The Clan of the Cave Bear

11

The change in Ayla was unbelievable. She was a different person. She was contrite, she was docile, she raced to do Broud’s bidding. The men were convinced it was brought about by his tightened discipline. They nodded their heads knowingly. She was living proof of what they had always maintained: if men were too lenient, women became lazy and insolent. Women needed the firm guidance of a strong hand. They were weak, willful creatures, unable to exert the self-control of men. They wanted men to command them, to keep them under control, so they would be productive members of the clan and contribute to its survival.

It didn’t matter that Ayla was only a girl or that she was not truly Clan. She was nearly old enough to be a woman, already taller than most, and she was female. The women felt the effects as the men took their own ideas to heart. The men of the clan didn’t want to be guilty of leniency.

But Broud took the male philosophy to heart with a vengeance. Though he clamped down harder on Oga, it was nothing to the assault he launched on Ayla. If he had been hard on her before, he was doubly hard on her now. He kept after her constantly, hounded her, harassed her, sought her out with every kind of insignificant task to make her jump to his demands, cuffed her at the least infraction, or at no infraction- and he enjoyed it. She had threatened his manhood and now she was going to pay. Too often had she resisted him; too often had she defied him; too often had he fought to keep from hitting her. Now it was his turn. He had bent her to his will and he was going to keep her there.

Ayla did everything she could to please him. She even tried to anticipate his wants, but that backfired when he reprimanded her for assuming she could know what he wanted. The moment she stepped outside the boundaries of Creb’s hearth, he was ready, and she could not stay within the stones that marked off the magician’s private domain without reason. It was the last busy time of the season, with the final preparations for winter; there were just too many things that needed to be done to secure the clan from the fast-approaching cold. Iza’s stock of medicine was essentially complete, so there was little excuse for Ayla to leave the environs of the cave. Broud ran her ragged all day, and at night she collapsed in bed exhausted.

Iza was sure Ayla’s change of heart had less to do with Broud than he imagined. It was her love for Creb more than her fear of Broud. Iza told the old man Ayla had suffered from her unique sickness again when she thought he didn’t love her.

“You know she went too far, Iza. I had to do something. If Broud hadn’t begun disciplining her again, Brun would have. That could have been worse. Broud can only make her life miserable; Brun can make her leave,” he replied, but it gave the magician cause to wonder about the power of love having more force than the power of fear, and the theme occupied his thoughts during his meditations for days. Creb softened toward her almost immediately. It had been all he could do to maintain his indifferent aloofness from the beginning.

The first light siftings of snow were washed away by frigid downpours that changed to sleet or freezing rain with the cooling temperatures of evening. Morning found puddles crusted with thin shattery ice, portending a deeper cold, only to melt again when the capricious wind blew from the south and an irresolute sun decided to press its authority. All during the indecisive transition from late fall to early winter, Ayla never faltered in her proper feminine obedience. She acquiesced to Broud’s every whim, jumped at his every demand, bowed her head submissively, controlled the way she walked, never laughed or even smiled, and was totally unresisting-but it wasn’t easy. And though she struggled against it, tried to convince herself she was wrong, forced herself to be even more docile, she began to chafe under the yoke.

She lost weight, lost her appetite, was quiet and subdued even within Creb’s hearth. Not even Uba could make her smile, though she often picked the baby up the moment she returned to the hearth at night and held her until they both fell asleep. Iza worried about her, and when a day of bright sunshine followed one of freezing rain, she decided it was time to give Ayla a little respite before the winter closed in on them completely.

“Ayla,” Iza said loudly as they stepped outside the cave before Broud could make his first demand. “I was checking my medicines and I don’t have any snowberry stems for stomachaches. It’s easy to identify. It’s a bush covered with white berries that stay on after the leaves have fallen.”

Iza neglected to mention that she had many other remedies in stock for stomachaches. Broud frowned as Ayla raced into the cave for her collecting basket. But he knew that gathering Iza’s magic plants was more important than getting him a drink of water, or tea, or a piece of meat, or the fur skins he purposely forgot to wrap around his legs as leggings, or his hood, or an apple, or two stones from the stream to crack nuts because he didn’t like the stones near the cave, or any of the other inconsequential tasks he might think of for her to do. He stalked away when Ayla emerged from the cave with her basket and digging stick.

