The Clan Of The Cave Bear_ A Novel Part 17

"But the traditions make no allowances," he continued. He made a signal to Mog-ur, and the magician entered the cave. "I have no choice, Ayla. Mog-ur is now setting the bones and speaking aloud the names of those who are unmentionable, names known only to mog-urs. When he is through, you will die. Ayla, girl of the Clan, you are Cursed, Cursed with Death."

Ayla felt the blood drain from her face. Iza screamed and sustained it in a high-pitched wail, keening for her lost child. The sound was abruptly cut off as Brun held up his hand.

"I am not finished," he motioned. In the sudden silence, glances of expectant curiosity pa.s.sed quickly among the clan. What else could Brun have to say?

"The traditions of the Clan are clear, and as leader, I must follow the customs. A female who uses a weapon must be cursed with death, but there are no customs that say for how long. Ayla, you are Cursed with Death for one whole moon. If, by the grace of the spirits, you are able to return from the otherworld after the moon has gone through its cycle once and is in the same phase as now, you may live with us again."

Commotion stirred the group; it was unexpected.

"That's true," Zoug motioned. "Nothing says the curse must be permanent."

"But what difference does it make? How can someone be dead for so long and live again? A few days, maybe, but a whole moon?" Droog questioned.

"If the curse was only for a few days, I'm not sure it would fulfill the punishment," Goov said. "Some mog-urs believe the spirit never goes to the next world if the curse is short. It just hovers around waiting for the time to pa.s.s so it can come back if it's able. If the spirit stays near, the evil ones will too. It's a limited death curse, but it's so long, it might as well be permanent. It satisfies the customs."

"Then why didn't he just curse her and be done?" Broud motioned angrily. "There's nothing in the traditions about temporary death curses for her crime. She's supposed to die for it, the death curse is supposed to be the end of her."

"You think it won't be, Broud? Do you really think she might come back?" Goov asked.

"I don't think anything. I just want to know why Brun didn't just curse her. Can't he make a simple decision anymore?"

Broud was fl.u.s.tered by the pointed question. It brought out in the open the idea everyone had privately wondered. Would Brun impose a temporary death curse if he didn't think there was some chance, no matter how remote, that she might return from the dead?

Brun had wrestled with his dilemma the whole night. Ayla had saved the baby's life; it wasn't right that she should die for it. He loved the child and he was sincerely grateful to her, but there was more to it than his personal feelings. The traditions demanded her death, but there were other customs, too: customs of obligation, customs that said a life for a life. She carried part of Brac's spirit; she deserved, she was owed, something of equal value-she was owed her life.

Only with the first faint light of dawn had he finally thought of a way. Some hardy souls had returned after a temporary death curse. It was a long chance, almost no chance at all, just the barest glimmer of hope. In return for the life of the child, he gave her the one slim chance he could. It wasn't enough, but he could offer no more, and it was better than nothing at all.

Suddenly a deadly silence fell. Mog-ur was standing at the mouth of the cave, and he looked like death himself, ancient and drawn. There was no need for him to signal. It was done. Mog-ur had fulfilled his duty. Ayla was dead.

Iza's wail pierced the air. Then Oga began and Ebra, then all the women joined Iza, keening in sympathy with her. Ayla saw the woman she loved overwrought with grief and ran to her to comfort her. But just as she was about to throw her arms around the only mother she could remember, Iza turned her back and moved away to avoid the embrace. It was as though she didn't see her. The girl was confused. She looked at Ebra questioningly; Ebra looked through her. She went to Aga, then Ovra. No one saw her. When she approached, they turned away or moved aside. Not deliberately to let her pa.s.s, but as though they had planned to move away before she came. She ran to Oga.

"It's me. It's Ayla. I'm standing right here. Don't you see me?" she motioned.

Oga's eyes glazed over. She turned around and walked away, making no response, no sign of recognition, as though Ayla were invisible.

Ayla saw Creb walking toward Iza. She ran to him.

"Creb! It's Ayla. I'm here," she gestured frantically. The old magician kept walking, barely turning aside to avoid the girl who crumpled at his feet, as he would an inanimate boulder in his path. "Creb," she wailed. "Why can't you see me?" She got up and ran back to Iza.

"Mother! Motherrr! Look at me! LOOK AT ME!" she gesticulated in front of the woman's eyes. Iza began a high-pitched wail again. She flailed her arms and pounded her chest.

"My child. My Ayla. My daughter is dead. She is gone. My poor, poor Ayla. She lives no more."

