by Jean M. Auel
“I will be old enough to have a baby in this many years,” she gestured with assurance, positive of her deduction. The old magician was rocked to his core. It was unthinkable that a child, a girl child at that, could reason her way to that conclusion so easily. He was almost too overwhelmed to remember to qualify the prediction.
“That is probably the earliest time. It might not be for this many, or possibly this many,” he said, making two more slashes on the stick. “Or, perhaps even more. There is no way of knowing for sure.”
Ayla frowned slightly, held up her index finger, then her thumb. “How do I know more years?” she asked.
Creb eyed her suspiciously. They were getting into a realm with which even he had difficulty. He was beginning to be sorry he had begun. Brun would not like it if he knew this girl was capable of such potent magic, magic reserved only for mog-urs. But his curiosity was piqued too. Could she comprehend such advanced knowledge?
“Take both your hands and cover all the marks,” he instructed. After she had carefully fitted her fingers over all the slash marks, Creb made one more and put his little finger on it. “The next mark is covered by the small finger of my hand. After the first set, you must think of the first finger of the other person’s hand, then the next finger of the other person’s hand. Do you understand?” he motioned, watching her closely.
The child hardly blinked. She looked at her hands, then at his hand, then made the grimace that Creb had come to understand meant she was happy. She nodded her head vigorously to indicate that she did understand. Then she made a quantum leap, a jump almost beyond Creb’s powers of comprehension.
“And, after that, another person’s hands, and then another person’s, isn’t that right?” she asked.
The impact was too much. His mind reeled. With difficulty, Creb could count to twenty. Numbers beyond twenty blurred into some indistinct infinity called many. He had, on a few rare occasions after deep meditation, caught a bare glimpse of the concept Ayla comprehended with such ease. His nod was almost an afterthought. He had a sudden understanding of the gulf between the mind of this girl and his own, and it shook him. He struggled to compose himself.
“Tell me, what is the name of this?” he asked to change the subject, holding up the stick he had been using to mark. Ayla stared at it, trying to remember.
“Willow,” she said, “I think.”
“That’s right,” Creb answered. He put his hand on her shoulder and looked directly into her eyes. “Ayla, it would be best if you refrain from mentioning anything about these to anyone,” he said, touching the marks on the stick.
“Yes, Creb,” she replied, sensing how important it was to him. She had learned to understand his actions and expressions more than anyone’s, except Iza’s.
“It’s time to go back now,” he said. He wanted to be alone to think.
“Do we have to?” she pleaded. “It’s still nice out.”
“Yes, we do,” he said, pulling himself up with the help of his staff. “And it’s not proper to question a man when he has made a decision, Ayla,” he chided gently.
“Yes, Creb,” she responded, bowing her head in acquiescence as she had learned. She walked silently beside him as they headed back to the cave, but soon her youthful exuberance took over, and she was running ahead again. She ran back holding out sticks and rocks, telling Creb the names, or asking him if she couldn’t remember. He answered absentmindedly, finding it hard to pay attention for the tumult in his mind.
The first light of dawn scattered the enveloping darkness of the cave, and the fresh crispness in the air smelled of snow on its way. Iza was lying in her bed watching the familiar contours of the cave overhead take shape and definition in the gradually increasing light. This was the day her daughter would be named and accepted as a full member of the clan, the day she would be recognized as a living, viable human. She looked forward to the relaxation of her mandatory confinement, though her association with other members of the clan would still be limited to the women until she stopped bleeding.
At the onset of menarche, girls were required to spend the duration of their first period away from the clan. If it occurred during the winter, the young woman stayed alone in an area set aside at the rear of the cave but was still required to spend one menstrual period alone in spring. Living alone was both frightening and dangerous for a young, unarmed woman used to the protection and company of the whole clan. It was a trial that marked the passage of girls into womanhood, similar to the male’s trial of making his first kill, but no ceremony marked her return to the fold. And, though the young woman had fire for protection from carnivorous beasts, it was not totally unknown for a woman never to return—her remains usually found later by some hunting or foraging party. The girl’s mother was allowed to visit her once a day to bring her food and reassurance. But if the girl disappeared or was killed, her mother was forbidden to mention it until a minimum number of days had elapsed.
