Part 32 (1/2)
”No, he hasn't bothered me much,” Ayla motioned. She didn't know how to explain the fear she felt every time he looked at her. She could even feel the hair rising on the back of her neck if he stared at her when she wasn't looking.
Creb stayed late with Goov in the place of the spirits that evening. Ayla fixed a light meal for Durc and herself and put something aside for Creb to eat when he returned, though she doubted if he'd bother to eat it. She had awakened that morning with a feeling of anxiety that grew worse as the day wore on. The cave seemed to close in on her and her mouth felt dry as dust. She only managed to choke down a few bites, then suddenly jumped up and ran to the mouth of the cave and stared out at the leaden sky and the heavy, soaking rain making small craters in the saturated mud. Durc crawled into her bed and was already asleep when she returned to the hearth. As soon as he felt her crawl in beside him, he snuggled closer and made a half-conscious gesture that ended with the word, ”Mama.”
Ayla wrapped her arm around him, feeling his beating heart as she held him, but sleep was long in coming for her. She lay awake looking at the shadowed contours of the rough rock wall in the dim light of the dying fire. She was awake when Creb finally returned, but she lay still, listening to him shuffling around, and finally drifted off to sleep after he had crawled into his bed.
She woke up screaming!
”Ayla! Ayla!” Creb called, shaking her to bring her fully awake. ”What's wrong, child?” he motioned, his eye full of concern.
”Oh, Creb,” she sobbed, and threw her arms around his neck. ”I had that dream. I haven't had that dream for years.” Creb put his arm around her and felt her trembling.
”What's wrong with Mama?” Durc motioned, sitting up wide-eyed with fear. He had never heard his mother scream before. Ayla put her arm around him.
”What dream, Ayla? The one about the cave lion?” Creb asked.
”No, the other one, the one I can never exactly remember.” She started shaking again. ”Creb, why should I have that dream now? I thought I was all over having bad dreams.”
Creb put his arm around her to comfort her again. Ayla hugged him back. They both suddenly realized how long it had been, and held each other with Durc between them.
”Oh, Creb, I can't tell you how often I've wanted to hug you. I thought you didn't want me; I was afraid you'd push me away like you did when I was an insolent little girl. There's something else I've wanted to tell you. I love you, Creb.”
”Ayla, I had to make myself push you away even then; but I had to do something, or Brun would have. I never could be angry with you, I loved you too much. I still love you too much. I thought you were upset because you lost your milk and it was my fault.”
”It wasn't your fault, Creb. It was mine. I never blamed you.”
”I blamed myself. I should have realized a baby has to keep nursing or the milk will stop, but you seemed to want to be alone with your grief.”
”How could you know? None of the men know much about babies. They like to hold them and play with them when they're full and happy, but let them start fussing and all the men are quick to give them back to their mothers. Besides, it didn't hurt him. He's just starting his weaning year, and he's big and healthy even though he's been weaned for a long time.”
”But it hurt you, Ayla.”
”Mama, you hurt?” Durc interrupted, still worried about her scream.
”No, Durc, Mama's not hurt, not anymore.”
”Where did he learn to call you that word, Ayla?”
She flushed slightly. ”Durc and I play a game of making sounds sometimes. He just decided to call me by that one.”
Creb nodded. ”He calls all the women mother; I guess he needed to find something to call you. It probably means mother to him.”
”It does to me, too.”
”You made a lot of sounds and words when you first came. I think your people must talk with sounds.”
”My people are Clan people. I am a woman of the Clan.”
”No, Ayla,” Creb gestured slowly. ”You are not Clan, you are a woman of the Others.”
”That's what Iza told me the night she died. She said I wasn't Clan; she said I was a woman of the Others.”
Creb looked surprised. ”I didn't think she knew. Iza was a wise woman, Ayla. I only found out that night you followed us into the cave.”
”I didn't mean to go into that cave, Creb. I don't even know how I got there. I don't know what hurt you so much, but I thought you stopped loving me because I went into that cave.”
”No, Ayla, I didn't stop loving you, I loved you too much.”
”Durc hungry,” the child interrupted. He was still disturbed by his mother's scream, and the intense conversation between her and Creb bothered him.
”You're hungry? I'll see if I can find something for you.”
Creb watched her as she got up and went to the fireplace. I wonder why she was brought to live with us, Creb thought. She was born to the Others, and the Cave Lion has always protected her; why would he bring her here? Why not back to them? And why would he let himself be defeated, let her have a baby, then allow her to lose her milk? Everyone thinks it's because he's unlucky, but look at him. He's healthy, he's happy, everyone loves him. Maybe Dorv was right, maybe the spirit of every man's totem mixed with her Cave Lion. She was right about that, he's not deformed, he's a mixture. He can even make sounds like she can. He's part Ayla and part Clan.
Suddenly, Creb felt the blood drain from his face and gooseflesh rise. Part Ayla and part Clan! Is that why she was brought to us? For Durc? For her son? The Clan is doomed, it will be no more, only her kind will go on. I know it, I felt it. But what about Durc? He's part of the Others, he will go on, but he's Clan, too. And Ura, she looks like Durc, and she was born not long after that incident with the men of the Others. Are their totems so strong they can overcome a woman's in so short a time? It may be; if their women can have Cave Lion totems, they may have to be. Is Ura a mixture, too? And if there is a Durc and a Ura, there must be others, too. Children of mixed spirits, children that will go on, children that will carry the Clan on. Not many, perhaps, but enough.
