The Clan Of The Cave Bear_ A Novel Part 8

"Durc would not pay attention. 'The mog-ur will not find the spirits. He will never return. We are leaving now. Come with us to find a new place where Ice Mountain cannot live.'

"'No,' they replied. 'We will wait.'

"Mothers and their mates grieved for the young men and women who left, sure they were doomed. They waited for the mog-ur, but after many days had pa.s.sed and the mog-ur still hadn't returned, they began to doubt. They began to wonder if they should have left with Durc.

"Then, one day, the Clan saw a strange animal approaching, an animal who was not afraid of the fire. The People were frightened and stared in wonder. They had never seen such an animal before. But when it came closer, they saw it wasn't an animal at all, it was the mog-ur! He was covered with the fur of a cave bear. He had finally come back. He told the Clan what he had learned from Ursus, the Spirit of the Great Cave Bear.

"Ursus taught the People to live in caves, to wear the fur of animals, to hunt and gather in the summer and save food for winter. The People of the Clan always remembered what Ursus taught them, and though Ice Mountain tried, he could not drive the People from their home. No matter how much cold and snow Ice Mountain sent before him, the People would not move, they would not get out of his way.

"Finally, Ice Mountain gave up. He sulked and wouldn't fight the Sun anymore. Storm Cloud became angry because Ice Mountain would not fight and refused to help him anymore. Ice Mountain left the land and went back to his home in the north, and the great cold left with him. The Sun exulted at his victory and chased him all the way to his northern home. There was no place he could hide from the great heat and he was defeated. For many, many years there was no winter, only long days of summer.

"But Granular Snow grieved for her lost child, and the grief made her weak. Light Dry Snow wanted her to have another son and asked Storm Cloud Spirit for help. Storm Cloud felt pity for his sibling and he helped Light Dry Snow to bring her nourishment to make her strong. He covered the face of the Sun again while Light Dry Snow hovered near, sprinkling his spirit for Granular Snow to swallow. She gave birth again to another Ice Mountain, but the People remembered what Ursus taught them. Ice Mountain will never drive the Clan from their home.

"And what happened to Durc and those who left with him? It is said by some they were eaten by wolves and lions, and by some they were drowned in the great waters. Others say that when they reached the land of the Sun, he became angry because Durc and his people wanted his land. He sent a ball of fire down from the sky to devour them. They disappeared and no one ever saw them again."

"You see, Vorn," Ayla noticed Aga telling her son as she always did after the legend of Durc was told. "You must always pay attention to your mother and to Droog and Brun and Mog-ur. You must never disobey and never leave the clan or you may disappear, too."

"Creb," Ayla said to the man seated beside her. "Do you think Durc and his people might have found a new place to live? He disappeared, but no one ever saw him die, did they? He could have lived, couldn't he?"

"No one ever saw him disappear, Ayla, but hunting is difficult when there are only two or three men. Maybe during the summer they could kill enough small animals, but the big animals they would need to store up enough to carry them through the winter would be much harder and very dangerous. And they would have had to live through many winters before they ever reached the land of the Sun. Totems want a place to live. They would probably desert people who wandered homeless. You wouldn't want your totem to desert you, would you?"

Ayla unconsciously reached for her amulet. "But my totem didn't desert me, even though I was alone and had no home."

"That was because he was testing you. He found you a home, didn't he? The Cave Lion is a strong totem, Ayla. He chose you, he may decide to protect you always because he chose you, but all totems are happier with a home. If you pay attention to him, he will help you. He will tell you what is best."

"How will I know, Creb?" Ayla asked. "I have never seen a Cave Lion Spirit. How do you know when a totem is telling you something?"

"You cannot see the spirit of your totem because he is part of you, inside you. Yet, he will tell you. Only you must learn to understand. If you have a decision to make, he will help you. He will give you a sign if you make the right choice."

"What kind of sign?"

"It's hard to say. Usually it will be something special or unusual. It may be a stone you have never seen before or a root with a special shape that has meaning for you. You must learn to understand with your heart and mind, not your eyes and ears, then you will know. Only you can understand your own totem, no one can tell you how. But when the time comes and you find a sign your totem has left you, put it in your amulet. It will bring you luck."

"Do you have signs from your totem in your amulet, Creb?" the girl motioned, staring at the lumpy leather pouch that hung around the magician's neck. She let the squirming baby get up and go to Iza.

