by Jean M. Auel
“Let me see Durc,” Iza motioned. “He’s grown so much.”
Uba picked him up and brought him to her mother. She put the baby on Iza’s lap, but he was in no mood to cuddle with an old woman he didn’t remember, and struggled to get down again.
“He’s strong and healthy,” Iza said, “and he doesn’t have any problems holding his head up.”
“He even has a mate already,” Uba said, “or at least a baby girl that has been promised for him.”
“A mate? What clan would promise a girl to him? So young, and with his deformity.”
“There was a woman at the Clan Gathering with a deformed daughter. She came and talked to us the first day,” Uba explained. “The baby even looks like Durc, at least her head does. Her features are a little different. The mother asked if they could be mated; Oda was so worried that her daughter would never find a mate. Brun and the leader of her clan arranged it. I think she will be coming here to live after the next Gathering, even if she’s not a woman. Ebra said she could live with her until they were both old enough to mate. Oda was so happy, especially after Ayla made the drink for the ceremony.”
“So they did accept Ayla as a medicine woman of my line. I wondered if they would,” Iza gestured, then she stopped. Talking made her tired, but just seeing her loved ones around her again rejuvenated her spirit, if not her body. She rested for a while, then asked, “What is the girl’s name?”
“Ura,” Iza’s daughter answered.
“I like the name, it has a good sound.” Iza rested again, then asked another question. “What about Ayla? Did she find a mate at the Clan Gathering?”
“The clan of Zoug’s kin is considering her. They refused at first, but after she was accepted as a medicine woman, they decided to think it over. There wasn’t time to settle anything before we left. They might take Ayla, but I don’t think they want Durc.”
Iza just nodded, then closed her eyes.
Ayla was grinding meat to make into a broth for Iza. She kept checking the boiling water with the root for the right color and flavor, impatient for it to be done. Durc crawled up to her, whining, but she brushed him off again.
“Give him to me, Uba,” Creb motioned. It quieted the boy for a while, sitting in Creb’s lap, intrigued with the man’s beard. But he soon grew tired of that, too. He rubbed his eyes and struggled to get loose of the restraining arm, and when freed crawled straight for his mother again. He was tired, and he was hungry. Ayla was standing over the fire and hardly seemed to notice when the cranky baby tried to pull up on her leg. Creb heaved himself up, then dropped his staff and signaled Uba to put the boy into his arm. Limping heavily without his support, he shuffled to Broud’s hearth and laid Durc in Oga’s lap.
“Durc is hungry and Ayla is busy making medicine for Iza. Will you feed him, Oga?”
Oga nodded, took the baby from him, and gave Durc her breast. Broud glowered, but one dark glance from Mog-ur made him cover his anger quickly. His hatred of Ayla did not extend to the man who protected and provided for her. Broud feared Mog-ur too much to hate him. He had discovered at an early age, however, that the great holy man seldom interfered in the secular life of the clan, confining his activities to the spirit world. Mog-ur had never tried to prevent Broud from exercising control over the young female who shared his hearth, but Broud had no wish to lock horns with the magician directly.
The man shuffled back to his hearth and began to search through the bundles that had been dumped for the bladder of cave bear grease that was his share of the rendered fat from the ceremonial animal. Uba saw him and hurried over to help. Creb took it with him into his place of the spirits. Though he was sure it was hopeless, he was going to use every bit of magic at his command to help Ayla try to keep Iza alive.
The roots had finally boiled long enough and Ayla scooped out a cup of the liquid, impatient now for it to cool. The warm broth fed to her earlier, in small sips with Ayla propping her head up just as Iza had done for her when she was a five-year-old and near death, had revived the old medicine woman somewhat. She had eaten little since she had taken to her bed, and not much before. Food brought to her often went untouched. It had been a desolate, lonely summer for Iza. With no one around to watch her and make sure she ate, she often forgot, or just didn’t bother. The other three had all tried to help when they saw she was failing, but they didn’t know how.
Iza had roused herself when Dorv’s end was near, but the oldest member of the clan went quickly and there was little she could do except try to make him more comfortable. His death had cast a pall on the others. The cave seemed far emptier with him gone and it made them all realize how close they were to the next world. His was the first death since the earthquake.
