by Jean M. Auel
Ayla’s mind wandered as Goov went through the motions that retired Brun and raised Broud to the rank of leader. She was watching Creb and remembered the first time she saw his one-eyed, scarred face and reached out to touch him. She recalled his patience when he was trying to teach her to communicate, and her sudden burst of understanding. She reached for her amulet and felt a tiny scar on her throat where he had expertly nicked her to draw her blood as a sacrifice to the ancient spirits that allowed her to hunt. And she cringed with the memory of her clandestine visit to a small cave deep in a mountain. Then she remembered his look of loving sadness and his cryptic, enigmatic statement of the night before.
She only picked at her food at the feast celebrating the succession of the next generation to the realms of authority. The men filed into the small sacred cave to complete their ceremony in seclusion, and Ayla passed out the datura received from Goov, now a mog-ur. But she had no heart for the women’s dance, her rhythms lacked verve, and she drank so little of the ceremonial tea, the effects wore off quickly. She returned to Creb’s hearth as soon as she appropriately could and was asleep before Creb returned, but she slept fitfully. He stood over her bed watching her and her son before he hobbled to his own sleeping place.
“Mama go hunting? Durc go hunting with Mama?” the boy asked, jumping out of bed and heading for the mouth of the cave. Only a few people were stirring, but Durc was wide awake.
“Not until after breakfast, anyway, Durc. Come back here,” Ayla motioned and got up to get him. “Probably not at all today. Spring is here, but it’s not that warm yet.”
After he ate, Durc spied Grev and forgot about hunting as he raced to Broud’s hearth. Ayla watched him go, with a feeling of tenderness turning up the corners of her mouth. The smile faded when she saw the way Broud looked at him. It made her scalp crawl. Both boys ran out together. Suddenly a feeling of claustrophobia overwhelmed her with such force, she thought she would vomit if she didn’t get outside the cave. She bolted for the opening, feeling her heart beating rapidly, and took several deep breaths.
“Ayla!”
She jumped at the sound of her name spoken by Broud, then turned around, bowed her head, and looked down at the new leader.
“This woman would greet the leader,” she gestured formally. Broud seldom stood face to face with her. She was much taller than the tallest man in the clan, and Broud was not among the tallest. He barely reached her shoulder. She knew he didn’t like looking up at her.
“Don’t go running off anywhere. I’m going to have a meeting out here soon.”
Ayla nodded obediently.
The clan slowly congregated. The sun was shining, and they were glad Broud had decided to have his meeting outdoors in spite of the soggy ground. They waited for a while, then Broud strutted to the place formerly taken by Brun, supremely conscious of his new status.
“As you know, I am your new leader,” Broud started. His nervousness at speaking to the entire clan in his new capacity was betrayed by an opening statement that was patently obvious.
“Since the clan has a new leader and a new mog-ur, this is a good time to announce some other changes,” he continued. “I want to make it known that Vorn is now my second-in-command.”
There were nods; it was expected. Brun thought Broud should have waited until Vorn was older before raising his position above more experienced hunters, but everyone knew it was coming. It’s probably just as well to do it now, he said to himself.
“There are some other changes,” Broud motioned. “A woman in this clan is not mated.” Ayla felt herself flush. “Someone must provide for her, and I do not want to burden my hunters with her. I am leader now and I must be responsible for her. I will take Ayla as second woman to my hearth.”
Ayla had expected it, but it didn’t make her any happier to know she was right. She may not like it, Brun thought, but Broud is doing the right thing. Brun looked proudly at the son of his mate. Broud is ready for leadership.
“She has one deformed child,” Broud went on. “I want it known now, no more deformed children will be accepted into this clan. I don’t want anyone to think it has anything to do with my personal feelings, when the next one is refused. If she has a normal child, I will accept it.”
Creb was standing near the entrance to the cave and shook his head as he watched Ayla blanch and bow her head lower to hide her face. Well, you can be sure I won’t have any more children, Broud, not if Iza’s magic works for me, she thought. I don’t care if babies are started by men’s totems or their organs, you won’t start any more in me. I’m not going to give birth to babies that have to die because you think they’re deformed.