Ayla spied Uba hugging her mother's legs in fear and confusion. She knelt down in front of the little girl.

"You see me, don't you, Uba? I'm right here." Ayla saw recognition register in the child's eyes, but the next moment Ebra swooped down and carried the little girl away.

"I want Ayla," Uba motioned, struggling to get down.

"Ayla is dead, Uba. She's gone. That's not Ayla, it's only her spirit. It must find its way to the next world. If you try to talk to it, if you see it, the spirit will try to take you with it. It will bring you bad luck if you see it. Don't look at it. You don't want bad luck, do you, Uba?" Ayla slumped to the ground. She hadn't really known what a death curse meant and had imagined all kinds of horrors, but the reality was far worse.

Ayla had ceased to exist for the clan. It was no sham, no act put on to frighten her, she did not exist. She was a spirit who happened to be visible, who still gave a semblance of life to her body, but Ayla was dead. Death was a change of state to the people of the Clan, a journey to another plane of existence. The life force was an invisible spirit, it was obvious. A person could be alive one moment and dead the next, with no apparent change, except that that which caused movement and breath and life was gone. The essence that was the real Ayla was no longer a part of their world; it had been forced to move on to the next. It mattered not at all if the physical part that remained behind was cold and unmoving or warm and animated.

It was only another step to believe the essence of life could be driven away. If her physical body didn't know it yet, it would soon enough. No one really believed she would ever return, not even Brun. Her body, the empty sh.e.l.l, could never remain viable until her spirit was allowed to return. Without the life spirit, the body couldn't eat, couldn't drink, and would soon deteriorate. If such a concept was firmly believed, and if loved ones no longer acknowledged existence, there was no existence, no reason to eat or drink or live.

But as long as the spirit stayed near the cave, animating the body though no longer a part of it, the forces that drove it away hovered nearby, too. They might harm those still living, might try to take another life with them. It was not unknown for the mate or another close loved one of someone who had been cursed to die soon afterward themselves. The clan didn't care if the spirit took the body with it, or left the unmoving sh.e.l.l behind, but they wanted the spirit of Ayla to go, and go quickly.

Ayla watched the familiar people around her. They moved away, began doing routine tasks, but there was a strain. Creb and Iza went into the cave. Ayla got up and followed. No one tried to stop her, only Uba was kept away. Children were thought to have extra protection, but no one wanted to push it too far. Iza gathered all of Ayla's belongings, including her sleeping furs and the stuffing of dried gra.s.s that lined the scooped-out hollow in the ground, and carried them outside the cave. Creb went with her, stopping to get a burning brand from the cave fire. The woman dumped everything beside an unlit fireplace Ayla hadn't noticed before and hurried back into the cave while Creb started a fire. He made silent gestures over her things and the fire, most of them unfamiliar to the girl.

With growing dismay, Ayla watched Creb start to feed each of her things to the hot flames. There would be no burial ceremony for her; that was part of the punishment, part of the curse. But all traces of her had to be destroyed, there must be nothing left that might hold her back. She watched her digging stick catch fire, then her collecting basket, the padding of dried gra.s.s, clothing, everything went into the fire. She saw Creb's hand tremble as he reached for her fur wrap. He clutched it to his breast for a moment, then threw it on the fire. Ayla's eyes overflowed.

"Creb, I love you," she gestured. He didn't seem to see. With a sinking feeling of horror, she watched him pick up her medicine bag, the one Iza had made for her just before the ill-fated mammoth hunt, and add it to the smoking flames.

"No. Creb, no! Not my medicine bag," she pleaded. It was too late, it was already burning.

Ayla could stand no more. She tore blindly down the slope and into the forest, sobbing her heartache and desolation. She didn't see where she was going and she didn't care. Branches reached out to block her way, but she plowed through them, tearing gashes in her arms and legs. She splashed through icy cold water, but didn't notice her soaked feet or feel them getting numb until she stumbled over a log and sprawled on the ground. She lay on the cold damp earth wishing death would hurry and relieve her of her misery. She had nothing. No family, no clan, no reason to live. She was dead, they said she was dead.

The girl was close to having her wish granted. Lost in her private world of misery and fear, she hadn't eaten or drunk since her return more than two days before. She wore no warm clothing, her feet ached with cold. She was weak and dehydrated, an easy target for a quick death from exposure. But there was something inside her stronger than her death wish, the same thing that had kept her going before, when a devastating earthquake left the five-year-old girl bereft of love and family and security. An indomitable will to live, a stubborn survival instinct would not let her quit while she still drew breath, still had life to go on.