"Yes," he nodded. "One is a tooth from a cave bear given to me when I was chosen to be an acolyte. It wasn't stuck in a jawbone; it was lying on some stones at my feet. I didn't see it when I sat down. It is a perfect tooth, with no decay and no wear. It was a sign from Ursus that I had made the right decision."

"Will my totem give me signs, too?"

"No one can tell. Perhaps, when you have important decisions to make. You will know when the time comes, as long as you have your amulet so your totem can find you. Take care that you never lose your amulet, Ayla. It was given to you when your totem was revealed. It holds the part of your spirit he recognizes. Without it, your totem's spirit will not find his way back when he travels. He will get lost and look for his home in the spirit world. If you lose your amulet and do not find it quickly, you will die."

Ayla shuddered, felt the small pouch hanging from a st.u.r.dy thong around her neck, and wondered when she would get a sign from her totem. "Do you think Durc's totem gave him a sign when he decided to leave to find the land of the Sun?"

"No one knows, Ayla. It is not a part of the legend."

"I think Durc was brave to try to find a new home."

"He may have been brave, but he was foolish," Creb answered. "He left his clan and the home of his ancestors and took a great risk. For what? To find something different. He wasn't content to stay. Some young men think Durc was brave, but when they get older and wiser, they learn."

"I think I like him because he was different," Ayla said. "It's my favorite legend."

Ayla saw the women getting up to start the evening meal and jumped to follow them. Creb shook his head after the girl. Every time he thought Ayla was really learning to accept and understand the ways of the Clan, she said or did something that made him wonder. It wasn't that she did anything wrong or bad, just not Clan. The legend was supposed to show the fallacy of trying to change the old ways, but Ayla admired the foolhardiness of the young man in the story who wanted something new. Will she ever get over her unClanlike ideas? he wondered. She has learned quickly, though, Creb admitted.

Girls of the Clan were expected to be well-versed in the skills of adult women by the time they were seven or eight. Many came of age then and were mated soon after. In the nearly two years since they found her-alone, near starvation, unable to find food for herself-she had learned not only how to find food, but how to prepare and preserve it. She was capable of many other important skills as well, and if not as proficient at them as the older, more experienced women, she was at least as adept as some of the younger ones.

She could skin and dress a hide and make wraps, cloaks, and pouches used in various ways. She could cut thongs of even widths in one long spiral from a single hide. Her cords made of long animal hair, sinew, or fibrous bark and roots were strong and heavy or thin and fine depending on their use. Her baskets, mats, and nets woven from tough gra.s.ses, roots, and barks were exceptional. She could make a rough hand-axe from a nodule of flint or flake off a sharp-edged piece to use as a knife or sc.r.a.per so well even Droog was impressed. She could gouge bowls out of sections of logs and smooth them to a fine finish. She could make fire by twirling a sharpened stick between her palms against another piece of wood until a smoldering hot coal developed that fired dry tinder; easier to do if two people alternated the tedious, difficult ch.o.r.e of keeping the sharpened stick moving under a constant firm pressure. But more surprising, she was picking up Iza's medical lore with what seemed to be a natural instinct. Iza was right, Creb thought, she's learning even without the memories.

Ayla was slicing pieces of yam to put into a skin pot that was boiling over a cooking fire. After cutting away the parts that had spoiled, there wasn't much left of each one. The back of the cave, where they were stored, was cool and dry, but vegetables started to soften and rot so late in the winter. Her daydreaming about the coming season had begun a few days before when she had noticed a trickle of water in the ice-locked stream, one of the first signs that it would soon be breaking free. She could hardly wait for spring with its first greens, new buds, and the sweet maple sap that rose and oozed out of notches cut into the bark. It was collected and boiled long in large skin pots until it became a thick, viscous syrup or crystallized into sugar, and stored in birchbark containers. Birch had a sweet sap, too, but not as sweet as maple.

She was not alone in being restless and bored with the long winter, and the inside of the cave. Earlier that day the wind had shifted to the south for a few hours, bringing warmer air from the sea. The melting water ran down the long icicles hanging from the apex of the cave's triangular mouth. They froze again when the temperature dropped, lengthening and thickening the glistening, pointed shafts that had been growing all winter, when the wind veered and brought the chilling blasts from the east again. But the breath of warm air turned the thoughts of everyone to the end of winter.

