by Jean M. Auel
“I won’t have him at my hearth for any reason; I wouldn’t even bother to ask Oga how she feels about it. He’s not fit to be a sibling to her sons; it would make him a brother to Brac and Grev—I won’t allow that. Brac will survive even if she does take a little piece of his spirit with her. I don’t know why you’re even considering it, Brun. You were ready to curse her. Just because she came running back a little early, you’re ready to take her back, and talking about taking her defective son besides,” Broud gestured bitterly.
“She defied you by running away; coming back doesn’t make her disobedience any less. What’s there to discuss? The baby is deformed, and she should be cursed. That’s the end of it. Why do you always waste our time with these meetings about her? If I were leader, she would have been cursed already. She’s disobedient, she’s insolent, and she’s a bad influence on the other women. How else can you explain Iza’s misbehavior?” Broud was working himself up to a fury, his gestures becoming more excited. “She deserves to be cursed, Brun, how can you think of anything else? Why can’t you see it? Are you blind? She’s never been any good. If I were leader, she would never have been accepted in the first place. If I were leader …”
“But you’re not leader yet, Broud,” Brun returned coldly, “and you’re not likely to be if you can’t keep yourself under better control. She’s only a woman, Broud, why do you feel so threatened by her? What can she possibly do to you? She must obey you, she has no choice. ‘If you were leader, if you were leader,’ is that all you can say? What kind of leader is so anxious to kill a woman that he’s willing to jeopardize the whole clan?” Brun was on the edge of losing control himself. He had put up with all he could take from the son of his mate.
The men were shocked and uneasy. An open battle between the present leader and the future one was distressing. Broud had overstepped his bounds to be sure, but they were accustomed to his outbursts. It was Brun who caused the dismay; they had never seen the leader so close to losing his control. And he had never before openly questioned the qualifications of the son of his mate to follow him as leader.
For a tense moment, the two men locked eyes in a battle of wills. Broud looked down first. No longer jeopardized by loss of face, Brun was firmly in control again. He was leader, and not ready to step down. It put the young man on his guard; his footing wasn’t as secure as he thought. Broud fought down the feeling of impotence and bitter frustration that welled up inside. He still favors her, Broud thought. How can he? I’m the son of his mate, she’s just an ugly woman. Broud struggled to remain calm, swallowing the bitterness that rankled his soul.
“This man regrets he has caused the leader to misunderstand him,” Broud motioned formally. “This man’s concern is for the hunters he must lead one day, if the present leader thinks this man is capable of leading hunters. How can a man hunt if his head wobbles?”
Brun stared hard and angrily at the young man. There was an inconsistency in the meaning of the formal gestures and the unconscious signals of expression and posture. Broud’s overly polite response was sarcastic, and it irritated the leader far more than direct disagreement. Broud was trying to hide his feelings and Brun knew it. But Brun was feeling shame at his own outburst. He knew it was prompted by Broud’s increasingly derogatory remarks that cast doubt on his judgment. They had rubbed a sore spot on his pride. But that was no excuse for losing his own self-control enough to disparage the son of his mate so openly.
“You’ve made your point, Broud,” Brun signaled stiffly. “I realize the baby will grow up to be more a burden to the leader who follows me and the one after, but the decision is still mine. I will do what I think best. I have not said the baby will be accepted, Broud, or that the woman will not be cursed. My concern is for the clan, not her or her child. A death curse can put everyone in danger; lingering evil spirits can bring bad luck, especially since they’ve been released before. I think the child is too deformed to live, but Ayla is blind to her baby’s affliction. She can’t see it. It may be that her strong desire to have a child has affected her mind. When she returned, she begged me to curse her if her son was not acceptable. I asked for your opinions because I wanted to know if anyone else saw something about the infant that I didn’t. A death curse to punish her or to grant her request, it is still not a decision to make lightly.”
Broud’s frustration eased. Maybe Brun isn’t favoring her after all, he thought. “You’re right, Brun,” he said contritely, “a leader should think of the dangers to his clan. This young man is grateful for such a wise leader to instruct him.”
Brun felt his tension melt. He hadn’t seriously considered replacing Broud, not ever. He was still the son of his mate, the child of his heart. Self-control isn’t always easy, Brun thought, remembering his own irritation. Broud just has a little more trouble than most, but he is improving.
“I’m glad you understand that, Broud. When you are leader, you will be responsible for the safety and welfare of the clan.” Brun’s comment not only let Broud know he was still heir apparent, it relieved the rest of the hunters. They wanted the security of knowing that the traditional rightness of the clan hierarchy, and their own place in it, would be maintained. Nothing disturbed them quite so much as uncertainty about the future.