Ayla was sitting beside Iza, blowing on the liquid in the bone cup and tasting now and then to see if it was cool enough. Her concentration on Iza was so complete, she didn’t notice Creb leaving with Durc or see him go into his small cave, and she wasn’t aware that Brun was watching her. She heard the soft bubbling sounds of Iza’s breath and knew she was dying, but wouldn’t let herself believe it. She searched her memory for treatments.
A poultice of the inner bark of balsam, she thought. Yes, and a yarrow tea. Breathing the steam will help, too. Blackberries and wort, and maidenhair. No, that’s just for a minor cold. Burdock roots? Maybe. Starchwort? Of course, and the fresh root is best in fall. Ayla was determined to fill Iza with teas, cover her with poultices, and drown her in steam, if necessary. Anything, everything, to prolong the life of her mother, the only mother she knew. She could not bear the thought of Iza’s death.
Though Uba was acutely conscious of the seriousness of her mother’s illness, she was not unaware of Brun’s presence. It was not common for men to pay a visit to another man’s hearth when he wasn’t there, and Brun made Uba nervous. She scurried to pick up the bundles strewn around the hearth to tidy it up, glancing from Brun to Ayla to her mother. With no one to guide her and give her direction, she didn’t know how to handle Brun’s visit. No one acknowledged him, no one welcomed him, what was she supposed to do?
Brun observed the trio of females—the old medicine woman, the intense young medicine woman who bore no resemblance to the Clan, yet was their highest-ranked woman of healing, and Uba, destined to be a medicine woman, too. He had always been fond of his sibling. She was the baby girl who was petted and coddled, and welcomed, once a healthy boy had been born to take over the leadership. He had always felt protective toward her. He would never have chosen the man who had been her mate for her; Brun never had liked him, a braggart who ridiculed his crippled brother. Iza had no choice, but she handled it well. Yet she had been happier since her mate died than she ever had before. She was a good woman, a good medicine woman. The clan would miss her.
Iza’s daughter is growing up, he thought, watching her. Uba will be a woman soon. I should start thinking about a mate for her. It should be a good mate, one who will be compatible. It’s better for a hunter, too, if his mate is devoted to him. But who is there except Vorn? There’s Ona to consider, too, and she can’t mate Vorn, they’re siblings. She’ll have to wait until Borg is a man. If she becomes a woman early, she could have a child before Borg is ready to mate. Perhaps I should push him a little, he’s older than Ona. Once he’s old enough to relieve his needs, he’s old enough to become a man. Will Vorn be a good mate for Uba? Droog has been a good influence on him, and he likes to show off around her. Perhaps there is an attraction there. Brun filed his thoughts away in his orderly mind for future reference.
The elecampane-root tea was cooled and Ayla wakened the old woman who had dozed off, tenderly cradling her head while she fed her the medicine. I don’t think you will pull her through this time, Ayla, Brun said to himself, watching the frail woman. How did she age so fast? She was the youngest; now she looks older than Creb. I remember the time she set my broken arm. She wasn’t much older than Ayla was when she set Brac’s, but a woman and mated. She did a good job, too. It�
�s never given me any trouble, except a few twinges lately. I’m getting old, too. My hunting days will soon be over, and I’ll have to pass the leadership to Broud.
Is he ready for it? He did so well at the Clan Gathering, I almost gave it to him then. He’s brave; everyone told me how lucky I am. I am lucky, I was afraid he might be chosen to go with Ursus. It would have been an honor, but that’s one honor I was glad to forgo. Gorn was a good man, it was hard on Norg’s clan. It always is when Ursus chooses. Sometimes it’s lucky not to be honored; the son of my mate still walks this world. And he is fearless. Maybe too fearless. A bit of daring and recklessness is fine for a young man, but a leader must be more sober. He must consider his men. He must think and plan so the hunt will be successful, yet not endanger his men needlessly. Maybe I should start to let him lead a few hunts, to give him the experience. He’s got to learn there’s more to leadership than daring. There’s responsibility and self-control.