The women were talking and working, moving their hands rapidly in quick conversational gestures while preparing the food. Toward the end of winter, when food supplies ran low, they combined resources and cooked communally, though still eating separately, except for special occasions. There were always more feasts in winter-it helped to break up the monotony of their confinement-though as the season drew to a close, their feasts were often meager fare. But they had enough food. Fresh meat from small game or an aging deer that the hunters managed to bring in between blizzards was welcomed, though not essential. They still had an adequate supply of dried food on hand. The women were still caught up in the storytelling mood and Aba was telling a woman's story.

"...but the child was deformed. His mother took him out as she was told by the leader, but she could not bear to leave him to die. She climbed high up in a tree with him and tied him to the topmost branches that even cats could not reach. He cried when she left him, and by night he was so hungry he howled like a wolf. No one could sleep. He cried day and night, and the leader was angry with the mother, but as long as he cried and howled, his mother knew he was still alive.

"On the naming day, the mother climbed the tree again early in the morning. Her son was not only still alive, but his deformity was gone! He was normal and healthy. The leader hadn't wanted her son in his clan, but since the baby was still alive, he had to be named and accepted. The boy became a leader himself when he grew up and was always grateful to his mother for putting him where nothing could harm him. Even after he mated, he always brought her part of every hunt. He never cuffed her, never scolded her, always treated her with honor and respect," Aba finished.

"What baby could live through his first days without being fed?" Oga asked, looking at Brac, her own healthy son who had just fallen asleep. "And how could her son become a leader if his mother was not mated to a leader or to a man who would someday become a leader?"

Oga was proud of her new son, and Broud even more proud that his mate had given birth to a son so soon after their mating. Even Brun relaxed his stoic dignity around the baby, his eyes softening as he held the infant who a.s.sured the continuity of the leadership of the clan.

"Who would be the next leader if you did not have Brac, Oga?" Ovra asked. "What if you had no sons, only daughters? Maybe the mother was mated to the second-in-command and something happened to the leader." She was a little envious of the younger woman. Ovra didn't have a child yet, though she had become a woman and had been mated to Goov before Oga and Broud were mated.

"Well, anyway, how could a baby that was born deformed suddenly become normal and healthy?" Oga countered.

"I suspect the story was made up by a woman who had a deformed son and wished he were normal," Iza said.

"But it's an ancient legend, Iza. It has been told for generations. Maybe long ago things happened that are no longer possible. How do we know for sure?" Aba said, defending her tale.

"Some things may have been different long ago, Aba, but I think Oga is right. A baby that is born deformed isn't suddenly going to become normal, and it's not likely he could live until his naming day without nursing. But it is an old story. Who knows, there may be some truth in it," Iza conceded.

When the food was ready, Iza carried it back to Creb's hearth as Ayla picked up the husky toddler and followed behind. Iza was thinner, not as strong as she once was, and it was Ayla who carried Uba most of the time. There was a special attachment between the two. Uba followed the girl everywhere and Ayla never seemed to tire of the youngster.

After they ate, Uba went to her mother to nurse, but soon started fussing. Iza began to cough, making the baby more restless. Finally, Iza pushed the fussing, whining baby toward Ayla.

"Take this child. See if Oga or Aga will nurse her," Iza motioned with irritation, breaking into a hacking cough.

"Are you all right, Iza?" Ayla motioned with a worried look.

"I'm just an old woman, too old to have such a young baby. My milk is drying up, that's all. Uba's hungry; last time Aga fed her, but I think she has already nursed Ona and may not have much milk left. Oga says she has more than enough milk; bring this baby to her tonight." Iza noticed Creb eyeing her closely and looked the other way as Ayla carried the baby to Oga.

She was very careful of the way she walked, keeping her head down with the proper att.i.tude as she neared Broud's hearth. She knew the least infraction would bring down the young man's wrath. She was sure he looked for reasons to scold or hit her, and she did not want him to tell her to take Uba away because of something she did. Oga was happy to nurse Iza's daughter, but with Broud watching, there was no conversation. When Uba had her fill, Ayla carried her back, then sat rocking back and forth, crooning softly under her breath, which always seemed to soothe the baby, until she fell asleep. Ayla had long since forgotten the language she spoke when she first came, but she still crooned when she held the baby.

