by Jean M. Auel
Mog-ur never spoke of Ayla’s clandestine visit to the small chamber deep in the mountain—except once. She was packing, getting ready to depart the next morning, when Creb shuffled into the second cave. He had been avoiding her, and it hurt the young woman who loved him. He stopped short when he saw her, and turned to leave, but she cut off his departure by rushing up and sitting at his feet. He looked down at her bowed head, heaved a sigh, and tapped her shoulder.
She looked up, shocked to see how much he had aged in just a few days. The disfiguring scar and flap of skin that covered his empty eye socket were shriveled and sunk deeper into the shadow of his overhanging brow ridges. His gray beard hung limp from his prognathous jaw, and his low, back-slanted forehead was emphasized by a receding hairline; but it was the dark sorrow in his one, liquid, deep brown eye that overwhelmed her. What had she done to him? She wished fervently she could take back her trip into the cave that night. The hurt she felt for Creb when she saw his body racked with pain was nothing to the anguish she felt for the pain in Mog-ur’s soul.
“What is it, Ayla?” he motioned.
“Mog-ur, I … I …” she fumbled, then rushed on. “Oh, Creb. I can’t stand to see you hurting so. What can I do? I’ll go to Brun, if you want, I’ll do anything you ask. Just tell me what to do.”
What can you do, Ayla, he thought. Can you change who you are? Can you take back the damage you did? The Clan will die, only you and your kind will be left. We are an ancient people. We have kept our traditions, honored the spirits and Great Ursus, but it is over for us, finished. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe it wasn’t you, Ayla, but your kind. Is that why you were brought to us? To tell me? The earth we leave is beautiful and rich; it gave us all we needed for all the generations we have lived. How will you leave it when it is your turn? What can you do?
“There is one thing you can do, Ayla,” The Mog-ur gestured slowly, emphasizing every movement. His eye turned cold. “You can never mention it again.”
He stood as tall as his one good leg would allow, trying not to lean too much on his staff. Then, with all the pride in himself and his People he could gather, he turned with stiff dignity and walked out of the cave.
“Broud!”
The young man strode over to the man who had greeted him. The women of Brun’s clan were hurrying to finish the morning meal, they planned to leave as soon as they ate, and the men were taking one last opportunity to talk to people they would not see again for seven years. Some they would never see again. They were lingering over the details of the exciting meeting to make it last just a little longer.
“You did well this time, Broud, and by the next Gathering, you will be leader.”
“Next time you may do as well,” Broud gestured, puffing up with pride. “We were just lucky.”
“You are lucky. Your clan is first, your mog-ur is first, even your medicine woman is first. You know, Broud, you’re lucky to have Ayla. Not many medicine women would brave a cave bear to save a hunter.”
Broud scowled slightly, then saw Voord and walked over to him.
“Voord!” he hailed, motioning a greeting. “You did well this time. I was glad when they chose you over Nouz. He was all right, but you were definitely better.”
“But you deserved to be first choice, Broud. You ran a good race, too. Your whole clan deserves its place; even your medicine woman is best, though I had my doubts at first. She’ll be a good medicine woman to have around when you are leader. I only hope she doesn’t get any taller. Between you and me, I feel strange having to look up at a woman.”
“Yes, the woman is too tall,” Broud said with stiff gestures.
“But what does it matter, as long as she’s a good medicine woman, right?”
Broud barely nodded, then waved aside further discussion and walked away. Ayla, Ayla, I’m getting tired of Ayla, he thought, heading across the cleared space.
“Broud, I wanted to see you before you left,” a man said, walking over to meet him halfway. “You know there is a woman in my clan with a daughter deformed like the son of your medicine woman. I talked to Brun and he has agreed to accept her, but he wanted me to talk to you. You’ll most likely be leader by then. The mother has promised to raise her daughter to be a good woman, worthy of the first clan and the son of the first medicine woman. You don’t have any objections, do you, Broud? It’s a logical match.”