The battles waged by spirits within the bodies of women in the elemental struggle to produce life were deep mysteries to the men. While a woman bled, her totem’s essence was powerful: it was winning, defeating some male essential principle, casting out his impregnating essence. If a woman looked at a man during that time, his spirit might be drawn into the losing battle. That was the reason female totems had to be less powerful than male totems, for even a weak totem gained strength from the life force that resided in females. Women drew on the life force; it was they who produced new life.
In the physical world, a man was bigger, stronger, far more powerful than a woman, but in the fearful world of unseen forces, the woman was endowed with potentially more power. Men believed that a woman’s smaller, weaker physical form that allowed them to dominate her was a compensating balance and that no woman must ever be allowed to realize her full potential, or the balance would be upset. She was kept from full participation in the spiritual life of the clan to keep her ignorant of the strength the life force gave her.
Young men were warned at their first manhood ceremony of the dire consequences that could result if a woman even glimpsed the esoteric rites of the men, and legends were told of the time when women were the ones who controlled the magic to intercede with the spirit world. The men had taken their magic from them but not their potential. Many young men looked at women in a new light once they became aware of these possibilities. They assumed their male responsibilities with great seriousness. A woman had to be protected, provided for, and totally dominated, or the delicate balance of physical and spiritual forces would be disrupted and the continuing existence of the life of the Clan destroyed.
Because her spiritual forces were so much more powerful during menses, a woman was isolated. She had to stay with the women, was not allowed to touch any food that might be consumed by a man, and spent her time doing unimportant tasks like collecting wood or curing hides that could only be worn by women. The men did not acknowledge her existence, completely ignored her, did not even reprimand her. If a man’s eye chanced to fall on her, it was as though she were invisible; he looked through her.
It seemed a cruel penalty. The woman’s curse resembled a death curse, the supreme punishment that was inflicted upon members of the Clan if they committed a serious crime. Only the leader could command a mog-ur to call down the evil spirits and lay a curse of death. A mog-ur could not refuse, though it was dangerous for the magician and the clan. Once cursed, the criminal was neither spoken to nor seen by any member of the clan. He was ignored, ostracized; he no longer existed, just as though he were dead. Mate and family grieved his death, no food was shared. A few left the clan and were never seen again. Most simply stopped eating, stopped drinking, and fulfilled the malediction they, too, believed.
Occasionally a death curse might be imposed for a limited period of time, but even that was often fatal since a criminal gave up living for the duration of the curse. But if he lived through a limited death curse, he was admitted back into the clan as a full member, even to his previous
status. He had paid his debt to society and his crime was forgotten. Crimes were rare, though, and such punishment was rarely dealt. Though the woman’s curse ostracized her partially and temporarily, most women welcomed the periodic respite from the unceasing demands and watchful eyes of the men.
Iza was looking forward to the greater contact she would have after the naming ceremony. She was bored with staying within the stone boundary of Creb’s fire and looked with longing at the bright sunshine that streamed in through the mouth of the cave during the last few days before winter snows. She waited anxiously for Creb’s signal that announced he was ready and the clan all gathered. Namings were often held before breakfast, shortly after the sun rose while the totems were still close by after protecting the clan during the night. When he beckoned, she hurried to join them and stood in front of Mog-ur, looking down at the ground while she uncovered her child. She held the babe up while the magician looked over her head making the gestures that called the spirits to attend the ceremony. Then, with a flourish, he began.
Dipping into the bowl Goov held, he drew a stripe from the point where the baby’s brow ridges joined to the tip of her nose with the red-ochre paste.
“Uba, the girl’s name is Uba,” Mog-ur said. The naked infant, assailed by the cold wind that whipped past the sunny front porch of the cave, voiced a healthy howl which drowned out the approving murmur of the clan.
