by Jean M. Auel
«This woman is grateful. This woman knows the customs of the Clan; she should have disposed of the infant as the medicine woman told her, but she ran away. She was going to return on her son's naming day so the leader would have to accept him into the clan.»
«You returned too soon,» Brun gestured triumphantly. «It is not the naming day yet. I can command the medicine woman to take him from you now.» The tension that had knotted Brun's back since Ayla left relaxed as he made the motions and the full realization hit him. Only if the child lived seven days would tradition force him to accept the baby. The full time had not elapsed, he did not have to take him, he had not lost face, he was in command again.
Ayla's arms clutched involuntarily at the baby held to her breast with the cloak, then she continued: «This woman knows it is not yet the naming day. This woman realized it was wrong for her to try to make the leader accept her son. It is not a woman's place to decide if her child should live or die. Only the leader can make that decision.
That is why this woman returned.»
Brun looked at Ayla's earnest face. At least she came to her senses in time, he thought. «If you know the customs of the Clan, why did you return with a child that is deformed? Iza said you were unable to perform your duty as a mother; are you ready to give him up now? Do you want the medicine woman to do it for you?» Ayla hesitated, hovering over her son. «This woman will give him up if the leader commands it.» She made the signs slowly, painfully, forcing herself, feeling as though a knife were twisting in her heart. «But this woman promised her son she would not let him go alone to the world of the spirits. If the leader decides the baby may not live, she asks him to curse her.» She slipped out of the formal language and pleaded, «I beg you, Brun, I beg you to let my son live. If he has to die, I don't want to live.» Ayla's fervent plea surprised the leader. Some women, he knew, wanted to keep their babies in spite of malformations and disfigurements, but most were relieved to dispose of them as quickly and quietly as possible. A deformed child stigmatized the mother. It advertised a certain inadequacy, an inability to produce a perfect baby. It made her less than desirable. Even if the deformity was small enough not to pose a major handicap, there were considerations of status and future mates. A mother's later years could be difficult if her children or her children's mates could not take care of her.
Though she would never starve, her life could be miserable. Ayla's request was unprecedented. Mother love was strong, but strong enough to follow her child to the next world?
«You want to die with a deformed baby? Why?» Brun asked.
«My son is not deformed,» Ayla motioned with the barest trace of defiance. «He's just different. I'm different, I don't look like people of the Clan. My son is, too. Any baby I ever have will look like him, if my totem is ever defeated again. I'll never have a baby that will be allowed to live. I don't want to live either, if all my babies have to die.» Brun looked at Mog-ur. «If a woman swallows the spirit of a man's totem, shouldn't the baby look like him?»
«Yes, it should. But don't forget, she has a male totem, too. Perhaps that's why it fought so hard. The Cave Lion may have wanted to be part of the new life. There could be something to what she says. I would have to meditate on it.
«But the child is still deformed?»
«It often happens when a woman's totem refuses to give in completely. It makes her pregnancy difficult and deforms the baby,» Mog-ur replied. «I'm more surprised the child was male. If a woman's totem puts up a strong fight, it usually makes the child female. But we haven't seen him, Brun. Perhaps we should examine him.» Should he bother? Brun wondered. Why not just curse her now and dispose of the baby? Ayla's early return and penitent groveling eased Brun's wounded pride, but he was far from mollified. He had come too close to losing face because of her, and it wasn't the first problem she had caused him. She had returned, but what would she do next? And then there was the Clan Gathering, as Broud had reminded him so many times.
It was one thing to let Iza pick up a strange child and take her into his clan. But Brun had cause to reflect often lately on the impression it would make on the other clans to arrive at the meeting with a woman born to the Others. He wondered, looking back, how he had made so many decisions that were so unorthodox. Each one, at the time, didn't seem too unreasonable. Even allowing the woman to hunt was logical then. But, added together, and seeing them from an outsider's point of view, the effect was an overwhelming breach of custom. Ayla had been disobedient, she deserved to be punished, and cursing her would eliminate all his worries.
But a death curse was a serious threat to the clan, and he had already exposed them once to evil spirits because of her. Her voluntary return had prevented his disgrace – - Iza was probably right, she had lost her mind temporarily from the shock and the pain. He did tell Iza he would have considered a request to let the baby live, if he had been asked. Well, she did ask. She came back knowing the full extent of her offense, knowing it and willing to face it, begging for the life of her child. He could at least examine the baby. Brun did not like making hasty decisions. He gave Ayla an abrupt signal, motioning toward Creb's hearth, then strode away.
Ayla ran into Iza's waiting arms. If nothing else, at least she would see the woman who was the only mother she knew, one last time.
«You've all had a chance to examine him,» Brun said. «Under normal circumstances, I would not bother you; it would be a simple decision. But I want to know your opinions; a death curse is a strong possibility, and I don't like exposing the clan to evil spirits again. If you find the boy is acceptable, I can hardly curse the mother. Without her, another woman would have to take him, he'd have to live with one of you whose mate has a nursing child. If the baby is allowed to live, the punishment for Ayla should be less severe. Tomorrow is the naming day; I need to make the decision soon, and Mogur will need some time to prepare for a curse, if that is to be her punishment. It must be done before the sun rises in the morning.»
«It's not only his head, Brun,» Crug started. Ika was still nursing her youngest and Crug had no desire to have Ayla's infant added to his hearth, farfetched though the possibility was. «That's bad enough, but he can't even hold it up. It has to be supported. What will he be like when he's a man? How will he hunt? He'll never be able to provide for himself; he'd only be a burden on the whole clan.»
«Do you think there's any chance his neck will get stronger?» Droog asked. «If Ayla dies, she will take part of Ona's spirit with her. Aga would take her son-she feels she owes Ayla that much-though. I don't think she really wants a deformed baby. If she's willing, I suppose I would be, too, but not if he will burden the whole clan.» «His neck is so long, and scrawny and his head is so big, I don't think it will ever be strong enough,» Crug commented.
«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 cold
ly, «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 as
ide. 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.