“No,” Broud gestured curtly and turned on his heel. If he hadn’t been so angry, he might have objected, but he didn’t feel like getting into a discussion about Ayla.
“By the way, that was a good race, Broud.”
The young man didn’t see the comment, his back was already turned. As he stalked toward the cave, he saw two women avidly engrossed in conversation. He knew he should look away to avoid seeing what they were saying, but he just stared straight ahead, affecting not to notice them.
“ … I just couldn’t believe she was a woman of the Clan, and then, when I saw her baby … But the way she walked right up to Ursus, just like she belonged to the host clan, not afraid of him or anything. I couldn’t have done it.”
“I talked to her for a while, she’s really nice, and she acts perfectly normal. I can’t help but wonder, though, do you think she’ll ever find a mate? She’s so tall, what man wants a woman taller than he is? Even if she is a first-ranked medicine woman.”
“Someone told me one clan is considering her, but there just wasn’t time to work out the details, and I think they want to talk about it. They said they’d send a runner if they decide to accept her.”
“But don’t they have a new cave? They say she found it, and that it’s very big, and lucky, too.”
“It’s supposed to be near the sea, and the paths are well used. I think a good runner could find them.”
Broud passed the two women and had to restrain an urge to cuff the lazy, gossiping busybodies. But they weren’t of his clan, and though it was his prerogative to discipline any woman, it wasn’t good policy to cuff one from another clan without permission of mates or leaders, unless the infractions were obvious. It was obvious enough to him, but it might not be to someone else.
“Our medicine woman says she’s skilled,” Norg was saying as Broud entered the cave.
“She is Iza’s daughter,” Brun motioned, “and Iza has trained her well.”
“It’s a shame Iza couldn’t make it. She is ill, I understand.”
“Yes, that’s one reason I want to hurry. We have a long way to go. Your hospitality has been excellent, Norg, but one’s own cave is home. This has been one of the best Clan Gatherings. It will be long remembered,” Brun said.
Broud turned his back, clenching his fists, before he could see the compliment Norg paid to the son of Brun’s mate. Ayla, Ayla, Ayla. Everybody is talking about Ayla. You’d think no one did anything at this Clan Gathering except her. Was she first chosen? Who was on the bear’s head while she was safely on the ground? So what if she saved that hunter’s life, he’ll probably never walk again. She’s ugly, and she’s too tall, and her son is deformed, and they should know how insolent she is at home.
Just then, Ayla ran past, carrying several bundles. Broud’s look of hate was so full of malice it made her flinch. What did I do now? she thought. I’ve hardly seen Broud the whole time we’ve been here.
Broud was a full-grown, powerfully built man of the Clan, but the threat he posed was far greater than mere physical harm. He was the son of the leader’s mate, and destined to be leader himself one day. He thought about that as he watched Ayla put her bundles down outside the cave.
After they ate, the women quickly packed the few utensils they had used to make the morning meal. Brun was impatient to leave, and so were they. Ayla had a few last gestures with some of the medicine women, Norg’s mate, and a few others, then wrapped her son in his carrying cloak and took her place in front of the women of Brun’s clan. Brun gave a signal, and they started across the cleared area in front of the cave. Before rounding the b
end in the trail, Brun stopped, and they all turned to look back one last time. Norg and his whole clan were standing at the mouth of their cave.
“Walk with Ursus,” Norg signaled.
Brun nodded and started out again. It would be seven years before they saw Norg again—or perhaps never. Only the Spirit of the Great Cave Bear knew.
Just as Brun had thought, the return trip was difficult for Creb. No longer buoyed by anticipation, and further depressed by brooding over the knowledge he kept secret, the old man’s body betrayed him time and time again. Brun’s concern deepened; he had never known the great magician to be so dispirited. He lagged behind. Many times Brun had to send a hunter back to find him while they waited. The leader slowed the pace, hoping it would make it easier for him, but Creb just didn’t seem to care. The few evening ceremonies, held at Brun’s insistence, lacked force. Mog-ur seemed reluctant, his gestures stiff, as though his heart wasn’t in it. Brun noticed that Creb and Ayla kept their distance, and though she had no trouble keeping up, Ayla’s step had lost its spring. There’s something wrong between those two, he thought.
