by Jean M. Auel
Broud was fearful of the spirits, perhaps more than any man in the clan, and his fear extended to the one who dwelt so intimately with them. After all, what could one hunter do against a whole array of incorporeal beings who could cause bad luck or sickness or death, and what could he do against the man who had the power to call them at will? Broud had recently returned from a Clan Gathering where many a night was spent with young men of other clans who tried to scare each other with tales of misfortune caused by mog-urs who had been crossed. Spears turned at the last moment preventing a kill, terrible illnesses that caused pain and suffering, gorings, maulings, all kinds of terrifying calamities were blamed on angry magicians. The horror stories were not so prevalent in his own clan, but still, The Mog-ur was the most powerful magician of all.
Though there had been times when the young man thought him more worthy of ridicule than respect, Mog-ur’s malformed body and horribly scarred, one-eyed face added to his stature. To those who did not know him, he seemed inhuman, perhaps part demon. Broud had capitalized on the fear of the other young men, enjoying their look of incredulous awe when he bragged that he did not fear The Great Mog-ur. But for all his swaggering, the stories had left their impression. The reverence of the Clan for the stumbling old man who couldn’t hunt made Broud more wary of his power.
Whenever he daydreamed of the time when he would be leader, he always thought of Goov as his mog-ur. Goov was too close in age, and too close a hunting companion, for Broud to view the future magician in the same light. He was sure he could cajole or coerce the acolyte into going along with his decisions, but he didn’t dream of taking on The Mog-ur.
As Broud walked through the woods near the cave, he made one firm decision. Never again would he give the leader cause to doubt him; never again would he put the destiny he was so close to realizing in jeopardy. But when I’m leader, I’ll make the decisions, he thought. She turned Brun against me, she even turned Oga against me, my own mate. When I’m leader, it won’t matter if Brun takes her side, he won’t be able to protect her anymore. Broud remembered every wrong she had done to him, every time she had stolen his glory, every imagined slight to his ego. He dwelt on them, relishing the thought of paying her back. He could wait. Someday, he said to himself, someday soon she will be sorry she ever came to live with this clan.
Broud wasn’t the only one who blamed the old cripple; Creb blamed himself for Ayla’s loss of mother’s milk. It made little difference—now—that it was his concern that had brought such disastrous results. He just hadn’t understood the way of a woman’s body, he had had too little experience with women. It wasn’t until his old age that he had ever come in close contact with a mother and baby. He didn’t realize that when a woman nursed another’s child, the favor was reciprocated more for her sake than to relieve any obligation. No one had ever told him; no one had to after it was too late.
He wondered why such a terrible calamity had happened to her. Was it just that her child was unlucky? Creb looked for reasons, and in his guilty introspection he began to doubt his own motives. Was it really concern, or did he want to hurt her as she had unknowingly hurt him. Was he worthy of his great totem? Had The Mog-ur stooped to such petty revenge? If he was an example of their highest holy man, perhaps his people deserved to die. Creb’s conviction that his race was doomed, the death of Iza, and his guilt over the sorrow he had caused Ayla plunged him into a melancholy despondency. The most difficult test of Mog-ur’s life came near its end.
Ayla didn’t blame Creb, she blamed herself, but watching another woman nurse her son when she couldn’t was more than she could bear. Oga, Aga, and Ika had each come to her and told her they would nurse Durc for her, and she was grateful, but most often it was Uba who brought Durc to one of them and stayed to visit until he was through. With the loss of her milk, Ayla lost an important part of her son’s life. She still grieved for Iza and blamed herself for the woman’s death, and Creb had withdrawn so far into himself that she couldn’t reach him and was afraid to try. But every night when she took Durc to bed with her, she was grateful to Broud. His refusal to accept him meant her son wasn’t lost to her completely.