What is it about Ayla that brings out the worst in him? Why does he demean himself by competing with her? She may look a little different, but she’s still a woman. Brave for a woman, though, determined. I wonder if Zoug’s kin will take her? It would seem strange without her, now that I’ve gotten used to her. And she is a good medicine woman, an asset to any clan. I’ll do what I can to make sure they appreciate her value. Look at her—not even her son, the son she was ready to follow to the next world, can take her mind off Iza. Not many would brave a cave bear to save a man’s life. She can be fearless, too, and she’s learned to control herself. She behaved well at the Gathering, in every way a proper woman, not like when she was younger. No one had anything but praise for her by the time it was over.
“Brun,” Iza called out in a weak voice. “Uba, bring the leader some tea,” she motioned, trying to sit up straighter. She was still the proper mistress of Creb’s hearth. “Ayla, bring a fur for Brun to sit on. This woman regrets she is unable to serve the leader herself.”
“Iza, don’t trouble yourself. I didn’t come for tea, I came to see you,” Brun gestured, sitting down beside her bed.
“How long have you been standing there?” Iza asked.
“Not long. Ayla was busy; I chose not to disturb her, or you, until she was through. You were missed at the Clan Gathering.”
“Was it successful?”
“This clan is still first. The hunters did well; Broud was chosen first for the Bear Ceremony. Ayla did well, too. She received many compliments.”
“Compliments! Who needs compliments? Too many make the spirits jealous. If she did well, if she brought honor to the clan, that is enough.”
“She did well. She was accepted, she behaved as a proper woman. She is your daughter, Iza. How can anyone expect less?”
“Yes, she is my daughter, as much as Uba is my daughter. I was fortunate, the spirits chose to favor me with two daughters and both of them will be good medicine women. Ayla can finish training Uba.”
“No!” Ayla interrupted. “You will finish Uba’s training. You’re going to get well. We’re back now, we’ll take care of you. You’ll get well, just wait and see,” she motioned with earnest desperation. “You have to get well, mother.”
“Ayla. Child. The spirits are ready for me, I must go with them soon. They gave me my last wish, to see my loved ones before I go, but I can’t make them wait much longer.”
The broth and medicine had stimulated the last of the sick woman’s reserves. Her temperature was rising in her body’s valiant effort to fight off the disease that had sapped her. The sparkle in her fever-glazed eyes and the color it lent to her cheeks gave her a false look of health. But there was a translucent glow to Iza’s face as though lit from within. It was not the flush of life. The eerie quality was called the spirit glow, and Brun had seen it before. It was the rising of the life force as it prepared to leave.
Oga kept Durc at Broud’s hearth until late, returning the sleeping child long after the sun had set. Uba laid him on Ayla’s furs that she had spread out. The girl was frightened and lost. She had no one to turn to. She was afraid to interrupt Ayla in her efforts to save Iza, and afraid to disturb her mother. Creb had returned only long enough to paint symbols on Iza’s body with a paste of red ochre and bear fat, while he made his gestures over her. He returned to the small cave immediately afterward and didn’t return.
Uba had unpacked everything and set the hearth in order, made an evening meal that no one ate, and cleared it away. Then she sat quietly beside the sleeping baby, wishing she could think of something to do, anything to keep busy. Though it didn’t still the terror in her heart, activity at least kept her occupied. It was better than just sitting there watching her mother die. Finally she lay down on Ayla’s bed, curling herself around the baby, cuddling close to him in a forlorn attempt to draw warmth and security from someone.
Ayla worked constantly over Iza, trying every medicine and treatment she could think of. She hovered over her, afraid to leave her side, afraid the woman would slip away while she was gone. She was not the only one who maintained a vigil that night. Only the young children slept. At every hearth in the darkened cave, men and women stared at the red coals of banked fires, or lay on furs with open eyes.
The sky outside was overcast, blotting out the stars. The darkness inside the cave faded into a deeper black at the wide entrance, shrouding any hint of life beyond the dying embers of the cave fire. In the still of early morning, when the night was full into its somber depths, Ayla jerked her head up from a momentary doze.
