by Jean M. Auel
On a cold, dismal morning in late winter, Ayla examined Iza’s daughter and made a decision.
“Uba,” she called softly. The young woman opened eyes ringed with dark circles that made them seem even more deep-set below her brow ridges. “It’s time for the ergot. We’ve got to get the contractions started. There’s nothing that can save your baby, Uba. If it doesn’t come out, you’ll die, too. You’re young, you can have another baby,” Ayla motioned.
Uba looked at Ayla, then Ovra, then back to Ayla again.
“All right,” she nodded. “You’re right, there’s no hope. My baby is dead.”
Uba’s labor was difficult. It was hard to get the contractions started and it made Ayla reluctant to give her anything too strong for pain for fear they would stop. Though the other women of the clan stopped by for short visits to offer their encouragement and support, none wanted to stay for long. They all knew her pain and effort would be in vain. Only Ovra stayed to help Ayla.
When the stillborn was delivered, Ayla quickly wrapped it with the placental tissue in the leather birthing blanket.
“It was a boy,” she told Uba.
“Can I see it?” the exhausted young woman asked.
“I think it’s best that you don’t, Uba. It will only make you feel worse. You rest, I’ll dispose of it for you. You’re too weak to get up.”
Ayla told Brun that Uba was too weak, she would dispose of the baby, but she refrained from mentioning anything else. It wasn’t a son that Uba had delivered, it was two sons that had never separated properly. Only Ovra had seen the pitiful, sickening thing barely recognizable as human with too many arms and legs and grotesque features on a head too large. Ovra had to fight to keep from regurgitating the contents of her stomach, and Ayla swallowed hard herself.
This was not Durc’s modification of Clan characteristics with hers, this was a deformity. Ayla was glad the grossly malformed thing had not survived long enough for Uba to have had to deliver it live. She knew Ovra would never tell anyone. It was best to let the clan believe Uba had given birth to a normal stillborn son, for Uba’s sake.
Ayla put on her outdoor clothes and plowed through deep snow until she was far from the cave. She opened the wrappings and left them exposed. It’s better to make sure all evidence is destroyed, Ayla thought. Even as she turned to go back, she caught a slinking movement out of the corner of her eye. The smell of blood had already brought the means.
28
“Would you like to sleep with Uba tonight, Durc?” Ayla asked.
“No!” the boy shook his head emphatically. “Durc sleep with Mama.”
“That’s all right, Ayla. I didn’t think he would. He’s been with me all day, anyway,” Uba said. “Where did he get that name he calls you, Ayla?”
“It’s just a name he uses for me,” Ayla answered, turning her head aside. The Clan stricture against unnecessary words or sounds has been so firmly ingrained in Ayla from the time she first arrived, she felt guilty about the word game she played with her son. Uba didn’t press, though she knew there was something Ayla was withholding.
“Sometimes when I go out with Durc alone, we make sounds together,” Ayla admitted. “He just picked those sounds for me. He can make a lot of sounds.”
“You can make sounds, too. Mother said you used to make all kinds of sounds and words when you were little, especially before you learned to talk,” she gestured. “I still remember when I was a baby, I used to love that sound you made when you rocked me.”
“I guess I did when I was little, I don’t really remember too well,” Ayla motioned. “Durc and I just have a game we play.”
“I don’t think there’s anything so wrong with that,” Uba said. “It’s not like he can’t talk. I wish these roots weren’t so rotten,” Uba added, throwing a large one away. “It’s not going to be much of a feast tomorrow with only dried meat and fish and half-rotten vegetables. If Brun would only wait a little longer, there would at least be some greens and shoots.”
“It’s not just Brun,” Ayla said. “Creb says the best time is the first full moon after the beginning of spring.”
“How does he know the beginning of spring, I wonder?” Uba remarked. “One rainy day looks like another to me.”
“I think it has something to do with watching the sun set. He’s been watching it go down for days. Even when it rains, you can often see where the sun goes to sleep, and there’ve been enough clear nights to see the moon. Creb knows.”
