The Clan of the Cave Bear

by Jean M. Auel

  A spattering of gravel fell on her and she jumped to the side. A jagged boulder crashed to the ground, grazing her arm. She searched the walls, then crisscrossed the room, poking into deep shadows behind storage containers and large boulders in the unlit cave. She was ready to get a torch, then decided to try one last place.

  She found Creb beside Iza’s burial cairn. He was lying on his deformed side with his legs pulled up, almost as if they had been tied into a fetal position. The large, magnificent skull that had protected his powerful brain, protected it no longer. The heavy rock that crushed it had rolled a few feet away. He had died instantly. She knelt down beside his body and her tears began to flow.

  “Creb, oh, Creb. Why did you go into the cave?” she motioned. She rocked back and forth on her knees, crying out his name. Then, for some inexplicable reason, she stood up and began to make the motions she had seen him make over Iza, the burial rite. Silent tears clouded her vision as the tall blonde woman, alone in a rock-littered cave, flowed through the ancient, symbolic movements with a grace and subtlety as accomplished as those of the great holy man himself. Many of the motions she did not understand. She never would. It was her final offering to the only father she knew.

  “He’s dead,” Ayla gestured to the faces staring at her as she emerged from the cave.

  Broud stared at her along with the rest, then a great fear gripped him. It was she who had found the cave, she whom the spirits favored. And after he cursed her, they shook the earth and destroyed the cave she found. Were they angry at him for wanting her cursed? Did they destroy the cave she had found because they were angry at him? What if the rest of the clan thought he had brought this calamity down on them? In the deepest recesses of his superstitious soul, he quavered before the ill omen and feared the anger of the spirits he was sure he had unleashed. Then, in an impulsive flash of twisted reasoning, he thought if he blamed her before anyone could blame him, no one could say it was his fault, and the spirits would turn on her.

  “She did it! It’s her fault!” Broud gestured suddenly. “She’s the one who made the spirits angry. She’s the one who flouted the traditions. You all saw her. She was insolent, she was disrespectful to the leader. She should be cursed. Then the spirits will be happy again. Then they will know how we honor them. Then they will lead us to a new cave, even better, even luckier. They will. I know they will. Curse her, Goov! Now, do it now! Curse her! Curse her!”

  Every head turned to Brun. He stared straight ahead, jaws clenched, fists doubled up, the muscles of his back shaking with tension. He refused to move, refused to interfere, though it took every bit of willpower he had. The clan looked uneasily at each other, then Goov, then Broud. Goov stared at Broud in absolute disbelief. How could he blame Ayla. If anyone, it was Broud’s fault. Then Goov understood.

  “I am the leader, Goov! You are the mog-ur. I order you to curse her. Curse her with death!”

  Goov turned abruptly, picked up a burning, pitchy pine branch from the fire that had been started while Ayla was in the cave, walked up the slope, and disappeared into the dark triangular mouth. He picked his way carefully around fallen rubble, watching the occasional fall of rocks and gravel, knowing an aftershock could bring tons down on his head, and wishing it would before he did the thing he had been ordered to do. He went into the place of the spirits and lined up the sacred bones of the cave bear in parallel rows, making formal gestures with each one. The last bone was put into the base and out the left eye socket of a cave bear skull. Then he said aloud the words known only to mog-urs, the terrible names of the evil spirits. The recognition that gave them power.

  Ayla was still standing in front of the cave as he walked past her with unseeing eyes.

  “I am the mog-ur. You are the leader. You have ordered Ayla cursed with death. It is done,” Goov motioned, then turned his back on the leader of the clan.

  No one could believe it at first. It was too fast. That wasn’t the way it should be done. Brun would have discussed it, reasoned it out, prepared the clan for it. But he wouldn’t have cursed her in the first place. What had she done? She was insolent to the leader and it was wrong, but was it cause for death? She had just been defending Creb. And what had Broud done to her? Taken her child from her and turned the old magician out of his hearth to get even with her. Now, no one had a hearth. Why did Broud do it? Why did he curse her? The spirits had always favored her, she brought good luck, until Broud said he wanted to curse her, until he told the mog-ur to curse her. Broud brought the bad luck on them. Now what would happen to them? Broud had made the protective spirits angry and then unleashed the evil ones. And the old magician was dead, The Mog-ur couldn’t help them now.