Ayla ran into the forest grateful to Iza for the chance to be alone. She glanced around her as she walked, but her mind wasn’t on snowberry bushes. She didn’t pay any attention to her direction and didn’t notice when her feet began to take her along a small creek to a mist-veiled mossy falls. Without thinking, she headed up the steep incline and found herself at her high mountain meadow above the cave. She had not been back since wounding the porcupine.

She sat on the bank near the creek, throwing stones into the water absentmindedly. It was cold. The previous day’s rain had been snow at the higher elevation. A thick blanket of white covered the open ground and patches between the snow-dusted trees. The still air glowed with a clarity that matched the sparkling snow reflecting, with untold millions of tiny crystals, the brilliant sun in a sky so blue it was almost purple. But Ayla couldn’t see the serene beauty of the early winter landscape. It only reminded her that soon the cold would force the clan into the cave and she would not be able to get away from Broud again until spring. As the sun rose higher in the sky, sudden showers of snow fell from branches and plopped to the ground beneath.

The long cold winter loomed bleakly ahead with Broud hounding her day in and day out. I just can’t satisfy him, she thought. It doesn’t matter what I do, how hard I try, nothing helps. What else can I do? She happened to glance at a patch of bare ground and saw a partially rotted pelt and a few scattered quills, all that remained of the porcupine. A hyena probably found him, she thought-or a wolverine. With a twinge of guilt, she thought about the day she hit it. I should never have taught myself to use a sling, it was wrong. Creb would be angry, and Broud…Broud wouldn’t be angry, he’d be glad if he ever found out. It would really give him an excuse to beat me. Wouldn’t he just love to know. Well, he doesn’t and he won’t. It gave her a feeling of pleasure to know she had done something he didn’t know about that would give him a reason to get after her. She felt like doing something, like slinging a stone to work out her frustrated rebellion.

She remembered throwing her sling under a bush and looked for it. She spied the piece of leather under a nearby bush and picked it up. It was damp, but exposure to the weather hadn’t damaged it yet. She pulled the smooth supple deerskin through her hands, liking the way it felt. She recalled the first time she picked up a sling, and a smile crossed her face when she thought about Broud quailing before Brun’s anger for knocking Zoug down: She wasn’t the only one who had ever provoked Broud’s rage.

Only with me, he can get away with it, Ayla thought bitterly. Just because I’m female. Brun was really angry when he hit Zoug, but he can hit me anytime he feels like it and Brun wouldn’t care. No, that’s not really true, she admitted to herself. Iza said Brun dragged Broud away to make him stop beating me, and Broud doesn’t hit me as much when Brun’s around. I wouldn’t even care if he just hit me, if he would just leave me alone sometimes.

She had been picking up pebbles and throwing them into the creek and found she had fitted one into the sling without thinking. She smiled, sighted a last withered leaf dangling from the end of a small branch, aimed, and hurled. A warm feeling of satisfaction came over her as she saw the stone tear the leaf off the tree. She picked up a few more pebbles, got up and walked to the middle of the field, and hurled them. I can still hit what I want to, she thought, then frowned. What good does that do? I never even tried to hit anything that was moving; the porcupine doesn’t count, it had almost stopped. I don’t even know if I could, and if I did learn to hunt, really hunt, what good would it do? I couldn’t bring anything back; all I’d do is make it easy for some wolf or hyena or wolverine, and they steal enough from us as it is.

Hunting and the animals that were killed were so important to the clan they had to be constantly on their guard against competing predators. Not only did large cats or wolf packs or hyenas sometimes snatch an animal from the hunters, but skulking hyenas or sneaky wolverines were always around when meat was drying, or they were trying to break into caches. Ayla rejected the idea of helping the competitors to survive.

Brun wouldn’t even let me bring a wolf cub into the cave when it was hurt, and lots of times hunters kill them even if we don’t need their pelts. The meat eaters are always giving us trouble. That thought stayed in her mind. Then another idea began to take shape. Meat eaters, she thought, meat eaters can be killed with a sling, except for the biggest ones. I remember Zoug telling Vorn. He said sometimes it’s better to use a sling, then you don’t have to get so close.

Ayla recalled the day Zoug was extolling the virtues of the weapon with which he was most proficient. It was true that with a sling a hunter didn’t have to get as close to sharp fangs or claws; but he didn’t mention that if the hunter missed, he could be subject to attack from a wolf or lynx without another weapon to back him up, though he did stress it would be unwise to attempt it on anything larger.

What if I hunted only meat eaters? We never eat them, so it wouldn’t be wasting, she thought, even if they would be left for carrion eaters to finish off. The hunters do it.