“It is the welfare of the clan I was thinking about,” Broud motioned. “I don’t want a man in my clan who can’t hunt. What good will Ayla’s son ever be? Her disobedience does deserve severe punishment, and if she wants to be cursed, it will satisfy her, too. We’d be better off without them. Ayla defied Clan traditions, deliberately. She doesn’t deserve to live. Her son is so deformed, he doesn’t deserve to live.”
There was a general round of agreement. Brun detected a certain element of insincerity in Broud’s reasoned argument, but he let it go. The animosity between them had dissipated and he didn’t want to stir it up again. Open strife with the son of his mate disturbed Brun as much as it did the others.
The leader felt he should add his agreement, but something made him hesitate. It is, the right thing to do, he thought, she’s been a problem from the beginning. Of course Iza will be upset, but I didn’t promise to spare either of them, I only said I would consider it. I didn’t even say I would look at the baby if she returned; who ever expected her to return, anyway? That’s just the problem, I never know what to expect from her. If the grief weakens Iza, well, there’s still Uba. After all, she was the one born to the line, and she can get more training from the medicine women at the Clan Gathering.
If the part of Brac’s spirit she carries dies with Ayla, is it really so much of him to lose? Broud isn’t worried about it, why should I worry? He’s right, she does deserve the severest punishment, doesn’t she? Such strong love for a baby isn’t even normal. What do old women’s tales prove? She can’t even see that her son is deformed; she must be out of her mind. Can there be that much pain in giving birth? Men have suffered worse, haven’t they? Some have walked all the way back after a painful hunting injury. Of course, she’s only a woman, she can’t be expected to bear as much pain. I wonder how far she went? The cave she mentioned can’t be that far, can it? She nearly died giving birth, she was too weak to travel very far, but why couldn’t we find it?
Besides, if she’s allowed to live, I’ll have to take her to the Clan Gathering. What would the other clans think? It would be worse if I allow her deformed child to live. It’s the right thing to do, everyone thinks so. Maybe there wouldn’t be so much of a problem with Broud, maybe he could control himself better if she wasn’t around. He’s a fearless hunter; he’d make a good leader if only he had a little more sense of responsibility, just a little more self-control. Maybe I should do it for Broud’s sake. For the son of my mate, it might be better if she was gone. It is the right thing to do, yes, it really is; it’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?
“I have reached my decision,” Brun signaled. “Tomorrow is the naming day. At first light, before the sun breaks …”
�
�Brun!” Mog-ur interrupted. He had kept himself out of the discussion; none of them had seen much of him since the birth of Ayla’s child. He had spent most of the time in his small annex searching his soul for an explanation of Ayla’s actions. He knew how hard she had struggled to accept the ways of the Clan, and he thought she had succeeded. He was convinced there was something else, something he hadn’t realized that had driven her to such an extreme.
“Before you commit yourself, Mog-ur would speak.”
Brun stared at the magician. His expression was enigmatic, as usual. Brun had never been able to read Mog-ur’s face. What can he say that I have not considered? I’ve made up my mind to curse her and he knows it.
“Mog-ur may speak,” he motioned.
“Ayla has no mate, but I have always provided for her, I am responsible for her. If you will allow it, I would speak as her mate.”
“Speak if you will, Mog-ur, but what can you add? I have already considered her strong love for the child and the pain and suffering she went through to have him. I understand how difficult it may be for Iza; I know it may weaken her too much. I’ve thought of every possible reason for excusing her actions, but the facts remain. She defied Clan customs. Her baby is not acceptable to the men. Broud made it clear neither one deserves to live.”
Mog-ur pulled himself up to his feet, then threw his staff aside. Wrapped in his heavy bearskin cloak, the magician was an imposing figure. Only the older men, and Brun, ever knew him as anything but Mog-ur. The Mog-ur, the holiest of all the men who interceded with the world of the spirits, the most powerful magician of the Clan. When moved to eloquence during a ceremony, he was a charismatic, awe-inspiring protector. It was he who braved the invisible forces far more fearsome than any charging animal, forces that could turn the bravest hunter into a quaking coward. There was not a man present who did not feel more secure knowing it was he who was the magician of their clan, not a man who hadn’t stood in fear of his power and magic at some time in his life, and only one, Goov, who dared to think of trading places with him.
Mog-ur, alone, stood between the men of the clan and the terrible unknown, and he became part of it by association. It imbued him with a subtle aura that carried over into his secular life. Even when he sat within the boundaries of his hearthstones, surrounded by his women, he was not really thought of as a man. He was more than, other than; he was Mog-ur.
As the dread holy man fixed a baleful eye on each man in turn, there wasn’t one, including Broud, who didn’t squirm in the depths of his soul with the sudden realization that the woman they had condemned to die lived at his hearth. Mog-ur seldom brought the force of his presence to bear outside his function, but he did then. He turned last to Brun.