  Ayla was so lost in her grief, she wasn’t aware of the rapid currents swirling around her. She saw Broud order her cursed, arid saw Goov tell him it was done, but her grief-filled mind didn’t comprehend. Slowly, the meaning impinged on her consciousness. When it penetrated, with all its ramifications, the impact was devastating.

  Cursed? Death cursed? Why? What did I do that was so bad? How did it happen so fast? The clan was as slow to comprehend as she. They hadn’t fully recovered from the earthquake. Ayla watched them with a curious detachment as, one after the other, eyes became glazed and unseeing. There goes Crug. Who’s going to be next. Uka. Now Droog, but not Aga yet. There she goes, she must have seen me look at her.

  Ayla wasn’t moved into action until Uba’s eyes went blank and she began to keen for the mother of the boy she held in her arms. Durc! My baby, my son! I’m cursed, I’ll never see him again. What will happen to him? There’s only Uba left. She’ll take care of him, but what can she do against Broud? Broud hates him because he’s my son. Ayla looked wildly around, and saw Brun. Brun! Brun can protect Durc. No one else but Brun can protect him.

  Ayla ran to the stoic, strong, sensitive man who, until the day before, had led the clan. She dropped to the ground at his feet and bowed her head. It took a moment before she realized he would never tap her shoulder. When she looked up, he was looking over her head at the fire behind her. If he wanted, his eyes could see her. He can see me, Ayla thought. I know he can. Creb remembered everything I said to him, so did Iza.

  “Brun, I know you think I’m dead, a spirit. Don’t look away! I beg you, don’t look away! It happened too fast! I’ll go, I promise I’ll go, but I’m afraid for Durc. Broud hates him, you know he does. What will happen to him with Broud as leader? Durc is Clan, Brun. You accepted him. I beg you, Brun, protect Durc. Only you can do it. Don’t let Broud hurt him!”

  Brun slowly turned his back on the pleading woman, turning his gaze away as though he was shifting position, not as if he was trying to avoid looking at her. But she saw the barest glimmer of recognition in his eyes, a hint of a nod. It was enough. He would protect Durc, he had promised the spirit of the boy’s mother. It was true it was too fast, she hadn’t had time to ask him before. He would bend his decision not to interfere with Broud that much. He would not let the son of his mate harm Ayla’s son.

  Ayla got up and walked purposefully toward the cave. She hadn’t decided to leave until she told Brun she would, but once she did, it made up her mind. Her grief over Creb’s death was pushed into a corner of her mind, to be brought out later when her survival was not at stake. She would go, perhaps to the world of the spirits, perhaps not, but she would not go unprepared.

  She hadn’t been as aware of the destruction inside the cave the first time she went in. She stared at the unfamiliar place, grateful that the clan had been outside. Taking a deep breath, she hurried to Creb’s hearth, ignoring the treacherous condition of the cave. If she didn’t get what she needed to survive, she’d be dead for sure.

  She moved a rock from her bed, shook out her fur wrap, and began to pile things on it. Her medicine bag, her sling, two pairs of foot coverings, leggings, hand coverings, a fur-lined wrap, a hood. Her cup and bowl, waterbags, tools. She went to the back of the cave and found the supply of concentrated, high-energ
y traveling cakes of dried meat, fruit, and fat. She searched through the rubble and found birchbark packets of maple sugar, nuts, dried fruit, ground parched grain, strips of dried meat and fish, and a few vegetables. It was not too great a variety so late in the season, but adequate. She dumped dust and rocks out of her collecting basket and began to pack it.