In the waning days of fall, Ayla took up her sling again as an excuse to go off alone. She had hunted so little the past year, her skill was rusty, but with practice, her accuracy and speed returned. Most days she left early and returned late, leaving Uba to care for Durc, and only regretted that winter was closing in on them so quickly. The exercise was good for her, but she had a problem to overcome. She hadn’t hunted much after she became a fully developed woman, and heavy breasts bobbing at every step annoyed her when she ran or jumped. She noticed that men wore a leather loincloth to protect their exposed and delicate organs, and she fashioned a band to hold her bosom in place, tied around her back. It made her more comfortable, and she ignored the curious sidewise glances cast at her when she put it on.
Though hunting strengthened her body and occupied her mind while she was out, she still carried her load of grief and sorrow. To Uba, it seemed that the joy had left Creb’s hearth. She missed her mother, and both Creb and Ayla had an aura of perpetual sadness. Only Durc, with his unknowing baby ways, brought a hint of the happiness she had once taken for granted. He could even rouse Creb out of his lethargy on occasion.
Ayla had left early and Uba was away from the hearth looking for something in the back of the cave. Oga had just brought Durc back and Creb was keeping his eye on the boy. He was full and contented, but not very sleepy. He crawled toward the old man and pulled himself up on wobbly, unsure legs, clutching at Creb for support.
“So you’re going to start walking soon,” Creb motioned. “Before this winter is over, you’ll be running all over this cave, young man.”
Creb poked him in his little pot belly to emphasize his gestures. The corners of Durc’s mouth turned up and he made a sound Creb had heard from only one other person in the clan. He laughed. Creb poked him again and the boy doubled over in a babyish giggle, lost his balance, and sat down on his firm little rump. Creb helped him up again and looked at the child as he had never looked at him before.
Durc’s baby legs were bowed, but not nearly as much as other babies of the clan; and though they were chubby, Creb could see his bones were longer and thinner. I think Durc’s legs are going to be straight when he gets older, like Ayla’s, and he’s going to be tall, too. And his neck, it was so thin and scrawny when he was born, he couldn’t hold his head up; it’s just like Ayla’s neck. His head isn’t like hers, though, or is it? That high forehead, that’s Ayla’s. Creb turned Durc’s head to look at his profile. Yes, definitely her forehead, but the brows and the eyes, they’re Clan, and the back of his head, that’s more like Clan, too.
Ayla was right. He’s not deformed, he’s a mixture, a mixture of her and Clan. I wonder, is that the way it always is? Do the spirits mix? Maybe that’s what makes girls, not a weak male totem. Does life start with a mixing of male and female totem spirits? Creb shook his head, he didn’t know, but it set the old magician to thinking. He thought often of Durc that cold lonely winter. He had a feeling Durc was important, but just why eluded him.
27
“But Ayla, I’m not like you. I can’t hunt. Where will I go when it gets dark?” Uba implored. “Ayla, I’m afraid.”
The frightened face of the young woman made Ayla wish she could go with her. Uba was not quite eight years old and the thought of spending the days alone away from the security of the cave terrified her, but her totem’s spirit had battled for the first time and it was required. She had no choice.
“Do you remember that small cave where I hid when Durc was born? Go there, Uba. It will be safer than staying out in the open. I’ll come up to see you every evening and bring you some food. It’s only for a few days, Uba. Make sure you take a fur to sleep on and a coal to start a fire. There’s water nearby. It will be lonely, especially at night, but you’ll be all right. And just think, you’re a woman now. You’ll be mated s
oon and maybe have a baby of your own before long,” Ayla consoled.
“Who do you think Brun will choose for me?”
“Who do you want Brun to choose for you, Uba?”
“Vorn is the only unmated man, though I’m sure Borg will be one soon. Of course, he might decide to make me the second woman of one of the others. I think I’d really like Borg. We used to play we were mated, until the time he really tried to relieve his needs with me. It didn’t work very well, and now he’s shy and so close to being a man, he doesn’t like to play with girls anymore. But Ona is a woman, too, and she can’t mate with Vorn. Unless Brun decides to give her to a man who already has one mate, there’s no one else but Borg for her. I guess that means Vorn will be my mate.”
