The Earth's Children Series 6-Book Bundle

by Jean M. Auel

  When Gorn’s mate returned to her position, the mates of the leaders and their seconds deftly began to skin the cave bear. The blood was collected in bowls, and after the mog-urs made symbolic gestures over it, the acolytes passed through the crowd holding the vessels to the mouth of each member of their clan. Men, women, children all had a taste of the warm blood, the life fluid of Ursus. Even the mouths of babies were opened by their mothers and a fingerful of fresh blood placed on their tongues. Ayla and the two medicine women were called from the cave to partake of their share, and the injured man, who had lost so much of his own, had a gulp of bear’s blood restored to him. Everyone shared in the communion with the great bear that bound them together as one people.

  The women worked rapidly while the Clan watched. The thick, subcutaneous layer of the purposely fattened animal was carefully scraped away from the skin. The rendered fat had magical properties and would be distributed to the mog-urs of each clan. The head was left attached to the hide, and while the meat was lowered into the waiting stone-lined pits, heated by fires, for a full day, the acolytes hung the huge bearskin on poles in front of the cave, where his unseeing eyes could watch the festivities. The Cave Bear would be an honored guest at his own feast. When the bearskin was mounted, the mog-urs picked up Gorn’s body and with solemn dignity carried it into the deep recesses of the cave. After they were gone, Brun gave a signal, and the crowd broke up. The Spirit of Ursus had been sent on his way with full and proper ceremony.

  24

  “Then how did she do it? None of the others dared to get him, but she had no fear.” The mog-ur of the clan to which the wounded man belonged was speaking. “It was almost as though she knew Ursus wouldn’t hurt her, just like the first day. I think The Mog-ur is right, Ursus has accepted her. She is a woman of the Clan. Our medicine woman said she saved his life, she’s not only well-trained, she has a natural skill, like she was born to it. I believe she must be of Iza’s line.”

  The mog-urs were in a small cave deep inside the mountain. Stone lamps, shallow saucers filled with bear grease absorbed by a dried moss wick, formed circles of light that pushed back the absolute black that surrounded them. The feeble flames glinted off hidden facets in the crystal matrix of the rocks, and were reflected in the glistening sheen of damp stalactites hanging in eternal icicles from the roof, longing to reach their inverted counterparts growing from the floor. Some had succeeded in forming a union. Strained through the stone of ages, the calcereous drops had culminated in stately columns that reached from floor to vaulted ceiling, thinning at the center. One straining stalactite missed the satisfying kiss of its stalagmitic mate by barely a hairbreadth—that would take more ages yet to bridge.

  “She did surprise everyone when she showed no fear of Ursus that first day,” another magician said. “But if it is agreed, is there still time for her to prepare?”

  “There is time,” The Mog-ur answered, “if we hurry.”

  “She was born to the Others, how can she be a woman of the Clan?” the flute-playing mog-ur demanded. “Others are not Clan, they never will be. You say she came to you already marked with Clan totem scars, but those are not the marks of a woman’s totem. How can you be sure they’re Clan marks? Clan women do not have Cave Lion totems.”

  “I never said she was born with it,” The Mog-ur said reasonably. “Are you saying a Cave Lion cannot choose a woman? A Cave Lion can choose whomever he wants. She was nearly dead when she was found; Iza brought her back to life. Do you think a young girl could escape a cave lion if she wasn’t under the protection of his Spirit? He marked her with his sign so there could be no doubt. Those are Clan totem marks on her leg, no one can deny that. Why would she be marked with Clan totem scars if she wasn’t intended to become a woman of the Clan? I don’t know why, I don’t claim to understand why spirits do anything. With the help of Ursus, sometimes I can interpret what they do. Can any of you do any better? I will only say she knows the ritual; Iza has given her the secret of the roots in the red bag, and Iza would not have told her if she wasn’t her daughter. We don’t have to give up the ritual. I’ve already given you all my arguments before. You must decide, but do it soon.”

  “You said your clan thinks she’s lucky,” Norg’s mog-ur motioned.

  “Not so much that she is lucky, but she seems to bring luck. We have been very lucky since she was found. Droog thinks of her as a sign from one’s totem, something unique and unusual. Perhaps she’s lucky, too, in her own way.”

