The Clan of the Cave Bear

8

“I am grieved to report,” Ebra said, making the customary gesture of sorrow, “Iza’s baby is a girl.”

But the news was not received with sorrow. Brun was relieved, though he would never admit it. The arrangement of the magician providing for his sibling, especially with the addition of Ayla to the clan, was working out well and the leader was reluctant to change it. Mog-ur was doing a creditable job of training the newcomer, much better than he expected. Ayla was learning to communicate and to behave within Clan customs. Creb was not only relieved, he was overjoyed. In his old age, for the first time in his life, he had come to know the pleasures of a warm and loving family, and the birth of a girl to Iza assured it would remain together.

And for the first time since they moved into the new cave, Iza could draw a breath free of anxiety. She was glad the birth had gone so well, as old as she was. She had attended many women who had far more difficulty than she. Several came close to dying, a few did, and more than a few babies as well. It seemed to her that babies’ heads were just too large for the women’s birth passages. Her worry over the actual delivery had not been nearly as great as her concern over the sex of the child. Such insecurity about the future was almost unbearable for Clan people.

Iza lay back on her fur, relaxing. Uka wrapped the infant in a swaddling of soft rabbit fur and laid the babe in her mother’s arms. Ayla hadn’t moved. She was looking with longing curiosity at Iza; the woman saw her and beckoned.

“Come here, Ayla. Would you like to see the baby?”

Ayla approached shyly. “Yes,” she nodded. Iza pulled back the covering so the girl could see the infant.

The tiny replica of Iza had a light down of brown fuzz on her head, and the boney occipital knob at the back was more noticeable without the thick head of hair she would soon have. The baby’s head was somewhat rounder than in adults, but still long, and her forehead sloped back sharply from her not quite fully developed brow ridges. Ayla reached out to touch the newborn’s soft cheek and the baby instinctively turned toward the touch, making small sucking noises.

“She’s beautiful,” Ayla motioned, her eyes full of soft wonder at the miracle she had seen. “Is she trying to talk, Iza?” the girl asked as the infant waved small clenched fists in the air.

“Not yet, but she will soon and you will have to help teach her,” Iza replied.

“Oh, I will. I’ll teach her to talk. Just like you and Creb taught me.”

“I know you will, Ayla,” the new mother said, covering her baby again.

The girl stayed protectively close by while Iza rested. Ebra had wrapped the afterbirth tissue in the hide that had been put down just before the delivery and hid it in an inconspicuous corner until Iza could take it outside to bury it in a place only she would know. If the baby had been stillborn, it would have been buried at the same time, and no one would ever mention the birth; nor would the mother show her grief openly, but a subtle gentleness and sympathy would be extended.

If the baby had been born alive but deformed, or if the leader of the clan decided the newborn was unacceptable for some other reason, the mother’s task would have been more onerous. Then she would be required to take the baby away and bury it or leave it exposed to the elements and carnivores. Rarely was a deformed child allowed to live; if it was female, almost never. If a baby was male, especially first-born, and if the woman’s mate wanted the child, he could at the discretion of the leader be allowed to remain with his mother for the first seven days of his life as a test of his ability to survive. Any child still alive after seven days, by Clan tradition which had the force of law, had to be named and accepted into the clan.

The first days of Creb’s life had hung in just such a balance. His mother had barely survived his birth. Her mate was also the leader and the decision of whether the newborn male would be allowed to live rested solely with him. But his decision was made more for the woman’s sake than for the baby’s, whose malformed head and unmoving limbs gave early indication of the damage the difficult birth had inflicted. She was too weak, she had lost too much blood, she hovered on the edge of death herself. Her mate could not require that she dispose of the child; she was too weak to do it. If the mother couldn’t do it, or if she died, the task fell to the medicine woman, but Creb’s mother was the medicine woman of the clan. So he was left with his mother, though no one expected him to survive.

His mother’s milk was slow to start. When he clung to life against all odds, another nursing woman took pity on the poor infant and fed Creb his first life-sustaining nourishment. In such tenuous circumstances, life began for Mog-ur, the holiest of holy men, the most skilled and powerful magician of the entire Clan.

Now the crippled man and his brother approached Iza and the baby. At a peremptory signal from Brun, Ayla quickly got up and moved away but watched from a distance out of the corner of her eye. Iza sat up, unwrapped her baby, and held her up to Brun, careful not to look at either man. Both men examined the infant, wailing loudly at being taken from her mother’s warm side and exposed to the cold air of the cave. They were just as careful not to look at Iza.

“The child is normal,” Brun’s gesture announced gravely. “She may stay with her mother. If she lives until the naming day, she will be accepted.”

Iza really didn’t have any fear that Brun would reject her child, but she was relieved nonetheless at the formal statement from the leader. Only one last twinge of worry remained. She hoped her daughter would not be unlucky because its mother had no mate. He had been alive, after all, at the time she became certain she was expecting, Iza reasoned, and Creb was like a mate, at least he provided for them. Iza put the thought out of her mind.

For the next seven days Iza would be isolated, confined to the boundaries of Creb’s fire, except for necessary trips to relieve herself and to bury the placenta. None of the clan officially recognized the existence of Iza’s baby while she was in isolation except those who shared the same hearth, but other women brought food for them so Iza could rest. It allowed a brief visit and an unofficial peek at the new baby. Beyond the seven days until she stopped bleeding, she would be under a modified woman’s curse. Her contacts would be restricted to women, the same as during her menses.