“Vorn has been a man for a while, he’s probably eager to mate by now,” Ayla said. She had come to the same conclusion herself. “Do you think you’d like Vorn for a mate?”
“He tried to act like he doesn’t notice me, but he looks at me sometimes. He might not be so bad.”
“Broud likes him, he’ll probably be second-in-command someday. You don’t need to worry about the status, but it would be good for your sons. I didn’t like Vorn much when he was younger, but I think you’re right. He’s not so bad. He’s even nice to Durc, when Broud isn’t around.”
“Everyone’s nice to Durc, except Broud,” Uba said. “Everyone loves him.”
“Well, he certainly makes himself at home at every hearth. He’s so used to being handed around to nurse, he even calls every woman mother,” Ayla motioned with a fleeting frown. A quick smile replaced her unhappy look. “Remember that time he walked into Grod’s hearth, just like he lived there?”
“I remember; I tried not to look, but I just couldn’t help it,” Uba recalled. “He walked right past Uka, just greeted her and called her mother and went straight to Grod and crawled up on his lap.”
“I know,” Ayla said. “I never saw Grod look so surprised in my life. Then he climbed down and went straight for Grod’s spears. I was sure Grod was going to get mad, but he just couldn’t resist that brazen child when he started to drag his biggest spear away. When Grod took it away from him, he said, ‘Durc hunt like Grod.’ ”
“I think Durc would have dragged that heavy spear right out of the cave if Grod had let him.”
“He takes the little spear Grod made for him to bed,” Ayla gestured, still smiling. “You know, Grod never says much. I was surprised when he came over that day. He barely greeted me, just went straight to Durc and put that spear in his hands, even showed him how to hold it. When he walked out, all he said was, ‘If the boy wants to hunt so much, he should have his own spear.’ ”
“It’s a shame Ovra never had any children. I think Grod would like it if the daughter of his mate had a baby,” Uba said. “Maybe that’s why Grod likes Durc, he’s not really attached to any man. Brun likes him, too, I can tell; and Zoug is already showing him how to use a sling. I don’t think he’s going to have any problem learning to hunt even though there isn’t a man at his hearth to train him. The way the men act, you’d think every man in the clan is his mother’s mate, except Broud.” She paused. “Maybe they are, Ayla. Dorv always said every man’s totem combined to defeat your Cave Lion.”
“I think you’d better go now, Uba,” Ayla said, changing the subject. “I’ll walk with you part of the way. It’s stopped raining, and I think the strawberries are ripe. There’s a big patch of them partway up the path. I’ll come up to see you later.”
Goov painted the symbol of Vorn’s totem over the symbol of Uba’s totem with yellow ochre paste, blurring her mark and showing his dominance.
“Do you accept this woman as your mate?” Creb gestured.
Vorn tapped Uba’s shoulder and she followed him into the cave. Then Creb and Goov performed the same ritual for Borg and Ona and they went to their new hearth to begin the period of isolation. The summer-dressed trees, still a shade lighter than they would be later, stirred in the light breeze as the congregation broke up. Ayla picked up Durc to carry him into the cave, but he squirmed to get down.
“All right, Durc,” she motioned. “You can walk, but come in and have some broth and mush.”
While she was preparing breakfast, Durc wandered out of the hearth and headed toward the new hearth now occupied by Uba and Vorn. Ayla ran after him and carried him back.
“Durc want see Uba,” the child gestured.
“You can’t, Durc. No one can visit her for a while. But if you’re good and eat your mush, I’ll take you hunting with me.”
“Durc be good. Why can’t see Uba?” the boy asked, mollified by the promise to go along with his mother. “Why Uba not come eat with us?”
“She doesn’t live here anymore, Durc. She’s mated to Vorn now,” Ayla explained.
Durc wasn’t the only one who noticed Uba’s absence. They all missed her. The hearth seemed empty with only Creb, Ayla, and the child, and the strain between the old man and the young woman was more noticeable. They had never found a way to overcome their mutual remorse over the hurt they had caused each other. Many times when Ayla saw the old magician lost in the depths of melancholy, she wanted to go to him, put her arms around his shaggy white head, and hug him as she had when she was a little girl. But she restrained herself, reluctant to force herself upon him.