  “Well, it’s certainly unusual enough for a woman of the Others to be a woman of the Clan,” one of them commented.

  “She brought luck to us today, our young hunter is going to live,” the wounded man’s mog-ur said. “I am agreeable; it would be a shame to miss Iza’s drink if we don’t have to.” There were several nods of agreement.

  “What about you?” The Mog-ur signaled to the magician who was second. “Do you still think Ursus will be displeased if Ayla makes the ritual drink?”

  All heads turned to look at him. If the powerful magician still objected, he could sway enough of the other mog-urs to prevent it. If he just adamantly refused to participate, even if the rest agreed, it would be enough. Agreement had to be unanimous; there could be no schism in their ranks. He looked down, pondering the question, then at each man in turn.

  “It may or it may not displease Ursus. I am not convinced. Something about her bothers me. But it’s obvious no one else wants to eliminate the ritual, and it seems she is the only one available. I’d almost prefer to use Iza’s true daughter, in spite of her youth. If everyone else agrees, I will withdraw my objection. I don’t like it, but I won’t prevent it.”

  The Mog-ur looked at each man and received a nod of approval. With a relieved sigh, covered by his efforts to pull himself up, the crippled man quickly left. He hobbled through several passages that opened into rooms then narrowed again into passages, guided by stone lamps. They gave way to torches placed at closer intervals as he neared the living quarters of the clans.

  Ayla was sitting beside the wounded young man in the front cave. Durc was in her arms and Uba on her other side. The man’s mate was there, too, watching him sleep, occasionally glancing up at Ayla with gratitude.

  “Ayla, quickly, you must prepare yourself. There is little time,” Mog-ur gestured. “You will have to hurry, but do not overlook a single step. Come to me when you are ready. Uba, give Durc to Oga to feed; Ayla won’t have time.”

  They both stared at the magician, stunned by the sudden change in plans. It took a moment to comprehend, then Ayla nodded. She ran quickly to the hearth in the second cave to get a clean wrap. Mog-ur turned to the young woman anxiously watching her sleeping mate.

  “The Mog-ur would know how the young man fares.”

  “Arrghha says he will live and may walk again. But his leg will never be the same.” The woman spoke with a different dialect and everyday gestures modified so much that Ayla and Uba had had trouble communicating with her except with the formal language. The magician, however, had more practice with the common speech of other clans but used the formal language to make his meaning more precise.

  “The Mog-ur would know this man’s totem.”

  “Ibex,” she signed.

  “This man is as sure-footed as that mountain goat?” he asked.

  “It has been said this man is,” she began. “This man was not so agile on this day, and now I don’t know what he’ll do. What if he never walks again? How will he hunt? How will he provide for me? What can a man do if he can’t hunt?” The young woman slipped into the common language of her clan as her taut nerves put her on the edge of hysteria.

  “The young man lives. Is that not most important?” The Mog-ur said to calm her.

  “But he’s proud. If he can’t hunt, he may wish he hadn’t lived. He was a good hunter, he might have been second to the leader one day. Now he may never gain status, he’ll lose status. What will he do if he loses status?” she pleaded.

&nbs
p; “Woman!” The Mog-ur motioned with mock severity. “No man loses status who is the chosen of Ursus. He has already proved his manhood; he was almost chosen to walk with Ursus to the next world. The Spirit of Ursus does not choose lightly. The Great Cave Bear decided to allow him to remain, but he was still marked. This man is honored to claim Ursus as his totem now; his scars will be the marks of his new totem, he can wear them with pride. He will always be able to provide for you. The Mog-ur will speak with your leader; your mate has the right to claim a share of every hunt. And he may walk again, he may even hunt again. Perhaps he won’t be as agile as the Ibex, he may walk more like a bear, but that doesn’t mean he won’t hunt again. Be proud of him, woman, be proud of your mate who was chosen by Ursus.”

  “He is the chosen of Ursus?” the woman repeated with a look of awe. “The Cave Bear is his totem?”

  “And the Ibex, too. He can claim both,” The Mog-ur said. He noticed the beginning of a bulge under her wrap. No wonder she is so distraught, he thought. “Does the woman have children yet?”

  “No, but life has started. I am hoping for a son.”