“A woman’s mate has the right to speak for the life of a deformed child. I am asking you to spare the life of Ayla’s son, and for his sake, I am asking that her life be spared, too.”
All the reasons Brun had so recently considered as rationale for sparing her life seemed to have far more weight now, and the arguments for her death, insignificant. He almost agreed on the force of Mog-ur’s request alone, and it attested to the strength of his own character that he did not. But he was leader. He could not capitulate so easily in front of all his men, and despite a strong desire to give in to the force of the powerful man of magic, he held firm.
When Mog-ur saw the look of firm resolution replace the moment of indecision, the magician seemed to change before Brun’s eyes. The otherworldly character left him. He became a crippled old man in a bearskin cloak, standing as straight as his one good leg would hold him without his staff for support. When he spoke, it was with the common gestures punctuated with the gruff words of everyday speech. His face held a determined, yet strangely vulnerable look.
“Brun, ever since Ayla was found, she has lived at my hearth. I think everyone will agree that women and children look to the man of their hearth to set the standard for men of the clan. He is their model, their example of what a man should be. I have been Ayla’s example, I have set the standard in her eyes.
“I am deformed, Brun. Is it so strange that a woman who grew up with a deformed man as her model would find it difficult to understand a deformity in her child? I lack an eye and an arm, half my body is shriveled and wasted. I am half a man, yet from the beginning, Ayla has seen me as whole. Her son’s body is sound. He has two eyes, two good arms, two good legs. How can she be expected to acknowledge any deformity in him?
“She was my responsibility to train. I must take the blame for her faults. It was I who overlooked her minor deviations from Clan ways. I even convinced you to accept them, Brun. I am Mog-ur. You rely on me to interpret the wishes of the spirits, and you have come to rely on my judgment in other ways. I did not think we were so wrong. Sometimes it was difficult for her, but I thought she had become a good Clan woman. I think now I was too lenient with her. I did not make her responsibilities clear. I seldom reprimanded her and I never cuffed her, I often let her go her own way. Now she must pay for my lack. But Brun, I could not be harsher with her.
“I never took a mate. I could have chosen a woman and she would have had to live with me, but I did not. Do you know why? Brun, do you know how women look at me? Do you know how women avoid me? I had the same need to relieve myself as any other man when I was young, but I learned to control it when women turned their back so they would not see me make the signal. I would not force myself, my crippled, deformed body, on a woman who shrunk from me, who turned away with disgust at the sight of me.
“But Ayla never turned from me. From the first, she reached out to touch me. She had no fear of me, no revulsion. She gave me her affection freely, she hugged me. Brun, how could I scold her?
“I have lived with this clan since my birth, but I never learned how to hunt. How can a one-armed cripple hunt? I was a burden, I was taunted, I was called woman. Now I am Mog-ur and no one ridicules, but no manhood ceremony was ever held for me. Brun, I am not half a man, I am no man at all. Only Ayla respected me, loved me—not as a magician, but as a man, as a whole man. And I love her as the child of the mate I never had.”
Creb shrugged off the cloak he wore to cover his lopsided, malformed, wasted body and held out the stump of an arm he always hid.
“Brun, this is the man Ayla saw as whole. This is the man who set her standard. This is the man she loves and compares with her son. Look at me, my brother! Did I deserve to live? Does Ayla’s son deserve to live less?”
The clan started gathering outside the cave in the dim half-light of predawn. A fine misty drizzle cast a glistening sheen on rocks and trees and collected in tiny droplets in the hair and beards of the people. Thin wispy tendrils snaking down from fog-shrouded mountains clung to hollows, and thicker masses of the ethereal vapor obscured all but the nearest objects. The ridge to the east rose indistinctly from a nebulous sea of mist in the fading darkness, wavering vaguely just on the edge of visibility.
Ayla lay awake on her furs in the darkened cave, watching Iza and Uba moving silently about the hearth stoking coals in the fireplace and putting water on to boil for a morning tea. Her baby was beside her making sucking noises in his sleep. She hadn’t slept all night. Her first joy at seeing Iza had quickly given way to a desolate anxiety. Initial attempts at conversation broke down early and the three females of Creb’s hearth spent the entire long day after Ayla’s return within its boundary stones communicating their despair with anguished looks.
Creb had not set foot inside his domain, but Ayla caught his eye once as he left the small adjoining cave to join the men in the meeting Brun had called. He looked away quickly from her silent appeal, but not before she had seen the look of love and pity in his soft liquid eye. She and Iza exchanged a tremulous, knowing glance when they saw Creb hurry into the place of the spirits after a talk with Brun held in a remote section of the cave in guarded gestures. Brun had made his decision and Creb went to prepare for his part in it. They did not see the magician again.
&n
bsp; 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.”