They had been traveling through tall, sere grass since midmorning. Brun glanced back; Creb was nowhere in sight. He started to signal one of the men, then changed his mind and walked back to Ayla instead.
“Go back and find Mog-ur,” he motioned.
She looked surprised, then nodded. Giving Durc to Uba, she hurried back along the trail of bent, stepped-on grass. She found him quite a distance behind, walking slowly and leaning heavily on his staff. He seemed to be in pain. Ayla had been so stunned by his response to her loving remorse she hadn’t known what to say to him afterward. She was sure he was suffering from his aching, arthritic joints, but he had refused to let her give him anything for the pain. After the first few rebuffs, she didn’t offer again, though her heart ached for him. He stopped when he saw her.
“What are you doing here?” he gestured.
“Brun sent me back for you.”
Creb grunted and started walking again. Ayla fell in behind him. She watched his slow, painful movements until she couldn’t stand it anymore. She went around him and dropped to the ground at his feet, forcing him to stop. Creb looked down at the young woman for a long time before he tapped her shoulder.
“This woman would know why The Mog-ur is angry.”
“I’m not angry, Ayla.”
“Then why won’t you let me help you?” she pleaded. “You never refused before.” Ayla struggled to compose herself. “This woman is a medicine woman. She is trained to help those in pain. It is her place, her function. It hurts this woman to see The Mog-ur suffer, she cannot help it.” Ayla couldn’t maintain the formal posture. “Oh, Creb, let me help you. Don’t you know I love you? To me, you are like the mate of my mother. You have provided for me, spoken for me, I owe my life to you. I don’t know why you stopped loving me, but I haven’t stopped loving you.” Tears streamed down her face in hopeless desperation.
Why does water always come to her eyes when she thinks I don’t love her? And why should her weak eyes always make me want to do something for her? Do all the Others have that problem? She is right, I never minded her help before, why should it matter now? She is not a woman of the Clan. No matter what the rest think, she was born to the Others and she will always be one of them. She doesn’t even know it. She thinks she’s a Clan woman, she thinks she’s a medicine woman. She is a medicine woman. She may not be of Iza’s line, but she is a medicine woman, and she has tried to become a Clan woman, as hard as it was for her sometimes. I wonder, how hard is it for her? This is not the first time water has come to her eyes, but how many times has she fought to hold it back? It’s when she thinks I don’t love her that she can’t hold it. Can it hurt her so much? How much would it hurt me if I thought she didn’t love me? More than I’d like to think. If she loves the same, can she be so different? Creb tried to see her as a stranger, as a woman of the Others. But she was still Ayla, still the child of the mate he never had.
“We’d better hurry, Ayla. Brun is waiting. Wipe your eyes, and when we stop, you can make me some willow-bark tea, medicine woman.”
A smile broke through her tears. She scrambled up and fell in behind him again. After a few paces, she moved up to his weak side. He halted a moment, then nodded and leaned on her for support.
Brun noticed an improvement immediately and soon picked up the pace again, though they still weren’t traveling as fast as he would have liked. There was an air of melancholy about the old man, but he seemed to be trying harder. I knew there was a problem with those two, Brun thought, but they seem to have worked it out. He was glad he had the idea to send her back for him.
Creb did let Ayla help him, but there was still a distance between them, a breach too great for him to span. He couldn’t forget the difference in their destinies and it created a strain that dampened the easy warmth of earlier days.
Though the days were hot as Brun’s clan trekked back to their cave, the nights were growing cool. The first sight of snowcapped mountains far to the west heartened the clan, but as the distance hardly diminished with the passing days, the range at the southern tip of the peninsula became just a part of the scenery. The distance did diminish, though, however imperceptibly. As they continued day after weary day in their westward direction, the blue depths of crevasses gave character to the glaciers and the indistinct purple below the icy crown took on shapes of outcrops and ridges.
