The Clan of the Cave Bear

by Jean M. Auel

  Ayla gazed at the stern-faced leader with astonished disbelief. The woman’s curse! Not the death curse! Not utter and complete ostracism, but nominal isolation confined to Creb’s hearth. What did it matter that no one else in the clan would acknowledge her existence for an entire moon, she would still have Iza and Uba and Creb. And afterward, she could rejoin the clan just like any other woman. But Brun was not through.

  “As further punishment, you are forbidden to hunt, or even mention hunting, until the clan returns from the Clan Gathering. Until the leaves have dropped from the trees, you will have no freedom to go anywhere that is not essential. When you look for plants of healing magic, you will tell me where you are going and you will return promptly. You will always ask my permission before you leave the area of the cave. And you will show me the location of the cave where you hid.”

  “Yes, yes, of course, anything,” Ayla was nodding in agreement. She was floating in a warm cloud of euphoria, but the next words of the leader pierced her mood like an icy shaft of cold lightning, drowning her elation in a deluge of despair.

  “There is still the problem of your deformed son who was the cause of your disobedience. You must never again try to force a man, much less a leader, against his will. No woman should ever try to force a man,” Brun said, then gave a signal. Ayla clutched her infant desperately and looked in the same direction that Brun was looking. She couldn’t let them take him, she couldn’t. She saw Mog-ur limping out of the cave. When she saw him throw his bearskin aside, revealing a red-stained wicker bowl held firmly between the stump of his arm and his waist, incredulous joy flushed her face. She turned back to Brun hesitantly, unsure if what she thought could possibly be true.

  “But a woman may ask,” Brun finished. “Mog-ur is waiting, Ayla. Your son must have a name if he is to be a member of the clan.”

  Ayla scrambled to her feet and raced to the magician, taking her baby from her cloak as she dropped at his feet and holding the naked infant up to him. His first squall at being taken from his mother’s warm breast and exposed to the damp cool air was greeted by the first rays of the sun breaking over the top of the ridge, burning through the misty haze.

  A name! She hadn’t even thought about a name, she hadn’t even wondered what name Creb would choose for her son. In formal gestures, Mog-ur called the spirits of the clan’s totems to attend, then reached into the bowl and scooped out a dab of red paste.

  “Durc,” he said loudly above the lusty cries of the cold and angry baby. “The boy’s name is Durc.” Then he drew a red line from the junction of the baby’s supraorbital ridges to the tip of his smallish nose.

  “Durc,” Ayla repeated, holding her son close to warm him. Durc, she thought, like Durc of the legend. Creb knows that’s always been my favorite. It was not a common Clan name and many were surprised. But perhaps the name, dredged from the depths of antiquity and fraught with dubious connotations, was appropriate for a boy whose life had hung in the balance of such uncertain beginnings.

  “Durc,” Brun said. He was the first to file past. Ayla thought she saw a glimmer of tenderness from the stern, proud leader as she looked at him in gratitude. Most of the faces were a blur seen through tear-filled eyes. As hard as she tried, she could not control them, and kept her head down in an effort to conceal her wet eyes. I can’t believe it, I just can’t believe it, she thought. Is it really true? You have a name, my baby? Brun accepted you, my son? I’m not dreaming? She remembered the glittering nodules of iron pyrite she had found and put in her amulet. It was a sign. Great Cave Lion, it was truly a sign. Of all the artifacts in her amulet, she treasured that one the most.

  “Durc,” she heard Iza say and looked up. The joy on the woman’s face was no less than Ayla’s for all that her eyes were dry.

  “Durc,” Uba said, and added with a quick gesture, “I’m so glad.”

  “Durc.” It was said with a sneer. Ayla glanced up in time to see Broud turn away. She suddenly remembered the strange idea about the way men started babies she had while she was hiding in the small cave, and shuddered at the thought that somehow Broud was responsible for the conception of her son. She had been too busy to notice the battle of wills between Brun and Broud. The young man was going to refuse to acknowledge the newest member of the clan, and only a direct order from the leader finally forced the issue. Ayla watched him walk away from the group with clenched fists and tense shoulders.