What am I thinking? Ayla shook her head to banish the shameful thought from her mind. I’m female, I’m not supposed to hunt, I’m not even supposed to touch a weapon. But I do know how to use a sling! Even if I’m not supposed to, she thought defiantly. It would help. If I killed a wolverine or a fox or anything, it couldn’t steal our meat anymore. And those ugly hyenas. I might even get one of those someday, think what a help that would be. Ayla imagined herself stalking the wily predators.

She had been practicing with the sling all summer, and though it was only a game, she understood and respected any weapon enough to know its real purpose was game- not target practice, but hunting. She sensed that the excitement of hitting posts or marks on rocks or branches would soon pall without further challenge. And even if it were possible, the challenge of competition for the sake of competition was a concept that would not take hold until the earth was tamed by civilizations that no longer needed to hunt for survival. Competition within the Clan was for the purpose of sharpening survival skills.

Though she couldn’t define it as such, part of her bitterness was caused by giving up the skill she had developed and was ready to expand. She had enjoyed stretching her capacities, training her coordination of hand and eye, and she was proud that she had taught herself. She was ready for the bigger challenge, the challenge of the hunt, but she needed a rationalization.

From the beginning, while she was just playing, she visualized herself hunting and the pleased and surprised looks of the clan when she brought home the meat she had killed. The porcupine made her realize how impossible such a daydream was. She could never bring back a kill and have her prowess recognized. She was female, and females of the Clan did not hunt. The idea of killing the clan’s competitors gave her a vague feeling that her skill would be appreciated, if not acknowledged. And it gave her a reason to hunt.

The more she thought about it, the more she convinced herself that hunting carnivores, even if secretly, was the answer, though she couldn’t quite overcome her feelings of guilt.

She struggled with her conscience. Creb and Iza had both told her how wrong it was for females to touch weapons. But I’ve already done more than touch a weapon, she thought. Can it be so much worse to hunt with it? She looked at the sling in her hand and suddenly made up her mind, fighting down her sense of wrongdoing.

“I will! I will do it! I will learn to hunt! But I will only kill meat eaters.” She said it emphatically, making the gestures to add finality to her decision. Flushed with excitement, she ran to the creek to look for more stones.

While searching for smooth round pebbles of just the right size, her eye was caught by a peculiar object. It looked like a stone, but it looked like the shell of a mollusc that might be found at the seashore, too. She picked it up and examined it carefully. It was a stone, a stone shaped like a shell.

What a strange stone, she thought. I’ve never seen a stone like this before. Then she remembered something Creb had told her and had a flash of insight so overwhelming, she felt her blood drain and a chill crawl down her spine. Her knees were so weak and she was shaking so hard, she had to sit down. Cupping the fossil cast of a gastropod in her hands, she stared at it intently.

Creb said, she remembered, when you have a decision to make your totem will help you. If it’s the right decision, he will give you a sign. Creb said it would be something very unusual, and no one else can tell you if it’s a sign. You have to learn to listen with your heart and your mind, and the spirit of your totem inside you will tell you.

“Great Cave Lion, is this a sign from you?” She used the formal silent language for addressing her totem. “Are you telling me I made the right decision? Are you telling me it’s all right for me to hunt, even if I am a girl?”

She sat quietly, staring at the shell-shaped stone in her hand, and tried to meditate as she had seen Creb do. She knew she was considered unusual because she had a Cave Lion totem, but she never thought much about it before. She reached under her wrap and felt the scars of the four parallel lines on her leg. Why would a Cave Lion choose me, anyway? He’s a powerful totem, a male totem, why would he pick a girl? There must be some reason. She thought about the sling and learning to use it. Why did I pick up that old sling that Broud threw away? None of the women would have touched it. What would make me do it? Did my totem want me to? Does he want me to learn to hunt? Only men hunt, but my totem is a male totem. Of course! That must be it! I have a strong totem and he wants me to hunt.

“O Great Cave Lion, the ways of the spirits are strange to me. I don’t know why you want me to hunt, but I am happy you gave me this sign.” Ayla turned the stone over in her hand again, then she took the amulet from around her neck, pried loose the knot that held the small pouch closed, and put the fossil cast into the leather bag beside the piece of red ochre. Tying it tightly again, she slipped it back over her head and noticed the difference in weight. It seemed to add weight to her totem’s sanction of her decision.

Her guilt was gone. She was supposed to hunt, her totem wanted her to. It didn’t matter if she was female. I’m like Durc, she thought. He left his clan even though everyone said it was wrong. I think he did find a better place where Ice Mountain couldn’t reach him. I think he started a whole new clan. He must have had a strong totem, too.