The stop had rested her. Bleeding from scratches and shivering with cold, she sat up. Her face had landed on damp leaves and she licked her lips, her tongue reaching for the moisture. She was thirsty. She couldn't remember ever being so thirsty in her life. The gurgle of water nearby brought her to her feet. After a long, satisfying drink of cold water, she pushed on. She was shivering so hard her teeth chattered and it hurt to walk on her cold, aching feet. She was light-headed and disconcerted. Her activity warmed her a little, but her lowered body temperature was having its effects.

She didn't know for sure where she was, she had no destination in mind, but her feet followed a route traveled many times before, etched in her brain by repet.i.tion. Time had no meaning for her, she didn't know how long she had been walking. She climbed up along the base of a steep wall beyond a misty waterfall and became conscious of a familiar feeling to the area. Walking out of a spa.r.s.e coniferous forest intermixed with dwarfed birch and willow, she found herself at her high secluded meadow.

She wondered how long it had been since she visited the place. She had seldom gone there after she started hunting except for the time she taught herself the double-stone technique. It had always been a place for practicing, not hunting. Had she been there at all that summer? She couldn't recall. Pushing aside the thick, tangled branches that hid it even without foliage, Ayla went into her small cave.

It seemed smaller than she remembered. There's the old sleeping fur, she said to herself, thinking back to the time she had brought it up so long before. Some ground squirrels had made a nest in it, but when she took it outside and shook it out, she saw it was not too badly damaged-a little stiff with age, but the dry cave had preserved it. She wrapped it around herself, grateful for its warmth, and went back into the cave.

There was a leather hide, an old cloak she had brought to the cave to stuff gra.s.s under for a pad. I wonder if that knife is still here? she thought. The shelf is down, but it ought to be somewhere near it. There it is! Ayla picked the flint blade out of the dirt, brushed it off, and began to cut up the old leather cloak. She removed her wet foot coverings and threaded the thongs through holes cut into the circles she had cut, then wrapped her feet with dry ones, stuffing them with insulating sedge gra.s.s from under the cloak. She spread the wet ones out to dry and began to take stock.

I need a fire, she thought. The dry gra.s.s will make good tinder. She shoved it together and piled it next to a wall. The shelf is dry; I can shave it for kindling and use it as a base to start a fire, too. I need a stick to twirl against it. There's my birchbark drinking cup. I could use that for a fire, too. No, I'll save it for water. This basket is all chewed up, she thought, looking inside. What's this? My old sling. I didn't know I left it here. I guess I just made another one. She held the sling up. It's too small, and the mice got to it; I'll need a new one. She stopped and stared at the strip of leather in her hands.

I was cursed. Because of this, I was cursed. I'm dead. How can I be thinking about fires and slings? I'm dead. But I don't feel feel dead-I feel cold and hungry. Can a dead person feel cold and hungry? What does dead-I feel cold and hungry. Can a dead person feel cold and hungry? What does dead dead feel like? Is my spirit in the next world? I don't even know what my spirit is. I've never seen a spirit. Creb says no one can see spirits, but he can talk to them. Why couldn't Creb see me? Why couldn't anyone see me? I must be dead. Then why am I thinking about fires and slings? Because I'm hungry! feel like? Is my spirit in the next world? I don't even know what my spirit is. I've never seen a spirit. Creb says no one can see spirits, but he can talk to them. Why couldn't Creb see me? Why couldn't anyone see me? I must be dead. Then why am I thinking about fires and slings? Because I'm hungry!

Should I use a sling to get something to eat? Why not? I've already been cursed, what more can they do to me? But this one's no good; what can I use to make a new one? The cloak? No, it's too stiff, it's been out here too long. I need soft pliable leather. She looked around the cave. I can't even kill anything to make a sling if I don't have one. Where can I find soft leather? She racked her brain, then sat down in despair.

She looked down at her hands in her lap, then suddenly noticed what her hands were resting on. My wrap! My wrap is soft and pliable. I can cut a piece out of it. She brightened and started looking around the cave with enthusiasm again. Here's an old digging stick; I don't remember leaving one here. And some dishes. That's right, I did bring some sh.e.l.ls up. I am hungry, I wish there was something to eat around here. Wait! There is! I didn't collect the nuts this year, they should be all over the ground outside.

She hadn't realized it yet, but Ayla had begun to live again. She gathered the nuts, brought them into the cave, and ate as many as her stomach, shrunken from lack of food, could hold. Then she took off the old fur and her wrap and cut a piece from it for a sling. The strip didn't have the bulging pocket to hold the stones, but she thought it would work.