"I'm just an old woman who gets irritable, Ayla," Iza said as the girl laid Uba down. "I was too old when I gave birth, my milk is drying up already, and Uba shouldn't have to be weaned yet. She's not even through her walking year, but it can't be helped. Tomorrow I'll show you how to make special food for babies. I don't want to give Uba to another woman if I can help it."

"Give Uba to another woman! How can you give Uba to someone else, she belongs with us!"

"Ayla, I don't want to give her up either, but she must get enough to eat and she's not getting it from me. We can't just keep bringing her to one woman or another to nurse when my milk isn't enough. Oga's baby is young yet, that's why she has so much milk. But as Brac grows older, her milk will adjust to his needs. Like Aga, she won't have much extra unless she has another baby always nursing," Iza explained.

"I wish I could nurse her!"

"Ayla, you may be almost as tall as one, but you're not a woman yet. And you're not showing any signs of becoming one soon. Only women can be mothers and only mothers can make milk. We'll start giving Uba regular food and see how she does, but I wanted you to know what to expect. Food for babies must be prepared a special way. Everything must be soft for her; her milk teeth can't chew very well. Grains must be ground very fine before they are cooked, dried meat has to be crushed to a meal and cooked with a little water into a paste, fresh meat must be sc.r.a.ped away from the tough fibers, vegetables mashed. Are there any acorns left?"

"There was a pile of them last time I looked, but the mice and squirrels steal them and many are rotten," Ayla said.

"Find what you can. We'll leach out the bitterness and grind them up to add to the meat. Yams will be good for her, too. Do you know where those small clamsh.e.l.ls are? They should be small enough for her mouth; she'll have to learn to eat from them. I'm glad winter is almost over, spring will bring more variety-for all of us."

Iza saw the worried concentration on the girl's earnest face. More than once, especially this past winter, she had been grateful for Ayla's willing help. She wondered if Ayla had been given to her while she was pregnant so she could be a second mother to the baby she had so late in life. It was more than just old age that drained Iza. Though she brushed off references to her failing health, and never mentioned the pain in her chest or the blood she sometimes spit up after a particularly bad coughing spell, she knew Creb was aware that she was far more sick than she let on. He's aging, too, Iza thought. This winter has been hard on him, too. He sits too much in that little cave of his with only a torch to keep him warm.

The old magician's s.h.a.ggy mane was shot with silver. His arthritis, coupled with his lame leg, made walking an agonizing trial. His teeth, worn down from years of using them to hold things, in place of his missing hand, had begun to ache. But Creb had long ago learned to live with suffering and pain. His mind was as powerful and perceptive as ever, and he worried about Iza. He watched the woman and the girl discussing how to make baby food, noticing how Iza's robust body had shrunk. Her face was gaunt, and her eyes were sunk into deep hollows that emphasized her overhanging brow ridges. Her arms were thin, her hair was turning gray, but it was her persistent cough that bothered him most. I'll be glad when this winter is over, he thought. She needs some warmth and sun.

The winter finally released its frozen grip on the land, and the warming days of spring brought torrents of rain. Ice floes from farther up the mountain careened down the flooding stream long after the snow and ice were gone at the elevation of the cave. The runoff from the melted acc.u.mulation turned the saturated soil that fronted the cave into a soggy, slippery sink of oozing mud. Only the stones that paved the entrance kept the cave reasonably dry as the groundwater seeped inside.

But the sucking quagmire couldn't keep the clan in the cave. After their long winter confinement, they spilled out to greet the first warm rays of sun and softer sea breezes. Before the snows were entirely melted, they were squishing barefoot through the cold ooze or slogging in soaked boots that not even the extra layer of rubbed-in fat could keep dry. Iza was busier treating colds in the warming days of spring than she had been in the freezing winter.

As the season waxed and the sun soaked up the moisture, the pace of the clan's life increased. The slow quiet winter spent telling stories, gossiping, making implements and weapons, and in other sedentary activities to pa.s.s the time, gave way to the busy active bustle of spring. Women went foraging to collect the first green shoots and buds, and men exercised and practiced to prepare for the first major hunt of the new season.