Creb says strong totems are hard to live with. He says they test you to make sure you are worthy before they give you something. He says that’s why I almost died before Iza found me. I wonder if Durc’s totem tested him. Will my Cave Lion test me again?

A test can be hard, though. What if I’m not worthy? How will I know if I’m being tested? What hard thing will my totem make me do? Ayla thought about what was hard in her life and it suddenly came to her.

“Broud! Broud is my test!” she gestured to herself. What could be harder than having to face a whole winter with Broud? But if I’m worthy, if I can do it, my totem will let me hunt.

There was a difference in the way Ayla walked when she returned to the cave, and Iza noticed it, though she couldn’t quite say what was different about it. It wasn’t less proper, it just seemed easier, not as tense, and there was a look of acceptance on the girl’s face when she saw Broud approaching. Not resignation, just acceptance. But it was Creb who noticed the extra bulge in her amulet.

As the winter closed in, they were both glad to see her return to normal, despite Broud’s demands. Though she was often tired, when she played with Uba her smiles were back, if not her laughter. Creb guessed she had come to some decision and found a sign from her totem, and her easier acceptance of her place in the clan gave him a feeling of relief. He was aware of her inward struggle, but he knew it was not only necessary to bend to Broud’s will, she had to stop fighting it. She had to learn self-control, too.

During the winter that began her eighth year, Ayla became a woman. Not physically; her body still had the straight, undeveloped lines of a girl, without the least hint of the changes to come. But it was during that long cold season that Ayla put her childhood aside.

At times her life was so unbearable, she wasn’t sure if she wanted it to continue. Some mornings, when she opened her eyes to the familiar rough texture of the bare rock wall above her, she wished she could go back to sleep and never wake up. But when she thought she couldn’t stand it any longer, she clutched her amulet, and the feel of the extra stone somehow gave her the patience to endure another day. And each day lived through brought her just that much closer to the time when the deep snows and icy blasts would change to green grass and sea breezes, and she could roam the fields and forests in freedom again.

Like the woolly rhinoceros, whose spirit he called his totem, Broud could be as stubborn as he could be unpredictably vicious. Characteristic of the Clan, once he settled on a particular course of action, he persisted with unswerving dedication, and Broud dedicated himself to keeping Ayla in line. Her daily ordeal of clouts and curses and constant harassment was obvious to the rest of the clan. Many felt she did deserve some discipline and punishment, but few approved of the lengths to which Broud went.

Brun was still concerned that Broud was letting the girl provoke him too much, but since the young man controlled his fury, the leader felt it was a definite improvement. But Brun hoped to see the son of his mate pursue a more moderate approach on his own and decided to let the situation run its course. As the winter wore on, he began to develop a certain grudging respect for the strange girl, the same kind of respect he had felt for his sibling when she had endured the beatings of her mate.

Like Iza, Ayla was setting an example of womanly behavior. She endured, without complaint, as a woman should. When she paused momentarily to clutch her amulet, Brun, and many of the others, took it as an indication of her reverence for the spiritual forces so fearfully important to the Clan. It added to her feminine stature.

The amulet did give her something to believe in; she did revere the spiritual forces, as she understood them. Her totem was testing her. If she proved worthy, she could learn to hunt. The more Broud badgered her, the more determined she became that she would begin to teach herself when spring came. She was going to be better than Broud, better even than Zoug. She was going to be the best sling-hunter in the clan, though no one would know it but her. That was the thought she clung to. It solidified in her mind, like the long tapering shafts of ice that formed at the top of the entrance to the cave where warm air from the fires rose to meet the freezing temperatures outside, and grew, like the heavy translucent curtains of ice, all through the winter.

Though it wasn’t intentional, she was already training herself. Despite the fact that it brought her into closer contact with Broud, she found herself interested and drawn to the men when they sat together spending long days rehashing earlier hunts or discussing strategy for future ones. She found ways to work near them and especially liked it when Dorv or Zoug told tales of hunting with the sling. She revived her interest in Zoug and her feminine response to his wishes, and developed a genuine affection for the old hunter. He was like Creb in a way, proud and stern, and glad for a little attention and warmth, if only from a strange, ugly girl.

Zoug was not blind to her interest as he recounted past glories when he was second-in-command as Grod was now. She was an appreciative, if silent, audience and always demurely respectful. Zoug began to seek Vorn out to explain some technique of tracking or bit of hunting lore knowing the girl would find a way to sit nearby if she could, though he affected not to notice. If she enjoyed his tales, what harm could there be in that?