“I wish Creb wasn’t going to make Goov the mog-ur, too,” Uba said.
“So do I,” Ayla motioned. “He sits around too much doing nothing these days as it is. What will he do with himself when he doesn’t even have ceremonies to perform? I knew it had to happen sometime, but this is one feast I’m not going to enjoy.”
“It will seem strange. I’m used to Brun as the leader and Creb as Mog-ur, but Vorn says it’s time for the younger men to lead. He says Broud has waited long enough.”
“I suppose he’s right,” Ayla motioned. “Vorn has always admired Broud.”
“He’s good to me, Ayla. He didn’t even get angry when I lost the baby. He just said he would ask Mog-ur for a charm to make his totem strong again so it could start another one. He must like you, too, Ayla. He even told me to ask you to let Durc sleep with us. I think he knows how much I like having him around,” Uba confided. “Even Broud hasn’t been so bad to you lately.”
“No, he hasn’t bothered me much,” Ayla motioned. She didn’t know how to explain the fear she felt every time he looked at her. She could even feel the hair rising on the back of her neck if he stared at her when she wasn’t looking.
Creb stayed late with Goov in the place of the spirits that evening. Ayla fixed a light meal for Durc and herself and put something aside for Creb to eat when he returned, though she doubted if he’d bother to eat it. She had awakened that morning with a feeling of anxiety that grew worse as the day wore on. The cave seemed to close in on her and her mouth felt dry as dust. She only managed to choke down a few bites, then suddenly jumped up and ran to the mouth of the cave and stared out at the leaden sky and the heavy, soaking rain making small craters in the saturated mud. Durc crawled into her bed and was already asleep when she returned to the hearth. As soon as he felt her crawl in beside him, he snuggled closer and made a half-conscious gesture that ended with the word, “Mama.”
Ayla wrapped her arm around him, feeling his beating heart as she held him, but sleep was long in coming for her. She lay awake looking at the shadowed contours of the rough rock wall in the dim light of the dying fire. She was awake when Creb finally returned, but she lay still, listening to him shuffling around, and finally drifted off to sleep after he had crawled into his bed.
She woke up screaming!
“Ayla! Ayla!” Creb called, shaking her to bring her fully awake. “What’s wrong, child?” he motioned, his eye full of concern.
“Oh, Creb,” she sobbed, and threw her arms around his neck. “I had that dream. I haven’t had that dream for years.” Creb put his arm around her and felt her trembling.
“What’s wrong with Mama?” Durc motioned, sitting up wide-eyed with fear. He had never heard his mother scream before. Ayla put her arm around him.
“What dream, Ayla? The one about the cave lion?” Creb asked.
“No, the other one, the one I can never exactly remember.” She started shaking again. “Creb, why should I have that dream now? I thought I was all over having bad dreams.”
Creb put his arm around her to comfort her again. Ayla hugged him back. They both suddenly realized how long it had been, and held each other with Durc between them.
“Oh, Creb, I can’t tell you how often I’ve wanted to hug you. I thought you didn’t want me; I was afraid you’d push me away like you did when I was an insolent little girl. There’s something else I’ve wanted to tell you. I love you, Creb.”
“Ayla, I had to make myself push you away even then; but I had to do some
thing, or Brun would have. I never could be angry with you, I loved you too much. I still love you too much. I thought you were upset because you lost your milk and it was my fault.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Creb. It was mine. I never blamed you.”
“I blamed myself. I should have realized a baby has to keep nursing or the milk will stop, but you seemed to want to be alone with your grief.”
“How could you know? None of the men know much about babies. They like to hold them and play with them when they’re full and happy, but let them start fussing and all the men are quick to give them back to their mothers. Besides, it didn’t hurt him. He’s just starting his weaning year, and he’s big and healthy even though he’s been weaned for a long time.”
“But it hurt you, Ayla.”
“Mama, you hurt?” Durc interrupted, still worried about her scream.
“No, Durc, Mama’s not hurt, not anymore.”
“Where did he learn to call you that word, Ayla?”