Uba thrived on her new diet, only nursing out of habit or for the warmth and security. Iza coughed less, though she was weak and had little energy to range too far afield, and Creb began to take his shambling walks along the stream with Ayla again. She loved the springtime better than any other season.

Since Iza had to stay close to the cave most of the time, Ayla fell into the habit of roaming the hillsides looking for plants to replenish Iza's pharmacopoeia. Iza was concerned about her going off alone, but the other women were busy foraging for food, and medicinal plants didn't always grow in the same places as food plants. Iza went with Ayla occasionally, mostly to show her new plants and to identify familiar ones at an earlier stage so she would know where to look for them later. Though Ayla carried Uba, Iza's few trips were tiring for her. Reluctantly, she allowed the girl to go alone more and more.

Ayla found that she enjoyed the solitude of ranging the area by herself. It gave her a sense of freedom to be away from the ever-watchful clan. She often went along with the women when they gathered, too; but whenever she could, she hurried through the tasks that were expected of her so she could have time to search the woods alone. She brought back not only plants she knew, but anything unfamiliar so Iza could tell her about it.

Brun made no open objections; he understood the need for someone to find the plants for Iza to work her healing magic. Iza's illness had not escaped his notice either. But Ayla's eagerness to go off by herself disturbed him. Women of the Clan did not relish being alone. Whenever Iza had gone to look for her special materials, she did it with reservations and a little fear, always returning as quickly as possible if she went alone. Ayla never shirked her duties, always behaved properly, there was nothing she did that Brun could identify as wrong. It was more a feeling, a sense that her att.i.tude, her approach, her thoughts were, not wrong, but different, that kept Brun on edge about her. Whenever the girl went out, she always returned with the folds of her wrap and her collecting basket full, and as long as her forays were so necessary, Brun could not object.

Occasionally, Ayla brought back more than plants. Her idiosyncrasy, that had so amazed the clan, had become a habit. Though they had become accustomed to it, the clan was still a little surprised when she returned with a wounded or ailing animal to nurse back to health. The rabbit she had found shortly after Uba's birth was only the first of many to come. She had a way with animals; they seemed to sense she wanted to help them. And once the precedent had been set, Brun felt disinclined to change it. The only time she was refused was when she brought in a wolf cub. The line was drawn at carnivorous animals that were compet.i.tion for the hunters. More than once an animal that had been tracked, perhaps wounded, and finally within reach, was s.n.a.t.c.hed at the last moment by a quicker carnivore. Brun would not allow the girl to help an animal that might someday steal a kill from his clan.

Once, when Ayla was down on her knees digging up a root, a rabbit with a slightly crooked hind leg bounded out of the brush and sniffed at her feet. She remained very still, then, making no sudden moves, she slowly extended her hand to pet the animal. Are you my Uba-rabbit? she thought. You've grown into a big, healthy man-rabbit. Did that close call teach you to be more wary? You should be wary of people, too, you know. You might end up over a fire, she continued to herself as she stroked the rabbit's soft fur. Something startled the animal and he sprang away, dashing headlong in one direction, then making an about-face in one bound to charge back the way he had come.

"You move so fast, I don't understand how anyone can catch you. How do you turn around like that?" she motioned after the rapidly retreating rabbit and laughed. Suddenly, she realized it was the first time she had laughed aloud in a long time. She seldom laughed when she was around the clan anymore; it always drew disapproving looks. She found many things humorous that day.

"Ayla, this wild cherry bark is old. It's just not any good anymore," Iza gestured early one morning. "When you go out today, why don't you get some fresh? There's a grove of cherry trees near that clearing to the west, across the stream. Do you know where I mean? Get the inner bark, it's best this time of year."

"Yes, mother, I know where they are," she replied.

It was a beautiful spring morning. The last of the crocus nestled white and purple beside the tall graceful stems of the first bright yellow jonquils. A spa.r.s.e carpet of new green gra.s.s, just beginning to shoot its tiny leaves through the moist soil, painted a thin watercolor wash of verdancy on the rich brown earth of clearings and knolls. Flecks of green dotted the bare branches of bushes and trees with the first buds straining to begin life anew, and p.u.s.s.y willows white-tipped others with their fake fur. A benign sun beamed encouragement to the earth's new beginnings.