Iza spent her time nursing and caring for her child and, when she felt rested, reorganizing food areas, cooking areas, sleeping areas, and her medicine storage area within the boundary stones that defined Creb’s hearth, his territory inside the cave now shared by three females.

Because of Mog-ur’s unique position in the clan hierarchy, his location was in a very favorable spot: close enough to the mouth of the cave to benefit from daylight and summer sun, but not so close that it was subject to the worst of the winter drafts. His hearth had an additional feature, for which Iza was particularly grateful for Creb’s sake. An outcrop of stone extending from the side wall gave extra protection from winds. Even with the wind barrier and a constant fire near the opening, cold winds often blasted more exposed sites. The old man’s rheumatism and arthritis were always much worse in winter, aggravated by the cold dampness of the cave. Iza had made sure that Creb’s sleeping furs, resting on a soft layer of straw and grass packed into a shallow trench, were in the protected corner.

One of the few tasks that had been required of the men, aside from hunting, was the construction of the wind barrier-hides stretched across the entrance supported by posts sunk into the ground. Another was paving the area around the mouth with smooth rocks brought up from the stream to keep rains and melting snows from turning the cave entrance into a quagmire of mud. The floor of the individual hearths was bare earth, with woven mats scattered around for sitting or serving food.

Two other shallow trenches filled with straw and covered with fur were near Creb’s, and the top fur of each was the one also used as a warm outer cloak by the person who slept there. Besides Creb’s bearskin, there was Iza’s saiga antelope hide and a new white fur from a snow leopard. The animal had been lurking near the cave, well below its usual haunts in the higher elevations of the mountain. Goov was credited with the kill and he gave the pelt to Creb.

Many of the clan wore skins or kept a piece of horn or tooth from the animal that symbolized their protective totem. Creb thought the snow leopard fur would be appropriate for Ayla. Although it was not her totem, it was a similar creature and he knew it was unlikely that hunters would stalk a cave lion. The huge feline seldom strayed far from the steppes and posed little threat to the clan in their cave on the wooded slopes. They were not disposed to hunt the massive carnivore without good reason. Iza had just finished curing the hide and making new footwear for the girl before she started into labor. The child was delighted with it and looked for any excuse to go outside so she could wear it.

Iza was making herself a wormseed tea to encourage the flow of milk and to relieve the painful cramps of her uterus contracting back to its normal shape. She had collected and dried the long narrow leaves and small greenish flowers earlier in the year in anticipation of the birth of her child. She glanced toward the cave entrance looking for Ayla. The woman had just changed the absorbent leather strap she wore during her menstrual cycles and since her delivery, and she had wanted to go into the nearby woods to bury the soiled one. She was looking for the girl to keep an eye on the sleeping infant for the few moments she would be gone.

But Ayla was nowhere near the cave. She was looking for small round stones along the stream. Iza had commented that she wanted more cooking stones before the stream iced over, and Ayla thought it would please her if she got some. The girl was on her knees on a rocky strand near the water’s edge searching for rocks of just the right size. She glanced up and noticed a small lump of white fur beneath a bush. Moving the leafless brush aside, she saw a half-grown rabbit lying on its side. Its leg was broken and crusted with dried blood.

The wounded animal, panting with thirst, was unable to move. It looked at the girl with nervous eyes as she reached out and felt its warm soft fur. A young wolf pup, just learning his hunting skills, had caught the rabbit, but it had managed to break free. Before the young carnivore could make another dash for his prey, his mother issued a yelping summons. The pup, who was not really hungry, turned in mid-stride in answer to the urgent call. The rabbit had dived for the thicket and froze, hoping not to be seen. By the time it felt safe enough to hop away, it couldn’t, and had been lying beside the running water dying of thirst. Its life was nearly drained.

Ayla lifted the warm furry animal and cuddled it in her arms. She had held Iza’s new baby, wrapped in soft rabbit fur, and the bunny felt like the baby to her. She sat on the ground rocking it, then noticed the blood and the leg bent at an odd angle. Poor baby, your leg is hurt, the child thought. Maybe Iza can fix it; she fixed mine once. Forgetting her plan to find cooking stones, she got up and carried the wounded animal back to the cave.

Iza was napping when Ayla walked in, but she woke at the sound of her step. The child held the rabbit out to the medicine woman, showing her its wounds. Iza had sometimes taken pity on small animals and applied a little first aid, but she had never brought one back to the cave.

“Ayla, animals don’t belong in the cave,” Iza motioned.

Ayla’s hopeful expectations dashed, she cuddled the rabbit to her, bowed her head sadly, and started to leave, tears starting to fill her eyes.

Iza saw the little girl’s disappointment. “Well, since you brought it, I might as well take a look at it,” she said. Ayla brightened and handed the wounded animal to Iza.

“This animal is thirsty, get some water for it,” Iza gestured. Ayla quickly poured clear liquid from a large waterbag and brought a cup, full to the brim. Iza was slivering wood for a splint. Freshly cut strips of leather were on the ground to tie on the splint.

“Take the waterbag and bring in more water, Ayla, we’re nearly out; then we’ll start some heating. I’ll need to clean the wound,” the woman directed as she stirred up the fire and put some stones in it. Ayla snatched the bag and ran to the pool. The water had revived the small creature and it was nibbling on seeds and grain Iza had given it when the child came back.