Perhaps the Clan was doomed before Ayla saw the sacred ceremony, and she was led there only to show me. We will be no more, but as long as there are Durcs and Uras, we will not die. I wonder if Durc has the memories? If only he were older, old enough for a ceremony. It doesn't matter; Durc has more than the memories, he has the Clan. Ayla, my child, the child of my heart, you do carry luck and you brought it to us. Now I know why you came-not to bring us our death, but to give us our one chance for life. It will never be the same, but it is something.
Ayla brought her son a piece of cold meat. Creb seemed lost in thought but looked at her when she sat down.
”You know, Creb,” she said thoughtfully. ”Sometimes I think Durc isn't just my son. Ever since I lost my milk, and he got used to going from hearth to hearth to nurse, he eats at every hearth. Everyone feeds him. He reminds me of a cave bear cub, it's like he's the son of the whole clan.”
Ayla felt a great outpouring of sadness from Creb's one dark, liquid eye. ”Durc is the son of the whole clan, Ayla. He's the only son of the Clan.”
The first light of predawn glowed through the opening of the cave, filling in the triangular s.p.a.ce. Ayla lay awake looking at her son sleeping beside her in the glowing light. She could see Creb in his bed beneath his fur and from his regular breathing knew he was asleep, too. I'm glad Creb and I finally talked, she thought, feeling as though a terrible load had been lifted from her shoulders, but the queasiness in the pit of her stomach that she had been feeling the whole day and night grew worse. She had a dry lump in her throat and thought if she stayed in the cave another instant, she'd suffocate. She slipped quietly out of bed, quickly threw on a wrap and some foot coverings, and moved silently toward the entrance.
She took a deep breath as soon as she stepped beyond the cave's mouth. Her relief was so great, she didn't care that icy rain soaked through her leather wrap. She slogged through the mucky quagmire in front of the cave toward the stream, s.h.i.+vering from a sudden chill. Patches of snow, blackened by soot sifting out from the many fires, sent muddy runnels of water down the slope adding their small measure to the drenching downpour that swelled the ice-locked channel.
Her leather foot coverings gave small purchase on the reddish brown ooze, and she slipped and fell halfway down to the stream. Her limp hair, plastered against her head, hung in thick ropes extending into rivulets that cut through the mud clinging to her wrap before the rain washed it away. She stood for a long time on the bank of the watercourse struggling to break free of its frozen keep, and watched the dark water swirl around chunks of ice, finally break them loose, and send them careening to some unseen destination.
Her teeth were chattering when she struggled back up the slippery slope, watching the overcast sky grow imperceptibly lighter beyond the ridge to the east. She had to force herself through an invisible barrier that blocked the mouth of the cave, and felt the sense of uneasiness again the moment she entered.
”Ayla, you're soaked. Why did you go outside in this rain?” Creb gestured. He picked up a piece of wood and put it on the fire. ”Get out of that wet wrap and come here by the fire. You'll catch a cold.”
She changed, then sat beside Creb at the fire, grateful that the silence between them was no longer strained.
”Creb, I'm so glad we talked last night. I went down to the stream; the ice is breaking loose. Summer's coming, we'll be able to take some long walks again.”
”Yes, Ayla, summer's coming. If you want, we'll take long walks again. In summer.”
Ayla felt a chill. She had a horrible feeling she would never take a long walk with him again, and she had the feeling Creb knew it, too. She reached for him, and they held each other as though for the last time.
By midmorning the rain eased to a dreary drizzle and by afternoon stopped altogether. A wan, tired sun broke through the solid cloud cover but did little to warm or dry the drenched earth. Despite the dismal weather and spa.r.s.e fare, the clan was excited by so notable an occasion for a feast. A change in leaders.h.i.+p was rare enough, but a new mog-ur at the same time made it exceptional. Oga and Ebra would have a part to play in the ceremony, and Brac as well. The seven-year-old would be the next heir apparent.
Oga was a tight bundle of stretched nerves. She jumped up every other moment to check every fireplace where food was cooking. Ebra tried to calm her, but Ebra wasn't so settled herself. Trying to seem more grown-up, Brac was issuing commands to the small children and busy women. Brun finally stepped in and called him off to the side to practice his part once more. Uba took the children to Vorn's hearth to get them out of the way, and after most of the preparations were completed, Ayla joined her. Aside from helping to cook, Ayla's only role would be to make datura for the men since Creb had told her not to make the drink from the roots.
By evening, only a few wisps of clouds remained to dart fitfully before the full moon that lit the bare, lifeless landscape. Inside the cave, a large fire burned in a s.p.a.ce behind the last hearth, defined by a circle of torches.
Ayla sat alone on her fur staring at the small hearth fire that snapped and crackled nearby. She still hadn't been able to shake her uneasiness. She decided to walk to the cave's entrance to look at the moon until the festivities began, but just as she stood up, she saw Brun's signal and turned heavy steps the other way. When everyone was in their correct places, Mog-ur came out of the place of the spirits followed by Goov, both cloaked in bearskins.
As the great holy man called forth the spirits for the last time, the years seemed to fall from him. He made the eloquent, familiar gestures with more power and force than the clan had seen for years. It was a masterful performance. He played his audience with the skill of a virtuoso, drawing forth their response with perfect timing in peak after suspenseful peak of evocative emotion, to a climax that wrung out their last drop and left them drained. Beside him, Goov was a faded copy. The young man was an adequate mog-ur, even a good one, but he couldn't match The Mog-ur. The most powerful magician the Clan had ever known had conducted his last and finest ceremony. When he turned it over to Goov, Ayla wasn't the only one who cried. The dry-eyed clan wept with their hearts.