If I were younger, Zoug thought, and still a provider, I might take her as a mate, when she becomes a woman. She’ll need a mate someday, and ugly as she is, she’s going to have some trouble finding one. But she is young, and strong, and respectful. I have kin in other clans. If I’m strong enough to go to the next Clan Gathering, I’ll speak for her. She may not want to stay here after Broud becomes leader, not that it matters what she wants, but I wouldn’t blame her. I hope I will be gone to the next world before that happens. Zoug never forgot Broud’s attack on him and didn’t like the son of Brun’s mate. He thought the future leader was unreasonably hard on the girl for whom he had developed an affection. She did deserve to be disciplined, but there were limits and Broud went beyond them. She was never disrespectful to him; it took an older, wiser man to know how to handle women. Yes, I will speak for her. If I can’t go, I’ll send a message. If only she weren’t so ugly, he mused.

As difficult as it was for Ayla, it wasn’t all bad. Activities were at a slower pace and there were fewer chores to do. Even Broud could find only so many tasks before there were none left. As time went along, he got a little bored; there wasn’t any fight in her anymore, and the intensity of his harassment slackened. And there was another reason that Ayla began to find the winter more bearable.

At first, in an effort to find valid reasons for her to stay within the boundaries of Creb’s fire, Iza decided to begin training her in the preparation and application of the herbs and plants Ayla had been gathering. Ayla found herself fascinated with the art of healing. The girl’s avid interest soon involved Iza in a regular program and made the medicine woman think she should have begun sooner, as she became fully aware of just how differently her adopted daughter’s mind worked.

If Ayla had been her true child, Iza would only have had to remind her of what was already stored in her brain, to get her accustomed to using it. But Ayla struggled to memorize knowledge Uba was born with, and Ayla’s conscious memory wasn’t as good. Iza had to drill her, go over the same material many times, and constantly test her to make sure she had it right. Iza pulled information from her memories as well as her own experience and was surprised, herself, at the wealth of knowledge she had. She’d never had to think about it before; it was just there when she needed it. Sometimes Iza despaired of ever teaching Ayla what she knew, or even enough to make her an adequate medicine woman. But Ayla’s interest never flagged and Iza was determined to give her adopted daughter an assured status in the clan. The lessons went on daily.

“What is good for burns, Ayla?”

“Let me think. Hyssop flowers mixed with goldenrod flowers and cone flowers, dried and powdered together in equal parts. Wet it and make it into a poultice, cover with a bandage. When it dries, wet it again with cold water poured on the bandage,” she finished in a rush, then paused to think “And dried horsemint flowers and leaves are good for scalds; wet them in the hand and put them on the burn. Boiled roots.of sweet rash make a wash for burns.”

“Good, anything else?”

The girl searched her mind. “Giant hyssop, too. Chew the fresh leaves and stalk for a poultice, or wet the dried leaves. And…oh, yes, boiled yellow-spined thistle blossoms. Put on as a wash after it’s cooled.”

“That’s good for skin sores, too, Ayla. And don’t forget that horsetail-fern ashes mixed with fat make a good burn ointment.”

Ayla began to do more of the cooking, too, under Iza’s direction. She soon took over the chore of preparing most of Creb’s meals, except, for her, it wasn’t a chore. She took pains to grind his grains especially fine before they were cooked to make it easier for him to chew with his worn teeth. Nuts, too, were chopped fine before she served them to the old man. Iza taught her to prepare the painkilling drinks and poultices that eased his rheumatism, and Ayla made a specialty of the remedies for that affliction of the older members of the clan, whose suffering invariably worsened with their confinement to the cold stone cave. That winter was the first time Ayla assisted the medicine woman, and their first patient was Creb.

It was midwinter. The heavy snowfalls had blocked the mouth of the cave several feet up. The insulating blanket of snow helped to keep the warmth from fires inside the large cavern, but the wind still whistled in through the large opening above the snow.

Creb was unusually moody, vacillating from silence to grouchiness to apologetic repentance to silence again. His behavior confused Ayla, but Iza guessed the reason. Creb had a toothache, a particularly painful toothache.

“Creb, won’t you just let me look at the tooth?” Iza pleaded.

“It’s nothing. Just a toothache. Just a little pain. Don’t you think I can stand a little pain? Don’t you think I’ve had pain before, woman? What’s a little toothache?” Creb snapped.