She flushed slightly. “Durc and I play a game of making sounds sometimes. He just decided to call me by that one.”
Creb nodded. “He calls all the women mother; I guess he needed to find something to call you. It probably means mother to him.”
“It does to me, too.”
“You made a lot of sounds and words when you first came. I think your people must talk with sounds.”
“My people are Clan people. I am a woman of the Clan.”
“No, Ayla,” Creb gestured slowly. “You are not Clan, you are a woman of the Others.”
“That’s what Iza told me the night she died. She said I wasn’t Clan; she said I was a woman of the Others.”
Creb looked surprised. “I didn’t think she knew. Iza was a wise woman, Ayla. I only found out that night you followed us into the cave.”
“I didn’t mean to go into that cave, Creb. I don’t even know how I got there. I don’t know what hurt you so much, but I thought you stopped loving me because I went into that cave.”
“No, Ayla, I didn’t stop loving you, I loved you too much.”
“Durc hungry,” the child interrupted. He was still disturbed by his mother’s scream, and the intense conversation between her and Creb bothered him.
“You’re hungry? I’ll see if I can find something for you.”
Creb watched her as she got up and went to the fireplace. I wonder why she was brought to live with us, Creb thought. She was born to the Others, and the Cave Lion has always protected her; why would he bring her here? Why not back to them? And why would he let himself be defeated, let her have a baby, then allow her to lose her milk? Everyone thinks it’s because he’s unlucky, but look at him. He’s healthy, he’s happy, everyone loves him. Maybe Dorv was right, maybe the spirit of every man’s totem mixed with her Cave Lion. She was right about that, he’s not deformed, he’s a mixture. He can even make sounds like she can. He’s part Ayla and part Clan.
Suddenly, Creb felt the blood drain from his face and gooseflesh rise. Part Ayla and part Clan! Is that why she was brought to us? For Durc? For her son? The Clan is doomed, it will be no more, only her kind will go on. I know it, I felt it. But what about Durc? He’s part of the Others, he will go on, but he’s Clan, too. And Ura, she looks like Durc, and she was born not long after that incident with the men of the Others. Are their totems so strong they can overcome a woman’s in so short a time? It may be; if their women can have Cave Lion totems, they may have to be. Is Ura a mixture, too? And if there is a Durc and a Ura, there must be others, too. Children of mixed spirits, children that will go on, children that will carry the Clan on. Not many, perhaps, but enough.
Perhaps the Clan was doomed before Ayla saw the sacred ceremony, and she was led there only to show me. We will be no more, but as long as there are Durcs and Uras, we will not die. I wonder if Durc has the memories? If only he were older, old enough for a ceremony. It doesn’t matter; Durc has more than the memories, he has the Clan. Ayla, my child, the child of my heart, you do carry luck and you brought it to us. Now I know why you came—not to bring us our death, but to give us our one chance for life. It will never be the same, but it is something.
Ayla brought her son a piece of cold meat. Creb seemed lost in thought but looked at her when she sat down.
“You know, Creb,” she said thoughtfully. “Sometimes I think Durc isn’t just my son. Ever since I lost my milk, and he got used to going from hearth to hearth to nurse, he eats at every hearth. Everyone feeds him. He reminds me of a cave bear cub, it’s like he’s the son of the whole clan.”
Ayla felt a great outpouring of sadness from Creb’s one dark, liquid eye. “Durc is the son of the whole clan, Ayla. He’s the only son of the Clan.”
The first light of predawn glowed through the opening of the cave, filling in the triangular space. Ayla lay awake looking at her son sleeping beside her in the glowing light. She could see Creb in his bed beneath his fur and from his regular breathing knew he was asleep, too. I’m glad Creb and I finally talked, she thought, feeling as though a terrible load had been lifted from her shoulders, but the queasiness in the pit of her stomach that she had been feeling the whole day and night grew worse. She had a dry lump in her throat and thought if she stayed in the cave another instant, she’d suffocate. She slipped quietly out of bed, quickly threw on a wrap and some foot coverings, and moved silently toward the entrance.