  “You are a good woman, a good mate. Stay with him. When he wakes, tell him what The Mog-ur has said.”

  The young woman nodded, then glanced up as Ayla hurried by.

  The small river near the cave of the host clan became a torrent of angry water in spring, only slightly less violent in fall, tearing giant trees out by the roots, gouging huge boulders from the rocky face, and hurtling them down the mountain. Even in its quieter moods, the surging stream, foaming down the middle of a rock-strewn floodplain many times wider than itself, had the greenish, cloudy cast of glacial runoff. Ayla and Uba had scouted the region near the cave shortly after they arrived to find the cleansing plants necessary to purify themselves in case one of them was called upon to participate in the ceremony.

  Ayla was nervous as she raced to dig up soaproot, horsetail fern, and red-rooted pigweed, and her stomach was a bundle of knots while she waited anxiously for boiling water from one of the cooking fires to extract the insecticidal element from the fern. The news that she would be allowed to perform the ritual spread rapidly through the Clan. The mog-urs’ acceptance of her revised everyone’s opinion of the Clan woman born to the Others, and her worth increased proportionately. It confirmed that she was indeed Iza’s daughter and elevated her to the medicine woman of highest rank. The leader of the clan that had members who were Zoug’s kin reconsidered his flat refusal to accept her. Zoug’s recommendation just might have some merit after all. Maybe one of the men would take her, if only as second woman. She could be a valuable addition.

  But Ayla was too worried to notice the comments fluttering around her. She was more than worried, she was terrified. I can’t do it, her mind screamed, even as she ran to the small river. There isn’t enough time to get ready. What if I forget something? What if I make a mistake? I’ll disgrace Creb. I’ll disgrace Brun. I’ll disgrace the whole clan.

  The glacier-fed river was icy, but the cold water calmed her raw-edged nerves. She felt more relaxed as she sat on a rock pulling tangles out of her long blonde hair drying in a light breeze, and watching the glowing pink mountaintop, reflecting the setting sun, deepen to a rich bluish purple. Her hair was still damp when she put her amulet back over her head and her clean wrap on. Stuffing her tools in the folds, she picked up her other wrap and ran back to the cave. She passed Uba holding Durc on her way, and gave her a quick nod.

  The women were working frantically, unhelped by totally unmanageable children. The gory ritual slaying of the cave bear had them keyed up; they were unused to going hungry and the smells of cooking stimulated appetites already sharp and made them irritable; and their mothers’ preoccupation gave them a rare opportunity to indulge in misbehavior seldom allowed children of the Clan. Some of the boys had picked up the cut thongs from the bear’s cage and wore them wrapped around their arms as badges of honor. Other boys, not as quick, tried to take them away, and all of them were racing around cooking fires. When they tired of the game, they teased the girls, supposed to be tending crying younger siblings, until the girls started chasing them around or running to their mothers to complain. It was a riotous, disorganized madhouse. Even the occasional stern command of some woman’s mate did little to quell the unusually rambunctious youngsters.

  Children were not the only ones hungry. Food, prepared in enormous quantities, tantalized the tastebuds of everyone, and anticipation of the great feast and evening ceremony added to the frenzied excitement. Heaps of wild yams, white starchy breadroots, and potatolike groundnuts boiled gently in skin pots slung over fires. Wild asparagus, lily roots, wild onions, legumes, small squashes, and mushrooms were cooking in various combinations with subtle seasonings. A mountain of wild lettuce, burdock, pigweed, and dandelion leaves, freshly washed, was waiting to be served raw with a dressing of hot bear grease, seasonings, and salt, added at the last moment.

  One clan’s specialty was a combination of onions, mushrooms, and the round green legumes of milk vetch, seasoned with a secret combination of herbs and thickened with dried reindeer moss. Another brought a special variety of pinecones, from a tree that was unique to the area of their cave, that yielded large tasty nuts released by the heat of a fire.

  Norg’s clan toasted chestnuts gathered from the lower slopes and made a nut-flavored porridge sauce from cracked beechnuts, parched grains, and slices of small, hard, tart-sweet apples, cooked long and slowly. The area for some distance in the vicinity of the cave was stripped of blueberries, high-bush cranberries, and from the lower elevations, raspberries and wild mountain blackberries.