Creb was astonished when he returned later and saw Ayla cuddling the rabbit while Iza was nursing her baby. He saw the splint on its leg and caught a look from Iza that said, “What else could I do?” While the girl was engrossed with her live doll, Iza and Creb spoke in silent signals.

“What made her bring a rabbit into the cave?” Creb asked.

“It was hurt. She brought it to me to heal it. She didn’t know we don’t bring animals into our home. But her feelings were not wrong, Creb, I think she has the instincts of a medicine woman. Creb,” Iza paused-“I wanted to talk to you about her. She is not an attractive child, you know.”

Creb glanced in Ayla’s direction. “She’s appealing, but you’re right, she’s not attractive,” he admitted. “But what does that have to do with the rabbit?”

“What chance will she ever have to mate? Any man with a totem strong enough for her would never want her. He could have his pick of women. What will happen to her when she becomes a woman? If she doesn’t mate, she will have no status.”

“I’ve thought about it, but what’s to be done?”

“If she were a medicine woman, she would have her own status,” Iza suggested, “and she’s like a daughter to me.”

“But she’s not of your line, Iza. She was not born to you. Your daughter will carry on your line.”

“I know, I have a daughter now, but why can’t I train Ayla, too? Didn’t you name her as I held her in my arms? Didn’t you announce her totem at the same time? That makes her my daughter, doesn’t it? She was accepted, she’s Clan now, isn’t she?” Iza asked fervently, then rushed on, afraid Creb would answer unfavorably. “I think she has a natural talent for it, Creb. She shows an interest, she is always asking me questions when I work the healing magic.”

“She asks more questions than anyone I’ve ever met,” Creb interjected, “about everything. She must learn it is discourteous to ask so many questions,” he added.

“But look at her, Creb. She sees a wounded animal and wants to heal it. That’s the sign of a medicine woman if I ever saw one.”

Creb was silent, thoughtful. “Acceptance into the Clan doesn’t change who she is, Iza. She was born to the Others, how can she learn all the knowledge you have? You know she doesn’t have the memories.”

“But she learns quickly. You’ve seen that. Look how fast she learned to talk. You’d be surprised how much she has learned already. And she has good hands for it, a gentle touch. She held the rabbit while I put on the splint. It seemed to trust her.” Iza leaned forward. “Neither of us is young anymore, Creb. What will happen to her when we’re gone to the world of the spirits? Do you want her to be traded from fire to fire, always a burden, always the lowest-ranked woman?”

Creb had worried about the same thing himself, but unable to come up with a solution, he put the thought out of his mind. “Do you really think you can train her, Iza?” he asked, still doubtful.

“I can start with that rabbit. I can let her take care of it, show her how. I’m sure she can learn, Creb, even without the memories. I can teach her. There are not so many different illnesses and injuries, she’s young enough, she can learn them, she doesn’t need to have a memory of them.”

“I will have to think about it, Iza,” Creb said.

The child was rocking and crooning to the rabbit. She saw Iza and Creb talking and remembered that she had often seen Creb make gestures calling on the spirits to help Iza’s healing magic work. She brought the small furry animal to the magician.

“Creb, will you ask the spirits to make the rabbit well?” she motioned after putting it down at his feet.

Mog-ur looked into her earnest face. He had never asked for help from spirits to heal an animal, and he felt a little foolish about it, but he didn’t have the heart to refuse her. He glanced around, then made a few quick gestures.

“Now it’s sure to get well,” Ayla gestured decisively, then seeing that Iza was through nursing, she asked, “Can I hold the baby, mother?” The rabbit was a warm and cuddly substitute, but not when she could hold the real thing.

“All right,” Iza said. “Be careful with her, the way I showed you.”

Ayla rocked and crooned to the tiny girl as she had done with the rabbit. “What will you name her, Creb?” she asked.

Iza was curious, too, but she would never have asked him. They lived at Creb’s fire, were supported by him, and it was his right to name the children born to his hearth.

“I haven’t decided, yet. And you must learn not to ask so many questions, Ayla,” Creb chided, but he was pleased at her trust in his magical skill, even with a rabbit. He turned to Iza and added, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if the animal stayed here until its leg is mended, it’s a harmless creature.”

Iza made a gesture of acquiescence and felt a warm flush of pleasure. She was sure Creb wouldn’t object if she began training Ayla, even if he never gave his explicit consent. All Iza really needed to know was that he wouldn’t stop her.

“How does she make that sound in her throat, I wonder?” Iza asked, to change the subject, listening to Ayla’s humming. “It’s not unpleasant, but it is unusual.”

“It’s another difference between Clan and Others,” Creb motioned with an air of imparting a fact of great wisdom to an admiring student, “like not having the memories, or the strange sounds she used to make. She doesn’t make them much anymore since she has learned to talk properly.”

Ovra arrived at Creb’s hearth with their evening meal. Her amazement was no less than Creb’s at seeing the rabbit. It increased when Iza let the young woman hold her baby and she saw Ayla pick up the rabbit and rock it as if it were a baby, too. Ovra gave Creb a sidewise glance to check his reaction, but he seemed not to have noticed it. She could hardly wait to tell her mother. Imagine, mothering an animal. Maybe the girl wasn’t right in the head. Did she think the animal was human?