  She picked up Durc’s carrying cloak and held it to her face, feeling the tears well up. She’d have no need for it, she wasn’t taking Durc. She packed it. At least she could take something that had been close to him. She dressed herself warmly. It was still early in the season; it would be cold on the steppes. North, it might still be winter. She hadn’t made any conscious decision about her direction; she knew she was going to the mainland north of the peninsula.

  At the last moment, she decided to take the hide shelter she used when she went with the men on hunting trips, though technically it wasn’t hers. She could take anything that belonged to her; whatever was left behind would be burned. And she felt a share of the food was rightfully hers, too, but the shelter was Creb’s for the use of the people of his hearth. Creb was gone and he never did have a use for it; she didn’t think he would mind.

  She packed it on top of her collecting basket, then hoisted the heavy load on her back and tied the thongs that held it securely in place. Tears threatened again as she stood in the middle of the hearth that had been her home since a few days after Iza found her. She would never see it again. A kaleidoscope of memories tumbled through her mind, stopping for an instant at significant scenes. She thought last of Creb. I wish I knew what caused you such pain, Creb. Maybe someday I’ll understand, but I’m so glad we talked the other night, before you left for the spirit world. I’ll never forget you, or Iza, or the clan. Then Ayla walked out of the cave.

  No one looked at her, but everyone knew when she reappeared. She stopped at the still pool just outside the cave to fill her waterbags, and had another memory. Before dipping in and disturbing the mirrored surface, she leaned over and looked at herself. She studied her features carefully; she didn’t seem so ugly this time, but it wasn’t herself she was interested in. She wanted to see the face of the Others.

  When she stood up, Durc was struggling to get free of Uba’s restraining arms. Something was going on that concerned his mother. He wasn’t sure what, but he didn’t like it. With a jerk, he broke loose and ran to Ayla.

  “You’re going away,” he accused, beginning to understand and indignant that he hadn’t been told. “You’re all dressed and going away.”

  Ayla hesitated only a fraction of an instant, then held out her arms as he flew into them. She picked him up and hugged him tight, fighting back tears. She put him down and hunkered down to his level, looking directly into his large brown eyes.

  “Yes, Durc, I’m going away. I have to go away.”

  “Take me with you, Mama. Take me with you! Don’t leave me!”

  “I can’t take you with me, Durc. You have to stay here with Uba. She will take care of you. Brun will, too.”

  “I don’t want to stay here!” Durc gestured fiercely. “I want to go with you. Don’t go away and leave me!”

  Uba was coming toward them. She had to, she had to take Durc away from the spirit. Ayla hugged her son again.

  “I love you, Durc. Never forget that, I love you.” She picked him up and put him in Uba’s arms. “Take care of my son for me, Uba,” she motioned, looking into her sad eyes that looked back and saw her. “Take care of him … my sister.”

  Broud watched them, getting more furious. The woman was dead, she was a spirit. Why wasn’t she acting like one? And some of his clan weren’t treating her like one.

  “That’s a spirit,” he gestured angrily. “She’s dead. Don’t you know she’s dead?”

  Ayla marched straight to Broud and stood tall before him. He was having trouble not seeing her, too. He tried to ignore her, but she was looking down at him, not sitting at his feet as a woman should.

  “I’m not dead, Broud,” she gestured defiantly. “I won’t die. You can’t make me die. You can make me go away, you can take my son from me, but you can’t make me die!”

  Two emotions vied within Broud, fury and fear. He raised his fist in an overwhelming urge to strike her, then held it there, afraid to touch her. It’s a trick, he told himself, it’s a spirit’s trick. She’s dead, she was cursed.

  “Hit me, Broud! Go ahead, acknowledge this spirit. Hit me and you’ll know I’m not dead.”

  Broud turned to Brun, to look away from the spirit. He lowered his arm, uncomfortable that he could not make it look natural. He hadn’t touched her, but he was afraid just raising his clenched fist had acknowledged her, and he tried to pass the bad luck on to Brun.

  “Don’t think I didn’t see you, Brun. You answered her when she was talking to you, before she went into the cave. She’s a spirit, you’ll bring bad luck,” he denounced.