  How could he? Broud walked into the woods to get away from the hated scene. How could he? He kicked a log in vain attempt to vent his frustration, sending it rolling down a slope. How could he? He picked up a stout branch and sent it crashing into a tree. How could he? How could he? Broud’s mind kept repeating the phrase as he smashed his fist again and again into a moss-covered bank. How could he let her live and accept her baby both? How could he do it?

  22

  “Iza! Iza! Come quick! It’s Durc!” Ayla grabbed the medicine woman’s arm and dragged her toward the entrance to the cave.

  “What’s wrong?” the woman motioned, hurrying to keep up. “Is he choking again? Is he hurt?”

  “No, he’s not hurt. Look!” Ayla gestured proudly when they reached Creb’s hearth. “He’s holding his head up!”

  The infant was lying on his stomach looking up at the two women with large solemn eyes that were losing the dark, indistinct color of newborns and becoming the deep brown shade of people of the Clan. His head bobbed with the effort, then dropped back down on the fur blanket. He shoved his fist in his mouth and began sucking noisily, oblivious of the stir his efforts had caused.

  “If he can do it this young, he’ll be able to support it when he grows up, won’t he?” Ayla pleaded.

  “Don’t build your hopes up yet,” Iza replied, “but it is a good sign.”

  Creb shuffled into the cave, staring into space with the unfocused, faraway look characteristic of him when lost in thought.

  “Creb!” Ayla called, running up to him. Jolted back to reality, he looked up. “Durc held his head up, didn’t he, Iza?” The medicine woman nodded in agreement.

  “Hhmmf,” he grunted. “If he’s getting that strong, I think it’s time.”

  “Time for what?”

  “I’ve been thinking I should have a totem ceremony for him. He’s a little young, but I’ve had some strong impressions. His totem has been making himself known to me. There’s no reason to wait. Later, everyone will be busy getting ready to leave, and I should do it before the Clan Gathering. It might be unlucky for him to travel if his totem doesn’t have a home.” Seeing the medicine woman reminded him of something else. “Iza, do you have enough roots for the ceremony? I don’t know how many clans will be there. Last time one of the clans that moved to a cave farther east was thinking of going to a Clan Gathering south of the mountains. It would be a little farther away for them but easier traveling. Their old mog-ur was against it, but his acolyte wanted to go. Make sure you bring plenty.”

  “I won’t be going to the Clan Gathering, Creb.” Her disappointment was obvious. “I can’t travel that far, I’ll have to stay behind.”

  Of course, what’s wrong with me, he thought, looking at the thin, nearly white-haired medicine woman. Iza can’t go. Why didn’t I think of that before? She’s too sick. I thought she was going to leave us last fall; I don’t know how Ayla pulled her through. But what about the ceremony? Only the women of Iza’s line know the secret of the special drink. Uba’s too young; it has to be a woman. Ayla! What about Ayla? Iza could teach her before we leave. It’s time she was made a medicine woman anyway.

  Creb watched the young woman as she stooped to pick up her son and suddenly saw her more critically than he had for years. But will they accept her? He tried to see her as the people of other clans would see her. Her golden hair hung loose around her flat face, tucked behind her ears and parted haphazardly at the center, exposing her bulging forehead. Her body was definitely a woman’s, but slender except for a slightly flaccid stomach. Her legs we
re long and straight, and when she stood up she towered over him.

  She does not look like a Clan woman, he thought. She’s going to get a lot of attention, and not much of it favorable, I’m afraid. We just might have to forget that ceremony. The other mog-urs might not accept the drink if Ayla makes it. But it would not hurt to try. If only Uba were a little older. Maybe Iza could train them both, though I don’t think they’ll be willing to accept a girl any more than a woman born to the Others. I think I’ll go talk to Brun. If I’m going to call the spirits for Durc’s totem ceremony, we might as well make Ayla a medicine woman at the same time.

  “I must see Brun,” Creb motioned abruptly, and started toward the leader’s hearth. He turned back to Iza. “I think you should teach both Ayla and Uba to make the drink, but I’m not sure it will do any good.”

  “Iza, I can’t find the bowl you gave me for the medicine woman of the host clan,” Ayla gestured frantically after pawing through piles of food, furs, and implements stacked on the ground near her sleeping place. “I’ve looked everywhere.”