Not long afterward, Brun strolled over and signaled Creb that he wanted to talk to him. Creb was expecting it. They walked together toward the entrance fire, away from both hearths.

“Mog-ur,” the leader started hesitantly.

“Yes.”

“I’ve been thinking, Mog-ur. It’s time to have a mating ceremony. I’ve decided to give Ovra to Goov, and Droog has agreed to take Aga and her children and will allow Aba to live with him, too,” Brun said, not quite knowing how to bring up the subject of the rabbit at Creb’s fire.

“I was wondering when you were going to decide to mate them,” Creb answered, not offering any comment on the subject he knew Brun wanted to discuss.

“I wanted to wait. I couldn’t afford to have two hunters restricted while hunting was good. When do you think will be the best time?” Brun was having difficulty trying not to stare into Creb’s rock-outlined territory, and Creb was rather enjoying the leader’s discomfiture.

“I will be naming Iza’s child soon; we could have the matings then,” Creb offered.

“I’ll tell them,” Brun said. He stood on one foot, then the other, looking up at the high-vaulted ceiling and down at the ground, toward the rear of the cave, and then outside, anyplace except directly at Ayla holding the rabbit. Courtesy demanded that he refrain from looking into another man’s hearth, yet for him to know about the rabbit, he obviously had to see it. He was trying to think of an acceptable way to broach the subject. Creb waited.

“Why is there a rabbit at your fire?” Brun motioned quickly. He was at a disadvantage and he knew it. Creb deliberately turned and looked at the people within the limits of his domain. Iza knew full well what was going on. She busied herself with the baby, hoping not to be drawn in. Ayla, the cause of the problem, was oblivious to the whole situation.

“It’s a harmless animal, Brun,” Creb evaded.

“But why is there an animal in the cave?” the leader retorted.

“Ayla brought it in. Its leg is broken and she wanted Iza to fix it,” Creb said as though there was nothing unusual about it.

“No one has ever brought an animal into the cave before,” Brun said, frustrated that he couldn’t find a stronger objection.

“But what’s the harm? It won’t be around for long, just until its leg is healed,” Creb returned, calmly reasonable.

Brun couldn’t think of a good reason to insist that Creb get rid of the animal as long as he was willing to keep it. It was within his hearth. There were no customs forbidding animals in caves; it just hadn’t been done before. But that wasn’t the real source of his distress. He realized the real problem was Ayla. Ever since Iza had picked up the girl, there had been too many unusual incidents associated with her. Everything about her was unprecedented, and she was still a child. What would he have to face when she got older? Brun had no experience, no set of rules to deal with her. But he didn’t know how to tell Creb about his doubts either. Creb sensed his brother’s uneasiness and tried to give him another reason to let the rabbit stay at his hearth.

“Brun, the clan that hosts the Gathering keeps a cave bear cub in their cave,” the magician reminded him.

“But that’s different, that’s Ursus. That’s for the Bear Festival. Cave bears lived in caves even before people, but rabbits don’t live in caves.”

“The cub is an animal that is brought into a cave, though.”

Brun didn’t have an answer, and Creb’s rationale seemed to offer some guidelines, but why did the girl have to bring the rabbit into the cave in the first place? If it wasn’t for her, the problem would never have come up. Brun felt the firm basis of his objections sinking under him like quicksand and he let the matter rest.

The day before the naming ceremony was cold but sunny. There had been a few flurries and Creb’s bones had been aching of late. He was sure a storm was on the way. He wanted to enjoy the last few days of clear weather before the snows began in earnest and was walking along the path beside the stream. Ayla was with him, trying out her new footwear. Iza had made them by cutting out roughly circular pieces of aurochs hide, cured with the soft underlayer of hair left on and rubbed with extra fat for waterproofing. She pierced holes around the edge in the manner of a pouch and drew them up around the girl’s ankles with the fur side in for warmth.

Ayla was pleased with them and lifted her feet high as she strutted beside the man. Her snow leopard fur covered her inner wrap, and a soft furry rabbit skin was draped over her head, fur side in, covering her ears and tied under her chin with the parts that had once served to cover the animal’s legs. She scampered ahead, then ran back and walked beside the old man, slowing her exuberant pace to match his shuffle. They were comfortably silent for a while, each involved with their own thoughts.

I wonder what I should name Iza’s baby, Creb was thinking. He loved his sibling and wanted to pick a name she would like. Not one from her mate’s side, he thought. Thinking about the man who had been Iza’s mate left a bad taste in his mouth. The cruel punishment her mate had inflicted on her made Creb angry, but his feelings went much further back. He remembered how the man had taunted him when he was a boy, calling him woman because he could never hunt. Creb guessed it was only his fear of Mog-ur’s power that stopped the ridicule. I’m glad Iza had a girl, he thought. A boy would have given him too much honor.

With the man no longer a thorn in his side, Creb enjoyed the pleasures of his hearth more than he ever thought possible. Being the patriarch of his own little family, being responsible for them, providing for them, gave him a sense of manhood he had never experienced. He detected a different kind of respect from the other men and found he had a greater interest in their hunting now that a portion of each fell to him. Before, he was more concerned about the hunt ceremonies; now he had other mouths to feed.