“Uba,” Iza repeated, cuddling her shivering baby in her arms. It’s a perfect name, she thought, wishing she had known the Uba her daughter was named for. The members of the clan filed past, each repeating the name to familiarize themselves and their totems with this newest addition. Iza was careful to keep her head down so she would not inadvertently look upon any of the men who came forward to acknowledge her daughter. Afterward, she wrapped the infant in warm rabbit skins and put her inside her wrap next to her skin. The baby’s cries abruptly ceased as she began nursing. Iza stepped back to her place among the women to make way for the mating rituals.
For this ceremony, and this one alone, yellow ochre was used in the sacred ointment. Goov handed the bowl of yellow salve to Mog-ur who held it firmly between the stump of his arm and his waist. Goov could not serve as acolyte at his own mating. He took his position in front of the holy man and waited for Grod to bring forth the daughter of his mate. Uka looked on with mixed emotions—pride that her daughter had made a good match and sorrow to see her leave the hearth. Ovra, dressed in a new wrap, watched her feet as she walked forward closely behind Grod, but a radiance emanated from her demurely lowered face. It was obvious she was not unhappy with the choice that had been made for her. She sat down cross-legged in front of Goov, keeping her eyes down.
With silent formal gestures, Mog-ur again addressed the spirits, then he dipped his middle finger into the bowl of dun-yellow paste and drew the sign of Ovra’s totem over the scar of Goov’s totem mark, symbolizing the union of their spirits. Dipping again into the ointment, he painted Goov’s mark over hers, following the outline of the scar and blurring her mark, showing his dominance.
“Spirit of Aurochs, Totem of Goov, your sign has overcome Spirit of Beaver, Totem of Ovra,” Mog-ur gestured. “May Ursus allow that it will always be so. Goov, do you accept this woman?”
Goov answered by tapping Ovra on the shoulder and motioning to her to follow him into the cave to the place newly outlined with small boulders that was now Goov’s hearth. Ovra jumped up and followed behind her new mate. She had no choice nor was she asked if she accepted him. The couple would remain isolated, confined to the hearth for fourteen days, during which time they would sleep separately. At the end of the isolation, a ceremony would be held in the small cave by the men to cement the union.
In the Clan, the mating of two people was entirely a spiritual affair, begun with a declaration to the whole clan but consummated by the secret ritual that included only the men. In this primitive society, sex was as natural and unrestrained as sleeping or eating. Children learned, as they learned other skills and customs, by observing adults, and they played at intercourse as they mimicked other activities from a young age. Often a boy who reached puberty, but had not yet made his first kill and existed in a limbo between child and adult, penetrated a girl child even before she reached her menarche. Hymens were pierced young, though males were a little fearful if blood was spilled and quickly ignored the girl if it happened.
Any man could take any woman whenever he wished to relieve himself, with the exception, through long tradition, of his female sibling. Usually, once a pair were mated, they remained more or less faithful out of courtesy for another man’s property, but it was counted worse for a man to restrain himself than to take the nearest woman. And a woman was not averse to making subtle, coy gestures that were understood as suggestive if a man appealed to her, inviting his advances. To the Clan, a new life was formed by the ubiquitous essences of the totems, and any relationship between sexual activity and childbirth was beyond conception.
A second ceremony was performed uniting Droog and Aga. Though the couple would be isolated from the clan, except for the other members of the hearth, the rest of those who now shared Droog’s fire were free to come and go as they liked. After the second pair entered the cave, the women clustered around Iza and her baby.
“Iza, she is just perfect,” Ebra raved. “I must admit I was a little worried when I learned you were pregnant after all this time.”
“The spirits watched over me,” Iza motioned. “A strong totem helps to make a healthy child, once it succumbs.”
“I was afraid the girl’s totem might have a bad effect. She looks so different, and her totem is so powerful, it might have deformed the baby,” Aba commented.