“Yes, Creb,” Iza replied, head bowed. He was immediately contrite.

“Iza, I know you’re only trying to help.”

“If you’d let me look at it, I might be able to give you something for it. How can I know what to give you if you won’t let me see it?”

“What’s to see?” he motioned. “One bad tooth is the same as another. Just make me some willow-bark tea,” Creb grumbled, then sat on his sleeping fur gazing into space.

Iza shook her head and went to make the tea. “Woman!” Creb shouted shortly afterward. “Where’s that willow bark? What’s taking you so long? How can I meditate? I can’t concentrate,” he gestured impatiently.

Iza hurried over with a bone cup, signaling Ayla to follow. “I was just bringing it, but I don’t think willow bark is going to be much help, Creb. Just let me look at it.” “All right. All right, Iza. Look.” He opened his mouth and pointed at the offending tooth.

“See how deep the black hole goes, Ayla? The gum is swelling, it’s decayed through. I’m afraid it will have to come out, Creb.”

“Come out! You told me you just wanted to look so you could give me something for it. You didn’t say anything about taking it out. Well, give me something for it, woman!”-

“Yes, Creb,” Iza said. “Here’s your willow-bark tea.” Ayla watched the exchange with amazement.

“I thought you said willow bark wouldn’t help much?”

“Nothing will help much. You can try a piece of sweetrush root to chew, it might do some good. But I doubt it.”

“Some medicine woman! Can’t even cure a toothache,” Creb grumbled.

“I could try burning out the pain,” Iza motioned matter-of-factly.

Creb flinched. “I’ll take the root,” he replied.’

The next morning Creb’s face was swollen and puffy, making his one-eyed scarred face more fearsome. His eye was red from lack of sleep. “Iza,” he moaned. “Can’t you do something for this toothache?”

“If you had let me take it out yesterday, the pain would be gone by now,” Iza motioned and went back to stirring a bowl of parched, ground grain, watching bubbles slowly rising with a gentle pukkah, pukkah, pukkah.

“Woman! Have you no feelings? I haven’t slept all night!”

“I know. You kept me awake.”

“Well, do something!” he exploded.

“Yes, Creb,” Iza said. “But, I can’t take it out now until the swelling goes down.”

“Is that all you can think of? Taking it out?”

“I can try one more thing, Creb, but I don’t think I can save the tooth,” she gestured sympathetically. “Ayla, bring me that packet with the splinters of charred wood from the tree that was struck by lightning last summer. We’ll have to lance the gum to reduce the swelling now, before we can get the tooth out anyway. We might as well see if we can burn out the pain.”

Creb shuddered at the instructions the medicine woman gave the girl, then he shrugged. It can’t be much worse than the toothache, he thought.

Iza sorted through the packet of splinters and withdrew two. “Ayla, I want you to get the tip of this one red hot. The end should be like a coal, but still strong enough so it won’t break off. Rake a coal out of the fire and hold the tip next to it until it smolders. But first, I want you to watch how to lance the gum. Hold his lips back for me.”

Ayla did as she was instructed and looked into Creb’s huge open mouth and at the two rows of large worn teeth.

“We puncture the gum with a hard sharp splinter beneath the tooth until the blood flows,” Iza gestured, then demonstrated.

Creb’s hand was clenched into a fist, but he made no sound. “Now, while this is draining, get the other splinter hot.”

Ayla quickly ran to the fire and soon returned with a smoldering ember on the end of the charred splinter. Iza took it, looked at it critically, nodded her head, and motioned to Ayla to hold back his lips again. She inserted the hot point into the cavity. Ayla felt Creb jerk as she heard a sizzle and watched a thin wisp of steam rise out of the large hole in Creb’s tooth.

“There, it’s done. Now we wait to see if that will kill the pain. If not, the tooth will have to come out,” Iza said after she swabbed the wound on Creb’s gum with a mixture of geranium and spikenard-root powders on the tip of her finger.

“It’s too bad I don’t have any of the fungus that is so good for toothaches. Sometimes it will deaden the nerve, often draw it out. Then I might not have to take the tooth. It’s best to use when it’s fresh, but dried works, and it should be collected at the end of summer. If I find some next year, I’ll show you, Ayla.” “Does your tooth still ache?” Iza asked the next day.

“It’s better, Iza,” Creb answered hopefully.

“But does it still hurt? If the pain isn’t completely gone, it will just swell up again, Creb,” Iza insisted.

