Clan of the Cave Bear (49 page)

By the third day of her return, old patterns reestablished themselves but with a difference. Ayla didn’t have to fight herself to bend to his will, her response didn’t even have the undercurrent of subtle condescension. She was genuinely
unmoved. He could do nothing to disturb her. He could cuff and curse and work himself up to the edge of explosive violence. It had absolutely no effect. She patiently acquiesced to his most unreasonable demands. Though it was unintentional, Ayla was giving Broud a small measure of the ostracism she had been dealt in such abundance. She excluded him from her responses. His most towering rage, controlled only by supreme expenditures of effort, was met with no more reaction than the bite of a flea; less, for a fleabite is at least scratched. It was the worst thing she could do, she infuriated him.

Broud craved attention, he thrived on it. For him, it was a necessity. Nothing drove him to greater heights of frustration than someone who failed to react to him. It mattered little, in the depths of his being, whether the reaction was positive or negative, but there had to be one. He was sure her indifference was because she had seen him belittled, witnessed his disgrace, had no respect for his authority. He was partly right. She knew the outer limits of his control over her, had tested the mettle of his inner strength, and found them both insufficient to gain her respect. But it wasn’t only that she didn’t respect him and didn’t respond to him, she usurped the attention he wanted.

By her very appearance she drew attention to herself, and everything about her drew attention: her powerful totem; sharing the hearth, and the love, of the formidable magician; training to become a medicine woman; saving Ona’s life; her skill with the sling; killing the hyena that saved Brac’s life; and now, returning from the world of the spirits. Every time Broud had exhibited great courage and rightfully deserved the admiration, respect, and attention of the clan, she upstaged him.

Broud glowered at the girl from a distance. Why did she have to come back? Everybody is talking about her; they’re always talking about her. When I killed the bison and became a man, everybody talked about her stupid totem. Did she stand up to a charging mammoth? Did she almost get trampled to cut the tendons? No. All she did was throw a couple of stones with a sling, and all they could think about was her. Brun and his meetings, all about her. And then he couldn’t do it right, and now she’s back again and they’re all talking about her. Why does she always have to spoil everything?

“Creb, why are you so fidgety? I can’t ever remember seeing you so nervous. You act like a young man about to take his first mate. Do you want me to make a cup of tea to settle your nerves?” Iza asked, after the magician jumped up for the third time, started to leave the hearth, changed his mind, and went back and sat down again.

“What makes you think I’m nervous? I’m just trying to remember everything and meditate a little,” he said sheepishly.

“What do you need to remember? You’ve been Mog-ur for years, Creb. There can’t be a single ceremony you couldn’t do in your sleep. And I’ve never seen you meditate by jumping up and down. Why don’t you let me fix you a little tea?”

“No. No. I don’t need any tea. Where’s Ayla?”

“She’s over there, just beyond the last hearth looking for yams. Why?”

“I just wanted to know,” Creb replied as he settled back down. Not long afterward, Brun walked by and signaled Mog-ur. The magician got up again and both men walked to the rear of the cave. What can be wrong with those two? Iza shook her head in wonder.

“Isn’t it nearly time?” the leader asked when they reached the place he had cleared out. “Is everything ready?”

“All the preparations are made, but the sun should be lower, I think.”

“You think! Don’t you know? I thought you said you knew what to do. I thought you said you meditated and found a ceremony. Everything must be absolutely right. How can you say ‘you think’?” Brun snapped.

“I did meditate,” Mog-ur countered defensively. “But it was long ago, a different place. There wasn’t any snow. I don’t think there was snow even in winter. It’s not easy to get the time right. I just know the sun was low.”

“You didn’t tell me that! How can you be sure it will be right? Maybe we’d better forget it. It’s a ridiculous idea anyway.”

“I’ve already talked to the spirits; the stones are in place. They’re expecting us.”

“I don’t like the idea of moving the stones, either. Maybe we should’ve decided to have it in the place of the spirits. Are you sure they won’t be upset because we moved them from the small cave, Mog-ur?”

“We already discussed that, Brun. We decided it was better to move the stones than to bring the Ancient Ones to the Totems’ place of the spirits. The old ones might not want to leave again if they see it.”

“How do you know they’ll go back once we wake them up? It’s too dangerous, Mog-ur. We’d better call it off.”