“Ayla,” Iza said again in a hoarse whisper.
“What is it, Iza?” she motioned. The medicine woman’s eyes reflected the dim light of the ruddy charcoal in the fireplace.
“I want to say something before I go,” Iza gestured, then dropped her hands. It was an effort for her to move them.
“Don’t try to talk, mother. Just rest. You’ll be stronger in the morning.”
“No, child, I must say it now. I won’t last until morning.”
“Yes, you will. You have to. You can’t go,” Ayla signaled.
“Ayla, I’m going, you have to accept it. Let me finish, I don’t have much longer.” Iza rested again, while Ayla waited in mute hopelessness.
“Ayla, I always loved you best. I don’t know why, but it’s true. I wanted to keep you with me, wanted you to stay with the clan. But soon I’ll be gone. Creb will find his way to the spirit world before long, and Brun is getting old, too. Then Broud will be leader. Ayla, you cannot stay here when Broud is the leader. He will find a way to hurt you.” Iza rested again, closing her eyes and fighting for breath and strength to continue.
“Ayla, my daughter, my strange willful child who always tried so hard, I trained you to be a medicine woman so you would have enough status to stay with the clan, even if you never found a mate. But you are a woman, you need a mate, a man of your own. You are not Clan, Ayla. You were born to the Others, you belong with them. You must leave, child, find your own kind.”
“Leave?” she motioned, confused. “Where would I go, Iza? I don’t know any Others, I wouldn’t even know where to look for them.”
“There are many to the north of here, Ayla, on the mainland beyond the peninsula. My mother told me the man her mother healed came from the north.” Iza stopped again, then forced herself to go on. “You cannot stay here, Ayla. Go and find them, my child. Find your own people, find your own mate.”
Iza’s hands dropped suddenly and her eyes closed. Her breathing was shallow. She strained to take a deep breath and opened her eyes again.
“Tell Uba I love her, Ayla. But you were my first child, the daughter of my heart. Always loved you … loved you best …” Iza’s breath expired with a bubbling sigh. She did not take another.
“Iza! Iza!” Ayla screamed. “Mother, don’t go, don’t leave me! Oh, mother, don’t go.”
Uba woke at Ayla’s wail and ran to them. “Mother! Oh, no! My mother is gone! My mother is gone.”
The girl and the y
oung woman stared at each other.
“She told me to tell you she loved you, Uba,” Ayla said. Her eyes were dry, the shock still hadn’t fully registered in her brain. Creb shuffled toward them. He was already out of his cave before Ayla screamed. With a heaving sob, Ayla groped for them both, and they all found themselves clasped in a grieving embrace of mutual despair. Ayla’s tears wet them all. Uba and Creb had no tears, but their pain was not less.
26
“Oga, will you feed Durc again?”
The one-armed man’s gesture was plain to the young woman despite the squirming baby he held. Ayla should feed him, she thought. It’s not good for her to go so long without nursing him. The tragedy of Iza’s death and his confusion over Ayla’s reaction were both apparent in Mog-ur’s expression. She could not refuse the pleading magician.
“Of course I will,” Oga said, and took Durc in her arms.
Creb hobbled back to his hearth. He saw Ayla still had not moved, though Ebra and Uka had taken Iza’s body away to prepare it for burial. Her hair was disheveled and her face still smudged with travel grime and tears. She wore the same stained and dirty wrap she had worn during their long trek back from the Clan Gathering. Creb had put her son in her lap when he cried to be fed, but she was blind and deaf to his needs. Another woman would have understood that even deep grief could, eventually, be penetrated by a baby’s cries. But Creb had little experience with mothers and babies. He knew women often fed each other’s children, and he couldn’t let the baby go hungry as long as there were other women who could nurse him. He had taken Durc to Aga and Ika, but their youngest were close to being weaned and they had only a limited supply of milk. Grev was only a little more than a year old and Oga always seemed to have plenty, so Creb had brought Durc to her several times. Ayla didn’t feel the ache of her hard and caking unsuckled breasts; the ache in her heart was greater.