“Well…yes, it still aches,” he admitted, “but not as much. Really, not as much. Why not wait another day or so? I have cast a powerful spell. I have asked Ursus to destroy the bad spirit that is causing the pain.”

“Haven’t you already asked Ursus many times to rid you of that pain? I think Ursus wants you to sacrifice your tooth before he will make the pain stop, Mog-ur,” Iza said.

“What do you know of the Great Ursus, woman?” Creb demanded irritably.

“This woman was presumptuous. This woman knows nothing of the ways of the spirits,” Iza replied with bowed head. Then, looking up at her sibling “But a medicine woman knows about toothaches. The pain will not stop until the tooth comes out,” she motioned firmly.

Creb turned his back and limped away. He sat on his sleeping fur with his eye closed.

“Iza?” he called out after a while.

“Yes, Creb?”

“You are right. Ursus wants me to give up the tooth. Go ahead. Get it over with.”

Iza walked over to him. “Here, Creb, drink this. It will make the pain less. Ayla, there is a small peg near the packet of splinters and a long piece of sinew. Bring them here.”

“How did you know to have the drink ready?” Creb asked.

“I know Mog-ur. It is hard to give up a tooth, but if Ursus wants it, Mog-ur will give it. It is not the hardest sacrifice he has made to Ursus. A powerful totem is difficult to live with, but Ursus would not have chosen you if you were not worthy.”

Creb nodded and swallowed the drink. It’s from the same plant I use to help men with the memories, he thought. But I think I saw Iza boil it, she makes a decoction rather than an infusion. It’s stronger than when it’s steeped. It has many uses. Datura must be a gift from Ursus. He was beginning to feel the narcotic effects.

Iza told Ayla to hold open the old magician’s mouth again while she carefully placed the wooden spike at the base of the aching tooth. She gave the peg a sharp blow with a stone held in her hand to loosen it. Creb jumped, but it was not as painful as he thought it would be. Then Iza tied the piece of sinew around the loosened tooth and told Ayla to secure the other end around one of the posts set firmly into the ground that was part of the frame from which the herbs were hanging to dry.

“Now, move his head back until the cord is taut, Ayla,” Iza told the girl. With a quick jerk, Iza yanked on the sinew. “Here it is,” she said, and held up the cord with the heavy molar dangling from it. She sprinkled dried geranium root on the bleeding hole and dipped a small piece of absorbent rabbit skin in an antiseptic solution of balsam gum bark and a few of the dried leaves, and packed his jaw with the damp leather.

“Take your tooth, Mog-ur,” Iza said, putting the decayed molar into the hand of the still-dazed magician. “It’s all over.”

He clenched it in his hand, then let it drop as he lay down. “Must give Ursus,” he mumbled groggily.

The clan watched to see how well Creb recovered after Ayla assisted the medicine woman with her dental surgery. When his mouth healed quickly without any complications, they felt more assured that the girl’s presence didn’t alienate the spirits. It made them more willing to allow her to assist when Iza helped them. As the winter progressed, Ayla learned to treat burns, cuts, bruises, colds, sore throats, stomachaches, earaches, and many of the minor injuries and ailments they fell heir to in the normal course of living.

In time, members of the clan went as easily to Ayla as to Iza for treatment of minor problems. They knew Ayla had been collecting herbs for Iza and saw the medicine woman training her. They knew, too, that Iza was getting old and wasn’t well and Uba was too young. The clan was getting used to the strange girl in their midst and was beginning to accept the idea that a girl born to the Others might someday be the medicine woman of their clan.

It was during the coldest time of the year, after the winter solstice and before the first breakup of spring, that Ovra went into labor.

“It’s too early,” Iza told Ayla. “She should not deliver until spring, and she hasn’t felt movement recently. I’m afraid the birth will not go well. I think her baby will be stillborn.”

“Ovra wanted this baby so much, Iza. She was so happy when she found out she was pregnant. Can’t you do anything?” Ayla asked.

“We’ll do what we can, but there are some things that are beyond help, Ayla,” the medicine woman replied.

The whole clan was concerned about the early labor of Goov’s mate. The women tried to offer moral support while the men waited anxiously nearby. They had lost several members during the earthquake and looked forward to any increases in their number. New babies meant more mouths for Brun’s hunters and the foraging women to feed, but, in time, the babies would grow and provide for them when they grew old. The continuation and survival of the clan was essential to individual survival. They needed each other and were saddened that Ovra would probably not give birth to a living baby.