  “Only on myself, Broud, and what more could I have? But when did you see her talk to me? When did you see her go into the cave? Why did you threaten to strike a spirit? You still don’t understand, do you? You acknowledged her, Broud, she has beaten you. You did everything you could to her, you even cursed her. She’s dead, and still she won. She was a woman, and she had more courage than you, Broud, more determination, more self-control. She was more man than you are. Ayla should have been the son of my mate.”

  Ayla was surprised at Brun’s unexpected eulogy. Durc was squirming to get away again, calling out to her. She couldn’t bear it and hurried to leave. As she passed Brun, she bowed her head and made a gesture of gratitude. When she reached the ridge, she turned and looked back one more time. She saw Brun raise his hand as if to scratch his nose, but it looked as if he made a gesture, the same gesture Norg had made when they left the Clan Gathering. It looked as if Brun had said, “Walk with Ursus.”

  The last thing Ayla heard as she disappeared behind the broken ridge was Durc’s plaintive wail—

  “Maama, Maaama, Maamaaa!”

  Turn the page to read an exciting preview from Jean M. Auel’s latest novel—

  The Land of Painted Caves

  Available spring 2011 from Crown Publishers

  1

  The band of travelers walked along the path between the clear sparkling water of Grass River and the black-streaked white limestone cliff, following the trail that paralleled the right bank. They went single file around the bend where the stone wall jutted out closer to the water’s edge. Ahead a smaller path split off at an angle toward the crossing place, where the flowing water spread out and became shallower, bubbling around exposed rocks.

  Before they reached the fork in the trail, a young woman near the front suddenly stopped, her eyes opening wide as she stood perfectly still, staring ahead. She pointed with her chin, not wanting to move. “Look! Over there!” she said in a hissing whisper of fear. “Lions!”

  Joharran, the leader, lifted his arm, signaling the band to a halt. Just beyond the place where the trail diverged, they now saw pale-tawny cave lions moving around in the grass. The grass was such effective camouflage, however, that they might not have noticed them until they were much closer, if it hadn’t been for the sharp eyes of Thefona. The young woman from the Third Cave had exceptionally good vision, and though she was quite young, she was noted for her ability to see far and well. Her innate talent had been recognized early and they had begun training her when she was a small girl; she was their best lookout.

  Near the back of the group, walking in front of three horses, Ayla and Jondalar looked up to see what was causing the delay. “I wonder why we’ve stopped,” Jondalar said, a familiar frown of worry wrinkling his forehead.

  Ayla observed the leader and the people around him closely, and instinctively moved her hand to shield the warm bundle that she carried in the soft leather blanket tied to her chest. Jonayla had recently nursed and was sleeping, but moved slightly at her mother’s touch. Ayla had an uncanny ability to interpret meaning from body
language, learned young when she lived with the Clan. She knew Joharran was alarmed and Thefona was frightened.

  Ayla, too, had extraordinarily sharp vision. She could also pick up sounds above the range of normal hearing and feel the deep tones of those that were below. Her sense of smell and taste were also keen, but she had never compared herself with anyone, and didn’t realize how extraordinary her perceptions were. She was born with heightened acuity in all her senses, which no doubt contributed to her survival after losing her parents and everything she knew at five years. Her only training had come from herself. She had developed her natural abilities during the years she studied animals, chiefly carnivores, when she was teaching herself to hunt.

  In the stillness, she discerned the faint but familiar rumblings of lions, detected their distinctive scent on a slight breeze, and noticed that several people in front of the group were gazing ahead. When she looked, she saw something move. Suddenly the cats hidden by the grass seemed to jump into clear focus. She could make out two young and three or four adult cave lions. As she started moving forward, she reached with one hand for her spear-thrower, fastened to a carrying loop on her belt, and with the other for a spear from the holder hanging on her back.

  “Where are you going?” Jondalar asked.

  She stopped. “There are lions up ahead just beyond the split in the trail,” she said under her breath.