sternly. Ayla nodded. It was true. “Ayla, woman of the Clan, you are cursed. No one will see you, no one will hear you. You will endure the full isolation of the woman’s curse. You may not go beyond the boundaries of your provider’s hearth until the next moon is in the same phase as now.”

Ayla gazed at the stern-faced leader with astonished disbelief. The woman’s curse! Not the death curse! Not utter and complete ostracism, but nominal isolation confined to Creb’s hearth. What did it matter that no one else in the clan would acknowledge her existence for an entire moon, she would still have Iza and Uba and Creb. And afterward, she could rejoin the clan just like any other woman. But Brun was not through.

“As further punishment, you are forbidden to hunt, or even mention hunting, until the clan returns from the Clan Gathering. Until the leaves have dropped from the trees, you will have no freedom to go anywhere that is not essential. When you look for plants of healing magic, you will tell me where you are going and you will return promptly. You will always ask my permission before you leave the area
of the cave. And you will show me the location of the cave where you hid.”

“Yes, yes, of course, anything,” Ayla was nodding in agreement. She was floating in a warm cloud of euphoria, but the next words of the leader pierced her mood like an icy shaft of cold lightning, drowning her elation in a deluge of despair.

“There is still the problem of your deformed son who was the cause of your disobedience. You must never again try to force a man, much less a leader, against his will. No woman should ever try to force a man,” Brun said, then gave a signal. Ayla clutched her infant desperately and looked in the same direction that Brun was looking. She couldn’t let them take him, she couldn’t. She saw Mog-ur limping out of the cave. When she saw him throw his bearskin aside, revealing a red-stained wicker bowl held firmly between the stump of his arm and his waist, incredulous joy flushed her face. She turned back to Brun hesitantly, unsure if what she thought could possibly be true.

“But a woman may ask,” Brun finished. “Mog-ur is waiting, Ayla. Your son must have a name if he is to be a member of the clan.”

Ayla scrambled to her feet and raced to the magician, taking her baby from her cloak as she dropped at his feet and holding the naked infant up to him. His first squall at being taken from his mother’s warm breast and exposed to the damp cool air was greeted by the first rays of the sun breaking over the top of the ridge, burning through the misty haze.

A name! She hadn’t even thought about a name, she hadn’t even wondered what name Creb would choose for her son. In formal gestures, Mog-ur called the spirits of the clan’s totems to attend, then reached into the bowl and scooped out a dab of red paste.

“Durc,” he said loudly above the lusty cries of the cold and angry baby. “The boy’s name is Durc.” Then he drew a red line from the junction of the baby’s supraorbital ridges to the tip of his smallish nose.

“Durc,” Ayla repeated, holding her son close to warm him. Durc, she thought, like Durc of the legend. Creb knows that’s always been my favorite. It was not a common Clan name and many were surprised. But perhaps the name, dredged from the depths of antiquity and fraught
with dubious connotations, was appropriate for a boy whose life had hung in the balance of such uncertain beginnings.

“Durc,” Brun said. He was the first to file past. Ayla thought she saw a glimmer of tenderness from the stern, proud leader as she looked at him in gratitude. Most of the faces were a blur seen through tear-filled eyes. As hard as she tried, she could not control them, and kept her head down in an effort to conceal her wet eyes. I can’t believe it, I just can’t believe it, she thought. Is it really true? You have a name, my baby? Brun accepted you, my son? I’m not dreaming? She remembered the glittering nodules of iron pyrite she had found and put in her amulet. It was a sign. Great Cave Lion, it was truly a sign. Of all the artifacts in her amulet, she treasured that one the most.

“Durc,” she heard Iza say and looked up. The joy on the woman’s face was no less than Ayla’s for all that her eyes were dry.

“Durc,” Uba said, and added with a quick gesture, “I’m so glad.”

“Durc.” It was said with a sneer. Ayla glanced up in time to see Broud turn away. She suddenly remembered the strange idea about the way men started babies she had while she was hiding in the small cave, and shuddered at the thought that somehow Broud was responsible for the conception of her son. She had been too busy to notice the battle of wills between Brun and Broud. The young man was going to refuse to acknowledge the newest member of the clan, and only a direct order from the leader finally forced the issue. Ayla watched him walk away from the group with clenched fists and tense shoulders.

How could he? Broud walked into the woods to get away from the hated scene. How could he? He kicked a log in vain attempt to vent his frustration, sending it rolling down a slope. How could he? He picked up a stout branch and sent it crashing into a tree. How could he? How could he? Broud’s mind kept repeating the phrase as he smashed his fist again and again into a moss-covered bank. How could he let her live and accept her baby both? How could he do it?

22

“Iza! Iza! Come quick! It’s Durc!” Ayla grabbed the medicine woman’s arm and dragged her toward the entrance to the cave.

“What’s wrong?” the woman motioned, hurrying to keep up. “Is he choking again? Is he hurt?”

“No, he’s not hurt. Look!” Ayla gestured proudly when they reached Creb’s hearth. “He’s holding his head up!”

The infant was lying on his stomach looking up at the two women with large solemn eyes that were losing the dark, indistinct color of newborns and becoming the deep brown shade of people of the Clan. His head bobbed with the effort, then dropped back down on the fur blanket. He shoved his fist in his mouth and began sucking noisily, oblivious of the stir his efforts had caused.