Goov was more worried for his mate than for the child, and wished there was something he could do. He didn’t like to see Ovra suffering, especially when the outcome had so little hope of being anything but unhappy. She wanted the baby; she had felt inadequate to be the only woman in the clan without children. Even the medicine woman had given birth, as old as she was. Ovra had been elated when she finally became pregnant, and now Goov wished he could think of some way to ease her loss.

Droog seemed to understand the younger man better than anyone. He’d had occasion to have similar feelings about Goov’s mother, though he was glad she had given birth to Goov, and Droog had to admit he was enjoying his new family, once he had gotten used to them. He even had hopes that Vorn might yet develop an interest in toolmaking, and Ona was sheer delight, especially now that she was weaned and was beginning to imitate grown women in her own little-girl way. Droog had never had a girl around his fire before, and she was so young when he had mated Aga, it felt as though Ona had been born to his hearth.

Ebra and Uka were sitting beside Ovra, sympathizing, while Iza prepared medication. Uka had been looking forward to her daughter’s expected child, too, and held Ovra’s hand while she strained. Oga had gone to prepare an evening meal for Brun and Grod along with Broud, and had asked Goov as well. Ika offered to help, but when Goov declined, Oga said she didn’t need help. Goov didn’t feel much like eating and went to visit Droog’s hearth and was finally coaxed by Aba to try a few bites.

Oga was distracted, worried about Ovra, and was beginning to wish she hadn’t turned down Ika’s offer. She didn’t know how it happened, but as she was serving bowls of hot soup to the men, she stumbled. Boiling-hot soup spilled on Brun’s shoulder and arm.

“Aarghhh!” Brun cried as the scalding liquid poured over him. He was dancing around, gritting his teeth at the pain. Every head turned and every breath was held. The silence was broken by Broud.

“Oga! You stupid, clumsy woman!” he gesticulated to cover up his embarrassment that it was his mate who had done such a thing.

“Ayla, go help him, I can’t leave now,” Iza signaled.

Broud advanced toward his mate with his fists doubled, ready to punish her.

“No, Broud,” Brun gestured, putting out his hand to stop the young man. The hot grease from the soup still clung to him and he struggled not to show the pain he felt. “She couldn’t help it. Beating her will do no good.” Oga was crumpled in a heap at Broud’s feet, shaking with humiliation and fear.

Ayla was apprehensive. She had never treated the leader of the clan, and regarded him with inordinate fear. She raced toward Creb’s hearth, grabbed a wooden bowl, then raced to the mouth of the cave. She scooped up a mound of snow and went to the hearth of the leader, dropping to the ground in front of him.

“Iza sent me, she cannot leave Ovra now. Will the leader allow this girl to help him?” she asked when Brun acknowledged her.

Brun nodded. He harbored doubts about Ayla becoming the clan’s medicine woman, but under the circumstances he had little choice but to allow her to treat him. Nervously, she applied the cooling snow to the angry red burn, feeling Brun’s hard muscles relax as the snow eased the pain. She ran back, found the dried horsemint, and added hot water to the leaves. After they softened, she put snow in the bowl to cool it quickly and returned to her patient. With her hand she applied the soothing medication, feeling more tension leave the leader’s rock-hard muscular body as she worked. Brun breathed a little easier. The burn still hurt, but it was far more bearable. He nodded his approval, and the girl relaxed a little.

She does seem to be learning Iza’s magic, Brun thought. And she’s learning to behave well, as a woman should; perhaps all she needed was a little maturity. If anything happens to Iza before Uba grows up, we will be without a medicine woman. Perhaps Iza is wise to train her.

Not long afterward, Ebra came and told her mate that Ovra’s son was stillborn.

Brun nodded and glanced in her direction, shaking his head. And a boy, too, he thought. She must be heartbroken, everyone knows how much she wanted this baby. I hope she’ll have an easier time getting pregnant again. Who would think a Beaver totem could fight so hard? Though the leader felt a great pity for the young woman, he said nothing, for no one would mention the tragedy. But Ovra understood Brun’s reason for coming to Goov’s hearth a few days later to tell her she should take as long as she wanted to recuperate from her “illness.” Though the men often congregated at Brun’s fire, the leader seldom visited the other men’s hearths, and very rarely talked to the women if he did. Ovra was grateful for his concern, but nothing could ease her pain.

Iza insisted that Ayla continue to treat Brun, and as the scald healed, the clan accepted her even more. Ayla felt easier around the leader afterward. He was, after all, only human.