I’m sure Iza’s happier, too, he said to himself, thinking about the attention and affection she lavished on him, cooking for him, caring for him, anticipating his needs. In all ways but one, she was his mate, the closest he had ever come to having one. Ayla was a constant joy. The inherent differences he discovered kept him interested; training her was a challenge like that which any natural teacher felt with a bright and willing but unusual pupil. The new baby intrigued him too. After the first few times, he got over his nervousness when Iza laid the infant in his lap, and watched her random hand movements and unfocused eyes in rapt attention, contemplating in wonder how something so tiny and undeveloped could grow into an adult woman.

She assures the continuation of Iza’s line, he thought, and it is a line worthy of its rank. Their mother had been one of the most renowned medicine women of the Clan. People from other clans had sometimes come to her, bringing their sick if possible or taking back medicine. Iza, herself, was of equal stature, and her daughter had every possibility of attaining the same eminence. She deserved a name in keeping with her ancient and distinguished heritage.

Creb thought about Iza’s line and remembered the woman who had been their mother’s mother. She had always been kind and gentle with him, took care of him more than his mother after Brun was born. She, too, was famous for her healing skill, she had even healed that man born to the Others, just as Iza healed Ayla. It’s a shame Iza never knew her, Creb mused. Then he stopped.

That’s it! I’ll give the baby her name, he thought, pleased with his inspiration.

With a name for the infant decided, he turned his attention to the mating ceremonies. He thought about the young man who was his devoted acolyte. Goov was quiet, serious, and Creb liked him. His Aurochs totem should be strong enough for Ovra’s Beaver totem. Ovra worked hard and seldom needed to be reprimanded. She would make him a good mate. There’s no reason that she shouldn’t produce children for him; and Goov is a good hunter, he will provide for her well. When he becomes Mog-ur, his share will compensate when his duties don’t allow him to hunt.

Will he ever be a powerful mog-ur? Creb wondered. He shook his head. Much as he liked his acolyte, he realized Goov would never have the skill Creb knew he himself possessed. The crippled body that prevented normal activities like hunting and mating had allowed him time to concentrate all his awesome mental endowment into developing his renowned power. That was why he was The Mog-ur. He was the one that directed the minds of all the other mog-urs at the Clan Gathering in the ceremony that was the holiest of the holy. Although he achieved a symbiosis of minds with the men of his clan, it did not compare with the blending of souls that happened with the trained minds of the other magicians. He thought about the next Clan Gathering, even though it was many years away. Clan Gatherings were held once every seven years, and the last one was the summer before the cave-in. If I live to the next, it will be my last, he suddenly realized.

Creb brought his attention back to the mating ceremony, which would mate Droog and Aga, too. Droog was an experienced hunter who had long since proven his skill. His skill at toolmaking was even greater. He was as quiet and serious as his dead mate’s son, and he and Goov shared the same totem. They were much alike in other ways, and Creb was sure it was the spirit of Droog’s totem that created Goov. It’s a pity Droog’s mate was called to the next world, he thought. There had been a fondness between the couple that would probably never develop with Aga. But both needed new mates, and Aga had already proven more prolific than Droog’s first mate. It was a logical match.

Creb and Ayla were startled out of their thoughts by a rabbit that dashed across their path. It made the girl think about the rabbit in the cave and turned her mind back to what she had been thinking about all along, Iza’s baby.

“Creb, how did the baby get inside Iza?” the girl asked. “A woman swallows the spirit of a man’s totem,” Creb motioned casually, still lost in his own thoughts. “It fights with the spirit of her totem. If the man’s overcomes the woman’s, it leaves a part of itself to start a new life.”

Ayla looked around her, wondering at the omnipresence of spirits. She could not see any, but if Creb said they were there, she believed it.

“Can any man’s spirit get inside the woman?” she asked next.

“Yes, but only a stronger spirit can defeat hers. Often the totem of a woman’s mate asks another spirit to help. Then the other spirit may be allowed to leave its essence. It’s usually the spirit of a woman’s mate that tries most; it’s the closest one, but it often needs help. If a boy has the same totem as his mother’s mate, it means he will be lucky,” Creb explained carefully.

“Can only women have babies?” she asked, warming to her subject.

“Yes,” he nodded.

“Does a woman have to be mated to have a baby?”

“No, sometimes she swallows a spirit before she is mated. But if she doesn’t have a mate by the time the baby is born, the baby may be unlucky.” “Could I have a baby?” was her next hopeful query.

Creb thought about her powerful totem. Its vital principle was too strong. Even with the help of another spirit, it was not likely it would ever be defeated. But she will find that out soon enough, he thought.

“You’re not old enough, yet,” he evaded.

“When will I be old enough?”

“When you are a woman.”

“When will I be a woman?”

Creb was beginning to think she would never run out of questions. “The first time your totem’s spirit battles with another spirit, you will bleed. That is the sign that it was wounded. Some of the essence of the spirit that fought with it is left behind to make your body ready. Your breasts will grow, and there will be some other changes. After that, your totem’s spirit will fight with other spirits regularly. When the time for blood to flow comes and there is none, it means the spirit you swallowed has defeated yours and a new life has started.”

“But when will I be a woman?”

“Perhaps when you have lived through the cycle of all the seasons eight or nine times. That’s when most girls become women, some as early as seven years,” he replied.

“But how long will that be?” she insisted.

The patient old magician heaved a sigh. “Come here, I’ll see if I can explain,” he said, picking up a stick and taking a flint knife from his pouch. He doubted that she would understand, but it might still her questions.