Once she was out of sight of the clan, Ayla's carefully controlled walk and demure posture relaxed into a free-swinging gait. She skipped down a gradual slope and ran up the other side, smiling unconsciously with her freedom to move naturally. She scanned the vegetation she pa.s.sed with an apparent casualness that belied her actively working mind as she categorized and filed away for future references the growing plants.

There's the new pokeweed coming up, she thought as she pa.s.sed the marshy hollow where she had gathered its purple berries the previous autumn. I'll dig some roots on the way back. Iza says the roots are good for Creb's rheumatism, too. I hope the fresh cherry bark will help Iza's cough. She's getting better, I think, but she's so skinny. Uba's getting so big and heavy, Iza shouldn't lift her at all. Maybe I'll bring Uba with me next time, if I can. I'm so glad we didn't have to give her to Oga. She's really starting to talk now. It'll be fun when she gets a little bigger and we can go out together. Look at those p.u.s.s.y willows. Funny how they feel like real fur when they're small like that, but they grow out green. The sky is so blue today. I can smell the sea in the wind. I wonder when we'll be going fishing. The water should be warm enough to swim in soon. I wonder why no one else likes to swim? The sea tastes salty, not like the stream, but I feel so light in it. I can hardly wait until we go fishing. I think I love sea fish best of all, but I like eggs, too. And I like climbing the cliff to get the eggs. The wind feels so good way up high on the cliff. There's a squirrel! Look at him run up that tree! I wish I could run up a tree.

Ayla wandered over the wooded slopes until midmorning. Then, suddenly realizing how late it was getting, she headed purposefully toward the clearing to get the cherry bark Iza wanted. As she neared, she heard activity and an occasional voice, and caught a glimpse of the men within the clearing. She started to leave, but remembered the cherry bark and stood undecided for a moment. The men won't like it if they see me around here, she thought. Brun might get angry and not let me go out alone anymore, but Iza needs the cherry bark. Maybe they won't stay long. I wonder what they're doing, anyway? Quietly, she crept in closer and hid behind a large tree, peeking out through the tangled bare brush.

The men were practicing with their weapons in preparation for a hunt. She remembered watching them make new spears. They had chopped down slim, supple, straight young trees, stripped them of branches and sharpened one end by charring it in a fire, and sc.r.a.ping the burnt end to a point with a st.u.r.dy flint sc.r.a.per. The heat also hardened the point so it would resist splintering and fraying. She still cringed when she remembered the commotion she had caused by touching one of the wooden shafts.

Females did not touch weapons, she was told, or even any tools that were used to make weapons, though Ayla could see no difference between a knife used to cut the leather to make a sling and a knife used to cut the leather to make a cloak. The newly made spear, offended by her touch, had been burned, much to the irritation of the hunter who made it, and Creb and Iza had both subjected her to long, gestured lectures in an effort to instill in her a sense of the abomination of her act. The women were aghast that she would consider such a thing, and Brun's glower left no doubt of his opinion. But, most of all, she hated the look of malicious pleasure on Broud's face as the recriminations rained down upon her. He was positively gloating.

The girl stared uneasily from behind the brushy screen at the men on the practice field. Besides their spears, the men had their other weapons. Except for a discussion at the far end between Dorv, Grod, and Crug about the relative merits of spear versus club, most of the men were practicing with slings and bolas. Vorn was with them. Brun had decided it was time to begin teaching the boy the rudiments of the sling, and Zoug was explaining them to the youngster.

The men had been taking Vorn along with them to the practice field occasionally since he was five, but most of the time he practiced with his miniature spear, jabbing it into the soft earth or a rotten tree stump to get the feel of handling the weapon. He was always pleased to be included, but this was the first attempt to teach the youngster the more difficult art of using a sling. A post had been pounded into the ground, and not far away was a heap of smooth round stones picked up from streams along the way.

Zoug was showing Vorn how to hold the two ends of the strip of leather together and how to place a pebble into the slight bulge in the middle of a well-worn sling. It was an old one that Zoug had planned to throw away until Brun asked him to start the boy's training. The old man thought it would still be serviceable if he cut it shorter to match Vorn's smaller size.

Ayla watched and found herself caught up in the lesson. She concentrated on Zoug's explanations and demonstrations with as much attention as the lad. On Vorn's first attempt, the sling got tangled and the stone dropped. It was difficult for him to get the knack of whirling the weapon around to build up the momentum of centrifugal force necessary to hurl the stone. The pebble kept dropping before he could get up enough speed to keep it in the cup of the leather strip.