“I’ve made it plain before,” Broud went on, “so this shouldn’t come as any surprise. I will not have any deformed children living at my hearth.”
Ayla’s head jerked up. What does he mean? If I have to move to his hearth, my son comes with me.
“Vorn has agreed to take Durc to his hearth. His mate is fond of the boy, in spite of his deformity. He will be well cared for.”
There was a disturbed murmur and a flurry of hand signals from the clan. Children belonged with their mothers until they were grown. Why would Broud take Ayla but refuse her son? Ayla broke out of her place and threw herself at Broud’s feet. Broud tapped her shoulder.
“I am not through yet, woman. It is disrespectful to interrupt the leader, but I will overlook it this time. You may speak.”
“Broud, you can’t take Durc away from me. He’s my son. Wherever a woman goes, her children go with her,” she motioned, forgetting to use any form of polite greeting or to phrase her statement as a request in her anxiety. Brun was glowering, his pride in the new leader gone.
“Are you, woman, telling this leader what he can or cannot do?” Broud motioned with a sneer on his face. He was pleased with himself. He had planned this for a long time, and he had gotten just the reaction he had hoped for.
“You are no mother. Oga is more mother to Durc than you are. Who nursed him? Not you. He doesn’t even know who his mother is. Every woman in the clan is mother to him. What difference does it make where he lives? He obviously doesn’t care, he eats at everyone’s hearth,” Broud said.
“I know I haven’t been able to nurse him, but you know he is my son, Broud. He sleeps with me every night.”
“Well, he won’t sleep with me every night. Can you deny that Vorn’s mate is ‘mother’ to him? I have already told Goov … I mean the mog-ur, that the mating ceremony will be held after this meeting. There is no point in waiting. You will move to my hearth tonight, and Durc will move to Vorn’s. Now go back to your place,” he commanded. Broud glanced around the clan and noticed Creb leaning on his staff near the cave. The old man looked angry.
But not nearly as angry as Brun. His face was a black rage as he watched Ayla return to her place. He struggled to control himself, to keep from interfering. There was more than anger in his eyes, the pain in his heart showed, too. The son of my mate, he thought, who I raised and trained and just made leader of this clan. He is using his position for revenge. Revenge against a woman, for wrongs he has imagined. Why didn’t I see it before? Why was I so blind to him? Now I know why he raised Vorn’s status so soon. Broud arranged the whole thing with him; he planned to do this to Ayla all along. Broud, Broud, is that the first thing a new leader does? Puts his hunters in jeopardy with a young and inexperienced second to avenge himself against a woman? What pleasure can it bring you to separate a mother and her child when she has suffered so much pain already? Have you no heart, son of my mate? All she has of her son is to share her bed with him at night.
“I am not finished, I am not through,” Broud gestured, trying to get the attention of the shocked and uneasy clan. They finally settled down.
“This man was not the only one raised to a new position. We have a new mog-ur. There are certain privileges that go with increased status. I have decided that Goov … the mog-ur, will move to the rightful hearth of t
he magician of the clan. Creb will move to the back of the cave.”
Brun shot a glance at Goov. Was he in on the arrangement, too? Goov was shaking his head with a puzzled look on his face.
“I don’t want to move to The Mog-ur’s hearth,” he said. “That has been his home ever since we moved into this cave.”
The clan was becoming more than uneasy about their new leader.
“I have decided you will move!” Broud gestured imperiously, angry at Goov’s refusal. When he had noticed the crippled old man leaning on his staff glaring at him angrily, he suddenly realized the great Mog-ur was magician no more. What did he have to fear from a deformed old cripple? On impulse, he had made the offer, expecting Goov to jump at the choice spot in the cave as Vorn had jumped at the chance for increased status. He thought it would cement the new mog-ur’s loyalty to him, make Goov obligated to him. Broud hadn’t counted on Goov’s loyalty, and love, for his mentor. Brun was unable to hold back any longer and was just about to speak out, but Ayla beat him to it.