Creb missed the affection, though he didn’t realize its absence added to his depression. And many times when Creb saw Ayla’s pain as she watched another woman nurse her son, he wanted to go to her. If Iza had been alive, she would have found a way to bring them back together, but without such a catalyst, they drifted farther apart, each longing to show their love for the other, and neither knowing how to bridge the gap that separated them. They were both ill at ease during the first morning meal without Uba.
“Do you want more, Creb?” Ayla asked.
“No. No. Don’t bother, I’ve had enough,” he motioned.
He watched her cleaning up while Durc dived into a second helping with both hands and a clamshell spoon. Though just a little more than two years old, he was essentially weaned. He still sought out Oga—and Ika now that she had a new baby again—to nurse for comfort and closeness, and because they let him get away with it. Usually, when a new baby was born, any older children still nursing were cut off, but Ika made an exception in Durc’s case. The child seemed to sense not to push his privilege too far. He never drained her, never deprived her new infant of milk, just cuddled up for a few moments as if to prove he had the right.
Oga was lenient toward him, too, and though Grev was technically past his nursing year, he took advantage of his mother’s indulgence. Both were often found together on her lap, each suckling a breast until their interest in each other overcame their desire for mothering, and they let go to tussle with each other. Durc was as tall as Grev, though not nearly as stocky; and though Grev usually won over Durc when they wrestled playfully, Durc easily outdistanced the older boy when they raced. The two were inseparable; they sought each other out at every opportunity.
“You’re going to take the boy with you?” Creb gestured after an uncomfortable silence.
“Yes,” she nodded, wiping the child’s hands and face. “I promised to take him hunting with me. I doubt that I’ll be able to hunt much with him along, but I need to gather some herbs, too, and it’s a nice day.”
Creb grunted.
“You should go out, too, Creb,” she added. “The sun would be good for you.”
“Yes, yes, I will, Ayla. Later.”
For a moment, she thought she ought to coax him out of the cave with the offer of a walk beside the stream as they used to do, but he already seemed turned inward. She left him sitting where he was, picked up Durc, and hurried out. Creb didn’t look up until he was sure she was gone. He reached for his staff, then decided it was too much effort to get up, and put it down again.
Ayla worried about him as she started out with Durc on her hip and her collecting basket strapped to h
er back. She sensed his mental power was diminishing. He was more absentminded than ever, and he repeated questions she had already answered. He hardly stirred himself to go out of the cave, even when the weather was warm and sunny. And when he sat for long hours in what he called meditation, he often fell asleep sitting up.
Ayla’s strides lengthened once she was out of sight of the cave. The freedom of movement and the beautiful summer day eased her concern into a more remote part of her mind. She let Durc walk when they came to a clearing and stopped to collect some plants. He watched her, then grabbed a handful of grass and purple-flowered alfalfa and pulled it out by the roots. He brought it to her clutched in his little fist.
“You’re a big help, Durc,” she motioned, taking it from him and putting it into the basket beside her.
“Durc get more,” he gestured, running off.
She sat back on her heels watching her son tugging at a larger handful. It gave suddenly, and he sat down hard. He screwed up his face to cry, more in surprise than in pain, but Ayla ran to him, picked him up, and tossed him into the air, catching him again in her arms. Durc giggled with delight. She put him down and pretended she was going to chase him.
“I’m going to get you,” Ayla motioned.
Durc ran away on his baby legs, laughing. She let him get ahead of her, then chased after him on hands and knees, grabbing him and pulling him over on top of her, both of them laughing at the game. She tickled him just to hear him laugh again.
Ayla never laughed with her son unless they were alone, and Durc learned early that no one else either appreciated or approved of his smiles and giggles. Though Durc made the gesture for mother to all the women in the clan, in his baby heart, he knew Ayla was special. He always felt happier with her than with anyone else, and he loved it when she took him with her alone, without the other women. And he loved the other game only he and his mother played.