Numbers were a difficult abstraction for people of the Clan to comprehend. Most could not think beyond three: you, me, and another. It was not a matter of intelligence; for example, Brun knew immediately when one of the twenty-two members of his clan was missing. He had only to think of each individual, and he could do it quickly without being conscious of it. But to transfer that individual into a concept called “one” took effort few could master. “How can this person be one and another time that person also be one-they are different people?” was the first question usually asked.

The Clan’s inability to synthesize and abstract extended into other areas of their lives. They had a name for everything. They knew oak, willow, pine, but they had no generic concept for all of them; they had no word for tree. Every kind of soil, each kind of rock, even the different kinds of snow had a name. The Clan depended on their rich memory and their ability to add to that memory-they forgot almost nothing. Their language was replete with color and description but almost totally devoid of abstractions. The idea was foreign to their nature, their customs, the way they had developed. They depended on Mog-ur to keep track of those few things that needed to be counted: the time between Clan Gatherings, the ages of the members of the clan, the length of isolation after a mating ceremony, and the first seven days of a child’s life. That he could do so was one of his most magical of powers.

Sitting down, Creb held the stick firmly wedged between his foot and a rock. “Iza says she thinks you are a little older than Vorn,” Creb began. “Vorn has lived through his birth year, his walking year, his nursing year, and his weaning year,” he explained, cutting a slash in the stick for each year as he said it. “I will make one more mark for you. This is how old you are now. If I take my hand and fit it in each mark, I will cover all of them with one hand, see?”

Ayla looked with concentration at the slash marks, holding out the fingers of her hand. Then she brightened. “I am as many years as this!” she said, showing him her hand with all the fingers extended. “But, how long before I can have a baby?” she asked, far more interested in reproduction than reckoning.

Creb was thunderstruck. How had the girl been able to grasp the idea so quickly? She hadn’t even asked what slash marks had to do with fingers or what either had to do with years. It had taken many repetitions before Goov had understood. Creb made three more slash marks and put three fingers over them. With only one hand, it had been especially difficult for him when he was learning. Ayla looked at her other hand and immediately held up three fingers, folding down her thumb and forefinger.

“When I am this many?” she asked, holding out her eight fingers again. Creb nodded affirmatively. Her next action caught him completely by surprise; it was a concept he had spent years mastering himself. She put down the first hand and held up only the three fingers.

“I will be old enough to have a baby in this many years,” she gestured with assurance, positive of her deduction. The old magician was rocked to his core. It was unthinkable that a child, a girl child at that, could reason her way to that conclusion so easily. He was almost too overwhelmed to remember to qualify the prediction.

“That is probably the earliest time. It might not be for this many, or possibly this many,” he said, making two more slashes on the stick. “Or, perhaps even more. There is no way of knowing for sure.”

Ayla frowned slightly, held up her index finger, then her thumb. “How do I know more years?” she asked.

Creb eyed her suspiciously. They were getting into a realm with which even he had difficulty. He was beginning to be sorry he had begun. Brun would not like it if he knew this girl was capable of such potent magic, magic reserved only for mog-urs. But his curiosity was piqued too. Could she comprehend such advanced knowledge?

“Take both your hands and cover all the marks,” he instructed. After she had carefully fitted her fingers over all the slash marks, Creb made one more and put his little finger on it. “The next mark is covered by the small finger of my hand. After the first set, you must think of the first finger of the other person’s hand, then the next finger of the other person’s hand. Do you understand?” he motioned, watching her closely.

The child hardly blinked. She looked at her hands, then at his hand, then made the grimace that Creb had come to understand meant she was happy. She nodded her head vigorously to indicate that she did understand. Then she made a quantum leap, a jump almost beyond Creb’s powers of comprehension.

“And, after that, another person’s hands, and then another person’s, isn’t that right?” she asked.

The impact was too much. His mind reeled. With difficulty, Creb could count to twenty. Numbers beyond twenty blurred into some indistinct infinity called many. He had, on a few rare occasions after deep meditation, caught a bare glimpse of the concept Ayla comprehended with such ease. His nod was almost an afterthought. He had a sudden understanding of the gulf between the mind of this girl and his own, and it shook him. He struggled to compose himself.

“Tell me, what is the name of this?” he asked to change the subject, holding up the stick he had been using to mark. Ayla stared at it, trying to remember.

“ Willow,” she said, “I think.”

“That’s right,” Creb answered. He put his hand on her shoulder and looked directly into her eyes. “Ayla, it would be best if you refrain from mentioning anything about these to anyone,” he said, touching the marks on the stick.

“Yes, Creb,” she replied, sensing how important it was to him. She had learned to understand his actions and expressions more than anyone’s, except Iza’s.

“It’s time to go back now,” he said. He wanted to be alone to think.

“Do we have to?” she pleaded. “It’s still nice out.”

“Yes, we do,” he said, pulling himself up with the help of his staff. “And it’s not proper to question a man when he has made a decision, Ayla,” he chided gently.

“Yes, Creb,” she responded, bowing her head in acquiescence as she had learned. She walked silently beside him as they headed back to the cave, but soon her youthful exuberance took over, and she was running ahead again. She ran back holding out sticks and rocks, telling Creb the names, or asking him if she couldn’t remember. He answered absentmindedly, finding it hard to pay attention for the tumult in his mind.