She took a deep breath as soon as she stepped beyond the cave’s mouth. Her relief was so great, she didn’t care that icy rain soaked through her leather wrap. She slogged through the mucky quagmire in front of the cave toward the stream, shivering from a sudden chill. Patches of snow, blackened by soot sifting out from the many fires, sent muddy runnels of water down the slope adding their small measure to the drenching downpour that swelled the ice-locked channel.
Her leather foot coverings gave small purchase on the reddish brown ooze, and she slipped and fell halfway down to the stream. Her limp hair, plastered against her head, hung in thick ropes extending into rivulets that cut through the mud clinging to her wrap before the rain washed it away. She stood for a long time on the bank of the watercourse struggling to break free of its frozen keep, and watched the dark water swirl around chunks of ice, finally break them loose, and send them careening to some unseen destination.
Her teeth were chattering when she struggled back up the slippery slope, watching the overcast sky grow imperceptibly lighter beyond the ridge to the east. She had to force herself through an invisible barrier that blocked the mouth of the cave, and felt the sense of uneasiness again the moment she entered.
“Ayla, you’re soaked. Why did you go outside in this rain?” Creb gestured. He picked up a piece of wood and put it on the fire. “Get out of that wet wrap and come here by the fire. You’ll catch a cold.”
She changed, then sat beside Creb at the fire, grateful that the silence between them was no longer strained.
“Creb, I’m so glad we talked last night. I went down to the stream; the ice is breaking loose. Summer’s coming, we’ll be able to take some long walks again.”
“Yes, Ayla, summer’s coming. If you want, we’ll take long walks again. In summer.”
Ayla felt a chill. She had a horrible feeling she would never take a long walk with him again, and she had the feeling Creb knew it, too. She reached for him, and they held each other as though for the last time.
By midmorning the rain eased to a dreary drizzle and by afternoon stopped altogether. A wan, tired sun broke through the solid cloud cover but did little to warm or dry the drenched earth. Despite the dismal weather and sparse fare, the clan was excited by so notable an occasion for a feast. A change in leadership was rare enough, but a new mog-ur at the same time made it exceptional. Oga and Ebra would have a part to play in the ceremony, and Brac as well. The seven-year-old would be the next heir apparent.
Oga was a tight bundle of stretched nerves. She jumped up every other moment to check every fireplace where food was c
ooking. Ebra tried to calm her, but Ebra wasn’t so settled herself. Trying to seem more grown-up, Brac was issuing commands to the small children and busy women. Brun finally stepped in and called him off to the side to practice his part once more. Uba took the children to Vorn’s hearth to get them out of the way, and after most of the preparations were completed, Ayla joined her. Aside from helping to cook, Ayla’s only role would be to make datura for the men since Creb had told her not to make the drink from the roots.
By evening, only a few wisps of clouds remained to dart fitfully before the full moon that lit the bare, lifeless landscape. Inside the cave, a large fire burned in a space behind the last hearth, defined by a circle of torches.
Ayla sat alone on her fur staring at the small hearth fire that snapped and crackled nearby. She still hadn’t been able to shake her uneasiness. She decided to walk to the cave’s entrance to look at the moon until the festivities began, but just as she stood up, she saw Brun’s signal and turned heavy steps the other way. When everyone was in their correct places, Mog-ur came out of the place of the spirits followed by Goov, both cloaked in bearskins.
As the great holy man called forth the spirits for the last time, the years seemed to fall from him. He made the eloquent, familiar gestures with more power and force than the clan had seen for years. It was a masterful performance. He played his audience with the skill of a virtuoso, drawing forth their response with perfect timing in peak after suspenseful peak of evocative emotion, to a climax that wrung out their last drop and left them drained. Beside him, Goov was a faded copy. The young man was an adequate mog-ur, even a good one, but he couldn’t match The Mog-ur. The most powerful magician the Clan had ever known had conducted his last and finest ceremony. When he turned it over to Goov, Ayla wasn’t the only one who cried. The dry-eyed clan wept with their hearts.