Broud was standing off to the side watching. Vorn was his protege, and it kept Broud the object of Vorn's adoration. It was Broud who had made the small spear the boy carried with him everywhere, even to his bed, and it was the young hunter who showed Vorn how to hold the spear, discussing the balance and thrust with him as though the boy were an equal. But now, Vorn was directing his admiring attention to the older hunter and Broud felt displaced. He had wanted to be the one to teach the boy everything and was angry when Brun told Zoug to instruct him in the use of the sling. After Vorn made several more unsuccessful tries, Broud interrupted the lesson.

"Here, let me show you how to do it, Vorn," Broud motioned, brushing the old man aside.

Zoug stepped back and shot a piercing look at the arrogant young man. Everyone stopped and stared, and Brun was glaring. He did not like Broud's cavalier treatment of the clan's best marksman. He had told Zoug to train the boy, not Broud. It's one thing to show an interest in the youngster, Brun thought, but he's carrying it too far. Vorn should learn from the best and Broud knows the sling is not his best weapon. He needs to learn that a good leader must utilize the skills of every man. Zoug is the most skilled and he will have time to teach the boy when the rest of us are hunting. Broud is becoming overbearing; he's too proud. How can I give him a higher rank if he doesn't show better judgment? He needs to learn he's not so important just because he will be leader, just because because he will be leader. he will be leader.

Broud took the sling from the lad and picked up a stone. He inserted it in the pocket of the sling and hurled it toward the post. It landed short of the mark. That was the most common problem men of the clan had with the sling. They had to learn to compensate for the limitation of their arm joints that prevented a full-swinging arc. Broud was angry at missing and felt a little foolish. He reached for another stone, flung it hurriedly, wanting to show he could do it. He was aware that he was being watched by everyone. The sling was shorter than he was accustomed to, and the stone went far to the left, still short of the post.

"Are you trying to teach Vorn or do you want a few lessons yourself, Broud?" Zoug gestured derisively. "I could move the post closer."

Broud fought to restrain his temper-he didn't like being the object of Zoug's ridicule and he was angry that he kept missing after he'd made such an issue of it. He cast another stone, this time overcompensating and sending it far beyond the post.

"If you'll wait until I'm through with the boy's lesson, I'll be glad to give you one," Zoug motioned, heavy sarcasm showing in his stance. "It looks like you could use it." The proud old man was feeling vindicated.

"How can Vorn learn on a rotten old sling like this?" Broud flared defensively, throwing the leather strap down with disgust. "No one could throw a stone with that worn-out old thing. Vorn, I'll make you a new sling. You can't be expected to learn on an old man's used-up sling. He can't even hunt anymore."

Now Zoug was angry. Retirement from the ranks of the active hunters was always a blow to a man's pride, and Zoug had worked hard to perfect his skill with the difficult weapon to retain a measure of it. Zoug had once been second-in-command like the son of his mate, and his pride was especially tender.

"It's better to be an old man man, than a boy who thinks he's a man," Zoug countered, reaching for the sling at Broud's feet.

The slur on his manhood was more than Broud could bear, it was the last straw. He could contain himself no longer and gave the old man a shove. Zoug was unbalanced, caught off guard, and fell down heavily. He sat where he landed, his legs stretched out in front of him, looking up with wide-eyed surprise. It was the last thing he'd expected.

Hunters of the Clan never attacked each other physically; such punishment was reserved for women who couldn't understand more subtle reproaches. Exuberant energies of young men were drained off with supervised wrestling bouts, or running-and-spear-thrusting compet.i.tions, or sling and bola meets that also served to increase hunting skills. Skill in hunting and self-discipline were the measure of manhood in the Clan that depended on cooperation for survival. Broud was almost as surprised as Zoug at his own rashness, and as soon as he realized what he had done, his face turned red with embarra.s.sment.

"Broud!" The word came out of the leader's mouth in a restrained roar. Broud looked up and cringed. He had never seen Brun so angry. The leader approached him, planting his feet firmly with each step, his gestures clipped and tightly controlled. The word came out of the leader's mouth in a restrained roar. Broud looked up and cringed. He had never seen Brun so angry. The leader approached him, planting his feet firmly with each step, his gestures clipped and tightly controlled.