She had never hunted animals for food before, and the rabbit was quick, but not quick enough. She thought she remembered pa.s.sing a beaver dam. She got the aquatic animal just as it was diving for the water. On her way back, she saw a small, gray, chalky boulder near the creek. That's flint! I know that's flint. She picked up the nodule and hauled it back with her, too. She took the rabbit and beaver inside the cave and went back out to gather wood and find a hammerstone.

I need a fire stick, she thought. It should be good and dry; this wood is a little damp. She noticed her old digging stick. That should work, she said to herself. It was a little difficult to start a fire by herself; she was used to alternating the downward-pressured twirling motion with another woman to keep it spinning. After intense effort and concentration, a smoldering chunk of the fire platform slipped onto the bed of dry tinder. She blew at it carefully and was rewarded with small, licking flames. She added the dry kindling piece by piece, then larger pieces of the old shelf. When the fire was firmly established, she laid on the larger chunks of wood she had collected, and a cheerful fire warmed the small cave.

I'm going to have to make a cooking pot, she thought as she spitted the skinned rabbit and laid the beaver tail on top to add its fatty richness to the lean meat. I'm going to need a new digging stick and a collecting basket. Creb burned my collecting basket. He burned everything, even my medicine bag. Why did he have to burn my medicine bag? Tears began to well up and soon spilled down her cheeks. Iza said I was dead. I begged her to look at me, but she just said I was dead. Why couldn't she see me? I was standing right there, right in front of her. The girl cried for a while, then sat up straight and wiped away her tears. If I'm going to make a new digging stick, I'll need a hand-axe, she said to herself firmly.

While the rabbit was cooking, she knapped herself a hand-axe the way she had learned by watching Droog, and with it chopped down a green branch to make a digging stick. Then she gathered more wood and stacked it inside the cave. She could hardly wait for the meat to cook-the smell made her mouth water and her empty stomach growl. She was sure nothing had ever tasted so good when she took her first bite.

It was dark by the time she was through, and Ayla was glad for the fire. She banked it to be sure it wouldn't die before morning and lay down wrapped in the old fur, but sleep eluded her. She stared at the flames while the dismal events of the day marched through her mind in woeful procession, not realizing when tears started to flow. She was afraid, but more, she was lonely. She hadn't spent a night alone since Iza found her. Finally exhaustion closed her eyes, but her sleep was disturbed by bad dreams. She called out for Iza, and she called out for another woman in a language all but forgotten. But there was no one to comfort the desperately, achingly lonely girl.

Ayla's days were busy, filled with activity to ensure her survival. She was no longer the inexperienced, unknowledgeable child she was at five. During the years with the clan, she had had to work hard, but she had learned in the process. She wove tight waterproof baskets to carry water and for cooking, and made herself a new collecting basket. She cured the skins of animals she hunted and made rabbit-fur linings for the insides of her foot coverings, leggings wrapped and tied with cord, and hand coverings made in the style of foot coverings-circular pieces that tied at the wrist in a pouch, but with slits cut in the palms for thumbs. She made tools from flint and collected gra.s.s to make her bed softer.

The meadow gra.s.ses supplied food, too. They were top-heavy with seeds and grains. In the immediate vicinity were also nuts, high-bush cranberries, bearberries, hard small apples, starchy potatolike roots, and edible ferns. She was pleased to find milk vetch, the nonpoisonous variety of the plant whose green pods held rows of small round legumes, and she even collected the tiny hard seeds from dried pigweed to grind and add to grains that she cooked into mush. Her environment supplied her needs.

She decided shortly after she arrived that she needed a new fur wrap. Winter held back the worst of its weather, but it was cold and she knew the snow would not be long in coming. She thought first of a lynx fur; the lynx held a special meaning for her. But its meat would be inedible, at least to her taste, and food was as important to her as fur. She had little trouble taking care of her immediate needs as long as she was able to hunt, but she needed to lay in a store for the time ahead when snow would keep her in the cave. Food was now her reason for hunting.

She hated the thought of killing one of the gentle shy creatures that had shared her retreat for so long, and she wasn't sure if a deer could be killed with a sling. She was surprised they still used the high pasture when she saw the small herd, but decided she had to take advantage of the opportunity before they moved to lower elevations. A stone hurled with force at close range felled a doe, and a hard blow with a wooden club finished it off.