“They may stay for a while,” Mog-ur conceded. “But after everything is put back and they see there is no place for them, they’ll leave. The totems will tell them to go. But it’s up to you. If you want to change your mind, I’ll try to placate the spirits. Just because they’re expecting a ceremony doesn’t mean we have to have one.”

“No. You’re right. We’d better go ahead with it now. They’re expecting something. The men may not be too happy about it, though.”

“Who is leader, Brun? Besides, they’ll get used to it once they understand it’s all right.”

“Is it, Mog-ur? Is it really? It’s been so long. It’s not the men I’m thinking about now. Will our totems accept it? We’ve been so lucky, almost too lucky. I keep thinking something terrible is going to happen. I don’t want to do anything to upset them. I want to do what they want. I want to keep them happy.”

“That’s what we’re doing, Brun,” Mog-ur said gently, “trying to do what they want. All of them.”

“But are you sure the others will understand? If we please one, won’t the others feel slighted?”

“No, Brun, I’m not sure they will.” The magician could feel the leader’s worry and tension. He knew how difficult it was for him. “No one can be absolutely sure. We are only human. Even a mog-ur is only human. We can only try. But you said it yourself, we’ve been lucky. That must mean the spirits of all the totems are happy. If they were fighting with each other, do you think we’d have been so lucky? How often does a clan kill a mammoth without anyone getting hurt? Anything could have gone wrong. You could have traveled all that way and not found a herd, and some of the best hunting time would have been wasted. You took a chance, but it worked. Even Brac is still alive, Brun.”

The leader looked at the serious face of the magician. Then he stood up straighter, and firm resolution replaced the indecision in Brun’s eyes.

“I’ll go get the men,” he gestured.

The women had been told to stay away from the back of the cave, not even to look in that direction. Iza noticed Brun get the men, but she ignored it. Whatever they were doing was their business. She wasn’t sure what made her glance up just as two men, faces painted red with ochre, rushed toward Ayla. Iza felt herself tremble. What could they possibly want with Ayla?

The girl hadn’t even noticed the men going with Brun. She was rummaging through baskets and stiff rawhide containers piled in disordered confusion behind the hearth farthest from the mouth of the cave, looking for yams. When she saw the red-painted face of the leader suddenly appear in front of her, she gasped with surprise.

“Do not resist. Do not make a sound,” Brun signaled.

She didn’t become frightened until she felt the blindfold, but she was petrified when they nearly lifted her off the ground as they dragged her away.

The men were apprehensive when they saw Brun and Goov bringing the girl. They knew no more than the women of the reason for the ceremony Brun and Mog-ur were planning, but unlike them, the men knew their curiosity would eventually be satisfied. Mog-ur had only warned them not to make a single gesture or sound after they seated themselves in a circle behind the stones brought out from the small cave, but the warning gained force when he passed out two long cave bear bones to each man to be held crossed like an x in front of him. The danger must be great indeed if they needed such extreme protection. They began to get an inkling of the danger when they saw Ayla.

Brun forced the female to sit in the open space in the circle directly opposite Mog-ur, and sat down behind the girl. At the magician’s signal, Brun removed her blindfold. Ayla blinked to clear her vision. In the light from the torches, she could see Mog-ur seated behind a cave bear skull and the men holding the crossed bones, and she huddled down with fear, trying to sink lower into the ground.

What have I done? I haven’t touched a sling, she thought, trying to remember if she had committed some terrible crime that would supply a reason for her being there. She couldn’t think of a thing she had done wrong.

“Do not move. Do not make a sound,” Mog-ur warned again.

She didn’t think she could if she wanted to. Wide-eyed, she watched the magician pull himself up, lay his staff
down, and begin the formal motions entreating Ursus and the totemic spirits to watch over them. Many of the gestures were unfamiliar to her, but she stared in rapt attention, not so much for the meaning of the symbols Mog-ur was making as for the old magician himself.

She knew Creb, knew him well, a crippled old man who hobbled awkwardly when he moved, leaning heavily on his staff. He was a lopsided caricature of a man, one side of his body stunted, muscles atrophied with disuse, the other side overdeveloped to make up for the paralysis that forced him to depend on it so heavily. In the past she had noticed his graceful motions when he used the formal language for public ceremonies—abbreviated by the absence of one arm, yet in some indefinable way fraught with subtleties and complexities, and fuller in meaning. But the motions of the man standing behind the skull showed a side of the magician she never knew existed.