They pushed on until dark before they made camp the last night on the steppes, and everyone was awake at first light. The plains merged into a parkland of open meadow and tall trees, and the sight of a grass-eating, temperate-climate rhinoceros brought a feeling of familiarity, after it went on its way without deigning to notice them. The pace quickened when they came to a path that wound up the foothills. Then they rounded a familiar ridge and saw their cave, and every heart beat faster. They were home.
Aba and Zoug were rushing to meet them. Aba welcomed her daughter and Droog joyously, hugged the older children, then took Groob in her arms. Zoug nodded at Ayla as he ran toward Grod and Uka, then Ovra and Goov.
“Where is Dorv?” Ika motioned.
“He walks in the world of the spirits now,” Zoug replied. “His eyes got so bad, he couldn’t see what anyone was saying. I think he gave up and didn’t want to wait for your return. When the spirits called, he left with them. We buried him and marked the place so Mog-ur could find it for the death rites.”
Ayla looked around, suddenly anxious. “Where’s Iza?”
“She is very ill, Ayla,” Aba said. “She hasn’t been out of her bed since the last new moon.”
“Iza! Not Iza! No! No!” Ayla cried, running toward the cave. She threw her bundles down when she reached Creb’s hearth and rushed toward the woman lying on her furs.
“Iza! Iza!” the young woman cried. The old medicine woman opened her eyes.
“Ayla,” she said, her gruff voice barely audible. “The spirits have granted my wish,” she motioned feebly. “You’re back.” Iza held out her arms. Ayla embraced her and felt her thin, frail body, hardly more than bones covered with wrinkled skin. Her hair was snow white; her face, dried parchment stretched over bones with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. She looked a thousand years old. She was just past twenty-six.
Ayla could hardly see for the tears that streamed down her face. “Why did I go to the Clan Gathering? I should have stayed here and taken care of you. I knew you were sick; why did I go away and leave you?”
“No, no, Ayla,” Iza motioned. “Don’t blame yourself. You can’t change what is meant to be. I knew I was dying when you left. You couldn’t have helped me, no one could. I just wanted to see you one more time before I went to join the spirits.”
“You can’t die! I won’t let you die! I’ll take care of you. I’ll make you get well,” Ayla gestured wildly.
“Ayla, Ayla. There are some things even the best medicine woman cannot do.”
The ex
ertion brought on a coughing spell. Ayla held her propped up until the cough quieted. She shoved her fur behind the woman to raise her up and make her breathing easier, then began rummaging through the medicines stored near Iza’s bed.
“Where’s the elecampane? I can’t find any elecampane.”
“I don’t think there’s any left,” Iza motioned weakly. The fit of coughing had exhausted her. “I used a lot of it and couldn’t go out to get more. Aba tried to find some, but she brought back sunflowers.”
“I shouldn’t have gone,” Ayla said, then raced out of the cave. She met Uba, carrying Durc, and Creb at the entrance.
“Iza’s sick,” Ayla waved frantically, “and she doesn’t even have any elecampane. I’m going to get some. There’s no fire at the hearth, Uba. Why did I go to the Clan Gathering? I should have stayed here with her. Why did I leave?” Ayla’s bleak face, grimy with travel, was streaked with tears, but she neither noticed nor cared. She ran down the slope as Creb and Uba hurried into the cave.
Ayla splashed across the stream, raced to the meadow where the plants grew, and dug up the roots with her bare hands, tearing them out of the ground. Stopping at the stream just long enough to wash them, she sped back to the cave.
Uba had a fire going, but the water she had started heating was just barely warm. Creb was standing over Iza making formal motions with more fervor than he had felt for many days, calling on every spirit he knew to strengthen her life essence, and pleading with them not to take her, yet. Uba had put Durc on a mat. He was just starting to crawl and pulled himself up on his hands and knees. He scooted toward his mother busy cutting up the root into small pieces, but she pushed him away when he tried to nurse. Ayla had no time for her son. He started to howl while she dumped the root into the water and added more rocks, impatient for it to boil.