"This childish display of temper is inexcusable! If you were not already the lowest-ranked hunter, I would put you there. Who told you to interfere with the boy's lesson in the first place? Did I tell you, or Zoug, to train Vorn?" Anger flashed from the leader's eyes. "You call yourself a hunter? You cannot even call yourself a man! Vorn controls himself better than you. A woman has more self-discipline. You are the future leader; is this how you will lead men? You expect to control a clan when you can't even control yourself? Don't be so sure of your future, Broud. Zoug is right. You are a child who thinks he's a man."

Broud was mortified. He had never been shamed so severely, and in front of the hunters, and Vorn. He wanted to run and hide, he'd never be able to live it down. He would rather have faced a charging cave lion than Brun's anger-Brun, who seldom showed his anger, who seldom had to. One penetrating look from the leader, who commanded with stoic dignity, capable leadership, and unswerving self-discipline, was enough to make any member of his clan, man or woman, jump to obey him. Broud hung his head submissively.

Brun glanced toward the sun, then made a signal to leave. The other hunters, uncomfortably watching the scathing reprimand Brun had delivered, were relieved to get away. They fell in behind the leader who set a fast pace back to the cave. Broud brought up the rear, his face still crimson.

Ayla crouched unmoving, rooted to the spot, hardly daring to breathe. She was petrified for fear they would see her. She knew she had witnessed a scene no woman would ever be allowed to see. Broud would never have been castigated like that in front of a woman. The men, no matter what the provocation, maintained a brotherhood of solidarity around women. But the episode had opened the girl's eyes to a side of the men she never realized existed. They were not the all-powerful, free agents who reigned with impunity, as she had thought. They too had to follow orders and they too could be reprimanded. Brun alone seemed to be the one omnipotent figure who ruled supreme. She didn't understand that Brun was under constraints far more binding than any of the others: the traditions and customs of the Clan, the unfathomable, unpredictable spirits that controlled the forces of nature, and his own sense of responsibility.

Ayla remained hidden long after the men left the practice field, afraid they might return. She was still apprehensive when she finally dared to step out from behind the tree. Though she didn't fully comprehend the implications of her new insight into the nature of the men of the clan, one thing she did understand; she had seen Broud as submissive as any woman, and that pleased her. She had learned to hate the arrogant young man who picked on her unmercifully, scolding her for the least infraction whether she knew it was wrong or not, and she often wore the bruises of his quick temper. She couldn't seem to please him, no matter how hard she tried.

Ayla walked across the clearing thinking about the incident. As she neared the post, she saw the sling still on the ground where Broud had flung it in anger. No one had remembered to retrieve it before they left. She stared at it, afraid to touch it. It was a weapon, and fear of Brun made her tremble at the thought of doing anything that might make him as angry at her as he had been at Broud. Her mind wandered back over the whole series of incidents she had just witnessed, and looking at the limp strap of leather reminded her of Zoug's instructions to Vorn, and Vorn's difficulty. Is it really so hard? If Zoug showed me, could I do it?

She was appalled at the temerity of her own thought and glanced around to make sure she was alone, fearful that even her thoughts would be known if someone saw her. Broud couldn't even do it, she recalled. She thought about Broud trying to hit the post and Zoug's disparaging gestures at his failure, and a fleeting smile crossed her face.

Wouldn't he be mad if I could do it when he couldn't? She liked the thought of bettering Broud at anything. Looking around once more, she glanced down at the sling apprehensively, then stooped down and picked it up. She felt the supple leather of the worn weapon and suddenly thought about the punishment that would descend on her if anyone saw her with a sling in her hand. She nearly dropped it again, looking quickly across the clearing in the direction the men had gone. Her eye fell on the small pile of stones.

I wonder, could I do it? Oh, Brun would be so mad at me, I don't know what he'd do. And Creb would say I was bad. I'm already bad, just for touching this sling. What can be so bad about touching a piece of leather? Just because it's used to throw stones. Would Brun beat me? Broud would. He'd be glad I touched it, it would give him an excuse to beat me. Wouldn't he be mad if he knew what I saw. They'd be so angry, could they be any madder if I tried it? Bad is bad, isn't it? I wonder, could I hit that post with a stone?