“If he can do it this young, he’ll be able to support it when he grows up, won’t he?” Ayla pleaded.

“Don’t build your hopes up yet,” Iza replied, “but it is a good sign.”

Creb shuffled into the cave, staring into space with the unfocused, faraway look characteristic of him when lost in thought.

“Creb!” Ayla called, running up to him. Jolted back to reality, he looked up. “Durc held his head up, didn’t he, Iza?” The medicine woman nodded in agreement.

“Hhmmf,” he grunted. “If he’s getting that strong, I think it’s time.”

“Time for what?”

“I’ve been thinking I should have a totem ceremony for him. He’s a little young, but I’ve had some strong impressions. His totem has been making himself known to me. There’s no reason to wait. Later, everyone will be busy getting ready to leave, and I should do it before the Clan Gathering. It might be unlucky for him to travel if his totem doesn’t have a home.” Seeing the medicine woman reminded
him of something else. “Iza, do you have enough roots for the ceremony? I don’t know how many clans will be there. Last time one of the clans that moved to a cave farther east was thinking of going to a Clan Gathering south of the mountains. It would be a little farther away for them but easier traveling. Their old mog-ur was against it, but his acolyte wanted to go. Make sure you bring plenty.”

“I won’t be going to the Clan Gathering, Creb.” Her disappointment was obvious. “I can’t travel that far, I’ll have to stay behind.”

Of course, what’s wrong with me, he thought, looking at the thin, nearly white-haired medicine woman. Iza can’t go. Why didn’t I think of that before? She’s too sick. I thought she was going to leave us last fall; I don’t know how Ayla pulled her through. But what about the ceremony? Only the women of Iza’s line know the secret of the special drink. Uba’s too young; it has to be a woman. Ayla! What about Ayla? Iza could teach her before we leave. It’s time she was made a medicine woman anyway.

Creb watched the young woman as she stooped to pick up her son and suddenly saw her more critically than he had for years. But will they accept her? He tried to see her as the people of other clans would see her. Her golden hair hung loose around her flat face, tucked behind her ears and parted haphazardly at the center, exposing her bulging forehead. Her body was definitely a woman’s, but slender except for a slightly flaccid stomach. Her legs were long and straight, and when she stood up she towered over him.

She does not look like a Clan woman, he thought. She’s going to get a lot of attention, and not much of it favorable, I’m afraid. We just might have to forget that ceremony. The other mog-urs might not accept the drink if Ayla makes it. But it would not hurt to try. If only Uba were a little older. Maybe Iza could train them both, though I don’t think they’ll be willing to accept a girl any more than a woman born to the Others. I think I’ll go talk to Brun. If I’m going to call the spirits for Durc’s totem ceremony, we might as well make Ayla a medicine woman at the same time.

“I must see Brun,” Creb motioned abruptly, and started toward the leader’s hearth. He turned back to Iza. “I think you should teach both Ayla and Uba to make the drink, but I’m not sure it will do any good.”

“Iza, I can’t find the bowl you gave me for the medicine woman of the host clan,” Ayla gestured frantically after pawing through piles of food, furs, and implements stacked on the ground near her sleeping place. “I’ve looked everywhere.”

“You already packed it, Ayla. Settle down, child. There’s still time. Brun won’t be ready to leave until he’s through eating. You’d better sit down and eat, yourself, your mush is getting cold. Uba, you too.” Iza shook her head. “I’ve never seen such carryings-on. We went over everything last night, it’s all ready.”

Creb was sitting on a mat, Durc in his lap, watching the last-minute commotion with amusement. “They’re not any different from you, Iza. Why don’t you sit down and eat?”

“I’ll have plenty of time after you leave,” she replied. Creb propped the baby up against his shoulder. Durc looked around from his new vantage point. “Look how strong that baby’s neck is,” Iza remarked. “He doesn’t have any trouble holding his head up now. It’s hard to believe. Ever since his totem ceremony, it’s been getting stronger all the time. Let me take him, I won’t be able to hold him all summer.”

“Perhaps that’s why the Gray Wolf wanted me to do it so soon,” Creb motioned. “He wanted to help the boy.”

Creb sat back and watched the small brood over which he was patriarch. Though he kept it to himself, he had often longed for a family like the other men. Now, in his old age, he had two doting women who did everything they could to make him comfortable, a girl who was following in their footsteps, and a healthy baby boy to cuddle the way he had done with the two girls. He had talked to Brun about the boy’s training. The leader could not allow a male member of his clan to grow up without the necessary skills. Brun had accepted the child knowing he would be living at Creb’s hearth and felt responsible for him. Ayla was grateful when Brun announced at Durc’s totem ceremony that he would personally take charge of the baby’s training if he became strong enough to hunt. She could think of no better man to train her son.

The Gray Wolf is a good totem for the boy, Creb mused, but it makes me wonder. Some wolves run with the pack and some are loners. Which one is Durc’s totem?

When everything was packed and secured in bundles, and loaded on the backs of the young woman and the girl, they
all trooped out of the cave together. Iza gave the baby a last hug while he nuzzled her neck, helped Ayla wrap him in the carrying cloak, and then took something from a fold of her wrap.