The first light of dawn scattered the enveloping darkness of the cave, and the fresh crispness in the air smelled of snow on its way. Iza was lying in her bed watching the familiar contours of the cave overhead take shape and definition in the gradually increasing light. This was the day her daughter would be named and accepted as a full member of the clan, the day she would be recognized as a living, viable human. She looked forward to the relaxation of her mandatory confinement, though her association with other members of the clan would still be limited to the women until she stopped bleeding.

At the onset of menarche, girls were required to spend the duration of their first period away from the clan. If it occurred during the winter, the young woman stayed alone in an area set aside at the rear of the cave but was still required to spend one menstrual period alone in spring. Living alone was both frightening and dangerous for a young, unarmed woman used to the protection and company of the whole clan. It was a trial that marked the passage of girls into womanhood, similar to the male’s trial of making his first kill, but no ceremony marked her return to the fold. And, though the young woman had fire for protection from carnivorous beasts, it was not totally unknown for a woman never to return-her remains usually found later by some hunting or foraging party. The girl’s mother was allowed to visit her once a day to bring her food and reassurance. But if the girl disappeared or was killed, her mother was forbidden to mention it until a minimum number of days had elapsed.

The battles waged by spirits within the bodies of women in the elemental struggle to produce life were deep mysteries to the men. While a woman bled, her totem’s essence was powerful: it was winning, defeating some male essential principle, casting out his impregnating essence. If a woman looked at a man during that time, his spirit might be drawn into the losing battle. That was the reason female totems had to be less powerful than male totems, for even a weak totem gained strength from the life force that resided in females. Women drew on the life force; it was they who produced new life.

In the physical world, a man was bigger, stronger, far more powerful than a woman, but in the fearful world of unseen forces, the woman was endowed with potentially more power. Men believed that a woman’s smaller, weaker physical form that allowed them to dominate her was a compensating balance and that no woman must ever be allowed to realize her full potential, or the balance would be upset. She was kept from full participation in the spiritual life of the clan to keep her ignorant of the strength the life force gave her.

Young men were warned at their first manhood ceremony of the dire consequences that could result if a woman even glimpsed the esoteric rites of the men, and legends were told of the time when women were the ones who controlled the magic to intercede with the spirit world. The men had taken their magic from them but not their potential. Many young men looked at women in a new light once they became aware of these possibilities. They assumed their male responsibilities with great seriousness. A woman had to be protected, provided for, and totally dominated, or the delicate balance of physical and spiritual forces would be disrupted and the continuing existence of the life of the Clan destroyed.

Because her spiritual forces were so much more powerful during menses, a woman was isolated. She had to stay with the women, was not allowed to touch any food that might be consumed by a man, and spent her time doing unimportant tasks like collecting wood or curing hides that could only be worn by women… The men did not acknowledge her existence, completely ignored her, did not even reprimand her. If a man’s eye chanced to fall on her, it was as though she were invisible; he looked through her.

It seemed a cruel penalty. The woman’s curse resembled a death curse, the supreme punishment that was inflicted upon members of the Clan if they committed a serious crime. Only the leader could command a mog-ur to call down the evil spirits and lay a curse of death. A mog-ur could not refuse, though it was dangerous for the magician and the clan. Once cursed, the criminal was neither spoken to nor seen by any member of the clan. He was ignored, ostracized; he no longer existed, just as though he were dead. Mate and family grieved his death, no food was shared. A few left the clan and were never seen again. Most simply stopped eating, stopped drinking, and fulfilled the malediction they, too, believed.

Occasionally a death curse might be imposed for a limited period of time, but even that was often fatal since a criminal gave up living for the duration of the curse. But if he lived through a limited death curse, he was admitted back into the clan as a full member, even to his previous status. He had paid his debt to society and his crime was forgotten. Crimes were rare, though, and such punishment was rarely dealt. Though the woman’s curse ostracized her partially and temporarily, most women welcomed the periodic respite from the unceasing demands and watchful eyes of the men.

Iza was looking forward to the greater contact she would have after the naming ceremony. She was bored with staying within the stone boundary of Creb’s fire and looked with longing at the bright sunshine that streamed in through the mouth of the cave during the last few days before winter snows. She waited anxiously for Creb’s signal that announced he was ready and the clan all gathered. Namings were often held before breakfast, shortly after the sun rose while the totems were still close by after protecting the clan during the night. When he beckoned, she hurried to join them and stood in front of Mog-ur, looking down at the ground while she uncovered her child. She held the babe up while the magician looked over her head making the gestures that called the spirits to attend the ceremony. Then, with a flourish, he began.

Dipping into the bowl Goov held, he drew a stripe from the point where the baby’s brow ridges joined to the tip of her nose with the red-ochre paste.

“Uba, the girl’s name is Uba,” Mog-ur said. The naked infant, assailed by the cold wind that whipped past the sunny front porch of the cave, voiced a healthy howl which drowned out the approving murmur of the clan.

“Uba,” Iza repeated, cuddling her shivering baby in her arms. It’s a perfect name, she thought, wishing she had known the Uba her daughter was named for. The members of the clan filed past, each repeating the name to familiarize themselves and their totems with this newest addition. Iza was careful to keep her head down so she would not inadvertently look upon any of the men who came forward to acknowledge her daughter.Afterward, she wrapped the infant in warm rabbit skins and put her inside her wrap next to her skin. The baby’s cries abruptly ceased as she began nursing. Iza stepped back to her place among the women to make way for the mating rituals.