  “You already packed it, Ayla. Settle down, child. There’s still time. Brun won’t be ready to leave until he’s through eating. You’d better sit down and eat, yourself, your mush is getting cold. Uba, you too.” Iza shook her head. “I’ve never seen such carryings-on. We went over everything last night, it’s all ready.”

  Creb was sitting on a mat, Durc in his lap, watching the last-minute commotion with amusement. “They’re not any different from you, Iza. Why don’t you sit down and eat?”

  “I’ll have plenty of time after you leave,” she replied. Creb propped the baby up against his shoulder. Durc looked around from his new vantage point. “Look how strong that baby’s neck is,” Iza remarked. “He doesn’t have any trouble holding his head up now. It’s hard to believe. Ever since his totem ceremony, it’s been getting stronger all the time. Let me take him, I won’t be able to hold him all summer.”

  “Perhaps that’s why the Gray Wolf wanted me to do it so soon,” Creb motioned. “He wanted to help the boy.”

  Creb sat back and watched the small brood over which he was patriarch. Though he kept it to himself, he had often longed for a family like the other men. Now, in his old age, he had two doting women who did everything they could to make him comfortable, a girl who was following in their footsteps, and a healthy baby boy to cuddle the way he had done with the two girls. He had talked to Brun about the boy’s training. The leader could not allow a male member of his clan to grow up without the necessary skills. Brun had accepted the child knowing he would be living at Creb’s hearth and felt responsible for him. Ayla was grateful when Brun announced at Durc’s totem ceremony that he would personally take charge of the baby’s training if he became strong enough to hunt. She could think of no better man to train her son.

  The Gray Wolf is a good totem for the boy, Creb mused, but it makes me wonder. Some wolves run with the pack and some are loners. Which one is Durc’s totem?

  When everything was packed and secured in bundles, and loaded on the backs of the young woman and the girl, they all trooped out of the cave together. Iza gave the baby a last hug while he nuzzled her neck, helped Ayla wrap him in the carrying cloak, and then took something from a fold of her wrap.

  “This is for you to carry now, Ayla. You are the medicine woman of the clan,” Iza said, giving her the red-dyed bag that held the special roots. “Do you remember every step? Nothing must be left out. I wish I could have shown you, but the magic can’t be made just for practice. It’s too sacred to be thrown away and it can’t be used for any ceremony, only very important ones. Remember, it’s not just the roots that make the magic; you must prepare yourselves as carefully as you prepare the drink.”

  Uba and Ayla both nodded as the young woman took the precious relic and put it in her medicine bag. Iza had given her the otter-skin pouch the day she was made medicine woman, and it still reminded her of the one Creb had burned. Ayla reached for her amulet and felt for the fifth object she carried in it now: a piece of black manganese dioxide nestled in the small pouch along with the three nodules of iron pyrite stuck together, a red-stained oval of mammoth ivory, the fossil cast of a gastropod, and a chunk of red ochre.

  Ayla’s body had been marked with the black ointment, made by crushing and heating the black stone and mixing it with fat, when she became the repository of a part of the spirits of every member of the clan, and, through Ursus, of the entire Clan. Only for the highest and holiest of rituals was a medicine woman’s body printed with black marks, and only medicine women were allowed to carry the black stone in their amulets.

  Ayla wished Iza was going with them, and she worried about leaving her behind. Deep coughing spasms shook the fragile woman often.

  “Iza, are you sure you’re going to be all right?” Ayla motioned, after giving her a quick hug. “Your cough is worse.”

  “It’s always worse in winter. You know it gets better in summer. Besides, you and Uba collected so many elecampane roots, I don’t think there’s a single plant left around here, and we probably won’t have many black raspberries this season with all the roots you dug up to mix with wort flowers for my tea. I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me,” Iza assured her. But Ayla noticed the relief from the medication was temporary at best. The old woman had been doctoring herself with the plants for years; her tuberculosis had progressed too far for them to be very effective anymore.

  “Make sure you go outside on sunny days, and rest a lot,” Ayla urged. “There won’t be much work to do around here, there’s plenty of food and wood. Zoug and Dorv can keep the fire going to keep animals and evil spirits away, and Aba can do the cooking.”