Gone was the awkwardness. In its place were hypnotically powerful rhythms of motion flowing smoothly, compelling the eyes to look. The movement of hand and subtle posture was not a graceful dance, for all it appeared to be; Mog-ur was an orator speaking with a persuasive force Ayla had never seen; and the great holy man was never so expressive as he was when addressing the unseen audience more real to him, at times, than the humans seated before him. The Mog-ur of the Clan of the Cave Bear poured forth even greater efforts when he began to direct his attention to the incredibly venerable spirits he wished to call to this unique ceremony.

“Most Ancient Spirits, Spirits we have not invoked since the early mists of our beginnings, heed us now. We call upon you, we would pay homage to you, and we would ask for your assistance and your protection. Great Spirits, so venerable your names are but a whisper of memory, awake from your deep sleep and let us honor you. We have an offering, a sacrifice to placate your ancient hearts; we need your sanction. Heed us as we call your names.

“Spirit of Wind. Oooha!” Ayla felt a chill up her spine as Mog-ur spoke the name aloud. “Spirit of Rain. Zheena! Spirit of Mists. Eeesha! Attend us! Look upon us with favor. We have one of your own with us, one who has walked with your shades and returned, returned at the wish of the Great Cave Lion.”

He’s talking about me, Ayla suddenly realized. This is a
ceremony. What am I doing at a ceremony? Who are those spirits? I never heard them mentioned before. The names are female names; I thought all protective spirits were male. Ayla was quaking with fear, yet intrigued. The men sitting like the stones in front of them had never heard of the ancient spirits, either, until Mog-ur called their names, yet they were not unfamiliar. Hearing the ancient names stirred an equally ancient memory stored in the deep recesses of their minds.

“Most Honored Ones of Old, the ways of the Spirits are a mystery to us, we are only human, we do not know why this female was chosen by one so powerful, we do not know why he has led her to your ancient ways, but we may not deny him. He fought for her in the shadowed land, defeated the evil ones, and returned her to us to make his wishes clear, to make it known we may not deny him. O Powerful Spirits of the Past, your ways are no longer the ways of the Clan, yet once they were and must be again for this one who sits with us. We entreat you, Ancient Spirits, sanctify her to your ways. Accept her. Protect her and give your protection to her clan.” Mog-ur turned to Ayla. “Bring the female forward,” he commanded.

Ayla felt herself lifted bodily from the ground by Brun’s strong arms and moved forward until she stood in front of the old magician. She gasped as Brun grabbed a handful of her long blonde hair and yanked her head back. From the bottom of her eyes, she saw Mog-ur take a sharp knife from his pouch and lift it high above his head. Terrified, she watched the face of the one-eyed man loom closer, knife raised, and nearly fainted when she saw him bring the sharp edge down quickly to her bared throat.

She felt a sharp pain, yet was too frightened to cry out. But Mog-ur only made a small nick in the hollow at the base of her throat. The trickle of warm blood was quickly absorbed by a small square of soft rabbit skin. He waited until the square was soaked with her blood, then wiped the cut with a stinging liquid from a bowl held by Goov. Then Brun released her.

Fascinated, she watched Mog-ur put the blood-soaked square into a shallow stone bowl partially filled with oil. The magician was handed a small torch by his acolyte, and with it he set fire to the oil in the bowl and watched silently as the skin burned to a charred crisp with a sharp, acrid smell. When it was burned out, Brun moved aside her
wrap and exposed her left thigh. Mog-ur dipped his finger in the residue left in the stone bowl and drew a black line over each of the four lines that scarred her leg. She stared at it in wonder. It looked like a totem mark, cut and stained black during the ceremony that marked a boy’s passage into manhood. She felt herself being moved back, and watched Mog-ur address the spirits again.

“Accept this sacrifice of blood, Most Venerable Spirits, and know it is her totem, the Spirit of the Cave Lion, that chose her to follow your ancient ways. Know that we have shown you honor, know that we have paid you homage. Give us your favor and return to your deep rest, content that your ways are not forgotten.”