“Broud!” Ayla shouted from her place. His head shot up. “You can’t do that! You can’t make Creb move from his hearth!” She was stomping toward him full of righteous wrath. “He needs a protected place. The wind blows too hard into the back. You know how he suffers in the winter.” Ayla had forgotten herself as a Clan woman; she was now the medicine woman protective of her patient. “You’re doing it to hurt me. You’re trying to get back at Creb because he took care of me. I don’t care what you do to me, Broud, but leave Creb alone!” She was standing in front of him, towering over him, gesticulating angrily in his face.
“Who gave you permission to speak, woman!” Broud stormed. He swung at her with a clenched fist, but she saw it coming and ducked. Broud was startled at reaching nothing but air. Rage replaced his surprise as he started after her.
“Broud!” Brun’s shout brought him to a standstill. He was too accustomed to obeying that voice, especially when it was raised in anger.
“That is Mog-ur’s hearth, Broud, and will be his hearth until he dies. That will happen soon enough without your bringing it on sooner by moving him. He has served this clan long and well; he deserves that place. What kind of leader are you? What kind of a man are you? Using your position to get revenge on a woman? A woman who has never done anything to you, Broud, who couldn’t if she tried. You are no leader!”
“No, you are the one who is no leader, Brun, not anymore.” Broud had regained the realization of his position, and Brun’s, after his initial impulse to obey. “I am leader now! I make the decisions now! You have always taken her side against me, always protected her. Well, you can’t protect her anymore!” Broud was losing control, gesticulating wildly, his face purple with rage. “She will do what I say, or I will curse her! And it won’t be temporary! You just saw her insolence, and you still stick up for her. I won’t stand for it! Not anymore. She deserves to be cursed for it. And I will! How do you like that, Brun? Goov! Curse her! Curse her! Now, right now! I want her cursed now. No one will tell this leader what to do, least of all that ugly woman. Did you understand me? Curse her, Goov!”
Creb had been trying to get Ayla’s attention from the moment she lashed out at Broud, trying to warn her. It didn’t matter to him where he lived, front or back of the cave, it was all the same to him. His suspicions had been aroused from the moment Broud said he would take Ayla as second woman. It was too responsible a move for Broud to make without some reason. But his suspicions hadn’t prepared him for the ugly scene that followed. When he saw Broud order Goov to curse her, the last bit of fight went out of him. He didn’t want to see any more, and turned his back to shuffle slowly into the cave. Ayla glanced up just as he disappeared into the hole in the mountain.
Creb wasn’t the only one upset by the confrontation. The whole clan was in an uproar, gesturing, shouting, milling around in confusion. Some couldn’t bear to watch, while others gazed in rapt disbelief at the spectacle not one of them ever expected to witness in their entire lives. Their lives were too ordered, too secure, too bound by traditions and customs and habits.
They were surprised at Broud’s irregular and unreasonable announcements separating Ayla and her son; they were shocked at Ayla’s confrontation with the new leader no more than Broud’s decision to move Creb; they were stunned as much by Brun’s angry denunciation of the man he had just made leader as by Broud’s uncontrolled temper tantrum demanding that Ayla be cursed. They were yet to be traumatized.
Ayla was shaking so hard she didn’t feel the trembling beneath her feet until she saw people toppling over, unable to keep their balance. Her own face mirrored the stunned expressions of the rest as they changed to fear, and then stark terror. It was then she heard the deep, terrifying rumble from the bowels of the earth.
“Duurrrc!” she screamed, and saw Uba grab for him then fall on top of him as though trying to protect his small body with her own. Ayla started toward them, then suddenly remembered something that filled her with horror.
“Creb! He’s inside the cave!”
She scrambled up the swaying slope trying to reach the large triangular entrance. A huge rock rolled down the steep wall that held the opening and, deflected by a tree that splintered under the impact, crashed to the ground beside her. Ayla didn’t notice. She was numb, in shock. The memories locked in her old nightmare were released, but jumbled and confused by sheer panic. In the roar of the earthquake, not even she heard the word in a long forgotten language torn from her lips.