  “Yes, yes,” Iza agreed. “Hurry now, Brun’s ready to start.”

  Ayla fell into her customary place at the rear, while everyone looked at her and waited.

  “Ayla,” Iza motioned. “No one can start until you get in your right place.”

  Sheepishly, Ayla moved to the front of the group of women. She had forgotten her new status. Her face turned pink with embarrassment as she stepped in line ahead of Ebra. She was uncomfortable; it just didn’t seem right for her to be first. She waved an apologetic signal to the mate of the leader, but Ebra was accustomed to her second place. It seemed strange, though, to see Ayla in front of her instead of Iza; it made her wonder if she would be going to the next Clan Gathering.

  Iza and the three people too old to make the trip accompanied the clan as far as the ridge and stood watching after them until they were small dots on the plain below. Then they returned to the empty cave. Aba and Dorv had missed the last Clan Gathering and were almost surprised they were alive to miss another, but it was the first time for Zoug and Iza. Though Zoug still went out with his sling occasionally, he returned empty-handed more often now, and Dorv couldn’t see well enough to go out at all.

  The four of them huddled around the fire at the entrance to the cave even though the day was warm, but they made no attempt at conversation. Suddenly, Iza was overcome by a fit of coughing that brought up a large, bloody mass of phlegm. She went to her hearth to rest and soon the others wandered into the cave and sat idly within their respective hearths. They had not been infected with the excitement of the long journey or the anticipation of seeing friends and relatives from other clans. They knew their summer would be unbearably lonely.

  The freshness of early summer in the temperate zone near the cave changed character on the open plains of the continental steppes to the east. Gone was the rich green foliage that filled out brush and deciduous trees, and still betrayed the new season’s growth of conifers with needles a shade lighter at the tips of branches and spires. Instead, quick-rooting and sprouting herbs and grasses, already chest high, whose youthful verdancy was lost to the drab hue indeterminate between green and gold, stretched to the horizon. Thick, matted, old-season growth cushioned their steps as the clan wove their way across the illimitable prairie, leaving a temporary ripple behind
showing the way they had come. Clouds rarely marred the boundless expanse above except for an occasional thunderstorm, more often seen from a distance. Surface water was scarce. They stopped to fill waterbags at every stream, unsure if they would find any conveniently close when they camped for the night.

  Brun set a pace to accommodate the slower-moving members of the traveling party, but one that pushed them. They had a long way to go to reach the cave of the host clan in the high mountains of the mainland to the east. It was difficult going for Creb in particular, but anticipation of the great Gathering and the solemn ceremonies he would lead buoyed his spirits. Though his body was crippled and atrophied, and further degenerated by arthritis, it did not impair the mental power of the great magician. The warm sun and Ayla’s painkilling plants eased his aching joints, and after a time the exercise toughened the muscles even in the leg of which he had only limited use.

  The travelers settled into a monotonous routine, one day blending into the next with weary regularity. The advancing season changed so gradually, they hardly noticed when the warm sun became a scorching ball of flame searing the steppes, turning the flat plain into a jaundiced monochrome of dun earth, buff grass, and beige rocks against a dust-laden, yellowish drab sky. For three days their eyes smarted with smoke and ashes carried by the prevailing winds from a sweeping prairie fire. They passed massive herds of bison, and giant deer with huge palmate antlers, horses, onagers, and asses; more rarely, saiga antelope with horns growing straight out of the tops of their heads slightly curved back at the tips; tens upon tens of thousands of grazing animals supported by the extensive grassland.

  Long before they neared the marshy isthmus, which both connected the peninsula to the main continent and served as the outlet for the shallow salty sea to the northeast, the massive mountain range, second highest on the earth, loomed into view. Even the lowest peaks were capped with glacial ice to halfway down their flanks, coldly unmoved by the searing heat of the plains. When the level prairie merged into low rolling hills, dotted with fescue and feather grass and red with the richness of iron ore—the red ochre making it hallowed ground—Brun knew the salt marsh was not far beyond. It was a secondary and more tenuous link. The primary connection of the peninsula to the mainland was the northern one that formed part of the western boundary of the smaller inland sea.