The fur was thick and soft-nature had prepared the animal for the cold winter-and venison stew made a welcome supper. When the smell of fresh meat brought a bad-tempered wolverine, a swift stone killed it and reminded her the first animal she ever killed was a wolverine who had been stealing from the clan. Wolverines were good for something, she had told Oga. Frost from breathing did not build up on the fur of a wolverine; their pelts always made the best hoods. This time I will make a hood from his pelt, she thought, dragging the slain scavenger back to the cave.

She built fires in a circle around her lines of drying meat to keep other carnivores away and to hasten the process of drying, and she rather liked the taste the smoke gave to the meat. She dug a hole in the rear of her cave, shallow, since the layer of earth was not deep at the back of the small crack in the mountain, and lined it with stones from the stream. After her meat was stored, she covered her cache with heavy rocks.

Her new fur, cured while the meat was drying, had a smoky odor, too, but it was warm and, with the old one, made her bed comfortable. The deer provided a waterbag, too, from its well-washed, waterproof stomach, and sinew for cord, and fat from the lump above its tail where the animal stored its winter supply. She worried about snow every day while her meat was drying, and slept outside within her circle of fires to keep them fed during the night. She felt relieved and much more secure once it was safely stashed away.

When a heavily overcast sky hid the moon, she became concerned about the pa.s.sage of time. She remembered exactly what Brun had said: "If, by the grace of the spirits, you are able to return from the otherworld after the moon has gone through its cycle once and is in the same phase as now, you may live with us again." She didn't know if she was in the "otherworld," but more than anything, she wanted to go back. She wasn't really sure if she could, didn't know if they would see her if she went back, but Brun said she could, and she clung to the leader's words. Only how would she know when she could return if the clouds covered the moon?

She remembered a time long before when Creb showed her how to make notches on a stick. She guessed that the collection of notched sticks he kept in a part of the hearth-off limits for the other members of his household-were tallies of the times between significant events. Once, out of curiosity, she decided to keep track of something like he did, and since the moon moved through repet.i.tive cycles, she decided it would be fun to see how many notches it would take to complete one cycle. When Creb found out, he scolded her severely. The reprimand reinforced her memory of the occasion as well as warning her not to do it again. She worried a whole day how she would ever know when she could return to the cave before she remembered that time and decided to notch a stick every night. No matter how she tried to control them, tears came to her eyes every time she made a mark.

Tears came to her eyes often. Small things triggered memories of love and warmth. A startled rabbit bounding across her path reminded her of long shambling walks with Creb. She loved his craggy, one-eyed, scarred old face. The thought of it filled her eyes to overflowing. Seeing a plant she had gathered for Iza, Ayla would burst into sobs remembering the woman explaining how it was used; and a freshet of new tears came when she recalled Creb burning her medicine bag. Nights were the worst.

She was accustomed to being alone during the day from her years of roaming the countryside gathering plants or hunting, but she had never been away from people at night. Sitting alone in her small cave staring at the fire and its glowing reflection dancing against the wall, she cried for the companionship of those she loved. In some ways, she missed Uba most of all. Often she hugged her fur to her chest and rocked back and forth, humming softly under her breath as she had done so often with Uba. Her environment supplied her physical needs but not her human needs.

The first snow sifted down silently during the night. Ayla exclaimed with delight when she stepped out of her cave in the morning. A pristine whiteness softened the contours of the familiar landscape creating a magical dreamland of fantastic shapes and mythical plants. Bushes had top hats of soft snow, conifers were dressed in new gowns of white finery, and bare exposed limbs were clothed in shining coats that outlined each twig against the deep blue sky. Ayla looked at her footprints, marring the perfect, smooth layer of glistening white, then ran across the snowy blanket, crossing and recrossing her own path to make a complex design whose original intent was lost in the execution. She started to follow the tracks of a small animal, then spontaneously changed her mind and climbed out on the narrow ledge of the rocky outcrop swept clean of snow by the wind.

The entire mountain range marching up behind her in a series of majestic peaks was covered with white, shadowed in blue. It sparkled in the sun like a gigantic, luminous jewel. The vista spread out before her showed the lowest reaches of the snowfall. The blue green sea, whipped to a frothy foam of waves, nestled between the cleft of snow-covered hills, but the steppes to the east were still bare. Ayla saw tiny figures scuttling across the white expanse directly below her. It had snowed at the cave of the clan, too. One of the figures seemed to shuffle with a slow limp. Suddenly the magic left the snowy landscape and she climbed back down.