“Motherrr!”
The ground beneath her dropped several feet, then heaved up again. She fell over and struggled to get up, and then saw the vaulted ceiling of the cave collapse. Jagged chunks, torn from the high roof, crashed down and split on impact. Then more fell. All around her, boulders bounced and tumbled down the rocky face, rolled down the gentler slope, and splashed into the icy stream. The ridge to the east cracked and half of it toppled.
Inside the cave it was raining rocks and pebbles and dirt, mixed with the intermittent thunder of large sections of the walls and vaulted dome. Outside, tall conifers danced like clumsy giants and naked deciduous trees shook bare limbs in an ungraceful jitter, moving in speeded time to the thunderous dirge. A crack in the wall, near the east side of the opening, opposite the spring-fed pool, widened with an explosive gush that flushed out loose rock and gravel. It opened another underground channel that deposited its load of debris on the broad front porch of the cave before making its maiden voyage to the stream. The roar from the earth and the smashing rocks overpowered the screams of the terror-stricken people. The sound was deafening.
Finally the quaking subsided. A last few stones tumbled off the mountain, bounced, rolled, then came to rest. Dazed and frightened people started to pick themselves up and wandered around with blank stares trying to collect their shaken wits. They began to gather around Brun. He had always been their rock, their stability. They gravitated toward the security he had always represented.
But Brun did nothing. He believed, in all his years as leader, the worst judgment he had ever shown was making Broud leader. He realized, now, how blind he had been to the faults of the son of his mate. Even his virtues, his fearless bravado and reckless courage, Brun now saw as manifestations of the same uncaring ego and impulsive temper. But that wasn’t the reason Brun refused to act. Broud was leader now, for better or worse. It was too late for Brun to step back in and train another man, though he knew the clan would have let him. The only way Broud could ever hope to lead, the only hope for the clan, was to make him lead now. Broud said he was leader—defiantly, totally out of control, Broud said he was leader. Well, lead, Broud, Brun thought. Do something. Whatever decisions Broud made from now on, or lack of them, Brun would not interfere.
When the clan was convinced that Brun was not going to take back the leadership, they finally turned to Broud. They were used to their traditions, accustomed to their hierarchy, and Brun had been too good a leader, too strong, too responsib
le. They were used to his taking command in times of crisis, used to depending on his calm and reasoned judgment. They didn’t know how to act on their own, to make decisions for themselves without a leader. Even Broud expected Brun to take over; he needed someone to lean on, too. When Broud finally came to the realization that the burden was now on him, he tried to assume it. He did try.
“Who is missing? Who is hurt?” Broud motioned. There was a small collective sigh of relief. Someone was finally doing something. Family groups started to gather together, and as the clan assembled amid gasps of surprise at seeing a loved one they were afraid was gone, miraculously, no one seemed to be missing. With all the falling rocks and shaking earth, no one was even badly hurt. Bruises, cuts, scrapes, but no broken bones. That wasn’t entirely true.
“Where’s Ayla?” Uba cried with an edge of panic.
“Here,” Ayla answered, walking back down the slope, forgetting for the moment why she was there.
“Mama!” Durc cried, breaking loose of Uba’s protective grip and running to her. Ayla broke into a run, swooped him up, hugged him tightly, and carried him back.
“Uba, are you all right?” she asked.
“Yes, nothing serious.”
“Where’s Creb?” Then Ayla remembered. She shoved Durc at Uba and ran back up the slope.
“Ayla! Where are you going? Don’t go into the cave! There may be aftershocks.”
Ayla didn’t see the warning, nor would she have heeded it. She ran into the cave and straight for Creb’s hearth. Stones and gravel cascaded spasmodically, making small piles on the ground. Except for a few rocks and a layer of dust, their place in the cave was undamaged, but Creb was not there. Ayla checked every hearth. Some were totally demolished, but most had some salvageable items. Creb was not at any of the hearths. She hesitated at the small opening that led to the place of the spirits, then started in, but it was too dark to see. She’d need a torch. She decided to check the rest of the cave first.