For this ceremony, and this one alone, yellow ochre was used in the sacred ointment. Goov handed the bowl of yellow salve to Mog-ur who held it firmly between the stump of his arm and his waist. Goov could not serve as acolyte at his own mating.

He took his position in front of the holy man and waited for Grod to bring forth the daughter of his mate. Uka looked on with mixed emotions-pride that her daughter had made a good match and sorrow to see her leave the hearth. Ovra, dressed in a new wrap, watched her feet as she walked forward closely behind Grod, but a radiance emanated from her demurely lowered face. It was obvious she was not unhappy with the choice that had been made for her. She sat down cross-legged in front of Goov, keeping her eyes down.

With silent formal gestures, Mog-ur again addressed the spirits, then he dipped his middle finger into the bowl of dun-yellow paste and drew the sign of Ovra’s totem over the scar of Goov’s totem mark, symbolizing the union of their spirits. Dipping again into the ointment, he painted Goov’s mark over hers, following the outline of the scar and blurring her mark, showing his dominance.

“Spirit of Aurochs, Totem of Goov, your sign has overcome Spirit of Beaver, Totem of Ovra,” Mog-ur gestured. “May Ursus allow that it will always be so. Goov, do you accept this woman?”

Goov answered by tapping Ovra on the shoulder and motioning to her to follow him into the cave to the place newly outlined with small boulders that was now Goov’s hearth. Ovra jumped up and followed behind her new mate. She had no choice nor was she asked if she accepted him. The couple would remain isolated, confined to the hearth for fourteen days, during which time they would sleep separately. At the end of the isolation, a ceremony would be held in the small cave by the men to cement the union.

In the Clan, the mating of two people was entirely a spiritual affair, begun with a declaration to the whole clan but consummated by the secret ritual that included only the men. In this primitive society, sex was as natural and unrestrained as sleeping or eating. Children learned, as they learned other skills and customs, by observing adults, and they played at intercourse as they mimicked other activities from a young age. Often a boy who reached puberty, but had not yet made his first kill and existed in a limbo between child and adult, penetrated a girl child even before she reached her menarche. Hymens were pierced young, though males were a little fearful if blood was spilled and quickly ignored the girl if it happened.

Any man could take any woman whenever he wished to relieve himself, with the exception, through long tradition, of his female sibling. Usually, once a pair were mated, they remained more or less faithful out of courtesy for another man’s property, but it was counted worse for a man to restrain himself than to take the nearest woman. And a woman was not averse to making subtle, coy gestures that were understood as suggestive if a man appealed to her, inviting his advances. To the Clan, a new life was formed by the ubiquitous essences of the totems, and any relationship between sexual activity and childbirth was beyond conception.

A second ceremony was performed uniting Droog and Aga. Though the couple would be isolated from the clan, except for the other members of the hearth, the rest of those who now shared Droog’s fire were free to come and go as they liked. After the second pair entered the cave, the women clustered around Iza and her baby.

“Iza, she is just perfect,” Ebra raved. “I must admit I was a little worried when I learned you were pregnant after all this time.”

“The spirits watched over me,” Iza motioned. “A strong totem helps to make a healthy child, once it succumbs.”

“I was afraid the girl’s totem might have a bad effect. She looks so different, and her totem is so powerful, it might have deformed the baby,” Aba commented.

“Ayla’s lucky, she brought me luck,” Iza quickly countered, looking to see if Ayla had noticed. The child was watching Oga holding the baby, and hovering close and beaming with pride as though Uba were her own. She hadn’t been aware of Aba ’s comment, but Iza didn’t like such thoughts aired openly. “Hasn’t she brought us all luck?”

“But you weren’t lucky enough to have a boy,” Aba pressed her point.

“I wished for a girl, Aba,” Iza said.

“Iza! How can you say such a thing!” The women were shocked. They seldom admitted to preferring a girl.

“I don’t blame her,” Uka jumped to Iza’s defense. “You have a son, take care of him, nurse him, raise him, then as soon as he’s grown, he’s gone. If he isn’t killed hunting, he’s killed some other way. Half of them are killed while they’re still young men. At least Ovra may live for a few more years yet.”

They all felt sorry for the mother who had lost her son in the cave-in. They all knew how she had grieved. Ebra tactfully changed the subject.

“I wonder how winters will be at this new cave.”

“Hunting has been good, and we’ve gathered so much and put it away, there’s plenty of food stored. The hunters are going out today, probably for their last time. I hope there’ll be room enough in the cache so we can freeze it all,” Iza said. “And it looks like they’re getting impatient. We’d better go make them something to eat.”

The women reluctantly left Iza and her baby and went to prepare the morning meals. Ayla sat down beside Iza and the woman put her arm around the girl, holding the baby in the other. Iza was feeling good-glad to be outside on this brisk, cold, sunny, early winter day; glad her child was born, and healthy, and a girl; glad for the cave and that Creb had decided to provide for her; and glad for the thin, blonde, strange girl beside her. She looked at Uba and then Ayla. My daughters, the woman thought, and they are both my daughters. Everyone knows Uba will be a medicine woman, but Ayla will be one, too. I’ll make sure of that. Who knows, maybe someday she will be a great medicine woman.