The second snowfall had no magic at all. The temperature dropped sharply. Whenever she left the cave, fierce winds drove sharp needles into her bare face, leaving it raw. The blizzard lasted four days, piling snow so high against the wall, it nearly blocked the entrance to her cave. She tunneled out, using her hands and a flat hipbone of the deer she had killed, and spent the day gathering wood. Drying the meat had depleted the supply of fallen wood nearby, and floundering through deep snow left her exhausted. She was sure she had food enough to last her, but she hadn't been as careful about stockpiling wood. She wasn't sure she had enough, and if it snowed much more, her cave would be buried so deep she wouldn't be able to get out.

For the first time since she found herself at her small cave, she feared for her life. The elevation of her meadow was too high. If she got trapped in her cave, she'd never last through the winter. She hadn't had time to prepare for the entire cold season. Ayla returned to her cave in the afternoon and promised herself to get more wood the next day.

By morning, another blizzard was howling with full force, and the entrance to her cave was completely blocked. She felt closed in, trapped, and frightened. She wondered how deeply she was buried under the snow. She found a long branch and poked it up through the branches of the hazelnut bush, knocking snow into her cave. She felt a draft and looked up to see snow flying horizontally in the driving wind. She left the branch in the hole and went back to her fire.

It was fortunate she had decided to measure the height of the drift. The hole, kept open by the stick, brought fresh air into the tiny s.p.a.ce she occupied. The fire needed oxygen, and so did she. Without the air hole, she could easily doze into a sleep from which she'd never wake up. She had been in more danger than she knew.

She found she didn't need much of a fire to keep the cave warm. The snow, trapping minuscule air pockets between its frozen crystals, was a good insulator. Her body heat alone could almost have kept the small s.p.a.ce warm. But she needed water. The fire was more important to melt snow than to maintain heat.

Alone in the cave, lit only by the small fire, the only way she could tell the difference between day and night was by the dim light that filtered in through the air hole during the daytime. She was careful to mark a notch on her stick each evening when the light faded.

With nothing much to do except think, she stared long at the fire. It was warm and it moved and, enclosed in her tomblike world, it began to take on a life of its own. She watched it devour each stick of wood leaving only a residue of ash. Does fire have a spirit, too? she wondered. Where does the fire spirit go when it dies? Creb says when a person dies, the spirit goes to the next world. Am I in the next world? It doesn't feel any different; lonelier, that's all. Maybe my spirit is someplace else? How do I know? I don't feel like it, though. Well, maybe. I think my spirit is with Creb and Iza and Uba. But I'm cursed, I must be dead.

Why would my totem give me a sign, knowing I'd be cursed? Why would I think he gave me a sign if he didn't? I thought he tested me. Maybe this is another test. Or has he deserted me? But why would he choose me and then desert me? Maybe he didn't desert me. Maybe he went to the spirit world for me. Maybe he's the one who's fighting the evil spirits; he could do it better than I could. Maybe he sent me here to wait. Could it be that he's still protecting me? But if I'm not dead, what am I? I'm alone, that's what I am. I wish I weren't so alone.

The fire is hungry again, she wants something to eat. I think I'll have something to eat, too. Ayla got another piece of wood from her dwindling supply and fed it to the flames, and then went to check her air hole. It's getting dark, she thought, I'd better mark my stick. Is that blizzard going to blow all winter? She got her notched stick, made a mark, then fitted her fingers over the marks, first one hand, then the other hand, then the first hand again, continuing until she had covered all the marks. Yesterday was my last day. I can go back now, but how can I leave in this blizzard? She checked her air hole a second time. She could barely make out the snow still flying laterally in the growing dark. She shook her head and went back to the fire.

When she woke the next day, the first thing she did was check her air hole again, but the gale raged on. Will it never stop? It can't just go on like that, can it? I want to go back. What if Brun had made my curse permanent? What if I could never go back, even if it did stop blowing? If I'm not dead now, I would die for sure. There just wasn't enough time. I hardly had time to get enough to last a moon; I would never make it through the whole winter. I wonder why Brun made it a limited death curse? I wasn't expecting it. Could I really have come back if I went to the spirit world instead of my totem? How do I know my spirit didn't go? Maybe my totem has been protecting my body here while my spirit is away. I don't know. I just don't know. I only know if Brun hadn't made the curse temporary, I'd never have a chance.

A chance? Did Brun mean to give me a chance? With a flash of insight, everything came together with a new depth that revealed her growing maturity. I think Brun really meant it when he said he was grateful to me for saving Brac's life. He had to curse me, it's the Clan way, even if he didn't want to, but he wanted to give me a chance. I don't know if I'm dead. Do people eat or sleep or breathe when they're dead? She shivered with a chill not caused by the cold. I think most people just don't want to. And I know why.