“Ayla’s lucky, she brought me luck,” Iza quickly countered, looking to see if Ayla had noticed. The child was watching Oga holding the baby, and hovering close and beaming with pride as though Uba were her own. She hadn’t been aware of Aba’s comment, but Iza didn’t like such thoughts aired openly. “Hasn’t she brought us all luck?”
“But you weren’t lucky enough to have a boy,” Aba pressed her point.
“I wished for a girl, Aba,” Iza said.
“Iza! How can you say such a thing!” The women were shocked. They seldom admitted to preferring a girl.
“I don’t blame her,” Uka jumped to Iza’s defense. “You have a son, take care of him, nurse him, raise him, then as soon as he’s grown, he’s gone. If he isn’t killed hunting, he’s killed some other way. Half of them are killed while they’re still young men. At least Ovra may live for a few more years yet.”
They all felt sorry for the mother who had lost her son in the cave-in. They all knew how she had grieved. Ebra tactfully changed the subject.
“I wonder how winters will be at this new cave.”
“Hunting has been good, and we’ve gathered so much and put it away, there’s plenty of food stored. The hunters are going out today, probably for their last time. I hope there’ll be room enough in the cache so we can freeze it all,” Ika said. “And it looks like they’re getting impatient. We’d better go make them something to eat.”
The women reluctantly left Iza and her baby and went to prepare the morning meals. Ayla sat down beside Iza and the woman put her arm around the girl, holding the baby in the other. Iza was feeling good—glad to be outside on this brisk, cold, sunny, early winter day; glad her child was born, and healthy, and a girl; glad for the cave and that Creb had decided to provide for her; and glad for the thin, blonde, strange girl beside her. She looked at Uba and then Ayla. My daughters, the woman thought, and they are both my daughters. Everyone knows Uba will be a medicine woman, but Ayla will be one, too. I’ll make sure of that. Who knows, maybe someday she will be a great medicine woman.
9
“The Spirit of Light Dry Snow took the Spirit of Granular Snow as his mate and after a time she gave birth to a Mountain of Ice far to the north. The Sun Spirit hated the glittering child spreading across the
land as he grew, keeping away his warmth so no grass could grow. The Sun decided to destroy Ice Mountain, but Storm Cloud Spirit, the sibling of Granular Snow, found out the Sun wanted to kill her child. In the summer when the Sun was most powerful, Storm Cloud Spirit fought with him to save Ice Mountain’s life.”
Ayla was sitting with Uba in her lap watching Dorv tell the familiar legend. She was captivated, though she knew the story by heart. It was her favorite, she never got tired of it. But the restless year-and-a-half-old toddler in her arms was far more interested in Ayla’s long blonde hair and grabbed chubby handfuls of it. Ayla untangled her hair from Uba’s clenched fists without taking her eyes off the old man who stood near the fire, retelling the tale in dramatic pantomime as the clan eagerly watched.
“On some days the Sun won the battle and beat down on the hard, cold ice, turning it to water, draining Ice Mountain’s life away. But many days Storm Cloud won, covering the face of the Sun, keeping his heat from melting the Ice Mountain too much. Though Ice Mountain starved and shrunk in summer, in winter his mother took the nourishment her mate brought and nursed her son back to health. Every summer the Sun struggled to destroy Ice Mountain, but Storm Cloud kept the Sun from melting all that the mother had fed her child the winter before. At the beginning of each new winter, Ice Mountain was always a little bigger than he had been the winter before; he grew larger, spread farther, covered more land every year.
“And as he grew, a great cold went before him. The winds howled, the snow swirled, and Ice Mountain spread, creeping closer to the place where the People lived. The Clan shivered, huddling close to the fire while the snow fell on them.”
The wind whistling through the bare-limbed trees outside the cave added sound effects to the story, sending a sympathetic shiver of excitement down Ayla’s spine.
“The Clan didn’t know what to do. ‘Why are the spirits of our totems no longer protecting us? What have we done to make them angry with us?’ The mog-ur decided to go off by himself to find the spirits and talk to them. He was gone a long time. Many people became restless waiting for the mog-ur to return, especially the younger ones.