  The women of Brun’s clan had spent days cracking and grinding the dried acorns they brought. The pulverized nuts were put in shallow holes in the sand near the river and quantities of water poured over the pulpy mixture to leach out the bitterness. The resultant dough was baked into flat cakes, soaked in maple syrup until they were thoroughly saturated, then dried in the sun. The host clan, who also tapped their maple trees in early spring and boiled the watery sap for long days, were interested as soon as they saw the familiar birchbark containers that were used to store maple sugars and syrup. The sticky, maple-sweet acorn cakes were an unusual treat that the women of Norg’s clan decided to try later themselves.

  Uba, keeping an eye on Durc while helping the women, looked at the seemingly endless quantity and variety of food and wondered how they would ever be able to eat it all.

  Smoke drifting upward disappeared into the still dark night filled with stars so thick a gossamer haze veiled the vault of the heavens. The moon was new and gave no hint of its presence, turning its back to the planet it circled and reflecting its light into the cold depths of space. The glow of cooking fires lighted the area near the cave in contrast to the darkness of the surrounding woods. Food had been moved away from the full force of the heat, but left near enough to keep it hot, and most of the women had retired to the cave. They were changing into new wraps and relaxing for a few moments before the festivities.

  But even the tired women were too excited to stay inside the cave for long. The space in front began to fill with a milling crowd eagerly waiting for the feast and the beginning of the ceremony. A still hush descended as the ten magicians and their ten acolytes filed out of the opening, followed by a scramble to find places. It appeared to be a random assemblage that faced the holy men. Positions of the audience were not defined by location so much as relationship to other people. Orderly ranks were not important, only that each individual was ahead or behind, or on the correct side of certain other individuals. There were always last-minute shufflings as people tried to find the best vantage point within their sphere of relationships.

  With dignified ceremony, a large fire was lit in front of the dark hole in the mountain. Then the stones were removed from the tops of the cooking pits. The mates of the leaders of the first-ranked and host clans had the signal honor of lifting out the huge haunches of tender meat
, and Brun’s chest swelled with satisfaction when he saw Ebra step forward.

  The mog-urs’ acceptance of Ayla had finally decided the issue. Brun and his clan were a stronger first than they had ever been. Unlikely as it had appeared at first, the tall blonde female was a woman of the Clan, and a medicine woman of Iza’s prestigious line. Brun’s obdurate insistence that it was so had been proved correct, it was the will of Ursus. Had he wavered, for even a moment, his prestige would not have been as great, or his success as sweet.

  Clouds of succulent steam caused empty stomachs to growl as the bear meat was removed with forked sticks. That was the signal for the other women to begin heaping platters of wood and bone and filling large bowls with the food they had labored so long to prepare. Broud and Voord stepped forward carrying large flat trays and stood in front of The Mog-ur.

  “This Feast of Ursus also honors Gorn, chosen by the Great Cave Bear to accompany him. While he lived with Norg’s clan, Ursus learned that his People had not forgotten his lessons. He grew to know Gorn well and found him a worthy companion. Broud and Voord, for your courage, your strength, your endurance, you were selected to show the Great Spirit the bravery of the men of his Clan. He tested you with his great strength and he is pleased. You did well, and you are privileged to bring him the last meal he will share with his Clan until he returns from the Spirit World. May the Spirit of Ursus always walk with us.”

  The two young men passed by each of the women standing beside dishes heaped with food and selected the choicest morsels of each, with the exception of the meat. The captive cave bear had never been fed meat, though in the wild, he occasionally indulged when it was easily available. The trays were placed in front of the bear hide mounted on the poles.

  Then, the Mog-ur continued: “You drank of his blood, now eat of his body and be one with the Spirit of Ursus.”

  The benediction signaled the beginning of the feast. Broud and Voord received the first portions of the bear meat, then proceeded to fill plates for themselves, followed by the rest of the Clan. Delighted sighs and grunts rose as they settled down to enjoy their repast. The meat from the hand-fed, vegetarian bear was tender and rich with marbled fat. Vegetables, fruits, and grains, prepared with meticulous attention, were savored to the fullest, and the appetizer of hunger made everything taste even better. It was a feast worth waiting for.