Then what made me decide to live? It would have been so easy to die if I had just stayed where I fell when I ran away from the cave. If Brun hadn't told me I could come back, would I have gotten up again? If I didn't know there was some chance, would I have kept trying? Brun said, "by the grace of the spirits ..." What spirits? Mine? My totem's? Does it matter? Something made me want to live. Maybe it was my totem protecting me, and maybe it was just knowing I had a chance. Maybe it was both. Yes, I think it was both.

It took a while for Ayla to comprehend that she was awake, and then she had to touch her eyes to know they were open. She stifled a scream in the thick suffocating blackness of the cave. I'm dead! Brun cursed me, and now I'm dead! I'll never get out of here, I'll never get back to the cave, it's too late. The evil spirits, they tricked me. They made me think I was alive, safe in my cave, but I'm dead. They were mad when I wouldn't go with them by the stream, so they punished me. They made me think I was alive when all the while I was really dead. The girl shook with fear, huddled in her fur, afraid to move.

The girl had not slept well. She kept waking and remembering eerie, frightening dreams of hideous evil spirits and earthquakes, and lynxes that attacked and turned into cave lions, and snow, endless snow. The cave had a dank, peculiar odor, but the smell was the first thing that made her realize her other senses were functioning, if not her sight. The next was when she panicked, bolted upright, and banged her head on the stone wall.

"Where's my stick?" she motioned in the darkness. "It's night and I have to mark my stick." She scrambled around in the dark looking for her stick as though it was the most important thing in her life. I'm supposed to mark it at night; how can I mark it if I can't find it? Did I mark it already? How will I know if I can go home if I can't find my stick? No, that's not right. She shook her head trying to clear it. I can go home, it's past the time. But I'm dead. And the snow won't stop. It's just going to snow and snow and snow. The stick The other stick. I've got to see the snow. How can I see the snow in the dark?

She crawled around in the cave at random, b.u.mping into things, but when she reached the mouth, she saw a faint, dim glow high above. My stick, it must be up there. She climbed up the bush growing partway into the cave, felt the end of the long branch, and pushed it. Snow fell on her as the stick went through the snow and opened the air hole. She was greeted by a waft of fresh air and a bright blue patch of sky. The storm had finally blown itself out, and when the wind stopped blowing, the last of the snow sifting down had clogged the hole.

The fresh cold air cleared her head. It's over! It stopped snowing! It finally stopped snowing! I can go home. But how am I going to get out of here? She poked and prodded with the stick, trying to enlarge the hole. A large section loosened, fell through the opening, and plopped into the cave, covering her with the cold damp snow. I will bury myself if I'm not careful. I'd better think about this. She clambered down and smiled at the light streaming in through the enlarged opening. She was excited, eager to leave, but she forced herself to settle down and think everything through.

I wish the fire hadn't gone out, I'd like some tea. But I think there's some water in the waterbag. Yes, good, she thought and took a drink. I won't be able to cook anything to eat, but missing one meal won't hurt me. Anyway, I can eat some dried deer meat. It doesn't have to be cooked. She ran back to the mouth of the cave to make sure the sky was still blue. Now, what should I take with me? Don't have to worry about food, there's plenty stored, especially since the mammoth hunt.

Suddenly, everything came back to her in a rush-the mammoth hunt, killing the hyena, the death curse. Will they really take me back? Will they really see see me again? What if they won't? Where will I go? But Brun said I could come back, he said so. Ayla hung on to that idea. me again? What if they won't? Where will I go? But Brun said I could come back, he said so. Ayla hung on to that idea.

Well, I won't take my sling, that's for sure. What about my collecting basket; Creb burned my other one. No, I won't need it until next summer; I can make a new one then. My clothes, I'll take all my clothes, I'll wear them all, and maybe a few tools. Ayla got together all the things she wanted to take with her, then began to dress. She put on the rabbit-skin lining and both pairs of foot coverings, wrapped her legs with rabbit-fur leggings, put her tools in her wrap and then tied her fur around her securely. She put on her wolverine hood and her fur-lined hand coverings and started toward the hole. She turned and looked at the cave that had been her home for the past moon, then removed her hand coverings and walked back.

She didn't know why it was important to her to leave the small cave in order, but it gave her a sense of completion, like putting it away now that she was through with it. Ayla had an inherent sense of orderliness, reinforced by Iza who had to maintain a systematic arrangement of her store of medicines. Quickly, she arranged everything neatly, put her hand coverings back on, then turned purposefully toward the snow-blocked entrance. She was going to get out; she didn't know how yet, but she was going to get back to the cave of the clan.

I'd better go out the top through the hole, I'll never be able to tunnel through all that snow, she thought. She started climbing up the hazelnut bush and used the stick that had kept the air hole open to widen it. Standing on the highest branches, which sagged only a little in the deep snow under her weight, she poked her head out of the hole and caught her breath. Her mountain meadow was unrecognizable. From her perch, the snow sloped away in a gentle grade. She couldn't identify a single landmark; everything was covered with snow. How will I ever get through this? It's so deep. The girl was almost overwhelmed with dismay.

As she looked around, she began to get her bearings. That birch clump, next to the tall fir, it's not much bigger than I am. The snow can't be very deep over there. But how am I going to get there? She scrambled to get out of the hole she was standing in, tamping the snow down to a firmer base as she struggled. She crawled over the edge and sprawled on top of the snow. Her weight distributed over a larger area kept her from sinking through.

Carefully, she pulled herself to her knees and finally to her feet, standing only a foot or so below the level of the surrounding snow. She took a couple of short steps forward, stamping the snow down as she went. Her foot coverings were loose-fitting circles of leather gathered together at the ankle, and two pair made for somewhat clumsy walking, the second pair fitting even more loosely over the first in a ballooning effect. While not exactly snowshoes, they did tend to spread her weight over a larger area, and they made it easier for her to keep from floundering too deeply into the light powder snow.

But the going was hard. Stamping down as she went, taking short steps, occasionally sinking in up to her hips, she worked her way toward the place where the creek had been. The snow covering the frozen water wasn't as deep. The wind had piled a huge drift against the wall that held her cave, but in other areas it had swept the ground almost bare. She stopped there, trying to make up her mind whether to follow the frozen creek to the stream and then to the cave in the long way around, or take the steeper, more direct way down to the cave. She was eager, she could hardly wait to get back, and she decided on the shorter way. She didn't know how much more dangerous it would be.

Ayla started out carefully, but it was slow and difficult to pick her way down. By the time the sun was high in the sky, she was barely halfway down the route that in summer she could clamber down in the time it took to go from early twilight to dark. It was cold, but the bright rays of the noon sun warmed the snow, and she was getting tired and a little careless.

She started over a bare, windswept ridge that led to a steep, smooth, snow-covered slope, and skidded on a patch of scree. The loose gravel kicked loose a few larger rocks, which jolted a few more from their place. The rocks slammed into a mound of snow, jarring it from its insecure footing at the same time that Ayla lost hers. In an instant, she found herself sliding and rolling down the slope, swimming through a cascade of falling snow, amid the thunderous rumbling of an avalanche.

Creb was lying awake when Iza silently appeared with a cup of hot tea.

"I knew you were awake, Creb. I thought you might like something hot before you got up. The storm broke last night."

"I know, I can see blue sky around the wall."

They sat together sipping tea. They often sat quietly together lately. The hearth felt empty without Ayla. It was hard to believe one girl could leave so large a void. Creb and Iza tried to fill it with closeness, deriving comfort from contact with each other, but it was small comfort. Uba moped and whined. No one could convince the child Ayla was dead; she kept asking for her. She would toy with her food, wasting half by spilling or dropping it. Then she'd get cranky and want more, driving Iza to distraction until she lost her temper and scolded, and was immediately sorry. The woman's cough had returned, keeping her awake half the night.

Creb had aged more than it seemed possible in so short a time. He had not gone near the small cave since the day he set the white bones of the cave bear in two parallel rows, the last one on the left poking into the base of a bear skull and out its left eye socket, and spoke aloud the names of the evil spirits in clipped, gruff syllables, giving them recognition and power. He could not bring himself to look upon those bones again and had no desire to use the beautiful flowing movements used to commune with more beneficent spirits. He had been giving serious consideration to stepping down and turning the function of mog-ur over to Goov. Brun tried to convince him to reconsider when the old magician brought it up.

"What will you do, Mog-ur?"

"What does any man do when he retires? I'm getting too old to sit for long times in that cold cave. My rheumatism is getting worse."

"Don't be hasty, Creb," the leader motioned gently. "Think about it for a while."

Creb thought about it and had just about decided to announce it that day.

"I think I'll let Goov become the mog-ur, Iza," Creb motioned to the woman sitting beside him.